You Probably Won't Find This Interesting. No, I'm Serious.

Fact: My nose has very little cartilage in it. I can squish it almost completely flat against my face. Well, not completely. Like, half flat. But STILL. It's pretty squishy. But you wouldn't know that by looking. You'd have to actually push on it (you can try it, if you ask me really nice. But you should just take my word on this.)

Fact: If I smile on purpose for a picture, 85% of the time, I will hate it. This is why I generally make a face on purpose, or just open my eyes realllly wide, because then if the picture is bad, I will know it is because I was making a face. Because it's just plain depressing when you actually try to look good in a picture, and then you try, and try, and try. And it just doesn't happen.

Theory/Discovery: The reason (partly) for my non-photogenicness-when-I-am-actually-trying is my squishy nose. I just never know what it's going to do in the picture. Is it going to crinkle? Is it going to look straight (cause sometimes it does)? Is it going to flatten out into an amorphous blob that covers my entire face the minute that the picture is snapped? I just don't know.
Smiling makes it do funny things.

This is a serious problem.

But now that I've worked it out in my blog, I feel better.

Teen Angst

My adolescence has mentally caught up with me, 8-10 years after it should have been here. At age 13, most girls flirt with boys and read "Seventeen" and swear and drink illegally (maybe) and get snarky and emotional towards everyone who comes in contact with them. When I was 13, I was ridiculously tall for my age and spent most of my time planning how to run away from my middle school with my friend Ashley. I secretly pined for a boy who sat behind me in math and was outgoing and popular and never, ever noticed me. That pattern continued for the next oh, six years maybe seven.

But now, NOW, at age almost 22, I finally am an actualized teenager. All the things that should have happened to me then are cropping up now, but I'm guessing that they are going to be more fun at this stage of my life than they ever would have been then. I ran into my middle school crush a couple weeks ago, and he semi checked me out, and I thought "he's not that cute. Actually, kind of funny looking." And that made me feel awesome.

Lately, I've been reading all my old Louis Sachar books (I don't care that he's a children's author! I love him) and thinking, "wow, I can really relate to this situation!" I've been having really strong urges to swear at people. A lot. And I never swear (although I secretly want to. I'm just not sure if I can pull it off without looking like a newbie.) Wait, yes I can. Dammit, dammit, fuck, fuck, fuck. There. That felt good. Those are the only swear words that I care about.

I'm getting an overwhelming urge to subscribe to "Cosmo." I like Lady GaGa, and if Katy Perry comes on the radio, I don't switch the station.

Joseph-Gordon Levitt is adorable. He has style. I want to marry him. Maybe I'll write him a fan letter and dot all the "i"s in it with little hearts.

I've decided that I either want to be a Blazer dancer or one of those people who does the voices for animated character when I grow up.

But, hey. I'm an adult now. Officially. SO if I want to revert to childhood, I'll do it, dammit. And I'll like it!

A Bone to Pick

I have windows in my bedroom. Like most people. I like to sleep with them open, so I can listen to crickets and cars and feel a nice breeze on my face.

Here's what I DON'T like: my (expletive)stupid-face neighbor who cuts down trees with an (expletive) CHAINSAW at (expletive) 7:30 A.M.

I was lying in bed. It was morning. I was tired.

So I was lying there, almost asleep, in my cottony sheets and down comforter. It was a lovely, lovely feeling.

AND THEN, the loudest chainsaw in the entire world started to rev in the house next to me.

At first, I was pretty sure that it would stop (because, really, what needs to be cut down when it's barely light outside yet? Tell me, I dare you). After about a minute it did, and I was allllmoost asleep...

NO, NO I WASN'T, because it started up again. And again and again and again for the next two hours, and I literally almost got out of bed, stood in the middle of my backyard, and yelled "turn off you f****** chainsaw!" at the top of my lungs.

But I didn't. It wouldn't have done any good, and I didn't want to mess with someone holding a chainsaw.

Problems with the Park

Eating in the park is a great idea in theory. Sometimes in real life, but mostly in theory. There's a park right by where I work, and about every other day at 1ish o'clock, I will sprint there as quickly as possible so as to utilize as much of my 25 minute lunch break as I can.

If I don't go to the park, the odds are quite high that I will spend lunch time playing Connect Four with small children and while sitting on a robin-egg blue, child-sized bench. It is also likely that there will be a sixteen-year old boy sitting way too close to me and breathing on my arm. Loudly and through his mouth.

Tangent: I hate bodily noises. Any noises, not just gross ones. I hate coughing. I hate sneezing. I hate, hate, HATE really audible chewing. And mouth breathing. Especially when the mouth-breather is breathing on my upper arm. Frankly, that's just creepy. End tangent.

The problem with eating at the park is that it is full of bugs and wet grass, and lots and lots of homeless men trying to make conversation (not necessarily with me. With anyone, really). The problem with the park is that my nectarine drips down my arm, and I have no napkin. The problem with the park is that there is no comfortable way to sit in the grass, eat multiple pieces of fruit sans napkin, drink a carbonated beverage, and read a book all at the same time and all within a twenty minute time frame (I need the extra five for the sprint back to work.)

Multi-tasking is not my specialty.

Christina Equals Awesome

When I was in Jr. High, we used to have to run a mile in P.E. every week. And it was a big deal. A BIG deal. So big, that it was commonly referred to as "THE MILE." In quotes and capitalized.

Once a week, I would dread it. I dreaded putting on my textured-polyester gym shorts, and my unwashed P.E. shirt, and my knock-off, Payless running shoes (which were always worn without socks, because honestly, who has time for socks?) which smelled like corn chips. I dreaded the rubbery track smell, and I dreaded being the very, very last person to finish. Which I inevitably was because I can't run. I. Can't. Run.

I wish I could. That sure sounds nice.

During the week leading up to "THE MILE" I would sometimes dream about running it. True story. I would dream that I ran it effortlessly and never ran out of breath and that the running would fly by in an instant.

This never happened in real life.

So, now I do other stuff to keep from getting fat. Like walking (this makes me sound like an old person. I know it does, but I accept that! I LIKE to WALK, okay?) and dance classes.

Dance is one of those things that I have a tiny bit of natural talent in, but not enough talent to be really good at it. I'm slightly above average. But not much. It's super fun, though, so I do it.

What I'm trying to say here is that I've discovered a fantastic dance studio, that I am telling every person I meet about because I like it so much. It's in the Industrial District right underneath the Hawthorne Bridge, and the walls are exposed brick adorned with dance-centric graffiti. They offer a burlesque class. I love it more than anything. If there was a dance that I was naturally gifted in, it would be burlesque (I'm not sure that I should be saying this. Is it acceptable to be good at this if one has no intention of being an exotic dancer? Cause I DON'T want to be that.)

My love was confirmed when I discovered that the instructors all call Christina Aguilera just "Christina." I'm not sure what that means, exactly, but I'm pretty sure it means awesome.

John Tesh is the Most Irritating Man Alive

How did John Tesh get a radio show? That's what I want to know. Because I'm pretty sure that any other person in the world could be on the radio and be about ten thousand times less annoying than he is.

Why is he so obnoxious? Is it because he constantly tells me not to eat delicious, fatty foods because they are high in trans fat and refined sugar, and that I should instead snack on baby carrots? Well guesss what, John Tesh? I ALREADY KNOW THAT. I don't need you to tell me that. If I want to eat a chocolate croissant, I'M GOING TO EAT IT. I'm not going to replace it with a high fiber vegetable. Because that totally defeats the purpose.

Or is it because he tells me that eight hours of sleep is essential to maintain a healthy lifestyle? Oh wait, I ALREADY KNOW THAT. And I already know that exercising regularly is a good idea. Completely Sedentary Life=A Bad Idea. I KNOW THAT, JOHN TESH.

And so, the question remains: how on earth did this man get a radio show and become a nationally recognized figure? How?? HOW??? Why is it that a man who gives me "intelligence for my life" gives the most obvious, idiot-proof advice ever?

I DON'T KNOW.

Oh, and he looks like a dumb-face. That's a picture of him. See what I mean?

Life's Great Secret

I am a dog-sitter. Here's what that entails: Every morning, I wake up bright and early and drive my mom to school so that I can have the car. Then I drive the longest way possible to the Eastside, because I refuse to drive on the freeway. Once there, I sit with the dog.

It is quite possible the best and easiest temporary job in the world. I literally, in every sense of the word, dog sit. The dog and I spend most of our day sitting on the ridiculously comfortable bed-couch combo and watching "True Blood," which is very, very addictive. Actually, I sit while he sleeps on my feet in fetal position (Feet-al position! Hahaha! Get it? Sorry. Unintentional pun.)

He is the perfect dog because he spends his time sleeping, lolloping around the yard, not barking, not being smelly (most of the time), and being pretty adorable in general. Really, the only kind of dog that I could spend long periods of time with. He doesn't do anything. It is great.

Or, when it is not raining, I put him on his leash, and together we explore and make new friends. This has lead me to discover one of life's great truths: Everyone wants to pet puppies. Even if they don't actually do it, they still want to. Which is why Judah (that's the puppy) and I make new friends. I merely have to take him somewhere and then sit down with him and people will flock to us! Because he is cute. And sometimes tries to climb in to my lap. Or puts his head on my knee. And basically is the most pet-able thing anywhere.

I think that a good idea would be for somebody to start a puppy dating service. They could have a whole bunch of really nice, non-smelly dogs, that single people could take on walks so as to meet people of the opposite sex. Because if you're walking a puppy, SOMEONE is going to pet it. And the odds are, eventually, that someone is going to be single and of the opposite sex. I think this is a good idea.

Or even not a dating service. Just a meeting-people service. Yeah, that would definitely work too.