But really, since it’s a private university there’s limited spaces in every class…and everyone had to wait to register at 2:00, and not 1 second before, so it was seriously like waiting in line to get really good concert tickets. It was hilarious. I had prepared to fight for a seat (of 3 remaining) for the 1 class I’m taking, but it turns out…no one else was really prepared. It went like this:

2:00, the lady yells “OK, login and GO!” pretty much, and then I sign up for my class–annnd done. Everyone else in the room: “OMG I have a hold on my account!” or “NOOOO it won’t let me log in” or: “I don’t remember my password!”

It was funny. I thought so, anyway.

But yeah…school. I’m taking a concepts of fitness & health course. It’s half lecture on nutrition (geez, like I don’t know anything about nutrition), and half exercise. A few years ago I would’ve avoided this class like the plague, because working out in front of other students = torture. But now, whatever. I want an A.

I have realized that every single time I go in there, I am wearing something that I bought there previously. For some reason I find this incredibly embarrassing. Even though the store is so vast and loud and complicated (I mean, seriously, I see cute outfits on the mannequins and can. never. find. ANYTHING. they’re. wearing.) and it’s usually insanely crowded with annoying people, I just love it. I love that panic-attack-inducing store.

Since I haven’t posted a picture in a while, because I feel gross and bloaty and really gross, here’s at least a cute dress I got the other day.

And the bracelet came from F21. Umm…and the ring, too. I really need to stay away from there before people start asking me if I work there. 

Speaking of…I need a job. One that doesn’t make me want to drive my car off the top layer of the parking deck. Huh.

But anyway, I was watching this True Life about young moms having twins, and then one of them did something that made my jaw drop.

She said she had a craving. For chalk. See, I thought she said “chocolate” and I was all like, Hey, we’re women, we ALL crave chocolate! I’m having some right now! But then she opens a bedside drawer and produces a fresh box of delicious(?) Crayola chalk. And eats it like it’s a peppermint.

WHAT?

Pregnant people crave chalk? And it doesn’t poison you? This just goes to show you that I know nothing about life, and kids, and growing up, and the weird ways that your body can make you do really fucked-up stuff. This just disturbs me on a weird level. I know, it’s like a deficiency where you crave weird shit like dirt…but…still. Chalk.

Why is that, you ask? Well. Sometimes I can eat a few spoonfuls of ice cream and just be peachy-keen. Then, like today for instance, I will eat something called a “flying disc” which is nothing more than cinnamon, dough, and sugar, and I will be sick. 50/50, my stomach is a rebellious teenager that either will or won’t cooperate.

And all that “I’m a perfect patient, I’ll NEVER touch sugar again, by God!” is a bunch of bull. Everyone wants to be normal again. I know it’s all moderation. But I’m still learning. As a result, I feel like crap today. Ohhh to be one of those people that learns from their mistakes. What’s that like?

Well, all I am sure of is that school is starting soon…I’m getting to that point in my college career that I need to declare a major, and, you know, stickwith it. Heh. SO. I’m going to be a librarian! Why not? I read more books in a couple of months than do most people in their lifetime. (Ok, this is probably not true, but I live in AL so it’s not ENTIRELY out of the range of possibility.)

So what this means…is I can essentially get any undergrad degree I want. Then go to grad school. So I guess English. My only problem with that is that…well. I hate English professors. I really do. It’s either “their way or the highway” and they all are so ego maniacal in their teachings…that if you’re not necessarily wrong, just because you don’t write like THEY do, you’re fucked. Huh. I need to overcome this.

But I am kind of looking forward to school this year, because I’m going to a private school that is the best in the city…I am SO over state schools. Even though this one will probably send me into spirals of debt, whatever. It’s better than the other schools. Pretty campus. Better (ie not-so-bitter-inner-city) professors. Better curriculum. I’m looking forward to it.

Pop, pop, pop. It drives me insane, it makes my dog bark and puke because holy shit the sky is falling! Seriously. What makes people think this is OK? Two or three days a year is more than enough to set things on fire and make them go boom.

Maybe I’m a bitch. But I hate fireworks. Even sparklers scare the crap out of me. And really, July is almost over! The fireworks places are closed. So how many of my idiot neighbors have this shit stockpiled in their basements? Jeez.

Maybe one day soon I’ll make a post about things I like, instead of things that annoy me. I’d hate to think that I’m so bitter that I really hate everything (except high fructose corn syrup, of course). Hmm.

But, seriously, those books are totally addictive and fun to read. It kind of ruins some characters on the show, though. (ugh, Bill. Really. What an ass he is.)

I’m thinking about doing that stupid “shrink your pouch/test it/whatever” diet that people do when they “bounce back” like 20 pounds. Uh huh. It’s bad when you look at pictures of yourself from like 6 months ago and are jealous. Of yourself. But I totally am. None of those clothes fit anymore…I’m having to dip into my “I had to wear these with a belt!” clothes, only…there are no belts involved anymore. In fact, we’ve entered back into Scary Muffintop Territory.

So I’m desperate, again. Crazy pouch-shrink-diet. I think it might cause me to murder someone (I mean, the first few days are liquids. Ohhh that will be tough.). But I really want to fit back into those freaking skinny pants.

I’m ready for summer to be over. For it to stop being like 100 degrees with no a/c in my car, which = nowhere to go.  For all the snobby/annoying rich kids around here to go back to school and stop hogging all the seats in the coffee shop/swarming the mall like bees/driving like fuckwads on their phones and making me angry.

I am SO ready for hoodie weather.

Why Griffin needed to buy that Damn Ben & Jerry’s FroYo:

• It’s a bazillion degrees outside and my car’s a/c is busted
• I had a crappy therapy appointment, therefore, ice cream should naturally be involved in the post-therapy ruminations
• I was at Wal-Mart. come on. land of junk.
• It’s That Time of the Month, where women want  need chocolate
• my neighbors just sold their house. their house, is attached to mine. It’s a duplex. Sooo who knows what kind of crazy people/snobs/weirdos with brats just bought it and will take my parking and/or want to talk to me in general. Stress!
• It’s hot. Did I mention that it’s hot?
• Gas prices. (Really, they’re not that bad, but I just felt like saying it)
• I’m gonna have to wait 2 weeks to see a new episode of True Blood
• Because really, I just wanted some fucking ice cream.

So that’s the list. I’m sure there’s more. But it’s Ben & Jerry’s, it really needs its own post.

I don’t get this. He drinks giant bottles of Dr. Pepper, Arnold Palmers, and eats entire jars of peanut butter in like 2 days. Annihilates boxes of crackers (where 1 sleeve = 1 man-serving), eats 6 slices of toast at ones, and…he loses weight. His pants are loose. He’s on the smallest notch on his belt. What a fuckhead, seriously.

I’m convinces that God either has some really awesome way of getting back at men for this in the future, or He just really likes fat women. I mean, I look at a carb. I LOOK at it. And I gain 5 pounds.

I really do believe, that, collectively, women are FAR more useful, smarter, and better than men in general. I walked past a book the other day at B&N titled something like “If Women Ran the World, Shit Would Get Done”. And it’s so true.

But still. I am angry. I should NOT be able to fit into my boyfriend’s jeans. No.

Whiny post? Yeah. But I felt like it, shit. Just, shit.

Really, though, my daily routine tends to be so…routine in its blandness that it’s not really worth remembering. I know, I’m supposed to be out “seizing the day” and all, but, seriously, it’s hot. The heat index is like 100 every day and the a/c in my car? It’s still dead as a doornail. Shit.

So, here I am, on the couch, curled up with a stack of the Sookie Stackhouse novels and watching TV on DVD (best. invention. ever.)…

But I did:

• Get a tattoo
• 2nd shoot a wedding
• get my prints back from my first roll of film with the Holga, and am pissed because they look too good, I wanted light! leaks! and blurs! and messed up stuff! But it’s okay.

So of course I have pictures of my tattoo. I took these right after I go it, so of course it looks kind of angry and ouchy and such.

Yep. I got my tattoo. I modified the Sigur Ros baby to hold a book that says “314″. My high-weight. And a quote from some of their liner notes. Of course I’m going to be one of those people that gets their “number” tattood…but I’ll be damned if anyone else will have the same style.

And tattoos? They tell you that they hurt-ish, yes, but they don’t tell you that while they’re healing they itch like a bastard. Still…I kind of want another one. A quote. Diane Arbus. Chuck Palahniuk. Sylvia Plath…the possibilities are endless. Will I be the 80 year old lady with a bunch of nerdy quotes on her? Well, I’ve already got an alien baby…

Since I started keeping a “record” of library books I’ve checked out, since April 16 of this year I’ve checked out 97 items.

97 items. Isn’t that kind of ridiculous? I think so.

My sewing machine has pretty much given up the ghost. That sucker used to make me…hundreds? on eBay. But nobody buys one-of-a-kind cutsey skirts anymore because, well, everyone sells them now. It’s sad that fabric costs more these days than to just go out and buy a ready-made piece of whatever.

Ok, ranty. I’m having these days. I’m having a hard time shaking them. I’m having a hard time trying to cut-out the “bored eating” I’ve been doing for a while now. It’s hard to not “bored eat” when I’m, well, bored.

And if I see one more of those stupid “when you’re bored, do ____ instead of eating!” lists, I’m going to commit homicide.