Back to Reality.

Well, peeps it's been a little over a year since my last post. Let me catch you up to speed with my life.

1) After many trials and errors, I graduated with my BA. (Holllaaa!!!) 
YES! This means that I successfully completed a thesis, while maintaining a social life and my alcoholic tolerance levels. (Deserves an A in my book)

2) I still live in my college's town.
Alright, stop right there. I know what you're thinking. Ew. Move on and move out. Well guess what, idiot. It's rough out there in the real world! Also, I have no money to find an apartment right now so I'm basically couch surfing my way through life. Side note, if you haven't had a chance to do this with your life. Drop everything and do it now -- there's nothing in the world like experiencing hospitality at it's finest, while also testing the true fibers of your friendships :)

3) I am still obsessed with Mob Wives.
....What's your question....

4) And also Grey's Anatomy
Shut up. It's a good show. And what else was I supposed to do during my three months of unemployment? All I'm sayin' is, Season 9 starts in a few weeks and I am PUMPED. Get the DVR ready.

4) I'm employed now.
Well, followers, it happened. After approximately 3 months of thinking about dieting and instead sitting on the couch watching netflix, I joined the ranks of what I like to call "The Functioning People of Society."

That's basically it; my life in 4 bullet points. Sad? No, because if you follow me on twitter and are a friend of mine on the Book of Face, then you know about the rest of my life in the past 12 months. If you're a personal friend of mine, you know even more. And I'm extremely proud of my accomplishments, growth and dedication. (Who else do you know that has watched an entire eight-season series on Netflix/Hulu in one sitting? ....That's what I thought, because you're not friends with that many losers.) But fear not -- just because you might not have direct contact with me every day, doesn't mean you won't know what's going on. Welcome (Back) to the Wonderful World of BLOGGING!

Ahhh it feels good to be back. I don't know about you, bloggerz, but I have a good feeling about the future stories that are coming.

"I hate you because:" A dramatic monologue

This is my shot at a poem... I can't do serious poety, because lines end up being too long and rhyming gets thrown out the window. Sometimes I don't even know what to say, so ". . . " ends up showing up a lot. . . (see?!) Then i end up just going on a bit of a tangent, but refuse to change any of my words because its fucking art. And thats how that shit works. In fact, I'm not even going to go back and put an apostrophe in "thats" because it's how the muses wanted it to be typed. So deal with it.


My Hatred for You is like the Fiery Flames of About 1,000 Matches
. . . or. . . maybe just the sun? Whatever is hotter. Yeah. That's how much.
I hate you because you generally tend to make things difficult.
You make me want to join a cult
and sacrifice you to the spirit of angst-filled, putrid hatred.

I despise you basically because of the simple fact that I know you.
I sense when a sidewalk is hot with your scent
And want to turn the other way.
Frankly because you smell like a douchey, tool bag asshole.
Y no me gusta.

I loathe you when you show your face.
In any room or single space.
Just to say it, I hate everything about you.
Your aura, vibe and you just. . . being. . .  you.

When you cut yourself from someone's life.
Stick to your plan, because when you don't, you look. . .
like an asshole.

When you decide to come around
A big red dragon shows its face in my soul
and wants to eat every morsel of joy that it can find.
In small children, candy, and even Flinstones' Push Pops.

Flinstones' Push Pops were pure joy.
Orange, Grape or Cherry joy.
Frozen treats of unicorn tears and sunshine.
But they melted with the heat of my loathing for you. . . I hope you feel like a guilty douche

Sometimes when I see you, I want to shoot you
with a poison dart.
But then I think,
"Where's the tact in that?"
. . . so I do not.

You smile and laugh and joke n' shit.
But in the midst of traffic
I wish you'd sit.

You be actin' like you got sumthin' to say.
I think I'd bitch slap you
either way;
Clear you throat
Begin to talk
I'll knock you out so hard
You wont be able to walk.

Satan once said
You were his friend.
To which I said
"I give it a few days.
Because generally, Satan, even you will find this person so generally unbearable, foul and hypocritical that even you yourself, Lucifer, will toss him out of the fiery gates of hell because you won't be able to stand it."

Yep. That's what I'd say.
On top of this:

I hate you. . . but I still love you?




Go chase traffic anyway.

Whilst driving through a bustling city. . .

I find it quite the annoyance to have to deal with pedestrians who want to cross the street. Of course, this is never the case when I myself am the pedestrian wanting to cross the street but let's be honest here -- who DOESN'T find the common pedestrian's mentality of  "I'm entitled to cross the street. I'm walking here. . Pedestrians DO always have the right of way, ya know."  Well to this I say: "And my 5,000+ pound vehicle will flatten your ass. . . choose your battles, you witless swine."

I always find it extremely amusing when you reach a point in the road where there is a crosswalk of death awaiting to interrupt your day and a lowly street-crosser decides to make their presence known to you, the driver. However, there are differences in these types of alerts.

First, you can have the "Oh . . . yeah! Oops! ahh! Jeez. I see you, I really do. I'm so sorry you had to slow down. I'm hurrying! I promise! ahhhHhhHHGGghhGghhh fiddle stickssss!!" They always seem so humble, as if to imply that you are extremely troubled to have to wait for them to cross the street -- but you know this is bullshit. They just don't want you to hate them. For this type of person, the person starts on the far end of the crosswalk and proceeds to feign an attempt to hasten themselves across the crosswalk. For this maneuver, the person walks at a normal pace but moves his or her arms in a quick power walking motion. The overall effect is that of an over worked wind-up toy. Maybe one of those monkeys with the cymbals. This person might be the most entertaining to me. They think they're succeeding in making the driver think that they're walking that much faster, but they really just look like effin' morons.

Then, of course, there's the annoying attitude of "excuse me, lowly driver, do you now see that I am TRYING to walk across the street? I'm not entirely sure that you truly grasp the gravity of the situation here -- my very existence depends upon me crossing this street and how DARE you threaten that. For this I'm going to scoff at you." Oh by the way, this person is usually on their cell phone and often makes a face like your mom made when you were seven years old and being loud and "disrespekful" while she's on the phone. They'll point to their cell phone and make this face like "CANTYOUSEEIMONTHEPHONE?!" and give you a nice stare down the entire 3.2 minutes it takes their sorry ass to cross the street. I always find it amusing that they act like they have some place important to be like... oh, a rabies vaccination appointment or a blood transfusion, but if you watch them closely they're legit just going to get a bagel and schmear. (yeah, droppin' the Jewish terminology. Deal with it.) While this pedestrian type is the most annoying to me, I do find it funny that you can literally see the feeling of triumph and justice on their face when they reach the other side, which is you know -- completely ridiculous.


I've also rather enjoyed seeing soccer moms with their six kids try to cross the street. They act like they're fleeing from an alien invasion or they're trying to smuggle the Von Trapp family across the Swiss Alps. They'll be pushing a stroller and will stop and like air-traffic-control the rest of their kids to safety, keep jogging with the stroller, and then realize they've left Gretel or some other forgettable kid on the other side, run back over there and then wave about 5,000 "sorries" to the drivers. I always feel sorry for her, so I can never really get too mad -- I just get a little irritated. Then I think of her in a Fraulein Maria costume and have a nice little chuckle.

Quite possibly my favorite type of street-crosser is the arrogant "you can't hit me because I say you can't" pedestrians. These peoples' actions are usually very broad and loud, and they will literally go to any means possible to let the drivers know that they're there to keep from being turned into roadkill. If you still don't have a clear picture in your head, think of one of those TV shows like Dance Moms, Real Housewives of Pleasantville, or maybe Mob Wives. Now think of how any one of these women react when someone tells them they can't do something. This particular pedestrian will walk across the street with their hand outstretched in a crossing-guard's position towards the cars that have stopped for them, their shopping bags, purses and/or childrens' leashes in the other hand. I always find it ironic that they do this. It's almost like they think that their hand has some kind of mystic force or forcefied coming from it that will keep any transformer cars at bay and keep them safe. To them I say: "Your arrogant stupidity serves as a stronger shield from my car than your hand."


The worst. THE WORST. experience while on the streets of a bustling city is an event that I like to call "Mass Exodus."

Before the Mass Exodus, you (for some reason) feel a little. . . kind. Warm hearted. . . .you know, not so shitty. For whatever reason, you decide to let a kind pedestrian cross the street. You motion for them with the universal sideways hand-wave, and then all of the sudden. Out of nowhere. Out of the mist. From the depths of a dark alley, a crowd of about 500 people decide that they want to cross the street too. You have no idea where these people came from, nor do you have any idea of why the hell they have to travel in such a large herd but it is. INFURIATING. when Mass Exodus happens. And possibly the worst part of it all is that the entire crowd decides to walk the crosswalk as if they're walkin down to the river to get baptized and singin' spirituals.

--------------------

I'd like to take the time to apologize for being off the blog since January. It's not fair to my readers but above all, it's not fair to me. For I believe that out of everyone, I get the biggest kick out of my wit. (I'm imagining myself sitting in a wing-back chair with a sport coat on and a pipe in my mouth saying this to all six of my readers)

I'd also like to take the time to introduce the new title to my blog: REAL TALK. Now let me explain the concept of "real talk:" I have recently began using this phrase before I gossip, or before I say something that may come off as. . . hurtful. However, I don't mean to offend, I simply speak the truth. Therefore I use "real talk" as a disclaimer of sorts and identify the area that we speak in as a Safe Place, or as if to say "dont judge me, but..." or "let's be honest here. . ." or maybe "Holy Eff, did you hear. . . " But REAL TALK, I usually use it for the last of those options.

What I've focused on over Christmas Break 2010.

Where did the term "silly goose" come from?

Did it come from a reference to an actual goose?

Food for thought.

In the mean time, there's this:

A live silly goose.

...?!!

MY FIRST TUTORIAL! WOO!

HELLO READERS. And welcome to my tutorial on:

How to Change Your Major!

or

Changing Concentrations

or simply:

Saving Your Sanity.

If you're anything like me, you probably subconciously picked a major in a field that you thought would eventually bring you loads of money and success. AND, if you're anything like me, you spent a minimum of 2 a maximum of 3.25 Semesters in this field and ABSOLUTELY HATED IT. (cheesy smile and a thumbs up)

If this is the case, and you are indeed a cunning young student like me, HEED MY WARNING.
This is a sign of S.H.I.T or Seemingly Happy But You're Not. Now, I know what you're thinking: "That is extremely accurate, makes sense and WOW! That's the best acronym I've ever seen!" Well, friends. YOU'RE RIGHT.

What you need to do is what I like to call a self-happiness evaluation. To do so, ask yourself the following question
(Drum roll please.)

"Am I Happy . . . ?"

If your answer is "eh? I don't know. . . " continue this evaluation with a close scrutinization of your attitude in class, your work ethic, and your outlook on what your future holds as far as these elements in future classes in semesters to come.

If your answer is "HECK no. I can't stand being hogged down by work all the time, work that I feel is seemingly pointless and won't bring any value in the near future," Or A) Can't see how the major you're affiliated with now will ever pay off, and/or B) look at future semesters/classes with a sense of fear or dreadfulness, you need to contemplate pursuing a different field to major in.

If your answer is "yes, I'm relatively happy. . . " Return to step 1.

Please understand that I in no way am promoting the change of majors for the simple sake of a change. As some of you may have noted from past facebook statuses (statii. . ?) I am now a Psychology Major. I just felt that the English Major, although a B.A. in this field could be rewarding in the future, was simply not me. I found myself thinking that I liked the idea of being an English major and not the reality of being one. What I mean by this is, I always loved the thought that people thought "oohh, an English major. . . what an intellectual human being" when the mention of my major came up. Eventually, I began to realize that it's simply not who I am -- I couldn't continue to lie to myself and try to convince my subconsious that I can handle the work, let alone succeed in the field.

I came to the decision of Psychology because I have taken upper level Psych classes as electives in the past and found them extremely interesting and generally fun to take. (This is another point - don't change to a completely foreign major; always always always have some simple experience with the department you want to major in.) And WHO KNOWS, in the process of pursuing a B.A. in Psychology, I may even find out whats wrong with family members (This, of course, is a joke. I am not a Psych major for the joking matter of potentially - and falsely - diagnosing friends and family members with severe psychological disorders.

In addition to my interest in the department and the positive experiences with a few of the professors in the department, I also understand that a Psychology Degree can be used for virtually anything in terms of Grad School these days. WHICH IS ALWAYS NICE.

Well, friends hope you enjoyed my tutorial and my reflection on the use of this tutorial myself.

Peace out, my home skillets.

Wafts of Wet Dog and Bounce Dryer Sheets

For those of you who take regular Education classes at Belmont Abbey College, you may eventually encounter the Computer Lab on the first floor of Sacred Heart's main academic building.

Not only is this the creepiest hallway I've ever walked down in my life, but the people inside this dungeon of a computer room were extremely frustrated about something. . . .

and it also smells of wet dog and "Bounce" dryer sheets. . .

After I put my things down and began working on a project that was due in 15 minutes, I realized that the women in front of me (around 35 to 40 years of age) were both working in Microsoft Excel, and that the man behind me was their instructor. I was sitting in on an ADP [Adult Degree Program] computer class on how to use Excel. I was beyond terrified.

Every five minutes or so, these seemingly innocent women would let out terrifying grunts at the computer and yelling things like "MERGE!" and "DEAR-LORD-JESUS!" and every now and then the usual "WWRRAAGGGHHHHH!!!" of inevitable frustration.

I sank a little in my chair and continued my work, fearing that if the women behind me discovered that I'm computer literate or that I can type at about 90 WPM -- or if I breathed too loudly -- these women would tear me to bits.

Not too long after I slouched, I had to sneeze.

Yes. a sneeze.

Almost immediately, the three women in front of me turned around in a frenzy and yelled.

Yes, people. YELLED. "GOD BLESS YOU."

God bless.

I was graced with the presence of this today on Facebook. . .

Amidst my daily routine of Facebook Stalking, I came across an ad for a "page" on the book of face which I found rather interesting.

Racist . . . .yet interesting.

That's right, readers. APPARENTLY, those people who usually like Wendy Williams also like Tyler Perry. . . . WHO KNEW?!?!