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.