Eat! Eat! Eat! (Part II)

I can't take these two day-long Thanksgivings. They make my insides aaaccchhhee. Today was more interesting, as I wasn't being dragged all over the house by a five year-old. That must be the only reason I'm here, everyone else gets to sit together and chat about life and love and living in general, and I serve as the distraction for the small children. Like a chew toy. Or a ball of yarn. Or TV. And no one seems to object, but then again, why would they? Afterall, it is the holiday of gluttony and relaxation, and they deserve a break. Surely the college student who sleeps and eats bagel bites all day won't mind if they dump a few children on her.

But that was yesterday.

Today was much much better. Until my uncle tried to bring up Intelligent Design with me. (Backstory: my aunt and uncle are very very Christianey Christians who interpret the bible word for word and lead a simple life in a remote area of northern Michigan, sustaining themselves on a generator and a small garden. Awesome.) Which was awkward as I've been an "Atheist-in-Disguise" for a while and think that Intelligent Design is a pathetic last-ditch effort for the kingdom of the Mega-church to get a hand in the scientific community. But I didn't say that. I could have said that, but I figured it was neither the time nor the place for a fight. And then I left the room for pumpkin pie... mmmm, gourds...

I was watching "Singin' in the Rain" last night, which, by the way, is a terribly wonderful hokey movie that everyone should watch and laugh at at least once before they die. And I thought to myself "Jesus," (because that's how I refer to myself these days)"this is terrible. Life doesn't unfold this way. People don't talk this way. This film does an absolute injustice to the time period that it's trying to capture." Then as I watched more of the onslaught of color and dance, my mind stumbled upon a whole different line of thought: "Jesus, Jesus! What if... just what if movies weren't made to represent the time period. In fact! What if movies were the antithesis of what was occuring during the time! And we should analyze film as a world unto itself, like a reflection in a rippling pool of water! And! What if my right knee cap is actually Henry Kissinger's lost virginity and the entire world has the consistency of creamed corn!" And then I put away the LSD.

The End.

P.S. I'm coming home for Christmas! Or New Years... actually, it will probably be that week or two following New Years where everyone is sitting around being bored as hell and wishing that there was a voluptuously chubby white girl around to entertain them with her whimsical annoyingness. I'll keep you updated. I want to see everyone! Yes, even you!

P.P.S. When is everyone going back to school?

(To be chanted in frat-boy manner) Eat! Eat! Eat!

Yeeeeeaaahhhhhhh!!!! Dude, you are the fuckin' shit. The shittiest shit, dude. Yeah. Sweet!

I'm done. Holy shit, I just consumed a lot of food. My pancreas is screaming at me. I imagine it with a thick Cockney accent... *imagines*... "You bloody bitch! What do you I look like to you, eh? A frickin' bicarbonate factory?! I've got the bloody gall bladder spilling his bloody bile all over me. For 4 hours straight!!! You'd think that damn jaw of yours would 'ave given out by now, but noooooo... it just keeps comin'. Well I've 'ad enough of it! I'm through with this 'ole bloody production *apoptosizes*." I really should brush up on my British slang...

I still can't believe I didn't die on the flight from Ithaca to Michigan. I was pretty sure this was going to be the one. A day or so before the flight, I always get these very vivid daydreams about the plane falling out of the sky. Or the passengers all clinging to one another, weeping helplessly. But the more I think about it, the more I think it would be a really kick ass way to die... besides the whole... dying part. Your life ends with this great roller coaster ride, you feel nothing, you make the news, and... you get this great roller coaster. But I'm not dead. Not just yet.

My Michigan "unhome" (as I fondly call it) is... weird. I might even go so far as to call it "bizarre", but I'm not in an adjective mood today. It's like you've rented a really nice condo on a lake... except you live here. Now if I could just shift it a few thousands miles south, it would be perfect. *runs out back and starts pushing on house*

So here's an idea... a totally unfeasible, unreasonable, craaazy idea. But an idea nonetheless. I think everyone that I know and love should pile into Jeff's Prism this summer and take a road trip to Michigan. And along the way everyone should crash at my condo-house for a week. There is a helluva a lot of room in this damn house and it needs to be filled... with people that aren't my family. Yes.

And when the time finally comes to leave, we'll make a rule that the last person in the car has to stay and live with Lisa's parents. Yes. Is good.

It's like the second coming of Christ... or something...

teehee... coming... what?!

Bellami is back, bitches! *points to link in sidebar*

I just done did shat myself.

I Give to Thee Thine Gift of Ye Olde Randomoscity!!! ... and Mediocre Old English

Hello again. How are you? I worry about you sometimes. I wonder if you're really enjoying where you're at, what you're doing. Are your thoughts pure? Are you motives strong? Did you change your underwear this morning? Are you even wearing underwear? *suspiciously raises eyebrow*

Erin, I didn't return your text message last night because for one reason or another I was exhausted and collapsed in my bed before I could think of anything witty to say. Sorry. I wish I could have danced with you.

Katherine, my vitamins are called "Multi for Her with Calcium and Iron" (don't judge me) made by Nature Made. The bottle is yellow and purple... just in case you still cared... even though I should have told you a month ago.

Bellami, I love you. Everytime I see a poem that I hate, I think of you and how you never tried to force poetry on me. Thank you.

Meagan, I love your hair. We need to get you some gel/wax/crazy carcinogenic hair product and make you all spikey and kick ass.

I bought some new shampoo this weekend, which, I think, is rather exciting. It's Herbal Essences and smells of God and Jesus and Chocolate rolled into one. The only think that pisses me off is the back of the bottle. (Yes, I am a loser who reads the backs of bottles). The back of this particular bottle reads "... my weightless formula fused with white nectarine and pink coral flower... and my fresh lather will leave you with lush, full volume...". And I thought to myself, why is my shampoo bottle addressing me? Does it things it's a person and not a bit of plastic fashioned into a hollowed out container? Because somehow a product that talks to you like it is a person is more appealing to the consumer than a normal bottle that knows its place in the world as a bit of plastic? What the hell kind of a marketing scheme is that?

This is the longest my hair has ever been. Ever. Just in case you cared.

As for politics... I'm glad that something changed. Who knows if it will be for better or worse. Rumsfeld is gone, only to be replaced with some other guy who has connections to the Iran Contra Scandal... mmm, delectable. We finally have a Muslim in Congress. And Texas is still run by a douche-bag and controlled exclusively by Republicans... delicioso.

Young people are so bitter. Why?

*looks around*... this room needs more plants...

Secrets of the Feminine Mystique... REVEALED!!! ... maybe.

So I was thinking about girls the other day... like the crazy would-be lesbian that I will someday aspire to be... and I realized something (otherwise, I wouldn't be blogging about this). (Most) girls don't want to fall in love or find Mr. Right or settle down in a nice home, make babies, and take Valium all day long, oh no. We just want to be admired. We all want to be that unreachable heroine with nerves of steel and a chastity belt of wit. We lead people on that we know we'll never be interested in. We let them swoon and hope and get frustrated and then we cut them off just when they're about discover us for the dull simpletons that we truly are. And we move our happy caravan of flirtation onto the next unfortunate soul. Such is the way of the Cock-tease.

...or maybe that's just me...

...that's probably just me...

Does anyone else feel like maybe women have lost a lot of the mystery they once held? When I think of a "sexy woman", I think Audrey Hepburn and Ginger Rogers and Melly and Scarlett (who were both sexy in their own ways). Maybe it's because I've been stuck in the "college experience" for a while now, but I just don't understand how spandex and short skirts are sexy. They may be sexually arrousing, but they aren't sexy. At least by my standards. Someone who knows when to talk and when to listen. That's sexy. Knowing the difference between "classy"and "trendy". Hot. Wearing as little clothing as possible and throwing all your inhibitions into a dixie cup of cheap beer... not so much.

The moral of this story, children, is if you want to get into Lisa's pants... *draws a blank*... shit, I don't even know how to get into my own pants. If anyone figures it out, let me know...

It's snowing!!!!

Dammit. And I have to walk across campus for a prelim in an hour. *In sarcastic tone* Good timing, Mother Nature! Geez... dirty whore. *Is destroyed by a pack of rabid woodland creatures*.

Have you ever had one of those moments where you're in your dorm and you can't find your keys? And you think to yourself "Shit, I forgot my keys somewhere!" and then you realize that you wouldn't be in your dorm if you hadn't had your keys when you got there. And then you look outside and they're stuck in the lock. Good times.

If you could make up any major you wanted and pursue it for 4 years, what would you study? I think I would major in "Baked Goods" or "Random Facts" or "Touching Yourself". Or!!! I could major in "The Sex Talk" and people would hire me to come and have that awkward discussion with their children about sex. That job would kick ass! I would bring a Barbie and G.I. Joe to demonstrate. Or a Tickle-Me Elmo and a Stretch Arm Strong. Is Elmo a girl or a boy? And why can't I find a Bondage Barbie (complete with handcuffs and 3 different colored ball gags!).

Did you know that Karl Rove's father was gay? I did not know that. I heard it on NPR so it must be true! I feel kind of bad for famous people sometimes. I would never want to be famous.


Why can't women close their mouths when applying mascara?

Who would make a better child molester, Santa Clause or The Easter Bunny?