the jungle

i don't know if i've mentioned this before, but i hate myspace. i'm often tempted to delete my profile because it's just horrific (i'm far too elitist for it, if you must know). i haven't deleted it mostly because if i did that, i would have one less thing to do online when i'm bored, and these blogs would get even more irritating for all (three) of you.

because i've decided to stop spending hideous amounts of money all the time, and because i've discovered i may need more sylvia browne in my life, i stopped by the local library yesterday, on my way to borders, where i was going to torture myself with the prospect of purchasing books without actually allowing myself to buy any. i found my sylvia browne book next to some dream interpretation books and "the idiot's guide to wicca," and am now the (temporary) proud owner of collection of stories about "the other side." yipee.

i just finished "the jungle," by upton sinclair, something i've been meaning to read for years. it was really fascinating, as slow a read as it was, and i enjoyed it (i secretly love incredibly verbose books - my favorite book just might be "ramona," written in 1884 in the most ploddingly slow prose imaginable). what i didn't love was that sinclair, a socialist, dedicated the last thirty to forty pages of the novel to socialist rants, writing those pages as speeches by various local socialist leaders. i don't particularly have a problem with the idea of socialism (send me to guantanamo!), but i do have a problem with heavy-handed soap-boxing. i understand the purpose of the book was to expose the exploitation of workers by capitalist meat packers, but i also am sure i would have understood that point without having it thrown at me.

no time for syntax

a few things i like:
1) spending all day rolling around in bed, reading and cracking up.
2) working in a chocolate factory.
3) summer.

a few things i dislike:
1) having to leave bed to
2) go to work, and
3) walking there in the unbearable heat.

"that'll be three galleons."

the other night, i babysat for the first time in many, many months, and i totally lost control of the six kids i was watching. they were insanely wired and also excited to see me (as i am the most amazing babysitter in the entire world), and i realized very early in the evening that any attempts to reign them in would most likely result in a terrible child revolt. therefore, when they wanted to mix butter and cocoa powder and bottled lemon juice to make butter beer (see "harry potter"), or run around screaming the latin equivalent to "i've killed you!" (again, see "harry potter," i think), i let them. they were crazed. they had fun, and so did i. at one point, after chasing four kids around downstairs and telling the youngest that their butter beer had to be made over the sink, i snuck into a room where one of the boys was half-finished writing the name of his wand shop in green marker on a small white blanket. i then said, "i think maybe you guys should use paper instead," and when that didn't register, i went back downstairs to make sure that no one was cooking their beer over an open flame.

he finished making the sign on the blanket.

at the end of the night, i was commissioned to tell them all a story, which is my babysitting speciality, and one of the conflicts i chose was giving the princess two different colored eyes, about which the subjects of the kingdom teased her mercilessly. upon hearing this, one of the boys said, "um, why didn't she just wear giant black sunglasses?" touche, ten-year-old, touche. i saved by a little five-year-old voice that countered, "they weren't invented yet." (the thing i love most about telling these kids stories is that they don't realize how much of the plots they're creating themselves. also, i like to think i'm inspiring them to keep doing it. i'm really important and have always been a pretty fantastic role model.)

in other news, i've stopped spending outrageous amounts of money. andy didn't think i could do it (because the last time i made this resolution, i then went to the mall with him and did some damage), but i'm actually doing really well. i'm doing so well that i didn't even buy a copy of "psychology today," which, though a magazine, is a psychology publication, making it a little more legit. basically, i grew self-control, and that's exciting.

oh! something else. i've stopped using concealer, which is a super huge thing for me, as i have been painting my face for several years (what with the leprosy and everything). i'm done now, though, because i essentially look the same anyway, and it was just a time-consuming security blanket. also, i figure that the residual scarring will fade faster if it isn't always covered with some terrible animal fat concoction.

i'm going to go use the new papaya shampoo i managed to get my mom to buy for me. i just realized that i won't feel ready for this day until i'm clean.

"well, we were in a target."

today, my mom, clay and i went out to lunch and then to target, where i was planning on getting cheap running shoes and where i instead went shopping in the little girls' department and bought two extra-large dresses (i'm insane). while we were there, there was a power outage, and everyone in the place started going nuts. the cashiers started moving around in the really intense, self-important way people do when they're faced with a situation that allows them to pretend they're in a movie. a few of them actually shouted, "register 15 is open! register 15 is up and working!" as if scanning items had suddenly earned itself a red alert. i then made a joke about how unsafe i felt, seeing as we were inside a target, and left satisfied that i'd again been able to experience something crazy while doing something equally crazy (i.e. being caught in the pitch-black darkness while perusing the fashion options in the kids' department).

yesterday, i saw zoe and gilmore, and went to dinner with zo and shiza, and i'd forgotten how incredibly easy it is for me to be around those people. zoe had been gone for seven months, and while i did force her to listen to me throw stories at her at a million miles a minute, nothing at all was different. it's amazing to know i have a whole crew of people here who understand me almost entirely, and who will, despite all the time we spend apart and other people we meet (and fall in love with), continue to give me this fantastic support.

i went to a local camera shop this afternoon to have a picture doctored, and i could have done it myself, but the machine specifically said, "do not touch. password required," so i asked one of the older men behind the counter to help me. not only did he seem totally disinterested in helping me (while also apparently disapproving of the picture), he also blew his nose practically in my face. i've since decided that the only times in my life when i hate people is when i'm driving and when i'm forced to rely on surly strangers.

clay accidentally shanked me with the teeth of some car keys the morning, prompting me to spend the rest of the day whimpering about how much it hurt and asking my mom if she thought it would require a tetanus shot. he felt guilty for about five seconds before (purposely) slamming his hand into a chair, and whining about how the bruise would ruin his career as a hand model. sometimes, i really adore him.

poverty

i officially have no money. i just checked my bank account, and it is fabulous. i'm going to have to go to the ticket office and collect my last paycheck, something i would have done three weeks ago if i wasn't too terrified that they'd ask me if i'm coming back next year. i still don't know if that's something i want to do. anyway, i have to grin and bear it now because i need to pay the university lots more money (because that never stops), and until i do so, i can't sign up for classes, and if i can't sign up for classes, i can't graduate in four years, and then pretty much my whole life is fucked. oh, the drama! also, if i don't magically get more money, i can't go buy a parking permit, meaning i can't ever park at my apartment, meaning i will never get to live here, ever, even though i just paid double the rent for this month. adulthood sucks.

i just tried calling my mom, in a panic about this money situation, to ask her to transfer some dollars quickly to my account, which is something i never, ever do. i would just really like to not have any holds on my enrollment. that would be nice. however, the mother is MIA, despite it being 9:45 am, and not answering her cell phone, as i should have expected because she can never remember to actually turn it on.

i hate being responsible for myself. why, oh why, must i go pick up my paycheck and have to face the music?

writer's blog

i'm starting to get really angry with myself. this morning, i spent about thirty minutes staring at the complete emptiness of a blank word document, trying to put into sentences all the incredibly genius thoughts i've been having recently. no luck. instead, everything i started to write turned into a blog about a chinese food restaurant on olympic called "hunan taste," a name that, if you are like me, you initially read as something much more cannabalistic. so, basically, i can only write about myself, poorly. i cooked up this idea that if all else fails, i'll gather together all the blog posts and send them off to a publisher because that's an entirely fabulous idea for several reasons: 1) i wouldn't have to admit that i can't produce fiction; 2) this blog is totally remarkable and deserves publication; and 3) i've learned that people always really enjoy paying for things they can just get for free.*

i've started a real journal. a leather-bound journal embossed with the word across the front cover. i think i just heard someone gasp ("leather journal?!? aren't you a vegan?), so let me share with you the first entry in my handwritten blog: "this is not a vegan-friendly journal. i know this. i am also, however, a fake vegan who eats yogurt and ice cream and butter, so maybe it's ok to use a leather-bound journal. there's a method to this madness, as there usually is. i recently made a resolution to write all my insanely brilliant thoughts in a collective space, and even bought an environmentally sound notebook in which to do so. sadly, my first entry ended up sassy and bitchy. as totally justified as the entry was, i knew my new journal needed to be free of petty dramas and become a masterpiece. nothing says 'i'm serious about this' like leather and gilded pages, right? that's what i figured. thus, this book was born. a cow had to die so that i could feel mature about my diary. i'm a terrible person." i hope that helps explain to you all why i felt dead animal was appropriate (and necessary, much like the leather birkenstocks my mom got me, and the braided leather cuff that reminds me of zoe and rhode island). and, yes, i do actually write like that in my own personal journal. i'm a douchebag, and you should know this by now.


*i originally wrote those last two points to be snarky and bitter, but then i remembered the postsecret books, and realized that if someone can publish a collection of postcards sent to him by other people (and which he has already posted online), and really convince people to buy said collection (i've been tempted myself, and i read the website religiously), why can't i? what would happen to me if i published this blog in a book? that's worse than writing a memoir, i think. it's way more self-aggrandizing. then, i could say, "yeah, i created this whole website just to talk about myself, and then i published it, so that all the people who don't want to troll blog sites to read about strangers' stupid lives could feel voyeuristically tempted to read all about me in a bound book." also, i could then have a bound book under my belt, and after that, i'm sure i'd feel confident enough to start writing again. this is best plan ever.

shweaty*

every time i turn on my computer, i am amazed by the sheer greatness of the picture i've set as my desktop background. it's one clay took of himself at sam's graduation, when we were bored out of our minds and listening to yet another graduating senior totally destroy a perfectly good song (one girl screwed up the lyrics to "in my life," and repeatedly sang, "and i know i'll never stop and think about them," which, in my opinion, is a grievious error, as it completely changes the meaning of the song and makes it far less appropriate to sing at a graduation). in this picture, clay is wearing the ridiculous black knock-off ray-bans i bought on campus for seven dollars, and he is looking way adorable, because that's kinda his thing. the picture is really sharp and focused, and i can be seen in the reflection of the sunglass lense, rummaging through my enormous bag to find my cell phone or a pack of orbit or maybe just to to keep my idle hands busy as i suffered through a graduation ceremony full of a bunch of kids i didn't know, and only one i truly cared about. i don't know how parents do it. anyway, i like the picture and it makes me happy.

today was one of the first days thus far that i've felt summer. i know, that sounds really whiny, but i'll admit it: i'm still officially a child, and i still officially get summer breaks, and am thus still officially entitled to having a summer that feels carefree and joyous. this afternoon, and even now, i had the shiny, sticky feel of someone who has spent the entire shiny, sticky day in the summer air. granted, i wasn't really outside much, but the windows were open, which is essentially the same thing, and now i can say that i really, truly feel as if i spent the day in a southern mansion on the veranda, reading and drinking sweet tea (all of which is entirely true, minus the southern mansion and the veranda). it's funny what having normal skin will do for a girl. last year, at this time, i actually was in the south, and actually was outside in the humidity, walking around and being dewy. however, the massive difference is that last year, i was covered in terrible boils, and insisted on wearing layers of makeup, and when those two things are combined with rising humidity, it spells trouble. i guess maybe i relished being just a little sweaty all day because it's not something i would have enjoyed very much before i became a normal human being - meaning, now that i can enjoy it, my journey towards normalcy is right on track.

*this was originally going to be "shweaty balls," but i didn't want anyone getting the wrong idea. i'm all girl, ok?

like a cholo

i'm supposed to be conducting a database search to find call numbers for several articles for a TA i had last quarter, but i'm almost done, and super frustrated with the system, so i'm taking a break. also, i'm at home, and taking advantage of the fact that i'm allowed to be lazy at home. i'm allowed.

it's about ten million degrees in this house right now, so that's fun.

this past weekend was absolute craziness. andy and i moved out of the apartment all day saturday, and even though it took a long time and was hellish and i'm still sore in places i didn't even know i had muscles (i.e. the inside of my forearms), it was much, much better than i had anticipated. we're moving up two floors in the same building, into an apartment that isn't yet vacant, so we had to move out on saturday and find a place to store all of our crap until next weekend. initially, we braced ourselves for several trips back and forth between westwood and my house, with lots of loading and unloading, with the promise of having to do it all again next week. however, our manager was super amazing, and is letting us use her private storage unit in the garage, which is so incredibly fabulous, it's hard to articulate. after moving everything down to storage, still a huge task in and of itself, i realized how totally horrendous it would have been to have to move everything out of the building and back. terrible. andy and i not only had our beds and desks and room junk, but also all the living room furniture and kitchen stuff - it was a mighty job. i'm not really looking forward to doing it all over again. a good thing about moving though is redecorating, or, in my case, decorating in the first place. i'm going to try to make the place more home-y. i think that last year i was just so giddy that it wasn't a dorm room and had an actual kitchen that i didn't really care about personalizing it. now, i don't particularly want to live in a showroom.

after moving out, i drove home really briefly to unload some things we'd packed into the van before we realized we could use the storage unit, and then showered quickly, managing to bitch at my brother and my mom in the short ten minutes that i interacted with them. i then drove down to irvine with shiza for quach's twenty-first birthday, where shiz and i were the dd's for the guys, who, by the time we got down there, had already been playing beer pong for an hour and a half. it was good to see everyone in one place, but there were some glaring omissions, the biggest being zoe, who doesn't home from peru for five more days, and who will be forced to see a lot of me once she's back.

i got pissed off on the way home from LA this morning because i was listening to the radio, and that "lean like a cholo" song came on. it pissed me off for two reasons: 1) i can't seem to write a damn thing these days, and somehow, someone managed to write and release a song about how to lean like a cholo; and 2) every time i hear this song i am reminded of how my drunken, jewish uncle danced to it at the bar mitzvah, and that, my dears, is frightening.

i just reread this entry and it's a terrible summary and was probably hugely boring, and i apologize. my brain is melting out my ears (it's very hot here). if you want to know more about melting brains, please consult "stiff," a book about cadavers by mary roach, which is actually way fascinating. after that, you should read "spook," another mary roach book about ghosts. that way, you can blame all future morbid thoughts on me.

p.s. i would like to dedicate this next little gem to leah, who should know by now that i wholeheartedly support her complete and total denial of the fact that she's expected to shut up and march in line. i say never be ashamed of your innate ability to challenge people and their beliefs and their fears. embrace it, because they will probably encounter very little resistance to their opinions (especially where you are), and i don't think that there is anything more vital to a person's life than their acceptance of the diversity of the world. upon review, that sounds like a voice-over from an oprah special (which i did, in fact, just watch, so please forgive), but i felt i needed to get that out. do not ever shut your face, leah. you have beautiful teeth.