"You may be buff, but you look somewhat like a Solid Gold dancer."
Couple things: First, the talk in Sacrament meeting went well, much better than expected, and so that made my day. Other thing: hung out at Belledree's for hours tonight, and while there,
this guy I'd gone on a few dates with a couple months ago showed up and ended up hopping in the hot tub with Belledree and me.
Major flirting on his part ensued, and later in the evening, I spent a good ten minutes dodging his lips, which was a bit odd as the last (and only) time we'd kissed didn't end well (a week or so later, he told me didn't ever want to do that again, so, yeah... not well). I'm not interested (that ship has sailed), and so right now I'm just annoyed that I can smell his cologne on me. To top off the crappiness of the evening, we found out this guy's brother, who is pseudo-dating Belledree, lied to her, and so there was a whole mess of pissed-off-ed-ness.
Oh, in crazy-former-landlady news, she just evicted the rest of the girls who lived in the other part of the house for no reason. Court, here we come!
"When I'm away she puts her makeup on the shelf..."
Shockingly enough, I'm currently wasting time instead of working on a critical review I should be writing. I just had to look up a very basic citation in my copy of Turabian because it's apparently been so long since I wrote anything that I have forgotten all. I'm thinking about maybe applying to law school as a result; anything to avoid submitting a writing sample. Somehow, I think by clicking a referral link from Site Meter, I managed to make most of Blogger show up in Spanish, and it's really bothering me, and not only because my spellcheck button is gone. How do I make it stop?
You know the way you sort of blush whenever you see that you have an email or text from someone you're into? I'd like that right now. Of course, I'd also like to not be sitting at my computer pretending to work so that I'd be too busy to wonder when that will be happening. Also, this post is the sort of thing I'd separate into bullet points, but I'm feeling too lazy for that, and besides, I think I'm enjoying the smushing of several topics into a single paragraph. Lately I've noticed that I'm kind of punchy, in a goofy sort of way. Last night, I told this kid he ought to mess with his mock interviewer by giving dumb answers to everything - like saying his name is Jordan "Cougar" Watkins (John Mellencamp isn't using it, so someone ought to) or say that he wanted to attend Mock Interviewer's School for the tapas, although I don't think he thought I was funny.
Other things that weren't funny last night in my class: the whole stinkin' thing. I'm taking this class in the Student Development department that's supposed to help with applying to grad school, and since summer (my last term of undergrad EVER) was the first time they'd offered it, I figured I'd give it a shot. BAD idea. HORRIBLE HORRIBLE class. I was going to drop it once I realized the full magnitude of the awfulness, but I'd apparently internalized the part where they said lots of Ws on your transcripts are bad, and I already have a bunch and my transcripts are sketchy as it is and I didn't think that a W in the last term before I graduated would look good, so here I am in this class that sucks. Last night, one of the lecturers (there are two responsible for this train wreck) was asking what he could do to make his lecture more interesting, at which point I said "start." I don't think he thought I was funny either, but at least he finally quit babbling and began his lecture, so I eventually got to leave. Best part of this class (and finishing an independent study class waaaay too quickly to really care): I've given up on being a perfectionist. One of the reasons I slack so much is that I hate screwing up, and it's almost easier to not do anything than to do something half-way. Turns out, I actually kind of like this half-way doing of stuff. I may try to keep this up in a few realms of my life, because honestly, does it matter if my loaf of bread has the perfect spiral on the ends or if my skirt has a wrinkle?
Oh, and speaking of one's skirt being wrinkly and bad appearance in general, for some reason, I've mostly given up on wearing eye gunk (and therefore makeup in general since eye gunk is all I wear) other than mascara (today I'm not wearing any at all) except for very specific occasions. Guess I'm caring about less and less these days. Best part of yesterday: three independent compliments on my tree-hugger iPod case. Perhaps I will post a picture of it one of these days. I'm starting to think New Roommate has a relatively nasty habit that she performs in our bathroom, and I haven't quite yet decided what to do about it. I don't think I can bring it up, and I don't think I can always be sterilizing the corresponding surfaces, but I don't know if I can just live with it, either.
In French class, I complimented this kid, Chip, next to me on his Sonic Youth t-shirt, to which he responded "oh, you know them?", seemingly quite surprised. I know we're in Provo and all, but it's not like they're a band that have never performed outside of Kim Gordon's mom's basement. I'd think that most people would be at least somewhat familiar with Sonic Youth, but as our conversation continued I got the impression that his friends are the if-it's-not-Disney-I-won't-watch-it type, or something. Since we were in French class, I mentioned that he ought to check out
Irma Vep because it's a fabulous movie and has almost an entire song from Goo as the only sound for a scene involving gratuitous nudity and burglary, and ends with this great sorta-Dadaist sequence. He asked me if I had seen
Garden State in a very conspiratorial tone, and I answered yes, and we ended up talking about a bunch of movies I love but that he didn't expect anyone to have seen. Chip my dear, I know you just got back from your mission and all, but just because the kid who sits behind us was offended when I said "pissed" doesn't mean everyone here is like that. It's okay to have friends you didn't know on the mission, and it's even better if they listen to music that isn't Nickelback. Also, if anyone would like me to love them forever, I'd recommend a gift of
Irma Vep. Or the first season of
Dharma and Greg. Either one.
I just blushed.
A List: because it's easier than real paragraphs.
- Was forced to attend a highly ridiculous FOUR HOUR training class at work today. It was so painful I spent a nice chunk of time thinking of synonyms to "boring," "bored," and "boredom." I think I came up with more than 30 unique words, so, you know, I'm ready to start writing that thesaurus I've been dreaming of.
- Chatted with Kink tonight, during which we discussed how much insecurity sucks, and how sometimes it'd be easier not to care. Of course, coincidentally, while it's probably easier, it's a LOT suckier. And for the record, Kink is fabulous even though she still doesn't know where the shift key is.
- My quality of life would be significantly better if I could compare everything to either Suicide Machines songs or the plot of Labyrinth.
- I believe I have convinced Sandy Boy #1 to give me the Alice Cooper tickets he won but can't use. Seeing the chicken-killer live would almost make up for missing String Cheese Incident tonight due to my stupid homework. (Three and a half weeks, baby!)
- Oh! Speaking of writing a thesaurus, in all seriousness, I've decided to re-write the senior thesis which will be my writing sample for grad school apps while I'm in Paris. Letting one thing go for now is feeling wonderful. I hate feeling high-strung, and these days stress has made really good sleep something I only vaguely remember. Sleep, glorious sleep... (Still just three and a half weeks!)
- And... speaking of writing in Paris, I've also decided to write a book while I'm there. Something short - 200 pages tops. I haven't decided what sort of book I'm going to write, but I think it'll have to be at least somewhat autobiographical. Perhaps I'll join the circus in Paris, or at least become a French carney, because I think that would really help me get published. (Two months!)
- I love the Alanis-irony of happening to watch The Libertine last night and then being obligated to study the reign of Charles II and the Exclusion Crisis today. Also, I am a nerd.
"No, my mother's happy. She's just mean all the time."
- Ate brunch today while watching The Sure Thing with Buffy the Vampire Slayer filling up the commercials. For all of my posturing about how much I really enjoy cinema as art (because I do), I *really* love cheesy movies. (Need further proof? Did homework today while listening to the soundtrack of Barbarella.)
- New Roommate spent HOURS in the kitchen making all kinds of abominably smelly things while listening to the popping-eyes song by Kelly Clarkson on repeat. My soul died a little today.
- Ended up bringing up that thing to said current situation, and it wasn't horribly painful, nor did it seem to make things weird. Point - Zannah.
- Have gotten ridiculously small amount of homework done compared to what I should have, and don't so much care. This will change by the end of the week.
- Along the same lines, it's after 7:30, I still haven't showered, made my bed, or eaten anything more substantial than stuff that qualifies as baby food (acorn squash and strawberry yogurt). Truly, holidays are wonderful. (Speaking of holidays, some Pioneer Day trivia for you courtesy of my father who is on the Days of '47 executive committee (co-chair, maybe? VP?) so I'd assume he knows: the Days of '47 parade is the third largest in the country, after the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade and the Rose Bowl parade.)
- Had a brief, post-date rundown with Marky during which he confirmed that the location of Freaky Dee's is indeed 7th E and 21st S and we agreed that if you have to be tipsy to really enjoy someone's company on a date then they're probably not The One no matter how fabulous the flirting-and-holding-hands-while-walking-through-Central-Park time is.
"Now, Jerri, I know you are having some family problems at home, but if you can't check your baggage at the door before rehearsal, then I will find
someone else, somebody who doesn't have a family. Just had a long talk with Em, and we've concluded the answers to the earlier questions are yes, possibly, probably, and of course ("road forks you!"). I thoroughly appreciate being reminded that I'm less crazy than I think I am.
"He's got hydrogen psychosis -- the crazy-eye!"
Last night at the end of an evening that redefined the phrase "hot date," I found myself once again analyzing my behavior and realizing I have a bad habit (or subconscious way of avoiding opening up; call it what you want) that most likely explains the fact that I've had one five-month relationship in the last five years (and it was long distance, which is probably the only reason it survived my self-defeating MO) as well as the way I typically date sporadically without any real emotion.
I'm not sure what to do with this now that I'm aware of it... Do I try to just fix it (because, you know, it's just that easy)? Is there a point where I bring it up when dating someone? Can I adjust a current situation without making things weird? In Soviet Russia, does crazy fix you?
"it would be like wendover times ten"
So I was chatting with Marky Mark tonight (doing the usual catch-up bit, discussing our dating lives and traveling plans and the like), and I got a "ooo.. is that a new pic?" which was followed by the statement that the pic (originally taken as
evidence of the havoc finals wreaked upon me, currently being used as my profile pic for
Trillian) you now see at the top right of the screen is "pure and undefiled hotness." Truly, Marky is the most fabulous friend.
"Somebody just ran down my brother in a horse-drawn carriage. I want to find out who it is, and hurt them."
Recently I was talking to my dear friend Eleven about a dream I'd just had, and while we didn't really discuss it too much, it's been on my mind. It was another one of my usual movie-esque dreams, and true to recent form, it was another horror-flick dream. Fortunately, it was pretty lame in a
Skeleton Key sorta way, so it didn't freak me out too much and yet still managed to be disturbing.
To summarize very quickly, it had a witchcrafty vibe featuring this woman in her 30s who had the standard huge old Victorian farmhouse in the country (not unlike my "dream house," of course) where she dispensed herbal remedies to her neighbors. I was the standard uninvolved person who gets drawn into figuring out what's going on for some poorly explained reason. The real talent of the witch was healing broken hearts at scorned women's requests, or maybe just relieving the pain of a broken heart, but of course there was a nasty side effect.
In the third act, I was searching her house and ended up in the attic, which contained a dozen or two talking dolls. Turned out, when this woman "healed" a broken heart, she really just imprisoned the soul in a doll and took over controlling the woman's body. Of course, as these dolls were explaining what happened to them (why THAT didn't give me nightmares I'll never know) the witch discovered me in her attic and tried to put my soul into a doll like the others to shut me up. I managed to escape like a good horror movie survivor, and I woke up pretty quickly after the climax (convenient - the worst part of a scary movie is the quiet aftermath; I didn't mind avoiding it).
So, I had this dream at least two weeks ago, and even now I can remember the entire plot, exactly the way everything looked (especially the attic), and the terror I experienced as I watched that woman come at me with this huge needle. Fortunately, talking to Eleven gave me more to think about than the idea of writing a cheesy script, and even though I don't normally do this, I've been attempting to interpret it. Considering the dream in its entirety (including the side plot), I can only conclude that I'm deathly afraid of having my heart broken, to the point that it's being expressed in my dreams. I could try to figure out what the next logical step is now that I've come to this realization, but instead I'm going to go back to belting out
In His Eyes as it plays on the ol' iPod. Much easier on the psyche.
"Milhouse, knock him down if he's in your way. Jimbo, Jimbo, go for the face. Ralph Wiggum lost his shin guard -- hack the bone. Hack the bone!"
So the last 24 hours were significantly better than the 24 before that (although to tell the truth, my day got a lot better right after that last post just because I refuse to be cranky in the long-term for such petty reasons). Always pleasant when that happens. But why is this the case, you ask?
First, had my last hockey game in which I got bruised, so that's always good. We lost, but I played really roughly and even drew a penalty. Plus, a bunch of my family came to watch, so I had my own cheering section who then spent quite a bit of time post-game checking out the Hockey Coach (who, interestingly enough, Belledree might still set me up with as apparently the word-on-the-street about a serious girlfriend is quite exaggerated, if not completely inaccurate). So there's that.
And then, yesterday at work I had a pleasant distraction from Belledree (gmail's chat feature is really quite convenient) and a delicious distraction from someone else, the combination of which meant that I got very little work done but that I also didn't care. Of course, the fact that I was working on a little less than three hours of sleep meant I probably wouldn't have really worked anyway, but I'm all about having additional excuses.
To top off the recent goodness, I just found out that I *have* to go to San Francisco to get my visa for France, so, darn. And of course, my uber-good mood could be related to the fact that I've had Jamiroquai and OK Go (say what you want about 'em - it's happy music and that's good enough for me) repeating on the ol' iPod.
So... anybody up for a road trip to the coast?
A Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.
It's 2:30 in the afternoon, and I'm already having an utterly awful day. I've dedicated today to finishing a bunch of coursework (must be done by the 28th - argh!), and have I gotten any of it done? No, of course not.
I can't think in my apartment because it's so over-filled with junk (what, New Roommate? You wouldn't consider it a possibility that you could maybe leave a couple of your things for which we already have duplicates in storage so that it's possible to access stuff in our panty? Of course you wouldn't, you high-maintenance, self-righteous strumpet). The number of products being stored on the single square-foot of bathroom counterspace has reached astronomical proportions, and I can't even wash my hands without knocking something over. Where did my nothing-but-handsoap-and-lotion counter go, Smelly Strumpet?
Either I broke or New Roommate broke (when she was piling stuff on top of my stuff so that she could have more-than-ample -- meaning more than half the available shelving that currently contains three people's stuff -- space for her stuff) one of my favorite irreplaceable bowls that I got at an artist's market. And my kitchen is disgusting but I don't have the time or energy to clean it.
My landlady woes continue, as she refused the certified letter I sent her, so now I have to decide if I take her to court or just hire a lawyer to be mean, or drop it all, or what.
To top it all off, I twisted my left wrist somehow, I've gained two pounds, and what promised to be a very pleasant day when I woke up has turned into the sort of day that justifies my yoga pants and lack of mascara.
Did I mention that I can't think like this? I am out of patience for the world.
"Tea and coffee and tobacco they despise..."
Got asked today to speak in church on the 30th, and teach Relief Society on the 23rd. I'm perfectly willing to teach RS, and I'm actually *excited* to speak in Sacrament Meeting. Where is the Heathen Zannah, and who is this person I've replaced me with?
Happy Unimportant Event of the Day: My Friday evening spent pore-steaming followed by microdermabrasion and a mask (along with a pedicure,
Bridget Jones's Diary and some homemade low-fat fudge) was well invested, as this morning the sudden skin imperfection had disappeared completely (it was just a little red on Saturday, which is understandable because I'm so incredibly pale) and the concealer returned to the inaccessible drawer where it normally lives. How I love wearing no face-goop as part of my makeup routine.
""Give,' said the little stream..."
Went to the temple tonight, and ended up in the same session as this
guy I briefly dated last fall. I hadn't seen him since an uncharacteristically comfortable
lunch in March where we'd talked about hanging out again but never did. Today in our brief, whispered conversation was reminded how gorgeous he is, and how much I like talking to him (when I have something to say -- things weren't *always* boring with us), and all of that jazz. Sent a brief text after our encounter, but doubt I'll hear from him.
"Mais tu ne l'as pas mis beaucoup a jour ces derniers temps."
Even in French I'm declared a slacker...
Had a dream during my nap today about the French Boyfriend in which he married some cute little blonde Americaine. This bothered me in the dream so much that I was still bothered when I woke up. Fortunately, he was online and as we're chatting as I type this (French test to study for that I must take in the next two hours? What French test?), I'm feeling less bothered.
Nevertheless, I realized that despite the fact that I dated the French Boyfriend for only a few months three years ago when I was in Paris for a study abroad and despite the additional fact that when he came to visit me a few months after I came home it was uncomfortable, I was hellish, and he spent more time with my grandfather than he did with me -- despite these things, I'd be bothered if he married an American chick. A French girl would be fine, but if I'm honest with myself, I have this need to stay the only Americaine he's really dated.
Ah yes... yet another instance of me having an unhealthy attitude about relationships.
Edited to add: Turns out I'm either a) dumb, or b) a victim of being a history major who has taken a lot of time off of school. Having gone to the testing center exactly twice in the last three years means that today, when I went to take said French test, it was well after it had closed. Isn't five a little early to be closing? I can't believe stupid summer hours got in the way of my planned Nerd Night.
"When a man gets boobs, it don't look good..."
So today was a combination of utter fabulousness and complete suckage. Good: finishing looming homework, lunch with Blaing, Martin Sexton. Bad: doing looming homework,
Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Suck. Ugly: sudden skin imperfection.
- First, the homework: right now I'm taking this history class via independent study to replace the grade I got in the class the first time. I have to finish it within the next two weeks to have it make it on my transcripts, and we ALL know just how good I am with deadlines (Me? Procrastinate? Never.) Good to get more done so I stress less, but, well, the bad should be obvious.
Lunch with Blaing: Haven't seen him in almost a year, although we've done a pretty good job of talking relatively regularly and keeping up on each other's lives, which, considering my track record on that sort of thing, is nothing short of a miracle. We talked for over two hours, which at a place like Magleby's Fresh is no small feat as it doesn't lend itself to the staying-and-talking sort of thing. It was great to really catch up and be reminded why I bother to keep in touch with him to begin with. Sort of odd, though, that we've become more like each other in our time apart; he's relaxed in the last year, and become a lot more open-minded whereas I'm not quite the same heathen I was then.
Moment of note: he told me I looked fantastic (and included several specific follow-up comments, so not your standard "you look good!" bit), which means any or all of the following apply: A) pudge-loss of the past year or two isn't all in my head, B) the outfit strategically chosen for its skinny properties did its job, or C) he remembers me being fatter than I actually am.
- Martin Sexton: Wow. The countdown was in no way unfounded, because... incredible. He's amazing, the show was fabulous, and while I really don't want to know about David Lindley's man-boobs, the entire night was great. Brought Belledree, and she predictably enjoyed it. Also, this may be a heatheny thing to say, but it was nice being surrounded by open lovers of the cannabis; not for the contact high, but for the comforting memories it brought back. I miss Chicago.
- Pirates of the Caribbean: Belledree and I didn't feel like heading back to the vortex of Provo as soon as the show was over, so we ended up going to Gateway and getting completely nauseated. This movie was AWFUL. What is wrong with all of the critics who gave this succubus-on-film three stars? What is wrong with all of YOU people whose negative comments were no worse than "it wasn't as good as the first"? Try "it wasn't as good as an unholy spawn of Cutting Edge 2 and Sandlot 2." That's two and a half hours of my life that I'm never going to get back, and Disney? I'm pissed.
- Sudden skin imperfection: I developed a blemish in about 3 hours, thus ruining my perfect-skin-streak. I blame it on the substance emanating from the pretty pyrex pipes.
"I'm a hollow man, Dave. I'm a cheap chocolate Easter Bunny."
Been thinking a lot lately about my perptual singlehood... Will post about this when I've let it marinate in my head enough, although I must say, I don't so much enjoy thinking about this topic all that much. Oh well.
"What's so great about you guys?" "Uh, nothing... it's just that we're all that we've got."
Finally back home, which I'm grateful for, although I will miss being able to see the stars from my bed at the GM, the fabulous shower of the guest room, the grand piano, and hanging out with my family pretty constantly. I won't, however, miss hunting for time in which to finish my homework, the early-morning screeching of my niece and nephew, or being mopped off with a diaper when my mother, preoccupied by my monkey of a niece, drops a full sacrament cup on my lap, thus soaking my relatively sheer skirt.
"Ahh, I'm going to have to go ahead and ask you to come in on Sunday, too..."
- Interestingly enough, if you refer to your nephew as wimpy, odds are good that one of your family members will correct you and tell you he's just "cautious." These same family members will also completely ignore this same nephew's virtually constant screeching and whinging.
- Went to a Salt Lake Bees game on Tuesday night. Gary Cole (aka Bill Lumbergh of Office Space fame) led Take Me Out To The Ballgame. I was disappointed that he didn't start out with a "Hello, Salt Lake... What's happening..." Also, what was Gary Cole doing in Utah for Independence Day?
- After the previously mentioned cankle agony, I've gotten a few more (independent) opinions and subsequent confirmation that I am indeed as cankle-free as I had always believed; apparently my sister just likes sharing her own body-image issues. Glad to know I won't have to give up things like hockey and unaided walking in the name of vanity.
- Martin Sexton is playing at the Gallivan Center next week, and I've been counting down for the past week... I don't know why I'm so into seeing him, except for maybe the fact that I haven't seen him play before and he's not opening for Minnie Driver this time.
- Was mistaken for the mid-to-late-30s short and more-than-pudgy friend of my (foster) sister Twin 1 at Twin 1's wedding Thursday, and while I'd like to the think the guy who got us mixed up was just drunk (we weren't even dressed alike, although she has longish blonde hair too), the get-skinny diet has begun anew.
- Other notes from the wedding: I am now waaaaaay more acquainted with Twin A's "assets" than I ever wanted to be, it's true that La Caille is the Salt Lake restaurant for people who want to be foodies but don't know the difference between tarragon and saffron (Wall of Cleavage, anyone? Little tip: you wouldn't need the costume gimmickry if your menu wasn't so pedestrian.), and the best sorts of weddings are the ones where I can just sort of avoid talking to people I don't know because yes, I really *am* that unsociable.
- My typically up-tight mother recently used the word "snogging" in a conversation with me, and she's been so relaxed lately she may take the title of Most Laidback Person In My Family. Confusion truly abounds.
"I brought hamburger."
- My sister informed me tonight that I am a possessor of the dreaded cankle. Still considering amputation.
- Realized that tonight marked the 20th time that I've watched fireworks from my parents' backyard... kinda nice that the GM shares that quality with our old house in Sleepy Hollow.
- After the 18th conversation with my father about how I need to have an open heart, I'm convinced I won't get married. I'm feeling oddly okay with that.
- How bad of a person am I when the word I most commonly associate with my four-year-old nephew is "wimp"? (Then again, how wimpy of a 4-year-old are you when your 2-year-old sister isn't scared to do the stuff you're crying and wailing about?)
- Has anyone developed a taxonomy for faux hippies yet?
