6. I lie about myself to gain street cred.

Things you Probably Do Not know About Me

Or Maybe You Already Do

1. I own running shoes. They have been worn.

2. I think that I can tap-dance (I have realized that I actually can't, but continue to self-identify with tap-dancers)

3. I have a cardigan fetish. It's pretty serious. I've recently realized that I am totally attracted to ANY male wearing a well-fitted cardigan.

4. My sense of time is entirely dependent on meals.

5. I have a gunshot wound in my left thigh.

It was bound to happen (And you probably saw it coming)

I just sat staring at the computer trying to think of what to blog about for so long that the screensaver came on. Clearly, my life has reached a new and infathomable level of awesome. There is absolutely no other explaination.

I might possibly sort of be making friends. It's too early to say for sure, but it might be happening...

Ow ow! (and it's not because you look good)

So apparently our insurance company is refusing to pay for my physical therapy because it isn't "medically necessary". But the fact that a 2-inch portion of my spine does all the bending, and can only bend one way, and the fact that my hypermobile hips could dislocate at any given time, and the fact that bending my neck back consistently pinches a nerve kind of sound like medically necessary reasons to me.

But hey, what do I know? I'll just get back on the oxycontin for the chronic pain. No prob.

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.