Datmouth musings

So, I'm at Dartmouth visiting Ben, and everything was going really well until my Nintendo 64 controller decided to only turn left. I kind of ended up running off a cliff about four seconds before getting a star. It was sad. :(

So now I'm not necessarily in the writing mood (because I was doing dialogue for my spring film fest movie), but I guess I'm just doing it anyways. Feeling totally fat playing video games alone and eating chicken nuggets and cookies. It's self-medication though. I believe everyone needs nights like this. I'm unbelievably stoked to get back to school. Being at Ben's school makes it worse that I can't be at my own. He's actually due back to the room soon, having gone to the lab for another hour and change to try to finish this monstrously confusing Computer Science assignment. So I'm all by myself, trying not to be too much of a burden to his roommate Alex. I was thinking of going in his bedroom to ask if he could fix the controller, but then thought that might be awkward.

Since I don't really know him, ya know? But I feel like I do, because he was willing to live with my neurotic, slobbish, sleep-deprived boyfriend. We must have something in common. And I know it's creepy, but he might be the best man at my wedding one day. Maybe. So, I have to know him, right?

But I just can't bring myself to go in there and ask him to confirm his manly technological proficiency by fixing an old controller. I just have to stay here and DJ Ben's music in an interesting fashion and hope that in listening through the wall he admires my taste.

I think I'm going to instate daily things that I can post on my blogs as good topic starters, like a Confession of the Day, to go along with my Successful Adult Moment of the Day. So at least I can update those and laugh about them later in life when I look back on this sure-to-be-short-lived blog started over Winter Break when I was a sophomore in college.

So, my Confession of the Day: I effing love Dashboard Confessional. Their music, oddly enough, makes me really happy, though I guess it's emo. Or that's what the proverbial "they" say it is. I first started listening to Dashboard when my friend Becky went to college in Boston and I bought her old car as my first car. His name was Barney Sanchez, and I before owning him, I had many teenage shenanigans in him with Becky at the wheel. And she loved Dashboard, so as a memorial to her prior owndership of Barney, I left the Dusk and Summer album she left in Barney in the CD player for a month. And there was so much enjoyment of life in the music, despite heartbreak, that I really fell in love with the album. I have "Dashboard Days" when I play the album on loop while driving around, and everyone looks at me like I'm an emo kid when I scream my heart out at stoplights but that's just not what Dashboard means to me. It means Becky and some of the happiest days of my life in Barney Sanchez.

And finally, my Successful Adult Moment of the Day: I am striving to no longer be a member of the "Clean Plate Club" of which I'm certain I must have been the President as a kid, leading to my current chubtacularness. That's a kid thing, where your parents can make you feel bad for not licking your plate clean, but when you order off the adult menu and the portions are effing huge, you can just not eat it all. And that's fine. So I didn't. So hah, Mom and Dad. I'm reconditioning myself. Today Ben and I went to Lou's and I got a huge quesadilla and it came with a side salad (holy poop that was a lot of food). And I successfully only ate until I was full, and that was after about two thirds of the plate. SUCCESS.

With that I leave.

Hello all.

So I figured I'd start a blog, which is probably the most self-centered thing a person can do if said blog isn't about a dead relative, your own struggle with a terminal illness, or an online documentation of your proficiency at something (i.e. 1950s style weddings). So I've decided at least temporarily to be self-centered, because it's winter break and my life is temporarily duller than watching paint dry.

I started this blog, in theory, as a documentation of my nonsensical struggle with the concept of being 20. It's not a struggle like a skin rash, where people can see it, or even like Tourette's where you can't see it but it becomes a little obvious after a while. It's a private struggle, and a lackluster one. So if you don't want to read my blog I'm not asking you to. It isn't really marketed to people who aren't fans of other frivolous girl things (like that Angus, Thongs and Full-Frontal Snogging book except plus a few years, and minus the romance). If I could change the world by fearing the big 2-0 I would, but I can't. One day I will have the tools to help people in Haiti, give fellow frightened girls the right kind of advice for taking on the big bad real world, and have more than one pair of dress pants, and that day will come when I'm in my 20's, I'm certain of it. But I have to get there first.

So what do I do right now? I use this last winter break of teendom to release as much childishness as I can while still maintaining faux-adulthood. This means wearing my best clothes to go out with people I knew from high school (or anywhere that might lead to me seeing people from high school), inventing excuses for myself not to go out of the house at all when I'm too lazy to put something nice together to wear and do my hair and make-up, and beginning my annual New Year's workout regimen, this year starring none other but Jane Fonda. Yes, I admit, I have no money to get a gym membership and shamelessly borrowed a Jane Fonda workout video tape from my boyfriend's mother. It's a sad world. So when I'm not Jane Fonda-ing or monopolizing the bathroom on a quest for beauty, I'm indulging my inner child. This means that secretly, the most exciting part of my day is when iCarly comes on, because I think that Miranda Cosgrove is the most adorable little girl (and by little, I mean she's probably taller than I am and not too much younger) ever to grace prime time Nickelodeon. Seriously. Not that Amanda Bynes wasn't cute, but I outgrew dancing lobsters. I, however, have not outgrown RANDOM DANCING and cute techies like Freddie Benson. No I have not.

While I'm at it, perhaps just as good as iCarly is Avatar: The Last Airbender. That show effing rules. Though I can't buy in to the Aang/Katara romance. She should have ended up with Zuko and Aang probably should have died (at least, that's how Ben says real animes end). Though I don't want Aang to die. Maybe he could have ended up with Toph if she wasn't so manly...

See? I'm far too emotionally invested in this stuff. Girls my age have babies now, and are getting married. Like, real married. Because I get fake married all the time. I bookmark venues and wedding songs and 1950s style dresses and read about all the things my poor maid of honor will have to do for me. And then I watch wedding shows where the brides are nuts and think, "Well, friend X, it could be worse. You could be best friends with that twat." And these downright bitches seem to be the only ones who get on television, either that or they're really passive with a frustratingly over-involved husband-to-be. I spent legitimately 3+ hours today looking at things for my far-distant wedding while simultaneously watching Rich Bride, Poor Bride. I know, it's out of control.

So I got this internship today at the Lone Wolf Documentary Group, and that's going to be pretty exciting, except I'm pretty sure they won't pay me, because they kind of told me in my interview (which I got all dolled up for) that they just give everyone who seems like they really want to do it a spot on the team. Which made me in my head say, "I joined the rugby team because it's a no-cut team and I can suck and no one can tell me to leave. I wanted you to give me this job because I was the best." But that's not really something to complain about, it's just, well, nothing to brag about I guess. Then I visited my old English teacher Mr. Marshall, still looking sassy, and thereby killing two birds with one stone. And I successfully wore my new heels for three hours with no pain. That, in fact, should be my pre-20 Achievement of the Day.

I'm determined not to say much about this because it's stupid, but while I was with Mr. Marshall he told me that the guy I liked back in sophomore year of high school is "still" dating (I never even knew they were dating) someone from his class and I'M DYING TO KNOW WHO. Maybe tomorrow (because iCarly is on in 20 minutes) I'll look through the 2006 yearbook and scope out who it might be. Because I know, and you know, I'll have nothing better to do. Except for pick an impressive outfit to wear to my friend's birthday, because almost-20-year-olds should look kickin' if they go somewhere important. I'm determined to appear to be on an accelerated track to real-personhood. And an outfit that expresses "I'm going places...eventually" is the first step.

Then maybe I'll tackle no longer texting at an embarrassingly low speed.