Wednesday, February 25, 2009

Cranberry Juice and delicious.

I originally wrote this for BYT, but they wouldn't post it because it may give the appearance that they encourage underage drinking, even though I wrote it as a joke...kind of.

How to Drink Underage in DC

1. Be a cute girl – I’m sorry fellows, but this is just one area where being a girl really pays off.

2. Chop off all your hair – all those long locks you once sported and couldn’t bare to get rid of, do in fact make you look like a freshman in high-school. Sure they’re “pretty” but nothing screams I’m underage like someone who has hair that is reminiscent of any character from The O.C. That means you boys with shaggy hair, too.

3. Pretend that you have a great job or are in grad-school – So, I fudge a little bit, I do have a “real” job, and if I really needed to live off of it, I could, but in certain circumstances it’s very important to have a good story. “I’m in attending law school at GW” or “I’m a copy-editor at Congressional Quarterly” are both good lines, just don’t use them. Everyone knows you’re lying.

4. Buy some new clothes – that A&F t-shirt isn’t fooling anyone. You’ve got to explore the other end of the mall, that means places that are usually reserved for “old people” like Banana Republic and J.Crew, though if you have a lot of money please try Nordstrom’s, and if you don’t no one will know that you got your Seven jeans at Marshall’s. You’re probably thinking that you already have great fashion sense and that your Cheap Monday’s fit the bill, but you don’t want to look like a hipster – you are underage, trying to dress like a hipster will put you in the poser/scenester category and you will fail miserably. Finding the happy medium between rich-kid-in-suburbia and trying-too-hard can be difficult, but I promise, it can be done. If you are a girl, having a really nice rack will always come in handy, so buy the water bra, you might need it.

5. Trick an older man/woman into dating you – when you’re out the bartenders and wait-staff will think you’re older, or think that whoever you’re with is a pedophile.

6. Know where to go – you can’t get served just anywhere. Chad America (at The Black Cat, if you didn’t know) knows that you’re not old enough, so don’t try him. Instead just go to any European themed restaurant before you go out. (Of course I’m assuming that you can keep it together long enough to get past the bouncer at your favorite venue.)

*None of this will work if you cannot keep it together. Everyone hates belligerent kids. Don’t be one.

** These things don't work as well in Richmond. Well, number one does, if you know where the creepy, foreign, non-law-abiding men work.


I am an indignant, self-righteous, hypocritic, self-indulgent, know-it-all, snobby bitch. I know this. And so do you. But if you're reading this, and you've met me, you also know that I am capable of being sweet, kind, compassionate, etc. And if you've known me for more than a week, you know that I am the biggest slacker of all time.

My sixth grade science teacher was the first to call me a slacker when I started turning things in late. Since then I have been called a slacker by just about every teacher that I developed a personal relationship with, so every English teacher and about half of the others. I don't know exactly what happened, but as much as I enjoy learning, I just can't seem to fake interest in things that are "required." You will notice that I was not interested in most of high school if you were to look at my transcript.

This semester I am on "academic warning", it's pre-academic probation and it means that I didn't do shit last semester. As a result I have to attend required tutoring, meet weekly with my advisor and all sorts of fun things like that. This surpises people. I'm not sure why, I mean, I like to read, but I don't think anyone except for maybe my roommate that one time has seen me touch a textbook, let alone open it. And if it wasn't at all evident in my older posts (see September/October 2008) that I was manically depressed last semester, I was, and it was awful.

I'm better now - ish. And today I got my first essay of the semster back and I got an A. Thank you very much.

It seems that I am capable of exerting some potential in areas that do not particularly interest me and because I know what's good fore me, I'll continue to do so - and be very bitter and tired while doing it.


There has been a "preacher" on the Compass for the past couple of days. I'm used to the Evangelists coming to campus, passing stuff out, standing somewhere with their megaphone and telling me and everyone within a fifty-foot radius that we need to repent, but this guy is different. He not only goes on about how we need to be repentant, but he also goes off about how evil everyone else is. He literally said that we're spawn of the devil and unless we repent we're going to hell.

Now, boys and girls, I am by no means religious, but I do like to know what I'm talking about and respect everyone's right to worship, who, how, and what they please. I have read the Bible (GASP!) and I know for a fact that it does not say that we are spawn from the devil. I get irritated when I hear people that are so ignorant. I mean fine, you think I'm going to hell because I don't go around yelling at people to repent, but if you're going to yell at me please know what you're yelling about. And if you want me to stop and listen, please know that yelling is not the way to go about getting anything accomplished ever.

Monday he spent all day going on a tirade about how evil homosexuals are. I still do not understand this. I mean sure, the Bible does talk about how sodomy is wrong, but it does not explicitly say that having those feelings are wrong. It says that acting on those feelings is wrong. There is a huge difference. And besides there are so many twisted, ridiculous things in the Old Testament, it amazes me that anyone can go through and pick out one thing that they find particularly sinful and ignore the rest. And I find it infuriating that Evangelicals have decided that it's okay for them to condemn others to hell while contradicting everything they claim they believe, claim that they live, by doing so.

Yesterday there were some Mormon missionaries also at the compass. They were standing on the opposite side talking with a small group of students while the preacher was going on about how evil they were. At one point saying that Joseph Smith worshiped the devil and that Mormons are racist. There were also cops standing to the side, I suppose making sure that nothing got out of hand.

I went up to missionaries and asked why the cops were there and if anything had happened. They said no, and introduced themselves. I apologized for them having to hear all that stuff, and one invited me to come to church on Sunday. Cute.

I make a point of not mentioning my upbringing to people, especially if I know someone is Mormon. I can't stand knowing that in their head they're trying to figure out how, or hoping that I'll "come back to the fold." And while I have my reasons for not going to church anymore, and all sorts of problems with organized religion, I can't stand seeing anyone patronize another's beliefs. And as much as I feel silly believing in God and Jesus, it's something that I can't shake. It seems that people do compare it to beliving in Santa and the toothfairy, and I understand that, I do. It's just that I've never wanted proof. I suppose if I did expect for something big, I wouldn't believe either, and I understand why the majority of the people that I know and associate with don't believe. And that's fine, but it's something that I prefer to not talk about.

Religion and belief systems are so personal and everyone is so affected by them, I just feel it's better to only share when asked. Nothing turns me off like someone trying to convince me to think like they do. Beliefs are simply that, they don't need proof, they aren't based on knowledge, they're feelings that you or I are comfortable with. And as far as I'm concerned, as long as we're all trying to be the best we can, none of that other stuff really matters.

Friday, February 20, 2009

It's really not that hard

I work next to 3 Monkeys, a local bar/sports-bar/bro-hangout. I do not particularly like the place, but it isn't expensive and it's convenient, so I order from there quite a bit. I usually get a pineapple pizza (they're small and I can usually make it last two or three meals) or a salad. Nothing too complicated. Though they don't have a "pineapple pizza" listed on their menu, instead it's a "monkey pie" with ham. I always specify that I do not want ham, only pineapple. Again, not complicated.

Usually we call and the wait is about fifteen minutes. So, we wait, pick up our food, eat - the end. Today my coworker and I ordered desserts - mousse and a brownie sundae. Over the phone they told us that it would be about ten minutes. That was fine, until I got there and waited twenty more.

The waitress that was "helping" me is tall, slim, has long dark hair and is quite a bit older than the rest of the girls that work there. She always manages to screw up my order. She can't manage to remember that it's only pineapple, and will give me ham, or there won't be any toppings, or there will just be ham, or it will be completely wrong all together. Tonight, she just made me wait. I am a very impatient person, and could have gone to Kroger's and bought a half-gallon of ice cream and a pan of brownies in the time that it took for her to scoop it into a styrofoam container. When I paid she asked if I needed change, and I of course told her yes. Then when I finally got my order, said thank you and started to turn around, she grasped the box and kind of squatted down as to be on my level and forcefully said, "You're. Welcome." Needless to say, I did not tip her, surprisingly for the first time.

I'm fairly certain that she complained about how rude I was after I left, but I don't feel bad. She sucks. The other customers suck, and all the waitresses are skinny-fat chicks who put out, a lot. It's the type of place that people who actually like Georgetown would go and be like "Oh, this isn't bad. TWO DOLLAR MILLER LITE! Hell yes!"


Yesterday I ate the following:
Breakfast: waffles, yogurt, milk
Lunch: instant stove top stuffing
Snack(ish): reese's peanut butter cups, snackwell's vanilla cookies
Dinner: a salad because I was attempting to eat something healthy, and onion rings because they seemed healthier than french fries, were cheap, and I wanted more than just a salad.
Snack(ish): chips and guacamole from Chipotle and KRISPY KREME (because they are right next to each other)

Gross, right? And to make it worse I had two, TWO! five-hour energy drinks to keep me up so I could read for class - Hi, Mr. Galligan!

I got two hours of sleep and still feel disgusting. I'm going to have to do some sort of detox. I can literally feel my body's organs being coated in a layer of fat.

Today has been a little bit better, but I'm probably not going to get much sleep tonight either, or tomorrow night, but Sunday, SUNDAY! is going to be wonderful. There will be a bubble bath and maybe candles, and hot chocolate, and lots of cranberry juice.

Sunday, February 15, 2009

Beer + Donuts = Happy Valentine's Day!

I would just like to say that for everyone who has not met me, or had a conversation with me that was longer than an hour, you sorely have the wrong impression.

I went to my coworker's place. She and I always make plans and they always fall through, and since I'd never been I thought the polite thing to do - as I usually do when I go somewhere I've never been, or you know a party - I brought a case of Yuengling and because I had passed Krispy Kreme on the way I brought a dozen donuts.

I may not be the PBR-metal/hardcore-bike gang-lover that Richmond seems to be full of, and I may in fact be a complete bitch, goddamnit, I care about these fucking people that don't give a fucking shit about me.

(That last line may have been too honest, and I may regret it later.)

A certain guy last night based his opinion of me complete on the fact that I hate PBR (and most cheap beer) and listening to hard-core anything (that's not to say that I don't appreciate it, it's just not my preference). Later in the evening after I had danced, mostly by myself - Richmond dances less than DC, I managed to find myself in a conversation with this guy and a couple of others about the difference between being a nice person and a good person.

They all strive to be "nice guys" and I find the word almost repulsive. Nice is what you say about someone when you don't have anything better (or worse) to say about them. I find that nice people are boring, followers, people-pleasers, etc. Awful, right?

These boys believe that everyone should be nice. All the time. This is my beef with Richmond. It's the fact that I am incapable of sitting back, shooting the shit while getting oblitereated.

Good people do things without talking about them. I suppose they're humble, and while I'm not humble at all, I think that I don't go out of my way to talk about "good deeds." You all know or have known someone that has done something "good" and talked about it too much.

One thing led to another and we were onto first impressions and why they matter. I think they're everything, and well these guys disagree. (Is it apparent that we are complete opposites?) So then, why did I bring the beer and donuts? Am I nice, or good? I thought I was being polite, a topic that they had never heard of. And apparently it was pretentious. I just can't win, but then again, this conversation was in a group and didn't last more than twenty minutes. And when it was all over, they got free heart-shaped-sprinkled donuts. Sometimes I'm just too nice.

...because I'm awesome. Duh.

For those of you that aren't aware, I'm applying for several internships - State Department, NPR, Slate, DC City Paper, and of course, The Washington Post. I finished my application for the State Department back in December, and have been working on the NPR application for the past few days.

I feel like I should have done all these things before, but none of the jobs I've had (all three of them) have required a cover letter and/or resume. And it's not that writing these things is difficult, but tedious. I have no idea what a cover letter is supposed to look like, how long it's supposed to be, or what it's supposed to say - except that it's supposed to make you look good and you're supposed to flatter the reader a little bit. Mine was about five hundred words and included the sentence "Eww...You want to have sex?" I promise it made sense in the context.

I sent to a bunch of people (Christina, Mr. Brann - I'm talking to you) who did not reply. Luckily Mrs. Hailey and my dad had plenty of time to lend an open ear. And despite it being relatively casual, it was me. And so were the writing samples. I used a BYT review, an article I wrote for Ink about stripping and the blog I wrote after my car accident. When I faxed everything, it came to thirteen pages.

The next deadline is Slate, and I'll probably send the exact same things. I've thought and emailed about being an official intern for BYT, but the editrix has not gotten back to me about it. And it's not paid, though I wouldn't get paid at City Paper either, and I'm not sure about Slate. And assuming that they all want me (unlikely) I would obviously choose the one that paid the most, unless I get the one at the Post, in which case money is not an object. I think I would (and probably will eventually) sell my soul to Leonard Downie. It's really a shame he's not at the Post anymore, but whatever, I'm awesome, and if I can snag an interview with any of these publications I will have it in the bag. TADA!

Friday, February 13, 2009

I'm not blogging about you...

The past few days have been spent crying and eating chocolate pastries. Pathetic, but delicious.

Last night I got home from work and was naturally very hungry. I thought that I had and Amy's frozen something in my freezer, but I was wrong, so I ordered pizza. Not just any pizza, my favorite pizza. Greek pizza WITHOUT black olives from Bottom's Up. I like black olives, just not on pizza - I have a thing about combining different textures. They told me it would be about thirty minutes and asked if I could meet the driver outside as they were very busy. I agreed, and when he arrived I quickly signed the receipt and went up to my room. Upon opening the pizza I started crying, they had included black olives. This really is nothing to cry about, and I considered picking all the olives off, but... have you ever tried picking olives off anything? It's difficult. So, I pulled myself together and called them back and asked if something could be done. I felt bad about this, but I had had such an awful day, and wanted what I wanted. The manager said he would have another pizza sent over and that it would arrive in about thirty minutes. I suppose I didn't say anything because he asked, "Ma'am, are you there? Is thirty minutes okay?" Yeah. "Are you okay?" I started crying again. I mean it really is ridiculous, right? I tried telling him that I was fine, but he didn't believe me, obviously I wasn't, so he offered to throw in a six pack, which would have been lovely if I didn't live in the dorms, so when I said no, he insisted that something else could be done. So, I got a brownie sundae. Score! The pizza man heard me cry, on the phone. He heard me explain what an awful day I had, and was genuinely interested. It's easy to fall into thinking that people really don't care about others, but then someone like Ricky manages to changes that and show some humanity.

Now, I would appreciate it if someone would explain to me why boys are so awful, always trying to do the practical or logical thing. It seems to me that feelings have never allowed me to do anything practical or logical. Though I have learned that more is accomplished if I keep my mouth shut than go off. And I think that boys in general are fairly lucky that I am not the hitting kind of girl.

Today was not any different than the past couple of days, and this whole "friends" thing is silly. There comes a point where being friends, at least proper friends isn't possible. This becomes particularly difficult if two people are stubborn. I am a feeling person, and even if I don't like my feelings, I deal and they either go away or they don't.

I have been waiting for these ones to go away, they haven't. I'm pissed.

But at least when I'm pissed I can come home to FRESH FLOWERS!

Yesterday when I got back from class, Jessica had left a small bouquet of Spider Chrysanthemums and a note. Have I mentioned that I have the best roommate ever? Because I do. I don't think she realizes how happy that made me yesterday.

And today after an outing that was less than stellar I came in and checked my mailbox and in it was a card from my daddy and a package notice. I went to the housing office to pick up my package. A large, green, ProFlowers box. Inside were a dozen, long stem, red roses, for me.

I seem to have some pretty good friends, they make up for all the boys I know needing man lessons.

Thanks guys, I love you.

Thursday, February 12, 2009

I just want flowers

There is nothing silly about wanting flowers. And I know that it's Valentines's Day weekend, and some people think that's lame, but I totally buy into the overly commercialized Hallmark holiday. It may have something to do with my being a Hallmark Rewards Card member.

My favorite flowers are yellow or orange roses. Gerber Daisies and Camellias are close seconds.

And right now I'm feeling kind of shitty and would like to take a nap, but there is some sort of siren that is going off and has been for about ten minutes. Flowers might make me feel a little bit better right now.

If I don't get any flowers this weekend I am going to cry. I mean my dad should at least be sending me flowers.

And if the siren doesn't stop soon I think I'm going to kill someone.

Saturday, February 7, 2009

On being a Big Girl

The hardest part about coming to college has been living in the dorms. VCU has two campuses and I live on the medical campus, I'm not sure why they have a fresman dorm there, but they do and most people don't like it. I miss having a living room, a kitchen, you know, more than half a 14 x 10 room to put my stuff. I want an entertainment center instead of an old barber's chair and a desk to put a television and stereo. I want a big-girl-bed instead of one that I have to pull out from the wall to lay on. But most of all I just want a place where I am not constantly surrounded by nineteen year-olds. Of course my dorm is better than those on the main campus because it's quieter and there are a lot of transfer students AND a lot of people have moved out to live on the other campus as rooms became available, I'm pretty sure that at least half my floor has moved out. I like that.

As a result of my dislike of the dorms I have taken to checking Craigslist obsessively. The only problem with this is that most of the places that are available now won't be in July or August, but at least I'm getting an idea. My parents bought my sister a house, she got a roommate and they paid rent, but still. It was an adorable house, it would have been perfect for me and my roommate (we are getting a place together next year), but they sold it last year when she got married. Richmond is cheap, you can get a two bedroom apartment for seven hundred dollars here. Jessica (roommate) and I don't want to pay more than five hundred each. When we tell this to people they always look shocked and then say something about that being so expensive. Really? Expensive?

Jessica's sister told us the other day that "part of being in college is having a shitty first apartment." I disagree. I have already done the dorm thing, I am by no means going to live in a "shitty" apartment if I can help it. I want to find the place and stay there until I graduate.
I have also taken to looking at furniture online and am really excited for a big-girl-bed. I am going to get a queen size and I've found three on that I love. I'm going to keep my duvet, it's brown with white polka-dots and Ikea no longer carries the design, but the Armstrongs have it too of (If I get the time I'll find a picture of it and set up the link, but I really don't feel like it right now.) I like the pattern, it's very gender neutral, and it's not black. Though, I am leaning towards the black bed frame.
My apartment will not be shitty. It will be painted and have framed pictures and fresh flowers and a coffee table, and dishes and a couch and chairs and a DVD/VHS player and rugs and...

Thursday, February 5, 2009

Brett Ashley

Dating. It sucks. Mostly because V-day is like a week away and I have never had a decent one. Last year Mraco was still in Georgia and we had to wait to celebrate until he came to visit like a week later. And that still didn't turn out the way it should, or dates should - but that was just because he didn't have a car (Army) and didn't live here.

So, because I have been very frustrated with the boys in Richmond not doing things the right way, I've decided to make a list. DC boys, you did it right, and perhaps set the bar too high for these guys down here.

- I am a lady, or at least should be treated like one. I shouldn't have to ask for it. You are a boy and you should just do it, no matter our status.
- Open my door.
- Stand up when I come to and leave the table.
- Excuse yourself when you need to use your phone, whether or not you leave my presence. It's polite.
- Always offer to pay. It doesn't matter if I am dating you or not. It's called being a gentleman.
- An amendment to the above - because we are out and you are offering to pay, do no wait to pick up the bill. Pick it up immediately. Do not let me see it. But do wait for me to offer to pay my half and then insist on paying all of it. I don't mind covering the tip or treating us to dessert afterward.
- Pick me up.
- Bring me flowers. This is probably the only thing that other girls can dispute. Some people don't like flowers - those people are obviously incompetent. I love fresh flowers, all of them, except carnations and mums. Buy me those and I will never talk to your cheap ass again.
- Dance with me. At least know how to waltz. Dancedancedance. I want to dance, with you.
- Plan something, anything, a walk, take me to a park and push me on a swing, seriously, this isn't difficult.
- Though sometimes I should get giddy. I love the pre-date giddiness.
- I like to look pretty, you should too. I want to get dressed up sometimes, and I want to see you in a tie, and if you really want to impress me, wear french cuffs, with cuff links, without pleated pants.

All of this may make me seem "high maintenance" but really it's just traditional. I like my independence just as much as you do, but if you think I'm cute, time rewinds to 1926. And these things aren't all romantic, they're just common courtesy.

Being taken over by the fear

Lily Allen doesn't have the best reputation in the music industry. She's a bit "edgy" if you will. I didn't like her first album and didn't understand the fuss. I get annoyed when I see her featured in the tabloids, and I couldn't care less about her upbringing (she poses as a rags to riches story when she's had riches all along...). BUT! Then she came out with the single The Fear and I can't stop listening to it. And now she's put up her entire sophomore album on her myspace page, and I'll tell you what it is the cure to her first album. It's arrogant, snarky, sweet and all wrapped in heaps of bubblegum. Even the song Fuck You (you being George Bush in this instance) sounds sweet. She has found a balance of contrast between her lyrics and accompaniment. I'm not going to say that she doesn't get on my nerves anymore, because she does, but I wouldn't be surprised if this album hit number one it's first week out, at least in the UK, it's that good.

For those of you that aren't going to hop to it and give it a listen, I'll give you the abridged version.
1. Everyone's at it - she questions why our generation is so quick to turn to medication and drugs over constructive vices.
2. The Fear - her i'm-not-sure-if-i-love-or-hate-fame song; the lines "I don't know what's right and what's real, anymore" and "life's more about film stars and less about mothers" lead any listener to question if she's sure about where her life is headed. Love it.
3. Not fair - simply about a nice boy who can't give her an orgasm. Sucks for her, possibly more for him, but hilarious nonetheless.
4. 22 - she pities a woman who's "nearly thirty" and who's "life is nearly over" all because society says so. I'm going to have to agree, I don't think anyone's life really starts until they are 22, and unfortunately being a woman, society does seem to say that we're not worth much after thirty, it's a shame really because I know some really cool ladies that are 30+. I don't agree with the sentiment, but the statement.
5. I could say - breakup song about moving on. meh.
6. Back to the Start - funny that this comes right after the breakup song. This is probably the most danceable on the album - more electronic/synth that isn't missed on other tracks but fits this one perfectly.
7.Never Gonna Happen - incorporates some russian folk sounds on the intro; this track is what everyone means when they say that someone is being "fake" - she sounds so sweet, but take a closer listen and she's verbally slapping him in the face.
8. Fuck You - George Bush. Hilarious.
9. Who'd have known - beginning of a relationship song, I kind of hate it because it suits my life perfectly right now.
10. Chinese - the part where suddenly all you and your hunny want to do is watch tv and eat chinese food, being domestic isn't all bad.
11.Him - about God and his role on Earth, and like every person ever she's not sure if she believes.
12. He wasn't there - I don't know if this is about an ex or daddy issues. I'm thinking the later, but I coudl be wrong.

Now, go listen to it!

Wednesday, February 4, 2009

Porn and Top Chef

*Warning: If you are offended by pornography you probably shouldn't continue reading this post.

I am not particularly a fan of either, but Top Chef was the only thing worth occupying the silence of my dorm and my roommate and her non-boyfriend are sitting on her bed wide-eyed looking at porn.

The first time this happened was about a month ago and she had never seen porn of any kind before and was being exposed to the strangest kind. I saw my first Playboy (girls on girls) when my friend Marc was packing to leave for college. He was cleaning out and looking at everything before eventually throwing away the majority of his closet. He also had a collection of VHS tapes that he had recorded porn on when his parents weren't home. The magazine didn't particularly do anything for me, I mean I'm not into girls and I know what girls look like and if anything I was kind of put off by how artificial their bodies looked.

This is not what my roommate is looking at. Tonight they are watching bestiality, well sort of. They were watching girls let dogs lick them and giving horses hand-jobs. Not my cup of tea. Before it was mostly transexuals and puffies.

One can only wonder what they're into when I'm not around.

Golf Balls don't belong back there

I have been getting headaches everyday for the past week or so around 4 PM. Yesterday I woke up and my tonsils were swollen. As the day progressed they got bigger and in the middle of Psychology I started to get chills. Awesome. I had a fever. By the time I had returned to my dorm I could hardly deal with standing or sitting upright, but I had to stay awake long enough to watch Scrubs. And I did, sort of. I stayed awake through the first episode, but started to doze during the second. I was out by ten fifteen, that never happens, but I suppose Nyquil helped.

When I woke up this morning I made an appointment at the student clinic. The nurse practitioner thought that I should have my tonsils out. Every nurse that I have ever met has said that.

My tonsils and the majority of the glands in my neck/throat are enlarged. I don't know for sure but I think that is has something to with my being born with the umbilical cord wrapped around my neck. When I was little I used to get strep all the time and when I was four my tonsils swelled to the point of sealing my throat completely. This happened on a visit to North Carolina while we were visiting the Rollinger's - my Godparents. Luckily they lived close to a hospital and Theresa (Mrs. Rollinger) drove me and my mom. I remember waking up and not being able to breathe and my mom not having any idea what to do, but I was awake and was able to communicate that I needed help. We drove with the windows down; the cool air seemed to help. When we arrived I was whisked into a room and hooked up to a couple of machines. I remember having to take off my clothes, except for my day-of-the-week underwear. The doctor was a man and I was embarrassed. After a few hours of wearing a rubber mask and breathing in what looked like smoke, I was allowed to go and kept my mask as a souviner.

This happened again when I was eight. This time I had to hold this tube in my mouth and they ended up giving me and inhaler, unsure of whether or not I had asthma or bronchitis.

Over the years I have had strep throat too many times to count and in the past year I've gotten sinusitis/tonsilitis five times. It took the third time to get the correct diagnosis. I usually have symptoms of one thing, but then they'll see my tonsils and lose it.

I have asked about getting my tonsils out, but we have Tri-Care Prime (military insurance) and they refuse to prescribe "unneccessary surguries." This would typically be appreciated, but I do believe that this is long over due. They should have removed them after they closed my throat the first time. I just haven't been able to convince a doctor to give me referal to get them out. Of course most of these doctors are not military, but contractors and that's an entirely different rant that I'll save for a later time.

I did however, convince the nurse practitioner to prescribe me augmentin instead of omoxicillin which means that once I get it filled I should be better within a day or two, until then I'll sleep and sleep and sleep some more.

Tuesday, February 3, 2009

Oh, Deary!

Oh, GEEZ! I haven't written in over two months! And if you know me (and presumably, you do) then you know that I am busybusybusybizzybuzzbuzzbuzzbuzz... I've been meaning to, I just haven't gotten around to it, because I know that once I start I won't be able to come back to it, I'll want to start over, and because of this writing blogs takes me forever. So, I try not write them unless I know that I don't have to be anywhere for a couple of hours, this is very rare.

So, let me give you the abridged version of my life for the past two months:
- I had a wonderful Thanksgiving and after tiring of my family was able to spend the remainder of it with my friend Couch as it was his birthday and I had made him a cake and a pie. I am an excellent baker.
-I had exams. I passed. That is all.
-I went to Sugar Mountain in Boone, North Carolina for Christmas with my family. It was relatively drama free.
--On the way there I almost hit a deer, it was huge, and when I stopped the lady behind me hit the back of the family mini-van. Everyone was fine, including the deer who just starred at me for a bit before running back into the woods.
- I was not born to "shread" - this was manifested in my inability to stand up on a snowboard for more than five seconds.
- I went to New York City for four days the week of New Year's. I will do it better next time. I did make a new friend though, he is Russian and thinks I'm silly. He is correct.
-I have been to a lot of shows and have been a part of dramadramadrama. I'll probably won't write about a certain encounter more than this right here because the last time I wrote about one 239842739 people read it (Hi, everyone!)
- As a result, I'm attempting to avoid it. I'm even being nice-ish, you all know how I feel about nice people (they are so boring) so I'm going more for the, "oh, she's fun!" girl.
-My love life has gotten more complicated, and up until this past weekend, I was hoping for something more than what it is, but I realized that it's just fine after all I'm nineteen, and I don't need a boyfriend.
-I got yelled at in the metro.
-Right after that I found an iPhone.
- I met an amazing woman at the Inauguration, she claims I "saved her life" (I will blog about the inauguration, I promise).
- I wrote a story. It will get published. And you will read it. And if you have anything to do with me and DC, you will read and go, "OMG,really?"
- My grades were crap last semester so I'm on "academic warning" (pre-academic probation) so I've been trying this thing called studying, I've always heard about it, but busied myself with other things.
-I've started going to the library, and I like it. I'm there right now.
-I have to blog for one of my classes everyday, so I may be posting multiple times over the next few days to attempt to make up for it. Some of them will have prompts, I'll tell you and you can skip those. I thought about creating a seperate blog, but I already have a ton of things to keep track of and it wasn't worth it.
- I am going to be famous by the time I am twenty-two, or at least published in something worth reading and/or have a TV show on Bravo or Style, etc. I'm writing the pilot now. And I don't know if you've heard this, but it's my theme song of 2009. Joel is going to be my personal photographer and replace Annie Lebowitz as resident at Vanity Fair when I take over there.