And Yet Again

I am supposed to be writing a paper about this:

IE. Gender and early Christian Martyrdom.

Instead I am doing this...(Erotic Child Dance Party with slightly unwilling parties.)

I.E. Listening to my Tegan and Sara Station on Pandora. Eating mini Snickers. And contemplating emailing my Prof to explain to him how brilliant I am and how that's getting in the way of my paper actually being good.

2.5 days sans facebook! When do I get my first sobriety chip? Ooooh chips...

Kill the man. I don't know what the fuss is. I'm just looking for some California Justice

This morning I saw a man shove a plastic spoon into each one of his (two) socks. As I turned (innocently) to watch. His creepster friend leered at me.

My shoes always come untied when I walk. It's a problem.

I hate insurance companies. I refuse to go to the doctor even though I'm reasonably sure I have a massively large intestinal parasite growing within me because I hate insurance companies. I tell myself this is not a problem. Because babies are, in effect, stomach parasites. And people really like them.

This is the end for today. I hope you enjoyed. I know I did.

P.S. I now watch Californication. I hope this makes me a cooler human being.

P.P.S. 1.5 days sans facebook and counting! I'm trying to exercise a bit of self-control. Actually, that's a lie. I was getting too depressed every time I signed onto facebook and had no notifications. Sad. I know.

I think I'm getting Swine Flu.

So, I just ran into Matthew Broderick. On West Houston. While alone. At 11:30 pm. Carrying only a single roll of toilet paper. I had one of those, "Hey, you're Matthew Broderick" moments. And after passing him completely, admonished myself for not having yelled out, "Hey, you're Matthew Broderick." Then, I smiled. And was happy, because I realized he already knew he was Matthew Broderick, so really, I would just sound like a shit-head. I was carrying a single roll of toilet paper because I was out at my apartment, and needed to go home and shit my pants. So, my friend gave me her roll. It was an interesting experience walking home along--only a roll of toilet paper as company. I got many interested looks from passers-by, and was reminded, forcibly, of the childhood book, nay fairy tale, "Everybody Poops."

This is my New York.

After I got home I received an email regarding submissions for the NYU in Ghana student guide. We were all asked to submit a paragraph. I haven't decided if I'm going to do it. Mostly because I'm illiterate. (See above). But also, because I find it incredibly painful to try and squeeze an entire experience into a single paragraph. (I can't even squeeze a Matthew Broderick sighting into one sentence. And let's be honest, Mr. Sarah Jessica Parker is cool and all, but...) Whether the experience was good, bad, intense, lame, I can't even begin to choose words that would feel in any way adequate. In any way relevant or coherent. I don't analyze very well in the moment. And afterwards, my analysis is tainted by my own desire for self preservation. I say that happiness is just a synonym for contentment. And if you're content...not constantly striving for something more, something better, you may as well be dead. So, I exclaim in earnest, I do NOT wish to be happy. Or perhaps I do. But I see it as such an unattainable ideal that my mind forces me to dismiss it as bullshit.

I have continual thoughts about someone. One friend tells me that maybe thinking about someone is the universe's way of telling you they're thinking about you too.
Another says that perhaps I need to do ALL the thinking because the other person doesn't give a shit about me. The former is definitely more comforting to my supposed delicate sensibilities. But assuming it were true, I'm not even sure if I'd be happy about it.

Ah, it is late. I have a mini Snickers in my tum, and a phone a-charging next to me. Until later, dear readers. May your lives be filled with dense caloric intake and yellow submarine dreams.

Sometimes I think rapists will climb in through my fire escape.

So I've discovered that frequenting the same local convenience stores has lead to all of the employees at all of the said establishments asking me where I live. Which, if I were like 2 billion blocks away, I could just answer far to...but when I live right across the street, becomes a bit more bothersome. Especially because they know exactly where I am. When I'm home. When I'm coming home late, etc. I really hope they'll use this knowledge for good. (world peace, and being my own personal body guard) as opposed to evil. raping/murdering/pilaging me.

So, there is this sound. This beeping. It comes in 3's. Beepbeepbeep. And it will continue for hours on end. It's outside my apartment building. I have no idea what it is. And I have no control over it. Consequently I am going insane. I want to murder beep maker. With my bare hands.

This afternoon I had a lovely brunch with my boo and her mother. (Boo-by which I mean friend, that I spend enough time with to qualify as a relationship.) I had an egg dish and we ordered an entire pitcher of yummy sangria. And the waiter didn't card me! Score! I always find it easier to get to know new people while mildly intoxicated!

Then I went home. And legit like legitlegit nearly peed my pants...I had to go soooooooo bad. Then I napped for an hour and woke up all headached (sangria + lack of water + sleep = slight dehydration known as midly/half-assed brunch time hangover)...took excessive amounts of pain pills...and ventured out to meet some extended family members for din din. Which was phenom and dim summy...but I felt like an ass for being the ONLY vegetarian and thus making us order extra dishes because only I wouldn't eat the carnivorous ones.

Now, I should be reading about early Christian martyrs. But rather I am blogging. And before this I was vainly channel surfing to find something on our TV. We do not have cable. This is a much more arduous task than it should be. Before that I was going on a find diet sunkist adventure. And before that I was eating mini-snickers and napping. They should make a Lifetime movie of my life.

Inappropriately attached to Taylor Swift.

Jaclyn needs sleep like a hoe needs leopard stilhettos. And yet, she cannot, because she just got home. Her cell phone is dead, the cell phone + charger won't make it up onto lofty. And no phone means no alarm, means no getting up in 6 hours. Sad. So I figured I'd write a short, delightfully self-indulgent blog post while I wait, and watch my hours of precious sleep slowly ticking by...

So, this girl in the Starbucks line yesterday in full on glam gear, skirt, nice shirt, nice coat, done-up hair and make-up--standing behind me in my 10 day old jeans (by which I mean, worn 10 days without being washed) and sneaks was on her cell phone. Telling her friend quote, (I know I just need the symbol, but the word increases the flow...) "So, I'm wearing flats today. I know, they're cute and black, but I just feel so un-feminine." It was 9 in the morning. Cue rage.

The other day there was a very hot man in Silver in a slightly douchey chef shirt with an accent who asked me where the bathroom was. Not very romantic, perhaps, but it made my day. Mostly because I pretended he asked me where it was because he wanted to f*** me senseless in it. Aw, sweet daydreams of 20 year olds.

When sketch looking men walk alone at night closely behind me with only one arm shoved deep inside a puffy coat, I think he is palming a knife/gun and is planning on robbing/raping/r-murdering me. I don't appreciate this. I nearly got hitted by a car running away from said sketcher.

I know this goes against everything I ever learned in health class, but some people REALLY ARE hotter when they're smoking. :) LOVE

SLOW WALKERS. IM NOT KIDDING. I WILL BEAT YOUR COLLECTIVE ASSES.

I DON'T BELIEVE IN GLOBAL WARMING. I MEAN, IT'S COLD OUTSIDE.

I DO BELIEVE IN BANANA PUDDING. I THINK I NEED TO STOP EATING SO MUCH OF IT THOUGH, AS DAIRY MAKES MY PARASITE RIDDEN BODY WANT TO VOMIT. EXCESSIVELY. YES, THERE IS A DISTINCTION OF EXCESSIVELY VOMITING. I'VE LEARNED.

A day for Odes.

An ode to slow walkers:
Oh, slow walkers on the NYC street.
When I see you, I want to punch the back of your head.
That would be a real treat!
Without my morning Starbucks brew,
I'm not sure if there'd be retraint.
You're just lucky I have dining dollars to buy Starbucks coffee,
Or I'd beat you until you faint.

An Ode to Bernie Madoff:
Why, oh why, did the person running the scholarship I was going to apply for have to invest with you and lose all their money and cancel the scholarhsip and deprive me of my chance to be slightly less in the quicksand of insurmountable death, debt and sadness?

An ode to myself:
You are a crazy bizotch.
The end.

P.S. Vik Keenan. My ex-NYU advisor. If you ever read this: where did they send you? Are you still alive? Can we be (facebook) friends now? I miss you. I sometimes form unhealthy attachments to people. I REALLY miss you.

P.P.S. I eHow('ed) "how to get over a crush." One of the first suggestions I got was to go on a date. I then eHow('ed). "how to find a date." I have a feeling it's going to be a long semester...

I'm waiting until the last possible second to urinate.

Things currently on my mind.

1) I NEED to lay off the baked goods. Especially banana pudding. Which isn't necessarily a valid baked-goods categorization. But it is good. And contains baked items. And I am eating far too much of it.

2) Why do armpits smell so much worse when you wear a tank top? Wouldn't they smell better because they're getting aired out?

3) Starbucks perfect oatmeal truly is perfect. Mostly because it fits into the lid of the coffee cup perfectly, so you only need one hand to hold both. But also, because you can steal the packets of nuts and eat them as snacks throughout the day. And sweeten with either brown sugar or sweet-n-low.

4) I just found out it's sweet-n-low. Not sweet-and-low. I'm not sure how I feel about this revelation.

5.) I'm obsessing over the thought that I need to work on being less obsessive.

6.) There is a random man in my apartment. I just heard him come in. I'm hoping this is the mysterious dog walker I was told about. If not, uhm, this shall be quite an eventful night. I am hiding in my room. Snuggled on lofty.

7.) Stanley Milgram's shock experiment = the BEST psych porn ever! Specifically when you watch it on an overhead projector. And see all the normal folk give increasingly painful/presumably lethal shocks to some random dude because a guy in a white coat told them to. The intensity grows and grows until finally they're let in on the tricksies, light up a smoke, and let out a sigh. So, like porn. Except hotter.

8) I REALLY miss the days when psychology had no ethics. And people smoked in the lab. I mean they just look so darn cool.

9) So, Starbucks has been advertising this "taste test" of their regular brewed coffee and their new instant brand. I thought it would be all...can you tell the difference?!?!? If you can, we give you a free cup. But alas, no. They give you one small ass cup of their coffee then one cup of hot water for you to make your instant. Then you take them to the table. And drink. And there's no competition. Or testing of any kind. But you do get free coffee...

10) Starbucks closes at 11. Half the lights were off at 9. I mean, we're college students. Turning the lights off won't actually make us leave.

11) I need to pee!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!