Frequently, Em, Kate and I sit around and wonder, "When did this happen?" It is often when we are doing something ridiculous, like driving around singing odd songs, or all squeezing into my bed. Often, I wonder "How did this happen," as we are sooooo completely and totally different. I know that opposites attract, but I didn't think it possible to have three polar opposites all click the way we do. Their friendship, however, has taught me to think less and laugh more, and make the little things add up; that charm and wit can travel the miles and have the same effect, and 280 miles apart or just across the room, they can make me light up. They were the finale of an amazing summer, making something I thought was sensational into an experience that I consider to be the most deeply-rooted, profound, sense-of-self insipring days of my life.
My first memory of Kate:
On the first day of staff training we were all split up into groups (not our color groups) and my group sat in a circle on the hill behind Copneconic Lodge, and Chris was our leader. I remember wrinkling my nose at brown-haired with glasses girl whose "silly fact" was that she didn't like belly buttons. However, when she mentioned that she liked dilly beans I knew that my nose wrinking had been in vain. Anybody who likes dilly beans is ok in my book.
My first memory(ies) of Em:
I remember talking with Em in Mohawk, and she walked without moving her arms and her chin in the air. I braided her hair when it was wet, and we swam the snake together, all the while complaining about the hickies we were going to have from the chafing orange life jackets. We talked the enitre way across the lake (Rich got to the island first, then me, then Em) and the entire way back. At retreat she taught me a ridiculously funny song to the tune of the Mario Nintendo music.
Em Law
I wish there were words to describe Em, but there aren't; she is so many things, and so complex- but at the same time so simple. She is what she is, she does what she likes, doesn't do what she dislikes, and for that I find her completely refreshing. She doesn't feel obligated to do things that she shouln't have to, which I really admire in people. She laughs at herself, along with pretty much EVERYTHING else; she's delightful in that she will talk about the silliest things (candy corn pools, how her middle name was pronounced "core in" at graduation, a pet octopus, etc) but also blow you away with her insight and ability to convey it in writing. Em, to me, is laughter and everything random- Em is nothing serious, but at the same time she will help you define yourself and they way you look at your life. She is everything you need to make you remember who you were, and forget who you are- in the best way possible. She is ;alksdf;aoiwhfkasd, and I love her for it.
KP
Kate is an amazing person, because she lets me know when I am being less than my best- let me explain. I have a mean streak and Kate calls me out on it. For this, I think she is brave. I also think she is brave because she really wants to know people; Kate isn't content with meeting people and learning about their past, she wants to know why they think the way they do, and she tries to see the skeletons in their closets to know the aspects of their lives that make them the people they are. She always looks for the best in people, and excuses them for less-than-desirable behavior because she just understands. She isn't capable of judging people, or of feeling superior, and in fact she puts a sense of calm over people; her presence makes you feel like nothing about your life is too far gone to fix. Kate does her own thing, and even though it may be the exact opposite of your own thing, you'll get along with her, and fall for her. Kate understands, and just knows.
Peace, love, and ponies.
"The meeting of two (three) personalities is like the contact of two (three) chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both (all three) are transformed."
-Carl Jung
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
I'm sure there are meds for this
Long story short, I already wrote this entry last night, but just as I was about to post it George asked to borrow my computer for a minute, and then logged off of the internet- offering up my specifically tailored for the Internet humor to the black hole that is the world wide web. So excuse me if this is short and lackig details and attempts at making you chuckle- I'm just not motivated because I've done this once before.
Last night in my psych class Professor Sierra said that everything we encounter in our dreams plays a part in our reality- it is all somehow meaningful and tied together. In that case, please help me in disecting the dream I had on Saturday night (after the Black and White Party, the Cantina, going to the apartments to watch Kate successfully draw a Frech mustache and soul patch on a sleeping Boges, and ending up in my bed around 5 AM with Kate and Em snuggling with me). The following events ensued in my brain and I want you to tell me what they mean, please.
So, about 15 Copneconic staff including myself were on a cattle drive (I can only remember Matt, Karen, Emily, Kate, Kit B. and Kit H., Hobbit, James R., Mariah, Kristen, Carl, and Boges) in Montana. We were driving about 300 head, and there was another cattle drive about a mile ahead of us. I would also like to mention that I am pretty sure Matt was riding Nancy (which is significant, for those of you who don't know). Anywho, we were riding along with our bovine friends when a cow from the herd ahead of us strayed and joined our herd. Only, he wasn't really interested in our herd- just Boges. This cow was average sized, very cute, very black, and very clean. And also inseparable from Boges. He ran alongside Boges' horse for miles and miles, his side rubbing the horse's side, and he constantly looked up to gaze into Boges' eyes. Then suddenly we all knew that his name was Brian the Cow, and there were 15 people shouting out, at random, "Brian the Cow!" "Brian the Cow!" It was pretty strange, but we didn't worry about getting Brian the Cow back to his herd because we knew that both cattle drives were staying at the same place that night; a nice little ranch with pastures big enough to hold the cattle, and cabins to sleep in, and a big barn for a party.
Fast forward to evening:
There was a big, old barn at the ranch where we were staying and we all got ready to go have a party- only, once you walked into the barn it looked like The Underground club in Chicago. I don't remember much about this other than James wearing a baby blue Puma zip-up, and Kit wearing grey Puma shoes. I was looking at Kit and James from across the club/barn when Kate walked up to me and said, in the most disgusted tone, "Kit sells his shoes at the consignment shop, and he's not even a real playa."
Then Kate's alarm went off and I woke up.
What does this mean?!?!?
Peace, love, and ponies.
"They say dreams are the windows of the soul--take a peek and you can see the inner workings, the nuts and bolts."
-Henry Bromel
Last night in my psych class Professor Sierra said that everything we encounter in our dreams plays a part in our reality- it is all somehow meaningful and tied together. In that case, please help me in disecting the dream I had on Saturday night (after the Black and White Party, the Cantina, going to the apartments to watch Kate successfully draw a Frech mustache and soul patch on a sleeping Boges, and ending up in my bed around 5 AM with Kate and Em snuggling with me). The following events ensued in my brain and I want you to tell me what they mean, please.
So, about 15 Copneconic staff including myself were on a cattle drive (I can only remember Matt, Karen, Emily, Kate, Kit B. and Kit H., Hobbit, James R., Mariah, Kristen, Carl, and Boges) in Montana. We were driving about 300 head, and there was another cattle drive about a mile ahead of us. I would also like to mention that I am pretty sure Matt was riding Nancy (which is significant, for those of you who don't know). Anywho, we were riding along with our bovine friends when a cow from the herd ahead of us strayed and joined our herd. Only, he wasn't really interested in our herd- just Boges. This cow was average sized, very cute, very black, and very clean. And also inseparable from Boges. He ran alongside Boges' horse for miles and miles, his side rubbing the horse's side, and he constantly looked up to gaze into Boges' eyes. Then suddenly we all knew that his name was Brian the Cow, and there were 15 people shouting out, at random, "Brian the Cow!" "Brian the Cow!" It was pretty strange, but we didn't worry about getting Brian the Cow back to his herd because we knew that both cattle drives were staying at the same place that night; a nice little ranch with pastures big enough to hold the cattle, and cabins to sleep in, and a big barn for a party.
Fast forward to evening:
There was a big, old barn at the ranch where we were staying and we all got ready to go have a party- only, once you walked into the barn it looked like The Underground club in Chicago. I don't remember much about this other than James wearing a baby blue Puma zip-up, and Kit wearing grey Puma shoes. I was looking at Kit and James from across the club/barn when Kate walked up to me and said, in the most disgusted tone, "Kit sells his shoes at the consignment shop, and he's not even a real playa."
Then Kate's alarm went off and I woke up.
What does this mean?!?!?
Peace, love, and ponies.
"They say dreams are the windows of the soul--take a peek and you can see the inner workings, the nuts and bolts."
-Henry Bromel
Thursday, February 22, 2007
A La Em
A few updates:
1. I was just procrastinating from writing a paper by cleaning up my iTunes. As I was scrolling down (right after I deleted the entire Panic! At the Disco album... when did I get that?) my little eye spied that I have "Its Not Unusual" by Tom Jones. I thought this alone was worth sharing.
2. I am excited beyond belief to drive home. I love coming home and seeing my parents and Em and Kate, and I like the train, but I am really, really excited to drive. It's such a treat. Don't take your cars for granted!
3. I go to Miami for SB mayhem in 9 days. Boo ya.
4. My friend is trying to find us John Mayer tickets for tomorrow night in Grand Rapids, because he missed the concert in Chicago (even though he spent $300 on tickets- had to give them away, or fail a class) and GR is only three and a half hours away. If we went, it would mean my skipping five hours of class, one of which the professor said that if we missed this specific session, he didn't even think he was capable of conceiving a make-up assignment. As Adriana and I were trying to rationalize my idioticness (she even offered to go to my class in my place) Nital's phone rang. I consider this a sign, as her ringtone is a JM song. If he get's tickets, I'm so there.
5. When I go home my mom is taking me to Costco to buy silly amounts of food, like a normal college kid. I am giddy.
6. 3/3 will be reuinted in under 40 hours. I will be driving 95mph, at least.
7. Adriana lights up my life. We share a bed, have a song, an anniversary, and are adopting a puppy/kitten duo in the fall when we have a real apartment.
8. The whole "concussion, bruised occipital lobe, eyes-cross-when-I-try-to-read" bit got old reaaaaaal fast. I have a ton x ton of homework to do tonight. I have to be at work in less than seven hours.
So I leave you with this,
Peace, love, and ponies.
"What you leave behind is not what is engraved in stone monuments, but what is woven into the lives of others."
-Pericles
1. I was just procrastinating from writing a paper by cleaning up my iTunes. As I was scrolling down (right after I deleted the entire Panic! At the Disco album... when did I get that?) my little eye spied that I have "Its Not Unusual" by Tom Jones. I thought this alone was worth sharing.
2. I am excited beyond belief to drive home. I love coming home and seeing my parents and Em and Kate, and I like the train, but I am really, really excited to drive. It's such a treat. Don't take your cars for granted!
3. I go to Miami for SB mayhem in 9 days. Boo ya.
4. My friend is trying to find us John Mayer tickets for tomorrow night in Grand Rapids, because he missed the concert in Chicago (even though he spent $300 on tickets- had to give them away, or fail a class) and GR is only three and a half hours away. If we went, it would mean my skipping five hours of class, one of which the professor said that if we missed this specific session, he didn't even think he was capable of conceiving a make-up assignment. As Adriana and I were trying to rationalize my idioticness (she even offered to go to my class in my place) Nital's phone rang. I consider this a sign, as her ringtone is a JM song. If he get's tickets, I'm so there.
5. When I go home my mom is taking me to Costco to buy silly amounts of food, like a normal college kid. I am giddy.
6. 3/3 will be reuinted in under 40 hours. I will be driving 95mph, at least.
7. Adriana lights up my life. We share a bed, have a song, an anniversary, and are adopting a puppy/kitten duo in the fall when we have a real apartment.
8. The whole "concussion, bruised occipital lobe, eyes-cross-when-I-try-to-read" bit got old reaaaaaal fast. I have a ton x ton of homework to do tonight. I have to be at work in less than seven hours.
So I leave you with this,
Peace, love, and ponies.
"What you leave behind is not what is engraved in stone monuments, but what is woven into the lives of others."
-Pericles
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Pissy Man
For my Historical and Critical Moments in Journalism class we had to pick a book to read from the list of the top 100 pieces of journalistic work from 1900-1980. We were told to submit three choices to the professor, and he would put us in groups. I submitted six options. He assignmed me The Feminine Mystique; this was NOT one of my suggestions. This is actually the LAST book on the list I would ever want to read. Four books that I did want to read were assigned to others, but not me.
He is, in my opinion, the most incompetent professor at Loyola. I had him the first semester my freshmen year and considered his class a painful experience; he gives vague directions and then penalizes your work when you haven't done EXACTLY what he wanted. Also, (and I swear this is not an exaggeration) he speaks for a total of about 11 minutes, and the rest of the time stares at the back wall like the thoughts in his head are too profound to even vocalize; this is a two and a half hour class.
Because I hate him, and I am the one paying for my education, I decided to let him know I was pissed about the Feminine Mystique. This is our email correspondence verbatim:
"Professor,
I suggested at least two books that others were assigned to read. I
never suggested the Feminine Mystique; I have no interest in the
complaints of a woman who believes that one way to imrpove the
position of women in society is to rant about the evils of men. I'll
read it because you have already made the groups, but I am not happy
about it. I actually really despise it.
Allison Kelly"
and his reply:
"Pick your book from the available groups and I will assign you to that
group. Look, you come to class late, you don't come at all, you have
your head half into things, and then lo and behold, a mistake occurs and
you are in a snit. That doesn't travel very well with me. All I ever
wanted was for you to pick a book someone else was doing, not one where
you were the only one. So pick, but don't look for much from me unless
you pick up the tempo a bit.
David"
Please, allow me to defend myself. I have never missed the class, and showed up late once, when the Loyola shuttle I was riding broke down. I really can only laugh at him saying that I have my head "half into things," because this applies to him more than any of the students in his class; besides, I have spoken in class more than most of the students. At the end, I love that he tells me not to expect much from him- great thing for a professor to say.
He is just another example to support my hatred for southerners.
Peace, love, and ponies.
"I suck."
-David Eason (OK, he may have never actually said this, but I think that deep down he knows it.)
He is, in my opinion, the most incompetent professor at Loyola. I had him the first semester my freshmen year and considered his class a painful experience; he gives vague directions and then penalizes your work when you haven't done EXACTLY what he wanted. Also, (and I swear this is not an exaggeration) he speaks for a total of about 11 minutes, and the rest of the time stares at the back wall like the thoughts in his head are too profound to even vocalize; this is a two and a half hour class.
Because I hate him, and I am the one paying for my education, I decided to let him know I was pissed about the Feminine Mystique. This is our email correspondence verbatim:
"Professor,
I suggested at least two books that others were assigned to read. I
never suggested the Feminine Mystique; I have no interest in the
complaints of a woman who believes that one way to imrpove the
position of women in society is to rant about the evils of men. I'll
read it because you have already made the groups, but I am not happy
about it. I actually really despise it.
Allison Kelly"
and his reply:
"Pick your book from the available groups and I will assign you to that
group. Look, you come to class late, you don't come at all, you have
your head half into things, and then lo and behold, a mistake occurs and
you are in a snit. That doesn't travel very well with me. All I ever
wanted was for you to pick a book someone else was doing, not one where
you were the only one. So pick, but don't look for much from me unless
you pick up the tempo a bit.
David"
Please, allow me to defend myself. I have never missed the class, and showed up late once, when the Loyola shuttle I was riding broke down. I really can only laugh at him saying that I have my head "half into things," because this applies to him more than any of the students in his class; besides, I have spoken in class more than most of the students. At the end, I love that he tells me not to expect much from him- great thing for a professor to say.
He is just another example to support my hatred for southerners.
Peace, love, and ponies.
"I suck."
-David Eason (OK, he may have never actually said this, but I think that deep down he knows it.)
Sunday, February 18, 2007
A Rude Awakening
Through an eye-opening discussion with Emily, I have come to realize a few things about myself:
1. I will probably never get married
2. The adoption process scares me, (plus I want my own kids) so I have decided to resort to the one-night-stand method.
3. I have harsh features, and therefore need to procreate with a very bland man so that my kids aren't odd looking
4. I hate emoticons
5. The Three Musketeers have never gone more than 7 weeks without seeing each other- the shortest span of time? 4.5 days (I left Michigan on a Sunday, they came to Chicago the next Friday)
6. The average length of time we have spent apart is 3 weeks. It's been 6 months, people!
In other news, I hit my head on a chandelier last night and started bleeding. I slept all day today, and my head is throbbing.
Peace, love, and ponies.
"You know who you are. Your love's as sweet as candy. I'll be forever yours.
Love always,
Mandy"
-Mandy Moore
1. I will probably never get married
2. The adoption process scares me, (plus I want my own kids) so I have decided to resort to the one-night-stand method.
3. I have harsh features, and therefore need to procreate with a very bland man so that my kids aren't odd looking
4. I hate emoticons
5. The Three Musketeers have never gone more than 7 weeks without seeing each other- the shortest span of time? 4.5 days (I left Michigan on a Sunday, they came to Chicago the next Friday)
6. The average length of time we have spent apart is 3 weeks. It's been 6 months, people!
In other news, I hit my head on a chandelier last night and started bleeding. I slept all day today, and my head is throbbing.
Peace, love, and ponies.
"You know who you are. Your love's as sweet as candy. I'll be forever yours.
Love always,
Mandy"
-Mandy Moore
Saturday, February 17, 2007
Sorry
Yesterday I had a melt down and shaved my head.
Oh wait. That was Mrs. Spears-Federline.
P.S. Sorry to comment on the lifestyles of the young and fabulously drugged-up. But I just couldn't let this go unmentioned.
Peace, love, and ponies.
"She only had two inches of her own hair anyways, because of her extensions." I'm sorry, can you really defend this behavior??
-Hairdresser at the salon where Brit had her melt-down
Oh wait. That was Mrs. Spears-Federline.
P.S. Sorry to comment on the lifestyles of the young and fabulously drugged-up. But I just couldn't let this go unmentioned.
Peace, love, and ponies.
"She only had two inches of her own hair anyways, because of her extensions." I'm sorry, can you really defend this behavior??
-Hairdresser at the salon where Brit had her melt-down
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Happy Valentine's Day
This makes my soul feel good.
Peace, love, and ponies.
"Any man who can drive safely while kissing a pretty girl is simply not giving the kiss the attention it deserves."
Albert Einstein
Monday, February 12, 2007
WARNING
Kate Potts, perhaps if you blogged, I would not be driven to do things like this. I'm just sayin'.
Peace, love, and ponies.
"Did you just cratch your scrotch?"
Kate, or Em... I can't remember. But one said it to the other.
I couldn't resist
There are so many things in this picture that I love. That fact that it was taken on my bed is the main one; the fact that I really enjoy when Emily is in my bed is the naughty one. I love that she is wearing her green scarf, and my great-grandmother's jade necklace. And I really love that she is clinging to the bag of Nestle semi-sweet chocolate morsels, which we ate exclusively for about two and a half days.
Peace, love, and ponies.
"How did we get here? Nobody's supposed to be here. I've tried that "love" thing for the last time. My heart says NO! NO!"
-Deborah Cox
Sunday, February 11, 2007
Guilty pleasure, or just pleasure?
This is not for you to decide; I will do so after evaluating what I write.
So here it is: I love Justin Timberlake. I love his music, his dancing, his stupid tattoos (barbed wire around his calf, anyone?), his videos, his clothes- especially that he always wears white tennis shoes with a suit- that he's taller than me (only an inch, but still), and that he's funny- four words, "Dick In A Box." In my eyes, he can do no wrong.
When Futuresex/Lovesounds came out, my roommate Adriana and I sat for over an hour and listened to it, completely absorbed; we loved it from the first time we heard it. She immediately loved "All Over Again," and I couldn't hear "Summer Love" or "My Love" enough. It's different, and you may say that it's not real music (like, say, the Peppers, or Ben Folds, or John Mayer) but he is making it, and I am loving it. The fact that I want to dance to it qualifies it as music in my eyes. Also, the album was nominated for Best Album of the Year- this is enough to defend him (that, and the fact that he is already a Grammy winner).
This realization struck me as I was watching the Grammys tonight- once again, I was impressed with him. So I though, "Have I always been a fan? Has he always been this good?" Well, I am NOT going to sit here and defend the quality of his music when he was in N*Sync, but I will point out that he was a great entertainer for his particular audience. I'll admit I was a fan in middle school. After N*Sync was his first solo album Justified. Last week, George, Adriana and I were doing homework and I had Futuresex/Lovesounds on, and after it played, Justified came on. Repeatedly thoughout the album one of us would look up and say something along the lines of, "Damn, I forgot how good this was!" We were again impressed.
All in all, I am going to classify the enjoyment I take in Justin Timberlake's existance as pleasure. He can sing, he can dance (I saw him in concert a few years ago and seeing him dance in person was a jaw-dropping experience) and he does his own thing- very attractive. Pure pleasure, baby.
Peace, love, and ponies.
"Tell me where you're from, what you do, what you like. Let me pick your brain, girl. And tell me how they got that pretty, little face on that pretty, little face, girl."
-JT
So here it is: I love Justin Timberlake. I love his music, his dancing, his stupid tattoos (barbed wire around his calf, anyone?), his videos, his clothes- especially that he always wears white tennis shoes with a suit- that he's taller than me (only an inch, but still), and that he's funny- four words, "Dick In A Box." In my eyes, he can do no wrong.
When Futuresex/Lovesounds came out, my roommate Adriana and I sat for over an hour and listened to it, completely absorbed; we loved it from the first time we heard it. She immediately loved "All Over Again," and I couldn't hear "Summer Love" or "My Love" enough. It's different, and you may say that it's not real music (like, say, the Peppers, or Ben Folds, or John Mayer) but he is making it, and I am loving it. The fact that I want to dance to it qualifies it as music in my eyes. Also, the album was nominated for Best Album of the Year- this is enough to defend him (that, and the fact that he is already a Grammy winner).
This realization struck me as I was watching the Grammys tonight- once again, I was impressed with him. So I though, "Have I always been a fan? Has he always been this good?" Well, I am NOT going to sit here and defend the quality of his music when he was in N*Sync, but I will point out that he was a great entertainer for his particular audience. I'll admit I was a fan in middle school. After N*Sync was his first solo album Justified. Last week, George, Adriana and I were doing homework and I had Futuresex/Lovesounds on, and after it played, Justified came on. Repeatedly thoughout the album one of us would look up and say something along the lines of, "Damn, I forgot how good this was!" We were again impressed.
All in all, I am going to classify the enjoyment I take in Justin Timberlake's existance as pleasure. He can sing, he can dance (I saw him in concert a few years ago and seeing him dance in person was a jaw-dropping experience) and he does his own thing- very attractive. Pure pleasure, baby.
Peace, love, and ponies.
"Tell me where you're from, what you do, what you like. Let me pick your brain, girl. And tell me how they got that pretty, little face on that pretty, little face, girl."
-JT
Saturday, February 10, 2007
Encore
Matt posted this on the Artichoke, and I avoided it because it had the words "stupid" and "cat" in the same entry. However, I just decided I would watch it, and belly-laughed the ENTIRE time.
Give it a chance.
http://laughstreet.com/HTMLs/Videohtmls/Funny_Cats.html
Here's to Biggie, Paris Francis, and Mizzy.
Peace, love, and ponies (and kitties).
"Avoid fruits and nuts; after all, you are what you eat."
-Garfield
P.S. I need to learn how to make the links into words.
Give it a chance.
http://laughstreet.com/HTMLs/Videohtmls/Funny_Cats.html
Here's to Biggie, Paris Francis, and Mizzy.
Peace, love, and ponies (and kitties).
"Avoid fruits and nuts; after all, you are what you eat."
-Garfield
P.S. I need to learn how to make the links into words.
Friday, February 9, 2007
What? I have connections? Damn them!
Yes. It's true. Rather than refusing to go out, succumbing to my friends' demands, throwing on "bar clothes" and heavy whore paint, and then smiling at the bouncer who knows that the ID I have presented to him is not me, as I stand an entire eight inches taller than my California driver's license says, (whew, try to remember where I started with the beginning of this sentence) I flexed my connections last night. Instead of dragging my heels and following, I led.
Actually, I was excited for a night in with my couch and some movies, but they talked me into going to our beloved college bar. But then I thought, "Why not call Danny?" Who is this "Danny" person I speak of? Well, for you to know that we must go way back (to Sunday night). I was out with some Chicago Fire players, and this caused the bouncers to think that because I was with them, I was important, so one of them handed me his card. I told him he looked familiar and asked if he worked anywhere else (you know, because I go to so many clubs; I'm such a club person) and he said, "Le Passage."
Now, Le Passage is in prime Gold Coast location, right by Tavern on Rush, Level, Hugos, etc. It's kind of a big deal; people wait in lines for lengths of time I would deem unacceptable when it's cold outside, cover is $20, and drinks start at $12.
I was feeling a little ballsy, so I texted Danny, and one thing led to another and me and seven of my friends walked into the club without showing IDs, or paying the cover, and went in the back door to avoid the line. We walked downstairs and he took us to the velvet-roped off VIP section, where we took the corner booth by the dance floor. Kettle One bottle service (Kate, Em, this is when you order an entire bottle and they just leave it on your table with a bajillion mixers) was on special that night, so my friend George decided to buy one.
We went through a bottle and started to dance. Forever. And there may have been a pedestal, and I may have been dancing on it all night- but Adriana was on the other one! So we were drinking, dancing, VIP'ing, sitting, singing and loving life, when Danny says, "Are you leaving?" "Why? Is anything good happening soon?" "I'm having a new DJ come in 10 minutes." "Ok, we'll stay for a bit." About twenty minutes later, Danny sent over another bottle of Kettle One on the house. I thought that maybe I wouldn't think this was totally cool when I was sober, but no- getting a $200 bottle service for free is really damn cool.
So cut to the chase- eight people, two bottles of vodka, (and a few drinks before we left home) and hours upon hours of dancing- literal non-stop dancing in 3-inch heels- made for a good night, and promised a shitty recovery.
Fast forward to this morning:
I woke up at 10am (my alarm was set for 10:40) because my room had turned into an oven. I stepped out of bed, and almost collapsed- my quads were on fire; they haven't been this sore since I went to volleyball camp after ninth grade and had a day called "Hell Day," where we trained so friggin' hard for 75 minutes we were in tears, and actually couldn't sit down to pee the next day. I was also still a wee bit drunk, but went to class.
I was sitting on the bus, pleading with the universe to ward off the vomit; I'm pretty sure that the drunkenness morphed into a full-blown hangover in the 20 minutes I was on the shuttle. I got to class, in which I was expected to follow along and contribute to a conversation in French about French politics. (I know, insert jokes here). I listened for ten minutes, but as I lack the ability to focus on anything academically stimulating for longer than 10 minutes, I began to stare out the window. Right as I became completely detached from the happenings of my classroom, the following conversation between my professor and I ensued, in French:
"Allison, what do you think?"
"I don't know." (I said this in a way that I thought sounded final, like, "Don't pursue this!"
"Do you think we are uninformed or over-informed when it comes to politics and world issues?"
"I think that we... Americans don't like... the French love to debate politics... but we don't because when we have different opinions we consider arguments... confrontational." Is this a real answer to that question? I think not.
At this point, she saw that I was completely red, visibly shaking, and heard the rattling coming from my lungs because I had forgotten to breath during the entire 90 seconds it took me to formulate that horrific sentence, so she moved on to another student.
After class, I was standing in the queue for the shuttle in 6 degree weather, and my mind got to wandering about the following things:
- A lot of people in Chicago put sweaters on their dogs. I shall put a sweater on my cat. And paint its nails. And name it something like Mrs. Whiskerson, Fluffy, or PooPoo.
- Am I above sitting down on the dirty sidewalk in front of 60 of my schoolmates? No, probably not, but if I sit down, I will have to stand up and I just don't think my legs have got it in them.
- Who the hell does this girl in front of me think she is, flaunting her Coach boots (which beg for attention) and not doing anything with her hair? Seriously, $400 boots and a ratty ponytail?
- I'm pretty sure giant-dreads-guy was behind me earlier, so who is this I-think-I'm-European, but really from the suburbs guy?
- I need to learn how to go out on Thursdays and still be a real human being the next day. It is rude and impolite to be dead to the world, while out in it. The only correct way to be dead to the world is to do so by burrowing into your bed.
- Bed. Jumping on bed. Jello. Man, I want some Sprite!
- Ow! I think the vodka caused my gums to errode. When I poke my gums with my tongue, it hurts really bad. Ow! Ow! Ow! Stop! I can't. Ow!
- I want to jump into Lake Michigan.
- I really want to sit down. Would the salt on the sidewalk get on my pants? Does it taste like salt? I hate pepper. I want salt and vinegar chips. I miss Victoria. Is she coming back to camp? Shit. Camp. What's going on?
- I want to swallow ice cubes right now. I think that would feel glorious in my stomach.
Peace, love, and ponies.
"I'm dead to the world."
- Me, Sara, NItal, and George, all at different times of the day.
Monday, February 5, 2007
Piss on Paris
I don't want to hear anything about Paris Hilton unless she does one of the following:
- Cures cancer & AIDs & Parkinsons
- Donates her body to science
- Helps malnourished/uneducated children
Otherwise, she's already done it at least 14 times, and keeps the dumb American public gasping, "Oh my God, no she di'int!"
YES! SHE DID! AND ALREADY HAS!
The same goes for Nikki Hilton, Lindsay Lohan, Britney Spears, Nicole Richie, and K. Fed, Tori Spelling, both of the Simpsons, Kate Moss, Jennifer Aniston's nose, Denise Richards' nose candy, and Carmen Electra.
Peace, love, and ponies.
"I'm dying to find kids who are too thin. I've got 42 models in my agency and I'm trying to get them to lose weight. In fact, I wish they'd come down with some anorexia. I'm not kidding. I'm running into a bunch of fat-assed, lazy little bitches who don't know how to do the stairs or get their butts into the gym."
- Janice Dickinson
- Cures cancer & AIDs & Parkinsons
- Donates her body to science
- Helps malnourished/uneducated children
Otherwise, she's already done it at least 14 times, and keeps the dumb American public gasping, "Oh my God, no she di'int!"
YES! SHE DID! AND ALREADY HAS!
The same goes for Nikki Hilton, Lindsay Lohan, Britney Spears, Nicole Richie, and K. Fed, Tori Spelling, both of the Simpsons, Kate Moss, Jennifer Aniston's nose, Denise Richards' nose candy, and Carmen Electra.
Peace, love, and ponies.
"I'm dying to find kids who are too thin. I've got 42 models in my agency and I'm trying to get them to lose weight. In fact, I wish they'd come down with some anorexia. I'm not kidding. I'm running into a bunch of fat-assed, lazy little bitches who don't know how to do the stairs or get their butts into the gym."
- Janice Dickinson
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