Fa, Ra, Ra, Ra, Ra

It is quite possible that God is sending us a message. It is possible that we just have bad luck. But, holidays seem to never work out for my family. When I was seven, I gave my grandfather shingles on Christmas. I didn't know it at the time; all I knew was that I itched and couldn't go sledding with my cousins. A couple years later, he fell ill and we celebrated in March because we just couldn't make it work until then. We met at a restaurant dressed in Santa sweaters and opened gifts, Christmas carols courtesy of the house pianist. Another year, my grandmother was in the hospital, losing her fingers and toes. No places were open to eat except Grand Star China. Fa, Ra, Ra, Ra, Ra indeed. The list goes on: Easters in nursing homes, birthdays spent alone, Valentine's days with chocolates left lonely on porches.

This year, my grandmother's cousin had a stroke on Good Friday and died late in the night on Easter. Now, it seems, the only way we are able to spend any time together is in the car on the way to funerals. I couldn't say that my family is the holiest family on Earth, but nor could I say that we don't value what God has given us. We try to make time, to respect what it means to be a family. So why does it always seem to work this way?

Next year, it will be Hanukkah with the Kranks for us. We will not be intimidated!

On a different point of interest, the posters of Cuteoverload really need to get laid! I am getting mildly creeped out by the constant captioning of baby animals with things like "Hey Baby" and "Lets unwind, Baby." I do not want to think about dogs seducing women, or ducks hitting on well, other ducks. Let the madness end!

I Remember Learning How to Dive

So, I am one of those people that is really all for doing something until it actually gets here. I believe I want to lead an outrageous life until it comes knocking, and then all I want to do is curl back up in my comfortable little hole I've created for myself and tell life to go away. I make myself believe that I am not happy doing what I am doing, so I pursue something else and am usually proud of myself when I actively work toward it, and then I get scared to death. "Okay, nevermind! I'm happy! I take it back!"

This has happened to me many times, the worst of which being when I decided to apply for an internship in Holland. I was terrifically excited about it when I got accepted, and even up until the week prior to my flight out. When it came to the night before, however, if certain people hadn't forced me to keep packing, I am sure I would have spilled all the contents of my luggage on my bedroom floor and gripped the doorframe as tight as I could. Looking back, I am really glad I went through with it. The best night of my short life happened over there.

But here I go again, climbing up the high dive with every intention of jumping off when I get to the top. I am just waiting for the day I panick and the lifeguards in my life won't let me turn back. Will I be happy? Will I make friends? Am I really Ph.D. material?

I am sending my acceptance in tomorrow, and I am sick with fear that this will turn out to be the wrong choice. I am leaving my home, my friends, the Boy, and I am not sure why right at this moment.

I am going through with all the steps now, but when it comes down to the last possible moment, I am going to need a hell of a push to get me to realize that splashing into the water really won't hurt so bad after all.

How Will I Laugh Tomorrow

So, I showed my art major roommate that card and said, "What is wrong with this?"
Her response: "Yeah, that is really terrible photo quality."
Oh my.....

First Time in a Long Time

So ladies and jellybeans, it has been over a year since I blogged on this site. I am very sorry for such a long hiatus, and I could give any number of excuses (school work, social life, new episodes of Ugly Betty), but in reality I am just lazy sometimes. I really hope to pick this up again, as hard as that might be for me. See New Year's resolution 2008. I enjoy writing this pseudo-diary for all-y'all, and I see that I had one precious subscriber right when I faded out last time.

I will ask the almighty internet gods for forgiveness in my time of weakness and maybe one day another subscriber will eek through that door and see what I have to say. But until then, I will write into cyberspace with no direction or expectation.

Now that I have made this vow of bloggertude, on to the good stuff.

I am ending my career as an undergraduate in just a few short weeks, and for some reason everyone thinks I need a job of some kind for some reason. Clinging to the last thread of hope to never grow up yet still keep food on my plate, I decided to apply to graduate school. The whole process has been unfortunately stressful, but I think the hard part is over now.

This past weekend, I took a very speedy trip out to New Jersey to visit Rutgers. I was impressed that they had a joint program with the medical school, and the proximity to New York City and Philly seemed perfect. Not so. I new this was not going to go well for me when the first words out of one student's mouth were, "I can't imagine living anywhere else but New Jersey. Everywhere else people are just too nice." I should have walked out then. The rest of the trip was about that great, being told that they were required to show people smiling in our photo presentation, that you had to drive everywhere because you had to use at least three of four campuses, and that the students were required to take nearly as many credits as the undergrads. No one seemed all that happy to be there.

Unhappy maybe, but unintelligent no. Today, I get a card in the mail from them and it in no way indicated whether or not I got in to their school. It was just a picture of some of the faculty on the front and inside it said, "We hope you are as excited about the Molecular Biosciences Graduate Programs!" As excited as what, may I ask?

And they WANT me to want to be there? Sorry NYC but you just aren't worth it.

Spirit in the Sky

Yesterday, I received the strangest thing in the mail. It was a think envelope printed on the outside about Jesus, a mysterious church, and the power of prayer. Now, I am not going to lie, my consistent curiosity about religion got the best of me and I opened it.

The contents were even more strange than I could have imagined. Inside, it contained a paper prayer blanket with an optical illusion of Jesus that opened and closed its eyes, a prayer checklist that would tell the church what you needed, a sealed prophecy, and elaborate instructions as to how to make all your worldly desires come to you.

It was asking me to pray while kneeling on the rug and then sleep with the rug under my bed before sending it back to the church in a prepaid envelope so that the rug, now filled with the power of prayer, could be sent on to another needy person.

Okay, I am not stupid enough to believe the testimonials (I was blessed with $46, 888.20 after using a Saint Matthew's Prayer Rug), but I really wanted to know what this was all about, and I was tempted to return it just to see what happened next. Also, the 20 cents was a really nice touch.

I am sure that this isn't the decision that would bring on the bolt of lightening, but today I failed to rely on God and Googled it to find that there is no Saint Matthew's church, no clergy to receive my prayers for health and wealth. Turns out that this letter is a lucrative scam run by a man named Ewing who has made over $26 million dollars by playing on people's superstitions. And on top of that, all of his income is tax free because all income is by donation only. Although my letter never mentioned a monetary "seed" to prove my faith, apparently the next few letters send other useless trinkets such as wafers, wool, and scraps of cloth for which "God" expects a great and pricey foundation to answer your prayers.

If using people's emotions isn't horrible enough, Ewing uses address databases to target the poor and uneducated.

And yet, in the end as I shake my head and think, what kind of devil could use these conditions to his personal advantage, I know that it isn't that far from legitimate churches today. Joel Osteen might even be able to pick up a few tips.

Auld Lang Syne

When it comes to New Year's resolutions, tenacity is obviously not my thing. Despite this, I'm still pretty proud of myself for only going 11 days without a post. Yippie...*quiet self celebration at work as to not turn heads.*

Anyway, I got to thinking about New Year's resolutions. People make them and then famously break them. I mean, it is wonderful that everyone sits down and thinks of a way to improve their lives, be it for health, religion, charity or some other insert way to wellness here. Unfortunately, the exact nature of the New Year's resolution is the running joke that no one ever keeps them. Really, these proclamations of change are just beaten down by the expectation that you won't keep it up. It is like having the easiest excuse for not being all that you know you can be.

I want to meet one person, just one who stuck to their resolution. It isn't because we are bad people. I think we really want to change. I think we are incredible creatures of habit that chose laziness and routine over being proactive about anything. So, I am making a resolution to never make another New Year's resolution. When I see something in myself I know could be better, it is time to just change it, without occasion or excuse.

Complain to me next year when I make a new one.

I like big butts

Okay, after a long hiatus, I am back today. Only for a rant. But at least I am back. New Year's Resolution: Post at least twice a week.

Why is it that I can't spend just one night alone with the Boy without him being like, "okay, lets have sex now." Of course he usually uses forceful kisses and phrases such as "do you want to go to bed now?" and the lovely one he used this morning "I couldn't stop thinking about making love to you all hour." And then he just expects it to happen. Every time. And if it doesn't, he gets really pissy and stops talking to me.

Today, after this happened, I just walked out. No more words. He didn't try to come after me. I am not sure what this means, but I am just tired of there being this expectation that every time we are alone, it is time for sex.

If anyone out there can explain this behavior to me, please do. And don't just say it's because he is a man, because for the first two years we dated it wasn't like this at all.

Ugh, help.