Snippets

     You might not believe this because I post so infrequently, but I actually write for this blog quite often.  For some reason I always lose confidence in what I'm writing half way through, and never finish or post three quarters of what I write.  I went through some of those old posts tonight, and even though they are for the most part unfinished, I still think some of it numbers among the best things I've ever said.  Don't get me wrong, there's a reason why I never finished these things, sometimes they're just too personal, sometimes they make no sense, sometimes I recycle parts of them for other things I'm writing.  Though if it saves me from having to write anything original I'm going to show you some of them.  So, I am presenting to you these snippets, these bits and pieces of my life that have so far gone untold. 

Originally written 12/2/10

     Every time I begin to blog, I first read some of my old posts.  I don't know why I got myself in the  habit of doing this, because every time I read one, I have to then read nearly everything I've ever written.  I like seeing how I've changed, how my writing style has grown, how my jokes have become sharper.  I like the idea of growth, the idea that things always get stronger, bigger, better  I like thinking that there is no end to anything.  That talent grows, that people grow, that love grows.  There is no end to anything.

     I've been converting my parent's old VHS tapes to DVD, as part of their Christmas present.  Some of the tapes are filled with the mundane family gatherings that I always hated as a child.  The type where every single family member within in earshot of the camera is talking over one another, or saying something wildly offensive.But a lot of the tapes have childhood me in them.  I know this is going to sound self involved, but then again I am known for being self involved, but I love watching myself.  I like seeing the progression, the stretching out of my life in slower chunks of time.  I like the sheer fly on the wall aspect of it all. Some of the tapes I can remember exactly what I was thinking that day, how I was feeling. 

     I like to think I've grown, that I've changed, though I know that's not altogether true.  I am not any more intelligent than I was five years ago, ten years ago even.  I am not any more talented or quick witted than I was in those time frames of my life.  I feel like I'm nicer though, that I'm a little more .  I'm more observant of other people's feelings.

Originally Written 6/14/10
  
     I hate math.  I hate numbers, addition, multiplication, tangents, and cubes.  There is nothing good that can come out of subtraction or division.  I hate mathematics, because no matter how many professors of the subject claim that there are rules that help you get the answer to any given equation, the rules are always changing.  I don't like anything that isn't constant.  I've never understood math, and I never will.  Now, I'm not going to say that I think the square root of four is rainbows or anything, but it's still pretty bad.  Unfortunately I am taking a math class this summer, only because I hear that it is easier to pass in a shorter amount of time.  I still doubt I'll be able to do it, but I guess I can try.

      My hated for math has mostly been mostly based on the fact that I cannot understand it for the life of me.  This is a pattern in my life, I generally hate anything that I cannot understand.  This is most of the reason why I hate Mormons. 

Originally Written on 4/07/10

     I got contacts a couple of weeks ago.  I love them because it makes one part of me almost perfect.  I am no longer encumbered by wire frames and polycarbonate lenses.  That is freeing for me, to think that I can see without the aid of glasses. Though it makes me sad to think that I even need them at all.  It upsets me that I wasn't born with anything perfect.
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     I've been feeling very unattractive lately. I know that doesn't sound all that important, but it's been plaguing me for weeks. I know that I should try looking inside for all that inner beauty bull shit, but to be honest I'm not sure I have any beauty inside me. In fact, all I have inside me are snide comments, and dick jokes. I'd like to say there's more there but that would be a lie. Oh wait, that's another thing I have in me...lies.

     I had a horrible biology teacher in the tenth grade. She was short tempered, and not all that intelligent from what I can remember. Once she even made us dissect a sheep's heart. It was disgusting, and I'm pretty sure I still don't know what the hell is inside of a sheep's heart. Though, I do remember learning one thing in that class. I do remember learning about adaptation, and how we all change to survive. We all pick up little survival instincts along the way that keep us steady, keep us alive.

Originally Written On 4/19/10

     It is a weird sensation to be alive. Though I've never personally been on the other side of life,I realize that the sentiment is true all the same. It is a weird thing to know that I am a living body, beating heart, and blinking eyes, and breathing lungs. It is an odd thing to know that I am stuck in an ever changing body. I am constantly getting older careening towards uncertainty. I will be twenty three in a couple months time.

I never even imagined myself becoming a legal adult, I thought for sure I would tie tragically young. I think that has something to do with my best friend dying when I was young. He died when he was only ten years old. I was two years younger, and I think subconsciously I always held in the back of my mind that if it could happen to him, it would more than likely happen to me. I held bated breath on my tenth birthday, knowing in the back of my mind that as soon as I blew out those candles some tragic fate would befall me. And when it didn't, I don't think I knew what to do about it. I know that sounds odd, as most of my thoughts do. But in that revelation there was an inkling I had that told me to be louder, bigger, better. I haven't always lived up to it, sometimes I am not as great as I would like to be. Sometimes I'm not as nice as I'd like to be. Sometimes I completely forget that people even exist. In fact that very thing happened last night...

Originally Written On 12/08/08

     I am notoriously selfish, I always have been. I've always been pretty much focussed on my own needs and wants, rather than caring all that much about anyone else. And though some might say that this is a bad charachter trait to host, I completely disagree for the most part. I believe it's all very survival of the fittest. I never really bought into the whole Darwinism thing, but I do believe that we are all hard wired to care for ourselves above all things else, because if we don't who the hell else is going to do it for us? Except for our parents, and the ocassional loved one not a single person really cares about you more than they care about themselves. I've always viewed it as basic instinct, just human nature. I just can't help it, I was built thi way.

     So I spend most of my days attempting to meet my every whim, damn the consequences. If I want something, I buy it no matter how ridiculously expensive it may be. If I want to say something, I say it loudly without thinking of hurting anyone else. I do what I want, I do what I feel. I do for myself, constantly.

Real Quick Like

     I thought that when school ended for the semester I'd finally have enough time to write something.  I was wrong, the end of school only made things ramp up to a new level of ridiculousness.  I just wanted to write a quick update to say that I think something odd just happened.  I just walked in the front door to find that in my absence my parent's had purchased a new 50 inch plasma, that was  hanging in all it's glory as I walked in the living room.  I'd like to say I had my first appropriate dude reaction to a piece of electronics and immediately started scratching my balls and wondering when the game was on.  More on that later though.

A Prelude to 4 Things: "Oh Why, Oh Why, Oh, Why, Oh Did I Ever Leave Ohio?"

I know that things have been quiet here for quite some time, and I apologize about that.  I have many things to discuss with you as soon as finals are over in a week.

Topics we should discuss:

1. My trip to Cleveland
2. Why I was an unattractive twelve year old
3. How my new Gap sweater implies that I have a vagina when I'm wearing it
4. How I've consumed an unwieldy amount of calories in the past two weeks.  Seriously, you would be appalled. Yesterday I had not one Hostess product, but two; and they did not come in the same package. 
5. How I'm submitting a portfolio for both the McNeese Contraband, and a local magazine so I can score some freelance work
6. How Arlene and Jefferey changed my life

I'll see you in a week, though if you were wise I wouldn't hold me to a strict time frame. 

2 and a Quarter Things

I've been meaning to write an installment of 4 things, and I am doing that right now, but to tide you over here is the remnants of one I wrote at the end of August.  Some of it makes no sense, and it cuts off at the end, but I still think parts of it are pretty awesome.  So, enjoy that shit.


This Week I Became a Mentor

I've already told you that this semester I will be working as a mentor for incoming freshmen at McNeese, which I was totally excited about until I learned I'd be expected to sit through four hours of productivity meetings to be trained.  There is nothing I hate more than meetings, maybe it's because I have an instilled inability to sit still for more than six minutes straight without losing concentration and begin to think of more important things like penguin birth and the direction that Justin Beiber's career is heading.   More than likely though it's just that I hate being in a group.  I'm not trying to say I'm a loner or anything because that is totally not the case.  In fact I absolutely hate being alone, but if I am going to be with a group of people it should be people of my choosing. It should not be a hodgepodge of uninterested twenty somethings being forced to listen to a middle aged woman speak about "how uplifting it can be to mold the young minds of tomorrow" or whatever bullshit the lady in charge of this meeting was spewing. 

I guess I've always hated that rah-rah, we are the world bullshit.  I hate forced enthusiasm, that kind of hokey empowerment makes me want to seriously consider bulimia as my new religion.  I dread one day having a career where I may be forced to sit through seminars with motivational speakers and team building exercises.  I'm not sure I could possibly be able to keep my shit together long enough to stand it.  I don't want to come off as cynical or anything, it's just that this kind of forced giddiness does not work on me.  I do not want to work with a group I would rather work alone.  Mostly because I know that I am not stupid and anyone I were to be paired with more than likely would be.

 I'm  not trying to belittle the work that this woman is doing, or the work that these other people are hoping to do with these students.  It's just that I'm not in it for self satisfaction.  In fact I'm only doing it because the head of the journalism department asked me to, and I don't want to piss her off seeing as she is the professor of most of my classes.  Thankfully I was able to do what was expected of me in this meeting.  I sat, and I nodded, and I acted as if I was pondering thoughtfully.  I hate knowing that I'm expected to smile and nod and speak thoughtfully instead of screaming the obscenities that are blaring in my mind.   I just hate that "we are all in this together" mentality. We are not in anything together except for this awful room.  Everyone one is in it for themselves.  Teamwork was only ever meant for migrant farmers and lesbians.

I guess it's no surprise that I hate working in groups because I am prone to hating all strangers.   I have to had talked to someone at least twenty times for me to consider them as a human being.  I am notorious for avoiding strangers at almost all costs.   I like to think it's the precocious first grader in me who is worried about STRANGER DANGER, and getting molested. Which let me tell you my parents were always unusually vocal of the possibility that any moment I could be molested.  I'm not sure what gave them this impression I'm not sure that I was an unusually attractive third grader or anything.  

This Week I Started School

I know for sure that one of my teachers is already on the first day starting to piss me off. She is teaching my "production across media' class which is basically video editing and learning how to use final cut pro.   Not only did the professor do that stupid thing where everyone goes around the room and talks about themselves endlessly.  I have never been good at this exercise, and like I mentioned earlier I hate strangers so I care very little about the lives of my classmates.  I don't care if before they came to McNeese to study Mass Communications they were in a troop of African tribal dancers that used to entertain America's elite in the backrooms of strip clubs across the Midwest.   I don't care about the lives of strangers because I barely have time to care about myself.  People should be more sensitive to the fact that I think about myself all day long, constantly and therefore do not have the time to be pondering other people's existences.  Anyways after hearing about Melissa who with a tilting sort of whiny voice told us that she couldn't decide whether she should continue with her degree in Public Relations or purse a career in dance.  She then proceeded to tell us that she had never danced before but was willing to now start trying at the ripe age of twenty two.  No one picks up a new skill at twenty two.  At twenty two you already have everything you're ever going to have.  You will from that point on neither get any smarter or dumber.  You will not pick up any new talents or skills.  You are constant from that age forward.  You cannot just decide you want to be a dancer.  Twenty two is too old to become a prodigy or an ingenue. 

Hearing Melissa talk about herself for near ten minutes reminded me of something I just heard about someone I was once friends with.  This person is quite possibly one of the dumbest people I've ever met.  I remember once we shared an English class and after the teacher had painstakingly walked around the room to pass out that days test.  He waited until she sat down and without even glancing at the exam stood up and turned it back into her.  When she asked him if he wanted to try to answer the twenty something questions upon the page he replied "that it was just too hard"  He also used to turn in papers with thinly veiled plagarism.  He once wrote a research paper on some celebrity that I cannot recall right now and in lieu of copying what was in the book as "she was born in 1962" he wrote "she was born in the year of 1962".  See?  He was painfully dumb, the kind of dumb that only usually occurs after head trauma.  Anyways I recently found out that this dumb ass has decided he wants to become a pharmacist.  Not only is that the most terrifying thing I've ever thought of, but what the what is he thinking?  You cannot just wake up one day and decide you are going to be a god damned pharmacist.  That's just not feasible.  That's like me saying I have a secret desire to be a mathematician, or an Asian bikini waxer.  I have no chance of being an Asian bikini waxer (that is to say an Asian who waxes bikinis not an Asian's bikini waxer).  I have almost no chance of being an Asian bikini waxer because I have no preposition to become one.  First off, I don't think I'll ever be able to magically become Asian.  Second of all, when have I ever shown any sort of gumption in the field?  Did I dream as a child of one day pouring hot wax on the genitals of strangers and speaking in broken English?  Did I train for years on the pubic regions of my sleeping friends?  No, I did not and that is why I will never be an Asian bikini waxer, and he will never be a pharmacist.  I don't appreciate it when people dream too big. 

This Week I Joined a Gym

You've heard me bitch about how fat I am on more than one occasion I am sure.  I've said it before that I am not crazy fat.  I am not the kind of fat that seat belts can't contain, or that airplanes cannot accommodate.  I am not the kind of fat that has to resort to shopping at the Big, Fat, Tall, and Ugly store, although they do send me the catalog that way I may one day be able to order in the privacy of my own home.

4 Things I Want To List

You guys are so lucky today a wave of sickness has knocked me out of commission and finally slowed me down enough that I can sit at the computer for more than three seconds so that I might post something.  I don't have the energy to post a full blown segment of 4 things, but I think that this might tide you over until that time.

4 things that I am excited about right now:

1. I finally got an iphone 4, which makes me feel very sophisticated and important.  I imagine that when people see me on it, they think that I am talking to important clients, or arranging meetings.  The sad reality is that I'm probably ordering General Tso's Chicken from Yank Sing for pick-up, but they don't know that do they?  Though it is helping me to reach my goals of being a more proficient and amazing individual.  There are all kinds of note taking, and scheduling apps to keep up with my life.  But there's also a game where you get to fling birds at pigs so as you can imagine that's exactly what I've been doing.
2. I finally booked my flight to Cleveland for this November.  I didn't think I'd end up actually doing it, but I am so excited about it.  I imagine that I'll spend my time there eating at less than hygienic twenty four hour diners, seeing the first installment of the new Harry Potter movie, and laughing so much that I'll lose my voice, or start doing that really annoying squealing thing that I am prone to do. I know this next part is going to sound very juvenile for a twenty four year old but I have never gone anywhere without my family and that thought is exhilarating, the freedom.  I cannot stop thinking about it.
3. My news writing class is so great, I really love it.  I'll admit that before I actually started to get into my journalism classes I wondered if it was for me.  Most of my fears have subsided now, mostly because I'm enjoying it so much.  I feel like I'm learning so much, not just about the craft itself but about the world around me.  So far I've interviewed a nurse, a student who has started her own charity, a child psychologist, and a firefighter.  I know that makes me sound like I'm writing essays for a middle school career fair, but still.  I am really enjoying learning about things that I previously had no aptitude or interest in whatsoever.  
4. The last thing I'm excited about is really just everything else that hasn't already been mentioned.  Do you get that feeling when even though you have no reason to believe that things are about to be amazing you just know they are?  I've been feeling like that for a while now.  Usually I'm a terrible Debbie Downer, but right now I just feel so optimistic.  I feel so hopeful, and sure of everything.  I just know that things are going to be amazing, without much effort on my part.  Things will fall into place.  I'm sure of it.

4 things I love right now:

1. Little Lies by Dave Barnes
2. These shirts from American Eagle which fit in perfectly with my closet full of plain colored t shirts.  These make me feel a little less like a giant cotton covered wall of fat.
3. This iphone case I found on Etsy, which I would order because it looks amazing, but it is totally impractical to put a four hundred dollar phone in a cotton sleeve. 
4. Einstein's Brother's Honey Whole Wheat Bagels, which I eat nearly every Tuesday and Thursday morning during my break between classes.

I'm so mono begging to be stereo

Today I was told by my journalism professor that to be a journalist one has to be aggressive.  To be a successful writer one must be balls out and take no prisoners and be cut throat, and all of those other adjectives to describe a complete asshole.  I immediately was terrified because I may be the least aggressive person in the entire world.  Although naturally curious by nature I am not the one to go out of my way to talk to new people.  In fact I'm more inclined to do the opposite and stand int he corner and observe until someone deigns to speak to me first.  I never want to interrupt, or speak out of place, or be presumptuous.  It's just not in my nature.  I don't want to step on any metaphorical toes. 

It got me thinking that maybe I'm doing it all wrong.  Maybe it's not enough to just love something, or to have a mild amount of talent for it.  Temperament is important, drive is important, maybe I don't have enough of either of those qualities.  Maybe there is some job out there that I'd be more suited for. 

I've never tried pottery.  What if the first time my hands touched clay I made the world's best clay pot?  What if I am a pottery prodigy and never knew it?  I could be the worlds best clay pot maker;  and how will I know whether or not I am if I've never tried?  How will I try all of the things out there before I decide what it is that is meant for me.  Is there anything out there that is meant for me? 

What if I can't be aggressive, or what if I have no place in a newsroom?  What if I look horrible in business attire?    What if no one wants to come to lunch with me?  Will I be expected to buy an iPad?  What if I can't reach deadlines?  What if I don't measure up? I am terrified that I will be the worlds worst journalist.  Will I graduate with a degree in Journalism only to be made to write up obituaries for the rest of my life?  Will I someday have to take a job as editor of the Thrifty Nickel?  What if I am the world's worst journalist?  Do they offer some opposite of the Pulitzer prize, some Razzie of the newspaper world?  Will they create the award just for me so that everyone knows that I am the worst writer to ever grace the crinkled first page of some small local daily? 

I feel like it's already started and I am no where near graduation.   I've been assigned to write one article a week.  Find a story, find an interview, write it up.  I'm already nervous.  I've already begun to spin.   I know that I am spinning because that is what I do.  I spin out of control so fast that almost no one can keep up with the bouts of crazy radiating off of me.  Has anyone as ridiculous as me ever gone on to be successful in this field?  Do you have their number? 

Tentative

I just want to let you know that I wrote a post for week five of Four Things the other night.  I wrote three or four pages of what has happened to me in the past couple of weeks.  Sadly it was written when I was completely exhausted, and it makes little to no sense whatsoever.  So I am going back and editing the shit out of it.  So it should be up by tomorrow at the latest.

Four Things Week Four

From this week forward, you can call me Professor Gribble.

    The head of the journalism department, and my academic adviser recently asked me if I would be willing to assist her with the incoming Mass Communications majors by helping her teach the required Freshmen Foundations course.  I was almost immediately pretty excited about this proposal because I almost always get excited about anything I might have to buy new clothes for. In my mind all male teachers wear sweater vests and checkered bow ties, coupled with the kind of pants I believe are known as trousers.  I immediately begin pursuing J Crew's website, but sadly did not buy anything because one of my forthcoming bullet points.

     But anyways, I am terribly excited about her offer because I think it's about time that someone has noticed that I deserve to be in a position of power and influence over malleable minds.  It's time that I begin to imprint my great fountain of knowledge on the youth of Louisiana.  Actually my teacher made it pretty clear that I would not be teaching the class in any capacity because apparently I'm not qualified.  Whatever, I'm pretty sure that I will be the sole instructor of the  class.  I believe that I'll get to assign homework, and to make tests. I believe that I'll finally be in a position where I can be sued for the sexual harassment of a student.  Sadly, none of this is the case though, as my professor mostly insinuated that I would be responsible for helping the students and answering questions about he workings of the University.  I would also be responsible for helping with the grading, and posting assignments and such on Blackboard.  That mostly sounds really boring, and something I wouldn't even be good at because I am prone to large stretches of ineptitude and indifference on almost every subject.


This week I hit the poverty line.

     I have been broke as a joke for the past two weeks.  I'd like to say because I was suffering silently after working hard and being able to pay all of my bills.  I wish I had spent my money on bills because then at least I'd know what the hell happened to it.  Sadly, I don't even have any bills.  None, I have no financial responsibilities whatsoever.  I never have, yet I have never been able to hold on to twenty dollars for more than an hour.   A lot of people say that you need money to make money, and I wish I could say I was taking all of the money I make and am turning it into some kind of money-spinning venture that will leave me flush with cash.   That is not the case in the slightest.  See, I don't know if you know this about me or not but I kind of have a shopping problem.  I don't mean that in a way that says I am materialistic or that I need the newest, hottest every things.  I don't really care about that kind of stuff to be honest.  I just have a problem in which if I see something and like it, I have to have it.  I cannot handle not owning it, and holding it, and taking it home.  If I see a shirt I like, I'll buy it in five colors.  If I want a candy bar, I'll buy five of them, and end up throwing three of them away.  I have a sick, sick addiction.  I blame my Grandmother.

     When my Grandmother was alive, she was the most generous woman I had ever known.  Generosity didn't come hard for her, as I believe her DNA strands were made out of hundred dollar bills.  She came from money, she had always had money, she shared her money with the people she loved.  She lived over six hours away, so when I did get to see her she'd celebrate my birthdays and Christmases and Chinese New Years by bringing me to the mall and telling me to buy what I wanted.  She never asked why I wanted a particular something, she never questioned my selections she would always just tell me to "wear it well", and handed over her credit card. I don't want you to assume that I had my hands outstretched waiting for her charitable donations, because that wasn't the case.  Though, having her around got me used to getting what I want.

    Honestly she probably had nothing to do whatsoever with my complete inability to stick to any kind of budget.  I mostly just wanted to talk about her.  I guess the moral of the story is that I can't be trusted with money.  I will absolutely blow it, waste it, give it away.  I may never grow up.

This week I have liked some things.













 


This week I was not a fire starter, nor a firefighter.

    I did not set the world on fire this week.  In fact if the world had been on fire I believe I would have feebly tried to put it out by peeing on it, and then have given up half way.   I then would have ignored the screams of the third degree burn victims and gotten back to my regularly scheduled nothing.   I think it's pretty clear that I tried to avoid doing anything at all this week.  I would have had nothing to write about if things just hadn't fallen into my lap.  I didn't actually do anything if you haven't noticed from the first three entries.  All of the things that did happen to me came from complete lack of participation on my part.  I didn't go after a mentor ship position, I was offered one.  I did not worry about budgetary concerns therefore I am broke.  See?  I did absolutely nothing this week.  Things just happened to me with no work or forethought whatsoever.  I wish I had been more productive, but in all honesty I'm not sure I'm ready for kids. 

Things that will have happened to me next week:
I will have seen my best friend who is coming in for a few days.
I will have gone to a training meeting for the mentor ship program.
I will have gone to rehab for drug and twizzler abuse.
I will have attempted to not be so useless.

Newsworthy

    You probably remember a couple of months ago I said that I was going to start scouring the newspapers for articles from every possible section, and give my own thoughts on the stories from within.  I planned to do this to familiarize myself with all of the sections and maybe to acquire an interest for news, so that one day I may be better equipped to write it.  The last time I thought about it was in March when I posted this post ont he dangers of bedbugs, and haven't thought of it again until now.  I wasn't wrong, it's not a bad idea, so I am going to attempt to do it, only this time actually do it.  One section at a time I am going to get to know each section of the newspaper. I've decided that just like the first post I wrote I will get my articles from The New York Times, because my local paper cannot be trusted for anything that is not about a hurricane that happened nearly six years ago. 

     I've said it before, but I absolutely hate reading the news.  Sure, it's informative, and sometimes interesting, but it's always written in such a cut and dry way that I can't stomach it.  I prefer a little more magic in the things I read. So I will be trying to find the lesast painful articles to report on as possible. Today I read a piece from the World section entitled "Indonesia Finds Banning Pornography Is Difficult" by Aubrey Belford.  I picked this piece because it was the only one that had "pornography" in it's title.  The short of the article is that Indonesia's information minister Tifatul Sembiring has mandated that Internet Service Providers in the region will have to somehow prevent their subscribers from being able to access pornography by August 11th, 2010 which is the beginning of the Muslim fasting month known as Ramadan.  Internet service providers are finding this task to be insurmountable.  Apparently there is no quick and easy way to get rid of millions of porn sites from all over the world that are popping up as quickly as blue balls will be if Sembiring has his way.

   I could start off by saying that I think the whole idea of blocking porn from the people of Indonesia is ludicrous, but who cares what I think?  Clearly they believe that the viewing of pornography is somehow dirty or wrong, and I am not going to belittle their belief system.  Though I have no qualms about saying how ridiculous the notion is.  I'm just wondering what the death rate of porn is in Indonesia.  Can anyone find me some facts and figures on how many people in Indonesia have died in the last ten years due to porn?  Maybe there's something I don't know, maybe Indonesia has some kind of porn that induces some kind of crazy seizure, where immediately after seeing it a man goes and sacrifices a virgin in the middle of the street in the name of Dick Cheney.  I have no idea what they do in Indonesia, I don't even know where Indonesia is located.  All I know is that you can't stop porn.

     I don't want you to think that I'm some some porn crusader.  I am not fighting for the rights of porn, in fact I do believe that porn is too easily found by those who aren't even looking for it.  It comes into the hands of people who should never be allowed access to it; sex offenders, children, Mel Gibson.  Maybe it's just me, but I swear porn somehow manages to find me even though I'm not looking for it.  I get at least ten messages a month through Facebook from random spam accounts with a slutty girl picture and an invite to chat in exchange for cash.  The country of Indonesia isn't wrong, maybe something should be done.  Porn shouldn't be so easy to find, it should be restricted.  Attempting to get rid of it completely, however is a fools errand.   The people of Indonesia (or Indonesians, or Indonesianites) are just trying to get their rocks off.  What's so wrong with that?

Four Things Week Three

     I have been attempting to write this for the past couple of days, but I wanted to tie up the loose strings before writing about these things.  For instance you can probably already see by the first header that I have quit smoking in the past week.  I didn't want to say I had done that only to re neg on it a couple of days later.  I had to make sure that it would stick.  To be honest I probably would have kept you waiting if it hadn't have been for Kelli's glowing review of this Four Things series.  I would like to thank her publicly by stating that she is the best writer I know, with a talent that usurps mine greatly.  She is also probably nicer than I am, and is always willing to be the only other person I know that is willing to order more than one desert with me.  If you have never read her blog I couldn't possibly tell you in under three thousand words how fantastic it is, so go and find out for yourself.

This week I quit smoking.

     I should start this out by saying that I have an addictive personality.  If I find myself liking something, I can't ever seem to get enough of whatever that something may be.  If I like a sandwich at Quiznos I'll eat it every day for a week, for lunch (In case you were wondering my sandwich of choice is always a Chicken Carbonara on Rosemary Parmesan bread with extra jalapenos).  If I think a person is funny, I'll call them every single day and talk to them for hours at a time.  I can never seem to get enough of the things I like.  I guess what I'm saying is that I would make a good junkie.  I can honestly see myself with dark circles under my eyes, sweaty and even paler than I already am, just looking for my next fix.  I guess that's why I've never been much of a drinker, I've always assumed that if I have more than a couple of sips, I'd be dead within a week, my liver in shambles.

     It's just that I have always been too willing to give myself up to something, anything for a little bit of satisfaction.  I realize that with some things like my Quiznos obsession the only thing in danger is the credit limit on my Old Navy credit card because I will eventually have to start buying new clothes to accommodate my expanding waistline.  Though sometimes my addictions are more reckless.  I should have known better than to ever start smoking.  I could chalk it up to the indiscretions of my youth, or that when I took my first drag I was in a horrible period of my life, or that I was surrounding myself with the worst kinds of people.  Those things all have some semblance of truth to them, but they're not the whole story.  Sometimes I think I just wanted to do something bad for the first time in my life.  Do something that people wouldn't' be happy about, do something that made me stand out for once.  I'm not saying that it's good reasoning, because it is not.

    I've been smoking since I was nineteen, I am twenty four now, for those who are as mathematically challenged as I am that totals to five years (I had to count on my fingers twice to figure that out).  Five years that I willingly did something I knew was wrong.  God, am I starting to sound like an anti smoking PSA?  That was not at all my intentions.  I'm starting to believe that quitting is taking away my sense of humor, I hope that's not true.  Last week I bought my last pack of Marlboro Menthol one hundreds, and bought my first pack of NicoDerm CQs.  When I put the first tan colored patch upon my forearm, I felt an immense sense of relief.  And even though the patch stands out awkwardly among my pale skin, I'm okay with that.  I keep telling everyone it's my Ortho Evra birth control patch, which is a huge blow to those people who are trying to inseminate me, I'm sure.  Though, I like the patches because they  make me not have any cravings at all.  Though breaking the habit of driving around listening to dumb music and smoking, is going to be a bitch.

This week I traded one addiction for another.

     I've always heard that the second you stop smoking you are sure to gain thirty seven pounds of your dignity back.  I guess I am doing my part to keep that truth alive.  Within seconds of smoking my last cigarette I quickly found solace in a bag of goldfish,  followed by a six pack of twenty ounce mountain dews, and chased them with an entire bag of cherry flavored pull and peel Twizzlers.  I love Twizzler's, they are God's perfect food.  They are sweet, and chewy, and taste like home; if you happen to live in a dirty movie theater that is.  In fact I think it's possible that in the past seven days I have consumed the world's supply of Twizzlers.  There are no Twizzler's left for the children of the world, unless of course they're looking for the black ones which I'm sure they'll find in droves because no one wants them--they're disgusting.

    I'd like to say that I am attempting to counteract this sudden binge of carbo-loading, but instead I'm just going to let it play out.  I guess I could try to eat sensibly and maybe try to figure out exactly what pilates entails, but instead I think I'll go the opposite direction.  No, instead I am going to eat whatever the hell I feel like and pray that I don't get crazy fat.  As everyone knows crazy fat is the exact weight you must reach to be considered for a job in postal service.  All postal workers I've ever seen are crazy fat individuals, not that I think there's anything wrong with the postal service or anything.  I'm just not sure I'm organized enough to be considered for it.

This week I had the craziest dreams.

    On the box of nicotine patches there is a warning that states that the wearing of said patches overnight might result in vivid dreams.  They were not lying.  The first couple of nights I wore the patch to bed without much concern of the consequences.  I made the wrong decision. I did not sleep for three nights straight due to the ridiculous dreams I was waking up from every fifteen minutes.  I am well aware that there is nothing in this world that is less interesting than having to listen to someone talk about their own dreams.  Trust me I know, I used to know this guy who was constantly walking up to me and asking me to talk about his dreams with him, this guy was the worst.  Though his dreams were not at all as interesting as mine.  Let me walk you through a couple of the scenarios that I remember.

     Scenario One: I had a dream the first night that my friends Bryant and Kelli asked me to accompany them on a trip to Oklahoma, the journey was made my train. On the voyage Kelli who is not narcissistic in the slightest, would not stop talking about her own hair.  Bryant did the only normal thing in the entire dream, and did what he always does and talked about electronics he wanted to purchase.  Once we arrived in the great state of Oklahoma, Bryant quickly informed me that he was ready for me to leave.  I was somehow transported back to Louisiana, and I cried about never getting to see Oklahoma whilst baking the most bizarre apple pie I've ever seen. 

     Scenario Two:  I was on some kind of covert mission with a guy who I guess was supposed to be my brother, when in reality I don't even have a brother.    My fictitious brother and I were both proficient with firearms (in reality I've never even held a gun).  We broke into a stranger's home where an overweight teenage prostitute resided.  We ran out of bullets, and the whore's father told us that we could steal some from the local Walgreen's (Sadly, Walgreen's is part of my reality).  The dream ended when me and my partner left the house and entered into a lobby where someone shot us (If this was reality, I'm pretty sure my last words right now would be "Twizzlers").

    See?  Even people on high quality pharmaceuticals don't have dreams like that.  That is ridiculous.  Remind me to never quit smoking again. 

 This week I bought some goldfish.

     I'm finally going to talk about something that except for the twenty three words in this sentence has nothing to do with smoking.  For the past few months I've been having this fantasy about owning goldfish.  I'm not sure why, because I'm not even a huge fan of fish.  In fact I don't really like animals other than dogs.   I hate cats, reptiles, and rodents, parrots are okay. Though,  I would be perfectly happy to have as many as seventeen dogs, eighteen would be enough to have someone call animal control on me, but seventeen would be perfect.  Though for some reason I've been wanting to own a goldfish really badly.  I don't even have a great track record in fish ownership, as the only marine life I've ever been responsible for has met an untimely death.  I once had a Betta fish named Jalapeno, and he met his fate early on when I completely forgot he existed and forgot to feed him for two weeks.  I also once purchased a pair of fish for my Grandmother that I had named Rizzo and Kenickie (from Grease fame), who died in a matter of weeks.  Though I had nothing to do with their demise, I still feel guilty about it.  I also once killed an entire colony of Sea Monkeys by accidentally dumping them all over my bedroom floor.  So I guess you could say that I might not ever foray into the world of marine biology.  Although, I do think it would be fun to run an aquarium, only so that I could sneak behind children who were viewing the shark tank, and scream loudly in their ears so as to make them pee themselves.  Because if R. Kelly taught us anything it is that urine be funny.   

   
     I guess the point of all this is to say that this fantasy has been fulfilled  I purchased these last weekend, and surprisingly they are alive.  I have no clue as to what sex they are, but I'm just assuming that they are male and female, and are of course in love.  I was originally going to name them Queen Latifah and Tupac Shakur because my coworker told me that she believes I have a blackocity higher than most white people she knows.  I wanted to name them after two great African American's as to benefit our community.  Though, I ultimately decided to go back to my roots and to name them after two Southern deities: Paula Deen and Conway Twitty.  Paula is a boisterous cow of a goldfish, and is constantly mixing foodstuff with her bare hands, bawdy rings on every finger.  Conway is a womanizing alcoholic, who enjoys guitar strumming and harmonizing.

I know, I know

I realize that I'm about a week late with a post, but I wanted to wait to write until things started happening.  Thankfully, things are happening, huge things and I want to be able to do them justice so just give me a bit, okay?

Four Things Week Two

     I'm two days late with this post, but at least I'm posting so I don't want to hear your bitching.  I act as if there are hundreds of you out there clamoring for my every word, instead of all two of you.  That's fine, I'm glad you're here.  I knew when I started this posting experiment that some posts would be better than others, as I am prone to having large bursts of productiveness, followed quickly by giant lapses of nothing.  Which is a shame, because I prefer to be busy.

This Week I Did The Inevitable and Failed My Math Class

     I'd like to start out by letting you know how much I truly hate the study of mathematics.  I hate numbers, addition, multiplication, tangents, and cubes.  There is nothing good that can come out of subtraction or division.  I guess adding is fine, but the trouble comes when you begin to go forth, be fruitful, and multiply. I hate math, because no matter how many professors of the subject claim that there are rules that help you get the answer to any given equation, the rules are always changing.  I don't like anything that isn't constant.  I've never understood math, and I never will.  Now, I'm not going to say that I think the square root of four is rainbows or anything, but it's still pretty bad.  Unfortunately I am taking a math class this summer, only because I heard that it is easier to pass in a shorter amount of time. I'm not sure what asshole said that to me, but if I can ever remember, I am going to shove my eighty dollar math book up their ass.

     To be honest, the class didn't start out badly.  I have been out of math classes for over three years, so the little that I did already know had begun to fade away.  And though, I didn't immediately begin to jump back into my feeble understanding of the subject, I was at least on my way to a place where if I didn't understand the subject, I could at least scrape by and do what I do best and fake my way out of it.  And that's when my math class gave me a bladder infection a couple of weeks ago.  I'd like to say that the teacher after seeing me fall asleep at my desk for the umpteenth time stabbed me in the heart with an infected piece of chalk, which gave me the  painful disorder.  But sadly, it was just his refusal to let me leave class to use the restroom that made  my kidneys fill up with waste, and by the end of the two hours had me doubling over in random shudders of bladder pain.  I know you probably weren't expecting this post to end up as a detailed account of the excretory system, but sorry that's just the way my kidneys roll.  The day following my painful bout with bladder infection, I skipped the class out of retribution.  I'm not sure if I thought this would somehow let the professor know that he had wronged me, or what.  Instead it just made me fall behind.  And then I began to fall further behind, to a place where I couldn't possibly catch up.  I should have known better, but if we've learned anything about me at all we know that I don't.  So, the moral of the story is, always pee before class or you'll end up taking it again next semester.

This Week I Began Watching Supernatural

    One of the reasons that I was reluctant to take a class this summer in the first place is that this is the first summer I've had as a college student in nearly three years.  I didn't really want to waste these three months by going to class, instead preferring to stay home and watch television that I had missed all last season thanks to homework and actual work.  Summer is also the time of the year where I begin to watch new shows that have caught my eye, so that I may begin to watch them when they start back up in the fall.  Although honestly, the list of shows I'm watching these days is spiraling so far out of control that maybe I shouldn't have begun to watch any new shows, or I may just fail all of my classes next semester.  My best friend suggested to me that I should start watching Supernatural, which is a show that I assumed would not be up my alley.  I lean towards entertainment that is funny, and brightly colored, maybe with a little song and dance, and light on the dramatics and mystery.  Though I knew I would end up watching it anyways because I am always looking for something to talk to my friend about.

    The thing is, I've been friends with this person since I was ten which is miraculous because we don't have a single thing in common.  Sure, we both have brown hair and have lived across the street from each other for half of our lives, but that is where the similarities stop.  He is thoughtful and funny, I am crude and obnoxious.  He is a law student, and I am a walking, bumbling, catastrophe most of the time.   To be honest, I'm not sure why he likes me but I'm glad that he does. So needless to say, I am always looking for things to talk to him about.  Though I assumed that if he liked it than I would more than likely hate it.  I'm not so into serious television, I mean I just finished watching an episode of "The Real Housewives of New Jersey".   But, I picked up the show last weekend thinking that even if I hated it I could hang in there and at least be able to discuss it with him.  Holy shit, I had no idea how amazing it was going to be.  You guys, the shit that is happening on this show is just unreal.  You have to watch it, so that I don't have to completely nerd out, and explain it to you.  Seriously.

This Week I Researched

     If you don't know me very well you might know that I am a planner.  I like to have nearly everything mapped out to the most minuscule detail.  It is one of the few things I am truly great at, and that is thinking of every possible thing that could go wrong.   You might say I'm a doomsayer, or a Debbie Downer and you would probably be partially right.  I just like to be prepared, I like to know everything I can possibly know about any product I plan on purchasing, or any deal I plan to get into. So, I research, and I plan, and I think a lot about every single one of my ventures.  I've been doing a lot research lately, on things I plan to buy.  I'm hoping to get an iPhone in the next couple of months, so I've been reading reviews, and researching message packages, and data plans, and discounts I can get based off of being a student.  I've also been looking into purchasing a new car in the next six months or so.  That is something I have never done, as both of the cars I have driven were bought for me.  I've never been able to actually sit and choose what it is that I wanted.  I'm leaning towards something mid size and red, though my father believes I should get something that runs so I have no idea what I'll end up getting.

     I also went to the McNeese bookstore this week and perused the list of books that I'll need to purchase in a month, just so that I'm fully prepared for how damn expensive they are so that I don't experience a chronic hernia after seeing my bill.  Will someone please tell me why it is that because I am taking an online course for Sociology that my book is seventy dollars more than the regular sociology book?  That is absolutely outrageous, and whoever decided this needs to be stopped immediately. 

This Week I Didn't Accomplish Things I Had Hoped I Might

     As you can probably gather from the three other accounts of my weeks adventures, I didn't get a whole lot done.  In fact, most of what I've been doing is watching Supernatural, and reading product reviews when I should be studying math.  So as you can imagine I didn't accomplish much.  There were a couple of things I meant to do in the last seven days that I somehow couldn't find an excuse to actually do.  Here are those things:

I did not eat any watermelon this week.
I did not find an appropriate or topical reason to use the phrase "Work that hose, bitch!" in normal conversation.
I did not watch a single game of the World Cup, even though I told myself I would try to get involved.
I did not read over my bank statements, and try to figure out where all of my money is going.
I did not get this post up inside the self scheduled deadline.


I will try harder to be more amazing next week, hopefully something happens.

Four Things Week One

     This blog makes me feel so guilty.  Not guilty because of the things I have said on it, but because somehow it has become a chore.  A chore to write about what is going on in my life.  I guess I never think of the minuscule happenings of my every day life as extraordinary enough to talk about. So instead I write nothing, and the guilt of writing nothing keeps me awake at night.  Actually that's a bold faced lie, because there's pretty much nothing in this world that can keep me from getting my daily twelve hours of sleep. Though, I do feel guilty of not keeping you abreast (I've never been able to figure out an excuse to use that word until now) of the minute details of my life. Which is not to say that I have nothing to talk about, because clearly I am where it's all happening in the world. 

     I guess I just need some inspiration, something that I will be proud to share with all four of you out there that are hanging on my every word.  I've decided to try a little experiment, to see if I can increase postings.  I have decided that every week I will write about four things I have done in the last seven days.  Sometimes these things will be things I planned, chances I wanted to take, things I wanted to say.  Sometimes they'll be errands, or the mundane things that bog me down.  Sometimes they'll be the completely bizarre things that seem to happen to only me.  So here goes what I am tentatively titling Four Things.  Original isn't it?


This Week I Wore Shorts In A Public Place.

    This has always been a sore subject for me.  If you know me in real life you may have noticed at some point that no matter the state of the weather outside during any given month whether it be in January or the middle of July that I am more than likely wearing jeans.  Even worse, I wear jeans with flip flops on a daily basis.  I know that's probably some deep fashion faux pas, but I wouldn't even know because even though my sister subscribed me to GQ for my birthday a month ago, I have yet to receive my first issue.  I guess   I've just always been funny about having the bottom two thirds of my body on public display for the world to gawk at.  It's not that I think that particular region of my body is in some state of complete disrepair or anything.  It's not like I'm walking around with cankles or something equally horrifying and disfiguring.  My thighs have never been bigger than my head, although to be fair I do have a rather large head.  I even have pretty decent calves which I like to attribute to the years I spent when I was in middle school jumping on my trampoline and listening to Reba McEntire.  Though, to be fair my legs are pretty pale, as is the rest of my frame.  I'd like to say that my body is tanned and chiseled, but sadly it's floppy and the exact same color of Elton John's face.  Though, I walk out of the door on a daily basis even though I have approximately seventeen chins, so I'm not sure why this is a sticking point for me. 

     So I decided to do the unthinkable and wear shorts to my Summer Session math class this last Thursday.  To be honest I only own one pair of shorts and those were purchased by my parents for my birthday, and though I deeply considered taking them back and exchanging them for the cash, I had inadvertently already taken the tags off of them, so sadly I was stuck with them.  I guess I should wrap this up by saying that oddly enough no one was harmed by seeing the blinding white flesh of my ankles and legs last Thursday.  Although I'm pretty sure I did hear a couple of gasps, and at least one audible shudder.  I do believe the only reason no one in that class turned to stone after looking at me, is because there was a test that day and no one took the chance of looking up to see my legs lest the teacher think they were cheating.  So score one for me I guess.  I tackled my fear, and no one died.  That's not to say, that I'll ever do it again.  I'm all for doing crazy things once, but am not ever willing to repeat them.


This Week I Went To The Dentist

    I know this is not exactly ground breaking news, as I'm sure most of you have excellent oral hygiene and go to regularly scheduled dental appointments.  That's not to say that my mouth is in a complete state of disarray.  I floss.  I've just never been big on the dentist.  I guess I've just always been ashamed of my teeth.  For some reason my parents decided in my adolescent years that there was no need for me to have braces, and the subject was never brought up.  My teeth aren't a hot crooked mess or anything, but they're not as perfect.  And through the use of many a box of Crest WhiteStrips I have tried to keep them in some semblance of the color pale. 

     I guess my fear of dentist stemmed from a couple years ago when my normal dentist got busted for some misdemeanor and had to close up shop.  Her last name was a slang term for the word butt, which I guess should have been a sign to my parents to contact the American Dental Association and find another practitioner.  So, I've just gone the past couple of years without a dentist, which I understand is horrible.  Trust me, I get it.  Though, don't worry three times a day when I'm going through my normal dental routine I recite a lecture in my head, and warn myself about the dangers of plaque and gingivitis just like she would have.  On Thursday in my post shorts wearing high, I went and got lunch with my sister and immediately afterward I felt like there was something stuck in between my molars.  So, I flossed, and I brushed, and I flossed again to no avail.  It became clear to me later that night when my bottom gums were being punctured by an unseen force, that I had chipped a tooth.  I made an appointment with an unknown dentist the following morning, and they scheduled me in for an Emergency visit.   After waiting for an hour, and falling asleep in the lobby, they finally called me in to an office with the two most attractive dental hygienists that are probably walking this planet.  I'm not sure if all dental hygienists are this attractive, and if that's a job requirement, but it must be.  I guess that's why you always hear about dentists banging their dental hygienists, because they simply cannot resist.  I'm guessing that they don't even waste money on expensive nitrous oxide to sedate their male patients, they just parade the dental hygienists around the reclining chair until they're in a semi catatonic state, drooling with mouths wide open.  

     They prepped me for an X Ray, and began to shove a large apparatus in my mouth, to which I responded to by gagging forcefully.  The dental hygienist replied by asking if I had a gag reflex.  Which up until this point was something I thought all people were installed with, but I guess not.  Great, now I have something else to feel self conscious about.  I've been going around all these years gagging unexpectedly, only to find that this is something that would qualify me for a circus side show.  After all was said and done the dentist came in and announced "there is something wrong with your tooth, something needs to be done about your tooth" well, thanks for the sagely wisdom, asshole.  He then informed me that I would need have a root canal, and then to get a crown installed, and would I be interested in something in a white porcelain, or a gold tooth?  I think I'll leave you hanging on my response to that question.


This Week I Planned A Trip To Visit Two Of My Favorite People

     I have been saying for more than a year that I would visit Ohio where my two favorite people have relocated.  Yes, I've looked up airplane tickets, and considered scheduling, but I have never actually gotten anything done.  Either my school schedule conflicted, or the money just wasn't there.  Thankfully I am now getting federal money to go to school because I am now what the government considers to be of non traditional school age.   Which is probably true, I am twenty four after all.  I might as well be a sixty year old grandmother sitting in some of my classes.  I certainly feel like a dinosaur in most of my classes.  Yes, it's true.  I know neither of Gossip or its Girl.  I am a dinosaur, and someone should take me out back and shoot me. 

     Anyways, thanks to this federal grant I now have a lot more spending money in way of student loans to play around with.  Normally, I would spend the money on frivolous things such as patterned boxer shorts, and cases of those delicious soft cookies they sell at Walmart. You know the ones with the really thick sweet icing and the sprinkles?  Those cookies are delicious and worth spending thousands of dollars on.  Though, I have budgeted my extra money and have finally found enough to go on a voyage to Cleveland.  That's right, it will be a voyage, not just a mere trip.  I have talked to the friend I am visiting and have worked out a time frame which suits both of our school schedules.  I am happy to  be doing something, to be going somewhere.  I like having something to look forward to, something to plan.

This Week I Saw Someone I Used To Know.

     I used to have this friend.  This friend who I had known since the sixth grade.  This friend that I had been loyal too, this friend that I had confided in.  This friend who I counted on.  A couple of years ago, this friend gave me up in favor of greater promises.  I used to be filled with resentment over this friend.  I was filled with bitter, angry feelings on how he had tossed me aside, after I had picked him up so many times.  Eventually I got over it as I tend to get over most things that ruined my life at one point or another.  I hadn't spoken to him in nearly two years, which was fine with me.  I saw him last Wednesday, as he came into the establishment that I work at.    Immediately I got that feeling in my stomach that I always get whenever I'm panicky and fearful of seeing someone.  I used to get this same feeling whenever I would see my ex girlfriend.  That feeling of pure terror,  that feeling of burning raw panic.

     He said hello, I said hello back.  He asked how I had been and I mumbled something about being fine.  I didn't ask how he was doing, because I didn't particularly care.  He then turned to walk away, and before he did he said to me "It was good having you as a friend".  With those words, it was all over.  The panic subsided, the fear went away.  The friendship is still over, and will always be over.  It just no longer feels like a burned bridge, but instead a bridge that was taken down by a city after a newer and better bridge was built in its place.  I have moved on to better people, and I hope he has too.  So goodbye Luke.  I hope things with you are well, even though I couldn't say it to you face to face.


So there's the first week of Four Things.  Painless wasn't it?  Or at the very least less painful than my trip to the dentist.

Happy Birthday Dear Jordan

     Tomorrow is my birthday, and I'll be turning twenty four in half an hour.  I've always believed that birthdays instead of New Years are the beginning and end of my years.  I don't usually remember what I did on New Years, but I can always recall who I spent my birthday with.  Last year I was in an airport terminal for the majority of the day, and in a car on the way home the other.  At some point I broke my Zune, and it was not a great day.  On my tenth birthday I received among other things a Linda Davis cassette tape, and a baseball mitt.  The Linda Davis album, I reordered a couple of months ago on EBAY for three dollars, because I missed it.  The baseball mitt gave me a burgeoning career of imaginary baseball playing.  That's right, I'm wearing a cup right now.

     My eighteenth birthday I spent with my favorite people.  I had just gotten my car a week before, and was scared to drive at night by myself.  So to relieve myself from the fear I sang Happy Birthday to myself for fourteen miles while I drove home in the rain.   At nineteen I was having the worst year of my life up until that point, and my world was imploding (that was the year I created this blog, actually).  As my gift a couple of my friends booked time for me in a recording studio to record some badly done renditions of karaoke songs.  It was a fucking dream come true.  My twentieth birthday I can't remember precisely but I'm pretty sure my new year was brought in at a bar.  I like to call that year of my life my blackout phase.  Not because I spent any period of time blacked out (I'm not much of a drinker), it was just such a chaotic time in my life that I barely remember any of it.  Though, honestly I did and said such stupid things, that this is probably for the best.

     But today I'll be twenty four, and I don't yet know if it will one day be one of the birthdays to stick out in my mind as great.  To celebrate it here I planned on writing my annual post of a list of things I wanted, although I think I'm beyond that now.  I think I'm at the point that I've stopped dreaming of having an Elton John impersonator sing me Happy Birthday.  Not that I'd say no to it, were someone to arrange it. I just don't hope for it like I used to.  Instead I think I'll write about what this year was for me.  What happened to me, and what happened for me.  Since my last birthday my two best friends moved to Cleveland, and that sucked so hard I can't even begin to tell you.  I do not do well with separations (which is something my nineteenth year taught me well).  Though, I've reconciled with the fact that I am just as lucky to see them a couple of times a year, as I was to see them every weekend.  They are that awesome.

     This year I continued to work at a job that I hate, but that ended up being a good thing too because it made me realize that there was no fucking way I could continue to work there, or an establishment like it for the rest of my life.  I realized that I had to go back to school, something I had been telling myself I was going to do eventually, but was too lazy to actually accomplish.  Though, I ended up doing it and I'm really glad I did.  When I left school the first time, my grades were in shambles, and I skipped class more often than I attended it.  Though I still skipped a fair amount of classes last semester, I still ended up on the President's list, which trust me wasn't even all that hard and I really shouldn't be mentioning it because it makes me sound like a tool. In February my dog died, and although this sounds completely ridiculous, there was a period of time afterward where I thought my world had stopped.  He was one of the good things, one of the good constant things that kept me going.  I really miss him.

     In short, this year has been completely ridiculous.  It seems like all of the things I had been dreading for years finally came out all at once.  Though maybe that was a good thing too, maybe that means that there isn't much bad coming my way in the coming twelve months.  I feel like all I've been talking about are bad things, but there were good things too.  I finally saw Britney Spears,  I reconnected with people who had been gone from my life for too long, I read a lot of funny really wonderful things, I got contacts, and I got better a little every day in being comfortable with myself.  I've decided that I am going to write a list after all.  Not one of wants, and material things, but more like New Years resolutions.  If the New Year starts on my birthday, then I think I should resolve to do some things on this day too.  I have to make the most of it now, because I know I am now only one year away from having my quarter life crisis.

I resolve to:


Stop being so hard on myself
Stop fantasizing about doing things, and actually do them
Think harder, read more, write better
Be up for anything
Meet her
Pass Math 113
Sing louder, laugh harder, get really mad every once in a while
Stop having delusions of grandeur, and start sticking to a budget
Eat more/less cookie cake.

Are you hanging on the edge of your seat?

A few minutes ago I tried to view my blog, and it said it had been deleted.  Apparently my Google account had been monitored attempting to do some suspicious activities.  I guess my account was hacked.  Just wanted to let you know in case this blog goes missing again.  I'm not sure what is going on.  I guess even Blogger thinks I'm unworthy of having a blog anymore.

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Remember when I was a blogger? Yeah, those were good times weren't they?  I would come on here and write about what I was doing, or something funny I had thought of.  That all ended when I went back to school six months ago.  Suddenly, it was just BAM! I have no time to write anymore.  I've had plenty of things to say, but no time in which to say them.  I am sorry about that, I really am.  I've had a good week though, my two best friends have finally come to visit me from Cleveland.  I had forgotten what it was like to have two amazing people hang on every word I say.  It is electrifying.  Tomorrow, I am leaving for Washington D.C. on vacation.  So when I get back I should have the traditional vacation posts to tide you over with some awesome while I try to think of something else to say to you.  I hope you haven't left me.  Though, if you have I enjoyed the company while it lasted.  See you in a week.

Thou Shall Covet

I'm just going to admit up front that this idea is not original, I completely stole it from Kelli, who I believe stole it from someone else.  Though I think it's good to keep a running list of things that I want, even if they are completely stupid and unattainable.

I want this suit:

 Now before you say that $1295.00 is excessive for a suit that I don't even have an excuse to wear, just look at how amazing I would look in it.  See? If my neck looked like it attached to my body I would be unstoppable in that suit.

I would like to go noodling.  What is noodling you ask?  Apparently its when you catch a giant catfish while using your arm as bait.  Now, I don't care for being outside, or eating anything someone caught themselves, but this looks just white trash enough to be a good time. 




I would also like to have a endless supply of Sour Patch Kids.  I really do believe they are the world's perfect food; sour, sweet, and so delicious.  Sour Patch Kids are God's candy.




 I really thought there would be more to list, but apparently I'm not that materialistic.  Damn, that's something I didn't know about myself.

This Reads Like Homework

I've been doing so much homework lately that I think I'm starting to think of this blog as an assignment. I realized a while back that though I hope to one day write for a magazine, or similar publication that I have absolutely no appetite for news. I'm not sure one would need to really be interested in what they are writing to be able to do it well, but I figure it can't hurt.

So I've decided to test myself by actually reading the paper for once and reporting upon an article in each section that I read. This was no easy task, as I couldn't read a local paper because there is absolutely no news in Lake Charles. For example I first looked into the articles of a local weekly here called Lagniape whose biggest article boasted the title "Why Women Live Longer and What Men Can Do About It". Which I'm guessing had a deleted subtitle of "How to Murder Your Wife in Ten Minutes or Less". And there was nothing to be found in our daily The American Press unless you want me to tell you about the double wides that people are trying to unload for two hundred dollars. If you are in the market for a collapsible home, I circled an ad for you. There was one late eighties model that was being sold "as is" with no flooring or lighting fixtures. Myself, like this trailer am also a late model from the eighties, and all of my floors are intact. I'm not sure what that's supposed to mean but I was not expecting it to sound so sexually charged. And again unlike this dilapidated home, I am unlikely to have urine stains on my ceilings.

So clearly, the Lake Charles American Press is out of the question, so I turned to a paper from a city I've never been to but I figure it's reputable because it's one of the most prominent large market publications out there: The New York Times.

I started in the Home and Gardens section, because I know nothing of either homes or gardens so I figure I could use the education. Without sounding like a current events project from the sixth grade, the article I chose to pursue was titled "A New Breed of Guard Dog Attacks Bedbugs" by Penelope Green. Though the title pretty much gives the lead away, I still thought it was pretty interesting if not totally icky. Apparently New York has been hit by an infestation of bedbugs, and the only form of attack people have on these creatures comes in the form of a dog's snout. I have heard before that dogs could be used to sniff bombs, drugs, and even cancer. This was new information to me.

I guess the most pressing matter at hand here, is why are they wasting their time on bedbugs? I could think of another type of insects that infest beds, that would do a lot of good for people if they were eradicated. I am of course talking about crabs. If we could only train all of our schnauzers to sniff the crotches of everyone we have any sort of sexual contact with I think the crotch circus would pack up and leave town for good. And although I'm sure they do some very impressive things on trapezes, everyone including Lady Gaga could benefit from this. Sure, people might be spending thousands of dollars on exterminators to rid their houses and belongings of bedbugs but crabs can be expensive too. Just think about how much all those fancy medicated salves and petite Asian bikini waxers cost. I'm just asking people to think of the pubes for one moment. Is that too much to ask?

While we're at it and training our pets to sniff out all of the dangers of the world why don't we do the world a favor and teach them something useful? I am of course talking about teaching our pups to sniff out potato faces. Some might not know what I'm talking about right away, and to all of you I give you Tori Spelling:

If that doesn't sum it up completely, I'm not sure how to make myself more clear. Potato face is a very common affliction that can affect elderly people, and children alike. Although you are most likely to notice it in people who clearly have some rare adult form of fetal alcohol syndrome. Sometimes the light plays tricks on us, and we don't immediately realize that we're conversing with a potato face. This is the time when a dog that was trained in these sorts of matters would come in handy. It would also be for the best if this dog was also a trained attack dog, that is ready to maul at the sound of a predetermined signal. So I guess what I'm saying is, dogs that can alert you to dangers with just their sense of smell are good, and ugly people are bad.

Dog Problems

I am doing this blogging thing too infrequently aren't I? I apologize for that, I really do. I know this is going to sound like a stupid excuse but I have just been so exhausted lately. Maybe it's the balancing of school and work. Maybe it's a malignant virus that is slowly eating away at my brain. I can't really be sure, but there is something going on. Maybe a vitamin deficiency? It's probably both to be honest. For the most part I've just been too busy. So in the next couple of posts I'll try to update you on what I've been doing.

I recently aquired two new Coton de Tulear puppies. I know you don't know what breed that is, I didn't either until a week ago. They are french dogs from Madagascar, and quite adorable. My family members can't seem to actually pronounce the name of the breed so it comes out more like "Cotton Two Layer" but that's fine with me. To be honest I wasn't sure it was a great idea to make such a large commitment so soon after losing Bear, but to be honest I missed the companionship. Even though I also have another dog Buddy, I had already began to feel like I didn't even own a dog, and that's a feeling I can't live with. I was ready for another dog.

This is Maggie whose full name is Princess Margaret of Monaco. I know it appears that she doesn't have any eyes, but she does...I think.This is Izzie whose full name is Princess Isabelle of Spain, though that name detracts from what she really is...a three pound crap machine.

Edit: I wrote this a hour ago before I discovered a four inch turd nestled atop my Associated Press Style Book I casually left on the floor. Maybe I am not ready for a dog after all.

Goodbye my sweet Bear

You were one of the good things.

Love/Hate

I know I haven't written, burn me on a stake in your front yard if you must. But I feel like I finally have a good excuse, instead of my standard "I didn't feel like it" response, I have for once been extraordinarily busy. As some of you may already know, I have re enrolled into school, and am in the midst of my second week back. I forgot in my hiatus how much I love and hate school. I love taking notes, and listening to the voice of a boring teacher. I hate being surrounded by a bunch of people that I don't care to know. I hate walking to school, but love the feeling of walking towards something significant instead of pacing in my backyard smoking and talking on the phone. I love new books, and post it notes I hate seeing girls around campus in zebra print tights. I love the Cougar in my Advanced Composition class, but I hate my Advanced Composition teacher because he has an incredibly wheezy voice. I love the feeling that my life is important again, I hate knowing that I wasted the last few years of my life. I hate waking up early, but I love being able to eat breakfast for once I am coming to again appreciate Nutrigrain bars, and SmartStart in the morning. I love having something to do again, but hate not being able to do my normal nothing. I guess what I hate most about it is how much I love it all, and how much time I wasted when I could have been doing this instead.

Supplies.

Is there any better feeling in the world than having freshly bought notebooks and fancy pens and post it notes? I seriously doubt it.

Happy New Years

I like to believe that things repeat themselves. I like to think that patterns exist and that we can trace all of our actions and reactions back to things that happened years ago. I like to believe that things come full circle. It is the beginning of a new decade and I believe that decades are significant, because I think that we need markers to show us how far we've come.

Starting off in the first decade that I can fully remember I've looked back on the way things turned out, to see if maybe I have something to look forward to in the next ten years. In the nineties things started off well with elementary school, sagged around 1997 during the sixth grade and began to pick up during 1999, the year that both Britney Spears came out and I finished up junior high.

The new millennium started out with my first years of high school and my first years of having amazing people around me. Things just kept going great until 2006 when everything turned to shit. I had a period of years that I don't want to even remember. And now on the verge of a decade I feel like things are starting to look up again. I am going back to school in two weeks, I know some of the most amazing people you could ever hope to meet, and I'm finally happy with who I am. I don't think you can ask for too much more than that really. So I can only hope that history begins to repeat itself and I have an incredible time in the next few years. I am hoping for the absolute best, but fearing for the worst. I cannot wait to see what is going to become of me.