Books

Fact: I do not trust people who say that do not like reading.  Now, this is not the same as when people say “I don’t like books” (which I also find to be mistrustful not but as much as the former).  Maybe they prefer books on tape or reading graphic novels or comic books.  Maybe they like being read to by a friend or a partner, maybe they like newspapers or articles from journals.  But saying “I do not like reading” is like putting the nail in the coffin of any relationship I could have had with that person.

Fact: I come from a family of readers.  Now many people can say that, and maybe it’s not that special, but I honestly believe it is in my blood to love reading.  I grew up watching my grandparents read in their chairs.  My Memere read mostly Romance but that is not to say she did not dabble in other genres.  My Pepere was a huge non-fiction junky.  He read biographies of famous figures and books about historical time periods.  It is because of him that my love and respect for history began.

But more so than anyone else in my family, I watched my parents read.  My dad in his younger years could finish a book faster than anyone I know.  His true love is hard science fiction but he’ll read almost anything.  My mom is a slower reader but no less enthusiastic.  I watched my parents read the paper every morning and listened as they read to us every night before we went to bed.

I have fond memories related to certain books.  I remember places based on what I was reading at the time, I remember friends because we shared the same excitement over the same pages.  I first read Harry Potter at the age of nine in upstate New York in a home owned by my mother’s best friend.  I read it out loud with my mom on a scratchy couch in a place that smelled old and loved in the middle of nowhere.  Most of our vacations are us just sitting around in couches and chairs reading silently.  That’s what happens when your family is made up of introverts.

Fact: While I said I understood why some people do not like books, I’m probably never going to be with someone that feels that way.  Mostly because the people I have met that feel that way, I don’t have very much in common with.  I read every day, I write down my favorite quotes from books as well as the days I started and ended it, and I think about other adventures the characters are having long after I have closed the cover.  I reread certain books every year, and yes, every time I do, I always find something different.

Fact: I talk about Harry Potter almost every day.  

Fact: Right now I am reading “Citizens of London: The Americans Who Stood With Britain In Its Darkest, Finest Hour.”  I really like historical non-fiction...

And to end, these are some books/plays/epics in no particular order (except for the top two which I reread every year) that mean a lot to me.

Fahrenheit 451 – Ray Bardbury

Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe – Fanny Flagg

Howl’s Moving Castle - Diana Wynn Jones

Song of Soloman – Toni Morrison

The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn – Mark Twain

Green Eggs and Ham – Doctor Seuss

The Harry Potter Series – J.K. Rowling

Arcadia – Tom Stoppard

The Odyssey – Homer

A Midsummer Night’s Dream – William Shakespeare  

People Who Have A Special Place In Hell

Well I’m super bored at work and once again I have been neglecting my blog.  To further avoid work and to further my already mediocre writing skills, I’m not going to write about things or people (actually just people) who have a special place in hell.  I may expand on my reasoning, but most likely I will be too lazy.

People who do not throw out their trash at the end of the movie.  The ones that are going one level further in hell are the people that jam their popcorn bags down into a folded seat like I can’t fucking see it when I’m cleaning.  Really?  Just fucking leave it on the ground, I still have to pick it up but at least I don’t have to pull your disgusting buttery bag out of there.  Giant Douchebags. 

Also movie related, people who talk through movies.  This one pisses me off the most since I have been horribly spoiled when viewing movies, as I get to screen them days in advance with only my friends around and we all love movies so much we follow the cardinal rule of NOT FUCKING TALKING.  This got to be so bad that when I was forced to see a film at AMC I turned around and told some thirteen year old asshole who was singing along to “shut the fuck up.”  This was followed by some more talking by his friends who called me a bitch behind my back which further lead me to turn around and say “I can fucking hear you.”  I have a lot of rage lately…

People who stand on the left side of an escalator.  I won’t say anymore on the topic because it will probably drive me to drink.

Actually, in general, people who walk on the wrong side of the sidewalk.  Isn’t kinda like traffic rules?  Stay in the right lane?  Why are you getting pissy at me for running into me?  I’m walking where I should be walking, I attempted to move and avoid you but you were acting like it was the running of the bulls in the opposite direction.  This and also people over the age of ten that ride their bikes on sidewalks.  I’ll leave it at that or my firm no gun policy might change.

When you are attempting to get off of a busy subway car and people are also walking into it.  Just, do people not know subway rules?  And then they get mad when I push back at them trying to get out.  Let the people off first, I promise, you will get on the fucking train.

I would say when people walk against traffic lights but since I’m a huge jay walker I won’t be that asshole hypocrite. 

When I was in college and people would ask me how much of my paper I had written a week before it was due.  NONE YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE.  And they would continue to ask me up until the 24 hour mark.  Why is it so important to you how much I have written?  It in no way affects your life.  If I want to do it at the last minute then I will.  I’m still going to get a better grade than you did and I only spent five hours writing it while you spent upwards of a week and a half. 

People who say Hufflepuff sucks.  Honey badger gonna cut you.

When you tell someone bad news and their reply is, “You’re kidding.”  Yes, I think it’s a joke that my arm is broken. 

People who did not understand that the above was sarcasm.

Moving on.  I took the Myers-Briggs personality test today.  It had changed from when I had taken it as a Junior in high school.  The assessment literally told me that my personality is an oxymoron, not an altogether shocking conclusion.  I took it twice and even changed some answers I found I didn’t answer correctly and still it came to the same conclusion.  It’s pretty accurate, the only thing I don’t really agree with is that I’m goal oriented and that I work hard until it’s achieved.  Seeing as how I never set goals for myself and never do more work than needs to be done, that part was off the mark.

Shit I know About Myself

So, since I no longer have word on my computer I am forced to write things either at work in a word document which i cannot save and must then promptly delete, or I come home and am forced to write things in the "notes" section.  Now, I want to buy word, but I have to start paying loans this month so that probably won't be happening anytime soon.  I guess there is always Christmas.

Moving on.  This is just going to be a list in honor of one oldest friends, who, in our high school years, loved and used lists constantly.  I think she still uses them to this day, but I could not say for sure.  Now what will this list entail?  Um, I don't know.  I was going to make a whole list about my deal breakers, friend and girlfriend wise, but decided to save that for another day.  This one will probably just focus on random facts and anecdotes about myself.  Because I am a selfish bastard.

• I read a lot.  And I write down everything I read in my book journal.  I write the name of the book, author, start date and end date.  Start date and end date interest me the most because depending on how long it takes me to read it usually judges how much I like the book.  Though this is not always the case.  If a book has tiny print it will probably take me longer as I wear glasses and sometimes cannot see.  I also read on the subway to and from work, so depending on whether or not I get a seat, or if it's too crowded, really hinders whether or not I get to read on my commute home.

• I hate wearing socks.  I understand they are necessary when you're wearing shoes, sometimes.  But if I'm at home the first thing I do is kick my shoes off, followed quickly by my socks.  And since I hate socks, I also never wear them to bed.  No fucking way.  This also extends to if someone is sleeping with me, socks are not allowed.  I don't want to move my foot in the middle of the night and then brush up against a sock.  It sets my teeth on edge.  Can't say why, and don't judge me for it.

• Sweatshirts are my favorite things pretty much ever.  Can't get enough of them.  Because they are my favorite ever, it is rare that I let other people borrow them.  A) because I sometimes never get them back (case in point I once loaned one to my friend Sharna who didn't return it until literally five years later at which point it just didn't fucking matter anymore) B) I just don't like sharing them.  Each one is important for a different reason, and if you asked me about all like, eleven of twelve of them, I can tell you where they come from and why I still keep it.  For instance, I had my first kiss wearing my Mickey Mouse sweatshirt and my first college sweatshirt I ever purchased says Washington College '82 on it.  It is also the one I usually smoke in, when I used to that is.

• I really likes watches.  There isn't really anything more I can say about that.

• If I find a song that I love I will play it over and over again.  Once I listen to "Here In Your Arms" literally 100 times in a row without even noticing it.  I also tend to make playlist labeled "sad songs" or "if you're feeling depressed."  I literally have no playlist labeled something to do with "Party Time" or "Dance Songs!"  That's just not my jam.  Not at all.  That's not to say I don't have those types of songs, because I do.  I listen to a lot of different kinds of music.  This is not limited to JayZ, Snow Patrol, some super embarrassing bands circa my preteens, (Good Charlotte and Simple Plan) because I also have a lot of movie soundtracks as well as classical music.  I don't discriminate against cool shit, unless it's reggae, I honestly cannot fucking stand that shit.  This might have to do with the fact that it's the only CD my bus had when we drove six hours to Montréal and the six hours back.  I think every time I hear it I might be unknowingly conditioned to kill someone.

• I'm a huge fan of movies and television and pop culture in general.  I kill at pub quizzes or any game having to do with entertainment.  I worked at a movie theatre for six years, what do you think we did when the films were playing?  Actual work?  Please, we were watching trailers and talking about episodes of Chuck.  I'm full of useless facts.  I play so many sporcle games that I could probably tell you more things I learned playing hundred of different useless games than I learned in college.  Don't tell my mom that.

• I used to write a lot in high school.  It was pretty much the only thing that got me by during my first couple years there.  It was rough and I wasn't making it any easier for myself.  I didn't write much in college, or at all.  And then what I wrote about began to shift.  In high school it was a lot of stories or short moments between two people, unrequited love was usually part of the mix.  As time has passed I've moved on to personal essays and things occurring in my life.  That is not to say I have not attempted to return to writing stories or snippets about made up people from my head, but it just hasn't caught my interest lately.  And I know that this is like, national write a novel month or something, and I looked up some prompts to get me started, but I just couldn't find any that would work.  Or I started them, but it just turned into me writing and deleting the first sentence over and over again.

• I'm a huge fan of mailing people things.  Or I am a huge fan of the idea of it.  I myself am far too lazy unless I know I absolutely need to send someone something, such as a mandatory birthday present to my former college roommate, or groups of postcards I had promised to people while I was away in Italy.  I actually spent 50 something euros on stamps, so I hope those fuckers were grateful.

• When I was a kid I used to sleep on my arm with my pillows on top of my head.  This was not because I was scared something was going to eat me, I'm just really fucking weird.  Now I sleep with two pillows and and another two for both sides of me so that I am boxed in.  I sleep in the middle of the bed if I am alone and I sleep on the right side if I am with someone, though this is subject to change if they want that side.  I don't really care.  

This clusterfuck of information is done for now.  This is probably become a regular topic (random shit I know about myself (also maybe not so regular because I'm lazy as fuck))  And holy shit I wrote two things in one day.  This reminds me of the live journal I kept throughout high school.  Which I have been meaning to delete because I think the teenage angst might kill someone, but for now, I cannot bring myself to delete my 14 - 17 year old…self.  I guess.

Tales Of My Drunken Life Part I

It’s four in the morning and I have no idea where I am.  First of all, my bed is not lofted, so this is clearly not my room, second of all, there is also someone in this bed.  God fucking damn it.  Well at least my clothes are on.  No herpes today!  But seriously, how the fuck did I get here? 

This is of course May Day night, sophomore year of college.  I remember none of this night after I left my room.  I have no recollection of getting to the green or how the fuck I ended up in a different dorm, certainly one that I’d never even been in during my first two years at WAC. 

The art of escaping this room and its occupant was made that much more difficult by the fact that I was A) still drunk, B) had to climb over someone to get down the ladder and C) There was a drunk bar preventing me from leaving.  Now, the drunk bar in theory is a great idea.  It prevents drunk people from falling out of bed.  Too bad it also prevents drunk walk of shamers from leaving said bed undetected.  Because it is way too complicated to climb over said bar but it is also just as risky to lift it up.  Because I was still drunk this would probably end with me accidentally dropping it on this girls head, and I preferred not to wake her up and I wanted to escape with no one knowing I was ever there, her included.

This problem was not helped by the fact that I had never been in that room before and I had no idea where the fuck my glasses were.  I would be ok with leaving my keys or my hat, but I can’t leave my glasses.  Damned my fucking blindness.  I decided I was going to lift the bar, this was made more difficult by the fact that I was on the wall side of the bed so I also had to climb over a body.  I pretended it was some Indiana Jones adventure, except then I got over excited and of course, dropped the beam of wood.  Well, now she was awake and it was getting way more awkward because I really just need to leave.  I’m not one for sleepovers, especially if I wake up sober.  It’s just not my thing.

Well I woke her up, so I did what I always do which was to behave like any other normal person would behave: make a grab for my shit, say a hasty “gotta go” and run from the room.  Now, I don’t count this as a walk of shame considering I A) thankfully did not sleep with her and B) it was four in the morning so no one was around to see me do it.  In fact, if I played it cool, I just looked like one of the last party people standing, making the long eight minute walk back to Chester.  And what a long cold fucking walk that was.

This is one of the only few times I woke up not aware of where I was.  The other couple times ended with me waking up in an apartment across the street from Sam’s over the restaurant now called the Lemon Leaf, but since those were purely platonic sleeping arrangements, they don’t count as shameful.  Though once when walking up Wash Ave at 7 a.m. in my sweatpants someone honked at me followed by the “thumbs up” salute.  Oh how wrong you were, assuming driving.

Here’s my thing about drinking: I either have one or two drinks not even getting my tipsy or I am wasted.  I don’t have a middle ground.  There is no happily buzzed for me.  I don’t do moderation, I go shitfaced or I stay at home and watch movies.  Though sometimes I am shitfaced and also watching movies.  Senior year I convinced my roommates to turn “The Sound of Music” into a drinking game, yes I am ashamed of myself.  No, not really.

Freshman year I got so drunk during the pregame that it just turned into straight gaming and I had to be deposited on the fourth floor of Minta with someone who I had only just become friends with second semester.  I woke up with my sternum aching and bruised from leaning over the toilet all night, I also think at one point I fell asleep in the stall against the door, or possibly lying around the ground, I don’t recall much.  Well, that’s what you get for banging back 13 shots in 20 minutes.  In retrospect I probably should have been taken to the hospital, but whatever.  I can say that I didn’t wake up with a hangover which I’m super proud of.

This blog has no point except to recall awesome or shameful nights of drinking.  Like once I got super drunk and made out with some girl outside of the Ihouse in front of public safety, which obviously I was told about later because that also is an event that I cannot seem to recall with much clarity.  I believe that night I was the victim of two shots of everclear and then a mixed drink, also with everclear.

I have a knack for drunk dialing people.  I just have to, it’s at the point where I try to sober hide my phone but then I get super anxious and have to call someone.  The usual victim of this endeavor is my friend, Flash.  Flash is ten years older than me and is basically my big sister.  Flash never answers her phone because she’s off partying herself, so I used to leave her three to five minute long drunk rants.  These were usually about the fact that I A) could not find any lesbians B) found some lesbians but they were weird or C) made out with a straight girl, I’m the king.  I stopped calling Flash the older I got in college, as I grew some shame and got more embarrassed by the fact that my drunk alter ego was some crazy drunk sad lesbian.  She would also save them and replay them for me when I returned home on holidays.  Some of them I remember, but the ones I don’t remember leaving were by far the most embarrassing.  She also like to play them for her friend who I did not know.  This is probably for the best, because if I did know them, I would feel the need to write a long winded apology citing that I only turned into a crazy horny lesbian when I was shitfaced.  When I am sober I am way too shy to talk to a girl.

Another very large problem I have is I tend to lose my friends.  See, my school was small so I’d go out with my usual drinking gang and then find some people I knew from class who would otherwise have no interaction with my core group of drinking pals and I would wander off with them.  I would then find myself in a random Western Shore house, knowing no one inside and forgetting where I had left everyone.  Besides this losing people problem, I also tend to do ridiculous things when I see people I’ve hooked up with but wish to avoid them at all costs.  This need to avoid people once had me hiding in a closet in someone’s room for literally thirty minutes.  And no, the irony was not lost on me at the time.

There are more tales of infamy and bad decisions.  I’m just either too lazy to write them now, or I just don’t remember them.  I’m sure drunk stories will pop up from time to time.  One of the most epic being my first drunk night of college, which will be saved for a later date, yet to be disclosed, since it was one of my more embarrassing moments so I might actually have to be drunk to write it.

The Bird

During my senior year in college I spent a lot of time in a place called “The Bird.”  Like many of the seniors before my class, this place became a sacred place to us for the 2011-2012 year.  First of all, the Bird is the senior class bar, sometimes shared with townies, with an established silent pact that we tolerate the others existence even though we’d rather not.  It is one of the few bars that actually cards people, I’ve seen Trish the bar tender chase some underage kids out with a bat once.  She also keeps a nerf fun behind the bar.  It’s a legit security measure.

In my younger underclassmen days I never understood why everyone was so obsessed with the Bird and why so many of my classmates were so hung over on Wednesday mornings.  But then I learned, and I fell in love.  Like big love.  Team Tuesdays became a ritual.  I was devoted to that bar and the people in it.

The first week of school also came with the realization that my dorm, the always awesome Prince George B (also known as PGB) was the closest to the bar.  I could actually throw a rock and hit the back porch.  It was a simple walk down the hill, hop over the rope fence away from my front door.  It was the fastest way to get alcohol that wasn’t in my freezer.

I became that senior with a hangover on a Wednesday morning at 9:30.  My classmates often looked at me in disgust, asking how I could be wasting my senior year in such a fashion.  Didn’t I have papers to write, better yet, my thesis?  And here’s the bottom line, here I am, a college graduate, so you tell me if my constant Tuesday drinking affected my work.  In their defense it was a bunch of lithousers in that class, so I guess that didn’t really understand the allure of being hammered on a Tuesday, or ever.

I was never much of a beer drinker before the bird, but at five bucks a pitcher, I’ll drink pretty much anything.  And since I was usually all for shelling out the extra dollar, I mostly ended up drinking two pitchers of Angry Orchard.  And since we were such frequent patrons of the bar, I got to know Trish the bartender pretty well, I put my cup down and as soon as I went to get another it was already full.  On Saturday’s when Trish didn’t work it was a husband and wife team and their drinks were generally all booze and no mixer.  I got a tequila sunrise once that was basically just straight tequila.

Things we did at the bar: Karaoke nights, watch some asshole sit on and then break the big main table up front, watch a giant florescent beer sign fall on someone (bud light I think it was), a horrible amount of shots. Threw up in the bathroom and rallied for more.  I talked to townies I was never going to see again, and saw alums that just didn’t get that they were too old to still be going back.  They just looked like sorry frat bros and sorority girls who still thought they were the cream of the crop.  But worst than them were the lax bro alums, still thinking they were in their prime glory days.

This is a side note but does anything know if the lax bros know that we all think they’re a total joke?  Or do they actually think everyone at the school worships them?  I hope that weren’t that stupid (I’m kidding, I do) but I actually believe they have no idea that everyone at the school thinks they’re a complete waste of space.

The bottom line is this: I love The Bird.  It was the perfect bar, with just the right amount of off putting air, and the perfect amount of cheap booze.  Where else could you get all you can drink for a ten dollar wrist band?  I made my money back and then some.  Actually that night in particular is a complete blur.  It was also underclassman free and cheap enough that after Team Tuesday I still had enough money to binge for Friday’s drinking activities.  I’m just going to blame The Bird for my rising alcoholism senior year.