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01:57 - Saturday, Dec. 13, 2003
...
�we have to get out of the street,� i whisper. �we�re in the middle of the street kissing and it�s cold...�

22:09 - Wednesday, Dec. 10, 2003
boom
sitting on my couch with lara at 11:30 p.m. stonedly watching blurry porn on some unknown channel because it was the best thing on... i jumped up and yelled 'i know what i'm gonna do... i'm gonna write porn soundtracks!'
after that, we put a cheesy old movie on mute and watched it with radiohead's ok computer playing as its sound. blue midgets, blond cults, the rainforest, the snow, volcanos and temples of doom.... the only appropriate movie to set to radiohead. time machine, was it? i'm inclined to say yes....

09:05 - Tuesday, Dec. 09, 2003
yesterday, it wasn't winter
It is more than fitting how I found out yesterday that I got into the composition department of the music school. After a year and a half of chasing down everyone, yelling at secretaries, finding out who's got my shit, etc., I would check every week to see if there was any news yet. None, and still none, until yesterday, when I was running to catch the Skip (bus) home, in a torrent of a beginning blizzard, and the bus had stopped, so I thought it had seen me, but as I got closer, it zoomed away.
'Goddamnit,' I swore. Loudly.
'Hey, Hannah,' I heard from behind me. I turned around. It was a professor of theory and composition, stepping out of the bus shelter, raising his eyebrows. The one I've been getting to bypass class blocks and sign me into music classes. I wince. 'But the bus...'
He shakes his head, flips his hand. 'Did you hear?' he says. 'You were accepted for composition.'

The snow is full on by 4:30. The bottom five inches of my pants are soaking wet and frozen. Nick and I are sitting in the back of the Bound bus, on our way to Target to buy coat hangers and garlard to make Christmas trees, teeth chattering. We can't even move our lips to talk, they're so frozen. Suddenly he pulls a fleece blanket out of his backpack, drapes it over us, and tucks it into the sides of the seat cushions. The passengers stare suspiciously. I mean, who does that?
'It's keeping us warm,' he says. 'Right?'
Yeah, yeah. Logic. Whatever.
He places a feather in my hand on our way past Colorado Avenue. �I got this for you,� he says. �I got it yesterday.�
�Where did you find a bird feather in the middle of winter?� I ask him.
�Yesterday, it wasn�t winter,� he replies. When we step off the bus, he takes the feather and weaves it in with my hair.
Yesterday it was 60.
Life is moving too slow.

13:20 - Sunday, Dec. 07, 2003
the better
My moods can change in less than a flash. On Friday night, I wanted to work on my paper so I wouldn't have to worry about it later (didn't happen. Lara said it was sacrilege to do work on Friday night, so I went to a skating video and then a really, really bad party.) This probably doesn't belong outside the parentheses, but this party was the embodiment of awful, or maybe it was just my mood (terrible as well). It was two girls dressed in black tube tops and too much eyeliner batting their eyelashes at the group of boys clamoring around the bar and fixing them mixed drinks... all you can drink for seven dollars. Some drunk guy kept yelling at me 'Chicago! Gino's East Represent!' so I took Lara's car and drove home, bitched at Mike, then called Robyn and she came over and we had a two hour long venting session about everything in the entire world. It was the most therapeutic thing I can remember doing in quite awhile.

Although I didn't wake up in any better of a mood, I had no reason to, really, because what I had to look forward to that day was going shopping for a cocktail dress with some people from my volunteer group (they forced me. 'Let's do a Thursday night shopping spree! Yay! Bonding! Spending obscene amounts of money! Yay!) First of all, I'm a cheapskate and second of all I never wear cocktail dresses for very good reason, but, horror of all horrors, the trip turned out to be fun (and not even in the 'I'm laughing at all of you because you're stupid' way, but in the 'I'm actually enjoying this and did I hear myself giggle?' way). I ended up with a little strapless black dress that I normally would never don in a million years, but hey, it was 22 dollars as opposed to 130, and people were gushing when I came out of the dressing room. Dan, our token male, had the best fashion sense out of all of us. He must have snatched fifteen necklaces out of my hands at Claire's, waxing poetic about colors clashing.

Anyway, so Andrew was over right before Lara and I left for the cocktail party (what, you think I'd shop for cocktail dresses for no reason?) and that made one more person who had to be around while I wore the dress. We were driving around with a bottle of wine with the cork floating about in it (nobody in our house knows how to use corkscrews, apparently) and within an hour of arriving, Lara was completely smashed, which eventually led to her throwing up in the bathroom, which eventually led to me driving her home and coming back, but other than that (lesson of the day: don't drink half a bottle of wine, two double shots of tequila, some raspberry vodka, and four cups of beer), this party was the opposite of the epitome of awful like the last one, which means it was great.

It really helps to know all 30+ people there instead of just two or three. Of course, I didn't join in the drunken pileup of dancing in the living room. (While that was going on, I was talking to the guy in my English class who wrote that my first story was sophomoric and pretentious. I have never talked to him before, mostly because he doesn't really talk, just sits in a corner with this seemingly knowing smirk, but we ended up talking for a half hour about our class and writing in general, slamming everyone's work etc., just like what Lara and I do at home. It was an unexpected intellectual window in drunken debauchery.) Adrianne followed me with a camera when I went over to sit down with some lazy comrades on the couch. 'Blackmail time!' she yelled. 'Stand up. Go like this. Sexy pose, come on. This is the beginning of Armageddon. First Hannah in a little black dress that she probably bought today, then she'll be getting married. But she'll probably be wearing pants.'
'Or this dress, because it's the only one I have,' I shot back.
Everyone laughed.

When I came home (about 2:30) Lara was passed out in her room and Andrew was on the couch, watching late-night TV. I got out some cookies and Andrew and I talked until 4:30 in the morning about whatever the fuck came into our heads. Beers were lining up in front of him and I was just exhausted enough to mumble out whatever I would mumble out. The less thinking I do, the less worrying, the better I can express myself.

 

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