It’s weird, being home again in a place that doesn’t feel like home.
I’ve lived in this house since I was nine, but a year and a half after moving up to Chico, I feel like a guest any time I come home to visit. I’m sure it doesn’t help that usually I’m home for a week with no real purpose other than to be available to which ever of my family members deigns to spend any time with me.
I spend my time in the bedroom I grew up with, sitting in my old twin size bed, surrounded by the hodgepodge of furniture that I left behind, and feel like a stranger in a strange place.
I am home for Christmas break, and all I can think is, how many days until New Years Eve? How long until I can go back to Chico without my family being mad that I left town so soon, to spend time with the guy that until break, I’d spent every day and night with.
I feel vastly out of place in the house, in this town that until I moved away, was the only home I had ever had. I have lived in in three different suburbs of Sacramento, all so close together that they mesh as one large neighborhood where I knew where everything was. Now I come home and look around, comparing it to what I left behind in Chico.
How do you compare the suburbs that have emptied of all your friends, with a downtown where everyone is less than five minutes away? Compare having to drive to get anywhere to being able to walk anywhere safely? Compare the quiet to the bustle and beat of people out having a good time?
I am not a party girl, but I love that when I’m in Chico, I can walk to the bars, walk to the parties, walk anywhere and see anyone. I love that I will see more parked bikes than parked cars on any given day. That when I take my dog for a walk, I’m not the only one out.
Every time I come home to Sacramento, a city that I have loved my whole life and can’t help but to smile to myself as I wander around downtown, I have to remember that I am not a Sacramento girl. I’m a product of the suburbs. That even though the bus drops me downtown at 8th and K, it’s still another 20 minutes until I get home.
I had always wanted to live downtown when I was little, and now in Chico, I’m as close as you can get to downtown and not actually live in it. I love city life. I love that my apartment is the gathering point for all my friends, that any given day, at least two of them will stop by on their way to or from school. I love that our discussions have a sort of shorthand “I’m outside Holt…I’ll meet you by Glenn…We’re in the BMU.”
I love that my days have a pattern. Monday is football at Applebee’s. Tuesdays are movies with Am. Wednesdays I cook dinner. Friday is Rockband, Saturday a party somewhere, Sundays cookies with Ally.
When I come home, I have no plans. Nothing to do. A sister who wants to hang out, but then won’t pick up her phone for three days. I have no friends left in this town, no one I want to hang out with. You is working up in Crescent City, and he was the only one worthwhile left in this town.
So I’m home for Christmas. But I can’t wait to get back to Chico, to take the train to Redding and drive home with E, where we’ll spend New Years Eve with our friends, playing games and having fun.
I didn’t realize how much I had neglected the blog this semester, until I opened up Ecto and saw how many half-written, half–thought out blog posts that were waiting for me to come back to them. There are seven, in varying stages of done-ness, that I still want to tackle—still think are important to talk about.
However, as many of my online friends have noticed, I’ve been busy. I’ve been taking 20 units this semester, which is two more than I wanted, and probably five more than I should have done. But I’ve been keeping up with my coursework, even if I can’t keep up with the rest of my life.
With three weeks left in the semester, and three major projects still to work on (oh, wait, I should be working on one right now…oops), odds are pretty good that there will still be no well-thought out, “this is my life” blog posts that this site is known for. If its still known for anything, that is.
Feeling guilty about my lack of posting, I thought I should run down a list of things that have happened since the last time I did this, which seems to be the only way I talk about the important things in my life:
- E, the cause of so much drama in my life (not that it was a bad thing) finally decided what he wanted, and surprise, it was me. Damn good thing I’m persistent and always right. He makes me ridiculously happy, and was totally worth the effort.
- My internship was moved up a semester, so I designed the fall Watershed—mostly because the spring one was cut due to budget cuts. Turned in my files last week, and am very relieved to be done, though I can’t wait to see it when it gets back from the printer.
- Open Mic Night for Sigma Tau was very wishy-washy this semester. We weren’t sure if we were even going to be able to get a date this semester, but December 5th is all ours at Has Beans… I should probably design that flier soon.
- Alturas came home with me for Thanksgiving, and it’s a good thing she did. If she wasn’t here, I’d probably be sleeping in late everyday, and not getting anything done. At least now I’m waking up early and not getting anything done.
- Ran into the ex this morning at Wal-Mart. Not surprised, since he works overnights, and we were there at 5am to get a gift for my sister. Didn’t talk to him, but still awkward, just the same.
- Can’t wait to bake cookies with Ally on Sunday night. If I’m not to exhausted by then.
That’s pretty much it. We’ve been playing Magic the Gathering (like I needed that addiction again), partying in our own non-partyish ways, and pretty much trying to cram as much fun into this semester as is possible when there’s practically no time to do anything.
I’ll try to blog when I can. Predidicting that it’s not happening until January. Sorry. It’ll take at least two weeks to decompress after the semester is done. But I miss you, even while I ignore you.
It’s the boy I make out with in the dark corner of the party when no one is looking.
My friends and I often have really lame conversations about what we think we could live without. A left hand. A kidney. Eyesight. Hearing.
I don’t know what I would do if I went deaf. I can’t imagine not hearing the opening chords to Welcome to the Jungle, Kashmir, Nine in the Afternoon, Hum Hallelujah1. I can’t imagine not being able to hear the music I love, be introduced to a new heart that I can’t imagine living without, not having that connection to my secret soul that only music can give a voice to.
Music is the way I say I love you. It’s the way I break my heart day by day. It’s what gets me from moment to moment, and is a time machine into my memories, each song dredging up an image or ten that compete for attention while I lose myself in the way the base thumps in time to my heart.
I bought a new album this month—not just a bunch of random songs as usual—and as I listened to it for the first time, I remembered what I was missing. As I lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling, letting Fast Times at Barrington High by The Academy Is… wash over me, through me
(But you weren’t there to hear it
These lines, so well rehearsed
Tongue tied and over-loaded
You’ll never noticeI’m not in love
This is not my heart
I’m not gonna waste these words
About a girlI’m not in love
This is not your song
I’m not gonna waste these words
About a girl) —About a Girl
I remembered what I had forgotten. I don’t give a shit about anyone else’s opinion in music.
I am an emo girl. But I’m also all about the power ballads, the pop songs, the one-hit-wonders, the catchy tune that makes no sense but you can’t help but tap your toes to. I will listen to anything. And I couldn’t care less what anyone else thinks about it.
I am pretty sure that my soul is made of music. That the most important moments of my life will always have a sound track. That music is more intimate to me than my fiction, than my poetry, than my own words written out.
Last week, E and I were watching a movie in my room, and when it ended, it was too quiet. We were just laying there, and I picked up the remote to start playing music on my laptop. As I flicked through the playlists, my first thought was “he’s not going to like any of these, and I don’t really want to dig down to find albums that I know he likes.” And then he told me to just put on whatever.
Every month, I make a playlist of how I feel for the month. Thus it’s taken me an entire month to mush together a playlist for September. I’m continually adding and removing songs, trying to find the ones that fit together, that paint a snapshot of me in this month. And not even thinking about it, I play for E September’s unfinished playlist. The one that is all about not opening your heart any wider than it already is for fear of it getting stomped on, but still you have to open it up.
These songs are about love and heartbreak, about refusing to see what’s right in front of your face. These songs are what make up my soul this month, and it’s not something I usually share with anyone.
As the Hush Sound began to play, I wondered if he’d pay enough attention, if he’d realize what all these songs are saying, what they mean to me. And then I realized, I’m not ready for him to know that yet.
But there will always be another playlist, another month to fill my soul with music that means more to me than anyone else, a secret that I’ll play to myself over and over. And one day, I’ll let someone else in on the secret.
But don’t make fun of my music. I’ll cut you for that.
- Guns ‘n’ Roses, Led Zepplin, Panic at the Disco, Fall Out Boy, in case you were wondering. [back]
As the first week of classes, I sort of thought it was going to go better than this.
Turns out because of budget cuts, I have to do my internship this fall instead of in the spring. Which means I’m taking 20 units instead of 18, and next spring have to magically find 5 units to make me a full time student, instead of 3. Also, it means I have less time to actually learn how to design, as I must turn in a book layout before I actually do a book layout in my print design class. Brilliant.
Worse still is that my father had a minor stroke on Monday. And no one told me about it until Wednesday.
Course, part of it is because my dad is a huge jerk. He had the stroke Monday morning, and didn’t even go to the doctor. The whole family is there for Monday Night Dinner, and to celebrate K’s boyfriend’s birthday, when my brother mentions that my dad must have gone to the dentist that day, because his face was numb and was drooling.
“No. I just had a stroke this morning, but I’m better now.”
Of course the family flips out and makes him go to the doctor—my mom’s mom died from complications arising from multiple strokes when I was 14—but he doesn’t go until Tuesday, and they don’t finish running tests on him until Wednesday, when he finally gets admitted and they think he’s going to have surgery.
So of course I’m having a minor flip-out all Wednesday. I found out about the whole situation with two classes left to go. And I can’t go home until Saturday, because I have to go to class, and my dad wouldn’t see his being in the hospital as a valid reason for me to miss.
My dad isn’t the only problem I can’t fix, either. I don’t know what is going on with me and E, only that everything feels different—like I’m invading his space and that it’s not the same. And I’m stressed and worried about You, because he only has the most dangerous job ever and I haven’t heard from him since my birthday.
So I decide, emotional wreck that I am, that I’m going to solve the only one I can right now, which is me and E. So yesterday, I pony up the courage to finally talk to him about the dreaded us.
(And I think I should be commended for this, since it took me three years to work up the courage for the last talk with a guy I had to have, and here I’m only three months late.)
And of course it’s awkward. We walked in a loop around the creek and a few buildings, because in no way can I have this conversation sitting on the couch in the BMU, surrounded by people and having to look at him.
Eventually, once we get past the small talk, I finally blurt out “you know I like you, right?”
“Yeah.”
And I lose my train of thought. I know I have to go forward, but I don’t know how to phrase the next question without sounding needy, without assuming anything. Finally, after what seems like forever in my head, and in reality only a few seconds, “so, are we just friends or what.”
This is essentially me out on the line, asking a question that I’ve been putting off because I was afraid of the answer, and even more so, because today I do know what that answer is going to be, because I need to hear it or I can’t function in this friendship without screwing up even more.
“Just friends for now.” Course, I can’t even be sure that he said for now because maybe I just wanted to hear it, and so think I did. I am assuming, and basing our entire future friendship, as if that part never happened, since there are pretty good odds that it didn’t.
I can do just friends. This frees me up to be the loud, obnoxious, honest friend that I am, and that I was afraid to be because I didn’t want to mess up a different sort of relationship. Since that’s off the table, I can finally be frightfully honest about how as a friend, he totally fails in the communication area. Which I told him not half an hour later.
But there’s still this heartache, how I know that even though we are friends, I’m not going to be able to stop liking him the way that I do. That until he dates another girl, there is always going to be the small voice in the back of my head reminding me just how awesome he really is.
Thank god for my friends, who’ve rallied around me, pulling me up when I’m so ready to fall down, keeping me from staring at my bedroom ceiling for hours and instead making me laugh and go out.
I didn’t realize it would feel like this, this heartache I feel for the men in my life. You for being out of reach and in a danger that wasn’t real until now, my dad for being frustrating and not taking care of himself, and E, for losing the one thing I really wanted more than anything.
Things are going to get better. My dad will heal. You will write me an email and let me know he’s still alive.
And I am not going to regret opening my heart up to E, even if I didn’t plan it, even if he didn’t want it. I said I wanted to be heartbroken by the end of summer, if just to remind myself that I knew how to feel, and I knew E would be the one to do it. It’s not broken, but bruised a bit. And in time, the pain will lessen.
And with a heart bruised by E, it gives me something else to worry over than the events I have no control over. Which, odd as it sounds, is probably the best thing for me. Because he is immediate and here and I can run into him randomly throughout my day, which renews the pain afresh, to overshadow the dull ache that is my worry for my dad and You.
I know I’m a weirdo. And I hope next week is better than this.
It’s that time of year again.
Searching the used bookstore, the campus bookstore and Amazon for the cheapest books. Hoping books and people arrive on time and undamaged. Traffic jams and pedestrian jams and freshman looking lost. Friend reunions and comparisons of class schedules and summer travels.
Class starts on Monday.
I don’t know if I’m ready. I mean, I’ve ordered my books, I’ve organized my schedule, I’ve got all of my ducks lined up in pretty rows, but part of me doesn’t want to start this school year.
It’s one step away from the real world. I’m nine months, nine classes away from leaving Chico and my friends. The moment the school year starts, it’s almost over.
And the problem is that I already know what will happen. A repeat of two years ago, when I was eight classes away from my AA degree. The moment the semester started, it felt like it was over. I was more concerned with ensuring my spring schedule and my transfer to Chico. My grades didn’t suffer, but I didn’t pay attention like I should have. I let myself get sucked into the future without enjoying the present.
I’m afraid that’s going to happen this year, too. ME, who among all my friends is the only one graduating with me, is already looking up available jobs at the publishing companies we would love to work at. She’s filling in the gaps on her resumé, making sure that she’ll have everything future employers will be looking for. And I’ll start that soon too. Nine months to forge a resumé that is as inclusive as possible, that makes me sound like the second coming and that failing to hire me would be a sin.
I have six classes this semester, and so much to do outside, it’s scary. I have to help ME in running Sigma Tau and attempt to make it less snobby. We have to make sure there is at least one person who wants to run for office next year. I have to organize our greek week offering—and convince the others that we need to do it, because the others don’t think an honor society should mingle with the commoners. There’s a booksale fundraiser to be put together, and open mic night, fliers and emails and websites. I have to learn InDesign more, find a mentor in the Communications Design department so that when I have issues while in the middle of my internship, I’ll have someone to turn to.
I also need to make time to write. I need to get in the habit again, get words flowing. Now is the perfect time to write a book. To write multiple books, and hope to get one published by graduation. Not only would that seriously add to the resumé, it would probably back all of my student loans.
But while I get enmeshed into all of this, I don’t want to forget to make time for my friends. Because I need them. We need to laugh and make fun of movies and complain about tests and texts and teachers. I need to figure out what’s going on with E or move on.
I need to not forget how awesome it is to be in this place at this time with these people.
The definition of awesome is “extremely impressive or daunting; inspiring great admiration, apprehension, or fear.”1 In other words: Josh.
There are lots of ways I could demonstrate the awesomeness of Josh. His favorite way to enumerate anything is by list. I’m a huge fan of lists too. So obviously, there is a list. An awesome list.
- Josh is awesome because he makes awesome play lists. He always comes up with music that is new to me, but is exactly perfect for the moment I’m in.
- Josh is awesome because he’s a great listener. Whenever I need someone to listen to me ramble and rant about what’s going on, Josh knows exactly what I mean and exactly what to say.
- Josh is awesome because he’s a google god. If I need research done, I don’t google Google. I google Josh. He can find anything, whether it actually exists or not. I think his speciality is finding things that don’t exist.
- Josh is awesome because he has an inside joke with my sister. That I don’t know. And they’ve only talked once. How awesome is that?
- Josh is awesome because he’s himself. It’s hard to explain how awesome a person is if you think that all of them is awesome. There is not a single part of Josh that I would say “meh, that’s not so hot.”
I heart Josh. I think everyone should heart him. Read his stuff, follow his tweets, stalk him in IRC. You won’t be sorry. He is super-mega-meta-awesome.
And in my part of the world, that’s high praise indeed.
- Definition from the Apple dictionary. [back]
I give up.
For the last five months, I’ve been seeing1 E in the most undefined way ever. To the point that I’m not even sure that he’s actually in to me the way that I’m into him. Is it possible to still be crushing on the guy you’re seeing? Because I am. Hard.
But I give up. I can’t do this any more. Mrs. Jesus was right all those months ago, back in the beginning of this path I’ve been traveling, when she gave me stellar advice that I refused to listen to: let him pursue you.
I am an impatient girl when it comes to things I want. And in trying to be patient in letting this relationship unfold, I have failed. Even worse, I’m pretty sure I’ve screwed it up. This is not such an uncommon thing really. I’ve screwed up pretty much every relationship I’ve ever been in–mostly because I was involved at all.
So, how did I screw this one up? Lack of communication.
E makes me nervous in a way that I haven’t experienced in ten years. It’s like being sixteen again and having a crush on Punk and always being afraid of saying exactly the wrong thing when in his presence. It’s been a long time since I was self-conscious about what I say and how I act and what other people think about me, but it all comes roiling to the surface whenever E is in sight or in mind.
For some reason (and my apologies to every guy I have ever dated), I am unable to communicate with the guys I’m dating or want to date. I can spill my guts to everyone and sundry except the person it matters with most. My poor friends have listened to me wax poetical, rail, and gush about E. My roommate is sick of it. I’m sure the rest of them are too, but are too nice to tell me. Poor Josh, every time we start out talking about his relationships, it always gets turned around to mine.
So this lack of communication makes it impossible for me to ask the only question I’ve needed answered in the last five months: are you into me? and if you aren’t, would you tell me?
Okay, so that’s two questions. But E is such a nice guy that I’m pretty sure if the answer to the first is no, the answer to the second might be no, also.
But even while E is a nice guy, he’s a quiet one. He never calls me. He never IM’s me first. He rarely responds to my txt messages these days while he’s out of town. Which means that I’m always the one reaching out and attempting communication. In effect, I’m pursuing him; exactly what Mrs. Jesus told me to not do.
So it’s hard to tell just how into me he is when it seems on my end that he’s making exactly no effort at all.
I think that it doesn’t help, also, that I spent the majority of last semester not only working through my course load, but depression as well. A depression that made me terribly lonely when I was alone, to the point that I tried to fill up my empty hours with people, E being near the top of the list of who to call first. He is quite possibly the only one of my friends who didn’t know I was depressed, but he was the one I was leaning on the most.
This obviously made me call him a lot, and we hung out all the time. By finals week, I was seeing him five days a week, usually for dinner between cramming for finals. But it was mostly my instigation. His calling–or txting–to ask me for dinner was never as prolific as my asking him to hang out, to play smash brothers or frisbee or watch tv, to eat dinner or to go bike riding. If not for the depression, I think I would have been much more able to follow Mrs. Jesus’s advice, to not push what we were doing, to give him a chance to show me that he’s as in to me as I am him.
But when we both left town, everything stopped. Since then, it’s always me first. Me calling. Me txting. Me emailing. Me IM’ing. And half the time, I get no response because he’s busy doing the things you do when you’re home for the summer.
So, I give up. I can’t do this any more. I can’t keep putting myself out there to get no response.
Maybe things will change when he’s back in Chico. Maybe he’ll be the one to put himself out there, to say that he really wants more than what we’re doing.
But maybe all along this was a fling that I wouldn’t let go. And it’s time for me to find that out too. I wouldn’t at all be surprised if that was the case. He’s much too good for me.
Whatever happens is in his hands. It’s his turn to make a decision. I can’t be more obvious than I already have been.
Sigh. I forgot how hard relationships are.
- previously this read dating, but Josh has so kindly informed me that I was not actually dating E. We never went on any actual dates–where we would plan anything in advance. It was more, hey, are you free? then lets hang out. Sigh. Such a let down to find that out, since I’ve been telling everyone that we were dating, yet still having to correct those who would call him my boyfriend. [back]
A Guest Post by Josh
For those of you that don’t know me, I’m Lisa’s BIFF (Best Internet Friend Forever). You’re probably wondering why I’m writing on Lisa’s blog. It’s simple: I took it over for the day and I’m bringing you a special, awesome, birthday post.
Lisa and I have known each other since the dawn of time. We discovered fire together. You are welcome by the way. We also invented the wheel, but at the time, we didn’t call it “wheel” we simply called it “weirdly shaped, smooth rock that is useful”. We also invented sliced bread. You are welcome for that also.
So maybe we haven’t really been friends since the dawn of time, but it’s close. We met 30 internet years ago in the old K2 forums. If you take anything from the previous sentence it should be this; we are internet geeks. At first, we didn’t talk much outside the forums. We’d read each other’s blogs, take over forum threads together, make each other laugh with our witty, sarcastic humor. It wasn’t until I broke up with an ex girlfriend and I moved back to New York that we really started talking. Funny thing, not once did I think about getting in her pants. So weird, I know. But I think that we both realized once we started talking that we were meant to be best friends forever.
Lisa was a first for me. Not that I haven’t ever had internet friends before, but I’ve never been able to open up to anyone like I’ve been able to with Lisa. Lisa was one of the first people ever to know that I am Transgender. Everything that happens to me, she’s one of the first people I tell. She is always around to listen to me whine, complain, gush, and cry. This is why she’s a first for me. I’ve never been able to open up to people like this before and if it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t be able to do it with other people.
Living without Lisa is no long an option. On some level, we’re soul mates, meant to travel the depths of the Internet together. Find a cool link? Share it with Lisa. Break up with a girlfriend? Call Lisa saying ZOMG! If I ever need advice, usually about girls, I turn to Lisa. She might not always know the answer to my girl related questions, but at least I know I’m not the only one completely confused by girls. It helps that, you know, she’s a girl. If I ever feel like an asshole, which is often, she makes me feel like less of an asshole.
Lisa says she is unsympathetic, however, I’ve never seen that side of her. She’s one of my biggest supporters, one of the biggest influences, and a constant force of inspiration to me. She’s the optimistic one in our friendship, and at this point in my life, I desperately need optimism.
Aside from all the serious stuff, she’s one of the only people I can talk about robots with. Or the fact that I really, really, want a giant heart-shaped bed with leopard print sheets. Preferably one that vibrates. We share a love for Chuck Palahniuk, but if she hated him I would still love her. We understand each other’s geekiness and awkwardness.
Over the years, Lisa has done so much for me. If it weren’t for her I wouldn’t have had the balls to ask out a girl, or tell internet crush girl that I like her. I also think that back in February, when I found out about my heart, if Lisa hadn’t been there, I would have simply given up. In return, I wanted to do something for her. I made up a list of things that Lisa needs to do this year, and hopefully, if she follows my advice, she will have the best year ever. Let me just point out that I absolutely love lists and if I didn’t love Lisa, I wouldn’t make her one of her own.
The Lisa List
- I’ve given a lot of thought about this list. I always have trouble thinking of what to put as number one, however, with this list there was no question what would go here. So, number one on the list: Get Laid.
- Number two was also easy to come up with. I’m going out to California sometime within the next couple of months to see Lisa. She has a Wii. She has Guitar Hero. Number two is get better at Guitar Hero. I don’t want to show up, on your home turf no less, and kick your ass.
Love you Lisa. - This one is important. Get laid again. Of course, I’m only looking out for you here.
- Finally write that post about me that I’ve been waiting a few months for. In it you should say that a) I am awesome, b) that I like long walks on the beach preferably during sunset and along the Pacific Ocean, not the Atlantic (because it smells), and c) that internet crush girl should either let me call her or she should call me. Not only would this boost my already huge ego, but if it works then I could stop bugging you about internet crush girl and you would have more time to work on the rest of the list.
- This is probably the hardest one to do but it’ll also make the biggest difference. Number five is to stop over-thinking, over-analyzing, and just have fun. I suffer from this also, but sometimes you just need to let things happen.
Lisa, I wish you the happiest birthday ever. I know you’ve already had a good one since you had a kick ass party on Friday, you got your new bed, and you’re getting an iPhone. But aside from that, I really hope that you have a great year because after all the shit I put you through, you deserve it.
Happy Birthday Lisa.
We’re big fans of the random rules at our place. Nothing better than making up a rule and then forcing yourself to follow it.
One of the many rules that must be followed for no better reason than because we said so is the necessity of purchasing at least one movie from the $5 bin at Wal-Mart.
It has become painfully obvious to ME and me that our movie collections leave much to be desired. Mine contains mostly animated Disney films, while she is a connoisseur of the horror genre—and she’d like it to be known for the record that really, it’s the thriller horrors she likes; there is no need for unnecessary gross violence (we’re looking at you Saws 1–3).
This means that when we feel like a movie outside of these genres, our collections are woefully inadequate. It’s been a long time since I actively added to my movie collection. Previously, if I ever felt the need to buy a movie, I didn’t because I knew my ex had probably purchased it months ago. I stopped adding to my collection because I could just borrow from him.
Since the breakup, I have been slowly adding movies I love to my collection. The qualification for purchase is I must have seen the movie before, and like it enough that I didn’t attempt to change the channel on a second watch-through.
The $5 bin is perfect for this, as it is filled with movies that I have seen before. Granted, they are not often the cream of the movie crop. After all, the bins are filled with Panic Room and Crimson Tide.
But good movies can be found, if you dig deep enough into the bin. So far, I’ve come away with Ultra Violet, Bewitched, and X-Men 2. Eventually I’ll get around to picking up all of the Adam Sandler flicks that have made it into the bin, and Matrix: Reloaded and Revolutions.
Also, pretty much any film that contains Keanu Reeves. I don’t know why, but I somehow love everything he’s in—and yes, I realize this is as bad as saying I love everything Pauly Shore has done. But I can’t help it. I’m a huge Keanu Reeves fan. I’m still holding out hopes that and Ted’s Bogus Journey will be unearthed in the bin during excavations.
Wal-Mart trips are few and far between around here. It requires a car and the freeway and bad radio stations, and drivers that don’t understand traffic rules when not on a normal street. Also, we rarely have reason to pop over to the far side of town.
But when we do make it all the way over there, there is no excuses for not spending ten minutes digging through the movie bin to find a movie we haven’t seen in a while—or watched last weekend on cable—and bring home for our very own.
It’s not a trip to Wal-Mart if you don’t come home with a movie or two to add to the collection.
I have been off the ball. I’ve been tagged, no less than three times, for the seven-things meme, or something similar. Ally tagged me for eight and Josh tagged me for a seven-things meme last week, and Mek tagged me before the hard drive crash for a ten-things meme that I was working on and didn’t have the heart to go back to.
So, I will attempt ten things that I haven’t shared with people on the blog. Which, as the years roll on become increasingly harder.
- My favorite holiday is not Christmas, but the Fourth of July. And not because I’m patriotic, but because I love fireworks. If I could get fireworks on my birthday, then my birthday would be my favorite holiday. As it is, my birthday gets second spot.
- I poke people if I’m bored and want to talk to them but don’t have anything in particular to say. Poke on Facebook, poke over IM, poke over text message. I’ll even poke if they’re sitting next to me on the couch and we’re not doing anything.
- My secret dream is to live in a library. We’re working slowly on it. The walls in the living room are nearly covered in shelves. But there is still room for more.
- Each of my friends has a specific genre of Harlequin Presents they love to read. Mine is the British Billionaire. I am such a sucker for that accent. And that cold distance they are so good at. No wonder I find myself attracted to coldly distant guys these days.
- Matthew McFaden has totally taken Colin Firth’s roll in my heart. As Colin Firth ages, he gets more “father” rolls to girls who are my age, which makes him harder to see as a heartthrob. My other British heartthrob? Jonas Armstrong (Robin on the BBC’s Robin). Hawt. That’s all I can say.
- I love my dog because she reminds me of me. She’s so depressingly emo, and gives looks that seem to say “piss me off and I’ll just lay here in your way giving you dirty looks. Don’t think I won’t.”
- I can’t buy an item if at any time I have the thought “I could totally make that.” Granted, I probably won’t make it, but if I think I can, I can no longer buy it. That’s why I can never buy the awesome bags I want at Etsy. Sigh.
- When I can’t sleep late at night, I compose monologues in my head to people I need to talk to but for some reason can’t. Often directed toward You or whoever I most recently had issues with. These monologues never make it out of my head or into a conversation, but they make me feel better and help me fall asleep.
- I don’t have a TV in my room. I could have one, I did have one, but when I moved, I decided against it. I nearly never watched it in my room when it was there, and I can watch stuff on my laptop now, so I left that TV at my parents when I moved to Chico.
- If I could pick the way I’d die, I’d choose death by black hole. For starters, I’d get to go into space, and secondly, I’ve just always wanted to see it. I dunno. Makes me weird. However, if that new atom-smasher is more powerful than they think and makes a black hole on Earth, turns out I may get my wish after all.
So, there’s ten things you probably didn’t know about me. And most likely never wanted to know to begin with. And this isn’t the only time I’ve done this meme:
- Meme: Eight Random Facts
- Video Meme: Five Things
- Well, There’s a Song on the Radio that Says… (Five reasons why you blog)
- Five Things that (maybe) You Don’t Know About Me.
I’ve tagged everyone at least once before, so I’m not tagging anyone at all. But if I could tag anyone I want? I’d pick Jane Austen, Chuck Palahniuk, my dog, and You. It’s been awhile since I’ve got a secret out of him.
