flo kennedy

i saw this on karaj today:

HER SHIRT IS: AMAZING.

why can’t i touch it

it’s all over! all the big events! today’s my first day off in at least 1.5 months! it’s the best!

two hundred things:

1. i was working with crush #1 a lot this week, and he rolled his eyes at me twice, and the second time, i was like, “hey! don’t roll your eyes at me! i think that’s kind of the rudest thing you can do to someone.” and he was like, “no, there are ruder things.” which made me laugh. but i was like, “well…i STILL think it’s rude.” and he was like, “don’t you find it endearing?” which also made me laugh. but mostly i still think it’s  rude.

2. on saturday night, i actually fast couple-danced with crush #1. i’ve never had this kind of crush where it’s like…entirely pleasurable, and not really heartachey. unless he’s rolling his eyes at me. that is a bit of a heartache.

3. crush #2! oh lord no. he’s called me or texted me every day since he’s moved to austin, but STILL freaks out if i’m enthusiastic in a text message. (see below.)

so yah, maybe i’m too enthusiastic. all those capital YESes. DUMB. but…like…isn’t he the one calling and texting me? inviting me to have coffees in austin? it’s very hard for me to gauge. and it bums me out. because i’m an enthusiastic person. and tamping it down is so crummy. but maybe i have to. or alternately, move him to the trash.

CRUSH #2! I’M ABOUT TO MAYBE MOVE YOU TO THE TRASH!

4. the DJ played this buzzcocks song on saturday night and i felt like it was the first time i’d ever heard it.

late night musings

i have no natural talent except good cheer and willingness to try hard. so when i do something and don’t initially do an amazing job, it is sort of natural. because what i’m good at is not first tries. i am good at second and third and fourth tries. but first tries are not my specialty.

speaking tambourine

from chris adrian’s new story in the new yorker:

At first, it seemed no one had noticed that she’d missed a beat [on her tambourine]—Chris was the only one who usually cared, anyway—until Peabo did the same thing, just one beat off, but didn’t look at her. He did it again: another missed beat.

She missed one back, and then threw in an extra one at the end of the next verse, and then for the rest of the song they were trading omissions and additions, having a conversation above and below and around the song that no one else, not even the snarky voice in her, could understand, and it occurred to her, just before the song ended, that they were speaking tambourine.