I had to give an oral presentation in my Spanish class as part of my final exam. I spent all night stressing about it, for reasons that now seem really silly. Mostly because my presentation went a little something like this:
KV: I know we were supposed to memorize it, but is it okay if I read from index cards?
Professor: Yeah, sure. That's fine.
KV: (read a two minute presentation about quinceaneras, the Mexican answer to a sweet-16. Less cars to be given out, but definitely more booze to be had.)
KV: Almost all the girls in my family have had a quinceanera. And with 20+ cousins, that's a lot of quinces.
Professor: Don't take this the wrong way, but your family must spend a fortune! I would think it reaches a point where nobody wants to hear the word quinceanera anymore.
KV: Not really. My family is really into partying. Any excuse to drink and dance is cool by us.
We spent the next five minutes talking about parties. My professor then told me to have a good spring break and "not worry about this class anymore." I spent most of the day yesterday worrying about this presentation. Slaving over making a poster. Pouring over my Spanish book until my eyes refused to focus. I may have even paid Red to help translate some things from English to Spanish. Nothing that can be proven of course.
My point being I spent all that time for nothing. I was in and out in an hour and a half. It felt super anti-climactic but after thinking about it, all I have to say is hot damn! That's what I call a final.
And who am I to disagree with a teacher who tells me to have a good spring break and not worry about school? Nay, to disagree with the entire educational system? I mean, it'd be a slap in the face to educators everywhere if I didn't go out and not worry about Spanish class. And I'm not one to slap faces. Not today, anyway.
Friday, March 13, 2009
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
And in my third life, I was a gypsy
I've been listening to this guy Beirut a lot lately. I don't know what it is, but the guy soothes me. He plays this gypsy sounding music that is heavy on the accordion and not at all shy about making me want to purchase a tambourine and start a traveling band. Or belly dance.
Pretty sure it'd look a little something like this.
I'm starting to think that there are very few problems in my life that can't be solved with a dance party.
Pretty sure it'd look a little something like this.
I'm starting to think that there are very few problems in my life that can't be solved with a dance party.
Monday, March 9, 2009
What a crazy assemblence of thoughts!
I feel like smashing something today.
Okay, that's a bit of a lie. I feel like thinking about smashing things and maybe paying someone to do it for me because I am lazy. It's a mix of laziness and rage today, kiddos. I don't really know why. Maybe it's because it's Monday. Or maybe it's because I spent most of my weekend avoiding my friends for no good reason other than I'm growing increasingly more anti-social and I really, really wanted to stay in bed watching 30 Rock all weekend. On the Scale of Awesome, 1 being finding bugs in your pancake mix (after you've eaten enough to open an IHOP in your belly) and 10 being having Mr. T come to you for advice on how to be cool, I'd rate myself at an easy 4.
I don't know what it is, but I've got a mean case of the I-don't-want-to-do-anything-but-lay-in-bed-and-watch-TV-on-DVDs. It's a serious disease, okay? You can totally confirm it on WebMD.*
However, because it's generally unacceptable to spend all day in bed when you're not dying, I find myself trying to be productive. It's, um, sort of working. I do, however, have some thoughts on my mind. And since you voluntarily came here, you get to read them. Score!
1. I learned how to use the Genius feature on Rex Greyskull today. And when I say "learned how" I mean I pressed a bunch of buttons simultaneously until Rex threw a bunch of southern blues at me and told me to stop touching his buttons. Genius is the best feature ever, especially for a lazy lady like myself. Why would I do something myself when I can just have technology do it for me?
2. I spent half an hour on IMDB searching Patrick Wilson. Did you ever see the movie Hard Candy? You know, the one with Ellen Page before she started annoying the bejeezus out of everyone? The plot of the movie, for those who haven't seen it, is Ellen Page plays a teenage girl (shocker) who starts up an inappropriate relationship with the sort-of pedophile, 100% creeper Patrick Wilson. But, uh oh, things aren't what they seem and suddenly there is a fan and it is covered in shit because, damn! your mind just got blown. I don't need proper punctuation here folks. In any case, the entire time I was watching that movie I was thinking, "This is some messed up stuff, but I would totally do the guy who plays the creeper." They were very confusing, albeit totally hot, feelings.
Um, where was I? Oh yeah, I spent most of the day IMDBing P.Wils because I took in a screening of Watchmen last night and, Pat Wilsonofabitch, there he was! Which leads me to #3,
3. I came up with a one sentence review of Watchmen:
Zack Snyder needs to ease up on the slo-mo.
Listen, don't tell the fanboys, but I didn't think the movie was that terrible. My friend Dave let me borrow the graphic novel a few years ago and I was blown away. But it's no secret that Hollywood loves to take great books, change their entire content, poo on 'em a little and release it into the world. Cut, print, someone get me a martini. There's no comparison between the movie and the book; the book is so much better. That'd be like comparing a goldfish with a shark, except the shark has a rocket launcher strapped to it's back and makes you think about life and the world and how Alan Moore has more talent in his crazy old-man beard that you do in your entire body. The goldfish is the movie, the shark is the book.
However, as a movie, it was ai'ight. Zacky Boy changed the ending, took out a lot of the minor storylines that made the book so awesome and made Dr. Manhattan look like a cartoon. He also slow motioned the shit out of everything. Someone getting a roundhouse kick to the face is cool, but someone getting a roundhouse kick to the face in slow motion is cinematic gold. It's film making 101, baby diapers. Or so Zack Snyder would have you believe.
There are my thoughts for today. I feel a little less like smashing things, but still very much like being a hermit. A hermit who spends all day in sweats watching old episodes of The Office. Ah, that's the life.
*I'm assuming it's on WebMD because I refuse to go there. I'm a strict follower of the philosophy "If I don't acknowledge that there's blood coming out of my head right now, then it's not happening". I'm also a pretty avid subscriber of the "If it hurts that bad just take some Tylenol/Advil/NyQuil with vodka". Medical school, schmedical school.
Okay, that's a bit of a lie. I feel like thinking about smashing things and maybe paying someone to do it for me because I am lazy. It's a mix of laziness and rage today, kiddos. I don't really know why. Maybe it's because it's Monday. Or maybe it's because I spent most of my weekend avoiding my friends for no good reason other than I'm growing increasingly more anti-social and I really, really wanted to stay in bed watching 30 Rock all weekend. On the Scale of Awesome, 1 being finding bugs in your pancake mix (after you've eaten enough to open an IHOP in your belly) and 10 being having Mr. T come to you for advice on how to be cool, I'd rate myself at an easy 4.
I don't know what it is, but I've got a mean case of the I-don't-want-to-do-anything-but-lay-in-bed-and-watch-TV-on-DVDs. It's a serious disease, okay? You can totally confirm it on WebMD.*
However, because it's generally unacceptable to spend all day in bed when you're not dying, I find myself trying to be productive. It's, um, sort of working. I do, however, have some thoughts on my mind. And since you voluntarily came here, you get to read them. Score!
1. I learned how to use the Genius feature on Rex Greyskull today. And when I say "learned how" I mean I pressed a bunch of buttons simultaneously until Rex threw a bunch of southern blues at me and told me to stop touching his buttons. Genius is the best feature ever, especially for a lazy lady like myself. Why would I do something myself when I can just have technology do it for me?
2. I spent half an hour on IMDB searching Patrick Wilson. Did you ever see the movie Hard Candy? You know, the one with Ellen Page before she started annoying the bejeezus out of everyone? The plot of the movie, for those who haven't seen it, is Ellen Page plays a teenage girl (shocker) who starts up an inappropriate relationship with the sort-of pedophile, 100% creeper Patrick Wilson. But, uh oh, things aren't what they seem and suddenly there is a fan and it is covered in shit because, damn! your mind just got blown. I don't need proper punctuation here folks. In any case, the entire time I was watching that movie I was thinking, "This is some messed up stuff, but I would totally do the guy who plays the creeper." They were very confusing, albeit totally hot, feelings.
Um, where was I? Oh yeah, I spent most of the day IMDBing P.Wils because I took in a screening of Watchmen last night and, Pat Wilsonofabitch, there he was! Which leads me to #3,
3. I came up with a one sentence review of Watchmen:
Zack Snyder needs to ease up on the slo-mo.
Listen, don't tell the fanboys, but I didn't think the movie was that terrible. My friend Dave let me borrow the graphic novel a few years ago and I was blown away. But it's no secret that Hollywood loves to take great books, change their entire content, poo on 'em a little and release it into the world. Cut, print, someone get me a martini. There's no comparison between the movie and the book; the book is so much better. That'd be like comparing a goldfish with a shark, except the shark has a rocket launcher strapped to it's back and makes you think about life and the world and how Alan Moore has more talent in his crazy old-man beard that you do in your entire body. The goldfish is the movie, the shark is the book.
However, as a movie, it was ai'ight. Zacky Boy changed the ending, took out a lot of the minor storylines that made the book so awesome and made Dr. Manhattan look like a cartoon. He also slow motioned the shit out of everything. Someone getting a roundhouse kick to the face is cool, but someone getting a roundhouse kick to the face in slow motion is cinematic gold. It's film making 101, baby diapers. Or so Zack Snyder would have you believe.
There are my thoughts for today. I feel a little less like smashing things, but still very much like being a hermit. A hermit who spends all day in sweats watching old episodes of The Office. Ah, that's the life.
*I'm assuming it's on WebMD because I refuse to go there. I'm a strict follower of the philosophy "If I don't acknowledge that there's blood coming out of my head right now, then it's not happening". I'm also a pretty avid subscriber of the "If it hurts that bad just take some Tylenol/Advil/NyQuil with vodka". Medical school, schmedical school.
Saturday, March 7, 2009
American Pie
Tonight Red and I went to a dessert lounge called Something Sweet. This place is fantastic. I always feel super fancy eating there because it has the word "lounge" in the title. You know who eats at lounges? Rich people. You know who's not a rich person? This lady. But damnit, I can throw on my dress jeans, run a comb through my tresses and pretend. Also, did I mention that it serves nothing but dessert? It's pretty much as close as I'll ever get to living in a real life Candyland.
Which way to Gum Drop Mountain?
My favorite thing about Something Sweet (aside from all the pie) is they have board games you can use. There's your Monopolies, Clues, Trivial Pursuits and Uno. It's essentially just like going over to your grandma's house to play board games and eat homemade dessert. That is, if you're grandma was June Cleaver.
Red and I settled on a game called Top 10. Or maybe it was 10. I don't remember, I'm still kind of on a pie high. The game came with these top 10 cards wherein you get a category, like "Top 10 Richest Countries" and the other player has to guess what the top 10 is. Or at least that's the way we were playing it because we're rebels. I don't have time to abide by real rules.
I picked a card with the topic "Top 10 Murder Weapons Used in the U.S." because nothing says "wholesome, cozy dessert lounge" like murder. Red got the #1 weapon right away (guns), but because he's not a sociopath, had some trouble with the rest of them.
"Um, animals?" he said.
"Animals, really?" I said.
"Yeah, like death by dog attack," Red said.
"No, Red, because this is America, not Mexico," I said. Red thought some more before just shouting out answers.
"Burning! Using your bare hands! Arsenic!"
"Okay, here's a hint," I said. "The #10 weapon is pretty much the most American way you could ever murder someone."
"Um, raping someone to death?"
"I was looking more in the neighborhood of explosives," I said.
"Oh. Well you said American so I just figured," Red said.
I don't think Nana Cleaver would approve.
"whatWhatWHAT?!"
Which way to Gum Drop Mountain?
My favorite thing about Something Sweet (aside from all the pie) is they have board games you can use. There's your Monopolies, Clues, Trivial Pursuits and Uno. It's essentially just like going over to your grandma's house to play board games and eat homemade dessert. That is, if you're grandma was June Cleaver.
Red and I settled on a game called Top 10. Or maybe it was 10. I don't remember, I'm still kind of on a pie high. The game came with these top 10 cards wherein you get a category, like "Top 10 Richest Countries" and the other player has to guess what the top 10 is. Or at least that's the way we were playing it because we're rebels. I don't have time to abide by real rules.
I picked a card with the topic "Top 10 Murder Weapons Used in the U.S." because nothing says "wholesome, cozy dessert lounge" like murder. Red got the #1 weapon right away (guns), but because he's not a sociopath, had some trouble with the rest of them.
"Um, animals?" he said.
"Animals, really?" I said.
"Yeah, like death by dog attack," Red said.
"No, Red, because this is America, not Mexico," I said. Red thought some more before just shouting out answers.
"Burning! Using your bare hands! Arsenic!"
"Okay, here's a hint," I said. "The #10 weapon is pretty much the most American way you could ever murder someone."
"Um, raping someone to death?"
"I was looking more in the neighborhood of explosives," I said.
"Oh. Well you said American so I just figured," Red said.
I don't think Nana Cleaver would approve.
"whatWhatWHAT?!"
Friday, March 6, 2009
Not a boy, not yet a woman.
I've often been accused of being a bit of a tomboy. When I was younger, I chose the Hot Wheels, pogs and dinosaur action figures my brothers played with over Barbies.* Dressing up wasn't really my thing either, that is unless you count overalls with only one strap buttoned. I spent most of my youth wearing camouflage pants, pink Converse high tops and a pink shirt with Sylvester the Cat on it. It was the 90s, don't judge me.
Maybe it's because I grew up with brothers, but I've never really been into girly sort of things. To be honest, I get confused and intimidated by a lot of the make-up, clothing, hair styling and accessories options. How am I supposed to know what summer scarf goes with this outfit? Wait, accessories are supposed to match? How exactly do I work a curling iron? See, it's all very confusing. One wrong move and you'll end up with no eyebrows and half a shaved head. I've seen it happen and it's gross.
It wasn't until my older brother, M, brought Garland around that I took a real interest in what clothes I wore and whether or not my hair was brushed. Garland, also a tomboy at heart, is quite the fashionable lady. She came on to the scene and suddenly I realized that I didn't really look like, well, a girl. Mostly though, I was astonished that someone so chic and put together could be such a tomboy. I started looking at the other ladies in my life. My lady cousins always had impeccable hair, cute outfits, wore high heels and were all very pretty. I suddenly felt very out of place.
With my cousins and Garland's help, I started on an unspoken quest to become more ladylike. I just felt like it was time to start looking a little more, um, not like a butt.
In some ways, I have succeeded. I put forth effort in my appearance (most of the time, depending on how lazy I am in the morning and if I absolutely, positively have to look like someone who got a decent nights sleep). I have started a passionate, albeit quite pricey, love affair with accessories and flats. I now know what a manicure, pedicure and brow wax are, how much they cost and where the best places to go for each are. I know when to use ribbon, the difference between fall and summer colors and am a avid reader of Glamour magazine.
But in most ways, I am still the same tomboy. I would pick zombie movies over romantic-comedies any day. My mom still rolls her eyes and says, "KV, you're such a boy," when I choose to watch a marathon of Deadliest Catch instead of the home and garden channel. I can't walk in high heels to save my life and dresses make me uncomfortable. I once accepted a date from a guy only because he quoted Roadhouse to me. Just today, I chose a book about submarines during WWII instead of chick-lit.
I'll always be a tomboy. No amount of make-up or wavy, luscious locks doused with the latest hair product will change that (and I'm talking super luscious). And, y'know, I think I'm pretty okay with that.
*To be fair, I did love Baribies at one point. I even had a few and my friend from down the street would come over and we would reenact scenes from Disney's Aladdin. That is, until one day my brother and his friend from down the street discovered fire crackers. And you know what they say about fire crackers: they're a gateway explosive. My Barbies learned this first hand as they were strapped to stick after stick of illegal firecrackers. May they rest in peace (or pieces). Amen.
Maybe it's because I grew up with brothers, but I've never really been into girly sort of things. To be honest, I get confused and intimidated by a lot of the make-up, clothing, hair styling and accessories options. How am I supposed to know what summer scarf goes with this outfit? Wait, accessories are supposed to match? How exactly do I work a curling iron? See, it's all very confusing. One wrong move and you'll end up with no eyebrows and half a shaved head. I've seen it happen and it's gross.
It wasn't until my older brother, M, brought Garland around that I took a real interest in what clothes I wore and whether or not my hair was brushed. Garland, also a tomboy at heart, is quite the fashionable lady. She came on to the scene and suddenly I realized that I didn't really look like, well, a girl. Mostly though, I was astonished that someone so chic and put together could be such a tomboy. I started looking at the other ladies in my life. My lady cousins always had impeccable hair, cute outfits, wore high heels and were all very pretty. I suddenly felt very out of place.
With my cousins and Garland's help, I started on an unspoken quest to become more ladylike. I just felt like it was time to start looking a little more, um, not like a butt.
In some ways, I have succeeded. I put forth effort in my appearance (most of the time, depending on how lazy I am in the morning and if I absolutely, positively have to look like someone who got a decent nights sleep). I have started a passionate, albeit quite pricey, love affair with accessories and flats. I now know what a manicure, pedicure and brow wax are, how much they cost and where the best places to go for each are. I know when to use ribbon, the difference between fall and summer colors and am a avid reader of Glamour magazine.
But in most ways, I am still the same tomboy. I would pick zombie movies over romantic-comedies any day. My mom still rolls her eyes and says, "KV, you're such a boy," when I choose to watch a marathon of Deadliest Catch instead of the home and garden channel. I can't walk in high heels to save my life and dresses make me uncomfortable. I once accepted a date from a guy only because he quoted Roadhouse to me. Just today, I chose a book about submarines during WWII instead of chick-lit.
I'll always be a tomboy. No amount of make-up or wavy, luscious locks doused with the latest hair product will change that (and I'm talking super luscious). And, y'know, I think I'm pretty okay with that.
*To be fair, I did love Baribies at one point. I even had a few and my friend from down the street would come over and we would reenact scenes from Disney's Aladdin. That is, until one day my brother and his friend from down the street discovered fire crackers. And you know what they say about fire crackers: they're a gateway explosive. My Barbies learned this first hand as they were strapped to stick after stick of illegal firecrackers. May they rest in peace (or pieces). Amen.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Hogwarts Isn't Listed On Google Maps
Quick warning: Yes, this post is mostly Harry Potter related. There's some spoilers. However, I'm assuming you've read the Harry Potter books so it should be old news. And if you haven't read them yet, then maybe it's time to re-evaluate your childhood. Or adulthood, depending on how old you were when you became aware of their existence.
Tonight, I saw something truly amazing. But before I get into that, a little back story.
Two summers ago, my sister-in-law, Garland, and I camped out in a Border's bookstore for five hours to wait for the release of the seventh Harry Potter book. We weren't ashamed. We picked up a copy of the sixth book for a crash refresher course, found a spot in the humor section and got to work waiting for our beloved boy wizard.
At first I was embarrassed. Here we were, two grown ladies, waiting for a book that was originally intended for kids. I felt out of place for two whole seconds. That is, the two seconds before I saw the people dressed as wizards, ogres, giants and one woman who, for some inexplicable reason, was dressed as a cat. Um, last I checked Harry Potter didn't take place in a litter box.
These people were consumed in all things Harry Potter. There was story telling in the children's section, face painting near the bathrooms and dry ice in cauldrons just about everywhere. That part wasn't so unexpected.
"We're going to wait with the geeks and the weirdos," I remember explaining to a co-worker.
The unexpected part was how into it I was. Garland and I spent a big part of the evening discussing the sixth book and our theories. We spent more time talking about how sad we were that the series was coming to an end. We weren't dressed up and we sure as hell didn't get our faces painted, but we were just as big as geeks as the rest of the people who voluntarily agreed to wait in a cramped, smelly bookstore until 1 a.m. just to get a book we probably could have bought at the grocery store the next morning. It was about the experience. We were so excited to be a part of it, geeky and odd as it was.
A few days after I got my book, I spent a few hours talking to a co-worker about it. For one reason or other, we started talking about Sirius Black, Harry's godfather and my favorite character.
"It's such bullshit how his character died," I said. "He should've used his animagus powers to change into a dog or something."
"If I were an animagus, I'd change into a dragon," my co-worker said.
We spent the next hour discussing what animal we would shape shift into and why. It was a very productive day.
Okay, so flash forward to tonight. Are you with me? We just time traveled so I want to make sure everyone is here.
Good. I was out taking the family dog, Simon, for a walk. We're ambling down the sidewalk enjoying the silence of the night. I usually can't stand taking Simon for a walk because I don't really know the meaning of "leisurely stroll". I walk fast and with a purpose. Picture a one-woman marching band, but less drums and more feathered hats. But tonight I was feeling patient and I didn't mind that Simon stopped and chewed on every piece of grass we saw.
The street we were walking on was dark. There were street lights, but there were also lots of shadows. Simon started to act strange. He stood still and growled, then quickened his pace, and then stood still again. I had my headphones on so I didn't really notice until I almost tripped over him. I took one of my earbuds out and followed Simon's gaze to something that looked a little something like this:
I gasped immediately. Not only was I caught off guard, but I was terrified. Not for my safety or that of my dog's, but because the first thought that came into my head was, "Holy shit, it's an animagus."
This harmless, shaggy, black dog was Sirius Black come for me in his shape shifting form. It took me a couple seconds longer than I'm proud of to realize that A.) this is real life and B.) why would Sirius Black want to eat me? I defended him. I may have even shed a tear when I read of his death. I was emotional that day, okay? Sue me.
So, Simon and I headed for home. But I'd be lying if I said I didn't turn back to get one last glimpse of the shaggy dog, part of me secretly hoping it'd turn into Sirius Black and whisk me off to Hogwarts.
Tonight, I saw something truly amazing. But before I get into that, a little back story.
Two summers ago, my sister-in-law, Garland, and I camped out in a Border's bookstore for five hours to wait for the release of the seventh Harry Potter book. We weren't ashamed. We picked up a copy of the sixth book for a crash refresher course, found a spot in the humor section and got to work waiting for our beloved boy wizard.
At first I was embarrassed. Here we were, two grown ladies, waiting for a book that was originally intended for kids. I felt out of place for two whole seconds. That is, the two seconds before I saw the people dressed as wizards, ogres, giants and one woman who, for some inexplicable reason, was dressed as a cat. Um, last I checked Harry Potter didn't take place in a litter box.
These people were consumed in all things Harry Potter. There was story telling in the children's section, face painting near the bathrooms and dry ice in cauldrons just about everywhere. That part wasn't so unexpected.
"We're going to wait with the geeks and the weirdos," I remember explaining to a co-worker.
The unexpected part was how into it I was. Garland and I spent a big part of the evening discussing the sixth book and our theories. We spent more time talking about how sad we were that the series was coming to an end. We weren't dressed up and we sure as hell didn't get our faces painted, but we were just as big as geeks as the rest of the people who voluntarily agreed to wait in a cramped, smelly bookstore until 1 a.m. just to get a book we probably could have bought at the grocery store the next morning. It was about the experience. We were so excited to be a part of it, geeky and odd as it was.
A few days after I got my book, I spent a few hours talking to a co-worker about it. For one reason or other, we started talking about Sirius Black, Harry's godfather and my favorite character.
"It's such bullshit how his character died," I said. "He should've used his animagus powers to change into a dog or something."
"If I were an animagus, I'd change into a dragon," my co-worker said.
We spent the next hour discussing what animal we would shape shift into and why. It was a very productive day.
Okay, so flash forward to tonight. Are you with me? We just time traveled so I want to make sure everyone is here.
Good. I was out taking the family dog, Simon, for a walk. We're ambling down the sidewalk enjoying the silence of the night. I usually can't stand taking Simon for a walk because I don't really know the meaning of "leisurely stroll". I walk fast and with a purpose. Picture a one-woman marching band, but less drums and more feathered hats. But tonight I was feeling patient and I didn't mind that Simon stopped and chewed on every piece of grass we saw.
The street we were walking on was dark. There were street lights, but there were also lots of shadows. Simon started to act strange. He stood still and growled, then quickened his pace, and then stood still again. I had my headphones on so I didn't really notice until I almost tripped over him. I took one of my earbuds out and followed Simon's gaze to something that looked a little something like this:
I gasped immediately. Not only was I caught off guard, but I was terrified. Not for my safety or that of my dog's, but because the first thought that came into my head was, "Holy shit, it's an animagus."
This harmless, shaggy, black dog was Sirius Black come for me in his shape shifting form. It took me a couple seconds longer than I'm proud of to realize that A.) this is real life and B.) why would Sirius Black want to eat me? I defended him. I may have even shed a tear when I read of his death. I was emotional that day, okay? Sue me.
So, Simon and I headed for home. But I'd be lying if I said I didn't turn back to get one last glimpse of the shaggy dog, part of me secretly hoping it'd turn into Sirius Black and whisk me off to Hogwarts.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
I Want It All, I Just Can't Figure Out Nothing
I've been having a hard time as of late. I can't figure out what I want to do with my life and everything I've done thus far seems, well, bleh. Quarter-life crisis come early is what's happening. At least I think so because I'm too lazy to look up what defines a quarter-life crisis on Wikipedia.
It's not that I don't have direction. It's that there's too many directions I want to go in. I want to study history, but I also want to learn how to be an archaeologist. I want to study anthropology, paleontology, Spanish, Mexican-American and European studies. I want to learn web design. I want to improve my writing skills. I want to be a screen writer, an editor, a director, or at least an extra in a zombie movie.
Dream big!
The problem is that I can't choose. I've tried and I just can't. I decide to go with one major and it's fine for a semester or so and then suddenly every fiber in my being is like, "History is for pricks and dead white guys. Let's be a movie director now!"
Aaaaaaand that's how you spend almost four years in college and still accomplish nothing academically. It's really quite a talent. I could write a book.
So, here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to build a resume right here on this blog. And by "resume" I mean "a list of things I am awesome blossom at". I'm talkin' awesome blossom with EXTRA awesome. Eat that.
1. Yelling/Shouting/Being Loud In General
Seriously, if there was a medal for being the loud, I would win it. I'd win it so many times, that they would eventually just end up naming the award the KV Award For Outstanding Decibel Achievement.
2. Watching things
Like this except with less robots. That is, unless has a spare robot.
If you need someone to watch a movie for you and then make comments about it, I'm your lady. Marathoning TV on DVD is one of my favorite things to do. I once even spent an entire Saturday watching Lifetime movies and westerns. Point being, if you need things watched, I'm pretty amazing at it. I don't discriminate between good or bad movies, entertaining or boring ones. Which leads me to #3...
3. Napping
I can nap anywhere. ANYWHERE. When I was little, my mom used to pay people to find me because I was such a stealth napper. If you need someone to be unconscious for 1-2 hours at any point in the day, then look no further. No longer than 2 hours though. Any nap that's longer than 2 hours is a sleep. Although I'm pretty good at that too.
4. Drinking
My drinking comes complete with dancing on platforms at clubs, hitting people in the eye with my elbows, drunk dialing, speaking every word of Spanish that I've ever heard and an enormous increase of Skill #1. However, it also comes with the spins, occasional vomiting and multiple declarations of "Seriously, seriously, you guys, no, shut up seriously I'm trying to say something here, I love you."
5. Time wasting
Pretty self-explanatory.
It's not that I don't have direction. It's that there's too many directions I want to go in. I want to study history, but I also want to learn how to be an archaeologist. I want to study anthropology, paleontology, Spanish, Mexican-American and European studies. I want to learn web design. I want to improve my writing skills. I want to be a screen writer, an editor, a director, or at least an extra in a zombie movie.
Dream big!
The problem is that I can't choose. I've tried and I just can't. I decide to go with one major and it's fine for a semester or so and then suddenly every fiber in my being is like, "History is for pricks and dead white guys. Let's be a movie director now!"
Aaaaaaand that's how you spend almost four years in college and still accomplish nothing academically. It's really quite a talent. I could write a book.
So, here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to build a resume right here on this blog. And by "resume" I mean "a list of things I am awesome blossom at". I'm talkin' awesome blossom with EXTRA awesome. Eat that.
1. Yelling/Shouting/Being Loud In General
Seriously, if there was a medal for being the loud, I would win it. I'd win it so many times, that they would eventually just end up naming the award the KV Award For Outstanding Decibel Achievement.
2. Watching things
Like this except with less robots. That is, unless has a spare robot.
If you need someone to watch a movie for you and then make comments about it, I'm your lady. Marathoning TV on DVD is one of my favorite things to do. I once even spent an entire Saturday watching Lifetime movies and westerns. Point being, if you need things watched, I'm pretty amazing at it. I don't discriminate between good or bad movies, entertaining or boring ones. Which leads me to #3...
3. Napping
I can nap anywhere. ANYWHERE. When I was little, my mom used to pay people to find me because I was such a stealth napper. If you need someone to be unconscious for 1-2 hours at any point in the day, then look no further. No longer than 2 hours though. Any nap that's longer than 2 hours is a sleep. Although I'm pretty good at that too.
4. Drinking
My drinking comes complete with dancing on platforms at clubs, hitting people in the eye with my elbows, drunk dialing, speaking every word of Spanish that I've ever heard and an enormous increase of Skill #1. However, it also comes with the spins, occasional vomiting and multiple declarations of "Seriously, seriously, you guys, no, shut up seriously I'm trying to say something here, I love you."
5. Time wasting
Pretty self-explanatory.
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