Bemused and Befuddled

What good does a pair of glasses with only one ear piece do? I had the opportunity to find out and ask the boy using the computer next to me in the library. Alas I did not. I remain confused.

What is so appealing about anything that's less than good for you?

What question could possibly need to be answered so urgently to hold the whole class up and make them late I could not say, especially if I quit listening.

I wonder if all missing socks are stashed away with Waldo and Carmen Sandiego.

What on earth is so distracting in the bathroom that it remains occupied for so long at the exact moment I need it the most?

Why there are handicapped parking spots at Gold's gym is beyond me.

How is it possible to have no idea what you're doing, yet still manage to do it?

I can't comprehend how listening to your iPod/car radio for your neighbor 10 blocks away to hear is worth the resulting repercussions of blowing out your cochlea and ruining your hearing for the rest of your life.

I'm not so sure how the next few years are going to pan out so much.

Where is the black abyss of my computer where it hides 25 page study guides and other important documents that were saved 176 times over?

Feel free to shed any degree of light on any of the above topics.

Near Dilemma

Perfect cure for nervous energy: a nice run on a nice day. Tired and coming back sooner than later. Attempt-to-walk-through-front-door-result: walking into front door as door unyieldingly resists push. That's me. Yup. Unbeknownst to me...locked. Hm. Side door I purposefully unlocked? Attempted. Indeed locked as well. Oh dear. Remain calm. Ring door bell. Anybody actually home? Nope. Not a soul. Bang on door and yell. Still no soul decides to emerge. Keys? On my bed. Which is in room. Which is in house. Which is locked. Phone to call somebody? With keys. In my room. In locked house. Does no good. Other options? Pester neighbors to let me use their phones to call roommate with key. Just kidding. Don't know phone numbers. New idea: sit on front steps and wait for somebody to come home. Bleh. Boring and lame. Time is of essence. Must be another way. Windows! Brilliant...hopefully. Window #1: locked. Window #2: unlocked. Slides open upon resistance. Eagerness and delight swell. Next step: through the window. Just barely too high for accomplishment. Hmph. Cinder block? Maybe, but what else. Wander around exterior of house in search for much needed booster. Bike, not stable enough. Big huge would-be-helpful bin, but full of junk. Rock climbing shoes! Don't exist on these premises. No good. Quick break for an allergy sneeze attack. Carrying on. Wait. What? Could it be so simple? A little ladder? Indeed! Drag to window. Climb up. Shove over sized body into said little window. Slightly scrape back in the process. Avoid falling on roommate's bed with dirty shoes and sweaty body. Quick fist pump of celebration. Penetration of locked house: Complete.

Mommy wow! I'm a big kid now.

I just made me some macaroni and cheese. I used Seattle Space Needle noodles. Not only do I eat the crust of my bread now, but I actually prefer it. I rode a bike with no hands for about 5 seconds the other day--a personal record. I don't use bumpers when bowling, even though it would not necessarily always be that way if I had my choice. I successfully parallel parked today for the first time since before my driving test. That was over six years ago. Rather than just avoiding using it altogether, I finally brought myself to stick my hand down the dark and mysterious kitchen sink to retrieve the foreign object from the garbage disposal for the first time. Big gulps. I can stay composed and walk outside in pitch darkness without breaking into a nervous run. I got accepted and I'm going to graduate school. Bigger gulps.

I didn't know I had it in me.

Sitting, Waiting, Wishing

Sitting in front of the mailbox. Waiting for the mailman to come. Waiting to come home to an envelope from one of four places, or do I dare say, four envelopes from all four places sitting on my kitchen table. Sitting at my computer waiting for the much too anticipated for notifications to come. Waiting to make future plans that are really in the not so distant future that are demanding to be made yesterday. Wishing for the arrival of acceptance or rejection letters. Wishing, in a strange sort of terrifying way for at least one, just one acceptance to graduate school.

This has been my life for the past month. The anticipation will be the death of me.

I love my house.

It's a cacophony of water droplets leaking from every possible faucet throughout the house.

It's a tiny clink resulting from that of a tin bowl catching water from the leak in our roof every time it rains. We've got a whole symphony.

It's the sound of nasty cat, scratching around in our roof/attic/unexplainable area above our heads. I have absolutely zero idea of how it got up there, or exactly where "up there" is since nasty cat is nowhere to be found there, but it adds a nice mix to the percussion of the falling of the water globules.

It's a nice electrical problem creating a nice strobe light effect as the electricity in any given room flashes out, just to flash back on as we switch the breaker box. Drying my hair may be interrupted many times, but at least there's a nice disco atmosphere through the process.

It's the explosive water spewing--no, flooding from the tap in the kitchen and the resultant dance and squeal while trying to make it stop. It just adds to the rave ambiance.

It's the toilet that won't flush from either 1) plumbing problems, 2) a broken flusher, or 3) water turned off by the city for various other dance moves of girls prancing around with their knees squeezed together hoping the toilet will be working. Soon. Just in case the other dance moves were not to your satisfaction.

It's the outrageous heating bill that only results from pitiable insulation that you must pay to get into such an uncontrollable party.

It's the furnace that goes out to control the heat of this party.

It's one of a kind.

It's the one.

It's the only.

It's the yellow brick house.

It's where I live.

Meh

Please meet the friendly neighborhood stray cat that now resides in the home of the people that live in the basement of my hosue. I call it Meh, and only with a grimace. I have one problem with it, and one problem only. It's still alive.

I have never liked animals, I will never like animals, and nor will I pretend to. As mentioned, we found this cat as a stray when we first moved in, and I found it disgusting beyond all belief, although it seems I am the only one that thought so. It was skin-y. Not just skinny. You know the kind, where the flesh and fur is just hanging down off the bones so you could reach out and grab a handful of solely furry skin if you felt like catching fleas. The fur was thick and matted, scary to the touch (not that I touched it or anything. Good heavens, I did not touch it.), let alone to look at. In addition, underneath what would have been the tail had it existed resided a nasty, strange, brown clump that mysteriously resembled something of dry fecal matter tangled up in its fur. I wanted to throw up when I saw it.

Before I could take care of this pesticide myself, my lovely neighbors below me took matters into their own hands, and I gradually noticed the cat plumping up little by little, getting less timid, and I soon heard the faint sound of a bell tinkling with every bound of the animal, which required a double take, hoping my suspicions would not be confirmed. A bell? On a collar? Oh dear. A collar. Suspicions confirmed. Next thing I knew, I was being disturbed by a maddening yowl coming from my front porch, and a furry ball darting in the house every time the door opened. I found myself attempting to coax it out from under my bed, or calling to my neighbors to come retrieve their own vermin. I didn't worry too much. I didn't think it would survive the winter. Especially when it was left to fend for itself over the cold and snowy Thanksgiving and Christmas break when everybody left.

Alas, it's still alive. I only regret I didn't call the animal shelter when I could.

Guilty Pleasures

I may or may not have just spent a wee portion of a class period and the past hour plus indulging in this:

http://www.cheekykitchen.com/ (Delicious food, fun cooking, and amazing photography--three things dear to my heart. I couldn't stop.)

and this:

http://www.tastespotting.com/ (A bottomless pit to a vast array of food blogs and websites. I may never emerge again. I will practice self control. I will practice self control. I will practice...)

You may have already been aquainted with said websites, but all I can say is this may become a problem for me. So if you're slightly strange like me and delight in this kind of thing, please enjoy; however, I warn you, I was allowing myself one more page to drool over for an hour. And that was just for today. Now, if only I could channel such attentiveness and fixation to my textbooks I was planning on reading during that hour.