Don't get any crazy on you!

Weird things I have said or done lately:

1. To the taxi driver, after giving my address: "Apartment number two." What??? He is not going to drive me upstairs.
2. To a guy in my creative writing class regarding a scene in his story where he is mean to his ex-girlfriend: "That part made me want to punch you." (Class laughs nervously, I hastily scribble a disclaimer on my critique that I do not condone physical violence.)
3. On the near-silent subway, I start making up a joke to myself and accidentally burst out laughing, causing everyone sitting around me to scoot away a few inches. To be fair, it was a pretty good joke.
4. I decide to go to the school library, which is on the third floor. Although you're supposed to take the stairs to floors 2 and 3, I'm feeling lazy and nobody else is around so I head to the elevator. Before I push the button for my floor, a professor gets on with me and says "Six, please." I push it, and then hesitate for too long, causing her to say, "Oh good, we're going to the same floor. That almost never happens." So I smile and take the elevator with her to the sixth floor and then walk down the stairs to the third floor. Ridiculous.

What I Want To Be If I Grow Up

Sometimes it seems like the people I go to school with came out of the womb knowing what career they want to pursue. They just popped right out with cigarettes in their mouths clutching video cameras or microphones or screenplays or makeup brushes. And here I am, in my junior year, the year where I'm supposed to be getting internships and networking with professionals and building a portfolio, and I just don't know.

It seems like I come up with a new idea every two seconds. Career paths that I've considered in the last few months include humor writer, professional blogger, graphic designer, memoir author, copyeditor, professor of literature, travel writer, book editor, career counselor (the irony is not lost on me!), hostel-worker in buenos aires, magazine founder and editor, literary critic, interior decorator, diamond appraiser, handyman, museum curator, web designer, painter, children's author. All in the last few months!

What I most like to do is learn. I love school and wish that I had the money to just keep taking class after class. I want to be proficient in all the Adobe software, I want to learn to take good photos and learn about lighting, I want to learn Spanish and French and Mandarin and Dutch and more, I want to read everything. I think the problem is that I don't really want to do anything, I just want to know, because there's no chance of judgment or criticism attached to knowing and besides, it's more fun anyway.

I will throw an avocado at you next time.

To The Mean, Mean Old Man Who Works at Stop & Shop And Supervises, Nay, Hovers About The Self-Checkout Aisles With Totally Unnecessary Fervor,

Nobody is in line behind me. Stop shouting out instructions. Stop angrily bagging my groceries. I was going to bag them myself, but you didn't give me the chance, and now I'm left with the bitter aftertaste of your hateful scowl. Let me scroll through the produce menu until I find the avocado that best resembles the actual avocado I have in front of me. Don't rush me. I am in the self-checkout aisle because I don't want cranky bastards like you interfering with my shopping experience. I hate so much about the things you choose to be.

Love,
Your Friendly Neighborhood Student Who Only Patrons The Store You Work At Because It's Right Across The Street And My Feet Hurt And Dammit I Want To Eat Dinner Before The Premiere Of The Office Starts.

Get your coffee at this hidden gem!

I was walking to the gym (I joined a gym!) down Harvard street when I spotted a cute little cafe. There were sofas and hipster artwork on the walls, and I wondered if this was one of Boston's secret spots, tucked away just a few blocks from my apartment. Then I looked up...AND IT WAS STARBUCKS!

What a mind fuck!

Scribbles.

Fact: In Argentina, as well as many other countries, it is considered rude to eat while taking public transportation. After watching a man on the T shove cracker after cracker into his greedy maw, I think I now understand why.

Fact: If you stay up two hours past your intended bedtime watching funny condom commercials on YouTube, you may fall asleep with a nagging guilt that maybe you are not spending your time wisely. Especially if you'd already seen half the videos the last time you did this.

Fact (my, this is a tiresome format): I rode the T all the way from Coolidge Corner to Boylston without hearing anybody speak English once. Who needs to travel when you live in one of the world's greatest cultural nexuses? It is good to be back, people.

This is even putting ME to sleep.

I was going to write another anecdote about my dental problems, about how halibut is now on my careful-don't-eat-that-or-you'll-be-tasting-it-for-a-week list. But then I thought, wow, is this really my life? Is my existance so dull that I have nothing better to write about than what's been stuck in my teeth lately? FOR THREE POSTS IN A ROW?

Yes.

Except, did I tell you about the wedgie I picked last week? Or that time I thought I was going to sneeze, but then I didn't? These are the untold stories of America.

I have jury duty next week, and I'm going to go all 12 Angry Men on the State of Alaska faster than you can say racial bigotry! Or at least faster than you can say "Shit, we shot the wrong grizzly bear!" Keep your fingers crossed that I get something more exciting than a DUI case. Maybe I will decide Ted Stevens' fate! Wait, that's not being tried in Alaska. Dammit. I was already starting to feel drunk with power.

The doctor made me get a pap smear yesterday, which was awful, but I realized that, phonetically, I really like the word "cervix." Cervix. Cervix! It's a very strong, masculine word when you seperate it from its vaginal connotations. I think if I were queen in a land that didn't speak English, I would name my son Cervix. It's very regal. Cervix Walls. Again, this doesn't work very well in English.

Well, it's becoming painfully clear that I have nothing to say, so I think I'm going to go ahead and stop writing.

Holey molar.

What everyone neglected to tell me is that after you get your wisdom teeth out, there are little holes in your gums. Holes in which tiny pieces of sushi can lodge themselves and rot for half a week and make your mouth taste and smell like a tiny corpse is decaying next to your molar. It was honestly like having a mini septic tank constantly leaking into my mouth. As someone who is very meticulous about hygiene and always smells fresh and clean, this was completely unacceptable. I did everything I could: I rinsed and rinsed like a crazy person, I poured hydrogen peroxide down my throat, I drank arsenic - nothing helped. So finally the oral surgery office gave me a squirty syringe thing so that I could really clean things out, and I egregiously abused it and let my OCD get the best of me, rinsing at least 50 times. So now I no longer have a horrible tasting mouth but instead have a constant, debilitating toothache that is almost certainly a direct result of my violent syringe misuse. This is more fun than I know what to do with.