A Guide to Being a Narcissist.

A Lotto Blood

2010-04-27T17:57:00.004-05:00

It was a good weekend, but very busy. Anthony was out of town at a wedding during its entirety, which made me sad. Yesterday, though, we saw Alice in Wonderland: 3D. Yes, I'm late, I know, but fuck it. I thought it was a rather dull and overall bad movie. I've never read the book(s), but I found the plot to be horrible and oversimplified. Everything was too easy for Alice. After the film, we went bowling! That was pretty cool.

Then we drove to some backwoods gas station to buy scratch-off lotto tickets. Anthony says it's the luckiest place ever and he always wins when he gets them there. So we go out of our way to snag some tix, and as it turns out, the place was closed. There was no sign stating their hours, so I assume they just close whenever they feel like it. It is in the country, after all, still, I was a trifle miffed.

After that, we drove downtown to get a sandwich at Pickleman's. Mine was pretty good, though I did feel sort of like a traitor, eating a competitor's sandwich and all. But then I remembered that I have no loyalty to Subway and ate the bbq chicken sub with a smile. Their prices are steep compared to ours though. But Anthony paid, so it's all good.

As we were leaving the establishment, and walking down the street back to my apartment, this guy runs out of nowhere, punches another dude in the face, and runs off. This vigilante in front of us was having none of that. He threw his sandwich onto the ground (he went to the same place we did) and yelled "Yo! You stop! You hit that guy in the fucking nose, stop!" He chased the kid down, grabbed him and threw him against the wall. "I'm calling the police!" he announced to the guys. Anthony and I were just standing across the street, jaws dropped, staring. It was a wonderful show.

This hero pinned the puncher against the wall with his hip and whipped his phone out. He called Anthony over for back-up. He went. I didn't want him to. It was a big mess, the guy was pouring blood all over himself and the sidewalk- it was a massacre. It turns out the two were friends. Apparently the punched had had sex with the puncher's cousin and he didn't like that. Or something. The hero called the cops, but the "friends" got away. Anthony was cool while defusing it. That was down the street from my apartment. Pretty cool.

Carcinogen Shame

2010-04-25T23:01:00.002-05:00

Today I covered a 5-midnight shift for a coworker. As it turned out, I was too tired, having worked long shifts for the past couple of days, so I made a deal with someone else to cover me. Megan, my friend, was supposed to get off at 10, but switched with me and left at midnight instead. As a token of my appreciation, I offered to go pick her up some cigarettes, since I knew she'd been craving them and begging people to get her some.

Around 1o i hit up the gas station. As it turned out, I super embarrassed to be seen buying cigarettes. I didn't anyone I knew to stumble upon me buying this atrocious thing. Not only did I buy them, but then I had to bring them into the store too. I knew all the customers were staring at me in shocked disgust. I was going to stash them in my back pocket so no one would see, but I was afraid she wouldn't want my butt cigarettes.

I've never liked cigarettes, but I was surprised by the shame I felt, even when they weren't mine. Anthony smokes, and he knows I find it disgusting. It's the smell I don't like, gross. He even Fabreezes himself off when he goes home so his mom won't know he smokes. I told him that he's 24 and worried about his mother finding out he smokes? "You're a pussy," I said. He said he's kind because his mom's dad died of lung cancer, so he's saving her the pain of knowing he smokes. I told him that was pathetic reasoning and that he lacks balls. We're at a standstill on that one.

But kissing him isn't like kidding an ashtray. If he's just taken a drag, though, it's gross. I don't think I get embarrassed when he smokes, though, I just feel sadness. I guess people can think whatever they want of him, just don't think I'm a smoke breather.

I also learned that they can't put "light" on cigarettes anymore because apparently it makes people think they're healthier than normal cigs. That's ridiculous.

Stop with the sex

2010-04-24T13:23:00.002-05:00

My neighbors have been having loud sex for the past 30 minutes. Their bed is right behind my head, and its post keeps hitting the wall behind me. She's a screamer. I can't take it. It's disturbing me and driving me crazy. It's filling me with anger.

Suicide, Part 2

2009-12-17T22:05:00.002-06:00

I can't stop thinking about this kid. I didn't know, never heard of him, yet I can't get him out of my mind.

Why did he do it? Did he call someone while he was on the ledge? Who? Did they answer? What did they say? Did they think he was joking? Did they tell him to stop being so dramatic? Did he have no one to call?

While he was falling, what was he thinking? Was he happy with his decision?

Did anyone see it coming? Did he do it because he didn't want to go back home, where his homelife sucks? Were finals too stressful? Was he gay and afraid to come out? Was he lonely?

What did his parents think? Does he have parents? Was he an only child?

Why did he pick the parking garage? What did he yell that the janitor heard?

Did he think he'd fly, that it was a joke, and not real? What happens after you die?

Why did he do it? What made him think he had no other options? Is life really that bad?

Did he leave a note? What did it say? Who found it?

Will the garage be haunted? Why why why? Does he get to watch the aftermath from Heaven?

Was it an accident? Foul play?

I hope the autopsy turns up acid or shrooms. A drug death would be better than a depression death, at least he would've been happy, probably.

But really, I don't understand what makes a person do that. What leads to it. Were there any signs? Did he have anyone to talk to? He was attractive, but was college just not what he thought it'd be? Did a girl dump him or snub him? Was it a mach/bravado/dare that made him jump?

I guess I'll never know the answers to these questions, but I can't shut my brain off. I wonder what his last thought was, if he could've left his body before he hit, who the last person he talked to was, what he said, what they said, what the last youtube video he watched was, what was the last film he saw in theaters, the last food he ate, music he heard, test he took, person he kissed, hand he held, fantasy he had. I wonder what his future could've been.

I wonder and I worry and I stress and it's a shame. I didn't know him.

I shouldn't care.

A nearby suicide

2009-12-17T20:52:00.003-06:00

I was supposed to work the 7 PM- 3 AM shift at Subway last night. Instead, someone randomly offered to switch with me, because they know I don't like getting off that late. So instead I worked 4-12. After I got off, I went home. I read a book, ate some sour gummy worms and drifted to a peaceful sleep.

It was peaceful until I was awoken by an annoying loud noise, it sounded like a big truck was doing construction work outside my apartment. I woke and yelled "goddamn you! Have you no decency?? Let me sleep! Let me sleeeeeep!" No light was seeping through my blinds, which should have been a clue that it wasn't construction. I thought about checking my watch, but didn't want to know the time. I thought about looking out the window to see what it was, but figured it didn't matter and I didn't want to get out of covers. I'm glad I did nothing. If I had, I probably would've seen ambulances and firetrucks, and being curious, I would've gone to investigate. I would've seen something I could never take back. (My perverse curiosity got the best of me once, and I went on the site "rotten.com". It was horrible and I'll never get the image I saw out of my mind.).

This morning I strolled into my newspaper gig at around noon. When I got there Nancy, my boss, said "Jess, did you hear what happened last night?"

"Don't think so. What happened?"
"A kid killed himself outside your building." I was taken aback. "Say what?"
"Yeah, kid jumped off the parking garage."

I was floored. I went online to see our paper, and they had a blurb saying the kid was a 20 yr old sophomore.

"But that's not how we found out..." Nancy went on to tell me that a janitor who works the building had just gotten off work. He was walking to his car when he heard a man yell. He looked around, saw no one, and kept walking.

Then, right behind him, the kid hit the ground.

The janitor was scared, naturally, and took off running. Then when his senses came back to him, he stopped, turned around and called 911.

Now here's the kicker: this happened around 3:30 AM. Had I not switched my shift, there is a strong possibility that I would have been passing by when he offed himself.

Can you imagine just walking down the street at 3:30 AM- probably already spooked, since you're alone downtown at that time- and then, suddenly, some body falls out of the sky and lands right next to you? How disturbing would that be? Would you have nightmares? Would you feel some sort of irrational guilt over not looking up and stopping the kid before he jumped?

Is it sick, morbid and wrong that part of me wishes I were there? I've seen lots of dead bodies before, but only in a funeral home setting, not it a raw live-action setting.

Mostly I want to have been there because it would make this story a little more interesting. It could be first hand of how I saw a man die and how it affected me afterward.

Ultimately, I'm glad I wasn't there, it is certainly not something I need to see. My dad said that in real life it looks 100 times worse than it does in the movies. It would just be a neat affliction to have. Later on, when I'm a famous novelist, the critics would have said "yes, she is great. The affliction she endured after the kid died in front of her gave her enough edge to be great."

Though I wasn't there, I'm affected by this kid. The other city paper, our competition, did print his name. So I looked him up on Facebook. He's a good looking kid; has almost 600 Facebook friends; was quarterback of his high school team. His last status said "life... and grandpa JOE." I wonder what that meant.

I wonder what makes someone commit suicide, especially in a public place. I guess they want to be found. At least it wasn't at noon. What if he had landed on the janitor? "two for the price of one," is what my dad said.

Though I didn't know him, I've looked at his photo for so long that I feel like I do.

I'll miss him.

It's an Inconvientent Annoyance, actually

2009-12-03T23:25:00.007-06:00

I watched Al Gore's long, self-indulgent power point presentation today in one of my journalism classes. You might know it as "An Inconvenient Truth." Well yes, it was very inconvenient- I would rather have been buying Christmas ribbon than hearing about how the world as we know it is coming to an end.

I just don't buy the whole "Global Warming" thing. I paid attention to his charts and I learned about how his son got hit by a car and almost died (necessary to Global Warming? No), I even learned that poor little polar bears jump onto glaciers, only to have them break in half because they've been melting, resulting in the drowning of the cartoon polar bear.

Perhaps if someone had made a documentary about Al Gore's slide show, as opposed to him making it about himself, it would be more credible and I wouldn't snub it. At least it's not Micheal Moore.

I get everything he said about Co2 and all that jazz, but it'll never make me want to recycle or give up my SUV. He's just so pompous- why did he have to bring in footage from the 2000 election?

Oh well, it just wasn't for me.

A girl in class argued that it was racist because the cartoon people were white, that was funny. She also said it's not Global Warming we're going through, but Revelation from the Bible. She was serious. She argued with the teacher a long time- causing us to get out of class late- and even said "check this" to the teacher when she was making a point. It was entertaining. No one had her back.

Goodnight, I'm going to go hairspray a Styrofoam cup, then torch it all.

Family time or party time?

2009-12-02T22:58:00.003-06:00

I'm trying to figure out what to do for Christmas Break. Sadly I can't be everywhere at once. Part of me wants to stay here so I can make money at Subway. Most of me wants to go home.

The real problem is this: my mom wants to go to VA from Christmas to New Year's. I love my family in VA and I would like to see them. One such family, these two old folks who have a huge house and a checkered chicken named after me, are old and racist and amuse me to no end. They throw the term "jigaboo" around like it's nothing and it always causes me to laugh.

My sister, Tracy, doesn't really want to go. My mom said we don't have to if we don't want to, we can stay home while she goes, if we so choose.

It would be mildly cool having the house to myself for a week, but now that I've had my own place for four years, I think the novelty of being alone is gone. But the kicker is that Anthony wants to come celebrate New Year's in New Orleans. It could be fun, for sure. But on the other hand, my great group of friends and I have been doing the same tradition for the past bunch of New Year's Eve. Anthony could surely join us, but then I'd have to skip VA. Mom said we could come back before New Year's, but I don't want her to cut her trip short because of me. Dilemma, dilemma.

Did I mention that the old relatives are worth millions? They've already said they're leaving it all to this kid (my age) they've only met a couple of times. It's because he's a guy and has their family name, they're on my mom's mom's side of the family. Too bad they're not on her dad's, or I'd probably have their name, or at least my mom would.

Also, my friend Erin came up with an awesome remedy for my techno blasting neighbors. I could blast this right back at them:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zHPegoquV5I

What a horrible sounding language.

Pompously Apathetic

2009-12-01T22:55:00.005-06:00

Today was a good day. Nothing too outlandish happened. I did forget to leave that note on my rude neighbor's door, and thus once again, crapshack techno is what I'm listening to as I write this.

I don't know what's wrong with me, but I am very unmotivated. I have some schoolwork I should be doing, not a lot, but enough to keep me busy, but instead I've watched Gossip Girl and Desperate Housewives all night. I just can't do anything productive and it's causing me to fret. Actually, that's not true. I wish it were causing me to worry, but actually I just don't care.

I wish I could've seen my boyfriend tonight, but he works long hours :(

Oh yeah, something exciting did happen today. I got feedback from my Adv. Fiction class on a story I wrote and everyone loved it! The teacher raved and so did the students. It was amazing- not one negative thing was said. I wish I could say I was surprised, but really I expected the positive praise. I would've genuinely been shocked had they not liked it. The worshiping my talent didn't go on for as long as I would've liked, but really, it had to come to an end sometime. I am going to submit it to some literary journals now- so excited!

XOXO, Jess

Goddamn stupid hipsters

2009-11-30T23:26:00.004-06:00

As I type, I am praying to keep strong and not go on a murderous rampage. The person in the apartment below mine is playing the most horrible, disturbing, annoying techno shit ever. I hate techno and hate people that like it even more. Hate is a strong word, I know, but it's the least harsh word that's applicable to this feeling that is consuming me.

Every time they play this song- the same one over and over again, which is every night, incidentally- I just get so angry. I yell "I hate shitty music, aghh! I'm going to strangle babies and scratch them with my teeth!" I do yell these things. I imagine my neighbors fear me, but I don't care, maybe they should. Right now I might just hurt them. I can't convey how much I hate hearing techno blasting my apartment at all hours of the night and day. It's horrible.

I left a note on their door in September telling them to stop, and they did for a week, looks like I'll have to do the same thing in the morning. If I had balls I'd march down there, kick in their door, bust their boombox with a bat and then smash their face with it, for good measure.

Sadly, I'm lacking balls so I will suffer until the morning. If they don't comply with my message, then I will talk to my landlords.

This is insufferable and I will not tolerate it.

Every time the track ends it pauses for a blissful, torturous teasing 30 seconds, only to start again. I just don't understand people these days. Goddamn stupid hipsters.

I'm back, fools.

2009-11-29T18:54:00.002-06:00

It's come to my attention that it has been a month since my last post. This is unacceptable and unforgivable, really. My bad. So I am making you this vow to continue to update this thing. I will blog a little everyday. It shouldn't be that hard- I love to write- but somehow it has proven to be difficult.

I just got back from a week long trip to Baton Rouge. It was fun hanging with my friends and meeting my mother's new Boyfriend, James. It turns out he's cooler than I thought. He's funny, nice, chivalrous, paid for everything, and is taking my mom to Hawaii in February. He is quite the catch, so it seems. Though they all start out good in the beginning.

When I got back last night, Anthony came over with my Christmas presents. I wondered why, as it's not even December, but whatever. I opened them. It was a comforter and the "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia Christmas Special." I knew that's what he was giving me, as he told me that's what it was a week ago. I thought maybe it was a diversion, so I'd be really surprised when the real gift came. Nope. I think he wanted me to open them so early so we could use them right away. He doesn't like us fighting over my twin-size comforter and he loves "Always Sunny." Oh well. Maybe I'll tell him to give me a card so I can have something to open when he opens his gifts, which I will give to him as near to Christmas as possible.

Also, on a whim, I dyed my hair just now. It's supposed to be crayon red, but it's a towel drying, so I don't know how it turned out.

I have many stories to catch you up on, but I'm dying to see my hair, so I'm gonna bounce out now. Tomorrow, if not sooner, I'll will make another post. Scout's honor.

Mugshot Paradise

2009-09-29T20:52:00.001-05:00

I think most unattractive people are guilty of crimes. Thankfully there is now a game where we can pick which crimes they committed. A mugshot pops up with three options of the crime, you have to pick the crime correctly- and quickly- to win. It's never what you think it is.

Enjoy!

http://www.guessthecrime.com/

I approve wire-tapping

2009-09-28T21:49:00.004-05:00

I'm reading "All The President's Men" for my journalism class. We have to talk about how excellent the journalism is. But I must ask this:

Is it? Is it really so great?

Sure, Woodward and Bernstein were dogged, intrepid reporters. They did their job well- asking anyone and everyone anything they wanted to know. They were ballsy and could sniff through bullshit. They followed their instincts. Basically they did everything a great journalist does, I get that.

But for what? Ok, I've gathered that the it's about the Watergate scandal. To my best understanding, this means that the Republicans' "Committee for Re-election" was sneakily wiretapping the Democrats' meetings and spying on them. Great espionage, until they got caught.

I don't know if the mysterious tapes of Nixon are in this book- they weren't in the movie- and I've still got about half of the book to go. But what's so big about the tapes? They admitted that Nixon knew about the bugging, right? Then he got impeached (or maybe just wasn't re-elected, not sure).

Admittedly, I hate politics. They bore me to tears. I go more with my own feels than what the law says. So I don't get what the big deal is.

So the Republicans spied? Ok. So they had "secret" funds to support it. It's not like they robbed banks for that money. People gave it to them. Is it dirty to spy? Sure. Is it morally wrong? Maybe, probably.

But he was the president. I've never seen Frost/Nixon (though I want to), but I have seen the commercial where Nixon says "It's not illegal when the President does it," or something to that effect.

I agree. If the President does it, fine. As long as he's not running around with a gun shooting kids in a daycare, or something equally vile, then he can do what he wants. He'll do what's best for the country.

Unless it's Obama, of course, he shouldn't do whatever he wants.

Anyway, I just don't see what the big deal is. The Washington Post just seems like a bully, wrangling up trouble for no reason, sticking its nose where it doesn't belong and interfering with something that doesn't concern it.

This is what I understand: The whole Watergate scandal was the Republicans spying on the Dems. Nixon got impeached because he denied he authorized the taps, but it was found he had. Was it the denial that got him in trouble? I don't know.

All I know is:

A) It seems like a lot of wasted time on a mildly trivial subject.

B) Maybe I should've gone to see the duo speak when they were on campus last year.

C) It's one boring book, but Dustin Hoffman was attractively badass in the film.

Step aside Cain- this sister is taking your place

2009-09-24T22:53:00.003-05:00

This is the first draft of a personal profile I have to write for Intermediate Magazine Writing. We have to turn in two ledes (yes, it's spelled that way, Idk why), then the editor picks her favorite. So in the final copy, there will only be one.

Lede 1: Everyone who watches horror movies cringes when the naive person goes towards the scary noise instead of running in the opposite direction. Everyone scoffs and says they would never act that way; they’d be the hero of the movie instead of being the victim, obviously. I was one of those people. Of course I’d be a hero- who doesn’t want the fame and glory that comes with saving someone? I, however, learned that being the hero when faced with death is not so easy. It turns out I have too much to live for, too many things to do with my life. I can’t risk losing out on my great future by putting myself in harm’s way, even if that means saving myself instead of someone else- even if that someone else is my sister.

Lede 2: I’d say that I’m a good big sister. I’ve offered Tracy, my younger sister, my sage wisdom on growing older. Usually its unsolicited advice and her response is to groan and roll her eyes, but the point is that I try to be there for her. I lend her my ear if she needs to vent about a boy who’s being annoying, or I’ll give her a ride if she needs one. I’ll even occasionally buy her lunch when we’re out.

But, looking back, I realize that none of those actions subtract anything from my life. I’ll only give her a ride if she begs; I only buy her food if Mom gave me the money first; I only listen if I’m bored or the tale seems particularly juicy. The things I do for her aren’t really selfless at all, but then again, I’ve only been in a position where I’d have to be truly selfless once, and I failed that test, failed it miserably, I’d say.

Actual story:

When I was twelve and Tracy was nine, we were in our backyard playing Around The World, a game that involves shooting a basketball from various positions on the court. It was a fun way to wait out the few hours it would take my mom to get home from work. Tracy and I always chilled together after school when we were that age- whether it was having an adventure in a nearby creek bed or riding our bikes around the neighborhood- we were always together.

So we were throwing the ball, I was winning I’m sure, when all of a sudden through a window I see a red shoulder walk by the backdoor. I freeze. The hair on my neck stands and I can’t move.

“Tracy, someone’s in the house.”

“Shut up, no there isn’t,” she says, fear on her face, trying to decide if I’m telling the truth or am just a big sister messing with her.

“No, I swear, I saw somebody walk by.”

We both stand still, not knowing what to do. She looks at me for guidance, I look back at her, wanting her to choose our next move. Then, together, we stare at the window in the door, waiting for someone to run through it with a knife. No one does.

“Well, maybe I was wrong,” I say, still unsure, but hopeful. “Must’ve been my imagination.”

Tracy reluctantly agrees that it was and we go back to playing. We’re tense and nervous at first, but soon that disappears and we’re back to bantering and having a good time. I’m about to make an amazing shot, when all of a sudden Tracy lets out this piercing scream that would put the Wicked Witch of the West to shame.

My head whips to the window, where Tracy’s looking, just in time to see a flash of red shoulder pass by. I drop the ball. Each bounce echoes on the concrete. Thud. Thud. Thud. The ball is the only thing that can move.

Suddenly, something inside us snaps. Time unfreezes itself. We take off running. We round the corner, leading us straight down the long driveway that ends in a wrought iron gate that has the “beware of dog” sign dangling crookedly on it. Oh, why didn’t we get a dog to go with the sign? I ask myself, but it’s too late to wonder about that. Once we open the gate, we can escape to our neighbor, who is a cop, and everything will be copasetic.

But, after breezing past the corner, I realize that something is off, something isn’t right. That’s when I notice Tracy is in front of me, meaning I’m closest to the killer. This is no good. I’m too young to die. Without thinking, I reach forward, grab my little sister’s shirt, and pull her back. I didn’t want her to get hurt, but I didn’t even see her as my sister anymore, I just saw her as something that was in my way of survival.

Now that my view’s better- meaning no immediate obstacles- I relax a bit. I can make it to the gate. I can make it to freedom. Then I hear Tracy’s familiar scream, breaking through the blind determination in my mind. I stop, turn around and see that I had pulled her too hard, making her trip. She’s on the ground with skinned knees, hand outstretched to me. “Help, Jess! Help me!”

Naturally, I run to her. Like I said, I didn’t want her to get hurt, I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t the first one killed. I grab her sweaty, chubby hand; I’m about to help her up, when I hear the backdoor open.

That primal fear grips me again. I don’t know why or how, but I drop her hand like it’s a tissue soaked in the H1N1 virus. I ignore her screams and tears, turn my back on the girl I have shared a room with; hugged when the fights between our divorcing parents got scary; read to when she couldn’t sleep; and run to the gate. Maybe I thought I’d get it open and come back for her, but I don’t think that’s true.

I make it to the gate. My fingers work furiously, trying to get it open. “Oh please, please, let me live, I just wanna live!” I pray while I shake the one thing keeping me from fulfilling my destiny, trying to convince the tricky lock to unhook.

“Hey!” I hear. I release my grip. I turn and see the person in red is standing a few feet behind my sister.

“Oh, hey,” I exhale in a wavering, relieved sigh/laugh combo. As it turns out, my mom had just left work early.

I’ve had about nine years to reflect on this incident. Every now and then when I’m at a party and people want to be entertained, I’ll share it. I’m usually received with delightful laughs and an occasional reproachful face. The crowd that grows as I animatedly reenact the story always asks two questions: A) why did you have something to live for, but she didn’t? and B) Would you do the same thing again?

The short answer for the first question is this: I’m destined for greatness. I’ve known this forever. It’s just in my gut. I’m going to be a best-selling novelist someday; it’s almost a guarantee. I’m sure Tracy has lots of goals, too, but they’re second to mine. People laugh scornfully when I say this “what a bravado you put on,” they say, but I assure them that while it may seem like I’m faking my confidence, I really, really do believe that I’m destined for great things, and if Tracy were too, fate wouldn’t have let her trip. But maybe I’m just young and naive and can’t fathom the idea that something someday won’t go my way.

The second question is a little trickier. Sure, I like to say that if I had a do-over, I’d pick Tracy up and toss her over the fence, leaving me to battle the evildoer. Honestly, though, I imagine things would play out in much the same way. Since her elementary school days, however, she’s joined the track team and has become quite the fitness guru. She’d beat me in a footrace, so I’d have to think of a more creative way to sabotage my sister’s survival in order to preserve mine.

Hopefully I’m not put in this situation again, but if I am, I’ll make a New York Times Best-Seller novel about it. I’ll make her the hero, of course, who died while valiantly saving the big sister she idolized.

If you have any tips/comments I'd appreciate them!

Rape's funny

2009-09-24T15:33:00.002-05:00

I went to a comedy show Tuesday night. It was free and very entertaining. I laughed throughout most of it, but I also couldn't feel my face during much of that time, so my comedic sense may have been off.

But, one thing a guy said that made me both laugh and think is this: you can never say "I'm not gonna rape you" and have it be an ok, uncreepy thing to say. No matter where you put the emphasis, it's always going to scare the person you're talking to.

-I'm not gonna rape you. (that guy is)
-I'm not gonna rape you. (I'm just going to kill you)
-I'm not gonna rape you. (I already did)
-I'm not gonna rape you. (You want this)
-I'm not gonna rape you. (I'm raping your dad)

I pondered this and laughed. I wonder what I'd do if someone said that to me. I'd probably giggle uncomfortably and shrug my shoulders.

On another note, that same night, I ran into a friend of mine. When it came time to introduce her to Anthony, I said "Caroline, this is my..(lengthy pause)... Anthony." I still couldn't use that dreaded b-word.

We talked about it on the way home. It sounded like he was something I'd just picked up at the store. So now I've figured out what I feel comfortable calling him:

"Hell0, this is Anthony, my collector's item."

That'll make a person feel nice, right?

boyfriend- what a weird word

2009-09-22T15:47:00.003-05:00

This last weekend was very a fun one. Friday night, Anthony and I met up with Nathan and some of his co-workers at this bar/pub called "The Deuce Pub and Pit". I was afraid to go for two reasons:

A) I feared it would be really fratty, which is not my ideal.
B) I wanted Anthony and Nathan to get along, and I was afraid they wouldn't.

But everything went smoothly. I started the night there by doing a tequilla shot, it was disgusting, though the people who took them agreed it was a very good kind. If what I had was very good I can't imagine what the cheap stuff tastes like. Yuck. After that, I sipped on vodka Sprites throughout the evening.

I got to do something I've always wanted to- play washers! It was so fun, like a weird version of horseshoes. Anthony and I were a team. I was great and carried us through-out the game. I kept nailing them. Anthony was not as good as me, but he did manage to get it in the hole, winning us three points, which was impressive.

After that bar, we went to the Penguin Bar, which is a piano bar. It was fun. We ran into Kirsten and doug, during which Kirsten asked me if Anthony was my boyfriend, a friend, or what. I didn't know what to say, so I just said he was a guy I knew and shrugged.

But that got me thinking: what were we? Where did we stand? So later that night, I asked him. We decided that we were indeed exclusive, but to make it really official, I told him, we had to make it known on Facebook. He agreed (of course, as if he could say 'no').

So now we're boyfriend/girlfriend. It has a weird ring to it. Boyfriend. Boyfriend. Boyfriend. What a weird sounding word- boooyfrrrriend. It sounds too mature for me. I'd rather call him dude. or lover. or my manfriend, or maybe even my boo.

I guess I'll get used to boyfriend.

Give me my praise!

2009-09-17T15:51:00.005-05:00

I'd been looking forward to Tuesday for some time. It was going to be my day. Praise was going to rain upon me and I was going to shine. I was ready.

Unfortunately, that didn't happen. Tuesday was the day I got to hear feedback from my fellow Advanced Fiction Writing classmates. I'd turned in a story last week and had patiently waited for Tuesday, my day.

The story I wrote wasn't the one I intended to write. I'd gotten sick and just didn't feel up to writing. The day before the story was due, I was like "damn, I have to turn in something tomorrow." So I wrote. It was a 13 page (short for me, my average tale is 20 pages) magical realsim story. It was wonderfully written. The writing itself was great, the backstory needed work, but the writing was great.

I knew this. Maybe I'm cocky/confident, but that's because I have the right to be. I just know that I am talented.

Anyway, I literally thought the room would errupt into cheers when I walked in.

"I'm so jealous of you!"
"Where do you come up with these things?"
"Can I be you?"
"You're great!"
"God's smiling on you!"
"Can I be you for a day?"
"Hooray Jess! Hooray Jess!"

That's just a sampeling of a few things I expected to hear. In one scenario I actually believed they'd throw me on their shoulders and exalt me.

What happened was this:

I get to class. No one says 'hello' to me. I was a bit disconcerted. The teacher comes in, we go over business, and then she decides we're going to critique Scott's story, he turned one in on the same day I did.

The class is 2.5 hours long. We spend 45 mins talking about his story. I wasn't a huge fan of it. We told him things he could change and how he could make it better- for the whole 45 mins. I was nice and told him some things I liked about it, though.

So after we're done with his, Marly, the teacher, says it's time to talk about my story. Yay! The time I've been dreaming about. It is finally here.

We spend a whopping 10 mins talking about it. They talked about how it needs more backstory. No one said good things about it. It was 10 mins of negative talk. I wasn't offended- I knew it needed more. But I wanted someone to say something positive about it. Tell me how great my style is.

When those measly 10 mins were up, I almost yelled and shrieked and told them it was my turn to shine! They needed to bestow me with praise! Instead I said nothing.

Later that day I went to the park and read their written critiques.

Everyone loved it. They said my style was great, it was funny and tragic, it flowed, blah blah blah. It was nice reading that, obviously, but it would've been better to hear it.

In case I haven't made it obvious enough, I know I'm a great fiction writer. I don't need people to tell me so to know it, but sometimes you just want to hear it. I wanted 45 minutes of praise and adulation and there's nothing wrong with that.

I guess, realistically, great writing speaks for itself, so you don't need to spend a lot of time dwelling on it.

My mom says I need to rewatch "A Christmas Story". She says there's a scene in a classroom I'd really relate to.

"Kudos, Jess, you're awesome!"

The most unfortunate condition

2009-09-15T15:26:00.008-05:00

Undressing a man for the first time is a very special, fun moment. It's full of excitement and promise. You try not to think about what he keeps in his pants, but you just know it's going to be something huge. You, after all, wouldn't pick up a shrimp at a bar. You have an eye for this sort of thing.

Finally, after hurrying through dinner, giving off random facts about yourself to make it seem like you actually care, you and your man are back at his apartment (you'd rather be there so you can get away as soon as you're through). You're kissing him and everything is great. You're now on the bed and things are progressing as they should. Finally, it's time. You get to unwrap the present and see the 9 inch wonder God has put into your life. This is it. He pulls off his boxer briefs...

And you squint? Where is it? This is a joke, right? You peer closer, thinking maybe the darkness is messing with you. Then you see it. It's the saddest thing you've ever seen. The lack of its presence makes you want to cry, or at least get up and leave.

Think of how he feels, knowing he's got nothing. Hopefully he's adept with his other appendages, if not, it's just sad.

This scenario breaks my heart more than anything in the world. Forget AIDS and cancer, this is a medical condition that needs attention. Every lady can imagine the sadness this situation can bring.

It's like that Christmas where you were expecting to get a Game Cube but your mom misunderstood you and got you a Rubic's Cube. It just isn't the same.

So until we find an easy cure for this unfortunate condition, maybe guys should have to wear their length on their forehead.

*The link I am about to post is graphic. It's the clinical description of this disease with photos. It needs to be seen.*

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Micropenis

P.S- nothing in my current life inspired this. It's just a cause I'm fascinated by.

Predicament

2009-08-12T17:05:00.003-05:00

I've decided that I have to get out of Columbia, like now. It's a fun place and I have friends, but i am in desperate need for a change of scenery. Now that Vox is done and Subway is closed for remodeling, I have nothing to do. Nothing. Many of the people I know haven't come back for school yet, and the ones that are here work a lot. Anthony is in indiana, so here I am, all by my lonesome. Literally, today, I put a Hershey bar in the microwave- still in the wrapper- for roughly 40 seconds until was melted. Then I cut a corner off, grabbed my laptop, hopped in bed and watched "30 Rock" while I sucked the chocolate out. I did all this naked. Yes, my life has come to this.

So I've decided to go home. I need a vacay. I've been here since last August- that's a year! That's the longest amount of time I've ever stayed in one state and it's making me anxious/antsy.

So the predicament is this: when do I come home? I have a work meeting Thursday at 2, which I'm hoping will be done around 3. If I leave at 3, then I won't get home till around 3 AM. I prefer driving at night, but it means I'll have to stop at creepy gas stations all by myself in the wee hours of the morning. That scares me. But I can't live in fear. My mom said I could stop at a hotel, but I'd feel like a pus if I did that.

I could instead leave early Friday morning. I'll be well rested and ready to drive. But then I'll be losing a day of home time.

At the current moment, due to my stir-craziness, I'm thinking I'll leave Thursday after work.

Still Alive

2009-08-12T16:30:00.003-05:00

It's been a long time since I've posted anything.

Though I haven't written anything new, that doesn't mean nothing's been happening in my life. Quite the contrary, actually. Here is a list of things I've been up to:

1) A few weeks ago I taught myself to play the guitar. I can even play the chorus from "My Heart Will Go On." I went to the fair with this guy, Anthony, and he won me a guitar at a bb-gun game. Very impressive. So that was nice. I also got to pet a hog while I was there. Its skin felt like human skin. I didn't know how to feel about that, but it did grunt when I scratched its ear, and I was flattered.

At the fair, I was thisclose to competing in a Figure 8 race with some junkyard cars. It's where you drive old cars in a figure 8 pattern and crash. They announced a Powder Puff race, in which females in the audience could sign up, I reluctantly jumped at the chance. I found a nice boy who was willing to lend me his car, and even got him to let Anthony ride shotgun. Unfortunately, when it came time to race, all the other cars were "busted" so I'd be the only one on the track. We think they just didn't want girls driving.

2) I've gone to an Absinthe party, which is where my friends and I got together and drank Absinthe. It tastes so gross. Like pure licorice- the black kind, not the yummy Twizzler variety. Though I saw no green fairies, it was still a very fun evening.

3) I've said goodbye to three friends. Ameena and Ben left for Syracuse. Catherine left for (hopefully) Washington D.C.

4) I am officially done with Vox, thank God. While it was fun, I am more than ready to turn in my Steno pad.

5) I've started working at Subway. It's really not a bad job, kind of fun, actually. It's busy (usually) and keeps me on my toes, which I like.

Overall, life has been going very well, scholastically and socially. I'll try to be a better Blogger from now on.

my octogenarian hottie

2009-07-25T00:35:00.002-05:00

This is the old guy that I met that night I peed on my work.

http://jesscamp.blogspot.com/2009/06/part-one-meeting-gramps.html

(Attempted) dirty girl

2009-07-18T00:55:00.002-05:00

I decided to take a "me night" tonight. This means that I decided to stay in for the evening and focus on myself. So I watched the first 3 episodes of "6 Feet Under" and I loved it. I could've done without the man-on-man make-out sessions, though. I don't care if you're gay, whatever, there's just something gross about watching two guys kiss. On the other hand, I don't mind watching women kiss. Whatever.

Afterwards I drove around town to relax and listen to music. It was nice. When I got back I watched "Wild Things" and I enjoyed it. I didn't see some of the twists coming, so I was impressed. Matt Dillion is yummy.

After that, I realized that I was feeling lonely but pretty. I'm still feeling very pretty- my hair is swept in just the right way. Anyway, I was on my computer, looking hot, so I decided to do something that would make me feel hot.

I decided to visit a chat room- something I hadn't done since middle school. I typed "sexy chat room" into google and bravely clicked on one of the first sites. The hard part was creating the perfect screen name. I didn't want to be too suggestive, yet I didn't want to seem unappealing, either. I also needed to let prospective suitors know I was female. I chose "CrazyLady".

I stretched back, giggled, and nervously entered the room. It was like throwing chum in shark-infested waters. The men came to me in droves. At least 10 sent me personal messages and tried to chat me up. It was overwhelming. I wanted to talk with all of them, because that's the kind of girl I am.

One guy wrote "you wanna chat with an older man?" "Older is appealing, how old?" "51... too old?" "No such thing," I wrote back.

I switched to another convo with some dude. Things were going well until he asked me if I had a facebook. I told him I did, but that I wouldn't give him my full name, that'd be weird. But then he was like "we could look at each other as we feel ourselves." I didn't write back.

I just kept getting message after message. Some were very x-rated (which were grossly shocking) and some were so innocent that I was turned off by their timidness. It was just a lot to take in.

Another guy, right off the bat asked if I liked it rough and hard. I decided this was my chance to take advantage of this situation. I wrote, "I do. Do you like it wet and tight?" So crude, I know. Right after I typed that in I started screaming "I can't do this! I can't do this! I just can't!" and I slammed my computer shut. I really did yell it. I probably woke the neighbors. Then I got up and paced the room, laughing uncontrollably.

I don't know why I found it to be so difficult. I can say dirty words, and write sex scenes that I make my classmates in Fiction Creative Writing read, but typing them to pervy strangers is weird. After I got off (of the computer, to clarify) I stared at myself in the mirror, making sultry faces. It's what I do.

Maybe if I try it again I'll come up with a new life for myself. Maybe I'll be a hobo using the computer's library. I think I'll also sip on some wine to class it up.

A convo with Mom

2009-07-10T17:21:00.004-05:00

A conversation between my mom and I, yesterday.

-Hey.

-Can't talk, watching Blart.

*dial tone*

A little later.

-Hey Jess.

-What's up?

-Calling you back.

-Right, do you think vampires are real?

-What?

-Vampires. Real or not?

-Not.

-But if they were, would God love them? Would they be his creatures or Satan's messengers?

-It doesn't matter.

-It does.

-They're not real.

-Mom, listen to this. I bet Native Americans didn't believe that Brits were real. Until one day they just showed up and killed them all. Vampires are our Brits.

*pause... lots of laughter...*

-Mom, stop laughing.

-I can't.

-It makes you think.

-No. It's not the same at all. The indians didn't think about the British at all.

-You're wrong. I bet one was floating around the ocean when an indian spotted him on the horizon. He ran and told his elders about the freakly pale Brit in the distance. His chief called him dumb and told him not to believe in Brits.

-Good try Jess.

-Fine, here's a more realistic scenario. One lonely Indian is pondering the meaning of death. He tells his elder, "Chief, I bet one day a big disease could kill us all, we should be prepared." "Silly Squanto, Nature doesn't have things like that. Go back to painting your face." Then what happens, Mom?

-What?

-Small Pox hits. They all die. Small Pox is our vampire.

-Ok.

-It could happen. I bet it is already.

- I gotta go. bye.

*Dial tone*

The Line-Up (add on to previous post)

2009-07-07T23:32:00.003-05:00

Here is a link to the current list of interns. She is on there. I won't say her name, but maybe you should look at the photos and see if you can guess who I wouldn't get along with. Maybe she incites rage in everyone. Disregard my photo, though, I look like a man.

http://missourireview.com/main_info/staff.php

This Consuming Hate

2009-07-07T22:48:00.004-05:00

I get so filled with hate sometimes. It's awful, really, and this rage happens for really no reason.

There's this girl who i intern with at the literary journal who just makes me want to drown babies. The first time I laid eyes on her, I was just filled with disgust. I was just like, "ugh, really? You're here? Quit making eye-contact with me, bitch." I hate the b-word, so for me to even think it shows my distaste for this person.

When she returns stories that I've passed to her with condescending negative comments scrawled on the back, I just want to cover her body in papercuts with the manuscript. I've been interning longer than she. When I return a manuscript she gave to me, saying it sucks, she clucks like a chicken and hee-haws like a donkey and passes it to someone else for another opinion. When other people do this, it's no biggie. When I do it to her, it's because I have taste. But when she does it to me, I just want to grab her by her ugly strands of hair, stick them in an industrial fan and see what happens.

I don't know why I let her get to me. I see her smiling and chatting with the higher-ups and it pisses me off. She's always taking extra workloads and all I can think is "you goddamned suckup. You're never going to get higher than an intern here, so quit it... jerk."

I'm sure she's a lovely lady with lovely friends and a caring family, but fuck all that. I hate her. She speaks up during the class portion of the internship, speaking on the behalf of those who can't articulate what they want to say. You're not a mediator, so let someone flounder in their words. You're just a person past her prime who's trying to get back a life she lost.

One Liners

2009-07-06T22:31:00.003-05:00

-I almost got in a head-on collision today. I didn't, though, just almost.

-I pimped myself out on Twitter by tweeting a video of Andy milonakis that I never watched in hopes that he'd promote my blog- he didn't.

-I hissed in the mirror vampire-style today.

-I payed my parking tickets- all $85 worth of them.

-I rocked my Gap interview.

-I picked up a Vox story about ways to cook Road Kill.

-I'm broker than broke.

-I won a free party for 16 to the local comedy club, it's my 3rd time winning.

-I hit up the Sonic for Happy Hour.

- I plan on staying in all week (minus fri-sat) in an effort to get stuff done.

-I got hired to house-sit in October.

-When my sis asked why I had so many tickets I told her "I don't have a parking spot and it's not like I can carry the car on my back all day."

-I saw MJ's ghost.

-I read that Panic At The Disco split.

-I thought about punching multiple people.

-I watched a lot of True Blood.

-I wallowed in self-pity about money issues.

-I found out Tracy gets to go to college for free, which is nice.

-I'm now friends with my cousin and aunt on facebook.

-I decided that I really do believe in vampires and that they'd make the best boyfriends and that I'm going to make a separate post to defend this statement in the future.

Live on the edge, it's ok.

2009-07-05T22:14:00.003-05:00

Yesterday was America's birthday- one of my favorite holidays. I love fireworks. They are mystical and pretty. I am both terrified and turned on by fire, so this holiday was really designed with me in mind.

We started out the evening by going to Les Bougeouis to listen to some live music, eat bbq, and look at the Missouri river. It was nice, but I was quiet because I had nothing to say. I wasn't in the mood to make fake banter. So people kept looking at me and asking me "what's wrong? You're not peppy." That was driving me wild- and not in a good way. But after I snapped and yelled "You're making me not ok!" they sort of backed off.

After that, we all went to Ameena's apartment to pick up my fireworks and to meet up with Ben and Anthony. Then we went to Cooper's Landing to shoot them off. Sadly it started raining when we got there, so Anthony thought it'd be a good idea to go to some elementary school's parking lot to shoot them off (it wasn't raining inside Columbia, C Landing is out of the county, I think).

We roll up to the lot, to see a sign that had been posted by the police, saying that shooting fireworks was prohibited.

"Damn, now I don't know what to do."- Anthony

"What do you mean?"- me

"We can't shoot them here, I don't know what to do."

"Why can't we do it here?"

"The sign, Jess, the sign."

"It's just a sign, fuck it."

"No, that sign is enforceable."

I muttered, "I guess it's going to arrest you?" he didn't hear, I don' think.

I was shocked that everyone cared about the dumb sign. It's just a sign. I told them that if- and it was a big "if"- we got caught, they would only take our fireworks and not lock us up. As I was the only one in that car who had bought fireworks, I was the only one who had something to fear. And I wasn't so no one else should have been.

I was genuinely surprised by the fear that a measly sign can elicit. If you live a safe life, chances are that you'll live an unfulfilled life. I like my friends a lot, don't get me wrong, but sometimes it's fun to break the rules. It's boring always having to be a "good" person or do the "right" thing.

I'm also surprised by how many people are afraid to try to get drinks when they're underage. If you use your real ID, you won't get in trouble. Of course, if the cops raided and busted you with a drink you would, but that's what makes it fun. It's fun to see if the waiter card's you and if he does, it's cool to see if he'll actually look at your birthdate or not.

I wasn't always so good at it. I once ordered a drink, and when the waitress asked for my ID I giggled uncomfortably and said "oh, I'm sorry, I tried to trick you, I didn't really think you'd ask, I'll just have a water, I'm so sorry."

But other nights, I just strolled up to a bar and asked for a drink and didn't get carded. I've even gone to the bar with a big stamp on my hand for being underage and still have them serve me. I even did that once when the police were around, pulling people out. That may not have been my smartest moment, but it was one of my most thrilling.

Sadly, now that I'm 21, I can't get this rush anymore. So now I try to get it by accumulating a lot of unpaid parking tickets.

Anyway, we ended up finding some random street around a new subdivision to shoot them off at. It was fun and secluded. I had a great time.

What I'm saying is, it's fun to live on the edge- even if that means ignoring a stupid, irrelevant, unintimidating sign.

Jesse + Me = Fun

2009-07-05T21:55:00.002-05:00

This has been a good week away from Vox. I really should've worked a little on the story I'm writing, but I didn't feel like it, so I didn't. If the editors get a break, then I deserve one too.

Instead, I went home with my home girl Catherine. It was wonderful! She's from Excelsior Springs, which is a suburbish area of Kansas City. It's a rural place. I was in heaven! There were fireflies galore. Do they even have those in Baton Rouge? I don't remember.

When we rolled up to her house, we were treated like queens. Her mom (Karen) and stepdad (Mark) prepared nice burgers and fries for us. They took us on a tour of the woods they have in their backyard and showed me all of the flowers they grew. Karen even gave me a walking stick. I felt very regal.

The next day, Mark, Catherine and I went to Kearney, MO to see Jesse James' house! It was so exciting. I am obsessed with that era of history. Honestly, though, I prefer Robert Ford to Jesse- he was not a coward. He was a hero and it's a shame that he's been reviled in history.

Anyway, the house was small but nice. I learned a lot about the history and I just loved that I got to walk where he walked and touch what he touched.

I knew that his mom's name was Zerelda as was his wife's. I thought they had hideous names, but maybe that was just common back then. Nope- he married his first cousin, who was named after his mother. Isn't that gross. Maybe, maybe, I could marry a cousin, but if he were named after my dad? No way! Ugh!

We also went to his grave. It was neat to touch the headstone. I feel like I may have been him in my past life. We do have the same name (kind of) so there's that.

Later that night, her mom once again cooked us dinner. It was nice to be in that sort of environment. We then went to The Melting Pot for dessert. It was wonderful. We had the Yin Yang and enjoyed pleasant conversation.

I hope to go back again soon.

Hypnosis

2009-06-30T18:01:00.004-05:00

I just watched the first two episodes of Tru Blood. I think it's fair to say that I am obsessed. I love the accents of the people and find them to be fairly accurate. True, people in Baton Rouge usually don't have accents that extreme, but in the more rural areas there are totally people who sound like that.

I should like Sam, the bartender, because he is cute and caring. But when I think of those things I only hear "pussy", which isn't too appealing.

So we move onto the vampire, Bill. He's the one to be with. Here's the kind of math I like to do:

forbidden + mysterious + dangerous + protective = Perfection.

I am only two episodes in, so my opinion is subject to change, but as of now, I think my lust will only get stronger.

I know that vamps can seduce people with only their eyes, but I don't think it's just them. I think if you're attractive (or not) you can still use your stare as your charm. The best way to disarm someone is to look them in their eyes and not say anything. You have to do this perfectly, though, there's a thin line between being an eye-raping creeper and a confident stud/temptress.

I use this on my sources sometimes, when I want them to keep talking, and it often works.

So today I've been trying to use the gaze for more personal reasons. I've been staring at myself in the mirror, fluctuating intensities, trying to figure out what is the most seductive. But mostly, I just find that if I stare too long it makes me seem like I only have one eye and this makes me giggle. Or else I discover that I really need to pluck my eyebrows. That's not what I want my victim to think about when I've got him in my grip.

So, I've decided to practice it on innocent people to get their response. Until then, I'm using it on spoons, chairs, stuffed animals, posters, dvd covers, computers, water fountains- anything I can look at gets the gaze.

I'll report back with my findings.

Past, Present or Future: who are you?

2009-06-29T09:58:00.004-05:00

I had a wonderful dream. This post is going to be about said dream, despite what Dennis thinks about other people's dreams. He says that if he's not in them or somebody's not having sex in it, he doesn't want to hear it. I tend to agree. But, as this is my blog, I'm going to write about my dream.

I remember sitting at a lunch table between two guys. The one on my left side was apparently my boyfriend, who we'll call Joe. The one on my right was a stud-muffin who wanted me. We'll call him Chuck (I didn't recognize either of the two, but I have always been obsessed with the name 'Chuck' so we'll call him that).

So I'm sitting next to my bf when Chuck leans in and whispers "so have you told him yet?"
I giggle, "Nope."
"Want me to?"
"Not at all."
"Ok, then I'm going to make this uncomfortable for you."
"Go ahead and try."

Then, under the table he puts his hand on my knee and starts caressing it. I giggle.

Joe, who was absorbed in the sandwich he was eating, turns and looks at me and says "What's funny, what'd I miss?"
"I don't know Joe, can't a girl laugh?"
"I guess."
He goes back to eating his food. I elbow Chuck in his side, "stop it, we can't do this."
"It looks like we already are."

With that I stand to take my leave. "Hey Joe, I gotta go. I'll catch ya later, though."
"Ok, bye. Kiss?"
"No time."

I'm exiting when I feel a hand on my lower back, to discover that Chuck has followed me. Throughout the dream, whenever he and I are walking together, he is guiding me with his hand on the small of my back. I loved it very much.

"Chuck we are so bad." We stop in the hallway and gaze into each other's eyes. His are brown with blackish hair and scruff, like he hasn't shaven in a few days. Though we're in a high school, we're actually in our 20s. He looks so familiar, but I can't place him. "You want to make-out with me now, don't you?" he asks. "You cocky bastard... yes, I do," I say, but then the person narrating the dream says "Who are you?"

I wake up, and say aloud "who is he who is he who is he?" To which I answer "a dream guy." "No, he's real." "Can't you concentrate on the message of the dream instead of the dude?" "How can I do that? I have to know who he is." "So be it." And yes, all of that was spoken aloud by myself.

I fall back asleep. This time we're looking at a ship.
"Wanna get on my boat?" he asks.
"That's yours?"
"Sure."
We hop on. Then we see this huge Titanic size boat in the distance.
"Omg, omg! Look, another boat! No one ever uses this port," I scream, excitedly.
"They must've heard we were here and decided to come," Chuck said.

But then, when they got close, the ocean opened up and swallowed them. This caused our boat to rock and I flew out into the water. I panically started to swim, knowing I would die. I go under, but then I find some extra energy inside of myself and I kick extra hard, making it to the boat and climb inside.

"Haha, you're all wet," Chuck said.
"Shut up and give me your phone, we have to call 9-1-1."
"Do we?"
"Yes, I'm not going to die out here, goddamn you." I take his phone and call for help. After a while, some scantilly clad nurses arrive. But they just stand in the water, staring at us.

"Aren't you going to help us?" Chuck asks.
"Got your blood test results?" One of the blondes ask.
"What?"
"You have to prove that you're important enough to be saved, with your blood."
"This is rediculous!" I yell.
"Wait Jess, look. They're standing in the water- it's only going to their knees."
"So?"
"So, it means we can jump."
"What? I don't wanna jump!"
"Trust me," he says, grabbing my hand. Together we leap from the boat and land on the shore.
"Well I feel silly now," I say.

There's mayhem and people are running everywhere. He places his hand where he always does and says, "c'mon, let's get out of here." We walk for a while until we end up at a press conference for Venus and Serena Williams. We sit down and listen to the ladies talk, except they're not talkng about tennis. They've turned into the Sue Johanson and are talking dirty.

Chuck and I cuddle as we watch.
"How did we meet, Chuck?"
"Have you told Joe yet?"
"I left him a voicemail. But, like, how long have we known each other, I can't remember for some reason." Then he looks me in the eye and says the line he used a lot throughout the dream, "You want to make out we me right now, don't you?"
"It makes me feel awkward when you say that. You make me feel needy."
"I can't make you feel anything. Let's get out of here." I let him pull me away, and then I wake up.

I have the same conversation with myself that I did earlier. I know that I know him in real life, but I just don't know who he is. Then I go back to sleep to find out.

For some reason he and I- among other people- are hanging out in a public restroom. We're just chillin when all of a sudden this madwoman with a tommygun busts in. Chuck and I dive into the nearest stall, lock the door and cling to each other.

The lady struts around, shooting every stall. But for some reason, she skips ours. I hear her leaving, but I am pissed that she skipped us. So, before I can be stopped, I fling myself out of the stall. I raise my hands above my head.

"Stop!" She does. "Don't shoot me, just please don't shoot me."
"Why did you come out?"
"Do you like cake? I bet so. I just want a cookie." That doesn't even make any sense.
"Cake's okay. I'm going to the grocery store after I finish up here, maybe I'll get some."
"Get me some cookie dough while you're there and I'll make us cookies."
"Ok," she says and then turns to leave. I exhale loudly. Then she angrily turns around and shoves the gun in my forehead. "But you're awfully stupid." I say nothing. She chuckles and leaves.

Then I go back into the stall- "oh Chuck, I almost got my fucking face blown-off. My face!"
"You're so bad, so crazy, so bad, so crazy," he chants.
"I know, I know!" I say, over and over, relieved to not be dead.

He's holding my cheeks and we're looking into each other's eyes this whole time, much like the scene in Titanic when Rose and Jack reunite after she's jumped off the lifeboat. Finally we do kiss and it is wonderful.

I wake up. There's a lot I'm leaving out, but I still can't place him. I just know that he's very familiar and I feel like I know him. My friend Sarah says that I knew him in a past life. Maybe so, but I hope he's either in my present or very near future. I just remember that in my dream he was very intense. He was controling when he had to be and submissive when I wanted him to be. He was perfect and I hope he's real.

This entry is just for my record, so I don't forget.

The Crustacean Game

2009-06-28T16:49:00.003-05:00

I have this game I like to play in the shower, which I like to call "Lobsty". It's where I pretend that I am a lobster. I have always wondered what it feels like to be boiled alive. Can you imagine it? It would be horrible. Probably because of this fear I hate hot liquids. I don't like them on my face, anyway (insert jokes now please). I wait for my hot chocolate to get cold before I drink it. Coffee and tea creep me out.

Now, I have never personally cooked a shellfish before, but I have heard that you have to put the creature in a cold pot and let it slowly warm up, or else he'll just jump out. I thought this was an interesting observation on the mentality of such a creature. I didn't know they could even jump, but I'm interested in discovering all of their unknown talents.

Anyway, this philosophy applies to me too. If I'm taking a bath and the water's too hot, I can't get in. But once I hope in a lukewarm bath I turn the cold water off and let myself relax in the near-scalding water.

But back to Lobsty. I like to let the shower rain on my back at a medium temperature. Then, I slowly decrease the amount of cold water that comes out. Everything is fine, I can take it, until suddenly it hits me that I'm in bright red pain. Then I snap awake and come to my senses- this is not how I should be playing with myself in the shower.

I make the water go to a more comfortable temp and go back to thinking about things. There's not going to be an insightful concluding paragraph for this entry.

My bush

2009-06-25T19:12:00.000-05:00

This is the bush that served as my restroom that night of great decisions.

My one taboo subject

2009-06-23T23:16:00.006-05:00

I consider myself to be a very open person, when it comes to certain things, anyway. I'll talk about anything, except for my feelings, ugh, I like to pretend I have none, which isn't always the case, but in many cases I really am as apathetic as I claim to be.

There is one thing, however, that I won't talk about. That is politics. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. Most of the people I've hung out with have always been liberal. Outspoken (the worst kind) liberals. Normally I just nod and smile when they talk or mutter something under my breath or maybe I let out a contemptuous laugh. Most of the time, though, I don't argue. There's no point. I won't change their mind and they won't change mine.

Also, I tend to look stupid when I attempt to argue about politics. I don't know the names of policies, of many leaders and I can't locate a lot of countries. But that's not really why I don't like to talk about it. Most libs think with their emotions and not with their heads, so then they try to twist me into being some sort of a monster.

Or what's worse is when they condescend to me. "oh, Jess, you'll learn some day." "Oh, you poor, misguided thing." Stuff like that makes me seethe. You're the misguided one. Most young people start out Democrats and then realize the error of their ways and switch to the conservative side when they have a family they want to protect. I'm just ahead of the curve.

I took a test on Facebook today to see what kind of Republican I am and it said I was a "Libertarian Republican". I think that's pretty good. It said I like my government to have little interference when it comes to guns, drugs and taxes.

That's true for the most part. Everyone should own a gun. I wouldn't pick a fight with someone if I thought they were packing.

I think marijuana should be legal. If we taxed it we could make a bundle and get out of this Obama induced recession ASAP.

I'm iffy on taxes. I don't think the rich should be taxed more than the poor. It should be a flat rate of like 10% (or whatever the going rate is, I don't know). I feel like the government needs this money to spend on National Defense. Not everyone is created equal. If I were to sneak into Mexico I wouldn't expect to be treated like a Mexican- let's be honest, I'd expect to be treated better, I am an American after all. So that was a bad example. If I snuck into France and tried to take their jobs and leech off their system, then they'd have every right to chase me out with their Minute Men. But if I went through the right procedures and became a legal French citizen then it'd be a different matter.

I'm pro-abortion, despite Horton Hears A Who's attempt to sway me. When I was younger I was very anti-abortion, but now the thought of having a fertilized thing in me makes me want to rollerblade down some stairs.

I think burning the flag should be illegal. It's disgraceful and unpatriotic. I think the Confederate flag is part of the South's heritage and should be waved.

I'm pro-death penalty, but I think it's not harsh enough. I think if you tortured your victims then you should be tortured. I don't think of prison as rehabilitation but as punishment.

I believe in preemptive attacks. If someone has nukes and we think they'll use them then it's time to take them out. It's better to be safe than sorry. I think the people in the military are noble and brave.

I'm torn about sex-ed. I think abstinence should be taught, but it'd be ignorant to not teach about condoms. But if you teach both, it's like saying "don't smoke weed, but if you do, use a bong because it's better." I guess abstinence is the way to go.

I'm very pro-Patriot Act. I don't like Affirmative Action. I don't have an opinion on national healthcare. I can't talk about the gays. Global Warming is a lie meant to distract from the real issues. I don't like Welfare. Animals shouldn't really have rights (pro-abortion but anti-fur wearing? Doesn't make sense). Michael Moore, Al Gore and Sean Penn need new hobbies (though Penn can keep acting).

Though I didn't vote for the President we have now, I won't badmouth him (unless I feel ganged-up on), it's unpatriotic to do so. The people who talked smack about Bush are rude, naiive, and did so because it was the "in" thing to do, or else lack respect. I hate when I see mean bumper stickers. One of my best friends has one that says "When Clinton Lied Nobody Died," ugh.

Also, I hate it when Democrats claim to be open and loving of everyone. That's so not true. The most judgmental people I've known have been Dems. Maybe because they seem to be the majority they think they can say whatever they want and call conservatives mean names and be big bullies. Conservatives have to slink in the shadows, because once we're found out things change. Suddenly we're thought less of and have people trying to convert us to the left.

A lot of the liberals that I know are blinded by their convictions and stubbornly refuse to consider that maybe they're wrong. Maybe the hipster thing isn't always right. I guess that by wearing supportive t-shirts that have only a vague, mildly inspiring quote on them gives the wearers power, like some sort of cult.

I'm sure there are issues I'm missing. But this is my political rant that I thought would never happen.

move over sidewalk book sales

2009-06-22T21:39:00.004-05:00

Lots of places have sidewalk sales- bookstores, clothing stores, crack dens- many businesses operate on the street.

But there is one type that you'll never see having a sidewalk sale and that is the business of death. You'll never see a casket sidewalk sale. This saddens me. America has always been prudish about sex, but must we be so about death as well? I should hope not.

I called my dad, who is a mortician, to tell him my fabulous idea.

"Dad, tell Goldy that I have a super business plan for him."

"Dear God, what is it Jess?"

"Simple, a casket sidewalk sale."

"What?"

"Well, have you ever seen one?"

"Ya know, what? I haven't..."

"Well listen to this and I think you'll set up your outdoor shop tomorrow."

"You've got my ear, Jess."

This is the plan I told him:

You set up a line of your best coffins. You get models to lay in them and make them look fashionable. You can even have "napping caskets" where the general public can lay down and see how it is. "We can even add a hole to make it cold to keep the people comfortable," Dad interrupted. You can also have them lay in the back of the hearse to see what that experience is like.

"Wait a minute, Jess, that won't work. They can't just lay in the back... I guess we could let them lay in a closed casket in the back."

"Sure. Or you can cover them with a sheet and strap 'em to a gurney like it's a fresh pick-up."

Dad laughs, "Oh that's good, that's great."

"Yes, but I'm not done."

I continued:

You can also lay down a big tarp that has a big bulls-eye in the middle. Then you have a bunch of urns with different colored ashes inside.

"Human ashes?"

"they can be the unclaimed hobos if you want. Or dogs. Or just soot, whatever. Anyway..."

You let people grab one and throw its contents into the air. Whichever color fills the bulls-eye the most is the expert ash scatterer. If it's not windy you can use fans. It's a family-filled activity that cultivates a skill which may be useful in their near future.

"I don't know about this, Jess."

"You haven't heard it all."

"What else is there?"

"This next idea is mostly for the kids- they need fun too."

"Of course."

"You give the kids Ping-Pong balls and whoever makes it into the urn wins a dead goldfish. Or you could have 'Pick the Flower Arrangement,' which is where-"

"Enough Jess!"

"What?"

"I know you think this is a good idea, but Goldy will never go for it."

"You don't think?"

"No, I don't. It sounds hilarious to me, Peanut, but it ain't going to happen."

"What if I pitch it myself?"

"let it go."

"Will you give civilians the free hearse ride if they want it?"

"I'll think about it."

*** One time my dad's car broke down and we had to use a hearse. It only has one passenger seat. My sis and I took turns riding in the back. Creepy***

Mud and Blood

2009-06-19T18:49:00.003-05:00

I was hanging out at with Ameena, Ben and Anthony Tuesday night. We were just chilling, watching "30 Rock," having a good time. Sometime after 1:00 I decided I should leave because I had a class in the morning. I go to the parking lot, get in my car, and start moving.

Then this bikini-clad girl jumps out from the fog in front of my car. She is covered in mud. And blood. I couldn't make this up if I tried. I thought maybe she was just crossing the parking lot, but nope, she stops and stares at me. Holy shit man, this is freaky. Keep moving girl.

The girl does keep moving- right to my car. I didn't know what to do, so I rolled down the window.

"Do you know where the pool is?"

"Um, no, I don't live here."

"I just need to get to the pool."

"It's gotta be around here somewhere," I tell her, wishing she'd hurry up and leave.

"Can you please take me? I'm covered in mud and I'm bleeding." She was covered in mud, but it was dry mud.

I didn't know what to do. Here's this gross girl, waving a box of cigarettes, asking me for help.

"Sure, hop in," I say. She does. "So why are you all muddy?"

"We were mud-wrestling at the Big Tree and then I woke up in the parking lot." Oh shit.

"Do you live in this complex?"

"Yes."

"I could drop you off at your building instead of the pool if you want."

"No! I have to wash off before I go home." Jesus. So I start moving, and it turns out the pool was at the top of the hill, which is not very far. So I pull over to it.

"Well, we're here," I tell her.

"Can I get out here?"

"Um, I guess, yeah you should." She tries to get out but the door is locked. "Are you going to let me out? Are you going to let me out?"

Her asking this made me feel bad. For whatever reason, I suddenly thought it seemed like I'd kidnapped her, because she couldn't get out.

"Calm down, the door accidentally locked," I said and unlocked it. Then she jumped out to live her life.

At first I was excited. It was such a weird thing to happen. But then I slowly got scared. Why did I let her in? Before I let her in, the door was locked and she couldn't open it, and when that happened I was sure she was a decoy and her thuggy men were going to beat me and steal Chuck, my car. But I still opened the door for her.

Then, after I realized that I'd put myself in harms way, I decided she was a ghost. She was like that hitchhiking ghost girl who died on her way to Prom and hooks rides with people and then disappears. I was sure that was it. I thought she'd marked me like God marked Cain and was going to come back for me.

I called my mom the next day and told her I could've potentially died. She said I should've called the police. I told her that would've been weird. She said "no, it'd have been smart." She said I could've called the police then sat in the car till they got there if I'd wanted.

She later called me and was like "That cop is going to come kidnap you himself now."

"What are you talking about, crackhead?"

"Remember," she said, "when you were almost kidnapped by that Mexican guy and the cop that came to the house told you if you ever opened the door for a stranger he'd get you himself?"

That near-kidnapping story will be saved for my next post.

"I remember the Mexican, but not him saying that. That's creepy."

"I guess, but just think about how he'd feel about this, Jess. He's shaking his head at you now."

Meh, maybe. Anyway, the general consensus is that I should've called the cops, but it does seem more exciting my way. I could've at least called one of the boys and made them help me. But I'm no damsel in need of a hero. I am the hero.

Part 4: The Conclusion

2009-06-17T16:17:00.003-05:00

After I urinated in the bush, I emerged to find that Kelly had disappeared. I thought we'd lost her somehow. As it turns out, she'd just run across the street and snuck into a bar to use the restroom. I don't think she so much snuck as walked in because we followed her. I could've done that, but then I wouldn't have been able to cross public urination off my list.

After she'd done her business, we loitered outside. Kelly asked us if we had a lighter and no one did. I found it very important that we have a lighter. So I just started chanting, "no lighter, need a lighter, need a lighter," until this dude near us was like "You need a lighter? I've got one." Great. He handed it over and we lit up.

I don't smoke cigarettes. I find them to be gross. I don't like the smell and I don't like the cancer. But, apparently, I only smoke when I drink, because when Kelly lit it, I begged for a drag. We passed that shit around and I tried not to cough. I would've been very embarrassed had I thrown a coughing fit. As it turns out, that cigarette wasn't originally Kelly's. She'd found it on the ground! I smoke a ground cigarette. I asked her why she picked it up. "It's a Camel and was in the box. It said 'Limited Edition' on it!" Oh, ya don't say? I did hear that tobacco is about to be extinct. Ew, dirty cigarette.

Oh yeah, before this (and before I used the bathroom) we ran into some dudes. Courtney asked them if they had a lighter and they told her no, but they had a wiener. How tacky. Then, a cute one, told me I had great boobs and high-fived me for them. That was a pleasant experience.

So after the smoking incident, we decided to walk to El Rancho for a Sopapilla (or something), on the way there I got out a piece of gum. Big mistake. When the wave of mint hit me, I suddenly got very nauseous. I had to puke. I walked along the street, dry-heaving like a dog. It was gross. Finally, I just puked on the street. I don't think I even stopped walking- I just did it mid-stride. I'm not necessarily proud of this, just stating a fact.

After this, we made it to El Rancho. The girls made me pose on a bench with newspaper, acting like I was homeless, while they took photos. People watched. I got really into it and I'm sure you could see both up and down my dress.

We ran into another guy who was drinking beer on the street and eating pizza. I thought he was very attractive and wanted to take him home. I was told he wasn't cute at all. We'll never know. We all went and composed ourselves at my dirty apartment.

It was a successful evening.

Part Three: The Bush

2009-06-16T13:47:00.004-05:00

We stumble to McNally's. As it turns out my tab at On The Rocks was way more than I had thought it would (damn menu with no prices). So I had no money left for a drink at the new bar. Thankfully, out of the goodness of her heart, Ameena offered to help further my inebriation by buying me a Vodka Sprite. It was the way I like my men- very strong.

We found a quiet booth and talked. We talk a lot. Eventually courtney decided she needed another drink. Well, I couldn't let the lady sip alone, so I went to get a refill. The bartender warned us we only had 10 mins to drink it till the bar closed. Ok, I can do that. We get our drinks (which made me overdraw my account, not sure though, I'm afraid to check). When we get back to the table, we decide to race to see who can drink it the fastest. I won! It was surprising as Courtney drank her shots faster than any of us. I was pleased with myself.

Too soon the bouncers were yelling- actually yelling- for everyone to leave. I was indignant. But we stumbled to the street. No sooner had we left then I realized I had to pee and I had to pee bad. Everything was closed, but then someone remembered that there is one building that is always open. I won't tell what this place is, but I will say it's a place full of information.

So, excited, we make our way to the place. On the way, though, I see a fountain and think it's a good idea to lay on the edge of it. I was rocking and rolling all over its ledge. Ameena said I would have fallen in had she not grabbed my arm. She thought about pushing me in, but was afraid I'd slip into a coma or something. She was gracious enough, however, to take photos of me laying on my back with my boob almost all the way out of my top, just chillin by the fountain.

Finally they gathered me and we made it to the pee place. Kelly, my hero, went to the door that is always open and yanked on it. It was locked! I was shocked! I don't know how the building can serve its public duty being locked. However, I have an in with someone who has worked in this place for a very long time, and she said they started locking the door because there was a homeless dude who would come in in the late night and spread his own shit all over the walls.

So at first I was upset. I was literally going to piss myself. But then a marvelous idea came to me- if dudes can urinate outside, then so can I. Actually, I wasn't feeling like a feminist, I was just drunk. So I stripped off my leggings and stuffed them in my purse (which Ameena had thankfully grabbed sometime during the night). I said "I am going to pee!"

Then I walked into the bushes and relieved myself. The whole time I was proudly chanting "I'm peeing, I'm peeing!" I also told them exactly how I was doing it- I shifted my undies to the right, fyi, and did my thing. I was very proud of myself.

Little did I know (nor did they, because they claim it was an "accident") they were videotaping my adventure. There is a video of me peeing, and then climbing from the bush on my hands and knees. Imagine: a girl in a pretty yellow dress, emerging from a bush on hands and knees, her hair wild, a big happy grin on her face. This is my life.

Apparently Kelly (Or Court, I don't remember) chanted that they'd pee with me for a quarter, but I guess no one had any change.

I have to go to class now, but stay posted. The night only goes downhill (gets better) from there.

Part Two: Overheard Perv

2009-06-15T23:09:00.005-05:00

So we're sitting at the table, minding our own business. I tried to pick the table closest to Gramps (who I learned actually has a name. It's Gene), but the girls weren't having any of that. Ameena thought she was stealthily leading us to a table away from Gramps- but I'm no fool. I knew her game. But, since it was her birthday, I didn't argue. Besides it'd be weird if I argued in favor of lurking near the possible octogenarian.

The waiter dude comes by and takes the our orders (minus mine, I was a go getter and already had my Appletini). Courtney decided to order the first round of shots for us and I was grateful. She picked the Buttery Nipple for us. I was very nervous when it came. It was frothy white and it was a big load. I didn't know if I could take it. Silly me, though, it was easy. "Just open your mouth wide, relax your throat and take it" was my mantra to the girls during our shots. It tasted very good.

Kelly got the next round and we picked the Bazooka Joe. I really did think it tasted like the gum, but they did not. I got us the Starburst shot. I loved it, but I usually get it in a drink form, not a shot. A bartender once had the audacity to tell me that it didn't come in a drink, only a shot. I told him that if he could put it in a little glass, he could make enough to put it in a big glass. I'm no fool.

Anyway, during the shots, we were chatting. The ladies wanted to hear one of my scandalous stories. I'll admit- it was a great story. I wanted to share it, but we were in public and it was a sexually graphic tale. But fuck it, they pleaded, despite my best efforts at changing the subject which is an ability that I pride myself on, so I told it. It was fun. We roared with laughter. It brought us closer.

Eventually I looked to my left and there's Gramps, talking to this hottie who had been sitting at the bar alone all night. I watch them. They're whispering and pointing at me. Oh shit. The hottie noticed me peeping and we had a mini-convo about the old man, but I don't remember what. Apparently Gramps thought that meant he could come over to our table and talk.

He sauntered over and started rubbing/touching my shoulders. I could feel his liver-spots. Kelly was trying to sneakily take a photo for embarrassment purposes, but he caught her and got excited. This prompted the drunken Gramps to embrace me from behind in a hug. I made eye-contact with a cute bartender and he gave me a sad smile. I don't know what he thought, but I wish he'd rescued me. The photo was snapped. It's not on my camera, but when I get it, I'll post it here. After we got the evidence we needed, we went back to ignoring him. He eventually left the bar, after dancing with a middle-aged women and pretending to grope a pretty blonde.

Eventually it came time to close our tab. I went to the bar, and as I waited I chatted with the hottie I'd had my eye on. He was very cute. Anyway, I asked him if he was Gramps' wingman. He laughed and I knew I was in. We had a nice chat, but as it was girls' night, nothing else happened between he and I. I plan on changing that, eventually.

As we were leaving, a group of people yelled "Don't go! Don't go!" I was drunk and didn't know what was going on so I bowed and vacated. I thought it was my hottie yelling at me and I was happy. I was informed, though, that it was not him but the group of guys who had been at the table behind us. I said "but that's silly, why would they be yelling at me, or us?" Ameena said it was because they'd been listening to my story.

"What?! How do you know that?"

"Because, I watched them look at you when you were talking," Ameena said.

"And you let me keep talking?"

"Yep."

Thanks for having my back, lady. I was very graphic with my story- didn't hold much back. But besides my talking, we all talked about our boobs, groped ourselves, briefly mimicked giving blowjobs, and shit I can't remember. I can't blame them for listening, I know I would've.

So after that we left and hit an Irish bar called McNally's, or something. But that'll be in the last (best) post, tomorrow. The climax of this three-part series involves public urination, vomiting in the street, fountains, and sexual advances/compliments from strange men. Brace yourself.

Part One: Meeting Gramps

2009-06-15T12:55:00.004-05:00

I've decided to separate my Saturday night into a few different posts, organizing them by stages.

My weekend was one that I'll never forget but also one that I have a hard time remembering. I never knew that could be so classy/trashy in the same night. The fact that I used the word "classy" probably means that I'm not, but whatever.

Most people probably wouldn't give the details that I'm about to. But, this is a cathartic (braggative, really) release for me. It'll be something for me to look back upon as a warning.

Before the night even started, I had a problem. I didn't know what to wear. Everything was either too cleavagey or not booblicious enough. I ended up wearing a new dress that was very, very cleavagey, so I classed it up with a cami underneath and some leggings.

After getting dressed, the night started out innocently enough. Ameena turned 23 so we had to celebrate. We started off by having dinner and drinks at an upscale lounge. It was very pleasant. I had the lobster mac & cheese and 2 ameretto sours. I was tipsy and loving it.

Afterwards, us girls (me, Ameena, Courtney and Kelly) decided to hit On The Rocks, a bar that has cheap drinks. I did learn, however, that cheap drinks add up fast.

Anyway, once there, we walked in and who do I make eye-contact with? This old man who was about 78. He was drunk. He was looking my way. I exhaled deeply and tried to come up with a way to deal with this situation. I said "Hey, man, it's this girl's 23rd birthday," and pointed at Ameena. She didn't like the way I tried to deflect the situation. I can't say I blame her.

She and the girls stayed their distance from the old man. I, however, surveyed the situation and noticed that he was the only thing between me and my Appletini. Potential awkwardness be damned, I needed my alcohol.

I strut up to the bar. The old man and I begin to chat. He's drinking bourbon and Coke or something, i can respect it. He was wearing one Mardi Gras bead. Thankfully the barkeep was a quick shaker and handed me my drink in no time. He told me I was pretty and that the bar had nice martini specials. He muttered a bunch of old man sayings that I couldn't understand.

I slinked away to a nearby table, only to chuckle about the incident....

More to come.

Tequila>Me

2009-06-12T12:29:00.003-05:00

I learned a lot about myself last night.

Catherine and I met up with Nathan and a bunch of his psych/AT&T buddies for margaritas at a Mexican joint. I don't drink tequila, so while everyone else was drinking the biggest size available, I got the smallest. It tasted bad. Yuck. But after I was almost finished with my first one it began to taste like Hawaiian Punch. So I ordered another. and another.

Catherine and I were fairly toasted. I'd never seen her as blitzed as she was. It was wonderful. We laughed, we were charming. Actually, we were the drunk girls who didn't really talk with anyone else, but I don't hate it.

I think I drank to compensate. I don't if it was the people or the setting or me, but for some reason, I just didn't really click with anyone at the restaurant. So I decided that since I had to be there (catherine and i carpooled) I would drink it up.

After getting sufficiently wasted, we decided to go to Trops, a daiquiri-like bar. I really didn't need one, but i wanted one. I got a medium Sweet Tart. It was delicious. But it really, really tipped me over the perhaps-cute phase into the over-the-top-condescending-flirty-phase.

I chatted up this dude who said he came to America in 1980, which means he's considerably older than me. i don't care. I laughed at people. I announced that I wanted to make-out to I don't know who. I remember getting on my knees at one point.

Catherine took me home shortly thereafter. Then i sent embarrassing texts to people, but I don't have the balls to look through my phone to see who received them. Then I woke up in the morning very sick and actually puked. I don't do that. That's not me. Damn tequila.

I learned that vodka will always be my drink of fun. He's never led me wrong. He doesn't make me sick and he makes me happy. It's a relaxing drink.

Tequila makes me wild. It really does repel my clothes. Then it makes me sick. In certain situations tequila will be necessary, but not on an average night.

I'm going to a comedy club tonight and will probably repeat my actions, but intensify them, because I actually know everyone I'm going with. There's also a dance floor. Oh my.

Total Freak

2009-06-09T23:43:00.002-05:00

I'm obsessed with "Freaks and Geeks." I can't get enough of it. Jason Segel is my hero. James Franco is sexy. Even the creepy cute geeks are wonderful. Where were these people when I was in high school? Mix in Jason and James and sprinkle in a little John Daly (Sam) and you've got my dream guy. All of our names begin with a J, so I think we really do deserve to have a polygamous relationship. I've always wanted to go Mormon.

On another note, I'm working on 4 stories for Vox. The longer of the bunch involves me watching a lot of TV, which is nice. Freaks and Geeks, though, is extra-curricular, unless you can think of a show that is a copy-cat (or who it copied)- if so, let me know.

Apparent Bloodlust

2009-06-08T23:57:00.004-05:00

Today was my second City Desk shift at the paper. That means that I sit around, answer phones, visit my daily sites, fantasize, and write obits. Fortunately I only had to write one obit today and I didn't have to call any of the family for quotes, which we usually do. I'm always afraid they're going to cry or something. Though last time the lady talked my ear off about her friend that had died. I wanted to just be like "i get it, she was cool, let it go." Maybe I'm insensitive.

The other desk that I'll work in a couple weeks is the Breaking News desk. That's where you sit and listen to the police scanner, praying that nothing happens so that you don't have to do anything. That's probably just the attitude of me and the other magazine workers.

Anyway, it was almost 3, the end of my shift, when a car accident came over the speaker. Sewell, the ACE (he's a person who's been where we are before and is paid to help us, like a TA, I guess) looked around and asked if anyone with a car could go cover it. The girl who was working the Breaking News desk magically disappeared. The girl that was also working the City Desk had an interview at 3. I didn't have anything until 4. So reluctantly I said "me Sewell, I'll do it."

He was happy that I took it. He ran to get me a fancy camera and a shiny yellow vest I should wear to maneuver around traffic. He instructed me to go to the scene, talk to the cops, maybe the victims and to take pictures.

I was very nervous. This isn't for me- I write fluff pieces! I don't do wrecks. But, as I was nearing my car, it hit me that I had a camera. When I think of wreck photos, i think of screaming people covered in blood; bodies under sheets; tears falling from eyes; people on their knees praying.

This all excited me. The worse I imagined the wreck, the happier I got. It would be front page. I'd get excellent quotes, much like the NY Post did when a limo carrying a wedding party got in an accident. At the end of this post, after some asterisks, I'll post some of the quotes from the story. It's a horribly depressing story, though. A 7 yr old girl was decapitated in the accident, and it's about her mom's discovery of it.

Anyway, i didn't actually want a child to be dead, but I thought the bigger the accident the better- I get more space in the paper for my word. And then I realized how horrible that was. It was sick that I got excited about covering an accident.

So I get to the intersection and.... nothing is there. No backed-up traffic. No cops. No ambulances. Nothing. I drove around the interstate searching and found nothing. False alarm, I guess. It's probably for the best. Plus, I would've missed my 4:00 meeting had there actually been a serious accident.

I ran into Nancy, an awesome lady, and told her the story (or lack-there-of) and she said it was obvious that my dad is an under-taker. She said he gave me my lust for blood. It's hardly bloodlust, but maybe seeing a lot of dead bodies, and caskets, and walking in the freezer did desensitize me.

*****************************************

I was going to post the quotes, but I can't, they're too bad (the mom describes holding her daughter's head in one article). I couldn't find that one, but I could find a similar one. It really does make you hate drunk drivers.

http://www.cafemom.com/journals/read.php?post_id=208318

Stubborness

2009-06-07T21:50:00.004-05:00

It's been a very good weekend. Catherine and Nathan and I hung out last night. It was pretty fun. Of course Nathan and I fought, we always bicker. He claims to "see right through me" and thinks that I am "very predictable". This is so not so. At one point, before meeting up with Catherine, he demanded that I get in his car so we could go to the restaurant. I thought that was a dumb idea- getting there 40 mins early is not my idea of fun- so I told him as much. He said I'd be stuck at his house if I didn't leave with him right away. I told him I doubted that very much.

He left. I figured he was just loitering in the front lawn, waiting for me to come out so he could gloat. I was having none of that. Instead, I stayed on the sofa and chatted with Chris, his roommate. It was a nice little time. I was surprise that Nathan hadn't given up and come back inside, but I assumed he was trying to be a "man" or a "boss" or something. Or he was trying to make me get over my pride, as he always does.

At this point, Catherine called and said she'd be at Addison's in like 30 mins, so I went outside to tell Nathan. His car was gone. I was surprised, so I giggled to myself. I decided to give in and call him. He screened my call! So I called again, and the same thing happened. As he had picked my up from my place, i didn't have my car. There was no way I was going to sit and wait for him to return, just to have him feel like a winner, so I decided to walk home.

It was a nice night and I don't live too far away (though I did have to cross a scary street, which I handled like a champ). During my walk, Nathan called. I gave him the same treatment and screened it. Then he texted saying "I hope Catherine's picking you up, cuz I'm not getting you." So I texted back "Actually, I'm walking home. Bet you didn't expect that." I felt smug. He wrote back "Just walk to Addison's." I didn't like his apathetic response, so I sent "Nope. We changed locations." and he said "why?" which was what I wanted. "Because you're a douchebag."

After that, I felt a little better, but I thought maybe it sounded emotional, which was not what I wanted. But I kept walking until I came to an intersection that I had to turn on. As I approached it, I saw this creeper with a beard leering at me. I felt super uncomfortable. I'm sure I started muttering to myself. And then I heard "Jess, what are you doing?" And then I realized it was Nathan (he doesn't have a beard, so I guess it was just shadows). He had come back for me, so all was right in the world. I hopped in the car. He denies having screened me, he said his 3G was out. Maybe, maybe not.

After that we had a blast. Nathan left after Addison's, but Catherine and I walked around downtown and chatted. It was wonderful. I learned stuff about her and she about me. I'd sort of forgotten that candid girl talk is fun. I also learned how much I love to hear my own voice. I'm working on my listening skills.

The Land of the Lost

2009-06-07T10:58:00.002-05:00

I reviewed this film for the magazine I write for. Check it out!

http://www.voxmagazine.com/stories/2009/06/06/movie-review-land-lost/

It's not as long as I'd like it to be, but it's all good.

I was so embarrassed when I bought the ticket. It looked like the dumbest movie ever. I'd stopped liking Will Ferrell a while ago, so I thought it was going to be a huge suckfest. As it turned out, it was actually pretty funny. Everyone has given it terrible reviews and I just don't get that.

I'm kind of a rock star.

2009-06-05T22:47:00.004-05:00

Last night was amazing. So I texted Alex yesterday because we've been meaning to hangout, but we never do. Thankfully she had no plans, so I suggested that we hit up Eastside for a round of kareoke. Would I be doing kareoke? Not without copious amounts alcohol. But I decided it would be fun to watch the people with balls show off their chops.

So I met Alex, her bf Nick, and this guy he's known since kindergarten, Shannon. Incidentally, I learned that their kindergarten was only half a day- either in the morning or afternoon. No fair! We wrote paragraphs all day.

Anyway, we all meet up at the bar and order our drinks. I only had my debit card and they had a $10 minimum with cards. I handed mine over right away, and in return got an Amerretto Sour. It tasted different then I'm used to, and that's when I realized he'd (the bartender) used a cherry syrup instead of putting a cherry in it. Which was fine as I don't like cherries.

We grabbed a table and got to know each other better. I downed my drink and got another one. I came back, we chatted some more. I looked at the people on stage and knew I had to be one. I had to sing. As I was very tipsy, I wasn't gone enough to sing and I also hadn't spent my $10 yet. So I went back to the bar and the guy was like "another one?" and I was like, "ya know what? I'ma branch out. Can you give me something appley? I like Appletinis." He looked at me like I was a challenge and I loved that. He pursed his lips and said "I'll give you something that I invented, I call it 'Hulk Smashed'. I'll even put it in a martini glass to make you feel fancy, just don't break it. You'll love it." "if it's got alcohol I'm sure I will."

After a lot of mixing, he presented me with a huge green drink. He said "I call it Hulk Smashed because it's green and it's all alcohol- no mixer." I sighed a big sigh of gratitude- this man must have been me in a past-life. He knew that I don't play around.

I took the drink to my table and loved it. It did the trick enough to make me grab a song book. That's right, I signed myself up for Kareoke. The boys were playing pool at this point, but Alex was with me and flat-out refused to sing with me. She did, however, help me pick the song I was to sing (which was really a paltry consolation prize). We debated between Shania Twain, Shaggy, Gavin Degraw and Kelly Clarkson.

Ms. Clarkson won. Before I could second guess myself, I submitted my form with "Since You've Been Gone" on the top. After that was done, Alex and I found the boys and challenged them to a game of pool. It was neck and neck until the end. Only the cue ball and 8 ball were on the table. It was my (or Alex's, I don't remember) turn, I was about to win when the dude called my name!

I shrieked "that's me" and ran to the stage. He said "This is the first time in the 3 years we've been doing this that someone has performed Kelly Clarkson." I felt very proud of this. Oddly enough, when I went on stage, my nerves were gone. I wasn't afraid anymore. Alex and the gang made their way to the front to cheer me on. I rocked like I have never rocked before. But I wasn't the only one rocking! Everyone in the bar was singing with me! It was very amazing, one of the proudest moments of my life.

After taking a bow and doing some high-fives, I left the stage to find that not only had I conquered my singing fear but we had also won the pool game! Shannon had called the wrong pocket, so it was a win, but sort of by default.

They went out to smoke and I went to get my purse. As I was walking to the back of the bar, this 40 year old (at least) Mexican dude motioned for me to come sit by him. I giggled, wished I had a pocket-knife to threaten him with, and told him I couldn't, I had to get my purse. I could feel his eyes on me the whole time.

After grabbing my bag, I made the mistake of getting too close to him. He reached out and grabbed my hand- he had a firm grip too! I was like 'oh shit, what the fuck? My boobs aren't even out at all.'

I giggled and said I had to meet my friends who had left. I tried to take my hand back, but he squeezed harder and said "I Love You." I was like omg, really dude? You could have birthed me. "You don't know me." "I Love You." I yanked my arm away like it was about to be cut off by a train.

After I closed my tab and met up with my crew, I found that he had squeezed Alex's ass earlier. I felt a little less special. Oh well. Then we went to El Rancho and then back to my place.

It was a successful evening, to say the least.

I Snapped

2009-06-04T20:34:00.002-05:00

Ever since I decided that it was a good idea to open my kitchen door a few days ago, this monster fly escaped into my living area. He watched me. He followed me around. He hovered and stared. He'd become a friend, an annoyance, an enemy and a creep.

I hated him for being there, as he's a dirty fly. But I realized he couldn't help he was hatched a dirty fly. For a few moments I saw his beauty and loved him. But then I came down and realized that ew, I cannot have him laying little eggs in me while I sleep.

So I decided to hunt him today. I saw that he was sitting in my shower (his reflexes have gotten slower and slower as he has become domesticated). I picked up the cup I use for shaving and I said "stay still little buddy, I'm not going to hurt you. I'm going to relocate you to a beautiful home." I meant it too. I'd let him loose in the hallway.

I lunged, the little guy barely escaped me. I charged after him, saying that if he just shut up and sat still I wouldn't hurt him. That's when he landed on my blinds. I'd just promised not to hurt him, but when I saw him still and vulnerable on the window (for whatever reason flies can't fly properly when on a window) I just snapped. I lunged at him with the cup and I lunged hard. I got him with the bottom of it. That's right, I didn't even try to save him with the mouth of the cup. He splattered and didn't have a chance.

I don't know what happened. When he had the advantage, I begged. When I had the advantage, I exploited it for my own good. That's how I tend to act in all my life's scenarios (minus the obvious begging). That fly taught me a lot about myself and for that I'll always be thankful.

I'll miss the little guy... maybe I shouldn't be living alone.

Life

2009-06-04T20:08:00.002-05:00

Everything had lined up the way it supposed to. Finally my source's assistant got back to me last night and we scheduled an interview for today at 2:00. I was happy, as my deadline was at 5, I knew I would make it. At about 12:30 I left the newsroom to go eat lunch and prep myself. I practically frolicked home.

Then, when I reached the third landing in my building, something wasn't right. I didn't know what it was but something felt off. Then, all of a sudden, this bird swooped out of a hole in the ceiling and headed right towards me. I shrieked and cowered. I literally hit the floor. The bird went back to his roost. I said "good little bastard, I won't hurt you." So I walked hunched over to my door, but after only a few steps the thing swooped again! This time I screamed, panicked, and ran to my door. I unlocked it and got inside safely. It's a wonder no one came when I screamed.

I felt better when i got inside. I set up my notepad and heated up a turkey-leg for lunch. I put on some Sister, Sister and got to business watching it. Then, all of a sudden, the screen went snowy! I was like WTF is going on here? Then I remembered that in mid-May I'd cancelled my cable. Those bastards finally caught up with me.

I guess I had it coming. So I decided to go online, the soon learned that I couldn't, as I'd left my charger in the newsroom. Goddamnit. Well, thankfully I've still got Ameena's Arrested Development, so I popped that baby in and watched it.

Then, right at 2, my phone rang. Excitedly I answered it, only to find it was my lady's assistant. The person I'm supposed to talk with has laryngitis and can't speak! And the only time she can reschedule for is next Thursday. I was thinking "well isn't this just great?"

So I rushed to the newsroom to explain my dilemma to the head editor. He said it was ok, I'd just reschedule it for then. Luckily in the magazine world we get our assignments early.

So I broke down and ordered Netflix. Gilmore Girls season 7 is on the top of my queue. The bird still waits for me. I don't know how I'll fair (fare?).

Random thought on child pornagraphy

2009-06-02T17:12:00.005-05:00

Let's say you're real kinky and you started out young. Let's say you're 14 and you get it on with your sig fig. You want to be a grown-up, so you whip out your parents' tripod and JVC camera to film it. You have fun doing your thing. Afterwards, you hide the little video in a box labeled "Math Stuff". You forget about it and move on with your life.

Years later you move back into your parents' house because life didn't pan out as you thought it would. You're laying in bed, looking at the glow-in-the-dark constellations on your ceiling, remembering "the good old days" which, in fact, sucked. You decide to look for your old Stretch Armstrong. While you're rummaging through your closet, a box tips over and out spills your old VHS tape.

Ah, this is interesting. Should I watch it? Sure, why not? You pop that sucker in and watch the 20 second tape from long ago. Then you repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

Is this legal? You're in the video, so I'd think yes. But so is another child, so I'd think no.

I know you can't own child porn under any circumstance (a famed journalist learned that the hard way. He was watching it as "inspiration" for the story he was writing).

I also know that it is illegal for a kid to take a naked photo of herself and send it to her boyfriend. The law is cracking down on that.

So I'd have to assume that it would be illegal to have this tape. But what if, in this person's time, it wasn't illegal for them to film it? I don't think the law can go back in time.

Either way, it's probably more than a little creepy to be thinking about this.

http://www.voxmagazine.com/stories/2009/05/14/unprotected-tween-sexting/

Got blonde curls? I can overlook that for the evening.

2009-06-01T21:51:00.002-05:00

I love Columbia nightlife. It's pretty great.

Thursday night Ameena, Ben, Anthony, Kelly, Courtney and I hit up the Tin Can, which is a neat bar that sells beer for 75 cents. Surprisingly it's not a trashy bar (you can even use the beer pong table they have). It was pretty great. Of course, I didn't participate in the cheap beer. I drank Ameretto Sours all night, baby. It was fun just chillin.

After a while, we decided to go to East Side Tavern to say goodbye to one of Ameena's friends. It was a very artsy bar. All the dudes were either white, pale, thin with black hair and glasses. Or else they were white, large and had beards. The females all dressed crazy with minimal cleavage. Anyway, this night was kareoke night. I have never heard so many bad covers of Radiohead in my life. It was pretty terrible. The music anyway, not the scene. I really wanted to sing Goldigger, but I wasn't drunk enough. I also wasn't feeling brave enough to sing the word "nigger" to the whole bar, and it's in the song a lot. Another night perhaps.

Friday night we went to a dance party on the top of an artsy theatre! It was amazing. It was a videology night, which means they played videos to go with the music. They played a lot of classics, but they also played "Sorry Mrs. Jackson", "Jizz in My Pants", "I'm on a Boat" and many more. There was a fog machine. I drank vodka Sprite while on the roof across from a church. It was fantastic.

Again, this was filled with hipsters everywhere. There were a lot of "creepers" around. I quoted that word because it's subjective. Did I find it creepy when a middle-aged woman joined our dancing clique, made us hold hands and shimmy to Madonna? Did I find it creepy when she leaned over and licked/kissed Ameena's cheek and asked her if she liked it? Nope. I thought it was a roaring good time.

Did I find it creepy when this blonde, curly haired dude lurked behind me in an uncomfortably close fashion? Did I find it creepy when he looked in my eyes and mimicked my dance moves? Nope. I found him to be enticing- despite being both blonde, curly and probably bi-curious. Sadly, all my ladies came to my "rescue" and cock-blocked me. It was probably right for them to do so, but there's nothing like a morning of shame to spice up your life.

Saturday I had to rest. We had an "Always Sunny in Philadelphia" marathon- I love that show! I found out that Anthony makes Mead which was kind of neat.

Overall, the social aspect of my life is looking good.

You don't know what it's like being male, middle-class and white

2009-05-28T19:58:00.003-05:00

Yesterday was a pretty good day. It started off rocky, though. I'd set up my first interview for my first story for Vox. I was to call the guy at 11 and chat about a summer concert series we're having here. I called him, and he wasn't there! I was upset. I had plans and errands to run, but I was afraid he'd call back at an inopportune time, so I sat around watching "Sister, Sister" while stealing glances at my phone. I was like a prepubescent boy. A flamboyant one. It was sad.

But, finally he called. He told me to come to his office, so i quickly got dressed and dashed out. It was worth the wait. We chatted outside on a bench and at the end, I asked him if I could snag a free ticket to the Ben Folds show so I could interview people. He thought about it for a while (which I hope was a facade, but I also hope he was entranced by my sex appeal) and then he finally said "yes". I knew he would.

The concert was pretty great. It drizzled, but whatever. At my last newspaper gig, the demographic was mostly college kids, so that's who I interviewed. But this paper is for the whole community, so I scoped out that oldest people I could find. I looked like a major creeper, walking around, staring at people and muttering, "not old enough", "too old", "too creepy", "weird hair", "very sexy", and the like to myself. Fortunately I got great quotes and I was the first to turn in my article.

I did go to the show solo, but I don't care. I'm not self-conscious about things like that. It was a good time. He played most of the classics that I enjoy.

Today, I started working on a new story and it is tough! I can't find any sources and it's supposed to be like on a page of its own (presumably). I hope I can coerce someone into chatting.

I also went clothes shopping today so that I could get professional(ish) clothes. I got a sports bra so that I can exercise comfortably, and when I checked myself out in the mirror, I swear that I've never seen my boobs look so small. It was a weird experience, one that I didn't like. After I tried it on, I got re-dressed and left the dressing room. But something was wrong, I felt more free than I usually do, and I'm a fairly uninhibited person. I was almost to the checkout line when I realized what it was- I'd forgotten to put my own bra back on! I was hanging free. Awkward. Fortunately no one was in my dressing room when I went back to get it. Is that still a weird version of The Walk of Shame?

I'm excited, after all.

2009-05-26T22:39:00.002-05:00

As it turns out, I think this summer will be fun. I got my first assignment for Vox. It's a preview for Summer Fest, which starts tomorrow but goes throughout the summer. A Ben Folds concert kicks it off and I'm working on snagging a press pass for it. I've seen him twice and it'd be nice to see him again.

Today Nathan, Catherine and I had dinner at Noodles and it was tasty. Afterwards we snagged some ice cream. During that, I discovered that Catherine didn't get to participate in the tradition of walking away from the columns when she graduated. Nate and I couldn't stand for that, so we walked over to the quad and cheered her on as she passed through. Nathan cheered very raucously for her. It was wonderful. I was both proud and sentimental.

Afterwards, we went to the top of a parking garage and flew a kite and chilled. Nathan rapped Ludacris' "Fantasy" without any background music. He knew all the words. It was quite impressive.

After that we went to Wal-Mart where we bounced some balls and looked at vibrating condoms. It was wonderful.

Being in the Vox office was fun. I feel official. It turns out that I know a few people who are working there and I made a new friend, so it's a good start. We've decided we're going to party together and I am stoked.

This summer seems promising.

Bed-hopping is inherited

2009-05-25T21:45:00.002-05:00

I've decided to write a quick and quirky blog to balance out my previous post.

Last night I couldn't fall asleep. Try as I might, I just couldn't shut my brain off. So at like 11, I went into my mom's room and said, "mom, will you please come sleep with me? It's my last night." To which she responded, "sure, hop in," as she patted the empty space next to her.

Perhaps a polite person would have.

"No, I said you come to my room. Now, please."

"No Jess, i don't like your bed."

"But Mom, I'm your favorite and it's my last night, don't you want to spend it with me? Just tell me a story or lay there 'till I fall asleep or something, please?"

"Um, nope. We can do that here."

She was giving me a nice offer. All I had to do was grab my pillows and hop in. But I couldn't. I don't like sleeping in other people's beds. Sure, I'll hang out in other beds, but no sleeping. I need my pillows and my blanket and everything to be the way I want it. Other people can sleep in my bed though, maybe, depending on who said person is. Apparently my mom's the same way too. She's had many a boyfriend sneak out in the morning.

If I can hop in my car and go to my bed, rather than sleep in someone else's, I probably will. Of course I don't mind it if I'm on vacation, though. Anyway, I was mad at my mom's stubbornness. I even pouted, but she is immune to my sad face. So I went to bed alone.

I almost brought Brutus, my new dog, to my bed, but the last time he slept with me he talked in his sleep. He kept growling and shaking. I was afraid he'd wake up and attack me. I got no sleep with him. So I wasn't going down that road again.

I don't think there's anything wrong with wanting to sleep with your mom.

That night, when I finally was about to doze off, I heard thudding, like someone was playing basketball in the front yard. I got pissed as hell. But, then I figured it was Tracy's boyfriend knocking on her window. As i was naked, I didn't get up to investigate.

I figured out that it was being clothed that kept me from sleeping. It was a tough decision to disrobe, as I was afraid that my mom would change her mind and come to my room. Luckily, I know that when her mind is made up, she doesn't change it.

So this morning, when I went to my car, I saw that someone had thrown eggs all over the house. They'd even thrown toilet-paper around. It was a very measly attempt though, really pathetic. They did a horrible job. The last people that attacked our house spray-painted "Tracy loves cock" in the driveway. I told mom to pour bleach on it to erase it, but it really just made the concrete whiter, thus highlighting the graffiti. These eggs paled in comparison.

I did notice that my car was wet and the hose was unraveled. I think they egged my car, felt guilty, and washed it.

When my mom came out she just said "this is sad and embarrassing. What a pathetic attempt. They can't even roll a house right."

Get me out of Columbia

2009-05-25T21:22:00.004-05:00

I left BR this morning at 7:30 and arrived here at like 7:00 pm. It was a long drive and it rained most of the way, which was stressful. On top of that, all the radio stations kept talking about dead soldiers. I get that it's Memorial Day and necessary, but listening to it for almost 12 hours does nothing to perk a person up. So that may be why I'm in a funk.

When I pulled onto my street and parked at my building, all I felt was anti-climactic sadness. I don't know what I expected. I guess I thought my heart would flip and I'd burst into song, sort of like what happens when I arrive back in La. But no, I was just filled with despair. When I went into my apt, I realized I'd neglected to clean it before I left, so that also dampened my already low spirits.

I guess I'm afraid that this summer is going to be very boring. I feel that by coming back to Columbia I'm doing nothing with my life, like I'm on pause. But that's ridiculous, of course, since I'm going to COLLEGE at the #1 journalism school in the country; I got the beat I wanted (a magazine); I have a great internship with a top-rated literary journal; the strong majority of my friends will be in town too.

Really, I should be happy, I should be ecstatic. Things seem to be working out for me. But, I just can't see it that way at the moment. I feel like I have unfinished business back in Baton Rouge that I should be attending to. I had a great final weekend there. A fun party with my friends, then a housewarming party, then a shopping trip, and a lot of quality time spent with my mom. So I should be happy that I left on a good note.

But I'm not like that. I'd rather leave on a bad note, so no one will miss me. I guess that's part of my narcissism (assuming my absence will devastate those who've ever come into contact with me). Normally, during my last few days, I subconsciously pick fights with my family, so that by the time I have to leave, they're ready for me to be gone. My dad says that's ridiculous and rude. He'd rather remember me as happy and jokey and whatever- not a mean douchebag. I can see his point.

But this time there was no fighting, it was a great goodbye. It all happened so fast. I threw my bags in the car, opened the car door, turned to say "bye" to my mom, and as I was about to start crying it started pouring rain real hard, so my mom gave me a quick wave and ran inside, so as not to get soaked. This kept the sentimentality of the situation to a bare minimum, so I didn't cry, and this is a first. It was my sort of goodbye. I should be happy.

This is also the first summer that I'm not spending in Philly. I should be with my dad, working at WaWa, hanging with my Yankee friends, tanning on the Jersey shore, BBQing and just living it up. I love my dad a lot, and it sucks that I won't see him. Maybe he'll come see me. As he gets older and older, I feel more and more guilt for not spending time with him. But it's obviously not my fault- I'm in MO, he's in PA- but that doesn't really matter.

I've got a great set of friends here. They'd come to my rescue if/when I need it. I can't complain about that department. Ameena's come up with a great list of things the gang should do over the summer. Catherine and I plan on becoming regulars at some of the bars/concert venues. Alex is in town and the girl is so cool, i can't wait to hang with her. In fact, Nathan wanted me to come over tonight and hang, but I'm exhausted so I turned down the offer.

I blame this funk on the first paragraph of this post.

I'll get my mojo back.

Farewell Baton Rouge, remember me fondly.

2009-05-24T12:09:00.002-05:00

So, my mom originally wanted me to go back to school today, instead of tomorrow, just in case my teeth start hurting and I have to spend the night. But, as I was busy Friday and Saturday, I neglected my packing duties so I decided to stay in town one last day.

I'm sad to go back to school. I've had fun bonding with my mom and playing with my new pup. But at the same time, I'm ready to go back to the real world. I'm ready to write for Vox, a magazine, and intern at The Missouri Review, a literary journal. Though I really truly do love myself, I'm ready to hit the school's gym. Sports Illustrated named my school's Rec Center the best College Rec Center in America my freshman year, so it's pretty nice. That year, my dorm was literally right beside it and I couldn't muster the enthusiasm to use it. But this summer I will.

It's been an okay time back at home. I spent most of it in bed being pampered while I recuperated, which is not a bad way to spend some time. Friday night, though, I hung out with my friends and that was pretty nice I guess. We played a drinking card game, sweated in a sauna, I gave out a phone number i don't use, and it was a fun night. I'd still much rather actually go out somewhere than stay in, but it was fine.

As per one of my previous posts, I won't have any crying eyes seeing me go back to school, so there's not really anything tying me to Baton Rouge. I doubt my mom will even cry, but she's not that type. I'll be bawling my eyes out, but that's only because I'm bad and goodbyes and hate doing them.

I do think that leaving on Memorial Day may be a bad idea, though. I fear the cops will be on high alert for speeders, so I'll have to try to obey the law, which will be hard.

At least JFK wasn't shot.

2009-05-19T14:52:00.002-05:00

Yesterday I went to Blockbuster to rent "Let The Right One In". I have yet to watch it, but I'm pretty excited about it. While I was there, I was eavesdropping on two girls who looked to be my age. Here's what I heard:

"Hey, who's Jack and Bobby?" Girl #1

"What?" Girl #2

"Like, what are they famous for?" 1

"They were politicians or something." 2

"Oh, were they related?" 1

"Yeah, they're cousins." 2. Not quite.

"Really, oh." 1.

"Actually, I think they're brothers, yeah. One was president and one was shot." not quite right, sweetie. I really wanted to jump in and say something, but as I can't open my mouth wide, can't smile, and was swollen, they'd probably think I were Boo Radly, if they knew who he is.

"Yeah, one was rising in politics and people really liked him, but then he was shot. The other was a president." 2.

"Ah, thanks, I always wondered about that." 1.

I was so astonished! I was like oh my goodness. We were near the "Ts"in the alphabet, so I'm not sure what movie inspired their convo, but i really wanted to hand them a copy of "Bobby".

Buh-Bye Wisdom Teeth

2009-05-17T12:55:00.002-05:00

I got my Wisdom Teeth taken out on Thursday. I was so nervous. I got there at 8:30 AM and made small chat with the nurse lady, which I disliked. Finally, the doctor came in and put an IV in my hand that numbed me. It didn't put me to sleep but it did make me unaware of my surroundings. I do remember breaking out into uncontrollable tears during part of it and I was very embarrassed, but the doctor said that was common.

I've just been lounging at home since then. I've been feeling ill and the Percocet made me puke, but I'm feeling a lot better now. It used to hurt to walk, but it's okay now. I'm still swollen but will hopefully be 100% fine soon.

My mom has been very mom-like during this whole ordeal. She's held my hand and stayed in bed with me. She even offered to skip work Friday to stay with me, but I told her not to. She's been surprisingly sweet and for that I am very grateful. Tracy, my sister, on the other hand, has been a selfish little jerk and not helped. She's been partying with her friends, taking my car, and fighting with Mom. She did bring me ice cream, though, which was nice. She's just annoying and I hope she realizes the errors of her ways soon.

Also, we got a new puppy! He's an 80 pound Mastiff mix and his name is Brutus. I love him. I'll post pics when I take some.

My journey home

2009-05-17T12:46:00.002-05:00

I haven't been in a writing mood lately. I promised to write everyday, but I knew that if I wrote during the past few days, they would've been terrible posts, so in order to keep up a quality blog, I decided not to write.

I drove back to Baton Rouge on Wednesday and it was a crazy trip. First, a hitchhiker almost committed suicide via my car. He was walking on the shoulder and the trucks in front of me got in the left lane to be polite. I didn't feel like being polite, so I stayed in the right lane. Then, right when I got beside him, he jumped out into the road! Thankfully he missed my car, but had he gotten in my way, my trip would have been delayed, and I would've been upset.

Then, I was listening to a radio talk-show host who was talking about some baseball player's brother who wants "hateful" groups to be taken off of Facebook. Apparently there are groups who say the Holocaust never happened and this guy wants them disbanded. I think that's silly. People should have the right to share ideas, even if some may find them ludicrous/offensive.

But, as I was listening to the show, I forgot to pay attention to the road and I missed my turn. Trying to find my way back to I-55 I took a wrong turn somewhere and ended up at the Memphis airport. I was scared and thought I'd never make it home. Before going into a full-blown panic attack, I breathed, and was thankfully able to find my way back.

Then it started to rain really hard with bright lightening and loud thunder mixed in. I was terrified, but thankfully I made it in.

The next day, Wednesday, I went to my sister's high school graduation. It was very boring and very ghetto. There were people with air-horns galore. One family even had a confetti machine. It was crazy and I was bored out of my mind. I did, however, teach my mom how to play Rockband on my iPod before it started and that was pretty fun.

Outta here!

2009-05-12T11:40:00.000-05:00

I finished my test and can forever forget about Germany, until I move there and never want to leave.

Now I'm packing and am heading home to Baton Rouge. According to weather reports, it's supposed to rain here and there today, but as of now, it is quite sunny. I hope it keeps up.

I'm excited to go home, even if for a little while. But at the same time I don't want to go back and that is because of a John Mayer song called "Can't Take That Plane". It touches me on many levels. This is the bit that is applicable to this post:

Bought a ticket for a trip I wanted long ago
staring deep into crying eyes
said goodbye, stood in line
now I changed my mind
I used to run and never look behind.

But now, now I've got a love to leave
and now, not gonna walk away so easily.

I can't take that plane

Unfortunately I have no crying eyes. No love to leave. But no one here has really caught my fancy. Well, there's one guy, but he has a girlfriend. There are also another two that I like, but do partially to my cowardice and partially to ill-timing nothing has happened between us. The other ones that have caught my fancy in Missouri don't matter.

Oh well, this is my emo post, it had to come eventually.

Peace out Columbia, and hello Baton Rouge!

Mysterious visitors and Germany

2009-05-11T20:34:00.000-05:00

I found a mysterious flower petal on my sink last week. I've never had flowers in this apartment. I have no roommates. How did it get there? I am not making this up. A few months ago, I found a gum-ball in my mailbox. I did not eat it. Who put it there? I seriously heard creaking, like someone was walking around my room last night. When I got up to investigate, the noise stopped. I like to think I have an admirer. But I am also afraid when I go to sleep. It's an uncomfortable life that I lead.

On another note, I'm studying for the last final I have before I can skip on back to the dirty south. I'm nervous though, as this teacher never likes my writing. On the last paper I got back, he'd scribbled "no" on pretty much every paragraph on every page. Ouch. I thought I had Aced it, as I had actually enjoyed the topic.

This time around, though, I feel a little more enlightened on Germany's government. I thought that the Berlin Wall was built to keep Communism from spreading throughout the world as part of the Domino Theory, but my dad told me I was wrong. My dad told me the Russians built to keep the people in so that they couldn't escape the Communist regime (for lack of a better word). I now see them in a different light. My teacher told me, though, that East Berlin was Socialist and not Communist, but after my research, I've still found that they are Communist.

Anyway, my dad told me that during the Vietnam War, he was stationed in Germany where he caught spies and stuff. I always sort-of thought he was lying to seem cool. Why would he be in Germany if the war was in Asia? Apparently we had troops in Germany as part of NATO (I think b/c of that). So I bet he really does have cool stories to share.

Pulitzer Prize Winner

2009-05-10T22:46:00.000-05:00

I had a dream a few weeks ago that scared me. For some reason I started thinking about it again just now, while I was bathing. Here are the fuzzy details that I remember and how it has affected my life:

I got a chance to go into a prison and befriend a prisoner. I got him to divulge his secrets and really interesting life-experiences to me. Excited, I rushed home and typed up the story. It went on the front page of the New York Post with a very witty headline. Everyone was impressed, as the story was touching, interesting, enlightening, and just great.

I was heralded for it. I won the Pulitzer Prize, among many other recognitions. I got rich and was able to get my fictional books and stories published. Those were great as well. I had everything- fame, money, a big house, friends, lovers.

Then, my source was unexpectedly released from prison. He did not like the story I did about him. At the height of my success, he murdered me. I was killed, but I had written an exquisite piece.

This is where it gets interesting: after I died, I had a chance to relive my life. I could do it exactly the same- still run the piece and be killed for it- or I could choose not to. If I didn't, then I would never be wildly successful. People would under-appreciate me and everyone would think I were mediocre. An angel told me this.

It took me a while to decide. Then I woke up. I took my waking as not just the end of a dream, but the beginning of a life I'd already lived. I thought (and still sort of do) that I really did do all those things, and now is my chance to do it again. I sat long and hard and thought about what I should do. Is death worth the glory? Is it better to be really, really happy for some years, or is it better to live an average-length life with a normal amount of happiness?

Terrified, I couldn't decide, and I still can't, not really. I think that if I know that I could be successful- and I do know that- then that's enough, the world doesn't have to know it too. But at other times, I'm like "But Jess, you've always wanted people to read your work and fawn over your brilliance." And I then say, "Yes Jess, that is quite true. You do like to be fawned over."

So I think I would (will) publish the article, as it really had a big impact on the world.

I want to be a Revolutionary

2009-05-09T22:13:00.000-05:00

I had an ok day. I did some studying, had dinner and dessert with some pals, and am now taking another study break. I've decided that it would be in my best interest to actually read the book that my History of Germany professor assigned, as he said one of the essays on the final will come from the book.

The book is called Joschka Fischer and the Making of the Berlin Republic, which is a biography. At first this book bored me to tears, which is why I have been putting off reading it. But once I got 100 pages in, it actually became interesting.

Joschka is a man who was dissatisfied with his life. In an effort to disobey his parents, he fled to another country to marry his girlfriend. He was like 19 or 20, but in Germany you had to have your parents permission to wed if you were under 21 (which I think should still be in effect here in the US, but that's a subject for another blog). After that, he travelled around, sitting in on college classes, learning Marx's theories and other Left-Wing extremists' ideologies. Soon, he became a ring leader for people who wanted a change.

He preached a violent overthrow, though. When they did sit-ins and the police attacked them, they attacked back. With Moltav Cocktails. He led a violent group to fight the "fascist state" with their own terror. It was nuts. After a while, though, he realized that violence wasn't the answer, because you either end up dead or in jail. He had his "epiphany" after being locked-up for throwing a bomb into a cop car, killing the 23 yr old cop inside. He didn't actually do it, though. Now he's like the Minister of Something (I haven't finished the book) for Germany.

This has got me to thinking. I want to be a revolutionary. I want to fight for something I believe in. I want to stick it to The Man. I want to do sit-ins and protests and get in bar brawls. I want to live in a co-op, do shrooms and start an era that everyone will remember.

Sadly, though, I think America is great. I can't think of anything that is wrong with this country. Maybe I could protest Obama, but I'm fairly certain I'd get shot (which might actually add to my cause). If anything, I'd protest that we become a more fascist state. I don't know if anyone would be with me. So for the time being, I'm going to finish the book and think of some bandwagon I should jump on.

Responsibility

2009-05-08T18:41:00.000-05:00

I did it. Without a whole lot of thinking, I unhooked my cable box and quickly drove it down to the cable place. I cancelled the cable. After I did so, I had a near panic attack. My mom said I could keep it, but she would appreciate it if I cancelled it. So I did.

I'm home now, and it's still working. I hope this keeps up.

On other news, I'm going to Boone's Landing tonight with the English club. I'm excited. I don't know much about the place. But apparently there's live music and thai food. It should be a good time.

Cable Dilemma

2009-05-08T15:44:00.000-05:00

I have cable and I enjoy it very much. I like my Grey's Anatomy, Ugly Betty and Vh1 shows. The part of cable that I don't like is the bill. It's about $70 a month. I live alone, so the bill falls on my shoulders. I've been telling my mom I'll get rid of it for some time now, but I have yet to do so. I don't know if I'm brave enough to get rid of it.

I know there is Hulu, but my Internet is rather sketchy. I guess I could always go on-campus to use the 'Net if mine fails. Purchasing Netflix was also recommended. I think that would probably be ok.

Now that I'm 21, I'm spending a lot of money on alcohol (more than I thought I would), so I have to make some cutbacks. The smart thing to do would be to not drink, I guess, but that's not really an option. It looks like the cable's gotta go.

I'll be staying in Missouri this summer to do summer school, so I should get rid of things that may distract me. Like cable. But at the same time, it doesn't look like I am going to find a job, which will leave me with a lot of free time.

Oh well, the problem looms. Advice is appreciated.

Fantasies at work.

2009-05-07T15:45:00.000-05:00

I work at the reception desk at the local newspaper. I'm here now. A few minutes ago, I heard Jamie Fox's "Alcohol" and I got very excited. I happen to love that song. I am very urban. Just as I was getting into it, it stops, and I look around to see what happened. As it turns out, it was the ringtone of a very sexy lad. He stopped, chatted into the receiver, and I watched.

I saw myself get up from my chair, cross the lobby, take his phone, shut it and say "baby, I'm all the entertainment you need." Then I grab him by the hand and pull him to my desk, then I pull down the blinds. But once we got there, the dynamics change and he takes control and is very savage with me on my boss' desk (cliche, sure. Still hot, of course). It'd be a very good time. Then, when I had my fill, I'd swat him away and go back to my New York Post perusing.

I was in the middle of my reverie when I realized that Mr. Alchy was leaving. Just as I was about to mumble something, I hear him say into his phone "Guess what? My dad's going to be out of town this weekend, so..." and then he left the building.

His dad's out of town? So what? You're in college and you look like a junior, at the least. Shouldn't you be the one that's out of town? Are you going to have a raging kegger while the pop's away? Will you need the guests to come back the next day to sneak the beer bottles into the neighbor's trash bins?

I then imagined going on a date with him, only to have his mother be behind the wheel. When she drops us off at the Putt-Putt place he asks her for a $20 and an extension on his curfew. Then, a little further down the line, I see us hanging in his den, watching his favorite movie, "Cheaper by the Dozen." When it's over, we go to his bedroom to discuss Tom Welling's acting chops, only to find the door has been removed from its hinges, so his momma knows what we're doing at all times.

This fantasy depresses me. I liked my first one better.

So, from my brief encounter with this very attractive brooding young man, I have realized that it is best not to judge people. From looking at him, I thought he'd be a fun guy, but when I peered about further into his life, I realized what a bore he would be.

I'll talk about anything, but grades. Keep that shit personal.

2009-05-06T22:17:00.000-05:00

So, I was in the shower, and I started to think, as I often do. When I'm not thinking, I'm playing a fun game that I invented, but I feel it may be too suggestive for you to handle. But if you (and as per the title of my blog, I have to assume there is a "you") continue to get know me via this blogging thing, you'll have to realize that I can be a real perv.

But, I was thinking this time about school/grades. Finals are coming up (tomorrow, to be exact) so grades are naturally going to be on my mind. I am really apathetic to the subject. I don't know why, but I've never cared about excelling at school. Ultimately, as long as I graduate, I don't care about my grades so much. I know that I am going to be successful in the future, so I don't stress the small stuff. I tend to be the girl that makes Cs is classes she doesn't care about. But, in full disclosure, I had to repeat Economics and Statistics (why does a journalism major need those?) as I flunked them (and I remember a 'D' being a passing grade in the old days, oh well). In more disclosure, I got a D in Econ the second time around. I didn't even tell my mom that, and she has a right to know, as she pays my tuition, but I figured it was best not to worry her. My advisor didn't say I had to repeat it, so that I was good. I didn't flat out ask her, but I told her to take a good hard look at my transcript and see if I was on the correct path to graduating. She said everything looked great. I opted not to press her.

Anyway, in the shower, I was thinking about about other people's grades. It really annoys me when people talk about them. I get especially annoyed when people are like "I got an A-, this is going to kill my average," and stuff like that. I nod, frown, and tell them that I feel bad for them. I don't really. I'm thinking "shut the fuck up and get over yourself."

You may think that's me being jealous, but it's not. As long as I pass, I don't need to get straight As. I just think it's so rude, unless you were almost Valedictorian, then I could understand your frustration. It's the same as saying, "Man, I only have $1000 in my account, I'm broke." It's like, fool, I make $119 every two weeks, so back off.

I especially dislike it when people get their test back and are like "What did you get?" They're only asking because they did really well and want to brag, or they want to see who they're smarter than. Whenever I get a good grade, I don't talk about it, because it's expected. And if I don't do well, I shrug it off. But if I am curious about how other people did, I say "Man, I got a D, can I see what a good paper looks like?" or something, as it's polite that way.

I don't know why, but talking grades really skeeves me out. Also, when people make their status "I just got a 4.0, I rock"- I get annoyed. I'm Jesus, here we go again. But, my status today was about a grade I got back, but it was about how much my teacher hated an essay I wrote, so I found the negative status to be ok.

So basically, keep your grade problems to yourself. If you do need to talk to me about them, then do, just know that I may be smiling, but I'm imagining myself beating you to a pulp.

I've gotta give it up sometime

2009-05-06T21:31:00.000-05:00

Hey.

So, I've caved. I'm a caver. I'm adverse to technology. I think the direction that the Internet is headed in is very creepy. But, of course I have a Facebook account which I go on everyday, and a Youtube account that shows me smoking Salvia. I assume that people like to look at my photos and my witty notes and my legally induced high.

The natural next step was to sign up for Twitter. I didn't want to do this. But, since the status is my favorite part of Facebook, I decided to give it a try. Then when I found out that I could read tons of little witty updates from John Mayer himself, I whipped out my Mac and signed up. As it turns out, I don't like the site.

But I do like talking about myself. I like reading about myself. I love sharing little anecdotes that have happened to me. That being said, I must assume that everyone else is interested in this as well. So I decided to start this blog. I intend to update it at least once a day, and I intend to be as honest and uncensored as possible.

So here are some basics: I'm a junior at Mizzou, majoring in magazine journalism, but I may end up in publishing. In one week I will have my Wisdom Teeth yanked. I am scared.

I have a final in History of American Journalism tomorrow, which is a very sucky class. I'm not looking forward to it, perhaps that's because instead of studying, I have been laying in bed watching "The Real Housewives of NY." I love those ladies. I can't wait to marry a dude who has a bunch of money. I'll use him to make good connections in New York. After I've secured a good agent, I'll chuck him to the curb.

Another trashy show I watch, instead of studying, is "I Love Money 2". I have the biggest crush on The Entertainer. He's very sexy in a rugged way, and the way he loses his temper and hits things is hot. I don't even care that he licked New York's nasty-ass toes. I also don't mind that he's like 38 or something and still lives with his parents.

"It" was one of my favorite characters though. He made it all the way to the Top 3! He's a real idiot. But, I wanted him to be like "my idiocy is a facade, fools, I'm a Mensa member!". But no such luck. While trying to win the $250,000 he got hungry, so he stopped at a restaurant and ate. Jackass.

My current favorite website is:

http://www.textsfromlastnight.com/

You need to check it out.