Oh, duh!

I may have mentioned that I had a headache over the weekend that started around 7 PM on Wednesday. I thought it was gone by Saturday, but it popped up again on Sunday like Navi from The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time. It was probably just in hiding on Saturday because of all of the ridiculously long naps I took. Anyway, 'round about 9 o'clock on Sunday evening, I decided that enough was enough, so I did what any normal person would do: I googled it. Once on the Mayo Clinic website, I decided that my symptoms best fit those of a stress headache. The recommended treatment section gave me three options: aspirin, ibuprofen, or Tylenol. So by "normal," I totally mean that I instantly felt like a goofus for not thinking of painkillers myself. Of course, I'm not the sort to depend on medications when I don't absolutely have to, so it's not that ridiculous that I didn't remember they were an option. Still, it's pretty ridiculous. Who does that?

I spent the a good chunk of today chilling with Bonster and Celery. We went to see Monte Carlo at the $2 theater then commiserated and such in Taco Bell. If I could spend every evening in like manner, I would be a happy girl.

Listening to: Monte Carlo
Reading: Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain

Furiously happy.

I'm having a pretty great weekend considering I've had a headache since 7 PM on Wednesday and despite my truck's radiator springing a leak last night somewhere between merging onto the 202 and pulling in at my house, where it proceeded to hiss and exude the sickly, sweet scent of antifreeze, making it necessary for my dad to drive me to my one class today, which was so short that it wasn't worth him driving home and then coming back to pick me up, which meant he had to find something to do while I discussed Latin deponent verbs, and he didn't really need to have an excuse to go in search of ice cream. Actually, none of this is really bumming me out. Sure, I'm worried about my truck the way a mother would be worried about a kid down with the flu, but my dad is the Dr. Gregory House of cars, so I'm not really that worried.

My headache and my truck kind of joined forces to convince me going out with my friends today was a bad idea. Initially, we had plans to go to Jester'Z Improv, but then those plans got extended into watch a movie, then go to Organ Stop, then go swing dancing, and then go to Jester'Z. Upon seeing the Revised Plans Facebook Thread, which quickly got wildly out of hand and off topic, my headache started tsk-ing and calling attention to just how wiped out I was from the week. Despite my friends' creative efforts and extensive strategizing on how to get me around to all of these activities (strategizing which actually didn't make complete sense in the end, as it was extremely unclear to me when or how they meant to convey me home), everything in and around me was saying, "Look, there is no way you are making it through a straight nine-odd hours of exuberant activity tomorrow. We're putting our foot down on this one." Who was I to argue once biology and the internal combustion engine had spoken?

I say today, but I'm never really sure whether to call it Friday or Saturday or Mavis the Dancing Cow once the clock has rolled past midnight. I generally run with the idea that it's not tomorrow until I've had a reasonably amount of contiguous sleep, and it's bright outside again. I mean, really. What crazed scientist decided that the day should roll over in the middle of the night instead of at dawn? It's not natural. I think things like this should be governed by natural cycles. When the sun comes up, that's a new day. Oo! Oo! Point of peevishness: Why did they decide to move the beginning of the calendar year to a random day that doesn't coincide with anything? It used to coincide with the beginning of spring, which totally makes sense. Why wouldn't the year start at the beginning of a season? I don't even really care which season. Yeah, spring has that whole rebirth and renewal thing going for it, but the first day of any season would be better than random January 1st. If they were going to move it to winter, couldn't they at least have set it to the solstice? And least that's a natural marker of time. The Chinese know what's up. They've got that lunar calendar going on, which is another method which makes much more sense to me than whatever this is that we're going by.

Anyway, it was actually a good thing that I didn't go out today, for a reason other than because all of nature was crying out against it. It was my dad's girlfriend's daughter's birthday, which meant dinner at Ah-So. I'm seven sorts of okay with that. I also won't complain about the Italian cream cake we had afterward. I might, however, complain about how full I still feel, despite having brought this upon myself and therefore really having no right to complain.

None of this actually has anything to do with why I'm blogging tonight. I'm blogging tonight because I've been catching up on reading posts by The Bloggess, and I felt the impetus to share her genius with you. Which is just another way of saying that one can only post so many links to Facebook in one night before the situation crosses over into the ludicrous. She's just too darn funny. I can't help it. I've been laughing uproariously for the past three hours. You know how there are different levels of laughter? This is the voiceless, I've-never-smiled-so-big-in-my-life laughter, which is just a step down from can't-breathe, going-to-die laughter. The latter can only be maintained for a short period of time, which is probably why we've haven't quite gotten there yet. That, and it's hard to read when all of your energy is being diverted into making sure you don't pass out from lack of oxygen.

My bad about all of the relative and subordinate clauses tonight.

One last thing ere you go. I listened to "Airplanes" umpteen times on YouTube today, so I figured it was a sign when it came on the radio while I was in the bathroom at Ah-So. What it was a sign of is beyond me, but that's neither here nor there. Have some artistic social commentary.



Listening to: "Airplanes" by B.o.B ft. Hayley Williams
Reading: Harry Potter y la cámara secreta por J. K. Rowling

Doppelgangers.

One of my professors, no joke, looks like a cross between Tim Curry and Tom Selleck. I had another teacher a few years ago who straight up looked like Robert De Niro, had the same timbre to his voice as Timon from The Lion King (not the same accent), and was the classiest dresser I've ever seen. I love my department so much. <3

Listening to: "Beautiful Soul" by Jesse McCartney
Reading: Harry Potter y la cámara secreta por J. K. Rowling

Simple pleasures.

I forgot to mention that I saw a van painted like the Mystery Machine the other day.

In other news, certain aspects of my schedule quietly amuse me, namely the rooms my classes are in. I have five classes this semester. Four of those classes are in the same two rooms. The other class meets in two different rooms. Yes, two. It's an odd arrangement, to be sure.

This evening, I was watching Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince in Spanish. Thank you, HBO. That made my day. That, and the nap I took on the floor of the literature building.

Listening to: "DJ Got Us Fallin' In Love" by Usher
Reading: Harry Potter y la cámara secreta por J. K. Rowling

Cousinhood.

I love my family. They're so delightfully outrageous, especially when you get all the girls together for a night out. What, with Hannah spearheading criticism of the waitress and Laura laughing at the movie that had the rest of us in tears, it's been an interesting evening.

Listening to: The Help
Reading: Harry Potter y la cámara secreta por J. K. Rowling

Tia Rosa.

School started yesterday. However fascinating my variety of English classes may prove to be, I can already tell that Thursdays are going to be nightmare-ishly long. With the heat exhaustion and resultant headache yesterday, I was relieved that it was syllabus day and most of my classes let out early, especially the 3-hour day-ender. That professor, who looks like a cross between Tom Selleck and Tim Curry, announced that we will regularly have breaks in the middle of class. What kind of freakish schedule makes breathers during a class necessary?

I was doubly glad that, that particular class let out early, as that meant I could make it to my friend Drew's show on time. One of the fun things about my life being inundated with music majors is that they do cool things like put on shows at the MIM and do live jazz sets at quaint taquerías. Last night was the latter.

It was, to quote said friend, delicious. I especially loved the bit where he jazzed up the cantina song from Star Wars.

Of course, my favorite moment of the evening had nothing to do with the music. Drew's elementary school-aged brother is a precocious younker who seems to revel in being ridiculous for the benefit of us college kids. For example, he got in a contest with one of my friends to see who could take a bigger bite out of a styrofoam cup. That was strange. That, however, was not my favorite scene from last night. No, that honor is reserved for another. There was a bundle of roses sitting on the table, so in the middle of a conversation about something utterly unrelated, the young rapscallion randomly asked if we knew that roses were edible. We'd all vaguely heard such, yes. He then resolutely tore off a few petals and nonchalantly ate them.

That kid will never cease to amaze and entertain me.

Listening to: "Party Rock Anthem" by LMFAO
Reading: The Well of Ascension by Brandon Sanderson

On blogging.

I haven't felt much like blogging lately. Actually, I've kind of been dreading it. My posting style involves a lengthy, labor-intensive writing process, and for the past few weeks, that's just been daunting. I was forcing myself to blog for a while, but eventually it just became too overwhelming. I know. It's blogging. What's overwhelming about blogging, right?

This isn't what this blog is supposed to be about, anyway. It's supposed to be a celebration of serendipity and everyday magic. Recently, it's become a detailed record of everything that happens whenever I do anything. It's time to regroup and refocus. It's time to make blogging something I enjoy again.

Just for posterity's sake, here's a quick list of the things that have been going on recently:
Thursday: The Musical Instrument Museum and Hamlet
Saturday: random formal dinner
Yesterday: movie night (Ocean's 11)
Today: lunch with friends and book buying

Tomorrow, fall semester begins. Hopefully, a new/old phase in my blogging will begin as well.

Listening to: "Glitter In The Air" by P!nk
Reading: The Well of Ascension by Brandon Sanderson

A merrier me.

Despite how thoroughly awkward and clueless I am, I have decided that I quite enjoy swing dancing. Because my friends are fabulously cool, we set up our own little soiree last night (Tuesday) and danced until we could barely stand. If we keep doing things like this, I may eventually figure out how this swing dancing things works. In the meantime, I'm glad that the boys I know are exceedingly patient.

The last dance of the night was by far the most entertaining. This is what I get for being friends with music and theater majors. One boy was dancing with two girls at the same time. I'm glad that boys are generally in charge of leading, for being as inept at actual dancing as I am, I'm fairly certain that I couldn't have thought quickly enough to figure out how each girl needed to be spun or passed to keep us from colliding with each other or losing our grip. Don't worry. Someone got it all on video. I'll try to provide a way to see it within the next few days.

Not surprisingly, despite how physically and mentally exhausting my night of dancing was, when it was over, my face hurt more than anything. That's what laughing until you can't see straight does to you.

After we could dance no more, we headed over to a frozen yoghurt place with Hello Kitty all over their merchandise. My favorite was the little pink spoon. I almost kept it. What Hello Kitty has to do with froyo is beyond me, but then again, I also have no idea what Snoopy has to do with life insurance. I'm just not going to question commercial marketing decisions.

I filled my bowl with a mixture of Dutch Chocolate and Peanut Butter Cookie flavors. I considered topping it with peanut butter cups, but that just seemed like overkill. I went for chunks of Heath bar instead. It was marvelous!

Once we had our yoghurt, we sat outside together until well after midnight, enjoying fine company and what one guy described as a "balmy evening".

I spent what was left of the night with Laura. She is housesitting a small zoological garden. I have never seen such a large collection of exotic birds and rodentia in a domestic dwelling. And I didn't even get to see the lizard room. Naturally, most of them have more health problems than you can shake a vet bill at. Laura calls it "the special needs house".

I got quite the reception. The deaf dog, Scruffy, wouldn't stop barking at me unless one of us was touching him. While I was petting the chinchilla, she tried to gnaw on my thumbnail. And the cat. Oh my goodness, this cat. Imagine, if you will, a little smokie with broken toothpicks stuck in for legs and a tail. At this scale, the head is about the size of an M&M, but of course, more spherical. As if these odd proportions weren't enough, Sushi's face is the pièce de résistance. Her nose and mouth are minuscule, even for a cat, which only serves to make her eyes seem that much more enormous. Even without this facial imbalance, in relation to her skull, she makes ostrich eyes look reasonably sized. It's like someone took the classic image of an alien and translated it onto a cat. Naturally, she spent the entire night rubbing her face against mine. She couldn't have contented herself with rubbing against my leg or something. No, she had to give me Eskimo kisses or whatever it was she was going for. At one point she was even laying across my neck. Do you know what it's like to be woken up every half hour and find yourself staring into the most massive eyes known to felinity? It's downright unnerving. That's probably why I found it so hilarious.

I was just in a mood to laugh yesterday.

And on that note, have some Mary Poppins.



Listening to: "I Love To Laugh"
Reading: Mistborn by Brandon Sanderson

Surrealism.

Yesterday, they used blueberry bagels for the Sacrament. It was quite strange.

Listening to: Notting Hill
Reading: Mistborn by Brandon Sanderson

Repose.

It has been a quiet few days.

On Thursday, I went over to Bonster's. We worked on an eye-searingly holographic Star Wars puzzle, played cards, ate bean and bacon soup, and watched Persuasion (2007). The latter was hysterical. Some parts were just so awkward that I couldn't help laughing until I couldn't breathe. Most awkward kiss ever? I think so. It was so awkward that I'm justifying redundancy in my word choice.

Yesterday and today have been distinctly uneventful. I did get to spend some quality time with my dad. We went out to brunch at Village Inn yesterday, and this morning he made scrambled eggs with leftover jalapeño rings from Del Taco. Yes, most of our quality time is spent over food.

The past two days haven't been entirely unproductive, though my grungy bathroom would like you to think otherwise. I've been working sporadically on a commission for Laura. The parameters were simply something bright and colorful, so she's getting an amalgam of desserts, flowers, and childhood relics. Progress shots here.

I generally try to end my posts with something thoughtful, but all I have today is the unshakable feeling that the greatest thing about an empty bag of Swedish Fish is that it still smells like Swedish Fish.

Listening to: "Glitter In The Air" by P!nk
Reading: Mistborn by Brandon Sanderson

Plastic bacchanalia.

I realized this morning, as I was laying in the shower, talking to myself in Spanish, that I really needed to get out of the house.

That's the only reason that I found the motivation to drive out to Hobby Lobby and buy new inking pens. Of course, it helped that Bonster agreed to go with me. Have you ever noticed how many fake grapes they have scattered around Hobby Lobby? Not that fake grapes aren't the coolest fake plant ever, but I felt like I was in some sort of ancient Roman agricultural festival.

Beyond that, how is it that Bonster always knows just what to say to drag me out of a funk?

Listening to: "Me Voy" by Julieta Venegas
Reading: Mistborn by Brandon Sanderson

Sun-splashed.

Egad. I spend the entire summer doing nothing, posting erratically, then come home and get slammed with more exciting things than I know what to do with. That's not to say that my summer wasn't exciting. Au contraire. Indeed, some memories of this summer will be fondly treasured, and not even Swedish Fish will temper their poignancy.

No, the problem is that five weeks of pent up excitement got condensed into four days. The science of it all is mind-boggling. I should've anticipated an exhausting weekend when I woke up with Shakira's "Suerte" stuck in my head.

On Thursday evening, my beautiful Laura arrived for a night of gossip, giggling, and insomnia. The high point of the night was when we were both chatting through my Facebook account, confusing our friends and coming across like a character with a split personality disorder.

Friday morning, Laura's boyfriend picked us up, and we went to meet some friends to see Cowboys & Aliens. I thoroughly enjoyed it. Afterward, we all went to a little pizzeria for lunch, where they had a yellow brick road painted on the floor to guide you through the back into the dining area. Their calzones were worthy of Olympus.

Friday night, the Knights of Ubiquity, as my friends have christened themselves (I missed that meeting), met at Sh.'s house. Ostensibly, we were there as chaperones for her sister's sixteenth birthday party. In reality? We threw our own, better party right under their noses. We were dancing like fools to N*SYNC and Taio Cruz and singing our hearts out to "Dancing Queen". Sure, the high schoolers had some sort of show off-y diving contest, but mostly it seemed like they just sat around being lame and requesting Justin Bieber songs. Drew stalwartly refused to play any, bless him. That's right. Not only were we chaperones, but our numbers supplied both the DJ and the photographer. Psh! Listen to me talking like I actually did anything.

Even if the young 'uns' festivites did come across as weak sauce, Sh.'s family sure knows how to throw a party. There was a pool; a popcorn machine; a snow cone maker; two separate blowup slides, one of which was a water slide; and a dunk tank. Ya heard me. A dunk tank.

At one point, I walked around by the water slide to escape the speakers for a while (Ch! me and my sensitive ears), and my friends somehow convinced me to go down it. So I did. Fully clothed. Several dozen times. My thighs are still complaining about the climb up to the top. You'd think I'd forced them up that spiral staircase in the Parisian catacombs again.

One of my favorite parts of the evening was when Drew made me dance with him. Okay, he didn't have to try that hard to convince me, but I got the feeling he wasn't going to take no for an answer. Maybe it was because he said, "The next song, I'm dancing with you," instead of phrasing it like a question. And so it was that I swing danced (swung danced?) to Michael Bublé's "Save The Last Dance For Me". Mostly I tried to keep up and not die while he threw me around the dance floor. I had a blast, though! He dipped me at least three times and spun me around so much that I was dizzy when it was over. I could grow to like this swing dancing business.

After the teenagers started wrapping up their party, we all went down to the basement, dimmed the lights, and blasted Beethoven. This is what happens when you hang out with music majors. While most people were in a string quartet-induced state of semi-consciousness, I had my first experience with Angry Birds on someone's iPad. Eventually someone started a massage train. I was the caboose, but I didn't mind. Just being around everyone was enough to make me feel like I didn't have a care in the world.

Saturday morning was blissfully lazy. In the evening, Bonster came over bearing a Walmart bag full of candy. That girl is a wonder. She's like my drug mule. Anytime I need some Swedish Fish, there she is with a pound of the little darlings in hand. As a point of interest, the first three ingredients listed on the packaging are sugar, invert sugar, and corn syrup. No wonder they're such a great emotional cure-all.

Saturday happened to be my dad's girlfriend's birthday, so we all went to Joe's Crab Shack (Bonster tagged along). I love crab! I had my first out-of-the-shell crab meat on Saturday. Some people may think it's a pain in the butt, but I found it to be rewardingly challenging. I ate way too much food that night. I shouldn't have packed in dessert, but the fudgey-ness of the chocolate cake made my tastebuds swoon with delight.

Later on, Bonster and I walked home from my dad's girlfriend's house (she has to have a shorter title!) in a light spattering of rain. Uncharacteristically, we chatted about boys. Characteristically, the conversation evolved into a philosophical discussion on the nature of human relationships.

On Sunday morning, I walked into a shower of hugs at church. It's like that every week, but after being gone it just completed the sense of rightness I'd been feeling all weekend. Every friend I've seen since I've been back, every hug and hi-there, has hit me like a solar flare. I feel like the sun has been shining from inside my heart. Every bit of my soul is aglow. It's the same way I felt when I first applied to ASU. I may miss Missouri dearly, but every bit of me is singing that this is where I need to be right now.

Around 4 PM on Sunday, I met with my little visiting teaching circle, and they got a lightning-fast rundown of my summer while we stuffed ourselves with tortellini and cheesecake. It had to be speedy because I had to get to family dinner by 5. I couldn't very well skip because there were so many family birthdays this weekend. This is what happens when your aunt and uncle are twins.

While I was at family dinner, a monsoon hit. It was gorgeous! It might not be a Missouri thunderstorm, but there's something intoxicating about the scent of the desert when it's wet.

Speaking of gorgeous, Pandora presented me with this little gem today:



Le happy sigh. <3

Listening to: "Limón Y Sal" by Julieta Venegas
Reading: Mistborn by Brandon Sanderson