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.