Goodbye, Old Friend.

It can't be healthy to parlay your eating disorder into a career.

So I think I am only really funny when I'm sitting in the back of a classroom and making wiseass remarks about shit going on. I need something subversive and rebellious in the act to fuel me. I was on point today and had the entire back two rows of the room cracking up. Tonight's highlight, on student created kaleidoscope-based diagrams:

It's public health, not Lisa Frank.

It may not seem that funny right now, but people were dying. Trust. I mean, not literally. No matter how anorexic all the nutrition majors looked. (What is up with that? Is it to relate to their patients? And WHERE do they keep their organs?! People have many many billions of trillions of intestines inside of them. There is no way these people can store a kidney, much less an entire digestive system.) As much as I hated on them (and the stank way this one bitch presented herself to the class), I totally appreciate all the material they gave me. God knows I live to hate on such beings.

But anyways, how can I translate this into the rest of my life? It's a mystery. One that I am determined to unravel!

And today's pictures comes to you straight from the Philippines. Well, not straight, it's been about eight months...but whatever! Here we go:

I was not a bright child

I thought that a boy peeing inside of/at anything would result in a pregnancy. Once, I saw some little boy flip over his trunks and pee into a pool. I promptly warned everyone that if they swam in the pool before it got cleaned, many pregnancies would result. I did not think five year old was adequately equipped to become a father to many.

That's Not a Good Sign

From this week's chat with Gene Weingarten:

Absentmindedness: You can't remember where you left your keys and you finally find them on the nightstand.

Alzheimer's: You can't remember where you left your keys and you finally find them in the refrigerator.

Fuck. I find the remote control in the refrigerator at least once a month.

SRT #72

I was supposed to finish up a report today.

That did not happen.

We'll see how it goes tomorrow.

Eh.

The ennui is now a bit on the debilitating side. Just a tad. So I'm looking for something to get me out of this. We'll see how this goes.

Resolution #4

Say random things to leave strangers horrified/morbidly curious:

While walking off a Metro car:

...so I said that no amount of yoga would help. I mean, it was HUGE...

or:

...the doctor said that green was not a good sign...

::doors close::

Clearly, my theme for this year is to confound as many people as possible. I think that this is a goal worthy of my time and effort. Don't you?

Catherine = Fraidy Cat

I just bought Resident Evil 4.

I am kinda scared to play it right now (9.46PM). I think I will wait until tomorrow. During the day. With all the lights on.

SRT #61

It's a bad idea to read a book about the zombie invasion at night in a home that is quite indefensible from said zombie invasion.

Perhaps I will take up running...

Must...Be...Physically Active...

While procrastinating today, I stumbled upon an article on msn.com with the headline: Why Every Woman Should Strength Train. I think there is something wrong with me, as my first thought was: In preparation for the zombies? I really do not have the stamina/strength to survive when the zombies come. It's going to be a problem.

ADDENDUM: Shit!

SRT #59

I've finally committed myself to the application process. I've asked for recommendations and shit, which means I have to do it. I'm much more productive when something is expected of me as opposed to just expecting something of myself. In most situations, painting myself into a corner is the only way for me to get anything done. Sad, but true.

So one of my professors wants to meet with me to discuss these plans. She's asked me to bring in a copy of my resume, an unofficial transcript, and a career statement. The problem is the fucking career statement. I am still blank on what to write. Is it acceptable to bring in something like:

Dear School,
I want a career that enables the buying of extravagant shoes with no financial worries and worldwide gallivanting. Let me in. I will make it happen. I'll be your best friend forever!
<3,
Catherine

Somehow, I don't think that's going to cut it. Anyways, I'll perhaps go to Philly this Friday or next Monday for this meeting. It's time to man up and do something productive. Hopefully, I can whip up something awesome, or something barely sufficient to get me into a school. Either way, I'm OK with it.

The New Crack

So TF2 is fucking awesome. Unfortunately, I also got it halfway through the month of XBox Live that I paid for, and Halo 3 sits alone with no one to play with. After getting acclimated to TF2, I tried to play Halo last night, and I have realized: shit is boring. I never really realized how much time you spend just looking for someone to kill. And really, why is Master Chief so slow? A fucking Heavy moves faster than that, and he's carrying Sasha all over the place with him all the time.* So what is Master Chief's problem? He has no excuse for such slowness. My adoration of Halo 3 has diminished significantly. A mere whisper of what it once was. I don't think I'll play it much anymore, which is probably a good thing.

Unfortunately for me, TF2 is infinitely more addicting. The pace is so much faster that it's obscene how easily you lose track of the time. I was planning to play a little bit before going to bed last night, and suddenly, it was 1 AM. How did that happen?** Le sigh. It's probably a bad thing that I got this game. My friends thought I was getting pretty anti-social when Halo 3 came out. And then I got this. Here's an example of how I have problems battling addictions, especially when new and exciting:

Scene: Happy Hour at Lotus
K Street, between 14th and 15th Streets
Friend: So we're all going to 18th Street Lounge after this, you're coming, right?
Me: Uh, I have plans.
Friend: Oh, where are you going?
Me: Home. TEAM FORTRESS 2!!!!111!!!!11!!***
Friend: ...
Me: Hey, those heavies aren't just gonna buff themselves! Someone has to do it.
Friend: ...
Me: What?
Friend: Why are you such a loser?
Me: Because it's awesome.

I think I have my priorities straight. It's the WORLD that is crazy.


* Sasha is no joke, she can crush you.
** It's not a good idea for me to play video games before going to sleep. I dream that shit and wake up whenever I die, so it is especially non-restful when I dream TF2.
*** Yes, I was looking forward to it that much.

SRT #58

I held in a sneeze for the first time ever over the weekend. All the energy exploded in (what I assume is) my sinus cavity. That shit fucking hurts, why do people do this on purpose?

FYI: From what I understand, I am capable of particularly loud sneezes for someone of my size. It's hereditary. My grandfather, for example, could be heard from across the street while deep within the house, and my mother's sneezes make me want to hit the ground in case the bullets come through the windows.

Bonus FYI: I've never had sinus problems and, if I am remembering correctly from various commercials, the sinus cavity is at the top of the nose. So I'm guessing that's where the explosion occurred. It really fucking hurt. I cannot emphasize that enough.

SRT #56

So I went to the mall to trade in some DS games and get Halo 3. Unfortunately for me, the Kids Foot Locker is right next to the game store I use. On the way from the store to the mall exit, I made the mistake of glancing to my left and seeing these SUPER SHINY SHOES. These pictures do not do the shininess justice. They really are GLORIOUSLY BLINDING.*

Le sigh. Despite the things that make me like these, namely:

1. SHINY
2. GREEN
3. HIGH TOPS,

I think I am going to return them. Even though the dunks that get the most play out of me are my high ones, I don't know if it's worth it to keep these. They are currently in the back of my car awaiting judgement. Do I keep them as an homage to the Catherine that has died? As a rebellion against this creature that loves boat shoes and button down shirts? Do I return them as a potential waste of space in my already Foot Locker warehouse type room? As a concession to this preppy dictator that has made every wardrobe decision for the past six (?) months? What do I do?

I don't know how to feel.


* I apologize for my abuse of the Caps Lock, but I really mean it.

Dear Lord, Grant Me Strength

I have a problem. It's not so much an issue I need to resolve or something that needs to go away, as with many of my friends' problems, but something that I lack. In addition to this, it is not merely a single thing that I lack, but a combination of things that will inevitably lead to my destruction:

1. I have no stuff. Now, plenty of people have this problem. Homeless people, for one, and perhaps monks, and they seem to get along just fine. However, this does not bode well for me as...

2. I have no impulse control. In my profile, I say that I have poor impulse control. This is quite the understatement. I don't even think it qualifies as impulse control. It is a mere whisper of self-control; the vague apparition of an impulse control that once was, but will never be again. Combined with my lack of stuff, it's always dangerous for me to enter any kind of store. Or go on the internet. Or open my eyes. Shit is dangerous. "But how is this harmful?" you ask. Oh, I will tell you, faithful reader. I will. It is...

3. My lack of money.

I'm not broke, but I have places my money needs to go. Like into my car payments, or IRA shit that I don't really get, but I vaguely understand that I will need in order to eat when I am old, decrepit, and unemployed.* I need to eat, and I eat a lot. It can actually be quite obscene. Where does a 115 pound Filipino thing even put that much food? (Answer: In her FUPA.) My car also needs to eat, but he doesn't eat that much (thank God). I really do have few things I have to pay for, and I have never not been able to meet these demands. However, in the past year, I have developed a love of stuff that is new and different. It is not simply a love of shoes (which has also, much to my shame, been altered slightly) but a love of STUFF.

Jackets and jeans and shoes and shirts and gadgetry all at once. It's terrible. It really is. My AmEx card hates me from all the wear and tear it undergoes, but American Express loves me. Or they will when my 0% interest stops at the end of the year. ** I can recite my credit card number/security code/expiration date with no thought whatsoever. I can mime typing these numbers in without a number pad. That is how ingrained often this care is used. They love me so much that they more than quadrupled my original limit. I was horrified at this removal of one spending barrier. It's a slippery slope, my friends. A slippery slope indeed.

I am now known quite well amongst certain circles of my endless string of embargos, which are promptly broken whenever I encounter a new pretty/shiny/awesome thing-that-I-must-have-immediately. A couple of weekends ago it was cufflinks (so awesome!), before that it was more Threadless shirts, preceded by random gadgetry, preceded by a new jacket, preceded by new shoes, and so on. Each of these purchases resulted in my claiming an embargo. None lasted for more than ten days. In fact, after the cufflinks, I declared embargo. This was the last weekend of August. On Wednesday, I ordered a couple of shirts online. (They arrived yesterday. SO FAST! But also too big, alas, they must be exchanged.) So I am declaring embargo again.

OFFICIAL ANNOUNCEMENT
I am on embargo until my car is one year old or when it hits 10,000 miles, whichever comes first. I'm currently at about 9100 miles, but I've been quite stingy about driving lately, so the former option will likely come first. Hopefully, this embargo will take hold. If all goes well, my desires for things will try their best to escape from the confines of my mind, much like starving Cubans brave the terrible sea for the shores of Florida.

Pray for me. And for my wallet.


* Assuming that I actually overcome a set of conditions that makes this a semi-unreachable goal.
** I absolutely refuse to pay interest on anything though. So I must gain control by then.

SRT #50

My knee hurts. It has been known to ache from time to time, usually when there is a sudden shift in the weather a la old person, but not like this. It is as though a tiny knife stabs the joint with every step, so I look like a fool limping around with a pained expression in boat shoes. It wouldn't be so bad if it was a consistent pain. I can deal with such things. The problem is that the tiny knife seems to randomly turn into a Glaive of Eternal Sharpness every once in a while, resulting in what I assume is a shocked expression of pain on my face along with a sharp intake of breathe. I do not exclaim in pain, I simply inhale much more forcefully. Picture this in your head: asian thing, highwaters, boat shoes, pronounced limp, random shocked facial expressions coupled with strange breathing patterns. What the fuck kind of image is that? It is a fucked up one.

I want to rip my leg out.

Dear Jesus,

I have so much shit to do, why must you inflict illness upon me? I ask only for three weeks of health. That is so little. Why must you deny me? If you cannot manage three weeks, I will be OK with one. I just need to do this work and then I can collapse into a heap of tissues and phlegm. If that is still too much to ask, I will settle for four business days. Please. It's all I need.

<3,
Catherine

P.S. If, for some reason, you are feeling especially generous, perhaps you could also find me those Paul Smith shoes at an under $300 price. You know which ones. I eagerly await your response.

SRT #48

I hate public bathrooms. Why are the bodily functions involving the most vulnerability on public display? I'm not leaving stall doors open or anything, but my GOD, can I just get some alone time? I don't need to hear someone else's stream of pee nor the plop of their poo; and if I can hear them, they can hear me. Worst feeling EVER. Ugh. So gross.

Is there a reason why the stalls can't extend from the floor to the ceiling? Was there a shortage of materials? This design flaw accounts for much of my reluctance to use public bathrooms. If these things were turned into actual rooms, I'd be much happier. In addition to the sound aspect, it removes the possibility of being identified via the shoes; and with shoes as bright as some of mine are, this is a very real danger. I can only imagine the ramifications:

FELLOW URINATOR: Someone with bright green shoes was peeing for literally seven minutes. What did she drink and why was it all coming out at once?
URINATOR'S CO-WORKER: What a freakshow.
5 PM at the elevator
FELLOW URINATOR: *whispers* Look! It's the freakshow.
URINATOR'S CO-WORKER: Strange. She doesn't look like a sponge.
ME: :(

So I've never actually peed for seven minutes, but sometimes it really felt like it.* In any case, I do not like that I can be identified during a time that no one needs to be witnessing. I get pee-shy. Don't judge me.

* That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.

ADDENDUM: In discussing the remodeling of offices today, my boss mentioned that he can hear the toilets in the women's bathroom from our small library. I. am. so. self-conscious.

Things My Less-Than-22-Year-Old Self Would Hate Me For

1. I actually said this about my wardrobe/wardrobe preferences: I think I'm more golf than tennis. Ugh. I would have been stabbed.

2. I browsed through Teen Vogue and knew who these fucking designers were.

3. I have a nice collection of Nike Dunks and Air Force 1s that barely get worn anymore.

There are more offences to be listed, but I cannot think of them now. They are behaviors so natural to me that I can't even fathom the young me disliking them, but she definitely would. Perhaps I will elaborate when the mood strikes me. Perhaps I will not. It will be an adventure.

SR(Whenever the Fuck I Feel Like It) #46

1. Lately, I've been waking up thirsty. Sometimes I think I'm diabetic, but I hate going to the doctor. If I am, I won't get treatment until I collapse in a public place from insulin shock or whatever it is that happens to diabetics. Since I wake up thirsty, I grab a quick glass of water before I leave the house if I have time. You'd think I'd do this every day, but with my morning routine, every 30 seconds is vital to catching the bus on time. This morning, I did have that extra 30 seconds. Unfortunately, I wasn't thinking straight and just did not use the filtered tap in the kitchen. I now have the worst aftertaste ever in my mouth. Since this time, I've eaten a bagel with salmon/cream cheese/red onion and drank a Snapple White Tea.* The taste still lingers. So gross. Ugh. I'm really mad not only for this horrible metallic taste, but for the fact that if a boy so much as LOOKS at me, I'll get pregnant. I'm not sure how, exactly, the biology of this works, but something in Maryland water gets girls pregnant. Lucky for me, however, that this is unlikely, as...

2. My boobs have gotten smaller. For anyone who knows me, you'd think this is an impossible task. You are wrong. I am officially a prepubescent boy. Thanks, God. I appreciate it. Are you mad at me? Is it my new...

3. Rating system? A rating system that is the greatest to ever be put into everyday use? Essentially, you begin with, "On a scale of one to Jesus," and end with anything remotely related to religion. For example, no more sales tax in NYC, on a scale of one to Jesus, is God dancing. On the other hand, getting your feet cut off at Six Flags, on a scale of one to Jesus, is the Archdiocese of Boston. This need not be regulated to extremes, however; it can be applied to the average day. My shoes are 2nd tier today. They are not shoes I would kill for, nor are they fuckupables. On a scale of one to Jesus, they are the First Letter to the Corinthians. You can use this for any occasion, for all occasions. Just be prepared for God to punish you in strange/effective ways.


* Real Fact #127: A hummingbird's heart beats 1,400 times a minute.