Crying for no reason really, and I kinda like it. Something's beautiful right now. The night...hot and bothered...the cars whooshing by my window...the way I feel more than ever like I really love the people I've met, all of them, throughout my entire life, and only regret that I have to miss moments of the life they'll be living. I've been working a lot, and making less-than-enough to support my addiction to indulgence, and I love that, too. I hope I never have everything I want...I hope I never have to sit back, bored and gorged on life, and say, "I can't think of anything to buy anymore..." Money's for spending, goddamnit, and I will always refuse to see it in any other light. It's for spending on other people, on myself, on cushy pillows and puzzle piece ice cube trays from IKEA. It's for buying people Outback's steak special or going to Cedar Point instead of going to work. It's for Dairy Queen and Gandy Dancer and buying scallops and the most expensive (even if it is a waste) Pinot Grigio you can find at Meijer with every intention of seducing your boyfriend with good cooking and even better wine (even if you know he'll end up taking over to insure he doesn't have to eat something horrible). What else is money for? For buying two hookahs on eBay because I liked them both, and envisioning a room dedicated to the Turkish cause. For buying fancy drink glasses and lots of booze to fill them. For buying your house toilet paper, paper towel, dishes, candles, pots and pans, silverware, and more since everyone else is busy hording their money like smart, responsible people, and since you can't think far enough ahead to think of anything better you NEED to be saving money for. If I ever have more than $1,000 to my name, it's time to spend at least half of it, so stick close, and don't leave me to enjoy whatever I buy alone.

So that was a pretty lame and unexpected tangent. Here's another...

COME TO MY MUSTACHE PARTY ('STACHE BASH 2006)
July 22nd, 9pm-whenever the hell you leave (many staying the night I expect)
You must have a mustache (fake or real) to get in, and you will be loved and adored if you take it further than that.
1003 S. Main St.
Ann Arbor, MI 48104
for all your mapquesting needs

What started out as a mission to find a drive-thru Starbuck's in Ann Arbor because I was too naked to go in after dropping Dan off at work, then became a mission to visit Adrian, Michigan, then finally ended with a trip to Ohio and back. This noble quest, aside from using a tank of gas, resulted in my thorough exploration of the entirety of square 24 of my Michigan state road atlas. I was heading straight into a big dark beautiful storm front the entire way there and most of the way back with the sun lighting everything from behind me in a beautiful antique gold. I've never seen such well-formed Mammatus clouds before...swelling like a cow's udder in serious need of milking (or a woman, nine months pregnant and ready to burst).

Anyway, something hit me as I drove through the very definition of Midwest-ness (aside from the fact that I absolutely love anything, even clouds, resembling boobs)...the same sort of scenes and objects of stereotypical regionalism I've always been surrounded with that used to make me sick to my stomach, stuck, worried that I'd never be able to rise above the perceived mediocrity I grew up in, the things I used to find so disgustingly stifling like corn fields and aluminum grain silos and old run-down barns, and cows, and junky cars, and faded buildings and signs like the one I saw at the end of some old farmhouse's driveway "For Sale-Old National Geographics," and dusty tractors sitting in someone's front lawn...all these things have somehow evolved into a strange sort of honest, integrity-ridden beauty for me.

Maybe it was just the storm and the lightning always in front of me or the sun at my back as I drove down the glorious highways of Southern Mid-Michigan, but something filled me with such inexpressable appreciation or glee or amusement or something that I cried, then laughed at myself. Call it sentimental, trite, sappy, lame, cliche...that's what it is.

Van Morrison makes excellent Midwest driving music, if you ever have the inclination. His voice and the music just seemed to blend into the world around me. And I'm not ashamed to admit to stealing my father's CD, either. Ann Arbor's always got to be paired with the trying-too-hard music of pretension, thought-provoking, whiney, liberal...John Mayer's too popular, Ann Arbor calls for something more indie. The musician has to have "issues," a deeply troubled soul, a social message. But that's not Midwest. That's not the majority of anywhere. Most people never want to think that hard or worry that much or be called shallow or irresponsible or ignorant...or to pass the criticism onto others. Not to say I think one or the other are better (and I guess I'm not just talking about music styles anymore)...it was just so refreshing to remember what quietly conservative, middle-class, run-down Michigan felt like. It's a part of me, and I'm ok with that. Heh.

I killed my voice last night celebrating Adam's birthday. It was worth it. "THE HOUSE" got him a card, a fifth of Crown Royal, Abbey Road, and Ninja Turtle tattoos, which we all no doubt have placed on various scandalous places on our bodies. I found one on my hip today getting ready for work, and who knows where else I've got them that I can't see or wouldn't have noticed. We bought him his own cheesecake, which Matt expertly decorated with a well-hung Donatello. Jenn also filled up a bunch of balloons, purple and green of course, and one really cool giant cocktail balloon (they didn't have any big Ninja Turtle ones...losers).

We started out with the obligatory botched "Surprise!" and the customary singing of "The Birthday Song," a well-known tune by the Hill sisters, with deep and abiding lyrics by Preston Ware Orem. We were all hungry, so we walked to Red Hawk and had a not-too-bad, but not-too-good-either dinner. Then, as the Pistons game was finishing up to a disappointing end, we were able to get a table at BDub's and we drank the rest of the night (and our paychecks) away.

So I talk more...and yell a lot...when I drink. SO WHAT?!

Huh.

So last night got a little rowdier than I planned. After a quick booze and Taco Slut run (yeah, we got the Grande meal to share with loved ones), I started out as the loud drunken whore amongst Adam, Jenn, Dan's little brother, and the usual 1003 S Main crowd, but when our token gay room mate and his ex-boyfriend/token gay visitor came home from the Aut Bar drunk, I instantly lost all claims to my title of Most Obnoxious. My room mate is a tiny man, and he can go from sober to stupid drunk in half a cocktail or less. His ex is a large, studly, mixed-race hottie, who has an almost equally-low tolerance for fire water. The bickering, the name-calling, the bitterness, and the confessions that came out of these two entertained the rest of us for at least an hour and a half...then worried us the rest of the way back to sobriety as Mike spilled or spit out two entire glasses of water whilst bragging incessantly how much better he is than Michael (Dan's brother) at Katamari. Steve kept yelling at him to stop being so mean and the shouting began to hurt our less-drunk ears. We sent Mike to bed after he zoned out for awhile proving his mad skillz at the game of Japanese rolling...or rather, "clumping of souls." Steve is leaving us forever and heading to Phoenix to start a real job in the real world. Good luck, man.

I woke up at about 6:30 and begrudgingly put some clothes on and brushed my hair and dragged my saggy ass to work in the cold ugly rain. One of my co-workers' uncle died, and I am now working tonight's midnight shift for her as well. Ugh. Just when I had dumped the Saturday shift on our n00b (yes, the one who puked on Val Kilmer), I get stuck here another long, cold, lonely night. Yes, goddamnit, I did just quote Shania! Bruce Cockburn is here...and apparently, he's a celebrity. A musician actually. He sounds good from what I can hear radiating from his room. I heard his name on the radio just recently, too, so good on him for getting some air time. Anyway, I think I might be able to guilt my boss into letting me leave early on account of I've gotta be here for 8 hours tonight.

Hungover naptime...w00t.

It's been a bit, eh? School has finished up and started again for me. I've been working 40 hour weeks at the hotel for the past month and the rest of my life. I'm trying to eat less than 1600 calories a day and have been doing a damn good enough job of it to lose more weight than I'm supposed to in a week. I can only see it in my face, which seems to be wasting hideously away. So after that has disappeared, maybe I'll lose the beer gut (actually the wine, Chambord, Bailey's, and ice cream gut). Anytime I eat something I actually like, it makes me sick on account of my body has gotten accustomed to eating nothing but Special K, yogurt, and asparagus. I'm tired and cranky as hell. Diet woes...I need to sack up. "THERE ARE STARVING CHILDREN IN AFRICA!"

In less whiney insufferable news I've just hired and trained the sister of the little person who played Willow's daughter in, well, Willow. She claims to have puked on Val Kilmer. So, yeah, that's right...as her boss, I can vicariously live through her and claim having indirectly vomited upon Iceman.

My mom is turning old in a couple weeks. She doesn't seem to be looking forward to it. Poor girl.

I need a new pair of shoes. I've plum tuckered these out.

END!

The past few days have been complete Hell in trying to figure out how I'm going to graduate in another two years.

( What I wish I could really send in my next email to anyone from the School of Education )
No, seriously. Die.

Or at least hire some young underpaid secretary to do your job for you who can read, think, and maybe even answer simple questions about your school and department.

I want to quit school and run away with Matt to live like Todd, the manic depressive homeless man. Go Todd...

I'm at work this morning from 7a-12p and then I have to be back here at midnight until 8a. I shouldn't complain...it's nice to have money. But I get so bored. Tonight I'll probably do something thrilling like finishing up my total overhaul of our procedure manual and then I'll probably go OCD and clean everything twice. It should be a good time. I suppose I could bring homework and be more productive with my time, but that's even less attractive to me than re-doing a procedure manual.

This is bothering me at the moment: My room is a mess once again, and I really need to do laundry and/or start amassing a new, more teacher-ly wardrobe. I haven't decided yet what kind of teacher I'm going to be. Hopefully, a good one, but I've got this notion that the way I dress is going to really matter. :) I want to be kinda eccentric and fun...I'm going to be a teacher of the two most stereotypically-boring subjects, history and Latin, after all. I'm such a nerd!

Anyway, looks like I've gotta actually do my job now. w00t...something to do besides scouring the pages of Facebook and/or writing pointless live journal entries!

I'm way too cool for school this week. Not looking forward to taking a bajillion credits this Spring and Summer...blah. I just need a week's vacation. I say "need," but I don't need it...I just want it...like whoah. I've skipped half my classes this week. This is odd for me. I usually will skip one and feel so guilty forever and not skip again for a long long time. But damn...I just want to skip through the rest of the week. No guilt, just loathing at having to drag my ass out of bed enough to make it to class and get my homework done. Which is why I'm writing in this, really. On account of I don't want to start my homework. In 45 minutes, I'm supposed to play racquetball with Adam, Jenn, and Dan, and I just don't see the point in getting anything done until then. Haha...45 minutes free. Some people would kill for that. Me, I just want to crawl back into bed.

Seeya all after hibernation.

Other than ( the usual ) the past few weeks have been a lot of fun. St. Patrick's Day was a little goofy, but I got to spend some time with drunken ass Amanda and the wee ones at South Quad before crapping out on everyone after a 13-hour day at the hotel. I was Dan's designated driver, and I was a lame one. Last night, I babysat for the first time since, like, eighth grade. It was strange, but fun, and I got some cash out of it, so that's a new feeling. I met up with Antony and co. at the movies and we saw V for Vendetta. It was a very entertaining film...predictable and a bit ridiculous, but so am I suppose. So we got along for the most part. I consumed some alcohol and felt awkward for a couple hours afterwards at Jason's and Greg's and Alex's and John's (The STRONGhold?) and fell asleep briefly on the couch before I could even work up a hookah buzz. Dan woke me up when it was time to go home.

My new favorite adult beverage is Gin and Tonic. So delicious. I must away to Meijer tonight to procur a bit of both.

Auf wiedersehen!

You know, I don't think it'll be all that bad to be a grown-up.

This week I've been pretending to be someone with a real job and consistent friends:

Monday
Worked 7-2:30
Went to Cranbrook with Jenn and Dan
Went to Starbuck's and B-Dub's with Jenn and Dan

Tuesday
Worked 7-2:30
Went to Meijer to buy booze
Bought We <3 Katamari
Watched Dan and Matt play video games
Ate dessert and drank Malibu Rum and pineapple juice until I fell asleep

Wednesday
Worked 7-2:30
Took an awesome nap
Played video games
Went back to B-Dub's for $2 Long Island's
Came home and acted silly

Today
Working 7-2:30
Packing and heading up to the cottage at Sand Lake
Drinking and playing video games all weekend
Maybe cross-country skiing or snow-shoeing or hiking or ice skating

One of the best Spring Breaks ever, I'd say...