i'd like to drop kick jared fogle.

You probably shouldn't mess with me today. I'm feeling particularly combative. Just ask the checker at HEB who called me 'sweetheart' or the man running next to me at 24-hour whose glance lingered just a little too long. I didn't want to put all of my grocery's back in my basket and switch lines or make a production of moving all of my stuff to a treadmill a considerable distance away from creepster, but it's one of those days. It might just be the inevitability of Monday's arrival. Or maybe it's something deeper, but let's be honest, I'm too flustered to try and figure it out. All I know is if I didn't have to work in an hour I'd probably try to find someone to rumble..I mean, somebody smaller and weaker obviously, maybe with vision impairment. I'm not really in the mood for a challenge, just an easy target.

I don't think I've been in a fight since 11th grade, and that didn't really constitute a 'fight' anyway. It was basketball season. I was purposefully elbowed in the face and I retaliated. It hurt like hell, it was only fair that I kick her in the shin and sucker punch her in the stomach while 'fighting for a rebound.' Biatch didn't mess with me again.

I should get in more fights. I generally avoid severe confrontation and prefer to use my vicious rhetoric to tear people a part. I'll be honest though, sometimes written words aren't satisfying. I don't have very much experience yelling at people, to their face, and I have to admit, I think I'd love it. As much as I spout about 'passion' and 'saying what you feel' I don't think I practice what I preach very often. Maybe that's what I get for being a 'bottler.' I hold in all of the combativeness, and then have days like today when all I want is to assault strangers. Luckily, if you must know the truth, I'm all talk. I don't want to fight anyone and I don't want to yell. I want to listen to 'the rest is still unwritten' by Natasha Bedingfield and write in my blog until I'm not angry anymore. Jared Fogle better thank his lucky stars...

Disclaimer: I'm currently overmedicated.

So, I'm writing right now, not because I have something to say, rather, to 'mind over matter' (oh yes, that's to be read as a verb) the grandmotherly desire I have to fall asleep right now. I find it difficult to justify going to sleep early after spending all damn day in my bed watching syndicated sitcom reruns on TBS, using the commercial breaks to wonder just how many bags of kettle corn constitutes 'too' many.

In my defense, I'm currently battling a life threatening illness I've affectionately, and perhaps deceivingly, been referring to as an upper respiratory infection. Fancy, right? Lord knows if that's what it is. I have a fever and headache, coming from the UPPER part of my body. I've developed a severe cough, and when I cough, which is often, it's difficult to breathe via my RESPIRATORY system. And I find the word virus to sound much more fleeting than INFECTION so that's what made that decision. Not to brag, but I'm pretty sure this is more serious than that Swine Flu hullabaloo everyone was crying about last month. The point is, I'm ill. I can't very well be gallivanting around the city of Austin, 'living' and 'being productive.' No no, it's much wiser to continue my recovery from a secure location, taking the medicine my physicians: David Spade, Kevin James, Matthew Perry and Ray Romano, recommended. Laughter. Stop groaning, you knew it was coming.

In other news, I found out today that I'm one of those people that laughs along with laugh tracks during sitcoms. Great. This illness has reduced my sense of humor to that of the stereotypical simpleton. I giggle at potty humor like the word 'poopy', slap my knee when someone trips down the stairs and laugh hysterically at just about any witty exchange between characters. I'll say this though, Arthur (Jerry Stiller), from King of Queens, is hands down the funniest character on any poorly scripted sitcom. Ever. Also, I can stop this charade, it's 10:59. A PERFECTLY acceptable sleep time for a working woman such as myself. Thank my later for wasting your time with this entry.

smooth seas do not a skillful sailor make

it's that time again! the time when i post things i've written in previous lifetimes, ie: last semester. this little number originated in my 'feature writing' class. it was a personal essay assignment. topic: favorite place in the world. enjoy it. or hate it.

I hate clichés. I find them trite and corny. In my opinion, clichés epitomize the very essence of the words boredom and complacency and should be promptly eliminated from the English language. Unfortunately, there is no way to articulate what I want to without use of the idiom I just verbally thrashed. So with my hatred of clichés in mind I proclaim that I view the city of Galveston through rose-colored glasses. In fact, it might be more accurate to say that I view Galveston through a pair of glasses projecting the shade of three dozen roses, but then it wouldn’t be consistent with the cliché I love to hate.

Galveston is perfect to me. The murky, brown ocean, laden with seaweed and deceased jellyfish feels like an exotic oasis when I stick my feet in it. The shell-less sand, littered with glass and housing the occasional sand crab is the perfect canvas to craft the seven story sand castle that I’ve been mentally designing. The humid, salty air, so strong it knocks over chairs and carries sand into the eyes of innocent beach dwellers, acts as a catalyst making me feel invigorated and alive.

Galveston is perfect to me, it always has been. Since I was a small child my family’s annual trip to my grandmother’s beach front home was the highlight of my summer vacation. Complete with grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins and siblings, the trips were a family affair akin to the size of a reunion. The five hour car ride seemed a small price to pay for five days of wave jumping, searching for sand dollars, hunting crabs and playing fierce games of monopoly with my cousins. The trip was a family institution, symbolizing the beginning of a new school year for me and reminding my parents why one family vacation a year was enough.

There were things we did every year like crabbing, shopping at the strand and visiting the water slides a few miles away from my grandmother’s neighborhood. There were things we tried once, like horseback riding on the beach, visiting a Titanic exhibit and cooking the crabs we caught at the bay, ourselves.

When I think about Galveston it’s impossible to pinpoint the exact reason it is my favorite place in the world. A flood of memories overtake my mind and I think back to an afternoon in Galveston when the sun was nowhere to be found. It was raining and my brother was sitting in a rocking chair playing a handheld video game; my sister lounged on the floor configuring the edges to a 1,000 piece puzzle with a box boasting a picturesque harbor scene. My mom and grandmother were in the kitchen taking orders for sandwiches and my grandfather had drafted my dad to help him outside on whatever project he had invented to keep busy.

I was downstairs, swinging on the wooden porch swing beneath my grandmother’s sea-blue house, clad only in a swimsuit and clutching my pail and shovel tightly. I would be the first ready when the sun decided to return from its hiding place behind the clouds. I remember dreading the moment my mother would remember she’d forgotten to apply my sunscreen before we headed to the beach, after the rain stopped. It was no use, she always remembered.

Auf Wiedersehen!

Not to be overly dramatic and emotional, but I just cleaned out my Jetta, in preparation for it being ripped to shreds, part by part by greedy auctioneers and farmers insurance personnel, and I feel strangely at a loss. Encountering weird high school memorabilia, like mix cd's, senior pictures of Matthew Winn, my softball glove, even my rear view mirror squirrel felt so strange, like I'd disturbed things that should have just been laid to rest with the Jetta. I know that getting new cars, trading them in, and the like is a somewhat common practice, but it's just kind of weird. Something I've seen almost every single day since I was 15 will be gone in the morning. I'll never ride in those horrifically stained cloth seats ever again. Today is the last day I'll lay eyes on the chipped black exterior and impossibly dull head lights of my 1999 Volkswagen.

Not to be nostalgic, but I remember the first time I drove it. I was still 15 and I was following my dad back to our house after picking it up from the car lot and I noticed that the breaks were much more sensitive than the first time I drove it. I was a little concerned, especially when I noticed the faint smell of burning rubber after I put the car in park. Very quickly my father had realized I forgot to release the emergency brake. Truth be told, I think that first encounter is extremely representative of our time together.

On the bright side, I'm all for fresh starts. Cars are strange. They take you places, physically and because I'm being sentimental, emotionally. I remember my 16th birthday driving to CiCi's during lunch with my first boyfriend and him showing me how to get gas for the first time. I remember driving to Haley's house after hitting a squirrel, bawling my eyes out and swearing I'd never drive again. I remember Abby bumping into the back of me on our way to lunch one day and laughing about it because she couldn't stop crying. I could probably go on, but I'm certain no one wants me to retell all of these beautiful moments. The point is, yes there is ALWAYS a point, I think I'm ready to let go. Good riddance Jetta. La Bufanda Milagra is ready to fill your not so reliable shoes.

i'm a nutcase

Hi.

I have a strange urge to speak to someone right now, but there is no one I really feel like calling. I've been on the phone too much today, begging for donations from businesses at my internship, talking to family members about nonsense, apologizing to friends for drunken behavior, the usual. My point is, if I were treating this blawg like a phone call, these are the things I would say.

-LYKE OMG HI! itz bin sOoOo long sinz i've tawlked 2 u!! ..paha, but seriously..
- I got too drunk last night, unintentionally. Beer, apparently, will continue to get the better of me despite my efforts against it. Oh well, it was fun, from what I recall.
- I'm really sad about the construction workers dying on 21st street. I hope the lesson learned is that buildings should never be that tall, until humans learn to fly.
- When I was eating an apple earlier today the first bite I took formed a perfect C. It was beautiful, but I finished the apple anyway
- Summer is restoring my soul. I mean this much less deep than it sounds. I just feel good, and it isn't just because I'm intoxicated more regularly. I've always wondered how to tell the difference between experiencing true happiness and superficial or circumstantial, happiness. It's really hard sometimes, maybe just for me, but I think recently it's gotten a little easier to figure out. It isn't that I'm happier, because I'm usually pretty happy, I mean, domino's is a flourishing business, Hanson will continue to make beautiful melodic music and I have really funny friends. I think it's that I feel more joy, which yes all of you thesaurus natzis, is different. I sound like an idiot girl probably, but, this might be the joy talking, I don't care. I'm so pleased to be where I am right now, and I honestly wouldn't change a thing. That's true happiness I think. This turned strangely reflective.

Sorry didn't mean to talk your ear off! What's that? ..I didn't know you had a parakeet. No, No, I understand, You have to go walk it..it's cool. We'll talk soon.

freaked out?

So. It isn't generally my style to write in this blog regularly. I like to keep the public wanting more, not dissimilar to the way Chik-fil-A is closed on Sundays or the way Patrick Swayze only made a cameo in Dirty Dancing 2. However, I can't stop wanting to ramble aimlessly in this silly text box, and I'm kind of in a 'do what I want' phase currently..so I put two and two together.

Today I spent my afternoon swimming amongst Austin's finest at Deep Eddy Pool, surrounded by babies, toddlers, and whatever other classifications of children there might be. While doing so, hanging with the peeps, I remembered something. It's not profound or life changing, more of a simple, comforting thought. I remembered just how damn young I am. I don't have a baby. I don't drive a mini-van. I don't have a full-time job. I don't have a mortgage. Hell, I haven't even acquired a taste for red wine. I'm obviously a child. Needless to say, it was the best feeling I've had in awhile. Sure I have friends who are graduating, getting married, and becoming people..but as a 21 year old, I've only lived 1/4 of my life. 1/4! So, despite the never ending anxiety, decision-making and adult situations..I'm a child in a world of adults. This post needs to end now because I'm going to go get drunk with some more peeps. In true youthful fashion..

paint with all the colors of the wind

I'm blogging. I'm blogging and I should be sleeping. Here I sit, typing at a cross-roads. Caught somewhere between the burden I have for fulfilling my responsibility as an esteemed blogist (I'm much too unique to refer to myself as a 'blogger') and my commitment to providing excellent, alert, customer service at Gregory at 6am. It's just so hard being me.

Sarcasm is sometimes difficult to detect through non-verbal advanced mediums.. like, blogs, so, I'll help you out. It's not really hard being me. In fact, aside from the pressure I face daily concerning my unsurpassed humor, it's easy. For the past four days I've been living in an unbelievable fantasy world of birthdays, sun, dollar beer and hilarity. It has been picturesque. If I could paint a giant painting that reminded me of what the last four days has entailed, there would be the following:

1. A wise, homeless saint who reminded me just why it is important to "not talk about it, just be about it."
2. A stomach, sunburned only around the bellybutton.
3. A beer can, with no label..just a dollar sign, and a 1 next to it..like so: $1
4. A strawberry.. the new shot glass for hip, youthful, scenesters to take shots of rum and whipped cream out of.
5. The single word HA.

So I think you get my point. Sometimes you just need to sit down and figure out what in your life you would paint a mural of. It really puts things in perspective.

In closing, This is one of my more profound posts. Re-read it if you feel you've missed something. Over and out.