This is an out-of-body experience.

I hate looking at myself and hating it.

But that's what it is.  I have this small, and getting smaller, part of me that wants to fight it.  That small part that fights so hard to smile when appropriate and laugh when things are supposed to be funny and react like a normal person when in company of others.

Because I deserve to be normal and healthy and not the shadow of myself that I am.

Then there's that other part.  It's all encompassing and smothering.  It hurts to breathe and at the same time it doesn't.  Maybe I'm to that point where the pain stops and the numbness starts and...I'm so lost.

You know how much it hurts to be?  It's worse when your life becomes white noise and static.  It kinda feels like that tightness in the back of your throat when you're about to cry.  But you're not allowed to cry. When you do it's an endless time loop of sobbing and pain and the tears don't stop. You don't even know where they're coming from anymore or why they have to be there, but they are and you have to find a way to deal with it without everyone finding you and pitying you.

Because with pity comes stupid phrases like:
"Happiness is a choice"
"Just cheer up!"
"Jenny, you look better with a smile."
"Good to see you smiling, for once."

Oh sorry, I forgot to put my goddamn face on.  I had a moment where I slipped.  I'm sorry my perpetual depression caused you a moment of discomfort because I wasn't smiling.

I want to rise up and claw the person apart and smile while I do it.  But I can't because I'm tired and in pain and it's just easier to fake a smile and please everyone else.

And maybe that's why I hate being this way.  I'm not a strong person anymore.  I'm not extraordinary anymore.  Nothing stands out.  I've ceased to be anything special.  Maybe I never was.

...and there's no one there.  I have no lifeline.

So I guess I'm watching what's left of me drown.  Even if something pulls me out this time, there will always be a next time, and the time after that, and the time after that....

Things my best friend does...

…trips up the stairs

…likes laundry detergent on facebook

…comes over, then consistently makes my bed for me

…gets weirdly possessive of my bean bag chair

…yells “JENNY JENNY JENNY” across the entire dining hall

…yells “JENNY JENNY JENNY” across…anywhere

…gives me wrong directions, when she’s already using a GPS

…forces me to yell “IS IT CLOSER TO CALIFORNIA…OR TO THE OCEAN?!” When she can’t tell me to take highway east or west.

…trips down the stairs, lands, and stays there, then gets on her laptop.

…tells me that I can just wax her eyebrows for her.

…okay, maybe not the eyebrows, but will I do her nails?

…leaves me in the living room of her house with her family I’ve never been introduced to…because she really had to pee.

…shouts “OH BABY” every time someone says anything remotely sexual.

…and puts up with me.

You know the more I'm told to be positive the more negative I'm going to be.

Is it annoying? Good.  Because you know what? My personality is my decision.

The more I try to be a positive person the more it gets thrown in my face.   People will just return to my past behavior.  You know what people? You don't know why I acted that way.  And you never cared.

So why should I conform to the behavior norms that make you comfortable?  They make me uncomfortable.  You don't need to be around me.  You don't need to read this blog.  There's no reason for you to click that link, if you don't want to.  If you knew me at all, you'd know what you were getting into.

My opinion is mine.  It's certainly not the most hateful opinion on the internet.  Forgive me, I'm not a lovefest.  I believe that I should be able to talk about the things that upset me, annoy me, hurt me, or make me happy.  The proportion of unhappy posts in relation to the happy posts follows my life. It's not meant to be caustic.  Think about that for a second.  If the majority of my posts are unhappy, it means the majority of the time I am unhappy.

What kills me is that the post that gets the most hate is my post concerning pot users.  People completely skate over the whole fact that I was harrassed and bullied on the internet (and in person) over the fact that I simply wouldn't use.  I feel like people can't take a different opinion.  I know it's different.  I don't want marijuana legalized.  I have my own reasons. And yeah, it's a differing, dissenting opinion.  GET THE HELL OVER IT.  It's not the end of the world, and yeah, you don't have to read it.  And get a clue, the last line of that post... is a joke.  That stupid ass phrase was popular at the time and I was making fun.  Because apparently on Blogger everyone takes everything so seriously.

No wonder everyone has a Tumblr now, including me.  It's so much easier to just reblog someone else's material without backlash, because that's literally all it seems to be.
Pictures, gifs...I guess it's harder for people to be offended.  What's the point of words, actual, composed thoughts?
I guess they're no longer worthwhile, because people can't handle it.

Debating on keeping this blog at all.

I smell it in the air...

...the bitter and yet sweet smell of leaves and condensation.  I feel the sharp sting of autumn air on my skin and smile.  It's starting to feel like my genuine smiles are few and far between, but at least I have this moment to myself.

I'm exhausted but the sensory overload energizes me, even if only for a second.  Walking into the dining hall where the smell of heat lamps and disinfectant overrides the fresh smell of outside brings me down.  Tea and a pumpkin muffin bring me back.

The tea feels good in my hands; a small mug I can hold so tightly my fingers overlap.  My head is starting to hurt for the 10th, 11th, maybe 12th day in a row, but what else is new?  Beating the headaches isn't my accomplishment for the day, getting myself out of bed was.

Beaten down, overworked, burned-out, over-tired.  Exhausted, irritable, hopeless and angry.

But as I leave the dining hall and my feet crunch the few leaves that have already fallen, I take a deep breath.  It's made all that much better by the smell of fall in the air, and the coolness of the wind in my throat.

I can do this.

Too hot in my first class...

...friggen FREEZING in this one.

At least now I'm mostly awake.

I've been super busy, going on busier. But that doesn't mean there isn't some funny stuff going on.

Take my friend's birthday party, courtesy of yours truly.

I went to Wal-Mart earlier in the day with one clear goal: Get her an ice-cream cake.  Also...some sort of present?  Didn't know what.

So I'm wandering through Wal-Mart looking for a birthday present thinking that I'm gonna get the ice cream cake last so it doesn't melt.

Totally smart right?

And I'm thinking, what do I really want to get this girl?  The thought popped into my head that I'd just LOVE to give her the chance to beat the crap out of some of the crappy people in her life.  Hahahah....wait.

Idea!






.............So I'm in the pinata section, which is an actual section in the party section at the Leicester Super Wal-Mart, pondering if getting a donkey pinata is advocating animal cruelty.

But pinatas, as it turns out, are friggen' expensive and even though her ResHall is Hello Kitty themed she's not getting a Hello Kitty pinata.

As funny as a beaten Hello Kitty would be.

So the donkey it is.

Everyone knows what you're doing that night when you carry around a pinata and candy.  Everyone.  They think you're having a little kid's birthday party.

And I'm in college, so yeah,  pretty much.

So me and my festive multicolored friend make our way to the ice cream section.   Where they don't have ice cream cake.

So I head over to the bakery section, only to find that the freezer was totally empty.  Cool.  Alright.

I'm looking at the other cakes, including a ridiculously large cookie, and thinking that dammit, all she wanted was a friggen' ice cream cake.

Is that so hard?

Finally I ask, and yay!  Their freezer broke yesterday but they have all the other ice cream cakes in the back in a separate freezer.

So I got the cake, proceeded to check out, and walk into the almost 85 degree heat and to my truck with no AC.

I pretty much raced back to campus to make sure my hard-won cake did not melt.

It doesn't, I get it into the freezer, and as far as I know life is good.

I'm mentioning the party to a couple people at dinner including my new supervisor.  I explain the cake fiasco (because to me it was a fiasco) and finally remember that oh hey, I bought a pinata.  It comes out a little something like this:

"Non-melted ice cream cake.  Good stuff.  Also...pinata"

Now "Also...pinata" is kind of a joke.  All of my program proposals now have to have "also...pinata" somewhere within them.  It's necessary.  Trust me.

I haven't even gotten to the good part.

It's finally time for the birthday party.  We've got the whole thing ready to go, played 50 cent when she walked in:

(Yo Yo Yo Yo, Yo Shorty, it's your birthday...)

Hehe.  We sang Happy Birthday very off-key, and then it was time for the pinata.

I tied the pinata with some ribbon to a sturdy ceiling beam in the basement that is popularly thought to be haunted.  No big deal.

So we get her down there, and I hand her an umbrella (because hey, it's a lot for me to remember that you have to have a STICK to break a pinata).

Andddddddddddd I forgot the blindfold.  But with this particular person, the honor system works fairly well.  She spins 3 times, eyes screwed shut, and swings.

And misses.

Always so funny.  So she swings again.  And clips it.  She's getting frustrated.  She finds it with the umbrella, gears herself up, and SWINGS.

And decapitates the pinata.

The body is sitting on the floor, the head dangling from the ribbon, and the candy is still safely contained within the donkey.

At this point we tell the birthday girl to open her eyes, because man, she's gotta see this.

She opens her eyes, and at our encouragement, starts beating the pinata on the ground with the umbrella.

Are you picturing this?  It was amazing.

...but the pinata still wouldn't break.  I tell her to stop, I pick up the pinata, and tell her to get into the batter's box.

She shifts the umbrella so it's like a baseball bat, I slow pitch the pinata to her, and she swings.

And it exploded.

Candy went flying all over the room, at everyone, and in every corner.  We cleaned it all up and placed it all back into the decapitated head.

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You better believe that she still has that decapitated head in her room.

What does objectivity have to do with plagiarism?

And other questions that float through my mind while listening to this particular teacher.


I hate ramblers.  I'm a rambler.  I hate it.  I'll be talking, jumping topics, all of it apparently relevant to me....it's not.

I hate bad analogies.  It doesn't help if you compare two things that are totally different.

Like objectivity and plagiarism.

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Also, a  traffic ticket isn't negative reinforcement.  It's adding something to decrease a behavior.

Positive Punishment.

Not taking something away to increase a behavior.

Negative Reinforcement.

That really bugs me.  A lot.  As someone who trains beagles constantly, I've realized people don't understand punishment and reinforcement.  Rambling, again.

Listening to a professor ramble drives me nuts.  Is this an important tangent?  Or just a story?  Is it worthy of notes?

Do I include the self-congratulating laughter?

6 classes a week of rambling...



Oh goodie.

It's that time of year again...

So I didn't post about RA training.  I know, weird right?  I think I actually just enjoyed it a lot more this year than any other year.  Figures.  Need posting material, NONE FOR ME.

Okay.

I mean, there was definitely funny moments.  But usually it's my frustration that causes me to turn to my blog and vent.

Not so much this time.

In fact, about 5 days into training, I get a call from my mom.  She's calling because I haven't called her since returning to school and usually by this time she would have had three calls about how frustrating training was and dammit I don't want to do another icebreaker.

But that didn't happen this year.

Except for the icebreakers.  Enough people.  Enough.

Camp was even fun.  Camp!  I was even a vacuum cleaner, and I did the giant swing.

And screamed bloody, bloody murder for the first 15 seconds, but hey, I did it.

No, I'm not going to explain the vacuum cleaner thing, and stop it you dirty minded college kids.  Ew.  That's totally not how RA training rolls.

On a related note:

RA training does roll with BCD's.

Oh BCD's.

For those of you who don't know, BCD stands for behind-closed-doors and is an RA training role-play scenario.

Last year I had to be a panicky friend of a girl OD-ing.  Not so much fun.

This year, I had to play a very very drunk girl coming back from the club.

MUCH more fun.

So me and my fellow actress start our scene stumbling up the stairs.  It's great, I totally dressed up so I'm in a short little dress and heels.  Sometimes when I stumble I'm not acting, but it's ok.

I decided I was going to be a loud, happy, boisterous drunk and started singing a song that's been on the radio fairly often: Whistle by Flo Rida.

If you've heard the song, you know it's one big innuendo.

So I'm trying to whistle, (and failing, because HELLO, drunk girl)  and I stop, realize what I'm singing, and yell out:

"Oh MY GOD THE WHISTLE IS HIS PENIS!"

I don't know how many people cracked up at that, but I was allowed to laugh so it was fun.  I even turned right to the campus police officer that was watching BCD's and said it to his face before stumbling down the hall singing (badly) and swinging into my "room" for the scene.

Once in my room I played up the just-wants-to-throw-up-and-go-to-bed-thing, while the RA's tried to get past my trusty friend.

My poor friend acting in the next room had to be "depressed", and when she would hear my over-exaggerated gagging and retching in the conjoining bathroom and everyone would look over.

Sorry, good job keeping a straight face.  Gold star.

I would then proceed to pass out in the bathroom.  Good times, in the words of one of my favorite people.  GT's.

End Scene, lets do it all again.

But now RA training is over, and it's the first day of classes.  I have two classes with the exact same professor back to back, so I just got the same spiel twice.  Awesome.

But hey, being a senior and all, I know most of the people in my classes and there's none of that awkwardness.

Which if you know me, is definitely saying something.



Ugh, more later.  Gotta get back into the habit, gotta get my writing material.  I'm back at school, so be prepared.



The posts are coming.


 

I'm so excited.

Let me explain why this is indeed, strange.

RA training used to feel akin to pulling splinters out of my nailbeds with my teeth.

I was, and kinda still am, very horribly bad at handling icebreakers.

Yeah, sure, I enjoyed my friends.  I'm not a people person, and never will be an extrovert, but hey, I still have awesome friends.  They like me despite these things.

But at the same time parts of RA training made me feel awkward, exposed and ragged.

That's pretty much changed.

(Except for the icebreakers.  I still think food and movies suffice.)

But now I feel more comfortable and confident.  I trust the other staff to understand when I can't quite handle the overly social-touchy-feely stuff.  They get me.

Not only that, but I've noticed that my talents are appreciated.  RA of the Year over here.  I guess I'm just glad I could receive that kind of recognition while holding onto my distinct style.

No, I'm never going to be a bubbly cheerleader.

Yes, I respect the hell out of the bubbly cheerleader on staff. She's one of my favorite people.

I haven't felt so part of a community since marching band in high school.  And even then, I don't think I could count nearly as many band members as my closest friends as I can the people that are (or were) on the RA staff.

You guys should feel special.

I'm going into my senior year of college.  It's scary.  But I get to start it slow, surrounded by people I trust, and covered in tiny bits of tissue paper as I let the craft fiend in me take over to redecorate Lane.


It's like a tissue paper explosion over here.


Less than 2 weeks left!

Hey, I thought about what you said...

...and decided that bullshit isn't even worth a proper response.

Nostalgia feels like indigestion.

Or that could be the calzone I ate earlier.  Just for those who don't know: it's not a good idea to eat that much calzone if you haven't eaten since the early morning.

So. Much. Calzone.

But anyway.  Nostalgia.  The pain and longing felt for experiences past.

I went to the Laurel Music Camp dance the other night.  The music was terrible (at a music camp, don't even get me started).  But I really missed actually being in high school and participating in musical ensembles with my horn and in my last year, the double bass that was bigger than me.

I avoid concerts now because it hurts to watch.  I miss playing my horn and being part of a group where I knew EXACTLY how I fit in. At least while we were playing.  I mean, it's written on the page.

But that's besides the point.

You know what kills nostalgia?  The feeling that new experiences are ruining the memory of past experiences.  Like horrible music at a dance where you first got to know your current boyfriend of 5 years.  (That's right--FIVE).

Horrible. Music.

Anyway.  It started with the "DJ" attempting to remix tunes that really just sounded like a CD skipping.

....and got worse from there.

Music kids love to dance.  They really do.  It's just that, some of the music was literally impossible to dance to.

Have you ever tried to dance to solo banjo played bluegrass style?
........of course not.

The sheer amount of slow songs was ridiculous.  For a camp that doesn't let boys and girls get close they certainly encouraged it with their music.

I finally tried to address it, but it was clear there was no saving it. I attempted to enjoy a small number of songs I could dance to....I could probably count them on both hands with some fingers to spare.

And then there was the dubstep.  The horribly bad dubstep (and unnecessary adjectives).

WOMP WOMP WOMP

The bass was dropped, and then dropped again, and then again down a flight of stairs for good measure.

Dear friggen....

...I can't even...

See the thing is, I wasn't wearing heels.  My feet shouldn't have hurt.  The way I work is, if I'm enjoying myself enough, I can dance forever.  My feet won't hurt for hours.  But if I'm just standing around...BOOM. Pain and lots of it.

And my feet hurt that night.

And I couldn't help thinking...didn't this use to be better?  More fun?  And exciting?

Was it me, or it, or simply that year's summer hits?
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Whatever.  Introspection feels like a tension headache.

Things that irritate me about Spring.

There are lots of things.

Take this morning, for instance.  I woke up after having the trippy-est dreams of my life and got dressed. It was all good.  I made my way to the door...

...and that's when I heard it.  A cacophony of screaming.  Of crying.  Of WHINING.  And even worse...of laughter.

The entire town's little league teams were gathered on the green across the street.

Oh dear god.

Can't we bug bomb the crap out of that?

So.  Number 1: Little Leagues.  Or more specifically, large gatherings of children.

Plotting my demise.

Children.  I break out in hives around children.  I believe I've already posted about my aversion to Chuck-E-Cheeses.  There's a reason for that.

Me and children have not, and will not EVER mix.

Moving on.

The second.

I'm walking around campus enjoying the nice weather in my T-Shirt and jean shorts.  I'm feeling pretty great wearing flip flops.  My hair is swinging around in a ponytail.  Sound good?

Not.

Enter girl-in-a-sundress-that-looks-100-times-better-than-I-do.

How do they even do that?  Aren't they afraid of the wind blowing it up?  Maybe they don't care? Or they have cute underwear they want to show off.  Maybe.  I don't think even my cutest underwear would make me want a Marilyn Monroe moment though. 

What gets me the most though: it looks effortless.

You see, when I wear anything resembling a skirt, or something dressed up or whatever----I get shocked stares.  And "oh wow you dressed up!" or "Jenny you look good today!"

How I must look when I wear something besides a hoodie.

Because I clearly don't any other day.  For once I would just like people to SHUT UP and not draw attention to the fact that my jeans are always covered in muddy pawprints/paint and my tops are always covered in beagle fur (and quite possibly more pawprints).

I do LIKE to look good.  I just don't like to ruin my good clothes.  But hey, staring at me like I'm in the transformation scene of another teen movie is encouraging.

It tells me I can't make friends until I change.

.............yeah Grease.  I'm looking at you.  Horrible moral to YOUR story.  How about that one?

Anyway.  It's not even that they are in a sundress.  They have MULTIPLE cute spring outfits.  I'm stuck on my jeans.  I don't think I own a casual sundress.

It's not like I can...

....nooo....

No. My prom dress won't work.  Stop even thinking it.

Anyway.

Everything I have is either toooo fancy or...jeans and a hoodie.  I don't think I own a single cute sundress.

I do have one long one.

But who does that to go to class? Other people.  Not this girl.  People would try to take my temperature if I tried.

Because I don't do that crap.

Again, MOVING ON.

Scenario #3:

I'm walking around. I like my legs I guess.  They're covered in scars and crap, and my knees are kind of knobbly, but I think knobbly knees is cute right?

Oh. Right. Only on baby animals.  Got it.

SO WHAT THE HECK DO I CARE IF THEY'RE TAN OR NOT?

Gah.

Anyway.  People are always working on their tans.  Base tans, Golden Tans, Tanning Beds, Tan Lines, whatever.

And I get a whole bunch of slack either because my legs are really white.

OR

...because my arms are always tanner than everyone else's.

Pick. One.

And stop obsessing!  I like to lie outside in the sun too.  Whatever. But I've come to terms with the fact that my legs will never be perfect.

Even if I do get "the perfect tan" they will still be scarred, bruised, knobbly and probably covered in bug bites.

It's my life.

There. Right there. There's a bruise. See? That's my life legs.

I think I'm done.

There are lots of things that still irritate me about spring, but right now I need a shower.

It's ranting time.

Also, I'm on vicodin (YAY tearing my throat apart!) and it took my 3 tries to type the word "also". ...And another two.

So here's the deal.

If you have to write every-single-goddamn-facebook-status about your relationship: you're trying too hard.

You want attention.

"You're SOOOOOOOOOOO in LURRRRRRRVEEEEEEEEEEEE."

Eff that.

You're an attention whore.  It's annoying.  I don't want to hear anymore about what is supposed to be private.  You're not "with the cutest boy everrrrrrr!"

Pah-lease.  I don't think anyone in my friends list is winning beauty contests around the world.  Not that they should be, but whole creeper albums of you and what's-his-name is rather annoying.

Not that I don't get the warm-fuzzies (4 tries) for my boyfriend. I do.  He's awesome.  However, I don't need to post friggen' essays on facebook about it.

People already know.

It's been almost 5 years.

But what's better is if people don't CHOOSE to know, and CHOOSE to ask me about it: you really aren't aware (3 tries) of my relationship status.

You don't know the nice things (2 tries) Don does for me.  That doesn't mean I can't be happy for them.  You know, WITHOUT TELLING THE ENTIRE WORLD.

Gah.  Trying to type.  It's so nice outside. Can't I go out there?  I think I rant (I automatically tried to type RENT) better outside.

Meh.

Anywayyyyyyyyyyyyyys.

I get that whole "I'm in love and it's new and I want to shout it off the rooftops and I can't control myself" feeling.

I really do.

What I don't get, is why you don't friggen' control it because it annoys the rest of the world.

You know why there aren't more people standing on top of roofs yelling about LOVEEEEEE?

Because they understand how fricken' annoying it is.  SO annoying.

The sad part is we don't even need rooftops anymore.
.......Enter facebook.

Dear friggen god.  I have deleted people because they will go on and on in a status (think- multiple paragraphs).  It's terrible to start.

.......................As if that's not enough, they start commenting on their own status. With more paragraphs of mush and overly graphic descriptions of feelings.

It's like they are building a manifesto. My god.  I love my boyfriend, I do- but I tell HIM that.  Not everyone. In paragraph form.  On a social networking site.

Because let's face it.  NONE of our relationships are going to be made into the next Nicholas Sparks' movie.

Not even if you write enough for the next Nicholas Sparks' novel.
So stop it.
Now.
You're obnoxious (5 tries).

You know what?  I bet you're about as in love as these two:

"I know what you are."
"Say it!"
"SAY IT OUT LOUD!"
"Overly-disclosing attention whore!"

Not that I should be that bitch that judges other people's relationships.  Wow I feel bad. I'm a jerk.

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Wait, no I don't... because I WOULD HAVE NOTHING TO JUDGE IF YOU WOULD JUST SHUT UP.

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You know, I think this may have to do with my hate for tiny facebook hearts.  I think this is a big psychological issue for me.  Damn little hearts.

YOU DON'T MEAN LOVE! You don't- little hearts!

Anyway.  If no one is commenting with congratulations on your new relationship or they are finally glad to see you happy (read: you've been on the relationship merry go round and you didn't exactly stay on the same horse the whole time): you need to stop posting. Facebook has made everyone have shorter attention spans and no one cares about the amount of friggen flowers you got today except for you.

You think the other girls are jealous? Try again.  They all smell desperation.  We're bitches like dogs.  We smell fear (and desperation, that too).

So stop having the female version of a pissing contest (that no one is really participating in) and get yourself together.

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I'd just like to take the time to note that this does NOT apply for those girls with significant others in the hospital, fighting disease or other major hardship, or deployed in the armed forces or oversees.

If you're posting about that, you want support, not frivolous attention. And I get that.  This whole rant is not about you girls.

BUT FOR THE LOVE OF GOD EVERYONE ELSE STOP IT!

Awkward Mouth-Breathing.

It's just great.  Wonderful.

Apparently I have a sinus infection.  It's what I thought was a cold until around day 10 or so of epic grossness. My mom enjoyed yelling "I TOLD YOU SO" through the phone.

I was the one nice enough to call her and tell her she was right.   So yeah.  You should be nicer about it Mom.

So it would be all well and good if I wasn't in a play this weekend.  Where I didn't have to sing.  Where I didn't  have to belt out a high note halfway through, or just belt in general.  Where I didn't have to look alive and act like I'm not a snotty mess.

But hey, I am.

So after being miserable for over a week I finally went to the doctor and got some antibiotics.  Friggen' horse pills.  They're like the size of my eyes.

....I don't have very big eyes.

But the point is they are painful to swallow when it already hurts to swallow.

At least they work.

Despite my sinus infection, I've found ways to have fun this week.  Trips to Wal-Mart are essential when putting on a play, and I had to make a stop for antibiotics and tights.

As I had just picked up my friend NICK, he was with me.  Apparently he has a thing for claw machines.  I never got into that personally.  I don't like to watch things eat my money and then, as if that wasn't bad enough, taunt me with toys that I cannot have because I have no skill.

But NICK does.  He won a bunny.  Which I claimed.  And we named "Roger" after his character in the play.

Roger, Joanne, and Bunny-Roger

Bunny Roger sings RENT songs in an annoying high pitched bunny voice.

"One songggggggggg, GLORYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY"

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"You'reeeeeeeeeee EYESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS"

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"You're living in AMERICAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA"

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Not Bad.

RENT is tomorrow and I had to make a bright outfit for La Vie Boheme.  Thanks for the new shirt Mom, because.....

I'm wearing it for La Vie Boheme.

EVERYONE SHOULD GO TO RENT TOMORROW OR SUNDAY IN DANIEL'S HALL AT 7

That's all folks.

I'm sitting in the library...again.

So.... funny pictures in my downloads folder:

I love the Weasley twins, you can't have them.

Get it? I died laughing.

.....Sorry Don.

I Llove this picture!

Every beagle to ever exist ever.

I found a whole bunch of tumblr and other pages dedicated to RENT and my character...Joanne.

...but it would be in your best interest to "take me".

Can I put GIFs on my blog? I'm about to find out...

OMG I CAN.

I love my character.

We all know who wears the pants here.

The TANGO MAUREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEN!

You're joking...right?

I'm going to crack one day and break out in song...

Because as I'm listening to RENT I'm resisting the urge to jump up on the table and scream at "my Maureen".

You may already know I'm playing Joanne.

However, I look a little different than that.

I'm not even listening to one of my songs right now and I'm grooving in my seat.  In the library.  I don't think anyone can see me.

I'm listening to "Today 4 U"

And loving it.

But you know my favorite song?  "Take Me or Leave Me".  Because it's kinda true.  And there's nothing more self affirming then getting in someone else's face and being like:

"Bitch.  I am awesome: get with it or get over it."

Those are not the lines.  But close enough:

"It wont work!

I look before I leap

I love margins and discipline

I make lists in my sleep

Baby what's my sin?

Never quit - I follow through

I hate mess - but I love you

What to do

With my impromptu baby

So be wise

'cuz This girl satisfies

You've got a prize, that don't compromise

You're one lucky baby

Take me for what I am"

WHO I WAS MEANT TO BE!

My closed-off, bitchy, introverted, know-it-all, sarcastic, bookish, and crazy self.  Sometimes I'm brash, offensive, and inconsiderate.  Other times I'll be the best listener you've ever met.  It's all one person.

So take me BABY,  or leave me.

It's been a month.

Maybe my life was interesting in that month.  Not so much.  One or two things.  But overall?  Meh.  My life is as it's always been, with a few curve-balls thrown in.

"You can get addicted to a certain kind of sadness".  Hmm.  Funny lyrics on my Pandora.

Anyway.

I'm still a typical college student.  I still do stupid things and way too much homework (not enough sleep).

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Anyway.

I'm officially graduating my Associate's Degree in Animal Care in May.  Should be exciting right?

All I can think about is that I won't be a double major anymore.  I've always been a double major.  I'll be...just a Criminal Justice major.

That's it.

Nothing else.

The concept is weird and foreign to me.  If I had space in my schedule I'm pretty sure I'd take up a minor just to make myself feel better about losing my other major.  I'm that special kind of insane I guess.

Well.  I guess I'm not losing it.  I'm getting a degree.  That's a little different.

Part of me knows that I should be super pumped.  I'm sure I will be...later.

But right now?  I'm indulging in my special brand of insane.

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Maybe my parents realized my dilemma because over spring break...they got me a car.

More specifically, a truck.

More specifically then that, a teal green Ford Ranger with scratches in the ceiling from the previous owner's two pit bulls.

This one, specifically.

I'm pretty sure I just had a constant stream of....

Lots of profanity.  

"NO EFFING WAY!   NO EFFING WAY!    NO EFFING WAY!    NO EFFING WAY!    NO EFFING WAY!    NO EFFING WAY!    NO EFFING WAY!    NO EFFING WAY!    NO EFFING WAY!    NO EFFING WAY!    NO EFFING WAY!    NO EFFING WAY!    NO EFFING WAY!    NO EFFING WAY!    NO EFFING WAY!    NO EFFING WAY!    NO EFFING WAY!    NO EFFING WAY!    NO EFFING WAY!    NO EFFING WAY!    NO EFFING WAY!"

That went on for a good ten minutes before I actually got in the car and drove it.  My mom only got irritated with my language around 5 minutes in to my really unimaginative rant.  

I mean really.  "No f*****g way!"?

I guess you could say I was caught a little off guard.  I was practically skipping around the house.  My rabbit disapproved greatly of my boisterousness...

...boisterousness is a great word.

...Anyway.  He glared at me until I gave him a yogurt drop and nose rubs.  Which clearly, in his opinion, should have taken precedence over the presence of a new-to-me car. 

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What else has happened?  I'm gonna be a RA again.  In Lane.  Again.  Which is what I wanted.  If you don't remember...

THIS is my room.  Would you want to leave?

I'm pretty sure I have to move all of my stuff OUT, and then back IN though.  

Which sucks.

A lot.

I have A LOT of stuff.

Which is all distributed haphazardly around my room.

I need to clean.

Later people.

Probably won't post for awhile.

Going off the grid.  Don't ask.  It doesn't really matter to you anyways.
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It's not like your life will be all that different.

Here's some pictures to make it up to you:

Hope it made you laugh.

On the downhill.

I do that.  I'll get really social, hanging out with people, and then I'll realize that I actually really do need time to myself because the more I am social the more tired I get.

Even if it's fun.
Even if I love who I'm with.

Sometimes I just need to be left alone.

...That and... certain people drive me crazy.

Have you ever been around a group of people that seems to all love each other....when everyone's present?

And then as soon as one person isn't there, it's an all out bitch-fest.

That person is clingy/annoying/repetitive/stupid/irritating/useless....whatever.  On and on and on.  And as soon as that person is back everyone is friendly.

Seriously?

Unfortunately, despite some of these rather unfortunate behaviors, I still like the people.  All of them.  Even those poor people that get unknowingly ostracized.

I guess that makes me an idiot.  Add that to the list of character traits you've probably already figured out from reading.

But what do you do? Tell that person?  Let them know that everything is not as it seems? What if they're happy?  Do I really want to be that person that ruins everything? Or am I just cowardly?

I guess this is why I can never truly be part of a group of friends.  I'm like a shared electron.

One atom, another atom, and yet another...always in orbit and never permanent.  I'm not the inner circle.  Ever.

 .........Maybe that's wrong.  Scientifically.  I was never into that crap anyway.

I could never be part of the inner circle.  People would notice when I retreated into myself and show concern.  Even if it's totally false concern.

Nah.  Better to be on the outside.
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Who knows.  In your group of friends, you may be that person.  The one that thinks everything is great, until you walk away.  Better to just stay away right?

I may have an anxiety issue.

I was thinking about this yesterday, as I was lying in bed hoping for sleep so I could escape my headache.

People have even posed the theory that anxiety causes my headaches.  Some of these people are the same people that expect so much from me. Funny...that.

I don't have full-blown panic attacks, not really.  Not unless I'm trying to do math homework.  Because let's be real, math makes me a helpless, writhing, scarred individual wishing for mercy.

Stripper  Dog Trainer

But really, anxiety attacks are not my normal.  I can keep my cool.  I only have maybe 3 mental breakdowns a semester.  

That's not too bad for a double major with a 4.0. 

Not to mention, I go through the same thing every time.  Pacing.  Loud music.  Crying.  Calling boyfriend.  Screaming at boyfriend that I'm not coming out of my room for a week.

Then the next day he'll call and check on me....am I going to class?  I'll sheepishly say yes.  

It's the same every time.

Maybe it's because I keep my cool too much.  

And it's all bottled up.  And it's expressed in headaches...and an intense hate for obnoxious people. 

It's something that's natural I think.  We all know I'm not an optimist.  I see the dark side of everything.  I assume I'll lose, but I try to win.  If I get optimistic I swear it's the only time I'm truly crushed. So I'll hedge my bets and be pleasantly surprised if things turn out great.  And if they don't?  I get to say "I told you so".  There's a special satisfaction in that phrase.

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There's this thing my mother and I go through all of the time.  I'll start over-thinking something.  It's the way I work.  I would rather think of everything beforehand then be surprised (it kinda sucks when I guess my birthday/Christmas presents a month beforehand though).

So I'll be worrying out loud. 

"What if....?

"...What if?"

"BUT what if?"

All of these possible outcomes swirl around my head.  I have to find solutions to the ones that are impossible to solve.  And I know it.  But I worry anyway.  Because, I know I don't have the answer....so WHAT IF that happens?  I'M SCREWED.

My mom will get frustrated with me and try to tie me back down to earth.

"Not WHAT IF, Jenny, WHAT IS", she'll say.

I'll pause for a second.  Absorb the wisdom.  Do such a good job absorbing it that it dissolves in my brain.  I stop for all of 10 seconds....

"................but WHAT IF"

And I'm sure at this point my mom is contemplating how much she would hurt tomorrow if she picked me up and threw me out the window.

The point is, I don't think I can stop.  I have so many things going on, that I'm always going to worry.  I'll worry about events, people, animals, obligations, deadlines, sleep, studying, grades, work, other work, more work, and then if I have time I might worry about me some more.

And as I get things accomplished it gets a little better, only to start a new day with new stress.  It's just the way my life is.

My "easy" days always end up with me running around doing one thing after another.  Sometimes I feel like the only time I sit down is in class.

And that's not even that comfortable.  My feet like to fall asleep.  Hobbling out of class is always so awkward.

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I may have an awkwardness issue.

For whatever reason...

I keep falling behind on posts this week.

Apparently I average out to every-other-day.  That's pretty good I guess, gives everyone something to laugh at (even if that something is me, rather than the blog).

But I was sick as a dog yesterday....

        ....hold up.  Let's examine that real quick.  Who is really "sick as a dog"?  Why haven't we gotten that dog help?  Do you see sick dogs everywhere?  Where did that phrase come from?

No, I'm not going to look it up and post it here.  Have some initiative and look it up yourself if you're curious.

But anyway, I was in bed, trying to sleep, for most of the day.

Happy RA appreciation day to me.

Not.

However, I went to a RA inservice and found out I'm getting a bonus on my stipend for my 4.0.

Happy RA Appreciation day to me.

YES.

So I get that check Friday and I will no longer be broke.  It's a wonderful feeling, not being broke.
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I've really got nothing to write about.  I'm just kinda blank today.
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No really, come back later.

Just in time for Valentine's day...

I want to talk about a pet peeve of mine.

And by pet peeve, a mean arch-nemesis of the facebook universe.

That is, of course, the little heart you can make by entering < and then 3.

Screw those little hearts: ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥


I hate them.

It's not just the hearts.  It's the way people use them.

If it was an incident where the heart was appropriate, like saying "I love you ♥ " it wouldn't be so bad.

But it never is.

It's all that preppy, girly, crap.

       Love late Friday Nights  ♥
       OMG Jersey Shore  ♥
       Painting Nails  ♥
     
You know the type.

I can't stand it.  That, and song lyrics as a status.  When combined, it's unbearable.  I literally look at the sopping mess of melodrama and gag.

Please stop.

Your life is not that dramatic.  For one, the song probably isn't even about what you think it's about.  And then you have to add the heart.  Regardless of what the song is about.

I literally read the lyric...and then read "heart". Ew.  Even if the song lyric has nothing to do with love.  And you add a heart.

Do you like "heart" the song?
The artist?
The song content? (which is pretty weird, considering some of the crap you write)

The worst offenders of course are teenage girls, followed by the annoying facebook couple, followed by the overdramatic college chick.

STOP USING THE GODDAMN HEARTS.


That is all.  Have a happy Valentine's day.  Without the goddamn hearts.

I fall like it's an art form.

So the weekend is over.  I have to be on a 7:30 am shuttle tomorrow, and my day probably won't wind down until around 11 at night.

Such are my Tuesdays.

But what a weekend it was.

I woke up on Saturday morning (if you could call it that, it was almost noon), and proceeded to walk across our minuscule campus to the dining hall.  I found a group of friends and sat down with them.

Almost immediately (or at least, it felt like it) I was accosted with
           "Are you going ice skating with us today!??!?!?!?!?!"

Oh god.

I mumbled something about getting food before I answer any difficult questions.

Once I was full of french toast and eggs, I (for whatever reason) agreed to go ice skating.

I know, I know.  This is my fault and the fact that my shoulder STILL doesn't feel quite right is all on me.

But I digress.

We agree to meet up on the shuttle at 12:45, leaving me all of 20 minutes to get myself together to go ice-skating.

The first thing I do is change out of the jeans I'm wearing.  They have buttons on the back pockets and the image of having buttons surgically extracted from my butt from falling repeatedly is not a pleasant one.  I change into sweatpants, find some gloves, and brace myself for the inevitable pain.

After all, last time I tried something new and athletic with friends I ended up with a skinned knee and abs that hurt for days.

Flag football, psh.

You remember this?  Me too.

ANYWAY.

I went ice-skating.  

First I got the skates, and hooray!  They look better then the goddamned shoes you rent for bowling, though not by much.

I get onto the ice...

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Let me tell you something right now.  They tell you it's like rollerblading.  If you've been rollerblading, you'll know how to ice-skate.

FALSE.

If you've been rollerblading it just means you have a false sense of security that is dashed on the planes of slippery, slippery death beneath you.

So I'm skittering around like a fool, and I remind myself of those poor dogs and cats that wear snow booties for the first time.  They don't know what to do with their feet so they just stand still and glare at you.

Look at that glare of utter disdain.
Wait, hold up- LOOK AT WHAT THAT CAT IS WEARING!
Bahahahahha!

It was a free skate session, so I did have to move somehow:

                     Hi Wall, I'm Jenny.  Don't mind me groping you--- It's a necessity.


Eventually I did get moving, and I actually started doing pretty well. 

Until I felt the skates actually start to bend beneath me. 

........Really, it's no issue, I don't mind broken ankles.

After confirming that indeed, my skates were screwy, I got hockey skates and tried again.

MUCH better.  And by better I mean I was upright and moving.  Let's not get too ahead of ourselves.

Remember what I said about confidence?  And getting dashed on the ice?

Yeah, it happened.

I was zooming along, somewhat enjoying myself.  I'm minding my own damn business when this friggen old dude showing off zooms in front of me skating backwards, shoving me to the side.  

Well I had two options: take out a row of kids---and fall.

OR I could just fall.

I got the middle.  Trying not to get anyone, I still caught another girls skates.  At least she was my age. 

Fall #1, accomplished.

I moved my shamefaced and bruised-butted self off the ice for awhile.

.....until I went back out.

I'm upright and moving.  That's an accomplishment.

However, my friend taking the picture wanted all of us to turn and look at her.  I'm pretty sure I was yelling something about her being crazy.  I mean, turn my whole head, don't watch where I'm going, and SMILE for a picture?

Dream on,  Dream on.

Anyway.  I actually start to do quite well.  I'm more watchful of the showoffs, and I find out that I'm certainly not the only one knocked down by egotistical men in a midlife crisis.

And then something happened. 

I started to go around the turn.  I'd done several laps, but I don't know what was different this time.  All I know is I felt one of my ankles start to turn of its own accord, betraying me.  I imagine I looked quite ridiculous.

I managed to spin, and then fall promptly on my face.

I even got ice-shavings down my shirt.

And on that note, I decided to call it a day.

I sat in the stands for the remaining hour, and watched people get knocked over by the showoffs. 

.................It's much more enjoyable when you're not the one falling.

You would think that the achy, pulled, and bruised muscles would be the worst injury of the day...but no.

I wouldn't let you guys down like that.

I smashed my finger in a door...and ruined my BRAND NEW COAT OF NAIL POLISH.

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And that's where I'm gonna leave it.  Part II of this post up soon I guess.