News to no one, yes? I suck at journaling in general unless I'm sad/depressed/anxious/sleepless/otherwise in a mood to write journal entries that will make me look back and think, seriously, was I depressed for four years straight? Because I can't write as much when things are going good, I guess. I just don't feel the need. I feel like I've reverted to sixteen-year-old me, like omg! Things are great! I love life! Like now. I started this entry because I was like, well, it's been over a month since I posted something, which, you know, would matter if I had more than one regular reader, and knew how to write without the excessive use of commas, but I feel like I should post even though no one reads what I write. Misled sense of duty? Nagging need to have my thoughts be a part of the vast Internetly world? Extreme boredom with my job? You decide! But I started the post, and now I feel like I'm just babbling. Which I kind of am, and I can't think of much to say because there have only been two (2) things on my mind lately:
1. Europe, and
2. My new camera.
Neither of which needs to be talked about any more than I already have. A few nights ago I was writing in my journal and realized that I was babbling about LUGGAGE, of all things. Honestly. Older Me is going to read that journal and wonder if I was depressed for four years straight AND wow, did I really not have anything more interesting to write about than luggage? Because I thought there was a lot more going on in my life when I was 21.
Speaking of being 21, I don't think I am. When I was young, I looked at people my age and I thought that they were the coolest, most mature people ever. 21 seemed so old and grown-up to me and I knew that when I was 21 (or 20, or 18) I was going to be so awesome and grown-up. But now that I am 21, I realize that mostly, I feel no different from the way I felt when I was 11 and thought that 21-year-olds were the shit. I'm still awkward and self-conscious and I still laugh too much and I still don't know how to sit in skirts without showing everyone in the room my underwear. I was observing P.E. at an elementary school last year and watching the fifth-graders talking as they walked laps around the field and I wondered if it was abnormal that I still felt like I could go join them and feel totally fine about it. I hear all these people talking about this "growing-up" thing and wonder if I'll ever experience it, because as far as I'm concerned, I'm just an 11-year-old who has a job and pays bills and goes to college.
5.14.2007
4.11.2007
Because I don't talk about it enough in general
So I could write about how my car got broken into late last week and everything was stolen from it, or I could write about how I've been grumpy for the last few days and am not sure why (weather? PMS? the fact that my car got broken into and everything was stolen from it?), or I could write about how I really need to have my eyes checked and every time I try to get that done something seems to intervene and I have no contacts left and am wearing my five-year-old scratched-up glasses, but instead, I'm going to write about what's been at the forefront of my mind for at least the last week: EUROPE!
Amidst the end-of-semester hustle (three weeks left! THREE!) and the beginning-of-summer jump at work, my mind has only been able to focus on one thought and that thought looks a lot like EUROPEUROPEUROPEUROPEUROPEUROPE in a fairly continuous high-pitched giggle. I've never been out of the country before and the decision to go to Europe this summer was almost spur-of-the-moment; the boy and I began contemplating it and then had charges on our credit cards for plane tickets about a week later. The trip kind of hung out in the back of my mind for a month or so until a week ago, when I started planning our flights around the continent and our hostel bookings. Now I'm having trouble thinking about anything else.
It's been taking me longer to fall asleep at night because my mind is going over the hostel possibilities I checked earlier that day, location against price against facilities and ratings. I sit in art history class during our lectures on Roman architecture and it's all I can do to stop myself from raising my hand and yelling, "I don't have a question! It's just that I AM GOING TO SEE ALL OF THIS STUFF IN SIX WEEKS! HAHAHAHA I WINNNNN!!!" I give everyone I talk to an updated countdown every time I talk to them and I know deep in my heart that it is probably getting old for them, but because of the fact that my brain won't keep repeating, "sixweeks sixweeks sixweeks sixweeks omg sixWEEKS" it's hard for me to not let it slip out occasionally, like every five minutes.
I am a little OCD and a bit of a control-freak (see also: textbook firstborn) and so I've taken the reins on planning the entire trip. I like to remind Kyle that he has such a good girlfriend who is planning everything so that he doesn't have to do any work; but in reality, whenever he says that he will help plan, no really, don't worry about anything else, he'll do the rest! I start getting twitchy and my eyeballs get a little bloodshot. I'm almost done booking everything and I'm actually going to be a little disappointed when I'm done -- nothing else to compare, obsess over, make lists about. I'll have to start planning and listing other things: what to do, what to buy, what to take, what to wear, what to eat, when we will take our scheduled bathroom breaks, etc.
The best part about this trip is that we are flying between cities instead of traveling by train, which leaves us a lot of extra time to spend in the cities instead of traveling to them. Because of this, we're visiting five different cities in two and a half weeks and basically cramming in as much as possible while we're there and probably not sleeping very much and will probably pass out from exhaustion and sleep for a full seventy-two hours when we return to the States. But it's totally worth it, because the only thing better than being able to say, "Oh, this old thing? I picked it up in London." is being able to say, "Oh, this old thing? I picked it up in London and then I totally thought I lost it in Paris but I found it in the bottom of my bag in Rome and then wore it twice in Florence and on the train to Pisa."
Amidst the end-of-semester hustle (three weeks left! THREE!) and the beginning-of-summer jump at work, my mind has only been able to focus on one thought and that thought looks a lot like EUROPEUROPEUROPEUROPEUROPEUROPE in a fairly continuous high-pitched giggle. I've never been out of the country before and the decision to go to Europe this summer was almost spur-of-the-moment; the boy and I began contemplating it and then had charges on our credit cards for plane tickets about a week later. The trip kind of hung out in the back of my mind for a month or so until a week ago, when I started planning our flights around the continent and our hostel bookings. Now I'm having trouble thinking about anything else.
It's been taking me longer to fall asleep at night because my mind is going over the hostel possibilities I checked earlier that day, location against price against facilities and ratings. I sit in art history class during our lectures on Roman architecture and it's all I can do to stop myself from raising my hand and yelling, "I don't have a question! It's just that I AM GOING TO SEE ALL OF THIS STUFF IN SIX WEEKS! HAHAHAHA I WINNNNN!!!" I give everyone I talk to an updated countdown every time I talk to them and I know deep in my heart that it is probably getting old for them, but because of the fact that my brain won't keep repeating, "sixweeks sixweeks sixweeks sixweeks omg sixWEEKS" it's hard for me to not let it slip out occasionally, like every five minutes.
I am a little OCD and a bit of a control-freak (see also: textbook firstborn) and so I've taken the reins on planning the entire trip. I like to remind Kyle that he has such a good girlfriend who is planning everything so that he doesn't have to do any work; but in reality, whenever he says that he will help plan, no really, don't worry about anything else, he'll do the rest! I start getting twitchy and my eyeballs get a little bloodshot. I'm almost done booking everything and I'm actually going to be a little disappointed when I'm done -- nothing else to compare, obsess over, make lists about. I'll have to start planning and listing other things: what to do, what to buy, what to take, what to wear, what to eat, when we will take our scheduled bathroom breaks, etc.
The best part about this trip is that we are flying between cities instead of traveling by train, which leaves us a lot of extra time to spend in the cities instead of traveling to them. Because of this, we're visiting five different cities in two and a half weeks and basically cramming in as much as possible while we're there and probably not sleeping very much and will probably pass out from exhaustion and sleep for a full seventy-two hours when we return to the States. But it's totally worth it, because the only thing better than being able to say, "Oh, this old thing? I picked it up in London." is being able to say, "Oh, this old thing? I picked it up in London and then I totally thought I lost it in Paris but I found it in the bottom of my bag in Rome and then wore it twice in Florence and on the train to Pisa."
3.30.2007
Self-portrait
Sometime last September I started doing a photo self-portrait project with two friends of mine, one of whom was moving to Newcastle to study abroad for two semesters. At the beginning of the project I was all gung-ho, like, "Sweet! It's gonna be so awesome to see how I change every day! And how I've changed from the beginning to the end when it's done! And what a feeling of accomplishment! I'M SO IN."
By approximately Day 50 (let's not lie, what I really mean is Day 10) the novelty had worn off and it had started to get tedious. It was less, "YES GONNA SET UP THE CAMERA AND TAKE A GREAT PICTURE OF MYSELF AND IT'S GONNA BE FAB!" and more "Dear God, I swear if I have to look at my own fucking face one more time I'm going to maim myself just so I'll have some variety in what I have to look at." And then! Around this same time, we began to spend the entire first half of spring semester in my drawing class DRAWING self-portraits!
Drawing myself was so much worse than photographing myself, and if I thought I was tired of looking at myself during the photo project, it was nothing compared to the hours upon hours I spent starting at one picture of myself in order to translate it to charcoal. I really couldn't stand to do both the portraits for drawing class and the photo portraits, and the drawing class ones weren't exactly optional. I dropped out of the photo project around Day 150, I think, and even though I didn't get that feeling of accomplishment from seeing it all the way through, it was a much better feeling to be able to look in a mirror without sobbing because oh my God, the face, it is a thing of my repetitive nightmares.
Where am I going with all of this? Well! After spending the first half of the semester working on self-portraits, my drawing teacher decided it would be so! cool! to have our final project be -- can you guess? I bet you can! -- self-portraits! Thankfully for me, we are allowed to use any medium for the final project, which means much more setting up of tripods and adjusting of shutter speeds and much less sitting alone in a fifth-floor art studio in the middle of downtown Atlanta at ten o'clock on a Saturday night and sobbing uncontrollably because I have spent two hours drawing one eye twenty times in a row and you have got to be kidding me, THAT STILL ISN'T THE RIGHT SHAPE.
So, long story short(er), I am taking a picture of myself every day for a month. This project has actually been easier and more enjoyable so far, though, because 1) if I don't do it, I kind of fail art class, so you know, that's good motivation right there, and 2) I'm taking every picture at the same time every day -- 9PM -- and having a set time to stop and click a picture, no matter what I'm doing, makes it a lot easier to remember. Plus I think it adds more interest to the project. Also, I can post the pictures here, so everyone who reads this (aka my mama) will be able to see what I'm doing every day at 9PM!
3.26.2007 
3.27.2007
3.28.2007
3.23.2007
Welcome to my eblo!
I was going to jump on the blog bandwagon some time ago, but was stopped by the fact that I couldn't think of a decent URL name. Not that the one I currently possess (aka my first and middle name) is very creative, but I have to give my mama snaps for giving me a good name, and I like to flaunt it like a street-corner prostitute flaunts the goods, if you know what I mean. I also like to write run-on sentences containing an unnecessarily large number of commas.
I'd like to take a moment to say that I really hate the word "blog." Whoever originally coined that term to describe an internet phenomenon that became so massive is probably wishing he had come up with something that didn't sound like another way to describe throw-up. I know, I know, it's short for "weblog," but couldn't there have been another way to shorten that? How about "eblo"? Sure, it looks a little nonsensical, but it sounds like it could possibly be the name of something related to fairies, or elves maybe, instead of that sound you make when you have a big wad of phlegm lodged in the back of your throat and seriously guys, you can't get it out.
Actually, I think from now on that I will refer to this as my "eblo." People won't know what I'm talking about at first, and they may recoil when I say enthusiastically, "Hey guys, wanna see my eblo?!" because they think that maybe I'm using a cute euphemism for a body part I normally keep in my pants, but eventually? It could catch on and replace its distasteful predecessor. You never know.
Normally, when I'm at work, the longest breaks I take are to scoot down the road to get lunch. But! Today someone was here working on computers and needed the use of mine for about half an hour (our computers are always fucked up) so I went down the road to Target because the warm weather has made me lust after warm-weather dresses. And! A few dresses I tried on several months ago were on clearance, so I bought them all, because seriously? I am going to live in dresses this summer, and I wish I lived somewhere warm enough to wear them year-round. They're really the perfect thing to wear because they're so cool in hot weather, and most of all, they're so EASY, and the six-year-old in me that isn't particularly fond of wearing clothes in the first place is enamored of easy.
To illustrate: getting dressed in anything else is a multi-step process. I'm like, ooh this skirt is really cute, I want to wear this skirt, but I have no shirt to match, now I have to find one, dammit. Or I want to wear this really nice shirt but the only pair of jeans that doesn't give me love handles is dirty, and not the kind of dirty that would allow me to pull them out of the hamper and re-wear them, but the kind of dirty where I accidentally spilled a plate of spaghetti on them earlier in the week. But dresses! You put one on, and you're done! Just like that! I defy you to show me another piece of clothing so magical.
I'd like to take a moment to say that I really hate the word "blog." Whoever originally coined that term to describe an internet phenomenon that became so massive is probably wishing he had come up with something that didn't sound like another way to describe throw-up. I know, I know, it's short for "weblog," but couldn't there have been another way to shorten that? How about "eblo"? Sure, it looks a little nonsensical, but it sounds like it could possibly be the name of something related to fairies, or elves maybe, instead of that sound you make when you have a big wad of phlegm lodged in the back of your throat and seriously guys, you can't get it out.
Actually, I think from now on that I will refer to this as my "eblo." People won't know what I'm talking about at first, and they may recoil when I say enthusiastically, "Hey guys, wanna see my eblo?!" because they think that maybe I'm using a cute euphemism for a body part I normally keep in my pants, but eventually? It could catch on and replace its distasteful predecessor. You never know.
Normally, when I'm at work, the longest breaks I take are to scoot down the road to get lunch. But! Today someone was here working on computers and needed the use of mine for about half an hour (our computers are always fucked up) so I went down the road to Target because the warm weather has made me lust after warm-weather dresses. And! A few dresses I tried on several months ago were on clearance, so I bought them all, because seriously? I am going to live in dresses this summer, and I wish I lived somewhere warm enough to wear them year-round. They're really the perfect thing to wear because they're so cool in hot weather, and most of all, they're so EASY, and the six-year-old in me that isn't particularly fond of wearing clothes in the first place is enamored of easy.
To illustrate: getting dressed in anything else is a multi-step process. I'm like, ooh this skirt is really cute, I want to wear this skirt, but I have no shirt to match, now I have to find one, dammit. Or I want to wear this really nice shirt but the only pair of jeans that doesn't give me love handles is dirty, and not the kind of dirty that would allow me to pull them out of the hamper and re-wear them, but the kind of dirty where I accidentally spilled a plate of spaghetti on them earlier in the week. But dresses! You put one on, and you're done! Just like that! I defy you to show me another piece of clothing so magical.
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