three-scuit

there is hardly anything better in this life than a triscuit with a bit of laughing cow garlic and herb cheese smeared generously all over it.

that said, i think i'll put a few excerpts from the non-fiction essay (is that what you even call it?) i've been working on in here. helpful comments are welcome.

Title: "Re-Stored"

"...Of course, it wasn’t the clothes I was looking to evade, but the people inhabiting them. Those campus drones blindly following each other in and out of Abercrombie (thanks Gram and Gramps!), American Eagle, (thanks Mom and Dad!) and Aeropostale (thanks Reference Desk work study!) were a constant source of discomfort for me. They were tiring. There was something missing. There was no grit. Anyone with a bad attitude had, in my opinion, no right to it; those with fluorescent smiles shimmering at me from across the quad were, at best, incomplete sketches of what a “real” human was.
And so I found myself in my car, zipping along to find the nearest parking space to the entrance, to maximize the time I could spend in the store before my walking date. I shifted my car into park with my right hand, while opening the door with my left. The car was barely off before my sneakers hit the asphalt. I sped across the fire lane and leapt through the automatic double doors.

...K-Mart is a wonderfully anonymous place that accepts all kinds. People who must share my disease walked with furrowed brows among the racks of clothing, searching for the ugliest bolero jacket or most ill-fitting neon tube-top. I floated over to the shoe department and slipped my foot into a four-inch platform foam sandal, plastic jewels glittering under buzzing lights. A woman with two screaming children and probably a headache gave me an approving glance as I hobbled up the aisle in search of a foot mirror, one foot in a sneaker, the other strapped into the new shoe. Because of my disease, these sandals were starting to grow on me, and The Mommy’s approval had fueled my desire. Trying on the other sandal and finding it a bit more snug than the first (damn these un-identical feet of mine!), I decided to look at one more aisle. I waddled around to the other side, my feet still in the foam shoes and attached by a short elastic band.

...I sped to the checkout and a crusty woman, probably a Gladys or a Bernadette, passed the scanner across the tag attached to my shoes. She must have noticed the twinkle in my eye, because she made some snarky comment about the shoes’ attractiveness being inversely related to the size of my grin. I agreed that they weren’t the wisest style choice, but at only three dollars, how could I resist? On this point, the Gladys couldn’t disagree.
“I love this place!” I gushed to her, practically glowing at the thought of parading around campus in my treasures the next day.
I would eventually discover that pink canvas Mary Janes match pretty much nothing, that they look stupid with pants and skirts alike, that they are the subject of occasional ridicule, and that they make the backs of my feet bleed. But for that afternoon, as I skipped out of the store and tossed the plastic bag into the backseat, zooming off to traipse through the woods on a warm May day with a favorite English professor, I felt restored."

hm

heading off to see Avenue Q today around 3:30. i have to say that i'm pretty excited about it. anything involving puppets is always a-okay in my book, and the fact that they're often inappropriate just makes it that much better.

also, it's an excellent way of getting me out of a house filled with food that i shouldn't be eating, like girl scout cookies (oh, how i love thin mints), candy, and meatballs. not to mention it's a great way of avoiding the paper i'm supposed to be writing at this very moment. not to say that i haven't started it, because i have, but i just really don't feel like doing it. that's probably a bad sign. eh. suck it, paper.

p.s. it's the "s is for sucks" 5th year anniversary: Trogday '08

aaaaaaaand just a little of this: it doen't have wings

fake break

i walked into my room last night only to find it even cleaner than when i left it. i hadn't thought that was possible. anthony claims it smells a lot better now that i don't live in it, and now that mum has purged it of most remaining memories. there's still some stuff, just not a lot of it. wah.

i have a lot of work to do this week, and i was hoping that it would be nice and relaxing. i was also hoping that my toilet would not break, but then, (fill in cliche here). i left the door to my apartment open so the landpeople could get in and fix the john. my only concern is that there's toilet paper in it. i mean, not wads. well, yes, wads...but not giant ones. 'twas just a little pee, and then i couldn't flush. the handle would depress and nothing would happen. it could have been a lot worse. i could have poo-ed. or, i could have had my period, and that would have been supremely awful. so big jim should be happy it's the lesser of all evils.

the broken toilet was a nice symbol of all that my life is at the moment. hopefully by next week the literal and metaphorical toilets will all be flushing properly.

burlesque!

i don't know why she's so fascinating to me, but dirty martini might just be my new favorite person.

in addition to going to see a drag show, my life won't be complete until i witness some real-life burlesque. it looks like so much fun! i can't imagine how difficult it must be to swing one boob at a time for tassle-twirling action, and i'm not willing to humiliate myself to personally find out, but i am willing to marvel at someone else's ridiculous arts of seduction.