My X-rated Life.

I used to be an average college student. I ate ten cent wings, knew where all the dollar specials were, drank without rhyme or reason and stressed about all my finals. I'm not saying I've forgotten the past but the future is looking bad. The future is looking like it'll be covered in the fluorescent orange that comes off of Cheetos and sticky with Dr. Pepper. I am officially obsessed with the X-files.

Am I nerd? yes, always have been. Do I like sci-fi? NO. I have no idea what's gotten into me. An example of recent psychosis? When the credits are ending the words "the truth is out there" always flash across the screen. It sends me into a trance. I actually said "yes" in response the other day. I said it out loud. I had to judge myself after doing that.

A week later, I started wondering why I never got into comic books. I am NOT an indoor kid!

Within a month, I'll be holding D&D tournaments in the basement.

From the title of this post, did you think I finally got a job as a phone sex operator? Yes, I too am aware of my voice and what my obvious calling in life is.

Notes on a foul ass mood

I'm about to go take a final. It's my very last one, so afterwards, I can say goodbye to the quarter of misery. The whole not studying thing is about to boot me in the ass.
I feel like I'm jumping off a cliff right now but, I might also be on fire. I'll do okay on my exam. I just need to get this whole quarter over with, clear my mind and start over.
I'm like the new jan brady...only more butternut squash shaped and with a dash more of flava.

In other news:
I declared myself celibate. I draw the line at cuddles. I am not religious enough to become a nun so I will probably just buy another dog and move to wyoming. Maybe montana. The sort of place where I won't run into too many people.

I am a total crab ass about some friend issues right now. Like, pass you a nasty note in class and not send you the invite to my 12th birthday party crab ass. No fights, I'm just being uppity for no reason.

I saw the Kathleen and Nancy for St. Patrick's day. I enjoy a good drinkery, especially when I'm not irish and it's with the old friends. good times.

End Transmission?

But is it REALLY your space?

Sunday night rolls around and the red house dream team (i.e. Thomas, Hannah and I) are watching our Family Guy/American Dad power hour. Thomas and I are too slow to move and end up watching 10 minutes of Fox News...

The stories are standard. Bears fever has hit Chicago, a wicked fun viewer's poll--if the city of Chicago was throwing a super bowl party, would you go?--and just how people can get down to the Bears song, polka style. Then the news took a sad turn.

The next story was about some suburban deaths. I guess some teenagers were driving around, police suspect they were drag racing, and they ended up hitting a tree. Of the four in the accident the two in the backseat were killed, the driver was trapped in the car for a while and the passenger in the front seat walked away with minor injuries. By all accounts, this is a terrible story.

How did the story end? Fox News decides to show pictures from the myspace pages of the dead teens! MYSPACE PAGES! They didn't even show the pictures, they showed pictures of computer screens with the picture pages on them.

I understand that Fox news has limited value as a news source but how deeply has Myspace permeated the american psyche? President Myspace in 2008!

note: yes, of course I have a myspace. I'm a twenty something in the US aren't I? I was one of Myspace's later victims.

Balls to the Wall

Rumor has it that your 20's are supposed to be the loneliest time of your life. Lately, I'm inclined to believe it.

I've been in a bit of a rut lately. Okay, a deep dark hole. You're probably reading the above lines and hearing my voice coming from below ground...not so much. Think about it though--you've hit your 20's, good chance you've graduated, you're out of school and probably working and maybe even in a brand new city. How the hell are you going to make friends and form your little crew again? This is why getting used to a wingman can be a dangerous thing.

But all that is the deep dark hole talking.

Yes, we're in different places and things have changed. Things are tough and times can get lonely and honestly, I'd have it no other way. Life is too good to be stagnant. We're at this time where we're stepping out of our comfort zones and having adventures, even if it's getting a 9-5 job, it's brand new.

So, as I climb out of the whole deep dark hole, I realize I'm really proud of my friends and the people I know. I miss everyone, miss having the free time to shoot the shit and do all the ridiculous things we used to do. And I know that people get on my case about how I tend to wander out of the country a lot...

but you're all trying something new, moving out into the world, taking on the threat of loneliness and in some cases, doing things you never imagines yourself doing. (the latter is in a good way, not in a doing coke of a hooker's ass way/being that hooker)

you guys are real adventurers. Balls to the wall, folks.

The Mexican Cow and Obesity

When I was younger, I loved cows. Most girls wanted a pony or I don't know...a rainbow kitten coated in glitter. I just loved cows, they seemed so damn Mexican. They were brown, curvy and had these huge eyes...Telling a person they looked just like a cow was my highest compliment. I had this bizarre idea that the cow and I understood eachother, that we related on a deeper level. I'm starting to think, as odd as this sounds, that this was when my ideas on body image were healthiest.



I am obsessed with obesity. This is a recent obsession which involves watching many Discovery Health channel programs, regular trips to the gym, my own personal fad diet and constantly wondering at which point in my life I decided that I had an ideal body image. Has the media really gotten to me?

Turns out it has. I am hypercritical of the human form and, let's face it, a big fat hypocrite. My body is nothing to brag about. Sure, there are some good theories going on but in execution it's absolutely nothing to write home about. I am usually unconcerned with the way people look, it's your deal and I know I have my own heinous moments. My own bizarre judgment of people doesn't change my reactions to them, nothing like that. But part of me is mentally noting these really shit thoughts and I feel bad about that.

I think it's pretty normal. I mean, everyone has the things you would never say out loud. You know what you want to say, but just can't because it's wrong. Due to a few days of extreme overanalysis however, it's strange to really think about some of these things.

The condition of my condition

The inhabitants of the red house, pictured below in finer days, are all in foul as shit moods.



Actually, we're just coming off a 6 day shitty mood bender. Some unwelcomed (by most of us, anyway) guests invaded the house and three of us spent the weekend hiding out in our rooms. The guests are gone, the house is filthy and my mood is starting to life.

The red house shall rise again.

Oh Lordy! It's 2007!

And a happy new year to all you fine beasts out there.

I had the best New Year's Eve I have ever had. Granted, this is the first NYE I have ever celebrated by going out-- but the statement stands.


I'm hoping 2007 is a great year. My only resolution is to achieve ultimate hotness. This is not so much an external thing but an internal process where I make it okay to go out and seek what it is I need in the world.

For real, 2007. Let's get it on.