"Running All The Time, Running To The Future"

I think I'm a masochist. In fact, I'm fairly certain I am. Ya see, I started out this week just kinda naturally stiff from whatev, added on to the top of that a new running regime (and I haven't run in quite a long time), threw myself into helping on a home renovation project, and a few other things that have caused my muscles to stiffen up while I sleep. I'm looking forward to actually increasing that, because the pain makes me feel alive.

In addition to all of that, the summer is here, and that means wakeboarding, which ALSO means falling, which, fairly more often than would be ideal for the faint-of-heart, means slamming into the water at 25 mph, or something crazy like that.

Sprinkle that with a healthy dose of obsession and pushing myself harder than I maybe should, and it'll be an awesome summer. I'll need a masseuse.

"I Hope To Tighten Loose Ends With New Sense And End This Nuisance"

It looks as though readership has declined significantly. A lot of people are away or busy doing other things. I understand. And it's good to know that I haven't gotten to the point of viewing my blog obsessively myself to see the hit counter go up, or posting anonymously so people think I'm cool and popular. We'll see how it is by the end of the summer.

In other news... Rachael and I got into an argument today over who could out-brat the other one. I argued that I definitely could, being used to the Only Girl position among other things, but she didn't seem to believe me. I think you guys should vote. But first, I'll need a catchy slogan. I really like "Tippecanoe and Tyler too," but it doesn't really apply here, which is a shame, because I'd have a catchy slogan with historical significance ready-made and waiting for me. But, um, "Beth rhymes with death." Yeah, I like that.

It's back, guys.

"Don't Erase The Part Of You That's Responsible For Your Will"

Just a few things.

NOTE. Working out is great, but needing to stop every ten - twenty minutes so I can eat to prevent collapse isn't so great.

NOTE. Thirteen hours of sleep in the last eighty-eight. Go me. Whoever said that summer is relaxing?

NOTE. Parents work far better from a distance of 2,000 miles. That way, they can't see your flaws or how many times you try to go back to sleep after you've been called.

NOTE. Toulouse-Lautrec? Garbage.

NOTE. I think I'm getting Keely's Terrible Sickness. If that should be the case, I will all of my earthly possessions to whomever was the last person I put in charge of that kinda nonsense. I think a fight to the death would be fairly awesome.

NOTE. I am craving fresh fruit. I am continually craving it, and there seems to be none in the house, except for the nasty apples my dad thinks are good. They're not, Dad, it's all about the gala.

NOTE. Showering regularly is overrated.

NOTE. If I neither answer your calls nor return them, the answer is NOT to call me nine times in two days.

NOTE. It's Passover. Were I Jewish, I'd be making matza and enjoying the goodness right now. I'm not Jewish. I hope you can understand where I'm going with that.

NOTE. Pancakes under the stars is a great idea.

NOTE. You should come visit me, so I don't get bored and lonely. Yeah, especially you.

So, I'm back. I feel the need to apologize to just about everyone. Some people really do deserve an apology, others, well, I just want people to stop fighting. It really hurts me.

There were a lot of good things about this weekend. A lot. Here's a thank you to Keely for being normal and sane. I love talking to the girl, because she always manages to put everything into a great perspective. Another thank you to Kristin who came to hang out with me before I left, and who made ma laugh a ton, and who kicked off this summer's Quotable Quotes. To Dallan, who managed to impress the pants off of me (not literally), and who makes a great confederate and who gives awesome Knowing Looks. To Steve, who talked to me for a long time in the frigid front room with the wet carpet, and who looks like Brooklyn. The resemblance is almost scary, but more just plain cool. To Rachael, who tried her best to be rational, and whose side I understand. And to Art, who cannot spell referential, who has an obsession with softness, and who is going through more than anyone could ever imagine, yet who still finds time for other people. His generosity amazes me as much as his french toast, and, though I know he's not perfect, I adore the boy, even when he doesn't wake up.

One bad thing about this weekend: Do not see Fever Pitch ever ever ever, not even if someone is threatening to kill you and your family. My instincts are infallible, but it was still kinda fun ish, at least with everyone mocking the movie.

I have a lot more to write about, but I'm going to do that over the next several days. I just wanted to say hi again, and now I'm off to eat.

P.S. Eating? Yeah, good stuff.

"On The East Coast Where I Live"

I'm back, guys. The Uptight East Coast Loser Girl is back in her natural habitat. It's raining and glorious, and now I have 500 trizillion things to do before leaving for the weekend.

Taylor (my felonious Tim) was cracking me up today...

The leader of the free world has been taken hostage by a plot involving two Mormons and a snow cone. Details at 10.

I <3 Maryland Boys.

"My Life Is Sunshine, Lollipops, And Rainbows"

Do you ever look in the mirror and thank your stars that you really don't have to look at yourself the rest of the day, because what you see is the most gruesome sight ever?

Today = Ugh.

I also realized that what my body takes a week of careful and extensive eating to gain can be destroyed in one day. It's fairly fascinating, but also extremely uncool.

This is a depressing post, I just realized. Um, cute fuzzy bunnies. Yeah, bunnies. They make people happy, right?

"I Needed To Hear Something That Sounded Like An Answer, Now I Wait Here, And Sometimes I Get One"

I know you're reading this. And I know that, as you're reading this, you're thinking it was written for you. That's intentional.

Please start thinking before you say things to me. It takes a lot to maintain my sanity these days: More willpower and heart than you could ever imagine. I know, I've seen you crumble. What you don't know is how fragile I am. That's purposeful. No one knows how fragile I am. Confessing it on my blog isn't giving anyone any indication of how fragile I am. You'll probably start imagining something right now, wondering just how delicate and breakable I am. You couldn't be further from the truth.

It might seem like I hate you or resent you. I assure you such is not the case. It just seems entirely laughable to me that you, YOU, should put me in such a situation. You've been doubting all along whether or not this was actually written for you: Surely you cannot have been guilty of such a crime. You're right that you're not guilty, but that doesn't erase the chalk outline smearing my hopes.

I trust you, fully and completely. I trust you to be exactly who you are, and I like who you are. If I could author my own life, everything would work jointly and smoothly, but if I were to ink the plot and dialogue, 'twould be an awful, dull, pedantic life indeed. I consider it a fair exchange.

All I ask of you is to consider. Consider what it is you say to me. Consider what it is you want, and what you hope for, dream for, live for, long for. I don't think you truly know what that is yet. Remember, life is not about duty. And if your heart is hanging heavily in your chest now, think about this: Perhaps this is written for all the "you"s in my life. Perhaps you can be the one I look to to be different.

"Mathematically Turning The Page"

I can't do math. I just... can't. I don't have the brain for it. Studying it does me no good, because I can comprehend how something works, I just can't do it beyond a certain point. I comprehend the universe in much different, much more existential terms. Forcing me to study math will find me sprawled on the lawn, listening in on Obnoxious Laugh Boy's conversation with his roommates, which turned exceedingly interesting when I figured out he was of the ill-fated Smith-Griggs campaign and was dishing the dirt on his opponents. That, too, palled after a while, so I got up and ran into Adriana. We whiled away the hours by sitting on a bench and talking, about passers-by, and about other, less spatially immediate individuals. Girl has an internal mockalogue too, and what's more, she despises Kantians, and she hates quantificational logic as much as I do. Even her company was barely enough to keep me sane til 2:30 rolled around. Sometimes the Testing Center really IS a good idea: "Take a test at any time, because you're certainly not going to study for it any longer."

"Everything's Too Cold, But You're So Hot"

Cold water. I go to take a nice, warm, soothing shower, and I am greeted with frigid water, straight from the icy maw of hell itself, I am certain. Lucifer probably took a gulp of this water before it came spurting up through the ground and out of the tub's faucet.

I just thought you'd like to know.

Also, my philosophy professor spelled grammar wrong on the practice final. I'll give you each a guess as to how he spelled it.

"And My Stomach's ... Burning"

I'm a healthy, active, intelligent, 20-year-old female; I think we can pretty much agree on those points. Yet today marks the third day in a row that I've been crippled by intense stomach pain. This actually used to happen to me all the time in high school, whenever I was stressed and didn't eat well enough or regularly enough. It didn't happen at all my freshman year of college, and I thought maybe I was cured or had grown out of whatever. I think I had a mild case over the summer, and in the fall there were a couple nights I fell victim to the pain. I remember one time this semester it hurt so badly that I literally cried out in pain when a friend of mine made me laugh. And now this. I wish I knew what to do.

"Nothing's Gonna Stop Me Now"

HOW I SPENT MY READING DAYS, Part Two: Friday.

Art sent me a couple stories to read around 3 a.m., but when I had gotten through them, he had fallen asleep, so I was left to my own thoughts for a while. I lay there, head resting on arms crooked under my head, and just travelled, seemingly forever. Eventually my thoughts strayed from what I had read to other paths. I tried to go to sleep, but my mind wouldn't shut off. I lay there until a little after six; I remember hearing the birds wake up and start chirping, and I smiled to myself, as I have SO many memories of going to bed to that sound.

Woke up to Russell calling me. He asked if he had woken me up, and I totally lied and said no. I do that somewhat frequently, actually, and I'm not sure why. He was calling to confirm our lunch meeting time. Then Rachael called and we had a long talk about kissing boys, actually. I managed to not throw up, which I consider to be a great victory, and got dressed. Then I checked the temperature and got re-dressed in real pants because Utah doesn't know it's spring and should be warm, especially when I have a frisbee I'm dying to play with and have actual time to play with it. Jerks.

Jaunted off to meet That Wussell Kid. Saw ten billion twelve-year-olds; Russell came up to me as I was staring at some child walking around jabbering on a cell phone. When did twelve-year-olds learn how to use cell phones?? Anyway, it fascinated me, and led to interesting visits in the ol' memory vaults. We had lunch, and I spilled lemonade on my pants. I'm classy like that.

Came back by way of the RB. Investigated how to get onto the cieling. Read some from Illusion, which is my favorite book, then cracked down and got to cozying up to my climatology textbook. I am such an idiot. I studied for an hour before looking at the review sheet, which told me I only had to know information from the last four chapters, instead of the whole sixteen. I could kill myself for such stupidity. Ugh. But it gets better. I spent an hour trying to learn the lettering system for the Koeppen climactic models, then looked again on the study guide and, reading more carefully, saw that I didn't have to know the lettering system. I focused my efforts more on archeoclimatology from then on, which is far kinder to me.

Jennifer and I headed up to campus to grab dinner from the Wilk. I made a huge mess of my wrap (they always give me too much ham and tomatoes), and we talked for a while, until I got a strange and sudden craving for some miniature Reese's cups. Weird. I never get cravings. I saw Misty working at the Cougar Express, and we stopped to talk to her for a while while she cleaned the custard machine.

Right now I'm exhausted and not looking to doing much of anything exciting for the rest of tonight. I'd just like to register that this is the first reading day in the history of my studenthood here at BYU that I've actually cracked a textbook. 11 tomorrow, and I'll be taking my first final. Wish me luck!

"Laugh Or Cry, Well We Need To Try, Get Off the Line, Time To Fly"

HOW I SPENT MY READING DAYS, Part One: Thursday.

Finally collapsed in bed at about 4 a.m. after choosing classes for the fall semester and setting two alarm clocks to rouse me in two hours when it was my time to register. Historically, class registration has been a nasty and a painful process. Last semester was particularly bad with the English department's stunt of putting a hold on my registration until I met with a counselor, yet not notifying me of this, not even in the "Registration Holds" section where it is SUPPOSED to tell you things like that. So just because I had no holds listed didn't mean I wasn't suspecting BYU of pulling something funny. And ya know what? 6 a.m. came (with some trauma I won't tell you about), I clicked on the classes I wanted, and everything went through fine. And since I'm a junior and a half credit-wise, I got to register early enough that none of the sections I wanted were full. Hoo shah.

A few hours later, Jennifer got up and asked me if I still wanted free food from her work-type picnic celebration. I don't care HOW tired you are, free food is free food, and it's not like I couldn't sleep later (which I did). So we walked to Heritage Halls, looked for the people, didn't see them, wandered about searching for a park which held them, revisited some freshman year memories, searched some more, and some more, walked toward a gathering of people that turned out to be 43 million little kids and their moms (Speaking of which, earlier we had walked by the X in front of the library which was filled with kids and parents on a superhuge picnic. I suggested to Jennifer that we steal a child and keep it in our apartment. The kids were THAT cute, and it's been far too long since I've babysat.), and we gave up and headed back to our apartment. We stopped in the HFAC (fine arts building) to check out the flier and see where the group HAD met, just to solve the mystery. Um, turns out she had gotten the wrong time, and they were meeting at 12, not 11. So we scampered back over to Heritage and got our food anyway. I ate so much, and it felt so good, that when we walked back, I crawled into bed and slept. For multiple hours. With the window open. It was hotness, I assure you.

Then I chatted for a while and headed out to watch 2001: A Space Odyssey in the Maeser Building. It was pretty cool, until the end when the whole thing stank of a Jean Cocteau film. Shudder. I ate four chocolate chip cookies. Four. I don't think I was supposed to have that many, but I did, and I feel guilty, and what is wrong with me, does my body not know it's almost Finals Week, and I never eat during Finals Week? WELL?? Then again, I registered for fall classes without a hitch, so maybe this is all just a dream, and I'll wake up in a few minutes to see a SPIDER CRAWLING ON MY PILLOW.

Hold me.

"When You Walk, Walk With Pride"

"A man should always wear a garment with two pockets. In one pocket, there should be a note which reads, 'I am but dust and ashes.' In the other pocket, there should be a paper which says, 'For me, the world was created.'" -- Hassidic wisdom of Rabbi Fields to Norman Lear

Another inspirational, go-get-'em quote, right? Too bad I don't believe in cliché inspirationalism, and so wouldn't allow such a thing on my blog, unless someone had come to my apartment, duct taped me to a wall, discovered my username and password, and blogged it themselves. I can honestly say that such is not the case; at least not yet, though part of me holds out hope for that. It would be an adventure, no?

There is a much deeper meaning to this quote, at least that I've personally discovered in my mulling it over for days and weeks. I'm not talking about the religious ideologies one can unpack from it either, though you can go there if you'd like, and I certainly have. It speaks to the internal conflict inside each man, or that should be inside each man. I've seen it, I've experienced it, and it fascinates me, this conflict. How do we even operate or find a balance between the two Selves--the one which believes he is nothing, and the other which knows he is everything?

"Our greatest fear is not that we are inadequate, but that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, handsome, talented, and fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be?" -- Attributed to Nelson Mandela

Don't be afraid of being brilliant; you're supposed to be. And don't be afraid of being a failure; you're supposed to be that too.

"Salve Oh Patria, Mil Veces! Oh Patria!"

Hot dang. Look at that hit counter! That's happy making.

So guess what? It's time to celebrate another anniversary. I love it when I can get all reminiscent on people. It's been one year since I went on a date with Little Coffman, and oh what a date that was. Turns out my friend Rachael had a friend Andy whose younger brother went to the same university I did. Even better was that he was great friends with a great friend of mine, and I'm fairly certain I ate dinner with him at least once before officially meeting him. So Rachael had me call him [The message I left went something like "Hey, Jesse, you don't know me, and I don't know you, but my friend goes to school with your brother, and they want us to meet, sooo... call me back."] and ask him out. We had a picnic. He threw teddy grahams at one-legged seagulls. Then we saw BYU's ballroom dance company's performance and cheered loudly for our friends on the various teams. Then a while later Andy decided I should marry his brother, and I started referring to him as my brother-in-law when I would talk to him on the phone for long periods of time, which happened more frequently than I can believe.

The best part of the story is that Andy happens to be a former roommate of Art's, who has achieved blogging fame with the limerick I composed oh-so-painstakingly for him. I didn't even know Art existed at the time of the date. Funny how small your world can become.

This is for you, Little Coffman. I'm not going to marry you, but I just may throw some teddy grahams at seagulls in your name.

"Tell Me, Where Is the Love? In A Careless Creation, When There's No 'Above'"

Nietzsche visited my philosophy class yesterday. First of all, kudos for me for knowing the order of consonants in his name. Just look at that thing... you can't even come up with a jingle to help you remember, you just have to KNOW. The way I came to know was by picking up a book and wading through some nihilist thought. Depressing fare it was, but Nietzsche as a guest speaker was highly entertaining.

What the deal is (Oh, if you didn't know, Nietzsche has been dead for over a hundred years, and BYU doesn't exactly sanction séances, so you should be very confused at this point. Ready... confusion! Perfect), is basically, my professor is awesome. I don't exactly agree with everything he does, and especially not with commenting on my paper "What does 'are' mean?", but last week, he dressed up as Berkeley, complete with Irish accent, and this week... he stormed in, tieless, with a great big mustache drawn with black marker on his face and an outrageous German accent. Even better was when he told the class that "God is dead...we have killed him, you and I." I want to walk into my mother's Sunday School class and pull that one, just for the facial expressions. Apparently most of my philosophy class had never heard of nihilism. Which is really okay, as most people also aren't going into literary theory, and so stay with modernism for a while. But now everyone who reads my blog has, and you should all go out and read up on it, and then throw rocks at me, because encouraging nihilist reading isn't exactly a nice thing to do. Perhaps necessary, but never nice. But I care about you guys, and I want you all to be well-educated. Post your favorite Nietzsche quote in the comments.

I have no idea what to write about. Leave me a fun comment instead.

"You're Leaving Me Here, Dear, Alone With All Your Letters"

I got two letters today. Getting letters is on the Things That Make Me Happy list on my sidebar, and it's especially happy because it happens so rarely. If I wrote to people more often, I would probably get more letters, but I don't, because it's discouraging how behind I am on letter writing and how long it takes me to compose just one.

From Elder Earp (hehehe, I would marry the boy just for his last name):

"So to update you on the past 9 months, well that would be too hard. So I'll just do it in one sentence using all my big vocabulary. It's been good!" [This from the boy who used the word "bad" in a paper thirty-six times. A three-page paper.]

"Actually my 3rd week we were driving through the bush at night & we hit a kangaroo and it totalled the car and we were stranded 180 km's from town, so we ditched the car and hitchhiked back into town." [He's going to be killed by a kangaroo one of these days, and I'll laugh.]

"Anyway, hope all is well, don't stress too much over finals since you don't have my Californian influence to keep things cool. Have fun back in Maryland this summer & don't get killed :)" [We'd always have to saunter back from class because Dan does not go faster than a casual stroll. He has to pause and look at the mountains and the trees and the clouds and the grass. The boy is too laid-back even for California. And I know it almost seems like he cares about me and my well-being, but I promise you he's secretly hoping I'll be shot. We have a love/hate relationship... minus the love.]

From Elder Brown:

"I'll bet you're too busy with school and work and such that you don't even have the time to think about having some sort of fun." [I went to Las Vegas last weekend.] [Oh, and I regularly stay up all night and STILL get so little homework done, as I'm being effectively distracted. But the poor boy knew me when I'd do six hours of homework a night.]

"Meanwhile, I think I've got a spider biting me throughout the night." [Giiiih.]

"Tell her to talk to you--because you've got the low down on the goodie-goods." [1. He cracks me up. 2. Do all missionaries ask for food so frequently and obsessively?]

"P.P.P.S. In order to wake up faster in the morning, I recommend singing and acting out the primary song 'Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes.' Repeat until desired results are aquired." [I might just do this. Jenn, be ready. But seriously, I doubt anything is going to rouse me faster after weeks of sleep-deprivation. I'm just waiting for the sleep-walking to begin.]

"Come On Baby, Light My Fire"

There once was a Furler named Art
Who thought he was so very smart,
He'd argue to death
His best friend named Beth,
Then realized she'd stolen his heart.

"Did You Ever Take The Time To See The World Around Us Is Falling Apart?"

"The mass men lead lives of quiet desperation." -- Henry David Thoreau, Walden

Bet you never thought you'd see me quoting a transcendentalist on my blog, didn't you? Too bad Thoreau knows what he's talking about, even if he carries it far too far and advises us all to sit on pumpkins instead of nice leather couches.

If we all helped each other out, if we all put ourselves on the back burner for a bit and took it upon ourselves to carry someone else's burden for a time, if we all simply took the time to care and to gently pry someone's true feelings from them, well, the desperation at least wouldn't be so quiet. We all know it's there, yet we refuse to speak of it; it's like the wire from Watership Down.

Why are we in despair, though? For desperation is the recklessness caused by being in despair. People despair who have no hope; people lose hope who cannot believe in something. If you cannot believe in yourself, you cannot believe in humanity. You will be unable to see the goodness contained in people's hearts, or the efforts they put forth to create and edify. If you cannot believe in humanity, your world will become bleak and bitter and will crash in upon you. Left to yourself, yet unable to believe in yourself, where do you turn?

I don't spend so many hours getting to know myself for nothing. I don't take the lessons I've learned or the wisdom I've gained and file it away for some far-distant Judgment Bar courtroom appeal. If you ever need any counsel or help or reassurance, or if you ever need to borrow hope, or even if you just want to rant for a while, I'm here. And maybe you'll learn to see how nice it is to feel compassion for someone and to desire to help them out, to recognize the humanity written on everyone's faces; and maybe it will spread. That is decency.

"I'm Not Crazy, I'm Just A Little Unwell"

I can't be the only non-crazy person left in the world. I promise you, any way you look at it, I'm not even qualified to BE sane. Case in point? I have a personal vendetta against APA formatting, supporting (of course; who wouldn't?) MLA instead and dreaming of the day where we can stage warfare involving facepaint and bullets and take those APA fools out.... Like I said, I'm not all there.

So ya know what? Go out today, and treat everyone decently. Think about the decisions you make and how they'll affect people, and just strive for normalcy, or some semblance thereof. I don't mean become boring, because that certainly wouldn't solve anything; just play nice with the other children, okay?

"Viva Las Vegas"

So I went to Las Vegas this weekend. It might not've been the BEST idea to go to Sin City to watch General Conference. Most people migrate IN to Utah this particular weekend in April, instead of the other way around. But it was offered, and I accepted, mostly because I didn't think it through, and the prospect of a road trip held me enthralled. Friday afternoon Bart, Chris, Charlotte, and I took off for the fakest city ever invented, and wow, did we have a glorious beginning. What with Bart's tack in his ear and Chris's megaphone and a whole lotta loud music.

One of my favorite moments--indeed, a moment that basically sums up the entire experience--was when, as we were driving down the Strip and were approaching the Luxor with its glowing light shooting off into the air, I noticed some particles (a lot of particles) floating in the light, and I asked no one in particular what was in the air. Bart's response? "Sin." And hoo boy, was he right. I'd been to Las Vegas twice before, but never like this... and by "like this," I mean staying at the Chapel of the Bells motel right past the Sahara on the strip.

The first night was fun as we were all starving but devoid of cash, and Bart wanted to gamble, and Chris was ready to kill a prostitute to eat, except he was afraid of the herpes he would contract, and we were milling aimlessly about the Strip. I will compare Friday night's Strip outing with Saturday's that was mainly spent sans boys as they were being lectured over the evils of gambling during the Priesthood session of Conference (ah, life's little ironies). Friday night, we were caught in a swarm of intoxicated, poorly-dressed, white trash individuals, a fleck in the sea of humanity swirling about Las Vegas's casino district. Saturday, a drunk man walked up to me in the New York, New York casino, put his arm around me, saluted me with a "Hey, baby," and proceeded to ogle me, as I replied, "Hey," looked at Char, extracted myself, and walked away to collapse with her in a fit of laughter. And to think I ever complained about BYU boys hitting on me. And that was not the only experience of that night with drunk men and ogling.

Saturday during the day, though? Absolutely fantastic. If you can count driving around Las Vegas for two hours looking for a church building in which to watch conference as "fantastic." Bart concluded that God didn't want us to hear that session of conference. We finally did locate a church, though, and in the process became so familiar with downtown Las Vegas that, should you ever need to find anything there, just give one of us a call.

And then we went to eat at Jack in the Box. And didn't want to stop at In-N-Out later that night. Jack in the Box = okay food for way less money than a six inch ham and cheese sub on the strip. In-N-Out = sooo much better than Jack in the Box. I love my life.

People watching in Vegas is fun. The sixteen-year-old thug-like boy carrying a fake baby in a fake car seat was particularly hilarious. The 13,287 women with over-tanned cellulite legs revealed by their too-short skirts went far beyond the realm of hilarious into crying-in-the-corner shameful. Which brings up a point: Why were drunk men checking me out so violently and eagerly? I was fully clothed in some J.Crew pants (Who the heck wears J.Crew on the Strip? Me, apparently) and my "MOVE ON" t-shirt (which Charlotte insists the men were too drunk to read even though they were staring hard enough), and I definitely hadn't showered. Though if I HAD showered, I would definitely have come out dirtier. (Remember, Wedding Bells Chapel motel.) What is wrong with people?? It would've been far more productive for them to have checked out the drunk girls who tried to hit on Bart by making some half-hearted comment about the ESPN Zone and having been there once, the girls having managed to notice his brand-new and very cool hockey jersey that had been purchased from said Zone. You could smell the alcohol on their breath; it was literally stinking up the entire tram car. I'm sure they would've slept with anyone.

And at the conclusion of this post, I'd like to report that I have returned unmarried, unlaid, and unintoxicated; I have neither been sold into prostitution nor lost my virtue, though I am dangerously tired of guys being too stupid and arrogant to believe that girls should and do have opinions. Also: Just because you meet someone one weekend and discuss dating and maybe there is a proposal and talk of marriage does NOT mean it is cool or decent to call said someone up and ask if you and three pals can crash at his place for a couple nights, especially not if the last time you have spoken with this someone, you (or another person acting as you) were telling him that the thought of sex with him made you sick to your stomach and you could never marry him. I don't consider myself a jerk for not calling.

P.S. I saw a Days Inn and laughed myself silly. Not that anyone noticed. Days Inns have that effect on me.

P.P.S. For Char--"I hate my life."

Foods that gross me out:

1. Those green vegetables they give you in mandarin bowls. I've never tried them, but I know they're gross.

2. Carrot cake. Who wants cake made out of vegetables? With vegetable chunks in it? Ick.

3. Chunky peanut butter. No. This should not even exist. I don't want food with chunks in it. I shouldn't have to work so hard to enjoy a sandwich.

4. Pulp. That stuff slithers down your throat, and it's disgusting. Again, it's all about a nice, smooth consistency.

5. Piña colada flavoring. I won't eat anything associated with the stuff. I made Clayton smell my candy cane today to ensure it wasn't piña colada sneaking up on me. They really should label those things; who knows if I might get a gross flavor I refuse to eat?

6. Soggy bread. This includes stuffing. And that English muffin I made for myself a few days ago that kicked off my latest "all food is gross" thing.

7. Corn dogs when I'm on my "all food is gross" thing. Trying to get me to eat again? Corn dogs are not the way. M&M's aren't even the way. I recommend trying mac and cheese.

8. Straight milk. I never developed a taste for it. Maybe someday someone will clue me in on the allure of it, but it's just not good unless it's on Cheerios or very chocolate and very made by the Creamery.

9. Ham. Yeah, I don't like it. Sorry, Mom, I've been lying for years. The stuff is gross. I don't care if it's Christmas. You'll note that I do make an effort to eat it, though.

10. Sweet potatoes/yams/whatevs. Nothing could make those taste good to me. Nothing. Pile them in marshmallows and brown sugar and whatever else, and I will find them and be disgusted.

11. Blackberries. Specifically, blackberry jam, but the whole berry is tainted for me. It goes back to that dislike of seeds or pulp in things. Ewww.

12. Hershey's kisses. It's just not good chocolate. In kiss form it's especially noticeable. I'll eat the bars, though. Well, kinda, it's not like I ever grab a bar of chocolate and start eating it.

13. Any kind of pudding but chocolate. Seriously, tried them all, and nothing is good but the chocolate. White chocolate makes me gag, pistachio is weird and green and has nuts in it, they're all just... not good.

I could go on. My mother definitely had a difficult child on her hands with me; as if the screaming through the night for the first two years didn't alert her to that fact. Good thing I'm living on my own now and can subsist entirely on mac and cheese and pb&j sandwiches.