My Weblog

Friday, 26 March 2010

  • I got caught chewing my hair in class yesterday

    It wasn't really chewing. It was more like sucking.

    The girl sitting next to me totally called me out on it, too. "Oh my god, you actually chew on your hair? I didn't actually think anyone did that. That's so weird."

    Of course I just chuckled a bit and let the hair fall from my mouth. I didn't tell her why I was doing it; I definitely wasn't going to fuel that fire.

    The night before, I had made Ranch Dressing-y and Cheesy Mashed Potatoes for second-dinner at around midnight. In my haste to inhale it all at once, some fell off my fork and into my hair. A classic mistake, and I quickly rectified it with a paper towel, smearing it deeper between the strands, but removing any obvious evidence that I had ever had a mishap. Then I went to sleep. Then I woke at the crack of dawn and sprinted through getting dressed and brushing my teeth to make it to my first class at 10.

    In my final class, I smelled potatoes. "What on earth?!" I thought. Surely, my brain was playing tricks on me, it just wanted lunch.

    Then I remembered there was some on my hair. It was a very magical moment for me.

    So what else was I supposed to do but pop it in my mouth and enjoy the residual magic of the potatoes? Seriously?

    Then psycho-chick decided to call me out on it, for some reason. So after that, I skipped the dining hall to go home and shower, since it struck me how marginally gross that was.



    Long story short:

    Have you ever noticed your shampoo bottle?

    Mine has trivia questions on each of the shampoo and conditioner bottles, the answers to which are provided on the opposite bottle.

    Is this just a marketing scheme to get you to buy both?


    And it's not just mine!


    My boyfriend uses Aussie Cleanse & Mend, which promises, "Greasy roots? Frazzled ends? Car won't start? This will help two of those problems."

    I don't know why they do this.


    If I ran a shampoo company, on the bottles I'd put "Cleans hair way better than other shampoos with a cool gender-neutral scent- apple". Then no one would get stuck in the struggle of deciding which shampoo has the cutest rhetoric and best smell and worry instead about which actually gets your hair clean.

    Maybe the world would be a better place...

Saturday, 04 July 2009

  • Disambiguating the Internet Laugh

    It has happened to the best of us:

    You are sitting, alone in front of your computer. You've bypassed a night of drinks and dances to sit at home, in a room lit only by the light of the monitor in front of you. You're chatting online with a friend who has done the same.

    Suppose you're on Facebook Chat. Your friend suddenly goes offline right in the middle of your conversation. He returns, apologizing. "Sorry! Facebook Chat kicked me off!" (+1 Xanga). You make a quick joke about the moment.

    And of all of the replies he could have chosen to reply, he chooses

    "lol"

     

    Excuse me, what does that mean?

     

    1. lol - I thought that was funny, but did not, in fact, LOL

    The most commonly found forms of lol out there.

    The people who utilize lol Number One know very few ways to truly express their amusement online or via text message. They may or may not actually understand what lol stands for. They use it as a representation of a laugh only a small portion of the time, and use it the rest of the time to let you know that, while what you said was clever and silly, it was not worth effort beyond those three letters.

    Better luck next time...

    2. lol - That wasn't funny, I just feel sorry for you.

    This lol is only used by close friends, significant others, and parents.

    lol Number Two is a purely pity laugh. They didn't laugh-out-loud. They didn't even smile. They didn't want to make you mad. So they said lol, because for most people, that's good enough. I know better.

    No longer should you let anyone get away with a less-than amused "lol".

    3. lol - You're a douchebag.

    lol Number Three is very similar to lol Number Two, with one subtle difference.

    People who use lol Number Two like you. People who use lol Number Three lol in order to show other friends how well they played you.

    Scene:

    "So then I was like, 'THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID!'. lol right?"
    "yeah! lol! tell me another one, you're so funny."
    later that day
    "Dude, look at what I got this guy to do for a whole hour!"

    You got hustled for a few lols. You poor shmuck.

    4. lol - OMG I ACTUALLY LOL'ED ON THAT ONE. SOOO FUNNY!

    lol Number Four is the rarest form of lol.

    User thinks that you are funny. That was a really good joke, well played.

     

     

    People who use lol Numbers One through Three give those who limit their lol's to lol Number Four a bad name.

    I propose we start something new.

    LLOL - it's the Literal LOL.

    Use this only when you're actually laughing out loud at something. That way, everyone will understand when you're being legitimate, and when you're being weak. If you can't own up to not thinking something is funny, you can just stick to "lol". We'll all know. It's okay.

    Problem solved.

    LLOL. Use it. Love it. Be it.

Wednesday, 01 July 2009

  • My Journey to Jupiter - A Completely Legit Excuse for Such a Long Absence

    So, you see. A few months ago, I got a call from NASA. They were really interested in signing on a completely untrained, inexperienced, barely of-age kid to man a spacecraft, alone.

    So I was like, "Sure, what else do I have to do? Finish off my senior year in style and make it into college? Easy Peasy. What better way to fill in my spare time than man a trip to Jupiter? It can't take more than a week. Shouldn't really tell Xanga, they won't even notice."

    So I left. It was quite the adventure. I met a Jupiterarian (is that what you call someone who lives on Jupiter?)

     

    And that is the completely true story of how and why I've been completely neglecting Xanga.

     

    Then I got home and realized I was back at the bottom of the Xanga love charts. I'd have to release a new single. I think synthesized voices are in, now. Maybe I could make it big with something like that.

    Now I've just got to go back to the drawing board and pay someone big bucks to write me something to get this place hoppin' again.

     

    On a happier note, on my trip to Jupiter, I recieved word on college. Decided on University of Texas at Dallas, Political Science major. Class of 2013. WHOOSH!

Tuesday, 17 February 2009

  • My America - Complete with personalized Laugh Track!

    I've been absent as of late. I used to be against the idea of using my Xanga as a vehicle for spouting off teenage nonsense that would clearly convince others of my age. It seemed foolish to say, "First, I woke up. Then I ate breakfast. Then I called Tiffany, and BOY she was being a bitch!" because nobody wants to read that crap...

    I don't even want to write that crap...

    But since I'm running low on anything mature and worthwhile to write, I might as well waste time (yours and mine) writing about SOMETHING.

    I'm going crazy without Xanga...

     

     

     

    We have just begun reading The Canterbury Tales in English, which, thus far, has proved to be enormously educational.

    What, you might ask, has anyone learned with just 2 days of study?! Well, I would answer you, everyone in my class seems to have gained a wonderful amount of insight into how STUPID I (obviously) am.

    My parents recently tried to convince me that I have a learning disability. They were trying to encourage me to consider different types of colleges that might be more accommodating to my thinking. If there's one thing I know, it's that I'm not stupid. I know, above all other things, that I am a very intelligent young woman.

    I just might not think like everyone else.

     

    Canterbury Tales is a collection of satirical stories regarding the social order in medieval England. So, to warm up, my teacher had us list 10 people that "define" America, when grouped together.

    After everyone had finished, she picked 5 people to read their lists aloud.

    Everyone else's sounded the same.

    1. Doctor
    2. Lawyer
    3. Homeless man
    4. Teacher
    5. Student
    6. Construction worker
    7. Politician
    8. Wall-Street Millionaire
    9. IT Guy
    10. Intern

    At the end of the lesson, I discovered they had achieved the desired results. Of course.

    Because Canterbury Tales contains commentary on social order, and social order at that time was determined by economic stature, they "got" the lesson. There is a great variance in their "America's" fiscal security. (Please note, though, it's not that I didn't pay attention to the lesson. She didn't connect these peices until after we'd made our lists, so I worked off the preliminary directions...)

    But I didn't really do that...

    When I think of America, I don't immediately think of the variance between Doctors and Lawyers and McDonalds employees.

     

    I think of octuplets and Furries. I think of the guy I gave $5 when he played a song for me on the street. I think of the Manager at Taco Bueno who knows me by my first name. I think of the pot-holed highways being fixed by men in Neon-Orange vests, and the guy that sells hot-dogs at Ranger's games. I think about my grandmother, and her amazing Luby's-provided Thanksgiving dinners, and teenagers who dress up for school. I think about struggling artists, and the people who buy their artwork. I think about everyone who loves Harry Potter.

    I don't think about how much you make. I think about what you do. I think about what makes you special. When I think about all of the crazy people we have in America, I know that's more important than how much money you gross every year, or whether or not you have a super-big-screen-tv that makes all of your neighbors jealous.

    America, to me, is made up of millions of different people who have "America" in common. We all have the right to be and do just about whatever we want, and I don't think of the people who sit at home and live their lives for work and normalcy. I think of the people who take advantage of the individuality we have every right to achieve. I think of people marching in Gay Pride parades, and people protesting Abortion outside of clinics, not about the Doctors in the clinics.

    So obviously...

    My list sounded super funny next to everyone else's when she called on me to read it aloud.

     

    Laugh, laugh, laugh at Rachel, who obviously doesn't understand the real world.
    Laugh, laugh, laugh at Rachel, the dumbest person in the "smart" class at school.
    Laugh, laugh, laugh at myself, so that nobody else knows I know what they think.

    I wonder...

    When I make friends (period.) who understand how I think, will the world just explode with the massive amount of improbability that's bound to be involved in (1) me finding real friends, and (2) finding someone else in the world who doesn't think I'm a complete moron.

    1 in 1000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000...etc...

Monday, 12 January 2009

  • Oh, Xanga, How I Do Love Thee

    Ideologically, I consider myself a socialist. Pragmatically, I try to keep my mouth shut because of it. However, there are some situations that necessitate that something be said. There are just those times when keeping your mouth shut just won't work. You're under pressure, and you have to say something- there's no getting out of it.

    In these situations, I lie.

     

    I was sitting in the chair at the salon, waiting patiently for my well overdue haircut. The hairdresser was chatty, and wanted to know all about my life. First question on her list for me was, "So what are you thinking about studying next year?". For anyone else, like kids who can answer simply, "Psychology", "Philosophy", or "Underwater Basket Weaving", it's an innocent question. For me, it's like a death sentence.

    "Political Science...?" I answer, with a hint of "please ask about my love life, now"-type pleading.

    "OH, THAT'S GREEAT! And this was such an excellent year for you to get inspired, too!" And this is where it begins.

    Then, she went on to briefly her feelings on how important politics are to the average American, even if they are a little boring. She revealed no details about herself, in order to help me give her a lie she wanted to hear. So I was completely unprepared for, "So, what are you, democrat, republican..? Who'd you vote for?"

    Uh... Um... Let me just give you a snapshot of the full scene.

    This woman has surgically sharp scissors in her hands, and a fist full of my hair. If I say something sort of wrong, my hair might never be the same. But if I say something really wrong..... My jugular, and possibly my entire life, will never be the same...

    "I, erm, uhh... I consider myself an independent. Very non-partisan... I almost considered not voting this year, I was so undecided between nearly all the candidates on the ballot, I was just... Ah! Yeah. Uhh.. Ok then. Yes..." was about all I could get out before she took the reigns.

    Luckily, she said, "Oh, that's exactly how I am..." before I zoned out her explanation of her own political leanings.

    (Sighs of relief are heard in surround sound! Wow!)

     

    So, thank you, Xanga, for letting me say whatever I want.

    At least with you, I don't have to fear anything but a few trolls, and I don't think any of them are smart enough to handle sharp objects without hurting themselves.

    I love you, forever and always,

    ♥ Rachel

Friday, 09 January 2009

  • When I was little, I used to dream of being a doctor. Astronauting around the cosmos was high on my to-do list, and aside from being the first woman president, I was going to be the best super hero ever (a cross between the sexy-factor of Xena: Warrior Princess and Wonder Woman, and the abilities of a hero with actual skills, like Bat Girl or Elastigirl).

    I grew into more realistic career options as I got older, liking to steer clear of death itself and try to work a great enough amount of alchemy to prolong the lives of anyone who walked into my Pharmacy. Thoughts of world travel crossed my mind, as I imagined taking amazing pictures of things people actually wanted to look at. I dreamed of owning my own studio and painting and drawing and taking beautiful pictures and seeing every inch of the world.

    More recently I've settled into attainable aspirations for boring jobs that I know I'd be well suited for. I want to teach, but I don't know that I would find it particularly fulfilling. I want to work for Greenpeace or Amnesty International, but I don't think I'm well-spoken enough for something like that.

    But none of that matters to me, anymore, because at the ripe old age of eighteen-and-four-months-old, I don't know of any other goal to have in my life anymore.

     

    I was on the phone last night, and I was asked a question.

    "If you could have anything in the world, right now, what would it be?"

    and the only answer I had was, "A baby."

     

    As an eighteen year old, I get the feeling I'm supposed to be thinking about other things... Getting drunk on weekends, or how many colleges I've applied to, or whether or not I'm adequately ready to move out of my parent's house, should probably be higher up on my list of things to think about than whether or not middle names are merely cultural requirements (read: tools to inflict embarrassment/proof of absolute parental power), or what type of man I'd have to use in order for my child to win the genetic lottery.

    Every morning, I wake up with their faces in my mind, and every night before I sleep, I make a little wish that they wouldn't stay away for too long. Nothing seems as important to my life any more as any baby of mine. Everything draws my attention away from my life as it is right now, to what it could be if only I could experience this miracle I want so badly. Walking through craft stores make me think of all of the afghans I could stitch for her, and walking through a shoe store draws attention to 3 inch baby feet, and listening to music makes me think of all the songs I'll sing for my babies.

    I'm supposed to be worried about other things. I should want more from my life, I know it. My mother would be ashamed. She raised me to want more than a life of being a high school drop out-Homemaker extraordinaire, but somehow, I can't seem to want anything else... I can see their ten perfect fingers, and ten perfect toes, and two perfect eyes, and one beautiful smile, every second of every day in my mind. All I want from my life is to be the reason such perfection exists.

    Small miracles... I've gotten lucky so far. I haven't subconsciously sabotaged myself in matters of safe-sex. Phew.

     

     

    If you could have anything in the world, right now, what would it be?

Tuesday, 02 December 2008

  • Final Admissions Essay.. Hallelujah

    The only thing I truly want as a graduation present this year is a new set of my favorite book series. While my friends are busy receiving microwaves and compact refrigerators with almost useless chilling capacities, I will be delighting in my only gift: a few books. I’m not complaining, though. In fact, I’m downright ecstatic.

    My old copies have been read and re-read so many times, they are almost impossible to define as a real "book" anymore. Installment Three is missing its Chapter list entirely, and Installment Five has a rather suspicious stain that spreads from page 352 to page 356 that screams, "Hamburger Helper: Cheeseburger Macaroni" and mutters darkly, "You know, you probably should have stopped reading long enough to eat…". I no longer let any of my family members touch Installment One; it is completely missing its cover, and a thin, threaded spine is the last of the barriers between owning a book and owning an old stack of papers.

    However, there was one thing that I did not anticipate before, or at my arrival at my neighborhood Barnes and Noble. The shock that accompanied this particular visit was not the price of the books I was after. It was not even the fact that the cover art had changed from my First Edition copies, (though, that did add to my frustration!).

    My displeasure came with the fact that I found every copy of every installment available of the Harry Potter series in the Children’s Section, filed under a large, condemning sign that said "3rd Grade Reading Level". If this didn’t sting enough, in parenthesis beneath that statement was "Suggested for Ages 7-11".

    As an 18 year old girl with a mind for incredible literature, this was downright embarrassing. I was pricing a series of books that have dominated my literary life for nearly 10 years that was haphazardly squashed between Judy Blume’s Superfudge! and Amber Brown is Not a Crayon by Paula Danziger. Right above "Pathetic" and right below "Immature" was my life in summation. There had to have been a mistake somewhere here; either Barnes and Noble made it, or I did. (And, for the record, I do not make mistakes.)

    Harry Potter, out of everything on this planet, is the one thing that I know, and one of the few things that I love. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone was the first book that I remember enjoying that was intended for my then-9 year old mind. I secretly think this is the only reason that my parents were so easily in love with my Pottermania- it kept me from reading whatever books of theirs I could, namely, Dave Barry and Ayn Rand novels that were clearly far above my head and maturity level.

    Harry Potter changed my life in such a positive and powerful way, it would be fruitless and impossible to attempt to pretend that my favorite book was a fabulous classic To Kill A Mockingbird. It would be a lie and a defamation of everything Harry has taught me.

    I am not a religious person, but I have found hope and faith in Harry Potter in a way that transcends even my own reason or understanding. It is not just a novel to me (nor is it a guidebook for my own desires to understand and utilize witchcraft as a religion); it is a sincere reflection of everything I believe to be true about the world and a map that guides me through it.

    Harry Potter has taught me that the world is full of both good and evil forces. Even in a world under the illusion of "world peace", there will always be personal evils to torment human beings. However, if you have all of the trappings of a true Hogwarts student- strength of character and resolve (Gryffindor), cleverness and cunning (Ravenclaw), kindness and understanding (Hufflepuff), and loyalty to blood and friendships (Slytherin)- there is no evil that stands a chance, no matter how difficult it may be to overcome. A true wizard- or Muggle- can overcome his problems with a belief in himself and his abilities.

    Harry Potter has also taught me what it means to live in a world full of shades of grey. First impressions are almost always completely wrong, and no book can be judged by a cover (unless the book attempts to bite your hand off first, in which case the first impression is probably absolutely right). It has given me new perspective on my life, including things and people I avoided because they were "bad" or "not like me". I have extended the hand of friendship to people I would never have considered speaking to before because of a mere difference in opinion or interest. Albus Dumbledore said in The Goblet of Fire, "Differences of habit and language are nothing at all if our aims are identical and our hearts are open", and that is one piece of Harry-wisdom I live by day-to-day.

    But despite the grand impact that Harry has had on my life, there are still those who believe that I should NOT write about Harry Potter for anything but a very personal, well-hidden diary. Though to some he might be a childhood obsession or a dying fantasy, I completely disagree. Harry Potter does not end under a pile of dust in a closet with the rest of my adolescent pipe dreams. Something as simple as a 7-Book-Series has not only helped encourage greatness in my life, it has made me demand greatness from myself in my actions and my thoughts. Harry Potter is not an escapist’s paradise, it is a genuine intellectual stimulant. A group of friends in my AP Psychology class mastered the DSM-IV codes by classifying every Harry Potter character we could think of with an applicable mental disorder. Debates arose when we arrived at Mrs. Norris, the janitor’s cat, which involved us all in a 30 minute argument about whether she displays more Obsessive-Compulsive symptoms (300.2) or qualities of a Dependent Personality (301.6). Harry Potter is not an adventure out of reality, but rather, an exploration of the definition of reality and an experiment in how to participate in this reality.

    "Tell me one last thing," said Harry. "Is this real? Or has this been happening inside my head?"
    "Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?"

Friday, 24 October 2008

  • Finally. Me.

    This morning, I was awake at 5 AM.

    I don't sleep much, and when I do sleep, it's fitful and short lived. I do my best thinking between 2 and 6 AM, and it was then, as I was staring at my ceiling and thinking about my life that I realized.

    I am eighteen years old, and I am living my life as though I've acheived everything possible.

    I have never lived my life for me. In fact, I can't remember the last thing I've done that was just for me. I work as hard as I do in school because of my parents. I stay away from drugs and sex and alcohol because I am sincerely afraid of what my parents might do to me. I don't have tattoos or peircings because my (ex)boyfriend always hated things like that. I am applying for college right now, because it's just the "next step" everyone takes.

    But I think I'm really over all of that, now.

     

    My parents are telling me that I'm supposed to be upset about not being motivated and not having ambition. I'm supposed to rile up some sort of emotion to counter the apathy I feel about life, as though I don't know exactly what I want.

     

    I'm tired of hearing about lacking ambition, when I know full well what I want.

     

    I want to see the world and talk to everyone. I want to get high and talk about life under the stars. I want to go to Africa and build a village a drinking water well. I want to finally get my tattoos. I want to look out at the world, and know that I don't have anything left to worry about. I want to learn to honestly love myself, because of all of the things that school hasn't taught me, that's the most important thing that I have completely failed. I want to feel like I have everything. I want to know that I have it all, even if I'm not even close. I want to feel like I am where I'm supposed to be.

    I want to move at my pace. I don't want to be held down by school. I don't want to be held down by what I'm "supposed to be doing". I don't want to worry about "The Image Of A Student Taking Off Schooltime". I want to wait until I can enjoy school and commit to it willingly before I try to take it on. I don't want to have to do something productive with life while I'm ignoring my education- I'd much rather just enjoy it like I can't seem to enjoy the rest of my life.

    I want to be selfish, and I want to be happy.

    But most of all, I'd really like for there to be one person who would support me. I've lost all hope for this person to be one of my parents, but if I could just meet one person that thought I deserved to be happy. I want my dreams to matter to someone besides me. I'm done being a follower. I want to be the one that writes the storyline to my life. The only thing I feel silly about asking for is someone else to appreciate that.

     

     

    I just don't know what to do, anymore...

Monday, 20 October 2008

Sunday, 12 October 2008

  • Good God.

    I'm going 100% protected until I can figure out what in the world I'm going to do about this issue I'm having, so if you want to be on the list, you can comment.

    But I'm sorry- no picture, no add. I want to make sure you are who I would like to believe that you are.

    If you choose to stick with me, you're the best. :)

ELBOWpasta

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    • Member Since: 11/15/2005

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  • I am prepared to die. But there is no cause for which I am willing to kill. - Mahatma Gandhi

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