Roman Holiday

I hope everyone is having a good Christmas time. Today, my family is continuing with the cooking, the eating, the watching of movies and the general gluttony that we have come to associate with the season of perpetual hope. Good times.

I am so thrilled and excited and just freaking' stoked because.....MY PARENTS ARE SENDING MY SISTER AND ME TO ITALY! Yay. Merry Christmas! I predict that this will be discussed in detail on a semi-weekly basis and that this blog will change from one centered around bitching and moaning to one centered around TRAVEL! I hope each and every one of you had a Buon Natale!

Christmas Conversations

So, my sister is in town for the holidays. Today, my mother is sending us shopping for various Christmas items. Some of these items include: and iPod, a Chia Pet in the shape of a dog, twenty five stockings, a tuxedo, and a partridge in a pear tree. SO, this morning, I talked to Caro on the Internet. I found it hilarious. If you do not, I am sorry.

Laurens: i need to ask you some things

Caro: what

Lauren: what are you going to wear?

Caro: unnn i don't know yet.. something that i can wear to work too..so semi dressy... we have to look for something to wear Thurs (*we're going to a party-thingy)

Lauren: heah that is good

Lauren: we cannot spell today.

Lauren: unnnn???

Lauren: tell mom to cut on the today show (they were illustrating what can go VERY WRONG with a tree when it is not properly maintained)

Lauren: NOW

Caro: wow

Lauren: they've set a tree a blaze and it is catching the house on fire

Lauren: did you see it?

Caro: yes

Lauren: scary

Lauren: i need to water my tree

Caro: i saw it.. and you have to make sure no candles are left on it and water needs to be on it

Caro: so dump a bucket of water on the top of the tree...maybe two, just to be safe

Lauren: I don't think that's what they mean. I think they mean put water in the base.

Lauren: because you really shouldn't dump water on the lights??? right?

Caro: stick a chia pet (edited)

Lauren: light yourself on fire

Caro: yep

Lauren: and then dump water on yourself and your fiery chia (edited)
Caro: yep

Caro: OK I really am going because i have to get gas

Laurens: OK meet you at the house !

Holiday Update

Ah, Christmas.

The needles on my tree have fallen to the ground and I am left with a large branch loaded down with every ornament ever made in the history of the world, period. I have exactly one gift under said tree. Considering that today is December 18th, the number of gifts under my tree should be around "eleventy billion". I haven't gotten anyone anything. This means that I will be at the mall tomorrow morning at nine a.m. and will probably leave sometime around "never".

I guess I should probably tell you about the dinner party that wasn't. I am just still so upset that it's hard for me to discuss it without dissolving into tears and screaming "I just want to know WHYYYYYYY!!!!!!" I'll give you the short hand version. My oven caught on fire. By the time we got to the fire extinguisher the turkey had been engulfed. This lead to an emergency trip to the grocery store where steaks were purchased, taken home, seriously undercooked and thrown in the garbage. Oh, and out of the eleven people that had sworn to me on THEIR PETS LIVES that they would be there. at five. thank you. amen..... exactly four showed. I was fucking pissed. It was terrible, I got drunk and spend roughly four hours crying in the bathroom.

Moving right along, it is hot here,....not very Christmasy feeling.

The good news is that there is plenty of wine in the fridge.

Merry Christmas, Damnit

Merry Christmas, lovelies! I love this time of year. It is my favorite. It reminds me of being a wee tiny person whose only worries included "cookies, chocolate" and "doll, Barbie" which are very nice thoughts as opposed to "bills, electric" and "problems, car"....none of that is the point of this post though. The point of this post is to talk about snow, or the lack thereof.

The last time I was able to frolic in real snow was five years ago. My church was going on a ski trip. My two best friends and I decided that we would ONLY go if we could stay in the same room. Let me explain, we were brats. Period. We approached our youth minister with this theory. Being the youth minister, he wasn't able to tell us the truth (that we were behaving like a bunch of little bitches on par with Shannon Dougherty) and instead smiled and told us that he'd do the best he could, this was code for "ok you little twits, wanna play like that?". Macey, Marcy and I rode the bus UP the mountains and to North Carolina to a creepy, dank, old hotel that was massive, Victorian and haunted to Hell and back. The entire church was staying on one side of the hotel and we were placed on the haunted, creepy, dark, deserted ELEVENTY SEVEN BATRILLION DEGREES other side. Also, an extra added bonus: the Exorcist. THE EXORCIST. The mother freakin' Exorcist was the only thing on T.V.... I bout died.

So, we stayed up staring at the screen in abject horror while the poor little girl vomited split pea soup all over the world and we were so hot that I hallucinated and became convinced that I had been swallowed into the caverns of Hell. Finally around four in the morning, Marcy and Macey decided it would be a good idea to OPEN THE WINDOW and allow the three degree wind to blow through the room. It was so blazing hot in that room that the window being open didn't start to help for an hour or so and we finally crashed around six. Unfortunately, six was the time that we were supposed to meet our church at the bus to trolly us to the slopes. It took forty five minutes of our youth director banging on the door to wake us up and another hour for us to blitz around layering ski clothes on top of ski clothes to stay warm. When we finally got to the bus people were making rude comments like "spoiled ***ches" and they weren't even trying to conceal them in whispers. How did I get on this subject? Do you know? I don't. ANYWAY! My point is: I like snow. I miss snow. I want to marry snow and live together in an ice castle. It's finals week people, I'm sorry.

In other news: my finger hurts. Also, I'm having a lovely festive Christmas dinner on Thursday and I will be preparing it BY MYSELF like a big person. This could go a few ways...

1. Fantastically, i.e. everyone eats drinks and is merry and we avoid things that are not good like food poisioning, beating Maceys boyfriend (who no one likes) in the face with a shovel, etc..(shut your mouth,.....it could happen)

2. Dreadfully, i.e. everyone drinks and is merry but the food sucks.

3. Catastrophically, i.e. everyone eats the food, contracts life threatening food borne illness and spends the holidays in an oxygen tent.

Say a little prayer for me....

In which I hurt myself....

How does one drive without the most important finger?

I am freezing my ass of. Literally. My ass is frozen and no longer attached to my body. It is one thirty six in the morning. I typically go to bed around nineish. I am jacked through the roof. Also, I have been informed that I am "an accident waiting to happen".

Lemmie give you some back story. My lovely and very special and beautiful married friends and I ate Chinese food, drank wine and then felt compelled to smoke some cigarettes. Unfortunately, it is approximately FOUR FUCKING DEGREES. So, being the creative and stubborn people that we are, we built a fire pit that we felt compelled to sit around and stare into with childlike wonder for FIVE HOURS. During the past five hours several grand things occurred. I will share them with you..................now.

Things that happened:
1. I melted my shoe down to my toe on the fire pit.
2. I shattered a wine glass with my hulk like grip and had to be hog tied and body slammed to the floor so that the slit running down my finger could be bandaged before I bled all over the world or passed out.
3. I saw the blood that had dripped on the floor and collapsed in a nauseated pile on the kitchen floor and made a command decision to purchase stemless wine glasses, so sayeth I, amen.
4.I had to be revived with a glass of bourbon.
5. I froze my ass off
6. I switched to coffee and Kahlua to warm my ass up
7. I got jacked on coffee
8.I pulled my band aid off, looked at my poor hurt little finger and collapsed again.
9. They left me in the floor because they had "already dealt with THAT once"
10. I drank more.
11.I came home.
12. My finger hurts

Typical.

The boys win again.

Boredom: the desire for desires.

So, I don't know if you've noticed,...but I have been veeeerrryyy posty lately.

I have also been doing lots of other out-of-the-ordinary things lately. Some of these things include:
drinking beer
(!!! I know! You may be tempted to ask me why I have forsaken my lifeblood that is wine and the answer is....well I do not know. I've just felt kind of beer-y.)
not taking the garbage to the end of the driveway for the garbage truck
(this isn't THAT big of a deal....I mean, there are probably only two bags in the enormous cavern that is my garbage can but I'm usually more up on the cleanliness....)
watching "King of the Hill"
(um, yes. I don't really know what's up with THAT)
Anyway, I am concerned about my very unladylike behavior....just not concerned enough to do anything about it. Basically--- what I'm trying to say is that right this very moment, I am sucking at life very much. Someone should probably intervene. Any volunteers? Yea, I didn't think there would be any.

Very exciting times are upon us, what with the drinking of beer and the watching of bad TV and the fact that there is a small (yet amazingly smelly) Yorkie asleep on my foot. I don't think I'd be very good reality television material this week. I guess people are sort of "over" the whole single, boring, white girl who drinks a lot thing. I believe it's called Bridget Jones.

So, for those of you out there with hyper productive lives...this Bud is for you. For the rest of you who (like me) have spent the majority of the last days with a couch fused to your ass, I think it's time we bathed the dog....because the stench is getting out of control.

Grey's Anatomy, People.Grey's Anatomy.

Top three best show ever. Period.

Men don't get it and at the risk of sounding like a....(I dunno what word to put here?..... Sexist bitch? Hmmm, I guess that works) I think it's because the idea of intelligent, witty women who don't wear much make-up and spend the majority of their days elbow-deep in someones lung cavity totally skeeves them out.

I mean, the women on the show are really attractive and there is plenty of screwing around and dirty banter and all of the other garbage men get off on, but for the most part they're just smart, sarcastic and sexually liberated chicks who don't need to be rescued. Also, the men on the show? I mean, yeah McDreamy is a brain surgeon but he spends most of his time pecking away at his palm pilot and strutting around like a peacock with a god complex.

It reminds me of when I was little. I was sitting in the kitchen playing with one of my Barbie dolls when my dad came in and asked me what I was doing.
I told him that Barbie was cooking dinner so that Ken and G.I. Joe could come over and eat. I also told him that she was very excited because she was going to marry one of them and live in a big house and play tennis every day with her friend Theresa. My father then informed me that Barbie wasn't getting married until she had finished graduate school and that was that.

When there's a bomb in a body cavity? It's Meridith, totally calm and dealing with the situation. When Denn---uh....so I forgot about Izzy for a minute. Oh, Izzy. Forever pulling the "I'm blond and I have a ginormous rack and everyone thinks I'm dumb but I'm really not, OK. My soul is forever crushed because I have been cursed with beauty" Give me a fucking break. At first I thought she was going to be the anti-dumb blond, unfortunately for me, Denny died and Izzy flew over the cuckoo's nest.

Anyway, the ultimate point is: great show people, great show. Tomorrow night. Get fired up.

Christmas Shopping!

OK. So. I feel like, kind of bad for sending all of that icky bad energy out into the world. I've decided that I'm going to make a little list of cool/pretty/fun X-mas gifts that are special and you can find on the Internet! So, here they are...

First on our list! Cross stitch. Because, who doesn't want a lovely piece of handmade art beckoning visitors into their kitchen with a phrase like "Don't Make Me Cut You". So, yes. subversive cross stitch. If you venture over to the "subversive holiday shop" you'll find holiday cards! One of my personal favorites is a lovely green color and I find it a grand way to invite your friends and family to "fuck the halls". I'm sort of wondering how one goes about fucking the halls? Is this even physically possible? Hmmmmm.

Second, we have a Christmas classic! These!!! Nothin' says happy holidays like Tiffany's diamonds. Alas, I can state with absolute certainty that I will not be getting them this year.

For the recluse in your life. My all time favorite TV show, maybe because there are striking similarities between their dysfunctional family and my own.

For the outdoors man. Who doesn't need a headlamp? I mean, anyone who has ever been camping will attest to the cruciality (yes, I know it really isn't a word) of this one tool. That reminds me of a story....the last time I went camping my then-boyfriend's dog VOMITED into my sleeping bag. Inside of the bag. ON THE INSIDE OF MY SLEEPING BAG. Are you getting this? It was bad. It was 25 degrees that night. We were out of vodka. I cried for twenty minutes. We broke up when we got back to the car....bastard.

Moving right along.

Personally, I am dying for these. I know, I know, cookware? Yes! Yes! I want cookware! I am also dying for one of these! I want it in "Komen pink".A pink mixer! YAY! And, they'll donate fifty dollars to Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Foundation as a part of the Cook for the Cure®. Now, breast cancer awarness is a cause that we here at T-B-R feel very strongly about, being the kind of people who have breasts. So, I will be requesting one of the mixers from the parental units.

Now, I absolutely love and adore these. Lovely, dainty and super pretty. Everyone could use another ornament....well, not my mother. I think she has enough. In fact,I should go borrow some.

Also, for the wineo .

Ok, so that's a start! I should go and shower. Now, probably.

It's Wednesday! It's Wednesday!

Which means that I am feeling much better now, thank you. I have made a command decision never to post on a Tuesday again, forever and ever, amen. Have a great day!

"Let me feel now what sharp distress I may."

-Charles Dickens.

*Disclaimer: If you are feeling even remotely suicidal, I advise you to read something else. Try this.
So, because it is Tuesday.
Because it is winter.
Because I started crying in the car FOR NO APPARENT REASON.

I would like to attempt to get some of my thoughts out into the world instead of bottled up inside of my brain (which is, unfortunately, a scary place).

In a failed attempt to cheer myself up, I have been listening to some of my favorite music.
This includes :
Ingrid Michaelson "Breakable"
Damien Rice "9 Crimes"
Kate Havnevik "New Day"

The first song in particular....
"Have you every thought about
what protects our hearts?
Just a cage of rib bones
and other various parts.
So it's fairly simple
to cut right through the mass
and stop the muscle
that makes us confess"

My friends all hate my music. Mainly because they listen to the vocal bastardization that is this. Also, they like the rap music which is not my fav thing ever. Anyway, I started writing this with a bunch of grandiose ideas about the way the world should work and how people should treat eachother and it has turned into something of a mess. In fact, I think I will steal a line from my grandma and "leave well enough alone".

I'm going to drink.

More will come later.

Get your Prozac ready. Better yet, just send me some.

Happy Thanksgiving! What happened to your hair?

Once a year, I do this. I don't know why. I always regret it. I make a hair appointment that is supposed to be routine and I wake up and I get in the car and I go to the salon and I sit in the chair and then "cut it all off" is out of my mouth so fast that Allison has to make me repeat it. Then we have "the talk".

Allison: Are you positive?

Self: Do it. Do it now.

Allison: You realize that the last time I cut off all of your hair you called me from the floor of your bathroom sobbing uncontrollably?

Self: Ummm, no. No, I umm....I don't remember that ever happening.

Allison: Yea, that probably has a lot to do with the handful of Xanax your sister had to shove into your mouth to keep you from flipping out on her.

Self: I promise I won't flip out, it's touching my neck, GET IT OFF OF MY NECK.

Allison: I wish you would find someone else to do your hair.

Self: Yea. Whatever.

So, I did that yesterday. My whole family is in town and they have united under a blanket of hatred for my hair. A few key conversation points have solidified my belief that my family thinks I look terrible. It's always so hard to tell what they're really thinking because they are all so subtle about it.

NOT.

Some blatant insults include:

"I told you not to cut it"-spoken by my sister.

"Happy Thanksgiving! WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR HAIR?"- spoken by my aunt.

"Why can't you just leave good enough alone?"- that little gem was from my grandma.

"Hi Lizb- OH MY GOD."- thanks Dad.


Happy Thanksgiving!

"Mother may I go and maffick, tear around and hinder traffic"

That's a line from a satire called "Reginald's Peace Poem".

I was in Nashville this weekend. It was very interesting.

Some exciting events include but are not limited to: falling down in the street (we're talking face plant, people...there are bruises to prove it), refusing to go home and instead of getting into the cab like a good girl... bolting into another bar where eight people were forced to follow, drunk dialing my mother and lighting my scarf on fire. On the upside, there are lots of photos...on the downside a gay man in Arkansas is in possession of all of them.

I Hate My Oven

So, ya'll...I really need my ass kicked.

Um, YESTERDAY NIGHT (or three weeks ago when the assignment was given, whichever) I was supposed to be writing a book report for class TODAY. Guess how that went?

No, seriously. Guess.

Did you guess that not only did I not do the report, but that I also did not go to class? Did you? Because, if you did.......you would be right.

I decided to spend time with my favorite nineteen year old sister in the world. Yes, she may be my only nineteen year old sister,...but I also have a favorite sister who is significantly younger. Carey and I have been par-taying and I will be paying for it until Friday morning when I leave for a visit with my favorite thirty something year old aunt!

Anyway, my sister came home from school this weekend and I just sort of figured...why don't I pay her a visit from time to time??? Well here we are. Anyway, none of this has anything to do with what I will be talking about tonight.

Tonight, my dear friends, I will be dishing (ha, I made a pun. Aren't I witty? Shut it.) on the subject of cooking. I like to call it "Lasagna: the seventh ring of Hell".

Ya'll. This was bad. This was so bad that we almost had to call 911 and beg the fire department to Please, come and save us from the gate to Hell that has opened itself in the kitchen. Does the fire department handle Hell vortexes? I do not know. This was so bad that I locked myself in the closet with a pack of Marlboro's and a bag of candy corn and did not come out for like four FUCKING hours because PEOPLE. This was B-A-D.

SO, Thursday night. I was totally psyched about cooking Giada's lasagna. It is supposed to be fab-o and there were lots of loved ones coming to participate in the feasting and the drinking and the general gluttony of the night and I was just so glad that everyone was going to be together that I went all out.

It was supposed to have four cheeses. FOUR.

It was supposed to have tomato sauce, and meat that was edible, and spinach.

It was supposed to be a lovely, very grown-up meal.

It was none of these things.

I was doing grand. People were getting into town from various places at ridiculously late hours so I decided that NO ONE would be eating dinner. Aw, Hell Naw. We were all going to starve until supper was completed circa midnight.

SO, hungry people began arriving and I had everything organized and was just about to start layering the lasagna when Mash (who had consumed roughly forty seven bottles of wine) came in, totally loaded, and proceeded to assemble the dish while I was outside smoking. Apparently she was trying to help me (or channeling the devil, I'm still not sure which). When I came back in, a partly assembled lasagna had made its way to the oven TURNED BLOODY FUCKING UPSIDE DOWN and Mash was passed out on the dog bed all "I am sleepy and innocent, sorry starving people. Hate it for you" and I looked at Mash, and I looked at the flaming oven and then I looked at Mash again and then my head exploded.

And then I drank. And then people went to Krystal. And then I decided that I would NEVER ever cook again for all of you SOB's and I hope you choke on your chili cheese pup you bunch of ingrates. The worst part was the next morning when I had to clean out my ancient oven that is not equipped with a self cleaning mechanism and therefore required two things that I abhor with a fiery passion served up from the belly of Hades. Those things being: A) oven cleaning spray and B) manual labor.

Thankfully, I managed to clean the kitchen in less than thirty five hours and pretty much chucked everyone out of my house by Saturday afternoon.

This week is going to suck. I will literally be studying every bleeding moment and I haven't had a chance to get my hair done in a month..extra sadness. SO, posting will be slim...I'm sure there will be plenty to report after Thanksgiving at the asylum (better known as my parent's house)so stand by.

Have a good week, ya'll!

Procrastination Station...

...keep at it and you'll never have an occupation.

Blame it on schoolhouse rock.

Hello internet. Welcome to Monday.

I have issues.

Don't ya just love a deadline? I do not. I hope to all that is good and pure that I can slop together enough semi-coherent garbage to garner a B on this word-vomit that is my paper, but I think that is just a little too optimistic.

That last sentence didn't really make sense, did it?

Hmmm.

So, here I am. Slacking my life away, sick as a dog (acute sinus crap) and wishing desperately that smoking a cigarette wouldn't launch me into a fit of whooping cough. Marcey came home from school for a little hiatus and she has super glued herself to my couch with a big glass of wine while I typetypetypetype away at the dining room table(insert pitiful sigh).

My question is: how are there people in the world who are, you know...driven. Where can I meet them? How can I become one of them? Why am I such a procrastinating waste of life? Can you tell me? Now, please? Also, do you have any wine? Can you give me some?

*Update: So, apparently I was drunk when I wrote this? Unfortunately, upon the customary re-reading of the paper, I realized that it is just as weird and awkward as my poor little entry...station and occupation? God help me.

You're better off reading something else.....

try the back of a bag of Dorito's, the June 1997 issue of Seventeen,or your matress tag.

Seriously, I don't have anything to say. I'm just looking for a way to postpone studying, reading and writing a paper. So far, I've watched four episodes of Law and Order and organized my cd's alphabetically. Yea, I know.

It's a sickness...I should probably be in meetings.

Anyway, I just thought it was time the Halloween well wishes were replaced with something, anything else.

Nice mask! Oh, Wait! That's your face!

Happy Halloween Everyone!

The Final Installment

Part IV : The Ball. Yea, I can't come up with anything witty to put here.

So,I was nervous about the ball but I didn't think it would be THAT stressful. I kept telling myself "I mean, they ARE serving wine". I was also under the impression that I would be allowed to stand in the corner with Mash and make snarky comments. Instead, I was a key part of an elaborate dog and pony show. In fact, I believe I was the pony.

Yea, I was definitely the pony.

Mike: "this is Lizbet."
Person I'm being introduced to: Hi Lizbet, where are you from?
Me: Alabama
PIBIT: Ahh-luh-ba-muh? Well aren't you just... (insert southernism that will inevitably sound completely ridiculous coming out of the mouth of a dude from Jersey. Options include: a) sweeter than sugar (b)pretty as a peach (c)cute as can be. This happened four times before I started telling people I'm from Wisconsin)

I met a ton of people. It was weird because not many would look me in the eye when we were talking.I told Mike and he mumbled something about "territorial issues" and from then on I told them that I was Mikes cousin. That really pissed him off but I ain't no mans property. Unfortunately, this back fired. When they realized that I didn't "belong" to anyone they started...... um.....misbehaving. After the second person "accidentally" slapped me on the ass, I started telling people we were engaged.

It's been a while since I've been to a fraternity party and I had totally forgotten how a bunch of men act when there's booze involved. It isn't pretty.

All in all, it was fun and Mike was very polite and I had a good time. We hung out for the rest of the weekend, went to the beach and saw the base. The flight back was great compared to the one out and I came home and slept for about sixteen hours.

Tomorrow is Halloween! It's hard for me to part with candy but if it's going into the tummies of cute little children in costumes, I don't mind so much.On the upside, November will arrive with NEW and EXCITING topics! Get fired up.

Arriving Departed.

Part III: "Oh, we have 12 vacancies. 12 cabins, 12 vacancies."-Norman Bates.

Well, after the free beer was passed around, everyone on the plane got trashed and we all joined in and sang kumbaya and shared a bag of pretzels. It was very reminiscent of the elevator scene in "You've Got Mail" or any of the movies where people don't know each other but are forced together because of situations out of their control and then they bond and I stopped recording the events on my vomit bag.

And then we landed.

I had totally forgotten why I was even on a plane at this point. I hadn't had anything to eat since a handful of greasy hash browns circa three a.m. , the beer had kicked in and Mash and I were just so ready to get out that we didn't give a fuck if we were about to be dropped off in the middle of the Sahara, left to wander the desert with nowhere to plug in our hot rollers.

Obviously, I flipped out a little.

I guess, to be fair, it was more like I turned the switch from "normal and slightly drunk girl on a plane" to "militant". I was not getting off. Sorry folks, party's over. I WANT TO GO HOME.

Unfortunately for me, Mash had made friends with the Marine sitting behind us (later I discovered that everyone in Jacksonville is a Marine ,so it wasn't that weird that Ashley and I were the only a)women on the plane and b) non-marines on the plane) and she un-buckled my seat belt and grabbed my carry on while he said, "I'm sorry I have to do this, but your friend asked me to and she's hot". He then proceeded to PRY MY ASS OUT OF THE SEAT AND SHOVE ME TO THE DOOR.

In retrospect, Mash did me a favor because I would later find out that a bet was made that I would be the last person off of the plane. I wasn't.... So this made me look more excited and less terrified (which wasn't the case).

SO, there I am. Off the plane. Standing on the runway, in the rain, like an idiot, while Mash gets the phone number of the dude that man-handled me off the plane "in case we need something later" ...riiiiighht. I look over to the terminal and see the reflection of myself in the mirrored windows. That would be the first of many times during the trip that I actually thought "Oh, good grief, I feel sorry for HIM." I looked exactly like someone who had slept for two hours, been up since three, laid on the floor of an airport for seven hours, and had six beers in twenty minutes.

Mash walked up and we had no choice but to go inside.

I know this sounds weird, but I don't really remember too much about meeting him and getting the luggage and getting into the car. I guess total panic had set in and so it is all very fuzzy. I DO remember him walking up to me and trying to give me a hug but he was using both hands and I was going to do the whole one-arm-hug thing and it was really awkward.

So, we left the airport and headed to THE BATES MOTEL (Attn: Marcy. see Psycho for reference). On a scale of one to ten on the "nice hotel" rank (one being the lowest) this wasn't a decimal over a 2. We were running so late that I DID NOT GET TO TAKE A SHOWER. Can you EVEN imagine how disgusting I was at this point? I washed my face and fixed my hair and make-up and dumped about a third of my perfume bottle all over my body. Then I started chain smoking.

And that's where I'll leave you.

*up next: The ball. Yup.

Fly the Friendly Skies

Part II:Flight

Friday Morning:
So, I had totally forgotten how much I hate to fly. The Turbulence, the sardine-like atmosphere and the complete lack of vodka on this seven-thirty a.m. flight has put me in a mood. Also, I'm hungover and concerned about the contents of my suitcase. Last night, I decided to wait until AFTER I consumed the super large bottle of chardonnay to pack. I have no earthly idea what I put in but I have a bad feeling that its contents are little more than a dirty sock and some lip gloss.

Speaking of lip gloss, they are NOT kidding about that shit. Mash and I didn't realize that unless you have your ONE TUBE of lip gloss in a plastic bag, you cannot get through security. Like zip-lock forms some kind of protective barrier between sparkling goo and the traveling public. OH GOD, THAT WOMAN HAS A TUBE OF BONNEBELLE. HIT THE FLOOR.

Friday Night:
Aw, HELL naw.
Our flight has been delayed for seven hours because of inclement weather. We are finally on the plane. The plane had been overloaded by fifteen thousand pounds. The flight attendant has spent the last two hours begging for volunteers to take another flight. I am going to miss the ball. I am stuck on a plane. I have no alcohol. I have no paper. I am writing this on the back of A VOMIT BAG.

Wait a minute.

Yay! The Tulane track and field team has decided to drive! We're taking off! If the stupid nitwit had agreed to bump them to first class in the first place we would not be in this situation.

Stupid nitwit has since made up for stupidity and nitwittieness by announcing:
" I am tired. I am not doing the safety briefing. In the event of an emergency, well...you're screwed. Now raise your hand if you want a beer."

My empty suitcase and puke-sack journaling are no longer bothering me.

I have free airplane beer.

*More will come later, right now I'm exhausted.

Definitely Definitive.

(* I've got soul, but I'm not a soldier Part II can be expected next Monday)
I'm drinking wine and watching MTV.

I drink wine almost every night so this isn't big news, the watching of the MTV doesn't happen so much. MTV just ran a particularly lame commercial encouraging its viewers (like me) to define themselves. I found this idea intriguing.

I couldn't think of anything witty or intelligent to say but I do have a story from Monday that might assist in the definition....Definitely.

In which I concuss myself.

Sooooo. Monday was a fun day, people. Fuuuunnnnn Daaaay.

I don't have class until 12:45 every day. Yea, I have such a tough life...I know. Anyway, I got in the shower around 10ish and was in the process of getting the shampoo out of my hair when the doorbell rang. My mother looooves to drop by unannounced and if my car is outside and I do not answer the door, she will break it down. I'm kind of attached to my door, it's a good door....the paint is wearing off and the knob squeaks a little but it gets the job done. I do not want my door broken down. I bolted out of the shower, dripping wet, and ran to the door.

My mother was not at the door.

A Jehovah's Witness was. There I stood, dripping wet, mortified and partially covered with a towel while my feet could. not. move. We are talking paralyzing horror here, people. I feel bad for all of the years of yelling at girls in horror movies...yes, too bad no one yelled "DON'T JUST STAND THERE YOU STUPID BITCH, RUN!"

As you can imagine, the guy at the door was equally freaked out and our conversation went a little like this:

Me: Moth--oh. Um, I thought you were my Mother.... but you aren't.
JW: No, I'm Bill. You are, um,....you were just in the shower?
Me:Yes, yes I was.
JW: Well (trying desperately hard not to look at me in the face)I just wanted to share the teachings of the Bible with you.
Me: Oh, that is nice of you but I have a Bible, its right over there...see? OK, so I kinda need to go and put some clothes on and I'd rather do that in private.
JW: Um, yea...see here's the thing, I have a quota (*what the fuck? this guy actually expected me to stand in my doorway with a towel barely covering my ass just so he could meet his quota? WRONG-O)to meet today and it would be really helpful if you'd just listen for a minute.
Me: Dude, usually I would never be this assertive but I-AM-NAKED.
JW:Yea, I see your point. Well at least take this pamphlet?
Me: Fine, thanks, goodbye.

I bet you thought that was the end of the story didn't you? You would be wrong.

The guy leaves and my phone starts to ring, but my cell is in the bathroom. During my little chat with Bill, the shower curtain was carelessly left open and my tile floor was being hosed down. Guess what happened next. I ran to the bathroom. I slipped in the bathroom. I banged my head so hard on the floor in the bathroom that I saw little stars and birdies. My eyes welled up with tears and I reached up and grabbed the phone of the counter.

Me:(choking back tears from the pain, oh, the pain!) hello?
Mom: what's wrong? Why are you crying? Where are you? Are you dead?
Me: No Mother, I just answered the door naked and now I'm laying on the floor in my bathroom with a concussion.
(*I realized later that there were a few key words that should have been left out of this sentence. They include: door, naked, floor and concussion.)
Mom:....I'm coming over now. CLICK.
Me: fuck.

By the time my Mother arrived, I was dressed and holding a bag of ice on the back of my poor hurt little noggin. It took roughly thirty five minutes to convince her that, YES! I AM responsible enough to live by myself and I PROMISE I will never answer the door again. Even if I'm fully clothed.

I've got soul, but I'm not a soldier.

Part I
Fight or Flight
Special shoutout to my dermatologist who made me wait in her office for an hour and a half and then FINALLY came in and I shit you not, said, "I'm so glad you've finally decided to ignore society's standards of beauty and give up on being tan."

Wow.

My 8:00 a.m. appointment has nothing to do with this entry except that I wrote it out longhand in the waiting room.

This entry is about my anxiety about going to North Carolina with Mash for the ball. Yes. Very much anxiety, what with the not knowing this person and the not wanting to be left ALONE with him while Mash and her future husband run off to get away from us.

I have come up with a list of things that could possibly get me out of this, if anyone has any to add please let me know.

1. Fake appendicitis

2. "Lose" tickets, dress, wallet, car, toothbrush, cell phone and anything else crucial for trip.

3. Pretend to break leg.

4. Actually break leg. Options include: throwing self downstairs, jumping off roof, slamming leg in door. Extra points if it can be pulled off without scarring and if self is wasted enough while attempting "operation get a cast" to feel no pain.

5. Cry. Cry really hard. Cry to Mash. Mash will not care that self is crying, but she will go to the store and get more wine.

That's all I've come up with so far. I realize it is somewhat lacking in creativity but it is eight thirty in the f-ing morning and I had to get up at six just to get here in time to wait. I don't get creative until noonish. Also, I'm out of coffee.

Currently reading: The Penelopiad, it's by Margaret Atwood and it's basically a shortened version of Homer's Odyssey from Penelope's perspective. She breaks up Penelope's narratives with a chorus of the maids murdered upon Odysseus' return and they are my favorite part. Best lines of the book so far:

Oh gods and oh prophets, please alter my life,
And let a young hero take me for his wife!
But no hero comes to me, early or late-
Hard work is my destiny death is my fate!

Then sail, my fine lady, on the billowing wave-
The water below is as dark as the grave,
And maybe you'll sink in your little blue boat-
It's hope, and hope only, that keeps us afloat.

I guess that's all I have for today! Part II's on it's way though.
Oh, and if I do manage to break my leg I'll need input on what color cast I should pick!

Under the Sea,....and at the Mall

So, my sister is in town from college and we are hanging out and watching "The Little Mermaid" because we're cool like that. We are also eating candy. Lots and lots of candy. Tonight we are going to the movies!Yay!

Caro and I loooove Ariel. When we were little, this was the ONLY Disney movie my mother wouldn't let us watch. She didn't like the fact that the Prince falls in love with a half-naked chick who cannot talk....like the only reason he's with her is because of her physical attributes. I know there's nothing wrong with raising your daughters to believe that their purpose in life is not purely aesthetic....but I don't think we would like this movie half as much if she hadn't made such a big issue out of it.

I finally found a dress for the ball! Yesterday, my mother and I drove to Atlanta and shopped for hours and hours and hours and just when I had given up and decided that "I do not f-ing care, I shall wear a garbage bag with a hole cut out for my head" I came upon the one dress in all of the south that isn't an abomination against all that is holy in the fashion world.I saw some that were just absolutely heinous. I am a little worried about the dress I picked because it's red. I mean, it looks cute on and everything....it's just that I'm very fair skinned and I dunno if I'm too pale for this little number.
Whatever.

I have five days left before I leave. I am totally freaking out.Also, he's only 5'8" and I'm 5'6" AND I'm wearing heels! I hate being taller than my date. I wish I was a short girl.

Hey ya'll!

SO. Test week is officially over and I am celebrating with a massive glass of chardonnay. Plus: Grey's Anatomy tonight! Plus: Marie Antoinette tomorrow night! Good times. I would classify my mood as downright copacetic! On to the weekend, I will be shopping in Atlanta for a dress with Mommie Dearest. I know, aren't you jealous? Shut up, assholes. Hope everyone's havin' a great Thursday!

As Far as I'm Concerned, Statistics can Go to Hell.

Hi people! I'm going out of my mind. I know someday I will look back on my college experience and laugh heartily at my gross overdramatization of tests but right now, I am considering faking a stroke to get out of this shit.

Yea. I know, things could be way worse. Here's the thing: bad grades aren't fun for me. I am suspicious that all of my professors have united in order to orchestrate a sort of "Senior Hell Week" and I am just a lowly pawn forced to comply with their every whim. I caught myself humming the tune to "Hong Kong Garden"..(if you haven't heard it you should get thyself to ye olde iTunes and download it, stadt!) and it isn't exactly a hummy song....it's sort of twitchy and dingy. I have also noted my tendency to jump at small noises and my inability to consume anything out of the "orange" food group (candy corn, cheetos, etc.). I feel like someone laced my coffee with speed...kinda like that chick in "Valley of the Dolls"....pretty soon I'll be wasted at a bar claiming to be the original singer in Velvet Revolver and soon after you'll see me passing out in a narsty motel, waking in time to find that I've just been molested by a bum.

I still have no dress for the ball. I guess that's OK since I feel more like "Annie Get Your Gun" than "Cinderella" anyway.

Hope everyone else is coping with daily stress better than I am!

Could be worse. Could be raining.

The weather BLOWS ASSHOLE. It is cold and blustery and pouring.

The Ball is next Friday and I still have no dress. Plus, I'm kind starting to freak out about flying to North Carolina to go to a ball with someone I've never met before. This is so not like me. I mean, seriously.

My stress is compounded exponentially because of the ass load of shit I have going on this week. I am trying to "perspectify" because I am just a lowly undergrad and God only knows what kind of fiery baptism I'm going to have to endure in graduate school, BUT, I won't GET to grad school if I don't pull my stuff together this year. I think I've given myself a stomach ulcer.

SO, I have three tests and a twenty five page paper on Kosovo this week. This is the type of shit that gets me labeled a recluse. ALL of my phone conversations have gone something like this.....
Phone: ring ring ring
Me: Hello
Cleo(my good friend for as long as I can remember who is married and has a baby and finds my company entertaining): what are you doing?
Me: well, I just cleaned the entire house and organized my dining room table in preparation for study time or as I like to refer to it "the big cram".
Cleo: Oh. Wanna come over and watch the Bachelor?
Me: ....
Cleo: Fine. Will you call me when your to the blue highlighter?
(I color code my notes in order of importance with highlighters, blue is reserved for last and least important information...yes, I realize how absessive this is)
Me: well, after that I'm proofreading my paper again.
Cleo: why are you such a whacko?
Me: I think it has something to do with being the oldest of four children.

So, I've been locked in my house wondering if its possible to actually become less intelligent as the years roll by. Hmmm. Surely something fun and happy will come along soon enough and I can get out of this scarcastic rut I've been stuck in since puberty. Then again, maybe not.

Oh, I almost forgot: I'm looking at dresses for the ball. So far this is the only one that looks good.

STOP THE RINGING!

Hello Internet! I'm still under the weather so things have been pretty dern boring at my house. I have discovered the worst t.v. show in the known universe. It is called Reba, and if they're looking for better interrogation methods down at Gitmo this would fit the bill. Chuck Norris would break after an hour or so of this shit. I've also been skipping class like its my job. These last few days would have been completely boring if it hadn't been for the phone! People, I finally got a house line and yesterday my dad actually brought me a phone to plug into the wall! I shit you not, I have received over forty-five calls from a toll free number, three phone calls from CANADA and several from the mid west. What the hell? I haven't answered any of these calls because I don't feel like it.If anyone think's I getting off of my ass to walk across the room then they are sorely mistaken. SO, yea that's pretty much it. Fight the sickness! Drink lots of fluids and wash your hands.

*Update: Powell, WY. Ladue, MO. DC Suburb of VA. Greenwood, MS. Point Pleas, NJ are just a FEW more of the trillions of calls I have now received.

Seriously?
Welcome to October. I am ill. Everyone is ill. The illness is infecting my brain. I am feeling anxiety riddled and batshit crazy and this is all compounded by the fact that I have an ass load of work to catch up on and I am really disappointed in this season's Gilmore Girls. Helllooooo run on sentence. So anyway, things suck right now. Also, I am going to a fucking ball in three weeks and I have no dress. People, seriously? Seriously.
Also, my mom sent my dad over with food to build my strength and she has totally confirmed my theory that in my family, cooking is degenerative. I'm talking a fucking onion plate. It smells like ass in here.
Anyway, so this post has absolutely no point except that I am bored off my ass and I would like to inform the good people of the internet that the movie the Lake House? FUCKING BLOWS. I want those two hours of my life back.

Someone put me out of my misery.

I adopted a marine.

And I wrote to him in Iraq. And now he's coming back. And he wants me to go to the Marine Corps Ball with him. And I said yes.

Fuuuuuuuuck.

What have I gotten myself in to? I was just trying to be a good American. I GUESS I shouldn't have said yes but I HATE letting people down.

I guess I have to find a dress.

Love is A battlefield. No, I'm Serious.

What is it? A feeling? An emotional connection? Sexual desire? Maybe I should preface this with the admition that I may have consumed a bottle of wine already and am sitting on my sofa with my two good friends. One is married, one is in a relationship and I....well I have a dog. We're talking about looooove. I will change their names to protect their privacy because I'm considerate like that. Aren't you impressed with my internet smarts?
I know you are.
Is there one person on the planet destined to be the person for me? OR...Are there several people who could fill the void? I don't know.Cleo thinks no but Mash things yes. I think I've been in love before. There were five years of my life dedicated to the adoration of a single soul, but now....Frankly, I don't care where he is or what he is doing. In fact, hopefully he is living in hippie commune planting corn.Does that mean that I never loved him? Viewing the situation through the lense of the pre-Socratic philosopher Parmenidies: because I adored him in the past does that void all of those feelings that I do not have presently? Love is something that occurs in the "present" and therefore cannot be understood unless one is actually experiencing "it". How do you define it? Can you? I want answers,people.
Oh, and Cleo and Mash sat "Hello".

The road to Hell is paved with good intentions.

Sometimes, things are running along so smoothly that you cannot help but think "wow, I'm actually doing ok right now" and you might as well walk onto a stage and scream "Macbeth" at the top of your lungs. It is a known fact that before you know it, the bottom will fall out and you will be left standing in the freezing rain wearing your favorite pants that cannot be exposed to water.

Oh, and those pants? They will be ruined and you will cry.

And then you with think "fuck". And you will drink. A Lot. Even for you.

School is piling up and I feel really guilty about missing this one class that I don't particularly care for and my friends mom died and I am sad. Welcome to depression station, all aboard!

Hello Internet!
Welcome to my blog. Wow, I have a blog. I am fired up about my blog. I am the one in the green dress. My friends are all good looking.

So, I live in the south with my very small, very feisty dog. His name is Moe. I am a senior in college and hopefully I will be off to study law in the fall. Or maybe I'll be de-worming orphans in Somalia with the peace corps. Whichever.

I have a very large, very vocal family that lives alarmingly close to me. My hobbies include retreating to my house and studying for ridiculously long periods of time, shopping, drinking heavily, complaining about the weather and crying at inopportune times. These are not the most important things about me but I guess you gotta start somewhere.

I will either update frequently or not. My next entry will be very long and detailed. Get excited.