I just saw Shooter. The one with Marky Mark of the Funky Bunch. It was ace actually....chock full of liberal commentary, so I naturally ate it up. I particularly liked how in one of the first scenes of the movie, they enter into a CIA office to have an incredibly corrupt discussion and the picture that is in the background as they enter the room is the Gipper himself. Any movie that rightly aligns Ronald Reagan with a murderous, renegade CIA is fine by me.
My father's criticism of the movie was that with the current political climate it is just too easy to make it believable that a politician of that level could wield so much under-the-table influence. I don't quite understand what he was getting at, but it sounds to me more like a criticism of the current political climate. My only question about the movie was whether it is worth it to kill that many people in self defense. Believe me, even though I say I am a pacifist, I am all for the use of extreme violence if someone is trying to kill you. But at what point is it okay to shoot, stab, and blow up tens and tens of officers who are coming to kill you? At that point is seems like you are making a statement that your life is worth more than all the lives you are taking. I'm not saying that he should have just laid down his life to avoid conflict, especially when most of the people trying to kill him were completely corrupt, it just seems a little destructive.
What is also destructive is cancer. I know this probably sounds incredibly trite and not worth mentioning at all, but it is truly shocking how many people are affected by cancer. I bet every single person I know has known someone who had it, has it, or died from it. It's odd because, I think most people are like I was when I thought about cancer before this year. Yes, it's scary and everything, but it doesn't seem that terrifying because you always hear about radiation treatment and cancer survivors and doctors being able to fix everything. But they can't. And with cancer, nobody knows what the fuck to do. People are literally dropping like flies and we have no cure. Elizabeth Edwards, Olive, Tiger Woods' dad, my little sister's best friend and her twin, the women's college basteball coach who just died, my dad's best friend, the Jewish one's dad, Chloe's aunt. I know this doesn't really make a point, because it's just random people that I've heard of or have known, but it astonishes me, because I never considered it such a deadly problem for so many people. But it is. And we have Ronald Reagan to thank for preventing us getting a jump start on necessary stem cell research into a cure for cancer. Biatch.
Me: "My pet peeve is when basketball players can't make their free throws."
My dad: "I know. If they can't make their free throws, they shouldn't be allowed to have tattoos."
My mom: "Or facial hair....or underwear."
Me: "Are they allowed to wear thongs still, then?"
My mom: "Only on the outside of their clothing."
Saturday, March 24, 2007
ACC, get out my grill
Pac-10 3
Big 10 1
ACC 1
That’s right. Maybe if people in the East Coast (including all the commentators in the US) actually stayed up one night late enough to watch a Pac-10 game, they would see that West Coast is where it’s at for basketball talent, especially this year. Instead, they fawn so much over the “power conference” teams that I would expect their courts to be covered in roses. My dad scrawled the Pac-10 vs Big 10 and ACC tally in the dust on our car, but my mom made him wipe it off because we thought we might get shot at now that we’re in NRA country. Every other car either has a bible verse, a NRA sticker, or a Bush 04 sticker, so you know these people are dangerous. We actually passed a few cars with gun racks too. That was when we knew we had to hold my dad back even more. Like when he was upset when a car cut him off and was going to go know on their window and have a go at them when we all were stopped at a stop light. It wasn't a pick-up or anything, but better censored than lynched, right?
Seriously though. I like the South apart from the raging lunacy that is displayed by the conservative bumper stickers. Every single person you pass on the street smiles and says hi, which actually makes for very warm and fuzzy feelings all around. It is a step up from the indifference you encounter in Seattle and ten steps up from Baltimore’s pure hostility. These people don’t want to enslave me, they just want to be my friend! No, I know that’s not true. But I could totally live in a place like Savannah (which in addition to rhyming with my name, is GORGEOUS and warm), and just not interact with the crazies. I can find a liberal enclave, I am sure. I saw people biking, which combined with their Timbuktu messenger bags, screams liberal.
Besides, John Grisham is from the South. And I like him.
USC lost their Sweet 16 game an hour ago which was a dagger through my heart. But I will survive as long UCLA or Oregon makes it to the Final Four. I’m counting on UCLA. I am even at this exact moment in time wearing my Nate Robinson underwear as a Pac-10 good luck charm for tomorrow’s game against Kansas.
Big 10 1
ACC 1
That’s right. Maybe if people in the East Coast (including all the commentators in the US) actually stayed up one night late enough to watch a Pac-10 game, they would see that West Coast is where it’s at for basketball talent, especially this year. Instead, they fawn so much over the “power conference” teams that I would expect their courts to be covered in roses. My dad scrawled the Pac-10 vs Big 10 and ACC tally in the dust on our car, but my mom made him wipe it off because we thought we might get shot at now that we’re in NRA country. Every other car either has a bible verse, a NRA sticker, or a Bush 04 sticker, so you know these people are dangerous. We actually passed a few cars with gun racks too. That was when we knew we had to hold my dad back even more. Like when he was upset when a car cut him off and was going to go know on their window and have a go at them when we all were stopped at a stop light. It wasn't a pick-up or anything, but better censored than lynched, right?
Seriously though. I like the South apart from the raging lunacy that is displayed by the conservative bumper stickers. Every single person you pass on the street smiles and says hi, which actually makes for very warm and fuzzy feelings all around. It is a step up from the indifference you encounter in Seattle and ten steps up from Baltimore’s pure hostility. These people don’t want to enslave me, they just want to be my friend! No, I know that’s not true. But I could totally live in a place like Savannah (which in addition to rhyming with my name, is GORGEOUS and warm), and just not interact with the crazies. I can find a liberal enclave, I am sure. I saw people biking, which combined with their Timbuktu messenger bags, screams liberal.
Besides, John Grisham is from the South. And I like him.
USC lost their Sweet 16 game an hour ago which was a dagger through my heart. But I will survive as long UCLA or Oregon makes it to the Final Four. I’m counting on UCLA. I am even at this exact moment in time wearing my Nate Robinson underwear as a Pac-10 good luck charm for tomorrow’s game against Kansas.
Spring Break '07
Let’s be honest. This Spring Break trip theme is not so much “plantation-hopping” as it is “Phoebe eats ribs across America”. Yum.
It turns out that plantations are not exactly the spice of life. They’re gorgeous, yes. But you would think that when touring a former plantation, the focus would be on the legacy of slavery that the place depended on, right? Wrong. We went to a plantation called Middleton Place yesterday and I swear to God, the only mention of slaves we heard was one sentence during the house tour where the guide was explaining that slaves could carry a slave tag when traveling to work on other plantations for a day where they could earn money to buy their freedom. Well, hot dog! Exploitation? Who said anything about exploitation?
As for the Union soldiers, those demons from hell burnt down the Middleton’s main house. You can tell that most of the Middleton Place Foundation volunteers think that the Union soldiers should be tarred and feathered for their crimes against humanity. Gosh darn it, the Middletons worked so hard on their acres and acres of beautiful gardens, for it all to be ruined in the name of war. Of course, here, they all seem to be forgetting that the point of the war (for some) was to end the free labor that the Middleton’s gardens and rice fields depended on. The Middletons, you can tell, are a fucking bright bunch too. They owned over 20 plantations and couldn’t even think of something to grow on this plantation until they got some slaves there and watched the slaves grow rice for themselves. So they decided, meh, let’s make that into a cash crop.
Plantation touring is overall a weird experience. If you are into learning about slave-owner family legacies I would highly recommend it, but if you’re looking for something more legit-feeling you might not be super pleased. Although, the baby animals (lambs, bunnies, ducklings, turtles, 6-foot long alligators, etc.) were adorable and made the experience pretty enjoyable by themselves. My dad was upset to hear that we didn’t take a turtle home from the plantation with us. He has this idea that we will get a turtle and then the zany one of our cats, Roo, can ride it about the house.
The ribs are wonderful. I love ribs. I haven’t eaten them for about a year, just because I never have the occasion, but I am making up for lost time this Spring Break. It is a tiny bit awkward when we go around the table and my mom orders shrimp, my sister orders soup, my dad orders salad and I go for the half-rack of babyback ribs, but worth it in the end. At the last place, even the cute southern waiter kid was laughing at me. He had the thickest drawling accent and my mom whispered conspiratorially “I think he’s from around here”. My sister, ever the princess of sarcasm, retorted “No mom, he actually bikes all the way to South Carolina everyday to wait on people.” We called her Stormy when she was a toddler. Just wait until she hits high school.
She’s kind of funny sometimes. I appreciate it, when she isn’t giving me a 30-minute backseat telethon on the joys of press-and-seal wrap in the car. I got that today, between Charleston and Lynchburg, and now I know how to make the pillow, the seat cover, and the noises.
“What does ‘dora’ mean? It’s at the end of so many girl’s names that it must mean something. You know, like *******…Nymphadora…”
-My sister. She was irate when we called her Turtledora for the rest of the day.
It turns out that plantations are not exactly the spice of life. They’re gorgeous, yes. But you would think that when touring a former plantation, the focus would be on the legacy of slavery that the place depended on, right? Wrong. We went to a plantation called Middleton Place yesterday and I swear to God, the only mention of slaves we heard was one sentence during the house tour where the guide was explaining that slaves could carry a slave tag when traveling to work on other plantations for a day where they could earn money to buy their freedom. Well, hot dog! Exploitation? Who said anything about exploitation?
As for the Union soldiers, those demons from hell burnt down the Middleton’s main house. You can tell that most of the Middleton Place Foundation volunteers think that the Union soldiers should be tarred and feathered for their crimes against humanity. Gosh darn it, the Middletons worked so hard on their acres and acres of beautiful gardens, for it all to be ruined in the name of war. Of course, here, they all seem to be forgetting that the point of the war (for some) was to end the free labor that the Middleton’s gardens and rice fields depended on. The Middletons, you can tell, are a fucking bright bunch too. They owned over 20 plantations and couldn’t even think of something to grow on this plantation until they got some slaves there and watched the slaves grow rice for themselves. So they decided, meh, let’s make that into a cash crop.
Plantation touring is overall a weird experience. If you are into learning about slave-owner family legacies I would highly recommend it, but if you’re looking for something more legit-feeling you might not be super pleased. Although, the baby animals (lambs, bunnies, ducklings, turtles, 6-foot long alligators, etc.) were adorable and made the experience pretty enjoyable by themselves. My dad was upset to hear that we didn’t take a turtle home from the plantation with us. He has this idea that we will get a turtle and then the zany one of our cats, Roo, can ride it about the house.
The ribs are wonderful. I love ribs. I haven’t eaten them for about a year, just because I never have the occasion, but I am making up for lost time this Spring Break. It is a tiny bit awkward when we go around the table and my mom orders shrimp, my sister orders soup, my dad orders salad and I go for the half-rack of babyback ribs, but worth it in the end. At the last place, even the cute southern waiter kid was laughing at me. He had the thickest drawling accent and my mom whispered conspiratorially “I think he’s from around here”. My sister, ever the princess of sarcasm, retorted “No mom, he actually bikes all the way to South Carolina everyday to wait on people.” We called her Stormy when she was a toddler. Just wait until she hits high school.
She’s kind of funny sometimes. I appreciate it, when she isn’t giving me a 30-minute backseat telethon on the joys of press-and-seal wrap in the car. I got that today, between Charleston and Lynchburg, and now I know how to make the pillow, the seat cover, and the noises.
“What does ‘dora’ mean? It’s at the end of so many girl’s names that it must mean something. You know, like *******…Nymphadora…”
-My sister. She was irate when we called her Turtledora for the rest of the day.
D-E-N-I-A-L
T minus 41 days
Candy Apple Red Nail Polish
15 lbs.
An aversion to serious music…or at least a lack of real connection to it.
These are things that have changed about me since Olive died. Not much. But the bigger things that have changed are too difficult to articulate, not because they’re too difficult for me to talk about but because the change was too gradual and too difficult to pinpoint.
Sometimes I wonder why nobody ever talks to me about her. Does nobody know? My other half disappeared from the earth almost a year ago. Does it seem like I’m perfectly all right? And even more than that, is no one at all curious what it’s like to lose the person you are closest to in the whole world?
I wish someone would ask. Because it’s odd. It’s not as sad or as lonely as I thought it would be. It is literally like she just vanished, and now I use memories to remind myself that she once existed. This girl who I spent all my time with. Whose name became synonymous with mine to the ears of nearly everybody we knew. We had the same tendencies and reactions. We were both shy, but exuberant. We liked Savage Garden and being introspective. We liked acting. We were extremely silly. We hated being taken for granted. We always felt the same things at the same time. We never ever liked the same boys. We were both warm people, but whenever we hugged each other it was sort of awkward. The kind of awkward hug where both the people are really skinny, instead of one of the people being relatively cuddly. It’s hard to explain, but though we never talked about it, I am sure she would have known exactly what I mean, and we would have laughed at the fact that we both recognized it separately and someone finally brought it up.
We were also different. She was flexible. I was most definitely not. Physically, that is. She also had a more flexible demeanor and was more conscientious. Whenever there was any tension between us—and mind you, this would always be unspoken, and never developed into an actual fight…there were NEVER any fights between us, which I have never experienced with any other friend—she would attempt to resolve it and could not rest until everything was perfect again, and she had restored our emotional chi.
How odd it is, that the person my life was based solidly around for years, is gone and I am still emotionally intact. I don’t feel sad on a day-to-day basis. And I don’t constantly think of her. What should I do, though? How are you supposed to act? You move on. Because you can’t go back. Not to be all metaphorical, but it is literally like that chapter of my life is closed for good. And so I am living in a completely new book. Maybe when more time passes I’ll be able to look back at the Life With Olive book, and slip into memories without apprehension. But for now, the extent of my reminiscing about that time is restricted to what I write in here.
Candy Apple Red Nail Polish
15 lbs.
An aversion to serious music…or at least a lack of real connection to it.
These are things that have changed about me since Olive died. Not much. But the bigger things that have changed are too difficult to articulate, not because they’re too difficult for me to talk about but because the change was too gradual and too difficult to pinpoint.
Sometimes I wonder why nobody ever talks to me about her. Does nobody know? My other half disappeared from the earth almost a year ago. Does it seem like I’m perfectly all right? And even more than that, is no one at all curious what it’s like to lose the person you are closest to in the whole world?
I wish someone would ask. Because it’s odd. It’s not as sad or as lonely as I thought it would be. It is literally like she just vanished, and now I use memories to remind myself that she once existed. This girl who I spent all my time with. Whose name became synonymous with mine to the ears of nearly everybody we knew. We had the same tendencies and reactions. We were both shy, but exuberant. We liked Savage Garden and being introspective. We liked acting. We were extremely silly. We hated being taken for granted. We always felt the same things at the same time. We never ever liked the same boys. We were both warm people, but whenever we hugged each other it was sort of awkward. The kind of awkward hug where both the people are really skinny, instead of one of the people being relatively cuddly. It’s hard to explain, but though we never talked about it, I am sure she would have known exactly what I mean, and we would have laughed at the fact that we both recognized it separately and someone finally brought it up.
We were also different. She was flexible. I was most definitely not. Physically, that is. She also had a more flexible demeanor and was more conscientious. Whenever there was any tension between us—and mind you, this would always be unspoken, and never developed into an actual fight…there were NEVER any fights between us, which I have never experienced with any other friend—she would attempt to resolve it and could not rest until everything was perfect again, and she had restored our emotional chi.
How odd it is, that the person my life was based solidly around for years, is gone and I am still emotionally intact. I don’t feel sad on a day-to-day basis. And I don’t constantly think of her. What should I do, though? How are you supposed to act? You move on. Because you can’t go back. Not to be all metaphorical, but it is literally like that chapter of my life is closed for good. And so I am living in a completely new book. Maybe when more time passes I’ll be able to look back at the Life With Olive book, and slip into memories without apprehension. But for now, the extent of my reminiscing about that time is restricted to what I write in here.
Sunday, March 18, 2007
"Mess with me and you mess with the entire trailer park."
I knew that we had finally hit a southern state yesterday when we stopped for lunch and the people at Subway took a full 20 minutes to make two sandwiches for us. I swear to God, its faster in the HUB...and there, you have to wait in a 10 person line before you can even order.
Myrtle Beach, South Carolina has been a bundle of fun. I don't actually particularly like the place, and I like the people here even less, but it turns out that the older I get, the more I appreciate the hilarity that is my mother, father and sister. Today, after having breakfast at the crack of noon, during which I was called "darlin" more times than I have ever been called it before put together, we jetted off to a sort of outdoor mall/kid-attraction development. The kind of thing that reminds you of Wild Waves with all of its have-fun-in-a-super-fake-place glory. The best part was when we went into one of those beyond hokey t-shirt stores that have literally hundreds of shirts saying things like "Facebook friend request reject" and "I couldn't figure out why the frisbee kept getting bigger and bigger, and then...it hit me." The fabulous part was that my dad bought me one of the most ridiculous ones under the condition that I would actually wear it around campus. I'm pretty much psyched about it.
Funniest family moment: after leaving a candy store my mother mentions that they had free fudge samples and my sister gasps and charges headlong back into the store to claim hers. As soon as my dad registers the conversation and realizes that he is missing out on a free fudge nugget he turns around and follows my sister back into the store at a full-on jog, knocking aside two members of the enormous cheerleading convention that is apparently in town who were exiting. When he came back outside to find me on the ground after snorting my fudge and spitting it all over the ground laughing at him, he defended himself with "Those cheerleaders were clearly confused about which way they were going, so I was just helping them to the side of the walkway."
Next we played the most excellent game of miniature golf that I have ever engaged in. The course was a piece of waterfall-covered, island extravagance, complete with sea monsters in the water and different levels that all the holes were on. On the highest level you could see out far over the water. In my last 8 shots I got a hole-in-one every other time too, which made the entire experience even more noteworthy. Usually, my golf skills are only as good as Dick Cheney is congeneal. And, to top it all off, playing golf in South Carolina holds special significance because SC was the location of the first game of golf in the United States. Booyakasha.
What's weird, though, is that I've seen a maximum of 10 black people since we passed Virginia, not counting my dad. I thought there were supposed to be a lot of African'Americans in the South. Although, granted, if I were fully black, I would NOT be living in a place where the Confederate flag can be seen flying even more often than the American flag (which is nearly everywhere).
“And I want to tell you, ladies and gentlemen, that there’s not enough troops in the Army to force the Southern people to break down segregation and admit the nigger race into our theatres, into our swimming pools, into our homes and into our churches.”
-Strom Thurmond, July 17, 1948
Lovely man, produced by the great state of South Carolina, and representing them in the U.S. Senate from '54 to 2003.
Myrtle Beach, South Carolina has been a bundle of fun. I don't actually particularly like the place, and I like the people here even less, but it turns out that the older I get, the more I appreciate the hilarity that is my mother, father and sister. Today, after having breakfast at the crack of noon, during which I was called "darlin" more times than I have ever been called it before put together, we jetted off to a sort of outdoor mall/kid-attraction development. The kind of thing that reminds you of Wild Waves with all of its have-fun-in-a-super-fake-place glory. The best part was when we went into one of those beyond hokey t-shirt stores that have literally hundreds of shirts saying things like "Facebook friend request reject" and "I couldn't figure out why the frisbee kept getting bigger and bigger, and then...it hit me." The fabulous part was that my dad bought me one of the most ridiculous ones under the condition that I would actually wear it around campus. I'm pretty much psyched about it.
Funniest family moment: after leaving a candy store my mother mentions that they had free fudge samples and my sister gasps and charges headlong back into the store to claim hers. As soon as my dad registers the conversation and realizes that he is missing out on a free fudge nugget he turns around and follows my sister back into the store at a full-on jog, knocking aside two members of the enormous cheerleading convention that is apparently in town who were exiting. When he came back outside to find me on the ground after snorting my fudge and spitting it all over the ground laughing at him, he defended himself with "Those cheerleaders were clearly confused about which way they were going, so I was just helping them to the side of the walkway."
Next we played the most excellent game of miniature golf that I have ever engaged in. The course was a piece of waterfall-covered, island extravagance, complete with sea monsters in the water and different levels that all the holes were on. On the highest level you could see out far over the water. In my last 8 shots I got a hole-in-one every other time too, which made the entire experience even more noteworthy. Usually, my golf skills are only as good as Dick Cheney is congeneal. And, to top it all off, playing golf in South Carolina holds special significance because SC was the location of the first game of golf in the United States. Booyakasha.
What's weird, though, is that I've seen a maximum of 10 black people since we passed Virginia, not counting my dad. I thought there were supposed to be a lot of African'Americans in the South. Although, granted, if I were fully black, I would NOT be living in a place where the Confederate flag can be seen flying even more often than the American flag (which is nearly everywhere).
“And I want to tell you, ladies and gentlemen, that there’s not enough troops in the Army to force the Southern people to break down segregation and admit the nigger race into our theatres, into our swimming pools, into our homes and into our churches.”
-Strom Thurmond, July 17, 1948
Lovely man, produced by the great state of South Carolina, and representing them in the U.S. Senate from '54 to 2003.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Bitch and a half.
Oh my goodness, oh my goodness, oh my goodness. Small emotional crisis RIGHT NOW!
I hate endings so much. I never understand it. I look forward to the end of the quarter so much because I get so overloaded, especially when I work plus take 20 credits, that I would decombust if it dragged on too long. And then its all over, and its a relief, even though I always wish I had studied harder, edited more and showed up to class on time. But after fully 30 MINUTES of relief, I get depressed. I hate ending things. Even hard things like game theory. And how am I supposed to enjoy Spring Break when it is THE LAST SPRING BREAK OF MY LIFE!!! Where has my life gone??? I am only 19. That's the same age as some COLLEGE FRESHMAN!!!! Who decided that I should have to graduate and lose all my friends and move away to who knows where and be lonely and stressed out this early in my life? Oh, wait that was me at 16 deciding to FUCKING GO TO COLLEGE! I can't just leave my UW bubble this early? I'm not mature enough for this. [insert mom from the Parent Trap voice right there]
I am SO concerned.
I like college.
It's not fair.
What will I do with my life....as in like NEXT YEAR!!! Don't lie, I know I won't be able to be BFF with my friends who are friends right now. It doesn't work like that when you are NOT IN THE SAME COUNTRY AS THEM! And, yes, I'm excited about the prospect of going to South Africa and braving the risk of getting raped by a random person who has a 1 in 4 chance of having AIDS and higher considering the people who are rapists probably are more likely to have contracted HIV during their sexploits. But, I'm excited for the future me to do that one day. As in one day when I'm at least 21 years old, maybe. And maybe I will just curl up in my lovely Pink House that other people are trying to rent for next year. BOO!!! You won't throw as good parties as us, just because you are getting a good party house. Good parties will LEAVE as soon as I leave this University.
And what if I don't get into an excellent law school. I can't HANDLE mediocrity.
God help me. I think I am destined for sadness, disappointment, and everything in the end of the middle of a Jane Austen novel. Except that I won't have a happy ending that ends in love because NOBODY LOVES ME THAT I AM INTERESTED IN BECAUSE I AM A DORK AND MY LIFE IS ENDING WHEN I LEAVE COLLEGE, BECAUSE WHAT IS THERE LEFT TO DO????? I don't know!!! I need a plan. And you know what?! Joshua Johnson does NOT count as a plan. That is some off limits shit that we are not even going to go into right now. We never can again, actually, because Olive was the only one who ever understood that clusterfuck of a 6-year shenangigan. What am I going to do?
Apparently I'm destined for motherhood, because I'm a Cancer...but wait, you need a FUCKING PARTNER for that (pun intended, bitches). WhatEVER.
What is happening in my life???? Damn it. Why are all my friends gone for Spring Break already or still in finals. I need hardcore distraction. March Madness would suffice, except for the fact that the Huskies didn't even make it into the NCAA tournament on the bubble. My life has become so meaningless.
Hmmm. Duke is on. But I don't even like watching theeeem anymore because they're not fun to hate since JJ "panties in a permanent knot" Reddick isn't there to whine and drain 3's anymore.
Oh fabulous. UCLA is on and it might all work out. I can be bohemian next year, right? Pac-10 represent. THis East Coast bias is bullshit, and I feel like this is our year to prove ourselves even if the Huskies won't have our chance at the Final Four.
"Ending a relationship with a Cancer is like giving up your baby for adoption."
...I'm not talking about boy/girl-relationships, but everything from friendships to my relationship with game theory.
I hate endings so much. I never understand it. I look forward to the end of the quarter so much because I get so overloaded, especially when I work plus take 20 credits, that I would decombust if it dragged on too long. And then its all over, and its a relief, even though I always wish I had studied harder, edited more and showed up to class on time. But after fully 30 MINUTES of relief, I get depressed. I hate ending things. Even hard things like game theory. And how am I supposed to enjoy Spring Break when it is THE LAST SPRING BREAK OF MY LIFE!!! Where has my life gone??? I am only 19. That's the same age as some COLLEGE FRESHMAN!!!! Who decided that I should have to graduate and lose all my friends and move away to who knows where and be lonely and stressed out this early in my life? Oh, wait that was me at 16 deciding to FUCKING GO TO COLLEGE! I can't just leave my UW bubble this early? I'm not mature enough for this. [insert mom from the Parent Trap voice right there]
I am SO concerned.
I like college.
It's not fair.
What will I do with my life....as in like NEXT YEAR!!! Don't lie, I know I won't be able to be BFF with my friends who are friends right now. It doesn't work like that when you are NOT IN THE SAME COUNTRY AS THEM! And, yes, I'm excited about the prospect of going to South Africa and braving the risk of getting raped by a random person who has a 1 in 4 chance of having AIDS and higher considering the people who are rapists probably are more likely to have contracted HIV during their sexploits. But, I'm excited for the future me to do that one day. As in one day when I'm at least 21 years old, maybe. And maybe I will just curl up in my lovely Pink House that other people are trying to rent for next year. BOO!!! You won't throw as good parties as us, just because you are getting a good party house. Good parties will LEAVE as soon as I leave this University.
And what if I don't get into an excellent law school. I can't HANDLE mediocrity.
God help me. I think I am destined for sadness, disappointment, and everything in the end of the middle of a Jane Austen novel. Except that I won't have a happy ending that ends in love because NOBODY LOVES ME THAT I AM INTERESTED IN BECAUSE I AM A DORK AND MY LIFE IS ENDING WHEN I LEAVE COLLEGE, BECAUSE WHAT IS THERE LEFT TO DO????? I don't know!!! I need a plan. And you know what?! Joshua Johnson does NOT count as a plan. That is some off limits shit that we are not even going to go into right now. We never can again, actually, because Olive was the only one who ever understood that clusterfuck of a 6-year shenangigan. What am I going to do?
Apparently I'm destined for motherhood, because I'm a Cancer...but wait, you need a FUCKING PARTNER for that (pun intended, bitches). WhatEVER.
What is happening in my life???? Damn it. Why are all my friends gone for Spring Break already or still in finals. I need hardcore distraction. March Madness would suffice, except for the fact that the Huskies didn't even make it into the NCAA tournament on the bubble. My life has become so meaningless.
Hmmm. Duke is on. But I don't even like watching theeeem anymore because they're not fun to hate since JJ "panties in a permanent knot" Reddick isn't there to whine and drain 3's anymore.
Oh fabulous. UCLA is on and it might all work out. I can be bohemian next year, right? Pac-10 represent. THis East Coast bias is bullshit, and I feel like this is our year to prove ourselves even if the Huskies won't have our chance at the Final Four.
"Ending a relationship with a Cancer is like giving up your baby for adoption."
...I'm not talking about boy/girl-relationships, but everything from friendships to my relationship with game theory.
Courtesy of Mitch, the Aquarius.
Word of the week: intractable.
"Can't a guy smell some thongs now and then?!"
-the indignant B-hawk, who was indeed smelling Samantha's underwear that she left in the dryer. At least they were clean, right?
"Can't a guy smell some thongs now and then?!"
-the indignant B-hawk, who was indeed smelling Samantha's underwear that she left in the dryer. At least they were clean, right?
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