Welcome home

In about 7 hours, I'll be leaving for Bloomington. I'm surprisingly calm about it, really. Today has been interesting...I've been wavering between excited and pissed off. Always one extreme or the other. I really am ready to get out of here. I've been getting along great with Mom and Julie for most of the summer. Brian and I generally get along well, but then again I hardly ever see him because he kind of hides in the basement. Today was Amy's 14th birthday so she was in a good mood for once, but if you recall, middle school is hell so Amy is generally not fun to live with right now. She kind of has a superiority complex and it kind of drives me batshit crazy. As for Dad, I don't know, I've been getting along with him basically well until today. I've inadvertently made him mad at least four or five times today, and Dad doesn't get mad too often. Maybe he's stressed about Brian and me going to college...well, he's used to it with me, but maybe something about his only son moving out...I don't know. I'm hoping I didn't do something horribly wrong to make him mad at me. Mostly, his getting mad at me has resulted either from my complete lack of physical coordination or silly misunderstandings in conversation. Sigh.

I don't know. I'm just ready to get out of here. It's funny. I definitely appreciate all my parents do for my siblings and me, and how Dad's job provides for a really, really comfortable lifestyle. I found out the other day that Dad's income puts our family in the top 2%, income-wise, in the nation. Holy fuck. I looked it up on the internet after Mom commented to me that she doesn't "feel rich." Well yes, we live in Greenwood. Center Grove, that is. We don't feel rich because our standard of living is sort of the norm. But I don't really want that for myself. I want to be comfortable, financially, and be able to afford things that I want, but I definitely don't want to be flashy, high-society, pretentious-type rich. Because it's never enough. There are high expectations around here of what a family should be able to afford. Private violin lessons? Apparently a necessity. A new flat-screen TV? Of course we need one. A day at the spa? Couldn't get by without it. And while my parents are supporting four children in a fairly affluent suburban area, which is no financially easy task, I still get a twinge of disgust (or something) every time they complain about how expensive certain luxuries are. I mean, I have to appreciate that they don't throw money around like it's nothing, but they don't seem to realize how fortunate we really are to be able to even consider extravagant purchases.

I want to be a college professor eventually, which is a high-paying, high-status job, but I pray that I will be able to stay grounded and not get caught up in any sort of pretentious high-society lifestyle.

The other day, Mom asked my sisters and me what kind of house we'd like to live in. Julie wants a big house (a mansion, basically, although who knows what that word means anymore). Amy wanted a medium-sized, new, modern-looking house. Probably kind of like the house we live in now. They both talked about all the features and special rooms and brand-new appliances. Everyone was surprised when I said I don't want that. Well, I'll admit that in an ideal world I would live in a fairly newish house. Old things do scare me. But renovating an old house wouldn't be entirely bad. Anyway, I don't want a traditional-looking house. I want something really unique and...genuine-looking? Does that make sense? I don't want a house that looks like it came out of a catalog or has a matching model home somewhere. As for decor, I want jewel tones and original artwork and the occasional bit of quirky kitsch. I want a smallish house, just big enough for me, my wife, a kid or two, and a few cats. One level, perhaps with a basement. I want it to look like a home. My home. I don't want it to look manufactured. I want my kids to feel at home there, like they're allowed to play and explore and be part of the family. No forbidden rooms. None of my rooms will be fancy enough that the kids and cats have to stay out.

I want to be the family that my kids' friends love to hang out with. I want all sorts of people to feel welcome in my house/home. I imagine it being the best physical representation of my idea of "home."

Sigh.

In the meantime, I suppose tomorrow I'll be able to make my dorm room look like home. It's the closest I've come so far, actually. Well, my room in the apartment was the closest I've come so far. I hope my new dorm room will be the perfect home for me.

Perhaps soon I'll be able to reflect on the summer. I don't know if anyone really wants to read that, though. Hell, I don't know if anyone ever reads this thing anyway.

I have a couple funny anecdotes/thingies that I have to share, to end this on a happy note.

1. Apparently a woman in Greenwood was arrested this week for running an extra-special massage parlor. Ah, undercover prostitution. Funny enough that this was happening in Greenwood of all places, but the best part is that her first name is Rongrong. Two rongs still don't make a right, I guess.

2. Consider this an Official Blog Pimp: you must visit THIS HILARIOUS BLOG. Cake Wrecks. The best of the worst "professional" cake decorating disasters, complete with delightful commentary. I don't know who writes this blog. I came across it the other day and decided that I absolutely must share it with everybody forever. So there it is.

3. Not funny, and not really an anecdote, but just a mention that I got my ears pierced again! I have 3 holes in each ear now. I like them a lot. The new piercings hurt like ten bitches on a bitch bus, though, so I think I'm done piercing things...but still, I'm excited about these. Three is just a good number. 'Course, the earrings I have in now, the ones they used to pierce my ears, are kind of ugly (they were the cheapest nickel-free ones), so I can't wait until I can take them out and wear three pairs of sparkly earrings at once!

I have no idea what I'm typing anymore. I think it's bedtime.

All aboard the FAILBOAT!

I think the stupid is wearing off on me. Today at work I left my register to go on break, but halfway down the escalator I realized that I'd left my bag (notebook, pens, $$, etc) back at the register. So of course I turned right around and started running back upstairs. It took me awhile to realize that I was sprinting up the down escalator and not actually making much progress at all. And about to fall down. Eventually I figured out why I wasn't going anywhere. I hope my Moment of Dumb brightened someone's day. I bet that looked awesomely ridiculous.

21 days, now, until I can go back to school. I get my first paycheck at the end of this week and I am totally going to spend a big portion of it on clothings. Possibly a purple blankie, if I can find one that I love. I am long overdue for some retail therapy. Seriously, for the past 6 months all I've wanted to do is shop, and come Friday, I'll finally have money for it.

Now that I'm working in retail hell again, I'm beginning to collect more horror stories. Fortunately I haven't had any really terrible incidents, but every once in awhile I get to interact with some very...interesting...people. Today, this happened.

I was working with Anu for the 2nd day in a row. She and I get along very well. Old guy comes up to the register and starts babbling endlessly about God-knows-what. I humor him. Hey, what the hell, it's boring in here and I need a little human interaction too. He leaves after 10 minutes or so. As he leaves, he graces us with this verbal gem:

Old man: "Okay, well, I gotta go...you girls stay pretty!" (he looks intensely at Anu) "...ESPECIALLY you."

Ahhh! Aaaahhhhh! DO NOT WANT! She was hardly fazed: apparently this guy comes in a lot and is generally creepy. She said he even kissed her hand once. Aw hell no! Motherfucker isn't getting anywhere near my hands, etc.!

After I got over the creepy, I realized that I'd basically just gotten called "relatively ugly." w00t.

Some old lady clawed me with a fake nail today...

I fucking hate retail.

Also. Thoughtlet. It seems that higher-calorie foods are generally cheaper than lower-calorie, healthier foods. This is stupid. I propose that calories = cents. If something has 100 calories, it costs a dollar. 2500 calories, it costs $25. Free Diet Coke. Okay, I can definitely get on board with free Diet Coke. My favorite (I use that term lightly) Burger King meal would be $8.50 instead of $3.79. That would be just discouraging enough.

Anyway, I'll leave you with this:

Stupidity Abounds

Amy: "I won't wear a helmet on my bike! It looks stupid!"
Me: "Uh, no, it looks smart. It looks like you care about keeping your skull intact."
Amy: "I'm not going to be the only one of my friends wearing a helmet!"
Me: "I guess you'll be the only one not riding a bike, then."

Sometimes, what you look like is the last thing that matters.

Also, I think I'm developing parent-like tendencies.

In other news, 25 more days until I get to go back to Bloomington. I am very excited, but that's sort of dampened by how hard it is to get through every day without stabbing someone. My job at Sears is probably making me lose IQ points. I got switched to a cashier job, which is kind of old hat for me. After 4 days of the dumbest computer training I've ever trudged through, I'm finally a real cashier. Sort of. Everyone keeps assuming that I don't know what I'm doing, which kind of makes me wonder about the expectations (or lack thereof) I'm up against. Seriously, I've done this before, and not only have I done it, I've trained people at it. Not that I really give a shit. When my job changed, the lovely management at Sears neglected to inform me that my salary would also change. Finally I brought it up in conversation and they were like "oh, um, yeah it's going to be a lot lower." Thanks, bitches! Now I'm working for minimum wage! Maybe I'll start living up (down) to those expectations, just to spite someone. I'm only there for 3 more weeks. Fuck all y'all.

Speaking of people not telling me things, I was supposed to have an appointment today for my yearly physical exam. I missed it because I went to the wrong office. Apparently the practice moved to the other side of town within the past year and neglected to inform me. Hooray. I rescheduled it for next week, but still, stupid stupid stupid.

In not-stupid news, go listen to "Welcome Home, Son" by Radical Face. Immediately. Then swoon with me. Swoon, dammit!

I found the most gorgeous quilt ever and I'm still trying to get Mom to get it for me. If she doesn't, then I will, but my funds are a little limited (THANKS A LOT, SEARS BITCHES) and I want to get a blanket to go with it. Also, I need new clothes. Need as in "need," not as in "want." I mean, okay, I'm not wearing rags or anything, but I don't have too many articles of clothing that I can wear right now, and when I get back to the dorm it's going to be a giant pain in the ass if I have to do laundry every single week. Also, some of my pants are beginning to fall off and that could get awkward.

That's pretty much it for now. I can't think of anything else to write that doesn't involve whining about how much I miss my friends and want them back in the same town/state/country/continent as me. Because...seriously. Anyway, I guess I'll go play Neopets some more...sigh.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Go faster!

A job. I has one. Thank God it's just temporary, for the remainder of the summer, because it kind of sounds sucktastic. Julie and I both got jobs at Sears, cleaning and organizing stuff. Hopefully we'll get to stay in the back room, trying to make sense of the disaster back there while cackling hysterically and beating each other with fixtures. We both have interviews at Build-A-Bear next week, which is kind of funny, but I wouldn't mind having 2 part-time jobs for a few weeks. And then I would be able to say that I spent my summer BUILDING BEARS. Kind of sounds awesome.

I feel sort of healthy, I think. I'm still working out most days, and I'm up to 7.5 miles at a time on the stationary bike. 6 days a week. Plus I like to play around with Mom's free weights, beat the shit out of Dad's punching bag, and kick my own ass with situps and stretches every night. And I'm getting a lot better about willingly taking the dog out for walks. I don't really seem to be losing that much weight, though. Sad face. I like to tell myself that what I'm losing in fat I'm gaining in muscle, but I still feel like a whale. Maybe I'll never be thin and sexy. Le sigh. I can still try.

I've been watching Arrested Development on hulu.com. It kind of rocks my world. I don't have a favorite character, or even really a favorite moment yet, but I will say that Buster's "Hey, brother..." is full of awesome. As is pretty much the whole series.

I shaved my legs tonight. That always makes me feel a little more accomplished. Sad but true.

On Saturday, on the way to Chicago, I took part of a practice GRE that I found online. I did surprisingly well, but not well enough for me. I definitely need to study vocabulary. Holy shit. I was particularly surprised by the fact that I still know how to do math. I haven't taken a math class since high school, but I still only missed a couple questions. This looks promising. (Tune in this October, when my actual GRE becomes a vortex of epic fail.)

Duck and cover if you remember something called CFAFC. "C? FAFC!" Coalition For the Awareness of Falling Coconuts. I've been giggling about it all day.

In other news, I think I need, like...a wife.

In seven weeks I will actually be in charge of actual freshmen. I'll be a real RA. Dealing with Welcome Week shit, of course, but oh well. I can't believe I have to go to an actual fucking pep rally. Jesus. I might drag Kate along. She's better at pep than I am. Maybe I'll be more peppy once I actually get to school and feel like myself again. I tend to be a lot more lively in Bloomington.

Can't wait to flip the switch. Take it as you like...I'm taking it maybe 4, 5 different ways. Flippp.

Now stop reading this because it's over. Haha.

Untie me; I've said no vows

I'm going to write a bunch of disconnected thoughts. I'm not in the mood for paragraphs.

"Saint Simon" is a beautiful song. The video just makes it even better.

I had an interview yesterday at Office Depot. I really hope I get the job.

I can't figure out if I actually like Bright Eyes or if there are just a couple songs of theirs that I adore.

If it were suddenly, say, the middle of August...I wouldn't object.

My headache is going for a longevity record. I am not pleased.

About what I wrote about "Saint Simon"...it still stands, but I'm going to just go ahead and say that as a general rule, The Shins kick some serious ass.

My eye doctor smells like scalp and toothpaste. It's very strange.

I miss you, I miss you, I miss you.

Five miles a day on the stationary bike is starting to get kind of easy.

I wish I had money to buy clothes. This is why I need a job. Well, and for other reasons. But still. Clothes shopping would be kind of enjoyable right now. Retail therapy!

Thank God for the internet.

I'm gonna go claw my own face off kthxbye.

Compare, Contrast, Combust

When Mom Is Home:
She and my aunt talk nonstop about how dysfunctional their family is/was. Living here is like sitting in on marathon group therapy sessions.

When Mom Is Not Home:
Nobody talks to anyone unless it's Amy taking out her teenage wrath on Julie or me.

I can't figure out which I prefer.

Nah. I do prefer it when Mom is home. I get along with her pretty well, second to Julie I suppose. When Mom's home there is some semblance of order around here. She does this "parenting" thing. I mean, Dad has a basic grasp on everyday parenting duties: he tells people when to go to bed. Oh, and he paid for dinner tonight. I'm totally not downplaying the fact that he supports the family financially--that's obviously vital and much appreciated. But on a day-to-day basis, he pretty much lurks in the basement and occasionally pops up to tell people what to do "so your mother won't get mad." As for my aunt, she's in a weird position. She's deliberately trying not to parent anyone around here, which is probably for the best. She's not one to tell anyone what to do, unless it's Mom's instructions, in which case the request is always phrased as such. However, she's not quite sure yet how things run around here, so I get a lot of "um, is this something I should take charge of?" God bless her. She's toeing a fine, fine line between Aunt and Babysitter. And throughout all this, everyone seems to forget that I'm 21 years old and more than likely entirely capable of managing a household for the weekend.

Anyway, aside from analyzing my family (it must be an inherited tendency)...

...today Julie and I wandered around the mall and made fun of skanky clothing. Hooray. We had the most fun at Wet Seal. See, Wet Seal has a fairly large array of...panties. Ew. That word squicks me out. Anyway, Julie and I played a little game I like to call "What Do These Panties Say?"

The yellow flip-flop-print thong says, "Kick me in the vag!"

The frog-print bikinis say, "A biblical plague upon your genitals!"

The lipstick-mark print underwear says, "Nom nom nom."

The blue hipsters with little whales all over say, "Shave the whales!"

And a great time was had by all. In other news, today the little counter thing on the stationary bike hit 100 miles. Woo and yay! I've done a little over 35 miles since I got back here for the summer--5 miles a day, starting 7 days ago. Today I was walking downstairs and I thought, "My legs feel weird. Holy crap. Do I feel...muscular?!" Yeah, sort of. That, and I just shaved my legs, so that's a little unusual too. But really...yay for working out and such. I've also discovered the joy of the punching bag, so there's that.

I should probably make some effort to go to bed. Here's my thought on that. Going to bed is kinda depressing sometimes. Lying in the dark, alone, frustrated because I can't fall asleep, trying to keep stupid thoughts out of my head, et cetera. Or...I could think about it a different way. In the summer anyway, going to bed means one day closer to going back to school. This is a very, very good thing. Heartening, even.

So, perhaps I've talked myself into going to bed.

To five people in particular:

I miss you like whoa.

Well, that's enough of that

It's really nice having my aunt staying with us for awhile, because I don't get to see her much. However, she and my mom spend all their time analyzing how dysfunctional their family (my grandma and other aunts) is. And I appreciate that they think I'm mature enough to hear it all, and that they don't hide it from me, but for the love of God. There's only so long I can listen to them talk about how mean and crotchety my grandma is getting, or how annoying their older sister is, or how dysfunctional their childhood was. Apparently I come from a long line of manipulative, two-faced, screwed-up people. Hooray. I mean, I love my family because they're my family, but holy shit.

Even my mom is getting a little snappy lately. She yelled at a fly this afternoon. No f'ing kidding. I think she was sort of yelling at Amy, who had left the door open (and let flies in), but Amy wasn't around so Mom starting yelling and cursing at a fly. Evidently she also yelled at Kate the other day. If I'd been there I would've gone batshit. She was also yelling at Brian, too, who was doing most of the work of moving my stuff out of my apartment (I was taking finals at the time). Evidently he scratched the ceiling of the van while trying to put the vacuum between the seats, and Mom fucking exploded. I can see her getting upset if it were a new vehicle, or a huge gaping hole in the ceiling, but the van is 8 years old and falling apart, and the scratch was barely anything. Sigh. Kate was horrified at how tense and volatile my family was. Welcome to my world, darling.

But, hell. Apparently my mom and her sisters grew up with that kind of thing. My grandma, who used to be one of the sweetest people in the world, has apparently turned into an impatient, crotchety woman who curses like a sailor and has a sense of entitlement the size of Texas.
I don't care that she's 82 years old. Just because somebody is older does not give them the right to act like a bratty 6-year-old just because they can. No matter how old or young you are, the world does not revolve around you and your wishes. We don't tolerate that kind of behavior in teenagers, or young adults, or middle-aged adults, so why should people suddenly be allowed to act hideously when they hit a certain age? Politeness doesn't have an expiration date.

It's going to be a very, very interesting summer. I'm becoming kind of horrified at the way my family operates. Not all of it, I mean, there are good things too, but I need to start compiling a list of Things I Vow To Never Do.

Oh, also, happy Father's Day!

I'm trying to get excited about Father's Day. I haven't seen my dad all day. He's either out playing baseball or he's hiding in the basement. Whatever works. I helped Mom make dinner and I went out yesterday and got Dad a present. His favorite candy and some golf tees. The most unimaginative thing ever, but oh well. We seriously get Dad the same things for Father's Day every year. I don't know what the heck else to get him, because I hardly ever talk to him and have no clue what he wants other than the usual.

On a happy note, though: I got A's in both of my summer classes! 4.0 for the term! I am super excited. Also, my phone vibrates now. Hmm. Yay.

Ackmmphhgahh. That is how I feel. But don't tell anyone.

Call me! Stalk you. (sorry, just saw the movie)

Well, it's about that time. Time to leave my life and the one person who makes me totally comfortable and the place where I can be myself and where I don't have to hide anything...and time to go back to awkwardness and hiding and being uncomfortable in my own skin and not being able to see that one person who makes me totally comfortable...yeah, it's a fun time of the year. I need to be in a coma until mid-August.

Fuck summer and the four horses it rode in on.

But there's still a couple more days. A day and a half. Whatever. These last hours are always the most frustrating, because I'm always torn between wanting to enjoy every moment and being overcome by panic. You can't enjoy life when you're busy panicking.

"Panicking" looks an awful lot like "packing." I have started panicking. I have not started packing. Go figure. I like to make it quick and painful. Better that than slow and painful, right? I was about to type "quick and painless" but then I realized that "painless" isn't quite the word I wanted.

In entirely different news, I would be very interested to know how many friends I have left, and how many I've lost for the ones I still have. At least at the end of freshman year I went into the summer knowing that I had a huge support system of friends at IU. It pisses me off that it apparently came down to my having to choose between one incredibly wonderful friend and a plethora of other people who were very good friends as well. But the thing is, I didn't choose. I refuse to do that kind of shit. I don't cut ties. If people want to cut ties with me because they don't like who I've grown close to, that's their own issue and they can choose whether or not to work it out. Past middle school, the "I'm not your friend anymore because I don't like your other friends" bullshit isn't going to fly. Hell yes I am going to stick by my best friend. She doesn't let me down and I'm not going to let her down. When people try to put me in the place of choosing between one friend and another, I refuse to step into that place.

Also, I know confrontation is hard and all, but seriously? All it takes is a few words: "I don't want to see you." "I don't want you in my life." "I'm done with you." Yeah, it hurts, but it's a hell of a lot better to have a definite answer than to wait in silence for months and wonder how I should feel. I am fucking sick of always being left to wonder. And if you (undefined you; I'm not addressing any one person here) do want me in your life, gee, it would help to show it once in awhile. Many thanks to the people who do just that.

Shit, I have class in...some hours. I have to be up in 8 hours, and I've discovered lately that if I don't get 8 hours of sleep--well, more like 9 or 10, but I shoot for 8--my brain ceases to function. I need my brain to function. I have two exams this Thursday. Right now I have A-pluses in both classes, and I would very much like for that to continue. This means that I need as much brain function as I can get in order to kick the shit out of my exams. And tomorrow is a day for studying and packing. Hooray, studying!!

In other news: I'm 21 1/2 now, babies and toddlers are fantastic, and I want to sing like Vienna Teng.

Ackmphgaaaaah.

It's beginning to sink in more and more:

I really, really can't wait to move back to the dorm.

I love my apartment, of course, and living here definitely has its benefits. My roommate is the most wonderful person in the world and it's going to be very hard to not live with her next year.

But I have so many good memories of dorm life. Even from the very beginning of freshman year, when I didn't know anyone and kind of had to carve out a niche for myself. This fall, I'll already have a niche of sorts--I'll be the RA. That's another thing entirely to be excited about. I can't wait to get to know all the people on my floor and on my staff. I can't wait to decorate a dorm room again and actually be able to buy food when I need to (living off-campus without a car sucks balls, by the way) and live with a bunch of people instead of just one or two others (however awesome the one or two may be). I'm already starting to online-browse-shop for things with which to decorate my roomS. Yeah, plural. Ashton RAs get a bedroom and a sort of living-room. With a COUCH. I am totally excited about having a couch. Dude. Freshman year, Jill brought the couch out to the lounge, and it was the best thing EVER to sleep on. I have yet to decide if I'll bring my couch out to the lounge. I kind of want it in my room. Maybe right by the window, so it can be sort of like a window seat. I think I'm going to make my "living room" very open to my residents. Not, like, a free-for-all second lounge, but kind of like "hey, if my door's open, come on in. There's Scrabble and Trivial Pursuit and a deck of cards on the table." But probably not until halfway or so through the semester. If I have a crazy party floor, I don't want those motherfuckers near my Scrabble board.

I don't want to be the Mystery RA that no one ever sees. Of course, I don't want to totally relinquish all authority by being best friends with all my residents. I kind of want to be a fusion of the two RAs I had the past couple years. My first RA was more of a friend than an authority figure, although she did sort of yell at us for having cake fights in the lounge. By the end of the year, I was really close to her, but pretty much nobody on the floor saw her as an authority figure. Much drama ensued. Last year, my RA was a nice person, friendly, but she definitely had her own separate life that did NOT include RA duties like "getting to know your residents." She was definitely there for us during, um, crises, and she did nice things for us and was awesome at planning programs, but I didn't feel like I really knew her as a person. Made it hard for me to really go to her for advice on anything (fortunately, I was/am still friends with RA #1, so I'd call her if I needed sage advice from someone older and wiser). I want to fulfill RA duties like planning programs, enforcing policies, allowing no shenanigans, etc...but I also want to get to know my residents and be able to hang out with them and have fun.

In other news, I think I have perfectionist tendencies.

That definitely relates to being an RA. I want to be, like, the poster child for RPS, I guess. I want to be the best RA EVAR. I want to make my residents' freshman year(s) the kind of year that makes them not want to leave school for the summer.

The perfectionism thing also relates to my schoolwork. The other day I caught myself talking with Maren (sociology teacher) about what I could possibly have done wrong in order to get a 96% on my exam. OH NOES! a 96! Which is STILL AN A! But it wasn't as high as my last grade, which was an A-PLUS! Bloody hell. Halfway through that conversation I realized...wait...shit. This is getting out of hand. That, and Maren had made mathematical errors and I'd actually gotten a 98%. Thank God. I was in danger of failing college.

I think last semester went to my head. My GPA last semester was 3.93. My sole A- was in an honors literature class, and I'm terrible at literary analysis. So I was kind of proud of myself. Like, a lot. And now I'm freaking the fuck out, trying to get perfect grades in both of my classes this term. Granted, it will be nice to go into my senior year with a higher cumulative GPA, and maybe a burst of perfectionism toward the end of my undergrad career will make it easier to get into grad school. But really...an A counts the same as an A+, and neither is a particularly terrible grade, you know? And as Kate pointed out to me, you know, people are able to value you for things other than academic performance. HOLY SHIT, REALLY?! I mean, I'd never thought that through to that extent, but really, let's diagram this (in text because I'm useless with Excel):

Preschool/kindergarten. Bored out of my skull in school and pretty much coasted. Didn't have much of a concept of self-worth yet, but people tell me I was a happy child.

1st-3rd grade. More or less got straight As. Every time I missed a spelling word on a test I'd spend the whole day in tears and dread telling my parents, but generally I was kind of the teacher's pet. Probably could've skipped one of these grades. I still didn't have much of a concept of self-worth, but I definitely remember being happy, and I don't remember thinking anything bad about myself at this point.

4th-6th grade. Still got mostly As, with the occasional B in my advanced reading class. I was still a crazy perfectionist, and many battles were fought at home over that one class. Apparently, because I was getting a B, this meant I was slacking off and underachieving and blah blah blah. This is when I started getting depressed and withdrawn. Not too severely, but it was beginning.

7th-8th grade. Crashed and burned, epic fail. I still had a couple As, a B or two, but I was way confused in my math and science classes, which resulted in Ds and Fs. Cs in geography. I won't go into my parents' response right now because it's not something I like to remember, but these years were when I was depressed, suicidal, thought I was a worthless jerk from hell, etc. Yay.

9th-11th grade. Getting better. My grades were basically As and Bs with the occasional C in high school (I think my whole transcript had maybe 2 or 3 Cs on it). Also, I started feeling better about myself. Not entirely, of course, but I didn't hate myself and want to die anymore. I started to kinda like life.

12th grade. Burst of perfectionism. Didn't get straight As, but I tried my damndest and I knew it.
Hardly slept that year. Still felt pretty good about myself, though.

Freshman yr of college: Grades fluctuated. Nothing below a B, but I was still unsatisfied with that. I was happy, but I lived in constant fear of Not Being In School. Different story. Confusing.

Sophomore yr: Grades same as freshman yr, basically. Emotional state also the same...basically I was glad that it was not summer. Failing all my classes would've made me happier than that summer did.

Junior yr: I've been pretty happy with myself this year. I have my typical Moments, but in general I think I'm a fairly smart, competent, intellectually sound young adult. I made the Dean's List both semesters.

'Course, it's just a correlation.

Fucking balls, my hand hurts and I still have to write a paper for the most irritating professor since Sarah Sinwell. DOCTOR Sinwell was easier to listen to than Ann Carmichael, though. Carmichael can't get through a sentence without saying "um, uh, um" about twelve times. And she's impossible to reason with. And she tends to dismiss everything everyone says, and then she'll say it herself in this tone that's like "Listen To Me! I Can Teach You Things! Underlings!" I won't hold it against her that she's slightly incompetent with technology, but it gets annoying.

Anyway, I have to write a paper for her. Yay.

My head hurts. Forever.

I keep smacking my head on things and losing my balance and failing to maintain basic hand-eye coordination. This sucks. I feel like I don't have a very good sense of where my body is in relation to everything around it. I've been getting in and out of cars for over 20 years--you'd think I'd have figured out by now exactly how much I need to duck in order to avoid whacking my head against the doorframe. And never mind my lack of balance. The other day I was on a bridge, one of those that kinda swings and is suspended and makes you feel like you're walking a tightrope. And even with the minimal swinging, I had to hold on to the ropes in order to keep from falling on my ass. And then once I was off the bridge, it took me maybe 10 minutes to get my "land legs" back. I was only on the damn thing for like 30 seconds.

I don't want to sound like a total freak or anything, but all this Asperger's stuff--if that's what it really is--is getting out of hand. I don't even know anymore if it's that I'm noticing more symptoms, or if somehow I'm actually getting worse. I mean, generally, these sorts of things are supposed to get better as you get older and develop coping mechanisms. I feel like I'm regressing. It is really freaky.

For now, though, I'm going to attribute it to stress. There is not much time left before I have to go back to Greenwood for summer. Oh, and I'm worried as FUCK about my best friend. It is absolutely killing me to see her unhappy day after day. And sure, she ends up taking it out on me occasionally, because I'm the only one around, and it sucks but I'm trying not to mind. This too shall pass. I love her to death and back again but she is very frustrating right now. All I can do is be the best friend/sister I can possibly be and hope that she knows I'd do anything for her.

Oh, and I need sleep too. That should probably happen now.

On a happy note: summer classes are awesome. I've had 2 exams. Sociology was a 98.5% and history was a 98%. Yes, I derive satisfaction from percentages. I like to feel smart.

I don't like to feel tired.

Maybe, maybe not!

Post title courtesy of the Reduced Shakespeare Company. Go, Ophelia!

So it's May. It's May and I am not borderline suicidal. What sort of alternate universe have I entered? As it turns out, I'm keeping my shit together for now because I am taking summer classes until mid-June! I don't have to leave home (that's right) for another month and a half!

I have, of course, developed my seasonally-appropriate nervous habits and self-destructive tendencies, but I'm working on controlling all that.

Did I mention FUCK SUMMER?

Anyway, my sixth semester of college is over. Holy fuck. Awesome things shouldn't go by so quickly. This semester was actually reasonably enjoyable, despite everything. Actually, okay, I'm going to make a list of everything that should have sucked all the joy out of this semester, BUT DIDN'T.

*Gigantic explosive drama-fest with Farz and whatnot
*My computer gave up on life
*Jesus put me on Vagina Probation for 40 days and 40 nights
*I got myself into an honors literature class and decided to stick it out
*Turning 21 opened up new possibilities for sensory assault
*My social life, in general, tried to strangle me

So, yay. Must leave now. Going to paint on small children. More later.

Later. Meaning, 2am the next day, so some hours later...right. I'm in Greenwood now for the weekend. Meh. I usually enjoy weekends with the family, but the timing of this one is particularly unnerving.

I didn't get to paint on children, but I did get to throw balls at them. And we got free cotton candy. So, in all, a good experience. That damn 5 bucket, though...

This is beautiful: NMH recorded an acoustic, rhythmically-challenged, off-key version of "Up and Over." I love it. Of course I prefer the original fuzzy version, because the whole Aeroplane album is some kind of musical perfection, but this is a cute little morsel of silliness.

JESUS CHRIST A FUCKING SPIDER.

Anyway. So my cousin had her baby today/yesterday! Connor Michael was born around 9am on May 2, 2008 and he is friggin' adorable. My cousin has spent the past three years pregnant, it seems...Ashley Rose was born April 13, 2006...Haley Ann was born April 15, 2007...now Connor. Like clockwork. Yay for babies! This makes me really want children, although I would probably eat my young like a praying mantis. Not really, but I don't exactly have confidence in my mothering abilities. My children would probably come out with three eyes and raptor claws anyway...and Lord knows I don't want that shit anywhere near my vagina.

Yet I still want children.

I need to wake up in less than five hours if I want to go to Julie's academic team competition tomorrow. Why do I do these things? Because I'm trying to be a good sister, I guess, and few things make me happier than a little nerdy fun on a Saturday. Waking up at 7am is for dumbasses, though, but I think I'll be joining the ranks.

Bonsoir.

Boots with the stigmata

I suppose it's bad that every time I see "Apple Bottom Jeans" written out, my brain reads it as "Apple Bottom Jesus." And then the mental image is...oh fuck it, I'm going to hell.

I only have one final exam left. The rest of my classes? Straight A's so far. Well, one A-, but whatever, it's still sort of an A. I'm hoping that I can do super-crazy-well on my sociology exam and finally have a semester of straight A's...I haven't done that since elementary school.

I finally got to see "Juno" tonight! Kate was like "Hey, do you want to go get Chinese food and rent 'Juno'?" and I just stared at her like "What kind of a dumbass question is that? Get your shoes on, let's go!" And then she kept saying "Hey, guess what! I get to hang out with my BFF Laura!" She literally said bee-eff-eff. It was awesome. I think she's the only person who can do that sort of thing without sounding stupid. Anyway, "Juno" was all kinds of great. Not as wonderful as "Little Miss Sunshine," but then again that is the epitome of what films should be, always, so I don't expect anything to live up to it. "Juno" was, like...an enjoyable version of "Napoleon Dynamite." Meaning, it was silly and spawned a million catchphrases, but unlike "Napoleon Dynamite," it made me a happier person.

I get to spend Friday evening painting small children's faces! Woo and yay! I solemnly swear to refrain from painting inappropriate or terrifying things, and I promise to avoid the use of Sharpie or other indelible materials.

Wait, shit, can I paint? Hmm.

I am seriously having to retype every word about ten times because there's no longer a stable connection between my brain and my fingers. This is because it's almost four in the fucking morning and I am really, really tired. Yay for sleeping tomorrow.

Whoa, dream big.

So, where was I?

It seems that I have not touched this blog since February. Here is why.

My beloved computer, my high-school graduation gift from my parents, gave up on life. I tried to turn it on one day, and it just sat there and squeaked "oooiiil caaan...oil can!"

So I took it to see the Wizard of Best Buy, but instead of giving my computer a new heart, they shipped it off to Louisville to see if the super-wizards could exorcise the demons.

And I got a call the other day from Best Buy saying that my computer was resolute in its decision to not live anymore, and would you be able to drop everything and come pick out a new laptop, oh, I don't know, immediately?

Well, Kate took me there the next day. It was confirmed that yes, my computer and everything I'd stored on it for three years wound up in the Louisville Computer Graveyard or whatever. See ya, music library! See ya, IM logs! See ya, photos and journal entries! Except I won't "see ya," because you're ALL GONE FOREVER.

Anyway, I did get a new computer, basically comparable to the old one. I hope that doesn't mean it's going to die too. I like the new computer so far, although I'm having a hard time importing my music library from my iPod to my computer. Turns out you have to set it on disk drive mode while it's connected to the old computer, which if you recall is fucking dead. Nobody allows for this shit. At least I have a computer again, though. Last night I stayed up until 7am playing with the internet, just because I could. Now I am tired and cranky but dammit, I am blogging my little heart out because it's been far too long.

I actually gave something up for Lent this year. I know you're not really supposed to tell people and all, but I figure nobody reads this anyway, right? I gave up masturbating for Lent. Why? Oh, I don't know. Brittany suggested it in jest, and for some reason I thought it could be a good idea. Which it was, I guess, even though I felt like a horrible human being those two times I just couldn't take it anymore. It was a good experience, though. Between that and having to go without my computer for a month, I've learned a great deal about what's really important to me.

What's really important to me is the internet and my vagina, dammit.

But really, I've learned that there are other forms of stress relief besides staring at a computer screen or indulging in some happy alone time. I've had to actually deal with my life instead of blocking it out. I've actually gotten schoolwork done with time to spare instead of procrastinating. I've learned to find other ways to occupy my time, and I've learned to manage my time better.

Don't get me wrong, I missed the hell out of my computer while I didn't have one, and there was a certain void in my life during Lent. But now I know that I am capable of giving up things that I thought I couldn't. And hey, now I appreciate things more.

*awkward turtle*

I'm running on 5 hours of weird sleep right now, so I think I'm going to go ahead and go to bed while it's still dark outside.

Hooray for life, et cetera.

This just in!

Hooray! The most prominently featured item on Yahoo News is completely fucking worthless! What, you ask, is the most newsworthy thing happening in the world tonight?

Miley Cyrus drank ketchup on the Tonight Show.

[Cleveland-from-Family-Guy voice] Now thaaaaat's just naaaasty. [/voice]

In other (apparently less important) news, Kenya is in the process of ending its recent bout of bloody insanity. Thank God. Things are scary over there. So scary, in fact, that the Sudanese government was appalled. Yeah. That's right.

***

"South Sudan's leader Salva Kiir said more unrest and uncertainty could have destabilized the entire region.

'Now we again can recognize our neighbor Kenya,' he said."

(Reuters, 28.02.08)

***
You know you're fucked when...

Anyway, things here in la-la land are great for now. We'll see how long it lasts. If I get bored I can always go laugh at how fucked up the news media are.

OMG WHAT IS IT?! Or, There's A Reason I'm Not A Journalism Major

This was on the front page of Yahoo today, appropriately in the Entertainment section (God help us if it had been categorized as "real news"):


(red boxy highlights mine)

They share a distinctive feature? What could it be? Wait, I know this one. The facial hair? No, that isn't it. Eyes? Not really. God, what IS it? What is the one trait that these two men with totally different facial features and totally different hair have in common?!

The article says it's the ears. Gotcha.

Problem is, as you can see from the photo, Obama's ears are more angular and have more ridges than Smith's. Smith has a more prominent earlobe. Their ears are not actually alike at all.

Sooooo....what could it be, that one feature that Barack Obama and Will Smith have in common?

I propose a rewrite of this article:

OBAMA'S LEADING MAN
Barack Obama says he would want Will Smith to play him in a hypothetical movie. Smith is a non-threatening, family-friendly black man who often wears a suit and tie--just like Obama. "By associating myself with this PG-rated Hollywood icon," Obama said in an [imaginary] interview, "I am able to present myself in a non-threatening manner while identifying with somebody who is a representative of black culture, sort of. Also, if I am connected in citizens' minds with a popular, funny entertainment figure who is not a terrorist or a gangster, this increases the chance that they will vote for me. I'm a fun guy, just like that Hitch character."

Unfortunately for Smith, no such movie is yet in production, presumably because there is no real storyline on which it could be based.

Opponents John McCain and Hillary Clinton were also asked by bloodthirsty campaign trail press who they would like to see play them in an entirely hypothetical film. Clinton chose Helen Mirren because "We have one very distinctive feature in common, and that is the fact that we are both white women. Also, she played the Queen once, and that's kind of how I want people to see me." McCain declined comment but did mutter something about Steve Martin and white hair.

Long story short, fuck Yahoo news.

In other, um, news...another "cycle" of America's Next Top Model has begun. I missed most of the first episode, again, because Kate thought it would be a good time to have a conversation with me. Come on, I'm not kidding when I say I can't do two things at once. I'm over it, though, because I do actually have my priorities in order. Talking with my best friend is actually more important than television. Anyway, from what I saw of ANTM 10-1, there is going to be no shortage of crazy this time around. My personal favorite moment was Tyrannosaurus Banks' dramatic entrance as homecoming queen FROM HELL. Jeeeesus. An actress she is not. Attractive she is not. Dignified she is really, really not. I've heard talk on the intarwebs that there was something about Claire and breastmilk and Claire drinking her own breastmilk which frankly induces my gag reflex just a little bit. Something's just not quite right about sipping on a cold, frosty glass of one's own boob juice. But hey, I won't judge. Maybe it's delicious.

Speaking of judges, Twiggy's out, thank God. She was entirely useless. Here's hoping Paulina Whatsherface will have the two things Twiggy lacked: opinions and personality. I'm not asking for Janice-level batshit, because that's hard to top, but come on...something?

Anyway, the real dramarama begins tomorrow night at 8pm. I'm a little excited.

I have absolutely nothing interesting to say now.

Hilarious.

My mom is one of the most hilarious people ever, and here is why. I just got off the phone with her, and she told me that the other night she had a bunch of her friends over for dinner, bunco, etc. They do this once a month or so, and this was my mom's month to host. Whoever hosts usually comes up with a theme for the evening that is reflected in the food, decor, prizes, etc. My mom decided on a general February theme. She made three desserts. The first, a strawberry pie, was pink and chocolatey and was decorated with hearts, to represent Valentine's Day. The second was a cherry pie to pay homage to George Washington and his cherry-tree story. The third? Dark chocolate brownies...because it is Black History Month.

I told her it was "deliciously inappropriate." Apparently her friends were stunned at the complete disregard for political correctness (but I assume they eventually found it hilarious, because knowing her friends, they would).

My mom always used to always have to be appropriate and proper and she would always worry about what people thought of her and her family. She still does that to a degree, but apparently she's starting to let her sense of humour show a lot more now. She used to yell at me for even thinking inappropriate things like that! Now it's something she and I share. It makes me happy.

Anyway, I'm spending this weekend in Greenwood, making sure my siblings don't blow up the house while my parents are in New Jersey. Should be fun. I'd rather stay here, but honestly, it might be good for me to have a couple days away from the drama. Oh, the drama. It isn't even really drama anymore...it's just tension. And we all know how I feel about tension. So I might benefit from this. I just don't like to be away from Bloomington. Also, I don't like spending nights in Greenwood. Oh well. Such is life.

I think the Internet hates me.

I'm an arpeggio.

An arpeggio is a disjunct melody. The notes aren't next to each other. It is still a pleasing melody, but there are gaps. I am an arpeggio--I function just fine and nobody can sense anything wrong, but something is not quite filled in.

It kind of scares me that I feel like I'm a major scale when I'm with Brittany. She fills in the gaps.

Anyway, life is life. Nothing too shocking. There's an IU basketball game on TV. Excellent.

I don't feel like writing--just wanted to make a note of the arpeggio thing.

Case Study: Chronic Dumbass Disorder

Because I am the biggest attention whore ever: Behold! my latest artistic accomplishment.

Every bead strung by hand. Every petal and every leaf designed off the top of my head. Every wire twisted and often jabbed pointy-end-first into my palm or face. At this point I'm throwing modesty out the window: I am thoroughly impressed with myself. I think this flower kicks serious ass. I almost wish I weren't giving it away, because it would make a really awesome state fair entry. Maybe I'll ask Farz if I can borrow it in August. I also want to enter my giant bouquet in the fair, after I figure out how to shape it so it doesn't look strange. Floral arrangement is not my strong suit. I should learn.

Unfortunately--I discovered this last summer--there is no good category for bead sculpture in the state fair. There's sculpture, as in clay, and then there's jewelry. You'd think there'd be something like mixed media sculpture or general sculpture...there is wirework, I think, but this is definitely more beads than wire. In any case, I would love to enter some of my jewelry in the fair, if only at an amateur level.

As for real life, it is stressful. I'm dealing, sort of, but holy shit.

I realized the other day that a person could probably tell a lot about me by looking at the titles of my monthly playlists. You could tell that I like to play with words, and that I have a twisted sense of humor, and you could definitely figure out some of my favourite words, and you might be able to pick out the general emotional pattern of my life. Because the titles entertain me to no end, I am going to post them here.

2006: Soundtrack to November Life
2006: Batshit December Aflame
2007: January Loves Me
2007: Sapphebruary Fire
2007: March With You
2007: Aprilliant!
2007: Maybe, Maybe Not
2007: June, Junior
2007: There's Hope In July
2007: OMG August OMG August!
2007: Exploding September!
2007: Badass Rocktober!
2007: Eine Kleine Novembermusik
2007: Fangoriously Decembered
2008: January, Quite Contrary
2008: To the Februarium!

Right now I am obsessed with the song "Disarm" by the Smashing Pumpkins. I'm in the midst of a Pumpkins phase, actually. That song, though, just...wow.

I may end up writing more later, when I'm not about to fall asleep or start misspelling words. We can't have that, can we? Bonsoir.

This is why we can't have nice people (xkcd)

My brain and my body are in two totally different places today and it is freaking me out. I feel like I have no idea what to do with my body. How to position it. Nothing feels right. Tonight I couldn't figure out what to do with my arms--where to put them, etc. Same with the rest of my body. It is a different feeling from just being restless, though. Sometimes I feel restless and keep moving around because I feel like I need to be moving, or because I just get squirmy...everyone gets that, right? But this is different, this is like I have no good sense of where my body is in space and I have sort of forgotten how to work it. Blah. I hope it'll have gotten better by morning, and especially by tomorrow night--I'll need to be coordinated enough by tomorrow night to play the violin! Woo!

I've spent the weekend organizing my iTunes library and music folders. See, my main music folder was super-chaotic because I had a lot of duplicate and incomplete files. So I deleted a bunch of stuff--a long project because I had to see what each individual file was--and then cleaned up iTunes a lot...oh man. It was long but OH MY GOD it feels so good to have my iTunes library looking all pretty and organized! And in that process I rediscovered some music that I hadn't listened to in forever. I was reminded of just how much I love Death Cab for Cutie. And Ben Folds. And Jean-Jacques Goldman. And....music.

In other news, the beaded stargazer lily I mentioned in my last post is actually starting to look like a real flower. I have all the petals and stamen-thingys done, so everything from here on out is in green beads (leaves, sepals, beaded stem, etc). Meaning, the fun part is done. Haha. Maybe not totally done. The structure of the flower itself is kind of iffy. I've been trying to lace the petals together, but how do you do that without it looking like ass? Sigh. Maybe I'll wait to see if the beaded stem gives it any more stability.

I'm pretty satisfied, though, with my flower-designing ability. I looked at a beaded flower book the other day--the Carol Benner Doelp one--and although there were a lot of patterns, the examples looked kind of half-assed. Maybe that was an artistic thing, an issue of style and preference. Her rows were very loose, which made all the petals look like strings of beads instead of solid flower petals. But again--maybe that was intentional? I just feel like the construction of my flowers is a lot stronger and more realistic. I love Donna DeAngelis Dickt's patterns--I learned most of my basic techniques from her book, and I tend to stay pretty faithful to her rose pattern. Maybe one of these days I'll write my own book. I'm going to have an awfully hard time describing my stargazer lily pattern, though. "3 PTPB petals, except the top is more P than the bottom (add extra beads to the basic wire at random), start with dark red and gradually fade into white, but careful with your proportions and don't forget to randomly sprinkle purple beads throughout! do the same with the three smaller PTPB petals, except don't do the random bead-adding thing, just start with a 2" basic, and for the love of God allow for more wire than you think you'll need. A lot more. Then when you're done and panicking about how none of the petals stay in place, lace the three bottom (smaller) petals together and they will magically support the bigger petals, but don't touch it, ever. Ever."

I'll hire a ghostwriter to write my patterns.

I love the fact that Garou is dating Lorie. French pop, anyone? No? Okay. I also love that Lorie's real first name is Laure. What I don't love is most of Lorie's music. Oh well.

Today I wore about a billion bracelets. I felt awesome. I used to do that--the billion bracelets thing--a few years ago, and then I sort of started forgetting to wear bracelets. Boo. I'm going to try to start again, because even though I know it is sooooo middle-school-emo, it feels awesome and looks so.very.ME. (note to self: CPK! CPK! tadjeu! owa tagu siam)

Bedtime? Hey, what the hell.

Roll over, Beethoven/Bach

I was so excited about this that I put it as my facebook status for awhile. I was listening to The Beatles today, as I do pretty much every day, and I realized something about the song "Piggies." It's pretty much 100% Baroque. I mean, it kind of meets all the qualifications. Lots of harpsichord, which is really the big defining feature of Baroque music. The other defining feature is basso continuo, which is huuuuge in "Piggies."

The lyrics, of course, are pure George Harrison bitterness.

It's as if Harrison and Bach made musical babies together. What more can I ask for, right?

Anyway, I felt delightfully nerdy when I realized the Beatles-Baroque connection, and I felt like sharing it with the world. I don't think I know one person who actually gives a shit--well, maybe my music theory teacher would--but hell, I'm excited.

In other news, I'm spending tomorrow in Greenwood. Just the day, though, 10 hours or so. It'll be fun, I know it. Julie wrote on my facebook wall today saying that she'd just watched all the Teen Girl Squad episodes. I loved those when I was just about her age. Actually, I watched them all again today and they had me laughing hysterically--so I do still love them. "Ow! My the fact that I was alive a second ago!" "I'll notify her next of...fruit cup." "STOP TALKING TO FRUIT!" omg. I need more things like that in my life.

There was the one day when I went home and spent three hours looking at cat macros with Brian and Julie. I get the feeling this is going to be an Internet Videos day. I need to show them the Powerthirst videos on YouTube. Look it up. srsly. KING OF THE JUICE.

I love the internet.

In other news, I've had a tiny bit of alcohol tonight (srsly, just one wine cooler) and I'm a tiny bit sleepy and I have like 7 hours before I need to be alive and conscious and pretty (well, the first two anyway) so I think it's bedtime.

But wait! Because I haven't babbled about beading for awhile, here's a tiny update on The Things I've Been Stringing.

Beaded flowers! I knew I couldn't escape that easily. After I finished my big bouquet, my life felt incomplete without having wire to twist. I made a purple rose last semester, but, you know, meh. However! Kate's birthday is coming up in a week and a half or so, and I am almost done with her gift of two beaded flowers. Red and white, of course, because she is the queen of school spirit. Photos forthcoming, once I get batteries for my camera.

Necklaces and bracelets! I have rediscovered the beauty of tigertail wire. That stuff is excellent for necklaces. I mean, chain is okay, whatever, kind of boring. String is awfully precarious unless you thread the damn thing like four times and you just try doing that with seed beads. Stretch cord does terribly tangly things to my long hair. Tigertail, though? Shapes perfectly--for shorter necklaces that is--and doesn't get caught on anything. Providing you don't suck at crimping like I do, it's pretty easy to attach clasps to tigertail. So, w00t. Dooooo it.

I mentioned my crimping-suck disorder. Seriously. Maybe I just need better crimp beads. I know my pliers aren't screwy. Even my technique isn't horrible, I mean, how hard can it really be? The technique issue I do have is angles. You can't friggin crimp at an angle. Ever. And my hand tends to slip. So it's kind of iffy when I do decide to break out the crimp beads--about 2/5 of the time the bead breaks and I have to start over, about 2/5 of the time my technique is crap and I bend the bead every-which-way, and 1/5 of the time, maybe less, I actually get it right. Bleah. I need to find crimp beads that aren't breaktacular but aren't too thick/rigid to bend. Like my black ones, except, you know, silver. Black crimp beads are strange because they do not stay black. Silver ones blend in with everything, which is exactly what a crimp bead should do.

In other news, Farz wants me to make her a beaded stargazer lily for her birthday which is in like 2 1/2 weeks. Yiiiiiikes. I'm going to have to design this one, since I am pretty much anti-pattern at this point. I like it--I'm at the point where I am creating patterns for these things. Whereas a year and a half ago it scared me to look at the books because I was convinced I'd never ever be good enough at beading to make French beaded flowers. Heck, the first flower I made took me forever. A rose in two months. Nice. I do those things in a week now, when I'm slacking. But at the time...I remember thinking "French beaded flowers...hell no, those are for real artists. I just string beads and stuff."

'Course, now...following patterns? psh. I'm a real artist--I design my own mothafuckin patterns. IN MY MIND.

I'm gonna have to have pencil and paper for the lily pattern, though.

Sorry. Ego trip got in the way of my thought process.

I am so tired.

In other news, last night I had a dream in which I had sex with the three tenors and a guy named Matt. I am severely disturbed that I had a sex dream about Pavarotti but somewhat consoled by the fact that even in the dream I was like "This is NOT cool; I am super-gay now. Holy shit."

Man. What a week.

I am happy and here is why.

I am ridiculously, incurably, scary-happy right now. Let me enumerate the reasons.

1. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jT1QG8Hguzo I love Andy Hollinden and the aura of awesome that follows him everywhere.

2. My RA application is officially complete, which means I have the next year and a half of my life basically figured out. I plan to stay in Bloomington until mid-June and take classes during the first summer session (one of which might be a Hollinden class). I will be an RA during my senior year and not have to worry about money for one more year of my life. That's been a heck of a stressor this year, but I should probably get used to it.

3. Kate gave me Advil twice today, because go figure, as soon as I buy Advil and leave it in Em's car, I wake up with a crazy migraine. Of course, now Kate is even more convinced that I am unhealthily addicted to Advil and she is threatening intervention. It's not that I'm addicted to Advil, it's that I'm addicted to not having headaches.

4. I love my best friends. I think right now I'm including four people in that category.

5. I got to see E.C. on the 6 bus today. Her eyes are gorgeous.

6. I went to the SRSC and worked out for God-knows-how-long (an hour? maybe?) this afternoon, and it felt gooooood. Afterward I went to the IMU and, having my beading supplies with me, sat at a desk there and worked on Kate's birthday present. It was delightfully tranquil.

7. I have one class tomorrow--music theory, for which I turned in my homework early--and then a four-day weekend. Four, because my sociology professor cancelled Tuesday's class. I don't know what I'm going to do with my life. Sleep, probably, and play with beads. Who knooowwws.

8. I wrote an eight-bar piece for my music theory class and titled it "Orchioid Proctocorns." Which, if my medical-to-English dictionary is correct, translates to something like "testicle-shaped anus horns." I've been giggling about anus horns all week.

9. Life, and the supreme being who makes it all possible. How could I not be happy about that?



And now I will discuss my family's Poopy Water Theory.

On the way back from Alabama, we got into a discussion about children's Bible stories for some reason. I explained my belief that Noah's Ark is not actually a story suitable for children, and here's why. Great Flood, okay? The entire earth was flooded. Everybody and everything died. God was so pissed at everyone that he killed them all in one of the most frightening ways possible--drowning. We'll get to that in a minute.

Children's versions of the story generally focus on cute animals and two-by-two. He built a big boat all by himself! Wow! Nobody ever teaches the kindergartners about the main point of the story--the horrific mass death.

We tend to assume that the horrific mass death was all as a result of drowning. Well, that can't possibly be the case. Giant floods tend to include things like raging currents and less-than-sanitary conditions. I mean, we saw Hurricane Katrina, right? So I'm going to assume that some of the people who died in the Great Flood met their demise as a result of being swept up in the currents and, say, thrown full-force into trees and rocks and cliffs. Bam!dead. No drowning necessary.

The Poopy Water Theory comes in here. Say you're just minding your own business, nailing a prostitute or whatever, and suddenly you see a giant wall of water beginning to engulf your house. What is the first thing you do? Shit yourself out of pure, sudden fear. Imagine everybody on earth--and not just the people, the animals too--doing the same, simultaneously. Then imagine all the pre-shat shit, in whatever they used as sewage tanks back then (buried in the backyard). That is a lot of shit. Mix that with the waters of the Great Flood, and you have a planet bathed in poopy water and a planet full of people and animals swimming/drowning in it. That's awfully unsanitary and could conceivably lead to various types of death that I do not care to envision.

The only thing worse than drowning would be, I think, drowning in poo.

And then, because my family members are not only immature but also kind of sick and twisted, we spent perhaps fifteen full minutes just saying "poopy water" over and over while giggling hysterically. Parents included.

So it was great the other day when Kate brought up the story of Noah's Ark and I couldn't stop laughing. I also couldn't explain it to her, because to put it lightly, she would probably not take it well. She isn't one to laugh at things that aren't actually funny. Much to my dismay. All I could say was "my family had a conversation about that...it was bad...but so good...never mind."

I have a headache again, so off with my head! I mean...off to bed!

I say you, you say fucked.

REAL IDs. They're actually fucking going through with it. But apparently it's just for people born after 1964. Why? Does the government trust 50-year-olds more than 30-year-olds? Probably. That, and a whole fucking lot of people were born before 1964. They call them baby boomers. I call them old farts. Tomato, tomahto. It would be quite expensive, I imagine, to produce high-tech, invincible ID cards for that whole generation. Maybe there's some other issue behind it that I'm not thinking of. Whatever.

I'm not entirely certain how REAL IDs can be interpreted as anything but the beginning of the end of freedom. I understand security concerns, blah blah blah, but there has to be a better way for the government to deal with the issue of security than keeping all its citizens on leashes. The Patriot Act (eroding liberty bit by bit!), freakish ID cards...it seems like we're on the frightening path to having a government agent assigned to each citizen as a babysitter. They'd carry tasers, and use them liberally. I know it.

So anyway, the reason I decided to rant about this. The idea for REAL IDs (why is that capitalized?) came up after the Sept. 11 terrorist attacks, obviously in the giant oh-shit security frenzy. It's been said that "America won't let the terrorists win" and "This tragedy will just make our nation stronger" and all that. The current federal government has gotten so power-happy and big-headed in the wake of the attacks that it's starting to seem more and more like the terrorists would be thrilled with what they've done to this country. They've instilled a great amount of fear and paranoia into the American people and particularly the American government. We cannot be secure and we cannot be strong if we are constantly worried about who's going to attack us next. We cannot be admirable if our government is ethically deplorable.

I'm looking forward to getting somebody with an IQ greater than that of a kumquat in the White House. Unfortunately, our options are kind of shit-tacular.

I kind of feel like Obama would be the best choice for president, although he doesn't seem to have any clue what he's getting into and it's hard to know what he really believes when all his speeches and opinions are constructed to pander to the wishes of whomever he happens to be speaking to. On the plus side, he seems to be the least batshit crazy of all the viable candidates. That's worth a lot these days.

I don't know how I feel about Hillary. She strikes some kind of primal fear into my heart, but then again I've heard all sorts of good things about her. She might be batshit crazy, but to be fair, she has been married to Bill all those years. I'd be crazy too.

Giuliani is a slimebag and if he gets elected I'm moving to Canada.

I can't wait for the day when I never have to hear about Ron Paul ever again. I literally had some asshole shove me against a wall while she was screaming in my face about how awesome Ron Paul is. HE ACCEPTS MONEY FROM NEO-NAZIS. THAT IS NOT A GOOD THING. Also, he's possibly the MOST batshit crazy of all the candidates, although I can't lump him in with the viable candidates, because thankfully he hasn't a snowball's chance in hell.

Gotta go to class. More ranting later. Fuck politics.

Sick, tired, UNSTOPPABLE

Back in Bloomington, and it looks like there will be no shortage of drama this semester. Oh, joy! Hopefully I'll be able to be a Voice of Reason.

You know things are getting out of hand when Clarkie is your Voice of Reason.

Anyway, the rest of Christmas break was excellent. I got to see a lot of friends in Greenwood and I spent a lot of time with my family. Toward the end of break, I got the plague. Mom and Julie and Brian were sick around Christmastime, and I thought I'd avoided it, but noooo...just a couple days ago I started feeling like death--fever, sore throat, nose mutiny--and I'm not 100% better quite yet. So that kind of sucks ass.

Otherwise...life is good. Classes start tomorrow. Mondays are going to be crazy for me. L490, Z111, H212, X001. If I can survive tomorrow I can survive anything (perhaps even the plague). I still have no clue when I'm going to be able to get my books. Tuesday, I guess. Before I go to the SRSC.

Speaking of. I've started working out, sort of. Shhh. Don't tell anyone. Over break I started doing 5 miles a day on the stationary bike, and I really enjoyed it. So I'm going to continue, on the 3 days per week that I only have one class (T/R/F). I'll do my 5 miles--maybe gradually build up to 10--and practice basketball, and maybe do other stuff too...who knows. But I don't really want to tell Kate and Farz about it, because then they'll want me to come with them when they go to work out. No, no, nooooo. It has to be a solitary activity, otherwise I won't be able to focus.

I made a necklace today. It's pretty.

Holy fucksticks, I'm bored. Maybe I should just go to bed. Tomorrow is going to be a hell of a day.

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!