Lauren reminded me of the whole green hair thing. Unfortunately, it was to begin a downward shame spiral which ended in dark-n-lovely chemical hair straightener/loreal preferences permanent black dye/other assorted semi-permanent dark washes. Robyn came to my rescue with a couple of sassy remarks and blunt scissors. And now we will move on.
 

Give me that which I desire...

OMG.

Since today was Memorial day, I didn’t have to work. And since I am just a working bloke, I was bored out of my mind. Which means that I ended up spending most today doing school work and compulsively checking blogs.

I grow weary of my life. And this got me to thinking about what I would rather be doing.

I would rather be a kept boy. A courtesan one might say. Like Violetta in La Traviata. Only I’ll not wear stunning, jewel-encrusted ball gowns—or die of tuberculosis at the end of act 3.

Le sigh.

Surreal Thursday

Recently, I have started to run again. Yesterday I went on a bike/run and ended up doing 4X2 mile repeats. I forgot how good pain feels. “My muscles burned and my veins pumped battery acid.”

Coincidentally, I might actually use my running skills.

At work today, Dean was on the phone and he looked over at me while Mike, Joanne, and I were doing some SSRs, and he says, “Yeah, he’s fast. Hey Ed, how tall are you?”

And I am like, “6’1”.”

And by now I am kind of worried, because I am thinking Dean is going to sell me into slavery or something. Dean is one crazy MF. Open, up, show your teeth.

But, as it turns out Dean has this woman friend who is a bailbondsman. And she is looking for a part-time partner. I guess, she only takes on semi-dangerous criminals, you know, ones that aren’t armed. Since she is 5’6” and 275 pounds, she needs someone to be able to chase the runaways.

To make a long story short: I might become a bounty hunter this summer. She pays in cash.

Seriously.

The sanction of the victim

I have a confession to make. Something that I have lied about to friends, parents, girlfriends, and coworkers. I did not vote in the 2004 Presidential election.

At the time I just brushed it off, telling myself that I was too busy with schoolwork to bother myself with getting an absentee ballot. And then after the election, I was so ashamed that I missed out on the democratic process.

But the truth is: America is irredeemablely fucked up. I am not going to pretend like I care to fix it.

I want no part of it. I will live here, pay taxes, wave the obligatory flag on July the 4th, but I cannot wait till I get out of this country. I am not saying that anywhere else is any better. It is just too painful for me to see this country come so close to being great, with so much potential, only to throw it away.

I will become an expatriate like Hemmingway, and sip absinthe on the Champs-Elysee. Resigned and staid.

I will not give the “sanction of the victim” to the politicians. They will not be able to say, “The people have spoken” because of me. There was a legitimate choice in that election? What? Two equally execrable lie-peddlers? Either you are for a limp-dicked communist, or you are for a cowboy-boot-wearing ex-cocaine-head spoiled oil-brat.

What do you do if you are an insensitive, fiscally conservative social liberal? Huh? Vote in Bush because I choose to be discriminated against?

Man, the two party system blows ass.

Which leads me to my conclusion: I think I will join the Libertarian Party. They are for the abolition of taxes and the legalization of marijuana. They are the “party” party!

Every boy is a snake is a lily, every pearl is a lynx is a girl

Lately I have been listening to a lot of Bjork. I envy her. She is an elfin-like Icelandic princess. She will always look and sound like a little girl. Ever alluring, perpetually youthful. She is like a female Peter Pan.

Which reminds me, I have less than a month left of being a teenager.

I remember as a kid, you always wanted to grow up, to get a later bedtime or curfew. More responsibility, more freedom.

Balls! And then you find out that being a grown-ups sucks. I mean, not like I am anywhere near having real responsibilities, but I can imagine how much it must suck to be old.

You have bills, children, spouses, jobs, loans. They all need to be fed, to be paid, to be placated.

So here is my promise to you: I will never grow up.

Unless old becomes the new young. Kind of like gray is the new black. Or oral sex is the new 1st base. But, I digress.

I'm a fountain of gladness

Where do I start?

Yesterday morning, after walking the dogs, feeding the fish and such, I came home and went for a run. It was frickin hot—so I ended up going back to bed, which defeated the purpose of a “wake-up” run.

Robyn comes over at like 3PM, and we go to the store to buy “freezy pops, Mmm” and bomb pops. Also we shop for underwear. I decide on the little-boy spider man brief that I had coveted as a child. I got the size 8 (for 60-75 pounders) and with a good stretching they fit. Robyn looks for underwear also and we get into a debate about which is a better animal to have on your unmentionables.

Final decision: ducks are better than turtles are better than bears. Just so you know. I become embarrassed at being in the women’s underwear section, and Robyn callously tells me, “Go to the purses.” Like that will save my waning sense of masculinity.

We take said Popsicle novelties to her house and I see Leelu, Rainbow, Molly, and Lexi. Oh and the humans: Janet and Jenn. And then Lane calls and is like, “do you want to play croquet?” And then he proceeded to tell us that being out of bounds in croquet lingo is called “being out of turkey.” I mean seriously, WTF?

And Janet is like, “Your friends do such weird things”, as Robyn and I head out the door with bomb pops to play croquet in the park. It was fabulous! As most games that we play end up, it was Lane against everyone. But much fun was had by all, and we decided to have a barbeque and play croquet again tonight.

After said croquet/popsicle orgy, Craig and I got something to eat and watched some cartoons. Yes, I said it. Cartoons. And then we drank until Miranda came over and then went with Jeff to Shattered.

It was fabulous, Rachel came with Scott, and they both looked amazing in pink and black! I have never sweated so much in my life…the club was fucking hot. Then I drove us home, and took off my clothes and did hand-stands in the parking lot so Craig would get the hint and come inside.

We drove out to Dean’s house (the guy I was house-sitting for this weekend) and slept in. Walked Ziggy and Pickles, then went to the store to buy some breakfast fixings. Had egg/turkey-bacon croissant sandwhiches, and pancakes. Splendiferous! Nap (and naked hilarity) ensued, once again.

Pretty soon I need to get ready for the barbeque, so I need to cut this out and get in the shower. Yes, it is 5:33PM and I am still dressed in last night’s clothes.

Oh walk of shame, you are a harsh mistress.

Satan is my motor...

I had dream in which I am stuck in Bjork’s Human Nature video. I am dressed in a brown bear costume and running through this cartoonish forest at dusk--while the cut-out paper green leaves brush my fur and rasp against my ears.

The fading sunlight filters though the leaves, casting red/yellow zebra stripes on trunks, stalks, and body parts alike. As I get closer to the middle of the forest, the trees close in on me and I am smothered in a shadow-scape from Well’s The Island of Dr. Moreau. I can see other beast-humans galloping through the trees, absolutely silent. The dream ends as I see my self as an out-of-body experience, and my perception is suddenly swept up through the canopy of the forest through to the cold, starless sky.

I swear to god I am not doing drugs.

Moving (on)

Finished moving out of my old apartment today. I cleaned for like 5 hours this afternoon—the apartment was left so messy when we moved in, I was compelled to clean like a banshee for the next inhabitant. You know…improving my karma. [Squirt, Squirt. Wipe.] I thought all of the surfaces in my house were off-white. But no, they were just filthy.

Moving always makes me contemplative. Lately I have a renewed sense of professional ambition—which I totally lost track of this year. Grades, grades, grades. Shit. Alan and I talked about how college is basically seeing how much crap you can put up with for the man. And what is scary is that most people that realize that school is a huge joke this early usually don’t finish. (Keep hope alive.) But I had a very interesting conversation today with Dean, mostly about how I can look forward to grad school.

Bad news: Dean, “You basically only go home to sleep, fuck, and party.”
Good news: after I leave the ‘Zou, I will have had 4 ½ years of lab experience, including 2 of my own research projects. And because I am taking 5 years, I am going to try and get a pub my last year, and maybe an NSF grant so I can go wherever I want for grad school. (Inner monologue: "and you’re drunk.") Pipe dreams!

As I left my old house this evening, I gently set down my bottle of Fantastic on the worn coffee table, looked longingly off into the distance, and reminisced about what this past semester has entailed. A lot of shit. Was it all worth it? I don’t know, but I don’t feel regret any more.

Not gonna lie: I have definitely done some things I am not proud of, but I suppose that is part of growing? And, really; being naughty is much more fun.

I'd dress them wicked, I'd give them names

Columbia is a ghost town! Normally I wouldn’t complain, but campus (not to mention much of downtown) is completely dead. Thank god Lane, Kristin, Monica, Rachel, Craig, Eryn/Rick, Robyn, Nick, Natalie, Mariya, Laura, Anson, and Mark/Emily are staying in town this summer.

Last night, after some Frisbee, very-public-skinny-dipping, and root beer floats, I made Craig watch Blue Velvet. Which reminds me: David Lynch is one crazy fuck. I still don’t quite get it. Anyone have an explanation for this movie? Do tell…

My search for a second part-time job continues: I applied as a night attendant downstairs at U-place, and another lab job in the Medical School. As you know, I have this inability to enjoy any downtime…which is why I will probably burn out in like 2 years. And join my favorite hag, Ms. Bees, living on the street, popping pills, wallowing in urine, and wearing used hefty bags as clothing. Cut to Mugatu declaring, “I give to you: DELELÌCT!”

Yep.

How can I put it? (You put me on...)

Great-googly-moogley! I am living with Lane this summer! So I am currently moving my stuff across the hall into 105. Which, by my initial estimates, would have taken me roughly 2 hours? It turns out that this move will last the rest of my natural lifetime. Seriously. His freezer is the size of an ice cube tray. Where will all the booze go? (The alcohol goes in the freezer. And in Kristin’s mouth.)

So wish me luck with hauling 8 months of accumulated paper, frozen foods, and memories 3 feet from my front door. It will probably take me the rest of the night, so I see some coke/WBS/mad-flash-dance-action/bad 80’s pop music in my near future. (Sound of me turning up my collar.)

Rockin’ the Casbah!

P.S. Confidential to Mandy Wade: When was the last time you updated, hmmm? Never!

Today was a frickin busy day.

8:00AM: SSS4 final, Brahms’ 2^nd Symphony in DM, chromatic chords, transposing instruments, sonata form.

9:25AM: Nap

10:00AM: Study like a heathen for organic chemistry 2 final

1:00PM: Organic chemistry final—carbonyl, organometallics, AA, carbohydrate chemistry

2:30PM: work

3:00PM: go to the bookstore to replace my mouse which (inopportunely) decided to kick the bucket. Am trapped in the bookstore basement by bossy fat employees, insisting that ‘tornado warnings’ should be taken seriously. I mean, WTF?

3:40PM: make a break for it after listening to 40 minutes of pseudo-professionals discuss the weather, politically-correct journalism, and grammar. Decide that I would rather be dismembered in a tornado than listen to thus said pseudo-professionals discuss their “matching ying-yang coffee tables from Ikea”

3:50PM: arrive at FAB, only to get a call from Craig, telling me he is coming to pick me up.

4:30PM: arrive at Craig’s house. Nude hilarity ensues.

6:30PM: dinner at ‘Taco Hell’

7:00PM: clean room, find calculator, tax forms (whoops?), plethora of ancient (and unparalleled) romantic notes from Rachel

8:00PM: get tired of telling Aaron that he can’t ‘play’ my bike pump as an instrument, decide to do skin-reactivity test to determine speed of histamine reactivity from peanuts

8:07PM: get tired of thus said histamine reactivity from peanuts experiment

9:00PM: go to Wal-Mart. Receive inquisitive glances from mentally-challenged-teenage-mother checker while purchasing orange juice, cranberry juice, rose grenadines, pina colada mix, coke, red bull, club soda, and a mouse.

9:45PM: return home to waste the next 2 hours cleaning, facebooking, and blogging.

I would say, all in all, a very satisfying and successful day.

No wind, no rain can stop me...if you're my goal!

Due to studying, I had a sleep-deprivation induced dream in which I am dressed as Diana Ross in a long flowing emerald sequined high neck ball gown, surrounded by my Supremes, and singing to a stadium full of loving fans. As I sing, I toss my enormous, picked-out afro, make small waves to the audience, blow kisses, and generally act like the insufferable diva I long to be. Rachel is sitting in the front row.

I sing, “I know, I know you must follow the sun,
Wherever it leads
But remember, If you should fall short of your desires
Remember life holds for you one guarantee
You’ll always have me.

And if you should miss my love, One of these old days—(clasp my breast)
If you should ever miss the arms,
That used to hold you so close, or the lips
That used to touch you so tenderly (pause to wipe my eyes)
Just remember what I told you,The day I set you free!”

Supremes: Ain’t no mountain high enough
Me: Woo-hoo!
Supremes: Ain’t no valley low enough
Me: Say it again Ow!
Supremes: Ain’t no river wild enough
Me: Say it again!
Together: To keep me from you!

And twirl, and spin, and freeze!

This shit is bananas! B-A-N-A-N-A-S.

My voice jury was today—and it went really well. I think I sounded a little too angry though—I will have to work on my primary emotions. Rachel and I had a good cry afterwards. Now I am going to smoke, drink, skittle-gorge, and yell myself into permanent vocal damage. Jk. But I am not going to practice for like 2 weeks. Scandalous!

Bizarre dream catalyzed by my compulsive cell bio studying. I was like, “Yes, Dr. Stomhaug, of course I know what an action potential is.” And then to prove my point I electrocuted a whale. Until it died.

Does that freak you out? Because it definitely freaks me out. What else is hidden in my subconscious?

To my friend Robyn: I swear to god I love animals…

Out of sight, out of mind

Last night I went to Shattered with Craig—and had more fun than you can shake a stick at.

Whitney, Jordan, Eric, and Miranda, and Jeff came. I was totally trashed by the time we got there, so the fact that it wasn’t totally packed bothered me not. I don’t think I have gotten my crazy-dance on like that before—I remember dancing in the cage (while humping Miranda), grabbing Whitney, and being grinded against by Craig/Jeff. Hawt? I also remember telling just about everyone, “Yeah, I used to be straight 4 weeks ago.” With arched eyebrows, ill-hidden skepticism, and conciliatory smiles, they were like, “Really?”

This morning I woke up hung-over, smelling like smoke and gay-boy cologne, and hauled ass back to my house. Where I will be studying until I drop. Eat drink and be merry for tomorrow we die.

Save me from myself

Periodically, my body says, “Listen up bitch! The stomach is eating your liver! You need to eat some goddamn food!”

And I’m like, “What? I have the metabolism of a hummingbird. I long for a grapefruit.”

Despite any and all attempts to gain weight by weightlifting or being ridiculously sedentary, my body refuses to get any heavier. Which is fortunate…because I pull of the skinny palely-loitering white boy act well. I am 6”1’. I weigh 155lbs, and a lot of that is left over muscle from when actually did go to the gym.

Which brings me to the point at hand. Every several months, I am like, “Goddamn! I am hungry.”

And today was one of those days. It was precipitated by my mom sending a finals care packaged that had kashi crackers and homemade chocolate chip cookies/ chocolate-mint biscotti.

And this morning when I got up, Craig was like, “I have a package for you.” And I opened it—and found to my surprise an industrial 36 pack count of wild-berry skittles! I immediately ripped off my shirt (yes, right there in the kitchen) and rubbed the exterior of the purple cardboard box against my rock-hard, tanned chest, all the while tossing my head back, closing my eyes and making moaning sounds. 36! 36 fucking packs! That is 8,640 calories.

When I got home, Aaron was like, “So…I am guessing that will last about 3 days?”

And I was like, “Bitch please.” More like 2 days. I might become one of those fat people that need to be removed from their homes by demolishing a wall and lifting them with a crane.

You're an acid junkie college flunky dirty puppy daddy bastard

I was made fantastically happy today by a toothbrush. It was red. I shall name it “toothbrush” and it shall be my toothbrush.

Ah, the simplicity of life.

Dad always thought laughter was the best medicine, which I guess is why several of us died of tuberculosis.

So this afternoon, Craig came over after he was done with class. He was ‘a total mess’—he had been up all night doing some Choral Lit paper, but of course he still looked absolutely hawt. We ended up going to Paquin Park because it was such a beautiful day.

I gave him a back rub under a red bud tree, while the wheelchair-bound morbidly obese old women toked up their menthols nearby. Craig, “I mean, if I were that fat, I wouldn’t be smoking.” Such sass! We have so much in common it’s creepy. I told my story of the couch-bound woman who, through the sole power of Richard Simmons’ aerobic specials, clapped her way into losing 300+ lbs. Craig seemed surprised that I knew this, but when you watch as many infomercials as I do…

So, this PDA made Craig (and me to a certain extent) a little uncomfortable. Neither of us feel a need to wear our sexual orientation on our sleeve. It just isn’t a big deal to us. There were lots of older veterans and such wandering around—and I definitely felt a little awkward. Which made me think; you know I would have no qualms with making out (hard) with a girl in a park. It shouldn’t really be any different—so it is like “get the fuck over it”, you know?

Haha, next you know, I am going to hold queer rights meetings in the CTA, complete with rainbow tablecloths. (And by the way, that has actually happened before—I am not making it up).

Other things I did today:
1) took my cell bio test #4
2) went to work, only to find out that the corn was already planted
3) Finished my theory project
4) Took a nap
5) Practiced for 1.5 hours
6) Ate 2 packages of wild-berry skittles
7) Cleaned my room
8) Finished my diction journal
9) Wasted an inordinate amount of time blogging

every day is so wonderful (part deux)

I am currently working on making some positive changes in my life. The first one being to open some lines of communication with my roommate and friend Aaron. Lately, we have been kind of cool towards each other—fueled mostly by my egregious inability (and unwillingness) to communicate. But as I know, nothing resolves itself on its own.

Final outcome: Aaron and I both told each other we are willing to make some changes in our roommate relationship and we are going to be more honest with each other in the future. I know it will be a long road (considering that we have some shit to work out), but I am very optimistic about us getting along better in the future.

Which reminds me: people always surprise me. Friends forgive you for being an asshole, and they accept you for you—if you can just give them the chance. So, I would like to give a huge shout-out to my friend (Holla!) and roommate Aaron Hartmann (the guy that lives on the other side of the wall). He likes tanning, golden oreos, and the Cardinals. One time (I sweart to god) He came home trashed and said, "I am drunk as a skunk!" Seriously, who says that? He is awesome. ‘Nough said.

In related news:

Now that just about everyone else knows about it, I think I will inform my ever-adoring blog public. I amdating the most gorgeous man in the world. His name is Craig and, if I were a black woman, I would describe him as my baby-boo. Seriously, he is a really cool guy—and I feel so privileged that he is in my life.

I feel so positive today! I love everyone. I love to dance, dance, dance! I love Jesus, I love America, and I love Cher.

But by then, Harold was over his head in the ocean...

I had a really good talk with Lane today. Mostly about how I have been a total asshole to everyone in my life and that I am sorry for that. I like my friends. And I like people in general; I just get caught up in hating humanity for the errors of a few.

The moral of the story: never underestimate your friends. You can be pleasantly surprised even when expecting the worst.

Now for something completely different:

This is a contented look at the mundane that is my life:

1)I have been listening to Jonie Mitchell lately, so I have really good karma. So good it is scary.

2)In an effort to keep my SPE count up I just finished my 8^th banana/strawberry/chocolate protein shake in 4 days. Uh…

3)I have made 0 index cards in the last week. Maybe that is why I haven’t accomplished anything?

4)I read Craig Harold and the Purple Crayon last night. Synoposis: there are no grown-ups in Harold’s world—except the police man he draws. He is lost from home, scared by a dragon, and almost drowns in an ocean. He has to rely on his crayon and his baby-wits. . My first impression of this book is that little children would find it very frightening. After reading last night though, I think the book cover should say something like, “Empowering babies everywhere.” Really, it is very inspiring. If only all our problems could be fixed by a purple crayon. If only.

Stop in the name of the law...And right now the name of the law is Rayneesha Wayne

Dream in which I am scuba-diving in the Antarctic, wearing a James Bond black wetsuit. Being constantly ridiculed by my friend Manda for insisting that I was swimming under glaciers. Manda says, “You moron. They are icebergs. Icebergs.”

As of late, I am working on reading the book Dawn for my science fiction class. And by reading, I mean holding it in myhand at the plasma center while I watch The Price is Right.

In Dawn, the main character Lilith is forced to awaken cryogenically frozen humans so they can repopulate the earth. She hates all of them. Even after 2 hundred years of isolation without seeing a single human, when she is stuck in a room with them—she loathes them.

Remind anyone of Sartre’s No Exit?

"l'enfer, c'est les autres"