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.