because i'm totally vain:

ok so these are the unedited shots of lara callahan. but i lurve them. and i think these are the only photos that actually capture ME that i've seen in awhile. elci, i love you girl! also: the photos of jessie and gab are miiiindblowingly gorgeous.

in other news: life? thanks for letting me know today that i dodged a HUUUUUUUUUGE bullet. i refuse to surrender my grocery store. (jessie gets it.) jessie, you're really great.

this FACEPALM is brought to you live on saturday night.

F A C E P A L M.

while getting ready to go to some "gold"-themed BC birthday party in allston with marcy, i was blasting guns n' roses/bodega girls/madonna (1984-1988, not any of this disco revival shit) and i somehow COMPLETELY lost track of time and am now sitting on my couch smacking myself in the face because i should've left my house an HOUR AND A HALF AGO.

lessons learned:

+ "sweet child o' mine" on repeat is a procrastination enabler.  it just makes me make my hair all huge (or huger, i guess), dance like a maniac in front of my full length mirror for an hour and scare my neighbors when i scream the high notes with axl in the last 1:20 of the song.  

+ i own several articles of clothing/pieces of jewelry/assorted accessories that would be appropriate for a "gold"-themed soiree.  why this is unfortunate: a) my gold sequined tom's are now so rank and disgusting that i can't even take them out of my closet they reek so bad b) my necklace with the huge pearls wrapped in gold filigree leaves royally snag on my hair/various articles of clothing and as a result the necklace is boasting hunks of bright purple thread leftover from when i wore the necklace with my flapper dress on halloween, ugh. c) the gold jewelry i do own isn't ostentatiously gold (a la "bling bling." word.) or relatively classy therefore it looks kind of awkward as most of it is vintage-y or weird. i do, however, own the best purse ever for this kind of affair:

um hi impromptu vanna white? ok.

+ TURN THE RADIO OFF AND GO HANG OUT WITH YOUR FRIENDS, DAMMIT!  IT DOESN'T MATTER THAT YOU HAVE TO TAKE THE 66 TO GET THERE!  JUST GOOO.

ok! and now a buddy is swinging by to save me and take me to a party in somerville? did my saturday night just get salvaged?  wtf life.

i love this song.

the happy things list is still totally in effect, but for some reason this song can't get out of my head today.  i've been listening to the avett brothers for a couple of years now and their 2007 release, emotionalism, is one of my favorite albums of all time.  the following performance by seth avett is of one of only songs ever that actually move me to tears.  (you won't know the other ones unless you know me really well, and even then there's some guesswork involved.) "the ballad of love and hate" probably tops the list of the most beautifully tragic and gently heartbreaking ballads i've heard, ever, and the lyrics to me are pure poetry.

so, without further ado, here's the words to the avett brothers' ballad of love and hate.

Love writes a letter and sends it to Hate:

“My vacation’s ending, I’m coming home late.

The weather was fine and the ocean was great,

And I can’t wait to see you again.”

Hate reads the letter and throws it away.

“No one here cares if you go or you stay.

I barely even noticed that you were away.

I’ll see you, or I won’t.  Whatever.”

Love sings a song as she sails through the sky.

The water looks bluer through her pretty eyes

And everyone knows it whenever she flies

And also, when she comes down…

Hate keeps his head up and walks through the street.

Every stranger and drifter he greets,

And shakes hands with every loner he meets

With a serious look on his face.

Love arrives safely with suitcase in tow.

Carrying with her the good things we know:

A reason to live, and a reason to grow,

To trust, to hold, to care.

Hate sits alone on the hood of his car,

Without much regard to the moon or the stars

Lazily killing the last of a jar

Of the strongest stuff you can drink.

Love takes a taxi; a young man drives.

As soon as he sees her, hope fills his eyes.

But tears follow after at the end of the ride

‘Cause he might never see her again...

Hate gets home lucky to still be alive.

He screams o’er the sidewalk and into the drive.

The clock in the kitchen says 2:55,

And the clock in the kitchen is slow.

Love has been waiting, patient and kind.

Just wanting a phone call, or some kind of sign.

That the one that she cares for, who was out of his mind,

Will make it back safe to her arms.

Hate stumbles forward and leans in the door:

Weary head hung down, eyes to the floor.

He says, “Love, I’m sorry.”And she says, “What for?

I’m yours, and that’s it, whatever.”

“I should not have been gone for so long.

I’m yours, and that’s it, forever.

You’re mine, and that’s it, forever.”

for the record:

(photo courtesy of the hollywood news.)

seth rogen, be my boyfriend.

that is all.

(i'm watching "pineapple express" while my iPod charges for the gym.  tonight, it's dinner, beers and "watchmen" at the somerville theatre.  life is good.)