Various Christmas thoughts of 2006

It is raining.

About 17 years ago, I would have entertained the thought of whether or not Santa would be bothered by the rain. I say "entertained the thought" because I don't remember ever really believing in Santa. Not before school age, and definitely not after. I very well may have been the kid who shattered all the other kindergartener's magical worlds of imagination. This is probably how it went down: "Nuh-uh, dummy. There's no way Santa could fit down a chimney, even a really big one. I've been to your house. You don't even have a chimney." The other kid would start sniffling a little, and back away slightly, uneased by my logic. I would then say something like, "And what about all those starving kids in other parts of the world? If Santa has magic, wouldn't he bring them a magic refrigerator or something so they would never run out of food?" I can just see the little eyes blinking back the tears. I would finish with a deprecating, "only kindergarten babies believe in Santa Claus anyway," probably prompting a round of "Kindergarten baby, stick your head in gravy..." at which point the kid would run off sobbing, tell the teacher, and I would spend the rest of the day with my nose against the wall.

I was a mean kid.

But it will be Christmas in one hour and forty minutes. My family just got back home from our grandparents' house. It was a good time I guess. I spent the evening eating lots of broccoli casserole, laughing at jokes that weren't really that funny, trying to conceal my new tattoo from my grandmother, snoozing, smiling appreciatively at my new portable air compressor, and marveling at the jacket I received that looks exactly like the one I unwrapped two years ago while sitting in that same spot. Grandparents are clueless sometimes, but it's funny how little things like weird presents can rekindle your fondness for them.

On the tattoo front, my hip is extremely angry at me right now. It is swollen beyond all recognition, bulging out like one massive love handle. And my mom thinks it's funny to poke me in the side whenever she has the chance. Serves me right, she says, for wanting to look like a sailor. I hope it heals up soon. Even if it is a little infected, it should take care of itself. I would probably be more worried if it was another body part, but I can't think of anything more unlikely to fall off than my hip.

One hour till the big day. This time 2000 years ago, give or take, Mary was pretty uncomfortable. That's something to think about. I wonder if Jesus just popped out, or if He gave her a hard time. Don't ask those kind of questions in Sunday School, though, or they'll talk to your parents...

My intelligence is beyond comprehension.

It is lovely to be home for Thanksgiving. This is how I have spent my time thus far: painting weird things on my ceiling, watching Dad's lame old westerns, eating cold sausage balls, and taking pictures of my face with the scanner.

All in all, a complete success.

And the word of the week is...discombobulated.

I had an epiphany this week.

School sucks.

I don't know why it has taken me so long to realize this, but in the middle of all the junk that I had to accomplish in my short (7x24=........168) 168 available hours, I sat down for a minute and really reflected on what I had made of my life thus far. I am in my 5th year of college, about to graduate in the Spring, and 22 years of preparation have come down to this one question: what the heck am I going to do for the rest of my life? I am killing myself with working and studying, barely allowing myself time to breathe, let alone sleep or eat, and all for what? So I can make good grades and get a degree. For what? Yeah...good question.

It's a little unnerving not knowing where I will be or what I'll be doing in a year from now. God has blessed me with a large amount of flexibility- in both senses of the word ;) -and so I'm not terribly worried, but I am moderately worried. Well, slightly worried. Ok, not really worried, but concerned. Apprehensive. Umm...incredulous? No idea what that word means.

School sucks because I am tired of it and my teachers are boring. And I hate studying. And working. We have an awesome group of people this year in the International House, and I hate it that I don't have more time to just hang out and get to know everyone better. My roomy says I work too much. That's probably true, but I feel it is necessary. I refuse to bum money from my parents anymore. So whatever "mess" I say I am in, I have done entirely to myself.

Thank you, Max, for the word of the week. Discombobulated. I can't think of anything more appropriate.

You may be asking yourself, if she doesn't have time to do anything for herself, how is she finding time to write this blog? And you know what I say to that? Shut up.

Beauty knows no pain? No! Beauty knows pain. Or uncomfortablilty anyway.

I bought a tube of that moisturizing self-tanner this week, the kind that gradually darkens your skin all the while increasing its softness and bounceability. Wait...is that right? Anyway, like for normal self-tanner, applicants are advised not to dress until the lotion has dried completely. So I stripped down, lathered up, and was left dancing around my bedroom in the buff until the stuff dried. I did all manner of things while waiting, like checking my email, painting my toenails, and a bit of light cleaning. Half an hour passed, and I still felt sticky. It seemed evident that the lotion would never dry completely. Even now, 14 hours later, I can feel it. Well, I did buy the Banana Boat brand of moisturizing self-tanner, that same Banana Boat of SPF 30 fame. It was the cheapest, and I should have known that anything made by a sunscreen company would probably closely resemble sunscreen. Which it does. The upside: I had a good excuse to be naked for an extended period of time today. And any excuse to be naked is good enough for me.

Ok, I take that back. There are more good reasons to be clothed than there are good reasons to be naked. For instance, taking your drivers test, getting inaugurated, volunteering in a retirement home, or directing an orchestra. These are all excellent experiences that would be greatly diminished were one to not wear the appropriate attire. Some good opportunities to be naked: taking a shower, applying self-tanner, waltzing matilda...um, that's all I can think of. There should be more opportunities to be naked. Who agrees with me?

I have also been using some Crest Whitestrips that one of my roommates left behind. They are weird and hard to get used to. It takes a few tries to achieve the perfect application technique when using the strips. You peel one off its plastic backing and stick the gooey side to your crusty old incisors, and then thirty minutes later...Voila! A gleaming smile and you are ready for your close-up. Right? Ha! Hahahahaha...ha... If only.

Understand this. If you have slightly abmormal teeth that aren't perfect and small and straight, i.e. if you have big ole chipmunk teeth like me with a canine that aspires to be a fang, the strips are going to be a little harder to deal with than the commercials want you to think. First of all, the bleaching agent, aka the weird poofy gel, doesn't exactly taste like toothpaste. It is, after all, some sort of bleach. But, ok. We can get used to the taste. Also, if you, like me, would like the entire tooth to be whiter, and not just the bottom 2/3rds or so, you're going to have to bleach a little of your gums as well to get at the whole tooth, possibly increasing gum sensitivity. This can cause some slight discomfort if you decide to, say, bite into a popsicle soon after removing the strips.

The most ridiculous part of the whole thing is found in the instructions. Crest says*, "Wowee. Our strips are so easy to use that you can do many household chores while wearing them, including vacuuming, beating your children, or even catching up with your pals on the phone." I can just imagine what the phone conversation would sound like to an eavesdropper.

Crest Whitestrip Wearer: "Hmmphnuuggnmn. (pause) (slurp) Mfffnnugginn ushhhlumrrrph. (pause) (slurp) Fnnuuuummmegggeebbuulll."

It is unbelieveable how much saliva a strip generates while in your mouth. You may soon find yourself relating to those with limited body-control and motor functions much more easily. And there are always those times that you will forget you read this, have a strip in your mouth, someone ask you something, and you lean over to reply, only to find yourself having deposited a huge glob of spit onto your blue jeans. And I do mean it when I say huge. Consider yourself warned.

*disclaimer: This is not an exact quote. It's more of a paraphrase. Or something.

Completely Good for Nothing

I have been home for 10 days and have failed to do anything of merit or lasting value in all that time.

I have ambitions. I really do. It's just that I can't seem to motivate myself to do anything about them. This may be resulting from my current state of senioritis, bearing in mind that I am, after all, and finally, a senior. In college. The impending end of an era is upon me. The Era of the Grand Mooch. After I graduate, I believe it will no longer be acceptable to mooch off my parents for money, food, or shelter. Which may be a good thing. Maybe all I need is a good kick in the pants out the door and into the real world.

My 22nd birthday is in 2 days. I have no idea how to even begin processing that fact. Year 21 was wicked short.

Everyone is getting married and/or having babies. I saw one of my old high school classmates at Chico's yesterday and she introduced me to her two-year old. Wowza. I can't even imagine having a kid myself. Or a husband. That thought is just too weird. I think I am going to be one of those "late bloomers" who get married in their thirtys. I have the feeling that I will meet my future hubby in some seedy local dive in South America somewhere, another soulful wanderer like myself, seeing where the current of life takes him, going along for the ride. Sigh.

But all is well in Wacky World as of now. I just need to get motivated and do something. Like clean my room. There is a lot of junk in here that I don't need and someone else would probably throw away. Like my old Jennie Gymnast doll. Or the half a dozen Puzz 3Ds under my bed. Or the 4 million National Geographics in front of my chiffarobe. Does anyone want this stuff? Yeah, I didn't really think so anyway.

I am glad that no one reads this blog because it is überboring. I am getting bored writing it. Entonces, yo voy a mirar la pelicula más brillante en el mundo, el clásico "Jackass," porque me alegra mucho. Hoy día, he hablado mucho de español con mis amigas salvadoreñas que trabajan en Chico's, el restaurante más brillante en el mundo. Ellas no hablan inglés, y era una buena oportunidad para practicar el español. Espero que hay un programa cerca de su apartamento donde ellas pueden aprender inglés. Voy a buscarlo.

J'aime la langue espagnol, et la langue français, et la langue japonais, et la langue allemand, et toutes les autres langues dans le monde. Je veux apprendre toutes les langues. Je suis fou.

Ciao, chau, sayonara, und Auf Wiedersehen.

Random thoughts at 4:00 in the morning...

Victrolas are expensive.

Yesterday, I realized that my happy place needed a victrola, so today I went browsing around Ebay to see how much one cost. A nice one with a big bell and a working crank is like 800 dollars. Yikes. Good thing adding one to my happy place is free. Now I just need a Bing Crosby record.

I like to ask people about their happy places. I think it tells a lot about them.

Steel drums are also expensive. So I guess I won't be getting a steel drum for my birthday this year. Darn.

I found a neat blog that gives instructions on how to make all kinds of cool stuff, like hollow books to store valuables in, flame throwers, ballistic gel, and other useful things. It's at www.how2dostuff.blogspot.com, just in case you're interested.

I really should be in bed right now, and I even have to go to the bathroom, but I am too lazy to get up out of this chair and do anything else other than play on the Internet. How pitiful.

My list of things to do this summer after I drag my tired, broken, malnourished body back home from the Auschwitz that is Summer I term:
-finish painting my ceiling (still too much white)
-read Don Quixote (this one's not for fun)
-learn to play the guitar (a lofty ambition, is it not?)
-sleep (a lot)
-get a tan (maybe a fake one)
-make a hollow book (to store my flame thrower in)

I am a huge loser.

Dreaming of the South Pacific

I had an interesting bout of things going on this past month with lots to write about, but now things have slowed down, and I am just sick to death of college and classes and studying and tests. I guess I am excited about going to the beach for Memorial Day weekend with my good buddy Katie, but it hasn't really kicked in yet. My car is in the shop and I am going to have to devise a way to get myself to the garage this afternoon to pick it up. Maybe I'll ride my bike. I skipped out on the last half of history class today because I caught myself about to stick my pencil into my eyeball and so went back to my room and took a nap. I have to move this week and so I have to find a place to put all my things until I can move into Logan Hall for June term. I also have two vicious final exams Tuesday that are haunting me. Sigh.

Sometimes I just want to run away to the South Pacific with my bathing suit and a bottle of rum and never look back. Aaaiiiiiieeeee! And live with the natives on some primitive island and eat roast pig and be a fisherman in a canoe I made myself and write adventure novels and never shave my legs. Sigh again.

Well, enough daydreaming. Time to go be an adult.