a brief glimpse into the mind of a crazy person

Sorry about the brief hiatus. If anyone noticed. Today is the last day of classes, so of course this past week or so has been hellish.

I have had a few ideas for posts but haven't had the time to write anything that didn't involve the words "independent variable" or "arbitrary matching to sample."  So here are a few mini-posts. Let's call them vignettes.

#1
25 April: 
This weekend was Easter weekend, which unfortunately got overshadowed by the sheer magnitude of work I had to do for Happiness class and Conditioning and Learning. On the brighter side, I was able to spend a good part of Saturday enjoying friends, hot dogs, sunshine and pool floaties.

this is not me. but I DO really want that floating fruit table.

On the redder side, this left most of my upper body sunburnt and angry.  I sat at my computer for hours gulping down ice water to counteract the heat emanating from my body and my overworked computer, to no avail.

When I finally went to sleep, I considered throwing my down blanket on the floor, but decided against it. (Our floor is really gross.) Instead I went to sleep in my sports bra and shorts (let me know if this is too much information).

Soon after closing my eyes, I heard a strange scratching sound coming from my ceiling, right around the overhead light.
...and my imagination ran away with itself....

(WARNING: the following is not factual, but a brief glimpse into the mind of a crazy person)

eeeeeeeeeeeeeewww

I open my eyes and look up to see thousands if not millions of fat angry cockroaches pouring out of the hole where the light used to be, coating the ceiling as they crawl out of their hiding place toward each wall. I see this, and calmly hop out of my bed, potentially spraining my ankle as I land clumsily on the small rug beside my bed.

I don't think to grab anything as I race to the door, calling to Marca who is finishing watching Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe (it is Easter, after all). I slam the door shut behind me and try to coax her off the couch and downstairs where it is safe. She doesn't believe me at first, until the hoard begins crawling from under the door and oozing across the floor.
We bolt down the stairs and outside, where it is safe.

Who do we call? What do we do? Can I ever touch my stuff again?

As things calm down, I realize I am outside wearing just shorts and a sports bra.
And I realize, I am OK with it.

And that is the moral of the story.

Welcome to my brain.


#2

from right: Tory Belleci, Kari Byron, and Grant "Third Wheel" Imahara

Jake and I were watching Mythbusters a few weeks ago when I wistfully stated something to the effect of "I wish Kari's baby had been Tory's. I want them to be together." There was talk of whether this exists on the world wide web in the form of fan fiction, and it probably does. But alas, I have been too busy to research further. 
Jake suggested that I write some, and I said something like "haha sure" which really means "that's funny, but I probably won't. Also DON'T TELL ME WHAT TO DO."  As I was falling asleep the other night a few lines came to me, and I will post them for you. But that's as far as it's gonna go. 

"Kari," Tory began, "I love the way you spell your name weird and how your nose squinches up all cute when you use a sledge hammer to destroy a car," she blushed, "but we can't let the world know about us.  They're just not ready. We're just not ready." She opened her mouth as if too argue, but he continued, "I'm too reckless, you're too refined. You're an artist! Plus, Grant will be outed as a third wheel-" 

She silenced him with a passionate embrace. He was almost thrown off-balance by the surprise. She pulled back, looked into his eyes and said, "I'm pregnant."

In reality she married some artist with a mustache. Puh.

And that is all you are getting. I feel ridiculous. And hardcore nerdy.

Mob mentality

It's pretty clear I am avoiding writing a paper. Technically, I am avoiding researching for a research paper. Which is dumb because that may be the easiest part. This is my third research paper in three weeks, and I have a rhythm down. I just don't feel like being in the rhythm right now. So I am listening to Alexi Murdoch and Brother and Freelance Whales and allowing myself to get distracted.

Now a little story.

I came back from my extra long meeting (planning next year for CSA) and sat down to my computer, resigning myself to actually do work. If I get down the research on paper, take a few pages of notes, and do the bibliography, all I have to do is write 7-9 pages tomorrow! Cake. 

I checked my email and this was the only new message:
(that's not sad, it means I am on top of things. For now.)

(Important: This is not exaggerated, but copied straight from my inbox.)

Sender: Lauren R*****

Subject: REMINDER: Meeting today

Hey Guys!

This is just a reminder about our meeting today at 5pm at Stern Center Gardens. Look forward to seeing you there!   -Lauren

Um. What.

• I have no idea who this girl is. Luckily, she has a really distinctive name like Lauren, so I can narrow it down to 500 girls at this school. And 5 or 6 dudes.
• I have NO IDEA what club or organization this is for, and she doesn't bother to say.
• I had Mass at 5, so I couldn't go anyway.

Then I started to think what if this wasn't my fault? What if this is a brilliant ploy to create an "accidental" flash mob?

Picture it: This email goes out to everyone on campus. It's bland enough to apply to anyone, any group, any meeting. In the rush of exams, group projects and final papers, everyone is forgetting things and shirking responsibilities. A student receives this email and thinks "oh no! I forgot. I can't tell what this is for, but I should head over to see what it's about just in case."
When hundreds of people think the same way, you have droves of semi-curious anxious students wandering around Stern Center with a look that asks "did I leave my keys over here?" and BAM. You've got yourself a flash mob of unintentional flash-mobbers.

Or is it flash-mobsters?



EDIT: It was not a flash mob, it was for some honor society thing. If I had bothered to search my inbox for her name I would have found that out. But congrats to my friend Aaron on being president!

we have popcorn at home

My online movie services are harrassing me. So I did something about it. That's right! I stood up to the bullies.

A few weeks ago, my friends and I meandered over to the Blockbuster on East Bay and reveled in the glory of three dollar DVDs and close-out candy.  Like almost every other Blockbuster, this store is being liquidated. Is that the right word? I don't care. It's closing and EVERYTHING MUST GO. Including the gumball machine. True story.

So we perused the stacks of discs for what seemed like hours, found a few keepers and proceeded to check out. I got distracted by the discount candy and popcorn (did you know Orville Redenbacher makes "Spicy Nacho" popcorn? I wish I didn't.) and became fixated by the popcorn that comes in its own bucket (just like at the movies!).  The kind I always begged my mom for and never got because "we have popcorn at home." Exactly. Boring popcorn. Popcorn that comes in a bag. How blasé. 

So I bought it. And it was the perfect size to store my new movies in! When I approached the check-out counter, the man working there informed me that if I signed up for a Blockbuster online that I would get some fantastic percentage off my final purchase. And of course I agreed. It was free and would get me extra movies for a month! And that's how I signed up for Blockbuster in addition to my well-used Netflix account and bought three movies and a bucket of popcorn for $6.

End of story? Not quite.

Apparently signing up for this Blockbuster thing was not enough. It wants attention. It wants love. But sadly for Buster, I already have a movie love, and that is Netflix. So Buster got jealous. It seethed as I spent hours enjoying movies and TV online and cursed as I basked in the new excitement of connecting the x-box to this wonderful online service. Eventually Buster grew tired of expecting me to notice how mad it was and started trying to remind me it was there.

Email from: BLOCKBUSTER online: Your queue is low- add new titles. Now. 

Buster was angry. And hurt. I ignored it again.
A movie came in the mail. I forgot about it. Eventually I watched it and sent it back. Another came. I forgot again.

So what did I do? I deleted it for good today, and turned my attention fully to Netflix once again. I feel guilty for treating Blockbuster the way I did, but the truth is it deserved better. And I just don't have the devotion or attention to give.

And Netflix welcomed me back with open arms. It knows what I like:
"British Comedies with Strong Female Leads" or "Emotional Father-Son Comedies" or "Witty Workplace Sitcoms" or "Cerebral British Period Pieces."
It gets me.

And I am happy.

Hipster on the Roof: Tradition- you've probably never heard of it.

I overheard an interesting conversation in my Happiness class today, which is pretty unsurprising because there are some pretty interesting people in that class. Like not-really-my-freshman-roommate-girl, Dizzy Teddy and Brah-ms, the girl with the loudest snacks ever, and MetalSlayer guy, to name a few.

Add to this list Red-headed Hipster Guy and Hipster Girl with Immaculate Make-up. These two always sit together, but from my amazing abilities of eavesdropping I have deduced that they do not know each other from outside of class and are not friends. I assume they just gravitated towards the only other person in the room besides themselves dressed head-to-toe in Urban Outfitters.

This hat is $34

She looks like her make-up is professionally done everyday. At first, it was off-putting. (She wears lipstick! Who wears lipstick anymore? She might as well be wearing pantyhose). But now, I am transfixed by the effort she puts into her appearance. Her boots are perfectly scuffed, her clothes look like she just threw them on- which usually means they took serious thought and money- and  her hair is perfect. Immaculate.

He is equally purposefully-unkempt, with longish red hair sticking out of an ironic "vintage" flat-brimmed baseball cap. He too has scuffed boots and effortless style.

For how outwardly interesting these two are, you would think their conversations are equally stimulating. Alas, it is not so. This is what I heard today:

Girl: So, how was your weekend?
Guy: It was...pretty good, you know. Something actually happened to me that has never happened to me before.
(my interest is piqued)
Girl: Oh, really. Cool.
(she shows a natural curiosity.)
Guy: Yeah. The other night, I was on a rooftop. And...I saw another person on a rooftop...
... Which is weird, because not that many people do that. You know? It wasn't like, some air conditioning repairman. It was another dude sitting on a rooftop, like I was. It was weird.
Girl. Huh. Yeah.

Yup. Welcome to your future, America.

As I was leaving, I walked past him and his group talking about their research project: Marijuana and Happiness. Hm.

i know i'm back in chucktown

I know I'm back in Charleston because...

1. my legs are killing me (walking walking walking. Actually, now I've passed the pain and achy stage and I have moved on to the nice legs phase. Score.)
2. I stopped biting my nails! But that'll come back once homework gets serious again.
3. I go through clean clothes like Kleenex- I must wear at least three outfits a day, because I just keep sweating through stuff. Or changing to play glow frisbee in the dark!
4. I haven't slowed down since I got here. Funny how I thought I'd get a break once I moved back...
5. if you stand still in one place long enough, you will get dripped on. By something.
6. there is already sand all over everything. Everything. It's in my wireless mouse. (?)
   
7. I keep forgetting to eat. Which is weird, but usually happens when I'm really busy and stop listening to my body (it's usually whining about sweating and achy legs...)

Anyway, I hope after this week things will finally slow down a bit. Or at least work out a rhythm.

NOW, off to my first day of classes for Family Development and Human Sexuality.


Those are separate classes. Just to be clear.

chew it over

I find myself puzzled by nervous habits. Possibly because my own do not follow any normal or average pattern. I don't have nervous tics or pull out my eyelashes when I stress over school or money. I bite my nails. An oh so common affliction many disregard as even a vaguely interesting personal tidbit. People don't even take the time to find it disgusting or unladylike anymore. Of course, from my mother or more commonly a grandmother, I hear a disappointed sigh when my nails are sighted as if to say "oh what a waste, she could have been a hand model." Sometimes these words actually follow the audible sigh.

It's not as if I can't help it either. As evidenced by my frequent remissions, I am fully capable of stopping if I am in the right state of mind or if I really like my nailpolish. My friend Naomi claims to be in total control of this bad habit, yet doesn't care about the state of her nails. Obviously she does it because she likes it or wants to, which in an odd way every nailbiter does, and does so because she chooses to. In fact, I am ashamed of my stubby nails because I feel like it says "look at me, I can't control myself from being gross." And then of course, I can't help but remember Freud's psychosexual stages and the corresponding "stage" of development (I do not, for the record, agree with Freud): the oral stage. This means theoretically I was understimulated as an infant when breastfeeding so now I am stuck trying to make up for it but putting things in my mouth (in layman's terms).

It makes some sense that I transferred from thumbsucking to biting my nails, and I refuse to ever smoke a cigarette because I fear that is the next logical stage. Which, if that is the case, might cause some minor, tiny, health problems but give me great nails.

I am puzzled by my bad habit because it has uncommon fluxuations. Normally, when people are busy or stressed out, they have a nervous flare up and chew to the quick. I, on the other hand, tend to have worse nails when I'm bored than during finals week. Maybe because my house during the summer is more stressful than college life during finals. That's very likely, in all seriousness.

Hm. maybe I should watch a thriller and let them come back a bit.