Priority Use

I'm trying to get dressed, but I don't know what to wear. I want to wear something great. Something fantastic. But, I don't really own anything that fits either category. Plus, I feel really sick and dumpy--not really in the great or fantastic sort of mood.

I've really always wanted a brother.

When I was in Kindergarten I even made up stories about a brother that I had--he didn't really exist.

It's not so much the sibling thing, though. A sister wouldn't be the same. It's always been a brother.

My cousins treat me like their little sister (even though I'm 4 years older than the oldest). We don't see each other often--usually twice a year. And, that's unfortunate. I think they're both great. When I was visiting them a few days ago, my brotherly desire was reignited.

We spent a good couple hours making up new verses (Eminem style) to the diarrhea song (we had some good ones) while washing dishes and then fighting over the remote (they refused to switch over from football to Desperate Housewives even during commercials) and wrestling.

I don't know where this brother thing came from and I certainly don't understand why singing about diarrhea and being pounded to the ground would cement this desire.

Why do people always ask me if I have a boyfriend? I don't think this is a "me" thing. I'm guessing it happens to everyone. But, that doesn't make it any less annoying. Random people, too. Why do people even care? Is it really any of their business?

I never know how to respond to this question. And, I never even know how to react to my response once it has already been formulated.

I usually try and make up something fluffy and convoluted--like "maybe," or "oh, not right now,"--but it usually ends up being taken as something depressive.
Oh, it's okay honey. You'll find someone. As if a boyfriend is something important that has been lost in the depths of my closet or something--it's just hiding and not ready to come out.

This question never fails to make me feel bad about something that I really don't feel bad about. Okay, well the psychiatrist in me says no one can make you feel something you don't already feel yourself. But, really. It all makes me wonder if I am somehow incomplete. How we're all supposed to be paired up somehow. How life just isn't right without sharing it with someone intimate. That really bugs me. I can be such a stubborn and grumpy person that I wouldn't be surprised if I just answered no for the rest of my life.

When I was in middle school, my best friends and I got really into Oasis. We all had the Wonderwall album and listened to it nonstop. To this day, I know most of the lyrics to nearly all of the songs.

At that time, my dad also started liking the band. I remember that being strange. A middle-schooler who shared musical inclinations with her dad.

The other day when my dad came to pick me up for dinner, he was listening to Shaggy. Later on the drive, Eminem came on and my dad commented on the sophistication of his poetry--something about being smooth and rhythmic or something.

Now, my mom just informed me that she's gotten into Wu-Tang Clan. She likes their beat. I already knew she was into the rhythm thing. After a roadtrip with her and my musically-minded cousin in high school, she's become one of Sublime's biggest fans.

I'm like the dorky side-kick to my really cool parents. Strange. But, oddly understandable.

I've decided to read The Bible.

I never had much of a religious upbringing. Both of my parents were sort of force- fed religion when they were growing up and, I think, were pretty hesitant with me. The countless Catholic school horror stories I've heard from my mom could fill the entire "C" encyclopedia and just knowing my very, very Orthodox Jewish grandmother is enough to pity them both. They aren't really anti-religion, I would say. Just pro-"make-your-own-decisions-about-God." So, they never really told me much.

My dad supported me in my endeavors to attend Sunday school at my best friend's church for a year or so when I was in elementary school, after which he would whisper yell to me in the background while I was talking to my grandma, "don't tell her we went to church." My dad knows a lot about religion and the bible and such and I've always enjoyed what he tells me. Yet, I've always felt like I was missing out on something. It's not that I feel immoral or empty, because I don't. But there's all this religious hubbub that I just can't relate to. I've always sort of had this desire to know about religion. Not because I really buy into most of it, but I'm more fascinated by the history of it all and the absurdity with which people eat up gospel like it's air and water.

Anyway, a few weeks ago I was watching Disney's The Prince of Egypt with the kids that I babysit for at a local church every other Sunday and my religious desires became re-ignited. I decided that I wanted to read The Bible--an ambitious endeavor for even the most fervent, but one, nonetheless, that I think I am willing to take on. I told my Dad and Mom and they were really supportive. My mom actually said that she's been wanting to read it too.

I wanted my dad to help me pick out a good one to read. I knew that I wasn't going to get through anything that's complicated and in verse, but I also din't want the translation to be so screwy that the meaning's been sucked right out of the pages.

We went to the bookstore and asked the guy where the Bibles were. Well, my dad asked. And, in asking the innocent salesclerk, he suggested that perhaps the Bibles happened to be in the religious fiction section of the store. My dad has a very strange sense of humor. The guy didn't know how to respond, so I piped up: "uh, that was supposed to be a joke."

I found myself a nice book and started it last night. I'm beginning with the New Testament cause my dad told me that the Old Testament is really depressing. But, I want to get to that next--it's the story of Moses that really fascinates me the most. Last night I read about the birth of Jesus. I'm only on chapter 5, but I think it's going well. I'm very aware that this could be a lifelong thing. I mean, it is The Bible and all. It's neat though. Definitely a good story--with interesting historical context--and one that I think is good to know.

My health is about the only thing I'm really good at. So, I'm a pretty good student (though I work really hard at that, it certainly doesn't come naturally!) and I can run a fair distance. But, being healthy? Well, that's one thing that I don't usually get wrong. And, I must admit, I take some pride in being a fairly physically healthy person. I'm glad to be able to say that I have never had major surgery or broken any major bones. It even brings me great satisfaction to miss the flu/cold rounds each year at school. I've always been a pretty healthy person and I'd like to keep it that way.

So, naturally, when I found out that I had a cavity yesterday it about put me to tears. Me? A cavity??! Oh no!

I dread the part of the check up where my dentists sticks his little pokey tool into each tooth and I feel a little tug back like it's getting stuck. I cringe each time it feels slightly stuck for fear that the decay has grabbed hold of the pointy sucker. Yet, I'm usually alright. So, this time around, he took out this crazy laser thing and started poking around in my teeth. Apparently this thing registers decay at a much more precise level than any human can. And, sure enough, it caught some in #30. Damn. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to be embarrassed or sad or mad. Was it those frozen m&m's I just can't seem to shake? Or, because I've sort of fell off the flossing band-wagon ever since Greece? It's hard to tell.

After I made my appointment to get the decay removed I asked my hygienist if I wasn't brushing correctly and she assured me that, no, that wasn't the case. She told me not to beat myself up over it. My "home care" looks good. *Sigh.* At that point, the whole thing seemed kinda ridiculous to me and I sort of had to laugh. My "home care" seemed good? Okay.

Last night there was a Peter Jennings' special (his wife produced it after he died) about the rising cost of health care. I just caught the end, but the point was made that better access to medical care is actually making people sicker. People get all these tests and check-ups only to keep getting sick. At the same time, I can't help but wonder if all of the new fangled medical contraptions are what's making us sicker. I mean, if my dentist hadn't have used the laser-o-dent, or whatever that stupid thing was called, to scan my dental crevices than, well, I wouldn't have a cavity. Right? I guess this brings up the age-old "tree-falling" issue. If my #30 is decaying, but no pokey thing is there to see it, then is it really decaying? I honestly can't say for sure.

I've been doing a lot of thinking regarding the last post. And, I'm not sure how I feel about what I wrote. I don't think I completely agree with myself anymore. The more that I thought about it, and tried to group my friends somewhere, I realized that none (well, maybe there are a few exceptions) of us really belong to any group. We're all sort of a little of this and a little of that. So maybe that's our group. The no group group. I don't know. I think the point was that I had been with a friend whose friends embody a group that I just don't. And, it got me thinking. It wasn't like I didn't fit in or anything like that. We had a great time and no one seemed to care particularly much that I was a tad bit different. Yet. I don't know. Still, there's something very nice about being able to make little categories for people to belong to and something very convenient about saying "I don't belong to any of them." But, that wasn't my point. I don't exactly know what my point was, though. I'll think some more.

I don't consider myself to be the "typical" college student.

To me, there are three main types of students:

1. The crazy, obnoxious, drunk kind.
2. The nontraditonal, hippy, let's-all-be-friends messy kind.
[subgroup a: hipster, alternative, "I'm-different-than-everyone-else kind]
[subgroup b: don't really care about the future, "don't tie me down" kind]
3. The really smart, future-oriented, I'm-gonna-get-a-kick-ass-high-paying-job kind.

I don't really feel like I fit any one of these groups. The weird part is, that I know and am friends with all of these types of people. I was just at my friend's place for dinner. And her friends are mostly 2. I think. And, I just felt really old and mom-like. I don't think that I have a problem with having fun or anything. Admittedly, I can be a little uptight about certain things. But, I think I'm fairly good at just having a good time. But, with the type 2 people, I just feel really boring, conventional and apprehensive. Take for example, I had to really turn a blind eye to the nasty sponge that I was using to clean the dishes and all the scum that was living in the water that had collected at the base of the dish rack. It was tough, let me tell ya. I wanted nothing more than to just empty out the whole damn kitchen and clean it. And, this is not to say that I am Ms. Martha Stewart. My room is definitely a mess, there are dust balls floating around my apartment and "gasp" even on my ceiling fan. But, still, certain things really bother me and it is a mental wonder that I get over them.

Back to the groups. I don't think I'd be able to categorize myself into one of them even if someone was threatening me with no more frozen peanut m&ms for my entire lifetime (though I'd try really, really hard). I don't think I'm 1. And, I'm probably not 2, subgroup b. But, as for the rest, I'd say I'm a bit of each.

So, this is a little too clean (I'm now using clean to mean something other than lack of dirt). Categorizing people is like trying to put a round edge on something that just has to be square. But, still. I think it's more or less true. I mean, even if everyone is indeed different, I think there are still certain ways that we group ourselves. And, I just don't know where that leaves me. Maybe I'm group 4. Whatever that may be.

Last night I finally ended my "6 hours of sleep a night" streak. It was up to 12. I got myself started, and I just couldn't stop. Go to bed at 1:30, wake up at 7:30. Without even trying.

But, last night, I slept almost a full 8 hours. Unbelievable. Someone could really give me a medal or something. Maybe a little congratulatory pat on the back or nod or something. It was great. Problem was, I was more tired than I had been on only 8 hours. I think it's just that the momentum is wearing off. I've been running and running and running on nothing. But, now that nothing (well, something is finally gone.

Tomorrow I don't have anything particularly important planned, so I might actually get a full 8 hours of sleep! Wow. I don't know. That might be pushing it. If I go to bed now, I can still wake up at a reasonable hour and not feel like a total slob. [Actually, it's almost 2 now. 8 hours might be cutting in close]. Tomorrow I think I want to read. Go to the gym, sweep my floor, have lunch with a friend, and read. Sigh. [Contented].

Tonight, we the odds were stacked in our favor.

I went to dinner club at a friend's apartment and we cooked up a storm.

So, the way it works, is that someone sets a theme (it usually has something to do with fancy food) and then everyone brings a dish to that theme. Then, there's voting. The person who makes the best dish wins this crazy aluminum foil gladiator-esque belt. The belt gets passed around to all the dinner club winners.

So, my friend and I are ambitious chefs. Or, she is at least. And I'm just inspired. I am most definitely content with simplicity (I've recently perfected the best caprese open face sandwich with fresh basil, mozzarella, tomato, cucumber and a splash of balsamic), but if there's fancy-pants to be had, I'm always game. And she is definitely fancy-pants.

Anyway, we made a lot of food. Everyone brought one dish, but the two of us together brought five. And it was all amazing. I left before the voting actually took place (it was getting kinda late and I wanted to catch the bus), but there was murmur that we should get the prize just for the fact that we made a good third of what was out there. I didn't like that though. If I'm gonna win, I want to win fair and square.

In case you're wondering, this was the menu:

Suppli with a little mozzarella surprise
Stuffed mushroom caps
Lettuce boats with marinated pork
Fresh baked herb bread

Stew
Pesto pasta salad with kalamata olives and broccoli
Spinach and bacon quiches

Creme brulee
Apple souflee
Ginger ice cream
Pumpkin Pie
Cafe parfait with caramel and chocolate topping
Three chocolate bread
Chocolate Fudge

Needless to say, I'm really full. It's not so much full though that I ate too much. It's full on sugar. And, I think that's the worst feeling in the world (well, maybe not the worst). Yuck. So, I went to catch the bus and it didn't come so I called the police guys to see if the bus was running. It wasn't running till midnight and it was only 11:30, so I requested umbrella coverage. I had to wait on the corner for a few minutes for the cop to come and then he actually made me walk home which was disappointing. But, not really. It felt great to walk after all that food. And, I got to have a great phone conversation while I was walking. It took me 25 minutes to get home.

So now, I'm ready for bed. I'm excited to brush my teeth, most of all. I love the feeling of freshly brushed teeth and the taste of toothpaste. Plus, I have scope toothpaste, and I'm a big fan.

Okay, I don't feel a whole lot better than when I wrote the last entry. In a sense, I feel ridiculously worse. Sometimes my silly complaints seem so miniscule in the grand scheme of pain and suffering. So what if it was just a couple ridiculous TV shows (I hate having to admit that one of them was Extreme Makeover Home Edition--but only because Desperate Housewives wasn't on...wait a minute, that's probably worse) that made me remember this. I still remember. All in all, I have it pretty good. No major stresses in my life. I'm happy. I'm healthy. I have a family and friends. I have 10 fingers and even 10 toes. So who am I, really, to sob over people not caring as much about me as I care about them (well, I wasn't really sobbing, but there were a few teensy tears involved).

I mean, sure I do feel bad sometimes. I don't take back that I get lonely--that I have been feeling particularly lonely the past few days--but I will rethink how I go about thinking about myself and my relationships with others. It's not that bad. Sometimes it all hurts, but, relatively speaking, I should be counting my blessings because it's actually all pretty good.

Sometimes I think I put more effort into things than it's worth. It's not even like I care about trying too hard--it doesn't seem too hard, really. It just doesn't feel good when I realize that it's all so one-sided. I guess I shouldn't care. I should do things because I want to do them. But, I think there is so much more to community and friendship than that. Sometimes you do things because you genuinely want to do them. But, other times, you do things because, well, it's nice to do them for other people. I find myself periodically feeling like I give all the time and don't get anything back. That I care too much about other people, but that the people that I care that much about don't really care all that much back. So, then I end up pretending that I don't care to protect myself from being hurt and it's just a lonely mess. And, now I feel terrible for even thinking this way--that I need to get in return for my give. But, you know, it's true. For me, at least. And, the truth is, I don't do things so that I can get something in return, but then, every once in a while, I realize that a few of my most desired relationships are just that. So, is it bad to want to get something from someone? I can't decide. Is it bad to be good to people so that they'll be good to me? Or, then is it not really being good to others and just a convoluted and confusing way to be selfish? I don't know. This really all confuses me. I guess maybe I just care about the wrong people--which sounds even worse, but might make the most sense. This is actually not a new problem. I've been trying to figure this out for a long time. Or, it could be that I just want different things from relationships than people are willing to give.

I was thinking how I didn't want a boyfriend. I've been thinking about this a lot, lately. About how I'm content with me being me and myself and me being me and my friends. But maybe that's just cause I wasn't lonely. Now I'm lonely, and all I want is someone who cares about me--cares deeply. Someone who thinks I look good and someone who thinks I am good. But, I can't decide if I like the idea of having a boyfriend for just the idea and that in practice it doesn't make sense. I think, really, want it comes down to is having someone reinforce that I might possibly be the tiniest bit attractive. Inside and out--honestly.

I was also thinking about how I've never really been with a guy who knew me before being with me. My very limited "relationship" experience has been with people who I didn't really know. So, what does that mean? I am probably paranoid in thinking that I am just a loser who no one who actually knows me wants to be with. But, I honestly, can't help but to think that. I mean, it sort of makes sense--all the pieces fit. Sometimes I think it's cause I'm too nice. But, I'm really not. So then I think it's cause I'm not nice enough. But, that doesn't make sense either. So I don't really know what it is. Whatever it is though, makes me feel like the biggest loser alive. Why is it that some people have people who care about them--in a romantic, intimate sense--and others don't. Sure, they just haven't found the right person, but why not?

I am at the library trying to do everything but write my darn assignment. It's the only thing left to do and it's really, really hard. The hardest part, really, is that it's so easy. We've been working up to this assignment all quarter and I have, basically, already done what I need to do. But, it just doesn't feel like enough. I don't feel like I've put enough time into this class. Like I really know what the heck I'm doing. But, what makes it really difficult is that I'm actually doing something. Both my instructors told me that they were really impressed with my progress and wished that the class was 18 of me instead of me and everyone else. But, part of me feels like I've just done a really good job of bull-shitting them and that I really don't have much going for me at this point. It's really confusing. I think I'm really good at pretending like I know exactly what I'm doing, but, in reality, I'm as lost as everyone else. I'm just good at doing what needs to be done, right? But, it doesn't always seem like I'm actually doing much. I don't know, maybe I'm too hard on myself.

So, anyway, there was a point to this post that had everything to do with the title. Honestly. So, now I'll get to that:

I just swallowed my gum. I don't know why. All of a sudden I just forgot that I was chewing gum or something and instinctively swallowed what was in my mouth. It's a good think I'm not a baby putting lots of odd objects in there, cause based on what I've just done, I'd have swallowed those things too.

So, my swallowing my gum gave me something to write about in my blog and I was really excited because it meant that I didn't have to write my assignment anymore! Yay!

I've been at the library almost 2 hours now and done practically nothing.

But, I'm being more productive than the guy in the comfy chairs next to me. He's been sleeping the entire time I've been here. Yesterday that happened too. There was a guy sleeping for a good 3 hours in the comfy chairs. Don't people have homes? I'm sorry, but I just don't get it.

Bleah...I'm never the one at the library the last day of finals. This feels terrible.

It's truly amazing how empty this place is.

Ok, back to work.

I'm terrible at buying plane tickets. The process always includes me calling everyone I know (sometimes even knocking on doors) to ask when everyone thinks I should leave and what their plans are for the potential departure days that I am considering, and then checking every possible airline website to make sure that I am, indeed, getting the best possible deal.

This process also always includes a phone call to my dad whence I ask him when I should come home and he says, in his usual tone of voice, "Honey? Do you have problems making decisions?" And then I yell, "Yes!" Then he counsels me on the fact that there "are no wrong decisions." Yaddah yaddah.

Last night, he even made me tell him what would happen if I chose the wrong day to come back. "Well," I said, "I'd be sad and wish I was home. Or, I'd be sad and wish I was here." Then, he told me how big the universe was and said something about there being billions of stars or something and how long it would take to get across the galaxy--point being, it didn't really matter when I came and left. I don't know, really. I started to tune that part out. He sure doesn't make it easy to be emotional, that's for sure.

Anyway, long story short, I bought my plane tickets.

Okay, I don't even like that word: sluts. But, I do think it's true.

On a short little internet break to review some of my friend's photos I was prompted to remember something another friend had said to me a few weeks ago:

And, I quote (I don't think she'll mind):

"Halloween is just an excuse for girls to dress as sluts."

Amen.

I love love love love love the snow!!!