Claw hand

As my last month and a half of college wraps up I’ve been spending my time writing last minute essays and book reports. Basically, I’ve been writing constantly which means writing my blog makes me not happy.

I love writing, really. But something about being made to write suddenly makes writing SUCK.

Everything feels forced and my fingers keep cramping. Seriously, what is going to happen in ten years when all this texting and typing catches up to me. Will I have twisty tree fingers? Like will my fingers be constantly bent at right angles? Will iPhone make an app. for that? One of my least proud moment in life was in kindergarten when the class mother for the week was a woman with two fingers on each hand. Seriously, claw-hands. I knew I wasn't supposed to be afraid but it was freaking terrifying. I stared... a lot.

I’m also not very good at staying on topic. Note: my research papers stray in the exact same way.  

Best/Worst things about being an adult

Worst things about being an adult:

I probably can’t nap whenever I want

I doubt I’ll be able to watch Dr. Phil everyday… yes, for four years I have scheduled my classes around Dr. Phil

I’ll have to wear grown-up shows which will probably hurt

I won’t be able to cut my hair however and whenever I want

My meals won’t be provided for me three times a day

Best things:

...ummm... A full size fridge

Yep, I can't wait to graduate college. 

Same old

Today I met with my academic advisor for the last time to make sure everything was on track for graduation. My academic adviser printed some things off the school website and congratulated me on my almost achievement and then she asked the age old question, "What are you doing after graduation?"
The first year of college people warned us that we would hear and have to answer, "What's your major?" so many times that we might explode. This new and improved broken record question is ten times worse. Instead of the "bless your heart" disappointed stares I used to get when I told people I was an English major, I know get looks of concerns and full fledged sentences such as, "Well, graduating is half the battle" or the absolute worse, "Maybe, you'll figure something out... soon."
Yep, maybe I'll figure something out. That's encouraging. No, I don't need you to advise me by reminding me of all the skills I've learned over the last four years. I don't need you to give me some websites or sign me up for some "how to get a job" seminar... No, your well wish for me to maybe figure something out is just fine...
Maybe, I should apply for my adviser's job... I could be just as encouraging by putting forth a third of her effort. I at least know appropriate questions.  

Bullshit

I've dedicated today to finishing one of my end of the year term papers. It is bittersweet to realize that I only have about two more such papers before graduating. I am glad to never have to struggle with writing a research paper on a topic that does not interest me, but I know I will miss the challenge.
Nothing compares to sitting down the night before a big paper is due and churning out ten pages of grade A bullshit. That's what I do after all. No matter how many times I tell myself, "This one will be different. I'm going to try." I always wait until the last minute, and I always fake my way through. I tend to get good grades, but I'm sure that's usually a fluke. I just don't work well without the pressure of an impeding deadline, and I don't care enough about anything to actually put forth more effort than it is worth.
If teachers give me A's for not trying, why would I try? So, I am writing another paper on another book I never have or will read. I can't help but be proud of my bullshitting abilities and sad that some day I won't be able to show them off. I bet if my employer asked for a report on the amount of paperclips the company uses (or whatever employers ask for reports on) I will actually have to research and tell the truth... Oh, just another thing college seems to have failed at teaching me... or I have failed to teach myself. Either way I'm for totes making the Dean's list again this semester!

Interneting

I'm back home after about a week at school. But in that short amount of time my dog has complete shed her winter coat. It's like my dog lives on Internet time. I was gone for a few days, but she looks as if she's lost half her body mass. 
It's the same as when I log on to YouTube before bed to check one thing and the next thing I remember is watching talk show interviews with fifteen year old teen mothers and falling asleep at 4 in the morning. 
Time just moves faster when I'm online. It's physics or dog science or something. I've tried to be more conscience of myself and check the time more often but even then I end up telling myself, "one more hour," and three hours later I'm still online. 
There are few things that draw me away from sleep but the Internet does it. I try to set limits like being of line by one. But eventually I've stopped making restrictions. I enjoy my internet and enjoy wasting time on it. Of course, if I had the choice I would sleep and use the Internet, simultaneously. I hope people are working on that. 

Musical decline

I don’t like to admit it, but I have very poor taste in music. I’m not ashamed of the bad bands I listen to, but I do feel anxious whenever I have the share my music. How one of my friends reacts to my music really effects how our relationship progresses. There are a few steps I take to ease my friends into my music world. Whenever I have someone in my car for short rides I only listen to popular radio stations. I act like I’m hip and with the times. If I’m driving further than my stations will take me, I pretend like I’m nice person and let my friend provide the music. And finally, when the time comes, I release my musical frenzy and hope for the best. Luckily, I’ve yet to lose a friend because of my musical taste, I’ve just lose the privilege to pick music when with others.  

Secrets are stressful

Logging into my blog account today I had a moment of panic. I mistyped my password causing me to think I had forgotten it and in turn I flipped out. This happens every week. If its not  my blog than it's my Facebook password or my online banking password. 
Forgetting an Internet password isn't a big deal, though. I know you can usually just have an email sent to reset it, but the pressure of having to remember AND keep secret a password is too much for me.  
I hate passwords. I hated them when I was seven and Daryl wouldn't let me on the top tier of the jungle gym because I had forgotten the password from last time we went to park. And I hate passwords now when I forget three times in a row and have to wait thirty minutes to try again, at which point I will have forgotten which three failed and will still be denied access. 
Can't all computers just have fingerprint readers or eye scanners? If websites would get with the times and stop being so childish with their stupid passwords the world would be a better place. 

If oven is spelled o v e n then of should be ov

As I've mentioned before, I study English at my college. But that doesn't mean I always have the ability to recognize when I'm writing nonsense or gibberish. I grew up in the world of autocorrected spelling and parents who thought hooked on phonics was for sissy. Now I suck at the world.
The only thing in college I ever outright flunked was a spelling test. Which I studied days for. Because of this, my technical writing self esteem is just as lower as my actual technical writing. And whenever I find proofreaders I tend to latch on and not let go. Something about their superpower to tell the difference between tenet and tenant makes me swoon. Sometimes I don't  think proofreaders understand how important they are to me. They make me feel so much less stupid.

Inappropriate responses I often make when someone sees me and asks, “How are you?”

Hi

How are you?

Yeah, this weather

Thank you

You too

I hope so

Sunday Night Syndrome

Getting back into the groove of college life has been almost impossible. College, the most relaxed atmosphere in the world, is apparently too fast-pace for me after spending a week sleeping and wallowing in pity.  Today, I’m using the excuse of having to drive five hours for “wound preservation” as the reason I had to sleep through class.

Yesterday, I’m calling on one of my favorite excuses for not doing anything productive: Sunday Night Syndrome. It is a grim phenomenon, caused by being so sad that the weekend is about to end and so excited that a new week is about to start, that results in a serious lack of sleeping abilities and a lethargic (at best) Monday.

Here’s an interesting article about the Sunday Blues by Dr. Larina Kase. Maybe you can use it to legitimatize your excuse the next time you can’t be productive on a Monday. http://www.selfgrowth.com/articles/LarinaKase1.html

Technicolor ideas

Last night I had a stroke of genius. Television is all ate up with addiction shows and weight loss right now. So, what if I combine the intervention premise with the fit factor? I’d call it Fittervention.

  Fat people will be followed by cameras under the assertion that they are being filmed in a documentary about being over weight. But really, the fat person's closes friends and relatives are staging an intervention. But the show won’t be sad or anything. The family and friends will get the person free gym memberships or send them to fat camp or something. And the intervention will show their support for the interventee.

 This isn’t necessarily something I would enjoy watching, but it is something I bet I can make a bunch of money off of. And isn’t that the meaning of television? Now, how do you make a tv show?   

Waiting game

I spent the majority of today like I've spent the majority of my week, sitting in the doctor's office. Just the same as every time, I waited in the waiting room for a few hours, then waited in the examining room for a few hours. But today was even worse. The doctor came in after the nurse did her thing and when the doctor was on her way out she said something that sounded like, "The nurse will come back."
But then no one came back. I waited a long time. I looked through all drawers and cabinets, built somethings out of popsicle sticks and tried on a dozen pair of gloves. But no one came back. So, after a good thirty minutes, I left. I just kind of walked out without making eye contact. No one stopped me. 
I'm just not very good at being patience. I can stand in lines for any theme park ride or movie premiere. But I can't stand waiting when there isn't a worthy end. For example: waiting to have a third nurse check me out is not worth my time. Just like waiting to find out a surprise is not worth it. Moral:  my third biggest pet peeve is when someone says, "I got you something but I'm not going to give it to you until later" oh, and I should probably not be alone in a hospital room.

Disco cabin fever

Being trapped at my mom's house is pretty boring. She doesn't have cable tv or anything. She just has the few stations that come through the converter box. Most of them are public broadcasting stations and the local networks. There is also one channel that shows reruns of the Monkees and the Partridge Family. As much of a kick I get out of watch the Flying Nun I think it's crummy the tv people switched to digital. On the very short list of things I think it is okay to steal, tv shows definitely tops the lot. I just don't understand science enough to disagree with stealing stuffs floating in air. Like picking up wifi hotspots or breathing air. I don't think you should have to pay for it. But I haven't found a way to get my mother more tv channels. So I'm stuck watching Laurie Partridge get braces for the second time this week. Spoiler alert, she totally goes steady with Luke Skywalker. 

Let me eat cake... All the cake

Nothing heals a hole in your back like a whirlwind planning of a party. But not just any party, a freaking birthday party. I can't remember when I became obsessed with turning one year older, but I am. I love presents. Everyone enjoys presents but for me it seems so much more than an indulgence. Every gift I receive makes me stronger. Each gift leads to the desire for more gifts. They're not even expensive or lavish gifts. Just cards and well wishes make me crave more cards and more birthday wishes. I want every conversation to be about birthdays. My birthday, your birthday, celebrity birthdays, I want to hear about everything and I don't want anyone to think about anything else! By the day after my birthday I tend to not have any friends. Luckily, I have 364 days to make it up to them. 

Sleepless nights

You might remember Shamrock, my dog, from my earlier post. Well, she's really cool and understanding. Since I've recently had surgery on my lower back she had been nice enough to let me sleep in my bed back at home even though she aims it as her own now and she's only kicked me about half a dozen times. I'm not going to count the repetitive doggy punches I received tonight. See along with being totally awesome, Shamrock also is totally epileptic. Hence the nickname Shamerbamer. Earlier she had a big seizure complete with kicking. I know it sounds horrible, but dog seizures are kind of like really intense dog dreams. They're running and barking and foaming a little at the mouth... In all seriousness she's fine. And afterwards, her motor skills are horrible. Think drunk dog walking head first into walls, much too cute to scold for popping stitches. 

Ways I know I'm actually sick and not being melodramatic

No longer have the ability to brush my teeth: as soon as the toothpaste touches my front teeth the strength to brush is replaced by an uncontrollable gag reflex

Walking turns to flying: even though I know it's impossible every step I take feels as if I'm learning to use winged sandals 

I can't make decisions: driving to the hospital three county away and not packing any clothes, school work, or provisions seems like a fine idea

I have a strong desire to go to class and feel disappointed when I can't go

An excessive amount of eye sleepies: seriously, they are hanging from my eyelashes... so gross

My voice transforms into a sultry jazz singer's

My blogging isn't funny just kind of whiny

Being sick makes me become pathetic

Can't blog today too busy trying to not die from unnecessary totally not nice meany face illness... which sucks and is not a good thing. 

Breakfast of champions of not normal breakfast eating

Today I've been pretty blah. I think I'm running a fever, but I'm not going to actually check it so that way I can tell myself that I am not sick. I felt too sick to eat dinner in our lovely school cafeteria, so I am eating Ramen like any other college student. I don't have a refined palate, so noodles are good enough for me. But when I live on my own, there are a few food indulges (most of which came to me in dreams) that I can't wait to add to my regular diet. 
Toast bits: it's just a piece of toast, but it's cut into 16 little squares. That way instead of having to pick between one delicious topping I can have 16 toast toppings. 
Redbull and Fundip: I tried this for the first time in a movie theater. Basically, it taste like an even candier version or Redbull. Beware, though, there is a mild Mentos and Diet Coke effect. 
Pancakes and Cheerios: I love my pancakes drenched in syrup but I find myself missing the texture of a crunchy breakfast. So, adding some flavorless Cheerios is the best of both worlds. 

Car tats

Recently, I've been thinking about putting a decal on my car. I don't want to stick it to my car though. I would rather turn the sticker into a magnet that way I can remove it whenever I want. Car decals are a lot like tattoos. Magnets would be the equivalant of temporary tattoos. But that doesn't mean they're acceptable. For example: ribbon magnets. I understand that the ribbons represent something the car's owner is passionate about. But similair to barbwire tats and Tweety Bird they're over used and rarely effective. But magnets are better than  permanent window decals. Window decals are the car equivalent to tramps stamps. The trampiest are the ones that are over the brake lights and light up when the car stops. And when there is writing on the car windows, that's not classy either. Thats the same as cheap henna tattoos. They fade and come off unevenly. The highways are full of bad car tattoo mistakes. Maybe, I'll keep my car decal free. After all, it will totally distract passing drivers from my own face tattoo... which I draw on before each long car ride... starting next car ride.

Daylights smaylights

Being in Atlanta not only means I'm super happy, it also means I'm in different time zone than I am back home. Luckily, the clocks spring forward one hour tonight. That means when I go home tomorrow I'll be on the same time as I am here right now. Last year when the clocks changed I showed up to English lit. one hour early and to mask my embarrassment I didn't attend the class all week. But this year I don't have worry because I'm already in the future! And let me tell you guys, the future is just as shi...funky? as the past... Sometimes instead of saying "bad" words I just use any word but I don't think it makes sense. Whatever, I don't give a turnip! 

High hopes

Staying with my friend in Atlanta really helps me to appreciate how much I'm going to love not living at home. Sure over the past four years I've been "away" at college, but I've also had my mom's house to go back home to. Soon I will have Mom's house to go back to, but only to visit because I'll be an actual adult. And actually living in a facility that I can control. Unlike dorms, I won't have to share a communal bathroom or microwave! I will have access to a full and functioning kitchen. And unlike at home, I can do the dishes when I want to and cook what I want to. I'm know responsibility will suck and scare the living heck out of me, but I'm pretty sure life after college in general sucks and is scary as heck. I might as well be in control of the DVR.

Extreme Karaoke

Driving to Atlanta today I went through some options for what to do if I don’t get the job I’m interviewing for on Saturday. My favorite option, excluding of course the impossible dinosaur related options, was extreme karaoke-ist. Unlike most plain old karaoke stars, I will have a real band accompanying me. We’ll go on world wide tours and have a large fan base. Basically, we’ll be like a real band but instead of worrying about writing our own songs or finding a manager to buy songs for us we’ll just play other people’s music. Other famous people’s famous music. And we won’t play very well. We won’t have to because its karaoke. What I’m saying is I want to be paid to spend every night in bars while I attempt, and fail, to sing well. This sounded more viable while I was driving down the interstate blaring my music. Let’s hope I get a real job soon; leaving me to my own devises will probably be bad for the world.  

Some things I own and why

A model of someone else's teeth from the dentist, because I'm not afraid to ask 

Monster themed Easter egg kit, because I'm a good Catholic 

Child's puzzle foam floor mat, because it was cheaper than a rug 

Bags filled with confetti, so I can throw impromptu parties

Stop sign, because my friend Kara has no fear

Bendy straws, because sometimes drinking can be boring

Pet cactus, because I get lonely

Eye lash glitter, so I can feel more like a pixie

Kazoo collection, so I can start an orchestra

The Lady Gaga dilemma

Lately I've been try to be an adult. It's pretty difficult, but I think I might be getting the hang of it. I've been filing out job applications like it's my... well job. I even got my very first legitimate job interview for this Saturday! But, of course, nothing is easy for an adult. This Saturday is the Saturday I've been waiting for since December. It is the Saturday of the Lady Gaga concert. So, I have to decide and because I'm an adult I have to make the mature decision. I wonder if the interviewers would mind if I show up dressed like Lady Gaga? I mean, I think that's a fair, adult compromise.      

Where there's smoke there are clowns

Like many people sirens make me nervous. Whenever I hear an ambulance or firetruck I go through a series of worst case scenarios that involve my close friends and family. Luckily I've recently developed a technique to help settle my nerves. Every time I hear a siren I tell myself, "Obviously there must be a parade near by." I still make sure I stop and obey the law when it comes to emergency vehicles, but now I'm also filled with the unexplainable child like joy that can only come from a parade. If only emergency vehicles would toss candy while they drove by.        

All the voices

Growing up I had a theory about sounds. Before science taught me about waves I figured if you could hear someone then they could hear you. This was revolutionary for my tiny mind. When someone talked to me, I could talk back and they would hear. If someone was talking in another room, and I could hear them then if I talked they could hear me. It all made sense. But soon my theory started being tested. In the car my mom would turn on the radio and know matter how loud I talked the singers never responded. But sometimes the radio advertisements would talk directly to me. The same thing happened with television. It was all very stressful. But the worse test of my theory happened in a restaurant on time. I went to the restroom with my mom and there was a radio playing. Mom couldn't understand why I all of a sudden could not pee. No matter how extravagant my hand motions (because I didn't want the radio to hear I was in the bathroom) my mom refused to except my plea to go to another restroom. Soon she started yelling at me! Right there where the radio people could hear. I couldn't believe it. Once we left the restroom I was able to explain the problem to my mom. She did not think my theory was sound...  HA

Buy me bangles

I tend to buy a lot of things because I need them. I am compelled to buy them. I justify my purchases by telling myself they are pretty and therefore I need them so I can show the world that I am pretty. And by pretty, I mean shiny. Like today when I went to this fancy pants, crafty shop. It had lots of pretty jewelry and clothes, but what I really wanted was a tinsel wig on one of the mannequins. Can you imagine the beauty of a tinsel wig? It had bangs! It was everything I ever imagined having and all I needed to make me happy and so pretty. But it wasn't for sale... Why would a store have something on display that they didn't intend on selling? Ever since, I haven't been able to even look at my dull un-tensely hair. But the fact that I can't buy everything I want isn't the problem. The problem is now I want to buy something even more pretty in order to make up for the wig. Being a shiny-loving-compulsive-buyer whose happiness is determined by how I appear to others (not the same as low self-esteem!) can be difficult.  

Party Time

There are many benefits to attending a Catholic university. For example, if you forget a teacher’s name chances are you can just say father or sister and be correct. The best Catholic perk by far, however, is Spring Break. I know all colleges are getting ready for Spring Break but it seems like Catholic schools get out a little bit early. Our Spring Break is earlier in the semester because later on in spring we also get an Easter Break which is like Spring Break only minus the fun and add the midnight masses and fasting. So, our Spring Break starts Monday.  I plan on having fun with friends and going home to see the love of my life. The love of my life is a dog. She’s super fluffy, and in the picture, super serious. I wish all the more adventurous Spring Breakers good lucky and happy travels. If sand wasn’t so incredibly annoying perhaps I would be joining you… but probably not.

My favorite color’s gray

Because it pertained to today’s subject, my metaphysics teacher told the class about his cataract surgery. He was talking about how the colors of the classroom are much more vibrant now. It reminded me of something he told my class the first time I had him as a teacher. ~flashback~ It was introduction to philosophy and freshman Sagan sat shyly in the front row of her very first college class with her brand new book on her desk. Eager to learn and join the ranks of educated individuals, she listened keenly while the prehistoric priest spent the first class session explaining why colors aren’t real. -- This disturbed me for months. I was an undeclared scared freshman and now not even the bright blue sky could make me feel good about life. I dwelled on the fact that my colors might not be the same as someone else’s colors, and on the fact that I could never know how someone else sees something. It just didn’t sit well. After a quasi-break down which consisted of a lot of cry and rereading of my philosophy book, I decided to become an English major. I’m not sure why doing this made so much sense to little me. But if colors weren’t real, and numbers weren’t either, I decided I should avoid them the best I could. With art and math out of the running for majors I just settled on English. For four years now I’ve been working on explaining how the colors I see look, once I accomplish this I think I can win college.

Characteristics that make me love certain songs and bands

Songs that feature heavy breathing or laughter

Political themed lyrics

Songs containing the word glitter

Songs with spelling

A star in the band’s name

Songs with alliteration

Mellow, electric instrumentation

Songs about the Sun

Songs with prominent organ

Synth pop groups

Songs with stuttering and exaggerated enunciation

Songs featured in major motion pictures

One for the little bitty baby

For years I attended a tiny, public elementary school in a town with a name like Short Creek. The school had about 50 students in each grade who were all related in some distant way and everyone had last names like Miller. I was a transplant. I fit in well enough, was ahead in most subjects, and made friends. But only one experience has stuck with my: three times a week my class would go to music with Mr. O. This was my first introduction to a life long love affair with band and friendly men with musical backgrounds. We learned to play the recorder, to read treble clef, and of course to sing hymns. This last one always seemed to make my mother uncomfortable. Whenever I would come home singing, “Our Savior, Sweet Jesus” she would freak out a little. She wasn’t anti-Jesus; she just didn’t think he belonged in public schools. This is why she never came to see our class production of the Christmas story and why she didn’t like hearing my renditions of beloved Christian classics. Like everything else my mother disagreed with, I began to love the songs even more. Now, over a decade later, I still wake up with “How Shall I Send Thee” in my head. Despite my mother’s loving attempts to protect me, Mr. O indoctrinated me completely with campy Jesus tunes.