Do they make USB funnels? If so, please send one with a bottle of champagne.

Happy 3rd year, Blog.
I love you.

Neither of these stories are made up.

Let history write itself in such a way that it commemorates this weekend as the weekend I decided to drop out of college, go to trade school, and become a carpenter. And also as the weekend I still could not find the beat. After events last week (building a bookshelf, setting up speakers in my room, both by myself. Also important to note, the numerous times Sri and I have doublehandedly remedied a broken toilet) the trade school seed had been planted. Then, after arriving home from dinner on Friday night in a brief pursuit of ice, we found the tiny freezer inside the tiny fridge frozen into one complete solid block of ice. Kate and I decided that there was only one way to deal with such a problem: tools. And now, a photo montage:

We started with a screwdriver.

Then added a hammer:

A towel is sought for carnage:

And now a pasta scoop:

HUZZAH!

Until you too have hammer-chiseled and then pasta-scooped a massive chunk of ice from the backworkings of the freezer mechanism, you cannot know the satisfaction.

AND. Last night was spent at Roommate Kelsey's family's house eating not just real food that was not microwaved for 2.5 minutes or heated on a George Foreman grill, but the most delicious spicy pasta, meatthing, homemade bread and salad I have tasted since, well, a very long time. Plus we ate the salad last. Which, when you haven't left the country in over a year, is pretty much like being in Italy.
Walking into this house was not only a sensory explosion because it smelled so fantastic, but everywhere you looked and every corner you turned there was a musical instrument and a piece of art from one of their friends. Dinner was followed by an 11 piece rendition of Heart & Soul. Complete with 3 different kinds of drums, a rain stick, piano, guitar, didgeridoo, wooden frog and tambourine. Pictures and videos were taken by the 12th member and now I must go hunt down whoever that was.

Somsings.

Your head will explode at the end of this. I promise.

1. Sufjan. His titles are long, his content is hauntingly beautiful without me really knowing what he's talking about. But! Holland! This song! All lines are seven syllables! And relating to his college experience! I thought my capacity to appreciate things about this man had been capped at his degree in oboe and English horn.
2. A three-hour biology lab is not fun. It is less fun yet when your professor is so excited about natural selection and statistical data analysis that she forgets to put on deodorant.
   
3. If you are also confused about this AIG nonesense, pick up today's issue of The New York Times. There is a handy chart on the front to help you. Complete with arrows.
4. Which is worse: going to a meeting with disgruntled students who are trying to unite over thier mutual anger at the school's administration OR going to a school that has so many students angry at the administration?! Kaboom!
   

From a lemon to the non-gilded world

When I'm feeling down about the population at my school, I like to wear my "When life gives you lemons, you paint that shit gold" shirt and watch people's reactions throughout the day. Usually it's a combination of confusion and fear sprinkled with embarrassment.

Today, I was standing at a table advertising studying abroad when a sixtysomething year old man interrupted:
Man: Excuse me, are you a student here?
Me: Um, yes.
Man: At St. Kate's?
Me: ....Yes.
Man: Why are you wearing that shirt. (there was no question mark in this sentence)
Me: (insert eye roll) It's a band. Or, erhm. A group. A group from around here just put out a new album and this is the title.
Man: Ohhhh!
Me: Why?
Man: Because I graduated from St. Thomas years and years ago and we used to call you girls over here "Lemons". I wondered if they were connected.

Yessssss.
Profane t shirts: 1
Confused/afraid/embarrassed population: 0

Honesty is always the best policy

"Yeah, I read your blog. But sometimes it's boring, so then I don't." -Anna.

Lists, of sorts.

PHEW.
Please allow me to take three breaths before this post.

Hokay. So I get that the first week of classes is supposed to be insane, but it would be helpful if, upon registering, they would tell you two things other than the section and location of said class:

1. Books for this class will cost $________
2. This class will suck. Don't register for it and two others like it.
   

Anyway, after registrar juggling, arguing and stubbornness, I am now splitting my time with three different schools which will do me well to get away from GirlLand for a little while each week as the relationship has been extra tumultuous lately.
You will know where I've been based on my shoes:

• CSC: Chucks on their last leg.
• UST: High heels.
• MAC: No shoes at all.

The smaller-level GirlLand, or rather, the apartment is going quite well.

1. Rachel: 6'1", guitar, sings, works at Dunn Bros -> free bread, coffee beans. Yessss.
2. Kelsey: 5'0", bongos, guitar, works at hardware store -> free screws, nails, nuts. (Ha. The inappropriate has gone nowhere but up.)
   
3. Treza: 5'2", Shower-singer, works at writing center/paper editor -> free unsolicited writing advice, publishing of opinions.
   
4. Me: 5'6", Loud stereo, works in the President's Office -> free confidential information!
   

Kiss my ass, community showers.

Here is a brief photo montage of things that are defining my new apartment life.
1. Eli, Colin and The Decemberists. I have four Decemberists hanging things and not enough walls to make hanging them all appropriate. But, then again, when have I aimed for appropriate?
2. Tree. Because I have no headboard and removable wall stickers are the best thing to happen since they added gray to the full Sharpie set.
3. Behind my bed. This is where the glass framed picture of That Girl* and I that was hanging six feet over and four feet above this place. It fell in the middle of the night last night and was followed by yelling, confusion of both time and place, and for some reason, intense, sleep-stealing fear.
4. This is the color of our living room walls. We did not pick this entirely rancid color. But we did pick a name for it. "Salmon In Heat". We like the layers of that name.

*That Girl has a new home! Check it!

Almost older than Labor Day.

John McCain was born in 1936.
Sarah Palin was born in 1964.
Alaska was admitted into the Union in January of 1959.

I won't make you do the math...the lady on channel 5 news said it quite nicely.
"For the record, John McCain is not just older than his running mate, he is older than Alaska."

Critics Agree: We've never been more lucky.

This just in! The blog world has been truly blessed with the most recent addition to your daily blog checklist. Please, everyone, meet the Future President of Africa. Yes, the entire continent. She is venturing out on The College Experience and has chosen to gift the world with a written encapsulation of her new collegiate life.

Her posting may be erratic.
Her friends may be unclean.
Her stories may haunt your dreams.
Who can say?

Check often to find out.


"Truly breathtaking. And I go to school by the ocean. So I know."
-whitney! of Dear Ocean

"Manute Njorge not only has solid, continent-leading fundamentals, but is an exquisite writer. We are so lucky to be graced with her words."
-Sandwich Lady of Think About It

"I've been praying for this day since, well, I learned how to pray."
-That Girl of Don't Stop Believin'

3 Things, 2 Links.

1. Support Wit-Knee's college experience. Read it, love it.
2. Irish cousins! They're young and fabulous and hospitable! I met them at the dedication of a language lab for this woman and exchanged email addresses. Yesssss!
3. Gossip Girl. Never have I so enjoyed feeling terrible about my physical, social and financial positions in life. Well, at least not since that whole OC phase.

Roots. Wings. Waterslides.

Family eccentricities come in all sorts of colors. I know that some families have bright, sunny colors. Not just yellow or red, but maybe canary or candy-apple. They express themselves in bright, shiny ways. Mine just happens to come in an array of olive and pea greens that you can’t decide if it’s vomit-colored or something you’d paint your living room in.
They do things like whisky taste by our heritage, fall asleep during the Mass that honors our grandparents, buy embarrassing matching shirts, and forget each other’s names in less of a misspeaking way and more of a “I really don’t know your name and now have to ask someone what it is” way. My sister and I take to referring to the family as “them” instead of “us” as to clearly draw the line between sane and crazy.
They have an irritating way of mispronouncing words (“antee-pastee” is a salad of cucumbers, olives, feta, and cut meats) that is almost too easy to criticize, and encourage everyone, including my 80 year old grandfather, to participate in whichever form of wrestling they’ve chosen to display in the hotel hallway at 2 am, shortly before making embarrassing phone calls to the lobby about the beer and wine supply running low. But when you have three whole days with these people, even skeptics start to succumb. By Saturday night I was discussing the physics of leg-wrestling with an uncle while my sister dialed the lobby’s extension.
Our family is moving, and we recently re-painted every room in the main floor of the house some of brown. You might call one room shit, another butt hole and one more dust. But we call them bark, linen and latte.

Didn't pass Swimming I at age 5, bringing books.

Life post-car accident is pretty much the same as life pre-car accident except that I could pick out a Rav4 or Malibu anywhere in 5 miles of traffic.
So I'm packing* my swimsuit, a book, a camera, and a series on DVD to spend the weekend at Wisconsin Dells with my mother's side of the family. We have a block of rooms, water slides, lazy rivers and copious amounts of children under four feet tall.
Hopefully none will be lost or left behind like in Home Alone II (the obviously superior film). Although this group of kids would definitely pick to be left in a water park over Manhattan. I will not be making head counts because I am the youngest of my set and that is Sister's job.
And I have nerdy TV to watch.

*Note that I am not packing my iPod because the buddy is sick. Sick with a dead hard drive...exactly one month over the year warranty. Mac geniuses make me feel stupid when they push a button to fix my technical issues, and make me cry when they can't.

Probably not what you had in mind either.

So The Future President of Africa joined in on the Muffin Family Fun this weekend. And as part of the fun, the two of us went to go see Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 2 on Saturday. On our way to the movie, we took out a car full of nuns. I wish we were making a funny (wouldn't it be a good one, though? too soon?) but we have the bruises to prove it.
And, well, this lovely little snapshot up here (Don't worry, Blum, I edited it! (Sort of.)).

On family, funerals.

A nugget from the middle of our status meeting this morning.  I will protect the non-innocent here, but she has voluminous, curly hair an innate sense of fashion.  I'm just saying. 

Me: Is Maria gone today?

Not Me: Yeah, I just noticed that.  I heard her uncle died.

Me: Oh wow.  Sad.

Not Me: Yeah.  And by "heard" I mean, "read over her shoulder in an email".

Headed to the cabin with the family this weekend...first family event since...my birth? 

If we all survive, there may be pictures.  Otherwise I will post after the funeral(s). 

Bravery Abounds, Indeed!

See?! I did it! I didn't lie to you, Internet!
And now that you know, I never have to do it ever again. Ever.

Walking With A Ghost

Home!
Door to door on the way out West, it took us about 19 hours.
And on the way back East? About 35. Apparently when we're driving back toward jobs, school, and reality, we take our sweet, mountain time. Plus the Southern route is much more lovely. I'd take Wyoming and the Black Hills over Fargo and Bismarck any day. Even if we do have to spend a night at the classy Bramble Inn in Sheridan, WY where they have no non-smoking rooms available.

So now I am longing for mountain candy air, community meals consisting at least in some part of mac and cheese and people pressuring me to be brave.
Sometimes safety is boring. THERE. I said it.
Now I will indulge my Tegan and Sara kick and pick at some scabs.

A Blister on My Foot.

Adventure I:
I climbed a mountain!
Then I climbed down it and through it and over it and into the snow and then threw my dead carcass into a mountain lake where the 35 degree water revived me.

Adventure II:
I jumped off a rock!
I stood on it for 10 minutes and listen to Will's moral support while a stranger offered me $1,000,000 to jump and eventually threw myself into the river out of social pressure.
Because that's how I do.

Adventure III:
Strep throat!
Urgent care in an unknown place is just as annoying as urgent care in a known place! Except more "The abbreviation is MN." and "I know, I'm visiting friends." So probably more annoying, but with the same tummy-ache inducing antibiotics.

Adventure IV:
Bowling!
146! Who knew?

Adventure V:
Steveo is 21 today.
Send your good thoughts and prayers to something here.

A La Keruac

I am on the road.
Or, er, I was on the road. Will, Kate and I ventured through Fargo (I'd never been!), across North Dakota and across Eastern Montana which is much less boring than people make it out to be. We paused in Western Montana- Glacier National Park and Kalispell to be exact, to rest, eat homemade mac and cheese and lose Kate before crossing over to Idaho. And here I sit. Nestled in rolling prairies and mountains.
And mountain air smells like candy.

Potato Count: 0
Times slept through Fargo: 1
Times started On The Road: 4

STET?

Apologies for the last week, Corporate America has been digesting my entire body. And it hasn't been pretty. I started my new job at a hot ad agency downtown on Monday. Don't worry, it's a family business...I didn't seek out CA (not to be confused with California which I would seek out just as fast as the former). I have been busy working 10 hour days and using words like "proofs" and "vendors" and sometimes phrases like "Yeah, I'll be sure to talk to the art director about that edit on the pdf to make sure it gets back into production today.".

I know. I know. I wore sexy boots and put my lunch in the department fridge. I made eyes with a boy at the copy machine and complain when other people don't make new coffee. And some of these people actually buy it!

Maybe I should consider a career in theater.

1: "Dog. Doooog. Doggggg. Dogdogdog. DOG!"

A midweek vacation to the lake leads to the best kind of confusion wherein you think Friday is Sunday. This is followed by extreme exhaustion from going on the schedule of five kidlets, ages 9, 7, 6, 4, and 1.

Pictured here are 6 (cousin, eyelashes) and 7 (goddaughter, niece, resident sassfest).
Other notables were 4 (aka: Romanian orphan), who I interacted with for 20 minutes regarding her Barbie makeup kit before she uttered one word. When we all sat down for breakfast on Thursday morning. 4 went for two breakfast sausage links:

Sister: "Lauren, why don't you try one and make sure you like it before you take a second."

4: (bites into sausage, tucks chin into shoulder ala Sandwich Lady and whispers under her breath with 10 toothed grin) "Yesssssss." (grabs second sausage)