Today, I went out for dinner with Rachel. At 4:30 P.M. This suited both of us fine.
Before going to the restaurant, she and I sat in the sun (41-degrees today, suckas) talking about the new apartment I'm hoping to rent.
"It's smallish, but the architecture is nice," I told her. "The only problem is that I hear that the building isn't very soundproof."
"That sucks," she replied.
"But I also hear that the crowd is pretty low key, so it's quiet by 10:30."
"No," she said. "It'll suck for you."
"Why? I don't listen to music or own a T.V. I never have people over either."
"I guess that only leaves the sound of you weeping."
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Plurals
A group of apes is called a shrewdness.
A group of bucks is called a clash.
A group of cobras is called a quiver
A group of cows is called a kine. A group of twelve cows is called a flink.
A group of crocodiles is called a float.
A group of curs (or mutts) is called a cowardice.
A group of goldfinches is called a charm.
A group of grayhounds is called a leash.
A group of hawks is called a kettle.
A group of jellyfish is called a smack.
A group of moles is called a labour.
A group of owls is called a parliament.
A group of peacocks is called an ostentation.
A group of pheasants is called a bouquet.
A group of rattlesnakes is called a rhumba.
A group of ravens is called an unkindness.
A group of rhino is called a crash.
A group of rooks is called a building or a clamour.
A group of starlings is called a murmuration.
A group of swans is called a lamentation.
A group of turtledoves is called a pitying.
A group of woodpeckers is called a descent.
A group of bucks is called a clash.
A group of cobras is called a quiver
A group of cows is called a kine. A group of twelve cows is called a flink.
A group of crocodiles is called a float.
A group of curs (or mutts) is called a cowardice.
A group of goldfinches is called a charm.
A group of grayhounds is called a leash.
A group of hawks is called a kettle.
A group of jellyfish is called a smack.
A group of moles is called a labour.
A group of owls is called a parliament.
A group of peacocks is called an ostentation.
A group of pheasants is called a bouquet.
A group of rattlesnakes is called a rhumba.
A group of ravens is called an unkindness.
A group of rhino is called a crash.
A group of rooks is called a building or a clamour.
A group of starlings is called a murmuration.
A group of swans is called a lamentation.
A group of turtledoves is called a pitying.
A group of woodpeckers is called a descent.
Friday, February 20, 2009
For the Pop Quiz Mother
Having mentioned my momma's birthday, I thought I'd share the card that I made her. It is, if I do say so myself, awesome. Hey, the card fits the lady.
It's true. I really do admire her. And she really is that chic.
It's true. I really do admire her. And she really is that chic.
Bucked up on nasal spray and optimism
Just to let everyone know, I'm out of my funk. The day after I wrote that last entry, I got kind of sick, which explains (to an extent) my emotional hysteria. Yes, bring on the birthday and I'll be happy anyway that it comes (runny nose and all), just as long as I spend it with my family and closest friends (one of whom has taken off work to have dinner with me)!
Let's move on from less sentimental topics, shall we? Here are things that I should have been blogging about instead of feeling like a lame-dash-oh:
-How much I hate Terrance Howard
-A dream that I had in which I was helping Mary Louise Parker find a sperm donor. I referred her to my friend who happened to be OMAR from The Wire
-How much I love The Wire
-The awesome new art that I just got framed (more later).
-How my mother celebrated a birthday of her own.
-Needing to come clean about watching a full episode of Sober House with Dr. Drew.
-Having a coffee with the head writer of The Colbert Report (more later?).
-Anything else. Anything else at all.
Let's move on from less sentimental topics, shall we? Here are things that I should have been blogging about instead of feeling like a lame-dash-oh:
-How much I hate Terrance Howard
-A dream that I had in which I was helping Mary Louise Parker find a sperm donor. I referred her to my friend who happened to be OMAR from The Wire
-How much I love The Wire
-The awesome new art that I just got framed (more later).
-How my mother celebrated a birthday of her own.
-Needing to come clean about watching a full episode of Sober House with Dr. Drew.
-Having a coffee with the head writer of The Colbert Report (more later?).
-Anything else. Anything else at all.
Monday, February 16, 2009
PQK, it's your birthday. Happy Birthday, PQK.
Do you remember that episode of The Simpson's where everyone forgets Lisa's birthday? The one where she sings "Happy Birthday to Me" while sitting in the dark, eating a lone cupcake? And then Bart cowrites a song with Michael Jackson and everything is all better?
Like I mentioned in my last post, my own birthday is coming up pretty quickly. Do to my recent lethargic attitude towards everything, I've been feeling pretty blah about it. I want something low-key and low pressure. I have no desire to have a party or go to a nice restaurant like I usually do. Instead, I'd rather go eat some samosas at my favorite Himalayan restaurant with my nearest and dearest before hitting up a bar and then returning home, relatively sober, by one.
Even with what I consider to be pretty frickin' low expectations, I'm already beginning to feel the dreaded clouds of disappointment gathering above my head. So far, it seems like everyone who I'd want to be with has to work. Some have even picked up shifts, knowing that it's my birthday. I also wrote in my facebook status that I would like people to come out. So far I have one response and it's from my friend S who would probably agree to go out and celebrate anytime you had a particularly satisfying jog. If the jog didn't go so well, he'd probably want to go out anyway. The calm, reasonable, and mature PQK tells me that these slights have absolutely nothing to do with me or how these people value my friendship. The louder less mature PQK is saying "WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" So, right now I'm feeling pretty bummed. About a birthday that I didn't think I cared about in the first place.
Believe me, I know how immature I sound. But also believe me that I have a history of having parties that nobody showed up to, of people forgetting to pick me up on New Years, or, less painful maybe, sitting in a restaurant for a half hour before anybody else showed up. I would love to be a person who didn't care at all about my birthday, but every time it comes around, no matter how everything else in my life is going, I revert back into a sixteen year old girl, all dressed up for a celebration that only my parents will show up for. I hate how that sixteen year old version of myself manages to take over so easily, like the last six years of my life never even happened.
I just told my roommate that I don't want to do anything at all. I'm not sure if that's entirely truthful because, right now, all I can think about is sitting in a dark kitchen as I sing "Happy Birthday" to myself. I'm pretty sure that no one has time to team up with Michael Jackson and write a song for me. Besides, I don't really want to meet Michael Jackson anyways.
Urgh. I promise that this blog will get less maudlin any day now.
Like I mentioned in my last post, my own birthday is coming up pretty quickly. Do to my recent lethargic attitude towards everything, I've been feeling pretty blah about it. I want something low-key and low pressure. I have no desire to have a party or go to a nice restaurant like I usually do. Instead, I'd rather go eat some samosas at my favorite Himalayan restaurant with my nearest and dearest before hitting up a bar and then returning home, relatively sober, by one.
Even with what I consider to be pretty frickin' low expectations, I'm already beginning to feel the dreaded clouds of disappointment gathering above my head. So far, it seems like everyone who I'd want to be with has to work. Some have even picked up shifts, knowing that it's my birthday. I also wrote in my facebook status that I would like people to come out. So far I have one response and it's from my friend S who would probably agree to go out and celebrate anytime you had a particularly satisfying jog. If the jog didn't go so well, he'd probably want to go out anyway. The calm, reasonable, and mature PQK tells me that these slights have absolutely nothing to do with me or how these people value my friendship. The louder less mature PQK is saying "WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" So, right now I'm feeling pretty bummed. About a birthday that I didn't think I cared about in the first place.
Believe me, I know how immature I sound. But also believe me that I have a history of having parties that nobody showed up to, of people forgetting to pick me up on New Years, or, less painful maybe, sitting in a restaurant for a half hour before anybody else showed up. I would love to be a person who didn't care at all about my birthday, but every time it comes around, no matter how everything else in my life is going, I revert back into a sixteen year old girl, all dressed up for a celebration that only my parents will show up for. I hate how that sixteen year old version of myself manages to take over so easily, like the last six years of my life never even happened.
I just told my roommate that I don't want to do anything at all. I'm not sure if that's entirely truthful because, right now, all I can think about is sitting in a dark kitchen as I sing "Happy Birthday" to myself. I'm pretty sure that no one has time to team up with Michael Jackson and write a song for me. Besides, I don't really want to meet Michael Jackson anyways.
Urgh. I promise that this blog will get less maudlin any day now.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
An Open Letter (To Myself)
Dear Self,
Stop wallowing at your pity party. Winter happens to everybody and it's not an excuse to throw away your entire education. That's right. Now pick up your textbook and read a little Emerson. Yes, I know that you don't want to and that you'd rather be sitting in your sad worn-out underwear, stuffing your face with fig newtons. No, just because they have figs in them does not mean that they are healthy. On that note, go to the freaking gym. You're a student and it's free. They have these awesome machines that allow you to run in place while you watch TV or there's this other machine that allows you to walk up stairs that lead to nowhere. Throw a couple This American Life podcasts on your ipod, make a Prince playlist, and hustle. Not only will you look better, but you'll feel better, too. Trust me, I know you.
Now, once you do that, start putting other things into place. This blog? Severely neglected. Put your fingers to the keyboard. It's okay if you don't get any comments. It's just good to have it out there. While you're in front of the computer, set a little non-internet related writing time aside. You've had some short story ideas floating around since Christmas. Don't those ideas deserve to become tangible? And how about typing up a cover letter and applying for those internships that you were so excited for? I know that it's scary to apply and risk being rejected, but, if you don't, you'll never get anywhere. Remember that movie about that guy who sat around and never did anything exciting? You don't because they never made that movie. As a friend, I want your life to be bio-pic material. Think of who could play you! Dakota Fanning, perhaps? Deroda from Gossip Girl? The list goes on.
As soon as all of that mental clutter is cleared up, move on to the physical clutter. Actually, why wait. Get on it now. Girl, your room is disgusting. I thought that you had standards, but, being the you have to wade through wrinkled sweaters, thrice worn t-shirts, and the occasional crumpled-up shopping bag just to get to your closet, I was obviously wrong. You're not a lost cause, but you will be if you don't do some laundry. You'll appreciate this when you realize how much nicer people are to you when you don't have wine and cheeto stains down your front.
Did you know that next Saturday you'll be twenty-two years old? Can you figure out why that feels so much older than twenty-one? I'm not sure why, but I'll take a stab at it. I think that it's because you've made a lot of progress in this past year. Yeah, give yourself a pat on the back for confronting some things that certainly weren't easy and coming out the better for it. The process isn't over, which can be discouraging, but I'm sure that you can keep going. Don't pull the covers over your head, only to peer out when there happens to be something with Jon Hamm on T.V. Hop out of bed, slap on your reading glasses, some running shoes, and better yourself.
Lastly, give yourself a goddamn break. That's right, I'm a flip-flopper, but sometimes you gotta flip and other times you gotta flop. And no, this not an excuse to skip Emerson.
Love,
Me
Stop wallowing at your pity party. Winter happens to everybody and it's not an excuse to throw away your entire education. That's right. Now pick up your textbook and read a little Emerson. Yes, I know that you don't want to and that you'd rather be sitting in your sad worn-out underwear, stuffing your face with fig newtons. No, just because they have figs in them does not mean that they are healthy. On that note, go to the freaking gym. You're a student and it's free. They have these awesome machines that allow you to run in place while you watch TV or there's this other machine that allows you to walk up stairs that lead to nowhere. Throw a couple This American Life podcasts on your ipod, make a Prince playlist, and hustle. Not only will you look better, but you'll feel better, too. Trust me, I know you.
Now, once you do that, start putting other things into place. This blog? Severely neglected. Put your fingers to the keyboard. It's okay if you don't get any comments. It's just good to have it out there. While you're in front of the computer, set a little non-internet related writing time aside. You've had some short story ideas floating around since Christmas. Don't those ideas deserve to become tangible? And how about typing up a cover letter and applying for those internships that you were so excited for? I know that it's scary to apply and risk being rejected, but, if you don't, you'll never get anywhere. Remember that movie about that guy who sat around and never did anything exciting? You don't because they never made that movie. As a friend, I want your life to be bio-pic material. Think of who could play you! Dakota Fanning, perhaps? Deroda from Gossip Girl? The list goes on.
As soon as all of that mental clutter is cleared up, move on to the physical clutter. Actually, why wait. Get on it now. Girl, your room is disgusting. I thought that you had standards, but, being the you have to wade through wrinkled sweaters, thrice worn t-shirts, and the occasional crumpled-up shopping bag just to get to your closet, I was obviously wrong. You're not a lost cause, but you will be if you don't do some laundry. You'll appreciate this when you realize how much nicer people are to you when you don't have wine and cheeto stains down your front.
Did you know that next Saturday you'll be twenty-two years old? Can you figure out why that feels so much older than twenty-one? I'm not sure why, but I'll take a stab at it. I think that it's because you've made a lot of progress in this past year. Yeah, give yourself a pat on the back for confronting some things that certainly weren't easy and coming out the better for it. The process isn't over, which can be discouraging, but I'm sure that you can keep going. Don't pull the covers over your head, only to peer out when there happens to be something with Jon Hamm on T.V. Hop out of bed, slap on your reading glasses, some running shoes, and better yourself.
Lastly, give yourself a goddamn break. That's right, I'm a flip-flopper, but sometimes you gotta flip and other times you gotta flop. And no, this not an excuse to skip Emerson.
Love,
Me
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