O Tannen-bomb

It's Christmas, and I'm sitting alone in my room writing another stupid blog post. I guess I don't have to be writing. I could be doing something else, like reading or looking at dumb things on the internet. Alone, yeah, that's kind of a given. This Christmas has been so...different. It used to be that we'd gather at Nona and Gramps's house in Chicago, have maybe 13 or 14 of us hanging out together all day, playing games or talking or cooking or whatever. This year it's in Alabama, since N and G have moved down here to be near Aunt Jan and Uncle Greg. So we've been splitting Christmas between the two houses, sort of. All the family gatherings have been at J and G's house, but that's only been for part of the day. Seven hours or so, most of which is spent either dealing with food-related activities or staring blankly at whatever the hell happens to be on TV. Food-related activities are kind of standard, but the cooking generally only involves the women (so I have barely gotten to talk to my male relatives at all) and the eating is kind of a sore spot for me. I mean, delicious food, hell yes, but I feel like I've gained about fifty pounds and that isn't exactly doing good things for my self-esteem and mood. Booooo.

So I spent most of the family-time helping in the kitchen, which I guess is okay but I wish I could've done more socializing with the whole family. I played Rummikub with Greg, John, and Gramps for awhile, which was awesome. We did all the gift-exchanging things, which was also awesome--I got many, many delightful things--but there just wasn't time to sit around and just...be with family.

The rest of they day(s) I've spent at N and G's house, since that's where I'm sleeping. Time here basically consists of sitting...alone...reading...surfing the web...whatever...boring. I've spent some time with N and G, talking or whatever, but as much as I try, there's only so much time I can spend with them. I love my grandparents but they can be very abrasive people. And then Mom, Dad, Brian, and Amy are staying at a hotel, which splits our family up even more. Christmas is not quite as Christmasy when the family's all split up. I guess it's good that we're able to spend any time together at all, but it doesn't feel right.

Some people might write some schmaltzy drivel about "Therefore, Christmas is not about what you get but who you spend it with." I guess. I mean...on the presents front, I couldn't be happier! The family bit is what makes it all so weird. So I suppose I'm seeing it two different ways...so Christmas is both fantastic and disappointing. I don't know if that makes any damn sense at all. It does to me.

The highlights of my Christmas loot:

$350 plus $125 in gift cards
The Beatles anthology book
Little Miss Sunshine DVD
Blue Like Jazz and Life of Pi--two of my favourite books
a bunch of clothes, including a black Beatles sweatshirt
Burt's Bees lip gloss
a delightful-smelling candle that's going to look so cute in the apartment
and before I left Bloomington, Katie gave me some books, two of which are also on my favourites list

et cetera.

And tomorrow I'll see what Santa left. Haha. I love that we still do the Santa thing, sort of. But now we all do it. My siblings and I put stuff in our parents' stockings, and for whatever reason they still put stuff in ours. I hope that doesn't end anytime soon, but Mom sounded like she wanted to be done with that tradition. Meh. I hope it keeps up.

And theeennn...the 27th is Mom's birthday! I'm so excited about the thing I got for her. She's been talking about how she needs a new 2008 calendar, so I got her one.

Holy fucksticks, I'm bored.

I guess I should get to bed before my grandpa yells at me again. Last night he yelled at me at midnight to go to bed: "Why are you still up? Go to BED!" and not in a friendly jocose manner either. It sounded like the voice people use when they're so mad they could hit you. However, my response was just "No, I'm fine, I'm not tired yet." Because I am twenty-one fucking years old and I can figure out when I'm tired. And I can decide on my own when to go to bed.

And of course I'm not going to go to bed now, probably stay up and surf the web a bit longer, but I've run out of things to say.

I didn't even fucking listen to Sufjan Stevens' Christmas album today. That's how un-Christmasy it's been.

Hope yours was Christmastacular.

Holiday cheer, I guess

Merry Christmas!

Fun Christmas fact: Myrrh--the stuff one of the wise men brought to the baby Jesus--is used as an embalming fluid. Foreshadowing much?

Fun Christmas lie: Santa Claus gives his reindeer large doses of amphetamines so they can go fast enough to deliver presents to all the children of the world in one night.

No one I think is in my tree

I would be exaggerating if I said that this trip to Alabama has been a nightmare. It hasn't, really. I mean, I love seeing extended family, and Christmas is always a fun time. But I have been seriously ON EDGE this whole time.

All day yesterday I was in the van with Mom, Dad, and three siblings. Not bad, really, although I didn't like having to be ON for so long. I need time to myself periodically throughout the day, and you don't get that when you're driving from Indianapolis to Montgomery. Then there was the whole fiasco with the photograph...oh God...which involved Mom panicking and berating herself, Dad firing orders at me while chewing gum right next to my ear, some computer gymnastics that only I knew how to do but Dad thought he'd tell me what to do anyway, a frantic trip to CVS to print a stupid photo, blah blah blah...then we had to go pick my grandpa up, which was okay, except that somehow it was a huge production and everyone was going batshit and then Brian fucked with my seat in the van and I yelled at him and then the position of my seat hurt so I flinched and evidently that was grounds for my mom yelling at me.

That's the right thing to do when an autistic kid starts to get overwhelmed. Yell at her for it. Yeah.

So then I had to go hang out with my entire family for the rest of the night, which actually involved meeting two new people. Grand. And then people got drunk and loud and there was food everywhere and football on TV and I just stared into space for like two hours straight. Normally I would want to catch up with my cousin, because I only see her every couple years, but her boyfriend's here and anyway I have a really hard time starting conversations and whatnot.

In addition to all that, I'm bored out of my fucking mind.

On the plus side...tomorrow's Christmas Eve! We're going to church around 5ish, and I get to wear a lovely black lacy outfit and Julie's tall shoes. Then we're going out to dinner which I'm actually dreading because I feel so fat I don't ever want to eat ever again. But whatever. Then we're going back to J and G's house to open presents! I like that part. It's always fun.

I wish we were in Chicago, though.

Christmases in Chicago were so much fun, and I always knew what was when and where and why, and we were all staying in the same place and it wasn't boring and it was friggin' Chicago--I love Chicago! And if I did ever get bored there I could just walk to the library or challenge Uncle Greg to a game of Parcheesi. Tonight was Scrabble night, but I didn't get to play.

I guess I like it here--I mean, it's certainly agreeable and I like my family and I like the houses and I like the city but it's UNFAMILIAR. I don't know what to expect, although I'm starting to expect boredom and overstimulation. I am holding out hope that once it's Christmas everything will be okay.

Got a call from Navah tonight--evidently my friends in Greenwood are going to Steak 'n' Shake tonight. Of course. I was home for a week before I left for Alabama, and I wanted to go out with people, but not until I leave do people start wanting to go out. To be fair, some people didn't even get home until recently. But still. I miss my friends. I miss my Greenwood friends and I miss my college friends. I miss my comfort zone.

Blah.

On the plus side, I created a super-amazing playlist last night...

Anyway, sorry for all the self-indulgent whiny babbling. I'm frustrated and upset and hoping it gets better soon. Maybe I'll write more later, because I definitely have more to talk about.

A Music Novice Critiques Music. Oh No.

I'm watching the Top 40 Music Videos of 2007 on VH1, and I have some thoughts. Here's some kind of a review with commentary. Or whatever.

Every once in awhile I like something by The Killers. "Read My Mind" is an awesome song to scream-sing in the car when you're pissed or upset or otherwise feel like screaming.

Regina Spektor, will you marry me?

I never understood the appeal of Fall Out Boy. Cute pop culture reference in the band name. Completely unlikable music. I guess if you're fifteen and rebellious, and you want to listen to music that absolutely nobody except angry 13-16-year-olds can relate to just to spite the evil adults...or if you find yourself in a crowd of people at the freshman formal and need something to scream to...no, I guess I really don't get it.

Oh my God, Bruce Springsteen. I don't understand a bloody word he's saying because I think he might have a mouthful of marbles and marshmallows, but otherwise he sounds great and can play the hell out of the guitar.

Avril Lavigne has been through about three hundred bottles of black eyeliner this year alone, it looks like, and she still looks like a seventeen-year-old. Go figure. But oh no, she's GROWN UP! Why? I guess it's because she's singing a sad song. Apparently kids don't sing sad songs, only adults do. And the mark of adulthood is, apparently, sad songs. Okay, Avril, here's a tip. If you're going to talk about how grown-up you are now, don't squeal it like a seventh-grader on speed while the camera zooms out on your pink-pink hair and gallons of black eyeliner...grown-ups don't do that.

Um, but I think I might like the song, whatever the heck it was called.

Maroon 5 are not quite as overrated as Fall Out Boy, but getting there. So they wrote an angry song. Oooooh. Noteworthy? Nah. Gets on my nerves? Yeeeaaahhh.

Feist! Will you have a threesome with Regina and me?

Oh, no. Fergie squeezed another hit out of that hellmouth album of hers. Clumsy? Oh, shit. How completely fucking annoying. Let's see...

Fergalicious: completely fucking annoying
London Bridge: completely fucking annoying
Glamorous: completely fucking annoying
Big Girls Don't Cry: I had hope there for about five seconds
Clumsy: the secret trapdoor level of hell that opens when you aren't being tortured quite enough in the ninth circle

I shudder to think of what might come next.

I thought I would like [Chris] Daughtry. Let it be known that I just don't. I mean, seriously. Has anything good come from American Idol yet? Okay, Kelly Clarkson still makes me smile, even if I don't really like (or remember) her music. Whatever. Point is, [Chris] Daughtry irritates me.

Point One: You're a kid who just lost a reality show. Not a rock star yet. This means that you aren't quite at the point where you can do something pretentious like insist that people refer to you by last name only. "Oh, my first name is a thing of the past. I'm so badass I don't even need a first name." Go away.

Point Two: "I'm Going Home." That godawful song. Evidently it's a song about the rigors of touring and being happy to go home after being on the road with the band. I don't know, I guess I would expect a song like that to come from somebody who has some experience with touring and stuff. Coming from somebody who just got kicked off a reality show, I always assumed the song was about losing American Idol. "I'm Going Home." Because I lost.

Point Three: Who even won that season? Was it someone who sucked? Probably. I want Taylor Hicks to go away, away, away. I would have sex with Chris Daughtry if it meant that nobody would ever talk about Taylor Hicks ever again.

In other news, Alicia Keys is hot and has a great voice and can play the friggin' piano. I always try to imagine what music of our generation will be respected forty years from now like the Beatles and Bob Dylan are now. I think Alicia Keys will be one of those.

I never really like-liked Pink, but I always had a sort of respect for her. Maybe because she said words like "ass" and "hell" on the radio when I wasn't allowed to curse. Or maybe because she seemed as badass as I wanted to be.

Timbaland can suck it. He's talented. Whatever. I'll concede that. But I hate everything he touches. We'll just have to agree to disagree.

Is Elliot Yamin just popular because he has curly hair and sings like an injured puppy?

Amy Winehouse...just...stop it. We get it. You're completely and totally fucked up in every way possible. Hey, you know what? I bet you could still sing like a champ and look even hotter if you stopped destroying your brain cells with God-knows-what. Or not. Whatever. Amy Winehouse has built her public image on the glorification of her self-destructive tendencies, and there might not be a way to reverse that. We'll see, I guess.

Fuck you, Carrie Underwood. You aren't cute. You aren't badass. You're barely talented. You aren't even...palatable. Also, you aren't really "country" either. You're trite-pop-with-a-twang. I can't stand that stupid "Before He Cheats" song. Hey, teenage girls of America. Here's an idea for you. If you suspect that your boyfriend is cheating on you, don't talk to him about it--destroy his car. And carve your name somewhere so the police can be super-certain of who did it. Somebody failed to take into account that while cheating is not a criminal offense, vandalism is. So fuck you, Carrie Underwood, for advocating illegal behavior while disguising it as "like omg grrrrrl power!!1!!!1!" And for sucking at music.

Every emo band needs to give up and bow to the All American Rejects. You don't get more emo than that. Well, other than the originals. You really don't get more emo than Joy Division. I mean, consider. But if we're talking modern-commercial-emo, AAR is the saddest of the sad.

I HATE HATE HATE that song "Bubbly" by Colbie Cawhatever. The lyrics are just...gross. I'm not usually one to pay attention to lyrics much, but seriously. What the hell is a bubbly face, other than what happens when someone dumps a pot of boiling oil on your head? And Colbie. Colbie, Colbie, Colbie. Your name is misspelled cheese. Aside from that, what would be wrong with a tiny bit of vocal inflection? This song is totally uninteresting and the lyrics make me squirm because they're just so icky. There's no other word. Icky.

Nickelback...were they ever good? Did anyone ever believe that they were good? Did something terrible happen to Chad Whatshisname's voice, or is it supposed to sound like that? So many questions.

I know "Hey There Delilah" has been played about twelve gazillion thousand billion times everywhere. I don't care. I love it. I love the Plain White T's. The song is overplayed but for me, it never gets old. Well, not yet. We'll see. The lovely guitar-ness keeps it alive for me.

When did Nelly Furtado get skanky?!

"Stronger," by Kanye "Asshole" West. You'd do anything for a blonde WHAT? Oh, fuck. Somehow, this man's music continues to be popular. I guess it's catchy. Oh my God, and he's bloody hideous too. Not to throw a low blow, but Jeeeeesus, the sunglasses...oh, wait, I think it's just the sunglasses. Without them he's okay-looking. With them I think I'm in danger of turning to stone. In any case, could he be more misogynistic? It's great how so many people buy into this crap if it's packaged right.

Rihanna is, um...I guess she'd be attractive if her hair didn't suck. And if she weren't so skanky in the "Umbrella" video. Eh-eh-eh-eh. What does it even mean? I guess it's something sexual. I managed to avoid hearing that song all summer, but of course as soon as I got back to school and started hanging out with people who keep up with popular music...it's everywhere. Rihanna-whose-name-I-don't-know-how-to-pronounce (do you say the 'h'?)...does the term "one-hit wonder" mean anything to you? Not that I really know or anything, but I can't see her doing much else after the ridiculous commercial success of a song about inclement weather gear.

What might the #1 video of 2007 be? Let's see. My guess is "Crank That." Soulja Boy. Oh, yuck, I can't believe I just typed that shit. Soulja? What the fuck is Soulja? It sounds a little like "soldier" and looks a little like a Scrabble abortion.

Oh my God, it's Fergie again. "Big Girls Don't Cry." The one that almost gave me hope there for a few seconds. It's, like...surprisingly not-slutty. And although I'm hesitant to trust that her voice hasn't been tweaked to perfection, it sounds good. I guess she sounds like she's trying too hard with the voice, though, come to think of it. Like she's straining to sing throughout the whole song. Um, that isn't normal. That's actually really bad for your voice. Fergie? Stop it. If you really can't sing, admit it. If you can sing, take care of your voice so it doesn't suck worse in a few years.

So, this makes me wonder, where was "Crank That" in this? Maybe that song was just a bad dream. I hope so.

Well shit, now I'm tired. If I hear any one of these songs in my head as I'm trying to fall asleep, I will claw my face off. Although, lately I've been hearing "Get Low" in my head, and I guess it doesn't get much worse.

Ooh, you touch my tra-la-la.

I'm not failing college!

Music (Z101): A+
Gender Studies (G225): A-
Phonology (L307): B
Sociology (S370): B+
Psychology (P324): A+

Yaaaayyyy I don't suck at life! Although, I'm disappointed about my phonology grade. The only reason it's so low is that I didn't understand the final project and ended up getting a 70% on it. However, I'm just lucky I didn't fail, since I kind of missed the final exam. Which, by the way, I took on Friday and got a 96.7%! Fourth highest in the class! Sure saved my ass from that final project atrocity. So my GPA is like a 3.6 or something...I think I can be happy about that. Not too bad for me.

I made and decorated about a trillion sugar cookies today. I found the best recipe EVER. Sweet Jesus, these cookies are delicious. And they're pretty too!

I have this thing with blankets...I like them. I bought another blanket today. It's a purple chenille throw and I'm kind of in love with it. I mean, yeah, I just got a green blanket, and I'm in the process of crocheting a pink and brown one, and I crocheted a teal one awhile ago, and....yeah. I like blankets.

So anyway, I am bored as FUCK.

MERRY CHRISTMAS

MRS CREAMY SHIRT

METH RIMS R SCARY

MERCY THIS R MARS

CRY MR SHIT REAMS

RECTYM RIMS RASH

MRS METH I R SCARY

RAMS R MERCY SHIT

HIT MR MERCY SARS

MY CHAIRRR STEMS

MRS HISTRRY CAME

CRAM MERRY SHITS

MERRY SHIT CRAMS

MERRY CRAM SHITS

This is what Brian and I do for fun at 4am. Half of them don't make any sense but they're funny anyway. Because....I don't know. What the hell are chairrr stems? Who cares--right now the only thing that matters is the fact that RECTYM is making me giggle uncontrollably.

Next edition: HAPPY HANUKKAH (or should we use CHANUKAH?)

Anyway, the MERRY CHRISTMAS blocks are now arranged to say MRS CREAMY SHIRT...I can't wait until someone else notices. This is my kind of Christmas tradition.

I will be with you when you lose your brain

Brittany and I met in Mrs Burton's 7th grade math class. I think. It's a bit of a blur, I guess. I mean, we had five classes plus lunch period together that year, so it could have been any of those, but math was first period so I'm calling that by default. Anyway, she was 11 and I was 12. That kind of seems like forever ago.

Well, now I'm 21 and she's turning 20 today. A lot has happened in the time we've been friends. I was in love with her for awhile--quite awhile. And then when I stopped being in love with her, I kind of did a total 180 and started to find fault in everything she said and did. But then, more recently, I started to realise that she is really a very cool person and a very good friend and I am ridiculously lucky to have her in my life. Anyway, happy birthday, Metallica Blue.

I'm going to have a lot of explaining to do if she ever reads this blog. Not a bad sort of explaining, though. Just an explanation to connect the dots and trace my thought processes.

In other news, I'm in Greenwood. Again. Thanksgiving and Christmas breaks are way too close together. But as for the adjustment factor, so far so good. Finals were actually stressful, for the first time ever, so that distracted me a bit from dreading the transition from Bloomington to Greenwood. I started freaking out a bit once I had to think about actually packing and actually leaving, but it turned out okay. Kate drove me to Greenwood, and she stayed for a little while and hung out with my family--the overlap period really, really helps me. I can't really explain it, but for some reason, having that little bit of time where my Bloomington life and my Greenwood life intersect so comfortably...it makes things better. Plus, I love the Christmas season. Making cookies! Wrapping gifts! Seeing family!

I burned some cookies today...

Here's my five seconds of bragging about myself: I am really awesome at making cookies. I love doing it, and I have this weird intuition where I don't exactly have to measure the flour, and I don't exactly have to set a timer on the oven, and I have the whole process down so fluidly...and I very rarely screw up.

So anyway, I screwed up tonight. I was making peanut butter blossoms, the ones with the Hershey's kisses in the middle. I put the last cookie sheet in, and after ten minutes I saw that they were almost-but-not-quite-done. Like, they needed about 45-50 more seconds. So I closed the oven door and resumed doing dishes. Like I said...I don't exactly have to set a timer on the oven...so anyway, about five minutes later, I could swear I was doing something important, but what on earth was it...ohhhhh right.

Anyway, the peanut butter hockey pucks were barely edible, but at least I'd gotten 3 dozen done successfully beforehand. Tomorrow I'm doing sugar cookies, and let me assure you, they will be delicious works of art...and I might set the timer so I don't screw them up.

If anybody is actually reading this and can think of an awesome anagram for MERRY CHRISTMAS...let me know. It must use all of the letters and doesn't necessarily need to make sense. The more inappropriate the better, of course.

I'm going to go play with blocks now.

Nobody's business but the Turks'

Hey! I'm 21!

I always said I wouldn't drink (alcohol) on my 21st birthday, just to be spiteful and kind of rebellious.

Yeah, fuck that.

However, I only had 2 wine coolers, at 3.2% alcohol, which I am told is almost nothing. I don't know. I was definitely tipsy, but not too much. My mom was sure I'd end up with a headache, and I am pleased to report that I did not get a headache, and I did not throw up like Mom thought I would, and I felt awesome when I woke up this afternoon. So there.

There are still a couple of those left in the fridge and I've been eyeing them all night. I'm waiting until after my gender studies final, though.

Anyway, I went shopping today. I found some excellent articles of clothing on clearance at Old Navy and Target--I came home with 2 T-shirts, a fleece pullover, a sweater, 4 pairs of socks, and 4 candleholders. Including the money I spent for lunch...$45. Hooray! And I still have a couple more textbooks to sell back! Haha. I love the end of the semester. Cash for books. Hell yes.

This sweater is seriously, ridiculously comfortable.

And it's pink. I don't remember where I heard this, but apparently "Tits always look better in a pink sweater." Mine do.

Really, I'm just killing time until my laundry finishes. It'll be excellent to have clean clothes. I mean, I know I just bought a friggin' wardrobe, but it's always great to have clean underwear.

Here's something that makes me happy: They Might Be Giants' version of the song "Istanbul (Not Constantinople)." Cracks me up.

There are streamers and balloons EVERYWHERE in this apartment. While I was out taking my final on Monday night, Kate and Farz decorated the living room and kitchen with streamers, balloons, posters, "happy birthday" signs...it's insane. Insane in the most awesome, fantastic, "my sisters rock my world" sense of the word. We had a candlelit dinner (Chinese takeout!) and had more cake (my parents brought a cake when they came on Sunday) and it was the cutest fucking thing EVER.

Woo! Laundry just finished!

I fell on the ground

So there's this controversy about the movie "The Golden Compass." I haven't seen it, so I don't yet have an opinion on it. Wait. See that? I'm not making snap judgments. Whoa. But I have heard what the controversy is about, that the movie promotes atheism and the idea of "killing God." So of course the Christian right has gone apeshit.

When was the last time there was a huge media controversy about, say, a sexually explicit song lyric? An inappropriate popular toy marketed to children? A style of dress or a dance craze or a television show...and so on.

You don't hear a word from the right-wingers about "superman that ho."
You don't hear a word about Bratz dolls.
You don't hear a word about size 6X string bikinis.
You hardly hear anything anymore about video games that teach people to kill.
You hardly hear anything about rap lyrics that glorify violence, materialism, and promiscuity.

"Oh, but it's different. The Golden Compass is targeted at children! Children don't hear the inappropriate rap lyrics!"

Bull. Shit.

And it isn't just children that matter. It pisses me off to see people my age who act pious and religious and conservative all day, all week--until the weekends, when they put on low-cut glittery tops, low-rise jeans, and dry-hump every guy in the room to the beat of the latest heinous hip-hop song. Likewise, it pisses me off when those same conservative right-wing-parroters organize frenzied boycotts of a movie they haven't seen because it "apparently" has atheist themes...but they're quite okay with consuming the cultural product that is the vulgar rap music.

I may or may not see the movie, and if I do, I may or may not like it. I would never, ever, EVER deprive myself of a point of view or a context or a reference. If you want to have an opinion on something, right-wing America, you had fucking better be informed. I read websites and articles that I know will make me mad. Know your enemy. Anything else is ignorance.

Oh, and by the way? Maybe The Golden Compass is an atheist text. I don't know that, but for now we'll presume it is. Isn't it just fair to give the atheists some airtime? I mean, I'm a Christian and don't personally agree with atheism, but for the sake of fairness...let's not shut out beliefs that don't happen to correspond with our own.

If your faith is strong enough, it will not be swayed by anything, especially a movie. If your faith is not strong enough, you have better things to do than argue about a movie.

I believe in informed, enlightened, intellectual discussion. I believe in open-mindedness. I believe in faith. I believe that God thinks we're hilarious but loves us anyway. I believe that we, as humans, have better things to do than arguing. I believe that Jesus would be ashamed of the public image of Christians nowadays, but overwhelmingly proud of the efforts of some individuals. I believe that he would love us all anyway. I believe that intellect and faith are not opposites. I believe that God gave us the ability to think for ourselves. I believe that we should not form our opinions from the opinions of others--and that includes religious leaders. I believe that religion is corrupt but God is perfect. I believe that God decided, about 21 years ago, that the world needed a lesbian with Asperger's Syndrome who would be passionate about music and art and the written word. I believe that I need to be who God wants me to be. I believe that The Beatles were, in fact, the best and most influential band in history. I believe that mass media and popular culture are insidious, corrupt, and disgustingly enticing. I believe that listening to the radio is pointless and cheapens the experience of hearing music. I believe that the people you love the most can be the most frustrating.

My best friend told me today that she doesn't know what I believe. Period. Might that possibly be because you don't listen to me? And might I be slightly less willing to explain everything when you make me feel like everything I believe and feel is somehow wrong?

So there's that. I'm upset, but apparently a Talk will be happening soon, so it should be okay.

In other news, I'll be 21 in less than 24 hours!

I'm exhausted. More later, and perhaps it'll be more cheerful.

Things I Love

Sufjan Stevens
being silly with my siblings
turkey tetrazzini
this blue Bic pencil with a twist-up eraser
shimmery lavender nail polish
Brandi Carlile
pumpkin chocolate chip cookies
hugs and cuddles
Wassily mothafuckin' Kandinsky
lunch dates with Emily
John, Paul, George, and Ringo
Target
cultural references that I understand
Chicago
New York City
Diet Coke
the new 80GB iPod
Dad's headphones
puppy kisses
Orbit sweet mint gum
tiny paintbrushes
my roommates
soft things like blankets and pillows
string quartets
long car trips
Bill Bryson
bright colours
the Internet
God and the rest of the Trinity
inappropriate things that shouldn't be funny but are
J.S. Bach
beads
smiles
Christmas
my teddy bear
you, probably

Pleased to Meat You

Thanksgiving break is nice. It is just enough time to see people, hang out with the family, get things like shopping accomplished...but not long enough to go crazy. I like this!

Last night was a blast and a half. A bunch of us went to Steak 'n' Shake, of course, then Britt and Nayt and I hung out at Meijer for a couple hours and made fun of things. I must have laughed for 2 hours straight. I'm not going to take back the things I wrote about Brittany, exactly, but right now it seems like she wants to be my friend and I'm going to accept that wholeheartedly. And Nayt is just awesome.

I went shopping with Mom and Amy today. It was great fun, particularly because Mom bought me things. Woo! I also helped her pick out Christmas gifts for Julie and Amy, which was enjoyable.

Tonight's my last night here, though...so I'm going to make more pumpkin cookies (the epitome of delicious), hang out with family-types, blah blah blah. Life is good! This is fun! Yaaayyy! (Don Hertzfeldt. Rejected. Great cartoon.)

Au revoir.

Picking up marbles with chopsticks

So I'm back in Greenwood for Thanksgiving break. I'm actually kind of excited. This is the first time I've really been excited about a break. Good sign? I think so. Kate drove me home, then once she left I spent the rest of the night talking with various family members. Dad got a new iPod--the one I want, actually. It is fantastic. Actually, the most fantastic part is the headphones he got. He got $100 Bose headphones that are THE BEST THINGS I'VE EVER LISTENED TO. I only listened to one song on his iPod ("And Your Bird Can Sing") and let me tell you, George and John's guitars have never before sounded so fucking amazing. Oh man. I'm still in awe.

Brittany called me today...imagine that. She was at the airport and bored. Oh well, at least I got to talk to her for a little while. And I might get to see her (and other friends, of course) this week. That would be exciting. Mostly, though, I'm looking forward to family time.

I've been in a pretty good mood the past couple days. I had a talk with Kate the other night that was kind of the verbal equivalent of a smack in the face. One of those "GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER" sort of smacks. So I'm trying to get my shit together. Most of it is just about being myself all the time. I have this tendency to act different around different people. I don't know why I do it, but I'm trying to stop. And you know what? It's crazy fun.

Anyway, that's about it. Thumbs up for life!

Determination with a zesty manifesto sauce

Starting now:

I'm not going to worry about Brittany. I miss her in more ways than one. I miss hanging out with her, but I also miss being able to consider her a close friend. But the fact is, I don't get to see her all that much anymore, so we don't hang out often. And there isn't much that shows me she cares about our friendship anymore, so I can't trust her as much as I thought I could. Fine. I need to learn to deal with that.

There are places I'll remember
All my life
Though some have changed
Some forever, not for better
Some have gone
And some remain

Thank you, John Lennon. Whether or not Brittany and I actually had a genuinely close friendship in the past, I don't think we have it anymore. We have a fun friendship. A fun and occasional friendship. And I'm going to value that for what it is.

As for Asperger's Syndrome? I need to learn to love it. I say that it's embarrassing and frustrating, but why? It's only embarrassing and frustrating because I have social problems, problems fitting in. It's inconvenient to be out with friends and freak out because a noise is too loud. But wait. Who gives a shit? The people who really care about me don't mind that I have Asperger's. The people who are inconvenienced by it are people who shouldn't matter too much to me anyway.

And the gay thing. Lesbian. Whatever. So I'm a lesbian. What does that mean? Well, it means I (want to) date women. It means I'm attracted to women. It doesn't mean a fucking thing beyond that. I'm not into the "gay lifestyle." I'd rather watch America's Next Top Model than The L Word. I hate drag shows. I don't like most gay movies. I may never march in a parade. I'm a girl...woman...whatever...who likes pretty jewelry and getting dressed up (sometimes) and chick flicks and rock music and art and whatever. Boys flirt with me because they haven't the faintest clue that I'm a lesbian (and apparently because I'm hot, but that's still up for debate). Girls don't flirt with me because they haven't the faintest clue that I'm a lesbian (so frustrating). Yeah, I like women. I might marry one someday. But that doesn't change a fucking thing about who I am.

I want to move to New York after college. New York or Chicago.

Drove to Chicago
All things go, all things go

And I'm a Christian. Yeah. I'll admit it. People can assume whatever the fuck they want to about that statement. Most people will assume I'm a closed-minded bigot because that's the popular image of Christianity these days. Screw them. I'm overwhelmingly glad to be a Christian. There's nothing bad about it in my mind. It's the foundation for my life and there's nothing I'd rather choose.

I don't like [most] popular music and that's okay. That doesn't make me wrong or even weird. So what if I'd rather listen to Bach suites than Top 40 radio? So what if my favourite band broke up almost 40 years ago? So what if the music that makes me happy is calm and introspective? So what if the music that makes most people my age happy is the music that makes me agitated and enraged? It doesn't make me a bad person! It doesn't make me a snob or even too picky. It's not something I'm about to apologise for.

So what if my life is a Neutral Milk Hotel album? My best friends are pop-country and Top 40 kinds of people, and I'm a classic-rock, indie-folk, bizarre-ass-music kind of person. We're like two apples and a kumquat, but I'm going to have to be okay with that.

I like to tell people that if you've listened to Neutral Milk Hotel's album "In The Aeroplane Over The Sea," then congratulations, you know me.

I have a sick and twisted sense of humour. I am going to start showing it more. No more censoring myself so people like me better.

Holy fucksticks, I'm tired. I feel like there's more to write but my eyes just will not stay open. More to follow, perhaps. I should compose some kind of manifesto.

"Manifesto" sounds like some kind of pasta.

My keyboard is pretty and all but I do not want it imprinted on my face when I wake up (plus, I drool when I sleep and something tells me the keyboard wouldn't react well to that) so I'm going to go the hell to bed and continue pontificating later.

One of these days I'll stop doing this

This is gonna be a little depressing, and not profound-depressing, I mean more along the lines of childish-whining-depressing. I'm not in a good mood today, and I don't really want to go into why, but I'll blame it on my period. I used to get really emotional in the few days before my period, but now it happens during my period. Why the hell am I talking about my period? Moving on.

I was thinking today about something that happened a long, long time ago. Sixth grade. I was thinking about how I learned the word "lesbian." I'd heard the word before, and though I didn't really know what it meant, I could figure out that it was something bad that you weren't supposed to mention in public. Anyway, I was playing on the playground one day at recess--by myself, of course--when a kid told me to come look at something. I couldn't figure out what it was at first, although I got the basic idea that it was letters painted on the playground equipment in green nail polish. I don't remember now exactly what it said, but it was something about me being a lesbian. Once it was pointed out, a group of kids gathered around it and started laughing and asking me if I really was. I had no fucking clue. I ran away and sat with the teachers for the rest of recess.

You know you're at the bottom of the social totem pole when the one bit of playground graffiti that shows up all year is designed to ridicule you, specifically.

I went home that night and asked my mom what the word "lesbian" meant and how to spell it. Spelling words is very important to me, plus I wanted to know if whoever wrote it on the playground had gotten the spelling right. Mom wondered why on earth I wanted to know that. I don't remember if I told her about the graffiti. I was probably too embarrassed, but then again I probably needed a valid reason for wanting to know what the word meant. So who knows.

It was another year, at least, before I started realising that I actually was a lesbian, and two and a half more years after that before I dared to tell anyone about it. And still, I can't shake that first impression of the word.

So, there's that. Also, it's been four and a half months since Brittany has answered one of my phone calls. She calls me occasionally--maybe once a month or so--and we talk, but it's always on her time, when she feels like it. It's not like I haven't thought about it before. I've been thinking about it constantly for over a year. I have no clue why it's on my mind so much today. Actually, no. That's not quite true. I went to Blockbuster today with Farz and Tim. I was already in a bad mood for things I'm not going to talk about now, so I was kind of wandering around by myself, looking at movie titles. I came across "Under the Tuscan Sun." I've seen...most of that movie. Brittany and I watched it together. At her house, after a sleepover party. I felt so special because she wanted me to stay late in the morning to watch a movie with her. We didn't finish the whole movie because my mom came to pick me up, and I wasn't paying much attention to the parts we did watch. Brittany and I always said that one of these days we'd finish the movie. She's seen the entire thing by now, and I never went back to it.

So once my memory sprang into action upon seeing that movie title, it just kept going and going and going. All these stupid little memories of things she did that hurt me, things she did that delighted me, things I overlooked or things I read too much into. Then for the first time I calculated just how long it'd been since she'd answered a single fucking one of my phone calls. 4 1/2 months. I call her, I leave voicemail messages, she calls me back in a few weeks when she feels like it. She says she's "busy." Not ten spare minutes to call someone you apparently consider a friend?

I am not at ease with the thought of her not being a part of my life. It hurts and it's fucking weird. What am I supposed to do with all the things I see and think and hear and feel every day that remind me of her? What am I supposed to do with our inside jokes that I still find hilarious? What am I supposed to do with the music that she and I both love? What am I supposed to do about the fact that my mother loves having her around? What am I supposed to do about the fact that I love having her around? On one hand I feel like I should just forget about her, come to terms with the fact that she probably doesn't give a damn about me, and move on with my life without her. On the other hand, she's tied to every single tiny facet of my life and I can't just forget about it all.

Yeah, sure, I was in love with her, if you can call it that. I felt like I was in love, anyway, even if I always knew it was pointless. But I don't think I'm even talking about that right now. I think all these feelings and all this confusion is because I'm losing a friend and it sucks. I trusted her. Before I knew what that really meant, I trusted her with everything. And she didn't give a shit. Still doesn't. She has always presented herself as a genuinely good person, friendly, warm, caring, Christian (and in a palatable way, too!)...and I just cannot make myself believe that that's all fake. Maybe I'm still holding onto the hope that there's some explanation for everything that I just haven't figured out yet. I'm still holding onto the hope that she really is a good person and I wasn't wrong to trust her.

Oh man. What a night.

I just got back from a late-night walk in the Freezing!Ass!Cold!...I had intended to stay out for awhile but obviously I wasn't thinking too clearly. I've had a cold lately, there are a lot of creepy drunk people out, I'm extremely upset, and it was 2 in the fucking morning. All very good reasons to not be a dumbass, and thank you Kate for pointing those out to me. Still, nothing quite like visiting my favourite willow tree when I need to calm the fuck down. When I was a kid, Grandma and I used to make wreaths from willow branches when Grandpa was trimming the trees. I'd run out to collect all the fallen branches, and then Grandma and I would sit at the picnic table and strip the leaves and weave the branches into circles. Sometimes she'd get out ribbons and stuff for decorations. My wreaths were pathetic little fuckers, but hers were majestic.

That was, of course, before I knew what the word "lesbian" meant. It was also before I developed my "social self." Until I was about 12, my world was mine and mine only. I mean, there were people in my life, but nobody ever knew what I thought about. Life was a lot more manageable then. I didn't have to worry about giving people my trust only to find them chucking it in the dumpster.

I try not to worry about that so much anymore, but once it's happened, it's kind of intuitive to be guarded. There are people I trust now, not all on the same level, but it's there.

I'm just confused as hell as to whether I should trust Brittany at all, even a tiny bit. I want it to be easy: I want to sit down with her and tell her everything I'm feeling about her and see how she reacts. I want her to tell me either "Oh my gosh, no, I'm so sorry!" or "You're right, I don't care." I don't want her standard answer. Her standard answer is "You're being paranoid again; stop blowing things out of proportion." Like it's my fault I feel like this.

One of these days I'm going to write something that isn't depressing, angsty, or pathetic.

Here's something: I went to a real college party tonight and actually had fun. I had fun in my own way, of course--not by dancing or drinking or screaming over the crowds--but I sat back and watched. I watched people interact. I watched what people do in that setting. How they move, what they wear, how they talk. It probably isn't your idea of fun. To me, it's fascinating.

And shut the fuck up if you want to tell me that's depressing. It's not depressing, it's me. I'm introverted and awkward and analytical and I'm okay with that. Don't fucking tell me that the things I love are depressing because they're low-key. Don't fucking tell me that the music I love is depressing because it's intricate and soothing and evocative. Don't fucking tell me that my idea of fun is depressing because it's calm.

That was my angry moment. The people at whom that was directed probably don't read my blog. I just needed to get that out there, somewhere.

I should probably sleep. I can't believe it's almost 3:30am already. I can't believe I used to stay up until 7am on a regular basis. That was a strange way to live. It made me feel like a more interesting person.

Enough already.

The colours bleed together and fade

Well, holy shit. Two posts within the same week. How often does that happen? Not very. But it should. Happen often, that is. I'm trying, I promise.

I saw "Rent" at the auditorium on Tuesday. It was...how shall I say...fucking amazing. The music was great, of course. The acting was awesome. For the first time, I genuinely appreciated the "Over The Moon" scene. I mooed with Maureen. Not much can beat that experience.

Oh, right, unless you're Kate and just happen to talk to the girlfriend of an actor who just happens to need to get rid of her front-row ticket and...yeah. That girl has the best luck sometimes. And you know, I'm not even any kind of jealous, and I'll tell you why. First of all, as much as front-row tickets to "Rent" would be a thousand kinds of fabulous, I don't think my senses could handle it. Honestly. Even sitting in the balcony, I left the theatre with a bit of a headache. Second of all, I certainly appreciate "Rent." A lot. I knew it was going to be fucking amazing. After seeing it from the front row, Kate loved it--and this is the girl who laughs at me when I cry during the movie version. I was absolutely thrilled that she liked the play so much.

Anyway, I'm still listening to Brandi Carlile, and I expect to for quite some time. Makes me happy.

I've had a cold for a couple days. I saw it coming. As soon as I felt the tiniest bit of a sore throat, I was like "Well shit, there goes the rest of this week." Fortunately, it was nowhere near as bad as the last cold I had. That last one thoroughly kicked my ass. This one...eh. Kind of a wuss.

Riding the 6 bus home today was an interesting experience. The driver was kind of batshit crazy. I'm pretty sure he was driving well over the speed limit, and he took curves dangerously sharply. It was like being in one of those race-car video games where you don't really have to follow the road perfectly, as long as you sort of stay on track. Also, the driver ran over a few things that could have either been random debris, woodland creatures, or small children. Every time he ran over something, he'd yell "wahoooo!" It was a little disconcerting. I felt like I was on the Super Mario Death Bus, which would actually make an interesting video game. Take note, Nintendo.

Katie and I watched "Bambi" tonight. It was the first time I'd seen it, even though I knew very well what happened to his mom. And yeah, it made me cry. Just a little. Very little. Because I was busy critiquing the freakishly trippy animation. The owl has bear legs. I swear it. Bear legs and eyes like psychedelic suns. I guess nobody knew how to draw owls in the '40s. Or maybe they figured kids wouldn't give a shit. Well, I do.

Still, it was a very good movie.

I am currently reading Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal by Christopher Moore. It's great. Funny as hell and kind of makes you think about stuff. Once I'm done with that I'll move on to a couple Celia Rivenbark books, which I've heard are hilarious as well. I just finished Bill Bryson's latest book, The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid. I love Bryson's books. With a fiery, all-consuming passion. This one was no exception. I'm so glad I've started reading again. For the past couple years I haven't done much reading for pleasure other than all the shit I read on the Internet, so I figured it was time to rebuild my literacy.

There are few sounds I like better than the combination of cello and acoustic guitar (or piano). Really, anything with a cello. That's what I should've played in high school, I know it. I mean, the violin's great, and I guess I was more of a violin-person in high school, but now I feel like I should be a cellist. In the orchestra, the cello isn't exactly the background instrument--well, okay, sometimes--it's more a complement to the melody. First violins generally get the melody, and second violins provide their harmony. Cellos generally get the secondary melodic part, and violas provide their harmony. Basses are the backbone of the orchestra, ideally holding everyone together (I say "ideally" because the bassists in my orchestra rarely did). I was always a second-violinist, and I always aspired to be a Violin I. I didn't like existing just to back someone up, but then again I've never been one to crave the spotlight. It would suit me more to play the part that isn't immediately noticeable but beautiful when you do notice it. That's what I like to think of myself, anyway.

So, anyway, I should probably sleep. I'm not tired yet, but a bit of NyQuil should take care of that.

It's kind of like a window.

I don't have an official diagnosis of Asperger's Syndrome. I have a diagnosis of "Asperger's traits," which I guess is like Asperger's Lite. This diagnosis was made by a psychiatrist who knew me for about an hour on a good day when I was extremely guarded. So I take it with a grain/handful of salt. I tell people I have Asperger's because it's easy, unless the person happens to be one of the 95% of people who apparently don't know what the hell it is. So I guess I tell people I have Asperger's because it's nice to have a name for Why I'm So Fucking Weird.

The reason I'm writing about it now is that it seems to be whacking me in the face with a big ol' Autism Stick, and I feel like I'm trying to push it away but I'm blindfolded and it keeps smacking me. Like a reverse pinata. In Soviet Russia, pinata whacks you!

Sounds have been particularly intense today. During my gender studies lecture people kept leaving (because the class sort of sucks) and the damn door to the damn classroom was SQUEAKY. Not like itty-bitty "eeeeee!" squeaks. Every single time someone opened the door it was like "eeeeEEEEEEEEFUCKYOUEEEEEEEEEEE!!" Even blocking my ears didn't really help much. But I got through it, and I was damn glad to get out. Then tonight I was sitting in the living room with Farz and Andre. Katie was making smoothies in the kitchen, which reminds me, blenders are LOUD. I don't think it could have been louder if she was making a smoothie of bricks and human bones. Anyway, I was trying to listen to a story Andre was telling. The guy tells great stories. I don't even remember what the hell he was talking about, because Farz was on the phone with Cynthia, talking about chem homework and I don't know if she was screaming into the phone or if I was just hypersensitive (both?) because all I could hear was stuff about numbers and moles. Then I would hear a snippet of Andre's voice, then something about an equation. I tried to look at Andre's mouth because I hear better when I can see the person's mouth moving, but I found it even more distracting and overwhelming to look at his face. So I focused on his shoulder, which as it turns out is kind of a common thing for me to do. Shoulders are close enough to the face so it almost counts as eye/face contact, but they don't have nearly as much visual information.

Anyway, once Andre was done talking to me, he and Kate started talking about something, and Farz kept talking, and I got so damn confused. It got to be way too much, so I sort of automatically got up and ran to my room, where I sat in the dark for awhile, holding my ears shut so I couldn't hear anything at all (good, because I imagine all three of them were making fun of me or wondering what the hell that was about). Meh. However, once everyone started talking calmly and one person at a time, I calmed down and was back to normal. Me-normal, that is. So "relatively normal" might be a better term.

However, this sound-sensitivity has its good points too. Lately I've been listening to Brandi Carlile's album "The Story." Let me just state that I am a SUCKER for good vocal harmonies. Let me state also that Brandi Carlile is the MASTER of the delicious vocal harmony. She is the master of a lot of other things too, like the vocal acrobatics and the gorgeous melodies and...okay, you get it. So I've spent quite awhile tonight listening to Brandi Carlile with headphones on and the volume way up (and my sense of hearing way up), just letting the music totally consume me. It's like an auditory orgasm. And then visual stuff comes in too, because when I close my eyes I see the colours of the music. I'm lucky that my synesthesia isn't too intense, because I think I would go insane, but I do like being able to sort of hear and feel colours.

Anyway, I was listening to the song "Again Today," rocking back and forth manically because that's just sort of what I do...and I'm rocking so hard (haha) that my headphones pop out of the jack. Brandi Carlile is screaming into the air and I'm in the middle of some kind of musical orgasm. I turned the music off and started freaking the hell out.

And then I wondered why I was freaking out.

And then I answered my question.

Those headphone-moments are...almost private. When I hear music through headphones, it's my own experience and I sort of fall into my own private world of me + music. But then to be yanked, quite literally, out of that world and into a world where everyone can hear my emotions--because music is a reflection of my emotions--is awfully jarring. I wasn't prepared for that. Even though I'm pretty sure it was only Kate who heard the two seconds of music before I turned it off. I wouldn't mind letting her into that private world of me + music, if she wanted to, but I need to be prepared for it!

Oh man. It's been...a day. A good day, actually, as these things go. Classes were boring as fuck but generally tolerable. Between classes I spent a lot of time at the Monroe County Public Library, and I ended up checking out 5 books, all of which should be hilarious. I like reading things that make me look like a crazy person because I'm laughing so much.

This is mostly because of my gender studies class from hell, but I am sick to death of film. Cinema. Movies. What-the-fuck-ever. My gender studies professor, who I'm sure is otherwise a very nice person, decided that it would be a good idea to morph a gender studies class into a film studies class simply because she felt like it. The class is "Gender, Sexuality, and Pop Culture." I didn't really care much during the first few weeks, other than the fact that all the reading was based on Freud's bullshit theories of psychoanalysis (Oedipus complex, castration anxiety...you know, the things that ABSOLUTELY NO ONE experiences). After a couple weeks of studying feminist film theory, I was sick of it and ready to move on to other facets of pop culture. Things like, oh I don't know, books? Music? Television? Advertising? Oh, wait. No. We diverted our attention to girlie-mags for about a week and then resumed studying film. Fucking hell. On Wednesday, I was so frustrated with the class that I actually cried about it that night. I feel like I'm missing the class that could have been. "Gender, Sexuality, and Pop Culture" sounds really cool and interesting. I figured we'd be analysing music lyrics, celebrities, literature, advertising and products, blah blah blah. Current stuff. You know, "pop" culture.

If I had wanted to take a fucking film studies course, I would have done just that. I didn't. I don't even really like movies. I don't want to fucking study them from a perspective that is bullshit in the first place.

And don't get me started on gender studies in general. There's a separate field of study called "women's studies." That's where blind feminism belongs, if anywhere. Gender studies should be more objective. I know the field was born out of the sexual revolution, blah blah blah, but we don't have to stay in the '70s, for fuck's sake. It's okay to move on to fairer, more enlightened points of view. Like...oh I don't know...gender equality. Not one sex over the other. Patriarchy is about male power and feminism is about female power. I propose a healthy medium.

Also, I propose that I stop ranting about that because who gives a shit? Not academia.

My favourite shirt felt itchy today, but only when I heard loud noises. That was disappointing and enlightening at the same time.

I'm experiencing a lot of intense emotions. There's a lot to be happy about and there are some things that I'm unhappy about. My mind is in about twelve trillion different places. All that emotion is confusing as hell. I never know what I'm feeling or even what I'm thinking about. All I know is that I'm feeling something, and it's intense. I'm not sure if I can handle it. "It's all too much," as George Harrison wrote.

I wish people would stop asking me to label my emotions. Happy. Upset. Angry. Who knows? Lately I've just been saying "frustrated" because I'm frustrated about not being able to answer the question "How are you feeling?" If I'm feeling good emotions, then I'll usually be able to say "I'm doing well" or "I'm excited" or whatever. "Excited" is kind of a standard response, whether or not I'm actually jumping for joy. Hell, sometimes I'm just excited to finally be in a good mood. Other times I'm excited because HOLY FUCK I GET TO SEE RENT TOMORROW! I keep forgetting that. It's true. I get to see Rent at the IU auditorium tomorrow night--tonight, technically--at 8pm. Oh, how...exciting!

So I'll end on that uplifting note. Wooooo Rent! Man, I'm tired. All this thinking and analyzing has really worn me out...or maybe I'm just getting a cold. Whichever. Goodnight.


P.S. Go listen to Brandi Carlile.

Otaku Jesus? Run for your fucking life.

Today I bought $5 worth of cheap Halloween candy at 75% off, which turned out to be enough candy to fill my standard trick-or-treat bag. So much less effort, technically cheaper ($5 is a lot less than what I would have paid for a Halloween costume), and this way I get to choose my candy. Also, I don't have to worry about feeling like an extortionist, because after all, that's what trick-or-treating is. One day of the year, children are allowed to run from house to house, demanding that their neighbours give them candy OR ELSE.

So, everybody wins.

I finally registered for Spring 2008 classes. It was a painful process. Tears were shed. You think I'm kidding. Eventually I settled on the following:

L490: Linguistic Structures
H212: some honors literature course
Z111: Music Theory
S312: Education and Society
Q299: some career planning course
X001: Orchestra for people who don't feel like auditioning for anything

It's all over the place, and I'm still not happy about it. I'm happy about music theory and sort of happy about Linguistic Structures (although the topic of the class is Japanese...can I just stress right now how much I HATE Japanese? All the irritating otaku kids at my high school ruined the entire Japanese culture for me).

I know that bit in parentheses sounded really awful, but I'm pissed, okay? Since when is it okay for a culture to be trendy? And why is it that all those Japanophile kids suddenly decided that just because they could trace manga, they were "artists"? Sure, Japanese-style animation is a valid art form and all, but if everything you draw looks like it came from a book of manga...that irritates me. Great, you're good at manga. Now let's see you draw something ELSE.

All manga/anime looks alike to me. And it all activates the "punch people in the genitals" part of my brain. Ugh. Can't stand it.

Soooo anyway. Things in general are okay. I'm still treading water, shall we say.

Last week, a man with a sign sat outside Woodburn Hall. His sign said something to the effect of "You're all going to hell," which naturally incited anger from students passing by. I mean, it's a little disconcerting to be happily on your way to class and then suddenly be told, out of the blue, that you are sure to burn in hell for eternity.

Anyway, I listened to the guy ramble on and on about sin and damnation. At one point, a kid asked him what he thought he was accomplishing by sitting out there making everyone mad. Evangelist Man replied, "Well, Jesus made people mad all the time."

Uh huh. But there's a crucial difference. Jesus preached about things like love and kindness. Jesus never yelled at a bunch of college kids that they were sure to burn in hell.

Seriously, dude, think about it. Assuming you actually have good intentions, you're hoping to show people the light, right? You aren't going to do it by yelling about hellfire and damnation. You'll only either piss people off or scare them. I guess maybe he was thinking he'd scare people into believing. That doesn't count. At all.

I've officially lost track of what I was saying or thinking. So...I'm going to go listen to The Smiths some more. That's what my life has come to.

Thinking outrageously

So. It's been awhile. A long while. Longer than I ever intended.

Things are...wonderful.

All the shitty drama with my high school friends is either resolved or doesn't matter anymore. I mean, Navah and I are talking again. Brittany and I are...who fucking knows/cares. Everyone else...whatever. They're cool people. I've come to terms with the fact that I don't really talk to a lot of people anymore and it actually isn't because they hate me. They don't hate me. And I don't hate them. So it's okay. And I have some pretty fucking amazing friends right here.

Regardless, July was a bitch.

August was amazing.

September's been pretty fucking sweet.

I finished my bouquet of beaded flowers. FINISHED. That means so much. And you know why? Because it took hundreds of hours and hundreds of dollars and enough patience to kill a rhino with a fishstick. That's a lot of patience. And I DID IT.

You know what else I did? Got through another summer. But you know what the catch is? I didn't really do it. I mean, I went through the motions and it was cool and all, but it's all about the man behind the curtain. Yeah, I'm gonna go all psycho about "YAY GOD!" and all that, but I mean it. Yay God. Seriously.

Anyway...it is now 1:42am, September 29, and I think I am content. This--life, that is--is what I've been waiting for this whole time. It doesn't get much more perfect. I mean...sure, there's the crazy drama and shit, classes mostly suck this semester, whatever...sometimes, all that just doesn't matter. As long as I'm RightHereRightNow...who cares about anything else? I'm damn lucky to be here now, and I'm gonna make the best of it, dammit.

Which, apparently, involves going out to the living room to watch TV with Kate.

I like that plan.

My s0x0rz are being r0x0red.

And I'm not even wearing s0x0rz.

The late and great George Harrison is the culprit, by the way, of this s0x0r-r0x1ng. Forgive me for being late to jump on the bandwagon, but I just now downloaded "All Things Must Pass" (I know, I know) and it is ZOMGAMAZING.

So it's, what, July 25th? I don't know when it was that I last posted here. Too long ago, in any case. June, I'm sure, because once July started I was in no state to be writing anything even remotely cheery. I swear...the first day of July started a whole mess of "Hey waitaminute I think people hate me." I don't need to go into it, really, but things are still up in the air and it's been 3 1/2 weeks. That's the longest anything like this has ever gone on, I think. Boooo.

Anyway, as for other things...work is going well. I almost wish I were getting more hours, because I'm desperate for money at this point in the summer. The work itself is tolerable. I get freaked out and overwhelmed sometimes, but whatever...at least I have fun stories to tell about it. Take, for instance, Creepy Bra Lady. This woman, maybe about 70 years old, came up to my register to buy a few things. She had maybe four items, one of which was a boring old-lady bra. The following dialogue ensued:

CBL: I didn't try this bra on, so I hope it'll fit right.
Clarkie: Well, if it doesn't, you can return it within 30 days if you keep your receipt blah blah blah.
CBL: I didn't feel like going into the fitting room to try it on. I don't even know what size I wear.
Clarkie: [repeat return policy]
CBL: *turns around, lifts up shirt in back* Could you check this one I'm wearing and see if you can tell what size it is?
Clarkie: *freaks OUT* Um...no...uh...I can't see the tag. *NOT about to fiddle with this lady's bra, thankyouverymuch*
CBL: It should be in there somewhere.
Clarkie: Uh...I, um...your total is $moneynumbers. Have a nice day. *Please God let her put her shirt back down*

The male cashier next to me pretended not to notice.

As did the three other people in line behind her.

My supervisor cracked up when I told her about this. She said "Oh my God, I'm so sorry...please tell me you didn't check her bra size." No worries. Noooo worries.

So, anyway, I have today off work. Eventually, once I get my ass out of bed and passably dressed (yes, I know it is 3pm), I intend to play with beads for awhile. I really only need a couple more big flowers, a few small ones, and some random greenery. I also have some painting projects to work on. So my art should keep me busy for awhile. My mom is coming back today from wherever she was with her friends, so I'll have her to hang out with tonight if she isn't too tired. Brittany may or may not call me. That's up to her. If she does, hopefully we'll be able to get together for a Talk.

As for now, Diet Coke and leftover macaroni sounds grand.

Less than a month left until things get a lot better! *happy face*

Fun fact: My bottle of nail polish remover just says "Polish Remover" on it, and I keep wanting to pronounce "Polish" like the word that means "people from Poland." Polish Remover. I think my nail polish remover is working for the Nazis.

Fun lie: My nail polish remover is working for the Nazis.

Bonus fun fact: The word "Goodbye" is probably a contraction of the expression "God be with ye."

Goodbye.

I am the eggman.

I painted my fingernails white. It's kind of freaky-looking, especially since I always prefer dark colours. I'm not even sure if I like it. I certainly like the oddness of it.

I'm back from the east coast--I got to see my dear friend Jill in NYC, which was crazy-amazing even if I could only see her for less than an hour--and back to work. My family's in Alabama until Wednesday...which means that I can play loud music at 2:30am and no one gives a shit. Hooray!

My aunt went batshit crazy over my beaded flowers; she said I could sell them for "thousands of dollars." Made me smile, even if I know they'd go for way less than that. I'm working on a third rose now, another red one. I finished the anemone and it turned out great, even if I'm not quite happy about the leaf colour. I'm surprisingly in love with the trillium I made...funny because I expected to hate it.

Pictures are on facebook, fwiw.

I can't decide what my favourite Beatles lyric is. It's something I've contemplated. Because, I mean, they wrote a lot of mind-blowingly great music with equally wonderful lyrics. But there are two lines that stand out to me. And they are:

"There's nowhere you can be that isn't where you were meant to be/It's easy/All you need is love"

and

"And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make."

Every Beatles fan loves that last line, I think. It's the last line of the last song (I will have you know that "Her Majesty" actually belongs between "Mean Mr Mustard" and "Polythene Pam"--seriously, try it) of the last album they recorded. And it's perfect. So I feel like a bit of a sheep, not eclectic enough? for loving that line. But...fifty gazillion Beatles fans can't be wrong, right? It is beautiful.

And the line from "All You Need Is Love" is something I constantly remind myself of, especially during the summer. I don't like summer. Hate it. I often find myself wishing I were back in Bloomington. But...there's nowhere you can be that isn't where you were meant to be. So I was meant to be right-here-right-now. I may not know why, but I'm here and I may as well enjoy it.

My brain is mush. Goodnight moon.

Strange people need love too

My mom told me the other day that when I was a really little kid I would always get this look on my face that very clearly said "I'm thinking of something really bizarre and it's HILARIOUS!" I still get that look sometimes. Mom says I've always had that odd sense of humour.

This comment was prompted by my telling of something that amused me at work last week. The music on the radio is usually Top 40 stuff, most of it fairly current but occasionally they'll play some fantastic music from the '50s/'60s/'70s. Anyway, I was straightening some swimsuits that our lowlife customers had fucked up when "The Space Between" by Dave Matthews came on the radio. Just as Dave was singing "...the space between..." I happened to glance left and was visually assaulted by a woman with ginormous breasts and a very, obscenely low-cut tank-top. Her cleavage was deep and cavernous and could probably swallow a small child or at least a gerbil. As I was blinded by this horrific sight...in the background, "...the space between..."

Indeed.

Brief comment on Dave Matthews: I don't know why everyone thinks he's awesome. All his songs sound alike and his voice sounds like he's constantly chewing on marbles. He's tolerable, I guess, for a song or two, but I can't figure out why he's popular.

That's all the blogspace I'm willing to devote to Dave Matthews.

I went to the library today. I ended up with a few books and two CDs that could not be more different from each other. One CD is "Once In A Red Moon" by the Norwegian group Secret Garden. It's like Celticy-folky-acoustic-new age stuff. Like Enya, except it doesn't suck. The other CD I got is "Freak Out!" by Frank Zappa and the Mothers of Invention. Umm...I won't even try to explain that one. Music nerds will know (and beat me with sticks, I'm sure).

Frank Zappa cracks me the fuck up. I don't always like his music, probably because I'm not really used to it, but the man was a damn genius with a great sense of humour. Unfortunately, he named his kids stupid things like Moon Unit and Dweezil. Seriously, man. That's what nicknames are for. The names of your children are not the appropriate forum for you to show off how unique and quirky you can be. This goes for all parents, celebrity or not.

Speaking of asstacular baby names...here are some, um, gems I've come across recently:

Mackyndsea (what the flying fuck?)
Mckaylee (because I want my daughter's name to sound like it came from the dollar menu)
Kyleaha (phonetically unreasonable in seven billion languages!)
Latoria (nothing says "cheap hooker" like...)

I don't have the emotional fortitude right now to compose a manifesto on naming atrocities...but it will happen, eventually, I promise.

On an entirely different note, many tiny seed beads have found their way onto wire in the past couple days. Most of these wires have been twisted and shaped into flower petals, and most of these flower petals have been gathered together and resemble flowers. Hooray for me.

Tomorrow I "get to" work from 2-close, which translates approximately to 2-8. Hey, whatever, it's a way to pass time. I'm cool with that. Farz's countdown is at 64 days. My countdown is stuck at "forever." Well, sort of. Officially it's 2 months and one week until move-in day at the apartments. I can't bloody wait.

Fun fact: In first grade, my bus driver threatened to "flip the bus over" if we misbehaved. I was, understandably, terrified.

Fun lie: Most zebras speak Portuguese.

I should vacuum.

I was feeling particularly irritable today after work, so I only hung out downstairs for half an hour or so before I escaped to my room to play with beads. I created some odds and ends--a leaf, a tiny flower...just a bunch of pieces, nothing that fits together. I really should try to do those beaded anemones (as in flowers, not sea creatures) because there needs to be something in my bouquet other than roses and wildflowers. I mean, I guess I am in the process of creating an iris, but I'm not sure how well that's going to fit into the bouquet. I'm a bit skeptical about it, honestly. It seems like an iris would be more of a focal point than something to blend in with a bouquet. I don't want a focal point. The bouquet itself is a focal point!

I have been trying to find more of the dark purple seed beads I've been using (I think they're Blue Moon, could be wrong). I know Michaels has them, or rather they do when they're in stock. I found beads at Hobby Lobby that looked like the right colour, but I took them home and...damn. They're silver-lined. The ones I'm looking for don't have the silver lining. So even though the beads don't match up, it's still okay because that means I have another colour to work with...I just, you know, really need those other ones.

Fusionbeads.com has a wonderfully tempting selection of colourful wire. If I had money to spare (which I guess I sort of do, even though I do need to be saving everything for the school year) I would get 26-gauge wire in many different colours. That site is really excellent. I've spent hours there before, just browsing all the crystal beads and expensive handmade things.

Speaking of expensive things, during my lunch breaks I've been going over to Guitar Center, and I think I've fallen in love with a certain 1972 Telecaster. That happens to be $650. Oh, and a certain Fender amp that happens to be...also very expensive. Also a baby Taylor acoustic guitar that's $200 but that's still too expensive for me right now. I would love to get a baby acoustic guitar. My hands are so ridiculously tiny that a baby guitar might be a good idea. Then again, in comparing the baby Strat with the regular-sized one...I'm more comfortable on the regular one, surely because I'm just used to it. So hell, I don't know. I'm more comfortable on an electric than an acoustic; I do know that. I haven't played my guitar all that much lately, to be honest...probably because I love playing plugged in and my cable doesn't work anymore...that should probably be my next purchase, actually. But can the purple beads really wait? Hmm.

1:30. Definitely should get to bed. Waking up in 8 hours for another fun-filled day of work at Value City. Booooo.

Fun fact: Sufjan Stevens' version of The Beatles' "What Goes On" is...um...different from the original. Not that I really care. I don't particularly like either version.

Fun lie: Sufjan Stevens was born with three pinky toes.

Goodknight.

Victory

I made three petals today AND prepared the stem wire for the rose. I feel accomplished...and exhausted. I got to straighten things at work tonight. Much better than cashiering. It gives me an opportunity to be alone for awhile AND be a little obsessive-compulsive. I enjoyed it...well, as much as I can, you know?

Talked to both Kate and Farz today. Hooraaayyyyy!! I must admit I'm getting a bit of a nervous feeling about the whole apartment thing...but I know it's all things I don't need to worry about. I'm worrying about the whole "third wheel" thing, fitting in, being included, being wanted, blah blah blah. My typical neuroses, right? We've talked about this. I don't need to worry about it anymore. For real this time.

Mom made spaghetti tonight. My internal dialogue as I walked into the house from the garage:

"It smells like Italian food. I bet Mom made something Italian."
"Um, doesn't it always smell like Italian food around here?"
"Oh right. Well, let's see."

And I was correct. This is good and bad. Good because I love spaghetti. Bad because I need to be losing weight, not eating! Haha. Something like that, I suppose. Boo.

Looks like it's Low Self-Esteem Night here in Clarkieland. This must stop. In the meantime, I need to go to bed. I'm too tired even to come up with fun facts and lies. Wow. Goodnight.

Ehhhhhnnnn....

Can't...get...motivated.

I woke up at ten bloody o'clock this morning, after finally falling asleep around 4:30am. Yet somehow I'm not tired yet. It's probably the caffeine.

I have all these little seed beads all over the place (I knocked the lavender ones over last night in an attempt to avoid a centipede) and I just know they want me to thread them onto a length of 26-gauge wire and form them into a rose petal...but I'm just not motivated enough for that. Roses take forfuckingever to complete. I can do a tiny little wildflower in just a couple hours, but roses? Damn. They do end up looking pretty awesome though, and I need a bunch more to fill up my bouquet. This rose especially is going to be gorgeous. I have two shades of purple that are pretty similar, but one is darker...the petals are mostly the light colour with one row of dark along the edge. I've found that I like that look a LOT. I did a red wildflower the other day, light red petals with crimson edging. It is adorable.

I would love to make a French beaded flower barrette. I have to wear red, black, or white to work, but I think I can pretty much accessorize however I want. I wore my crazy beaded headband yesterday (it's like 18 inches of inch-thick peyote with a purple ribbon to tie it) and nobody yelled at me for failing to conform to corporate standards. Therefore, I would like to show up to work with a beaded flower in my hair. Not today though, because I'm unmotivated.

Okay. Two petals. I'm going to do two petals.

And then, you know it, I'm going to have to go to work and I won't want to stop beading.

Work 4-close tonight. That translates to approximately 4-10:30. I think I can, I think I can, I think I can.

Fun fact: Not only is Diet Coke Plus delicious, it has vitamins and minerals so that means it's GOOD FOR YOU. Also, the bottle cap is a really great turquoise colour.

Fun lie: Seven people died in the making of "The Brave Little Toaster Goes to Mars" when the Brave Little Toaster, high on cocaine, incinerated the makeup crew and three bystanders.

Farewell, blogworld.

An awkward intro

Since this is my Official First Post, I figure I should probably give a general rundown of who I am, why I'm here, and perhaps some other assorted things. There really isn't a good way of doing this without it being all awkward and corny, so I guess I'll dive right in.

I'm a 20-year-old college student. Right now, since it is summer vacation (boooo), I spend most of my time as a cashier at Value City. Today was my second day, so I guess I'm not qualified to say whether or not it sucks. So far, so good. The pay isn't too bad. When I'm not working, I'm usually stringing beads. Well, sort of. I do quite a bit of beadwork, not all of which involves actual string. This summer my big project is a bouquet of French beaded flowers that will serve as a decoration somewhere in my apartment in August. I'm pretty excited for the apartment, by the way. I'm going to be living with my two sisters/best friends (to clarify, we're very close friends who consider each other sisters), Kate and Farzana. They're wonderful people, I promise.

Other things about me...I'm kind of a nerd. There is that. Oh, and I'm a lesbian. Not the raging bull-dyke kind, and not the trendy-punk kind either. And certainly not the hippie-vegan kind. I guess I'm just a regular girl who happens to like girls. I don't have a girlfriend; in fact, I've never dated. It's been kind of hard to find people to date here in the middle of the Bible Belt, you know? Speaking of the Bible, as an awkward segue, I am a Christian. That's right: I'm a lesbian AND a Christian. Shall I be burned at the stake now or later? I don't know how much I'll be writing about things relating to religion, though. It's kind of a private thing for me. I'll see what I can do. I guess if it's on my mind, I'll write about it. Probably.

As for family and friends and things...for now I live with my parents and three younger siblings. Brian's 17, Julie's 15, and Amy's 12. Also we have a psychotic 6-year-old Bichon Frise who once ate half a chocolate cake. I already mentioned my friend-sisters, Kate and Farz. I still keep in touch with a few high school friends (Brittany, Navah, Nayt, etc.) because they're cool people. I've made some excellent friends in college as well (I would list names but there are about a billion, and I'm not trying to leave anyone out, but it's 3am and I really need to get to bed soon).

Come to think of it, oh shit. I have an optometrist appointment tomorrow at 11:15, which means waking up at 9:30, which is in...6 1/2 hours. I am going to die.

I've been in Greenwood for just about 4 weeks. Only about 11 or 12 more until I get to move back to Bloomington. It can't come soon enough.

This post was really, really awkward. I promise I don't always write like an eighth-grader.

Fun fact: When I was six years old, I collected empty toilet paper rolls and drew people on them. Once I brought them to school for show-and-tell.

Fun lie: William Howard Taft had venomous fangs and a three-inch tail.

That is all. Goodnight and love to all.