i just want your extra time and your... kiss.

five is an awful number. six will be nice, and i'll be quite pleased with nine, but i don't think i'll really be thrilled with any of this until march fourteenth of 'fifteen. january or october tenth or first of 'ten might be nice, too.

at any rate, for me, this year turned new in the fall. but we're still a year away from something, i suppose.

one year ago tonight i played with liz and kaitlin and kimmy and a much tinier baby at my house. this year it's just me, far too much pineapple pizza for one person, and the makings of an emergency mix to be utilized in the event that the world should end. i went to london and los angeles and new york between then and now. i'm hoping that oh five gives me montreal and dublin and maybe somewhere else nice, and that i live in pittsburgh for the summer again, and that i'm not lonely, and that i'm always unreasonably excited about my socks.

happy new year, my lovelies.



to absent friends, lost loves, old gods, and the season of mists; and may each and every one of us always give the devil his due.

where did our love go?

i suppose that when one listens to lots of eighties music, one runs the risk of never being able to fall in love with rock stars. i'm always terrified that i'll find out what they look like. in my head, at least, they're reasonably beautiful. i try to avoid ever seeing them, but sometimes my curiosity gets the best of me. honestly, marc almond and i really should be soulmates. but he is terribly odd looking, in a way that isn't even strangely appealing. pity.

at least i still have annie lennox.

and i've always wanted to try my hand at a relationship with a drum machine.