So, first of all, apologies for the lack of posts AT ALL in the last two or three weeks. Can’t even remember how long it’s been. Anyway, the excuses abound, but the main reason that I’m lacking in the communication department is laziness. I was too lazy to find something about that time to tell you about. I would have blathered on and on about the dinner party, but Miriam already knows all the details, and none of the rest of you are here for any of that.
In other news, I have had tons of altibajos in the last two weeks (love that word… Spanish for “ups and downs”) and there’s probably plenty I could have talked about, but for some reason, whining is less appealing when it’s on the world wide web. There will be continued posting, but the posts will continue to be few and far between as final creep ever-closer. Gross.
Also: HAPPY 50th POST EVERYBODY! I know that’s absurd… but I don’t know of it’s absurd because the number is too high or too low… Whatever. Happy 50th to all of you! And thanks to everyone who’s left a note to tell me what you think! Special gold medal to Mirie, for being the bestest blog-reading friend in the history of bestest friends.
I don’t want to turn into one of those chicks that only ever talks about the cute boy. I think it’s stupid, because there’s more to life than that. And if that chick ever gets the guy, he’s still all she talks about, and she stops hanging out with her friends and only ever hangs out with him… and then they break up and her whole world shatters. Thanks but no thanks. I’ll wait for the next train.
But seriously… I think I’m at least slightly messed up in that regard. I think about CFB a lot. When I see him, I get butterflies. I know that I talk about him at least once at every meal, and when he talks to me I think about it all day, analyzing it. Mostly trying to make sure that I let him know I like him without flinging myself at him like the girlies in his harem.
WARNING: If you do not want to read what is basically a twelve-year-old’s diary entry, stop here and have a nice day. You do NOT HAVE to read what is below. Not even you, Miriam. I’m only putting this down for my own mental health, in the hopes that I get it out of my head. Feel free to consider this the end of the entry.
But today I can’t stop thinking about him at all. Today in class he complimented my hat (not important, except that I was wearing one and don’t usually) and made me kind of giddy, but then class proceeded as usual from there. We always talk in class, but it’s usually about silly stuff. He mentioned it was his roommate’s birthday and I told him to pass along birthday wishes from me. I complimented his No-Shave-November scruff, and he said he was getting a haircut. Blah blah blah… then later he flirted with me a tiny bit, but that wasn’t unusual. It was after class that I got my surprise.
On a typical day we’ll either leave the classroom together, and then walk to lunch, or one of us will end up leaving first and we don’t walk together. If I leave first, and he’s right behind me, I’ll slow up a little and wait under the pretense of asking about his plans for that night. Obviously that’s a delicate thing, because I don’t want to be sketchy. But today he left first, so I figured that was the last I’d see of him.
When I got to the stairs, I was a few people behind him. I saw him look back up the stairs, looking for something/someone. To be honest, I told myself it was for another girl in class who is a part of the flock of groupies. I did consider that it was for me, but I’m trying to be pragmatic. To my utter and total shock, I got outside and he was standing there, waiting. When I walked over, he fell right in step and asked about my weekend plans. He walked with me to lunch.
I’m so surprised. I did not expect him to do that. He never has before. I always thought he was kind of a passive friend– he let me initiate because I usually did. But we’ve gone to lunch separately a lot recently because I’ve been hesitant… I didn’t want to fling myself at him. But then today he initiated. Which has pretty much boggled my mind. I’ve never seen him seek out one of his harem-girls… this is good news. Very good news.
So that’s my story for today. Also– the eye infection is totally gone, but I have a tiny scar on my cornea. But I can wear contacts again! CELEBRATE!
This morning I totally looked like a hobo off the street. It was hilarious. I don’t know that the physical resemblance was there so much as the lurching, not-drunk-but-asleep swagger along with the bajillion layers of hoodies and quintessential coffee. So maybe hobos don’t drink their coffe with French Vanilla Coffeemate (2 tablespoons) and Splenda (2.5 packets). But still. I was totally hobo-ish.
I love college, mostly because it makes me laugh. I came back from my class and, having skipped breakfast, searched for some form of reasonable sustenance. I found Cheerios! And milk that’s not expired! YAY! Too bad that I had nothing to eat it out of… nor anything to eat with. Dishes are such a hassle. I DID LAUNDRY LAST NIGHT, GOD! WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!? IS IT TOOK MUCH TO ASK TO FIND A CLEAN SPOON IN THE DRAWER?!? I ONLY HAVEONE!! But no. I ate my cereal with a measuring spoon. The one-tablespoon spoon. Ad before you ask- yes, it was the one from the coffee creamer. And yes, it still had coffee and creamer in it. Yum.
Today is my one-week checkup with the eye doctor. I get to go in and see if I’m allowed to wear my contacts again, which I *should* be able to do, because the white spot is gone. WHICH IS AMAZINGLY GOOD NEWS. I can’t wait to look human again. I hate my glasses. Plus they’ve been giving me headaches for the last week.
I got a Ravelry account… it’s supposed to help you keep organized So far it’s just adding knitting projects to my list and not helping me finish them… Oy vey. But the other good news is that I’m making progress on the socks!
… because today CFB walked me to lunch! He’s so cute.
I also did a test run for potential hairdos for the Fall Party. Because my friend Cat agreed to do my hair, we had to figure out what we were going to do and if it would work/stay put. It’s staying! We put my short hair up into little baby curls and I pinned it back on the sides. Kinda cute, if I do say so. I’m getting really excited for this dinner… aaahhh!!
Oh, and I don’t know if I managed to mention this, but I thought it should be pointed out– the boy I was dating at my summer job broke up with me just before school started. I think I told Miriam, but I didn’t put it here. So on the off chance that someone has actually been reading this whole time (and keeping track), no I did notmeet CFB until I was once again single. Nor was I rebounding, because I was totally, one-hundred-percent okay with the breakup. Plus, he’s so cute. Not that that has anything to do with it except as motivation to keep after him.
Ahywho, I’m on a high from caffiene, a 1960’s romantic comedy, and lethal amounts of hairspray, so I’m not going to continue blathering. It might be dangerous.
Everyone go watch V for Vendetta, and celebrate Guy Fawkes Day responsibly! (AKA with FIREWORKS!!! What? No fireworks on GF Day in America?!? WHAT IS THIS WORLD COMING TO!?!?!?)
Yeah, that’s time, whooshing past like cars on the highway. Only this time, I’m the dude walking along the side of the road, muttering to himself.
It’s so strange to me– only a month and a week until this semester is over. How did that happen? After that, my high sch college career is 3/8 over… and yes, I really did accidentally type that. Freudian slip, anyone? Ha ha… still. It’s freaking me out. I think my mind is still in high school, and the rest of me is in college. There’s some cognitive dissonance going on here– majorly.
Good news- I finished the scarf. And the project in accounting class that will hopefully help save my grade, but that’s not as important as the scarf!!!
I love it so much I should just marry it. Forget stupid boys.
Seriously, five feet of soft, squishy, woolly goodness is the best thing ever. It’s so warm and comfy… mmmm. Amazing. I still need to block it, so hopefully it’ll get a little longer, but even if it doesn’t it’s a good length. I’m so mad though– it’s freezing cold the whole time I’m knitting the scarf, and as soon as it comes off the needles the weather reverts to September temperatures and scarves are superfluous. I went around yesterday in a t-shirt, for heaven’s sake! A T-SHIRT. IN NOVEMBER. GAH!!!
I also finished up the earwarmer, but E has already claimed it so I will have to wait and creepily Kinnear her while she’s wearing it… mwahahaha. The Skinny Scarf has been frogged– five times. I can’t seem to figure out the right yarn/needles/patience combo. The set I showed you last time was all too small– the scarf was going to end up three feet long and an inch-and-a-half wide. Bad life choice. Then I started over with bigger needles– the yarn was too lightweight. New yarn: wrong color choice. Third yarn: zero patience left for casting on 400 stitches. So I have scrapped that for now in favor of a new pair of socks… yes, SOCKS! HOORAY! I have only knit one pair of socks, because I usually wait until I’m in the mood to knit mindlessly for several days with only minor instant gratification in order to avoid Single Sock Syndrome. I have to cast on the second sock before the first one has been properly celebrated.
That’s not the whole toe of the sock– that won’t happen until I join in the round later today. But it’s already pudging out like it’s supposed to, so you get the idea. I’m really excited for these socks. I can’t decide if I’m going to do them all in stockinette (for speed) or something more complicated (to keep me engaged). Decisions, decisions… and speaking of which, here’s the HIGHLIGHT OF MY DAY: Someone wrote “VOTE DR. HORRIBLE ‘08″ in sidewalk chalk on the steps in front of HAL (the building where all my classes are). Someone else wrote just below that, on the ground in front of the steps, “CHUCK NORRIS ‘08″. Luckily, we’ve managed to retain a sense of humor about the whole thing.
I know I mentioned a few days ago that I had iritis. Essentially my right eye was red, teary, and really painful. No contact lenses allowed– that made it worse. I finally went to the doctor on Monday when on Sunday night my eye burned and teared and turned blood red. It looked like I was half-possessed.
The doctor poked my face and burned my retina with his little flashlight thing. Then he asked if it was pinkeye. I kind of just looked at him. Then I said, “I don’t think so… I was hoping you would know.” He ignored me and asked a few more questions and eventually ruled out pinkeye. Then he declared it iritis, and the epic journey to RiteAid for the eyedrops-that-cost-more-than-a-novel-at-Borders (take a wild guess where I would rather have spent that Andrew Jackson) and by Tuesday night I was pretty well convinced I was on the road to recovery.
Then yesterday I had a checkup appointment with the health center. Just wondering– is it only me that sees a flaw in the logic of having a different doctor examine the improvement in a condition than the doctor who orginally diagnosed it? Just my theory. Anyway, I pointed out to this doctor that, while the pain and redness had gone away, the white spot that had appeared on my cornea on Monday was still there.
He dropped his flashlight/torture device and looked at me funny. “What white spot?”
Oh shit.
“Um, the one on my cornea. At the top edge of my iris.” He brought the flashlight/bane of my existence back up, and did that stereotypical doctor “Hmmmm…” which made me quite nervous. Then he pronouced that that spot should not be there, and was a bad thing.
Thank you Dr. Obvious.
Then he sent me to the eye clinic in town so that they could look at it more closely with their opthalmology tools/instruments of Satan. (Are you getting the gist that I hate having my eyes checked?)
Today was my appointment down in town and the first thing they did was spare me the heinous amounts of paperwork generally required when one switches opthalmologists. I think they have a special policy for dealing with kids from the college. Then they let me sit in the waiting room for like half an hour. Which I spent knitting, but more on that later.
Then I was taken to my exam room, and the tech asked me to tell her about my eye in great detail and several times over. She shined a light in my eye for about ten minutes straight. It hurt. I cried. Not happy. She announced that she saw no spot. Then she left me alone in the room for another half an hour. I knitted some more. Then the doctor came in, asked me to tell the whole freaking story once more, because he couldn’t interpret the nurses notes, which should have been court-stenographer-quality considering how many times I told her. He again shone the light in my eyes (I was seeing those rainbow spots everywhere at this point…) and saw the spot.
Turns out it was a infiltration– most likely the site where the cornea was breached and the infection in my iris came from there. It’ll take a little longer to heal than everything else, and I can’t wear contacts for another week, but it’ll heal. And the really nice chicky working the eyeglasses counter took one look at me and said “Oooh… you’re looking a little crooked…” referring to my glasses, which are old and have been stepped on/eaten by various human/nonhuman members of my family. Then she took them and fixed them, so now they sit straight on my face and no one will point out to me that my face is crooked. Yay!
KNITTING: I mentioned that I knitted at various points during the excursion. I’m working on a last-possible-second birthday present for my friend, and I took it with me to work on. I wanted to show you the level of improvisation that was required by my procrastination.
Yes that is a soda can pop-top I'm using as a stitch marker. Cause I'm sweet like that.
In my childhood, there was one thing that was indisputably forbidden. There was no argument, no bargaining, and no amount of guilt-tripping that could get my mother to back down from this issue. Luckily I never found myself strongly desiring this item, but the fact that it was the ONE AND ONLY thing that my mother would NEVER IN THE WORLD allow me to have lent it a certain appeal.
That one thing was black nail polish.
It’s ugly, it’s not flattering to anyone’s nails, it’s associated with goths and punks and emos, and there was no reason in the world to buy/use it. I was fine with the ruling for eleven months out of every year. But on October 1 I start gettin’ a hankering for Wet ‘n’ Wild’s creamy black polish… there’s just something about the Halloween looming in the near future.
Last year, my very first act of rebellion was to get an AIM screenname. Then a Gmail account. Followed shortly by painting my (very long) nails pitch black. I borrowed the bottle from a friend, and took great joy in people’s stares when they noticed my claws.
This year, I have taken the rebellion one step further. This morning I paid $1.06 for a bottle of black nail polish. I own it. I used it. I like it. It won’t see the light of day for another year after this Friday. I painted my nails black, and then drew a spiderweb on my thumbnail with white polish and a paperclip. I feel very sneaky, and quite gothic. It’s strange. The polish is coming off on Saturday morning, but still. It’s rebellion all the same. I consoled myself with the fact that I am a year and a half into my college career, and I have yet to smoke, drink, do drugs, or have sex. This “rebellion” wouldn’t even register on the college-life richter scale.
But I’ll try nonetheless.
IN OTHER NEWS:
~ The Fall Party is two weeks from Friday… AAAHH! I did bring back my little black dress when I went home for the weekend… tried it on… it looks good. (If I do say so myself…)
~ The nasty bugger of an eye infection I mentioned in yesterday’s post turned out to be iritis…go ahead. Laugh. It’s a lame name for such a pain in the ass. But it apparently can be fixed with a half-ounce, $20 bottle of eyedrops. Yay-hooray.
~ Weather forecasters are morons. I’ll bet the twenty bucks I had to spend on the eyedrops that the two inches of snow we’re supposed to get today/tonight never show up. These jerks couldn’t predict a thunderstorm during monsoon season. Grr.
~ Taylor Swift’s new single “Love Story” is amazing. I know, this will forever brand me as a pathetically hopeless romantic, but seriously. It’s amazing. Go here and watch the video.
TTFN!
If you make people think they’re thinking, they’ll love you; But if you really make them think, they’ll hate you.
Yeah, Jimmy Buffett. It was just that kinda weekend.
I’m semi-rested, semi-relaxed, and fully resigned to another month of school before Thanksgiving break. Unfortunately.
But seeing as this is a sunday night, and I’m tired, there’s not much more to report. Went salvo-shopping this weekend to pleasantly-surprising success. Got a job lined up for the holiday break. Celebrated my Grampa’s birthday. Bought school-bus-yellow wellies. And a grand time was had by all.
It’s terrible really. No one deserves to be stuck with someone who is tired, frustrated, overwhelmed, and just trying to survive the next four-and-half hours. And yes, that was an indirect apology to everyone around me right now.
I hate school at this moment. Mostly because I had a test this morning that kicked my ass, and I have a huge freaking accounting test this afternoon, and there’s only another 30 hours until I can go home and sleep for four days. Why must they make the transition so painful? The worst part is that I don’ thave anything important in any of my classes tomorrow, but I can’t even skip them because I can’t get a ride home until dinnertime. PLUS TO MAKE MATTERS WORSE CFB HASN’T REALLY TALKED TO ME IN DAYS.
Ok, done bitching. Now I’m going to babble about clothes. Yes, it’s the ressurrection of the Sub-Culture Clash. I warned you it was coming. Nostradamus and I, man, we tried…
This weekend, I went to Walmart and bought myself a pair of black jeans. They’re just cheap black jeans, $16.95 and nothing special at all.
Surprisingly, they actually look like this on me. And mine are black.
But for whatever reason- and I’m betting it’s because I’m crazy- I LOVE THEM. They’re SO comfortable, and they look good, (as evidenced by CFB… I walked past in the caf and he followed me with his eyes a little. My friend (who has no reason to tell me this unless it actually happened, as I am not offering any kind of payment) said she saw him… I’m trying not to read too much into it, but he was sitting at a table full of girls and he looked up and watched me… ) and- here’s where the crazy kicks in- they feel so INDIE. I know right? That’s insane. And in case there’s anyone out there less crazy than me who hasn’t bothered to learn how to recognize indie, I’ll explain. It’s basically a vintage-punk cross, with varying levels of emo vibes. If that made no sense, you’re beyond my help.
I’m not an indie person. I don’t do the indie thing. I admire those who can, but the shapeless tunics and flowy skirts and sandals in winter are not my best look, and the emo just isn’t going to happen. I’ll admit I’d like to be able to pull off the indie look, with the skinny jeans and sepia tones… but I’ll settle for vintage jewelry and cute shoes. That’s about as close as I can get to that particular trend. HOWEVER, I have decided to up the ante a little. I know I’m thinking about this WAAY too much, but when logic is trying to convince me to review for accounting, and my body is demanding sleep, the batshit crazy starts to kick in. I’ve decidd to give in to that urge to dress according to a certain trend. There’s no need to exchange my entire wardrobe. There’s no need to freak out if five days out of the week I end up wearing exactly the same thing I would have worn before this EPIC REVELATION. There’s no need to spend extra money to buy a certain thing that I wouldn’t have bought before. I mean, there are people charging $18 for a pair of knitted gauntlet armwarmers. I could knit that shit myself for two bucks. Just this morning I chopped the fingers off a pair of dollar store ‘magic gloves’ for kicks and giggles. I ought to start selling those things…
$24. Seriously. WTF? This isn't even cute. And they're freaking SOLD OUT. What, are they hand-crocheting them in the back room at a rate of two per week?
So yeah. Today’s post is probably absurd to anyone who’s not trapped in the sleep-deprived, accounting-overloaded, hungry, cold, and strangely obsessive world that is my mind right now. Thanks for the patience while I act like an idiot. I’ll go home for break, sleep for 24 hours straight, and be good as new!
Honestly. Speaking as one of them, and as one who more or less understands that everything I think or do is either controlled by my brain or my hormones (but never a combination) I can honestly say that we are the weirdest things basically ever.
One minor example of this is the collection of boys that my friends and I have developed at college. Not only are there boys of various builds, colors, backgrounds, majors, hobbies, sports, and sizes, (though they all seem to have a pretty similar musculature… ), but WE GIVE THEM CODENAMES.
That’s correct. You didn’t suddenly develop some kind of visual impairment that makes you read crazy where there is none. That’s not a typo. WE GIVE THEM CODENAMES. Like it’s freaking Top Gun or something. And the best part?
We think they’re hilarious codenames. Because we’re so stinking clever we name them after characters. My one friend had a crush on Strider, who was a shaggy-looking upperclassman who cleans up surprisingly well on fancy occasions. We both have a bit of a soft spot for a boy with jet black hair and piercing blue eyes– our idea of the sexy vampire boy, who therefore (unwittingly) goes by Edward. Then there’s CFB, whom we’ve nicknamed Aladdin, for his dark skin/hair and his propensity for being shirtless… :3 And the Hobbit, a boy who triggers that odd motherly instinct– he makes you want to go over and pinch his cheeks and make him a ham sandwich.
What is wrong with us? This is insanity, and it’s a pandemic. There’s so much more to rant about, but I’m in a rather tired/crabby mood, so I think I’ll just leave this as is for now. Maybe I’ll come back to the Girls are Weird thing. More than likely next time you hear from me it’ll be Battle of the Sexes part 2, and I’ll be ranting about how boys are dumb and girls are weird and why won’t CFB just ask me out?
Le sigh. Good thing fall break is fast approaching.
“A woman need know but one man well in order to understand all men; whereas a man may know all women and understand not one of them.”
Gross.
Whatever. Happy 50th to all of you! And thanks to everyone who’s left a note to tell me what you think! Special gold medal to Mirie, for being the bestest blog-reading friend in the history of bestest friends. 
