It’s January, but it seems like everyone is talking about summer plans already. And the more I think about it, the more I think I need to go home for a summer, spend some hot nights by the James drinking and listening to Drift Away like the good Southern girl I am. And also because I’ve seen too many movies. And because I woke up feeling corny and craving adventure.
If you go to UMD, you should check out the new UMDStudents website made by some nerds. It’s a forum of sorts to find out about classes and to bitch, if need be.
That’s all. I just wanted to peek my head in. I need to get dressed and go to the post office and go to class and then homework homework homework and then rehearsal and then sleep and then start over again.
“I want you to know I believe in the song, and rhythm and rhyme and harmorny -”
I don’t have rehearsal tonight. So what have I done? Slept, because I think I’ve gotten a total of two minutes of sleep since school began. But now I’m about to do homework because I am the Most Studious College Woman in the World this semester. It’s sort of like a superhero title.
I love English. I found out another prominent person in the theatre department is also thinking of switching to English, and that makes me feel a little better about my decision. Strength in numbers and all. Like she said, just because I’m not getting the degree in theatre doesn’t mean I love it.
Our house is in disarray. Erik is turning his room into a studio. He’s being manly and drilling things in the next room:
And I’m in my natural habitat, in my favourite gray sweater, drinking coffee, about to read for class.
Yesterday I almost came up here to draw up my list of complaints. I was so grumbly, but I’m glad I let it wait because now I’m pretty content. Content-ness is not very interesting to read, however.
I had a dream that the cute skater kid in my Communications class had a serpent tongue. Not good for kissing. (Not that he was kissing me in my dream or anything).
Enough. There’s a party at the Woodland house this weekend (the Woodland house is a music house, sorta of a co-Band Nerd house with us, though far less nerdy), so I’m hoping that will produce interesting stories.
I’m off to be the wispy fair-haired English major I’m trying to be, minus the wispy and probably fair-haired, too, since my hair tends to turn the color of a jaundiced sunburn in the winter.
A few unsent letters:
Dear Head of the English Department, AKA Woman With the Heart Three Sizes Too Small:
Thanks for answering my very polite, very sweet, obviously very confused letter with a cold, one sentence “you’re a fucking idiot” type of reply. You don’t even know me. I’m new to the English department. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. Thanks for aiding in my transition by making it as rough and unwelcoming as possible.
Dear Financial Aid:
I know I used to work for you. And, yes, I know it was my fault I waited to so late to sign my loan papers. But, hey, I would kind of like to register and by you not taking the hold off of my record, that makes the task impossible. So, out of the goodness of your money-grubbing heart, could you PLEASE let my loan go through? Like, tomorrow? Like, in the next five minutes?
Dear Lack of Sleep
You fucked me up today.
I’m actually not in a terrible mood. The day had high points – finally being in Acting class again and laughing until I cried; actually enjoying my classes, even though keeping my eyes awake in Brit Lit became an interesting physical challenge; mailing things at the post office (yes, this was fun); the cute skater kid in my Communications class remembering my name – but, I would really like these big bumps to smooth over. It would be nice. I would sleep better.
Thanks. Time for a nap. Mmmm, sweet relief.
“I was cleaning up, putting stuff away, when I found it there, yesterday. It was late; you were drinking. The picture was dog-eared; we both were blinking. I want you back today. I thought you left your toothbrush here as a way to say, I’ll always be here, messing with you -”
–John Mayer
Lesson # 3490: Do not stick your hand in Drano. In fact, don’t try to unclog your drain with poisonous chemicals at 1 in the morning while half-drunk. And then don’t stick your hand in Drano. It burns. It potentially kills. This isn’t good news to a tipsy hypochondriac.
(I’m fine. Just incredibly dumb. This day really needs to be over. Goodnight.)
Things I will absolutely not be upset about because of my new vow to be less high-strung:
- that the server at the restaurant tonight wouldn’t let Corina or I drink because we didn’t have the official “21 and over” license
- that the restaurant that denied me then proceeded to get my order wrong and bring me something that would not suit my vegetarian tendencies
- that the liquor store I went to after said restaurant incident was inches away from also not letting me buy alcohol because my license was weird and out-of-state. Fortunately, the attendant had a friend in Virginia and knew their licenses are strange-looking. But this means I now can’t buy any alcohol or go to 21+ event until I get a proper, un-strange looking license and that kills me, because, damn it, I am 21 and I can’t freaking do anything about it.
- that I got locked out of the house in 15 degree weather after said alcohol incidents.
Here is why I’m not going to get high-strung:
- The server felt so bad about my food (and about not letting us drink, I think) that when I told her I was fine without anything (and I was – I had just filled up on chips and salsa), she had them make this special vegetarian quesadilla and gave it to me for free.
- The liquor store guy DID let me buy my seven dollar champagne, and then we proceeded to have a nice conversation about Virginia.
- Corina and Jason went out and got me strawberries so I could have my signature summer drink of cheap champagne and strawberries.
So, I’m fine. It just seems like nothing has been easy in the past few weeks, but I’m making my way through it.
“…one thinks the room is spinning, when he [is the one] whirling around.”
My site wants to be this one when it grows up.
With that said, I’m off to drink and dine with some people that happen to live in my house.
Hi and yo. I got into Duluth about 5 AM this morning. My train was late coming into Minneapolis, so I didn’t get there until after midnight, and Erik still had some things to pack. But, I’m here, finally. I feel a little loopy and unacclimated, though. I have this feeling of half-exhaustion and half-shit-there’s-stuff-that-needs-to-be-done-NOW. So, I’m sitting, half-bleary eyed and half jittery, at my computer.
The train was good, again. I really prefer that to the plane now. There’s just something so old-fashioned and simple about it, and though I am a devout lover of technology, it’s nice to have that type of balance. It didn’t feel long – it only started to get tedious when I had a seven hour layover in Chicago.
So, my change of major is still a go. I’m more than nervous about that, especially when some people in the theatre department find out about that. Things tend to get wildly dramatic there.
The Hissyfit forums are closing. I’m crushed. It is a testament to the fact that I spend too much time on the internet that tears came to my eyes when I read about the forums closing.
I need to unpack and try to get my head in Duluth. It’s in a million different cities on a moving train, and just wants to find a home, poor thing.
So, I’m leaving tomorrow for Minnesota. My parents are driving me up to DC (which is about two hours away from here), and then my train departs to the land of negative temperatures at 4 PM. I’ll get into Minneapolis around 10:30 Friday night, and then I think Erik and I are going to drive up to Duluth that night – actually, he’ll drive, since I’ll most likely be too sleepy to even form coherent sentences.
Today, still with some hesitation, I decided to make the leap and change my major to English. I was very excited about this decision, and when I went to drop my theatre classes and add the English classes, a big ugly maroon screen popped up on the computer told me I had a hold on my record. Ugh. The hold is because I forgot to sign my student loan papers, and thus, my account is not paid. Annoying, and completely my fault. I won’t be able to sign anything until Tuesday, because Monday is a holiday, and, of course, Tuesday is the first day of school.
I hate starting things on weird footing. It makes me feel incomplete, like I’m beginning with a handicap.
In the last year or so, I’ve become quite high-strung. I think I used to handle stressful situations in a relatively laidback (albeit a little dramatic) manner, and now, when the slightest obstacle jumps evilly in my way, I fall to pieces. I need to chill out. Is “chill out” still acceptable lingo? I’m so behind the times.
I haven’t memorized my lines for the show. I have a bunch of them. They must be memorized by Tuesday at 7 PM. But I am chilling out now. Nope, not freaking out or tensing up or clenching my jaw and flaring my nostrils. Not at all.
Alright, I’m going to attempt to sleep, but since I have something to get up for tomorrow, my body usually betrays me by keeping me up all night.
I’m negative, aren’t I? Trying not to be. Really.
Alright, kids, hopefully I’ll make it through the train ride alive, and if so, I’ll be back here around Saturday afternoon. Goodnight.
This automated MASH (as in Mansion Apartment Shack House) game is awesome. I played it last night, and ended up as a stripper with Ewan McGregor for a husband.
So, I was supposed to leave tomorrow, either on plane or train, but now I’ve decided to leave Thursday on the train. Why Thursday, I don’t know. But I feel a little bit better about things, I think.
I need toast. Where’s Matt when you need him?
Let me throw a question out to the universe, and also to anyone (if there is an anyone) who happened to be in charge of forming my personality (because to say that I’m in charge of it would make me too mature): why can’t I make a decision? Just one simple, carefree, running-through-fields-of-wheat decision. My day is rife with stupid arguments that occur only inside my head.
Example:
“Hmm, do I want coffee today? I love coffee, but lately it’s been making me jittery. So, maybe I shouldn’t have it. Ooo, but it’s the Starbuck’s Columbian Dark Roast, and I really like that. Oh, but the Dark Roast might actually make me MORE jittery. I’ll just have a half a cup. No, I shouldn’t have one at all – AHHHHH!”
::sounds of brain curling into the fetal position, whimpering and sucking thumb::
I need to decide in like two hours my mode of transportation home and I just.can’t.do.it. Taking the train again is a big hassle because my parents would have to drive up to DC, and then I wouldn’t be back in Minnesota for another 36 hours, and I’m damn impatient, though the train was definitely a good experience on the way over here. I’m leaning towards the plane but I am so so afraid of freaking out once I get on there, and becoming The Crazy Woman Crying and Scratching Maniacally At The Window in Aisle 5. You know? I would drink to allay my fear, but I just know with my coward of a stomach that I would becoming That Puking Woman.
I’ll walk home. Yes, that’s obviously the only solution left. But I have two pairs of shoes to choose between, and that will delay me for another billion eons of years.
I’m nearing tears on this. Why does it have to be so difficult to get home? I’m so sick of this.
I did, if you care, choose to have coffee this morning. And if you couldn’t glean from my post, yes, it did make me jittery. Thank you.
My birthday:
Dinner. My parents tell us to get dressed-up and then keep the name of the restaurant we’re going to a surprise. I guess on the car ride over – Ruth Chris Steakhouse – an odd choice, since I am a vegetarian, but the moment I see the restaurant, I see why they chose it. It’s in an old white, supposedly haunted plantation house with big columns in the front, a pianist in a natty tuxedo and mints in fancy wrappers. I love shit like this. Sometimes.
Erik doesn’t say a word at dinner, but then again, he hasn’t said a word the entire time he’s been here. My usually hyper kid with ADD has been unusually shy and quiet. It’s endearing, in an offhand irritating way. The moment to order comes – do I order wine? Champagne? I pass. I’m afraid I’ll mispronounce the name of the wine I want, and look like the fool I am in this chandelier encrusted plantation. Besides, alcohol is a touchy spot with my family. My brother and mother are both recovering alcoholics, four months and twenty-six years, respectively, and my father, seeing what alcohol did to both of them, is disdainful of it. I don’t blame him. My wine goes unordered.
After dinner however, (steak for everyone else, a salad with excellent French Creole dressing and a baked potato for me), Erik and I sneak off to a more casual restaurant, known for its pizza and loud crowd. There’s a jazz band rumoured to be playing, but when we get there, the music in question is a middle-aged man in a plaid shirt singing Sarah McLachlan and Tom Petty covers. I make my move and order a martini. When the waitress finds out it’s my birthday, she’s overjoyed and it’s adorable. After my first martini (which is their special, a Martini Sunset, with Midori and a “secret” ingredient, which I suspect to be something banana-ish), I want to marry her. The second martini and free piece of cake makes me babble to Erik , spilling things better left un-spilled, but all is well. He drives home, and we fall asleep, spoon in spoon, stir in my coffee, if I may use that reference and being from Virginia, I think I can.
Let’s lose that present tense for a while.
Yesterday, Erik and I went to lunch with my old friend Stephanie and her baby, where I ordered a margarita. Little known fact: my stomach doesn’t agree with the popular public opinion that mexican food and margaritas are perfect complements. Nope. After that, Erik and I went to Carytown, where we walked in the cold, saw a movie at the dollar theatre (K-Pax, which was eh), and then came home again. He left this morning on a jet plane, and now here I am.
I go home on Tuesday, either by train or plane, I haven’t decided; I have tickets to both. I’m either an English or theatre major now; I haven’t decided; I have access to both.
I actually feel older being 21. How odd.
‘night, nerds.
So. It’s my birthday. I’m 21. Normally, I don’t care about my birthday – it stopped being exciting somewhere around age 14 or so, but for some reason, this year I’m a little thrilled at it. It is 21, after all – I’m not a big drinker (anymore), so that doesn’t appeal to me. It’s just nice to know that if someone invites me along to a 21+ place, I don’t have to bow out, and if I DO happen to want to partake in some cocktails, I can furnish myself.
Erik is here, fast asleep in the next room.
I have lots to say and a lot of e-mails to catch up on. But I should sleep, I think. Or at least try. Insomnia is my cuddle-buddy once again.
I think you can definitely count on the fact that your day is going to be weird when your gynecologist starts laughing at you (while you’re in the most uncomfortable position known to woman), and then proceeds to tell you, between giggle fits, that you have freckles on your butt and “boy, are they adorable.”
In other news, I absolutely hate the smell of cabbage. This was something I didn’t know about myself until my father made an Irish corned beef dish.
I need to get back to school. My brain is starting to turn to chowder.
Let me take this moment to mention that there are ducks currently quacking about in my driveway. Let me also take the time to mention that I don’t live anywhere near water, and I assumed ducks had to be in water. Am I nuts? They’re cute, but I feel a bit like I’m in an alternate universe.
Here’s another totally innocuous bit of information that will also be something you could care less about: I have pimples. Here’s the thing: I normally have clear skin, with the occasional faint blemish here and there. Yesterday I woke up with a bright red one the size of strawberry on my left cheek (face, mind you). Today, I woke up with a matching one my right. I don’t care about them, vanity-wise, it just seems strange.
I talk about things like this when there are monster things poking me in the back that I don’t want to talk about. Avoidance by minutiae and all.
I really have been in a blue funk the past few days. I haven’t even touched karmic couteractance in a while, so let me try that:
The air in Virginia, despite being the tobacco state, is so clear and sweet, literally. The stuff Dillard and Whitman writings are made of. My hair is getting long again. My sweet sweet Erik is coming to visit on Thursday, and our relationship has never been better. There’s good coffee to drink every morning. It’s snowing here and somehow it seems a bit fantastical, in a good way. It’s good to know that no matter what happens, some things don’t change. My Mom makes the best grilled cheese in the world, even when she’s half-angry with me. I’m almost 21 years old, an age that seemed mythical and grand not three years ago.
Alright, I should dress and make a day of it.
Movies I have seen lately:
EXCELLENT
Trainspotting – I’m about four years late in seeing this, I know, but it was fabulous and though I’m not normally the starstruck type (okay, I am), I wasn’t aware that my love for Ewan could reach such heights. We are perfect for each other. If only he would see.
Memento – I watched this the night before I had to leave on the train to Virginia. I had to get up at 6 the next morning, and we didn’t start the movie until 2 AM or so, so in the back of my mind I was worried about getting enough sleep. But I couldn’t stop watching it.
GOOD
Eyes Wide Shut – I saw this in the theatres when it first came out, and I love love loved it. Then again, I also only probably loved it because Nick and I were into liking things that no one else liked and then looking down on people who didn’t have our cultured, excellent taste. Now that I’m not a snobby bitch, I see that this movie was alright, but missed the mark. Plus, in a nutshell, Tom Cruise is just not a good actor. He’s so wooden and so irritating.
Ghosts of Mississippi – I only half watched this last night, but it gets a good rating if only for James Wood’s creepy, accurate performance of what it means to be a Good Ol’ Boy in the south.
TERRIBLE
Malice – a movie full of big names and good actors, and just a piece of crap, mostly due to the script. You can almost see the actors cringing as they say some of the corny shit given to them.
Autumn in New York – I’m not against the coupling of old and young, but Richard Gere and Winona Ryder are just plain eughhh (as in the noise for creepy). Winona is overplaying the ingenue, and Richard Gere tries to play up the sex symbol status, which only makes him seem rather pathetic.
MOVIE I TURNED OFF AFTER 10 MINUTES
America’s Sweethearts – It might’ve been alright. Stanley Tucci was promising in the beginning, but it was rather boring.
I’ve had way too much time on my hands this break. Thank you.
I am at the very end of being drunk, the part where you’re just sleepy and a bit grumpy and want to cuddle into your boyfriend’s neck for the night. But I just want to say this right now: as much as I want to be wild and crazy and scandalous – as much as I want to be some sort of gypsy bohemian flower child – the truth is that I’m much more suited to be the observer and much more suited to the ride the waves of other’s wildness. This is not to say I’m a follower; more to say that I’m a Nick, not a Gatsby (I believe it was Elinor who made that statement once).
I need to sleep for ten hours or so, as seems to be the norm for me this break. And then I need to memorize the entire script of the show I’m in, as that has to be done before the 22nd. And then I need to write love letters to all my friends because I cherish and miss them dearly at this point. Then I need to get a life outside my head. Yes? Yes.
Goodnight.
I’m a dork because I just realized I got slightly excited for February second to come along, just so I could write the date 02.02.02.
So, here’s a story for you:
I went to the eye doctor today, something that is usually a dreaded task because getting your eyeballs prodded for an hour or so is never pleasant. My usual eye doctor is a nice man, but nothing spectacular. Imagine my surprise when a New Handsome Dashing Young Doctor walked into the examining room. I love when mundane things turn into real-life cinema. Flair for the dramatic and all.
So, since I was in an one-on-one situation with an entirely attractive person, I became a stuttering idiot, only compounded by the fact that I have a cold and was sneezing every fifth word of my sentence. I was also wearing my jeans with the biggest hole in them, so instead of appearing like a sophisticated mature almost-21 year old, I looked like a delinquent homeless girl with an allergy problem.
But here’s the climax: it got to the point where the Dashing Doctor was actually flirting back a little, in an entirely harmless, yet quite charming manner. He put the eye contraption up to my eye and was standing in front of me. The eye contraption diminished my depth perception, so when I went to cross my legs, I had no clue that he was as close as was. Yes. I kicked the Dashing Doctor in the crotch. With my winter boots. Hard.
Here is the exchange:
Dashing Doctor: OW!
Me: Oh. My. God. I am so sorry –
DD: No, no, it’s okay, really, it doesn’t hurt.
Me: But you said ow.
DD: Okay, it hurts a little.
Fortunately, he was a good sport about it all. But still – I wonder if I’ll ever be in a situation with a person I find attractive and not make some type of disastrous fool out of myself.
With that said, I think I’m actually off to poke around town a bit in my Mother’s car. This has been such a slow break. It almost makes me wish I had made more friends in high school, just to have people to visit on holidays. The friends I did have are either living or visiting somewhere else, or off leading thrilling lives.
It’s okay. It just makes me appreciate my Duluth kids that much more.
Happy New Year, everyone. My New Year’s was spent completely uneventfully, but in a way, I didn’t mind, as there was no other place I desired to be in this grand state of Virginia. My mother and I baked a Coca-Cola cake and drank Welch’s sparkling grape juice and watched the ball drop, while my father was at work and my brother partied elsewhere. I was a little depressed at midnight, feeling old and spinsterish at the young age of almost-21, but I think I got over that.
I wish I had a valid Year in Review to do, but I can’t think of anything at the moment that I’d like to recap – just your usual year of broken hearts and friends and new age lightness and lots and lots of coffee and books.
On an entirely different note, my brother gave me an early birthday present – the Moulin Rouge DVD, which is absolutely fabulous in all sorts of the word and though I’ll probably be teased horrifically for the rest of my life, I’m not afraid to say it’s my favorite movie of all time. Thank you.
Did I mention I’m learning a British dialect for the show I’m in? I swear it’s making me write as if I’m a stereotypical high society British snob.
On that note, I need more coffee.