Don't touch them THERE.
Office-Place Touching RulesSo classic. Invasions of personal space and diagrams showing where it's acceptable to touch a coworker.
Ah, the internet.
The first day of my life.
How many years have I claimed were simply on pause until I reached Reed? How many times have I told myself to just hold on until I'm there, until I'm... here.
How many mornings have I claimed that the new day would be different? That "today is the first day of the rest of my life." Well, goodness, it looks like this morning really is.
I move in to my dorm in less than two hours. This is happening... and I can hardly believe it.
Maybe I'll become a born-again idealist... throw off (just a bit of) my sarcastic nihilism and again start to see the world as something I can change.
Closing doors... now.
Opening doors... from here on out.
Hello, new world. How the hell are you.
Goodbye, goodbye, California
Goodbye, goodbye, California
Goodbye and I’ll be moving on
I sang you my songs
I know i’m wrong
Fare thee well
And I’ll be moving on
This will be my last blog from home. After I type these words, the computer will be uninterneted, unplugged, and packed.
See you again in Portland.
I'ma Giraffe.
I know who I am. No one else knows who I am. If I was a giraffe, and someone said I was a snake, I'd think, no, actually I'ma giraffe. - Richard Gere
Calvin and I were listening to some near-depressing music in the car last night, when he turns to me and asks "What kind of music do they play in abortion clinics?"
I hazarded a random guess of classical piano musack or, maybe, oldies.
Calv's response? "yeah, like, 'I Wanna Hold Your Hand... But I Won't Get To.' I bet they edit all the songs."
Ah, the joys of having a conservative best friend.
Portuguese makes 'um weak at the knuese.
Ai, ai, ai, Izaura
Hoje eu não posso ficar
Se eu cair
nos seus braços
Não há despertador
Que me faça
acordar
Eu vou trabalhar
O trabalho é um
dever
Todos devem respeitar
Oh! Izaura, me desculpe
No domingo eu vou voltar
Seu carinho é muito bom
Ninguém pode contestar
Se você quiser eu fico
Mas
vai me prejudicar
Eu vou trabalhar
Ah, words.
I found a great word today.
Neologism...
A neologism is a word, term, or phrase which has been recently created ("coined") — often to apply to new concepts, or to reshape older terms in newer language form. Neologisms are especially useful in identifying inventions, new phenomena, or old ideas which have taken on a new cultural context.
Neologisms are by definition "new", and as such are often directly attributable to a specific individual, publication, period or event. The term "neologism" was itself coined around 1800; so for some time in the early 19th Century, the word "neologism" was itself a neologism.
To "blog."
To "google."
And it makes me wonder whether we live in a time of unusually rapid distrobution of neologisms, due to the internet world and the disease of instant communication. I mean, could we reasonably assume that we "create" and add to the english language more than generations before us?
And is that a good thing? Neologisms aren't slang in this context. They aren't new words applied to old ideas. They are new words that are created to refer to new ideas that have previously been unknown. And that's fascinating.
Just when you think progress is impossible and the world moves in reverse, neologisms save the day.
Ah, just one more reason to surround myself with the written word rather than by real people.
Anti-Climactic.
Woke up at seven this morning to get my wisdom teeth out. I looked pretty beat down, which I try to aoid while in public, but hey, I thought I was going to be unconscious for another three hours, so, sue me. Anyway, I walk into the office and they numb me up and hook me up to machines... and THEN they tell me that my insurance isn't going to cover it and I owe them $800. Right. So, I start thinking.
1. $800!? What the fuck. My insurance renews itself in december... so...
2. I'll do it during winter break!
3. I was worried about finishing my reading and moving while on Vicodin... and having to rinse out my bloody tooth holes with a syringe after ever meal...
4. There would have been swelling. I don't want people to meet me for the first time and think I'm a puffy faced freak. I know, right.
5. There would have been no sucking for two weeks. 'Nuff said.
All in all, it was a good plan. So, my arm is all numb from the flippin gel they put on so I wouldn't feel the giant needles going into me. Which is kind of a cool feeling... the numb, not the needles.
So, fuck these past few days. That's all there is to say about that.
Here's to running away.
Today
Yesterday was better than the day before.
Yesterday was a great day.
Today will be better than yesterday.
Today is a new day.
Today is the first day of the rest of my days in California.
And today will be good.
See, look.
Blog, love, I told you I wouldn't desert you now that I'm back on MySpace. It's all good.
But, on the contrary, what is NOT good is how ridiculously scared I am of physical contact with men at the moment. I seriously am avoiding any and all intimacy. That's not healthy. The only relationship I'm completely comfortable in right now is the one I have with shopping. There are always enough cute clothes out there and they won't let me down. Oh, boy, that's trouble. And that starts with t, and that rhymes with g, and that stands for Gap.
But, hell, I'll get over it. Reed boys, hurry up and take my worries away, ok? Maybe I can lure you in with my extremely well-dressed self. AH, one unhealthy statement after another.
Maybe abstaining from the opposite sex for a while will be a good thing. I dunno, I know I don't give a crap about shaving my legs, or caring if people think my hair is too red, or laughing at the stuffed turtle on my bed. It's really nice in so many ways to not be attached to someone. But this feeling of, I don't know if it's fear, it's more like repulsion, from men is not a good one.
Grrrrr I don't have time for anything. I want to embroider all my clothes. I want to buy more clothes. And shoes. When did I turn into this person? When did I decide to become a materialistic twerp? I don't like the concept of it, but I like looking put together in my quirky way... Bah. Save me.
Or, help me save.
The world? Maybe. But right now, let's focus on saving at least part of my income.
17 days, baby. 17 days.
The Joke's on Me.
This user's profile has been temporarily disabled for special maintenance.
The profile will be available again shortly.
Sorry for the inconvenience. 8/1/2006
After all that time, MySpace decided to screw me over.
