back·wards

In a reverse manner or order.

The new Ziploc commercials are all wrong.

They have an Asian family eating with forks and knives, and a black family eating with chopsticks.

ad·ven·ture

An exciting or very unusual experience.

The Nets/Cavs game started at 7. My brother's tutor left at 6:30. We had 30 minutes to get to Continental, after picking up our tickets from the StubHub site at the Sheraton Hotel.

We embarked on our exciting journey with the music up high, playing Track 1 on the Summer Driving CD. Eiffel 65's "Blue (Da Ba Dee)" - because I accidentally introduced it to my brother. I forgot the addictive properties of that darn Eurodance song and had to suffer the consequences of releasing it into the ears of the uncultured... or the unmarred, if you look at it the other way.

So we're on the Turnpike with "Blue" on repeat. My brother's singing "If I were green I would die, I'm gonna beat up a guy." I didn't tell him about the "I was beat as a child" cause I thought, 'Maybe not appropriate.' The song was played over and over until we got to the stadium.

Got lost because of wrong directions given to me by a uniformed man. Parked in the wrong lot at the Sheraton and had to bang on the door of the neighboring office building until the late-night security guard let me in and gave me a parking token. FINALLY got to the game when the 1st quarter was over.

The Nets were down 17. Things looked hopeless. We thought we missed out on the free shirts - "In Kidd We Trust" - but the drunk men next to us handed us theirs. We were part of the crowd that cheered and booed as the Nets caught up to the Cavs in the 3rd quarter. The Cavs had a tiny 1-point lead, but things looked good for the Nets who were on a roll.

After coming back in the 4th, the Nets blew. Nothing went right. Game over.

I'm tired. We got free shirts, at least. LeBron's a bitch.

con·fes·sion

Acknowledgment; avowal; admission.

Mine's not nearly as juicy as Usher's and I'm not talented enough to make a song out of it, but I need to just get this one out there.

Nothing quite gets my blood pumping like the game of PacMan.

I don't know if it's the ghosts, or the fast-paced music, or that chomping noise - but I just get SO nervous every single time I play. I'm a wreck.

bon·er

A foolish and obvious blunder; stupid mistake.

I came home to an outdated driving CD... you know, the one you bop your head to while cruising around town. It was completely unacceptable, so I jumped on the computer to burn a new one for the summer.

Having skipped the double-checking portion of the CD-burning process, I horrifyingly discovered Aretha Franklin's "I Say a Little Prayer" in between Lloyd's "Get it Shawty" and Akon's "Don't Matter". Nasty little shock, it was.

Also, I went to pick up my brother from school after his field trip to the Bronx Zoo today, and the poor kid was covered in a rash from his allergies. Way to forget to give him his Benadryl before sending him off to school, Yuna. I wiped him down and trimmed his nails before taking him to his playdate. At least that was somewhat responsible.

Oh! I just remembered that I forgot to pick up my dry cleaning. Drat. Tally up another boner.

up·grade

A new version, improved model, etc.

There have been some changes in my family's lives recently.

First, it was the new car. Which I simply adore and like to pretend is mine when I cruise around in it. It's our old car minus two doors and two seats... times infinite sexiness. Totally understand the hype about convertibles now.

Now, we have a new nanny. The last one was really no good - she only lasted 5 or 6 months. She gave us another reason to eat out all the time. Couldn't cook or clean! My lord. The new one came today by cab and she's a huge improvement. It's a bit weird cause she's only a year older than my mom, but I'm sure we'll get used to it.

Lastly, the (anticipated) new house. My mom's looking to go BIG this time. One of the homes she's considering is actually 10,000 sq. ft. We're just going to move to the other side of town if our house gets sold. Open house this week! Interested?

Hey, how about a NETS upgrade? That Mikki Moore - can't figure out if he's a douchebag, a really good player or both. I saw what he did to LeBron today. But I also saw those 25 points he made today for the team. Hope they win at Cleveland so there's a Game 6 on Friday!

loss

The state of being deprived of or of being without something that one has had.

Someone was missing from the table this Mother's Day.

Death is horrible.

I can't write poetry, I can't paint, I can't play an instrument well enough to express my emotions in a beautiful way. All I do is sit at my computer, waiting for my hands to type, type away.

I've started a letter that I wish my dad could read. I don't know if it's helping or not.

It's a technique I'm trying out for my book "How to Deal with Death without God". Reserve it now at Amazon.com.

I want to erase those last few moments from my memory. But sometimes I want to remember them forever as clearly as possible.

How do you deal with a loss?

"He's in a better place now."
"He had a good, long life."
"He knows you love him."
"He is with God."

HELP WANTED. FULL TIME ASSISTANT. TO TAKE AWAY THIS MISERY.

I just googled "Dealing with Death" and more than half the results are from Christian sites. Kill me now. How about a search engine that weeds those results out? Like parental control, but... faith control. That's a good idea.

They say that there is no right way to grief, but I think I've found the wrong one. I dream that he's alive ALL THE TIME.

Last entry on this. This is stupid. I'm finding help. Don't worry.

Ignore, por favor.

sweet

Dear; beloved; precious.

Home is so nice.

Thursday, my travel day, was a mess like usual. Because I woke up at 9, instead of at 8, I had only one hour to pack up my remaining belongings, say good-bye to my suitemates, drop off my key at the police station, hand in my final exam at the political science department and lug my two 50-pound suitcases to the bus stop.

I did it!

I got on the T (which randomly stopped at Central for 10 minutes) and got off at South Station (where the escalator was broken). Miraculously made my train and settled into my comfy seat in the quiet cart of the Acela.

HOME! After dropping my brother off at his after-school activity, I washed my car. Just as I was about to head into the house for some r&r, my mom comes out excitedly, waving papers of house listings in the air. (On the way home from Penn Station, my mom had told me that our house was on the market. Thanks for letting me know...) We jumped into her new whip, a sick Mercedes SL550, and took a tour of the "better side" of town.

Picked up my brother, had dinner, started to help him study for his test when I just crashed. He stopped studying and passed out right next to me. F. Huge guilt if he fails this test.

Today... Blue Moon with one Mike C. Manicure in Englewood, cause it was necessary. If necessary manicures ever existed, this was it. I got "Sugar Daddy" - must remember that next time. Drop off my dry cleaning ("Oh! What is this?" "Uh, just... juice, I think... I don't know." I do know.) and head into the city for my interview at WNBC.

Turns out, it's not really an interview... more of a paper-filling-out thing. I went with the NJ bureau instead of NYC because it would give me more opportunities as an intern. The internship coordinator told me that the 10 interns in NYC would be on a rotational schedule. Not fun. I start on the 21st... giving me a little over a week to study for the LSATs.

Pinkberry with Dave H. leads to a trip down to Washington Square Park leads to grabbing a bite at Paquito's on the Lower East Side... 1st Ave. and something. Obviously I kept alert for a possible Lindsay sighting all day.

Back to NJ where I had to entertain guests for another glorious 5 hours. So help me God. Finally, I can sleep. Good night and good luck. I miss everyone from school already.

scan·dal

Damage to reputation; public disgrace.

I'm trying to keep up with the celebrity world while staying on top of my finals. I finally got enough work done to not feel so guilty about writing an entry on Lindsay & Company.

So, News of the World has this article up on their site about Lindsay doing coke in the bathroom of Teddy's. Yeah, we've heard the rumors before and seen the sprinkles of mysterious white powder all over her black attire before, but we have never seen ACTUAL pictures of her snorting coke.

Well, now there is photographic evidence. Apparently, News of the World has their hands on a video given to them by an alleged "friend" of Lindsay's, who said she is ruining Lindsay's life so Lindsay "can't lie about it to herself." Accept the truth, bitch - you are a coke whore. Somehow, I think the message could have been delivered in a... better way by a friend.

I don't know about this website though. They refer to Lindsay as the "21-year-old actress," when we all know that she's turning 21 in July and plans to celebrate in Vegas with her friends. (Ellen this week, duh!) "News" sites should perhaps double-check their information before publishing it.

But you know what this means now. I got to pick up some coke. If there's any hope for me and Lindsay yet, it's through the coke connection. Cause I heard she never pays for it. So if I get enough money to buy enough coke, perhaps I'll have the honor of shoving some coke up her nose and doing some myself on her toilet seat. (Please refer to the News of the World article.) Plus, she apparently strips down every time she does the damn drug. I'm all in.

And PARIS! Jail for 45 days?! Can a more humiliating thing happen to the Hiltons? You know that the Hyatts and the Marriotts got together this weekend to laugh at the mess that is the Hilton family. First, that sex video. Then, being dumped by Paris Latsis for having a bad reputation. Next, that ParisExposed site that showed her making it with fellow-prison-bitch Joe "GGW" Francis and snorting coke off some fat guy. Finally, jail time.

But one thing I have to commend her for. Her maybe MySpace page is private, but the title is visible. BAMF, it reads. Bad Ass Mother Fucker. That you are, Paris. That you are.

waste·ful

Given to or characterized by useless consumption or expenditure.

Just discovered a secret pleasure of mine: running my spare hand through the water stream while brushing my teeth.

Like any other habit, it once served a purpose. I wanted to make sure my brushing hand wouldn't be shocked by the too-hot or too-cold water when it went back for the rinse. But now I'm just indulging myself. I find myself brushing for longer, just to feel that warm flow of water envelop my hand.

dumb

Computers. Pertaining to the inability to do processing locally.

After dropping in on a lot of pointless conversations between people bumping into each other at the library and participating in quite a bit of them myself, I have arrived at a conclusion:

"What's up?" is a dumb question.

"Not much" is the only acceptable answer. Even if you're actually doing much, you say "not much." Questions that lead to only one answer should not be asked.

"Hey!"
"Hey, what's up?"
"Not much, just in the middle of writing my 20-page essay on Confucianism and globalization. What about you?"
"Not much, either. Just rushing off to my final exam. It started like 5 minutes ago. I'll catch you later."
"Yeah, good luck!"
"You too."

It's a pointless question because we all know the answer. You may argue that it isn't pointless because it gets the ball rolling for those quick conversations. But I have written extensively on this topic before. Try: "How's your day?", "Have you had lunch yet?", "Are you healthy?"... all perfectly acceptable and better than "What's up?"

learn

To gain (a habit, mannerism, etc.) by experience, exposure to example, or the like.

I'm in the middle of this 10-pager for Philosophy of Law right now. It has something to do with John Austin, H.L.A. Hart and Ronald Dworkin.

It's terribly frustrating because I have typed "Dworkin" about a hundred times now, and every single time, I accidentally type "Dworking" and am forced to stretch my pinky out into No Man's Land and press that blasted backspace button.

Dworkin. Dworkin. Dworkin. That "g" comes so damn naturally to me. "-ing."

I'd be horrible at typing up rap lyrics. Rolling down the street. Smoking on gin and juice. How uncool.

will

1. Power of choosing one's own actions.
2. Wish or desire.

I am going to practice sobriety. It's going to be hard, but I am going to do it. At least for the next month. Not a single drink.

I am so sick of myself and my actions when I am drunk.

I don't know when to stop. I create problems for others. Alcohol is going to ruin my life if things continue this way. I don't want it to control me.

It's the first drink that leads me to have the second one, which leads me to the third one, and so on - so I need to stop it at the source. Not even one drink is allowed.

I feel so weak right now. It's sad to say that alcohol is probably my greatest passion right now. I need to cut it from my life and adopt healthier desires.

I am writing this on my blog so I can apologize to those that have been impacted by my drinking, in any degree. I am also writing it here so I can receive some help from my friends. As I said, I feel terribly weak right now, and I don't think I can do this without your cooperation.

Please don't offer me a drink. Please stop me from pouring myself a drink. If you find me with a drink in my hand, please take it away.

Thank you. Let the month of sobriety begin.

de·lu·sion

A fixed false belief that is resistant to reason or confrontation with actual fact.

Mistake after mistake hasn't taught me otherwise. That maybe things don't always work out in the end, the way I wanted.

I'm going to get myself in an ocean of trouble if I keep believing in this fiction. And I'll be in a lake of disappointment, too. Maybe even a pool of tears. And a bathtub of sweat.

Looking for a good doctor in the NJ/NYC area if you know one. Please contact me.

guts

The bowels or entrails.

Oh! Wikipedia's entry on "Nickelodeon GUTS" has a special section titled "Famous Contestants."

Look at this:

In 1992, Backstreet Boy A.J. McLean appeared on GUTS, finishing with the silver medal. He was in blue and referred to on the show as "AJ 'Mean' McLean". He had one event win during his appearance, that being a win in the Slam Dunk event.

Some people just get all the luck. How come I've never been in a boy band or on a Nickelodeon game show?

Moral: Life is unfair. Surprise, surprise!

Oh God. Oh God. After some more Wikipedia-ing, I learned that Mike O'Malley, the host of GUTS, is the deadbeat dad on Yes, Dear, that mediocre sitcom that runs on TBS all the time.

And Mo's real name is Moira Quirk (yeah, I know, wtf?!). The article on Wikipedia claims that she was called "Quirky" on two episodes of GUTS. Oh! And she does a voice for My Life as a Teenage Robot, this Nickelodeon show that's not all too bad. (She also does stand-up. Check this out on YouTube.)

leg·a·cy

Anything handed down from the past, as from an ancestor or predecessor.

I don't know about other bloggers, but I write up entries cause I'm terribly vain. It satisfies my need to leave my imprint on this earth. I'm guessing I probably won't end up with my own holiday, but at least you'll be able to type in my name and read the details of my personal life for years to come.

That's what we're all trying to do, right? Leave our unique legacies? What gives our lives any special significance if we exit without a trace?

Seung-Hui Cho probably knew the approximate magnitude of the impact he would cause. The content of the videos sent to NBC News can be submitted as Evidence A, in case there are any doubts.

Our footprints remain on the Internet more prominently than anywhere else, I believe. Your cell phone gets disconnected. Your belongings are tucked away or chucked. But what the Internet gathers is, for the most part, left alone. Unless a loved one makes the effort to remove all your information from the Web by writing to all the right people, your shit stays.

There's been some digging done by investigators of Cho's computer. The New York Times ran an article on Friday that detailed accounts of some of his Internet activity. His AIM screen name: SpankyJelly. His eBay identity: Blazers5505. His screen name turns up nothing on Google, but "Blazers5505" gives you about 10 results that give you a little peek into his life.

Looking at his eBay member profile, we see that he had a Feedback Score of 64, with 98.5% Positive Feedback. Only 1 member had left him negative feedback, remarking that: "i never received my ticket."

What does this say about him? When you Google me after my death, you'll see that I supported the Tufts Academic Freedom Project back when I was a silly freshman. I participated in a anti-racism protest as a even-sillier middle-school student. I raised a decent sum of money for my school's Relay for Life event. You'll see that I was part of a cyber-Harry-Potter community... sike. (I discovered this the other day and fell off my chair, laughing. It's a role-playing site where you create your own "Harry Potter" character and... shit. They call it "The Hogwarts Experience.")

That's, of course, assuming that you're able to weed out the other Yuna's. The one that's a professional manicurist for high-fashion magazines. The one that's a fictional character of this awesome book, "The Yankee Girl: A Korean Girl's Journey to Find Herself". I did a little bit of research on this creation and saw that it had been printed by an online publication company called iUniverse. Seems like anyone can get published nowadays.

Anyways. Isn't a bit freaky that this information lasts while YOU don't? The Internet doesn't recognize your death! You live on and on in the cyber-world. Which, I guess fulfills my immature need to have an immortal existence to some degree. But is this what I really want? I just find it freaky. When I die, someone hack into my Facebook and delete me immediately. I don't want to be get Poked while I lay in my coffin - pretty much dead.

leaf

One of the expanded, usually green organs borne by the stem of a plant.

The last two to three weeks have been the toughest of this semester and maybe even of my entire academic career. And I definitely brought the difficulty on myself to some extent.

I'm done with major assignments until finals start. Tomorrow, Marissa and I are leading a group of kids around for Kids Day starting at 8:30 A.M. Once that's over, I'm giving myself a huge break. Start getting some sleep, taking some showers, eating non-ramen meals... and catching up on my class readings.

I just need some rest and I'll be all good.

con·cern

Worry, solicitude, or anxiety.

My hometown, located in Bergen County, NJ, is an area known for being the residence of many South Koreans. There is a "K-Town" located 5 minutes from my house and Korean restaurants are numerous throughout the county.

I found these two posts on the WHO HAS BEEN A VICTIM OF RACIAL PROFILING SO FAR? discussion board on the Facebook group, A tribute to those who passed at the Virginia Tech Shooting.

Two local Korean high school students from Bergen County, NJ, wrote about their negative experiences from today, in the aftermath of the VA Tech shooting.

Alice Kim (Tenafly High School) wrote 33 minutes ago
i was at my town's bagel shop...

and i was in line.
all of a sudden, this drunk[assuming from the stench] dude comes from the back and just bumps into my shoulder.
and do you know what he says as he passes by??
"Gosh. Oriental these days. There's so many of them to form an army. WITH CHO TO LEAD THEM!"
wtf/

David Sul (Fort Lee High School) wrote 27 minutes ago
came back from A&P--

many unpleasant stares towards me..
i was wearing a long, rain jacket and everyone's looking like i got some gun under it.
lots of hostility from the elderly =/

I understand the hatred that is brewing for the killer, Cho Seung-Hui, right now. And people may erroneously displace their feelings of resentment onto those who resemble him and share his racial background. That does not mean that their behavior is excusable. Everyone needs to be careful about his or her actions for the sake of avoiding a post-9/11 situation. Please do not allow what unfortunately occurred to the Muslims to happen to the Koreans.

South Korea currently has the most number of active students studying in the United States. It has had this position since at least 2005. If you check out page 17 of this December 2006 quarterly report offered on the Immigrations and Customs Enforcement website, you will see that South Korea has 93,728 active students in the United States right now. This is 14.9% of all the foreign active students in the country.

The United States has provided excellent opportunities for a great number of Korean and Korean-American youths. Help stop the prejudice against these innocent students. They just want to study!

Do your part by speaking up for students like Alice Kim, who admits that she was speechless after hearing the comment. She says, "I was also embarrassed, cause it was a HUGE line and everyone was just looking at me.."

We were just starting to hit it big! With a winning contestant on "Survivor" and a contestant currently on "The Apprentice." It's not the right time to make a giant leap backwards.

se·ri·ous·ly

With genuine, earnest intent; sincerely.

Motherfucking Fred Phelps. Are you kidding me?

If you're not familiar with Fred Phelps and the WBC, allow me the honor of introducing you to him and his cult.

Fred Phelps is that crazy, white guy who leads his own church called the Westboro Baptist Church. Its membership is around 100 and almost all of the followers are related to Fred Phelps. If you don't know him by name, you probably know him by his work. He's the one who praised God for delivering the tsunamis. He was the asshole at Laramie, celebrating the death of Matthew Shepard. He is the one who caused multiple states to actually ban protesting near funeral sites.

Fred Phelps is anti-homosexual. His whole WBC creed is practically built upon his anti-homosexual beliefs. He has condemned the majority of this country's occupants to hell for embracing and "enabling" homosexuality to breed. America is a gay-loving country, he says. He actually believes that almost all of the world's tragedies is linked to homosexuality. His official web site title says it all: God Hates Fags.

Marvelous Fred Phelps plans to preach at the funerals of those students who were killed in yesterday's shooting. His plans were posted on his other website, God Hates America. Facebook groups have already started showing up on the radar in protest of this. The biggest one is named Stop Fred Phelps and WBC from protesting at Virginia Tech.

Fred Phelps. You hate Sweden. You hate Canada. You hate the Jews. You hate Roman Catholics. But showing up at the funerals of these poor students? Even you must draw the line somewhere. From his site:

WBC will preach at the funerals of the Virginia Tech students killed on campus during a shooting rampage April 16, 2007. You describe this as monumental horror, but you know nothing of horror -- yet. Your bloody tyrant Bush says he is 'horrified' by it all. You know nothing of horror -- yet. Your true horror is coming. "They shall also gird themselves with sackloth, and horror shall cover them; and shame shall be upon all faces, and baldness upon all their heads" (Eze. 7:18).

Why did this happen, you ask? It's simple. On April 16, 2007, this nation, through the offices of your military and conspirators therewith took a shot at the servants of God -- your marksman was limp and lame and he had terror all around, so he did a lousy job. But what you get for your trouble is that your God shot at you! The LORD your God sent a crazed madman to shoot at your children, and he didn't miss. Get this straight -- God sent this South Korean madman to kill 31 of your children at Virginia Tech. Was God asleep while this took place? Was He on vacation? Of course not. He willed this to happen to punish you for assailing His servants.

Fucking Fred Phelps. 77 years old. Retire and take a cruise. Choke on a hot dog. Move to Australia. For once, understand your limits and don't bother us!

back·ground

One's origin, education, experience, etc., in relation to one's present character, status, etc.

I, like many other curious bloggers, am digging around online to learn more about Virginia Tech killer, Seung Hui Cho.

Monkey Types the Bible links to two of the plays Cho had written as an English major student. They are titled "Richard McBeef" and "Mr. Brownstone". If you have 5 minutes, check it out. They're really short and super disturbing.

Smoking Gun summarizes the contents of "Richard McBeef":

Cho's bizarre play features a 13-year-old boy who accuses his stepfather of pedophilia and murdering his father. A copy of the killer's play can be found below. The teenager talks of killing the older man and, at one point, the child's mother brandishes a chain saw at the stepfather. The play ends with the man striking the child with "a deadly blow."

"Mr. Brownstone" is about a typical group of high school punks hating on a teacher of theirs. There's a strong sense of resentment for authority. The students in the play want their teacher dead and even speak of killing him themselves. "He's like a parasite. He lives off of the misery he inflicts on us."

One of his English teachers had recommended him for counseling, after reading some of his poems that were especially violent and and angry. In fact, the teacher, Lucinda Roy, took him out of her class and privately tutored him because she was so worried about his mental health. She kept asking Cho to seek counseling. When he refused, she went to the police, to the counselors and to student affairs, but was told she could not force anyone to go in for counseling. (Picture on the right is of Lucinda Roy, taken from Educause)

Visit ABC News for further analysis of his English writing assignments.

He was an English major and he only wrote 8 pages for his suicide note? You'd think he'd indulge, seeing as it is his moment to shine. The exact contents of the note have yet to be released to the public, but there have been whispers on the Web. AP reports, "Va. Tech gunman writings raised concerns":

A law enforcement official who read Cho's note described it Tuesday as a typed, eight-page rant against rich kids and religion. The official spoke on condition of anonymity because he was not authorized to speak to the media.

"You caused me to do this," the official quoted the note as saying.

Cho indicated in his letter that the end was near and that there was a deed to be done, the official said. He also expressed disappointment in his own religion, and made several references to Christianity, the official said.

The authorities are now looking into his other writings.

filth

offensive or disgusting dirt or refuse; foul matter

A comment found on The Jawa Report... (The blogger was writing about the possibility of Seung Hui Choi being a Muslim, based on the words "Ismail Ax" inked on his arm.)

muslim or not, it is imperative that the honorable students of virginia tech take immediate steps to purge their school of the remaining korean filth in their midst.

what more proof does it take that allowing these subhuman foreigners in with permanent visas is eroding our social and moral fabric and just allowing scum to continusly rape and murder our children.

go home dog eaters or we will send you home feet first.

(If you're interested in the analysis of the words "Ismail Ax," I recommend that you check out Nick Queen's blog.)

My mom was just warning me to stay in and not go to class today. I laughed, but maybe it was too soon. In New Jersey, apparently, there are Korean kids taking the day off today. Better to be safe than sorry - a lesson the Virginia Tech administration needs to learn.

Info on Mr. Cho, from AM New York:

The English major from Centreville, Va., a rapidly growing suburb of Washington, D.C., came to the United States in 1992, an investigative source said. He was a legal permanent resident.

His family runs a dry cleaning business and he has a sister who graduated from Princeton University, according to the source.

Sounds so typical. Such an average Korean-American family. Ha, I was telling my friend that if he had a sister, she was going to have a very tough time getting married. Korean rule: marry into a good family.

Investigators believe Cho at some point had been taking medication for depression. They are examining Cho's computer for more evidence.

The gunman's family lived in an off-white, two-story town house in Centreville.

"He was very quiet, always by himself," neighbor Abdul Shash said of the gunman. Shash said the gunman spent a lot of his free time playing basketball, and wouldn't respond if someone greeted him. He described the family as quiet.

Or... not. I hate to say this, but it's scary to know it's a Korean guy. I'm Korean, for God's sake. The fact that we have anything in common is uneasy to me, I guess.

By the way, the girlfriend of his that allegedly cheated on him? 18-year-old Emily Jane Hilscher? There's a Facebook group dedicated to her. Search for "Why Emily Hilscher was cooler than me". Also, there's a group called "A tribute to those who passed at the Virginia Tech Shooting" that has a bunch of interesting discussions going on. It's annoying cause the administrator keeps moderating and censoring, but it's definitely worth a look.

sav·ior

A person who saves, rescues, or delivers.

Or in this case, a piece of cyber jargon. All hail the "haha."

The same one that saves us from those awkward conversations with people who are nuts, boring or a little bit of both. Nothing else can send a message of such ambiguity with clearer clarity.

When in doubt, rely on the "haha."

rest·less

Unquiet or uneasy, as a person, the mind, or the heart.

We were watching Ghost. I fell asleep and was woken up at around 2. Tried to move the party into my room and it didn't happen. I've been up ever since.

• Wrote another pathetic blog entry.
• Checked out the Facebook profiles of all those listed on my Newsfeed.
• Beat my Tetris record.
• Watched Arrested Development.
• Refreshed my browser over and over, praying that X17 would update with some exciting news.
• Read the away messages and profiles of all those on my buddy list.

Okay. I'll try bed again.

o·ver

Ended; done; past.

All our hard work came together for this weekend's Relay for Life at our school. The committee was practically all new, but we did a pretty fine job. There was a little bit of an issue with the Luminarias ceremony because the accompanist couldn't really read the music with all the lights off. There were 5 of us holding glow sticks and cell phones by the sheets as she tried to play. Oh well. It was fine.

Unfortunately, we didn't raise as much money as we did last year. But we hit $70,000, I think. Thanks to you guys (my friends and family), I was able to contribute $530 to that number. Next year, I really want to step it up and double that. I hope I'll be able to work on the committee again next year.

Team Sarabande was really great. One of the few teams to stay for the entire time, from 6 p.m. to 6 a.m. Katie and Marissa helped me set up the Luminarias around the track. One of my fellow committee members commented on how fantastic my team members were. I'm so thankful for my friends.

I just wish the other teams stuck around for longer. College students seem to take the 6-to-6 thing as a suggestion. They stay until it's time for bed or, better yet, until it's time to drink. I mean, yeah, it's great that they raised money for the cause, but Relay for Life is about more than just that.

When I first signed up to be on the committee, I was handed examples of closing ceremony procedures. Included was a script that was intended to be read by two committee members. It went a little something like this:

Participant: Man, am I tired; I stayed up all night. I would love a nap.
Survivor: Did you know when I was in treatment, I was so tired I always needed a nap?
Participant: I cannot wait to go home and take a shower. I am especially looking forward to washing my hair.
Survivor: Did you know when I was going through chemo, all of my hair fell out?
Participant: Wasn't the good at Relay great! I just loved it; tasted so wonderful!
Survivor: Did you know when you are going through chemo everything tasted like metal?

After reading this, I laughed out loud. Like this was necessary! It seemed unnecessary and almost inappropriate. I discarded the script without much thought.

But when I saw the hordes of students filing out of the area only halfway into the event, I had the urge to jump on the microphone and read out the script. How could people just up and go from this event? They told me they wanted to sleep in their own comfortable beds. They were so tired and they had ____ to do the next day.

Well, come on, we have a long weekend! You have an extra day to party and sleep in.

And part of the reason for the Relay for Life event is to experience a tiny fraction of the absolute hell cancer patients go through during their treatment. You healthy college students can't even camp out in an indoor arena for 12 hours? We already provide the entertainment, the food, the raffle prizes as incentives for staying. We abbreviate the event; it's usually an 18-hour thing, but we only do 12. Suck it up.

It's just really upsetting for me. It's so damn disrespectful. I can't forget how miserable my dad was during chemotherapy. More than twice the ages of our participants and he went through it all. He did. And so do so many other people. The least we can do is...........

I don't know. I am just really sad right now. Relay for Life was good. Maybe I'm being too critical. I wish people would show a little more respect.

throw·back

An act of throwing back.

From my August 6, 2003 blog entry...

ok ok. so the other day i did something really stupid. totally by mistake.

this girl asks me how to do this math problem.

there are 2 birds. 1 flies away. how many are left?

2 - 1 = ?

very simple right? to show her, i say "2 birds" and stick up two fingers. then i say... "1 flies away" and put down one finger. guess which finger was left standing. yep, thas right.

so i decide to cover this action up. just maybe she didn't see it. so i very wisely say, "oh shit."

good job yuna.

at least i haven't missed work again.

e·pit·o·me

A person or thing that is typical of or possesses to a high degree the features of a whole class.

God is the ultimate cock block.

I always tried to come up with the feminine equivalent of the "cock block." Vaj cage, box block, pussy wall-o... Ha, I'm lying. I just came up with all three of those right now. That's why they're so sucky. But I really have tried in the past to come up with a catchy term that girls could use.

But it struck me that there really is no need for a female version of the "cock block." Cause once the cock is blocked, the transaction is over. Done deal.

Cock A is approaching Vagina B. Cock A is blocked. Cock A gets none, Vagina B gets none.
Vagina B is approaching Cock A. Vagina B is blocked. Vagina B gets none, Cock A gets none.

The conclusions are the same, no matter who approaches who. So when there are sexual dealings being blocked, it really doesn't matter whether we put the label on the Cock being blocked or the Vagina being blocked. One label will suffice.

And since "cock block" is so darn catchy, we'll just stick with that one. (Unless you think pussy wall-o is not bad. Cause I don't. Let me know.)

con·fu·sion

Disturbance of consciousness characterized by inability to engage in orderly thought or by lack of power to distinguish, choose, or act decisively.

Oh no.

I don't know.

One more week. I'll figure it out.

scared

To become frightened.

My feelings fuck with me and mess me up.

Quite possibly my biggest secret. And my greatest source of embarrassment. I don't know how to deal with it.

Is that why I'm feeling so weird this week?

in·sa·tia·ble

Incapable of being satisfied or appeased.

I hate not knowing what's making me feel this way.

Perhaps:

- I need to find God.
- I'm doing the wrong major.
- I was accidentally born a female.
- I need a vacation.
- I should go to the gym more often.
- I want a boyfriend.
- I surf the Web too much.
- I miss my family.

Or. Perhaps I just need to suck it up.

dif·fer·ence

An instance or point of unlikeness or dissimilarity.

In high school, I used to drink by myself and smoke by myself because... I was stupid. Probably. Just for fun. I like being not sober. With the added risk of getting caught by my parents, it would be even more fun!

Here I am. Presumably, a wee bit more wiser. (Also a lot more fatter and a lot less cuter, but we'll deal with my self-image issues some other time.) I'm a junior in college now. I have paper deadlines that are coming up and events that I need to help organize.

I have a drink in my hand. And it is no longer cause it's risky and forbidden. No one's going to catch me in here with my drink and yell at me. Kat might. But she's sleeping now, so most likely not.

milk

To press or draw milk from the udder or breast of.

Oh, no one is going to like me tomorrow. I have all these stupid notes filling up your News Feeds on Facebook. I promise to stop before dawn.

Milk. Let's milk my sorrow for all its worth. What's filling the bucket? Blog entries.

Unfortunate that dorms don't come equipped with wine cellars. I would thoroughly enjoy starting my own wine collection here at Tufts. The only problem would be that I would try to bust into the suckers before they peaked.

We can solve that little problem by getting many much bottles of wine. So the good ones would be in the back and I'd be too eager to drink to dig them out. I'd reconcile with whatever's at arm's reach.

My mom loved drinking wine in January and now I see why. We did wine too over Winter Break. A few bottles of white and red, actually. But we also had Bailey's and vodka (you know it) mixed into our diets, as well. I think I'm going to stick with wine for a bit.

NO.

Lies. Sorry. Not true. Grey Goose got your girl feeling loose. Like I could ever abandon my dear friend V. Psh.

pre·tend

To make believe.

I read a long time ago that the best blogs should be anonymous. Yes, your readers should know who you are, as in where you're coming from, in relation to the material on your blog, but it shouldn't be as if all your friends and family know that DepressionTractor at Blogspot is you.

I don't feel like fucking looking up the goddamn site I read that on. I'll get it later.

Let's work with that, though. Yes, these entries alllll go to Facebook. So you pretty much know: Yunaversity = Yuna.

But let's give this a try, shall we? Let's pretend that you don't know it's me. Humor me. Just for a few days. Kthanks. (Whoever created that was a genius. Assertion with no chance of rejection whatsoever. Can you squeeze in a word in between "K" and "thanks"?)

typ·i·cal

Of the nature of or serving as a type or representative specimen.

Putting myself in a position of information overload to escape the dreadfulness of my own life.

Why, Yuna?

Why are you so obsessed with Lindsay Lohan? Why do you spend all your time on the computer checking out websites? Why are you trying to get so involved in everything? Why are you all over the fucking place?

Hope you figured it out. I left you a shitload of breadcrumbs to follow.

Can't go to bed. Can't read. Can't let myself think for even a second or I'll crash.

My life is a mess. And he's not here to clean it up for me, as always.

I do not like this at all. Weak, weak, weak. Pathetic, useless tears. Senseless. Ah, if only tears could bring back our loved ones like in Sleeping Beauty.

Maybe I shouldn't be at school. Maybe I should be in my bedroom at home.

Alcohol = so easy. Forgive me.

se·cret

Something that is or is kept secret, hidden, or concealed.

Since I'm lacking a postcard to send into PostSecret...



Old people often make me mad. If my dad couldn't make it, how and why did you?

long

Requiring a considerable time to relate, read, etc.

I had a love/hate relationship with those surveys that always got sent around AOL back in the day. You know what I'm referring to. The ones that were ridiculously long and asked you things like:

Do you smoke? Only the Mary Jane! :)
Have you ever had sex? Twice with myself, but that's pretty much it.
Favorite fruit? Mario Cantone of Sex & the City fame! LOL.

Yadda yadda. I'm guilty of wasting time filling those out. They're just so damn irresistible in high school... when you are already so preoccupied with yourself and looking for any excuse to advertise yourself to a large audience.

So, being the attention-whore that I am, I loved writing in my oh-so-clever responses to all 29830 questions. But I always got stuck on one question. Always the same damn question.

Are you an introvert or an extrovert? ...

Alright. Let's delve into this question a bit.

We can define "introvert" and "extrovert" as "a shy person" and "an outgoing person," respectively. That's really not exciting because then this entry would be over right about now.

But let's use Dictionary.com's secondary definitions for both of these words.

introvert. Psychology. A person characterized by concern primarily with his or her own thoughts and feelings.
extrovert. Psychology. A person characterized by extroversion; a person concerned primarily with the physical and social environment.

The dictionary tells me that these two make up an antonym pair, but I strongly disagree. And so does my 13-year-old self. I could never make up my mind when I got to this question cause I thought I was being forced to make an unfair decision. It's like... Are you a pillow or something soft? Are you a good cook or a good eater? There's an overlap there that makes the question unanswerable.

Don't jump on me for looking over the word "primarily." Fuck "primarily."
1) It could be a 50/50 thing. Always 50% introverted, 50% extroverted.
2) Sometimes, you could be "primarily" into yourself, and at others be "primarily" into your surroundings.

#1: I honestly feel that it is possible to be both an introvert and an extrovert, even with the strict, secondary definitions of both terms. Can your own thoughts and feelings ever be completely disconnected from your surroundings? (Unless you are on such a huge fucking trip that you can't even begin to process the environment you're in.) All my thoughts are definitely evoked by objects that I encounter through any of my five senses. When I'm thinking about how pissed off I am, I'm thinking about the thing that's pissed me off. When something's got me really sad, I think about the thing that has made me sad.

#2: OK. If you didn't accept that last argument, what about this: I told you already that I'm a huge attention-whore. I love having the limelight shine on me when I'm hanging out in a big group. But, sometimes I just want to be very much alone. I'm sure everyone has these tendencies. I just think that I am a good case study cause I do so often jump from one extreme to the other. So in this case, what is the dealio? Which of the two am I?

Any excuse to talk about myself. I'm ashamed. Night.

ought

(Used to express justice, moral rightness, or the like).

Have you ever played one of those games that allows you to personalize your character based on a number of points? There's a bunch of them, but right now I have one specifically in mind. I'm probably the only sicko that spent 2 hours on the computer playing this game on Ebaumsworld... the one where you have to score with that Japanese girl? It used to be on the website but they seem to have taken it off. It's a damn shame cause it was a fine game, it was.

Oh, I just found the name! Sim-Girl! And they didn't take it down, they just renamed it... to Sim Day and Night. That's just a ridiculous name that really doesn't describe the game at all. They describe it as: 24 hour life simulation. Work, study, party all night, meet people! Eh, not really, all you're trying to do is have sex with Tomoko, the local hottie.

Please don't judge me for playing the game until you get into it yourself. It's a really good game, I promise you.

So there's this screen where you're given 27 points that can be added to your character's Strength, Knowledge and Charm levels. This is nothing innovative. I'm sure you've run across this before, right?

Well, I was thinking that life should be that fair. Life should be as just as Sim Day and Night. All humans should be given a certain amount of points that could be distributed to certain levels: Beauty, Intelligence, Charm, Wealth and Sense of Humor. Everyone should get 100 points to split amongst those five categories. You could opt to have 100 Beauty and 0 everything else, or 20 of each. The possibilities are endless, for fractions would totally be allowed.

In such a world, no one would feel inadequate to another person. Oh yeah? She's really pretty and smart? Well, you can bet that she's dirt poor, unfunny as shit and has less charisma than the average taxi dispatcher. She's one rich bitch? Well, she sure as hell ain't got the looks, smarts, charm or sense of humor.

You may have found a problem with my little world already. A girl who is gorgeous and intelligent must run into some amount of money sooner or later. And a woman with that much money would have the option of getting comprehensive plastic surgery.

Ah, but you see - this is where my hypothetical world lines up with the real world. As that gorgeous, intelligent girl runs into a sum of money, she dumbs down because she no longer has to use her brains to get her ahead. In the case of the affluent lady-beast, she would have to undergo so many expensive surgical procedures to get her to look decent. So as her Wealth goes down, the Beauty would rise in equal degree.

Real world seems to have a way of making these kinds of things even out quite well, in certain cases. Unfortunately, life is not a complete adaptation of Sim Day and Night. We meet people who seem to have 100 points in each of their levels, and others who seem to be getting by with only 10 split across the board. Some people do have it all and some people have nothing. We try to console ourselves by convincing each other that this maxim holds true - that everyone has problems.

But, we all know that's bullshit.

Happy Passover!

whack

To strike with a smart, resounding blow or blows.

My dreams are all wiggidy whack. Scratch that part in the last entry about not getting enough sleep, by the way.

stark

Sheer, utter, downright, or complete.

Sorry about that last entry. It was way too long. I'll spare you this time.

I think I need to get on ADD/ADHD medication. Things have gotten far worse for me. It's always been a mild problem for me in my social life because I don't (or can't) give my friends the amount of attention I want to. Like many other ADHD-ers, I learned to deal with it. But now I believe that it is also affecting my academics.

I just could not deal with Philosophy of Law today. I had to move constantly. I was adjusting and readjusting my ponytail. Taking a look at all the students on the academic quad. Looking at the bags of all the kids in the class. Examining my arms and hands. I was bouncing in my chair, shaking my head, playing with my hands. The kids behind me probably thought I was legit crazy.

It's not like I have a crazy amount of energy that I have to release. I am running on 4-5 hours of sleep a night. It's been like this for about 2 weeks. There were about two days I indulged in 7-8 hours, but that was pretty much it. I am far too hyperactive for a person getting as little sleep as I am.

Lack of sleep + hyperactivity is really starting to take a toll on me. I crashed after my last class today. I feel like I can't go to the gym because I might pass out on the cardio machines or drop heavy equipment. I might just be freaking out for no reason, but this is how I feel. And I feel this way because of the disorder, I think.

Oh shit. I promised a short entry. I'll leave you with...

Fun Facts about ADHD, courtesy of Wikipedia!

• ADHD initially appears in childhood and manifests itself with symptoms such as hyperactivity, forgetfulness, poor impulse control, and distractibility.
• There are indications that children with ADHD are metabolically different from others,and it has therefore been suggested that diet modification may play a role in the management of ADHD.
• Social critics are skeptical that the diagnosis denotes a genuine impairment or disability.
• There must be clear evidence of significant impairment in social, school, or work functioning.
• Rather than assuming that ADHD is inherently negative, some argue that ADHD is simply a different method of learning as opposed to an inferior one.
• Most frequently cited as potentially useful is the mental state of hyperfocus.
• JetBlue Airways founder David Neeleman ... considers ADHD one of his greatest assets and refuses to take medication.

For more, visit: "Attention-deficit hyperactivity disorder" on Wikipedia.

torn

Disrupted by the pull of contrary forces.

I always feel the need to pick sides in celebrity feuds. I guess it all started with Britney and Christina. I picked Britney. Then there was Lindsay and Hilary. Obviously, I went with Lindsay.

Those were the important ones. But it didn't stop there. I joined LC's camp during that whole Laguna Beach crap. And I stuck with LC even when Heidi turned on her for that no-good boyfriend of hers.

Unfortunately, we haven't had any really exciting feuds in a while. I mean, of course, Jay-Z always has beef with someone and who is truly okay with Eminem? (By the way, Mozilla just alerted me that "okay" was incorrectly spelled. If you didn't know, the correct spelling is "Tokay.")

But thanks to Scott Storch and Timbaland, we find ourselves in the midst of yet another epic battle. Timbaland released a single a while ago called "Give It To Me" featuring his creations Justin Timberlake and Nelly Furtado. (Click here for the video) Some of his attacks:

I get a half a mill for my beats you get a couple grand
I'm a real producer and you just the piano man
Your song gonna top the charts, I heard em, I'm not a fan
We missed you on the charts last week
Damn that's right, you wasn't there.

Piano man? Scott Storch plays the keyboards and in fact played for the Roots back in the 90's. Scott Storch's fortune is estimated at a cool $70 million. I guess he put out a lot of beats.

So Scott Storch came back with his own attack on Timbaland. It features Nox and is titled "Built Like That." (Or "Built Like Dat"... there's a lot of confusion about this online) You can click here for the video. Here are my favorite lyrics:

What you thought, I was just gonna sit back and let shit ride?
Timothy... shit ain't sweet, you can't talk shit about a boss
Keep my name out ya mouth
Scott Storch... pussy

Won't you tell 'em how I made that shit "Cry Me A River"?
Ya boy Danja gotta hate you with a passion, man
He makes the hits while you takin' all the credit, damn

Scott Storch maintains that he produced JT's hit "Cry Me A River" and all he got was a fruit basket as compensation. Danja's a producer who worked with Timbaland on Justin Timberlake's and Nelly Furtado's recent hits. Danja, to my knowledge, still works with Timbaland.

Tokay, Timbaland got his panties all in a bunch and came back with this song featuring D.O.E. It's produced (Surprise!) by Timbaland and is called "Piano Man." It reminds me of "Lazy Sunday"... you'll see what I mean. Here's the video.

This one's a bit more direct. Explicitly calls Scott Storch out by alluding to MC Hammer, Christina Aguilera, Lil Kim and Beyonce. The video features D.O.E. and other big black men standing outside in a playground, looking menacing, and a Scott Storch look-a-like doing silly things.

Why you actin like you built for this? Fuckin bitch, man you hang with Paris Hilton's clique
Beyoncé straight dissed you, Dre dismissed you, heard Lil' Kim say you got little dick issues

In terms of songs, I have to side with Timbaland. I ain't no Furtado or Timberlake fan, but "Give It To Me" is so damn catchy. I have it playing in the background right now. Maybe the single's not so hot only because Scott Storch was in such a hurry to get it out. Usually I like Scott Storch's work a lot better than Timbaland's. Eh, "Built Like That" is starting to grow on me. That Jew's a genius.

Plus, Scott Storch is cute in his own way. Those oversized sunglasses and diamonds. Those pimp-ass cars and the million-dollar outfits he sports when climbing in and out of them. God, I love him bobbing his head in the background of Fat Joe's "Make It Rain" video. And of course, there is our mutual love for Lindsay Lohan. Did he spend $1 million on jewelry for her? Yes. Money don't buy happiness, fool. But I give you props for trying. And, oh yeah, Scott grew up in Cherry Hills, New Jersey.

But you gotta give it up to Timbaland for resurrecting Nelly "I'm Like A Bird" Furtado from her millennium-pop grave. And for keeping Missy on top for so long. He has definitely been a major player in the game for a long time.

Now I know how Natalie Imbruglia felt. I'm torn. I don't know where my loyalties lie. Speaking of Natalie, bring her back will ya, Timbaland?

sheep·ish

Embarrassed or bashful, as by having done something wrong or foolish.

Facebook is most definitely conducive to stalking. A decade ago, finding out who your crush was dating required a stolen copy of his schedule, a ninja outfit and really good stealth skills. Now all one really needs is a solid index finger and access to the Internet.

There was that major uproar a few months ago, too. Remember? People were protesting left and right, saying Facebook was becoming too intrusive and not exclusive enough. Most of the protesting was done through Facebook, so I don't know if their point got across, though. Facebook is obviously the most effective method of communication and information-gathering for our generation at this time, and their efforts to fight the system within its infrastructure only highlighted that.

You lose some to gain some, eh? We enter something like Rousseau's social contract: Each of us places his person and all his power in common under the supreme direction of the general will; and as one we receive each member as an indivisible part of the whole. ("On the Social Contract") We give up some of our natural liberties to gain more conventional ones, like viewing others' party photos and relationship statuses.

There are a lot of features that Facebook offers its users. But let me tell you my personal favorite. It often goes unnoticed because of its diminutive font size. It's the "Wall-to-Wall."

Now, I'm sure most of the readers of this blog entry are familiar with the concept, but let me give a quick description for those of you so unfortunate as to not be a part of the Facebook community. Wall-to-Wall allows one to see all the public messages that were left by two users for one another together in one page.

Why is it my favorite? There is nothing more fascinating to me on this Earth than human relationships. They are, for me, what life is all about. Wall-to-Wall gives me an intimate look at the relationships between my acquaintances. Who started the messages? Who is not responding? Who is overly eager to snap back with a quick reply? How do people resume relationships after months and months of not responding to a simple Wall message?

Absolutely riveting.

There should be psychology studies done on this. And they should all credit me on the first page.

re·spon·si·bil·i·ty

A particular burden of obligation upon one who is responsible.

I enjoy going home. I get to see my brother, my mom, my friends and my house. I get to drive my car, bathe in my tub and sleep in my bed. It's a pleasant time - it really is.

It's not to say that I wouldn't enjoy going somewhere more "Spring Break-orthodox"... Cancun, Florida, Puerto Rico... I love the sun, I love the beaches.

I wish I could decide to go somewhere sunny for a week and just GO. But I couldn't do that to my mom and my brother. They need me. So I go home whenever I have time off from school.

This spring break, I went home. It gave my mom a chance to get more sleep, hang out with her friends and not worry about my brother so much. The nanny got to take a trip down to see her boyfriend for a few days. My brother? He finally had a personal fan cheering for him at his soccer game. He got to make that piñata he'd been dreaming about. He went bowling and had a burger at White Manna.

I see it as my job to do this for my household. I get to mess around at school and take a break from Real Life for so many months of the year. I'd feel awfully guilty not helping out whenever I could.

Spring break was good. But maybe if I had a chance to write the events of my life another way it would have been spent differently.

stu·pid

Lacking ordinary quickness and keenness of mind; dull.

A few months ago, I complained about our new nanny. She had ruined our Cutco scissors and broken the Samsung plasma. She sucked at cooking and cleaning. Things looked hopeless.

Her cooking's mildly improved and the cleaning ain't so bad now. But she's still really, really annoying.

For one, she opens the back door while we're eating dinner. By the way, this was during the freezing weather. My mom tells her to close it and she tries to defend herself. She has to check something. Check it later, my mom says. We're eating dinner right now.

And she keeps interrupting my conversations with my brother. She'll just start talking to me. It's like what my brother does during my conversations with my mom, except he's 9 and she's in her 50's.

It's not like she's talking about anything of importance either. It's always some moronic question or some reiteration of a comment that I had made earlier.

She left for Virginia on Tuesday, to meet up with her boyfriend (who calls all the fucking time) and pick up her blood-pressure medication (yeah right). It took forever to explain to her how she was to get to Port Authority. Walk to the bus stop - 1 block away - and wait for the bus. Should have been simple. But she kept asking me questions throughout the day. Where is the bus stop? How do I get there? What do I tell the bus driver?

What is her problem?!

My mom figured it out: she's just stupid. And it all made sense. She is really just that stupid. She is not trying to be annoying. It's not her personality or habits that makes her so hard to live with. She is just very dim-witted.

But my mom said that there was an upside to having a stupid nanny. We could trust her to never turn on us. She just never could. Her mental capacities don't go that far.

Every cloud has a silver lining.

short·age

A deficiency in quantity.

My mom never warned me about drugs or sex or alcohol. She did warn me plenty about the brevity of our lives. After peering into the mirror for a minute, she'd turn to me, trying to use as few facial muscles as possible, and say, "Yuna, life for you right now may seem like it's going really slow, but as soon as you get older, it's going to speed up real quick." (Or so I imagine... the wisdom was offered in Korean.)

Perhaps these frequent warnings have made me consider time more precious than my peers.

I am scared of ghosts, the dark, spiders and big dogs. But nothing scares me quite so much as the amount of time I have left. Talk about fear of the unknown. Any one of us can drop dead any second. What happens to all those unfulfilled goals and wishes?

Sorry, I'll be a little less morbid. This topic comes to mind because I see that spring break is half over already on my little Windows calendar. I feel that I have so much to do before I get on the plane Sunday morning. What am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to meet up with everyone I want to see, eat everything I want to eat, buy everything I want to buy? How am I supposed to show my brother in four days just how much I love him and miss him when I'm away at school? How am I supposed to let my mom get the relaxation she deserves, the rest that I overabundantly enjoy when I am not at home?

Ah, I'm frustrated by the limitations posed by time. Temporal frustration, is there such a thing? And can I blame my unpleasant behavior on it?

So much to do in the next few days. Help.

un·be·liev·a·ble

Too dubious or improbable to be believed.

When I ventured out with my car into the city today, I was not really expecting to find a parking spot around the Met where I was supposed to meet Kat. But to my luck, while driving down 81st to make the 79th St. crosstown, I found a spot right by Columbus Ave.!

I parked immediately and walked a few blocks over to 5th. I waited on the steps of the museum, getting in the way of (a) senior citizens whose hips depended on the railing I was casually leaning against in an effort to look cool and (b) countless Japanese tourists who were snapping away with their fancy foreign cameras, trying to get a clear shot of the entrance.

So it was the best time I had ever had in an art museum because I was accompanied by Art Historian Kathryn throughout my visit. Full of interesting information, that one.

We headed out after about two hours in the Met. Trekked through Central Park to get to my car. Drove downtown to the Meatpacking District for lunch. After 15 minutes of looking for parking, I finally grabbed a spot on Jane. Luckily, it was near Pastis, where we were planning on going.

The place was crowded, as expected, and as we let the maître d' know we were looking for a table for two, I spotted Lance Bass sitting at a table with two of his quite-flamboyant friends. I discreetly let Kat know and she surreptitiously sneaked a peek at him. I was hoping to see Lindsay... but Lance, the gayest boy band member ever, was 5 feet from us! The table next to him was the only empty one in the whole place, but they wouldn't sit us there cause it was a four-person seat. Agh, blast that Katie W. for not coming out with us.

Following the lead of all the other patrons in the restaurant, Kat and I put on our blasé acts, behaving as if Lance "I'm Gay" Bass wasn't sitting two tables away from us. I quickly texted Marissa to release my excitement through some medium. She texted back right away. "Omg heh is my favorite no fucking way i want to meet him omg omg" To which I responded, "He is not your favorite. He is nobody's favorite."

But she maintained that he was. And now I don't know which I find more implausible: the fact that Kat and I shared oxygen with Lance Bass, or that he is somebody's (notably, Marissa's) favorite N*Sync-er.

list

A series of names or other items written or printed together in a meaningful grouping or sequence so as to constitute a record.

Things I enjoy:

Open bars
Cocktail hours
Dancing
Being able to drive
Stevo/Johnny Mitch reunion parties
Hearing from Tufts homies
Family dinners

Things I do not enjoy:

Manual labor, such as snow-shoveling
Weddings (the part that doesn't include the open bar and the cocktail hour and the dancing)
Discomfort from dancing in front of relatives
Crying in front of people
"She's the Man" starring Amanda Bynes
Being expected to make it to Long Island for a wedding at 11:30 AM

Pretty much sums up my time at home so far... save the piñata me and JJ started working on today. Beat that spring break.

di·a·tribe

A bitter, sharply abusive denunciation, attack, or criticism.

Aimed at: the one and only Motherfucking Mother Nature.

There are seven days in a week. They run from Sunday to Saturday, or from Monday to Sunday, depending on which calendar you use.

Western religions tend to reserve those days we call the weekend days for services. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday, we spent pent-up in our offices and classrooms, getting our work done, so we can properly pray to our gods on our days off without petty societal distractions.

Whether we're heading off to Shabbat Suppers or Sunday Service Socials, we like to have our weekends cleared for the sake of our faiths.

Blasphemous Mother Nature, absolutely furious about being excised from all the holy canons (can you think of a legit one that celebrates her role in our creation?), cannot change our histories nor our customs, in her bitter attempt to retaliate. She is the long-forgotten ex-girlfriend who was dumped in a God-awful way by that handsome boy who was obviously out of her league. She knows she doesn't really have the power to hurt him and much as he hurt her, so she decides to attack his following, his worshippers that grant him that excellent popularity status.

She is woman, she wants to roar, but she cannot mess with something as significant as Time. Had she gotten her way, she would have gone back to the beginnings of society, somewhere around 100 B.C. and rewritten the books to, of course, credit her for the creation of Man, the beasts, the planets, the stars and YouTube. Mother Nature alone would be worshipped for her amazing work and golden shrines would be built in her image, which she imagines as being somewhere between Demi Moore (post-surgery, in her Ghost days) and Suzanne Somers (from her dazzling days of Three's Company). People would respond to sneezes with "May Mother Nature you!" and N*Sync would shrink the font of their album so they could squeeze "Mother Nature Must Have Spent A Little More Time On You" all in.

SO, WHAT DOES SHE DO? She tampers with the weather - the one exercise of creative control her immortal enemy left her in an act of pity, most likely.

Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday. Any one of these days would have been a good day for a snowstorm. We'll shovel up the snow on Thursday evening, or maybe even Friday morning, and we'd be all set for our theistic festivities. But pissed-off Mother Nature slaps us with a good old blizzard on Friday morning and fucks with my flight. She wants me to feel her wrath. I am forced by her to:

7:00 Wake up
8:30 Take a cab to the airport
9:30 Have my 9:45 flight delayed
12:30 Have my 9:45 flight finally cancelled
1:00 Go back on the subway, towards school
2:00 Take another cab up towards my dorm
5:30 Take yet another cab down to the subway station
6:45 Catch the train
11:15 Take the subway up to the GWB Terminal

Gross - public transportation. I never want to do it again.

And I know it's PMS-related cause she did the same shit exactly a month ago when I was coming home for the long weekend... Bitch.

be·lieve

To accept as true or real.

Sometimes I can't believe he's really gone.

a·buse

Use wrongly or improperly or excessively.

I don't know what to think.

Because I really do enjoy drinking. I think I enjoy it more than the average person.

Why? Well, I grew up around people who drank a lot. I like the social situations that drinking is associated with. And I like having a little something-something in my system. Most importantly, it helps me forget about all my other troubles.

One of my psychology professors once suggested to our class that alcoholism stemmed from the lack of negative effects after the substance was abused.

I think, maybe. If I had hangovers all the time, I probably would cut the drinking a bit. High school weekend mornings were hell for me. But since this past December, hangovers are history. I just don't have them anymore.

So maybe the lack of post-drinking shittiness encourages me to drink more now. But this is wrong. Because although I may not experience headaches, nausea and stomachaches, the morning after a night of heavy drinking, I fuck up with my friends.

I distinctly remember the three drunkest nights of my life. I don't even know if "drunkest" is the right word. At a certain point, it's not drunkenness, it's just illness. I had my close friends by my side to help me survive.

But I think I'm abusing the trust that I share with my close friends. Maybe I have too much confidence that all will be okay because I can rely on so-and-so and really make bad decisions.

I should try to cut back, but it's so hard. There's just so many reasons to pour yourself that first drink. And that second drink. And that third, fourth and fifth.

Saturday was stupid and I wish I could take it back. I could lie to you right now that I'm somewhat thankful it happened because now I can be more cautious with my drinking. But I honestly don't know if I'll be able to stop.

I don't want to be like that, I really really don't.

I don't know what to do.

col·lapse

A sudden, complete failure; breakdown.

Why is it that bad things come in groups of ten? I feel like Job, being put through the ultimate test of faith by the almighty Lord himself. God keeps pushing these challenges on me, in an effort to see how far my loyalties go for Him.

I really have no time to be writing this. So I will leave you with this interesting discovery I made on Wikipedia.

Apparently, Job reflects the views of Aristotle.

Intrigued? Here's the link. I don't have time to read it right now.

goal

The result or achievement toward which effort is directed; aim; end.

At this point of my life, I do not see any career goals for myself. I do not feel as though I want to become a doctor, a lawyer, a journalist, a businesswoman or anything else of that sort.

The only goal I see for myself is to make everyone I love happy, and in doing so, make myself happy.

Now I can reason with myself and see where the two overlap. Making my family happy will most likely include pursuing a competitive career. And I do not expect to be job-less and broke in my attempts to make myself happy.

But that's not where my thoughts go, when allowed to drift. I immediately think of delicious dinners I can prepare, or exciting outings I can organize, to enjoy with my family and friends. It really is not motivation for the completion of my liberal arts education, which unfortunately does not cover the culinary and event-coordination arts.

I want to do well in school because... well, I'm not exactly sure why I want to do well in school. I guess it is to leave my options open for the future, just in case law school seems unbearingly tempting. But I just feel like something is WRONG with what I am doing.

Honestly, marrying a well-to-do man and becoming a housewife doesn't sound so bad at this point. Bleh - why did women's rights have to happen?

in·ter·est

A state of curiosity or concern about or attention to something.

Remember how I wrote that really lame entry on being friendly? Well, I realized that I'm really friendly to people for an additional reason. I am truly interested in meeting new people and learning about them. There's all different types of human beings in the world and I'd like to get to get to know as many of them as possible.

But. Problem. I dive quickly and quench my thirst in a jiffy. And then my interest shifts elsewhere.

Maybe I don't have ADD, Attention Deficit Disorder. Perhaps it's just IDD, Interest Deficit Disorder.

That'd be wrong too, I guess. It'd be ISD, Interest Surplus Disorder. And - alright! - the only organizations fighting for the claim to the acronym are really lame. The Imperial Star Destroyer, from Star Wars. The Indiana School for the Deaf. Inhibited Sexual Desire, haha... the sexual frigid.

It wins!

ISD = Interest Surplus Disorder. Want to volunteer to write up the Wikipedia article for it?

Imagine you told your sexual-partner-to-be that you had ISD and he mistook you. You actually had Interest Surplus Disorder and he thought you had Inhibited Sexual Desire. You were just trying to warn him that you would probably not bother calling him after this one session, but he thought you were sexually frigid and decided to be the big sweetheart and give you your space.

That would be quite the frustrating situation.

Bored already... :)

mid·term

An examination given at the middle of a school or college term.

To balance my courseload for this semester, I took on a class for my minor, Communication and Media Studies. "History of Punk Rock", taught by Professor Mike.

We have a test tomorrow, featuring 10 ID's, 5 short answers, 5 essays and 5 listening questions. (and 4 extra credit questions, which I really want to get)

I am freaking over the listening component of the test.

My forte is pop music. A wee bit of hip-hop and a teeny bit of rap. I can tell you the difference between 98 Degrees, BSB and N*Sync with the ease of a spider building a web. Eden's Crush, Dream, Danity Kane... I can even cover the shitshows created by mastermind Diddy himself.

Shit, but ask me about Television, MC5, The Dead Boys, The Clash, The Sex Pistols, The Velvet Underground, and I positively freeze. So here I am, sitting in the computer lab (see previous entry: "maimed"), listening to the podcasts uploaded by Professor Mike.

And how do I ensure excellent performance on the listening section without listening to the hour-long podcasts over and over? I take notes:

cool guitar ^v^v^v - indicating the up-and-down sound in the Television's "Marquee Moon"
Ahhh... - Black Flag's growling
gross voice - Germs' notorious Darby Crash
more song-y - one of Patti Smith's last hits, "Because the Night"
no idea what is being said - for the majority of the Stooges' music

I'm embarrassed. The only solace I find for this humiliating practice is imagining one of the punk kids in my class studying for "History of 90's Pop", taking notes on the Lachey brothers, Christina and Britney's feud, Mariah Carey's physical transformation and the huge difference between Ricky Martin and Enrique Iglesias.

maimed

Disabled or disfigured, usually by depriving of the use of a limb or other part of the body.

Last spring, my Gateway Profile 4 PC failed on me and I spent a good chunk of my time in the school computer lab, finishing final papers and projects on foreign computers. And as much as I enjoyed using keyboards that have been used by countless others who have had God-knows-what on their fingers, I was ecstatic to have it repaired over the summer.

I brought the sucker back to school with me in January. Oh, I just did the math. I have had this thing since August 2003. That's almost 4 years of ownership. Wow.

Well, anyways, the thing went berserk on me last week, and after Googling the problem, I found a whole thread on a message board dedicated to this specific monitor problem I have encountered. There's really no solution to it. So until I buy a new laptop/computer, I will be walking on over to the computer lab to write senseless blog entries and obsess over celebrity gossip news.

This means: little or no AIM use, delayed e-mail responses, absence from the Facebook community and no access to NSFW pictures (I peeked at Daniel Radcliffe... I had to!).

HELP. I'm scouring the internet for hot laptops. Recommendations appreciated.

friend·ly

Characteristic of or befitting a friend; showing friendship.

My family did a lot of travelling when I was a kid. Every few months we would take a plane to somewhere exotic, foreign or both.

I had a real great time on those family vacations. I remember getting cool souvenirs, eating strange food and trying new activities.

But the thing I remember the most is how startled I was to find that my dad had friends wherever we went. No matter where in the world we were, he seemed to have buddies.

It was extremely puzzling to me. Had he travelled to all these locations before? Had he taken vacations here without us?

I truly admired my dad for this as a little girl. And now, after a little bit of enlightenment, I still very much admire that about him. He showed me that all you needed was a good attitude towards others and you would be bound to find people to help you out.

Was that his downfall? Sometimes I feel that by putting too much faith in others will only hurt you. (see my entry "na·ive") But, then again, I love the good that comes out of... being friendly. That's all it is. Being friendly. Why are people so hesitant to do that? Sometimes I feel like a lone soldier for Team Friendly, fighting the world with nothing but a smile on my face.

Do you all know better? Is there something I'm missing out on?

I worry too much about this shit.

P.S. My dad's pretty much my hero.

in·fer·no

A place or region that resembles hell.

If hell isn't real unless I believe in God, Christians, congratulations, cause you just scored yourself another player for your team.

Today was awful - simply awful.

I left campus at 3 PM. It was my first time getting to Logan Airport by public transportation. I got to the terminal at 4:15. Ticketing and baggage check was a mess. I stood on line for 15 minutes, with 4 people ahead of me to start with. Displaced passengers from the two days of shitty weather were trying to get on flights that were already overbooked. And the non-English speaking employees were of much assistance.

Okay, fine. I had gotten there 2 hours before my flight in an attempt to jump onto an earlier flight. Situations being such, things didn't really work out that way. Because of all the displacement, my 6:30 flight was delayed for an hour. So it's 4:30 and my flight is at 7:30... it's pretty bad, but nothing to cry about. I whipped out my "Theory of Moral Sentiments" and eagerly started reading.

6:30... I start getting anxious, and by anxious, I mean hungry. Burger King and Pizza Hut have a line (yes, one single line for both) comparable to Disneyland's Space Mountain's, so I join the mob over at Boston Cafe. Try our New England Clam Chowder, they say. Well, okay fine, I will try it. It blows, but by this point, I'm just thankful for the oyster crackers that come with so I'm satiated.

7:20... Amazingly, we start boarding before the expected departure time. I'm in seat 7A. I call my mom to tell her I'm finally getting in the air. She fails to pick up 4 times. I get a call and it's her friend. My mom had some wine and is crashing. She's gonna send her chauffeur to come get me. I'm secretly giddy at the prospect of someone holding my name on a placard at the arrival gate. I tell her, 8:30 - I will be there.

7:50... We're still on the ground. The captain gets his God-voice on and tells us that LaGuardia is not accepting traffic for the next hour. Don't worry, he assures us, because we won't be pulling that JFK thing on you, we can legally only hold you here for 90 minutes. Fantastic.

9:00... Finally, we're off! I am drifting in and out of sleep so I don't even know where I am anymore. I keep checking out the window to see what skyline I see.

9:50... We're in NYC. I am jerked awake by the uncomfortable landing. I say a little prayer.

10:00... The chauffeur keeps calling. What are you wearing? How can I identify you? No placard, I figure. Boo. We're still taxiing. Dozens of other planes trying to get their own gates. I start the crossword puzzle.

10:15... I get off the godforsaken plane and run off to find my baggage. I follow the arrows. Number 1, that's where our stuff will be, the stewardess told us. I stand there until all the bags are out. 30 minutes, no joke. Where the fuck is my Tumi? A bewildered couple and I approach the uniformed man. He points down the building. That's where it is?! There's maybe 200 bags in this tiny area. I ask the lady where the Boston baggage is. Useless. I walk away mid-sentence, I can't take this shit anymore. Fucking fuming.

10:50... I somehow meet up with the chauffeur whilst furiously popping strawberry Mentos in my mouth. We share the candy on the drive home. I think he purposefully made contact with my hand. I had to rip open the box so he would stop faking necessary touching.

11:15... HOME. I never want to go on American Eagle again. I hate it.

phi·los·o·phy

A system of values by which one lives.

Until recently, my personal philosophy has been: the shortest distance between two points is a straight line.

But I think maturity's decided to overrule this one, finally. Maybe it's time to adopt a new philosophy. One that gets me into less trouble and makes life more... interesting. And perhaps makes me a happier person.

I mean, maybe Thomas Hobbes is wrong. Maybe felicity is not the continuous successful attainment of our ever-changing pleasures. He thinks you desire a good, use whatever to get that good, then desire a new good and then go get that good. Over and over.

Haven't I been doing that?

I feel like I'm missing out on something pretty big. Let's see. Give me about a month for the update on this little project o' mine.

o·ver·look

To fail to notice, perceive, or consider.

Holy shit.

So back in January, I bought all the plane tickets I would need until March... or so I thought.

One round-trip, January 16th to Boston, and February 16th back to NYC. Another round-trip ticket for Spring Break, March 16th to NYC and March 25th back to school.

Did you catch it? Well, it took me a fucking month to figure out that I hadn't purchased a ticket to get back to school this weekend.

Idiot.

Should I come back on Sunday or Monday?

force

To drive or propel against resistance.

Unhappy with my blog-entry production level for the month of January, I'm going to make an effort to write more often. This will explain the drop in content quality.

The only thoughts I had in my head today concerned Disney shows and food.

Yeah! Disney! Remembered that Saturday mornings are "Disney on ABC" - so I got to catch up on Raven, Zack & Cody and Hannah Montana. Delightful.

And then we went to grocery shop at Market Basket. What a goddamn mess. You guys, I have never seen a supermarket that is more packed than Market Basket. I kid you not. The parking lot is huge, immense, gigantic, and it still took us 10-15 minutes too look for a spot. Was it any better inside? I had to forfeit my shopping cart in the first aisle because the traffic was too crazy.

The check out process was killer, too. I took the obligatory glance at everybody's shopping cart before picking a line to stand on and it looked like the town was getting ready to move into their bomb shelters for the next year. I have never filled anything as much as these people had into their carts. Not even a water balloon I wanted to explode in the next second. Or my boxes I had shipped from home to school.

Somehow we made it home. Split a chicken pot pie with a friend and had rice and avocado with balsamic vinaigrette... and bologna. So maybe I'll stop bitching about Market Basket.

To give you guys a quick sum-up of Market Basket... here's a good quote from Wikipedia:

Market Basket stores are not generally renowned for their modern store design and pleasing presentations; instead, they focus on providing consumers with lower prices.

"Market Basket" - Wikipedia