Monday, April 28, 2008

holy fuck-buckets, Batman!

So, the birthday weekend was speldiferous. Lots o' shots in a row, lots o' Sam Adams in a row. There was no row of vomit. Nope, not even a hang-over. Trust me, I don't know how I do it either. Thanks for the well wishes.

Last week went from Monday morning to Wednesday night in a blink of an eye as it always does, yet I am still amazed every week. But, the end of the semester is fast approaching and I have a lot to cram in, so, I had a plan of attack and a long list of things to check off in the next weeks. (wow, that was a run-on)

Which of course means I went out on Thursday (and probably a few other days last week, but the important day is Thursday.) Out with friends, pitchers of Sam Adams and lots of shots (notice a theme?) Most importantly I only had to split a pitcher the rest was free. Ah, thanks.

While out with the generous friends at the local college bar, we were listening to our favorite piano playing entertainer. Good friends, sharing laughs, comparing cleavage, and checking out the youngins. Each corresponding laugh, cleve, and oogle was followed by the aforementioned shots.

Finally, I need to take a pee break. In the one toilet bathroom, listening to the entertainment through the walls, when I hear Journey's "Don't Stop Believing" I straighten my posture on the pot in excitment aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand immediately throw my neck out.

That's right. Journey threw my neck out. Not a blowjob, boobage, great kiss, bump and grind involved. Although, I don't think pumping and grinding to Journey is possible. Sex, sure. Down and dirty sex, um, no.

So, out of the bathroom, walk to the table of friends, grasping the back of my neck, but I am determined to stay the night. A few more shots, (in the hopes it would lube me up into relaxation) my best gal tipping the beer up to my lips, aaaaaaaaaaaaand then me finally giving it up and going home.

Covering my neck and arms in the most lovely fragrant of Icy/Hot, taking some vicodin, and rolling the back massager all over my body. (It is a back massager, not a vibrator.) (although, let's be honest, it has worked wonders as both.) Around 3 a.m. suddenly becoming very tired (might have been the alcohol and vicodin. Didn't really think that one through. Or did I?)

Awoken at 10 a.m. by my best gal making sure I was still alive. I was. I was also in a hell-of-a-lot pain. And not from the alcohol.

Long story, long, I was out all weekend. No, I mean, out, as in, on the couch. No amount of Icy/Hot, alcohol, alcohol and vicodin, some pot that I found (old, but still pot) was able to help. Why is this a big deal? Cause this weekend was supposed to be uber productive. Productive in getting all papers finished this week so I could work on all internship requirements next week (finals week) so that if I have an adverse reaction to the yellow fever vaccine and the Hep A and Hep B vaccine, which I am having shot into my body the day after finals (and a night out with friends) it wouldn't matter.

Cause I leave for Brazil in less than five weeks (!!!!!!)

So, this weekend was to be all productive.

It wasn't.

Instead I learned that I can take vicodin and alcohol and feel really good, but not ease the pain, that I was frustrated by my lack of being able to do anything I needed to. (typing was not an option) (I even tried masturbating to ease the tension and pain.) (I was happy, but the neck wasn't.) However, today I managed to get up early and kick-out six pages of nothing but facts for this week's history paper. So, gold star for me.

On a completely unrelated note, Miley Cyrus's photo spread, why do we care; and if it effects her career, that's just sad. My god, sex sells everything and she is 15. I realize her career is for little girls, but again, she is 15 going on grown-up, did we think she was going to sing for Disney forever?

Okay, back to me: So, the point of this post is that, I can throw my neck out in a really sad and pathetic way, I drink a lot, I still like pot even though I haven't smoked in a really, really long time, I need to be less enthusiastic while taking a pee, and I leave for Brazil way too soon, but not soon enough, but too soon that I still have a crap load of things to accomplish. (Again, with the run-on.)


Eck!

Oh, and I was awarded a $500 scholarship for the summer, I made some money selling my jewelry at a fundraiser, but I am still in need of funds. C'mon stimulus check.

Thursday, April 17, 2008

inner dork: all things random about, me!

Not only is today Inner Dork, it's also my birthday, I know! How lucky am I? Huh? How? Oh, so, very, that's how.

Today I am 34. I can't believe it either. I am still so shiney and fabulous I just can't stand it.

So, in honor of inner dork and in honor of me, today will be all things random and having to do with, well, me.

I was born at 2:30 a.m. (I started out as a night owl and I have remained a night owl)

I was very sick as an infant. I spent many months in and out of the hospital. At one point, due to rheumatic fever, I believe, they did not think I would be able to see, walk, or talk. (Hmm, stupid white men in lab coats, what do they know, I showed them.)

I will take a brownie, just plain, no need to interfere with the chocolate, over sugar any day.

I don't really care for sweets. Or pop. Or anything sugary.

I will take a bagel over a brownie.

I believe cheese makes everything better and there can never be too much of it on anything.

I am currently reading "Where the Domino Fell" about the Vietnam war beginning in the 1800's to 1995. Interesting, but hard to follow. I need to have it read by 6pm tonight. I am on page 69. There are 286 pages.

I watched "Into the Wild" more than two weeks ago and I cannot get it out of my head. I tried to post about it, but it was all jumbled. (As opposed to what it normally is.)

I haven't been kissed since March 18th. (sad.)

I have a three day birthday bash planned for myself. Out tonight with several friends, party at my place on Friday, getting gussied-up on Saturday and my best gal and I are hitting the martini bar.

Since getting very sick after drinking several vodka cranberries, I can no longer even take a sip of my former favorite cocktail. I am on a hunt for a new beverage. I will take suggestions.

Jager is my favorite shot.

"The Great Gatsby" made me fall in love with literature.

"The Things They Carried" is one of my favorite books.

I have to fall asleep on my stomach. More precise: on my left side, on my stomach, right hand over my stomach,left arm under the pillow, left leg bent. (I know, I'm weird.) (I've woken up with a perfect hand-print on my stomach many, many times.) (And a few on my ass, but that's another story.)

I've been accepted to six colleges. Four state colleges, plus the Art Institute in Atlanta, GA and The Culinary Institute of America in Hyde Park, NY.

I have attended three colleges.

My favorite color is royal purple.

My middle name starts with "L"

If I suddenly came into enough money to pay off all of my student loans and credit cards, I would sell all of my belongings and travel the world.

So, actually, only about $100,000. (Enough to pay off my debt, and then some to live and travel on.)

I would love to be able to make enough money through writing, painting, and photography to be able to support myself.

I am constantly amazed by what can happen within a year.

Or for that matter a day.

Or an hour.

Hmmmmmmmmmmmm, okay, that's all the randomness I can handle on myself.

So, tell me something random about you.

Tuesday, April 15, 2008

it truly is the root of all evil

I am normally a tigger. Happy, see the bright side of life, bounce back and get on with it.

However, in the last few weeks I've been angry. Angry about money and all it entails. I haven't been angry about money, I've been angry at money. Now, does money care that I am angry with it? Doubtful. After all, it's not human, it has no soul, no emotions, no gut. Therefore, it's heartless.
Yep. I am angry at money. I hate it. I hate money.

Of course there's a reason.

Here's why.

No job this semester because I choose to focus on school and getting my GPA up. (You know, so as not to get kicked out) I've lived off loans and have been resourceful in terms of selling things on half.com to make some extra money.

This leads into Brazil. I've had to come up with my funds for the summer. Financial aid covered most of it, but not all of it. That's okay because I have been resourceful and it wouldn't be that much that I would have to come up with.

Taxes. After working six+ jobs in the past year, doing my taxes took all day, but I actually got a refund back from the fed, but owed state a nice chunk of change. Excellent. The funds from fed will pay state and that would leave me just over $600 for Brazil. Excellent.

Car. Of course since I paid my car off this past fall it has started to fall apart. New brakes, pads, routers (no idea how to spell that, I'm a girl, I know I look good in my car, that's about it.) $251.00.
Fine. Pissy about that, but fine.
Then I am driving along one day about a month later and I cannot get my car above 45mph and since I was in a 65mph zone, that was a bit scary. Oh look, smoke seems to be billowing from underneath my car. Is my car on fire?!?!?!? That can't be good.
$408.12 later, the piston on my brakes had locked up. I was essentially driving with my brakes on. They assured me it was not their fault...even though they had just replaced my brakes. Fine.
There went my tax return.
There went my funds for Brazil.

Time to look for a job. There is nothing out there for me since I can only work for about two months.
Fine.

A few weeks ago I received a letter from my alternative student loan company. Due to the economy they are going to change my rate from the COF to the LIBOR rate. No need to look anything up: the COF rate will go to, you have got to be sucking my ass, high. And the LIBOR is the London rate, which is apparently doing better than the USofA rate, but still isn't great and will be variable every three months.
Wow. Awesomeness.
Which awesomely suck-ass-bad rate should I choose? I juggled my tits, hoped for the best, and took the LIBOR rate.

Doctor bills. I do not have insurance. I haven't had insurance for over five years. I've learned to only go to the doctor if I am bleeding internally and screaming externally, which means I never go to the doctor except for my yearly gyn exam. March is my time for my exam.
$110.
Even if I had the student insurance it wouldn't be covered. Yeah. Since I am in the Public Policy major, I will be trying to do something about that, that's crap. STD testing isn't covered either. Hmmm, college campus+random sex+ experimental sex+ holy crap, I'm getting laid sex+ stupid college kids= a peetry dish of STD activity, yet it isn't covered. Yeah. I will be trying to change that as well.
Lab bill for my pap $90+ $110 for my yearly exam.
Fuckin' awesome.

Apartment leases and high rent rates.
A girlfriend and I were looking to move in with each other. Loved the first place we looked. Unfortunately, I didn't think about a deposit until we were standing in the driveway and the landlord was handing us the app. My half $325. Might as well be $325,000.
My friend offered to loan me my half and then I could just pay her when my lease is up. I couldn't do it. Borrowing and lending of the evil greenbacks, I learned long ago to just say no.
That, plus my lease is up July 31, I will be in Brazil until August 2nd. That and some autonomy issues that I thought I had gotten over, but, um, no. No, I haven't.
So.
I will be paying $20 more for my crappy apartment, which I hate, come August. Absolutely no idea why the rent went up.

Things for Brazil. I am super-uber excited to be going. Truly. A dream. My life's mission.
But, (oh, you knew there would be a but) for every step I take forward and cross off my list, there are 12.5 steps back and 8 more things to add to my list. I am not enjoying the process. One thing that is proving to be a nightmare: getting a visa and (okay, two things) trying to find housing. Good lord.

So. I leave in about 6 weeks and I am still desperately short on funds.
I am partaking in a fundraiser on Friday, please, oh, please let it be successful. I am selling some of my paintings and some of my jewelry (both that I made) (and I guess I should say, I hope to sell. Although, the other way has a more positive spin, so, I will stick with that one.) along with a donation box (or a tip jar, which one?) asking for donations.
I sent an email out to family and friends asking for funds; I got several who said they would send me money, but so far only two actually have. Awesome! Thanks family and friends.

And, of course there is more, but really, do you care?

So, right now I hate money. Hate it. I hate not having it. I hate worry about it. I hate stressing about it. I hate counting pennies and worrying and justifying and stressing over things I cannot control, which involve money. I hate that we have to have money to "survive." I hate that there are haves and have nots. Hate it. Hate it. Hate it.

I want the barter system back. Or to go back to salt being the king of monetary value. Although, I live in the Midwest, not a lot of salt, so I would still be poor.
How about ethanol? Okay, well, I have a boycott on ethanol.
Beads. yYeah, beads. After all, that's how we got Manhattan. Yep. Beads.

Sunday, April 13, 2008

issues

Issues. We've all got 'em. Whether it be in terms of relationships, food, water, germs, heights; people have issues. Some people have a few months worth and some people have a few years worth of issues, but still, we all have our things.

I've been pretty open about mine, but just a recap: relationships and in terms of walls, guards, expressing my emotions openly and making myself vulnerable. I'm not good at expressing my emotions about love, like, and affection. I'm not good at letting my guard down and it takes a lot to penetrate my walls.

Okay. So, no need to go into all of that. Nope, this is about how I thought I had gotten through some of my issues and how well, I really haven't been as successful as I thought.

So, there was Math Teacher (please note the past tense.) He was a good guy. I had a ridiculously good time with him. There were three really entertaining dates with great conversation and plenty of laughs. Those are all gold stars in my book. With Math Teacher I decided it was time to be vulnerable, time to let some of my guard down, be all shiny and new with this dating experience.
I let him pick me up from my apartment on the second date. (Although Mr. London picked me up from my apartment on our second date, I DO NOT let men know where I live. That's a no-no.) On our third date I invited him over to my apartment for a pre-date hang-out (absolute no-no) and we eneded up hanging out in my apartment nsetead of going out on the date I had planned. I was open about my like-ness for him. We talked about things that I normally reserve for....well, for when I really get to know someone.

And where did that get me? Well, let me tell you. End of third date: cuddling on the big ugly comfy couch, kissing, telling each other how much were digging each other and a spontaneous "You're very guarded. I haven't figured out why, yet, but you are." I felt like I had been punched in the chest, but I answer with, "Yes, I am. But if you stick around maybe you'll find out why." Pause "..and I'm a lot better than I used to be" this gets a response of, laugh, and not a happy laugh, it was a 'you've got to be kidding me' laugh followed by "you're better than you used to be? Yeah, good luck with that."

Um, ouch.

After a response like that I knew it was over and that it wasn't going to go anywhere. Yet again, he was another man who had put me a box of his making and didn't take the time to really get to know me. Oh well.
I tried so hard to break down some of my barriers and well, maybe that was the problem, I was trying. However, more importantly, maybe with a response like his, he wasn't worth letting my guard down for.

However, that brings me to another of my issues: sabotage.

St. Pat's Day. Out with friends from late afternoon until the bar closed. I ran into a guy I met over Christmas and due to phone tag, it didn't evolve into anything or go anywhere.
St. Pats with lots of green beer and the night it going to lead somewhere.

Cue to an hour or so later and it's me over at his place, sex, him spooning me like I was a life-preserver and me wanting to desperately leave. Not because I was afraid, but because that's what I do. It was just sex, a one-night thing, no need to hang around and swap pleasantries in the morning.
However, it was the middle of the early morning, dark, no idea where I was to be able to find my way out in the dark.
Poop stain.
So. There I lay, in his bed, wrapped up in legs and arms that aren't mine, and wanting to leave. I finally decide to try and catch a few hours of sleep.

I think I caught a few half hours of sleep and later in the week I caught a cold.
Finally with the dawn of the early morning sun, I found my clothes, said goodbye, and made my way out of the bed and into my car.

The point of this story: I haven't done that, random sex, or felt that way in a few years. I thought those feelings, that needlessness, was out of my system. I thought I had gotten to a point in my life where sex meant something. Nope. Still something I am working on and I cannot tell you how much that bothers me.

I'm still a work in progress and well, I guess at least I know that.

Wednesday, April 09, 2008

inner dork: the merkin

Again, my most humble dorking apologies that the dorkness has been missing from this blog. I will try to better. I will try, no promises beyond that.

Okay, the merkin:

Did you know, The merkin is a pubic wig. It was orginally worn by prostitutes who had to shave their pubes due to lice or to disguise the fact that they were suffering from syphilis. The term dates back to approximately 1450.

I know! A pube wig, yet another fashionable accessory.

Wednesday, April 02, 2008

life is getting in the way of life

ya, know?

I mean, I haven't been this social since, well, since my early 20's (eeck!) But, then there is that whole, I have to type it out and tell you about it. I want to tell you, but then there is that life-thing. My, life-thing, that keeps happening. That, life-thing where I keep saying I won't go out, that I will only drink water, that I won't be out for more than an hour or so, that I still have my Spring Break cold, but, c'mon, my name isn't PG for nothing, you know?

Why, just last week I was all snuggled on my couch, counting the minutes down until it would be an "acceptable" bedtime hour, face washed, contacts out and glasses on, PJ's stepped into, mindless drivel on the Stupid Box, coughing up a Sickville storm. Then, my friends called. And, well, there might be a problem when I make my way out to the bar, without make-up, on a Tuesday, at 10pm...and close the bar down, when mere minutes previously to be called, I was wanting bed.

So. You see, I have stories. Funny stories, sad stories, witty stories, love stories, and cry-myself-to-sleep stories, but....I also have stories about papers and presentations and exams. Sadly, those "stories" have been winning. I know, I know, I don't like it either. But, what can I say, I need to actually be able to find a job once I finish this here Master's degree, you know? I mean, I have bills.

So. Be patient. I'm not dead, just a grad student. I'll be back, I'll be around and the stories will still abound. I promise. I swear. I mean, it's PG, here.