31 October 2006
♥ sex / halloween
Alright, so my Tuesday afternoon session with Andrea has left me in the mood for some shrinking, and as I finally settled in to get started on my abstract for psych, my interest was piqued by an article titled "But the sex is so good!"
I think if you're reading about psychological disorders, pretty much anything you find can be attributed to a friend or family member. While this particular case doesn't fall into either category, I couldn't help but dredge up an unpleasant memory of her in a very sleazy costume today as I read about the moral dilemma she doesn't know she has.
But the sex is so good!
John D. Moore, MS, LPC, CADC
Did anyone come to mind as you read? The italics were all mine, by the way, so if you were just skimming you basically got the jist of the article, which is that it's not healthy to be in a relationship based entirely on sex.
That said, it's time to move on to a lighter subject, that being my aversion to slutty Halloween costumes. Girls, as a general rule, take advantage of Halloween as an excuse to dress like a total skank and not be called on it, because, as they say, it's part of the costume. We're all guilty of it: I wore a lacy red garter, for God's sake. (In my defense, I would just like everyone to know that I WAS wearing shorts on Saturday.)
However, to balance out my sluttiness, my costume was extremely nerdy. I mean, how many girls do you know (this excludes Kayla and Allison) who willingly dress up as characters from songs? It's somewhat akin to dressing up as a character from a beloved childhood story, especially because the Decemberists are basically lyrical storybooks for grown-ups.
I saw a lot of Wizard of Oz characters today, Dorothy, obviously, being the most popular. There is nothing nerdy about Dorothy, except that she named her dog "Toto." In fact, though no one will ever do her quite as well as Judy Garland, it's certainly possible to be a cute Dorothy for Halloween. Here is the criteria for such a costume:
Proper Dorothy costume
Unacceptable Dorothy costume
I think if you're reading about psychological disorders, pretty much anything you find can be attributed to a friend or family member. While this particular case doesn't fall into either category, I couldn't help but dredge up an unpleasant memory of her in a very sleazy costume today as I read about the moral dilemma she doesn't know she has.
But the sex is so good!
John D. Moore, MS, LPC, CADC
Is it wrong to be in a relationship because the sex is satisfying?
Jill has a problem. "I've been dating Steve for four months now, but we really don't have that much in common - except for the sex," she admits. " I've never been with a man who gratifies me in the way that he does. When we have sex, it's like the fourth of July and Christmas all wrapped up into one. Just thinking about it now turns me on. I mean the sex is soooo good!"
Xavier reports a similar problem. "She's a lawyer and I am a construction worker, it's not like we have a great deal to talk about, " he remarks. "But when she sleeps over at my place, let's just say that we don't get much rest. I mean sexually, we are on the same page - but that's about it. It's not like we are in love or anything."
Can you relate? If so, then welcome to the elite club of the sexually attached couples. In this relational scenario, the primary experience that binds the couple together is sex and is generally devoid of love. Similar to infatuation, sexually attached couples experience high levels of passion, with low levels of intimacy and emotion. This begs the questions: "Is it wrong to be in a relationship with someone based purely on good sex?"
The simple answer is no, however it is a bit more complicated then that. So how do you really know if this kind of relationship is healthy? To answer this question, it may help to examine your motivations and feelings.
Consider asking yourself the following five questions.
- Do I feel depressed after having sex?
- Does my partner want more from the relationship than just sex?
- Is their something personal going on in your life right now by which having a sexually stimulating experience relieves stress?
- Have you recently broken up with another person and have found yourself using sex as a means to cope with the emotional loss?
- Are you "hooked on the look" of your partner - meaning that you feel validated because he or she is attached to your arm?
If you found yourself answering "YES" to any of these questions, then it may be time to consider if this is truly the kind of relationship you want to be in. To be sure, there is nothing wrong with "sexually clicking" with another person and wanting to be physically stimulated. This is because we are all human beings and have certain "needs" that need to be attended to from time to time. But if the relationship is based solely on sex and is void of an emotional connection, then anticipate serious problems down the road. Why is this true? For the simple reason that at some point, the "fireworks in the bedroom" become less brilliant and you are eventually left with emptiness. In order for a healthy relationship to survive the long term, the ingredients of commitment, shared interests and good sex must be part of the relational equation. That said, if you have found yourself involved in a sexually attached relationship, seriously examine the motivations behind your desire to be with this person and don't be afraid to examine the physical connection vs. the emotional one. In the final analysis, you might just find that you have saved yourself a world of heartache and pain.
So go ahead, enjoy having sex with your partner and celebrate the fact that the "Sex is soooo good!" Just try to keep things in perspective. Who knows - in the future you just might find that "Prince Charming" or "Snow White" and go onto to build the relationship of your dreams!
Copyright © 2002 by John D. Moore, MS, CADC
Did anyone come to mind as you read? The italics were all mine, by the way, so if you were just skimming you basically got the jist of the article, which is that it's not healthy to be in a relationship based entirely on sex.
That said, it's time to move on to a lighter subject, that being my aversion to slutty Halloween costumes. Girls, as a general rule, take advantage of Halloween as an excuse to dress like a total skank and not be called on it, because, as they say, it's part of the costume. We're all guilty of it: I wore a lacy red garter, for God's sake. (In my defense, I would just like everyone to know that I WAS wearing shorts on Saturday.)
However, to balance out my sluttiness, my costume was extremely nerdy. I mean, how many girls do you know (this excludes Kayla and Allison) who willingly dress up as characters from songs? It's somewhat akin to dressing up as a character from a beloved childhood story, especially because the Decemberists are basically lyrical storybooks for grown-ups.
I saw a lot of Wizard of Oz characters today, Dorothy, obviously, being the most popular. There is nothing nerdy about Dorothy, except that she named her dog "Toto." In fact, though no one will ever do her quite as well as Judy Garland, it's certainly possible to be a cute Dorothy for Halloween. Here is the criteria for such a costume:
- Cute dress must be knee-length. Clearly, it's lame to have a really long Dorothy dress, at that point you begin to morph into a slightly less morbid version of Morticia Addams. On the other hand, if the package your costume came in said "Leg Avenue" on it, you are being a slut. Take that off right now. Acutally, don't, your boyfriend is right there. Go into the bathroom and change.
- Braids must be done in proper Judy Garland style. It's got a sort of twisty thing going on. You know what I mean. If you simply braided your hair as an excuse to show off how long an luscious it is (especially if you take great care to make sure your little braids are framing your boobs all day), you are being a slut. Take that off right now. Actually, don't, your boyfriend is right there. Go into the bathroom and change.
- No cleavage allowed, not no way, not nohow. That's right, kids, I shouldn't even be able to tell that Dorothy's hit puberty yet. The little apron thing should cover any signs of boobage. We're talking NO plunging necklines here, people; the only thing that should be visible in that area is NOTHING, and by nothing I don't mean no clothing, I mean no skin. If I can see even the slightest hint of cleavage peeking out of that little costume, you are being a slut. Take that off right now. Actually, don't, your boyfriend is right there. Go into the bathroom and change.
Proper Dorothy costume
Unacceptable Dorothy costumeSo, yeah, there's my lesson for the day. Next year, try not to be such a ho.
Quick addition: Okay, so I'm not sure if I've entirely made my point here. Though I obviously disapprove of cute, innocent costumes that have been sluttified, there are a few exceptions. Here are some acceptable slutty costumes:
Dorky hat = cute. Don't stand like that though.
Beer girls / Barmaids / Swiss Misses are acceptable, because their role is traditionally sort of tawdry. You have to carry it off just right though.
Quick addition: Okay, so I'm not sure if I've entirely made my point here. Though I obviously disapprove of cute, innocent costumes that have been sluttified, there are a few exceptions. Here are some acceptable slutty costumes:
Dorky hat = cute. Don't stand like that though.
Beer girls / Barmaids / Swiss Misses are acceptable, because their role is traditionally sort of tawdry. You have to carry it off just right though.Other exceptions to the no sluttiness rule include boys dressed in slutty girls' costumes (that takes a lot of man) and anything poking fun at religious figures (i.e. nuns). Of course, the understanding with the above costumes (slutty witches / barmaids) is that said costumes will not be worn to school, because that just doesn't work there. A general rule of thumb is that if you think it might cause the collective *ahem* size of the male population to increase when you walk by, you probably shouldn't wear it to school. Wear it to a party, hang out with friends in it on Halloween, show it off to your boyfriend, but do not, under any circumstances, wear it to school. Are you getting my drift? I think these general ground rules will make for a series of much more enjoyable future Halloweens, unless you happen to be a high school boy whose only opportunity to witness such a fantasy is in the hallways at school, in which case you don't count anyway.
10/31/2006
♥ don't fail me now, andrea...
...She's probably right; I really do need to stop shoulding all over myself.
10/31/2006
30 October 2006
♥ ...come on, like you thought i could really wait a whole week
1. If only you hadn't waited so long to really fall in love with her, she might still be yours.
2. I feel lost without you, and I don't know if that's good or bad.
3. Sometimes I think about you a little more than I probably should, but for some reason, I don't really mind.
4. I simultaneously love and hate you for the way you make me feel.
5. She really doesn't deserve you, I don't think. But that's why you love her, I guess. Someday it won't be her anymore, and you'll be the lucky one.
6. I gave it some thought, and I realized that the answer is pretty clear: I think you're in love, but I don't think he is. It's not him, and when you realize it, you're going to wish you had friends.
7. Why do you do all the same things as me, but think you're cooler than everyone else for doing them?
8. The truth is, you don't really know anything about me.
9. How can you finish it if you don't even know what you want it to be about? And, more importantly, if you want it to be amazing, earth-shattering, life-changing, how can you help but put a little bit of yourself into it?
10. Am I worth it or not?
11. I wish you'd just confess something every now and then... it feels nice to be adored.
12. She loved him, she waited for him, she needed him. And you didn't even let her recover for a week before you swept him off his feet, and started showing him off with a big happy grin on your face. Give the girl some space--she deserves it after so long with him. They may be happy for you, but I don't think I could ever forget the look on her face every time she sees you together.
13. There's something wildly attractive about the way you do everything... I wish you'd show it off more.
14. Maybe you're right, maybe I am trying to hard. But I miss the way things used to be. [You know I hate change.]
15. I realized that the reason you're so angsty, so emotional, so incapable of seeing outside yourself, is because you're boring: you have nothing better to do than waste away after her. You need a hobby.
2. I feel lost without you, and I don't know if that's good or bad.
3. Sometimes I think about you a little more than I probably should, but for some reason, I don't really mind.
4. I simultaneously love and hate you for the way you make me feel.
5. She really doesn't deserve you, I don't think. But that's why you love her, I guess. Someday it won't be her anymore, and you'll be the lucky one.
6. I gave it some thought, and I realized that the answer is pretty clear: I think you're in love, but I don't think he is. It's not him, and when you realize it, you're going to wish you had friends.
7. Why do you do all the same things as me, but think you're cooler than everyone else for doing them?
8. The truth is, you don't really know anything about me.
9. How can you finish it if you don't even know what you want it to be about? And, more importantly, if you want it to be amazing, earth-shattering, life-changing, how can you help but put a little bit of yourself into it?
10. Am I worth it or not?
11. I wish you'd just confess something every now and then... it feels nice to be adored.
12. She loved him, she waited for him, she needed him. And you didn't even let her recover for a week before you swept him off his feet, and started showing him off with a big happy grin on your face. Give the girl some space--she deserves it after so long with him. They may be happy for you, but I don't think I could ever forget the look on her face every time she sees you together.
13. There's something wildly attractive about the way you do everything... I wish you'd show it off more.
14. Maybe you're right, maybe I am trying to hard. But I miss the way things used to be. [You know I hate change.]
15. I realized that the reason you're so angsty, so emotional, so incapable of seeing outside yourself, is because you're boring: you have nothing better to do than waste away after her. You need a hobby.
10/30/2006
♥ flower power... except not!
I think the Killers are really just ahead of their time. Now, don't get me wrong: I loved their 2004 debut, Hot Fuss. But their latest album, Sam's Town, left me in a mood almost too melancholy to write this blog.
I gave it a lot of thought on the drive to school today, and the problem is that the band has bad timing. I mean, I picture the narrator of "Somebody Told Me" as being somewhat akin to Will Ferrell and Chris Kattan in Night At the Roxbury, how they, like, sandwich girls in and sort of... dance at them, you know? Kind of cornering them? Totally desperate? But think about it: when they recorded "Somebody Told Me," Brandon Flowers was an irresistable babesky. Maybe I'm speaking for fewer girls than I think, but if, at the time, he'd come up to me in a club and showed even the slightest interest in me, he wouldn't have even had enough time to get through "Hey, listen, somebody told--" because I'd be like, "Mmmm, take me, you hot piece of Mormon ass, I'm yours." Not even joking, that's how hot he was.
Now that he's married to a Mormon supermodel, though, Flowers got all... ugly-like. Now is when he'd need a line like "Hey, listen, somebody told me that you dated this guy who looked kind of like this girl I dated last February," except this time he wouldn't get through the whole thing because I would get up and walk away, leaving my drink for him to down because he needs a drink because he is too hopelessly ugly to talk to girls at clubs. Plus he should feel like a loser, because he's married and hitting on a sixteen-year-old.
So it's hard to take their stuff seriously, you know? Because it's hard for most people to relate to the idea of being hopelessly beautiful and still having to try desperately to get girls to talk to you, because stuff like that just doesn't happen. But here they are, no longer hopelessly beautiful (I'm only talking about Flowers here, because everyone knows that it's the lead singer who gets the most attention), and the days of the frustratingly overplayed "Somebody Told Me" are over.
It almost gives me an ulcer just to think it, but teenagers just don't care about social change. Give them a decade or so, and the what will then be the aging scenester generation will really begin to appreciate Sam's Town.
I gave it a lot of thought on the drive to school today, and the problem is that the band has bad timing. I mean, I picture the narrator of "Somebody Told Me" as being somewhat akin to Will Ferrell and Chris Kattan in Night At the Roxbury, how they, like, sandwich girls in and sort of... dance at them, you know? Kind of cornering them? Totally desperate? But think about it: when they recorded "Somebody Told Me," Brandon Flowers was an irresistable babesky. Maybe I'm speaking for fewer girls than I think, but if, at the time, he'd come up to me in a club and showed even the slightest interest in me, he wouldn't have even had enough time to get through "Hey, listen, somebody told--" because I'd be like, "Mmmm, take me, you hot piece of Mormon ass, I'm yours." Not even joking, that's how hot he was.
Now that he's married to a Mormon supermodel, though, Flowers got all... ugly-like. Now is when he'd need a line like "Hey, listen, somebody told me that you dated this guy who looked kind of like this girl I dated last February," except this time he wouldn't get through the whole thing because I would get up and walk away, leaving my drink for him to down because he needs a drink because he is too hopelessly ugly to talk to girls at clubs. Plus he should feel like a loser, because he's married and hitting on a sixteen-year-old.
So it's hard to take their stuff seriously, you know? Because it's hard for most people to relate to the idea of being hopelessly beautiful and still having to try desperately to get girls to talk to you, because stuff like that just doesn't happen. But here they are, no longer hopelessly beautiful (I'm only talking about Flowers here, because everyone knows that it's the lead singer who gets the most attention), and the days of the frustratingly overplayed "Somebody Told Me" are over.
It almost gives me an ulcer just to think it, but teenagers just don't care about social change. Give them a decade or so, and the what will then be the aging scenester generation will really begin to appreciate Sam's Town.
10/30/2006
26 October 2006
♥ just this once, i promise.
Do not get me wrong
I can't wait for you to come home
I can't wait for you to come home
For now you're not here
and I'm not there
It's like we're on our own
To figure it out
consider how to find a place to stand
Instead of walking away
and instead of nowhere to land
This is going to break me clean in two
This is going to bring me closer to you
She is everything I need that I never knew I wanted
She is everything I want that I never knew I needed
It's all up in the air and we stand
still to see what comes down
I don't know where it is,
I don't know when,
but I want you around
When it falls into place
with you and I,
we go from if to when
Your side and mine
are both behind its indication
This is going to bring me clarity
This'll take the heart right out of me
She is everything I need that I never knew I wanted
She is everything I want that I never knew I needed
This is going to bring me to my knees
I just want to hold you close to me
She is everything I need that I never knew I wanted
She is everything I want that I never knew I needed
She is everything I needed
She is everything
and I'm not there
It's like we're on our own
To figure it out
consider how to find a place to stand
Instead of walking away
and instead of nowhere to land
This is going to break me clean in two
This is going to bring me closer to you
She is everything I need that I never knew I wanted
She is everything I want that I never knew I needed
It's all up in the air and we stand
still to see what comes down
I don't know where it is,
I don't know when,
but I want you around
When it falls into place
with you and I,
we go from if to when
Your side and mine
are both behind its indication
This is going to bring me clarity
This'll take the heart right out of me
She is everything I need that I never knew I wanted
She is everything I want that I never knew I needed
This is going to bring me to my knees
I just want to hold you close to me
She is everything I need that I never knew I wanted
She is everything I want that I never knew I needed
She is everything I needed
She is everything
10/26/2006
♥ dear _______. love, emma.
1. It's driving me crazy that I'm mad at you: you're doing something perfectly normal (if anyone's in the wrong it's me) and yet I feel like you're being so selfish.
2. I think I counted twenty-seven "idiot moments" today. You might want to rethink that "one a day" policy.
3. This goes for you too, except you should probably re-think it.
4. STOP. GETTING. EIGHTS. (I hate having history with you.)
5. Oh... wow... you kind of came through for me. I'm pretty shocked, but pleasantly so, I guess.
6. I know you didn't mean it like that. Next time I'll tell you, ok? Actually, come to think of it, I hope there is no "next time."
7. I wish I could be as strong as you.
8. I really wish I could help you with this, but I have no idea what advice to give you.
9. I can't believe I trusted you... It's so over.
10. You don't need to show off for her--she thinks you're an idiot.
11. *Teen Girl Squad voice* "I'M GONNA MISS YOU SOOOO MUCH THIS WEEKEND! IT'S GONNA BE SOOOO HARD BEING APART!" It must suck, having your boyfriend be your only friend.
12. I can't decide whether I trust you.
13. Where the hell are you? (Kayla, what's it called again?)
14. Cheer up cheer up cheer up... you're swell.
15. I haven't told anyone yet, I'm pretty sure it's you.
2. I think I counted twenty-seven "idiot moments" today. You might want to rethink that "one a day" policy.
3. This goes for you too, except you should probably re-think it.
4. STOP. GETTING. EIGHTS. (I hate having history with you.)
5. Oh... wow... you kind of came through for me. I'm pretty shocked, but pleasantly so, I guess.
6. I know you didn't mean it like that. Next time I'll tell you, ok? Actually, come to think of it, I hope there is no "next time."
7. I wish I could be as strong as you.
8. I really wish I could help you with this, but I have no idea what advice to give you.
9. I can't believe I trusted you... It's so over.
10. You don't need to show off for her--she thinks you're an idiot.
11. *Teen Girl Squad voice* "I'M GONNA MISS YOU SOOOO MUCH THIS WEEKEND! IT'S GONNA BE SOOOO HARD BEING APART!" It must suck, having your boyfriend be your only friend.
12. I can't decide whether I trust you.
13. Where the hell are you? (Kayla, what's it called again?)
14. Cheer up cheer up cheer up... you're swell.
15. I haven't told anyone yet, I'm pretty sure it's you.
10/26/2006
24 October 2006
♥ and now i remember why i don't trust anyone
I don't trust many people in this world, but for some reason I let my guard down with you.
10/24/2006
23 October 2006
♥ i didn't know!
...apparently Fascinations is NOT the only place you can get a corset.
10/23/2006
21 October 2006
♥ where are all the victorian dresses?!
I think I'll be a flapper instead.
10/21/2006
19 October 2006
♥ one more thing, and i swear i'm done for the day
Okay, I know it's lame and you're not supposed to do it more than once, but I have a new 15 things to say. Forgive me.
1. I want to do what you do, but I'm a little scared that I can't handle the responsibilities.
2. There's no reason I should be jealous of you. I don't even like you! So why do you bug me so much?
3. I really think if you'd just quit being so wrapped up in yourself, you wouldn't being going through a crush-of-the-week phase because one of them might actually accept.
4. Pick one and stick with him.
5. Haha... you're so transparent.
6. It would be easier for me to help you get over her if I wasn't so fond of her myself.
7. You are me. Let's always stay like this, okay?
8. I feel terrible for what I said to you about him, and I hope you can forgive me because I respect you and I really, really love you.
9. You are the worst teacher in the history of the universe and if you'd just put a little more value on people's time... actually, no, you would still be a terrible teacher.
10. I want it to be you, and I really, really hope you feel the same.
11. You basically rock. Don't be so heartbroken, okay? She's really not worth it, I promise.
12. If you have to be so perfect, can't you do it at something that I don't try to be good at?
13. You're taking forever. Hurry up, I want you to be done by Saturday.
14. Um... you can't talk to people like that.
15. I think they're wrong about you--I think we both know what you want.
1. I want to do what you do, but I'm a little scared that I can't handle the responsibilities.
2. There's no reason I should be jealous of you. I don't even like you! So why do you bug me so much?
3. I really think if you'd just quit being so wrapped up in yourself, you wouldn't being going through a crush-of-the-week phase because one of them might actually accept.
4. Pick one and stick with him.
5. Haha... you're so transparent.
6. It would be easier for me to help you get over her if I wasn't so fond of her myself.
7. You are me. Let's always stay like this, okay?
8. I feel terrible for what I said to you about him, and I hope you can forgive me because I respect you and I really, really love you.
9. You are the worst teacher in the history of the universe and if you'd just put a little more value on people's time... actually, no, you would still be a terrible teacher.
10. I want it to be you, and I really, really hope you feel the same.
11. You basically rock. Don't be so heartbroken, okay? She's really not worth it, I promise.
12. If you have to be so perfect, can't you do it at something that I don't try to be good at?
13. You're taking forever. Hurry up, I want you to be done by Saturday.
14. Um... you can't talk to people like that.
15. I think they're wrong about you--I think we both know what you want.
10/19/2006
♥ i really hope they weren't talking about me.
You know how sometimes there are "those girls," the ones who walk down the hall and leave everyone in their wake in complete silence because they're just that breathtaking? The ones who walk by a group of malefolk and as soon as they're out of earshot the guys are saying "Damn, she looks good these days"?
I'm not one of those girls.
Call me paranoid, but today as I walked down the hall I could have sworn I heard a familiar voice saying, "You know, I hear she's been really screwed up lately."
It's really not the same thing, is it?
I'm not one of those girls.
Call me paranoid, but today as I walked down the hall I could have sworn I heard a familiar voice saying, "You know, I hear she's been really screwed up lately."
It's really not the same thing, is it?
10/19/2006
♥ i don't even need a shrink for this one... a semester of ib psych will do just fine
I realized yesterday how much it must just... suck, realizing that your boyfriend is your only friend. As she sat there listening to us talk about parties we're throwing, major life events (things she'd know about if she hadn't ruined things with us), and how we're all knitting scarves for each other, she must have figured it all out.
Kind of explains the post-fourth hour sobfest, doesn't it?
I pity her, really. I mean, yes, she brought this upon herself, but it really is just pathetic. It's not a nice sort of pity, though, like "Oh, this time in her life must be so difficult now that she's isolated herself from all her friends." It's a sort of spiteful pity, the kind one expresses with that smug grin I love so much. It's more like, "Oh, isn't she pitiful," and then everyone laughs.
I know it's mean, but I can't help feeling a little vindictive after all this.
And if I may be so blunt, I think it's safe to say that we all know why he's really in this. "I'll propose to you next year." Yeah right... because "We're waiting till marriage to do the dirty deed" eventually turns into "Well, we're engaged" which turns into "We're engaged to be engaged" which turns into "What are you doing Saturday night?" Just kidding, they always know what the other is doing on Saturday night, because their plans are always with each other.
I think that's kind of unhealthy.
Why would you want your entire life to revolve around one person? I don't mean saying "You're my whole world," like people do when they're in love. I mean completely cutting yourself off from everyone else. Because the odds that you're going to marry your high school sweetheart are, honestly, slim to none. There's that occasional couple who can withstand the tests of time, yadda yadda yadda, but those are couples who really love each other. The people I'm thinking of have a relationship built entirely on lust, and like I said before, I think that's kind of unhealthy.
And if you say you're in love with someone, isn't the implication that you trust them?
Call me judgemental, but I think that when you trust your boyfriend so little that you read his text messages on a daily basis, forbid him to speak to / sit next to other girls, and dictate who he is and is not allowed to be friends with, it indicates that you're not mature enough to be involved in a serious relationship. Maybe it's just me, but if I care about someone enough that I think I've fallen in love, I want to feel like I can trust them to stay out of compromising situations--and, more importantly, that they can trust me.
This is slightly embarassing, but I read Dear Abby somewhat religiously. I found a startlingly relevant commentary in her Wednesday column this week:
Dear Abby: During the past few weeks, two young women I know have confided to me about similar situations with their boyfriends. Each said her boyfriend went though her cell phone's logged calls, voice messages, and text messages. Both young men were furious that the girls had contact with other male friends. Both incidents were frightening. [The girls] asked my opinion about this, and I told them I'd never violate my husband's - or boyfriend's or girlfriend's - privacy by looking through mail personally addressed to them, going through their purse, wallet, checkbook or cell phone. I consider it a matter of respect and trust. Both young women claim that the calls and text messages were innocent. What is your opinion about the privacy of cell phones and other personal items?
Dear Carol: Both of the boys you mentioned have serious control and insecurity issues, which could possibly lead to dating violence in the future. What they did was a huge invasion of privacy, and of enough concern to me that I question whether those relationships should continue. As to that kind of thing happening in mature relationships, if the level of trust has been so eroded that snooping is necessary, the relationship is already in serious trouble. Also, the person doing the snooping may be guilty of the cheating that he or she is obsessed with discovering. There's an old saying, "A person doesn't look behind the bedroom door unless he (or she) has stood there in the past."
I can't think of anything that would be more satisfying than cutting out that column and taping it to her locker. Honestly, I just love the idea. She would be so pissed.
But you know why I'm not going to? I'll give you a hint: it's not because I'm kindhearted or mature.
I'm not going to post it on her locker because she loves the idea of a nemesis, and nothing in the world could bother her more than being totally and completely ignored.
Kind of explains the post-fourth hour sobfest, doesn't it?
I pity her, really. I mean, yes, she brought this upon herself, but it really is just pathetic. It's not a nice sort of pity, though, like "Oh, this time in her life must be so difficult now that she's isolated herself from all her friends." It's a sort of spiteful pity, the kind one expresses with that smug grin I love so much. It's more like, "Oh, isn't she pitiful," and then everyone laughs.
I know it's mean, but I can't help feeling a little vindictive after all this.
And if I may be so blunt, I think it's safe to say that we all know why he's really in this. "I'll propose to you next year." Yeah right... because "We're waiting till marriage to do the dirty deed" eventually turns into "Well, we're engaged" which turns into "We're engaged to be engaged" which turns into "What are you doing Saturday night?" Just kidding, they always know what the other is doing on Saturday night, because their plans are always with each other.
I think that's kind of unhealthy.
Why would you want your entire life to revolve around one person? I don't mean saying "You're my whole world," like people do when they're in love. I mean completely cutting yourself off from everyone else. Because the odds that you're going to marry your high school sweetheart are, honestly, slim to none. There's that occasional couple who can withstand the tests of time, yadda yadda yadda, but those are couples who really love each other. The people I'm thinking of have a relationship built entirely on lust, and like I said before, I think that's kind of unhealthy.
And if you say you're in love with someone, isn't the implication that you trust them?
Call me judgemental, but I think that when you trust your boyfriend so little that you read his text messages on a daily basis, forbid him to speak to / sit next to other girls, and dictate who he is and is not allowed to be friends with, it indicates that you're not mature enough to be involved in a serious relationship. Maybe it's just me, but if I care about someone enough that I think I've fallen in love, I want to feel like I can trust them to stay out of compromising situations--and, more importantly, that they can trust me.
This is slightly embarassing, but I read Dear Abby somewhat religiously. I found a startlingly relevant commentary in her Wednesday column this week:
Dear Abby: During the past few weeks, two young women I know have confided to me about similar situations with their boyfriends. Each said her boyfriend went though her cell phone's logged calls, voice messages, and text messages. Both young men were furious that the girls had contact with other male friends. Both incidents were frightening. [The girls] asked my opinion about this, and I told them I'd never violate my husband's - or boyfriend's or girlfriend's - privacy by looking through mail personally addressed to them, going through their purse, wallet, checkbook or cell phone. I consider it a matter of respect and trust. Both young women claim that the calls and text messages were innocent. What is your opinion about the privacy of cell phones and other personal items?
--Carol in Faribault, Minn.
Dear Carol: Both of the boys you mentioned have serious control and insecurity issues, which could possibly lead to dating violence in the future. What they did was a huge invasion of privacy, and of enough concern to me that I question whether those relationships should continue. As to that kind of thing happening in mature relationships, if the level of trust has been so eroded that snooping is necessary, the relationship is already in serious trouble. Also, the person doing the snooping may be guilty of the cheating that he or she is obsessed with discovering. There's an old saying, "A person doesn't look behind the bedroom door unless he (or she) has stood there in the past."
I can't think of anything that would be more satisfying than cutting out that column and taping it to her locker. Honestly, I just love the idea. She would be so pissed.
But you know why I'm not going to? I'll give you a hint: it's not because I'm kindhearted or mature.
I'm not going to post it on her locker because she loves the idea of a nemesis, and nothing in the world could bother her more than being totally and completely ignored.
10/19/2006
18 October 2006
♥ i'm almost done with my latest scarf
Andrea says it's a healthy release of my frustration.
10/18/2006
17 October 2006
♥ my car smells like crayons, snow is getting dirtier, and other random observations
Actually, my car doesn't smell like crayons. It smells like A1. It all started at Branden's homecoming, when leftover gnocchi spilled in my trunk, leaving the car with a distinct eau de stale oil. I tried Nature's Miracle and Lemon Pledge to freshen up the joint, but apparently that's how they make A1. Look:
Stale oil + Nature's Miracle + Lemon Pledge = A1
Makes you want to think twice before digging into another steak, doesn't it? Haha. Yeah. I bet it does.
Anyway, I also tasted some snow today, and I'm pretty sure it's getting dirtier every time it snows. I mean, aside from the fact that it's 249,857,492,385-times-recycled dinosaur pee (bet you thought I never paid attention during fifth-grade earth science), I honestly think it's just not as tasty anymore. I'm not talking chowing down by the handful, but I've been known to stand outside and catch snowflakes on my tongue, you know, the usual eight-year-old behavior. Actually, there's this conspiracy theorist at my work who's convinced that we haven't had natural clouds since 1986. She says they're manufactured by drug companies and that they're full of chemicals, so when it rains (acid rain, you know) we all get sick and have to buy the drugs from the drug companies that manufacture the chemical clouds, but we don't know it so we keep buying them, yadda yadda yadda.
She got kind of mad when I told her the reason she gets sick all the time is probably that she smokes like three packs a day and gets totally wasted four nights a week.
Also, people look at you differently when you have lots of piercings. I mean, I don't have lots of piercings, I really only have three (and two of them are on my ears, which, according to the more hardcore pierced people I know, doesn't even count), but you definitely draw looks from a different crowd. For instance, the other day, a little boy pointed at me and asked me if it hurt, and his mother grabbed his wrist and said, "We don't talk to vagabonds!" No joke. It was basically the funniest thing that's ever happened to me.
My hair is growing again (I don't know why it stopped), and I think by ski season, it should be long enough to braid. Almost. We'll see.
Well, I'm starting to ramble, and I have a Spanish test to study for. I'm gonna cut this one short and hope that I'm more inspired later.
Anyway, I also tasted some snow today, and I'm pretty sure it's getting dirtier every time it snows. I mean, aside from the fact that it's 249,857,492,385-times-recycled dinosaur pee (bet you thought I never paid attention during fifth-grade earth science), I honestly think it's just not as tasty anymore. I'm not talking chowing down by the handful, but I've been known to stand outside and catch snowflakes on my tongue, you know, the usual eight-year-old behavior. Actually, there's this conspiracy theorist at my work who's convinced that we haven't had natural clouds since 1986. She says they're manufactured by drug companies and that they're full of chemicals, so when it rains (acid rain, you know) we all get sick and have to buy the drugs from the drug companies that manufacture the chemical clouds, but we don't know it so we keep buying them, yadda yadda yadda.
She got kind of mad when I told her the reason she gets sick all the time is probably that she smokes like three packs a day and gets totally wasted four nights a week.
Also, people look at you differently when you have lots of piercings. I mean, I don't have lots of piercings, I really only have three (and two of them are on my ears, which, according to the more hardcore pierced people I know, doesn't even count), but you definitely draw looks from a different crowd. For instance, the other day, a little boy pointed at me and asked me if it hurt, and his mother grabbed his wrist and said, "We don't talk to vagabonds!" No joke. It was basically the funniest thing that's ever happened to me.
My hair is growing again (I don't know why it stopped), and I think by ski season, it should be long enough to braid. Almost. We'll see.
Well, I'm starting to ramble, and I have a Spanish test to study for. I'm gonna cut this one short and hope that I'm more inspired later.
10/17/2006
♥ she seems very nice.
Her name is Andrea. (It's not An-dree-uh, it's Ahn-dray-uh.) Is that pretentious? I hope not. I don't want a pretentious one. Just a nice, regular sort of one. She seems young. She's finishing her doctorate at DU. At first my mom was worried about that, but then she decided that the young ones are best because they're not burned out yet and they still follow procedure. She asked me lots of questions. She says I have "all the symptoms." I'm meeting with her every other Tuesday until December.
I hope Andrea can fix me.
I hope Andrea can fix me.
10/17/2006
14 October 2006
♥ a call to apathy.
I am one of those people who never really can figure out what I want. I mean, right now, who am I? I'm a sixteen-year-old high school student who knows that I want to major in journalism at a liberal arts school in the Pacific Northwest. I want to join the Peace Corps. I want to do relief work in Africa. I want to make a difference in someone's life, but I have absolutely no idea how to go about doing that. To me, things like that are so inaccessible. I mean, when you think of relief work, who do you think of doing it? Middle-class white girls from suburban Arvada? No. You think of Bono and Angelina Jolie. It's not people like me.
So here's how I make myself feel better: rather than saying "This can't happen until I've got a degree, no one cares what I think right now," I'm going to do the best I can with what I have. No, I can't join the Peace Corps right now. No, I can't miss a semester of my junior year to promote AIDS awareness in Africa. And you know what, all the little protests I go to probably aren't going to draw much attention from the people who need to see them the most--the president is going to invade Iran regardless of whether I went to that protest in Boulder today. (Then again, I bet there will be a lot more protesting when we do enter Iran and the draft is reinstated--call me paranoid, but the fact of the matter is that we're out of troops, and more have to come from somewhere, and this time it's not just going to be boys and men.)
But I can write. Okay, so no one reads the Spectator or my dinky little blog. Somehow, though, the feeling that I'm getting it out there makes me feel a little better. Even if I know that the only people who will ever read what I write now are my best friends, Mr. Davis, and the 12 people who read the school paper, it makes me feel a little less lame to know that at least I can put it all into words.
Maybe once I've got this whole "changing the world" thing down, I'll have a better idea of who the hell I am.
Or maybe it doesn't even matter.
When will I make up my mind?!
So here's how I make myself feel better: rather than saying "This can't happen until I've got a degree, no one cares what I think right now," I'm going to do the best I can with what I have. No, I can't join the Peace Corps right now. No, I can't miss a semester of my junior year to promote AIDS awareness in Africa. And you know what, all the little protests I go to probably aren't going to draw much attention from the people who need to see them the most--the president is going to invade Iran regardless of whether I went to that protest in Boulder today. (Then again, I bet there will be a lot more protesting when we do enter Iran and the draft is reinstated--call me paranoid, but the fact of the matter is that we're out of troops, and more have to come from somewhere, and this time it's not just going to be boys and men.)
But I can write. Okay, so no one reads the Spectator or my dinky little blog. Somehow, though, the feeling that I'm getting it out there makes me feel a little better. Even if I know that the only people who will ever read what I write now are my best friends, Mr. Davis, and the 12 people who read the school paper, it makes me feel a little less lame to know that at least I can put it all into words.
Maybe once I've got this whole "changing the world" thing down, I'll have a better idea of who the hell I am.
Or maybe it doesn't even matter.
When will I make up my mind?!
10/14/2006
13 October 2006
♥ *sigh* drama much?
What is it about dependence that is so wonderful and so terrifying at the same time?
There are a lot of couples in the world. They're everywhere. Taking romantic walks in the moonlight, in my psychology class, lying in the grass in senior courtyard. But when high school ends and real life begins, what happens to them?
That's what got me thinking about dependence--all the couples. I know I'm forever the pessimist, insiting that certain pairings should break up immediately, and after the homecoming festivities have died down, a fair percentage of them usually meet their demise. But there are a few that seem to have withstood the tests of time, and I find myself wondering if it's actually possible to find "the one" at such a young age.
If we examine the common high school couple, we know that they'll date for awhile and one will break up with the other in a jealous rage, causing them to forever hate one another and spread nasty rumors about things that no one but the two of them should know. But sometimes, you come across the not-so-average couple, whose relationship really meant something. Can you really expect two people who have been that close to just let go?
That's what I hate about high school: there's so much pressure. There's pressure to be thin and beautiful and smart, pressure to have the same relationship with your boyfriend or girlfriend as everyone else, pressure to be in 17 clubs and play 9 varsity sports so you can make it into Yale. But what are the things you're really going to remember? In 15 years, the beautiful girls aren't going to be so thin and beautiful anymore, they're going to be just like every other 33-year-old you know. You're not going to learn how to interact with people by watching all the other couples; you're going to remember how your relationships were. And no one worth talking to continues to wear their letter jacket after graduation.
It's hard to make a point without naming names, but most of my (three) readers will know who I'm talking about just the same. Here's my point: I think it's ridiculous to just come right out and say "We ARE getting married after we graduate, I AM going to follow you to college, my parents WILL buy us a house and babysit our kids, yadda yadda yadda." Because how do you even know?
Or maybe it's just me. In a way, I hate the idea of dependence, but I think that's because I'm around so many couples like the one mentioned above, the kind whose definition of dependence includes isolating oneself from friends and making your entire life about your boyfriend. It's a little frightening to me that someone's life would revolve around me, or that I would be the only thing keeping someone going. But in the same breath, I can't help but admit that I love it; I love the idea that someone's day is made because I called or that all my nerdy little surprises might actually cheer someone up.
Maybe that's my problem: I don't know what I want. I know a few things that I want, a few things I'm willing to stick it out for, a few people for whose affections I will make almost any sacrifice. But when it comes down to it, I don't know what my favorite cereal is any better than I do what college I belong at, and that's saying something.
What I do know, though, is that right now it doesn't matter what the future holds. I've screwed up too much lately to say that I'm blissfully happy, but at least now I have the support of my friends and family, and I'm getting there. It's going to get better. It doesn't matter where I'm going to be in five or ten years--I know I'm going to be somewhere, I know I'm going to make the right choice, and what I get on this bio test doesn't change that at all.
And I hope this doesn't scare you, but what's really keeping me going is that I have you.
There are a lot of couples in the world. They're everywhere. Taking romantic walks in the moonlight, in my psychology class, lying in the grass in senior courtyard. But when high school ends and real life begins, what happens to them?
That's what got me thinking about dependence--all the couples. I know I'm forever the pessimist, insiting that certain pairings should break up immediately, and after the homecoming festivities have died down, a fair percentage of them usually meet their demise. But there are a few that seem to have withstood the tests of time, and I find myself wondering if it's actually possible to find "the one" at such a young age.
If we examine the common high school couple, we know that they'll date for awhile and one will break up with the other in a jealous rage, causing them to forever hate one another and spread nasty rumors about things that no one but the two of them should know. But sometimes, you come across the not-so-average couple, whose relationship really meant something. Can you really expect two people who have been that close to just let go?
That's what I hate about high school: there's so much pressure. There's pressure to be thin and beautiful and smart, pressure to have the same relationship with your boyfriend or girlfriend as everyone else, pressure to be in 17 clubs and play 9 varsity sports so you can make it into Yale. But what are the things you're really going to remember? In 15 years, the beautiful girls aren't going to be so thin and beautiful anymore, they're going to be just like every other 33-year-old you know. You're not going to learn how to interact with people by watching all the other couples; you're going to remember how your relationships were. And no one worth talking to continues to wear their letter jacket after graduation.
It's hard to make a point without naming names, but most of my (three) readers will know who I'm talking about just the same. Here's my point: I think it's ridiculous to just come right out and say "We ARE getting married after we graduate, I AM going to follow you to college, my parents WILL buy us a house and babysit our kids, yadda yadda yadda." Because how do you even know?
Or maybe it's just me. In a way, I hate the idea of dependence, but I think that's because I'm around so many couples like the one mentioned above, the kind whose definition of dependence includes isolating oneself from friends and making your entire life about your boyfriend. It's a little frightening to me that someone's life would revolve around me, or that I would be the only thing keeping someone going. But in the same breath, I can't help but admit that I love it; I love the idea that someone's day is made because I called or that all my nerdy little surprises might actually cheer someone up.
Maybe that's my problem: I don't know what I want. I know a few things that I want, a few things I'm willing to stick it out for, a few people for whose affections I will make almost any sacrifice. But when it comes down to it, I don't know what my favorite cereal is any better than I do what college I belong at, and that's saying something.
What I do know, though, is that right now it doesn't matter what the future holds. I've screwed up too much lately to say that I'm blissfully happy, but at least now I have the support of my friends and family, and I'm getting there. It's going to get better. It doesn't matter where I'm going to be in five or ten years--I know I'm going to be somewhere, I know I'm going to make the right choice, and what I get on this bio test doesn't change that at all.
And I hope this doesn't scare you, but what's really keeping me going is that I have you.
10/13/2006
♥ in honor of my 50th post...
...I'm reinstating the comment box. Ready... go!
10/13/2006
11 October 2006
♥ The DORK Solution
I'm sure I speak for the majority of LHS' student body when I say that I'm sick of Mr. Castagna's lengthy pants-related announcements. Boys should not sag. Boys should not sag. Boys should not sag. Stop sagging, boys. No one wants to see your boxers, brutha. Get a belt, boys. Boys should not sag. It's really the same damned announcement for ten minutes every morning.
In a way, though, I admire Castagna's boxer-repulsed conviction, so I've formulated a solution to this apparently sensitive issue. Here's my thought process:
Step 2: How can offenders learn their lesson if they're not warned beforehand? A simple twenty-minute addition to the morning announcement just doesn't cut it. The measure taken to warn saggers that they're about to be de-pantsed by a MOM (Menacing Organization of Mothers) is similar to the beeping encountered by a dog about to cross the boundaries set by his shock collar: nagging. A MOM approaching her target will begin nagging when she enters a five-foot radius, warning him that he needs to either pull up his threads or the approaching MOM will pull them down.
Step 3: This is where it gets really good. Repeat offenders of the DORK initiative will find that their consequences are far worse than a moment of harsh nagging or a quick thirty seconds of pants-on-the-floor. After the second de-pantsing, saggers will be escorted to the MOM headquarters (located in the teachers' lounge), where a MOM will find more appropriate school attire. I'm talking sweaters knitted by your grandma and pants up to your abnormally high belly buttons, people. It's not going to be pretty. Saggers' original clothing will be kept at MOM headquarters for the remainder of the school day, forcing offenders to walk around looking like a bundle of DORK.
See? It's pretty simple. I think after a few weeks of intensive DORKing, Mr. Castagna will find that the only announcement necessary in the morning will be one of thanks to me. So remember, kids: de-pantsing is the answer.
In a way, though, I admire Castagna's boxer-repulsed conviction, so I've formulated a solution to this apparently sensitive issue. Here's my thought process:
- Everyone knows that boys' pants are held up by a special type of "ass-magic." Because boys, traditionally, are buttless. Girls can wear slightly-too-big pants and get away with it, because girls have butts. (Actually, I'm far more offended by seeing some girl's thong hanging out of her pants than some guy's Scooby-Doo boxers.) Boys, on the other hand, depend on their God-given ass-magic to get them through the day without embarassment. The ass-magic binds the pants to the boxers at a conveniently cool level which also manages to keep pants from hanging out around the knee area. How else do you think their pants are staying up?
- The problem, then, is how to get rid of the ass-magic. Wearing longer shirts won't work, because anyone "cool" enough to channel their ass-magic doesn't want to look like they're wearing a dress. I also initially thought of flesh-colored boxers (similar to control-top pantyhose!), but I get the feeling that wouldn't find the warmest welcome with LHS' student population. What if we bought everyone belts? Then again, I don't think that's really part of the school's budget. Similarly, I have a feeling suspenders are out of the question.
- The only remaining solution, then, is a strict de-pantsing policy. We're going to have to humiliate these saggers into wearing their pants "at the proper level." Yes, there will be some embarassment. Yes, there will be some tears. Yes, there will be some calls from angry mommies. But if you can see someone's boxers, it is your duty to assist the DORK (De-pantsing Of Rebellious Kids) program. A number of steps will be taken to implement the DORK program.
Step 2: How can offenders learn their lesson if they're not warned beforehand? A simple twenty-minute addition to the morning announcement just doesn't cut it. The measure taken to warn saggers that they're about to be de-pantsed by a MOM (Menacing Organization of Mothers) is similar to the beeping encountered by a dog about to cross the boundaries set by his shock collar: nagging. A MOM approaching her target will begin nagging when she enters a five-foot radius, warning him that he needs to either pull up his threads or the approaching MOM will pull them down.
Step 3: This is where it gets really good. Repeat offenders of the DORK initiative will find that their consequences are far worse than a moment of harsh nagging or a quick thirty seconds of pants-on-the-floor. After the second de-pantsing, saggers will be escorted to the MOM headquarters (located in the teachers' lounge), where a MOM will find more appropriate school attire. I'm talking sweaters knitted by your grandma and pants up to your abnormally high belly buttons, people. It's not going to be pretty. Saggers' original clothing will be kept at MOM headquarters for the remainder of the school day, forcing offenders to walk around looking like a bundle of DORK.
See? It's pretty simple. I think after a few weeks of intensive DORKing, Mr. Castagna will find that the only announcement necessary in the morning will be one of thanks to me. So remember, kids: de-pantsing is the answer.
10/11/2006
03 October 2006
♥ what is it about you?
You always seem to leave me absolutely breathless, and as nervous as it makes me, I can't help but love you for it.
10/03/2006
01 October 2006
♥ no. only red.
There are few things in life about which my opinion fluctuates so violently as it does of fire drills. Sometimes they are a godsend; i.e. freshman year, when the frigid mid-January temperatures felt positively balmy compared to Zamboni's classroom. On the other hand, they can be a complete pain; i.e. when the newspaper needs to get done and you get back to class and the yearbook girls have taken over the publications room with their very perfumed little skinny blonde selves and you don't want to touch anything because they're spewing mindless drivel all over it. (This is an entirely hypothetical situation, of course.)
Sometimes, though, it's not a drill at all. This happened last week, and twenty minutes after the entire student body and faculty of LHS had made its way outside, people were starting to get a little antsy. A couple of especially rebellious upperclassmen were scoping out the Spanish teachers guarding the door--thinking maybe we could take them--when the firetrucks showed up.
That shut everybody up, because firetrucks mean someone actually pulled the alarm, which means a) there's a real fire and our car keys are getting all burninated and we're never going home, b) some dumb kid pulled the alarm for no reason which means they have invisible ink on their hands which means we have to sit around and wait for over a thousand kids to stick their hands under a black light, or c) there's some kind of chemical spill on the science floor and we're all going to die. None of these sounded especially appealing.
I don't actually know why we were all out there, because I pretty much lost all ability to rationalize when the fire trucks pulled up.
Do you know why? Because the firetrucks were yellow.
Yellow.
If I was in a burning building and they showed up to rescue me in a yellow firetruck, I would freak. How would I know these were trained professionals? It would be like getting pulled over by an unmarked police car! I'd lean out the window and be like, "Now listen here, you take that big noisy yellow monstrosity on back to the fire station and you come back here with a nice red one! I'm not jumping out of this damn building till I see some red out there!"
No. No. Never yellow. Only red. There is a crayon called "Fire Engine Red." Red is the fire engine color. No other color is suitable for firetrucks. If they change the firetruck color, the world will go spinning out of control and fly into the sun. I'm surprised we've all survived this long, with all these freakish fire engines running around. What's next? Are they going to replace dalmations with schnauzers and that fire-retardant white stuff with lime jello? Are firehouses going to have ladders instead of those cool poles? Will firefighters wear a trenchcoat and a fez instead of the yellow suit and groovy firefighter hat? Don't you see how wrong this is?!
Moral of the story: don't play with matches, because when you set your house on fire, there will be nothing there to save you except the fire engine equivalent of a circus freak and a bunch of yippy little terriers.
Sometimes, though, it's not a drill at all. This happened last week, and twenty minutes after the entire student body and faculty of LHS had made its way outside, people were starting to get a little antsy. A couple of especially rebellious upperclassmen were scoping out the Spanish teachers guarding the door--thinking maybe we could take them--when the firetrucks showed up.
That shut everybody up, because firetrucks mean someone actually pulled the alarm, which means a) there's a real fire and our car keys are getting all burninated and we're never going home, b) some dumb kid pulled the alarm for no reason which means they have invisible ink on their hands which means we have to sit around and wait for over a thousand kids to stick their hands under a black light, or c) there's some kind of chemical spill on the science floor and we're all going to die. None of these sounded especially appealing.
I don't actually know why we were all out there, because I pretty much lost all ability to rationalize when the fire trucks pulled up.
Do you know why? Because the firetrucks were yellow.
Yellow.
If I was in a burning building and they showed up to rescue me in a yellow firetruck, I would freak. How would I know these were trained professionals? It would be like getting pulled over by an unmarked police car! I'd lean out the window and be like, "Now listen here, you take that big noisy yellow monstrosity on back to the fire station and you come back here with a nice red one! I'm not jumping out of this damn building till I see some red out there!"
No. No. Never yellow. Only red. There is a crayon called "Fire Engine Red." Red is the fire engine color. No other color is suitable for firetrucks. If they change the firetruck color, the world will go spinning out of control and fly into the sun. I'm surprised we've all survived this long, with all these freakish fire engines running around. What's next? Are they going to replace dalmations with schnauzers and that fire-retardant white stuff with lime jello? Are firehouses going to have ladders instead of those cool poles? Will firefighters wear a trenchcoat and a fez instead of the yellow suit and groovy firefighter hat? Don't you see how wrong this is?!
Moral of the story: don't play with matches, because when you set your house on fire, there will be nothing there to save you except the fire engine equivalent of a circus freak and a bunch of yippy little terriers.
10/01/2006
