Friday, December 14, 2012

Graduation Approaches

Just attended my last class at Penn State, ever.  Just bought my graduation robe, too.  I got the money from my office; they threw me a going-away shindig and they all signed a Christmas card and pooled money together to put it in.  I felt really bad considering I came in late after Carlisle had a petit mal seizure.  That was awfully nice of them.

Anyway, now it's just a matter of studying.  I'm most worried about my plant physiology class (Biol. 441, as Penn State has cheekily named it).  I need the book to study but I have to sell the book quickly or the student bookstore won't take it since they have a limit on buy-backs.

Today's my last day in the office; tomorrow is my last day at the clinic; Saturday night is my last shift at UniMart.  (Thank God.)  I'll probably spend the next two overnights at UniMart studying and writing up a study guide, and sell my book Saturday.

I think my overall feelings on all this can be summarised as follows:

But this doesn't entirely capture my fear and dread of starting over again, of everything being all new and therefore unknown, of the creeping anxiety and paranoia that tends to be inherent to moves of this magnitude.

Next week I'm going to Centralia, PA to see the sights.  Sort of an early graduation present to myself, I guess.

Thursday, December 13, 2012

As Promised

Well, blog, I promised you a fun post, didn't I?  Let it never be said that I don't deliver.  But be warned, my next post will be extra melancholy to make up for this.  And now...

Songs You've Heard and Danced To Recently (That Are Grossly Offensive)

(Originally Written on November 19, 2011)


  1. Song: “Sexy Bitch” by David Guetta ft. Akon
“She’s nothing like a girl you’ve ever seen before / Nothing you can compare to your neighborhood whore / I’m trying to find the words to describe this girl without being disrespectful… / Damn Girl! / Damn, you’s a sexy bitch, sexy bitch! / Damn, you’s a sexy bitch!”

Wait. You want to not be disrespectful? So you took the high road and, instead of comparing her to a whore, you settled for “bitch?” The only way that’s not disrespectful is if you were previously going to call her something worse, like “cunt,” and abruptly realised there were kids present and you had to tone it down a notch.

And don’t try to tell me that it’s a compliment because you prefaced it with “sexy.” An insult laced with a compliment (“You sure are good at tennis for such a fat doughy fuck!”) is still an insult.

Possible Solution:

Pretend this is a subtle love song about a rapper suffering from Tourette’s who is struggling to win the girl of his dreams.

  1. Song: “Whatcha Say” by Jason Derula
“Tell me tell me what to say I / I don´t want you to leave me / Though you caught me cheating… / Cause when the roof caved in and the truth came out / I just didn’t know what to do / But when I become a star we´ll be living so large / I´ll do anything for you.”

Basically this is a song about an unfaithful guy who wants his gullible girlfriend to forgive him. The thing is, it’s not like he was having an affair, felt guilty, ended it, and is coming clean and asking for forgiveness. No, the song implicitly states that he was in the process of cheating on her and she caught him. And now, suddenly, he’s sorry. Am I supposed to believe he was going to end it? Let’s face it, the guy isn’t sad he had an affair. He’s sad he got caught. If he hadn’t been, it likely would have continued. The poor girl is being totally duped. And by the way, you know the part about how he’d do anything for his girlfriend? Well, has he tried not cheating on her? Bitches love not being cheated on.

Possible Solution:

This is actually a song about an unscrupulous roofer, right? He’s trying to convince a dissatisfied customer whose roof just collapsed that he’s truly sorry for cutting corners and using inferior building materials and he’ll fix it.

  1. Song: “I Like It” by Enrique Iglesias
“Girl please excuse me / If I’m coming too strong / But tonight is the night / We can really let go / My girlfriend’s out of town / And I’m all alone / Your boyfriend’s on vacation / And he doesn’t have to know.”

This is a blatant song about cheating on one’s significant other. It’s not like they’re in an open relationship and it’s cool. No, the singer is actually proposing they keep the whole thing a secret. Being unfaithful and lying about it is not okay.

Possible Solution:

Okay, get this. The boyfriend is not actually on vacation. He’s madly in love with his girlfriend and wants to marry her, but questions her faithfulness. So he hatches a plan. He knows that his girlfriend’s very favourite singer in the world is Enrique. He hired Enrique to tempt her. If she spurns his advances, then Enrique is going to pop the question on the boyfriend’s behalf and also sing at their wedding. Isn’t that sweet?!

  1. Song: “Don’t Trust Me” by 3oh!3
“Hush girl / Shut your lips / Do the Helen Keller / And talk with your hips.”

Holy shit, are you forgetting that Helen Keller was a real person, who had major disabilities and strove to overcome them? Also, most history books agree she spoke with her hands, not her hips.

Possible Solution:

The person you’re hitting on at the club is not only blind and deaf, but lacks hands, thereby forcing her to talk with her hips, perhaps by gyrating out Morse code or something.

 ("But for all the little ladies who really got flare / 
Be like a vegetable and dance in yo' chair!")

  1. Song: “Alors On Danse” by Stromae ft. Gilbere Forte and Kanye West
“Wave your hands in the sky / if anybody got 5 dollars in your pocket right now / I call this club Titanic / why because it’s going down!”

Alright, two problems. First and much more obvious is the fact that the Titanic was one of the worst peacetime maritime disasters in history and over 1,500 people died. Imagine how offended you would be if we changed the word “Titantic” to “Twin Towers.” Yeah. But the second problem is that Kanye, who sings this particular verse, appears to be about to mug everyone in the club. Generally, it’s retarded to go out to a dark, crowded club and advertise the wad of cash you have in your pocket. Yet, he asks everyone with money to identify themselves. That seems sort of weird. If their hands are in the air, indicating they have money, that leaves their pockets open to attack. Beware clubgoers! Kanye’s about to rob you blind, after which you’ll be forced to talk with your hips!

Possible Solution: 
There’s no metaphor here. Everyone is on a yacht, having fun, unaware that they’re sinking. Kanye identifies those with money to rob them, knowing that, as was the case with the Titanic, the rich assholes will be the ones to live. After stealing their money to pay his way onto a life boat, only then does he inform them of their grim fate.

 (Pictured: Fun.)

  1. Song: “Last Friday Night” by Katy Perry
“We went streaking in the park / Skinny dipping in the dark / Then had a ménage à trois / Last Friday night.”


Believe it or not, I’m not going to rag on any of the things you think I’m going to. I could point to the glorification of excessive drinking and fiscal irresponsibility, or the blatant disregard for basic legal and social behaviours. But you know what? It’s a catchy song and I don’t feel like any of the content is damning by itself. Except this line. See, “ménage à trois” is a French term meaning “household of three,” and it usually refers to a man-wife-mistress arrangement. It most often describes a long-term relationship and usually the three partners are living together. I was in a ménage à trois once. It was an eight-month-long relationship filled with eight-inch-long penises, and it was fantastic. (Disclaimer: I was informed after writing this that the penises in question were not actually eight inches. That's right; I was actually told to fix this to reflect the smaller and more accurate penis size of 7.5 inches. This is why engineers don't get laid much.) Anyway, a ménage à trois is obviously not the same as a threesome, anymore than an engagement is the same as a one night stand. And it’s not like Katy Perry was forced into using that term; she kind of took some liberties with rhyming “trois” with “law” later on. “Threesome” is actually easier to rhyme. Watch: “After having coke and rum / we had a freaky sweet threesome / Last Friday night.” Or, she could avoid labeling altogether and just describe it for us: “After everyone was nude / I fucked a couple dudes / Last Friday night!” See? Writes itself!

Possible Solution:

A one-night ménage à trois is totally possible assuming time isn’t linear. So I’m forced to the conclusion that Katy Perry has a time machine and that the point of this song has to do with the butterfly effect and her trying to fix the havoc she accidentally wrought by going back and tampering with the past. Also, one of the partners in her ménage à trois is probably a dinosaur.

(Rated XXX.) 

  1. Song: “Don’t Want to Go Home” by Jason Derula
“ A-yo me say day-oh / Daylight come and we don’t wanna go home / Yeah so we losing control /Turn the lights low cause we about to get blown / Let the club shut down / We won’t go oh oh oh / Burn it down / To the floor oh oh oh.”

You might recognise these lyrics as a modified version of “The Banana Boat” song, a Jamaican calypso song best known for its awkward placement in the movie Beetlejuice. That cutesy little song you took and modified to be a club anthem? It’s kind of about slave labour. You see, in Jamaica and South America, it gets very hot during the day, so hot you can’t really work. So the workers (in this case, the dock workers) work 12-14 hour nights unloading bananas for less than a dollar a day, and when the sun rises, they go home, assuming all their bananas are accounted for. Contrasting their shitty manual labour slave-wage jobs with the lifestyle of a bunch of self-absorbed, privileged fucks who willing stay out all night drinking and have the money to do so is downright crass.

Possible Solution: 
I thought up a couple good ones, actually.

First of all, perhaps this song is entirely facetious. Jason Derula is the ultimate hipster, who has ironically established himself as sort of a dick, and is now ironically mocking how modern consumeristic society is out of touch with the struggles of developing countries.

Or, secondly, Jason is on the cusp of establishing an entirely new trend of music. Take this genre to the logical extreme and start remixing all songs about oppression. Remember “Sixteen Tons,” by Merle Travis? Let’s take a second to remix that like Derula would: “Go to the bar and what do you get / Another shot drunker and deeper in debt. [drop dubstep]” Or, just imagine a dance/electronica version of “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot.” I don’t want to ruin the premise of the song for you, but “Chariot” is the name of the girl with the Ugg boots.

Lastly, I find some solace in the fact that Derula mentions that they’re burning the club to the floor, and yet still refusing to leave. This “cleanse it with fire” approach ensures no more shitty club anthems can be recorded by Derula. And that, at least, is something all of us can be thankful for.

Tuesday, December 11, 2012

African Sleeping Sickness?

I think I might have African Sleeping Sickness.  Yesterday I slept 16 hours and missed all of my classes, plus work.  Today I slept 14 hours and was late for work.  Fortunately I had already called in over the weekend because I sprained my back, so it wasn't a big deal, but missing class is fairly unacceptable, especially in the week before finals, when they're reviewing everything that'll be on the cumulative exams.

(This is me at every review session, ever.)

I think this is either some sort of horrific degenerative disease (I have my fingers crossed!) or it's just a really hardcore case of senioritis.  My senior doesn't look very inflamed, but you never know.  I feel like everything's in order and I don't have much to get up for; I'm just telling time flow around me like a stream and waiting for the future, when I go to California.  I'm trying not to be too hopeful.  This isn't going to make everything in my life magically better.  Actually everything will be about the same except I'll have a support network (that is, Jack and Andy).  And maybe a little more money since I'll have my degree and be able to get a real job, as opposed to my working-nights-at-UniMart or sitting-at-my-desk-pretending-to-look-busy type of job.  Those are the worst.  I need a job where I feel like I'm accomplishing something that's not just occupying space and time and getting money; something where I can say, "Look at the difference I've made!"  And not just referring to the break room microwave catching on fire.

(My God, they have a stock image for everything.)

Okay, I just looked up African Sleeping Sickness and the symptoms are WedMD-style vague ("fever, aches..."), but since I don't think I've been exposed to any tsetse flies recently I probably don't have it.  That's a real bummer, sort of.  I'm all about weird gross parasite infections.  (Biiioloooooogist!)  Oh my God, one of the actual symptoms is called "Winterbottom's sign."  Ha ha!  Wacky disease naming people.  You'd think they'd take this shit seriously.

Anyway, speaking of disease, I should probably go study up on Becker's and Duchenne's for my genetics final before more sleepiness hits me.  Sorry this post was terribly uninformative, Blog.  Next post will be fun and hilarious, I promise.

Monday, December 10, 2012

Dean Koontz Drinking Game

Now that school is wrapping up, the truth is, I'm having a bit of an existential crisis.  Not my usual, ongoing existential crisis, but an entirely new one.  You might even call it depression: I sleep all the time, feel like shit pretty much constantly, and have no motivation to do anything at all.

The thing is, I feel like I won the game.  It's all over now.  I proved everyone wrong and I graduated and got my degree and... now what?  What do I really want to do with my life?  I guess just to be happy, but I don't see any clear like from point A (here) to point B (there).  I feel like I'm in a real fug.  Mostly I just want to sleep away time and hope I wake up in some future utopia, which seems unlikely.  I also really want to drink which is stupid because pouring depressants over depression is like pouring gasoline over fire.  It's a pity, too, since I have a couple of bottles of rum in the liquor cabinet and, oh yes, I just recently finish making a little something that I like to call... The Dean Koontz Drinking Game.

Hey Kids! It's time for...
The Dean Kootnz Drinking Game!

The fastest way to encourage reading while getting so trashed that you can no longer recognise this as a terrible, terrible idea!

Take a shot every time...
  • Someone is wearing Rockports.
  • Something evil is also genetically engineered.
  • The bad guy is German or Russian. Take an extra shot if they're Nazis or part of the KGB.
  • The bad guy has a sweet tooth. Take a extra shot for each additional trait he has: parent issues (double if it's a mommy issue), handsomeness or charm, a ridiculously expensive wardrobe, OCD levels of neatness, extreme narcissism.
  • An Asian person is described as either a serene Buddha or a concentrated, determined karate master. Take an extra shot if they actually know kung fu or another form of martial arts. Take an extra shot for every time the word “Zen” is used.
  • Someone's close family member has autism or Down's syndrome. Take an extra shot if they have an extraordinary ability like teleportation or are psychic.
  • The dog is a golden retriever. Extra shot for every time a dog gets called “Fur-Face.”
  • Someone has a Chief's Special handgun.
  • Evil scientists.
  • The person with the gun “recognises the need for guns in a troubled world” even though they're basically a level-headed pacifist. Take an extra shot if they've been to a shooting range.
  • Anytime Koontz goes on for a paragraph or more about how the world is troubled and it seems like there's no moral fiber left in society anymore, et cetera et cetera. Take an extra shot if he tries to awkwardly disguise his rambling as the character's rambling.
  • Indian laurels or bougainvillea.
  • When the protagonists are a man-woman team, and the man is calm, gentle, and level-headed and the woman is a total spitfire.
  • Anytime the protagonist's backstory includes someone being murdered. Take an extra shot if the person murdered was one of their parents.
  • Someone who needs to steal a car conveniently finds one unlocked with the keys in the ignition or tucked in the sun visor.
  • The Book of Counted Sorrows” is quoted. Take an extra shot if it doesn't end up having any relevance whatsoever to the section it's introducing.
  • The person who steals the car switches its license plates with the plates of another car.
  • A shot for every time anyone ends up in a church. Extra shots for every time someone has a conversation with a priest or other religious authority figure.
  • Koontz makes a point that the good guy has never had a premonition and doesn't believe in them, but immediately after having a foreboding sense of doom, goes with his gut and abandons all reason.
  • The child is a genius, or at least an eccentric sort of savant. Take an extra shot if they also have supernatural abilities or can see/sense dead people/ghosts.
  • It's set in Southern California. Take an extra shot if Arizona gets mentioned. Take two if any of the main characters visit Arizona.
  • Koontz makes a point of saying that it rarely rains in California, and then sets up a scene in a total deluge. Take an extra shot for every subsequent thunderstorm.
  • The character's BMI is less than 21; if it's a woman, less than 20.
  • A crack is made about how the motel the characters are staying at has clashing orange and blue wallpaper/carpet/sheets/lampshades.
  • They make spaghetti. Double shot if someone seems to be overdoing the salad preparation.
  • Someone wears a Hawaiian shirt.
  • They order Chinese take-out.
  • The male character was a cop/detective but now he's retired.
  • Someone has an “ethnic” name that's such overkill it borders on offensive. (Such as Abraham Malachi Rosenstein.) Take extra shots if the person with the “ethnic” name has additional “ethnic” clothing or jewelry because they're so “ethinc” (such as yarmulkes, sombreros, et cetera). Take triple shots if one of the MAIN characters has a pun-based name like Drake Everyman or Jim Ironheart or Montgomery KillYourFace.
  • There's a chase scene in a snow storms. Double shots if it's anywhere in a vicinity of Lake Tahoe.
  • You know what? Shot for every visit to Lake Tahoe.
  • Sodium vapour lights.
  • A child speaks awkwardly, indicating that Dean Koontz has never heard a child speak and doesn't know what the hell kids sound like. Bonus shot if he attempts to write from the child's POV and fails abysmally.
  • And, last but not least... finish the bottle anytime the word “literally” is used completely, unforgivably incorrectly.

Sunday, December 9, 2012

Blast from the Past: YOU GET NOTHING

Hey, Blog.  I got your analytics up and running so now I can track page views.  Yesterday we had a  visitor!  Look's like the water is really boiling now.  We'll probably get an endorsement deal soon.  The pressure's definitely on to deliver, in any case.  Of course, I worked a night shift last night, so I'm pretty wiped out.  Here's an old retro post I never published; I have a few of these lying around, so expect to see them over the next week:

Last night I was thinking of how terribly unfair life is, because when you’re depressed, that’s a topic worth mulling over.

Specifically, I was thinking that one of the most unfair aspects of life is that we’re taught that life is fair, and then have to find out later that it’s not.  For some reason, we live in a society that happily and insincerely fills the brains of our little ones and then, laughing, rips the rug out from under their feet.

When I was contemplating this last night, I thought of the example of “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory,” which is a warm-hearted tale of a poor little boy who gets his own candy factory from a probable pedophile, while all of his wretched peers get their ironic come-uppances: the glutton gets caught in a chocolate tube and nearly dies, a gum-chewer gets turned into a blueberry person, a TV-obsessed kid gets shrinked, and a spoiled brat gets thrown down a garbage chute.  Okay, they’re not exactly perfect analogies, but the way their demises all come about are supposed to be ironic.

But then I realised something: Charlie Bucket was never actually tempted.

In every child’s case, they were tempted with the single most important aspect of their existence.  For example, the gum-chewer was presented with some gum, and the TV-obsessed kid was presented with a TV.  What about Charlie?  He wasn’t specifically tempted with anything.

Now, you might argue that Charlie was free from such obsessions, and that the reason he won the contest was that he was the best choice, the most selfless child.  But that doesn’t mean he couldn’t have been equally tempted.  We know, for example, that his family was very, very poor and that he had grandparents who were deathly ill and immobilised.  Why didn’t Willy Wonka take the kids to see the vault where all the money is kept, or perhaps a gumdrop-powered wheelchair?  It seems to me that Wonka tipped his hand a little and Charlie won because he had the unfair advantage of never actually having been tempted in a way comparable to the trials faced by the others.

In this way, I supposed, “Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory” is a great story because it reinforces the ideas that:

1) Anything is possible.

2) Life’s not fair, fuck you.

3) Slave labour is okay as long as they look different from you.

4) For real, fuck the Oompa-Loompas, life’s not fair.

Friday, December 7, 2012

Biting, Biting Irony

Fifteen days yet, Blog.

Well, on my end, everything is still going sluggishly.  I can't get a new phone/plan until I cancel my old one, which I can't do without paying about $100, which I can't do because my flatmate is still MIA and hasn't paid his rent.  Actually he's more AWOL than MIA.  At this point I rather feel like I'm being taken advantage of and I don't know how mean I ought to be about this; he's really pushing what's acceptable.  Actually he's not.  This is a pretty cut-and-dried case of "unacceptable."  He's not pushing anything; it long since fell off the cliff onto pointy rocks below, contracted gangrene, and died a long, slow, painful death.  Financial troubles aren't exactly a new thing, mind.  I always manage somehow.  But this isn't about whether or not I can manage; this is about breach of contract.  I wouldn't even care as much if he'd just keep me in the loop.  Drop me a message or something.  I don't know whether I should be concerned or really, really pissed. 

(Author's note: I would normally pop a humourous picture in here.  I Googled "gangrene" images and boy, what a mistake that was.  I'll spare you, Blog.)  (My God, though.)  (Also, I'm at work, and I just had to explain to my boss why I was looking at pictures of rotting testicles.  Thank God I'm a biologist or I would never get away with some of this crap.)

Speaking of conflicting emotions, here's a piece of irony for you: yesterday I started this blog and when I got home and checked the mail there was a letter from my father.  Now, part of the reason I abandoned my previous blog was that my parents insisted on reading it and then quoting back pieces at me in a really passive-aggressive way.  In fact, my father's letter did just that!  It's ironic that I would start a new blog on the same day as getting a letter from him... particularly a letter that referenced by old blog (which has been out of service for over a year).  I hardly hear from him (my da, not my blog) and it's hardly ever pleasant.  Fortunately for me I long since stopped caring if he reads my blogs (Hi, Dad!) and am more interested in being pathologically honest with myself and others.  (Isn't that a nice phrase?  Someone used it recently to describe me and I've adopted it as something of a personal philosophy.)  But going back to the letter, I would like to take the time to highlight my two favourite lines:

The Line:
[referencing a previous correspondence in which I told him he'd hurt my feelings by saying I have STDs] "You should take credit for causing that hurt."

Why It's Bullshit: Let me explain this one in a metaphor.  If a bully calls a fat kid "lardass," and the fat kids says his feelings are hurt, the bully should not say "Well it's your fault for being such a lardass."  This is called blaming the victim and it's a way for bullies to deflect accusations and not own up to the fact that they are being cruel.  This is not a perfect metaphor because I actually don't have STDs, nor have I ever.  My father seemed to think I did because on my previous blog I talked about 3 boys I had slept with.  That's right, blog.  I slept with THREE BOYS in college.  Le gasp.  (Actually, to be fair, it is now 5 and I have been sexually active for almost 6 years.  Especially for a Penn State student, that's not bad.  Ba-dum tss!)  Obviously this means my body is wracked with every conceivable illness, including beriberi and Tourette's fuck cunt twat, since condoms haven't been invented yet.

The Line:  "Your mother and I accept your individuality."

Why it's Bullshit:  If that were true, then I wouldn't keep getting letters that accuse me of various things, whine about how I've hurt my entire family, and highlight what a supreme failure and disappointment I am.  My parents don't "accept" my individuality.  They don't even tolerate it.  Acceptance implies, according to Webster's, "admission, consent, or approval."  Tolerance implies "the allowance or willingness to tolerate the existence, occurrence, or practice of (something that one does not necessarily like or agree with) without interference."  Considering these, my parents are best defined as "grudgingly aware of."  But I guess saying "My mother and I are grudgingly aware of your individuality" just doesn't have the same ring.

Well, enough of that.  I sent back a 3-page reply that was as respectful as possible while still being blunt, because I refuse to insult either of us by weaving a fictitious little lie.  I know that what I said wasn't what he wanted to hear, but it's akin to drilling a cavity.  No one WANTS to get a cavity drilled, but you can't just ignore you; you have to bite the bullet and take care of it.  Actually you probably shouldn't bite the bullet if you have a cavity.  Well, I don't know, I'm no dentist.

So as long as I'm on a nice, meandering ramble about interpersonal relationships ("as long as I'm clogging up the internet's tubes with my inane personal problems"), I should mention a recent comment I heard that made me feel a bit sad.  It came from Jack.  Yesterday I was talking to Andrew for hours and hours, and Jack came up behind him and I heard him wonder aloud if I was closer with Andrew than I was to him.

Well, it's hardly a fair comparison.  They're both my best friends.  I've always said they're like two different colours, both brilliant and of the same intensity, just, you know, different hues.

But then he said something like, "I think her attraction to you is emotional and with me it's more physical."

Ouch.  I don't think I'm so shallow.

It's important to note here that they are identical twins.  Take a moment to process that.  Go ahead, I'll wait.  *twiddles thumbs*

So you've probably identified why this is ridiculous right off the bat.  But the thing is, I felt awful because, yeah, Andrew and I do talk more and better than Jack and I do.  But there are reasons for that: Andrew and I never dated and there's no drama, Andrew and I have a lot of things to work out for the move, and frankly Andrew is a lot less insensitive.  Of course, "insensitivity" is one of those things that can only be measured AGAINST a third party; perhaps Jack isn't insensitive but I'm just too sensitive, which is a definite possibility.  I don't know what he wants from me.  I still love him; sometimes it's hard to talk to him without wanting to rip his head off.  In my defense I am a praying mantis and I always feel this way toward my mates.

(I was looking for a picture of praying mantises and I found this.  
You're welcome.)

But, seriously, doesn't he get that part of the reason we talk so little is I'm trying to protect him?  Trying to protect our friendship?  I don't want to argue with him all the time, and when I'm emotional that tends to happen.  I'm trying to avoid conflict here.  You're welcome, buddy.  Obviously I'm a little more emotional now than ever what with the impending move and everything.  This is a high-stress time.  And if he really wants confirmation that I like him for him and not just his body, maybe he ought to stop working out, black out a few teeth, and see what happens.  Spoiler alert: we'll still be best friends.

I'm still really looking forward to the roadtrip.  (Spoiler alert: we'll still be best friends, but in California.)

Thursday, December 6, 2012

Sweet Sixteen

Don't you just HATE the phrase "sweet sixteen?"  I know I do.  So why I'm using it for the title of my very first blog post is as much a mystery to me as it is to you.

"Sweet sixteen" here refers to the number of days left before my graduation and the unfurling of a new chapter of my life.  If you looked up "anxious" in the dictionary right now, you'd probably find an entry that defined "anxious," and that entry would accurately describe how I feel right now.

In part, this blog is to chronicle the weeks pre-graduation, the AWESOME FUCKING ROADTRIP I'm going on following graduation, and my post-graduation life in sunny California.  Disclaimer: I didn't choose to go to California.  It chose me.  Sort of like the mafia, but with more jean shorts.

Anyway, right now, everything that could go wrong has, in accordance with Murphy's Law.  With only two weeks to go I'm pretty stressed out, which is why the last things in the world I needed were:

1) Carlisle's left ear is infected.

2) The guy who is renting out my spare room has disappeared and is a week overdue with his rent.

3) I lost my phone.  I don't mean I misplaced it; I mean I legitimately lost it forever.  Fortunately,

4) All my friends are selfish pricks who never return my calls or want to hang out and are content to let me stew in self-pity and agonising worry while they do whatever it is flaky, unrealiable people do.

Okay, so I should probably qualify my final complaint by saying that I know everyone else is busy and it's the end of the semester and all, and people have their own lives and their own issues.  But for real, I'm moving 3,000 miles away in a couple weeks.  Why don't they want to see me?!  I'm the coolest kid I know!

Anyway, who needs friends.  I have you now, Blog.  (This is probably a serious sentiment for like 30% of the internet's population, actually.  Saaaaad.)

On the bright side of things, I've gotten most of my preparations for the trip done.  Right now it's all about downsizing.  Hilariously, I'm a minimalist and have virtually nothing to downsize.  My only real piece of furniture is a white-spotted gazelle's head.  Yeah, you read right, a gazelle head.  That's how you know I'm a biologist; I define furniture as "dead stuff that hangs out in my living room."

I'm probably most anxious about meeting people in California.  Andrew and Jack say that if their friends were invisible and could watch me interacting with Jack and Andrew as I normally do, that they would LOVE me.  But the problem is they're not invisible and I'm really concerned they'll judge me.  Considering my past experiences with people, this seems likely, if not inevitable.

Crap, I'm delving back into the negatives.  Okay, positive, positive.  Well, yesterday Andrew got our new house.  It's a cute little thing: red-tiled roof, hardwood floors, ceramic floor in the kitchen and bath, fireplace.  See the picture below.  I'm pretty excited that that's in order.  Welp, that's all I can think of to say.  Sorry I haven't anything more exciting for you yet, Blog.  If you find my phone, let me know.

(Pictured Above: Casa de... New... Place)
(...I don't actually speak a word of Spanish.  I'm sorry.)

Also please note that is actually the place next door.  Ours is identical, but flipped; it's off to the right.  Here's the front porch:

(So excited to call this place home!)