Craig and I post-aforementioned-baseball-in-the-eye incident at Addison's for Mandy's B-day.

 
Craig and I at Bethany's recital. Whitney in the background doing her "I'm-going-to-be-in-every-picture-goddamnit-face".

 

Whitney Reed and Me at the 'Boig for her B-day. Yes, again we are pouty-pirate Olsen twins while Tessa dissapproves in the background.

Have a lot of irons in the fire (gawd, do I deplore that alegory).

Research is going well, having to interact with others: less well.

Have my first lesson with Dan tomm. Excited!

I feel like I am standing on the horizon, looking into the sun. ("Your star, it burns!")

In between projects these last two weeks, I have discovered that there are so many hours that one can spend practicing /biking /running /working-out.

Yay for Nick laughing through The Omen and drinking flaming bacardi 151 out of orange halfs at NKN.

I am America. I am the president. I am the olympics!

During my move across the hall to live with Lane for the summer, Manda and I discussed the peculiarity that is Paquin Tower.

For you non-CoMoers, Paquin Towers is a 15 story apartment building right next to U-Place. As far as we can tell, only mentally and physically handicapables live there. The formula for a typical resident is pretty simple: morbidly obese, riding a jazzy (often with a boom-box tucked underneath), and with a very small lapdog in tow. This fat-jazzy-lil’-dog prototype begs the question: when someone moves into Paquin Towers, do they automatically get a small dog?

“Hello. Welcome to Paquin Towers. Here are your mailbox key, bedsheets, and a small dog to serve as a foil to your enormous, bloated, handicapped body.”

One time Alan and Bianca took pictures of all the gas stations in Rolla and put them in a photo album. Manda and I are scheming right now to set up shop on the adjacent parking garage and dutifully document this handicapped person-dog phenom.

I love the summer.

Busy couple of days:

Saturday: Eryn, Rick and I drove to St. Louis to go to Janet’s wedding. Janet is a 5”11’ goddess of a brunette vet that I live with 2 summers ago. The wedding was fabulous-- saw Kayla and have begun planning our 2 big parties for the summer: the "wine" party and the “come as your favorite gay stereotype” party.

The next morning Rick got sexually harassed by an extremely old woman at a Waffle House. He’ll have to tell you about that.

Sunday afternoon was spent driving to Rolla and helping the Worsey’s prepare for their 3 child graduation party. I made tiramisu! Then Howard and Tristan and I finished 2 fifths of rum before the guests arrived. My 3rd grade teacher and her 4 children showed up. That was neither awkward nor weird. Really.

The party was lovely—but Rick/Eryn/I drove back to CoMo at 11. Showed up at Nick's 21st B-day party. As expected, there were: Nick’s vomiting high school friends, crying Natalie, responsible and sober Laura Donnely, and a 2:30AM trip to all of the Taco Bells in Columbia.

Yesterday Craig and I went to the batting cages and I am sore. From the batting cages. Wink.

So to sum it all up: I was drunk for 3 days solid. My liver has jumped ship and got the last life boat. TTFN.

Went to trops last night with Craig and then to Booches to see Rachel and Jesse.

I told Craig that since we can't have children, we can get 2 dogs. A skinny greyhound named Ed Jr. and a muscly bulldog named Craig Jr. How domestic!

PS-I really want a dawg.

 
When I was home last weekend, my dad and I watched the Addidas Track Classic. During the last lap of the men’s 800, they cut away to Barry Bonds get intentionally walked…live. I hate you ESPN/Baseball/Barry Bonds.

I started running again!

Everything hurts.

 

Probably Craig will leave some venomous (and well-justified) comment, but I had to post this picture of Hu-Jackman. Even though the WSJ dished it hard, I’m going to see X-Men, if not for the sole reason: Wolverrine’s chest hair. Grrrowwlll….

My problems put in perspective.

Last night I drank it up with Mike, Mitch, and Caleb. Weapon of choice=mojitos, Mike's home-made stuff.

I will be so sad when Mike and Jenn leave for Mali.

Had a very sane finals week—only music finals, so I spent a good chunk of the last 7 days with Amaretto sours from Trops. Think I did well in all my classes, my jury went pretty well. I am so excited for summer!

I am going to be working on several things this summer:
1) My project…yeah, I have my own corn…it’s pretty amazing.
2) Taking lessons from Dan to get ready for my recital in October.
3)Singing in a concert version of Carmen in July here in Columbia. Even if it is a small part, I am totally psyched.
4) Catching lots of bugs.
5)Spending more time with my friends.
6)Working out more.
7)Doing the Show-Me games, maybe the 800, probably not the 5K.
8) Turning 21 and drinking like Frank Sinatra! (That’s why the lady is a tramp…)

Usually the prospect of large amounts of time with nothing to do scares me. Creation (singing, thought, originality) takes a back seat to production (school work). I guess in my twisted mind, I equate my need for a sense of purpose with fighting against something. Real or unreal, I often perceive my self-worth as a measure of how much I have struggled—thus my habit of inventing new hurdles to jump through (ie, taking 20 hours a semester, double majoring, working a part-time job, maintaining a relationship, etc). Being a slave to the meritocracy is my way of life. If I'm not fighting, then I feel no impetus to exist.

Such is mango.

So I’m going to make a conscious effort to chill out.
[Jules: Bitch, be cool!]

 
Lane also sent me this picture of Kristin and Alicia entitled "Alicia looking trampy." Absolutely priceless.

 
I'm not sure exactly how this came about (probably some finals-induced wackiness), but this is the plaque that I applied to our apartment door earlier this week. Aaron was not amused.

Sarah: "I don't think that will help you with the ladies, Aaron."

Blog whore? Not me officer.

For the past year or so, I have been reading the blog of Jewish/Russian immigrant/gay-porn director/ego-maniac Michael Lucas. Most of his posts are about 1 of 2 two things:
1) exploiting the new fresh-faced porn star he’s found or
2) attacking anyone who says anything bad about homosexuals, homosexuality, the inherent goodness of gay porn, etc.

To a point this becomes tedious, but nonetheless, I find him very entertaining. He is very un-PC—which I find fabulous in a “where everybody thinks, but doesn’t say it” age. Lucas says what he wants, and doesn’t care what anybody else thinks—which might be a result of having a 10-inch dick.

The dichotomy of having a gay-porn director endlessly philosophize about politics gets me every time.

Strange stranger in a strange land

As I was walking home from work late last night, I noticed that the lights were on in the green-house by Tucker (the building I work in). Upon closer inspection, I saw lots of little bugs crawling on the glass. Imagine my excitement after months of insect-free winter, to see hundreds of teeming miniatures swarming in front of my very eyes! Ok, you probably can’t—but anyway. I found some beetles and some mayflies that I didn’t have in my collection yet, so I was pretty stoked…but I digress.

So I am carrying my flat-tired bike, with a backpack on my shoulders, talking on the phone to Natalie, and trying to one-handedly pick the bugs off the glass and put them into an empty cinnamon Altoid box I scrounged out of my backpack—when I hear behind me: “May I enquire exactly what you are doing?”

A cute girl asks, several paces away from me, shrouded in the darkness beyond the penumbra of the nightmare glow of les serre chaude, as it were. Judging by how calculated and tactfully she asked her question, she encountered many crazy scientists in her life, and knew just how deal with them. After I explained what I was doing, we both had a good laugh.

Her: “I just saw you pawing at the glass and I thought you were either drunk or on something.”

Ok, Ed. This is a hint. Your normal behavior suggests drug-use and/or mental instability. Take it down a notch.

Picture of Whitney and I (in our horrible, tramp-stage make-up) before Dido this weekend. I think we are making Mary-Kate and Ashley faces.
 

Typical Friday thought:

Today marks the 4th time a total stranger has approached me and complemented me on my john deers.

Random woman: Excuse me, where did you get your shoes?
Me: Zappos
Random woman: That’s my favorite color.

A couple weeks ago a Salt-Lake City airport security officer literally followed me into the terminal asking questions about my shoes. She told me her bf is Irish, he loves green, blah, blah.

Some people use philanthropy to spread cheer or good-will among mankind. I rely on my beautiful footwear.

My recent experiences with the moon:

1)Bethany sang Rusalka’s song to the moon in her recital last night.

2) Listened to Wozzeck in class: Aber der Mond verrät mich…der Mon dist blutig. (See how the moon betreays me…the moon is bloody)

3)As I sat reading “The man with the blue Guitar” tonight (It is the sun that shares our works/The moon shares nothing. It is a sea), I looked out my window to see the mooning rising (as in Walt Whitmann: Lo the moon ascending, out from the east—the silvery round moon.)

4) Seeing the moon out of my window tonight reminds me of my obsession with the children's book Harold and the Purple crayon. It was one of the first things Craig and I read together when we first started dating—a year ago today.

What does all this mean?

Emo post

I have been sick most of the week, and so that kind of put me in a despondent mood. After receiving minimal assistance from Student Death, I have spent the last couple of days taking a cocktail of OTC remedies for my (debilitating) sore throat. Here’s a pathetic picture: Sitting in my room listening to Tosca over and over, reading Wonderbread and Ecstasy: The Life and Death of Joey Stefano (the first bottom to be a gay porn star, who died of AIDS/drug overdose in 1994), and popping handfuls of Mucinex, Advil, Benadryl, Claritin, Sudafed, and Robitussin like they were a Halloween kiddie-mix.

Pouty Pirate.

Now that I am feeling a little bit better (thank god), I am going to see Pierrot Lunaire tonight. (I’m sure that will help me feel more cheerful, lol.) This weekend I pretty much going to study as much as possible and try to fix my serotonin imbalance by spending as much time in the sun as possible. Wish me luck, gentle reader.

Now that I am back in Missouri, I busy again with the Baatan death march that is my life. (soundtrack=Music History CD, Stravinsky/Wagner/Debussy/Berg).

Performed in master class today that was very productive. I guess I run hot and cold with this music thing. Some days I never want to sing again, some days I can’t find enough time to practice. Isn’t that the hallmark of an artist? Flighty and Fickle. I guess it beats insanity. Or syphilis. Schumann, Wolf, Schubert…

Who's exicited for 9.5 hours of class starting this morning at 8AM? (music history, aural training, physics 2, biochem, vocal lit, 2 hour opera rehearsal, 2.5 hour physics lab)

[Nerd in back of class waves hand]

pp 

pp 

My spring break was absolutely wonderful.

Craig and I left for Salt Lake City (crawling with ‘mos—who knew?) on Wednesday. I got to meet his friends from the Utah (pronounced be me on the trip as ooo-tay-huh) period of his life. We went to Moab to see the Arches National Park, and did a lot of hiking. We even saw Delicate Arch (after a 3.5 mile hike) at sunset. Our pictures turned out great—they really are postcard material.

We stayed at a bed and breakfast, run by an older Belgian couple. Since I talked on the phone to the wife (we nicknamed her Tsa-Tsa) earlier that week, I knew we would be in for a treat. “Vood you like zum Vaffles?”

On Friday we rented ATVs and rode them for 4 hours on a huge outdoor complex with trails for mountain bikers, dirt bikers, and four-wheelers. It was super butch.

I also went to my first gay club Friday night. It was an interesting experience. Not quite as wanton as the homosexual debauchery in QAF, but still very fun.

I also got to visit BYU and saw where Craig went to school. It would almost be worth putting up with the dress code and repressive moral standards to be able to go to school in the middle of a beautiful mountain range. I want mountains. I hate you flat Missouri.

But I love you vacation with my bf!

I just got back from Utah this evening and am too drawn to post. Gentle reader, just know that I felt like a real person for 5 days. No biochemistry, QTL, PCR, SSRs, physics, dominant 9th chords, sonata rondo form, or Schoenberg. It was GLORIOUS. Pictures and posts to follow, kittens--I promise.

 

Last semester I took an entomology class that was the culmination of 13+ years of bug-geekiness.

Yes, I was the kid who ran around with butterfly nets, caught moths at baseball games instead of paying attention, and drove my parents absolutely crazy with my insect fanaticism. After junior high my obsession waned…maybe it was that I was scared of becoming an entomologist in the fashion of Silence of the Lambs?

Anyway, this past fall, I got back in the swing of things, and this is a picture of approximately 1/3 of my collection (which I got a 110% on).

I would like to thank the academy and my saint of a roommate, who put up with the ziplock bags full of vegetable matter and bugs in our freezer.

Had a fun weekend, never expected to:

1) Watch Patrick Dell vomit into the sink repeatedly.
2) See Craig kissed by 3—yes count them, 3 straight guys (on second thought why does that surprise me?)
3) Dance to criss-cross in brown town with my pants on backwards? (PS-I love you Jaime/Scott).
4) Actually hear the words from Mike’s mouth, “She hit me with a spoon in the ear, and now I’m bleeding.”

Stickin' it to the man (Darwin)

Nothing like not being able to breath to remind yourself that you are a peanut allergic, severely nearsighted, asthmatic, genetic aberration that has slipped through the cracks of natural selection. Yay for me.

 
Craig and me after the opera a few weeks ago.

 

Manda and I went to see the Eagles of Death Metal last night in KC. They were fucking fabulous! The Strokes were also pretty good—although I have never seen that many teenage Caucasian boys with wafros in my life.

I haven’t been so excited about a current band since I discovered the Scissor Sisters in fall of ’04.

The lead singer of EODM, J-Devil, was amazing…anyone who describes their mustache as a “soft-boomerang-of-love” is boss in my book.

Several inconsequential observations made over the past week:

1)I saw a guy throwing away pill-boxes of soil samples into the dumpster outside the geology building. Ok, ok, I know they are “soil samples”, but the ridiculousness of throwing dirt in the trash can struck me as subtly metaphoric.

2) While going through the Hardee’s drive-thru I saw a man (dressed semi-nicely) open his door and bark into the speaker. When I write “bark”, I mean *bark*, he sounded like a smoker with an angry bull seal voice (later Manda and I referred to him as “seal man”). More remarkable was the 18-inch long string of drool hanging from his chin. He made no attempt to wipe it off, and as far as I know, he didn’t even know it was there. It wasn’t runny drool, it was really goopy, and eventually, when he stumbled back to his Kia, the drool strand got caught on his car door. He then drove off.

This left me wondering. What is the explanation for this seal barking/drool episode? Did other cars see this behind me? Was he drunk at 1:30 PM on a Sunday? Was he having a heart-attack? Why am I so fascinated by the grotesque, that I would replay this situation over and over in my head for the past week trying to discover what was going on?

PS-Don’t think I am an obese American who eats at Hardee’s all the goddamn time (I read Fast Food Nation, thank you very much)—but my skinny emo-hipster diet of canned fruit and ramen noodles causes me to have severe, but occasional fat cravings to prevent my brain from metabolizing my other weaker, more passive internal organs.

3)I saw two (presumably) city-girls transfixed by a possum in a tree on my way to class on Wednesday. They were standing in front of the tree, dressed in their Northface fleece, cuffed jeans and ugg-boot best, while holding up their camera phones and saying things like:

Girl 1: Is that a possum?
Girl 2: I think so. Is it sleeping?
Girl 1: Yeah. This is so crazy.

People from the city have such an over-reverence for nature. It’s really just funny. I suppose when you grow up in the middle of buttfuck-nowhere Missouri (which sounds like more fun than it is), and cows routinely get out of their fences and amble their clumsy bovine selves up your driveway…you just get used to being surrounded by dumb wildlife.

4)After the Eagles of Death Metal concert, Manda and I got back to Columbia after last call tonight, and witnessed what could only be described as a mass-migration of light jeans/striped oxford shirt-wearing, stumbling frat boys making their way back to wherever they came from.

We saw at least 15-20 in the span of a block. They looked exactly the same. It’s like a uniform. An army uniform for cookie-cutters.

 

In honor of BBM appearance at the Academy Awards, last night Craig and I watched what could possibly be the gayest best picture winner ever: An American in Paris. It has extended dance sequences, lots of Gershwin undertones, and gayest of all, Gene Kelly in tight yellow spandex.

[Cue Lighted fountain and brass sequence, “And then I realized, I love Josh.”]

Alright, he’s kind of a Baldwin. Sigh.

Ok, so Craig and I went to the construction party of Generic, this bar owned by his boss. It was fun, and the name generic was fitting. It was crawling with beautiful, cookie-cutter frat rats and bleach blonde sorority supa-tramps.

They had decorated the place with caution tape and had paid some skinny blondes to wear Lowe’s toolbelts and go-go dance. Lol, the straight people were trying so hard. It was cute.

If I have learned anything from Damon, it is to properly tip the dancers. I found the cutest one and stuck some dollar bills into her knee-highs.

Woke up this morning with a headache, but still managed to power through it and go to my 11 o’clock. It is a beautiful day. I love you Thursday!

Good things about today:

I aced my biochemistry quiz.

I had an amazing practice session, in which I hit, get ready for it, a high G. Oh, God, it was glorious. My good voice day more than made up for opera which is *so* dragging right now. I can’t wait for staging.

I remembered how to use the matrix function on my calculator, which cut my 2 ½ hour physics lab down to 45 minutes. Nerds kick ass! (I told you that reading the entire HP 48G user’s guide would come in handy one day.)

I am going with Craig to the opening of a new bar on Broadway down from BR's. Getting my game face on to drink like a fish. Beware.

 
This time of year, when things are cold and gray, I end up listening to Joni Mitchell’s California. And think of better things to come.

PostSecret

 
Things went better than I had hoped this weekend. As with anything in life, it isn't perfect.

But I am content. People surprise me.

Sad but true

My mom just sent me a newspaper from my home town (as she often does) with things of interest, i.e., Michelle/Dalton engagement announcement, a feature on my XC buddy Lance who was an extra in a film.

And in the upper corner was the tag-line of “‘BrokeBack Mountain’ up for Oscars” which she had X-d over and written in pen beside: “what an insult.”

Given, I am not out to Christian-conservative parents (which is something I feel an increasing need to fix), so I know my mom didn't mean to hurt me, but this simple act made me really sad.

I love my mother very much (Hello! I *am* a cancer.), and I know exactly what she would say if I confronted her. Something about how BBM is offensive to the 99.99% of straight cowboys (which is probably true, lol).

And that is exactly the problem. Whenever the general entity called “Hollywood” does anything depicting a minority group, anyone who sees the movie assumes that it is a generalization of all, fill in the blank__: gays, blacks, transvestites, vampires, etc.

There are some parts to BBM that I find very saddening (notice I don’t use the word “offensive”)—basically the storyline that involves men that cheat on their wives. That is not ok; I don’t care how much society has “oppressed” anyone.

But because the movie depicts infidelity is not why my mother has such contempt for the movie, because I bet you 500 million dollars she hasn’t seen it, and probably never will. And I don’t feel the need to defend something from a defamer that is poorly informed.

news

I had a great Valentine’s Day. I cooked a candlelight dinner for Craiger, it was simple but fun. [3/4 of a way through an entire bottle of sparkling wine, me: “This is alcoholic?!]

I feel lucky that I can celebrate Valentine’s Day, because the holiday sucks *so* much for single people. I know, because I’ve been there. One of my saddest memories is spending my V-Day evening in my senior year of high school studying for my AP Calc test listening to Aimee Mann’s “One” on repeat.

Ah the pathos!

To all my single friends who are tired of being single, keep your chin up—and someday the most wonderful person will waltz into your life. And they will love you.

 
Saw Match Point last night with Craig, Jaime, and Scott at Rag-Tag.

I think it would best be described as “deeply unsettling”. By the end of the movie, Jonathan Rhys-Meyers had created so much empathy for his character…well-- I’ve said too much.

Go see it.

 

I am fascinated by French actor Gaspard Ulliel (he was so charming in A Very Long Engagement). He is also appearing in a new Hannibal Lector movie, which is a mistake, I think.

My interest in Gaspard Ulliel was piqued because he reminds me of a boyish Schubert.

Beginning of the end

 
The label said: "fairway", but I will call them "my John Deers". And they will be my baby.

This is the first time I have ever bought shoes to cheer myself up. Gawd, is this the beginning of a downward spiral of compulsive consumption? (I mean "the act of consuming", not the condition that dying sopranos invariably have.)

 

I swear the contributors to postsecret are reading my mind. Hypocritical PETA-harpies.

I hope they lie on a gurney in a cold operating room and experience the horrendous trauma of a double mastectomy before they deny other women legitimate medical treatments.

Reflections in a jaundiced eye...among others

Absolutely insane week of school/work/frenzied-socializing.

Spent Monday night with Craig, Tuesday night at a Phi Mu Alpha meeting, Wednesday night at Jazz with Callie/Archer/Craig drinking Bermuda triangles, Thursday made it to the Vu and decided against it at the door, Friday went to see East of Eden with Wendy and Craig at the Missouri Theatre.

I spent about 4 hours Saturday morning playing of all things: quiz bowl. I know. I am a nerd. Was on a team with Kristin, Lane and Aaron. Aaron and Kristin were by far the MVPs, but I got some questions: including ones about cars, sumo wrestling, mars, and Andy Jackson. We even won 20 bucks, which was splendtacular.

Later we got Thai and played Trivial Pursuit pop-culture (drinking of course) until I left for Shatterday with Craig, where it has become official: the gaiyes have taken over.

Last semester I was a recluse of sorts, but for a good reason: I don’t have an impetus to seek out human interaction—especially if I am busy. My self-imposed exile from a social life last semester is officially over, but I feel like I am becoming un-misanthrope. And it scares me.

As my diety herself, Florence King, says, “Familiarity doesn't breed contempt, it is contempt.”

 

Also on Underwear Monday nights, this is a pic of (from left): Me-Natalie-Kyle-Katie-Shah-Nick-Ryan-and some guy I don't know.

The theme for this Monday night is Price is Right Monday Night. As I hear it, the girls dress up as "bob's beauties" (creepy, I know), Nick is Bob, and the guys dress up as contestants. I think that Craig and I will go as sailors, but I grow weary of my full-time job as costumer for our social life.

Le Sigh.

 

This is Katie, my good friend from freshmen year, drinking a Honey Wheat out of my boxer-briefs at Underwear Monday nights, earlier this fall.

Lest I be perceived as a kiss-and-tell, Katie was *very* drunk, we were both being silly, and she was thoroughly embarrassed the next day. It was not her fault.

Interestingly enough, Katie is pre-optometry student (who works for an eye-bank), and she related a story where she cut the lenses out of one of her high school newly deceased classmates earlier that day.

So she had a good excuse to for the shameless debauchery.

Eryn's 21st

 

I am at a time in my life where all my friends are having the 4th coming of age ritual that is still intact in American society today—the 21st birthday. After sex (which is the most important step in the maturation process) comes the driver's license, then voting, then turning 21. Matt, Kristin, Natalie, Manda, Lane--and now Eryn.

Then comes Rick, Me, Robyn, and lastly Aaron (In October—Christ!!).

Everyone being legal. Gawd. How old will I feel then?

Anyway, we had a fucking blast on Saturday, and the above picture is little 115 lbs Eryn dancing with Robyn and me at Shatterday. I think the fact that she made it to 21 shots is reminiscent of the incomprehensible profundity of the Great Pyramids or a Whitney Houston dance remix.

And yes, if you are curious that is David Bowie from Labyrinth on my T. I know. Fierce.

 

Craig and I have good luck when it comes to costumes. Clickity clack here for more pics of us before BBM.

To suck or not to suck (up)

If I never write another personal statement as long as I live it will be too soon.

How does one look good on paper without bragging or sounding ingratiating? Maybe I should just start turning in short video-documentaries like Elle in Legally Blonde. Only I don’t have boobs or blonde hair with which to woo older white-men committee member types.

If anyone has any ideas, let me know.

 

Went to see Broke Back Mountain last night with Craig.

Expecting to cry my eyes out like a little girl, I decided to lighten up the occasion by dressing up. It took me 5 minutes to put together the perfect outfit. Cowboy boots borrowed from Craig, tight jeans, and a long-sleeve buttoned up shirt with fringe. Yes. Fringe. I can now say that I have willingly resembled a lamp shade.

BBM was sad, but not the maudlin sobfest I was expecting. Any of its detractors that judged it without even seeing it (cough, cough, Fox News), can kiss my goddamn gay ass because I loved the movie. Not only was it a beautiful story paired with great acting, and breath-taking (oh, how I loathe that descriptor, but it's fitting) cinematography, it made me appreciate how relatively easy it is to be gay in the year 2006.

Normally the gay liberal establishment (that which it is), makes me more nauseated than a hung-over morning sick pregnant woman in a row boat in the Pacific during hurricane season. Zombie-chanting: “We’re here, we’re queer, get used to it” to show the heterosexual world that gay people are acceptance freaks that need straight people’s sanction to live their lives is not my idea of how to ‘win’ gay rights.

Although I don't condone their methods of in-your-face repulsiveness and constant victim-mongering, I appreciate their results: they have made America a safer place to live for homosex’als. So thank you PFLAG, GLAAD, and the sort, because I don’t live in a world where I feel endangered because I am gay. Thank god it isn’t 1977.

Happy B-day

First, I would like to say: Happy birthday to edgrow.blogspot.com! You are 1 year old. Have some cake.

Random what-its.

1)I took a hiatus from technology while visiting my rents and sibs for Christmas…which explains the lack of posts. Sorry. (Pouty Pirate) However, I did have a really fun time in Rolla (gasp!). I miss my little sisters and I had lots of fun playing boggle with my bro Al. And drinking “Ye Olde English 40s” at house parties.

2)I am packing like a banshee so I can get on a shuttle at 4:30 AM tomorrow morning for my flight out of StL. Shit! Although, the butt-crack of dawn will only bring me closer to Puerto Rico where it will be in the low 80s for all two glorious weeks. I will miss Craig. That is sad.

3)Craig and I went to Shattered last night to ring in the new year. It was fantab. Not very many gays—but amazing music, costumes, vibe, etc. Looking fierce and drinking are by far my two favorite activities.

4)When I get back Jan 15, I promise lots of updates and pictures from PR, underwear Monday nights, dressy Monday Nights, float trips from this summer, and Manda’s B-day. Till then—tata, and enjoy ’06!

No school for 30 days

Well finals are over...and this was probably the easiest semester I have ever had. Passed my barrier exam and am getting 'A's in all of my classes, except one, in which I am getting an 'A-'. Gawd, life for a nerd is so hard.

I plan on spending some time with Craiger before I leave for home next week, and working my ass off here in CoMo on the never-ending-QTL-mapping-project.

But this afternoon to relax, I went to Artisan and listened to all of Puccini's Il Tabarro and read along in the score. (When people ask me from now on why I like it so much, I will say: "Because the baritone strangles the tenor at the end".)

Which is true.

Well now I am off to the gym and then later to NKN where I will sink into a debauched state never again to be repeated.

I just got saran-wrapped into my bathroom.

The mind-numbing boredom of final’s week is finally getting to Aaron and Lane. Such pranks remind me of freshmen year...long, long ago.

Unfortunately, I was like, “Oh, look. I guess I can’t get out.”

If I had my wits about me, I would have said something to the effect of, “Oh you cruel, yet hitherto elusive food-wrap. You mock me! While you feign transparency, you really mirror my own person. Thin. Clear. Able to cover salad bowls and holiday cookies to prevent desiccation.”

Sparked by a conversation with Tessa about our Cancer status (and how we are too attached to our mothers), I have compiled a list of things my mom has taught me.

1)How to be (fashionably) late to everything.
2)How to be afraid of germs.
3)How to defend myself from attacking dogs.
4)How to prepare and eat 6-7 servings of fruit a day.
5)How to clean a bathroom.
6)How to multitask. Example: doing laundry, baking, listening to talk radio, entertaining small children, and talking on the phone at the same time.
7)How to write letters.
8)How to pack a sack lunch.
9)How to take care of a pregnant woman. Feed them Braunswagger and spinach.