These last few days have been absolutely crazy. And by that, I don't mean it's exam time and I'm ready to push my head through something solid, because, while that's true, death class is over and I've already received a head injury this week. In order of whichever I think of first--
1. Well, I was just walking home after my death class exam (and really, the thought of never going to that class again makes me want to dance) talking on the phone with my mom and pretty giddy about being finished with that class, so I was completely distracted. You guys should know that my neighborhood is a little bit ghetto. Which is okay with me, sometimes I'm a little bit ghetto. And plus, we've got culture, we can rock out the color. So anyway, real time, I'm walking into my neighborhood, not really paying attention, and some guy is about to pull out onto the main road when he says something to me. Can't understand him, don't think to keep walking.
"Huh?"
He says it again. I still can't hear him, and at this point I become an idiot because he might be telling me I dropped something so I walk toward his car and say,
"I still can't hear you, what?"
He says, "How you doin'?"
Well I'm doing great. I just got out death class, duh. "I'm good, how are you?"
"Good. What's your name?"
"Sara - what's yours?"
"DJ. You got a boyfriend?" Uhh. I kind of shake my head and start backing up in the direction I'd been headed because FINALLY it realize what's going on. Bear in mind I was, again, distracted, and cannot be held accountable for this. Then he asks,
"You got a number?"
"I'm on it now--" my phone, because I was on the phone with my mother whole time "--can't use it." Backing up more quickly.
And then he says something that sounds like, "Well I'm gonna TEXT you," and drives off, but it could have been "GET you" or "SEX you" or "WRECK you." I don't even know.
2. All sorts of shenanigans at work last night, including a lesbian and a gay man talking about each other's ''titties'' and crazy-energetic frat boys doing all our work for us (but Nicole will tell you all about that, I'm sure). But really I have no idea how I remember that because I suffered a head injury. Which one of the frat boys said was because I'm clumsy and first - he doesn't know me, I might not be clumsy, and second - it was not my fault this time.
I was making hotdogs, because that's what I do at work sometimes. Bagging and bunning them. When one of the kitchen guys rolls past pushing one of those big metal shelf things with a bunch of pots and pans on it. And I don't know if he bumped something or what, but mid-bun, one the big pots falls from the top shelf and lands on the side of my head, right above my temple, and then bounces off to hit my elbow.
I was fine, no concussion or anything. I lucked out and it barely bruised, actually, but I had a nice knot on my head. A goose egg, as we say in the south. However, I will say that I was lucky, at least I didn't have a huge pan off steaming hot dog juice poured on my chest. Poor Nicole =(
3. This one's less hazardous, I suppose, but I guess you could say the opposite. I'm going to Colombia (no u in Colombia, friends, and no drug jokes either) in a little less than seven weeks. Which is crazy, because I've never flown on a plane ever, and the farthest away I've ever been is Kansas. And also, I speak very little Spanish.
But my roommate is half Colombian, and I'm taking an Intro to Spanish class for the four weeks preceding the trip. Her boyfriend and I are flying together, and he's never flown either. So before then we've got to go get a yellow fever shot. The thing is, we're all afraid her dad is going to hate her boyfriend (because that's what he does) and her dad bought my roommate's departure ticket on the wrong day, so we're going to be there for another day after she leaves. And who knows what could happen in a day.
But I'm excited. We'll be in Bogotá (the capitol), this tiny little town where it's hot all year round, and Santa Marta. And I'll come back with a tan, hopefully a good amount of Spanish, of course a wonderful experience, and if I'm very lucky, not yellow fever.
cheers.
[correction: my roommate has informed me that I am an idiot, and that South America is in fact the SAME CONTINENT as North America, that the Panama Canal just doesn't count.]
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Friday, April 25, 2008
the things you overhear in wag...
sooooo....apparently presidential-hopeful Barack Obama is coming to UNCW? what??
yup, according to good old chef mike--who isn't too thrilled with this by the way, and not for any political agenda like you might believe, but rather because of the immense food-related strain this will place on wag--will be here on monday at 1 pm to speak in trask.
now, i don't particularly have any political affiliations or strong opinions about any of the candidates either way, thought i do tend to lean more democractic (i am from the north after all), but i'm thinking this is probably a big deal to a lot of people. but it's pretty cool that such a "big wig" has decided to select our fair little campus as a stop on the campaign trail.
the only big political thing to happen in jersey as of late was when we found out our governor was gay and resigned a few years back--i really did, and still do, like McGreevy--maybe he should run for president? talk about hitting a major demographic! :-p but, i digress...
now, this was apparently all speculation as it was only a possibility, but according to the wilmington group for barack, he is definitely coming as they've already released tickets. but, either way, just wanted to give everyone a fair warning that there might be an especially odd presence of security on monday afternoon (and oh yeah, traffic...joy :-/). maybe even the FBI will be around and stuff!! how cool would that be?!
however, i must agree with chef mike that i am less enthused about this event and almost wish Mr. Obama had selected another place to visit, or at least come another day, say...the weekend?? because where is my parking lot when i get onto campus??? oh yeah, lot k...right next to trask. think they'll remember we still have classes and students are going to need their spaces? doubtful. basically, parking is going to be a biotch, people. *heavy sigh*
yup, according to good old chef mike--who isn't too thrilled with this by the way, and not for any political agenda like you might believe, but rather because of the immense food-related strain this will place on wag--will be here on monday at 1 pm to speak in trask.
now, i don't particularly have any political affiliations or strong opinions about any of the candidates either way, thought i do tend to lean more democractic (i am from the north after all), but i'm thinking this is probably a big deal to a lot of people. but it's pretty cool that such a "big wig" has decided to select our fair little campus as a stop on the campaign trail.
the only big political thing to happen in jersey as of late was when we found out our governor was gay and resigned a few years back--i really did, and still do, like McGreevy--maybe he should run for president? talk about hitting a major demographic! :-p but, i digress...
now, this was apparently all speculation as it was only a possibility, but according to the wilmington group for barack, he is definitely coming as they've already released tickets. but, either way, just wanted to give everyone a fair warning that there might be an especially odd presence of security on monday afternoon (and oh yeah, traffic...joy :-/). maybe even the FBI will be around and stuff!! how cool would that be?!
however, i must agree with chef mike that i am less enthused about this event and almost wish Mr. Obama had selected another place to visit, or at least come another day, say...the weekend?? because where is my parking lot when i get onto campus??? oh yeah, lot k...right next to trask. think they'll remember we still have classes and students are going to need their spaces? doubtful. basically, parking is going to be a biotch, people. *heavy sigh*
khalid abdalla, you make my heart go pitter-patter
He's so dreamy (I mean Khalid, not Sir David although there is my penchant for older [and sometimes dead] gentlemen, i.e. C. S. Lewis, the Apostle Paul). And he's English-Egyptian and articulate and he learned an entire language for the movie (I swooned at that point). And there's a whole bunch of other things, including his adorable hairline and shoulder slump and sincerity in caring about culture and those sorts of things. But don't let me be the one to convince you!
Note: really though, this is an excellent interview and it really reflects well on the book and the actor and some of the things taking place in Afghanistan.
Note: really though, this is an excellent interview and it really reflects well on the book and the actor and some of the things taking place in Afghanistan.
get some deo- for that BO
I'm eating Frosted Mini Wheats, and they're amazing. Hodges, I'm sorry if you can hear me chewing (even though I promise my mouth is closed, you just have a crazy keen sense of hearing when it comes to that and there's nothing I can do!).
And speaking of Hodges: deodorant.
I don't mean she's stinky (that would be our other roommate). I mean we both have this crazy obsession with deodorant. She's a bit more extreme than I am and puts it on - not kidding - usually about three or four times a day. But if I forget to put it on, I panic.
Case in point:
My freshman year, for whatever reason, I started putting on a lot more deodorant than I usually did (not more frequently, just more per application). And sometimes it would get on my shirt because really, deodorant just sucks like that and I guess I'm just bad at putting shirts on and my armpits just jump out all over the place or something because I don't even know. Well, I remember this fabulous morning sometime last almost spring, sometime around March but the cold was letting up enough to where I was just wearing a light jacket. And as we were walking to get breakfast, one of my friends pointed out to me that I'd done a great job that morning, I hadn't gotten any deodorant on my shirt.
Stop dead. Sort of hesitate a foot backward, pivot in place. Panic for a second. The word here would be torn. Then grimace. Begin walking again.
Well, I made it to the food, hugged my then-boyfriend, then walked as quickly as I could (without running or causing myself to sweat) back to my dorm to put it on before breakfast. Because I couldn't possibly eat breakfast in an air conditioned building without deodorant.
Hodges (my roommate) has deodorant stored in her car (which I don't understand because wouldn't it melt? Does deodorant melt?). She has it in her bookbag. She has it in her bedroom, our bathroom, and if she had a locker, it would be in there too. And if they had pocket deodorant or disposable deodorant wipes, she would walk around with them in her pockets. And you know, she always smells nice.
But see, we both have this irrational (so they say) fear that suddenly we might get stinky. Which sometimes happens to me when my deodorant doesn't work or after I run (but I mean two and a half years past tense) six miles during cross country practice. Or if you're Hodges, you're afraid you're going to roll over in the middle of the night and put your nose in your armpit or someone else might and it will be stinky. Actually, when she was chilling on my bed the other night, she told me she put lotion under her arms (instead of deodorant? Not sure why) so they would smell nice.
The cool thing about deodorant is this: when I was little, I thought it was funny that deo- rhymed with BO.
And speaking of Hodges: deodorant.
I don't mean she's stinky (that would be our other roommate). I mean we both have this crazy obsession with deodorant. She's a bit more extreme than I am and puts it on - not kidding - usually about three or four times a day. But if I forget to put it on, I panic.
Case in point:
My freshman year, for whatever reason, I started putting on a lot more deodorant than I usually did (not more frequently, just more per application). And sometimes it would get on my shirt because really, deodorant just sucks like that and I guess I'm just bad at putting shirts on and my armpits just jump out all over the place or something because I don't even know. Well, I remember this fabulous morning sometime last almost spring, sometime around March but the cold was letting up enough to where I was just wearing a light jacket. And as we were walking to get breakfast, one of my friends pointed out to me that I'd done a great job that morning, I hadn't gotten any deodorant on my shirt.
Stop dead. Sort of hesitate a foot backward, pivot in place. Panic for a second. The word here would be torn. Then grimace. Begin walking again.
Well, I made it to the food, hugged my then-boyfriend, then walked as quickly as I could (without running or causing myself to sweat) back to my dorm to put it on before breakfast. Because I couldn't possibly eat breakfast in an air conditioned building without deodorant.
Hodges (my roommate) has deodorant stored in her car (which I don't understand because wouldn't it melt? Does deodorant melt?). She has it in her bookbag. She has it in her bedroom, our bathroom, and if she had a locker, it would be in there too. And if they had pocket deodorant or disposable deodorant wipes, she would walk around with them in her pockets. And you know, she always smells nice.
But see, we both have this irrational (so they say) fear that suddenly we might get stinky. Which sometimes happens to me when my deodorant doesn't work or after I run (but I mean two and a half years past tense) six miles during cross country practice. Or if you're Hodges, you're afraid you're going to roll over in the middle of the night and put your nose in your armpit or someone else might and it will be stinky. Actually, when she was chilling on my bed the other night, she told me she put lotion under her arms (instead of deodorant? Not sure why) so they would smell nice.
The cool thing about deodorant is this: when I was little, I thought it was funny that deo- rhymed with BO.
this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
[disclaimer: the title may or may not have anything to do with this post, it's just a really beautiful line that needed to be put somewhere--thank you e.e. cummings]
the end of the semester is in sight, people! *jumps for joy*
which explains the severe gaps in time of posting as of recent as final assignments, tests, papers, and workshops are notoriously stuffed into this last week of classes leaving all of us poor procrastinating students scrambling to get everything done with time left to check our e-mail compulsively, write on all our friends' facebook walls about how we can't wait to see them this summer making indefinite plans to "hang out soon!", procrastinate some more, and then oh yeah, breathe.
monday is the official last day of classes, but let's be real, classes were "over" a week ago. how many of you have actually still been paying attention in intro to chemistry or history of indonesia? that is, if you were even in class given that recent gorgeous weather that i'm sure had most of you practically living on the beach the past week or two.
and then, and it must be said, that dreaded f-word comes along not too long after... FINALS. *dun! dun! dun!* but let's not even get into that. we have 5 whole days including a weekend before we even have to worry about cracking our books again (or perhaps for the first time all semester) to study.
so, enjoy this brief interim when you're hanging with friends, having those first BBQs of the summer, lounging at the beach, and realizing even more how much you love college, because it won't be long before that F-ing week (F-ing.. Finals... get it?!) kicks in and you remember just how much you can hate it!
happy not-studying!
the end of the semester is in sight, people! *jumps for joy*
which explains the severe gaps in time of posting as of recent as final assignments, tests, papers, and workshops are notoriously stuffed into this last week of classes leaving all of us poor procrastinating students scrambling to get everything done with time left to check our e-mail compulsively, write on all our friends' facebook walls about how we can't wait to see them this summer making indefinite plans to "hang out soon!", procrastinate some more, and then oh yeah, breathe.
monday is the official last day of classes, but let's be real, classes were "over" a week ago. how many of you have actually still been paying attention in intro to chemistry or history of indonesia? that is, if you were even in class given that recent gorgeous weather that i'm sure had most of you practically living on the beach the past week or two.
and then, and it must be said, that dreaded f-word comes along not too long after... FINALS. *dun! dun! dun!* but let's not even get into that. we have 5 whole days including a weekend before we even have to worry about cracking our books again (or perhaps for the first time all semester) to study.
so, enjoy this brief interim when you're hanging with friends, having those first BBQs of the summer, lounging at the beach, and realizing even more how much you love college, because it won't be long before that F-ing week (F-ing.. Finals... get it?!) kicks in and you remember just how much you can hate it!
happy not-studying!
Monday, April 21, 2008
holy thunderstorm, batman!
i believe this is what stephen king was referring to when he spoke of the storm of the century.
had i been the tinman, i might have been electrocuted.
yowzer!
had i been the tinman, i might have been electrocuted.
yowzer!
Sunday, April 20, 2008
this is my life
In ten years, this will make me exceedingly happy. Now? Well, sad face.
One of my favorite parts of Sam's Club is walking around and getting the free samples, and it's something I always do when I go. I got there a little late for the samples today, but there were a few out. And they had one where you could try Jones Soda! Well, I went to stand in line to try the wonderfully colored green apple kind, and as the guy started to pour the drink for the lady in front of me, he asks:
"How old are you, miss?"
Hesitate. "I'm nineteen," I say.
Beat. The sound of green apple filling in a paper cup. The lady looks over at me with one of those knowing smiles.
"Is there an age requirement or something?"
Without missing a beat, he says: "Yes, you have to be at least twelve to sample without an accompanying adult. Food allergies, you know. We need consent."
Sometime in between reaching for the soda sample - which was delicious, might I add - and glaring at the woman snickering beside me and then shuffling away, I sort of mumbled, "I'm much older than twelve..."
Thank you very much, I looked much older than twelve last night! And the night before that in the club. Maybe when I'm making squinch-nosed faces and sticking my tongue out at people I look twelve, but I reserve that only for cute boys and my two roommates and Nicole. Not for old men at Sam's. Says the nineteen-year-old.
cheers.
p.s. I get this really panicky, looming feeling when it's been more than two days and neither of us have posted and something in the back of my mind is just insistent, insisting insisting yelling post post post! Which it was doing when I woke up this morning. So yes, miss Nicole, I am quite excited about your posting frequency =) Note to other blogger: POST POST POST!
One of my favorite parts of Sam's Club is walking around and getting the free samples, and it's something I always do when I go. I got there a little late for the samples today, but there were a few out. And they had one where you could try Jones Soda! Well, I went to stand in line to try the wonderfully colored green apple kind, and as the guy started to pour the drink for the lady in front of me, he asks:
"How old are you, miss?"
Hesitate. "I'm nineteen," I say.
Beat. The sound of green apple filling in a paper cup. The lady looks over at me with one of those knowing smiles.
"Is there an age requirement or something?"
Without missing a beat, he says: "Yes, you have to be at least twelve to sample without an accompanying adult. Food allergies, you know. We need consent."
Sometime in between reaching for the soda sample - which was delicious, might I add - and glaring at the woman snickering beside me and then shuffling away, I sort of mumbled, "I'm much older than twelve..."
Thank you very much, I looked much older than twelve last night! And the night before that in the club. Maybe when I'm making squinch-nosed faces and sticking my tongue out at people I look twelve, but I reserve that only for cute boys and my two roommates and Nicole. Not for old men at Sam's. Says the nineteen-year-old.
cheers.
p.s. I get this really panicky, looming feeling when it's been more than two days and neither of us have posted and something in the back of my mind is just insistent, insisting insisting yelling post post post! Which it was doing when I woke up this morning. So yes, miss Nicole, I am quite excited about your posting frequency =) Note to other blogger: POST POST POST!
a watched pot never boils
well, this isn't really true, since eventually the pot will boil, it will just seem like it took a lot longer to do so then if you had been busying yourself with something else besides watching the pot. but, i digress, for the sake of this post, we're going to say that a watched pot never does actually boil, and it is only once you take your eyes off it and trust it to do it's own thing in it's own time, that it will ever even start to consider boiling.
i've recently decided to stop watching the pot. it's for real this time. over the past, oh, i don't know, 5 years? 6 years? over the past 5 or 6 years, it seems i have been doing almost nothing but waiting for the pot to boil, moving it from burner to burner hoping one might work when the others haven't, often returning to old burners i thought had cooled off, and occasionally when i would get tired of doing so, i would throw my hands up in surrender and say i was really going to turn my back and stop watching it this time. and maybe i actually did a few times, but there would always be a mirror in front of me reflecting the still unboiling pot back at me, defeating the whole purpose.
this time, however, is different. i'm finally done watching the pot boil. what's even better, is that i don't care if the pot ever boils! at least not right now, anyway. for now, i am perfectly content with its not boiling and busying myself with other things. as much as i complain about how much homework or actual work i have and little time to breathe, it really is the best thing for me because then i am distracted so much from the pot that i can almost forget it's even still sitting there. in a horrible pun of sorts, that sara will love, i guess you could say i'm putting that pot on the back burner.
and i am rather quite proud of myself for doing so. i wish i could tell you what sparked the change (pun?) or made me realize it was time and of my best interest to walk away from the pot, but i don't really know. just one of those things i suppose, when you wake up one day and didn't even realize you began looking at things in a whole new way. change can be so constant, you don't even feel the difference until there is one. - life as a house. i think that something of the sorts happened to me.
the reason for this post now is to remind myself that i have once and for all chosen to step away from the pot and that that in itself is a feat of great accomplishment, one that i cannot just pretend never happened or fall easily away from, as last night has made me realize the tempting has begun...again. this wouldn't be the first time i had managed to stray from the pot, taken a glance back and seen that it had begun to boil, only to discover upon closer examination that it was just a mirage, an illusion, something dangled in front of me to get me back to watching the pot, waiting for it to happen again, waiting for the pot to boil.
and it's so hard not to, to keep my eyes away from the spot which they have called home for so long. the pot is like the one ring calling me and i am frodo [please refrain from hobbit comments - you know who you are ;-) ], in constant struggle between resisting and giving in. it's especially hard when the pot seems to have started boiling on the burner you most recently hoped it would. and i'm caught between beliefs: that this is once again a mirage and i should wait until i can hear the bubbling before turning back; or that maybe because i have stopped watching the pot, it's finally actually starting to boil.
so what do i do? refuse to turn back to the pot? or whip around and surprise it in hopes of catching something? because what if something is starting to happen, and i'm too stubborn to look back, so i miss it? i don't know. guess i'll have to just wait and see. (or rather not... but you get what i mean)
i've recently decided to stop watching the pot. it's for real this time. over the past, oh, i don't know, 5 years? 6 years? over the past 5 or 6 years, it seems i have been doing almost nothing but waiting for the pot to boil, moving it from burner to burner hoping one might work when the others haven't, often returning to old burners i thought had cooled off, and occasionally when i would get tired of doing so, i would throw my hands up in surrender and say i was really going to turn my back and stop watching it this time. and maybe i actually did a few times, but there would always be a mirror in front of me reflecting the still unboiling pot back at me, defeating the whole purpose.
this time, however, is different. i'm finally done watching the pot boil. what's even better, is that i don't care if the pot ever boils! at least not right now, anyway. for now, i am perfectly content with its not boiling and busying myself with other things. as much as i complain about how much homework or actual work i have and little time to breathe, it really is the best thing for me because then i am distracted so much from the pot that i can almost forget it's even still sitting there. in a horrible pun of sorts, that sara will love, i guess you could say i'm putting that pot on the back burner.
and i am rather quite proud of myself for doing so. i wish i could tell you what sparked the change (pun?) or made me realize it was time and of my best interest to walk away from the pot, but i don't really know. just one of those things i suppose, when you wake up one day and didn't even realize you began looking at things in a whole new way. change can be so constant, you don't even feel the difference until there is one. - life as a house. i think that something of the sorts happened to me.
the reason for this post now is to remind myself that i have once and for all chosen to step away from the pot and that that in itself is a feat of great accomplishment, one that i cannot just pretend never happened or fall easily away from, as last night has made me realize the tempting has begun...again. this wouldn't be the first time i had managed to stray from the pot, taken a glance back and seen that it had begun to boil, only to discover upon closer examination that it was just a mirage, an illusion, something dangled in front of me to get me back to watching the pot, waiting for it to happen again, waiting for the pot to boil.
and it's so hard not to, to keep my eyes away from the spot which they have called home for so long. the pot is like the one ring calling me and i am frodo [please refrain from hobbit comments - you know who you are ;-) ], in constant struggle between resisting and giving in. it's especially hard when the pot seems to have started boiling on the burner you most recently hoped it would. and i'm caught between beliefs: that this is once again a mirage and i should wait until i can hear the bubbling before turning back; or that maybe because i have stopped watching the pot, it's finally actually starting to boil.
so what do i do? refuse to turn back to the pot? or whip around and surprise it in hopes of catching something? because what if something is starting to happen, and i'm too stubborn to look back, so i miss it? i don't know. guess i'll have to just wait and see. (or rather not... but you get what i mean)
Friday, April 18, 2008
can you feel it?
have you been outside yet today? because unless you have been sleeping in your closet, it is impossible for you to have not at least looked out your window and seen how absolutely gorgeous and amazing it is! these are the fabulous, wonderful, beautiful, picturesque, almost-like-those-california days i was dreaming of and knew wilmington weather was hiding somewhere! (not to mention, it's my half birthday, which i openly self-centeredly relish and celebrate, so today is even better if you can believe that!)
it's friday, which means hardly anyone on campus has class [this is not a problem for me given that i never have class on friday and therefore have perpetual 3 day weekends (which is unparalleled in its sheer gloriousness)], or even if they do, they are SO not there and have been at the beach since the sun came up this morning. wilmingtonians who were smart enough to check the weather for this weekend had already requested the day off and those who weren't as bright, well, let's just say they were feeling suspiciously under the weather today... essentially, going to class is pointless, working is useless, and the only thing you should be doing is soaking up some sun!
it's days like this that remind me how much i love wilmington. from downtown to wrightsville, i wish i could have 12 of me to be in every part of it, because there just doesn't seem to be enough hours of sunlight to enjoy all it has to offer. good thing these bright and sunny days usually come with friends! :-)
there is no such thing as waking up on the wrong side of the bed on a day like today. you can't help but be in a good mood, and you'll find that everyone else around you also seems to have a little more bounce in their step. people are even nicer, too, which you might not have thought was southernly possible! the world really comes alive and has this incredible way of making things seem a lot less scary and troublesome or overwhelming--it's like you could handle anything. the world is fill of hope.
do you know why that is? well, it goes back to the title. you may be asking yourself, "what does it mean?" and of course it means... SUMMER!!! it's in the air, people! don't you see it and smell it all around you? wafting from the shore and emanating from the cheery glow of people you pass on the riverwalk? summer is rightly synonymous with sun, fun, lazy days, watermelon, vacation, swimming, and ice cream. but most importantly, summer represents freedom: freedom to do everything and anything, or nothing! summer = possibility.
it may be the middle of april, but summer is most definitely on the way, people! after this, i'm off for a walk in the park, or drive downtown, or anything that doesn't involve me blocked from those UV rays! you should get out there, too! what are you doing sitting here reading this?! go enjoy life! (especially before one of those previously posted about rainy days returns! but shh! we don't want to jinx anything!) before you dart out towel and sunscreen in hand, i have just one question for you. while you're playing volleyball or window shopping on front street, i want you to stop, look around, and ask yourself...
...so, can you feel it?
it's friday, which means hardly anyone on campus has class [this is not a problem for me given that i never have class on friday and therefore have perpetual 3 day weekends (which is unparalleled in its sheer gloriousness)], or even if they do, they are SO not there and have been at the beach since the sun came up this morning. wilmingtonians who were smart enough to check the weather for this weekend had already requested the day off and those who weren't as bright, well, let's just say they were feeling suspiciously under the weather today... essentially, going to class is pointless, working is useless, and the only thing you should be doing is soaking up some sun!
it's days like this that remind me how much i love wilmington. from downtown to wrightsville, i wish i could have 12 of me to be in every part of it, because there just doesn't seem to be enough hours of sunlight to enjoy all it has to offer. good thing these bright and sunny days usually come with friends! :-)
there is no such thing as waking up on the wrong side of the bed on a day like today. you can't help but be in a good mood, and you'll find that everyone else around you also seems to have a little more bounce in their step. people are even nicer, too, which you might not have thought was southernly possible! the world really comes alive and has this incredible way of making things seem a lot less scary and troublesome or overwhelming--it's like you could handle anything. the world is fill of hope.
do you know why that is? well, it goes back to the title. you may be asking yourself, "what does it mean?" and of course it means... SUMMER!!! it's in the air, people! don't you see it and smell it all around you? wafting from the shore and emanating from the cheery glow of people you pass on the riverwalk? summer is rightly synonymous with sun, fun, lazy days, watermelon, vacation, swimming, and ice cream. but most importantly, summer represents freedom: freedom to do everything and anything, or nothing! summer = possibility.
it may be the middle of april, but summer is most definitely on the way, people! after this, i'm off for a walk in the park, or drive downtown, or anything that doesn't involve me blocked from those UV rays! you should get out there, too! what are you doing sitting here reading this?! go enjoy life! (especially before one of those previously posted about rainy days returns! but shh! we don't want to jinx anything!) before you dart out towel and sunscreen in hand, i have just one question for you. while you're playing volleyball or window shopping on front street, i want you to stop, look around, and ask yourself...
...so, can you feel it?
drunk people are entertaining
I'm pretty sure the grammatically correct title would read: "drunken people are entertaining." But I just don't like the way that sounds, and honestly - here's for Sarah Andrew - well, I don't know. Insert a typographical shrug or something.
Disclaimer: the problem with writing about things that are entertaining to me is that they really don't come across very funny to you. But press on! dear readers, press on.
So first, I love the fact that as I'm typing this, both of my hands are stamped and Xed and drawn on and pretty much there's a very long map tracing the road until I'm twenty one from both sets of knuckes to both wrists. And when I wake up, that map is going to be on one of my cheeks and my forehead. It's going to be great.
So then clearly I had nothing to drink. Which made all the other people who were drunk that much more amusing to me.
For instance, I was kissed three times by a boy I kind of know in the three hours I was in the club. Once on the ear/cheek, I'm not sure why. And the other two.. well, he sat down on one of my feet so I started shouting about how he was on my foot, so he proceeded to grab the other one - the one that wasn't underneath him - and kiss the top of it. By that, I mean he lifted my foot off the floor and into the air to kiss it, and I was wearing a dress thing but I suppose he wasn't really aware of that. (I had leggings on, so it was okay.) My foot was still underneath him at that point, and when he finally realized it, he pulled it out, kissed that one, and set it down on the ground triumphantly. Exclamation point. Can't wait to see him in class.
Second drunk person of the night worth mentioning: well, she didn't really do anything funny, she just sort of wobbled up to me and hugged me - I don't really know her all that well, which is fine, it's the South, we hug everybody, but for some reason it was out of character for her to be hugging specifically me. But she kind of looks like a grandma, which is the absolute most wonderful thing in the world. Imagine your sweet grandma teetering up to you, and you just want to put your hands on her shoulders to keep her from wobbling over. Really big cute points. And then she wobbled off. A lot of wobbling with her.
Third drunk person: actually, she was not entertaining. What would have been entertaining would be if she'd crashed off the stage in her enebriated, narcissistic skankiness. Or stared into her glass of whatever she was drinking and quiped her badly written love poems to the reflection of herself until she wasted away. I would have liked that. What I didn't like was bad liquor breath and look-at-me, look-at-me. She said it twice because she was trying to be Echo as well as Narcissus - a one person act, and I mean that exactly how you think it might mean.
Anyway, great night, talked to some cool people, met some cool people, skipped down the streets, heard good writing, and really had a nice time. And yay for the magazine!
cheers.
Disclaimer: the problem with writing about things that are entertaining to me is that they really don't come across very funny to you. But press on! dear readers, press on.
So first, I love the fact that as I'm typing this, both of my hands are stamped and Xed and drawn on and pretty much there's a very long map tracing the road until I'm twenty one from both sets of knuckes to both wrists. And when I wake up, that map is going to be on one of my cheeks and my forehead. It's going to be great.
So then clearly I had nothing to drink. Which made all the other people who were drunk that much more amusing to me.
For instance, I was kissed three times by a boy I kind of know in the three hours I was in the club. Once on the ear/cheek, I'm not sure why. And the other two.. well, he sat down on one of my feet so I started shouting about how he was on my foot, so he proceeded to grab the other one - the one that wasn't underneath him - and kiss the top of it. By that, I mean he lifted my foot off the floor and into the air to kiss it, and I was wearing a dress thing but I suppose he wasn't really aware of that. (I had leggings on, so it was okay.) My foot was still underneath him at that point, and when he finally realized it, he pulled it out, kissed that one, and set it down on the ground triumphantly. Exclamation point. Can't wait to see him in class.
Second drunk person of the night worth mentioning: well, she didn't really do anything funny, she just sort of wobbled up to me and hugged me - I don't really know her all that well, which is fine, it's the South, we hug everybody, but for some reason it was out of character for her to be hugging specifically me. But she kind of looks like a grandma, which is the absolute most wonderful thing in the world. Imagine your sweet grandma teetering up to you, and you just want to put your hands on her shoulders to keep her from wobbling over. Really big cute points. And then she wobbled off. A lot of wobbling with her.
Third drunk person: actually, she was not entertaining. What would have been entertaining would be if she'd crashed off the stage in her enebriated, narcissistic skankiness. Or stared into her glass of whatever she was drinking and quiped her badly written love poems to the reflection of herself until she wasted away. I would have liked that. What I didn't like was bad liquor breath and look-at-me, look-at-me. She said it twice because she was trying to be Echo as well as Narcissus - a one person act, and I mean that exactly how you think it might mean.
Anyway, great night, talked to some cool people, met some cool people, skipped down the streets, heard good writing, and really had a nice time. And yay for the magazine!
cheers.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
when i remember my cousin, i think of all those times he tried to almost kill me
Let me just first say that I spent all week long and five hours tonight - five hours - procrastinating (via other blogs and AIM and torturing myself by rereading and rereading all the stuff I'm having workshopped tomorrow) writing a paper that took me under an hour to write once I finally sat down and did it. I am retarded. I'm so mad, I could have had this done. I could be in bed. Except now that I've finished the paper, I'm not like - hey, let's go to sleep! I'm like - well, let's waste some more time being awake when I'm tired, but if I'm going to waste time I ought to at least do something productive. And so here I am. Welcome home, blog.
I really do want to write about all the stuff I said I'd write about last time, but today I was thinking about how I have this cousin who really is quite entertaining. I've only seen him once in the last four or so years, but I used to see him all the time when we were younger.
First, his name is Chris Tucker. Which is pretty dang funny to me. Chris, if you ever find this, I'm sorry, but I'm about to exploit you.
Now, I could tell stories about him all day long. He was always an entertaining fellow. Picture this: he is a skateboarder (church of skatin', fool), he is a chef at a four or five star restaurant, he is missing a front tooth, and he is fluent in Russian. And I swear he's almost killed me about eight times. These include pushing me down a hill on a skateboard and I knocked my head against metal bar-gate, convincing me to swim in the waterway in February with all my clothes on, and teaching me how to wield a machete at age seven.
However, the best of these is the time he tried to get me sucked out to sea. In one of my workshops today someone wrote a story about Figure Eight Island, which - for those of you who don't know - is a very exclusive, private island (they have their own privately operated draw-bridge) that is nearly impossible to get onto unless you own one of the 400-some multi-million dollar houses or you're friends with someone who is. John Travolta's got a house out there and I'm pretty sure Sandra Bullock does too, along with a handful of presidents, ex-presidents, and tried-to-be-presidents.
WELL, when I was ten and he was thirteen, Chris wanted to see Sandra Bullock. Cause she's hott, he said. And it just so happen that, like for Tom Hanks in Castaway, the winds had blown in our way off shore. A hurricane had hit a few days or a week before and washed up the floaty underside of one of the docks. So he decided to nail some wood to it and call it a raft. I still remember, to this day, after he somehow coerced me into crossing the Intracoastal Waterway with him, the both of us standing up on our little makeshift floaty raft thing, him with a long piece of bamboo pushing us along through the water. I wish I had a picture. We were like Robinson Crusoe.
But then my uncle - his dad - for the only time in the memory of my life, decided to walk down to the waterway that day. And he caught us and yelled at us and told us how we would have been sucked out to sea had we gotten out in the current, which is totally true, because where we were at on the waterway was right across from a small channel or whatever you'd call it between two of the islands. Which actually would have been kind of exciting, apart from the terrifying adrift at sea part. Although this was back in the day when there were no cell phones except those huge bulky grey things that were bigger than a size thirteen men's shoe with the long black solid antenna like a sharpie. You guys remember what I'm talking about.
Anyway, I should say I stole the Robinson Crusoe line from my professor, Tim.
And that, also, I am dreading tomorrow. I've got two workshops, the second of which I think will go well. Which is good, because I'm going to need it to make up for the first. Honestly, I would actually rather fling myself out of a very tall tree than go to that workshop. I am terrified. They are going to tear my story to pieces, and then they are going to tear me to pieces. And consequently, all my cousin's efforts back in 1997 will not have been in vain.
cheers.
I really do want to write about all the stuff I said I'd write about last time, but today I was thinking about how I have this cousin who really is quite entertaining. I've only seen him once in the last four or so years, but I used to see him all the time when we were younger.
First, his name is Chris Tucker. Which is pretty dang funny to me. Chris, if you ever find this, I'm sorry, but I'm about to exploit you.
Now, I could tell stories about him all day long. He was always an entertaining fellow. Picture this: he is a skateboarder (church of skatin', fool), he is a chef at a four or five star restaurant, he is missing a front tooth, and he is fluent in Russian. And I swear he's almost killed me about eight times. These include pushing me down a hill on a skateboard and I knocked my head against metal bar-gate, convincing me to swim in the waterway in February with all my clothes on, and teaching me how to wield a machete at age seven.
However, the best of these is the time he tried to get me sucked out to sea. In one of my workshops today someone wrote a story about Figure Eight Island, which - for those of you who don't know - is a very exclusive, private island (they have their own privately operated draw-bridge) that is nearly impossible to get onto unless you own one of the 400-some multi-million dollar houses or you're friends with someone who is. John Travolta's got a house out there and I'm pretty sure Sandra Bullock does too, along with a handful of presidents, ex-presidents, and tried-to-be-presidents.
WELL, when I was ten and he was thirteen, Chris wanted to see Sandra Bullock. Cause she's hott, he said. And it just so happen that, like for Tom Hanks in Castaway, the winds had blown in our way off shore. A hurricane had hit a few days or a week before and washed up the floaty underside of one of the docks. So he decided to nail some wood to it and call it a raft. I still remember, to this day, after he somehow coerced me into crossing the Intracoastal Waterway with him, the both of us standing up on our little makeshift floaty raft thing, him with a long piece of bamboo pushing us along through the water. I wish I had a picture. We were like Robinson Crusoe.
But then my uncle - his dad - for the only time in the memory of my life, decided to walk down to the waterway that day. And he caught us and yelled at us and told us how we would have been sucked out to sea had we gotten out in the current, which is totally true, because where we were at on the waterway was right across from a small channel or whatever you'd call it between two of the islands. Which actually would have been kind of exciting, apart from the terrifying adrift at sea part. Although this was back in the day when there were no cell phones except those huge bulky grey things that were bigger than a size thirteen men's shoe with the long black solid antenna like a sharpie. You guys remember what I'm talking about.
Anyway, I should say I stole the Robinson Crusoe line from my professor, Tim.
And that, also, I am dreading tomorrow. I've got two workshops, the second of which I think will go well. Which is good, because I'm going to need it to make up for the first. Honestly, I would actually rather fling myself out of a very tall tree than go to that workshop. I am terrified. They are going to tear my story to pieces, and then they are going to tear me to pieces. And consequently, all my cousin's efforts back in 1997 will not have been in vain.
cheers.
Monday, April 14, 2008
MIA
My friends, it has been four days, and I have fallen off of the face of the planet. Four days is an eternity. If I were Jesus, I would have already died and came back to life. But I too will return! When I do, I have these fabulous things to write about:
1. How much I love deodorant.
2. How weird my coworker is, and how he harrassed all the ''older'' customers (above thirty-five) by asking them for their age-old words of wisdom.
3. The messed up wisdom some people gave him.
4. This one will come a few days later, but I might be reading an excerpt of a story I wrote at a club downtown, and it might be disastrous. Or wonderful. We'll see.
Until next time, which should be very soon,
cheers.
***At the behest of one of my roommates, let me just clarify that I'm not comparing myself to Jesus. Unless we're talking about my wooly hair.
1. How much I love deodorant.
2. How weird my coworker is, and how he harrassed all the ''older'' customers (above thirty-five) by asking them for their age-old words of wisdom.
3. The messed up wisdom some people gave him.
4. This one will come a few days later, but I might be reading an excerpt of a story I wrote at a club downtown, and it might be disastrous. Or wonderful. We'll see.
Until next time, which should be very soon,
cheers.
***At the behest of one of my roommates, let me just clarify that I'm not comparing myself to Jesus. Unless we're talking about my wooly hair.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
the more things change, the more they stay the same
what does that even mean? i mean, really, how does that make any sense? the whole meaning of change is that things are different..not as they once were..altered from their previous state. certainly some things can change while others remain the same, but only those that are independent of one another. i.e. moving to another house will generally not affect what time you sit down to dinner or how often you do your laundry, so while you are in a new atmosphere, nothing else really changes.
but what about the bigger things? what happens when people break up, or get married, or make new friends and lose old ones? when people move on or away or apart? i guess what i'm mostly talking about is this often quoted phrase in reference to people. which brings me to my point--do things really stay the same even as they change? are problems ever actually solved? like lovers' quarrels or family issues. can people ever be different? can we learn from our mistakes? can we ever forgive and forget? because that's what it all comes down to isn't it? the reason that even though times goes by and kids grow up and problems are resolved for the moment, things always have this funny way of popping back up again. what's that they always say...the past is never really dead?
i have a very good friend who talks about the cyclic nature of her life all the time, and i don't think it's just her; i think it's everyone. we keep coming back..to what we know or who we know, to what's comfortable and familiar. how can things ever be different when we always seem to be trying so damn hard to hold on? to how things were, or how we wish they could be, to those we've lost--in every sense of the word, to unreached dreams and unaccomplished goals, to the places we never went or things we never did, to things we should have and wished we would have said. that part of us never changes.
i always half-jokingly say i'm going to run away, usually to california (or italy if california doesn't feel far enough that day), and the truth is, i don't think it would even matter. can there be a true starting over? you can't escape who you are or your life at its very basic level because it all goes where you go. changing your location or job or even name and identity, should you choose to go that far, doesn't matter. things may change, at least on the outside, but inside, maybe in the places we don't even let anyone see, things are the same. we are the same. we remember everything: the good, the bad, and all the in between. we don't let go, we don't move on, at least not completely. the past, it's always a part of us, it's who we are. if you think about it, our lives are continually made up of yesterdays. it could be said we'll always be more of who we were than who we are.
in light of recent events, i've realized that no matter how much you may think that your life is different now, that past problems and dramas are gone and done with, or the people around you have managed to trick you into believing that this time around things really aren't the same, all it takes is one slip of the curtain veiling reality to see that it couldn't be further from the truth. change is a relative term. the reason the more things change, the more they stay the same is because things don't ever actually change. and people certainly never do, not really. some problems just don't have solutions. and maybe there's no such thing as "different," maybe it's all just a slight variation on the same.
who knows? maybe i'm too far into or caught up in this to see that things have changed, can change, will change. maybe the saying has nothing to do with any of that. i'd like to believe, believe that at some point, one day, things will different, and not only be different, but better. still, better could just be a relative term, too, now couldn't it? maybe this is better, maybe this is the best it's ever going to get. and then there is always the very likely possibility that i don't know what the heck i'm talking about and when i come to a clearer realization later i'll want to delete this post for being completely unreasonable and irrational. i don't know. i'm starting to think i might not know anything anymore. let's just say my curtain on reality has most certainly and definitely been pulled wide open.
but what about the bigger things? what happens when people break up, or get married, or make new friends and lose old ones? when people move on or away or apart? i guess what i'm mostly talking about is this often quoted phrase in reference to people. which brings me to my point--do things really stay the same even as they change? are problems ever actually solved? like lovers' quarrels or family issues. can people ever be different? can we learn from our mistakes? can we ever forgive and forget? because that's what it all comes down to isn't it? the reason that even though times goes by and kids grow up and problems are resolved for the moment, things always have this funny way of popping back up again. what's that they always say...the past is never really dead?
i have a very good friend who talks about the cyclic nature of her life all the time, and i don't think it's just her; i think it's everyone. we keep coming back..to what we know or who we know, to what's comfortable and familiar. how can things ever be different when we always seem to be trying so damn hard to hold on? to how things were, or how we wish they could be, to those we've lost--in every sense of the word, to unreached dreams and unaccomplished goals, to the places we never went or things we never did, to things we should have and wished we would have said. that part of us never changes.
i always half-jokingly say i'm going to run away, usually to california (or italy if california doesn't feel far enough that day), and the truth is, i don't think it would even matter. can there be a true starting over? you can't escape who you are or your life at its very basic level because it all goes where you go. changing your location or job or even name and identity, should you choose to go that far, doesn't matter. things may change, at least on the outside, but inside, maybe in the places we don't even let anyone see, things are the same. we are the same. we remember everything: the good, the bad, and all the in between. we don't let go, we don't move on, at least not completely. the past, it's always a part of us, it's who we are. if you think about it, our lives are continually made up of yesterdays. it could be said we'll always be more of who we were than who we are.
in light of recent events, i've realized that no matter how much you may think that your life is different now, that past problems and dramas are gone and done with, or the people around you have managed to trick you into believing that this time around things really aren't the same, all it takes is one slip of the curtain veiling reality to see that it couldn't be further from the truth. change is a relative term. the reason the more things change, the more they stay the same is because things don't ever actually change. and people certainly never do, not really. some problems just don't have solutions. and maybe there's no such thing as "different," maybe it's all just a slight variation on the same.
who knows? maybe i'm too far into or caught up in this to see that things have changed, can change, will change. maybe the saying has nothing to do with any of that. i'd like to believe, believe that at some point, one day, things will different, and not only be different, but better. still, better could just be a relative term, too, now couldn't it? maybe this is better, maybe this is the best it's ever going to get. and then there is always the very likely possibility that i don't know what the heck i'm talking about and when i come to a clearer realization later i'll want to delete this post for being completely unreasonable and irrational. i don't know. i'm starting to think i might not know anything anymore. let's just say my curtain on reality has most certainly and definitely been pulled wide open.
i wonder what michael savage would think of this
I read today on Jennifer's blog about a couple that bought a house and then decided they didn't have to pay their mortgage anymore because the loan they took for it wasn't valid because it wasn't in gold, it was in "fake paper money."
People are crazy, and I can't decide if they're so clever they ought to be locked up or if it's because they're so dim-witted that they ought to be.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
you have an awkward face
Sarawr on the outside:
Sarawr on the inside:
Sarawr on the inside is otherwise known as Sarawr Macfat because she took these pictures on her friend's mac and Macfat is like Fatty McFattFatt - because she's so clever sometimes.
Actually, that's not what this post is about.
I was talking to one of my roommates today and she looked over at me suddenly, and said, "You look a lot different than you did freshman year."
I kind of gave her one of those sidelong glances and said, "Well I'm less tan and less thin..."
"You looked younger. And yeah, you were tanner."
Well, of course I looked younger. And it's been winter for about six months, Alicia. Thanks. "Well I probably looked younger when I was thinner, I guess..."
"No... I mean... you look more ethnic when you're tan, but that's not it. I don't know how to explain it," she said.
And so it went on like that for a little bit, me trying to figure out how exactly I looked different. But then she looked at me and said, "You looked awkward."
What?? "Um.. you mean, like, mannerisms? Or my face??"
And then she just looked at me. Apparently I had an awkward face. Good to know I've grown out of it, I suppose? Anyway, just wanted to say THANKS ALICIA FOR SAYING I HAD AN AWKWARD FACE.
cheers.
Sarawr on the inside:
Sarawr on the inside is otherwise known as Sarawr Macfat because she took these pictures on her friend's mac and Macfat is like Fatty McFattFatt - because she's so clever sometimes.
Actually, that's not what this post is about.
I was talking to one of my roommates today and she looked over at me suddenly, and said, "You look a lot different than you did freshman year."
I kind of gave her one of those sidelong glances and said, "Well I'm less tan and less thin..."
"You looked younger. And yeah, you were tanner."
Well, of course I looked younger. And it's been winter for about six months, Alicia. Thanks. "Well I probably looked younger when I was thinner, I guess..."
"No... I mean... you look more ethnic when you're tan, but that's not it. I don't know how to explain it," she said.
And so it went on like that for a little bit, me trying to figure out how exactly I looked different. But then she looked at me and said, "You looked awkward."
What?? "Um.. you mean, like, mannerisms? Or my face??"
And then she just looked at me. Apparently I had an awkward face. Good to know I've grown out of it, I suppose? Anyway, just wanted to say THANKS ALICIA FOR SAYING I HAD AN AWKWARD FACE.
cheers.
Saturday, April 5, 2008
nawth cahlana and all the other things you need in your life
Right this very minute, Nicole is back home in Jersey and Ned is partying it up in New York City. And I'm here in North Carolina, enjoying the fabulous, rainy weather. But I've got to say, I think down here south of the Mason-Dixon line, I'm pretty content. That said, I want to travel all over the world and live all over the world and basically be as many places I've never been as I can, and I don't think I want to always live here, but here is certainly home. Now, I've been to both Jersey and New York, but only that tiny post nuclear fallout part of Newark and basically just the island of Manhattan (although we were breifly in Brooklyn, and I'm pretty sure the dirt from the streets there nearly got my eye infected). So I really don't have any idea of what the states are actually like. But here's to why North Carolina - Nawth Cahlana, if you're from here - is far superior.
As Nicole and I have already said, the weather. Actually, we've got just about any weather you'd want except for desert weather, and you don't want that. If you like snow and freezing frigid polar environments, we've got mountains, and you can ski in them. We can claim the highest peak in the Appalachians too, I think. If you like rolling hills and leaves that come alive with fire and fall, we've got the Piedmont. It even comes with a fancy French word for all the cultural among you. I guess that's not a type of weather, but it gets wonderfully crisp and perfect in fall, and the Piedmont (middle part of the state, it translates as foot of the mountain) is the best place for that. If you like the sun, if you like the ocean, if you like lightnings storms and rain on your roof - we've got all of it. Actually, sort of an extension of the lightning, I'll tell you my favorite part of the weather. Hurricanes! I love them! If you're in school, you get out. You get out if you have a job, too, unless you're a cop or anything like that. Hurricane parties particularly are a favorite. But I'll tell you the best part of hurricanes. When the power goes out, and you get to sit in your living room in the dark with candles lit all around. Some really nice things happen in candlelight. Of course, I'm no fan of death and flooding and trees nearly crushing people (I have a story about that), but if you're one of those people who likes to live extreme, jump out of planes, that kind of thing, maybe here's where you need to be. And it's all so variable. Here, we have seasons.
But I'm beating a dead horse here.
Another thing we've got: accents. And home-made liquor, if that's what you like. And a lot of pine trees, though South Carolina's got us beat there, I guess. But yeah, our accents are pretty much the greatest thing ever. Ask any guy who's ever loved a southern girl. And we're just plain nice.
Crap. I'm still beating the dead horse. Or is it dog? Beating your dog? Oh, I don't know.
One time, my grandparents' dog dug up a femur (that's human for upper leg bone!) in their front yard. I think I was seven or so. Not sure what ever happened to the dog. Hahaa, but I bet I could guess.
Anyway, I don't really have anything to say tonight. I watched The Kite Runner again (I gave in and bought it), and I'm still quite smitten with Khalid Abdalla, who is not only Egyptian but grew up in Scotland. Or London, I've read both. I think it's London. And he's only eight years older than me, who'd have thought?
How about this. The original title for the post about the libary was this: "on the current populace of randall library. thanks, friends. oh wait, we don't like the french." It made me laugh a whole lot at myself, made me think I was quite clever. In fact, I'm still pretty fond of it. BUT my dad's last name is French and really I like listening to people speak in French (or Russian or Spanish or, if you're name is Khalid Abdalla, Farsi...) and I met some really cool French guys in Florida and then in New York over break, so I couldn't really do that to them.
I'm sitting here thinking how to end this post but my roommate and her boyfriend are being icky on the couch beside me so all I can think is stop, stop, stop.
As Nicole and I have already said, the weather. Actually, we've got just about any weather you'd want except for desert weather, and you don't want that. If you like snow and freezing frigid polar environments, we've got mountains, and you can ski in them. We can claim the highest peak in the Appalachians too, I think. If you like rolling hills and leaves that come alive with fire and fall, we've got the Piedmont. It even comes with a fancy French word for all the cultural among you. I guess that's not a type of weather, but it gets wonderfully crisp and perfect in fall, and the Piedmont (middle part of the state, it translates as foot of the mountain) is the best place for that. If you like the sun, if you like the ocean, if you like lightnings storms and rain on your roof - we've got all of it. Actually, sort of an extension of the lightning, I'll tell you my favorite part of the weather. Hurricanes! I love them! If you're in school, you get out. You get out if you have a job, too, unless you're a cop or anything like that. Hurricane parties particularly are a favorite. But I'll tell you the best part of hurricanes. When the power goes out, and you get to sit in your living room in the dark with candles lit all around. Some really nice things happen in candlelight. Of course, I'm no fan of death and flooding and trees nearly crushing people (I have a story about that), but if you're one of those people who likes to live extreme, jump out of planes, that kind of thing, maybe here's where you need to be. And it's all so variable. Here, we have seasons.
But I'm beating a dead horse here.
Another thing we've got: accents. And home-made liquor, if that's what you like. And a lot of pine trees, though South Carolina's got us beat there, I guess. But yeah, our accents are pretty much the greatest thing ever. Ask any guy who's ever loved a southern girl. And we're just plain nice.
Crap. I'm still beating the dead horse. Or is it dog? Beating your dog? Oh, I don't know.
One time, my grandparents' dog dug up a femur (that's human for upper leg bone!) in their front yard. I think I was seven or so. Not sure what ever happened to the dog. Hahaa, but I bet I could guess.
Anyway, I don't really have anything to say tonight. I watched The Kite Runner again (I gave in and bought it), and I'm still quite smitten with Khalid Abdalla, who is not only Egyptian but grew up in Scotland. Or London, I've read both. I think it's London. And he's only eight years older than me, who'd have thought?
How about this. The original title for the post about the libary was this: "on the current populace of randall library. thanks, friends. oh wait, we don't like the french." It made me laugh a whole lot at myself, made me think I was quite clever. In fact, I'm still pretty fond of it. BUT my dad's last name is French and really I like listening to people speak in French (or Russian or Spanish or, if you're name is Khalid Abdalla, Farsi...) and I met some really cool French guys in Florida and then in New York over break, so I couldn't really do that to them.
I'm sitting here thinking how to end this post but my roommate and her boyfriend are being icky on the couch beside me so all I can think is stop, stop, stop.
Friday, April 4, 2008
stolen ipod
hey guys, this is probably entirely hopeless, and also a bit self-serving as i don't wish this blog to be, but my ipod has been taken. now, i'm sure you're thinking, "how do you know you didn't just lose it?" well, it hasn't left my room since i last used it a month ago over spring break, and not only that, but the entire box it came in that i keep it in is missing along with it, so it's not as if i just dropped the ipod somewhere. everything is gone. there is of course the off chance it is misplaced somewhere in my room, but i always kept it in the same spot, and did thoroughly check my room twice of all cracks, crevices, and secret hiding spots where i might have one day put it in forethought of this such event some day occuring.
it's an 80G new classic, silver, and says "Nicole's ipod 10.18" on the back. the serial # is 8L749JXTY5N.
while i'm aware of the small circle of people who must have taken it (and it saddens/angers me to think of the all the unbelievable crap i have had to go through in my current living situation as it is prior to this that now on top of it all my ipod has been stolen from my room), i am certainly not putting it on here because i think any of you are the culprits or involved, but rather because i am hoping against the odds that maybe one of you comes across or spots someone with it in a class or eating in wag or sitting on a bench on the commons. or, for you more unscrupulous characters, at one of the many pawn shops around our dear wilmington.
also, i read that since Apple is a bunch of non-caring assholes who once they get your money don't give a shit what happens to your ipod though they most certainly in this modern age have some means of locating it for you but simply choose not to (i'm allowed to be a bit melodramatic when $250 and my sense of security for my things in my own apartment is gone, thank you very much), the best and likely only way of tracking this thing is to post the serial number online and hope whoever receives it suspects its shady origins and looks up the number in a search engine where if it comes up, it's obviously someone else's! in this case, namely mine, and they will be referenced to this very blog post where there will be little doubt to the contrary.
so, i am asking all of you good samaritans to keep an eye out, though i am quite aware that i have a better chance of never seeing it again than seeing it again, but i appreciate the effort all the same. thank you.
it's an 80G new classic, silver, and says "Nicole's ipod 10.18" on the back. the serial # is 8L749JXTY5N.
while i'm aware of the small circle of people who must have taken it (and it saddens/angers me to think of the all the unbelievable crap i have had to go through in my current living situation as it is prior to this that now on top of it all my ipod has been stolen from my room), i am certainly not putting it on here because i think any of you are the culprits or involved, but rather because i am hoping against the odds that maybe one of you comes across or spots someone with it in a class or eating in wag or sitting on a bench on the commons. or, for you more unscrupulous characters, at one of the many pawn shops around our dear wilmington.
also, i read that since Apple is a bunch of non-caring assholes who once they get your money don't give a shit what happens to your ipod though they most certainly in this modern age have some means of locating it for you but simply choose not to (i'm allowed to be a bit melodramatic when $250 and my sense of security for my things in my own apartment is gone, thank you very much), the best and likely only way of tracking this thing is to post the serial number online and hope whoever receives it suspects its shady origins and looks up the number in a search engine where if it comes up, it's obviously someone else's! in this case, namely mine, and they will be referenced to this very blog post where there will be little doubt to the contrary.
so, i am asking all of you good samaritans to keep an eye out, though i am quite aware that i have a better chance of never seeing it again than seeing it again, but i appreciate the effort all the same. thank you.
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
on the current populace of randall library.
Apparently the library is for speaking French in.
Loudly.
While eating long bread.
Loudly.
While eating long bread.
kissing boys is bad for your health
First, I really like kissing. I'm just gonna say. Along with other relationship activities like cuddling and talking for forever (admittedly, those are the more girly ones), kissing is pretty much my favorite thing to do. I've got all kinds of stories, but an especially ridiculous one is from this past August when the campus doctors were kind enough to tell me that I had mono (of course). Well, my then-boyfriend had zero secondary immune system (i.e. he very easily became my sickly boyfriend) so we had to the make the big decision. No kissing. How long, doctor? Well, mono carriers can spread it for up to one year.
...
Ahahahah, yeah ok. That's gonna happen.
Well, we tried valiantly. I think we made it three days, but mostly that was because of his all-consuming fear of death. I'm pretty intense.
Now, I'm kind of changing topic, but stay with me. There's a point to this.
I've always been really lucky in that I've almost always had really clear skin. I had a few pimples on my chin in high school before I started running cross country, but almost as soon as I did, they disappeared. I never got them regularly or noticeably at all until my freshman year in college. And I couldn't figure it out to save my life. I wasn't running anymore, so maybe my skin wasn't being flushed out? I'd never had a special face wash, so maybe I suddenly needed one? I'd always been small and a couple of years behind on all those wonderful things like boobs and the like, so maybe I'd just had a late start on pimples? Okay, let me just say that pimples is a really nasty word and I don't like saying it or typing it or thinking because it grosses me out, so from now on we're going to call them twinkledaisies.
Anyway, another thing I figured it might be was all the sundrop. When I stopped running, I stopped drinking only water. This was a defining moment in my addiction, but more about that later. The point is, bump that. I wasn't giving up sundrop, but I did try for a bit, and it didn't really seem to help. I had no idea what was causing it.
Well, now I know. Looking back, there are plenty of indicators, but I don't really care because my skin is now clear and wonderful (not so much as before, but hey, I'll admit it was worth it).
In December, I broke up with my boyfriend. Since then, I haven't really done anything better diet-wise. In fact, I drink twice as much sundrop as before. You know what they say. Drowning your sorrows, right? Okay, I promise I'm kidding, but there's one other thing I've stopped doing cold turkey since December:
Kissing my (ex) boyfriend.
He had a rough five o'clock shadow. My skin took it pretty hard, got the blunt of it. And broke out. So fourteen months of not so nice skin, and four months later I finally realize it. He infected me! I'm allergic to kissing my ex-boyfriend! And who'd have guessed?
So here's my thought. Guys and Girls: let's practice safe kissing. Girls: insist on it, and if your guy complains, if he promises you won't break out, if he says he loves you and please oh please, don't do it! Guys: your girl is always right, and you better remember the consequences that can happen because of unprotected kissing, and you know, there's always that part where she can just hold out on you. 'K? Thanks.
cheers.
...
Ahahahah, yeah ok. That's gonna happen.
Well, we tried valiantly. I think we made it three days, but mostly that was because of his all-consuming fear of death. I'm pretty intense.
Now, I'm kind of changing topic, but stay with me. There's a point to this.
I've always been really lucky in that I've almost always had really clear skin. I had a few pimples on my chin in high school before I started running cross country, but almost as soon as I did, they disappeared. I never got them regularly or noticeably at all until my freshman year in college. And I couldn't figure it out to save my life. I wasn't running anymore, so maybe my skin wasn't being flushed out? I'd never had a special face wash, so maybe I suddenly needed one? I'd always been small and a couple of years behind on all those wonderful things like boobs and the like, so maybe I'd just had a late start on pimples? Okay, let me just say that pimples is a really nasty word and I don't like saying it or typing it or thinking because it grosses me out, so from now on we're going to call them twinkledaisies.
Anyway, another thing I figured it might be was all the sundrop. When I stopped running, I stopped drinking only water. This was a defining moment in my addiction, but more about that later. The point is, bump that. I wasn't giving up sundrop, but I did try for a bit, and it didn't really seem to help. I had no idea what was causing it.
Well, now I know. Looking back, there are plenty of indicators, but I don't really care because my skin is now clear and wonderful (not so much as before, but hey, I'll admit it was worth it).
In December, I broke up with my boyfriend. Since then, I haven't really done anything better diet-wise. In fact, I drink twice as much sundrop as before. You know what they say. Drowning your sorrows, right? Okay, I promise I'm kidding, but there's one other thing I've stopped doing cold turkey since December:
Kissing my (ex) boyfriend.
He had a rough five o'clock shadow. My skin took it pretty hard, got the blunt of it. And broke out. So fourteen months of not so nice skin, and four months later I finally realize it. He infected me! I'm allergic to kissing my ex-boyfriend! And who'd have guessed?
So here's my thought. Guys and Girls: let's practice safe kissing. Girls: insist on it, and if your guy complains, if he promises you won't break out, if he says he loves you and please oh please, don't do it! Guys: your girl is always right, and you better remember the consequences that can happen because of unprotected kissing, and you know, there's always that part where she can just hold out on you. 'K? Thanks.
cheers.
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