Testing the Boundaries of The Law

Should the need ever arise, I know how to make 8 year old boys fall helplessly in love. Push them.

It's worked too many times for me to doubt it. Push them off the diving board, they love you. Push them into the pool, the adore you. Shove them down the water slide while they're hesitating - instant infatuation. Physically pick them up and set them down somewhere out of the way you're trying to walk, and you've got yourself a new stalker.

It's really quite adorable.

After a 10 hour nap

"I'm at a loss, you were my tangerine,
my pussycat, my trampoline" -Dog Problems, The Format

The best bit of going to Kyla's wedding back in March was the realization that my parents had joined the rest of the world and signed up for On Demand. I haven't watched Music Video programming since.. oh God... not since seventh grade of Junior High when I actually came home from school and demanded that my brothers change the channel to MTV. You know, so I could see who was in the #1 slot on TRL. So when I realized On Demand has an entire cache of music videos (without all those nasty commercials and DJs) I kind of blew a gasket. I watched every damn video they had, with especial love for The Format video (a sock puppet crying about a lost love! with a top hat!)
After spending all afternoon with Ryan Burrell, a friend from the days of MTV love, I'm feeling a bit nostalgic for Federal Way. Actually, it's not really nostalgia. It's an actual hopeful, kind of excited outlook about going back to the F-Dub this summer. I'll have On Demand. I'll have an entire slew of old high school friends to track down. I'll have Redondo! That blessed bit of half-mile boardwalk is just begging me to come back.

If Britney can, I can

Oh Tuesday
Laundry Day
Waiting for the Mail Day
Day of Too Many Cigarettes
Bad Hair Day
Fancy Shoes Day
Running Day
Tuesday, I think we need to talk about what you mean to me. You're simply too long and empty for this relationship to keep working.
If I had a car, I'd drive to Canada. Or Seattle. Most likely Federal Way, where I could kidnap a dearly missed friend and drink coffee until the sun goes down.
If I were just a bit less optimistic about what this day might bring, I'd go to Hollywood Video, rent 3 select movies, and give up the day to sprawling on the couch.
Instead, I'm going to go beg Irene to take me to Goodwill.

Oh, and the Britney title is in reference to her new, hot, rockin' bod. Have you seen the pictures? Tasty. My morning runs better get me the same results, or I'm going to be angry.

10:20 update

By the way, Tuesday, I also don't appreciate you toying with my hormones. Yes, boys with well-grown facial hair are exceptionally attractive. I don't need your constant reminders.

You will surely find this pleasing to your ears

How do I manage to be so slick? I sprained my wrist today at work. You know, that work I do, at the pool, with all the heavy lifting and dangerous actions. And by all that, I mean I was standing, bored, twisting my wrist around to hear it pop for fun, and sprained it. Just like that. Typing this hurts terribly but I just had to share.

Mayo = Not Okay Anymore

Well, I missed the deadline for an accurate date (because really, who ever looks at the time stamp?)

Anger-causing subject of the day:
People Who Throw Things at Bikers

You may recall the incident of Wine Party #2, in which an empty soda bottle was thrown at me. That night had some redeeming qualities and the super-pissed and hateful feelings were set on the back burner.
Tonight I got hit with an egg. Two blocks from my house. By, surprise surprise, boys in a truck. So from now on, all you Bellingham boys with trucks (or even friends with trucks, since it was the fucker in the passenger side that threw it) are on my shit list.
I'm not sure which is more entertaining. Imagining new and creative ways to force the egg-throwers to grovel before me for forgiveness, or running with the idea of them developing such a guilty conscience later in life that they can neither look at bikers nor eat eggs ever again.

But on a slightly more positive note, earlier this evening I got a call from long-time friend Ryan Burrel, who likes to pop in and out of life every year or two. Our conversation only lasted 20 minutes, but I laughed more during that time than I have since I came down with strep on Monday. He's coming for a visit next Thursday, for which I am stoked.

Firsts

Cheers everybody! I've got strep throat!

Some things of interest only to myself

I love taking pictures of myself when I'm drunk. I also love having my picture taken while drunk.
I have an entire folder of photos of myself entitled "Narcissism".
I love talking about myself. I love writing about myself, as witnessed by this blog.
I love sitting and thinking about how wonderful and cool I think I am.

I hate admitting that I'm completely, 100% self-involved.
I hate when people compliment me because I really don't like being talked about. I want to do the talking. You do the listening. Then you can follow up my monologue with one about yourself.
I hate that I spent the greater portion of this gorgeous day either working or laying in bed, trying to sleep as long as possible.
I hate that I didn't get to ride my bike in the sun today (going to work doesn't count.)

I dislike that my coworker likes to complain about her life and how hard people make it for her. It makes me want to do the same, which I resent, and I end up sullenly grunting off her comments by the end of the shift.

I also dislike my messed up dye job. And that I don't want to tempt it more by trying to fix it. Bad hair I can live with, horrifying hair I'd shave completely off. Going the way of Britney is never an acceptable path.

Friday, don't let me down

Let's start with the fact that I didn't get to bed until 4 am. This is the only ingredient required for a day-long migraine, apparently. Which I tried to soothe with a lovely, wonderful, fantastic americano. But instead I aggravated it by hitting my head very hard against the non-padded part of the green Salvador Dali couch in the Underground. I'll admit freely right here, right now, that I cried. It fucking hurt.
Fortunately Whitey is a fantastic motherfucker who let me bum a cigarette. Smoking, drinking coffee, and overlooking Bellingham Bay didn't ease the migraine one bit, but it brought on a zen-like feeling of acceptance that made it bearable.
Plus today was another day with Thor and the dinosaurs. It's hard to feel sorry for yourself when you're watching clips of people getting their arms twisted off by crocodiles.

In other news, holy shit. Check out the median income for white Manhattan families. That holy shit? That was said out loud. I cannot imagine making that much money by the time I'm 30, but I promise I won't complain if I do.

Too much sun? Never!

An 8 am run around the neighborhood followed by 20 minutes of good ab crunching should be the key to a healthy and well-lived day. I got the well-lived part down pat, but healthy? Not at all. Instead I devoured whatever food was placed in front of me (which I guess makes up for yesterday's one lonely meal). I even trekked halfway across campus for a pint of ice cream. If that all wasn't enough, it was a Porch Night, and I made it through about 5 cigarettes in an hour. It's been decided that Nick and I will be chain smokers by this time next year. Unless we can find something else to be friends over. Maybe video games.
Good news to everyone! (Or maybe bad news to all but me.) New camera has arrived! It's attached to my wrist and never leaving again. Picture opportunities abound at every moment.

Fulfilling my plans for success

"So, tell me, who did something interesting today?"

I raise my hand timidly. "Um, I rode my bike 30 miles out to the Lummi Nation and back. It made my vagina hurt. Then I did water aerobics, because you know, water equals stretching? I'm starting to think I should have eaten more than a burrito today."

Salvation is Free

I really, really need to look into getting a car. I should have started cooking an hour ago. I keep putting it off because carrying all the ingredients home is going to be an absolute bitch.

How to Enjoy a Bad Day

Yesterday and today I had the wonderful pleasure of dealing with Grade A Asshole business profs. I had to drop a class this afternoon due to complete ass-hattery going on in the Management department. Thank God UW isn't a huge concern anymore - this has officially fucked all my chances of UW Business School Fall'07. Twelve credits to look forward to all quarter. I'm either going to join the Western Cycling team or take up knitting again.
Fortunately, angry vase-smashing disaster behavior was averted with surprising ease.
1) Bandito's Burrito followed by Mallard's sundae.
2) Twenty foot tall bush fire, eyewitnessed.
3) Visually pleasing, high-strung political kung fu movie. Ridiculous logistic errors (just where do they store all those flowers?), spider-like ninja assassins, and the fail-safe "I just fucked my sister" look.
4) Chain smoking on the porch with Nick
5) Next Red House Party marked on the calendar
Oh, and my parents are coming to visit on Saturday, and bringing the replacement camera with them. Spring's looking good, even if it's already veering completely off the course I expected it to take.

it seems like i've never been to the san juans

Two hours after work, and still the only thoughts going through my head are smashing grinding metal sounds. Why? Why are people so goddamn stupid sometimes?
I was holding up pretty well. Then my coworker started complaining, which naturally leads to the drag-down. The sun had been taunting me through the thick glass windows all day (you know, when it wasn't hailing). The children were screaming. The stupid fucking teenagers were trying to wear baby life jackets. Arrgh. That one kid. I had to instruct him movement-by-movement: come here. stand up. climb out of the water. put your arms straight up. hold still. put your arms back up. He was fifteen! How hard is it to just own up and take off the life jacket?!
Smash. Grind. Squeal. I wish I could operate some kind of construction vehicle right now. Destroy a few buildings, dig a few holes, really let this frustration vent.
I really like lifeguarding. I like the friendly old folks and the cute kids and even the Russians who sit in the hot tub and argue. In Russian. But I do not like it when I start to doubt the public's ability to not be stupid.
So here I am, cranky and angry and bone-tired, about ready to fall asleep. Except I'm listening to Minus the Bear and kind of feel like making plans to ferry out to the San Juans tomorrow.

1 hour countdown to work begins... 5 minutes ago

Facebook has gone and done something very weird to itself. They're now displaying messages about groups as if they're real people. Example: Harry and Voldemort have changed their relationship status to "Mortal Enemies". Ummm... So then I clicked Voldemort's name and found two fantastic Facebook groups. 1) Chuck Norris roundhouse kicks Voldemort to the face... The End 2) Britney Spears kinda looks like Voldemort
Really, shouldn't be laughing at celebrity breakdowns, but the picture comparison was really unnerving.
Also, comments about last night: Four square + bonfire + keg of Boundary Bay = one hell of a shindig.

Biking as usual

This afternoon was one of the lovelier Bellingham days. Much like Sunday, except I didn't have to work. The lovely factor goes up quite a bit when I'm able to enjoy it.
All sorts of fantastic things happened. Remember when I used to really, truly love car rides? Remember how just a few days ago I was really jonesing for a car? (Honestly, that's every day, but I try not to write about it too often.) Well that craving has been completely and utterly satisfied (for now). Seth and I sat together in the bed of Irene's truck while we hauled masses of bikes all over town. The sun shone, the wind whipped our hair, and we thoroughly enjoyed watching the scenery go by.
The biking bit itself was glorious, only a little bit of a letdown at the end. We took on several hills in different neighborhoods before deciding on heading out on Chuckanut. We made it out to Larrabee before Irene's smoker lungs gave out, so we sat on the grass and waited for our truck ride home. Ten miles, all told. Not as much as we should be doing to prep for Georgia, but excellent considering that weather and sickness has kept me off the roads off and on all Winter Quarter. If the weather plans on being pretty like this more often, that bike is going to have many, many more kilometers added to the odometer (115 right now - that's unfortunately only 66 miles - about one day's worth of BRAG.)
Um, actually I'm pretty tuckered out right now. Big plans for Spring Break include: biking, camping, drinking. In that order.

never gonna find another man like that

Who knows what the future will bring? Blog posts may drop off in the face of no-more-finals, seeing as how I no longer need to log my hours and hours of distractions from studying.
Then again, I might be putting up EVEN MORE items on here, seeing as I have roughly 240 hours before classes start again, and about 15 of those hours in scheduled work time. The plan to stay in Bellingham and work over break? Failed. Miserably. I will be looking for absolutely anything to do to pass the time.

Two people are fishing. Man refers to fish as "she".
Woman: How do you know it's a girl?
Man: Her mouth is open. Now shut up.

Ahahaha, thank you Whitey, Father Goose was really close to the funniest classic I've watched.
And on that note, take some time to think to yourself: What did I know first about Marilyn Monroe? That she was a singer or an actor? Then quiz your friends. Weird results. I even ran into someone who thought she started as a pinup girl.

not hungry, not thirsty, not sleepy

So I've definitely been awake for the last hour and a half. This is a new one - isn't passing out drunk supposed to guarantee a full night's sleep? My last final is in 4.5 hours... Not sure what I'm going to do about this.

Deleting Bookmarks

http://lucysspleen.blogs.com/lucys_spleen/2006/10/vocabulary_assi.html

Ahh, I still laugh uproariously every time I read this.

http://www.wwoof.org/

Interesting, but not exactly useful.

http://imreallysad.com/554

http://www.ducttapefashion.com/games/battleship.htm

Oh God this devoured my life this summer.

AE=1/(1-MPC)(a+bYD)+I+G

In the "secret" computer lab under Miller, some poor finals-hassled college student with red-rimmed eyes looks up when I come in.

"Is it daylight outside?"

Just barely, pobrecito.

This was supposed to take 5 minutes, tops

Spent the day doing fantastic distraction activities. Red Robin with Irene and Seth, then Twilight Princess at Seth's (yayy!). Rented The History of the World Part I but sadly, I got a bad case of the guilts and had to leave early. Which was totally pointless, because I haven't done anything except put away my laundry since.
The important information here is that if Irene moves away next year (which, mean as it is, I really hope she doesn't. I don't want to live alone!!)... If she moves away next year she'll sell me her truck. Personally, I've never seen myself as a truck girl. That was always Elaina's role. I drove the Buick! the Tank! The hulking machine of steel that could drive over tree stumps without hesitation (granted, I was high when it happened. Impressive, no?)
Buick reminiscing time begins: now! During the first summer of rowing, my crew buddy Michelle and I brought home some boys from an Alki Beach Party. The night went well, and the next morning found one still passed out in the back of my car while we went to practice. We came back from putting away the boats to find the boy's foot sticking out of the open door, trying to sleep despite the heat and the sun.
I used to take the Buick down to Elaina's once a month or so. The road trip itself was the best part. One time I attempted to pass a car, but misjudged the oncoming car and the Buick's ability to accelerate. Both cars swerved to the sides of the road, I gripped the steering wheel with wild eyes, and kept driving. At 16, I really put my life on the line.
Another time I snuck out to visit a friend in Tacoma. Come 3 am, we discovered that the Buick wouldn't start. So out came the tow truck, who kindly helped me stick the Buick in its usual parking spot out in front of the house. $150 and 2.5 hours later, I was home free. I stayed up that whole night and took the bus to school the next morning (after I "discovered" that the car wouldn't start.)
Another time the Buick broke down: when I drove up to Redmond to visit David and William. It died in an intersection, and the poor video gamers had to get out and push the car into the Jiffy Lube. The mechanics looked it over, said it was fixed, and not 3 minutes onto I-5 heading home, it died again.
More Buick stories, you say? Okay, Tuey's birthday, senior year. Picked up Cole from Shoreline, who proceeded to smoke pot the whole drive back. He even waved at the little babies in the minivans.
Incubus concert. Bob and I played in the fountain, then were too frozen to pay attention to the band. As soon as the last set was over, we booked it back to my car. Pulled the stolen picnic blanket out of the trunk, cranked up the heat, and sat quietly content in Seattle traffic while we slowly got feeling back.
The stolen picnic blanket, you ask? Well, Jon and I were having a terrible day. Actually, I think it was mostly just me. After sitting in the grass at Dumas Bay for a good hour, talking quietly and soaking in some late spring sunshine, we noticed that the people across the field had gone down to the beach. And left their blanket. Jon and I, both being the adventurous sort, and also in need of some excitement after a rather long-winded and depressing conversation, immediately knew what to do. We grabbed it and ran.
So where's the Buick now? Good question. July 3, 2005, Chanel and I drove up to Bellingham to visit Brent. We stayed up all night, doing usual wild young thing activities, and headed back to Fedtown around 9 am. (I had to work at 3, I believe.) Being all sorts of tired and cranky, I crawled into the backseat and let the girl drive. Unfortunately, the last automatic she'd driven was RJ's, and forgot that we had different settings. Yes, that's right. She took the Buick onto I-5 in Drive 2. After about 45 minutes, it gave up the ghost. We got it into a Rest Stop and proceeded to wait until my dad came to pick us up. Fortunately, the radio still worked, so we put on a CD and sprawled across the roof of the car. My dad arrived, called a tow company, and got us home in time for work that afternoon. The only souvenirs from that day are: a snapshot of the two of us sitting on the hood, and the Buick symbol on my keychain. Plus the heartbreaking reminder every time I pass that rest stop on the ride between Fedtown and Bellingham.
This post is disgustingly long, I apologize. The whole point in the first place was to talk about how I might be driving Irene's truck next year. I was eyeing the old pickup and had a genius thought. I could cart a dog around in the back of that thing.