Stop! Sexy Time!

In my hometown there is a stop sign that has been grafitied to read "Try for a baby."

I wonder how many children were conceived this year after their parents came to a halt at an intersection.

I Sing My Heart Out to the Infinite Sea

Microsoft Word's thesaurus just returned "cry" and "noise" as synonyms for "song."

Is Bill Gates secretly a philistine?

Here Comes the Bride, A Decade in Advance

Would it be terribly gauche of me to wear Converses to my own wedding?
I did in my dream last night, but I can't remember if that drew any strange stares as I walked toward the man I have yet to meet.

We did, however, flop down on a bed in disbelieving childish giggles before returning to the reception to eat tiered lemon cake.

(A flower garden in May or an elegent library* in September.)


*Perhaps a flash-back to our first date?

...I have got to stop reading these things.

A Question

"How did you grow, as a person?"

What the hell else would I be growing as?! A garden? A piglet? A slime mold?
Stupid interview preparation suggestions.

You Know You're Living In a Special Part of the Country When...

...instead of presumably illegal immigrants, the guys helping lay a new sidewalk are Amish.

Top Five Musician-Inspired Names That I Might Bestow Upon My Future Children...

...So That They'll Have Good Answers to the Inevitable "Are You Named After Anyone?" Question

Sons

1. Dylan (as in Bob)
2. Graham (as in Nash)
3. Jude (as in "Hey")
   
4. Arlo (as in Guthrie)
5. Garfunkel (as in Art) ...except not really.
   

Daughters

1. Melissa (as in the Allman Brothers song)
2. Natalie (as in Merchant)
3. Laurel (as in the famous canyon)
4. Judy Blue Eyes (as in "Suite")
   
5. Magnolia (as in "Sugar") ...except not really.
   

Words, Words, Words

Fact: The bigger the book in front of you but the smaller the text, the more scholarly you feel.

I've got a 1910-page Shakespeare concordance. You can just hand me my doctorate now.


And in this concordance, printed in 1937, I espied a typographical error: "...ay, there's the rnb..."
An upside-down "u"! (Though I suppose technically it's really just an "n.")

...shut up. I think it's funny.

Spring Has Sprung (I Open My Lungs)

I might have the motivation to buckle down and research if I could only forget that at this very moment, crocuses are pushing their way out of soil sleep.

Not a Barefoot Contessa

Okay, really?
Are you really going to change the television above our respective elliptical machines to the Food Network, of all channels?
Yes, you are?
Are you a sadomasochist? I feel like I'm running up Mount Everest in hundred-degree weather in a vain attempt to shave fat off my protruding stomach, and you're going to make me watch chocolate truffles being made?
This is too much.

You've driven me to buy a smoothie downstairs—and just before she finished the tiramisu!

Psychology Doesn't Balance

You'd think that having simultaneous superiority and inferiority complexes would result in a well-adjusted and happy person.

This is, frustratingly, not the case.

That Punk Punxsutawney

Killing a groundhog isn't met with capital punishment... right?

Add a Little Irony

As I was trying to type "success" in a text message but forgot the second "c," the ezi-spell function spit out "puberty" instead.

There's No One New to Know

I have come to the conclusion that Facebook has rendered me socially inept—not because it has skewed my sense of "friendship" or driven me to compartmentalize my interests and activities, but because my endless attentiveness to profiles* ensures that I already know the answers to the basic questions one normally asks when getting to know another person.

Social networking doesn't translate well to real life when you feel compelled to "meet" someone before you meet them.

*euphemism, "stalking"




On another note, I had forgotten how much I like cheesy rice cakes.

Shut Up Shut Up Shut UP

You know when you're in a crowd and stop focusing on words and everything just becomes endless fucking noise, all these people spewing inconsequential chatter, blathering idiots and moronic mouths, and you press your fingertips to the holes in your ears and make them open and close like valves until you want to scream to high heaven that all this talking doesn't amount to fucking anything?

Well, that may very well be the opening scene of my adolescent angst movie.

If it ever gets made.
But let's not be bitter and pessimistic.

Light Me Up

Things to Do While High: A Purely Hypothetical List

1. Sync "The Wizard of Oz" and Pink Floyd's "The Dark Side of the Moon."
   
2. Read Gertrude Stein's Tender Buttons.
3. Re-create the Woodstock setlist with a stereo system in a field.
   
4. Cloud-gaze.
   
5. Rock down to Electric Avenue.
   

What Enzymes Have Made Me Realize

When it comes to boys, I suffer from the effects of competitive inhibition.

What I need is an allosteric regulator to help induce a conformational change.

Too bad that infatuation usually follows the first law of thermodynamics.

A Complaint

The great irony of a teenage girl's life: no one will love you until you love yourself, but loving yourself is difficult until someone loves you.

Corollary: teenage girls are doomed to years of therapy.

Men Are From Mars

According to four upperclassmen (emphasis on the final syllable) I overheard today before dinner, the ideal wife is one who visits the toilet at the opposite time of day than her (apparently regularly scheduled) husband, and that the ideal Saturday night is spent getting high and visiting all the drive-through fast food joints in town.

Now, I'm not trying to pass judgment, but... really?

One Poor Girl

Buddy Holly loved her, called her "pretty pretty pretty pretty," but four years later The Regents tried her and knew she wouldn't do. And as if that weren't enough, The Beach Boys did the same, preferring Barbara Ann once again.

Peggy Sue must have needed a therapist.

Be It Resolved

I don't think I want to lead a life of quiet desperation anymore.

It just doesn't produce stories worthy of telling to wide-eyed future grandchilden.