My Day Has Been as Confusing and Bad as this Blog Post.

When I woke up this morning and couldn't move, I should've known it was going to be a shitty day. I sometimes mess up my neck and have to spend a few days trying really hard not to make sudden movements with my head, which severely dampens my reaction time so if you see me this week please don't throw anything at my head because I won't be able to dodge it and let's be honest, you don't really have the money to pay for the reconstructive surgery, do you? That's what I thought.

So I had the spend the entire day turning my whole body if someone was addressing me, which you probably don't think is that weird but wait until you have to do it yourself.

So that's one.

Two?

My fantasy team is killing me. Not literally but it's getting close. Like if I drop one more place I will probably get an ulcer and in an attempt to cure it I'll probably drink a lot and then I'll get liver disease and die, and IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT CHAUNCEY BILLUPS?

My conversation with my friend Tard didn't improve my mood --

Me: my team's killing me

Tard: yes they are

Tard: I knew this was going to happen eventually

Tard: your team was doing too well

Me: I swear I'm this close to killing someone

Me: it could be you, tard

Me: it could be you

Tard: I didn't know you cared so much

Me: oh you'll find out how much I care

Me: with a knife in your kidney

Tard: wow ok

So in addition to the ulcer I may be facing jailtime. Not sure.

So that's two.

Three: the contents of my refrigerator?

Two bags of dumplings and one bag of wontons that the Y was kind enough to buy for me yesterday. Other than that, there's my flask of Svedka, a jug of water and some string cheese that, frankly, I'm a little scared to eat. Does prepackaged cheese go bad? I seriously need to get a car so that when I have a day like this one instead of writing a rage-filled blog post that doesn't even mention Taiwan or Korea (at least until now) I can just go buy some ice cream and maybe a cat because let's face it, I'm going to end up as one of those people who owns a cat and eats cookies and cream for dinner on Tuesday nights. Why is this, you ask? This is because of

Number four: I make the worst decisions a girl in my situation can conceivably make. Like if you got a puppy and put my life choices in front of it in form of those little bone-shaped biscuits I can guarantee you 98% of the time it will make a better choice than I would. And I am armed with facts and experience. Which apparently counts for nothing here.

It's times like this when I look back on my admittedly not-too-long life and muse, "how did I screw things up this badly?"

Now, I may be being a little dramatic. It's not like I have a heroin addiction and am carrying the child of a 50 year old married man whose company has just put my parents' out of business and so my whole family is depending on the income I generate as a stripper which will soon end because of the aforementioned pregnancy. So it's not as bad as that.

But I haven't exactly made some stellar choices either. Like when I look at my peers (is that a douchey word to use? I feel like it is) and some girl is graduating at the top of her class in her very competitive major and already has an internship with the biggest publishing house on the west coast that will turn into a full-time job after she's done with school and she's engaged to her boyfriend who knows how to tie his own ties and always picks her up when he says he will then I'm like hm. Maybe could've done things a little differently. Me, not her. Clearly. I bet she doesn't even like ice cream.

Like I'm always saying I want to meet some new people and do something different with my life but this is exactly the reason I don't like to actually go out and socialize or anything like that. When you meet someone for the first time, there is no warning signal that goes off and says "stay away from this person, you will become close friends and you'll give him the key to your apartment for emergencies but one day you'll wake up to find him sitting at the foot of your bed and smiling while he hums the theme from Titanic."

Something like that. Or maybe something less drastic, like this guy who sits down next to you in class one day is going to write you love songs and take you on picnics to the beach and ridicule tweens with you and eventually end up breaking your heart. Or it might even be good, like that waitress at your favorite restaurant is going to become your best friend and be the maid-of-honor at your wedding and bring you a cinnamon pretzel to keep you from fleeing the altar. BUT YOU DON'T KNOW, DO YOU?

And that just leaves you seven months later thinking back to that ill-fated first text message or first phone call or first drink sent across the bar and you're like, wow. Did I pick the wrong choice on that one or what. Should never have called her/slept with him/gotten that tattoo of her face/kidnapped his dog, etc.

But no matter how much you rethink your choices, I guess that's just life. Like as much as I may have just bitched, I don't regret things. It's like a policy of mine. I suspect most of it stems from a strong dislike of admitting I'm wrong, but no matter how you stack it, everything's considered life experience, right? Unless you keep making the same mistakes over and over again. This is why I don't re-date boys. But my point is that people are terrible and scary and probably often crazy but you're going to have to deal with them anyway. And I guess it's okay to believe the best of them even though once in a while it'll come back to bite you really hard and you'll have days like the one I just had. But now that you are armed with my wise interpretation of it, you'll be able to deal with it better, right? And a last word of advice: always sleep with a stuffed animal that has a can of pepper spray hidden in it so that if you pull the tail the pepper spray will spray out of its mouth. You're welcome.

This Post is Gonna Be So Long You're Going to Be Sick of My Writing for a Good Three Weeks so Yay! It All Works Out.

Remember me? I'm sorry. I know -- yes, you have every right to be angry. It's just that things have been so hectic, and then -- of course I care about you, how can you ask that? I know I promised to write on -- but you should understand that they needed me to -- you know, have you ever thought that maybe it's you? Yeah, I said it. Maybe you're just not supportive enough and I couldn't feel like I could talk to you. So instead of pointing fingers, maybe you should take a long, deep look within yourself and -- oh, don't cry. Here, let's just call it even and forget everything, okay? And maybe make me a sandwich? Great, you're the best.

And that's how I would apologize if I were a boy.

But anyway, hello. Apparently I have this tradition (I'm going to call it a tradition instead of an unfortunate habit because that is the kind of denial positive thinking I am capable of) of not writing for a really long time and then feeling bad and putting up a ridiculously long and nonsensical post right before I leave the country.

So yeah, I'm leaving the country! My flight out is this Thursday, right after Mango's birthday tomorrow (happy birthday fool). It's like a fourteen hour flight to Korea (I wish so hard that I was exaggerating right now) and we'll be there for two to three days before making the shorter flight over to Taiwan. I'm not scared of flying at all, but sometimes I get a little claustrophobic in the stale cabin when it's going on hour eleven and my legs feel cramped no matter how much I am intruding into the personal space of the passenger in front of me, and I've already gone through the Sky Mall magazine twice, and made a third attempt to eat the congealed lasagna in front of me and OH GOD IF I DON'T GET OUT OF HERE I'M GOING TO THROW UP OR SHOOT MYSELF. Usually I just play the most soothing music I have and try to fall asleep. Sometimes I throw up.

So anyway, there's that to look forward to. I don't really know what I've been up to the last two weeks. I've definitely been enjoying my student pass to all the UCLA basketball games, and that might have something to do with all the tall, good-looking athletic guys because it sure isn't our 3-6 record that keeps me enthralled. Anyway, our student section is called The Den (because we're Bruins -- isn't that cute?) and they pass out a newsletter kind of thing at the beginning of each game debriefing us about who the opponent is. And there's this section called "The Dirt" where they trashtalk the other team and oh my god look at this one from a little while ago:

It's like they're personally attacking me. Also I'd like to meet this AJ guy. Also I don't know why my Paint made that stupid white erasey mark. Life hates me today and GUESS WHAT THE FEELING IS MUTUAL. Okay I might be PMSing (I bet you guys are like omg why does this girl get her period every other week? but sometimes it's not that, sometimes I'm just a bitch).

Also I spent a lot of time studying and a lot of time playing video games. Speaking of which, Mango has gotten into the habit of complaining that I've become "too girly." His comments are based on the dual facts that I occasionally roll some glitter around my eyes and that I seem to fall into an unbreakable kind of trance anytime I approach a store that even remotely looks like it could be selling some sort of clothing.

This second thing is nothing new though, if you have ever shopped with me you should know this. It's like I am some sort of homing device. The second I spot something of interest I will completely zone out my surroundings and make a beeline for whatever has caught my eye. I often lose my shopping companions by doing this. But it's not my fault they can't keep up, it's not like there's a rule against running in malls. I should know. But I guess it can be disconcerting to the people who accompany me; one second we are having a perfectly pleasant conversation about whether or not it is acceptable to wear black and brown together (it is not), and the next thing they see is a somewhat possessed gleam in my eye before I take off sprinting. Sometimes I don't return for days.

This is why I am looking so forward to shopping in Taiwan. It's like one huge Ross except everything is aimed at young women who like cute things oh my god it's heaven.

Well I mean there's also a lot of weird shiz. Like I remember when I went back years ago there was this really popular chain of stores decked out in bright neon lights that my childish eyes were immediately attracted to which would be a good marketing strategy except that the name of the store was "CONDOM WORLD" and they only sold one product (three guesses what it is -- although I'm sure there were many, many varieties of that one product).

Also trendy when I was last in Taiwan were black blinged out tshirts showing a giant middle finger wearing like three rings with silver chains around the wrists. And the silver chains were actual metal chains hanging off the tshirt. So it's really more of a pick-and-choose market.

But that was a long time ago. So long, in fact, that Iz and I weren't yet allowed to wear nail polish (I know, insanity right?) whereas this time I plan to bring back a small suitcase filled solely with metallic and sparkly bottles of awesome. Jesus, maybe Mango is right.

Something else I want to do in Taiwan is streak my hair purple and get a tongue ring. Only one of these will be accomplished, and I'll give you a hint as to which one -- my parents like the color purple much more than they like punching holes into any part of the body that is not an earlobe (and even then it gets at least three disapproving clicks of the tongue). I'm trying to console myself by thinking about how I can get my ears re-pierced (this is how lazy I am -- I lost two of my earrings and didn't put in more studs for months and then when I tried: lo and behold, piercings heal, and now I just have one piercing left [if you're good at math or at least didn't get flunked out of remedial addition then you know I was supposed to have three piercings] so I'm like some sort of weird lopsided earring pirate... you know, like instead of having one eye I just have one piercing? okay never mind) and so I can finally wear cute earrings again and Iz will stop asking if the one piercing I have is "on the gay side."

So there's that.

Since we're going to Korea and none of us know anything about Seoul except that all the girls have cancer and all the boys are in love with someone who is actually their biological sister separated from birth (unless you're saying Korean dramas aren't an accurate indicator of the country's societal norms?), my mom asked if I could look something up online so that we don't get lost and never return or accidentally purchase a life-size cow made of solid gold that costs more than our house in America is worth.

So then I googled something like "korea tourist guide" and the first result was for the wikitravel article on South Korea and I was very happy because I love wikipedia and then the second search result caught my eye and it was the wikitravel article on NORTH KOREA. So naturally I had to click that one first and this is what I found:

Click to enlarge and you better do it because look how hard I worked

Isn't that awesome and weird? And terrifying?

And then I went to the Seoul page and found out I would not be entirely safe in the south either:

I'm a little nervous about my trip.

Speaking of angry, it's come to my attention lately that certain people who will remain unnamed think that I am a really angry but well-dressed person who is sincere about wanting to stab everything in sight. So I feel like I should clear this up, and not just for future litigation purposes: I only want to stab half of what I talk about stabbing. Are we good now? Okay. I tried to explain to these people (actually it was just one but I don't want to single this person out but then I was like well I don't want people to think that there is just like a horde out there who doesn't understand me so yeah it's just one person) that "it's just my writing style" and the person was like, very skeptically, "I've never heard of the writing style stabby" and I was like "well maybe you should spend more time reading and less time suggesting I look into anger therapy, yeah?" And then we ended our conversation in a completely civil manner that involved no bloodshed. See how suppressed mature I am?

Okay so I'm grouchy and don't know what to wear tomorrow and my feet are cold and my cramps feel like a stampede of thirty pound centipedes wearing soccer cleats are doing a jig in my stupid UNNECESSARY uterus so I'm going to leave before anyone reading this gets too alarmed and tries to come put me down before I can cause any damage to my immediate vicinity.

One last thing. Happy 20th birthday to my favorite tropical fruit even though I'm slightly allergic to it:

This blog loves you and dinosaurs. More dinosaurs though.

The Difference Between Getting Tied Up and Being Tied Down.

Remember how I like music that may not be of the highest artistic integrity? Well, I find "Tie Me Down" by the New Boyz to be really really catchy. It's a terrible song, let me just get that out there right away. They're just some teenage kids bragging about what pimps they are and how all women are hos. But it's so freaking listen-to-able and usually I just try to switch all the pronouns in my head so that it's from a girl's point of view (he ain't gon' tie me down!)

But even though I know the song is chauvinistic and stupid, part of me kind of believes that's really how guys think. I know that totally makes me sound like a hater, and there are definitely exceptions to the rule out there (like all my roommates' boyfriends and my guy friends like Stuffin and Laycon and Mango and Jchaq), but come on. Kind of, right?

Okay, like this part:

Know we been together for a minute,
But uhhh, its kinda been forever since we been in
The kinda situation not involving other women

I totally chuckled when I heard that for the first time. And I know guys aren't the only ones who can wander in a relationship. I'm totally not the right person to talk to about relationships, by the way, because I am so weird about them. Like for some reason I still believe in True Love and Happily Ever After (blame Disney, that heartless but enchanting corporation) so I end up doing the stupidest things in relationships before I realize that maybe this guy I've been dating for three months isn't the Love of My Life and I should stop believing him when he says he hasn't called because he lost his phone for the third time in two days and that hey, he'd really like to come see me this weekend but unfortunately his car broke down and there are no buses between my house and his and not a single one of his friends will give him a ride and hey, come on, he would ride a horse to come see me if that's what it'd take, baby, but I know he's allergic to horse dander and I wouldn't want him to die, would I?

So it's like years of this type of guy that's turned me into a strange hybrid between hopeless romantic and really angry fork-stealer.

But I digress. My favorite part of the song:

But I'm surprised that you're still standing there
As you know I'm a man and I have no feelings

Okay, okay, I know boys have feelings. But sometimes it seriously feels like they don't. And I just want to stab them in the eye and say "Feel THIS?" but that would probably be frowned upon in a court of law and honestly I wouldn't last a day in prison (too pretty) (just kidding) (not vain).

To sum up I would just like to say if I ever meet a tall boy who likes how fluffy my hair gets after I shower and only buys me flowers in whimsical shapes and enjoys explaining football plays to me then I hope he never reads this because he's going to mistakenly think I may have mild violent tendencies and a worrisome obsession with forks. Not to mention questionable taste in music.

You Know When TV Writers Don't Want to Write a Whole New Episode so Instead They Have a Lot of Flashbacks? This is Like That, Except With Links.

This isn't a real blog post so don't expect richly detailed prose about the intricacies of undergraduate life in Los Angeles. Well, who am I kidding. Don't expect an overshare of information about personal grooming or vague and possibly drunken rambling about obsolete television shows.

Anyway this is just a quick drive-by to say I'm probably going to be leaving this world soon and farewell, blog. You were good to me for the half year I had you and I hope that when I'm gone someone awesome hacks into you and pretends to write as me, as if I had never died, and it freaks out the people who read you (all eight of them), because they went to my funeral and I was in the casket damnit and so who is this proclaiming their love of bargain hunting on you?

But on the off chance I survive midterm season (this year featuring papers, massive reading, two presentations and two exams all crammed into two fun-filled consecutive days) and the fact that I haven't gone grocery shopping in over a week and am not above eating whatever is in the back of the fridge, don't be offended if you don't get an invitation to a funeral. Because I probably made it. Or whatever.

Anyway, my being on blogger at all is totally Meema's fault because I should be slaving over homework that makes me want to cry blood so that I can show my bloody-teardrop-stained-papers to my professors and say "LOOK WHAT YOU'VE DONE" but I can't control what my tears are made of, apparently, so I'm here instead because of a conversation I had with Meema:

[Meema]: a lot of work to do?
me: just kill me
[Meema]: but then who will write my favorite personal blog :/
me: you're just saying that
[Meema]: no I'm not
[Meema]: yours is the favorite of mine of people I actually know
[Meema]: and ones that are about their own lives in general
[Meema]: well it's between you and this graduate-school educated escort who writes about crying during yoga and the rich men she services

I think I've just been complimented, people.

My Hope is That While I'm on Vacation the Aliens Will Reveal Themselves.

Hello friends. So I'm going to Hawaii tomorrow. Iz and I already went earlier this year with my parents, and it was so fun we decided to do it again, only this time without our parents. Taking their place will be Teenie and Jamerz, and it's pretty much going to be epic. So you might not hear from me for a while.

We're going to Oahu, which is the home-island of my good friend Laycon. Oh, you will hear much more about Laycon in the coming year. He is quirky in ways that make me look like ... someone really normal. But he is awesome and I love him. Anyway, earlier in the summer Mango and I were discussing the trip (he'll be going too, but on a separate flight and slightly different days, and he's staying with Laycon instead of a hotel like the rest of us -- outcast), and we were getting really enthusiastic about it and started googling tourist attractions and sending them to Laycon as ideas for where he could take us.

Side note: Laycon is from Hawaii and has lived there all his life, but ever since I met him he has made a very clear distinction between what he is (a Cantonese person living in Hawaii) and what a native Hawaiian person is (a native Hawaiian person living in Hawaii). Also when we ask him what it's like living in Hawaii, he says "hot." And when we ask what he does when he's at home he says "play a lot of Pokemon."

So anyway we were noticing that there was this really long lag time between when we would send Laycon a suggestion and when he would provide feedback. I mean, Hawaii's far, but not too far for the internet.

Me: Laycon, are we overwhelming you? You're okay with taking us around, right?
Laycon: Yeah, yeah. Totally okay.
Me: Okay, cus you seem hesitant..
Laycon: I'm not, I'm just trying to google all these places.

So this trip should prove to be very interesting and adventurous, and if you don't hear from me in a week please search all the hidden caves and waterfalls on Oahu.

Speaking of potential death, I was researching Hawaii because I am not ready to die want to help Laycon out with the whole tour guide thing, and I stumbled across this interesting tidbit:

There's supposedly this Hawaiian goddess Pele whose wrath you incur if you take a piece of Hawaiian rock or whatever from a certain national park home with you. Like you take the rock home and things just start going all sorts of wrong for you until you send it back to its native soil. So I guess this is just a word of warning for my fellow travelers. Because if you upset me I will totally sneak a rock into your backpack and when all the light bulbs in your homes become nesting places for mosquitos you will be sorry for whatever you did to anger me. So yeah. Maybe I do want the aisle seat on the plane. And the first plate of shrimp at the shrimp shack. And shotgun on our two hour car ride. How thoughtful of you all.

So since this is going to be an extra long post (to make up for what might potentially be a week of silence, the longest I've been away from my blog since we first began this beautiful relationship, tear), we might as well switch topics so I can ask: who's reading this? Because I know once in a while a friend will tweet or comment or IM me and allude to something I wrote here, but my blogtracker thing has kinda high numbers, like more than the people I know are reading this. So unless they are clicking onto it from like a dozen different computers? Also the tracker is totally telling me that people from New Zealand and the United Kingdom are coming onto here, and also "other," which I guess means aliens read this?, and that would be cool if it were true but I'm also suspicious that my blogtracker is playing a practical joke on me. Like it's thinking "oh this poor girl, no one reads her nonsense, let me just pad her statistics a little" and now I'm like oh cool, people read my words except it's just pity points, really.

Also once Iz told me she liked to read my blog to find out what I'm up to, and I'm like "you live with me" and she's like "yeah, but you don't tell me everything" and I'm like "but I want people to read my blog because it's charming and quirky, much like its blogger, not because they are nosy and want to know what kind of drama is going down in my life" and Iz shrugged and was all, "well too bad, that's not why they're reading it" and I was like "goddamnit." So you can see why I got all excited when I thought people from other countries were reading this. Because they probably don't know me, and so I must be kind of interesting or else why bother, right? Not that I'm not glad my friends read this. Especially when I get in one of my futile moods and I'm like "I'm never writing again" and then someone tells me I made them laugh and I'm like "awesome, I take that not writing thing back."

Anyway, that is my beginning-of-school-year wish, to know if people I don't actually know in real life are reading this. I think it would be awesome and totally not creepy, because even if you were a creeper you don't know where I live so you can't kidnap my sister, and if you really read this blog you wouldn't want to anyway. So we all win. I'm not sure where I'm really going with this.

Oh, right. Hawaii. Peace out, suckas. Pele and I will be thinking of you.

Wuh PAH. Brain Ninja Style.

The other day Iz and I were chilling in the den when she suddenly bursts into laughter and forwards me the following:

Instant Messaging conversation between Iz and Poops (who, for the record, are currently 500 miles apart)

Poops: So can I dota?
Poops: Wait
Poops: Why Am I asking permission
Poops: Psh
Poops: But seriously babe
Poops: Are you fine with it?

And that was when I decided a post about whipped boyfriends was in order. Oh, and just before we start, Iz would like to insert a little disclaimer:

Iz: he's not whipped :(
Iz: he whips himself :(
Me: he bought you an iphone
Iz: it was out of love though

And with that cleared up, I present..

Carolyn's Hall of Whipped Boyfriends, none of whom actually belong to her because she is apparently not as baller as these whip-wielding girlfriends out there

It turns out that when I decided to ask for people's most whipped moments, I opened a can of little whipped worms because boy are there a lot of whipped boys in my immediate circle of friends. Some stories are kind of sad and complex, like Jamerz', and some are really short and funny, like Tando's, and then there are just a million in between, because my guy friends have no backbone. Just kidding, guys! Your ladies are lucky to have you.

#1. Jamerz' Story

jam3rz (10:25:19 PM): for whatever reason, [his ex best friend slash girlfriend] had a strong dislike for [teenie]

jam3rz (10:25:37 PM): and she thought that because i was her best friend

jam3rz (10:25:45 PM): it reflected poorly on her that i was friends with teenie

jam3rz (10:25:53 PM): something about how how her best friend shouldn't be friends with her enemy

jam3rz (10:26:10 PM): how i should be on her side of the dispute

jam3rz (10:26:11 PM): so she told me that she wasn't okay with me being friends with teenie

jam3rz (10:26:41 PM): at first, i was like "that's ridiculous, i'll be friends with who i want"

jam3rz (10:26:59 PM): but over time, she subtly convinced me that she was right

jam3rz (10:27:02 PM): brain-ninja style

jam3rz (10:27:23 PM): and so, one day i was talking to teenie, and i friend-broke-up with her

jam3rz (10:27:40 PM): i dont remember what i said or how i justified it

jam3rz (10:27:42 PM): but in the days following that event, i felt terrible about it

jam3rz (10:28:05 PM): my soul was unsettled by my actions

jam3rz (10:28:14 PM): so, naturally, i called up [a good hs friend]

jam3rz (10:28:28 PM): went over to his house, and drank alcohol for the first time in my life

jam3rz (10:28:35 PM): and drunk dialed teenie and apologized

me (10:28:38 PM): that's so sweet!!

jam3rz (10:28:42 PM): HAHA

jam3rz (10:28:48 PM): not the reaction i was expecting

#2. Tando's Story

Some girl I liked offered me a ride home once so I accepted. After she dropped me off, I began the long trek back to my work at 1 am to pick up my car. Does that count?

Oh Tando. Yes.

#3. Jchaq's Story
In high school my good friend Jchaq was dating a girl and head over heels for her. She once made one of those girl-comments, joking about how the front passenger seat in his car was "hers." Apparently he took it completely to heart, because from that day on no one else was allowed in shotgun. It got to the point where, if we had to take a group excursion, it took some convincing for him to concede that his car could take four passengers, not just three. The first time we actually found out about his special rule was when one of our friends, who had a broken arm, was getting into the front seat so she wouldn't have to be jostled with the rest of us in the back.

"Uhm," Jchaq had said. "you can't sit there. It's reserved."

"What?" someone said. "For your imaginary friend?"

It got so ridiculous that the teasing he suffered eventually made its rounds back to his girlfriend, who was appalled and incensed that he had taken her seriously and in doing so inadvertently created the general impression that she was insane. Talk about a whipped intention gone horribly wrong.

So originally I was going to include an Excel chart in this post listing ridiculously extravagant gifts purchased in the name of love, but I think I'll make that a part two. Meaning I still need to get off my lazy butt (or on it, as the case may be) and finish that thing so you may or may not see it in the future.

Ask Jamerz.

The other night I was sitting innocently in the den, doing wholesome things like protecting the rainforest and saving puppies from drowning when my sister sends me the following message:

[Iz] (9:43:12 PM): why do ppl have anal sex?

As in such cases when I'm not sure what to reply, I pass the question off to one of my more eloquent friends.

Carolyn (9:43:58 PM): hey

jam3rz (9:44:04 PM): howdy do

Carolyn(9:44:06 PM): iz has a question

jam3rz (9:44:27 PM): what is it?

Carolyn (9:44:29 PM): Iz (9:43:12 PM): why do ppl have anal sex?

jam3rz (9:45:08 PM): so that they can stay pure for christ

And just like that? Question answered. This is why I have friends, everyone.

Why My Diet is Not Working

Exhibit A
carolyn (10:47:37 PM): have you seen
carolyn (10:47:40 PM): thisiswhyyourefat.com
carolyn (10:48:23 PM): I think I have probelms
carolyn (10:48:30 PM): cus a lot of it just looks yummy to me
jam3rz (10:50:23 PM): dude, i was saying the EXACT SAME THING
carolyn (10:50:26 PM): whew
jam3rz (10:50:30 PM): like just a day or two ago
carolyn (10:50:35 PM): thank goodness
jam3rz (10:50:44 PM): mm...fat bitch sandwich

Welcome to the The List.

My dentist is on the list.
To explain, I'll have to go back to last night. Well I don't have to, but I am a talkative momo and this is my blog so suck it. Wait, sorry. I'm just a little annoyed right now. Let me explain how this is my dentist's fault.

Last night I was online, talking to people, singing along to Pandora and chewing tropical flavored gum; you know, a regular night at home, when suddenly, this happened:

Me: OUCH
Tando: what happened?
Me: I BIT MYSELF
Tando: .. how
Me: I was too enthused in my gum chewing
Me: OW
Me: damnit
Me: I did it again
Tando: ...
Tando: put some ice on it

And that was when I got this idea:
Me: omg
Me: I'm going to eat chocolate
Tando: what
Tando: no
Tando: ice
Me: the chocolate's in the fridge. compromise.

And if you know me at all what happened next shouldn't surprise you:
Tando: how's your chocolate
Me: I got pie instead
Tando: ...
Me: it's strawberry pie

So that was why my mouth was still raw and hurt-y this morning when I headed to the dentist for our bi-annual teeth cleaning. It started out innocuously enough. The dentist complimented my teeth and the lead apron he gave me to wear for the x-ray was pink, and I thought we were cool. But then. Then he took out the cleaning needle (this is a real dentistry instrument, right? my parents aren't sending me to some back alley practice?) and, under the guise of checking for cavities, jabbed me in the sore side of my cheek. Twice. The needle was still in my mouth so I couldn't really shriek, but I gave him a dirty look that very clearly said, "watch it, bucko, or that big plastic tooth model on the counter is going to suffer a very nasty accident." And my silent communication must be pretty effective because he finished up relatively quickly and jab-free-ly, and lavished praise upon my cavity-free condition, so I didn't cause a scene. But he's on the list now. And he better watch out.

Imagine what it would've been like he'd told me I did have cavities.

Imposter Alert. Sort of.

I recently gave a friend the link to this blog. Like literally copied and pasted the link into her chat window. Somehow this happened:

Friend: Weird.
Friend: I clicked on the thing you typed
Friend: and it brought me to a blog named
Friend: seven
Friend: instead
Me: What?
Friend: and it's only post is
Friend: TUESDAY, APRIL 10, 2001
I roll wit catz wit iced-out headbandz wit loose bracketz.That'z how I got KNOW-LEDGE.
droppin Jewelz

I was vaguely alarmed at this mysterious blog intercepting my traffic. I went to see it for myself and what I saw only slightly cleared things up. The blog was entitled "SEVEN CIPHER: Freestyle Rhymez and Poetry."

So not only does this seven cipher guy get direct access through my link, but he gets to roll with cats with iced-out headbands with loose brackets. Life is so unfair.