Orange county is like puberty.

Makes you feel weird and uncomfortable.

shedding tears for affairs in a man voice

Michael is teaching me how to play Tears for Affairs on the gee-tar right now. I think my fingers remember all the chords, but my brain doesn't! It's hard.

The other day I played a song for my nephew Vincent, aka Boots, who's visiting from Egypt.

Hey Boots we're going to the shore
don't forget to bring your door
we're gonna meet a fish named Bill
and his friend named Gill
you and me and your cousin named Phil (and then it just turns into the song from Thunder Ant)

boring to-do list from 2007 found inside book

March 12
1) buy groceries
2) MD car inspection
3) exchange shoes
4) work on design homework

I also found a 443 phone number that I used to hide from myself sometimes, both written on funny toilet paper stationary from Y Que?

Something did happen.

Spoiler alert! If you don't want to know what happens at the end of Anagrams, stop reading now.




















Gerard dies. And then you've forgotten that not only is Georgianne imaginary, but so is Eleanor, and Benna really is all alone. Sad.

Today was feeling guilty about waking up late in the fog, thinking and rethinking going to the Tin House workshop next month. I had almost made up my mind to not go. $1500 is a lot of money, especially for someone who doesn't have a job. But then I read those two definite words on my acceptance letter - no refunds - and that was that. With some help from my generous family, I will go to Portland and talk about writing poetry and I'll stay with Tali and her critters, and hopefully I can see Anita and Yael, too.

it's that hour

Time to see what Benna and Gerard are up to. Something, I hope. I'm not feelin' Anagrams as much as I was Self-Help and Birds of America.

still fog

Foggy mornings turn into foggy afternoon bike rides at the beach. It didn't keep the crowds away, though. Now I remember why I don't like to ride my bike there on the weekends. Too much people dodging. Hello, there is a lane for people who want to walk. So don't walk in the bike lane. Please!

The job hunt grows dire. I actually considered applying for a job in Baltimore. I was invited to come for an interview in DC last week, but turned it down after deciding I really don't want to live in that part of the country again. (Or do I? I don't know. But I know that Meg would never come visit me if I moved back.) But now I'm getting desperate! Will you see me mopping the floors at In N Out soon? Maybe. I wonder how many young writers are currently working on memoirs about how much debt they're in from getting MFAs and can't even find a job as an animal cage washer? That's not true. I still have not applied for the animal cage washer job at Hopkins, or the pot washer job at UCSB. What are my chances of getting one of these jobs?

"I was just looking for my contact lens! Haaa"

Foggy mornings have been making it harder to get up at a decent hour. Reminds me of when I was a summer camp counselor in PV, where mornings are foggiest, and a little third grader Olivia throwing her hands up and yelling, "IT'S JUNE GLOOM!"

Today I went swimming-I'm trying to build up my endurance so that when I go to another swim team workout with my sister, I don't die afterwards. A man in the jacuzzi near the main pool started serenading the other women in the jacuzzi, in Spanish. Then the lifeguard started harmonizing with him. I felt like I should've started doing some synchronized swim routine along with the song, like Miss Piggy in The Great Muppet Caper.



Seriously, why can't that whole sequence happen every time I jump into the water at the Y?? I would go every day.

Something on my bookshelf is rattling. Maybe it's another earthquake.