I get by with a little help from my friends

HOLY BURNT-OUT BITCHES, BATMAN!

Packages are <3.
Especially when they’re chockfulla painkillaZ and movies!
*runs around screaming*

Oh, and let’s not forget that it all smelled absofuckinlutely divine the instant I ripped open that package.

And I even have a prescription for them!

—

Dear Sender of Very Awesome Package,

First of all, thanks millions. Neobrufen could not have come at a better time since I am choosing to punish my body for reasons beyond my understanding. And the slew of movies, music, and random pictures will help rebuild the files I lost from The Great PC Crash of 09.

Second, thanks for including the scent. It set the stage for opening mail very succinctly – from you, for me. No other combination of elements drove home that message.

Third, I hope you’re taking care of yourself. Trust that the girls and I miss you and we look forward to seeing you some time in the future, whether that be next year or in 10.

I hope you’re doing well. Tell everyone I said “hi”. I hope to get to talk to you laterkthxbaiiloveyou.

<3break

DISAPPOINTED

in The Chef.

I stand corrected.

I was SO wrong about him.

SO. FUCKING. WRONG.

Do you? Really?

Unhepful Git sends mp3.

Unhelful Git: I like this song *kisses*
Uneditedmara: *listens*

> P L A Y

I don’t get many things right the first time
In fact, I am told that a lot
Now I know all the wrong turns, the stumbles and falls
Brought me here

And where was I before the day
That I first saw your lovely face?
Now I see it everyday
And I know

That I am
I am
I am
The luckiest

What if I’d been born fifty years before you
In a house on a street where you lived?
Maybe I’d be outside as you passed on your bike
Would I know?

And in a white sea of eyes
I see one pair that I recognize
And I know

That I am
I am
I am
The luckiest

I love you more than I have ever found a way to say to you

Next door there’s an old man who lived to his nineties
And one day passed away in his sleep
And his wife; she stayed for a couple of days
And passed away

I’m sorry, I know that’s a strange way to tell you that I know we belong
That I know

That I am
I am
I am
The luckiest

—

Uneditedmara cries like a little bitch.

Uneditedmara: That was a really good song.
Unhelpful Git: I’m glad you like it. *kisses*

Say it with me now, hijodeputaaa.

Les Choristes

What can I say, I <3 this movie. It’s got the perfect brew for a dismally rainy Tuesday afternoon. Of course, Jean-Baptiste Maunier takes your breath away with his amazing voice. *sighs* And he looks PERFECT for the part, pale, drawn, and androgynous.

Having the OST months before acually seeing Les Choristes, I expected to cry buckets, and I did. 7 minutes into it and I knew I was a goner. But don’t take my word for it. The trailer, should you wish to find out what it’s about.

I am thankful for sincere and well-made movies like this.
I am thankful for voices that move you to tears.
I am thankful for hot coffee on a rainy day.
I am thankful for heavy jackets to keep the cold at bay.

Pleasant Tuesdays everyone!

HOW APPROPRIATE

Scene: Unhelpful Git is sending me mp3s.

Unhelpful Git: What was the last song I sent you, btw?

Uneditedmara: I Can’t Make You Love Me.

You can’t make this shit up.

Très Sexy Power Couple

Because I’ve spent the whole week watching L’Appartement and Wicker Park, one after the other.

Because Monica Bellucci was luminous in Malena.

Because Vincent Cassel is a badass motherfucker.

Because I’ve always wanted to be one half of a power couple.

Your crowning glory

It’s all gone. Well, not all. Most of it. After all I’ve whined and complained over it, I realize that I liked things as they were, not this new, clipped version of what you and I have become.

It seemed not so long ago that I was teasing you mercilessly, taking such pleasure in breaking you down and even more in helping you back up.

Clearly, things have changed.
My hands will have nowhere to run through.
I will no longer have someone to run to.

You are no longer the savior.
You are no longer the rockstar.
You are no longer the man I knew.

Hi, I’m Mara. Y tu?

The birthday that should never have been

Somewhere between a new-dress-party-hats-spaghetti and oh-dear-fucking-God-another-year-alone, I’ve lost being happy on MY day. This year just tipped the motherfucking cake over the edge.

April 11, 2009

Today, it being my birthday, my family decided to greet me early in the morning. But instead of cake and candles, I got loaf of bread. That I bought. FML.

And in all honesty, I wish I had never “thrown” a birthday dinner. Ahdunno. I just wasn’t into it. And not to say that the people who came were not appreciated. But I think I would have rather not bothered. I just called for dinner, like I usually do, only this just happened to fall on my birthday. Everyone had things to do, so everyone was “late”, and some who weren’t late, couldn’t come at all. I couldn’t even go for proper drinks afterwards. I went home at one in the morning.

The whole ordeal just left me feeling more .. empty. Like, there was really no point in celebrating ME. Like, if I disappeared, life would still go on. There would be no big loss, there would be no void. I sound like a self-absorbed brat, but well .. that’s how I feel – insignificant and unappreciated. (Jesus Christ, emo much?)

I know that the problem lies within me. My perception on the world (and my interaction in it) is one that is setting me up for disappointment and grief. Mentally, I am a tad retarded and emotionally, I am just weak. I’m just really good at masking these things with loud noises and banal conversations. I bear nothing awesome nor remotely remarkable. And taking that thought to bed at night scares the living shit out of me.

Remind me not to celebrate my birthday next year no matter how great an idea it seems to be. Because we all know that after the loaf of bread, it’s all downfuckinghill from there.

These Days

by Mates of State

I’ve been out walking
I don’t do too much talking these days
These days -
These days I seem to think a lot
About the things that I forgot to do
And all the times I’ve had the chance to

I stopped my rambling
I don’t do too much gambling these days
These days -
These days I seem to think about
How all the changes came about my way
And I wonder if I’ll see another hide-a-way

I had a lover
I don’t think I’ll risk another these days
These days -
And if I seem to be afraid
To live the life that I have made in song
It’s just that I’ve been losing so long

Then I’d stop my dreaming
I don’t do too much scheming these days
These days -
These days I sit on corner stones
And count the time in quarter tones to ten
Please don’t confront me with my failures
‘Cos I have not forgotten them

Metamorphing into something

Let’s get down to the dirty, nasty stuff.

I’ve been depressed. And, no, it hasn’t gone away.

It may be brought on by the fact that I am getting older (in a few days) and I have absolutely FUCK ALL to show for my life.

Or that old issues pertaining to Teh Douchebag (that should be well and dead by now) are resurfacing because I had a long lunch talk with The Viking.

Or that old issues pertaining to the Unhelpful Git are resurfacing because .. well, they just like to make their presence known once in a while.

Or that I have not heard from The Chef in almost a month now and I don’t know whether he is seriously incommunicado or he’s avoiding me. If it’s the latter, that sure is a dick move. Unreturned INTERNATIONAL voice mails are fucking expensive. The least you could do is shoot me a short email. “Dude, no”, would suffice. Really. ANYTHING that let’s me know I’m wasting my time.

[Rant break brought to you by James Franco.]

James Franco as Alan Ginsberg reading Kafka.
(The Chef mentioned once comparing my pathetic writing to that of Kerouac and when I looked it up it led me to Ginsberg. Yes, that’s the limp degrees of separation I’m using to warrant another Franco post.)

Or that my office PC crashed sending THREE YEARS’ worth of work out the fucking window as well as deleting all of my pictures and videos and music.

Or that I haven’t fully come to grips with the fact that my entire family is leaving for Canada, without me and The Iz.

Take your pick. Any one of these things could be causing that damn fucking gray cloud to hang over my head. It’s like it’s got nothing better to do than trail me around. I am more confused and lost than ever. I should be getting my shit together. But instead of clarity, there’s just fog – a blurry, hazy feeling enveloping every inch of my brain.

I’m scared because after all that I’ve been through – the breakups, the baby, more breakups, fuckups, and shitloads of mistakes – now when there’s no discernible problem, I just want to off myself.

There’s your happy fucking holy week message.