teaworthy

okay. i'm only going to say this once. i am going to admit to heresy, a complete aberration on everything that my bloodline and profession stand for and come right out and say this:

I DON'T LIKE TEA.

there, i said it. and it's true. i don't like the way it tastes, i don't particularly like the way it smells, none of it. and UNFORTUNATELY, i have to drink gallons of the stuff every time i get a cold.

and so i betray you, english heritage! and so i betray you, hallowed alliances of singers! and so i betray you all!

now if you'll excuse me, i have a throat to nurse and a steaming pile of chamomile sludge to attend to.

eechh.

anatomy of the weekend that is making me smile like an idiot despite being sick as a dog

gorgeous, gorgeous weather.

shindig friday for a newly returned; despite the fact i played the mute, it was wonderful. so many of my friends all in one place on a gorgeous summer evening.

horrid show saturday (horrid!), but in a beautiful garden with the boy, two of my best and brightest, and a newly resurfaced mystery guest. and a lecherous old man who sang pirate songs at me to boy's eternal amusement.

beautiful saturday night in the park, listening to nick cave, rufus wainwright and many others croon the tunes of leonard cohen. perfect weather. lovely view. only two bugbites.

port wine. music.

brunch outdoors and confessions that my company is far preferable to solitudinous writing on a day such as today and would i mind some company?

tea and crackers and hugs and films and raspberry beer.

calls from the pride parade that my throbbing head forbade me to attend from two of my favoritest because they missed having their favorite hag to share it with.

and the ipod. let's not forget the ipod.

if i weren't horribly ill, i think my head might explode from pure joy.

lessons

things i learned last night:

1. i have the best fans/audiences ever. for real. small, but loyal and lovely and forgiving.

2. i shall do my best to never again take my voice for granted. being up on that stage last night, feeling how completely vulnerable i was, how hard i had to reach for each note and still never knowing if i was going to hit it...fucking scary. i will now officially concede that singing has always been easy for me. now i understand how it feels for it to not be.

3. i have unbelievably hot roadies. always have, hopefully always will.

4. and it is possible to find edible indian food at midnight in the financial district.

tune in tomorrow for the benefit on ave. c. and the ongoing saga of shivery's slowly recovering, much abused, poor little sore songbird throat.

game on!

all right, kids.

moment of truth time.

and the verdict?

game on

so get yer asses on down to the orange bear by 9pm and tune in to hear miss shivery raspily warble at you until her voice positively gives out.

rock on.

mastheads!

acid green counterculture

pink script of retribution

corsets and combat boots

independence day.

red grunge

poolside!

futurama.

election day

the type is always greener

feeling springy.

sick.

i am sick.

sick sick.

like, unless there's a miraculous recovery tonight i might have to cancel my show tomorrow.

i hate being sick.

i have no voice. i hate that even more.

how does he do that?

Fertility clinics in the U.S. are filled to the brim with frozen human embryos. Forty thousand would-be fetuses are now on ice, waiting for a go-ahead from the couples that spawned them. This backlog of potential life in limbo reminds me of you, Pisces. If you could get access to the parts of your imagination that are immobilized by fear, you'd become a powerhouse of focused creativity. I'm happy to tell you that this is a perfect time to do just that.

best get started on that love song, then.

listy, listy

things that never get old. ever.

-hugs

-dinner with friends

-coming home at the end of a really long day

-hiking socks with combat boots

-the smell of your favorite perfume

-being told you're beautiful

-telling someone else they're beautiful and meaning it

-discovering a new talent. i, for one, just discovered i make really good french toast.

-giving the right gift to the right person (that means you, miss glittergirl with your--my--bass. thank you!)

-the second you start feeling better after you've been sick

-revealing your toes to the sun for the first time of the year

-sunshine on your stomach

-cheese

folder of doom

there's a folder on my desk about which i have been procrastinating for some time. it haunts me. it taunts me. sitting - nay, lurking upon its plyboard bower, it calls to me. on the weekends, it taunts me with the possibility of its absence, which would result in the sudden discovery of my personage shipped out to dubai, where my company sends the screw-ups. i must confront this folder. i must tackle that which it contains. i must come to terms with the task i am to complete.

dammit.

i hate transcription.

peripheral vision, here i come!

i have a clean bill of ocular health. and the first thing that the optometrist says to me after i've positioned myself in the chair? "so, that kid with the blue hair...that's your boyfriend, right? "

i feel that boy will feel vindicated when i tell him.

write this

okay. i'll admit it. i'm territorial (shock! horror!). even when it comes to my damn job. so when someone says that they really just have to ask me to let them proofread everything i write for their office before i post it because i'm , you know, prone to mistakes and make the company look bad, it PISSES ME OFF. why? well, partially because i triple check everything. and, frankly, i like to think i'm a good little writer. AND, because this is for the INTERNAL NEWSLETTER. a daily human interest story to keep morale off sewer level. and, quite frankly, all the higher ups, most people in this godforsaken place LOVE my goddamn ticker stories. they think they're the best way to start the morning, and that they've gotten so much better since i started writing them.

so for some dipshit in illinois to start questioning my copywriting capabilities makes me want to go throw things very, very hard.

a harry situation (ba-dum!)

i seem to be having trouble writing of late. it's not so much that my mind is quiet as the words are getting stuck in my throat, or my fingers, choose one. so, please bear with me.

it's less than 24 hours until harry potter and the order of the phoenix (or, HP5 as those of us in the know refer to it) gets unleashed upon the world, and already the masses are planning barnes and noble stakeouts, all day reading fiestas and full on sequesterment. and meanwhile, i'm sitting over here in the corner realizing that i'm not going to have my copy till monday, because like a fool i ordered it from amazon.co.uk, and asked to have it delivered to my office. which means it will trundle my way sometime early next week. oh, the pain! the suffering! alas. thank goodness there's a phalanx of other stuff to keep me busy...i just hope that it is not a major talking point at the fiesta of saturday night. but if it is, i won't be held responsible if i just drag the boy into the corner and maul him until the storm abates.

i mean, a girl who's fallen behind on the cultural phenomenon of the year's got to entertain herself somehow, right?

eye spy

i am amused. the boy is convinced that my optometrist has a crush on me. (he said petulantly at around midnight last night).

'tis to laugh and giggle. no sir, i think not. though i am flattered that you think other men are eyeing up your woman.

don't even start.

morale is slipping down the sewer pipes here in the little office that could. we are overworked. underpaid. underappreciated. not that this is so different than anyone else's job. not saying that mine is worse than anyone else's right now, and i remain thoroughly pleased to actually have a job...we're just feeling kind of low today, collectively.

i mean, considering we never participate in any of those morale-boosting things like company picnics or summer hours or interacting outside the office or getting paid on time, is it really too much to ask that once in a while, when we get subjected to a guest that we don't particularly, like, that the company foot the bill for five cups of coffee for the team that does all the marketing work for the 3002 other people in the company? we don't ask for much, really. just the occasional sign that we're more than chum.

'cause let me tell you, the second the economy turns around, there is going to be an exodus so fast and so profound from this place, they're going to have to build this bloody department back up from scratch.

anyway.

jackie and marilyn

i find it horrendously unfair that the day after my little toes get pedicured, the weather is so ass that i have to wear boots. wherein lies the justice there, i ask you?

i mean, they're such a lovely marilyn monroe red;quite a contrast to my jackie o pink fingers.

jfk would not be able to resist me, i tell you.

sure of you

when will the uncertainty go away?

foursquare

1. note to self: straight bourbon with a beer chaser is probably not the most sound thing to be imbibing on a monday night. right.

2. i've been instructed by senor producer to write a love song. which is all well and good, except for the fact that i haven't got the faintest idea how to write a love song. i'm far too self conscious. i've spent years teaching myself to cope with publicly spewing my vitriol and angst, and it's never been easy. so the prospect of airing out feelings of actual affection? mortifying. absolutely mortifying. it's entirely too personal. (not that my fury isn't, but there's something about anger that makes me feel less vulnerable) to say nothing of the embarrassment it would cause the subject (oh yes, a detail of the assignment: it can't be an abstract love song. it has to be written about someone specific. no points for guessing who. and, though we've gotten to the drain-unclogging phase, i don't think he's ready to hear me confess metaphorical adoration in public just yet). plus, have i mentioned i don't know how to write a love song? there's no way i'll be able to pull it off without being overly saccharine. and trite. drat. but i have to give it the old college try by my next show (which is the 26th, for those of you keeping track at home), or else the producer will be angered.

3. sometimes i don't know what little demon gets into me when i dress myself in the morning. today: sandals and legwarmers. though i feel very grecian and refined...what the hell was i thinking?

4. tom robbins has a new book out. it was released in april. how has this escaped my attention until just now?

it's funny 'cause it's true

i find it amusing that i am surrounded by fierce, fabulous, amazing, brilliant, beautiful, talented people (and when the sun shines i like to think i can keep up with them), and not a one of us has an easy time believing that the objects of our desire could possibly want us as much as we want them. many of us are constantly, CONSTANTLY waiting for that other shoe to drop. even when the evidence that we're being absurd is staring us right in the face.

what, i ask you, is our collective damage?

i don't know if it should make me giggle uncontrollably or weep like a banshee.

asking for...

i sometimes find myself asking stupid questions to which i know the answers, simply because i like hearing someone else say it.

we are standing by for a useful transmission

i am having absolutely no luck in harnessing my powers of concentration this morning. whether this is because i'm tired, or hopped up on allergy meds, or just feeling anarchic is unclear. perhaps it's because i had a really good weekend and am having trouble readjusting myself to reality. certainly the fact that i have to write an article on rabies and import requirements certainly doesn't help. ah well.

please bear with me.

weekendly goodness all around.

just a final note before i shut up for the weekend.

so...margaritas, magnolia cupcakes, and dishing in the park with two of the loveliest ladies of them all. love it.

lost weekend 1

okay. so. yes. the lost weekend.

have i mentioned how big a fan i am of my optometrist right now? for real. probably because i am just so unbelievably relieved about the whole no-need-for-eyeball-gunge-excavation-surgery news. but, you know. also because he saw me within an hour of my initial inquiry, sourced the specific eyedrops i needed so i wouldn't have to run all over town, and when i came in for the final word, he saw me immediately. so, yeah. big ups to the eye doctor.

it's hot today. my brain's a little melty.

but, yes. relief. much relief. made even better by the italian ice that boy bought me as a reward for not freaking out entirely before finding out the trouble with my ocular meat.

anyway. the lessons learned this weekend:

1.don't fuck around with your eyes. optometrists are much less terrifying than you think. and seeing is really good. especially when what you're seeing is a blue-haired boy on a sunny, sunny day.

2. sometimes, paranoia is just stupid. but sometimes, it can really save you from some bad shit. like blindness. for real.

vision repaired

okay, so clearly prayer works. there will be no eyebrushing involved, and i'll be off the eyedrops and back in my contacts by the end of the week.

yeee!

stay tuned for more missives from the lost weekend.

goodbye eye-owa (not really.exactly.)

so. first. special thanks to everyone who bullied me into going to the optometrist, forcing me to catch , just in time, a small corneal rupture that could have become, as my optometrist would say 'absolutely catastrophic' had i left it any longer. but, having gone in today, it's possible that a short course of antibiotic eyedrops will do the trick.

of course, there's another possibility. which is that there's something buried in my eyeball which would then necessitate a visit to my friendly neighborhood hospital so that they could use an IMPLEMENT NOT ENTIRELY UNLIKE AN ELECTRIC TOOTHBRUSH to gouge said object out of my eye. i will know tomorrow.

please, please join me in prayer to all that is good and holy that the eyedrops will be all that's required. please.

justify

i did it. i justified my existence to not one, but TWO of the VPs of infinite doom, and i did it with only one eye working.

that's right.

now, i'm going to go collapse in a puddle of tired and pain. and think happy thoughts about the weekend.

ouch.

i am in significant amounts of pain and i CAN'T SEE and they won't let me go home until 3pm.

the thursday three.

item! anyone who says that cheesecake is not the answer (particularly when combined with red wine and good company) is either hopelessly stupid or lying to you.

item! it's official: i'm utterly ridiculous. feel free to mock at will.

item! today is the cavalcade of stars in the office today. a fact about which i'm none too happy, particularly considering allergies and some sort of contact lens snafu last night are making me look like i just got my ass beat in a street fight. i want to get in, say my piece, and get out out out.

wish me luck, kids.

this is an excercise in finding the lost pieces

previous incarnations (in no particular order):

1. horseback rider (cross country)

2. figure skater.

3. cheerleader.

4. ballerina.

5. kept woman.

6. punk rocker.

7. choir girl.

8. goth.

9. tenor sax virtuoso.

habits to return to:

1. making lacquered cigarette cases.

2. making mixes.

3. devouring pop culture.

4. cooking. (specifically, rolling sushi and making baba ganouj)

5. wearing stockings. and scarves.

little secrets:

1. i've broken six of my toes: three as a horseback rider, one as a ballerina, and two just being spastic

2. i got alcohol poisoning when i was fifteen, trying to impress a boy by drinking him under the table. eight tumblers of straight vodka and ten minutes later, i spent most of the night praying to the porcelain god, but recovered nicely, and went on to date the boy. who then went on to have a nervous breakdown in university and land himself in an institution. i didn't drink for a few years following that (the alcohol poisoning, not the breakdown).

3. though i am a fragrance dilettante, my heart belongs to chanel's allure.

4. my underwear is the most colorful part of my wardrobe.

i keep having these dreams...

i have these recurring dreams...the first in the series that really gave me pause was the one i had about my molars falling out. i've heard conflicting opinions as to what that means, including the possibility that i am sexually frustrated, or that i am creating an intricate web of lies that's about to be found out. the latter would be an interesting development, as whatever lies i'm caught in are pretty much news to me.

last night i got the greatest hit of all time on repeat: plane crashes. i'm never involved in these things, merely bearing witness. last night there were six of them falling out of the sky somewhere in queens. landing approximately fifty yards from the house where my friends and i were celebrating a housewarming. only one plane exploded, and we all survived. roos was there, and we shared a cab back to brooklyn, after traversing miles and miles ofwinding subway tunnels cordoned off with plastic sheeting. the theory behind this symbol is that i'm feeling helpless, being just a spectator as thousands of people plummet to their deaths.

i suppose that makes sense. i've always said that my subconscious is far savvier than the rest of me.

magic eye

you follow the design like a twisting snake and marvel at how easy it is for your eyes to slip out of focus and reveal something completely new, like those fancies at the mall that captivated you so when you were younger.

the trick is waiting for the sideslip focus to tiptoe in and explain what you're looking at, what it is that makes it sparkle like that.

assuming, of course, that you don't follow the other path as it comes up and tries to swallow you whole.

but, that's what it all ever comes down to, isn't it? fighting gravity?

think positive

compliment of the day: "i love making fun of you when you get all insecure about stuff. because you being insecure has no basis in reality."

necktied

there is something about many englishmen that just prevents them from looking comfortable in a tie. i mean, perhaps its just those who work in my industry, but every time i see a picture of one of the boys in our UK offices, all decked out in their charming little shirts and ties, i just can't help but feel how wrong it seems. as though they're just counting down the seconds 'till they can rip off the tie and run down the pub for a pint, some crisps, and a quick game of footie on the telly. not that i blame them at all, but they wear their discomfort exactly as it must seem to them. it is both amusing and saddening. ah well. at least 90% of the beer they'll be getting round the pub puts the beer 'round here to shame. small mercies, my child. small mercies.

FYI

bulletin: i have just been informed that the elevator tongue bandit (and his company) have left the building.

hurrah!

mama said

greatest hits of my mother''s strange non sequiturs:

1. shivery so, i met this boy...i really kind of like...he's really--

mom is he gay?

okay. so, while i do frequently have appalling taste in men (a trend which i am optimistic i have recently reversed), i like to think that my judgment is not so skewed as to think the boy i'm sharing my bed with wishes i had a penis. granted, i have dated someone who found his homosexuality AFTER his time with me, but i think i've managed to steer clear of dating anyone who is aware of the fact that he's gay at the time. i think.

2. shivery so, i'm going out drinking with the boys tonight. been a long week.

mom well, be sure and keep an eye on your drink at all times.

point of order: the boys i refer to when i speak of 'the boys,' are the boys that would take anyone who tampered with my drink and beat them to a bloody, weeping pulp incapable of speech. those are my boys, the ones who promised me that they'd go find the elevator tongue bandit and hurt him irrevocably if i ever said the word. the boys who escort me home when i'm clearly in no fit state to get there myself wihout getting into trouble, even when it's kind of out of the way. i don't hang out with drink-tampering boys.

historically, i date them instead. (not really. but given my track record, it would hardly surprise anyone, now would it?)

moral of the story: clearly, my family has even less faith in my ability to fraternize with the opposite sex on any level than i do. which is amusing, because at least i can now quantifiably say that i'm' not alone in having trouble believing my current good fortune.

sleepy monkey

i have not been sleeping well of late.

no, wait, let me rephrase that. i have been sleeping very well lately. it's just that i have been doing it for such obscenely short periods of time that i'm not entirely certain what to do with myself. except, perhaps, what i did last night, which was pass out around 10:30 and spent a good chunk of the morning arguing hotly with my alarm clock.

sleepy monkey. not that i'm complaining.

the short list. of things you get to hear.

objects of desire:

a pedicure. a nap. an around-the-world plane ticket. a band-aid for my heel. a pack of american spirits. professional eyebrow pruning. a haircut. coffee. 'psycho beach party' and 'delicatessen' on dvd. an eric lindell and the reds reunion tour. tickets to eddie izzard's next show. a doppelganger to take over my editing responsibilities for the day. sunshine. an ipod. concentration. the ability to bypass next thursday entirely. next friday.

one sodding week.

a kiss wakes me too early in my mysteriously empty bed. i don't even remember falling asleep; i didn't hear the alarm. he smells good and is leaving for a week, smiling at my sleepiness and receiving his first lesson in 'don't ask shivery anything before sunrise if you hope to get an actual answer.' before he goes, i ask him to do me a favor ('send you a note when i get there?' 'actually, i was going to say lock the door, but you can do that, too'), or i think i do (the details are fuzzy). he kisses me again, and then he slips out into the watery dawn.

this is going to be a long week.

the horror! the horror!

in other news...who wants to go see 'from justin to kelly' on friday the 13th? because, really. everyone should see a horror movie on friday the 13th.

music for a mercenary seduction

in the not-too-distant past, i attempted to construct a mix by the name of 'music for a mercenary seduction,' the kind of tunes you'd play if you were seducing someone without an ounce of affection. i came up with two songs for it: a cover of tom petty's 'breakdown' by noe venables and 'i want you' by elvis costello. it was the latter that made me stop. because it doesn't get much better than that when you're talking mercenary seduction. elvis himself described it thusly:

the sound of this track was always going to be the aural equivalent of a blurred polaroid, so no apologies for the lack of fidelity. None are needed, it's just a pornographic snapshot: lots of broken glass, a squashed box of chocolates and a little blood on the wall.

a disclaimer: despite its inclusion on my abbreviated, nonexistent mix, i personally have strong ties to this song. super duper howling fantods in the extreme.

50 things (truth)

okay. you knew it was inevitable. but it's time to lay it out and jump on the "100 things..." line. because god knows, i am far more interesting when broken down into line items.


so, without further ado, i present to you 100 things about shivery.



to start, shivery looks like this:

vitriol

i wrote an entry the other day that seems to be garnering a lot of attention.

all i'll say about it is that it's not what you think.

but the subject is rife with irony.

superalteration

i think that my alter ego is somewhere between emma peel and ginger spice. and i can't even hazard a guess as to who my superego resembles.

oooh, conspiracy of the stars

let's take a moment to discuss the fact that if my horoscopes are to be believed, today is going to be a very good day, indeed. observe:

PISCES, June 2:

This is your day, dear Pisces. You may find that other people are gravitating to you for advice and support. People are apt to strip down their guard and be more openly accepting of the things you believe in. Conversations may lead to topics of a more spiritual matter and you may find yourself giving lessons on the meaning of life. Suddenly the things you have been thinking are coming out to a huge audience that is eager to hear your words

NUMEROSCOPE:

Connecting with others on this day is sure to happen for you, shivery. A 2-vibration is in the air, and with this, you can hardly miss out on forming stronger ties. Your personal relationships and professional associations will all be strengthened, making this an excellent day for you to make things happen. Stick to working within partnerships and shared activities, as this will bring you the greatest results, Eleven. Combining your talents with others' will make an incredible team.

P.S. have we mentioned that tonight is the big show with the letdowns and company at galapagos? fingers crossed for a good night, lieblings. i need all the help i can get. because between new venue, other bands and possible guest bass player, i think i might be doing my best impression of a deer in the headlights if i'm not careful.

yes indeed!

hotter than georgia asphalt!

(sorry, just wanted to say that)

i saw a photograph

i found a photograph today of a post-coital couple asleep, she still atop with her head on his chest, his arm wrapped around her...

i think it may be my new favorite photo. there's something about it that's just devastatingly beautiful, and just fills you with a sense of longing. i mean, i want to fall asleep like that.

doesn't everyone?

for the record

don't tell me what my conscious choice was you when you are the one ignoring my missives. for the record, i would have liked you to keep me around. i was pretty fond of you. i am pretty fond of you. but i don't like being accused of abandonment because i am preoccupied.