To The Dogs

Justin Timberlake is on the cover of this month's Rolling Stone.

DOUBLE-YOU TEE EFF?!?!?!

To make Jann Wenner look at least a little better, there -is- a Q&A with Sean Lennon. . . and a whole article on Mick, Keith, and the making of Exile on Main Street.

But seriously. Justin Timberlake?

The Shower Ghostie

Something strange just happened to me. I had just gotten out of the shower and was drying off when a girl walked into the bathroom (which was empty other than me) and said, "Hello?"

I didn't say anything at first; I thought she might be looking for a friend. Okay, I was mostly quiet because I was too busy being confused at why the hell anyone would walk into an empty bathroom by their self and say hello. I figured she would see there was no one in there but me, who obviously wasn't being looked for, and leave. But she didn't.

"Hello?" she said again.

I hate being talked to by strangers while in the bathroom. It is so awkward. Not to mention I was feeling unlucky because just this afternoon I got caught by the maintenance man (while I was sitting on the toilet, no less) in the bathroom at 180*. Two in one day, dang it! Anyway, I was thinking, "I'm naked and I don't know you, stop talking to me," but I just said, "Yeah?"

And this girl, this unidentified girl, actually said, "Oh, I heard our floor was haunted, so. . ."

What? Are you kidding me? First of all, everyone knows that none of the dorms are haunted except the Pine dorm -or is is Bush?- anyway, it's one of the guys' dorms and it used to be a mental hospital and a nursing home--if you believe in that sort of stuff. Secondly, as well as more logically, you cannot be any younger than 18 years old. You hear a rustling in the shower and the bathroom is warm. The first thing that comes to your mind is a)-"Someone must be in the shower," or b)-"Ohmigoshthestoriesmustbetruethere'sa GHOST IN THE SHOWER!!!"

Hello!!!

Aren't you a little old to be so concerned about the possibility of a ghost. . . taking a shower. . . in your bathroom. . . that you actually ask???

::shakes head::

And this after I overheard a 20 year old [gossipping, air-headed, sheep-like, rich little] fashion major whine to a posse of other fashion majors that her daddy stopped paying for everything for her. Yes, these were her actual words: "My dad won't pay for everything for me any more." The other girls actually gasped aloud at this cruel treatment. "He's not gonna pay for me to go to school!" Another gasp. "He's only giving me 3000" -count those ohs, that's three thousand- "dollars a year." "Oh my gosh!" the others cried in disbelief.

I will be the first to advocate the imprisonment and retraining (de-brainwashing?) of individuals as stupid and immature as these.

What do you say we all give a big eye-roll together to conclude this post? Ready?

::ROLL::

*180 New Montgomery St., one of the buildings where I have class. Since the "campus" is spread all over the city, the buildings are just called by their address or street name instead of their official titles, since that makes it easier to know which one you're talking about--less to remember.

Can you say "lost"?

There has been a recent trend among my fellow Blogspot'rs (read: 2) to pledge to post every day. Personally, I think this is a little over-zealous. Not only will they not do it (believe me, I know these people), is it really necessary that I hear from these people every day? I mean, you'd have to be pretty quirky to come up with something worth reading every day. But hey, if it works out, I won't be complaining. These are the type of people who currently update so infrequently you begin to forget their URL. And they're making such outlandish promises because they know they never post and they feel guilty.

(This is leading into the point, I promise.) Now, I know the above paragraph is a little. . . bitter? Scathing? Self-righteous? Well, whatever. Suck it up. Besides, I'm not that mad, I do it too. For all my berating, I have become as non-existent (electronically speaking) as the rest of them. I'd wear a shirt that says "I'M A HYPOCRITE" just to give people a warning up-front, but it's not exactly my style. Too. . . tacky. Anyway, this is not a post about blatant, verbally descriptive t-shirts and the people who wear them, this is a post about my lack of posting.

Part 1: Admission of Guilt: To all the people I complain to for not posting, I know that I don't post either. I'm just putting this out there. I am fully aware of and far from guilt-free about my own lack of posting.

Part 2: Excuses, Excuses: I feel like I have nothing to say. (Sorry, interruption. Please tell me why, when I looked up synonyms for "berate," did Thesaurus.com offer "eat out"?? As slang, even! Uh..... Now back to your regularly scheduled program?) This, of course, is not true. I have plenty to say, daily. Examples:

-I am thankful for my thumbs.
-I opened a checking account at Wells Fargo today (this could actually be expanded upon to make an entire entry, no joke).
-I have found the New H. and the New John Wise.
-The New H. and the New John Wise are in the same class.
-It is weird. And seriously self-esteem-lowering.
-I get free drinks at Chipotle!
-Rasputin Music files the Matches in the punk section. Take that, yee who snootily declareth the Matches as not punk enough!

You get the idea. So what am I saying? I don't know. I guess that I feel like if it's not deep, important and profound it's not worth saying. That I feel empty, devoid of meaning, and that every time I log in and click "NEW POST" I just stare into this stupid, blank box feeling depressed and wordless, stupid, blinking cursor mocking my. . . my what? My mental illness? My [heavily-quoted] "mental illness"? My laziness? Lack of energy? Absent-mindedness? Am I a)-too hard on myself, or b)-always placing the blame on anything else I can find. . . or somewhere in-between?

See? This is what happens. I get all introspective-y, completely lose myself in myself and end up having no idea as to what I was originally going for. I'm selfish, self-obsessed, narcissistic, megalomaniacal, stuck-up, arrogant as the Devil himself. . . and I'm trying not to apologize so much.

//sarcasm// on that last bit, chicas (y chicos, sorry Chris).

Part 3: Intent to Reform: I'm going to try. I feel a little fragile. But I'll try.

Part 4: Conclusion: I want to post more. I really do.

I am taking Tess's advice and just writing. And I will try my very best not to apologize.

These past two days have made me think of a When Harry Met Sally quote:

"Have you been sleeping? 'Cause, I haven't been sleeping. Last night I was up at four in the morning watching Leave It To Beaver in Spanish. 'Buenos dias senor Cleaver. Donde estan Wallace y Theodore?'"

Except it wasn't Leave It To Beaver, it was Dr. Know. Yes, Dr. Know, the smiling, water balloon-shaped, experimenting goblin of the Discovery Health Channel. And it wasn't 4AM, either. Worse: in the past 53 hours, I've only been asleep for...maybe 6 of them.

I'm exhausted but I feel like I'm on speed and can't slow down. This situation has given birth to a rush of new poems, however, so I'm not complaining. Today was a one-poem day; nevertheless, I am absolutely elated. After who knows how many no-poem days... It is water suddenly running again through the rusty old fountain that is me.

Mm, orientation in eight short hours. I hope I can get some sleep tonight...