The No-Sleep Entry

I am writing this blog on literally zero sleep. Which isn't really a big deal, but I was up half the night being drunk watching Golden Girls, and the other half I spent puking my brains out for six or seven hours. 

I've spent most of my life functioning on little or zero sleep, but I would love to just crawl into bed and pass out right now. Unfortunately, I have lots of work to do- job applications, homework, articles- so I know that I should fight my urge to nap and just do what I've got to do. 

I really wish I wouldn't get so sick when I drink. I started my night off last night with some beloved Jager shots, and then it was all out of my hands from there. But hey, I bring it upon myself, so I really can't complain. 

I just wish this weekend was over with already. I'm tired of stressing out and being worried, I'm tired of missing my friends. I thought drinking myself into oblivion would have made the time fly by faster, but really, time is still slowly crawling on, and I am just tired, empty and hungover. 

Vegas, Peanut Butter, and Birthday cards

The title of this post probably doesn't make sense upon first read, but in reality, my life is just a series of unconnected events connected somehow. So as Kel would say...awwwww, here it goes!

A small group of friends of mine leave for Vegas today. I hope that Vegas treats them right and I sincerely hope they return home STD-free and with tons of cash. I wish I was old enough to party it up in Vegas. I fully plan on celebrating my 21st birthday there because really, I can't think of a better way to turn the big 2-1. The thought of going makes me very, very excited. 

In other news, I was talking to my friends Sarah and Sema in the dining hall today, and I made Sarah laugh so hard that chunks of English Muffin- like legitimate chunks- came out of her nose. It was so funny and so disgusting. I feel a little guilty- all she can taste and smell is peanut butter, which makes sense because it was basically dripping out of her nose along with the big chunks of bread, but I still feel bad. I was just waiting for her to sneeze out the rest of her breakfast, too; I was almost hoping some eggs didn't end up on the table. It would've been like a really fascinating, really gross magic trick. 

My friend Keith's birthday is coming up. Currently, he is serving over in Iraq, doing his Marine thing until about Easter. I can't wait until he comes home. I hope he doesn't hate me, though. Things between our groups of friends are dramatically different now than they were when he left, and I know some of it, if not a lot of it,  has to do with me. But things change, and hopefully he will understand that. 

I have classes in a couple hours. So far, I have had SO much free time this semester. Although it's been glorious, it has been bittersweet. Having too much time makes me think about stuff, and when I think about stuff, I REALLY overthink stuff, and it just makes me crazy. And let's be serious, I'm fairly sure I'm crazy enough as it is.

F my L

I have to come right out and say it: today was not the best day.

Last night, I was hoping very hard for classes to be canceled because I couldn't wait to just sleep in, and though it was glorious being able to shut off my alarm clock, the day wasn't as happy as it was originally cracked up to be. 

I started the day off right- breakfast with some Conc ladies, and we chatted, listened to some tunes and made some collages in the hallway while I sipped on SoCo and Cranberry Juice...at noon. 

All day I was waiting for a phone call I never got, which really sucked. I had semi-plans to go out tonight, and because of the weather and the non-existent phone call, I don't think I am going to.

Something feels very wrong, and I can't figure out why. A few days ago, I posted a blog about how I was feeling very lucky and fortunate and happy, and I'm wondering if I am finally getting what I deserve, and that's why things feel so bad right now. 

I keep having to deal with issues via Facebook and text messaging, which is also a reason I may be in a bad mood. I mean, technology is amazing, but I feel like there are people and situations you should not address that way. Fortunately, I have a little more free time this semester to deal with things thoroughly. I was hoping to fill with a job and happiness, but it looks like neither of those things will be happening now. 

I'm going to crawl into my bed and try hard not to think about things. Maybe that will help.

Oh, Connector

Oh, the Connector. 

My school newspaper drives me crazy. Most of the time, it feels like I put SO much time, effort and work into the stupid newspaper and no one cares. But as much work as the damn thing is, in the end, nothing else really treats me so right. 

We just held our first meeting of 2009, our first meeting of the semester and it was great. A lot of new folks showed up, which is usually the case in the beginning of each semester, but I honestly think these people are going to stick around. 

This year, we are really slacking in writers, and the staff is quite small, but aside from a few situations, the staff has gotten really close. My fellow Connector-ites and I have had more laughs in that office than I can even count. 

In the past few months, we have experienced the most awful, ridiculous situations that we are forced to laugh at; if we don't, we would cry very, very hard.

 Some of the people we have had to deal with, on both professional and personal levels, make it all worthwhile. A lot of these stories are definitely "you-just-had-to-be-there" ones, but my god, the laughs. The memories. The times. 

Connector, you have brought me some irreplaceable moments. 

I hope this semester is even better than the last. 

<3

(Since we are on the topic of hoping, I am TOTALLY banking on a snow day tomorrow!)

Boo, School

12 hours from now, I will be sitting in my History of American Musical class, and I am absolutely dreading it.

I usually love school, but lately I have been feeling very very anti-education. I don't want to be here, at UMass Lowell. I love my room and my roommate, but there are little things about the dorms I just can't stand. I hate how tiny my bed is, I hate that my neighbors are always extremely loud, I hate that when I get drunk and need to vomit, I have to do it in a public stall. 

I'm tired of taking stupid classes that mean nothing to me. And I'm tired of eating at the damn dining hall. Over break, I really enjoyed being with my mom and babysitting my nephews all the time, and I hate being so far away. 

I was so sure that I wanted to stay in Lowell for the summer, and although I do love the area, a part of me feels like I don't want to be in these dorms any longer. 

I don't need where my head will be come May- romantically speaking, academically speaking, emotionally speaking- so I shouldn't try to decide what I'll do with my summer now. It just feels like time is flying by so fast that before I know it, it will be June, and I am going to wonder why I didn't plan ahead. 

And I'm still so nervous for classes tomorrow!!!

My Girls

No, this isn't at all related to the Temptations song. (Although I do love the Temptations.)

I have been feeling really sick the last few days. I don't know what's going on with my throat, but it's not feeling good. I've spent the last hour or so laying in my bed with an coffee and a Cosmo magazine. I've got Sex & the City on my T.V. and I am texting my friends Lynchie and Amanda to discuss my plans for tonight. I realized, amongst my lazy multitasking, that I LOVE this. I really do love being a girl. 

My whole life, I hung out with mostly boys. There was a brief period in middle school when I had five fabulous girlfriends, but once high school hit, we all went out separate ways. (And when I say separate, I mean we went in VERY different directions.) But for most of the time, I was around boys.

Way back in the day I was around the hockey guys. And then the St. Peters Crew. (I miss this group so much. <3)>

I had lots of fun in these testosterone-filled days, I did. I can't help but smile when I think about creeping to the castle in Cambridge Cemetery, or spending nights camping out on the baseball field, or riding around on bike pegs between Somerville and NC. 

BUT. As much as fun as it was, I am happy to say that I have finally the perfect blend of friends. Now, I am very very lucky to have such great girls in my life. No one understands the highs and lows of love like my girlfriends, and I don't laugh with people like I do with them. 

So, in my luxuriously lazy Saturday, I would just like to express my gratitude to all the fabulous females I have in my life that make me feel so damn good. 

<3

Lady Luck

I believe in karma. 

I always thought that if you do something bad, bad things will happen to you. 

A few weeks ago, I made a decision that brought me independence, but hurt some one very close to me. A part of me feels good knowing that I made a choice based off of honesty, but a part of me wonders if putting his happiness before mine, even if it meant I was lying, would have been the "right' thing to do. The damage is done now, and I guess I'll never know what I should have done. 

I've realized that in relationships, serious relationships anyway, somebody always has to end up hurting. 

Taylor Swift (yeah, I know, right?) says it best in her song "Breathe":

"People are people and sometimes it doesn't work out

Nothing we can say will save us from the fallout.."

So here is my current dilemma with this thing called karma. I broke this boy's heart; I am the bad person in this situation. I feel like I should be punished. This is not the first time I've hurt some one. It's never intentional, but it's just the way things seem to go for me. So why, if I am a repeat offender heartbreaker, shouldn't I be punished?

But I'm not being punished, not  at all. In fact, things have been going swimmingly for me lately. I have been catching up with old friends, resting, and generally just enjoying life. I'm happy, and overall, life is just been good. But why? Am I being rewarded for being honest? 

I'm scared that everything is going to change and my world will come crashing down on me.

Some Scattered Thoughts

Sometimes when I write, I try to keep a single thought or pattern in my head to give my piece some flow. This will not be one of those entries. 

Right now, i am very, very tired. I can't sleep lately. I have been prescribing myself some much-needed doses of Tylenol P.M and/or Nyquil, and still, I keep finding myself in that not-quite-sleeping stage at 2, 3, and 4 in the morning. I don't really know why I'm suffering so bad from insomnia; things have been fairly good lately, and as far as I know, I don't feel superstressed about any upcoming thing.

Yesterday I had a great day. I scored myself a writing gig blogging about the Red Sox. (I'll post the link later). It's not a financial blessing, but a career-oriented one. I think it will be a good way for me to once again put my loud mouth over the internet, and it will be a good way for me to expose my feelings towards the Red Sox, since most people I know are unaware that I actually enjoy sports. PLus, the man who runs the site sent me a very complimentary email about my professionalism and writing abilities, which made me feel like maybe my life can go somewhere fun.

After that, my mom told me, in a voice a little rude for my taste, to wash the dishes. (I really, really hate washing dishes, by the way. It makes me quite nauseas actually). Reluctantly but obediently, I walked over to the sink to find not a stack of dirty plates and forks, but a pair of Motley Crue tickets for St. Patricks Day! I love my parents SO much- but at times like that, I really just feel like I don't express that enough. 

Today was not as much fun as yesterday. I had to go to the dentist this morning where the sadistic hygienist cleaned my teeth, CSI-style. Then I came home to pack up my things before moving back to school. Bouncing back to and from school is such a pain; I have SO much stuff, and there is no convenient way to get it all back in the building without punishing my arms and back. After that, I am going to a show where 2 of the bands are made up of some of my fabulous friends. (Go to myspace.com/Hivesmasher and myspace.com/drivebybukkake to check them out). Hopefully I'll get the chance to take some pretty pictures for them.

Unfortunately, I have to continue packing. I'm already  2 dufflebags and 1 suitcase in.

Why I'll (Most Likely) End Up Alone

So I had a self-scrutinizing epitome (those are always the best kinds, aren't they?) today, and I've come to realize that there's a good chance I am going to end up alone. 

You see, to be honest, I have never experienced love. I have never had my heart broken or thought that I've been in love. The worst part of it all is that I have told many, many people that I love them, when I knew, and I always knew, that I really did not. A lot of people would pity me for saying this but- and I am being completely honest here- a part of me wants to have my heart broken. I want to experience that can't-eat can't-sleep reach-for-the-moon-over-the-stars type of love I hear about songs, or see in movies, or stand back and watch in my friends. Even though I am absolutely positive being brokenhearted will be one of the worst feelings ever, I feel like it is just something I really need to experience. The metaphorical song "Tango: Maureen" from Rent, where the tango represents love, explains it best:

"When you're dancing her dance, 

You don't stand a chance

Her grip of romance will make you fall

So you think "might as well"

Ill just dance a tango to hell, 

At least I'll have tangoed at all"

So, needless to say, I am ready to fall in love. Now I don't want this to come across as I am looking for a boyfriend and/or dying for a relationship. I feel quite the opposite, actually. (My "never wanting a relationship again" attitude might be preventing this all from happening to me). All I am saying is that I am ready to fall in love with some one. 

I am ready to put my heart on the line. 

Here is where my hypocriticalness comes into play: I have "requirements" for who I will let myself fall in love with, and they are completely contradicting statements. 

Because I am so sure and adamant that I have never myself experienced love, I can't stand it when people around me swear that they've been in love and it wasn't. I know that an outsider supposedly can't really see what two people feel, but I can guarantee that most people I know have no idea what being in love is like. They falsely claim love for two reasons: it was their first real relationship, or the one rare one they didn't have the upper hand in. So because I myself have never tasted the sweet nectar of romance, and I can't stomach people who think they have, I am DEAD set on NEVER letting myself fall in love with some one who's been there before. In a recent relationship of mine, my boyfriend told me before we dated that his ex girlfriend broke his heart and he was very much in love with her. Of course, he would go on to say that...drumroll, please..."I didn't know what love was until I met you", but from those very words I knew it would never work. Maybe I am over thinking it, but I think I am a decent person who deserves 100% of some one. My heart is big, full and heavy, and I need the person who takes it to have enough closet space for it. Simply put, if another ex has already been stowed away, my stuff just won't fit, and it just won't work. 

Now here comes my wonderful contradiction: I refuse to love some one who has claimed love before, but I would NEVER let myself fall for some one who has never had a serious relationship. This plays into my previous statement about hating people who think their first lover means real love. I really, really hate that- I just can't stress it enough. That being said, I refuse to be that person who makes that pathetic loser think he's in love when really, it's just called growing up. 

So, in the end, all I really want is fall in love. I want some one who will emotionally sweep me off my feet. His heart has to be fresh and new; if he has even a scratch or a dent, I will not take him home.  He has to be experienced, so he won't expect me to lay the path for future relationships. He has to understand that it takes practice to make perfect, and therefore, early relationships can't be actual love. He needs to have had enough relationships in his past so I know his feelings aren't just sloppy emotional virginity, but few enough that he has never fell really in love before. He needs to be man enough to acknowledge that my views on love are ridiculous and hypocritical, but sensitive enough to have the patience to deal with him. He needs to appreciate me and be really ready to take me to a place where the only ways out are marriage or heartbreak. He has to love me for me.

Oh, and he needs to play guitar, too. =)

The Game

They say don't hate the player, hate the game, but I've gotta admit, sometimes I love the game.

The game drives me, like most women (and maybe some men) crazy. I hate waiting for a call, or in this case, text. (I know that those of you who read He's Just Not That Into You have some predetermined notions in your head, but this situation is not like that, I swear). 

I hate missing him. I hate not knowing what I am actually missing. 

I hate not knowing what comes next, and I hate being stuck somewhere between having a crush and feeling crushed. 

The game makes me tired. It makes me weary and skeptical and sometimes miserable. 

But when it's all over and done, winning the game just feels so damn good, it's SO worth the play.

 

Providence

So I just got back from a hockey game. 

UMass Lowell played Providence College and lost 3-2. Not only are we their first win of the season, but their goalie started yesterday. Yesterday!!! And we still couldn't pull our act together. 

I hate losing. It's just a feeling I do not enjoy, and even though it is an inevitable part of life, it just really sucks. 

At least we got home from Providence okay, the snow was coming down really hard out there.

Man Hands

  You can tell so much about a man from just his hands.

          If they are rugged and bruised up, you know he works hard, probably with wood or metal or electricity.

          If they are clean and tidy, you know he’s a guy who prefers to take an intellectual path rather than a physical one.

          If they are big hands, you know he gets a lot of judgments about what’s in his pants.

          And if they are tiny, you know he gets questioned a lot about what’s in his pants.

          If they are used to play sports, you know he is competitive and you’ll never quite be his first priority.

          If they are used to play an instrument, you know he is arrogant and will never be sober enough to actually consider you a part of his life.

           If you couldn’t pick his hands out of a crowd of people, you haven’t cared enough to engrave them, or him, in your head.

          If there is something distinctive about his hands- a scar, a tattoo, a memory- it will be damn near impossible to remove him from your head.

          If he holds your hand and you immediately want to drop it, you probably should.

          And if he holds your hand and whether they are too small, too big, too rugged, too clean, too dirty, too generic or too personal, yours still melts inside his palm, you probably should never let go.  

Ugh

So I know the point of a blog is to rant/tell the world what's going on in your mind, but I honestly feel like I can't do that here.

I am fairly positive that people I want to write about here will never read this blog anyway, but I am scared that broadcasting what is really going on my mind will do some Harriet-the-Spy-type damage that I do not want to be held responsible for. 

I can't pinpoint exactly what emotion is dominating me right now. Sad because the weather is preventing me from eating delicious soup with Lynchie at her house? Tired because I didn't get nearly enough sleep last night? Excited to see some Lowell folks tomorrow? 

I'm not sure how I feel about anything. 

Or anyone, to be completely honest.

Sympathy

"Sympathy" by the Goo Goo Dolls is one of my favorite songs ever, and for good reason.

For some reason, I always feel sorry. 

Sometimes it''s to my family for not being perfect and sometimes it's to my friends, for not having all the right answers.

 Sometimes it's to complete strangers with mental disabilities, and sometimes it to my credit card for physically abusing it. 

In movies, when the bad guy gets what he has coming to him, I feel bad. When the a foreigner messes up my order at Dunkin Donuts and I get mad, even if it's just for a few seconds, I feel bad. 

I'm the type of girl who apologizes for not answering the phone when some one calls, and sends sympathy emails to potentially-inappropriate people when a death occurs.

I know that empathy is usually a good quality to have, but sometimes I wonder if my overly strong sense of it gets me in trouble. 

Most of the time, I feel so bad hurting some one that I hide the truth. This makes me a liar, and even though I am a liar with good intentions, I am still a liar. I hope to work on this. One of my New Year's Resolutions is to be more honest, without worrying too much about making some one feel bad. Everyone deserves to know the truth, even if it hurts. I don't want to censor my feelings ever again, because I'm tired of feeling so bad all the time.

I started tonight. 

I really hope that in this battle between the Truth and Truly Trying To Help, the truth wins.

Rolling Doubles

Happiness, it seems, always come in pairs. 

It takes two people to be in love. 

It takes one person plus one best friend to get through an awful situation. 

It takes only two beings to circulate the power of art; the musician and the listener, the painter and the viewer, the writer and the reader.

It takes both daylight and nightfall to begin and complete a perfect day. 

It takes two opposites really accentuate individuality.

It takes two failures to make a third attempt success.

But what happens when half of the pair isn't really there?

What happens when one person falls out of love, or one friend is too busy to talk, or one artist stops creating, or two opposites blend into one indistinguishable mess? What happens when after the first 2 times, it turns out you just aren't ready for another attempt just yet?

If happiness always comes in pairs, then why does it feel so damn good to just be alone sometimes?