While visiting my home town, I became privy to my mother's latest addiction: Investigation.Discovery, aka the ID channel. She has reached the point of throwing middle-aged temper tantrums whenever anyone attempts to change the channel, so it's true crime specials all day err'day in my childhood home.
As part of the resulting paranoia frenzy, my mom has begun initiating conversations with phrases such as, "When I get murdered, do you swear to appear on the ID documentary?" and "Come on, these people are idiots! I totally would have gotten away with it." I'm only a little bit concerned.
Throughout the hundred or so true crime specials that I sat through, I couldn't help but ask myself what I would do if I witnessed something that could potentially be a crime. There were so many witnesses that called the police when they were only slightly suspicious, and I wasn't sure if I was the type of person who would take action like that.
These thoughts came swirling back through my mind in a panic last night, when I awoke to hear a woman screaming. Despite feeling hesitant, I dialed 911 and made what I can't help but worry was a uselessly vague report. I was able to give them my address, and the fact that someone was screaming in an unknown location somewhere within my earshot. Seriously, it was impossible to tell where it was coming from... it sounded relatively far-off, but I have no idea in what direction.
I can't stop thinking about it. I don't know what was happening, but I have never experienced a silence as eerie as when the screaming stopped. Obviously it completely freaked me out... all I want is for the mystery woman to be okay, but I'll never know for sure.
Sorry for the serious post... I just needed to talk about it, because oh my god.
Sunday, February 3, 2013
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
It's nice to be nice.
I should probably make a doctor's appointment, because I am seriously homesick. My nose is stuffy with the missing-my-mommy virus, my throat hurts from worked-over-the-holidays bacteria, and I have a bad case of need-to-hug-my-dog-right-now-itis. Also, I'm cheesy... what's new?
Anyway, whenever I am missing the bustling metropolis of suburban Indiana, I make my best friend a mixed CD. Picture the sappiest romantic you have ever met, throw up hearts and unicorns a few times, and you'll have my dear Hannah. Accumulating quirky love songs for her repertoire has honestly become a hobby of mine... anytime I'm spending a few frivolous dollars on iTunes, I search for songs that it would never even occur to me to listen to on my own, just because I can picture her dancing dorkily along with the beat. Nothing makes her happier than receiving a new mix of disgusting cuteness, but I can't pretend that I do it because I'm just such a giving, saintly person. Making these mixes makes me feel close to her, even when we're thousands of miles apart and haven't talked in weeks. Hooray for friendship. <3
Wait. OH MY GOD I'M GOING HOME NEXT WEEK OH MY GOD. It is finally starting to feel real to me that I'll actually be seeing my loved ones in seven days, and I can't even believe it. It has been so long.
I'm all for independence and everything, but who says you can't be an adult and have your mother at your side at all times? I just don't see how the two are mutually exclusive.
Anyway, whenever I am missing the bustling metropolis of suburban Indiana, I make my best friend a mixed CD. Picture the sappiest romantic you have ever met, throw up hearts and unicorns a few times, and you'll have my dear Hannah. Accumulating quirky love songs for her repertoire has honestly become a hobby of mine... anytime I'm spending a few frivolous dollars on iTunes, I search for songs that it would never even occur to me to listen to on my own, just because I can picture her dancing dorkily along with the beat. Nothing makes her happier than receiving a new mix of disgusting cuteness, but I can't pretend that I do it because I'm just such a giving, saintly person. Making these mixes makes me feel close to her, even when we're thousands of miles apart and haven't talked in weeks. Hooray for friendship. <3
Wait. OH MY GOD I'M GOING HOME NEXT WEEK OH MY GOD. It is finally starting to feel real to me that I'll actually be seeing my loved ones in seven days, and I can't even believe it. It has been so long.
I'm all for independence and everything, but who says you can't be an adult and have your mother at your side at all times? I just don't see how the two are mutually exclusive.
2012
You know, I always expected my first year of adulthood to be a game-changer, and holy shit did 2012 come through for me. The only way it could have been a crazier year would be if I had literally run away and joined the circus.
- My year started off with a San Francisco-shaped bang. My gift for my 18th birthday was a trip to California, and I loved absolutely everything about it. I could definitely see myself living in SF someday.
- I graduated high school! There isn't much to say about this... the endless essays were enough of a bitch the first time around, without dwelling on additional words here.
- ... I may or may not have gotten arrested for doing something really, really, REALLY dumb that I probably shouldn't publish on the internet. Hooray for new experiences?
- The entirety of my June was spent in Tanzania. I helped build a schoolhouse, got charged at by baboons, growled at by a wild lioness not five feet away from me, and had a bat land on my foot. Not to mention the eye infection... god, what a phenomenal trip.
- When I got back to the good ole first world, I started working at an independent film theatre. This is notable for the simple reason that it was THE ABSOLUTE BEST JOB EVER. I loved everything about it... the people, the perks, the job itself. Five stars, five stars.
- I met my best friend on a four hour flight. In the five months since, I haven't gone a day without talking to him in some medium. He is the single weirdest (and most fun) aspect of my life.
- I moved across the country to a city where I didn't know a single person. It was a huge gamble, obviously, but Seattle turned out to be the best decision I have ever made. It turns out I thrive in my own little studio apartment, with my own job, making my own decisions and paying my own finances. Who woulda thunk it?
- I started volunteering at the Burke Museum, handling and cataloguing artifacts such as a five thousand year old whale vertebrae. Holding history in your hand is such a lovely mindfuck, to put it delicately.
- Banana Republic became the sun that my world revolves around. Seriously, I had no idea that working in retail could be such a bitch.
- I watched 375 films, 271 of which I had never seen before. 53 were in cinemas, and seven were midnight premieres.
- I read 55 books.
- The world survived 365 more days, despite our best intentions.
Not everything about my year was a peachy keen delight, but it sure as hell wasn't boring. If 2013 is half as interesting, I'll count it a success.
- My year started off with a San Francisco-shaped bang. My gift for my 18th birthday was a trip to California, and I loved absolutely everything about it. I could definitely see myself living in SF someday.
- I graduated high school! There isn't much to say about this... the endless essays were enough of a bitch the first time around, without dwelling on additional words here.
- ... I may or may not have gotten arrested for doing something really, really, REALLY dumb that I probably shouldn't publish on the internet. Hooray for new experiences?
- The entirety of my June was spent in Tanzania. I helped build a schoolhouse, got charged at by baboons, growled at by a wild lioness not five feet away from me, and had a bat land on my foot. Not to mention the eye infection... god, what a phenomenal trip.
- When I got back to the good ole first world, I started working at an independent film theatre. This is notable for the simple reason that it was THE ABSOLUTE BEST JOB EVER. I loved everything about it... the people, the perks, the job itself. Five stars, five stars.
- I met my best friend on a four hour flight. In the five months since, I haven't gone a day without talking to him in some medium. He is the single weirdest (and most fun) aspect of my life.
- I moved across the country to a city where I didn't know a single person. It was a huge gamble, obviously, but Seattle turned out to be the best decision I have ever made. It turns out I thrive in my own little studio apartment, with my own job, making my own decisions and paying my own finances. Who woulda thunk it?
- I started volunteering at the Burke Museum, handling and cataloguing artifacts such as a five thousand year old whale vertebrae. Holding history in your hand is such a lovely mindfuck, to put it delicately.
- Banana Republic became the sun that my world revolves around. Seriously, I had no idea that working in retail could be such a bitch.
- I watched 375 films, 271 of which I had never seen before. 53 were in cinemas, and seven were midnight premieres.
- I read 55 books.
- The world survived 365 more days, despite our best intentions.
Not everything about my year was a peachy keen delight, but it sure as hell wasn't boring. If 2013 is half as interesting, I'll count it a success.
Friday, March 23, 2012
Midnight Showings
I just came home from the midnight premiere of the film adaptation of The Hunger Games, and my expectations were actually exceeded. However, that is not what I'm dying to ramble about.
So. Midnight showings are a thing that happen. I had not attended one in over a year and a half, but tonight reminded me of just how different they are as a viewing experience. The air is filled with passion and enthusiasm that feels almost tangible, and fans adorn themselves in costumes as if it is a particularly nerdy Halloween. Throughout the previews, the audience can't seem to keep themselves from chattering as an outlet of their excitement, but silence falls like a veil as soon as the opening credits begin. It's honestly magical.
As much as I adore it, my favorite aspect of midnight showings isn't the sense of camaraderie, but rather how my mind is a clean slate. There are no spoilers or reviews to give me any sense of positive or negative prejudice. I am watching the film for the first time alongside millions of others in similar theaters, which for some reason is an idea that I find incredibly cool.
With that said, here is a list of midnight viewings that I plan to attend this year:
The Hunger GamesThe Avengers- Snow White and the Huntsman
PrometheusThe Amazing SpidermanThe Dark Knight Rises- The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey
... I don't have a thing for superhero films, at all. Clearly.
Monday, January 23, 2012
I'm a biter.
Let me ask you a question: how aware are you of your fingernails?
Mine might as well have a pulse. I think about them every waking second of every day. There they are, just chilling at the ends of my fingers, taunting me. I might as well be a recovering alcoholic with a glass of wine in my hand, debating on whether or not I have the strength to resist the temptation.
Perhaps I should back up a bit... here's the deal: I am a lifelong nail biter. That is eighteen years worth of a bad habit (give or take the time it took for me to grow teeth). For as long as I can remember, my response to nearly every situation has been to chew on my fingers. Whether I was nervous, bored, excited, pensive, or feeling any sort of conscious emotion at all, my teeth took it out on my phalanges. Seriously. It was a problem. I didn't have any fingernails to speak of, my cuticles were bloody, and the skin where the nails should have been was constantly growing slightly infected.
I bring this up now because approximately five weeks ago, I stopped. There I was, essentially devouring one of my own fingers as a snack, when I decided that I was finished with being such a disgusting person. I immediately went to the drugstore, bought this overpriced nail strengthener stuff and a bottle of clear polish, and never looked back. Not once have I nibbled on a nail since that fateful day.
And it's killing me. Kicking a lifelong habit requires a ridiculous level of determination and self-discipline. To be honest, I couldn't have done it without beginning a couple of crutch habits; I have to apply a new coat of nail polish daily, so that I can pick off the old polish. This eases whatever weird mental craving I have for the destruction of all that is fingernails.
Whatever. I'm still proud of myself. Go ahead and judge me if you must.
Mine might as well have a pulse. I think about them every waking second of every day. There they are, just chilling at the ends of my fingers, taunting me. I might as well be a recovering alcoholic with a glass of wine in my hand, debating on whether or not I have the strength to resist the temptation.
Perhaps I should back up a bit... here's the deal: I am a lifelong nail biter. That is eighteen years worth of a bad habit (give or take the time it took for me to grow teeth). For as long as I can remember, my response to nearly every situation has been to chew on my fingers. Whether I was nervous, bored, excited, pensive, or feeling any sort of conscious emotion at all, my teeth took it out on my phalanges. Seriously. It was a problem. I didn't have any fingernails to speak of, my cuticles were bloody, and the skin where the nails should have been was constantly growing slightly infected.
I bring this up now because approximately five weeks ago, I stopped. There I was, essentially devouring one of my own fingers as a snack, when I decided that I was finished with being such a disgusting person. I immediately went to the drugstore, bought this overpriced nail strengthener stuff and a bottle of clear polish, and never looked back. Not once have I nibbled on a nail since that fateful day.
And it's killing me. Kicking a lifelong habit requires a ridiculous level of determination and self-discipline. To be honest, I couldn't have done it without beginning a couple of crutch habits; I have to apply a new coat of nail polish daily, so that I can pick off the old polish. This eases whatever weird mental craving I have for the destruction of all that is fingernails.
Whatever. I'm still proud of myself. Go ahead and judge me if you must.
Sunday, January 1, 2012
Resolutions... or not
My feelings regarding resolutions are rather split. On the one hand, I don't find them very conducive to actual self-growth. People spend January 1st in a hangover coma, then move into resolution overdrive mode for about four days. But by the end of January at the latest, resolutions have inevitably evolved into sarcastic jokes. "Oh hey, I see you have a soda can there. I assume it's actually filled with water, because there is no way you would ever fail your resolution this early." Har har har.
Anyway, I have never been a huge supporter of New Year's resolutions for that reason. They tend to run parallel to saying, "I'll start studying at 5," then glancing at the clock and realizing it is 5:02. "Oh darn, I missed it. I guess I'll just have to start at 5:30." Resolutions are the melodramatic equivalent; in February, it ends up being, "Shit. I guess I'll just have to lose five pounds next year," and then eating cupcakes for ten months straight... or, you know, maybe not.
If you want to actually improve something about yourself, set realistic goals and work on it, no matter the time of year. Waiting until New Years rolls around is just a festive form of procrastination.
That said, today I have spent a good half hour watching YouTube videos in which people determine whether or not they actually accomplished their resolutions for 2011. I ended up reconsidering my entire perspective on resolutions, because I found that I really like the concept of being able to measure goal accomplishments within a certain time period. It's just that resolutions are pointless without legitimate dedication, and they can't be too vague.
With that in mind, in 2012 I want to:
- stop biting my nails.
- have at least $10,000 in my savings account.
- stop being such a pussy about talking to my dad/ have a year of independence.
- exercise for at least an hour every day.
- complete the 50 book challenge again.
- win NaNoWriMo again.
- keep up with my archive journals.
- make at least one video a month (ideally more).
- make more friends hooray (I don't know how to make that less vague).
- milk a cow.
- see at least one of my friends from Dominica in person.
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
I'm baaaaaaaack (in a scary, Halloween-type voice)
... so. Um. It's been a while.
I have a million and one excuses for why I haven't blogged in four months. Both of my parents moved into new houses, and instead of hiring professional movers, they had me do most of the muscle work. I have three part-time jobs, and am about to interview for a fourth one. Instead of graduating in May of 2012, I am completing both semesters of my senior year simultaneously so that I can graduate at the end of December this year. And yet, if I'm being completely honest, none of these are the real reason why I have been neglecting my internet outlets.
The truth is, I have been feeling really shitty. As in, my mood swings could rival a woman in her ninth month of pregnancy. I'm stressed out for obvious reasons, and it doesn't help that the relationships most dear to me have been falling apart for months now. Whenever I even begin to think about my life, all I want to do is complain, and that is not why I have this blog. I refuse to be the poster child for teenage angst; I fully recognize that my life is awesome. As an incredibly fortunate person, there is no excuse for me to bitch to the internet about how much life sucks.
In my leave of absence, I consumed three tubs of frosting (minus the cake). In other words, I gained about seven pounds and my face is full of acne. The point of this post is that I'm ready. I'm ready to lose those pounds that purely consist of chocolate and cream cheese frosting, get rid of my clogged pores, and improve my attitude. Cool things happen to me all the time, and what can I say? I'm a narcissist. I want to talk about them.
Man, it feels good to be back. xx
I have a million and one excuses for why I haven't blogged in four months. Both of my parents moved into new houses, and instead of hiring professional movers, they had me do most of the muscle work. I have three part-time jobs, and am about to interview for a fourth one. Instead of graduating in May of 2012, I am completing both semesters of my senior year simultaneously so that I can graduate at the end of December this year. And yet, if I'm being completely honest, none of these are the real reason why I have been neglecting my internet outlets.
The truth is, I have been feeling really shitty. As in, my mood swings could rival a woman in her ninth month of pregnancy. I'm stressed out for obvious reasons, and it doesn't help that the relationships most dear to me have been falling apart for months now. Whenever I even begin to think about my life, all I want to do is complain, and that is not why I have this blog. I refuse to be the poster child for teenage angst; I fully recognize that my life is awesome. As an incredibly fortunate person, there is no excuse for me to bitch to the internet about how much life sucks.
In my leave of absence, I consumed three tubs of frosting (minus the cake). In other words, I gained about seven pounds and my face is full of acne. The point of this post is that I'm ready. I'm ready to lose those pounds that purely consist of chocolate and cream cheese frosting, get rid of my clogged pores, and improve my attitude. Cool things happen to me all the time, and what can I say? I'm a narcissist. I want to talk about them.
Man, it feels good to be back. xx
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Chutes Too Narrow
I'm told that everyone experiences that feeling, that impulse. The need to just go, go somewhere, go anywhere.
Well, I did it.
At 1am on June 25th, 2011, I climbed into the front seat of my car with nothing but determination, adrenaline, and a little hysteria. There was no plan in mind, no ultimate destination. No one knew where I was going, not even me. I have never felt more free than in that moment.
Of course, that's when I began to scare myself. While taking the ramp to the highway, I felt an urge to toss my phone out the window and never look back. I wanted to rid myself of all of my artificial connections to the world and the relationships that I never quite put enough effort into maintaining. I could be cleansed of my pointless responsibilities and develop new ones that actually matter to me in a whole new place.
After having these thoughts and yearning for all of the possibilities, I panicked a bit. I am extremely close to everyone in my immediate family, and it would kill them if I was just gone. I could never do that to them, no matter how tempted I was. Plus, there is the fact that until I turn eighteen, I would essentially be homeless. And, you know, it makes no sense in general and would never work. I would be hunted down and dragged back home, forced to face the hostility of everyone I'd tried to leave behind.
So instead, I tweeted. I used twitter as a way to alert my friend that lives in another country, another continent even, to the fact that I'd lost my mind. Though I was too irrational for any sensible analyzation of my thoughts to be possible, I think I just wanted someone to convince me to go home. Just about anyone would have tried, but the fact that he was too far away to actually be able to make me turn my car around was comforting.
In retrospect, I feel absolutely terrible for worrying him. I basically scared all of my friends shitless, as I was clearly having some sort of breakdown. Even at the time, I felt incredibly guilty that everyone was so concerned, but I couldn't bring myself to turn around. I chose the most selfish route I have ever taken in my life by simply moving forward.
I drove for thirteen hours, with nothing but my thoughts and The Shins accompanying me. I only got out of my car three times; twice to fill up the fuel tank, and once to look out across the hills below me in West Virginia. Driving in the pitch-black of 1am, the hazy almost-sunlight of 5am, and the too-bright yellow of 12pm in one single, pointless, solitary roadtrip was the most amazing experience. I don't even know how to articulate what I was feeling, but it was the best night/day of my life. I suppose I was searching for some sort of epiphany, and I definitely feel as if I found it, just maybe not in the way that I expected.
Don't get me wrong, I am not advocating doing something irrational and irresponsible that will freak everyone around you the fuck out. I'm just saying, I can't pretend that I regret my spontaneous decision to just get in the car and follow the road by nothing but instinct.
Well, I did it.
At 1am on June 25th, 2011, I climbed into the front seat of my car with nothing but determination, adrenaline, and a little hysteria. There was no plan in mind, no ultimate destination. No one knew where I was going, not even me. I have never felt more free than in that moment.
Of course, that's when I began to scare myself. While taking the ramp to the highway, I felt an urge to toss my phone out the window and never look back. I wanted to rid myself of all of my artificial connections to the world and the relationships that I never quite put enough effort into maintaining. I could be cleansed of my pointless responsibilities and develop new ones that actually matter to me in a whole new place.
After having these thoughts and yearning for all of the possibilities, I panicked a bit. I am extremely close to everyone in my immediate family, and it would kill them if I was just gone. I could never do that to them, no matter how tempted I was. Plus, there is the fact that until I turn eighteen, I would essentially be homeless. And, you know, it makes no sense in general and would never work. I would be hunted down and dragged back home, forced to face the hostility of everyone I'd tried to leave behind.
So instead, I tweeted. I used twitter as a way to alert my friend that lives in another country, another continent even, to the fact that I'd lost my mind. Though I was too irrational for any sensible analyzation of my thoughts to be possible, I think I just wanted someone to convince me to go home. Just about anyone would have tried, but the fact that he was too far away to actually be able to make me turn my car around was comforting.
In retrospect, I feel absolutely terrible for worrying him. I basically scared all of my friends shitless, as I was clearly having some sort of breakdown. Even at the time, I felt incredibly guilty that everyone was so concerned, but I couldn't bring myself to turn around. I chose the most selfish route I have ever taken in my life by simply moving forward.
I drove for thirteen hours, with nothing but my thoughts and The Shins accompanying me. I only got out of my car three times; twice to fill up the fuel tank, and once to look out across the hills below me in West Virginia. Driving in the pitch-black of 1am, the hazy almost-sunlight of 5am, and the too-bright yellow of 12pm in one single, pointless, solitary roadtrip was the most amazing experience. I don't even know how to articulate what I was feeling, but it was the best night/day of my life. I suppose I was searching for some sort of epiphany, and I definitely feel as if I found it, just maybe not in the way that I expected.
Don't get me wrong, I am not advocating doing something irrational and irresponsible that will freak everyone around you the fuck out. I'm just saying, I can't pretend that I regret my spontaneous decision to just get in the car and follow the road by nothing but instinct.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Before I turn 18...
So, my eighteenth birthday is on December 7th. This means that I have just under six months before I legally become an adult. I've decided to make a list of things that I hope to accomplish before I reach that milestone.
1) Milk a cow
2) Sew a quilt... or at least start one.
3) Paint a mural
4) Go cliff-diving (or jump off something really high; I won't be too picky about this one)
5) Roll down a hill in a hotdog suit
6) Participate in a flash mob
7) Sell something that I have made to someone who isn't, like, my mom.
8) Meet one of my internet friends IRL
9) Attend a nerdy convention
10) Shoot a bull's-eye with a handgun
11) Be a part of a fundraiser for a nonprofit organization that I support
12) Help someone accomplish a goal that is important to them
13) Break one of my many bad habits
14) Create my own recipe that actually tastes delicious
15) Fill my scrapbook
16) Put effort into a video to the point where I can be proud of it
17) Be able to run a mile in eight minutes without wanting to die
18) Give someone the perfect gift, not for a holiday but just because
19) Improve my posture to the point where I can walk around with stuff on my head
20) Learn how to do a cultural dance. Or Thriller.
Some of these things are going to be difficult. If I can't cross them off before December 7th, I will just put them on my bucket list... which I don't actually have. I guess I would have one then?
1) Milk a cow
2) Sew a quilt... or at least start one.
3) Paint a mural
5) Roll down a hill in a hotdog suit
6) Participate in a flash mob
7) Sell something that I have made to someone who isn't, like, my mom.
9) Attend a nerdy convention
12) Help someone accomplish a goal that is important to them
13) Break one of my many bad habits
14) Create my own recipe that actually tastes delicious
15) Fill my scrapbook
16) Put effort into a video to the point where I can be proud of it
17) Be able to run a mile in eight minutes without wanting to die
18) Give someone the perfect gift, not for a holiday but just because
19) Improve my posture to the point where I can walk around with stuff on my head
20) Learn how to do a cultural dance. Or Thriller.
Some of these things are going to be difficult. If I can't cross them off before December 7th, I will just put them on my bucket list... which I don't actually have. I guess I would have one then?
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
I have absolutely nothing to say...
so here is a slightly perplexed looking screenshot of me wearing panda-print footy pajamas from earlier today.
Enjoy.
98 degrees
As if the heat wasn't an indicator, today the people in my neighborhood proved that summer has finally arrived. I never realized how annoying a season can be until I got my driver's license.
Nothing tests my patience like driving through a neighborhood in the summer. Between the children running amok in the street, the joggers, the roller-bladers, the bicyclists, the women walking with strollers, the kids on mopeds, the skate-boarders, et cetera, et cetera... it is a wonder I haven't hit anyone. Because of all of these potential victims, you have to drive sooooo sloooooowly. But no matter how slowly you're going, you will still get screamed at by parents who act like you jumped the curb and drove onto their lawn going 60mph, intent on running over their child. It doesn't matter if your car is basically crawling, overprotective parents will freak out.
Ugh. I just can't even.
It must be the heat that makes the (nonexistent) speed so frustrating. Throughout the next couple of months, I'll basically be reduced to an angry puddle of sweat on a daily basis. It happens every year, but I'll try not to let it affect my blog too much... cheerfulness might be a stretch, but I'm aiming for general whimsy. We'll see. :P
Nothing tests my patience like driving through a neighborhood in the summer. Between the children running amok in the street, the joggers, the roller-bladers, the bicyclists, the women walking with strollers, the kids on mopeds, the skate-boarders, et cetera, et cetera... it is a wonder I haven't hit anyone. Because of all of these potential victims, you have to drive sooooo sloooooowly. But no matter how slowly you're going, you will still get screamed at by parents who act like you jumped the curb and drove onto their lawn going 60mph, intent on running over their child. It doesn't matter if your car is basically crawling, overprotective parents will freak out.
Ugh. I just can't even.
It must be the heat that makes the (nonexistent) speed so frustrating. Throughout the next couple of months, I'll basically be reduced to an angry puddle of sweat on a daily basis. It happens every year, but I'll try not to let it affect my blog too much... cheerfulness might be a stretch, but I'm aiming for general whimsy. We'll see. :P
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Cool story, bro.
Last night, I neglected the pact that I made with myself... I didn't post on here. I don't feel all that badly about it though, considering my power was out, making blogging a virtual impossibility.
This is as good of a time as any to show you the true extent of my paranoia, a phenomenon brought on primarily by an overactive imagination and watching far too many crime shows on television.
I was innocently watching 500 Days of Summer in my bedroom, mentally preparing myself to write the most insightful blog post in human history, when suddenly I was enveloped in darkness. It took a second for me to comprehend that my power had actually gone out and that I was not, in fact, abruptly afflicted by blindness. After the initial shock passed, the fear began to creep over me. For some unknown reason, I held my breath for a full minute, hoping that the electricity would immediately turn back on (I still have no idea why I thought breathing would impact this). When it didn't, I flat-out panicked.
Here is my honest-to-god logic: it isn't raining, so a murderer must have cut my power.
To avoid being murdered for as long as possible, I began using the light from my laptop to try and find my cell phone. I was attempting to silently text my mother without alerting the criminal to the fact that I was on to him/her/it, but there was only one problem... I couldn't find my phone. Clearly, the murderer had somehow managed to steal it to keep me from calling the po-po.
And that's when I lost my cool. I made my way slowly out into the hallway, keeping my eyes peeled for any suspicious movement. "Mom?" I called into her open bedroom door.
"Yeah?" She replied groggily, her voice already lacking patience. We are not a family that enjoys being woken up for anything short of an emergency (which clearly, this was).
"Are you aware that the power is out?" I asked calmly, trying not to let anxiety to creep into my voice in case the murderer was listening.
"Oh. That's weird," my mom responded, clearly not impressed by the urgency of the situation. "What do you want me to do about it?"
"Protect me from the serial killer that is obviously outside?" I was growing exasperated with playing it cool at this point.
That got her attention. "What? Honey, it's probably our entire area. Have you looked to see if anyone else has power?" Mom asked sensibly, sounding much more alert in response to my obvious concern.
"Hardly! I'm not going out there. That's where the murderer is lurking."
This conversation could only go on for so long before my mom was forced to get out of bed and figure out what was actually happening. As it turned out, my entire town had lost its power. I still have no idea why, but the good news is, I'm still alive. Hooray!
This is as good of a time as any to show you the true extent of my paranoia, a phenomenon brought on primarily by an overactive imagination and watching far too many crime shows on television.
I was innocently watching 500 Days of Summer in my bedroom, mentally preparing myself to write the most insightful blog post in human history, when suddenly I was enveloped in darkness. It took a second for me to comprehend that my power had actually gone out and that I was not, in fact, abruptly afflicted by blindness. After the initial shock passed, the fear began to creep over me. For some unknown reason, I held my breath for a full minute, hoping that the electricity would immediately turn back on (I still have no idea why I thought breathing would impact this). When it didn't, I flat-out panicked.
Here is my honest-to-god logic: it isn't raining, so a murderer must have cut my power.
To avoid being murdered for as long as possible, I began using the light from my laptop to try and find my cell phone. I was attempting to silently text my mother without alerting the criminal to the fact that I was on to him/her/it, but there was only one problem... I couldn't find my phone. Clearly, the murderer had somehow managed to steal it to keep me from calling the po-po.
And that's when I lost my cool. I made my way slowly out into the hallway, keeping my eyes peeled for any suspicious movement. "Mom?" I called into her open bedroom door.
"Yeah?" She replied groggily, her voice already lacking patience. We are not a family that enjoys being woken up for anything short of an emergency (which clearly, this was).
"Are you aware that the power is out?" I asked calmly, trying not to let anxiety to creep into my voice in case the murderer was listening.
"Oh. That's weird," my mom responded, clearly not impressed by the urgency of the situation. "What do you want me to do about it?"
"Protect me from the serial killer that is obviously outside?" I was growing exasperated with playing it cool at this point.
That got her attention. "What? Honey, it's probably our entire area. Have you looked to see if anyone else has power?" Mom asked sensibly, sounding much more alert in response to my obvious concern.
"Hardly! I'm not going out there. That's where the murderer is lurking."
This conversation could only go on for so long before my mom was forced to get out of bed and figure out what was actually happening. As it turned out, my entire town had lost its power. I still have no idea why, but the good news is, I'm still alive. Hooray!
Friday, May 27, 2011
Dat ass.
"Hey, did you see that girl's ass? I saw that girl's ass! Did you see it?"
Honestly, it is a bit of a relief to report that no, this was not the first time that a human of the male variety checked me out. Though I would feel a little awkward if I was blatantly ogled by every guy I passed, it is nice to be occasionally noticed. However, this announcement was a little extreme.
My friend and I were walking along the sidewalk at our local outdoor mall, barely noticing as a pack of boys (whose age I estimated to be roughly junior-high) strolled past us. They did not capture my attention until one of them began yelling at the top of his lungs, "Did you see DAT ASS?"
Um.
Don't get me wrong, it's not that I was offended. Despite my rather unflattering jeans, my ass is quite lovely, thank you very much. I was more just blindsided by this approach. What was the intended effect? Did this kid hope that I would turn around and respond, "You noticed my ass? Wonderful! Please, I must have you right here on the sidewalk!" Maybe if he was a little older and more attractive... or, you know, maybe not.
That kid is going to get bitch-slapped at least once in his life if he ever says that to a girl who is easily offended. Fortunately for him, I just laughed as I asked my friend, "Did that seriously just come out of his mouth? And was he talking about me? Because these are hardly even my good jeans."
Honestly, it is a bit of a relief to report that no, this was not the first time that a human of the male variety checked me out. Though I would feel a little awkward if I was blatantly ogled by every guy I passed, it is nice to be occasionally noticed. However, this announcement was a little extreme.
My friend and I were walking along the sidewalk at our local outdoor mall, barely noticing as a pack of boys (whose age I estimated to be roughly junior-high) strolled past us. They did not capture my attention until one of them began yelling at the top of his lungs, "Did you see DAT ASS?"
Um.
Don't get me wrong, it's not that I was offended. Despite my rather unflattering jeans, my ass is quite lovely, thank you very much. I was more just blindsided by this approach. What was the intended effect? Did this kid hope that I would turn around and respond, "You noticed my ass? Wonderful! Please, I must have you right here on the sidewalk!" Maybe if he was a little older and more attractive... or, you know, maybe not.
That kid is going to get bitch-slapped at least once in his life if he ever says that to a girl who is easily offended. Fortunately for him, I just laughed as I asked my friend, "Did that seriously just come out of his mouth? And was he talking about me? Because these are hardly even my good jeans."
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Sequel
Tonight, my friend and I went to the latest available showing for Hangover: Part II. The theater was sold out, the aisles crammed pack with adults craving a couple hours of raunchy humor. But at least for me, as soon as the trailers began playing, the confusion set in.
It was a preview for The Smurfs, followed by Mr. Popper's Penguins, Judy Moody, et cetera, et cetera. I kept shooting my friend befuddled glances, whispering "What the fuck?" after every single one. I could not comprehend why advertisers would possibly think that trailers for children's movies were appropriate before Hangover. And then... Kung Fu Panda began to play.
There was an instant uproar. People were shrieking about refunds, and one man attempted to lead a revolt by suggesting that everyone turn on their cell phones in protest. As this rebellion started, my friend rushed out into the lobby to alert an usher or someone to the problem at hand. Everyone else continued to bitch at the top of their lungs, yelling, "Why the fuck would a showing to Kung Fu Panda sell out at 10:00 at night?" No one could answer this question, but after about twenty minutes, the trailers for the correct film began to roll.
After all this drama, we walked out of the theater about forty-five minutes after the movie was technically supposed to end. I could still hear people griping about it as I walked out to my car, but seeing as the wind was blowing my skirt up around my waist, I was pretty glad that everyone seemed too distracted to notice.
As for the actual film, it was better than I expected. The original was so shockingly hilarious and unpredictable that there was no way the sequel could match it without over-doing it, but I appreciated the effort. Though it was obviously only made as attempt to financially prosper further from the first one's popularity, I don't feel like I wasted my money. I was positively rolling throughout, though one aspect to the end (no spoilers) still makes me shake my head in frustration. IT MADE NO SENSE. It's so hard for me to keep from spoiling you right now, but I'll refrain. Urghh.
Oh, and I feel the need to mention: Bradley. Fucking. Cooper. Yummmmm.
It was a preview for The Smurfs, followed by Mr. Popper's Penguins, Judy Moody, et cetera, et cetera. I kept shooting my friend befuddled glances, whispering "What the fuck?" after every single one. I could not comprehend why advertisers would possibly think that trailers for children's movies were appropriate before Hangover. And then... Kung Fu Panda began to play.
There was an instant uproar. People were shrieking about refunds, and one man attempted to lead a revolt by suggesting that everyone turn on their cell phones in protest. As this rebellion started, my friend rushed out into the lobby to alert an usher or someone to the problem at hand. Everyone else continued to bitch at the top of their lungs, yelling, "Why the fuck would a showing to Kung Fu Panda sell out at 10:00 at night?" No one could answer this question, but after about twenty minutes, the trailers for the correct film began to roll.
After all this drama, we walked out of the theater about forty-five minutes after the movie was technically supposed to end. I could still hear people griping about it as I walked out to my car, but seeing as the wind was blowing my skirt up around my waist, I was pretty glad that everyone seemed too distracted to notice.
As for the actual film, it was better than I expected. The original was so shockingly hilarious and unpredictable that there was no way the sequel could match it without over-doing it, but I appreciated the effort. Though it was obviously only made as attempt to financially prosper further from the first one's popularity, I don't feel like I wasted my money. I was positively rolling throughout, though one aspect to the end (no spoilers) still makes me shake my head in frustration. IT MADE NO SENSE. It's so hard for me to keep from spoiling you right now, but I'll refrain. Urghh.
Oh, and I feel the need to mention: Bradley. Fucking. Cooper. Yummmmm.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
House hunting
My dad and his girlfriend recently put their house up for sale, and today I tagged along as they went house-hunting. My family has moved about fifteen times since I was born, so this was definitely not a new experience for me. That said, this time the entire process felt... strange.
When opening your house to potential buyers, your life is essentially on display. People open every cupboard, every door, trying to imagine their own belongings in place of yours. They judge your taste in decoration, discussing how they can "fix" the choices you have made. All of the things that make a house your home are viewed in new terms, such as "a good usage of space".
I find this so unsettling. I don't like looking around at the components of someone's life and imagining my own possible future there. To be honest, I can't even explain why. This feeling goes completely at odds with the other half of my brain, which loves the possibilities of looking around a home and envisioning what my life would be like if I were to move there.
I'm probably only overanalyzing the entire process because I already felt weird about it. This is the first time that I have looked at a house with my parents, knowing that I would not be living there with them. By the time they get settled in their new house, I will be living on my own, either in an apartment or a dorm room. What would have been my potential bedroom is now a potential guest room. This was one of the first situations that has really provoked the realization that I won't live with my parents forever. Weird.
Meh, I felt like rambling today. Sorry about that.
When opening your house to potential buyers, your life is essentially on display. People open every cupboard, every door, trying to imagine their own belongings in place of yours. They judge your taste in decoration, discussing how they can "fix" the choices you have made. All of the things that make a house your home are viewed in new terms, such as "a good usage of space".
I find this so unsettling. I don't like looking around at the components of someone's life and imagining my own possible future there. To be honest, I can't even explain why. This feeling goes completely at odds with the other half of my brain, which loves the possibilities of looking around a home and envisioning what my life would be like if I were to move there.
I'm probably only overanalyzing the entire process because I already felt weird about it. This is the first time that I have looked at a house with my parents, knowing that I would not be living there with them. By the time they get settled in their new house, I will be living on my own, either in an apartment or a dorm room. What would have been my potential bedroom is now a potential guest room. This was one of the first situations that has really provoked the realization that I won't live with my parents forever. Weird.
Meh, I felt like rambling today. Sorry about that.
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
A brain freeze on steroids
For the past couple of days, it has felt like there has been an active construction site going on in my head. Every time I open my eyes, it feels like my brain swells to about three times its size, threatening to burst open my skull.
Migraines have been a constant struggle in my life since elementary school. They are often so painful that I physically cannot seem to get out of bed and even attempt going about my daily routine. Instead I lay with my face buried in my pillow, hoping sleep will provide an escape from the pain.
Not today, my friends. Though it seemed like my brain was throbbing to the beat of my heart as soon as I opened my eyes, I stumbled out of the safe haven that is my bed and went to work. Sure, my hair was the same frizzy mess it had been when I awoke, and I may have been wearing my pajamas. Still. It was a victory, and I will celebrate it as such.
Katey - 1, Migraines - 5,000,000
Okay, so it was only one battle in the war against my ailment. Whatever. I'm proud of myself for rising above it, despite the fact that I spent the entire day contemplating plucking out my eyes to release the pressure.
Migraines have been a constant struggle in my life since elementary school. They are often so painful that I physically cannot seem to get out of bed and even attempt going about my daily routine. Instead I lay with my face buried in my pillow, hoping sleep will provide an escape from the pain.
Not today, my friends. Though it seemed like my brain was throbbing to the beat of my heart as soon as I opened my eyes, I stumbled out of the safe haven that is my bed and went to work. Sure, my hair was the same frizzy mess it had been when I awoke, and I may have been wearing my pajamas. Still. It was a victory, and I will celebrate it as such.
Katey - 1, Migraines - 5,000,000
Okay, so it was only one battle in the war against my ailment. Whatever. I'm proud of myself for rising above it, despite the fact that I spent the entire day contemplating plucking out my eyes to release the pressure.
Monday, May 23, 2011
Can I get yo digits?
There are effective methods of giving a guy your phone number. I'll go out on a limb here and say that the best way is to wait until he actually, you know... asks for it. However, patience has never been my strong suit.
Filling the void where patience should be, I have always possessed an abundance of craziness and awkwardness. The discomfort of people around me tends to be a direct result of the combination of these traits. With this in mind, today I'm going to tell you two stories that demonstrate how not to give out your phone number.
Numero Uno
In the autumn of my sophomore year of high school, I was an obnoxious not-quite-sixteen-year-old. I implore you to keep that maturity level in mind as I relay to you my actions on that fateful afternoon.
Every October, the Indianapolis Zoo decorates for Halloween and puts on themed festivities. While riding the train that takes visitors around the park, volunteers will perform skits at each stop. My best friend (Mallory) and I were able to ride the train a limitless amount of times for free, one of the many perks of being a zoo intern. This was the only time that we ever exercised that right in excess, all to gawk at a particularly attractive volunteer.
The first time that we rode the train, we simply had a little time to waste. The skits were all ridiculously cheesy, but our laughter and mocking commentary kept us plenty entertained. And then... we saw him. The clouds parted and light shined down on a man so sexy, he could only be a Greek god. Or maybe he was just "the Prince" in a cheesy skit based on The Little Mermaid. Whatever. Either way, when we reached the end of the tracks, Mallory and I decided we still had "soooo much time to kill" that we might as well ride it again.
The second time that we rode the train, I shamefully admit that we may or may not have made inappropriate catcalls along the lines of "Ow OW!" There may have also been some whistling involved.
The third time that we rode the train is the reason why this story is relevant. Mallory scrounged up a piece of paper and a pen, and we wrote each of our phone numbers under the labels "Blonde" and "Brown", giggling all the while. We then proceeded to fold it up and chuck it at this poor guy as we passed. It was only after the fact that I realized: we had not even supplied our area codes.
Numero Dos
Nowadays, Mal and I frequent Steak 'N Shake, as it is the only establishment open late at night in my town. About two weeks ago, we ended up chatting with our extremely cute waiter. It was his first day, and he sheepishly admitted that we were only like his tenth table.
Last night, we were back in our usual booth. We were seated in a different waiter's area, but Mallory kept catching his eye and smiling. When she had cleared her plate, she wrote her number on it in ketchup, labelled "For *****". We witnessed him laughing and attempting to copy it on a piece of paper as we left, but the numbers were nearly impossible to decipher.
So. Here's my advice:
a) If you decide to throw your phone number at someone from a moving train, it might be best if you include all of the digits. You should also probably avoid referring to yourself as the incorrect terminology for your hair color.
b) When writing with condiments, it's best to allow yourself enough space to actually be legible.
c) If you prefer not to make an ass out of yourself, avoid doing these things. They never turn out well.
Filling the void where patience should be, I have always possessed an abundance of craziness and awkwardness. The discomfort of people around me tends to be a direct result of the combination of these traits. With this in mind, today I'm going to tell you two stories that demonstrate how not to give out your phone number.
Numero Uno
In the autumn of my sophomore year of high school, I was an obnoxious not-quite-sixteen-year-old. I implore you to keep that maturity level in mind as I relay to you my actions on that fateful afternoon.
Every October, the Indianapolis Zoo decorates for Halloween and puts on themed festivities. While riding the train that takes visitors around the park, volunteers will perform skits at each stop. My best friend (Mallory) and I were able to ride the train a limitless amount of times for free, one of the many perks of being a zoo intern. This was the only time that we ever exercised that right in excess, all to gawk at a particularly attractive volunteer.
The first time that we rode the train, we simply had a little time to waste. The skits were all ridiculously cheesy, but our laughter and mocking commentary kept us plenty entertained. And then... we saw him. The clouds parted and light shined down on a man so sexy, he could only be a Greek god. Or maybe he was just "the Prince" in a cheesy skit based on The Little Mermaid. Whatever. Either way, when we reached the end of the tracks, Mallory and I decided we still had "soooo much time to kill" that we might as well ride it again.
The second time that we rode the train, I shamefully admit that we may or may not have made inappropriate catcalls along the lines of "Ow OW!" There may have also been some whistling involved.
The third time that we rode the train is the reason why this story is relevant. Mallory scrounged up a piece of paper and a pen, and we wrote each of our phone numbers under the labels "Blonde" and "Brown", giggling all the while. We then proceeded to fold it up and chuck it at this poor guy as we passed. It was only after the fact that I realized: we had not even supplied our area codes.
Numero Dos
Nowadays, Mal and I frequent Steak 'N Shake, as it is the only establishment open late at night in my town. About two weeks ago, we ended up chatting with our extremely cute waiter. It was his first day, and he sheepishly admitted that we were only like his tenth table.
Last night, we were back in our usual booth. We were seated in a different waiter's area, but Mallory kept catching his eye and smiling. When she had cleared her plate, she wrote her number on it in ketchup, labelled "For *****". We witnessed him laughing and attempting to copy it on a piece of paper as we left, but the numbers were nearly impossible to decipher.
So. Here's my advice:
a) If you decide to throw your phone number at someone from a moving train, it might be best if you include all of the digits. You should also probably avoid referring to yourself as the incorrect terminology for your hair color.
b) When writing with condiments, it's best to allow yourself enough space to actually be legible.
c) If you prefer not to make an ass out of yourself, avoid doing these things. They never turn out well.
A goal that is attainable, but just barely
So, it has been almost exactly one month since I have posted anything on this blog. I feel slightly ashamed, mostly because I started so many entries just to surrender to the jumbled mess that is my thoughts and admit defeat. I had no idea how to even begin to articulate the things that I wanted to say, so I just didn't say them. That is an embarrassing fact, and I am going through an abrupt change as we/I speak. No longer will I almost break the backspace key in frustration as I clear away my half-assed attempts to express myself.
It may be shocking that I am capable of making further delusional promises to myself, but this next (rather grandiose) one was inspired by the revelation that I had about two minutes ago: I am sick of letting my days blend together as if my life is bland and uneventful. Every single day, something significant happens. Therefore, I plan on blogging about said significant situations/thoughts/whatever every single day. Probably until I die... or maybe not.
I might as well establish some exceptions to this new plan right here and now, just to avoid future shame, embarrassment, and rambling apologies similar to the one that is currently happening. If I simply do not have time to blog one day (because yes, my life is craaaaaazy enough for that to occasionally be a problem wink wink), I will write two entries the next day. This isn't BEDA; I can skip a day if I see fit. So... there. The other exception that is coming to mind right now is when I'm traveling. I cannot guarantee that I will be able to update this while on my many adventures (don't smirk at me! I go places), so I suppose we'll just deal with that when the situation arises.
This is going to be such a bitch. I immediately regret my decision, but... see you tomorrow.
** OH. I should probably go ahead and make it a general rule that midnight is not a factor. If I haven't gone to bed yet, it's still the previous day to me, so it counts. Yeah.
It may be shocking that I am capable of making further delusional promises to myself, but this next (rather grandiose) one was inspired by the revelation that I had about two minutes ago: I am sick of letting my days blend together as if my life is bland and uneventful. Every single day, something significant happens. Therefore, I plan on blogging about said significant situations/thoughts/whatever every single day. Probably until I die... or maybe not.
I might as well establish some exceptions to this new plan right here and now, just to avoid future shame, embarrassment, and rambling apologies similar to the one that is currently happening. If I simply do not have time to blog one day (because yes, my life is craaaaaazy enough for that to occasionally be a problem wink wink), I will write two entries the next day. This isn't BEDA; I can skip a day if I see fit. So... there. The other exception that is coming to mind right now is when I'm traveling. I cannot guarantee that I will be able to update this while on my many adventures (don't smirk at me! I go places), so I suppose we'll just deal with that when the situation arises.
This is going to be such a bitch. I immediately regret my decision, but... see you tomorrow.
** OH. I should probably go ahead and make it a general rule that midnight is not a factor. If I haven't gone to bed yet, it's still the previous day to me, so it counts. Yeah.
Sunday, April 24, 2011
I'm not awake enough to think of a title.
I literally just posted a blog five minutes ago, but I immediately felt the need to write something a little more lighthearted, so here we are.
In my opinion, running into someone I knew when I was younger is one of the all-time weirdest experiences. They always completely clash with the image I've been mentally hoarding of them, because obviously they've been growing up just as much as I have. Though I am aware of this fact in theory, it is still a surreal thing to realize that kid who concocted a plan to disprove Santa Claus with me is now a drug dealer. The boy who would only talk about squirrels for a year was recently arrested for shop-lifting. The little girl who ate glue has an STD. These are facts that are quite difficult to compute; it is within these scenarios that I find reality most jarring. I try to remind myself to think of people complexly, but putting these images of people side by side can be a little shocking. When I wasn't privy to the gradual stages that turned them from the children I knew into angst-ridden teenagers, it seems almost impossible that they're the same people. A girl who I knew in kindergarten is pregnant, and though it is completely illogical, my first reaction went along the lines of, "What?! She's pregnant? But... she's only five!"
Maybe the people I knew as a child are just especially fucked up, but I think this phenomenon has probably occurred for everyone. I wonder how I measure up to the image people retain of me as a child?
In my opinion, running into someone I knew when I was younger is one of the all-time weirdest experiences. They always completely clash with the image I've been mentally hoarding of them, because obviously they've been growing up just as much as I have. Though I am aware of this fact in theory, it is still a surreal thing to realize that kid who concocted a plan to disprove Santa Claus with me is now a drug dealer. The boy who would only talk about squirrels for a year was recently arrested for shop-lifting. The little girl who ate glue has an STD. These are facts that are quite difficult to compute; it is within these scenarios that I find reality most jarring. I try to remind myself to think of people complexly, but putting these images of people side by side can be a little shocking. When I wasn't privy to the gradual stages that turned them from the children I knew into angst-ridden teenagers, it seems almost impossible that they're the same people. A girl who I knew in kindergarten is pregnant, and though it is completely illogical, my first reaction went along the lines of, "What?! She's pregnant? But... she's only five!"
Maybe the people I knew as a child are just especially fucked up, but I think this phenomenon has probably occurred for everyone. I wonder how I measure up to the image people retain of me as a child?
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