It's true. Both are definitely too old to be so frisky, but they persist in gamboling about the house with their frivolous fancies. Micia especially craves attention, but Mom does her share: it's like they're both aware that this is the only life they're going to get, and they're trying very hard to be as ridiculous as possible, now that they've spent so much time being safe.

In it I discovered a dark peachfuzz on my entire torso and my arms...I looked like the Wolfman, but the fur was really really fine and soft. And it concentrated in one area of the body, over by my left lung. I told someone about it in the dream, but they said it was totally normal and it was probably because I shaved a tiny bit of fuzz around my navel the night before, which had caused all the hair follicles on my stomach to start growing fine soft dark grey hairs.

It was odd. To say the least.

EVERYONE in my family is sick right now. Or at least just the menfolk. I woke up this morning to the sound of my brother asking me to help him clean the sink, as he had just vomited all over the dirty dishes. He basically stood there while I cleaned it out and kept saying "sorry" when I'd discover a particularly impressive aggregation of puke. Why he felt compelled to eat a greasy shepherd's pie when he knows his antibiotics make one prone to nausea I'll never know. But I nearly took his head off when he asked if I thought it wise if he ate an enchilada five minutes later. So help me he is eating crackers and ginger ale until he gets better.

My dad, meanwhile, kind of OD'd on aspirin last night. He took two aspirin for a headache related to whatever flu he's got right now, and then put Ben•Gay (which has aspirin as an active ingredient) all over his chest to relieve crouping, then went to bed. My mom found him in a hot shower at 4 in the morning because he "FELT CHILLY." Like, that's all he could say. "I FEEL CHILLY." And he was because his medicine had basically slooooooowed down his circulation to a standstill, nearly. So off to the doctors' he went (to the tune of my brother puking in the sink) where he was given lots of medicine and an inhaler to keep his lungs free.

The men will not be attending Kate's senior project, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead. James has not been told but I figure it will be a terrible day and he will probably slam some doors. Frankly, he's in better shape than Dad, who shouldn't be moved at all, and I think he could stomach a trip to OKC. My mom, however, is of the belief that the minute we put the boy on a plane he will vomit all over the stewardess and then nobody will get to go. He's the sort of puker who know's he's gonna blow, but instead of heading calmly to the toilet and relieving the pressure he stands there with a frantic look on his face and his hand over his mouth, which always leads to a sort of fountain effect when he finally starts hurling. I mean, he could be in the same room as the toilet, standing right next to it, and he'll just freeze with those stupid doe-eyes and do nothing until the whole floor is greased with the stuff and someone's already slipped and fallen in it.

Plus I rear-ended a co-worker (so many hyphens!) in October (and neither of us said a damned thing about it to each other later) and apparently a whole month later it comes out that she has been injured and it's all my fault. I drive a Chevy Prism, one of the smaller and more wind-uppy cars on the market. She drives a Ford Crazyvan, or whatever the large green SUV she drives is called. It was a dark and stormy night and I hydroplaned when she made a sudden stop at an intersection (because my car is about as heavy as I am, and combined we don't make for much traction on a slippery road) and ended up accordioning the front of my car into her back bumper, which I am not kidding showed not a single scratch. I mean, I thought there would be some paint removed but This car is a fortress and was barely nudged--like, not even a dent. The officer present asked us each if we were injured and neither of us were. In fact, she was the one who called the police and got us out of the intersection and into a nearby hospital parking lot. I was too busy bawling and making an ass out of myself to even remember which one was my driver's license, so frankly I have a really, really hard time believing that this person sustained any injury which for a month now has been giving her significant trouble (I mean, we both showed up for work the next couple days and she had NO COGNITIVE PROBLEMS. Trust me, I was asking her complex questions and she was speaking in complete sentences.

Thank GOD I pleaded no contest at the mayor's court (because even if you hydroplane into a giant ford SUV and have to pay ludicrous amounts of money to fix your dinky-assed car, you are clearly in the wrong and must be punished with more fines)--apparently if you say anything but, someone who claims injury a month later can't take you to court. HA.

My life, she is wackity schmackity doo. Did I mention that my sister is coming home in December, and we will by then be hosting an Italian guy I've known since forever and who is going to be staying for the next 3 months in this den of iniquity? IT WILL BE AN EIGHTY-RING CIRCUS, I TELL YOU.

I'm going through Greek Recruitment. I know, it's absolutely not me at all. But I figured as I'm a commuter now (one of the worst ideas I've ever had, let me tell you) I should force myself to stay on campus as much as possible. I mean , I can't work unless I'm under a certain amount of stress. But when I'm at home my body is wired to be relaxed, idle, and there is little stress other than that caused by the fact that I'm at home all the time and my parents know everything I'm doing because we're in this big open house but they don't nag me unless I'm encroaching on their space.

Moving back in with your parents is a bitch, I've heard, but I didn't give the testaments of commuter friends much credence seeing as they got three meals a day, didn't have to worry about waking themselves up, and and had their parents at beck and call, essentially. What I didn't account for was the problems of being around your parents all the time after you've had a little taste of freedom. It's stifling. I love my parents, they're delightful, but if I have to hear another Glenn-Beck dittohead tirade on anything--health care, socialists in the closet, or even Michelle Obama--I am going to have to start screaming back.

It doesn't help that I'm a junior which makes forced-fun interaction even more far off. I still don't know how to make friends the regular way, like real people do. I was never like this as a child, you know. I was that kid who went to school and came back with sixteen friends at the end of the day. It's annoying to lose that sort of bicycle-riding instinct after years of well-honed friendmaking. I blame 6th grade. Getting called a walrus and a slut and your mother insisting you're suddenly so hideous because you don't exercise when in reality it's just a much-overdue diagnosis of thyroid trouble that's your problem does very little to further the quest for ultimate sociability.

So I'm doing this because even if I don't finish it, I'll talk to people. And they might decide to hang out with me. So I'll have gotten what I wanted, but for $500 less.

Just been feeling pensive lately. A little bit strange--I've started making friends. Like, actively so. But I'm a little worried that I'm too social. Like, I hang out with a new friend, and I just DO IT ALL THE TIME. I worry that this is too much, that I'm overshooting the demands of society and my friends' patience. I don't know how to act. I just sit there. Smiling. Enjoying company. Until my new friend whom I am so interested in studying tells me that it might be good if I go home sometime soon. You know. Like now.

I have to get my emotion chip worked on. :D

The title is reference to my batshit art history prof. She pronounces everything wrong, which is kind of a travesty because she teaches the damn subject and should know how to pronounce things, at least semi-correctly.

I love the smell of my deodorant. I know that's a weird thing to say but I totally do adore it, having bought a new stick just last week. Shit is fantastic.

Har. I went to a super hip and cool, cool and hip concert. I think i discussed that already. Anyway, I think I slightly deafened my right ear. It's constantly fuzzier...which I guess means I'm a little more deaf now. Poo. Hope it doesn't last long, or my left catches up. This is more like tonitis, so I guess we're okay.

I adore coffee. Even the shitty instant kind. Me oh my we are sounding like virginia woolf.

Concert happened. At 8pm friday.

I dressed the part, with all my crazy clothes coming together to look something like these hip cool kids are wearing. I only cared because I thought it'd be a good place to scope out boys. I was wrong, oh well.

The music was awesome, except for this one hideous country-and-bassoon band where the guy sang in a baritone/bass and it was all so quietly vaguely creepy. Oof.

There was so much smoke I had to use the rescue inhaler again. Le wimp, c'est moi. But then again it's better that I don't suffer respiratory arrest.

I HAD TOO MUCH ALBUTEROL. AND NOW THE WINDPIPE IS SO VERY VERY OPENN. HEE HEE. It's really fun to breathe super-deep. My voice is actually a little reedy, more clarinet or perhaps oboe rather than my usual trumpet or kazoo.

And now the grime and slime from all the tobacco has to come off. MIDNIGHT SHOWER.

An assertion which has nothing to do with what I feel like typing about.

I find myself not actually feeling hungry for hours at a time lately, a period of bliss followed by a SUPREMELY loud stomach-growl and a delirious drunk feeling which disallows any actual body function to take precedent over food getting. It's kind of terribleawesome. I mean, I DO eat, but I don't do much and I just don't feel like eating for a long while.

Coffee, however, is the exception. I can drink coffee any time, any day. Unless I've just had coffee and therefore am full of milk and caffeine and love for humanity that accompanies the latter.

It remains of course that I am suddenly having to stop what I'm doing because I get that drinky feelin' when I'm hungry, but perhaps this is just a reminder from the ol' bod that even though I'm working out and gaining muscle, I'm far behind on the whole badass scale. :D

Of course I made the mistake of telling my mom about this, forgetting that she sounds the alarm at a cough and everything. My position as the Delicate Child remains intact.

He is, though. Someone pin that man down so I can take him. I don't care if he's married or taken. I will steal him away and we will say witty things to each other in a plane. It doesn't even have to be going anywhere, it can just sit in the hangar.

AND YOU KNOW WHAT? He's actually a smidge more sexy in drag. Good god, I'm sexually confused.

I do. I swear. I'm in the middle of a dead boring Art History class, which is only dead boring because Damschroder is doing it. By Damschroder, I mean Cindy B. Damschroder, who I'm sure is in the tippy top of her field, but WASTES SUCH TIME talking about her weekend, what she likes to eat for breakfast, and various other verbal flotsam. I swear, if she actually started on time and didn't just diddle around doing nothing until 20 minutes have gone by, I might actually learn something. I'm not entirely sure she knows about the general undergraduate rule of get in, get off, get out: What most of us want is what we're learning today, why it's important, and whether it will be on the test. We don't really give two shits about Punksatawney Phil and we certainly could do without your proselytizing on the benefits of school spirit. This is a lecture survey class. We want to survey while you lecture.

In other news, Weeds is a pretty good show. Snappy writing without being overbearing (gilmore girls much?) and it's rather sweet, despite its felonious tendencies (and, like all shows on Showtime, it heavily features lovemaking and female masturbation. Woot.) I am upset with one thing, though--WHY is Jeffrey Dean Morgan always the adorable dead guy or the replacement for the adorable dead guy? I will be so happy when Watchmen comes out, because at least he'll be the adorable asshole dead guy. Perhaps this role will lead to further work as the adorable guy, as in, the one who doesn't die and leave his woman in a precarious situation.

(And these are all things I have done)

1) You go to a class on a day on which you don't have it, simply because you think you have too much free time.

2) You do have too much free time, but you refuse to use it in a manner that is anything more than wasteful, in order to create the illusion of less free time.

3) You feel compelled to stay up late studying, but with nothing to study for, you end up watching far too much television, particularly shows like Burn Notice, and everything past King Of the Hill on Adult Swim.

4) You start wishing you were back in high school, if only to have a solid goal to work for.

5) You look into strange and expensive (and perhaps dangerous) hobbies.

6) Your personal anthem is "Too Much Time On My Hands" by Styx.

7) The idea of living in a yurt on some remote mountaintop sounds exciting.

8) You start to make lists. Of everything.

9) In these lists, there must be ten categories or items, otherwise something about them seems unfinished.

10) You post said lists to LiveJournal and know only two people will ever read them, but somehow feel accomplished and sigh contentedly at your immense achievement.

It's terrible. I'm not even eating...much. And we all know that when I am in deepest pain, I refuse everything except food and drink...and now I'm refusing that. Actually, it's kind of nice. I think I may be saving food money by being sick. Except I get to buy medicine which is more expensive than food. Well, fuck me! XD

Yeah. I think I may just do nothing tomorrow. I'm, like, sicksick.

Maybe I should liven up my classes by actually going. I could become the beginning of an episode of House. Seriously, I'd like one of those where they cut to the titles WITHOUT somebody collapsing. How about a panicked stare or perhaps a closeup of the afflicted area? Which could prove hilarious if somebody got, I dunno, an infection of the boobs. It'd be like NIPPLENIPPLENIPPLEHUGHLAURIEWHATEEW

Aaaaaaaand I can't remember what else. I keep losing my train of thought. That and for some reason my spelling's going crazy. Of course, I used to be a terrible speller and one day I suddenly found myself able to spell every word ever. And this was like fourth grade. Of course, the whole "every word ever" thing is a hyperbole, because I lost a spelling bee once by spelling the word "nytrogen" which makes no sense at all, but I was like this crazy savant. Maybe my savant superpower is waning.

I'd better start circulating these puppies.

And I am going to keep doing it and it will be 30 mins twice a week and then on fridays I will go swimming OH MY GOD THIS IS SO MUCH FUN. It's a 15 minute mile on the treadmill and then fifteen of playing with weights. OH SO MUCH FUN


AND! I got into a European Civilization 1500-1800 and it is the best class ever. Seriously, it's an englishman in a suit screaming at us for two hours about history. BEST CLASS EVERRRRR. And everything is super absolute. Like, "AFTER 1500," He screamed, "EUROPEANS NEVER AGREE ON ONE THING. EVER. AGAIN."

YAYY....It is going to kick my ass and I'll love every minute of it.

My computer melted the other day. Not the whole thing, just the optical disk (CD) drive. IT MELTED INTO A SMILE and now it grins at me. I hope I'm covered. SPEAKING OF WHICH I MUST GO NOW TO THE APPLE STORE I HAVE AN APPOINTMENT

The all caps? I had coffee today. Did you know? HOLY SHIT I LOVE TODAY GAAAAH I AM HIGH

So, chick who helped the last one cheat saw me today. Outside of starbucks. I stared her down, smiling warmly as I have always planned to do. She looked at her shoes and glanced up a couple times, like a beaten puppy. I felt vindicated.

THEN she facebook friended me. WHAT THE FUCK? Isn't it strict girl rule not to talk to the psycho bitch who harassed you after stealing your numbnuts ex? SO stupidly I messaged her. Transcript below:


Laura
Today at 2:02pm
SERIOUSLY?


Claire
Today at 3:21pm
I knew that would happen. Seriously, get over it. Move on from the past. By the way, you walked right past me today and probably didn't even realize it. You were smiling back at me the whole time.


Claire Izon
Today at 3:25pm
I've been in this position before where I hated a girl who took my guy. Then she ended up going to my high school. I decided to get to know her and we became really good friends. I am not saying we have to be friends, I just want to make sure we are cool. I am over it. I am not mad at you any more, I barely even know you so I can't judge on what happened in the past.


Claire Izon
Today at 3:26pm
Also, I'm not sure whether to take your reaction as a good thing or bad thing.

SOMETHING I TRIED TO WRITE BUT DECIDED IT WAS STUPID TO FEED THE STUPID BITCH'S STUPID BITCHERY
Get over it? Madam, I'm long gone. I did see you today, and I smiled because you refused to look at me.

I was never mad at you, but let me say this now: I will never be your friend.

This isn't because I'm a bitch. Well, I am a bitch, but that's not what's fueling my disgust. I'm not even angry about the whole man-thing. It was an inevitability based on his behavior patterns: it appears dear Trevor likes dominating women, and I wasn't dominating enough.

I "took" your man (and I will remark, waited until he had broken up with you before we did anything), and you took him right back. We aren't cool. We are merely even.

Considering we've never met formally, I think it's best that we never do. Personally, I don't think our personalities are even remotely compatible, and trying to fashion a relationship with a girl you've seen in person exactly twice--especially when she was the "other woman" in a previous affair--is simply poor taste. You have your prize, Miss Izon. I suggest you accept it and be on your way.


I didn't write this but I blocked her. No more tears. I am free. :)

AND TOO NICE TO TELL EVERYONE TO GO AWAY SO I CAN DO IT

I haven't updated in months. It feels like longer.

I'm not coming back regularly. I'm always watching, though, like a dead person in a film. Except my makeup is less fantastic.

The only reason I'm doing this now is because I'm upset because I saw a terrible picture of myself and realized I am a hideous thing again. Sometimes I just want to do stupid things to look good so I can stop doing this--this cycle. I go for a period of time building up my self-confidence, dressing well and all that, making myself look proper nice, and then something happens...I catch myself in the mirror or in a bad photo and remember I am not a beautiful and unique snowflake, nor am I an attractive person at all. I am the fat, loud little walrus from sixth grade, and I may never get past that level of femininity, which is practically none.

So that's why I'm back here, crying to my old pal LiveJournal. Because if I tell my mother any of this, she'll scream and howl and pick and nag and throw things and tell me I'm not paying attention to the invisible scores of suitors. Because if I tell my sister she'll tell me she's having worse problems and three hours later I'll have talked her down from an other cliff. Because if I tell my dad he'll say 'mm-hmm', thinking it's supportive, and then pass me over to my mom.

I don't like being the only one dedicated to being un-damaged. Or at least the only one who's quiet about her background experiences. I mean, I get tired of people telling me exactly why it's not funny to speak ill of the church and why there is good and evil in this world, bla bla blah.

Ah, how Facebook likes to mess with me. Got this from a boy with whom I had Theatre class my senior year. He's got Aspberger's, and always found him very much like my brother, only in interesting ways. But definitely a brother type. Anyway, the message reads thus (and I copy/paste):

"Hey, Laura. Haven't talked to sou(sic) in a while. How have you been? It would be nice to see you again. Kelly asked me if I want to be part of the Lord of the Rings skit in Advanced Theatre Arts. Since we had class together, I always wanted to date you. I was sad when you moved to Cincinnati, because we never went out! Oh well... I hope you have happiness. By the way, I like your nurse picture. (Helllooooo nurse!)"

Lipo. Everywhere except the boobs. Laser hair removal everywhere but my head. Teeth whitening. Knee surgery to fix that mess. Hypnosis to stop biting my nails. Light therapy for my zits to erase them, and a tanning bed just for my legs, which are always transparent and never seem to tan ever. I'd dye my hair a dark brown with shocks of hot pink and start wearing thicker-rimmed glasses (whenever I wear them, which is somewhat often.)

AND LOVING EVERY COTTON-PICKING SECOND OF IT!

Go sublime power of nature! I fucking LOVELOVELOVE the rain. And the thunder and lightning. And the tornadoes!!!

I totally wish the windows would explode. Mainly because I am far away from said windows, and also because I saw it in Star Trek IV.

Yayyy it just thundered again. I love this weather. I need to live in Scotland.

We've got a month of school left. Oh boy! But really, I'm pleased. I'd probably die if I had any less time to get my service hours over and done with (I STILL HAVE 24 TO DO!), an essay to do (YAY ART HISTORY!), a trip to Italy to get ready for (AAAAAAUGH) and a major to decide upon (I will be PRACTICALLY SUICIDAL if I am not allowed into Design), besides the obvious HOLY SHIT FINALS bit.

sTrEsS. mAkEs Me FeEl UsEfUl, though, so I guess it's for the best.