I didn't know!

So apparently Linens N Things is like riding a really hellish, exhausting bike. I did about three katrillion returns, met a man named Cletus, and sold forty spatulas to a woman who WAS Madame Medusa from The Rescuers, complete with malfunctioning false eyelashes. It's fine though because LNT did not schedule me for New Year's eve, bless them.

The Family Stone is not as good the second time around. King Kong is, though. I probably should have paced myself better with these December movies, that way I wouldn't be so compelled to see them multiple times.

To quote Billy Mac, Christmas is all around me. Or at least it was. I love it love it love it. Every second of it. I was very very lucky and came into posession of Final Cut Pro, which happens to weigh about fifty pounds, go figure. I haven't actually opened it yet, but I'm guessing the weight comes from the instruction manual. Lordy. One day soon I will become pro.

I need to start applying for sick internships so that I can go to Los Angeles and begin my new chosen career, which is a creative director/writer/producer/editor/ continuity director/coffee maker for a televison show as bitchin as LOST.

Could happen.

Tomorrow I must watch Daisy Do America and play in Boston.

Crickets.

Nothing says Christmas like a visiting foot long iguana/alligator named Dolores and her box full of "food" aka live, chirping crickets.

Who names an iguana Dolores? Who domesticates iguanas?

Repulsive. I guess it could be worse. Adrienne could have volunteered to babysit the HISSING COCKROACHES over break. Um. What the hell?

DOESN'T ANYONE JUST HAVE GUNIEA PIGS ANYMORE?

ARE YOU READY TO BURN?

Christmas Break is weird because everyone reconvenes and for three weeks or so, it's like none of us ever left. The only difference is that barely anyone can drive anywhere anymore, due to removal of insurance or brothers who hog the car to go to high school. So we're all home, just sometimes stranded, which makes us resourceful. Like pioneers in covered wagons.

One thing we have that pioneers did not is Mari and her fat burning regime, Windsor Pilates. Or Roll on America (.99 Wednesdays, ya heard?). Or ghastly season finales of Nip/Tuck.

Oh yeah, just as a little heads up...New Years/Yankee Swap '05 shall be mint, fresh, boss AND bitchin'. What's that sound? Oh, I do believe it's Celine Dion's mystical voice beckoning, even begging to play a role in Swap again. Okay, Celine. Okay.

Perhaps I shouldn't get ahead of myself. 

Christmas is magnifique.

"I just saw both of your lives flash before my eyes." - Eleanor

Today's Metro could not say enough about King Kong, and even went so far as to call it...

..."The next Titanic"?!

Woah, woah woah. Hello, hefty claim.

But I thought about it, and I suppose it's entirely possible, based on visual effects being ahead of their time...and length, of course. And I think I spotted a breathtaking sunset in the trailer.

My list for vacation is longer than my list of things to do BEFORE vacation, although my before vacation list is slightly less entertaining.

But nothing is as entertaining as harassing a Factory full of restaurant patrons with stories about the President of BU's arm stub with fingers at the end, followed by the really unsubtle flirtations of two 30+ out of towners, who, two feet away from the entrance of the Westin were smooth enough to open with "Do you girls know where the Westin is" and proceed to ask us if we wanted to come in for "martinis", followed by a ride home serenaded by Bob Carlisle and his damn Christmas Shoes, followed by Secret Santa Christmas Riverway style...we almost kept it a secret.

Tonight is the first night of the Pinocchio Study, Natalie's and my research project to learn once and for all if our noses actually DO grow at night, or if they just APPEAR to be larger in the morning. Nobody has EVER done this before, and if there is a change, we're calling MIT. 

I bet the martini guys would be shocked if they ever found out. 

I'm really glad I saved up all my excused absences for the end of the semester.

"All I want for Christmas is you"...oh yeah, and a draft snake to press up against the freaking window so that the 14 degree winds will stop wafting over my sleeping body and I can go back to sleeping sans pantalones. Or at least sans 16 layers of clothing.

Liz and I took a shot of TheraFlu, which was an instant, if nauseating pick me up. She feels good enough to run a marathon. I, however, have never known such health.

Ah well, I really really love it.

Silly girl child.

Once upon a time there was a sketchy girl who was very foolish and could barely speak, never mind actually make conversation, despite the fact that in general, she was known to have and be lots of fun, if not completely retarded. She also liked to procrastinate a whole lot, and did things like write words that don't matter. Sometimes she wondered if real life would ever be as fantastic or as horrifying as the life that played out in her head, somewhere behind her eyes, and if so, when that business would start. She wondered if maybe she was the last person her age to not know how to speak, even though she had been telling stories to anyone who would listen since before she could walk. She figured it was okay though, because for a girl with no social skills, she had some pretty fun friends and liked movies a lot and enjoyed cities and wanted to be famous and sometimes pretended her life wasn't really hers, but just some movie that didn't necessarily progress the way she wanted it to, no matter how many times she wrote the script, and what the heck more could she possibly do without speaking about this girl who knew a lot about what she wanted but you would never know unless you understood what a ridiculous smile means or if you could maybe read minds or be a really really good guesser. 

Eight pages. There is never a need for research papers in the real world/Hollywood.

World's Ugliest Dog Croaks.

http://aolsvc.news.aol.com/news/article.adp?id=20051122121809990005&ncid=NWS00010000000001

He looks like Voldemort. Damn. 

I think my favorite part of living on the RIVERway is knowing how appropriately named my street is, for when it rains there are veritable RAPIDS, complete with current, that collect right in the crosswalk. I'm talking biblical, at least six inches deep. And the water is opaque, too, so God only knows what lies at the bottom

I can't wait to trudge through it on my way to class tonight. But it'll really be okay, because after class it's the T, and after the T it's the commuter rail, which will spit me out in LeomVegas, where it's Thanksgiving.

But before Thanksgiving I think RENT, my amigos, is due.

And Natale to boot. It's been awhile.

Steady like a train.

This afternoon at 3:45 it was so dark and I had lost track of time so much so that I convinced myself it was time for dinner.

Unfortunately it is not. Not technically, at least. It's the perfect time for tomato soup and Saltines, which, while not constituting as a complete meal, are definitely delicous any time of the day.

I finally got to see Walk the Line last night, but only barely because supposedly when I went to buy tickets at 5 for a 7:40 show I got the last six. I think the cute AMC boy that I've seen like 12 times this year says that to everyone though, just to make them feel good about themselves and their choices. Whatever, it worked on me.

Knowing virtually nothing about Johnny Cash or June Carter, I thought the movie to be extremely good, despite the fact that it ended in a freeze frame. Freeze frames are probably the cheapest way to end a movie, especially a biopic that lasted almost three hours. Fade to black, for Lord's sake. Unless you're an epsiode of The Babysitter's Club, then, by all means, freeze away. It works.

To the soup!

"What if Prince Harry moved into Apartment 1?" "I think that would be pretty sad for him."

Yesterday I opened the refrigerator and noticed a slow but steady trickle of pinkish liquid seeping down the crisper drawers. I followed this trickle to the source, which turned out to be the fully thawed 20 pound young turkey sitting on the first shelf. It was then I noticed that the whole first shelf had accumulated a good milimeter of turkey seepage and as a result, everything on that shelf was absolutely marinated in it.

So I had no choice but to pull out the shelves, wash/bleach them in the bathtub, throw away everything that was not sealed and protected against the salmonella turkey blood, and then there was the turkey to deal with. All 20 pounds of it.

Since it had been "thawing" in the refrigerator for four days and was already over a year old, it seemed that the only option left was to quietly dispose of it. Trash gets picked up on Friday. Wednesday morning, a 20 pound turkey carcass was disposed of in the 100 Riverway trash room. I haven't been down there once since, but I can only imagine that it must either smell pretty rank, or not smell at all because all of the raw poison turkey flesh has been gnawed off by every rat in the city that somehow made its way into our trash room to devour that turkey.

And today I dropped my mascara DIRECTLY into the toilet. It was so direct that it went straight down that little hole and I had to do some serious excavating with enormous rubber gloves on, up to my elbows in toilet to fetch the mascara and prevent a serious plumbing issue.

I don't think I've ever had two such genuinely FILTHY experiences happen to me so close to each other before.

Midnight ice cream in the frigid cold really frosts my berries.

Lisa, it's your birthday.

A Few of Tonight's Observations:

1. The people in Hamburger Helper commercials all have Southern accents. Why?
2. How To Lose A Guy in Ten Days is a fantastic romantic comedy. Why? Because they go to a Celine concert, for one. I think they pretty much hit the nail on the head there. Also, Matthew McConneghy is among the skeeziest men alive.
3. Smushed rats in the middle of the crosswalk bear a striking resemblance to an innocent gray sock, until you see the tail. They also have a tendency to startle you...both times you walk by them.

Sooooooooooo now what?

"I challenge you to find something more appetizing than beef and potato casserole." - Natalie

Here's a little equation for you all.

Shep's Pie - Corn = Beef and Potato Casserole. Best served with the pre-ketchup juice.

So delicious. 

We're also in the process of thawing out the young turkey that Eleanor's had for a year. It was hauled out of the freezer this afternoon, and before resting it in the refridgerator to thaw, we put it in Natalie's bed, nestled up next to her, while she napped. 

So cute.

Anyway. Let's just hope all this de-frosting doesn't result in horrific salmonella poisoning. That would ruin Saturday's pre-Thanksgiving dinner for sure.

Ian McKellen is on SNL on E!. What a classy, classy man.

One could assosciate him with a wizard.

One could assosciate wizards with Harry Potter.

One could assosciate Harry Potter with awesome.

I find it kind of sad.

I finally caught up with lots of people and watched Donnie Darko last night. 

People analyze that movie, and watch it billions of times just to get clues to the underlying metaphors and what have you, but after seeing it once, I've got it. I know the secret. Jake Gyllenhaal is attainably, realistically, hot. That's all there is to it.

Elle and Natalie are off to Foxboro to see the Patriots tonight, like sportsfans. 

Liz and I are going to dress in black and wear square glasses and go see Jarhead in our pajamas, like angsty non-athletes.

I made the mistake of downloading Joanna Newsom's Peach, Pear, Plum just to show Liz how weird it is. And now she likes it. And now I have a little eye twitch.

Nerd alert!

I love secret advanced press screenings!

I love that there is one for HP&tGoF next weekend!

I love that I get to go!

I won a contest on the radio, and now I have tickets. I love tickets. My font of ridiculous Harry Potter trivia has finally proven itself useful, and I have officially proven (as if there was ever any doubt) that I am one of the COOLEST people on Earth.

I'm going to start entering more contests because now I know that I love to win them.

Hm...that could be a really really stretched metaphor. I think I'll go with it.

Tab and Laundry.

Here's a little secret...

Tab tastes just like Coke. 

For some reason I always associated Tab with anorexic girls holding their Tab in one hand and a cigarette in the other, standing out in the cold, leaning up against buildings.

I honestly don't know why.

I do know why I associate the smell of Dawn dishsoap with UMass. It's because I used to wash my hair and the dishes simultaneously, both with Dawn, both in the shower, because someone told me that ultra concentrated Dawn would wash out my "temporary" black hair dye faster. As you all know, it did nothing but make ME smell like Dawn and give me the best split ends of my life.

Yikes.

Every night this week there has LITERALLY been a jackhammer jackhammering outside our window. Given the absolute cartoon-ity of this situation, I think the only appropriate solution would be for Liz and me to gather our sticks of TNT and toss them out the window. You see it on tv all the time, but you NEVER expect to have a literal jackhammer outside your window all night long.

Bank time, then Star*Market to pick up supplies for a chocolate cream pie, then class, then The E.C., then who knows, but eventually The O.C., which I must find a way to tape.

"I just made Elliott dizzy and now he can't walk!"- Natalie

November is going to be a bitchin' month. I just wish I knew where all of this time was running off to. Kind of ridiculous.

Make it count, I guess. 

...

Okay so Jen introduced me to the STAR floor's latest form of entertainment, IP Relay, which is a really lovely service available to the hard of hearing and deviant college students. Basically, you IM an operator someone's phone number and then they call WHOEVER you want them to call and you type your side of the conversation and they then relay what you type in the IM to whoever you're calling and type back their response. 

If Halo 2 Live Connect and The American Girl Premiere computer game had a child, it would be the IP Relay service. The idea is to make the operater say really uncomfortable things in their indifferent, monotone voice.

Obviously it's a ridiculous amount of fun.

Natalie and Eleanor made Shep's EXACTLY like they do at LHS, complete with boxed mashed potatoes and mysterious orange sprinkle spices. I think I'm off to have my second dinner.

This is probably when people start to gain weight, huh. I should watch out, since I cannot afford to buy a new wardrobe.

Everyone in Hollywood wants an Oscar.

So I have completely exhausted the Titanic Special Edition DVDs by literally watching EVERYTHING they had to offer, INCLUDING secret hidden features, and then re-watching a few selections with director/ cast and crew commentary.

I feel really REALLY great about this.

On a sidenote, I just saw a trailer for that movie that desperately wants to be Jumanji. Zathura I think it's called? It's very upsetting to begin with, but then I noticed that the theme playing in the background of the trailer was none other than the violin theme from Requiem for a Dream. 

Uh...what?

My thumbs are a mess.

How can it be almost November already?

Rats

"Every time I go to the trash room I get scared that a huge, MOTHA RAT is going to crawl out." - Natalie Zekos

Not a mouse. A MOTHA. Rat.

Today we were notified that next Monday our building will undergo rodent/insect inspection.

This is so great. I was so preoccupied with roach prevention that rats never even crossed my mind, except for when we bring the trash into the trash room. Freaking scary. I literally hurl the bags into the room, slam the door, and bolt. In case of the motha rats.

I hope Elliott secretes a special cat smell that scares the hell out of them so that they don't even come close to us. Yeah, our big, threatening, dependent BABY CAT.

My question is, has anyone seen rodents or roaches? Because, blessedly, I have not (knock on serious wood, sweatpants style). I just hope that wherever they are they stay there til Monday, so that I can continue being ALMOST as blissfully ignorant as I was before we got this notice.

I Love the 80's 3D!!

Ahhhhhh good times.

Sweather Weather.

This was a good afternoon for a pumpkin festival, foliage, strolling and package shooting in the Common, carmel apple cider (which is really just hot apple juice with flavor syrups, but still delicious), bookstores, banking, warm sun and cold breezes, and hoping that there'll be at least a few more days like this one.

Tomorrow is a good night for Cinderella, which is guarenteed to make me wish, once again, that I was a ballerina. Because ballerinas are beautiful.

Now is a good time to take the ol' grocery cart down to Star*Market and fill her up with fancy Dr. Pepper and other necessities, like toilet paper.

HOW ELSE COULD TITANIC POSSIBLY END? I'm itching to know.

I don't know why this is, but I feel more guilty about not taking advantage of gorgeous days here than I do anywhere else.

"It's just like autumn in New York, except it's autumn in BOSTON!"

And I really love it.


---------------------------------------

P.S. Tonight on the way to fondue, our cabbie informed us that we were riding in the very same car that he picked up none other than LEO AND GISELE in less than a month ago. I have confirmed that Mr. DiCaprio is a genuine class act, who signs autographs for cab drivers' nieces and initiates hand shakes with said cab drivers. I also know for a fact that Leo has soft hands and is basically a class act. 
So...I have shared a cab with Leo. God. I feel so blessed.

Also, the cab driver was pretty bitchin' in general and reminded me of Mr. Lew. He was in several off-broadway plays and an extra in movies, including Jaws, but he's not one of the extras that had a line and gets a check in the mail every time the movie sells a DVD or is on TV. 

I hope he doesn't clean his back seats on a regular basis. That way, there is a chance that maybe a hair or some particles from Leo's pants are now...on MY pants.

I realize that this makes me a freak, but I think I'm okay with it.

Breathe and reboot.

If I didn't have the alternate ending of Titanic and the final installation of Harry Potter to look foward to, I would seriously consider an extreme change in location right now. Possibly an island. Off the coast of Bali. Forever. 

You guys could come visit. I'd be the one sitting alone in the grass hut watching Love Actually.

Where did the extreme few social skills I once had disappear to?

This is going to be an amazing week.

2,200 Souls.

Three disks, 29 deleted scenes, a Celine Dion music video, director/cast commentary, AND AN ALTERNATE ENDING????

Now THAT is a real party.

Ohhhhh...my God.

Fashionably sensitive.

Last night I slept in my sister's bed, because although she still refers to it as "Danielle's room", she's pretty much seized it as her own, marking her territory with a metropolis of plastic Playmobil houses, castles, space stations, and forts.

Anyway. She barely ever slept her bed, even when I was around, which was probably for the best, seeing as when I slept in it last night, I woke up with a terrible itchy rash all over myself. 

And now, twelve hours later, it has become progressively worse. What is it????? Fleas? Bedbugs? Detergent? 

I wonder how anyone learned about their classmates before the Facebook was invented. Yeah, I'm really not so good at this. Maybe I'll get better.

My parents are going to Disney World this weekend. They're funny parents. It's a crying shame they won't get to encounter Natale as a character. I was hoping to have them get his autograph for me.

I purchased several good movies today, INCLUDING The Flight of the Navigator!!! SO EXCITING!

Maybe I should go and stew in oatmeal or something. Doesn't that stop itching? 

Or maybe I should just get drunk and take a Benadryl, says Dr. Liz.

Bet the store!

Ohh God, I'm supposed to be editing a rough draft to turn into a final paper to be handed in at 6:00.

I forgot how much I love downloading music, but I do. I now love A Light in the Piazza and Sutton Foster in Little Women. 

For some reason, Little Women always makes me ferklempt, no matter what. It's coming to Boston sometime this season, and I'd like to go see it, along with Spamalot, which I have also come to enjoy thoroughly, in an Avenue Q sort of way, and obviously Wicked because one can never see that enough.

Adrienne's 13th birthday today, and her party/parties this weekend can only mean one thing: moonwalks. That girl loves freaking moonwalks. Still, she's so much cooler than I was when I was her age.

Natalie's 20th is tomorrow, oh mah gawd. 20 is just ridiculous. CODSWALLOP, for lack of a better word.

Note to Kristina: Mara Wilson goes to NYU for acting, not film. I was mistaken. I looked it up on her offical website, and apparantly there was some SICK RUMOR going around that she had DIED in 2000. Imagine being so under the radar in Hollywood that people think you are dead.

Tonight I get to begin my duties as a continuity superviser for The E.C. And then my week is over until Wednesday.

Cheerio.

Rent rent rent.

I just have to note that today is October 1st.

And our landlord was supposed to come and collect the rent today.

But he didn't.

And I'm kind of devastated, because I was so looking foward to blasting the title track of the Rent soundtrack and dancing around like an angsty bohemian. 

How fun would that be. 

"Tell the folks at home, what you're doing RANDY!" Ahahahaaaha, get it??

Yeah. My fingers are crossed for tomorrow.

It is also pure pure pure conicidence, but I put my Smartwool socks on this morning without even remembering that it was October 1st. I always subconsciously start wearing Smartwool at the beginning of October. Oh, woolly warm goodness.

I bet not everyone gets to share a brain. I'm lucky.

And on that note, I think I'm done here.

MA! The meatloaf!

Liz: WHY does Elliott's breath smell so bad?!
Me: Because he eats cat food.

...Elliott is the name of the kitten. His full name is actually T.S.Elliott Smith from E.T. Just to clarify, he is not just some person we know who has an affinity for cat food. Not only is he a cat, he is a Cat. He genuinely does cat things, like meow and play with catnip mice and chase strings. Who knew?

Today I chose the exactly perfect hour to hop on the T with the 500 Red Sox fans headed to Fenway for the first game in the double header this afternoon. Anyone who complains about New England people being unfriendly or whatnot should ride with them on an overstuffed T headed to Fenway. Seriously. They're completely unphased by the fact that they are pressed so tightly together that STDs could potentially become an issue. They even converse and joke about how well they've gotten to know each other in mere minutes. It's actually kind of nice, if you can ignore the whole ass to ass part.

Natalie just informed me that one scoop of vanilla ice cream from Coldstone, sans any mix ins, is worth 26 Weight Watchers points, which is 6 points over a day's worth of points. Then she threw the cat on Liz.

I also hung out on the Star Floor with Jen and her fellow Stars, played Cranium and watched the Desperate Housewives pilot until we had to go to the EIV meeting, where I was sufficiently overwhelmed with information.

Then I went to take the train home and bumped into Nick Tully.

Soybean paste makes for an excellent conversation piece. Mmmm brown, slimey, gooey, paste. In a jar. A huge jar.

I swallowed a bug.

Mon dieu.

So a couple of days ago, I was thinking to myself, "Hey, wouldn't it be cool if I witnessed a restaurant marriage proposal?" I don't know why, I guess it's just one of those things that people talk about that I have never seen. Like The Breakfast Club, or the naked cowboy in Times Square. ANYWAY. Last night I went to an extremely quiet restaurant with my family and the French grandparents, and lo and behold, at the end of dinner, a teary-eyed man plucks the rose out of the vase on the table and starts soulfully (and also mediocrely) crooning an original ballad to his girlfriend, now fiancee, while the twelve other people in the room looked on. It was definitely a grand romantic gesture...that went on for about six minutes. Verse after verse after verse, tears streaming, feet stomping to the beat, shaking the floors and water glasses. Truly a memorable evening for us all.

And so, I am now back on The Riverway, bonding with an attention starved kitten who likes to chew wires and bite my fingers as I type. Cat fur. Everywhere. I've never met such a demanding cat. Maybe that's because this cat thinks it's a dog. Or a person that likes to drink out of the toilet.

Maybe I'll get some work done while I'm all alone here.

Maybe not.

I had a dream there were clouds in my Coldstone.

It is so comforting to know that no matter what, Coldstone is always in my line of vision.

I love living in a square topiary.

I also love befriending maintenance men and Comcast tech support employees.

I also love walking around and acting like I know what's going on, swiping my T pass, staring inconspicuously at well dressed strangers through my sunglasses, walking with purpose, and generally channeling Holly Golightly every chance I get.

This is it.

Doesn't Phoebe have a song about pigeons?

Didn't drive to Boston today because my driver's side rear tire was "flat as a doornail" according to my mother's frenzied simile, and has been that way for Lord knows how long.

So Mumsy and I trekked into Boston in her monstrous, unparkable vehicle, didn't get lost, hit a pigeon somewhere in Concord and just now realized that the poor bird's carcass is still wedged in grille.

I'm really just at a loss here, a horrifying mix of pity and revulsion and sick amusement (not at the death of the bird, but at how abysmally this situation is being dealt with).

For Pete's sake.

Hello, Powerbook.

I don't have the faintest idea as to what's going on with this computer of mine. All I know is that it's really good looking and the keys are tiny and finger mousepads take some getting used to. Also, I was so looking foward to doing the iMovie tutorial project, Maddie Gets A Bath, but apparantly that doesn't happen anymore.

Oh, MADDIE.

Anyway. I'm not in Boston right now on account of bad timing and a dihty apahtment. But it's really fine because I received my Cobbletones CD in the mail. For those of you who do not know who the Cobbletones are, just ask me because I totally know them personally... a little... not at all, but I've made eye contact.

Mingled with Kristina this evening, did some errands, watched some Friends, ate some Chinese, and, you know, had a marvelous time. Summer is definitely over though, which is a bit sad, and also weird at the same time. Tsk. New seasons, new beginnings...how Dawson's Creek is that? Speaking of, Abby died this morning. That is my favorite episode.

I assmebled a really nice frame collage featuring camping pictures. I forgot how much fun that was. You know I used to not even like camping, but I went anyway, just to test it out for sure, and I'm glad that I did because I would have been hella pissed if I missed out on that memory. 

I can say hella now because I use a Mac. Far out.

Why is the gingerbread man made of mud?

Today I went to see The Brothers Grimm (Uhh...what?) for $4.75, which was better than The Village but worse than Catwoman. Still, $4.75. I could probably feed a lot of Indians for that price. Poor Matt Damon. It's always sad when such attractive, overly talented, Bostonian Oscar winners make abysmal role choices.

I have an eensy weensy moral problem involving the replacement of my desktop computer with a more mobile laptop. We'll see.

P.S. The RENT theatrical release has been bumped back to the week AFTER HPatGoF, and is now opening Thanksgiving weekend. Natale, if you're out there, come back for a genuine New England Thanksgiving, so that we can go and experience this movie together. You know, the way the Pilgrims would have wanted it.

God, I love The O.C. on DVD. No commercials AND a hilarious gag reel! Joy!

Speaking of gag reels, I now have, in my posession, One Screw Loose: The Anna Anderson Story, circa 2002 World Studies History. Yes, that's right. I will screen it for whoever wants to watch. It's fantastic.

So, I guess I should start packing...you know, for the empty apartment I'm about to move into. The one that DOESN'T provide furniture. Riiight. Starting tomorrow. Most importantly, I need to invest in more pairs of work appropriate denim AND prepare myself for working the right brain, hardcore, because friends, that is what Emerson is all about.

I swear I'm not lame.

I'm a little short of breath and my lungs hurt and my throat is shot and I keep coughing, TB style. Why? Don't know.

Diagnose me.

But if it ends up being anything remotely fatal, I'd prefer it if you just lie to me, because I tend to prefer the illusion of health as opposed to the gutwrenchingly harsh realities that I involuntarily shove to the back of my mind every single day.

I'd rather ignore the random inexplicable abnormalities than point them out to the someone and risk further, potentially frightening examination.

Hypothetical situations have always been my forte, along with empty wishing and imaginary scenarios where everything and everyone that I love last forever. Perfectly. AKA, exactly the way I like them.

One thing that provides me with just enough of a glimmer of hope is the notion that this time I just may be exactly where I'm supposed to be. 

There's always a reason not to throw away things you think you could someday need again. Sometimes it's best to just be frugal and ask yourself if, one day, you'll wish you'd kept it.

I really ought to stop more often and just work on being more appreciative of the things that I have, while I have them.

Instead of looking back, I'm just going to wonder about next year. What will have happened, who will I know, and where will I be?

Chinese Immigrants.

Every now and again you need someone to cackle with, and quote with and pick right back up with from any given time frame over the past ten years or so. Even if there is that coast that divides. Because really, it's not all that far, and in the grand scheme of things, months are very short.

Hear that??? It's da noise...and da funk.

Tell everyone.

Well.

Tax free weekend is over, thank Pete. Can I just take this opportunity to let everyone in on a little secret? You know that state right near us? Not New York but New Hampshire? That little, often forgotten state? Well. You can shop there tax free...EVERY SINGLE DAY OF THE BLOODY YEAR! Now GO FORTH! Freak out! Flock to Manchester and flood their stores with frenzied big ticket purchases!

It's too bad all summers can't be as fantastic as the best one of your life. But I guess that's what sets that certain special one apart from all of the others. It's just a shame this one had to contrast so sharply with its' predecessor.

It must be nice to be able to easily replace everything that needs replacing.

A few of today's dietary factoids: Red Bull is derived from Beef and Sour Patch Kids hurt your teeth after eating them for four consecutive days.

In case anyone wanted to learn some stuff about hemophilia, here's a legitimate website:
http://my.webmd.com/hw/blood_disorders/aa8423.asp

Here she is, our Mount Rose Amercian Teen Princess.

I have spent the last two days in Internet darkness. It was tough, but NOTHING compared to the Great AIM Blackout of 2004 in Amherst, even though that only lasted like 4 hours.

I don't know why, but August 9th is ringing some kind of bell for some reason. Is it anyone's birhday? Did something unbelievably cool once happen on August 9th?

Maybe it's just special because it's the day after yesterday, which was the day I walked across the Longfellow bridge from Boston to Cambridge, for absolutely no reason. MMMMMMM, fun. I also learned yesterday, from an extremely chipper social worker in a yellow shirt, that as I was enjoying my time on Newbury Street, thousands of children all over the world were being sold to old men for sex. 

...

Yikes.

Yesterday was also special because we set up to have a long anticipated re-viewing of Drop Dead Gorgeous, but instead were blessed to find out that the REAL and ACTUAL Miss Teen USA was on. So we watched that instead, which is always fun. Ohio won. She's beauty and she's grace. She's Miss United States.

Cereal would be nice, but Lucky Charms are just too much of an effort right now.

Duck.

My friends absolutely slay me.

So much so that sometimes I just grin like a fool for hours because I remember that they're so much better than anyone else's. Suckers.

Tsh, I want to be a Party Girl. And not some half assed But Also Quiet at the Same Time poser type. It has to be balls out, 110% Party Girl, because it's been awhile.

That is why I must go to sleep and prepare myself for A 9:00 AM DUCK TOUR. Criminy.

Mo chuisle

FINALLY watched Million Dollar Baby, which was in fact, the Best Picture of the Year. Hands down.

Definitely the perfect opportunity to reinstate Drama and a Pint Nights with Leez.

Sometimes movies completely amaze me. I love it.

Sometimes Clint Eastwood does, too. But in a completely platonic way. I'm not about to act out a crush on a man who is older than my grandfather with children younger than my sister. Kind of disgusting, but also irrelevant to the fact that as a director/producer/actor he rocks.

I think it's sometimes good to just disappear for awhile.

Every now and then.

Today at work I met Denise Richards. She had a serious cluster of BANGS and two apparantly interbred boys who had their very own checkbooks with which to pay for their Moshi pillows and Mike & Ikes. Each wrote their own check for $8.50. Separately. I don't know if any of you understand how tedious that is.

I also encountered a slightly off, elderly Puerto Rican woman who was shopping with several generations of her family. They purchased 20 of those grippy foam placemats at .15 cents a piece ("for the porch"), a sno-cone maker, and an electric pancake griddle. This wouldn't have been half as weird if the afore mentioned matriarch didn't have some sort of melt down/short circuit/stroke which caused her to toddle around in a circle and slur "Leeninsandschings" (translation: Linens N Things) repetedly for five minutes while her great granddaughter's infant son gnawed on the nickles his mother got back as change for her sno cone maker.

I really could not make this stuff up. Forgive me for sharing if you don't care, but I really just think I should have it on record for posterity and also just in case I ever need material for a book.

You sound like a good kisser.

I must say that lately I've been having myself a lovely time.

The Scarlett Johannson marathon continued today with The Horse Whisperer, after recent viewings of The Island, Girl With a Pearl Earring, Ghost World, and In Good Company. All of which, by the way, were enjoyable, despite the fact that In Good Company succeeded in shattering every last one of Kristina's and my romatic comedy expectations. But it's cool.

Kristina, Regina, and I also spent some quality time this afternoon reminscing about extra curricular activities of yore, back when I was a sword swallower in the circus, Kristina was a war hero, and Regina was an equestrian. We also completely abused Ian's Halo 2 online communcation microphone device, made about a gazillion friends from all over the world, and then attempted to assasinate them. Fantastic.

And then we went Into the Woods, where I was completely impressed by both Sondheim, the production and the cast, especially David and Leeann, who were magnificent, as always. Bernadette Peters was also there to reprise her role as The Witch, or half a witch, as Leeann was the other half...get it? No? I don't care. I hope I can be in shows again.

In six months I'll be 20. Considering the content of this entry, you're probably completely floored by this fact.

Karma can be an evil wench, made all the more terrible when you recognize the fact that you deserve it and it not only comes around, it comes around with a hurricane force and sometimes makes it hard to stand straight...so I really miss Natale.

love.

Stellaaaaaaaa!

The time has come to finally dispose of Stella. I thought I could rejuvinate her and make up for weeks of neglect by keeping her extremely hydrated with carbonated water, but she just keeps getting yellower and more shrivled and the rotten, vomity stench she is emitting is getting harder and harder to ignore.


Maybe I'll get a bonsai tree for the apartment. It's time to move on to bigger and better things.

Cash.

Working at Linens N Things is sometimes a really amusing time. 

Take tonight, for instance. Three hours into my shift a whole slew of immigrants decided to grace me with their presence, form an 8 person line, and each buy one (1) plastic tablecloth, except for one lady who bought a tablecloth AND like fourteen of the random Barbie dolls we keep by the register to provoke tantrum throwing children. The first man, whom I can only assume to be the leader of the pack, marched right up to me, grinned broadly to reveal two gleaming rows of copper teeth and said...

"Cash." 

(Translation: We would each like to pay for our tablecloth and/or Barbies with cash, please.)

I didn't even bother to ask their phone number or whether or not they were assisted, because frankly I didn't forsee any point to it, as I was already shouting what they owed because I could not recognize for the life of me what language they were spitting at me. 

Then, after five long hours of my job, I had to trek out to my car, which I had been forced to park way far away from the store, and was promptly attacked by Mr. and Mrs. Smith, aka Kristina and Dan, who were lurking behind my vehicle and, upon my opening the driver's side door, proceeded to throw a rope at me and jump out. My reaction? I screamed, fell into my car backwards, and kicked Kristina in the stomach. It's a good thing I don't have my pepper spray license yet, or that mace would have definitely gone off in my pocket when I fell back and would have caused major damage to either my skin or the interior of Max.

I pretty much define sitting duck. Oh, well.

Time for bed and books.

Okay stupendous.

I really wish I could make this book last longer than I think it's going to. 

But Goddamn.

I could not be wild-er about Harry. It's seriously a problem for me to be apart from that beautiful green volume long enough to talk about how waiting two years and most likely finishing in a day, MAYBE two if I can stretch it, but probably not, just doesn't seem fair. For the record, Page and I were wicked victorious and purchased that puppy in maybe 5 minutes.

This week was pretty much the bomb. And work today was do-able, damaged gum makes the hours pass quicker than usual. Especially when you shove four mini balls in your mouth before taking a customer. Thanks, Regina.

Right, so this was cool. But...I have to go.

She washes her face in Evian water.

And so I'm back.

Nantucket is refreshing because it is infested with well dressed people and attractive boys and skinny mirrors and a general Euro aura. Celebrities too, Mark Wahlberg, Christie Brinkley, and Ally Hilfiger, if one considers her famous. 

Summer is refreshing too, because the past few days have been infested with beautiful friends and free movies and Veronica & Co. and ice cream and maniacal laughter and chicken dinners for three.

I now have classes to go to in the fall, which is approaching at a frighteningly rapid pace. One thing I've noticed is that time flies period, even when you're not having fun, but it positively dissolves when you are. So lately I've been concentrating on not letting it slip through my fingers before I get the chance to really appreciate, because I have a feeling that now is when things really get going. My Van Gough-esque "Black Period" is now a thing of the past, thank Christ. It's time to start painting in color again. I'm kind of pissed off that I ever stopped.

I'm on call in the morning, and am reuniting with Linens N Things at five. Best be heading off.

You just watch out.

There are moments when this summer feels like a huge puzzle that's missing a couple of random pieces here and there, so I look for them everywhere, even though in the back of my mind I know that Milo chewed them up the last time it was put together.

...But I love it anyway, because basically what it all comes down to is that the pieces I do have are way better than everyone else's and the puzzle's still beautiful and the gaping holes are a creative choice.

Road Trip should have just been titled "I Called the Mailroom".

WELL.

Everything is changing, changing, and by everything I mean that I, Danielle Lillian Randall, am going...

Camping?

I seriously hope that I manage to pull through unscathed and emerge a new, generally stronger person. I'm talking an Outward Bound, military school type transformation. Either that or I'll just lose my mind and rock back and forth silently for a week or so. But what's important is the company, and I have complete faith in that at least.

Anyway. J'adore Emerson for many reasons, the most recent being that they have sent me a book, namely L'Etranger by Camus. I need to read more, especially since the library is now a mere 4 minutes away from my house. Any and all suggestions are welcome, at least over the next 28 days or so until HP and the HBP is released and I retreat into 24 hour literary hibernation.

Linens N' Things has custody of me this weekend, hence I must retire.

Katie and Tom, Godspeed. You lunatics.

HOW?

My brother installed my air conditioner last night.

The Birds are back.

It took them MAYBE 12 hours to RE-build their nest, hatch some eggs, and start dive bombing the outside of my window for moth bodies, all while chirping LOUDER THAN EVERY OTHER BIRD IN THE FOREST.


Damn them.

In truths that she's learned.

Let's hear it for a fresh start in all regards.
Let's hear it for a new year, brown hair, and the good ones.
Let's hear it for new leaves that turn silver when it's going to rain, according to ancient African tribes that can jump without bending their knees.
Let's hear it for books and films and books that turn into films and vice versa.
Let's hear it for summer, but not for summer jobs that eat my life.
Let's hear it for keeping.
I love, and I've missed.

Karma.

It really feels like summer today, so Randalls were inspired to open the pool, which is basically a time capsule of sorts.

Looks like this is going to be much harder than I thought.

And if I could Edit/Select All/Undo a few things that I'm not proud of, and redo them the way they should have been done, I would in a heartbeat.

But there's nothing to be done except hope that all is not lost, and try to hold on but also let go at the same time.

It's a funny thing, friendship. I have yet to figure it out.

I wish I'd known.

No one mourns the wicked.

None of that side saddle stuff.

So there's this really grotesque animated ad that makes false promises of free iPods and features an unnecesarily lifelike cockroach scurrying around, and every time I see it out of the corner of my eye, I freak out a little bit.

Because nothing is more disgusting than a cockroach. Except for maybe Alec Baldwin, but on a different level. 

Someone should probably just give me an iPod.

Linens and Things should probably give me a check.

I've become the equivilant of a crack addict with this thumb chewing problem of mine. 

I think I want to make movies.

It's a good thing my career aspirations are attainable, realistic AND practical.

Welcome to Neverland, Children! Ahaha.

At the risk of speaking too soon, I think it is safe to say that things have been falling into place rather nicely, and as regular as I could expect them too. Which is restoring, and reassuring, for now at least.

Today was lazy, and, shock of shocks, RAINY, but I made the most of it by assisting some shower installers, evesdropping on said shower installers, learning where the water shutoff in my house is, vacuuming, catching up on 
some vintage Dawson's Creek, and slowly working my way through the array of baked goods that have accumulated in my house. I fit in a brief nap, before the chillin came over for a celebration.

Later on, we had a very elegant Family Dinner followed by two fierce, hour long games of Egyptain Ratscrew with Kristina, Page, Maya, Dan, and Ian that for me, resulted in 0 wins but a few damaged nerves in my right palm.

Boston with Lizzy in the morning, followed by a Saturday full of work and festivities to fill the void that my family will leave as they cart off to Falmouth for the weekend. Hopefully the weather will be less The Day After Tomorrow and more May.

Tell the folks at home.

Yesterday afer work, I was fortunate enough to attend the seniors' last Drama Club meeting, which was so surreal and wonderful and entertaining. I can't believe how grown up they all are.

What's even weirder is thinking about how grown up and old and in charge my darlingest "sophomores" are. Seems like only yesterday they were popping on oversized bows and letting me spit food all over them.

But I think what's weirdest for me is watching them gearing up for senior year, which still feels like yesterday, but somehow morphed into almost two years. And the fact that I look at all of them, and see how they've grown up, makes it blaringly obvious that I should have done the same, but I look at myself and see absolutely no difference. I guess it all depends on where you're looking from, but TIME absolutely kills me, and I cannot seem to comprehend its concept, try as I might. 

Basically, I'm so so so proud of all of you and everything that you've done, and although it's so different from the outside looking in, which you'll all find out in positively no time at all, it's amazing to watch it all unfold, and watch traditions be carried on and evolved.

"Time is chasing after all of us, isn't that right?"

Yes, well, the only problem is that I was never a very fast runner.

Anyway, gear up kids, because this weekend there will be some LONG ANTICIPATED watching of The Wizard of Oz while simultaneously playing Dark Side of the Moon. While I'm thinking of it, what's the record that, if you play it backwards, does something either cool or freakishly scary? 

But first I have to learn how to freaking CLOSE Linens and Things tonight, which means staying there from 5-10. God, I love the workforce so much.

Choose.

Well, I can atest to the fact that this Star Wars thing really is all that it's cracked up to be. I actually found myself relating themes from the movie to real life, which, I think, is what the Freaks do. I can't get over the genius that it took to think that whole saga up. I'm always so impressed with fantasy writers, because I have a hard enough time finding words to write about things that are actual, and to have the imagination to dream up alternative galaxies and worlds and languages in the manner of George Lucas, Tolkien, and JK Rowling and then have the ability to develop those ideas into such impossibly plausible books and movies is INSANE. JK Rowling, especially. God, I believe that wizards are real and that I'm missing out. Who knows how many times my memory has been modified? Um...I'm going to stop. 

I also realized that George Lucas is basically immortal, and so is everyone in Hollywood. Long after he's dead, people will STILL be talking about these movies, and the people in them. Millions of years from now, maybe even after the...Rapture (?), some aliens or whoever could find a time capsule with all sorts of movies in it, and they'll know who the stars of those movies were, too. Nobody's ever going to forget about Audrey Hepburn or Tom Cruise or Natalie Portman, because they've been so well documented and have somehow made a distinct impression on culture. They'll never be invisible, and they'll basically live forever through their movies, or books, or television shows, or what have you.

So, at the risk of sounding terribly Dark Side/power hungry/narcissistic... I want to be immortal, too. Now more than ever.

Freak Out.

I have officially moved out of UMass. It's official because my naked dorm was inspected by a power hungry RA who pointed out a few dust bunnies and proceeded to perch her sweaty self on my bed and watch as I swept them. Degrading? Maybe. Did I care? No.

Good bye, dustbunnies the size of my fist.
Good bye, Mutants.
Good bye, popcorn bedtime stories that just turned into blatant mockeries.
Good bye, Thirsty for the Atlantic Thursdays.
Good bye, Loser, Christine, Deb, Sir Nicolas, Linda, and all of the pixilized friends.
Good bye, Dihty Bihd, Natale the Scarecrow, and all of the other knick-knacks with names.
Good bye, Thstefanie.
Good bye, Professor Janice and Writing 112, aka The Class That Didn't Get It.
Good bye, Worcester Wednesdays and flavored soft serve holidays.
Good bye, Tuesday/Thursday Breakfast Club.
Good bye, Quiet Hours.
Good bye, Zen Garden and Cotton Eyed Joe Nightly Performances.
Good bye, Adorable Baby Ducks.
Good bye, "UCard".
But not good bye Samm, cause I love ya.
Also, not good bye American Politics...cause I still have to take that final.

...It's been real.

Hello, Summer? This should be interesting.

You fight to hold on, you fight to let go.

I have three days left of freshman year, of UMass in general.

Three days in which to write papers, study for tests, and transform the dorm back into a cinder block cell equipped with high speed internet.

Originally I had big, elaborate, profound realizations here. But I realized that they simply weren't worth it. Whatever. What's important is that I'm basically done and I can almost taste that dirty water. I can't prevent the inevitable now any more than I could have prevented it months ago.

So I'm going to continue writing papers and studying for tests and praying that Samm's back lesions do not lead to...well, I think we both know what skin lesions lead to, don't we? coughspithackpelvicexamssnortwheezelick

Annnnd there is a moth in the room. I will not rest until he has perished.

Aaaaaaayup.

Dry as a bone in the Sahara.

Every time I eat cotton candy (and I literally mean EVERY time, ever since I was like, five) all I can think of is its uncanny resemblance to fiberglass insulation and how much it would hurt if you got the two mixed up.

Icky.

A poster girl with no poster.

Your Birthdate: January 29

Your birthday on the 29th adds a tone of idealism to your nature.  You are imaginative and creative, but rather uncomfortable in the business world.  You are very aware and sensitive, with outstanding intuitive skills and analytical abilities.  The 29 reduces to 11, one of the master numbers which often produces much nervous tension.  This is the birthday of the dreamer rather than the doer.  You do, however, work very well with people.

Okay so after I did mine, I put in some of my friends' birthdays to see if they ALL sucked a little, but alas they do not. January 29th, way to be.

I am unbelievably ready for summer and even more unbelievably ready for fall. I'm getting the impression that both are going to be considerably different from last summer and last fall, which is kind of unfortunate and really wonderful, consecutively. I hear The Riverway is breathtaking in September..

Dreamer rather than a Doer? Yeah, we'll see. I don't think doer is even a real word.

It is May 1st. Shouldn't we all be dancing around a pole with ribbons? Was May Day the origin of exotic dancing?

Think lovely thoughts

This weekend was sublime.


Today was probably the most upsetting mix of crappy weather I have ever experienced. Is it raining? Is it windy? Is it sunny? Is it cold?


Whatever it was, I was not dressed for it. But it's fine.


I don't think I'll ever not be completely mesmerized by Peter Pan. And I mean this in the least Michael Jackson-y way possible. 


I drank a TON of water today, and for no good reason. I'm so hydrated.


You all really needed to know that.

Pinchez- Moi.

"...Since 1880, intelligent and talented students like you have used their Emerson College education to become leaders in their fields. We look foward to you becoming a part of this tradition of academic excellence, and we welcome you to a place where people believe in your dreams."

That just may be the most beautiful thing that I have ever read, ever in my life.


Emerson in the fall? Yeah, I love it!

Do you know?

I wonder if everyone's appeal is monitered by a meter, and you're only allowed to fool people into believing you're worthwhile for an allotted amount of time before it eventually runs out. Then it suddenly becomes glaringly obvious to everyone that you're not all you cracked up to be, so they set off in search of someone who just threw in a bunch of quarters.

Mine's out of order at the moment. No matter how hard I try, I can't seem to redeem myself.

It'd be nice if I could fix this.

J'adore 2.0

It is absolutely unreal how badly I wish I were going to France tomorrow.

I don't know if I've ever mentioned this before, but I really loved that trip.

And I want to go back.

Instead I'll probably just stay in Amherst and take a test on plagues and thank my lucky stars that I don't have a debilitating bacterial infection.

I'm thinking I'd endure the pus if I knew when I'd be able to see the inside of Notre Dame again.

I would love to be able to rewind, and clearly see where the past ended and the present began, where this now blatantly obvious change began to take effect, when I started to fall back instead of skip foward, and exactly when I began to lose the things that I so desparately wanted to keep.

I'll always separate France from everything else. It has to be that way, because nobody else can possibly understand.

I should have thrown my passport in the Seine when I had the chance. I would have made an excellent street robot.

Must we?

I used to wish I could be a ballerina.

I used to get so jealous of the good ones. The ones who had it, who could balance for years and turn a million turns without giving it a second thought. The ones who had both their splits, hyperextended knees, parallel first positions, no hips, teeny waists and strong arches. 

God, I tried. I tried so hard to stand up straight when I was already too tall, to strenthen my feet even though they were too big, and to force my belly button against my spine and try to breathe at the same time. I must have looked like the biggest oafish fool trying to straighten both of my regularly extended knees whole holding one fairly large foot in the palm of my hand, trying to get my leg above my hips in an arabesque, trying to get my legs into The Split That Barely Was, trying to pas de deux with a boy at least five inches shorter.

Oh, to be a fly on the wall. Picture it. Some of you probably don't have to, you were THERE.

Shudder.

If I were born different, maybe, with a higher metabolism so that I'd PEAK at 5'7, 105, with nonexistant hamstrings and turned out knees and delicate yet strong bony feet, maybe I'd be singing a different, less average tune.

I hate average. I hate it to a pulp, yet I feel like right now, that word describes me best. And I do not say this with any sort of self loathing, or disdain, just slight disappointment mixed with a dash of wistful and a pinch of amused.

Ballerinas are never average. They can't be. Or else everyone would be one. 

Sometimes similarites are so blatantly in your face obvious that you don't even realize that they're there.

I don't know where I'm going with this. I really don't think it even had a point. 

I think the bottom line is that in my next life, I'm going to be a stone cold, focused, dedicated, yet friendless prima ballerina. And then I will make a Venn diagram and compare my two lives, just to see which was more fulfilling. I think I know the answer, but you can never be sure about these things, now can you?

I'm kidding. Everyone needs friends. Everyone.

My serial killer classmate was popping hard candies like it was his job today. Big ones. Colorful ones. Sometimes three at the same time, different flavors. He still wears cowboy boots in spite of the weather, and he still thinks that just because he's 50, what he has to say is of equal validity as the professor. Which it is not.

I'm really not losing my mind, I promise, on the off chance anyone is still reading this garbage. I'm just feeling like a bit of an insomniac.

I caught an uncatchable fish.

In my Plagues class today it occured to me that my life may be in danger. And it's not cholera I'm worried about.

It's a MAN. He's about 50 and wears cowboy boots and a moustache and has a certain twang that could either be mid South or just hickey Western Massachusetts. And no matter where I sit, he always sits in front of me.

I absolutely believe him to be a serial killer. 

So I guess we'll see. But you heard it here first.

I practically dove willingly into a Very Deep Puddle today and positively soaked my left mesh Puma clad sneaker. I also had damp gloves and a blown out paisley umbrella. The picture of dishevlement.

But it's great because this afternoon was practically bathing suit weather and my writing professer had a SPECTACULAR ensemble (Brown, mid thigh length crushed velvet turtleneck dress under a brown blazer with ostentatious gold buttons, knee length brown boots, gold ornerments dangling from her ears and a gold flossy necklace) which I witnessed at 9:30 this morning when she peeled off her black fur coat and haven't stopped giggling since.

Plus it's already Tuesday which is basically Wednesday which is basically Friday.

Spring into Spring, my friends. Spring. Into. Spring.

Thanks, Holly.

The blues are because you're getting fat and maybe it's been raining too long, you're just sad, that's all. The mean reds are horrible. Suddenly you're afraid and you don't know what you're afraid of.



...and so it goes.

The Tewksbury Chainsaw Massacre

The Curse of Mary the Teal Van lives on.

Let me explain. Last summer Natale, Kristina, and I decided to go to the Solomon Pond Mall, because it was the easiest "good" mall to get to from Leominster, as there are several clearly labeled signs to guide weary travellers to the Mall. Plus, Mary wasn't doing so well, and had to take it easy, so a 20 minute drive was about all she could handle.

Well to make a long (and personally degrading) story short, the three of us visited the towns of Upton and Hopkington and went about thirty miles out of the way before finally seeking the aid of a police man in a parking lot to put us back on the appropriate highway.

Today Bill, Page, Kristina, and I decided to pop on over to Solomon Pond Mall to pick up some sunglasses. We assumed the lesson had been learned, and we would just follow the many obvious signs that direct the travellers and end up at the mall in the appropriate 20 or so minutes.

So we get engrossed in conversation and not only drive past our exit, but about 15 exits following our exit. We are now Lost. Not just lost, but Lost. As in 40 miles too far, Welcome to Tewksbury/Wilmington/NORTH READING kind of lost. Since we refuse to resort to asking a police man for directions to Solomon Pond Mall AGAIN, Kristina decides to pop into a Burger King and ask a freshly emigrated employee how to get back on the highway we needed. The kindly woman told us to take a right and go down, down, down the street ("you may think you lost, but you NOT") until we reached Wal Mart.

So it took an hour, once again. But this time we got to experience Tewksbury-It KICKS!, in all of its never ending glory. I have visited a fair amount of random Massachusetts towns trying to go to a mall that is 20 minutes and like 2 towns away.

Thus describes Mary's Curse. It has now affected both Natale and Kristina. I'm the only one left, and I can only IMAGINE where I'll wind up if I ever decide to drive to Solomon Pond Mall.

...Probably Rhode Island.

My mad existence.

There has GOT to be something I have to get done.

Of course there is. I'm just really excellent at tricking myself into thinking that there's nothing.

An interesting dieting technique for college students is living at the top of an abysmal hill. I'm starving right now. There is nothing to eat in my dorm except for dry plain cereal, Cheez Its, Ritz crackers, and Saltines. Since I also have nothing to drink, eating any of the above would probably just worsen my situation. So I'm just wasting away due to complete laziness and lack of desire to walk back up the hill. 

This is probably a very similar situation to the one that made the dodos extinct.

I think that if I had to pick one TV station to survive on, it'd be TBS.

Uh oh. Joey's having college troubles. Good thing Worthington U has the perfect programs for her, oodles of financial aid, a prime locale, and lovely dorms that feature stained glass windows and hardwood floors.

POOF! I DON'T WANNA WAIT...

Za za ew.

I am walking up a down escalator.

And I am le tired.

Procrastination has reached its peak.

Danielle
You are Danielle, aka Randy! You have been known to
wash the dishes in the shower and you have an
ecclectically decorated wall on which Audrey
Hepburn and William Wallace coexist in harmony.


Which 307 Roommate Are YOU?!

And then there was one.

XxDaninaXx [10:48 P.M.]: hm, i don't mean to gross you out or anything, but i feel you should know...
Sammo1386 [10:48 P.M.]: sure
XxDaninaXx [10:48 P.M.]: my bottom retainer is on the floor somewhere.
XxDaninaXx [10:49 P.M.]: probably under my bed.
XxDaninaXx [10:49 P.M.]: so be warned.
Sammo1386 [10:49 P.M.]: hahaha i'll look for it
Sammo1386 [10:49 P.M.]: lmao i see it
Sammo1386 [10:49 P.M.]: it's right next to natale under your bed
XxDaninaXx [10:49 P.M.]: does it look forlorn?
Sammo1386 [10:49 P.M.]: it looks like natale's pet, snuggled next to his arm
XxDaninaXx [10:49 P.M.]: aaahahahaa
Sammo1386 [10:49 P.M.]: kind of cute, i'll take a picture

...Just to clarify, we actually are NOT in the same room.

...Also, Natale is not actual Natale. He is the scarecrow that we got in September for a Gold Coin at Big Y that we named AFTER actual Natale and propped up in our paper recycling bin. But after break we decided to recycle paper so we laid Natale to hibernate underneath my bed like a corpse...

You know what? Forget it. It's actual Natale. The whole Florida thing is just a hoax, he's been sleeping on my cold dusty linty rug sheddy floor all this time. 

Yeah.

Red Hots.

I may die before I get everything that I need to do done.

Maybe if I didn't spend so much time downloading inspirational instrumental themes from movies to try and get myself motivated, things would be moving along a bit quicker.

They don't write music to get psyched up for draft work. But I'm ready to fight the English, go on a God-assigned killing spree, fly over the moon on a bike, visit a dinosaur-infested island, and kick off the Olympics.

So...here I go.

Dream on.

We've got kind of a junky reoccuring theme going on here.

Scares me just a little, because there's no definite end in sight.

I've learned My Lesson, okay??

Apparantly it's going to snow enough over the next few days to possibly end the world.

In The Day After Tomorrow there actually was another ice age and Dennis Quaid just laughed in the face of it, strapped on his snow shoes, and hiked from Washington D.C. to New York IN THE ICE AGE to fetch Jake Gyllenhaal.

I'm so lazy it revolts me. Why I just can't sit down and do all of the hyper-important things I have to do is beyond me. I know they're crucial. And yet somehow I manage wasting my life going back and forth between e-mail, blogs, and the damn Facebook.

At least I don't have amoebic dysentary. Or scabies. Or genital warts. 

Ick. 

I'm going to give up ice cream for Lent, which is something I have never done before, ever. On the off chance I make it, it'll be interesting to see what happens when I stop eating pints of ice cream. Maybe I'll morph into Audrey Hepburn, which could only help me in the long run.

I would give up sex with my overly attractive, witty, and existant boyfriend, but I really don't think I could make it. 

Oh man, I am just TOO MUCH.

Uncertaintea.

Skiing this weekend. And not Hurlyburly callbacks, but it was a fun offer. Restoring, if you will.

Superbowl, too, evidentally. I for one hope the Patriots win. I can't help but feel as though they have already won "The Game" simply by having Tom Brady on their team. It's been said before, and I will say it again. He should probably try to be more attractive and better at football.

I hate this limbo that I just sort of exist in, bouncing around without a sense of actual belonging anywhere. Neither here nor there.

And I wish that I knew for sure that it will end, and that I'll be able to really start whatever it is I'm trying to do. 

Because this is starting to get older every single day. And I really can't afford to fail. 

But I guess you learn to take life as it comes at you. And make each day count. 

I'm such a tool.

I'm quiet.

You Are Aurora! (A.K.A. Sleeping Beauty.)

Thoughtful and loving. Authority figures probably have been sheltering you all of your life. Thankfully you're a very tranquil person who is content with what life has given you, but secretly you want to know how the outside world works.

Which Disney Princess Are You?

There was a time when I wished my name was Aurora, because I thought Danielle was just much too masculine. I think I was maybe three.

Milanos are not just an afternoon cookie, contrary to popular belief. They are a "distinctive" breakfast, lunch, and dinner delicacy.

Grapefruit juice and toothpaste do not mix.

Just to clue you in, when I was just typing "juice" I started to type "joose". Hm.

I have to complete a "First Draft" of a "Paper". There is a reason why I've never done "First Drafts" before. They are lame. I for one enjoy a little risk in the paper passing in process.

Get a picture of that.

Kiss me, you fool.

My French class makes me feel violent.

The Sims 2 makes me question my integrity.

Bio of Plagues and Illnesses awaits me.

I just typed this with gloves on. Big ones.

A+.

Crime pays.

Apparently no amount of snow will prevent me from going to my first American Government and Politics lecture in roughly an hour.

For some reason fighting a blizzid to get to the Gershwin is way more appealing than fighting one to get to a lecture. On government. And politics.

Yesterday I had delicious chicken and potatoes and corn and cornBREAD. Now all that remains is 1/4 of a chicken carcass which has frozen in the refridgerator, which is on at max power to try and refreeze the ice cream. It's not working.

I wish The Sims were here.

I just got a letter containing a Plaza Suite article and my Secret Santa name which was sent by my mother in early December. Wow. Good thing it wasn't a kidney or something.

There has been a new hall light installed right outside my room. It creates a heavenly glow that only surrounds my room and the one across the hall.

It's Australia day. Says Luke.

Charlotte.

Well now it's official.

...

I'm losing my mind and the small amount of ambition that I have left. There is a reason why most people only do this application beastliness once. But c'est la vie. Or rather, c'est MA vie.

My right knee is being overly dramatic. Jell-O Sing and Dance Party 2005 is apparently just now taking its toll. I have tied a bag of ice which is now cold water around said joint using a lovely pink ribbon. This makes me classy and cancels out the bulky Smartwool/Pajama/Elderly Bathrobe ensemble that I have going on at the moment.

I have a total of 57 class days this semester. That's a little less than 2 months, total. I hope beyond all reason that they'll pay off in the long run, and maybe next year will be actual.

I should probably go shower and get on with today.

P.S. Please tell me that I was not the only one who saw the blonde schizophrenic on American Idol last night. I think I only really like that show when they have the horrid auditions.

Au revoir.

January has NEVER flown by so quickly.

Though I never really paid much attention to it in the past, I'm pretty sure the span of time between December 17 and January 17 has never passed so quickly, either. There has never been a better beginning or a better send off to any other month, ever. And I can't wait until next time. Because I can't help but hold on to the notion that every time will be like this time, and no matter how many months have gone by, we'll always just pick right back up where we left off. Because that is beautiful.

Yesterday Page, Kristina, Alison and I rented Sex and the City, season 5, and spent lots of time in Shaw's with the freezer open, deliberating Ben and Jerry's. Eventually the frozen pizza stocker decided our fate, and we spent a lovely afternoon huddled against the cold while eating ice cream. 

There really aren't too many things that are better than that.

Reflect.

I feel as though my entries have become predictably depressing and stupid, dumb, lame, whatever. So let's toss things around a bit.

Does anyone else find it odd that the only way that Massachusetts feels it can reach out to it's pregnant teenagers is to have a group of racially mixed kids surround a bewildered mother and perform a rap about baby safe havens?

Michael Jackson should probably just retreat into Neverland with his animals and his rides and stop making public appearances. He's scary and there is no need. He can leave the 80's music here though. And that Free Willy song, I guess, because as much as I am irritated by movies featuring a kid and their best animal pal, Free Willy really does tug at the heartstrings. I think it's because the kid was a roughian. I always felt bad for his foster parents.

Chocolate is definitely better in color. I wish I had that 3 pound bag of Christmas peanut M&Ms right now. I also wish Ian hadn't eaten the entire quart of Special Edition Edy's Peppermint ice cream, and the entire pint of Hagaan Daz Pineapple Coconut, and the box of Hood orange sherbet. I don't know why I included the offical titles of the frozen delights which I lack.

There are really a very lot of television stations. And an even larger lot of people like me, who think about things like the availability of television stations.

I am freaking box of nitroglycerin like in Crash Bandicoot. There was a time when I was obsessed with Crash Bandicoot, I will not lie. The Sims and I also had a fabulous relationship, once upon a time.

All you need is love. I never really believed that before, but all of a sudden it's completely true. Everyone just needs to be loved, and then everything else will just fall into place.

It says Outgoing Message.

I'm in love with this break. Seriously.

Last night I saw an E! True Hollywood Story on Young Royalty. Apparantly others have begun to realize what a catch Prince Harry is. I may have to move on to Prince Andrea of Monaco, who is also a stud, even though he is named after Ms. M. 

I went to an antique/random crap store today with my mom and Grandmaman. Unfortunately for me, it seems as though those garbage bags full of Beanie Babies in my attic will not fetch the millions I hoped they would.

Natale and Kristina and Alison came to play before their respective 6:00 engagements. We watched I Am Sam. Or at least the necessary scenes. I just remembered that we skipped the answering machine part. Rats.

I wish I could freeze everything exactly the way it is right this second, and keep it that way for awhile. Or maybe if I'm wishing for stuff, I'd freeze June and July and August and keep them for a couple of years.

And now it's time for ice cream, which, besides being delicious, also reminds us that it's impossible for anything to stay frozen forever, and if you want to keep eating, well then you just have to keep going back to the freezer for more.

...Maybe someday my metaphors will make sense.

This has got to be the disturbing accident.

I was sitting here, trying unsuccessfully to translate thoughts into words, when I suddenly realized that I was distracted.

By what, you ask?

Well, by the intense slurping noises made by my dog as he vigorously licked his nonexistant balls.

...

"Maybe our mistakes are what make our fate. Without them, what would shape our lives? Perhaps if we never veered off course, we wouldn't fall in love, or be who we are. After all, seasons change. So do cities. People come into your life and people go. But it's comforting to know the ones you love are always in your heart. And if you're very lucky, a plane ride away."

I think it is impossible to forget the ones you love.

It's snowing and it's beautiful. They don't get weather phenoms like this in the south.

Past the point.

When I was at "Whitney Field" yesterday, I encountered and recognized people that I remembered, but who thankfully didn't recognize me. Maybe it was that my hair's shorter, and yes, still darker, or maybe it was the fact that I have two eyebrows instead of one. Maybe I'm a little taller, my face a little older, or maybe I really was invisible for that year and a half, and they never saw me at all. Which could be, I think, the ideal in this particular situation. Back then, as much as I thrived off of recognition and longed for attention on the inside, outwardly I decided that it would be best to remain invisible for four years.

I don't know why I thought I could stick it out, because truly, if there is one thing I hate, it's being invisible. But why would they know that? To them, I'll probably always be "That girl...what was her name...the one who did the project on The Birds...". And that is fine fine fine by me.

Back then, I had no expectations. I wanted out, and I wished that time would just hurry up so I could end my annonymous existance. If you had told me five years ago that I wouldn't graduate annonymous and alone, but as the most uninvisible I have ever been in my life, with the most amazing group of people I have ever met, I probably would have peered out from under my eyebrow and weakly smiled without using my eyes. "Right," I would have thought. "The best years of my life? Sure." I would have rolled my eyes and gone to my seat in the front corner of the class, where I would have broken into cold, polyester sweats every time I was called on.

So I guess history repeats itself when you make the same mistakes twice, go figure. Here I am again, in a slightly less severe repeat of freshman year in high school. And yeah, maybe things just suck for me in the beginning. But now I know what all time highs feel like, and I remember what has to be done in order to stop being invisible, and all I want in these next few years is to get them back. I don't know what I'll be when I grow up, I don't know what will happen in the next few months, and let's face it, I don't know where I'll end up. I just want to graduate uninvisible, and live my life uninvisible, and when I think about it, I would do pretty much anything in order to make that happen.

So right now, with 2004 officially gone, and with it any ties to the best, happiest, most amazing year of my life so far, I'm here on the first of 2005, with uncertainty and a blank page to look foward to. I may have done some things for the last time, and there are some experiences I may never have again, and as sad as that makes me sometimes, I have to believe that there's something else, and I'll eventually become who I'm meant to become.

Here's to the all time highs...and to the hope that someday I'll get them back again.

Oh yeah...and here's to Divas Live!, A Decade of Song and Video, dancing, singing, and those beautiful friends that I'm always talking about.