Liveblogging The Pistons Game

Since I've been [obsessing] talking about it for so long, I thought it would be fun to liveblog the day of the basketball game (tonight at 8pm). Warning: it's long. Who knew this was so much fun?

-Crikey, I woke up late. I need to wash clothes to have something to wear for the men of my dreams.
-My mom and sister were supposed to leave like a half hour ago. Why are they still here? WHY am I still in bed?
-Urgh. A lotta laundry to carry downstairs.
-General Hospital's on. Damn, it must be past three o'clock. Oops.
-Colors safely in the wash. Hungry. A Pop-Tart seems good.
-WHO ATE THE LAST POP-TART????
-Oh, never mind. Here's the last one. Scrumptious.
-Still hungry. Contemplate eating donut as well.
-Compromise by eating half a donut and some orange juice instead. Why am I not 300 lbs? Have no idea.
-Oh, dear. My hair needs...doing. Plug in flat-iron.
-Check e-mail while waiting. Nothing good.
-What am I going to wear tonight? Make sister Google pictures of Zac Efron and Vanessa Hudgens at Lakers games for ideas.
-All pictures are of couples. Will not feel bad today--have FIVE men waiting for me.
-Perform ablutions. I feel nauseous. WTF? Maybe Pop-Tart/donut/toothpaste idea was not a winning one.
-Ever notice that when you feel the least bit queasy, your imagination immediately brings up things that really do disgust you?
-Am making self sick. Must stop.
-Saw an episode of CSI that said smiling suppresses the gag reflex. Am grinning like an idiot to beat churning stomach.
-Find pictures of Sophia Bush online. She is a cute, compact little person even leaving a nail salon. Why can't I be a cute, compact little person??
-Am too tall, curvy, and hate ironing, is why.
-Tried to flat-iron hair. Lose interest after first two strokes. Persevere. Satisfied with half/various sections tended to.
-Put second load of laundry in. Might just be on schedule after all.
-Ever since I pulled my computer back from the brink of death I have no full CDs on my ITunes. I thought I wouldn't mind at first but I do. Must begin tedious task of loading them onto my Ipod.
-CD case is downstairs and I am not. Perhaps another day, then.
-This is the first Pistons game I've gone to not wearing ceremonial attire. -Am SO unprepared. All the celebs are [with their boyfriends] wearing high heels. Lent my Manolo's to Beyonce so am out of luck on that front. Plus it snowed last night--it's cold, dammit.
-Except try as I might to think otherwise, wearing a dress and heels to a sporting event reeks of Trying Too Hard and brands you as one of THOSE girls who have no idea what's going on in the game.
-Surely there must be a happy medium.
-I'm going to wear my new purple boots. Festive, not fussy.
-Nothing in my wardrobe matches purple boots. What was I THINKING?
-Gray t-shirt, skinny jeans, purple boots. Option #1.
-John Travolta's 16-year-old son died...so sad...
-Skinny jeans are in the dryer still. I never put them in the dryer, but I needed them to wear tonight. What if they're not dry in time? What if they SHRINK?
-Run downstairs.
-30 minutes left on dryer. Sigh. Plus, all my good bras are still wet. Why can't I wake up early like a responsible adult? Why?
-On second thought, where did that gray t-shirt come from? Look closer.
-Oh, damn, forgot. That's not a regular t-shirt, that's a XXL "Property of Clemson Athletics" shirt I bought last week! Damn!
-Maybe I'll just go naked. Anyone? Anyone?
-Purple stripey sweater, skinny jeans, purple boots. Option #2.
-Garage door opens. Who's that? Mom. Might not be too happy with my lack of progress.
-Quickly run downstairs to get makeup.
-Not Mom, it's Dad. Says we must leave by 6:45. It is 5:20 and I'm in pajamas, Middle Sister's not home, Little Sister is still in a towel. This might not end well.
-I WILL us to make it on time.
-Where is my phone??
-Oh, here on the kitchen table. Typical.
-Grab dry pants, leave everything else in laundry room.
-Yum, jeans straight out of the dryer are nice and toasty.
-Oof, but tight.
-Ok, skinny jeans with sweater and knee high boots...looks kind of...tawdry...
-Am convinced I look ok. Harass sisters for 2nd and 3rd opinions. They cosign.
-All leave house, pile into car ahead enough of schedule to swing by McDonald's.
-Mmmm chicken nuggets.
-Damn, that's a lot of traffic. For a good cause, though. Go 'Stones!
-$10 for parking is highway robbery.
-We're heeeeeeeere!
-This parking lot is huge...Gawd, it's cold.
-My sisters don't like my boots. Say they would have told me but I was too busy running around saying things like "People, people, why are we not dressed?" and "Come on, now, time is money!"
-Am now self-conscious.
-And in slightly bad mood.
-No line at Will Call. Sweet.
-Will Call Lady taking absurdly long time finding our tickets. I ordered them, I swear I did! Ohmygod if this goes wrong I will be soo embarrassed not to mention pissed off--$10 parking!--where are those tickets?!
-Whew. She found them.
-My extraordinary planning skills have gotten us ticket package with gift cards to concession stands.
-Still annoyed about poor outfit choice.
-Hmm, seats aren't bad. High, but good view.
-Game starts...YAY fireworks and "The Final Countdown!"
-Am slightly misty-eyed.
-Wipe eyes under pretense of scratching nose.
-Go to bathroom at halftime, scrutinize outfit, leave confused. Do I look ok or not?
-Want to ask stranger. Refrain and slink to concessions.
-Yick. Soft pretzel tastes disappointingly like plain old bread.
-Little Sister gives me her ice cream. All is forgiven.
-Drunken people in the row below are looking to "get the party started." Amusing.
-Great second half, scream loudly. Sing along to "Shout" and participate in The Wave.
-Middle Sister even gets into game. By Jove, I think we've got it!
-Game's getting close. "The Final Countdown" plays again! Rodney Stuckey has 38 points!
-I LOVE THE PISTONS.
-We win, exit happily.
-Unceremonious drive home, thinking next time will just say "sod it" and wear t-shirt and jeans after all.
-Rifle through drawers at home, find Pistons nightshirt. Shirt big enough to be pretend boyfriend's instead of last year's Christmas present from auntie.
-Little Sister begs to watch a movie. Wrestling is involved as method of persuasion.
-Fashion Student calls. The girls are going to Canada tomorrow evening. Am going along. Will not get drunk--have no money for hotel and must come home same night.
-Soak cartilage piercing in salt water. Have been bad, have not done so in days.
-It stings a little. Am worried.
-Lean over sink studying ear in mirror. Gasp dramatically. Piercing looks gross! Am worried even more.
-Google "infected cartilage piercing."
-Yahoo Answers extremely reassuring.
-Sigh with relief: must not take earring out under any circumstance (prospect of wasting $55 scarier than prospect of ear falling off).
-Resolve to see doctor upon returning to school: want to avoid "should not have done it in the first place" lecture from mother. Surely stern "tut, tut" sounds will be made.
-Am watching "How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days." Kate Hudson another cute, compact person. With annoyingly cute little Knicks jersey.
-More feelings of inferiority.
-In movie, fictional Knicks are playing fictional Sacramento Kings--I totes just saw them a few hours ago! Fictional because a) the actors are so clearly not the actual players and 2) the Knicks and Kings would never play in the Finals.
-Wish for future job to include rooftop martinis during workday.
-Remember do not like vodka. But perhaps afternoon tequila is too much to ask for.
-"Put a muzzle on your old lady the next time you bring her in public!"
-Wonder why Matthew McConaghey attempts to nuzzle in Kate's breasts when she OBVIOUSLY has none. But I sympathize.
-MM is still sexy.
-"A woman loves a man who can cook." I guess.
-Fictional Sportscenter referred to Earl Monroe. I met him last year! Earl the Pearl!

I would continue but I feel like liveblogging a movie is worthy of a whole separate post. Plus Little Sister keeps giving me the side-eye for typing during "our time," so I must bid y'all adieu. She has a hefty kick for someone of her size.

Totals: 2 loads of laundry complete, 1 amazing basketball game, 2 dejected purple boots, 1 possibly infected ear.

Happy Christmakkuwanzaa!

Finally, right? Pulled in a seriously good haul so far...as you see, liveblogging did not happen. It probably will not happen--cut me some slack, 'tis the season. Actually I'm only on here because only my weird-ish relatives have arrived and I'm in my room waiting for the more normal folks. Especially Little Cousin. Then the real party can begin.

Now bring me some figgy pudding, a shot glass of good cheer.

I Don't Even Have Leftovers

I meant to "post" yesterday from the Almighty Blackberry, but, well, you know how it is. My thumbs can only take so much. We're on official Computer Watch..it's supposed to be ready soon...it better be; I have final exams coming up. Cyber-yell at Geeksquad for me.

I kind of like finals and midterm time- it means we're about to get a break of some sort, hallelujah!

Ok, typing really does suck so only a few things to be elaborated upon later:

Thanksgiv: I ate a frozen turkey pot pie on the couch, read novels, and watched football. No, I didn't leave the house or put on a bra the entire day. Don't feel sorry for me, though. I'm going home soon..

Speaking of football, I am thankful, nay, eternally grateful for wonderfully muscle-y arms poking out under football jerseys.

Books: "Zane" is supposed to be this hot, steamy novelist, but I read 2 of hers today and was left staring-at-the- ceiling-afterwards unsatisfied. In one of them, after this cute love story, right before the wedding the girl DIES! After I read the word "murder" I was done. I threw the book against the couch and actually said, "Oh HELLS no, I rebuke that!" So I don't know the actual ending..

I am on a book fetish (even more than usual) but nothing seems to really pull me in. A dry spell, of sorts. It's like looking in a full closet with nothing to wear: I have tons of books with nothing to read. And no computer.

I think I may be a little grumpy. A thousand pardons. Hopefully good news...oh! I finally sucked it up and got my cartilage/upper ear pierced on Tuesday! I did it, yall, I'm not just all talk! It hurt my wallet more than it hurt my actual ear, though. Still, it's cute! Details later, can't wait to surprise Mom and Dad. Especially after the fake tattoo fiasco, which was kind of, well...oh, dear...

11...7...8...8...L-Day

Ohhh my giddy-God I forgot to post on my birthday (yesterday). I suckity-suck. But I am 20 years old now so boo-yah. I also can barely move/type because I am so very full on waffles and, you guessed it, cupcakes!! Thanks in particular to Sistah Girl for making them and Ms. Politics to trekking to the grocery store in the rain to get the fixin's. I got most of my list, too. Yay. Seriously I'm stuffed and sated so suffice it to say I had a mm mm good birthday.

TTFN, mon amies!

What a day, What a Day

The grand list of Lucky's Favorite Holidays goes a little something like this:
1. Christmas
2. My birthday
3. Thanksgiving

The list is longer, but in this case the rest are really irrelevant.

Pay special attention to that second one, because it's coming up soon--November 7. **Yes, on this day that the Lord hath made, I was born almost 20 (gasp!) years ago. If I haven't said this before, birthdays are a huge deal to me. It's partly because I started school early, so I'm always the last birthday--even now all of my friends are older than me. Age before beauty, I say.

If you're wondering whether or not my age has ever kept me from partying with my of-age friends, rest assured that no, it has not. Well, I was turned away from a club freshman year because I was only 17, but I was also so very, very stupid: I'd forgotten my ID anyway (it was my first time, okay?). Me and Ms. Politics had to ride the train and then walk back to campus in the chilly [cold and unfriendly] fall night. One of us was wearing a very short skirt. And it wasn't Ms. Politics.

Celebrating birthdays isn't immature, either, it makes total sense: your birthday is the day you came upon this very earth! Basically I'm a total kid when it comes to birthdays. It's funny because my birthday usually falls on Election Day, and this year, ironically, it doesn't. When I was little, I used to think that people were making a big deal about Nov. 7th because it was my birthday, not voting day (secretly I still think so).

**I giggle every time I say "November 7th." It's the 5-year old in me, okay?

I also reserve the right to be incredibly self-serving on my birthday (everyone does, in my opinion, so it's okay). And especially with the tough time I've been having lately, a little self-indulgence is the order of the day. So without further adieu, we have Lucky's Birthday List (non-comprehensive):

1. Kimora: Life in the Fab Lane on DVD
2. a digital camera (my old one broke)
3. Zoolander and Transformers on DVD
4. "I Love Black People" t-shirt
5. A birthday kiss! (a. negotiable, 2. cyber-kisses from the blogosphere are totally accepted and invited, FYI)

As I said, it's a work in progress. I'm not sure if I want to have a party or anything, or even go out to dinner. I wouldn't mind a quiet evening with me, my DVDs, and, well, chocolate cupcakes with pink frosting (ahem, Motown Lover, Sistah Girl, and Top Chef, y'all know y'all can throw down in the kitchen!) would be nice. I have to think of one totally extravagant and girly thing to do for myself, though. A movie-marathon? Mini shopping-spree? Help, dear readers! What should I do for my special day? Share your brilliance. And for kicks, spill: what was your best birthday so far?

I'll [show] tell you mine if you [show] tell me yours. Ha.

What's Going On

We know that cooking is not, nor has it ever been, my forte. I am just too lazy. For the first month of school, I begged Top Chef to make me food so I wouldn't waste away to nothingness. Imagine my pride, then, when I whipped up some Hamburger Helper the other day! And corn! So there I am, playing music (for ambience, baby) and taking a picture of my cuisine, when Roommate's BF (henceforth known as RBF) comes in with an armload of groceries.

"You cooked!" he said.
"I know, right? And I didn't burn the house down!" I said.

Then Roommate comes downstairs.

"You cooked!" she said.

Honestly. I made all those chicken pot-pies, didn't I?

Anyway, after bemused appreciation of my efforts, Roommate and RBF proceed to go all Iron Chef on me and whip up this...feast. Putting my poor salisbury-steak flavored, Hamburger Helper-y goodness to shame. I slunk out of the kitchen, recognizing defeat. I felt like Jazz on the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air after Trevor prepares creme brulee for Hilary: "I guess no one wants the Pop-Tarts I made!"

I had to laugh, though. And I didn't leave, either. At first (we're making progress, yes?) Instead I sat my ass (with my food, thanks) on the couch and watched Fantastic Four 2 while they prepared their romantic dinner for two. I don't know what they made (potatoes were involved), but anything can be a romantic dinner when the couple making it is SO FREAKING CUTE YOU WANT TO DIE. They are. She's so petite and has a tiny little chipper voice and he is tall, dark and absolutely positively fuckable. And nice. And walks around in--I kid you not--wifebeaters. The first time I walked in to that sight my heart almost stopped. Every time I see him I probably have lust in my eyes. I just know it.

Moving on. I just realized that there are a few people who are dear to me that I barely acknowledge here. It's partly because our antics are too long to transcribe but deserve a mention nonetheless. Dr. Argentina is a main character in the story of mi vida. He is...a lot, to say the least. He goes to Brother College and we've been friends since freshman year. Literally a party in a bomber jacket, he's a really good listener, and is smart as hell to boot. He's crazy and I love him. And yes, insert Will and Grace analogy here--applicable to me, Cali Girl, Ex-Roommate (henceforth known as Ms. Politics/Ms. Politician/or similar), and Sistah Girl, especially him and CG.

Take last homecoming, for example:
Me: Should I wear Spanx tonight?
Him: What the hell are those?
Me: (I explain this marvelous invention)
Him: (Without hesitation) Yep, put 'em on. You may get into a fight tonight and we don't want your ass hanging out: (Imitating, presumably, me raring for a fight): "I wore Spanx for bitches just like you!"

So yes. Welcome Dr. Argentina to the canon of crazy.

CG, Ms. P and me saw The Secret Life of Bees yesterday. Loved it. I had to read the book for class, and although it didn't match up to the text (movies never do), I loved it. Yes, probably could have been better actresses, blah blah, but whatever. And Nate Parker was in it, formerly of The Great Debaters fame. Yum-o.

Ugh. I'm sitting here in classes listening to psuedo-philosophical discussions that are slowly breaking my spirit, honey. Here we go. "Beyonce is too sexual in her new video blah blah." These fucking puritannical collegiates make me nauseous. It's like any type of sexuality or, hell, bare skin is shamed and thought to be Destroying the Black Community. Get over it. The dance team at Brother College is WAY sluttier than Beyonce's choreographed, trained dance routine done wearing a--ohmigosh!--dance costume and high heels. College teaches you to critically analyze, but I hate when people take that for blowing every single thing the fuck out of proportion.

Maybe I'm just not enlightened enough. Ha. It's just probably my dirty mind justifying its place in an academic setting. Well shit, if that's the case, I'd better make my filth-ridden mind a drink 'cause its here to stay, thank God.

*PS-will add links later, when I should not, in fact, be doing other productive things.

You Know I'm No Good

Not dead. Tired but still here.

I really want a chicken pot pie but in progress downstairs is a cozy dinner for two. So I am upstairs with Cheez-Its. If that is not the life of a singleton then I don't know what is.

Confession: I am an extraordinarily embarrassingly bad driver, especially at night. Like, wrong side of the road, accidentally ran a red light kind of bad. Me and my girls were lucky to make it home in one piece last night with me at the helm. It kind of scares me.

One of the most perplexing questions in the world of Facebook flirting/caking has to be: WHY are you messaging me when you are very CLEARLY listed as being in a relationship? I am not in the homewrecking business. Anymore. Intentionally. Plus, I saw The Women this weekend and as depicted in plot the effects of homewrecking are none too pretty for anyone involved. About the movie: not bad, but still disposable. Jada Pinkett Smith=overactor.

And now for something a little more transcendant: TODAY IS AMY JADE WINEHOUSE'S 25th BIRTHDAY!!! If I could listen to "Get Me Bodied" for Beyaki's birthday (9...4...8...1...B-Day), then you'd better believe I have Ms. Winehouse blasting in honor of this glorious occasion.

Methinks I need to get out of this house--whatever's cooking downstairs smells sadistically delicious and I am up here wasting away.

One Step at a Time

All in one day, I deleted Homeboy's number and turned down a potential date from the Runner ("let's hang out around 8 tomorrow").

In the past I would have asked, What's wrong with me? Now I'm finally starting to think that there's something right with me.


Not to mention, I'm armed with The Beauty Myth, Smith Jared, and Will from Day 26. No boy I've met so far has a fighting chance.

PS-I kind of hate Charlotte York.

PPS-I seem to be missing half a carton of Double Chocolate Chunk ice cream and I think it might be resting comfortably in my tummy. Oy. Delicious, but oy.

Stuck

This just in: at this very moment, Middle Sister has an INSANELY HOT guy friend over. I only got a fleeting glimpse of him, but hot damn, he is gorgeous. In my house, currently, there is one of the hottest guys I've seen since Tex, and he's with my sister. My younger sister. Blimey. If that's not an unholy indication that life isn't fair, then, well, I just don't know what is. And I'll tell you this for free: if he becomes anything resembling her "official" boyfriend I will find it very, very, very hard to continue living.

But on the whole I am happy that at least someone in my family (besides my parents) has found true and everlasting love. Let it be known that I am not a jealous spinster sister-- just yet. I fear it may be a-coming.

Have things gone unchanged? Why am I just starting to write an article that's due tomorrow, being aided in the procrastination department by popcorn, Vitamin Water, and iTunes? While wearing sweatpants? And my hair is messy, to boot! Honestly all I need is my lucky hat and it's like I've gone back in time.

Earlier I was on Facebook and stumbled across someone's profile whose very face utterly pissed me off. And a dear friend of mine* was fraternizing with the enemy! I almost fell off of my chair; what the fuckity-fuck is THIS all about?! I can't.

*Please, no one take offense to or read too much into this. I am melodramatic more than I am scorned or possessive. I'm just joking around, using a touch of exaggerated flair, if you will, to give readers a chuckle at my good-natured expense. Don't take Lucky very seriously, it will only give you a headache!

Fuck. I really do have to do this article that I had all summer to work on. I've learned nothing from last year's bleary-eyed nights spent in front of this very laptop! But I feel quite un-creative at the moment, making it hard for me to write anything of use, and I'm also quite tired. Maybe I will just let the Devil take the hindmost and do this tomorrow, at TV Station. Eh, I feel disaster might befall that plan, so it looks I'm going to have to take it on the chin and produce. I need some inspiration and right now all I feel is bored. With precious little to show for myself except for a paragraph and a full stomach due to all those delicious snacky-snacks. I've still got my appetite, at the least.

Update: In need of tequila. Evening has turned into a facsimile sham of a fiasco; hate being nosy, nerdy spinster older sister. Want to simultaneously scream, vomit, and gouge eyes out. Must throw self wholeheartedly into work in hopes of becoming professional ice-queen to whom the petty dealings of others have no effect. Might resort to dark chocolate bar hidden upstairs.

In Another State of Panic

So I'm minding my own business on the couch, snacking on a plum and watching Crossroads--a severely underrated cinematic adventure in my opinion--when a many-legged creature scuttles across my basement floor.

Now I am not a wimp in most cases (excepting in bugs and such), so I planned to kill it with a well-placed SMACK! of a magazine, but by the time I finished screaming bloody murder (I put my hand over my mouth first; it is almost 3am), The Thing was gone from my line of sight. I don't know where it went and, frankly, LIKE HELL I'M MOVING FROM MY SAFE PLACE AND INTO THE WILD to hunt for and kill this thing.

Lucky of the Yukon I am not.

Varsity Un-Blues

Fashion Student's birthday party was today, a pool party that I coincidentally arrived late at so that I wouldn't have to actually get in said pool (I don't own a bathing suit and am not exactly itching to go buy one). I only planned to stay for a little while before returning back home to eat pizza, but ended up staying until 1am. Along with FS and Scoop was Blondie, and the four of us were the only senior varsity cheerleaders back in high school, and we got to strolling down Memory Lane. Scoop, as usual, did not disappoint with her knowledge of all the post-high school gossip, and we exchanged boy stories and memories and laughs and "no you didn'ts!" hours after everyone had left.

Oh, high school, how I sort of miss thee. God, I loved being a cheerleader. That was four years spent in the shortest skirt I will (probably) ever wear in my life without looking like a total hooker. Not to mention, my team was my family. I used to be a shy little thing before I became a cheerleader, and, well, by the time I graduated, I was affectionately known as "loud and crazy."

It's fun to go back and fill in the blanks so many years later. For instance, cheerleaders had "buddies" on the football team that we would make bags of food for and wear their jerseys sometimes on game days, and mine was the captain and quarterback of the team (yes, I was that girl. We didn't date though. I wasn't that girl). I did have a tiny crush on him that resulted in lots of victory hugs and high-fives and extra treats in his bag (sometimes I did this for all my buddies, to be fair), yet I figured that I'd still only be little more than "some cheerleader" to him. Well, fast-forward to tonight, when talking about old friends and his name came up, Scoop said to me, "Oh, yeah [Quarterback] really liked you." When I asked, "Really?" She responded, "Uh-huh, he like, loved you." Not in a crush-y way, obviously, but a "she's a sweet and cool girl" kind of way. Which, even years after I graduated, still provided me with a happy little glow of satisfaction. He was the high school quarterback and Prom King. I mean, come on.

On another bright note, I went to the dentist today, and despite my mom's constant clucking otherwise, my jovial dentist exclaimed, "You have beauuuuutiful teeth!" So ha. But don't you hate when your teeth are all...oooky after a trip to the dentist? I tried to right that wrong with pretzels and a club sandwich, but...no. Sometimes I am eternally six years old.

PS: this is yet another reason why I love John Mayer.

Bear with Me, My Mind is a Jungle

Yummy. Pretzels are good. I've been around the world (not) and the best pretzies ever still come in the blue bag at the titian shopping emporium that is CVS.

Left TV Station early, to, apparently, my own detriment. As soon as my ride arrived is when there was actually semblance of an assignment. But I wasn't about to waste all that gas, so I departed. But tomorrow (well, the next time I go back, Wednesday), is a new day. Funny-ish: today a woman was named the new GM of the station and on her tour of the station, she came up behind me while I was on Gawker.com. Oops. Hopefully my non-work wasn't too evident, but I wouldn't be surprised if it was. Because such is my life.

Got into nice, petty little squabbles with various family members almost back-to-back; contemplated over and over the joys of living alone. Had to hide in the basement with a movie and my laptop for solace, along with my beloved pretzels, que claro.

While on the quest for those deliciously salty snacky-snacks, I narrowly avoided a collision in the CVS parking lot. For once a near-accident wasn't my fault! I had to honk my horn, which, even against the rudest of drivers, I never do. It was that serious, y'all.

Question: does Lord Voldemort ever have to go to the bathroom? I can't imagine him thumbing through Entertainment Weekly while, you know, peeing. Oh, wait, boys stand up, don't they? But what about...well, never mind. Also, how come there's never any mention of showering or daily ablutions in the HP septology (pretty sure I made that term up)? Hmm. Golly I love that Ron Weasley.

Over the weekend, I discovered that I suck at all things financial. After buying a (really cute) top and undies from Forever 21, I mentally calculated my expenditures and nearly fell out. I tried to prioritize my purchases, but, um, epic fail. It was supposed to go (in order of importance):

-Clothes
-...shit, I forgot the order already. I guess that's my problem. Well, I know food was at the bottom of the list and makeup, nail polish, and underwear was somewhere in between. But I am weak in the face of pretzels, the shirt was in a truly majestic leopard print, and the undies were on sale for 99 CENTS. What would YOU have done?

Frantic!

Earlier I tried to post from my phone, in the midst of the onset of a networking-induced panic attack, but I couldn't figure out how. So I had to settle for cowering in the corner of the ladies room (on a chair, duh), listening to "Dirty Diana" before I could compose myself enough to enter the job fair.

In case I forgot to say, I'm at a journalism convention in Chicago to schmooze, network, and accept my scholarship (not in that order). A convention, at which, I must say, the esteemed Barack Obama will be speaking tomorrow. So there!

Anyway, the fair wasn't the vomit-inducing, kill or be killed circus I thought it would be. And by that I mean no one was overly rude and there are hot guys here. I had to scribble tally-marks on my left hand (not the handshake hand!) count all the booths I stopped by. But still, I was glad when the day was over and my dad, my godfather, and I could go to Giorzano's for authentic Chicago deep dish. I must say, I'm a little disappointed in myself. Usually I'm good for three slices of pizza, no matter what kind, but honey, after one slice of that cheesy goodness and I was laid out! I couldn't go out like that; I did manage to go back and attempt a second slice (attempt being the key word).

Tomorrow I accept my award. My picture's in the program and everything. My dad got a kick out of that. So if you need me tomorrow evening, I might be busy enjoying my 15 minutes of fame and probably still trying not to faint.

PS-I heard from the Runner today, via Facebook. And a few days ago, Science Guy. *blank stare*

You Jump, I Jump

So, yes, last night was the big birthday do.

Notable: my beef chow mein was delicious, my dad got my mom this ridiculously huge diamond (an update of her engagement ring I think), and my uncle, who moved to Kansas City and hasn't been back for six years, showed up and surprised everyone (well, me at least). That part was really nice. The best party guest goes to my mom's dreadlocked, Afro-centric, self-titled "renegade" teacher friend. She quit her teaching job and is working on her dissertation about the use of "Black language" (aka ebonics) and is seriously awesome. She and Top Chef would have a field day together--I told her she needs to come and teach at My College. Actually, I think she would have a better time at Brother College, but either way she'd turn the campus on its ear.

When it rains, it pours: at first, today's VS shift was turned into an on-call, for which they didn't need me. Not that I wasn't glad to get back to sleep, but, um, I need the money. Wait a minute. What if I get laid off?! It's not like I'm not expendable; I suck at the organizational part of putting the store back together (I had to give this one rude-ass bitch the side-eye last time because she snapped at me like I was incompetent when I was really just confused and a tiny bit EXHAUSTED), and I've only opened one store credit card. IF I GET FIRED FROM THIS JOB I WILL DIE OF MORTIFICATION. Not to mention destitution. Let's change the subject and hope for the best.

All day, since I didn't have to work (insert nervous whimper), I made an ass-shaped groove in the couch in front of the TV because there were all these specials about Diana, Princess of Wales on Oxygen. Quite fascinating stuff, actually, and just not because I like reading about her. A little while later I watched a documentary about the Titanic. Maybe I am a total nerd...

Speaking of the Ship Formerly Known as Unsinkable, I can only watch my Three Disc Special Collector's Edition DVD of Titanic every few years because I bawl every time I do. I can't help it. I'm totally fine up until the part at the end where Rose climbs up the stairs to meet Jack under that "Make it count" clock and everyone applauds as they kiss. That's when I lose it. I even tear up at the opening bars of "My Heart Will Go On." Oh, God, I'm getting sappy just posting that link. This is just pitiful. And yet, I'm considering unearthing my DVD as we speak. Do not disturb.

Ask and Thou Shalt Receive

This morning, I just said, "nope. Uh-huh, no way, Jose." After a phone call to Intern Easy E and a voice message to Intern Director #1, I officially played hooky from TV Station today. It's always a crap shoot whether or not I actually do work, so I took a chance and paid it. I mean, Website Girl's launch party was tonight, downtown, but it's not that deep. Well, there was a fashion show, no cover, and free cupcakes, but--hold on. What the hell was I thinking?! Shouldn't I have gone? No, no, today was a much-needed personal day. Yes, I went back to sleep after I canceled and didn't wake up until 1:30pm. Duh.

Tomorrow's my mother and her twin sister's (Lil' Cousin's mom) birthday. I won't tell you how old she is 'cause a proper lady never tells her age (I'm 19, by the way), but it is a big one. Tomorrow night will be a big dinner at Fancy Chinese Restaurant--Chicken Chow Mein, here I come!

God, today was laid-back fab. I shopped for Mom's present (shit, I forgot to get Aunt Twin's gift) and okay, bought a few lil' things for myself, took Precious the Dog for a walk, and watched the fifth Harry Potter movie and Big Momma's House (better than this atrocity and abomination). Can I just predict that the sixth and seventh movies will be hotfire? I will be front and center at both midnight premiers. Speaking of, I haven't seen any of the summer blockbusters. Iron Man, Hancock, the Incredible Hulk, not even Wall-E for crimity's sake. Maybe I will watch them online, I do have a penchant for superhero movies. I will not, however, miss The Dark Knight. Point blank period.

I have a question that has been on my mind since I spent the day on Blackcollegewire.com: How much do you know about Historically Black Colleges or Universities (HBCUs)? Can you name three? How about seven? I get the feeling that the general public doesn't understand or know anything about them, which often leads to misinterpretation of their intent when and if a Black College actually does make the national stage. So, anyone out there have at least trivial knowledge of HBCUs? Have a question about them? I really am just curious.

Yes, I am Complaining...but it's My Blog

It seems as if everything is bugging me/driving me up the wall. Everything is a pet-peeve. I can't stop thinking about things that trouble me or make me upset. Lately, even things like race relations, gay rights, self-reflection, and the environment have been on my mind.

Usually I counter these thoughts with singing (loudly) and favorite movie scenes and the like, but it's tiring. I really think it's a result of stress. Not even that I'm stressed I'm just tired. I almost flat-out refused to go to TV Station today. I want to sleep in. I want to read trashy novels and drink cherry Slurpees by the gallon (make that a Passion Fruit Bubble Tea) and go swimming and watch marathons and expand my DVD collection. You know, things you're supposed to do in the summertime. I mean, yes, the money and experience will be worth it and I really am grateful for these opportunities, and I enjoy myself usually and if the situations were reversed I'd wish I had a job and two internships, but I need a breather. And what's the point of making money if you're so stingy with your off-hours that you won't consider leaving the house if you don't have to?

Consider this: I have not been on Dlisted ALL DAY. That just should not happen.

I know, I know, it's called being an adult. Call me a spoiled freeloader. But I have the rest of my life to be an adult, and consequently, the window of being able to be a spoiled freeloader is getting smaller and smaller as I get older. I promise I will become a responsible, productive, tax-paying contributor to society when I "have" to. For now, though, if it's okay, I'd really just like to go swimming.

I Scarfed it Down, Too

Impossibly tired so will make this short.

Thank God for small victories: when I got home from a long (grueling) day at work this evening, there was a Ram's Horn burger and chocolate shake waiting for me in the fridge.

Score.

Some Things I Have Learned

Work was actually fun. Favorite Co-Worker was there, and she and I gossiped the day away amidst the leopard-print bustiers and whatnot (God our merchandise is so cute). Boy advice and stuff. Apparently she poured out her heart and soul and he still acted an ass. Abort! Abort! But of course I didn't say that because when well-meaning people would tell me to "Just stop talking to him and move on to someone who wants what you want," it made me do the exact opposite. It ain't easy, girls always want to give him another chance or the benefit of the doubt. Maybe one day some advanced civilization of women will be able to be like, "He didn't call? Fine. Eff him, delete that number, and let's move on!" But we are light-years away from that kind of strength.

As it turns out, an Oreo and Wavy Lays potato chip-sandwich is a mighty tasty little treat. Yum. But dammit, I'm still hungry. If anyone has some chicken lo mein with a Snickers Ice Cream Bar and a big, soft pretzel on the side, we could be in business. Throw in a Sprint Blackberry Curve for $250, and I'm yours for life.

I know, I know, what a cheap date I am.

Where Can I Find Some Discipline?!

I really have no self-control. After working out this afternoon and eating a sensible (ish) dinner, I proceeded to watch the game on the couch next to a bag of Baked Lays, half of which is sitting rudely in my crunch-toned stomach.

I am so ashamed.

It's Like I Never Left

Left home, that is.

I'm back to going to bed at 3, waking up at 2, and eating and doing random stuff in between. I feel like a deadbeat and I just got back! I've already eaten my weight in junk food, checked my email 90 times, played with Precious, and attempted to work out. When my butt was in the air as I did Downward-Facing Dog, it definitely screamed, "What in the HELL are you doing?!"

No! I'm watching "One Tree Hill" right now; if Skills and Deb hook up I will claw my eyes out! The plus side of being at home is all the TV I get to catch up on. The downside is, well, all the TV I get to catch up on, which means cementing my butt to the couch. "Gossip Girl" was super-good, too, fyi.

I normally like long drives, but I couldn't fall asleep at first. My head was full almost the whole time. I hate being alone with my thoughts sometimes. I had 10 hours to reflect on an entire school year, and it was a little disconcerting, a little heavy. When your mind wanders, sometimes there are places where you don't really want to be taken. But whatever. There's a difference between being "done" with something and being actually "over" it. It might take awhile for me to learn, but I am. Learning, that is.

Oh, "The Hills" is on. This is when I miss Roommate, SG, and CG, we usually watch it together, and if we don't, we definitely commiserate over it later...Speaking of, Roommate will need a new name! Maybe I'll just call her ex-Roommate? and save myself some trouble, LOL.

My stomach hurts from those junk food calisthenics. Heidi is at a business meeting wearing complete hooker shoes. I have regressed into summer mode, which means, well, a little scraggly, unfortunately. Ooh, the Pistons play tomorrow. If that doesn't inject a little fun into my day, nothing will...oh, my God! Kimora is on!! It is so damn good to be home.

OMG, Spencer is like Satan. He just, like, popped up like Lucifer in "Paradise Lost." And Usher is performing on the After-Show, which I might have to watch just for that, certainly not for those two annoyingly obnoxious co-hosts (the red-haired girl and the guy with the glasses). They are just too much for me to handle in my post-dinner stupor.