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.

A break from the "In Which I"s....

So as part of a work-type thing, we had to take this quiz to "discover our strengths" (mmmmm, taste the synergy....). They pick your top five, and explain what they mean by the words that that chose to describe you. These are my results.

Input

You are inquisitive. You collect things. You might collect information—words, facts, books, and quotations—or you might collect tangible objects such as butterflies, baseball cards, porcelain dolls, or sepia photographs. Whatever you collect, you collect it because it interests you. And yours is the kind of mind that finds so many things interesting. The world is exciting precisely because of its infinite variety and complexity. If you read a great deal, it is not necessarily to refine your theories but, rather, to add more information to your archives. If you like to travel, it is because each new location offers novel artifacts and facts. These can be acquired and then stored away. Why are they worth storing? At the time of storing it is often hard to say exactly when or why you might need them, but who knows when they might become useful? With all those possible uses in mind, you really don’t feel comfortable throwing anything away. So you keep acquiring and compiling and filing stuff away. It’s interesting. It keeps your mind fresh. And perhaps one day some of it will prove valuable.


Strategic

The Strategic theme enables you to sort through the clutter and find the best route. It is not a skill that can be taught. It is a distinct way of thinking, a special perspective on the world at large. This perspective allows you to see patterns where others simply see complexity. Mindful of these patterns, you play out alternative scenarios, always asking, “What if this happened? Okay, well what if this happened?” This recurring question helps you see around the next corner. There you can evaluate accurately the potential obstacles. Guided by where you see each path leading, you start to make selections. You discard the paths that lead nowhere. You discard the paths that lead straight into resistance. You discard the paths that lead into a fog of confusion. You cull and make selections until you arrive at the chosen path—your strategy. Armed with your strategy, you strike forward. This is your Strategic theme at work: “What if?” Select. Strike.


Intellection

You like to think. You like mental activity. You like exercising the “muscles” of your brain, stretching them in multiple directions. This need for mental activity may be focused; for example, you may be trying to solve a problem or develop an idea or understand another person’s feelings. The exact focus will depend on your other strengths. On the other hand, this mental activity may very well lack focus. The theme of Intellection does not dictate what you are thinking about; it simply describes that you like to think. You are the kind of person who enjoys your time alone because it is your time for musing and reflection. You are introspective. In a sense you are your own best companion, as you pose yourself questions and try out answers on yourself to see how they sound. This introspection may lead you to a slight sense of discontent as you compare what you are actually doing with all the thoughts and ideas that your mind conceives. Or this introspection may tend toward more pragmatic matters such as the events of the day or a conversation that you plan to have later. Wherever it leads you, this mental hum is one of the constants of your life.


Empathy

You can sense the emotions of those around you. You can feel what they are feeling as though their feelings are your own. Intuitively, you are able to see the world through their eyes and share their perspective. You do not necessarily agree with each person’s perspective. You do not necessarily feel pity for each person’s predicament—this would be sympathy, not Empathy. You do not necessarily condone the choices each person makes, but you do understand. This instinctive ability to understand is powerful. You hear the unvoiced questions. You anticipate the need. Where others grapple for words, you seem to find the right words and the right tone. You help people find the right phrases to express their feelings—to themselves as well as to others. You help them give voice to their emotional life. For all these reasons other people are drawn to you.


Adaptability

You live in the moment. You don’t see the future as a fixed destination. Instead, you see it as a place that you create out of the choices that you make right now. And so you discover your future one choice at a time. This doesn’t mean that you don’t have plans. You probably do. But this theme of Adaptability does enable you to respond willingly to the demands of the moment even if they pull you away from your plans. Unlike some, you don’t resent sudden requests or unforeseen detours. You expect them. They are inevitable. Indeed, on some level you actually look forward to them. You are, at heart, a very flexible person who can stay productive when the demands of work are pulling you in many different directions at once.

I find these things to be somewhat accurate. Next up: actual thoughts on my brand of crazy.

In Which I Have Exceeding Skill At A Game I Don't want To Play

I told Matt about the dream, save one detail. There was some metaphorical hand holding, some text message "there there"s, some mental hair stroking. Its all better now.

I got drunk last night in the hopes I could get drunk and write a masterpiece. The only thing I achieved was a mild hangover and an upset stomach. And a craving for something greasy and fattening with mayo on it.

Month one on the pill wasn't so bad. My tits grew to be the size of dwarf planets and peace of mind is something that is worth the non insurance price. My smoking has gone down considerably, and I don't feel guilty for the first time in months.

And I want a fried chicken sandwich with pickles and mayo. I also want subway but I need to curb my enthusiastic spending if I want to go to Chicago.

I'm excited about this trip because I'll get an extra day with my love and hopefully I can throw together an impromptu pseudo reunion with my AI boys. I'd love to see Mike again, and from the way things sounded on Facebook, maybe Tom too. And whoever else they can rustle up. And of course Devon, I haven't seen him in a really long time. Not quite as long of a time as Mike and Tom, but at least three or four months. I miss those kids.

Maybe I can get some writing done today?

In Which Somtimes My Insecurity Gets The Best of Me

And by sometimes, I mean a lot, or at least lately.

Can you smell what the crazy is cooking?

I have five days to turn out 1,200 words of not suck. I haven't counted the words on my handwritten page and a half in which I Kevin Smith all over the place. (Which is to say I talk a lot without very much in the way of action or conflict happening.)And this is just deadline one.

And Kate Nash refuses to help. Cheeky bird.

Last night I had this dream where Matt left me for one of his really good friends (a girl, of course its a girl, girls always make me nervous. And of course its a specific gorgeous friend that I have met before and am probably friends with on facebook). I can't think about it without wanting to cry. This was at 3 a.m. and maybe Matchbox Twenty was right when they assumed "I must be lonely". I texted Matt as soon as I woke up from the dream. This was at three (2:51, if we want to get all kinds of technical). All I said was "You'd tell me if something was wrong with us, right?" I proceeded to stay awake for another half hour or so before pretending to sleep again. He never responded. I know its probably nothing, he had said earlier that he only got thirty minutes of sleep the night before, but the fact that he still hasn't responded makes me nervous. "Bruised" by Jack's Mannequin is on my shuffle now and I am trying not to cry in front of this Vietnamese man who is working on his homework.

But my suspicions have been creeping around the room, under the wallpaper for months now, and its only in the last few weeks that we got an upgrade to full blown crazy girlfriend status. Part of me doesn't want to ignore my instincts, but part of me thinks that its just the birth control talking.

Dear Dashboard Confessional, cut that shit out please.

Dear B-52's, keep that shit going please.

please don't tell anyone that I'm crazy.

In which sometimes I am a horrible person

I've been meaning to write. Letters. Stories. Lovelorn odes to the world beyond my routine.

There has been a fire lit under my ass and now I am hustling to come up with stories, resumes, letters, budgets, pitches, and proposals. Ever looming deadlines make me nervous and my mood swings are worse than a swingset at recess. I blame the drugs.

One application asks for my "favorite personal story". I have so many and so few all at once. I can string fragments into bigger stories (very much like my love life), but there is no one defining story per se. Perhaps mashups have been my downfall. The truth seems to have escaped me for the umpteenth time. I am just stuck when it comes to sticking to just one thing (if one thing really means one...).

Another Application asks for 1200 words maximum of something untrue.

And yet another asks for up to 40 pages of something equally untrue.

There are so many missions. I will not abort any of them.

My mom told me that Matt "better put a ring on it". Oh dear lord.

Forgive me Moses, Jesus, Allah.

Payday. (yay!)
Forgot purse at home (boo!)
I don't have to go home (yay/boo!)

And sometimes the tears just have to come.

Things don't even phase me.

Its snowing.

Valentine's day was fantastic even though my love-induced euphoria is proving to be short-lived.

I have learned that patience is not my strongest virtue. I can only say so many times that the paper in your hand has nothing to do with what homework you're doing and that if you just follow the fucking directions, you will be fucking fine. FUCKING FINE.

But let's focus on the euphoria, shall we?

Friday night I went down to Chicago because its valentine's weekend and that's what young lovers do. Pizza was ordered, gifts were exchanged. Matt got a set of swirly sippy cups. I got two DVDs: Ben Folds: Live at WASO and Golden Girls season one. Plus two packs of the legal clove cigarettes. I have the best boyfriend ever. Well, not ever, but top 10, easily. And then video games (Infamous, I think its called) and Jeopardy! and bed.

Saturday,we lounged in bed (like young lovers do), and then we went out to pick up our tickets for that night. We picked up the tickets, and then walked until we found this neat little cafe called Julius Meinl, where we stopped for lunch. The prices weren't terrible (but slightly pricey for my cheap ass), and the food was pretty tasty. I had this orange ginger infusion tea thing that was heavenly. And the drinks come with these little chocolates. Fabulous. After lunch we kept walking until we happened upon this candy shop. I forget the name of it, Candiality or something that reminds you of the word bestiality. We go in and get these decadent-looking chocolate truffles. So as we're continuing our walk and eating our truffles, we pass a liquor store. Like one of those classy ones that would never ever sell Boone's Farm. The liquor store was having a free wine tasting. So we walked in tasted some wine, looked around and left. And then we smoked one of my cloves. For something completely unplanned, it was pretty romantic. After walking around a bit more, we went and got dressed for the burlesque show. Yes, burlesque. It was so fabulous. I loved it. So tastefully bawdy. And it re-enforced a positive body image. Somebody five me.

So improv classes + burlesque classes + strip classes = me(perfect)

By hook or by crook, I am moving.

Sunday, we tried to watch Shortbus and Paper Heart back to back. One was more fail than the other. Shortbus was a porn in independent film clothes and Paper Heart was just weird and awkward in all the worst ways. I was not a fan of it and kept falling asleep. Went to catch my bus and every time I say goodbye, I can't help but hear the cinematic violins swell.

The bus home was entirely too long.

Today is fat tuesday and I have no idea what to give up for lent.

I'm on the pill and my knockers are giant.

Secretly listening to Radiohead. Shhhhh.

in the days of kings and queens I was a jester...

I am sitting at work, attempting an internship application and lusting after cigarettes. Two regulars are working, and one of my coworkers is helping one of them. The guy my coworker is helping always has 523,763,936,034 questions for her, basically because he is in love with her, and has been since last semester. The other regular has a constant blurting problem.

Blurting Lady (BL): do you have a girlfriend?
Guy: ....what?
BL: Do you have a girlfriend?
Guy: Are you applying for the position?
BL: no, but just ask her out already, I can't concentrate with you over there!

I thought I was going to defecate my pants. I silently laughed for a solid couple minutes.

And now BL is trying to talk him up to my coworker. LMAO. Life is wonderful.

I was working on my internship application to This American Life. I am so excited and so scared. I know I can do this though. If I got this, this would be six shades of epic and perfect and omg yes please.

Austin can wait. Athens will wait.

I think its time to cut these ever-tightening plastic bracelets.

Don't tell anyone that I have been creeping Offbeat Bride.

I think my toes are slightly fused/webbed. I noticed yesterday. Is it piercing time?

The letters will come. The future will come.

While we're at it, we can work it night by night. (but only by the night)

So the year is new and my wanderlust is raging.

Here is a list of places I think would be epic to live in:

- Athens, GA (college town. University of Georgia. Bulldogs. Home of REM and the B-52's. I'm pretty fucking jazzed about it.)
- Austin, TX (another college town. University of Texas. Longhorns. Home of SXSW. Still fucking jazzed about it.)
- Chicago, IL (My heart. My Love. Columbia. Northwestern. Home of my love, romantic and otherwise. Slightly less jazzed than before but still pretty jazzed.)
- Minneapolis, MN (Chuck Klosterman mentioned it. University of Minnesota. The school has nothing I want, except a professional certificate in Experimental Surgery. Home of The Replacements and Atmosphere.)
- Toronto, ON (University of Toronto. The Blue and White. Home of charming accents. Four hours from home.)
- St. Louis, MO (University of Missouri St. Louis. Who the fuck knows. Home of the most visually interesting people I've ever seen.)

And there's more but I grow weary. This list was to keep me at least somewhat on track.

there's always Bowling Green...

... but the average low in Athens is 33 degrees. That is as close as Georgia gets to freezing. Hot damn.

that's been my day.

national guard is running around, looking for the monkey but she can't be found...

Why are bad ideas the only ones that feel good?

As part of my new year's makeover, I have opted to rock peace of mind. I am going to see the doctor on Monday and I will not punk out, I will ask the doctor for the pill. The only awkward part is:

1. I may or may not be starting my period that day
2. instead of my regular doctor, I have to see Dr. L, because my regular doctor, Dr. R is all booked through the end of the year (because surprise! I am still insured for another week and a half).
3. Dr. L is a dude. Yeah, I'm one of those girls that has issues with that. Especially because I may or may not have a mess going on.

Okay so I lied. Those are the only awkward parts.

I'm hoping to bypass all that mess anxiety because I just had a hoo ha exam (yes that is the clinical term) in August. But I guess I will have to woman up either way. I have to stop playing Russian roulette.

Either way, things will be interesting.

I am pitching my life as a HBO sitcom. Well okay, maybe not HBO, maybe Showtime.

I am sleepy and starving and I am thirty minutes away from not seeing anyone in this room for three weeks, save my own gorgeous mug. Somebody give me a big YES!

Bad sitcom, party of one.

In a somewhat bizarre turn of events that I can only attribute to my incompetence, I have gotten myself in a not delicious pickle. Nothing life altering, but the fodder for many a sitcom episode.

I decided that I had taken enough of not being near my boyfriend, so I told him I was coming to visit this weekend. That is all well and good. Unfortunately, I also told my clique of lady friends that we should have some shiggles while we all have some time off. Trying to coordinate five separate schedules is daunting. I originally said that anything pretty much worked. People took dates and times off the table. One suggestion that seemed to work the best for 4/5 of the involved parties did not work for me. December 20 doesn't work for me because I do (on the 21st). While discussing this with Jill, I accidentally went into problem solver mode, forgot my aching heart/loins, (which I am totally ruing at the moment) and suggested a "prefect" solution. FUUUUCK. I would cancel on Matt, but 1. I haven't seen him in a month, and 2. If I cancel, that means no proper "alone time" until NYE. THAT'S SIX WEEKS. MY POOR PUNANNI (that may or may not be expelling uterine lining at that point). Is it bad if I don't care about seeing them that much at this point? Does that make me a horrible person? I tried to see if there was a bus that left early/late enough for me to do both, but to no avail. The buses out of Chicago on Sunday are at 7, 9:15, and 4:30. Fuck 7. 9:15 is not much better but that's the only one that will get me back at a reasonable hour so we can go to Jackson or Redford or wherever the fuck we are deciding to go. Well if I left on the 9:15, and got back at 1:25, that would work, I guess even if our usual lazy Sunday got cut very very very short. maybe that is what I 'll do. FML.

I think I really screwed the pooch. Maybe. Screw fixing problems.

I started reading CD Payne's Youth In Revolt. Its not so bad so far, but I keep trying not to picture Michael Cera reading the book to me. I keep failing miserably.

Hangovers and by proxy, hang ups.

Oh the longest beach in the world was last night.

I didn't even know i had three long beaches. This led to me loudly lamenting what a bonkers-ass thanksgiving I had and the delivery of strange looks from strangers.

Last call was at 12:30.

I am now buzzing on legal speed. I am not sick anymore and now this is purely for dietary consumption. It feels great, and has mostly eliminated my headache. Or maybe that's the water. My eye has attempted to escape my head and i feel like I can literally shoot lasers out of it.

One cig + one pill = good to go.

People are coughing near me though and my inner germaphobe wants to just run all about the lab with the recently acquired sanitizing products. I am doing my very best not to gag openly.

I am cutting all my hair off. I am through looking ordinary. Today is a day for dying. Not death, but dye.

But of course this is the one day this week, everybody wants a piece of me.

I am through with Kalamazoo. I am through with not knowing what I want.

I know I want school, but the finances are astronomical and my grades are pathetic, and I don't know who would say that I am skilled beyond who I am, who I was, on paper.

Right now nothing sounds more appealing than some okay 9-5 job and classes at The Second City. Right now I think I could be a stand up comic. My life is just one really bad joke that only God and I seem to find funny.

Let's go.