On Pita Chips, Friendships, and Procrastination

You know, I can’t quite decide if I’m in love with Stacy’s Baked Cinnamon Sugar Pita Chips, or not. I eat them every single day at Quizno’s, it seems, so you’d think I love them (I’m eating them right now and haven’t even been to the Student Center in days). But, I can’t help but think they could be better.

Basically, I think they need to have three times as much cinnamon and sugar, much like how I like a little French toast with my powdered sugar. I’m having chocolate withdrawals. I haven’t had any since yesterday at Dairy Queen, the infamous Oreo Brownie Earthquake, as I told a fellow elevator-rider whilst fudge most likely adorned my lips.

Basically, I’m writing this and eating chips and checking Facebook instead of studying more for my French test. Granted, I was on here doing my honors (talk about making chips better, let’s make doctors better and automate their diagnoses). But I have no excuse now not to return back and hit the books. But, you see, I’m afraid that if I do that, I’ll just never get out of bed (j’aime etudier francais dans mon lit, and if that’s incorrect than that clearly shows you that I shouldn’t be here now—I just Google translated what I wrote and it said I was right; I trust artificial intelligence). This whole Lexapro-hasn’t-kicked-in-yet clearly means I’d much rather just lay in bed all day with my eyes closed, not even sleeping, as I seem to have done during my “hours” of “French-studying” earlier.

Today, however, my short attention span may be due to the lack of sleep. You see, yesterday, after a completed stats assignment, one blog, the munchies, and much procrastination later, I indulged in a spirit-lacking zombie walk (where the well-fed zombie couple ahead of me kept glancing back every time I growled brains as if I were the one not acting appropriately), cleaned off my smeared black and purple eyeshadow and dried blood in the shower (period blood would’ve been cheaper and more realistic, but I’m taking birth control and I guess two bucks isn’t a bad deal), transformed into sex-icon Cherie Currie (although instead of an actual corset, a beautifully drawn one on a t-shirt, though I did still manage the fishnets) and went to a party with Joan Jett and Hipster Hitler (hey! We all took part in alliteration nation!) where you can’t be closer to anyone than you already are. It’s practically winter and I’m in fishnets and going outside for long bouts of time felt comfortable. In other words, I stayed up late, my body woke up early, and then I went to church with my grandma. I needed a nap. Just maybe not a three hour long one.

It’s amazing who we end up friends with sometimes. I guess not to everyone. But from my experiences…For instance, I added a majority of my class before I arrived at the Honors College. I would browse, or “creep” if you prefer, some of their profiles and try to determine who I should try to befriend when I arrived. This was a new beginning, no one would know me; I could be whoever I wanted. But I, indeed, had to make friends. I scare people off by saying too much via technology, and too little in person (when I don’t know them). I am indeed good friends with one of my old roommates like I thought I’d be, but for instance, there were a couple of girls who seemed pretty cool, I even messaged them a bit—they’re both friends now, and I even live with one of them this year due to mentor room assignments. But I’m really not friends with either one of them. I like them and all. But, for instance, there are people who’s profiles I vaguely remember creeping and not thinking too much of it, and now they’re some of my good friends. It’s just a surprise, you know, who you end up close to sometimes. Sometimes it’s out of nowhere. I guess you can’t judge a book by it’s cover, a person by their profile, or fate by what you think should happen.

I accidentally interrupt people a lot. It’s right when we both start talking after a silence. And usually if I don’t go ahead and say it I’ll forget. But usually what I have to say is pointless. I need to be trained to just stop.

I wish I would talk about something that matters. I guess this is just a diary that’s not afraid to be opened. Hopefully that’ll change soon.

Did you know?

“Stories of zombies originated in the West African spiritual belief system of voodoo, which told of the people being controlled as laborers by a powerful wizard.”

Well, Wikipedia knew. And I believe in Wikipedia.

So, lots of people find great videos and links to post to their blogs. I just challenged myself to find one in under a minute.

This, my friends, is the glorious thing that I’m capable of finding for you. (Do I hear a TT #reasonswhyIshouldnthaveablog ?)

But I'll tell you, it's not Stonehenge. Happy Halloween.

Je pense que je vais aller etudier en francais maintenant. Dans mon lit avec une orange et rouge couverture.

Bonsoir.

Of Lexapro, Girl Bands, and a Neverending To Do List. You Know?

Or: “I do my Stats homework without writing anything down (and that’s a stupid idea).”
[Although, I have to say, I only missed one point and it wasn’t due to computation; tut, math classes and their vocabulary.]


Have you ever created a blog—and then forgot about it? And then perhaps maybe you stumbled upon it and realize how silly you were at times?


I have.


Multiple times.


As, I was eyeing-up another blog today and realized that I had a blogspot, too. It took me more than a few attempts to try to remember my login information. I have a hard time taking my headline picture seriously, but that may have to wait til another day: needs renovation. I’d like to try this whole blog-bit all over again. Try and actually say something useful, perhaps once a week.


However, for now, I’ll just try to get back in the flow with a jumpy stream of thoughts and rants. Because, as a friend and I were saying last night (or was it this morning? It’s all a blur nowadays.), what’s everyone’s favorite subject to talk about? Themselves. And what is a blog but your words glorified like the Bible anyways?


My friend woke up this morning singing Cherry Bomb. We’re dressing up like the Runaways tonight.

I woke up this morning wondering if I had an STD (I thought about sharing this, but I’ll talk about that awkward line I wasn’t sure could be crossed in a moment). I guess I was having nightmares due to my Intro to Creative Writing Class. The workshop Friday was on a screenplay a classmate wrote. It was heavily centered on green discharge.


I guess reading something like that could give anyone’s vagina nightmares.


You know what I enjoy? A good sense of humor. And by good I mean strong, not nice. No, I clearly don’t have a prim and proper since of humor. My mom reminds me to close my legs (literally [we don’t need to worry about this figuratively], even if I’m wearing jeans) and announce that I should need to use the “restroom” and not what I need to do there.


You know that awkward feeling you get around new friends? I’ve experienced it a lot lately with different people. You put two people together who both enjoy each other’s company and want to befriend the other, but you’re always treading this fine line because neither of you have quite figured the other one out yet. Even if you’ve shared intimate information not available to the public (unless you have a blog, ahem), and you say the other is a close friend…A good friendship has both depth and breadth. They just take time. Then the Berlin wall falls, and we can all love juice again.


You know who inspires me? Individuals. Call them hipster, if you like, without the douchebag attitude. I admire people who have a very unique taste, who know of very obscure, unknown artists, musicians, writers, ideas, inventions. Basically, when someone knows of all sorts of random things that aren’t headlining the papers. Shakespeare and the Beatles and Da Vinci and Jesus, I mean, they were known for a reason. Maybe they are the “mainstream,” but just because everyone’s heard of them doesn’t mean you shouldn’t give them your attention. Mainstreamers are often known because they are so good at what they do, so talented in their niche. But there’s something about those people who know of the unknown. I love when someone has an appreciation of the arts. And I adore when someone has their own unique, selective taste. They know what they like and they’ve composed a collective list of works. They can pop off their top ten favorite directors and poets. And you may have only heard of one of them. It’s very cool.

I wish I were a bit more knowledgeable sometimes. I wish I gave myself to find and hunt down my top five favorite everything. I want a cellar full of wine in my future. And never own a bottle because it’s supposed to be good. If it’s shit, it’s shit. Own a shelf full of your favorite local restaurant’s house wine, because it’s amazing. I want to taste life and enjoy the little things. I’m just a little hard of hearing and I’m probably going blind; I miss those things.


Sometimes we have to remind ourselves that we really can be whoever we want. That doesn’t mean if we want to be a rockstar we can go multiplatinum a month from now: you do need genuine talent and passion. But if you want to have the aura of a rockstar, you can do it. We are who we’ve made ourselves. We will be whoever we want to be.


Is it ever too early to start your New Year’s Resolution? I don’t think so. I don’t think I’ve ever actually made an official list. I think that’ll be my challenge in 2011. It’ll deem whether or not I’m a worthy survivor of 2012.


Oh, as for the title, I’m wondering whether or not I want to be one of those asshole bands whose title has nothing to do with the song really, or if I should address it briefly; I kind of thing it’s poetic to leave it blank. However, I am indeed depressed as one might tell from earlier bloggings, and the neverending to do list doesn’t help with that. However, if we could actually get a goofy band started for fun, pull a little Currie and Jett, why I think I could put a smile on that face.


Get ready, goblins, ghosts, and ghouls. It's Almost Halloween.