| the tulips should be behind bars like dangerous animals. |
[entries|friends|calendar] |
|
|
full woman, fleshly apple, hot moon
|
|
|
| Goodbye, LJ |
[Monday, July 31st, 2006 @ 3:22pm] |
|
To my dear Livejournalers,
A momentous and tragic day is upon us.
After more than five (!) years of frolicking in Livejournal land, I have decided to abandon the long-trusted but somewhat stale format, and move up, up, and away.
This is partly due to the fact that I have become bored with the site, and partly (well, mostly) because most of the people who I cared about keeping up with via the blog format have either disappeared or slunk away to other sites. I never intended to keep an online journal that was read primarily by people I don’t know, and moreover, by anonymous people who read but never comment. I was never quite able to embrace the voyeuristic aspect that Livejournal encourages.
Love,
Hannah
|
|
| my cousin, the scholar. |
[Wednesday, July 26th, 2006 @ 12:21pm] |
|
12:15 PM Joe: Hey you
me: hey
Joe: I want to press you on the grad school thing
I've been thinking about it
12:16 PM me: i have too
and i would like to crawl into a tiny hole
and live on berries and books
Joe: That just means you're a normal person
|
|
|
[Tuesday, July 25th, 2006 @ 2:21pm] |
|
This morning at 8 am, I went to the gym to meet with a trainer.
…I will wait for your applause to subside.
Squeezed into my housemate’s size 6 tennis shoes and an unflattering combination of old pajama shorts and uncomfortably tight tank tops, I humbly made my way through the rows of gleaming machines bathed in eerie green lighting. Walking with my head bowed, I greeted the unexpectedly transgender receptionist and scurried in to meet Justine, who, although extremely friendly, could break me in half using only her willpower and right-hand pinky.
Having arrived expecting tutorials on machine use and exercise tips, I instead received the Royal Barnyard Treatment, in which I was prodded, poked, measured, and sized up with charts and frowns. I even had my posture analyzed. A few of the highlights:
1. “Okay, so, you see, you’re not obese… don’t be silly… if we just compare the numbers here… Oh. [long pause] Well, see, this is obese. Your number is just ‘poor.’”
2. J: “So, tell me about your athletic history.”
Me: “Yeah, see, here’s the thing… I don’t have any.”
J: “Um, what do you mean? I mean, like, sports played, previous gym experience, exercise routines…?”
Me: “Yeah. I don’t have any of that.”
J: (incredulous) “None?”
Me: (sheepishly) “I was a drama kid.”
3. J: “Alright, I’m going to just have you start on this machine for 10 minutes a day.”
Me: “Ok, sure. So what else should I be doing as part of the routine?”
J: “That’s it.”
[awkward silence]
J: “We can only go up from here!”
4. [looking at my ass] “Well, you’re lucky. You have both the ‘Va’ and the ‘Voom.’ So, that’s something.”
5. “Hannah, you have a little of what I like to call ‘Stripper Butt.’”
And an hour later, I was defeated and slinking back out the door to my $10 parking garage. The ‘good’ news in all of this, according to Justine, is that I will see results quickly if I am diligent about sticking to a routine. Rock bottom ostensibly has its benefits.
I would end this blog entry eloquently, but all I can keep thinking of is “I must, I must, I must increase my bust. It’s better, it’s better, it’s better for the sweater.”
|
|
|
[Friday, July 14th, 2006 @ 1:45pm] |
|
i really wish i could join the DC Gay Men's Chorus.
maybe i should sue for discrimination.
|
|
|
[Wednesday, July 5th, 2006 @ 1:17pm] |
highlight of the day thus far?
tripping on the carpeted staircase in my heels and falling down half a flight of stairs, amidst onlookers. my knees are skinned and bleeding, and my ankles bruised.
hurrah.
|
|
| blah |
[Wednesday, July 5th, 2006 @ 11:37am] |
|
My 4th of July was okay.
(Fireworks = amazing) + (Drunk/mean boyfriend = upsetting) / (Rain + Beer) = Okay.
In other news, I have signed up for Weight Watchers. Because it allows Taco Bell and chocolate. I think. If anyone has any experience with this, please advise.
I start GRE classes in a few days. Lactivorous. Ultrafidian. Eeep.
Work is boring. I am sleepy. My bank account has but a few measly dollars. No motivation to write. Whine whine whine.
Why are you reading this?
|
|
| arggg |
[Wednesday, June 28th, 2006 @ 9:11am] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 angry |
] |
How long will it be before I stop dreaming about smoking cigarettes!?
|
|
|
[Monday, June 26th, 2006 @ 9:05am] |
|
In the past five weeks, I have:
Graduated from college.
Been tried in court and acquitted.
Moved out of Charlottesville.
Celebrated a four-year anniversary.
Found a job and began working.
Found an apartment.
Moved into DC.
Now what?
P.S. My commute this morning took 25 minutes. Oh, happy day.
|
|
|
[Friday, June 23rd, 2006 @ 3:11pm] |
|
Apparently, I am moving into my new place in Columbia Heights tonight.
If you never hear from me again, please look for my body in a dumpster.
…..ha.
|
|
| Adoption Request |
[Thursday, June 22nd, 2006 @ 11:09am] |
I would like to put in a formal request to Mr. and Mrs. Foer:
Please adopt me.
I know what you’re thinking: “Oh, you young, misguided youth, we couldn’t possibly take another child into our household. It is far too late, and you, dear thing, are far too old.”
Well, I beg to differ.
Please, let me explain, O bestowers of sweet life. You, who have spawned not one, not two, but three strapping, brilliant men of the letter I beseech. Why welcome another into your soothing cradle of parental love? Let me enlighten.
- Although Jonathan, Joshua, and Frank are undeniably of the highest caliber that a human being could possibly hope to attain, all three of your darling offspring are severely and tragically lacking in one vital element: estrogen. That’s right; try as they might, all of the Pulitzers in the universe can not give you the joy of knowing that your grandchild floats in a uterine sea of guaranteed Foer quality.
- If you adopt me, I solemnly swear to stay in Washington, D.C. and care for you. I know how hard it must be, watching beloved Jonathan and now Joshua spread their proverbial wings of literary ambition and flutter to the Big Apple. Remaining in our nation’s capital is a sacrifice I am eager to make, if it means I may call myself a Foer. I can live with Frank, right?
- To put it simply: I will worship you. Much as the budding samurai apprentice must meticulously practice his craft, through torrential rain, bleeding palms, and wretched Uma Thurman imposters, so shall I train. Silently, obediently, I will study your every movement in hopes of someday achieving beyond what your sons have accomplished. You can mold me. Also, I can make you scrambled eggs.
- I can ride a unicycle.
I earnestly hope that you, dear Foers, will take my proposal into consideration. I can give you joy and fulfillment you have only dreamt of. Don’t forsake my request: together, we are invincible.
Can’t you see it already? You, me, John, Josh, Franky, sitting on plush couches next to a crackling winter fire, sipping merlot and playing Scrabble? “Lactivorous!” I’ll cry, “Ultrafidian!” you’ll retort. And we’ll laugh, and embrace.
And we will never die. Because we’ll be magic.
Consider it, Mr. and Mrs. Foer. I look forward to beginning our new life together.
Sincerely,
Hannah Foer-Rubenstein
|
|
|
[Friday, June 16th, 2006 @ 12:29pm] |
|
i am an idiot. one oxen = ox.
|
|
|
[Friday, June 16th, 2006 @ 10:08am] |
oh no! i lost one oxen and k. fed. drowned!
:(
|
|
|
[Friday, June 16th, 2006 @ 10:00am] |
|
scratch that last entry. i have figured out how to play "the oregon trail" while at work.
my life is now complete.
|
|
| musings from a bored worker |
[Thursday, June 15th, 2006 @ 3:11pm] |
|
So, for the past few days at work, my boss has been out of town on a business trip to Ohio. After orientation-related stuff, I was shown my office, and given random tasks by some other people in my department. I attended a few meetings, learned how to use the ludicrously complicated copier, filled out paperwork, and a few other menial tasks.
“Don’t worry about what to do right now,” they said, “Clayton is coming back on Thursday, and he will know what you should be doing.”
This morning, I arrive bright and early after my hour+ commute, sit at my computer, and receive an email that asks me to come by Clayton’s office so I can ostensibly be given some work. I go upstairs, say hello, and proceed to sit for an hour talking with him—he tells me all of the various projects I will be working on (some described as “horrible” and others “interesting”). After an hour or so, when my eyes begin to glaze and my mind wanders to the free Flavia coffee machine in the hallway, Clayton tells me,
“Well, one of the inexplicable phenomena of this office is that we always seem to hire people and then have nothing for them to do. Unless, of course, you want to organize “The Vault”…But I would just enjoy the time—you’ll be overwhelmingly busy soon enough.”
Obviously, I don’t want to organize “The Vault.” I don’t even know what it is. But I am not organizing it.
For those of you, dear readers, who see this as a golden opportunity to slack off and relax while getting paid, think again. Having literally nothing to do is probably a medieval form of torture. The victim is forced to sit at his or her desk, underneath glaring fluorescent light, staring at a computer screen. Distractions like email, MySpace, and Facebook can really only entertain even the most ardent user for an hour or so. After that, the eyelids begin to droop, vapid blogs of strangers are read, and a comatose trance state begins to engross the victim. The only desirable option, freedom, is denied, and one must watch the hours drag by, knowing that each passing minute adds exponential gridlock to the inevitable rush hour commute.
I left my desk for an hour, returned, and nobody knew. It has been over five hours since I have spoken with anyone in the office.
I suppose the idea of wishing for work to do sounds whiny and ridiculous, but let me assure you, it is not. Work equals distraction, if not downright entertainment at this point.
The only choice is to drink more coffee and email long-lost childhood crushes.
I beseech you, rescue me from the tedium of the nine-to-five.
|
|
|
[Thursday, June 1st, 2006 @ 12:28am] |
I got a job! At a real place! On the Georgetown waterfront! Where they give you health care plans and a 401(k)! Like an adult!
Somehow, I have managed to fool them.
In other news, I walked out of a job interview with a company that owns the circus because they asked me to sign disclaimers that I didn’t belong to any animal rights’ organizations—the HR woman informed me that they just wanted to make sure that the company’s employees had the same “ideology” as they. I didn’t realize violent abuse of animals was an ideology.
Also, go see Water.
|
|
|
[Wednesday, May 24th, 2006 @ 7:58am] |
I am sitting here amongst boxes, glaringly white walls, and clouds of dust, waiting to leave my apartment and return to a place and time I thought I had abandoned.
The past few days have been crazy. And busy. And wonderful and terrifying and shocking and comforting and overwhelming. And although I only have a few minutes, I want to record the memories for posterity.
Friday was spent lounging at sun-soaked vineyards, drinking wine under threatening skies, enjoying a delicious dinner at Más, and time with Noel.
On Saturday the family came down. We wandered around Grounds, ate at the Bistro, attended an awards ceremony in which Living Wage was granted the first ever Faculty Award for Student Social Responsibility, stopped by a garden party, and had an indescribably amazing dinner at Petit Pois.
Sunday, I graduated (surprisingly, with distinction!). It was a surreal but wonderful experience.
That night, the so-called Greatest Celebration of All Time occurred. I thought it was lovely. The highlight: teaching my father to play beer pong… and winning.
On Monday, I spent 5½ hours in court. Wende Marshall was convicted. Miraculously, we were acquitted. I will never forget the looks on the administrators’ faces.
Yesterday, I gathered up loose ends, met with a professor, packed and cleaned the apartment, and prepared to leave Charlottesville. And that brings us to today.
In a few minutes, I will drive to pick up the truck, pack, and leave. I could say more—so much more—about everything that has happened lately and where I am going… but I am not really prepared to, yet.
I guess what matters is I am ready.
|
|
| insomnia |
[Saturday, May 20th, 2006 @ 3:59am] |
some insomniac thoughts:
*why is the word "contraction" used to mean both the abbreviation of two words (such as can't or won't) and also labor pains?
*that part in labyrinth when sarah returns to what she thinks is her room, but then realizes is merely a replica in the trash heap. and she tears down the walls with her bare hands... that used to really freak me out.
*birds wake up really fucking early.
*so much of one's life is spent unconscious, both literally and figuratively.
*there's no business like show business like no business i know.
*flowers in the attic was a severely deranged novel, yet beloved by pre-teens everywhere. what does that say about universal incestual desire?
*i hate pantyhose.
i need to get some fucking sleep.
|
|
| jesus on the brain |
[Tuesday, May 9th, 2006 @ 4:23pm] |
My last college paper. Is. Finished.
Which is both terrifying and elating.
Now all I have is one presentation to go…
And I am done! Minus that pesky diploma.
If anyone wants to read about “Commodifying Spirituality: American Evangelicalism in the 21st Century,” I have 20 pages written about it, with fun sub-titles such as “A Faustian Cyber-Bargain,” “Jesus as a Commodity,” “God as a CEO: Spiritual Capitalism,” and “Meet Your Toughest Miracle Needs.” Clearly, I know WAY too much about tele-evangelists and Witness Wear now.
Lots of people want to Save me. One of them sent me a dollar.
Maybe I should let them.
|
|
| Here are some little-known & utterly inconsequential facts about myself. For nobody’s benefit. |
[Saturday, May 6th, 2006 @ 6:38pm] |
• I have to blow-dry my hair in the kitchen next to the toaster oven because it is the only electrical outlet in my apartment that doesn’t overload the circuit breaker.
• Every night it rains I sleep with the windows open, no matter how cold it is outside.
• When I was about eleven, my younger sister was reading the “Babysitter’s Club” series. I would taunt her about it, and then steal the books one by one and pretend to read them in order to mock her. I read the whole series, including the SuperSpecials.
• In the years that have passed since I was sixteen, I have been in relationships for six of the seven.
• Although I complain about it, I don’t think I am ever happier than when I am writing a paper.
• I spend about 95% of my days by myself.
• I was a gypsy hippie princess for Halloween the first six years of my life.
• I realized recently that I finally found my niche in college… one month before graduation.
• There has never been a time in my life that I haven’t hated my body.
• When I was young, I used to lie all the time.
• I have never played a sport, except for the summer after third grade when I was on the neighborhood pool’s dive team.
• Sometimes I think that I have no real friends.
• I will never live in the suburbs.
• Every night I take three pills—purple, blue, and white.
• I have nightmares almost every time I sleep.
Now it’s your turn.
|
|
| navigation |
| [ |
viewing |
| |
most recent entries |
] |
| [ |
go |
| |
earlier |
] |
|
|
|
|
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
astrobunny's journal