She took my lips...

Though technically, I took her bangs, so we're even.

My former lyric object. I say former because I've milked all the inspiration I can from her.

It's not stalking because I don't bother or even interact with her, but I do know she likes a lot of the things I like, like coffee and indie music. I used to wear bright red lipstick, but I've stopped now because that's just not my look at heart. It's just that my borderline mom told me to wear it and you know how it is living with a higher-functioning borderline. You have to do whatever they say.

Well, I'm in college now and I've reinvented my look, and apparently so has SHE. My lyric object. And she took my lips.

But it's OK because I took her bangs.

Creative output as of late = zero. I need a new lyric object. I've already exhausted my latest two, and I squeezed the juice out of my first a long time ago.

Am I abnormal? Yes.

Gotta get to class.

What a hilarious weekend.

"Weed can really demotivate you. Don't smoke weed until you're a grad student." -My dad.

Sometimes I really like how schismatic my life is. Within the span of a few minutes, it can go from unbearable to hilarious.

So what did I do on this episode of Sols Skips Out on the Huge Parties to Hang with the People Who Matter Back Home?

Drank coffee and Bull with my dad, talked a lot about booze and weed, labored under the pretense of always being about to do my diffE homework, hung with my boyfriend and our mutual friend, played in a construction site, bought a flask, figured out my living arrangements, and watched Moneyball.

Next time I'm going to smoke cigars with my dad, and then we'll marathon the Saw series.

Damn, I love it when life is an adventure.

The flavor of the week, by the way, is pineapple.

I've got 99 problems...

I just love it when first thing in the morning, a buddy calls me who has bigger problems than me. It gives me an opportunity to open up the call with my own petty problems. It gives us both a good laugh for about five seconds.

Like this morning, it was, "I woke up this morning sick as a dog, I'm so not ready for my bio presentation, and I can't figure out what jewelry to wear with this stupid dress!"

I won't tell you what the other guy's going through--it's pretty damn rough is all I'll say--but if you're curious about the stupid dress...

It was actually quite a steal. Got this for all of four bucks, and I did figure out what jewelry to wear with it after all. In case you can't see it, I'm wearing a silver locket, my Rice U matriculation pin, and three bracelets--a charm from my crazy aunt, one of those encouraging elastic band thingies from my friend in SA, and a wristband from the hospital labeling me as a fall risk.

And in case you're wondering, I just sold a story to Vagabondage Press. Look back for news on that.

Nothing is ever as good as you can imagine it.

 

Case and point: a guy in a suit.

For those of you who know me, you know how I feel about this topic. For those who are unfamiliar with my eccentricities when it comes to the male persuasion, I'm giving you thirty seconds to process this:

Teratophilia

Guys who can play the piano

Ideal Third Reich breeding stock (i.e. blonds with blue eyes)

Power

Insight into the workings of respectable society, but naivete when it comes to sketchier scenes

SUITS.

Okay, now that I'm done explaining the factors that go into my wildest fantasies, I can tell you why suits drive me so crazy in the pants.

Let's go back to the title, shall we? Nothing is ever as good as you can imagine it. Yes, while it's true that I want what's under the suit, what's even more tantalizing is the whole imaginitive process that makes me realize I want it in the first place. Whether or not it lives up to my expectations, getting what you've been waiting for is always a colossal let-down because it allows you to let go of your pent-up tension.

Undressing a guy is like hunting bison or unwrapping a taco. You accomplish your objective, reap the benefits...and then what? 

I dunno. Maybe it's just me, and maybe that's why all of my fantasies stop halfway through.

Though lately my fantasies have been just a bunch of guys in suits talking about politics. I don't even know if that counts as a fantasy at all.

Things You Learn Your First Week of College

1. It doesn't matter how loud it is. If you stay up late enough, you will sleep through that alarm.
2. The effectiveness if caffeine is determined not by how much of it you drink, but how quickly it reaches your system, which in turn is dependent on the concentration of the drink and how fast you get it down. The proper way to drink coffee is to wait until it's cool enough to chug (at some colleges this may require you to eat the rest of your breakfast and perhaps even shower first), then proceed to chug it. Failure to do so will result in your falling asleep in class and not knowing why.
3. Caffeine is a stimulant, not an energy source. Taking caffeine with no accompanying caloric nourishment will result in a nasty crash.
4. Your dorm will never be as clean when your classes end as it was before you left for classes, no matter how many times you neurotically rearrange it.
5. Your dorm will never be clean enough to study in.
6. When looking for a study space: quiet, organized, within a reasonable distance of a bathroom--pick two.
7. Become acquainted with your shower before jumping head-on into the stream. You wouldn't fuck a lover on the first date. If it ends well, it ends well, but what if she's frigid? What if she burns you?
8. If you absolutely need to get to class, Febreeze is an adequate substitute for showering and/or laundry.
9. If you're taking down your laundry, offer to take down your suitemates' laundry. It's just laundry. It's not as much a burden as the stigma suggests.
10. You are no longer the big kahuna on campus. Be nice to the upperclassmen.
11. Listen to the upperclassmen. When they say taking Orgo and DiffE in the same term is a bad idea, IT'S A BAD IDEA.
12. You "fell asleep". You did not "pass out." Thank you, kind colleague, for allowing me to sleep on your couch. Bam.

Flash fiction, anyone?

Flash fiction.

http://www.dewonthekudzu.net/

Check it. August 5, 2011. With the chicken nuggets.

Awwyeah. I did that.

Update time?

Update time.

Creatively, I can't really tell if I'm in a slump or not. I'm starting and dropping subjects left right and center.

RP-wise, nothing engages me, but the good news is Wales is almost back (1 or 2 more days; can't remember) so I shan't long be without entertainment on the Internet.

Work-wise, I've switched departments for good, because screw the guys at my old department.

Brain-chemistry-wise, I'm definitely in a canyon, but there are less than 20 days until I can skedaddle out of here, so it ain't so bad.

Ennui...

So my consistent RP partner gives me one last epic jam session before she leaves for a camping trip, and it's b-e-a-utiful, but from now until five...five? Five. Five days from now, I don't really know what to expect as far as the RP scene goes. Because everyone's so capricious, you know? Including me.

So I walk to the CVS next to my neighborhood with my dad to get some hairspray and Big Blue, and we're walking the dog, and he stays outside with the dog while I go in and get the shit. As I'm checking out the cash lady asks me if I want to donate a bottle of sunscreen to the troops for a dollar fifty. I guess it's kind of a good thing for all the people on the other end of this donation that I went in, because I'm the one that actually donates to these things. And I guess there is a lot of corporate bureaucracy in these things, but hey, a dollar fifty is pocket change where I live, and someone somewhere who needs it is benefiting from this, so I really don't care who else benefits along the way. Plus, the girl I loved forever until I got fixated over another girl and then met my boyfriend, well, she married a soldier, so...wait. I forgot where I was going with this sentence.

So...

So I get home, right? And somebody's interested in a dystopian RP, so we put together this nice steampunk thing, and I come up with a character, and I actually really like her. Significantly more than I like most of my characters on the first day. I may start writing little shorts about her, so if y'all see me mentioning Gloria Daymourn, that's her.

Goodness. So I was so ticked off at work yesterday...

First off, I'd like to say it's not really "work". I'm a volunteer. There is no paycheck tying me to this hospital. Quite frankly, I don't see why I didn't just leave yesterday. I had a car, a boyfriend, and about forty bucks cash on me. I could have spent the day better.

It's been piling up, really. All the stress. All the little things. Maybe if I wasn't already so pissed off it wouldn't have ruined my day. But I was, it did, and well, here I am.

So this janitor. Is trying to get a degree in psychology. Which is one of the majors I'm going into. And her thesis is about homosexuality. And how it's a choice, not genetic.

Fine if you think that. Whatever. I can't control you. But YOU can control what comes out your mouth and YOU can choose not to gay-bash in the workplace.

Some of the snippets that came out her mouth:

"How do I know it's a choice? Well, I chose to be straight. People as me how I know, well, I reached a certain point where I realized I didn't want to bed all my female friends..."

It was hard not to rage.

This is my least-favorite stereotype about homosexuality. If a straight person doesn't necessarily want to bed everyone of the opposite gender, why do people assume that a gay person wants to bed everyone of their same gender?

Y'know what? I'm done here.

I sound angry and immature right now. Well that's how I feel. Should I be responding more logically and less emotionally? Yes.

I guess maybe I'm just mad at myself for not speaking up more. But she wasn't listening to me.

She basically called me "some ignorant little girl still sucking on Mom's tit."

Actually, that's exactly what she called me.

I just...

I hate stupid people.