My version

I may have a problem. I don't necessarily find it too atrocious, but explaining it will make me look like a horrible person. I'm extremely elitist when it comes to writing. To the point where even the "greats" of literature aren't so great. I can't read someone else's writing without feeling a twinge of contempt. I inevitably feel like my writing is heartier, more packed with emotion, and filled with my character. I scrutinize every flaw in others' writing even when it is light years ahead of my own. I honestly can't find value in the writing of my peers. I try, and only come out with criticism. This is the reason that I hate correcting their papers, or even reading stories that I feel I could portray better. I don't want to have to tell them that their masterpieces are shit. Of course I'm not referring to any specific incident. I know I sound like an ass, but this is something I just CAN'T help. I feel like I'm free to reveal these sorts of things in a blog. Don't hate me for it.

On another note, I have my own story to tell. It's short because i think it fits best. There are times when pages are appropriate and times when a paragraph tells it all. Don't criticize me or I'll cry.


I always knew there was more than sex involved in their relationship. To the outsider, it looked as though it was simply a pleasure relationship. They were friends first. He liked her and she was preoccupied. She liked him and he had moved on emotionally. But they were still friends. Friends who liked to have sex. She taught him how, he liked it. No condoms needed. Inevitably, there came a point when she wanted more than sex in their friendship. Fuck buddies was no longer an option. She couldn't hurt herself any longer by suppressing her emotion that came too late, and she was forced to tell him what had to be done. She did it, and she cried. She felt relieved, wanted someone new. Someone like Blake, Josh and Dave combined. And so it ended between the two and began the stage of awkwardness. The awkwardness died down; they were able to talk again. They would never be the same as before, but a new type of friendship was formed. They even laughed at the dinner table together. But she had eyes for a new man. He was a mix of Blake, Josh and Dave.

To be continued...
(not really)

A Town Called Boring

It's kind of funny...I started writing the following yesterday...
"I've decided to stop drinking. Not because I care about a reputation or don't trust my actions under the influence (although I probably should be worried about that), but because it's expensive and is making me fatter. I'm like a fucking balloon right now, except filled with bricks. It's just gross. I'm going to lose weight and I'm not going to drink."

And then, that very night, I got trashed. I'm amazing.


So yesterday I woke up at 5 am, got bused up to Mount Hood and went skiing in 5 feet of snow. It was insane. It didn't stop snowing the entire time and the mountain supposedly got 20 inches of snow. Just that day. That's like two feet. On the ride home, a really cheesy western was playing on the little TVs starring Mel Gibson and Jodie Foster. It was horrible but I couldn't stop watching. We passed through a town called Boring and saw the Boring Supermart, Boring Restaurant and more. I was the only one who found it REALLY amusing. Ray just laughed at me. I'll explain skiing shit later (after my next trip or something) because I have not yet started any homework and that's very bad. But I've had other things to think about. Like the safety of my dear friend and the sanity of another, and the rearrangement of my new room. Pictures will follow.

So the room alterations went pretty well. And when I say pretty well I mean amazingly. I'm in love with my new room. I can either make it a big party room or close my curtains and divide it up for privacy. I have a little changing area, my computer is much more nicely placed (since I have 2 desks now and all) and there is so much room I feel like the entire dorm could sleepover. I am SO glad we didn't hammer my curtain to make a new cover for my bed. SO GLAD. Jesus, that could have turned out horribly. Hammers, nails and a handle of Smirnoff are not a good combination.

Anyway, here are some pics...

Short Skirt, Loooong Jacket

click here for the TIME OF YOUR LIFE

(my language)

I just changed my "date appearance" to Swiss German. I am SO cool.

Racquetball and a Call from Mom

There's racquetball with Ray.
We don't need to elaborate on the call from mom.

Hippies

These people are such hippies. Not all of them, but a good number of them. I just heard my roomate yell (to Ryan in the room next to us) that she took a shower(!!!), sounding like it was some ginormous accomplishment. Why can't they shower every day? Personally, I like to be clean. I love showering.

And then there's the shoe thing. I could deal with all the Birkenstocks, but all the hippies running around barefoot is a little much. Especially in the rain. I talked to someone about it the other day. He tried to convince me that it's cleaner than sweaty, smelly socks. My socks don't smell. If anything, they smell like roses.

Well, that was a good rant. The End.

I miss you...

Mary Wollstonecraft

said "the beginning is always today", according to my gmail. (which i LOVE by the way)

So there's a little quote of the day at the top, and I today is the first day I've seen it. And I happen to think her quote is fucking ludicrous. The beginning is NOT always today. The beginning of my life was 18 years ago. The beginning of college was months ago. So I'll admit that today was the beginning of the Spring semester at Reed, but that is one tiny exception.

Speaking of the new semester, I'm kind of glad it started. As much as I love partying every night, partying is hard work if you do it right, and expensive. It's also nice to get back into my old routine. Except this semester, I'm reading more for Hum. and studying more for Spanish and not sucking at Psychology. I'll try at least. So here's my boring blog. I thought it would be more interesting but I changed my mind about some things I was gonna talk about. Meh.

Peace.

Money

I hate you. Please die.

What type of girl are you?

You scored as Goth. Goth 69% Slut 63% Nerdy Girl 63% Hippy 50% Popular Bitch 38% Athletic Tomboy 25% Preppy Girl 6% Loser 0% What type of girl are you?!! created with QuizFarm.com

All I want to know is...how am I almost the same percent goth, slut and nerd? That just don't make sense, son!

And really...am I goth? I think not.

I'm out, once again proving that LABELS ARE STUPID.

Yesterday...

was really stressful and hormonal. I've been fucking with my cycle (for Alex of course) and I'm finally (sort of) back on track since I gave myself a period a couple days ago. It's kind of amazing how you can control your period with birth control. So I'm moody. Don't fuck with me. And starting school is always really stressful for me. I didn't sleep much last night, and I knew I wouldn't. I even started this blog yesterday saying that I know I won't be able to sleep. Of course I was right. I always am.

I love how Molly and I got the same grade on our psych tests and I said I did well while she said she did horrible. I'm just happy I passed all my classes.

I hate spanish. Maybe I should switch out of this whole mess altogether. If it wasn't for requirements, I'd never deal with this shit.

I don't feel like school. I'm not in a very good mood right now. Not in a bad mood, but not in a good mood. I need someone to make me happy.

Bleh.

You're an IDIOT

You know who I'm talking to. I hate when you fuck up and make me feel like shit, then get sensitive and make me feel even worse because YOU get hurt. So I have to feel bad for you for being an idiot. Well fuck you. I can't concentrate on my reading now but I HAVE to do it. I will. I love you.

Last Night (insert strokes riffs here)

I thought I'd be all over this paideia thing. Today I could go to the Foam Noodle Combat or a cooking class or Chemistry for Pyros or Heavy Metal 101 (and 201) or the bonfire. I could have gone to tons of interesting classes and events this week. I'll end up just going to the bonfire after my dorm event of making root beer floats. I feel like I've kinda been a failure. I didn't even buy the right size lightbulb for my broken lamp. I haven't even done my spanish project that will be presented tomorrow. I don't even have the book I need to read for Humanities.

And I just found out that on my schedule, my Spanish class has been switched to a different time and teacher. So that leaves me a lot more shit to clean up.

To top it all off, Alex is or was angry at me (I think) and now I'm just mad at him. Stop calling me, you bastard.


I really started this blog to talk about yesterday and what fun I had but I don't even feel like it anymore. Maybe later. I feel like shit. Mother fucker.

I just realized my underwear is on inside-out and there's a big chance that I'm too lazy to fix it.

Cry with me

Last night, slightly under the influence, I accidentally ripped Kurt's head. I am so sorry dear Kurt.

As an homage, a tribute to the one inflicted, I dedicate this song (his own song) back to him. Can I do that? I say yes.

I'm not like them
But I can pretend
The sun is gone
But I have a light
The day is done
But I'm having fun

I think I'm dumb
or maybe just happy
Think I'm just happy
my heart is broke
But I have some glue
help me inhale
And mend it with you
We'll float around
And hang out on clouds
Then we'll come down
And I have a hangover...
Have a hangover

Skin the sun
Fall asleep
Wish away
The soul is cheap
Lesson learned
Wish me luck
Soothe the burn
Wake me up

I'm not like them
But I can pretend
The sun is gone
But I have a light
The day is done
But I'm having fun

Which would you go for?

The Sausage Link Penis...

or the 2-P


Tough decision, ain't it?

The Curb

...after all that teasing...I can NOT believe it was what led to his failure. It's beautiful the way things work out.

Porn, Chicken and Bitch Beer (and smoking with a crazy old performer)

Yesterday was, as we say...interesting. After "almost" going to a Paideia class and then actually seeing Syriana with KC, Blake and his mom, we got back to the dorm for Josh's arrival and a great culmination of the dorms. What could bring all of us together so peacefully? The answer could only be porn. Fried chicken, Smirnoff Ice, Mike's Hard Lemonade and "The Sex Lawyer". Yes, it was called the sex lawyer. And of course it was a horribly-dubbed Dutch porn, with even the sex sounds inconsistent. I am convinced that they recorded one moan and looped it throughout the entire 2-hour movie. So we all watched porn, the girls greatly outnumbering the guys, and there was much more laughing and disgust than being turned on. (KC loved it though) I honestly don't understand how people actually get off on this stuff. And why does every single sex scene end with the guy cumming into her open mouth and all over her face? Is that hot? Ugh. I think the worst part, though, is all the spitting and butt-licking. I really want to know who's into that so I can stay 5 feet away at all times. While getting buzzed and watching porn (I didn't actually have any of the fatty fried chicken), I had to do laundry, so I did. I finally bought more detergent. I went back in my room for awhile, and while I'm in my bed (where no one can see me because it is covered by a sheet), I hear some people come in and out. That's perfectly normal and I don't pay the slightest bit of attention to it. Then, awhile later, my roomate Phoebe comes in and says "I'm glad my roomate isn't here". I think to myself, what the hell does she mean by that? It turns out that they had gone to one of the Paideia events called "Chicken: Self-Portrait of a Young Man for Rent" and somehow brought the sole actor home with them. (By them, I mean Phoebe and her 2 friends) I'll give you an idea of what this guy is like by sharing the description of his show. His name, I now know, is David Henry Sterry.

Based on the best-selling memoir "Chicken", which is being made into a movie, this 1-man show is the true story of a 17-yr. old wide-eyed son of Seventies Suburbia. Suddenly homeless and alone in Hollywood, David allows himself to be seduced into the sex business. As a wild 1970's soundtrack pounds, Sterry portrays everyone from his nun/teacher to his employment counselor/pimp, his sweet girlfriend to the charming man who raped him, his sweet naive 17-yr. old self to the love-hungry ladies who hired him.

That is what the pamphlet says. It leaves out, however, that Sterry is a gray-haired, 50-yr. old pot-smoking hippie himself. And he revealed this to us (me behind my sheet), by asking if anyone likes the marijuana. When I heard that, my ears perked up and I wanted to come out of my hiding place. He made a comment about what having a Kurt Cobain poster implies about a person, and I felt like choking a bitch. How dare you judge me, you old man. Of course, at the time I didn't know he was an old man. I thought he was just a friend that they all knew who had a deep voice and no shame. He commented on everything, he was very lively. So...hearing them all smoking in the other half of my room, I slid down from my tent and went to my computer. I waited for them to say something. They all looked up, shocked. They had no idea I was in the room. They all start asking me questions like "did you just wake up?" , trying to find out how much I had heard. I answered lethargically until I got the question I was waiting for, "do you want to smoke with us?". I said "kiiiind of", in my little suggesting tone, and everything was solved. He packed me my own bowl in a crack pipe and I inhaled that shit like a pro. It's been too long since I've smoked and I fucking love getting high. I thought I would never like it more than being drunk, but the effects are just so much more obvious and the feeling is just better for me. Plus, I have to drink so much just to get drunk that sometimes it's not even worth it. Too many calories, ya know? So anyway...I stuck around for awhile and then walked around a bit. I joined some people on the balcony and then stopped by the party in Lisa's room. There's always a party in Lisa's room. I told them about the creepy old man who was nice enough to share his pot but still creepy, and she offered her mattress so that I could stay in her room if I didn't want to go back to my room. I was just hoping he'd leave. I had another Smirnoff and chilled with them. Soon it was time to go. I checked if he was still in my room- he was. Two in the morning and he was still there. I was still pretty stoned and I went in the common room and called Alex. He was awake anyway, so I didn't fuck up his sleep.

Note to self: Next to taking a shower, brushing your teeth is the funnest thing to do while stoned. Try it.

Retard

This question asked to a number of people, with the results following: "What's more retarded, not recognizing your own shirt that someone put on backwards or putting someone else's shirt on backwards by mistake?"

KC Deane- "first one. whoever says the second one is one step, no, is retarded."
Blake Mason- "the former"
Joe Hand- "the 1st one"
Gloria Chung- "both" then changed to "not recognizing your own shirt"
Cathy Wehner- "Its a toss up. They are both pretty bad" and then "Lol um ok...not recognizing ur own shirt"
Brandon Edenedo- "i think not recognizing your own shirt"
Tina Hakimian "not recognizing ur own shirt"
London Moore: "you whore, ummmm not recognizing your own!!!"
Michael Sugarman: "putting someone elses on backwards" (He obviously doesn't know what he's talking about)
Jess Covey: "the first one"
Andres Edwards: "Lol ok....not recognizing your own shirt someone put on backwards I guess"
Dave Jackson: "the first one...it's your own shirt"
Tian Yu: "the first one. It's sad if you don't even recognize your own shirt"
Vicky Grinblat: "the first one..."
Alex Fragola: "I think you're both fucking idiots"
Joi Barnett: "dats random...da first one"
Ahlyzik Monroe: "putting somes shirt on backwards cuz w/ the other one, u wudnt be able to tell. I mean it wud be kinda hard to notice a shirt that's oj backwards."
Leah Peterson: "not recognizing your own shirt that someone put on backwards"
Sasha Nemchonok: "i'd say not recognizing your own shirt"
Sam Wessel: "the first one. how do you not recognize your own shirt?"
Aviva Kraus: "the 1st one. actually they're both pretty retarded"
Ray Dennison: "putting it on backwards. not noticing is forgivable". He then changed his mind to "the person who doesn't notice is stupider". Nice move.
Beau Bourne: "1st"
Molly Burke: "putting someone elses shirt on". TRAITOR.
Jesus Mena: "my answer is ot recognizing your own shirt that someone put on backwards"
^^^Jesus! My savior!!!
Arash Gharib/Abdul bin-Hassan al-Jahari: "My answer is going to be the first one"


Note: When people change their answers, it is only because I asked them again when they were indecisive, "If you HAD to choose, then which would it be?"

So here's the story. A couple days before the aforementioned "incident", Alex had given me a shirt. A t-shirt he doesn't wear anymore, nothing special. I was tired, and so I changed into it to wear as a pajama shirt. In my drowsy state, I accidentally put the shirt on backwards. Later, as we were lying in bed, he comments, "I like your shirt". I give him a blank stare and say "It's YOUR shirt". We then realize it's on backwards. But still. It was pretty obviously the shirt he gave me. And, according to the results of my poll, most people agree with me. The answers in italics are the only ones who think I'm a bigger idiot than Alex. Other than that, he's the bigger retard. Case Solved.

Walkin' on Woodstock

waiting at the bus stop...(but not taking the bus)

my love.

also kc's love.

push the button

"oops"

puddles...

can you guess who I'm talking to?

looks like a serious conversation

grabbing the tree's nipple

can she fit in the mini door?

more breasts

trying to move the cemented bike rack thingie

it just wouldn't budge

kc got buttraped

I talk to God