Feisty Filly

We've had quite the weekend. We both had to work Friday night and, while I was home by 11:30 I didn't fall asleep until probably around 2am. Charlie didn't get home till around 4:30 because he works at the club part time. But we both managed to drag our asses out of bed by 8am to head out within a half hour. We had to be at my folks' house by 10am and help them move. It wasn't really that bad. They probably had a lot of crap left over, but they also had three more people helping.
We headed back home in time to get Charlie a short nap, shaved, and shoved into his dress. I went as Hugh Hefner, and he was Stephanie or “Steffi” for short. That's what Hugh likes to call her. His costume was a big hit but I hadn't napped so I was beat by 10:30. He wanted to go by the club, though, so I dropped him off and circled around so he could show everyone there what he looked like in drag. The traffic on the avenue was awful. It took me five minutes to go a block, not to mention all the drunk m-fers walking from sidewalk to sidewalk paying no attention to the pedestrian crosswalks a few yards away. Sigh.
Today we had loads of fun raking leaves. Oh, yes. In fact, our 1/2 acre/2 lot house that we absolutely had to have, the one with all the trees . . . Suffice it to say we ran to Lowe's after about an hour of this crap, filling up seven trashbags and barely making a dent in one pile, and bought a leaf blower/mulcher. Ugh. Terrible.
The good news is that we then went over to Scott and Jay's to watch movies, have pumpkin soup, eat candy, and chill. It was good.
The other good news is that I have no classes for the next two days. Woo hoo!
Since this entry was so boring, please enjoy a photo of Charlie from last night:


Life – decent

Guess who got an “A” on her midterm?
Okay, then, guess who probably had the highest grade in the class (unless someone else got the same actual grade as me)?
Now guess who spoke with an advisor this morning and changed her major to psychology?

If you guessed Courtney Love, you're close. Minus to nose jobs, boob job, heroin problem, money, and last name.

I'm feeling a little nervous about switching my major so fast like that, but I'd been considering it for a while. While art is personally fulfilling, the psych major makes it easier for me to get into a graduate program and I can still have an art minor and focus more on that in grad school.

I still have about four years left to worry about it, though. Now if only I didn't have to work and could focus solely on school . . . Anonymous and generous benefactors graciously accepted and appreciated.


I'm feeling better already – not great, but better. I figured I'd be out for days. I'm having occasional queasiness if I get too excited during the day or have more than one cup of coffee. However, I now cannot sleep. Thankfully, I don't have to be up really early this week except for Saturday. That's really going to blow. We have to be out of here by around 8:30am at the latest to drive an hour and a half and help my parents move. The act of it is fine, it's the getting up part that bothers me. And Charlie, I imagine, considering he has to work at the club the night before. Meaning he won't get home until about 4am.
In other news, I'm nauseated again. Mostly why I can't sleep – when I lie down I start to feel like I'm going to barf.


I'm sick.
Not like gee-I'm-tired-and-if-I-can-help-it-I'd-rather-not-go-to-class-sick.
But like I-went-to-the-doctor-and-they-told-me-I-need-to-slow-down-sick.
She said I'm in danger of mono, whatever that means. I have tonsilitis and strep throat and I feel dizzy, hot, and nauseous when I don't feel dizzy, cold, and nauseous.
I hate being actually sick. I generally feel run down all the time but this is awful.

Politics, Schmolitics

On October 14th Jon Stewart attended a luncheon taped by C-SPAN. I caught part of it this evening. He said that Bush seemed, basically, to be a decent guy [whatever] and that other news organizations in the world (besides Fox) need to step up to the plate and give people what they need: not empty rhetoric, blurbs, opinions, and cute quotes — but the truth.
Then as I was just flipping through stations, local Channel 13 had a “news flash” stating that a Columbus, Ohio, newspaper has “officially endorsed” Bush as “the right man for the presidency.”
In St. Pete, Florida, a Kerry supporter ripped a pro-Bush sign out of someone's hand at a John Edwards rally and two people ended up being arrested.
At an Arizona college, a 24 year-old student and a friend of his threw custard cream pies in Ann Coulter's face, calling themselves “Piequaeda” and stated they weren't “throwing the pie at Ann Coulter [they were] throwing the pie at her ideals.” Both were arrested and charged with a felony and several misdemeanors.

I really only have one question:
What the f*ck is this world coming to? And why is no one allowed to express an opnion or do something crazy unless he or she is on the “right” side? Why is a newspaper, a supposed objective medium, allowed to endorse one candidate over another?

And why can't I get this stupid My Search toolbar off my computer? I've tried to delete it, remove it, and even restore my system to three months ago. And that GD thing is still on there, screwing up Google. But that's really beside the point.

Don't expect lucidity and impressive articulation here. This is what drives me completely batty about politics: we “hire” these people by voting for them. They make oodles and oodles of money. They're supposed to be paid by us to do a job for us. Do they listen to me? Ummm . . . not really. When I sign and send letter after letter and petition after petition, what do I get? I have a folder full of “thank you” form letters from state and local representatives that have nothing to do with what I'm asking of them. Bush gets to make almost half a million dollars a year from his “job” alone, but gets to vacation and jet around all the time. He acts like he's “one of us” but he's not. And when push comes to shove, where am I? The twenty-something taxpayer who makes a little over minimum wage who has to work because, despite a bachelor's degree practically being a prerequisite for any job, it still costs a f*ing arm and a leg. Education, schmeducation. Bush can kiss my lilly white ass.

addendum: If saying Bush sucks in an online journal gets me on some sort of FBI list, how “free” are we? I know that makes me sound like a 13 year-old, but whatever.

In Need of a Tune-Up

The rate at which I change my mind and switch gears is sometimes scary. In the past several years I have researched to the point of exhaustion moving to: New Orleans, Houston, San Diego, St Petersburg (okay, I actually moved there, but still), Madison, Portland, and now Seattle.
I could tell you what schools are located in each city, where the hot spots are, the names of their best clubs, the finest restaurants, how good or bad the public transportation happens to be, how many Starbucks each has, the best and worst places to work, the average temperature of winter and summer, the annual rain fall, and
Right now all my focus is on Seattle. I don't know as much about the city as I do the aforementioned few, but I'm getting there. I've got the latter half of the list worked out. I don't know much about neighborhoods, but I can tell you that it costs around $900 a month for an average-sized 2-bedroom apartment. Here it's around $600. Five years ago it would have been twice that in Seattle.
Why do I obsess over moving to other cities? At this point in my life, it's not running away anymore. I'm happy with my friends, I know my way around town, I know a lot of people, I have favorite restaurants and bars, I'm comfortable here. Maybe that's what makes me nervous? After moving so many times as a kid, I can't seem to stay in the same place for more than a few months. A year is terrible, a year and a half is torture. Out of high school, I haven't lived in the same house for more than 18 months. And that was a fluke – we just kept extending the lease until we found something we really wanted.
I honestly don't think it's that I hate it here. I don't think that moving two thousand miles away from everything I've known for 12 years will make me happier or a better person. I know people suck everywhere and every part of the US has shitty weather in some form or another, or a really high cost of living.
I also don't do much so it's not so much an art/culture/sports/education thing . . . I could care less about exercise, so I don't have to live somewhere that has a lot of parks or trails. I don't aspire to get some high-falutin' CEO or executive position anywhere, so it's not that I think I'll make any more money any where else.

I just want to move.

Bad, bad monkey

I'm a bad monkey. I didn't do very well on my art history midterm – I got 33 out of 40. This upset me so much I couldn't go to the class today. I was afraid to face the professor. I was actually afraid she might say something to me about how fast I was done and that, if maybe I'd looked over it once, I would have found something wrong and corrected it. I realize this makes me sound crazy.
In a “real” class with “real” points, I would have an A right now. But in my class, the professor gives everything one point for a grand total of about 200. In Literature I'm already up to about 350 points and the class isn't yet half over.
It pisses me off because if I get a B in art history my GPA will come down to around 3.75. While that's still fine and dandy, I'd have liked to be able to gloat on applications for scholarships that I had a 4.0 my freshman year.
Oh, well. Maybe I need to learn it's not all about the grades.

Or is it . . .?


How can I think straight when there's a TV directly to my right that now has cable? Even though I don't like Sealab nearly as much as Aqua Teen Hunger Force or Family Guy, I can't stop myself from turning around to look at it. I can't bring myself to turn it off either. In a way, I feel like I can afford a little brainlessness. For one, I spent all evening studying for a midterm tomorrow. I just found out yesterday that the instructor expects us to know the names of the architects and artists from ancient Greece, Rome, the near east . . . Uh oh.
I also think I might deserve a little non-thinking fun because I was offered a job on campus this morning. I originally interviewed for a position that was a dollar more per hour but they gave it to someone else. I don't know why. They did, however, call me back and offer my to interview for a different position. It's basically an office assistant for a department of the campus that would be a really good resume booster. And they swore that, while there will be some creative outlets, it'll mostly be mundance, mindless tasks. After thinking about it, I said that might work out really well. The less I have to think at work, and the more time I can save for thinking at home, the better.
I don't know what I'm going to do at the coffeeshop job. I thought I wanted to just leave, but the free coffee is soooo tempting. And so tasty.

Tonight was also revealing in the sense that we got a phone call from Kate's ex's most current girlfriend. I spoke with her for about 25 minutes and learned all sorts of gory details that just prove my theory that the guy is a total schmuck. Their dating overlaps with his dating Kate by a couple of months. He was also, apparently, seeing at least two other people. The girl asked me not to tell Kate about it, just to forewarn her that she was going to call so Kate wouldn't be shocked. At first I thought it was a good idea – clear the air, catharsis, closure, whatever else starts with a “c” that's related to this situation – but now I'm not so sure. I don't think Kate wants to know all the gory details. What I know from this girl alone is enough to make my squirm. Who wants to hear that the person she thought she might someday marry was screwing at least two other people at the same time they were supposed to be exclusive? Yuck. And damned if I didn't think he was a schmuck all along.

Mr and Mrs Such-and-Such

Last night we went to a pretty fab wedding on the north side of town. It was a friend I've known for about 8 years. I used to work with her at the bookstore then she left for LA with a boyfriend. When she came back three years later she was in pretty bad shape. Now she looks fit, healthy, and really happy. I cried a little bit at the wedding because it really is such a huge deal. With 50% of marriages (or more) ending in divorce, it's hard to say if anyone from my generation will be married happily ever after. My relationships have lasted longer, exponentially, since I first started dating but even after just two years I'm usually ready to throw in the towel.

Marriage is such a serious idea that I'm surprised it hasn't faded out entirely. I mean, I know there are still people who “wait” and have plans to get married, but I can't imagine not knowing if I'm sexually compatible with a person until after I've pledged the rest of my life to him. Yipes.

Something I find terribly amusing and disturbing at the same time is all the tradition involved. It amazes me that my friend would go to lengths she did to make her mom happy (because, after all, this was really her mother's wedding, right?). There was some god-stuff in the ceremony, a very traditional dress, a huge reception, a giant cake, photos of them cutting the cake, a dance at the reception, toasts from everyone . . . It reminded me why I hated having a wedding. I had to apologize to people because I didn't want to do all that. The point, to me, wasn't the cake (though it was wonderful), how many people we had or how expensive my dress (or theirs) was. It was a ceremony for friends and family to see us get married for real. I was fine with the courthouse and signing a piece of paper, but it was sooooo important to soooo many people that we had to spend a few thousand bucks of our own money to prove something to them. And I'm not really sure what that was. I felt like an impostor the whole time, like I had no right to take over what some other people found so sacred and ritualistic. I just wanted to go home and cry. But more on why some other time. Lets just say some of the groom's family was not very nice.

One really funny thing at the wedding last night (ha-ha-funny or sad-funny, I'm not yet sure) was when the groomsperson (he had three guys and a chick, she had four chicks) got up to give her toast after dinner and she said “I know he said he'd never fall in love again and he'd never get married again, but…” At which point everyone at my table jerked their heads back to look at the bride's father and see if he was boiling.
If I were to spend $15,000 for my daughter's wedding and someone got up to announce to a room of 200 people that my daughter's husband had been married before, I'd have pulled the plug on the woman's mike. How inappropriate! I'm not the Queen of Class as you know, but I thought, in her own way, this woman was trying to say how much the groom loved the bride, but she was also telling everyone in the room that he'd already pledged his love to someone else, broken that promise, and was doing it again.

Divorce isn't really a sticky topic anymore. Most everyone I know who is or has been married has been or is going through a divorce. Excluding our parents' generation, practically everyone I know between 25 and 40 is breaking up, getting back together, getting with someone else . . .
What is it about is that makes it impossible to stay faithful or committed? I don't know what my problem is; my parents are still married and never fought in front of us. I had decent role models as far as marriage goes. Charlie's parents have been married a combined total of about 10 times and he was ready to get hitched when he was 22. He even bought a ring for this girl. But I can't seem to settle down. Occasionally, when I see my name spelled out “Mrs. Such-and-Such,” like at the reception last night, I panic. No, I think, that's not me. Why would I ever have changed my name? Why would I have made such a lasting, serious commitment to another person when I can't even decide on a permanent hair color?
Other times, I think I'm really lucky. Without getting all sappy, I can't imagine being with someone else. I'd rather be alone then get back out there and go through a string of pointless, empty relationships with people who aren't even my friends.

I guess that's what it all boils down to. It's not love or sex, lust or passion. It's simply being friends with the person you're with. In the end, all that other stuff dies. We're biologically programmed to seek out new partners, to put off pheromones that attract the opposite sex (sorry, GLBT community, I don't know the science behind those kinda pheromones). We just chose somewhere along the way to make it a social norm to always be with one person. But for some it just won't ever work. They'll either cheat and lie, or constantly break up and get with a new person.

Take our friend Chad, for example. He dumped Kate after a pretty typical break-up conversation (except he may have said 'it's not me, it's actually you'), then tried to get back with her. Being with someone else was important enough to her that she lied to her friends (or at least me and Charlie) about it. Then she went to spend the night at his house saying he needed to have someone there while he took a new medicine. [But they're just friends.] At 3 a.m. a strange woman came pounding on the door. She'd been seeing Chad for at least 3 months, which is a good two months of overlap into his relationship with Kate. How the guy never thought he'd be found out, I don't know. And why anyone would waste her time on a guy like that, I also don't know. But we're desperate to be in relationships, to be a part of another person and to have our lives made “whole” by being thought of as a couple.