If I played the harmonica, I'd write a song called the bloggin' blues. Thankfully, I don't.

Since I've blogged last, I have composed approximately 7 interesting and complete posts, including pictures and links. Unfortunately, they were all in my head, conceived at convenient times/locations like: at 3:30 in the morning, in the bathtub, during a world religion test, while stir-frying vegetables, in the car, while hanging three-foot canvases at work, and during Gossip Girl (which I am NOT about to tear myself away from...shut up). So. Needless to say, none of them quite made it to the internet, and instead were put back on the metaphorical shelves that line my messy closet of a brain.

Alas. They probably were not nearly as good as I imagined them to be, anyway, especially the one I thought SO FREAKING PROFOUND, MAN! at half-past three in the morning.

Fire Safety Is my #1 Priority.

So. I burn candles in my bathroom, because I like them, and it enhances bubble-bathing. Sometimes I forget about them and leave them burning while I go do other things. Sometimes the candle melts itself and the wick burns down to the end and green candle-wax drips and splatters all over the place, then dries.





The flash made it look really gross, but you can see it better:



I know, you wish you had my life...

I was going to talk about cable-knit stockings, but...

Okay, so sorry about the lack of posting. Normally I can at least manage some random creepy observations about people who don't know I exist....but let's move on, shall we? Let's talk about Maryland.

The state of Maryland (perhaps excluding Baltimore...we'll see about that one later) is like a guy who wears a cowrie shell necklace. He thinks he is SO cool. He probably has convinced quite a few clueless chicks who wear too much black eyeliner (even though they are blonde and it looks tacky) that he is SO cool as well. Really, he is a self-absorbed asshole who nobody likes. Only wait, people do. And I am left scratching my head, trying to figure out what anyone sees in him.

For the metaphorically challenged, let me break it down for you: I still hate Maryland. I hate it as much as I do pseudo-surfers.

So.

Sorry about that. The reason I avoided posting was because I have been feeling particularly bitter lately. I wanted to wait until I had something to say besides "Maryland sucks", but who knows when that will be. After two years and STILL NO FRIENDS, I'm not holding my breath.

Go college!

I'm no fun

Sorry sorry sorry, I still exist, I'm just too tired to blog. So. That's it.

I don't even want any candy.

Today: a shot on both arms, holographic star-shaped bandages from the nurse dressed as a fairly princess, and the realization that I need to write a research paper by tomorrow morning. Happy Halloween, guys.

At the University of Krissy, acceptance will be based on awesomeness. No essay required (but if you want to submit one--hey!).

For a while now, I should have been working on college application essays. I've just been so sick of hearing about college, and school, and test scores, and everything else that goes along with the application process, that I've ignored it. Even I can only procrastinate so long, though, and I sat down today to start an essay for my Earlham application.

Seriously! I sat down, intent on cranking out some bullshit essay (to be modified later), just so I could say that I started. Well, it's actually not that easy. I can write a six-page research paper the morning that it's due, but this had me stumped. What am I supposed to say? How can I sort through all of my life experiences and label just one as the most valuable? And honestly, is what I consider valuable what these colleges want to hear about?

I want to write about the car ride home from the hospital after recieving morphine for the first time, watching Christmas lights whiz by, drifting in and out of consciousness, feeling utterly safe and happy and childlike. I want to write about Aly's backyard in September, when everything is yellow and lovely. I want to write about Angie's house in the summertime, or even about slicing parsnips with my shiny new chef's knife. I want to write about bowling with my cousins the day after Christmas in a smoke-filled, flavored-condom-dispenser-in-the-bathroom, small-town recreational league bowling alley.

I do NOT want to write about my experience with chronic illness and what I've learned from it.

But, alas. That's probably what my essay will be about, simply because it's the most suitable topic.

At least I'm not addicted to nicotine...

Oh, community college: "Where nobody actually wants to be".

Alas, I am stuck stuck stuck for this year, and while there are worse alternatives (senior year of HS), community college is living up to its unofficial slogan. I am utterly apathetic. Like everybody else here. We're all just kind of going to class (or not), usually with some sort of goal in mind, but nobody (save the nursing students) are actively working towards it. We're just biding our time until circumstances change, and change comes slowly at community college. That's what I don't like about it here. Honestly, I was excited to skip my senior year and start college, even if it was "only" community college. I wanted to move on, but community college seems like a place where everyone is doing everything BUT moving on. They're stuck in high school, or in their minimum-wage rut, and they like it there. Spare time is spent working their lame mall jobs or spending their pay on cigarettes (did I mention that EVERYONE smokes here?). And they all seem perfectly content to stick with whatever clique they fit into in high school. Isn't that the oposite of what college is supposed to be? Doesn't everyone look forward to going somewhere they can be whoever they want, try something new?

And I think I just found my answer. Everyone wants to GO somewhere, and community college isn't going much of anywhere. It's twenty minutes away from your house, in your parents' car, in the dreary suburbs of your adolesence.

So I'm stuck here, like everybody else, only without a driver's lisence or group of friends leftover from high school, and that's just the way it is. I haven't hung out with anyone particularly interesting, despite my fascination with several individuals who shall remain nameless (you know one of them by his piercing). And, it seems, I don't really care.

Because that's what community college does to you.

Dostoevsky needs to meditate on the word "concise". Like, foreal.

There is whole lot of Russia. Steppe, forest, tundra.... it's pretty vast.

Usually, this is not a problem for me.

Enter Russian Literature course to be completed independantly by the end of November

Now it is a problem. A problem that requires 80 hours of coursework and spans 40 seperate Russian works. And man, can those Russians write.

So like I said: There is a whole lot of Russia.

So, uh, sorry LR of the future (who is my friend and reads my blog). I am a total creeper.

Yes, well. Do you mind if I'm creepy for a bit? No? Good....

Because it's about Lip Ring.




1.He has worn sweater vests on several occasions. One of which was argyle. Also, one time he wore a tweed cap.

2.He doesn't own the textbook for the class, but brings French literature to read instead.




Why are we not friends?!

A conversation we needed to have

Hey blog. What's happening? What's goin' on?

Nothing much.

Really, though, how have you been lately?

Ugh. Things haven't been so swell. It's like I don't exist or something....

What do you mean?

Well, I hardly ever get new posts, and when I do, I feel like only three people ever lay eyes upon them. I just feel totally underappreciated. But whatever.

No! Not whatever! That's a valid feeling, blog, and I'm glad we're talking about it. Truth is, I've always thought you deserved a larger readership.

Really?

Really.

Hmm. I mean, thanks and all, but things are still the same....y'know?

Yeah. I know.

But hey, it was good talking to you...just saying it helps, I think.

I'm glad.

Well, I guess I'll see you in like a day? A month? I never really know with you, Krissy.

I know, blog...I'm working on it....but you will see me. And hey, maybe sooner than you think.

I'll believe it when you post it....

I know you won't do this, but...

Okay, so Dolce and Gabbana's fall ads definately look like stills out of a really pretentious production of Pericles or something. Seriously. Flip through their fall 2007 ads on the D&G site and you'll see what I mean.

Also, I kind of lost interest in the manual labor post, but I'd like to give a shout-out to Kylie for reminding me to write it. Maybe another time. Probably not, though.

In which a brief reflection is promptly dismissed

I just realized that if LR ever facebooks me, and then finds this blog, he will be totally creeped out. Oh well. Perhaps it will be creepy in an endearing, quirky kind of way? That's what you'd think if you were LR, right? Well, no matter.

I don't feel like writing it now, but remind me to write about my recent experiences with manual labor.

LR Update!

So. I forgot to tell you earlier, but LR sort of talks to me now! An actual conversation follows.

(I walk into class on a test day, to find LR there, flipping frantically through his notes)

Me: So did you study for the test?
LR: A little. (scans notes for highlighted sections)
Me: Is "a little" what you're doing right now?
LR:Nope. I actually studied.
Me: Wow. That's more than I can say.
(LR is still looking at his notes)
LR:.....


Exciting, right? I think we are well on our way to being best buddies.

Maybe you can drive my car

I guess I should write something new for you all. I really don't feel like it, though. I mean, between classes and college applications, I'm pretty much written-out. I would rather cook or shop or flip through magazines or talk, anything so long as it isn't pounding on a keyboard....but here I am. And it's just because I don't want my readers to have abandonment issues.

Lately I've been contemplating learning to drive. I've always had a handy excuse, courtesy of neurally mediated hypotension, not to, but my doctor has esentially given me the go-ahead. So I technically can learn to drive. My other excuse, of waiting until I'm 18, is fast approaching its expiration, too. So I soon may find myself behind the wheel of the family car, which brings me to my next point.

We own a Chrysler Pacifica, a Lexus somethingorother, and a junky Taurus (which is now my sister's). The Pacifica is impossible to manuver, even for a skilled driver, so there's no way I can drive that. The Taurus is at college with my sister, and is basically hers anyway. This leaves the Lexus.

It is not new, it's like a 2003 or something, but it is still kind of fancy and nice, and I get the feeling my parents would not be cool with me wrecking it. So what will I drive? Hmmm....perhaps something else?

So. This has led me to start thinking about cars, something I have never done (well, beyond saying "Ew. that Hummer is ugly"). I have no idea if my parents will buy me a car or not, but a used one is, I'm thinking, not out of the question. So what would I want, say, if they were to buy me a car? The practical answer is obviously a hybrid, like a Prius or something, but I don't know how much that costs/if it would be very cheap used. Instead, I've kind of been lusting after Jeeps.

Wierd, right?

I like the old-school safari style Jeeps, that can probably drive through quicksand and mountains and maybe even upside-down. Like, a real Jeep, all army-inspired and khaki and with a roof that unzips. Only, with suede and wood interiors in a medium brown color....I'm thinking custom, of course.

Actually, I'm thinking maybe I should put down the fashion magazine that is touting utilitarian chic and deal with the prospect of a totally lame used Honda.

So much depends upon the kid with piercings

Last weekend I cleaned my room, and I was going to take pictures and show you all how clean and nice it was....but I never got around to taking out my camera, and now it's a mess. So that's not happening. Maybe someday, but for today I've given up.

So what am I supposed to tell you about? I've kind of actually done stuff lately, but I don't feel like sitting here and listing off the events of the last ten days. I guess I'll tell you about Lip Ring.

Lip Ring sits next to me environmental science. He, oddly enough, has a lip ring. Hence, the name. LR has sat next to me since the first day of class. He does not have to sit there. He chooses, consistantly, to sit in a corner next to moi. He also chooses, consistantly, not to speak. I don't mean that there's no chatter, or smalltalk, or regular conversation. I mean he does not speak. Ever.

Example of a typical (non)conversation, at the attendance sign-in sheet:

Krissy: "Hey, can I borrow your pen for a sec? I forgot to bring mine up with me."
LR: *hands me pen*
Krissy: "Thanks!"
LR: *blinks*
Krissy: *signs initials, gives back pen* "Thanks again."
LR:*signs initials*

He simply would not speak. He did not nod. It is clear he could hear me, he responded, but entirely without words. I thought he really didn't like me, except that he continued to sit next to me.
Why??

......


......


......

I still don't know. But I do know that today, things changed. LR spoke. During a "group quiz", LR spoke to me for the first time in three weeks of sitting next to each other. Sure, he only said "Uh, what'd you get for number eight?", but to me, it mean so much more. It meant that maybe, if I keep working at it, I'll be able to walk into environmental science one day and say "Hey LR. How was your weekend?" and he'll say "Meh. It was pretty cool." and I'll say "Cool." and it will be wonderful.

Almost like having a friend.

Lunch today was splendid

Lamb with pancake sounds utterly unappetizing, doesn't it? Actually, it's not.

Today I had Ethiopian food for the first time, and it was delightful. Everything is served on a large, communal platter, and is eaten not with silverware, but with a velvety bread that was the exact texture of a pancake (it wasn't sweet, though). The food is delicious, a combinated of stewed meat dishes (kind of like Indian), chutney-like salads, stir-frys, and lentils. Heavy on the tumeric, the spicing is otherwise similar to some mild Indian dishes, like Rogan Josh. And eating without utensils was awkward at first, but made for a really intersting experience. I think it would be really fun to go for Ethiopian with a few new friends, or even a date. How better to break the ice than over a platter of foreign food?

I do regret, though, turning down a cup of Ethiopian coffee after the meal.

This never happens at J. Crew

I went shopping today. After church, with the whole family, all American and such. We ate at a chain restaurant, shopped an enormous mall complete with Medieval Times and Cinema complex, and filled our trunk with lovely, unnecessary things.

But that's not what this post is about.

It's about how I tried on a jersey dress and it clung in all the wrong places, unflattered me to the extreme, and beat the shit out of my self esteem. And then, when I tried it on again for my mother to see, it was perfect. Curve-skimming, flaw-hiding perfection.

For only 24.99 at H&M.

Menu

Lunch today:

Couscous Salad

Plain Couscous

Chicken broth

Cucumber (from garden)

Red and yellow cherry tomatoes (from garden)

Fresh mint (from garden)

Feta cheese

Lemon juice

Extra-virgin olive oil

Grilled Eggplant

Eggplant

Olive oil

Sea salt

Pepper

Rosemary Olive-oil Bread

(Purchased)



It was extra yummy.

Everyone's a suspect.

So. Today was garage sale day....


6:05- Wake up for the first time.

6:10- Wake up for the second time.

6:15- Wake up for the third time. Get dressed, stumble downstairs.

6:20- Growl at my mom for not putting the muffins in the oven yet. Make three more signs leading to our house on old window shades.

7:00- Assemble way ghetto signs. (Window shade signs+garden stakes+coat hangers+lots of duct tape)

7:25- Wait on first paying customers (and non-paying customers) of the day: A lady and two guys. I take the lady's money for some random household crap, my mom takes guy #1's money for a microwave, and guy #2 walks off with an antique adding machine. My dad gets pissed and won't shut up about it. So a guy stole our adding machine. You're out maybe three dollars. Get over it.

7:40- Leave with still pissed-off father to put signs up.

8:00- Return to garage. Eat muffins. Sell random crap to random people.

8:30- Biker guy shows up, in full spandex and helmet with mirrors. I stifle a laugh and sell him random crap.

9:00- Kylie comes and hangs out in the garage with me. I make her go buy me iced coffee.

9:35- Kylie comes back. I listen to Belle and Sebastian (pretty inoffensive music to shoppers) and half-listen to Kylie while I sing along. We talk about sidewalk chalk, the Prince of Space, and spunky Asian chicks.

10:30- Kylie leaves to get ready for work, I keep selling random crap. People buy the refrigerator and cabinets and leave. They'll pick them up later.

11:00- Parents ditch me to go eat macaroni. I listen to Sufjan Stevens.

12:00- I yell inside and make my mom come be cashier while I eat. I go iside and eat Chinese BBQ pork buns and green pepper.

12:30- I reluctantly return to the sale. My iPod dies. I grumble and refold stuff that customers messed up.

1:00- Biker guy comes back, sans spandex. He buys two bike seats (of course), a polo, and a dehumidifier. Fridge lady comes back and loads fridge into pickup. Her nephew (or something)'s house burned down. He needed a new fridge. Makes sense.

1:30- Cabinet people show. They load the cabinets and buy a hat shaped like a dog's head. I go inside and make my mom watch the sale until it closes. I go watch cooking shows in my room.

2:00- I go back outside and start packing up. It's hot and my feet hurt.

2:30- Stuff is pretty much packed up, I go with my dad to take down signs. We get to the place where the last sign was, and it's nowhere to be found. The day ends as it began, with my father getting pissed because people stole random stuff that's really not valuable.

So. Now you're up to speed. I'm bored and tired, and my neighborhood is full of thieving idiots. Whenever I see someone closing a garage door, or opening their car, I quickly look to see if they appear to be harboring stolen goods. Now, everyone is a suspect.

The end.

I'm health-conscious, I swear!

I tend to get a little weird when I'm grocery shopping. Well, actually about a lot of things, but today I went grocery shopping, so that's what I'm talking about.

I really like to grocery shop. I'm kind of a foodie, not to an extreme, but I like to cook and I certainly won't deny I enjoy the snobbish satisfaction it gives me. I buy organic canned goods, because Lord knows Miur Glen crushed tomatoes taste waaaaaaaaay different than Hunt's. I refuse to buy any bread except whole-grain (unless it's a baguette or something). And I definitely, definitely, do not buy McCormick taco seasoning.

My mother does. And here's where I have a problem: I can't deal with seeing it in the cart. When I grocery shop, I look in other people's carts and judge them. Like, for fun. Examples:

Bananas+cat food+low-fat bologna+velveeta=old lady

Gatorade+Poptarts+Cheez-Its+Sponge-Bob fruitsnacks=brand name snack foods soccer mom

frozen lasagna+frozen "burrito casserole"+frozen fishsticks+frozen chicken pot pie=grandmother with a deep freeze who feeds her grandchildren food they hate

Etc.

So anyway, since I judge people, I assume other people do the same thing. Because of this, I insist that the cart be fulled at least halfway with fresh produce, contain only fresh meats, at least one kind of fish, only organic/health snack foods, whole grain breads and bakery products, and cheeses costing at least seven dollars. When I go shopping with my mother, though, I end up with things like McCormick taco seasoning thrown in the cart.

And I feel compelled to hide it. Yes, I actually stop the cart and act like I'm rearranging so things will fit, when really I'm hiding the taco seasoning and wonder bread (my mother's favorite) under my organic green tea and yellowfin tuna steaks. I don't know why. I mean, It's not like I have to eat my mother's bleached-out bread, but I get paranoid that someone will see it in my cart and assume that I am going to consume it. It makes be nervous.I have no problem going grocery shopping with tangled hair and mismatched clothes, but I am afraid of the contents of my cart misrepresenting me.

Go figure.

So I've decided to start blogging again. Just about random things, like I used to. I'm hoping to avoid angsty rants. They're no fun.

I looked at luggage today (on the internet, I didn't go shopping). I don't really know why I've got this thing about luggage, but I'm convinced that a set of old-fashioned trunks (with wheels) is absolutely necessary. I don't really travel much, and when I do it's hardly for more than a week. Still, I've got this notion that me having a heavy trunk with lots of latches and leather straps is a really good idea.

It's not.

I struggle with standard carry-on. You know, those little roller bags? Remember how when you were little it seemed impossible to drag them along without them (or you) falling over? I still have that problem. I'll be briskly walking down the terminal, feeling all jet-setty with my trenchcoat and moving sidewalk stride....and then I totally trip over a bag the size of a cereal box. Not cool.

Also, trunks are kind of heavy. Now, I've convinced myself that if I get one with wheels, it'll be no problem. It'll weigh a ton, but I can just pull it along like any other piece of luggage. This will not happen. I will end up flattened under the enormous weight of my beautiful trunk, which I sadly could not control long enough to make it check-in.

My final prolem is the luggage carosel. Well, more acurately, the luggage carosel + my lack of upper body strength. As in, TOTAL lack of upper body strength. I'm the girl who is crashing into everyone as she runs around the carosel, tightly gripping her luggage, but is unable to actually lift the bag off until some annoyed businessman takes pity and helps her.

So the trunk thing is definately not going to work.

So.....I want this one.

Krissy crosses the Mason-Dixon line

I can't say I dislike Georgia. The overly-tanned, Corona tee-shirt-wearing, "there are fourteen of us packed into one motel room and we don't care if we keep you up all night blasting music and having sex we won't remember" crowd doesn't exist here, and the retirees don't wear speedos. So it's not Florida. I don't hate it.

Savannah is a kind of charming city, despite the sunburnt senior citizen tourists that it seemed to magnetically attract. Looking past the trolley tours and Thomas Kinkade gift shops, there is Spanish moss, gorgeous architecture, and a decent art museum. I think a lot of the charm of city can be missed, though, if the historic district is all that you see. Driving out of the city, we skipped the expressway and drove through the neighborhoods in search of a place to eat.

As we drove past the manicured gardens surrounded by elaborate wrought-iron fences, I spotted, in the midst of tourist territory, a group of Asian hipsters on bicycles. Continuing on in the same direction, I saw more. Girls in vintage dresses with ironic $250 Nikes, scruffy-looking guys with charcoal smears on their shirts, angular haircuts and dark, plastic-framed glasses abounded. All in the middle of the trolley tour route?

The mystery was solved when I spotted the Savannah College of Art and Design bookstore (we stopped in for coffee and amusing people-watching). While the school's location was obviously based on being in the historic district, rather than its proximity to "Ye Olde Savannah Gift Shoppe", I rather enjoyed the sight of the odd elderly tourist accidentally wandering into art student territory.

Driving out of the downtown, things became even more interesting. Catfish and BBQ joints were common, including the "Oriental Foods Market" occupying an old gas station and selling bamboo, BBQ, noodles, and dried alligator heads. Yum. We ate at Love's seafood, recommended by my mother's Georgia-native friend, which was delicious. (The downside: throwing up catfish nuggets and hush puppies later that evening.)

Tourists, hipsters, and food aside, the biggest impression Savannah made on me was the importance of religion in the South. And so, based on my day in and around Savannah, I present:

You know you're in the Bible belt when...

-Easter services are advertised on billboards and with commercials

-The motel with hourly rates and an attached liquor store has a bible verse on its sign

-There are bible verses on menus, but no wine list to be found

-Even the synagogues look like cathedrals, down to the cross-shaped floor plan

-The island you're staying on has three restaurants, no grocery store, but five churches

And

-A waffle house on Sunday morning at 10:30 is empty, but at 11:30, the line stretches out the door, everyone dressed in suits and dresses

That's all I can think of at the moment....

Iron deficiency

For a long while now, I haven't been able to think of anything to say. Anything, that is, that wouldn't be cause for you to worry.

I've become so stuck in this place that I'm in that sometimes I wonder if I shouldn't worry. I'm hanging in some sort of limbo between real life and total meninglessness, where I exist but don't participate.

I can excuse it now, sure. I'm hundreds of miles away from the only friends I have, I'm too sick to go to school and make new ones, I don't pursue any hobbies because of my physical state, I don't read because my head is too clouded by medications. Nobody's blaming me for sitting around doing (literally) nothing. But I wonder what my excuse was last February, when I was surrounded by friends and seemingly happy with my life. What will be my excuse when I head off to college on my own? My isolation and disinvolvement, while currently pushed to an extreme by circumstance, may not go away.

It's a frightening thing to contemplate. For so long, I've romanticized college, convincing myself of is magical transitional powers. And while I maintian that getting out of Maryland and sorting out my medical concerns will improve my condition, I'm afraid I'll still do this to myself. Like I know, while invisible, that I'm doing now. Like I've done before.

It is not the incapablity of happiness. I enjoy things and I still laugh. What I'm describing is the incapability to sit, alone with my thoughts and decisions, and be fine. Not happy, just fine. Happiness is something else entirely, something fleeting and needing no contemplation. But what I'm talking about, what I'm struggling with, is something more closely related to satisfaction or fulfillment of the self. And while I don't expect my own or anyone else's levels of this thing to ever be complete, I'd like to be a little less anemic.

Same old, same old

I am so freaking tired of being unhappy.