It's called "Waitress' Lament" and I actually wrote the first half of the music in like, 2005 or something with different words. Then last week I started writing the breakdown part towards the end and the words came along shortly thereafter. I'm super proud of it and I can't wait to play it at the Cubbyhole this Tuesday. With or without Jules, so depending on how he handles all my crazy chord progressions we might play it together this week.
The song is kind of about a lot of people. Most of it is about a kid who bullied me in high school and then killed himself during Spring Break of my freshman year in college.
I know there are a couple of foul notes in there, but, um...deal with it.
So I recently acquired the new Modest Mouse album. Jules had played it at his place while I'd been there a few times in the past week. Each time I heard it I was insanely impressed with the craft and style that went into writing these songs and making this music sound the way it does. Older Modest Mouse used to make me a little uncomfortable, and while I loved most of "Good News For People Who Love Bad News", the song "Dance Hall" makes me want to eat a shotgun.
This is my favorite Modest Mouse album.
That's all I really wanted to say today.
I was scheduled to work this morning at 11:30 but that plan went a little pear-shaped when I woke up at 11:20. No possible way to get there before 12:15. After grunting around the house for a few minutes I was ready to go!
I get in my car and the new Modest Mouse was in the CD player (because that's where it landed after I had jacked it from Jules). So I rolled down the windows, lit up my cigarette, put on my sunglasses, and turned up the music.
Headbanging never felt so good.
"Our instincts, they were cringing about how we lived our lives. It didn't seem we'd lived enough to even get to die."
There are a couple of people in my life (or not, due the following) who have seen my ugly sides. I want to come clean and apologize for that. You are few in number and you probably aren't reading this, but in the off chance that this gets back to you, I want you to know how sorry I am that things turned out the way that they did. I'm sorry.
And I'm probably not going to tell you this in person unless you feel like talking to me again.
Nothing of great importance has been happening lately, at least not the kind that would make me feel like apologizing for my misdeeds. I just think my conscience is going to rest easier if I do this.
Mr. Mackey: I've been thinkin' about you a lot, Ms. Chokesondick. Ms. Chokesondick: Yeah? MM: Yeah. MC: What do you do when you think about me? MM: Go crazy. MC: Do you touch yourself? MM: Yeah. MC: Mmm.
It's ridiculous how well Jules and I play together. And that's most of what we do. I can see us getting famous together and having amazingly talented guitar and bass playing babies. We play music and have doopers. All day, every day.
I'm also currently working at the Olive Garden. It's been pretty rocky but it seems to be leveling out. I'm worming my way into everyone's heart. I'm a damn good waiter. I charm people until they're kneeling at my feet with wallet in hand, begging me to give them their food for whatever amount of money I deem appropriate.
Okay, so it's not like that exactly. But I am charming and people mostly love me. Except for the few people who are just big, fat, fat, fat douches. They don't count anyway.
I have today off so I'm going to change my guitar strings and work on one of the new pieces down in the basement with my amp. It'll sound so good. New strings are always so bright sounding. I love it.....Grrrowl.
I pity the fool who isn't going to be attending this amazing event.
Myself, my ultra-talented, beautiful, bass-shredding, barely-legal boyfriend Jules, Lee Brown, Todd Giudice...
...and Jonny Forst, for those of you who don't want to hear acoustic songs about broken hearts as much as they want to see Forsty bend silverware with HIS INCREDIBLE MIND.
Those are the people performing this Friday. I might be forgetting some people and if I am, I apologize for being a retard. I forget everything.
I think that lyric was in a Tom Waits song called "Foreign Affairs". It's about how traveling is such a great state of being and people are always jealous of you.
Pete Laffin and I have been through a lot. I wish we could have gotten closer, but I'm sure he'll do well in Colorado. Everyone's leaving. I don't want people to go away, but I know it's probably for the best. Pete's a good guy. It's sad to think of not seeing him for years. It already sucks not having him at the Cubbyhole every Tuesday. Tim's great, but he's no Pete Laffin. That's for sure. And even Tim is leaving in August. All the brilliance is leaving Poughkeepsie.
If I had half a brain I'd get the fuck out of here too. Fuck school, fuck everything.
Just get on something with wheels or wings and go somewhere else for a while.
I'm gonna miss Pete so much. Oh well. I'll probably go write a song about it or something.
Okay, so a few minutes ago I was doing something on the internet that was improving my brain, when I got a little distracted and found myself searching the vast and mysterious interweb for pictures and videos of cats.
Watching this video ended my intense investigation.
Two things to watch for:
1. 00:30 seconds into movie. Scenario: The corner of a kitchen cabinet with two housecats walking towards each other on each side of said cabinet. When the cats finally see each other, one cat is surprised. Who would think that a movie of a cat being surprised would be SO ENTERTAINING.
2. 01:09 minutes into movie. Scenario: Mom is following baby with a camcorder out in the backyard on a sunny afternoon. What a precious memory to have...Oh, and be sure to show the kid when it's older.
I started writing a new song last night and it's turning out pretty nice. It reminds me a little of Ben Folds.
I'm actually enjoying life these days. I like the things I'm doing because I have finally started to set reasonable goals. I'm going to start taking classes at DCC in the Summer and continue through the Fall. By January I'll have an Associates Degree and then I can finish up my Bachelor's at one of the SUNY schools. I can't wait.
Last night at the Cubbyhole there was a show with Tim Haufe, Pat Hull, and Pass the Broccoli Grandpa. It was tres amazing. So cool. They're all so fuckin' talented. Broccoli said they wanted to play a show with me sometime soon. With Tim on drums and Jules my darling on bass? How could anyone NOT love us?
I know it's been forever since I posted in this thing, and I told Flynntacular that I would send him my schedule since he needs like, 8 months notice in order to hang out.
I'm playing a show tomorrow night at the Hickory BBQ in Kingston, NY 12401 and I would LOVE to see some friendly faces there. The show starts at 8:00 and you'll get to hear me play some new songs with a fantastic new bass player. Also, Nick Collins will be playing some of his original material too. He'll entertain you then he'll bus your table.
Something about my life force attracts negative shit around the holidays. I think I visualize it and therefore it becomes my reality. The boys I don't think will work with my insanity very well are the exact same ones who wriggle their way into my head and demand to stay there until I break down and want them back. Pretty boys with their pretty words and pretty eyes that pretty much break down any defenses I might have built up after the various coronary wounds I've sustained from boys with pretty eyes.
I've been thinking a lot about the friends I lost back at Sarah Lawrence. I deserved whatever I got. I wouldn't want to be my friend. I just hope when we meet again that it's civil. I really did love them. Both of them.
Also, Cory, I miss you like nothing else man. Where are you and when are you coming back to my guitar? I got a 12-string Martin for Christmas and she's just itchin' to meet you.
Little boy, won't you close your weary eyes? Ain't nothin' flashin' but the fireflies" -'St. Judy's Comet', Paul Simon
Life is complicated these days. It feels like a cop-out to say that, but I don't care enough to say anything else that might be more...descriptive...and incriminating.
I am writing a new song though. It's about how there are so many people in New York City that it's IMPOSSIBLE to meet people, let alone make friends. The subway is my new favorite hangout. It's just permanent enough to be seriously dangerous flirting territory, but mercifully temporary. The cars flying by are fertile ground for my generations of imaginary children and grandchildren.
Such a lonely city. I have NO ONE here. No one but a couple of exes who want to have coffee with me.
I know it's been forever since I last posted, but...you know...I...don't care.
I've been lied to, abused, fucked over and used by too many people in the past few months. My bosses, several young men, random douchebags on the street who think that I'm going to perk up and get turned on if they whistle at me.
There are a few bright spots though:
"I think your sordid history with men is merely indicative of how rarely-appreciated and uniquely wonderful you are. Most people who have no trouble finding a partner (say, loads of people I know here that are getting married at 20 years old) are in a sort of generic canon who find almost anyone within a minimal vicinity of attractiveness to be "suitable" --at least for a few years, anyway. Our ilk, however, more often find ourselves to be (rarely) "acquired tastes" and thus the slog of dating feels especially depressing or, in this case, downright angering." -Someone who knows me really well, discussing my most recent romantic catastrophe
Catastrophe is pretty much the word for it, too. I am the World's Sexual God of Destruction. No man is Safe from Me. Beware, oh, you pretty things, Beware.
Then again, there's a smokin' hot sailor on a boat not so far from my city who thinks about me every night as he climbs into his tiny cabin on the sea. I'm just trying to steal a sailor from the sea, that's all.
Two days ago the first half of my dad's now very controversial miniseries aired. Yesterday they aired the second half. I'm going to say this once though: The political passage of the buck that was "Path to 9/11" makes me and every other decent human I know ill. It was a job for a bunch of actors and filmmakers, nothing more.
When they showed that fucking horrifying footage that we've all seen fourteen thousand times, the only thing running through my already muddled brain was "How could anyone see this as something political?"
I cried myself to sleep with a mentally dismantling mantra running through my head.
Okay, so I'm going to reaquaint myself with the livejournal.
Now that that's out of the way, I can tell you all what I've been doing since my last post (if you haven't seen me since then, in which case you can read this if you want, or you can go to the following sites and listen to my music:)
I got my old job back. I'm waiting tables at Cafe 123 on W. 44th St. just off Time Square. SLC kids should come see me and tip me at least %18 of their total check, or expect a Payless high heel to the head when my shift ends.
Living the single life nowadays. No boyfriend, no real love interest that isn't going back to Cape Cod in the next week or so. Damn prior obligations.
Call my cell phone if you-...Well, actually, there's no condition to that sentence. You should all really call my cell phone. (845) 629-6366
So I moved back into my grandfather's apartment...alone...
Greg and I broke up yesterday. Oh fuck it, he broke up with me. "We broke up" is a fucking cop-out right now. I cried like the baby I am and now I'm alone thanks to a combination of outrageous shit that went down today, not the least of which was my mother telling me it was time for me to go.
So here I am in NYC again, without a single soul near me. I've never been here before.
If anyone who reads this is in the area and wants to do something (no promises about my mood here, folks) they should call my cell. (845) 629-6366.
Lucy's right. The grouper thing really needs more explanation, although I'm pretty sure what I posted last time was just about every piece of relevant information regarding the whole thing.
PLACE: An unnamed italian restaurant in Fishkill, NY where I was making good money and having fun.
TIME: Just after the restaurant closes for lunch.
STORY: I was saddled with the chore of serving the owner while everone else sits around and has their shift drink and eats family meal. Everything's going fine and his wife already likes me because her dog does and she's just one of those people.
I hear the bell coming from the kitched telling me their food is ready. I go and get it and on my way to the owner's table, I trip on MY FUCKING GIGANTIC SASQUATCH-ESQUE FEET (which by the way, I should have stopped tripping over YEARS ago...You know, when PUBERTY ENDED.) and a large, expensive and carefully made plate of steaming hot grouper (the chef knows who is going to be eating this food) happens to find itelf coating the entire backside of boss-man himself, which is hard to do, because grouper isn't that flakey, so there had to be some serious velocity to splatter that kind of meaty but flavorful fish in such an impressive way.
His immediate and ultimate reaction was to fire me.
Here's how it went, pretty much verbatim:
SADLER: Oh my god I am so sorry sir! This kind of thing has never happened to me before. I am so incredibly sorry. Are you alright? Can I buy you a new shirt or have this one dry cleaned or something?
MISTER BOSSMAN: GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY RESTAURANT!!! YOU GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE RIGHT NOW!!! GET OUT OF MY FUCKING PLACE OR SO HELP ME, I'LL--
(Sadler exits the establishment, barely having time to gather her things and say goodbye to the kitchen staff, 87 percent of whom wanted to do me in the worst way and over the course of her employment had made me aware on several occassions several ways.
But you know what it was? The reason for his UNreasonability? His niece needed a job.
Lunch was over for me at least.
Ruby Tuesday is looking better and better. And the busy season is coming up which means BIG FUCKING MONEY FOR SADLER. I'll finally get to pay Greg and Chris and Cory back and I'll maybe one day there will be money in my wallet that won't be owed to anyone. That's unlikely, but a girl can dream, right?
Maybe.
I think I might get a job at the Ruby Tuesday's in the mall. I'm apprehensive--It's like hiring a bartender who happens to be a raging alcoholic.
Also, my mom is going to need majob surgery very soon. It's very complicated situation, and if you really want to know I'll tell you more about in person or on the phone or something. She's scared because being overweight puts her at a much higher risk than there should be with this kind of operation.
She has also convinced herself that she's going to die on the operating table. There's nothing I can say to something like that. There's nothing I can do. She's been right about things the doctors reassure her are not so, and I'm just scared that her subconscious mind is going to let herself go when it sees what's happening to it's body.
I'm just frightened of losing her and I feel like a baby complaining about it to people who have other serious shit to concern themselves with.
I've scheduled a whole bunch of new shows at the Cubbyhole in Poughkeepsie.
Thurs, June 15, 9:00 PM
Thurs, June 22, 9:00 PM
Thurs, June 29, 9:00 PM
Sat, July 1, 9:00 PM
All of these shows are going to be good in some manner or other. I promise. There will be something redeeming at each and every one of them. I swear. Come to my shows, please?
Been so long since I updated this thing. I moved out of college. My job at Twist is making me cry on a nightly basis now. My bosses are douches cubed to the infiniti power.
Love is confusing me more and more. My dad had shoulder surgery and has to wear a sling for six weeks.
I'm trying to write music, but nothing good is coming out.
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listengood's journal
determined
pensive
calm
new strings!
exhausted
busy
nostalgic
accomplished
stuck
bitter
discontent
blue
overwhelmed and unprepared