Come on come on, and tell me why you're starin'. Come on come on, it must be what I'm wearin'.

Fashion. Not only is it a great David Bowie track, it's also something very important to women, even those of us who claim not to be materialistic. For example, I'm not materialistic: I just like cool-looking stuff. I don't care about the price, brand name or (within reason) quality of the item, I just like to have unique possessions and unique apparel. One of the best places to get unique apparel is a thrift store. I've never understood why people are so grossed out by the idea of wearing someone else's clothing. It's easy to avoid getting nasty clothing from a thrift store: just don't buy something nasty-looking. And you really can't beat the price, especially with what my local thrift store chain, Village Discount Outlet, does on Mondays. Every item or piece of clothing has a tag of a certain color with the price written on it. Every day, two of those colors are half off, but on Monday, clothing with one specific color tag (for instance, today's color was orange) is 50 cents a piece. That's a GREAT deal. If you can get over the idea that another human being's body was once inside your clothing (which doesn't bother me, I wash clothes before I wear them anyway,) you can get some pretty awesome stuff for dirt cheap. Here's what I got today:

• A black and grey turtleneck sweater
• A Halloween-themed turtleneck
• A punk-rock British flag t-shirt
• A cute brown t-shirt with embroidery on it
• Two very nice pairs of jeans
• A black button-down shirt

If I had gotten all those at, say, JC Penney, it would have been quite expensive. Heck, even at Wal-Mart it would have been a lot. But my total from the thrift store was just over five dollars. Five dollars wouldn't have bought me the punk T-shirt if I'd bought it brand new.

In other fashion news, I've started selling Avon and mark. makeup, apparel, jewelry, etc. I'm not looking to be a millionaire here, but it'll hold me over until I get a "real job". It's not a cop-out, though, thank you very much. (Sorry, I'm still a little mad at my boyfriend for some things he said.) Anyway, I haven't got my website set up yet, but once I do, I'll put a permanent link on my blog homepage in case all you millions of readers out there want some glittery eyeshadow.

Today is a day for poetry.

Here are some poems I wrote. The first one is written for my boyfriend. It's called Above and Beyond.

I was looking for someone who wouldn't tear me apart
And you put me back together.
I was looking for someone who wouldn't hurt me
And you healed me.
I was looking for someone who wouldn't treat me like crap
And you treated me like a queen.
I was looking for someone who wouldn't make me sad
And you made me happy.
I was looking for someone who wouldn't take advantage of me
And you were generous and giving.
I was looking for someone who could speak with proper grammar
And you were the best conversationalist I've ever met.
I was looking for someone who wasn't dirty and scruffy
And you were a work of art.
I was looking for someone who wouldn't make fun of me
And you complimented me.
I was looking for someone who wouldn't ignore me
And you paid close attention and discussed things with me.
I was looking for someone to fill the void
And you stopped up all the leaks in my heart.
I was looking for someone I'd at least like
And I love you.

This one's a little different. It's called Chamomile.

Warm and quiet,
Light surrounds me,
Fear is dispelled,
Walking in dreams.
Heartbeat slows,
Stress has no place here,
Gentle caress,
Softly smiling.

I'll post more poems as I come up with them. These are fairly recent ones: most of my old poetry comes from the mind of a person I'm very glad not to be anymore.

The time has come, the Walrus said, to talk of many things.

     I met a very nice woman today. Apparently she's the grandmother/chauffeur of a student taking post-secondary courses (college courses taken while in high school in order to get a head start) at my university. What possessed a grandmother to sit at a table with a girl wearing a black T-shirt that depicts Shakespeare as a zombie and says "Alas poor Yorick, I ate his brains" I'll never know.      Another thing I'll never know is why men think that extremely skinny women are attractive. I can understand the allure of a fit, toned body and a flat stomach, sure, but I mean women who look like Betty Spaghetti, with arms and legs so long and thin they look awkward. We watched a video of Kristin Chenoweth's performance in the operetta Candide in my humanities class today. She's just unusually lanky and thin. Not that she's not pretty, but she just has such an unusual shape.
     I'm debating whether or not I want to give blood today. The Red Cross is having a blood drive over at the rec center, and you get free Chipotle for it, and besides, I'm able to donate again. The only problem is, is a free burrito really worth the nausea and near-fainting I always get when I donate blood? The only time that hasn't happened is when I donated blood at the actual Red Cross center in Akron, because they have the appropriate training and resources to take care of you properly there, more so than at the various other locations at which I've donated (the Chapel, the rec center, even at the Stonehedge bowling lanes once.) Besides, I didn't have a nice big breakfast this morning the way I usually like to when I give blood. I just had a Jimmy Dean sausage, egg and cheese bagel (they're smallish), some mandarin oranges and some Crystal Light. I did have two cheeseburgers last night, but I think I'd rather make an appointment to go with my grandfather when he donates next. It's cool hanging out with my grandpa like I used to when I was a kid.
     I've been thinking about freedom and liberation a lot lately. It's amazing how much more freedom women have in countries like the US or the UK than they do in many others. I was thinking yesterday about how I always feel ugly because my hair is frizzy and I still struggle with breakouts on my face. But then I realized that in many Islamic nations, women have to cover their hair and face with a burqa, so I have no room to complain. Sometimes I feel that women are still controlled by men in some ways, or at least not respected as much as they should be. That feeling might have to do with the fact that so much of the music I listen to is written and performed by feminists.

My "getting stuck" sense is tingling.

     I've tried to start blogs before, but I always end up abandoning them after the first or second post. It may be for a logical reason (I don't have time) or an illogical reason (who would be interested in my life?) But often it's simply because I get stuck. I run into a day when I honestly haven't a clue what to write about, and I let that day be the last day I even look at my blog. I write a sentence, delete it, write a different sentence, delete it, try to make a list of things that piss me off about the world, delete it because it's too cynical, write about my day, delete it because it's boring... that sort of thing. I'm going to honestly try to keep this blog going, because it's good for me. I haven't done any non-school-required writing, other than the occasional poem, in quite some time, because most of my free time has gone into other pursuits (i.e., playing World of Warcraft.) See, a blog is a good way to organize my thoughts and feelings and possibly share them with anyone that might be interested. That way, when I go to my weekly counseling meetings, I don't have to try to sort out my tangled-up issues and take up Dr. Hayden's time when he could be talking to me about what I'm actually there to talk about.      In other news, comic books. What's up with them? They hold this strange appeal for me and I can't really understand why. I have no sense of nostalgia regarding them: I only read Archie comics and related material as a kid (Casper the Friendly Ghost, Josie and the Pussycats, etc.) I had no interest in superheroes (except for the Powerpuff Girls) until my little brother started taking an interest in them. I prefer mostly Marvel comics and heroes because their stories involve more science-y stuff. Peter Parker, Bruce Banner, and Reed Richards, other than all having alliterative names, have another thing in common: they're all either scientists or, in Parker's case, a science student. By contrast, Superman is a being from another planet who works as a newspaper reporter, and Bruce Wayne is a billionaire playboy. Characters like that just don't hold as much interest for me. I like science. I get Bs in it but I like it.
Song of the moment: "Spiderwebs" by No Doubt.

I couldn't wait until tomorrow to post again, it seems.

     I got extremely nervous when I saw "1 Comment" at the bottom of my first post. Then I realized that I commented on my own post. DUH. See, I'm forgetful like that. Also, I get nervous. I act like I don't care what people think, but I do, to a degree. I don't let it destroy or stop me, but I do care.

     Honestly, unless I link this blog to all my Facebook friends, nobody will read it, and even if I link it to all my 300+ friends, three or four might read them, and most wouldn't be people I even really talk to. But I don't care. I talk to myself all the time anyway. I even talk and sing to myself in public, not loudly, but not in whispers either. I don't mind if I'm thought of as mentally ill. I often think of myself that way.

     Anyway, my boyfriend and I had a talk about how I say I'm going to do things and I don't follow through on them. It all started with my house key. I couldn't find it and I started freaking out. He unlocked the door with his own key and then started looking through my purse for mine. I was a bit miffed at him- it's my purse, after all. I don't let anyone look in my purse. That's a damn lie. I've totally let people look in my purse before, but for some reason I felt violated when he did. I don't know why... he's my boyfriend, I should feel totally comfortable with him looking through any and all of my stuff. I have nothing to hide from him. I'm not the cheating type, I'm not using drugs on the sly, I don't have gay furry porn in my purse or anything like that. (Who the hell would keep it in their purse and not just in some hidden file on their computer, I don't know, but I don't judge either.) But I digress, the whole principle behind the thing was that I had promised him I would keep my house key in the front pocket of my purse, the one with the "I <3 UA" (and that's the University of Akron, not Upper Arlington, lest the Central Ohioans get confused) and Pretenders buttons shoved through the vinyl. Or plastic, whatever it's made of. And I didn't. My key was in a completely different pocket of my purse. Now to some people that wouldn't matter, but I've had problems with organization my whole life, because I grew up in a highly cluttered environment and I was never taught or shown how to properly organize anything, except an essay and a research paper. I'll never get good at it if I don't honestly try, and losing my house key could get my boyfriend in "a mell of a hess" as my Shakespeare prof says. But anyway, it turned into a big, blown-out-of-proportion cryfest as usual. When my boyfriend and I fight, there's never any actual yelling. He stays all logical and intelligent and fairly calm throughout the fight, and I get all flustered and start to speak with incorrect grammar and cry. I wish I could be like him, you know? I talk tough, but when it comes down to it, my emotional endurance is comparable to my physical endurance, and I can't run a mile without walking part of it. (ADD moment: The Moonlight Sonata is drifting into my ears from somewhere and I'm reminded of a friend of mine who loves that song like it was her boyfriend. Or girlfriend, she is bi after all, like most of my female friends. Now it's gone into Fur Elise. Who knew my neighbors were Beethoven fans?)

     Rereading what I've written so far, I've come to a decision. I don't care how much it costs, I need to start taking my Ritalin again, or a similar drug.

      One of my friends, a girl I'd really like to get to know better despite the fact that I'll always feel like an ugly stepsister when I see her cute, petite form and enormous light-colored eyes, is having a birthday party on Saturday, out in Macedonia at Fun'n'Stuff (if you live around here you've surely heard of it, if not, Google it.) At pretty much the exact same time, my favorite soccer team, which also happens to be my university's men's soccer team, plays their home opener at their recently improved field. Sigh. I hate to miss a soccer game, but my rule of thumb is friends before futbol. Besides, the only people I'd see at the soccer game are loudmouthed drunks, sluts, loudmouthed drunken sluts, the occasional d-bag, and, quite possibly, my ex-boyfriend, who I'd really rather not speak to. (I'm not going to bother telling THAT tale. I've gone into great detail of that sickening time in my life to my parents, grandparents, boyfriend and psychologist. I'm done talking about the piece of shit, except to say he's a piece of shit. Honestly, he's not, he just doesn't know how to treat a woman, but I still say it because breaking my heart is not an easily forgiven offense.)

     I'll try not to make ALL my blog posts this g.d. long. (Forgot to mention, there's two words I don't like to say much, one is goddamn and the other is cunt. You won't see those words again for a while.)

The ubiquitous introductory post.

This is not a blog about politics. This is not a blog about celebrities. This is not a blog about sports. This does not guarantee that I won't mention politics, celebrities or sports at any time, because I have some unusual political opinions, I hate Paris Hilton and I love soccer.
About the author: I'm a contradiction. I say I hate Facebook, but what's the first website I log onto when I get on the computer? Sure ain't Myspace. I'm bad at video games, but I joined the video game club at my university last Friday. I advocate healthful eating, but I live on candy, soda, coffee, granola bars and Instant Lunch. Or I would if my boyfriend didn't cook for me.
I'm between jobs and it sucks. I tried to apply for food stamps but apparently since I'm still "dependent" on my parents (which is a lie, I live with my boyfriend and my parents can barely support themselves and my brother, let alone a 19 year old girl who doesn't know the value of a dollar yet) I'm not allowed to receive them on my own.
I'm going to tell you right now, this blog is not family-friendly. I tend to rant about things that piss me off, using very strong language. Sure, I go to church and everything, but I'm not some goody-two-shoes Bible-hugger. I'm also very open about sex and sexuality. I'll try not to overshare but I think Americans are much too uptight about sex, especially sex that isn't one man, one woman, missionary position, for the purpose of procreation.
I am not some emo kid who's going to constantly whine about everything that pisses me off. Nor am I some happy-go-lucky girl who's going to write about unicorns and rainbows and OMG TWILIGHT!!! I take depression meds, but I'm typically a fairly happy person, just kind of unmotivated and a little cynical.
I am not politically correct, at least, not all the time. I don't use racial slurs or hate speech because I just don't hate people, but I will use words like slut, whore, dumbass, douchebag, ghetto, emo, ditz, bimbo, right-wing nutjob... I usually don't mean half of what I say. I'm still growing out of teen angst. Bear with me.
I also make horrible puns. I mean, BAD. Fair warning.
I have an extremely high IQ and an embarrassingly low GPA. I also have little knowledge of the way the world works. I've never had a "real" job, only a stupid work study thing that I got fired from because I thought it was a waste of my time so I didn't go. I've never had sexual intercourse, gotten drunk, smoked a cigarette or done drugs. That doesn't mean I'm against those things, I just have very little life experience.

Leave this blog and don't bother reading it again if:

• You love insects/other arthropods and don't like people who are phobic of them and wish they would all just go away forever.
• You hate women, poor people, people who believe in a God or gods, Hispanics, people with ADD, overweight/obese people, or "nerds". I am all of those except Hispanic and overweight, but I plan to work with Spanish-speaking immigrants in my future career, and many people in my life have weight struggles, so if you plan to flame me or the people in my life, fuck off.
• You think I'd make a hot date. While being appreciated for my personality and writing rather than my looks would be a huge boost for my fragile ego, I am not open to offers of meeting IRL, dating, casual sex or impromptu marriage. I have a boyfriend named Adam who I love very much and just might marry someday.
• You're easily offended. Like I said, I assume that swearing and "non-PC" speech that ISN'T hate speech or a slur are covered by the First Amendment, so I will write what's on my mind. If it hurts your feelings, tough shit. I can't please everyone.

Even though I'm a university student, this won't be a typical college student blog. It won't be filled with strong political opinions, subliminal ads for PETA, or stories that start with "Dude, I was soooo wasted last night..." I don't think of myself as a "college student." I think of myself as a human being who happens to take classes at a university.
And finally, I am an internet junkie, so I know a troll when I see one. If you post a comment that says something like "Get back in the kitchen bitch", I will respond with "LOL k, what do you want on your sandwich?" because I've seen it all before. And no, you will never see my tits.

Yeah, so, glad that's out of the way. Tomorrow, or whenever I post next (did I mention I'm very sporadic about things like this?) I'll talk about something that's actually kind of interesting. Maybe.