Wednesday, December 28, 2011

A Hiatus from blogging, and also regular life

Judging space, should you require it:
                                                                                                             
                                                                                                                 
                                                                                                                 


Because I'm a slacker blogger, that's why. Update whirlwind: Finals are over and I survived, like a champion. I had bags under my eyes. I was exhausted. I had a lot left to do. But I was a champion cause I took all those tests and worked all those shifts and wrote all those papers and I didn't even overdose on caffeine and the week contained only minimal amounts of internal author arguments and only one meltdown, and that was in Hobby Lobby and had nothing to do with studying.

So. Notable Holiday Break Occurrences thus Far: (which I reserve the right to blog further about)
- Sleepovers with my nieces and nephew. Also, staying up til three in the morning talking to my sister who I haven't seen in four months. Playing peekaboo and catching children as they jump from the stairs and making cookies and doing hair and tucking in to bed and changing diapers and snuggling to my heart content! I think God made me the youngest sibling because he knew I needed to be an Aunty.

- Going back to work at my old job. Exciting things happened, aka the "Christmas Party" where we all piled into one car and drove to Provo and ate ice cream, followed by some harrowing experiences. (The jury is still out as to whether this subject is internet appropriate. More to follow, maybe.)

-Impromptu drives to Provo with my father where we wandered around the mall eating pretzels and I told him of my ambition to someday own a Prada handbag. Or Marc Jacobs. This is a desire I am kind of ashamed of, because I don't believe in spending thousands of dollars on extraneous purses when there are children starving in Africa. But a girl can dream, both for better systems of goods distribution worldwide as a solution to malnutrition and also of really pretty accessories.

- Christmas shopping with Justin, at which time we drank Japanese sodas and ate a candy bar made of milk chocolate and bacon. It was really odd. Also, it continues to amuse me every time people think we are a couple. Aka, the girl at Kinkos asked her coworker if she had helped "the couple over there". Also, when Justin left me alone in the line at World Market, the man behind me started talking about Japanese soda flavors, only he moved way closer than necessary or comfortable. And then Justin came back and he turned around and moved away very quickly. Ha! He is a good repeller for unwanted pursuers. Not just for region dances anymore!

- Taylorsville's Christmas concert! I was very pleasantly surprised to find that I actually remembered the whole Hallelujah Chorus, and also that I can still sing those notes. Who knew! Love that. I think that Taylorsville's stage will always be one of my happy places, and there is something about standing on that top riser next to Jessica singing high A's that fills my soul in a way no other thing can. Oh, Choir! How I miss you!

- Christmas Day! Going to the Golden Living Branch with my whole family and singing for all the residents at sacrament meeting. I love singing there, be it young women's groups, graces, or madrigals. I like it best with my family. Faking the alto line with Rose was great fun. "We'll just wing it. If we get it right, it will be a Christmas miracle!"

As for the blogging hiatus, it will probably continue following this cop out post. In lieu of blogging, I shall be reveling in the short lived opportunities for interaction with people here in the 801. No promises until the second week in January. And then I will whip out some stuff about the wonderfullness that is life, and maybe delve into some deep thought.

P.S. I find that life, and blogging, sometimes resembles a "CalvinandHobbesian" balance between the pure and active pursuit of joy found in things like Calvinball and Spaceman spiff fantasies and the deeply existential and personally challenging social commentary presented through the eyes of this six year old genius and his pet tiger. Aka, when do you know when to take a break from experiencing and blog about the experiences? Or maybe a better question is when do you stop reporting the experiences and start analyzing them? Just. If I ever start posting recipes of what I made my husband for dinner with step by step pictures accompanied by no intelligent thought, will someone please tell me to get a life? And now that we are way off the beaten track and it is one a.m...... continue hiatus!

P.S. For a good example of such a fragile "CalvinandHobbesian" balance, go here. This is my friend Brogan. He blogs. Rather brilliantly. Feast.

Sunday, December 11, 2011

Disclaimer

I can't be witty. I can't be insightful. I can't even be cheerful. There's nothing left. The one thing I want to say is that I went to Relief Society today and we had a lesson on the judgment day, during which we talked a lot about finals week and how it is kind of eerie how the two are sort of the same thing.

Hence, the last thing I have left inside me, standing here on the brink of the semi-annual week of brutality, is a sheer muscle aching teeth grinding will to survive until 1:20 on Friday. From here on out, that does not include blogging.

So basically, this is goodbye. I'll see you on the other side.

Monday, December 5, 2011

Wonky Occurences in the Workplace

More listmaking. Buckle up.

- My alarms decided not to go off this morning. Thus, I woke up at 6:30. You know, the exact time I am supposed to be at work. But that's okay, cause I ran all the way there and was clocked in at 6:38. Did anybody even notice I was late? Not so much. Score.

- Not only did my supervisor not care about this little punctuality hiccup, he asked my boss to give me more hours on his shifts and she said sure cause they like me. Score! More hours agenda taken care of.

- Tonight at work, I was serving food like normal, and I asked this guy in line what I could get for him, right? Then there was this awkward moment when I thought he said "Can I have you?" Pretty sure he meant food, but then he blushed, so maybe he really said you? So that was uncomfortable and stuff.

- One of my supervisors asked me how my dating life was going. And then he told me that I don't have a boyfriend cause my facebook posts are boring. And then at the end of the night he told me to go home and find a boyfriend. Uhh...how do you say....

I like my job. Never a dull moment.

This is the part I call Frantic Oragnization

Guys. It is midnight. And I have spent the past hour making lists and planning every possible thing in my life from here until Christmas. I made a list of all the stuff I need to print, and one of all the stuff I have to do tomorrow specifically, and a list of all the reading I have to do, and The Final List (finals week desperation-style), and posted them on my computer, two different spots on my walls, and in my folder. A copy is going in my planner, too.

Aka. It is late and I am stressed and OCD has stopped making house calls and set up residence until further notice. Here we are, fresh on dead week. This is the semi-annual week marked by obsessive bed-making, sticky notes, frantic folder clean out sessions, freakish efforts to tear out every leftover strip of paper from all the torn out pages in every one of my notebooks.

At this moment, I am fighting for deep breaths. Which is all the more painful because of my lung debilitating hacking cough. The whole day has been a struggle between feelings of suffocation and pain, which is now involved in basic bodily functions like breathing. I have been going to my happy place. Literally as well as figuratively, I suppose. I did have Lit History class today.*

This state of things is, alas, further evidence ( as if my high school schedule wasn't enough) that I am a masochistic human being. Aka, this sounds like a bad day to most people, but really it was a good one. Why is that? Desperate late night organization and homework and resume writing and list making somehow makes me feel quite accomplished. I don't know if that is healthy.

Therapy? I think so.

* For reals. Lit History class is my happy place. 

Friday, December 2, 2011

Questions, concerns, emotional outbursts?

C. Emotional Outburst.

Aka this has been a great week and it is culminating here on this lovely Friday afternoon of the best freaking day I've ever lived!

When I came home from Thanksgiving and had three more weeks of school staring me in the face, I though I might die from the very sight. And the thought of all those papers I had to write rearing its ugly head made me nauseous. And then the best week of the whole semester ensued, characterized by the following epicness:


 Diet Coke, obviously.
Watching NCIS
frantically puttying the holes in the wall and reattatching my headboard and stowing contraband items in my trunk in anticipation of cleaning checks
paying rent. by myself. 
Dracula, obviously.
Singing in the dishroom at work. Loud.
cleaning out my desk and closet at 3 a.m.
obnoxious awkward hands contests in the middle of class
doing homework with Shane and Stephanie
bribing myself with noodles if I will do my homework
getting a christmas tree in the living room
writing papers on campus in the wee hours of the morning
my professor telling me that my paper is perfect (snap. victory. happy hyperventilating)
getting mail!
getting mail with pictures my nieces drew for me that I am going to hang on my ceiling
skipping shamelessly through campus in celebration of such fabulous events

All these things, coupled with wishing over railroad tracks and sliding down railings, are the kind of things that make life dang good. There isn't even a word blissful enough to describe my mood right now. 

But this song comes close:

Also, I want to learn to play the guitar. That is the sound of sunshine.

word.

Wednesday, November 30, 2011

You know it is Week 14 when...

-Half your lit analysis class converges simultaneously on the computer lab an hour before the final  paper is due.
- Actual studying mixed with the sound of furious typing has replaced the sleepers in the library.
-You are carting around every textbook you own, cause you need all of them every day. For reals.
- Your jump drive runs out of room for the first time ever.  
- Instead of avoiding homework with TV, you avoid your most foreboding homework with the least objectionable homework.

And the best of all:
- Your professor says things like, "Obvious answers are the only thing holding the world together right now!", possibly while banging his fists against his forehead.

In other news:
Some weird stuff happened today.
#1 I was trying to escape the maze of desks in Shakespeare class when I somehow fell into a desk and onto the floor at the same time. The whole class stopped talking and watched my fatigue/embarrassment induced laughing fit whilst I lay on the floor tangled in the bars.

#2 I came home from class to find CJ in my room, making my bed. That's right, that one boy who lives in the apartment over there. wonky.

Monday, November 28, 2011

Thought Bubble

 Sitting complacent on her college bed raised on cinder blocks is a girl contemplating all the events of the day. Possible thought bubbles, including but not limited to (moose lake. please erin say you got that please):

-Why, oh why, does Internet Explorer still exist, when Firefox is obviously superior in every way?
-Why does my vacuum spew stuff instead of the other way around? I am not buying a new bag for that thing. It's not happening.
- I can't wait for morning so I can open the window and see my tree. What did I ever do to deserve that aspen tree outside my bedroom window? I couldn't possibly have done anything that good in three lifetimes. How aesthetically pleasing.
-All the books on my top bookshelf with the matching spines from the Barnes and Noble Classics collection are a sight for sore eyes. I think I might go smell them. Geek alarm.
- Someday I'm gonna have to stop thinking about Miranda and Ferdinand in scene 2.2 and actually write a paper on them. Something about how their subplot is the only one in the whole book not concerned with themes of subtlety and conspiracy and usurpation and they are an important contrast in their singular sincerity, demonstrated in lines 42-84. Or something.  Someday before 12:20 on Wednesday.
 -I finished Dracula today as I was walking home from school. It was the best walk home I ever had, and I probably should have paid attention to the muddy terrain instead of Mina Harker's scintillating story. But that's okay. Mud comes off.
- I hope Collin finishes Catching Fire soon. I want to talk to him about it. He seemed to think 70 pages was a big deal for one night. Is that real? Whose reading speed is skewed, mine or his? 
- Sometimes, Shakespeare writes weird stuff. Like Cymbeline. Did you know Cymbeline is the King in that story? Is it just me, or is Cymbeline kind of a girl name? Cue McCuskey in my head, talking about the instability and arbitrary nature of language and how Shakespeare is the precursor to Humpty Dumpty, making up words and saying they mean stuff. He is laughing in his grave right now, gleefully considering the thousands of students trying to figure out what all that stuff means. Kind of like Lewis Carrol and his precious Jabberwocky.
- You know what a vorpal blade is? Me neither. Cause it isn't even a thing.
- Lit analysis is so different from real life analysis. For example: Bram Stoker characterizes Jonathan Harker so as to make us think he is a schmuck. I see this. I laugh at the satire, at the cleverness of an Irishman poking fun at British Imperialism using subtle descriptions of train schedules and paprika chicken, and it is funny. But in real life, I think I would like Jonathan Harker. I might even respect him. Oh, education. How irrelevant you are to real life, at times.
- That turned into some really long thought bubbles, all leading back to literature. There is a distinct possibility I am an English Major and it is two weeks until finals.
- I think I'm gonna go analyze some Shakespeare now.

Word.

Sunday, November 27, 2011

Champion

Last year at good old Pineview, I picked up a lot of phrases from Katie the roommate of the century. And I still use them, out of habit and also love. One of these was "Champion". We call each other champions, we call ourselves champions, sometimes sarcastically but mostly when we've done something awesome.

 So today, I found a new blog. (I always get so excited when I find a new blog. It's one of my favorite things. I've been adding some to my sidebar.  Take a peek at the wonderfulness there.)  And in reading this blog, I found a phrase that made me think about this champion habit.
"It's the hard days that make you a champion." (stolen from someone named Molly who I don't know)

Truth. It is the hard days that make you a champion. And I think I figured something out. Even though I always wait with bated breath for the weekends and especially the weekends when I get to go home, a life full of weekends would suck. Happiness can't come from a life filled with self-indulgence. The things that make you a Champion are the times you tell yourself "no", and the times you make yourself read just one more chapter or write just one more paper or smile at just one more person or go to the freaking gym even though you are cold and soggy and there are friends reruns on.  Champion status is gained through eternal perspective, and the realization that who you are tomorrow is directly dependent on who you are today.

This reminder is well-timed, due to the approaching blow to sanity also knows as finals week. There are three weeks left in the semester.This week I have a final paper due in every class, a bunch of books to read, a schedule to work out for next semester, and a whole heap of work to do.

Goal. Make it through the hard days, and do it with a smile. Remind myself that I chose to be an English major, and that means that I do not get to complain about the seventeen pages of researched arguments due this Friday. Because I volunteered. And dilligence always counts for something. No matter how inadequate I feel, I am equal to the task. And when this semester is over and I come out fighting and triumphant, I will be a champion. A champion with bags under her eyes and a whole bunch of stuff left to do, but a champion nonetheless.

Friday, November 25, 2011

Black plague uh I mean Friday

And people say that Christmas is overcommercialized and materialistic. Rubbish, I say. Thanksgiving has it trumped! aka I went black Friday shopping for my first time this year and all I have to say is my siblings are real lucky that dad and I love them enough to brave the dangerous grounds of Wal-Mart.

p.s. The longer I live the more I think that Wal-Mart is an excellent sample of the progress or deterioration of society as we know it. Today was no exception. That is all.

Tuesday, November 22, 2011

Celebrating Mental Illness since 1926

This gives me hope for my own quirks and neuroticism. If these guys can pull it off and still be a treasured piece of childhood for the majority of the U.S. population, there is hope for us all.

Obsessive. Compulsive. Dilemma.

If only I was as cool as Monk and my D could stand for detective. But, in fulfilling the pop culture requirement which makes the D stand for a word that is not Disorder, Dilemma is quite appropriate.


I am sure you all know that I am an OCD person. A lot.

For example. You know that commercial for Lowe's or whatever where the family goes into their house and then the entire house comes apart piece by piece? I don't know why that's okay. At least they try to fix it when the house gets put back together at the end, I guess. but in the meantime, I cringe and cover my eyes and try to control my blood pressure while Stephanie laughs at me. 

I try to control it, or at least not let it control me. And sometimes I do pretty well, and I can handle the loose ends of this world which I am sure are sent merely to increase my blood pressure. But there are, after all, multiple solutions. And sometimes "handle" means "submit". Although, in favor off the more positive connotation, I like to call it "embrace".

embracing can be healthy right? my doctor told me that OCD people make the best doctors.
A good example of the OCD embracing is my neurotic pre-bed routine, which includes:

(in a very specific order)

-folding all laundry which has gradually been strewn about my half of the room through the course of the days activities.
- Choosing pajamas and carefully matching my socks to said pajamas. Not to each other, necessarily, but always to the pajamas.
- Pack my backpack with every possible necessary item for tomorrow's classes. Depending on the day, this can also include cleaning out my binder and sorting hair ties and chapsticks into separate pockets based on size and predicted use.
- Center my computer carefully on the desk. Dust off the picture frames.
- Go through my desk drawers, neatening as necessary.
- Strip all bedding off and remake the bed, which is necessary on a daily basis because my sheet only has elastic on one end. Does it rip off every night and drive me crazy? Absofreakinlutely.
- Select and fold tomorrow's clothes carefully.
- Sit at my computer and type out a to do list for the next day. This is absolutely essential in order to achieve any semblance of productivity. 
- read scriptures and set my three alarms, potentially triple checking, depending on how terrified I am that I won't wake up. Which only happened once, but still.

I have this rule for myself called "on nights when I have to be at work at six thirty the next morning, I must be in bed by one a.m." So basically, I make my bed every night at 12:45, even if I already did it.
And that is weird.

It isn't always this bad. But sometimes it is worse. Cause here's the thing. My OCD struggle increases in direct proportion to my stress level.  Aka, if I have to speak to my Shakespeare professor one on one any more, I will be back to vacuuming and pre-applying toothpaste before I go to bed. Which has happened. It always kicks in in the middle of the night when no one is gonna bother me. I'm pretty sure I drove my parents crazy in high school when, as the only alternative to an emotional breakdown, I would clean in the middle of the night. Once I was so upset and stressed that I vacuumed my blinds, did three loads of laundry, dusted my bookshelves and book spines, and cleaned out all the cupboards in my bathroom at two in the morning.

I can't decide if I need some serious help or if this productive-upset thing is really good for finals week. I just don't know. What do you think?

Really. Help me.

Monday, November 21, 2011

I WANNA GO!

(name that Thanksgiving episode of Friends for sixteen points)

We are almost to Thanksgiving break, and I am starting to crack. At work tonight we were serving Thanksgiving food, which was real delicious and also some sick joke to torture me.  I just want to be done writing papers and researching Vampire lore and analyzing those terrible sonnets and reading endless pages of Shakespeare Quarterly. I will explode into a thousand pieces if I don't get out of Logan and play with my family soon. I am currently experiencing an intense need to take Matthew to see the horses, and make dad hug me whether he wants to or not, and sing with Justin, and  have mom yell at me to leave the kitchen on thanksgiving, and have sleepovers with Bekah, and breathe the fog free air of home once more.

Maybe if I stop watching all the Thanksgiving reruns of Friends, I won't feel so desperate for sweet potatoes and cranberry sauce.

Only one more class and one more shift to go. And then I can blow this Popsicle stand. I think I can, I think I  can, I think I can....

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

In which I tell a lot of inside jokes

When life gets a little crazy, I read romance novels, and drink a whole lot of juice, and have hour long phone conversations and vent to my brother and ignore texts from that one boy who should read the break up rules and not text me three hours later, and avoid my boss who knows way too much about my life at the moment, and break down and get a cake in a cup on my way home from school out of sheer starvation/depression.

And then I tell myself to be a big kid and go to class. And sometimes, on days like today, being a big kid and going to class pays off. Because my professor is so awesome that in a class titled British Literary History of the Nineteenth Century, I actually laughed so hard I couldn't breathe. I basked in the literary genius that spouts from that man's mouth. And then I wrote down a bunch of class inside jokes that were just newly born. And, so you all can be jealous of my trash kicking english education/ literary inside joke indoctrination, I am going to post them. Laugh hard.

(Disclaimer: All of this will be a lot funnier if you read Lewis Carrol and Oscar Wilde. Which is something you should probably do anyway. ahem.)

" And that is the part when I realize he is mocking me, two hundred years in the future."

"And that's how I know that Lewis Carrol hates us all, especially me. Cause let's face it, its my job to be the biggest head Humpty Dumpty."

"See Mean Girls and see Babe. Those two movies together teach you everything you need to know about idiology and social structure! We shouldn't even be having class. Seriously."

" So, Humpty Dumpty is Regina George."

It's official. I am making my professor a Christmas present. AKA a t shirt that says Regina George on one side and "That's so fetch!" on the other.

To sum up: We have now begun to study Oscar Wilde and the Aesthetic movement. And laughing hard. AKA McCuskey is bringing muffins to class on Friday and we are learning the art of Bunburying.  Also, please take 32467890 points if you know about Bunburying.

(Speaking of Oscar Wilde, shout out to Nate and good old Tville Theater. "Shut up, Jackie, I'm trying to have a tea party!")

Sunday, November 6, 2011

Love/Hate

Remember how I have conversations with my favorite authors in my head? (Remember how that is kind of schizophrenic? Shut up!) All my literary conversating of late has been exchanged with none other than the man himself. That's right. The Bard is my new brain companion.

The thing about Shakespeare is that he is brilliant and also headache inducing. So I'm taking a class on him, and there are times when I am astounded by the brilliance of this man, like when I read the Crispian day speech from Henry V, or when I wish that Elsinore was real so I could go beg Horatio to marry me, or when I wish I was as clever and quick-witted as Beatrice. And then there are the times when I think I will put a fork in my eye* if I have to read any more footnotes and search for any more nature imagery because apparently "that is most often a significant move to represent the emotional state of the characters" or something.

Thankfully, I go to other classes too. Which means that in between Shakespeare plays I get to argue and analyze with Chopin, and Tennyson, and the Brownings, and Christina Rosetti ( who is a whole new barrel of unhealthy, by the way). And I can do all sorts of literature besides Shakespeare! My brain can rest! I can stop thinking about Caliban and trying to decide if I hate him or Prospero more!

But wait. Next week the Actors from the London Stage are coming to campus to perform The Tempest. I am required to go see it. In multiple classes. And the actors themselves are coming to do workshops on The Tempest in not just my Shakespeare class, but all of my English classes. And we are doing a bunch of assignments on The Tempest. Plural. Multiple. In every class. That's right. ALL OF THEM!

I love him. I love him. I will die if this class doesn't end soon, but I love him.
This might sound too forced to be convincing, huh? 

Also, I started another phase of  "I will drink less diet coke and be healthy." That may have been a badly timed effort, here in the yuckiest part of the semester, hence the increase of author schizophrenia.

* Parrish supporters, this one's for the good old days of fenestration and nefarious prevarication.

Thursday, November 3, 2011

The sun is shining! The tank is clean!

Today is the best day ever. I take it back, this whole week is the best week ever.
Things are going way better than I planned.
On Monday I wrote a paper from start to finish in an hour and ten minutes and I was pretty sure it sucked. And then I went to meet with my professor about it today and he told me how great my thesis was and how I picked a really good passage to explicate and we had this conversation about Kate Chopin and the purpose of literature and the uses of ambiguity in narration and it was stuffed full of existentialism. And we all know how much I love existentialism.
I talked to my year old niece on the phone and she made cute noises and tried talking to me and then hung up on me cause " pressing buttons is her favorite pastime!" I miss those girls. I really hope she remembers who I am when they come visit.
It is autumn. Which is my second favorite season. Aka, I have been crunching in the leaves and loving life. Every day I walk to class and people diverge around the tree lined way and use the sidewalks instead and I walk right through the middle of it and wonder, "What are all these party poopers doing, walking on cement?"


Good stuff is going on around here. On a scale of Rascal Flatts to B.O.B., I am falling somewhere in the region of Sean Kingston. And that is pretty good, folks.

Wednesday, October 19, 2011

First of all, Logan is bipolar. I didn't even wear long pants for like a month after I moved back here. It was heaven. People blasted music outside the TSC and I skipped home in my barefeet, flip flops in hand, humming in the sunshine and wishing I hadn't left my aviators at my sister's house in salt lake like the spaz that I am...

And then, in like 20 minutes, Logan froze over and got all slushy and soggy and gross, and also windy. In short, "butt-snappin cold!" blowing in your face quite rudely. Pretty sure I didn't wear dry pants for a few days in a row.

And then I guess Hell got jealous and melted Logan out of its frozen wasteland state. And it was warn again for a bit. Heck, I was out running with Steph the other day and it was actually hot.

Now Logan has reached a golden goal. Manic and Depressive have given up and ceded to calm autumnal weather. The trees are turning golden, it's not too hot, not too cold, all you need is a light jacket! (go miss congeniality. woot.)

My sister Erin was telling me about Libby's fieldtrip to a pumpkin patch tommorrow! And I told her that all I wanted to do was buy a bouquet of sharpened pencils!* And then I was walking home, joyfully massaging my hand cramp away in the wake of my last furious hour of midterm writing in the complacent knowledge that midterms are done, and I don't have to go back to class for four whole days. And I was walking in the crunching leaves and little flyaway seeds blowing off the trees and the whole world had this nutty delicious flavor hanging about. 

this is why I live in Logan. Cause when it stops being bipolar, it compensates unstintingly.

also, tonight was Oktoberfest at work, and I ate potato pancakes and drank apple beer. Doesn't get much better than that.

* You've got mail. Don't you just love New York in the fall?

Thursday, October 13, 2011

real mature!

Sometimes, I get frustrated with people who don't give a crap about anybody. Cause if you don't care about anybody, what the heck are you here for? I especially get frustrated when people stop caring even though they used to. If you don't care, just say that. Don't string me along with flowers, chocolates, or promises you don't intend to keep. Cause I am a little worse for the wear at this point and I'd like to preserve some shred of self-respect.

You know the principle of least interest? aka, whoever has the least interest in the situation holds all the power, because they determine what level of relationship actually happens. Here's my beef with that. It has been a good long while since I have been the one on the least interested side of that equation. I feel like all the time I want so much to have good relationships with people who just don't care that much about me, even if they say they do. Minus the family. They are wonderful. But most of my other relationships include a whole lot of me waiting for the other party to contribute.

It wasn't always like that. What does that say about me? Maybe I just have really awful self-esteem and thus surrender the power in all of my relationships subconciously. Just once, can I not be the one who takes whatever you feel like giving me? Better yet, could there not be a power play? Can I go back to the days where my friendships included two halves of a loving, caring, "I really enjoy spending time with you" sort of a relationship? I miss feeling like an equal.

I don't want to play anymore. That is all. 

Sunday, October 9, 2011

because I'm sick, and also a night owl

It is 12:34 a.m. Make a wish and do it quick because this is the magic time of night when suddenly my brain comes alive. (usually with some help from a caffienated beverage)

So here's my life. I have this paper due tomorrow. It is comparing and contrasting Shelley and Tennyson and their views of social and gender roles in the nineteenth century as characterized in Frankenstein and The Lady of Shalott. Which I am all over! I have buttloads of things to spout about this, cause that's the kind of freak I am. But I am having a little difficultly organizing this into an essay instead of something I just spouted through my excited fingers.  There are several reasons for this.

1. McCuskey keeps telling us he wants a stream of conciousness, and also an organized essay. Maybe he doesn't understand cause he is a man, but in my book those two things are the definition of antithetical.  Organization and my stream of conciousness aren't friends. They aren't acquaintances. They don't nod as they pass each other on the quad. If they acknowledge each other at all, it is with thumb- biting and dirty looks.*

2. I have been working on this thing all weekend. Also, I have a nasty cold. My face might explode any second. Also, I kept sneezing on my keyboard while I typed, so then I had to stop and get Clorox wipes. Very counterproductive. Those things overlapped, which means that two miserable things are compounded into something resembling a machete and a pair of pliers.**

3. Lots of exciting stuff happened around here this weekend and I got kind of distractified. We had family dinner and cleaning parties and surprise birthday parties and sleepovers and movie nights and deep conversations at 2 thirty in the morning when I should have been sleeping and boys sneaking into our apartment  in the middle of the night and creeping us out and then it was just greg so it was fine and not a rapist like Katie was afraid of and resetting the internet six times before it would finally work. Anyway. Lots of stuff.

So here's me. I am blogging when I should be finishing my essay and wishing I was dead instead of dealing with feeling this crappy and trying to ignore the fact that I have to be at work in five hours and I haven't even gone to sleep yet.

I just used a lot of really bad grammar and run on sentences.

That's the thing that seems like the biggest problem to me in all of this post.

I need help.



* Sixteen points if you got all the Shakespeare stuffed in there.
** Five points if you got the J-Lo movie. I am on fire with the media references!

Wednesday, October 5, 2011

This may have something to do with all the Diet Coke

My life consists of some hardcore awesomeness. Which I am concious of on most days, but I just got an extra shot of dopamine when I turned my car on and the radio was playing the same song I was humming and decided I had to share my joy with the internet.

 Hence, some recent awesomeness:

  • The Script. I love them. Also Matt Kearney and Barenaked Ladies. 
  • Going to choir concerts full of Broadway (wherein my lovely roommate was the absolute most talented one of the bunch. obviously.)
  • More of The Script. Seeing as how it just came on the radio again.
  • College apartment pranking. Aka all our forks got slowly stolen. ( So we maybe broke into the boys apartment and stole all of their forks back. Yes. Even the dirty ones from the dishwasher. Absolutely we are champions.) 
  • My bosses are divvying up employees between the junction and the new Fine Arts Cafe. And they have been fighting over me. Score.
  • Star Wars demotivational posters. Because U.S. Institutions is just too boring and Shane always brings his laptop. We get distractified. 
  • Bridal shower for Kate who is getting married quick. I miss that woman a whole heap.
  • Playing with Matthew and skyping with the Fig Newtons way over there across the country. 
  • Daddy has dubbed me with a new nickname. Seeing as how Erin moved, she is now East coast Trouble and I have been promoted to West Coast Trouble. Snap!
  • Shameless flirting with that boy from work. I'm enjoying that. 
  • The wonderfulness that is Kate Chopin and the Brownings, Mr. and Mrs. 
See, I noticed something. Backstory. Go.
I show up to work at six freaking thirty in the morning. And the standard greeting is "How are you?" And, to prevent teary meltdowns because I'm so tired, I decided to always answer with excessive enthusiasm so that people don't think I am a freak who cries when I am tired.
What I have noticed is that you can only fake excessive enthusiasm for so long before it stops being fake. So now when I see Gary and Katie in the mornings I can be enthused and it is not lying through my teeth.

Success!!! (or, as Gabe says, susex!)

Monday, September 26, 2011

Don't ever bring your purple belt to work, because someone might steal it.

Once upon a time last week, the new season of  The Office began. And while I do think it's only a matter of time before the whole thing flops without Michael Scott, I very eagerly participated in this joyous occasion, not only watching the new episode but my favorite old clips as well. And in this roundabout way, after I watched the one with Dwight's purple belt, I began to think about advice.

What I think is this. I have a lot of problems that I have no idea how to solve, and a lot of things about myself that I don't know how to fix. And the funny part is that I have all the right answers in theory. But I am beginning to realize through a painful process that most things in life are much easier said than done. Infinitely easier said than done. Thus, a lot of problems with half-solutions, because really, some of the solutions are problems too.

Like the whole problem with making friends in college. I have never had a hard time making friends, and I have never felt super left out. What I have realized, though, is that I was always really intensely involved in a group setting when I was the happiest. But here in college, everything is so dang individualized. I can't find a group where I can do some good work. I can trace all the best times of my life through the groups I have belonged to. Magnet program, Academic Team, Journalism, Graces, Spotlights, Production staff, Madrigals, Brighton staffers, the M*A*S*H club at work, you get the drift. I need to produce in collaboration for the sake of my own sanity and I just can't find it here.

So because I have this problem, I also have a really hard time making friends. Which is a problem, because all my close friends throughout the years now live in different  cities, states, and countries. There is a lot of good stuff going on in my life. I am functional and productive, and goal-reaching, and also the loneliest I've ever been. The logical answer to this would be: find a group, get involved, go meet people, be outgoing, organize outings, etc.

This is another one of those bits of advice I give myself every day. I have the advice. I have the answer. But the execution is a little elusive.  I want to dominate the office so bad, but Jim Halpert keeps getting in my way, and Michael won't recommend me for his replacement. I feel like somebody stole my purple belt. I am knocked out of my element and straight into some limbo called college. Really, it's not so bad. I am comfortable here. I have a favorite chair on the fourth floor of the library, and people I pass every day on my way up the hill. I habitually trip on the stairs outside Ray B. West, and I know all the spots to avoid because the sprinklers make the grass soggy. But I do all that stuff by myself most of the time, and that is not what I am used to. I don't want to be Dwight anymore.  I need a place, and I need my purple belt back.

Thursday, September 22, 2011

This is why I'm an English major.

So I was reading The Merchant of Venice. And mostly it is a play about a whole heap of people who are spiteful and vindictive, which explains why this caught me by surprise. There I was, slugging through.

Spite. Vindictiveness. Controlling sexism. Thievery. Threats. More Spite. Shamless manipulation.

....look how the floor of heaven is thick inlaid with patens of bright gold.....

more manipulation. more lying. wait a second. go back.

look how the floor of heaven is thick inlaid with patens of bright gold.

seriously. look. sheesh. oh shakespeare. champion. That made the whole stupid book worth it. That one sentence. I am speechless. (read: ceding to shameless use of poor grammar, lack of punctuation, and incomplete sentence structure.)

No idea what job I'll ever get, but I am satisfied nevertheless with my pursuit of literary studies.

grawrgrrrrsheeshgrawr

That was an unintentional hiatus. For the two people who read this and care, my sincerest apologies. I have just emerged from an epic battle wherin the gods of blogging, internet, and email all ganged up and decided to make me want to drive to Hoover dam and jump off.

What is equally frustrating is that I am not entirely sure if the war is over, but as long as we are talking strictly battle time, I won. Blogger will once again acknowledge that I am the author of this blog.

BAM. ROASTED. *

So here I am. I haven't written anything in nine years. So I might be playing catch up for a while. Cause while I was not blogging, I was doing other stuff, most of which was great, some of which sucked a whole lot. But mostly not, cause I have aspen trees outside my window, so really, life can never such that much.

kay. catching up will happen someday. maybe.

* I don't care that the real version is boom roasted. eat it.

Saturday, September 10, 2011

If I could just make it come out of my freaking fingers!

This writing in my sleep thing is driving me crazy. It was bad this summer, and then I came back to school. Now I spend all my time explaining why William Blake used an iambic meter pattern on that one line even though the rest of the poem is in trochee, arguing over the anti-Semitic aspects of Shakespeare, and hashing out dysfunctional family relations in nineteenth century western culture identified through the lenses of Shelley, Godwin, and Wollstonecraft.

Long story short, I spend a huge hunk of time reading the magnificent compositions of people who are a lot more talented than I am, and suddenly the sleep writing has jumped into hyperdrive. (and astro-turf!)

Which is great, except that it makes writing in a cognizant state that much more difficult, because apparently, I can't write on that level whilst awake. It's like Bob Ross and painting. It never comes out of my fingers the way it looks in my head. It's kind of like the difference between botanical gardens and a shrubby chrysanthemum. Which is only more frustrating now because I know it's in there, floating around in my subconcious.

On that note, back to Frankenstein. 
P.S. I'm so tired of Victor. No wonder his family didn't complain when he took off for college and didn't write or call for six years. I'll be glad to get rid of him too.

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

The horse may be dead already, but whatever.

Once upon a time last year, we decided that Sarah was the devil on everybody's shoulder, and Ruthie was the angel urging us to give blood and kiss babies. The two have been shouting at me all week. Because. 

It happened, folks. My new job is great, aka I now have unlimited access to a coke machine. 

All I really have to say about it is that this year will be an enormous exercise in self control and making myself listen to Ruthie, possibly with high dives off the wagon to visit Sarah during finals weeks.

In other news, my reading load is insane this semester. I have seventy pages of Frankenstien, a constitution, some Articles of Confederation, ten pages about sixteenth century theatre laws, and some serious poetry analyzation due tomorrow.

aka, bye.

Sunday, August 21, 2011

Once I heard a story about a musician who dreamed music and would write it all down when he woke. I always envied that kind of creativity, cause I just can't do it. And then this summer, I started dream writing. I remember thinking, in that place somewhere between sleep and awake, that I was writing prose in my sleep, and I remember thinking, with some measure of pleasant surprise, that this stuff was better than anything I've ever written whilst awake.

And then comes the dreadful feeling of knowing that the God given hour of creation I've been granted will slip away when I wake up. I wrestle there within my own mind, wanting desperately to just wake up and write it all down before it disappears, but knowing that if I wake up it will stop.

And then it stopped for a while, and I slept peacefully, not worrying about the mental wrestling matches that exhaust me. The prose writer inside my sleep cycles had surrendered. And then the poetry writer woke up.

That's right. I've started dreaming in poetry.

I don't know if I can handle it. This morning I woke up and laid in bed for a while, trying to remember. Nothing came. Have you seen Dragonheart? I feel like Brother Gilbert, who, seized by a moment of inspiration, spouts epic poetry. Then, as the moment ends, he returns to his senses and shouts,
"That was good! What did I say? What did I say?"

I'm stuck on the cusp of wonderland, and I might be going mad.



Thursday, August 18, 2011

guys. i fell off the planet.

I realized today that I have been all caught up in taking care of my life that I haven't even thought about the blog for forever, minus the moments when my sister tells me I need to blog more, or my dad starts sticking his face in my neck and tells me not to post personal things on the internet.  ( what I can't figure out is how he made it through nineteen years as my father and didn't know that about me until I put it on my blog.)

So update time, and then I'll start thinking about blogging material again.

- In a week my whole life is moving to Logan. I'm moving into my new apartment, starting my new job, going to all new classes, buying new books, aka a whole heap of the greatness that is Shakespeare. And then I will cozy down in my old chair in the library and read Cymbelline.

- Erin and Ben moved and took the children with them. And it's great and they are all excited about starting school, be it Kindergarten or PhD. In the meantime, I took Matthew to the Children's museum at Gateway today and wished Libby was there so I could break up fights, and ached for Emma Lemon to crawl around in the balls so she could scream at me when I took them out of her mouth. Matthew is entirely too well behaved when he is on his own. It's more exciting when I have to referee ahem break up the ring matches. It's all worth it cause they kiss each other goodbye when the fighting is over.

- I have a car now! Ben and Erin are nice and left their silver car with me when they moved across the country. And I named him Jedediah and got car insurance and reset the presets and everything.
("Car insurance, huh? You're being a real grown up!")  So when I move next week, I can just shove all my stuff in my car and go for it! Freedom!

-  Also, I can't decide if I should keep dyeing my hair red or not. Also, I don't know what haircut to get. In short, it's a dumb girls dilemma. I'm rather ashamed of the fact that these hair options have taken up any significant portion of my attention. But they have, and they probably still will. What do you think, internet? Red or brown, short or long, bangs or no, a line or straight? (Help. Please?)

- Also, I want a diet coke. That is all.









Tuesday, August 2, 2011

Sheesh. SHEESH!

Things are happening around here. Every aspect of my life is currently visiting the Oprah show getting a flash makeover. And I feel all whirlwindish and stuff. Hence, a list.

- Herbie, aka the Demon Cat sent by Satan to maul me has moved into my house. Aka I am frustrated because he is actually cute and pretends to snuggle and then.... wait, he knocks lamps down on my face and mashes my ceramic things to smithereens and knocks everything off my bulletin board and draws blood from my limbs, because he HATES me. And then he tries to snuggle some more.

- People are getting engaged. Which really means that Katie has been gifted a diamond and is no longer going to be my roommate. Which makes me feel all conflicted inside cause I am cheering for that marriage right there, but I am crying about the roommate deprivation that will soon occur. Ba.

- I am soon leaving my current job to start a new job. I will miss my old job and having inside jokes and being called spaz and knocking over the cheese shaker and having "how many pieces of sausage can you spear on that knife in three tries?" contests. But my new boss says they have dance parties, so I'm pretty seriously excited for that as well.

- School starts once more. Back to life in the Loganville. I have missed Logan. I am excited to move back to Logan and have a kitchen and new roommates and Taco Tuesday and the underwear tree and my chair on the fourth floor of the Library. I might even be glad to see the guy who sleeps in my chair on the fourth floor, who has been affectionately dubbed narcolepsy man.

-My brother Alex is coming home again, maybe to have a huge surgery. And then, joy of joys, he has to go back to Arizona. And that whole roadtripping to see Alex idea that I was gonna do this summer didn't really happen because college is expensive to the tenth power and I am poor. And I am grumpy that he has lived there for like four years and I haven't been there yet! (you know why? cause we're slackers. that's why.)

- The crowning glory. My sister is moving to North Carolina. Yeah! All the way across the freaking country. Which means that Erin and Ben are packing and feverishly averting disasters that come with putting your whole life in a van and dropping it into a different state. Aka, the whole fam damily is having a collective stroke. Will we recover? That remains to be seen.

- People are moving out. People are roadtripping and flying with small children and shuffling cars and shuffling jobs and buying new cars and quitting jobs and getting engaged and married and divorced and making disaster cakes*. People are getting so stressed that they start singing everything to make themselves feel better and dying from stress. Blood pressure is shooting up, and other kinds of pressure too. 

Long story short, this is where we're at:

"Wait till Erin hears that! Bloody Hell, she'll say!"

Saturday, July 16, 2011

weeell, look what time the weather is!

So today, I went to work. And I was fulfilling my normal function as a topping robot when all of a sudden, a couple shows up. They are old, probably in their seventies. And I don't pay much attention except to notice that they want a large pizza so I can go grab a crust from the walk-in. And then I came out of the walk-in.

And I noticed that this woman was not wearing a shirt.

She was wearing shorts and a sports bra. Not wearing a shirt.

Now, this fact is wrong on so many levels.
1. Bras are not meant to be worn as shirts.  They go under shirts. ( Aren't you required to know that before you turn 5?)I don't care if Ashley wore one on that one group date. It doesn't count. Put a freaking shirt on.

2. This bra was not part of a work-out ensemble. AKA she was wearing jeans, had her hair curled, and was wearing lipstick. She had obviously not come from the gym, or any place where such attire could be remotely normal. Umm, what?

3. This lady was old. And the sistas weren't looking so good, if you know what I mean. Like, she probably should have had a bra on under the bra for all the good it was doing.Cause if you just decide not to wear a shirt, you still gotta wear something that fits.

So we hurry and make her pizza, Dallas finishes ringing them up, and they leave. We are standing there, being topping robots, and I say, "Soooo...."
And Dallas replies, "Yeah. I didn't want to say anything. But I'm glad someone else noticed."
Me: "I feel wierd about that. Kind of writhing in awkwardness."
Dallas: "Yep"

I suppose it takes all kinds of exhibitionist old ladies to eat the world's supply of pizza, right?

Friday, July 15, 2011

Harry who?

normally the answer to this question is: Ron. But after that movie/end of my magical childhood, I have a new question.

Ron who? The answer is Neville.


Yeah. I can't use spoilers or anything, cause here in the blogosphere, people might send me hate mail, and I would cry. But sheesh, in case you are the one person out there who wasn't sitting in a movie theatre this morning, go see Neville. Sure, the triplets were good. But that special place in my heart for the almost squib we know and love grew about four sizes somewhere around two this morning.

Also, in celebration of a week of Potterness, I thought this was really funny.

Never judge someone by their adolescence.

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

Addendum to the Face bashing stuff

As my good friend Julie just reminded me, there is yet another face bashing incident that perhaps beats all the rest. I don't know how I left it out before. ( maybe that damage we talked about?)

There was this one time at Justin's house. I was outside and in a hurry to get inside. And there was a screen door in the way. And this was a moment when I was remarkably unobservant. And I maybe kinda smushed the screen door with my face. I still meet Justin's relatives and they say, "Aren't you the one who broke the screen with her nose?"

mmm hmmm. That'd be me.

Watch the Pupils, Folks

Most everyone who knows me could tell you that I've had my fair share of clutzy moments. I'm not exactly the Queen of Poise. In fact, as a fifth grader I was given the classroom title of "Most likely to trip on her own feet." Of course, this may have had something to do with the fact that I was five feet tall with size ten feet. I'm surprised no one called me clowny. But I digress.

A new trend has recently been drawn to my attention. Up until about half an hour ago, I was unaware that I have a certain tendency towards hitting myself in the face with hard, unyielding objects. Now, as I sit nursing the side of my head that I just smacked with the bathroom door, I realize that some of these are pretty good stories. Which leads us to a round of...

TOP FIVE HEAD BASHING INCIDENTS!

Head Basher #1.
About two days ago, I was mowing my sister's lawn, minding my own business, the usual. After emptying the bag, I headed back through the gate to the back yard to commence mowing. As I swung the gate open, I caught my temple on the metal latch sticking out.  Dumb. Dizzy. The works.

Head Basher # 2
When I was a wee child, we put sod in our backyard. Previous to this was substantial effort involving clearing and leveling the whole place. One of the last days when we were almost done, I foolishly stepped on a rake someone had left tong side up. Now this was no ordinary rake. It's heavy duty. Like, still taller than me even though its been a good fifteen years. The thing beaned me in the head pretty solidly, and I remember crying even harder when I saw the lump.  Although it probably wasn't, it seemed to be about as big as my actual head.

Head Basher # 3
Once upon a time, in a land called Taylorsville High School, there was a little passageway in between the stage and the hallway. One day, as we gathered in the Drama room to leave for a show up at the U, I remembered that I had left my bag on stage. I ran in to get it, and somehow missed Schmid, who was locking up the dressing room. When I came from the stage into this little mini-hall, it was dark and the doors were closed. But I knew where the door was, so I forged ahead recklessly. The bag and half my body made it out the door safely. The other half of my body, including my face, ran into the brick wall. There was blood. There was crying. There was humiliation. Ah, the stage!

Head Basher # 4
Once more we visit the stage at good old T-ville. It was my senior year. I was a production manager for our musical, Les Miserables, and we were all at work call one merry Saturday morning. I was in a tearing hurry on my way to the dressing room on the other side of the stage, in the midst of some project. I was sort of jogging, but also looking behind my shoulder calling a question at someone. It started with "Do you know where the gaff tape got put?" and ended on the floor feeling like someone had smacked me in the head with a 2x4. In reality, the fly rails were down while people tied backdrops up on them, and I ran into one. There was a big lump for that one, too. And it was bad enough that Justin checked my pupils every half hour the rest of the day. Cause I really am dumb enough to walk into a steel pole hanging at face level.

And last but not least, and probably best.....

Head Basher # 5!
I have a small nephew. He is adorable, and has yet to master the art of knocking. Conveniently, I have yet to master the art of locking the door. This is a deadly combination. One day, Matthew was over being babysat, and I was getting in the shower. I forgot to lock the door, and Matthew forgot to knock. So he comes in. Here I am, sans clothing. The first reflex is naturally to cover up, so I jumped in the shower as fast as I could. We have those shower doors on a track, though, the kind that come off. My desperate leap into the shower was overshot a bit, and I hit my head on the track, knocking the door off, and knocking myself out. Next thing I know, I am laying in the tub with the glass doors on top of me. My mother is standing over me crying, and Matthew  is standing over me (again, sans clothing) yelling "Aunty, that was so loud!

The thing that worries me is that these accidents all bashed the right half of my face, a fact I am increasingly aware of as I sit with an ice pack to my throbbing head. The fact that these accidents also happen with increasing frequency makes me wonder if there could be some sort of residual damage over in that right half.  What do you think?

I think I should never work construction.

Thursday, July 7, 2011

Romanticism, Idealism, and Geek squad all rolled into a cheese ball

Once upon a time, as a young naive sophomore who had no notion of societal values and the ways in which they are institutionalized within culture, or the ways in which these values and institutions  impact my own life and actions, I listened in awe and fascination as my AP World History Teacher taught me more in one class than I have ever learned in three others combined.

Kreuger taught World History, and he did a dang good job of it. But he is a man of many talents, and whether it was in the curriculum or no, he taught Sociology, Politics, Architecture, Writing, Language, Government, and so many other things I knew basically nothing about.  His class was a freaking whirlwind of information filled with kids trying to stay awake and write it all down. And I clearly remember him telling us one day that our current information based culture was the product of nationalism, post-industrial values, and mercantilism. (All of which makes perfect sense if you think about it). He then followed by telling us that our society is training its children for office jobs.

"Well, do you think it's a coincedence they make you sit in desks at specific tasks eight hours a day for twelve years?  You are being socialized into office drones! It's all because of the child labor laws! You need grown up-workers? Take the kids and structure the crap out of 'em!"

Kreuger liked to rant about things like this, mostly because so many of us were having our eyes opened to the simple fact that things aren't always the way they seemed last week. He told things how they were. He stripped things down to the bare essentials and made jokes about it until we were laughing on the floor. He told us stories of his days traveling the world while bartending whenever he felt like staying someplace for a while. He told us about seeing a man in Turkey walking down the street bleeding to death from the stump where his hand lately resided. He told us about that one airport where they hang signs saying that here is the place where they hang drug dealers. He described seppuku in gruesome detail. He told us about  dream times and Aborigine tribes in Australia and challenged us in no small subtle way to ask questions about why we believed the things we believed and did the things we did. 

My little brain was new to such concepts. I wasn't used to questioning things. In addition to drilling me until I could whip out an AP essay that scores a nine in ten minutes flat, Kreuger taught me to question, and to see the patterns in the big picture. Patterns and predictability are rooted in the world's history. For instance. A society's values and goals can be assessed by treatment of it's children, as expressed in the structuring idea. Here's a cool one. Watch all of history. Take a group of people. Stomp on them. Kill them. Enslave them. Separate them from their families. They'll usually take it. But take away their food and you're a goner. It all happens the same way. These are the kinds of patterns that get you nines on the test.  While I don't write AP Essays anymore as a general rule, I question everyday. That's what life is about, really.

My favorite English professor taught me once that all writing is an argument. This idea is true, but incomplete. All writing is an argument for the writer's view, and a question about everyone else's. The best literature presents an idea, says, "Here's what I think. What do you think?" My favorite High school English teacher taught that all Literature belongs not only to the world of snobbish academia, but to everyone, because it isn't answers, it's questions. We, as a human race, have to be able to question in order to thrive. It's one of the things that separates of from all other forms of life. We can come up with out own answers and keep asking questions. This is what I love about being human! I get to question the crap out of everything that enters my brain. That is what makes us alive.

Here comes some more geek squad to finish off the point:
"Need Input!" = "Number Five, Alive!"

P.S. If you don't get the movie reference,  you are fired.

Thursday, June 30, 2011

I hate EVERYTHING in the world, but most of all, I HATE....

(name that play for the prize)

that I want to go on a walk but I feel too gross to get up. So here I am, blogging again.
(And no one comments. I can track your pageviews, I know someone is reading!)

Now to go contrary to the title, there are three things that I really like. And now I am going to vent about it. Buckle up.

1. swears. People say that swears do not make you feel better. To that, I say bull honky. Or, you know, bull whatever. Also, I do not necessarily mind other people's swears. Here's the catch. I know with the rational part of my brain that swearing is bad. I should not like to swear. I should not. With the emotional half of my brain, I really like the dopamine my brain releases when I swear, but I feel slightly guilty for not feeling guilty about it. Problem? Yes. That, my friends, is what you call complicated internal conflict. Girl style.

2. diet coke. I want an IV.

3. Mail. I like getting it, and I like sending it. But sometimes I am a scatterbrained person. and I lose things. And I have lost my stamps. They have fallen off the planet. they must have, because I have looked everywhere but in that black hole that makes my socks disappear. Black hole, I would like my stamps back. I have missionaries to write! Step off, jerk!

I don't really hate everything in the world, I just really like The Curious Savage, and I am feeling dramatic like Miss Paddy. Tomorrow I'll be Fairy Mae and write a blog begging for attention and approval.

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Wednesday, June 22, 2011

Sometimes I think insanity is more sane than society. And so I choose to embrace oddities of character.

My best friend, a good human named Justin Banks, told me once that one of the things he likes best about me is my quirks. Apparently, I am amusing. Since that point, I have felt oddly justified in the fact that my quirks are some of the things I like best about myself as well.

Quirks that I like about myself, including but not limited to:

1. I feel that things are more valuable, lovable, and worthwhile if they are slightly broken. Like that hair brush that hasn't had a handle for three years or the  mp3 player with the broken screen so that I am the only one who can use it, or those cars who make funky noises whilst accelerating. Even people. People, like objects, are sometimes less interesting the closer they get to perfection and consistency.

2. I can't stand it when people put their faces near my neck. It doesn't make sense. But sense or no, if you put your face near my neck I will either:
   a) drop to the floor, maybe taking you with me
   b) quit hugging you and rub my neck to get rid of the sensation, even if this is offensive
        (or, if I like you a lot)
   c) put my ear on my shoulder so as to form a barrier without offending you

3. I have a whole list of life dreams which is filled with mostly nonsensical things like eating from a hotdog stand in a big city, walking all the way around an island, tailing someone in a taxi, going dancing, planting a flower garden to match a floral patterned outfit so that I can lay in the middle of it, owning a prada bag, you know...

4. I love taking walks in the middle of the night, preferably in a cemetery. Logan has a nice cemetery, and also a nice big empty road on the way home that basically screams "WALK DOWN THE MIDDLE OF ME!"  I generally obey.

5. I can sleep anywhere, and I do. I feel that hard surfaces are so much more nap-worthy than the world gives credit for. I've taken naps on the auditorium floor, on top of the steel countertop and the grill at Brighton, and on the sidewalk in front of the house. Also on the kitchen counter on days when the parental units are absent.

6. I am a very Mormon girl. Some would say prudish and closeminded. But I love Metallica. A lot. Lullabyes are great, and Orion is better. Thank you, Alex.

7. I very rarely wear matching socks. (Taylorsvillians. Mr. Schmid once made fun of me for color coding my feet so I could remember left and right. This coming from the man who wears one shoe.) I also wear holey sock, usually until my mom throws them away. I feel fine about both these facts. I also feel fine, and generally amused, that it drives my family crazy.

8. I name stuff. Mostly cars. But I also have a tree named Henderson, and a saga of phones whose names all started with J. Jedediah is saved for my first car. My textbook for AP World History was named Jeruzabel. I have this theory called: If you ackowledge an object's personality, it will serve you better and more faithfully. (It is quite possible that I have read too much harry potter. next I'll be bonding with my wand)

9. I really, really, like canned peas. Also spinach.

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

On a scale from "mildly annoying" to "I'm gonna maim you with your own credit card"

Most people who buy pizza fall somewhere to the less extreme side, but there is the occasional customer who scores up on the less pleasant but far more interesting side. The stories I could tell! (and I'm going to. brace yourselves.)

- There is the family who regularly comes in and argues about which pizzas to buy. During this process, they yell, let kids loose behind the make lines while we chase them out again, block the counter where everyone else is trying to order pizza, and interrupt at least three other people in mid sentence so they can ask me if I have more coupons for them*. On a good day, it takes them ten minutes. On a bad day, well, let's not talk about it. 

- The woman who flirts with Kevin. Good thing he is married and also oblivious.
" She was flirting with me? what?"
"Uhh, she was rubbing your arm."

- That one guy who who puts out his cigarette on the brick outside the door and then orders pizza with his still slightly smoking cigarette hanging out of his mouth. Only when the old lady with the oxygen tank came in and I turned my eye daggers* up from simmer to scorching level did he take a hint and get out. 

- The ones who don't know how EBT cards work.
"My husband took the card, but I have the pin number. Is that okay?"
"I have to have the card to charge it to the card."
"Why? I have the pin number."
" Sorry, I have to swipe the card or the pin doesn't do anything."
Sweeping out angrily. "Fine. If you won't do it."
I wonder, does she really think it's a matter of "won't"?
If you don't have the card, I. can't. charge it to the card.

- The woman who pays with money she retrieves from between her boobs every time. Be it cash, card, or coupon, her method of payment is unfailingly warm and moist. She thinks she is all sneaky about it, too. Even if you turn around and pretend to be looking at the menu, it's hard to hide that you're fishing around in there. And if your cup size is double E, I'd say it is impossible.  But I've learned to keep my gloves on when she pays for pizza, so it's okay.

*Collectively, all the people who try to get you to discount their pizza without coupons, or yell at me because I don't have coupons to give out at the register, I can't stand.  You wouldn't believe how many people have asked me if they can use my employee discount. Seriously.

*while I am required to speak politely and act accommodatingly to all customers, there are, thankfully, no guidelines on eye daggers. 

Thursday, June 16, 2011

Contemplative

Ahem. As most of you probably don't remember, I have a cousin whose name is also Amy. This is a situation which, over the years, has led to huge piles of confusion and, in turn, huge piles of nicknames whose sole purpose is to differentiate between "the amys". Thus, Little Amy. Thus, the blog title.

So my twin Amy Robinson got married last week. Which means that I am now the only Amy Robinson. She deserted me and defected to Trent land, the twitterpated traitor. In the land of Robinson, I stand alone, which is a new feeling. But the wierd feeling isn't the sudden sole ownership of my name, I suppose. I am the only girl in the family left who has not yet ventured into the land of marriage and stuff. Which is fine. I'm alright with a few more years before taking my turn at making my family puke with my newlywed bliss. But they all seem to have left me and crossed a threshold I can't really approach quite yet. It seems to throw emphasis on the whole situation where I am sort of free to do anything I want in this wide world, and no one really gets to tell me yes or no. It's my own show, no co-anchors demanding a part in the decision making.

This is a scary prospect. When I was younger, I would make insane plans for things I would do and see when I reached the very spot I am in now. And now I'm there. And I am pretty sure that I underestimated the level of difficulty to be overcome if one wants to go adventuring across the country. And the whole 'amy getting married' thing probably makes no sense to anyone else. But it seems like that small occurence just smacked me in the face and said, " You are the only Amy Robinson. Go do something with your name. Surprise everyone, including you."

My response is mostly just a loud gulp as I contemplate the terror that comes with absolute freedom. Three a.m. is really a terrifying time. Midnight the witching hour? bull honky. Three a.m. finds me awake and clueless, the possibilities soaring ahead of me. Does anyone else feel like all your plans for the future, those things you fantasized about when  you were nine years old, suddenly taunt you with their unreachableness? But still, the future keeps coming, good and yet filled with nothing you planned.

Is it good enough? Or do you keep going until it includes some of those nine-year-old dreams? That terror that comes with freedom- is it terror at the prospect of  not getting the future I wanted, or is it getting it that I am afraid of?I don't know. It's something to think about at three a.m.

Monday, June 13, 2011

Good advice from a Frenchman

I keep telling Matthew, during those times when he gets frustrated and hits himself and makes that squeaky noise (that I secretly think is adorable, although it is an inappropriate coping mechanism), that he needs to be patient, take a deep breath, and count to three. And then he counts to three, hits himself some more, and says, "Aunty, it didn't work!"

Nevertheless, I persist in calmly telling him to be patient and not freak out over teensy things. And then today, I was folding laundry and Matthew was playing with some Pilates circle in my room. And by playing, I mean 'slamming against the floor or flinging against my bed, repeatedly, until I wanted to gouge my ear drums out of my head.'

And I had that odd sensation where you can feel your blood pressure rising. And I felt with every irrationally angsty fiber of my being like hitting myself and making angry squeaky noises, or something self-indulgent and useless of the sort. And I realized that, although I am one of many people who try to teach him good coping mechanisms, I am not sure that mine are any better.

I wonder sometimes if I expect more of a child than I do of myself. I am an involved Aunty in my own family circle, and I deal often with normally lovable and adorable well behaved children who sometimes are exhausted and angry and frustrated and unreasonable. And I tell them things like,
"You need to be patient. Getting angry won't help anything."
" I know you want to dig up worms but you have to come inside and take a nap instead."
- and the ever-annoying-
"Because I said so. Mind me."
I am (supposedly) an adult (ish). I graduated from the ranks of the babysat long ago, but I still feel all these emotions, and sometimes I wonder if I would do as well as they do if I had someone telling me what to do. Wasn't I supposed to learn some control and emotional maturity as a child? Isn't that what we are trying to teach them? I guess all I am trying to say is that sometimes I think I am too hard on the wee ones often left in my care, and not hard enough on myself. Like today when I was taking a post-church nap. My sweet mother gently woke me and told me that dinner would be ready and would I come help set the table? I said sure, and then didn't get out of bed for another five or ten minutes. How often do I tell a kid that they need to "mind now, now ten minutes from now"?

The answer is pretty dang often.

I don't really know what my point is except that I think maybe I need to practice what I preach a little more and have reasonable expectations a little more, especially when I am responsible for a child who is depending on me to love them and put their interests in line ahead of my own.

We are all aware, I hope, of my deep and abiding love for Victor Hugo. To quote this literary giant,
"The little people must be sacred to the big ones, and it is from the rights of the weak that the duty of the strong is comprised."

My little people, although they aren't really mine so much as borrowed from my siblings, are my favorite people, hands down and  no reservations. They are sacred to me. But still, I am not a perfect example of this. Sometimes I feel ashamed and selfish for small instances when I put my own agenda above their comfort. But I can keep practicing, and eventually I will have little ones of my own and they will be sacred as well. And maybe someday, all the little people will be sacred to the big ones. It's a goal worthy of some good effort.

Saturday, June 11, 2011

Dear World

I have this problem called "I miss everyone in life who is not my family. A lot. Like, I am dying of missing people because all my best friends don't live in the same city, or state, or country"

So today I was reminiscing. And I was thinking how great high school was. And college. And also how the teensy awesome things are what makes life worth living. Like:


- Pink sock Thursday, which I observed all of Junior year with my friend Jessica. It was the only time I ever wore those pink socks. ( which I was just reminded of when my dear dad bought me a pack of socks. they know how to keep me happy)


- Fridays. Not the day, but the dessert which the Liz's invented and passed on to me, which I then passed on to Daniel and Aurora. Fridays (thus named because they are as good as a Friday, though I think they were invented on a Tuesday) consist of school cake with the frosting scraped off and reapplied over a layer of peanut butter. Because Liz and I both consistently kept a jar of peanut butter in our lockers at school at all times, so we had some handy.

- playing sardines in the theatre department and hide and seek in the pitch black auditorium. also, dodging around that hole and the several weak spots in the catwalks. If you're not living on the edge, you're taking up too much space, right?


- being regularly threatened with ejection by Leatherby's employees. Multiple car collisions with that one pole that sticks out too far in the Leatherby's parking lot.


-The four square we drew outside my apartment with a bar of soap because we couldn't find chalk. Said four square was still there after an entire Logan winter and rainy, slushy spring. If it stays on concrete that long, I am never using Dial soap on my body ever again.


- Laughing while Eli yells at the Mormons outside the student center every day. It cannot be a bad day if Eli is outside the TSC.


Okay, memory lane can be closed now. Life is good. May we all remember that the small joyful details are what makes life worth living, and continue to slide down long railing accordingly.









-

Call for feedback (please?)

Mostly cause I am curious. Someone in Malaysia is reading my blog. Someone in Germany is also reading my blog. I also get the occasional Russian and every once in a while some awesome person in Denmark.

So here's my question. How the heck did you guys find me? The internet is a big place. Utah is very far away from all said locations not only in actual distance but in a great many facets of culture and social experience as well. Did you all one day sit down and decide you wanted to read about the life and times of  a spastic teenager over here in Mormonland?

All I really know is that I am glad someone is reading it. But I would like to know how you ended up reading it, if anyone feels inclined to tell me. Or don't. Whichever. In the meantime, I'll keep blogging and I will try to stop whining about caffeine. I am sick of myself whining, so I'm sure you guys are sick of me whining too.

To the good life. La Chaim.

Thursday, June 9, 2011

I learned this thing about myself.

Turns out, caffeine withdrawals make me feel like a shrew. I have never felt more like ripping people's heads off for inadequate reasons. Like the kid on Trax who sang Niel Diamond songs, loud, and off key, all the way from Abravanel Hall to Meadowbrook. It is a miracle, and also a sign that I was extremely tired, that he escaped with his jugular intact. Seriously. He danced.

Or the guy who cut people off three people in a row on the freeway yesterday, unneccesarily. Really. He cut me off and then zigzagged back into the other lane, cutting off car number two, then again into my lane right in front of the guy in front of me. There was no point except to purposely provoke road rage! I bet the evil demon on his shoulder was in a really good mood, egging on that jerk fest. On a scale of "annoyed" to "seriously angsty and prone to swearing", my blood pressure is somewhere in the range of  "gonna maim the next person who has the audacity to speak to me".

Long story short, that diet coke relapse last week has left me feeling shrewish and witchy once more. I have been humming calming songs to myself to keep from acting on the shrewish witchy urges, and I may actually make it through the week without getting fired for yelling at the rude, loud, aggravating people who order pizza from me. But if one more person gets mad at me for taking half off the cheaper pizza, it's gonna be close. (Am I allowed to blog about customers if I don't say names? hmm)
 
Conclusion. I'm never drinking diet coke again. I thought we could have a healthy, controlled relationship. But it's just not gonna happen, because I have an astonishingly small amount of self control in this area of life. So here's to getting back on the wagon, and in a good mood.

Wednesday, June 8, 2011

ummm... still a teenager, which means that I am excited about my birthday in a truly childlike fashion

yep. nineteen counts. But in celebration of my last year of teenagerness, some cool things happpenned, aka it is the best day ever. (which probably means nothing by now because I say it so much, but whatever. life's good.)

- Justin sent his little brother on a scouting mission to find out what I wanted for my birthday. I was supremely unhelpful, but he did a good job left to his own devices. I really love my necklace, and also the birthday card that shouts at me, and also him.

- Mom went all out and got me the Emily books and new moccasins, which I have never done because I am still mourning the last pair I had to throw away because I wore them so much the toe ripped wide open. Internet, did you take my advice and read that slice of heaven in literature form that is the Emily series? You should, and I am going to re read whilst wearing my new moccasins, so we can just have a reading party, which I am always a fan of.

- Sarah woke me at Five o something this morning with a text message instructing me to look outside. I was greeted with a freshly streamered and ballooned yard, and welcoming me into the birthday wonderland was a pathway of bubble wrap. Also, she left a huge bouncy ball and a 2 liter of diet coke on my porch, and wrote on my sidewalk that I am not a cat lady. It was worth being woken up at five a.m., no question.

So today, on this anniversary of my birth, I demonstrated my still-a-teenagerness by dancing to Crazy Frog, jumping on my bed while listening to Outkast, and making up a dance routine while I was in the shower. The day is not over yet, and I fully intend to dance to the radio at work, and maybe even sing if Daxx is there.

Also, a few years ago I adopted  Jessica Wright's theory that one cannot gain weight on their birthday, and I ate ice cream for breakfast accordingly. It's a good day.

Sunday, May 29, 2011

How Drunk IS you?

I have recently had my attention drawn to the youtube wonder that is Glozell. Assuming, dear readers, that you have heard and wondered at Ke$ha's Tik Tok, as most of the Country has, you will appreciate.

So watch, and put down the soda beforehand. I learned my lesson the hard way.


 P.S. I think it is funny that she mixes up AA and Triple A. One is "akyol", and the other is cars. That's all.

Monday, May 23, 2011

Reasons I love my Place of Work

*which does not mean that I enjoy slipping in sauce, snotty customers, or sheeting crusts by the hundreds. It does mean that there are certain redeeming qualities.

Redeeming qualities that happened tonight, in the best of all possible shifts, in the best of all possible pizza joints:

1. There was no boss, just Dallas shift supervising, which essentially means that the crew was a bunch of teenagers having a blast, singing to the radio, and writing  "MOM" tattoos on each other's arms.

2. It was a Monday, which means that we weren't that busy, and I actually left at my scheduled leaving time as opposed to half an hour afterwards.

3. I feel that I know my co workers on a whole new level after today's shift, due to some topics that are only questionably work appropriate. Some topics of conversation include:
-Co worker relationships, which are now an interesting topic because Daxx and Dallas decided to take every girl who works there on a date.
- How to tell if someone is flirting, aka Dallas is being flirted with by every girl in his school and he is just too dense to get it.
- How being on her period is an acceptable excuse for a girl to break up with you.
- The renaming of every employee as another employee, because people have identity confusion within those walls. Allyssa is Gina, Dallas is Daxx, I am Dallas, and Daxx is Rayce. How did we decide that? That is a good question, and no one knows.

4. I worked with Daxx, whom I had spoken probably three sentences to before tonight. In the course of one shift, we have progressed from awkward sidestepping and "mm, what's your name again?"  to a high five routine, inside jokes, and "Look guys! Guys, we're holding hands!" I feel a friendship happening.

5. A day is not a good day without some good quotage. Thus:

" Amy, I will never ever leave you. I'm right here, Amy!"
"Hmm, well that is quite a declaration."

" Are we really talking about this?"
"um, Kevin's not here, so...yep, we are."

"I have no idea what I am looking for here."
"well, I don't know if that is exactly workplace appropriate."
"huh? I meant I couldn't find the onion chart."

"Who did the stocking?"
"I did."
"That's hot."

"Hey, Daxx, I'll come up and help you with those in a minute."
"Why, cause Amy's in love with me?"

" Didn't you guys all go through that stage when you were three and you just locked yourself inside a closet and said every swear word you knew over and over again?"
"Uh, maybe. Not really."
"Huh. well I had a really long one of those stages."

"You broke up and got back together in a week? Wow."
"Yeah, but I was on my period, so it doesn't really count."


I have never laughed so hard I couldn't breathe whilst making pizza before, but it happened. Best. Day. Eva!









-  

Proof my brother helped to raise me

two weeks later....
I am moved in. It's a good thing, too, cause I couldn't remember what color my carpet was. Which would be a devastating fate of course. Anyway.

I am in the mood for Stargate. Probably because Alex and I worked a bunch of O'Neill references into our conversation today. (Sticking it to the man? I don't know if I can be the man.)

In honor of the best Sci-Fi show ever, let's have a countdown of the best episodes. Because it is late, and I am a geek, and also what you might call a predatory geek, aka I want everyone else to love, adore, and understand the wonderfulness that is SG1.  I'm out to convert you, world.

#1 Window of Opportunity
Where Jack and Teal'c get stuck in a time loop for months and have to convince everyone else every day that they already did this about a thousand times. And then they get creative with the no consequences thing....
All I have to say is, golfing through the stargate is probably the most brilliant thing in five universes, or, you know, however far the ball went.

"Colonel O'Neill, what the Hell are you doing?"
"In the middle of my backswing!"

#2 Urgo
Dom Deluise. Jello. Pumpkin pie. Row Row Row your boat.
" Well. If you call that singing."

#3 Holiday
The one where they all switch bodies, and Daniel delivers a touching speech whilst dying in an old guy's body. This one gets a bonus for working in several Junior references.
"Shave my head?!"

#4 Fragile Balance
The one where Jack gets cloned as a fifteen year old. This one has an excellent youtube video. So priceless.
"Are you conducting some kind of scientific experiment, O'Neill?"
"Hey, that salsa's still good!"

#5 Crusade
Vala comes back but in Daniel's body. Vala is also pregnant, apparently through immaculate conception.
"Yes, and I am absolutely terrified. Have any of you heard of this happening before?"
"Well, there's one."
"Darth Vader"
"Really? How did that turn out?"

watch em. And embrace the inner geek.

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

Quirky

I have the hardest time getting things done in broad daylight. My brain seems to wake up at night and the OCD goes into "hyperactive hyperdrive! and astro...turf!"

Which is why I spent three hours this evening doing absolutely nothing but breathing, and somehow I am awake and cleaning the jungle of stuff that is my room in the wee hours of the morning. I really hope mom and dad are still asleep, but the floor has some squeaky spots, so I don't know if it is reasonable to hold out hope on that front. Probably they are down there counting the days until I move back to Logan and they can rest easy and teenager free once more.

Back to work. Happy cleaning!

Sunday, May 15, 2011

Super Proud

Yesterday, I went to jimmy john's with my sister Bekah. She got Diet Coke. I got a water cup. I smelled it and did not drink it.

That is what you call self control. HA.

that's all. k, bye!

Friday, May 13, 2011

scrooged

I hate sunshine and laughter and sappyness and noise and tone deaf people and the neverending unpacking and organizing and recycling and all that crap that comes with moving, and I hate headaches, especially the headache and carsickness mix that seems to be so popular during caffeine withdrawals. also, I hate pizza.
and I do not hate diet coke.

cue Ron Weasley: "She needs to sort out her priorities!"

Yes, I do. But shove it. And get me some Excedrin if you know what's good for you.

Happy summer, everyone!

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

Words cannot express how much I love and adore....

.... diet coke. But it's an unhealthy relationship. We broke up last week.

On to the healthy things! I Love and adore:

1. The whole family. They are crazy. They drive each other crazy. They have been described as "better than cable", and "the mormon soap channel". We are dramatic and chaotic.  But we love each other and I think they are the coolest people on this green earth.

2. Justin Banks and company. Six years and counting. I love him, shouting matches, four hour phone conversations, awkward falling and all. We should get jerseys, cause we make a good team. (best song eva!)

3. Kaptain Katie. Best roommate ever. She is currently in disneyland, probably scaring Jane and Gabe with the talking trashcan and becoming a bronze goddess all over again, guzzling diet coke.  I wish she was here.

4. Shane Goodsell. Because everyone needs someone to have ninja fights in the hallway with. He saves me when I do math homework and pretends to be a perfect emotionless warrior. But we all know he is just a teddy bear who happens to be large and imposing.

5. Driving with the music turned up really loud. Roadtrips. Flip flops. Pandora. Full bookcases. Black heels. Aviators. The H rock. Lifehouse. The crayon family portrait on my ceiling. Five dollar coats. Duct tape. Sliding down railings. Dancing in the kitchen.Jumping on matthew's bed. NCIS. glow in the dark stars. Puddle jumping with my dog. All those things that make life gleeful.

it's a good day.

Tuesday, May 10, 2011

Angsty and Pubescent

Does anyone out there remember potter puppet pals? "I'm angsty and pubescent and I can't hold down a girlfriend!" Anyone?

The self-imposed fast has begun. I haven't had diet coke in three days. Thus the angst.
This is probably good though, because of course caffeine addictions are not the healthiest thing in the world. But already I have terrible headaches that show up every afternoon and I feel snarky beyond belief. I've had some good practice holding in my inner snark, though. The lesson this week in relief society was on the word of wisdom.  Everything from red bull to chocolate (it has too much caffeine) has been written off as wicked, including diet coke specifically. Apparently all that aspartame is turning to formaldehyde and preserving my organs as we speak. 

Also, "Soda pop counts as hot drinks."

The inner snark was held in successfully, but my tongue may have been bloody by the time the closing song rolled around. 

Three days down, two weeks to go. I'm living on water. Also, painkillers.

Friday, May 6, 2011

Not Kosher

I am currently moving out of my apartment. aka blogging while I wait for the oven cleaning foam to dissolve the crap caked on there. But overall, moving out. And there is this phenomenon going on today called  'people, including myself, do annoying things that make me want to go off like an atom bomb'.

So I have to remind myself that certain behaviors are not kosher for adult humans who should have acquired self controlling skills above a kindergarten level by the time they reach college.

things like dumping all the crap from all the nooks and crannies in the garbage. it's not mine, so I should not throw it away. not kosher.
Or yelling at managers who don't send the plumber to fix our dead disposal like they said they would, causing difficulties with doing dishes because the sink won't freaking drain. So then you just wash stuff in the boys' apartment and restrain those previously discussed four year old tendencies. Cause tantrums and outside voices are not kosher.
Also, slicing your fingernail off with a razor is not kosher. The timing of that incident was unfortunate. Could I have done that next week? Heck no! Of course I would do that the week when I am handling all manner of chemical cleaners that get inside the open wound. And then, cause I am the most graceful person on the planet, I also mushed the throbbing open wound in a freak accident involving some oven foam on the floor and a slamming oven door. None of that is kosher, but it is, alas, my own stupid fault.
Also, the stains on the kitchen floor just won't come off! Not Kosher.

So, I have been dealing with all these not kosher things in a way that is also not kosher, namely, swearing under my breath when cleaner gets in the razor wound. But that is significantly closer to kosher than exploding like an atom bomb, right?

I think that this usage of "Not Kosher" also tells us that I am "Not Jewish". 

P.S. Shane. I apologize for the swears. But I made that no swearing promise under duress. It will quit when the cleaner stops hurting me.

Wednesday, May 4, 2011

Bucket List Item #24

Pick a summer. Spend so much time at Barnes and Noble that I reach a first name basis with the employees. Pick one of those squishy stuffed chairs and monopolize it so thoroughly that people start recognizing me over in my corner burning through some Steinbeck.

(could I pull this off this summer? maybe that could happen. I dreamed about it last night, and then my sister called me for book suggestions this morning. Coincidence? I think not!)

It might be wise if, when this happens, I left my credit card at home.