Laurelfoo [entries|friends|calendar] One Pleasure-Seeking Missile [ website | eye ] [ userinfo | livejournal userinfo ] [ calendar | livejournal calendar ]

... Your devotees are on their knees to implore you! [10 Dec 2004|09:41am] [ mood | thrilled! ] [ music | Prima Donna, first lady of the stage... ] Oh wow! It's the fantasy of participating in projects like this that remind me why I'm pursuing a theatre degree: Witness the Phantom of the Opera movie trailer! 8 comments|post comment

postulated that only children are more skilled at amusing themselves than thou [09 Dec 2004|02:58pm] [ mood | holly-jolly ] And here I was, minding my own damn beeswax, wrapping the Crüxshadows cd I got for a friend of mine, when Rogue RAN INTO MY DINING ROOM, ripped the card out of my hand and SIGNED HIS OWN NAME ON IT!!! ... Okay, but it would have been neat. 2 comments|post comment

Virgin Mary you fucking alien &c.; if you ever loved me... [08 Dec 2004|04:43pm] [ mood | poleaxed ] [ music | Voltaire - The Man Upstairs ] Oh, hell. Voltaire has commented to the entry from the day M and I went to see The Crüxshadows in which I babbled something about how The Devil's Bris never fails to make me chortle. I am FANGIRL, hear me squeal. Look how impressed I am: Yeah, I still have a pumpkin. Okay? Hey, that's cool! There are days when the internet really redeems itself. :) 2 comments|post comment

self-inflicted body violence is liek SO KEWL. [07 Dec 2004|09:35pm] [ mood | appalled ] [ music | Desert Wind - Reach In ] A moment ago I had here an incredibly vitriolic tirade about pro-anorexia communities and the "ana" fad. It's the sickest fucking thing in the world. I have no remaining patience for body issues (having used it all up on myself in the past three years), but I cannot abide the violence. LEAVE YOURSELF ALONE. DO NOT RECREATIONALLY VOMIT. HAVE A SANDWICH AND A GLASS OF WATER. GET SOME FUCKING CALCIUM. THANK YOU. However. In December of 2001 I started working out, huffing and puffing through 20 minutes of a Jane Fonda tape. Three years later I'm here to tell you that if I can do it, so can you. So stop bitching, stop eating mass quantities of bullshit, treat your body like the mammalian thing it is and just take care. Free your ass and your mind will follow. Forty-five pounds took me three years, and I feel fabulous about it. Goddamned right I'm sanctimonious about my body. I deserve to look like this. I'm not saying it's easy, I'm saying it's doable. Thank you, gracious powers that be, for granting me the strength and resolve to avoid the desperation route. Peace, peace, peace. 8 comments|post comment

swim [06 Dec 2004|09:22am] I have learned that my dream self has an incredibly acute sense of smell. I shouldn't be surprised -- anyone with a -6.50 in each eye (yes) is a bloodhound. I dreamed I was sniffing over a display of perfume oils in one of those weirdy little new-age stores I love so much, and lingering over a bottle of clove oil that smelled exactly and potently like the black-papered cigarettes I smoked when I was twenty-one because they matched my outfit. How stupid is that, anyway? Honestly. I'm so glad Matthew doesn't smoke. Said clove oil also reminded me enough of Black Phoenix's Blood oil that I'm going to have to douse myself in it today and walk around smelling like a head shop. Someone I was briefly but educationally involved with when I worked for Excite@Home has been making cameos in my dreams lately, which leads me to wonder when he's going to be in touch. Every. Single. Time. I find myself dreaming about someone with whom I haven't dealt in ages, he or she almost immediately rematerializes in one way or another. He's not doing anything in particular in my dreams, and we're not interacting, he's just there. A few weeks ago I emailed him something like, Hey, I was just thinking about you and I hope you're well, and then I waited for a few days for a response along the lines of, Fuck off and die, thanks. I'm glad that didn't happen. I'm only now developing the restraint to not respond in kind to colossal unpleasantness. What I really want to say is, Why am I dreaming about you? What's going on with you? but I don't imagine that'd go well. His blog is no help, as he's a skilled, if unsubtle, writer, and camoflaging salient details in linear prose was always one of his strong points. He's indirectly responsible for my workout habit (sort of like how some other corpulent habitual liar is indirectly responsible for my being with Matthew), and I thank him for that. Which leads me to how fabulously good life is. :) I'm in my last full week of classes, I have precious little homework to do (just a couple of short papers, and so what?), and I've just had another fantabulous weekend with my family and dearest friends. There's a Christmas tree in my house and it smells good. The trailer for the forthcoming Phantom of the Opera movie is beautiful and exciting. I watched a few minutes of Equilibrium last night and I've now mentally reconstructed Christian Bale in all his strapping masculinity. My holiday gift shopping is under control. Oh, and I'm in the best shape of my life. Wanna exclaim over my shoulders? No, I didn't think so. Speaking of restraint, with all due respect to those for whom non-traditional lifestyle choices actually work, I'd like to own the term prude. If a monogamy fetish and respect for the institutions of marriage and family make me prudish, so be it. That's beautiful. And in the Bay Area, it's positively kinky. 4 comments|post comment

Tell me, dearest, who are we? [01 Dec 2004|09:37am] [ music | The Crüxshadows - Cassandra ] Soon we will be able to buy Crüxshadows cds at our fiendly (I know there's no R in that word) local Wal-Mart. Don't make such a face, I actually think that's cool. If you are a little goth kid stuck in bumfuck nowhere (and, inexplicably, without internet), you can still have access to one of the best bands to issue forth from the loins of the genre in a very, very long time. No, I know the "issue forth from the loins of" thing didn't work at all. I've hurt myself again. I have to stop doing this. I've been up since seven-fifteen and it still hurts to sit on account of what feels like a very angry charley horse in my right quadricep. Hello! It's not like I've never done squats before! Dammit. Body to Laurel, come in Laurel, stop it with the relentless self-improvement. You're all right, we think you can relax now. Thank you. So, ow. Which leads me nicely to this segue: The Machinist is a semicreepy psychological thriller that bothered me enormously because it's painful to see Christian Bale, whom I've adored since I was fourteen, that... no, "thin" doesn't begin to cover it. Sort of, skin stretched over a xylophone. And the production stills don't do it any justice -- in order to get the full, dead-man-walking effect, you really have to see him in motion. Let's just say he made Matthew look positively chubby. It's entirely possible that I will catch hell for that. :) I knew there's nothing come-fuck-me about a gut (and I also know I'm a fitness fetishist, but darling, I have worked very hard for my body), but I had no idea I'd react so strongly to a skeletal physique. In any event, I think I need to watch a few minutes of Equilibrium to see the man in all his muscular, fleshy glory. Ah, health. Today I find out if I have done my last logic homework, or if there's one more to sweat out. Wish me luck. By the way, I have antimony in my eyes. So that's sort of sexy and exciting. ( In other news, shit, that's weird. ) 4 comments|post comment

it's the "in Hector's memory, God willing" lyric that still gets me [30 Nov 2004|09:44am] [ music | The Crüxshadows - Citadel (Iris Remix) ] One metric ton of mascara + one sneeze = hello, Spider Lady! *sigh* This is just generally ill-advised. I'm also listening to The Crüxshadows this morning and tearing up about it because I'm a gigantic foof. Today I will wear sunglasses and say I have joined the witness protection program. Sort-of related here, I'm getting a hankering to see Thigh Hard Troy again, but maybe I'll just go see Alexander instead. Yes, I know it's gotten colossally bad reviews. Fortunately, I have absolutely no taste at all in movies. Of course, if that were true, I would have liked Spiderman 2 and The Pirates of the Caribbean... Unless I can convince Justine that it's a good idea, I'll probably end up seeing Alexander alone. I know there's no way I'm going to get Matthew into the theatre for it. That said, I'm genuinely looking forward to seeing The Machinist (mostly to see Christian Bale at a spookily gaunt 130 pounds), so maybe my entirely sideways cinematic taste is redeemable. But I rather doubt it. So my first mistake was answering the phone. I generally answer calls from unfamiliar 415 numbers at night when I know Matthew's not home on the one-in-a-kachillion, snowball-lasting-a-month-of-Sundays-in-a-burning-gas-kiln-in-hell chance that he's in need of a rescue. It was thus that Ben, the court runner who sat on my desk for the entirety of the time I worked at Folger, was able to get me on the phone. His first mistake was not identifying himself when I answered. How simple is, "Hi Laurel, this is so-and-so!" Unless you're Matthew, Jewel, or my parents, don't ever greet me with a pointed, "HelloLaurel." Don't force me to say, "And who is this?" "So, can I buy you a drink at the Death Guild next week?" Mm, no thank you. "Coffee sometime?" Probably not, to tell you the truth, but I appreciate the offer. "No?" No, I don't think so. "Ah, okay. Take care then." You too. Bye now. Haven't we been through this? I distinctly remember introducing him to my then-new boyfriend, which was about the most sadistic thing I could have done. I'll never forget the serene, deadly amusement on Matthew's face. And I could just about hear him thinking, Ew. Dreadlocks. Sweetheart, if you ever get stranded, you may be out of luck. Send up a smoke signal instead of calling. Crap, I really don't want to go to French. I'm going, of course. I'm going, I'm going. I want to go play at Sephora instead, but I can do that on Friday before or after I get my eyebrows sharpened. In other news, pyrotech_c3h8 nails it once again: I am a clown with a fish up my ass, and no one understands my pain, it is THAT awesome. Oh, yes. 5 comments|post comment

the Mon-- *SNEEZE!* ... day morning wrap-up [29 Nov 2004|09:26am] [ music | Snog - Reigning Terror ] Remember when I said that when I had a perfect body I'd shave my head? Well. It's not going to happen. I don't mean the part about the body, because I'm one of those insufferable people (that thought could really end there, couldn't it?) who actually loses weight over the holidays, and for the record, even I think that's weird. You will, of course, forgive me while I'm smug, as I have worked awfully hard on this. No, I mean the part about shaving my head. I will, instead, carry on with The Laurel Croft Braid[tm] and metric ton of mascara, accented with occasional crazy-making forays into lipstick. (All this hysterical displacement activity to distract from the unfortunate reality that, while there are only two weeks left of the semester, they are two weeks more than I feel prepared to stomach. If I can avoid developing spontaneous Tourette's at my symbolic logic prof, no matter how big a fuckwad I think he is, I'm golden. My patience is shot.) Skinny Puppy, by the way, was not quite as entirely phat-with-a-ph as they were in July, but then again, it was exactly the same show. It appears, however, that Ogre is rising to the same level as David Gahan in my personal pantheon of celebrity slobberage. I'll see him no matter what he's doing (ask me later about the time he stood next to me at a Rammstein show). I'm glad we went. If it occurs to you, try slathering your upper body in amber massage oil instead of lotion. You'll walk around feeling delicious all day. Hey, if it keeps me from screaming "FUCK! FUUUCCKKKK!" during logic, I'll take it. For those of you who remember how important these things were when you were fourteen: My high school freshman nephew has just made the varsity basketball team. That's cool. 1 comment|post comment

with only my self-respect left for support... [25 Nov 2004|10:35pm] [ mood | incredulous ] Unfuckingbelievable. I actually have the goddamned munchies. 2 comments|post comment

POW! Ohhhh, thank you. [25 Nov 2004|11:48am] [ mood | ihnj,ijls ] [ music | Linkin Park - Faint ] Today is November 25, and I have just eaten my first potato chip of the year. Omfg. In my family of gourmets (and then some -- whose boyfriend spent this morning making pie crust?), middle-American garbage snack food is sort of an ironic Thanksgiving day joke. Real food later. Real food all day, really. Portion control time -- M and I are headed to his family's feast this afternoon, then back for my family's in the evening. I can do this, it just takes stamina, an intimate understanding of the law of diminishing returns, and a will to still be able to look at myself in the mirror tomorrow morning. But, potato chips. Holy shit, I can just feel my blood thickening in my veins as I type. I suppose it's too early to start wishing all and sundry "seasons' beatings," isn't it. post comment

sat-is-fack-shun [24 Nov 2004|06:16pm] [ mood | lookin' for a fight ] I've said this before, but you know what's fun? Put a chocolate bar in the 'fridge so it gets good and hard, and then slam it with all your might against a flat surface (I'm partial to the cutting board, myself.) If the chocolate is sufficiently refrigerated it will shatter into a hundred little pieces. So fun. I highly recommend it. 1 comment|post comment

Baaa.... aaaah? [23 Nov 2004|05:24pm] You are 60% Aries How much do you match your zodiac sign? Who knew? I found this while investigating my new reader. Oh, hello. Who are you? Oh Good Lord, you're a firesign and a friend of Rodney's. So, you're part Lara Croft, too? Welcome to my world. :) I just love the expression on that ram's face. He's not sure about this shit. How many times have we seen me make that face? Exactly. 8 comments|post comment

snapshots from the mundane world [23 Nov 2004|09:32am] [ music | Primitive Radio Gods - Standing Outside A Broken Phone Booth With Money In My Hand ] The other day I watched a cop car whose front end was smashed to shit get towed. I laughed. No, I did. Look, I drive a little red sports car and I do the speed limit, and I'm forever being followed by cops just waiting for me to drop it into fifth and take off at six hundred million miles an hour so they can hunt me down and nail me to a wall. Furthermore, how many times have you watched two cars come flying through a red light in plain sight of a clearly-marked black and white Crown Vic? (I did, last Friday afternoon.) So fuck 'em. Fair play to the man, man! (Jessica, I can hear you snickering.) Finally, anyone who gets into a line of work where one (fourth person indefinite again!) is contractually bound to carry a gun is a bad person and has some serious power issues to work out. Bitch, please. I just don't like cops. I'm grateful that they do their job so I don't have to and blah blah, but I've never had a positive encounter with one, starting with the time one rear-ended me in my mother's new car. That's another story. Yesterday evening I did not ask a family whose three year old was coughing and coughing and coughing and coughing and coughing to encourage their little darling to cover his mouth, because parents tend to take exception to challenges to their woefully shitty parenting, and mommie dearest might have kicked my head in (had I not been able to outrun her, and remember, this is San Francisco, land of Fat Tourists). Okay, so mommie dearest was actually some skinny, recreationally starving yuppie (...), but my point stands. Please teach junior about the finer points of not spreading his precious cooties. Ah. "Recreationally starving." While we all know by now that I have little patience or sympathy for "comfort eating" and the abuse of food as hysterical displacement activity, I have perhaps less for willful malnourishment. Ask Matthew about it sometime. (When asked what he does, he'll smile benignly and say, "I perpetuate the beauty myth in America," which is but the tip of the iceberg of reasons I like him so much.) But even I don't care about my biases. It's just phenomenally disgusting that my home state is attached to the country that invented competitive eating. It's obscene. I'll never forgive America for that. In other news, I have lost my French homework. It isn't like another copy couldn't be printed, it's just that I knew, when I put it down somewhere in here on Sunday, that I'd never see it again. Wait, never mind. I've found it. The week's almost over. Hosanna! I wonder what would happen if I didn't study for tomorrow's polit theory exam (probably nothing). I went to the trouble of typing up all my notes, though, so I may as well make use of them. The Joy Division shirt did arrive yesterday, but it's not the one I won in the eBay auction more than a month ago. (And the return address is in Southern California, so there is no excuse for this shit.) I emailed the seller, "Please send me the shirt I won, right now. This is a size XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXL, and the shirt I bid on is a SMALL. Let's go. Right now." I'm paraphrasing. He was nice about it (good boy) and refunded the shipping right away. Now I'm waiting on the arrival of a tiny Unknown Pleasures shirt before I send this huge one back. Now, how do I handle this vis-a-vis feedback? However. I love the end of the year. I really do. Life is good. 16 comments|post comment

From the Fabulous Things My Boyfriend Said department [22 Nov 2004|08:59pm] [ mood | swoony ] [ music | inexplicably, Ace of Base in my head ] We're on AIM, and he's reading an essay I've written for polit theory. <him> dear? <me> yes, my darling? <him> you totally make adverbs your bitch. <me> hahahahah <him> i just want to state that <me> WHAT? :) <him> adjectives too <him> you just have great descriptions <me> such as? <him> they're all stringy and bordering on ranty, even when they're not of a ranty nature <me> thank you :) By now we all know Matthew and I met in a writing class, right? God, I adore him. post comment

ruby rub [21 Nov 2004|08:07pm] [ music | Libana - Round and Round ] Lipstick season begins. A pale mouth in winter just makes one look cold. Did you know that the English language indefinite referent "one," as in "a pale mouth in winter just makes one look cold," is linguistically termed the fourth person? That's kind of cool. I always assumed "one" was an indefinite branch of the third person. So I've finally bought some mulling spices. What sort of wine does one (fourthpersonindefinite) mull, anyway? It's not like I'm going to drop a cheesecloth bag of wood chips into a red with actual personality, so I'm thinking a merlot or cabernet is out of the question. Is there such a thing as table wine? If anyone mentions Bonny Doon I will, of course, violate them with a bottle of it. Only drunks touch that stuff. Matthew and I enjoyed I ♥ Huckabees, which is a good thing, because I would have been in trouble if he had hated it. Watch the trailer, honeybun, because we're going to see this movie. What's it about? Watch the damn trailer! What it lacks in existentialist subtlety it more than makes up for in the lead character's charming fits of hysterical tourette's, Jude Law in the least likeable role he's ever had, and Mark Wahlberg's biceps. Mark Wahlberg's biceps. He's bigger than my car. And then there was the general pandemonium and Lily Tomlin's... well. See the movie. Don't, however, waste your time with Me, Myself & Irene if you haven't already. For reasons that now escape me I was in a Jim Carrey sort of mood, and nearly two hours later, all I had to show for all the terrible wrongness was the hilarity of watching those three kids curse at each other in German (which, I admit, I could watch for 20 minutes, kind of like the extra on the Saved! dvd in which Patrick Fugit and Macaulay Culkin make out -- phwoar!). It's been a while since I've been on #dw. I wonder how they're making out without me. ... Two Thanksgiving meals on Thursday and Skinny Puppy (again! Hosanna!) on Friday. Presuming I survive the beginning of the week, which, with an exam and two papers due, is an irritation at worst, the rest of this week should be a veritable ball. It's all I can do to get out of Matthew's Bed of Tremendously High Gravity, never mind actually do my homework. That said, I can talk about myself in French almost as well as I can in English (all the while without saying a damn thing!), so I may as well get back to it. 14 comments|post comment

in which my excellent taste in relatively obscure electro foils me once again [10 Nov 2004|09:33am] [ music | Bauhaus - She's In Parties ] What on earth do I have to do to get my hands on a copy of the Absurd Minds "Masterbuilder" maxi-single??? Amazon.de does not have it. Isolation Tank does not have it. And for reasons entirely beyond me, Absurd Minds' official site does not have it. I'm looking specifically for the "Masterbuilder (my lovely mr.singing club mix)." Just because I'm American does not mean I should be punished for wanting good music. Seriously. Even if Absurd Minds is the second coming of Project Pitchfork. 5 comments|post comment

In case you ever wondered what a real Burberry trench coat looks like... [04 Nov 2004|05:46pm] This one is, I believe, almost as old as I am, and it has no idea why it's suddenly the apotheosis of chic. 3 comments|post comment

Where's the love, again? Here's the love. [03 Nov 2004|08:20pm] [ music | Aqua - Cartoon Heroes (hee!) ] Yes, the logic prof stood me up, but guess whose office is next to his? I got to hang out with Mr. Polit Theory for 45 minutes this morning. He gave me a copy of his wife's book. We talked about our families and Buffy. I get to take the logic quiz next week. Life is good. The lightning storm earlier was pretty, and dvlboi inexplicably called to find out if I was watching it. Life is good. I had a workout and finished tomorrow's French homework. Life is good. I am inexpressably glad I'm dating my best friend. That said best friend has fabulous six-pack abs is a nice little perk, but I am overjoyed that I'm in love with my best friend. Life is good. Down the hall, someone is watching Everyone Says I Love You. It's the first time in months that I haven't heard the news on a television in my home. Life is good. This post of Lam's delights me. Life is good. 13 comments|post comment

actually, that isn't entirely true... [02 Nov 2004|01:34pm] [ music | The Crüxshadows - Cassandra (Razed In Black Remix) ] starscream242's got a point. I do give a shit how you're voting, I'm just up to my ass in alligators reading it on my friends page. Which is entirely my problem, I realize. Lick Bush 2004, my darlings. Not that I want to influence your decisions or anything. Midterm grades for logic have been posted (thanks, Professor Asswipe). I'm doing far better than I thought I was, which means I can stop letting it make me crazy. Now I'll just go crazy because, though I spent less than five minutes in M's presence this morning, his smell all over me is driving me out of my gourd. All this and it's about the most beautiful day possible today. November, shirtsleeves weather. Bay Area, I love you. So in the grand scheme, life is good. And in the not-so-very-grand scheme, life is fantastic. 4 comments|post comment

so far, so good [02 Nov 2004|07:58am] [ music | The Crüxshadows - Tears ] I just noticed that the album version of "Tears" has a conspicuously synthetic-sounding vinyl record surface noise snapcracklepop for a few seconds at the end. Gracious, that's rather self-conscious. It's okay, Crüxshadows, I still love you. It's just that I know what vinyl records sound like. I love the surface noise on that medium. On a digital recording, where the art of silence has been perfected, it doesn't work. But then again, Rogue sang right at me. Hee! Gawd. Fangirl me, thank you. For anyone who missed it, I love being a fan. I enjoy the emotional rush, the sweaty palpitating thing when your idol brushes past you. And for anyone who might be under the hilariously misguided impression that I'm cool, consider yourself disabused of that notion. Really, if I ever lose the ability to be impressed, it's over, and I will have grown old. So. The meaning of triumph is when people you haven't seen in a year blurt, "Oh wow. Have you lost even more weight?" Yeah. Here, feel my arm. *other person wraps a hand around my bicep and squeezes experimentally* "Oh my God! Shit, please don't beat me up." Don't worry, I probably won't. Would anyone like to explain to me why the domestic terminal in an airport had a duty free shop? I don't mind paying five dollars less than usual for Dior mascara (once you've had the best, et cetera, a concept I could just as easily apply to ze boyfriend), but it's not like I'm going to go back through security and take it out of the country. Thanks, though, Sea-Tac. In other news, midterm grades are posted, and I have two As and one that has not been tallied yet. Guess which prof is sitting on his ass and making his students wait? That addle-pated bastard. post comment

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