I Will Admit It, I Use An Anti-Wrinkle Cream, And I Don't Even Have Wrinkles - Yet

My concept of Zion (Zion, you know, perfect city, no poor, everyone is decent to each other - don't you kids read anymore?) is a place where we don't have to wash our faces every night, stripping them of moisture they naturally produce, because it's bad for our faces, and then religiously reapplying a different, man-made moisture, because our faces need to be moisturized. Is this process not zany to anyone else? And yet, it's not something I've been suckered into. I don't pay ten bucks for a bottle of lotion because some smart advertising firm has decided to sell something I don't need to me. It's completely necessary!

Except my concept of Zion used to be a place that had those divided paper plates, and then I went to a Baptist barbecue with a friend of mine, and there were divided plates there, and the irony struck me pretty hard. Like getting smacked with a two-by-four hard. So maybe I need to think more before I just start theorizing about what Zion will be like when everyone reaches their full awesomeness potential, although divided plates and no need for paying for external moisturizers WOULD make for a pretty rad city.

Ah, human physiology, you truly are the most whimsical of sciences. And here everyone thought it was astronomy, because no one really knows the difference between astronomy and astrology.

Someday, when I have a disposable income, I am going to waste my money on leatherbound books.

It's comforting to have a plan.

A Little Bit Black Sheep, Perhaps

It is a great thing to be a skinny girl in America. I get attention for something that I happen by completely naturally (not that I don't also work hard at improving upon my genetic lot), and this being America, and the obesity rate being what it is, I'm not exactly a dime a dozen, either.

And now I'm going to spend the rest of my day hiding out in my room reading books and conducting a science experiment, because I like that far better than meaningless comments from boring strangers.

I Really Like Those Endorphins

There is definitely something to be said for running after a full, long grueling day, getting a cramp, and then powering through that sucker because, what, is a little bit of wrenching abdominal pain going to slow you down? Not a chance.

It's The Little Things

The corporate world has been robbing me of my creativity and whimsy and, you know, DRIVE - so today I thought I would fight back a little. I'm in my third day of training at a company who shall remain nameless, because I do not think they would hesitate to fire me for expressing an opinion online. And I have a feeling Jamie Dimon might be a bit of a googler. Anyway. So I've been in training for three days, and it's pretty dry stuff. So today we were supposed to fish around on the company "Intranet" (I feel so dumb even typing that word) and, um. Find things? Learn all about "links" and the magic they contain? And we had a scavenger hunt. Way to ruin a perfectly good scavenger hunt with the doldrums of a company intranet. Putting "Scavenger Hunt" at the top of a photocopied worksheet is not going to change it into something exciting that your employees will care about.

So I took some recent legal counsel to heart, and I answered each question with faultlessly vague answers. And I may have at one point implied that the company was not very wise in letting me have all this information so conveniently at my fingertips. Pretty much I treated their worksheet like a Myspace survey; and at the end of the day, I held my head up high.

And I Am Finally Seeing, Why I Was The One Worth Leaving

The last step in getting over someone is discovering all the things you did that hurt them. Confronting those wrongs, your flaws; and in that realization, something changes. And you can finally leave.

I used to believe, vainly, that this Nietzsche quote applied to me: "Independence is for the very few, [for those] not only strong, but also daring to the point of recklessness. He enters into a labyrinth, no one can see how and where he loses his way, becomes lonely, and is torn piecemeal. And he cannot go back." But I was never really lost before. I was never lonely. I had my gang of misfits, and my gang of ideas. They evaporated in the hot light of his cynicism. I can't call him anymore, and my friends don't want to hear about him or what he thinks — in the end, they decided he's too cocky, proprietary, doesn't recycle. Our love affair was a thrilling voyage into hostile territory, and now I'd returned home — to the things I think, to the things I know — and it didn't feel like home anymore. I can't make it in his world — can't afford it for one thing, don't like it for another — but I no longer wanted to be in mine. Having fallen into a void, now I was lost, now I was lonely. Now I was free.

-Lisa Carver

Rules on Driving

Here are my thoughts on passing on the right: It is completely acceptable, as long as you do it like I do.

I know, I know it's illegal, but sometimes it's also necessary, and so what do you do? Simple. Say you're on a three-lane highway and the person in front of you inexplicably slows down to an unacceptable speed. The lane to your left is completely clogged with fast-paced traffic largely unwilling to make room for you. But the lane to your right is completely open! Too bad passing on the right is illegal. But lane-changing is not.

So before switching lanes, I think to myself, Oh! Right lane! You look pretty good right now. Fierce really. I like that. I think I'll come for a visit. And then I drive on it for a while, passing well ahead of Mr. Slowbeans. And then I think, You know, Right Lane, I liked you much better before. I think our time is up. And I merge back into my original center lane, where I prefer to be. And no illegal acts committed, because of my very deliberate and conscious thought.

And also, why would you be going 45 mph on 495? Do you have a death wish?

We're Not The Same, Dear, As We Used To Be

I am still consistently amazed at how happy I am. People ask me how I'm doing, and my response of, "Good! Really, really good!" isn't hiding anything, it's just the plain, simple truth. I am doing really, really good. I don't even care that that's not grammatically correct, THAT IS HOW GOOD I FEEL.

I had one low moment soon after I moved home, and that was my first in a while, and it hasn't been repeated since. Frustrating things happen, and I get through them just fine. I almost got lost in the backcountry of Smithsburg and had to become a mountain man for the rest of my life, because I thought I sure wouldn't find my way back to civilization. But I retraced my steps just fine, discovered the error I'd made in the dark, and even figured out why my directions weren't taking me where I needed to go. All while laughing.

It occured to me a while ago while I was listening to an album I really like (Brand New, "The Devil and God are Raging Inside Me"), when I thought to myself, That will never be me. I will never again be the mess and jumble of heartsick, disastrous emotions over love, or anything else really. I worked hard at getting myself stable and healthy, but that meant giving up the huge, passionate bursts of feeling. And I wondered to myself if I would ever regret the loss.

I regret the loss. I regret the loss of a lot of things; I'm not one of those people who doesn't believe in having regrets, but also, mine are different. I feel those losses, keenly, but in facing the decision again, I would make the same one every time. I am where I am supposed to be, I am convinced of that. And even if I don't know where I am going, because I haven't the slightest clue, well. I am happy right now. And I will treasure that.

I'll Admit It, All Those Fancy Badges Are Kind Of Intimidating

I thought Buena Vista was overrun by police people. I thought it was probably the most overrun by police people locale in the entire history of ever. And then I moved back to Frederick. This place is crawling with cops! I counted and saw five different cars just in the four blocks I walked to a boutique in town in happen to like. Four blocks, five police cars, and still people are allowed to behave like complete tools. I wish that were an arrestable offense.

On a side note, I almost went back to one of the nice police women just to tell her I thought she was really pretty. But then I thought better of it. But really, she was pretty, and she looked way too nice to be wielding a gun and a badge.

Password Frustration

If Sallie Mae wants to make it so difficult for me to make payments to them, then I will stop paying them. And when they contact me to let me know I have an overdue balance, I will tell them that the mirey swamp of their payment system has left me a lost, wandering savage, and they probably should send a search party if they really want my cold, hard cash. Also, they should pay ME for the time I spent on their website, trying to get my dang password to work. I use two passwords very, very consistently. One is for the nice websites that don't require letters and numbers. One is for the skanky websites that demand a combination of both, like someone would be able to guess my password anyway. My alphanumeric password is FAR easier to guess, because I have to be sure I'll remember it. And the pure numeric PIN I had to choose for Sprint, that could not be in any way related to my birth date or Social Security number? I made it a math joke. A math joke that no one down at Sprint headquarters got, even though I had to tell it to half a dozen of their employees to get my account activated.

Anyway, so the password I KNEW was my password wasn't working, so I had to answer all sorts of security questions, and once I ran that guantlet, I got to pick a new password. So I picked the password I always use, and guess what? Couldn't use it. Because you're not allowed to input for the new password whatever your old password had been. Meaning that password I tried inputting five different times, and it kept rejecting me? Yeah, it was my password the whole time, but the ol' whore Sallie Mae just didn't like the way I typed it. I guess.

I am moving to the mountains.

Wikipedia Can Help You with Those Philosophical Terms I Threw out There Like Everyone Knows or Cares

It's a little strange to me that the boy who mocks people for valuing anything material should be so crazy about his car. Crazy about it to the extent of bragging. But there you are.

To me, everything is material (I'm a materialist, philosophically; it comes from being a Mormon), so you have to care about SOMETHING that's material. I realize I'm equivocating, but I think possessions and progress can be very good things. Thoreau and I would not be the greatest of friends, and I'm okay with that. I believe in living in the world, and connecting with people, and all those grand things that can come from a life not spent alone in the woods.

Don't Think I'm Ready To Settle, Though

I was sitting by myself in church yesterday, my mother having scurried away some minutes before to run back home and procure the bag she needed, and the service was winding down, when I found myself with a little visitor.

There was a family with kids sitting a few pews ahead of me, and the little boy, about three or four, wandered back to my pew. He draped his arms over my knees, put his head down on my lap and started playing with the bracelet around my wrist. I just put an arm around him and played with his fuzzy hair and felt my heart melt around my bones.

If the Church really wanted to get us married faster, they wouldn't sequester the single people in small groups together, to get bored and frustrated with the small-minded maneuvering and shallow manipulations of everyone else around them. They'd keep us in family wards to be surrounded by the loud, frustrated wailings of parents and children and those raw, brilliant moments when it all becomes worthwhile.

Goooooo Science!

My mother stole my barometer to hang in the living room, and I don't know if I was more jealous or so, so pleased. I mean, MY barometer should hang out with me, in my room, telling me all sorts of fascinating things about the current pressure and humidity and stuffy bedroom temperature. On the other hand, my mom likes it enough to want to hang it where she can see it, and that's a high five and a half in my book. Plus, I'm tired of living with people who are constantly weirded out by the phallic symbol on my wall, no matter how many times I try to explain.

I Caved, And Other Stories

And now you will always, always know.

The very very first thing I unpacked was my computer. I didn't arrive back in Maryland until about 11:30 p.m., so I didn't bother hauling everything in, but I made sure I had the important stuff, goshdarnit! I also found my sheets and brought those in too, in case I felt like doing a little sleeping at some point.

Who am I kidding? Today was seriously one of the least fun days of my life. I thought I'd gotten so much more done than I actually had, and the problem was that I didn't realize I even had a problem until I got well into packing. It was one of those, "Oh, not much more to do - wait, I still have to do that...and that other thing...and oh yeah, I can't forget to do that" situations. On top of bagging everything up and throwing it down the impossible stairs of my apartment and bending all rules of physics and human anatomy just to get the front door open with my load, I also managed to squeeze time into my day to serve my country.

Alright, maybe I've been overdosing on 24 lately (I have, it's true, but 24 is the drug that WON'T ruin your life and drive all your friends away one by one), but I did do something pretty handy for a friend of mine, who was stuck at school doing a humanitarian project. Stuck was his word, too, so don't even try to start judging me. I went to the school, got some money and his student I.D., then went to Hardee's to grab him some lunch. Our local Hardee's, apparently, gives out student discounts. Ricky's idea would be for me to just sort of wave his I.D. at the cashier with my thumb covering the photo-like, and no one would be any wiser to our scheme. Instead I just told her that I was fetching lunch for a lazy friend (hi, Ricky!), and here was his I.D., and she waved me onward. That's probably the first and last time I'll ever be telling the truth, so I'm glad it worked out so well for me.

Oh, and then a psychotic bumblebee started following me around. I can't even explain, you really just had to be there. Come to think of it, I'm glad you weren't, because hoo boy, was I a girl. Igh. Oh, well.

And now I'm home. And the cat is asleep next to me, and my computer is merrily lighting my dark bedroom with its soothing blue fan lights, and things are just pretty happy for me.

Let's see how the Career Event tomorrow goes.