It's the Little Things that Do It

Tonight, while relaxing on the couch and reading Rollingstone magazine with Devin, he pointed out Michael Moore decided to drop out of college because he couldn't find a parking spot. I didn't find this so hard to believe because one of my grand theories on life is that it's rarely some large, cataclysmic event that promotes major life change; it's always the little things and the way they push us over the edge. Of course, being pushed over the edge isn't always a bad thing. We're not talking about the usual postal worker that shot up the place because the coffee in the break room was cold or anything overly negative like that (though while on the subject, yes, I do think it's little things like cold coffee that often do it). I'm talking about the guy that leaves his job to start his own business or the lady that decides to give her life long dream a go. I think I was pushed over the edge at work today. I'm not sure what did it or even what happened as a result...other than I've consciously decided that I don't like my job. I've got a little under a year to figure out what I'm going to do with the rest of my life but I know that whatever move I make next, I refuse to work at a place that is in any way similar to the place I am working now.

Speaking of college and decisions, the moment I decided to leave Carbondale occurred when I couldn't get a computer program to compile. I had literally stayed up all night trying to get all six files work to work in conjuction with each other to no avail. I went to class that morning, stared into space for the duration of the class, and then took my broken program to the instructor for help and then went to the computer lab to try to make it work...and it didn't. So, I gathered my things, logged off the computer and went to the admissions and registration building, had my records faxed to Murray State, dropped my summer programming course, and formally withdrew from SIU-C. I had been entertaining the idea for a while, but actually did it because I couln't get a computer program to compile.

Nasal Spray Anonymous

I am an addict. But fortunately, it's not to any illicit substance or life ruining concoction. Well, I'm sure this stuff could put a damper on my social life, but other than that, I don't really see how nasal spray dependence can ruin my life that much...aside from the social stigma that comes from being spotted with an object lodged up your nose. I resumed my nasal spray using ways last week in an attempt to keep my sinuses open so my ears wouldn't end up clogged (as they frequently do when I suffer from nasal congestion) and have been "spraying up" several times a day since. I'm curious as to how much I'll need the spray when the cold is over, the runny nose has disappeared adn I'm no longer popping sudafed capsules to get through the night.

Old and Busted Humor

Out: Keen social commentary and biting wit. In: dick and fart jokes. A black cloud has fallen over social interaction. If you need me, I'll be committing seppuku.

Body Wash is More Economical than Soap

I've come to the conclusion that body wash is more economical than soap because it doesn't disentigrate in the shower, you can use it in somewhat measured doses, and it is easier to maintain product integrity. I took a bath earlier, lathering up with my white bar of Dove soap and placed it on a flat shelf in my shower. Sometime in the 8 hours since I bathed, it fell into the tub and slid on top of the drain, where it has been subjected to Chinese Water Torture underneath the dripping faucet since. When I found it about five minutes ago, the indentation in the soap was nearly a complete hole. A pro of this is that I now better understand the mechanics of water torture. The obvious con is my 2-day old bar of soap will likely need to be replaced in a little under two weeks. This particular scenario would never have happened had I used body wash. Of course, a bar of soap can't spill all over the rug when it falls from the top of the shower doors, but that scenario is for another day.

Rush Fever

One week and hundreds of hours of sisterhood later, I'm relaxing at home trying to ward off rush fever. Just what is rush fever, you ask? Well, it's actually not a cute description of an overabundance of spirit or overexuberance or anything remotely fun like that. Instead, it's a strain of flu that's been running rampant at the RSEC and has felled many a sorority girl this week. There are two strains of it, upper respiratory and intestinal. The intestinal version got one of our girls and a few in some other chapters and some potential members (or as the old-schoolers call them, rushees). Most of our girls have had the coughing, sneezing, sore throat version and though I spent a large amount of time washing my hands, trying to avoid them, and pumping myself full of vitamins, I fear I may have contracted the respiratory version of it for today I am clammy with a scratchy throat and dripping sinuses. I've been guzzling hot tea and vitamin water like it's been going out of style (...or as if the stuff is jungle juice for that matter) and generally taking it easy. Unfortunately, taking it easy means the pile of laundry continues to grow and the sinkful of empty cups piles higher and higher. Tomorrow will be used to do what I didn't do today because I don't think I can bring myself to start school with no clean towels and a dirty house.

Have a Little Faith in Me

Later today, round one of recruitment starts and this year, I look at things from the sidelines as an alum member. I am surprisingly okay with the fact that I am now too old to actively participate in sorority life and actually feel that I am fitting in my new role perfectly. I don't have to be here this week for any of this. I could be sitting at home, sleeping and shopping and loafing around, but I've opted to invest my week into the growth of my sorority, my home. In this group of girls, I've found my soul mates, my partners in crime...I've found a warm and accepting group of women that have taught me how to be a lady, taught me to cherish the importance of female bonds, and shown me that a group of girlfriends can have unconditional love for one another. I've always appreciated the opportunity I've had to experience sorority life and all the positive things that can come of it, but I've never appreciated it the way I have today when I was able to step back and just take it all in as a person who (though while involved) is no longer as involved and see the way these amazing women worked together and helped each other. The level of trust and faith we all have in each other is just incredible...I have no worries about the future of my chapter for it is in good hands. Regardless of outcome, this week is a success.

Last Year's Model

Girls such as myself face a new enemy...a threat to our survival, a challenge to our existance. And the name of that threat is the bimbo. Clever, lady-like, witty are good descriptors of what is apparently "out" in a female these days. Apparently our ability to discuss current events and sports and drink a beer without wailing the college mating call of "Oh gawd...I'm sooooo drunk. I'm soooo drunk" (which isnt' even in our vocabulary thankyouverymuch) has fallen out of favor with the men-folk. It seems that now a pair of tits in a tight tank top and a heavy, heavy asskissing is now the way to snare favor. For those keeping a scorecard note that sitting with spread legs and cackling like a hyena is now all the rage. Note, however, that keen social commentary and having the testicular fortitude to disagree with a man is not. I don't loathe the bimbo because I am jealous of the attention she gets, I loathe her because she makes it difficult for guys-gals to enjoy an evening with friends. Try holding a conversation with someone getting a lapdance...that's kind of what it's like when a bimbo is near. Then again, I guess I'm just bitter that suddenly all of the hard work I've put into being cool, intelligent, and witty is suddenly invalided by a bluthering idiot with her tits hanging out. I'm last year's model but I don't think I'm going to take it. Are you?

Home and Homeliness

I never realized how ghetto my hometown has become until this, my most recent trip home. Seeing as how my parents technically live out of town (by 80 feet, if you want to get technical), unless I actually venture into city limits, I can go an entire visit and not actually see the town. But last night, when we decided to have family pizza and movie night, I went to the video store and realized I was surrounded by dirty, mean, and possibly high people. No longer do I recognize anyone (both good and bad...first time ever more bad than good) and I've noticed a larger than usual influx of St. Louis people for the summer, which tends to bring inflated gas and grocery prices as well as an increased incidence of opportunistic crime. This means that once I return to Murray, you'll see me locking things up like crazy...which will likely be nothing unusual. Tomorrow morning, I'm taking Grandpa out for a Chinese buffet lunch. It'll be interesting to see what home looks like in the morning, weekday light.

It's always interesting to look through my closet and drawers and the things on my computer to see what I was into/wearing/doing in the past. Going to my room is like opening a time capsule. So far I've remembered that back in the day I really liked Cool Water Perfume (but not the lotions that came with it), Nintendo Power magazines, and Isaak Asimov books. I'm also reading long-since abandoned message boards which are now...let's just say it's obvious why I abandoned them. I've found a bunch of cds and videos (I joined the dvd era long after leaving home) that I wouldn't mind taking back to Murray with me. But tonight, before it gets really later or before I find something to really be embarassed about...like all my Cher cds...I am going to my big, soft, plaid bed.