Tuesday, November 20, 2007

Kicking ass never looked so studious

I took my second final today, which means I can have a life again. In theory. Until I remember that I have expectations to meet, English and Spanish classes to take, and the ACT to prep for. BUT! Sometime in the near future, I will be able to completely veg out and be a person.

Do you know how weird that is?

I spent most of yesterday and all of this morning reviewing my notes and the chapters we had read for my history class and just generally trying to stuff my head with all of this seemingly important information. I managed to catch a chest cold late last week, so I spent much of my studying time, from Friday through yesterday, passing out when I was supposed to be writing about Chaucer, or the Hundred Years' War. If one of my friends hadn't typed up her notes and shared them, I don't know what I would be doing right now. Probably sitting in a corner and bawling uncontrollably, because, honestly, my brain just wasn't holding onto all of that stuff. Or laughing hysterically. Freaking out tends to have two outcomes for me, though after a certain point, one turns into the other.

Thanks to all the napping I was doing during the day, and all of the coughing I've been doing at night, I didn't really get much sleep last night. I finally stopped feeling like my eyelids were made of lead around 11:30, and made myself turn off the light at one. I spent the entire night being restless, waking up every hour on the hour, sometimes cause of the being sick thing, and sometimes because of the panic mode I entered the minute I started to feel semi-normal(I have never loved antibiotics more than I do right now).

Thanks to the restless night that resulted in about four hours of sleep, I was kinda loopy this morning. Not terribly so, but enough that when I looked up and registered which episode of Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends my brother's were watching, I started laughing hysterically. I couldn't help it.

I had last seen it at 3 in the morning sometime in July of last year. One of the main characters, Mac, can't have sugar. You know those kids that could literally climb walls when given any sort of sugar? He's like that. And his imaginary friend, Bloo, manages to give him sugar. This is during a party that shouldn't be happening or something, so the colors are very rave-esque. And because I was about as out of it this morning as I was last July, I started laughing about as hard as I did when I saw it the first time. I don't know if it's actually really funny, or if I'm just always in a really screwed up state of mind when they show it.

Either way, I managed to pull myself together and go back to singing my notes, because reading them out loud was just too straight forward. Took the test, survived, and now I might not have to say "I can't have fun, I'm STUDYING!" to my mom for a while.

Sunday, November 11, 2007

Leaves do fall

I'm trying to register for classes, classes that I spent many (okay, maybe two) hours picking out last night. But the registration section is down and I'm wondering why, exactly, the universe hates me.

Over dramatic? Sure. But one of the classes has 8 open spaces left, and I will be quite the unhappy creature if I don't get into it. Mostly because I have no idea quite what I want to take, beyond the three classes I've picked out, and I really want to take this class. It may not be the best class ever(philosophy 101, for the curious), but I'm curious what we'll be taught. Also, if I stay here, it'll rack up my tier II requirements, something that makes very little sense to me, but that is apparently very important to eventually graduating. I guess that's why they call them requirements.

It feels weird to be picking out classes when I'm not even done with the classes I'm in at the moment, but I think it would be even weirder to pick out classes once I was done. Because then I'd actually be able to think, and thinking is quite a dangerous thing when it comes to me. I'd have lists and charts and all sorts of things mapping out why I was taking the classes and how I was going to get from one building to the other quickly, etc. Because then I'd know for sure that I had the 'perfect' schedule.

Who needs lazy Sundays?

Friday, November 9, 2007

The mixed tape

I'm trying to write something for Speakeasy, which is only challenging because I have no idea what to write. It's the end of the quarter, and my entire focus is on my finals and kicking ass on them. Or at least passing. You know, whichever.

I'm not really nervous about finals, it's just, they're my first REAL finals. This is my test run of college- am I surviving? Doing better than surviving? Thriving, maybe?

I'd probably go with the third one, except for those really fun days when I wake up and have to talk myself out of bed, because class, how can it possibly be interesting today? How can my professor possibly make the Black Death interesting? It was diseases and and death and all sorts of awful things, and, gee, I wonder when Jerry Bruckheimer or some other producer/writer will conquer that and try to make it into an action-adventure flick.

Of course, it was interesting. To me, anyway. I love history, in a 'whoa, that's what happened, and then that happened and it made all of this happen? NO WAY!' sort of way. I'm odd. You get used to it.

I suppose I should probably write my post for speakeasy. Or pick out my classes for next quarter, even though I have no idea what I want to take, or what the rest of my life looks like next quarter. I like to keep things interesting, obviously.

Wednesday, November 7, 2007


I've been wearing a different hat every day for about a week now. They were pretty usual, just a bunch of flat knit stockinette stitch caps I've made over the years. Some of them look 'different,' because yarn? Yarn has gone and become AWESOME. There is a reason I can waste hours in a yarn shop, just drooling over the various types and colors.

Anyway. On Monday, I started wearing my mom's hats. I blame Guy Fawkes day- I didn't have a mask, so I borrowed a hat she made that looks like a bubble bath, complete with little rubber ducky. Mostly, I wanted to be silly: that irritatingly good mood I mentioned a while go has yet to go away. Everyone loved the hat(the outright staring was amusing, especially when people would just stop their conversations. That's happening a little more now that I'm wearing full sized hats.).

So now I'm wondering: how many days in a row can I go without wearing the same hat? At what point am I really going to want to wear a hat I've already worn?

This is making the gloomy days better, that's for sure.

Friday, October 26, 2007

I'll sleep when I'm dead

I've been insanely busy the past week and a half. Which isn't really a bad thing; I've figured out over the past few months that I actually like being busy. As in constantly doing something. The only flaw with this is that most of the stuff keeping me busy is so intense that by the end of the night, when I normally update, my brain is mush and conversation is reduced to me going 'uhhhhh' in a zombie like tone. This also what my mornings often sound like, during the first five minutes when I am talking myself into getting out of bed. I am not one of those people that wakes up easily, unless I have a deadline or a test, and then it is the panic that gets me out of bed, not pure unbridled love for the world. If I ever wake up and immediately greet the day with a smile, my family will know that I have been traded in for a pod person.

This past week has been a mess of meetings, class work, homework, knitting, tests, and other miscellaneous things. You ever have one of those weeks where you're constantly bouncing from place to place and thing to thing and you're so excited about everything that you can't sleep because you're brain just won't shut down? Or is that just exclusive to me?

I mostly blame my friends for the lack of sleep: two friends I haven't seen in a while(one since Christmas time and the other in early September) are in Athens this weekend for the block party, and I have been so jazzed about them coming into town that I've been like 'YAY AIR! YAY SUN! YAY EXISTENCE!' all the time. I mean, I have things to stress over, things that would actually make sense for keeping me up until 2:30 in the morning, but pure excitement? THAT IS NOT NORMAL. Maybe I have been exchanged for a pod person and don't know it. I mean, I am normally a happy person, but this week I have been bordering on obnoxiously happy. I actually was irritable today, and I was like, 'oh, thank god, I'm turning back into a person.'

I can only imagine how great it's going to be to be around me if this weekend goes well at all.

(Please note: I am really really sleep deprived as I write this, and I also spent part of my afternoon writing a post for Speakeasy. Hopefully I will make more sense when I post next.)

Tuesday, October 16, 2007

Playing dress up

Over the weekend, I was mistaken for a guy. I was in a hotel lobby with my dad and the short one, waiting for my mom to wrap up a meeting, when this man walked up and asked if I knew where the elevator was.

More precisely, he said: "Excuse me, young man, do you know where the elevator is?" Dumbstruck (last I checked, I do, in fact, happen to look like a girl), I pointed and croaked out, "That way." He then slapped me on the back and told my dad, "I figured if anybody would know where the elevator was, it'd be this guy."

Sure, I was sprawled out across a chair in such a way that it might have been hard to tell that I happen to be, you know, A GIRL. Yeah, I was wearing a hat that isn't necessarily the most girly hat in the world. Let's not forget my creaky voice brought on by a cold.

But I was wearing shoes with pink stripes! And jeans that actually fit, which not many guys seem to go for. I figured I looked somewhat girly.

My first reaction was to buy one of those pink ribbons, the one's little newborns get before they start growing in hair so you don't have to constantly inform people that the little thing you're toting is a girl. Maybe even get a few dozen. Because subtlety is over-rated.

My next, and arguably more logical reaction, was to just try dressing a little more like a girl. I tend to live in jeans and t-shirts, and have been slowly inching towards wearing a few of the skirts and dresses I've managed to accumulate over the past several years. This just pushed me over the edge. I have been mistaken for a boy maybe twice before this, and the one time, I was wearing a polo, the kid only saw me from the back, AND my hair was significantly shorter.

If this was a few months ago, it wouldn't really be bothering me. I've just finally started getting comfortable with being a girl, and dressing up when I feel like it, or painting my nails(which I did for the first time in a year yesterday. It looks about as bad as you would expect after not painting them for a year), and it just really grates on me that I can feel so girly, and yet still be mistaken for a boy. I'm restraining myself from drenching myself in pink clothes and accessories, but when you see me and I'm not in my usual 'I fell out of bed and grabbed what I knew was clean from the top of my dresser' garb? Don't be surprised.

Friday, October 12, 2007

A lazy post

The cupcakes are more fierce in color in person-more pink. FAR more pink. I don't know how the banana bread turns out so shiny, other then maybe the tofu? I've been asked many times, and it's the only logical explanation.

This post shall be known as the I am lazy but still felt like updating post. Marvel at my baking skills while I research cell phones and marvel at my younger brother, sitting still, reading Harry Potter:

He doesn't sit still. Period. The reading bug finally caught him.

Thursday, October 11, 2007

First three rows will get wet

The Dude was in a really good mood today. I mean, he's normally in a good mood, but this was one of those good moods where I wished I didn't have to put him down for his nap. You don't get many of those, whether you're the baby-sitter or the parent, I've learned.

He wasn't overly bouncy or asking questions that seemed to result in an endless series of 'why's. Have you ever tried to have a conversation with a three year old who feels the need to respond to every answer with a 'why?' It's cute the first few times, but eventually you slip into the 'because' mode. It's either that, or answer every time, and lose a small piece of your ability to be a normal person in the process; I say 'why?' more than I did a year ago. Which is arguably a good thing, but I was happy to not always feel an urge to ask why.

Anyway: He was excited about having gotten to go to a petting zoo with his preschool, and, as a result of the field trip, had to have a bath. Baths and the Dude always seem to go well together-though I have to start it with the knowledge that my nice, dry, warm clothes are going to be soaked within seconds of him diving into the bathtub. (And I'm not kidding about the diving. He LOVES water.)

I have no problem with bath time. It is one of the few occasions where I am allowed to fully participate in whatever game he has made up for that moment. Most of the time, I get told that what I just said for the doll I'm holding is NOT what it was supposed to say, and then told what I am supposed to say. Thankfully, we don't play with dolls much. Or are they action figures when you're a boy? I mean, they don't look like action figures.

Today was no exception to the usual awesomeness of bath time. Especially the part where he decided to splash me to the point of my hair being soaking wet and my pants and shirt looking like I just spent ten minutes in a drizzle, artfully missing select drops so as to accomplish a nice splatter pattern. It always starts with a few splashes from him throwing something in the air, and next thing I know, I'm wondering if the door should have as much water on it as it does. He gets 'bath' and 'pool' confused, I think, because I didn't get splashed that much over the summer, when we spent a multitude of hours playing with his kiddy pool and the hose.

I don't think he'd do it if I didn't put up with it, but if there is one thing I'm known for with that kid, it is putting up with stuff. There was one point last year where I was carrying around my dinner for the night in my bag, and he eventually figured this out. From that point on, I learned to pack more food, because he could easily down half of my dinner, and to be prepared for him to go diving in my bag, asking what food I had with me today. Which, while proving that my mom is an infinitely awesome cook, also completely reorganized my bag so that I didn't have to worry about him tossing my CD wallet across the room in search of some fake tuna casserole.

After his bath, he decided to crash for nearly three hours. It always seems to work out so that the days I'm willing to listen to him play drums for an hour straight, he passes out for the majority of the time I'm there. Sure, I get a lot of homework done, but I always feel a little guilty, like 'I was supposed to hang out with you, but because you slept all afternoon, I basically just sat and did nothing.' I don't think he cares, but I do, and sometimes it bugs me. Not today though. Today he was happy and I was happy and there was no major mayhem or destruction involved to get there. Today just kicked ass.

Tuesday, October 9, 2007

Guaranteed to get double takes

So, it's been a little while since I've updated. I could come up with a variety of reasons, ranging from the large stack of school work I have (I have to read Beowulf, the Canterbury Tales, and Hamlet in the next two weeks, because I've not yet and I need to for my English class), to my own inclination to put off doing something I'm good at, because I figure eventually I'll write something really awful and never be able to post a blog again for the shame of it. Hey, I'm a variety of contradictions and oddities. You get used to it.

But a picture says a thousand words, and this one says a lot about how my mornings have been for the past eleven days:

It's from the morning after the Atari's show, so I was basically talking myself into getting out of bed. A lot of mornings look like that for me. Only my hair usually hasn't decided to stick up in seventeen different directions. Most mornings, it limits itself to six.

So what have I been doing, besides procrastinating?

Cleaning. And getting ready to cave into the fact that I want to bake.

I spent all of Saturday cleaning my house, and nearly vacuumed our dog by the end of the day. To say that she sheds would be an understatement; it's more like she's trying to go bald, and failing miserably. There was fur in piles around the game cube, in shoes, in the spider webs I sucked out of the corners. Whenever Dreamer gets excited, she sheds, which is perhaps the most aggravating thing in the world. The shedding just never, ever ends. If she wouldn't hide under my mom's bed for several days afterward, I really would vacuum her.

The upside to all the cleaning (it really wasn't that fun; if I ever meet anyone who can say cleaning is fun, I will assume that I just met Martha Stewart. And I will walk away) was that I got to fill up the CD player and actually got to listen to some albums I either hadn't gotten to yet, or hadn't really just listened to in a while. Nellie McKay's new album kicks ass; anyone that can sing a song about feminists and another song about zombies and have you singing along to both is pretty much a genius.

So, I'm gonna talk about the aforementioned baking, and then I've got notes to type up, textbooks to read, and other fun bits and pieces to do that fill my day and leave me wondering if giving up coffee was really such a brilliant idea.

I haven't baked anything in a month. I used to bake at least once a week, and, after a month of not baking, I think I'm finally going through withdrawal. I look at bags of cocoa and wonder how many cupcakes I would get out of it. I pick up jars of instant espresso powder and put them back several times during shopping trips. There is no substitute for baking- not learning, not knitting, not the Internet. I want to bake.

I used to bake for this one guy, but he moved up north a few months back, and as good as I am at baking, I don't think my stuff can survive the mail. I also used to bake for Donkey, but my mom's taken that over for the time being- I make banana nut muffins. She makes pumpkin muffins. Pumpkin muffins trump banana nut muffins. I would complain, but when I can eat three in a row without blinking, I probably shouldn't. Technically speaking, I've had no reason to bake for the past month. But when you really love something, you like to do it even when you have no reason. Besides, nothing can brighten one's day like giving someone a still warm pudding cake and seeing their reaction.

I also have been, in a way, avoid baking lately, because I think once I start again, I won't stop. My parents would come home to find me surrounded by cupcakes, muffins, cookies, and several different types of frosting. You can only give away so much before your friends can't eat anymore, and my family is kind of iffy when it comes to some of my more experimental cupcakes (green tea cupcakes ended up going to the dog (they tasted odd to me too); chum (chai and rum) cupcakes had to be encouraged. Heavily. Alcohol bakes off when you cook. They didn't really believe me.).

Even though I want to bake so much that I'm not sure if I'll be able to stop, I'm going to. Because I need something that is not processed and filled with high fructose corn syrup, that I know will taste good. In addition to the needing something I know is healthy, or that I can at least pretend is healthy (vegan cupcakes are healthy... right?), I promised a couple of people from around town some baked goods. Besides, the looks I get when I walk around town with boxes full of goodies are almost as good as the ones I get when I wear my peep hats. (Which I can't describe, other than they're colorful and poofy and have nearly caused people to walk into street lights because they're too busy staring at my head.)

So when I post again and it's a bunch of pictures of cupcakes and banana nut bread and latkes(I've been craving them like mad for some reason)? Try not to drool all over your keyboard.

Friday, September 28, 2007

A Series of Firsts

That's what this past week(week 4, for those of them that are keeping track) was: a series of firsts.

Some of them were major, while others were more minor, but they were still firsts and that makes them important, right?

Yesterday, I went to my first concert since June. It was the Atari's, at the Union, and it was awesome. The first two acts were kinda 'eh,' but the Atari's delivered a solid show. I had fun and also wanted to hit people. Hard. In the face.

Which is always a lovely combination.

It was only because I was in the mosh pit. Which I didn't know was going to be that. Or even if you would call it a mosh pit. I should've known it was going to be a mosh pit when people were yelling at the band both in front and behind me. But no. I just knew that I was close to the stage and within minutes of their performance starting, I was getting stepped on, knocked around, smashed, smushed, struggling to not fall over, struggling to keep people standing up, and, at one lovely point, nearly getting my glasses knocked off when I failed to grab a crowd surfer's legs and got a foot to the face instead.

Just writing that makes my lip curl a little at the thought of someone's foot on my face. Not even a foot! A shoe that contained a foot! A shoe that had stepped in who-knows-what and IT! TOUCHED! MY! FACE!

Anyway. The show was awesome. I can't decide if it was the excited crowd(annoyed as I was at certain points) or the band, but, either way, I left sweaty, exhausted, and grinning, just a little.

The second big first was: I took my first 'real' test. It was for my history class and thinking about it, honestly, makes me nauseated. I want to believe that I did really, really well. But the rest of me is thinking 'I'll be happy if I get a 'B.' Please, please, PLEASE let me get a 'B.' It was, in most ways, my fault for not starting to study sooner. You remember that balance I've been talking about? I'm beginning to think it is the stuff made of fairy tales and spun sugar. It doesn't exist, and when it does, it falls apart very, very easily. BUT! Now I know how to better study for the next test. Which means I can improve. And, hopefully, figure out this college thing. I just need to stop being a Pretend-A-Freshman and start being me.

The final big first was, arguably, not that big at all. Of course, when you weigh a little over 7 pounds, you aren't that big.

The couple I baby sit for have a new baby girl, a beautiful, lovely little thing that I got to hold and see for the first time this week (she is 2 weeks old this Sunday). I am so happy for them. I like babies, so the only thing that makes me nervous with the New Baby(who will get a nickname soon, just as the Dude is the Dude) is that I have not really dealt with a kid under a year old since my youngest brother was born. And that was 8 and a half years ago.

But I got to hold her for the first time. And she grabbed my finger with her little fist and held it so tight and, just like her older brother and my own brother, she totally owns me now.

I looked at her and thought exactly what I had said when I called her parents to congratulate them: 'Welcome to the family.'

It was an exciting, hectic, first oriented week. And I would not trade it for any normal boring week in the world.

Monday, September 24, 2007

Worn Down

This whole commuter student thing is wearing really, really thin.

This isn't just the exhaustion talking. No, wait, it is the exhaustion talking. Combined with the exhausted limbs that are going to figure out a way to exert revenge for me carrying around a 30 pound(I'm guessing here) backpack-that one of my friend's described as 'bigger than my backpack-and that's saying something'- and the constant 'GO GO GO!' mode I have to be in... I'm just dead.

We only have one car, and my dad has been dropping me off lately. This means that I'm out of the house by 9 am. If I'm lucky. If I'm not lucky, it's more like 8:30. I did not cherish sleep enough when I had it, and now it is gone. I have two hours to kill before my first class, and I spend it at Donkey, sometimes working on some reading for a class, sometimes not. Mostly not. It's not that I'm un-motivated, and it's not really procrastinating. I'm just really, really tired, and spend those hours convincing myself that the sun is not the evil devil spawn come to torture me with its rays of potentially cancerous shininess. It's just the sun.

Gee, I'm really tired right now, too. Can you tell?

Commuting basically is code for nomad. My backpack is gigantic because I have to fit food into it as well as all of the books I need for the day. There is no going home if I realize I left my history book behind, or my jeans are too warm now. I've actually spent the last two days at the place where I work, BEFORE I have to clock in, not because I'm early by mistake, but because it's a nice and quiet space to study. I've resorted to hanging out at my job, because the drinks are free and I know the people there. I need a dorm, or a car, a place to toss my things, and have a change of clothes and maybe some food. Perhaps a hollowed out tree trunk with a changing room attachment. Because those are totally easy to find.

I want to say that I miss normal, because this is not what normal used to be. Normal used to be that I'd spend the day at the library doing school, instead of bopping there for an hour between classes. Normal used to be sleeping in 'til noon because I didn't have anywhere to be and was only slightly behind in my school work. Normal used to be a great deal of wonderful things. But this is the new version of normal. Normal 2.0. Normal with a schedule and deadlines that can't be bent and times to wake up that aren't very bendy, either. I miss the normal I used to have, but I like parts of the new normal. That is what I am going to keep telling myself, anyway.

Wednesday, September 19, 2007

24 Hour Fast

My latest assignment from my Intro class is a 24 Hour Fast from all mass media(books, internet, music, newspaper, TV, movies, etc), which I am then supposed to write about in my next response essay, describing how I felt throughout.

This sounds incredibly daunting.

24 hours where the sound that wakes me is a buzzer, or my mom, instead of the CD of my choice. 24 hours without my headphones, instant messenger, comics, television, or weather channel. 24 hours where the only reasons why I would be online or reading is for school. 24 hours where, if I want to talk to someone, I will have to pick up a phone and actually talk, as opposed to signing onto AIM. And I really, really hate talking on the phone.

I wonder if my prof knows that this assignment coincides with Yom Kippur? So not only do I have to go 24 hours without food or drink this weekend, but I have to pick a day where I have to avoid all the things that I do to avoid school? (The assignment isn't due until Wednesday, so I don't have to go without media and food at the same time, but it amuses me that, while some students are going without food for 24 hours on campus, others are going without any form of mass media for 24 hours.)

In some ways, I have thought about doing something similar in the past-avoiding television and other distractions for a day- but never to find out my reaction to being deprived of my entertainment, and I would never, ever include music in the group of things to avoid for the day. Usually, I would do something like that so I could get schoolwork done, and even then, I wouldn't pursue it so seriously. Music is such a serious, complete part of my life that the deprivation from that alone will endlessly aggravate me.

My brothers, however, will love knowing that I get absolutely no say in what is on the TV at any point for a day. They will revel in this, because they are brothers and I am the older sister, and if there is one thing they love, it is driving me up a wall.

It should be an interesting weekend.

Friday, September 14, 2007

Week Two

So, I survived another week, though it felt less like survival and more like hitting my stride. I feel like I spent part of this week finding my place, and the rest of it trying to catch up on my reading!

Monday, I went to a meeting for Speakeasy, which is an online 'zine of sorts, an alternative, or compliment to, depending on how you look at it, to the student paper. I was dead exhausted(I had gone from class to work to the meeting, and simultaneously felt productive and like I was going to die at any moment), but still managed to get into it. 'It' being the meeting, which was two separate ones, one being the all-staff meeting, the other being for the newbies, like me.

During the first half, we covered interviewing techniques(which was being taught by my intro prof. It was odd to see him outside of class), and, if you were sitting to the one side of the room, got to see the various editors' hands as they were pointed out. During the second half, we got to learn about the various parts of speakeasy(I'm interested in blogging and copy editing, but am afraid that my grammar skills just aren't up to par yet), what their policies are, etc. While I felt a little awkward, seeing as I am not a journalism major and the people I sat next to were, it was the first time since I started classes that I felt like maybe I can fit in here, as a student as opposed to a townie.

Monday also brought with it an ugly fit of allergies and a sinus headache at the end of the night, that left me on the couch, in tears, panicking and worrying that I was getting a cold when I could not(and cannot) afford to have one. It came at the worst possible time, when I was trying to not freak out about my classes and the amount of work I had to do over the next few days. But I got through it, and by the end of the week(translation: today), Monday evening seemed like a distant memory of someone who occasionally worries to much.

The biggest highlight of the week for me was raising my hand and answering a question(correctly!) in my 300 person Intro class. My prof asked some variation of 'what was the most watched show on cable this summer?' and I was just like, BAM, hand up! 'High School Musical!' (It's High School Musical 2, but I was excited and nervous, so I can be/was forgiven for the drop of a number) I have a tendency to pay attention to entertainment news, so the fact was old news to me.

This week also saw me doing my first real discussion group(my lone Friday class, at 9 in the morning. It sounded so much later in the day when I signed up). I really enjoyed that, if only because it actually gives me someone to talk about the text of the book with. Where I don't live in the dorms, and have yet to say 'Hi! I'm Aisha!' to any of my classmates, and where I also tend to be really enthusiastic about learning anything new, the discussion group let me, you know, discuss the text. I may be one of the few people in the class that actually enjoys reading the textbook, and I'm afraid this means I am doomed to be one of those people that actually enjoys studying(when they are actually caught up on it all).

To wrap things up: where this week brought my stride, and last week was all about survival, I'm hoping next week finds me finding a balance between my high school classes and my university classes, and everything else. I'm also hoping next week finds me not being so intimidated by my classmates(or them not being intimidated by me, whichever is the case). I won't bite if they won't!

Wednesday, September 12, 2007

A Full Head of Hair

Last July, I shaved my head. To be accurate, one of my friends shaved my head, but it was still a major act, no matter whose hands the clippers were in.

It was something I had wanted to do since I was twelve, for no reason other than to see what it looked like. I asked about severely short hair cuts and buzz cuts when I went to the hairdresser, not every time, just occasionally, not sure if I could go through with it; I just wanted opinions. Every single hairdresser I went to basically refused to shave my head.

So I got used to having hair, even if I kept it in a ponytail or messy, constantly falling apart bun all the time. It gave me something to fidget with, so that my hands had something to do when I was nervous, or distracted, or just needed a familiar motion.

Then, last July, I went camping and got lice. To make a long story short, I spent a week obsessively combing through my hair and chemically destroying the buggers, only to realize there was no way I could stand to have my hair on my back or my neck or anywhere on my head, at all, anymore. Every time a strand of hair shifted, I thought it was a bug. It hadn't helped that every time I finished an hour of obsessive combing, I'd see one crawling across my temple.

With my sanity on a thin edge(I am a jumpy person by nature, but I was bordering on developing a twitch after the ten day period you have to wait between one chemical wash and the next), I took up a friend's offer to shave my head for me. When it grew out a little, and I knew that I liked it, I asked him to shave it again. I wasn't ready to have hair again, because of the anxiety I'd dealt with during the lice invasion, and taking care of hair that is half an inch long is a lot easier than dealing with hair that is down to your collarbones.

I shaved my head for almost a year, though at one point it was a mohawk that either stood on its own, or did not, because I was not going to bother with gel. And then the friend with the clippers moved(though at this point, I had shaved my head on my own. I'm just too lazy to buy a set of clippers). So I've not shaved my head since May. I actually took a measuring stick to my hair, and it is three inches long. I actually have hair to play with! I can clip my hair back, not much, but enough that my hair clips stay in my hair. I can twist it between my fingers, a terrible habit I've had since I was little, one that was so bad that my parents once had to cut my fingers out of my hair. I feel like a girly-girl again, something I've never really aspired to be. Having hair is a lot more defining than I imagined it was when I actually had it. And now that I have it, I am constantly trying to answer the question, 'are you going to shave it again?'

I loved shaving my head, loved the freedom and my hats sticking to my head because buzzed hair works like velcro and random head massages from friends because they liked my 'peach fuzz', but for now? For now, I have hair.

Saturday, September 8, 2007

One Down, Nine to Go

So, I survived my first week. Granted, it was easier than your average freshman's, what with two of my classes being online and the fact that I still have home baked foods to eat throughout the day(my mom's cinnamon bread was a life-saver at least twice), but it was harder than I thought it would be.

My history class is what has thrown me, to be honest. The professor launched into a lecture the first day of class(when most professors just read their syllabus and tell you that you can leave, or so I'd been told), and I'm not sure if I'm taking notes on the right things, which really freaks me out. I've been home schooled my entire life, so I don't know what you're supposed to take away from a class where the professor talks about what you are learning, expanding on what is in the reading. I'm used to doing the reading and then finding out anything extra, anything that expands on what is in the text, on my own. I'm not used to someone telling me the extra bits, and then expecting me to remember it for a test. It doesn't help that the text is written in the smallest type imaginable, meaning that 29 pages of reading feels more like 40. It's all fascinating-I love history, so even though it is a textbook and I am supposed to find it boring, I really don't. I just feel like my eyes are going to fall out of my head after a while from reading such small print.

My other class with the university has gone a lot smoother. I've only had one class, and it was actually just the syllabus reading, which was great, considering I walked into the lecture hall prepared to have to stay the full two hours. It was a relief to walk out after only 40 minutes, with only a basic assignment. It's Intro to Mass Communication, and I'm not sure what I am expecting from this class, other then to never, ever look at a newspaper the same way again. Considering I have been suspiciously eying commercials and newspapers for the past six months, wondering what research went into that ad for kids cereal, or what made them choose to use that particular phrase to describe a pop-tartlet's performance, I figure this class will only make me worse when it comes to mass media and my general snarky attitude towards it all.

Intro will probably end up being my favorite class, just because it feels a lot more straight forward than my history class. The only thing that makes me not sure about the class is that the professor is really nice and approachable, and I'm a tad suspicious of nice, approachable people on a college campus. They are not supposed to exist. At least, not when they are the people teaching you.

Wednesday, September 5, 2007

Listening In

So, I'm taking university classes and I'm liking what I've been learning so far. My brain, it is getting filled with information of the type that will annoy all of my friends. A lot. But, my classmates, they have conversations that cause me to giggle. Quietly, because if I can hear them, then they can hear me. Right?

"I don't have any appropriate pictures of me! All of my recent pictures are of me drinking! Or passed out!"-guy behind me after we are handed personal information sheets for class, with a square for pictures of ourselves.

I've got nine more weeks worth of conversations to overhear. Ah, college.

Saturday, September 1, 2007

13 Week

13 weeks from today, I will be eighteen(that is, if I manage to bang this out before midnight).

I don't know why I am so excited about this, other than it is the typical big birthday, one where I can buy cigarettes, rent porn(or simply peek in the back rooms at video rentals), enlist in the army, and buy lottery tickets. None of that really appeals to me. I have breathing problems(seasonal bronchitis, or, as I call it, 'that awful feeling where I cannot breathe but can cough violently for your viewing pleasure, you sadistic bastards.'), so smoking isn't something I can really do, though I handle being around smokers fairly well. Porn doesn't interest me(other than to see what everyone is talking about). Enlisting in the army isn't something I am likely to do, because I don't think I would much enjoy getting sent to war, whatever the reasons. And buying lottery tickets? I'd rather spend my money on things like these flats.

I guess the main reason I'm looking forward to being eighteen is that it will mean that I am an adult. Though I'm not sure how 'adult' me will differ from 'kid' me. I don't plan on hitting up clubs and forgetting my underwear, or getting arrested with a DUI and cocaine in my pocket. I don't really have a concept of who I am after I turn eighteen, because, honestly, I don't think there will be much difference. I will still make mistakes, still worry over stupid little things, probably still not know where I really want to go for college, and still have moments of brilliance and moments of massive idiocy, because that is who I am, and I tend to change rather gradually. I'm not going to use my birthday as an excuse to get piercings or run out and get married or enlist in the army or anything major like that.(Yes, piercings are on the same level as the other two. I rarely wear earrings, so a nose or lip ring would be like deciding I want to be a nun.)

I guess the point is that I am looking forward to my eighteenth birthday, because it is my eighteenth birthday(and I have been taught by society to look forward to it).

Wednesday, August 29, 2007


I don't know when, but I stopped being afraid
No longer afraid of the air
Full of poison and drowning me in everything;
I'm just living, existing, a blur of forgotten steps,
Except by you, or so I hope

I am hopeless
Missing you when what I miss
Is what we have now
I would break all the rules and laws
To convey my words without a sound
I would do anything and everything
To tell you
So I might let go and go on with my life
I will break everything
To live and learn and realize

I'm not afraid
I'm not afraid
I'm not afraid of anything
Except the thought of losing you
Maybe perfection is just
A series of flaws stitched together
To make up me and you
I will forgive you
If you will forgive me

Darkness comes before the sun goes down
Your absence is like losing all my senses
I could just breathe to know
You've left
And I'm not afraid
Because I'm putting all my trust
In a promise
Of return
And in return I only swear the truth
To be exhilarated by
Your smile, your touch, your kiss, your laugh
To be honest
If only to sell you on the truth

Whenever you leave
I am merely counting the days
Until you come back
I am not afraid of anything,
With your hand in mine,
I am not afraid of anything

~I have a tendency to write random little things that grow into big things that growl at me from between notebook pages until I share. I have a stack of these things.

Sunday, August 26, 2007

Flowers for Sunday

I worked a wedding reception last night, and one of the bridal party members left behind their bouquet(which is spelled with two U's, apparently). It's a very pretty arrangement, though you can tell the flowers weren't meant to last long-they were wilting by the time I got them home. BUT! I cut off the bottom of the stems, at an angle(I think Martha Stewart tells you to do that?), and put 'em in water, and they've perked up a little. Which is awesome, because it's really nice to walk into the kitchen and see a bunch of roses perched on the kitchen table.

Monday, August 20, 2007

they gained a few cool points

I'm back on facebook. I am happy and am probably being obnoxiously annoying at this point, but I don't care. It only took three months, and a ridiculous amount of text to get here.

Now, to poke, post on walls, and change my status so much that the computer makes an angry whirring noise and curses me out in four different languages at the same time.

Hey, stranger things have happened.

Sunday, August 19, 2007

seeing myself

"Ow.. ouch, ow... hot, ow ow ow."

"Izzy, what are you doing?"

"Trying to pick off the onions."

"Oh. Why don't you use a fork?"

I would say something about how this should've been obvious, I mean, the kid is pretty smart and all, getting a fork out to pick onions off of pizza shouldn't be that hard of an idea to form, right?

But I'm the girl who will bite something, yell some variation of the above, and then take another bite.

All the people who tell me I am a smart girl, or think I am and imply so in conversation with me, really should spend 24 hours with me.

Friday, August 17, 2007

Facebook used to be cool

Back in May, I was kicked off Facebook. I talked about it, I bitched about it, and I e-mailed the hell out of their customer service representatives, first dealing with a lovely guy that blew me off with the casualness of someone who could not care less, because he didn't care at all. Then I e-mailed through another e-mail I found on the site. That time, I got a very pleasant, helpful worker who answered all of my questions, and finally was able to reassure me that, once I had my university account, they could reactivate my account. With that knowledge, I settled back to wait out the long, dull summer, made duller by the lack of walls, events, and the stalker feed.

On Tuesday, I got my shiny, lovely e-mail and sent off an e-mail to facebook. Like a kid knowing they were going to get the present they'd been asking for all year for Christmas, I was content, ready for the 'okay, just e-mail us from the new address and you'll be back online!' reply that would surely come. After all, I had my e-mail, which was all I needed. I had no reason to worry.

I really should just be a pessimist. It would be better for me, and the world in general. Well, I might not have my sparkling on the spot wit, but my cynicism would be the best on the block.

Instead, I got asked to e-mail the customer service rep all of the e-mails that had been exchanged up until this point, from my new e-mail. I'd kind of expected that, and happily obliged, though a cold pit of worry was worming it's way into my stomach. This wasn't helped by the slow response to my initial e-mail, as if they could care less if I was on there or not. Which, really, do they? All I represent to them is another single digit that will bring them a few cents, perhaps even a whole dollar, of revenue from ads.

Finally, today, around five(which would be two California time), I got a reply, telling me I couldn't re-join because they don't recognize 'that school'. Uh, yeah, duh, that's why I e-mailed once I got my school e-mail. Unless they don't recognize OU as a school and plan to kick off every member of the university's network, I'm allowed to be on facebook now. I told the rep this.

The more I interact with the facebook customer service reps, the more I am disappointed by the people. Fine, I get that you want to hang out with your co-workers and talk about that party so-and-so had last night, but could you pay attention to my problem? Please? Considering all you have to do is go 'oh, you have a valid .edu account, I just clicked the re-activate button, have a nice life'?

Apparently this is too much effort for such a well used and populated site.

Most people get kicked off facebook for a few hours, and only because the site itself is down. Me? I've been off for three months, all because I'm home-schooled, and when I can finally re-join, I get told to contact them on my eighteenth birthday, as if that is the ultimate gift. Never mind that I have a valid .edu account, which they say on their site is all you need to join a university network.

I am so angry over this. I feel like I am being told I did something wrong, when I did nothing, and when I finally have the ability to correct the problem, I get told that nothing has changed, leave us alone, and, by the way, don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.

One year, give or take a few hours

It's been one year to the day since I got my learner's permit, and so today, I got my license.

I took the test last week, but killed a cone, which is considered a 'dangerous action' and an immediate failure of the maneuverability part of the test. For some reason, I was convinced that I had to take the written exam again, to get my license, so I spent most of last night and part of this morning reviewing. Which is good, it'll help keep me a good driver, those hours of obsessive reviewing. But it's aggravating to know that when I was baby-sitting last night, I could've been reading Color of Magic rather then the Digest of Ohio Motor Vehicle Laws (or something like that). Also, did you know that you only have to do one side to pass the maneuverability portion? 'Cause I didn't. But I did it and I have the awful photo ID to prove it (my OU student ID is better, and I didn't think I would be saying that). It took a ridiculous amount of hours with homemade cones this past week, but I'm licensed, and as soon as I have a car, people will be getting visited. Once I figure out how to read a map.

Thursday, August 16, 2007


I love my twitter. It lets me keep the world updated, 140 characters at a time.

this feels familiar

This is probably the third or fourth time I've started a blog on here. This one might stick. Mostly because I have too much time on my hands, and it's this or perfecting my ability to say 'I like cereal' like Cheese.