House

I've never been so delighted to see old people kiss!

My blog is useless

Other peoples' blogs are full of rich, informative insight into the world and themselves. The entries are interesting and witty. My blog entries are much like myself: short and dumb. And kind of ugly. Did you see the formatting on the last two? Ick.

And now a picture taken completely out of context

(For the pathologically curious, this is the image found on the Penn Relays trophy, and depicts happier times when relays were best run in the nude and supervised by Ben Franklin. Also, I have the maturity of a 5-year-old.)





I am a sucker for attention.

I was studying in the bookstore today when a man wandered in and started talking loudly to himself. This went on for a while, until he decided to shake things up and talk loudly to the strangers around him instead. It was, to say the least, very irritating, and everyone in the vicinity eventually left. I, too, decided to pack my stuff and leave, but not before he noticed that I was still around and lumbered over to chat. I braced myself and prepared to ignore him, but as soon as he started talking to me, I was won over. I decided I liked him, and engaged in light conversation for the few seconds before a security guard came and gently escorted him away.

Am I boring?

Yes.






Four random horrifying childhood memories:


Getting pecked to death by chickens. Multiple times.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KgPMe51Uoxg

Um... Okay. So, not that horrifying in retrospect. But I cannot describe the initial terror my brother and I felt when we realized the chickens would actually attack.

Watership Down.

Without a doubt, one of the most brutal, violent, sadistic "children's" movies ever made. It made me scared of movies containing rabbits. I cried once when our kindergarten class started watching a BBC version of "Peter Rabbit" because I was convinced that at any moment, blood would come pouring out of Peter's every orifice.







Petting zoo in preschool.

Rabbits have not been good to me.

We had a petting zoo bring bunnies and tarantulas to our preschool. I liked the tarantulas. They were cute and stupid. I was terrified of the bunnies.

Some genius decided it was a good idea to let the bunnies run around unattended in a room full of 5-year-olds. What they failed to take into account was that rabbits have an annoying tendency to die horribly when under extreme stress (like, say, the stress that comes from a little kid trying to pull your ears off). I successfully caught a bunny, watched its little heart beat visibly and its little nose twitch, and decided it was so cute--until it decided to die. In my lap. While my parents watched.

I cried and dropped it, and it was reanimated, but the image of its temporarily lifeless form was forever burned into my mind.

Getting lost on a beach.

This one may not really count, because my memory of it was very fuzzy. I don't know which beach, how old I was, who was there, or--if I'm going to completely honest--if I was even really lost. All I can remember is suddenly feeling terrified and not being able to find my parents, and sitting in a puddle of wet sand and crying. However, I recently found a photograph of me at a beach, sitting in a puddle of wet sand and crying, while my mother laughs in the distance. So either I was an incredibly stupid kid with incredibly mean parents, or I was not actually lost.

Dunkin' Donuts

I love Dunkin' Donuts. I am such a frequent patron that the people there know me. They have good bagels.

My teeth

I've had a problem for several years where, periodically, the gap between two of my back teeth in the top row of my jaw will start to hurt. It's very annoying. I should probably check it out.

Also, I'm in love with Paul Messaris.

It is a lot easier

to write things down than to say them out loud. So maybe I will start to write things down. I will operate under the illusion that people will actually read this, or maybe that I will read it in the future and find it amusing or uncomfortable.

I almost cried today. I say almost, because when I realized what was happening I got so excited that I accidentally stopped. That was sad. It's been a while since I've felt moved enough by something to cry. I don't remember the last time I cried without forcing myself to. I force myself to because it's cathartic, but I'm not very good at it and I often fail.

I love people. I love learning about them and thinking about them and talking about them. I love being surprised by them, and being disappointed by them. I want to know what makes someone tick, what their childhood was like, what their life is like. I like making blatant assumptions about them and being proven wrong--or right. Most people don't realize how fascinating they are. But every person has so many layers and quirks and flaws that I can think of nothing more fulfilling than talking to someone and picking them apart. I want people to take me into their confidence. I want them to trust me, and to share with me their pain and happiness. I want to feel close to them, for them to feel close to me. Why do people hide themselves when they have so much to offer?

It is ironic and kind of disappointing that I care about people so much and yet know so few of them and have learned so little about the ones I do know.

But I guess you can't have everything.