Sun, 09 Oct 2005 22:47:33 GMT

in the library (as usual). my eyes burn.

i'm nineteen today. nothing's really different.

Sat, 20 Aug 2005 07:24:50 GMT

Q. Strolling around the Reed College campus last spring, religion major Avigail Hurvitz-Prinz spotted a freshman perched in the branches of a pine tree, sniffing the needles. "Is that a Jeffrey or a ponderosa?" Hurvitz-Prinz heard herself inquire, knowing that the distinctive odor of each species would certainly reveal its identity. Then she did a double take, asking herself, "What kind of goofy kids stand around smelling trees?"

A. Those would be Reedies

Thu, 05 May 2005 10:21:03 GMT

just thought i'd say "hey".

wow, this is crazy

Tue, 22 Feb 2005 06:41:23 GMT

~lovecliche~

LJ friendsCollage.

Brought to you by pratibha75 and teemus.

and i like how the flashy mexican icon is next to diva's.

Tue, 23 Mar 2004 06:01:14 GMT

haven't had much time to update. here are some pictures of what I've been up to in the past two weeks or whatever..

(why I'm a hippie)

my new friend jenny from porter.

he got mad when I said I was seventeen.

my new friend James. We danced a lot.

this guy looked like Anderson . Not as much in the picture, though.

girls gone wild. Literally.

again.

my biographer.

the girl in the white dress gave me alcohol and got my phone number. Yeah.

my new friends.

we sang together. Long story that must be told in person.

Karen O. ah.

Dustin!!

mayburn!!

I snubbed jenny lewis. I felt bad.

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

this guy was incoherent and on heroin. It was sad. Then I flirted with him because I was really drunk and diva had to pull me away. She's a good mom.

he changed my life. Long story. But he gave me a bottle of merlot, too. It's behind me now. I'm going to drink it soon.

?because I stopped wearing undergarments.

boppy.

<333

do I look like this in real life?

my eye.

Yeah, my life isn't interesting. Bye.

Tue, 02 Mar 2004 04:34:52 GMT

A TRUE STORY!

Berri's pizza: bearer of guilt-free, thin crust, melt in your mouth, tickle your tongue delectables by day, lascivious Middle Easterners' favor laden speakeasy by night. It was 2 am and I was counting the pixels on my computer monitor when Marissa called me!!! (*celestial choir music, skies opening to reveal holy sunshine peeking through*) I happened to be gussied up with nowhere to go so you can imagine by thorough gratitude and enthusiasm when Marissa suggested we get tea. We were going to resign to the usual morning hour 'scene' found at Mel's or Swingers or other worn out havens of the sort when, beneath the playful smirk of the mischief-making cosmos, we found ourselves behind a "Berri's" delivery car. After nodding our mutual understanding, we headed onto 3rd street and sought a meter. The lack of parking should have signaled that this would be no quiet, dimly lit, hushed conversation with tea. We should have been tipped off by the bass reverberating from the restaurant into the concrete sidewalk and tickling the bottoms of our feet in its vibrating ascent up our bodies. Although there seemed to be a wait we were waved right in (because Marissa looked HOT in her 'Full House' era black lace Betsey Johnson "wear me with your old doc martens and a confetti barrette" dress and her Russian hat-ultimately a magnet for leering men posing the timeless classic, "Are you Russian?" Of course, despite the ceaseless recurrence of the question, Marissa maintained a friendly smile and a sincere "yes" for all the brave, original souls who dared ask.)

Okay, I'll skip the lust-filled, mid-life crisis-ing eyes that bore into us for the majority of the night. On second thought, Marissa's Jesse Jackson/Little Richard "I'll cook you breakfast" sugar daddy-hopeful is worth mentioning. Also, I think I have burn marks from where this one guys eyes bore into me for an HOUR in the hopes that my "No, thank you," would magically turn into a "Yes! Oh God, YES! PLEASE! YES!" At one point, the two men, who were sitting next to each other, tried asking for our phone numbers again at the exact same time, so that we looked like a table of two flustered bobble-heads, each shaking our respective 'no's.

At our table, we were conveniently trapped in the corner of the restaurant between the two adjacent tables with no means of escaping the slimy and simpering entreaties of our sweaty and unrelenting admirers. (One after the other, I swear it) And then, Basil came.

He was clean but boyish, jarring his spiffy cream suit with an American flag baseball cap. His words were a textured cultural putty-a sticky and sophisticated hybrid of Italian and English accents. As he walked to our table, his eyes said it before his mouth did. He was in love with Marissa. Truly, deeply, knocked upside the head with love. Like the others, he pressed his lips against her ear. However, he made no presumptuous demands. He left no trail of slime. He just insisted she was The One. That he would give her anything in the world. That the chemicals in his body and heart drew him to her and told him so. That she was the one-yes, her to a tee?tea? "T"?-was the one he had been dreaming of since childhood. He stroked her head, her hands, worshipping her, without dignity or inhibition, his piercing professions breaking through the frantic and jolly bustle of the restaurant. Marissa was perfectly polite, humoring his loving anguish with impartial but courteous "thank you's".
"I am in love with you," he groaned continually. He drenched her in every imploring adulation as she grinned uncomfortably beneath the shower of his pleading worship.
"Your hands," he cried, softly taking one in his own, clutching it to his cheek with an adoring mix of pain and relief. "I love them, they are the hands of my dream, the girl of my dreams. I want to sleep on them. Oh my God," rubbing it to his cheek, "OH MY GOD these hands!!"
Or, "I want to give you everything in the world. I want to lie at your feet. You are the one. I love you. I'm not lying. I love you." And I don't think he was. He was willing to ignore the imaginary boyfriend Kevin, and the very un-made up fact that she was seventeen. Much of the begging and the gushing was directed toward me, about Marissa, as if he were asking my permission for her hand. I tried to be sensitive and helpful, but the risk that I would spit my orange juice into his face from laughing so hard kept me a bit more of a listening spectator than a hustling yenta.
He begged me to give him her number, which she kept from him oh-so-admirably. The screen name compromise we came up with nearly made his broken heart spill out of his brimming eyes. He was unafraid to beg. He was willing to shed all pride, all reserve, all man-balls, to keep her in his heart's reach.
"But I love my boyfriend," she'd say.
"For now-but don't worry, what I feel is forever," he'd reply.
"But I'm seventeen," she'd say.
"I don't want to have sex with you. I want to KNOW you. I want to know ALL of you. I want to know your soul, YOUR SOOOOUL!" he'd cry.
Every word she said made him fall harder, deeper.
"What is your passion?" he asked.
"Er-music?"
"WOOOOOOOOW," he gaped. "I love this girl!"
Marissa could do no wrong. And if loving her was wrong, he didn't wanna be right. (Al Green fah life!)

Poor Basil. He longed for her so openly, so honestly. I believe the guy. I believe he thought she was the one. For all his desperation, there was a persistent sincerity. It was the way he would periodically fall silent and shrug blissfully at her. It was the way he would squeeze her hat. It was the way he cried "I LOVE YOU" after comparing arm hair with her. It was the way he "honked" her nose. But how is that fair to poor Basil? Basil, who is destined to keep Marissa Schneiderman stored in a secret and sacred place, always and forever, as the one that got away.

Wed, 18 Feb 2004 08:16:15 GMT

I'm not logging IPs, so do it!

Mon, 02 Feb 2004 08:02:24 GMT

(note the white stripes pin above)

I danced with this guy! He was awesome!

To sum it up, some brief cliff notes of the night if you will?
I talked to Elijah Wood (so hot!) for 15 minutes. He found me charming, but I was very drunk, so then again I could be wrong..(but I was told that he thought that?uhhh). "Before party" before Metric and "after party" after Metric. Barely being able to stand up during Metric. Dancing for Lily, Marty, Diva, Mihal, etc. Going to Bliss, (Marissa +4, but I only brought 3.) Got more drunk and danced with old men. Oh man, it was awesome. Going to the after Bliss party on Melrose but leaving cuz it sucked. Eating Mr. Pizza. Back to Marty's. Home. Super Bowl party at Three of Clubs. Diva's surprise tea party at my house. Fin. (As usual.)

the hat above is a gift from my dad.

hello./

wow, this is crazy

~lovecliche~