On the chain gang

A friend today mentioned that I hadn't posted anything in a long time.  " I know, I know" I said.  "I have all these great things to write about but its too late or I'm tired or I'm just lazy".  I never had a problem finding time to post things during school, but now that I have much less to do I can't seem to find the time.  I'm a procrastinator, plain and simple.  I would blog instead of doing my homework and now that I have none to do I'm procrastinating the blog.  I need something truly heinous waiting to be done for me to muster the will to write.  And right now I'm watching my friend clean his apartment while I sit on the couch and type away moving my feet a little to the left for the vacuum and then a little to the right for the other side.  I hear the garbage disposal in the background and pots and pans being scrapped in the kitchen.  Definitely avoiding this one.  

And speaking of avoiding...I had a truly horrific experience sat. morning that must be written once and never spoken of again.  I left campus after a final at the ungodly hour of 7am (so I went at 8, whatever) and was driving to Macy's when I passed Provo High and saw a large tent swarming with bodies in the parking lot.  It looked like a massive beehive alive with workers buzzing to and fro doing their individual duties rummaging and collecting for the queen bee.  Only the queen bee here was not a fellow bee but the modesty queens of Shade clothing.  They were having a tent sale benefit for Provo high.  I passed by in disgust of the hordes of women I could see from across the street flinging clothes everywhere.  But in the end curiosity got the best of me and on the way home I went over to see what all the fuss was about.

Bad idea.  I entered the throng centered under the tent and was immediately confronted with limbs everywhere.  In my face, over my eyes, behind my head.  All grabbing madly at the modesty makers.  I could barely see through the rain of shirts and body suits being thrown all around me.  Some in and out of boxes, others from hand to hand.  I peeked, I lifted, I even stuck my hand to the bottom of a box before I realized something.  "This stuff is too modest for me" I decided.  WAY to modest.  I don't need a tank top that covers my collarbones.  In fact, the decolletage is my favorite part of the female body - let it breathe.  I hate all the semi-cap sleeve, high-neck, almost long enough undershirts.  Tip:  If you can see your undershirt poking out from under the shirt, through the top of the sleeve, around the armpit and above the neck line then you should probably not get it.  It doesn't work for you and that's OK.  There are plenty of shirts out there that will work and will only expose perhaps one peek of your shade shirt.  

I found two long-sleeved shirts I liked and pushed out to the purchase lines.  I'll tell you, this was the first time in my adult life that I really and truly almost justified stealing.  There were three lines so long I thought I saw an oasis next to the cash registers in the hot morning sun.  But I know better than to fall for illusions.  So I got in line and waited, and waited, and waited and suffered and waited some more.  Not only was in line for 50 minutes in an asphalt parking lot, but I was surrounded by clusters of women with goliath sized strollers putting on and ripping off BAGS of clothing they had gathered.  And the conversation........rough.  I was desperate to drown them out.  Ipod!!! I have my ipod with me!  Crap.  No earphones.  I was getting hot and slightly sticky and my eyes started to twitch as I clutched my two shirts and began rocking back and forth speaking softly to myself.."me wants it....give us it".  

Redemption!  My phone with the fm radio.  I don't use it often, but it is a life saver.  I popped those earbuds in and let myself be taken away by some easy listening and adult contemporary as I slowly shuffled along with the masses.  This story could have so many metaphors.  Perhaps I can work it into a talk one day.  I'll share the experience and liken it to the world always out for material possessions and how you need to persevere to find the "good stuff" in all the madness.   And just when you think you are in the clear you face more challenges, but if you just tune out the world then you will be rewarded in the end.  Poetic.  And relatable.  Damn I'm good.  

PYT

"Dress for the job you want, not the job you have".

Well I want to be smart. Really, really smart.  Mensa smart.  Solving un-solvable proofs smart. So I decided to take that advice to heart.  I'm headed for great things - don't you think? 

Ok.  I actually just found those glasses when I was cleaning out my bathroom and remembered this picture of my friend Ricky

and thought, " I can take a better picture than that".  So I did. 

 So whose picture is better?  Don't we make a lovely couple? 

Rage Black-out

You know, I'm not 20 anymore.  And not being 20 has changed some things for me.  I no longer pull whatever I find out of my closet/dress-up drawer and wear it out and about.  I don't yell as much and I definitely shower more.  I also like to experience concerts and shows a little differently than at 20.  I remember the days of being in the front row of the Good Charlotte show yelling "I love you" to Joel the singer and running in the pit during a Less than Jake show.  But I'm not into that anymore.  I still go to shows but I always arrive early enough to skip the adolescent crowds by getting a front row seat in the over 21 section.  I like to actually see the band and not get stepped on or pushed or crushed by someone crowd surfing over my head.  I like my personal space now - except this one time when a bunch of drunk snow-boarders adopted me onto their bench at a Saves The Day show and we laughed together as they drunkenly spilled pitchers of beer over the balcony on an annoying ex-boyfriend of mine (they didn't know I knew him).  That was pretty funny.  So last night I went to a show with some friends that I thought was at the Venue so I was looking forward to getting my usual balcony bench seat.  Only when we showed up it was in the smaller room with no seats, arg.  "Ok" I thought to myself, "this is going to alright".  No.  It was not alright.  We were standing somewhere in the middle off to one side and things were going great.  I could actually see and no one was bothering me.  Then the headlining band Vampire Weekend took the stage.  This group of kids pushes right into the middle in front of us.  I mean they were literally pushing everyone aside to get closer - mistake #1.  Then this kid starts dancing all sorts of crazy like and pushing the girl in front of me consequently pushing me - mistake #2.  No one was doing anything.  They were either moving or just letting themselves be pushed.  WHAT?!  Where is everyones spine?  Did you have to leave them at the door?  Well I brought mine thank you very much and I'm not letting some punk kids push me around.  If I wanted to go to a Slayer show I would have.  The dancing maniac pushed the girl in front of me again and she sent me an apologetic look - mistake #3.  "Does he keep pushing you?" I asked her.  She nodded yes so I reached through her and grabbed his shoulder whipping him around to face me.  "Quit knocking into people" I ordered using my scary mad face.  He looked at me like "what?" so I said "YEAH" right in this face.  He moved away from me.  Then this other guy starts dancing right in front of me pressing his sopping wet sweaty body against me and elbowing me.  "OH NO" I thought to myself, "I ain't having this".  So I grab him and yell "quit elbowing me" to which he yells "MOVE!" to me.  That was it, I had had it.  So I yelled "ME MOVE???!???  NO....YOU MOVE!!!"  And I shoved him into the people in front of him as hard as I could.  I instantly felt Ricky's arm on mine to which I instantly thought "oh great....he is going to think I have rage problems.  Yikes".  So I said, "he was being rude to me"  Suddenly everyone around me that I had only met that night is offering to switch me places.  I just knew they were thinking I was crazy and violent, which did give me a little rush.  But as soon as the song ended the sweaty monster turned around and began apologizing.  He told me when he yelled "move!" he meant it as "dance!".  I accepted the apology and told him I didn't care if he danced but I did care if he elbowed me.  The rest of the show he did dance his sweaty head off but he never touched me again.  It's all about compromise.  I think I'm too old for this kind of stuff, but I'm not too old to take on stupid kids twice my size.  I can take care of myself bitches.