Wasting time is far too enjoyable.

Friend of a friend wrote this survey. Pretty funny shit.

The best tasting M&M color is...
red.

Who's outlook on life needs the most adjustment — Oscar the Grouch or Eeyore?
Eeyore is a little bitch.

Funyuns are...
stinky.

Name one reality TV personality who needs a good cock-punching.
Ryan Seacrest. I know he's a host, but seriously, who's gonna argue with that?

Kansas or Boston?
Boston.

Name someone or something who you've thrown up on?
My own sweater.

Slush puppies or Icees?
Icees.

Vampire or Zombie movies?
Zombie.

Worse to be surrounded by...hippies or hipsters?
One is smelly and one just sucks. Hipsters.

The one drink that turns me into a heinous bitch/ ornery douchebag is...
Tequila.

How many robot sluts attack your friend request inbox per day?
Zero.

Better pet — E.T or Gizmo (or any other mogwai)?
E.T.

Would you rather do Jodie Foster in Maverick or in Nell?
Umm, neither, but if I were a dude. . . Maverick. And I'd definitely do Mel Gibson in Maverick. That was before he turned anti-semitic and crazy.

Worst public bathroom you've had to endure?
Churchill's "Pub" in Miami.

Favorite terrible movie?
Some would argue that all the movies I like are terrible, but I think I'll go with 50 First Dates.

Worst place you've woken up?
Ugh. On the floor, freezing cold. This has happened more than once.

Weirdest food item consumed from a gas station?
I ate a BLT one time. It was not good.

Dane Cook...
used to be funny.

Where were you when Janet Jackson sent a nation into a panic at the site of an expose part of the human anatomy?
Asleep? I think it was naptime for me. I didn't watch the Super Bowl that year.

Favorite frozen treat?
Anything involving Oreos and vanilla ice cream.

Favorite state fair food?
Funnel cake.

Your thoughts on clowns?
Creepy, duh.

Would your rather have participated in Legends of the Hidden Temple or GUTS?
Legends of the Hidden Temple, duh.

Sexiest body part: Feet, ears, or elbows?
Ears?

Would you have Ken Jennings' children?
No. Ken Jennings is an ass-clowning d-bag.

Toad-licking or robo-tripping?
The first one.

I love you, too.

I walk into my bedroom where the dog, Pepe, is asleep on the foot of my bed. I should probably tell him to get down, but I don't really mind. At least he's sleeping on the quilt. I put it there to keep his fur off my comforter. Sometimes I'll walk in and he'll be sleeping in my spot, under the covers, head on the pillow. I sit down on the edge of the bed next to him. He's snoring. I start absentmindedly scratching his belly. He groans like he always does when I rub his belly. Then I pick up his paw. He whines and pulls it away from me, he hates it when I touch his feet. His little paws are so cute though, and they smell like grass most of the time. I resume scratching his belly, and stare up at the ceiling thinking about today. This is the first minute I've had to relax. This week has been insane, my life is insane, I am nauseated daily by the stress I feel. Suddenly, he stirs awake and places his paw on my open palm. "I love you too, Pep."

White picket fence.

You make yourself out to be so damn perfect.
You spend day after day cleaning your white picket fence.
Scouring pad in your right, Clorox by your side, elbow grease in ample supply.
Maybe, if you scrub hard enough, the chips in the paint will disappear.
Every day, you work to make the flaws less noticeable.
But all you're really doing is drawing attention to the problems.

Your white picket fence, your lily-white reputation, your alabaster complexion.
It's probably not my place to tell you that it's not important.
So, instead, I stare out the window and wonder:
When will you realize?
There's no shame in buying paint.

The wait is over.

So, I think it's a good time to explain my thoughts on the new Britney Spears album, Blackout. You can make fun of me all you want, and I don't really give a crap. I'm not going to force anyone to listen to it or like it, but I'm not going to pretend that I don't. It's not that I think that this is a seminal or even semi-important record, but it is good. As I described it to one friend, it is surprisingly, disturbingly good. That friend expressed her disappointment because she was hoping that Britney would "crash and burn". My sister, on the other hand, has been repeating the mantra, "I knew she would come back triumphant". I don't side with either of these camps, because honestly, it doesn't matter to me if Britney sells her children or sells a million records. I don't know the girl, and while her madness is certainly entertaining, it doesn't affect me one iota.

Onto the music. Although its over-production is apparent, this album is pop perfection. As far as I can tell, Britney didn't write any of the music or lyrics (and that is a pleasant surprise if you remember anything she's "written" in the past). So, basically what we have here is a former star with enough money to pay people to make her sound good. Or her label paid them, whatever. The point is, money talks, and that's the primary reason Blackout is worth a listen. There aren't any redeeming qualities to Ms. Spears' voice. But they can fix that with digitization or what-have-you. And the beats are deliciously pop-ish, and it's kind of fun how everything is done in a very cheeky, cute style.

You've probably already heard the first single, "Gimme More". I think it's great. It's not my favorite track, but it's up there. If you didn't like it, what is wrong with you? Seriously. Get over yourselves, that song is really damn good. "Radar" is also on my top list. It's really good, with some necessary voice morphing making the song that much better. What I referred to as cheeky and cute earlier could be described for this song with another 'c' adjective, cheesy. The radar blip sound effects are a bit much, but if you can laugh at the comedic effect without analyzing whether or not it's intentionally funny, you might enjoy yourselves.

"Break the Ice" is my favorite song. It contains some of the dirtiest lyrics ever, "Can you rise to the occasion? I'm patiently waiting, cause it's gettin' late, and I can't get enough. So let me get it up." Honestly, a lot of why I like this record is because I've been having some issues with myself. I've been feeling kind of unattractive lately, and because Britney is such a tramp, it kind of makes me feel better about myself. Not just because I look better in comparison, but it's kind of put me in touch with my own femininity (sorry if this is tmi). And when I heard, "once you warm up to me, I can make you feel hot," that kind of resonated with me and made me realize that I might have something to offer. I know that that sounds stupid because I just typed it, but I don't really care. This has been an self-image problem I've been dealing with and if Britney's frickin' album helped it, I'm going to give her the frickin' credit.

"Freakshow" is a nice bit of ridiculousness and enjoyable in every way. I like "Toy Soldier" if just for the intro. It's really funny and silly. "Hot as Ice" is a fabulous song and reminds me more of her early stuff. Kind of in the same vein as "I'm a Slave 4 U", if you at all know what I'm talking about. . . Also, it sounds like she's trying to channel Betty Boop. She does that in "Toy Soldier" too, it's kind of weird, but I like it. "Ooh Ooh Baby" is my second favorite song. Apparently it samples from "Happy Together" by The Turtles which you can tell, and that gives the song an upbeat mood. Last song worth talking about is "Why Should I Be Sad", if only because Pharrell produces it. And you'll be (completely disinterested) to know that he is totally on Team Britney according to Mtv's shitty review of Blackout.

So, I've only mentioned the songs I really, really like. I don't think it's necessary for me to go over everything (this post is long enough already). And I'm spent. By the way, I didn't pay for the cd, I just copied my sister's, but why don't you download a song if you're even mildly interested? If you like it, throw her a couple of bones. After all, she's got kids and dogs and a K-Fed to feed and keep in diapers. . . and a crystal meth habit that's getting kinda expensive.

People are gross.

People really need to shower before they come up to my desk to check out laptops. Or put on deodorant. Or wipe their asses. Or whatever works.

Apparently Britney will have to wait, too.

Realizing that everything I do is in my control made me realize that everything I don't do is out of my control, as long as I make a conscious choice about what I do or don't. It's really difficult to stand up for your beliefs, especially when your beliefs are more like a viscous liquid, changing, rather than carved in stone. I don't know what my beliefs are. I like the idea of a higher power. It's comforting to know that someone is looking out for me. But then again, how do I know that he/she/it is doing so? With all the terrible things that happen in this world, how can a perfect being that should provide protection neglect that duty? And it seems that this so-called omnipotent being is pretty imperfect, truth be told.

I think my personal truth is that power resides in earthly beings. In you and me, hell, even an ear of corn holds power, if you think about it. The power to feed another living thing. So what's the reason? The big why we're here? I'm not talking about any new-agey shit like 'The Secret'. That stuff is horse-shit. Mainly because it's all about improving your own life. Where's the good in that? Help your fellow living things. Fuck doing stuff for yourself. I guess the point is to do it right. Live life in the correct manner. And I suppose the way you know whether or not you're doing that is by judging yourself. I judge other people all the time. But to sit down and take inventory of myself is an arduous task. I mean, who wants to do that only to determine that they suck at life? But, that's the thing, I don't think I suck at life. I think I do an alright job of living my life. I make mistakes, and I make bad choices. That's okay. I know what I need to do, and knowing is half the battle, right?

I'm still alive, only I'm very badly burned.

I burned the roof of my mouth on the mashed potatoes at Thanksgiving dinner. It still hurts. That's pretty much the most exciting thing I've got going on right now. But anyway. . .

There are a number of things I want to write about today. The first is to compile the funny quotes, texts, and e-mails I've heard, said, received, sent in the past year. That will probably be put on hold until the end of the year. The second is to discuss temper in a historical, autobiographical context. That will probably have to wait as well, because I plan on getting pretty personal and I'm not quite ready to air all my dirty laundry and closet-residing skeletons on the internets yet. The third is my take on the new Britney Spears cd, and although it is embarrassing that I like it, much of what I admit via this blog is embarrassing. So, expect a Britney post soon, maybe today if I'm feeling inspired. And stay tuned for the former two topics at a later date. (Oh, and this was really just a chance to jot down these ideas before I forget. Sorry if I bored you.)

p.s. My life is way more awesome than yours.

This is a conversation that really, truly happened today. My friend wanted to set me up with a guy friend of hers. I saw pictures of him and expressed that I wasn't interested a while ago. (I hope that doesn't make me seem too shallow.) I thought you all would like to be privy to this conversation since misery loves company. Or in my case, the company I keep loves to revel in my misery. (Oh, and I'm not actually upset about it, this is quite honestly one of the funniest things that's happened in forever.)

"You know that guy that I was trying to fix you up with?" - my friend who shall remain nameless
"Yeah, what now?" - me
"Well, I guess he's into trannies." - friend
"Like transexuals? What the hell??" - me
"Yeah, he's like, dating one now." - friend
"I guess it probably wouldn't have worked out then." - me

(I can't make this stuff up. It's really great that I am now comparing myself to a she-male, this is super.)

Can't we all just get along?

I hate it when someone is mad at me, but won't be honest about it. I think there's a way to be truthful about your feelings without hurting anyone else's. Maybe there's not. But more than anything, expressing what you're angry about will help clarify what that actually is. And then perhaps you'll realize that your frustration isn't with me, but with yourself. I wish this would happen, but I won't speak up about it. I'm a chicken and I don't like it when people are mad at me. Just know that this is real, this is honest. And I love you even if you don't hold the same opinion of me right now.

Who the heck is reading this?

I've received a lot of views this week. Not that I completely believe the numbers, but it is odd, considering I haven't read my own blog all week. And especially since there haven't been any/many comments. Whatever.

My head hurts and I'm drinking a beer before I go to work. I'm really frustrated with work lately, and I need to find a new job, but my priority has to be school right now since the semester is almost over. But the good news is, I am totally on top of everything today. I ran a lot of errands and I am as prepared as I can possibly be for my "close-up" on Friday morning. Woo-hoo??

I also washed my sheets, because the dog apparently has incontinence issues and has peed on my bed twice in the past month. No, that wasn't a fun sensation when I awoke this morning. So I'll be sleeping alone from now on. Which might be a nice change, who knows?

But I did not shoot the deputy.

This weekend I have to go to Nashville to turn myself in. It's not terrible, I apparently had a suspended license from failing to pay a parking ticket, and then I got a misdemeanor, blah, blah, blah. Supposedly if I show up on Friday morning and pay them a bunch of money, it won't go on my record. Of course, it does involve getting mugshots taken and getting fingerprinted, and I have to be honest, I'm about to hyperventilate right now thinking about it. Luckily (?) I have a friend who had this happen to her, so I'm not quite as stressed because she told me what to expect.

Anyway, the point is, on Saturday, I'm going to be ready to stick it to the man, and I want to go out and get supremely hammered. So, if anyone wants to go with, and by anyone, I mean anyone who lives near Nashville, let me know. Because if I have a shitty time, I may not be back to visit for a long while. (You assholes know you would miss me, stop rolling your eyes.)

Indecision pretty much sums it up.

I'm very pleased to see so many of my friends really getting into the presidential election. Although I personally am befuddled by modern politics, I definitely think that there needs to be a major change in our current government, and I like that people my age actually care about this shit. I don't only like it because I'm too confused and skeptical to figure out the candidates' intents for myself, but honestly, that's part of it. Maybe we're not just a lazy generation. I mean, I'm lazy, but I can only speak for myself. . .

The times they are a-changin'.

I am happy living in Knoxville for the first time ever. If that sounds like I've been miserable this whole time, you should know that's not the case. But it's a realization I came to recently, and although it's probably been slowly coming true, I just noticed that me being happy is finally complete. When my friends came in from Nashville last weekend, I was really glad to see them leave on Sunday. And it wasn't like it has been in the past, when I was tired and them leaving equaled me getting to rest. It was like they changed awhile ago, and now, so have I. And that's okay. We're all still friends, but a lot has happened in the past year to make us grow apart. I feel like they don't understand what I'm going through in terms of this stage of my life, but for the big stuff, the overall kinds of things, they can get those. That's good enough for me. So, all in all, it was good, things are on the up and up with most of the friendships I have. It isn't like we had a bad visit, but it really made some things clear, especially my own feelings. It's okay to change if you retain what made you good in the beginning. I think that's the case here, and that makes me sad for what's gone, but excited for what's next. So it's cool, I'm cool, we're cool. Yeah.

What are you supposed to be?

I've been practicing the funny Halloween costume for as long as I can remember. (Who else would dress up like a homeless person and make sure that it was really convincing?) Today when I stumbled upon the Vice Guide to Everything, I found that someone agrees with me. The rest of it was pretty funny / offensive, too.

"Sexy Halloween costumes are lame. They are supposed to signify the woman wearing it is a hot-to-trot sexpot, but the truth is always the opposite. It's like the girl who talks about giving head all the time and then you go home with her and it's like she's chewing on a Mars Bar. If you want to find the really "sexy" (how gross is that word?) girl, go find the one who blacked out her teeth to become Alfred E. Newman."

Not that I think I'm sexy, but I don't think Halloween should be an excuse to dress like a whore. That's called Tuesday.

I would like to play, too.

It's a bad idea to play Wii for the first time when you don't have any money except what goes to bills. I thought I should warn you guys.

She just thinks she's so damn smart.

I think I've started getting migraines. I'm not sure and I try not to diagnose myself anymore, because that is just so not helpful. But, my dad gets them and since he's passed on almost every negative aspect of his health to me already (depression, sleep problems, ADD, weak joints), I'm pretty sure that it's a possibility. So, I'm gonna do something crazy. . . go to the doctor. I know it sounds weird, but maybe I should listen to a guy who went to medical school and has experience treating medical conditions instead of looking up my symptoms on Wikipedia. (Not to mention that I already looked it up on Wikipedia and it said that coffee was both a trigger and a cure. It's hard to change my self-diagnostic hypochondriac ways, shut up.)

This is basically the best poem ever.

(This is a villanelle if you care or know what that is. If you want to know what it is, you can ask me.)

One Art by Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

My unimportant two pence.

Maybe it's just because I know too many hipster boys, but all I've heard about lately is the new Radiohead album. Well, I've downloaded it, too, so I thought I'd weigh in, even though no one reads this, and even if they did, they wouldn't care. Also, I know shit about music, and am definitely not hip, so don't take what I write here as gospel, and don't assume that I at all know what I'm talking about.

First of all, how fucking smart are they to have it available as pay what you want? I mean, that really touched this tightwad's heart. And, if I loved it, I would pay the regular price for the discbox, and it's always a good thing to get paid twice. They get some money from people who aren't really fans, but they're also certain to get the full cost from the super-duper fans. It's a brilliant maneuver and hopefully, a lesson to the music industry who are always whining like little babies about how they don't make enough money.

But I digress. I've listened to In Rainbows twice, and I'm just not sure. I think that the opening song, is actually kind of weak. I mean, it's cool and all, just not really what I expected them to choose to set the tone for this long-awaited album. Bodysnatchers, hmm, this one is just really confusing. Once the instrumentation changes, (2 minutes into the track??) I really like it, I guess I just like half the song. . . Anyway, redemption comes with Nude. This song is fucking gorgeous, and reminds me of what I originally loved about Radiohead. Weird Fishes/Arpeggi I'm trying hard to like. (That sounds bad.) I don't even really dislike it, I guess I just think it's the reverse of the problem with Bodysnatchers. It gets weird about halfway through, and then I don't like the rest of it. All I Need is a good song, albeit somewhat boring. Faust Arp is a nice choice for a short, simple interlude, although a little complexity wouldn't hurt, but Reckoner is a pretty big deal to introduce, now that I think about it. And actually, since I'm listening to this album for the third time as I type this post, I kind of think that Reckoner is one of the best things I've heard in a while. And I like the last three songs, so I guess I actually do like this album. A lot. Also, I think I need to be high the next time I listen to it.

Basically, I think that Kid A is Radiohead's best album, and no matter how many times I listen to it, I am always surprised by how good it is. (Well, some days I like The Bends better, not gonna lie.) But the more I listen to In Rainbows, the better it is, so I think that although it wasn't the epiphanic experience that Kid A was, it is an impressive addition to the repertoire. Maybe the moral of the story is that the fans' expectations rise way too high when they have to wait a long time for a new record. So, yeah, get to it. With a little speed, s'il vous plait.

You look half-dead half the time.

I'm awake. It's sorta late. I'm avoiding typing up my Geology notes for a study guide by goofing around on the internets. I have a test on Friday. I have a paper due on Thursday. I have to give a presentation on Thursday. I have to finish reading The fucking Sound and the Fury by Thursday, too. Why do I do this to myself?

Oh, and I'm also thinking up anagrams of my name. Because that's obviously important. . .

Mercy mercy me.

I have a really bad headache. And for two days I have felt like a moron. There are just no intelligent thoughts in my brain. I'm getting a little stir-crazy here, and a little boy-crazy. Something needs to happen to fix that soon. I'm trying, and I type that with complete seriousness.

Today I read something by someone I know that kind of made me feel like I suck at life. But looking back, I don't really think that's true, I think instead that overachievers make me feel less than great. I know some amazingly smart and driven people. That's a good thing, but it can be pretty humbling when I look in the mirror. Maybe someone thinks of me as an overachiever. That's a comforting idea.

Also, the only bands I've wanted to listen to lately are Gorillaz, Beck, Radiohead, and Marvin Gaye. And no, I don't have the new Radiohead yet. And two of those aren't bands. I feel un-good. G'night.

I can have oodles of charm when I want to.

It's really scary to show up for life every day and give it all you've got and be a person you actually like. But it's pretty neat, too. And I'm pleased with the state of things. Just thought you should know.

Around the way girl.

Umm, that is one of my favorite rap songs, ever. Anywho. . .

Halloween is approaching and I don't have a costume yet. Even though I didn't get a chance to wear my "Your Mom" costume last year, the idea is already played out in my head, and I can't do that. In case you haven't heard about that one (or if you want to steal it), the idea was to wear a turtleneck / windbreaker outfit with white tennis shoes. Gold chain pendant on the outside of the turtleneck, poufy hair, heavy makeup. When people ask who I'm dressed up as, I reply, "your mom." Man, that was an awesome idea. Oh well. Year before that I was K-Fed (a full year before Andy-fuckin' Roddick btw). That was a sweet-ass costume too.

Right now I'm not feeling very creative. Amy Winehouse would be funny, but I'm not really thin enough for that. Hmmm, I'll have to think on this. In other, completely unimportant news, I took a midterm today. I'm pretty sure I made an A, not bragging, just truthful. In philosophy, we had a class debate on abortion which was as incredibly hellacious as it sounds. In another class, we discussed The Awakening, and if I have to read that again, I might have to drown myself. So, yeah, school is going great. Really friggin' great.

Quick question:

Do I come off as assertive, like I hope I do, or aggressive, as I'm afraid I do? Does it really matter? Do I even care? I need some help, I think.

"Lack of money is the root of all evil."

I found the quote above attributed to George Bernard Shaw. However, it is also attributed to Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens), so who the hell knows? I do think it is apropos to this entry, regardless of who said it. It's been awhile since I posted an entry. I haven't been feeling very prolific lately. The mindless crap on myspace does not count as an actual blog. Anyway, here we go. . .

My financial situation took a change for the worse yesterday. I am really bad with money. Honestly, MC Hammer is probably better at budgeting than me. Anyway, this has completely stressed me out. I don't spend very much money; I just don't know how to pay my bills. On time. And that's bad. Another problem is that I'm kinda lonely. I don't really have any friends here in Knoxville, except for my sister. I have acquaintances, but surface relationships are not what I'm after. I need some real human contact, and right now I have zilch. Everytime I say this, people (who live in Nashville) tell me to move back to Nashville. But that won't fix things. I'm out of college money (that's not related to the aforementioned financial sitch), and even if I get more money, it won't be enough to go to college there.

So, what do I want to do? Besides crawl into a hole and die? Pretty much my only option is to find a full-time job working for the university. That way, they pay for my tuition, I'll be making enough money to pay my new bills, and hopefully I will be smart enough to pay my old bills. On time. So that's the deal. I know that this is depressing, but damnit, I'm pretty fucking depressed right now.

This is really just for me.

I've been cooking lately, and I need to write down the recipes. If this interests you, feel free to read. If not, click away to your heart's content.

Sloppy Lentils
(adapted from here)
2 carrots, diced
2 stalks celery, diced
3 new potatoes, diced
1 onion, diced
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 tablespoons olive oil

2 cups veg. stock
14.5 oz. can diced tomatoes
6 oz. can tomato sauce
1 cup water
1 cup whole lentils, rinsed
1/2 cup basmati rice, rinsed

1 large handful spinach, chopped
1 tablespoon dried oregano
1 small handful parsley, chopped
2 tablespoons tamari
1 tablespoon hot sauce
1 teaspoon paprika

Saute top list of ingredients in large stock pot. Add next list in order. Boil. Then reduce heat to low and stir in the rest of ingredients. Simmer covered for an hour, stirring occasionally. If it looks too dry while cooking, add more water, 1/2 cup at a time. Taste for salt and pepper when finished. Eat as a stew or on a hamburger bun for authenticity's sake. Add ketchup to individual servings for a real sloppy joe taste.

Makes a shit-ton, so freeze most of it. Better the next day. Also, this would be less lentil-y with red lentils, but leave out the tomato sauce and water if using those.

Chicken Salad
shredded, cooked chicken breast meat
crisp apple (any type), diced finely
celery, diced finely
onion, diced finely
parsley, diced finely

mayonnaise
apple cider vinegar
pinch of salt, dash of pepper
dash hot sauce

Amounts are relative to the amount of chicken you start with. Toss together top list of ingredients. In a container mix second ingredient list. Stir everything together with a fork until all ingredients are well incorporated. Taste to see if it needs more salt or pepper.

Serve on a salad of spinach leaves dressed with a vinaigrette of apple cider vinegar, olive oil, s&p, and a tiny bit of dijon mustard.

Unravel the paper flowers 'til the colors look neat.

So, I quit smoking. Two, maybe three weeks ago, I'm not really sure. Not good at the whole "concept of time" thing. I really wish I could say that it was difficult, because that would mean I have awesome willpower, but it really wasn't hard at all. I don't crave cigarettes, I don't think about it, I don't really even care. I remember once, long ago, I bought a box of nicotine patches to help me quit. Umm, it didn't work because they made me sick. Like nausea, the shakes, et cet. Turns out I didn't smoke enough to require the use of patches, gum, and the like. Kind of sad actually. Plus, those things are expensive, shit.

Anyway, I guess the question is, why did I quit? Why now? My dad gives me disappointed looks every time he sees a pack in my car. He tells me that I'm going to die of cancer like my Uncle Steve. (Yeah, he really says that.) But that wasn't enough. I can deal with disappointing my parents, I've been doing so since I was about seven. Here's the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back: a kitten. See my sister's cat was never spayed, so when she snuck out, she got knocked up. She had FIVE kittens. Poor thing, she was gigantic. Anyway, I said I would take one of the boys. Two were going to her roommate, one to her other roommate, and one to a friend. So one went to Nashville with the friend. It died. I was so mad for awhile, I thought maybe they didn't take care of her, or something. Then we took the rest of the kittens for their first check-up. They have feline leukemia. I cried for about two days. Basically, it's like AIDS. It will eventually become active and will destroy their immune systems until they die from a disease they get because their immune systems can't fight it. If this innocent kitten can be born with something that will kill him, why am I purposefully increasing my own chances of dying? Anyway, it sounds way stupid now, but that's what it was. I'm going to keep Rocky (named after Balboa, because he's a fighter) until the virus becomes active. They can test him periodically, and I'll watch him for symptoms. He is an amazing little guy, and just so I don't end this on a completely depressing note, here are some gratuitous kitten pictures:

And I promise my next post won't be so dreary.

My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard.

To talk about their feelings. Instead of having lots of boys fall in love with me, I have lots of boys who fall in platonic love with me. I can't tell you how many guys have spilled their guts to me, telling me about their relationships, and how their girlfriends are crazy, and then they want to be bff with me. Uh, hi, I don't give a shit. From my experience, yeah, girls are pretty psycho. But the only reason that's not said as often about boys is because they're better at hiding it. For some reason, I tend to draw out the crazy in people of both sexes. I guess I'm an equal opportunity conversationalist. I know I'm a really awesome person, and I'm intelligent and sensitive, and I know that no one gets you like I do, but please, sometimes a girl's just tryin' to get some. I realize that I display a lot of typically male traits: common sense, directness, umm, I'm better at science and math than other subjects. But this doesn't mean that I'm your guy friend.

The fact is that the vast majority of my friends are women. And, trust me, they take full advantage of my available ear, too. Anyway, I suppose I'm complaining because I haven't had this problem in awhile. And now that it's cropped up again, I don't really know how to handle it. I guess, since I'm such an understanding person, I feel that I should receive some sort of compensation. So boys, if you want a bff who will listen to your girlfriend woes, you better make sure to get me drunk first. What's the name on your tab?

Giving birth is fun.

Ummm, I wouldn't know anything about that, but celebrating birth is fun. My birthday is one month away today. I think it's important to acknowledge the passage of time, whether it's by a round number rolling around on the odometer, or using candles to mark years of existence. I like my birthday. I don't plan things, and I don't build it up, because doing so would jinx me, I'm certain. But generally I think it's nice to think that I lasted one more year. And if I'm lucky enough to have friends who want to take part in festivities in my honor, that's really awesome. I'm feeling good about my 24th year. I really am.

And this is what I've learned about myself from my rising sign. It supposedly defines your personality better than your sun or moon. If you know me, you know, this shit is scary true:

Rising Sign is in 14 Degrees Scorpio
You tend to be quiet, reserved, secretive and, at times, quite difficult to understand. Others notice your deep emotions and feelings and wonder how to draw you out. Stubborn and tough, you fight for any position you believe in. You are very resourceful and formidable when you become angered or upset about something. You enjoy living life at the cutting edge -- for you life must be experienced intensely and totally. Quite courageous, you are willing to take calculated risks. Easily hurt by others, you often strike back with bitter sarcasm. Sensitive and curious, you are concerned with the deeper mysteries of human psychology. Once you have become interested in any subject, you pursue it with total fanaticism.

Not sure about that last sentence, fanatical, not really, but I will Google it. Is that like a lazy fanatic?

Damn, she's a little long-winded, huh?

So, I wrote a really long post about last weekend. But, in order to post it with any hope of someone reading the whole thing, I would have to do so in installments. So here's the highlights, which I think is a slightly more interesting format.

Got wasted off of one beer at a cook-out. Ate some food. Not so drunk anymore. Went out for girl's birthday. Paid my party's cover. There were only 3 of us so, no biggie. Drank some beer, took some jager bombs. Mingled with people. Bought birthday girl a shot. Danced (no, that's not a joke). Left the bar. Was kidnapped and driven to another bar. Had one drink. Bar closed. Started to go home, changed mind. Searched for house where friends were, and ended up walking all through the house next door. None of the tenants noticed. Found correct house. Drank some more. Had several deep convos. Had several dumb convos. Drove one friend to Waffle House at 5 or so. We ate. Drove home, slept for 2 hours. Woke up, showered, headed to brunch. Felt hungover like whoa. Like I was dying. Had a Guinness. Had a water. Ordered food. Had a Red Bull. Tried to eat food, almost vom'd. Had a Diet Coke. Had 2 free shots (vodka and unknown ingredients). Had a Bloody Mary. Told my friend about my new abbrev: bellig. She was way excited. Went to other birthday girl's house to prep for party. Took a nap instead of helping. Woke up. Downed some caffeine. Helped skewer veggies onto kebobs. Cleaned up a bit, started drinking. Met lots of new people. Ate before everyone else since I hadn't had any solids since Waffle House. Had a few more beers. Had a shot. Decided to go to sleep around 2:00 am. Walked up to spare bedroom. Went to pee in guest bathroom. Toilet was clogged. No toilet paper was left on the roll. Walked downstairs and told birthday girl that someone had clogged her toilet, and I was not fixing it. Went back upstairs, brushed teeth, washed face, lay down. Awakened at about 2:30 by a ruckus. Apparently, the downstairs toilet was clogged too. Wait no, every toilet in the house was clogged. Great. Waited for a boy to unclog the original problem toilet. Went back to sleep. Woke up at 7:30. Headed to dad's house for Father's Day breakfast. Had some coffee (nectar of the gods) and a bagel. Drove back to Knoxville and went straight to work.

There was also a lot of telling complete strangers my life story, et cet, but we don't need to get into that. Oh, and p.s., experiencing last weekend was more interesting than my shit retelling.

Edited to add: One other thing I can recall from the party Saturday night was this guy talking about how his Guitar Hero game had broken. "I can't rock out on it anymore. I remember this one time. I really rocked out on it." He also called me Kelly at some point. Don't worry though, he apologized.

I'm pretty sure I'm going to hell.

Sometimes (okay, a lot of times) I think of stuff that I think is funny, but no one else does. I get ideas, like, "What if I put so-and-so in my myspace top 8, they would be so creeped out." I think that would be fucking hilarious. But I don't want to scare people. I say things in public that are simply ridiculous and totally inappropriate.

Also, I think that the more uncomfortable someone else is, the more comfortable I am. For some reason, watching someone squirm gives me a feeling of serenity and it boosts my confidence. That's probably because I'm an evil person. But the opposite is also true. When I'm around someone who has their shit together and is like, collected, it freaks me the fuck out. It makes me feel all stressed, and then the verbal spewage begins, and then it's all over, and this person just thinks I'm a psycho.

So, yeah, I don't know what my point is. But I really wish that someone thought my weird ideas were funny too. If you're ever hanging out with me, act really nervous, and then I'll be on my game, and we can talk shit about people, because that's like my favorite thing ever. I mean, I like most people, I just also like to make fun of most people. Damn, I really am a terrible person.

Cook some food, that's what I'll do.

A few weeks ago I bought some quinoa. Quinoa, for those of you who don't know is a grain that is cooked pretty much the same way as rice. It has a somewhat nutty flavor and a slightly chewy texture. So, I cooked some today and I'm very happy with the results. Here's the recipes I made today.

Cook one cup of quinoa according to your package directions. That should yield about 3 cups. I split the cooked amount in half, and used about 1 1/2 cups for each recipe.

The first is a salad, kind of like tabouleh, but not really. Once quinoa has cooled, add one can of drained, rinsed black beans. Toss together lightly with a spoon. Chop a handful of parsley and a handful of basil leaves. Add to the bowl. Add any chopped vegetables on hand, green or red peppers, tomatoes, carrots. Top with a vinaigrette made with 3 tablespoons olive oil, 1/3 cup vinegar, 1/4 teaspoon garlic powder, pinch of sugar, large pinch of salt, pepper, a few dashes hot sauce, and a few dashes of soy sauce. Toss everything together. Taste for seasoning. Eat cold, and store leftovers in the fridge.

The next things I made were some quinoa patties. There was a recipe in the package, but I kind of threw that out, and made it up myself. First boil 2 small potatoes with 1/4 of an onion until soft. While that is cooking, press or chop a clove of garlic very finely. Mix into quinoa. When onion and potatoes are soft, drain, but reserve some of the cooking water. Mash both with some of the water, then mix with the quinoa. Taste mixture and add salt and pepper as needed. After this has cooled, form into patties about 2 inches in diameter. Dust with flour. Heat a skillet with a generous amount of olive oil. Cook over medium heat for about 2 minutes on each side. The patties should be golden brown and crispy. These are really fucking good, and would be great with roasted garlic instead of raw. Seriously, they're awesome.

I gots to quit drinking.

I sort of have a social life again, and it's seriously about to kill me. I'm too old for this shit. I wasn't that hungover this morning, but after driving for 3 hours, it started to kick in. Also, I have to stop being a fucking idiot. Seriously, I am the dumbest person I know. I woke up at 8 to drive back to Knoxville and work. I get to work only to remember that I asked for today off a few weeks ago. Maybe it's time to get a calendar.

Okay, here are my summer resolutions:
1. Don't finish off the whole bottle of wine in one night.
2. Take advil before going to bed when drunk.
3. Drink lots of water when out.
4. Buy a calendar.
5. Use the calendar.
6. Sleep less.
7. Take vitamins.
8. Don't eat Krystal, Taco Bell, et cetera when wasted.
9. Actually, no fast food at all, ever
10. Don't take a shot of Jager right before the bar closes.
11. Don't text friends when wasted. You're not that funny.
12. Realize that even though beer has calories, it is not a sensible dinner.
13. Don't buy people drinks.
14. Stop taking medicine on an empty stomach and then wondering why you feel sick.
15. Finish a book.
16. Figure out how to achieve world peace.

Wow. That's a pretty long list. Damn. I don't know if I can really do all of that. But anyway, I'll give it a shot.

This is why I love watching movies on tv.

I'm watching Office Space on E! tonight. I love how they alter the curse words.

"Freak! We're in deep slime."
"We are in deep slime."

But they can still say, "pound-me-in-the-ass prison". Go figure.

Anyway, I have to head out, but I'll be in Nashville tomorrow night, apparently. I decided that after two glasses of wine. Probably not the best way, but whatevs.

Money in my pocket, but I still act trife.

So, I have a new job. In addition to my awesomely nerdy library job, I'm also working as a copy editor for the school newspaper, The Beacon. I got hired today, and much to my surprise, they're actually gonna pay me. Basically I have to edit and proofread articles, editorials, all that type of shit. There are all these formatting rules determined by the Associated Press. Like, percentages must be expressed in numeral form, not spelled out. In addition to those, the paper has produced its own rules. For instance, certain things can be expressed by an acronym in the first mention, while other things can't. I'll also have to write headlines, eventually. I have a lovely handout that gives a list of verbs that are strictly forbidden in headlines. These are: rocks, hosts, holds, offers. Why? I have no idea, the handout provides zero explanation. So, it's all very boring, and you don't need a more thorough description than the one I've already given.

But let me tell you about another amazing handout titled, "A few suggestions for copy editing." It is awesome. So hilarious. It misspells comma every single time. There's a lot of fucking information on comma use. So, guys, the most important thing that I learned from this paperwork is that I don't need to slip into a coma when completing a series. The hard part is avoiding that when reading this goddamn newspaper.

p.s. Don't think that my blog grammar is going to change. I don't proofread this shit.

Can we get some privacy in here, please?

So, you know how on MySpace you can set things to private? Your whole profile, certain blog posts, pictures. All of those things are stupid. (Yes, I know I had a private profile for a minute, and I have set blogs to private in the past. Shut up.) So, you're on this website to keep up with current friends, reunite with old friends, and make new friends, probably through other friends. And some of you are on there to stalk your exes, don't fucking lie. So, anyway, it pisses me off when people set their profiles to private because they're basically saying, I have enough friends. Which is so fucking egotistical, I can't stand it. I know there are creeps on myspace, but I don't really have to worry about that unless one of them has a beer fetish. My pictures are embarrassing to say the least, but also, extremely un-sexy.

So anyway, I click on a friend (I'm not divulging names), and then I click on some friend of theirs, and immediately click on the pictures. That's basically all I do. I mean, who has time to read all those bands and movies and shit? Not me. I skim to see if there's anything witty, but I don't have all fucking day here. So, instead of the pictures showing up, I see "user has set photos to private" or whatever it says. So, I click back to the profile page, and I see that there is a slideshow of all of their myspace pictures. What a fucking retard. If you don't want people to look at your pictures, why would you post them on your main page which is not private? Idiot.

If you knew that, you'd be as clever as me.

So, something is wrong with me. I think I need to cut some things out of my diet. Meat and cheese, basically. Also, I need to limit my intake of dairy milk because I feel really gross. Plus it's summer, so fruits and vegetables are really pretty right now. Tonight I had some zucchini and tomatoes, and then a few bites of halibut. I feel semi-decent right now. Oh yeah, I also had a couple of spoonfuls of chocolate ganache, straight up. (That might have been the real reason for my light dinner. Maybe.) Anyway, meat is kind of grossing me out right now. Even eggs, and normally I can have eggs for 3 meals a day without getting tired of them.

After looking at all the lovely produce, I've decided to make a vegetable soup. Tomatoes, zucchini, yellow squash, corn, green beans, mushrooms, peppers, chard, and some herbs. That sounds so delicious to me. I know the weather's a little warm for soup, but fuck it. So anyway, cutting some stuff out, that's what I'm going to work on for the next few weeks. Also, I need to be eating yogurt or kefir everyday. It's dairy, but probiotics make it okay in my book.

So, I saw something referencing Da Ali G Show today. I remembered that I watched that a little while ago. I was high (which is not a regular thing in case you're reading this, dad), because we were going to watch Snakes on a Plane. Isn't that an important reason to smoke? Yeah, I thought so, too. However, we ended up watching Ali G instead which I thought was hilarious. Until I fell asleep. So that reminded me that I still need to see Borat. Wow, that was a long explanation. I'm going to crack open a bottle of wine now. If it's twist off, if not, I'll have to pop it open. Later.

Do I look like I have class?

So, it's Monday night and I'm bored, so I'm going to do my favorite thing: talk about myself. Steeplechase was definitely interesting. I don't think I'll go next year, simply because of the logistics of the event. Basically, you dress up and stand outside and drink and walk around to see who you know. Downsides are the heat and the side effects of it, namely sweating, sunburn, and um, being really fucking hot. Like, seriously, walking around is enough to kill a person. Anyway, must-have items are sunscreen, a hat, a tent, toilet paper (in case the port-a-jon is out), water, sunglasses, water, and water. Oh, and food. You drink a lot for a really long time, so you have to eat something.

If I were to go back, I would want to go with all my friends. That way, there would be less walking around and more drinking with buddies. But the thing is, that's not what you do. ("Gah, Mary!") So, what I want isn't really possible. I don't have that much influence over my friends. I can't tell them they're not allowed to leave the plot or anything like that. But it was fun when I didn't feel like I was dying. And the people who went with me were lovely and extremely fun. So, in conclusion, a good day, but it probably won't be repeated.

Eventually, tomorrow becomes yesterday.

So, tomorrow I'm going to Nashville. I'm going to a fancy horse race called Steeplechase. I think I'm the only person in the world that would refer to it as a "fancy horse race". But that's only because I'm fabulously ghetto. Anyway, I am wearing a sun hat, which is one of the few times anyone will see me in a hat. I have an issue with them because I have a small head, but I'm going to do it anyway.

Also, tomorrow is my dad's birthday. I'm not sure how old he is, I think between 55 and 60, but I honestly can't say that with any amount of certainty. I'm going to dinner with him and my stepmom, so, that's awesome. . . free meal and all.

So, one of the problems with Steeplechase (which is on Saturday), is that you drink from like 8 am on. I don't know if I can handle it. I'm bound to see some people I don't care for, and I have a hard time keeping my mouth shut. I don't dress up very often, and there's a reason for that, I'm not the most genteel person in the world. I guess we'll see whether or not I end up embarrassing myself. Should be fun. Right?

Right?

This may have to be updated; I'm pretty drunk.

Coming to America is probably the best movie ever.

Anyway:
Where I've visited outside America: Italy, Bonaire, Costa Rica, Belgium (okay, just the Brussels airport).
In America: San Francisco, Chicago, Miami / most places in Florida, New York, South Dakota, South Carolina, Atlanta, Mississipi, Alabama, many places in Tennessee.

Where I want to go outside America: Africa (esp. South Africa), China (Shanghai or Beijing), Canada (all over, even the really cold places), Australia, Germany, Holland, France, Ireland, India, Russia, Argentina / Chile, Iceland, Mexico, Puerto Rico.
In America: San Francisco / Berkeley, TEXAS, Hawai'i, Los Angeles, Montana, Arizona.

Please tell me if there's anything I've left out. Because I'm certain I have.

I think I'm giving up on life.

At least in Knoxville, and at least until June.

Just thought you should know.

Lady-like isn't what I was going for.

What is up with this southern custom of women letting men do whatever they want? I especially notice it with the younger women at UT and it makes me want to puke. The whole "ladies' southern charm" thing is a given, but the purpose of that charm is to get men to do what you want, not the other way around. Of course, leave it to east Tennessee to be more backwards than the other states in the south. I just don't get it. I guess it's just a courtesy thing, but I see it as a 'doormat' kind of thing.

Why should women do favors for men when they'll gladly do favors for us? After all this time, women still get paid less, and the reasoning behind this is that with pregnancy, women are more likely to take extra time off. In a given year, what's the percentage of women in the workplace that get pregnant? Please tell me because, unless it's 100%, there's no way that all women in America should be paid less simply because they are capable of reproducing. So for this reason alone, women should see men as an opportunity to get some payback for lower wages.

But here in Knoxville, girls lug their boyfriends' laptops back for me to check in. They get them drinks at Starbucks, but no, they don't want anything. They help them study, while neglecting their own classes. They let their boyfriends feel smart by pretending not to know the answers in class.

Which is all fine, I suppose I shouldn't judge. However, I can't help but feel that the negative connotation of 'feminist' is partially to blame for this anti-feminist behavior. But whatever, I probably don't even shave my armpits, right?

What if I were to start screaming right now?

Please, let this semester end soon. I'm sick of the library with all these whiny, bratty kids. I need a vacation. And a nap. I miss my friends. Even the ones who live in Knoxville.

I think I'm dying.

Yeah, I am.

Whatever, man, you're fucking sick.

So, I'm sick. Hence the blogging on Friday night. (I swear. I really did have some invites to go out tonight.) I'm actually kind of angry because I have been very sympathetic towards all these sickies while maintaining my distance, and now the bastards have given the disease to me. The common symptom for this unknown illness seems to be extremely swollen, painful lymph nodes. Anyway, let's get down to business. I need to drug myself and go to sleep.

I've decided that I will no longer hang out with couples. For some reason, (I have probably already touched on this earlier) people who are practically strangers tend to see me as the confidante they've never had. I don't know whether I seem understanding or non-judgmental or what. I'm none of these things. I don't understand things I haven't experienced personally and I make unfair judgments about every person I meet. Perhaps because I am very self-absorbed and I tend to relate everything to myself, people confuse this with understanding, or at the very least, interest. But the truth is I'm only interested in myself. The other flaw one will encounter when confiding in me is that I'm completely untrustworthy. I wouldn't be able to keep a secret if my life depended on it. It's not my fault, I just feel the need to tell everyone everything I know and think.

Anyway, so since I'm apparently the best (and by best I mean absolute worst) choice of person to tell your innermost secrets, this is where the couple problem happens. My friend will tell me some information, which they do not mention is private and they don't tell me to keep to myself. So of course, I naturally assume that they have already told their significant other. I mean, when you're sleeping with someone on a regular basis and planning a life with them and forcing me to hang out with them too, I guess I just think that occasionally the two of you would actually talk about things. Maybe that's crazy. I sure as hell don't have the relationship experience to be making these assumptions, but my experience as a human being with a multitude of non-romantic relationships leads me to believe that this is not a ludicrous idea. Even if I only recall my limited experience in romantic endeavors, I know for a fact that in (how shall I put this?) intimate moments, some people allow private thoughts to slip.

So then your boyfriend buys me shot after shot, and I bring up a topic I assumed he was familiar with. You are not allowed to get mad at me. Seriously. It's not okay. If you don't want to be honest with the guy you have insisted I befriend, then don't fucking tell me anything, or even better, don't insist that he tag along. And seriously, do us all a favor, and break up with the poor guy. After this long explanation, my decision is that I will no longer be pushed into an uncomfortable situation by one or both members of a couple. I don't give a shit. Fix it your damn self. I'm not your god-forsaken therapist.

So that's it. Enough anger to keep my blood pressure up until Sunday. Quick question: does anyone on fucking myspace know how to spell ridiculous? Because right now, I'm not convinced anyone does. Alright, now it's cold medicine time. Every time I take NyQuil, I get exactly six hours of sleep. Is it odd that I know that?

I don't have to. All I know is it happened.

So, yesterday Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. died. In a 2003 interview he said, "One kid said he had the key to all my books and he put it in a sentence. He said, 'Love may fail but courtesy will prevail.' Love does fail all the time, you know, and it makes people vicious."

He was the author who got me interested in reading. I used to go to the library a lot after class in high school. I would pick a random book, and start reading it. If I liked it, I'd check it out. I read a couple of chick-lit books, (it was Bridget Jones heyday, shut up) but I got bored with that really quickly. That was when I learned that just because I like one book, I won't necessarily like the whole genre. So anyway, I would just walk down the fiction aisles waiting for something to pop out at me. One day I walked past the Vonnegut section, and I picked up Cat's Cradle. I stood in front of the bookshelf and read the first few chapters. I finished that in a few days, and then I read Galapagos, then Breakfast of Champions, then Slapstick, and Welcome to the Monkey House, and Slaughterhouse-Five, and Hocus Pocus.

About four years later, my dad loaned me his copy of Bluebeard. I still haven't given it back. It's my all-time favorite. I don't really know why, maybe I just think one-eyed Armenian painters are awesome. Anyway, somewhere along the way I had switched from the library to the bookstore. So I began to build my collection of (legitimately purchased) Vonnegut books.

When talking about his decision to stop writing novels, he said, "I felt as I did when the Second World War ended: Please, I've done everything I'm supposed to do, can't I go home now?".

Food Network hosts shouldn't be allowed to eat on camera.

Seriously, it's grossing me out. I mean, for god's sake, it's food. Based on the moans of delight and the eyes rolling back, I thought I was watching another channel.

Between Sandra Lee, Rachael Ray, Paula Deen, and that new bitch Robin Miller, I'm about to vomit. Some news for them:
You're not making out with your culinary masterpiece, or I guess you might be if you're mentally disturbed. But either way, the food is not making out with you. Maybe you and the sandwich should get a room.

And this was odd, because it was the middle of the night.

Tweedle Dee - I just feel like I can't do anything on my own and now I've given up. I need someone to tell me what to do and how to do it. Someone like, um. . .
Tweedle Dum - A life coach?
Tweedle Dee - Well, yeah, that would be fine except. . .
Tweedle Dum - Except what?
Tweedle Dee - Well, who would make me go to the meetings?
Tweedle Dum - Oh yeah.

Sometimes there's a penis.

I really did have something to write about. However, now I can't remember what that was. So until then, here's a little gem I found on this new-fangled internet business about the chocolate Jesus sculpture. It refers to the people who are upset about the fact that this depiction of Jesus is anatomically correct:

". . .(A)rt imitates life, and in life, sometimes, there’s a penis. And only in the luckiest of circumstances is the penis made of chocolate."
- Kat, pink india ink

The drugs don't work, they just make you worse.

I'm at work. Some chick just basically threw her laptop on the counter, and then made some kind of sigh-grunt noise. You know what I say to that? Nothing, because it doesn't even fucking matter. Currently, I'm reading about existentialism. I gotta be honest, I don't really get it. I'm also reading Reading Lolita in Tehran (which so far I believe to be overrated), Possible Side Effects (if you want to feel smart because you can read a whole book in a day, read anything by Augusten Burroughs), and I just finished Anthem (which made me realize that I was correct in thinking that I have socialist tendencies, and that Ayn Rand is a fucking heartless whore). So that's it. Now I'm going to watch Goodfellas. At work. Yeah, I hate me too.

Yeah, I'm crazy, crazy like a fox.

I'm really concerned about my mental health. I just got way too (visibly and vocally) excited because I found a dollar in change at the bottom of my purse. So, basically I found enough money to buy a diet mountain dew, which is one of my addictions, and not a pretty one at that.

Honestly, I should be more worried about my funds (lack of) than my craziness (mild). My bank account's overdrawn, my car insurance just cancelled because I didn't pay it, and my car engine almost blew up yesterday. However, I don't care. I see progress. Regarding the bank account, I'm only overdrawn 4 dollars which is a massively smaller amount than usual. Also, I should be getting paid from work sometime soon, which will probably be enough to pay my car insurance (and reinstate it). And finally, I fixed my car, with a little help from the family. (You can put water in the radiator, not just in the plastic thing? I never knew that.) Anyway, so I'm poor and shit, but it's better than it could be. And diet mountain dew is delicious. That's just a goddamn fact, it's not the borderline personality disorder talking.

Oh, finally, in regards to "By the way", I got my test back. I made an A, and I don't think he curved the grades. Or maybe he just curved them for the people who sucked major ass.

Is it love or is it fancy feast?

I am obsessed with RSS feeds. I can keep up with like everything now. Seriously, I just click on the thing and the new post shows up, it's amazing. Oh my god, why didn't I know about this 'til now?

Fucking hell, I am such a nerd, I can't even get over it right now. . .

So Mary, what else happened on spring break?

Embarrassingly enough, I talked to a lot of people about myspace. One girl said to me right before I had ordered a drink, "Don't try to act like you don't drink, Mary. I've seen your pictures on myspace, you're a total booze-hound." I ate my first slice of New York pizza after a long search for Rosario's pizzeria. I drank PBR in a squalid back room bar. A Bulgarian pony-tailed man tried to guilt me into dancing. I made some crass comments to some random dudes. During a smoke break, one of the members of our party bitched out a girl who tried unsuccessfully to bum a cig. We were turned down by four cabbies whilst trying to find a taxi to Brooklyn from the Lower East Side. Folks flirted, danced, threw inhibitions to the wind, peaced out, waltzed in, drank up, and fell down. This all happened the first night.

The nights that followed consisted of karaoke, Irish bartenders, giving away extra slices of pizza, an artist who had multiple personalities when drunk, a classy encounter with some asshole boys, shots of Jameson, shots of tequila, shots of vodka (none of which were consumed by me), an impromptu rooftop wine party, a schmooze and booze Manhattan young democrats' party which was infiltrated by me and a guy who said he was an Irish-Russian-Jewish republican, a twilight zone trip to Roosevelt Island, two stirring renditions of the theme song to Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, a late-night subway trip that included a cross-eyed black guy who had seen all of America by bus and a white guy who opposed gentrification but lived in a gentrified neighborhood and a preppy Vanderbilt alum eavesdropper, a case of mistaken identity regarding a teenage suicide victim, a pratfall in Williamsburg performed by yours truly, an evening of pizza and Pride and Prejudice and good intentions to stay in, getting lost on the Upper East Side in the snow, a freezing basement show that forced me to put toilet paper in my ears featuring a guy who performed in a backlit tent, and a free beer ticket from a girl in a crazy white get-up.

On St. Patrick's Day, the events included a bite at McDonalds, a quick glimpse of the parade, a German pub, a Duane Reade bathroom break, an Irish pub, a friend who asked the guys at the next table if they were leaving soon about 4 times, a shaving cream fight, Guinness, a Whole Foods bathroom break, a burger joint, a misguided subway trip, a split-up, a long walk north, a long walk east, a Mexican restaurant, a man in a puffy coat with a tight green t-shirt over it, a stolen cell phone resulting in risque text messages, a stolen beer, a free beer, a guy who was pushed over in his chair and then slapped the guy who pushed him, a NYU yuppie hangout, a tonic missing the gin, a stolen beer, a drunk girl who kept trying to steal a coat, a couple who took a limousine, a gay bar, hearing cocaine being sniffed in the next bathroom stall, having an old gay man with a caesar haircut buy me a drink, and a gypsy cab ride. That was my last night in town.

Perhaps it's needless to say, but my days were consumed with trying to recover from the previous nights.

This is what I learned in New York.

You usually don't get a glass, even if the beer costs 7 dollars.
I have an insatiable appetite for pizza.
People who don't know you that well have no problem taking a sip of your drink or a drag of your cigarette.
Walking isn't so bad after the first day.
If one subway car is noticeably emptier than the others, it's because there's a smelly homeless person on it.
It's hard to understand what people say to you on the street, but it doesn't really matter.
Bartenders are good therapists.
Loud arguments are very entertaining, but you don't want to get caught watching and laughing.
Southern belles have been known to spit on the sidewalk.
You're more likely to get a ticket for jaywalking than for littering.
If you wait long enough, someone will buy you a drink.
Snow is gross, dirty, and cold.
I can talk to anyone, anywhere.
There are plenty of people who dress just as badly as I do.
Just because it looks like vomit, doesn't mean it is.
It takes a long time to get anywhere that's not central. (Brooklyn, Upper East Side - 70s and above, Queens, Roosevelt Island)
Being rude is actually an asset.
Avoiding puddles of slush is a full-time job.
Food is cheap and good.
You can curse in front of kids without feeling bad about it.
Work hard, play hard.
Earplugs are a must-have item.
I love rooftops.
Every day can be a holiday, but real holidays are especially fun.
If someone is being an asshole, and you think it's just a northern thing, it's not, they're just an asshole.
People will lie to you to get what they want.
Most bars have a basement or a back room, or some other kind of speakeasy bullshit.
You need more than a week to learn everything.

'By the way' is a great way to start a sentence.

So, we were supposed to get our midterms back today in English class. However, the professor said that there was a big discrepancy in grades between the two sections, and he had to do some futzing with them before he handed them back. However, he did pass back our quizzes from last week. Written at the bottom of my graded quiz was this:
"By the way, you had the best midterm grade in either section-- by a landslide."

Oh my god . . . I'm the girl who fucked up the curve. I've never been that girl. I hate that girl. But I have to tell you, it feels pretty great. I'm kind of liking this whole nerd thing. It almost makes the whole college thing worth it.

My camping gear was designed by Gucci.

I was eavesdropping on a conversation in the library:
Boy- "So what are your plans for spring break?"
Girl- "I'm going backpacking with some friends."
Boy- (eyebrows raised) "Have you done that before, like, do you do stuff like that a lot?"
Girl- "Yeah, I go hiking and backpacking all the time, I do a lot of outdoorsy stuff."
Boy- "That's really cool. Where are you going?"
Girl- "I don't know, like, maybe on the Appalachian Trail, or something."
Boy- "So, what places have you been to before?"
Girl- "I don't really know, I mean they're all like trees and hiking and stuff, so I don't really remember where I've been." (laughs nervously)
Boy- "Yeah, well, trees and dirt, I guess. Right?"
Girl- "Yeah, you know."
Boy- "Well, have fun, I'll see you later."
Girl- "Okay, bye."

Maybe I'm just being cynical, but there's no way that girl is going backpacking, and she's probably only been camping like once. And it was probably cabin camping which totally does not count. Allow me to expound on why I've made this judgement on her character. . .

I know that there are girls who are outdoorsy, and love hiking, and like sleeping in the woods, and don't mind giving up showers for a week. But these girls do not drink Starbucks, or squeeze into designer jeans, or wear lavender cable-knit cardigans, or use a pink ribbon as a headband. And they definitely don't carry a fucking pink Vera Bradley backpack as a purse. Now, if that's the backpack she's taking on spring break, I guess technically she's not lying. Maybe she's not just trying to get into the dirty frat boy's pants. I could be wrong. It's happened once.

No sleep 'til Brooklyn.

My brain is really tired but I can't nap. I've had 4 cups of coffee and one diet mountain dew since 4 this morning. I studied for 3 hours this morning for a test that was postponed. That was awesome, especially since I could have spent that time studying for the test that I actually had to take. No use crying over spilled caffeine, I suppose. Speaking of spilled caffeine, I've peed about 5 times thus far today, and I kind of have to pee right now.

We were talking the other day in class about dreams. When I was younger, I hardly ever remembered my dreams. Occasionally, I would awaken in the middle of a nightmare, but not too often. However, now I almost always remember my dreams. I'll wake up, then drift back to sleep, and the same dream starts as though I haven't woken up. Boring things happen, usually I'm just talking to someone, or watching other people talk, there's not a lot of plot. Sometimes I'm the main character in the dream, but sometimes, I'm not even aware of being present. My dreams are about people I don't know, usually. I hardly ever have friends or family involved. Actually the only time friends and family appear is in nightmares when they have died or are dying. These nightmares are just as vivid as the dreams, and I usually wake up crying. Apparently I'm afraid of other people dying, but not myself. I guess that's a good thing, I don't really know.

Last night I had a dream about vowels. I was on top of a building and instead of a sign saying Hotel DuBois or something, it had the vowels spelled out in lights. A, E, I, O, and U were really bright, but there was a Y at the end that kept flickering on and off. Obviously it's just an expression of "and sometimes y". I know it's a pretty pointless dream, but I think it's pretty neat that I can remember it.

I believe Regina Spektor's video for "On the Radio" is partially responsible for my dream.

Everyone loves me.

And that is a scientific fact.

Trip to Italy

We're walking back to our hotel from the Sistine Chapel of frescoes that I've seen on television and in books. Inside I'd wished that there were less people and more light. I remember thinking that it looked better on television. I feel blasphemous even though it was only a thought, I didn't say it aloud. The Vatican is such a strange place. Standing in the center, I feel tiny and insignificant. And hot. It's so hot this summer and I only brought one pair of shorts. Outside Vatican City there are street vendors selling t-shirts. There's also a gift shop that sells postcards of the Pope and miniature figurines of buildings. There are so many buildings, and it seems like they're all important. Farther into the heart of Rome are more street vendors, but these ones sell fake Prada handbags and fake Gucci sunglasses. In a way, I covet these more than the real thing, maybe because the real thing is so far out of reach. But also because it's a kind of joke like, I went to Italy and all I got was this fake designer purse. And then there are the shops, the shops I don't think I can afford to go into, as though they have a cover charge, as though I know what a cover charge is.

I'm thirteen years old and I'm wearing khaki shorts and a green t-shirt. My curly hair is long and blonde and fuzzy from the heat. From the street, I look into a coffee shop. It has a gleaming espresso machine and the Italians come in and drink their coffee standing at the counter. I feel like an outsider who's not dressed right. But I'm about to start high school, I'm uncomfortable in my skin at home too. Geography doesn't change things. I think about a few days before this when we ate dinner at a small restaurant outside Florence. Today, I can't even remember what we ate. It was memorable for different reasons. It was the pride of the waiter and the chef when they invited us into the kitchen. It was the ritual, the simplicity, the slow pace, like molasses that can't be rushed. In one of those tiny towns pasted into the landscape of Italy, we sat at a table outside, and we were the only customers there.

I save silly things like the labels from water bottles, brochures I can't read, train passes, tickets for museums I won't remember visiting. My dad thinks I'll be able to read some of the Latin because I've just finished my second year. But I can't even make out the letters we find in the Colosseum, much less understand their meaning. There is a pizza place next to our hotel. The pies are oblong in shape, and they cut you a piece and wrap it up in paper. We walk through a gate. Ahead is a small courtyard, and we sit on the ground with our packages of pizza and bottles of sparkling water, and eat in silence. On the right is the elevator to the hotel, one of the old ones with the metal grate you have to close before you can go. We ride up to the hotel, and we walk past the nice man who gives us chocolate croissants and coffee in the morning.

I buy postcards of the artwork that I've seen, but I never mail them. When I get home, I put them on my wall along with the labels and the brochures and the tickets, and one day I don't remember how or why I collected these things. But I remember standing outside of the Uffizi with the river to my right. I remember the abundance of advertisements for calling cards. I remember listening to a cassette of a ridiculous Italian pop singer. I remember the man selling produce and his basket of red currants. I remember taking pictures in the underground photo booth. I remember the Chinese restaurant we never went to. I remember buying a scarf and a suede coat in the middle of July.

This is what I'm thinking about as I sit in my bedroom with the window open. New York, I'll be there in two weeks. Don't let me down.

She waits another week to fall apart.

Why should I bother with it today?
I'll get around to the mental breakdown next week.
Right now I have to study for midterms.

haiku on a snowy day

snow snakes slither

just above the interstate blacktop

missed my exit

If this is my future, just kill me now.

About 7:30 this morning, I was finishing up brushing my teeth. I turned my downcast eyes upwards towards my reflection, giving me a perfect view of the part in my hair. I see what looks like a really shiny strand of hair. Right at the root, it's just really shiny. I've seen it before, and in the past I've convinced myself that it was a lighter, blondish strand. However, today, curiosity got the better of me. I fish around for it, and easily find the shiny hair, since it stands out from the rest. I grasp the offending hair, move it around, comparing it with the surrounding hairs, put it in front of my hand to see contrast, basically examine the fuck out of it. Then I pluck it out. Oh my god. The first half inch is completely white. After a quick calculation, I determine that this is the amount of new growth I should have after my last haircoloring. So I have a gray hair. It's horrible. It's awful. It's the worst thing ever.

I spend all day freaking out. What am I going to do? What if there are more? What if I go completely gray? What if I don't and it's just this ugly mix of brown and gray? What if I'm prematurely elderly? What if I go through early menopause? What if I want to have a baby and can't because my eggs are all gone? What if I can, but can't even pick the kid up because I have a bad hip or arthritis, or another health problem that old people have? What if I get wrinkles? What if my boobs start sagging? Holy hell, what if I develop early-onset dementia, and forget all of this?

So, now, almost 12 hours later, I've inspected my hair three times since I got home. The last inspection just ended and it lasted a half-hour. I've pulled out two more hairs, but thankfully, neither of those were gray.

I've saved the offensive gray hair to inspect later, just in case my eyesight is failing me in my old age.

Penny for your thoughts.

So, last time I was in Nashville, I stopped at Target to pick up a few things. Actually just one thing, hair conditioner, which I proceeded to leave at my parents' house. But anyway, I was there with a friend and we looked around for a bit, then headed to the checkout counter.

So, the cashier rings me up, and my total is 2.99. Weird, huh? But that's not the point. So I give him a five dollar bill, and he gives me 2.01 in change. I clearly state that I don't need the penny, but he gives it to me anyway. So, trying to be altruistic and keep the bottom of my purse clean, I leave it on the small counterspace for writing checks or whatever. I figured someone else that day would need a penny.

As my friend and I begin to make our exit, we hear a shrill voice behind us. We turn around to see the 40-something customer who was next in line running in our direction. She's yelling, "You forgot your change!" I start to explain my reasoning for leaving it there, but give up immediately. This lady is obviously not reasonable. I graciously accept the penny she's clutching, and as we walk out, I drop it onto another counter.

Am I the only person who this happens to? I seem to get accosted by strangers a lot. And do I really look so broke, that I can't afford to leave behind a penny?

You know that

your hormones are out of whack when you cry at a Christina Aguilera video.

Not to mention how fucked up it is that I watched the whole thing.
Ha. I just admitted this on the internet.

"Hi, I'm Mary, and I'm addicted to Vh1."
(in unison) "Hi Mary."

In regards to pain:

I'm wondering if it's a good idea to bear a small bit of pain every day. Or should you wait for it to build up, and deal with a great amount of pain all at once? Which hurts more? Is the pain milder when it's spread out over time? Do you suffer less if it feels like hell, but lasts only a moment?








By the way, I'm talking about tweezing my eyebrows.