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Regina Philangi
30 June 2008 @ 09:30 pm
I turned thirty yesterday!

View the awesomeness here.
 
 
Regina Philangi
18 June 2008 @ 03:21 pm
I wish there was a magic alcoholic drink you could drink, that would get you drunk, yet allow you to wake up early the following morning feeling healthy and clean and chipper, as if you'd spent last night drinking green tea instead.  I always just feel so shitty after I drink, but it's so damn fun at the time.
 
 
Regina Philangi
10 June 2008 @ 01:47 pm
I had a very creepy dream last night.  I don't remember all of it, but this was the last part: I was lying in my bed in my old bedroom in the house that I grew up in, only the room was barer than it should have been, some of the furniture was missing.  I was lying on the wrong side of the bed - the whole time I was growing up I had slept on the side next to the door, but now I was lying on the side nearer the wall.  Across from the bed were the two windows and the windowseat, but there were no curtains, and one of the windows was open and wind was blowing in - it was dark outside.  I saw movement out of the corner of my eye and I noticed that there was a man's button-up shirt hanging on my partially-open door - it was white, and it was blowing in the wind, but somehow the way the sleeves were moving wasn't consistent with the wind that was blowing, and it felt like the shirt was moving by itself.  Then suddenly there was a loud ringing sound from somewhere in the house outside my room.  I tried to get up and see what it was, but I couldn't move from the bed.  I think I partially woke up at that point but I couldn't wake up all the way and instead I fell back into dreaming sleep, and the exact same thing happened again - like the dream rewound and played over - I was lying on the wrong side of my bed watching this white shirt move, and then the ringing sound happened again.  I struggled really hard to move and get off the bed but it was so hard - and then I pulled myself up out of sleep like pulling yourself out of water - all this resistance to coming out the dream - and then I found myself lying in real life in my apartment, and it was 3:30, and I had that scared feeling you get sometimes in a dark quiet apartment; I kept remembering the way the white shirt was moving back and forth, and I was afraid that there was someone in my apartment.  Eventually I turned on the light and got up and made myself walk around and of course there was nobody there, but there was just something so creepy in the way my room looked all wrong from the wrong side of the bed, and that white shirt moving in the wind but not with the wind....
 
 
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Regina Philangi
05 June 2008 @ 04:46 pm

Maybe there’s a world out there.
It’s raining, or empty with sunshine,
Abandoned to show its pavement and parking lots
in satellite photographs, where air conditioning ducts
on rooftops and the flattened tops of trees
are caught in a frozen summer, until the next pass.
From here, the camera looks like a star.
If we zoom close enough, we can find ourselves,
pale round blurs on a fire escape.

It could be avoiding us.
Our mythologies are so complex
it would take a month of campfires to explain,
and the gods like simple dances,
chalked arrows leading us in and out.
But we juggle bottles of wine
and balance on the bedframe, looking down;
we twist each others’ hearts like acrobats,
all of it blindfold and in the dark.

Is it a wonder the world cries in a corner
with fear for our fall, or turns an indifferent
shoulder?  We weep such small tears
and our laughter is hardly audible.
Maybe this bedroom, this kitchen, this
mouth, these hands, are everything
after all, each moment reflected
not in that distant orbiting lens, but only
in our breathing voices, here and now,
here and now, here and now.

 
 
Regina Philangi
05 June 2008 @ 11:16 am
Immediately after I dragged myself out of bed this morning with a headache, bound and determined to go to work and be responsible, I stepped in cat vomit.  (In better news, the day has been improving steadily since then.)  Joey gets hold of my hair ties, and chews through them, and then eats them.  The last time this happened the hair tie came out the back end, which was really traumatic both for me and him, because I had to pull it out.  That was possibly the most disgusting thing I've ever had to do.  This time, thank God, it came out the front end, although I really wish he had barfed it up somewhere other than in the middle of my hallway along the direct route from my bedroom to my bathroom.  At least there wasn't carpet there.  I don't know where he got hold of it though!  I thought I had hidden them all.  Oh Joey.
 
 
 
Regina Philangi
02 June 2008 @ 09:06 pm
I got two responses from the three cover letters I sent on Friday, one "thanks, we'll keep you on file" from Johnson Banks, and one "your portfolio is great but i don't think we have any openings but i'll forward you to HR anyway" from Ogilvy. (Ogilvy is a big fucking deal. They do campaigns for fucking DOVE. And Motorola. And Cisco and Mattel and IBM just to name a few. I am seriously not worthy to lick the shoes of their head designer.) The third company, a small agency in Kent, didn't respond and I don't expect them to. They only have five designers on their staff. That one was a long shot.

So all in all, prospects for moving to London aren't looking that swell at the moment, although I'd increase the likelihood slightly from a week ago, maybe to 20% from 15%, just because of the niceness of that Ogilvy contact. I need to get on some job sites and do some cold e-mails to other London companies. And I also need to start looking in Boston. My professor, who was all about hiring me for this new entry-level position they might have at their agency, is blatantly ignoring all my bugging e-mails, so looks like the prospect of that is ALSO going downhill. Huge bummer for me, because I was really psyched about working for him.

I hate, hate, hate job searching. Anyone want to hire a graphic designer? I'm pretty good!
 
 
Regina Philangi
28 May 2008 @ 02:23 pm
today was total job hell.  through no fault of my own (well, ok, maybe it was like 10% my fault, but only because i didn't check some stuff that i don't really have to check) the department is in the hole $53,200.  let me tell you, when you think your budget is balanced, it really sucks when the business office calls you and is like, "hey, where's our $53,200?"  it turns out that some grant money that was supposed to be transferred into my account was never transferred, and the person who administers the grant didn't know it was supposed to be transferred so spent it on other stuff, so now the money doesn't exist anymore and we are having to scramble around frantically at the end of the fiscal year trying to pull $53,200 out of our asses.  woohoo!  it's wicked fun.

anybody out there looking for a graphic designer?
 
 
Regina Philangi
24 May 2008 @ 10:43 pm
I fixed my toilet all by myself this morning. It was making this funny sound and I was like, hmm, maybe I'll call Jeff, but then I was like, hey. I am a Master of both Arts AND Fine Arts. Surely I can outsmart a toilet. So I took the top off and looked around in there and figured out how it worked, and then saw that this hooky thing was caught on this stick thing, and I pulled it off, and bam, it worked again! I experienced a feeling of great accomplishment and self-sufficiency. Men are nice for sex, and for bringing you down a few notches when your ego gets too big, and I still need them to kill my spiders, but I no longer require one to fix my toilet. Hear me roar.
 
 
Regina Philangi
04 May 2008 @ 10:26 pm
Fucking seriously. Why don't we just stick that knife in a little further and twist it around a little?
 
 
Regina Philangi
29 April 2008 @ 06:32 pm
when grief becomes a poem
there can't be a beginning;
even april provides no metaphor.

i'm fumbling with wet words
that tumble and collide, and slip into the dark.

some nights my body does the weeping
and my soul is quiet, but love in all its forms
is an absence i can taste in every moment.

i'm trying to call, but my hundred mouths open
to say nothing: spring limps in on a crutch

and birds fall, with pinned wings,
from every ghost of a tree.