(But I'm ever so slightly less angry. )

On another note, the employees at Peet's cannot remember my name. I simplify it for them, too. I'm in there at least twice a week if not more often. I even applied for a job there. Still, they tell me they cannot remember it. Bitches.

Oh, and you know what else? So Esther gets packages from Harvard and MIT. You want to know where I get college brochures sent from? THE UNIVERSITY OF MISSOURI. I'm not feeling the prestigious university love, guys.

History was an epic moment of "really, you want me to talk at length about the war we finished covering yesterday? well if you insist..." I even got in a Walter Cronkite quote. Yes, that's epic to the third power. Unfortunately I had very little to say about the other two essays which left me with 20 free minutes to write haikus about Teddy Roosevelt, John Quincy Adams, Andrew Jackson, and Taft in my essay prompt packet.

Ah, sweet freedom.

Let me begin by saying that a “luncheon” is in itself a painful experience. It’s amazing what three extra letters can do to a meal. My mother and I questioned our own philanthropy in attending all the way up to the Ojai Valley Inn. Now, (perhaps as a deterrent to runaways) parking is down below, and you have to take a shuttle up to the inn. Naturally, once we arrived the golf cart was full, and we took the back seats that hang off the end. This guy in the front tried to offer us his seat, saying “oh, would you like a man to sit back there?” Clearly, not a good omen for the event to come. This was the type of event attended by well quaffed old ladies who play golf and laugh in high pitched controlled chuckles while sipping martinis and wave around their hands when they talk so they can watch their diamonds glitter. So, we went and found Christina, who had to stand next to her board full of pictures of herself. All of the girls were dressed in identical black and white dresses. (Though some were shorter than others…..) My mother and I, if you can imagine, aren’t normal attendants of said functions, so it took a few minutes before we realized we had to go get little pink nametags with our seat assignments on them.

Best part of the day: As we’re walking over, I see Corinne working the table. She spots me and comes running out from around the table, tripping on some cord on her way to hug me—exactly like she did in 8^th grade. We talked for a while, but I wasn’t allowed to switch tables to sit with her, because apparently that was strictly verboten. And so I was stuck sitting with some administrator from Christina’s school, and of course my mother, who I couldn’t look for most of the event because it was too entirely ridonkulous.

And then they herd us into the overly pink ballroom. All of the women involved were wearing this insane matching pink color. The woman doing most of the announcing had one of those “I’m always crying” voices, and I thought she was going to break down over just how beautiful it all was—luckily there were strategically placed tissue packets at every place setting. Then the girls came out and thanked all of their mothers and advisors for helping them become “confidant, well spoken, good mannered, lovely ladies” now that they were going out into the world. Is knowing which fork to use really going to help you out in the world? (the world being Cal State Chico or CSUCI or wherever?) Oh, they also thanked them for being “so, like, positive all the time.” Oh, just shoot me. Ohho, and they made us do the flag salute. Because apparently they love America as much as they love volunteering at old people's homes. We had to watch this overly nostalgic video of their wonderful NCL experiences, the kind of video to sappy music where they scan over unattractive photos. I kept thinking it was going to end as each song ended, but sure enough they would just begin a new song. Nothing cements a truly painful life experience like 4 minutes of Celine Dion, though.

But no, that wasn’t the end. Instead, they wowed us with a fashion show, dance routines and all! It was actually rather amusing, between the girls who were practically throwing their hips out with their catwalking and the girls who very clearly where uncomfortable and the ones who just sort of got lost and confused trying to stand exactly where they had told them to at the exact right time. In the middle they had this hilarious ballet part where this one girl took off her high heels and whipped her leg into the air, still wearing a tiny dress. My mother gasped and whispered something about her flashing her beaver. She did her little ballet thing and then some other girl came on, walking like Daffy Duck in an attempt I guess to look graceful. And then, finally LUNCH.

Except lunch involved a mayonnaisey chicken salad and some other sort of salad that was so not good enough to be worthy of my pain and random cheese stacked up with tomatoes. The kind of lunch that strives to be fancy but in fact is just hard to eat and not worth the effort of trying to eat it gracefully. I was the only one under 45 at the table, other than Christina’s older sister. At some point there was cake, which was appreciated. Precious quote: “Well, Christina just mentioned an NCL event and I just KNEW I had to be there.”

And then the lights dimmed and the real fun began. The tribute/biography/sappy song, in which a creepy announcer told us how they just lovvveed school and cheerleading and being the class secretary and bonding with their mother and blah blah blah. And then came the minute and a half of “my mother is the best person in the whole entire world” cry fest set to a song they picked out themselves to dedicate to their dear old moms. Things I wish to never say in my life: “And I just really hope to one day be a wife and mom” “and my mom is more than just a mom, she’s my best friend” “I love you more than words can even begin to describe and we’re just so close and you’re my teacher and my cook and my counselor and my friend and my etc etc” Because the powerpoint of baby pictures set to Carrie Underwood didn’t give me that impression already. And then they cried. Each mother and daughter stood on opposite ends of the stage with this creepy spotlight on them, the mothers wearing bad suits and the daughters wearing their prom dresses, and they cried over just how much they loved each other and promised that they would call each other every day in college. Thank you, I don’t want to cry over how my mother has just given me soooo much and is such a strong woman and such a role model and given me my faith and my confidence and if I’m just half the woman she is…and I’m going to Cal State Chico because that’s where she went and OH DEAR LORD WHAT DID I DO TO DESERVE THIS?!!? And then they tottered off stage together, the girls barely able to walk in their hoe heels. And the mothers and daughters had matching hair. Matching 45 year old woman puffed up dyed blonde bob hair. It was terrifying.

Speaking of hoes, there was one lady wandering around in lace up heels and this tiny tiny skirt—definitely one of the better moments.

Unable to take the pain, my mother and I escaped after like 5 of the presentations. Then, of course, the shuttle wasn’t there to take us back to the car, so we had to hoof it down the hill in our high heels (I would have walked home in stilettos if I had to to get out of there)

Nothing that happened in those 3 hours was anything less than stereotypically terrifying. I practically cried to keep from laughing. I feel like I need to go wash the experience off myself by like, dousing myself in whiskey or something. I went into it thinking at least I could get a story, but frankly I can’t fictionalize that shit. I’m not even sure your imagination will do it justice. And just think, I could have been at a speech tournament.

a million exclaimation points cannot express my joy.

Costa Rica in like 14 hours. I wish I didn't feel like I've forgotten the most important things to pack. BUT PSYCHED! and no homework, sweetness. 

My favorite response from a stranger upon hearing I was going to Costa Rica: "But, aren't there...like...insects there?"

Eliminating one of the tougher teams in the league in your first debate tournament with a new partner.

Actually doing well for once.

Yeaaaaaaah.

1st strange occurrence of the week: (which  I am considering writing about for my screenplay for creative writing) I was at the park with Hillary, sitting under the gazaebo type thingamagigy, where strange things have happened before. (cue memory of a former teacher patting me on the head) We were indulging in her snackage, turned away from the table where my half can of chemical god, aka Diet Dr Pepper, happened to be sitting. This rather abrasive looking boy, say between 15-18 years old, starts walking toward the table. I don't really notice this, but merely assume he's walking to the other side of the park. I hear him grab (and slightly squish) what sounds like a can of soda. This doesn't quite register with me for a few seconds. Once it does indeed register, I think, "wait, is that my soda? I don't remember seeing another soda. Wait, do I know this kid?" I couldn't turn around, because a) I'm very anti-conflict, and b) I really just did not know how to respond to a stranger drinking my soda. What can you say to that? "Have you been tested for mono?" "Do you backwash?" "Why can't you just go to the 7-11 and get your own like a normal person?" "I'm going to tell on you?" After not too long, he ran away and I noticed he wasn't quite hitting on all cylinders, and someone grabbed him and they left the park. Then and only then did I have the semi-courage to turn around to the table and verify that it was my half squished Dr. Pepper on the other side of the table. I guess he was thirstier than I.

2nd strange occurrence of the week: In a fit of Jiggle-club-tasticness, my mom and I decided to go get donuts. As we were getting back into the car, someone parked perpendicular to the spaces in front of us, and two other people parked next to us. Like all normal people, we naturally assumed this was an assassination attempt sparked by our fatness. Hey, that's a pretty shady parking lot to begin with. I never expected the words "Oh my god! I feel like Matt Damon!" to come out of my mother's mouth. Apparently we look hella fierce brandishing maple bars, though, since we made it out alive.

Which brings me to my 3rd contention--I mean, the 3rd actually not very strange occurrence: As we were driving out of said parking lot, the Jack in the Box was closing the entrance to its parking lot with all these homemade signs that read "use other entrens." which gave me a good giggle.

 The religion of the week: chicken. Go have some. Protein is delectable.

 Religion of the day: The Beatles. Or perhaps they were merely the addiction of the day. Either way, I think I need to go get some new cds.

Anyway, so we left LA at like 11 pm and I slept the whole way there, so when I woke up in the cab at Columbia at 8 am I wasn't completely lucid. Then there was the awkward "hello roomate of my sister's I wish she would show up already" sitting in shane's tiny room. Then the "hello shane now what are we doing" conversation, lunch, parental leaving for Woodstock (not where the concert was. disappointing. not disappointing enough to drive the 50 miles to where it actually was though.) and me going to Shane's foreign policy class. It was exciting/infuriating that he talked for like 20 minutes about the economics that killed me in debate last week. When he mentioned cost-benefit analysis I think I might have laughed out loud. (no, I do not lol.) After Shane fell asleep and I stopped being able to focus and class ended we went to buy food for dorm room thanksgiving sandwiches. Also known as test #1 of Shaunacy wants herself some meat goddamn it. Then off to eat chemical frozen ....stuff and going to the Spec office and running into a girl I went to Latvia with in the elevator of Shane's dorm and then I was bored and ready to sleep. I was in bed reading when drunken New Zealander bachelor number (2?3?) came in and decided that we were all going to some bar and I needed to get my ass out of bed. You can imagine how well this went over. But I'm suseptable to peer pressure, so my sister's roomate and roomate's brother and already drunk New Zealander and my sister and I ended up in a tiny dark club sitting next to some rowdy Germans. All in all, this turned out to be the most interesting thing that had happened all day, once the German girl started getting friendly and suddenly propositioned that if drunken New Zealand boy kissed drunken 40something German man, then the German girl would kiss him. Well who could resist a proposition like that? Then, not very attractive woman (who was involved in the German man German girl triangle of confusion) offered the same bargain, and to our suprise he also took advantage of this one. She was quite the character, with a book stuck down the back of her pants for no apparent reason. It seems like it was some sort of biography, like Shakespeare or something like that but I can't remember who it was. Finally we dragged him away and we returned to the dorm at 2:30 or so.

 Later that morning....Shane woke me up at the ungodly hour of noon so we could catch our train across town at 1. This involved furious running up two flights of stairs with heavy (way heavy. (seriously, so heavy)) suitcase and jumping on the train before it left us. Trains have no consideration for me. It was seriously like half an hour before I was breathing normally again. The train got to Woodstock with no other incident, and we went haring off in the hearse of a rental car (it was straight out of harold and maude!) to el cabin in the woods.

Yeah so really those were the only things that I could pass off as interesting, so I'll leave the rest at we went to the FDR house (saw his hair from his first haircut, gross) ate at a diner featured on the food channel (free pie!) watched an insane amount of the law and order marathon which caused me to alternate between very entertained and very pissed off (svu is good. ci makes me suicidal) and my Thanksgiving dinner consisted entirely of pie and mashed potatoes. The flight back was godawful, what else is new. (Sweet Jesus with a mohawk is 13 Going on 30 the worst movie ever or was it just me?)

 Friday was ugly. That is really the one and only way to describe it. First round of debate Chris and I got an unexpected bye, which we weren't ready for. Then second round, who do we go up against but the hardest team in the league. They butchered us with fake British accent and points I didn't even understand much less refute. It didn't help that we were doing economics stuff and debating Chris's side, which I barely knew and had nothing to say about. It definately felt as if I was sinking into quicksand while being lit on fire as a plane crashed into me and a boat propeller ripped my head off. Third round wasn't quite as bad because the team was only normal good, not terrifying, but it was still ugly. Remind me why I do debate? Oh. Right.

But Saturday was pretty good. Hillary and I kicked ass our first two rounds of duo against some stiff competition. And we took names. We made it into the finals, and messed up a bit but still got 4th so whatever. Plus I had a ton of downtime throughout the day since I only was doing one event. That was nice.

 And just in case you had ever wondered, yes, the Boca burgers at Denny's do taste like recycled cardboard boiled in toilet water. My first thought was "gee, this burger needs a bunch of ketchup."  My second thought was "Jesus this burger needs meat."

However, this forced me to browse through the "Barnes and Noble Classics" (aka the pseudo intellectual reading that is gloriously cheap and tends to bulk up the credibility of one's bookshelf) and instead bought this gem.

The beauty of the 7$ two-fer is not lost on me. Which explains why I spent my last quarters on it, perhaps.

In other news, I discovered today that invading the border of the literary section of quarterlies, journals, and other such magazines are none other than the ever puzzling Pokemon publications and the like. I got a decent chuckle out of this. I should probably stop taking so many pictures on my cell phone at Barnes and Noble.

Now as I was sitting in the coveted and comfy armchairs, finishing up one of the guilty pleasure reads that I am too stingy to buy, I had all of these complex thoughts that I was going to come home and blog about. (Nerd alert!) Yet in typical fashion, I have forgotten all of them, and now my head is occupied with the realization that in one point in my young life I cringed every time I saw an uncapitalized i. Yet now internet speak has taken over my life, and I cannot seem to muster up the energy to hit that shift button. New resolution: capitalize the i.

 Perhaps this would be an appropriate time to mention my other resolution: as part of a larger goal to be more environmentally friendly, and a smaller goal to win a bet with Brittany about how can last longer without meat, I am a vegetarian. So far, it's been 36 hours, and I'm going pretty strong.

Other noteworthy of the day: I attempted to order a Tall latte from Peet's earlier this morning in a blunder that revealed my addiction to the man. (Starbucks, yeah, it's the man.) I was so distraught over this that I tried to give the poor new guy my actual name, the horror that it is to any spelling challenged barista. This is trivial, but so is the rest of my life.

Last thing, I swear: The spellcheck on my blog refuses to recognize the word blog. Bless it.