The Same

It costs much to grow old:

I've fondled the Springs

like sticks of new furniture

with the wood still sweet to the smell, suave

in the grain, and hidden away in its lockers,

I've stored my wild honey.

That's why the bell tolled

bearing its sound to the dead,

out of range of my reason:

one grows used to one's skin,

the cut of one's nose, one's good looks,

while summer by summer, the sun

sinks in its brazier.

Noting the sea's health,

its insistence on turbulence,

I kept skimming the beaches;

now seated on waves

I keep the bitter green smell

of a lifetime's apprenticeship 

to live on in the whole of my motion.

Pablo Neruda.

Not me.  Unfortunately, I can't take credit for such exquisite words.  I must memorize them, though.  

Anywho, today I am thinking about people, and why we use expressions like, "I hope he/she/they get what he/she/they deserve!"  I notice that we only refer to people we do not particularly like, and typically, we use it in anger towards another person.  But I wonder why we waste this hateful kind of hope on people we dislike.  I wonder why we don't hope for better things than that, for others and ourselves.  I just think about "worth" and "deserving," and how we fit into these terms.  Since we'd all like to believe that our worth isn't determined by anyone but ourselves, why do we settle for so little all the time?  And why the hell don't we "get what we deserve?"  I never really thought about it much before, but now I wonder how much credit I really give myself.  I think that we all deserve the best of whatever is out there.  I wonder what kind of hope I have for myself, and if I could really be hopeful of getting what I really deserve.  And what exactly do I deserve?  

VOTE.

5 More Friends

There is a frustrating disconnect in the way people give advice and how they receive it, particularly the guidance of our own logic.  We know exactly what we ought to do in any given situation, yet we promptly disregard the healthier side of our conscience to pursue something a little more thrilling.  We spend our whole lives shaping our value system with the good advice of friends, family, and other respected voices, only to knock it to the ground when we most need it.  We're all funny like that.  I'm funny like that, and I really hate it when I ought to know better, but proceed aimlessly.  And I start to forget where I even wanted to be in the first place.  I think that's the point I'm at right now.  I'm starting to get a little lost.  And to be honest, I'm too ashamed to ask for any more directions, since I haven't been taking them to heart.  

It seems that I get tangled in these kinds of thoughts a little over a week before my period begins (cover your ears, boys...).  Some like to call this "PMS," a sweet, little acronym for a not-so-sweet condition, however true its existence may be.  Stay tuned for next month's web of thoughts...same time, same place.

A little something special for my followers/stalkers/friends/etc.

Well, I imagine that the people who happen to read this blog are good friends of mine, even though they are probably very few.  And hey, that's okay.  I don't actually make much of an effort to "advertise" this blog, anyway.  I suppose I would if I had a lot more to say, and had the time to say it.  And also if I were an a lot cooler person, in general.  Alas, I am swamped with things to work on/complete/initiate/pout about/etc.  Really guys, you have absolutely no idea.  My life has been bouncing around at a steady rhythm lately, and regardless of the occasional anxieties it causes me, I feel good about where I am.  Honestly.  But it's also hard to explain my current feelings about where I'm at and where I'm headed.  I guess I'm beginning to mull over things a little less, and I'm starting to find some comfort in uncertainty.  It's pretty liberating.  I've even started doing work that I'm quite proud of.  I'm learning more tricks of my glorious trade, and it's getting me pretty psyched about what I might concoct later on.  Muahahaha!

I would go into more precise detail about my excitement, but my little black journal is getting jealous of this blog.  There's nothing it likes more than the emotional rambling that my friends would shun.  And yes, you can thank it later.

Now for the fun, unimportant news of my life that makes for witty story-telling, however un-witty it ends up being.  (Sorry, in advance for that disappointed look on your face...)

I think my awesome coworkers and I broke records the other day for "Best Raking-in of Tips"...ever!  Well, it all starts with this guy who comes in looking for a wallet that he thought he'd left behind.  Sure enough, one of us had found it on an outside table, just as some customers were about to sit down at it.  Being the ethical people we are at my workplace, it was promptly brought inside to our safe, and kept for his return.  The guy was so stoked that we didn't take any money, and were able to find it that he offers the girl who found it $20 cash.  And being the ethical (and AWESOME) person she is, she insists that he just leave the money in our tips.  Of course after this, we have to eyeball the tip jar every 5 seconds, #1, to make sure nobody lays a finger on the $20 bill; and #2, to drool over it in disbelief.  

Here's the thing, kids.  There are many days that we don't make quite $20 in tips for the entire day!  Not that I am encouraging the giving of $20 tips for a cup of coffee; well, unless it was just that good.  So then, 2 guys roll in with an 6 or 7 drink order for their workplace, and drop in a $5 bill.  Sometimes, we're lucky if multiple-drink-order customers know we accept tips!  Then this guy comes in for a hot tea, which typically costs less than $2 per cup.  And what happens?  The dude drops $2 into the tip jar, right before my eyes.  A miracle.  But wait, a half hour goes by, and dude has finished his hot tea, and comes back for his refill, which costs less than $1.  Another tip would be completely too kind, and unnecessary.  Wha--is that another $2 I see falling gently into the tip jar?  YES, yes it is, my friends.  We are on fucking fire.  It was amazing.  And I'm sure there was the typical $5 or so and handfuls of change in there as well...ahhh, too good.

Hello, procrastination. My name is Elisha.

Another day of toying around with the idea of doing my homework, but scarcely touching it.  Tedious work intimidates me, and this is what I am dealing with: You know, tracing letterforms and their counter forms in at least three different type families, creating typographic logos using the letters "C," and "A."  This would seem to be good practice for what I'm trying to do with my life, and I would confidently say that, yes, it is good practice; but I am currently unconvinced because my shaky hands and wandering mind aren't really in the mood to do such things.

Anybody have any extra focus lying around that they'd like to share with moi?  I'm running low...and desperately need some.  

In a Loving Mood.

 I'm very lucky to have the friends I have.  Often times I forget how much they do for me, whether directly or indirectly; whether they are even fully aware of their effect on me or not.  Like most things, I take them for granted, and normally am too self-centered to think of how meaningless I could be without them.  I have a lot of good people around me, always.  Even when they are not immediately surrounding me, or even within walking or driving distance from me.  I'm even luckier to have so many old friends around me again, even if only for a short while.  It's always a great feeling to know that you have a nice, handful of cute and funny people to call your friends for a long, long time.  Sooooo great, in fact...that I just slipped into a temporary state of bliss and warmth!

But seriously, I am so thankful for the friendships I've managed to find over the years.  They are real and true, and completely and utterly awesome.  All of them were found in completely different places and times, but together, they keep my life upbeat and thoroughly enjoyable.  And I couldn't ever ask for more than that, really.  I don't think people say it enough, but friends are entirely necessary to possess a life of wholeness.  No doubt about it.  And I don't say it enough, in blog-form, nor in actual life.  Next time I see you, I hope I tell you and/or show you how glad I am to be your friend.  

Hello, fall semester.

The long, flowy summer is drawing to a close.  And like every summer before it, I'm kind of glad.  First, I will begin the winding down of summer with a change of font.  I'm slipping out of the sans serif mood, and suddenly finding the serif thing more appealing.  It matches the current change of pace in my life.  Second, there's the prospect of cool, crisper fall days.  What's not to love about those?  Jackets, leaves at your feet, pants...well, not that pants are off-limits in the summertime.  In fact, if I'm not mistaken, they are appreciated, if not required in most public, social situations during all 4 seasons.  This is an unwritten rule that I'm desperately trying to reverse.  Oops, there I go getting all off-topic and ADD.  I do that a lot, I notice in my blogs...and often, in life as well.  That's just me, I guess.  

Alright, this one will have to be left unfinished for now, as I have been invited to socialize and be a person.  I'm always down for being social, and more importantly, being a person, as should everyone else.  So if you are reading this, and avoiding a social event, stop.  Don't waste your time with my nonsensical ramblings of God only knows what.  Better yet, just don't be like me!

To be continued, don't fret.

How I love old men who flatter.

Older gentleman at the espresso bar:  "Has anyone mistaken you for a rose?"

Me:  (as I pretend I heard nothing, smile, and eventually laugh) "Huh?  Um...what are you talking about?"

O.G. @ E.B.:  (Smiles, coyly.)

Friend of O.G. @ E.B.:  "I think he's trying to say that you're pretty."

Me:  (to myself) "Well, no shit...ew."

Me:  (out loud, to them) "Awww, that's cute.  Well...thanks. (big smile!) Have a great day, guys!!"

Sure, this happens a lot when you work at a place like Starbucks.  I could write a whole fucking blog about the creeps and remotely attractive men who have tried lines such as these on me and my fellow, female co-baristas.  And to be quite honest, I don't understand why they bother.  If you are not an outlandishly good-looking dude, an innocent 70+-year-old man, or a celebrity, and you cannot shoot cannonballs of charm into my soul, then what exactly are you trying to accomplish?  All we can do is laugh, and you better be ready to receive the rejection.  At times, it's so unbearable that we must trail off to a deeply focused task and "accidentally" forget that you exist.  We may be "awful pretty," but we're getting paid to be.  That, and feed your addiction, but we know the former rakes in those tips.  Believe it. 

I guess, unless you are going to be buying me something very expensive, or there's something lurking beneath the surface that is better than Johnny Depp in boxer-briefs and red wine, combined, and touching my naked body...  Oh, there's not?  Well, just take your drink and for the love of God, save your dignity.  Because frankly, it's embarrassing me AND you.

Guys rarely have this problem, so I hear.  Completely unfair.  It is a fact that there are more beautiful women out there than there are beautiful men.  So naturally, the chance that a man will be told they are a cute by an unattractive woman are much slimmer than ours.  Please, correct me if I'm wrong.

Before I start hurting feelings, I will cut this one short.  And to be clear, this was written in a highly sarcastic fashion...in fact, never take half of the things I say seriously, for the most part.  That made no sense...that would be the wine.  I apologize.  Thank you.  Good night.

I write, you read.

Today, I've decided to just write about whatever comes to mind.  I haven't actually written a blog in a while, and I think my thoughts have started to bottleneck inside my head.  Think of this as a healthy purging of nuanced feelings and ideas, served up directly from that crazy friend of yours, Elisha.  Now that I think of it, I'm probably just feeling too lazy to organize this blog in a way that is structurally sound, and neatly finished at both ends.  It's always a challenge, and dare I say "fun," to write that way, but today I'm feeling a little looser than normal.  (If you choose to indulge in the accidental innuendo in that previous sentence, feel free...but prepare to suffer unspeakable consequences.  Yes, I literally cannot speak of them.)

Well, I'm happily buzzing on some seriously strong coffee that was made by none other than, yours truly.  Your neighborhood barista extraordinaire!  If only those superior skills I've acquired would translate into my real-life routine.  They, unfortunately, do not.  And thus, my in-home brewed coffee (and in this case, at-work brewed) slides back and forth between the two most undesirable extremes:  too light and too dark.  Regardless though, I am getting the caffeine necessary to push me through the day.  And that's all that really matters.  But I need a t-shirt that says:  "I work at Starbucks, but all I can do is make shitty coffee!"

Breaking News Flash:  I'm about to get some new underwear, and you wouldn't believe how stoked I am about this.  You know, there's that feeling of truly intimate satisfaction in wearing a pair of undies, so lovely and new that only you can truly appreciate them.  Not "you," as in you-who-is-reading.  More like "you," as in "me," where I am giving you the option of relating to the shared appreciation for new underwear.  As stated above, unspeakable consequences...  But seriously, I hope I am not the only one who feels this way; because frankly, if that is the case, I'm just a weirdo who likes new underwear way too much.

In more serious news, I'm starting some new research for internships located comfortably distanced from NC, preferably in New York City.  But I'm pretty open to anything that catches my eye.  I'm all too aware of the fact that I am a city girl.  I need a city to thrive in.  A great, big one.  And being the eternal student that I am (hopefully that will change one day soon), I must consider the academic opportunities that a bustling city can offer me, besides the obvious perks.  I've saved an application for an internship at the Guggenheim and the MoMA (Museum of Modern Art) from a previous attempt at research, so I'm revisiting these things.  But upon further research, I'm starting to change my mind about my interest in art museums.  And wondering if there isn't something better for me to look into.  I think there is.  I just don't know what yet.

I rode on the light rail again the other day.  It made me feel like I was in some other city.  And Brit and I bought tickets, being the ethical gals we are.  $1.50 roundtrip.  Sweet deal, except that nobody ever checked our tickets.  Tell me, what's the point in having a ticket machine and all that equipment to spit out tickets and eat up our money, if nobody is going to take my ticket?  Another miniscule amount of money, completely wasted!  That could have gone toward my weekly $40 gas bill!  Damn, I remember when I was 17, learning to drive and frightening people off the roads around my house...and gas was only a dollar-something per gallon.  And I probably only drove back and forth to school and to friends' houses, all living within a 10-mile radius of my own home.  Life sure is funny...but not as funny as me!  Muahahahaha!  (Caffeine effects are currently amplifying.)  Anywho, I hope that the light rail travels up to the University area before I move on outta this town.  It'd be awfully nice to take advantage of decent public transportation in my hometown.

My ass hurts from sitting so long.  Jesus Christ.  Oh, and I'm done rambling for the day.  Hope you likey!  (And that time, I meant "you," as in YOU-yes, you-who-is-reading.)

Tunnel Vision

When I used to travel up to Pennsylvania with my family to visit my grandparents, we would drive through these long tunnels that cut straight through the mountains.  This, I have to admit, was one of my favorite parts of the ride up, and probably one of the few appealing aspects of the trip itself.  Maybe it's a little silly, but something about going through them felt so dramatic, thrilling almost; all the little buzzing lights zipping by on either side, and a silence, minus the echoed humming of fellow travelers passing by and headed to where we originated.  And then when we would finally get to the end of it, we'd see the light on the other side and it was sort of like emerging into some fresh, new place, normally being West Virginia or just the other side of the mountain.  And especially for a little girl, like I was.  To be honest, even to this day I get a little excited as a tunnel comes into view ahead.

And now, I think about these tunnels in a slightly different way.  The idea of them and their purpose, and what they do for me is all of a sudden interesting.  There seems to be some sort of fuzzy link to those kinds of tunnels in my life at present.  I just think of the way these tunnels allow people to pass through, stay for a moment, appreciate the sometimes-"thrilling" experience they offer, and ultimately, move them steadily along to their final destination.  And then I think of people in friendships, relationships, etc. who also see this sort of activity every day.  We all offer this kind of tunnel experience to each other, I think; with acquaintances, friends, old and new, and so on.  Sometimes, it seems that our traffic becomes heavy, maintaining a steady flow of comers and goers; sometimes, more comers than goers, and unfortunately at times, more goers than comers.  Of course, not everyone is really all that affected or impressed by the tunnel and all its supposed glory.  For some, it's just a means to another side, and they leave feeling indifferent.  Others may leave with a subtle appreciation for it.  It's all a matter of who's riding in and/or driving the car, I guess.  

I suppose I'm going through a period where old friends who mean something to me, have actually found a destination to travel to, and many are emerging into the "other side."  And my tunnel won't necessarily be conveniently located on the way there anymore.  It makes me sad to think about it, but I've also been lucky enough to embrace new faces, new cars, whatever, and I see many more approaching.  Yet another bittersweet side effect of growing up and being young.  And there's always the possibility of encountering other mountainous tunnels along my own route.  Yes, I'm still figuring out my own destination, and I'm just a-travelin' too.  And yes, my friends, I have turned my life into a traveling metaphor, and I don't care how silly that makes me...for right now.

These are hard times for dreamers.

I know what I'm capable of.  I really do.  I honestly believe we are all capable of doing things beyond what we initially perceive are doable.  But we hesitate too much of the time.  And I for one, am completely wide open to the types of distraction and ultimately, hesitation, that hinder our learning and excelling.  

I've been playing instruments for as long as I could do my times tables, which I suppose could vary, depending on what type of schooling you had.  Let's just say, I've always enjoyed playing music.  My favorite classes were my music classes, like orchestra...I absolutely loved learning to play a violin.  When I was even younger than that, I attempted piano.  I played for a little while, but no more learning beyond my very first recital.  My neighbor taught me, and she eventually moved away, and I was so bummed about this news that I refused any more lessons from any other instructor.  I knew it wouldn't be the same.  And thus, the death of my piano lessons.  It's a shame, because I think if I had continued, I would be hanging out with the likes of Norah Jones or Madeleine Peyroux or something, singing all jazzy and playing my heart out on a piano.  More recently, I would think that it was just me being really young and indecisive.  After all, I was only 8 or 9 years old.  However, I gave piano lessons another shot.  At age 20, I wandered into a music shop to sign up for some lessons over the summer.  Once a week, probably costing more money than I had at the time.  But who cared?  I was really going to kick ass at piano this time!  So I sat there at my lessons in a room the size of a small closet, trying my very best to get through the basics all over again.  But it was more difficult that I had imagined.  Discouraging, in fact.  And of course, reality eventually reared its ugly head, and I could no longer gather the money to pay for the lessons.  And honestly, I was starting to lose interest yet again.  A relentless cycle of piqued interest, lack of satisfaction, and then eventual "calling it quits."  I still play around on the piano.  I haven't given up completely, and I probably never will.  But I always wonder if I will ever get over that hump, and just go completely for it.  I wonder if I'll ever have the time to take on the commitment required to excel at reading music, and playing well.  I'm a good starter, but I'm not the best finisher...

Guitar has been more successful.  I'm probably the most consistent with this, playing at least once every few days.  Nothing special, just playing songs I enjoy playing.  I'm sure I'm at a point where I could venture out and make something of my own.  But I'm a little uncertain of how to start doing that.  I don't know why...I probably just have to accept my beginner status of writing music, and just go with what I can do.  It's hard though.  I'm way too self-aware, sometimes.  I'm working on it, but it's hard to get rid of that feeling.  But again, it's a process I'm willing to go through.  Maybe I can start with just writing lyrics or something, and go with that.  I'm maintaining healthy optimism, more so than before.  Although, I'm still feeling a slightly rocky phase coming that will either make me a rock star or make me cry.  We shall see.  I suppose I'll just take it one instrument at a time.  

And Spanish?  Yeesh, don't even get me started.  I can't even say that I'm trying.  Why?  Well, because I'm not.  However, the other night I discovered that I have a friend who can help me practice whenever I feel the need to...which ought to be all the time.  I'm going to make the effort though...so says I, at this very moment.  Again, we shall see.  I need to just live in a Spanish-speaking country for a while.  I'd like to, and it's one of many short-term/long-term goals I hold dear.  I don't think I'd ever come back though.  Which might be okay.

So these are the major skills I am trying to work on, slowly but surely.  I'm still young, so I have time.  And I believe in the potential of young people like myself, who have big dreams.  God, that sounds so cheesy after reading it aloud.  Oh well, it's been typed and there's no turning back.  Just facing forward, toward our BIG, fat dreams.  

An Old Update on the Fabulous Life of Me

As I sit here, upon this fluffy, animal-print cushion in our couchless living room, avoiding everything in the world I was supposed to get done this weekend, I can't help but indulge myself in Comedy Central's stand-up countdown, something-or-other.  I really love that stuff.  I can't help that it's the only cure for unwavering procrastination!  Because if I haven't already dug myself into a hole of accumulating work already, why not throw in the motherload of distraction?  And with that, it's only natural to write a blog simultaneously.  (And to quote the only comedian that could steal my 'virginity' without force or reason, despite his less-than-desirable physique, Eugene Mirman:)  "And so I have, nothing can stop me."

In light of my watching stand-up, I think I'm going to borrow the comedic organizational format, and just jump from curious topic to curious topic in a witty fashion; granted, not as hysterically as Mitch Fatel or Lisa Landry...but we'll just have to see.

So recent news in my life?  Well, I'm slowly adjusting to school, and my 8am-3:30pm class schedule.  It's funny because I'm generally a morning person.  Taking advantage of the entire day can be so satisfying to me, and yet, when I am academically forced to drag my lazy ass to class on Tuesdays and Thursdays, I go into these mini-comas every Monday and Wednesday night.  How bizarre, right?  And no matter how early I get to bed, and however much activity I sacrifice the night before, I still struggle to make it to class on time.  But the 8am class isn't like micromolecular bioreconstruction or something horrific (or made-up) like that.  It's a graphic design class, the subject being my post-graduate dream as of today.  So far, our only challenge has been to study magazine ads for Guess Jeans and Saks Fifth Ave, and analyze them until our heads explode.  On a serious note, I'm really starting to believe that graphic design is the right career for me, which is a really comforting feeling.  Yay!  (Don't tell anyone, but I actually enjoyed that homework...)

It's no surprise that art as a career is for the young and the useless...to an extent.  Not to get bitchy, but I see so many classmates turn in total garbage for projects.  (Not my art buddies, of course.)  Like, "Yeah, I found this old napkin on the floor of this cafe, and I thought of all the people it took to make it, and who might have held it..."  And this, as all you art students know, simply translates to:  "Oh shit.  That project is due today?  And all I have is this stupid napkin that I was too lazy to throw away..."  And this brings up another "pro" to being an art student:  the power of words.  While it may piss people (like myself) off every now and then when someone coughs up the bullshit about their truly deep project, we can't actually stay mad for long.  The reality is that, it works.  I see it all the time.  Real art no longer relies so much on materials, craftsmanship and/or time, it's more about how your art relates to the adverse interconnectivity between our nose hairs and the contaminated oxygen we breathe, blah, blah, blah.  Maybe I'm being a bit harsh, but you know what I'm talking about.

I also have a figure drawing class this semester, which I'm already pretty psyched about.  I like to draw anyway, as many of you know.  It's always challenging and I can really lose myself in it, something I think is crucial to making decent art.  And I won't let the pink elephant stay in the room for much longer...we all know what "figure drawing" really means...drawing penises with absolutely zero shame!  I can't lie, it's part of the appeal of the class.  But I'm also somewhat interested in anatomy and...okay, forget it.  I'm actually pretty immature, and drawing the nude models is what I look forward to most in the class.  There, I said it.  We had a "model" come in already this past week, but we haven't gotten to drawing the entire body just yet.  My heart sunk a bit when I realized he wasn't going to disrobe.  Oh well, better luck next time.

So I have to quit here for now.  I guess I never got to any other topic besides school and art.  Sorry to those who can't relate, and sorry to those who can but think I wrote too much, which I did.  Now, on to more productive things, like reading medieval Spanish literature and watching tutorials on how to master Photoshop.  Sounds like a party, I know.

"Are you sure it wasn't towed?"

Ha. It amuses me that this blog's category is: automotive. I picked it, whatever. But this little "memoir" is more under the category I like to call: "My Accord looked like hell, and someone stillwanted to steal that shit". Of course I know that Honda's are notorious for being stolen. In fact, most of them are practically on their knees, begging to be stolen..."Pleeeeease, I'm a Honda for God's sake, just wiggle your way into my window, it's sooooo easy!" My car, the little tramp I always knew she was. If only I had known just how easy she was. So for those of you out-of-the-know, my car was stolen last week. My big, beautiful, rusty, crusty chipped-paint, '92 Honda Accord. (*I would've written this a lot sooner, but finals were under way this week and it was emergency cram time.)

Anywho, I wake up early on Tuesday morning because I want to scoop up my tips from work and grab a coffee on the way to class. I don't typically plan my mornings out so brilliantly, but this morning was different. I was determined to start the day off smoothly. But alas...my fate was sealed when I wander down to the parking lot to find...well, nothing. At first, I stay calm, and figure I just visually "misplaced" it. Afterall, sometimes I do park it in obscure places, hidden behind a tree or a particularly large plant. But it wasn't long before I realized what was really going on. My trusty vehicle...was gone, stolen from my very hands. I won't lie, I was furious. Fucking angry, to be more exact.

I've never driven a new car, that I owned, in my entire life. But I rarely complained about the conditions of my elderly Hondas. More often than not, I defended those little bastards for every little dollar they were worth. I appreciate the Honda's other reputation for being a reliable, borderline immortal car. I thanked my lucky stars that I even had a car to drive at all. And I thank my wonderful brother Shawn for helping keep those babies together when they weren't so reliable. So really, I had honest respect for my latest one. The problem is, this wasn't the first time this has happened, broken into anyway. The first team couldn't quite make it out of the parking lot; ha sorry, guys...you suck! The second team went for the gold...the beloved cd player, and walked away with that gold...still bitter about this one...bastards.

Of course, shortly after I called the police and did a report, etc., they end up finding my car on the side of the road with flat spare tires that they had swapped in. They couldn't even wait to get to the destination before taking my tires? Smart one, guys. Well, this story's getting way longer than expected, so fastforward to this week, and now I am driving this brand new, beautiful (ok, beautiful to me, anyway) rental car with...gasp...a cd player. No more risking my life for music via my ipod! However, there is a chance that I will get my old car back, depending on the insurance company. But here's the thing. I'm beginning to see this situation as if it were a drowning relationship with an unfaithful boyfriend. He's already made out with some other girl, then he goes and fools around with that trashy skank from Forever 21...and now? He's done the unthinkable, and after all I put up with, defending his premature receding hairline, etc. That ungrateful jack ass. I guess what I'm trying to say is, I don't want this car back. I can't take the emotional pain again. I need to start fresh, with a new boyfriend analogy, and a new(er) car.

I really wish I lived in a place where I didn't need a car. I would totally be okay with walking everywhere I had to go. But this is Charlotte, North Carolina, where one can count the number of sidewalks with one hand (and probably get hit by a car while they are walking around the city counting sidewalks). In the meantime, I will relish in the newness and fresh scent of my rental, and play the hell out of the cd player.

My Date with a Fortune Teller.

I've been meaning to post a blog about my visit to a psychic, a "fortune teller," if you will.  as most of you probably know, i fall quite comfortably into the gullible category.  so i imagine you're thinking right about now that i am the last person who should be getting my fortune told.  but yes, i did it.  because i let my gullible side overcome my intuitive belief that it was probably a crock of shit...and with that, i was convinced it was a great idea.

so to preface, don't bother with supernatural readings of any kind in a town like concord, nc.  it's like wanting to see some lions and tigers at a "wildlife park" in the obscure grassy area between kannapolis and china grove.  something about it just doesn't sound right...or safe, for that matter.  (which by the way, i did that as well...another story left to be told in person, and wasn't that bad in the end.)

well, we drive up and it's like this abandoned store front, in a sketchy building, but relatively near a more desirable-looking shopping plaza...perhaps, the ugly stepchild of the latter.  anywho, we park in our amibiguously marked parking space (not sure you could even call it a "parking lot"), and let the good times roll.  we are greeted by two women, one looks around my age and the other middleaged, both uneasily welcoming.  we are all separated into different rooms and given our choice of reading.  i go with the tarot reading with a half deck.  it was cheapest, and if these "psychics" were the real deal, i really didn't want to know every painful detail of my present and future life.  i suppose it was like getting the "free sample," except that it was $40. 

naturally, i get the young girl as my "guide to my future self."  we share awkward introductions, followed by a brief overview of what damage she is about to inflict onto my very soul.  (ha, no...it wasn't like that at all, but now i wish her intro was that much more exciting!)  she asks me to shuffle the cards, in no particular way...which i later found out was inadequate instruction.  so at this point, i'm REALLY not buying it because i'm sitting there at a cheap, glass-topped "desk" with a small pile of bills and letters addressed to several different people, and i just can't focus on anything but our entirely inappropriate setting.  there is simply no trace of any psychic and/or magical activity in this place.  it just might have been more fun that way, you know?

after a minute or two of her "seeing" things, my gullible nature starts to kick in and i'm sitting there, eating up everything she tells me.  and right now, i can honestly say that some of the things she told me were so dead on that i don't think i can put them in this blog.  but those were very few and probably just lucky guesses.  i hope anyway.  (ahh, see?  there i go again!)  for the most part, there were far too many holes in her predictions that made me either want to laugh or cry inside, such as, "i see 3 children in your future."  (oh my...)  but see, that's the thing about these so-called predictions they conjure up...they're so ambiguous that it's impossible to support or deny their craft.  and she also told me that i would be married by the time i was 35, and you know, a lot of people get married in about that same time frame.  you could say that to a group of about 50 and it would probably be true for more than half of them.  like they tell you, "there's something going on in your head right now," and you're like WHAT, i'm paying you to tell me that i'm alive, that my brain is functioning well...i don't understand?! 

but here's the kicker.  she tells me that i have a negative energy about me, and i think, "ok, that's very vague and it sounds like it COULD be me, but it sounds serious...what should i do about this?"  so i ask her.  and for only $50 more, i can buy a set of scented oils and candles that will wipe out my bad aura in no time.  ahhh, if only the world really worked that way.  i kept thinking, if all i have to do whenever i'm having the worst day of my life is whip out some scented oils and breathe all my troubles away, that would be fabulous.  we quickly wrapped it up after this was mentioned.

well, that was about it.  i'll be sure to tell my 3 children about the girl who predicted their existence...and advise them not to buy into the whole fortune teller thing. 

Merck is a MONSTER, for real.

Ahhh.  Finally, I've gotten some answers to the medical mystery that was my sickly body (and still is...) for the past (almost) week.  A few of you already know what's been going on from my pitiful phone calls to you during the worst times, and others have yet to find out.  Well, I finally found out what the culprit of this devilish thing was today at my (hopefully) last doctor's visit.

It began as a routine, yearly check-up on Friday morning.  Minus the leftovers of a urinary tract infection, I came in perfectly healthy.  My doctor, a very nice lady, did all her normal doctory things, and only suggested that I take some antibiotics for the rest of my UTI.  Not a big deal at all.  She also recommended that I consider taking the new Gardasil vaccine, which is supposed to prevent about 4 strains of the HPV virus, the culprit of cervical cancer.  When it comes to medical things, I am easily swayed.  I decided to go for it.  It sounded valid enough, and who wants cervical cancer?  Not I.

So my nurse comes in to administer the shot.  She explains nonchalantly that I should feel some stinging during the injection and some pain/swelling afterward, but nothing more.  All the while, I figure "Yeah, yeah, I got this."  It was a typical shot, and it's not like I want one every day, but you know, you get used to it.  She throws on my bandaid and I think I'm golden now...won't see them for another year or until my next shot.

Well, I was scheduled for work pretty soon after that appointment, so I run home and eat something, then I'm off to jolly ole Concord.  I'm running a bit late after stopping by Walgreens for my antibiotic (we all know how speedy they are), and when I get to work, I take my first dose of antibiotic before clocking in.  Things were pretty normal, and I felt equally so.  Until around 2pm.  I felt like fever had pounded me with a ton of bricks from a hovering cloud above my throbbing head.  I was a wreck, just ask Stephen Campbell or anyone else on my shift...or the customers who saw me burst into tears (they probably thought I was being beaten).  Yeah, it was totally embarrassing, and I felt like hell.

Fast forward to that night, which would be the norm for the next few nights, my fever had hiked up to 101 or so, my eyes became bloodshot, and I couldn't sleep at all.  My first thought was that Gardasil had done this to me.  I was quickly informed that the vaccine was not on the market for very long and some of its effects were still unknown.  So then, I was convinced that it was an adverse reaction, cursing the very name, "Gardasil," and Merck for distributing the poison!  Well, these episodes of fever went on into the day on Saturday, so I stopped by urgent care, where they told me I was perfectly healthy.  In fact, my quirky little doctor was pretty stumped by my symptoms.  She said it might be a reaction to the vaccine, but likely not, but to just let whatever it was run its course, and to take tons of Motrin. 

Fast forward to Monday night.  My fever got to a painful 102, and I had had enough, period.  So I call my poor mom at 2:30am and cry to her that I have to see the doctor again.  So I did, and this guy explains that I must have some kind of viral infection, because there's also a slight rash on my legs.  He also tells me to stop taking my antibiotic, just in case it was causing my fevers, though he doubted it.  So I'm left with a generic diagnosis of "viral infection," from God knows where.  And a third copay.  $30 so far for my adventures.

And now this morning.  I'm still feeling a little off, although after stopping the antibiotics, my fever went away.  I take a shower, ready to go back to school, and what do my little eyes discover?  A rash all over my stomach, back, chest, more on my legs...what is wrong with me, I wonder frantically.  And I have yet another appointment with my doctor today.  (The rash that I found today was an allergic reaction to my antibiotic that's still swimmming around in me.)  We do more blood work, she checks for strep throat and other things.  And she comes to the conclusion that I almost definitely have fifth disease.  What the hell is that, you ask?  (I asked, too.)  Well, it sounds far worse than what it actually is.  It's a viral infection that kids typically get, and apparently, sometimes adults.  Kind of like the chicken pox, but backwards.  You get a fever and flu-ish symptoms first, then rash on (sometimes) face and/or limbs.  Some people get it with no symptoms at all, but I didn't get away that easy. 

Good news?  I know what was making me so sick, and Merck was not trying to kill me.  Bad news?  I spent about $40-50 on all this nonsense, and fifth disease doesn't go away over night.  It lingers for up to 3 weeks, so my symptoms may not completely go away til then. 

Boo, viruses.  (Edited 18.06.08:  And Merck...turns out the shot did the damage after all.)

A Blog Transfer of Deep, Deep Depths

To preface, this is probably 1 of those blogs that could benefit from lots of meaningful quotes by wise folks throughout history.  Unfortunately, in that regard, this blog will fall short; I only hope my words/thoughts don’t fall too short of their intention.  It’s just that I’ve never been any good at storing good quotes for particular situations so I could whip them out at appropriate times...I wish I had that gift, though.]

I’m starting to get that funny feeling that I am in the grueling midst of "growing up."  And let me tell you, it’s not a speedy process by any means, nor is it always a pleasant one.  As my 22nd birthday approaches, slowly but surely, I look back in retrospect.  [a pause...while I sit and reflect for this blog........"oh shit, I did that?!".......ok, done now.] 

It’s been quite a year for me.  No, I didn’t do anything outrageously cool like travel to foreign lands, or what-have-you, nor did I transform into someone important with the right words and something to say.  Nope, I’m still me, for the most part.  What’s been happening to me isn’t something I can outwardly describe to anyone; it’s that deep, painfully esoteric "personal journey," in which a young girl like myself takes on life’s biggest cruelties in the comfort of her own body, mind, and soul.  I’m pretty shocked to recall all the things I’ve put myself through, and the icky details I’ve learned about others and myself since June 19, 2007.  And it’s been tricky, trying to step outside myself for the sake of self-contemplation.

I won’t bore you with everything that’s happened this year to date (trust me, some things are best unsaid).  I’ve simply taken all my experiences and rolled them into neat, little packages of pseudo-wisdom.  I now know how scary it is to look inwards and see what’s hiding behind your own reflection.  It really is.  To take into account all that you do, then rack your brain to find some meaning in it, it’s probably the scariest experience you will ever have.  But I see the necessity in it now.  It needed to happen eventually.  I have a lot of growing up to do, I’ve found.  Not exactly a miraculous discovery, but a discovery of importance, nonetheless.  With no one to hold my hand anymore, I’m suddenly a dot on the map with nothing more than hopes and a load of free will to take me forward.

But that’s the biggest thing I’ve come to realize:  the world is huge, and I am just a dot.  And not even a big dot, a really tiny one, a speck even.  That’s a huge part to growing up that’s so difficult to swallow.  The context in which we live just gets bigger and bigger, and we get smaller and smaller, until we are (or at least, feel) almost invisible.  I’m realizing now that I have to workwith and for the life I’ve been given, the world in which I live...not against it.  It’s a tricky attitude to uphold, but I’m trying it out. 

Of all the good times I’ve had this year, the best times were the split-second moments that I totally forgot about "my world," and felt like I was a tiny part of something intricate and bigger than myself.  Whether I was driving through the remote corners of rural Concord with my windows down on a gorgeous afternoon, or squeezing into a tightly packed train in a ginormous city, I felt good, more than I ever have before.  So I guess I just feel like I’ve stumbled over 1 of many obstacles in the growing-up process.

Of course there is plenty of time to get through the other obstacles, like how I’m going to transition into the real, working world, etc in 2 years or so.  But that will come when it comes.  Bringing your own pea-sized life into a new perspective is hard enough to face. 

A final tidbit to add, that I now firmly believe in is this, true love and true joy mean nothing if you keep it to yourself.  Share that shit!

And with that, I share my little blog and love to all.  :]

Caught in the Inter-net.

Every day I am astounded by the growth of our new sphere of life: the internet. So vast, I can actually call it a sphere of life. The thing is, it's become so unbelievably convenient, available, and helpful over the years. Most of you are a part of that technology savvy little generation they call, Y. We try to think of life pre-internet, and we remember what it was like to flip through a World Book encyclopedia for hours at a time, rather than browsing through Wikipedia at lightning speeds. It's weird, right? That we have this luxury at our finger tips, more or less, any time we need it. The Jetson's, the future? Please! They didn't have a clue. 

I think joining Pandora really brought about this random topic. Pandora is probably old news, and yes, I had heard about it before now, but hadn't given it much thought until 2 hours prior to writing this note. And I must say, it's my new favorite discovery. An internet "radio" that is like your personal shopper for music, knows what you like just by seeing one piece of your own collection. Thank you for being so helpful, Pandora.

And Wikipedia? Don't even get me started! You really want to know the birth weight of James Earl Jones? (If you caught the Eugene Mirman reference, you are oh-so witty!) Well, my friend, you got it...just give it 2 seconds, maybe less! Amazing.

Macbook = '97 Accord

I have no particular reason to write today.  I thought of a few possible things, but I can't seem to get the words out right.  That is the case more often than not, really.  Honestly, I am writing because I am enjoying the sound of the new, little white keys on my painfully sleek little Macbook.  Beautiful, for the simple fact that it did not cause financial turmoil.  After all, the best things in life are free, am I right?  Especially when they are as powerful and practical as a new laptop.  And this little machine in front of me is probably worth more than the car I drive.  And it's in better working condition, on top of that.  

A preface with nowhere to go.

A week has passed, and I'm pretty certain that gas has become virtually unaffordable for the likes of thrifty folks, such as myself. Which tells me, perhaps the world cannot be fixed in one swift punch. With a phrase like, "bitches be shoppin'," as fabulous as it sounds, we are left with little wisdom for guidance. Instead, we simply, openly contemplate. And when I say "we," I actually mean "me." Sorry, I'm a selfish bitch sometimes, and in order to fully enjoy the contents of my teeming brain of thoughts, you must accept it.

Good, now that you have, the fun begins...OFFICIALLY! I like to "preface" blogs like these with an honest revelation about myself and the coming torture you will soon be faced with. So now, I preface:

I am young. Too young to bitch and moan the way I do, but after reading many an article about the epic "quarter-life-crisis," I understand my complaints ring somewhat true. Anywho, I am often reminded of the fact that I haven't really done much living yet, and that I have plenty of time to find REALLY bitch-worthy things to gripe about. And boy, I can't wait! No, actually I could wait a lifetime for those things to happen to me; who wouldn't? Everybody likes easy-breezy. I like easy-breezy, especially.

Who knows when I'll ever get that. But in the blog sense, I guess I should be thankful that my life has reached a level of difficulty that defies any upbringing or education I have been given. Otherwise, I wouldn't have anything to question or discuss. This blog would be nonexistent. My words would be fluff...well, even more fluffy than I currently make them. But fluffy and not-so-fluffy words alike, I am here to write stuff; to comment on the life that is currently stemming from my pea-sized existence. And unfortunately, I am anything but a pea. Rather, I am a human being, which also contributes quite nicely to the blog thing. In that regard, I make loads of mistakes, and hopefully, others find them worthy of laughter or sympathy, or just plain disgust. And with all these mistakes, come a plethora of thoughts; good and bad, mostly uninteresting. And now, they're here and tucked away in this tiny little blog.

Who are these bitches, and why are they shopping?

Bitches be shoppin'. Three little words to digest. I'm not even sure what there is digest from them. That somewhere out there, there are bitches who like to be shoppin', I guess? Even I don't know what it really means. Also, it was derived from a very indirect source, of which has no real importance to anyone but me, and maybe a few others. But something about it makes me smile, and I imagine will make someone else smile, fingers crossed. In a sense, it may very well be the answer to all of life's incessant little questions, like how will I ever be able to afford the soaring costs of gasoline? Well, bitches be shoppin'. If only it were so easy.