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