This can be useful in rocketry.

New Things.

2011-05-16T00:32:00.000-07:00

This weekend I've had a lot of time to sit in bed and think. My roommate left for the weekend, meaning that there has been no one around to tell me when it's time to do things like work, shower, eat, put on new clothes, etc. You know, standard good roommate duties. She wasn't here to take care of me, and as a result I slept thirteen hours on Thursday night which should give you some context for the incredible inactivity that was my weekend. Despite it being 8th week (out of 10, mind you), I spent a lot of time in bed this weekend, entertaining free blowing thoughts from wondering what kind of birds were chattering outside my window to taking a frame-by-frame imaginary bike ride from my house to my sister's across town and wondering how long it would take, which neighborhoods would be safest, which route is most direct. While experimenting in what it would be like to be the grandparents from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, I started thinking about how I'm about to graduate with a bachelor's degree from UCLA and what kinds of things I've neglected doing that used to make me so happy. I realized I miss memorizing poetry. I miss knitting and crocheting. I miss baking and sewing. I think most of all I've missed pleasure reading. With the English major, most of what I read is either novels or excerpts, which is excellent because I'll be leaving college with a heartily stocked library of worn pages and my scribbles in the margins. Now that I'm about to graduate, I'm truly excited to start taking trips to the library again and checking out books I haven't been able to justify reading for the last two years. I think the first book I'm going to check out is "The Things They Carried" by Tim O'Brien. I was asked to read the first chapter of this for one of my postmodern lit. classes, and ever since I've been itching to finish it. I even checked it out of one of UCLA's libraries once, but I returned it later that day knowing it was wishful thinking. In light of all of the things I am going to miss about being a college student living away from home and surrounded by friends and classes and books and papers, I think it's an important transitional perspective to recognize that life is a continuous give and take. In an effort to embrace positive transitional perspective, I'm remembering old things that make me happy, and braiding those things into the new life I'm about to construct.

First poem I'm going to memorize? An old favorite.

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rage at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light. - Dylan Thomas

Someone Still Loves You Boris Yeltsin - Think I Wanna Die

2011-05-14T01:42:00.000-07:00

Things I Swear By; or, I just cleaned out my makeup box and had time to think about myself and the things I impulse bought.

2011-04-28T16:02:00.001-07:00

The Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf "Vanilla Ceylon" tea. This is the best Ceylon tea I've ever encountered (although their Apricot gives the Vanilla a run for its money). It's just the slightest touch of vanilla and is really delightful with just a splash of cream. They package each tea bag in a big triangular pouch, so the tea leaves have room to expand nicely. Also, tea leaves. No more of this tea dust nonsense. Looking at you, Republic of Tea. Unbleached tea bags or no, you suck.
Simply Basic "Moonlight Way" body lotion. Totally a knockoff of Bath & Body Works "Moonlight Path", but this stuff looks like it's pretty cheap and it comes in a HUGE bottle. We're talking 10oz in this baby. I'm only assuming it's cheap, I won this lotion at a bridal shower a few months ago having unscrambled the most wedding-themed words in five minutes. This B.A in English might not buy me a Mercedes, but goddamn if it won't win me shower supplies at weddings. I mix it in the palm of my hand with Neutrogena "Ultra Sheer SPF 55" sunblock, and it all absorbs nicely while smelling yummy all at once. Protect your skin, look hot at 50, y'all.
Maybelline "One by One" Volum' Express mascara in Very Black. If I have to leave the house with only one beauty product on, I always go with mascara, specifically this one. Meybelline Falsies is a close second, but it goes on too thick all at once, whereas I like to go the 'multiple layers' route. "One by One" layers perfectly and combines all the best worlds of lash separation/volume/length business. "Falsies" has the spoon brush action while "One by One" has more of an almond/barrel shape brush, but both are good. I guess what I'm saying is, go with Maybelline. And if it tips the scale for you, my male drag queen friends swear by "Falsies", so there you go.
The Weepies. Not something I "use", but at any moment of any day I will invariably be in the mood to listen to them. Go listen now. And then again.
Calvin Klein "Euphoria". See, I get sick of perfumes really easily, and what's more, I have a hyper-activated sense of olfactory memory. I still have a hard time smelling Prada's "Infusion De Fleur D'Oranger" because it reminds me of the first month I moved away to school and experienced crippling homesickness. I bought that perfume because I thought the hint of orange blossoms would bring me happy memories of the orange trees in my backyard, but it had an adverse effect of adding fuel to the homesick fire. Betsy Johnson's perfume has a similar effect, although instead of making me sick it brings back a rushing wave of all the happy memories of studying abroad in England last summer. Well, most happy. There are a few stressful memories of bad encounters in the Tube or thinking I've lost my passport (never did, of course), but most are good. "Euphoria" is rare in that I have no scent memories attached to it - it's simply a great everyday perfume that smells good on everyone.
Born shoes. A bit pricey, but legitimately the most comfortable shoes on the planet. Plus, they play Arborea on their website, so they get my money. I actually just found that out right now as I was looking at their website, so, cool.
Enjoy "Sulfate Free Luxury" Shampoo and Conditioner. I don't let anything but Enjoy touch my hair, and this is my favorite of their brand. The smell of it alone is enough, but additionally it cleans and conditions your hair without leaving behind any residues or odd textures. The leave in conditioner is really excellent too, it acts like sunscreen for your hair and leaves it so smooth.
Every pen I've ever stolen from anyone.

Justin Townes Earle - "Mama's Eyes" Live at Paste

2011-03-10T23:51:00.000-08:00

Motivation Like Molasses

2011-03-07T18:25:00.000-08:00

I've identified a problem with the English major. See, all we do is read books and write papers. Which is wonderful, right? And it really is. I read at least twelve novels every quarter, usually more like fifteen, and my grade is based on one big twenty+ page paper due at the end. I thrive in that system, it's what I've learned to be really good at. But here's the problem: that's all I do. Read, think, write, read, think, write. Sometimes? It is so damn hard to force creativity and genius when you've just finished a twelve page paper and written another five pager and now you have a six page oral report due Wednesday that you'll turn into a twelve page paper by Monday. A lot of times deadlines are needed because more pressure = more diamonds, but Great Scott, a girl needs a night off! I know this is just me complaining, frustrated, over-worked and under-slept, and I'll be taking all of this back when I graduate from college in three and a half months (gasp!). I really am grateful for this time in my life, I think I am just in this limbo in between outgrowing my shell and feeling to small for the next one.

Aside from my inarticulate complaining, here are pictures from a recent adventure I went on.

Destination: The Huntington Gardens

Matt Costa - Cold December

2011-03-07T18:22:00.000-08:00

Santa Monica Farmers Market, February 12th

2011-02-12T11:16:00.000-08:00

Been having dreams of England lately.

2011-02-11T18:08:00.000-08:00

The Morning Benders - Excuses

2011-02-11T16:09:00.000-08:00

The 101 Cafe

2011-01-09T12:15:00.001-08:00

I went on a solitary adventure the other day.

Just me and a book, we travelled into the heart of Hollywood and ate lunch at the counter at the 101 Cafe on Sunset.

I had always wanted to sit at the counter of a diner by myself and eat a burger and fries. There is something I find so romantic and idyllic about that image. I sat there for a good two hours, drinking cups of coffee, head nodded over a book, feeling the bustle of people coming and going, the waitresses doing laps to and from the kitchen. It's easy to feel at the hub of a big ferris wheel when you're sitting there all by yourself. Everything slowly revolving in circle patterns. They say that society is afraid of being alone, but I wonder if that is really true. As I sat in solitary company and looked around at the other chow downers, I noticed that most people there were alone, hanging out with cell phones or paper work, sometimes the newspaper and a pen. They were all older, in their thirties and up, which makes me wonder if its a generation thing. Living on campus, I prefer to take my meals alone, it is an excellent chance to listen in on other people's conversations and see how the conversation in your own head compares. Unlike at the counter at the 101 Cafe, there are hardly any people who eat alone in the dining halls, or even in the cafes around campus. I think this fear of being alone - or at least, eating alone - is a twenty-something thing.

Driving to the 101 Cafe was an experience all in its own. I learned that when you slow down, embrace your fate to be stuck in traffic for a while, its really not so bad. The winding road down Sunset from Westwood snakes you past extravagant houses, rare patches of greenery and the front yards of people who pay their yard workers well. The winter sun at 4 o'clock illuminates the city in a way that made going to a cafe across town feel like an adventure. The sun like a spotlight.

My little solitary adventure a ways down Sunset was refreshing in a way that I didn't think was possible for Los Angeles. I still think this city is dirty and a rat race and, yes, the actors and traffic really are that bad. But I know that a little part of me will miss it when I leave, and that part of me will remember driving around under the dim winter sun, taking in the shadowy billboards and creeping slowly across town.

All of us, sardines rolling somewhere in our individual tin cans.

Reverb10: December 7th

2010-12-07T23:38:00.000-08:00

Prompt: Community. Where have you discovered community, online or otherwise, in 2010? What community would you like to join, create or more deeply connect with in 2011?

To answer this question, I am only indirectly going to talk about myself. Instead of talking about my new friends in the English department or some web of friendships I've discovered this year, I rather think that a more significant community I have discovered this year is the community of new moms, both in person and on the interwebs. Now, I am not a new mom, but my sister is, and for all intents and purposes, my sister and I are the same person. I swear that we were twins in a past life, the similarities between us are freaky. This year, my sister gave birth to her first child, a beautiful baby boy named Charlie (I mentioned him in a post or two ago on Tumblr) and given that she is such a young mom (she's 23), I know she found the first few weeks of motherhood isolating and quite frankly, terrifying. Jess is the first of her immediate friends to have a baby, and I remember how scared she seemed when she realized that the delivery was only the first arduous hurdle she would have to face. Breastfeeding, naptime, traveling, running errands about town, all of these things Jess had to master immediately because suddenly a dependent little human being needer her to know all of the answers. Since those difficult first weeks, my sister conquered the steps of what to do with a newborn baby, and if you could see her now, you'd think she was super-mom. As awesome as she is at the whole new mom thing, what got her to that point was largely the community of new moms she met through one of the support groups at the hospital where Charlie was born. Twice a week, this group of new moms meet and talk about questions they are having, problems their babies have developed, what is new in their lives, accomplishments they've made as mothers figuring this whole thing out. Watching my sister go from melting into tears of defeat over the seeming impossibility of nursing and saying things like "I can't do this" and "I can't provide for my baby" to being the star of her support group, I know that a big portion of what got her to this point is having people to turn to who understand her situation and can empathize with her, people who know what its like to suddenly have a tiny person completely dependent on you - only you - for survival. That's a huge responsibility on anyone, not to mention a young woman in her early twenties, and as the first months of life with Charlie passed, I saw first hand how important a sense of community was not only for my sister, but also for the beginning of Charlie's life. There are still new developments and new issues for my sister with Charlie, every day is a new adventure and as Charlie changes, so will my sister's knowledge about babies, but that's all part of it. My sister is turning out to be an absolutely wonderful mother, and I truly believe that she rose beautifully to the occasion, and her strength and awesome maternal instincts brought her to the place she is today. Watching my sister grow with the support of her new mom community opened my eyes not only to the world that accompanies the birth of a child, but also to the ever-present web of people out there in the world who are there and understand almost every situation imaginable, if only one has the courage and determination to look for them. It is becoming obvious to me that community is ever present, and whether or not you connect to people in person or on the internet, there seems to always be people out there who share similar experiences and can help. The more people I meet in this world, the more I start thinking that people are okay, and that maybe everyone has a little bit of everyone else in them in all the best ways.

Reverb10: December 5th

2010-12-06T13:01:00.000-08:00

December 5 – Let Go. What (or whom) did you let go of this year? Why?

This is a difficult question for a few reasons, the greatest being that I am a packrat in all aspects of my life and as a result, I don’t like letting go of anything. Until I moved away for college, I had lived in one room for twenty years and the spectacular amount of overcrowding and fire code violations in that tiny room speak novels to this fact. To answer the question, the most significant thing I let go of this year is my fear of being off on my own. I’m not talking about being single, I’m talking about relinquishing the crippling homesickness that plagued my first two quarters at UCLA. I kid you not, this was a HUGE deal for me. I come from an inordinately close family, and the first two quarters living two hours away – only two hours! – was almost unbearably painful. My first quarter here, I literally cried every single day for two and a half months. I’d tell to you ask my roommate for confirmation, but I did a good job hiding it for a lot of that time. I admit, it was all pretty melodramatic, but as much as I told myself I was being stupid and that I was much stronger than all of that, I also had to admit that you don’t cry every day for two and a half months without there being a serious problem. I considered transferring schools, maybe going to UCSD instead, but transferring schools meant admitting I was weaker than I thought I was, and I wasn’t about to admit that I couldn’t handle it. So, I stayed another quarter and it broke my heart every time I packed my things to go back up to school from home, every time my family left a voicemail telling me how much they missed me too. I remember clear as day this one morning when my mother accidentally sent me a text that she meant to send to my sister that read: “I have breakfast here for you, sweetie.” When you come from a family as weirdly close as mine, you’ve already cried that morning because you miss your mom too much and your perfume reminds you of the orange trees in your backyard, it only takes a text like for your heart to look up at you from the floor and say, you don’t think I can break any more? Watch me. I spent the majority of my mornings that first quarter crying over my whole wheat toast, and trust me, if that’s how breakfast goes, you are definitely in for it. Even now, after months of going tear free and actually enjoying going to UCLA, writing this post and invoking all of those sore feelings, it’s still hard to talk about. It still hurts, remembering waking up crying, my cheek a bit damp from a teary pillow left over from the night before. I’m sure that big scars like that never really go away, they just become part of you like everything else, and one day you stop noticing them as much.

Eventually, probably some time in the beginning of Spring quarter, I started finding pleasant things about school. I started making friends of my own, started going to some fun places out in LA. My room stopped feeling so confining and I even would catch myself saying I was going home when I was talking about going back to my dorm. The shift from heartbreak to healing was subtle, my wounds weren’t stapled shut but washed gently with warm water, and sometimes if that didn’t work, I’d try a little soap. Day by day, the burden of being alone in vast and towering city got lighter. Slowly, I had begun letting go. In retrospect, I’m not even sure what I was letting go of. I guess it was a few things, maybe my fears of losing people I love, not wanting to admit that people and places have to power to become smaller parts of my life and that I could be okay with it. The fear of trusting in myself to make decisions, do the right thing, make mistakes. I remember that when I got to LA, everything seemed so serious, I felt like I was on the ledge of the life I loved and with one step further I would drop off the cliff and fall into a future I wasn’t ready for. Everyone I met seemed to have an opinion for what I needed to be doing, everyone was so eager to project their own insecurities onto me and tell me I needed to grow up, that I was stuck in Neverland, that the time for action was five minutes ago. It hurts when you tell someone that when they aren’t ready for it, sometimes people need time to get there on their own. That’s something that took a long time for me to accept, that responsibility is certainly important, but you need to believe in yourself to get there. During this time, I also realized that some relationships need air, and on the journey to finding out who you are, you also find out who you most certainly are not, and that’s sometimes just as hard. Being on your own for the first time in your life is a complicated circumstance, and little epiphanies more often that not lead to big epiphanies, and you don’t even realize it until you look back for a minute and see the distance you’ve gone.

I guess that’s largely what this whole getting over chronic homesickness thing was about the whole time. It was a letting go, but it was also a finding, an acquiring of the pieces that were missing. No longer am I afraid of leaving home or of being on my own. I’ve learned how to trust in my own judgment and know my pace, what speed I’m good with and what kind of people are one of my kind. Of the many things that made this year monumental in my young life, my overcoming the unexpected trauma of living on my own and beginning to understand what it means to figure out who I am tops the list. I’m still figuring out what I want out of life and who I want to be in five years, but I’m not in so much of a hurry anymore, and I am okay with listening to my own instinct and instructions. I am on the way to accepting that everything important I need to know about me, I already know, it just takes a little time for me to recognize my own reflection in other people and places.

Advice:

2010-06-02T22:07:00.001-07:00

When waiting until the night before to write your final paper, please don't.

Things I Often Worry About:

2010-05-31T13:58:00.000-07:00

That I might own a Chihuahua one day. I know I'm the type.
That the internet will delete Wikipedia.
My teeth falling out
Canadians

People I Have Had Enormous Crushes On Despite Little To No Actual Interaction

2010-05-30T20:21:00.000-07:00

Got this idea from Sarah Brown:

Busboy at the restaurant next to the coffee shop where I worked: There was something about his stringy long blonde hair, his black studded kilts, his strictly monochromatic punky outfits. He worked the afternoon shifts that started a half an hour after my shift at the coffee shop started, and I'd always make sure to be outside arranging the signs when his car would come screaming around the corner so we could wave hello. I always knew when to get outside because I could hear his screamo music a good fifteen seconds before he got to the parking lot. Massive hearing loss or not, this guy was sweet despite his damaged exterior, and I was always game to lend him a lighter or free water whenever he came in. Sometimes he'd get to work early and he'd come over to hang out before his shift started, and I'd always listen eagerly as he told he about his ADD issues or how he downed a fifth of Jack the night before, blacked out, and woke up in the hospital fighting the paramedics. Our love was totally punk rock and pure, that is until he got fired for being late to work too often. Then I never saw him again. Tale as old as time.

Community college history buff: This guy sat behind me every single day in a history class, and I spent most of that quarter trying to find out what this consistency could possibly mean. He must have been in love with me too, it was so obvious, I mean, he sat there every single time. He had really long legs, and when he stretched them out sometimes they'd go past his desk and rest on either side of my chair. This intimacy would render me incapable of speech for several minutes and cause me to turn seven shades of pink. One time I mustered up the moxie to turn around and ask him for a pencil, but all he had was a red pen. This also seemed incredibly intimate to me for some reason that I cannot possibly imagine in retrospect. He knew the answer to almost every question the professor asked, and he is the only person I've ever met who could recite every single president and their vice presidents. I fantasized that he'd transfer to the same college I would for months, until one day I saw he had a bunch of letters from Santa Cruz, at which point my world was crushed. I vaguely considered transferring there instead of UCLA, but then I had a real conversation with him and I realized he was actually a total dick.

Bagel sandwich guy who smelled really good: When I was still at my community college, twice a week I'd stop by a bagel shop run by an Indian family that made bomb BLT bagel sandwiches. One of the sons who worked there had this cinnamon-y vanilla smell that drove me crazy, and he'd always let me take a chocolate milk with me on my way out. One time when I was halfway to my car I looked over my shoulder and he was still watching me from inside the shop, which made me really nervous and also made me not go back for a few weeks. It wasn't until some time later that I realized that nervous feeling was the feeling you get when you think someone is white hot and they think the same about you. I went back to the shop the next day to find the windows boarded up and a dusty CLOSED sign. I've never eaten a BLT since then that has come anywhere close to his.

Outdoorsy TA: This TA wore plaid flannel shirts to every discussion, and he had this way of saying the word "idea" that made me gooey on the inside. When everyone else in discussion thought I was a creeper for thinking Porphyria's Lover is totally romantic in a sad British pop kind of way, he agreed with me and went on to talk about his dissertation. I'd follow him to his next class while he talked about Eliot and Tennyson, and I spent serious time in his office hours, totally happy with the B grades he was giving me since it gave me more time alone in his office. Then one day he told me he got his girlfriend pregnant (another TA in the English department) and was going to marry her in three weeks to keep her an "honest woman", which made me simultaneously want to burst out laughing and cry a little bit. I spent the next week finding ways to bring him up in normal conversation with my roommate and talk about how stupid he is and how over him I totally am.

Loner dining hall reader: I have not spoken a single word to this person or even made eye contact, but I am one hundred percent certain that he is my soulmate. He looks like an extra on That 70's Show and will absolutely wear an orange sweater and make it look GQ. Every time I see him in the dining hall, he's got a giant book with him that he is always just about to finish, and he always sits by himself and spends a good hour reading and quietly eating his dinner. I've never seen him talk or smile or make any human contact, but his self-imposed loner status makes him all kinds of mysterious and beautiful. Every time my roommate and I see him at dinner she threatens to go over and talk to him for me at which point I have a minor panic attack and threaten her with physical violence because he can never never ever know I exist. I'm still working on why precisely this is so. I spend most weekends arranging my eating schedule around his, and even though I'll probably stutter and run away if he even looks at me, I have full intentions to continue creepily staring at his flowy brown hair and Birkenstocks while furiously praying DEAR GOD LET HIM DORM AGAIN NEXT YEAR.

meta-love

2010-05-30T11:22:00.000-07:00

I'm really going to miss writing papers for my Postmodern Lit. class.

You'll know I like you when it feels like I hate you, because I'm that rare kind of graceful.

2010-05-21T22:10:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I spent most of my time in office hours making fun of my TA's hipster tendencies to his face. I sent an email this morning apologizing in case I stepped over a line, and he emailed me back "No hard feelings, no."

There's hard feelings.

I must learn to stop making fun of people I like.

Only in college is this an acceptable dinner:

2010-05-17T19:55:00.000-07:00

- miso soup
- pizza
- onion bagel
- cereal combination of Chocolate Rice Crispies, Fruit Loops and Corn Pops

I'm ordering mine immediately.

2010-05-17T18:07:00.000-07:00

The Rifle Paper Co. and blog is my new summer house. Being an ardent hand written letter writer in this fast-paced digitized world, I have always been a sucker for hand drawn stationary and paper goods. It's been forever since I've found such inspiration and cute overload as these.

Simply adorable.

English lessons for English speakers.

2010-05-17T13:41:00.000-07:00

I stumbled across this little jewel a few months ago. For someone like me who supposedly specializes in the field of English literature and language, it's surprising how dreadful my pronunciation is. Among the words that are impossible for me to say are "patriarchal", "matriarchal", "brewery", " Smeagol" and "tour", and I don't know if it's that I never learned how to say these words, or perhaps I'm just an idiot. Regardless, I think this website is pretty rad. Even if the videos are ridiculous.

to be oneself completely.

2010-05-17T13:31:00.000-07:00

(source unknown)

There is no why.

2010-05-16T14:34:00.000-07:00

I'm going to get yelled at for using Blogger again. My sweet sister and brother in law spent a long long time fixing up my own domain and website from scratch, and here I am not using it. I hope this doesn't screw up the new website - I never understood how linking websites works exactly. Maybe one day I'll figure it out. Maybe one day.

So much has been going on lately. I want it to be summer already and yet I am nowhere near ready for the end of the quarter. I just finished reading Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut for the first time, and I must say that I am an ardent Vonnegut fan. He is just so thoughtful of his readers, nothing like Thomas Pynchon who forces your head under water and reads you words you've never heard of. Vonnegut is kind to you, makes his phrases short, his language simple, and his ideas almost misleadingly simple. I highlighted and circled this particular passage because I think it's such an interesting way to deal with time and death in a totally un-human capacity:

"The most important thing I learned on Tralfamadore was that when a person dies he only appears to die. He is still very much alive in the past, so it is very silly for people to cry at his funeral. All moments, past, present and future, always have existed, always will exist. The Tralfamadorians can look at all the different moments just the way we can look at a stretch of the Rocky Mountains, for instance. They can see how permanent all the moments are, and they can look at any moment that interests them. It is just an illusion we have here on Earth that one moment follows another one, like beads on a string, and that once a moment is gone it is gone forever.

When a Tralfamadorian sees a corpse, all he things is that the dead person is in bad condition in that particular moment, but that the same person is just fine in plenty of other moments. Now, when I myself hear that somebody is dead, I simply shrug and say what the Tralfamadorians say about dead people, which is 'So it goes'."

There is something so comforting about this, even in its impossibility. Human memory does not allow for this method to completely work, because our memories are flawed. Sure, we can remember what we did two weeks ago or five years ago, but we remember those events with hazy unclarity, and we never remember situations exactly how they were. For Billy Pilgrim, the protagonist of Slaughterhouse-Five, he has become "unstuck in time", and visit moments in the past and future without any control - one moment he'll be in his basement and then suddenly he'll be a POW in WWII somewhere in 1941 Germany. His memories are so vivid that they are all encompassing and he must literally act in the memory as realistically as he would in the present. And so, to think that all of time, the past, present and future, have always happened and will always happen, is Billy's reality. But Billy is of course a fictional exception, and that is not at all the world those of us holding the book live in. Nonetheless, how interesting.

This take on death and time certainly says something about destruction and tragedy and, I suppose, life. In one of my discussions, we talked about that refrain "So it goes". There are so many ways to take that. The phrase has no inherent inflection, it's framework for however you particularly want to read it. In fact, how you say "So it goes" says everything - "So it goes" while shrugging shows dismissal and no attempt to understand the subject at hand, sighing while nodding "So it goes" shows passive acceptance, and a sarcastic "So it goes" shows biting cynicism. It's almost a totally empty phrase, and it doesn't even mean anything if you think about it. "So it goes" is essentially "it is what it is", which although is a visually pleasant and symmetrical sentiment, means absolutely nothing. When one considers that Vonnegut places "So it goes" after every single death in this book, over a hundred and fifty times, almost as a funeral ritual, some very interesting implications can be sought after. Is Vonnegut saying we shouldn't care about the dead? "Eh, so it goes. Whatever." Is Vonnegut making an anti-war statement? Is he making a pro-war statement? Or is he possibly noting, as his beloved Tralfamadorians would say, "There isn't anything we can do about [wars], so we simply don't look at them."

Food for thought.

Little old me.

2009-12-11T00:48:00.001-08:00

I just submitted my last final for my first quarter at UCLA.

I'm going to stop for a second and think about this.

Remember a year ago? When I wrote at least once a week about how I had no idea where I was going to go to college, how much it was killing me. For a while I honestly thought I was going to go to school up in Washington, but that fell through for one reason or another. And here I am, sitting at my desk blogging by the light of my desk lamp just like before. It's strange, weird, crazy, unbelievable, everything all at once in every direction and with every feeling and thought. I keep fooling myself into thinking that UCLA isn't a big deal. It's not like it's Harvard or anything. It's just some school that thirty thousand people go to, or some outrageous number like that. All of my friend go to UC schools, it's just whatever. But when I went home for Thanksgiving and hung out with new people and we all went around talking about our lives, the fact that I go to UCLA made some definite waves. I didn't get it at all. I think I'm starting to a little at a time, though. People here are so proud to go to UCLA, and every once in a while I get a peek at what that all-encompassing pride feels like. I think a large part of it has to deal with how expectations never live up to reality. I had this whole big idea mapped out in my head about what college is going to be like. I was going to talk like this and have these types of friends and dress like this, and everything will be different. But the weird thing about life is that all of you never changes - sure, little parts do, but there's always a large part of you that is always going to be YOU, just a different type of you. I really thought I'd wake up on the first day of class and feel different, think different, have a whole new outlook on life. But it never really happens that way, and it's still little old me. I still like Sherlock Holmes and Walt Whitman, and I still hate claymation and people with fake accents. Sure, the pink and purple hair is gone, but there's still some red left in it, and I still count my teeth when I'm bored. I'm still love Harry Potter so much sometimes I wish I was a wizard and I still am able to laugh so hard I can't breathe and I double over on the floor. I even went jumping in puddles last week when it rained and got soaking wet up to my knees. It's so strange how you can go through some things that you think will kill you, change you, rock your world, and then you live through it and then there you are. One brain, one heart, ten perfect fingers and toes. I want to say that's comforting, but on some level I really don't think I've changed at all so far, and I'm not sure what to think about that.

I think going home tomorrow is going to help put this all in perspective. Who knows.

Oh yeah. I'm back to blogger again. It's just easier until I figure out my Wordpress website. So, hello again! I've missed you. You aged well.

Absolutely, inescapably, immediately, generally.

2009-11-23T19:37:00.000-08:00

So, I actually sat down a few days ago to write a blog post, and the conditions were perfect. I was in the sculpture garden at school, it was cold but I was in direct sunlight (giving the illusion that it was kind of warm) and I had my Ray Bans on, the Bon Iver playing, and everyone was leaving all alone. Problem? The internet SUCKS at school here. I had my mini PC with me, and lo and behold, after writing a complete and not so sucky blog post, my internet stopped working and WordPress went back to the Dashboard page, which included deleting half of the post. Sure, I still have half of it saved, but it is so not the same thing. I’ve only got half of a good blog, which equals one suck blog. Anyway, I’m telling you about this (I’m still not sure who “you” is yet, but yes I’m talking you YOU) because I don’t want to seem like I’ve just made a new blog and am already neglecting it. I actually can’t really stop thinking about it, which, to be fair, is also probably because I’ve been watching a good amount of Sex and the City lately. What can I say?

Now to the real part of this blog.

Today I went to LACMA for the first time! As stunning as the exhibits were, what really got to me was the car ride. See, in my New York School of Poetry class there are about eight of us who sit in the back who are ALWAYS talking and eating and joking around. None of us really know the others in our little group, but this is everyone’s class that we can all hang out and be loud and the professor doesn’t really mind all that much (or so we tell ourselves!), so we make the most of it. Most definitely, it is all of our’s favorite class. When we were informed about the field trip today to LACMA, five of us agreed to drive with my friend Alex, and I can honestly say, that was the most unusually compiled group of people in one tiny space I have ever seen. All of us are so different, in no logical world would the five of us be thrown together for any reason. But, there we found ourselves, and it was the most fun thing ever. As hyped up as we all were to go to LACMA for the first time, the ride back was where it was all at. I had a window seat, and there was something about the warm sunshine, the subtle breeze of the windows rolled down, my Ray Bans on and Dean Martin featuring on my iPod. As one girl Bear pointed out, it felt like we should have been in an Indie movie. There really is no explaining to it. You just have to be there. But, you’ve been there, haven’t you? When the situation is just right, the light, the temperature, the music, the people, the smell. Maybe it turned out this way because I got to sleep in late and listened to the Andrew Sisters while putting on my make-up or because both of my roommates happened to be out of the room all morning so I got to have completely alone time, or whatever it happened to be. It was just a perfect day, that’s all. I probably won’t remember it years from now for any reason; hell, I’ll probably forget it in a week. But today was absolutely, inescapably, immediately and generally stunning.

Falling In Love At The Coffee Shop

2008-10-02T16:06:00.000-07:00

It's been a long time since I have heard a song quite like this. It's so innocent, simple and sweet, I actually caught myself turn my head and smile shyly.

I think that possibly, maybe I'm falling for you.

(click above.)

Wild Words from Wild Women #7

2008-10-02T15:35:00.001-07:00

"Guilt is often the price we pay willingly for what we are going to do anyway."

- Isabelle Holland, creative writer

Selecting a Reader

2008-09-30T23:17:00.001-07:00

by Ted Kooser

First, I would have her be beautiful,

and walking carefully up on my poetry

at the loneliest moment of an afternoon,

her hair still damp at the neck

from washing it. She should be wearing

a raincoat, an old one, dirty

from not having money enough for the cleaners.

She will take out her glasses, and there

in the bookstore, she will thumb

over my poems, then put the book back

up on its shelf. She will say to herself,

“For that kind of money, I can get

my raincoat cleaned.” And she will.

Before I Die

2008-09-30T22:30:00.000-07:00

Okay, that last post was a joke. This one will flatten you to the ground.

Go here.

Make a list. Make it count.

Photobombers.

2008-09-30T21:20:00.000-07:00

Absolutely go here.

For clarification:

Photobomber (n.): Someone who sneaks into a picture uninvited. They usually are making bizarre faces, and the subjects of the picture generally are unaware of the Photobomber's presence in the picture.

Turn That Frown.

2008-09-30T17:16:00.000-07:00

I went shoe shopping today, and as I walked out of the store while trying to simultaneously put on sunglasses, balance my new parcels, not get run over in the parking lot, and not trip, I began to wonder when I became so awkward.

Now, there are different levels of awkward. When I take my shirt off in front of the Phleps' house in broad daylight, I know that is one type. When I shout obscenities in front of relatives at weddings, that's another type. But I realized today that I've recently become pretty self-conscious and have "deer-in-the-headlights" type situations every time a stranger talks to me. It's like, here I am in my world, and there you are in yours. I have my music turned up real loud, and when you knock on my door I drop the stack of dish-ware I was carrying and back up against a wall. When did I get like this? I never used to have a problem talking to strangers. But today in the shoe store the nice employee kept peering around the corner to ask me if I need help with anything, and every time he would do that I'd drop whatever I was holding and would start stuttering. It's not like he was incredibly attractive or was at all menacing - I just freaked out for no reason. Though, in my defense, he asked me if I needed help about five times the whole twenty minutes I was there, and I think he finally got the idea I didn't want to be bothered in my last "No, really I'm fine". This has also been happening at school a lot. I barely participate in class anymore, I stare at my feet when I walk to and from class, and if anyone makes eye contact with me I am always the first one to look away, almost like I feel guilty for having looked. At the coffee shop I have no problem with talking to customers, but I think it's different there because when I am working I am acting the part of the cheerful barista. Which is so weird because I really am cheerful and happier than ever! I just for some arcane reason am not showing it to strangers.

Maybe it has something to do with how much of a hermit I've become. On any given night I would rather sit alone in my room and organize, read, clean, pretty much do anything, which for someone my age is NOT a good habit to start (considering I have friends who probably wouldn't appreciate being neglected).

According to Dr. David Song, it takes twelve muscles to smile and eleven to frown. Maybe I need to exercise my Zygomaticus major and minor more before going out in public.

Things I've Wikipedia'd Today, part deux

2008-09-28T18:57:00.000-07:00

- The Bermuda Triangle

- Queen Victoria

- The Majestic Plural

- Cat Stevens

- Arsenic

E S C A P E.

2008-09-27T22:20:00.000-07:00

I fell asleep on the grass in my grandparent's backyard today.

It felt like heaven.

I woke up feeling warm even though it was chilly, and the grass felt like velvet beneath my toes.

Clear sky, smooth breeze, my own arm my pillow.

No dreams.

Having stress in one's life is worth it when you get to have naps like that one to escape it all. Normally it doesn't make sense to like something for the solitary reason that you can escape it, but this time it does.

Quote me on that.

2008-09-26T20:50:00.001-07:00

Everyone needs to go read this article. I quote Sarah Brown when I say that this will undoubtedly be the best thing you read today. The author discusses tattoos, and although I personally really like tattoos, she makes a very compelling argument for thinking twice about getting one.

Here is a collection of some interesting quote tattoos that the author of that article linked to. Some of them are really beautiful, some are really lame, but I think they are definitely worth looking at.

*WARNING!* Be warned that there is some nudity on that website. It was not enough to bother me (the worst was a girl without a shirt on), but if you don't approve then I suggest you DON'T go there. Also, if the sight of healing tattoos makes you squeamish, DON'T go there.

Magic.

2008-09-26T20:19:00.001-07:00

I emptied out a half-full cup of coffee into the sink left over from last night's studying and plop! Into the sink landed a hair scrunchie. That I haven't seen in days.

That was one of those times when you freeze, tilt your head to the left, and wonder, what? how? Am I a magician?

Because I KNOW all of you wonder from time to time if you are magicians. And the answer is, yes. Yes you are.

Pause.

2008-09-25T14:26:00.000-07:00

Songs I stay in the car to listen to on the radio:

1. I'm Yours - Jason Mraz

2. Bittersweet Symphony - The Verve

3. The Show - Lenka

4. New Soul -Yael Naim

5. The Scientist - Coldplay

Hues.

2008-09-25T11:31:00.001-07:00

For the first four hours of today since I rolled myself out of bed forty minutes later than I had planned, I have been regretting. Not big things like "I should have gone to law school" or "I should have married that man", but little things that are just scratchy enough to make it impossible to not think about them. I know I write probably more often than you'd like about my bad days, but then again this is a website about my life that you are choosing to read, and the Colorful World of Chelsea does in fact have darker hues. It's like in art - to make something look real and vivid you need a contrast of light and dark, of the angular and the curvaceous, the convex and the concave. I can be really judgmental, I don't like giving second chances, I like making myself feel smart (even if it is at your expense) and any day I would rather watch the Addams Family over Leave It to Beaver. But I'm not all bad. I'm mostly decent, if not good. I like making apple pies for my grandparents, I almost always hold the door open for people behind me, I will listen to anything you need to talk about literally anytime, and if someone looks like they need free coffee at work I am quick to pick up on it. I let the little things get to me, like stranger's scowls and when people don't say 'thank you', but I also get stupidly giddy when a Whitman line gets stuck in my head, when leaves fall off trees and land on me, and when little kids set balloons free. I'm fickle and silly, sarcastic and maternal, and passionate at all the wrong and right times.

I will not lie to you. I have no idea where this post is going. I started it wanting to talk about my bad day and try to find some significance in it, but then I started listing all of my qualities, even the embarrassing ones. I think this is definitely one of those "vomit on the page" posts, where everything in my head marked "September 25, 2008" gets copied and stapled here. Wherever I thought this post was going to go, it is now a wreck somewhere on the I-5. Earlier, before I looked down and realized "Oh, I'm typing this", I am pretty sure I was entertaining the idea that although today may be sucking, it's significant and worth it because today is what is making me, Chelsea. When you have a bad day it's easy to forget that it is a human life that you're living and that twenty-four hours is anything more than a drop in a bucket. Today I failed at being the type of Chelsea I wanted to be. But that's just it, isn't it? Today was the sulky and sensitive-type Chelsea. Tomorrow will be a different hue, maybe lighter. Maybe even darker. Without getting all metaphorical on you, I guess what I'm saying is that it helps to remember that paintings aren't all one color, and it's the comparison of the different shapes and colors that make the painting worth looking at. And the idea that my bad day is giving the picture of my life dimension and life really puts a bad day in perspective.

Wild Words from Wild Women #6

2008-09-23T15:14:00.000-07:00

"Most convicted felons are just people who were not taken to museums or Broadway musicals as children."

-Libby Gelman-Waxner, madcap movie writer

Sassy

2008-09-23T12:28:00.001-07:00

I am pretty sure I got sassed in Spanish yesterday. And I am sassy enough to recognize good old fashioned sass when I see it. See, we were reading old Spanish fables, and there were words I didn't know that I was not pronouncing correctly. My native-speaking partner turned to me and said,

Him: Why can't you pronounce the words right?

Me: I guess I just don't practice enough.

Him: You don't read Spanish books or nothing like that?

Me: I should, but I don't as often as I probably need to.

Him: What, you don't want to grow up to be a Mexican?

Yeah. Like I said. Sass. It's cool though, because I can improve my Spanish pronunciation, but after this semester he will still be an ass who can't use the word "nothing" correctly.

Now if only I weren't so stunned yesterday, maybe I could have said that to his face. But then I probably would have gotten cut in the parking lot later. Any my car is far too new to get blood on it quite yet.

I'll Blend Your Mocha.

2008-09-22T14:36:00.000-07:00

You know how I do things in public sometimes that are really horrible and awkward? Okay, "sometimes" may have been the wrong word. You know how I ALWAYS do horrible and awkward things in public? Well, today I did something again. Something BAD again. This event is almost identical to the one that happened a while ago, except apparently I subconsciously decided to take my friend Stephen's advice.

So I walk out of the mall into the blaring heat and decide to get an iced drink from the coffee stand just outside the door. I saunter over, peruse the menu, and finally decide to get a blended mexican mocha (p.s - HOLY FRICK was that thing totally worth the three thousand empty calories). When the male (and very cute) barista hands me my drink, I notice it's dripping and walk over to get some napkins. I also notice that there was extra whipped cream on the top of the lid, and in an effort to not waste whipped cream goodness, I get a straw and go to scoop the extra bit off.

Now, let's stop for a minute. You all know me, and you know how all my best and "fool proof" plans are nearly always damned. If you were with me when I reached for the straw, you probably would have seen the imminent danger and suggested that I get a plastic spoon or just lick it off the lid, bypassing any possible whipped cream danger. But you were not there, and I was alone with my brilliantly thick brain. Lets resume.

As I'm scooping off the extra whipped cream, my hand shakily nears my face. Then fate decided to make me it's bitch. Lo and behold, the whipped cream slips off my straw and lands - where? - directly down my shirt and in my bra. Again. Where all renegade and slippery foods go. In an instant and thoughtless reaction (you'd think I'd learn, right? Wrong.) I drop everything and reach down my shirt to fetch the now drippy substance. As I continue fishing out the whipped cream, I decide it would be a waste to NOT eat the whipped cream, so I do. By now I decide it's a good time to look up and see if anyone has witnessed this public display of cunning prowess. As I look up, fingers still in my mouth and one hand still holding down my shirt dangerously low, I lock eyes with - oh, yes - the cute barista, who is now frozen to his espresso machine, having watched the entire thing unfold.

You may have an idea of what his expression looked like, but I guarantee it isn't accurate. His face was a perfect hybrid of shock, disbelief, and amazement that the first half of every male barista's sexual fantasy just came true.

...and behind curtain number three?

2008-09-21T21:08:00.000-07:00

Do you ever look up at your giant "to do" list, frown, and think "What if I just...didn't?"

But then you do.

I am going to ask a really vague and cryptic question that is going to make you tilt your head to the side and wonder if I am okay. I'm fine, I promise. I am just torn between two very different options for something really important and imminent. Like I said. Cryptic.

When asked to choose between two perfectly good options that each have their disadvantages and very different advantages, is it better to choose the convenient and obvious choice that most people would go with because it's fool-proof and reliable? Or is it better to pick the one that is out of your norm and will be uncomfortable for a little while, but will be an awesome experience unlike anything you've had before and will make you be extremely independent, probably even more than the first option would? Both will get me to the place I need to be, but the two options are complete polar opposites.

I know that's awfully ambiguous. But what do you think?

Things I've Wikipedia'd Today

2008-09-19T12:15:00.001-07:00

-scallions (who knew they are just green onions?)
-Parade of Horribles
-inkwell
-tea kettle
-deductive fallacy
-The Adventures of Milo and Otis

Edit

2008-09-18T15:33:00.000-07:00

The ThinkChelsea staff has made a modification to the layout of this personal weblog.

This is a fancy way of saying "Chelsea got bored and decided to procrastinate". But there really is a new update to this site. If you look just above my Oh The Places I Go section, I have added a series of links to my personal favorite blog posts that I've written. I guess it's a Sparknotes version of this weblog, so if you are new and don't feel like reading 114 of my posts, you can read one or two of those and get an idea of who I am, how I write, and what I write about. To assemble it, I just scrolled through my old posts and if I remembered something interesting about one of the titles I would bookmark it. There might be one or two that I forgot about, but these are generally some of the best.

I know this is totally feeding my narcissism. I also know that admitting that should somehow motivate me to fix it. That's funny. I can almost hear the voice of reason bitching at me.

Wild Words from Wild Women #5

2008-09-16T15:19:00.000-07:00

"I feel sure that no girl would go to the altar if she knew anything at all."

- Queen Victoria

Music Animation Machine

2008-09-15T15:38:00.000-07:00

Okay, so I know I've been posting a lot of YouTube videos lately, but here are just two more.

It took me a minute to figure out what is happening in this video, but once I did I had one of those "...OH!" moments that I oh-so-love. This is such an entertaining thing to watch, I sat for about forty-five minutes watching different compositions on YouTube. Here are my two favorites. First is my favorite: Debussy - Clair de Lune.

I like this next one because there is just so much going on at once. It's easy to listen to complex

music and hear it as one harmonious strand of melody, but music is like rope, and when you pull

apart each of the individual strings you realize it is way more complex than you first guessed.

*EDIT* Sorry the spacing in this post is so bizarre. The YouTube videos mess with the spacing, making everything a little off.

Awesome texts found in my inbox.

2008-09-15T14:55:00.000-07:00

How do you feel about Vancouver?

Your dad is a dirty man. Good guy.

More vodka. R u feeling better?

You fail.

It takes a lot to get me tired. That was innuendo.

Whack it. Trust me it works.

Gong to be a good semester!

Crap. I am still in Vegas whoring myself out. I go by "Tina" here, though.

My little croissant. Little cheese on my croissant.

I live dangerously.

Beaver utah sucks.

Zama zama.

Would you disown me if I had a budding Gwen Stefani addiction?

F***...I need more booze.

Mmm. Kinky.

Wa wa we wa.

It's like a blitzkrieg.

Skanks are being banged.

It's only natural. Those Brady Bunch wannabes had it coming.

Bare bones.

2008-09-15T13:20:00.000-07:00

As I was walking back to my car after class this morning, I looked down at my bare arms and realized how sad I am that I will never get to see my own skeleton.

You know what they say about stopping while you're ahead? They're right. They are SO RIGHT.

Think:

2008-09-13T17:22:00.001-07:00

It makes me sad to know that I will never know myself from someone else's perspective and get to think, "I wonder what Chelsea is thinking about right now."

Kiss My Eyes And Lay Me To Sleep

2008-09-13T13:22:00.000-07:00

This song has been marching through my mind all morning. I say "marching" because that beat is so solid and so intense, I keep catching myself stomping around my house to that exact rhythm. I gave up fighting it a while ago and have now started keeping that beat with my hands. The guy fixing our sink must think I've lost it. Which isn't that entirely far from the truth.

No Escape.

2008-09-10T21:09:00.000-07:00

You may have noticed over the past few days that I am a teensy bit upset that I must read Beowulf for the fifth time. And by "teensy bit" I mean I want to take the book, rip out each page one by one, shred them, put them in a box, climb the Eiffel Tower and empty the box's contents over the rooftops of Paris. I am beginning to come to terms with the fact that, as an English major who wants to specialize in British Literature, I am going to be reading a lot of Beowulf over the next few years and am going to have teachers who think that if their students aren't talking in their sleep about Grendel or writing papers in Old English then they haven't read it enough and should read it ANOTHER FOUR TIMES. But I never thought Beowulf would sneak into other parts of my life like it did today.

History 101, U.S History through the Reconstruction:

Professor: See, all the Vikings' tales of their explorations and their stories may not have been entirely true, but that isn't really important since their main point was to teach about bravery, courage, and pride in one's nationality. Let me give you an example. Have any of you read Beowulf? Could anyone tell the class what basically happens in that book?

This is where I died a little more inside. I didn't raise my hand because I don't need any more opportunities to geek all over myself in public, but the following is exactly what went through my head.

Me: I would love to. See, there is this king of Denmark named Hrothgar whose land keeps getting invaded by the wicked monster Grendel, who terrorizes Heorot because he is an outsider to civilization and feels animosity for what he cannot have. Heorot is left in ruins after Grendel's numerous attacks, and after twelve winters the protagonist Beowulf comes to Denmark with his merry men and promises to Hrothgar to defeat Grendel. The poem is divided in three parts - Grendel's control of Heorot, the fury of Grendel's mother after Grendel is killed by Beowulf, and when Beowulf is finally killed by a dragon who gets upset over the fact that a thief stole all its treasure. In between these scenes there is a lot of partying and feasting, and at the most annoying times possible there is this over-achieving poet who likes to tell irrelevant stories that leave you thinking, what the hell what what for? And I suspect the only reason no one butchers the plucky poet with a battle axe is because everyone is too liquored up to do anything except sing songs from Monty Python and the Holy Grail in harmonized rounds. Nonetheless, the poem is essentially about the tension between value systems, the importance of identity, and the what makes a good warrior versus what constitutes a good leader and king.

No, I'm really not bitter about Beowulf. In fact, I actually really do like the poem and think it's worth reading, ONCE. Maybe twice. It's just, I'm tired of reading about Beowulf and his super sexy upper body strength, and I want to move on to read about kings who wield supreme executive powers just because some watery tart threw a sword at them.

Resurfacing.

2008-09-09T22:41:00.000-07:00

For the past two weeks I have been fervently whipping through the pages of the the Twilight book series by Stephenie Meyer. It has been a long time since I have been so mesmerized by a book that I actually choose to neglect my responsibilities (class, schoolwork) and instead read. Being an English major, naturally I love to read, and I've gotten pretty good at finding corners of the day to read without losing time to do important things. But this book series is unlike any I've read since Harry Potter (go ahead and sneer, you who hate Harry Potter, and be content that your life is a hollow lie) and even though it is only three weeks into the semester I am already a good week and a half behind. Granted, the Twilight series has very little literary merit, but if you consider that its primary purpose is to entertain, I would easily assert that in those terms it is a good book. No, it doesn't stand up to the classics like The Odyssey or Beowulf (*gak*), but it excels at exactly what it set out to do - bewitch you, hold you tight between it's cold, hard covers for a little while, and then let you go, leaving you dizzy, shaking, and craving more.

I am no book critic. But I know what I like. And when I find something I like, I will hunt it down, indulge in it passionately, and when the time comes, let it go - rarely do I do anything in moderation. That's what I did with Twilight, and now it's time to resurface, take a few deep breaths, let my heart rate slow down, and go back to my life that is now a little less interesting without vampires, werewolves, and desperate last hopes.

Sigh.

P.S - Twilight is pretty much a chick book. Guys, go ahead and give it a chance, I just don't think the book is as good if you aren't head-over-heels in love with Edward. But then, I guess a little "bromance" never hurt anyone.

Things I'd Rather Be Doing...

2008-09-08T14:00:00.000-07:00

...than reading Beowulf for the fourth time. I mean for a Brit. Lit. class, Beowulf isn't even British!

1. Reading Twilight.
2. Going on a walk.
3. Playing tennis.
4. Feeding ducks.
5. Sleeping.
6. Watching Manos: The Hands of Fate
7. Reading Dracula
8. Getting food
9. Playing Hogwarts Clue
10. Playing Mille Bournes

Wild Words From Wild Women #4

2008-09-05T11:42:00.000-07:00

"Stress is basically a disconnection from the earth, a forgetting of the breath. Stress is an ignorant state. It believes that everything is an emergency. Nothing is that important. Just lie down."

-Natalie Goldberg, manuscript muse

Video Love

2008-09-04T20:00:00.000-07:00

I figured out what it is I love so much about this video. It terrifies me.

And I know that's completely sick.

Today is going to be one of THOSE days.

2008-09-02T15:38:00.000-07:00

Today I am not linear.

I have been thinking, literally all day. It's a thinking day. Where you cannot focus on any task at hand (I actually broke the sun visor on my car because I was thinking about something else instead of how to properly put it back in place), and when you finally sit down to do homework, you get anxious and stir-crazy because you can't focus. You tell yourself you need a break, but then, didn't you just have one five minutes ago? Wait, what time is it? That was only five minutes? It felt like two hours! And then you look down. Look up. Fifty minutes has gone by! What was I doing for that whole fifty minutes? Your head spins with confusion. You go get a glass of water. You come back, sit down, look at your desk. Oh no. What were you supposed to be doing, again? Thinking, I suppose.

For a while I was thinking about vampires. Then about how weird it is that I really love the taste of blood. Then I thought about if it's a sin to be a vampire. Then I wondered if you can be held accountable for such a thing if you can't help being what you are, but then that made me wonder if God accepts souls that are wicked, even if it's their nature. Then I wondered what that even means. That got me thinking about souls in general, and what they are and if we are basically bad to begin with. It is usually easier to be bad than good. But that led right into the question of, if we are born wicked or good, and if it is possible to ever know that. That made me wonder if we can ever really know anything about souls, other than that they are very likely and make religion very convenient. Then I wondered if the supernatural does exist and people like vampires do in fact have souls, do they have a chance at religion? It seems like the answer is no, but it also doesn't seem very fair that they don't even have a fighting chance to go to Heaven. If they exist at all. But, do WE exist for that matter? Do I exist? Can I know that? How do I know that I can know if I exist? What is "I"? Then I thought more about souls, and how most philosophical questions always end up back at a single dead end, being do humans have souls? And then it loops back around to ask, what is a soul? And then what does a soul do?

Then I got up to get more coffee, came back and sat down.

...

What was I doing, again?

Insights, from Monopoly

2008-09-01T16:04:00.000-07:00

After I got up and left after getting fed up with playing Monopoly with The Priest, The Captain, my sister and my Mother. My Mother took over my money and titles.

(After sitting down at my place setting) Mom: Ugh! Chelsea set this up exactly opposite as how I would have.

(From the other room) Me: I think that says something about you and me, Mom.

Blog the Hundredth

2008-08-30T20:26:00.000-07:00

When I posted my Blog the Fiftieth, I really didn't think I would ever make it to Blog the Hundredth. It's like when you take up ballet when you are six and you think, hey, this is fun, but you never expect to still be doing it when you're sixteen. This particular blog post is especially exciting and rewarding for me, because now of all times I need to know that I can do it, whatever "it" is (I keep saying that, don't I?). I am usually so optimistic about everything, but this week I have been feeling not my usual "Go Team Chelsea!" self. It has a lot to do with my previous blog post about going for the big waves, but it's more than the first day of school starting - (by the way, I SO wanted to blog on that first day to tell you how it all went down, but that would have been my hundredth post, and I wanted to make it special. Not to mention I have a massive sinus infection that is taking this whole "infection" thing to a whole new personal level. Sinus infections are nasty whores.) It's about the whole Tom Petty "into the great wide open", what-am-I-doing-with-my-life, maybe-I-should-teach-under-privileged-orphans-how-to-read, thing that I don't know how to put at ease. I know that I'll be happy with whatever I end up doing and I'll be plenty successful, it's just looking my future in the eyes and making it blink first is what is giving me shivers. It's like that piece from Sylvia Plath:

"I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crook of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet."

Now, I have no intentions of starving to death at the bottom of a fig tree. I love figs too much. But does this kind of make sense? Probably not, since it is not at all wrapping back around to encompass the fact that this is my hundredth weblog post. I'm not being very clear, but for once in this blog I am okay with that. On Sunday when I was feeling very low, it suddenly struck me that my very next blog post was going to be the hundredth, and that gave me reason to smile and give a pleasant sigh. This blog has existed in the peripherals of my life for the past few months and it has always been there as my very own place in the world, my place to go to feel smart, and to make me feel better - even if that means making a list of all the things that make me smile. It's been the shining stars, something to make me feel better that it's dark and cold outside. To unfortunately and painfully quote from Katy Perry, my head does get so confused, but unlike the Chelsea that lived in April, I get to come home and have a place to go that makes me feel just as happy as if I were to fall slow-motion into a warm bed of feathers while the introduction to Bittersweet Symphony by The Verve flowed all around me.

So, sure. I get sad. I get broken. It happens. But all I've to do is look back at my Ebenezers and see where I personally wrote about when it wasn't so sad. I know people get all huffy when bloggers write about their personal lives and talk about things that they can't personally relate to, but they can step off. I like the home I've made for myself here. The linens all match, the coat rack is full, and there's soup on the stove. As comfortable as it's been here for me, I hope you've all enjoyed it too.

And I'll always leave the lights on for you.

Big Waves.

2008-08-24T21:40:00.001-07:00

Tomorrow is the first day of school.

Man, that phrase invokes a whole armada of emotions, for everyone. For me, I've always had really good feelings about the first day of school, but this semester something feels different. Don't get me wrong, I am definitely excited. It's just, there's something else added in the mixture, and I think it's a fear of the unknown. This semester, so many things are going to happen. I'm taking more unit than I've ever taken, I'm taking classes at a new campus I've never even been to before, I will be applying to the UC system (eek!), and I can just feel that a lot of my relationships are different. This summer I grew up a lot, and it feels like people are recognizing that before I've gotten a chance to. I'm making plans for the future, and it is hitting me that "the future" is only about a year away. So much happened over summer, and so much is happening in the next three and a half months. It's like I look back, see the huge wave that just passed, look ahead and realize there's another one right in front of me. I can either hold my breath and dive under it where it's calm, let it hit me and knock me over, or jump high enough so I miss the worst of it. "Go for the big waves" has always been one of my favorite sayings, but now that I've got my swimsuit on and am wading right in front of one, going for the big waves isn't as easy as it sounds.

First days of school are always so nerve-wracking. I'm surprised more people don't pass out from the intensity of it all.

Wild Words from Wild Women #3

2008-08-24T12:32:00.000-07:00

"Politeness is the art of selecting among one's real thoughts."
-Germaine de Stael, an influential intellectual in Napoleon's day

Things I Am In Love With...Right Now

2008-08-23T23:15:00.000-07:00

1. My pink hair (pictures to come)
2. Earl Grey tea, iced
3. Victoria's Secret Love Spell body splash
4. My phone, the Verizon Wireless Voyager
5. My job
6. Text messaging
7. Going to sleep at 1:00 am, waking up at 10:00 am
8. The peace sign drawn on my hand
9. Edward Norton
10. Emailing
11. Sketching
12. My new black Reef flip flops
13. Scrubs
14. Long necklaces
15. Saying "What you talkin' 'bout, Willis?"
16. Responding "I'M what Willis was talkin' 'bout."
17. Tattoos
18. Eyelash curlers
19. Animal House
20. Reading your blog

Freaky dream.

2008-08-21T13:50:00.000-07:00

Last night I dreamt that I rode a horse to school on the first day, but when I got there I couldn't find any place to park it, so I tied it to the flag pole. I then realized I hadn't fed the horse in seven months, so I searched all over campus until I found food suitable for a horse: a protein bar. When I got back to the horse, my friend Raf was already there, but he was feeding the horse cigars.

I'm not even going to try to analyze that one.

Tic. Toc.

2008-08-18T00:00:00.000-07:00

I was thinking about how this month has flown by, and then I realized that there is only one more week of summer until school starts, and then I realized that this is almost September. There are more days in the year behind us than before us. Where did this year go?

I guess into helping to plan a wedding, writing papers and working. I can remember back to when I was eight and my concept of time was restricted to a span of three days at a time. I could think about yesterday, know what I was doing today, and ask my mom if we could make plans for tomorrow. Beyond that was a fog, and I wasn't even aware of it. Now I make plans for years ahead, all the while still trying to focus on yesterday, today and tomorrow. This makes me wonder if the happiness I get from making plans and seeing them unfold is equivalent or better than the innocent sort of happiness I got when I was eight and my mom did all my planning for me. Would I be happier if I didn't spend my days dancing around time? Or could I live like old men in Spain, taking three hour naps everyday and walking my dog at midnight? They have all sorts of sayings regarding time - saving time, losing time, wasting time, giving time. C-rizzle and I were talking the other day about how American culture seems to be rooted in the concept of time, versus how people think about time in other places. Take Latin America. If a bus is twenty minutes late, it is considered normal and people don't mind. They see it as an excuse to get reading done or eat a sandwich. If a bus is twenty minutes late in America, letters are written to council members, meetings are missed, and people's days are ruined. People here get so upset about time, and they let it eat away their drive and passion. People think people who take gap years are flakes and are foolish, and getting ahead in life takes priority over really important things like spirituality, sense of identity, and purpose. I'm not advocating people who drift their whole lives without ever having steady jobs or relationships. I just marvel over the nature of time, and how for being the thing that pushes us closer to the end of our lives than the beginning , it's something so many people waste sitting in cubicles, punching time cards.

How ironic.

West Coast Looming

2008-08-13T20:01:00.000-07:00

I took the Sprinter for the first time today. I had forgotten how freeing that moment is when the train first lunges forward, that sensation that you're getting away, and leaving it all behind. Even if you have nothing you're running from, everyone leaves something behind when they take a train. I immediately think of Tom Petty, drifting as if on a cloud "into the great wide open". I've always been a sucker for Tom Petty and his American spirit, and I guess it's fitting that I hum his melodies to myself when I ride a train across American soil with a West coast looming. Even if it is just for a few miles.

There's nothing quite like a train ride. It's even better if there's someone sitting across you can smile at.

Sneak Attack.

2008-08-11T20:12:00.001-07:00

I wonder if I'll ever get over the childhood fear that someone is hiding under the car, waiting to grab my ankles.

Unlikely.

Home.

2008-08-10T19:50:00.000-07:00

I've never been much of a partier.

I'm the girl who leaves at ten because leaving after ten would mean having to sleep less than the appropriate ten hours of sleep. I've never really liked that about myself, especially since around 1:00 am is when everyone at the party is either intoxicated enough to watch make fools of themselves or the remaining sober ones let their "party" faces fall and you can see them for their insightful and, most often, interesting selves. I've learned this summer that people like to open up at about 1:00 am. Anyway, for the past month I have, instead of spending 2:00 am fast asleep under my covers, spent it driving home and trying to creep into my house without slamming any doors or knocking over coat racks. In any given night I haven't slept more than roughly five hours, and I haven't had more than five sit-down dinners with my family, despite the fact that I live with them. Oddly enough, this made me realize how all month I haven't really noticed how little I've seen my parents. Now, I want to directly dispel the bad connotation to that statement. I love my parents. More than almost any people in the world. I would die without them. But spending this month almost exclusively with my friends has made me think about the nature of family, and how the boundaries might not be held exclusively to chromosomal similarities. Spending almost every waking hour with my friends has made me realize that your family is not just the people you are related to, but it's made of the people you choose to be in it. Somewhere in the last month, my friends went from being just friends to being my family, and that transition has made me feel more at home then standing in my living room would ever make me feel.

Some would same home is where your hat is. I say home is blogging in your sister's apartment, listening to your friends talking outside. Just talking.

Freak Out.

2008-08-08T17:03:00.000-07:00

Ever have one of those days where no matter how hard people try, there is just no pleasing you? Today is one of those days, and it is so frustrating because few things have the ability to rip me out of this self-absorbed and moody phase. It's hot, I'm sweaty, I ran around all day, and there is just no cure for what I like to call "The Common Bitch". It's like the common flu, but at least when you get the flu you can stay in bed all day and watch Scrubs re-runs. When you come down with the Common Bitch, you have to pick yourself up, put on a color of lip gloss that conveys confidence, and make your way around the day knowing that even though you feel bitter and awful inside, no one will give you sympathy, and everyone will tell you to shut up and get over yourself. I know that no one likes to hear anyone complain, and even worse is someone who rants in their blogs, but I think it's bunk that you can only complain when you have real problems. Everyone is fighting some kind of battle, whether it's with their health, their personal lives, or just trying to not break down because some days are just too hard to handle. I know I don't always smile at strangers or hold the door open for the people behind me. But if you've got something going on that makes you seriously want to freak out, put on some hot water and I'll grab the tea. Because today, I get you.

Hold-Up.

2008-08-04T19:32:00.000-07:00

This morning I met my friend Martha for coffee at the coffee shop, and while there I picked up my paycheck (which I had completely forgotten about). From the coffee shop I went straight to the bank, and not realizing it, walked into the bank wearing this:

In any other situation the bankteller would have thought "Oh, Guns N' Roses", but in the bank I saw her eyes drift slowly from my face to my shirt, at which point her bright smile faltered and her eyes got huge.

Whoops.

Guarded.

2008-08-04T16:52:00.000-07:00

I open the Barnes and Noble door to see a tall and dark man holding the second set of doors open. I hesitate, wondering if he is leaving or holding the door open for me, then smile and give a fleeting "thanks" as a breeze past. I walk to the back of the store for the biographies section, then feel something brush my arm. I turn, shocked by the tall dark man. He stares, lacking confidence, into my eyes and says, "Do I know you?"

"I don't think so."

"Are you sure? I swear I know you from somewhere."

"You must be mistaken. I promise I don't know you."

"That's strange. What is your name?"

This leads to several questions about me - where am I from? how long have I lived here? what am I doing here now? do I like it here? Until finally,

"What are you doing tonight?"

"Oh. I have plans, I'm sorry."

"What about tomorrow night. You must be free then."

I stutter. This invitation makes me uncomfortable, and it scares me.

"Look. I'm not sure about this."

"Are you seeing someone?"

I look away. "Well, no, not really."

"Then please. It will just be coffee."

I want to let him know it's not him, it's me, but I don't know how. "I'm sorry."

He sighs, then reaches for his pocket, retracting his wallet.

"If you would, here's my card. Please email me. Would you do that?

I fumble a series of maybe, I guess, I dunno.

He reaches forwards and shakes my hand goodbye, holding on to it for a second longer.

"Ciao."

My reaction was so honest, I cannot figure out why I was so quick to turn him down. Granted, he looked way too old for me, but that wasn't it. I think it was the invitation itself that shocked the "NO" out of me. Had I time to consider his offer for a moment or so, I know I would have eventually said "no", but the fact that before I even had time to think about the pros and cons of meeting this stranger for coffee I said no makes me wonder why I keep that part of me so reserved and off-limits. I know it's smart of me to not agree to meet total strangers for coffee, and I am proud of myself for keeping my head about me. I guess it's just a shocking revelation when you learn that you have a much more stony and guarded heart than you thought.

I don't want to know what this means for future relationships, but I think it's going to hurt when I find out.

He-bangs.

2008-08-02T23:58:00.000-07:00

In the parking lot of Vons.

Thomas: What are we here for again?

C-rizzle: Whores.

Me: What did you say? It sounded like you said "horrors".

C-rizzle: No, whores. Prostitutes. Skanks to bang.

Me: Whoa. What did you just say.

C-rizzle: You heard me. Skanks to bang.

The Anatomy of a Bad Time

2008-08-01T23:55:00.000-07:00

Last Saturday The Captain, his bride, C-rizzle (HIS IDEA, not mine), our friend Paul and I met up at a smoke shop in Long Beach because they were hosting a Nub Cigar Promotion event where Sam Leccia was promoting his invention, the Nub cigar (side note: his cigars are amazing, I highly suggest you go buy a box of them. And I don't even smoke cigars.). I usually am not a big fan of cigar events, but this one was the most fun I have had in months. It felt like everyone's hearts in the room were beating to the same rhythm that blared through the speakers as me and my friends moved around the room meeting new people and, of course, Sam himself, who I must admit is my new "older man" crush. For being a party I found out about a few hours before we actually went, it was awesome. When The Captain found out that there was going to be two more Nub Cigar events near us within the next week, we all knew we had to go.

When we walked in the door of this much smaller and more reserved smoke shop in Old Town, I could immediately feel a much different vibe in the room. Sam was quietly rolling cigars in the corner, people outside were drunkenly shouting at each other, and the store was so small you had to walk single-file to the back of it. The music was quiet, and although Sam looked really excited to see us at another one of his events, Jess and I could tell that Sam wasn't really himself. After talking with him for a bit, we found out that he has a wife and three babies at home in Ohio, and the past few months of traveling and living from one hotel to another, only seeing his babies' faces from a webcam, was starting to break Sam down. After only being there for an hour or two, the four of us left.

This got me thinking about the nature of parties and what ingredients are called for making a bad time. I think it's a combination of equal parts music, a good amount of people and a appropriate sized location. Get enough people in a room who are listening to good music and drinking drinks they like at a place that is big enough but not so big that people can separate into groups and you'll have at least a decent time. Get too many people listening to bad music from the 90's in a bar so small you have to ask people to stand up so you can scuffle past, and you'll have a party that people stay only as long as their cigars will last. But then I wondered if it has to do with what mood you're in when you get to the party that makes or breaks it. When I went to the party in Long Beach, I was in a fantastic mood and spent the whole car ride joking with The Captain and his bride. When I walked through the door at the party today I felt hungry, tired, and frustrated. I was surrounded my friends at both parties, and I looked equally cute at both too. Was it a coincidence, or was my mood the determining and fatal factor?

There's a Nub cigar promotion tomorrow night that my friends and I are going to that will either help, hurt or do nothing for my experiment here, and hopefully help me find an answer to the question, what is the anatomy of a "bad time"?

Last Stupid Thing

2008-07-31T21:04:00.000-07:00

I'll be the first to admit that, although all women are a little bit insane, I come with an extra side of crazy. Okay, make that an extra entrée of crazy with extra loony-bin sauce on the side. But today I realized that I need to stop my obsessive need to buy everything that comes in pink. I've bought so much random stuff that I never have or will ever use for the sole reason that is pink (see: my pink pen and lingerie collection...actually, don't look at the lingerie, despite how lacy and pretty it is.), and this habit is beginning to dig a significant and sad hole in my bank account. I've decided that these annoying little habits of mine are a lot like sleepwalking, where you'll think you are far away in a meadow somewhere basking in the glowing light and the tender heat, but then suddenly you wake up standing in the middle of your kitchen wondering where you are, how you got there, and how you walked down a flight of stairs to get there without realizing it.

Anyway, today I bought something that finally shook me awake and forced me to take a look around. Now to be fair, this is something that is practical and I will definitely use, but it was a total impulse buy and something I could go for the rest of my life without needing or missing. It was a pink crocodile flash drive.

It's a bad picture, but basically it's pink, it's crocodile skin, and it's a flash drive. I justified buying it so I could save my blog posts in case I need all of them someday, and that since it's pink and crocodile I'll be persuaded to not lose it and to use it. Now, bank statement in hand, I am not so convinced. Especially since I am not sure how to save all of my eighty-something blogs without saving each one as a word document, because that sounds like WAY too much work.

I've decided that for the next month, I am not going to buy anything that is not necessary to school, work, and hydrating and feeding me. This includes:

-shoes

-accessories

-more than two coffees or teas a day (oddly enough, that is cutting back.)

-school supplies that I already own plenty of, like pens and Sharpies

-books that I know I'll never read

-frilly electronics (oh, like, PINK FLASH DRIVES)

After one month, we'll slowly start giving back privileges, but until then I think this is entirely necessary.

Did I just refer to myself as "we"? Oh dear.

Wild Words from Wild Women #2

2008-07-29T12:18:00.000-07:00

"Even when I know it isn't true, some little part of me always clings to the hope that everything would be different if I just had a new color of lipstick."
-Cathy Guiseqite, funny-paper fave

No words.

2008-07-28T19:30:00.000-07:00

Today one of those rare and coincidental moments occurred when, in retrospect, everything seems to have a newfound meaning and the highs and lows balance out in a clear and very intentional way. Let me explain what I mean.

Today was one of those days that all women get every now and then, when you look in the mirror and hate everything about what you see. Today I felt too ugly to even go outside, and when I did eventually go out to get the mail I put on as many layers as I could find to hide the horrific color, shape, and all together look of me. I had an intense headache for the majority of the day, and no bible verse telling how much God loves me was making me feel any better. Audrey Hepburn would say I had the Mean Reds, and unfortunately for me, there are no Tiffanys near. Around 6:30pm I had to buck up some courage and drive over to the coffee shop to lock up and close for a co-worker who doesn't have a key yet, all the while limping and trying to will the searing pain in my left foot away (I'll explain in a different blog). The employee who covered my shift today was one of the ones that already doesn't like me and obviously didn't like me all the more for making her cover my shift, made apparent by her sarcastic silence when I asked how her day went. It was the worst day of the year and I was riding shotgun. As I limped over to my car, opened the door, threw my purse in and gingerly climbed in in attempt to avoid hitting my foot, I heard someone yell, "HEY! Miss! Wait!". Surely I left my tea on the roof, dropped my wallet, had a flat tire, surely something bad had happened. As I opened the car door and tilted my head out, feeling ready to cry, I saw a guy in a green Taurus stopped in the middle of the road, smiling, and shouting at me, "Hey. You're really pretty. I just wanted to tell you that".

I don't know if it was because of the adrenaline I got from the moment or if it was because I thought he was an angel, but that is the fastest I have ever gone from meeting someone to shouting "I love you!" at them.

The coincidence of the intersection of his day and mine, whatever was going on in his life and what was going on in mine, says so much about so much, I'm not even going to try to put it in words.

Golden Doodle Fever

2008-07-28T17:27:00.000-07:00

On Saturday we all drove up to my grandparent's house to celebrate my cousin Haley's 13th birthday. My Aunt Jody brought their new puppy along so it could run around my grandparent's backyard and so it wouldn't be home all alone. I didn't know they were bringing their puppy along, so imagine the rush I got when I walked out to the backyard and saw this frolicking around:

This puppy is so cute, I seriously want to bottle her cuteness up, hang it in a bottle around my neck and sprinkle it on myself like fairy dust on sad days. She really is as furry and soft as she looks, and is about the size of a boot. Forget being a crazy cat lady - I am going to live alone in a shack in Montana with 99 Golden Doodles running everywhere. I cannot wait until then.

All by myself, don't wanna be...

2008-07-24T23:58:00.000-07:00

So, I have a question for my readers. And since I have no idea how many of you that is, I have very low expectations of getting any answers. But I'll give it a shot for kicks. Plus Sex and the City just ended, so I have nothing to do until the next episode in a few minutes.

My question is this. A few months ago I signed up for SiteMeter to see how many people were actually reading this blog, but every time I was emailed a summary report it said that no people at all were visiting. I know this can't be true, mostly because people have commented on this blog so obviously people are reading it. Also because I check up on this blog every few hours from random computers because I'm neurotic like that, and that should count for at least one visit. I cancelled my account because it made me really sad, but two days ago I signed up for it again thinking maybe I had entered in bad information the first time, but the summary report said no people have been visiting my site again. Is the problem with SiteMeter or with me, and if it's with SiteMeter, is there a better place I can go that actually works? If you say the problem is with me, say it in a nice way. Like, "I love you, but a bomb will be detonated in my computer if I don't tell you that no one is reading your blog. Sorry."

Two years old and already knows what's up.

2008-07-22T22:51:00.000-07:00

Me: Kiki, say "mama".

Kiki: "Muhmuh".

Me: Say "papi".

Kiki: "Papi!"

Me: Say "provolone cat".

Kiki: "Provo gak!"

Me: Say "baby Jude".

Kiki: "DOODY!!"

To be (lonely), or not to be?

2008-07-22T12:20:00.000-07:00

Last night after talking with the best friend on her eighteenth birthday about her hopes, dreams, and fears about going to UCLA this fall, I began to think about when I go away to college and why I ever decided I wanted to go to UCSD. When I think about it, the only reason I want to go there is because it is in San Diego (not too far from my family, house, and everything I've ever known). When I talk to most people about how they liked going there, they always either say, "It was fun. Hard." or mumble about how they thought it was good but were mostly there just to get a degree from UCSD and move on. It seems that not many people actually like UCSD with any enthusiasm. That got me thinking about UCLA, where the best friend is going soon. It's a pretty prestigious school in all of the States (like UCSD), it is in one of the best parts of L.A where there are movie stars, thrift stores galore, and is just far enough away from home that if I wanted to come home it's only a few hour drive, but it's still far enough away that I would need to become pretty self-reliant. That last one is what is the important one. I know that everyone at some point in their life needs to get away from everything they know and grow up in a very independent and self-reliant way, and that usually happens at college and the few years after college. If I went to UCSD, I am not sure how that would happen to the extent I really want, since home is still really close. But it's taking that step of moving away that petrifies me, of actually driving the two hours and dropping off my bed sheets, my computer, and everything else I own into a place that my mother's watchful eye cannot see. But I think that move is so necessary to become the independent person I want to be. And I guess it'll be hard no matter where I go, because going means not staying.

This is how scattered my thoughts are lately. Try watching these thoughts whip around your conscience in a vivid blur that gives you a headache when you try to focus on a single one.

P.S - I haven't figured out an alias for the best friend yet, so that's how she'll be referred to until I find something better.

I will never love like this again.

2008-07-21T00:14:00.000-07:00

Dear cute Starbucks barista,

I know your co-workers make fun of how gangly you are and call you "Wolf-man" for reasons I am not sure I get, but I think you are adorable, and quite frankly, mad hot. Geeks are making a come-back, and your crooked smile gives me goosebumps and sweaty palms. And the fact you play drums for your church band makes me swoon all the more violently.

You can buy me coffee again any time you want.

Sincerely,

Chelsea

Wrong Side of the Bed

2008-07-19T11:12:00.000-07:00

What are you supposed to do with mornings where you wake up and immediately start thinking of all the bad things you have to deal with that day? I think that is waking up on the wrong side of the bed. Is there any cure for those days? Because I am only three hours into today and I already want to climb back into bed, watch The Addams Family movies, eat yogurt-covered pretzels and forget about griping at Verizon Wireless employees, working, and boy trouble. Would it be too much to ask for an extra twenty-four hours in between July 18th and July 19th?

OH!

2008-07-18T00:14:00.001-07:00

While sauntering around Target tonight with The Captain and his new bride, I stopped and saw this.

Then I turned it upside-down and saw this.

If you don't realize how frickingly awesome this is, go shove your hand in a VitaMix. Not only does this feed my font obsession, but it is one of those things you look at for a second and then go OH! when you suddenly get it. I love that feeling more than I love most people. And I love a lot of people.

Important.

2008-07-15T20:58:00.000-07:00

Today a frequent commenter sent me the following message. There are several things I need to address in this message, both for the benefit of commenter Trollpop Assstein and for everyone else. This is going to explain my comment policy so there are hopefully no more confusions, as well as why I think this. For clarification, I added the numbers to more clearly display to which parts I am talking.

"Manos The Hands Of Fate was wonderfully done by MST3K in perhaps the greatest episode of all time!

(1) ma'am, now you must formally remove your "read up!" section, as you now censor and moderate all comments as you see fit. To claim comments are not regulated or moderated by you is clearly a falsity Ms. Queenstein. (2) Additionally, censorship has continually plagued the American dream and freedom throughout the ages by limiting the glamour and truth that this wonderful Nation has tried to distribute to the universe. (3) Freedom of speech and the right to express oneself however he chooses, as offensive or inoffensive as it may be, it is the right of every individual to reveal one's thoughts unhinged or edited by the surrounding populace. (4) Most of all, the loving world of blogging has created this potential for all beings everywhere which way.

Good'day good lady."

(1) I do apologize for not correcting my Read Up! section sooner. I did not realized I hadn't edited it when I began to regulate comments. Thank you for letting me know and for keeping me honest.

(2) Presently, anything in America that is widely censored is so because it is immoral or too visually and/or audibly inappropriate for anyone under the legal age. It is simply inappropriate for an eleven year old to look at pornography, and I challenge any responsible parent to disagree. When someone is old enough they can look at and participate in whatever immoral acts they want, and with the rapid availability of internet access that law is becoming less and less effective as it is. Besides, I am not preventing Bibles from entering China. I stopped you from publishing nonsensical posts on MY WEBSITE. I did mention in the Read Up! section that this is my website, and it would be unreasonable for you to tell me what to do in my own house. Besides, it's not like you don't post your absurd comments on other websites.

(3) You say that one has the right to say anything as "offensive or inoffensive as it may be". This is not correct. You do have Freedom of Speech in that you are physically able to say anything, considering the government cannot cut your vocal chords and stop your ability to speak. There are, however, ramifications and punishments for anything said that is libelous, hurtful, morally insulting, or otherwise instigates anger. So yes, you are able to and obviously will say anything you want to me. Unfortunately for you I have the right to delete your comments (since Blogger made that setting available to me) because your comments make me angry and are usually insulting. I do not have to put up with your ridiculous stories, and I am not going to subject my readers to that either. Have you been reading their comments? Because they want you to stop too. I know it makes you sad, but I did say "please".

(4) Like I said, Blogger made the setting that lets me regulate comments, so obviously I have the right to not let you comment on my website. Blogging was invented in order to let people express their thoughts online and to let people read and comment on those thoughts. I like to use blogging as a creative outlet, and it isn't fair that I get upset every time I log onto Blogger and have to deal with your annoying and rude comments. This is my place in the internet, and since you told me you just got your own blog, why is it so important that you get to write on my website? You have your own. Please stop playing these ridiculous games, and let me be.

Trollpop Assstein, if you want to comment on my website I will let you, but you have to play by my rules. Please comment about the material I posted in a way that makes logical and coherent sense. You do not have to agree with what I am saying or even like it, but I will not let you write multi-paragraphed stories. You have your own blog for that. Besides, if you disagree with my blog, you have the option of NOT READING IT. Like I said, this is my house and you have the option of not being a guest. I'll let you comment on my blog if you treat it like a respectable place, and not like Show-and-Tell.

I'm Not A Witch, I'm Your Wife!

2008-07-15T09:28:00.000-07:00

Last night I was watching The Princess Bride (...for the second night in a row...) and I was reflecting on how not enough people regulate The Princess Bride viewings in their weekly routines. Further, I looked back on all the Princess Bride references I've made to friends and family, and it occurred to me that a shockingly few number of them had any idea what I was talking about when I would shriek "Inconceivable!", talk in rhyme, or ask "Have you ever considered piracy?" when a friend doesn't know what they want to do in life. Even this past weekend when my Dad was checking the rat traps in the backyard and I told him to look out for R.O.U.Ss (Rodents Of Unusual Size), he looked at me in that way where I know he is both wondering how many recreational drugs his daughter could possibly be on and how much longer until she goes away to school. Too long, Dad.

You should go watch The Princess Bride. I know I suggest a lot of things to my readers, but this one is serious. If you don't watch The Princess Bride, at the very least go watch Manos: The Hands of Fate. Another blog for another time.

Paper! Staples! Erasers! Oh My!

2008-07-11T10:33:00.000-07:00

I know it's silly, but I still get butterflies when I buy school supplies. Yesterday my Mom took me to Staples because she had to pick up supplies for her work, and while we were there she suggested that I pick up some things I need for the new semester. All at once, my heart started beating a little faster and my mind began to whirl with all the possibilities. Spiral notebooks! Highlighters! White-out! Erasable Pens! Paper clips! For the next forty-five minutes, my mother and I trotted around the store picking up school supplies that I probably already had at home from last semester, but are SO MUCH BETTER because they are a few months newer. I honestly don't know what it is about school supplies that make me feel so giddy and accomplished, but I am pretty sure that if I ever do decide to teach for a living, getting the PhD will all be worth it if I get to buy school supplies for the rest of my life.

If Tiffany & Co. was Holly Golightly's place to escape from the world, I think mine is any office supply outlet. Not that I'm ruling out Tiffanys, of course.

Lesson In Love

2008-07-08T22:42:00.000-07:00

A frequent customer walks into the coffee shop, orders, and notices a large bouquet of flowers on the counter.

Him: Where did you get these flowers? They're really beautiful.

Me: It's actually a cute story. Everyday the boyfriend of one of the employees here drops off his girlfriend a fresh bouquet of flowers.

Him: You're shittin' me.

Me: No, I'm not. A few months ago they broke up and everyone was really sad because the daily bouquets stopped, but then they got back together.

Him: He does this everyday? I don't believe you.

Me: What? You don't believe in love?

Him: Miss, let me tell you something. If a guy ever gives you flowers "for no reason", trust me. There's a reason.

Down-Shifting

2008-07-07T12:46:00.001-07:00

One reason I have not been blogging much the past few days is because all of my free time has been devoted to reading The Beautiful and Damned by F. Scott Fitzgerald. This book will make you swoon in the intricate, elevated and velvety diction employed by Fitzgerald and make you run to the nearest dictionary to find out what exactly words like insidious, raillery, convivial, and somnolent mean. Everyone who knows me knows I like words (a lot), and after this book is over I know I am going to need to update my Favorite Words list. Whenever I find a really great book, something in me down-shifts and days seem to creep by a little slower, which is normally a good thing if there isn't something I do that banks on diurnal devotion, like blogging. After thinking about this dilemma for a good eight seconds, I decided that the internet can wait, and that the literary exhortations of an English major get first dibs.

But, really. Go buy The Beautiful and Damned. It will rock your world.

That Actually Happened.

2008-07-05T21:21:00.000-07:00

So after work I stopped by THE BEST MEXICAN FOOD RESTAURANT EVER for a burrito, and after I got it I decided to drive around to find a nice sun-setty place to eat it and unwind. Thirty minutes later, I am entirely and severely lost, miles away from any street I know and on a road so narrow one car barely fit on it. There are actual leaves in my back seat. Eventually the street approached a crossing street, and as I looked at the sign, I realized I had been driving all along on Sleepy Hollow Road. Holy. Frick. As I promptly decided it was time to find a place to turn around, I wound my car around a corner and slammed on the breaks. Ten feet in front of me were two giant, fifteen feet tall gargoyle statues on either side of the road. I am not even kidding. Giant gargoyle statues made out of some rock material. On Sleepy Hollow Road. Either I found the super secret entrance to Hell or someone in southern California is up to some risky business. Either way I am going back to investigate, but this time I'm bringing a map and mace. If I see any horses, I'm gonna die.

I love you, Mama!

2008-07-03T13:15:00.001-07:00

For the past two weeks that encompassed my mother's pre-wedding stress build-up and the post-wedding de-stressing, my mother has been saying things so worthy of mock and snickering that I could compose a Bible sized book about them. That I have not posted any of them on this website shows a remarkable amount of self-control on my part, but last night my mother said two things that were just too quintessentially my mother. The second one is particularly for my aunt Jody, who is in the process of buying a new puppy. Hi, Aunt Jody!

Mom: I really do not want to go to Walmart right now. Can't we just wait for our table?

Dad: No, we need birdseed. Chelsea, what do you think?

Me: I'm not picking sides. Consider me Switzerland in World War II.

Dad: But it'll only be ten minutes, and our table won't be ready for another twenty minutes.

Me: Okay, fine. Let's go. I guess I'm Italy, then.

Mom: OH. NOW who's racist?!

(some time later).

Me: When mom gets in these silly moods, I think we should call her Debbiedoodle. You know, like a Labradoodle.

Dad: Is that the kind of dog Jody is getting? A Labradoodle?

Mom: No, she's getting a Snickerdoodle.

Retroactive Burn

2008-06-30T20:23:00.000-07:00

I really like running. I never thought I would write that, ever. Ever since that day in fifth grade when they made us start running every morning and get our cute outfits sweaty, I decided that running and I would never get along. I used to get my mother to write excuses about how I lost my voice and couldn't run the Bulldog Run, or how I found out I was allergic to all starchy vegetables and unfortunately ate enough potato salad for dinner the night before that I couldn't possibly run. This is completely false, of course. I love potato salad. I want to die eating potato salad.

But today Mrs. Phleps (yeah, that's what I'm calling her now. You know who you are, Mrs. Phleps) and I started the first day of our Week of Training. See, we both want to start hiking again, but we both (read: me) need to get in shape, and we are taking this week to get in the habit of working out again. To help us get in shape, we are starting a regimented work-out schedule where we are taking classes at our local gym five days a week. On the sixth day we are going to do some other form of exercise, and on Sunday we rest and pray that the next week will be easier. Anyway, this morning Mrs. Phleps and I did our first morning of exercise, and this evening I decided to do an impromptu run with my dog. At the time it totally sucked, but I forgot how much of a high I get afterwards, and it is the most awesome feeling ever. I stopped running an hour ago and I can still feel that glorious hurt you get in your calves and thighs after running. I can just see my twelve year old self glaring at me, thinking "OMG, I am SO over you" and then spritzing on more Roxy body splash.

I think I just retroactively burned myself.

Buried

2008-06-26T21:49:00.000-07:00

It seems I've been losing my blogging gusto lately. I thinks it is a result of the following things, and because I love list making oh so much,...

1. I have been wrapped up in wedding stuff and busy entertaining people

2. I am all of a sudden not really sure what I am doing with this blog and what direction I want to take it

3. I feel like I am staggering under the pressure to write every detail about the wedding down, and that pressure is making the task seem impossible

4. Aside from wedding stuff, there has been little material to write on since I haven't worked in over a week

5. Spare time has been spent reviewing and organizing wedding pictures for a scrapbook I am going to be making Jess. And by the way, apparently scrapbooking is way more intense than it sounds. We're talking weeks of work here.

While I get my act together and figure out more topics to write on other than what I had for lunch today, all of my tens of readers are going to need to find a good book to read or at least brew up a really big pot of tea, because this may take a few days. To cap off this blog post, I'd like to welcome all of my new readers (hi Aunt Jody! hi Nana and Papa!) to my little chunk of internet. You'll all soon learn I write much differently and probably better than I talk, hence the English major. I cannot wait until I see you next, I love you all!

That was more directed at my relatives, but if you are a new reader and not my relative, take heart. I love you too, just not as much.

Time Lapse

2008-06-24T10:17:00.000-07:00

So, the reason I haven't been posting much lately is because my sister's wedding was yesterday, and I have been spending every last moment either planning last minute wedding stuff or hanging out with bridesmaids. These past few days have been riddled with alcohol, lace, toasts and high heels, and I am still catching my breath. I feel like I am going through some twisted time warp - over a year of planning crushed into one day is making my head spin. You must forgive me for taking a little while to sober up (figuratively, not literally) and to gather my thoughts. Don't worry, though. All of these little posts are building up to one massive post that will undoubtedly encompass the rehearsal dinner, the bridal shower, the bachelorette party, the night before party, the pre-wedding chaos, the wedding, the reception, and the after wedding party. It's going to be massive.

That's what she said.

Chelsea: Under the Microscope Again

2008-06-21T01:17:00.000-07:00

At Jess' rehearsal dinner tonight, I realized three really important things about myself. First, there are few better things in this life than big families gathered together in one place. Second, it is critical to tell kids the truth when they ask for it. Third, I really like being single right now.

With the first one, I am sure that I want a big family. I have written about this before, but now I am convinced I want people everywhere at once yelling orders at each other and little kids giving you hugs. Today I played a game with Caleb where I would bounce my bouquet on his head when he wasn't looking and pretend it wasn't me, and it was driving him crazy because he couldn't figure out who was doing it. About five minutes later, Caleb grabbed my bouquet, bounced it on his head, looked me dead straight in the eyes and said, "Chelsea, tell me the truth. Was it you?" I don't know if it is that I have a problem lying to adorable children or if it was the intensity of which Caleb asked me to tell him the truth, but I couldn't lie. Sure, it was just a stupid game, but there is something to be said for telling kids the truth when they seriously ask for it.

Third, Jess' wedding has made me put my single life into perspective. There are days when I think about certain friends of mine and wonder what it would be like to date them and then there are days when I feel like the most ridiculous woman in the world and cannot conceive of ever finding someone who would ever want to date me, but having all of my relatives ask me about my love life has made me realize how happy I am that I live a single life right now. It's not that I engage in outrageous romantic escapades or hit Garnett Avenue hard every Saturday night (fourteen bars in a quarter mile), it's only that I am just now figuring out how independent of a person I really am and how much more courageous and brazen I feel being independent. Not to mention there are parts of my character I feel I need to fix before I could even begin to want a lasting relationship with someone, but that is a whole different blog altogether. In a society that has conditioned its' youth into a reliance on constant companionship, I guess for once it is refreshing to change my priorities around, if not just for a little while.

Brick Wall

2008-06-20T10:33:00.000-07:00

I've spent much of the last two days trying to figure out more things to add to my Brazen List of Things To Do Before I Die, but I am stuck at 50. There are little things I want to do, like eat in a real French cafe or visit the actual Ikea in Switzerland, but these things would just be fun. If I am going to go out of my way to do something on my list, I want it to be life changing and totally worth it. Either I am way less creative than I thought, or I've hit the wall.

Evidently the inscrutable exhortations of my soul do not mandate croissants in Paris. I guess I am okay with that.

Pack Rat

2008-06-17T21:16:00.000-07:00

This evening I shifted everything out of my old car into boxes so I could put it all in my new car. I thought this would be a simple task, taking maybe two minutes. WRONG. Who knew one girl could pack so much into one Taurus in one year? Here is what I found.

*William Wilberforce's autobiography, J. Wippell & Company Limited catalogue, my private journal (why was it in the backseat??), seventeen hair clips, two iPod connectors, $4.86 in change, my "He Is Not A Tame Lion" sweatshirt, my Victoria's Secret Pink sweater, American Eagle sweat pants, Barron's 501 Spanish Verbs, hand sanitizer, hair spray, eye lash curler, concealer, the sweater I rejoiced over the loss of, my planner, four emery boards, my Spanish 201 workbook, a coffee mug, two clear cups, sunglasses, mascara, lined notebook, a bra that I never remember owning, a giant quilted jacket, two umbrellas, a broken mirror, two half-eaten energy bars, four water bottles, a plastic thing that looks like it once did something important, four lip glosses, a pair of flip-flops, a bible, Norton's Anthology of British Literature Volume 1, mace, nail polish, and two highlighters.

I think I could have lived off the things in my car for a month and have been completely fine. This is not good.

Brazen List: 26 through 50

2008-06-17T13:53:00.000-07:00

26. Go salsa dancing in South America

27. Live on my own

28. Cure my fear of lightning

29. Kayaking in Canada

30. Punting in England

31. Own a house with a large library

32. Visit Oxford

33. Adopt a baby

34. Learn to sew

35. Go on a completely spontaneous trip

36. Commit to something long term

37. Memorize a passage from The Odyssey

38. Go to Cuba

39. Hike to Machu Picchu

40. Fast

41. Own a dog

42. Own a piece of jewelry from Tiffany & Co.

43. Own land

44. Read every book on the book list I started in High School

45. Own a boat

46. Get something published in National Geographic

47. Buy a Turkish rug in Turkey

48. Master Photoshop

49. Create an accurate family tree

50. Participate in a marathon

100 Brazen Things To Do Before I Die

2008-06-16T11:39:00.000-07:00

I was thinking the other day about making a list of things I am glad I did, but after writing a few down and running out of ideas I realized I am not nearly old enough to make that kind of list. Right now I am the appropriate age to make a list of things I want to do that I can later be thankful that I did. So here it goes. I am way too ambitious to do this in one go, so I am going to do this in installments. When I finish the list, I'll post it somewhere convenient so you can all see when I check one off, and maybe be inspired to create one of your own. I was initially inspired by Mighty Girl's list, and you'll probably see similarities between our lists because when I read hers I caught myself gasping and thinking, "I totally want to do that!"

Numbers 1-25

1. Know conversational French
2. Go to Amsterdam
3. Visit the King Arthur Flour store in Norwich, Vermont
4. Live for a year in a foreign country.
5. Publish a work of fiction
6. Tour breweries in Ireland and Scotland with my Dad
7. Visit Fez, Morocco
8. Stay with Ransy in India
9. Eat Vindaloo curry
10. Make my own perfume
11. Go scuba-diving
12. Road-trip across America
13. Go dog sledding in Alaska
14. Go on a multi-day hiking trip
15. Safari in Africa
16. Go to France and LIKE IT
17. Host a Summer Solstice party
18. See Elephants in the wild
19. Get a tattoo
20. Buy a Vespa
21. Live in Lake Tahoe
22. Own my own website domain
23. Learn how to sail a ship
24. Perfect my pie recipe
25. Assist on an archaeological dig

My Dad Is Better Than Yours

2008-06-15T19:29:00.000-07:00

Happy Father's Day! I think only one of you actually is a father (hi Brandon!), but I'm staying positive.

My dad is the best dad ever, so here's a list of the top five things I like best about my dad. These aren't in any particular order.

1. I am positively sure he could beat up every person I've ever met.

2. He has never once broken a promise. This is extremely important to me.

3. He is a police officer, and when I am around him I feel very safe. This might be why I think personal safety is so important and why I like men who are protective. I predict this will have unfortunate ramifications on my life. I should start looking for therapists now. You know, just to be safe.

4. My Dad has the best and crudest sense of humor. On many occasions have I honestly thought I was going to die because I was laughing too hard to breathe.

5. My Dad knows exactly when I need to be treated like an adult and when I need to be treated like his little four year old girl.

Total Lack of Motivation

2008-06-14T21:23:00.000-07:00

Two awesome things happened today. I got a new car and Sarah Nielson posted a link to my blog. Sure, she linked to about fifty other people too, but still. I feel kinda proud of my blog right now. I would post more but I'm not feeling very bloggy right now. I am thinking this lack of motivation has resulted from not eating very much lately, so forgive me for delaying the next few posts a bit.

Forced Anorexia: Cure for the Common Headache

2008-06-13T10:26:00.000-07:00

This morning I went to my chiropractor (it's actually more like applied kinesiology, but whatever) and I found out that I have several food allergies, and I need to immediately start a strict diet in order to rid myself of Candida and other gross things that are potentially giving me headaches. For the next four weeks, I will not be able to eat any of the following:

-All types of sugar (brown sugar, white sugar, maple syrup, molasses, honey, lactose, etc.)

-All yeast products (all bread. All of it.)

-Cured, smoked and processed meats and fish (including bacon. I might cry.)

-Any food put in vinegar or that is fermented (pickles! olives! ketchup! alcohol!...wait, what?)

-Tea, coffee, and all malted products (I was okay until I saw "coffee". Uncool.)

-Old fruit, fruit juice, and dried fruit (old fruit? really? wow.)

-Mushrooms and cheese

-Peanuts and peanut products

-Anything dairy (mild, cheese, cream cheese, yogurt, etc. I can only have goat milk, which is disgusting.)

-Corn

-Potatoes

-Tomatoes

-Avocado

-Barley

-Gluten

-Rye

-Wheat

-Cashews

-Walnuts

Since I am like my sister and I get really, really cranky if I am hungry, I intend to spend a lot of the next month crying. If you see me eating my own hand, you'll know why. It's the only thing I can still eat.

The Secret of Relationships

2008-06-12T15:16:00.000-07:00

I learned the secret of relationships yesterday. One of my regular customers hobbled through the door, sat down, and asked about my sister's wedding. After telling him about the plans, he began to tell me about his marriage that lasted fifty years through the bittersweet trials of life in the U.S Navy. Because he was sent away so often on duty, he rarely ever saw his wife, and the first time he met his son was on his son's first birthday. His marriage struggled under the weight of war, worry and was forever at the mercy of the U.S Postal Service. He said the secret of having a good relationship wasn't passion, common interests or good cooking. It's dancing. The secret to having a good relationship is dancing. After listening to him tell me about how he fell in love with his wife, he leaned in and said very seriously, "You listen to me, miss. I know you're young and won't listen to an old man's time-tried lessons. But if you remember one thing, make this one it. Find a young man who will take you dancing."

Will do, Sir.

Cheap Date

2008-06-10T21:59:00.000-07:00

Today, Jess had to call the cable guy to fix the internet in the apartment. It turns out everything was installed correctly, but the switch in the outside box was turned off. As the guy was re-booting the internet box thing (nice, right?) just to make sure the turned-off switch was the actual problem, we had this little exchange. For clarification, he was talking about the cost of the visit. I think.

Cable Guy: I am a cheap date. I'm not easy, but I'm cheap. Now, we'll just wait for the pretty lights to come on.

Attention!

2008-06-10T20:54:00.000-07:00

There has been a modification of a certain friend's blog name. From now, henceforth, The Pope will now be referred to as "The Priest". Apparently The Pope was too confusing, as for some readers it is possible I would actually be talking about the real Pope. If that were true, I would have totally already short-sheeted the Pope with The Captain. It's on the "To Do" list of things to do before I die. If I do ever accomplish this, I'll let you know first.