Kick start

Okay, guys. The golden rule, and my theme for 2011, is DO NOT EVER TALK TO YOUR EX BOYFRIENDS NO MATTER HOW SECURE YOU ARE IN YOUR LIFE CUZ IT WILL FUCK YOUR SHIT UP AND YOU WILL BE UP ALL NIGHT FUCKING CRYING UNTIL YOUR SLEEVES ARE COVERED IN SNOT AND YESTERDAY'S MASCARA IS ALL DRIPPY ON YOUR CHEEKS AND YOU HAVE TO USE OIL-BASED REMOVER TO GET THAT SHIT OFF AND THEN YOU BREAK OUT.

Vicious.

If you can get your hands on some small clay figurines, BUY THEM ALL! Leave a few around your house in random places. Pick the tiniest one and leave it semi-hidden peeking out from behind the biggest book on your bookshelf or in between the Las Vegas and New York shot glasses in your kitchen.

This becomes your lucky rock. You pass by it every day but hardly ever notice, but YOU will notice, cuz you put it there secretively, and every time you pass by you think of something good.

I usually think of cupcakes because I love them. Mine are idealized, perfectly round cakes with perfectly asymmetrical frosting and a day glo cherry on top and a crisp paper cup with hearts on it. In my mind, they are floating in the ether, the Cupcake Ether, weightlessly twirling against a pink polka-dot sky, because if the Cupcake Ether has a sky it's definitely pink polka-dotted. They never get mashed or stale or crumbly and when ever I want I can reach a mysterious hand into one corner of the Ether and pluck the most perfect looking cupcake that I can find.

In related news, do people seriously not know how to spell definitely yet? Come on! I'm getting pissed. Look at the root of the word: finite. Do you spell finite fanite? No? I didn't fucking THINK SO! Also, what about dissappoint and kareokee? Are you FUCKING kidding me guys? I could understand those mistakes if you got a liberal arts degree but... oh, wait, you DID get a liberal arts degree? You...

Wow, sorry about that last paragraph! Can you sense my angst? It matches my Teen Spirit.

Whatever, though, I have nothing to lose. I'm not trying to be cool. Or am I?

Guy #1: That's cool.
Guy #2: What's cool?
Guy #1: Nothing.

NOTHING IS COOL.

Yeah, I am.

Let’s have a toast for the douchebags

If a guy is famous or really good-looking, you need to seriously consider if herpes is worth it.

Homeless people on the bus smell BAD and make me feel awkward.

Another person who makes me feel awkward is that preacher guy on library mall. WTF dude?

Aspartame will fuck your shit UP and you shouldn't drink so much diet coke!

The best gifts are hand-made. You're getting a macaroni picture frame for christmas.

Don't forget to MOISTURIZE people! It's freaking WINTER!

Make an attempt to stay up late for astronomical events, such as last night's lunar eclipse of a full moon on the winter solstice.

Now that you have all this free time, watch old episodes of Bob Ross and also anything with Dick van Dyke.

If you wake up one day and you're feeling REALLY crappy it's OKAY to cancel everything and lay in bed for several hours. Bonus if you have a friend in bed with you.

Things everyone should do always: wear your seatbelt, floss, say thank you

Hey, do yourself a favor and at least FAKE a smile! You'll feel way better.

I'd like to buy a vowel

God, you really make me want to vom sometimes. Can't handle it! Avert your eyes! Shoo the children from the room! I forgot who said it, but someone did: The one who doesn't want you is the one you want the most. WTF is with THAT bs?

Let's watch more documentaries, people! Damn! Embrace your inner nerd girl!

Do you ever have a really intense irrational fear of somehow losing your paper that you've worked on all semester? Yesterday I had a vivid daydreaming session about a guy trying to steal my laptop and me pleading to at least let me save my papers first. "You can have it, I'm serious... just let me save my papers first!" I'd say to him. And really, I could give a fuck about the laptop...but losing the hours and hours of work would make me lose my mind. Then I'd write an e-mail to my adviser... "Maria - you'll never believe what happened!" Would she believe it? Would I have to write everything again? I'd cry. I'd fucking bawl and then probably engage in some seriously self-destructive behavior.

OH YEAH, I graduated today! After the ceremony, I came home to work on my paper(s). Talk about a downer!

i love you! bye!

xoxo

Pert near no sleeeeeeeeep

Something interesting happens when you don't sleep for long periods of time. It's really fun - REALLY fun - and you get kind of delirious and it's like you're high all the time. And you start making minor mistakes when writing, like using the wrong form of you're/your or their/they're/there. Also some SERIOUS dyslexia. It's like being drunk a little. Tomorrow I'm going to be drunk, hopefully. HOPEFULLY, GUYS. Listen to a little Jamesssss Brown, right? Amiright? Hm?

I'm going to start writing posts completely in the nude. I think it will lend a little ZING to the style of this silly blog. Okay, so I DID steal that idea from Mel and Floyd. Actually it was Mr. Smarty Pants, aka Mr. Pants.

Do you ever feel like you're in a really good mood but you shouldn't be? Like after somebody dies, or there is some horrible tragedy in SE Asia, a tsunami or some bullshit, you're supposed to be all somber and droopy and flaccid, but you feel like a fucking hot spring is about to explode because you're in such a goddamn good mood. It's a hard sell, but my mood today is fucking fantastic. Is it because I haven't slept? Yeah, prob.

Weeeeell, time to go write another pape. Call me! xoxo

PEM

I hrt u wlfmthr

Someday I'll be Bettie... Someday.

But today is not that day. Today is the day where I don't sleep and pretend that pulling an all-nighter is nothing.

Fuck it, I'm smoking in my room. I don't even CARE!

P.S. Dear ex boyfriends, why do you suck so bad and make my life awful? Thanks. Now I'm thinking about YOU and can't get my paper done.

I'm going to drink so many beers when this is over... probably like three.

I can't wait to get my post-breakup-hair-cut, followed closely by a post-graduation-bird-tattoo and MAYBE EVEN A FACIAL PIERCING OMGGGGG

P.P.S. I have discovered wolfmother and rediscovered led zeppelin and my life is now amazing. Also, Dream On by Aerosmith is now on the List of Good Songs. This shit is getting fancy-free! I DON'T EVEN LIKE AEROSMITH! THE INTEGRITY OF THE LIST HAS BEEN COMPROMISED!

Floor pie

Let me reaffirm my fondness of making out: it's awesome. Humanity, as a whole, does not make out enough. Making out is good for your soul. When done correctly and with correct frequency, making out can help you blossom into a wholesome, radiant being.

There are many different ways to make out, and none of them are wrong. If it feels good, how can it be wrong? Society may try to dictate your makings-out, but don't be swayed from embracing your moment to connect intimately with another human being for a short time. Or a long time.

My favorite variety of making out is the Topless Make Out Session, wherein one or both parties are without clothing above the waist. You might choose to include bras, tank tops, or any variety within undershirt/undergarment milieu at your discretion. This form of making out, topless, can be performed vertically, say, in the middle of your kitchen, or horizontally using furniture or other structures for assistance and comfort. Angular varieties have not occurred, or have not yet been documented, presumably as a result of the difficulty of sustaining this position for extended periods of time. There is no limit for duration with this making out variety, as opposed to the Quickie, wherein the characteristics of the make out are rapid and the overall session is not sustained. Hegemonic definitions of the Topless Make Out Session often entail the procession of normal day-to-day activities after the cessation of the act. Here, the term normal day-to-day activities may be subject to evaluation and speculation, but it is at least safe to assume that these activities include domestic work, wage-earning work, and common leisure activities (hunting, reading, or farming).

Fact: I have seriously considered eating a spoonful of butter at least once in the past 24 hours.

Fact: Ex-boyfriends are no fun on a Sunday night when it's cold outside and you have papers to write and whole books to read and you should be in a circle on the couch with the comforter from your bed all cozy-like with your cat.

Fact: I am missing a Cake concert at THIS VERY MOMENT.

I don't fucking know, man. What we REALLY need is to wake up in the morning and not have cracked lips and mascara residue under your eyes. Or to stop watching so much reality tv and listen to public radio instead. To stop thinking about moderation and live your life like you're going to be photographed naked the next day. To quit your fucking job that is a life-suck and work for a) The Wisconsin State Historical Society, b) University of Wisconsin, or c) WORT.

Did you feel left out of No-Shave November festivities? Jezebel recently cleared that up: Decembrow. I'm in.

Non-substantive post

HOLY SHIT GUYS

5 days til last day of class EVER
9 days til graduation CEREMONY
10 days til my sister's bDAY
12 days til last final exam EVER
15 days til xxxMAS
21 days til GIRL TALK

My life is taking a turn for the AWESOME, except for bein' single n stuff... *kicks dirt*

I remember Walter

This just in: Nobody talks about how hot Sloan Peterson is (was). Did you FORGET about her?

Did you forget about Cassandra, too?



Come on! She plays guitar, dude! GUITAR!

What about the OTHER Sloan? Hmm?



Ok, I'll be honest: I'm pissed right now. Cassandra and the Sloans, they're just a front. I'm pissed because I'm procrastinating. I'm tired. And I probably need a cigarette.

I was looking up this song that has the highest play count in my iTunes, because I'm obsessive, and it feels good, and found something fucking blasphemous.

First of all, she is a fucking HOMOPHOBE and has offended allies of the lgbtq community MULTIPLE TIMES.

Second of all, her face reminds me of my dumb ex who I am OBVIOUSLY so much better than butsecretlycantstopthinkingaboutevenfortwoseconds.

ALSO, she bastardized the Beach Boys. THE BEACH BOYS!!!!!

That was fine, whatever, I got over it. But THEN...




...she decided she was entitled enough to cover MGMT's Electric Feel.

She fucking ruined my favorite song. My underwear-in-the-mirror song. Do you not realize how SERIOUS THIS IS PEOPLE!?

I could justify her bigotry cuz hey, it's trendy and sells records. I can get past her face and sound giving me a twinge from a relationship gone sour. I can call it even with her stupid Beach Boys ripoff. But not this. I will not let KPerry take Electric Feel away from me.

I WILL reclaim Electric Feel just like those crazy feminists took back words like CUNT and CLIT and did STUPID performance art with it.

Times like these when I really need to find some footing, I ask myself W.W.R.G.D.? He would say Page, it's alright to cry.



New personal philosophy.

Siege at the 28th Street Roundhouse

1. Play the piano more. It's like riding a bike...right?
2. Give up knitting.
3. Read books before bed.
4. Scherenschnitte
5. Write in this blog
6. Figure out my life

How it actually will go:
1. Play the piano the first two days and then take a several weeks long "break"
2. Give up knitting but feel bad about it
3. Read graphic novels before bed.
4. Get really good at papercutting and develop early onset arthritis
5. Gain an in-depth perspective of narcissism
6. Coast through several months and eventually have a breakdown from the weight of my own self-loathing and guilt

But hey, guess what else!



Yeahhhh that's right! Snoop Doggy Dogg at The Orpheum nearest YOU! February 1st. You wanna come with? Cuz you TOTALLY CAN!

Sigh... being poor and single is possibly the most miserable experience on this earth. Who wants to go to a Snoop Dogg concert alone? SNOOP DOGG! Furthermore, Susan, if another human being isn't there to make me happy, HOW am I supposed to supplement the emptiness with goods and services if I have to be FRUGAL?! I might have a problem.

Well, I just binged and now I feel like an asshole. Where's my toothbrush?

DO NOT WANT

Without coffee, my soul is cold, dark and gray. The world is a heap of ashes and its inhabitants shards of bone. Without coffee, my mind spirals itself into a corner where it remains the rest of the afternoon, like a wilted mayfly. Bleak, empty, lifeless coffeeless world.

W.W.J.D.

Recently I've found myself awake in bed sometime after 3:00am. Sometimes I don't look at the clock, because I saw a scary movie once where the girl wakes up at 3:33am and proceeds to be lacerated and raped by a dark, masculine figure. When I do look at the clock, it's only because I'm desperately hoping someone texted me, and I pray it doesn't say 3:33.

Last night I woke up at 3:14. I was mostly blind in my left eye. I was so delirious at first that I didn't really notice, or care, and as I was roused to consciousness I played it off as some second hand mascara or a rogue eyelash. I blinked and squinted the mascara off, but my lid was not strong enough to separate it from my eyeball. A bit of panic set in, and I thought my contact lens had scratched my cornea, or that this was how spirit possessions began and I'd need an exorcism sooner or later. I briefly imagined that I was slowly losing my sight, and thought about how life would be as a blind person, crossing East Campus Mall tentatively with pointed toes and one arm half-outstretched, and how everyone would feel bad for me and throw me a huge party and maybe you would change your mind about leaving out of some sad obligation.

I was awfully warm, spread eagle under layers of covers in an attempt to increase surface area to better radiate the heat from my body. My clothes were damp and smelled like the coconut lotion I had bought from the Community Pharmacy. I took my socks off with only my toes, something I've become good at, and shoved them down to the bottom of the sheet where it tucks under the mattress so I could find them later as a laundry surprise. I hastily shed all other layers as quickly as I could manage.

Apparently, earlier that night I had thought it would be wise to snugly tie the drawstring of my cotton pants (with the polka dots) in a double knot. Now, to a partially blind and mostly freaked out scared of the dark half asleep sweltering girl, this nearly made me scream sounds that a middle aged obese man produces when napping on his recliner with the worn arms and greasy headrest.

I don't know about you, but when I've just awoken, my hands don't work properly. I can't make fists. Go on, try it tomorrow morning immediately after you wake up. Try to make a fist. It's the same feeling I get when I'm sitting in the hospital with a sick person or when I'm in the hospital myself and they tell me this is serious and we're going to have to give you stitches. My swollen fingers failed at unraveling the mess of a drawstring, which was now all garbled and far worse off than before. I pulled each polka dotted cotton leg up around my hips as high as they would go, bundling the fabric between my legs like a pad you wear when you first get your period in 6th grade.

I'm not sure when I finally fell back asleep or if I really even did, but I do know that you never texted me back, and after that I had really strange dreams about being in a car accident, stuffing dollar bills into a plush pig, and sweeping long red hairs up from my bedroom floor.