Sometimes I wish I were a three-year-old boy

Or, at least, that I had one readily available.
Today would be one of those days. See, on Friday, we realized that our plumbing wasn't working quite right; whenever you did a load of laundry, the water backed up into the basement sink. It was kind of weird. So we called the plumber.
After spending ALL day at our house yesterday, the drain guy determined that we needed an excavator to dig out the sewer. Or something.
This morning I woke up to lots of "beep! beep!" sounds, of what turned out to be a backhoe backing up. Or maybe it was some other kind of truck. (By the way, I would never ever ever recommend getting the stomach flu on a day when your house happens to have no plumbing. It ain't pretty.)
But anyway, today we had all sorts of really cool construction trucks plus a REAL LIVE policeman on detail, all in front of our house, digging holes in the ground so that we could flush our toilets. This is vaguely cool if you are a twenty-two year old at home in bed with the flu. If you are a three-year-old boy, however, life just doesn't get any better than that. So I wished I knew some who lived in Cambridge. Unfortunately, my stash of three year old boys is currently in Hanover.
Oh, well.

Hearty and Delicious

Hearty and Delicious. That is what I am.
Actually, I think that it is kind of distasteful to use food adjectives to describe people. Lentil soup, on the other hand, IS hearty and delicious. And the other day, I made some.
I started out by chopping up some carrots, onions and garlic:


(I also peeled some potatoes and cut them into half-inch chunks, but I didn't take a picture of that.)
Then I cooked some bacon in olive oil in a big pot, and added all the vegetables to that:


Once the onions were soft, I measured out a pound of lentils (posing with the chicken broth that is going to be added in JUST A MINUTE! Isn't cooking just so EXCITING?)


Then I added the lentils to the veggies, and poured in the chicken broth. ACTION SHOT:


Then I let it cook. And it looked like this:


I decided that I like my lentil soup thick and stewy, so I added an three-quarters of a cup of lentils. This was a mistake, as now I need to add water to the soup every time I reheat some. I also whirled the soup with a stick blender to make it thicker and stewier. This was not a mistake.
Also, I cooked some collard greens and served them with the soup. That also was not a mistake. It was delicious.
Eating this many green beans in one sitting is, however a mistake. And that is saying a lot, since I love green beans.


You can find the recipe for lentil soup here on Epicurious. I love that website. And the internet, for that matter. I added bacon to the recipe, because I like smoky meat in my lentil soup. Next time I might add a little sausage, as well. I also would have added kale instead of collards, but they didn't have any at the grocery store when we went at 11 o'clock on a thursday night.

I'm still here

I'm still here, but it's two days before Christmas, and I haven't bought a single present yet! What's a girl to do?
NOT update her blog, is the answer. I have to get shopping!
Updates later, I promise. Including, but not limited to: forging signatures of famous people, my mom's birthday, and lentil soup! I bet you can't wait!

On Kittens and Domesticity

I got home two days ago, right in time for the worst snowfall in a while. We got at least a foot. In BOSTON.
As a result, I spent yesterday trapped inside my house. I used the time quite productively. I made dinner, did laundry, and watched Bionic Woman.
I also noticed that Sooki, our kitten, has yet to fully grasp the concept of cleaning herself. (She has also yet to grasp the concept of not being a huge pain in the ass, but that is another post for another day.)
And so, today, after beginning the domesticity by baking a baguette (it wasn't rock-hard, but not exactly amazing, either), I endeavored to help the cat out. So I gave her a bath.
And you know what? Neither of us died.
I would consider that a success.
Even though she still stinks.

That's It. I am officially crazy.

I have officially turned crazy.
"But Abbie," you say, "you've always been crazy. It is one of your many multitudinous charms!"
That may be so, but NOW, now I've turned into one of those people who talks about their health all the time. Even in their blog.
Here are the ailments that have afflicted me in the past three weeks:
-MRSA
-Weird Cold Thing that had no cold symptoms but did come with a truly attractive swollen neck and a fever that made me think the MRSA was killing me.
And Now:
Strange Spot Disease. My entire upper body, including the palms of my hands, is covered in itchy red spots.

And it's all I can talk about. Maybe I'll take a break from posting and come back when I have something actually interesting to say.

Or maybe not.

EDIT: James requested a picture of my spotted hand. This is the best photobooth + the library light can provide. I swear it's worse than that in real life.

Oh, It's Bad

I am currently sitting on my bed, an open pizza box by my side, my abnormal psych textbook open to the substance abuse chapter, my computer blasting Holly Near. And I'm wearing sweatpants.
Oh, finals, what did you do to me?

Makes Me Wish I Was Five

Remember Quints dolls? You know, the five tiny little baby dolls? All their accessories were stuck together, so you got a carriage built for five, or a highchair built for five, complete with five spoons stuck together?
They were awesome.
Anyway, I just discovered this on ebay.
And part of me wants to buy it.
I'm trying to resist.
Really hard.

Oh, Finals, you have come again.

Today, instead of doing laundry, I went to the Gap and bought six pairs of socks. Given the fact that they seemed to be running out, I suspect that I am not the only person who's been doing this.

Relief

So, last night, I didn't fall asleep until about 2:30 (and that was only after taking Nyquil and curling up in my papasan chair with the extremely soporific December issue of Vogue magazine).
Why, you ask?
Because I thought I was dying.
Now, anyone who knows me knows that I am sort of a huge hypochondriac, and I often think I'm dying. But this time, I had a legit reason to be scared: I have MRSA, a medication-resistant staph infection. While all of my spots were healing, one of the first signs that MRSA is in your blood is if you get a fever. And I had a fever and nasty swollen glands, but no sore throat, so it was unlike any cold I'd ever had. So I was kind of scared.
This morning I went to the doctor, where I told them that I had MRSA and a fever, and they pushed me up and gave me a REAL doctor, not a physician's assistant or a resident. She took about five seconds to look at me and tell me I had a cold. And that I should keep taking nyquil.
I personally find the details of other people's health kind of boring, so let me apologize for sharing here, but when you are afraid that you are going to die, or at least be in the hospital for a couple of days, it's really nice to find out that all that's really wrong is that you have a cold.

I really love school.

Remember how I hate writing papers? Well, guess what I have to do for tuesday at 6?
That's right! My most favorite thing of all. Except this time, I have to have ten pages. Not a measly five, which I can totally handle. Nosirree. Not for this class no way. I have to write ten pages about education in Micronesia. Aren't you jealous? 'Cause I would be.
I have a paragraph. That is a start. Unfortunately, though, I also have a fever. Boo.

Remember How I Liked My Hair? I Lied.

You know, as soon as she brought out the texturizing shears, I got wary. Very wary. See, my hair is two things: it is incredibly frizzy, and it's incredibly poufy. All on its own. Without someone cutting little pieces off at random to "open up the curl and give your hair some shape." So now it is poufy. Extra poufy. With a side of frizz.
I still have some sort of idiotic faith that if I find the right product, it will get better. I'm losing that faith, though.

Don't y'all love it when I talk about my hair? Doesn't it just fill your hearts with gladness and your minds with interest?

I so am that person

I got to this cafe at 11:30.
I have gotten up from my chair to:
pee
talk to my dad when he called
order lunch at the cafe (I ordered my breakfast before I sat down)
order a slice of cake
I can totally do this. It's kind of fun, this working all day and night thing.
But I think the cafe people think I'm creepy.

Wow.

So, one of the reasons that I've decided that I need a new digital camera is that the LCD display on mine broke. I could look at pictures I'd already taken, but I couldn't use it to set up a new shot. It was very strange and mysterious.
Last night, someone was using my camera to take a picture. I explained the problem and that she would have to use the viewfinder.
"Nope. I fixed it!"
"YOU DID? HOW?"
"I pressed the 'display' button and the display showed up again."

Technology is so very tricky.

A Thought

People who talk to themselves in the library are weird.

I am bored, I can't think of a title

I got a haircut. I look solemn and annoyed in that picture. That is because I have homework, not because I don't like my haircut. I LOVE my haircut.
I DO NOT, however, love heart palpitations. I'm also not a big fan of MRSA. I have both at the moment.
Come on, body, it's finals. Can't you give me a break?

I am addicted

The doctor told me yesterday that I might have acid reflux.
After crying about this, I decided to take action, and not drink any coffee today.
It wasn't until about ten minutes ago that I realized that that may have been why I've had a nasty headache all day.
A normal person's reaction would be to recognize that one is going through coffee withdrawl, take some advil, and move on.
Mine? To get the biggest cup of my caffeinated friend sold on this campus.

Pronunciation is Important

I am currently sitting in a group meeting. We keep talking about the Hague.
Except that all the other members of the group pronounce it the Hog.
I could be wrong, but I think that that is a bad pronunciation.
And it is bothering me.

That is all.

Sooki

In other news, we got a kitten.
It's weird to write about stupid stuff like kittens when someone just died. Sooki, however, has been helping out around here. Whenever I get grumpy (I feel like I don't really deserve to be sad since Liz and I had grown apart and we're not, like, family or anything, and then I get conflicted, because she was an amazing person and she didn't deserve to die, and then I get grumpy because I'm conflicted, but that's more about my feelings than you really needed to know), Sooki comes up, clawing her way up my legs, and starts playing with my finger. She hasn't figured out that it's just a finger yet. She thinks its a wild animal.
She also enjoys doing this while you try to sleep. Then it isn't as cute.

A Friend Indeed

My friend Liz died on Monday.
Liz was my best friend in fifth and sixth grade, that time when friends are so crucial, but really good friends are hard to come by.
I switched to Catholic school for seventh grade, and Liz stayed at the public school. As often happens, we grew apart, and until this past September, I hadn't seen her in four or five years.
But we had a lot of fun together. A whole lot of fun.
The first "big-kid" sleepover I ever went to was at Liz's house. Liz, our friend Margaret and I stayed up until four or five in the morning, reading her big sister's Cosmo and watching Waterworld. I had never read Cosmo before, and I had never seen as sophisticated a movie as Waterworld. Liz had a big sister, so she knew about these things. At Liz's house, we could watch GROWNUP movies. You know, quality cinema.
Liz, her younger sister Siobhan, Margaret and I had a village in Liz's basement. A real-live village. Everyone had a house, made out of old storm windows, sheets, pillows, and whatever else we could find. Everyone also had a business. Liz had a cafe. I tried to have a cafe, too, but it didn't work out so well- while I was selling water and pretend food, Liz bought penny candy at the (real) corner store and sold that and soda. Eventually, we started paying real money for it. The other day, we realized that she was running a company store. She had a monopoly on that little village.
Liz's family has a house in the White Mountains, and Dewey and I went there with them several times. One summer, my dad took Dewey, Siobhan, Liz and Me there for a week. My mom stayed at home. Unfortunately, she came down with a bad bout of diverticulitis while we were up there, and so my dad and all four kids had to schlep home, and then back to New Hampshire, a couple of times. Every time, Liz would sit in the car, working on her mancala game. She figured out how to win in one move, but then it became her goal to figure out how to get every single bean in her pot in one move. She would take out her mancala board in the car, set it up, try something, write the results down in her notebook, and then try something a little different. She would do this for hours.
That was the thing about Liz then, and from what I have learned spending time with her and her family these past couple of months, now, as well: everything she did, she was committed to. Which made it really wonderful to be her friend. I was lucky to have known her when I did, and I was lucky enough to get to reconnect with her in these past few months. She will be missed greatly.

Discovery

I have talked before about my love for Holly Near. The problem with loving Holly Near is that a lot of the albums that I grew up listening to were never put onto CDs, so I was destined never to get to listen to some of my favorite songs.
UNTIL, the other day on a whim, I googled one of my favorite songs. And then I discovered the Vinyl Preservation Project. And now I can listen to Holly Near! On my computer! And a whole bunch of other artists, too!
Boy oh boy do I love the internet.

Vulnerability

I've realized recently that I feel the most vulnerable when I've done something I'm not proud of.
Does that make sense? I get more worried that people don't like me or that people find me annoying when I've done something mean or when I've gossiped about somebody than any other time.
It's just my conscience trying to tell me to be a better person, I guess.

Illustrious readership of five, when do you feel vulnerable?

Formalities.

The sororitee had its formal on Saturday.
It was fun. Although not eating + a lot of drinks + tall shoes = a slightly awkward situation.



The best thing about fall formals is that they are at a beautiful building right near the sororitee. So when you get sleepy, you can leave.



Which is not to say that I had a lot of fun. I did. And also I did my hair like Whoorl taught the internet to. And it looked pretty.
I love the internet.

Oh NO!

I have a skin tag on my eyelid.
If I weren't afraid of cutting a hole in my eyelid, I would totally cut it off right now.
Skin tags are gross.
But holes in eyelids are yuckier.

I have nothing better to do.

I am supposed to be writing a paper. It is on PTSD in children exposed to violence through war, domestic abuse or street violence. Sad topic, but interesting, no?
I do not have a word down. Not a word. Because writing papers is the bane of my existence. Seriously. I hate doing it more than I hate anything else at all.
It's not even the actual writing of the papers that bothers me so much. It's the idea of writing them, the possibility that I will make an argument that makes no sense, or that I do not have enough information to actually write a paper. I am constantly second-guessing myself and procrastinating and turning them in late whenever possible. It physically hurts, and I hate it.
I have to hand this paper in tomorrow, and I have to do it before Manoli gets here at 2. Ideally, I will finish the damn thing tonight.
In order to do that, though, I have to start. And starting is the most painful part of all.

I am not a medical expert

Google does not seem to understand that I don't know anything about medicine. Pancreases, to be specific.
The number one search term that leads people to my blog is "bruised pancreas." Is that not a little odd? 'Cause, you know, I wrote a post a while back about my sister's totally badass bruised pancreas. And as it turns out, that post is the fifth link google gives you. Which is HIlarious for me, not so much for the people with badass injuries.
Internet, you need to provide the poor people with of this world with more information about their pancreases.

P.S. I don't think I ever told the story about how The Girl became totally OBSESSED with Dewey's bike accident. It was her favorite story. She liked to tell it like this:
"And then Dewey was riding her bike near her house when my car went BANG and Dewey fell off her bike and she got a dirty cut on her leg and also she hurt her PANCREAS!"
I'm not really sure why, but it was always very important to her that my sister crashed into her car. (Which she didn't, by the way.)
P.P.S. People also come to my blog by searching for "My Ginormous Boobs." Sorry, once again, no help here.

Adolescence

My current facebook status:
Abbie is. . . existential crisis averted.

I just had a minor freakout about where I would be next year and what I would do with my life and how society forces me to think, at 22, about when I want to have children and whether I want to be a brilliant political reformer or a brilliant mother.

I need to grow up.

Advice to people in the library

Whispering "shhhhhh!" at your ringing cell phone does not work.
But wouldn't it be cool if it did?

At least no one died

I babysat five children last night.
Yes, that's right, five children, all at once.

I think that all five readers of my blog know by now that I love children. (Especially since all five of my readers know me in real life. But whatever.)

But five? That's a lot.

Word of Advice

If you are going to try to make a caramel sauce for the first time ever, do not:
1. Do it without reading a recipe, assuming that if you heat up butter and sugar. it'll probably all work out.
2. Have an emotional crisis in the middle of making it, thus preventing yoursel from noticing that the sauce is emitting noticable burned odor.

Just in case you were thinking about doing it, you know.

Good Day

Do you ever have one of those days where you're all upset over something totally inconsequential, but then you talk it out, or a friend is nice to you, and you realize that really, everything's okay?

I like days like that.

My Friends are Helpful

Me: RSVP to my party [on facebook]
tell me that you can't come
or that you can

David: why?

Me: because when people don't respond
it looks like I have no friends

Me: also,
if you RSVP no,
please write something kind and apologetic on my wall
so it looks like people want to be my friend
I mean on the event wall

David: has anyone ever told you you're neurotic?

Me: like "Oh man, that looks like a totally sweet party! I wish I could make it, but I'm going to be stuck in california this thanksgiving. We should all hang out in December, though."

David: you're neurotic

Hypocrite

Emma, she of the "I always do my work before it's due, and I just can't stand those people taking up space in the library because they put off their work until the last minute,"just told me she was bored.
"You are already done studying for the Ed quiz tomorrow?" I innocently ask.
"No. I'm procrastinating."

HA! Caught you red-handed!

In Praise of the Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich

After a pathetic run this morning, I came back to my room, with about thirty-seven things on my to-do list before I could go get some breakfast.
But I was STARVING. That deep in your tummy, I can't do anything until I eat kind of starving. Which was kind of a dilemma, given my to-do list. But then I rememberd that, while I was home last weekend, I made a stop at Trader Joe's, where I picked up some of their delicious organic peanut butter and some rasberry jam. I got all the ingredients out, and in about two minutes, I had a perfect breakfast. So filling, so comforting, just perfect.

Whoops.

I feel a little bit bad about missing two days of NaBloPoMo, but not really that bad, since I had a midterm. Also, when Emma writes about you, do you really need to post to your own blog?

Who Knew?

I just forced myself to finish my (actually rather tasty) spinach salad at dinner, and now I am too full to eat chocolate.
Who knew that eating healthy foods would actually help you to avoid unhealthy foods?

On a different note, I just sneezed, then someone else in the library sneezed, then I sneezed again. It was kind of like sneeze-tennis.

Let's Go Driving In My (Dad's) Car Car

Picture it: 22-year-old me, still learning how to drive, going for a practice run in my dad's truck, with my mom in the front seat and my dad in the back, in the jump seat.
Now let's take into account the fact that my parents are separated.
Nothing like a Sunday morning driving lesson with a twenty-two-year-old student who is on her third learner's permit (the other ones expired before I could get around to getting my license) and a separated mommy and daddy.

I feel that my family is a little weird.

So Many Adventures!

I had about three hundred adventures today, including buying makeup, eating at McDonald's, and losing my mom in a movie theater. I could tell you all about any of those things, but instead I will wine.
Instead of NaBloPoMo, for me, this should really be NaBloWhiMo.
Get it? National Blog WHINING Month?
Hahahahaha! I am SO FUNNY!
All I'm whining about today, though, is how I want a new camera. The LCD screen on my old one died, and it is old and slow, and now I want the Canon SD1000, because it is pretty. And relatively inexpensive.
That's all.
(I found my mom, by the way.)

A Story from a Bus Ride

The Mean Mean Lady

By Abbie, with some help from Lesley

We waited for the bus in Hanover, forced to listen to an obnoxious girl talk to her best friend on the phone for fifteen minutes.

“Oh, my Gawd! Hahahahahahahaha!!!! Can we SAY passive aggressive?”

As we wait, trying to tune out the din of her annoying words, we notice that the line of passengers waiting for the bus is getting longer than usual. We are a bit concerned, but we’ve both survived Thanksgiving travel on the Dartmouth Coach, so we think we’ll be okay.
We get on the bus, and it’s so crowded, we are forced to sit together, but that’s okay, ‘cause we don’t mind talking. Five minutes later, we arrive in Lebanon, where we de-bus to purchase our round-trip tickets. We notice that there are also a lot of people waiting in Lebanon, but it’ll be okay, we figure. How naïve we were.
“There are quite a few people waiting to get on the bus, so please leave a personal belonging on your seat to mark that someone is sitting there. Please do not block off the seat next to you.”
Being good little citizens, we leave our backpacks on our respective seats before the de-bussing begins. (Can you tell I like to say de-bussing?)
We wait in line, purchase our tickets, and then get back on the bus.
“Hmm. That’s funny,” we think, “there aren’t any empty seats. We definitely left a backpack on each one.”
THEN we notice the Mean Mean Lady scowling at us.
“Um, excuse me, but I think we were sitting here.”
She has shoved our backpacks and water bottles and other detritus all onto one seat. Does she seriously think that only one person could have that much stuff?
“WELL,” she says, scowling some more, “they shouldn’t sell tickets when they clearly don’t have enough seats. This really sucks for those of us who get on in Lebanon.”
Finally, she gets up, to go complain to the bus drive
Refusing to get off the bus, she stands in the front, forcing everyone to squish past her to get to their seat. After every passenger is comfortably situated, the bus driver comes to the realization that he will have to move the cooler of pretzels and water from the front seat so that she and a quite large man could sit down.
“I’m going to have to put the pretzels and movie headsets under the bus, so if anyone wants them, please come and grab one now.”
As we are pulling out, the bus driver makes his announcements.
“Hello, I’m David Harrison, and I’ll be your bus driver today. Today we’ll be showing SOMETHING LIKE HOME, starring Kathy Bates. You can listen in on your headsets. I hope you all have them, because now they are under the bus.”
Lesley turns to me.
“I think the Mean Mean Lady should have had to hold the pretzels and headsets on her lap.”
I think so, too, Lesley, I think so, too.

I am in a terrible mood

people are annoying. They piss me off, and so I pick fights with them.
The end.

Happy NaBloPoMo!

Holy Shit

Comet is down again.
WHY, Dartmouth, WHY?
Everyone else's email works, just not mine. Damnit damnit damnit.

Also, click on the second link. It's funnier.

Important, Yet Dangerous, Discoveries

I have made two important, yet dangerous, discoveries recently:
1. They sell baggies of chocolate-covered espresso beans at Novack, the snack bar in the library.
2. You can use the built-in webcam on MacBooks to RECORD VIDEOS on people's facebook walls.

In other news, I just realized that I don't know what I want to be when I grow up. Enlighten me, oh internet- what should I do with my life?

I am a Fashion Guru; All Hail My Magnificent Words

As I was reading the October issue of Vogue that I left in the sororitee bathroom well over a month ago, I was struck by a thought:
Ankle boots are ugly. All who where them look like they are trying to hard to be trendy and fashionable. No one should wear ankle boots.
Now go, my people, and spread the good word of your guru who, incidentally, has dirty hair and is wearing a sweatshirt she rescued from the trash-bound clutches of her cruel, unfeeling mother. Five years ago.

Crazy, or Just Pathetic?

I am sitting in my room, clutching a Boston Red Sox bear, watching the Red Sox-Rockies game on gameday (not even on a t.v. Just on my computer screen), screaming at my computer.

This is not normal.

So What if it was Really Short?

I just went for a run. In the rain. The pouring rain.
I am SO hardcore.

Ode to Dustin Pedroia

Dear Dustin Pedroia,
I love you very much.
You are very talented
at baseball.
Especially when you get
a three-run double.
That makes me
happy.
Dear Dustin Pedroia,
Will you marry me?

Either I am crazy or I would make a good housewife

I just spent an hour doing dishes.
It was kind of fun.
Also, I feel very satisfied now.

Things I was thinking about during my Abnormal Psych midterm today

My red fingernails.
My CVS shopping list.
The song that Alpha Xi sings at round 1 of rush, to the tune of Build Me Up Buttercup.
What I would eat for lunch before going to CVS.
Occasionally, Abnormal Psychology.

Freshman girls are obnoxious, but freshman boys are clueless

There is currently a freshman boy (I can tell he's a freshman by the kind of computer he has) sitting about fifteen feet away from me in the library, listening to music on his computer. Without headphones. This means that WE ALL get to listen to his weird moany music.
Earlier, a freshman boy carried on a conversation on his cell phone, and didn't even realize it was not really appropriate until I laughed at him. (I seriously didn't mean to laugh at him. It just kind of. . . came out.)

We do love God around here

"Aaaaah! You guys! No touching! Leave room for the Holy Spirit!"
"Calm down, Abbie. There is plenty of room for the Holy Spirit. In fact, the Holy Spirit has a freakin' condo in between us."

Back to our regularly scheduled programming.

I'm glad all of my readers loved Ode Week so much, they were compelled to comment so much! I was going to write an ode to the comments I got from Ode Week, but here's how it would have gone:








Yeah, that's right. It would have been an empty ode, lacking in everything, because NOBODY LIKED MY ODES! The Ode to Comments is empty, like my heart. Which is empty due to the lack of ode loving.

Ode to the Red Sox

Dear Red Sox,
You are so very dear.
Especially when you win.
That makes my heart
happy.
Dear Red Sox,
thank you for winning.
It was beautiful how you
kicked Cleveland's ass.
Dear Red Sox,
I love you.
Will you marry me?

Ode to Harold from Top Chef

Harold from Top Chef,
I think I am in love
with you.
I have had a crush on you
from the get-go.
You can cook
and you are shy
and kind of adorable.
Will you marry me?

Ode to the Blister on my Foot

Dear Blister,
I got you walking from my house to my favorite spot
to eat breakfast.
I was wearing my new shoes from Target,
the ones that are
so cute and only cost $22.95.
But now, damn blister,
I am stuck here. I cannot walk home
because if I do, you will pop and maybe even
bleed.
Dear Blister,
You are not Dear at all.
In fact,
I hate you.

Ode to the String Cheese I Bought at Topside

Note: I have decided to make this week Ode Week. I enjoy a good Ode every now and then, so, logically, my multitudinous readership will as well. Since I didn't write an ode yesterday, I will try to get a second one in tonight. Also, Topside is the campus convenience store.
Oh, dear string cheese.
You were an impulse buy
while I was trying to find vegetable oil or butter to make Emma's birthday cake.
I saw you and I thought
"people on weight watchers sometimes eat you because you are a 'healthy' snack."
I know your secret, though.
Really, you have a lot of fat and salt.
But you are delicious anyway.
And also stringy.
I ate some of you for inspiration.
And I was inspired.

Ode to a Dress from the Gap

Oh black dress that cost forty dollars at the Gap.
How I love you so.
I can wear you to the beach or to class.
Even though you have a little hole in the back from when I snagged you on a door the first time I wore you,
You are still great.
I can wear you with a shirt.
I can wear you without a shirt.
I can wear you to take care of The Girl.
Although sometimes I worry that you are a bit revealing for that.
Oh, Dress, even though you make me look a little hippy in the picture that I took,
I love you anyway.

It's That Time of Year Again!

I just spent an hour making PINK! SPARKLY! NAMETAGS! for sorority rush.
Sorority girls, three-year-old girls- it's all the same really.

So Many Germs

I thought I'd made it through a summer with The Girl (she of the low muscle tone and near-constant colds) without getting sick once (except for the strep throat incident, but that doesn't count 'cause I was REALLY sick, not just all stuffed up and generally cold-y) because I was STRONG! And I had BUILT UP MY IMMUNITIES! (Wow. Two sets of parentheses in one sentence. I win.)
This is not the case.
A week after I get back to Dartmouth, home to five thousand eighteen- to twenty-two-year-olds, I am sick. Not in a little way. In a my voice sounds funny and yesterday when I tried to make a comment in class I had to stop because the snot running down my face was a little distracting way. It's not pretty.
At least I can find comfort in the fact that at least a thousand other Dartmouth students have this nasty nasty cold, too.

I am being 22.

Note: I haven't had my computer for a couple of days, and Oh! How I have missed the internet! But anyway, I wrote this post a couple days ago. It's kinda whiny and all "who am I?" But if you don't think these things when you're 22, when else? I'll be back to my regularly scheduled thoughts on shoes and the sororitee tomorrow.
Do you ever try to compare yourself to someone who seems, in every aspect that matters, to be better than you? Maybe they are smarter, more successful, better looking, "cooler," more stylish, who really cares, just better. Usually, you can justify your existance to yourself with the thought that "no matter how great they are, I'm nicer!"
But then you start thinking about that, and then you start wondering, is that just an illusion? Am I not really as nice as I think I am? Really, deep down inside, am I secretly a mean and nasty person? Or maybe not even so deep down. Maybe my whole self-image is false; maybe I am just as mean as all those people out there who I think I'm better than.
Then what do you have?
It's kind of a dilemma.

Or maybe I'm the only one who thinks about that sort of thing.

Note to Self

Watching the Democratic Debate while tipsy makes it difficult to decide who to vote for.

And I'm Back

Back at school, back at school.
This is mostly good, but while writing my resume and saying hello to everyone I haven't seen all summer, I have noticed two slightly worrisome things: First, I don't do anything interesting with my time and I may not ever get a worthwhile job OR get into grad school, and second, I don't know any male persons at Dartmouth.
I think I need to get a life. Living in the sororitee has had a definite negative effect on my life-having skills.
Oh, well.

I have a new favorite t.v. show

How come I haven't read about The Pickup Artist anywhere? How come I had to come upon it the hard way, while channel-surfing one night? WHY, internet, WHY?
From the host, Mystery, to their weird language ("negging," and "kino," and let's not forget how important it is to "bounce"), this show is a brilliant piece of television genius.
I love it.

The End of an Era

Wednesday was my last day with The Girl. It was sad.
See, I am going back to school soon, and then I will graduate. I don't think I'll be coming back to Boston after college, and even if I did, I would need to get a job with things like health insurance and the ability to look good on my resume so I can get into grad school.
So I'm not going to ever be her nanny again. While I'm pretty sure we'll stay in each other's lives, it's not the same. She is an amazing child, and she has changed my life in so many ways, and I will miss her.

Score One for Good Music

"Hey, The Girl, which do you like better, The Beatles or The Wiggles?"
"The Beatles!"

As bad as I feel for brainwashing her, at least I don't have to listen to the Wiggles anymore.

Eight Years Ago, I Went a Little Bit Crazy

Eight years ago today, I started high school. (The date was always easy to remember because I started 9th grade on 9/9/99). Now, of course high school is significant for everyone, but my high school was special. As in, it was weird.
Before I had even visited the school, my parents used to joke that it would be a perfect fit for me, because Commonwealth was where the weird kids went. On the first day of eighth grade, I walked into the school to get an application, and I immediately knew that they were right. I needed to go there.
One of the things that made Commonwealth special was that it was hard. Really hard. And we liked to talk about it a lot. Which of course made it more stressful. But it was also tiny, and really nerdy, and yes, most of the students were, in fact, weird. (I was still the weirdest, though. By a fair amount.)
The best part about Commonwealth, however, was the people. At Commonwealth, you formed friendships that were different from the friendships my college friends have with their high school classmates. Most of my best friends (with the exception of friends from the Sororitee, and certain other places) are still the people I went to high school with.


My friends and I sometimes talk, only half-jokingly, about being those crazy people thirty years later who are still obsessed with their high school. If, thirty years from now, we are still obsessed with Commonwealth, it will only be because we realize how lucky we were to go there, and to meet the people we did.

Oh, the Treasures to Be Found

I have undertaken a gargantuan task. I have decided to clean out my closet.
Now, it should be noted that I moved into this bedroom right after we renovated the house, when I was seven. So there is fifteen years worth of mostly-unsorted junk in there. This means I sometimes find some amazing items. Like these:

Let me tell you, in second grade, Santa Claus Troll-Doll earrings were the shit.

The Long-Awaited Toilet Post!

Hello, friends. Long time, no blog.
I am still feeling uninspired, but I thought I might stretch the old blogging muscles and write about a toilet.
As I said, a couple of weeks ago, The Girl and I went to the Boston Children's Museum. It was quite fun, and The Girl did an amazing job climbing in the beautiful new, three-story, climbing structure. (When I was little, the Children's Museum had a similar climbing structure, designed by the same architect, and my family called it The Cage for Wild Children. I was terrified of the thing and would refuse to go in it.)
The Girl's brave climbing performance, however, was not the most impressive part of our adventure. That prize would go to the toilets at the Children's Museum.

Why the green handle, you ask? What makes them so special? Well, luckily for you, I took a close-up (several actually, since I couldn't get a perfect picture) of the plaque explaining it all:

I like how they tell you to flush up for #1 and down for #2, and then explain what number one and two are. Why bother using numbers in the first place?
Also, The Girl asking, as we walked into the bathroom on a subsequent visit (these ten-hour days I've been working before school starts demand things like frequent trips to museums) if she would get to flush down instead of up this time? Priceless.

OH NO

Oh no.
My Chia Pet widget died! I took such good care of it! I don't know what happened!
I feel like such a failure.

Emily Wants a New Post

But I don't have anything clever to write about. And I am lazy. So here are some interesting tidbits about my life:
1. A couple of weeks ago, I had a dream that I went to this person's new house for a party. I was not invited to this party, nor have I ever met this person in my life. Best of all, I wasn't just planning on going to the party, but also on staying at her house for a couple of days. When I got there, she treated me like I was crazy and I realized that I was crazy and I was very embarrassed. I still feel kind of embarrassed every time I read her blog. Which makes me crazy, I think. You know, for feeling like someone is judging me for something I did in a dream?
2. We went to the Children's Museum the other day. It was kind of cool. They had weird toilets, that will totally get their own post.
3. Today in the bathroom of the Border Cafe in Harvard Square, Emily and I were waiting in line when a lady came in and started up an impromptu dance party. We joined in. In the bathroom of Border Cafe. At least there was music.
And now I shall go to bed. Better posts are forthcoming. I promise.

It is Fun To Pretend To Be Gino The Dog

. . . Or, How I Almost Got Arrested For Child Abuse.
The girl's favorite new game is called "Let's pretend I'm Gino!" Gino is the dog who lives upstairs from her. The other day as we were getting ready to walk to the park, The Girl handed me a long piece of curling ribbon and asked me to tie it around her neck like a leash. Since I like my charges to stay alive while I'm taking care of them, I said no. Instead, I offered, I could tie it around her wrist. She agreed, and then proceeded to give me detailed instruction on exactly how to scold her when she didn't follow the orders I had to give her. ("Stay!" "Bad dog, Gino! You need to LISTEN to me!")
Once I have the directions down, and it took quite a while to understand how to do it all perfectly, we set off. She pulled at the "leash" like the bad dog she was pretending to be. (Did I mention that Gino is the yappiest dog EVER and terrifies her?). I scolded her, using exactly the words she gave me. She did it again.
Suddenly, I notice a traffic cop looking at me strangely.
"Excuse me ma'am, can I ask you a question?"
"Of course, officer!"
"Why do you have that child tied up like that?"
"She's pretending to be a bad dog named Gino! He's her neighbor's dog! She doesn't like him! He scares her!"
"Okay, ma'am, whatever you say."

After that, we untied the leash.

This is what happens when grownups get married

"The only reason I'd ever get married again would be for the health insurance."
"Isn't that romantic! Oh, let me touch your gorgeous health insurance!"

You have to make some sacrifices to have enough room for all those twinkies

"Honey, would you like some more blueberries?"
"No thanks, I'm trying to cut back."

On Junk Food

I picked the girl up at school the other day, and as she was climbing into the cab (you will recall that I don't have a driver's license, and sincer her school is not t-accessible, we have to take a cab to get there. It's quite the adventure.), I noticed that she was uncharacteristicly talkative about her day, and how Ava spilled juice and Adam cried because he didn't want to wipe his mouth at lunch. The thing that she was the most animated about, though? A twinky.
"I had a TWINKY today at school! It was yellow and crunchy! And white! I tried it and I didn't say yucky! I was very brave! It was sooo yummy! I love twinkies!"
It should be noted here that The Girl has an Autism Spectrum Disorder, and two of the ways that this manifests itself are that she is normally not very conversational (one of her most common statements is "I don't WANT to have a conversation!" whenever you try to ask her about anything), and, until recently, she had an extreme aversion to food that wasn't scrambled eggs, teriyaki-flavored vegetables or macaroni and cheese. Or vanilla ice cream. And that took me at least a month to get her to like. So the fact that she was excited to tell me about something, and that that something was food, was kind of huge.
The next day when I picked her up, she was equally talkative. This time, though, she said "I wanted a twinky today, but they didn't have any. So instead I had an oreo. It was good."
Oh, junk food, you can make a convert out of anyone.

Just Rewards

The night my sister was born, my whole family was already in the hospital. Not with my mother though; they were all in the emergency room with little 2-year-old me, who had had a febrile seizure. (Oh, fun. I just read that link, and kids are much more likely to get febrile seizures if their parents had them. Since I had them AND my mom had them, my kids don't stand a chance. I can't wait. 'Cause, you know, seizures aren't scary or anything.) My mother apparently went into labor while all the doctors were working with me, but was so focused on her two-year-old, she wouldn't admit she was in labor until one of the nurses asked her if she was. They rushed her to a different hospital, where my sister was born while my grandparents stayed with me. It all worked out in the end, but I've always gotten the sense that I kind of ruined Dewey's original birthday with my seizure-spinal tap-hospital attention-grabbing ways.
Early early early on Wednesday morning, we awoke to Dewey screaming in excruciating pain. Unsure of what it was or if it was related to the (relatively minor) bike accident she'd been in on Tuesday afternoon or the tylenol with codeine they'd given her after the cleaned out the nasty gash she got, my mother called the ambulance to come and take her to the hospital.
And thus my entire family plus Manoli spent the wee hours of my birthday in the hospital with my sister, who turned out to have a bruised pancreas.
Only fair? I think so. Twenty years in the making? Definitely.
Dewey got to have a badass bruised pancreas, though, and all I got was a spinal tap I was too young to remember.

I Wanna Hold Your Hand

The other day, The Girl and I were riding the T home from a playdate. Understandably, once she had finished her snacks, she got kind of bored. Lacking the keep-her-happy-on-the-T toys that usually live in my bag, I pulled out my iPod, which is now home to a Laurie Berkner album. I let her put on the headphones and listen to Victor Vito and B-O-O-T-S, and she was entertained until we had to switch trains.
A couple of days later, we were sitting around after dinner when I had an idea. I got my iPod out again and told her that, if she wanted, we could listen to I Want to Hold Your Hand, the song I always sing to her when we're walking. She liked the idea, so I helped her put the left earbud in, turned the volume way down so as not to hurt her precious baby ears, and started the song. Her eyes lit up as she heard the Beatles singing the words she knows so well, and she started singing along. Then she paused.
"Abbie?"
"What, honey?"
"Is this song about you and me?"

Yes, honey. Yes it is.

Lessons I've learned from Ben

Ben is my driver's ed instructor. His name is short for Benton, which I think is kind of cool. Anyway, he has taught me lots of valuable lessons this past week, including:
-"You must always watch out for pebbles on the road, because you never know when one might fly up and go through your windshield and into your mouth. And that would be bad for your health."
-There are Hidden Hazards on the road. Lots of them. Like Moose. And just because we live in the city doesn't mean we won't run into a moose. And if we do, WE WILL DIE.
-"These drugs [like vicodin] can stay in your system for a long time, and then they can mix with other drugs and BLOW YOUR BRAIN."
-Road Rage is a scary monster. If you are not careful, one day you'll be driving home from work and all of a sudden a nice Baptist Deacon will get out of his car and shoot you with a crossbow. And then YOU WILL DIE. Actually, Ben didn't teach us that. The Road Rage video he showed us did. It was very informative.
-"You must be vewy caweful when you dwive, because if you awe not, you will get into a collision. And that could ruin your life." And then YOU WILL DIE.
Also, he taught me that if you wear the same shirt for four days in a row, sixteen-year-old boys will notice. And so will 22-year-old girls.

"When I think of Exhaust Systems, I think of DEATH."

I have a week off. I decided to spend it taking driver's ed.
I hate driver's ed, but I must say that it makes for some interesting people watching. Not since I myself was sixteen have I been surrounded by so many sixteen-year-olds, and with them all the cliches of high school.
We have the socially incompetent nerd who interrupts the instructer to point out flaws in his teaching and who can't help but brag about his intellectual prowess. ("Excuse me, but, actually, most of the things in that video are now illegal in the state of Massachusetts." "That's not true." "Yes it is." "Beeping your horn to warn kids who are playing in the street that you are coming is not illegal." "Fine.") (Also: "I know a lot of people (including myself) got 40s on the test, but did anyone get a perfect score of 41?")
We have the short kid who makes up for his lack of height by being too cool for school and wearing his plaid puma baseball cap perfectly tilted and sideways.
We have the cool girl who is all like, Oh My God, why do I have to do this it's a waste of my time! I could be like, hanging out at the mall or something!
We have the punk from the suburbs. She wears those really tight punk jeans and angry sweatshirts and has a nose ring.
And lastly, we have the delinquent 22-year-old who couldn't be bothered to graduate when everyone else was doing it, so now she's stuck in driver's ed with a bunch of people who weren't even born in the same decade she was, proving to them what can become of you if you don't get your license when you're supposed to: you become that lame-ass 22-year-old taking driver's ed with a bunch of high school kids.
That would be me.

P.S. My driver's ed instructor actually said that about Exhaust Systems and DEATH, and then provided us with several stories of local people who died of carbon monoxide poisoning and They Lived Nearby so clearly if you are not careful IT COULD HAPPEN TO YOU TOO. And it probably will. I forgot how morbid driver's ed is.

Why won't it go away?

Ugh.
My sore throat is back. Also, yesterday I got a chipper call from the doctor saying "oh, by the way, you didn't have strep! Hope the penicillin helped anyway!"
It did. Until I stopped taking it because I THOUGHT I DIDN'T HAVE STREP THROAT.

I didn't tell her about how they hurt like a bitch

I spend a good deal of time these days putting sunblock on The Girl. Whenever we go through the ritual, starting with the legs and slowly working our way to her face, we talk about how we do it so we don't get a sunburn.
Over the weekend I decided to ignore the fact that because I am pale, I tend to burn. Quickly. Instead, I thought I'd get some nice color and deal with my farmer's tan by sitting out in the sun recuperating from strep. Needless to say, I didn't get some "nice color." Instead, I got a "very painful sunburn."
At work today, I told The Girl about how I got a sunburn, and I even let her touch it. As she was gently running her fingers over my lobster-red shoulder, I realized that she had not only never had a sunburn, she'd never even seen one.
Kids these days, eh?

Maybe He's Right

Me: YAAAAAY! one of my favorite bloggers just sold her house that she thought would never sell!
Ben: ..... you need a new hobby perhaps
Me: like what?
Ben: hmm
Ben: something not involving the internet

There are advantages to strep throat

1. You get to spend all day hanging around the house in a t-shirt and underwear.
2. Your mother goes to the corner store to get you coffee ice cream for lunch because it's the only thing you will eat.
3. Your boyfriend brings you lovely flowers.

Mostly, though, I just want to feel better.

UPDATE: I seem to be feeling better! I know you were all worried.

I love working with small children

I have strep throat. And last night at the doctor, I had a fever of 102.2 degrees. It was glorious.
Now, The Girl doesn't seem to have it, but she probably figured out some way to get those germs from one of her little friends and pass them on to me. She is sneaky like that.

Do they really do that?

Yesterday I saw an advertisement for puppies! cute puppies! with a one-year good-health guarantee!

Can you seriously return a puppy? What's next? Returning a baby because it's ugly?

A Fourth of July Recap

What's the Fourth of July without patriotic jello shots?
Actually, my friends' and my celebration was actually more about the meat: we had burgers, fancy-pants chicken (Ben marinated it in fancy-pants homemade marinade) AND ribs. With doctored-up store-bought barbecue sauce. It was delicious.
Mostly, though, we just hung out, slept a lot, and watched Die Hard With A Vengeance. And then slept some more. And then barbecued the meat.
All in all, a lovely day. And a perfect prelude to a day-long trip to the USS Constitution with 24 5- to 8-year-olds. Which I may write about in a later post, if I ever recover enough to look back on it with perspective.

p.s. Which is worse, having "I'm Not Perfect" by Laurie Berkner stuck in my head, or having "The Princess Pat" in there? Right now, I'm thinking the old camp favorite is far far worse.

A Delicious Day

Today was a gorgeous day. About 70 degrees, it wasn't too hot or too cold. It was the perfect day to go to my favorite cafe and then walk along the Charles River into town and then sit there for hours, watching sailboats and runners and fancy parents pushing $900 strollers go by and talking about nothing and everything.
So that's what we did.

On a Surprising Lack of Creativity

Today's gift on facebook? A silver ring.
Does this feel like a peculiar facebook gift to give someone? Like maybe the person who's designing it just ran out of ideas?
'Cause I kind of think that if anyone gave me a silver ring on facebook, I would think that they were saying "I wanted to go to the trouble of typing in my credit card information for a $1 virtual purchase, but I don't think you're worth the diamond ring. Or the pearl. Or even the little troll thing."

It's Hot Here

It's nasty here. Hot, and as it often is in Boston, humid enough to make you think you're drowning in humidity.
I want to go to bed, but I can't 'cause I'm doing laundry.
So instead, I'm sitting next to my fan, listening to Laurie Berkner tell me that I'm not perfect, but I hope you like me that way.
It's weird, but I'm kind of enjoying it.

p.s. While I do have an appreciation for Laurie Berkner, I'm listening to her because I'm uploading Victor Vito onto iTunes, not because she is my top-choice for music.

Children, or, Here is Where My Friends Stop Reading My Blog

Have you ever watched a child try to play catch with a doll?
My Favorite Child In The Whole World (who will for hereafter be called The Girl, because her old pseudonym's
just too long) got a doll yesterday. The doll's name is Sophie. We love Sophie very very much, and that is fantastic. She is Sophie's Mommy, and I am Sophie's nanny (while also being her nanny. It's an interesting arrangement). We feed Sophie and put her down for naps and take her with us when we go on adventures. This is especially exciting because we are engaging in symbolic play with Sophie, and that's something kids on the Autism Spectrum often have trouble with.
Today, while we were looking for fish in the Public Garden (a quest that was utterly pointless, but so much fun it didn't matter), The Girl fell into the duckling pond. With Sophie. As soon as I pulled her out, she screamed "I don't want to go in the washing machine!"
She doesn't have to, but Sophie might. This could be a problem.

A previous life

I am a nerd. This is a well-established fact. What changes, however, is the focus of my nerdy love.
In high school I took Latin instead of a "practical," "non-dead" language . I was horrible at it, but our Latin class was small (by senior year, there were only four people in it), and we bonded over the beauty of Ovid and Virgil. I relished my Latin nerdiness. It was one of those things that really defined who I was, in some weird way.
I haven't taken a Latin class in four years now, but, cleaning out my bookshelves at home yesterday, I found some very special books.



Yes, those are two DIFFERENT Winnie the Pooh books in Latin, Cattus Petasatus (by Doctore Seuss, no less!) and the Latin Bible.

These days, there is a whole section of my bookshelf devoted to books on child development and autism.

My, oh my, how things have changed.

Lemon Cake

James and I just had a dance party. In my kitchen. To celebrate the fact that we found enough lemons to make lemon cake.
And then I realized that my dance moves were stolen from My Favorite Child in the Whole World.
And I felt a little lame.
But then I kept on dancing. 'Cause it was fun.

I thought I was bad during finals

I just had three slices of bacon and some very dark chocolate for breakfast.
What's wrong with me?
At least it was tasty.

Sometimes I think

I think I should get out of bed.
Also, I think that updating my facebook status every five seconds unhealthy.

Abigail is. . . needing to pee.
Abigail is. . . going to the bathroom VERY SOON!
Abigail is. . . back from the bathroom and contemplating eating a sandwich.
Abigail is. . . toasting some bread for a tasty sandwich.
Abigail is. . . spreading some peanut butter on her tasty sandwich.
Abigail is. . . eating her tasty sandwich.
Abigail is . . . full from eating her tasty sandwich.

I think I need to stop.
But it's SO FUN!

I am uninspired

I had a craving for lemon cake today. So I got some at Starbucks. It was delicious. Or, mostly delicious. But it wasn't enough to staisfy my craving. I needed more. So I got some at Au Bon Pain on my way home. What I really needed to do was make the lemon yogurt cake from Orangette (I can't figure out how to link on a Mac, but it's orangette.blogspot.com). But I couldn't. Because I just couldn't. Because we had guests and I had spent the day thinking about encopresis. (Google it. Just do it. And then you'll understand how weird I am, that I willingly think about this sort of thing on a regular basis). So instead, I tried to make eggs for dinner. It didn't work out:



You can see it there in the trash can. It was bad.

Clearly, I was having a bad food day. This needed to be remedied. I brought out the big guns. First, I got the huge hunk of chocolate in a trash bag.



And then I got some delicious milk.



I took a bite of a), then drank some b). And then I repeated. And then I repeated again.
Really, I should just go to bed.

Advice

Watching SVU before bed is not a good idea.

Or maybe it just is not a good idea for wimps like me.

Oh, No!

Oh, No!
It's Gradumagation Day for my friends, and it's pouring down rain!

Gradumagation

Tomorrow my class graduates from Dartmouth College.
In taking a year off, I knew I wouldn't graduate with everyone else. I also knew that I didn't really care.
I have been in a funk for the past two weeks. I have cried more this week than I have in a long time. I'm not really sure why, but I have a hunch that it has to do with graduation.
I'm staying, and they're all leaving.

Wow. I'm good at happy posts, no?

I do have lots of pictures from Senior Week, and I'll write a post about that sometime, or post them to facebook. Probably both. Because why not put pictures in multiple locations on the internet? Why not make sure that people can see pictures of me AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE?

An Interesting Alternative

Cheez-its and frappucinos make an interesting alternative to stale stoned wheat thins and red bull.
Finals are almost over.

Comet is the Name of the Server that was Down

Date: 02 Jun 2007 22:32:00 -0400
From: A Girl Whose Email Was Also on Comet
Subject: damnit!
To: The Sororitee

damn comet made me miss a booty call!
now im maaaad!

Oh, My

Oh me oh my.
My email server has been down all day. Now it's back up and running, and I'm getting EVERY SINGLE EMAIL that I didn't get all day.
This is insane.
I missed a whole blitzwar about bikini waxes. I was kind of excited that I didn't get them.
Now they're coming all at once.
Yay.

Finally, the Much-Awaited Pictures! (Or, I Do Not Like Studying Cognition)

I finally figured out how to make my computer recognize my digital camera. It is quite complicated. First, you must plug it in. Then, it opens iPhoto, and then it uploads the pictures. Very very difficult.
Anyway, this means that you guys get pictures! Of my bed! And my new computer!
First, the huge bed:


Isn't it big and beautiful?
And this is what I get to look at every morning when I wake up:


And finally, this is the computer that I am currently typing this out on:


It allows me to take pictures of myself like this:


I'm so attractive.

Hmm

Last night I dreamt about mean people. They were mean and I got mad.
Today I have to read about cognition. I thoroughly enjoy psychology, but the part that I love is the touchy-feely feelings part. Brains are of no interest to me.
That is all.

Oh, Finals

There's nothing like stale Stoned Wheat Thins and Red Bull for breakfast.

I'm in Love

Bye bye Dell. Hello Mac.
You are beautiful.
You also have a functioning S key, and a non-possessed A key.
I am in love.

Funny

Whenever I am upset about anything, Holly Near's music makes me feel better. This makes me laugh, because Holly Near is an activist. Her music is truly beautiful, and she has an amazing voice, but songs like "No More Genocide" (about, shockingly, genocide) or "It Could Have Been Me" (About the Kent state shootings) aren't really what one thinks of when one thinks of comfort music. I, however, am from Cambridge.
This means that I have hippie parents. And that I grew up eating organic peanut butter (yes, I really did) and going to protests and listening to activist music. My oldest musical memory is listening to Nicolia ("Nicolia girl, worked inside a factory/Never saw the sun, never saw the summer sea . . . Dreamed one day she'd meet a prince/but she's been real disappointed since . . . One day she read a book called Organize/And she understood every word, to her surprise") on the record player in the living room with my dad. I was probably three or four.
For me, listening to Holly Near feels the same as curling up on the couch under a big blanket with a mug of hot chocolate. Her music just makes me feel better. And lately, for whatever reason, I've needed a lot of comforting. So I've been listening to a lot of Holly Near. And for whatever reason, I feel better.

I want a mac

I want a mac. I don't have a good reason, really. My computer is on its third hard drive, and it seems like it's about to need its third motherboard, and after a tea spill a while ago, the s key no longer works (I have to control + V for every s I make), and the d key always types at least one a as well. (Here. I will illustrate: dadadadadadadadadadadadadaaaadadadadada. Achieved by typing only the d key.) And macs are pretty and their keys work and they charge properly without getting confused and telling you to connect the proper charger, even when the proper charger is connected.
They don't have accidental damage coverage, but they are so pretty, I feel that I would not hurt a mac as much as I hurt my Dell. (Not that I don't love you, compy. I love you very much. You just make me feel frustrated sometimes and you're kind of heavy and not very pretty. Wow. I could be explaining myself. Maybe it's like pets- you know, how pets and owners often look alike?)
But I have no money and compy is still under warranty so I guess I'll just get compy fixed and save money to buy a new computer this summer.
And now I will read about schizophrenia in children.

Sometimes We Have Sock Adventures (Or, I Don't Want to Make My Powerpoint Presentation)

Sometimes your friend Emily sends you socks in the mail, only they are very tiny:


So you and other members of the sororitee who also live on the third floor need to have a sock-growing adventure:


(You also need to wear special headgear for your sock-growing adventure, if you're me.)
And then you grow the socks:

And they make bubbles:


And then they need room to grow, so you put them in the sink:


And then you love your blog SO MUCH, you put the socks on your feet to illustrate their sockiness, even though they are very wet:


And then your feet are wet, too:


And then you realize that you just put two pictures of your ginormous monster feet on your blog and you go write your presentation in shame.

Oh, Green Key is a Fantastic Weekend

"I don't think I'd want to be smothered by boobs."
"My boobs couldn't smother anything."
"They could probably smother a hamster?"

Aaaah

Shonda Rhimes, why must you toy with my heart so?
p.s. There seems to be a demand (i.e., from two people, one of whom has seen it in real life) for pictures of my new bed. Unfortunately, my camera is sick with no batteries, so I need to get some before I can post pictures of the glory that is my room.

Love

Have I mentioned yet that I love my new bed?
I've never really been one of those people who does work in bed, but I think I might become one. Just because my new bed is that fantastic.

Bad Decisions

Do you ever have one of those days where you just make a lot of bad decisions? I'm having one of those right now. Actually, it started last night.
So, yesterday I was totally overwhelmed by all the work I had to do. And what does an Abbie do when she's overwhelmed? She procrastinates! So I decided to go to bed at 2, wake up at 7, and write my five-page paper. (Bad decision No. 1) Except I went to bed at 2 and couldn't fall asleep, so I stayed up till 5, reading blogs and facebook. (Bad decision No. 2). And then my 5-page paper was a 2-page paper (Bad decision No. 3, or just the repercussions of Bad Decision No. 1?). And then, to top it all off, I decided to skip class this afternoon. Why, you ask? No real reason. I was feeling kind of blah, and so I didn't feel like going.
Total Bad Decisions So Far: 4. Now the question is, should I go to ballet this afternoon, or should I skip that, too?
At least I'm making all these bad decisions from my brand-new double bed in my brand-new rearranged bedroom, so I feel like I'm in a treehouse while I do it.
p.s. this is my 50th post!

Hatred

Sometimes I hate school.
Like when I have four papers due in one week.
Back when I was an engineer, I think I felt this way a lot more often.
So maybe I should be glad I'm not an engineer anymore.
But right now I just want to take a rest and have a shoulder massage.
But at least I'm not an engineer!

Icky

I have a cold.
It's not fun.
Also, I have a paper due in two hours and ten minutes.
I should get on that.

May is Crab Month

"Mmmm. There's nothing like exoskeleton"- Emma

Sometimes We Have Formals

As I have said earlier, I am not a very fancy person. I tend to succumb to the schlub more often than not. Sometimes, however, an occasion warrants getting dressed up in a pretty dress and putting on makeup and wearing high heals. Sorority formals are one of these occasions.
On Saturday, we all got dressed up and went to Bates Mansion, where we took romantic pictures with our dates, explored, ate dinner, and danced. My silly boyfriend is at Swarthmore, as is Marissa's, so we were each other's dates for the night. Complete with romantic pictures.
But anyway, after cuddling on couches with bunches of sisters, dancing my heart out, and nearly punching out my good friend's date for being an assface, I realized how lucky I am to be part of this wonderful family in the big brown house on Webster Ave. I enjoy making fun of what we do, sure, and sometimes it can be kind of dramatic, and we may not be the "coolest" girls on campus, but without the Sororitee, Dartmouth wouldn't be Dartmouth. Theta has become my home away from home. And for that, I am incredibly grateful.

Bleh

You know that feeling where you don't know what you want to be doing, but you know it's not what you are doing?
That's how I feel about studying for the midterm I have in 58 minutes. So I'm just not doing it. I think this could be disastrous. Oh, well.
I have a real post that I shall write tonight if I get around to it.

Oh, My part III

I just had a bowl of cheerios with bananas and skim milk. It gave me heartburn.
I am SUCH an old lady.

Oral Hygiene

The third floor of the sororitee is an excellent place. We bond. We watch Grey's Anatomy. We drink together. We have a facebook group. The third floor is truly at its best, however, at about midnight every monday through friday. This is when we all assemble in the bathroom for our nightly toothbrushing party.

(This is a truly flattering picture of everyone. It was taken on an off-night. Usually we are very attractive as we brush our teeth.)
Anyway, our toothbrushing parties are not just fun and games. We take oral hygiene VERY seriously. We brush for two minutes, and then we listerine for thirty seconds or a minute, depending on whether we use gingivitis-killing or tooth-strengthening listerine. I have both kinds, but I usually go with the gingivitis-killing variety.

This morning, after I'd brushed my teeth and killed the gingivitis, I started to worry about my teeth's strength. So I used the purple kind for a minute, too.
And then I realized that I have a problem.