READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

So today is the second day of my six-day period. And *my* second days feel like someone has stuck a dagger in your gut and is twisting the damn thing around. I can picture the innards below my bellybutton swirling along the blade as it buries itself to the hilt. And no, I don't take ibuprofen for my pain. Not often. Who wants to be a slave to period-painkillers? (Not I, said the very lonely cat.)

But you know what's the worst part of periods? No, not the cramping, though that does suck considerably. No, not the fear of leakage or stainage or whatever else-age either.

If your squick threshold is low, don't read past this. I warned you.

***

Period shits.

There I said it.

Period Shits.

PERIOD SHITS.

PERIOOOOD SHIIIITS.

That feeling where all the cramping pains seem to press down onto your ovaries or uterus or another reproductive organ, and then you run to the bathroom because you only just now realized that THAT pain wasn't regular period pain but period pain mixed with I-GOTTA-TAKE-A-DUMP pain and then you're at the toilet and you sit down and

BA-DOOOOOOOOSSSSHHH--

And then for a few seconds (or minutes) you sit there, still and unmoving, because you can't move under the wake of sweet releeaase and reliiieef and only later, FINALLY, you breathe a sigh of a shit well-dumped and reach for the toilet paper.

Right then. Finished here. Alright. I'm good. It's cool now. Done.

La Dee Da

When will I stop drifting, I wonder.

All I Want For Christmas is--

what I've already said time after time. I don't need to repeat myself, now do I?

Recreation

Oh my god THIS.

Combustible Pants

I lied to my parents to get them off my back. How long can I keep it up this time?

Ex Marks The Spot

I had another motherfucking dream about you a few nights ago. Why oh why won't this madness stop? Is it because I'm still yearning to do and say all the things we never did or said when we were together? Is it because I'm still trying to apologize for being such a shitty girlfriend? Is it because I still have feelings for you? What is it, what What WHAT. Somebody tell me, please. I don't get this. Lately, all of my dreams have included at least two of these elements:

- a road trip/field trip of some kind
- a bathroom where illicit scenes take place
- sexytime activities
- one of the boys from my past/present/future(HAR KIDDING)
- someone I know, watching me/us
- a warped version of the school campus, be it Darlington or Middlebury

SENSE: this makes none.

I'm a virgin who's raring to go. Obviously this frustration will trickle into my dreams. I get that much. Guys keep making appearances because I had/have chances with them. I get that too. But what the Fuck are with the public bathrooms, and the piss, and the other unmentionables, and the public areas where I tend to get my dreamy freak on? Last time I checked, pee and shit don't turn me on. Sigh.

I need some normal REM visions up in here. Freud can't help me this time @_@

When I Grow Up

Blinders

I need to stay for an entire year at home.

This conviction of mine to return to Middlebury in the spring? Yeah, just another passing whim that ultimately came to naught by the end. I haven't learned anything, haven't changed, improved--nothing. I am stuck. I am stagnant. I don't know what to do with myself, and I am so frightened. I'm about to fail two classes out of four here at Shorter, and that is the saddest, most pathetic thing I've said all year. It's one thing to fuck up in Vermont. But here? In Georgia? Right under my parents' loving, worried noses? This is a new low. I didn't know there was a low this low.

I can only hope that O'Neal will have mercy on me, and grant me an Incomplete. I have no idea what to do about Vosevich. I must be a masochist because this is the third trap I've made for myself. And it doesn't look like it'll stop anytime soon. I wish I could tell my parents. I wish I could tell them what was wrong. But I don't know. I don't know anything. I'm spiraling in the heydays of my youth, and I wonder wonder wonder what the rest of my life will be like. Why am I so stuck in my ways? Why have I lost complete control of myself since the end of high school? Why don't I have my shit together?

Why?

Why?

I don't know anything anymore.

End Times

I'm in trouble.

What I Missed (like always)

We never seem to catch each other at the right time. You're either coming and I going, or you're going and I coming. Occasionally we brush against each other, and stop to talk for a bit to see how things are for the other. And then we continue on our way because we always seem to be walking in opposite directions that may or may not touch each other.

And I wonder if this is how it will be until I no longer care--or try not to care. Is this indicative of our relationship? Is this all we are? A series of almost-random run-ins?

Of course, I could be reading too much into this.

I Need My Own Personal Joseph For This Shit

The contents of last night's dream in no particular order:

- dane v. in a room

- mason from ENG 3360 sitting in his room. that i was visiting at 2am. (WAT.)

- hedgpeth, with whom i was having near-sexual relations on the bed next to mason's (again, WAT.)

- hedgpeth had this abnormal covering/growth/blanket?! on his penis. it was white and had spots. <-- at="" br="" grabbed="" i="" it="" one="" point="" whatiswrongwithme="">
- we were all living in this warped dream-version of Middlebury (T____T)

There was also other shit, but I can't--don't--want to remember O______O

Oh My God This is Wonderful

Oh Look, This Too

The Sole Light in My Life

My Brother is Evil

So I just got cock-blocked. I thought only guys got mad at this sort of thing, but oh was I wrong.

I am going to punch a baby, and then I am going to eat it. And enjoy it.

Dare I, Darren?

Okay so his name isn't Darren, and I know that this post title is from As Told By Ginger (only my favoritey favoritest show from middle school, ever), but it MAKES SENSE BECAUSE I THINK I'M SPRUNG ON MY FRIEND. AM I? AM I?!?!

I'm So Full of Myself

As a professor would say, "It's all conjecture until somebody writes the damn paper."

Slow Motion

I can't believe I'm repeating what happened this past spring semester. Someone stop me.

Please.

This Day Did Not Happen

I am now a disillusioned, over-educated, slightly cynical 20 year-old student.

Urgh, birthdays.

Dude Where's My Car?

Memento Mori

My grandfather is dying of lung cancer.

Eight years ago at an annual checkup, the doctor spotted a tiny lump in his right lung but ruled it as too small and inconsequential to warrant a biopsy. Now he is sick in Singapore, struggling to breathe and getting thinner by the day. He already looked aged and frail enough when I saw him last in September. It's been barely a month. What is going on here? I wish I knew what to do. I wish I could just go to sleep and wake up in 2011 (or 2008) instead of the next morning where my father will be on a plane to Indonesia where my terminal grandfather has a two month ultimatum.

I wish I could stop everything.

Reverse Psychology Sucks

When I decide not to get involved in anything physical, I get involved in something physical. When I decide not to look for a relationship, someone comes knocking on my door. Oh fuck this eloquent posting shit, time for a word diarrhea post.

- what you're JEALOUS? JEALOUS? But you're not supposed to be jealous, Gypsy Guy! SENSE: THIS MAKES NONE.

- WTF REDHEAD DUDE. WHY YOU GOTTA LIKE ME.

- I NEED SEX. SOMEONE SEX ME. I need to get a dildo.

/schizophrenic post

Details

Every time my mind flashes back to that morning, I try to remember that 5 second interval between the moment I was driving on the road and the moment (and everything afterwards) that I was in the ditch. For the most part, the scene replays in the same, unchanging sequence:

I am in first gear, urging my car to go faster across the black asphalt towards the median while my brother plays music on his phone. As my brother sings along to the chorus, my fingers shift their position on the wheel without my consciously knowing it because I have made this particular left turn too many times to count at this point. I wonder--mumbling to myself--how will I pass this French midterm today?

And then I stop wondering. The music stops playing. My brother stops singing. Everything. Just. Stops. There is only a great whoosh filling my ears, rising higher and higher and higher until

I come to again, and my eyes are watering and my nostrils are stinging from the sharp tang of gasoline inside the car. My hands fumble to get the windows down--I'm coughing and gasping--and my brother. Is my brother alright? He's fine. We're both okay. The ringing inside my head has not gone away yet and neither has the numbness in my mouth, but those things don't matter because we're alive.

I try hard to fill the gaps in my memories, but my hands inevitably start to shake as soon as I recall the more minute, sensory details of the impact: the iron grip my fingers had on the steering wheel, the great roar surrounding my car as the truck forced it out of the road, the tight clench in my chest as I held my breath.

I'm not ready to relive this. Not now. Not yet.

September 21, 1996

I had wanted a sister. Instead, I got you. She offered to let me hold you, and so I did, rocking you back and forth in my bony six year-old arms until you closed your dewy black eyes to sleep. All I noticed then was how scrunched up your face was, like a tiny prune, and I found it difficult to believe that something like you could have popped out of our mother after a scant nine months. On the car ride home, I wondered what life would be like now that I had a sibling.

Fourteen years later, I've decided that I wouldn't trade you for all the sisters in the world. You're the only one who I can still play legos with or pretend my bed is a boat in the middle of a storm-tossed ocean. Around you, there's no mask to put on, no role to play.

I almost lost you. And it would have been my fault.

You're my whole world, Indra. I wouldn't know how to exist if you had died.

And due to my own failings, no less.

Almosts

I got hit by an 18-wheeler today, and my car--Jill, blue Honda Civic and love of my life--is no more. Well, at least I know what I'll get for my birthday in November. I have a few bruises here and there, and there's a gnarly knot on the side of my head, but aside from those minor injuries, I'm fine. I never saw the truck coming. One second I was driving out onto the lane to turn left, and the next I'm in a ditch with smoke in my mouth and an airbag in my eyes.

The accident was my fault. I failed to yield the right of way, and now I have a court date in December.

I have done nothing but screw-up ever since I came home in May. Getting kicked out, rejected by even Berry College, incurring cost after cost on the still-ongoing summer storage for my friend, and now this latest development.

The truck hit the front of the car. Had I driven the tiniest bit faster, the 18-wheeler would have collided into the driver's side, and the accident would have been a true T-bone. I don't think I would have lived.

More to follow.

Elements of a Bad Day

1. discover from an aunt that there are rumors about you and your not-so-secret sexytime intrigues

2. put in $30 at the gas station, then drive off without filling up the tank

3. flunk your midterm because you didn't turn in your paper on time

4. be bombed by increasingly irate phone calls about summer storage from your soon-to-be ex-friend (God-DAMN, it still hasn't been resolved yet?)

5. have all of this occur on the same day

/recipe

What He'll Never Know

Greatest Interracial Cultural Exchange in The History of Interracial Cultural Exchanges

Date: August 2010

Location: Bath & Body Works, Perimeter Mall, Atlanta, Georgia

Players: Me & College Bestie

CB:*holding up a bamboo-scented lotion* Doesn't this remind you of home?

Me:*holding up a cotton-scented lotion* Doesn't this bring back memories for you?

/exchange

Another Day at Work

Last night I worked at the restaurant (so what else is new, I know shut up), and on Monday nights I always work with this cook (re)named Puppy Eyes. He is tall and skinny with a flop of thick, dark hair on his head. And he is very. Very. Nice. But also ridiculously flirtatious. Thus, he enjoys teasing me, and I enjoy ignoring his remarks/mock-glances full of longing until I need him to cook something. This is how my Monday nights go, without fail, week after week since I started school here (another story, another time).

Now anyone who--for some bizarre, unfathomable reason--frequents this blog knows that I am a Frustrated Virgin. And there is nothing more I would love than to lose it RIGHT NOW. AT THIS TABLE IN THE STUDENT UNION. AS I AM CURRENTLY TYPING THIS. Anyway. For months, I have kept this low-simmering tension at bay, but as the end of my teenage years approaches (November 4 WOOT WOOT), I am no longer able to effectively reign in my urges/flashes/Demonic Possession of my nether-regions--whatever. What I am trying to say after all this necessary context I have given you is that this frycook is not a bad-looking guy. In fact, he is very cute. Cute and nice all wrapped up in a demeanor that screams "CORRUPT ME AND SHOW ME THINGS."

Unfortunately, my body yearns to return this primitive call. I bitch-slap my libido and tell it to calm the fuck down. It does not. You could interpret this post as a "I'm considering making a Bad Call, Edition #498375," but it is not. Not really. You see, I have not written a word nor told a soul of what Puppy Eyes has been doing or what I wish to do to him. If I do not let someone--anyone--know, I will go crazy and indeed make The Bad Call, Edition #498375. This is me being proactive! Look at me being proactive and taking cautionary measures to prevent another Mini-Restaurant Scandal! Of course, the fact that I am the owner's offspring and he the frycook/"the help" is not the scandal-worthy tidbit.

He is married. Yeah. I did not mention that earlier >>

Passing Afternoon

I have a favorite time of day. It's between 1 and 4pm, but the weather conditions also have to be right. Sunny enough to feel the warmth on your skin but chilly enough to consider wearing a light jacket. Clouds should be fluffy and spread out, the sky dark-blue with a touch of somberness. When all these things come together, I know my day will be good--at the very least, not god-awful.

Of course today would be that day, which explains why I'm writing this. Have to scribble it down before my mind wanders off--half the reasons why I always post pictures here. It's so quiet in my house right now that if I stop typing I can hear my heartbeat. It's peaceful, and for an hour or two I can forget that I'm still at home and not in Vermont, that I don't know if I'll graduate on time, that I'm leaving my teen years in a month, and that I got kicked out of my dream school four months ago.

It's enough to make anyone cry, really.

There is a Line and I Crossed It Ages Ago

I Am Your Sappho

Warning: mushy, explicit letter up ahead.

~~~

I have not seen you since May. I did not think to give you a more meaningful goodbye because I thought I would come back for the fall. Instead, we hugged for the briefest of seconds (though I can still conjure up the feel of your jacket pressed against my very thin t-shirt), and then you abruptly let go in that curt way of yours that I cannot quite get enough of. If I could, I would store every smirk you throw at me and hoard every quizzical brow you raise in my direction. I would record your sharp-eyed cat stare and play it on the nights that macho men fantasies will not suffice in bringing me to orgasm.

Perhaps I am over-exaggerating the degree to which I long for you, but--really, now--can you blame me? I am neck-deep in the throes of my youth, all emotion and no thought, and someone dares come along to tell me that I am too overcome with desire for you, the first woman who has ever told me that it was okay for me to want her? Even though you will never reciprocate, there is no rule forbidding me to watch you from afar. Am I allowed that at least? There is so much to discover (and uncover and recover) from the breadth of your hands or the way you hold your shoulders when you laugh that I could weep from the embarrassment of such rich knowledge.

And sometimes my jealousy of your talents threaten to consume me. Your hands create art, create words, create music; all you do is create, a Goddess that never stopped on the Seventh Day. You are what I aspire to be, what I hope to be, what I dream to be. The sheer force and depth of your intellect could shame half the professors here, your creativity could rival the top tier of the published faculty, your character could outweigh the entire lower-classmen body. It angers me to think that there have been others, unworthy others, trying to learn all your secrets, both of flesh and mind.

Just give me a chance, and I would know you so completely that you will have thought that everyone else before me had been fumbling around with the map turned upside-down. I would kiss every talented fingertip, suck each delicate earlobe, trace every gentle curve on your unbearably soft skin, and stroke my way down to where your thatch of dark curls would be waiting. By the end of it, your mouth below would be as familiar with my tongue as the one on your face. This time, it is most definitely not my youth speaking for me. Your body is a world, and I intend to explore every inch.

I wrote this because it has been several weeks since my last entry about you. There have been many more musings, all incomplete, all unwritten, all forgotten in my poor attempts to curb my--obsession? Infatuation? I have not yet found an appropriate word to describe everything I have been feeling for the past two years. You will never know (could never know) how often I think about you, how frequently I imagine you with me, or how much I worship you at night--a fact that I grudgingly content myself with. So thus you remain my unrequited muse until this sweet, aching feeling has run its course.

But this is not something I want to be cured of.

Back Up, Freud

Various, random, wtf details I remember from my dream last night:

- a cathedral wherein a chase scene took place
- an exotic locale in China that was both isolated and not isolated. was it a resort town? it was nestled in a valley so no. but wtf was it?
- mrs. o' mara was there. i have no idea on this one but she was there to dispense sagely advice on various matters.
- ****** was there as the star of the show, i.e. the person i was hell-bent on sexing up. now i knew this had to have been a dream.
- the villains were these two young men i had never seen before in real life and one of them walked in on me while i was dropping a dream-deuce in dream-land. yeah i know shut up >_>
- i talked to Primary Villain #1 afterwards and insulted him in all manner of ways
- ****** and two girls who worked at the hotel we (group? i was with a group?) were all staying at took down Primary Villain #1, but right before i could initiate the sex scene he brushed me off in favor of one of the Action Local Girls. sigh, of course.

~~~

Conclusion: I so wanted to bone him that day, but thought better of it. And now my subconscious has been festering about it ever since. Way to go, E., I'm getting better at this interpretation stuff.

My Wake-Up Call

click

My New Addiction

Ahem.

I've been falling asleep in the middle of getting myself off. This is simultaneously too annoying and embarrassing for words.

I'm Waiting For My Life to Begin

Okay Fine These Guys Too

Why The Fuck Are They Not Together Yet?

The Way to a Woman's Heart is Through Her--

Actually, I have no idea, but for me it's music. And there are certain albums that I will forever associate with certain people, either because something happened while an album was playing or his/her personality just suits the music perfectly. A sample, if you please:

1. Tonight - Franz Ferdinand

Ever since that infamous night in May, I've thought about you on-and-off all summer long, and no, or many, thanks to my mother) you contacted me last Saturday. Alas, I will be in Georgia until February. At least I still have this album to *@!#$%& to.

2. Show Your Bones - Yeah Yeah Yeahs

It's fast and youthful and rash and alive, all of which you are too. "Phenomena" in particular fits you very nicely, dear (mostly because your stereo was blasting this song as we sun-bathed on a grassy hillside.)

3. Arular - M.I.A.

Pretty straightforward. You recommended M.I.A. to me, I listened to her stuff, I decided it was good stuff, and now her debut album is forever tied up in you. She's noisy and experimental with a devil-may-care attitude. Reminds me of someone...

4. Like a Star - Corinne Bailey Rae

It's sweet and sentimental without being too cloying or sickly. The lyrics don't sync, but her voice and the mood certainly do. So yeah, every time I saw you this song came on in my head. Some day, man, some day.

5. Wowee Zowee - Pavement

This album is what I had wanted our relationship to be like--irreverent, light, and fun. And even though we've been done for a while now, I still listen to this album occasionally and wonder what we could have been had I not been so busy and distant.

~~~

Huh, this was an interesting post. I should do this more often.

Whoa I Didn't Know I Sent Something to Postsecret

Me, Myself, and I

As often as I self-deprecatingly dismiss my looks, I am not that oblivious about my actual appearance. I know that I am not an ugly girl. I am not a smoking hot girl either, but I never wanted to be. Instead, I am the best kind of girl.

I'm not the one who commands immediate attention upon entering a room, but I am the one who'll be leading you by the nose at the end of the night. (If I even choose to, that is.)

I'm not the one who's on every person's To-Bang List, but I am the one you'll be wondering about at night after you send your girlfriend home.

I'm the one who makes you spill your secrets without batting an eye. I'm the one who holds your eyes when I walk by until I round that corner. I'm the one who gets under your skin.

As I've said before, I'm the best kind of girl.

Short in the Middle

I've been at Shorter College for a few days, adjusting to my new schedule and not-quite-sane 6am wakeup calls. The professors are friendly and personable, eager to help and easy to get to know. I eat my mother's cooking every night so I know I will neither lose nor gain weight for the time being. My shifts at the restaurant have decreased, my presence now reduced to two weekend appearances and the odd night or two on weekdays. Indra gets to see me every day as I drive him to school and take him home. All in all, not a bad deal, considering what has happened this summer.

Obviously I want to go back to Middlebury. Somebody hide me in his/her luggage, please.

OT3 is The New OTP

Love Letters Are Foolish And Sentimental

I wonder if you think of me at all. If you've thought of me even once this summer, like a memory unbidden that you cannot quite forget. You probably don't. Old as you are, there must be plenty of other one-night stands that have made a much bigger impression than I could ever hope to. I was your young, foolish mistake, and I wish you could be reckless all the time.

I remember you at the most inopportune moments. I am working a night shift, the pen in my hand poised to take someone's order when abruptly I can almost (but not quite) feel the slide of your tongue on my thigh, and I drop the pen, startled and flustered. Or I am diligently taking notes in class, and suddenly I hear your voice in my ear, breathless and husky, and the professor could be revealing life's greatest secrets for all I care because right then I cannot process a single coherent thought. Or my parents are telling me something important and instead of filing their pearls of wisdom away, I am distracted by a light pressure on my breasts, ghost fingers brushing over my nipples as they head for parts (un)known.

The smile on your face. The shape of your chin. The jut of your hips. The sweep of your shoulders. I shudder at these snapshot images I had hungrily stored away at the time and conjure them in my mind's eye for later, night-time use.

Was I memorable? Was I your first Asian? Did I leave anything behind?

My God, I want your mouth on my skin again.

Everything Has Already Been Said

You shot yourself in the head last night. And here I thought we would eventually meet again, years from now, and I would be a successful businesswoman while your life was as messy and ugly as it was in high school. I would gloat and tout my success over your head, and then I could let my grudge go. But you beat me, Eric. You got the last word.

You win.

And I'm sorry. You and I had one fucked-up relationship, but I shouldn't have blamed you for never loving me back. We both wronged each other, and I should have owned up to my self-delusions. I suppose the real reason why I couldn't bring myself to forgive you is because you have affected me so much in so many different ways while I barely made a ripple in your short, young life. Wasn't I important to you when you thought you had no one else? Didn't you like our long conversations on the phone? Did our friendship mean nothing? Why weren't you sorry?

And now I'll never know. But it's okay, right?

I Am a Cruel Mistress

Time: August 12, 2010
Setting: Chopsticks Restaurant

~~

New Guy: I've been with a lot of girls, but most of them only want me for my body. There was this one girl who stayed with me for six months just for the sex.

Me: Do they tell you this?

New Guy: Basically. I mean, I have girls check me out all the time then come tell me I have a "meh" face but a banging-ass body.

Me: Oh, so you're a guy version of a "buthisface."

New Guy: ...pretty much.

The Food Mecca (click me)

When I die, this will be my personal heaven. I'm sure of it.

How To Be Productive On An Off-Day

Sleep until 2pm. Then download The Matrix movie. Watch it. Eat instant noodles.

'Nough said.

Mad for Mad Men

XKCD is The Greatest Thing Since Sliced Bread

Black Hole

Black hole you say? It has another name:

Playing Mass Effect 2. Sigh. Aah me.

Dream A Little Dream of Me

I had a dream about Mass Effect last night, which is probably indicative of how much and how often I've been playing the damn game ever since I bought it a few weeks ago.

Somebody save me >>

Truth: It Scares Me

The Restaurant Gods

The Restaurant Gods have ten rules that apply to all waiters from all walks of life in all types of restaurants. Actually, they're not so much rules as they are "conditions" that must occur. Hmm, what's the right word? Theories? Nah. Aah, got it! LAWS. So ahem, these LAWS are concrete and set in Moses-Old-Testament-Mt. Sinai type stone, you hear me? For this particular intent and purpose, I have tweaked a few of the laws to specifically apply to me. Aaand here they are:

1. Sisyphus Law - As soon as I finish bagging the big bags of chips that sit out in the front, several orders will immediately come in succession that require purchasing at least 2-3 bags each.

2. All Forces Converge Law - At any given moment throughout the day, as soon as the business phone begins to ring, a car will pull up at the drive-thru window just as a dine-in customer will walk through the door while I am in the kitchen in the middle of performing a task that cannot be quit halfway, such as making tea.

3. Hold It In Law - Although there have been no calls or customers in the premises for the past 3 hours, as soon as I take the Dead Hours opportunity to have a quick pee break, I will return to my post only to find a seated table waiting for me. Or the phone will have been ringing the entire time I was gone.

4. Oliver Twist Law - Although there have been no calls or customers in the premises for the past 3 hours, as soon as I take the Dead Hours opportunity to sit down at a table with a quick meal, a dine-in/business call will go through.

5. Early Bird Gets No Worm Law - On the mornings that I am late in opening the restaurant, those are the days that there will be at least one car sitting out front waiting for me to unlock the doors so that they may storm in.

6. Helium Rule - At any point in time that I find myself intereacting with a customer, my voice will both involuntarily and inexplicably rise several pitches so that it sounds high and fluttering.

7. Every Dog Does Not Have Its Day - On the Blue Moon occasions that I have a scheduled day off, there is a 99.9% probability that someone will call in sick/simply not show up/call for back-up help.

8. Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle - When the manager makes a surprise visit, I will have finished all side jobs and main tasks beforehand so that she comes in to find me standing at the front counter twiddling my thumbs looking lazy and idle when I have in fact already finished everything.

9. A Dish Best Served Cold Law - Right as the kitchen bell rings to indicate a hot meal ready to be carried out to its table, I will be prevented from quickly doing so as a walk-in has suddenly appeared or a delivery call has rung in.

10. Background Check Law - When on the phone with a customer, if there so happens to be someone else waiting for me, the phone customer will inevitably ask me to hold for reasons unknown while s/he causes a commotion on the other line doing something or other.

Nothing On My Sleeve

I am perfectly willing to talk about the lewd, explicit details of my non-sex life to complete strangers. My political leanings? An open book. Views on abortion, same-sex marriage, etc.? No secrets there. In fact, I can be brutally frank about damn near anything you ask me. I can seem disarmingly open.

Except one thing.

I don't talk about my family.

Restaurant Trends Observed in Southern Black People

1. When they call the restaurant to order, there is always a baby crying in the background.

2. There is at least one order of shrimp, eggrolls, or chicken wings on their tickets.

3. They more often than not are a no-show whenever they order to-go. (People, I got to get home at closing time! Please get here beforehand! Or just show up T__T)

4. Tip? What tip?

5. After dining in, their tables look like the Second Armageddon.

~~

Obviously, this is all half-jokingly in good fun.

WHY CAN'T IT SHOW SOONER

Relevant Picture is Relevant

Young and Restless

(Again, read at your own risk. Wishful sexytime abounds.)

~~

I've been craving you. At first, I was alarmed that these pangs of longing meant that I wanted you as some kind of boyfriend, holding my hand in public, taking me out on dates--those kinds of romantic strappings. I heaved a huge sigh of relief upon realizing I desire nothing of the sort. On the contrary, my near-constant daydreams feature you and I in decidedly physical situations, each scenario growing more explicit than the last until I can bear it no longer and let my hand wander south.

Unfortunately, my fantasies aren't too imaginative, which I attribute to my lack of experience (sigh.) Mostly they are could-have-beens, different choices I could have made, different consequences, different results. In one dream, I throw caution to the wind and ask you for a condom. The ensuing pain is sharp but brief, and I finally rid myself of my pesky virginity in a one-night stand. Another one is where you have actually pleasured me to orgasm, and I come in your mouth. Overcome by my lustful abandon, you come too, and we end the night literally covered in each other. A particular favorite of mine has you fucking me against the shower, my breasts pressed against your chest, your mouth on the crook of my neck. And on some days all I can picture is you on your knees with your hands on my hips, sprinkling kisses across my stomach and waist. I replay each one over and over in my head until I'm left gasping your name--which reminds me, you don't have a very interesting name. Do you know how many ****'s there are?

So here I am, dedicating yet another post to you: yes, you. Maybe I have way too much free time. Maybe I've been horny for too long. Maybe I'm looking for another muse. Maybe it's all three. In any case, I want you so badly sometimes that I get these aches--a warning sign, perhaps?

Somebody get me a doctor. Preferably a hot one.

Crappy Post is Crappy

First of all, I should have just written the damn papers so I wouldn't be in this Situation right now. But I can't go back (which I've told myself time and time again) so all I can do is move forward. I should have that tattooed somewhere.

Second of all, I realize now (really, truly) that my parents are irreplaceable.

Third of all, the shit that's been going down in my Outside Real Person Life has been affecting my posts here (obviously.) I will rectify that in the upcoming months.

Last of all, I am really fucking horny. This problem is dwarfed by Bigger Problems, but that doesn't make it any less annoying. Sigh. At least my last Encounter has been very very Sweet to reminisce over.

Signing out for now.

Continuing This Graph Posting Trend Because I Have Nothing to Say

What I Haven't Been Saying Out Loud

They didn't want me so they kicked me out. There, I said it.

The Vicissitudes of Every Day Life

Like, Whatever?

My mind is in limbo. My body is in limbo. This blog is in limbo. Sorry, guys.

An Outrage, I Tells Ya!

Like The River

I may be only 19 years old, but that doesn't mean I am incapable of feeling deeply or inept at hiding what's really on my mind. Has our generation devolved to the point where if what's going on in our lives doesn't show up on your face then it can only mean that we're emotionless robots or guilt-less, heartless sociopaths? Heaven forbid that we can act like emotionally mature adults. So for the love of God, ******, stop asking me if I feel guilty. Regretful. Sad. Angry. You repeat the same questions every day since the moment I told you I fucked up, and I still answer with the same response every. Single. Time. Of course I feel all those things, but that does not mean I'm going to elaborate for you.

Shut up and go away.

My State of Mind Currently

My Stomach Won't Stop Churning

It won't stop because I just realized how far I've drifted. And I don't know if I can make it right.

Is It Getting Hot in Here?

Right. Um.

FFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU--

Why I Haven't Been Posting

I want to go back to school.

What Is This Real Life You Speak Of?

Face The Music

This hasn't been a good school year. I said essentially the same thing last year too. I suppose the first two years of my college career royally suck then. I have no one but myself to blame though. Of course. I meant for this blog to be a place where I can be at ground-zero with my thoughts, but instead I just post funny pictures and videos because I've become afraid of typing onto the screen what's really been bothering me since I've graduated high school. I've gotten help in the form of a counselor for this semester. It's marginally helped. Marginally, mind you.

This post should be an honest spillage of words and confessions that I've been holding back all these months, but it won't be. I won't tell you about how behind I am in work despite it being the end of the semester, or how I might not be returning to Middlebury because of money and my recent academic failures, or even how I've been avoiding my family and friends in order to be alone. These concerns are staying locked away in my mind. I know that as soon as I voice them, they gain corporeal form and attempt to strangle the life out of me. Hell, I'm not saying any of this out loud, and I can already feel pressure wrapping itself around my throat.

I'm going home in a few hours. I'm screwed.

I May Be an Academic Failure But...

Glory Box

I give this post an R-rating. Read at your own risk.

~~

Last night was my first legitimate one-night stand. His name is Ben *******. With brown, curly hair and small, crinkly eyes, he was cute enough for me as I spotted him across the dance floor at the underground lesbian S & M party that took place at a remote corner of the campus. We were dancing with other people when our eyes met, and something clicked into place. As soon as we broke away from our partners, he drew me to him; and we began to dance. The first song had not yet even ended when he dipped his head down for a kiss. It was wet and sloppy, as were all the kisses I had exchanged that night, but he made a point to kiss me on each cheek after messy ones on my mouth. Intrigued, I let him run his hands up and down my hips, let him grab my ass and nip my neck.

We danced nonstop through song after song, and I gradually became more brazen in my grinding, rolling and jerking and sliding against his pelvis until his erection pressed into the small of my back. I was abruptly seized by a stab of guilt then and turned to face him. Flatly, I told him that I am a tease and that this dancing of ours would come to nothing. He surprised me by nodding and continuing to nibble my ear. At this point, I did not really notice anyone else. The crowd was a blur of slick, sweaty bodies that he and I were in the middle of. I could smell it in the air. Everyone was stressed, excited, exhilarated—and incredibly horny. I would be lying if I said I had reigned in my urges and kept myself in check.

We stumbled onto the couch, and he roughly pulled me to his lap, the momentum causing me to fall right on top of him. I lain on him then and sucked at his bottom lip while his hands roamed over my back, my ass, my legs. (But wait, I am a good girl, and good girls are not supposed to do things like that.) After several minutes, he suggested we go someplace more private, and that was when I became tired of playing it safe and thought, Fuck it, why not? I told him in no uncertain terms that I would be calling the shots and directing his actions. We would stop when I wanted to stop. I could kick him out at any time. Again, he looked at me with a hint of a smile in his eyes and nodded. Sure. Whatever you want.

So I took him home last night to my room and locked the door. I played loud music on my computer and dimmed the lights. He grabbed me from behind and nuzzled my neck. I sighed and leaned against him.

~~

Ben is unlike anyone I have had before. He is not impatient to undo my bra or to dig his hand down my pants. He lowers me down slowly onto the futon, eyes locked with mine. His fingers lightly graze across my stomach, the jutting outline of my hipbones, the small space between my breasts. With an awed reverence, he unhooks my bra only after having traced every contour and angle of my body with his mouth. He is not rough. I am being touched as if I am made of glass. Calmly, deliberately, he plants open-mouthed kisses on my chest and flicks each nipple with his tongue. The pants slide off, and at last, I sense the urgency in his actions as he rakes his fingers over the soft flesh of my hips and ass.

He lovingly licks the entire length of my legs, paying special attention to the inside of my thighs while I am still laying there with my knees spread open and inviting as my hands caress and tug his curly brown hair in an effort to find something to do while this lovely young man worships my body. With only my panties left, he slowly takes them off. I am naked now, but I do not feel insecure. Vulnerable yes, but also alluring. Enticing. Apparently, he is thinking the same exact thing because he immediately dips his head down, and I gasp because I never see it coming. I encourage him to add his fingers to the mix, which he is only too happy to do. From there, my mind is empty of all coherent thought.

~~

He sucked and blew every inch of me, murmuring “hot, so hot” the entire time. We touched and felt each other for several hours until the sky began to lighten. Ultimately, I did not orgasm, but it did not matter. I had come to the sweet, little epiphany that sometimes it was not the destination that was important, but the journey itself. I had received the biggest ego boost of my life last night and sexually awakened in a way that should have been reserved for when I am older. When all was said and moaned, he rose up for a kiss to which I gladly obliged. It was tender and gentle and nearly broke my heart in its intensity. We promptly fell asleep, our bodies tangled up in each other, and woke up not many hours later. Our time was almost over.

To delay our goodbyes, he suggested taking a shower together, which I had also never done before. We turned the water heat as hot as it would go and shivered as we touched each other still. He slid to his knees again and buried his mouth inside me. I looked down at him, entranced and aroused by his complete submission, and sighed in pure contentment. We dried off, and he helped me rub lotion on my back. While I was dressed in my skivvies, he pulled me to him for another hug. We kissed. He left. I closed my eyes and smiled. For a rare moment, I was wholly comfortable in my skin, and it showed.

Heel Face Turn

Okay, see that post below this one? Completely disregard it because last night was the night I had my awakening. Wanna know what kind of ***** I have? The kind that makes you go for thirds. Yeah, you heard me right. All these months of stress, deliberate isolation, self-esteem issues, academic failures, and sexual frustrations had coiled into this ball of SUCKAGE that I was convinced I could never escape from. I went to the lesbian bondage party expecting nothing (well, I really wanted to jump on a certain girl, which I did so :D) and left the party with Mr. Slim & Muscular Grad Student. Needless to say, expectations: exceeded beyond human comprehension. The (Wo)Man Upstairs (or Downstairs?) took pity on me and decided to throw me a bone before I launch myself into this Hell Week. I am currently grinning like an idiot and am thoroughly convinced that everything will work itself out. Whoo boy, what a night.

Life as Usual

Today I went to a party sober and subsequently pounded three beers in a row. Today I danced until I knew for certain my hips and thighs will be cursing me tomorrow. Today I almost hooked up with someone (again.) Today I ran into the Hot Bartender and chatted for a bit (and oh how I swooned.) Today, I spotted two girls drunkenly making out on the dancefloor and felt this surge of jealousy and longing that I have not experienced in nearly a year. I wanted to be them so badly. I wanted ***** and I to be them so badly. I am a sexually frustrated creature, and something eventually needs to give.

And in other news, I will be flying back home on the 18th. Hurrah.

Homework? What Homework?

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Failblog Never Fails

Sometimes I Like Jazz & Soul

Rexican is an Awesome Portmanteau

Several weeks ago, my friend hooked up with a recovering sex addict/intense moody writer/arrogant crude asshole who lives on her hall. We gabbed about it a few days later, and she was very up for it again. She is a crazy person. He is a large guy, makes the occasional fart joke, dry humps his best friend as a joke, and keeps his room in a perpetual state of messiness that can only compare to a tornado-stricken area.

So naturally I got drunk in his room last weekend and almost did the same exact motherfucking thing.

I am chock full of win, aren't I? I think at some point, I should have learned my lesson, but apparently not HAAH oh me goddammit @____@ There is nothing even remotely redeeming about this guy aside from his newly acquired bong and magnificent stash of ganja, and still--still!--I take it upon myself to consider him as another notch on my ever-growing list?! Maybe I've smoked too much. Maybe I like stealing my best friend's boy crushes. Maybe I'm just really horny. (highly likely, no way, and I always have my hand.)

The craptastic icing on the cake is that now he thinks I'm into him and has asked me over to his room twice now since Saturday. ACK. Honestly, if it weren't for the magnificent mary jane he has in his possession...

MY LIFE MAKES NO SENSE.

When Life Screws You Over, Press a Button

http://www.nooooooooooooooo.com/

Keeping It in The Family

Hey everyone, remember that one entry where I told myself I wouldn't get my friend's sloppy seconds? Well, I didnt! I'm so proud of myself except for the part where I was thisclose to hooking up with one of her humongous crushes who LIVES ACROSS THE HALL FROM HER this past weekend. Yeeeaah. I am such a wonderful friend. At least I had enough sense to stop myself from doing the unthinkable and instead only had a ticklefight with him that went on for several hours. I should let you all know that I find ticklefights cliched and several kinds of lame. Apparently, I am also a hypocrite.

I need to confess though: if one of my other friends aka The Cockblocker had not been there talking with us in the dorm suite, I would have jumped on Friend's Crush before my buzz had a chance to wear off. The best part about the entire incident is that he was dressed for the Drag Ball. --> epic win. Something has to be wrong with me. I don't run into the middle of these situations on purpose. Shit just happens. (Riiight, keep telling yourself that.) However, when Friend grilled me for details between me and Her Crush, I could honestly reply back that nothing happened.

Well, I didn't mention the ticklefight because that doesn't count. No of course it doesn't. Which means the part where he pinned my arms behind me and against him, and the resulting half-hour long Tense!Spooning Session from that totally means nothing too. Yessirree. Neither is the kiss I gave him on the cheek in any way significant. I see no friend-betrayal here, do you? I've only told one other person this, and I intend to KEEP IT THAT WAY THIS TIME.

Why can't I just hook up with anyone I want? I don't want to have to care about whether or not my friends are interested in him/her too, or what the brown community here would have to say, or anything else! I had this golden opportunity, and it slipped away because I stayed loyal (kinda.) Gah, having friends can be annoying.

And now it's back to work -_-'

It's Still You (Remix of a Previous Post)

In my dream, we are dancing. All first you were behind me, swaying in time to the music, and I had my eyes closed with my arms over my head. I did not catch you moving your hands until I felt a sudden warm pressure on my right breast, and I jerk my head in surprise to see you looking back at me with a smile on your face. I cannot think of anything to say because this is the first time you have appeared in my night-wanderings, and you press close against me and whisper nonsense in my ear. I nod, pretending to that this all makes sense, and lean my head back on your shoulder. Your fingers are still splayed over my right breast, and no one seems to notice. I am hot everywhere, and my breaths keep hitching. My stomach turns. Enough dancing.

I turn to face you, my own hands grazing the outline of your hips, and let me wordless question hang in the air because I do not trust myself to speak in a steady voice. You understand and open your mouth to respond, but that is when I make myself wake up. I lay on my bed staring up at the ceiling, my heart pounding in my ears. I was so close. I was too close. I do not let myself go back to sleep to finish my dream's supposed events. Instead I slide out of bed and sit at my desk until you haunting afterimages eventually fade back into my mind again. I turn the lid a little tighter.

~~

The proverbial torch I hold for you has not gone away. It sits in my stomach, lingers at the back of my head, presses against my eyes. I have gotten used to it. The pressure has evolved into a vaguely comforting hum that gives me enough creative juice to write a short piece every now and then. I like to think you do not know. I tell myself I hide my feelings well enough so that only my very close friends can discern them. I do not talk about you to anyone anymore. I do not try to dance with you at parties. I do not try at all. I have maintained my control and sealed away my fantasies. I suppose this is why you suddenly appeared when I was sleeping some nights ago, a lovely manifestation of all my suppressed feelings, and there was no ambiguity as to why you were there. I had to act on my urges somewhere right? I would not be so unsettled by this were it not for the fact that I could not quite look you in the eye in class afterward. All I would do is project, and I did enough of that last year. I still want you. My dreams will simply have to do. There is no "for now" attitude attached to this end.

This Just Made My Day

Maybe I Should Skip Sleep More Often

I just stayed up all night again so I took a short nap (or rather I accidentally dozed off.) I had a dream. At first, I am in the Mass Effect universe, thrust into the middle of a firefight on some godforsaken fuel station wielding nothing but a pistol and my wits. Next thing I know, I've teamed up with a malien (and a delicious one at that), and we're kicking ass and taking names in that epic sort of way that only takes place in dreamland. There's screaming and running and crushed glass crunching underneath my feet, but we escape the krogan and his vorcha henchmen via some sketchy, vacant alleyway; when we're sure we've lost them, we lose ourselves in a fit of unrestrained laughter. Of course in dreamworld, that is a cue for sexytime. Against the wall. While the scary mercenary gang is still at large. James Kirk had the right idea.

Cue next sequence:

I'm in the same fuel station, but no merc gang rampaging the streets this time. Instead, I'm in a seedy nightclub downing shots from dirty glasses as the live band plays shitty original music. I sit there, bored. And then she appears right in front of me, and I'm not surprised. I've been expecting her. I've been waiting for her. (always, always.) She pulls me onto the floor for a dance, and we move as fluidly as two semi-drunk people can in time to the song, which had shifted to a slow jam at some point I can't remember. I close my eyes and feel the strobe lights flicker across my eyelids, like tickling, like butterflies landing. Suddenly, there's a warm--no HOT--heavy pressure on my right breast, and I open my eyes, gaze down, and see a hand indeed covering my right breast. The hand belongs to her. These fingers splayed on my body belong to her. I turn around, and we smolder at each other before leaning in.

I can't decide which dream I want to redo. And no, I can't have both.

Grapes

A few weeks ago, my mom sent me a Food Box. Among the assorted goodies was a carton of fresh green grapes. The package arrived just before the grapes began to spoil, and I stored them in the fridge for later consumption. I never got around to eating them. Last night, my blockmate threw them out because they had grown soft and disgusting. I didn't get to eat a single one. I don't why I'm so bothered. I ate everything else in the box: the chips, the dry fruit, the chocolate, the instant noodles. They were nonperishables though, and did not need to be stored in a fridge. I let a perfectly good carton of fresh fruit go to waste. Grapes cost a lot nowadays. My mother bought them just for me.

I'm going to go now. I just felt like I needed to write this down.

Anime Boston 2010

My Loot:

- one Tali print $10
- one Garrus print $10
- one Raven print $10
- one Pokemon print $7
- one Sebastian print $12
- one FMA print of Lust $15
- one Kuroshitsuji accessory $10
- 15 various pins/buttons $15

Total Cost: Couldn't remember the exact prices for each item, so I rounded up or guesstimated. Either way, I definitely spent over $100. OOPS. However, only two of the prints were for me; the rest are gifts for friends and family. I'm such a giver.

But of course all of the buttons are mine. Dude, I'm not THAT nice >_>

Oh, and epic weekend at the convention was epic.

Fool Me Over +9000

It's supposed to be a funny day. Maybe tomorrow will be better.

HA.

The Dante's Inferno Test has banished you to the Seventh Level of Hell!
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:

Level	Score
Purgatory (Repenting Believers)	Very Low
Level 1 - Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers)	Moderate
Level 2 (Lustful)	High
Level 3 (Gluttonous)	Moderate
Level 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious)	Moderate
Level 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy)	High
Level 6 - The City of Dis (Heretics)	Very High
Level 7 (Violent)	Extreme
Level 8- the Malebolge (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers)	Moderate
Level 9 - Cocytus (Treacherous)	Moderate

Take the Dante's Inferno Hell Test

Wash, Rinse, and Repeat

I have this friend. We're good friends. Really, really good friends. Obviously, as good friends we have some things in common: hobbies, taste in music and film, clothes, what-have-you. Another example is boys. The both of us like boys, and sometimes our circles...overlap. Not sometimes. A shit-ton. I can still count on one hand the number of boys I've shared with said friend over this two-year period, but I only have five fingers you know. There is a limit. I'm getting there pretty quickly. Someone should stop me.

I hooked up with yet another one of her friends over Spring Break because silly!me had to stay at school for the week instead of going home like I did last year. My luck is awesome. Of course, this guy had to be someone she actually, seriously liked--a fact I was blissfully unaware of because I can't pick up social/behavioral cues to save my life. So I tell her, and she gets upset, and I go, "Oh WHOOPS." At last she never stays miffed with me for very long so now we are okay once more. Still. Go me.

The hookup meant nothing, I swear! He was in my room, it was 3 in the morning, it was spring break, I was BORED. CURIOUS. Maybe even a bit RONERY. He was all those things too; otherwise I'm certain he would not have come near me with a ten foot pole. Young college students have needs, don't you agree? >_> In any case, it only lasted for an hour, tops. To be honest, he wasn't all that exciting. There was kissing, a grope here and there, and we were CARRYING ON A CONVERSATION THE ENTIRE TIME. I've had better. So don't worry! I'm not stealing anybody out from under you!

One good thing to come out of this fiasco is that I have now completed my Rainbow of Nationalities List! Got all the major colors YESSSS. Ahem, let's hope I don't get her Sloppy Seconds again.

And that was all that happened over Spring Break, really.

Hide and Seek

I am in my dark place again. Do not try to find me. I will reemerge when all the pain has seeped out.

Color Me Red

I've noticed a trend. I don't much like it. Throughout my life, I've met many people. I've liked some, disliked some, hated some, befriended some, etc. I've also envied some with a glowing green passion, whether it was for their looks, intelligence, material possessions, what-have-you. After absent-minded thought of all the people I've ever been jealous of, I came to a startling realization. The girls I envied most are all redheads. How strange.

Anna Krueger

She had perfect hair and perfect grades and a perfect boyfriend. Her stellar academic record scored her an all-inclusive scholarship to UNC-Chapel Hill, complete with a complementary laptop. In the eyes of her teachers and family, she could do no wrong.

Anna Stephenson

Anna is curvy, bubbly, and offbeat in that non-offensive "I'm silly and weird, but not too silly and weird, just enough to attract the cute quirky guys" way. She travels all over the world and has a steady relationship with Nathan for two years running now.

Claire Sibley

Claire is really fucking gorgeous. Her hair is made of sex. She is dominating, controlling, manipulative, and always has an agenda. Smart and opinionated, HFC speaks her mind in class and doesn't give a fuck what other people think of her. I want her personality.

So yes. Redheads--strange creatures, are they not? I was mildly spooked when I noticed this trend. I hope there aren't anymore redheads here in college to turn me green. I've already got an unsavory personality, no need to make it worse.

Pot Calling the Kettle Black

Today is my parents' 25th anniversary. That's a quarter of a century. Yikes. Anyway, I called them to say congrats and whatnot, but they didn't pick up the first few times I tried. I didn't think much of it the first instance, but after that I kept getting more and more nervous. I didn't realize how big a breath I'd been holding until they finally picked up the phone the umpteenth time I called. Yeah, I know. I'm just like my parents. I've gotten too used to them picking up immediately after the dial tone begins, and I've become too worried over their wellbeing.

I imagine worst-case scenarios in my head, grisly death scenes to explain why my mother or my brother don't answer the phone on time for some occasions. I'm going too far with it, but I can't help it. I dream up these horrific what-ifs, and they don't go away until I hear the sound of their annoying voices. If they don't call back for the day, I can get physically ill from my anxiety. My parents do the exact same thing. I wish I didn't have my figurative umbilical cord still attached to the parental units.

I Want EEEET

This One Should Have Been First

CUT. TO BE PUT UP AGAIN AT A LATER TIME.

I Wonder If These Will Ever Reach You

CUT. TO BE PUT UP AGAIN AT A LATER TIME.

I'm No Billy But--

CUT. TO BE PUT UP AGAIN AT A LATER TIME.

Having a Muse is Fun

CUT. TO BE PUT UP AGAIN AT A LATER TIME.

All Aloney On My Owney

This past weekend was a metaphorical striptease. To explain:

Friday A - Faced with the choices of chasing after cute bartender (with whom flirtatious rapport has already been established since November) who I ran into at a party or staying at said party to dance/look for other potentials, I chose to remain dancing. Ack.

Friday B - When faced again with choices of accepting sexual come-ons propositioned by an ex-classmate (who is quite the looker) during a game of ruit or joining another friend (also good-looking) for a rousing (ha) session of Smoke More Weed, I chose Mary Jane. Guh.

Saturday - Pimpslapped in the face with choices of playing tonsil hockey with cute freshman (who I had my eye on since Jterm class) during Winter Ball or playing coy thus putting off coitus-activity 'til later (perhaps even weeks from now), I chose to be coquettish. Sigh.

What the fuck is wrong with me again? I can't even blame anyone else--well, for Saturday's events, his freshmen friends kept passing by to say hi so I was, in a sense, being cockblocked but still--! I could have said SCREW IT and swapped spit anyway with the guy, regardless of who was watching! GAAAAAH, next weekend, Esa, next weekend.

And How Does That Make You Feel?

I saw a counselor on Friday, first time ever. I'd been wrestling with myself for months on whether or not I should go, but the trigger was something a professor of mine told me: "If you were my daughter or sister, I would definitely urge you to make an appointment." He had never said anything like that before so I did went and did it. I'm not sure if the session did any good though. All I did was blab about myself for an hour and tried not to get too emotional when the family topic was raised. I have a follow-up session two weeks from now, and after that I may choose to continue seeing Lindsay The Counselor-in-Training, ask for someone else, or retreat into my shell and try to figure shit out on my own--which I've been struggling to do since last year.

Do I really need outside help? Can I really be too weak to handle my own problems/issues?

And how does this all make me FEEL? (Apologies, couldn't resist sneaking in that line.)

Excuses, Excuses

Dear Professor [xxxxx],

Please do not email me anymore whenever I have not sent a paper to you on the day that it is due. Please do not ask me where I have been if I was not in class that day. Please do not inquire about my mental or physical health if I have not been present all week. If you ask all these questions, you see, it would imply that you care about me outside class which is a possibility I find both unfathomable and unsettling. If you care, that would mean you are real, that you could continue sending email after email that I will purposefully ignore time after time but will not delete. Eventually, my inbox will be too full, and I will have to read your requests. Your inquiries. Your questions.

So please, do not ask questions because I can only give you excuses--feebly, fumbling, failing excuses. And I do not want that.

Can't Keep Posting Pictures

I'm not sure what I'm doing here in school :|

This Game Makes Me Want To Be a Gamer

Chinese New Year

I am determinedly celebrating Chinese New Year because I refuse to celebrate Valentine's Day. That is all.

The Haircut Song

This post will be incoherent, full of grammatical/syntax errors, and be run-on(y).

rsodghvljdb you got a haircut and you look so fucking HOT with that haircut why did you get a haircut without telling me if you had told me I could've prepared myself for what i was about to witness this afternoon at the beginning of class, but instead you didnt so when i spotted you walking in i got the wind knocked out of me and the little voice in my head shouted at me to get a hold of myself and wipe the damn drool off my mouth before i made a puddle around my desk AAAGGGGHHHH youre so HOTTTT with that stupid stupid stupid haircut though for a split second i missed your soft wavy hair that floated around your face but only for a second and then i started admiring the edginess this new cut gives you and its SEXY. Just really really SEXY like WHOA. So for the rest of the period i kept stealing glances at you when i shouldve been paying attention to the professor @____@

I am very much in danger of falling for you all over again and repeating the events of November 2008. Dammit, why are you straight again?

Passing Afternoon - Iron & Wine

I didn't go to sleep the night before my flight. I didn't go to sleep because I was crying too hard. The torrent started around 3am so I didn't bother putting my face in the pillow because I knew my parents were definitely conked out by then. I was on the verge of tears the entire week I was home anyway, but just when I thought "oh it's time to cry isn't, best find myself a private spot" I held myself back the way you think you're going to sneeze; only the need to abruptly ends. And you're left standing there (wherever you are) wondering what just happened.

I could tell you what I was crying about, but those of you who've been keeping up with this joke of a blog should know by now what I always angst about. So I won't repeat myself in this post. They even gave me hong bao even though it was a week before Chinese New Year officially began. My mother had slipped the two packets under my pillow, kissed me goodnight, and shut the door. Fifteen minutes later, I could hardly breathe through my tears. You'd think silent crying wouldn't be as exhausting, but oh was I wrong. After an hour or so, I calmed down enough to reach under my pillow and see how much they gave me. Five hundred dollars. Subdued sobs started afresh.

You might think I'm forever crying about this-and-that, but it isn't true. I only get misty-eyed about family matters. For anything else, I'm a cold, dry-eyed bitch. I don't know how to explain why I get so sad about having such a wonderful, loving family when I could be much worse off. Maybe it's the fact that I'll never be good enough for them or that I torture myself wondering whether or not I'll ever be deserving of their love. Maybe it's because I hate myself so much that I can't understand why I was born into such lucky circumstances. It could be any of these things.

Eventually, I fell asleep whispering "sorry, sorry" into the ceiling, my tear-streaked face still hot to the touch.

Don't Feel Like Posting Words

I Need to Show This to Everyone

And Here...We...Go.

Tomorrow I have a 7am shuttle ride to the airport. The study abroad application is due Monday, Feb 1. I haven't turned it in, and I'll be home in Georgia tomorrow.

Yet again, I'm fucked. Did I ever have a sense of self-control and discipline to begin with? I'd like them now.

Let's Elope, Jon Stewart

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I Don't Know If You Still Read This But--

I miss you. I want to see you.

What I've Been Avoiding

I've been posting pictures, graphs, and videos because I don't feel like writing anything or rather, I'm too lazy to write down everything I've been wanting to say. I still have Swahili homework to do after this entry, and I'll probably wind up catching a bare minimum of five-hour sleep again so I'll be miserable tomorrow in class but I'm making myself type all this out anyway in case any of you people who actually read this blog won't think that I've gone and dropped off the face of this earth.

I've lost my motivation is all. No biggie.

Since May 2009 I've been stuck in a pit of academic apathy. No shovel, no way out. I could try climbing, but why would I want to escape? What would be the point? What I originally thought was this ambivalent moment I had back on April Fool's Day last year about going to college turns out to be a full-fledged disease that's eating me from the inside. I can't tell my parents. I can't tell them that I've downgraded from straight-As-honor-roll high school student to pot-smoking, rum-chugging college slacker. How would I explain the slow and steady process? The growing sense of listless ennui? The sleepless nights in front of the computer, pretending that I was in another dimension far away from real life?

Maybe I could show them this blog. Ha, ha, ha, ha.

I've written this post before. Last March, two weeks before I went home for Spring Break. I should go back and re-read it, see if the two are just different enough so that I don't sound too whiny and redundant. Well, even if I were, I wouldn't give a damn. No one comes by here unless they have absolutely nothing else to do.

I keep writing little lists-type posts because I'm afraid to let out what's really on my mind. Once my thoughts are on the interwebs, there's no going back. I can click on a link and read them. They'd be real, on the screen in front of me and for the rest of the world to see. I didn't want to face the music, but I am now. Three paragraphs in, and I still don't feel any better. I got to stop. There's homework to finish.

Why I Enjoy Watching Vicky Cristina Barcelona

J-Term Leaves Me With Unprecedented Free Time

I'll Tell You What I Want, What I Really Really Want

I forgot what it was like to get what you want. Remember glasses boy from an early December post? Yeah, I'd been lusting after him since mid-November. He's very much a class douchebag whose opinions I don't agree with at all, and outside the classroom he's a Grade A whore whose junk I would not touch with a ten foot pole.

That is, unless I got drunk first.

So yes, we sucked face last night at a party, and boy did I forget how fucking sweet it is to get that something (or someone) you've been craving and craving. He was sloppy, but--please--so was I. I have no doubt in my mind that he went off and made out with another sloshed girl after our little tête à tête, but still. I. Got. What. I. Wanted.

Wow.

How often does that happen?

Let that sink in.

And...there.

Exactly.

To add a dash of humor to an otherwise surreal situation, my friends were two feet away from where the spectacle (or debacle) was taking place. I'm not sure when they'll let me live this down. I don't think I'll let me live this down. If I wind up having a dry spell for the rest of J-Term, at least I can look back on this one Friday night and think: Damn. I still got it, right?

Invasion of the Laptop Snatchers

My laptop has a virus. It's awesome. No internet. At all. I'll keep posting, but I have no idea when the problem will get fixed. Hurray.

Until then.

Strippercise

So I'm taking two exercising workshops for this month: Bellydancing and Core Strengthening.

I had Core Strengthening for an hour today.

I don't exercise on a regular basis. Ever.

I'm hurting.

Real bad.

Baaaad.

Ouch.

T_T

Anyway! Tomorrow is Bellydancing. Oh what fun shall I encounter there?

Resolutions?

Just one:

Pass all my classes.

(Easier said than done.)