Reverb 10

One Word. Encapsulate the year 2010 in one word. Explain why you’re choosing that word. Now, imagine it’s one year from today, what would you like the word to be that captures 2011 for you?

I stumbled upon this blog prompt from one of my favorite bloggers. I find this more fulfilling than those cheesy year in reviews, where you go month by month. This is minimalism at its finest. My overarching theme.

My word for 2010: experience. 2010 wasn't really a standout due to any particular event. I went out and had fun. I was like a sponge absorbing as much as I can, boys, alcohol, food, moments, whatever it was I justhadtohaveit NOW. Originally I thought that I was going to pick excessive maybe even reckless, but there's negative connotations with those words and I'm not putting a negative spin on what was a good year nonetheless. I finally became more comfortable with who I was, started to be more honest to myself (so far to go still), and put myself out there in so many ways. Guarded is what I pride myself on being, for all the wrong reasons. I've put my feelings on the backburner for 2010, but only those twisted, aching ones, not the "ooh this is nice" type, which are the ones I fed off of.

My word for 2011: intention. Actions are hollow things without knowing one's intent behind them. 2010 was about just doing it, but 2011 will be about the why. It's the question I don't ask myself, because it's one I don't want to know the answer to. Why am I hooking up with this boy? Because it feels nice, validation, boredom, etc. Why am I drinking copious amounts of alcohol? Yes I'm thirsty, or do I need liquid courage for what I "want" to do? I didn't reflect on my intentions behind my actions in 2010, not because I didn't want to deal with the events that transpired, but because I didn't have an answer. I followed through with the actions because they simply became part of the motions I went through. There was no meaning, intent was loss.

I need to be able to identify the cause for my actions if I ever want to be honest with myself. Despite my best attempts at keeping my guard up for 2010, I not only got ahead of myself, but got burned in the process. I abhorred feelings and letting myself fall for someone else as a defense mechanism, but those were the only actions that had true meaning behind them. I lived through 2010, but not with meaning.

I've always joked that "I'm the kid who makes the same mistake, never learns the lessons, and apparently repetition does not stick with me." I was never exaggerating with that metaphor, for all intents and purposes it rings true to who I was in 2010. I didn't learn the lessons that my actions should've taught me because nothing had meaning anymore. The way I abhorred real feelings lead me to devalue so much, including myself. Self worth was petty and found not in my accomplishments but with the boys who had my heart attention for a second, or at the bottom of a infinite glass of liquid courage.

X amount of drinks to blackout? X amount of boys? 2011 is not about figuring out what X is (and to be honest algebra was never my thing anyway), it's going to be about "WHY is X, X?". I'm not ready to try and tackle the big questions, that's what your later twenties are for, right? Just the little questions for now. I can't begin to fathom the big stuff, when I haven't even identified the little things.

2011 will be introspective. I'm coming into 2011 not for the new start; the start of a new calendar year does not mean a clean slate. I need to resolve my issues of 2010 first and use them for footing for 2011. I'm not coming in shiny and new and ready. I'm coming in a little hurt, vulnerable and lost as ever. 2010 was the year of impulse, I started things really quickly and things ended as fast. I'd be ecstatic about something one day and then next day found my world caught on fire because of it. It's been a constant pattern for me this year, and of course the cycle of ecstasy and disappointment repeated itself within the last days of 2010.

I didn't intend on writing this post, or getting back to this blog in this format. Maybe a funny anecdote about my day. But I'm reeling and in the midst of an attempted catharsis, and this is what occurred. Not just a want, but a need for self reflection.

2011, I'm not ready, but it's something I can't control. I'm going to be vulnerable for awhile, getting reacquainted with those pesky feelings I pushed away for so long. My intentions are for once present and on the surface. I have the answer to why I'm doing this excercise, there's meaning behind this. Maybe this is the time where I made a mistake, but finally learned the lesson.

Life is always playing a cruel joke on me. Like today where Starbucks didn't have my Passion tea OR caramel brulee lattes, it's tragic and #firstworldwhitegirlproblems (except 1.I'm not white and 2.this is a blog not Twitter) I'm back at the Barnes and Noble where I've spent hours attempting studying for the LSAT and writing entries.

Back to the same old self destructive behavior? Let's hope not, I'm trying to turn over a new leaf. The hookup game is getting old, it's still fun, don't get me wrong, because sometimes it's just fun to make out with someone. But let's be real, it's kind of gross.

This is how my first weekend as a senior was spent

Let's not comment on the fact that it's 6 am and I have class in 5 hours, but felt the need to update.

We can also skim over the tiny detail that 3 Irish men spent the night on my floor.

But I'm going to admit that I ended up kissing a very cute leprechaun tonight.

And that I just had to call the 3 of them a cab at 6am since they have to catch their bus from Boston to NYC to make their plane to Dublin...

I don't get my life and how I end up in situations like these with the Irish. Or well with the Irish in general. I've kissed 5 boys this summer, there's only been one American in that mix. My boys come complete with accents and drinking problems to boot.

Oh life you never cease to amaze me.

Situational Changes

I love how dependent environments are to what is and what isn't socially acceptable.

When I'm back at school it's perfectly acceptable for me to drink at 4pm, and go to the bar on a Wednesday night. In the real world that's called alcoholism.

On Facebook, it's practically encouraged that I stalk "keep up" with friends/acquaintances/strangers/peopleivesleptwith. In the real world that's called stalking.

Thank goodness for Facebook and college, otherwise I'd be an alcoholic in jail! And I'm not a very attractive person when suffering from withdrawal...not like that has ever happened to me.

Tangents and streams of conciousness

I'm back in Boston! Real life with actual meaning and you know goals and to do lists can once again commence! Yet the month of September is the most intimidating month ever, and I want to cry just looking at it.

Yet I am tooling around my apartment and putting off LSAT homework, so it's kind of like nothing has changed at all. I should be going to my storage unit and unloading it, but driving in Boston gives me anxiety. So instead of being productive, I'm sitting in my room having panic attacks and watching them board up our beach volleyball court which resembled a murky lagoon thanks to the rain. Actually I'm pretty sure there were new organisms growing there. (Has anyone else ever had to read the word organism aloud and been tempted to read orgasm? Because that was my greatest fear all throughout science class...No? Okay forget I mentioned it.)

Whilst in Savannah, GA I got sunburned for the third time of my life. Oh it is the most glorious sunburn that puts an end to all sunburns. It actually sometimes throbs. I stupidly assumed that being as dark as I am, that one coat of sunscreen was enough...and then I ended up pointing out how red my not-so-tan-aka-white(is that PC?!) friends were at the end of the day.

Karma apparently bit me in the ass. Because the next day, everyone was fine but me. My left shoulder resembles charred BBQ...it's quite attractive; unfortunately not scratch and sniff. I also had to spend part of the day in the airport with my giant backpack...despite the fact that even my bra strap and hair touching my shoulder made me wince and cry.

So my sunburn made me think of LIFE, as well as the day Kelly exploded. We get sunburned because we're stupid. It happens when we don't take precautions and use SPF 8 and NEVER REAPPLY. We peel and then we grow more skin, and thus the cycle repeats itself. The circle of life! Or well the circle of third party nearly self inflicted pain?

Okay maybe smart people/people who know what's good for them and don't follow this pattern, but I refuse to acknowledge them because then I get the jealousies. But seriously I always think that sunburn won't happen to me, because I take my melanin content for granted... The same way I think that I won't get hurt because I take my having no soul for granted; but before I know it I grow a soul, let someone in, don't apply SPF100 as need be, and then ALL MY SKIN PEELS OFF AND MY SHOULDER RESEMBLES A RAW STEAK, and then we get hurt. So I think the trick is to either:
1. stay inside and be a hermit
2. find spf1000 and reapply every 2 minutes...

I mean it's better to go out and frolic (wait frolic doesn't have a K!? revelation!) underneath that ball of heat than be a dumpy hermit.

This was a little more depressing than I intended. Actually I didn't intend on it to be depressing at all. Whoops. Here's something optimistic: I now own dinosaur silly bandz!

Lalala being neurotic

I never learn from my mistakes. I wonder if it's something I can attribute to being a Leo (whoohoo birthday month!), or if it's a mix of my own inherent stubbornness/stupidity/optimism. That's a weird mix of things to be grouped together,but I can't decide which is the overarching factor in my behavior.

For one I know I have an obsessive personality. Which is why I can't buy things at Costco and not waste money and why teriyaki chicken grosses me out. I used to make my dad buy boxes of these teriyaki skewers when I was little, I would refuse to eat anything else for months. OH MY GOD I'M PROBABLY GOING TO GET DIABETES FROM IT. Also I'm not allowed to have nice things...but that's different!

Actually from what I've absorbed in Drugs and Society, I most likely have an addictive personality. So if I try cocaine or heroin, I'm fucking screwed. Guess I won't be snorting lines off hookers anytime soon, or well ever actually...Disappointment!

There was the time I ended up in the ER due to drinking far too much alcohol. Did I learn from said mistake? No I went out the following night and got plastered. Hello alcoholism! But I attribute that to my trifecta of what I chalk up all my mistakes to: optimism(it'll be different this time), stubbornness(I'm right they're wrong obviously) and stupidity(whatever I do what I want!).

I like to think that it's my optimism and naivete that result into repeating all the same mistakes, because that's much easier to accept and admit than sheer stupidity. Hence what happened this week. I recognized that history was repeating itself, and that the same things were being said, but I assumed that it would be different, THIS TIME. This wasn't my belief in redemption going through, nor was it that lame there'sgoodineveryone crap.

It's due to me being stubborn and going against what everyone told me to do, INCLUDING MYSELF. Because I was so goddamn curious on what the outcome would be, yet I had an inkling on what it was.

Oh and I absolutely refuse to go and see Eat, Pray, Love; because I hate Elizabeth Gilbert and think the premise of a well off white woman eating carbs for the first time in her life is stupid.

4 am

So I just self diagnosed myself with ADHD based on the episode "Starry Night" from Modern Family. That's not normal is it?

Also being up at 5 am probably isn't normal, but I had a grande iced white mocha to stay awake during LSAT class and I'm pretty sure they sprinkled my drink with cocaine to keep me awake at this ungodly hour.

that one time i lived in rome

Last summer I lived in Rome for 6 weeks; this summer I'm stuck at home and taking an LSAT class. First I wonder what I did wrong in a past life, to go from the most amazing summer ever to one where I sit in a class for 4.5 hours twice a week and cry look over logic games.

My roommate met me at the airport with a steak burrito (she's the best I swear!) in tow and asked me "Do you feel different?". I promptly responded and told her "Of course I do. My liver hurts like a bitch..." But I'm pretty sure that's not the answer she was looking for; then again if my liver ever put me out of commission she loses her favorite alcoholic. (Disregarding the trip to the emergency room...whoops)

Rome was amazing, the people were fanfuckingtastic, and despite eating my weight in gelato, pizza and pasta, I lost weight. It was a win-win situation, even if you factor in "sweating your taint off", but I think (thanks Google) only men have that. I think the only things I don't miss are sweating and the fear of being gypsie'd (I made my own verb! Suck it Rachael Ray).

Nothing really big happened in Rome. There weren't any moments that shook me to the core. No big spectacular earth shattering thing. But the experience was unforgettable. It's funny that I can't pinpoint one single event in Rome that was particularly phenomenal, but when I combine everything; it resulted in something bigger than anything I've ever experienced. But that could be attributed to me being a mere fetus at 20, and not having really lived very much.

I think Rome falls under the category of big occurrences. However it was one of those things where one particular moment didn't stand out, instead it was the overall experience that turned out to be an all consuming thing. It didn't feel big or serious at the time. I was merely living in the moment, especially those times we justhadtopeethisverysecond and peed outside... But looking back at the situation, that was it (well maybe not the drunken public urination). Simply living our daily lives was the big event in Rome.

The drunken walks stumbles home from Campo de Fiore, walking through the meandering alleys on the way to school, climbing the 5 flights of stairs(!!!), nearly getting taken at Mood (where American girls go to die or a brothel...not sure we got our free shots and ran out, hence why I'm still alive),, the Real Worldesque moment of walking in on someone naked and in the middle of sexytimes; all of these things seemed small and insignificant in the present, but they ended up making the experience (even in the constantly hungover state).

We were all just living. Even the mundane task of grocery shopping is now an event to me in hindsight. Maybe I'm putting Rome on a pedestal and maybe it wasn't the OMGAMAZING thing that I'm making it out to be (IT WAS), but it definitely changed me. It changed me in all the little ways that I didn't realize until someone pointed it out for me. Then again I don't notice very much, like when Alex dyed her hair orange by accident and I didn't notice til 2 days in since she started crying and saying "ORAAAANGE", and then I finally got it.

Rome and its affect (yes that's the right one) on me is kind of like that minus no melodramatic crying over hair color. Orange is my favorite color by the way, which I tried to tell Alex, but she couldn't hear me over her own wailing.

A year later and I've finally grasped the lessons from Rome; I can drink way more than I expected and chug beer well enough to earn a t-shirt. And I'm not as dependent or needy as I thought. That I can go somewhere completely foreign and adjust quickly. And other lessons of the sort, drinking and otherwise.

Smells like strippers and shame

I recently came back from my family reunion which was held in Las Vegas. Yes, I realized that a family reunion in Vegas means that my family is full of alcoholic gamblers, better yet it's our second family reunion in Sin City! Maybe I'm not adopted after all. Not that I ever thought I was since I am my father's clone, which is kind of unfortunate, but I digress. I'm sure that's why I'm the favorite...Well that and because I have a future unlike my sister.

So what occurs during my family's reunions? Copious amounts of alcohol is consumed, Asian is spoken (I'm so p.c. it's amazing...I get it from my father), my nonexistant love life is discussed, oh and a trip to the strip club.

Yes, my family is so fucked up that my cousins and I ended up at a classy establishment called the Spearmint Rhino. Firstly, WHAT KIND OF NAME IS THAT?! Also I once again question my bloodline.

I want the world to know that the Spearmint Rhino (god I just love that name now...), is a touching-encouraged strip club. And that we had bottle service at said strip club.

Two of my girl cousins thoroughly enjoyed the night by asking the girls if their anatomy was real or fake (real butts for the most part, fake boobs for all!). I had 3 lap dances all paid for by my cousin's husband; I shared a lap dance with my 24 year old male virgin cousin (sexuality is ambiguous, but my dad and I are betting on gay and out in 5 years).

Nothing is more priceless than shocking a stripper. The look on their faces when we said that we're all related and in town for a family reunion was great. The place was like the international house of strippers, every flavor you want, with any toppings. Due to our classiness and bottle service the guards were like DJs taking requests, "What kind of girl do you guys want? I'll fetch them for you."

Let's skim over the part where my cousin goes to a private room leaving me alone with his friend that tagged along. I was sitting there complaining that I wish we went to a normal bar, since I miss getting hit on (yes my self esteem is THAT fragile and nonexistant), and in order to feel good about myself in that environment and Vega in general; I'd require an eating disorder and boob job. His nice friend aptly named Bert (Humberto...I'm an asshole I know), took it upon himself to hit on me.

Me: I wish we were somewhere normal. I want a real bar, I want to get hit on, bawww.
Bert: You're hot...yeah you're hot.
Me:Thanks?
Bert:You don't have to say thanks...you know what would be awesome? Watching you get a lap dance. That would be hot.
Me:OH.

Meanwhile I'm sure private-show-cousin was boning a stripper and the other cousins fondled more strippers.

I nearly forgot this part! I got tosecond base with a stripper. After being forced to fondle and spank things, I think my Czech stripper got bored and decided to go digging in my shirt. She told me I had "Verrry nice boobies. Let her see." And then she proceeded to look inside my shirt and bra. I then promptly decided I should find Jesus. So I guess I had a religious experience at the strip club... Please I'm a heathen, that probably won't happen.

Things I have learned from Vegas:
1.Strippers are aggressive as hell (did I mention my cousin got into a fight with one for only giving her $40?)
2.$10,000 a month for working 3 days a week is impressive as hell (you go stripper Glen Coco!)
3.Daquiris from comedicly large cups taste better...they even taste better when you take a bubble bath in them
4.There are a plethora of middle aged midwestern women in sparkly tops in the day time
5.The family that goes to strip clubs together stays together.
6.It's really difficult to wash away the smell of strippers and shame from your hair

Oh and today while I was being studious and catching up on my LSAT homework outside at a cafe, I a bird pooped on the book. It's a fucking sign I tell you.

My amazing propensity for trouble

Sometimes (read: ALL THE TIME), I find myself in ass backwards situations that one shouldn't find themselves in. I have no idea how I get into these pickles (hate pickles ew), but I kind of secretly like them, because then I end up with fodder that I can regurgitate in social settings. Yes, that means I will tell you about the time I got a fish bone stuck in my throat which necessitated a little trip to the hospital at a party. (I'm a HIT at parties btw, invite me to all of yours) Clearly that doesn't happen to normal people.

Okay maybe that's not an example for my propensity for trouble, and rather an example of being an idiot, but whatever. I guess a more straight forward example of the trouble I get into is with the Irelands (2 boys 1 name...way better than 2 girls 1 cup) of my summer. Yes, I should stay away from anyone with an accent, but i'm an accent slut. It's awful and it's bad, and somehow I've met every single Irish boy in San Francisco, and oh my god why are there so many, and for the love of god whydoyouallknoweachother.

Anyway BACK ON TOPIC, if there was ever a topic to begin with...? I jokingly told someone they were trouble, and he said "What's the fun in living in god mode?That invulnerability and infinite ammo is pretty sweet for a little while, but you gotta have that challenge to keep the game interesting."


Oh man I hope he doesn't google this and find out that 1. I have a blog and 2. that I'm stealing his quotes for said blog.

I, like any normal person that isn't a total bore likes trouble. Trouble is fun, we do stupid shit that gets us into trouble because ultimately we believe the payout is worth it. We as people fucking revel in trouble. Those situations that we find ourselves in trouble, we rehash to anybody who'll listen to us about that "one time", because things like that are interesting and make us better. No I don't want to hear about how you took your dog on a walk and it was perfect, I want to hear about the time your dog got dognapped and you had to go to amateur stripper night to pay the ransom.

Trouble gives us something to talk about, look back on, and hopefully if we're smart learn from. Playing it safe is overrated. Okay maybe taking free shot coupons from the creepy Italian and following him into a place called Mood (where American girls go to get Taken) to redeem coupons, probably wasn't the best idea, but now it's hilarious in the retelling. And I can forever blame Annie for that one time she nearly got us kidnapped.

We're not getting out of this thing alive, so why not get into trouble (only the good kinds of trouble...like trouble with accents and a drinking problem) and really live? (Yes that's referring to those lame kids I had in my AP classes who were boring as fuck and glared at my friends and I for trying to have a good time whilst reading Moby Dick.) Clearly, I have grown out of my high school animosity for certain people...but I digress.

We're going through life, one way or another, we should take the time to BOTHER ourselves with quality trouble. Being vulnerable isn't fun and it's actually the feeling I hate the most, but being invulnerable gets old pretty fast and you're that statue that all birds poop on. I'd rather have a pigeon poop on me while I'm truly living, rather than a solitary marble structure that is pooped on.

Things I have realized while writing this: I'm pretty goddamn crass and should probably find more eloquent examples that don't involve pigeon poop...or any bodily excrement for that matter.

booty calls at sunday lunch

In an effort to procrastinate before my 4.5 hr long LSAT class, as well as to appease Kelly and myself, I'm making a new post. I'm also not even halfway through my homework for said LSAT class...but Logical Reasoning makes me cry and feel vulnerable and I don't think that's a proper state for me to be in.

Originally I was going to make this about the pirate I met at a bar, the same night I met a Michael Jackson impersonator, until I realized the story doesn't amuse anyone but me and Angela because of our obsession with pirates...We also have a theory that Irish accents sound similar to pirate accents. Can anyone verify or deny this for us? It's kind of an important matter.

So I almost got disowned by my family on Sunday due to nearly puking on my 8 year old cousin.

After a night out at a place named Butter (it smelled like fried twinkies inside! yes that's a good thing...), I received a rude awakening at 8am. Apparently my family was in town and we justhadtoseethemthisverysecond.

The 10 minutes I had to get ready involved cradling the toilet like it was my firstborn. Then we met my cousins and apparently it's church time...due to my aforementioned heathen status, I was dropped off at home and spent the hour once again in front of the toilet. Yes that means while everyone else was finding Jesus and eating the body of Christ, I was praying to the porcelain toilet gods; but both events involved kneeling and praying, so that's the same thing right?

Oh my god, did I just compare my quality toilet time to going to church? Father Bruce would not be happy...nor would Sister Eileen. Hello repressed Catholic school memories! I did not miss you, nor do I miss my hideous maroon and blue jumper.

So after all of that lovely quality time spent on my bathroom's nice marble floors (great investment parents, I had to make an appearance at lunch. At 11:45 AM I received a drunken booty call. Who the hell gets shitfaced at 11:45am?! The World Cup is over, it's no longer acceptable.

The Irish. That's who. I'm seeing a new Irish boy who is under Ireland number 2 in my phone, and yes I hope he never wonders what his name is in my phone, and who Ireland number 1 is. So as I fight off the need to puke on my 8 year old ADD addled cousin, I'm answering booty calls...all before noon. Except that the boy was belligerently drunk and didn't understand I was at a family lunch, and no I couldn't leave right now, not even to celebrate his soccer game win, and yes, I'm quite proud of you. Ireland number 2 mentioned alcohol and that nearly triggered covering the 8 year old in puke, who might have deserved it, but I would really like to stay in the will.

I win. I get to stay in the will and inherit things! And then to celebrate not embarrassing my parents and myself, I promptly passed out the minute I got home and dreamed of unicorns prancing in Ireland drinking Guinness.

bar ventures

I like going to the bar, sometimes when I haven't been to one of my regular bars, it seems like a homecoming when I finally go there. I think that's the sign of an alcoholic, but that's fine. I'm in college, where everyone drinks an exorbitant amount. Some people feel at home at their friend's homes...I feel at home at establishments that serve liquor.

So yesterday I went to Hobson's for the World Cup. Tell me why there was only one bartender for the fucking final when on slow weeknights there's at least 2?

Anyway I told Angela that there was a man in a suit in the bar. And Hobson's is not a place where men in suits congregate, on ANY day.

Me:Angela there's a man in a suit..
Her:WHAT NEIL PATRICK HARRIS IS HERE?!

We need to stop watching How I Met Your Mother...which we do instead of pregaming for the bar. Winners. Well we befriended the man in the suit during the game. We're friendly girls...in all the good ways.

Me:Why are you wearing a suit?
Him:I just came from church.
Friend (not in suit):I obviously didn't go to church.
Me:Oh they won't let me in, I'm a heathen.

Hello great first impressions. No wonder I'm single. Then I promptly told him "Catholic school probably ruined me." We went to rival Catholic elementary schools, how riveting.

Then I met a lawyer who told me not to go to law school since the job market sucks. Guys my future is looking bright...maybe I can become a professional blogger.Also why does every lawyer tell you not to become one? Are they worried of competition?! Yes I'm looking at you dreadlocked sexy lawyer man. BRING IT.

I'm pretty sure minus the church thing this boy is my soulmate since he brought his own beers to the bar. Remember ONE BARTENDER?! He snuck in 2 24oz Budweiser Calamatas...and used his church blazer to do so. Jesus would be proud.

And naturally Angela liked the scruffy friend, whose chips I ate thanks scruffy fried. Too bad we didn't see them again after the match. HEY SOUL MATES COME BACK TO US.

40 by 40

40. The age of the mid life crisis. In an effort to make the most of our youth, we (Angela and I) created a 40 by 40 list, which we must complete together. It isn’t often you find a pair where one doesn’t know what trek means and the other thought Alaska was an island, so we have tailored our list to fit our particular type of crazy. Besides those two little things taking away any credibility we had as grown ups; we see something incredibly special (read:stupid) in it. Last summer we had a little test run (backpacking through Europe round 1!) on this and concluded that this list is ultimately doable, and knowing us we’d have a fair share of adventure. This summer we realized how completely codependent we are, and how we are utterly obsessed with one another; therefore we decided there is no other person we would rather take on this list with. Attempting this list preserves our idea of having the world at our feet, with everything and anything up in the air for us to tackle.

1.Skydiving (in footie pajamas…YES WE’RE SERIOUS)
2. Backpacking through Europe ROUND 2!
3. Get a drink named after us at Hobson’s or Trax (any bar really…)
4. Go on a cruise
5. Touch every ocean/sea
6. Visit every continent
7. Ride an elephant in Thailand
8. Ride a camel in the Middle East
9. Go to the World Cup
10. Go to the Olympics
11. Publish a book of our misadventures
12. Make money as street performers
13. Cross-country road trip
14. Ice hotel
15. Feed penguins
16. White water rafting
17. Go Zorbing
18. Spend Christmas and New Year’s in another country
19. Go on a real African safari
20. Master the art of baking French macaroons and crème brulee
21. Go bungee jumping off a bridge in Germany
22. Go to Bonaroo
23. OKTOBERFEST
24. Make a video montage of us doing a the macarena in every country we go to (during our backpacking through Europe round 2)
25. Find someone at a bar singing to Hall and Oates and finding out he’s my soulmate
26. Learn how to say “Cheers” in 7 languages and utilize it VERY WELL
27. Go running with the bulls
28. Have a picnic of dinosaur chicken nuggets in front of five famous landmarks
29. Eat sushi in Japan
30. Go to Ireland and find Irish farm hands who become the loves of our lives like in “P.S. I love You” but they stay alive
31. Have a drink with Jeff at Moby Dick
32. Go to a Renaissance Festival in England
33. Spend a summer mailing each other back and forth a pair of pants, which we share and include letters of the stories it brings us (even though the thought of separation kills us, but hey 3 years so far!)
34. Go cliff jumping in Greece
35. Attend a red carpet event
36. Crash a wedding. …. AND MAKE A TOAST
37. Go to a baseball game in every stadium in the country
38. Live in an apartment on top of a bar
39. Break out into song in a café and do a choreographed dance
40. TREK THROUGH ALASKA!

My foray into blogging ROUND 2

Due to me being an idiot and well I'm just going to blame Internet malfunctions as well, I accidentally deleted my first two posts :(. I'm dying inside I know.

I started this blog against the protests of one of my friends whose sole purpose in life is to mentor me aka tells me how to function through my life endeavors. The only reason she gets to be my mentor (what a lame and mushy sounding word) guru (okay more awesome word) is because she shares the same name as Helen Keller's mentor and BFF, and let's face it, what was good enough for good ol' Helen is good enough for me. Now let's hope I become totally amazing and warrant a Wikipedia page (GOAL IN LIFE) since I picked Helen's BFF's name twin.

So due to my rebellious (I wish) nature, I created a blog. Thus doing so has made me become one of those people. This is how people felt when cell phones first came out. "What self important prick thinks they need to be in contact with everyone at EVERY hour of the day?!" Well, all of us apparently. Now it's "Who DOESN'T have a cellphone?! What are you a hermit?!" Yet hermits probably have cell phones too, but I don't know about their reception; hopefully they have Verizon(unless they are a hermit with an iPhone where I am jealous of the hermit but take satisfaction that they can't call anyone due to ATT being shitty). The homeless man at the Prudential T stop has like 3 cell phones, and I see him charging them there every day. Even my 10 year old cousin has a cell phone.

So before it gets to the point where the question becomes "Who doesn't have a blog?", I made one. I'm years late, but I'm not super late where little prepubescent beings invade blogspot and wordpresss. Since that spells the death of things. But I want to use this to segue into announcing I've never had a Myspace. Now that I think about it, I'm sure my cousin will pop up with a blog anytime now. She already has a Youtube channel where she makes her own music videos... I wish I was kidding.

We're in a society that loves being connected, hello the rise of Twitter and Facebook, and that stupid fail Microsoft phone the Kin. I'm someone with severe attention issues, so it naturally made sense for me to make a blog. Blame my parents for that issue. So I did have a blog when Livejournal ruled the blogging realm, which was during my formative angsty teenage years wheretheworldwasouttogetme.

I hope that this blog isn't just one of my phases though. I'm the type of person who gets obsessed with something, and I mean really obsessed, and then I lose interest. I think that's what they call ADD though, which I have been told I have by several people; but I'm pretty sure everyone in our generation has it. I do this with food, hobbies, people, sporting events, even colors.

When I was little I used to go to Costco with my dad. As everyone knows Costco's packages of food can feed villages for a year. I would pick out something, eat it for 2 weeks straight and then never want to touch it again. This happened with chicken teriyaki skewers and now I can't eat teriyaki anymore! Due to this tendency my dad canceled our Costco card and I was devastated, since Costco was my Disneyland (now replaced with IKEA!). But my Costco issue has been resolved since now I'm an executive member with my own card! I win dad!

And just like my first post, I've gone off 39482 tangents in one post. AWESOME. What the hell is wrong with me? I'm once again blaming my parents for this one. As with all my other life issues, like my abandonment ones.

self: YOU SUCK

Well due to insomnia and clicking around I deleted my first two blog posts. All I was able to recover was my post about Kelly's appendix bursting; I would have preferred my first post on being the retrievable one...since it was COMIC GOLD. Or well a rambling of mine that I thoroughly enjoyed.


Hello first misadventure since starting this blog. The interwebs, insomnia and my lack of reading ability have screwed me over. Yup law school is going to work out just dandy.

So tomorrow while I text Franco a play by play of the first 30 minutes of Netherlands v. Uruguay (where I will lie to him in order to entertain myself), I'll be trying to reconstruct them from my brain(NOT A SAFE PLACE).

The day Kelly exploded...which I use for my own advantage

Today, I told Kelly that she should start a blog so she can join me and Angela and hop on the blog bandwagon. She promptly told me that nobody wanted to hear about her appendix exploding.

I think the world does. I am such a good friend where I value all the things about Kelly, including her exploding appendages, or maybe I'm an awful person who has a sick, twisted mind and finds humor in it? Personally I'm going with the "World's Greatest Friend Award".

Kelly along with 2 other doctors misdiagnosed her appendicitis as cramps, thus resulting in her appendix BURSTING.

So Kelly's little operation made me think about all the other things we end up outgrowing. According to my best friend Wikipedia and Darwin, the appendix was used to digest leaves and shit, thankfully we don't need to rely on leaves for food, therefore rendering it useless. Due to us not needing our appendixes anymore, the little bastard gets angry and seeks it's revenge by getting inflamed, necessitating its removal.

In fact I'm surprised "The Revenge of the Appendix" isn't a horror movie or something yet, then again I'm too much of a ninny to watch it so it could be and I'm merely ignorant. WAIT GOOGLE EXISTS. Yup, nothing. Go me.

So how do we know when we don't need something anymore? If we never got rid of things ALL OF US would be on Hoarders and then that show wouldn't be the special snowflake that it is (unless you're TLC's bootleg version Trapped). We outgrow shoes, clothes, beds, houses, etc.

I think I'm most interested in the people we outgrow. Do we try and beat life to the punch and cut them off first? Or wait til they explode like those bastard appendixes?

SOMEONE TELL ME. Okay enlighten me, please?



So thanks to Kelly for letting me use your story to have something to write about because my life existence has been mundane; as well as giving me something to ponder. Maybe I shouldn't have written this, and instead write about the pirate I met at the bar.

Oh another advantage of Kelly self destructing: She stayed in SF for 2 extra weeks aka more playtime with me!