91st Entry on Blog (I WILL continue referring to it as an independent entity, Nick)

It's down to a matter of a couple of days before I have to return to Chicago, and I'm in a really weird rut I hope I'll launch myself out of somehow, right now primarily by barfing out some dismembered thoughts onto here.

First things first: tea. The last time I talked about a specific cup of tea (not Celestial Seasonings), it was merely a segue (<--WEIRDEST spelling for a word I've ever seen) into a Greater and Deeper Meaning of Something More Important. This post has no such hopes.

I've started trying to drink tea without sugar, because I'm now 100% positive I've got a grand old cavity on the left side of my mouth even though I floss every damn day, brush 3 times, and use Listerine twice a day, and so I'm trying to cut back on sugar consumption to see if I can inflict less pain onto myself.

Now that everyone knows my teeth are pretty much rotting before my eyes...

Anyhow, usually I put so much stuff in my tea it doesn't know what hit it: in Chicago, there's the Splenda packets, milk, and lemon juice. My cup of tea isn't even remotely related to the real thing by the time I'm through with it, and lately I can't tell the difference between all the fancy names. Winter Blend? Black Vanilla Tea? Rosebud or something? THEY ALL TASTE THE SAME. BECAUSE THEY ARE ALL GROSS WITHOUT SWEETENER, MILK, AND LEMON JUICE. Plus, I do not have a really refined palette, I'm guessing.

When I still volunteered at the Field Museum (that is when I did not take Egyptian. That is when I still had a life, which wasn't much of a life at all at that), there was this old man who'd drink tea during our break. I'd sit across from him transfixed as he prepared his tea. It was always the same.

1. He'd microwave his water
2. Take it out of the microwave
3. Sit down
4. Take his satchet of tea, give it three swift lethal dunks into the water
5. Put the tea satchet to the side, and savor the, what I assumed to be, gloriously tasteless concoction he had just mixed up

I was primarily arrested by the thought that he was drinking something that resembled pee after drinking a gallon of water in 3 hours and probably tasted just like that, too, but also confused by, why even bother dunking in the tea packet for 0.0003 seconds like he did? Why not just drink the hot water? It would probably taste less foul.

However, now I am greatly tempted to let my tea packet steep for no more than 10 seconds because of the rancid taste it leaves in my hot water after 2 minutes.

This is clearly something I am going to have to get used to, until at least all of my teeth decay and fall out of my jaw.

I really have no second thing I want to talk about. I really want to complain about how frustrated I feel now for no apparent reason, but since there's no reason, I can't complain. I've already started worrying about school next quarter, about Egyptian, about The Great Study Abroad question, and what I'm going to do over the summer, but I'm guessing there's going to be plenty of time for that in the new year.

I got new glass frames. They have not yet arrived. The guy who helped me choose them out was critical, talkative, and way too full of himself. The almost compliment I received from him when he was measuring the distance between my eyeballs:

Eyeglass man (completely serious): Oh! Your eyes are almost as pretty as mine.

And that about sums up winter break: It was almost nice, but not quite.

This post did not help one bit.

JESUS CHRIST!

I JUST SAW SOMEONE REQUESTED ME TO UPDATE BLOG! THANK YOU OLAV!

I had just written a half-hearted entry about me listing the really boring things I did for Christmas, which went by with me:

1. Waking up at 10 AM
2. Going back to bed at 11 AM
3. Waking up at 3 PM
4. Watching 2 movies. Neither of which were musicals.

But I CANNOT leave such a post up after someone WANTED me to update!

(I feel the composing chemicals rekindling in my brain!)

So Christmas came in with my sister and me going Christmas tree hunting on the night of the 23rd. Let me give you guys a tip: don't wait this long anymore. A long time ago, you could get away with this fast move, because then you'd get a dirt-cheap tree. You can still get a tree for a pretty small hefty sum of change, but you really have to look.

My sister and I could only find the really thorny Christmas tree type, which my mom hates. So I called my mom up with this information, and she said "Well, then let's not have a tree, I guess," which translates into: "You'd better produce a tree before the 25th, whether you have to lie, cheat, or steal to get one, or you're going to meet your savior before your time is ripe."

So, that's what we did. We finally found a lot with 3 of the non-thorny versions left (which also happened to be the last 3 trees in the lot), and while I left to go to the ATM, I instructed my sister to guard this precious find with bared teeth and a maniacal look in her eye, which turned out to be necessary, since there was quite a rush to this lot at this time. It could have been because of the tree(s), but I'm inclined to think it was because of the very attractive British Christmas tree assistant offering his help most graciously to the customers, which prompted me to give him an exorbitant tip. But this is what the "Christmas spirit" is all about, eh?

Christmas eve was spent with us cleaning, me decorating the Christmas tree (actually, me throwing ornaments on random onto the tree as if it were fly-paper), and making a horrifically terrible dinner. It was magnificently gross. Susan, Earl, and Vasi...cannot spell the rest of his name, came over for dinner, and then we went to midnight mass in Encino.

And you know what I did Christmas day.

So that brings us back to the present...2:01 AM, Pacific Coast time. I found out yesterday that I am in fact going back to Chicago January 1st, so you guys will have to deal with me for an entire 24 hours less than previously projected.

You can now thank the lord, since he has been born.

Not that I have seen many of my friends since being here. And if I continue this post, I might start complaining about that.

I leave you instead with a merry after-Christmas, and I hope everyone is safe and happy.

I am making A New Year's Resolution known to blog this year, which is new. You can look forward to that one.

I should have my own cooking show. Like Emeril.

Today, as I was eating my avocado for lunch, I had an epiphany. I have this theory where if something tastes good with salsa, it tastes 80 times better with guacamole. So, all excited, after eating one half of the avocado with salsa, I grabbed the guacamole and started slathering the other half of the avocado with it.

Then I realized the following:

I was putting an avocado spread onto...an avocado.

I've had other shining moments of unparalleled intelligence like this since coming home. For instance: I have watched so many musicals this past week that I am laboring under the illusion that I can sing AND dance, and that the Brand New Oreck Vacuum Cleaner comes with a built-in soundtrack to Silk Stockings or Les Girls. While shopping for baby clothes for my mom's friends' babies, I got so excited that I found a (relatively not hideous) matching shirt AND pants for under $25 that I started doing a "I found a (relatively not hideous) matching shirt AND pants" song and dance IN THE STORE. Which went something like:

I've got a shirt (ba-doom)
I've got some pants (za-zoom)
This baby'll be a big flirt (broo-broom)
Because all he'll do is dance! (fa-foom)

Broadway is OBVIOUSLY not big enough for me.

Life without a car in Southern California IS NOT WORTH LIVING

A couple of weeks shy of a year ago, the car I used to get me from point A to point B was rudely ripped away from me. We don't have to point fingers, but the perpetrator of this was Kalman, who shall hereafter be referred to as Kalman the Kar Krasher, which shortens to KKK. (Coincidence? I THINK NOT).

If I had magical powers and I could inflict on KKK the inconvenience and annoyance he's inadvertently created for me, I would do the following:

ALA Tess in Roswell, I would create for KKK the illusion of having a car, of driving on the 101 North 85...er...65 mph in sunny weather, with Santa Ana winds, and with the once in a blue moon good song playing on some radio station. THEN, I would suddenly have the car illusion taken away and he would find himself standing in the middle of the freeway with all the cars barreling towards him 100 mph. Which, considering it's the 101 North would seem highly unlikely since I've never driven on it when I've got to go over 45 mph, but this is all just a dream anyway.

So since I've been home, I've been living it up. I have vacuumed the same 12x10 square of carpet about 13 times, and then the workers come back and then, hold the presses, EVERY BLESSED DAY they decide to sprinkle fine dust over it again by, say, gutting out the wall or sawing down the molding. In addition to the 12x10 area of carpet, I've also got to vacuum the entirety of the second floor 3 times [2 times with the shitty vacuum, 1 time with the Brand! New! Oreck! Vacuum! (with which vacuuming is fun again!) which deserves an entire post dedicated to its incredibly confusing instruction manual].

Waaaaaaaa, waaaa, waaaaaaaaaaaa. I am spoiled rotten. Waaaaaaaaaaa, waaa, waaaaaaaaaaaaa. All I do is complain.

So I'll end this post with a few messages:

To All Those "Desperate Housewives" Characters Suddenly Inhabiting My Street: Those coordinating velvet sweat suits that MIGHT be brand name DO NOT MAKE YOU LOOK YOUNGER. OR CHIC-ER. In fact, the puke gold color one the 40+ year old lady living across the street makes her butt look decidedly saggy.

To Shikha: Even though I don't really talk to you online, I CAN'T WAIT TO SEE YOU TOMORROW. I hardly talk to anyone online anymore. I mostly talk to my roommates on AIM, and frequently we're in the same room IM-ing each other, which is actually kind of sad.

To The Whole World: FLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARG.

O'Hare airport and United Airlines can both go take a flying jump

I am now updating from the comfort of my home. I started transfering a blog I had written at the airport onto the computer that actually does have internet here, but I decided against it.

I was happy in that post. And the post I want to write right now about my trip over to California merits an ANGRY and OUTRAGED tone. Ahh, what a few hours of sitting in an airplane with a headache will do to you.

So I boarded my plane at 4:40 PM, telling the military man sitting next to me in the waiting room that I doubted the plane would leave on time. There were about 50 of us on the plane (not a lot of people at all), I was sitting not over the wing for once, Chlamydia was prepped and raring to go as well, and I was so ready to get out of the cold and into the sun.

Then they told us there was a problem with the electric box. They said they would replace it.

An hour later, they decided it was not the electric box that had a problem. It was a valve.

They changed the valve. It was not the valve.

By this time, I was getting pretty desperate, because it was 8 PM. I was basically supposed to be in California. And:

Southern belle version: I had a splitting headache.
Spencer version: whimper whimper
My version: I had one hell of a headache that four cups of coffee did not help.

So by the time they decided to get us off the plane and try to get onto a different flight, I had to go to the bathroom a LOT because that's what coffee does to you, my head still hurt, and there was a possibility I wouldn't get out of O'Hare that night because of the weather and other delays.

I stood in line to get my ticket for a flight scheduled to leave at 8, that was delayed till 8:30 to wait for other flights, and there were lots of other people in line. As luck would have it, right when I got to the counter, there was another single passenger vying for the same, last ticket onto this flight. The counter man asked me if I would mind waiting until the next available flight out, whenever that was. So I jut told him like it was, which went something like:

I've been sitting on the plane with a really bad headache for 3 hours, and because we're so late, I'm onto my last tampon. If I don't get on a plane really soon, there's going to be more than just my blood shed.

Needless to say, I got on the flight.

Which left 1.5 hours later.

(I would not have brought in the bodily functions, but I thought it was absolutely necessary. I'm sure I made SOMEONE'S day with that.)

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow

Yesterday, after I was finished taking my art history final (the final not quite from hell, but from somewhere like it. The final from a dirty bathroom.), I went outside into a wall of white. That was the best ending to the final I could have imagined.















Ok, this was taken about 2 weeks ago, but they're triplets.

Written primarily to keep my sanity intact

So, the time has finally come: the night (err...morning) before my art history final. Huzzah.

I have spent an absolutely riveting day in the library, where I read lots and lots of articles. Lots of them. And I still have to memorize things.

The primary thing that kept my focused while reading was being forced to imagine that I was one of the characters in the articles. I would never be able to do that with sosc because I don't want to imagine I'm Adam Smith, but, come on, who DOESN'T want to imagine they're the Immaculate Virgin aka Pachamama in Peru surrounded by roses AND apparitions?

Imagining this stuff also brought me, naturally, around to imagining that I'd live in that time. Which was really fun, especially when I got to Louis XIV and all his crazy parties in Versailles. So, here are:

Adrianne's Top Eras She Wished She Would Have Lived In:

1940s-1950s - If I were to live in these times, I would have wanted to be in my mid 20s-early 30s, and I would have wanted to be very pretty. Actress pretty, in the vein of Ava Gardner, Natalie Wood, or Marilyn Monroe. So, I would have wanted to be a combination of these people, and so then I would have been basically guaranteed to get a role in any B-grade movie I could shake a stick at.
Yes, I KNOW women were repressed and everything like that. Believe me. I've written quite a few essays on women being repressed and living in a male-dominant society. I took Reading Cultures as my hum last year, remember?

1660s - This is when Louis XIV was around in Versailles. After reading about his fetes...wow. I would have wanted to be married to one of the people of his court, so it wouldn't have mattered if I were really pretty or not. But it would have increase my chances of having an illicit fling with the Sun King. And I might have gotten to go to one of his private dinners. Look at him!





















Take a look at his strong, virile legs! RAWR!

(This is but an initial indication that Adrianne is now CRAZY)

1780s 1790s - When Goya was painting, and I would have liked to sit for him. Clothed. None of that Maja Desnuda business. I would have wanted to do this because he made lovely paintings. Naturally, I can't find my favorite one by him, but the first thing that popped into my head when I actually did see the painting was "Wow, that is a very tender painting." I NEVER use the word tender aside from chicken breasts and lambchops, and so it would be a new experience. But it's one of those words, like pumpkin, that I'd want to (spontaenously) be called one day. It's inconceivable in this day and age, but if I were living in the 1770s, who knows? Maybe I would have been "tender" AND "pumpkin"-ish.

Today, getting coffee, I saw a girl get a milkshake, say her prayer, make a sign of the cross, and GO OUTSIDE. I was thinking that she was probably giving thanks for her $1 shake, but I would have been praying that I wouldn't get frostbite going into the 13 degree weather with A MILKSHAKE MADE OUT OF ICECREAM.

My mom's way of having one of those "It's never too early to talk about drugs and drink" talk

I called my mom tonight after doing the dishes. Part of the conversation went something like this:

Me: "My last final is Thursday, Mami."
Mami: "THURSDAY! What are you going to do ALL DAY Friday?"
Me: "I don't know Mom! I'm sure I'll think of something. Pack?"
Mami: "Are you going to drink?" (giggle giggle)
Me: "Huh?"
Mami: "Doesn't everyone get drunk after their last final?" (giggle giggle)
Me: ...?

My mom has NEVER talked about drinking without mentioning fire, brimstone, wrath of God, and Hell in the same sentence.

My mom is becoming ultra-hip.

If YOU'RE SUGGESTING IT MOM....

(just kidding)

Almost done with my essay

My essay is a magnificent piece of shit.

It's getting close to Christmas

And I'm getting no closer to finishing my essay

What finals turn me into:

A vampire.

An alternative to coffee

There are a few effective ways to wake yourself up in the morning. One of them would include dropping a scalding hot bowl of outmeal straight from the microwave onto your bare foot. I'll just tell you how it is: the ONLY analogy I could come up with it is that, heavens to Betsy, it hurts like a MOTHERFUCKER. That's the only thing I could think of after I had cursed up, down, left, and right silently (mustn't wake the roommates, because I'm the only one who has to get up at 7 AM and all) in my head in English, Hungarian, Spanish, and I so would have included Egyptian, had I known more useful phrases than "king of two lands" and "barley." Now comes some sort of obligatory pun on the words "sole" and "soul," because that's the only logical thing to do when talking about feet. You know, I might have lost part of my soul this morning as I thought enough evil thoughts to reserve me a VIP spot in Hell, but at least the soles of my feet are still intact.

There. I can now officially end this post and continue working on my essay.

Something to get off my chest

I felt like addressing something other than my essay (which, I must confess, is still virginally blank, as empty as the hour it was born, a word document rasa, and would you look at the time, it's 1:33 AM, and I've got an 8:30 AM class because my Egyptian teacher is as mad as a hatter), and it's about those "dancing" movies that come out nowadays.

I enjoy these terrible movies, these movies that take the plotline from D-class movies and add dance and occasionally song to them, these movies that make normal people's skin crawl to the earth as they watch actors who can't play wet in a shower dance to the latest rum-tum-tum music out there, or as they take a group of unruly teenagers and suddenly make them disciplined because they learned the cha-cha-cha.

Ahh, these are the trailers that keep me from writing my essays. For instance, the one that is coming out now, Take the Lead or something like that, with my amigo Antonio Banderas. This movie became 100000 times better after I discovered that he is in it, not only because he speaks Spanish (Hola Antonio!) but because in every single Spanish book I have ever had, there was always a blurb about how "This man is Spanish. This man is famous. Spanish people are famous too, you know, now let's move on to Frida Kahlo."

I have read so many mini biographies on Antonio Banderas that this is why I would feel extremely comfortable to perform the following: if I were to see him in the grocery store, I would be cool with saying to my friend next to me "Hello Bob! I would like you to meet Antonio, who is interested in establishing an acting school for teenagers in Spain, and who had a lot of fun being the voice of that one character in Shrek." I would then suavely ask Antonio where the tomatoes are, and direct him to the nearest aisle for the balsamic vinagrette.

Anyway, these are also the movies that keep my downloading terrible, terrible ballroom dance music because I never ACTUALLY get around to watching these movies aside from their trailers, and then I say "Hey, I actually like that one song they play for 7 seconds while their doing their dance sequence, I wonder if I can download it!" And then I type in a genre into soulseek, download the first song that seems Take the Lead-ish, and POW, my ears are accosted with the latest latino flop out there.

I remember seeing one of these dance movies: Dirty Dancing. This movie, I think, is a rite of passage for everyone. It's at that point in your life that you realize that yes indeed, every single cheesy scene you could have ever dreamt up of CAN be compiled into circa 110 minutes of film, and that the song "Time of Your Life" can be made worse than it already is. Ever since I've seen that movie, I can't listen to that song without imagining a Patrick Swayze-like man twirl me around on some sort of empty stage, wherever that may be.

Probably the cheesiest, sappiest movie ever produced, but I veritably applauded when that Ferris Bueller's Day Off girl FINALLY got that whole flying/levitating move right and she took off.

This would also lead me into a conversation about Dirty Dancing II: Havana Nights (Dear God! Dancing AND Salsa! Do I hear a Best Picture Nomination?!?!?!?!), but no one wants to hear me gushing over that one.

Anyway, I guess this would indicate I've got to get something down on this sosc paper. I forgot to add on my evaulation sheet that this class makes me want to kill small animals or large insects. This essay is like water torture. I can't STAND THIS. And I can't stand knowing how much I'm going to have to do over this weekend.

I am so screwed.

Someone should just figure out a way where I can just put all my ideas onto blog without having to type it. When in the world did I become such a blogging fiend? I am just batshit INSANE.

Reflecting

While I was washing my hands just now, I tested out a few sentences.

"I have to write an essay and to study for 2 finals by Monday."
and
"I ONLY have to write an essay and to study for 2 finals by Monday."

The nuances in meaning between these two sentences is basically as great as:
"I only have 3 days to live"
and
"I have 3 days left to live."