That awkward moment...

...when you say "I love you!" before you hang up the phone with a boy in Utah who you totally DO love but you had no intention of telling him that.

Oh crap.

A non-sanctioned blog post!

I feel like everyone must have a dysfunctional family, at least to a certain extent. Is YOUR family totally neurotic? I feel like my family is one of those Facebook tagging pictures or something. You know, The Arrogant One, The Sweet One, The Sarcastic One, The One With Zero Personality, The Selfish One, The Inappropriate One, The One That Tries Too Hard, The Control Freak, The Smart One, The Annoying One... That sort of thing. (Hey family. Tag yourselves.)

Anyway, I always have a hard time dealing with my family. Because I do love them (most of them). But I feel like if we weren't family, we probably wouldn't even be friends, you know? That's the weird thing about family. You don't even necessarily like them but you're stuck with them because you all share a couple chromosomes or something. I don't know... something like that. I don't know anything about genetics.

But being surrounded by people that you're supposed to like based on social norms is stressful for me. Because a lot of times people are stupid and ridiculous and I don't know what the eff is wrong with them and they just need to get over it already because SERIOUSLY PEOPLE! Large group settings mess with my head anyway.

Except that that's not really true 100% of the time. When I was in Utah, I met Matt's entire family. Like, extended family. 2 of his 3 sisters and 1 of his 2 brothers, and their families, in addition to Matt's parents. And I feel like I could get along with all of them forever. Why am I more tolerant of his family than of mine? Are they just that much more awesome? That can't be it.

Okay, they're pretty awesome. Matt's mom is a judge. Matt's dad is a pediatrician. His sister works for Mitt Romney's campaign and he like... calls her directly. And her two little girls are precious. His other sister is a lawyer. His aunt Kay is the coolest person I've ever met, and she's a guardian ad litem. His third sister is a photographer. Matt is studying photography at BYU. He goes to all his nephews' football games and takes pictures for their teams. His brothers are an architect and... like... the creator of Nu Skin or something. And they ALL GET ALONG. Like really really well. And I got along with all of them too.

Is it that we can't tolerate our own families as well as other families? Is it that I'm more compatible with the awesome Mormon family than with my own? I feel kind of... okay, REALLY guilty about feeling that way. But seriously. They're all like... healthy, wealthy and well-adjusted. It's exactly the kind of family I've always wanted, with a million people that all love each other like crazy. And my family is awesome and cool and usually decently well-behaved.

But seriously. Mitt Romney calls her. That's way cooler than anything we've got going for us.

How you like me now, college?!

I just aced my history exam. That's right. Let's talk about how I just aced my history exam. Actually, let's not because I don't even have that much to say except that I made that test my bitch. And I made my English Comp portfolio my hooker. And I smoked my last speech like weed.

'Kay, that didn't make any sense whatsoever. But I'm just saying that I'm awesome. I got a safe full of cherries cuz I pop it and lock it.

This is my final post that counts for a journal entry, because after this I've met my quota. And unfortunately I have nothing to really say in it except for talk about how freakin' awesome I am. Which is funny because usually I talk about how un-awesome I am. Nice change of pace, from low self-confidence to narcissist in 1 post!

Anyway. Shut up and watch this youtube video.

These pancakes are super thick, mom!

Gets me every time.

Procrastinator.

It's 2:37 am and I'm exhausted but still awake. I have been cramming and frantically writing all weekend and I'm pretty sure this is how 90% of people in real colleges feel quite often, when they have real-college assignments due and real-college finals to study for.

I just finished my portfolio for 2 different classes... Illustrations and Composition. Right up to the wire on both of them... that's my style. The last paper I wrote I finished 30 minutes before class and got a 96%. I spent about an hour on the whole thing. It seems like the less I try, the better I do. That's a horrible life lesson, kids, but it's proving to be true for me.

I put my Comp portfolio on astrobright paper. My revisions are on neon pink. And I mean neon... retina-burning soul-on-fire pink. I figure if they hurt to read my teacher will assume they are okay and give me an okay grade without really reading them because reading them physically hurts. It's genius, actually. Provided it has the desired effect.

My illustrations class was such a fun class. Like insanely enjoyable. I got to draw cute little doodles of kids all the time and I got college credit for it. And that's my kind of class.... doing things I would be doing anyway and then getting credit for it. Why doesn't my entire life work like that? Why don't I get paid to eat food and sing in the shower?

Speaking of singing, I got a part in my church Christmas program. I'm the alto part in O Holy Night. It's a quartet, and we're singing it a cappella. It makes me a little nervous, but I think I can do it. And I was really really happy to be picked. I KNEW there was a reason I went to church today! I almost didn't because I was stressed out.

Now at least I don't have to worry about school again for a little while. Now I just have to worry about finishing a pair of shoes, cleaning the house for company and baking a German chocolate cake in the next 2 days. Swell...

Movie Review: Thankskilling

Tagline: "Gobble Gobble, Motherf*cker."

My best friend and I love campy D-movie horror, so this movie was an obvious choice for us. And it had everything you could ever want in a D-movie horror flick:

1. Boobs

2. Wildly farfetched plot

3. Unlikely villain

4. Wholly un-engaging storyline

5. A slut, a nerd, a jock and a girl-next door character (who die in that order)

6. High school theatre-quality special effects

All that and more are presented in this delightfully horrendous movie. The plot goes something like this: minutes after the first Thanksgiving, a turkey comes after the pilgrims seeking bloody revenge. And then has returned in present times for more bloody revenge. 5 college students are on their way home for Thanksgiving and encounter the turkey, and all hell breaks loose.

The turkey in question is, I'm pretty sure, a rubber hand puppet. The blood looks to be teriyaki sauce and red food coloring. The lines are contrived. The very first scene of the movie features a close-up of a nipple, panning back to an inexplicably topless pilgrim running frantically through the woods, chased by the homicidal turkey. At one point the college students find a book... a field guide to homicidal turkeys of sorts that is written in a math code and can only be deciphered by the nerd of the group. It's oddly specific, too. "The turkey can usually be found in his teepee. If he's not in the teepee, he's most likely killing your friends."

In short, this movie is probably the best worst thing ever.

I will leave you with a line from the movie:

Jock: Looks like I got something you don't, Turkey!

Killer Turkey: What's that Darren... a vagina?

Brilliant.

Suck it, Iowa.

I went to Iowa this weekend and it didn’t go great. My grandmother had a stroke a few months ago and is in a care facility, and we went out to make her a nice Thanksgiving dinner and spend some time with her. For some reason we ended up having brunch instead. Don’t ask me how that happened.

My dad’s family is kind of insane. And there were a bunch of people at this brunch who did not need to be there. One was my aunt’s mother-in-law, who was 90, and one was my other aunt’s mother-in-law who is just... well the first thing she said to me was “And who are you?” I wanted to be like, “Who am I? Hooker, who are YOU?” So she was special. I'm actually kicking myself that my response wasn't "Your worst nightmare, bitch." That would have been timely.

But the 90 year old, Betty, asked about my dad, and then was like, “and you’re a nurse, right?” And I was like, “No, that’s my mom you’re thinking of.” And she proceeded to say, “Oh! I was wondering if you were his wife, but I said to myself, ‘she’s gained some weight!’ so I just wasn’t sure.” Sooooo yeah. Apparently I am fat and old now. Sweeeeet. Apparently being 90 gives you the right to be socially retarded or something.

Then. Later. We go to Chick-Fil-A. Which I love, especially since there isn’t one in Omaha. But all of a sudden I start feeling hot... and dizzy... and nauseous. So I get up and go to the bathroom. And it’s a good thing, because after leaning against the wall of the stall for a minute, I totally puked my guts out. On the dirty floor of a public bathroom. With some Christian pop music playing over the speakers. It was almost poetic. “I raise my hands up to the sky, we’re all in need of Jesus!!” *vomit* So then I was old, fat, AND puking.

And I spent the whole 5 hour car-trip home with my head between my knees trying not to lose it again.

My conclusion? Iowa can suck it.

A Week From Now...

...it will be Thanksgiving. Which, by the way, is an effed up holiday. Here's what Thanksgiving means to me: A long time ago in like the 1600's or something there were these people who came over to America (which wasn't even America back then) on a ship. They landed in what is now referred to as New England. Plymouth specifically. But the "pilgrims" as they were called, who were English, didn't know what the eff was going on and most of them starved and froze to death the first winter there. Then the kindly natives were like, "These people are harshing our mellow," and taught them to plant crops and hunt and stuff and basically to be useful human beings. So the 50 or so pilgrims who survived this whole ordeal were like, "let's totally celebrate up in here!" and threw a jumpin' party. And by "party" I mean they ate squash. And then later they shot the Native Americans who helped them survive, all in the name of irony I'm sure, and took their land. Because they were better than those savages, dammit.

So, being Americans, we feel a moral obligation to distort the CRAP out of true meanings of holidays. So we made Thanksgiving about eating a wildly gluttonous amount of food and then sleeping and watching football for the rest of the day. Isn't that just the spirit of America? A holiday that celebrates back-stabbery, racism, obesity and laziness. U-S-A! U-S-A!

Maybe my cynicism stems from the fact that I just don't like any holidays. Gatherings stress me out and make me hateful because large groups of people tend to be selfish, loud, and wholly irrational. Also, some members of my family are ridiculous and gross and prolonged exposure causes severe snark on part. I was born cynical and I grew into my sarcasm.

Can I please just run away?