Another day, another pile of data, and I am completely incapable of staying focused. I’ve gotten next to nothing done today, and have basically given up in favor of writing this entry. Because my slacking-on-the-job segues nicely into writing all about DC  

Sometimes I hate that this is my job. I hate telling people for the entirely shallow reason that I feel as if I should be doing something more with my life. It was always the plan that I was going to go to graduate school in Fall 2006, so when I stumbled upon my original job here, I was thrilled that I’d found something that would actually give me some credentials. I would’ve been happy to get any job, and was expecting to just get some disposable receptionist position or something anyway. And then I got promoted and it was awesome. And then their were layoffs and department eliminations and essentially a demotion.

That sucked a lot. But since I had rent to pay I was grateful to land in this position. There’s been “drama” at work that I’ve already written about a million times, but overall, there are far worse things.

But sometimes, the insecurity  creeps in. When I was in DC, I felt like I should have been doing more with my life this year. Fan is in the Peace Corps and spent a year in Africa. Jamie was in the right place at the right time and has a great job that he loves at a Jewish not-for-profit that does all this great work. Blah, blah, blah, comparing myself to other people. This struck me when we went to pick up Michael’s stuff from a friend’s apartment. There were six or seven of us sitting around, talking about grad school and what we had done in the interim and I felt like everyone else had done something “real” and I’d just been a bum, or something.

So I voiced this to Michael, and his response, beyond being exactly what I needed to hear, was true. “Rachel, remember what you said your goal was when you moved to New York? That you wanted to be more social and more comfortable with people?”

“Oh yeah, I guess,” I said, already feeling better.

“You couldn’t have sat in that room like that a year ago”

And it hit me that he was right, and the rest of the weekend was one big example of how I achieved exactly what I set out to do.

I got to DC on time. Michael met me at the train station, along with Jamie (who I had met once, and liked. He deduced that I was from Bergen County strictly from the information that I was a Jew and a conservative) and Fan (who I met a few times freshman year.) She was a little cold to me all weekend, but it turned out okay based on the fact that I can stand up for myself, apparently, and that I took care of her when she got way too drunk.

Lunch was had (Tryst, in Adams-Morgan), we checked into our hotel, which was AMAZING. Jamie had found this great deal online, and all weekend we were like “Four Star Hotel on a not-for-profit salary, we rule)

We chilled in the room for a while, then went back out to get Michael’s stuff from his friends place. (That’s where aforementioned discussion occurred.)

Saturday night we went out to Georgetown, and met up with Dafna, another Hampshire person. Fan’s boyfriend also joined us, so I wasn’t the only “outsider.” We did lots of browsing/shopping and went to this Mexican place for dinner where we got to sit outside on an upstairs patio. We decided we’d all squeeze into Dafna’s car, so we walked there through streets lined with awesome old houses, telling ghost-story-ish things (the combination of the weather and the settling made it deliciously creepy), saw the Exorcist stairs, drove to a “haunted house” where we touched the door.

Sunday morning, Michael wasn’t feeling well so I went out with Jamie and Fan. I hung out with them all morning and did not feel out of place or self-conscious once. So I can do this sober! We walked past the White House, got hot dogs, went to the American Museum of Natural History, rode the Carousel and played in the fountains at the Smithsonian castle. Michael met up with us to wander across the mall, meander around the Capitol and get lunch. Speculations on the future were made, “how-I-lost-my-virginity” stories were shared, and “what-I-want-to-do-with-my-life” was discussed. I felt like I’d known these people for years. (Well, Michael I have known since we met on the third day at Hampshire and solved the problem of race over lunch.) Then we napped in our blissfully comfortable hotel room. BLISSFULLY.

Around 9:30 we went downstairs to the tiny little courtyard at our hotel and had champagne.

(Oh & sidenote, because this is where I stand up for myself: Before we went out, Fan and I switched purses, due to outfit matching, she said, in the bitchiest voice “not to be rude, but this was $40 and I got it in Paris, so I’m attached to it.” I paused for a second before saying, politely; “Well mine was $60 (lie!) and I got it in Florence, so be equally careful.” She was taken aback. Jamie and Mike were laughing and Jamie was like “I am so glad you sassed back.” So it’s a dumb, lame little thing, but if I hadn’t said anything I would have been annoyed about it all evening. And Jamie, by the way is awesome. He went out of his way to make sure I was included and having a good time, which I appreciated since he and Fan are extremely close.)

Anyway, so champagne. We all made toasts. Mine was “To not taking any shit from anybody.” None of us had eaten, so we were giddy as we proceeded to get sushi. After sushi, Mike went off with Dafna, Jamie, Fan and I checked out the gay scene at Dupont Circle. At the first place, drinks were only $2 and Fan I were the only women in the place, and we sang along to the music, and again, I was impressed with how relaxed I felt (no it wasn’t the liquor!)

Jamie was unimpressed with the eye candy, so we went downstairs and chatted with people at another bar. Fan (who is this cute, tiny Asian girl) was the center of attention. I stuck to chatting to a recently dumped guy about how men suck. You know the drill – broken hearts in a bar love company.

Jamie found a cute boy he liked, so we walked over to another club. My $10 cover charge gave me the privilege of pulling Fan through crowds of sweater, muscular gay men and getting her to the bathroom, because she was violently sick.

Jamie gave me cab money, and I took her back, where the front desk guy helped me walk her upstairs. I know she felt guilt, but I’ve been there done that, so it was fine. And it kind of broke the ice between us.

I spent all day Monday with just Michael, having a relaxing lunch, chilling and talking. We hadn’t seen each other in over a year, which is way too long. Though in some ways, it doesn’t feel like that long, because we stay in such close touch.

So it was in no way the most fun weekend ever or anything,. There were definitely moments during Fan’s L-O-N-G shopping excursions when I was bored out of my mind and my feet hurt and wine. But overall it was exactly the weekend that I needed, and I came home and just felt so good about everything.

And so that was two weeks ago, and that overall feeling of goodness has mostly prevailed. I don’t know. Michael says I sound different on the phone.

And things ARE good. At the beer garden a few weeks ago, CK and I had the type of conversation the two of us always have when we’re drunk. I was drifting towards melancholy a bit, because of everything with the boy drama, because I still have my moments of feeling hurt and sad over that. And he interrupted me and was just like “Fuck that. Rachel. You are going to U Chicago. You have a way out. None of this is going to matter.”

Affirmation from my friends is always amazing, from CK it’s practically priceless. We are very, very similar creatures, possibly more so than anyone I’ve ever met. We spend our time at work either discussing politics, or engaged in our repertoire in which we insult and deride each other. And then we get drunk together and all the walls come down, and seriously, he’s become one of my good friends. Where’d I meet him? At work. Where’d I meet Jill-IAN, who is like, my long lost twin who I :: heart :: to death? At work. Where’d I need Drew? At work (And Drew and I are ADORABLE together.) Where’d I meet the majority of my friends? At work.

When I moved to the city, I didn’t know anyone, really. I was still walking around seeing ghosts and still not over HeWhoShallNotBeNamed. I met all these awesome people through my job, and hanging out with them was always great, and it sounds clichéd, but I guess that’s what gave me the confidence to go out and meet people through other networks. I can’t say I’ve made close friends that way, but I’ve made a lot of acquaintances, and hung out with a lot of people, and now if I WANT to go out and do something, I can. And when I want to go home and watch Law & Order SVU, I can.

And so I may not have a glamorous job, and I may not make a lot of money. But when I go off to school, I’ll have survived a year in New York City, with stories to tell and friends to keep in touch with.

And I think that’s pretty damn good. 

In a little while, I’m leaving for a Brazillian Barbeque Feast with the usual suspects. We are going to eat ridiculous amounts of food and then I’m going to go see a movie with a bunch of strangers. Tomorrow I am going to a lecture and then for coffee with Randroids.

And then on Monday I’m going to write my professors for yes, one more letter. I’ll put together an application by the end of the week; just as one more option.

I am going to see Billy Joel again and I will be bouncy and happy and fan-girly because it is Billy Joel! It is impossible to be sad when there is Billy Joel!

And I’m going to start looking at jobs and rents in DC, even though I am not qualified to do anything. Because I’m just looking. But Michael and I may as well start our presidential campaign early, and he’d make a great housemate.

As I told Lisa last night, as we referenced conversations now six years old ‘I will survive, and then it will be raining men, and then I will make a speech about how my coach, was like, totally influential on my life.”
“Like, totally! Because you have two jobs and do all sorts of volunteer work. And still play soccer!”
“Totally. And woman’s soccer is like, totally important. I am going to campaign to get us more fields!”

I vow that I will not read applying to grad school, who-got-in, or check my status pages. 

So the move in has gone well though I am nowhere near unpacked and the place is not very set up. I’m waiting for Dan to get back from Europe before I do anything with the living room.

I got an early start on Sunday, planning to just wander Manhattan. I hit Fifth Avenue (tax free shopping!) because I desperately needed a belt. I also acquired a dark green shirt, because according to everyone in my office, it’s a good color for me. I haven’t heard that since 7^th grade, but apparently Neil knew what he was talking about.

I walked through Central Park to get to the Museum of Natural History – Thirty blocks is really the perfect walk – and met up with Rome. Admission to the museum + Darwin exhibit = way too expensive, but we justified it as we were doing a good deed and contributing to the advancement of science, or something. I need to dig up my Skidmore ID so I can get student discounts.

The Darwin exhibit was very detailed and quite good. The two large turtles were awake, and fighting each other! Seriously, one somehow picked the other up and slammed him into a rock. They were very cool. The live iguana was merrily asleep, but we did get to see pretty frogs. Also saw the dinosaur floor (dinosaurs are overrated!), the African mammals, and the People of Asia – I was thrilled to see many things Russian. We missed out on the Rocks & Gems (my favorite part of the museum), because it was late and neither of us had eaten.

After the museum, we went downtown to Art Bar for carbs and a few drinks. Back in Astoria, I found a café near my apartment with free wireless and the best espresso I have ever tasted. It was a productive day.

I was awoken at 1 AM, because it appears the radiator in the other bedroom hisses obnoxiously when the heat is on. The whole place reminds me of my grandmother’s house in Fair Lawn, right down to the 1970s tile pattern in the bathroom. The apartment and the neighborhood are very different from my area of Jersey City and that is a good thing.

And the commute this morning was far more pleasant that the PATH. Thirty minutes, door-to-door and I get a seat.  

I need an auto-complete; still haven’t found an apartment, written my Dallas essay, or cleaned my room.

I spent Sunday night laying about, reading the first four books of the Little House on the Prairie set and eating sushi. 

I spontaneously took the train to Ridgewood on Saturday and went to see Brenty. We went to Hillside for ‘quality time’. Our wacky drive was a creative way to Jersey City (Last exit off of Route 4, and then drove through Fort Lee, Edgewater, Weehawken, etc. I believe it’s the Weehawken area where things get creepy; it’s ALL condos and little Sim City enclosed communities along the Hudson. I am sure they are outrageously expensive. Also, that is where Alexander Hamilton and Aaron Burr dueled. (Note to the younger-wiser-sibling: It is unclear whether they were dualists.)

I am reading “Inventing Japan: 1853-1964” because it is only about 200 pages, and I hope it will make up for the fact that I never, ever paid attention or did the reading for the Japan part of “Comparative Politics of India and Japan” two years ago. I remember lots of stuff about India, (SHINING INDIA) but nothing about Japan other than never mix sake with any other alcohol and, regarding the Jews “you guys are alright, but…”

I really, really hope to find an apartment tonight, because I want to go out for Czech food with my co-workers tomorrow. Mmm, Czech food. And Czech beer. I adore Eastern Europe! Blah, blah, blah, debate about whether the Czech Republic is still “Eastern Europe.” You can’t take the Government major out of the girl. Which is why I’m going to grad school, for which I should be writing an essay. …and full circle!

It’s the day that all December applications are due, and all of mine are officially in. I do have to offer up a giant “Fuck You” to Columbia University for their asinine policy of not holding themselves responsible for a huge problem with their online application that froze the recommendation pages, so professors couldn’t upload their recommendations. (This was discovered on Monday. Their basic answer for me was “Well it should have been in already” I am ALL for sending things in early, but if the deadline is December 15, submitting something on the 12th is perfectly acceptable. They didn’t do anything to inform applicants that the system wasn’t working, nor are they accepting documents that get their late as a result. When I checked this mornign, the problem still hadn’t been fixed. (This has apparently been a problem since last Wednesday. I found out about it on Monday. This is plenty of time for them to have informed people to send things by regular mail) So, fuck you Columbia. You should be using Embark like ALL THE OTHER SCHOOLS USE FOR ONLINE APPLICATIONS BECAUSE IT ACTUALLY WORKS.

Grrrr. Anyway. The applications are in. They are out of my hands. Cross your fingers for me.

I’ve just finished Ignorance by Milan Kundera. It was a lovely little novella. What I adore about Kundera is the way in which he seamlessly blends philosophy into his narrative. He is nothing short of lyrical. He uses very little dialogue. He captures a train of thought

This guy I used to know was mildly befuddled by the way my mind worked. The way it was never quiet, keeping me away as it delved deeply into each topic is jumped to – because his mind worked so differently. So one night, when I couldn’t sleep, I just wrote down a train of thought. I used a lot of parenthesis for the asides, in many cases double sets of parenthesis. There’s no way I could explain to someone the way I think. I had to show it by writing down what I was thinking. That’s what Kundera does. There’s very little action, and even less conversation. But you understand so well what’s going on, and why the characters are doing things, because you’ve read their thoughts. This isn’t a unique device, but the way in which he wields it is so insanely…evocative. I don’t necessarily remember the characters names, or the details of the plot, but I remember the asides.

I can’t say I try to emulate him, because I was writing in a long-winded, descriptive style long before I read my first Kundera novel (The Incredible Lightness of Being, which is simply beautiful) but it’s always nice to find an author who has perfected the art of the overwrought. Kundera has also “literary zinged” me, hardcore.

Zing! (Of the Literary Variety)

Grad School Rambling

It was a fabulous, wonderful weekend marred only by the fact that I am returning to work instead of to school. I’ve been out of school for EIGHT MONTHS people, EIGHT MONTHS. Oh well, I’ll be going back at this time next year.

Laura was here visiting her brother, and though she was crunched for time, I got to see her on Thursday, which was lovely as always. We talked and talked, and went to Strand (I’m addicted), and I led her around like a blind lamb to slaughter. It’s only fair – I feel as if I’m carrying on a tradition, of sorts, as I was led around like a lamb to slaughter last summer. (Sebastian, you’re next!). I forget how much I miss her, even if she has become a liberal hippie. We hugged good-bye in the 14th Street Station and went back and forth like typical girls and made plans for my visit to Saratoga next month.

Friday at work, we were all pretty hostile because we weren’t getting a half day like everyone else on the planet, but it was quiet, and most of us were just wasting time online all day. After work I went out with some co-workers for awhile, came home, and read until Michael called.

I met up with Mike’s friend Iwho lives in SoHo. We drank beer whilst waiting for Michael to arrive and talked politics and books and made fun of Mike (who was an hour and a half late) Mike arrived and I bought a round of shots and we toasted to something, I don’t remember. Anyway, there was much merriment and I didn’t get home until 4 AM.

Saturday, Michael and I had quality time, lunch, sitting in Washington Square Park watching the NYU freshman (which I could write a book on in and of itself, it brought back so many weird memories), good-good conversation, stumbling into a table of political philosophy books, wandering aimlessly. We met up with Xina and her boy at the country music bar on the Upper East Side, and it was a fabulous time.

Sunday was recovering from Saturday’s antics

Monday, I went out to Rockaway Beach, which was lovely. It’s no Jersey Shore, but it’s okay. So I got a sunburn on the quintessential last day of summer, but it was just a really relaxing day, and I read a lot, and thought about the summer in my usual reflective way.

And now I’m back at work, and envious of those starting a new semester. Not because I miss college necessarily, but because I miss academia, and I belong in school. I was flitting around Washington Square Park, declaring “I’m enamored with this area, I want to go to school here!” but I worry about NYU’s Poli-Sci program. It’s…limited, to say the least, and while they do have a strong history department, I don’t really want a history PhD.

I am getting more and more serious about going to school in Texas. I mean, clearly I’m not quite cool enough for Manhattan, so why not go to Texas where every bar plays country music? And meet me a nice Southern Gentlemen. (To quote the favorite professor “Uck, forget about New York boys”) Although Brent was teasing that I am not graceful and refined enough to fit in down there. My take is I’ll be the vulgar Yankee girl. I’ll be a novelty. And I do know how to niche market.

.

I’ve mentioned I’m usually in a good mood on Monday. Yesterday, work went by quickly, I spent a productive three hour class period taking obsessive compulsive notes and I got an A on my paper. At break, I hung around with “the smart people’s class” smoking Camels, and then after class we stood around in the hallway talking about how men suck. Sometimes, bonding with other females is good. So I drove home, singing – practically screaming – along with JBJ’s “Saturday Night” because there is nothing better than “hey, hey man, I’m gonna live my life, I’m gonna pick up all the pieces and what’s left of my pride,” when you actually intend to gather what’s left of your dignity and walk on.

Then this morning, I’m driving to work, and “Smile Like You Mean It” is on the radio, and that’s all I’m trying to do. Smiling, because I’ve cried enough, and it isn’t worth it, and I’m better off this way, and I know it. It still hurts, but for once, pride is going to beat comfort.

Save your face

You know you’ve only got one

Change your ways

While you’re young

Two weekends in a row, Mike and I have gone out and toasted to getting burned. We have flippantly tossed back shots, and flippantly tossed out comments to heal and hide our wounds. After four years of not seeing each other, or staying in touch really, I am shocked to realize that despite our very different experiences, we are oddly similar creatures. I am an intellectual – or try to be – he doesn’t read much, and when we were dating he used to tease me not to use words with more than two syllables. I want a PhD. He’s done great for himself with a high school diploma. I am kind of straight-edge, he has stories about walking across the Brooklyn Bridge while tripping at four in the morning. I have kind of dated a Republican. He has kind of dated a stripper.

But he will drag my uptight, serious, straight-edge self out, and get me to relax and have a genuinely good time. And we walk back to the car in Hoboken at three in the morning, and I’m dorking out about how cool the night was, and he’s like “That was a pretty tame night for me actually,” and he still calls me up on Sunday night and says “Want to do this again next weekend?”

My friends are mostly the intellectual type, and like me, most of them would describe themselves as boring. I am still very discriminating in terms of whom I consider a friend – simply, I only choose the best. I love my friends an insane amount, and I haven’t gotten to see most of them lately, and they are on the top of my list of people I need to talk to/see more. But I also need more people who push me to do things I wouldn’t normally do.

Living at home, and being driven to the brink of insanity by an existentialist crises has forced me to say “Ok. I’m going to be living in O-Town for awhile. I’m going to make the best of it.” And as I’m searching for things to do, I’m remembering all these things that I liked to do, and realizing, writing wasn’t the only thing I stopped doing over five years ago.

I said to Brent, tentatively “I used to be a pretty cool person before I dated the Ex,” and he agreed. I used to be fun and not so serious all the time. I used to build and paint sets, and edit an awful literary magazine, and do random things with the Migrating Clique, and do running crew for Onstage shows and so much stuff that I just stopped doing.

Brent says that I am just realizing that I am absolutely free – and it’s terrifying. I never really had a period where I just sat around and got over the Ex and what that relationship did to me, and my life. I don’t regret getting involved in a rebound fling immediately afterwards, but I don’t recommend it. It fucked with my head – and my heart – way too much.

After the Ex’s psychotic rantings to me over his Spring Break, about how I am a worthless, stupid, skank, and that I am so pathetic that he feels sorry for me, I didn’t get upset. I just got mad at myself yet again for staying so long in a relationship that was so obviously unhealthy and emotionally abusive. I can’t blame anyone but myself, because everyone else told me to get out of it. “I feel sorry for you when you’re with him,” Dario told me once. That was years ago.

While I’d hate to claim to be “finding myself”, isn’t that what I’ve basically been doing the past 6 months? “You’re going to remember everything your capable of,” Brent told me. I fill up my life with the Smart People’s History Class and NaNoEdMo, hangover breakfasts and horror movie drinking games, plans for summer tech work and visits to the misanthropes; I watch the old and new begin to blend seamlessly, the hints of a foundation of a new world.

And then when I’m sitting there worrying about what happened on Friday, Mike reassures me “Seriously, don’t worry about it, we all do dumb things when we’re drunk,” the assurance is so genuine I know I don’t have to give it a second thought. I don’t need to over think it – there’s no tortured sub-text.

And while I don’t quite know what that means either, I realize I don’t really think about it much, because I’m too busy having a good time. And I am pretty damn cute when I actually relax.

.

Sentence that I never thought I would say (type): Friday night, I went to Manhattan, had a few drinks, went to a club, danced (like, a lot),
and had an absolutely amazing time.

Mike has been trying to corrupt me since we were about 14, and made it his mission to make sure I had fun doing something other than talking about philosophy or politics, or whatever it was I did for fun in college. We toasted to getting burned, and caught up, and the bartender called me “hardcore” for my ability to take “a triple shot of whatever your cheapest vodka is” without cringing. So my last semester of college WAS good for something.

Saturday was spent recovering. I was exhausted. Mentally 35 years olds such as myself get tired when they act their real age! It’s very uncharacteristic of me. I inadvertedly became the “serious” type in college, buried in books, drowned in coffee, that I don’t think anyone who knew me in passing the past four years would believe that I actually can relax and have fun around the right company.

I’ll never betray my dorky roots, as was proven by the walk back to the car in Hoboken on Friday, but now there is proof of what I always suspected: that I will dance if given enough alcohol.

I spent Sunday being incredibly social, especially if one is to count the post midnight, pre-sleeping hours, but being that it is not tomorrow until you wake up, I qualify that as part of Saturday. Today was breakfast with Keith, coffee with Di, studying with Matt, gettting steak and beer with Kristen to celebrate going to school together an insane amount of years, movie watching with the housemates, voluntarily speaking on the phone for more than 5 minutes, falling into bed exhausted and now NOT BEING ABLE TO FALL BACK SLEEP. I’ve gotten very little sleep in the past few days. It’s affecting my eidetic memory and power of coherence. When I get my act together and start a blog I’m totally using Eidetic in the title.

I need to revise my 3.5 years essay because it’s lacking something and I don’t know what.

I have my list of things I’m going to miss about this place (or rather, people I’m going to miss) but I’m very much looking forward to going home, and seeing my Jersey boys, diner-ing, making Brent buy me drinks with his poker winnings, seeing Ray, who is home from Italy, letting Jon educate me about The City, psuedo-intellectual-Neo-Victorian coffee, etc. While I’m not looking forward to making lattes with my college degree, I’m looking forward to seeing the cafe superheroes and having my day brightened by all the cool booksellers.

I don’t think the fact that I’m done with college is going to sink in until the end of winter break, when everyone at home goes back to school and I stay in O-Town and go insane and speak German and study Wittgenstein and fall further in love with Nietzsche. I’m a really awful Jew. And my family is doing a very Jewish X-Mas this year, with Chinese food, movies, barbecuing, and no tree. This is on request of my father who is the one member of my immediate family that is not 100% Jewish and actually grew up celebrating X-Mas and being raised Protestant. Jewishness, however, has clearly corrupted him because Jews are a powerful, persuasive, and awesome race.

Thirty-ish hours until I’m done with finals. Then, calling up everyone I know to shriek “OMG I’m DONE!”, saying good-bye to people, one more Dunkin’ Donuts/confessional drive evening, packing, probably some crying because endings, good or bad, are naturally bittersweet. I’ll be in Jersey by dinnertime on Wednesday and hopefully in the vapid mobile sometime later that night.

Ten Things To Do in Ten Days

1) Drive my favorite aimless drive route

2) Spend the day hanging around the government department doing work

3) Uncommon Grounds for superior cappucino with Di

4) Confessional Drive

5) Parting Glass with the former reading group

6) Scotty’s with the misanthropes

7) Celebrate graduating with Xina with ridiculously expensive dinner

Trip to Dunkin Donuts after midnight

9) Jersey coffee with Kristen

10) Smoke cloves on my back porch, write insanely long essay on “Three-Point-Five-Years”

Take finals, graduate, pack, drive home

And live happily ever after.

Last night was spectacularly collegiate. I didn’t plan on it, but now I’ve had one last night of stupid, typical college-ness. These are rare for me and I just kind of stumbled in to this one. All the requirements were fulfilled: Vodka shots, black sweater, movie I’d seen 1000 times, Beirut, cheap beer, with people I’d never met before, pizza, walking in the rain, drunken whining, getting a hug from some random guy, having a difficult time operating my cell phone, giggling, smoking more and finally getting sick and passing out. Awesome!

At least I woke up without a hangover!

“And when you dream
You’re seventeen”

I am awake ridiculously early. Too much fun last night.   But I can do that. Because I’m still a college student. For 17 more days!

Edited to add: Getting up so early was for the better. I significantly improved the Tocqueville paper and then went out to breakfast with Xina. After breakfast, we were both wide awake, so we went to the mall. I bought a sweater, and a Christmas present, all before noon. Productivity rules!

My weekend:
Tocqueville, anthems, Dawson’s Creek, crossing things off the list, cows, Camaros, Australian-ness, libertarian prostitutes, meditation on, Bon Jovi, avoiding Skidmorians Exit 17, crack pipes,attempted pizza, 11:45 AM, Nietzsche, drugs, ooh, hot jeans…I’m livin’ it up my last month as a college student.

I think the last time I was this excited to go home was Winter Break (yay for 6 week breaks) at Hampshire, because of all the misery and loneliness

Things here are certainly not miserable. I’ve had my own brand of fun with being political, and learning how to speak relatively articulately, and fun at Christina’s b-day party and then being a belligerent bouncer.

I’m just tired – of the election, of work, of HWSNBN. I’m ready to go home, go for a wacky drive with Brent, and eat diner food (Perhaps some improv-accapella-musical-theater will also be necessary). Plus, maybe I can convince Ryan to do the all-night Black Friday thing this year, because it was so much fun, and gave me great stories to tell. (Pe-king woman, the lady in the green sweater, etc).

I’ve used etc a lot.