Guilt and Innocence: A daily primer

Back to School, Back to Blogging

I have survived Casa Bonita (even the three section, twelve table madness of my last day) and made it back here to Columbia, which means, Let the blogging begin!

I'm so incredibly glad to be back at school. I was kind of hesitant to come back by the end of summer; with all this back and forth it seems like as soon as I get settled one place I have to leave for the other. However, once I got back to good old Mark Twain it felt like we'd never left. I stayed up until two, drinking coffee and gossipping with Barry and Rachel, who I had completely forgotten how much I missed. So really all I have to say is thank god for school!

Also since I'm back in CoMo, I imagine I will have plenty of this absurd little blocks of time like this one that just lend themselves to blogging, so the blog will be back into it's full irreverent swing.

Dispatches from the Restaurant

As you may have noticed, I am miserable at keeping this updated while I'm working. This may be attributed to the fact that, on average, I've been working fifty-five hours a week and when I'm not working I'm generally asleep or desperately trying to salvage my social life. Anway here are some anecdotes: Yesterday a penis walked into work.

Okay, truth be told, it wasn't yesterday because I haven't worked since Sunday, as I got my wisdom teeth pulled on Monday, but a penis did walk into work. I was serving in the back of caves, when I look up and I saw what at first seemed to be a guy wearing a bunch of trash bags. Upon closer look, I realized the trash bags were strategically placed and inflated to create a giant penis costume. And my only reaction to this? I thought, "This is a family restaurant." He went up into balconies and a few minutes later security went up there and I saw no more of the penis costume, so I believe they made him take it off.

Other than that, I've served two tables from KU in the past week. I did not, however, spit in their food, though I did accidently spill some taco salad all over one table, and both tipped me well. Other than that, Casa Bonita has just been ridiculously understaffed. We had two girls walk out in one night, another new trainee quit, and one more girl get fired, so by Sunday night we were six servers short, so it seemed like everyone was serving at least a section and a half.

This server shortage also resulted in Rob not giving me the days I needed off to get my wisdom teeth pulled, so I had to call, wait twenty minutes for Gianni to pick up the phone, before we had a twenty minute conversation about me not coming in. However, I think I still have a job on Friday.

Other than that, getting my wisdom teeth out hasn't been so bad. They swell some, so I do vaguely resemble a chipmunk, but the pain hasn't been too bad and I've watched a lot of movies and the West Wing.

Slow to Learn My Lessons

Well, I'm not sure it would be wise to detail my exploits from last night. But let's say, I need to learn my lessons about doing certain things when I haven't eaten. Also, I should not try and walk halfway across Lakewood at three in the morning, and I'm lucky that I have friends who prevent me from doing some of the stupid things I want to do.

With these things in perspective, I think I may consider giving up drinking. Even though I haven't really started "drinking" like most people do, the good experiences don't seem to make the bad ones worth it.

Also, I had a weird dream where Katie and I were in Colorado, but somehow in Mark Twain at the same time (How I love the logic of dreams.) and we were drinking, and Rob (who happens to be my manager at Casa Bonita) appeared to be my Hall Coordinator and caught us and wrote us up, but we kept protesting that we were in Colorado, so it didn't count and it was all very nonsensical and confusing. However, for some reason it jsut gave me this horribly bad feeling about drinking, so I think it's time for another "Wow, that was fucking stupid. Let's not do that again," break from drinking.

In other news, Casa Bonita is going to be the death of me. When I showed up to work this morning, the last thing I had eaten was a bagel at lunch the day before, and the first thing they did was give me a group of twenty-five school children. How I made it through the morning without passing out is completely beyond me.

Also, my bill for this blog, which is probably not even worth the money, caused me to overdraw my checking account. How terribly sad is that? Luckily my Credit Union just takes the money from my Savings account, otherwise, this would be sad, sad times.

When "Taco" becomes a dreaded word

I have survived the first weekend back at Casa Bonita. So far I have NOT:

1.) Cried
2.) Dropped Anything
3.) Had any of my customers complain to a manager
4.) Actually, had any customers complain at all
5.) Burned myself (which is remarkable as that restaurant likes to keep their plates at roughly a million degrees Fahrenheit)

I have, however, gone three entire lunches without getting a damn table. It seems like it's been really slow, lately. Of course, I haven't done that badly money-wise, considering how slow it's been. I'm hoping for a moderate amount of rain, as that tends to result in more customers, but only a moderate amount, as I am not yet prepared for the mad summer rushes that will invariably come in July.

Other than that I am just waiting for this summer to end, now. It's not that I don't enjoy being home, but at this point I'm hardly going to have time to see my friends anymore, I don't know how I'm going to learn to drive, and I'm spending most of my time at a job I despise.

In other news, Darcie and I rented Hitch and Motorcycle Diaries. Hitch was cute, but becomes a little heavy-handed towards the end of the movie.  I thought Motorcycle Diaries was quite good which led Darcie and I to determine that we both believe that foreign movies are of a much higher caliber than anything that comes out of Hollywood. Also, the scene where they shoot the duck led to me repeating, "Pato, pato, pato," quite a few times, as "pato" (which is Spanish for "duck") remains one of my favorite Spanish words.

Speaking of Spanish, working at Casa Bonita amongst a high ratio of native Spanish speakers, has made me realize that my Spanish skills are woefully inadequate. I can rarely understand even parts of conversations, much less a whole conversation. However, I am determined to use this miserable job to better myself by trying to work on my Spanish, even if it involves making a complete ass out of myself. However, Michelle would be proud to know that I actually heard someone use the phrase "Que Onda?"

On yet another tangent, I just got up to make myself a psuedo-lunch (somehow food at home isn't nearly as good as I'd remembered it being), when I noticed that the headline on The Rocky Mountain News is "War on Christianity," to which I would like to say, "Way to be incindiary, stupid-obnoxious-local-paper-I-hate-more-and-more-with-each-passing-day." Admittedly, the congressman who said this is also an incidiary asshole, but I'm getting tired of all this secular/religious bickering. The whole reason the puritans settled here was to avoid the sort of persecution both sides of this debate is infilicting more and more on each other. Whatever happened to preaching love and tolerance and good will towards man? I think we all need to work on some good inter-faith alliance. But, you know, I'm a democrat so all I could possibly mean by "inter-faith alliance" is "Die christianity, die!" (That was sarcasm, please don't hurt me.)

More Sopapillas, Please

It's official, after over a month of fruitless job-hunting, I have given my soul back to Casa Bonita. Rob eagerly re-hired me and then I ended up scheduled for doubles ever day this weekend. Great. Wonderful. I can't wait.

So, this means I get to come in on Friday at noon, try to remember how to do my job, without any re-training whatsoever, and work until close. I can't wait. I just keep trying to remind myself how nice the stack of cash is going to look on Friday evening. I'm trying really hard.

The one upside of this is that Brendan's training this week and is going to be serving with me. So at least I'll have company in my misery.

I just keep telling myself that I will only be working about seven weeks, six if I take a week off to go to Boston and it can't possibly be that bad. Only, I know it can be that bad. Of course, from the Secretary's comments it seems like they fire people just as often, if not more often, than they used to so maybe I'll luck out and escape that way.

Then, this morning I got a call from Darcie. Her mom's secretary (or equivalent) got on a plane and basically abandoned her, so she needs someone to work on things. I ended up agreeing to do it, so I went from no jobs to two, apparently. But I guess her mom pays ten dollars an hour, which isn't bad, and I'm definitely broke enough to need the money.

Still, all this job-getting business has made me miss school a lot more than I ever thought I would. I miss the routine of it mostly. It keeps me from getting too wrapped up in things, and I've been doing a bang-up job of getting too wrapped up in things lately.

I leave with a quote from Brendan: "Saying about Casa Bonita, 'Well, a job is a job.' is like describing hell as, 'It is the afterlife.'"

Between Here and There

In the past I've always been fond of my uncanny ability to avoid sleep. It made finishing projects and papers at odd hours and pulling all-nighters a breeze, but lately I would kill to just be able to go to sleep. Typically I relish the few hours I get to myself in the early, early hours of the morning, but I've just felt so tortuously bored lately. I've watched nearly all the movies on cable worth watching and television in general tends to leave me painfully bored these days. I can only read so much and spend so much time on the internet before I just need something else to occupy myself with. Unfortunately, options can be rather limited at two in the morning. Of course, this problem will surely disappear as soon as I find a job, but for now I'd like to be one of those people who can climb into bed at any hour and fall asleep within twenty minutes.

Other than bemoaning my slight insomniac tendencies, I've spent most of these days doing a lot of nothing. I went out with Jenn, Tyler, and a few of Jenn's friends Friday night, which resulted into running into and sharing a table with a lot of people from high school I didn't particularly care to see ever again. Despite the vague "I'm trapped in high school" feeling, I actually had a pretty good time.

Tonight I went to Dinner with Scott, a couple of his friends, Joe, Mwema, and Darcie and then, of course, we headed to Paris, but somehow none of this is significant enough, nor lasts long enough to ease the slow, painful pace of my days. At this point, I just want a job to have something to get up and do, not because I want the money.

Brendan is finally coming home at the end of the week and I can't wait to see him because I miss the way the two of us can talk about nothing, something, and anything for hours on end. I'm hoping that he can offer something to at least ease the anesthetic feel of these past weeks.

I'm almost starting to think that I really should've just stayed in Columbia and gotten residency this summer, but I know that I needed to have one last summer with these people. It's not that I don't love my friends, but I miss the constant distractions of high school. I want to push again, to see how much I can do in so many hours, and instead I have ended up with the complete and total opposite.

Mid-Major Crisis

While I'm sure I'm not the first college student to have a complete breakdown in ideal in the middle of June, I have a feeling I may be among a slightly smaller crowd facing ideological inconsistencies.

This all started when I hand one of my short, startling profound thoughts. Sometimes I just think these things that strike me for one reason or another. This particular thought happened to be, "I want to write a book men will read." (Which makes more sense if you've, like I, had been seeing mentions for days of some article about how men don't read books written by women.) This thought caused me to start thinking about a creative writing class I saw in a Mizzou catalog, and for some unknown reason I looked the class up online. As it turns out, with a miniscule bit of pruning (i.e. moving my economics recitation I probably won't be attending, anyway), I could easily fit the aforementioned class into my schedule.

Of course, this brings up a host of other questions. What class do I drop to replace it? Do I simply replace my humanities class? (Of course, you have to understand, completing the honors college humanities sequence is something that gives you a certain amount of intellectual bragging rights.) Should I drop International Relations and give up on this idea of a political science double major and just give in and double major in english? Maybe just a minor in english?

And all this thinking leads to the, "What am I doing at Mizzou, anyway?" train of thought. I like journalism enough, but I only got into journalism because it was a more practical outlet for writing, but all of a sudden I'm finding myself thinking that maybe teaching English wouldn't be the horror I sometimes make it out to be. Sometime I can't help but feel that I would be much happier as an English major. But if I'm going to major in English, why waste a quarter-of-a-grand at Mizzou?

Where are those goddamned academic advisors when I actually need them?

Summer Malaise

Well, life continues here in Colorado, but at a slow incomprehensible pace. I did not get hired by Macaroni Grill, sadly, and the only other call I've gotten was from Old Navy who wanted me to work for three days a week at five in the morning, to which I easily said no. I think I'd rather go back to Casa Bonita than unpack shipments at ungodly hours.

In other news, I am nineteen after somehow surviving the miserable night that was my birthday. I can't explain why that night was bad, but for some reason everything about it just seemed off. Of course, all the birthday wishes were greatly appreciated and I did manage to get Garden State, the new Garbage CD, and a gift certificate to Barnes and Noble out of the night, so not all was lost.

Yesterday I met up with Kerry, Joe, Josh and David Koch and we ended up at Burger's Plus to play Risk. We also encountered about half the band since the high schoolers only had a half day. Afterwards, I hung out with Kerry for a while and she tried to teach me to crochet and I still failed to make anything but a chain. However, I am resolved to learn to crochet before school begins again, as I want to have as many diversions as possible when I work the desk.

Still, I desperately need a job, and at this point I don't even care so much about my financial situation (which is pretty dire), but I just want something to do. I haven't slept this much in years, but I just don't see the point in getting out of bed when it just gives me an extra three to four hours to waste. Also, it's looking more likely that I'm going back to Casa Bonita as every day passes, but I just don't want to do it. The thought of just being back there creates an overwhelming sense of dread. Maybe tomorrow I'll go try and weed out every last place in Lakewood I haven't applied to already. Send good job karma my way.

I'm just never pleased.

I actually earlier wrote some long, boring, tedious post about what I've been up to, but I've since realized that it can be summarized into a few key points:

1.) Do you remember when you used to long for the summer of days with nothing to do? Well, I have that right now and I despise it, it's boring and it's making me depressed.

2. )The Macaroni Grill called and I had an interview on Monday. The interview itself was boring, but my inner-monologue went something like this: "Oh, please, god, just hire me, I need something to do and I hate job hunting...THREE TABLES? Your employees only have to run three tables? Casa Bonita would give me four tables of eight, and then a fifth on the other side of the fucking restaurant because someone was late...Look, I can see the kitchen from everywhere in the restaurant. That's quaint...You're complaining about the air conditioning being too cold? Try working in a restaurant with a fucking pool in the middle of it with malfunctioning air conditioning. So it's always hot, it's always humid, and you always smell like chlorine...What? No, I'm not going to Mizzou for education, Why the fuck would I subject myself to out-of-state tuition in the middle-of-nowhere missouri when I could get an education degree from CU? And, no, having lived in Iowa does not mean you know anything about Mizzou. Dumbass."

Of course, I said none of that. I smiled and stopped just short of begging for the job. It'd be nice. It's in Denver West with the Barnes and Noble so at least I could spend my breaks there if I can't work there.

3.) Despite having digital cable and thus billions of channels I still can't find anything worth watching on television, so I've started watching Telemundo, because just trying to figure out what's going on keeps my attention. I've also got slightly addicted to their news, which means when I pick up the paper in the morning I have a "Oh, that's what they were talking about!" reaction. It's kind of fun.

4.) I need to stop putting foreign substances in my body. This includes alcohol and caffeine, mainly, among any other chemical. Because even when I'm not drunk at all, I do stupid things. (Alternatively, I also read three-quarters of The Stranger. I would have finished the book, too, had Darcie not woke up and made me turn off the lights.) And really I'm too sensitive to caffeine to drink coffee the way I do. Or at eleven at night, which seems to be my preference. And I just seem to have heightened reactions to any chemical influence at all. (Note to self: These previous realizations suggest it would be unwise to experiment with heroin. Keep that in mind in the future.)

5.) What the hell is a "quant"? I just realized I misspelled "quaint" earlier and the spell check didn't catch it because "quant" is apparently a word.

6.) I got a "Haunted" (Chuck's new book) night-light in the mail. I win.

So, is the summer over yet?

Still jobless, but now 300% more caffeinated

Yesterday, Mwema and I commenced a marathon job search at Denver West and Colorado Mills. We walked all over the place, gathering applications and then we finally crashed in the food court and filled them all out, until our hands were about to fall off and our brains were mush from writing the same pointless information over and over. Why, why can't you just give these places a resume?! They all ask for the exact same information!

Anyway, it actually seemed like a fair number of places were actually hiring compared to last summer, so maybe there's hope. I'm also hoping we've kind of beat out some of the high school kids. Now I have to repeat the same exhausting process at the Lakewood Commons and Belmar, where it would actually be easier to get a job, but at this point, I don't even care. Anywhere that isn't Casa Bonita and will give me seven dollars an hour and something like thirty hours is fine by me, even if I have to spend all day riding the bus.

I came home for dinner with the family that night, then Mwema, Joe, Lurch, and I headed downtown to hang out at Paris. I had my favorite Cafe Fantasia and Joe and Lurch pulled out the cigars, so I suppose you can guess where some of my pretentious influence comes from.

While we were there, Joe and I got into this awesome discussion about how we wanted our funerals to be. Joe was talking about how he wanted a "New Orleans Style" funeral, where basically everyone throws a huge party in your honor. Him talking about this was ironic, because as long as I can remember my mother and I have admired the idea of an Irish wake, which is basically the same thing Celtic style. From there, we discussed how mourning death is kind of a backwards idea, since a majority of religions believe you're going to some sort of better place. My point in talking about this is really just to point out how I miss these people.

Tonight was the Lakewood Pop's Concert, so we all ended up there. I was sitting with Darcie's mom (rather than with my parents, who were also there), which was a little weird, only because her mom seemed so exhausted. The concert was good and actually managed to hold my attention and included some guest appearances such as Mr. Harris, our band director as the phantom of the opera, and Castagna, our principal, as a short, Italian Darth Vader.

Afterwards, a whole crew of us band kids headed out to what was supposed to be bowling at Holiday Lanes, but by the time we got there, we decided to go to Denny's, but then couldn't get a table for twelve and ended up at IHOP. It was a crazy night of reminiscing and using glow bracelets and a ketchup bottle for a game of ring toss. It was kind of interesting to have four years of band kids, from juniors in high school to sophomores in college all in one place, and the UNC kids talked too much about UNC, but it was a fun time. It was the first time I've gotten to see Taryn and Sean since I'd gotten back, so that was nice. I miss all the sarcastic fun Taryn and I use to have together.

Now, despite three cups of bad IHOP coffee, I sleep.

What do Steve Reich and S&M bears have in common? Nothing, really.

I think coming home gets harder and weirder each subsequent time. Maybe it will be good for me to stay in Columbia next summer.

I went out with Mwema and Drew on Sunday, and I only did that just because I'm not very good at telling people no, not because I really wanted to go out. We were going to go to Drew's house to watch Sex and the City, but it took her forever to find Mwema's house and then pick up Mwema, so by the time they got to my house there were only a few hours before I had to be home to go to dinner with my parents, so we went to Colorado Mills instead.

We didn't really have any purpose in being there, so we just kind of wandered around. Mwema picked up a few applications, but I was being unjustifiably picky about the places I would work, so I only ended up with applications for Black Market Minerals (I think, or one of the other new-agey, bamboo selling places in that Mall) and one for the California Pizza Kitchen, though I didn't even end up going to their group interview on Tuesday.

We got bored with the Mills and were discussing how Drew and I had never been to a porn shop, so we decided to go to the Fascinations on Colfax. Honestly, porn stores just aren't that exciting. We spent an unnecessarily long time looking at vibrators and dildos, most of which I've noticed attempt to have some sort of animal likeness. There were beavers, rabbits, dolphins, and  birds, oh my. (The "songbird" as it was called was kind of creepy, and just looked painful.) However, I thought the most amusing item (other than the size of some things, Dear god, where is there room?) were these teddy-bears in S&M gear. S&M teddy bears! What consumer did they have in mind there?

Anyway, they dropped me off at my house and I went to IHOP with my parents while my sister was at youth group. I don't remember much about that dinner except that our waiter was ADD and generally inept at his job, and looked about fourteen. I still get creeped out when people waiting on me are younger than I am. I mentioned this to my parents, and my dad just told me to wait until the doctors are younger than I am.

Afterwards, my parents took me to Barnes and Noble and they bought two books, which I am actually bordering on needing as my stack of "to read" books has dwindled to a very small number by my standards.

Monday, Ryan called me at eight in the morning after he got off work, and I groggily answered the phone and told him to call back at a reasonable hour. He called back at eleven, but I was still in bed and still feeling uncharacteristically anti-social so I tried to ignore him, but finally answered the phone, and tried to get out of doing something, but he threatened to come to my house and drag me out of bed, so I gave in and got up myself.

We went down to Denver so Ryan could drag me around Metro while he ran errands there to get stuff in order for the fall, which was mildly excruciating since I hate doing stuff like that even when it's at Mizzou for myself. So to make him pay me back, I made him pay for lunch at Paris on the Platte. I had their veggie melt and their cambric tea, and we played some Gin Rummy, and it was a generally enjoyable lunch. We then took a mostly depressing trip to the Apple store somewhere off of Santa FE, where I found lots of things I want, but am nowhere near being able to afford. Then he dropped me off at home, since my Family had decided to do Mother's Day that evening.

We went to Red Lobster, the restaurant of choice for all occasions in my family, and I had Coconut Shrimp, which were quite good. I think I spent most of dinner going off on random rants about how Lakewood has gotten just a tad bit too accepting, and my father and I started speculating about how the Democratic party is going to save their ass, much to the dismay of my mother and my sister, I'm sure.

Tuesday, Ryan and I went to a free percussion ensemble concert at DU, but since I have no job and didn't feel like paying for dinner, we decided to go to his house. First, we went back to the Apple store, so Ryan could empty his back account to buy an iPod. Then we went to his house and he made soft tacos for dinner. If there's one reason I'll keep Ryan around, it's his cooking skills. I always have the best vegetarian meals when he cooks for me.

Then we headed off to DU for what turned out to be an okay percussion ensemble concert, but it was free so I'm not complaining, though I did learn two things:

1.) Watching anyone perform Steve Reich's Marimba Phase live and trying to follow the individual parts is an invitation to madness. Just don't do it, I mean, unless you're looking to go off the deep end.

2.)Never, ever use crystal mallets on crotales. Ow, my poor ears are still complaining. (Also, this uncultured word processor doesn't believe crotales is a word.)

Finally, tonight I went to a movie at Denver West with Mwema, Joe, Scott, and Darcie. We saw Crash, after what was technically sneaking in, since Darcie is still ridiculously young and after failing to sneak her in, we all went to exchange our tickets for something she could actually see, but then the ticket attendant mysteriously disappeared, so we saw Crash anyway. The movie was really good, though a bit heavy, and then, like old times, we sat around outside, talking about things, and perhaps doing a little too much rehashing of the details of old, failed relationships. It almost made me miss being in Columbia where no one can dig up unwelcome memories from your past. Which isn't to say that I didn't have a good time anyway, though I couldn't convince anyone that eleven o'clock coffee sounded like a good idea, and Darcie and Scott still had school, and Mwema had a midnight curfew, anyway.

Now, tomorrow I have to drag myself out of bed to meet Mwema and actually commence a real job hunt.

Homecoming (In Which I am a participant of a four car pile-up on I-70)

Okay, It's time to play some catch up.

Thursday night, I ended up proctoring exams for four bloody hours, which turned out to be a problem because I was supposed to have all my stuff packed so Allison and I could go put it in storage. So I finally made my escape back to Twain at a little after ten, but I was tired and hungry, since I'd spent almost all day proctoring, so the packing didn't go as fast as it should've either.

I went up stairs to find a note from Kim that began, "Now don't be too creeped out..." which made me think she'd been doing something horrible to my room, but it seems she'd just wanted to borrow my TV so she could watch it while packing. It was amusing, and after all, what else are suitemates for? I don't even know why I have that TV, as Jessica seemed to be the only one who watched it.

Kim gave me some Shakespeare's pizza from dinner and I commenced cramming my life of the past nine months into boxes. Finally, around midnight, everything that needed to be put in storage was in some sort of a box. So, then Kim  and Maxine set off to try and find me a laundry cart, only to realize that they lock the laundry carts up at night. Fools! Some people enjoy moving at odd hours of the night! Anyway, someone came up with the idea of holding an elevator while the rest of us hauled my stuff into an elevator and then taking the whole kit and caboodle downstairs and then relaying it all into Allison's car. Surprisingly, all of my stuff (read: all of my books) fit into Allison's car and we made it to the storage place, coerced the lock open, verified there were no dead bodies or homeless men inside the very dark storage space and unloaded all my stuff.

We were almost done unloading stuff when Allison said, "Oh, that box in the bag is yours, too." At this point, I was racking my brain to figure out what she was talking about, because I didn't pack a box in a bag. Then finally, I looked at it, and it was a coffee pot. Mwah! Caffeine injections whenever I want, even when Barry's not around! Joy!

Anyway, we headed back to Twain and I crashed asleep on Allison's futon since I'd just put all my bedding in storage.

Friday morning, Allison had to get up early to work the desk, and I headed back to my room which looked like it had been hit by a tornado. I decided an extra half-hour to nap before I had to go proctor, so I crawled on a bed and used my bear as a pillow and fell asleep. About ten minutes before I had to leave to proctor, Kim and Maxine knocked on my door, so I flew out of bed, got dressed and raced downstairs, sadly just a few minutes too late to say good-bye to Maxine.

Then I proctored, somehow crammed all my remaining items into two suitcases, cleaned my room, said good-by to Olivia, missed Kim leaving, gave Rachel some boxes and said good-bye to her, sort of said good-bye to Allison, had Barry RICC me out, said good-bye to him, and then waited for MOX.
Now, this is when things got interesting, The MOX (the airport shuttle to St. Louis, for those of you who don't know) was heading along I-70 when we ran into some construction. We start to slow down, maybe a tad bit too fast, and have come to a stop, when the car behind us ran into us, hard enough to push us into the car in front of us, then that car behind him, ran into him. Luckily, no one seemed to have been hurt, though I'm pretty sure the car that hit us was totaled, since once corner of the hood was completely smashed in, and the trunk had crumpled. So, we sat on the side of I-70 for awhile, then the police had us drive to the Kingdom City McDonald's, where they wrote down all our addresses and about an hour or so later, we were on our way to the airport again. Since I had taken an ungodly early shuttle, I was plenty on time for my flight, and my trip home continued without incident.

So, I'm here, in one piece, still unpacked, and still unemployed.

The End of an Era (Sort of.)

So this is really it. I've pretty much made it through my freshman year of college, and relatively unscarred, at that. (That's a first.)

My roommate left at about three Tuesday, taking with her our rug, microwave, fridge, and lamp, and essentially most of the stuff in our room. It's almost too weird to look at this half-abandoned room and try and remember what it looked like once. Of course, the one advantage of Jessica being gone is that I can listen to music almost-as-loudly as I want while I get ready in the morning.

Of course, despite the fact that my roommate is gone, and Katie and Laura have both left, and Erika and Dave will be gone by this evening, I can't quite convince myself that my freshman year of college is almost at it's end. It went by so fast.

I know that at this point, I'm supposed to talk about how I've grown and changed over the course of this year, but the truth of the matter is that I haven't grown much, but it was a nice chance to reflect on how much growing I've done in the past three years. I made it through the year with few notable break downs and with good grades almost in spite of myself. While maybe this doesn't seem remarkable, in a way it kind of is.

Sure, I still miss my band kids, but the thing that amazes me the most about this year is that while maybe I kept quiet about some things, I'm no longer trying to shove myself into categories I don't fit in. I don't try to be perfect when I'm not. I don't try to pretend to care about things when I don't. (I still don't understand Cosmo and I still don't understand why anyone can actually enjoy shopping for clothes, and I really don't care about my grades that much.) That, I suppose, means I've done a little bit of growing up. But still, I wouldn't go so far as to use some cliché phrase like "I've come into my own, " to describe any of this, because It's just not that big of a deal.

Now, as soon as I'm done proctoring tests for what is simultaneously too much and too little pay, (That's right, I'm getting paid five dollars to sit here and type this will someone else is suffering through a final.) and I've finished stuffing my ridiculous number of books into rubbermaid bins, I get to get on a plane, fly back to my Rockies and commence a desperate job search for a well paying job that is anywhere but Casa Bonita.

Still, I can't really think about all that. I can't imagine being home for three months. I can't imagine how different next year is going to be. I'm just unconvinced that this is really the end of the year. I'm no longer a freshman. This is no longer new. This is life for the next three to four years.

"Keeping weird hours"

This has been a weekend of madness.

After the excitement of the fire alarms, I stumbled out of bed at about one in the afternoon. Then Barry knocked on our door and we started discussing the fire alarms, and somehow pretty much everyone ended up in our room. Then Barry decided he wanted to go to Hitt Street to get food, and I persuaded him to wait until dinner when we were all planning to go cash in our Subway stamps before they expired today. So instead he convinced me to go downstairs in my pajamas to get Express.

This would've been okay had we actually just gotten Express. Instead, we somehow ended up outside at the JMC barbecue, which I was not thrilled about. Then, while talking to Rob (who was also in his pajamas, so I didn't feel quite so bizarre)  he decided that he needed to introduce me to some Hall Coordinators while I was in my pajamas. That's exactly the sort of first impression I'm always hoping to make.

After the JMC pajama barbecue, Allison drove Maxine and I to the Columbia Wal-Mart. Apparently, the pastime of most of Columbia is to head to Wal-Mart on Saturdays, because it was ridiculously crowded. Also, I don't understand people who purchase groceries at Wal-Mart. Columbia has at least one grocery store, but still, I saw people who were clearly buying all of their groceries at Wal-Mart. Somehow, this just doesn't make sense to me, and I was greatly relieved to escape that zoo mostly unscathed.

That evening we all headed to Subway, got our sandwiches and pushed two table together in the lounge so we could all eat together, much I think to the confusion of the rest of our floor. Then we ended up in the suitemates room and watched The Shawshank Redemption, which is a superb movie. I'd simply never seen it since the year it came out, we determined we were probably all more preoccupied with the release of The Lion King. The score was also done by Thomas Newman, and I adore his movie scores, and I was sorely disappointed to find out that Hans Zimmer beat him out for the Oscar that year with The Lion King score, but I suppose I understand.

Then we decided to head off the Steak 'n' Shake where we proceeded to be ridiculous. Somehow we kept offering a dollar to various people to do weird things, ended up talking to the waiter about how water was "on tap," and despite all of us being perfectly sober, generally acting ridiculous hyper and drunk.

Then, somehow, we decided we should play what Olivia christened, "Hide and Go Park," which involved one car "hiding" somewhere and then calling the other car to give a clue. The other car then has five minutes to find them, or they can call and ask for another clue. It was good find, though the other cars clues were wholly unfair. Telling us things like "Aardvarks and Flamingos" and then hiding at a Ronald McDonald house that none of us knew existed. However, it was still fun, and I saw parts of Columbia I've never seen before.

I also discovered that apparently there is some sort of a "park" wedged between the dirty diner, the power plant, and providence, and I decided that this most definitely needs to be investigated in the future.

Just how drunk do you have to be to hit a fire-truck?

So, the Mark Twain crew headed out to see Spanglish last night.  I kind of wanted to see the movie when it came out, but I think it got mixed reviews, or I was here, which means I never see movies within a normal time frame. However, I'm glad I went to see it, because I thought it was a super enjoyable movie. Not a great movie by critical standards, but I really liked it anyway. I think I've also become endeared to anything that lets me put some of my Spanish knowledge to use. It's a challenge to try and understand it all, and I like that.

After Spanglish and some Coldstone ice cream, we all came back to Twain, went elevator fishing, an invented distraction that involves trapping all the elevators on the seventh floor, leaving the rest of the building unknowingly stranded. Of course, we do catch and release, so it's only a brief, probably unnoticed convenience.  Then we started a pick-up game of psuedo-soccer in front of the elevators using the beach balls from RHA's random week that Dave had just retrieved. Despite an early lead, Olivia and I lost miserably.

We headed down to Erika and Olvia's room and hung out there and just chatted for awhile. Then, invariably, everyone else got tired before I did, so we headed up to the seventh floor. Then I ended up in Allison's room watching the end of some bizarre movie with Julia Roberts and Mel Gibson that turned out to be called Conspiracy Theory, a clearly original title. Despite being a wonderful sub-par movie, its one shining moment was when a heavily drugged Mel Gibson said to Julia Roberts, "I'm sorry you're dead," which Allison and I found ridiculously hilarious.

Then the night got interesting. At about three in the morning, just as I was climbing into bed, I heard this loud buzzing noise that sounded faintly of the fire alarm. Fearing it was the fire alarm, I got out of bed to inspect. Later, I realized it was the fire alarm going off on another floor, since the alarms in the building are staggered. However, instead of being smart like Mole who heard the alarm, went back to his room, got dressed, got his glasses, a coat and gloves before the alarm went off on our floor, I just kind of stood there hoping it would go away. It didn't. So we all traipsed outside, into the cold, past the third floor that smelled distinctly of the burnt popcorn that had clearly set off the alarm to stand in the cold for twenty or so minutes, before the fire department gave the all clear. We came back in, and went to bed, slightly annoyed.

Then at approximately a quarter to five in the morning, the fire alarm went off again. This time, since I'd actually been asleep, I was mildly pissed. Then the alarm stopped for a few moments, and there was hope. However, it started to go off again, so I crawled out of bed, had a brief moment of clarity in which I remembered to grab a blanket and then continued, down the eight flights of stairs to go stand in the cold again.

Jessica, Allison, and I happened to be standing on the street, watching the first fire truck approached, when Allison posed the question, "I wonder, do fire-trucks have to stop at the stop sign?" So the three of us watched the fire-truck approach the stop sign, stop at the stop sign, and begin again when all of a sudden, this white car comes barreling out of nowhere and hits the side of the fire-truck. The sound of the impact was an almost jarringly loud smack, and it was one of those things that was just near impossible to believe. Honestly, how do you drive into the side of a fire truck, especially one that has it's lights and sirens on?

So the staff herded us into the parking garage, set us down and Tasha, one of the staff members proceeded to lecture us on how whoever pulled the fire alarm was a dumbass, essentially, and the whole situation was very not funny. Preceding the whole mostly pointless lecture by, "Now, I know most of you didn't do this..."

The details of the situation that came to light in the morning were that the girl was drunk (I'd assumed this. I don't know how else you drive into a fire truck.), did apparently try to stop, though I saw no evidence of this during the occurrences, broke the axle on her car, and damaged the fire truck badly enough that it had to be towed. There is also a rumor floating around that someone knows her and that this is about this fifth car she's totaled.

In all, it was a weird, somewhat disturbing, annoying, frustrating, but by now, ultimately bemusing night.

Questing for Soup and Popsicles

Number of classes attended so far this week: Three

Number of popsicles eaten: One

Number of meals wasted on obtaining essentially a bowl of soup: Approximately four

Number of interviews: Two

I'm tired, and though that may come as a surprise to any of you who realize I've spent most of this week sleeping, it's quite true. I got out of bed at nine-thirty today to shower and go to American Government, despite the fact I woke up with my throat on fire and feeling generally crappy.

Jessica asked if I had dragged myself out of bed just to go to Government, a class I'm no longer technically responsible for, and then pointed out there's really no reason I should be going. I'd figured I would feel better after a shower and continued to get ready.

In reality, I felt worse after my shower and have only just now finally dragged myself out of bed. Screw you pollen, or bacteria, or whatever is causing the pain in my head right now.

Despite my bodies constant immune system attacks, I've made it through two interviews this week. One was for a Desk Attendant job at Mark Twain and the other for Forum Editor at the Maneater. I'm supposed to know about the editor position by tomorrow, but the waiting for both is causing me an undue amount of anxiety. I just want to know whether I got the jobs or not. I'm not particularly attached to either one, though having a DA job would be super convenient, but I definitely need some sort of job next semester. Especially since I think it's quite possible I may end up in a lower-paying retail job this summer. And I plan on blowing a few hundred dollars to go to Boston.

I really don't care for being sick while stuck in the dorms. When I was sick at home I would stay in my pajamas all day, not shower, and watch lots of mediocre cable. However, even if I stay in the dorms all day, I have to face about fifty people just to get a bowl of soup from the dining hall. So, I have to shower, get dressed, and look somewhat presentable just to suffer through a bowl of soup, when really I just want to lounge around and be generally miserable.

However, there is only one more day of this weird too much to do, too sore throat, odd week.

And then, if you can believe it, only three more weeks of my freshman year of college.

So, you want to read good news?

Welcome to the first Saturday night of consequence in a long time.

I went to see Something Corporate play at the Blue Note last night. The opening bands were hopelessly sub-par in my opinion, but I've learned to expect this. The Blue Note is a pretty decent venue for being stuck in the middle of Columbia, MO. Also where we ended up standing was nice. We were right up against the middle barrier, which meant I could actually see over the top of everyone's head.

The concert itself was highly enjoyable. Their lead singer was just crazy, running around the stage most of the time, jumping on the piano. They definitely had some good energy. Also, they played most of my favorite songs, and played Konstantine and Punk Rock Princess, my two favorites, back to back.

Of course, as much fun as I had at the concert, my roommate totally topped my experience by getting to hang out with them on the bus afterwards. She even shared a beer with them. I'm so jealous.

However, as a consequence of standing on my feet for five hours straight, I have somehow fucked up my right knee. I've been downing Advil, but it just won't stop aching.

Oh well, Something Corporate was definitely worth it, and that was definitely the best Saturday night I've had in ages. I think in, in the future, I may make a point to attend a lot more concerts here, because they're definitely worth the money.

The night was completed by a hilarious encounter in the elevator on the way to Taco Bell, when someone got on at the fourth floor. Somewhat unintentionally, I groaned, "Fourth floor?!" as the doors opened, since I possess a certain disdain for anyone who lives below the fifth floor who takes the elevator. But what was worse was that this particular character was taking the elevator ONE FLOOR!  This caused the roommate to chastise our unwelcome elevator rider and the tell him to "Get off my elevator!" when he got to his destination, causing Laura and I to disintegrate into laughter. Perhaps it was slightly mean and uncalled for, but if you lived on the seventh floor, you'd understand.

Spring Fever

Well, this week has been weird.

I spent most of Sunday helping Barry to design a website for Mark Twain's learning communities, and ultimately that project has started to take over my life. Then that night, my sister called and I found out that my parents were in a car accident. Though neither of them were severely hurt, my dad dislocated his elbow and they believe the car is probably totaled. Furthermore, the accident was my Dad's fault which means it's going to be expensive for us. Which also means that for awhile, we're only going to have one car, which means I really hope I can get a job in the commons or Belmar this summer, since only having one car is going to be ridiculous.

Anyway, in other news, I have lost my motivation to do anything. I didn't even go to classes today or get out of bed before two. It's spring and I just feel so scattered. My reading gets half done if I do it at all and I haven't been studying for tests and I just want to get out of here already.

Of course, at the same time, I'm really wondering what this summer is going to be like. It's going to be weird to be away from Columbia and my friends here for three months, but at the same time it may be weird just to be around people at home for three months. All of that may not matter anyway, as I plan on working myself to death at some restaurant so I don't have to play the "it's the end of the year and there's hardly any money in even my savings account" game.

And that, my friends, is how life's been going.

My Departed Fish and the Pope

In what I believe to be a calculated effort to spite the pope, Hephaestus died last night.

In a lot of ways I wouldn't expect this to be so upsetting, since my roommate and I have been expecting Hephaestus to be belly up since about the second day we had him, but because he had an amazing ability to play dead, I don't think I ever actually expected him to die.

What's worse is I'm pretty sure I watched him die, since he appeared to be seizing and turning colors before he settled on the bottom of the bowl for good.

Well, I guess there goes Beta #1.

For those of you who didn't know Hephaestus, you may now resume your mourning of John Paul II, who, I hear, made a pretty good pope.

Pope Deathwatch 2005

Thank god for the weekend.

Well, in case you missed it, Spring Break is over, it's now April, and I have survived the first week back at school.

I had a statistics test today, and I think I learned more in the three hours of reviews I attended this week than in the ten or so hours of class I've attended since the last test. Which is really making me tempted to just not go to class and only attend the reviews, but I'm just not that capable of taking those sort of risks.

In other news, I spent this afternoon watching CNN with Katie, my token Catholic devotee, waiting for the pope to die. Speaking of the pope's death, I quite coincidentally sat down to lunch today with my copy of America's Best Nonrequired Reading 2004 today, and happened to start a story by Christopher Buckley called "We Have a Pope!" which is, curiously, about the pope dying and some rich billionaire paying a PR guy to try and get an American pope elected. Coincidence? I think not.

My motivation for the rest of the semester is pretty much gone, but I still have five weeks of classes to survive. Also, most of my money is quickly dwindling away, and I'm going to need a job about the second my plane lands in Lakewood at the end of the semester.

That saying: "You can never come home again." Well...

Every time I come home it takes a few hours before I acclimate to being here and remember why it is that I keep spending ridiculous amounts of money for the privilege of staying here for a few days.

Mostly, it's because the first few hours are spent lying in my bed staring at the ceiling wondering what I'm going to do for the next week.

Somehow I survived my trip across Kansas with someone else's family. It's always weird to be thrown into a situation where you are the odd one out in what is a typical, familial situation. However, the whole situation was not nearly as painful as I feared it might have been.

Darcie spent the night Saturday and I ended up picking a fight and getting upset with her because this seems to be the only interaction I am capable of with her, lately.

I was annoyed when she left Sunday morning and I wanted some sort of distraction, so I called Drew and she came over. We watched some Sex and the City and played The Sims 2: University for awhile before we both declared that the game was torturously boring. Then we watched a Rainbow Brite movie and just laughed at its ridiculous eighties character. By then she was feeling sick, so she went home and I went back to being agonizingly bored.

I decided to take advantage of my digital cable, so I watched Supersize Me! and Clerks. My mommy made me enchiladas for dinner, which I was terribly excited about since I don't get anything approaching edible mexican anywhere in Missouri. The whole state seems to have never been exposed to decent Mexican food.

After dinner, something was happening with our plumbing and my parents began screaming at each other about it. At this point, I was not only bored out of my mind, but annoyed because nothing in this family ever changes and it felt just too much like I was living her again, rather than just visiting, so I made the executive decision to go upstairs, hide, and start reading The Book of Illusions by Paul Auster. At some point I fell asleep and I woke up at three in the morning sprawled sideways across my bed, still in my hoodie.

But, today, today was the sort of day that is worth coming home for. I woke up at about eleven when Darcie called me. I got up, asked my mom to drive me over to her house, took a shower there since our plumbing had yet to be fixed. I didn't really care to be there, but I really needed a shower. I came downstairs and Darcie was ranting about being bored, so we called Ryan, and the three of us went downtown to Paris on the Platte. We ordered drinks, Ryan bought some cloves, and we just sat around and talked for a couple of hours. Afterwards, we went on a brief walk across the Platte to see this old sun dial Ryan had been talking about. However, there were a bunch of shady characters sitting around it, so we only stayed long enough to roll down the steep grassy hill next to it like we were children.

Afterwards, we were vaguely attempting to find the Tattered Cover in the 16th Street Mall, but I really had no idea where it was on 16th Street, so we ended up going to the Barnes and Noble on 16th Street, instead. Oh how I've missed bookstores! It was jsut as well that we ended up at the Barnes and Noble, since I had gift cards there. I bought The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime  by Mark Haddon and Rising Up and Rising Down by William T. Vollman.

The icing on today was that I finally got my Splender CD back from Darcie, which I am now playing loudly in my room. A room to myself, downtown Denver, books, coffee, loud music, and my wonderful, unusual friends.

Yeah, this is why I keep coming home.

How They Got My Roommate: A Cautionary Tale

Dear weblog readers, I feel it is time I share with you a story. It's a story full of intrigue, secret societies, lies, and scandal. It's the story of how my roommate sold her soul to an organization I now believe to be a sinister cult: Phi Sigma Pi.

It seemed innocent at first. There were the letters in the mailboxes we all received. There was rushing and some roller skating. She was accepted and they brought her some candy. They didn't even feel the need to mark our door with their greek letters. (Actually, I'm pretty sure they ran out of signs, but that's clearly beside the point.)

Then things started to take a turn for the worse. Alison, who also sold her soul to PSP, was no longer able to accompany me to Ballroom Dance Club. There was the wearing of the "pins," leaving my poor friends forced to brand themselves with PSP letters, something that some could find a creepy parallel to in Hawthorne's The Scarlet Letter.

Then there were the nights when Jessica would return to tell me stories about being led blindly through twisting, narrow stairways in the darkness of night. This sort of behavior progressed into bizarre rituals involving a garden gnome. (I present Exhibit A, Exhibit B, and Exhibit C.)

I was concerned for my roommate, but up until this point I had believed the lies Phi Sigma Pi told her. It was an honors fraternity. They are concerned with service and brotherhood and the occasional healthy alcohol binge. Sure, there were the mandatory study hours where my roommate found herself being required to pour over her books until her eyes were dry and bloodshot, but it was all in the name of scholarship!

And then the wool was lifted from my eyes and I saw the truth:
I was sitting in my room the other afternoon, when my roommate began to play what at first sounded like the theme song to Mickey Mouse Club, so I turned to ask her what she was listening to and she told me it was a Phi Sigma Pi song.  I knew at this point that my roommate as I knew her was gone to me and would never return, but I couldn't yet let her know, for at this point she was too blinded by the haze of the secret society.  To let her think I didn't know, I laughed at her and went back to my work. She then proceeded to play a second Phi Sigma Pi song, and I knew then that it was too late for my roommate.

The song was vaguely reminiscent of a praise song and included phrases that, roughly translated from the music, end up meaning, "I pledge to you, mephistopheles, my life, in service of my brothers..." or something like that.

Hopefully, this truly is a modern Faust tale and my roommate will overcome and survive the ways of Mephistopheles' secret society, but I give you this tale in warning, so that perhaps some reader may be able to save their roommate from a similar fate.

Pretentious Personages Anonymous

In retrospect, today was a really good day for me, simply because of some small moments that made me smile.

We went to Shakespeare's for Pizza instead of eating dinner downstairs, which was different and a little fun, but not as exciting as I might have expected it to be. We walked past the little independent bookstore downtown and I temporarily suffered mild withdrawal symptoms, as it has been a long time since I have purchased a book. It's been about three months, in fact, which if you know me at all, is profoundly ridiculous, but I think I may cave when I go home, anyway.

We came back, and I had only been back just long enough to start some laundry when Barry came into our room and whispered, "Coffee..." into my ear, since technically a few of the residents of the floor have decided that I turn into some sort of raging caffeine beast when I drink coffee, which, I would like to point out, is unsubstantiated gossip. So, I went down the hall to his room to drink some coffee and hang out with him and Rachel, which was a good time as always. Though, out of a reaction to some comments Dave has made recently, I asked them if they thought I was pretentious, and Rachel found a pretentious quiz, which affirmed, that, yes, I am pretentious.

I suppose these things happen.

Anyway, we went to Hitt Street surprisingly early, and then came back, hung out for awhile, and then finally Rachel decided she needed to go print things off and her and Barry went downstairs, while I decided to stay behind and read. Somewhere during this it occurred to me that I definitely feel more comfortable in Barry's room than I do in my own, though I couldn't really tell you why. But, for some reason, I just don't want to do much of anything in my own room. I don't feel comfortable reading, studying, or watching television. Which can't really be surprising as I've started to spend so little time in my room, anyway. I honestly think there is some weird Feng Shui in our arrangement that just makes me not want to be in my room.

After Rachel left, Barry and I somehow started talking about religion, as we quite often do and we came to this very interesting point where we were both trying to discuss our concepts of fate and were basically, with slight differences, explaining the exact same idea of the way fate works, which just amazed me. I am constantly impressed by the fact that people can come from completely different backgrounds, like Barry and I, and still essentially end up in the same place.

Finally, Katie came looking for me and insisted that we go to Hitt Street, regardless of the fact that I had already been that night. Despite the absurdness of going twice in one night, I caved and went with her anyway, and, as usual, we discussed life the universe and everything.

I think I've just let go of some things this week and it's nice. I realized that maybe a lot of things aren't living up to my expectations, but I'm doing okay. I have my friends, and even the ones that I sometimes fall into conflict with for one reason or another, are still important in there own way. Sometimes I can't tell if everything is okay, or if I'm settling for an inferior situation, but tonight was definitely one of those nights when I could just let everything go and stop trying so hard to hang on.

What She Meant Then

Sometimes the weeks just weigh more than they should.

So, I've survived midterms and I think my grades will survive them as well. Though, sometimes I can't tell whether I'm moving forward or backwards here. I'm getting back to usual, though. I've signed myself up for eighteen hours next semester, but that seems better. I know that there are weeks like this when the stress builds up in my back and I just don't feel like doing anything, but they come no matter what I do, so I might as well do something worthwhile with myself.

Also, I've made a plan that enables me to graduate in four years with a degree in Journalism, a degree in Political Science, and a minor in Spanish. Is this what I want to do with my life? I don't know. I like looking at the names of my upper-level journalism classes, though. Intermediate Writing. Advanced Writing. Editorial Writing. Those sound more like me.

I feel like I'm approaching a point in my life when it will be necessary to start letting go of my dreams and I'm terrified of that point. Or maybe I'm already there. After all, this isn't NYU, and this isn't Northwestern. Maybe we start to let go of our dreams at an age that is too young for me to think about.

One more week and then home. Mountains, coffee, restaurants, bookstores, and a chance for relaxation.

It's still home for now.

Sunday Afternoon Malaise

There are just some days when I am an irrationally rage-filled person and I think this is one of those days.

I woke up early and went to the Unitarian Universalist church in Columbia with Erika, today. It was so nice to go to church and to have that sense of tradition and familiarity, because even though this church is so far away from every other church I've been to, there's just that je ne sais quoi that Unitarian churches have for me. They're my homes away from the world, in a way. That place I can go to get away from all the pettiness of the rest of my life.

Since it was the first Sunday of the month there was a potluck lunch, which was even more amazing than potlucks usually are, since we never get to eat home-cooked food. We went and toured the building a little, and while the building is much bigger than any of the churches I've gone to, it seems like the congregation is small enough that I wouldn't feel too lost. Also, I was asking the woman who gave us a ride home if they did some of the more pagan aspect of things and she gave me the impression that they are more traditional, which makes it seem more like the traditional church I grew up with in New Orleans, which might be a break from the slight new-age feeling that my church at home can have sometimes.

Still, in spite of how much I liked going to church, I was just still angry. Angry about all the little stupid things that build up in relationships with people. I sent Barry a whiney IM and went to talk to him for a while and just kind of talked myself in circles all afternoon, which seems to be all I do lately. I wander from topic to topic and I can't focus on any one thing and I seem to lose all my points in the details.

I just never feel fulfilled. There's just always this tiny, little, seemingly inconsequential thing missing from my relationships here that sends me into these tailspins. Then I drag unassuming people into them and feel guilty afterwards.

I want something substantial and real. But I guess that's like searching for the needle in the haystack...

The Disappearing Class Trick

Oh, Caffeine, what a torrid relationship we have. I love you, but you, dear caffeine, I suspect are to blame for many of my erratic sleeping habits.

So after drinking three cups of coffee tonight while investigating the history of soft drinks, I finally persuaded Katie to humor my caffeinated stupor and she accompanied me to Hitt Street where we ran into Claire. We talked for ten or fifteen minutes, while Katie stood there, probably wondering who the fuck this girl was, but all is good when the caffeine is flowing. Anyway, we got our junk food and headed back to my room for one of our typical conversations about anything and everything.

Anyway at some point we were discussing incomes and money and Katie hit on a very potent point: Pretty much all of the J-scholars are ridiculously privileged. She cited for example the brand new shiny Apple laptops we all carry around with us. Though technically a soon-to-be-effective J-school requirement, each one of them represents a heavy investment.

Of course, I don't think very many of us often think of ourselves as privileged. Sometimes I personally feel intimidated because everyone else around me seems to have so much stuff. After all, my entire wardrobe can fit into three drawers and maybe a quarter of my closet, while everyone else seems to be pushing their closet space to the limit.

But thinking about it, it may not be so much that I am on a different economic level, but that for me, I would rather buy books before I'd ever think about buying clothing. Regardless, the more I consider the fact, the more it's become clear to me, that in some sense of the word I am privileged and a little bit spoiled.

What I find most curious about this is the fact that I always have and probably always will consider myself middle class, as is common of Americans. But, while I think it would be a stretch to define my socio-economic stretch as upper-class (okay a very very long stretch), it seems to me that a whole range of incomes get lumped under the term middle class.

And what I think this all boils down is to an American denial of having a class system. For some reason, maybe because so many of us are so very privileged, at least on some level, we just can't admit that not everyone is operating from the some socio-economic status.

My point, in all this musing about class, is that I think I take a lot of things for granted. To a degree, I think that's an inevitability of human nature in itself, but I'm incredibly blessed. My family is well enough off to pay for this laptop, to send me to a not-exactly-cheap out-of-state school and to furnish me with an absolutely excessive collection of books.

I think I get so wrapped in our capitalistic culture of wanting, and needing, and buying and consuming that I seem to forget that I am doing pretty well already. I think, juest every now and then, I need the reality check, because really, my life is a good one to have.

Me duele en cabeza

Well that was fun.

I'd had a fairly severe headache most of yesterday and I was feeling just so out of it, but truthfully I didn't think much of the situation. Well, I didn't think much of the situation until about four when my head really started to throb. Then I climbed into bed and tried to watch the first season of Arrested Development, but the sounds and the lights were just too much, so I turned off all the lights and just lied in bed, hoping for the horrible pain in my head to subside.

Of course, by now nausea had kicked into full-gear and the light in Kim's head went of" Migraine. And the nausea, vomiting, and sensitivities to all six senses that seem to come with migraines. Fucking wonderful.

So, I spent the rest of the night lying in bed. Periodically thrashing and crying because my head had never hurt so much.

It's hard to be sick when you're alone, in a dorm and you just want someone to take care of you. You want your Mother or someone to be there to just hold you while you regress to elementary school tears.

Also, somewhere in the middle of this Migraine haze I think I yelled at most of my friends for talking, or maybe even breathing too loudly. If you were the unwitting victim of this outburst, I apologize.

Furthermore, I think I may have scared my roommate away from our room. But, really, it's okay now. The wrath of the uber-groggy monster has subsided.

Anyway, for the most part, I feel much better now. I just have the little bits of a headache left, but you know, I don't want to scream every-time the refrigerator clicks on, so that must be a good sign.

Flaming Chalice? Not so much.

Sometimes I think I forget just how different Columbia, MO is from Lakewood. Maybe it's not the places themselves, entirely, but just the difference in the make-up of people. Maybe I put more effort into finding similar-minded people at home. Maybe here I'm just too grateful to have anyone I have something in common with around, even if we can see things so differently.

It just struck me last night, how placid I've become about faith and politics. I don't wield either as much of a weapon anymore, but as something I know and I'm semi-reluctant to share. See, Katie and I decided we wanted to go to Hitt Street, as usual, but we've become spoiled, so we went to see if Barry would drive us there.

Of course, he was wrapped up in his new computer game of choice, so we had to beg a little. We used the, "But, Barry, you wouldn't want to make us walk across campus, in the dark, alone at night" excuse, and then Katie bursts out with, "What Would Jesus Do?" I was caught completely off-guard, because in my mind, some things are just better left untouched. Regardless, finally, Barry agrees to drive us, but for some reason, no one quite drops the WWJD, thing, which I had tried to deflect into some historical inaccuracy.

So, we get to Hitt Street and we're walking through some twisty back hall of the Pershing Area commons and I have no idea where were going, and, to tell me to keep going straight, Barry says something along the lines of, "Be straight, not gay," and in response I just kind of give him this look which I hope to mean, "You're not being very funny." Then Rachel says something about that not being tolerant, and Katie, because I'm now convinced she has a death wish, says, "Yeah, what would jesus do?" Barry starts to say something, but I, in mortal fear have reached my limit of sensitive topics and proclaim that we are done with talking about what jesus would do and we're going to talk about something else.

But truthfully, the extreme non-confrontation about religion is something entirely new for me. I used to be the feisty one who would just not let sleeping dogs lie, but now for some reason I'd just rather not talk about it. Even that night, when I was talking to Barry and Delmar kind of cornered me about creationism, I didn't even try to argue. I remember just thinking that I wanted the whole conversation to be over.

It seems backwards, because I love talking about religion. I love discussing it and poking at its intricacies and reading about it. I seriously considered being a UU minister at some point, but here I just want to stand to the side. Maybe I just sense that people are too emotionally involved here, or that I am too drastically outnumbered to pick any real fights with anyone, but sometimes I wonder if maybe I'm not losing bits of my faith and myself because I am so quiet.

If I'm being silent, am I really just being a traitor to my faith? Or have I just learned to be more tolerant? I can't tell the difference.

Welcome to the Party

I think I'm inept at being there for people when they need me. It's not that I don't try; I do. It just seems that I never know what to say and I never know how to comfort them. I'm not even very good at hugs. Physical contact has always been a grey area for me.

This weekend feels like a bad dream. Saturday, Katie dragged me out of bed to go Downtown to rent a movie for her Spanish class. It was a Sex and the City free weekend and at some point that evening we ended up hanging out in Erika and Olivia's room. We watched Return to Me and part of Ray before deciding to go the Music Cafe to hear some band that was playing. Without me actually agreeing to go at all, I ended up in a skirt that wasn't mine and wearing heels because they were the only shoes I could wear without socks.

The Music Cafe was interesting. I couldn't lose myself in music in the ways I usually can, mostly because the bands were pretty subpar, but it was an enjoyable enough time. We almost convinced Dave to go buy a drink because the X's on his hands indicating his minor status had worn off, but as usual, he was being all talk and no action.

Afterwards, Erika, Katie, and I decided we wanted to go to Steak and Shake, but we couldn't find anyone with a car who wanted to either loan it to us or drive us there. At some point we ended up on the 2nd floor hanging out with Frank and the various engineering boys of the 2nd floor. We were just about to go to Steak and Shake with Paul and his various acquaintance when Frank called Erika and told her that he was waiting outside if we wanted to come hang out at his place. So, we ended up going to Frank's house instead which I felt a bit guilty about.

Frank's involved sitting around watching Dodgeball and drinking. Drinking too much on a too empty stomach. I don't even think I had that much, but soon I was very drunk and a little bit later I was very sick. I don't remember a lot about the night. Just weird cut off moments that seem insignificant.

However, the next day, not only was I sick, but I was suffering from a severe case of drinker's remorse. I have ambivalent feelings about drinking in general, but that whole night seems so out of character and so me at the same time. The sheer randomness of the timing of everything and the excesses are so typically me. Regardless, I don't think I'll be drinking more anytime soon.

No, not right now. I have better things to do.

Burning the candle, when the wind allows

". . . and I shambled after as I've been doing all my life after people who interest me, because the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes 'Awww!'"
-Jack Kerouac, On the Road

My father once told me he thought I must be bipolar because one day I would be raving at the world and the next I would wrap myself in this cocoon of darkness and sullenness that no one could penetrate.

Sometimes, I think he must have been right about something. I exhaust the people around me, but I personally never tire. That night, when we drove to Laramie and I hadn't slept the night before, that night as the hours I'd been awake crept into thirty and past that towards forty, I remember lying in bed with energy, some energy coming from the fumes of calories, and still being ready for something to stimulate me.

Sleep never comes easily for me. One by one the people around me retire but I find myself with always something more to say. I always have another idea to explore and if you could just let me...if you could feel the way I sometimes burn inside...

Tonight, for example, the girls, and by the girls almost all of us: Katie, Jessica, Kim, Maxine, Erika, Olivia and I, went to see the Vagina Monologues that the Women's center was putting on. The performance was exhilarating and only rarely did I find myself getting lost in distraction or boredom. Never have I seen so much estrogen and energy stirring in a room, almost to the point where there was something electric, maybe at moments, but never quite that stirring.

Then afterwards, still running on the energy of words, I hung out with Barry and his friend Rachel from SMS. Drinking coffee and ruminating on the nature of music, the topics of nerds, and watching internet films embodying that nerdyness (Red vs. Blue, if you must know), I was having fun. Even with someone I had never met I felt a little bit of that old ease, but they had to sleep as they were going to St. Louis the next morning.

So I moved on the suitemates room where they were finishing the final moments of School of Rock. Afterwards, those of us with the touches of insomnia, being Erika, Katie, and I, headed to the dirty diner, which finally was open. I had some pancakes and then we moved on to indulging habits that shouldn't be indulged. We wandered around campus and I, being the night person I am, rambled about anything and everything, "let that which truly does not matter slide," and it was nice. It was the ease of just being and not having to do something that I spend so much time waiting for.

Finally, Katie reached her limit and retired and I headed to Erika and Olivia's room where I jsut went. Fueled by so many chemicals in my body, caffeine and the adrenaline of late night and others, I ranted and ranted about everything and my mind never stopped, never eased for a second, until I began to realize that maybe they were a bit tired and I decided to excuse myself.

But nights like tonight are the nights I wait for and cherish. I need nothing more than the raging river of thought to keep me content and satisfied. I don't want to get dressed up and go out. I want to sit down and tell you what I think about life, the universe, and everything. However, sometimes I catch on that I may be just so intense sometimes. I realize that when I get started I never even complete a thought because everything branches out into this vast experience of life and everything reminds me of something else. Connections are drawn in the air and I begin to run out of breath.

Still, I wonder if I will ever find the person who can keep up with me. I told Erika and Katie tonight that I am high-maintenance in the emotional sense. It's not so much that I need constant attention; I don't. It's more that I feel things so deeply that I will wear out most people's energy. Emotions run deep with in me and I recognize that for most people they stop somewhere, but I have yet to find the person that wears me out.

I can't remember the last time I went to bed because I was drained of energy, rather than just tired because I was bored. I can't remember the last time I was the one who wanted to leave, who wanted to go to sleep first.

Where are the people who let their minds run the way I let mine? Where are the people who cherish the intoxicating energy of the night and early morning? When will I find the one who can keep up with my frantic pace?

The ones who are mad, mad, mad...

Buying Playboy for the Articles Redeux

Sometimes I manage to be a good student and I get things done by a reasonable time of evening. Then there are the nights when it's 11:33 p.m. and I haven't started to write a humanities paper that's due in less than twelve hours. This is one of those nights.

Still, I'm not feeling the stirrings of motivation.

Last night, in honor of my receiving that wonderful package from Chuck, I decided I would make a pilgrimage to Hitt Street Market to obtain the March issue of Playboy which includes Chuck Palahniuk's short story "Punch Drunk."

Of course, Katie was the necessary Catholic accomplice and Barry served as transportation. (How many people can claim they've purchased porn in the presence of their CA?) I was hoping, since we went about midnight, that Hitt street would be relatively deserted. This was not so much the case. There were a good five or ten people milling around. I want to say that I was completely shameless about this endeavor, but the truth is I think I was blushing before we'd even gotten inside Hitt Street.

I procrastinated by milling around and looking at pastry items before I finally got up the nerve to approach the magazine rack and pick up the magazine, tastefully wrapped in shrink wrap. Of course, Barry and Katie at this point continued to wander around Hitt Street at this point, adding to my embarrassment.

Purchasing was relatively painless until the cashier asked if I would like a bag, to which I sheepishly replied, "Yes, please," which caused Barry and Katie to burst out laughing which made me that much more embarrassed.

For some reason, I can talk about the dirtiest things you can think of and not bat an eyelash but actually having to purchase pornography, even if it's only Playboy, just makes me blush.

Since the roommate was sleeping by this time, I went to Barry's room with Katie to devour the story, while ignoring the rest of the magazine. However, Katie, being the curious Catholic that she is, insisted on looking at the rest of the magazine. Then Barry wanted to see it, which made for an awkward moment or two, but this is the price I pay for appreciating Chuck's work.

The story was good, but not one of my favorites. It was worth the five dollars and the embarrassment, regardless.

Why I Love Chuck Palahniuk

What was a hard, somewhat lonely Valentine's day has turned into one of the best in my memory, though admittedly this all occurred somewhat after the fact.

At some point today, Jessica told me there was a package slip in our mailbox with my name on it. However, since I wasn't expecting a package, I was in no hurry to run down and pick it up, so I figured I would just get it on the way back from dinner.

So, I go to pick up Mystery Package X and Alison, who was working at the desk at time jokingly remarks, "It's from Chuck Palahniuk." Only, I look down to the return address label to see that it is from Chuck Palahniuk. Of course, Alison thought is was a joke, since I had kept the fact that I had written him a letter in November rather quiet, as I felt like somewhat of a nerd.

Anyway, I brought the package upstairs and opened it to find a box filled with tinsel and the following things:
2 Unusually Shaped Erasers
1 Bouncy Ball
2 Miniature Snickers
1 Mini Whitman's Sampler
1 Package of Relighting Birthday Candles
1 Rubber Duck
1 Set of Mini Valentine's Stamps
1 Fake Vomit Novelty
1 Yellow Lamb Puppet (My Power Lamb, as it were)

And the two most important items:
A copy of Fight Club inscribed: "Relax and let the Lamb and Stones work for you," with a signed packet of sunflower seeds and a temporary tattoo stuck inside.
A handmade necklace with various semi-precious stones, as well as beads spelling out "To Kim Adams From Chucky P."

All of this was accompanied by a personalized letter, which explained the various healing properties of the stone in the necklace and included some encouragement. At the bottom of the letter was written, "Happy Valentine's Day."

In all truthfulness, I nearly cried. I know this is what Chuck does for everyone who writes him (or in this case everyone who wrote him during the month of November), but it still means a lot to know that even though there are thousands upon thousands of people who read his books and probably hundreds who write him letters, he will still devote the time to show them that they are appreciated.

I mean, I remember the first time I really fell in love with a book was when I read On the Road by Jack Kerouac, because I felt so sad at the time and that book seemed to illustrate for me that the world could be just as sad for someone else, that I wasn't alone.

However, reading Chuck's books, I got the same feeling, that there was someone else out there who understood the way I felt about things, but the difference between Kerouac's books and Chuck's, the difference that made Chuck my favorite author, is the way his books feel like a conversation. His books feel like sitting down to your closest friends telling you a story. They have that sort of intimacy. It's Chuck's books I want to share with the world, because even though they have their nihilistic, apocalyptic, atheistic moments, they're actually quite cozy reads. The stories are insane, the character more so, but the sentiment, the sentiment feels like home.

I'm not going to worry about it anymore.

I don't usually have a problem with Valentine's Day. It's not my favorite holiday by any means, but it's always seemed like this holiday I would enjoy if I had the right person to share it with. I enjoy the cute things about it too, like giving valentines to your friends, but today I just couldn't take it. Today, I wanted to be home. I wanted my family and my dog. I wanted the friends I know I can count on, not the friends I think I can.

The thing is I don't trust easily and I never trust perfectly.

I'm so tired, I've been pushed too close to the brink all day and I just don't want to be this person. I don't want to be the grumpy single. I don't care. I decided a while ago that things will work out when there supposed to work out and that there is nothing wrong with being single now or for a long time to come.

"Good things come to those who wait."

Still, all I wanted today was a call from my parents or a card in the mail. Something to remind me that at least I'll have my family to get me through the lonely times. But I guess we were never a close family and I always pushed them away, so what can I be expecting?

So, I'll just wait, because that's what I'm good at it.

I suppose these things happen.

This has been a rather weird, wasted weekend.

Wasted, because I have been sleeping late into the afternoon for no apparent reason. Getting out of bed just doesn't seem worth it on these weekends.

Weird, because people are so complicated. I suppose we've gotten to that point in relationships that drama is inevitable, but I feel so unprepared.

Friday, we rented the rest of Season two of Sex and the City and proceeded to almost watch both disks in one sitting, but finally Kim and I protested, and you know when even I am tired of sex and the city, it's too much. Then I went and hung out with Erika and Olivia, which was fun and different. We made ridiculous e-vite invitations because we could.

Saturday we finished off the Sex and the City and then Erika and I took a trip to Wal-Mart in John Howe's car. I bought myself some food and we picked up the candy Maxine and Erika needed to finish their val-o-grams. We stopped by the new Macaroni Grill and were going to sit down and have some cheesecake and coffee, but at eight thirty at night the wait was still an hour and a half, so we decided to get our cheesecake to go. We came back and watched Fight Club because I had been craving the movie since brushing my teeth that morning and thinking, "I suppose these things happen." (I guess technically I had been brushing my teeth that afternoon.)

This semester seems so blah. I think, if possible, we've been staying in even more than we did last semester and, truthfully, there's hardly any work to keep me occupied. Not that I necessarily mind the lack of homework, but when time is strained it usually feels more valuable. And so it goes.

Laissez les bons temps rouler

I think this afternoon has reaffirmed my faith in Karma. Despite the utter tediousness and abounding annoyances of last week, I am feeling much better. I visited the only Starbucks in Columbia, called and found out that my precious laptop should be in my hands sometime tomorrow (hopefully with my hard-drive restored), got an A on my first Humanities paper and I bought a HyVee king cake, which would be the first real King Cake I've had since I moved from New Orleans six years ago. In other words, happiness is in plentiful supply and Karma is still in working order. In fact I've been so upbeat that I've been cha-chaing around the dorm, which according to Alison, looks something more like prancing, but at this moment few things are going to get me down.

Also, I did manage to briefly escape the dorm this weekend. Saturday night I went to a party with Paul. It was his friend Scott's birthday (or Scotti Gras, as it was so ingeniously called) and a fairly small gathering. There were only twenty or so people present at any one time, and of those people I had only met one before. However, Patrick was donning a stunning pair of pink heels, although a bit tipsy. I didn't end up drinking, because once faced with the option, I just didn't really care, but I had a good time and was grateful just to get out of the dorm.

I spent Sunday hanging out with Alison behind the desk working on our marathon Spanish workbook assignment before we headed off to a lightly attended meeting of Ballroom Dancing, as the Superbowl was also going on. However, dance class was the highlight of the week as usual and miraculously I actually ended up with someone not quite so tall. Then, you know, floor government meeting, communist revolution, two hours of the history channel, for a typical Sunday night.

______ is a four letter word.

This has been the longest week.

It's been one of those weeks where all these little things build and build upon themselves until you're driving yourself completely insane. For example, I still don't have a computer, I still haven't resolved what's resulted in a nervous breakdown, still haven't found a job, and to put the icing on the cake I've been practically abandoned to my own devices this weekend.

None of those things are even mildly worth being upset over, but the mass accumulation of all of these things has just set me on the edge. In fact, the only highlight of this week I can recall is when Katie and I made the executive decision not to go to J-1100 and instead decided to sit in Mark Twain, watch Garden State, and then proceed to Panera and buy a bunch of bagels. Well, the Spring-like weather was nice, too.

However, I'm ready to get my laptop back and I'm ready for this week, including this boring uneventful weekend to be over and done with. It's time for something a little less tedious than this.

On Accusations and Tells

Another day of too much coffee and too little sleep. I don't really remember what I did yesterday. We played some poker and watched some more Sex and the City. It seems that my time here has gotten very repetitive, but that's what happens I suppose. All I really remember about yesterday was the lucid dream I had last night full of furniture rearranging, too much furniture, accusations, and screamed cuss words. How's that