Almost Famous

For a long time I said that movies can never live up to the pure quality and depth of words.Maybe I wanted to believe that because it seems like the right thing.But now I’ve discovered an exception.I’ve seen the movie Almost Famous many times before, but I’ve just realized that Cameron Crowe was able to make one of the most brilliant movies in existence. And it’s because he’s not just a director. He’s a writer. So he was able to take his talent as a writer, and that depth of perception of everything around him. And he transfered it to film. ”Experience it. Enjoy it. Don’t just fall for it.”This was his love letter back to music.And I for one, connect on all sorts of levels to it.  And not just because I am Penny Lane.

Art & Business

Twice during the past 24 hours I spoke about this.And twice made it that much more true in my head.The reason  I can’t bare working in such a corporate environment’s aspect of the music industry is because it’s an oxymoron.Art is the epitome of self expression.Business is the epitome of creating and recreating standards- for money.And when I say recreating, I mean it; because they adjust things to make them happier. And, I don’t mean the artists happier. By they, I mean Suits. And Suits recreate standards to make themselves more money.

Self expression and liberty cannot easily coexist with standards and money hungry feigns.

In fact I don’t really understand how the first business man in the arts was even able to relate to the first artist in the first business-artist collaboration. It’s two entirely different mindsets. Working toward two entirely different dreams. And let me tell you, the money dream crushes the artist’s dream. It taints what is beautiful. It squeezes out the life. And it walks all over the soul.  I am not living in a total fantasy. I do realize that business needs to be a part of music. It’s just not the most intuitive reality.  And so…I’m going to take a deep breath and hope for the sake of true music that this revolution switches things up, and glorifies the artist.

The Unthinkable

I just ate Honey Nut Cheerios & milk with a fork.

The office was out of spoons, and I needed food.

And it went very well, thank you.

So now you know it can be done.

Hey Jealousy

What the fuck does that even mean?

Water under the fucking bridge?

Do you really think that if we both keep our mouths shut she won’t find out?? 

Why do you even care?

You always want what you can’t have.

When you were with her, all you wanted was me. You could barely handle it. 

(you didn’t handle it).

And now that you’re ”finally over” You kept beggin me to come.

And I finally did. But I don’t know how. Because I don’t have any feelings for you.

And I know you’re all confused. I’m just really comfortable with you I guess.

And now you’re all concerned about her finding out. 

Why??Is she in or out?

Because I’m the other. And actually, even if she’s out,

I’m far from in.

You need to sort yourself out boy.

I don’t just stick around.

Dancing to the tune in my head

I tend to create  entire scenarios in my mind.

For instance, yesterday, while I was sweating my guts out at the gym, and trying desperately to entertain myself on the machine, I saw a rather old woman hobble over to a rather buff young hottie at the weights.

Now, I have no idea what the reality was- in terms of what was discussed. But I decided I did while the scene unfolded before me.

The old & wise woman must have been going over to tell the young & dumb hottie that he mustn’t put too much emphasis on his body. See, she has lived many years and seen the depths of relationships and love and hate. She knows what’s really important.

I guess the reason I figured all this out is because whenever I see old people on the street I think about how they were once young like me, and full of visions of what they could be. They had the same love and rapture, the same funny moments, the same secret crushes, the same fears and worries, the same doubt that they’d ever get old.

Yet there they are, creeping slowly down the street, in utter amazement, shaking their heads at what’s become of the world and the current generations.

And totally old.

So I’m thinking now it might not be exactly what went on between the lady and the guy in the gym. But anything is possible. Right?

Cliché’s…in needing you

All the cliché’s of love seem to be true of me.
I really do get weak at the knees.
 When you sing I really do feel my heart melting.
 First impressions really do count.
 I can’t stop thinking of you.
And most of all, I love who I may not have.
But then again, time really does heal….My heart won’t break.

Everyone knows you’re lost without Rock & Roll

And Sometimes…you’re even lost when it’s all over you.Like me…sometimes there’s so much beauty in the desperation while coming off a high of such amazing music. It’s a part inside of me which wants so badly for it to just stay. It’s like I just want to grab onto the moment and never let it go.

But that’s the beauty in the desperation.

Because when something is so wonderful and fleeting, it gets that much more intense. It’s similar to the feeling of a person you grow to care so deeply for, but know you can never have. When something is out of your reach it’s all the more beautiful.

You are so full of energy, so un-   jaded, and so fucking lovely. I hate   the distance I feel just because of   the impending greatness, and the   force that will drive you away. It’s   bittersweet. I want the best for   you, but I hate when you go. I have   been trying to figure out what it is   about you that is so captivating.   So last night while I was watching   you, I let go and touched some   points.

None of your songs sound the   same. When I told you so, you   pointed out something very true.   It’s because both of you are  bringing certain aspects to songwriting which most people who work together can’t do. And that is full trust and lack of competitiveness. In this dismal cut throat industry, songwriters feel they must have ‘their style’ which marks their territory on a song. So they can’t let that be and write a proper song with full freedom. And each of your songs are marked with liberty and brilliance. They don’t get boring- the whole set keeps our ears busy and loving each minute. Because no minute is the same.

Along the same lines, you come up to the stage with no expectations, no regrets, and no concerns. You do your thing, you do it well, and most importantly, you have fun doing it. The energy spills out into the crowd, and into each person, and it cycles around. The ambiance is extraordinary, and it freezes time.You don’t let yourselves get sick of your songs, because you manage to add elements to the tunes with tweaks in your musical and vocal arrangements, and it’s truly charming.

Your voices are completely different. And when you sing together it’s like the perfect dance. The harmonies are compiled with the most incredible knowledge and anticipation of each other. There is no way to describe the sound besides sheer beauty.

I could go on, but this is looking like a sappy love letter for two,

and I should just sign this post “Penny Lane.”

The point is you boys are fuckin’ tight. I could sit and listen to you for hours.

And when you whistle it’s just plain adorable.

So much more than black & white…

I dread nights like this.

The ones where everyone is doing something because it’s a holiday. And you know everyone is out doing something. But I just don’t feel like it. I don’t feel like going out and being with crowds of too many people I know to celebrate just cuz it’s an established celebration. I want to do something different. But it feels lonely. And it’s not that I’m suffering from peer-pressure, because if it were I’d just end up in the scene. I just know no matter what I decide to do I’m going to feel lonely, because I know there’s this reality of people hanging together for a joint reason. Tonight. And I chose not to.

Blank Stares

All I want to do right now is crawl into a hole. I felt so good all day, and now that’s just how I feel. Two pretty interesting things happened today.One is that I witnessed a psycho girl at the gym (who is there even more than me- cuz she’s there before and after I leave) getting escorted out of NYSC with two cops for the last time. She’s not allowed back. She apparently threatened one of the trainers (one of my favorite ones too!) with a dumbbell.  Yea- psycho girl!!! Secondly, On my walk through the rain to the Lower East Side and Rockwood, I passed two girls who were evidently tipsy/drunk. They were giggling like silly girls do. (me included). And they were walking with umbrellas in the rain. (like me).  And they proceeded to twirl around lamp-posts and laugh hysterically. They were probably laughing because they were thinking how they didn’t care that people watching them would think them crazy, and how fun that is. What’s funny is that they never could have known how much I just would have wanted to join them. Amos Lee really has a way with captivating his audience. I was taken. It was wonderful.I met MJ and she is a sweetheart. Of the most sincere sort, and I can’t help but like her. There are so many parts of her that make me think of me. So not surprising.  But Tonight I Even Ate Pizza. 

Stuck up in a tree

Is where I want to be.

Well, maybe not, but it sure sounds good the way Amos Lee sings about it. Grr. this day is passing too slowly. Last night I was inspired by marines. It’s funny cuz the career evaluation thing brought up some data that I have interest in the military. Subconscious, no doubt. But now, it seems to be showing its face a lot. The Father always spoke to us about the military. His biggest dream for me was to go to Valley Forge military academy (or so he says). And he did always take us to those West Point parades every spring. And I do love a man in uniform (tho not as obsessively as most girls).

  But those marines last night- there was something that hit my core when one of them mentioned that they’re going to Iraq in two weeks.

What little darlings.

 These hot folk,

in hot uniform,

who may not walk and talk (on a cell),

and have charming manners,

and protect ladies while they walk (yes there’s a specific way they walk- ladies inside),

and have perfectly shiny shoes,

They are going to Iraq in two weeks. And it made my eyes blurr instantly with tears. If only for a second. Despite myself.  

No Air

Radio Sucks.

They take songs which have – even if it’s just a small bit of it - appeal, and wring it out. Playing even the most ingenious song every hour on the hour, is not the best way to secure it in a listener’s good book. I’m just sayin…if you’re a music artist, and your goal is to become *huge* and get your song ‘on the radio’…Yeah, I get it. You want fame and success. But at the end of the day- if you’re truly talented- your art does not deserve to be subjugated to being the cause somebody feeling ill. Because right now, I feel physically ill, from the damn radio playing in the next cubicle. Same songs. Same playlist. Every single day. (I’m not kidding!)> I know what time of day it is just from what song comes on next.

 

So you know those ice-breaker conversations about what CD you’d take on a desert island for the rest of your life. I’m now thoroughly convinced that it doesn’t exist. Basically…if you’re stuck on a desert island with one selection on repeat for the rest of your life…you’re screwed.

Mass Eavesdropping

I learned two very valuable life lessons today in the terminal at the airport:1. There are many hot men floating around. 2. Most people are on cell phones, declaring their life stories to the world. While I was just sitting there in the terminal waiting for the same plane everyone else was, and very painfully sunburnt, I did not have a chance to clear my mind because as my eyes slowly gazed around, I noticed that virtually everyone around me was in the middle of a very heated conversation with someone on the other end of their cell phones. So everything started spinning, and I turned to my mom and made her give me a pen and paper so that I could jot down tidbits of my mass eavesdropping.”$2 a share”….”porque es cinco”….”there you go! (ultra loud guy)”…”I’d give her anything from me”…”But she’s just saying stuff I can’t stand”…”You just left your i-pod??”…”They have the best birds I’ve ever seen!”…”No offense, honestly the United Nations”….”Jill and Danna came down, no-they almost did”…”I try to stop by at least once a week”…”Um did you know that she and I have been speaking recently?”… Those are each from a different person sitting there.That’s how many people were yapping on their cells loudly enough for me to hear. In a very small area, too. Yeah…basically it’s pathetically overwhelming to just sit nowadays. Because you can’t escape conversations anymore. Because even if you choose not to speak, you’re automatically thrown into about a million other people’s discussions. By just sitting. Kinda scary folks.  So I got a smug little experience taking down what people were saying. And then the really hot guy sitting across my way yawned at the very same time as I did.  

Lush Folks

White Zinfandel was on the table with breakfast.

Grandma has to drink wine to help her tremor, but I think secretly she might be a drunkard. Ha. Now I know for sure that my love for wine is validated with generations of alcohol lovers. Mom too. Family is the world, but when it’s a whole weekend around family- you pretty much need to run as far away from the world as possible. (like right now after yelling my brother out of the kitchen so I can finally be alone for two freakin seconds!). It just gets overbearing. I found a glorious picture of Grandpa holding Grandma at the ocean back in the day. Some things never change. Like the excitement for young couples to just dash around the ocean when they’re in love. Now Grandma is a naggy old annoying lady who craves attention and wants people to feel sorry for her. Except none of us do. We all would much rather just sneak weed into her food (any food) and hope that she takes well to it and just calms the fuck down. Either that or tranquilizer darts. But Grandpa has yet to tell us where he keeps the stash. Someone please make sure I’m dead before I reach that level of existance. Please!

Wear Sunscreen

When I met you that night at D’s party I had no way of knowing that true friends step into your life in mere seconds, when you least expect it. In just the 1.5 years that I’ve known you, you’ve gone from being just a cute fun loving girl at some party to one of the most precious people in my life. You’re the best friend a girl could ask for. I know this, because I don’t usually have many girlfriends, and you are so intrinsically wonderful. You’ve also grown up so much in just one year. You’re the most- gifted, talented, creative, considerate, insightful, ambitious, driven, motivated & motivating, smart, and not to mention obviously blessed with outward beauty- girl I know. And I know you. We’ve gone through a lot already. Hard times and Fun times. Crying and Laughing. Sleeping and Hyper (ha!). Eating and Starving. Healthy and Injured. (slightly) Big assed and Huge-faced. Carrots and Apples. Splenda and Maple Syrup. Walking…and walking. Boys and Men. Wine and (our favorite) Tequilla. Cossette. Michigan and New York. Dogs and Roommates (sometimes interchangeable). Muffin tops and Bread. Lots of Coffee. Lots of Pictures. Lots of Memories. But above all- Lots of Love. I used to be of the opinion that friends come and go, and that it was ok because everyone grows and changes. But when it comes to you, I believe the part of that song that says “but a precious few you should hold on to.” You’ve become such an essential part of who I am and what my values are. That’s because you are so sincere about how you feel and what you believe in. You are true to yourself. You don’t cross your values for anything. And that is such a testament to who you are every day. I’m truly amazed by you. You inspire me so much and I love you so much, and I just hope that with each birthday I get to share with you, and with each year that passes, we can keep growing and achieving all our dreams. Because something tells me…we’ll always be here for each other.

May this year bring you loads of health, success, happiness, and of course- LOVE!

Love you more than I can ever tell you! This world would not be the same to so many without you in it….Happy Birthday Chloe!

I just want you to know who I am

 Scratch that. I want to know who you are. I hope you even   exist.I’m deathly scared of ending up alone. Maybe it’s the pressure of the time. Maybe it’s that I have yet to take the idea of me in a relationship seriously. Maybe it’s all the weddings slowly taking over my entire summer.  Maybe it’s all the take-my-breath-away scenes from shows and movies where I wish it were me. Maybe it’s cuz I don’t know what I want out of you. Or what you need me to be. AndMaybe this is all because I don’t know who I really am. I’ve been trying so hard to be true to myself. It sounds so easy. Just be who you are. But somehow I think we all get lost. Because we so desperately need to complete ourselves. Because we so desperately seek love. Because while we are searching for love, we lose ourselves.And then who really knows who anymore?But please. Just please make sure we don’t end up alone. Find me and stay with me. And I promise I’ll meet you half way. Because far off in the future…people with canes always look better in pairs.

Infatuation: A Stage

I just spoke to you this morning, and I already need to talk to you again.Ok, maybe not Need. But really want. Desire. I want to talk to you, because it’s that point in our “thing” or lack there of, where you’re oh so intriguing, and built up in my head as something which you probably aren’t.  But that’s why you’ve been on my mind all damn day. All the mind-games. Every lousy little text or IM.You’re the one who said “see you real soon darling.”It has my imagination reeling.Analyzing every word and wondering if you like me too.   

Tink!!!

“ I hereby publicly propose that I be made some sort of official person in the P.P.S. My credentials outnumber the space on this page, but I assure you- besides for the fact that: I always loved peter pan, my psychology teacher in highschool diagnosed me with peter pan syndrome (the whole never going to grow up thing- at least in spirit) in his speech about me at graduation, I have actually read the REAL book by J.M. Barrie, I love every movie connected to the author and the subject, It’s listed in all my interests everywhere, and I even have Peter Pan PJ’s (!)….besides for that little window of a glimpse into my relationship with Peter…I just think that my existance wouldn’t be complete without me being officiated. PLEASE. I beg you, or I might grow up or something. (Nah…) ox what say you?!”

Laugh if you must, but Jackelyn saw the humor in this, and now I’m an officer of the Peter Pan Society facebook -so happy!– ok…yea internship isn’t too happening today, must admit.

Dark or Light

I must have passed about ten couples walking in a mere few minutes tonight, and something dawned on me.It was always the girl blabbing on and on, while the guy stared blankly ahead, or to the right, or at me (ha!) while the girl just went on and on about nothing. It cracked me up. Time and time again. Is this the way the entire female population is? I mean, I bet I do the same too, but come on! Poor guys need to sit and be in the same situation. If you guys think that you found a reallllly cool one- yeah- you’re wrong. All girls will talk your ears off, and if it’s one of those talkity talk nights- you might not even get the reward you’re looking for at the end. Because they’ll just be all tired and roll over and go to sleep. And then, the next day, when they start it all again– they’ll expect you to remember what color their best friend’s ex best friend’s bridal shower color scheme was. And you’ll be damned if you don’t remember that crucial tidbit of info from the long tale of unnecessary stupidity which they subjugated you to “that time.” Damn. Girls really do suck. Besides for Chloe. I bought a funky hat on the street today down by St. Marks, but I’m thinking it might be a big large, because many people at the Living Room tonight tried to do the whole ‘pat my head’ thing, and the poor new hat almost flew.I met some cool bar-tenders tonight too. I decided while Pete and J (who just keep kicking more ass) did their rounds I might as well not be the loner loser and make more friends. Scents was the overly dominating conversation subject tonight. That’s cuz Stella Tocca is now my new fave.    

Hyperballad

The first time I met you, all I met was the sound of your voice.Ironically, the source of our introduction was ‘the doc’, who at the time was the one I had my musician crush on. Although, when you’re studying abroad and everything is a million times more dramatic across the ocean, who really knows how strong the crush was.But it felt strong enough at that time so that when he presented me with a mix cd upon his visit, I was in heaven. Whatever the mix possessed, was about to be my idea of sheer bliss to my ears. And it was. And that’s how you began your infatuatuatory existance in my brain. Don’t get me wrong, it was not your song that I loved, it was your place in a setting which I loved. But that is how it all started.When I met you in person you were just a tall, hippy, messy-haired musician. Pathetic with your manager in the back of the room, waiting your turn to try and dazzle a crowd which was there for my boys, not even to hear you. But I must admit you displayed talent, and I even felt a nagging bit of anger when people spoke through your set. I introduced myself, and our virtual friendship grew on Myspace. Your manager and you would try and lure me out to your little shows. I played the flaky card for months and months. And one day I actually listened to what you had on your profile page, and fell hard&fast for one song. Little Demons. It was the tune that enticed me to actually show up to one show at Rockwood after your manager soothed my fear about getting carded and humiliated. You played the piano gloriously, and then.                                                                                                                         You had me infatuated.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      Enraptured.And I loved watching you sing.I can’t stand infatuation, because it took all your weakness as a musician striving for fans and buzz, and turned it to power over the silly girl I am. Causing me to babble and giggle and be desperate to see all your shows. And I did, didn’t I? I came out, said words of utter encouragement to you. Let you sweet-talk me, tell me I’m right, and tell me things you said were personal. You even promised me you’d never turn into one of them. One of those people who make it, and leave all their loyal friends in the dust, because their head gets too fucking huge.Your head has gotten too fucking huge. You have forgotten what this is about. The essence of your art has been tainted. I can’t deny my love for your music, and the beauty of your talent. But the part that matters has evaporated. The songs don’t move me the same way. And when you got on that plane to London, you distanced a sincere one. Just Don’t lose yourself completely. Because you really used to hate loneliness.

A story of tragedy. A story of Love.

I’m just thinking about when bad things happen, some things hit you harder than others. Threshold is so subjective. Yet, at some point in disaster, tragedy becomes objective.

I don’t know if this is one of those times. I don’t know, because the media seems to have overlooked the horror of the victims, and their ages, and their pools of blood.

They chose to discuss more about the coming elections, and which person running would be suitable for tragedy.

  So I don’t know where the line of demarkation falls between subjective and objective horror.  

When does something awful shake the core of the common man?

And when our core is shaken, and the pain numbs our body, and we finally cry.

Is it because we have lost what we love so deeply. Or.

Is it because we have lost to the hands of what we hate so deeply.

It is clear that hearts are broken.

But is it love, or hate which broke our heart?

Or both?

Tragedy

I need you right now.

It’s sick and twisted that something of such tremendous terror has to occur in order for me to feel the need.

But I need you right now.

And you’re out of reach.

I know it’s my own fault. My priorities are so shaken, and in the face of such a horror, I get a taste of haunting tragedy.

It’s fucked up how people can see so little value in human life that they can go in to a room of students and shoot.

How can they shoot such innocence? How can they kill with so much apathy?

What were those poor children thinking while they dropped to the sound of so many gunshots?

Where are they?

How can something like this happen?

You would have something to say about this. I know it.

You are a man of the world, but of the true world. The one of God’s world.

I need you right now, and I have caused you to drift.

Please come back to me. I will reach out.

But please take me.  

Pandora

Thank you for being my friend. Here in this lonely cubicle in the midst of people who are actually doing things. I get to delve deep into the world of self-introspection, prancing around the web in a sneaky way so that I don’t give my bored self away. It would interest some that the person who gets to take lunch before me has not taken lunch yet, and it is 2 o’clock.

Through the Cracks in my Foundation

I never had an easy time committing. And now, I can’t even committ to one blog.

But you could have helped me by not signing onto the list of people who I have felt betrayed by. You are a sleazy, self centered bitch. You never deserved my encouragement over your confidence in how you look, or what you will do with your life. Because it is now clear to me that you will fail. I know this sounds bitter, but it’s not. This is the real world, darling. And those who love you, and you say you love back. Those are the ones who should be the prime factors in your stupid decisions.

 Because then, maybe your decisions would not be so stupid.

Perfect Imperfections…

Kate Nash is currently rocking.Last night of highs and lows.Aviva climbed to new heights of bitchiness.Even Mom said so.And Mom doesn’t call anyone that word.She’s trying to get out of her side of the deal, by throwing two foreigners at me. And no I’m not racist, but come freakin’ on. Give me a break.But after rushing through the streets of NY screaming dirty things at her and bursting into tears,And after continuing to cry and subsequently calming down on the phone with Mom,I decided to shut that part of my brain off, and enjoy the night.And I did.Rockwood was warm and cozy as ever.As were the folks.And the music.Success on all fronts there.I even stopped in “the bean” and got one of those fresh out of the oven, just baked chocolate chip cookies, which was a little piece of heaven. And if I was not still in the process of calming down, I would have noticed how hot the guys were there.Ok, I did notice a little, but I did not take enough advantage.Heehee.So I actually got into a conversation about blogs, because I met this guy Rich, and he is a writer, and writers observe and know secret things about people that the people don’t even know themselves. And Rich observes, and knows that (or at least maintains that) people who write blogs, even just for an electronic journal, such as me, really want it to be read someday.Hmm…I don’t think so, but if that ever turned out to be true, then someone is reading this now. That thought makes me feel all dubious and fun. But no- really I think I’m too honest about people here. I’m like a gossip girl queen.Pete and J were fantastic yet again. They have never failed me. Besides for the “sex with no hands” slap-bracelet. There they still fail. But it’s all about the music, and that, my friends, is certainly happening in their department. The folks showed up both looking marvelous in hats, and cute as ever. Rich took to them, and this just was more added proof to the human beings that power couple is. They just click with people, make them feel great, and leave some feel-good-vibes when they walk away. Quite a feat.O…but about the blogs.Nicole, the cute little photographer girl with beautiful cat eyes, was there last night, and she blogs. But she writes in a cool way, and attaches photos which are links to things, and it’s all interesting. I looked at her xoxonico.com last night, and was kinda inspired.See the thing about Lucky’s rejection is that they are all soothed now. It is a good reason- he has a girl. And a really pretty one at that. So all is calm on that front. Matt was cute last night too. The folks realized that. They were talking to him for a while.He’s stamped now. Phew.Seems that whiskey does have positive effects on people. Keep it in mind. No, but I’m just going to stick to red wine. (ok, and a little whiskey here and there).I wonder if everyone feels weird when they realize that the singer on stage is climaxing right there in front of us. Sometimes I’m pretty sure everyone around me does feel weird. Actually, the other day I was on Pandora, here in the office and one of the songs was appealingly different, until the girl started incorporating orgasm sounds into her song.All I could think about was what the other people in this large office were thinking as the sounds drifted their way…Green tea is becoming one of those things I like.But for real.Last night one of the things Pete, Rich, and I discussed was the whole idea of health food v. pizza. I made a comment about pizza and how I really like it but don’t eat it. Then I followed up with a comment about health food and how I love it. Pete is of the opinion that secretly I still love crap food more. I truly believe I like the health food I’ve become accustomed to. Putting apples aside (cuz clearly that’s a bias situation based on the pleasure I get from it due to years of deprivation), green tea liking is another example of how I do really enjoy health food.So there.

PB&J

I hate the fact that I am constantly falling for musicians! I sound like a little foolish girl, which I am.Yesterday, the only way to describe the weather is glorious.Absolutely glorious.I knew it was going to be warm and sunny, but boy was I a happy person. I had a whole plan to go to classes, then the gym, and then walk alllll the way down to the lower east side for Pete and J at The Living RoomPlans change, see.Because after my third class I ran into Stephanie and she said that she and people were going to skip class and go to a fashion show.I was instantly inspired and ditched class to start a little stroll down to Union Square.So I was walking down Lexington with a bit of a bounce in my step because I was so happy, with my hair up in a crazy loose ponytail.And who do I run into?Tommy.But I mean literally- run into!I kinda was out of focus and caught completely off guard, and the scene that unfolded was totally meant to be scripted for one of those awkward scenes in a movie.Where the girl is so ga-ga over someone that she can’t even speak.Yeah. It was that funny.He looked really good too. I swear his eyes can peer straight into me. And they did, and they were checking me out, and all I could get out was;“It’s so beautiful out! I’m ditching class and walking to Union Square, wanna come?”Ouuuuch.So he responded, “Nice boots, nah I can’t I’m going home.”So I basically went on walking with a bounce in my foot, and my heart beating so fast, it might have been dangerous. Ha.During the next few blocks all I could think about is why the hell I would have put my hair up in a loose crazy ponytail. Silly me.When I got to Union Square I texted Tommy saying “wow sorry, was caught completely off good but you look amazing!” I got a text message back saying, “haha, you too!” This made me even more giddy, and I said something back about how he should really be outside. He then texted me “ur so skinny.” If fireworks can go off in someone’s brain from happiness, I’m pretty sure they did in mine. This freakin’ skinny gorgeous model boy is telling me I’m skinny.Yep, fireworks.He then invited me over. I told him that I wanted to be outside and walk around, but that I’d touch base with him later. He agreed with that idea. So I spent the next lovely few hours just walking around enjoying the day. People are so much nicer when it’s nice out too!I decided to go get my nails done at the $5 place, and I got “scarlet o’hara” as the red sparkly color. After which, I texted Tommy to tell him I’m back, and he never responded.His loss.I went to the gym for like three hours instead, which was amazing.After the gym, with even more of an adrenaline rush, I started walking down to the lower east side, and told Naomi Z. to meet me there, instead of me going to pick her up all the way down by the knitting factory. She was cool with that, and I walked happily down, in search of a bite to eat along the way. (Which I found at Atlas- a small but ever full of variety- health restaurant).The show was fabulous. Kevin didn’t turn out, which was fine, because it would have been weird with Matt and all the girls and Kevin. He’ll come next time.BUT…Musician Drama. Either he is a)gay b)in a relationship, or worst of all, c) not in the least bit interested in me.Roar.Pete and J are apparently playing today at the Red Lion, under the radar. They are playing with a band called Sex Without Hands. Which just cracked me up anyway. And J was wearing a slap-bracelet with their band name on it. Which I tried extremely hard to steal.Unsuccessful.He, apparently, has not received the memo about how I get what I want.So I walked with Naomi alllll the way back uptown.