How Do You Feel About Frilly Toothpicks?

Last week I helped my friend stay put. It's a lot easier than helping someone move. I just went over to his house and made sure that he did not start to load shit into a truck.

At my hotel room, my friend came over and asked to use the phone. I said "Certainly." He said "Do I need to dial 9?" I say "Yeah. Especially if it's in the number. You can try four and five back to back real quick."

I think Pringles initial intention was to make tennis balls. But on the day that the rubber was supposed to show up, a big truckload of potatoes arrived. But Pringles is a laid back company. They said "Fuck it. Cut em up."

I know all you kids are jealous. I know you are, because tonight you don't get to go see Mitch Hedberg at Hodgson Hall. Unless, of course, you do, in which case, hell yeah! I'm excited.
And then we're going bowling, and I haven't been bowling in forever. And then Saturday we're going on a 5-6 hour "mild day hike" in some place I forget what it's called, because apparently I can't allow myself to pass up any opportunities these days, even the ones I would really kinda like to pass up. In any case...another busy weekend.

That Is Not What I Meant, At All

Yesterday I was walking to my Film lab, listening to I think Loose Leaves again on the iPod (although yesterday's song was Mr. Brightside by the Killers), and when I got to the stage outside Tate, there were a few people gathered around watching a guy reciting The Love Song Of J. Alfred Prufrock. I didn't really have time, but they were near the end, so I stayed and watched 'til the end. I came in around the "No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be" part. I can't help, in my current mental state, but think that it meant something. Because everything does, right? Coming on the heels of the conversation I had the other night and all the things I was feeling on Tuesday after I wrote last, it had to have meant something. I scrawled on my hand in black ink, "PRUFROCK @ TATE...WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN???" and it's still faintly there, but I can't answer it yet.

Don't you ever feel like the Universe is trying to give you advice?

"Unbeing dead isn't being alive." --ee cummings

Things change but not always in the ways you want or the ways you'd ever expect.

Good weekend, consisting of spending alltogether too much money on alcohol, $7.50 too much on seeing Constantine, having somebody vomit on my carpet, and going to a party at an abandoned barn at 4 in the morning and having the greatest conversation I've ever had in my entire life, after which I couldn't stop giggling and grinning until we finally all went to sleep around 6:30.
Today is a beautiful day, and to think this morning I was irked because it wasn't supposed to be cold enough to wear the shirt I wanted to wear. It's perfect weather to sit outside on the quad and read, but I can't pick out a book that would be appropriate enough for my mood and the weather and I don't want to ruin it by reading something horribly wrong for the moment like the David Sedaris short stories I've been reading or the book of Bukowski poems I'm in the middle of. So instead I'm going to sit and do nothing, which goes against everything I should be doing, but it's good all the same.
I'm starting to do the thing where you unintentionally become obsessed with one particular song for a day, and listen to it over and over every time you're walking to class or sitting on your computer, and it starts to annoy your roommate because geez, is that the four hundredth time you've played that song today, and she doesn't even know the half of it. Yesterday's song was Jesus Etc by Wilco and today's is Loose Leaves by Bright Eyes, so at least they're good songs and not like the day I had an Ashlee Simpson song in my head all day (she's got to be stopped!).

I don't know what's next.

The Ice Weasels

This Valentine's Day pretty much sucked, as Valentine's Days tend to. It all began with waking up from a dream about a Valentine's Day party with Hannibal Lecter, and was on-and-off bad all day long. Tonight's activity of choice, though, wasn't so bad-- us single girls holed up in Sonika and Melissa's room with about $30 worth of junk food and watched Bridget Jones' Diary, and then wound up playing Truth Or Dare, which was fun. It's a good way to boycott Valentine's Day, but it would also be nice to not have to boycott Valentine's Day.
I'll leave you with this:

"Love is a snowmobile racing across the tundra and then suddenly it flips over, pinning you underneath. At night, the ice weasels come." --Matt Groening

Just Breathe

Life is pretty frustrating right now. But not bad. I'll live. There are just some problematic boy issues that keep cropping up all over the place. Nothing bigger than usual-- in fact, much littler than usual, but annoying all the same. But I've never made a habit of writing about that stuff in here, so I won't start now. Even if nobody still reads this thing, I'd feel weird writing all about emotions and people here in that respect.
We were discussing the other day how boring our lives really are. I mean, we have fun and all, but we don't do anything crazy and we don't have any great stories to tell. I wish we could be more spontaneous. I'm up for it but nobody else ever seems to be. I tried to initiate a road trip (to Canada, of all places) the other day on the way back from the apartment complex we're all living in next year (College Park for any Athens kids who're still around) but it just didn't work out. In any case, I'm hoping in the weeks to come to be a little crazier, and as much as I hate to say it, just sitting around watching Family Guy on DVD and getting drunk in people's rooms just isn't gonna cut it anymore.
I'm off to Ramsey. Maybe there will be some craziness going on tonight (but I severely doubt it).

Familiarity

After a rather embarrassing evening and a need to get a bunch of stuff from home, I escaped to Alpharetta for the night. This place is crazy with nostalgia like usual, which is comforting in its own way. This morning Sonika called me "Miss High School" (mostly because I still wear Milton t-shirts all the time and wax sentimental about the classes and the people), and I suppose that's true. And tonight I've flipped through old yearbooks and reread old English essays and sifted through things that I've kept for no real reason at all, and a few of the things I found were particularly bittersweet.
First was the diploma we got from Friedman upon finishing his class-- the one that declared us as "a valued Member of the Cultural Elite" and "Master of Allusions." It reminded me of the class and all the people in it that I haven't spoken to lately, in some cases since high school and in other cases since a week or so ago. And then I got to thinking about how I heard that Friedman is probably retiring after Milton moves to the New Milton (yet another thing that I find terribly upsetting, even if nobody else still does), and that made me sad because it just feels wrong for Friedman to not teach. I know some people had problems with that class but I loved it, and nothing in college thus far has even compared.
The second thing I came across was the list that we made during Drama one day senior year during the Great Battle Between Good and Evil. We argued and strategized and drafted and traded members to our teams, and it was ridiculous, as most things we engaged in during Drama were, but it was just so appropriate. The vast majority of the cool people, by the way, were on the Evil side. And that includes not only me, but the Zilla Killa and Barry The Janitor. Good times, good times.
Lastly, I discovered the map Sarah Thomas, Sara Beverly, and I made on our roadtrip-to-Columbus-for-no-reason senior year entitled "The Horribly Disturbing Kissing Web Of The Drama Kids." I think the title speaks for itself. Did you know that Drew can be linked to Jason in just six easy steps? And that Daniel can be linked to Brad Meyer in only four? Horribly disturbing is right. Talk about ridiculous.
There's more, lots more, as always, but that's all I'll say here. Overall I'm reminded of the afternoon in Stephen Clawson's basement, on a Visit (who remembers the Visits?!), in the middle of some sort of hurricane or tornado or some such windy disaster, when me and Ashleigh and Michelle and Stephen decided that if and when they were planning to tear down Milton, we would come home from college and chain ourselves to the building and do what we could to stop them. And I still don't think it's such a terrible idea.