Internet, HELP!!!!! I was in the kitchen just now, procuring myself some cookies for nutritional purposes, and, you know my kitchen, right? Exposed brick, blue wallpaper, presumably vermin-free...that one. But then...something scurried. It was small and dark and rodent-like and it scurried!!! And I don't mind admitting that in the shock of the moment, the moment where you think you are all alone in the house and suddenly you realize, much like in a bad horror movie, you are not alone, I may have shrieked like a little girl. Or like a grown woman who has just confronted wildlife in her kitchen.
Internet, as much as I admittedly love this apartment, it appears that I am getting out just in time. Because this cannot be tolerated.
On the plus side, at least now I know who's been pooping in my frying pans.
Showing posts with label general whining. Show all posts
Showing posts with label general whining. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Friday, April 11, 2008
Why there's a boulder on my shoulder and I'm feelin' kinda older and I tripped the merry-go-round
"I can't believe this is the first time you've done this," he kept saying.
"Yeah, well..." I chuckled nervously. "Will it hurt?"
"It'll sting a bit going in," he answered. Then he looked deep, deep into my eyes. "Very nice," he murmured.
Looking back into his eyes in the darkened room, I felt a warm flush spread from my head to my toes, and I started to sweat. My stomach flipped and felt queasy, and then I swooned...
The light flipped quickly on, and the next thing I knew the room was swarming with doctors in white coats, my feet propped up, cool towels on my pulse points, and a plastic cup of water placed into my trembling hands.
So, I went to the eye doctor today, and in the continuing tradition of having odd reactions to common medical procedures, I fainted during the eye exam. Or, rather, I almost fainted, but that doesn't sound nearly as exciting, does it? Apparently it's quite common, as people have varying reactions to the drops used to dilate the pupil. Which was of small consolation to me as stars blurred out my vision and I contemplated whether or not I was going to vomit all over the doctor's clean floor. (I didn't).
"It's ok," the doctor said. "We can finish this another time."
"No!" I said. "I'm never doing this again! Let's finish it now, I'm feeling better. Really."
And so finally, after much poking, prodding, and flipping inside out of eyelids (which almost made me vomit just thinking about, gah), he finished. Diagnosis- blepharitis. (Um, ew?)
Although I wasn't making that first part up. He really did take unusual interest in the fact that this was my first time at the eye doctor, and that he was the first person to ever see my retinas. He also seemed impressed by my extraordinary vision, but now I'm just showing off. Sorry. He was probably less impressed with the staph growing under my eyelids, though, so it all evens out. (Ick!)
I walked out of the office into the cloudy, overcast day, and flinched. Gah! So bright! Why is it so bright?! And of course I didn't have my sunglasses with me. I was noticeably the only person squinting and shading my eyes from the non-existent sun, and I walked down the street like that, squinting and scowling, and creeping people out with my freak alien eyes. (It's nearly impossible to squint without scowling, have you noticed? Try it sometime).
Then I arrived home, and my first thought, before food, before a nap, before I even checked my e-mail (and you know that's serious) was, I must document this! For the Internet, who have seen me in all my saddest states, lest they not believe the creepiness of my freak alien eyes, and would be inclined to underestimate the general patheticness of my current state of well-being. Well, doubt not, Internet.
I came home, and this is what my eyes looked like!:
Just kidding. This is what they looked like. And this is what I felt like:
Then I felt a little better:
And then I finally felt well enough to smile again:
And, well, that was my day. How was yours?
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Why Sprint really stands for (S)crewing (P)eople (R)egularly (In) the (T)ushie
Apparently uploading that video of myself from my cell phone a couple weeks ago cost me a cool $17.97 in "Casual Data Usage" this month.
What. The. FUCK????????
I knew there would be a price to Internet notoriety, I just didn't know it would be charged by the kilobyte.
As an impoverished grad student to a giant, faceless, billion-dollar corporation, I just want to say thanks, Sprint. You've totally made my billing cycle. And you can totally kiss my impoverished grad student tushie.
What. The. FUCK????????
I knew there would be a price to Internet notoriety, I just didn't know it would be charged by the kilobyte.
As an impoverished grad student to a giant, faceless, billion-dollar corporation, I just want to say thanks, Sprint. You've totally made my billing cycle. And you can totally kiss my impoverished grad student tushie.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Why I need to go back to bed before anything else can happen to me
The past 36 hours or so have been a bit rough over here at Diary of Why headquarters. I was all prepared to tell you the story of My Day at the Dentist in which in order to fill two cavities, no less than three novacaine shots were necessary to numb me completely, resulting in the temporary and mildly disturbing paralysis of my right eye. Unable to close it or blink, I had to physically "blink" it with my fingers periodically in order to keep it from drying out and rendering me blind. Having a healthy fear of needles, I usually deal with this at the dentist by squinching my eyes closed tight before the needle ever makes its appearance, because I don't wish to have nightmares of giant needles coming at my face for the next six months. For shot number two I obediently once again closed my eyes, only I forgot that I couldn't close my right eye, and so I had a bit of a freak-out moment where I had a full view of that needle, a drop of novacaine glistening on the tip, coming straight for my opened mouth. At the last second I screamed and turned my head to the side, shrieking, "I can't close my eye! I can see the needle! I can't close my eye!" At which point the kindly dental assistant covered my eye for me and then taped a piece of gauze over it.
So I thought today's blog post was going to be about that, because it seemed that that in itself was already trauma enough for one day, except I had no way of knowing what would happen after my roommate's birthday dinner last night at the restaurant formerly known as My Favorite Restaurant, and now currently known as The Restaurant that Gave Me Food Poisoning. At first I thought the fault was mine for mixing cocktails and wine as I had, but it quickly became clear that although said beverages did color my vomit a spectacular shade of purple (almost beautiful, in its way), there were obviously larger forces at play. I'll spare you the grotesque details, but believe me when I say, man, there were some grotesque details. Like, the stuff I could tell you right now might just blow your mind, but I won't, because then you might never come here again. You're welcome.
I suppose the worst of it seems to be over, though I am still feeling like shit on a plate. I can't even tell you how long it's taken me just to write this much, because just sitting up is a herculean effort at the moment. Two minutes of writing requires a two hour lie-down in bed to recover, so if this post reads a little more disjointedly than usual today that's why.
Anyway, I'd like to take you back about 36 hours, back when the worst I had to deal with was some mouth soreness and a non-functioning eyelid. Ahh, how young and innocent I was back then. I took a little cameraphone footage of myself in the bathroom of the dentist's office, and I guess I'll show it to you, but please be kind. Voilà, c'est moi, in all my droopy-eyed, fat-tongued and puffy-lipped glory.
I like how I'm all, Woe is me, I can't blink my right eye! when as I am saying that I am clearly blinking my right eye. This was towards the tail end of the medication's effectiveness, but you'll just have to believe me when I say that prior to the video, I truly couldn't move my eyelid, and it was really freaky. Also, "Here I am in the bathroom of the dentist's ow-ffice." Why, hello Maryland accent! Clearly almost five years of living in Boston have done nothing for me. I swear, I don't really talk like that. In fact, I think I'll blame any drawl on the novacaine. Yes, that's it, the novacaine. Vowels are hard when you can't open your mouth!
So I thought today's blog post was going to be about that, because it seemed that that in itself was already trauma enough for one day, except I had no way of knowing what would happen after my roommate's birthday dinner last night at the restaurant formerly known as My Favorite Restaurant, and now currently known as The Restaurant that Gave Me Food Poisoning. At first I thought the fault was mine for mixing cocktails and wine as I had, but it quickly became clear that although said beverages did color my vomit a spectacular shade of purple (almost beautiful, in its way), there were obviously larger forces at play. I'll spare you the grotesque details, but believe me when I say, man, there were some grotesque details. Like, the stuff I could tell you right now might just blow your mind, but I won't, because then you might never come here again. You're welcome.
I suppose the worst of it seems to be over, though I am still feeling like shit on a plate. I can't even tell you how long it's taken me just to write this much, because just sitting up is a herculean effort at the moment. Two minutes of writing requires a two hour lie-down in bed to recover, so if this post reads a little more disjointedly than usual today that's why.
Anyway, I'd like to take you back about 36 hours, back when the worst I had to deal with was some mouth soreness and a non-functioning eyelid. Ahh, how young and innocent I was back then. I took a little cameraphone footage of myself in the bathroom of the dentist's office, and I guess I'll show it to you, but please be kind. Voilà, c'est moi, in all my droopy-eyed, fat-tongued and puffy-lipped glory.
I like how I'm all, Woe is me, I can't blink my right eye! when as I am saying that I am clearly blinking my right eye. This was towards the tail end of the medication's effectiveness, but you'll just have to believe me when I say that prior to the video, I truly couldn't move my eyelid, and it was really freaky. Also, "Here I am in the bathroom of the dentist's ow-ffice." Why, hello Maryland accent! Clearly almost five years of living in Boston have done nothing for me. I swear, I don't really talk like that. In fact, I think I'll blame any drawl on the novacaine. Yes, that's it, the novacaine. Vowels are hard when you can't open your mouth!
Cheers, all, and I hope your weekends were better than mine.
Friday, March 14, 2008
Why I love my new dentist
I sat back in the chair at my new dentist's office and sighed, prepared for the worst. The last time I had gone to the dentist was before I became a student, back when I still had dental insurance. As I waited for the dentist, it quickly became apparent that something wasn't right. The chair, something was wrong with the chair. Was it...was it...massaging me? Indeed it was; rollers moved back and forth between my shoulders in a soothing motion. The technician came in and picked up the remote to the flat-screen t.v. "Any particular channel you'd like to watch?" she said. "Oh no, this is fine," I said, and settled in to watch stand-up on Comedy Central as my teeth were X-rayed, then scraped and polished.
It would have been a nearly perfect dental experience if not for the final diagnosis: two cavities, one old filling that needs to be replaced, and one freak tooth that for no apparent reason at all has lost its desire to live and is well on its way to a root canal. Did I mention I have no dental insurance? And all the advances in dental chair technology in the world can't really change that.
Still, though, at three bucks a pop, I figure I only need 499 more free tooth brushes and maybe we'll come out even. (The good kind. Oral-B!)
In short, I hate my traitor teeth, but I love my new dentist. Now don't forget to floss, guys. For the love of pulpy, non-calcified root mass, please, don't forget to floss.
It would have been a nearly perfect dental experience if not for the final diagnosis: two cavities, one old filling that needs to be replaced, and one freak tooth that for no apparent reason at all has lost its desire to live and is well on its way to a root canal. Did I mention I have no dental insurance? And all the advances in dental chair technology in the world can't really change that.
Still, though, at three bucks a pop, I figure I only need 499 more free tooth brushes and maybe we'll come out even. (The good kind. Oral-B!)
In short, I hate my traitor teeth, but I love my new dentist. Now don't forget to floss, guys. For the love of pulpy, non-calcified root mass, please, don't forget to floss.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Why I don't like house-sitting
Friends of the family and last-minute house guests "Dan and Erica," who I don't know from Adam, roll in at 9:30 on a Friday night with their sleeping child and kick me out of the room I'm in (which happens to be the only room with a t.v. and a computer in it) and glare at me when I close a door too loudly or speak above a whisper. No t.v., no computer...no, no, it's fine. I'll just go...read. Quietly. No, I adore doing school work on Friday nights, really. So much for my quiet evening being snowed in with Netflix.
Then, nine hours later they left for the airport, but not before eating my leftover mac and cheese from the fridge that I had just made that night and was really looking forward to having for lunch today, and, I swear, stealing my roommate's Tupperware container. What really irks me is either they thought they were eating mac and cheese that had been in the fridge for over a week (ew), or they knew it was mine and they ate it anyway. Bastards. And the Tupperware...well, the last I knew it was in the dishwasher and now it's not. Now I have to explain to my roommate that this is the second piece of her Tupperware set that I've lost (though it's probably not fair to call it a "set" anymore, and "lost" doesn't seem like the right word either, although it amounts to the same thing). She's probably thanking her lucky stars right now that she's moving out in 5 days, and crossing her fingers for better, more responsible roommates.
I'm never house-sitting again.
Then, nine hours later they left for the airport, but not before eating my leftover mac and cheese from the fridge that I had just made that night and was really looking forward to having for lunch today, and, I swear, stealing my roommate's Tupperware container. What really irks me is either they thought they were eating mac and cheese that had been in the fridge for over a week (ew), or they knew it was mine and they ate it anyway. Bastards. And the Tupperware...well, the last I knew it was in the dishwasher and now it's not. Now I have to explain to my roommate that this is the second piece of her Tupperware set that I've lost (though it's probably not fair to call it a "set" anymore, and "lost" doesn't seem like the right word either, although it amounts to the same thing). She's probably thanking her lucky stars right now that she's moving out in 5 days, and crossing her fingers for better, more responsible roommates.
I'm never house-sitting again.
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Why it could always be worse
So there's a large bump on my forehead, which I can only assume is a zit, but man, is it impressive. It looks like a giant goose egg, like I clocked myself and good, and I'm half afraid something is trying to bust out of there. So far my theories are a) hormonal imbalance or b) I'm a unicorn! And apparently I'm not the only one. (Make sure you at least click on the last two links - totally worth it).
So apparently, it could be worse. And once again I have to say, thank you, bangs.
So apparently, it could be worse. And once again I have to say, thank you, bangs.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Why my internal alarm needs a tune-up
9:00 pm: Pop two Tylenol PM, knowing there's no way I will be able to convince my body to fall asleep of its own accord at 9:45, thus ensuring I will get 8 hours of precious beauty sleep before my 5:45 wakeup call in the morning.
9:30 pm: Get in bed, watch American Idol.
10:00 pm: Turn off t.v. and prepare to fall into delicious slumber.
10:30 pm: Am delightfully warm and sleepy, though not asleep. Soon, though, I am sure I will be dozing peacefully.
11:15 pm: My roommate comes home, and I hear her puttering about. The sound of water running and doors closing sets my nerves on edge. Why am I not asleep???
1:30 am: The delightfully warm sleepy feeling has long since dissolved. Now I just feel anxious and very much awake, like I've just downed a large cup of coffee. WTF, Tylenol PM???
6:50 am: I awake with a start from a dream. Wait, what time is it? Before even looking at the time I realize with a sick feeling that, dear lord, I forgot to set my alarm. And I need to be out the door in ten minutes. Holy shit.
Long story short, I did what I never would have believed possible, and what I hope to never do again: I got ready in ten minutes. And now I'm unshowered, unkempt, and stuck at school for the next 7 hours.
And already the semester is off to a smashing start.
9:30 pm: Get in bed, watch American Idol.
10:00 pm: Turn off t.v. and prepare to fall into delicious slumber.
10:30 pm: Am delightfully warm and sleepy, though not asleep. Soon, though, I am sure I will be dozing peacefully.
11:15 pm: My roommate comes home, and I hear her puttering about. The sound of water running and doors closing sets my nerves on edge. Why am I not asleep???
1:30 am: The delightfully warm sleepy feeling has long since dissolved. Now I just feel anxious and very much awake, like I've just downed a large cup of coffee. WTF, Tylenol PM???
6:50 am: I awake with a start from a dream. Wait, what time is it? Before even looking at the time I realize with a sick feeling that, dear lord, I forgot to set my alarm. And I need to be out the door in ten minutes. Holy shit.
Long story short, I did what I never would have believed possible, and what I hope to never do again: I got ready in ten minutes. And now I'm unshowered, unkempt, and stuck at school for the next 7 hours.
And already the semester is off to a smashing start.
Monday, December 24, 2007
Why the Grinch stole Christmas, probably
Well, I'm home now, with all that that entails.
Christmas in my family is always a somewhat disappointing affair. There's no tree, no decorations, no warm, glowing hearth. It wasn't always this way, but over the years the decorations started coming out later and later, until one year, when I was about twelve, they didn't come out at all. For a few years I struggled to carry on the traditions by myself; dragging the aluminum tree upstairs piece by piece, setting it up, decorating it, alone. And reading this, it's really a wonder I've never had to undergo therapy, isn't it? Anyway, eventually I recognized that it was all an exercise in futility, and I gave up caring long ago.
My family does do gifts, though in the same kind of scattered and half-hearted way you might expect. For instance, last Christmas my parents gave my sister an iPod and an electric piano. I got a book. No wait...a book and a calendar. I almost didn't find out about it, since my sister didn't even show up for Christmas last year. Apparently she had "better things to do." Though she did stop by the day after to cart off her loot.
"Hey, I just saw your sister carrying an iPod and a keyboard out to her car," my future ex-boyfriend informed me.
"What? Wait...what?!" I said calmly. I calmy and nonchalantly marched down to the basement. "Hey Mom. Hey Dad," I said nonchalantly. "So uh...Becca got an iPod and a keyboard for Christmas?"
"Yeah."
"Oh."
"Well, that's what she asked for."
"Wait a minute...since when do people get what they ask for around here? You know, I asked for an umbrella two years in a row. An umbrella. And I never got it."
"So, are you saying you want an iPod, too?"
"No...I mean, yeah, I mean, of course, but that's not the point..."
And then my mother, filled to overflowing with the spirit of the season, took out her checkbook and wrote me a check for $500, which I then promptly used tobuy an iPod pay my heating bill.
Merry Christmas, everyone! However your holiday season goes, at least you can rest assured knowing that, in any case, it's probably better than mine. Here's to a happy new year, and fond hopes for a fantastic (or at least much-improved) 2008. Cheers!
Christmas in my family is always a somewhat disappointing affair. There's no tree, no decorations, no warm, glowing hearth. It wasn't always this way, but over the years the decorations started coming out later and later, until one year, when I was about twelve, they didn't come out at all. For a few years I struggled to carry on the traditions by myself; dragging the aluminum tree upstairs piece by piece, setting it up, decorating it, alone. And reading this, it's really a wonder I've never had to undergo therapy, isn't it? Anyway, eventually I recognized that it was all an exercise in futility, and I gave up caring long ago.
My family does do gifts, though in the same kind of scattered and half-hearted way you might expect. For instance, last Christmas my parents gave my sister an iPod and an electric piano. I got a book. No wait...a book and a calendar. I almost didn't find out about it, since my sister didn't even show up for Christmas last year. Apparently she had "better things to do." Though she did stop by the day after to cart off her loot.
"Hey, I just saw your sister carrying an iPod and a keyboard out to her car," my future ex-boyfriend informed me.
"What? Wait...what?!" I said calmly. I calmy and nonchalantly marched down to the basement. "Hey Mom. Hey Dad," I said nonchalantly. "So uh...Becca got an iPod and a keyboard for Christmas?"
"Yeah."
"Oh."
"Well, that's what she asked for."
"Wait a minute...since when do people get what they ask for around here? You know, I asked for an umbrella two years in a row. An umbrella. And I never got it."
"So, are you saying you want an iPod, too?"
"No...I mean, yeah, I mean, of course, but that's not the point..."
And then my mother, filled to overflowing with the spirit of the season, took out her checkbook and wrote me a check for $500, which I then promptly used to
Merry Christmas, everyone! However your holiday season goes, at least you can rest assured knowing that, in any case, it's probably better than mine. Here's to a happy new year, and fond hopes for a fantastic (or at least much-improved) 2008. Cheers!
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Why I think the world is ending
I woke up this morning to this outside my window:
Three days ago when 12 inches came down and people were freaking out and all the news could talk about was the snow, my god, the snow!, I was all, pfffftttt. It's winter. I stayed home all day and worked on my paper. The next day when I had to go to my office, for the most part the roads were plowed, the sidewalks were cleared. No big deal.
But now, four to eight more inches?! Seriously?!
Yet another day homebound, and all I can do is think wistfully that it would be a great day to be snowed in with someone...
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Why if the winter doesn't kill me school definitely will
Though it is National Blog Posting Month, I'm finding myself in a not particularly bloggy mood lately. I could bore you with all the reasons of why this is...See, now that I've said that, you're thinking that I won't bore you with all the reasons of why that is, but there you'd be wrong. Here, let me bore you with a list of Things That Suck About My Life:
1. Make-or-break exam coming up on Dec. 5 which theoretically I have been preparing for for the last year and a half. I'll modify this a bit by saying that while I have been aware of the existence of this exam for the last year and a half, actual studying did not commence until May. For the last 6 months, however, my life has been nothing but class, homework, lesson plans, performing those small acts of maintenance required to sustain my mortal existence, and studying for this effing exam. And what are the requirements for passing this exam? you may ask. Oh, just a passing knowledge of the last eight hundred years of French literature, is all. In case you were wondering how one would prepare for this impossible and thankless task, here's what's worked for me:
- Read 100 of the most important works of French literature from the Middle Ages through the 20th century.
- Realize that you cannot remember a single thing you read.
- Go back. Read them again. Make some flashcards.
2. More time spent studying means less time for dating. Less time for dating means fewer posts regaling you with my dating (mis-)adventures. However, lack of free time isn't the only thing preventing me from dating, which brings us to the third Thing That Sucks About My Life:
3. I have run out of guys to date. Seriously. There is no one on the horizon, no e-mails being exchanged, no winking, no wooing, THERE IS NO ONE ELSE. I have dated Boston, and I have lost. Have you ever seen that commercial that was on a while ago, with that guy, and he's typing away and then his computer is all, "You have reached the end of the internet"? Yeah, it's kind of like that over here, only more boring. All I can do now is sit and twiddle my thumbs and wait for them to start shipping men in from other cities, or hope that someone somewhere breaks up with his current girlfriend. (I do put the hopeless in hopeless romantic, don't I?)
4. Daylight Savings Time and the joy that is November in Boston. (I can and will totally blame Daylight Savings Time for not posting). The cold, the dark, they weigh on my delicate poet's soul. I come home and put on my pajamas at 3:00. At 4:30 I'm starving and think it's dinnertime, and by 7:00 I'm all, what, it's not bedtime yet? It's all I can do just to hold a glass of wine in one weary hand and a copy of A la Recherche du Temps Perdu in the other. The only thing I feel capable of writing at times like this are weepy letters to my ex-boyfriend, and that's not good for anyone. (Unless you want to read weepy letters to my ex-boyfriend, in which case let me know, 'cause man, do I have a stockpile of those. They could keep this blog going until spring, at least).
So there, you see, for these reasons and so many more, posting may be light around here until January. But! I will make it up to you, I swear! And I will start with this gift I have made for you. Behold, it's a mix cd!
Well, I guess it's actually a playlist, but it started out as a mix cd, which I made as a belated birthday present for Talia, after discovering that origami notecards aside, what she really was hoping for on her birthday was another mix cd. Anyway, I spent a really long time (oh my god, so long), time that really should have been spent reading Proust, putting this list together, and then uploading it (my god! the uploading!) so that I could share it with you all. I had this idea that instead of writing a post I would just put up the playlist instead, and then making the damn thing ended up taking much longer that writing a post would have (so much longer!) and then I ended up writing this whole post around it anyway...
I guess what I'm trying to say is, I really hope you enjoy it.
Anyway, I'm sure I'll be around, writing a bit here and there, but for the next couple months posting will be light. So, listen to the music, enjoy, and try not to miss me too much. I'll be back soon.
Now if you'll excuse me, I must be In Search of Lost Time.
Saturday, October 13, 2007
Why sometimes it's easier to let complete strangers make your important life decisions for you
"First of all," she said, "do you believe in psychics?"
"Well," I said, trying to be tactful, "I believe that there are things out there that I can't explain."
This seemed to satisfy her, and she started the Angel®Card reading. Though she was only a student in the art of Angel®Card psychic readings, she certainly looked the part. Dressed in a black corset, fishnet stockings, and a short black skirt, with bright red lipstick and cascades of dark black hair, it was easy to forget that the costume was for goth night at a club that she and my roommate were going to, and not expressly for my benefit alone.
"Ok, so what's your question," she asked.
"Oh, I'm supposed to have a question? I don't know, my roommate just kind of sprang this on me..."
"So you just want a general reading?"
"Yeah, sure. That sounds good."
She cut the deck. "Are you planning on moving?" she asked, with an air of surprise.
"Oh, well...yeah, actually I have been thinking about it a lot lately. I don't know."
"Interesting...Yes, I think you may be moving soon. Is anyone in your family pregnant?"
"Oh god, I hope not."
"Well it doesn't necessarily mean a baby. It could be a pet. A kitty?"
"I have been thinking about getting a cat," I said.
"You should get a kitty!"
"I know, I know, I do want one."
"So...is anyone in your life named...Charlie?"
"Oh, hmm...no, I don't think so."
"Or...I'm hearing the name Jeffrey?"
"Uh...no...not that I know of."
"Well, it could be your spirit guide. Yes, I'm feeling it very strongly. Ah, see, this card shows that you're very strongly protected."
"Well, that's good, I think."
"So...you're very busy, you have a lot going on, perhaps too much..."
"Oh yeah."
"...you should take some time out for yourself. Also, you're worried about your future, but you don't have enough information right now to make a decision."
"Wow, yeah. You're good."
"And you're still angry, about your last relationship. You need to let go, and you need to forgive. You have to cut ties. Go like this." (She made a chopping motion with her hand).
"O...k..." (chop)
"Say, 'I release you.'"
"I...release you?"
"Good. Now you can move forward. Oh look, here's that card again. Yeah, I think you're going to move. You should definitely move, I think your energy is stagnant here."
"You're probably right."
"And look, here's the animal card again. You should get a kitty. Cats are so good, because they absorb all negative energy. They're not reincarnated, so they're just pure beings."
"Um, uh huh."
"You should move and get a kitty!"
Now, Internet, I am not one to just blindly follow the advice of vamped-up, Angel® Card-reading goth girls. But the fact that she pin-pointed so exactly what I was already thinking and wanting...
I think I do want to get out of Boston. I don't know how to do it yet, but I just feel kind of done here. I feel like Boston and I need to sit down and have a chat. Like, Dear Boston. How are you? I have some things I need to get off my chest. We've been together for over four years now. I know, can you believe it? And, this is hard for me to say, but I just don't think it's working out. You're great, Boston, really you are. It's just that you're kind of demanding. I mean I love you, don't get me wrong, but I had to give up my friends and my family for you, and, well, I miss them. And sometimes, Boston, you're so, so cold. I know you don't mean to be, but that's just the way you are. I know I can't change you. And well, I might as well just tell you, I have my eye on someone else. There's this city, DC, and I think maybe he can make me happy. No offense Boston, he just feels like home to me. So, no big hurry, and nothing's going to happen right away, of course. Just a little warning, but if you don't stop taking me for granted, I might not be around next year.
K, love ya lots,
-Me
"Well," I said, trying to be tactful, "I believe that there are things out there that I can't explain."
This seemed to satisfy her, and she started the Angel®Card reading. Though she was only a student in the art of Angel®Card psychic readings, she certainly looked the part. Dressed in a black corset, fishnet stockings, and a short black skirt, with bright red lipstick and cascades of dark black hair, it was easy to forget that the costume was for goth night at a club that she and my roommate were going to, and not expressly for my benefit alone.
"Ok, so what's your question," she asked.
"Oh, I'm supposed to have a question? I don't know, my roommate just kind of sprang this on me..."
"So you just want a general reading?"
"Yeah, sure. That sounds good."
She cut the deck. "Are you planning on moving?" she asked, with an air of surprise.
"Oh, well...yeah, actually I have been thinking about it a lot lately. I don't know."
"Interesting...Yes, I think you may be moving soon. Is anyone in your family pregnant?"
"Oh god, I hope not."
"Well it doesn't necessarily mean a baby. It could be a pet. A kitty?"
"I have been thinking about getting a cat," I said.
"You should get a kitty!"
"I know, I know, I do want one."
"So...is anyone in your life named...Charlie?"
"Oh, hmm...no, I don't think so."
"Or...I'm hearing the name Jeffrey?"
"Uh...no...not that I know of."
"Well, it could be your spirit guide. Yes, I'm feeling it very strongly. Ah, see, this card shows that you're very strongly protected."
"Well, that's good, I think."
"So...you're very busy, you have a lot going on, perhaps too much..."
"Oh yeah."
"...you should take some time out for yourself. Also, you're worried about your future, but you don't have enough information right now to make a decision."
"Wow, yeah. You're good."
"And you're still angry, about your last relationship. You need to let go, and you need to forgive. You have to cut ties. Go like this." (She made a chopping motion with her hand).
"O...k..." (chop)
"Say, 'I release you.'"
"I...release you?"
"Good. Now you can move forward. Oh look, here's that card again. Yeah, I think you're going to move. You should definitely move, I think your energy is stagnant here."
"You're probably right."
"And look, here's the animal card again. You should get a kitty. Cats are so good, because they absorb all negative energy. They're not reincarnated, so they're just pure beings."
"Um, uh huh."
"You should move and get a kitty!"
Now, Internet, I am not one to just blindly follow the advice of vamped-up, Angel® Card-reading goth girls. But the fact that she pin-pointed so exactly what I was already thinking and wanting...
I think I do want to get out of Boston. I don't know how to do it yet, but I just feel kind of done here. I feel like Boston and I need to sit down and have a chat. Like, Dear Boston. How are you? I have some things I need to get off my chest. We've been together for over four years now. I know, can you believe it? And, this is hard for me to say, but I just don't think it's working out. You're great, Boston, really you are. It's just that you're kind of demanding. I mean I love you, don't get me wrong, but I had to give up my friends and my family for you, and, well, I miss them. And sometimes, Boston, you're so, so cold. I know you don't mean to be, but that's just the way you are. I know I can't change you. And well, I might as well just tell you, I have my eye on someone else. There's this city, DC, and I think maybe he can make me happy. No offense Boston, he just feels like home to me. So, no big hurry, and nothing's going to happen right away, of course. Just a little warning, but if you don't stop taking me for granted, I might not be around next year.
K, love ya lots,
-Me
Friday, September 28, 2007
Why karaoke is for suckers
You know it's bad when your singing partner gives you helpful advice during instrumental breaks.
"Try being a little more...forceful," she suggested.
Wait, you mean you don't like this high-pitched quavering? This noise like someone whining into a tin can, this noise refracting back at me through too many speakers, this noise that I know is coming from me, but dear lord, really? Is that really what I sound like??? So this noise...you're saying I should not do that?
I only agreed to this performance, on a weeknight, no less, and having consumed not nearly enough beer, because I figured there was no way it could be as bad as the first time. I lost my karaoke virginity a few months ago, and it was nearly as traumatic as the real thing, only with more people watching. (Wait, did that come out wrong?)
And oh, Internet, you will not believe me when I tell you the song I chose to lose my karaoke virginity to. I will tell you, and you will still not believe me, because honestly, who would do that? And who would let someone do that, and more importantly, who would agree to sing it with me? I could try to explain my reasoning to you, but...well, I'll just tell you. It was Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. You know, Dick van Dyke, flying car, adorably shrill British moppets? I saw it in the book, got all excited and nostalgic, and kind of naively assumed that the audience would be with me. I did hesitate, just for a second, and texted my sister, who gave me the go-ahead. (That bitch). YES, DO IT, she said. My roommate, for reasons unknown, (though what a sport), agreed to sing it with me. How hard could it be? I thought. The lyrics are mostly just "chitty chitty bang bang," over and over. Plus I watched that movie so many times in my childhood I was sure the song was lying dormant somewhere in my subconscious.
I'm sure you can probably imagine what happened, though I don't know if you can appreciate the full horror of the situation if you weren't there. The song is ridiculously fast, ridiculously high-pitched and well, let's face it, just plain ridiculous. In the grand karaoke tradition of taking a bad song and making it much, much worse, we flubbed it like no song has ever been flubbed before. Our audience was restless bordering on hostile. It was one of those moments where you wish you could sink through the floor. Even my roommate, the karaoke veteran and eternal optimist, admitted the sheer stinkitude of our performance. "Yeah, that was bad," she said. "That was really...bad."
A little while later, I had managed to shake it off, for the most part. It's dive bar karaoke, I thought. People don't even remember you five minutes later.
Coming back from the bar with a cold glass of liquid therapy, I locked eyes with a guy walking past me. "So, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang," he said. I smiled, thinking this would be followed by an admission of how he used to watch that movie as a kid, or admiration of my non-conforming song choice, or at the very least, a "Nice try". But instead, what he said was, "Chitty Chitty Bang Bang...Really?" I don't know if italics alone can adequately express the sheer disdain and vitriol all contained in this one word, in this one sneered word, Really? He kept walking. I swore I would never do karaoke again.
Which is why, really, Wednesday night's performance should never have happened. I have no excuse. I just...forgot? I have never felt the desire to get a tattoo, but I'm thinking if there was one thing I should have indelibly inked on my body, it would be the word karaoke with a circle and a line through it.
My excuse this time was...well, I don't know if there is any legitimate excuse for it. But I was so excited at the prospect of singing one of my favorite songs ever, a song that I know backwards and forwards, inside and out, and have drunkenly belted out on more than one occasion. Whatever the reason, I once again found myself in front of a video monitor, microphone in hand, and that godawful noise in my ears.
I've already blocked most of the details of the performance from my memory. However, after it was (finally) over, two indie guys complimented my roommate on her performance. "Great job on the Pulp!" they said. Hello, I'm right here too, my inner monologue said snarkily. As if she had heard, my roommate tried to introduce me, "Oh, thanks! This is my roommate...," but indie guys kept talking excitedly to her without even looking in my direction. My inner monologue also felt the need to point out the irony of the situation, what with me being single and my roommate being capital T Taken. That's strike two for you, karaoke.
You would think that by now I would be done with karaoke forever, or at least until such a time as I develop a sexy, throaty cold, à la Phoebe in Friends. But instead I find myself already combing through my iTunes collection, searching for the perfect karaoke song, the one that will help me redeem myself. I don't know why I feel the need to put myself through it again, when it makes me feel like shit and is obviously some kind of guy repellant, like I need any more help with that. But it's almost like a challenge. It's like karaoke is taunting me, and I have one more chance for redemption. Karaoke thinks it has me beat, but you just wait.
I will kick karaoke's ass.
"Try being a little more...forceful," she suggested.
Wait, you mean you don't like this high-pitched quavering? This noise like someone whining into a tin can, this noise refracting back at me through too many speakers, this noise that I know is coming from me, but dear lord, really? Is that really what I sound like??? So this noise...you're saying I should not do that?
I only agreed to this performance, on a weeknight, no less, and having consumed not nearly enough beer, because I figured there was no way it could be as bad as the first time. I lost my karaoke virginity a few months ago, and it was nearly as traumatic as the real thing, only with more people watching. (Wait, did that come out wrong?)
And oh, Internet, you will not believe me when I tell you the song I chose to lose my karaoke virginity to. I will tell you, and you will still not believe me, because honestly, who would do that? And who would let someone do that, and more importantly, who would agree to sing it with me? I could try to explain my reasoning to you, but...well, I'll just tell you. It was Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. You know, Dick van Dyke, flying car, adorably shrill British moppets? I saw it in the book, got all excited and nostalgic, and kind of naively assumed that the audience would be with me. I did hesitate, just for a second, and texted my sister, who gave me the go-ahead. (That bitch). YES, DO IT, she said. My roommate, for reasons unknown, (though what a sport), agreed to sing it with me. How hard could it be? I thought. The lyrics are mostly just "chitty chitty bang bang," over and over. Plus I watched that movie so many times in my childhood I was sure the song was lying dormant somewhere in my subconscious.
I'm sure you can probably imagine what happened, though I don't know if you can appreciate the full horror of the situation if you weren't there. The song is ridiculously fast, ridiculously high-pitched and well, let's face it, just plain ridiculous. In the grand karaoke tradition of taking a bad song and making it much, much worse, we flubbed it like no song has ever been flubbed before. Our audience was restless bordering on hostile. It was one of those moments where you wish you could sink through the floor. Even my roommate, the karaoke veteran and eternal optimist, admitted the sheer stinkitude of our performance. "Yeah, that was bad," she said. "That was really...bad."
A little while later, I had managed to shake it off, for the most part. It's dive bar karaoke, I thought. People don't even remember you five minutes later.
Coming back from the bar with a cold glass of liquid therapy, I locked eyes with a guy walking past me. "So, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang," he said. I smiled, thinking this would be followed by an admission of how he used to watch that movie as a kid, or admiration of my non-conforming song choice, or at the very least, a "Nice try". But instead, what he said was, "Chitty Chitty Bang Bang...Really?" I don't know if italics alone can adequately express the sheer disdain and vitriol all contained in this one word, in this one sneered word, Really? He kept walking. I swore I would never do karaoke again.
Which is why, really, Wednesday night's performance should never have happened. I have no excuse. I just...forgot? I have never felt the desire to get a tattoo, but I'm thinking if there was one thing I should have indelibly inked on my body, it would be the word karaoke with a circle and a line through it.
My excuse this time was...well, I don't know if there is any legitimate excuse for it. But I was so excited at the prospect of singing one of my favorite songs ever, a song that I know backwards and forwards, inside and out, and have drunkenly belted out on more than one occasion. Whatever the reason, I once again found myself in front of a video monitor, microphone in hand, and that godawful noise in my ears.
I've already blocked most of the details of the performance from my memory. However, after it was (finally) over, two indie guys complimented my roommate on her performance. "Great job on the Pulp!" they said. Hello, I'm right here too, my inner monologue said snarkily. As if she had heard, my roommate tried to introduce me, "Oh, thanks! This is my roommate...," but indie guys kept talking excitedly to her without even looking in my direction. My inner monologue also felt the need to point out the irony of the situation, what with me being single and my roommate being capital T Taken. That's strike two for you, karaoke.
You would think that by now I would be done with karaoke forever, or at least until such a time as I develop a sexy, throaty cold, à la Phoebe in Friends. But instead I find myself already combing through my iTunes collection, searching for the perfect karaoke song, the one that will help me redeem myself. I don't know why I feel the need to put myself through it again, when it makes me feel like shit and is obviously some kind of guy repellant, like I need any more help with that. But it's almost like a challenge. It's like karaoke is taunting me, and I have one more chance for redemption. Karaoke thinks it has me beat, but you just wait.
I will kick karaoke's ass.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Why there's probably a perfectly logical reason for the sorry state of my digestive tract
Meals I prepared with my own two hands and ate during the month prior to returning to grad school:
1) spinach and feta quiche
2) stuffed peppers
3) dijon chicken, corn on the cob, asparagus, rice pilaf
4) vegetarian chili and jalapeno cornbread
Things I have eaten as meals in the week since returning to grad school:
1) macaroni and cheese with cut-up hot dog
2) a hot dog
3) Bagel Bites with a side of tortilla chips and that cheese dip you heat in the microwave
4) ice cream
I kind of hate myself. Please send help. And green leafy vegetables.
1) spinach and feta quiche
2) stuffed peppers
3) dijon chicken, corn on the cob, asparagus, rice pilaf
4) vegetarian chili and jalapeno cornbread
Things I have eaten as meals in the week since returning to grad school:
1) macaroni and cheese with cut-up hot dog
2) a hot dog
3) Bagel Bites with a side of tortilla chips and that cheese dip you heat in the microwave
4) ice cream
I kind of hate myself. Please send help. And green leafy vegetables.
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