In Which I Sneeze and Procrastinate and Cook Up Some Diva Behavior

It seems at the ripe age of 25, I still am stuck in a whirling vortex of collegiate uncertainty.

I spent the first official day of Christmas break fighting with mmy mom. Just like in college. It didn't help that I was supposed to go (bridal) dress shopping with Katy and Heather, but I was too busy fighting to leave. They found "the" dress and the bridesmaids dress. Just the two of them. The dress alone is $265. American dollars. Not yen, pesos, or Canadian dollars. I mean, it could be worse, the dress could be $265 Euro. I was told $150 max. I was being told this on the phone, after a day of yelling and crying. After I saw the dress (gotta love the internet) I pretty much had to hang up. Abruptly.

To justify my shit fit, I will show you the dress.

If you are bigger than a size 10 (like I am), this is not going to be a good look. It's like a chiffon mummy with a sweetheart neckline. And while we're at it, let's shove some 38DDs in that strapless sweetheart. I am going to look like a pregnant sausage. I am not paying $265 for that privelege. If I am paying that much for a dress, I better be the biggest fox in the room. I am easily the biggest girl in the bridal party, and I refuse to look hideous. It was kind of adding insult to injury when Katy called to check on me this morning and basically let it slip that she tried the dress on and it looked really hot on her. She was lucky I was eating, otherwise I might have really diva'd out. Just because the dress looks hot on you, that's the dress you pick? Uuuuugh, I could choke skinny bitches.

Not to mention that high-end retailers like that usually don't have anything bigger than a 12 or 14 available on the floor (a bridal 12/14 is like a true 10/12, maybe even a 8/10). Apparently they're going to look at David's Bridal too (due in part ro my price point freakout), just because their price point is far more reasonable (durrr). I'd deal with the polyester (uuugh) if it meant that I wasn't looking like a grape draped in chiffon.

Unfortunately, everyone that I've shown the dress to seems to think it will be cute.

There's probably going to be a fitting next week, and if it doesn't end with me crying, it will be an act of God. Maybe I will just drink until I don't care what I look like. Maybe I just won't eat until then. As a temporary pacifier, I told myself that if that's the dress they go with, I am putting them in the ugly dresses when I get married. But to be honest, I'm not sure what would look bad on either of them.

Future fashion warfare!

In Which I Take A Personal Snow Day And Eat Applesauce.

I have been rolling and rambling and letting the birds seek shelter on my window ledge.

Chicago was pretty and nice (nice modifying the fact that I got to see my boyfriend and not the weather). It was warm Saturday, which made the grad thing more bearable, but the rain and shitty folding chairs made me into an old lady. By the end of the very enightening two hours, my back was giving me all kinds of middle finger messages. So we left and decided to go to the movies. Given my angry-ass back, I readily welcomed this change of pace. Turns out, if your back is a hateful bitch, two and a half hours in basically a squishy folding chair, this is not the answer. But all the crying I did at the end of the movie helped mask the pain (daaaaamn, Harry Potter, your Deathly Hallows are depressing!). Sunday, I drank wine and napped until it was time for me to go. Then I tacked two hours of travel time onto an already five hour trip. My ETA to come home was 11:20. My actual arrival came at 1:15, 1:30 or so. Got home at two, tried to sleep, didn't sleep until 3:30 and woke up at 6:30 to try and get myself together for work.

My prayers for a snow day went unanswered, so I tried to trek my way across the universe, er, city. An hour's worth of travel got me a mile, maybe two from home. Literally, by the time I would have made it to work, it would have been time for me to get back in the car and come home. Everyone seems to live a lot closer to the school than I do, so I let today be their problem. I don't feel very guilty about it. Death is not on my list o things to do today.

So...ummm...my friend Heather, who I may or may not have discussed with you (I have, but in case you need a refresher, Heather is one of my good friends from high school. My current boyfriend is her ex), oficially got engaged this weekend. Platinum band, black diamond stone. To say that I'm jealous would be an understatement. However, I am not the hateful kind of jealous, but rather the "waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah when's it going to be myyyyyyyyyyyyy tuuuuuuuuuuuurrrrrrrn?" jealous. I am legitimately happy for her. Her finace is a great guy, and I want those two crazy kids to make it.

This is all an exercise in learning patience. It was five years for Heather and Chris, its been two years for me, I can cool my jets.

Let the record also show that I am becoming more aware of what kind of theatrics go into planning, performing in, and executing a wedding. Throwing in my current boyfriend/her ex that she's barely on civil terms with only spices things up.

Especially if you consider that I am going to be a bridesmaid.

I have no idea what I'm supposed to do with this. To be honest, I haven't told Matt yet. How do you bring that up? "Oh hey, btw your ex and my friend is getting married and I'm going to be a briedsmaid and you may or may not be invited."

Okay, it seems so much simpler when I just type it out in front of me, but I'm not out to hurt anyone or cause drama. I just want to support my friend and drink free booze and dance with the man I love. What's so bad about that? What's so funny about peace, love, and understanding?

And holy fuck being friends with the bride is expensive: bridesmaid dress, shoes, hair/makeup, engagement present, wedding present, bachelorette party...and those are the the ones I know for sure.

Let the wedding fever begin! Pink sapphire away!

In Which I Decide What You Can Do With Your Productivity

Put it where the sun don't shine...that's what you can do with your productivity.

My presence here wasn't completely for face, I actually did get a few things done.

I laughed at myself just now for having awful thoughts. Awful sexy thoughts. Who knew that two weeks away from one's boyfriend would turn me into this sexually starved she-wolf?

Good thing I'm stocking up on lovins this weekend. Now that's what I call a business pleasure trip.

Business Pleasure Trip: (n.) A trip one takes to address both professional and personal needs.

I think I'm making a friend. IRL too!

And for some bizarre reason I cannot stop singing "Kiss The Girl" from the Little Mermaid.

Too much running. All I've heard today is clomp clomp clomp of little feet up and down the hall.

I wish that I had gotten the tutoring job instead. It seems more my speed. Hanging out with the kids, reading shit, sharing my favorite books...but I had to go for the money.Mo money, mo candy. That's how it works.

I was going to log my hours right now, but I'd rather sit here and shoot the shit with you. there's no reason I can't do both, I guess....but I'm lazy right now.

I let it slip at work today that I'm not the sweet girl I appear to be. It just sort of came out that I was into what some might deem "kinky shit". But I don't think S&M is all that bad. After all, beauty is pain, princess. It wasn't workplace appropriate, but I got turned on anyway.

She-wolf, party of one? Come this way, your table is ready.

HAH! I made a pun!

its the coffee talking I swear.

its almost time to get all Loverboy in this bitch.

Rock this bitch!

In Which I Should Not Leave My Office

I've been getting my learn on. Learning about social and societal limitations, about the mental limitations of everyone on this fucking planet, about my abilities and limitations as a person, and about the long o sound.

Gotta love sharing an office.

I also love ego boosts in the form of friend requests. I've had more friend requests this week than I have had in the last two months. One of them is a little weird. I have heard of this person, I have six friends in common with them, but I have never actually met/hung out with them. One of my friends had a crush on this person a long time ago, and it more or less ended poorly. The former crush haver is not among our mutual friends. As a result, I have left them in friend request purgatory.

In other news, I have found the magic combination to make me lose Kill, Bang, Marry. I want to play that game. It's like MASH for grownups. Person A names three people and Person B has to decide who gets killed, who they would bang, and who they would marry. If Person A picks all repulsive people, Person B still has to make a decision with those three categories. Once, I presented a kill kill kill option. The people I was playing with weren't having it. It's best with 2-3 players.

I don't feel like doing shit today. Yesterday was busy, and Friday, I'm off to Chicago (4 day week this week).

One of my little pleasures in life: making stupid and obnoxious hash tags. Example: #DAMNyousasexybitch

I think that's my favorite.

Like you.

In Which I Am A Paparazzo of Children

I am here (at work) because my conscience won't let me leave until 3:00. I have accomplished plenty today, but I still feel compelled to sit here and do bupkis.

Life updates:

1. I have been with the same person for two years. It doesn't seem like its been that long. To celebrate, I went to Chicago. We ate, drank, and were merry. Friday, I came into town very late. We ate sub-par grocery store sushi and drank vodka cocktails and watched Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World (part of my anniversary present to Matt). I wasn't even remotely tired until about 5 am (all times local). Saturday was spent indoors, watching more movies and eating chicken nuggets (the dinosaur kind). That evening, I mandated that I get to wear a foxy dress and pearls in public, so we ended up at The Green Mill, a teeny jazz club. Great bands. Matt insisted on champagne. I politely protested. He politely ignored my protests. We got good and tipsy and then went home, where we ate more chicken nuggets. I promptly passed out. Sunday, Scotty was in town so we met up for lunch. That was a fiasco. I don't feel like telling the whole story, but suffice it to say that apparently there are two Borders near a Macy's in downtown Chicago. Lunch was nice, if not a little awkward (I just wanted to play never have I ever). And then I had to go. That part is always a little bittersweet, but I am okay with that, mostly because I didn't cry this time. I love him.
2. I am trying to become more aggressive at work. It's only kind of working. However, in other work-related news, apparently kids love me. The Kindergarteners and SpEds especially. I'm always getting waves and hugs and smiles. fucking adorable. Lately I've been trying to get photos of them to one of my program directors, so that means I stalk them and ask them nicely to stand in the hall and smile. It feels like I'm a paparazzo, without the upsetting questions. "Hey, Sam, is it true that you're a doo doo head and that you don't believe girls have cooties?!"
3. I have no plans for NYE, and that is a terrifying and foreign feeling. It's my favorite holiday. I'm thinking weekend in Chicago, at a really fucking nice hotel. Ugh, I'm such a romantic.
4. Speaking of which, tell me why all I want to do is bake? is it because of the season, or is it because I'm in a happily committed relationship? I don't get it, but I'll still eat it. Tuesday I made a red velvet cake (heavy on the red, light on the velvet), and tomorrow, I'm making a pumpkin cheesecake. the scariest part? I LIKE BAKING. There, I said it.
5. I've whined about it on facebook and twitter, but JESUS ALMIGHTY I NEED A HAIRCUT. And I think some more dye. I crave fire and passion. I crave red. I think in the new year, my next hair adventure is going to entail me sitting on my hands and letting the back part of my hair grow out some and then cutting it all off so I can spike it. (yes, curly girls can spike it)

Maybe next time I'll discuss what it feels like when the typically passive become sexually aggressive. I feel a paper coming on...

In Which The Chills Keep Coming

Oh, hello.

Let's kick things off with a list.

things I am upset about:

1. the lack of attention the shift key pays to me on the work computer
2. how cold it is in the office
3. how I did on the GRE
4. impending deadlines
5. this cold that I have
6. the meds I am taking for said cold throw in a built in fever reducer. I have have no fever. Put this together with #2, and you get an idea of what kind of icy misery I'm in.
7. the fact that one of my grad programs wants me to take ANOTHER test.
8. how dry my hands are due to the amount of hand washing and sanitizing I do
9. the fact that I am still in search of the perfect finishing touches for Matt's anniversary present.

Yeah, pretty sure stress was how I got sick in the first place. GRE studying, lack of good sleep, blatant encouragement from my organizational superiors to be more proactive with my job, trying to be the perfect girlfriend, trying to be a good friend...I think it all just kind of imploded on me. It left me here, freezing at work with all types of chemical reactions going off. DayQuil + multivitamin + vitamin C infused cough drops + birth control = unheard of focus issues.

I have no idea why my faith in anything is so shaky. One little disaster, and all of a sudden, I am full of self loathing. GRE scores are unofficially abysmal, and must I refer you to the month of weeping known as the aftermath of the fellowship incident? According to some rough figures I looked up, my verbal score was somewhere in the 80th, maybe 81st percentile, and math was in the i'mnotfuckingtellingyouthatemarassing percentile. I have never done so poorly on a standardized test ever. Everybody's really worried, which is nice. I think that the main reason that they worry is that they seem to think I'm really hard on myself, which I'm not. Look at me, look at my life, nothing about it says "I'm too hard on myself". Ok so maybe I am a little hard on myself, seeing as I consider scoring higher than 80% of test takers abysmal. But let's face it, for my personal ambitions, it is.

However, being sick is the best diet I could have asked for. I have to force myself to eat and water does just as well as food most of the time.

I think I worry about my relationship because I don't know how to not worry about it. I loathe my body because I don't know how to not loathe it. When I was 20 lbs thinner, I thought I was fat. when I was 20 lbs thinner than that, I still thought I was fat.

We'll see.
Work beckons, profound insights are....en route.

In Which I Am Making it Work.

I finally got temporarily placed at a school. It was not my original school, nor one of my choices, but shit, I love it here. I don't want to disclose the name of said school, but its an Afrocentric school in the DPS network. I am tempted to do my best Angela Davis and wear nothing but afros and black turtlenecks to school every day. Its great, we start the week with this thing called harambee. Lots of affirmations and African drums. Upon entering a classroom, all the kids stand have to go "Jaaaaaaambo! Hellllllllo! [something something, sounds like meebee mambo] Mr./Mrs./Miss [last name]!" I fucking love that.

My coworkers are great. The one I'm kind of working under right now is really cool and knows fucking everybody. Our officemate is another Americorps member we trained with I used to hate. Turns out he has a coffeemaker that he brought in. And he's funny. And tall. And shit, I'm stopping now. he's cool. Done and done.

I still have no idea what I'm doing.

In other news about stuff hyperliterate ex gothish kids like, my coworker and I were out doin thangs, but we had to stop in a gas station. I go in and what do I see? *hallelujah noise* The legal cloves that can be sold in the US. This is the first time I've seen them in Michigan. Not only that, but they had a fucking variety: the blacks, the kind that have the goldish colored filter, possibly a variation of the bali hais, and CHERRY FLAVORED BLACKS.

the pack is in my pocket, just waiting to be smoked.

hanging out in the office now, pretending to look efficient and busy. Nobody's walked by, so my attempt to gauge how effective my ruse is is not working.

I think I'll walk the halls shortly to remind people I'm still here, being inefficient.

In Which Certain Realizations Come To Light

Realization #1: I have only gained twenty pounds since I graduated high school. When framed this way, I don't feel so fat. However, ten of those were in the last two to three years. Overall, my body is not as bad as I think it is.

Realization #2: I AM LIVING THE DREAM. Yes, the caps were necessary. Work is still stupid and hasn't called me to go in for my first official day, so I've been studying for the GRE. When I'm not studying, I'm watching Logo, VH1 Classic, snseless shit on the internet...but I am pretty sure I am still getting paid (emphasis on pretty sure). Let me spell it out for you: I AM GETTING PAID TO LEARN ALL KINDS OF ACADEMIC SHIT AND WATCH TV. This has been my life's goal for the last seven years. The only thing that doesn't quite fit in with said dream is tht I am still living at home.

Realization #3: I should have cut my hair a long long time ago.

Realization #4: Other people are exhausting

Realization #5: babies are cool, especially when they start walking and talking and speaking the language.

Realization #6: There were more realizations here than i initially thought.

Realization #7: There are few things cooler than spending the evening on my boyfriend's parents couch, with my boyfriend and a glass of wine.

Realization #8: The Roots are awesome.

Realization #9: I don't write nearly as much as I should.

Realization #10: A world without cable is not one I want to live in.

In Which I Pick Up, Amplify, and Relinquish Several Habits

Operation Job

Status: Complete

I'm supposed to start this week. I have not heard anything yet as to when to report. I am not complaining. As that fateful day approaches, though, I find myself more and more anxious. The pressure to excel is enormous. Any sort of free time is devoured, and my feelings are so hurt. For example: Mayer Hawthorne is going on tour this fall. Despite being from Ann Arbor, there is one Michigan tour date scheduled. Its in Grand Rapids. ON A WEDNESDAY. Obviously, this does not please me. There's a Chicago date, but could I make a weekend of it? Nooooooooooo, that has to be on a wednesday or thursday too. Whomp whomp.

I used today to (mostly) study for the GRE. It has been decided that all I need in order to ace the verbal portion is access to a good dictionary (preferably not an OED, that sucker is huuuuuuuuuge).

I haven't started studying for math yet. This is what I should be doing, instead of watching Ally McBeal and cruising the internet for social oddities. Words I can do, its the numbers that fuck things up.

Speaking of fucked up, how I've made it two years in one relationship is beyond me. Something's gotta be right about it, otherwise we would have been done long ago. I'm happy, he's happy, we're happy. The last few weeks have been pretty hurdle-y due to being the listening ear to two breakups, bitchy friends, and the inevitable insecurity that sets in because of them. However, in the words of Ben Folds "I can't wait until the future gets here".

Yes, I have been shopping pink ssapphires again.

Now I want to listen to Sting's Brand New Day album.

And could you please stop judging me for being excited for The Social Network? I blame Kanye West. It comes out this friday and I couldn't be more excited.

Sometimes the best things come out of the worst ones.

life is well scriped like that. The sitcom must happen.

Jen: "you better not let your mom check your mail anytime soon

i'm sending you a slap"

In Which I Wander Away and Come Back and Consider Professional Help.

Previously, on a very special blog post of The Likes of Which Have Never Been Scene:

Me: "I'm going to Chicago, and I have no idea how this is going to come together!"

fade to black.

So I was going to drive to Chicago, but ran into some parental opposition at the last minute, so I took the bus. I like the Megabus overall, but my primary criticism is that leaving Chicago was way too much trouble.

North Coast was boss as hell. Friday consisted of Chemical Brothers and getting way too close to my fellow man. Saturday, Grace Potter was awesome as was The New Deal (my first introduction to them). De La Soul was a lot of fun, and I was not drunk or high enough to put up with Moby fans. Should have tried to find some E. Sunday was definitely the best day. Mayer Hawthorne was everything I dreamed and then some. Lupe Fiasco killed it and Nas and Damian Marley were pretty good. Probably the best present ever.

I continued to celebrate throughout the week.

And then the following week, two of my best friends get dumped back to back, which threw me into a dizzying realm of anxiety I'm still kind of climbing out of. Well, that's what started it, but what kept it rolling was the following:

1. I was helping my (mom's) cousin out and watching their (cousin/wife) three girls under the age of ten. One's teething, one's three...or five...I'm not sure, and the oldest is nine. Great girls, but I'm not used to the sibling drama. I'm a kid person, but I'm not. It's weird.

2. After I worked things out being a babysittter, I get a call for the Detroit area Americorps job I applied for. They want to interview. I interviewed. I was awkward, they called me back to offer the position to me anyway. I start training on monday. I have no idea what I'm doing. Cue unwarranted tears, yelling, hyperventilation, irrational hatred.

3. Sometimes my friends are twats. I love them....but some of them can be major twats. Telling me things about Matt that I can't do anything about, or at least won't bring about anything positive or productive. I'm not that kind of girl. What was in the past stays in the past. I mean, i know I brought some of this on myself when I violated "girl code". Hang the code. They're more like guidelines anyway. But I followed the right protocol. I explicitly asked if my dating Matt was going to be a problem. I was told no. I can only operate from what I'm told. And I'd really appreciate if you'd not rip on my boyfriend of two years when I'm around. Kthx.

4. Since I'll be working at a school with Americorps, they want me to get a TB test and a child abuse clearance. Obtaining those things was the biggest exercise in inefficiency outside of college. No, really:

-renewing license: time in line~ 2-3 hours. Time actually spent renewing my license ~5-7 minutes.

-obtaining TB test: time spent at doctor's office: ~1.5-2 hours before realizing that my new insurance is shit, so I have to pay out of pocket. Cash only. Ride to the ATM (stuck behind old guy) and White Castle (stuck behind dumb heifer): ~ 40 minutes. Time spent in the waiting room after that: ~ 40 minutes. Time spent getting pricked with a needle: ~2 minutes.

-Obtaining child abuse clearance: time spent trying to find the office because its hidden in a strip mall and no sign on the marquis: ~ 1 hour. Time spent in line to ask if I'm even in the right place and get the freaking form: ~1.5 hours. Time spent filling out said form: ~3-5 minutes.

moral of the story? Fuck waiting rooms. And apparently I am impatient.

and 5. Two year anniversary in November. I have no idea what to get him, or how to tell him that I like pink Sapphires. Or how to really assess where our relationship is.

I guess shopping this afternoon (under the guise of work clothes/birthday present shopping), and drag queen bingo tonight. God help us all.

Tonight make me unstoppable. Give me grace and dancing feet.

In Which I Am Trying To Plow My Way Through Fargo...

...Rock City, that is. The Chuck Klosterman book. I'm trying to get through it (even though I am not a metal fan, I will wlways be a Klosterman fan), because I told myself that once Frago Rock City's done, I can move on to Eating The Dinosaur. Hopefully this will align with my birthday celebration weekend perfectly.

Speaking of, as an early present to myself, I bought some delicious looking Nine West heels (4.5", the way God wrote it in the fashion bible. ), and a haircut with some color. So far the short red hair has been met with rave reviews. I'm still playing around with it, but I am most excited by the fact that with the right pins and products I could have a funky little fauxhawk.

"The Prayer" by Bloc Party describes my prayers right now.

File under F, for fucking decisions:

So North Coast is in a week and half. Totally pumped like cheap unleaded gas. However, I will need to get there. Here are my options:

1. Drive.

Pros: set my own timetable, stop in Kzoo and visit (especially Preggo Steph who would be due any day by then), get my microdermal put back in.
Cons: I still have to fucking drive five hours, it will be about $80 round trip in gas alone.

2. Train.

Pros: nice and quiet(ish, but we know how my train stories seem to go), lots of space, parking at train station, don't have to drive drive
Cons: expensive, (like $73 last time I checked. May as well drive.)

3. Bus

Pros: cheaper than train (by $20), don't have to drive, no last minute price escalation
Cons: gets cramped (especially on return trips), something stupid almost always happens

4. Hybrid (drive, then bus)

Pros: get to stop in Kzoo, still get microdermal redone, don't have to drive as far
Cons: still on a strictish schedule, just as expensive as drving the whole way, still have to drive a decent amount, parking in Kalamazoo can kiss my ass

And I have a week to decide. Good luck fucker!

In other news, I have applied for a job. In Chicago. With Google. Fingers crossed.

This is going to be expensive. My hair will need doing next week.

Tonight, make me unstoppable.

I need Chicago just as much as Chicago needs me. Why doesn't Chicago understand that?

I need to write more.

In Which I Get Melodramatic

And if you are opposed to that for whatever reason, stop reading.

Right now I'm going to show you the current chink in my armor.

I feel like nobody cares, and I really hope its the hormones making me say that. But that's the way I honestly feel right now. Maybe its the most hardcore case of separation anxiety (that I have never felt in my life, no sarcasm intended), but all I want to do is hurt/endanger myself so someone can prove to me that the world would not be a better place if I dropped off its face (rhymes? This is worse than I thought).

And lately the idea of going out to bars and flirting until I am the subject of an indecent proposal keeps sounding better. I would never ever do anything to jeopardize my relationship. This is 100% about self validation. I want to be reminded of how valuable I am, because that self-love letter keeps getting lost in the mail.

This is sounding more and more like a therapist's worst nightmare.

Every day is sounding more and more like my worst nightmare.

But then a phone call (or skype call can save my life).

In Which I Don't Worry Today

random quips:

me: will wine and 500 Days of Summer end poorly?
Matt:how could it? Can't be worse than vodka and Life is Hot In Cracktown.

I'm laughing because it really happened.

In Which This Should Be Heard With A Phat Beat And Auto-Tune

I am geeked that everyone shut the fuck up for a minute. Went and did some last minute campaigning for my friend Chris who's running for 60th district state representative, and one of the girls that I was with would not shut the hell/fuck (choose whichever expletive you like more) up. It was just all runtogetherandspitatmeinrapidfiresucessionjustlikethis and enough to make me want to kick all five feet of her as far away from me as the seven inches I have on her would allow. I thought it was the lack of ines in my system. I got my two favorite ines in me and I was okay for a minute and then I went to work and had to listen to myself discuss why plagiarism is bad for close to an hour.

And then two of my coworkers got chatty on my ass until the student I was talking to about the joys of proper quote citation told them (us?) to shut the fuck up (my words, not his). And now I can relish this silence and listen to all the episodes of Auto-Tune The News my remaining time allows.

Hide your kids, hide your wife. Hide your husband, they're raping everybody out here.

I'm tired. Between moving and having put enough miles on my mom's PT Cruiser to be in Florida, I think I'm allowed to be.

I'm going to see Matt this weekend though! I am two work days and thirty minutes from getting ready to leave for Chicago. Not a moment too soon, everyone and everything is rubbing me the wrong way. My friends from home, my friends from Kzoo, coworkers, strangers (not in the craigslist casual encounters way)...

Reading feminist theory just ruins all your favorite things in life, like being nice, for example.

I am homelessish and that's okay.

In Which Staring Really Hard Does Not Make It So

I am going to live. Whether or not this last shot hits the target , I'll live.

That being said, I have issues verbalizing how I really feel and condensing that into 500 words or less.

I feel good. I think its because I look good. Well, better. I look better. I'm not doing it the healthy way, but I am doing it the liberated way. Well the kind of healthy way. Less fried food, little to no booze, (that being said, I have fallen off the booze wagon. Last week my cousin was doing a DJ set in Kalamazoo, and there were $2 you-call-its, so I was knocking the Absolut and tonics back like they were candy. I can't be tamed, er blamed), three cigarettes and a meal and a snack a day. Water helps a lot of these things. So does soul-blackening black coffee.

Welcome to the new administration.

So much paperwork beckons, as well as boxes for papers and clothes. I have less than a week to put my life into so many boxes.

So it goes.

In Which I Should Probably Cut Back On Something

Coffee has been my friend for at least four of the last seven days. The cigarettes have been doing their job of keeping the appetite in check, even if they do make a bagel sound flipping fantastic. But this is all good, the bones are starting to resurface. However, to combat the fact that all my favorite things in life stain my teeth, I have been gargling with peroxide and brushing with baking soda. Who knew caring was a full time job?

My goal is to lose at least ten pounds by the time my birthday celebration weekend rolls around (sept 3-6). Basically I am going on a makeover blitz. August is going to be the time of the haircut I've been prattling on about for so long, a slimdown, and the highly anticipated new tattoo (possibly new piercing as well, but we'll see about that).

Consider this the rebirth of slick. I will be cool like dat.

I make myself unnecessarily nervous. I am like a long-tailed cat at a rocking chair convention, and I should channel that energy into something like packing. Or cleaning.

But I'd rather channel that energy into bacon.

I think I'm to the point where the notion of moving home doesn't spin me into a tizzy of nausea and fear. However, it does concern me as to the maintainance of my relationship. Not so much between me and Matt, another couple hours won't change much, but it's really more of a matter of listening to my mother run her mouth that bothers me. If I want to go visit, I am probably going to have to set aside two days to convince her, plus endure a lecture of epic porportions. But who knows, she actually called me to apologize for an argument we had saturday, so anything is possible.

The latest incarnation of Scooby Doo Adventures (Scooby Doo, Mystery Incorporated)is visually weird. Not in the good way.

I keep seeing Band-Aid commercials and thinking of Barry mannilow. He did write the jingle after all.

Here's to believing.

In Which I Should Probably Know Better By Now

I see one more golden opportunity. I see one last shot at redemption (thanks, Paul Simon!).

It's pretty Charlie and The Chocolate Factory, but this is what's essentially going down: Museum of Science and Industry (I can't bring myself to use the abbreviation, MSI, for obvious reasons) is selecting three people to live at the museum for a month and document their experiences. All they want is a video, a 500 word essay, a head shot, and something else, I think. Not like I have shit to do in October. But they have to pick me right? I'm cute (most days), articulate (most days), just awkward enough to be relatable (all days) and funny as hell (all days). They have no choice, right?

The catch: no after hours visitors, and no smoking on the museum premises. This will make conjugal visits and downtime very interesting.

I'm really excited, but at the same time, I realize that I'm still crying from the last time I was excited. I'm keeping this on the low, and I will do a better job of keeping my excitement in check.

So, that's the news from Lake Michigan, where the women are stong, the men are good-looking, and the children are going to be alright.

That was a really poor A Prarie Home Companion homage.

But to my new goal, I say you wanna dance? Let's dance, douchebag! (rips goal's heart out of chest, then takes a bite, smearing blood on face)

It's on!

In Which I Am Fairly Certain I Have More Issues Than The Time Magazine Archives

So I have officially given up on finding a job. The white flag has been waved. My rationale is the sooner I can make peace with living at home at 25, the better. I'm looking at taking some classes because if I just live at home with no job, no friends, and no life, someone. Will. Die. My sanity will be hovering just a bit above my mother's and my heads, and her or I or both shall go with it.

But on the upside, I have not cried once today. I wanted to, and came close a few times, but didn't. Days without incedent of the crying variety: 3

On the downside, I can't get past beauty by the numbers. Sizes, weights, other stuff probably...but mostly sizes and weights. I just don't feel very good about myself these days. There. I said it. I think this persistent job rejection thing has shaken me to my core. So far, my thought process has been as follows: I can either be useful or pretty. If I am not a, I must be b. Nothing has equipped me for option c: none of the above. At this point I just feel like I'm taking up space and not making anything better for anyone. Stupid inferiority complex. And people wonder why not being good enough is like my #1 biggest fear of all time.

Or something like that.

I feel like the only thing I haven't fucked up yet is obviously my relationship with Matt. Two years in November, and I couldn't be happier. I think the only thing that would make me happier would be a pink sapphire on my left hand. I'm not opposed to a long engagement, just so long as its an engagement. But I don't think that will be anytime soon. However, I can still drop hints like I got holes in my pockets. I wish I could stop holding my breath and just not be afraid to lose him. I know I'm not perfect (yet) but I just want to be perfect enough for him.

Does that make sense?

And I didn't cry once during the production of this post. Someone get me an ice cream cone.

In Which I Have Days Without Incident.

So it's been awhile. I've been not too many places, just home and back. I've gotten to see Matt for the last three weekends now, and I've gotten used to having him around.

These next few weeks are going to be midsummer madness. I think I'm moving back home, and I have to have my shiz out by the end of the month. The jobs I've applied for have been non-responsive or think my contact address is in Rejection City. As I've said many times before, I'd rather move my stuff from Kzoo to Chicago over moving back home and then moving the five hours back west.

Not to mention that if I move home, I will be involved in a homicide. That's not a hood joke, that's a mother-daughter dynamic reference.

If I can't get a decent job,I guess I'm going back to school. We'll see how this works, seeing as the next GRE isn't until October, and I have fuck-all in the way of letters of recommendation.

Maybe I'll take a few random classes at Western to get some sexy grades and sexier letters of rec.

Life's goal: stop sucking so much. Become my version of perfect.

Today's goal: smoke one cigarette and hush the voices. Not hate myself for a couple hours.

I'm entertaining the notion of being a bad friend again. I don't want to be one of those girls,forsaking everything in the name of love, but my insecurity gets the best of me. This would be the only weekend I have time to do what I need to do. Phone calls, emails, and text messages can't do it the way I can.

There's always someone cooler than me.

In Which I Have Decided What Things Can Do

...mostly suck burlap sacks of cocks.

I have applied everywhere because nobody loves the smell of desperation more than potential employers.

I applied to the Apple store this morning. I have NOWHERE to go but up. Steve jobs for everyone!

Where are all the entry-level publishing industry jobs? Fuck you and the horse with 8-10 years of experience you want to ride in on.

I feel a book inside of me (not literally, that's gross), but the only problem is I like eating food regularly. And not smelling like a hobo. I want to write, but how is that going to happen when I will need to live while writing said book? Rents will need to be paid, ditto bills, food will need to be purchased and consumed, not to mention I will need to get the fuck out of the place I pay to stay...

I have also applied to Northwestern University for employment, and I am currently in the process of applying to DePaul. Only time will tell.

I better be good enough for someone with money to pay me. Oh, this Independence Daze.

I must slow down on some things before I kill myself.

Its okay for the first to be the last. Its only forever. Wedding shows are the devil, and don't you ever forget it.

Hopefully I can get to Jonesville and straighten some things out this weekend. I've been thinking...okay thinking sounds bad...but wondering about some things.

But damn, I look good today.

In Which I Probaly Watch Way Too Much Television For My Own Good

I kind of dug myself out of my shame spiral. I haven't cried once this week and even got off my ass and applied for a few jobs (somewhere between 5-8, which is quite a few, but the Americorps website makes it easy). So needless to say things are looking up. I'm keeping my expectations low, but my spirits high, and that's all anyone can ask for at this point.

I unexpectedly got to see Matt a lot last weekend. I wasn't planning on coming home, but my mom sensed I was low and I think she wanted to be nice to me. So I let her. But let's briefly talk about how my lady balls are huge.

Friday (the ballad of lady balls):
Get to the train station, only to discover that the train was 30-40 minutes late. Story of my life, no big thang. I decide to use this time to people watch and/or stare into oblivion. I notice this pretty girl sitting accross from me reading some sort of academic text. She's dusky-skinned, looks to be in her early twenties (22 at the most)and some sort of Asian. I have my headphones on just listening to my jams, anxiously minding my own. A man appraches her and speaks to her. He's tall, rocking the businessdude on vacation look, green button down long sleeve shirt and kakhi pants. He looks vaguely tanned as well. I can't hear what is said, only that he seems very friendly and innocuous enough. He's all up in her grill, and she's got the typical "um, whatever, okay, yeah" posture. I think my imagination got carried away, because I somehow established the pretense that they knew each other. I think nothing of it, and it's completely out of my mind when I board the train over an hour past our scheduled departure time.

The trip is fine. I read, I sleep, I read, I sleep, I stare into a different version of oblivion. But then we hit the Albion/Ann Arbor area. Some obnoxious fucktwat is having loud conversations on their phone, speaker setting engaged. The whole car can hear what he's saying. This is not pretty stuff. Some gems:

"Baby. Baby. Baby. Baby. Baby. Baby."

"I'm tryin' to spit game at these young girls, but they're not having it."

"Do you wanna fuck him, fuck me, or fuck us both? You wanna fuck us both?"

"When you pick me up, can we fuck in the cab?"

"I'm gonna go Dolomite on you!"

Shit like that. And that's just the stuff I can remember. Did I mention that this is a caucasian individual?

This is a caucasian individual.

So of course, its all I can do not to roll down the aisle in fits of laughter. At one point I look around and see if anyone else is as throughly amused as I am. I make eye contact with a girl that got on when I did, and we sit next to each other and just kind of go WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ONNNNNN? Apparently he was trying to hit on this girl, as well as the pretty Asian girl I saw at the station. Wait, so they don't know each other? Surpriiiiiiise! Apparently he has been awake for three days and stinks of liquor. Everything kind of returns to normal, but then he just starts yelling "WHERE ARE WE?" Someone answers him. Two seconds later, he yells the same question again. Obviously nobody wants to answer him, but finnaly he gets an answer: "Michigan". He laughs and proceeds to ask the question yet a third time, while yelling into his phone. At this point its not cute anymore (not that it ever really was). He's saying horrible things that make my inner raging Amazon feminist sharpen her tomahawk. At this point he's blocking the aisle, one arm or hand on each side of the hand grips. Keep all of this in mind.

An older man is trying to get past Drunky McSkeezeface. I guess he got a little too close, or Drunky touched him aggressively, but the older man tells the Assclown not to put his hands on him like that. So then this very, very, very, very quicky devolves into a shoving match. It looks like its about to get ugly fast. Someone alerts the conductors, while me and three beefy(ish) dudes try and break it up. Yes, your humble narrator got all up in a physical altercation. I am pulling at the old man and it took three other dudes to get them separated. The conductors do the kindergaten thing and put them at opposite ends of the car. This is not working. Fuckface von Assmonkey has now started yelling racial slurs at the older man. Mostly "sand nigger". So they have to put them in separate cars, all the while Drunky's yelling "he's the enemy! USA! USA! USA! Sand nigger" etc. He is told to sit down and be quiet. He does both, but only for seconds at a time. I finally tell him "dude, you're only making this harder for yourself." Again, this lasts all of several seconds before him and the conductor start yelling. He's still using slurs and the black lady conductor is not having that shit. So then his next argument is "What's Amtrak going to do, arrest me? Go ahead! Arrest me! Arrest me! Arrest me! Arest me!"

So they direct the passengers in the car to move to the next car over. His ass is getting arrested. I was told we were somewhere near Wayne. Fifteen minutes from my stop, we STOP THE DAMN TRAIN TO ARREST THIS FOOL. Not just escort him away, but some take witness statements and handcuffs arresting is going down.

I finally get into town, have dinner with Matt and his parents and nearly get caught in a tornado. Limbs everywhere, streetlights and stoplights blackened.

Further proof that wherever I go, disaster follows.

Saturday:
Grad party, Tory Story 3. I nearly cried at the latter. Fuck you too, Pixar.

Sunday:
returned with the Matts. Mad construction.

I guess that wasn't such a brief discussion of my cajones.

Aaaaaaand I still don't know what I'm doing this weekend. I think I'm going to pick Matt. Jill basically gave me her blessing, and when people do things that enable me to do what I want, I don't fight them.

I'll still send a congrats card.

Why is my bra still on?

Speaking of bras, my new guilty pleasure is The Real L Word. Please don't judge.

In Which My Glowing Red Eyes Strike Pity and Fear Into The Hearts of My Fellow Man.

Crying jag, day three. A brief overview, in case you missed it:

Got denied both the internship and the fellowship. Spiraled into a vortex of self-pity, shame, depression, and overall self-loathing. I have the pizza boxes and bottle of wine to prove it. I have feelings of impotence, angst, fear, inferiority, uselessness, and overall failure. I'm trying to make my way out of this vortex, but the pressure is too much.

Moral of the story, don't follow your dreams and always keep Visene in your purse. The whites of my eyes are whiteboard marker red. I have no way to explain this to anyone I encounter today. Maybe I can get away with contact irritation with a side of severe allergies.

Places I've cried in the last seven days:
- Brann's Steakhouse (in front of my friends)
- My Bedroom
- The Living Room
- The open pavilionish area at work (lots of stares)
- The Bathroom at work (where my boss walked in on me sniffling and trying not to hyperventilate)

Shit, there are too many witnesses.

Goddamn, I fucking hate crying. This shit's for pussies. And babies (a baby is a pussy that doesn't know it's a pussy). I'm just glad that I didn't wear any makeup to work today.

I tried to move on today though. I applied for two jobs and emailed the fellowship coordinator for pointers on how to be a stronger candidate. Nothing will come of the jobs, they're a touch out of my skill set, but I'm trying. That's gotta count for something.

I am not a pretty crier.

But on the upside, I think I'll be celebrating my birthday here

No more pussyfooting around. I thing a true and proper drastic hair change would do me a world of good. Either blonde bangs or a long pixie cut (a la one Miss Rihanna).

Either that or a tattoo.

Well Fuck.

"Thank you so much for applying for the 2010 Pritzker Fellowships. The quality of applicants was amazing and we are honored that you were among them.

I regret to inform you that you were not chosen as a finalist. The caliber of your application made this a very difficult decision.

We hope that you continue to pursue your dream of becoming a journalist and that you find great success in whatever it is that you do. We thank you for your interest in the Pritzker Fellowship Program."

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK.

In Which I Resume The Inbox/Telephone Staredown

I was supposed to know what was going on re: the ten months last week. I'm entering this week knowing exactly what I did last week. Well, I know a little more than I did last week. Now I know that I'm going to know when I'm going to know today. (That makes perfect sense, trust me.) I emailed the coordinator and she explained that there were some sceduling conflicts that were hindering everything from operating exactly on time. She said she's going to email everyone with more information today. The longer this drags out, the more anxious I get. I just want to know so I can make plans accordingly. If I don't get this, of course I'll be brutally devastated (to put it very mildly), but I'll get over it eventually. I wonder how big the candidate pool is. I just have to remember, everything is 50/50. It's going to happen, or it's not going to happen, there are no "chances".

Refresh, rinse, repeat.

I'm slightly socially retarded. I told Matt that I'd come visit him the weekend of the 25, but that's the weekend of Jill's graduation. Oops. I don't think I'd be invited to the ceremony, but I'm sure that I'd probably be invited to the family lunch after (like when I was graduating). I'm not sure what the proper thing to do is. Also lingering is the fact that I got invited to a birthday party that friday. The guest of honor is one of my oldest friends (over a decade). I'm not that worried about that, though. If I don't go to Chicago, I'd run home for this party friday and run back here saturday morning, hangover and all. What the hell is the socially acceptable thing to do? The logical solution would be to just see Matt the weekend before or after. The weekend before would be no good, that's father's day and of course he'll be with his family and shit. I'm selfish, I want to have as much "us time" as possible. I'll also be reminded of how I did not get pregnant in the last 28 days. Two strikes right there. The weekend after would be doable I guess, but in addition to being selfish, I am also immature. I want what I want when I want it. I could wait, but it will have been a full month since I've seen him. Damn, damn, damn.

No matter what, something will be decided for me.

I'm also offended that I've become one of those people with a planner. I like having one, which offends me even more.

The more I think about it, the more enamored I become with the notion of a pink ssapphire engagement ring. Not that I think about these things. Shh, don't tell.

I'm pretty sure my life is filmed in front of a live studio audience. That's no laugh track, that's everyone around me being amused.

I'm not sure I have a problem with this.

In Which I Get More Crying Done By 10 A.M. Than Most People Do All Day.

All hail the crying (weeping?) hangover. I was fine, getting my post-booze coma on and drooling into my pillow. My mom calls and removes me from said post-booze coma. Generally calls always lead to weeping, fighting or some sort of tense judgement, why should today be any different?

Don't worry, it didn't dissappoint.

Only my mother can tell me not to get my hopes up and then accuse me of being negative all in the same sentence/breath. (*cue "You Can't Win" from The Wiz*) Never mind that I am still without smokes (that part's kind of my fault, every time I've been presented with the oppertunity to replace them, I just haven't really been in the mood), I thought I was having an allergic reaction to something, but I think it might be stress hives, aaaaaaaaaaand I just got to sleep less than six hours ago.

It didn't help that after being one margarita in the bag yesterday with the girls I started crying in the middle of Brann's. Fucking embarassing shit. I hate crying. I hate public crying. That's not what I do. I get misty at the movies, but that's about it. The movies don't count though. It's dark and nobody's looking at me, unless I happen to sniffle a little too loudly or laugh at an "inappropriate" moment.

I'm pretty sure this is why I never get invited places. This is why we can't have nice things.

Same shit different day (suicide threats notwithstanding).

I might need a bagel.

Hot mess, party of one, your table is ready.

In Which I Am Hilarious.

(SCENE: INT. NIGHT. I sit on my bed in my room, watching Aqua Teen Hunger Force. Jill is sitting in her room, presumably on her bed, because I can't see her.)

Jill: The inside of my nose itches.
Me: Scratch it!
Jill: I can't! It's going to look like I'm picking my nose!
Me: Who's watching you, Google?

life is good.

In Which I Might Be Allergic To Falafel or Cheap Liquor

First of all, can I just say for the record how tight the record A Healthy Distrust by Sage Francis is? I forgot how much love I can have for a hip-hop record.

Up next on deck: Bad Religion's The Process Of Belief.

An update of Fellowship Watch 2010:

I've been presented with even more hope and an alternate timeline. Good news: it means a little more time for them to see how awesome I am. Bad news: I might not know until the 21st. I'll take it though. It's better than incessantly refreshing my inbox and waiting by my phone like a teenager.

Maybe its the stress, but I've got some really cute hives on my face. Here's to hoping that I just drank too much cranberry juice or ate too much falafel (which I have never tried before). They don't hurt or itch, they just look like Heller Keller could read that portion of my face if she got bored.

I should read and write more instead of staring into the electronic abyss.

Summer reading list:

Pride and Prejudice and Zombies - Jane Austen and Seth Grahame-Smith
Slaughterhouse-Five - Kurt Vonnegut (re-read)
Love is A Mix Tape - Rob Sheffield
The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao - Junot Diaz (also a re-read, but after getting a little perspective about the geography of the Dominican Republic, I think I need to)

To be read, but not in my possession: Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World, mostly because I have until August to read it. August is when the movie comes out.

As I was stalking the film adaptation of Scott Pilgrim, I read that the actor who played Human Torch in the Fantastic Four franchise is going to not only be in Scott Pilgrim vs. The World, but he is going to be Captain Flipping America in the Avengers Franchise, complete with his own movie. I have no idea how to feel. The Avengers has been pushed back (again) to 2012 (this is slowly becoming my Sin City 2 which is the new Chinese Democracy). But I understand Marvel studios has to have time to release all the other ones before they can release The Avengers, blah blah blah blah. I'm just not sure that the Captain America movie will do very well. Maybe its because I am so bored by the character, but it'll be interesting to see a little Hollywood sex appeal on him. It's exhausting being intrigued and bored all at once.

Yesterday was so weird. There were deus ex machina moments coming out of every orifice and I did my best to cope.

But I did bear witness to my conservative friend Keith take a shot out of a strange man's crotch. Oh, twenty-fifth birthdays....

yeah sure, I might do harm, and bear my right to arm.

This year is going to be the coolest.

"The finalists for the 2010 awards will be interviewed at Chicago Public Radio in May and the selected Pritzker Fellows will be announced the week of June 7th."

...does this mean I didn't get it?

I am so confused. The deadline was 5.14...what the shit?

Here's to hoping anyway?

In Which I Consider The Nature of Everything I Love

Blogger has been on the fritz all day, and this is my first opportunity to post. That made me hella anxious. I hear about the fellowship today, and I can safely say that my anxiety has been at average levels (even if I did drop a mostly full pack of cigarettes in a decently busy intersection and compensated with coffee). My inbox refreshing has been somewhere between casual and at worst, frequent. I am filled with optimistic numbness (where I don't know how to feel, but its not necessarily bad). I just don't want this to be a repeat of the TAL event all over again, where I paced my cage for two extra days and got all gross and emo. Nobody loves an emo kid.

I'd like to see Matt this weekend, but word on the street is that my old roommate/friend Jen will be up in Michigan from Mississippi this weekend. Since she's flying, I think its doubtful that she will be stopping here, but Jill says she will drive over to see her (Jen will probably stay on the east side with her family). I haven't seen Jen in about sixish months, and of course I really want to see her. I mean its not like I wouldn't be able to see Matt if we did get to hang out with Jen, but it's more a matter of wanting what I want when I want it, dammit. Three weeks is doable, but one and a half is better.

I listened to Take This To Your Grave by Fall Out Boy in its entirety today. Take from that what you will.

Aww Guster...Makes me want to dig up my copy of Lost And Gone Forever.

Let's hear it for festival season!

Either as a consolation or as a celebration, I will be getting either a new piercing or tattoo.

Mama needs a haircut. I am so close to breaking down and cutting it myself....maybe after another dye job.

Let's get tacos.

In Which I Require Hugs, Good Food, And A Nap.

"Please accept our apologies that this notice is going out a day late. A convergence of deadlines and a partial office brownout yesterday has us a bit behind.

We’re writing to thank you for applying to the This American Life internship, and to inform you that we’ve selected another candidate.
Please know that we were quite impressed with the candidate pool—we received hundreds of applications—and with everyone’s interest and enthusiasm. We very much enjoyed reading pitches, personal stories, and more.

Please keep in mind that there are other ways to contribute to This American Life, and for those of you itching to tell a particular story, please check out our submissions page here:



We’ve recently revamped that whole section, and worked very hard to offer guidance and examples of effective pitches, so don’t hesitate to spend some time looking it over, and if you feel certain you have something, send us a pitch!

Thanks again for your interest and for listening to the show.

All best,
The staff of This American Life"

...well fuck. Now everything's riding on this fellowship and that's a fucking terrifying feeling.

I'm also noticing that I'm using the phrase "fucking terrifying" a lot. Apparently I'm a big fat fucking fraidy cat.

Part of me is tempted to sneak off and do a couple shots while I'm here at work.

My iPod shuffle is trying to cheer me up and I'm not sure if that makes me feel better or if it makes me feel worse somehow.

If I still had a car, I'd drive around at unsafe speeds listening to unsafe music at unsafe volumes.

I feel like a partial failure right now but I know if I get denied this fellowship, I will feel like a fat, full blown failure.

Tonight will be a night of self pity and indulgence.

In Which My Anxiety Goes Into Overtime

"We have received your application for our fall internship. All applicants will be notified of our decision by June 1.

Thank you-

This American Life"

This is what the automatic email said that was sent on April 30, according to my email inbox.

Has June 1 not come and gone? Is it not the day after the first? I am also trying to respect their request that I follow the directions of:

"PLEASE DO NOT CONTACT THE TAL WEBSITE OR OUR OFFICES CONCERNING YOUR APPLICATION. We will automatically notify you of receipt and follow-up calls will be made to finalists in a timely fashion. All applicants will be notified of our decision by the dates listed above."

All appicants. All. Applicants. To me that means even the delusional semi alcoholic bitchfaces that tried really really hard on their application get a phone call or an email or something thanking them for their time and shit (apologies, I'm a touch hungover from the forgetting binge that I tried to make happen).

I've heard nothing and I keep feeling this strange mixture of hope and disappointment. Am I in? Am I not in? Are they notifying us by snail mail secretly? (extremely unlikely, but in in the face of no evidence to te contrary, all I have are possibilities.) Or will they just come for me in the night and take me with no warning? (I cannot begin to tell you how okay I would be with that latter option.)

I hate knowing hope is all I have. I hate being on someone else's timetable, at someonne else's mercy...but we already discussed this.

This even affects my music choices. I don't know whether to be Kanye cocky or Bright Eyes brooding. This is an epic amount of suck.

So as I wait, it's smoke, refresh, repeat.

This is worse than a late period. I only wish I could pee on a stick and a little piece of plastic would tell me if I suck at life or not.

Maybe some Doritos and Frasier would calm my nerves.

In Which I Need to Have One Cigarette and Hush

Today is D-Day part one, and of course I am having trouble breathing. I think its also the humidity. Today may not be the day to replenish my nicotine stash. Stay positive, stay positive, stay positive. I keep flirting with the notion of just showing up to work this afternoon buzzed and just maintaining until I know for sure. Ether that or make everyone watch as I get blitzed at roadhouse.

So Matt's been gone for less than a day, and I miss him already.This weekend was nice becauase of the extra time we got to spend together and we got to experience a bit of Kalamazoo for once. I can't wait until we can be in the same city/state/time zone (it doesn't take much to please me). However, that notion will prove to be interesting, mostly because that will be so new to me. I've: 1. never felt this way about anyone, ever, 2. always used the physical distance between myself and previous significant others to maintain my independence and also mantian a "safe distance", (even though I think I can overcome this by finding other ways to assert my indepencence and remembering that there's no such thing as safe distance, respectively) and 3. am excited and scared shitless.

...aaaand refresh the inbox.

I think I need a new futon matress. One that's less prone to lumps.

Or maybe I can just say fuck it and get a big kid bed.

What's the proper attire for a summertime interview?

And damn it all to heck if I still don't want a grilled hot dog.

Refresh.

Whoever's out there listening to me continuously vomit on mysself verbally, please send unparalelled vibes/thoughts/prayers of awesomeness.

Refresh.

Shower, smoke, bagel, work, drink, Glee, drink.

I'll quit drinking for a couple weeks starting next week. I will know everything by then and I will either have to celebrate or aim to forget.

Refresh.

In Which I Get Nervous and Nostalgic All At Once

So these deadlines are zooming upon me much faster than I am comfortable with. In a week and then a week after that, I will find out if these people see potential in me. This is utterly terrifying. I try to avoid wanting things too badly, because it tends to end in disappointment. But oh my god, I want this. I. Want. This. As a result, the closer the deadline gets, the more nervous I get. Sleep is almost a joke (although to be honest,I've never been good at sleeping longer than 5-7 hours), as of late, food has been cool, but not the obsession that it usually is (even though that might be the tobacco remnants from monday still kicking around in my system).

I'm worried that virtually every single bad thing I do is going to count against me karmically.

That reminds me, I should call my mom.

Let's hear it for this heat wave! I think that maybe Austin's not ready for me yet. But perhaps the cool factor woruld balance the hot factor and I'd be okay after all.

Sometimes I wish I wasn't an only child.

Sometimes I wish I was a mind reader.

This makes me smile though:

In Which I Learn My Lesson (Disclaimer)

Which is to say, the master creeper has been creeped. It's a weird feeling, because I'm not sure of the logistics of how I got creeped in the first place, even though it is entirely possible to do so. I guess I shouldn't say things if I can't handle the fallout. Welcome to the internet.

But that being said, I am not going to apologize for how I felt a particular moment in time, nor am I going to apologize for how I currently feel. I can't help those things, and that's why they're feelings and not rational reactionings. I think I'm allowed to "blow things out of proportion" out here because that's how it is in my head. That's where I spend a lot (bordering on too much) time. I have a thought, it either amuses or bothers me, I vomit it out, and move on. Its either that or She-Hulk out on everything and everyone around me and that can't be healthy.

Anyone who legitimately knows me knows I have a mouth on me, and I can shoot it off quite proficiently.

This is the death of auto-tune, moment of silence.

Last night, Kenny was back to do a comedy show. Of course I went. The comedians were pretty funny, but I mean get a few adult beverages in me, and of course everyone's a fucking riot. It wasn't as validating as the last one, but it was still a good time. Even Mini showed up, which was cool because I don't get to see her that often. After the show, Mini and I called her friend Cody for snacks. But before the snacks came the hookah. Far too much hookah. The last time I had hookah was around the time that dares not speak its name four years ago. I came home feeling like hell at 3:30 and passed out shortly thereafter. It was worth it. I feel fine now, but it was touch and go for awhile. I gotta learn to pace myself. On the upside, I came out of it with a fantastic potential dancing buddy. One that will go to the gay bar with me no less! Lord knows I love dancing. Lord knows I love a gay bar.

Today might be a day for swimming. But that means shaving. We'll see.

I should stay in and clean, but this weather is making me forget how to act.

In Which I Regret That Time Travel is Not Yet Possible

More insecurity vomit. Adjust yourself accordingly.

New blog post with 25% MORE NEUROSIS!

This thing is like my therapist. I like talking about my problems, just not out loud. Verbalizing them just makes me feel weak. Is there such a thing as an e-therapist? I think that unloading my problems on a select few, or on a world that just silently listens is something comforting and appealing. I can be as weak as I need to be for a few minutes and then I can go back to my ballsy-take-no-prisoners persona. But anyway, back to the show!

I trust Matt. I really do. I can trust him all I want until the cows come home, but that's not going to change the behavior of other people and I don't like having hope as my only option.

That's the essence of trust, I guess. And I'm finding I don't like trusting other people when it comes to the big major stuff.

The Problem
This time the trigger was a simple photo. His friend (yeah that one that has been the bane of my existence and the root of all my insecurity for the past few/several months) changed her profile photo on facebook to one of her and Matt. And her last few statuses have been really flirty and cryptic. (Oh, the joys of having an indoor cat job and not having anything better to do other than hitting refresh on facebook.) And I know better than to read into it as much as I am, but I can't help it. Lord only knows why. I'm soothing myself with the fact that this girl changes her profile picture several times a week, and soon I'll be seeing another picture of her stupid, gorgeous mug all over my stalkerfeed. I looked at the album, there were 81 pictures. EIGHTY FRIGGING ONE. Not all of them were of her and not all of them were of Matt. I realize that they're really good friends but WHAT THE FRIGGING HELL. (please pardon my tone, the yelling may continue.) DID SHE HAVE TO CHOOSE ONE OF HER AND MY BOYFRIEND? I know it's stupid and petty and one of the hazards of dating in the modern age, but I still want to punch a baby or kick a puppy. And then smoke a cigarette.

What Fucking Solution?
The logical conclusion one who is not me may draw is to talk to him (or her) about it. The logical retort I deliver is and say/do what? What's the next step? None are apparent. And besides, I would just look crazy and insecure and possessive, and while I do not deny my possession of all of those traits (often at once), I like to keep the visible evidence of that to an absolute minimum. But we all knew this. There is no solution, or even compromise to be reached. I thought I could just suck it up until August, when she was supposed to be leaving for LA, but alas, she won't be leaving until December. I think it won't be long until my crazy reaches critical mass. But raise your hand if you are loving bearing witness to my descent into madness!

My solution is this girl needs a boyfriend. Done and done.

Or is this whole ordeal some sort of test? What am I supposed to be learning? Is the true solution that my blood sugar's probably low and I should just eat something?

I'm going to read and forget that this ever happened. I do need to read more and spend less time on that sanity trap Facebook.

God Bless you, world. God bless you, Folk Implosion.

In Which Everything and Everyone Pisses Me Off, Including Myself

Yesterday was bad, mentally. The weather was gorgeous, which I greatly appreciate in Michigan, but oh my GAWD (yes the broad New England accent was necessary), I thought I was going to end up on the 11 o'clock news for a homicide spree. I think its my period, but I am pretty sure I would have been cranky even if my chemicals were ricocheting (when did I become such a horrible speller? this does not look like the correct spelling, but apparently it is). Coworkers, roommates, people at the bus depot (I thought I was going to have to clock this dude because I thought he looked at me funny, but in my defense, it is the bus depot.) Jill and Keith and I went out for dinner and drinks on the mall, but Jill was being difficult, and nothing looked good on me. I felt fat and like buying into the notion that I was less than because of my weight or my race or whatever.

But other than that, the food was fantastic (went to Kalammazoo's other tapas restaurant...who knew?), the drinks were expensive but tasty (a $7 mojito?!?), and the weather was chilly but pleasant.

I think some of my parade rain came from the fact that whenever I go out with Jill and a boy, or multiple boys, I inevitably get ignored in favor of her. Trite, petty, selfish...myriad other unpleasant and immature adjectives come to mind to describe the notion that I articulated, but it is the truth. And I know that it should only matter that a few people love me, but I can't help that I want to be everyone's favorite person all the fucking time. And apparently this is the way I really feel (as opposed to kind of feel) because I literally am choking back tears.

Fuck you too, hormones.

One day my blues will be a bitchen shade of teal.

This is not helping my positivity. But you know what did? I talked to Matt this morning, and we were looking at this calendar of free events at Millennium Park in Chicago. I said something about scheming to get off work, and then he said something along the lines of for most of these you'll already be here. Apparently, positivity can be contagious.

I think part of my birthday present from somebody is seeing Vampire Weekend in Chicago on the Sunday before my birthday. I am determined to have my birthday be a big deal this year. I'll be twenty-five, and goddammit, someone besides me should be glad I'm alive.

Apparently all I needed was to vomit verbally a little bit.

I do feel better. I am going to create my own feel good hit of the summer.

So The Kenyon Review Rejected Me, But I Am More Than Okay With That

I just have to remember that "adventure is just one mistake away". (A Softer World no. 334)

In Which I Am Thinking Positively

So its all sent. And now its all a matter of waiting. I bought a pack of smokes, and they are going pretty quickly. I have 17 and 23 days before I know anything, but I bought a pair of shoes and a pencil skirt for an interview, I started looking for an apartment and a boyfriend blazer, and at least the apartments look optimistic.

It looks like I can pick up a couple extra hours at work for the next few weeks. This is very very good.

I know I've said it before, but I keep thinking it: I think I like worrying. If I'm not worrying about my body, I am worrying about my future, if I'm not worrying about my future, I'm worrying about my finances, if I'm not worrying about any of those things, I am worrying about my relationship, if I'm not worrying about that I'm worrying that I don't have anything to worry about. Somebody give me a paper bag.

Aside from the ship business, right now I'm kind of back in this whole "is he losing interest" bullshit. I take the slightest pause, every unreturned text as a sign that Matt's having second thoughts. I have no idea where this comes from. Maybe its PMS, maybe its the crazy amplified by the hormones, maybe its because my mom's right and I am "depressed" and looking for yet another reason to hate myself.

As if I needed to look.

Holy emo.

I'm going to pretend that those words were never typed, but not really because if I really wanted to do that, I could just backspace the shit out of it.

I just had a moment where that was the opposite of staying positive. Fuck that shit.

This is not going to be a cruel summer.

In Which I Might Start Smoking and Eating Old Pills Again

This weekend was awkward. Among the events that occured:

- cock blocked by a law enforcement officer
- while avoiding a lecture on sex, got a lecture on aesthetics and piercings and tattoos

All aboard the trippin train. I was supposed to secure my nomination materials for this fellowship yesterday. It is now tuesday, and I have not heard anything from these people...er...person. The deadline to have everything submitted is by 5pm on friday. Three days from now. I'm getting really anxious because if I don't secure all the things I need to apply, everything will be riding on my This American Life application, which I am the opposite of comfortable with. Let's stop thinking about it becase the more I think about it, the more I want to cry.

Also, if one's long distance, long term significant other were to inquire as to the next rendezvous, and one repied with a potential time frame, and then one's SO replied to the reply there will already be six people staying at the apartment, what would that imply?

I guess somebody's not getting laid until june. Its just as well, the finances would be a lot of work anyway.

Gossip Girl is like crack and I am so late to that party and I am so mad, because I love it. My politics hate it, but my TV watcher loves it.

xoxo

In Which I Am Bruised and Happy

I made a semi-impromptu trip to Chicago this weekend, just to blow off some stress. And the fact that Boyfriend is there never hurts either. I haven't felt that liberated in a long time.

Friday was low-key after I got in 30-40ish minutes later than expected. We had snacks, TV, cocktails, and sex (sorry, that just worked too well). More or less in that order. Saturday was nice, so we went to free comic book day, walked around and went to the movies. Kick-Ass was really entertaining and I have not been that entertained by a child actor in a long time. I am totally going to be Hit Girl for Halloween. The bottles of Sutter Home stashed in my purse weren't hurting things either. We came back, I took a wine nap while Matt watched TV, and I woke up and watched more TV. And then...wow.

Two hours later its close to 5 am, and we decide we were going to try to watch the sun rise through the rain on the lake. We made it a few blocks, said fuck this, and grabbed breakfast instead. Soaking wet, we took the long way home (yes, I'm alluding to exactly what you're thinking I'm alluding to).

The rest of Sunday, we slept it off until it was time for me to get ready to go.

I finished my This American Life internship application. For better or for worse, its sent, and now all I can do is cross my fingers and hope for the best around and on June first. My fellowship application isn't due for a bit, so now I'm taking it easy before I hop on the trippin train again.

For the first time in a really long time, I'm excited about the future on several fronts. I'm excited for the impending exhaustion of working 2 jobs four days a week, the challenge of working with whichever 'ship I land and by extension, living in the same city/state/time zone as my boyfriend, and my future with someone who loves me. Bring it on, world!

That's all, mini-vacation until the 17th. I'll probably be in touch anyway.

In Which A More Glorious Dawn Awaits

Not a sunrise, but a galaxy rise. A morning filled with 400 billion suns.

"If you wish to make an apple pie from scratch, you must first invent the universe." - Carl Sagan

I need more science books. I already need to read A Brief History of time, and something by this Carl Sagan character. Who knew science could be so poetic?

I also can't get enough of Adam Lambert. He'll be at the Royal Oak Music Theater June 18, but ticket prices remain unknown. We are both here for your entertainment.

The application for This American Life is mostly complete, I'm now entering my neurotic editing phase. I'd like to have this good to go by Friday, and it looks like I will, but I'm so nervous. And then I can take a breath and then move on to this fucking Pritzker fellowship application. Awwwwwwww freak out!

And it doesn't help that I want to do a linear storyline analysis of Lady Gaga videos. For serious. I'm seeing too many connections to keep these thoughts to myself and the only way to get them away from me is to release them on the written screen/page.

And there's her whole obsession with plastic ("Beautiful Dirty Rich"/ "Paparazzi")

OH GOD ITS STARTING ALREADY.

Just edit, edit, edit, and just....dance...er....finish these bitches off.

In Which I Get Bitten by The Productivity Bug (and actually focus on something worthy of my anxiety)

Operation: Escape has taken its first wobbly steps toward fruition.

I am applying for a fellowship and an internship, both of which are through Chicago Public Radio and are paid and begin in July. I am so excited because I haven't wanted something like this in a long, long time. The challenge is something I am welcoming because I can't remember the last time I was properly challenged. The possibility of not landing either of these things would be far more devastating than I would ever care to think about. So we're staying positive, and only bringing in good energy. I will even start putting deposits toward my my karmic debt. Whatever it takes...(I am struggling not to burst into the theme from Degrassi: The Next Generation). The prospect of the fellowship or the internship leading up to a job with benefits is almost too much to take.

So I am writing applications and trying to let my best aspects shine through.

But I don't think "Killer Rack" is not something appropriate for a resume. I don't even know where that would go. Applicable Skills perhaps?

These things will keep me busy and I'll try not to think about the same type of things that keep me up at night(love you too, fluctuating hormone levels).

I like the way I look when I'm crazy. I cut back on booze and salt and other things that any sane person with taste buds enjoys. I try to walk 5ish miles a week, and I can tell the difference in the way my jeans fit. Its a great feeling. This week is my naughty week because I won't see Matt for awhile and I'm having my period. I'm allowed to be naughty, I just can't slip back and make it a perpetual naughty habit.

All along the western front...

And if my new life plan doesn't work, I'm opening up a restaurant in Santa Fe.

In Which I Crave Clove Cigarettes and Sushi

Well, here we are. The home stretch. Four more days until I get to see Matt again, and 2.5ish weeks until I have to turn in my application to This American Life that will ultimately decide what the french toast is going to happen to me.

The absolute terror of what is going to happen to me this summer has got my emotional state in the firmest of vice grips.

I want to move. I need to move. There is no way I can just stay in Michigan. I am firmly convinced that its killing me.

I am absolutely discouraged as far as jobs go. I feel like there's nothing I can do to be more qualified. I'm hoping with this internship, i can get the letters of recommendation I will so sorely need for grad school, because if I am going to get in, lord knows its not going to be because of my stellar gpa. I wouldn't mind a second bachelor's but I hear its not really worth it, and that I may as well just try for the master's. But as of late, my rationale has been this: if I go and get the second bachelor's, I can hopefully get a more impressive grade point average, make people love me so much they will be raping one another for the opportunity to write letters for me.

Total hyperbole, but you get the idea.

Moral of the story: not good enough for what I want, too good for what I can do. I refuse to cook or serve food (drinks are okay), mop floors, wipe asses (literally), or let strange people see me without my clothes on (unless I am a burlesque dancer or an artist's model). All I am equipped with is a bachelor's degree, a smart mouth, a head full of metal, an somewhat killer wardrobe and a righteous sense of self-entitlement. Besides, I have a better working vocabulary than most of the working American public anyway.

Maybe I just have to go balls out and not care anymore. If I make it to the interview, I might say fuck. All my most profane facebook statuses and most offensively raucous photographs will be prevalent.

I'm done with that rant for now, I swear.

This is all springing forth because of one lone strand of gray hair I found springing from my scalp this morning. I shall call her Lola, and now that she's here, I'm not sure if I want her to invite some friends over or not.

I'm here for your entertainment.

In Which I Aspire to Be Beutiful, Dirty, and Rich.

Last night, I fell off the wagon. Kenny was in town and I wanted to have a good time, so I drank and smoked and drank like my liver was still a virgin. I got sauced and sassy and made new friends that I can't remember, and said hello to the ones I did. I was sauced and sassy and I didn't care who knew it. (Drink count was somewhere between 5-7, alternating between vodka and whiskey.)

As you are well aware, dear world, my self esteem as of late has been plummeting in a downward spiral. As far as that goes, last night was just what the doctor ordered. I was funny and helpful and I looked down, and I had the body of a striptease falcon. In a room full of comedians, I was making them laugh (boost #1). There were dudes everywhere (my element), and I flirted because I was a terrible girlfriend and was miffed that Matt had seemed distant for the last few days (damn text messages that have no inflection). I have a problem with seeking validation in the form of attention. I flirted with everyone in that room and everyone flirted back: the guy working the door, random friends of friends, friends in general...hugs and laughs were abundant (overall boost #2). Later in the evening, on the drive home, my friend Stephanie tells me that one of our mutualish friends thought I was hot. I've only seen him when our social circles overlap, so its like whatever, but still. It gives me a rush like BAM! I still got it. Its immature and slightly unhealthy, I know, but sometimes its just what I need.

Like my McDonald's hangover breakfast.

No matter what, I'll be fine.

In Which I Feel Like Going on The Master Cleanse Would Not Be The Worst Idea Ever

Gross. Gross, gross, gross. That is how I feel after a weekend of absolutely horrible food. Delicious, yes. Skinny-making, no. So I think I might start this master cleanse business on Wednesday. From Wednesday to next Tuesday, I will be on a strictly liquid diet. These efforts are mostly due to my feeling absolutely disgustingly fat. I also have the notion that Matt won't love me unless I'm thin(ish). This is probably a completely batshit loco notion in and of itself, but I think that if I'm not perfect, he's going to leave. I can't do anything to stop him from going, I can only make him want to stay.

I just have to remember that I am the one that he's going to come home to. I'm the one he wants. Not these other flirtatious tarty women. There will always be women flirting with him, and I think the sooner I can deal with this, the happier I'll be.

And yes, I realize that you (yes, you, there in the fourth row) are yelling that I am a hypocrite just because I have had the habit of slight occasional flirtation. However, I don't think that my flirtatious ways have ever been the cause for worry (unless you count Devon, and maybe Mike if I ever get around to seeing him), but honestly, I am a one guy kinda gal.

Also, God keeps punking me. My mom made me talk to my dad this morning, but luckily my ride back to Kalamazoo showed up so I left without saying anything of substance. It was weird and I don't like it. He was really excited to talk to me. I have no idea what to do or what to say. Hey, dad, wtf? Kthxbai.

Life would be so much easier as an lolcat.

Less than two weeks to go before I can see Matt (11 days, but really, who's counting?), and I think I can make it. I have Kenny's comedy show hosted tonight, chicken fingers tomorrow, Richard's arrival this weekend, and chicken fingers next Tuesday.

I'm a driver, I'm a winner. Things are gonna change, I can feel it.

In Which I Get A Little Hyper And Secretly Wish I Could Listen To Butthole Surfers

I had a dream last night. A common occurrence with myself and millions of other people and life forms.

This is what happened in my head:

I am in Grand Rapids for some giant DEMF meets Lolla meets SXSW meets Bonnaroo type of music festival. Sweaty, smelly, hairy people as far as the eye can see. People and blankets and tents everywhere. I'm stumbling through with my friends (nobody specific, just a general sense of camaraderie (apparently that's the correct spelling)). I stop by a merch booth/table/tent to look over the goods. I remember specifically a t-shirt that had some illustration from One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish by Dr. Seuss. It was yellow with bright green sleeves. This little kid is there looking at the shirts too. He takes one look at the Dr. Seuss shirt and screams "ITS TOO BRIGHT!" (possibly prefaced with an "I told you", I can't honestly remember) and takes off running. In the first couple steps he takes he morphs into a greyish lop-eared rabbit (I don't witness the transformation). The guys at the table are chasing him in circles around the table/general area. I join in. We manage to corner him. I magically acquire a blanket, which I use to disorient the bunny and pick him up. He starts wiggling and squirming and I eventually get bitten and lose my grip. Bunny boy takes off through the crowd, and I after him. I chase him to the back of the festival area which ends up being a big university. I've lost him, but I go in the university anyway.

Its all a blur after that.

I told twitter that I have dreams where I chase rabbits, but they're not white and they don't lead to underland/wonderland.

File Under F, for Fucking Daddy Issues (let's be honest here though, if I had a file, I think F would be the biggest one. Everything's fucking this and fucking that):

This would best go in list form. I'm officially good and cranked and full of ADD right now.

a. my (half) brother called my mom on sunday. It seems he wants to get a hold of me. No big thang. We speak every few years.
b. I'm an aunt, it would seem. To a little biracial girl, I think. (I am certain on the biracial part, but not so much on the girl part. I secretly find this a little thrilling because chances are very high that I am going to end up with biracial kids myself.)
c. apparently, I also have a father? Apparently he's been trying to get in touch with us. I am not sure why. My interest in speaking with him is purely selfish and scientific. I just want to know genetics: heritage, diseases , etc.

that's all.

Fuuuuck that, I'm flexin.

The weather's gorgeous. and it promises to be nearly eighty tomorrow. I just might shave my legs for that shit.

Started watching Gossip Girl, reading Nerve, Jezebel and Gawker, and incessantly listening to Lady Gaga. Please don't judge. It's not so bad being trendy, everyone who looks like me is my friend. Please don't hate me because I'm trendy.

In Which I Identify With Amy Winehouse A Litlle too Much.

I have been Listening to Frank all Day. There were brief interludes from The Beatles and Ebony Bones but, for the most part I cannot stop listening to Amy's jazzy tones. I really do wish the best for her a voice like that should not go to waste *meaningful glance thrown in Whitney Houston's direction*.

I think I'm in the midst of my first fight. I can't tell. Damn text messages. Damn fluctuating hormones. Its a stupid nothing fight too (if it is one). I just made a wiseass little comment about how he couldn't bother to text me back last night when he finally texted me this morning. (Something about him having NOT fallen down a well.) He asked what I meant. I told him. Two hours ago. No response. So we'll see. I'll probably crack first, but it felt good to let my aggression out, regardless of how passively it happened.

In other news, I have to peeeee and I can't leave the lab right now.

Damn periods (even if I am thankful for the peace of mind they bring).

In Which I Deliver A Partial Manifesto.

Attempting To Reconcile (Vs.)

I'm mostly a good girl. I drink, I smoke, I swear, I fuck. I help when I can. Sometimes there are moods where I can't help who I hurt. Sometimes I just don't care. I believe in God and I like to think that God believes in me. I like to think that God laughs openly and often at the ways people try to reach him. I think that the things people do for God more often than not make him sad. it probably balances out. I think that somewhere between what we want to do and what people say God says is what we should do. I don't believe in sex without love. The end should justify the means. I don't know if I believe in Satan or a devil, but I do believe in evil. I don't believe in being evil, but I do believe that it is unavoidable and at times necessary. I believe in exploration. I believe that God and science can coexist.The existence of one does not negate the other. I believe in peace, but I am all too aware that people can't leave things alone. I believe that medium coffees at Dunkin Donuts are friggin gigantic. I believe in magic. I believe in talent. I believe in trying to find a balance. I believe that failure can be an option. I believe in a thing called love.I believe that God is not offended by it. The key to a satisfying existence is chaotic structure. I believe addiction is a basic, primal force. I believe in reincarnation. I also believe in making the most of the life you can remember. I believe in exercising ability to an extent.

I am a firm believer in juxtaposition and contradiction. It's all about contradiction, i am proof. I believe in proof. I believe that pop music tells the truth more often than people care to admit. I believe in playing hooky. I believe in anaphora and alliteration. I believe in all forms of evolution. I believe in experts, but not necessarily answers. I believe in excitement. I believe in abstract definitions of art. Let the record show htat i also believe in bullshit. I believe that everything's a little bit funny. I believe in benign abuses. The only malicious abuses I do believe in are the abuses of self and I know all too well those can easily be taken too far. I believe we are all crazy. I believe the best way to negate this is to acknowledge it, but not too much, Hamlet. I believe in the power of shutting the fuck up sometimes. I believe in the failure of words, but not as much as I believe in their power. I believe in language. I believe that the only way to understand boundaries is experimental excess. I believe in grabbing 'em in the biscuits. I believe in unfinished stories.

In Which I Possess The Ability to Talk Myself Off of Bridges

More dispatches from the west coast. Sometimes I remind myself of "Alicia Amnesia".

I have gone from crazy to fine back to crazy back to fine. Talking it out helps with little or no outside input.

I feel good.

There's no sense in telling me the wisdom of a fool won't set you free.

I can make this work.

I just had the most questionable lunch of my entire life. Pizza, already a day or two old, placed in a ziplock bag and aged for another three days unrefrigerated. I heated it to high hell, so I think I'll be okay.

Can anybody tell me why I'm so fearful? I'm afraid of myself and the consequences that my actions may or may not bring about, to a degree. I'm not afraid of vice- related consequences. I think the real fear comes in when we bring that pesky l-word into the picture and all that it entails. I think I'm so busy trying to be perfect, that I think I'm putting my own needs, wants, and sanity as the least of priorities. My ultimate nightmare, in addition to being lost and alone in pitch darkness, is being told "you aren't enough. You're not good enough".

Another problem I have is that I can't stay mad. I want to, but all that ends up happening is I get over it. While most people extol (side note, I had no idea this was the proper spelling) this personality trait as a virtue, sometimes I think its important to get angry and to hold on to that anger, at least for a little bit. I think this is partly due to the fact that I see my significant other so rarely, that by the time I get around to seeing him, my anger (or at least whatever negative emotion that I'm producing) has fizzled. And nine times out of ten, its about something that has no foreseeable, logical conclusion.

But staying positive is the only way I can reinforce anything that keeps me happy. Its the only way I can hear that faint whisper of "You are worth it. You are amazing. You deserve whatever happiness you can get. You deserve to be loved."

I have decided that instead of one raven tattoo, I want two, just under each armpit. The inspiration comes after doing some research, mostly on wikipedia:

"In Norse mythology, the Ravens Hugin and Munin sit on the god Odin's shoulders and bring to his ears all the news they see and hear; their names are Thought and Memory. Odin sends them out with each dawn to fly over the world, so he can learn everything that happens."

I like that. I like that a lot. Even though I have no Norse heritage that I know of, the sentiment is just lovely.

These ideas keep me from thinking so much, because yes, I have started thinking again.

"Till I scarcely more than muttered, 'Other friends have flown before —
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'
Quoth the raven, 'Nevermore.'"

Yes, I read "The Raven" today. Yes, it bummed me out. Yes I'm still bumming, but I forget why exactly.

Is that a good thing?

I'm getting all kinds of futuristic panic attacks. It falls in line with the quarter life crisis sequel (trilogy? saga?). I think its mostly because I think i secretly like worrying. I like freaking out. I want to bring this all up with Matt, but its not the kind of stuff you can say in text or even a phone call. Unfortunately, my next plans for seeing him won't be until April. I'm hoping he'll come home with his roommate for Easter, and I'll get to see and talk to him then. If he doesn't come back for Easter, the next time I'll probably be able to see him is mid April, like the weekend of the 16. And that's a whole month away. That's a mighty long time.

Loans are starting to not sound like such a horrible suicide. They'd allow me to live happily and comfortably and I wouldn't have to worry outright about moving and finding a job.

I need to start planning grad school visits. That's what summer is for.

My top five:

- Columbia College
- Northwestern
- University of Texas at Austin
- University of Gerogia - Athens
- Bowling Green

Road trip, anyone?

All the things I want to do today:

- catch a cup of coffee
- smoke a cigarette
- catch a drink
- some writing

(if we're really being honest here, in addition to the above)

- get laid
- see my old friends
- chain smoke

Things that might or probably will get done today:

- catch a cup of coffee
- smoke a cigarette
- catch a drink
- some writing
- get laid

Chain smoking bad.

But its settled. At the very least I can grab a cup of coffee (seeing as there's both a Dunkin Donuts and a Starbucks within a half mile of here (Matt's apt)) and come back and do my nails and read and be just kind of domestic.

I was also thinking of cooking one of these nights. I want some fucking spaghetti. With ground turkey. And maybe a bottle of okay-tasting red wine.

What I just said stays between the two of us. Okay, world?

In Which I Wax Nostalgic For The Unremembered Eighties.

I have seven minutes left at work and I am type type typing to pass the time and i can actively hope that I have to not deal with any more stupidity today.

I hope it doesn't rain (on me).

Yes, this is spring break. The temperatures have been spring-like, even if the weather hasn't.

And I get to see Matt tomorrow. I couldn't be more excited. It's been a month. A month!

Life is okay. I need to do a lot in the next 24 hours. Its okay, I have the rest of the week off.

I want a cigarette, but I have not had a right proper fag in quite some time and I have not had a drink in about two weeks.

That's getting obliterated this weekend.

In Which I Return To Where My Words Only Define Me.

This ain't a scene, its an arms race.

I love mornings where I can see the sun. I love "Stillness Is The Move" (the Solange version), mostly because it is a cover of a Dirty Projectors song. I love cover crossovers like that. I love The Mike Simonetti remix of "Million Dollar Bill" by Whitney Houston.

Dear Kanye, your talent negates your egotistical twattery.

I still hear whispers of crazy in my head. I know I have no reason to, and the position my brain is in just screams of codependent girlfriend. But its still there. I just don't want to look like a chump, you know? Yeah, I said chump. I just don't trust this girl. I really don't. And there's nothing I can do. I don't want to tell my twenty-five year old long distance boyfriend who he can and can't hang out with. And even if I did, 1. that's really shitty, it would just lead to resentment and possible lashing/acting out on both our parts and 2. there would be no way to "enforce" said restriction. But She's moving to LA in August, so that about four more months in my nuthouse. Cashew?

He says he's immune to jealousy (not his exact words, but its definitely implied).I take him at his word, which just makes me feel worse.

I have no idea what to do without looking certifiably criminally insane. I'm not sure why it matters how I look. Maybe its the fact that I watch entirely too much TV.

I also think this is the root to my overall dissatisfaction with my appearance. I can never look good enough and I keep comparing myself to everyone else around me (and even those not around me). I am not thin enough, pretty enough, smart enough, funny enough, tall enough... the list goes on. I've been out several times in the last seven days, and each time I get angrier and angrier that I can't look good. So I feel the need to be increasingly more obnoxious and crazy to compensate. Which makes me think that everyone hates me anyway.

This isn't store brand crazy. This is designer crazy.

people don't dance no more.

Don't wanna be your monkey wrench.

I'll pull an OK Go and get over it. Eventually.

I'll take my pills and say its for the best.