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.