Double the Fun

Two in one day! That HAS to be a Loser Record. I'm giving it to myself.

So I have a few observations.

1. If my career as a musical writer doesn't work out, I could become a Hallmark card writer. My friend and I were discussing this yesterday. There are just so many cards that nobody's thought of, but that people need. Here are some ideas:

Card 1: On the front, this guy sitting on a park bench, all by himself, looking really dejected. It says "Sometimes, you have to sit by yourself for a little while..."

Then on the inside, there's written, "... or forever. You never know."

This, my friends, is the perfect break-up card. It's optimistic, with the first part, but it's also got the whole honest despair part at the end. I'd buy that card.

Card 2: On the front, a kid with a test with an "F" written at the top. For effect, you might even have a tear falling on the paper so that it makes it look like he's very upset. You can write, "So you failed..."

And on the inside, you can have "again."
Or, you can write, "Bound to happen."
Or "Happens to the best of them. Just not to me."
Or how about "Sucks to be you."
"Someone's got to pick up the trash."

Possibilities. Endless.

1.5. This goes back to the idea that I wanted to make a line of stickers for failures. You know those stickers that teachers put on kids' papers when they do great? Like "excellent!!" "Way to go!" "AWESOME!" Yeah, those. Well, I always thought it was too bad if you weren't so bright, you never got a sticker. So here are some you can have:
"Better luck next time."
"Give up now."
"Did you study?"
"Hope you didn't study."
"Tell me you didn't study."
"Go back to 10th grade"
"Truckers deserve Respect Too"
"Can you read?"
"This is embarrassing."
"Awful!"
"FFFFFFFFFailure!"

When I told people my idea, they were appalled, and this made me sad. Nobody has a sense of humor anymore.

2. Another thing is that I've been noticing that this girl on my floor has been playing the Tom Petty song "Won't Back Down" or whatever the name is, all the time. Constantly. Like, over and over again. I've peeked in a few times to see if she was staring down her computer wearing all leather and carrying a firearm, but she wasn't. I've also tried to make sure she isn't pacing back and forth or always scowling or acting like a sociopath. No evidence yet, but it does sort of sit wrong with me that someone keeps listening to that song... I mean the lyrics go, "In a world that keeps on pushing me around no I won't back down"... scary, no? And the thing is, that since I've been hearing this song NONSTOP, I've started to uhh, sing it myself. Those same lyrics. Over and over again. Hum it. Sing it. Chant it. I think I've become the freak I'm afraid of. This is very scary stuff.

3. I should mention something about the Red Sox. I love them. I love the postseason. I love the whole freakin thing. And you know who I really love? Bill Simmons. The Sports Guy. Has to be my favorite sportswriter ever. Has to. Anyhow, he captures exactly - EXACTLY - what I am feeling and thinking. I can't even describe it coherently. It's like I read his stuff and get in this state where I can only nod repeatedly and say things like "yes, that's so right, you are so right, that is so true, I know exactly what you're thining" only I'm talking to a computer screen and nobody else is around. Or sometimes people walk into the office and look at me strangely, but whatever.

In anticipation of the postseason, and in my efforts to put in a good showing of procrastination yesterday, I went through his archives from last year's postseason. And, once again... he got it! He nailed it. Every emotion, right there. After Game 5 of the ALDS, he had it right. It was like being completely drained. After some of those playoff games, and especially the Derek Lowe nailbiter ninth inning in Oakland, I felt so tired and just so drained of any energy. I felt like I had just been playing. It's so weird. I thought I was alone in that, but no. Simmonnnns! Love him. And then he talked about how it's all stomach churning, heart pounding, can't breathe, can't live through it, but you have to. You HAVE to. And the thing is, even writing this, I can't get it through. And he can. That's talent. It's incredible. Today, he wrote about the posteason, "Everything has changed. Nothing has changed. I don't want to go through this again. I can't live without it. I'm not sure I can handle it. I couldn't imagine it any other way." Brillllliance.

Sadly, the first thing I thought was "That is so my away message for the postseason."

Which reminded me that I am an online loser. That is so sad, when you are in the midst of appreciating brilliance and you're reminded of your relative loser state. It was a little depressing, but then I sidetracked myself with memories of Derek Lowe actually dominating, Nixon's homer, Ortiz's double in the eighth back in Game 4 of the ALDS in Fenway Park, when the Sox were down but still in it. And I also thought about Bill Mueller's homerun on July 24, and I thought about when the Sox went back to New York against Pettitte and won Game 6, and then it was inevitable - like a train that's unstoppable - I had to think about Game 7, when I was sooooo sure! SO SURE - that the Sox had it. I can't describe the moment. It was like, 5-2, 8th inning... holy shit, we are beating the Yankees. We got Roger out of the game. My nerves. are shot. But the Red Sox. are beating. the Yankees. Game 7. New York. Against Clemens. The World Series. Holy shit. We're gonna be in the World Series.

And then the heartbreak.

And the thing is, it still hurts so bad to think about it that I am dreading feeling heartbreak again, but I can't wait for the games. It's like Simmons wrote - only Sox fans will understand the craziness and illogical feelings behind these thoughts. I can only say that for two weeks, I breathed Red Sox baseball. That's all I thought about. I got up, looking forward to the night's game. I wore the same Red Sox socks for days. Don't even mention the hygeine of that; superstition trumps everything. I wore a Sox shirt every day and was greeted on the street with "Yeah Sox!" everywhere I went. And everyone was into it. It was the most cohesive spirit I've ever seen, anywhere, period. It was amazing.

After the loss, it took me a few days to be back into the Sox. Some of my friends were like, "I hate them, I'm never liking them again, I can't do this." And I have to admit, the thought went through my head. For like a millisecond. And then I realized: nobody chooses to be a Sox fan. It's not like with the Yankees, where people make decisions to love or hate them. With the Sox, you've either got the love in your heart or you don't. You either get drawn in, or you don't. It's like the way with walking up and into Fenway Park: either you get the chills, or you don't. And if you're one of the lucky ones, you do. And if you're really lucky, that feeling stays with you forever. That's how it happens with the Red Sox. It's pure, untainted, overwhelming love. You just have to believe in that. It's what keeps everyone coming back, season after season, heartbreak after heartbreak. And that's why this season, this fall, I'm excited again to the point that I can't even talk about it without getting excited, without getting nervous and anxious and shaky. It's all of those crazy emotions mixed into one big ball of stuff, unexplainable, but amazing.

It's the type of thing I wish everyone could experience.

4. It's for reasons above that I really try to only go out with guys who are Sox fans. I want to be able to talk about stuff like that and have them know what I mean without having to explain it and sound like a loser.

5. Something strange that I think happens only to me: I get nervous when I have to turn on lights, open windows, or do anything like turn up the heat/down the AC in rooms that I don't know. I don't know why. I have no good reason why I get nervous, but I do. Sometimes a professor will ask someone to open a window, and I am like... uh oh, am I the closest person to the window? Crap! What am I going to do? I just think I'm going to break the whole thing and a piece is going to fly off and hit the professor in the head and he's going to die and everyone's going to point at me and say, "wow, you can't even open a window." Okay, so maybe only the last part, but that's just as embarrassing if you ask me.

6. Should I ever become a chauffeur, I'm going to stop and pick up random people who look like they could use a lift.

7. I feel like I have to make it until 10. I have no idea why, and why someone chose 10 as a number that is good and round for lists, but somebody did, and now everyone follows it. What if it was eleven? What if everything happened in elevens? The 11 Best Movies. The Top 11 Music Videos" or something like that. That would cause quite a stir. Now I feel like I have to get to 11 just to prove my point.

Forget it, seven is enough.

Awwwww man. I shoulda made it to eight.

Classic.

Yes, these things just come to me

I was sitting in the GSU today reading the newspaper when it occurred to me that it was a perfect moment for a musical number.

In musicals, nobody questions anything when people are sitting around talking and suddenly the lead actors end their sentences in song, get up and start dancing around while the rest of the place stops what they're doing to watch, sing, and join in.

Of course, that doesn't happen in reality.

But I was thinking... what if it did? What if musical numbers actually happened in the GSU? In the dorms? In life?

Like for instance, me recounting my studying madness to my friend in the GSU. I think that would have been a good moment for everyone else in the GSU to stop eating, look up, and then start talking - silently, of course so that the main vocals could be heard - about their own study habits. I picture somebody pointing to a book and then making a sign like he has a major headache from all of it. I even thought of the song, sung to the tune of "Summer Lovin'" in Grease:

Last night after midnight had passed
I was afraid Rossell'd kick my ass
I'd studied so long
To avoid answering wrong
Then I went into the test, hoped for the best
Studying... don't mean a thing
Unless you pass the class

(dadadaa dadadaa)

Tell me more Tell me more
Did you answer okay?
Tell me more Tell me more
Did this earn you an A?

(Shooda bop bop Shooda bop bop Shooda bop bop yeahhh)

The whole place would get into it. People would be dancing down the center aisle, with the trays bopping up and down. Those little Chinese people who take your trays away could come around and do a tap dance number. Allison, the lady who repeats your order at the register, could do a running split down the center aisle, like it was a Slip n Slide. This is such a good idea. I'm starting to think that my talents as a song writer might become overshadowed my choreographing abilities. They just might.

Onto scene 2:
The second scenario I thought of is while waiting in line at Warren Towers for a burrito. (Sung to the tune of "Ten Minutes Ago," from "Cinderella.")

Ten minutes ago I got here
Saw the burrito line right from door
My head starting reeling
It gave me a feeling
My wait'd be 10 minutes or more
Ten minutes ago I stood here
Until it was time to go
To get my burrito
Oh man was it sweeto
The wait was so worth it I know!

The dance choreography in this one would have to be based on a line dance, because, after all, it's about being in line. So at first everyone would be real sad to be in line, and then all of a sudden, someone would start singing and then they'd get a can-can line going with Denise and J.J., the Burrito Mavens, at the ends of them. And then Bob, the Dining Hall manager, could come over and breakdance in the middle of it all.

Gennnnius!

You'd think my ideas would be met with some enthusiasm, but no. It got me thinking about what Rogers had to go through before he met Hammerstein. It could be what Hammerstein had to go through before he met Rogers. Either way, my guess is that Rogers' friends probably were a little more supportive, because otherwise, he would have crawled into a hole and died rather than penning any great musicals, like "Sound of Music." I can only think of "Sound of Music," but that one doesn't really count because it is based on a true story. The only thing is, I wonder whether the real Maria was also a singer. I wondered this to my mom on the phone once and she got really adamant that Maria had been a singer because they were, after all, the Vonn Trapp singers. So I'm not sure ol Rog and Ham get any credit. I wonder if anybody takes offense to me calling them Rog and Ham. Hold on, I have to do some research about Rogers and Hammerstein before I can talk about them again. I take this seriously.

Okay, so here's the deal. I went to the website for the Rodgers and Hammerstein Organization. Turns out, I'd been spelling the poor guy's name wrong the whole time. Anyhow, Rodgers and Hammerstein had careers before getting together which kinda tanked. Only not at all, they were very successful, but the story is better if I pretend they tanked. So anyhow they got together and made lots of musicals and then Hammy died and Rodg went on to make some more musicals that didn't do well at all. Again, a lie. They did fine. Then he died. So that's their story. Wouldn't it be better if they had sucked separately, been thrown out of show business, met up, been rejected like a zillion times and started their own small company that made plays based on comedy and music and then they owned everyone when they became really big? Like grassroots?

Well, it didn't happen that way.

But anyhow, the two had some success. And I'm just making a guess that somewhere, at some point, maybe while all the other kids were playing baseball and Rodg was writing parts for Julie Andrews, things weren't going quite so well and he had to stick to his gut feeling that this was all going to be worth it someday.

I gotta cling to something.

Lardy Situations

Let me begin this by saying I have absolutely nothing against larders. I don't mind extra poundage on anybody. There are people who really can't deal with fat people, and that just makes me sad to be honest. I love a good fat person. I really do.

Anyhow, there are, however, a couple of things that make me upset about Lard. You don't have to be lardy to do these things, but if you are, it just makes it even worse, and makes me even more sad and depressed about the state of lard.

Situation 1: The Vending Machine

We've all been there. You're starving, you've got another four hours of class before any hope of nutritional sustenence. It's either go with the vending machine snack or force yourself to do weird stomach muscle contractions to avoid having your stomach participate more in discussion than you have all semester. No matter how lardy you are, if you're hungry, your stomach's telling you. (Stomach is such an ugly word, but tummy is so dumb.)

Anyhow, so you're standing there, dollar in hand, facing the machine. You can hear that stupid "Why wait... grab a Snickers" theme song, with the football pregame meeting running through your head. And here's where the lardy situation really gets me.

Normal people will just punch the button, get their Snickers bar, and solve the issue.

Freaks will do the following:
1. Agonize in front of the machine, trying to look like they're really deciding between water and Diet Coke.
2. Covertly place their dollar in the vending machine. Comment/Mumble that "there's nothing healthy in these stupid machines... but I haven't eaten all day... gonna die... fainting nowwww.... haven't studies proven that fatty chocolate really boosts your metabolism...."
3. Punch the input for the king-size larder Snickers bar.
4. Look around guiltily, then lean down and get the Snickers bar, sucking in their stomach the entire time.
5. Go over to some random person and say, "Stupid machine. I punched in for the non-fat pretzels, you know? And look what they give me! Now what am I supposed to do!"
6. Guzzzzzzle the Snickers.

Drives me nuts.

Situation #2: The Fatty Explainer

This is kind of along the same lines. But it takes place usually in a restaurant. You're with someone who really wants to just get the fried chicken platter. Or the chocolate cake for dessert. Or, heck, both. The situation also comes up with you're with someone who's eating their meal with such conviction and fervor that you feel compelled to warn them that the plate's not edible.

Here's what the person says:
"Ugh... I am so hungry. I worked out today for like fifteen hours, on the highest intensity, doing all six machines at once. I swear, I've worked out every day this week. Like a madwoman, I'm telling you it's nuts. I haven't eaten anything all day except one Cheerio with extra skim milk. And I've walked everywhere. We walked from the car to here, I didn't even have you drop me off. I mean, I figure I can eat the fried chicken, right? I've only done this, what, once every five years. Yeah, so I guess I'll get that chocolate cake too. I mean, are you going to be bad too? Please? Don't get that salad. You don't want a salad. No... come on, get those ribs. You deserve it."

Again, why not just order the chicken, eat it, and shut up? I hate hate hate when I go out with some girls and they justify their dinner order by telling me exactly what they've eaten and exactly how many calories they've burned so they can stuff down some buffalo wings. Eat them. Without telling me that you'll throw them up later.

Situation #3: I'm So Fat Syndrome

A disclaimer: this has absolutely nothing to do with girls saying they're fat. I'm not touching that subject. Ever.

But I will say this: don't say you're fat while you're eating it.

I cannot deal with the people who say to me, "God, I am so fat," while they're double-fisting the doughnuts. I love it. Because the truth is, they want you to say, "Nooooo... you're so skinny, eat another two doughnuts... you can afford it."

Riiiight. The next time somebody says that to me while eating a five-scoop ice cream sundae, I'm gonna tell it like it is. So help me.

Situation #4: Skinny Assholitis

This happens when you have a skinny person with a fat person. The skinny person clearly understands she's skinnier than the fat person; the fat person clearly gets that she's fatter than skinny bones, just like the rest of the world.

Skinny girl says, "I'm so fat."

That girl should die.

Or gain like a gazillion pounds by her thirties so that her ass needs its own two legs to get by.

Situation #5: Add some Lard to that, Please/Hold the lard

Here's what gets me. I'll go out and get a turkey sandwich, and some loser gets the salad bar, and claims that she's wicked healthy. So she'll go up to the salad bar, and she'll come back with her plate piled high with cheese, bacon bits, ranch dressing, and mounds of potato and pasta salads. Riiiiight.

Or the person who asks for butter on the side with their breakfast of pancakes, sausage, corned beef hash or whatever that crap is, and toast. Could I get that toast unbuttered? Thanks, can't deal with all that added fat.

People kill me.

BitterSWEET

Someone told me today that I was bitter in this online recording thing. That really stuck with me, all through my class this afternoon and into my day at work. Right now I'm supposed to be doing some sort of menial clerical work, but I'm too obsessed with proving that I'm not bitter to even begin to stuff envelopes and pretend to care about international student data forms.

So, instead, I'm writing a positive entry. The idea came to me in class today, so instead of taking notes, I wrote down a list of things that I really like in life. The list began as simple things I really enjoy that I think other people might like, and then, it became a list of people I really enjoy. I decided that this will be the BitterSWEET awards. If I could, I'd give every single thing/person/story on this list an award for its overall goodness and enjoyability.

In no particular order:

1. Mudflats on Cape Cod

When I was a kid, my family would go to the Cape every year. We'd go to the beach every day because my father loves the beach. My favorite thing to do would be to collect rocks. I would collect rocks that were cool shapes or colors. Sometimes though, the rocks would only be cool because they were wet with sea water. When they dried, they'd be plain gray. If this were not such an upbeat entry, I'd go into more detail about the disappointment associated with the false hope of amazing geological discoveries. Alas.

(By the way, I really hate using the word "alas" and even more when people write "alas, I digress." But I couldn't help it here.)

But anyway, the best finds were always on the mudflats. Mudflats are the areas of lowtide around the bay on the Cape. When we'd be on vacation, I'd ask my dad about whether it was a good day for mudflats. He'd look it up in the paper and tell me whether we could go walk on the flats. And, if it was a good day for mudflats, I'd be excited the whole day. Really. It's kind of weird, when I think about it. But it was the best time of day. Easily my favorite Cape Cod memory. My sister and brother would sleep on the way home from the beach, and so would my mom, so my dad and I would walk the flats. We'd walk so far sometimes, we'd see tiny sailboats just washed up on the mud. Even the feeling of the cool mud under my feet was fun. I'd find the best shells and rocks. Only sometimes I'd get grossed out at the crabs and crap around. That's the only bitter part of this BitterSWEET award.

2. Crunching leaves and the smell of autumn burning

To me, there is no better sound than that of leaves crunching. I'm obsessed with it. In fact, on Sunday, my dad and brother came up to see me. We were out in Revere and I thought I saw a crunchy leaf, so I actually turned around and went back to step on it.

It wasn't a leaf.

My brother said it was a dead bird, but I think he was just being nasty. Anyhow, it didn't crunch and I didn't stick around to find out. I just rubbed my flip flop on every piece of clean sidewalk I could find. (A flip flop! Could it get worse? I mean, at least let me step on it with a full shoe like a sneaker! Gross. My foot actually probably touched it. Okay enough, this is gross. Back to positivity.)

So anyhow, when they are actually leaves and they are actually dried up, I love love love crunching them. My sister and I used to fight each other as to who could crunch the leaf if we saw it.

The only thing I just thought of is, that would have been the first crunchy leaf of the season. I was thinking that as I was about to crunch it. Is that a bad sign? I bet it is.

Crap. :-/

...Positivity. :-D

I also love the smell of autumn. Have you ever smelled burning? God it smells so good. This might make me seem like a freak; if so, fine, but one of my most favorite smells is definitely fire, like in a fireplace. If you take a walk at night, you can smell it. It smells like autumn to me. Sometimes you'll go out during the day and you can almost smell the cold air, like this past Sunday. I really love that.

3. Fenway Park Magic

I've worked there for the past three months, and it still gives me the chills to walk up the alley and into the actual park area. Amazing. Seeing the huge lights on the field, against the night sky - there's nothing like it. I'm not sure there's a more beautiful sight in Boston. The way the players are out there, it's like magic. It always makes me think of "Field of Dreams" and players coming right out from the cornhusks. Seriously. They don't even seem real out there; they just seem like magic. I can't explain it. It's either a feeling you get or you don't. I just have to say that I'm so glad I get it.

4. People who smell amazing

I love when I'm walking down the street and suddenly someone will walk by and you'll smell their shampoo or soap or cologne or whatever and you think, "Man that smells so good!" I love it.

I realized I really love when people smell amazing one night on the Cape. Lots of Cape Cod references today. (By the way, I also enjoy mini golfing. I've probably said this before, but I CHALLENGE anyone to a mini golf game. I will win.) So anyhow, I'm in this shell store. And you know how some shell stores smell funky? Well maybe you don't, but let me just tell you, they do. They have this weird sea smell. So I'm in the store, thinking, wow, this place smells, and then all of a sudden, this guy walks by who smelled absolutely amazing. I think it was the Polo Sport smell or something. I had a friend in high school who wore the scent and I thought it smelled amazing. I love that, when it randomly happens that someone smells really good.

5. Denise

Denise is the Warren Towers burrito goddess. I've bestowed the title upon Denise because for the past two years, Denise has made the burritos at Warren, and she has done an A+ job. People get in line and bark their order, and she does whatever they ask and she does it efficiently. And she doesn't gop on the tomatoes in one place so you get a huge bite of tomato, and when I see her, she always smiles and asks how I'm doing and we have a nice little conversation that really brightens the whole burrito experience.

6. Beer Man @ the PawSox

This past Labor Day, I went to the PawSox with my friends Stef and Kate, and then Stef's two friends. During the game, Stef and Kate decided to each get a beer. Then, one of Stef's friends asked if Stef could get her one, too. So I said I'd take a walk with Stef and Kate and I thought I might get a beer myself. So we get to the stand, and I say outloud, "Yeah you know, I'm not gonna get one after all." So Stef and Kate each show their ID and then they ask for three beers. Yeah, that looks sketch. So the beer guy gives Stef and Kate the two beers and then shoves one in my direction and says, "Oh, come on, take it, I know it's for you." So I told him, "No, really, I'm 21, trust me, I just don't want the beer." But he didn't really believe me.

We went back to our seats and gave the girl her beer. Then I had a sip of Kate's and decided you know, I really WOULD like a beer. So I decided to go back to the beer guy stand just so he could know I wasn't a liar. And I did. And here's what he did, and here's why he makes the list: he said, "Ha, just for doubting you, the beer's on me."

Then he even agreed to take a picture with me and for the picture he let me come behind the beer stand.

Stand up guy.

7. The GAP

No list of sweet things in my life can not include the Gap. Long and Leans, baby, Long and Leans.

8. Infomercials

Is there a better way to waste time? I doubt it. I have a secret: I love them. I really do. I loved the Foreman infomercial. Maybe it was saying the name - Lean Mean Fat Reducing Grilling Machine - that got me into it. (Seriously, is there a better name for a product? I think not.) But anyhow, I begged my mom for a Foreman machine for my birthday. I was, like, 10. Eight years later, on my way to college, my mom bought me a Lean Mean Fat Reducing Grilling Machine. I was so excited. You know how many times I've used it? None. But still, I can say, "Oh yeah, I have a Lean Mean Fat Reducing Grilling Machine," and that might be the best part.

Did you ever watch infomercials though with those fake commercials in between? With those people saying that the product works amazing for them? Love those. The best though might be when they have people doing things all wrong because they don't have the product. I wish they'd just flash "FAILURE!" across the screen. That would be a good touch.

Also, there's always the same lady on TV being sold everything. She's a real hoot. She's always amazed at how everything works. She's like, "Really?! No way! You cannot do that! No!" And then whoever is selling the infomercial must be thinking, "YOU ARE SO STUPID OF COURSE THIS WORKS OTHERWISE I WOULDN'T BE HERE." But he just smiles and goes, "Oh yes, Stupid, it DOES work!" Remember the shrinkwrap saver stuff? You could save anything! They could store clothes, food, money, silveware... everything. I was really impressed. A vacuum saver I think. The only thing is, they kept talking about making beef jerky and that really turned me off.

Anyhow, overall, infomercials are sweeeet.

9. Vocabulary Pickups

I love when you pick up a new word or phrase or you hear someone say something incredibly genius. Love it. My friend Vicky has all these great phrases. She's got a real talent for using them too. I'm telling you, delivery is half the battle. She's always saying to me, "What up, homegirl?" which is funny in itself if you ask me. But then we were on call together a couple Saturdays ago and she says, "If anybody acts up, we're just callin the popo." I almost died.

Some other good ones:
a. GTFO: Get the Fuck Out. Example: You go to a party, you see it's wicked lame (oh my god, one time, my friend convinced me to come out to her apartment in freakin Brighton at 11 on a Thursday night. Winter. So I go all the way out there. She's like, "Yeah there are about twenty guys here and two girls, so come out." So yeah, I did. I get there. Someone hands me a cup of water. Then, I look around and see two guys surrounded by like fifteen girls. One of the guys was gay. It sucked.). Now, had I been with a friend at this party (if you can even call it that), I would have leaned over and said, "GTFO? Let's GTFO." And then she'd be like, "Yup. GTFO." The key is you have to sound very conspiratory and definitive about it. Great phrase. Once, my friend Merry said to me, "Let's GTFO," in Barnes and Noble. We left, and then once outside, this woman tapped me on the shoulder and asked, "GTFO... Get the Fuck out?" Ahh, spreading the vocabulary goodness. That situation totally owned.

b. Owns/Ownership: from above. This is an extremely complex term and it takes time to use it effectively. It is when you are the better in the situation. For instance, Merry once called the BU directory and, thinking she had reached the BU Hillel, asked for the time of services. She was owned. She says she was owned by God, but that's debatable. If you win a point of debate, you own the other person. Also, the worst state to be in is the constant state of being eligible for being owned. This has happened to me. I once typed a message to someone about someone else, and the someone else was in the room. She would own me, should I ever see her on the street. De facto ownership. A very elusive situation, but one of the worst, nonetheless.

c. The WORST! (accent on WORST!) you have to just say it in this amazingly loud obnoxious tone. The WORST! If something is absolutely heinous, it's the WORST! Say it like a little kid eating brussel sprouts or something, and you've got it. As in: "That class on the medieval practices of moths was the WORST!" And no, I have no clue where the idea for a medieval practices of moths class came from.

There are many more, but those are the three examples I like best. I really like adopting what other people say. Although I don't know that I'll say "popo" any time soon.

I seriously continue to laugh just thinking about that.

10. Random Acts of Laughter

This is the best. It applies to different situations. One is when you'll think of a funny memory and start laughing to yourself. You can't help it. Nothing around you is funny, you're not laughing at anyone in the room, but you can't stop laughing. People start to look at you funny and ask you what you're laughing at. If they're freaks, they start getting paranoid that you're laughing at them. That just adds to the funniness of the situation.

Maybe that only happens to me, but I hope not.

The other random acts of laughter occur when someone does something funny and doesn't realize that either a. they did it, or b. that you're laughing at/with them. Sometimes though, something completely hysterical happens that is so totally random that it doesn't matter whether the person knows it happened or that you're laughing. I once had dinner with my friend Andy in the Warren Towers dining hall and this kid dumped an entire tray of food all over himself. He even had to start taking off his pants and just wear his Navy shorts because he was wearing khaki pants and had spilled cranberry juice all over the place. Oh my god, funniest moment of junior year. In fact, I'm laughing/half crying/shoulders shaking while I'm writing this, causing the earlier definition of RAL to occur. My boss thinks I'm a freak. Although she might just be thinking, "What is she typing over there that has to do with stuffing envelopes??"

Anyhow, that one incident was great. The whole tray... knocked entirely over. Ma, that was classic. He knew people were laughing though. At first it looked like he had just spilled some milk or something, but then you saw the entire tray get knocked over on top of him and oh my god I have to stop because I'm shaking too much from laughing. People should get awards for those kind of spills, and so this one makes it to the list.



So that's the list of good things. There are more, of course. And the important thing to take from this entry is to remember that I'm not really a bitter person. Generally, I love people. Especially fat little kids, because I feel bad for them and want them to know they're great. I once saw this kid at Government Center, this kid Danny (that's what his mom called him) and he was being so good and waiting for the bus and holding his mom's packages and he was a chubby little checker. I really wanted to adopt him. But his mom looked like a nice lady.

And stories like that are why I just stick to talking about morons. The good folks... they're out of my league.

Life for Dummies

You know those books, those Guides to Whatever for Dummies/Idiots? Well I think they just need to make a very long book entitled "Life for Dummies." That should be a bestseller, but with the arrogance in this country, it would never hit the shelves. Sad. But here are some ideas for that book anyhow.

Super-short Skirt + Backpack x Cellulite = Bad ass, not Bada$s: It's a very simple law of science/gravity/common sense that a backpack will hike up whatever you are wearing on the bottom. The word "bottom" is specific, in this story.

I mean come on, Comm Ave is known as a wind tunnel. Did this girl not feel a mighty breeze?

This brings me to an entire discussion of clothes. Apparently, there's a shortage of fabric in the world, because clothing companies have decided to stop completing women's apparel. My personal favorite item is the new sweater. I mean, when it's zero degrees out and wind is making your eyes water and your skin turns bright red after being outside for thirty seconds, well, I don't know about you, but I'm just dying to put on that sweater from Abercrombie and Fitch that has holes all over the place and is half see-through and cuts off at the midriff. Oh yeah, that will keep me reallly warm.

And what kills me is, people BUY into this. They buy those stupid sweaters that you have to wear a tank top under, because otherwise, you'd be wearing a bunch of sewn-together holes. Actually, you know what, most of the people buying those shirts don't wear anything under them anyway!

I was working a Sox game a few months ago, and it was really cold out one night. It had been cold all day. And this girl comes over to me. She's massacred a perfectly good Red Sox shirt by cutting off the sleeves, cutting off the bottom half, slicing the neck, and fringing the whole thing, then twisting it up in a knot so her entire stomach was visible to all. She was also wearing one of the supershort skirts, where it's cool to have the inside pockets peeking out from the hemline of your skirt. Anyhow, this girl asks me if she can go to her car to get a sweatshirt because she's freezing out there. I suggested she untie the knot in her shirt, but she didn't like that idea. Yeah, why cover up the exposed skin? I'm sure THAT's not the cause of her being cold. So I say okay, fine, whatever, go get your sweatshirt. She comes back five minutes later, and I kid you not, with a see-through mesh "sweatshirt". There was no sweat material anywhere. It was a meshshirt. It wasn't even a shirt! It was like she had taken a net and put it over her head. I asked her if that was really going to make her any warmer. She nodded. "Oh yes," she said, "because the holes trap the cold."

I kid you not.

The thing is, I don't know who to blame. Is it the moron wearing the clothes or the jerks selling them?

I want to do an experiment. I want to become a rich lady, so I have this sick plan. And I mean sick in every sense of the word.

What I'm going to do is, I'm going to open a clothing store.

First, with the clothes, I'm going to take them out of the box, stomp on them several times and dump some ash on them for some authentic dirt and worn-in quality, then I'm going to shrink them and put outrageous price tags on them. I'm going to attach stickers around that look really cool telling people that it's the new thing to have "pre-dirty" and "pre-wrinkled" clothes.

I'm going to have scissors scattered around the store, so that when people come in, they can cut the skirts to as short as they want. They can also snip shirts and pants, add slits and holes, to just enhance the look.

In addition, for extra customer satisfaction, I'm going to have a place where I will iron-on any saying you want. There will be copies of literature and famous quotes from bigamists so that the customers can find their favorite insult. A list of stereotypes will be readily availble for clerks to put on the shirts.

And, I have a new plan for those "everyone loves" shirts. To make life simple, and let's face it, to make it more accurate, I'm going to make shirts that say "Everyone Loves a Girl" and "Everyone Loves a Boy" shirt. Because you know, I think they've about covered it. Here's how I look at it: Everyone Loves an Italian Girl + Everyone Loves an Irish Girl + Everyone Loves a Jewish Girl + Everyone Loves a Catholic Girl + Everyone Loves a German Girl = Everyone Loves a Girl* (In that equation Girl = Boy; they're interchangeable.)

People are taking this tshirt craze too seriously. My friend has one of those "Blondes Do It Better" shirts. So one day, I decided to wear it. I don't have blonde hair, which was the point, but soooo many people looked at me like I was a freak. And that's when I realized that there really are two types of people in this world: People who will think that is funny and People who need this guide to life.

Here's another thing I love. Going into Warren, you have to swipe your card. So one friend's card doesn't swipe. Friend 1: "Ahhhh! His card doesn't swipe!" Friend 2: "Oh no, what are we going to do?!" Friend 3: "We better stand right here in front of all of the other card swipers to figure out this problem rather than move to the side so others can get in. If my friend can't get in, NOBODY can!" Friend 4: Good idea. Wait, actually, let's block the escalator out of Warren too!"

Or, waiting for the elevator. Moron 1: "Hold the elevator! John's coming!" Moron 2: "Ok!" Moron 3: "Hey, what's your name? What floor are you on? Are you a freshman? Are you on an all girls floor? You want to hang out?" Moron 4: "Where's John coming from, anyhow?" Moron 1: "West Campus, but he'll be here in like fifteen minutes, but I told him I'd wait for him, and we're supposed to go the gym together then to lunch together then to dinner together then to the shower together, so I have to wait for him." Moron 2: "Oh, great! That sounds great. Can I come too? Wait, let me call Moron 5 and tell him we're going to be a little late, okay?" Moron 2 on the phone, shouting: "I might lose you! I'm getting in an elevator! I'm in Warren. What? What? Wait, I'm losing you... wait, wait... hello? HELLO? HELLO? HELLO? HELLO? Wait, are you still there? Moron 5, are you there? Moron 5? Mor? Shit, I guess I lost him. Oh wait, Wait.. Moron 5?"


Here is an unwritten commandment in life: Thou shalt not hold actual class on the first day of the semester.

It's really there, I swear.

Professors should, at the very most, hand out a syllabus and read it over. The class should take approximately twenty minutes - tops! - if you have to fill out one of those index cards.

There is nothing worse than having actual instruction on your first day. There are signs that instruction is coming. For instance, a professor gives out a handout. That's a sign right there that you're going to be in that room for the whole classtime. That's pretty much a boldprint, italic, underlined indicator that doom is approaching. If the professor places papers on a podium, that's another bad sign. Podiums, in general, are bad signs.

Aside from that commandment, the other unspoken rule is: Thou Shalt End Class On Time.

Class does not end at 12:51. It does not end at 12:50:30. It ends at 12:50. Or 12:49, or any time before then. If the clock reads 12:50, you best be shutting up. I cannot take it when a professor clears his throat at 12:50 and begins a comment. It's that act - the BEGINNING of a comment - that kills me. It means that we're there at least until 12:52. At least. Or when he'll call on another student at 12:49. He's clearly not getting the point. Although in that case, I want to kill the student as well. There's no comment so good that it can't wait until next class, and anybody who thinks that he should keep the entire class an extra ten seconds just to hear his comment is a pompous loser.

Also, some tips for Dining Hall Etiquette:

I know you're entitled to eat anything and everything after swiping in once for a meal, but I really have to say, I get pretty ticked when I see a guy in line for a sandwich, holding a tray with a burrito, slice of pizza, two burgers, plus an entree. I'm not even joking. Dude, you've had your food for the freakin week. Get out of the line!

Or, the people who are standing in line and make it impossible for you to walk across it with a tray. I love these people. They think you're trying to cut them in line. Right. Like I want a burrito on my way to the conveyor belt. That's a good deduction there, Sherlock.

And how about the people who leave the booths a mess? Maybe they think I like the ambience of eating next to half-empty (shut up, this is a pessimstic entry) glasses of orange juice mixed with soda mixed with milk that you concocted at your last meal. Realllly. Yu-um.

In general, there are some more guidelines to life, that do not have to do with Warren Towers or Boston University:
- Jimmy Buffett fans should be fined. All of them. Just because.
- Where it says "no smoking," it means "no smoking." The sign doesn't say "Three puffs tops," or "Smoke Until Someone Threatens You." People are morons.
- If you don't have $1.37 on you in cash, you don't need that gum that badly.
And:
- Never attempt to do a 1000 piece puzzle unless you know you're going to be sick for four or five days and you don't have the internet, cable, a phoneline, or electricity.

Obviously, there are tons of rules that I cannot think of at the moment. Maybe I'll add them later. I'm open to suggestions though. So by all means, if you have a good rule, send it along.

Paper and Pencils and Post-Its OH MY

So it's back to school. They used to have this Staples commercial, with this dad guy on a shopping cart dancing around the aisles with the song "It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year" playing in the background. I really got a kick out of that.

I have this issue with all of my school supplies. I love them.

Some people, like normal girls, get psyched about shoes and bags and clothes. I like a good bag, but it's nothing compared to the excitement level I experience when I enter a Staples or Office Max, right at the end of August, when all their aisles are fresh and brimming with packs of paper, five star notebooks, and highlighters. I used to love going to Office Max with my father on the weekends. Yeah, that's right. I'll claim that fact.

I have this obsession with notebooks. I can't write in wide-ruled books, only college ruled. And I hate when the lines are sort of blueish purple, rather than a straight sky blue. Drives me nuts. I've been known to open notebooks to check before I'll buy them. I also have this thing where I hate five star notebooks. I think they're pretentious.

I think this obsession started early on. In middle school, sixth grade to be exact, I'd go through binders like nobody's business. I bet Staples would have loved me. The thing was, I'd get all excited about the prospect of having this great new notebook to use, so I'd become obsessed with the idea that I needed a new one. I even lied to my mother and told her that the principal had made an announcement saying that we all needed new binders. Every two weeks. My mom was like, "Yeah right, you are a freak," but hey, if what I wanted was paper and not drugs, she was okay. The real humdinger was when I talked my dad into getting me the $15.95 five star binder that zipped up. When I exchanged - uhh, threw out - that one for the $2.99 Mead binder a month later, he wasn't too pleased.

There was also the graffiti issue. Everyone would write on their binders. Sometimes I'd think, no, I want to clean cover. Then I'd change my mind. Then, I'd have to get a new binder because I wouldn't want that stuff written anymore. It was a real conundrum. I have to say that I spent a lot of time debating whether to write my name in all caps versus script - more than once. Sick.

High school got a little easier because you didn't use a binder anymore; just notebooks. I moved on to Grad notebooks. I had forgotten about Five Star because they sucked. Seriously, I don't like FiveStar at all. They're expensive and snotty looking. Well, actually, the real reason I hate Five Star is because their lines are very purple. Barely blue. See if that gets my business.

So yeah I would get Grad notebooks at $3.29 a pop. Then move on to college, when I got real and just got the 79 cents Staples notebooks. That was when the obsession lifted and instead of actually buying all the supplies, I'll just smell them.

I'm not joking.

The highlight of my day a few weeks ago was going into Staples and buying a planner and folders with sports logos: Red Sox, Patriots, Bruins, and UConn Huskies. It's really sick.

I've also found that my obsession has spread to any paper goods. Cards, planners, address books, fancy notebooks. I really love those notebooks/journals in Barnes and Noble. I have a few blank ones, that I've never used, that I had to buy just because.

I feel like this should be classified as a disease of some sort. Paperphrenia. Or like Manic Paper Disoder. Something creative. In Latin.

Mustard (Partner of Ketchup)

I think I have a fear of pigeons. I really do. I don't like them. I think one might just fly into me someday. I have no idea why I think this, but I try to avoid them at all costs. It's like you're walking down the street, you see a couple congregating around some crumb, and they're sort of waddling around. If you startle them, they fly away, right? Well what if you startle them, they fly away, and they fly directly into your forehead? Do you think you could die from an injury like that? Honestly, I hope so. The embarrassment of having to say, "Yeah, a bird just flew into my forehead," is pretty bad.

And here's the real kicker: you didn't even do anything wrong! The BIRD should be embarrassed. But for obvious reasons, that's not going to happen. Although you know how all those animal loving freaks (umm I mean zoologists) think that animals really do communicate in their own language and stuff? Do you think that they also have body issues? Because I was at the Cape a couple weeks ago, and I saw a group of seagulls. One seagull was monstrous. I mean, the thing's BMI must have been off the charts. So I was wondering if that seagull was on a diet or felt like he shouldn't be racing everyone else to get that sandwich crust from the sand. He really wasn't even racing that hard, which is probably why he was so fat in the first place.

Speaking of fat, I saw this couple on the beach. This really hot guy was with this really chubby girl and they were married and he was totally in love with her. I am a horrible, horrible person because I spent a good part of the day trying to figure out either a. his physical flaw (saw none), b. whether they were just a closeknit brother-sister pair (no, wedding rings) or c. what was wrong with him (nothing!). This is why I have to write entries entitled, "Why I Am Going to Hell."

Also on the Cape, we played a couple of games of miniature golf. Let me just tell you that I am an exceptional miniature golfer. I'm not even joking. If you ever want to play a round, you should let me know. I am really, really good. I know this sounds very egotistical, and it is, but when you have miniature golf as the "sport" at which you most excel, I think it takes a very secure person to say that she's amazing at it.

To balance the gloating about mini golf, I can tell you that I am a terrible direction-giver. I was in charge of reading the directions and for various reasons, I got us lost twice. And the thing is, all it took was for me to say, "Drive under the highway," and we would have been fine. Sometimes, I wonder why my friends don't just punch me. I'd punch me.

It's September 1st, which means summer to me is officially over. It pretty much ended a few weeks ago when I returned for RA training, otherwise known as Hell. It wasn't as bad this year to be totally honest, but some of the programs, I really wanted to shoot myself in the shoulder or something. Not enough to kill myself, but enough to allow me to avoid any more of those programs for a long, long time. We went to this one program about International Students and homesickness. I was pretty disappointed, because the title was, "International Students and Homesickness," but apparently I forgot to read the part about the international students, so that's all we talked about, and I wasn't really into it because I had already spent my summer dealing with Ting-Ting and LuLu and FuckYous and I was pretty much fed up with the whole thing. I hate when my stupidity makes me angry.

Speaking of which, I'm pretty upset at myself for my Red Sox attitude. I really was down on them earlier in the summer. And now look. Really. I look like a moron. And I'm so mad because I hate fans like me who get down on the Sox before September 15. If you're still 10 games back then, you can start thinking the season's done. But not in July! What was wrong with me?! I almost feel guilty being happy about it now.

Note the "almost."

I was going to write more stuff about it being an exciting time for the Red Sox, but I really can't because I can't jinx them. This is what happens when my team starts winning. I become a superfreak. I'm not even joking. When they were in the playoffs last year, I wore the same shirt after they won. And I wore the same socks. I know, it's disgusting. I can't help it. I can't talk about the games. I can't say anything definite like, "Pedro's going to win." Even writing that, I had to FORCE myself to type those letters for fear that some game in October, Pedro... AHHH even writing October really got to me because if they don't make it then I'll be so upset and even writing "if they don't make it" just really made me nervous because well I can't say anything definite and do you now see why I am such a spaz about the Red Sox and their season?!?

The PawSox are doing okay.

That's about all I can say about Red Sox baseball without wanting to shoot myself.