Weird Dreams

January 22, 2009 at 1:33 am (Journaling, Rants?)

They were bizarre and involved all my Bellingham-people.

One that I thought was funny,  because it was just a case of my subconscious being not very subtle at all, was when a group of us were watching tv.

It was Glenn, Maia, Carissa, and some more people in the background. Their faces were faded.

But there was *also* my first boyfriend, this guy named Casey who I think is adorable and we’re on pretty good terms. We make a kind-of point of talking at least once a year and catching up. There was also Jeremy, and his new girlfriend (in my dream, at least). When I saw his girlfriend was there, I didn’t feel jealous or anything–I just felt tired, because she served as a reminder that he’s over me, and because of that fact, his vendetta against me is just so out of place and inappropriate.

I didn’t even try to talk to him or say hi, because even in my dream I knew he still held whatever grudge he’s holding. But I did try to talk to Casey, and when he ignored me as well, I was shocked. Casey and I had about two months of not talking after we broke up (in ninth grade), and we’ve been on great, hugging terms ever since.

But in my dream, he was ignoring me. I finally pushed a response out of him, and it was so funny. He told me that yes, he still liked me and appreciated the friendship we had, but he remembered how I enjoyed a commercial for Mac a few years ago and frankly, he just can’t associate with that kind of person so would I just e considerate of his feelings and leave him alone?

Everyone in the group was really silent, and trying to pretend to focus on whatever was on tv. I just hung my head and sighed, and then my dream switched into a little narrative.

“And she sat there, her head hung low, and for the first time the exhaustion showed on her face, and it was there for the whole world to see–she was tired, and her feelings were hurt”

I know. I know! Pity party in the subconscious much…. Well, at least my subconscious feels bad for me!

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Body Wash

January 13, 2009 at 11:10 pm (In Real Life, Rants?) (, , )

I understand that makers of body wash market to the girls who starve themselves and deny themselves any type of food-related treat. That’s why all body washes smell like something you’d kill for to put in  your mouth.

I’ll even admit that I indulge myself that way–I buy vanillas, usually, because it smells like cookies and cakes, my weaknesses.

What irks me, though, is when they do it so obviously, to the point where the original intent of the product becomes lost. For instance, my current body wash (which I didn’t pick out–it was a gift) is scented Frozen Lemon Custard.

Do you see the problem? If not, let me ask you a question–

What does “frozen” smell like?

My body wash smells lemony, and even a little creamy, but I don’t detect any air of frigidity when I wash. None. Because how do you make something smell cold?

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This is going to sound silly

January 12, 2009 at 1:42 pm (In Real Life, Memories, Rants?) (, )

But I’m feeling rather self conscious, rather shy and I’m about to do something that takes me far from my comfort zone.

Tomorrow later today is a big day for me, and it’s taking me far from any comfort zone I could possibly imagine having fit myself into. I’m doing not one, but two things that are scandalously different for me, but I’m really only going to go into detail on one of them.

I bought a new dress, and tights, and boots. And tomorrow later today, I’m going to wear them all together. I know, scandalous, right? The “dress” is really something that Modest-Marci would wear with jeans. It’s technically long enough to wear as a dress, but technically translates to it wouldn’t be okay to wear when I was in high school, which in turn means I wouldn’t wear it.

But I want to. And with dark tights and cute boots, it’s actually not even inappropriate. Even my sister said it just looks like a cute, fun outfit that I would normally wear. There’s really nothing wrong about it except t’s just the shortest dress I’ve ever worn. And I’m feeling self conscious about it. Tomorrow is a day for change, apparently, and I’m kicking it all off with a new look.

In other, potentially more interesting, world news, I have a couple of (I think) neat posts about science fiction, of which I’ve been reading a lot more, as well as one on this book I’m finally getting around to finishing. It feels like I’ve been reading it forever. You’ll find out why tomorrow, when I sit down and type the whole thing out.

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Product Placement

December 23, 2008 at 11:38 am (Discoveries, In Real Life, Rants?) (, , )

Product placement is an effective way to get my goat. I get annoyed at it, and mock it mercilessly. I take offense not at the thought that they think it’s effective; that by showing me a can of Pepsi, I’ll be tempted to buy it. I more take offense to the implication that the lifestyles portrayed in tv and movies are normal lifestyles that you should work hard to emulate.

I remember how indignant I got when I watched some House episode, early on in the seasons (second season, maybe?). House had a bed going, and he makes it for $100. He just pulls a hundred-dollar bill out of his wallet to wave around. It surprised me, and gave me a moment’s pause. No one carries around multiple hundred-dollar bills (he ended up having two or three on him). Even if you have enough money to waste one hundred of it on a silly bet, you wouldn’t carry around such large bills like that, and wave them about so casually. So that’s a good example of what I mean when I say I don’t like how tv sets ridiculously high and unrealistic standards for people to try to emulate.

When it comes to casual, cheap product placement, though, I’ve giving up my soapbox stance and I just laugh. When I watch a crappy movie and am bored, I just end up counting the ads I find. My friends dragged me to that second National Treasure movie in the theatres, and I counted thirteen before I gave up because I couldn’t recognize what it was that I should buy (I can’t tell one car brand from another if my life depended on it, really).

The thing that could get me frustrated is that I tend to be the most indignant about this, regardless of which crowd of friends I’m with. So when I went to go see The Day The Earth Stood Still with my mom, I was so surprised that her loudest complaint about the movie was the blatant product placement. My personal favorite was when the main character looks at her watch to check the time and all you see is the watch’s face, the size of the entire screen, with the brand printed in huge letters across the center (no, I’m so not going to repeat the brand. Like I’ll give them more coverage than they already paid for!). The best part was that time was not really of the essence in that scene, or at all related to what was going on. It was as if they’re giving up trying to be subtle.

Hit CookiesThat being said, I’ve decided to throw all throwing power of attackunicorn.wordpress.com at endorsing my favorite brand of cookies, Hit Cookies. That’s right, take a good luck at that picture and feel your mouth start to water. You know you want to go buy some.

Seriously, though, these cookies do rock. And I like them. A lot. They’re the perfect blend of sweet cookie goodness and crunchy, munchy goodness. I forget how much I like them until I find them somewhere. Then I devour as many as I can get my hands on.

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Clever?

December 17, 2008 at 1:10 pm (In Real Life, Rants?, Sketches) (, , , , )

I thought so. No one else, really, gets the reference though, so I suppose maybe not so much. I was thinking about finishing it up and submitting to Threadless, but I’m thinking it’s not that great.

walrus-full*sigh*

Lewis Carrol’s “The Walrus and the Carpenter”, from Through The Looking Glass

The sun was shining on the sea,
Shining with all his might:
He did his very best to make
The billows smooth and bright–
And this was odd, because it was
The middle of the night.

The moon was shining sulkily,
Because she thought the sun
Had got no business to be there
After the day was done–
“It’s very rude of him,” she said,
“To come and spoil the fun!”

The sea was wet as wet could be,
The sands were dry as dry.
You could not see a cloud, because
No cloud was in the sky:
No birds were flying overhead–
There were no birds to fly.

The Walrus and the Carpenter
Were walking close at hand;
They wept like anything to see
Such quantities of sand:
“If this were only cleared away,”
They said, “it would be grand!”

“If seven maids with seven mops
Swept it for half a year.
Do you suppose,” the Walrus said,
“That they could get it clear?”
“I doubt it,” said the Carpenter,
And shed a bitter tear.

“O Oysters, come and walk with us!”
The Walrus did beseech.
“A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk,
Along the briny beach:
We cannot do with more than four,
To give a hand to each.”

The eldest Oyster looked at him,
But never a word he said:
The eldest Oyster winked his eye,
And shook his heavy head–
Meaning to say he did not choose
To leave the oyster-bed.

But four young Oysters hurried up,
All eager for the treat:
Their coats were brushed, their faces washed,
Their shoes were clean and neat–
And this was odd, because, you know,
They hadn’t any feet.

Four other Oysters followed them,
And yet another four;
And thick and fast they came at last,
And more, and more, and more–
All hopping through the frothy waves,
And scrambling to the shore.

The Walrus and the Carpenter
Walked on a mile or so,
And then they rested on a rock
Conveniently low:
And all the little Oysters stood
And waited in a row.

“The time has come,” the Walrus said,
“To talk of many things:
Of shoes–and ships–and sealing-wax–
Of cabbages–and kings–
And why the sea is boiling hot–
And whether pigs have wings.”

“But wait a bit,” the Oysters cried,
“Before we have our chat;
For some of us are out of breath,
And all of us are fat!”
“No hurry!” said the Carpenter.
They thanked him much for that.

“A loaf of bread,” the Walrus said,
“Is what we chiefly need:
Pepper and vinegar besides
Are very good indeed–
Now if you’re ready, Oysters dear,
We can begin to feed.”

“But not on us!” the Oysters cried,
Turning a little blue.
“After such kindness, that would be
A dismal thing to do!”
“The night is fine,” the Walrus said.
“Do you admire the view?

“It was so kind of you to come!
And you are very nice!”
The Carpenter said nothing but
“Cut us another slice:
I wish you were not quite so deaf–
I’ve had to ask you twice!”

“It seems a shame,” the Walrus said,
“To play them such a trick,
After we’ve brought them out so far,
And made them trot so quick!”
The Carpenter said nothing but
“The butter’s spread too thick!”

“I weep for you,” the Walrus said:
“I deeply sympathize.”
With sobs and tears he sorted out
Those of the largest size,
Holding his pocket-handkerchief
Before his streaming eyes.

“O Oysters,” said the Carpenter,
“You’ve had a pleasant run!
Shall we be trotting home again?’
But answer came there none–
And this was scarcely odd, because
They’d eaten every one.

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Puzzle Pieces

December 16, 2008 at 11:29 am (Journaling, Rants?) (, , )

I used to talk to my ex(girlfriend, Sabina) about this, about puzzle pieces. We would talk about how soul mates work, and how people who are meant for each other know that. I still think the idea of soul mates is a valid one, one definitely worth exploring. I think they work like puzzle pieces.

Everyone is a puzzle piece, with their own uniquely-defined shape. You can’t see your own shape clearly, though (or anyone else’s, for that matter). Not in its entirety, at least. You only know what the edges look like by how they match up with someone else’s edges.

So when you meet a new person (and this doesn’t have to specifically relate to dating–I include friendships and all sorts of relationships in this concept), you see how well your puzzle pieces match up. It’s like a fog, and it slowly clears as you see more and more curves and corners fitting into each other. It won’t always be perfect–you might both have a little jut at the same spot, and they overlap with each other. Or maybe you both have a tiny little indent that needs filled, and they’re both at the same exact spot, so you can’t fill each other’s indents. See?

I think soul mates match each other’s edges perfectly.

**This isn’t to say I think soul mates never argue, never fight, never don’t do the right thing for the other person. It’s just to say they have all that they need within them to help complete each other. They match.

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Oh so busy

December 10, 2008 at 12:39 pm (Journaling, Rants?)

Well now I’ve been so busy, I haven’t updated my blog! Which is sad, because I truly do have the best of intentions.

I’m copying a friend, who copied a super-cool blogger/comic artist and I’ve been making this little doodles, each one capturing the essence of a part of my day (the original concept is a cartoon an hour as a summary, but I’m not dedicated/practiced/patient/self-controlled enough for that. I’ve made four a day, for two days.

I’ll scan them soon, though, and I hope you all have fun with them. And then do it yourselves! (Except you. You already did it ;-) )

Toodles!

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To the gentleman in the waiting room

November 5, 2008 at 3:16 am (Poltical-ish, Rants?) (, , )

I disagree with you. I have a feeling, from a couple of remarks you made, that I would disagree with you on many things, were we to sit and talk. But for now, I know for certain that I disagree with you strongly on one thing.

I don’t believe Caimlo Mejia is a coward for refusing to return to war. I don’t think that makes him a coward. I think, if anything, Mejia is incredibly brave to have the courage to stand up for what he believes is the right thing to do.

That’s not to say I agree with him, or that I disagree with him. I’m not going into my own opinions on his actions in this post, simply that I think he’s brave.

It takes a lot of guts to stand up for what you believe is right. It takes courage to protest things you feel are wrong, especially when the world boos you off the stage.

I think people should feel safe enough to protest. I think citizens in this country should never fear standing up for what they believe is right, and I think calling Mejia a coward for refusing to go back to war is missing the whole point.

I would have told you this, but the nurse called you back too quickly. Oh well.

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[fussy post alert]

November 3, 2008 at 1:29 pm (Rants?)

I’ve never hated a website more than I’ve hated this one

www.whereismysophia.com

It needs to disappear. I’ve been really good and not abusing my blog, but fucking christ. I hate that website. I hate the litter of that old “us” that lingers in the crevices of my life–the bottom of my tin, in the form of a cd, a side-alley in the internets, with an old remembered name for a search engine. I was GOING to type “mail”, but I only got as far as “M-A-I” before seeing that fucking website. Fuck you, firefox.

I’m venting here so I don’t vent elsewhere. It’s what the internets are for, right?

[this post aside, I'm actually patting myself on the back. for all outward appearances, I've been doing really fucking good]

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Frustrations of a Bibliophile

November 3, 2008 at 1:57 am (In Real Life, Rants?)

I am a bibliophile. I love books–I love reading them, I love collecting them. I love the way they look, the way they feel. I love walking through bookstores–new and used both, and running my fingers along their spines as I wander down the aisles

So quite understandably, I love libraries. I come to the university’s library to study. I bury myself in a corner amongst the stacks and I can stay there (here, actually) for hours. I’ll study, I’ll read and when I get restless, I’ll wander among the rows of books until I regain some clarity.

There are far too many reasons why I love the library to go into a detailed description here, so I’ll just settle on one–one of the more important reasons.

The quiet.

I love how quiet it is here. I’ll show up when the library first opens and quietly revel in the pure, unfiltered silence. I can study French in here simply because of the quiet–I can’t study a foreign language with English in the background. I don’t know if any other linguists can, and I would be very impressed to find out if it’s possible. It’s not, for me.

So when mother-fucking, disrespectful morons intrude on my silence, I think I become understandably angry. I’m not complaining about the noise of typing, or heavy (sleepy) breathing, or pages turning. No, those all combine artfully for a wonderful library soundtrack.

I’m talking about the fuckers who come in to my sacred study space, where the “Silence Please” posters hang in abundance, and shout to their friends “HEY GIRL, WHAT’S UP? NO I KNOW, I HAVE TO STUDY TOO! OKAY BUT LET’S TALK FOR A WHILE BECAUSE OH MY GOD YOU WOULD NOT BELIEVE HOW TIRED I AM MY WEEKEND WAS INSANEAND NOW I’LLPROCEED TO TELLYOUALLABOUT ITAND DAMNEDTO THEPOOR SUCKERSWHOACTUALLY CAMEHERETO STUDY YOUMEANNOTEVERYONE ISINTERESTED IN WHATIDIDTHISPASTWEEKENDANDHOW DRUNK IGOTANDWHOISLEEPWITHOHMYGOSHHAVE YOUSEENBOBBYHE’S LIKESO CUTEWESHOUDLHANG OUTSOON”

Those are the people at whom this complaint is aimed. I hate you. I wish I could unleash all my rage on you, just to make you understand how truly self-absorbed you are, but to do so would be to engage in various illicit and illegal acts. So instead, I blog to my heart’s content and use foul language in the hopes that I can, with an incredible force of will power, kill you with my thoughts.

……

Are you dead yet?

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