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

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?

Think Positively

In an effort to remain positive about my current servitude to the county government, I compiled a list of reasons why jury duty doesn't suck so much.

1. I don't have to arrive until 8:30 AM. (1/2 hour later than I typically waltz into work.) However, it has come to my attention that if I fail to show up within 5 minutes or so from the time I am expected, I will receive one phone call. If this effort to reach me is unsuccessful, the sheriff will arrive at my door and promptly arrest me. Out of mere curiosity, I inquired as to whether or not I'd be slammed against a car and handcuffed under given hypothetical circumstances. Apparently so, if necessary. Jury duty is hard core. If only Kevin Bacon were the local sheriff . . .
2. The lunch break lasts at least one hour. (This is pretty generous compared to my 30 minutes total on a standard work day.) Plus, we get extra breaks of various lengths throughout the day when an important person seems to fear that the jurors are starting to fall asleep. As a result, I am guaranteed to have a consistent enough supply of nicotene dirtying up my bloodstream.
3. Free cookies. A new assortment sits on the counter every morning. (Sure, they are store bought, and I haven't actually consumed any yet, but I take comfort in their presence.)
4. I can wear whatever I want to, short of sweatpants. Today, I wore flip-flops. My toes, at the very least, loved their lives.
5. It is rather entertaining to watch the lawyers getting snippy. Scouting the scene for an eye roll or huff keeps me invested in the action. There are about seven of them, so the potential certainly exists for some heated comments/snide nonverbal expressions.
6. The tip staff (jury wranglers) are cute and chatty older gentlemen who sometimes wear bowties or pink suit jackets.
7. I have a good seat. Front and center, just like I like it. Additionally, jurors # 3 and # 5 are nice guys who laugh at me a lot.
8. I have the opportunity to fondly reminisce about simpler times upon each entrance/exit of the courtroom, as we are forced file down the hallway in a pre-determined, single-file line, like elementary school students heading to the bathroom. We are also counted often. I attempted to get everyone to march, but I guess people didn't think that it would be the most fun thing ever to do. Oh, well. (Another juror offered a comparion to a herd of cattle. Personally, I'm much prefer to think of myself as a kindergartener, rather than a cow. Though, I don't know, I might resemble the latter more closely.)
9. My chair is actually kind of comfy, despite its harsh appearance. And it swivels!
10. I get to do a lot of people-watching. And to make attempts at figuring out strategies and such. It can be quite interesting, at times.
11. Free (if temporary) accessories! We, as jurors, get to wear oh-so-stylish lanyard-type necklaces that attach to an id card that both reads "juror" and displays a keystone. Hot stuff!
12. I get to brush up on my note-taking skills. Who knows of they will make any sense by the end of the whole ordeal, but it's keeping me busy.

I know, you're jealous. No worries, though. I hope that you too, will have the grand opportunity to serve on a jury of your own sometime in your lifetime.

Four Weddings and a Funeral

As of next weekend, I will have attended four weddings of four friends in four months. Weddings are lovely events, obviously, and I have heard lots and lots about all of the time and effort and planning it takes to pull one off. As a result, I started thinking about what I'd like my wedding to be like. I then promptly started feeling like a loser, as it's not likely that I'll find someone to marry me in the near (or even distant) future. I just can't start pretend planning that yet. That's kind of lame. So, I've taken to planning my funeral instead. This notion was further encouraged when I watched The Boy Whose Skin Fell Off on TLC one afternoon. It is a documentary that chronicles the last months of the life of a man named Jonny who suffered from a horrible, awful disease from birth. He narrates it, even though he is dead by the end of it. He plans his own funeral and is filmed asking people to speak and picking out his casket. He has a can of baked beans, among other things, etched into one of the wooden coffin panels, stating that he wants people to ponder the significance of the beans during the service. He laughs that there is no significance, and he thinks it's a pretty fun little prank. He also makes them play "Another One Bites the Dust," during his funeral. Seriously, watch this show if you can. This guy faces his death straightforwardly, without self-pity or regret, despite the fact that he has endured excruciating pain on a daily basis throughout his entire life. Anyway, I figure that if he can suck it up and have some fun with his funeral, I can too. Sure, he knew his death was rapidly approaching. I will hopefully be sticking it out for another 70 years or so, but I could die unexpectedly tomorrow. Anyone could. I see no harm in being prepared.

Some might consider me to be morbid. It doesn't bother me, as I've heard it before. In 11th grade photography class, my black and whites almost exclusively featured either scenes from our local cemetery or Tate, my white-haired cousin who was the cutest little old man baby at that time. Eh, I've never been variety's biggest advocate. When I happen to run across them, I still think the tombstone pictures are kind of nifty. Terry and I have always threatened to plan our own funerals. (She expects invitations to be mailed; I'm not as fussy about the guest list.) I've been known to pose questions such as, "So if you were going to off yourself, would you pull a Sylvia Plath or a Virginia Woolf? Or would you go with a solid, yet overdone Hemmingway?" I like to tell stories about the slightly gruesome pictures we viewed in my college forensic science class. I can't definitively pinpoint my motivations for speaking so casually and cavalierly about death. It probably has something to do with the fact that I find death, and, more specifically, loss, to be profoundly saddening and somewhat terrifying. So maybe discussing it and pondering it and even joking about it forces me to acknowledge that it does and will happen to everyone. Juvenille? Potentially.

I'm certain that my desire to plan my own funeral stems from some highly self-involved and self-aggrandizing part of my psyche that desires to be remembered. But honestly, who doesn't? And I've attended far too many awkward funerals, at which the presiding minister never even met the deceased, some Bible verses are read, and not too much is said. Completely lacking in personalization and celebration of life. So, I am setting out to ensure that, once the time rolls around, my own funeral doesn't suck as much. (WARNING: If you already find this topic to be flippant or brooding or entirely devoid of reverence for the dead, and you are not so much a fan of such things, you should probably stop reading at this point.)

I have compiled a list of guidelines for how things better go down. Kindly direct my next of kin (whomever that may be at the time) to this list, in the instance that he/she is somehow unaware of what I want or too stubborn to comply. Peer pressure if you must, people!

1.) Kill me, if I'm more or less dead but not quite there yet. If I somehow suffer the misfortune of turning into a breathing vegetable with mush for brains, I best not be kept alive like that for any extended period of time. Whomever is in charging of making the call better heed this warning or prepare for a lifetime of ghastly hauntings once I finally am permitted to kick off. Seriously. The thought of "living" like that absolutely terrifies me.

2.) Once I am legitimatley dead, donate my organs. Let them take whatever is usable (if there is anything left unsoiled by the effects of nicotene or Dunkin Donuts addiction or any other vices I reserve the right to develop as life continues.) I do request that my body is not donated to science. I have read Stiff: The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers. (It's really quite an interesting read, by the way.) And I have no interest as serving as a disembodied head for some rookie nip/tucker's first face-lifting attempt or lying in wait for every ounce of flesh to drip off my bones on a body farm. I find the latter to be a venerable cause, as it helps CSIish folks out with determining decay rates and times of death and other handy things. It's just incredibly unglamorous. And stinky. And wormy. Since I despise worms and am not a huge fan of maggots, I'd rather not give them such easy access to my eye sockets.

3.) I don't really have much of a preference regarding whether my remains are cremated or buried. Neither strike me as an especially pleasurable experience, so whatever. Cremation is cheaper, so I hear. If whomever gets to make the choice goes down this route, I demand that no urns are involved. They creep me out, and the thought of my ashes being lugged around for generations (or more realistically speaking, accidentially dumped and hurridly vacuumed and discarded with the trash - it happens all the time on sitcoms) doesn't thrill me. Having my ashes spread over a beloved or beautiful place strikes me as a tad bit cliche and potentially not environmentally friendly. As the dirty smoker that I have grown to be, I am making significant enough contributions to the pollution problem in life, so I think I'd prefer not to in death. I do definitely need a headstone. They seem important from a historical aspect, so kids hundreds of years from now can make fun of our anachoristic names and revel in awe at our comparitively short life spans. So, I guess I'm thinking I should be buried, either in ashy or fleshy form.

4.) Speaking of headstones, I want a good quotation on mine. Something literary and not too cheesy. At the moment, I'm a fan of, ". . . and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest," Hamlet, V.ii.360. It is the last part of the last thing Horatio says to newly dead Hamlet. It must be properly cited, of course. Sure, maybe angels and "thee" and "thy" sound as though they might up the cheese factor, but my gut tells me that one just can't go wrong with Hamlet. Plus, I haven't come up with anything more fitting at this point in time.

5.) No hymns at the funeral! The exception to this rule is "Amazing Grace," as I quite like it, but only if bagpipers are involved. Actually I'd really enjoy a whole slew of bagpipers. The music is so haunting and gorgeous. Maybe I'll marry a bagpiper. And then we'll have little kilt-wearing babies. Then I can assure that this will play out. Otherwise, just make mixes of songs I've liked throughout my life for background filler.

6.) Schedule the talkers ahead of time. And I expect lots of them. By that point in time, there should be enough goofy stories about me to keep everyone entertained. I actually attended a funeral at which no family/friend speakers were designated prior to the event. And no one talked when the minister who didn't even know her asked if anyone would like to speak. It was awkward. And sad. So, if for some reason a whole brigade of talkers is not rounded up ahead of time, I expect that whomever is in charge will tape stars to the bottom of the chairs in a random fashion. Then the minister or emcee or whomever is up there with the microphone will have to tell everyone to look under their seats, as though they might be potential prize winners on Oprah, and stand up if they've been starred. Those people will then be required to speak on the spot. I'd rather not have to resort to that, but I will do what I have to do.

7.) Poetry readings are permitted and even encouraged, as long as said poetry is not comprised of the rhyming internet forward variety about loved ones turning into angels or now being responsible for rainbows, etc. If someone does feel compelled to write his/her own rhyming poetry, let em go for it. I won't be too critical at that point, I'm assuming.

8.) I think it'd be kind of neat to have a cover charge at the door. Five or ten bucks, maybe, to be donated to a charity that I like. One that helps teach little girls to love themselves would be nice. Of course, if people don't have the money to donate or think that is tacky, they should be permitted to enter regardless. (Though anyone who thinks asking for charitable donations is tacky might need to realign his/her priorities, in my opinion.)

9.) No black clothing, if it can be helped. It's a celebration, so the dress should be a bit more cheerful and casual. Of course, if someone only feels comfortable in black or is going through a goth stage and only owns black or doesn't get the memo and thinks black is the way to go, they should be allowed to attend anyway. Hmm . . . maybe invitations are a good idea, after all. The only true clothing request that I have is that the horse skirt is worn. Allison has generously promised to don it, as long as she is still kicking at that time. She acts as though she is doing me a big favor, but I know she secret covets it.

10.) Eat pizza at the after party. And have a couple of kegs handy.

Just the Facts, Ma'am

1. I am told that, as a very young child, my parents used to spread a blanket out on the floor. I would proceed to jump on and off the blanket repeatedly, demanding that I receive the attention and applause of everyone in the room.
2. When I am bored or thinking or nervous, I rub my fingernails over my upper lip.
3. I think I have a toenail infection. It was bruised for the longest time, and now it's just thick and slightly discolored and nasty.
4. I don't think I'm capable of pulling off a truly put together look.
5. When I was 9 or 10 or so, I used to talk about the characters in The Babysitters Club books as though they were my real friends.
6. I didn't learn to light a lighter until the night I graduated from high school.
7. In my youth, I was conviced that people refused to take me seriously because I was fat. As I've aged, I've realized that people don't take me seriously because I am goofy and somewhat aloof.
8. I have not purchased a new bathing suit since the summer before 12th grade.
9. I am too lazy to pluck my own eyebrows. It is painfully obvious.
10. I am somewhat phone phobic.
11. I've never been able to paint my nails because I go nuts the instant the polish chips.
12. Worms gross me out to such an extent that, while walking on damp and rainy days, my stomach starts to roll.
13. I recently lost 4 pairs of work pants, a lab coat, and my favorite sweatshirt in a tragic accident involving a washing machine and a brand new gel pen. It was a dark day. As I am poor, I am taking donations of khaki pants sized anywhere from, I don't know, 6 - 12. I have belts! And little shame!
14. Cottage cheese freaks me out. It's just so wrong.
15. I am both impulsive and a stickler for routine. Such is the dichotomy of my existence, I guess.
16. I am a terrible liar. I am a slightly more talented truth omitter.
17. Despite the (unfortunate) fact that I have been smoking for over 3 years, I apparently strike others as awkward while doing it. Occasionally, this fact is brought to my attention by well-meaning strangers.
18. I was voted clumsiest in my graduating class in high school. At least I wasn't selected as "Most Likely to End up on the Jerry Springer Show."
19. My friends and I got our belly buttons pierced merely because there was a one-day sale at the local tattoo parlor, and it only cost $20.00. Mine swiftly became infected, requiring a $50.00 antibiotic.
20. I purchased my first padded bra ever a few months ago. Every time I wear it, I am way too astonished and entertained for my own good.
21. After I have a couple of drinks, I tend to whine at my sister about how she got a better nose than I did.
22. I bought a new dress for Alicia's wedding. I'm not sure if it's really cute or really borderline 80s prom dress. It has a drop waist and it kind of flares out at the hips. And it is a bright emerald green . . . which strikes me as a little bit too close to turquoise. It is also a bit roomy. I think I will keep it, though. If anyone will appreciate an accidential homage to the 80s, it's Alicia.
23. I am currently (finally) reading Slaughterhouse-Five. (And I call myself a Vonnegut fan.) I told one of the doctors at my office that I bet he chose to become an optometrist because he read this book in his youth and decided that opotometrists are cool and capable of time travel. He's into sci-fi stuff, so I figured it was a well-supported hypothesis. Too bad he claims he's never read it. Best quotation thus far: "Like so many Americans, she was trying to construct a life that made sense from things she found in gift shops."
24. My first of many career aspirations developed at age 3. I wanted to be a pizza maker.
25. At age 24, I can't seem to come up with any realistic career aspirations. I always vaguely speak about either teaching or finding something involving writing or publishing. And I will hopefully get there eventually. I wish I had the capabilities to get my masters this year. At the rate I'm going, it's going to be a while.
26. As Katharine McPhee from American Idol is apparently a recovering bulimic, I am experiencing slight twinges of guilt for my little outburst on the night in which she stayed even though she was sucky and Elliott went home. I kind of ran around the house with the eloquence of a seven year old, calling her "Katty McFatty" and "Fatty McPhee," etc. and ranting about her lack of talent and grace for about an hour. I don't know why. Elliott love drove me temporarily batty, I guess. It's all good now, though. I really hope to be a little less invested in reality television characters from this point on.
27. I think I would have greatly benefited from reading Everyone Poops as a child.
28. I like my boys scrawny.
29. I cannot snap my fingers.
30. I think the cursive "G" is hideous.
31. When I was in elementary school, I believed that I should receive praise and awards for perfect handwriting. I imagined that trophies were in my future. Not so much.
32. When I was in high school, I developed an extreme aversion to sloppy looking notes. I became quite talented at rewriting everything while listening to lectures and continuing to take notes on the marred page until I caught myself up. It was a process.
33. Thinking about flying kites makes me nauseous.
34. I worry that my life will be hindered by my limited driving abilities and navigational skills.
35. I don't want to become a lonely, crazy cat lady.

Confessions

* I have been using air quotes way too frequently. I'll throw them into conversation, realize what I'm doing, and start mumbling about how I'm such a loser. I ususally just blame it on the brain tumor, which is a handy and fitting excuse for incidents involving falling down, running into walls, sober slurring of speech, eye rolling, rambling, dropping things, and inexplicably spastic behavior.

* I began writing an entry entitled "All Good Obsessions Must Come to an End or I've Got Issues, Yes I do, I've Got Issues, How 'Bout You?," after a dark day during which I had an accidential run-in with moldy turkey pepperoni. I was convinced that the mere sight of it would end turkey pepperoni's role as an almost daily diet staple for the past three years. Pepperoni loses enough appeal when one takes the time to consider that it is composed of bits and pieces of the junky, garbage meat that might not even be good enough for hot dogs, so I figured the fungus frosted version would be enough to put me over the edge. I started lamenting my loss, but the grieving period was short. I don't think I even lasted two days before buying another bag. I couldn't figure out what to eat in its absense. I am either less or more crazy than I had thought, depending on how you look at it.

* Reading the Elmira College Review makes me feel depressed. No joke. Maybe some of those people are liars . . . or at least embellishers. Maybe I am just a hopeless slacker.

* It'd be nice if brains came equipped with mute buttons.

* I am half convinced that the weather dictates my moods.

* I am highly embarrassed to admit this, but I secretly kind of like the new (well, recycled) legging trend. I have no explanation or excuse. Maybe some portion of my subconscious longs to be kindred spirits with Lindsay Lohan. God help me.

* In potentially even more disturbing news, I sometimes find myself thinking Taylor Hicks is all kinds of sexy.

* I am wondering if the reason I am so drawn to Hamlet is because we both suffer from the same fatal flaw - an inability to act. He capably grasps what he needs to do, yet agonizes over actually carrying through with it for forever and meets his demise as a result. He is crafty and intelligent and seemingly capable, but he is stuck . . . entrapped by his own mind, really. It has always seemed to be one the lamer tragic hero issues out there, but it's also more complicated and layered and realistic.

I'm a Loser, Baby

And here's why.

1.) I American Idol voted last night. A lot. Well, I made many attempts, anyway, during House and The Real World commercial breaks. Lots of busy signals. I try to claim to be a nonchalant viewer, but I think I have fallen prey to someone every single season who sucks me in and makes me worry about him to the extent of throwing down some votes when elimination appears to be looming. I guess I am easily guilted (even by short, man-tanning reality tv hosts), as I let Seacrest's chidings about how my complacency directly contributes to undeserved outings get to me. This season, though, I fear I am getting out of control. My Elliott love seems to know no bounds. I'm pretty sure I at least doubled my prior voting total from all of the past seasons combined in one night. I reek of over-investment. And I will throw shoes at my tv if he is voted out tonight.

2.) Speaking of The Real World, I somehow find myself to be a regular viewer for the first time since New Orleans, I think. I don't even watch it in the more practical, "I'll catch one of the 80 million reruns that is shown weekly," manner. Oh, no, I tune in every Tuesday at 10:00. I must be a masochist. First of all, it makes me feel old. Secondly, I think, on a subconscious level, I must be putting myself through it as penance for all of those "bitch crazy" drunken moments I forced upon my friends in college. Cause they've got an over the top, ridiculously emotional, issue-ridden girl bringing loads of drama to this season. She is always crying or hyperventilating or hating on men. It's more than a little unsettling to watch.

3.) Time reserved for the tanning bed seems to be officially replacing time formerly reserved for the gym. I was a consistent little worker outer for a quite a while, too.

4.) I let the Wal-Mart people cut my hair and (prepare yourself for the horror) wax my eyebrows. I was previously informed by some co-workers that getting hair cuts at Wal-Mart is for people who are so trashy that they are no longer permitted to enter real hair cutting establishments. I don't know, I guess I feel kind of let down. From the way they spoke, I expected to witness a parade of mullets and rat tails and spiral perms and poodle bangs. Unfortunately, the Wal-Mart cutting corral just didn't deliver, despite the fact that it was hopping with walk-ins. Anyway, I feel much greater levels of pity for the poor girl who had to focus her efforts on the crazy catterpillarish mess I left entirely untouched for 6 months than I do for myself for sinking to such a level.

5.) I am way too excited about alcoholic soda. (But, really, you should try it.)

6.) I can't seem to make it through a day without eating, at the very least, two fruit roll ups.

7.) I find myself stuck in a bit of a compulsive book-buying mode. Half.com is too damn tempting. And cheap. So I'm currently juggling 5 books. (They are, in no particular order, I'm Not the New Me, Bring Me Your Saddest Arizona, The Center of Winter, This Life She's Chosen, and The Glass Castle.) Needless to say, I'm not making tremendous dents in any of them. Of late, actually finishing a book feels like a major accomplishment. Very sad.

8.) I check a number of blogs daily. And away messages. And myspace profiles. And the superficial. When a computer isn't readily accessible, I even read celebrity-focused tabloidish magazines. It's as though I'm still in college, searching desperately for methods of procrastination, though I now have nothing left to avoid except for the books I am supposedly reading for fun. I fear my brain is slowly, but steadily turning to slush.

9.) I buy instant lottery tickets sometimes. (And by sometimes, I mean every time I get paid.)

10.) I can't sleep without Nick at Nite. I've grown far too accustomed to the background noise, and I don't trust any other channels for fear that I'll wake up at 3:00 a.m. to the sound of wacky infomercials that work their way into my dreams or, even worse, the buzzing rainbow screen that manages to sound more irritating and jarring than my alarm clock.

I Like it Like That

I'm back! It's nice to re-enter the world of the communicative after a lengthy enough hiatus. I am attempting to make myself start writing something (anything, really) again, but it is hard for me to find a starting point. (Shocking, I know . . .) To kick it off, I am going to go the easy route and list some things I rather like at the moment.

* Grey's Anatomy

I adore this show. It's well-written and well-acted, with a nice balance of hilarious and sober moments. And I wouldn't mind playing doctor with Sheppard or George . . .

* James Blunt, Back to Bedlam

I listen to this cd on an almost daily basis, during my work breaks and while I work out. While most of the songs would be what most people would consider to be the antithesis of motivating work out music, I just can't help myself. I like every song on the cd (which I find to be a rarity)and I love most of them. (And it should be noted that You're Beautiful is probably the worst song on the album.) He's talented, he's British, he's rather attractive . . . Terry is going to see him in concert in Japan, and she intends to convince him to marry her.

* AdvantEdge Carb Control French Vanilla Shakes

These have become a huge staple in my diet. I may be obsessed. They have 100 calories and 15 grams of protein. They don't taste too weird, though the color is a rather offputting muddy yellowish brownish cream. It must be the soy . . . Regardless, I've never found such a harmless way to supplement my protein intake. I drink them for lunch, before work-outs, when I wake up in the middle of the night . . . I buy them in bulk and actually start to get panicky when my local grocery store runs out of them (which should be impossible because I can't imagine too many people around here are stockpiling them, but it has happened.) Then I have to ration them until the shelves are someday restocked or I can secure a trip to Wal-Mart (which is no easy feat in these parts, as it's 12 miles away, my car is currently broken, and I don't have an abundance of free time.)

* Psychotherapy Clothing

I'm sure some of the others would probably be fitting, depending on the day, though I'd shy away from some of the heavier labels. I doubt I'd suggest walking around in a shirt proclaiming one's tendency to hear voices or shamelessly start fires, but to each his own, I guess. I kind of appreciate the the entire idea, though. It's similar (though more self-depracating and silly) to the man in Aimee Bender's An Invisible Sign of my Own who wore a number around his neck each day which was indicative of his current level of happiness. The best part of the whole deal is that you can send shirts to other people anonymously

* Elliott Yamin

He is my current American Idol favorite. To sum him up, he is a 1/2 deaf type 1 diabetic with unfortunate teeth who sings well, cries, and gives lots of hugs. Plus, the judges aren't trying to manipulate the public into voting for him (probably because they think he's too ugly or something because they are cool like that). Additionally, I love his name. If I do end up having kids someday, my new boy names are Eliot and Auden, after T. S. Eliot and W. H. Auden. I explained to the girls at work that I would want my sons to be sensitive thinkers. They explained to me that my kids will get beat up often.

* the long shirt trend

This is the nicest thing the fashion industry has ever done for people like me. I finally have some shirts that extend beyond the entire length of my stomach and hit at my hips. It is a lovely, lovely feeling.

* 43 Things

I stumbled upon this site through Allison's blog. Simply stated, it allows you to make a list of up to 43 things you want to do with your life. You can find other people who have similar goals and intentions and presumably make friends or find accountability partners, I guess. I'm more interested in just merely figuring out my ambitions, from the seemingly insignficant to the likely unrealistic. It's a good way to force myself to think about being proactive about my life, rather than allowing myself to stagnantly exist. Suggestions are always appreciated.

Reiterations

A- AREA CODE YOU ARE IN RIGHT NOW: 570
B- BIRTHDAY: June 7
C- CURRENT CLOTHES : jeans and a hoodie . . . my non-working staples
D- FAVORITE DRINK: Miller Lite or Amaretto Sours (when I am drunk enough to not care about the calories)
E- EATING CURRENTLY: drinking a diet mountain dew
F- FAVORITE FOOD: pepperoni pizza or dunkin donuts plain bagels
G- WHO DO YOU GO TO FOR ADVICE?: umm . . . I don't have enough money to pay anyone to listen to me right now
H- CURRENT HATRED: money (or the limitations its absence forces on one's life)
I- I THINK: I am worn out
J- CURRENT JOB: working at the front desk of an eye doctor's office (looking to pick up some weekend work, as well)
K- ANY KIDS: much to my mother's dismay, no
L- I LOVE: feeling warm
M- FAVORITE TYPE OF MUSIC: eh, I'm not too picky
N- NICKNAMES: none that have stuck . . . my name is too short and boring to shorten
O- OLDEST SIBLING: I am
P- FAVORITE PERFUME/COLOGNE: Victoria's Secret Love Spell
Q- A LITTLE QUIRK ABOUT YOURSELF: I can't snap my fingers
R- REASON TO SMILE: life could be worse
S- FAVORITE SONG CURRENTLY: Does it have to be a current song? Out here in the middle of nowhere, our one radio station plays about 20 songs total per day. And, the radio in my car doesn't work, so I'm working on limited exposure. Back in the day when I worked at an office where we could to music other than classical, I liked "Breathe 2 AM" quite a bit.
T- FAVORITE TV SHOW: Nip/Tuck
U- UNICORN OR HEFFALUMP: heffalump . . . unicorns are too mainstream
V- VEGETABLE YOU HATE: all of them, except corn on the cob and iceburg lettuce
W- WISHFUL THINKING: to go back to school/find a decent job/win the lottery (it doesn't necessarily have to happen in that order)
X- XRAYS YOU'VE HAD: um, wrist, ankle, chest, I think
Y- YOUR FAVORITE YEAR OF YOUR LIFE: this just makes me sad because my memory seems to fail me more often than not
Z- ZODIAC SIGN: gemini