5 very embarassing things

Once again, I open my innermost secrets to all of you. Okay, so they're not life changing, scarring, or ruining, and you probably couldn't blackmail me with them, but they're pretty bad. Somehow though, sharing them makes me a little more self aware and happy. I guess in a way I am proud of the terrible things I love/do. Which sounds a lot more insinuating than I mean it to be. Whatever. Just read on. I hate introductions.

1) I have cried during a lot of Ugly Betty episodes

Fact. A sad, but true, fact. Maybe it's because I seem to watch them all during some pivotal turning point in my life, snuggled up in bed at 1am. Circumstances have a lot to do with emotions. But really, if I am alone and it's quiet, I probably will cry at something in an episode. They just know how to tug on your heartstrings! Betty misses her dad's birthday because of work, and he at it he has a heart attack, and she IGNORES HER SISTER'S CALLS as their father is rushed to the hospital. Then Elliott Smith starts playing as the montage of sad faces begins. Oh god, here it goes. And her old flame Henry is back for the 17th time and it's all "ooh emotions I thought I'd forgotten" etc etc. And they kiss it's messy, and "I miss you", and "No we can't!" It goes on and on until I can barely contain myself.

2) I enjoy Enya's music

And what are you going to do about it? I practically grew up on Enya (along with a lot of Beatles, Simon & Garfunkel, and classical msuic), so she is imbedded in my brain whether I like it or not (especially the "Sail away!" part of one of her songs). Luckily, I do like it. When I am stressed out, too tired to move, or just feeling depressed, a good round of "Watermark" or "A Day Without Rain" really puts me in a good place. It's soothing, it's quiet, and her voice is very beautiful. Hate all you want; bitch has got TALENT. Now inventing her own language, that's a whole 'nother Enya I'd rather not go into...

3) Some of my favorite books are the "Shopaholic" series

I started reading the first one after going "Junky Book Shopping" with my mom for our summer road trip to Palm Springs. When you're sitting by a pool in 110 degree weather, the last thing you want to do is think too hard over a huge volume of Descartes' theorems on space and time. Anyway, I picked this one out. The description hooked me: "Becky has a fabulous flat in London's trendiest neighborhood, a troupe of glamorous socialite friends, and a closet brimming with the season's must-haves. The only trouble is that she can't actually afford it–not any of it." Oh hell yes. Independent girl facing life issues in a big city. That's intriguing. I bought it, read it, and suddenly...I needed more. I read the entire series and even bought the new one when it came out. I found myself actually growing attached to Becky, her friends, her life...what can I say? She's adorable. And I like having something easy to read now and then; we can't all be the next scholar of French philosophers! Although I do love me some Voltaire and Rousseau...

4) When it comes to Rupert Grint, it's like I'm 13 all over again

Not even joking. I think some of my friends are starting to get a little ashamed of going to see the Harry Potter movies with me because I fawn over him like a teenage girl. And there is a very deep buried part of me that still believes we would be great together; if we met, and bychance got to spend some time together, I swear to god it would go very well. And I am a sucker for that red hair. Who isn't? Look at him! Even his onscreen character, Ron Weasley, is appealing to me. But I guess it's time to snap back to reality. I have to approach things from a serious standpoint. Which means I should start using that scientifically proven correct six degrees of seperation test to see how I can meet him...

5) I used to run about 5 or 6 fansites
And believe me, they were all for very embarrassing, stupid things. One was for Ron Weasley, another for Pippin from Lord of the Rings, and a third for Joel Madden from Good Charlotte. I swear to God, if you laugh, I will haunt you. I am opening up my soul to you by telling you these things. I loved making websites and would use basically any excuse to make one. Fansites seemed perfect! I put up loads of useless information that didn't do anything to advance humanity or create a better world at all! Their birthdays, favorite colors, and pets. I created galleries of images just of them! What better way to fill up the internet than with pictures of a little Hobbit and wizard boy? I can't think of any. Unless it's for pictures of a tattooed pop punk band lead singer with a whiney voice. Oh god, kill me.

Add to the list the fact that I rant on here to basically no one. No one that I'm aware of anyway. Until next time, keep it real like I just did. The world doesn't need any more lies.

the process of getting up

Waking up is a very ritualistic process for me. It has several steps and there are patterns I follow each morning. But I'm sure I am not exception to this rule; we all have our little quirks and mannerisms to waking up. Maybe you need a banana on your cereal to really start the day. Or you do 100 push ups. Or maybe you need to blast "One Week" by the Barenaked Ladies and strut around your room with no clothes on. Whatever that special something is, you feel required to stand by it for your day to operate correctly.

For me, waking up isn't so much what I do, but in what sequence I do it. I start work at the museum at 10am every day, and I set my alarm for 7:45. Not because I want to be up and at 'em at 8:00, but simply because I know it's going to take me some time to wake the hell up. And that it where it all begins...

7:45 A.M.
Alarm goes off. I roll over and turn it off, glance at it to make sure all is well, then snuggle back under my covers.

8:00 A.M.
My internal clock rouses me and I glance at the clock once more just to make sure all is going well. I fall back into a shallow sleep.

8:25 A.M.
I wake up again and this time I start to move around a little bit more to get myself up. I open my eyes slightly more than the two times before and even stretch my arms out. Serious morning stuff. I still get back under the covers though, not ready to face the cold hardwood floor. So cold on my feet, argh...

8:35 A.M.
One last opening of the eyes, and I am pretty much awake. Satisfied that I have spent almost an hour getting out of bed, I sit up, and take a moment to recollect myself so I don't run down the ladder from my loft bed and, in a dizzy fit, hurl all over my floor. Once I am down the ladder, there is no going back. I know it is time for me to face the day ahead of me. I turn on my computer, open the blinds, curse whatever the weather is for that day (foggy, it's too cold; sunny, it's too warm) and start to walk downstairs.

8:45 A.M.
Still in my pajamas (THIS IS CRUCIAL), I get a bowl of granola, a banana, and some unhealthy pastry like breakfast item (nutella on english muffins or cinnamon bread...whatever). I'll also either make tea or coffee, depending on my degree of laziness. Very lazy = coffee (we have a machine that does it all for you) Kinda lazy = probably still coffee. Not lazy, feeling good = tea. The only thing is, I drink decaf coffee, so this adds another degree of WAKE THE FUCK UP ON YOUR OWN to my day, except for the mountain of sugar I pour in, which probably is just enough to get me to work and to my desk.

9:00 A.M.
Back up in my room, I grab an outfit (one I probably thought of the night before; I've been getting into outfits lately). I'll probably convince myself it's not good enough to be seen, that I'm not good enough to be seen, and that I shouldn't even try any more.

9:06 A.M.
I check the train times online, check my email, check my tumblr maybe a little. I run to the bathroom and put on the necessary jewerly for the day. But, basically wishing I were a man half the time, I usually settle for one necklace and some earrings. I brush my teeth and floss as my dentist's voice rings in my head, and finally spray on maybe something to make me smell remotely like the lady I should be by now. Sorry, Mom. I don't even wear makeup, so this rapidly decreases my bathroom preparation time. Awesome.

9:10 A.M.
I check the train times once more and realize I have to get going like, right effing now. I run downstairs and pile an unholy amount of random snacks into my bag. I run back upstairs in a frenzy and turn off my computer, give myself one last look-over in the mirror (usually followed by a "Could be worse" kind of reaction), and pile my iPod, notebook, planner, and wallett into the bag with snacks. Usually, I forget a book to read. Which is annoying cause eating alone is already depressing enough. Eating alone and just staring into space is way worse.

9:15 A.M.
I am out the door and down four or five blocks to the train station by my house. I get on the train slightly sweaty and gross already, and try not to feel like not everyone is staring at me (I always feel this way on trains! I think they're all engrossed with my obvious sweatiness and music that is too loud through my headphones). I ride the train 6 stops, and the whole way I am a vulture for a seat.

9:45 A.M.
I get off the train, walk extremely quickly down the street (THIS ISN'T A CHOICE - I don't know why I can't slow the hell down now and then. I'm a monster). I go in the employee entrance, sign in, race upstairs, and plop down at my desk. It is 10 AM. Fuck yeah.

And here I am.

clean the toilet seat. just clean it.

For this past week and all of next week, I have been/will be working at a museum for their exhibtions department. I've had this job twice before and it's a blast. I love it. I'm currently pursuing a career in working in modern art museums, so any kind of experience and/or knowledge is a plus for me. Plus, the work they give me here is petty yes, but somehow extremely fascinating to me. It would seem my love for all kinds of modern and contemporary art has rendered me totally blind to the intern bitch work. I just love being here, surrounded by art. What more do I want in my young, starving art student life?

I work in an office seperate from the main room of cubicles. I share the office with the Exhibitions Designer (who is kind enough to let some little intern sit by him every day and ogle all the design plans he has laid out for upcoming exhibits). Since I'm in this office seperated from the main throng of desks, I use the public restroom that is available to all the museum patrons.

Now, this is a museum, so it's fancy, right? Yes. It's clean, right? Yes. And it seems like everything is maintained to the utmost perfection, right? Absolutely. This museum is a miracle worker in lighting, presentation, smell, whatever. I love it. However yesterday, I proceeded to the restroom with my normal degree of excitement/involvement ("Okay, going to pee, I've ignored the urge for too long..."). There was one stall open, and yet people were waiting in a line. I asked if I could use it and they shrugged and said sure. So I went in.

And I saw why they had all been avoiding it: there was a sprinkle of pee all alongside the seat.

Okay, first of all, I never understand how this happens in women's restrooms. The only thing I can think of is someone brought their little son in to help pee. But if that's case, you are TOTALLY RESPONSIBLE FOR CLEANING THAT SHIT UP. Furthermore, even if it was a woman, not a little boy, you are STILL RESPONSIBLE FOR CLEANING THAT SHIT UP. And you are also responsible for figuring out what could be wrong with your vagina so that it does that.

And what makes me even more mad is that all these people were avoiding that stall just because there was some pee on the seat. Hell, anyone could clean that up! You grab some toilet paper, wipe it, and then you do your stuff. If you don't clean it, some poor underpaid union worker is going to have to do it anyway. So maybe you should suck it up for once! Why is it so hard?

I can undersatnd the clogged toilets thing. That's a broken toilet. Plus, poo is on a totally different level than pee. But man, if I could show you this one toilet I had to pee in in a Berlin art house...
Oh wait. I can.
Here it is (click that man, click it)

Yeah. Gross. But I did it. I fucking did it.

So, if I can pee into that, I think you can take three minutes to wipe up some pee in a posh metropolitan modern art museum bathroom.

If you'll excuse me, I am an all important intern with duties to attend to. Like cleaning restrooms, apparently.

frequently asked questions/statements about my name that annoy me

Just, as a precursor: if you didn’t know already, my name is India. Why yes, it is quite odd. So yes, it does prompt dumb questions/statements. I don't know why some people seem to get really nervous/stupid around me when they learn my name. Is it really that off putting? There are girls named Jordan and Darcy these days. There are boys named Phoenix, and babies named Apple. It's time to step into the next century! Hell, I was here before all of that crap. So maybe I'm the original.

In any case, my name has always been a great conversation starter. I like to talk about it, I really do. And most of the time, people say some really nice things and have very interesting observations. And I say that without a hint of sarcasm. At dinner parties and social gatherings, everyone seems genuinely interested in my name, which I find flattering and humbling at the same time. There are things you can totally ask me. Where my name comes from is suitable, yes. So is the story behind my name. It's just some times, people can be so oblivious! I get a lot of annoying questions and statements in response to a simple introduction. Here are my least favorites. And yes, they are all taken from real life situations.

1) “Are you named after the country?”
Why…why yes! Yes, I am. My parents love it more than me. Just the other day they were saying "Thank God we could take our only daughter in the whole world and dedicate her to a country we have never been to nor have any ties to at all! You are a shrine, India." "Thanks Mom and Dad! Looks like I am nothing more than a symbol to a people I have nothing to do with."

2) “Oh, are you Indian?”
Was it my white skin and obvious caucasianness that gave it away? Or just that my name is India? Because I hear people have been naming their kids after the place they're from A LOT lately. Like that friend I have named North Carolina. And that guy in my painting class named Ontario. Oh, and you can't forget Ireland! He's a champ! Except I AM KIDDING. Come on, really? Gimme a break.

3) “Where’s the jewel on your forehead? HAHAHA.”
Hilarious. And racist. Perfect. You people have really reached a new low with this one. What do you want me to do, laugh along with your stereotyping joke? Do I think it's funny that I don't have a jewel on my forehead but I'm named India? No. I don't. I think it makes sense. Why? Reread number 2, above. Some day I'm going to end up just saying something like "It fell off on the bus ride here. Damn it. Gotta order another pack tonight, I'm almost out." and then walk away. Then I'll get someone to describe the expression on the poor sucker's face to me because I don't want to turn around in fear I'll burst out laughing.

4) “Did your parents honeymoon in India?”
Thanks for putting scarring ideas and thoughts into my head. Also, isn't this a cocktail party? What kind of evening conversation starter is that?

5) “OHAI LOLZ, what’s your name again? China? Israel? LOLOLZERSS!!!!11”
I'm going to punch you.

6) “What’s up, Pakistan? Ha. Get it? It’s a country.”
Pakistan can be replaced with just about any country in the world, but believe me: I’ve heard them ALL. Yes, even The Democratic Republic of the Congo. You will not be original or funny or witty. Unless you are an extremely cute boy who is flirting with me, I will not find this charming or hilarious in the slightest. Go ahead. You can try. But I will probably smile bitterly, excuse myself, and then go cry in the bathroom. Plus I don't know what kind of social statement you're trying to make with replacing India with another country anyway...are we going to be talking about political parties? The cast system in Asian countries? Lemme just get out my notes.

7) “You must get this a lot, but…”
Then just don’t. Thanks.

8) “I bet you LOVE Indian food!”
What kind of fucked up logic is that? No. I do not. In fact, I don’t like it all. It's spicy and it burns and that hurts me and all I can eat is naan bread because I have a geographic tongue which makes me very susceptible to spices and citruses of all kinds (true condition - it's here). And now that you've made me feel like a close minded white Canadian-American who doesn't appreciate other cultures' foods, may I go? I'm craving some good old American cheddar cheese on Wonder bread.

That’s all I could come up with on the spot.
Isn’t that enough?
PS I do love my name though. A lot. And I love India. I want to go there so badly…

things that really tick me off #2

It's another installment of "Things That Really Tick Me Off!" What useless object/opinion/horrible Creed-like band will I be bashing this time?

Flat soda

Yes, it's simple and stupid, but this really gets me mad. I can barely contain my anger when I open a bottle to a totally non-satisfying silence. Fuck you, I wanted this so badly to fizz with delight! This rarely happens with cans, which is really nice, and I always thought soda tasted better in cans anyway. But if you go to Bennington College (which I do) you know that we don't sell cans here (cause we're too good for them? too rich? too haughty? Who friggin knows). So I always get the bottle. And a lot of the time, my bottles open silently. Silence = bad.

This also seems to happen in the dining hall a whole lot. I'm already angry enough going to get my soda because they don't have Dr. Pepper, which is, and feel free to take me up on this debate, the best soda there is out there. No doubt. I adore it and think it tastes delicious. It's just a complex palette of flavor, something Coke doesn't do for me (and we're not even going to talk about Pepsi because I hate it's stupid face). But then I get even angrier after getting my Coke because I walk all the way back the table and it's flat And I swear to God it is always flat when I get it from the fountain. Or it was this last term. What's wrong with our soda fountain? How complex a piece of machinery is it to work? Everyone has one. I hear people have even been installing them in their homes (I might have made that up for argument's sake.)

So in the end, it just tastes like syrup water. I do NOT want to be reminded of what I'm drinking, thank you. Yes I know it's just sugar water. So sue me! I love it! I drink it a lot.

Now you all know of my unhealthy eating habits too. Whatever. I can never seem to get over 125 lbs. anyway. But a girl can dream, right? Gotta keep drinking that straight up Coca Cola syrup! Thanks Bennington!

PS Wait, wait...maybe I didn't make up that part about people putting soda fountain's in their homes! Look how easy it is to buy one ebay! And notice they call it a "Home" one! Plus there's this one all pro with logos and everything. Mm tasty. A sub-par yet filling meal was never so easy.

dissapointing albums

So, as some of you may know, I just finished my first year of college. Overall, it was awesome. 8/10. I had a wonderful year and all was dandy and drunken (and educational, of course. DUH).

But in my second semester, things had kind of gone haywire and the ridiculous small size of my school/it's remote location started to get to my head and I broke down. I got stressed out easily and ended up yelling at a lot of people (read: I was a bitch to most of my friends about half the time). I felt like everything around me was just disappointing and miserable, and to help solace this fact, I started to write a lot of lists. Most specifically, I made lists of things that had disappointed me in the past. This is one such list. It is a list of albums that put me off the second they dropped. I listened, I cried, I broke something, then I wrote a shitty review on some inane music website.

Wolf Parade's At Mount Zoomer
Seriously, what the hell? My brother says he blames Spencer Krug, but I don't think the whole thing can be caused by one person. It was kind of one giant mess and what made it even worse was that their first album was absolutely fucking incredible. To place them next to each other is kind of horrendous. This is all without even touching upon the titles of the songs, the title of the album, the lyrics, and the cover. Oh man.

Beirut's March of the Zapotec
A friend of mine put this in such a good way. He said he was sick of Zach Condon "butchering" different culture's music into "stereotypes." While I did really enjoy his first two albums, and I adored Lon Gisland EP, this semi-retarded third album really pushed the envelope. It is just terrible. Really terrible. It sounds like a mariachi band hired by some crap business for their company picnic that no one wants to attend. I say Zach should have stuck to the gypsy folk tunes.

of Montreal's Skeletal Lamping
Bah. I can't even talk about this. After the incredible Hissing Fauna, Are You The Destroyer? I spent months and months waiting in anticipation for the follow up to a god-like album. Well, if Hissing Fauna was a god, Skeletal is some kind of poor mortal praying to be better. I did not enjoy it. In fact, I barely gave it a second listening before deleting it from my itunes (Itunes? iTunes? Whatever, Apple, suck it). You have to be kidding me, of Montreal. Lucky for you, I still bought a ticket to see your wonderful live show in July.

Swan Lake's Enemy Mine
Bad. Bad bad bad. It irks me that an indie super group like Swan Lake can't seem to make one solid album. "Beast Moans" had select tracks here and there that were very good but on a whole just couldn't seem to feel like a coherent set of songs. Not to mention some of the tracks were pretty terrible on their own. "Enemy Mine" is worse than this. Barely any of the songs stand on their own, however they don't work together either! There is no way out of this musical hell hole! You guys should be incredible! Sit down, stop trying to outdo each other in every track, and write a good song! I feel like Swan Lake's problem is that all the different members force feed their musical style and genres onto the other members. We've got some intense Sunset Rubdown references, mushed with New Pornographers barely making it in, finishing with a topping of Frog Eyes meets Destroyer. Not. A. Kosher. Mix.

Weezer's Green Album
Pinkerton to this? Oh god. They redeemed themselves a bit in the future, but...I miss really old school Weezer (and I was barely self aware for that period. Sad.)

Xiu Xiu's Women as Lovers
As someone who is not afraid to admit that Xiu Xiu is one of their absolute favorite bands (I own two shirts and every album), I was really upset when I heard this album. Even for Xiu Xiu it is pretty non-cohesive and nonsensical. This time it just doesn't happen in such a good way. I hope the next one, "Dear God, I Hate Myself", is much better. I already love that title. Jamie Stewart, make me proud.

Voxtrot's Voxtrot
I adored their EP and listened to it pretty regularly for a long time. I even saw them live and went backstage since a friend was dating the lead singer (score!). They were super nice guys and very down to earth. That's why I feel like this is a personal attack. So I will hold off on the insulting metaphors and similes and just say: this could have been much better. Besides "Kid Gloves", nothing hit me from this at all.

Architecture in Helsinki's Like It Or Not
I don't even really want to talk about this that much. Sorry. Just. Yeah. Fuck you AIH for courting me with your live show and then pulling this shit on me.

Bon Iver's Blood Bank
Okay, so, I'm not a huge Bon Iver fan to begin with. Sure, his music is pretty and ethereal, dreamy and haunting, but it's not that original. Nor is it overly gorgeous. I also find him to be kind of boring. But I liked the first album, "For Emma Forever Ago". I listen to it on occasion and if it comes up on shuffle, I won't skip it 8 times out of 10. But this Blood Bank crap? So awful. The songs are boring, without structure or purpose. It sounds like he was shooting for an experimental side but it just fell flat. "Woods" is the worst track. I can't even listen to the whole thing through.

The Beatles' Let It Be
Seriously, WHAT were The Beatles thinking? This badly written, messy, half assed album is an insult to musicians everywhere. When I first heard this after it came out, I was like, "Gimme a break Paul and John. Way to fuck things up at the last minute." I wrote them a strongly worded letter about how much they suck. A month later, they broke up. Sorry Beatles fans. Guess that was my bad.

(But I am kidding of course).

the curse of small breasts

From the title of this post, I really don't have to say this, but I'll say it anyway: I have small boobs. There. I said it. Happy? You know what, I am. I am happy. On most days I am excited and thrilled to not have monster breasts that weigh me down and require me to wear some bra size that sounds more like a rifle model or type of ammunition. With small boobs, I also avoid ogling on the bus, pervs copping a feel on the underground, and other unsightly difficult girl problems (and that's a whole 'nother 750 item list).

But there are downfalls, of course. And I was reminded of them today. I was cleaning out my drawers of clothes. Having not been at home for a while, there was a lot of useless crap I didn't wear at all any more (my jean skirt and Ron Weasley t-shirt definitely go under this category), and I wanted to feel productive on an otherwise morbidly dull day. I thought I could really just skip over my undergarments drawer, because, who really hangs onto a gross pair of underwear or a decrepit bra after two or three years? But as I pulled things out, I noticed, stuffed into the bottom under some socks, a white bra.

Then I remembered: this was THAT bra. That horrible bra that I had hid and refused to wear. Why? Because when I went bra shopping for the first time ever (yes, with my mom), they had measured me then taken me to a "special section" where a bunch of racks were marked "Nearly A!"

Nearly. Thanks a lot jack-asses. The exclamation point after the A doesn't do anything for me, sorry. And the bra I purchased had a wonderful green tag on it that said the same thing. Mortified, I hid it and went without a bra for as long as I could. That bra still had the "Nearly A!" tag when I found it today. Unbelievable.

The thing is though, bra shopping has never been enjoyable for me at all. Not one bit. Seriously. What the fuck is up with Victoria's Secret? They honestly believe their customers look like their models. I feel great about myself when they tell me the only bras that come in my size are push up bras. Way to set back the feminist movement like, twenty years fucking bra companies. I also love the fact that when I do finally find a bra that is my size, after hours of tear jerking searches through miles of racks (haha, no pun intended), it only comes in fugly ass colors, like beige or tan. Whee. I look so fine in gray. Thanks.

Okay, so I don't really mind that much. I'm the last person you'll find putting on sexy lingerie or entering a Victoria's Secret at all. But I do think it gets to my friends when I call my boobs "inflamed mosquito bites" in front of them all the time. Might wanna ease up on that one a bit...

apparently, i belong in the 1940s

This is interesting because it pertains to my last two posts. I took a quiz to see what decade I should live in (oh, lazy summer afternoons of low productivity).

Here I was expecting the usual outcome of the 1960s, harboring the secret desire of getting placed in the 1920s. But the quiz surprised me. Well, actually, first it really pissed me off. The 1940s? You have got to be kidding me. The war effort. Racism. Lame clothes. Too much pro-America bull shit. World War II in general, and an overwhelming sense of pending doom for the whole decade and beyond. Awesome. Thanks, quiz.

But then I read the response and was surprised by it's relative accuracy. However, I was also scandalized, obviously. Let's take a look at this sucker (and let's also make fun of it because that's ultimately what I do best).

You belong in the 1940s!
You are the ultimate romantic at heart(1). You put a high priority on true love, patriotism, and dedication to honor and duty. Whether it be serving your country or serving your family, you have a very hard work-ethic balanced out by your whimsical, dreamy heart(2). You are willing to take risks, go where no one has gone before, and you have a sense of pride in everything you do(3). Just as you are in touch with your inner beauty, you also give just the right amount of focus on your outer beauty-- standing out with the latest fashions and getting in touch with your sensual side(4). Your sexiness is not scandalous but rather classy and poised. You are the envy of those around you because no matter how much tough work you have to do, you keep a smile and look good while doing it(5).

(1) As much as I hate to admit it, this is too true. I totally fall for the sappy crap of flowers, or the "they get back together at the end!", or "he doesn't get on the plane!", or "she doesn't get on the train!", or whatever. I have ideals about love that I don't discuss very often with anyone. In fact, if you ask me, I'll probably tell you I don't believe in true love or soul mates. But I guess that's why it says "at heart", right? My heart is private.
(2) Also too true. Look, I have dreams and aspirations. I day dream and have crazy ideas about things I want to do or see. But that doesn't mean I can't sit at a desk and file 300 copies of contracts in less than two hours (done and done). I work damn hard! There's lots to do people! Hurry the fuck up! I move fast and often work through lunch. But at the end of the day, I'm still a photographer, I'm still an artist, and I'm still kind of crazy.
(3) I would say this is entirely true, except that I don't think anyone can ever say this. Yeah, I was super dee duper proud when I went to see Good Charlotte in 9th grade! Well, I'm not proud now. Thanks a lot.
(4) Excuse me while I go laugh until my guts spill onto my keyboard and I die. L. O. Fucking. L. I guess you could call me stylish since nowadays it seems to be cool to mismatch your clothes and wear baggy shirts (god I had been waiting for this. Thank you, American Apparel). But sensual? Yeah. Go talk to my non existent love life then observe me awkwardly initiating conversation about glue sticks with a guy I like.
(5) Sounds like a line from Sex and The City (bleh), but shit - I can live with that. However if I am ever employed on a horse ranch, I promise you - I will not look good. Same goes with a zoo or fish market.

So there you have it. If I had to sum up this quiz's results in one sentence, looks like it'd be "I am a hot office babe and people love me." Nothing could be further from the truth. But it's all in sport.

What is interesting to delve into, however, is the fact that upon sneakily stalking my friend's results on Facebook, they are all pretty good descriptions of the people in a nutshell (give or take a couple - like that girl who is a huge bitch yet somehow still gets the "You're wonderful!" result. That's why people should let other people take quizzes for them).

I guess what I really believe though is this: you have a pretty good sense of yourself, at least on the subconscious side, and during a quiz, you are not actually actively participating in the quiz, but in fact, your subconscious is taking it for you. Thus, you know who you are, you know how to answer, and you know where you're headed for your results. It's all innate in the end. Like you really need a quiz to know which Hogwarts house you're in (sup, Ravenclaw, represent.)

thing that really ticks me off #1

Welcome the first of many installments.
I thought that when I don't have anything in particular to rant/joke around/make lists about, I can pull out one of these and they basically provoke the same effect. Plus, I have bucket loads. Obviously.

Let's start off with a simple, yet tragic, one:
The realization that I will never live in another time period

Okay, so this may sound petty and spoiled and all around neurotic but honestly, it really does annoy me. I can't say I am a huge fan of this day and age; there are things I love but there are also things I really strongly dislike. And while other decades and eras had their downfalls as well (as an example, no modern medicine in the Dark Ages was pretty bad) I've always thought it would be amazing to just live for a day in a world like that. Part of me would do absolutely anything to spend one afternoon in Victorian London (yeah, that's right: I'd risk the rib breaking corsets and diseases in the streets for one true period tea time crumpet). I also of course would love to hang out at Woodstock in the 1960s, or fight my way into a Beatles concert, screaming my guts out like all those insane girls you see in old footage.

Top three periods I would travel back to:
1) The 1960s
2) The 1920s
3) Louis XIV France, provided I could be a noble in court

Yes, I will change my gender to make it back there. Can time machines do that? It should be a function or a button you press.

I would totally skip over Napoleon France and Woodraw Wilson America. They were annoying, in office for too long, and racist. And we liberal San Franciscans will not stand for that.

Until later, my friends. What era would you return to?

this is what I call "the slow death of Facebook"

Whenever I log onto Facebook, I have at least three notifications. Can you guess what all three usually are?

a) Someone posting something on my wall or commenting on a photo of me, etc
b) The Heroes application telling me I just acquired a new super power
c) People commenting on my hilarious, witty, or beautiful status
d) Quizzes telling me my dumb ass friend just took a quiz that is totally retarded and that I should totally take it because it will waste my time and piss me off

A lot of the time, it's can be a, b, or c (yes I have the Heroes application. Shut up.) But guess what? More than half the time it is the answer d. Yes. Fucking quizzes.

Okay, so maybe I was little harsh in my description, but seriously? I get so many of these that I'm starting to hate logging into Facebook. Plus they are constantly in my news feed as well: "Random person you went to high school with and barely know just found out they are Princess Belle! Which princess are you?" Frankly, my dear, I don't give a flying fuck.

And it's not like I can just click "Hide" next to the news story and then automatically hide all quizzes forever. Nope. You have to hide each individual quiz as they show up. And I'm willing to bet there are a lot of quizzes on Facebook right now. Hence, there is no way I will ever hide them all. Ergo, I will continue getting quiz notifications and news stories for the rest of my life (or whatever).

I'll be honest: I've taken a few. You know, "Are you a true San Franciscan?" "What state do you belong in?" "Which Gilmore Girls character are you?" (wait, what?). But you don't see my results up in other people's faces. Why? Because I don't click "Publish." You also don't get notifications from me because, drum roll please, I DON'T INVITE ANYONE. Do people not get this? You don't HAVE to invite people to the quiz to get your results. They just make it seem that way. But if you look above the invite box, there is a link that says "continue to results." Click it. Please. In the name of everything holy, please click it.

Maybe some day I'll stop being asked what kind of drunk I am. Honestly, if you have to take a quiz to know that, I can tell you: you're a super drunk.

Please good people, unless the result is out of this world funny, keep it to yourself.

And thus ends another pointless rant by me. I guess, in the end, I do this for the humor.

I remembered something!

Add this to my last rant about Ben and Jerry's and their ludicrous prices!

I was bragging today to my brother about how awesome Price Chopper is when you have a Price Chopper card. "It's great!" I swooned. "The Price Chopper in Bennington is open 24 hours a day and we go there for midnight munchies."

I continued with this: "You know how a pint of Ben and Jerry's is normally 5 bucks? Well with a Pchops card, it's only 2 bucks! Awesome, right?!?"

Needless to say, my brother was pretty impressed. At least, as impressed as you can get about a discount, cheap, seedy grocery store card. But I didnt' even realize at the time what I was saying: a whole pint of Ben and Jerry's cost 5 bucks, but one scoop in a cup at a Ben and Jerry's outlet is $4.50?!

No I will never get over it. Next time I'm buying a whole pint.

thing that kind of irks me number 278

I spent the whole day strolling around the Haight Street fair. I live quite near it so I just walked down and saw the sights. I bought a book of Sylvia Plath poems, listened to a few bands, chatted with a local poet who wrote a poem for me, danced, checked out drug paraphernalia, and generally had a really great time. I even loved what I was wearing, and since I was wearing a skirt, this is rare (I generally hate skirts). I had a hippie band around my head and my favorite tshirt on (a Sunset Rubdown band shirt). So as you can see, it was a pretty wonderful day.

However, one aspect to the day really ticked me off. Halfway down my walk of Haight street, I passed Ben and Jerry's on the corner of Haight & Ashbury. Prime business location, especially for an ice cream company that claims to be as independent and free loving as the hippie man himself, Jerry Garcia (they even have a flavor for him). Going to college in Vermont, people often ask me if I've been to the Ben and Jerry's factory or if I eat it all the time. The answer to both questions is no, but this is besides the point. The point is that today, I really wanted a cup of my favorite flavor "Imagine Whirled Peace." So I went in. And almost immediately, my heart sunk. Why? This is why:

"Regular cup: $4.50".

What the flying FUCK?
$4.50 for one minuscule cup of ice cream? Look, I know Ben and Jerry's is good and all but...seriously?

Ben and Jerry's claims, through advertising and the general conduct of their company and employees, that they are a essentially a liberal industry of Vermont hippies who just want to make some ice cream. The use of the images of John Lennon and Jerry Garcia plus all the peace signs that adorn their locations make us no stranger to this fact. We get it. You're hippies. Ben and Jerry were nature loving hippies. Awesome. Then why, you alternative thinking vegetarians, are your prices at ridiculous highs? Ones that a normal, mid income American would probably not splurge for on most days, especially in this economy.

I understand we're in a recession. Everyone is dying to make money and prices have soared overall. But out of all the price rises I've seen, this one is the most ridiculous. Worse than Mel's Diner (and that one was bad). I bought a regular cup of ice cream and I got one scoop of one flavor. One scoop for $4.50. It seems like the only way Ben and Jerry's can make money off of this is through the fact that their flavors are so obscure and copyrighted that sometimes you can't get that one you crave anywhere else (see flavors "Phish Food", "Chunky Monkey", "Cherry Garcia", and "Half Baked").

I just can't understand how such a cute, honest, wonderful company like Ben and Jerry's could turn into such a corporate frenzy fest, even if they've been bought out by Nestle (evil evil people). I don't see Ben or Jerry standing for this kind of thing. A shake for $6.50? Oh my god, no way. Even just a chocolate shake? Not to mention Ben and Jerry's have totally bought into the stupid trend of fruit smoothies; they have, like, 15 flavors. Just like Starbucks and Tullys have done. Let the smoothie places handle it people (ahem, Jamba Juice). They know what they're doing. See, this is where I think communism could almost work: you make this and stick to that, and they'll make that and stick to that and you won't worry about competition.

I hate thinking about Ben and Jerry's having ridiculously high prices because it makes me think more and more about this: if rebellion is now "cool" and "in", and everyone is doing it together, mutually enjoying it, then how is it rebellion at all now? If Ben and Jerry's are charging us four bucks for a small thing of ice cream, how are we fighting back the man? By paying a lot for ice cream, just because their walls are painted with cute cows in green rolling fields (OH VERMONT HOW I MISS YOU.) ? In the end it all goes back to that big bad wolf of a corporation, Nestle.

Thank God for the Ben and Jerry's Foundation (http://www.benjerry.com/company/foundation/). At least I know now and then they are reaching out. But Ben, Jerry...come on guys. Please don't let this happen entirely to you too. Or else Naked Juice or Timbuk2 bags could be next.

Ah yes

The dreaded first post. What to say and really, how to say it?

I guess I just want this as an outlet to be an asshole.
Because when you don't want to punch people in the face because they're being idiots, you go on the internet and look at funny pictures of cats, right? NO. You go on the internet and you yell about it on a blog.

Also, I have been finding some great blogs as of late that are written in a style worthy of a memoir. I'd like to achieve this subtle wit as well. And I believe I can.

And so that's all I'll say for now.