After writing about sixty pages total about all that is holy about English thangs during a 10 day stretch in December, I'm all out of stuff. I'm creatively constipated, and it's uncomfortable.
I have absolutely nothing appropriate to say.
Godspeed.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Friday, November 20, 2009
Shedding Some [Twi]light on the Edward Cullen Craze
Let me be the first to say that there is no way in Bella Swan's version-of-hell-without-Edward Cullen that the Twilight saga would ever be considered a literary masterpiece. According to the vampire and Gothic experts in my English program, the Twilight vampires defeat the entire purpose(s) for the existence of these mythical creatures, and I myself have been able to put the books down and walk away for weeks or months at a time, and that's really not saying much, coming from a Rhetoric/Composition lover. All the Stephenie Meyer bashing aside, the point of the blog is this: give Twilight fans a frickin' break.
Exhibit A: This was a status from a male Facebook friend-"Don't worry girls, in a few weeks when you realize that you aren't really a part of anyone's "team", that some of you are bitchy-not a sweet girl named Bella, and that yet again you have bought-in to a book that targets the emotions of a 7th grade girl, all of the guys you'll really want to marry one day will be standing in reality, waiting on your return. We won't even tell you, 'We told you so..' "
This same gentleman had posted a picture of a "Naughty Nurse" Halloween Costume with the caption "I forgot how much I love Halloween. Mmm...ha" prior to his Twilight post. I am in no way knocking this guy because I understand his frustration. I have felt this same frustration when I've seen internet postings/overheard conversations about guys ogling women with the assets of Megan Fox and her progeny. None of my friends, as gorgeous as they are, will ever look like the Megan Fox types unless they spend everyday with a trainer and a personal chef, getting paid big bucks to do it, and as a last resort having the benefit of an airbrush or graphic artist manipulating their Facebook photos when mother nature hiccuped. The bottom line is this: we all have unrealistic expectations when it comes to what we look for in the opposite sex.
I think that for girls--especially young girls my sister's age--high expectations for the man you want to ultimately be with can be good. Sure, it would be absurd if a man like Edward were the end-all be-all for a woman my age, but what's wrong with presenting young tween and teenage girls a picture of how a man should love and respect a woman? Nobody I know is throwing a fit over the Biblical portrayal of love/relationships from Song of Solomon or even Christ's love for his church. I know that nobody will ever love me like Jesus, nor will I ever be able to sacrifice for anyone the way he sacrificed for me, but that doesn't stop me from having relationships or loving.
Girls love Edward Cullen because he's mature (Your boyfriend would be too if he were a century or two old), he doesn't push his boundaries when it comes to sex, he puts Bella's comfort and safety before all else, he has a close-knit family, his appearance is absolutely stunning, and he would rather die at the hands of the Volturi than to live without the woman he loves ("you're my own personal brand of heroin"--the cheesiest line of all time, but you get the point). What's not to love?!
Even Jacob Black isn't a bad guy to have in your corner. He steps in to love Bella when Edward is gone, he fights to protect her from impending danger, his dad and Bella's dad are old, close friends, and he also is stunning and strong. Again, what's not to love?!
I've found myself sighing a little and getting wide-eyed when I see Rob Pattinson or Taylor Lautner on screen, but when it comes down to it, I'd rather have my own flesh and blood Sean Day, and I'm sure other women would too (or their own Drews/Matts/Jakes/Jamies/Adams/Neals, because nobody better try to take my man, just saying). Sean can make me laugh like nobody can, he gives the best hugs, and nothing makes me happier than when he tells me he loves me (Sean, please don't kill me for destroying your street cred. You are a badass to the core.). We Edward/Jacob-lovers KNOW the difference between fantasy and reality, and all the complaints about girls who love Twilight, blah blah, beg the question "Do YOU?"
I personally don't care if you love the Twilight saga or you swore your allegiance to Harry Potter back in 2007 and refuse to get off your Nimbus 2000 and give vampires a chance. I just hoped to shed a little [Twi]light on the Edward Cullen Craze and why girls go gaga for a blood-thirsty monster. I'm not trying to convince anyone of anything.
After all, the Volturi are watching...
Exhibit A: This was a status from a male Facebook friend-"Don't worry girls, in a few weeks when you realize that you aren't really a part of anyone's "team", that some of you are bitchy-not a sweet girl named Bella, and that yet again you have bought-in to a book that targets the emotions of a 7th grade girl, all of the guys you'll really want to marry one day will be standing in reality, waiting on your return. We won't even tell you, 'We told you so..' "
This same gentleman had posted a picture of a "Naughty Nurse" Halloween Costume with the caption "I forgot how much I love Halloween. Mmm...ha" prior to his Twilight post. I am in no way knocking this guy because I understand his frustration. I have felt this same frustration when I've seen internet postings/overheard conversations about guys ogling women with the assets of Megan Fox and her progeny. None of my friends, as gorgeous as they are, will ever look like the Megan Fox types unless they spend everyday with a trainer and a personal chef, getting paid big bucks to do it, and as a last resort having the benefit of an airbrush or graphic artist manipulating their Facebook photos when mother nature hiccuped. The bottom line is this: we all have unrealistic expectations when it comes to what we look for in the opposite sex.
I think that for girls--especially young girls my sister's age--high expectations for the man you want to ultimately be with can be good. Sure, it would be absurd if a man like Edward were the end-all be-all for a woman my age, but what's wrong with presenting young tween and teenage girls a picture of how a man should love and respect a woman? Nobody I know is throwing a fit over the Biblical portrayal of love/relationships from Song of Solomon or even Christ's love for his church. I know that nobody will ever love me like Jesus, nor will I ever be able to sacrifice for anyone the way he sacrificed for me, but that doesn't stop me from having relationships or loving.
Girls love Edward Cullen because he's mature (Your boyfriend would be too if he were a century or two old), he doesn't push his boundaries when it comes to sex, he puts Bella's comfort and safety before all else, he has a close-knit family, his appearance is absolutely stunning, and he would rather die at the hands of the Volturi than to live without the woman he loves ("you're my own personal brand of heroin"--the cheesiest line of all time, but you get the point). What's not to love?!
Even Jacob Black isn't a bad guy to have in your corner. He steps in to love Bella when Edward is gone, he fights to protect her from impending danger, his dad and Bella's dad are old, close friends, and he also is stunning and strong. Again, what's not to love?!
I've found myself sighing a little and getting wide-eyed when I see Rob Pattinson or Taylor Lautner on screen, but when it comes down to it, I'd rather have my own flesh and blood Sean Day, and I'm sure other women would too (or their own Drews/Matts/Jakes/Jamies/Adams/Neals, because nobody better try to take my man, just saying). Sean can make me laugh like nobody can, he gives the best hugs, and nothing makes me happier than when he tells me he loves me (Sean, please don't kill me for destroying your street cred. You are a badass to the core.). We Edward/Jacob-lovers KNOW the difference between fantasy and reality, and all the complaints about girls who love Twilight, blah blah, beg the question "Do YOU?"
I personally don't care if you love the Twilight saga or you swore your allegiance to Harry Potter back in 2007 and refuse to get off your Nimbus 2000 and give vampires a chance. I just hoped to shed a little [Twi]light on the Edward Cullen Craze and why girls go gaga for a blood-thirsty monster. I'm not trying to convince anyone of anything.
After all, the Volturi are watching...
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Just Junk
I have nothing of substance to say, because to be honest, I haven't really done any decent thinking lately. Back in the Myspace days, I used to think that whenever I blogged that I needed to write about some epiphany I had or something big like that. But now I know that sometimes--most of the time--all that's going through my head is just crap. For example, these are some of the thoughts I had today:
In other news, I flew to Buffalo, NY over Fall Break to visit Tara, where we had the Essential Fall Experience. I hadn't flown in about six years, and this was the first time I had flown by myself, and I felt SO grownup. Granted, I texted my mom every time I got to my gate, boarded a plane, landed, got off the plane, etc., but still. This was a big step for 24 year old me. Buffalo is a place full of weird people. Tara always talks about how much she hates it there, but I thought she was just being the whiny brat that she is, but I was wrong. It really is THAT terrible. We went to a bar and a guy came up and asked me if I was okay because I looked like I was going to throw-up. Thank you very much, Casanova, but if I were going to vomit, I would have found your car and thrown up on it (If I have actually ever thrown up on or in your car, that was just a coincidence. It doesn't mean I don't like you. Stuff happens.). I also contracted the flu while in Buffalo. One of Tara's other friends contracted the flu a couple weeks later when she visited. Coincidence? I think not. Anyway, aside from the douchey people in Buffalo and almost dying from the flu, it was a blast. Tara, I just can't quit you, baby.
After that trip I took a week off to suffer from the flu, cried over missing my mom the week after that, said something dumb in Visual Rhetoric about a fish smoking a joint, then realized I was the only person laughing at my joke, then left the room because I was reading a funny website and almost wet myself laughing and didn't want the teacher to know I stopped paying attention. So yeah, it's been pretty uneventful.
I am excited for Thanksgiving and Christmas, only it reminds me of just how broke I am. I always tell my extended family that they don't have to buy me anything since I can't buy them anything, but they never listen. This in turn makes me feel like a character straight out of a Jack Black movie. I mean, my 21 year old cousin is engaged, my sister is thin and pretty and smart and a cheerleader, my other cousins are barely out of diapers, and then there's me, Amy looking like Jack Black in Orange County, sitting in her underwear with like a bag of Cheetos or something, who pretty much got kicked out of law school and never buys Christmas gifts, shows up for Birthdays, or returns phone calls. I also usually end up joking about one of my gay ex boyfriends too. Luckily, this year, I have my secret weapon for success, Sean Day. "Ooo, Amy is in a functional relationship with a heterosexual male who is a future attorney. Yes Virginia, there IS a Santa Claus!" This will be a huge improvement over the last holiday season, when I was at my Aunt Lori's house crying into the Turkey over Brandon, knowing I was about to royally screw up law school exams.
And the beat goes on.
- I have to pee.
- I want my peanut butter and jelly sandwich now.
- I want to go to bed (2:00 pm).
- That girl kissing that guy is just gross. Now go put on some shoes.
- I can't wait to go home and watch Medium reruns on Lifetime tonight.
- I love Sean.
- I want a kitty.
- I have to pee.
In other news, I flew to Buffalo, NY over Fall Break to visit Tara, where we had the Essential Fall Experience. I hadn't flown in about six years, and this was the first time I had flown by myself, and I felt SO grownup. Granted, I texted my mom every time I got to my gate, boarded a plane, landed, got off the plane, etc., but still. This was a big step for 24 year old me. Buffalo is a place full of weird people. Tara always talks about how much she hates it there, but I thought she was just being the whiny brat that she is, but I was wrong. It really is THAT terrible. We went to a bar and a guy came up and asked me if I was okay because I looked like I was going to throw-up. Thank you very much, Casanova, but if I were going to vomit, I would have found your car and thrown up on it (If I have actually ever thrown up on or in your car, that was just a coincidence. It doesn't mean I don't like you. Stuff happens.). I also contracted the flu while in Buffalo. One of Tara's other friends contracted the flu a couple weeks later when she visited. Coincidence? I think not. Anyway, aside from the douchey people in Buffalo and almost dying from the flu, it was a blast. Tara, I just can't quit you, baby.
After that trip I took a week off to suffer from the flu, cried over missing my mom the week after that, said something dumb in Visual Rhetoric about a fish smoking a joint, then realized I was the only person laughing at my joke, then left the room because I was reading a funny website and almost wet myself laughing and didn't want the teacher to know I stopped paying attention. So yeah, it's been pretty uneventful.
I am excited for Thanksgiving and Christmas, only it reminds me of just how broke I am. I always tell my extended family that they don't have to buy me anything since I can't buy them anything, but they never listen. This in turn makes me feel like a character straight out of a Jack Black movie. I mean, my 21 year old cousin is engaged, my sister is thin and pretty and smart and a cheerleader, my other cousins are barely out of diapers, and then there's me, Amy looking like Jack Black in Orange County, sitting in her underwear with like a bag of Cheetos or something, who pretty much got kicked out of law school and never buys Christmas gifts, shows up for Birthdays, or returns phone calls. I also usually end up joking about one of my gay ex boyfriends too. Luckily, this year, I have my secret weapon for success, Sean Day. "Ooo, Amy is in a functional relationship with a heterosexual male who is a future attorney. Yes Virginia, there IS a Santa Claus!" This will be a huge improvement over the last holiday season, when I was at my Aunt Lori's house crying into the Turkey over Brandon, knowing I was about to royally screw up law school exams.
And the beat goes on.
Monday, October 5, 2009
A Birthday Blog
It's my birthday. I seriously can't believe I am 24 whole years old right this very minute (ok, well, in like 10 hours and 40 more minutes, technically, but who's counting?). Sometimes I feel like I'm not old enough to even be buying my own groceries, and then I remember that when my mom turned 24, she'd been married a while and I was a year old. I mean, I guess this is the "mid-twenties," right? I'm supposed to be on my way to settling down, instead of feeling like I'm going through some kind of emotional/circumstantial puberty every day, right? MY BIOLOGICAL CLOCK IS TICKING! TICK-TOCK TICK-TOCK TICK...
I was pilfering through my nightstand and found a letter that I'd written to myself about six years ago. I was a junior in high school and my AP Spanish teacher had us write letters to ourselves in the future, with what our lives were like then, and where we hoped we would be in five years and then ten years, and she would keep them and mail them to us after five years. I had to do this once before, but this time, the teacher followed through (it could have something to do with the fact that Sra. Clark was one of the most badass teachers to ever walk the halls of Karns High School, right along with Mona Beverly and Marilyn McClain, so naturally she would be true to her word. Anyway...). Reading it was comical, to say the least. Note that some names have been changed/omitted to protect the completely oblivious, and pardon the mistakes in punctuation:
May 8, 2003
Dear Amy,
OK. Today I'm/You're sitting in Spanish, writing this letter to yourself. What are you going to accomplish in 5 years? In 10 years? Who do you hope to be? Where are you going to go? Good question. As of today, my 17 year old self lives in the world the size of a pencil eraser. I think about things like "was what I ate for breakfast healthy?" and "oh gosh, I need to lose weight" and "will I EVER have a boyfriend?" Lame, yes, I know. This year, my junior year, I am not so school crazy. I'm so burnt out on trying for all As that no one will care about in a couple of years. I really think I've lightened up. I actually have more fun now. I feel like I am getting some sort of a life. This is me now:
<3,
the 17-year old Amy
To reference Garth Brooks, sometimes I thank God for unanswered prayers. I may have thought I knew what I wanted at the time, but I can't imagine how my life might have turned out if everything had gone according to planned. When I first read this letter, I was still in law school (oh lord! not another law school reference!) and quite pleased with myself; but, a mere year later, my path has changed once again, but I am still quite pleased with myself. I realize that all this "things happen for a reason" crap that I keep preaching in post after post is probably getting old, but it's just amazing to me that after all the so-called disappointments and heartbreaks I've experienced through the years, I can still come out immensely blessed and on my feet. In retrospect, all these life letdowns have been easy and the tears have been sweet. I say all this to remind myself that though I'm not where I thought I wanted to be right now, the past 24 years have been perfect. I have so many people I love, so many great memories, and so much to look forward to.
Happy Birthday, Amy, and from here on out, PLEASE disappoint me.
Love,
The 24 year-old Amy
I was pilfering through my nightstand and found a letter that I'd written to myself about six years ago. I was a junior in high school and my AP Spanish teacher had us write letters to ourselves in the future, with what our lives were like then, and where we hoped we would be in five years and then ten years, and she would keep them and mail them to us after five years. I had to do this once before, but this time, the teacher followed through (it could have something to do with the fact that Sra. Clark was one of the most badass teachers to ever walk the halls of Karns High School, right along with Mona Beverly and Marilyn McClain, so naturally she would be true to her word. Anyway...). Reading it was comical, to say the least. Note that some names have been changed/omitted to protect the completely oblivious, and pardon the mistakes in punctuation:
May 8, 2003
Dear Amy,
OK. Today I'm/You're sitting in Spanish, writing this letter to yourself. What are you going to accomplish in 5 years? In 10 years? Who do you hope to be? Where are you going to go? Good question. As of today, my 17 year old self lives in the world the size of a pencil eraser. I think about things like "was what I ate for breakfast healthy?" and "oh gosh, I need to lose weight" and "will I EVER have a boyfriend?" Lame, yes, I know. This year, my junior year, I am not so school crazy. I'm so burnt out on trying for all As that no one will care about in a couple of years. I really think I've lightened up. I actually have more fun now. I feel like I am getting some sort of a life. This is me now:
- Morgan Harris is my best friend
- My sister drives me nuts
- I like driving
- Church and the whole praise band thing is stressful
- I am always on a "diet" such a quirk
- I am always complaining about boys/lack there of, getting over ---- ------.
- Thinking ---- ----- is a total hoe.
- Go to college somewhere outside of TENN.
- Go back to England
- Study abroad in a Spanish-speaking country
- Visit Costa Rica or Puerto Rico
- Go back to New York
- Have a boyfriend--haha! That's not something to accomplish
- Decide what I'm going to do with my life
- Be awesome at Guitar
- Learn French and Italian
- Finish college/graduate school
- Be married/engaged or just, happily single!
- No kids yet
- Own a home
- Drive a new car
- Have a good job as either an interior designer or a writer or something Spanish-y
- Go to Italy
- Move somewhere exciting!
- Live in New York a year
- Go to the Bahamas or Hawaii
- Write a book
<3,
the 17-year old Amy
To reference Garth Brooks, sometimes I thank God for unanswered prayers. I may have thought I knew what I wanted at the time, but I can't imagine how my life might have turned out if everything had gone according to planned. When I first read this letter, I was still in law school (oh lord! not another law school reference!) and quite pleased with myself; but, a mere year later, my path has changed once again, but I am still quite pleased with myself. I realize that all this "things happen for a reason" crap that I keep preaching in post after post is probably getting old, but it's just amazing to me that after all the so-called disappointments and heartbreaks I've experienced through the years, I can still come out immensely blessed and on my feet. In retrospect, all these life letdowns have been easy and the tears have been sweet. I say all this to remind myself that though I'm not where I thought I wanted to be right now, the past 24 years have been perfect. I have so many people I love, so many great memories, and so much to look forward to.
Happy Birthday, Amy, and from here on out, PLEASE disappoint me.
Love,
The 24 year-old Amy
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Addendum
I always have these little afterthoughts once I post a blog, so I can't just let it be.
I really hope I didn't come across as a complete and total jerk in that last post about tools-from-law school. Nobody's said anything to imply that was offensive or what not, but I felt bad that a post or two earlier I was talking about how wonderful the Lord is and then I turn right around and say something really mean that probably stems from my own bitterness over the whole law school situation. Yeah, I know I'm going to screw up again in the very near future, but I didn't want to give Christians a bad name in claiming to be one and then being so biting. My apologies.
Still, I am the happiest I've been in awhile, and for that I am grateful and I know I am blessed. And of course, wherever you go, there you are.
I really hope I didn't come across as a complete and total jerk in that last post about tools-from-law school. Nobody's said anything to imply that was offensive or what not, but I felt bad that a post or two earlier I was talking about how wonderful the Lord is and then I turn right around and say something really mean that probably stems from my own bitterness over the whole law school situation. Yeah, I know I'm going to screw up again in the very near future, but I didn't want to give Christians a bad name in claiming to be one and then being so biting. My apologies.
Still, I am the happiest I've been in awhile, and for that I am grateful and I know I am blessed. And of course, wherever you go, there you are.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Let's Play Catch-Up
So it appears that the last little blog blurb should have been called "Coming Later" rather than "Coming Soon". But good things come to those who wait, right?
I was really aiming to not talk about my feelings or mention the words "law" and "school" in the same sentence in this blog, but it looks like I will anyway. The good news is, I have good news. But first, let's poke fun at a non-law school graduate program, shall we?
Follow-up from previous post:
Guy in American Lit says he can't watch The Office because there are too many "socially awkward" situations. That's the point, brainiac. What's more socially awkward? The guy had more facial hair than Bigfoot himself, and this guy has access to a razor.
The long-lost Jonas Brother is in the same class.
I already found one girl, maybe two, I'd like to spill hot coffee on.
Now that we've had the chance to reminisce and reflect, I have to present you with the most wonderful grad school discovery yet: Talky McOldLady.
I have to credit the humorous name of this character to Laura Beth, who also faithfully documents the absurdities of Talky in a word document on her Mac. I'm just the messenger.
We should have known ol' Talky was going to be our main source of comic relief the day she walked in wearing velvety paisley pants and tried to convince Dr. Link that the rise of the picaresque novel in America paralleled the rise of opera in England.
Link: Well...I don't know about that. I don't know much about opera.
Talky: Me either.
Dr. Link had us buy a specific edition of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, as it was the complete authoritative text. He polled the class one morning.
Link: How much did the campus bookstore charge for this version of Huck Finn? THIS version. Not the Penguin Classic, not any other version. THIS SPECIFIC VERSION.
Class: Used, about $13.95. New, more like $17.95. Wasn't that bad.
Talky: I found the hardcover for $7.95 at Book Star.
Link: Seriously? Hard cover, for THIS SPECIFIC VERSION?
Talky: Oh, no, not that one. I didn't know what we were talking about.
That same day Talky tried to finish Link's sentence.
Link: The three characters of Rebecca Harding Davis' Life in the Iron Mills represent the head, the heart, and...???
Talky: The Feet!
Link: The pocket.
Then there was the lecture over the Civil War.
Link: ...and then there was the Battle of Chancellorsville. And what novel are we reading for this class that deals with the Battle of Chancellorsville?
Talking: The Novel of Chancellorsville!
Link: The Red Badge of Courage.
Note: The Novel of Chancellorsville was not on the syllabus. Probably because there is no Novel of Chancellorsville.
And finally...
Link: What Southern novel is it where the man has sex with the sheep?
Talky: Absalom, Absalom!
Link: Anybody know?
Talky: Absalom, Absalom!
Link: ?
Talky: Absalom, Absalom!
Link: (finally acknowledging her) there actually aren't even farm animals in that novel. Anybody?
I can't even do the woman justice. You just have to be there. Anyway, the MA program is great. Of course, the first two weeks I hung my head in disgust at just how worthless English is and how I really screwed it up with law school and how I'd better brush up on my house-wife skills and birthing abilities. But then I started having loads of fun. IN CLASS. Like discussing different interpretations of Amiri Baraka's poetry. And learning how to teach writing. Watching entire movies about the Helvetica font while eating jerk chicken Nachos our teacher bought us for class. The environment is a complete 180 from that of law school. We sit in semi-circles or around tables with our professors and peers. One of my teachers thanked me for doing some research on a poem that I figured I was supposed to do anyway. We're always being asked our opinions and people actually thank you for sharing and encourage your line of thought. The professors have so much less ego too. I got caught by a train the second week of school and came to my American Lit class 15 minutes late. I opened the door and braced myself for an "evil eye" or royal ass-chewing/request to leave. Dr. Link said "Come on in!" and continued lecturing. I don't fear class anymore and I'm being encouraged to think and write original papers with an original thesis that complements my research interests, instead of regurgitate in 3 hours on a computer screen all I've learned in a semester. Much to my surprise, I'm really enjoying myself and I genuinely think this is where I'm supposed to be and what I'm supposed to be doing. Life is good again.
Ok, go ahead and do your sneering, tools-from law school-who-read-my-blog (Note: going to law school doesn't make you a tool. I have a lot of great friends from the law school. I'm speaking specifically to the sneering tools here). "She's just saying that because she got academically excluded/is pissed she can't do moot court like I can/generally sucks at life." You can now go stuff it. I don't cry myself to sleep at night. I enjoy what I learn, and my so-called "friends" aren't trying to psych me out before an exam or lie to me about an assignment so they can get ahead. It's quite nice. I'll now let you get back to not-briefing-cases-because-it's-lame and counting all the Facebook friends you've acquired since you started a smaller school where people might actually remember your name since you won't shut up in class and they're pretty much forced to.
And I'll get back to time-out for acting really childish in that last paragraph. But soooooo?! Booyah.
I was really aiming to not talk about my feelings or mention the words "law" and "school" in the same sentence in this blog, but it looks like I will anyway. The good news is, I have good news. But first, let's poke fun at a non-law school graduate program, shall we?
Follow-up from previous post:
Guy in American Lit says he can't watch The Office because there are too many "socially awkward" situations. That's the point, brainiac. What's more socially awkward? The guy had more facial hair than Bigfoot himself, and this guy has access to a razor.
- This guy puts my classmates and I in socially awkward situations every day. I wish I could insert a dramatization of daily events here. Just use your imagination. Enter man. High-waisted pants. Shirt tucked in. No belt. Hair down to rear end. Beard. Resembles an unkempt, Anglo-Saxon Jesus. Stands beside desk. Flips hair over both shoulders. Right jab, left cross, head tilt. Sit. Class begins. Right jab, left cross, head tilt. My roommate suggested Tourettes syndrome as a possible explanation. You be the judge.
The long-lost Jonas Brother is in the same class.
- I have two classes with the Jo-Bro. He's an extremely nice, funny guy, but every time he walks into class, I hear the Jonas Brothers in my head (I would have said I can hear duhduh duh du-uh "I told you I made dinner plans/for you and me and no one else..." but you wouldn't catch it since I'm the only person over the age of 16 who owns their CD.).
I already found one girl, maybe two, I'd like to spill hot coffee on.
- Nice girl. I'm the one with the problem. And the hot coffee.
Now that we've had the chance to reminisce and reflect, I have to present you with the most wonderful grad school discovery yet: Talky McOldLady.
I have to credit the humorous name of this character to Laura Beth, who also faithfully documents the absurdities of Talky in a word document on her Mac. I'm just the messenger.
We should have known ol' Talky was going to be our main source of comic relief the day she walked in wearing velvety paisley pants and tried to convince Dr. Link that the rise of the picaresque novel in America paralleled the rise of opera in England.
Link: Well...I don't know about that. I don't know much about opera.
Talky: Me either.
Dr. Link had us buy a specific edition of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, as it was the complete authoritative text. He polled the class one morning.
Link: How much did the campus bookstore charge for this version of Huck Finn? THIS version. Not the Penguin Classic, not any other version. THIS SPECIFIC VERSION.
Class: Used, about $13.95. New, more like $17.95. Wasn't that bad.
Talky: I found the hardcover for $7.95 at Book Star.
Link: Seriously? Hard cover, for THIS SPECIFIC VERSION?
Talky: Oh, no, not that one. I didn't know what we were talking about.
That same day Talky tried to finish Link's sentence.
Link: The three characters of Rebecca Harding Davis' Life in the Iron Mills represent the head, the heart, and...???
Talky: The Feet!
Link: The pocket.
Then there was the lecture over the Civil War.
Link: ...and then there was the Battle of Chancellorsville. And what novel are we reading for this class that deals with the Battle of Chancellorsville?
Talking: The Novel of Chancellorsville!
Link: The Red Badge of Courage.
Note: The Novel of Chancellorsville was not on the syllabus. Probably because there is no Novel of Chancellorsville.
And finally...
Link: What Southern novel is it where the man has sex with the sheep?
Talky: Absalom, Absalom!
Link: Anybody know?
Talky: Absalom, Absalom!
Link: ?
Talky: Absalom, Absalom!
Link: (finally acknowledging her) there actually aren't even farm animals in that novel. Anybody?
I can't even do the woman justice. You just have to be there. Anyway, the MA program is great. Of course, the first two weeks I hung my head in disgust at just how worthless English is and how I really screwed it up with law school and how I'd better brush up on my house-wife skills and birthing abilities. But then I started having loads of fun. IN CLASS. Like discussing different interpretations of Amiri Baraka's poetry. And learning how to teach writing. Watching entire movies about the Helvetica font while eating jerk chicken Nachos our teacher bought us for class. The environment is a complete 180 from that of law school. We sit in semi-circles or around tables with our professors and peers. One of my teachers thanked me for doing some research on a poem that I figured I was supposed to do anyway. We're always being asked our opinions and people actually thank you for sharing and encourage your line of thought. The professors have so much less ego too. I got caught by a train the second week of school and came to my American Lit class 15 minutes late. I opened the door and braced myself for an "evil eye" or royal ass-chewing/request to leave. Dr. Link said "Come on in!" and continued lecturing. I don't fear class anymore and I'm being encouraged to think and write original papers with an original thesis that complements my research interests, instead of regurgitate in 3 hours on a computer screen all I've learned in a semester. Much to my surprise, I'm really enjoying myself and I genuinely think this is where I'm supposed to be and what I'm supposed to be doing. Life is good again.
Ok, go ahead and do your sneering, tools-from law school-who-read-my-blog (Note: going to law school doesn't make you a tool. I have a lot of great friends from the law school. I'm speaking specifically to the sneering tools here). "She's just saying that because she got academically excluded/is pissed she can't do moot court like I can/generally sucks at life." You can now go stuff it. I don't cry myself to sleep at night. I enjoy what I learn, and my so-called "friends" aren't trying to psych me out before an exam or lie to me about an assignment so they can get ahead. It's quite nice. I'll now let you get back to not-briefing-cases-because-it's-lame and counting all the Facebook friends you've acquired since you started a smaller school where people might actually remember your name since you won't shut up in class and they're pretty much forced to.
And I'll get back to time-out for acting really childish in that last paragraph. But soooooo?! Booyah.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Coming Soon...
Day 1 of classes for the MA in English. Excellent blog fodder? Oh yes.
PS-If I allowed a travel agency from Singapore to advertise on my blog, would you think less of me?
- Guy in American Lit says he can't watch The Office because there are too many "socially awkward" situations. That's the point, brainiac. What's more socially awkward? The guy had more facial hair than Bigfoot himself, and this guy has access to a razor.
- The long-lost Jonas Brother is in the same class.
- I already found one girl, maybe two, I'd like to spill hot coffee on.
PS-If I allowed a travel agency from Singapore to advertise on my blog, would you think less of me?
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Up Close and Personal
I've been working up the courage for WEEKS to be able to write something more personal again. I know, I know. That's a really stupid thing to say when VOLUNTARILY keeping a blog that maybe 10 people total read. Let me explain.
After the initial heartbreak of my "academic exclusion" (my new favorite euphemism, by the way) from good ol' Cecil C. Humphreys School of Law (and for the record, no I did not fail any classes, you Nosies, not that it matters now anyway)(there are too many little asides in here already, aren't there?)and my announcement of my "exclusion" (see earlier post, The Rest of the Story), I decided that I was going to start being super private about anything going on in my life. See, somewhere around my sophomore year at UT, the filter on my mouth was removed and I became a world-class blurter. Like the time I told my OL class that I was having a bad week because I was trying to cover up four hickeys on my neck(I know I mentioned that another time. I'm secretly proud of my ability to bruise so well). Or the time I told my entire English class that I had an odd Spring Break because one of my friends came out of the closet. Nervous laughter from thirty students. My professor commenting that at least my friend and I had no more secrets. Open mouth, insert shoe store. Ok right. Back on track. Anyway, I decided that I was no longer going to fill anyone in on the bigger things in life. Like just let things be a secret. That way, if something major falls through, like law school, for example, nobody would know. I wouldn't have to fake my death and move to Mexico as planned. I could just pick another back-up plan and move on. I cut back on my Facebook statusing too, so that I could just be some kind of mystery (like anybody noticed. I can be so self-absorbed sometimes)and fade into the shadows. Who am I kidding? I love talking about myself! I hate the shadows, and I love sharing my feelings, whether anybody else cares or not. It's hard to deny who you are.
I'm pleased to share that at the end of this month, I will be starting the Master's program in English, Composition Studies, back at the University of Memphis. I've definitely had some moments where I feel like I'm taking a big step-down, that the maintenance guy at my apartment complex is going to be sad that I'm not gonna get that JD, and that my parents are secretly going to hang their heads in disgust at my failure. I even asked my mom if she would make the drive to see me graduate. "Why wouldn't I?" "Because," I said, putting on my best pathetic face, "It's just a Master's." My mother is definitely not a make-you-feel-good kind of person. "S***! I'd love to just finish my degree." (I'm not sure my mom actually cursed there. It just sounds better in my head like that.) I cowered and began to process that perspective.
I can't even begin to describe how lucky I feel to have this opportunity. The pity parties I've thrown myself and the self-deprecation have to stop! What are the odds that the deadline for a graduate program focusing on my favorite subject in the free world was August 1st? I had ample time to apply, study, take the GRE, and be admitted. My student loans have been reinstated, I still have my apartment for the next year, and the friends I've made in Memphis aren't going anywhere. In fact, one of my law school friends is going into the EXACT same program! It's been so great to have her there to check in with and talk things over with. I appreciate it, LB :) Let's not forget that my tuition is cheaper, I'll later have the opportunity to be a Graduate Assistant, and I probably won't have to sip Sutter Home's $8.99 jumbo-sized bottle of White Merlot to depress my nerves enough to breathe while doing homework.
I'm FINALLY realizing that I am blessed. Sure, I'm still bummed about law school, and yeah, if given the choice I'd rather be heading back to Cecil C's. It kills me that I can't finish what I started, and that I one day decide to try it again, I have to start all over; however, there's no way I can deny that the Lord is taking care of me through all this. He's shown me so many people who support me. He's provided an opportunity to begin again and given me the means to do so. There have been weeks this summer that I couldn't bring myself to even pray. I just felt like anything I asked for or the praise I was supposed to give was worth nothing. I've avoided my Bible because the devotions I read just sounded like crap. But now, trying to reflect back on the last few months, it amazes me that our holy and perfect God continued to love me when I couldn't love myself. This all sounds self-righteous and holier-than-thou, I'm sure. I'm just glad that Jesus is still faithful, even when I'm not.
I've got about an hour and a half left until I am free from my job in a cubicle for.ever. I'll be packing up Knoxville tomorrow and heading back to the Memphis the day after that. I have no books, no clue what classes I'm taking, even how long the program is, or what I'm doing after, but I'm excited to see what these kooky English freaks are all about. The people in the English program at UT were an interesting lot, that's for sure. Probably why our building was always getting bomb threats. Hmm.
Okay, time to go buy a 50 lb bag of ammonium nitrate and a moleskin journal for my thoughts. Here's to hoping for another essential AmyPratt experience.
Disclaimer to the Feds: that thing about the ammonium nitrate was a joke, just in case Big Brother is going through my things right now.
After the initial heartbreak of my "academic exclusion" (my new favorite euphemism, by the way) from good ol' Cecil C. Humphreys School of Law (and for the record, no I did not fail any classes, you Nosies, not that it matters now anyway)(there are too many little asides in here already, aren't there?)and my announcement of my "exclusion" (see earlier post, The Rest of the Story), I decided that I was going to start being super private about anything going on in my life. See, somewhere around my sophomore year at UT, the filter on my mouth was removed and I became a world-class blurter. Like the time I told my OL class that I was having a bad week because I was trying to cover up four hickeys on my neck(I know I mentioned that another time. I'm secretly proud of my ability to bruise so well). Or the time I told my entire English class that I had an odd Spring Break because one of my friends came out of the closet. Nervous laughter from thirty students. My professor commenting that at least my friend and I had no more secrets. Open mouth, insert shoe store. Ok right. Back on track. Anyway, I decided that I was no longer going to fill anyone in on the bigger things in life. Like just let things be a secret. That way, if something major falls through, like law school, for example, nobody would know. I wouldn't have to fake my death and move to Mexico as planned. I could just pick another back-up plan and move on. I cut back on my Facebook statusing too, so that I could just be some kind of mystery (like anybody noticed. I can be so self-absorbed sometimes)and fade into the shadows. Who am I kidding? I love talking about myself! I hate the shadows, and I love sharing my feelings, whether anybody else cares or not. It's hard to deny who you are.
I'm pleased to share that at the end of this month, I will be starting the Master's program in English, Composition Studies, back at the University of Memphis. I've definitely had some moments where I feel like I'm taking a big step-down, that the maintenance guy at my apartment complex is going to be sad that I'm not gonna get that JD, and that my parents are secretly going to hang their heads in disgust at my failure. I even asked my mom if she would make the drive to see me graduate. "Why wouldn't I?" "Because," I said, putting on my best pathetic face, "It's just a Master's." My mother is definitely not a make-you-feel-good kind of person. "S***! I'd love to just finish my degree." (I'm not sure my mom actually cursed there. It just sounds better in my head like that.) I cowered and began to process that perspective.
I can't even begin to describe how lucky I feel to have this opportunity. The pity parties I've thrown myself and the self-deprecation have to stop! What are the odds that the deadline for a graduate program focusing on my favorite subject in the free world was August 1st? I had ample time to apply, study, take the GRE, and be admitted. My student loans have been reinstated, I still have my apartment for the next year, and the friends I've made in Memphis aren't going anywhere. In fact, one of my law school friends is going into the EXACT same program! It's been so great to have her there to check in with and talk things over with. I appreciate it, LB :) Let's not forget that my tuition is cheaper, I'll later have the opportunity to be a Graduate Assistant, and I probably won't have to sip Sutter Home's $8.99 jumbo-sized bottle of White Merlot to depress my nerves enough to breathe while doing homework.
I'm FINALLY realizing that I am blessed. Sure, I'm still bummed about law school, and yeah, if given the choice I'd rather be heading back to Cecil C's. It kills me that I can't finish what I started, and that I one day decide to try it again, I have to start all over; however, there's no way I can deny that the Lord is taking care of me through all this. He's shown me so many people who support me. He's provided an opportunity to begin again and given me the means to do so. There have been weeks this summer that I couldn't bring myself to even pray. I just felt like anything I asked for or the praise I was supposed to give was worth nothing. I've avoided my Bible because the devotions I read just sounded like crap. But now, trying to reflect back on the last few months, it amazes me that our holy and perfect God continued to love me when I couldn't love myself. This all sounds self-righteous and holier-than-thou, I'm sure. I'm just glad that Jesus is still faithful, even when I'm not.
I've got about an hour and a half left until I am free from my job in a cubicle for.ever. I'll be packing up Knoxville tomorrow and heading back to the Memphis the day after that. I have no books, no clue what classes I'm taking, even how long the program is, or what I'm doing after, but I'm excited to see what these kooky English freaks are all about. The people in the English program at UT were an interesting lot, that's for sure. Probably why our building was always getting bomb threats. Hmm.
Okay, time to go buy a 50 lb bag of ammonium nitrate and a moleskin journal for my thoughts. Here's to hoping for another essential AmyPratt experience.
Disclaimer to the Feds: that thing about the ammonium nitrate was a joke, just in case Big Brother is going through my things right now.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
In Memoriam
It is with great sadness I must report to you, oh blog-o-sphere, that my sweet guinea pig Jim passed away sometime this weekend. The story of his death is below.
Guinea Pig, Jim, age unknown, was found early Sunday afternoon in his Cordova, TN residence by close friend Kelly Smithson. Rigor mortis had set in. Cause of death is unknown. Cage-mate and close friend James was unable to provide any details as to Jim's death, but was described by Smithson as "sad-looking" and "shaken." Adequate food and water were present at the scene, apparently untouched. There was no forced-entry and at this time foul-play is not suspected. Care-taker and confidant Amy Pratt, who was not present at Jim's death, was available for a phone interview from Knoxville later this afternoon. "The news came as such a shock to me. I'm absolutely heart-broken that I wasn't there when he passed. I've been away for work since May, and I'll never forgive myself for not spending these last two months with him." While she would neither confirm nor deny, Pratt was questioned about earlier statements she had made regarding Jim's being "ambiguously gay" and "closeted." While she does believe that the guinea pig was negatively impacted by the passing of Pop Icon Michael Jackson late last month, Pratt balked at the suggestion that Jim's death could have been a suicide. "It's ludicrous and I won't hear such absurd notions. This interview is over." Pratt erupted into sobs and promptly hung up the phone.
If you have any information regarding the death of Jim the Guinea Pig, please contact Shelby County authorities.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Disclaimer #2
In my previous post, I made the statement "Most of all I'm embarrassed. ... that my parents have to make up stuff when people ask about the big law school student." Today after reading my post, my parents informed me that they do not make up stuff when people ask about school. They do not lie. "We're proud of you no matter what, kid," my dad assured me. "Lawyer, teacher, restaurant waitress..." "Let's not go that far," my mother interjected.
I told my parents that sometimes I exaggerate things for comedic or dramatic effect, i.e., the entire posting about Jim, my ambiguously gay guinea pig. My sister informed me that this is, in effect, lying. Sigh. Blog-o-sphere, they don't get us. Siiigggghhhh.
So, just to prevent further misunderstandings, I'd like to post my second disclaimer.
All statements and opinions expressed in this blog are solely those of the blogger, and not necessarily those of persons associated with the blogger. While stories and situations are based on actual people and events, they are not entirely true and/or accurate. However, any resemblance to actual people and events is purely on purpose. Names have been changed and/or kept the same to protect the innocent and/or completely moronic. I would also like to disclaim all warranties, express or limited, including, but not limited to, the implied warranties of merchantability and fitness for a particular purpose, just in case.
Further, please remember that my parents are not liars, and my mother was just joking when she made the comment "let's not go that far." All in good fun, blog-o-sphere. All in good fun.
I told my parents that sometimes I exaggerate things for comedic or dramatic effect, i.e., the entire posting about Jim, my ambiguously gay guinea pig. My sister informed me that this is, in effect, lying. Sigh. Blog-o-sphere, they don't get us. Siiigggghhhh.
So, just to prevent further misunderstandings, I'd like to post my second disclaimer.
All statements and opinions expressed in this blog are solely those of the blogger, and not necessarily those of persons associated with the blogger. While stories and situations are based on actual people and events, they are not entirely true and/or accurate. However, any resemblance to actual people and events is purely on purpose. Names have been changed and/or kept the same to protect the innocent and/or completely moronic. I would also like to disclaim all warranties, express or limited, including, but not limited to, the implied warranties of merchantability and fitness for a particular purpose, just in case.
Further, please remember that my parents are not liars, and my mother was just joking when she made the comment "let's not go that far." All in good fun, blog-o-sphere. All in good fun.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
The Rest of the Story...
My mouth has a tendency to get me in trouble. Like the one time I was in the middle of clocking out at closing time at Target and I just yelled out "I AM NOT A STUPID WHORE!" right in front of God and everybody because somebody commented on my newly highlighted hair. It made for a few good laughs...for days. Then there was the time when I was vice president of my sorority and I complained at a meeting about having to do homework AND try to conceal four hickeys AND deal with sisters getting arrested/whoring around at frat houses. I got hate mail under my door after that because "we are all SUPER busy and YOU wanted the job."
But guess what? This is my blog. So I'm going to get myself in trouble as I see fit. You guys ready for some mouth-dropping truth?
I thought you might be.
Mom, if you're reading this, don't hate me for spilling my guts. But it has to be said because I really suck at lying. And I'd rather just tell the truth so people don't gossip. And maybe 5 people total read my blog.
So this law school business? This "do I want to go back?" business. A complete and total ruse. The real story? They won't let me come back because my grades really suck. I wish I could be like "yeah man, I partied way too hard and didn't give a rat's a** anyway." The sad part is, I really tried. Like really. I briefed cases and took notes and studied hard. I just couldn't cut it.
It's okay. You guys can make fun of me, because, well, chances are, I've made fun of you at some point. It's cool. We're all human. It's just my turn to have a slice of humble pie.
And humbled I have been! Of course I'm sad! I thought this was what I was going to do. I'm terrified about my next move. Most of all, I'm embarrassed. I'm embarrassed I had to take that Memphis Law sticker off my car. And that I have to tell my grandmother I won't be drafting her last will and testament (or maybe that's a good thing? I can't tell...) And that my parents have to make up stuff when people ask about the big law school student. Ugh...
I just had to set the record straight, and maybe that wasn't the right way to do it. I hate that rumors are flying and nobody actually asks me what's going on. They just tiptoe around it and ask other people. I'd rather you, oh blog-o-sphere, hear it straight from the horse's mouth...whatever that means.
And we can all still be friends. And you can still talk about law school. And I'll still be living in Memphis.
And I'll find my way. Don't you worry about me.
But guess what? This is my blog. So I'm going to get myself in trouble as I see fit. You guys ready for some mouth-dropping truth?
I thought you might be.
Mom, if you're reading this, don't hate me for spilling my guts. But it has to be said because I really suck at lying. And I'd rather just tell the truth so people don't gossip. And maybe 5 people total read my blog.
So this law school business? This "do I want to go back?" business. A complete and total ruse. The real story? They won't let me come back because my grades really suck. I wish I could be like "yeah man, I partied way too hard and didn't give a rat's a** anyway." The sad part is, I really tried. Like really. I briefed cases and took notes and studied hard. I just couldn't cut it.
It's okay. You guys can make fun of me, because, well, chances are, I've made fun of you at some point. It's cool. We're all human. It's just my turn to have a slice of humble pie.
And humbled I have been! Of course I'm sad! I thought this was what I was going to do. I'm terrified about my next move. Most of all, I'm embarrassed. I'm embarrassed I had to take that Memphis Law sticker off my car. And that I have to tell my grandmother I won't be drafting her last will and testament (or maybe that's a good thing? I can't tell...) And that my parents have to make up stuff when people ask about the big law school student. Ugh...
I just had to set the record straight, and maybe that wasn't the right way to do it. I hate that rumors are flying and nobody actually asks me what's going on. They just tiptoe around it and ask other people. I'd rather you, oh blog-o-sphere, hear it straight from the horse's mouth...whatever that means.
And we can all still be friends. And you can still talk about law school. And I'll still be living in Memphis.
And I'll find my way. Don't you worry about me.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
I Love Brutal Honesty. I Hate Brutal Honesty.
I'm about to be brutally honest.
When my lifelong friend Morgan and I were attached at the face (remember that? with Lili and Bambers? Ah, memory lane.) we had some sort of running joke about being "jaded." Everybody was jaded. It was in every song. On every reality tv series. Jaded. It was so cliche.
I'm jaded. I hate it.
-John Mayer
Meeee too. I'm pretty sure I've cried at some point almost every day for the past three weeks. Why? I'm terrified about my future. I'm heartbroken over a shattered dream. And, to be even more teenage girl about this, I miss Sean. And I'm afraid that insecure jealous girlfriend is about to rear her ugly head and run him off.
When it all ended with gay boyfriend #2, he told one of our mutual friends that I was smothering him. I know that's not the reason it ended (I mean, obviously. I have womanly parts. Duh.) but that still haunts me, false or not.
Morgan, you once wrote somewhere that you were/loved to be "living and loving with reckless abandon." I love that. I used to be able to do that. Now I wish I could do that. I've found it's safer to live and love at arm's length. Guard your heart, right?
My high school English teacher used to tell us that you can't be anything you want to be. I thought that was cruel, planting doubt and pessimism in our young, impressionable minds. But it's true; all the wishin' and hopin' and thinkin' and dreamin' in the world can't get you where you want to be. We can't all be doctors and lawyers and indian chiefs. Some of us are just supposed to be janitors or secretaries. There's nothing wrong with that. It's just not what you go to kindergarten thinking you'll be when you grow up.
"Miss Smith, I want to be a trophy wife when I grow up. Or maybe work in retail if that falls through. Scrap that, Smitty. I'm gunna be a career alcoholic, just like my Uncle Junior!"
Dream big, kid. Reality bites.
'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the LORD. 'Plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.'
-Jeremiah 29:11
Lord Jesus, I'm trying to believe this. I am. Please help me through this rough patch. Please put that smile back on my face. Please put dreams back in my heart.
Thank you for letting me do that, blog-o-sphere. I do feel better now. And I'm not always a Debbie Downer, swear. Sometimes, I get sad and I need you to hurt with me for just a minute instead of glossing over it.
This Baptist girl may be taking this out of context, but a wise Savior once said, "[T]he truth shall set you free."
He was right.
When my lifelong friend Morgan and I were attached at the face (remember that? with Lili and Bambers? Ah, memory lane.) we had some sort of running joke about being "jaded." Everybody was jaded. It was in every song. On every reality tv series. Jaded. It was so cliche.
I'm jaded. I hate it.
-John Mayer
Meeee too. I'm pretty sure I've cried at some point almost every day for the past three weeks. Why? I'm terrified about my future. I'm heartbroken over a shattered dream. And, to be even more teenage girl about this, I miss Sean. And I'm afraid that insecure jealous girlfriend is about to rear her ugly head and run him off.
When it all ended with gay boyfriend #2, he told one of our mutual friends that I was smothering him. I know that's not the reason it ended (I mean, obviously. I have womanly parts. Duh.) but that still haunts me, false or not.
Morgan, you once wrote somewhere that you were/loved to be "living and loving with reckless abandon." I love that. I used to be able to do that. Now I wish I could do that. I've found it's safer to live and love at arm's length. Guard your heart, right?
My high school English teacher used to tell us that you can't be anything you want to be. I thought that was cruel, planting doubt and pessimism in our young, impressionable minds. But it's true; all the wishin' and hopin' and thinkin' and dreamin' in the world can't get you where you want to be. We can't all be doctors and lawyers and indian chiefs. Some of us are just supposed to be janitors or secretaries. There's nothing wrong with that. It's just not what you go to kindergarten thinking you'll be when you grow up.
"Miss Smith, I want to be a trophy wife when I grow up. Or maybe work in retail if that falls through. Scrap that, Smitty. I'm gunna be a career alcoholic, just like my Uncle Junior!"
Dream big, kid. Reality bites.
'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the LORD. 'Plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.'
-Jeremiah 29:11
Lord Jesus, I'm trying to believe this. I am. Please help me through this rough patch. Please put that smile back on my face. Please put dreams back in my heart.
Thank you for letting me do that, blog-o-sphere. I do feel better now. And I'm not always a Debbie Downer, swear. Sometimes, I get sad and I need you to hurt with me for just a minute instead of glossing over it.
This Baptist girl may be taking this out of context, but a wise Savior once said, "[T]he truth shall set you free."
He was right.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Hey Now, Hey Now (this is what dreams are made of...)
I had a terrible nightmare about cats last night. Cats of the domestic variety. Not the Broadway variety. My family moved back into our old house because that was the only place the refrigerator would work. We lived with our dog Zoe and six mean cats. They kept jumping on my head. Then I went to the mall and ran into my boyfriend, who was running around the mall in a suit playing some sort of fantasy WOW-esque game with his twenty-something year old friends who looked 17.
Sean, I've got to start tuning out the talk about orc-shamans and blood elves. I'll just think of Edward Cullen. And the Indian werewolf kid. Nod and smile. ;)
I just don't think the office is my place. I've made an art out of coffee making and oatmeal eating. And I can use paperclips like nobody's business. Oh, it's 5 o'clock somewhere.
Have I mentioned lately that I HATE making decisions? I'm hoping an answer will fall out of the sky. When I least expect it. Just like boyfriends are supposed to.
Dear Lord Jesus (yeah, I call him by two names, what of it?), I'd like to phone a friend. Yes. The prophet Daniel. To interpret my dreams. No. Not the one about the cats. Yes, there was that time with the lions. The recurring dream I had during law school. The one about never showing up to English and Spanish classes I was supposed to pass to graduate. The one where I was too busy with law classes to do my homework and show up. Does that mean I have unfinished business there? Oh. It means I shouldn't eat before bed? Gotcha.
Strip me of my pride and need for prestige. Patience is a virtue. Now back to my receipts...
Sean, I've got to start tuning out the talk about orc-shamans and blood elves. I'll just think of Edward Cullen. And the Indian werewolf kid. Nod and smile. ;)
I just don't think the office is my place. I've made an art out of coffee making and oatmeal eating. And I can use paperclips like nobody's business. Oh, it's 5 o'clock somewhere.
Have I mentioned lately that I HATE making decisions? I'm hoping an answer will fall out of the sky. When I least expect it. Just like boyfriends are supposed to.
Dear Lord Jesus (yeah, I call him by two names, what of it?), I'd like to phone a friend. Yes. The prophet Daniel. To interpret my dreams. No. Not the one about the cats. Yes, there was that time with the lions. The recurring dream I had during law school. The one about never showing up to English and Spanish classes I was supposed to pass to graduate. The one where I was too busy with law classes to do my homework and show up. Does that mean I have unfinished business there? Oh. It means I shouldn't eat before bed? Gotcha.
Strip me of my pride and need for prestige. Patience is a virtue. Now back to my receipts...
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
A Quarter-Life Crisis, or Just a Stirrin' in My Soul?
OH DEAR.
What a week it has been. And it's only...Wednesday? Do I want to share the whole nitty-gritty story? Yes. Eventually. Just not now. I just feel the need to write right now so I can breathe.
I am at a complete and total crossroads right now. Decisions to make. Have some been made for me? Soon enough we'll see. I would just first like to send out a huge thank you to TylenolPM for allowing me to talk to my parents for an hour without sobbing uncontrollably and then shove a bowl of cereal down my throat without vomiting, and also for keeping me knocked out til the early morning hours in a dreamless sleep. I really believe that TylenolPM is basically Xanax...but with a sleep aid. Kelly gave me a Xanax at my mother's insistence when Brandon broke up with me the week before exams and I started hyperventilating. He loved me. We were getting married. He was the one! Now I spread the gospel of Taylor Swift. You do the math.
Before we continue, rest easy. I am not pregnant. I am not engaged. I am not terminally ill. Not that being pregnant or engaged are bad things. You know what I mean, right? Oh nevermind. I know you do.
I just may not continue on with law school, that's all. That's all. I wrote that so non-chalantly. Just keep me in your prayers that the Lord will lead me where I'm supposed to be. I may take some time off. I may press on. I may not ever go back. My original plan for if I didn't go back to school was faking my death and moving to Mexico. Sweat all day with my pool boy Javier. Play with the little native children. "Como se llaman, ninos? No soy 'child molester.' Ven aqui" I just wasn't sure I could swallow my pride and not continue. I thought I had my future figured out. I don't. That's scary as hell. It's also exciting to think about the options I do have. Just don't think less of me. At least I gave it a shot.
So what now? Wait and see. Listen for that still small voice. Because, as we Baptists say, God is good, all the time. All the time, God is good. It's me I have to worry about...
What a week it has been. And it's only...Wednesday? Do I want to share the whole nitty-gritty story? Yes. Eventually. Just not now. I just feel the need to write right now so I can breathe.
I am at a complete and total crossroads right now. Decisions to make. Have some been made for me? Soon enough we'll see. I would just first like to send out a huge thank you to TylenolPM for allowing me to talk to my parents for an hour without sobbing uncontrollably and then shove a bowl of cereal down my throat without vomiting, and also for keeping me knocked out til the early morning hours in a dreamless sleep. I really believe that TylenolPM is basically Xanax...but with a sleep aid. Kelly gave me a Xanax at my mother's insistence when Brandon broke up with me the week before exams and I started hyperventilating. He loved me. We were getting married. He was the one! Now I spread the gospel of Taylor Swift. You do the math.
Before we continue, rest easy. I am not pregnant. I am not engaged. I am not terminally ill. Not that being pregnant or engaged are bad things. You know what I mean, right? Oh nevermind. I know you do.
I just may not continue on with law school, that's all. That's all. I wrote that so non-chalantly. Just keep me in your prayers that the Lord will lead me where I'm supposed to be. I may take some time off. I may press on. I may not ever go back. My original plan for if I didn't go back to school was faking my death and moving to Mexico. Sweat all day with my pool boy Javier. Play with the little native children. "Como se llaman, ninos? No soy 'child molester.' Ven aqui" I just wasn't sure I could swallow my pride and not continue. I thought I had my future figured out. I don't. That's scary as hell. It's also exciting to think about the options I do have. Just don't think less of me. At least I gave it a shot.
So what now? Wait and see. Listen for that still small voice. Because, as we Baptists say, God is good, all the time. All the time, God is good. It's me I have to worry about...
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
A Blog with A Lot of Taylor Swift and Horse References
I started to blog last week but thought better of it because this is what I ended up with:
I've spent the past six days that I've been home feeling incredibly sorry for myself, sobbing uncontrollably and dreaming up worst-case-scenarios for my future that end with me being alone, morbidly obese, unloved, and making minimum wage. This leads to more boo-hooing and my sitting half-dressed in pajamas on my futon-bed with liquid eyeliner streaming down my face as I whisper to myself, "I'm not a princess. This ain't a fairytale." It's like a trailer-park version of a Taylor Swift song.
Charming, I know. Now that I've mostly recovered from my little pity party hangover, I feel better equipped to handle the mammoth task that is blogging.
The grades are slowly rolling in, and thank goodness for that! So far, so much better than last semester. It was one humbling learning experience for sure. Somewhere along the way to law school I lost my cut-throat competitive edge. It's amazing what some people do just to get ahead, though. I've had complete tools tell me they stopped briefing cases or doing outlines because it was overrated (I'm not an idiot, hurrrr). Then somebody tells you they overheard that very person psyching themselves in front of the bathroom mirror before moot court. Yeah man. No em-effin' worries here. Life is but a dream. I'm just happy to be improving and keeping my head above water right now. I most definitely needed to be humbled.
Apart from having to adjust to being long-distance for the summer, things are all good on the relationship front. And that's all you get.
On a related note, I think relationships have to be the scariest things in the world. It's wedding season, but I've stumbled across broken engagement after broken engagement after divorce (?!) on Facebook (the equal opportunity stalker) lately. It's probably good that Disney has made the shift from fairy-tale princess movies to movies about dogs and superheroes and such. Another valuable life lesson I've learned this year is what BS the notion of "happily ever after" truly is. I hate to beat a dead "White Horse," but I think Miss Swift might be right: You aren't a princess. This ain't a fairytale. Go to school and don't settle for an MRS degree. Learn how to do for yourself. Of course, it's okay to let him open doors and buy you dinner. Just don't fool yourself into thinking that when you know, you know, and that love conquers all. I tried that once. I think it takes more.
Tara is leaving me soon to go back to Buffalo. I thought she was here to stay, but she disappoints me once again. Never mind that I'll be in Knoxville only another two months; I'm the only one allowed to go off and have a life in a different city. Ironically though, I have friends who seem to actually have that mindset. Forget the fact that I'm consumed by school, that I buy my own groceries, do my own laundry, pay my own rent, and clean my own apartment! When I have free time I'm supposed to sit in my apartment and make phone calls that will go unanswered while they're out having lives. Nope, that's not balanced. Cue guilt trip. In the words of Jason Mraz (whom I mostly despise, by the way): the telephones, well, they're workin' 'em both ways.
Being home for the summer is not as bad as I thought it was last week. It's nice having a dog for a pet once more (Jim, please don't take offense to that. You're the best guinea pig a pet owner could ask for. Don't die while I'm gone.), and I've enjoyed going walking/running with my Mom. She's my captive audience and I can tell her anything. Literally. That is one perk of growing up I suppose. I do miss Memphis more than I anticipated. I guess I've established a life there, with my cute apartment and friends and boyfriend and routine. I think this coming fall should be a good one. I feel that good things are in store. In the meantime, I'm trying to stay busy making some money and finishing up the Twilight series. Reading alone could take the whole summer since I have the attention span of a third grader. Curse you, Bella Swan.
Time to get off my high horse and get back down to earth. Look for more BS revelations from Amy Pratt in the near future.
PS-Please pardon the weird thing my font is doing with the size and junk. I'm paragraph-setting illiterate.
I've spent the past six days that I've been home feeling incredibly sorry for myself, sobbing uncontrollably and dreaming up worst-case-scenarios for my future that end with me being alone, morbidly obese, unloved, and making minimum wage. This leads to more boo-hooing and my sitting half-dressed in pajamas on my futon-bed with liquid eyeliner streaming down my face as I whisper to myself, "I'm not a princess. This ain't a fairytale." It's like a trailer-park version of a Taylor Swift song.
Charming, I know. Now that I've mostly recovered from my little pity party hangover, I feel better equipped to handle the mammoth task that is blogging.
The grades are slowly rolling in, and thank goodness for that! So far, so much better than last semester. It was one humbling learning experience for sure. Somewhere along the way to law school I lost my cut-throat competitive edge. It's amazing what some people do just to get ahead, though. I've had complete tools tell me they stopped briefing cases or doing outlines because it was overrated (I'm not an idiot, hurrrr). Then somebody tells you they overheard that very person psyching themselves in front of the bathroom mirror before moot court. Yeah man. No em-effin' worries here. Life is but a dream. I'm just happy to be improving and keeping my head above water right now. I most definitely needed to be humbled.
Apart from having to adjust to being long-distance for the summer, things are all good on the relationship front. And that's all you get.
On a related note, I think relationships have to be the scariest things in the world. It's wedding season, but I've stumbled across broken engagement after broken engagement after divorce (?!) on Facebook (the equal opportunity stalker) lately. It's probably good that Disney has made the shift from fairy-tale princess movies to movies about dogs and superheroes and such. Another valuable life lesson I've learned this year is what BS the notion of "happily ever after" truly is. I hate to beat a dead "White Horse," but I think Miss Swift might be right: You aren't a princess. This ain't a fairytale. Go to school and don't settle for an MRS degree. Learn how to do for yourself. Of course, it's okay to let him open doors and buy you dinner. Just don't fool yourself into thinking that when you know, you know, and that love conquers all. I tried that once. I think it takes more.
Tara is leaving me soon to go back to Buffalo. I thought she was here to stay, but she disappoints me once again. Never mind that I'll be in Knoxville only another two months; I'm the only one allowed to go off and have a life in a different city. Ironically though, I have friends who seem to actually have that mindset. Forget the fact that I'm consumed by school, that I buy my own groceries, do my own laundry, pay my own rent, and clean my own apartment! When I have free time I'm supposed to sit in my apartment and make phone calls that will go unanswered while they're out having lives. Nope, that's not balanced. Cue guilt trip. In the words of Jason Mraz (whom I mostly despise, by the way): the telephones, well, they're workin' 'em both ways.
Being home for the summer is not as bad as I thought it was last week. It's nice having a dog for a pet once more (Jim, please don't take offense to that. You're the best guinea pig a pet owner could ask for. Don't die while I'm gone.), and I've enjoyed going walking/running with my Mom. She's my captive audience and I can tell her anything. Literally. That is one perk of growing up I suppose. I do miss Memphis more than I anticipated. I guess I've established a life there, with my cute apartment and friends and boyfriend and routine. I think this coming fall should be a good one. I feel that good things are in store. In the meantime, I'm trying to stay busy making some money and finishing up the Twilight series. Reading alone could take the whole summer since I have the attention span of a third grader. Curse you, Bella Swan.
Time to get off my high horse and get back down to earth. Look for more BS revelations from Amy Pratt in the near future.
PS-Please pardon the weird thing my font is doing with the size and junk. I'm paragraph-setting illiterate.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Coming Soon...
...a blog about ending the first year of law school. Must neglect it for now, or else there won't be a second year of law school.
In the meantime:
In the meantime:
- The guinea pigs are fine, and very straight. Jim still loves the pink igloo and confetti colored litter.
- I had a flat tire at Taco Bell yesterday. Thank you Jesus for Triple A.
- I found a straight man to date. I swear. He has no idea who Vera Wang is, and you should see his shoes.
- I have no clue where I am living this summer or what I am doing.
- I love my life in Memphis. Knoxville, if I don't return your phone calls or keep you updated on every little thing, I'm sorry. It's hard to keep up with you and establish a life here!
- Twice this year I have woken myself up in the morning by throwing punches. This can't be good. I also talk in my sleep now.
- Finally saw Twilight! Boys, quit your bitchin' about girls being all gaga over Edward Cullen. We know he's unrealistic and we should get a real man. We'll do that as soon as you learn how to keep it in your pants.
- I have a highlighter-buying compulsion. Every time I go to Target...
Monday, March 16, 2009
That's More Like It
My #1 concern of the day is that Kelly's guinea pig, James, is being a complete bully to my guinea pig, Jim. She says they are playing. I say they are not. I think that Jim is having a crisis, that he's possibly "coming out" of his pink igloo castle, and that James is a big homophobe. Or it could be that James is taunting Jim about his dry skin, or his un-cool hair. Anytime Jim is eating on the cabbage kabob, James pushes him out of the way. He chases him and won't leave him alone. Today I yelled "James, you a******, leave my Jimmy alone!" and he did. He knows what he's doing. Hrrmmph.
In other news, yesterday I had to draw some pictures for Kelly for her to analyze for school. I drew a tree, a house, and a person. My crayola drawings indicate I have depression, sexual frustration, tension, and that I need attention. That about sums it up.
The quote of the week comes from my property book, talking about whether or not an implied warranty is a tort or contract concept or maybe a (wait for it, wait for it) "freak hybrid born of the illicit intercourse of tort and contract." I don't even want to THINK about torts and contracts having intercourse and producing a freak-hybrid love-child. If any areas need to be having intercourse, it's property and contracts, all those dang real estate contracts and clauses and stuff. Still. That was a visual I could do without.
Now I am going to do something of substance. I just had all these things swirling in my head and I knew I needed to get them out once silent, moving lips began to accompany my inner monologue. My sister calls me out on that one. Frequently.
Monday, March 9, 2009
A Very Cliche Blog and Then Some
The amorphous "they," as my high school English teacher always put it, were right: the grass is always greener on the other side.
I've been on Spring Break about 72 hours or more, if you count the weekend, and at about hour 64, I ran back to my OneNote program and broke open the Civ Pro binder for a little outlining fun. Yeah, it really is a have-to, unless I'd like to make my time after break a little more chaotic, but I've pretty much determined that I have to stay busy to keep from thinking too much. Not that I think about anything of substance, but if I don't keep a check on myself, my imagination runs away from me. And let me tell ya, my imagination is active. And no, I don't mean like that, pervert.
Have I already been over how that Britney Spears' song "Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman" is how I feel about life in general right now? I took my sister to the hospital today for some blood work. The check-in lady and the male nurse both referred to me as "mom." My sister is almost 14! I was not even wearing my mom jeans, thank you very much. So I look old enough to have procreated, but I have not undertaken that crucial step which would enable me to procreate, if you catch my drift. Which leads me to my next point.
It shouldn't bother me, but it does. I feel like I see on Facebook 100 girls a week getting engaged. They're all my age or younger. Don't get me wrong; I'm in no way mature enough or even school/career-wise at the point where I could be in a relationship of this magnitude. I just feel like my growth in that area of my life has been stunted. Always. What does it say about me that the two "serious" relationships I've had have been with guys who later came out of the closet? I try to make light of it as best I can, but there's no denying that at the end of the day, it bothers me. I think I run straight men off because I'm over-eager. I see something I want and I go for it. I'm slowly learning that's not the way things work. I just get so angry at myself that I have the desire for non-platonic male companionship, especially when I don't have the time, especially especially when my heart is set in a certain place and I know deep down that that desire will never come to fruition. Just like Charlie Brown said, nothing ruins the taste of peanut butter like unrequited love.
Ok, please don't mistake that as a cry to the male population for a date. Just something that's consistently on my heart that I had to get off my chest. Forgive me if that was a little too personal.
Alright. I vow to enjoy Spring Break to the fullest until I run back to Memphis and start the same old song and dance again, claiming to be miserable with the endless work, while I secretly enjoy it.
I've been on Spring Break about 72 hours or more, if you count the weekend, and at about hour 64, I ran back to my OneNote program and broke open the Civ Pro binder for a little outlining fun. Yeah, it really is a have-to, unless I'd like to make my time after break a little more chaotic, but I've pretty much determined that I have to stay busy to keep from thinking too much. Not that I think about anything of substance, but if I don't keep a check on myself, my imagination runs away from me. And let me tell ya, my imagination is active. And no, I don't mean like that, pervert.
Have I already been over how that Britney Spears' song "Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman" is how I feel about life in general right now? I took my sister to the hospital today for some blood work. The check-in lady and the male nurse both referred to me as "mom." My sister is almost 14! I was not even wearing my mom jeans, thank you very much. So I look old enough to have procreated, but I have not undertaken that crucial step which would enable me to procreate, if you catch my drift. Which leads me to my next point.
It shouldn't bother me, but it does. I feel like I see on Facebook 100 girls a week getting engaged. They're all my age or younger. Don't get me wrong; I'm in no way mature enough or even school/career-wise at the point where I could be in a relationship of this magnitude. I just feel like my growth in that area of my life has been stunted. Always. What does it say about me that the two "serious" relationships I've had have been with guys who later came out of the closet? I try to make light of it as best I can, but there's no denying that at the end of the day, it bothers me. I think I run straight men off because I'm over-eager. I see something I want and I go for it. I'm slowly learning that's not the way things work. I just get so angry at myself that I have the desire for non-platonic male companionship, especially when I don't have the time, especially especially when my heart is set in a certain place and I know deep down that that desire will never come to fruition. Just like Charlie Brown said, nothing ruins the taste of peanut butter like unrequited love.
Ok, please don't mistake that as a cry to the male population for a date. Just something that's consistently on my heart that I had to get off my chest. Forgive me if that was a little too personal.
Alright. I vow to enjoy Spring Break to the fullest until I run back to Memphis and start the same old song and dance again, claiming to be miserable with the endless work, while I secretly enjoy it.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
As I Lay Brief-Writing: My Faulkner Stream of Consciousness Blog
You're right. They're all stream-of-consciousness. So be it.
I'm tired of establishing that immigrants do not have a well-founded fear of persecution for the purposes of this brief.
I wish I could unsubscribe from certain Facebook statuses, mainly the ones by college-educated people who misuse my beloved apostrophe on a day-to-day basis. I also hate when people don't proofread. It takes a literal second.
Today I realized I'm am pop-culturally irrelevant. I was running to Soulja Boy's "Crank dat" and realized that I don't remember how to "superman dat hoe." This is Memphis, for cryin' out loud! I also received an email that one of my friends would like to keep up with me via Twitter. I first thought it was either pornographic or something for hummingbirds. Then I saw that people updated Facebook via Twitter. I still don't know what it is exactly, but I think it is technologically related.
I'm ELATED to be in Knoxville in a few days. After rendezvous-ing with the fam and babysitting my little "babe" Stephen, I'm going to spend as much time on UT's campus as possible. I would like: sweet-potato fries on Wine Night at Sunspot; to skip down the pedestrian walkway and jump all over the UT seal; get an escort to the new SK floor in Laurel and scream down the hallway; do Sudoku in the Daily Beacon in the ampitheathre; Facebook on a computer in The Commons; eat greasy pizza at Smokey's; pass Wayne Chism on my way into Humanities; have myself surgically removed from half-court of Thompson-Boling; drink a SoCo and Lime at Half Barrell; and yes, even take the 90-something steps up The Hill. I miss that place like nobody's business. So...if anybody wants to help me make those dreams come true, you know how to find me.
Ok, back to the brief. I have nothing more to say.
I'm tired of establishing that immigrants do not have a well-founded fear of persecution for the purposes of this brief.
I wish I could unsubscribe from certain Facebook statuses, mainly the ones by college-educated people who misuse my beloved apostrophe on a day-to-day basis. I also hate when people don't proofread. It takes a literal second.
Today I realized I'm am pop-culturally irrelevant. I was running to Soulja Boy's "Crank dat" and realized that I don't remember how to "superman dat hoe." This is Memphis, for cryin' out loud! I also received an email that one of my friends would like to keep up with me via Twitter. I first thought it was either pornographic or something for hummingbirds. Then I saw that people updated Facebook via Twitter. I still don't know what it is exactly, but I think it is technologically related.
I'm ELATED to be in Knoxville in a few days. After rendezvous-ing with the fam and babysitting my little "babe" Stephen, I'm going to spend as much time on UT's campus as possible. I would like: sweet-potato fries on Wine Night at Sunspot; to skip down the pedestrian walkway and jump all over the UT seal; get an escort to the new SK floor in Laurel and scream down the hallway; do Sudoku in the Daily Beacon in the ampitheathre; Facebook on a computer in The Commons; eat greasy pizza at Smokey's; pass Wayne Chism on my way into Humanities; have myself surgically removed from half-court of Thompson-Boling; drink a SoCo and Lime at Half Barrell; and yes, even take the 90-something steps up The Hill. I miss that place like nobody's business. So...if anybody wants to help me make those dreams come true, you know how to find me.
Ok, back to the brief. I have nothing more to say.
Friday, February 27, 2009
I Know This Much Is True...
...if Spring Break doesn't hurry up and get here soon, I'm gonna lose it. I can't wait to have this appellate brief done and turned in, and I CAN'T WAIT to go home for a week!
While I'm open to hanging out in Memphis after I graduate to work here, or moving elsewhere for that matter, I love Knoxville so much and wouldn't object one bit to going back. Maybe that's unadventurous of me or whatever, but right now I'm doing the things in life that I always wanted to do and I've not rearranged my life for another person, so I can sleep at night. I guess right now I just miss my family and the close friends who know me best, so I feel I could live close to them and be happy as a lark in the future.
I'm ready for sunshine and weather that is consistently warm. I look pasty, like dough or something. I want to put on a skirt and a t-shirt and go on my happy way.
Today I drove around Germantown for a while instead of doing work. I went to Marshalls and bought some shorts and a new lunchbox. It has insulation and it's pretty. There's a laptop case at BestBuy that matches it. It was great. Then I made my weekly trip to Super Target. Also fantastic. I bought some new highlighters so I'm ready to get down to business tomorrow. Yuck. I also got to catch up with my soulmate Chad Elmore on the phone, so all was well. I then ate a 99 cent cheese pizza (it's just so good it's sinful) and Facebooked my happy little heart out.
This blog makes me feel like a more public version of Bridget Jones. I love her. Just the way she is. I think I'll go watch that movie now, since my weekend ends as soon as I wake up tomorrow.
Until then, blog-o-sphere.
While I'm open to hanging out in Memphis after I graduate to work here, or moving elsewhere for that matter, I love Knoxville so much and wouldn't object one bit to going back. Maybe that's unadventurous of me or whatever, but right now I'm doing the things in life that I always wanted to do and I've not rearranged my life for another person, so I can sleep at night. I guess right now I just miss my family and the close friends who know me best, so I feel I could live close to them and be happy as a lark in the future.
I'm ready for sunshine and weather that is consistently warm. I look pasty, like dough or something. I want to put on a skirt and a t-shirt and go on my happy way.
Today I drove around Germantown for a while instead of doing work. I went to Marshalls and bought some shorts and a new lunchbox. It has insulation and it's pretty. There's a laptop case at BestBuy that matches it. It was great. Then I made my weekly trip to Super Target. Also fantastic. I bought some new highlighters so I'm ready to get down to business tomorrow. Yuck. I also got to catch up with my soulmate Chad Elmore on the phone, so all was well. I then ate a 99 cent cheese pizza (it's just so good it's sinful) and Facebooked my happy little heart out.
This blog makes me feel like a more public version of Bridget Jones. I love her. Just the way she is. I think I'll go watch that movie now, since my weekend ends as soon as I wake up tomorrow.
Until then, blog-o-sphere.
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