People are Weird

I know that this is common knowledge. Yes, people are odd; oh, enjoy the diverse bliss, blah blah blah. But seriously, people are weird. Although I have spent most of the evening in the library, a figurative petri dish of paranormal activity, my actual complaint is of the virtual world. In a fit of procrastination, I decided to read some random blogs. There are really two ways of doing this, in my esteemed opinion. First, you just hit the "next blog" icon up in the right hand corner. Ingenious. Now, I do tend to get lots of foreign language blogs which either means that there are more foreign bloggers than not or the blogger gods assume that because I am in New Zealand, I must speak Chinese. Whatever. The second method is more interesting; you go to a friend's blog and see whose blogs they've recommended and so on. Off you go, to weird connections you never imagined. "I think I know that guy. Um, yeah, he's clearly insane now."

See, that's the real problem. Some blogs literally are by crazy people, I think. Those are okay, entertaining even. But then there are people who advertise their blogs to their friends and then rant about these same friends, significant others, parents, fights they just had over the remote. I mean, go ahead and complain, sure. But how passive aggressive is that? You can't complain about people you know when that is your target audience. I would love to link these blogs, but again, these random blog connections would come back to haunt me. I just suggest that you do it yourself. I think it's much more entertaining to write blogs that don't exactly have anything to do with my life. Sure, I tell you that I burn popcorn, but I am not about to write some blog that causes tears of pain to flow onto my keyboard and causes your cheeks to burn out of sheer embarrassment for me. At least I hope not. :)

B.A.N.A.N.A.S.

Yes, Gwen, it is bananas. For those of you familiar with her new song, you'll understand why I went online to discover its hidden meanings... what is a "hollaback girl"? What exactly is bananas, Gwen? Why are you wearing that weird band uniform? Luckily I found this article which explains it all.

I would gladly go on and write more witty, biting remarks about this song, but the article really does that much better than I had planned anyway. Also, I feel it's time to say that I really do like Gwen Stefani, but her songs as of late have left something to be desired. "What you waitin' for?" is also a thinly veiled writer's block in which she admonishes herself for not being able to think of a song to write. Yeah, you shoulda kept trying, honey. Sorry! I'm only a concerned fan.

Where There's Smoke, There's Annika

I have several talents which I like to keep under wraps. One of these is my talent for burning things. You can see why I would keep this a secret! I recall (making a long story short) how Kristin and I managed to get to a hotel in New York for Tiff's wedding late/early enough to make a bag of popcorn and set off the alarms and wake up the poor bridal party in the next room... a talent, I tell you. This time, however, I had no accomplices.

Friday night is my night to not go out, but to stay in and watch bad TV that I really like and relax. I got myself some popcorn at the store, anticipating my need for salty, crunchy things. I, again, don't have a microwave, so I had to get the old school "manual" popcorn. Not really a big deal, and nice because that way it has no salt or butter which is way more healthy. I made my popcorn but decided to screw the healthy part. I decided to toss some butter into the pan that I had just used to make popcorn thinking that the heat would melt that butter lickety split. Well, what actually happened was that the butter immediately turned black and smoke started pouring out of the pan. I freaked out, naturally and removed the pan from the stove which was unhelpful considering the stove wasn't even on anymore. I threw the windows open (yes, in the middle of winter) and prayed that the fire alarm wouldn't -- BEEP, BEEP, BEEP!

Now I was worried that the whole fire department would come down to student central and see me in fuzzy slippers and pajamas at 8 on a Friday night. I frantically started waving a towel by the smoke detector, but I have really high ceilings, so I jumped on a chair and promptly fell off. I was even more worried that the fire crew would see me with a stupid broken leg and a towel, but I managed to hobble back up and continue flapping. I finally figured out that there was a reset button (in the other room, of course) for the alarm and things calmed down. Slightly disturbing additional fact? Neither time, in NY or NZ, did the fire department actually come. What if I was burning more than my popcorn?

Moral of the story? Don't put butter on your popcorn.

Thing #408 You Won't See in the States

Now, this is from a company that supports homosexuality, but I just don't think this would fly in the States. Maybe we are too worried about offending everyone. I mean, no one here takes a second glance at this. Weird. It still catches me offguard when I am buying a late night ice cream cone from the corner dairy. And what's with the freaky clown??

Mmmm... Tea, Yuck Entertainment

I think that everyone should read this article. I love tea; I really do. Everyone told me that it would be even easier to like tea down here in New Zealand because they're more Britishly influenced than us rebellious Americans. Well, truth be told, they are just bigger fans of hot beverages in general. As I write this, I am acutely aware that because it's about 10am here, the staff of my building is having their morning tea. This can mean they have their coffee, their tea, their fizzies (soda), and/or biscuits. They have tea at lunchtime and for afternoon tea. And everyone has a cup of tea after dinner. It's just what you do.

Well, now I can be happy that my love of tea is healthy as well! I know my dad is sitting there thinking, "Yeah, they say it's healthy this week, remember last time you came to me worried because tea supposedly breaks down your iron?" Yeah, well, this time is different because this time it's in my favor! Woohoo tea. I actually read the above article and immediately jumped out of my desk to get a cup of tea from the tea room. The article was really that convincing... or I am that easily influenced by marketing. Whichever.

Also, while I am recommending reading, can I suggest this article? Conan O'Brien is writing for Newsweek? When did this happen? Is this a regular thing or just a one time deal? To continue my mindless entertainment tangent, the New Zealand news had the Oprah footage when Tom Cruise was gushing over his new love interest, Katie Holmes. Really? Reality in television is officially sickening to me. You know what, Tom, I just don't care who you like because I don't know you, her, or your relationship. PDA is sick when it's people that don't already have disgusting amounts of attention lavished upon them. Oh entertainment industry, you disappoint me.

Two More Reasons I Should Have My Camera At All Times

As I was walking around town doing all my errands today I saw two incidents that made me regret that I don't carry my camera always. The first was as I walked past The Bowler, a popular little bar. You may remember me talking about how they advertised some stupid school girl uniform party for ages and handed out heaps of ads to the point of irritation. Well, in an only fit bout of irony, the big billboard they had up that was also advertising their stupid party was stolen. They used it as a publicity stunt, pleading for it to be given back, etc. Well, I walked past today and they were nailing barbed wire to the posts that lead up to this billboard. I couldn't help it... I burst out laughing. One guy was clearly quite serious about marking his territory and the younger bit his lip to keep from laughing along with me. It's a stupid poster people! Some punk kid has it hanging in his or her flat and it's doing more advertising from there than your stupid street sign. Barbed wire? Seriously?

The second joyously wonderful moment was walking back from the grocery store. There was a man in a diving suit in the Leith. Seriously. A grown man diving was looking for stuff under the water. Granted, it was probably some sort of clean up measure, but it was clearly done unprofessionally because the guy was shouting random directions to his friends above him, "Taut, I said taut!!" Hahahahaha. If that isn't enough to make you laugh, remember that it's winter here. Crowds of people lined up to watch during their lunch breaks. It was great. This is why I should always, always have my camera on me. Sorry there aren't any pictorials for you guys.

We Can't All Be Bookworms

As the semester draws to a close, I once again find myself reading like it's my job (and it is, I suppose). I was wisely advised, through second hand advice, to avoid the library during finals. We don't actually have finals, just continuing projects, and all the undergrads who spend most of their time swapping germs, no doubt (darn kids), are hanging about the library. Unfortunately, I refuse to use my heater. I spend lots of time in the library because they have to heat that. Why not benefit? My study habits aren't bad, I suppose, but I am so easily distracted. I like to hole myself away on the uppermost floor at tables that have small walls in the center. That way, each student gets his or her own private cubicle. Turns out, I love cubicles! I have chosen the wrong career. Honestly, I was missing the days back in first grade when I got the "fridge." It was a refrigerator box with one side cut off. You sat inside it, with the open end facing the board. I would kill for that again! I get so distracted.

Today, I holed up again in the remote top floor at one of the tables. Well, a couple was sitting on the other side of the wall and I have to figure they assumed the wall was sound proof. You don't need to discuss what you'll have for dinner when you know I am studying a foot from you. After the atrocious feminine half of the distracting duo left, he spent the next twenty minutes texting her. Yeah, his phone beeps every time he pushes a key. I had to leave. Boo for people who don't know how to handle a library. They are silent sanctuaries! Not a place for you to have long indepth discussions about if he'll call you, or if she's getting fatter.

I am thisclose to throwing out my TV so my flat can be my new silent sanctuary. Thisclose, but not actually going to do it.

We Could Own This Town

Yesterday, the Regent Theatre held their annual 24 hour book sale. Most books were only fifty cents, with the "good", new books only $2.50. Considering the ease it would take to buy a brand new paperback for 29 dollars, this was a welcome change. I went first with one friend, then another because please... of course I would go twice. Kelley and I were pushed out of the book sale by crowds and overheating but went on to Starbucks. They had late hours, specially for the book sale, keeping them open until three in the morning. Normally all the coffee places close at about seven or eight. Isn't that ridiculous?

As we sat in the crowded Starbucks, we realized that they should always be open late, at least until midnight. The place was packed and the town is always busy that time of night anyhow. We sat around and watched the people sights: a guy blaring bagpipe music from his car's cd player, some stage-dressed actors who I assumed were entertaining the book crew, kids that look about 13 who are apparently allowed to roam the streets at night, some kids who kept going back and forth across the street in front of Starbucks (it's a cool new game - all the cool kids are doing it!), and the ever present dumb girls who wear high heels and strapless dresses in winter. Being able to sit in the coffee shop and watch all the people go by should be a part of nighttime Dunedin culture.

It's another reminder of how Kelley and I could take our good ol' American know-how and whip this town into an economic machine. It's a college town, meaning that any place that serves greasy food should be open until at least an hour past bar time. Coffee shops should be open really late so that high schoolers have something to do at night. Movies should play later as well. Breakfast places should be open early on Sundays. Then I realized that the American dream isn't overcoming obstacles, it's overtaking them. We could totally make this town suburbia, given the right amount of capital. But is that so good? New Zealanders wouldn't want to work all hours of the night catering to arrogant youth. Weird. It's like a whole section of American economy. Maybe we should just let Dunedin be its quirky self and wait for business opportunities to flourish back in the States.


Yeah, or we could take over and be business sensations...

Name that Smell

As I have mentioned, I work at the lunch hour at the CFI (CFI: NZ hahaha). The tea room is just down from my office and I realized that lunchrooms always smell the same. At first, I thought this was the smell of cheap bologna and cheese on white bread. But I am fairly certain that these adult professionals aren't eating the same crap that middle schoolers eat. So what is it that smells like that? Is it just the long tables? Cheap linoleum? Do microwaves and cooking appliances give off some secret odor previously unimagined? Perhaps it's just the smell of a bunch of food at once. I think that I enjoyed thinking of it like bologna and cheese. It just seems so wholesome and innate to children. Ah well, that theory's busted.

Also, if you are a loyal reader, you will recall that I bought Brie and French bread on Saturday. Well, Brie starts to smell like feet after a bit. I am not sure that this is a sign that it's gone bad. Some really expensive cheese smells like feet. Brie is good cheese, but I still didn't want to chance it. I used the last of my Brie to bake onto some French bread creating a variation on garlic bread. An unplanned bonus? Now my flat smells like warm feet. Thank God for candles and incense or I would be frightening off the neighbors.

The whole smell idea got me wondering what my flat smells like normally. Everybody's house has a smell. I really wonder what mine is. I think they should invent a machine that would tell you. I'd totally buy it. C'mon, you know you would too.

Milwaukee Public Museum

I was reading the news of Milwaukee because, that's right, I like to know what's going on in that old hometown of mine. Turns out, bad things! I love the museum. It's just true. There are a few places in the world where I feel completely at home, comfortable, blissful even. The Milwaukee Public Museum is one of those places. I used to go there a lot with family and things, I've gone there with several exes, bringing them there to let them share in one of my favorite places. Before I left the US, my dad and I went there because if you are me and my dad, it's what you do. I love knowing how to make the one rattlesnake rattle, knowing the little window you can look out of, making you part of the exhibit below. I love still being a bit nervous seeing the giant dinosaur eating the other dinosaur. I like hearing the howler monkey in the rainforest exhibit and hearing the bad music coming out of the fake Jeep in said exhibit.

I love seeing kids enthralled with seeing things for the first time. I love hearing parents tell their kids about the different animals and people they are looking at. I like that the museum is downtown and is just so Milwaukee to me. I dream a lot of crazy dreams and many of them happen in the museum setting. When my dad and I went there shortly before we all jumped the Wisconsin ship, we sat drinking coffee and remembering what the museum used to look like and all the fun stuff we used to do there. He said, "You just don't want to leave, do you?" No, I didn't. I like that museum. So where is the bad news?

Click on the link and see that the museum doesn't have any money! They are firing heaps of people and just don't have enough money! I can see things going bankrupt in Milwaukee; my grade school and church come to think of it. And that's okay in the long run because there are other churches and schools - better ones, actually. There is no other museum. Can you really, in good conscience, bring up kids without ever taking them to the museum? I am horrified by this turn of events. Milwaukee, you have betrayed me! If I was still there, I swear to God I would start doing fundraising and helping out. So Milwaukee-ans who are still there, do something! It's the museum! How can a city like Milwaukee not have a museum?

Word Play

I feel the need to let you in on my recent fun with words. Nerd time, people. Buckle up. I subscribe to the word of the day list because I like to beautify my mind. You know you're jealous. Check out the sweet word that came up today:

dundrearies \dun-DREER-eez\ noun plural, often capitalized : long flowing sideburns
Example sentence:In order to play the title character in a dramatization of Martin Chuzzlewit, Philip donned false dundrearies that made him look a lot older.
Did you know?In the United States, Our American Cousin by Tom Taylor is often best remembered as the play Abraham Lincoln was watching at Ford's Theatre in Washington, D.C., when he was assassinated by John Wilkes Booth. Word lovers may also recall that the show gave us "dundrearies," a name for the long, bushy sideburns (called "Piccadilly weepers" in England). The term for that particular men's hair fashion, which was popular between 1840 and 1870, comes from the name of Lord Dundreary, a character in the play who sported those elegant whiskers. The name can also be used in the attributive form "dundreary whiskers."

As if this wasn't enough word fun for one day, I wanted to let you in on the word fun that the soccer team has been having. This may be shocker to everyone, but Kelley and I talk differently than the rest of the Kiwis. I will pause for the bewildered gasps.

Some of the word fun includes making fun of me for saying toe-may-toe sauce, which is already a compromise for ketchup, instead of saying toe-mah-toe sauce. They also call tupperware containers, pottles. This is how I assume it's spelled as it rhymes with bottles. But say it out loud to yourself, imagining you are a proper English gentleman - pottle! This can keep us laughing for darn near hours. They also say knackered for tired, which is a phrase I enjoyed two fold: It is cool sounding on its own and when the Kiwis say it, it sounds like naked. Much to my chagrin, it turns out the phrase originates from horses getting too old for races and being sent therefore to the knackers. I should have known, but now I am upset because I don't like the sound of it anymore. The agreed upon favorite still remains gutted for disappointed. If ever there was a word that sounded more like its meaning, I haven't known it. Also, we discovered that they pronounce Adidas ah-di-DAS, making it sound an awful lot like lah di dah. It simply loses something in the translation.

I am excited to find out what terms I take back with me, considering I am only four months into Kiwi life training. All I know is that I'll be gutted if I get knackered eating and need to put my leftovers in a pottle because the tomahto sauce never tastes as good the next day.

Dopplegangers Anonymous

Okay, you know what's a bad idea? Putting your name in google or whatever. This is an exceptionally bad idea if you have an uncommon name and prefer it that way. I am not enjoying seeing small dogs and cats named Annika. I am also not thrilled that there are evidently billions of babies around the world being named Annika. That golfer is okay, but she shames me like many Annika's my age. "Wow, that Annika is definitely hotter than me. And Whoa... that one goes to Princeton?? And hmm, yeah this one looks really young to be getting her PhD... in biochemistry??" The only exciting thing is that I found a magazine called annika. I can only understand the words: annika, winter, and easy. I am sure it is fantastic. Also, I am fairly certain I can assume it has something to do with knitting - I mean, look at that cover.

Seriously, kids, don't do it. Of course, that's the whole "Don't think of pink elephants" thing, whereupon they immediately start dancing in your head in purple tutus. So, instead of scolding you for doing what I clearly instructed not to, I would like to hear what stuff you find out about your own names/lives.

Dave Eggers

Well, Lisa was right. Dave Eggers does in fact rule. I am reading his first book (that I know of), A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius. It is naturally amazing. I am impressed that he wrote this as a new author blah blah blah. Basically, I want him to get super famous because now it only seems that my book savvy friends know about him. So consider yourselves informed and get to the library, people!

Update: It occurs to me that I may have been too rash in my assumption that Eggers is not already "super famous." He has enjoyed a lot of critical success and if the Times has acknowledged him in anyway, I bet at least some of the lemmings reading it know who he is. But I would like for him to be wildly famous, a cult classic. So if he is already and I am just late jumping on this particular bandwagon, someone yell at me for being so self-involved and an obviously horrid English teacher to be because I was unaware of his phenomenal work.

Farmer's Market

So Kelley and I were again turned out from the gym because all the good machines were taken. Instead of going to the rowers or something we decided to go to Starbucks. Same diff. While in Starbucks, contemplating what to do for the duration of the day, we realized that we were finally awake during and aware of the Farmer's Market that happens every Saturday morning until noon at the train station.

Well, let me just say, these are my people. Ladies in their fifties with blue hair, hippies selling organic food, a Russian lady selling Russian food I can't pronounce, French people making crepes, fresh fish on display, and the friendliest bunch of shoppers I have ever seen. I am going to start buying my veggies and fruits and breads and okay, anything else they sell there from them instead of from the grocery store. They had grey pumpkins (which I still can't force myself to buy), purple cabbage, something called sweet Swedes, tiny yams, extravagant cakes, and smoked venison (a delicacy here - weird). It smelled like a million fresh good things at once.

After shopping for an eternity (who could rush?), I decided on fresh Brie and a bagette and the lady threw in some free cheese curds. I love this country. Kelley got some fresh raspberries and a Russian dessert neither of us could pronounce or specifically identify. The only known facts: it had cherries in it and tasted good. Dunedin really does have heaps of fun and interesting forms of entertainment. They even have student discounts with much of the veggie sales. I mean, honestly. New Zealand is the coolest kid I know.

Birthday Wish List

That's right, folks, I know my birthday isn't for like two months, but I figure that's always best to be well prepared for such momentous occasions. Mostly, I just think it's funny most of the stuff I actually want considering my birthday is in July:

~An electric blanket. Good Lord, it's starting to get cold. Not turning your heat on is getting to be a more and more extreme sport. Four layers should be enough to sleep in... should.

~A good down comforter, down mattress pad, down pillows, pretty much anything down that would help retain any kind of heat on a bed.

~A new sports bra. Sad, but true fact? I am still wearing the sports bra I bought when I was in the fifth grade. Sure, sure, other sports bras have come and gone, but now I am back down to just Ol' Holey.

~A good pair of brown boots. I think I will make this a Cinderella competition. If you find the perfect pair of boots that I have been thus far unable to find, then you get the prize (which may or may not be a great pat on the back from me)!

~Books. I keep telling myself that I am not allowed to fill up my floor to ceiling bookshelves because of the insane price of books here, but if they were gifts, well then... the whole story changes.

~CD's. Mostly I say this because I am too lazy to pick out my own music. But my friends have great taste in music which I would be more than happy to mooch off of.

~Visits. Naturally the best present of all would be having all of you (okay, well only the non-psychos who I actually know who read my blog) come and hang out. It'll be fun to be freezing in July, won't it?

~Alternatively, I would like an Anonymous Donor to pay for me to go to Jorie's wedding. It's in July and the judges would definitely allow it as a sweet present.

Hope I got the wheels a-turning for you, and remember - creativity is key so don't limit yourself to my suggestions! ;)

Well, my camera isn't working with the New Zealand batteries. So while there has been new stuff I have wanted to photograph (a bike in the Leith, some cool chalk art things), I decided to show you the big street it town. It goes on much farther than what youo can see, but it's super colorful and I think I forgot that til I saw it. Dunedin is (shockingly, but whatever) fast becoming New Zealand's fashion capital. This street, again farther down, has all these cute boutiques and a lot of stores that make their own clothes and things. Pretty neat. I spend a lot of my time on this street. Enjoy. 

Rarebit

Kelley and I went out to brunch the other day because soccer was cancelled and we needed to be consoled. Or I like to eat out. Whatev. Regardless, we went to my new favorite restaurant, Vino Vena. I ordered the vegetarian eggs benedict because let's face it, that's a me kinda dish. One of the ingredients listed on the menu was rarebit. I hadn't a clue what this was, encouraging me even further toward this dish. It came and I loved the rarebit because it tasted like grill. Vegetarians don't get that privilege of taste, vegetables just don't taste the same grilled as meat does. Granted, I am a poser vegetarian who eats fish, but fish also has a different grill taste than meat. I felt this rarebit was closest I had come to grilled meat in over two years. I had Kelley try it. I asked, "Doesn't it kind of taste like sausage? You know, like fake-y McDonald's breakfast sausage?" After a highly critical look, Kelley responded, "No." So I have officially lost all authority on the topic of meat. We've long suspected this, but now it's official. No more meat talk for me. She felt that it tasted like eggs and cheese. Whatever. I realized that I was still unsure of what the mystery food consisted of and so, curiosity piqued, I decided to look it up on the internet.

If you click on the above link, you will see that Welsh rarebit is also known as rabbit. I freaked out. Christ Almighty, I unknowingly ate bunny! I started to feel ill (and began having flashbacks to the accidentally eaten morsel of bacon in Applebee's... that was a barf night) but kept reading. It's not actually rabbit. It just sounds like rabbit so people call it rabbit. Stupid Welsh. It's actually a really good eggy, cheesy little breakfast food. Knowledge is power, people. Try cooking it. It's awesome.

In other news, I finished my first scarf. I am an official knitter and am excited to post a picture of my only slightly misshapen scarf. I am sure my excitement is matched only by that of my loyal readers.

Mission Completely Possible

I haven't updated you all on my job -- I should be ashamed of myself. Well, the student visa I am on only allows me to work 15 hours or less a week. I have no car and nothing else to offer. :) I finally found a job that offered me 5 hours a week. I jumped at the chance after looking for a job for months. I am the lunchtime receptionist for the Centre for Innovation. It's one of those places where you can't explain its existence in one sentence, but I'll try. They are a mix of students and professionals who do marketing, experimenting, and collaborating for new technologies. That isn't all of it, but that's all I understand of it. 95% of the people that walk in the door work here, meaning that I don't need to help them. But I need to look professional. Here's where it gets crazy: They encourage me to play around on the internet because it looks professional to have me doing something at a computer when visitors do come. I do homework, research, chat online, shop, and read book reviews. And I get paid an asinine amount of money to do so. I also get paid time off, paid sick leave, and benefits. It's like a real job. My very first.

The great thing is that it is so un-American. They think it's odd that I would work, as I am a student. I explained that I only go to class twice a week and that's at night. They were unsure of my point. As a student, you are supposed to be wild and free. I told them about my job in the gas hut of Fleet Farm where you only got 1 customer per two hours on average and I was forbidden to do anything at all besides sit and wait for customers. They were baffled. Work is supposed to be something you can enjoy here, so why wouldn't I take advantage of the free internet and printer? I love New Zealand.

At Least I'm Not Bored

Dunedin is a fascinating little town. I can't decide if it's big or if it's small. I suppose it's both. Is it posh or is it small town hick? Again, probably both. Well, Kelley and I (okay, more me than her) have a slight addiction to eating out and seeing movies. In between those two locales, both of which vary, we have seen the most odd things. The other night, we saw heaps of teenage girls wearing lots of eyeshadow and clashing layered clothing, costume style. They were running around and screaming in the center of town with huge buses everywhere. What was the occasion? I'm still unsure. Then yesterday, we were walking through to the theatre and there was a convention going on in the center of town. It was the Weed Club. Yes, you heard me right -- there were dreads and hackeysacks everywhere! The icing on the cake was that there was a three foot tall paper mache bong. No joke. Doesn't that just make your day?

Also, there are usually random students walking around in wigs and body paint and monkey costumes. I awoke to a float being built outside my window for a parade I never saw or heard of. There are frequent chaotic drinking games in the large yard near my flat -- at noon on a Tuesday, or something equally random.

I really hope that I never get completely used to seeing unexpected things. It's fun to be surprised in life, and there's nothing like collegiate life to keep it unpredictable.

Petri Dish of Weird

I read an article once that said that living alone for a long time can make it hard for you to rejoin Relationship City because you get too used to getting your own way. I don't know what they're talking about - I've always gotten my own way. (Kidding, sorta.) What I have noticed about living alone is that I am getting weirder. When you don't have anyone to observe you, you start acting however you feel like. You know the old saying that true character is defined by what you do in the bathroom when you're by yourself? It's worse when it's the whole flat. Things I do now that I didn't use to:

- I sit in the shower for a long time. Well, I love baths for relaxation purposes and I don't have a bathtub. I don't want to just stand there - I get tired - so I just sit in the shower. Yeah, I know. It's weird.

- I eat really odd things. Lunch is the worst. I have eaten half a box of raisins for lunch, a tortilla that has been baked with butter on it, an ice cream cone, a bag of cashews, etc.

- I take breaks getting ready. Now, Kimmie and I used to do this in college, but it's worse when you are alone. I will be blow drying my hair and I'll just sit on the edge of the bed staring at the wall for a while.

- I squeal when the phone or doorbell ring. I do this in my head all the time, unexpected communication is exciting, but the squealing has joined the audible world. Trouble.

- I count my steps around the flat. Out loud.

I really hope some of these habits go away or any future roommates or husbands will have to be as equally insane. I still suggest these things. It's fun to be able to break while you're getting ready. Try it, you'll see.

Body and Soul

I once again had my TV a-blaring this morning to have some background noise. A great infomercial quote caught my attention: "I mean, we're all dreading to look older and all looking for new ways to look younger." Are we? Are we, really? I know that I can't authoritatively speak on what it feels like to noticeably grow older... I am only 22 after all. No matter how much I try to tell people that 22 is old, anyone older than me disagrees. Still, I don't think that I am in any sort of desperate embrace to the appearance of youth. I have heard older (and usually gorgeous) actresses comment that people should appreciate each new age, each new appearance because all of them have their ups and their downs. I really hope that isn't hard to do. I am excited about looking 65 someday. 80 will have its charms. God willing, I get to love those years as much as I do these ones.

Then again, it may be maturity that I am grasping towards rather than youth. For soccer, I have to wear my hair in pigtails to keep it out of my face. I look even more 12 than I usually do. The team likes to mock my "cute little piggy tails." This, obviously, irritates me to no end. The icing on this particularly sugary cake was that last night, Holly said I was cute. Holly is 15. Now wait just a darn minute. The hair might be cute, but I most certainly am not. In the list of adjectives that I want people to use to describe me, cute is nonexistent. It's not low on the list, or near the bottom - it's not on the list. Especially from a 15 year old.

Sigh.

I should just get over it, I suppose and hope they start making the anti-Botox. It will give me crows' feet to show years of smiling and forehead wrinkles to demonstrate deep contemplation. And perhaps scratch the pigtails.

Piercing Bug

That's right... I let that darn piercing bug bite me again (quite literally!). I didn't mean to. It was an accident! But I got that tax return that I was going to do big things with. I was going to get glasses! Well, glasses here cost an average of $300. That's just the frames, not counting the eye exam or anything. Also I need to work with my insurance to see what deals I can get. Long story semi-short, no glasses for a while. So what do I have to show for my little money spurt? Nothing. A bit fat lot of nothing. Something had to be done.

Today in the mail, I got a nice little card from my mom with a nice little bit of money in it. I decided to splurge on some Starbucks. On the way to get coffee, I saw a store called Funk That. Classy joint, clearly. They appeared to sell earrings and various other piercing adornments which got my brain a-churning. I had been contemplating getting my cartilage pierced - the cartilage on your ear that is closest to your face. (How's that for poetic imagery?) On the way back from Starbucks, I went in to do some pricing. Note to readers: I was dressed to go to work following my coffee, so I was dressed nicely (L.L.Bean style, cute scarf and all), was holding a mammoth Starbucks cup and am clearly American. I walked into the place and asked if they did cartilage piercings. The guys looked up skeptically and blandly told me yes. How much? Twenty five dollars which equates to less than twenty dollars American. Sold. How long? Ten minutes. So I said, "Yeah, okay. You got an opening now? I have to be at work in half an hour."

Now they call me Starbucks and are evidently my new best friends. I love shaking up people's stereotypes. Plus this is an ear piercing so it's not going to affect any job possibilities. It's cute, it's cheap, it's relatively painless. The random piercing (or bodily harm) bug struck again. And you know what? It does feel good to be a gansta. A piercing gangta.

Censorship

It turns out that I am quite well adjusted to censorship from the States. I know we like to think of the whole freedom of speech thing, but that just doesn't apply to media - yay FFC! I like to have the TV on while I do stuff around the flat because living by yourself can be a bit quiet. We all know quiet = creepy. I was cooking away one night when I found myself thinking the TV sounded odd. True, primarily because I was watching some awful Andy Dick Apprentice spinoff, shocking in and of itself. Secondarily, Andy was dropping the f-bomb left and right and I heard no bleeping. Shocking! While it was on their MTV equivalent, it wasn't on exceptionally late and it isn't cable. Children could have seen it! Sometimes, shows do bleep the f-bomb, sometimes they don't. Andy was, of course, using other creative language that I was astounded by as well. Trust me, kids, I've heard it all. Most things linguistic don't shock me anymore, but seeing and hearing it on TV for the world to be exposed to takes me aback just a tad.

But! That was nothing!

A few days later, I was watching some good ol' MTV equivalent before bed. It's usually just music videos (remember when MTV had music?) which is great for helping me to relax before bed. Well, that night, it was some stupid Jackass or Viva la Bam spinoff. There was a segment entitled Naked Guys. Naturally intrigued, I paid bit more attention. Talk about your mistakes. First off, the didn't blur out these guys' dangly bits. Again, not shocking in and of itself, but the lack of censorship certainly was. Worse yet, these guys were obviously beyond their years in maturity because they started to smear stuff on each other. "What is it?" I innocently queried. In more polite terms, one of the guys yelled, "Poop attack!" and smeared his own poo from his own bum on another of the naked guys.

Ew.

Maybe censorship isn't so bad after all. Who wants to see poo-y naked guys acting like they're four years old? Scratch that... I know four year olds that look like dignitaries in comparison.