I'm not listening!!! You can't make me!!!

hepatica_mel @ 2009-04-14T02:15:00

2009-04-14T07:55:21Z

I have to be up for work in about... four and half hours. Hm.

Guess I should update my LiveJournal!!! *Excited pre-teen girl squeal*

Clearly, I'm making a smart decision because I couldn't sleep right now if I wanted to. Even if I wanted to! Come on! I'm gonna regret this tomorrow when I'm sitting at the microscope. Actually. Can you regret something you can't help? Like insomnia? In any case, it's damned unfortunate. SEE ALSO: med schools rejecting me, the incessant chafe of singledom, the misconception that tattoos/piercings = social deviancy.

So, I think my mom is worried about me. She's used the phrase "Keep your head up!" more in the past two months than all of the guidance counselors I've EVER had combined. She's resolved to help me bear up by providing me with more calories than I know what to do with. I am definitely an emotional eater, and the Easter Bunny must have heard about Lady Luck's recent indiscretions... because I am surrounded by chocolate in various forms (Solid bunny, egg, bar) and it's dangerous. I hid all of it in a desk drawer, you know, because I'm going to forget that it's there and not eat it. Ahh, no.

Currently, there are two men in my life whom I'm SURE would fight to the death over me if I ever fell out of the Gay Wagon. I promise you that I'm not being egotistical. Just honest. One of them is far more open about it than the other, who happens to be a walking anachronism and still believes in things like courting. So, just like nearly all of my straight friends who've been bitch-slapped by love (or frequent, misguided one-night-stands), I've been making vague threats to perform a sexual orientation 180 because "IT WOULD BE EASIER!". Except, whoa, hold up... what about sex being an important part of the relationship? And what about your longstanding opinion that penises are ludicrous-looking? And the benefits of no pregnancy scares/saving money on condoms/less body hair/knowing the plumbing/EVERYTHING about girls?

So, basically, I'm right where I need to be.

But if the drive is there, then where are the available girls?

Maybe it's my dirty mouth. Maybe, like Straight Guy Friend #1 says, I'm too nice. Maybe I'm intimidating (definitely heard that one before). Maybe the timing's wrong? Maybe I'm not hipster enough. Maybe I'm too tall. Maybe my tits are too small. Maybe this is all really fucking ridiculous and I'm fine the way I am and the right girl just floats in different circles. I like that one.

And what's up with the universe rewarding my exes' bad behavior with new, attractive girlfriends? I mean, I could understand it if the new, attractive girlfriends came with a strain of STD powerful enough to end Spring Break FOREVER, but no... just Facebook updates that make me projectile-vomit ALL over my computer. Fucking Facebook... making me all jealous of people who really don't deserve my attention.

Hey. I'm tired now. Sweet.

Thanks for sticking with me this long.

Night.

Dear Mr. Lamontagne...

2009-02-02T08:21:42Z

"Now I see just how young, how scared I was... eyes closed tight, throwing punch after punch at the world... Sarah? Is it ever gonna be the same?"

Fucking Ray Lamontagne. I mean, really. Really. Had to go and write a gorgeous song and give it the very same name I've been trying to forget for almost a year now. Of all the goddamned names in this world, he just had to pick that one. Not to mention that the song is apt in so many ways. "I hold this memory, pulled you so close to me, whispered: 'Will we always have this?'"

No, it's never going to be the same. Let's be clear: I don't want her back. I just want to stop handing the reins over to Crazy Hormonal Nicole every damn time I hear her name. Every time she calls. Although that will probably be a rarer occasion now that she's dating the girl I may or may not have had a brief interest in. But see, the whole "She stole my crush" thing is 70% clever ruse... again, Ray has it right because the track after "Sarah" is "I Still Care For You". It's really just another angle for me to use while stringing myself up. I still care. I can't stop.

Oh, right. Speaking of self-sabotage, I broke up with Eileen about a month ago. When I say "sabotage," I'm really referring to my inability to let go of my issues, to the point that I couldn't just be happy. Particularly wrenching: an email from Eileen washed up in the wreckage, admitting that she'd in fact loved me but hadn't said so, as to not pressure me. As if I hadn't already felt like a total emotional deviant. Sara just might be the biggest wrench I've ever thrown into the works, because she's definitely still stuck there while I'm desperately trying to make enough noise to cover the gnashing of the gears.

And no one is absolutely perfect in this way, I know that. It's the same reason that no one will ever build a machine capable of perpetual motion; things rust, corrode, fall out of alignment, seize up and cease to run ever again. You can't just build something and then forget about it. You lose all the work to heat, and friction, and noise. It's inefficient. It's expensive. It's exactly the same both when you begin and when you end a relationship; it's maintenance on a machine you will never fully understand. You just hope it works forever and you're always surprised when it stops one day.

I thought that the mechanisms I'd invented to circumvent the massive emotional short circuits of a year ago were enough to let me keep running. It's not working. I'm still breaking down, if you'll pardon the pun.

Fuck. A year later and I'm still fixing things.

"Is it not me? Am I not folded by your touch? The words you spoke, I know too much, it's over now and not enough..." -TV on the Radio

.

hepatica_mel @ 2008-12-23T22:33:00

2008-12-24T05:17:07Z

I'm feeling a little sentimental at present. I read in bed for awhile, willed myself to feel sleepy enough to turn the light off... and debated whether or not to call my girlfriend. I opted not to, feeling as though I'd have very little to say. I then proceeded to start thinking about Sara after I'd pulled the covers up.

I guess I was just taking things back to the beginning. The first time we spent a night together. Halsted and The North End and the incredibly nervous look on her face right before she leaned in to kiss me. Too quickly, like she was worried about losing her nerve. I saw it coming the way I'd seen our entire interaction; that sense of inevitability. "Come home with me". The long walk to where my bike was locked. The El ride up to Granville, and the elevator to the fourth floor. Both of us scared out of our minds.

As with most of my history, I have a harder time remembering the difficulties than I do basking in the glow of past happiness. Like the first morning I woke up with my arm around her waist and breathing in the scent of her neck. And realizing that she'd been awake and hadn't moved, so as to not disturb me. Readjusting so we'd fit, the blankets kicking up dust that danced through the sunlight peeking through the window. All of the awkwardness gone. Warm and sleepy and asking: "Where did you get this scar?" Tracing it with a finger while she told me the story.

I don't know if I can ever have that feeling again. Since Sara, every time I've felt close to that moment, it's not comfortable anymore. I want to get up, out of bed, back into my comfort zone. Either that, or I turn on the false bravado and become cavalier, as if lying there isn't tickling a feeling I thought I'd gotten over.

Since then, people have started telling me that they thought Sara was trouble all along. When I'm feeling good about things, sometimes I agree. She could be an emotional bully, and her confidence was often so unwavering that it made me insecure.

However.

I still miss that feeling. That first morning feeling.

I think maybe I always will.

hepatica_mel @ 2008-11-27T00:06:00

2008-11-27T07:01:25Z

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. Gonna get all stream-of-consciousness on you now.

So, for the first time in my life, it would appear that I am in control of my current relationship. As in, the ball is in my court. This conjurs up a mental image of me in a Harlem Globetrotter-esque uniform complete with afro and sweatbands... the point being: it's been a VERY long time since I've touched a basketball. Literally and figuratively. Back in the day, I used to consider myself quite the baller, even though the term baller (n. 1. One who exhibits a consistent proficency at-, or exuberant love for the game of basketball) wasn't even an idea yet. Also not considered at that point in time? RELATIONSHIPS.

I could take this down a couple of different paths. Really, who doesn't love an old-fashioned coming-of-age tale complete with a cheeky little lesbian twist?

...However, as it turns out, I grew up normally and awkwardly enough. The gay thing happened later on. It's only when you get a little perspective (read: hindsight) on your adolescence that you realize how much of yourself (and I mean myself) had developed long before I knew what to call it. That, and you finally figure out why you hated your best friend's boyfriends so much.

But back to the topic I'm dancing around. I'm currently in my fourth relationship, although you might count it as the third if you discredit my highschool romance with Matt, a phase of my life that I lovingly refer to as "Living the Lie". Anyway. A rundown:

1) Matt: Met in the theater department my junior year, his senior. Dated for eleven months. It's my theory that he broke up with me after I refused to put out. He also admitted to kissing some other girl while away at college. This one's so far off the radar that sometimes, even i discredit it.
2) Riss: First girl relationship. First sexual relationship. Met during rugby, my sophomore year, her freshman. This was another eleven-monther. Ended badly because she took an interest in a teammate... and I let the punishment drag on for a few months, apparently for lack of anything better to do. We're currently good friends. Not sure how it happened, but I'm glad about it.
3) Sara: Met her through a friend. She pursued me, and there was a feeling of inevitability about it... as in: "Oh, yeah, we're gonna date. That's just the way it's going to be". About a month or two later, I was head-over-heels; the feelings just blossomed. We lasted six months. This is where things get rocky for me, so I'll try to keep it short. Basically, it ended, I wasn't ready, I'm still sore about it now and then. Greek tragedy. Sometimes I think about how badly I took it and the memories alone are embarassing. Rough, rough stuff.
4) Eileen: Present day! She's thirty, stable with a "grown-up" job, very different from my other relationships. However, I feel like the more confident of the two of us. This is new and strange. Also? Being able to distance myself. I'm not caught up in anything... I'm just enjoying the perks and trying to keep things simple. I don't even know that we have an anniversary. I'm not sure how long we've been together, although I think we're coming up on four (?) months. It's not as if we're not exclusive, because I am a self-proclaimed Serial Monogamist.

HOWEVER. I am terrified that she's getting close to using the big L-O-V-E word on me. W-w-w-What? Me? Afraid of a long-term, committed relationship? Why? Ohh, could it be a knee-jerk response to the hell I put myself through about nine months ago?

Here's how it works: we spend probably... 4-5 nights a week together, especially weekends because of the sleeping in. I typically call her when I get out class to see what she's up to. We do dinner, mostly at her place because of her dog, and then we head over to my place and call it a night. She gets up for work a lot earlier than I do, I sleep in a little later. I wouldn't say that my world revolves around her. I'm not aware of thinking about her constantly. I don't get bent out of shape if she doesn't call, but I do get the feeling that she'd be upset if I didn't call her. I think she may be more invested than I am, but we're both fighting not to be the vulnerable one. Pissing contest. Lovely.

Nuts and bolts: I think she's a lot more into the sex than I am. It could be a lot of things. She might equate it with closeness. She might have more of a hormonal drive thing going on. My sex drive, on the other hand, has been wonky lately. I can go days without thinking about it... I don't think she feels the same. Weirdly enough, I used to be that way with Sara. Maybe it's knowing that I can have it whenever I want that makes me disinterested... like when she's putting it all out there, I'm not in the mood anymore. Maybe that's just not sexy to me. The idea of sex is nice, but I rarely have the ambition to get things started. I've been letting her take the lead. Is it a universal thing to feel like you're better in bed than your partner? Do I just have an overinflated ego?

Well, in spite of my attempts to keep things simple, they've gotten complicated. I'm holding back, and because I'm holding back, she is too. Now we're stuck. And the ball is in my court. So now what? Where do we go from here?

I feel a little better having typed all of that. Maybe more later.

What I've Learned

2008-06-19T05:28:46Z

My twenty-second birthday is less than a week away. As always, it's managed to sneak up on me... and I suppose I should look back on everything I've experienced thus far. It's a long time, and yet it seems as though all of the lessons are just starting to become apparent. Maybe things were too easy for awhile there, maybe it took some tough times for everything to kick in. So. Here we go, one, two, three and away we go with honesty. Everything here is true.

-I'm currently addicted to the song "Strawberry Swing" by Coldplay. It fits with my tendency to love songs that feel... big, somehow. Bigger than me, than what I'm dealing with.
-I used to dabble in cutting, and about two months ago, I tried it again. Just a one-time thing. I'm afraid to tell people about it because it screams "weakness" to me. But I'm only human, and I'm owning up to it. It does represent a low-point for me, though... and somehow, that's almost comforting. In a weird way, yes. But it works for me, and growing up is about understanding what makes you tick.
-For instance, my mantra these days is: "Fear isn't a valid reason for ANYTHING". For me, this is true. There has to be something else that drives you.
-I think about my ex-girlfriend constantly. I dream about her, mostly in normal situations... but occasionally the dreams are about sex, and they feel just about as intense as the real thing. My greatest wonder is if she dreams about me like this. It's a tough way to wake up.
-My mom almost made me cry the other night. I wanted to talk to someone about it, but the opportunity never presented itself and you know what? I pushed through it, rationalized things and made it work. I still don't like the circumstances, but what can you do?
-I've thought a lot about starting drinking lately. I wonder what made my mom start.
-The bar social scene disheartens me.
-I've started looking though Craigslist "Missed Connections" ads. I think maybe I'm hoping to find something about me.
-I'm finally starting to figure out how my hormones work and how much they effect everything. Which means that I'm getting better about predicting when I should and should not give credence to all of the things I think on a daily basis.
-The idea of being in a relationship right now is throwing me for a loop. I would love to be with Sara again, but I'm beginning to think that she might not let me get that close again. Not because of anything I did, but because she's got walls ten feet high. So. The logical option would be someone new, but I can't help but think that as soon as I start something with someone else, Sara will change her mind and take a chance on being with someone again. Besides, it's not fair to anyone for me to get involved when my heart is still with Sara four months after the breakup. So I just have to stay put.
-Is life really all about staying distracted all day long, just until you can fall into bed and dream for a few hours?
-Sometimes I go back and read all of the messages we sent back and forth to one another. I literally try to pinpoint when things got different, as if that actually makes sense.
-God, we were good. We were really good.
-She called me tonight, instead of the other way around. Felt good, actually. Even if it was only to ask if I needed anything from the store, it means that I crossed her mind. I'll take it.
-I'm actually pretty excited to see how the summer pans out.
-I'm realizing more and more every day that I actually am a catch. I'm not boasting, but I've got a lot going for me. Patience is the hard part.

That's good for tonight. Sweet dreams everyone.

Throw Me A Rope- KT Tunstall

2008-03-09T03:32:38Z

I want you between me and the feeling I get when I miss you
But everything here is telling me I should be fine
So why is it so above as below
And I'm missing you every time

I got used to you whispering things to me into the evening
We followed the sun and its colors and left this world
Seems to me that I'm definitely hearing the best that I've heard...

So throw me a rope to hold me in place...
Show me a clock for counting my days down
Everything's easier when you're beside me
Come back and find me
'Cuz I feel alone

And whenever you go it's like holding my breath underwater
I have to admit that I kind of like it when you do
Oh, I've got to be unconditionally unafraid of my days without you

So throw me a rope to hold me in place
Show me a clock for counting my days down
Everything's easier when you're beside me
Come back and find me
Whenever I'm falling you're always behind me
Come back and find me
Everything's easier when you're beside me
Come back and find me
'Cuz I feel alone

hepatica_mel @ 2008-02-27T20:42:00

2008-02-28T02:52:15Z

This is me not getting out of bed.
This is me not being able to sleep.
This is me being stubborn.

This is me having good days.
This is me having bad days.
This is me with unlimited free rides on a roller coaster.

This is me overdoing it at the gym.
This is me pushing it, and again, and again.
This is me needing to hurt because it makes sense.

This is me checking my phone every five minutes.
This is me checking my email every hour.
This is me wondering if silence means something.

This is me and my headphones.
This is me skipping songs, skipping songs, skipping songs.
This is me hearing you, hearing us.

This is me reading old messages.
This is me looking at photographs.
This is me torturing me.

hepatica_mel @ 2008-01-22T21:44:00

2008-01-23T04:19:24Z

Take a deep breath, because we're jumping right in.

I'm living with ghosts.

In more ways than one, and no, I'm not talking about paranormal phenomena. And while none of my doors are slamming shut and I'm not aware of any noises other than the insomniac heel-wearers upstairs... I'm haunted all the same. My roommate, for instance, is becoming a little transparent. She used to have a lot of substance to her; we had things in common, agreed that our combined book collections were impressive in their nerd appeal, got our rent and bills in early. Lately, though, I'd be hard pressed to tell you where she is most of the time. She's been disappearing. It gets harder and harder to see her each day. There just isn't much to look at anymore; she seems to have lost all of her spark. She does the things that she used to complain about. She wears Uggs. I cleaned out the fridge and found three open jars of spaghetti sauce, all hers, and I can't help but wonder "Who the hell are you now?" And just like most poltergeist hauntings, there's a little bit of chaos left behind. It's everything from dishes in the sink to trouble with my girlfriend because I'm in a terrible mood and she feels responsible for not being able to help. Ghosts don't mind messes because they can disappear until they're fixed.

I get home and even though she's never there, I feel more alone just for knowing that she does in fact pay rent to live there and just chooses to be away most of the time. There's her room, her things, her mess in the kitchen, her movies. Lately I've started imagining what the apartment would look like without all of the things she brought and suddenly, I'm sitting on the floor staring at where the TV used to be... the art on the walls seems awkward without furniture to give it context, and I've got an entire room that's empty except for what I remember of it, sitting on her bed and talking about... whatever.

I've got ghosts. They leave plates on desks, notes on the refrigerator, and whispered promises like "I'll try to be around more, I really will".

But ghosts, it seems, only stick around when you don't want them to.

Especially the ghosts of last year: the Ghost of Breakup Past, the Ghost of One Chance Too Many, the ghosts of infidelity and mistakes, broken lamps, suicide attempt guilt trips, that night at the airport. On nights as profoundly lonely as this one, they come visit. They've been visiting a lot, and in such large numbers they're persuasive. I'm liable to believe anything they tell me:

"...look at the evidence, you've been in two major relationships and both of them cheated on you... people get tired of you, that's why they do it. They get tired of you, but don't tell you until you're really head over heels for them. You're stupid to believe them, you know better. You're needy. You're a charity case. You say that you're just outgrowing college and the people you hang out with, but really, they're tired of you too. You can't hack it, socially speaking. Your girlfriend is getting bored with you too. You don't have too much to offer, you're overemotional, you never let anyone in. You're pretty pathetic, sitting here alone, you know that?"

And I do, I do know how it all looks... the rational parts of me, the parts that only work when the sun is out, tell me everything I need to know: I'm doing well at a respected school, I have my own apartment, I have a wonderful girlfriend, I'm smart, I'm respected, I can do anything, and that anyone not working to maintain a friendship with me isn't worth it anyway. My family supports everything I do, my siblings look up to me, my parents are proud of me. I am one semester away from graduating with a 3.78 and a degree in Biology. And this is only the beginning. My mother thinks in terms of possessions and spaces, and for this purpose I'll do it too. I'm going to have an office one day. I'm going to have an office with pictures on the desk and degrees on the walls, paper proof of praises laden upon me because I'm going places, I have potential and everyone is sure of it, everyone knows it. And that's just the material. I'm going to be respected in my field. I'm going to succeed in a field dominated by men. I'm smart enough, I'm strong enough, and everyone knows it. Everyone.

Sometimes everyone but me. Right now, I can see it just as well as you can. But the instant the ghosts come around, I'm so convinced that I'm a victim, I'm worthless, I'm lying to myself just like everyone else is... all of a sudden, everyone is rolling their eyes at me. Everyone has their fingers crossed behind their backs.

I know it's all going to be ok. I know I'm going to bury myself in this semester and before I know it, I'll be walking out of the MCAT... and suddenly I'll be crossing the stage at graduation... and I'll find where my family is sitting and kiss Sara in front of the entire world, related or not, because why should I pretend? It's obvious.

For that matter, why should it even cross my mind that I might not excel, that I might be a waste of space? Isn't that just as obvious?

It is, isn't it?

When it Rains...

2007-08-09T04:51:51Z

The Morton Salt Company really knew what they were talking about.

Variations on the phrase include "All or Nothing," "Drought or Flood," and "Feast or Famine," a metaphor I particularly like; in terms of relationships, I do find it possible to starve. On the other hand, you can also drown in them. Overindulge in them. No matter how you mix it, the message drives at basic human needs like hunger and thirst and twists them. It's a funny thing when the white-coated waiters are setting out a seven-course meal and you can't find your appetite.

Another phrase: "Having it all". Sounds wonderful, but if everyone was knocking down your door for just a piece of you, you might with to exchange "all" for "some". Having it all deprives us of choice.

I made a difficult phone call a few nights ago and somewhere between when she picked up and when I hung up, it started raining. It's rained nearly every day since, and I can't tell if that's supposed to be a sign. Like maybe this is the sort of rain that heralds change, that you dance around in because something is different, the hard part is over and you can move on, and fuck the umbrella, it's beautiful outside.

Maybe I've gotten my appetite back.

The swing of things

2007-01-26T18:38:26Z

It's become apparent to me that Loyola University hires its professors based on a talent show. There's no other conceivable way that they could have come up with the group of people teaching me this semester.

Dr. Dunn: Edna Mode Lookalike
-My art history professor resembles the Incredibles character in looks, mannerism, and voice. Same haircut, same glasses, same superior nature, same bulbous nose. She cemented my theory when, while describing the monstrous size of Sumerian ziggurats, she threw her arms in the air with a manic gleam in her eye... very reminiscent of the scene where Edna leaps onto a table and yells: "Go, fight, WIN!!!" with her tiny fists held aloft.

Dr. Kanzok: Bribed the Judges
-Stefan, as he prefers to be called, hails from Germany and has the accent to prove it. He's new to the university and is still fine-tuning his lectures, but he's not lacking in charm; to illustrate his points on lipids and carbohydrates, he brought the class donuts. Powdered sugar forgives a lot of sins, including rushed lectures.

Dr. Babler: The Ageless Man/The Incredible Talking Man
-First point of interest: Dr. Babler taught my dad in the sixties and is no worse for wear today, other than some slight hair loss. No grey hair, no stiff joints... he's probably looked the same for fifty years or so. Also: this man, if you let him, will talk your head off. Last semester, I made the mistake of mentioning my dad, which set off an hour-long conversation (rather one-sided, however) about the pranks that my dad's classmates pulled, which included marching bands, fire alarms, guys in bunny suits, etc. Remarkably, he still had the grade books from 1965 and probably even earlier. He also started telling me about the grad student in the seventies who was having an affair and was nearly caught in the attic of Cudahy Hall with some tramp. He will talk even if you are not listening, even if you are in the process of leaving the room. He will follow you.

Professor Khalili: The Conundrum/Juggling
-I'm not exactly sure where he's from, but Mahmoud (pronounced with phlegmy emphasis on the "MAH"), speaks with an accent I can only describe as "I'm sorry, what?" There is roughly a ten to thirty second "accent translation delay" that makes his lectures similar to watching a French movie with upside-down Spanish subtitles; you get the meaning, but about a minute later. This has resulted in a lot of blank looks from students who have been singled out to answer questions. I'm sure it doesn't help that it's a two-hour evening Physics course, but Mahmoud tries to liven things up by tossing chalk around. Occasionally he catches it, but more often than not he gets overzealous and later ends up stepping on the dropped fragments and grinding red, blue and orange dust into the tile.

Playing Catch-Up

2007-01-18T21:38:44Z

I suppose her intentions were good... and the ironic thing is that she finally did what was right, but it hurts more than anything she ever did wrong.

I found out last night that while we had technically been "over" before break, we are now OVER. The real, no longer in Limbo kind. "This is something I can't fix" she told me. The kind where I'm supposed to go out to bars and collect phone numbers in my wallet, so many that I forget which is which and fail to care, deciding in my infinite single wisdom whether or not to call them. When flirting no longer feels like cheating, but like opportunity. Cutting your ties and sailing somewhere else...
This is supposed to feel better, but then again, I think I've always been a little backwards.

I'm supposed to be over the moon that I had randoms all over me at T's the other night. That someone whom I don't even know told me that I was hot. I should have been the warm center of attention that everyone huddled around and wondered about, but it appears that people like me, serial monogamists, have very little game to swing. While flattered, I wanted nothing to do with it. The whole time I was wishing that it was her, but it wasn't and it won't be.

Obviously, this is giving me problems. "Chasing the ghost of a good thing" you might say.

I know that eventually there will be another someone who says all the right things and gives me butterflies again, but right now I'm just not... there. I'm actually hoping that I'm wrong and that the someone will pick me up out of this mess and dust me off, because that's something I haven't been able to do for myself lately.

And yes, I'm cute enough, smart enough, have a good heart, deserve something better, will find something better, and this will pass with time, but not right now.

I'm down, but I can't stay here forever.

Apparently I'm easy?

2006-10-17T16:44:07Z

That would be second base... closely followed by third... and they didn't even buy me dinner first. Scandal.

"DAMNIT! NO MEANS NO!"

When in doubt, gang-bang. That's Haley underneath three girls. Once again, no dinner, no movie.

I have bigger testicles than this man.

2006-09-08T16:45:08Z

Makes me want to watch "The Birdcage," really...

Can't live with it... can't really exchange it for something simpler

2006-08-12T01:16:56Z

I am strongly considering becoming a disgruntled customer. I don't mean mild dissatisfaction. I left that landmark in the dust. I'm thinking about a course of action that would result in my forcible removal from Customer Services. "NO, Officer, I have NO clue how my Motorola Razr phone ended up jammed in... *leans over to read nametag*... Luke's mouth. DO NOT TOUCH ME, I AM CALM! *slaps cuffs away* Luke and I were just talking, weren't we, Luke? *Luke nods frantically, phone stifling claims of MM-HMM!*"

Like that.

Basically, my new phone, barely two months old, has no will to live. I took it off of the charger this morning and went to work at 7:30. I got home at 2:00 and right back on the charger it went. All I did with it in that short timespan was to make one call and send a text message. I've deduced that it drains the battery by randomly turning its front display on and off. All the time. While it's charging, it won't ring. Sometimes it won't ring anyway. It won't tell me about missed calls, though the one thing it's been able to do lately is tell me about voicemails an hour or two after I've received them. A few days ago, it started dropping calls. OR, dropping the same call eight times. I've taken it in twice; the first time, I was given a brand new battery in the hopes that I'd gotten a bad one the first time around. No dice. The second time I took it in, a rather surly Tech actually opened it up with a screwdriver and poked around, but shooed me away, obviously so I couldn't see him NOT FIXING my phone. He brought it back out saying that he'd reset it and that everything should be fine. The car ride home was another story, however. I've found that US Cellular technicians are paid to reset customers' phones' ringers to "Calypso Beat," delete their backgrounds and tell them it's magically better!

A little upsetting, to say the least. I should really just throw it at the technician the next time I take it in, but then I would have to call the wife on the house phone. That's just so high school.

Boy, I sure am glad I was never awkward-looking...

2006-07-24T23:42:11Z

Whilst digging around in the basement this afternoon, I stumbled across a box full of family pictures. Vacations, new babies, our old house... and school photos. Having gained a few years of emotional distance from such things, I wondered why I had ever dreaded Picture Day. "Why would all of these be boxed up in the basement?" I asked myself. Then again, the first photo I found was from second grade, long before I struck every branch in the Awkward Tree on my way down. After unearthing "Grade Six" at the very bottom of the crate (an appropriate place), I remembered exactly why Photo Day struck fear into the hearts of both me and my parents. I understand this now. **EDIT** After further digging, I found a few more pictures and fixed a few things... enjoy. If that's possible.

Three-Year-Old Preschool: Year of the Effortless Cuteness

The title says it all. I am effortlessly cute, and I know it. There was, of course, a struggle getting me to wear a dress... but I must have decided to behave for the sake of posterity.

Four-Year-Old Preschool: Year of the Turtleneck and Mickey Mouse Sweater

Mom was enthralled that the hearts were woven with gold glitter thread. I was not. I am also wearing a helmet made of hair.

Kindergarten: Year of the Mushroom Cut

Caught midsentence, I appear to be saying "...fucking mushroom cut!"

Grade 2: Year of Greatest Gender Ambiguity

The photographer was probably wondering "Why is that little boy wearing a dress?" I was wondering why, as well. I probably had an X-Men action figure in the pocket, anyway.

Grade 3: Year of the Blue Floral... Again

I'm also wearing some brand-new First Communion Bling. Word.

Grade 4: Year of the Faux Pas

Look familiar? Definitely wore the same dress as the year before. Here's where I finally got my ears pierced, as well.

Grade 5: Year of the Janet Reno

Here, we are nearing "Mom probably shouldn't be picking out my clothes anymore" territory, as evidenced by my M.O.B (Mother of the Bride) enseme. This is also right after Long Division ratted me out as nearly blind and left me in glasses.

Grade 6: Year of Genetic Experimentation Gone Horribly Wrong

Holy Crap. Two years too early for contact lenses, and it shows. Somewhere there is a petri dish in a government lab labeled "GAWKY TEST SUBJECT 001" that I think spawned this picture.

Grade 7: Year of the Flannel

Lumberjack chic. I'd finally vetoed any and all skirts, dresses, etc, in favor of plaid. This just happened to be the one I wore that day; I was also the proud owner of a red/white plaid, a pink/purple/green number, and many others.

Grade 8: Year of Finally Looking Normal

I believe that this was the year my parents heaved a collective sigh of relief and muttered "Looks like we're out of the woods...". Also of note? DANGLY EARRINGS!

Graduation

Now it's off to high school to snag me a man... or something like that...

Six Years Later... Present Day

Well, that was rather cathartic.

The world of Internet Business is looking more and more interesting...

2006-07-22T05:24:51Z

The top 10 unintentionally worst company URLs

Attn: Entrepeneurs
Everyone knows that if you are going to operate a business in today’s world you need a domain name. It is advisable to look at the domain name selected as other see it and not just as you think it looks. Failure to do this may result in situations such as the following (legitimate) companies who deal in everyday humdrum products and services but clearly didn’t give their domain names enough consideration:

1. A site called ‘Who Represents‘ where you can find the name of the agent that represents a celebrity. Their domain name… wait for it… is
www.whorepresents.com

2. Experts Exchange, a knowledge base where programmers can exchange advice and views at
www.expertsexchange.com

3. Looking for a pen? Look no further than Pen Island at
www.penisland.net

4. Need a therapist? Try Therapist Finder at
www.therapistfinder.com

5. Then of course, there’s the Italian Power Generator company…
www.powergenitalia.com

6. And now, we have the Mole Station Native Nursery, based in New South Wales:
www.molestationnursery.com

7. If you’re looking for computer software, there’s always
www.ipanywhere.com

8. Welcome to the First Cumming Methodist Church. Their website is
www.cummingfirst.com

9. Then, of course, there’s these brainless art designers, and their whacky website:
www.speedofart.com

10. Want to holiday in Lake Tahoe? Try their brochure website at
www.gotahoe.com

Courtesy of http://independentsources.com/2006/07/12/worst-company-urls/

Why is she growing up so fast?

2006-07-21T03:05:45Z

The Things I do for Money: Working the Dick Shift

2006-07-21T01:00:34Z

Don't be too disconcerted by the title; I don't have the business sense to be a hooker. I'm stil a humble, morally upright catering delivery driver... but this morning I did have to work the Dick Shift, which, unless I've mentioned it before, means from 6 am to 2 pm. I ended up taking breakfast and lunch to the same place (a UPS training facility in South Holland) at two different times of the day, followed by a jaunt to the local Emissions Testing Center, lucky me.

While waiting in line, I killed time by calling the wife and waking her up (Sorry, Riss...). Not surprisingly, the Murray Catering van I was driving FAILED the test; I suppose there weren't any problems with the emissions, but the Onboard Diagnostic Test resulted in a list of problems that included everything but "This vehicle is essentially an excessively large paperweight... that smells vaguely of onions." When my boss asked if the van had passed, with what I can only assume was a manic gleam of hope in his eyes, I scoffed as if to say "Yes, and by the way, I find you incredibly sexy!" The van certainly did not pass, and Gene is certainly not sexy. He took the paper from me, looked at it and dolefully muttered "This looks expensive..."

On Saturday I'll be working a wedding, which entails wearing a shirt, tie, vest, black pants, etc. Unless the reception is air conditioned, there is a higher probability of pit stains than I'm entirely comfortable with. But weddings mean drunks, and drunks often mean tips. Hey hey hey...

JUST CALL ME MCGYVER: Lunch at the UPS facility included a spinach salad tossed with sesame dressing, mandarin oranges and onions, which can't be made too early, lest it wilt. I had technical difficulties of the "tossing spinach salad in zero gravity" variety until I decided to be crafty and poured all of the constituents into a pilfered garbage bag (Clean, don't worry. Crafty, not dirty) and tossed it that way. Admit it. You're a little turned on right now.

OR NOT: While unloading a van, I almost broke my finger. I also managed to cut the base of my thumbnail with a can of Sterno, which, admittedly, takes some doing.

-"I don't watch many of my cable channels. I like 45, 46, 47... 52 is good, 53 I'll watch occasionally, 55, 56, 57... my movie channels, 65, 66, and 67... other than that, I don't watch a whole lot of my cable channels..." -Rich, one of the cooks

The first one is definitely more traumatic.

2006-07-16T00:11:17Z

"I'm just trying to straighten her out!"

2006-07-15T23:45:22Z

Today's title courtesy of my Aunt Sue, overheard while pulling the slack out of the tow rope. She had good reason, too. Just look at me:

Nine out of ten scientists would agree: that day, I was the biggest 'mo on Lake Ossawinnamakee. But I finally managed to slalom, so you can all bite me.

Enjoy

2006-07-08T06:40:43Z

Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

Survival Skills

2006-07-08T02:56:44Z

If going off to college hasn't honed my real-life skills to a needle-sharp point yet, my family seems all too willing to fill in the gaps. They went on vacation about a week ago, leaving me with the three dogs (one of whom managed to run into something and give herself a swollen eye). That's not too terrible. The problem, however, is the food situation. Here's what I have to work with:

Two eggs
Half a gallon of milk
Ten cans of soup, but no can opener
A freezer full of my mom's diet food
Some flour, some sugar, etc
They took all of the salt, pepper, and garlic

So I think I should whip up a batch of gruel tomorrow morning. Or eat dog food. This is all very reminiscent of the college stories my dad could tell you, like the one about the buddy he had who would eat "Open Pit" sandwiches (aka, bread and barbecue sauce) and complain of headaches.

In addition to all of this, I'm alone in a large dark house next to a soybean field that could (and might) be filled with all manner of things, from zombie farmers to snipers to cannibals. Plus, the dogs bark at anything that moves. Which, coincidentally, is a lot. In conclusion, sleeping with a baseball bat has never looked so appealing.

Some happy news! At work on Thursday, my boss Gene came up to me with the announcement that from now on, I'll mostly be making deliveries instead of doing dishes. He vaguely gestured in the direction of the sinks and said I was "wasting my talents over there". And then he sent me outside with a skull-and-crossbones emblazoned bottle of highly toxic degreaser to clean a pig roaster. "Make sure you wear some gloves!" he tells me. He's right, though. Why should I be washing dishes when I can be working with cancer-causing chemicals?

The wife had to go home after a long visit, so once again I am lonely... hmph.

"Oh, my four years in the Marines are a blur. Spent most of it over in East Asia... I've probably got a couple of kids running around over there!" -My Uncle John

Pull up your squares of carpet, kids...

2006-06-30T16:12:45Z

...Because today I'd like to talk to you about a coworker of mine named Virginia. I'm reasonably certain she's a gnome, or maybe a troll. Another coworker, Bev, calls her Gertie. If I were writing a paper for my former embitterd English teacher Mr. Wooddell, my thesis statement would be circled, crossed out, underscored, and surrounded by angry arrows of red felt-tip pen... because the evidence pointing to Virginia's gnome-ness far exceeds three bullet points. Sorry, John. Let's break this down, shall we?

Virginia is of gnome-height: Simple enough, right? When at her most assertive, she reaches an impressive 4'11" stature... the last inch or so made up by hair reminiscent of the plastic trolls lonely people keep on their computer monitors. Think frizzy, but not a festive neon orange.
Virginia only works from 2 am to 7 am: I might be wrong here, but I like to think that gnomes are nocturnal. Creepy, yes? "Oh, it's time for work! I'm gonna go make fruit salad in an empty catering establishment allllll alone for five hours!" Gnome.
Virgina drives a yellow Volkswagen Bug: WHY?! It's also filled with stuffed animals, purple seat covers, and features one of those "Car Bra" things on the front. Only a gnome would make such egregious errors. It's well known that they're fashion-deficient.
Virginia is notably ornery: So are gnomes. Actually, she may be more of a troll for this one... and all of mankind is trying to cross her bridge.
Virginia is sadistic: She seems to enjoy my dishwashing predicaments too much... I'll be sizing things up, thinking hard about the next eight hours, and I'll hear a little gnome-y chuckle from behind me... AND THERE SHE IS! Appeared out of fucking nowhere with a cutting board for me to wash! That brings me to...
Virginia has magical gnome powers of teleportation: Like I said, she pops up in the most random places. And just... looks at you. Now, it may just be that she's to short to register in my field of vision until she's standing right in front of me... but I really like to think that she just "poofs" around to freak me out.
Virginia is fond of wearing outfits that come in one piece: Primary-colored cotton jumper things... always with matching socks.
Virginia looks like a gnome: ...Ah... yeah. That's pretty much it.

Now, if anyone hates to step on toes, it's me... but Virginia has not been very nice to me after the time I stopped in on my day off to pick up a schedule... WEARING A FAUX HAWK!!! So I feel a tiny bit justified in saying all of this. Just a little... still mostly guilty.

However, I don't feel guilty at all about the conversation that transpired at the pig roast I worked two nights ago. I should preface this by saying that I hope to work with that very same group of people because they are awesome beyond all belief and actually made things fun. Anyway. We were sitting around, watching the pig turn, shooting the breeze, when someone mentions that our boss, Gene, just needs to loosen up a little bit. Karen suggests that he just needs a little lovin'... of the cable TV kind. Not a bad idea. First she nominates me, to which I reply "Ah, yeah. Not gonna work." She then suggests Christy, who is actually my neighbor. No again. We all glance at Nick, the cook... and he shakes his head at all of us... and sarcastically replies "Yeah, that will relax him... getting molested by the cook he just hired three weeks ago!" Good point. We then discuss what kind of funds this endeavor would require. Quite a lot, we decide. Gene's a handful, and not in a good way (read: not in the sack). The subject gets dropped for a little while, and later on, someone mentions Paris Hilton, prompting Karen to sit up in her chair and proclaim "THAT'S IT! Paris Hilton will sleep with anything that moves!" We lose it for a little while and settle down just in time for me to add "Catering? That's hot..." in the best Paris Hilton voice I can muster... which sets us off again.

I might have a problem with authority figures.

The Highest Day of Holy Obligation in the Church of 'Mo

2006-06-26T20:53:59Z

I was going to post pictures from Pride here on Livejournal, but I suppose you'll all have to settle for my Facebook album instead because the "Add Picture" button has mysteriously disappeared from the toolbar. Alas... don't worry, though. They're worth the trip.

http://luc.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2021117&id=20001210

More later, perhaps... domesticity is calling.

Stalin Juggled?

2006-06-20T18:08:15Z

Watch out... they're ethnic, they're siblings, and damn, do they look tough... www.galchenko.com

Apparently juggling is a huge deal in former Soviet Russia and if you disagree, they will most certainly beat you to within an inch of your life with juggling clubs. Also a huge deal in Russia? Building cyborgs programmed to bring your country fame and glory with their juggling prowess.

Can you honestly tell me that they aren't Soviet cyborgs? I feel as though there should be height markings in their portrait backgrounds. Vladimir (to his handlers, "Vova")'s profile lists his goals as "To seek and destroy," and Olga takes her inspiration from Stalin. God, aren't they just the cutest?! I would have expected their interests to list things like "Not Smiling" and "Nickel-Cadmium Batteries," but even robots know when to remember their roots.

"The only jugglers that gravity fears". Sounds pretty badass to me. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aEb3YknGUks <--- I certainly can't do any of that, even if I am amazing.

On a completely unrelated note, here's another fun internet link... AND IT'S MY BIRTHDAY ON SATURDAY! This is closely followed in importance by Gay Christmas. Yesss!

http://www.poptranslator.com/