You might've noticed that my blog has gone under a facelift, and if you didn't notice, well, shame on you for not noticing, and if this is your first visit, well, shame on you for not visiting sooner. I needed a bit of a change, and I'd say this change was for the better, no? I think so, anyways.
It's already midway through October (what?) and the intensity of all of my classes is rapidly increasing; between now and the end of November, I have six essays due and four tests. (Two of the essays and two of the tests are on the last day of class, November 28th, so therefore my funeral is scheduled to be on the 29th. Do attend.) The first of six papers is due this upcoming Thursday, and naturally, I only just completed reading the book on which the paper is based on. I've planned to finish it this weekend, by tomorrow, preferably - not actually that tall of an order, since I can in fact knock out an entire (unpolished) essay in two or three hours - and thus, me being an optimist, I've decided to start it tonight, and if things go supremely well, I'll have this essay off my shoulders before the bulk of the weekend passes me by. Given that I'm furiously typing away at this, a blog post, instead of my essay speaks volumes. I spent the last hour coming up with a thesis - I deserve a break.
Okay.. the last half hour.
Twenty minutes.
Half of a thesis.
The rudest fucking waitress I've ever had
(by the way: I've made a vow to keep my profanity to a minimum since I believe it removes my credibility, but in this case, this waitress was fucking rude as hell) Yesterday, me and three friends decided to go to the Swiss Chalet (score, I love Swiss Chalet) for dinner. Upon walking in, we were greeted first by Adele's Someone Like You, and while I adore the song to pieces, it puts me into an absolutely depressed mood whenever I hear it on the radio, like a sad Adele cloud is raining over my sad head. The hostess said something to the effect of agreeing that the song is the biggest downer known to man (I made my sentiments aloud), lulling us into the false sense of believing that our experience would be a good one. (cool hostess = good experience?)
A library is louder than how silent this restaurant was. The youngest occupant aside from our table was easily a 60 year old woman. I feared momentarily that Swiss Chalet's currency was not money but in fact your youth, but this did not turn out to be the case. Our waitress appeared to be a kind natured older woman - that is, until her head started spinning and she began to breathe fire upon our table. She began by taking down our drinks: I was planning on ordering a beer, but my friends opted for water; the waitress confirmed water for my three friends and then walked away. Upon her return (and production of a water for me, too, so I think perhaps my telepathy has finally started working because I'm assuming she read my mind as a substitute for actually taking down what I would like to drink), I then asked for my beer, to which she replied sharply "You better show me some ID." Well, that's not unheard of - she seemed to be satisfied before disappearing again. (by the way, every time she walked back toward the kitchen with menus that customers had finished with, she slammed them down on a ledge)
When taking our orders, she proceeded to cut off my one friend in the middle of his sentence, demanding "White or dark meat?" I know I have a tendency to be overdramatic, but her tone was absolutely unprofessional and completely rude. I gave my order strictly to the point, and I wouldn't be surprised if I threw my menu in her stupid face. When asking for a second beer - what, I drink a lot, and I drink it fast; I'm a big guy - she looked at me and said "You aren't driving, are you?" and by instinct I said "of course not" with a little laugh, prompting her "Well, you better not be" as a response. Woman, I'm responsible. At this point my friend decided to ask for a comment card - I was quite intent on leaving one like the elderly person I am (I think Swiss Chalet actually took my youth..), and upon hearing they didn't have any, the dining room manager came over to our table and asked us what was wrong; we were subsequently pestered for the remainder of the meal in effort to see if we were still content. A spell must have come over our waitress as she suddenly was perfectly polite - perhaps she had a twin.
I didn't tip. A friend tipped in pennies.
Silly teenagers
In a completely related topic: I hate being written off as ignorant just because I'm a young person. I understand that there really are the "dumb" ones of my generation - the delinquents, the apathetic, the rude - but to generalize my entire age bracket (I guess "young person") as rude, apathetic delinquents is wrong. I don't mean to pride myself, but I generally consider myself to be extremely polite; I'm quite obviously educated; I don't loiter or kick down mailboxes and cats. The people I willingly associate myself with are the same: they're polite, they're educated, they're civilized and personable and presentable and cultured. To assume that just because I'm a teenager or student or young adult I must be disrespectful is, well, disrespectful. It's as if I need to walk around in public with a resume tacked onto my forehead: hello, I go to the University of Toronto, and I'm civilized (and probably smarter than you).
American WHAT THE HELL DID I JUST SEE!?!? Story
I only decided to start watching just two new shows this fall TV season: New Girl, which has made me fall completely in love with Zooey Deschanel (and it doesn't hurt that the show is actually funny), and American Horror Story, which you may never have heard of, but you might be a more sane and overall better person without watching it. I have been completely obsessed with the show since it began last week, given that it produces mystery after fucked up (I permit that "fucked") mystery and deranged visual without sense. The premise is simply that a family moves into a haunted house, but by haunted house, I mean that there's a creepy child demon imp in the basement and a latex bondage ghost man who raped and impregnated the main character with its latex bondage ghost baby and that there's a bunch of people who just appear in the house at the strangest of times leading me to believe that everyone's dead. Oh, and this old maid with a blind eye who everyone sees as an old maid with a blind eye except for the father who sees her as a sexy young woman who he keeps running into while she's touching herself. Right!? The show has completely enthralled me and even if I felt like giving up on it I'd just feel as though I was cheating myself out of discovering the answers: why do characters move in and out of the house so easily? Why is there a latex bondage ghost man? Just.. why?
A snazzy listen
I recently downloaded Nicola Roberts' CD Cinderella's Eyes. Who? you say. She's a member of a girl group from the UK called Girls Aloud (who? you say), and I kept reading that her debut solo album was fantastic, so I gave it a listen. (I always did like her voice the best out of the five of them - she's the ginger one with transparent skin) The entire album is really quite good, and I've been listening to it constantly. That and She & Him. Zooey Deschanel, just be mine already..
There you have it. I suppose I should return to that essay/half thesis..
Friday, October 14, 2011
Monday, October 10, 2011
Turkeyless Thanksgiving
I find myself back home more often than I would've imagined. I've traveled back to my motherland (maybe traveled isn't the operative word - it takes less than a half an hour, and saying "traveled" makes it seem like I swam the Atlantic or something) every other weekend (I was home last week and am back this week so I guess the pattern's been broke given the holiday). I live for mashed potatoes and gravy and turkey, and upon learning I wouldn't be having a traditional dinner with either sides of my extended family this year, I was initially disappointed. Regardless, I had a good weekend.
Saturday night consisted of going out with a collection of some pretty great people, my good friends from home, as we were advance celebrating two birthdays. The birthday girls got a wee bit intoxicated, and when I say "wee bit," I actually mean staggering around and/or sitting on collapsing tables. The sting of moving away and fully being away from my best friends still hasn't hit me, as in some cases, I've seen some every other week or even more frequently. Nevertheless, it was awesome to be together again (for the most part, save for a few who didn't make it).
Sunday, yesterday, has usually been the more traditional day for the entire dinner production for my family; that, this year, was replaced by a family wedding. It was my mom's cousin's son who got married (I think that's right). My mom's side of the family is so massive that I haven't even attempted to map out who everyone was or how they were related for me; I settle for nodding every time I got the "the last time I saw you, you were so small!" because yes, I doubt I was 6'4 when I was three. I've been to my fair share of family weddings throughout my life, and I always find myself having fun, regardless of how long the ceremony carries on for (can't believe I didn't burst into flames upon entering the church; it was also good thinking that I set my phone to silent as my ringtone is the most religiously appropriate song I can think of, Judas) or how sweaty I become with my shirt tucked in and my belt one notch too tight. The ceremony was very nice, but it was in Armenian, so I twiddled my thumbs waiting for it to be over faster than I would want a regular service to conclude. The reception hall was impressive. The dinner courses carried on for a good three hours to my misfortune given that I had stuffed myself on the bread and was full before the first course. Afterward came the dancing, and I tried my hardest to remain clamped to the table in my seat to avoid having to get up, but I ended up weirdly shifting around the dance floor regardless just to say that I did to my pestering family members. There was an open bar, too, but my drinking was so off and on that I wasn't overly drunk; I'm sure the mixture of the different alcohols would've floored anyone else - I had a good amount of wine and rum and a few beers and tequila shots which I was urged to take with my second cousins - but my spreading it over the night kept me from sitting on tables and having them collapse under me like my aforementioned friend. I wish I could've stayed longer as it was near the end that I got to be around the people more closer to my age (second cousins - all involved in the wedding procedure as the emcees or part of the bridal party, meaning responsibility had to be upheld until the schedule for the reception was complete and the "party" could start), but my family, used to going to bed around 10pm on regular nights, was getting tired and insisted on leaving.
What am I thankful for? That is, after all, the point of the holiday (even though to be honest I've been more concerned with the serving sizes of turkey and mashed potatoes on my plate). Well, I'd say, good friends, good education, good looks (HA), good internet connection here at home so I can download torrents, good TV like Parks & Recreation, and the good Kate Winslet. In all seriousness, though, I really do take a lot of things in my life for granted, and I am thankful for all the positives in my life. I'm thankful for my blog!
As always, Follow @m_spad
Saturday night consisted of going out with a collection of some pretty great people, my good friends from home, as we were advance celebrating two birthdays. The birthday girls got a wee bit intoxicated, and when I say "wee bit," I actually mean staggering around and/or sitting on collapsing tables. The sting of moving away and fully being away from my best friends still hasn't hit me, as in some cases, I've seen some every other week or even more frequently. Nevertheless, it was awesome to be together again (for the most part, save for a few who didn't make it).
Sunday, yesterday, has usually been the more traditional day for the entire dinner production for my family; that, this year, was replaced by a family wedding. It was my mom's cousin's son who got married (I think that's right). My mom's side of the family is so massive that I haven't even attempted to map out who everyone was or how they were related for me; I settle for nodding every time I got the "the last time I saw you, you were so small!" because yes, I doubt I was 6'4 when I was three. I've been to my fair share of family weddings throughout my life, and I always find myself having fun, regardless of how long the ceremony carries on for (can't believe I didn't burst into flames upon entering the church; it was also good thinking that I set my phone to silent as my ringtone is the most religiously appropriate song I can think of, Judas) or how sweaty I become with my shirt tucked in and my belt one notch too tight. The ceremony was very nice, but it was in Armenian, so I twiddled my thumbs waiting for it to be over faster than I would want a regular service to conclude. The reception hall was impressive. The dinner courses carried on for a good three hours to my misfortune given that I had stuffed myself on the bread and was full before the first course. Afterward came the dancing, and I tried my hardest to remain clamped to the table in my seat to avoid having to get up, but I ended up weirdly shifting around the dance floor regardless just to say that I did to my pestering family members. There was an open bar, too, but my drinking was so off and on that I wasn't overly drunk; I'm sure the mixture of the different alcohols would've floored anyone else - I had a good amount of wine and rum and a few beers and tequila shots which I was urged to take with my second cousins - but my spreading it over the night kept me from sitting on tables and having them collapse under me like my aforementioned friend. I wish I could've stayed longer as it was near the end that I got to be around the people more closer to my age (second cousins - all involved in the wedding procedure as the emcees or part of the bridal party, meaning responsibility had to be upheld until the schedule for the reception was complete and the "party" could start), but my family, used to going to bed around 10pm on regular nights, was getting tired and insisted on leaving.
What am I thankful for? That is, after all, the point of the holiday (even though to be honest I've been more concerned with the serving sizes of turkey and mashed potatoes on my plate). Well, I'd say, good friends, good education, good looks (HA), good internet connection here at home so I can download torrents, good TV like Parks & Recreation, and the good Kate Winslet. In all seriousness, though, I really do take a lot of things in my life for granted, and I am thankful for all the positives in my life. I'm thankful for my blog!
As always, Follow @m_spad
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Headache, headache, go away
To say my posts as of late have become unfocused and largely irrelevant is an understatement. Just scrolling down you would find a mostly disturbing post penned two weeks ago when I had been drinking, and if that didn't send you scrambling for the back button on your browser (although it's a recommended read for the laughs and to see how colourful my vernacular still is even after beer), it's even more disturbing to see posts since August on the main page repeating my stresses about living alone ad nauseum. My friends, it looks as though the credibility of my blog has gone down to the dumps, but that shant stop me from keeping it running, as the times that I do force myself to sit down and type as I am right now (well, more appropriately, I'm snuggled in bed. Yes, snuggled) still provide me with the greatest of creative releases, and with a slew of midterms and essays hurtling towards me causing my brain to slowly pound against my skull, I'm thankful for the creative relief tonight. Will this post push my blog back towards its former glory where I actually blogged about things I assumed people cared about? No. Not at all.
(what in God's graces, Firefox, "schmooking" is certainly not a word - where is the mean red line of error!?) I'm a regular culinary connoisseur. Most nights during the week I settle for the quick fix of Kraft Dinner or Sidekicks straight from the pot (ssh, don't tell) but every so often, I'm struck with some sort of desire to cook legitimate food, and I've since surprised myself that I haven't given myself salmonella or food poisoning. Quite the opposite: I'm not a bad cook at all, and while what I've actually prepared has been restricted to chicken and its variants (I'm a poor student. I'm not going to buy beef), I shock myself bite after bite with succulence. In fact, tonight I made myself breaded chicken, my particular favourite, and I decided to be adventurous and make homemade fries like my mom does on rare occasions back home (AND I didn't fail!). While everything on my plate was fried fried fried, it was damn good. That somehow leads to my next point..
(I do not own a couch; thus I am not a couch potato) I've feared the dreaded "Freshmen 15" even though 1. I'm not a freshman; I guess I'm a junior? and 2. if I don't think my body is actually capable of gaining fifteen more pounds. With that in mind, I made sure that during my first weeks I didn't eat like crap - and, say, it actually paid off, for with going to the gym every so often, I actually lost a bit of weight. Cue my grandmother. Since going home two weeks ago and returning with boxes of cookies sent from my grandmother (who, as history serves, always brings me and my sister pounds and pounds of chocolate bars every visit, so I guess in a sense I'm lucky I came away without chocolate) my eating patterns have gone to shits. I try my best to limit my food intake from fast food places on campus to a minimum, maybe once or twice a week, but I can't help the Lazy Monster smacking me in the face some nights forcing me to cave and get a slice of pizza out of minimal desire to make myself something in the kitchen. Somewhat related, I haven't gone to the gym in the past little while, and I hate myself for it. The thing is, when I go to the gym, it's all cardio, so I sweat like a beast (grimy details) and I have to shower when returning; I shower every morning because my bedhead hair is beastly, so logically I'd go to the gym after waking up and before showering, but morning after morning when my alarm goes off at 9am I call it a very bad name (my alarm clock has been called "you motherfucker" or "shut up, you dumbass bitch") and opt for another hour of sleep before class. Can you blame me? My schedule is horrid.
I am the least productive person on the planet. I've read more books for pleasure this semester than I have for assigned readings. I have two midterms on Friday - two! I swear, the English department professors convene and schedule their heavily weighted tests all on the same day while drinking from goblets and cackling at the misfortune of us poor migraine and hand cramp-ridden students.. - and I have yet to legitimately study for them. I have an essay due in two weeks on a book that I haven't yet taken down from my dusty shelf. I skip most of my dry readings so that I can rush to play the Sims 3 on my computer; it was a very bad idea bringing that with me away to school (by the way, my vampire Sim got divorced from his wife because he discovered she had a child with someone else - say wha?). Or, I..
..watch Parks and Recreation nonstop. I finished the entire series (up until what's airing) in a matter of four days. The show is downright hysterical, and when I'm not actually rewatching episodes (and for that matter, still laughing as hard as I did the first time around), I'm finding clips on Youtube and watching them on an infinite loop until the end of time, or, until I decide it's no longer a human hour to be awake and that I should probably just shut my eyes and go to sleep. It's so good. I recommend it with every recommending fibre of my being. I've decided that I really must stop buying DVDs - I've bought four movies plus the third season of Parks and Rec in the past month - or I should just avoid anything that can be watched on any sort of screen altogether. Now that regular scheduled television is back, I also find myself rushing my readings so that I can be snuggled into my bed as I am now ready to watch Glee (urgh) and New Girl (I've decided to include Zooey Deschanel to my list of prospective wives) on Tuesdays or Criminal Minds and Modern Family on Wednesdays and - deep breath - Big Bag Theory, Parks and Recreation, Grey's Anatomy (it's out of laboured obligation now..) and Jersey Shore on Thursdays. Am I missing anything? Probably..
Well, that's my life now. I either post here drunk, or I eat like junk while not doing my school work and watching "Leslie Knope's Accent" on Youtube over and over again. (go Youtube it)
Cooking Schmooking
(what in God's graces, Firefox, "schmooking" is certainly not a word - where is the mean red line of error!?) I'm a regular culinary connoisseur. Most nights during the week I settle for the quick fix of Kraft Dinner or Sidekicks straight from the pot (ssh, don't tell) but every so often, I'm struck with some sort of desire to cook legitimate food, and I've since surprised myself that I haven't given myself salmonella or food poisoning. Quite the opposite: I'm not a bad cook at all, and while what I've actually prepared has been restricted to chicken and its variants (I'm a poor student. I'm not going to buy beef), I shock myself bite after bite with succulence. In fact, tonight I made myself breaded chicken, my particular favourite, and I decided to be adventurous and make homemade fries like my mom does on rare occasions back home (AND I didn't fail!). While everything on my plate was fried fried fried, it was damn good. That somehow leads to my next point..
Bed Potato; or Swirly Desk Chair Potato
(I do not own a couch; thus I am not a couch potato) I've feared the dreaded "Freshmen 15" even though 1. I'm not a freshman; I guess I'm a junior? and 2. if I don't think my body is actually capable of gaining fifteen more pounds. With that in mind, I made sure that during my first weeks I didn't eat like crap - and, say, it actually paid off, for with going to the gym every so often, I actually lost a bit of weight. Cue my grandmother. Since going home two weeks ago and returning with boxes of cookies sent from my grandmother (who, as history serves, always brings me and my sister pounds and pounds of chocolate bars every visit, so I guess in a sense I'm lucky I came away without chocolate) my eating patterns have gone to shits. I try my best to limit my food intake from fast food places on campus to a minimum, maybe once or twice a week, but I can't help the Lazy Monster smacking me in the face some nights forcing me to cave and get a slice of pizza out of minimal desire to make myself something in the kitchen. Somewhat related, I haven't gone to the gym in the past little while, and I hate myself for it. The thing is, when I go to the gym, it's all cardio, so I sweat like a beast (grimy details) and I have to shower when returning; I shower every morning because my bedhead hair is beastly, so logically I'd go to the gym after waking up and before showering, but morning after morning when my alarm goes off at 9am I call it a very bad name (my alarm clock has been called "you motherfucker" or "shut up, you dumbass bitch") and opt for another hour of sleep before class. Can you blame me? My schedule is horrid.
Procrastinator Supreme
I am the least productive person on the planet. I've read more books for pleasure this semester than I have for assigned readings. I have two midterms on Friday - two! I swear, the English department professors convene and schedule their heavily weighted tests all on the same day while drinking from goblets and cackling at the misfortune of us poor migraine and hand cramp-ridden students.. - and I have yet to legitimately study for them. I have an essay due in two weeks on a book that I haven't yet taken down from my dusty shelf. I skip most of my dry readings so that I can rush to play the Sims 3 on my computer; it was a very bad idea bringing that with me away to school (by the way, my vampire Sim got divorced from his wife because he discovered she had a child with someone else - say wha?). Or, I..
Obsessed
..watch Parks and Recreation nonstop. I finished the entire series (up until what's airing) in a matter of four days. The show is downright hysterical, and when I'm not actually rewatching episodes (and for that matter, still laughing as hard as I did the first time around), I'm finding clips on Youtube and watching them on an infinite loop until the end of time, or, until I decide it's no longer a human hour to be awake and that I should probably just shut my eyes and go to sleep. It's so good. I recommend it with every recommending fibre of my being. I've decided that I really must stop buying DVDs - I've bought four movies plus the third season of Parks and Rec in the past month - or I should just avoid anything that can be watched on any sort of screen altogether. Now that regular scheduled television is back, I also find myself rushing my readings so that I can be snuggled into my bed as I am now ready to watch Glee (urgh) and New Girl (I've decided to include Zooey Deschanel to my list of prospective wives) on Tuesdays or Criminal Minds and Modern Family on Wednesdays and - deep breath - Big Bag Theory, Parks and Recreation, Grey's Anatomy (it's out of laboured obligation now..) and Jersey Shore on Thursdays. Am I missing anything? Probably..
Well, that's my life now. I either post here drunk, or I eat like junk while not doing my school work and watching "Leslie Knope's Accent" on Youtube over and over again. (go Youtube it)
Saturday, September 24, 2011
My Drunk Blog
A personal favourite that I've published here has been The Drunk Post: while it doesn't look entirely good for my reputation if all the wrong people read it, rereading it sometimes gives me a laugh, and I'm sure it somehow makes you the reader laugh as well. Sitting alone last night, I decided to evolve The Drunk Post(s) into an installation known as My Drunk Blog, where instead of rambling about nothing and seeming like more of an absolute train wreck than I actually am, I'll specialize on a topic where I'll give an intoxicated praise or rant. (most likely rant) Perhaps this new idea was in part due to the fact that I was drinking all by my lonesome, and thus to produce a creative result in the end, I'd feel like I had purpose. Either way, I woke up this morning (very painfully) to this, and now that I've watched my fill of Parks and Recreation for the day, I've decided to write my little preface and publish. Apparently I decided I would speak to goals and expectations, which, now that I recall, was a premeditated topic decision between me and my friend Amy, who I happen to shout-out during this. Do enjoy.
In the words of my queen, Lady GAga, I've had a little bit too much. Yes indeedums, I've decided tpo have a solo drinking night in place of a drinking night with a friend, which didn't occur due to frenzied scheduoles. Instead, I start confiend to my room, drinking beer while waching Jersey Shore and feeling sympahtiec towarsd my poor bueautiful Snooki.
firs toff, I'm alone at nome, as my roomie has gone to her aunt's house for the weekend or somethign like that. it's only Friday night and I'm already bored off of my ass, not from being alone, but probably because I'm ahead on my readings and because I don't have class for the next two days - it's le weekend, duh. Also, a big ass congratulations to one of my best friends, Amy, for earning a callback for her school musical, which happens to be Rent, and her audition happened to be but five hours ago and bitch already got a callback. Mmmmmhm.
A new idea for the revolution of my drunken posts is to have thewm be in repsonse to a certain topic rather than just islly ramblings. Thus, My Drunk Blog has been born this way hay. What I mean by that is my previous drunken bloggings have been nothing but installations of mere humour, and while I very much presevre that humour because hey, I'm drunk off my fucking ass, I'd like to at least make them worth something in the end. (perhaps that's my conscience talking - by making My Drunk Blog I'm excusing the fact that I drank tonight. It's all in the efforts for creative liberty!)
Thus, this drunken post's topic (I'd say week, but I can't guarantee I'll drink every week, or if I do, I might not reach my comptuer. Well, I hope to): goals and expectations.
I've spoken at great detail about the expecation family has put on me here on this blog int he past. Society's current expectation is that a person graudtaes with a degree, whetehr it be from a university or college. Further, society dictates that the better degree you have, the better job you'll end up with in the end. AS I've previously argued, I'm a firm beliveer that salary or intellectual level of a job does not guarantee happiness: a person who goes to school for a neurosurgeon finds the exact same level of happiness than a person in a nursing program simply because they're following through witl what they are truly passionate about. For me, the number takced on to a job as its salary is not definitave; while it is for my parents (that the greatest job for me is the one tha pays the most), I could care less if I earn a dollar an hour so long as I truly love what I'm doing. I'll be just as happy being a high scool english teacher than I would be being a university english professor - when it comes down to it, I'll be invested in what I love, and the distinction between "high school teacher" and "professor" will mean nothing to me whatsoevr.
Switching gears: I've never been one to fulfill my goals. Perhaps tonight was one of the more successful bouts: I ffirmed to a friend thaat I had to get myself drunker before I attempted My Drunk Blog - and that, I would say, I succeeded in, because the graveyard of beer bottles on my desk is depressing. Otheriwse, I rarely achieve what I set out for myself. I began to go to the gym now that I literally live two minutes away from it and that its memebershuip is included in my tuition, but morning after morning I wake up far past my alarmm and say fuck it, no gym todya. I buess it comes down to a person's individual level of motivation: if you're a lazy fuck like me, you won't get shit ccomplished, but if you're a productive fuck, you will. Ican't even begin to imagine what truly inspires motivation, but I do know my eyes are getting heavy as SHIIIT.
Well now, that turned out to be sexy. Despite my speling mistakes here and there and everywhere I still rather sound liek an intellect, although inebriated. (The squiggly red lines in my page are glaring at me like a hooker who I didn't pay. [I have never been with a hooker. I am a colourful metaphor user.]) Anyways, adieu, adieu, to yuh and yuh and yuh.
In the words of my queen, Lady GAga, I've had a little bit too much. Yes indeedums, I've decided tpo have a solo drinking night in place of a drinking night with a friend, which didn't occur due to frenzied scheduoles. Instead, I start confiend to my room, drinking beer while waching Jersey Shore and feeling sympahtiec towarsd my poor bueautiful Snooki.
firs toff, I'm alone at nome, as my roomie has gone to her aunt's house for the weekend or somethign like that. it's only Friday night and I'm already bored off of my ass, not from being alone, but probably because I'm ahead on my readings and because I don't have class for the next two days - it's le weekend, duh. Also, a big ass congratulations to one of my best friends, Amy, for earning a callback for her school musical, which happens to be Rent, and her audition happened to be but five hours ago and bitch already got a callback. Mmmmmhm.
A new idea for the revolution of my drunken posts is to have thewm be in repsonse to a certain topic rather than just islly ramblings. Thus, My Drunk Blog has been born this way hay. What I mean by that is my previous drunken bloggings have been nothing but installations of mere humour, and while I very much presevre that humour because hey, I'm drunk off my fucking ass, I'd like to at least make them worth something in the end. (perhaps that's my conscience talking - by making My Drunk Blog I'm excusing the fact that I drank tonight. It's all in the efforts for creative liberty!)
Thus, this drunken post's topic (I'd say week, but I can't guarantee I'll drink every week, or if I do, I might not reach my comptuer. Well, I hope to): goals and expectations.
I've spoken at great detail about the expecation family has put on me here on this blog int he past. Society's current expectation is that a person graudtaes with a degree, whetehr it be from a university or college. Further, society dictates that the better degree you have, the better job you'll end up with in the end. AS I've previously argued, I'm a firm beliveer that salary or intellectual level of a job does not guarantee happiness: a person who goes to school for a neurosurgeon finds the exact same level of happiness than a person in a nursing program simply because they're following through witl what they are truly passionate about. For me, the number takced on to a job as its salary is not definitave; while it is for my parents (that the greatest job for me is the one tha pays the most), I could care less if I earn a dollar an hour so long as I truly love what I'm doing. I'll be just as happy being a high scool english teacher than I would be being a university english professor - when it comes down to it, I'll be invested in what I love, and the distinction between "high school teacher" and "professor" will mean nothing to me whatsoevr.
Switching gears: I've never been one to fulfill my goals. Perhaps tonight was one of the more successful bouts: I ffirmed to a friend thaat I had to get myself drunker before I attempted My Drunk Blog - and that, I would say, I succeeded in, because the graveyard of beer bottles on my desk is depressing. Otheriwse, I rarely achieve what I set out for myself. I began to go to the gym now that I literally live two minutes away from it and that its memebershuip is included in my tuition, but morning after morning I wake up far past my alarmm and say fuck it, no gym todya. I buess it comes down to a person's individual level of motivation: if you're a lazy fuck like me, you won't get shit ccomplished, but if you're a productive fuck, you will. Ican't even begin to imagine what truly inspires motivation, but I do know my eyes are getting heavy as SHIIIT.
Well now, that turned out to be sexy. Despite my speling mistakes here and there and everywhere I still rather sound liek an intellect, although inebriated. (The squiggly red lines in my page are glaring at me like a hooker who I didn't pay. [I have never been with a hooker. I am a colourful metaphor user.]) Anyways, adieu, adieu, to yuh and yuh and yuh.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)