it's happening again.

it's the next chapter. the circle is folding. people are departing chicago. but this time, i'm staying put. i am losing my grip it took so long to attain. but i have bigger things, now. better stability. good job. good apartment, roommate. boyfriend. feeling of belonging. but still,  i will never forget my friends. the key ingredients that helped me re-find myself that summer of 2009. i love you more than you will ever realize. thank you for helping me be me. angel pelipada, i'm going to fucking goddamn miss you more than you will ever now. goddang silly half intoxicated non-stop tears and bff who make steak dinners and call me out. why does all that is good end. sad face.

infatuation intoxication (translation: writer's block).

it's 10:39 pm on my sunday, real time monday. all i want to do is write. or sleep. or distract my mind away from sunny beaches and crashing oceanic waves. but alas, i have this wonderful obstacle known as writer's block. i need an assignment. a nagging 'do this' something or another to pressure me into pummeling out a masterpiece. i've been wracking my brain for some sort of inspiration or real life tale to transcribe into my first masterpiece, but i don't think the things i've been circuiting with for the past few months would amount to anything more than two word mentally disabled nonsensical outbursts. 'CATMAGNET'. or maybe, 'CLOWNSHOW.' fuck, i can't think.

this year's been surreal. pretty awesome, though. but still, i sometimes catch myself waiting. things can't always continue to progress better and better, can they? is there going to be a secret catch? there usually 9 times out of 10 is one. and when i finally catch onto the snag, i realize that hook is going to cut a lot deeper than i ever would have imagined when i first tossed the lure. but instead of overworrying and being catlike cautious, i'm trying something new. i'm going with my gut, head and heart. (this typically works better than going solely with my vagina).

so far, so good.

i have a careeresque job. i live in a convenient and nice neighborhood with a decent apartment and roommate. my cat continously advances in her daily affections with me, today we crossed the line from hugs and kisses to her feebly, yet insisently making strides towards biting or batting my nipples. i'm in a pretty incredible relationship. just got back from a trip to mexico. saw, splashed and loved the salty, light waves in person for the first time in my 27 years. excessively indulged in never ending buffets and mexican beer and fruity cocktails. copped a tan. got sand in my ass. copped a bloody, fatlip. rode in a taxicab backwards down the world's steepest cliff mountain road. ordered a meal in spanish at a chili's in the guadalahara airport. una mesa para dos personas por favor?

my break was a good one. but still, the break after the break back in my own bed in my own apartment in my own city was the best part. relaxing, sleeping, snacking, and laughing. is romance the ultimate cockblocker for productive writing? it seems to be a double edged sword - love and romance. when you are swept up in its seductive whirlwind, your head is full of x's and o's, fantasies of last name swapping, rainbows and candy colored hearts - ultimately preventing any sort of rationality, let alone energies to dedicate to actually putting sentence A behind sentence B in a constructive manner.but then, after it all crumbles or comes to its ultimate demise, the sorrows and brokenness, the jadedness, the hurt and poison, it floods more quickly onto the scroll than the ink from the quill. so what happens when you find yourself dealing with tidbits of column A and column B? humility from your own naivety of former self destruction and the sense of being robbed. but then, a heavy, pounding, unavoidable intoxication from cupid's sweetest bow? i guess you are kept in check, kinda. but you still can't write for a damn.

growing up is hard. adults really need to take more vacations. longer vacations.

i'm starting to get sleepy. i am dreading returning to the madness of my office tomorrow morning, especially since i managed to lock myself out of my remote email account so i wasn't able to even take a sneak peek at the turmoils that await my return.

i realize it's been a while since i've mentioned anything of music as of late. tomorrow, (if i'm not dead as a doornail), i plan on checking out fujiya & miyagi at the mid. their newest album, ventriloquizzing, was hardly mind blowing (at least compared to their sophomore effort), but i've got a stack of free tickets and a handful of lovely ladies interested in being my date(s), so i'm gonna do my best to make it happen. doubt i'll have the energy for a review, but SIMS is playing schuba's on 3/27, and if he brings even an iota of a fraction of what he brought at the fine line in mpls last month, shit will be dope as hell. then, tv on the radio will be at metro in april, and i just received three 3-day passes for pitchfork. who's to be my date is to be determined at this point (until a certain someone requests off from work, that is). but i must admit, reading all of the blogs and twitter feeds re: sxsw this past week made a small pocket in my gut weep. i missed a kanye/jay-z collaboration. doomtree was there. the strokes. but whatever, even after my OD of pina coladas and warm bottles of dos equis, i would never trade the 4 days i had on the beach with my boo for any orgy of over hyped chillwave buzz acts and tangles of american apparel accessories. (although the shiner bocks would have slid down my throat a tinnnny bit easier).

rambleocity.com.

that's where i'm at. hopefully this week won't be too brutal. in addition to my new responsibilities with CHIRP in the promotions department, ima try to collect some organized thoughts into constructing some readable words for this here lil blog.

til then, ima drool all over this cathairy pillow and dream of Chewy, el triste hombre de puerto vallarta and his poor lost hermano.

mylifeisarunonsentence. (or a prolonged indian chant).

funny how long it can take for things to progress. seemingly stewing in a relentless rutting slump. when in reality, things are transitioning behind the scenes more quickly than you could ever begin to fathom. chapters progressing. pages flipping. next thing you know, it's years later. acquaintences forgotten. next steps and stories only half written, crumpled in a ball, stuck between the sticky dirty bedroom wall and plastic garbage can.

today i thought about friends forgotten. realized some good quality people in my life are no longer in it. i remembered one of my best girlfriends in college, who now has two children that i have never even met. i couldn't even tell you their names or how old they are. i thought of friends i spent the past two summers with, who have all gone one way or another, traveling or relationships or just outgrown chicago, the city i've grown to know and love. on the dreary rainy friday this week past, i rode the brown line to irving park from downtown. remembering my 4 year former daily commute, and how i had memorized each stop. the nostalgic feeling of routine. standing against the filthy metallic pole, gripping more tightly than i need to, (as per my usual uptight self), it hit me that it has been ten years since highschool graduation. five since college.

where had everyone gone? my distant twisted family? forgotten childhood neverquite friends and classmates? batting my sleepy eyelashes and keeping my angry 'im-on-public-transportation-perma-bitch-scowl-dont-bug-me-you-creepy-homeless-man-frown', it suddenly hit me that i wasn't really sure where i went either. what happened to me. when did i ever decide what to be when i grew up? am i grown up? it's been ten years. i'm sure as hell not in argyle anymore. yet, here i am. living life day by day, growing past each obstacle and hurdle, making the most out of what i can.

not doing such a bad job, either. but still. who the hell woulda ever thought id be who i grew up to be. or live where i now live, with who i live with. be friends the people i've met. i have no regrets. although i'd be lying if i said i wouldn't do things differently on an impulse. if i had the option and put thought into it, i dont think i'd make (m)any changes, but if it was on impulse, i know i would. i can be a bit of a hostile firecracker at times. especially if you fuck with my shit. i'm a lioness and shit. leave my cubs the fuck alone. but as much sense as i don't make right now, i have this gut feeling shit is working out the way its supposed to.

i was watching my so called life tonight. and the concluding scene was the episode where angela ditches on her mom's mother/daughter fashion show so her little sister can have the chance to work the runway. the song they play at the uplifting heartwarming life lesson narration is none other than enigma's 'return to innocence.' this pure moods shit took me back to fifth grade. when i shamelessly rocked the ugly big glasses/wet tangly curly mullet look. and sang indian chants in my bedroom. and the lion king was by far, my favorite movie.

this made me proud that i now am the person i was then. and still am. i may no longer croak indian chants in my bedroom and would never willingly grow another mullet, but was i just crooning whitney houston's 'i will always love you' in my bathroom while flossing my teeth sporting a wicked foul high pony? yes. have i listened to the bodyguard soundtrack in the last 13 years? no. am i a weirdo? thank goodness, i reckon so.

so this prolonged tangent ramble about absolutely nothing is this and this only. i miss yesterday. and the day before that. but i think more than that, i just am having a hard time waiting for tomorrow. because goddamn it, i'm ready for that next novel to fucking take hold and remove itself from that wilting shoebox that rotted underneath my childhood bed.

.(to next chapters and new beginnings).

david lynch is my lifeline.

the other nite when i was at chirp getting ready for my marathon friday shift last week, the dude before me was rocking some surfer blood, track 'twin peaks.' i have the surfer blood album and was always kinda on the 'eh, they're pretty decent but nothing mindblowing' sorta fence with these hyped dudes, but for obvious reasons, was always much more apt to play this particular number vs any other. (completely 150% based on title track alone). and while i didn't rock any surfer blood myself that set, i did drift toward's beach house's 'silver soul,' in which the enchanting miss victoria legrand ghostly croons, 'it's happening again, oh-oh-ohh, it is happening aga-ah-eh-ah-eh-a-ennnnnnn,' taking me back to my most beloved gentle giant in the black lodge.

it was a sign. a sign that as each chapter evolves in my life, i need to turn to my homeboy david lynch. he first was my depressing solace from a pretty major break-up. then, he was my first professional job distraction pride and joy distraction. then, suddenly twin peaks turned into the soundtrack/back-up of my 'imboredandneedsomethingtotalkabout' existence.

but no matter what, i can't tire. no memories of tp cohorts or situations can spoil my love for special agent cooper or his lameass witicisms. i will never forget my head scratching flabbergast of the moment josie turned into a drawer doorknob. or the fucking jaw dropping amazement of the show finale as coop turns to the dark side of bob and all that is evil of the black lodge. i can shrug off the ridiculousness of nadine and her roided out sick excuse of a plot twist high school love affair. even norma's dumb husband and leo coke trafficing whateverness. but leland palmer's geek out? the man from another place's ritual boogy moves? that creepy fucking dumb opening sequence number of synthed out chimework? omg, i need you back in my life pleez.

if only to visit me. i found this on my own. i loved this on my own. i pushed it onto others, and regardless of their love/disdain, twin peaks still belongs to me. and mr. lynch, i see absolutely zero reason why a happy girl can't get sucked back into your finicky fables.

josie, i'm sorry you got twisted into wood homegirl, but my ladylove margaret is calling me back. time for some fucking tar gum, bitches.

reason 5,999 why the go! team is the best ever.

my gay former step dad (the monster).

my mom called me the other day. 'so it's official,' she sighed, taking a drag on her cigarette.

'what's official?' confused, my mom has a tendency to lean towards drama.

'him. he's got a boyfriend now. it's all over facebook.'

my mom, trying to be strong and remain cool, unaffected. here's a woman pushing 60 who doesn't even know how to leave a voicemail message on her answering machine, let alone use a computer or navigate a facebook page. and despite the difficult past year and a half that she has led, she's still standing on her own two feet. single for the first time in 21 years. completely independent and not having anyone else relying on her for the first time in 42 years - no children or partner needing her financial and emotional support to get by day to day. no pets.

both my brother and i grew up without fathers. neither of us have ever met our biological fathers, and neither of us ever considered any of my mother's suitors a worthy replacement enough to refer to some man as 'dad.' i guess i had a closer excuse to that of a father figure than my older brother did, mom having been with this particular man for 21 years. age 7 to adulthood. but that monster was never my dad. i guess in college it got easier describing him as my 'step-dad' to people who didn't know him personally vs. 'my mom's fuckhead asshole live-in boyfriend.'

i never liked him. maybe it was the time he chucked a bag of m&m's at my leg, splitting the candied pieces and bruising my thigh and calling me an 'impatient fucking little bitch' when i was 7 and asked for a snack.

maybe it was how he encouraged my mom to have 'just one more' drink. or maybe it was how he called me a 'worthless fucking cunt bitch' on my 16th birthday after i failed my driver's exam. it could have been the time he threw me down on the floor and chased me with a chair, threatening to slam it in my face when i neglected to take my laundry upstairs in a timely fashion. oh, or the thanksgiving i surprised my mom with a visit from college and he locked me outside in the below zero temperature without a jacket. that was a good time. or the time i came home seeking comfort after an instance of sexual abuse and he told me to 'quit being such a selfish cunt' because i was upset that he and my mom went out bingedrinking instead of my mom spending the day with me.

he had a temper problem. always so angry. so fucking out of control. he would break things. slam cabinets until they fell off their hinges. shatter glass windows. scream and scream and scream. yell so hard he would foam at the mouth and spit in your space. break everything. i finally hardened up around high school and would never sleep without a secret knife tucked under my mattress in my bedroom. i dont' know if my mom ever knew about that. but i had to watch my back. and phones. i would never leave my room int he midst of one of his fits unless i had a cordless phone with me, with the '9' and the '1' entered, thumbing the second '1'.

he tried so hard to get me to call him dad. my mom would try to guilt me into sending him fathers day cards, which i never did. even at age 7/8, i was so puzzled by my mom. why did she choose him? why, when he would say these incredibly offensive slurs to me, would she stand beside him? wasn't i her baby? wasn't i good enough for her love? how could she be with someone who called her little girl a cunt?

i'll never know the answer to these questions. but being an adult now, and having found myself in some less than ideal relationships, i guess i can empathize with how love can make you blind. maybe. but still.

that never changed my love for my mother. despite her poor taste in men, she was still all i had. i was lucky enough to have one incredible older brother who would step in when necessary and play the parental role. buy me christmas/birthday presents. tell me he loved me. congratulate me on good report cards and cheer me on at my track meets, school plays. when mom would be drunk/passed out. when her partner would encourage her alcohol/drug abuse.

the fucker crossed the line. anyone who knows me personally knows the jist of what went down. asshole had a temper tantrum at his work. lost his job. mooched off my mothers' $12/hour temp work salary. maxxed out credit cards to pay the mortgage. lost their house. started hanging with some young boys. got beat up (multiple times). got arrested for drug possession. beat up the young boys. got arrested again. beat my mother up. got arrested again. turned her world upside down. got arrested again.

she's been on her own without him in her new house since december, while they've been split up really for over a year.

apparently he got a facebook page. you can look him up, brent duckwitz, a real winner. with his meth face and yellow teeth. he's in a domestic partnership. and is interested in men.

so i guess my former-abusive-step-dad-but-not-really is gay. my mother's ultimate humiliation. he's slurring her name all over facebook. referring to her as a drunk and 'crusty.' if i ever see this man in person ever again, EVER. i don't think i'll be able to hold back my claws. that knife that was stashed under my mattress however many years ago, he's somehow managed to get his hands on and delve into my mother's pride and being. it makes sense, i suppose, where all of his unnecessary anger was stemming from. from this denial to admit who he really was his entire life. he was married for years before my mother too.

i hate him. so much. my mom is better off now. she might be lonely for a while. and embarassed. and sad. but at least now she is safe. and her eyes have opened up. but i have to say, when she started choking her sobs and muffled over the phone, 'jodi you were right all along, i should have listened to you from day one. . .' it wasn't the 'i told you so' gratification i had so yearned for in high school.

fucking facebook. fucking assholes. fucking life. just let my mom be.

i can't remain angry forever. but still. god. damn.

it's not going to stop. until you wise up.

tonight i stood in the rain for what felt like an eternity. but it wasn't. in actuality, it was probably more like 28 minutes. the bus tracker currently stuck on '2 minutes' or 'arriving now,' whereas it must have been the ghostbus from ghost world because that shit never came. i was in a really strange mood. not gloomy. not sad. in fact, if anything, i've been on a really great path lately. seeing things for what they are. phases in my life leading in more appropriate directions. more positivity. sans manipulating mind games. you know. wake up call. and it turns out it's pretty nice to be awake.

but seeing the rain. it wasn't cold. it wasn't warm. it was steady, quiet, and real. the white flashes of sky lightning, without any jagged bolts. just flashes of white, illuminating the dark sky. the wetness reflecting the christmas hues of red and green from the stoplights onto the surface of slick ashland avenue. the desolate streets without their typical traffic. the wetness in the air. my glasses smeared, and foggy from the rain. still i stood alone in the bus stop, waiting, patiently for once if you can believe it, for the forever delayed number nine.

after my recent download music kick, you'd think i'd be in paradise with my ipod. pop in some old animal collective, some gritass tyler the creator, pepped up go! team or fuck, even that new guilty pleasure lady gaga single. but nah. instead my thoughts turned to the apathy and numb void of yesterday and i hypnotially rolled that wheel up to my a's where i landed on aimee mann. the magnolia soundtrack. this film. this soundtrack. so fucking heavy. yet, these songs of hers strike and affect me unlike any other female songbird. i never really had any personal memories or instances that these would allude to, nor do they remind me of anything in particular. but recently, on that goddamn busride through the snowtacular of northern wisconsi last weekend, i had some time for massive overdue personal reflection. these songs played on shuffle.

wise up. it's a message. to all of those in need of a new personal path. i guess this was me, a month or so back. stuck on this circular path of self destruction, intentional or not. knowing i needed to 'wise up' and face the music. the future. and step into a new pattern. which i did. and now in retrospect, i realize it wasn't just me who needed this education, this straightening up. it's so fucking cliche and lame, i know this. but come on. it's not going to stop until you fucking grow up. and if you don't take chances, you're doomed to lead a very miserable existence. after about 7 consecutive listens to this track, i yearned for yesteryear. the days of argyle, wisconsin. where it would rain and rain and rain and rain. and i would sit on that damned stoop on 503 north state street. and maniacally run into the bare streets and scream. throw my body down the hill into the park across the way. get sopping wet. dirty. and just lose myself.

i really wanted to run into the streets of chicago tonight. not to get hit or anything, there were barely any cars present. but just to lose that grasp of reality, the struggle of balancing pain and pleasure. of knowing what's right and wrong. of having to feel. i just wanted that release. and to just escape the world. even for five seconds. but the flash of lightning brought me back. and the song eventually changed onto 'save me' which then brought me to the present day. of how i am where i am now - emotionally, professionally, physically. i'm in a very good place. it's not always simple every step of the way, but for the first time in my adult existence, i feel confident and assured that things are as they should be. i smile more than not. i'm comfortable. i look forward to tomorrow. even when stress is running rampant, i know that everything is going to work out. i've found my strength. that slap in the face that i neeed for so long finally came, and now my eyes are wide open.

i have finally allowed myself the privilege of happiness. but i still sit here in my bed, curled up with my cat in my feet, holey flannel cocooning my body, wishing that things hadn't evolved in the ways they have. people have been hurt in my life recently and i almost feel guilty or ashamed that i'm doing so well. my mother has called me a few times in the recent days and i wish there was something i could do for her. my friends have undergone some shitty personal times and i feel bad that work makes me so exhausted that i'm unavailable for friend/shoulder to cry on movie nights. i feel bad for things out of my grasp and control. is this the control freak in me? perhaps. i would be lying if i said there wasn't a tiny part of me that wasn't still angry. angry with the world. with individuals. with circumstances out of my reach. angry that i'm angry. but as each day passes, i begin tofeel a stronger wave of calm. i'm ok with things. i'm allowing myself this rite of happiness. taking the path that feels right.

in 2.5 weeks i'm going on vacation with someone that makes me fucking happy. typically i wouldn't splurge on last minute impulsive trips to mexico, but what the hell. after the year i've had, i fucking deserve it. i think it's karma, or something. i was blinded for so long, that i finally wised up. took care of myself. got my life back to pieces. and now it's time for me to reap the rewards.

i guess, what i'm getting at is that it's not too late. after my own personal do-over, i realized there's still opportunities. for second chances and new beginnings. just know, it won't stop. until you make a change.

which is precisely why i did not run into the rainy streets this evening. but instead, bit my tongue, and eventually changed my iPod to the new radiohead album instead.

dizzy spells of musical infatuation.

animal collective pretty much blew my mind 2 years ago. merriweather post pavillion nabbed my top pick of 09 records, and i'll admit i never really paid much attention to back homework for past releases. nor did i focus on solo albums. but the minute i popped in panda bear's latest single off his upcoming release 'tomboy' at chirp last friday, i've been screwed. noah lennox's swimmy, disoriented ambient dizziness is a spell i can't shake. 'last night at the jetty' is one of several hot jams with the jodester right now. even though the girl with green hair who lives above me is having some rough sounding sex right now, i don't care. not even slightly annoyed. because this ditty is on and it makes me want to swim in the dirty rain heavy streets of chicago. just chill. cannot wait for this record. if you wanna stream it, its at p4k. if you wanna trust my indiesnob judgement, i've attached a legal free download link for you here.

sometimes?

sometimes i run, sometimes i hide. sometimes i put awesome bitchin' heart signs high above my head. sometimes i deserve assholes to pollute my aura. other times i deserve total awesomeness to unsuspectedly infest my life.

right now i just feel like a choad. britney spears suxxxx. but this song reminds me of highschool. and sometimes, baby all i need is time. other times i just need a dreamy beach brah to toss a football alongside me on the beach.

right now i just need a vacation.

thankgodforawesomeboyfriendsandpuertovallarta.

a dedication.

when i was 14, i had it in for this dude. it was some total romeo and juliet kinda ish. he was the 'wrong side of the traxxx' sorta dude. i was the 'not really white trash but sorta' kinda tween.i wore long skirt dresses and had bushy eyebrows. outgrew my deliah's dark blue goth lipstick phase but hadn't quite adjusted to the contact lens kinda spurt. pretended to almost wanna skateboard. not quite hick-punk, almost there.

i remember buying third eye blind's 'semi-charmed life' single on cd. it came in an orangey yellow kind of cardboard sleeve with a cheap black plastic pull-out disc holder. they bleeped out the part about doing 'crystal meth until you break' verse. that was funny, because landis and i  totally knew what they said. we were hardcore like that. stephen jenkins was sort of my dreamboat. (funny, how this preceded my mark hoppus infatuation period but stemmed after my post antonio sabato jr. phase).

i remember this dude i really dug when i was 14. my first real date. or series, really. he's a solid dude. i still talk/know him to this day, although regrettably i haven't spent much time with him or talked to him as much as i should. we lead different lives. followed different paths. perhaps i knew this was our route back then when we first met, but somehow some odd 14 years later we still know one another, and i sincerely wish him the best. but yeah, damn. time passes. and quickly. i met him at a  classmate/friend's wedding thing, at least that's what i think it was. we talked until 5 am, which is a long fucking time for a freshman in highschool. it was in monroe, wisconsin, at some ghetto ass townie motel.

i don't remember much except for innocent punching and sorta not really smack talk flirting. we eventually had a secret makeout session under some baseball field bleachers about a year later when i was a whopping 15 (learned how to pluck my eyebrows, but still into blink 182). it was secret, though. for whatever reason. all i can remember is something about a camoflauge mini dress, ugly yellow platform boots, a bad movie at the goetz theater, and throwing my icecream cone on the ground. even then, i was smooth. mad moves, sweetie.

the next few years were a bit tumultuous. if that's a word. he was the first dude that bit me by the love bug. a lot has gone down since that day. but i remember between the icecream throwdown and the baseball dugout makeout sesh, (still bushy eyebrowed jodi), listening to this song after i purchased the 3eb cd and watching the vid relgiously on 120 minutes, thinking bout this dude. cursing myself, 'HOWS IT GONNA BE'  and just wanting, waiting, watching to run into him to silently mouth the lyrics, whether it be the mcdonalds drive-in in monroe, walmart, or his cousins trailer park.

here i am, 15 years later. and still applying this song to past dudes. the thing is, they don't deserve the right to this teenage angst. if i were to pick one guy to prove my dedicated angst to, with my bleach blonde back up bassist and bald sweet sungalsses bro to jam to, no dude i've known since i was 19 deserves this credit. i kinda wanna mouth to every ex homeboy "hows it gonna be, when you dont knoooow me, ' but i know it already. its gonna be you snooze you lose whatever dawg. whereas, to my 14 year old boo, i still think of you dude. you have a wife and child, and i am eternally grateful that you finally found happiness. like, legitamatly, cuz let's be real, we were'nt supposed to be. even in 9th grade.

but i am happy i got to experience raw emotion at14-15. and here i am, 28, and still reflecting fondly, to 3rd eye blind's hows it gonna be. no anger, resentment, bitterness, exactly how it should be.

to all yall post dudes, sorry, but even though itd be righteous to dedicate this noise yer way, you dont ruffle my feathers enough. you dont deserve my stephen jenkins blue eyed noise. i will only stalk junior high ex-boo's elevators with my 1990s alternative backup band.