It's a Great Day for Baseball


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Wednesday, August 10, 2005

i still love you, blog-o-mine.

Sunday, October 24, 2004

jaclyn backhaus must write another play or she will go insane.

Saturday, September 25, 2004

I'm very anxious. I've been sick all week. I think it's time for me to get better. Seriously.

Chop-chop, sinuses! Let's go!

Wednesday, September 08, 2004


We eat dreams.

Sunday, September 05, 2004

Photo Post!

Soon, I shall master the art of picture-posting. Woot.

Friday, September 03, 2004


not really. but i used to read a book with a similar title when i was like 6 years young.

and i took a three hour nap this afternoon and now i'm really bored and antisocial and shy-feeling but i have all this pent up energy. i've decided to eat chewy chips ahoy and read sylvia plath after i paper-journal about my day.

i went out tonight with some peeps i've met this week, namely nancy (real name: sean) who swears he's not gay but did see moulin rouge seven times in the theatres. he eats maraschino cherries whereas i let others eat them because i hate them. in spite of this, we get along. there were also a bunch of people there who seemed very confident. confident people always make me feel unsure of myself. on top of that, we all went to this communist part lecture mostly to laugh at it and also to get in fake arguments for other people to watch. it wasn't as fun as i'd hoped so i felt terribly disheartened about all sorts of things. they all went to karaoke; i came home and called my boy and wished he could be there to make arguing with the communists a little more colorful.

last night was better. i went down to the convention protest-area and stood with a bunch of people to try and meet ron reagan jr! oh em gee, he would be on my now-nonexistant boys to marry list mos def. i wanted to talk to him about stem cell research or his political affiliation or what his favorite cary grant movie is. but he only walked by and i could only scream out "I LOVE YOU, RON!" He didn't turn around.

So I wrote him a note and gave it to a guard standing outside the MSNBC trailer. He said he'd give it to him.

Yes, I know I started to capitalize my words somewhere in the last couple of paragraphs. No, I don't care that i'm ruining the parallel flow. Idiot.

So I saw all of those cable news personalities that matter: Chris Matthews, Joe Scarborough, Terry MacAuliffe, Ron Silver (who?). Then I talked to Darrell Hammond, who was a guest on one of the shows. He was wearing a cowboy hat. He's pretty cool. I freaked out afterwards. Darrell Hammond! Genius!

So yeah, yesterday was better than today. Maybe tomorrow will be better as well.

Wednesday, August 25, 2004

I have too many journals for my own good. Not only online; I mean, I do have a livejournal and a blog (and an open diary that I only update with things like "blahfuabfbf don't delete this old thing there are too many memories"). But I'm talking papery composition book journals too. I just write in the nearest notebook, not caring that in twenty years I'll have eight different notebooks about april of 2003. Which I have. And none of them are finished.

Another thing- why am I so cryptic in these things? It's not like I'm expecting someone to look through all eight so they can blab to the world about the secrets I had when I was a junior in high school. It says stuff like "4/13/03- He held my hand but he chose the pretty girl." Um...first of all, WHO held my hand? Second of all, WHO is the pretty girl? Thirdly, WHY did this matter so much if I can't remember it happening at all now? You'd think a hopeless romantic like me would remember such a tragic event in my life.

This is all in very angry rant-style because I'm trying to find a particular journal with particular facts in it that I may or may not have lost. I want to take it with me to college but I can't remember which journal it is. I'm probably going to end up taking all of them. That way, I can start my eight journals up again and write separate entries in each of them about my favorite place to eat falafel or the rain that landed on my window or the boy I saw in Washington Square with the headphones that whispered Only in Dreams and how he chased squirrels and I won't remember his name in twenty years.

This only goes to show how trivial my problems seem after they happen.

Edit: Well, I found the Mysterious Hidden Eighth Journal and I found the entry I wanted to find. It only further proves my point that I was, in my youth, afraid to talk to anyone. Luckily, I'm pretty sure I've overcome that. How d'ye do?

Thursday, August 19, 2004

After watching Carly Patterson and Michael Phelps win gold medals tonight, I feel terribly out of shape. I can't wait to go to the gym for free (I think...) when I get to college. Maybe you'll see me in the 2008 Olympics. I'll be the one playing table tennis.

Monday, August 16, 2004

(in case anyone still reads my blog)
Okay, so here's the deal. I'm most likely having a going-away-soon-party/ my house/ tuesday/ 6-ish pm. There will be pizza. There will be me. And really, that's all I have to offer because it's a tad short notice.
So you should come. Provided, I know you, of course. If I don't, then let's get to know each other by Tuesday. Maybe we'll go swimming.
Comment if you think this is a good idea or if you will come. We'll call it an unprecedented method of RSVP.
Oh, and I'll let you know where I live and what time exactly and stuff as soon as I decide that myself.

Saturday, August 14, 2004

so i bought some pants the other day and i was delighted to find that they were a size smaller than usual, but now i'm wearing them today and they keep falling down! have i gone down yet ANOTHER size in just a matter of days while still weighing the same amount according to my broken scale?!?!??!! THE MYSTERY WILL BE SOLVED.

Sunday, August 08, 2004

my last day at sweet tomatoes is tuesday. this means a) my bank account will slowly stop increasing and b) i'll have more time to chill with people and pack for collegiate excursions.

MORAL OF THIS TALE: come and visit me on tuesday between 3:45 and 8. oh, and call me if i haven't seen you in awhile so we can chill.

Thursday, July 29, 2004

Tonight, I went to Club Rio. I'd never gone "clubbing," but let me tell you, it's a real great way to get caught in the radar of many a creepy roving eye. Now, I have a headache from all the remixing and strobe lighting and lack of oxygen-ing. I guess da club just ain't my scene.

But 'twas all for a good cause! Happy birthday Emily/SaLees.

I really want some pink lemonade. I'm going to go finish On the Road.

Hah, that's interesting. I feel all uber-depressive and lonely when I have nothing to do at night, but when I actually go out, all I want is to curl up with my blanket and read. I need to open a dance-club Changing Hands. It will suit the Beyonce and the Marian the librarian in me.

I'll make so much money. Seriously. I mean, who doesn't want to crack open a good volume of War and Peace after Ladies Night?

Sunday, July 25, 2004

The raging volcano of flaming rapid-fire can never stop the leader of El Gay Rocker Triumvirate, Freddie Mercury.

That's evasive-metaphor-speak for "Guillermo is going down."

Thursday, July 15, 2004

This is my 201st post. I'm proud of this fact. If 201 were the number of $100 bills in my pocket, I'd have $20,100. Unfortunately, this is not the case. But hey, with my recent accomodation of a Walmart Foundation Scholarship!, I'm on the fast track to riches. Paris Hilton, watch out. I have Walmart on my side.

If I had 201 peach trees in Northern California, I'd have a nice little orchard and probably a cool green tractor. I guess the only way I could do that would be to move up to my uncle's house because he has more than 201 peach trees and a couple green tractors and really big German Shepherds, too. And a Ford F-350. No, wait. That's my other uncle's. Well, they both live in the same really small town, a town with a high population of Indians and quite a few orchards. Half of me would fit right in. I wish I saw my cousins more often.

The army has more than 201 job opportunities to offer our nation's fine young people. I know this because some creepy Army recruiter came to my door today and kept trying to woo me with certain enslavement for the Man. When I told him I was majoring in theatre, he started talking about how great the USO shows are and how I could be a part of them. He also asked me if I had a back-up plan for my life in case "something terrible goes wrong" and I couldn't go to NYU anymore. Surprisingly, I don't. You'd think I would, since I'm relatively poor and all, but nope. Which gets me thinking. What would I do?

I guess if my scholarship fails to provide financial stability and I never get a job, I can just move to California and pack peaches for awhile. Maybe I'll write a book and it will sell millions. And I'll start a scholarship in my name called the "Hey, If The Army Is The Only Way You Can Pay For College, Here's A Couple Thousand Dollars" Scholarship.

Incidentally, if anyone feels like burning anything, I have a couple "Army of One" pamphlets that look relatively flammable.

I'm really bored. Happy 201st post.

Wednesday, July 07, 2004

Mush Level: High. PROCEED AT OWN RISK.

I always told myself I wouldn't be "that girl."

I don't really know why. I mean, I always adore the gushy movies, I always have crushes on the movie stars, I always read the Letter part of Ella Enchanted over and over when I'm feeling lonely.

I am a hopeless romantic. I daydream more than I actually live. I write poetry. I eat french bread. I listen to Nick Drake and Elton John when it's raining. I love flowers and chocolates and hearts doodled all over notebook paper.

There is absolutely no reason why I thought I could never fall in love. According to my vast imagination, I should have been married to some Prince a very long time ago. It's probably part of that strange neurotic entity that is my self confidence. If you know me, you'll know that I probably think you hate me. It's entirely out of my hands. When someone averts eye contact, I envision the hateful thoughts springing up in their head. Of course, we usually get along fine after awhile and I end up telling them what I imagined. I've grown accustomed to really weird looks. Yes, I know I need therapy. Shut up.

Anyway, it all somehow connects to my feeling I'd never be good enough for anyone. I'd date people, I'd feel something was wrong, it would be over.

Something's different now, though. I'm turning into "that girl": the one who giggles at the mention of his name, the one who stops time when he calls, the one who feels more content as each day goes by. This relationship shows me how wrong I was. (Of course, it all comes at the most inconvenient time. I'm scared. But- I'm happy.)

If I'm not in love now, then when the real time comes I'll explode and my guts will turn into flowers and feathers and other various soft things as they hit the pavement. (Bad metaphor of the day: check).

He just called. Gotta run. You can puke now.

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