Sunday, January 29, 2012

About Being Back

If there's one thing I love about being back, it's being with all my FabFaves again.
Case in point, the other day Fatty said:
"You just think she has big boobs because she's Indian and they're always weaving baskets and not wearing bras."
& I was like, "What?"
& she was like, "You know, on magazines. They're always in pictures with their boobs out, making baskets from straw."
& so I was like, "No. That's wrong. You're thinking of tribal African women."
Fatty said, "It's the SAME THING."

I tried to post this conversation on facebook and some how ended up tagging the law school.
So people looking up our school saw this conversation for a split second before I removed it.
So far, no emails from the dean or anything.

& also the other day, Gaga was all, "Hey, I have a surprise for you."
& I said, "Is it a fart?"
& he said, "No, it's a real surprise."
& when I saw him next, he gave me a pink sticker for my car to let people driving behind me know that I go to law school.
This hearkens back to a time when Gaga asked me why I didn't have a School of Law sticker on my car & I, being the slacker I am 80% of the time, said I didn't want to put a sticker on my car in case I got kicked out. He made me promise a year ago, that if I made it through the spring, I would get a sticker.
I'd forgotten about it until he gave me the sticker & I felt so glad to be surrounded by friends who not only support me, but are proud of me.

& even though Darlene is not a fabfave, she's the best friend I've ever had.
I saw her Friday night: I'm so proud of her--she's starting nursing school, has a gorgeous new apartment, kicking butt and taking names and what not.
So anyway, I took her out for Mexican & Margaritas.
This was at 7pm, at 9 we were sitting at our booth crying about how our dads are the greatest men on the planet. I love that girl. Haha.

What sucks about being back: I scheduled classes 5 days a week. This means if I go see Solo for the weekend, I have to leave after class Friday & leave early enough to get to class on Monday. & I might be such a sucker for saying this: but a weekend is not enough time!
Oh yeah, & the reading. That sucks, too. It majorly cuts into my netflix time.

Friday, January 27, 2012

Serial Killer

"What is it about women and bad boys? I mean, you guys love them!
But you don't seem to know why. No woman I've ever asked has been able to answer that."
This guy, who I don't know, asked me while I was waiting my turn to get my haircut.
He was drinking a cup of coffee from the Starbucks next door and, it's worth mentioning, he was bald.
I smiled and that smile sparked in him the desire to tell me about how he'd moved to Texas from Colorado in search of somewhere warm. That he moved here on a whim; with no job lined up, having never been to Texas in his life. That San Antonio was a large city and he wasn't ready to venture outside of his neighborhood to look for work for fear of getting lost, but instead spent his afternoons playing online poker and letting his neighbor's son shade in his never completed sleeve tattoo.
"People are nice here," he told me, "you can't just talk to strangers like this back home. Or anywhere else I've been, really."  & he proceeded to tell me about all the places he'd lived as a military chef.
As he said this, I took my thumb off the "send" key on my phone, which was just about to post on my twitter page that I was sitting next to a serial killer in this Supercuts and that my loved ones should call me within the hour to make sure this guy wasn't sniffing my hair in the back of his truck while holding me at gunpoint.
At any rate, he kept talking.
About everything.
& I kept smiling and nodding politely wondering what he was waiting for in this Supercuts but not asking.
One by one, the women ahead of me got their hair trimmed and left.
I patiently waited for one of them to turn out to be a friend of his, or his wife, or girlfriend.
To no avail.
Everyone ahead of me had left, and he was sitting inside before I came.
He had not been waiting for anyone.
It was my turn and as the beautician beckoned me to her station, I said,
"I think women like the challenge of bad boys. You want to know you're a choice; not just the next girl in a desperate man's search for 'the one.'"
He thought about what I said and nodded to himself.
As I sat in the stylist's chair, I heard the door close and looked out of the corner of my eye to see that he, the bald guy drinking coffee in a Supercuts, had left.
"What a crazy fuck," I thought to myself.

Wednesday, January 18, 2012


Overheard at my apartment complex; one resident to another:
I never knew the names of these women since I was only eavesdropping, so I've made names up.

Yolanda: How are your grand babies? Jay has gotten so big since the last the I saw her.
Virginia: Honey Child, they are growing so fast! Do you know what Jay told me the other day? She said, "Gigi, I don't want to be a ballerina anymore. I wanna take hip hop with the big girls!"
Yolanda: Oh my!
Virginia: I know! & her parents are going to let her! You know what I said to them? I said, "I'm just going to go ahead and buy a pole for her room so she can start practicing." I don't care if she quits ballet; my parents made me play the violin till I was 16 & I hated it. Every time I see or hear a violin now, the hairs on my neck stand up. Straight up! You wouldn't believe it.
But I just think, I just don't think no five year old has no business taking hip hop classes. There ain't no good place that road can lead.
Yolanda: Mhm. I wouldn't let her take that class.
Virginia: Kids these days, I tell ya', they just growing up so fast. Can even fill a bra out before they're ready to take those bras off for money. I tell you this country is going straight to hell.
Yolanda: Mhm.

Monday, January 16, 2012

Sunday, January 15, 2012


Scene: My brother & I, coming back from a get together at approximately 2am on a Wednesday. We encounter the open window of our building's first floor resident; a single, elderly woman. Her lights are on and she's playing solitaire at her dining room table.


Me: That lady's kind of weird. Sometimes I see her out here--it's like during the day, she just stands in front of our building and looks up and the sky and then stumbles around for a while before going back into her apartment. 

Ray: *angrily* Fucking old crone. 

Me: *laughs* what?

Ray: *even angrier* GOD. Sometimes I just wanna go in there and kill her myself. 

Me: Geez.What's wrong with you?

Ray: LOOK AT HER APARTMENT! LOOK AT IT! There's nothing in there but her dining room table, a couple of fucking boxes stacked on top of each other, and that fucking Marilyn Monroe poster. 

Me: *looks over into woman's window. assesses that he is correct* Haha, so?

Ray: So? Could she be any lonelier? Or older? What right do you have to not have any furniture but a lawn table in your dining room??? And then, every time I walk by here it's like she's just sitting in her apartment, with all the lights on and windows open, eating porridge. AT ALL HOURS OF THE DAY. EATING PORRIDGE!

Me: Porridge?

Ray: I imagine she's eating porridge. & it's cold. She's so pale and her hair is so white; she's practically camouflaged into the blandness of her apartment. It's like half the time, you don't even know if she's in there. 

Me: I don't think people call it porridge anymore.

Ray: & she knows we can all see her. Eating porridge in her empty apartment all day.

Me: I don't know. She does some creepy stuff; every time I walk Shakespeare and I come by her place, she's pacing the hallway of her apartment and babbling to herself...sometimes it looks like she's pulling out her hair as she paces. 

Ray: Oatmeal. I mean I guess it's good for your colon but I swear to God, seeing her just makes me wanna *pretends to strangle imaginary person* aghhhh!

Me: Yeah, oatmeal has a lot of fiber...
you've really let this derail to an unhealthy extent. 

*Elderly resident slowly looks up from her card game and over in our direction. It is then we realize how long we've been standing outside her apartment*

*Ray smiles and waves politely. I shamefully look down at the sidewalk*

Me: Oh my God, I'm uncomfortable. Let's go. 

Ray: *climbing up stairs* stupid Marilyn Monroe poster.

Tuesday, January 10, 2012


If you were worried that I'd hung myself after my New Year's Eve post, fear no more.
& also, since the fire marshals never came for me, you're kind of a dick for only faintly being concerned. 

But the point is: I'm alive. I'm doing pretty well. Haven't blogged because I've been in our fair nation's capital city, sitting on my dad's couch and eating all of his hummus. Listen, you guys, it's fucking cold out there.

My world did not end from spending New Year's at home, drinking wine on the couch with my mom. & after I thought about it, I was kind of glad to be there--she would have been alone that night & then who would have been there to hear her describe Lady Gaga as "natural"? 

But anyway. Happy New Year, Readers. 

In early December, free from law school finals, I began a netflix/redbox binge. 
This binge led to me watch probably way too many movies, but most notably--
Death Becomes Her;
The Future;
Midnight in Paris; &
Our Idiot Brother.

Before watching these films, it would have seemed to me that they didn't really have anything in common. After watching them, though, I noticed a major motif running through them all: your life is the consequence of your own actions &/or that happiness is something you have to create for yourself.

I like this idea. I like it a lot.

& it made me think about who I want to be and the kind of things I want out of my life.
I still have no fucking idea who I want to be and what I want out of my life.

But thinking about my life as something very much in my hands to craft has led me to the decision to take better care of myself--to make healthier decisions & be a better student & pet owner.
& that's where I am right now.

I used to be funny, you guys. I'm working on getting back to that soon.