Such is Life

Ruminations on Daily Life as I Know It

* Everything is ridiculously cheap at my new neighborhood Wal-Mart, with the exception of cigarettes. Cancer stick costs are seriously bloated there. Is Wal-Mart attempting to make a morality statement? It's a weak one, if so, as they still sell them. Plus, Wal-Marts in normal states sell beer. (Pennsylvania has some messed up alcohol laws.) I think it's more likely that they are trying to take advantage of the poor, addicted souls who have failed to discover the reasonably priced Sheetz about two blocks up the road. I kind of loathe you, Wal-Mart, though I truly appreciate your $2.24 boxes of 100 calorie packs and $2.95 bags of turkey pepperoni.

* Gas is $0.20 cheaper in State College than it is in Wellsboro. I can't afford to purchase it anywhere.

* Penn State is currently the #2 party school in the nation. Penn State students are collectively disturbed by this statistic. They are working hard to attain the #1 position next year.

* Natty Lite can be found in bottles. I don't recommend purchasing it in any form, but it is available.

* I have morphed into a person I once admonished. Exhibit A. I have capitulated into the realm of the commonplace cell phone junkie in record speed. Exhibit B. I now own and wear a pair of higher waisted pants. (They are suit pants. I do not enjoy them.) Exhibit C. I actually lounged around my room for a brief period of time with my pants unbuttoned, for the sake of comfort. (I was wearing the suit pants between interviews. They are properly sized, which equals too tight and too high in Saraworld.) If I start sporting pointy-toed shoes or mumus, it's all going to be over.

* My sister, who is currently the local cult leader, displayed one of my blog entries for all to read at their last gathering. When she came home and gleefully informed me of this fact, I felt slightly exposed and uncomfortable. Sure, I put it on the internet for anyone and her mother (and my mother) to read. It was not my intention, however, to have my intelligence or writing style or picture scrutinized by a room full of strong opinioned youngsters. While I don't know what kind of discussion transpired, I'm certain they weren't heaping praises upon me. Oh, well. She was apparently attempting to find this entry, but couldn't figure out where it was. I'm thankful for that much, anyway.

* The closest liquor store has a whole "local wines" aisle. Apparently, they classify the Finger Lakes area as "local." It doesn't make the most sense to me, but I love it.

* While I was diligently job searching (er, wasting time on the internet) the other morning, I received a couple of random instant message from someone with a name something like "harleyguyx210x." He asked if we had met in a chat room. (I ignored him, as I clearly hadn't. Chat rooms are so 1999. And, don't get me wrong, I like to party like it's that year all the time, but that's as far as I go.) He kept messaging me (he was a rather persistant dude), so I decided to apologetically inform him that I did not know who he was. He replied, "I thought just met you in chat room Self Pleasure 103." He was quickly blocked. Looking back, I think I understand his reasoning behind asking me why I was tired, though. He's kind of a self-congratulatory little bugger.

* I am considering posting a slightly revised version of the "Hamlet is Fun/Sara is crazy" piece I wrote for creative nonfiction class long ago. Since my ancient computer is actually working and I once again have access to it, I might give it a go. What do you think? The people who read the first draft of it in school seemed to like it, but it is kind of personal. Looking for feedback . . .

Baby You Can Drive My Car

Ruminations on Driving

I'm an awkward driver. I slide the seat back a bit too far and sit straight up, as if bound to a back brace. It's probably the only time that I practice good posture. I keep both hands on my steering wheel at all times, unless I am smoking. I chain smoke while I drive, though I have to drop the cigarette for any big moves, such as hitting an exit ramp or turning left at a red light. I usually forget to use my side mirrors and when I remember, I don't trust them anyway. I always have to turn around to assure myself that I'm not going to meet an untimely death while changing lanes. I typically only ever drive 5 mph over the speed limit, but that's only when I'm feeling brave. I tend to zone out. I am a phantom breaker. I can't pop the hood of my own car. I get lost in my hometown. (There are only 4 stoplights in the entire area. This takes talent.) I am completely devoid of the ability to backtrack. I panic often.

I provide continuous commentary throughout the length of road trips, especially when I'm the only person in the car. I sometimes talk to myself, usually offering encouraging phrases like, "Almost there," or "Yay, I'm still alive," or "I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm okay." I often talk to other drivers. I beg them not to hate me and thank them for passing me. I compliment their pretty cars or giggle when I spot a vehicle that is even junkier than mine and announce that we should be friends. I inform unhelmeted bikers of their stupidity. During rougher moments, I might pray. My usual line is, "Please, God, help me to not wreck. I'd really prefer not to die right now. There are so many good tv shows on tonight." I also give my car lots of pep talks. I like to say, "You can do it, little Saabie," and "Come on Georgie, speed it up." I'm kind of nuts.

****

I have had three run-ins with other vehicles throughout my eight year driving history. Two of them happened in my driveway.

Incident # 1

I was driving my family's Chevy Astro (not so) minivan. It was like a tank. I was about to make my nightly jaunt to the local Pizza Hut. (This incident occured during my junior year of high school or what is now retrospectively referred to as the "Pizza Hut Butt" Era. I lived off of personal pan pizzas and humongous bottles or regular Pepsi. I gained eleven pounds. I never even got a "you are by far our most regular and devoted customer" discount or award or anything for my troubles. Oh, well.) The van was parked in our yard and my grandparents' old Mazda was parked in our driveway. As I was rounding the gigantic tree that sits in our yard directly in front of the driveway, I concluded that I had enough room to squeeze the big ass Astro between a basketball pole and the parked car. It was a slight lapse of judgment. As the van was rolling forward, I had to choose between hitting the pole or the car. I picked the car. At least, I think I did. I might have closed my eyes and hoped for the best. (Again, another lapse of judgment. I guess I don't make the best decisions ever while I'm in panic mode.) I smashed up the front of it pretty decently, but the Astrotank was barely damaged. I went and picked up the pizzas (the whole family was eating Sarastyle that night,) dropped one on the ground, and returned to inform everyone of what I had done. No one yelled at me too much, yet I still cried a lot.

Incident #2

I was returning to college following February break of my junior year. The roads were lined with a thin layer of ice, and it was snowing. I was feeling tentatively confident, as I had made it through all of the curvy backroads without hesitation, despite the dismal weather conditions. I approached a red light and hit my breaks for the first time upon arriving in the city of Elmira, and they locked. My car pummeled squarely into a brand new truck. Truck Owner yelled. I cried. The cops came. Truck Owner grumbled as he detached a huge chunk of the dangling lower portion of his vehicle that once displayed his license plate and tossed it in the bed. My car was suddenly sporting an accordion hood and mangled headlights. I received my first (and only, thus far) ticket ever. I somehow managed to drive back to campus, even though the roads were ridiculously sloppy and I was nearly hyperventilating. I continued to drive the battered eyesore every once in a while during daylight hours, even though it was slightly mortifying. I needed to tan! And to buy fat free hot dogs! The battery died a few months later, and the junky car sat in an Elmira College parking lot until the summer was at least halfway over. It's surprising that it was never towed, especially because I never got a student parking sticker. Mike DellaSalla (or whomever made the towing decisions at that time) is great. Thanks, buddy!

Incident # 3

Maybe half a year ago or so, I was headed out of the house to make a midafternoon Dunkin Donuts run. (Speaking of which, I haven't located the Dunkin Donuts in State College yet. Maybe it's a blessing.) My mom's friend was visiting and, as she is quite knowledgable about my clumsy past, reminded me not to hit her car as I left. I laughed and told her I'd try my best. I jumped in my car and proceeded to back out of the driveway in my normal fashion. Apparently, in Saraland, "normal fashion" = "without looking until I reach the end of the driveway." I backed directly into her car. The damages were thankfully minimal. Her car remained unmarred and mine suffered a tiny crack in the fender. People laughed at me a lot, and I still haven't entirely lived it down.

****

Needless to say, my lack of adequate driving skills has kind of hindered my life so far. I am hoping to change this fact. I have recently discovered that knowing which route one is currently traveling on is especially helpful. So is actually reading signs and thinking ahead. I'm slowly becoming a more confident and competent driver. I went exploring the area yesterday, in search of employment opportunities. There are highways here. There are also pastures. It's a bizarre combination, but I guess that is what results from building a massive university in pretty much the middle of nowhere amidst tons of farmland. I missed an exit and ended up slightly befuddled, on the outskirts of a tiny neighboring town. I passed what I assume were some prisoners on work release or something, though they weren't wearing orange jumpsuits. They were scruffy looking men wearing white working in a field. Two stoic men wearing what looked like helmets and uniforms sat statuesquely atop horses facing the road. Maybe the nearby State Correctional Institute likes to practice archaic means of guarding. Maybe it was just a weird coincidence. It was definitely strange. I ended up passing the whole scene twice, so I know I wasn't hallucinating. I worried that the horses would suddenly make a run for it and lurch into the road, but they didn't. I located the mall and scored a few interviews. I didn't die.

Someday, I will be a real driver with a real car. For now, I seem to be faking it well enough.

Of Late

Well, I'm here.

It has been rather eventful.

On my way out of town, I prepaid for gas and then left without pumping it. I realized I did this about five minutes later, and I was luckily still able to put the gas in when I returned. (Typical.)

I didn't get lost and the little old Saab didn't break down on the trip in. I even passed one truck carrying hay and a horse and buggy. (Woo!)

I am covered in bruises. (Hmm.)

I have had pizza 4 times in the 6 days that I've been here. If I keep going at this rate, I think I might be about to gain the freshman 15, 6 years after the fact. (Bleh.)

One of those pizza eating times occured at 2:30ish AM on Saturday night. We stood on the street, wearing t-shirts covered in sloppy, blurred phrases and doused in flourescent paint (the aftermath of a "graffiti party,") surrounded by hoards of drunken, chanting college students for at least an hour waiting to buy $1.00 slices. It was worth it. (IknowI'mnotactingmyage.)

I had forgotten the extent to which my ghetto computer's constant roaring annoys me. I want to throw it off the balcony already. (Killmenow.)

My room is a mess. (Shocker.)

I forgot my hair dryer. (Dire.)

I got a cute haircut and am now rocking some super long, side-swept bangs. (Yay.)

I just found out that I wasn't chosen for the position that I interviewed for a few weeks ago. I'm pretty disappointed, as it seemed like a nice work environment. Plus, rejection always sucks. Plus, I have no money. Seriously. I'm getting panicky. I'm starting to regret picking an area to relocate to prior to securing employment. Mistakes happen, though, and I'm here. I am going to turn in a massive amount of applications tomorrow and try to remain hopeful. (Life'sabitch.)

Hodgepodge

* I love ridding my gmail account of its spam. Upon emptying the box, it cheerfully reads, "Hooray, no spam here!" It's always nice to receive encouragement for doing a good deed.

* I recently discovered that I managed to gain 9 lbs in a 5 week stretch. I laughed. Interestingly enough, I gained a similar amount of weight at right around this time last year that I subsequently lost without too much hassle. I wonder if late August/early September is, for whatever reason, Fatten Me Up Season. Maybe my body is attempting to bestow a favor upon every person I come in contact with from October through late March in the hopes that some additional padding will prevent me from incessantly whining about the degree to which I am freezing (to death, of course.) That's a nice thought.

* There is a really fun and very readable piece about the definition of feminism at Tomato Nation. You should check it out, if you haven't yet.

* My car is fixed. I should be picking it up tomorrow. It cost way more than it is probably worth to replace the ignition. I really am going to move, I swear. I have a new cell phone to prove it. Most of my stuff is at the apartment now. So much so, that I am even grungier than usual, as most of my clothes are gone. I've worn the same pair of jeans all week. Today, I am parading around in my sister's high school track sweatshirt that is marred by a prominent stain on the front and her name in cheap block letters on the back. Yeah, I'm gross. After the move, I will promptly change my jeans. I promise. That should be by Saturday morning, if not tomorrow night.

* I've been watching my 3 year old cousin Maggie this week while her mom works, as her regular babysitter had a death in the family and her regular back-up babysitters (my grandparents) are hitting up all the gambling hot spots they can find out west. It has been quite the adventure.

This is Maggie. Yes, she is playing in a parking lot.

This is sleepy, "I no need no nap" Maggie.

This is Baby. She is traveling safely. And stylishly.

These are Maggie's fuzzy, plastic toy shoes. She just had to wear them today. We went on many outings. She only fell once.

We've had a good time. She is very inquistive and very interested in my opinions about things, which she tends to adopt. She is also rather exhausting. But is has been fun. We took her to see the "pawtment," and she climbed the three sets of stairs about fifteen times with me while I moved things in. She colored on my jeans in lovely purple marker. I let her eat fudge rounds for breakfast. She explained all of the characters in That 70s Show to me as we watched. (She is obsessed.) She still calls me "Lala" (rather than "Sawa") about 50% of the time. I will miss her.

* And finally, here are some of my favorite bizarre searches that apparently led people to my blog.

1. "Hamlet bookmarkers"
2. "a rhymed poem: the person I want to marry"
3. "sarry dead people"
4. "freshman initiation sharpie face"

"Get Your Facts First, And Then You Can Distort Them As Much As You Please." - Mark Twain

A Continuation

36.) I weeped every time I watched Snoopy Come Home as a child.

37.) In kindergarten, I once stealthily kissed three boys on the back of their heads in the span of a single afternoon.

38.) My first elementary school had no playground. We had to entertain ourselves on an empty cube of concrete during recess.

39.) My first boyfriend (6th grade) was a quiet boy named Shawn that I barely knew. Shortly after our coupling had gone public, I discovered that his friends referred to me as "Roadblock."

40.) I'm not sure I'd be capable of teaching kids at the middle school level for any amount of money. They're too nasty to each other. It breaks my heart.

41.) From 8th - 10th grade, I had fairly thick bangs that refused to fall perfectly, even though I spent approximately 30 minutes every morning curling and recurling them.

42.) I love to drink pickle juice.

43.) I secretly wish that someone would nominate me for What Not to Wear. (I'm wearing a 7 year old, ratty, holey hoodie as I type. I clearly need a style intervention!)

44.) I find serial killers to be more than slightly fascinating.

45.) My first job was cleaning rooms at the motel my friend's parents owned. If you've ever witnessed the way I live, you'll understand why this is funny.

46.) I wish I had taken the SATs more than once.

47.) During the latter years of high school, I had a broken spell checker and a mental block regarding the spelling of "disgust." I liked to use it frequently in my essays, and I consistently spelled it "disguist." It makes no sense whatsoever.

48.) I think Elizabeth Bishop's "Sestina" is one of the most hauntingly poignant poems ever written. (And sestinas are notoriously challenging to pull off.)

49.) I was chosen as an alternate for Pennsylvania Governor's School For Healthcare during my junior year of high school. I never followed through with the steps to accept my alternate status. I wonder if my life would have taken a different trajectory if I had attended.

50.) While I was in high school, I was very involved with this site. I still have the cards and letters I received from some of the parents and children. I think I am going to start sending some mail in the near future.

51.) I watched The Wizard of Oz on a daily basis during my early childhood. I always covered my eyes when the flying monkeys made an appearance.

52.) I was terrified of mummies from the age of 6 - 12. I was traumatized to such an extent that, at the moment I discovered their existence, I immediately stopped calling my mother "mommy" from that day forward, as it beared too close a resemblance. I wasn't scared of them in the "I'm a mean, horror movie mummy coming to get you with filthy, rotting bandages dripping from my extended arms" kind of way. I was actually horrified by the notion of being dead, tightly wrapped, and forever preserved. I was a weird kid.

53.) In late middle school and early high school, I had more than a few incidents filled with overwrought tears and dramatic crumbles to the floor in department stores, as I could never find anything to fit my awkward, pudgy figure.

54.) My parents almost named me Amie.

55.) At the age of 3, I ate the same meals every day (peanut butter and jelly for lunch, microwaved hot dog for dinner.) My doctor advised my mother to indulge me, assuring her that I'd soon grow out of the pattern of eating. Heh.

56.) I think I'd actually quite enjoy the fall, if it weren't for the fact that I am socked with the harsh reality that I will be unable to feel my fingers and toes for the next 6 months.

57.) The few dreams I remember are typically anxiety-ridden and disturbing.

58.) I only visited/applied to one college. I sometimes regret not doing a bit more research and taking my financial situation into more serious consideration.

59.) As I age, my temperament becomes increasingly more even-keeled. I appreciate this.

60.) I want a Welsh Corgi.

61.) I am opposed to buying pets when there are so many in shelters who need homes.

62.) I am embarrassingly unphotogenic.

63.) Whenever I come across them, I put on my old pointe shoes and play around the house in them.

64.) Co-ed volleyball tournaments were the bane of my high school gym class existence.

65.) Meryl Streep's daughter went to the summer camp I worked at. I never met her or her mother.

66.) I regret not trying out the flying trapeze while I worked at that camp. How many times is one presented with such an opportunity?

67.) I taught golf for 3 summers to kids ages 6 - 17 or so. The one time I actually went golfing with friends for fun, I was kicked off the fairway during the first hole because I was so awful and slow. I didn't mind. I manned the golf cart and drank beer and chased geese.

68.) A couple of friends probably saved my college career during the second term of my sophomore year, by requesting help for me that I couldn't ask for myself. I hated them for it at the time, but I am so grateful for their kindness in retrospect.

69.) I hate to say it, but I think I'd possibly consider a nose job if I had the means, even though I absolutely cannot stomach depictions of rhinoplasty on televison.

70.) I am desperate to see a stage production of Equus at some point in my lifetime.

One Word

I found this idea here, while I was doing a bit of random blog hopping. (As I seemingly have nothing better to do. Aimless web wandering must trump packing, even though I am planning to move on Tuesday, with or without my car.)

Anyway, apparently only one word answers are applicable. I thought it'd be a change of pace for me, as I'm typically a fan of littering my sentences with uncreative adjectives and participial phrases and lengthy asides and parenthetical commentary, etc. It's certainly nothing profound or especially exciting, but it's short. And short = readable.

Yourself: idiosyncratic
Your partner: whom?
Your hair: mousey
Your mother: endearing
Your father: commendable
Your favorite item: unspecified
Your dream last night: blank
Your favorite drink: tequilla
Your dream home: cozy
The room you are in: chilly
Your fear: disappointment
Where you want to be in ten years?: thriving
Who you hung out with last night: computer
What you're not: gorgeous
Your best friend: charming
One of your wish list items: success
Your gender: girl
The last thing you did: googled
What you are wearing: grey
Your favorite weather: radiant
Your favorite book?: timeless
Last thing you ate?: peep
Your life: shifting
Your mood: serene
The last person you talked to on the phone: Lauren
Who are you thinking about right now?: me

Family Matters

Last night, I followed a link that told me everything I could possibly desire to know about my birthdate, birth year, age, etc. The coolest thing it told me, though, was the probable date of my conception. (As I am far too lazy and mathematically challenged to work it out myself. Besides, who does that? I can't imagine there are too many people out there who wake up one morning and decide, "yes, now seems like a excellent time to attempt to discover when that magical moment that made me occured.") Anyway, I yelled to everyone that this website suspects that I was conceived on September 14, 1981. My father, who typically displays a disdainful attitude toward any subject he suspects the libeRALS (he likes to pretend the word rhymes with "pals") take delight in (sex, of course, is a biggie) chuckled, "That's right around my birthday." And it was, indeed, one day late of my father's 23rd birthday. So, I'm wholly convinced that I'm a result of a birthday celebration romp. And that's kind of fun, though a tad bit cliche. Anyway, after that, we enjoyed some family fun time as I announced the conception dates for my siblings and my mother. My mom announced that she remembered with certainty the evening that my brother was conceived. He sat in the other room, shaking his head and covering his ears, chanting, "Please stop, please stop, please stop . . ."

In related news, Little Miss Sunshine is having a "Put Your Dysfunctional Family on Display" competition. If I had the means and the time and the energy to do so, I'd so be entering. My collective extended family is comprised of a lovable, yet maddening cast of characters. My brother and I have actually threatened to write a musical about the whole crew. This came about one night in a restaurant when a bunch of us were sitting and rehashing my uncle Dave's trademark story of his wayward youth (that he has long abandoned in his wise old age of almost 30), which is rather crude and completely hilarious. The key players are Dave, a woman with big hair wearing white bobby socks whose mouth houses few teeth, and an unfortunately placed window. I try to assure that he relays this story as often as possible to unsuspecting guests at family gatherings. I actually think it is quite amusing to force everyone acknowledge his/her legendary stories of embarrassment. This of course, sets me up as a prime target for the retelling of one of my own woeful tales. I just tell them to bring it on, though. I usually get, "Remember when you were 13 and still dropping to the floor in dramatic fits when you didn't get your way?" (Such an incident is appropriately titled a "Sara Drop," and my siblings will jump to demonstrate the move.) Or, "Remember when you were 14 and so fat that when you plopped down on a picnic table in front of all of your cousins it crumbled to the ground?" (That occurence elevated the term "Sara Drop" to an entirely new level. I cried. A lot. Now I wish the moment had been captured on video because I bet it was funny.) Or, more recently, "Remember when you were drunk and cried/gushed/fell down/chased the cat around the house like a toddler on a mission?" (C'mon. There are few people who know me that can't produce a couple of humilating recounts of my less than glamourous moments of intoxication. Try for something a bit more original.)

Back to Dave, though. As we all giggled for the 8 millionth time about his now famous exploit, my brother and I decided that he deserved a theme song fit for a super hero. We came up with a few verses. It was pretty good, if I remember correctly. I can't exactly recall which tune we set it to, but I'm going to go with "Lump" by The Presidents of the United States of America. (Because if we didn't use their melody, we should have.) A full fledged musical is an obvious next step. Our family consists of gossips, hypochondriacs, hoarders, emokids, nerds, compulsive dieters, armchair shrinks, good ole boys, big drinkers, instigators, hard core conservatives, ultra liberals, instant lottery ticket addicts, local sports stars, spazzes, impressionables, denialists, goofballs, charmers, sentimentalists, sarcastic brats, loudmouths, mutes, those who sing when they should just speak, those who talk aloud to themselves, those who prefer to dance to their destinations, those who are addicted to 24 hour news channels, those haunted by ridiculous fears, a former Miss Suburban Wellsboro, a future crazy cat lady, a baby who carries matted hairpieces of various lengths and colors, rather than a blankie, a grandmother who has a creepy stalker who once sent her an adult toy along with some hatemail, and a great uncle and distant cousin who are currently dating (they're from different sides of the family and roughly the same age, so it's not gross, as one might imagine.) There's a lot a material to work with.

The problem with our brilliant plan lies in the fact that neither my brother or I can write music. It is also probably complicated by the strong feeling that most our family would not necessarily enjoy the caricaturized versions of themselves. Oh, well. Though the musical idea might never play out, I may someday carry through on the threat that I've held over their heads for years and write a book about all of them.

Michael Moore is Aflame or Intoxicated Young Conservatives Fire Me Up

(Note to my sister - this is all in good fun/spaz style. Please don't take offense - I really don't intend for it to be taken all that seriously.)

My dad and I ended up taking an impromptu trip to the new apartment last night to drop off some super conservative forms to my sister so that some highly controversial speaker can come give a presentation for the super conservative club that she now chairs. I felt a bit like I was aiding the enemy, similarly to the time that I helped her edit a letter requesting donations to assist her organization in bringing in likeminded, apparently famous speakers and purchasing really nice posterboard and markers for their protesting endeavors. It's certainly not my style, but I love my sister and my father and I will do what I can, within reason, to prevent her from having a nervous breakdown and him from falling asleep at the wheel. (As it turns out, the papers were not the ones she needed to meet the urgent deadline, so our 4+ hour excursion was for naught. Not especially surprising, as nothing ever seems to be uncomplicated around here.)

Anyway, upon entering the new place, I noticed that the girls have, thus far, tastefully and apolitically decorated the living room. Yay. I love the place already. I wandered in to my bedroom and said hello to my big bed and my mirrored closet doors and my many books that are spewed across the desk, still waiting to be properly housed. (They may lie in wait for quite some time, as I am still currently jobless and broke and a bookshelf doesn't rank all that high on my priorities list, unfortunately. Poor homeless, disorganized books.) I went to the kitchen area and started poking around the clutter on our table and found, I kid you not, a half-charred copy of Michael Moore's Bowling For Columbine. (I wish I had a camera on me.) I knew my sister had friends over recently. She told me she was planning on doing so, and it was evidenced by the trashbag full of 10 or so empty Miller Lite boxes and the fine display of shot glasses lining the counter. So, of course, my thoughts start whirling in their standard wildly overreactive fashion that I have grown accostomed to over the years. I begin to wonder if this is how these kids have a good time. Do they buy copies of "liberal propaganda" and perform sacrificial rituals amidst chugging contests? Is there some kind of chant involved? Is a strict dress code enforced? Does everyone have to arrive clad in a t-shirt adorned with firearms or Reagan's face or quotations deploring the rampant border crossings or the existence of donkeys? Are bonus points awarded for accessorizing with an O'Reilly Factor baseball cap or a Fox News Tote? Do they stripe their cheeks with red and white and paint an array of blue stars atop their foreheads? How many blackened, melted versions of Fahrenheit 9/11 and pageless, deformed copies of Bill and Hillary's memoirs are lurking around? Should I immediately start looking for someone to sublet and resign myself to a lackluster existence on my parents' couch for a frighteningly indefinite period of time?

Shortly before I had enough time to speculate to the extent that I might have had myself convinced to toss my books in a garbage bag and jet, my sister appeared. She groaned that a visitor, when prompted by another friend, did attempt to light the dvd on fire the other night. She assured me that A.) she has not witnessed this or any sort of similar incident in the past, B.) the whole crowd was not involved, C.) it was only the special features disc (heh), and D.) she did not condone it, especially because it actually belonged to one of the girls in the apartment. The owner, apparently, is not upset at all about this. She thinks it is funny and wants to keep it forever. That is awfully kind of her. I would be livid, even in the instance that the pyro was a good friend or that the destructed property was something I wasn't the hugest fan ever of, such as a worn copy of Babbitt or a my giant-sized, yet small-necked AmeriCorps t-shirt. (Oooh . . . I bet they'd be after the AmeriCorps memorabilia, as the VISTA program is specifically aimed at eradicating poverty through the implementation of programs and services, etc. And, if I remember correctly, it was totally founded/supported by liberals.) Before last night, I don't imagine I've ever found myself feeling relieved to learn of a purportedly isolated (and, to be fair, rather small scale) act of vandalism. I guess it beats the alternative, though.

It's going to be an interesting year.

Welcome to Happy Valley (Almost)

Quick Rundown of Recent Events:

Wednesday, 8/30/06 - Last day of work. Ate pizza and various baked goods. Remembered to hand over my keys that haven't accompianied me to the office since wintertime. Said goodbye. Forgot some stuff in my former desk. Last late afternoon trip to Elmira. Said goodbye. Went shopping. Took the wrong exit with my sister on the way home from the mall. Again. Made the executive decision not to move until my car is working. Also chose not to pack.

Thursday, 8/31/06 - Drove to State College with my sister for a job interview. Ran into lots of traffic and got highly confused by a detour. Chain smoked. Only almost killed us once. Was honked at accordingly. Wore cute new grown-up suit. Fretted that I looked slightly reminiscient of the Crocodile Hunter, due to suit's coloring. Donned cute, dorky glasses with plano (fake) lenses. Went pretty well, I think. Probably should have pulled my hair back. Dropped off a minivan full of my sister's crap at one of her friend's apartments. Got lost (on foot) trying to find said friend's apartment, as all of the buildings look exactly the same and I don't pride myself in being especially attentive. Was approached by some kid who waved and muttered something to the effect of "stop by sometime," though I couldn't really understand him. Smiled and nodded. Ate some tasty, but semi-expensive pizza. Came home and packed a pathetically tiny and random selection of items.

Friday, 9/1/06 - Left for State College with the family at 6:30ish. Whined about how I wanted a sausage biscuit from McDonalds. Got chocolate chip cookies as big as my head from the Flying J. truck stop convenience store instead. Picked up keys and a bus pass that boasts a horrendous picture of me, but will get me around town for free. If I can figure out how the bus system works. Ate desired sausage biscuit that my dad went to get for me during the hour or so it took to check in. Lugged another minivan full of my sister's stuff up three flights of stairs into the apartment, in addition to all of the junk from the previous day, a huge futon, and maybe 4 boxes of mine. Attempted to convince my sister to throw a nasty, filthy fan in the dumpster. She refused to oblige. Met the roommates. They seem very nice, though I am about 97% certain that, by the time I come back, the living room walls will be plastered with pictures of Reagan and the extended Bush family and loads of American Flags. Smoked on the new balcony. Leaned over to meet a downstairs neighbor after he jokingly yelled that I hit him with an ash. I didn't. Developed a rather legitmate fear of clumsy and/or drunk people falling off the balcony. Entertained the notion that I might not be as highly dependent on caffeine as I claim. Went shopping at what is perhaps the busiest Wal-Mart in existence, I suspect. Ran into my sister's fraternity guy friend. Forgot to ask him if he made a habit out of spanking girls with paddles. He inquired if I was a freshman. Reinforced my fear that everyone I meet is going to think I am super lame for living in an apartment complex full of undergrads in a college town, though I'm not actually taking classes and getting old. Found 12 packs of Diet Mountain Dew for $1.70 and squealed a little bit. Purchased five boxes, among other stuff. Unpacked, ate at Outback, checked out the comparitively unbusy Target, and bought a potentially uncute, yet satisfyingly cheap shower curtain. Dropped my sister off and headed home with the folks, though I'd have liked to stay at the new place. 7:00 PM might as well have been 1:30 AM.

Saturday, 9/2/06 - Picked up my new key for my car from a locksmith. (One is bent and the other met an untimely death in an Elmira College trash can during a NickVisit last year.) It doesn't work. I am waiting on the car alone to actually move in for real. Not cool, really. Traded in books at the local secondhand store and walked out with six or so new ones. Made an appearance at my aunt's garage sale in the midst of the dreariest, rainiest, coldest day in months. Walked out with two coats, a bunch of tank tops, and numb, white extremities. Watched the second half of the first season of Grey's Anatomy. Napped a lot.

20 Questions or I'm Just Curious

To the Court Reporter (Days 1-4):

1.) Do you type in shorthand? If so, is it a special variety or just the standard old type? If not, how do you type so maniacally fast?

2.) Did you go to stenographer school? Does that even exist? What motivates one to choose such a profession?

3.) What is the deal with the tape that runs off the top of the machine? It's only maybe an inch wide, so it can't possible house the actual court transcripts. Can it?

4.) How do you pick up case-specific terminology? Do you study certain types of words in advance so you recognize them? Do you ever feel confused?

5.) Have you ever considered consulting a stylist? Were the '80s the best of times for you?


To Lawyers (or Wannabe Lawyers):

6.) Did you star in a lot of plays in high school?

7.) Did you a lot of action (and by "a lot," I mean "any") during that period in your life?


To the County of Tioga:

8.) Can you please hurry up and send me my measly jury duty compensation check?


To My Sister's Friends in State College:

9.) Do I legitimately look like an 18 year old freshman?

10.) Should I regard your assumptions of such as complimentary?

11.) If you are a dude, do you want to marry the Bush twins? If so, which one is more your style? If the Olsen twins were concurrently throwing themselves at you, would you still opt for Jenna and/or Barbara?


To Anyone Who Has a Myspace:

12.) Have you heard of mydeathspace? Does it creep you out? Does it evoke feelings of melancholy? How about disgust? Does it make you irrationally fearful of driving a car or approaching trains or swimming, if only temporarily? Does it reek of exploitation, in your opinion? Does it peak your curiousity, despite your best efforts?

13.) After viewing the abovementioned site, do you immediately feel driven to check out your myspace profile, just in case, to make sure it presents the most accurate and current representation of who you are at the moment?


To Jessica Simpson and John Mayer:

14.) Really, you're together? It just seems so odd. Though I guess you deserve each other. (And, I wouldn't despise you so much, John Mayer, if you hadn't forced that idiotic "Daughters" song upon me. It reinforces tired and ridiculous gender-based stereotypes and it refuses to get out of my head for forever every time I hear it.)


To All of My Recently Married Friends:

15.) Will one of you hurry up and have a baby for me to play with? Please?


To the Marketing People at Dove:

16.) Do you know that you are brilliant?


To Anyone and Everyone:

17.) Would you rather have a third nipple or no belly button (assuming that you cannot have either cosmetically altered?)

18.) If you are suddenly doomed from this point forward to spend the rest of your existence trapped in a neverending television episode, would you choose to stick it out on A.) Seventh Heaven, B.) The Simple Life, C.) The Price is Right, D.) The Osbournes, or E.) Full House?

19.) What kind of career do you think I should ultimately shoot for? (Give me some direction!)

20.) Would you rather be oblivious/slightly dim, but consistently and genuinely happy or aware/highly intelligent, but prone to brooding?