1. I dyed my hair.
2. I painted my nails.
3. I started smoking.
4. I dropped my astrophysics class.
5. I'm recusing myself from the Party of the Right (and, by extension, the Yale Political Union) for a while.

I'm trying to lose weight. As of this morning I weighed an abysmal, shameful 149. Jesus christ. But then, when am I ever not trying to lose weight?

For a brief time I was looking more into religion- I realize now that I was doing it for the wrong reasons, and that I actually do not have the strength for such a thing.

For the past week I've been having nightmares again. My nightmares are not the sort of thing that I can describe to anyone. They are haunting, and graphic, and don't end upon waking up. For the first time in a long time, I am afraid of the dark- of laying alone in my bed at night. For the first time ever the other night, I was afraid to walk around the city by myself (in a familiar area, no less). I admitted my fear of death and pain to myself, and reneged on all of my sick, romanticized fantasies about being the hapless victim of a mugging or a sex crime, and well, for lack of a better word, prayed that I'd be left alone on my walk home.

Today I walked over to the Yale Bowl to see a few friends of mine from high school in a track meet. I ended up unable to find the goddamn indoor track, but walking all the way over there, alone, in the dark, was interesting. Two big black men made sexual comments to me as I walked past some shop- that's certainly never happened to me before. Shortly after that I resolved to take some sort of transport on the way back- but I didn't. I walked back, by myself, in the dark- and nothing happened.

I am completely afraid of townies in this city, though. If I'm walking down the street anytime after 5pm and I see a man who doesn't look like a Yalie (and I make these assumptions based mostly on dress, and partly on race), I get freaked out and have a strong urge to cross to the other side of the street. I don't mind walking around by myself, but I am aware that a small female such as myself must needs be cautious. I keep wondering when my luck will run out, what with all the 3am wanderings I make.

Occasionally I think about what I'd do if I was attacked. I've never been in such a situation, so I really don't know. Some part of me thinks that I'd just keep walking home. Another thinks I'd call Ryan. I s'pose calling the police would be the most logical course of action. Bah. We'll just have to wait and see, won't we?

I've become a hermit of late. Interacting with people has become increasingly painful. Regardless of who the person is, or from which social circle of mine they hail, I can't go out there anymore. I'm ditching a party I helped organize tonight because I really don't feel like dealing with people, or dolling myself up, or trying to find an outfit that doesn't make me look like the pathetic heap of fat that I've become. I am really such a weak, lazy schmuck. Jeez.

I need a job. I hate spending my father's money. I've applied for three so far- only one has gotten back to me, in the negative.

When I lay in bed at night and imagine my ideal self, I see Amy Winehouse.

Today would've been four and a half years with Ryan. I miss him incredibly.

It snowed today! Very little, but I'm glad of it. Of course, I was asleep while it happened (I took an extended afternoon-evening-night nap today, to make up for all the lost sleep of the past week). I got up around 23:45, went to the bathroom, came back into my room, pulled open the curtain and WOAH snow gracefully lining the branches of the tree just outside my window. Hurrah.

So during this nap, I had two very strange dreams.

First dream: It's Thanksgiving. I'm at my mother's mother's house (which is odd, because my mother's mother had a falling out with the rest of the family, and we didn't see her on Thanksgiving at all). For some reason, a friend of mine from the Party of the Right is there. For one reason or another we're alone in a room for a bit, and he starts flirting with me in a somewhat physical way- getting closer and closer to me, touching me, etc- and then he kisses me. Hot DAMN he's a good kisser. I, of course, have never kissed this boy in real life, but I imagine that yeah, he'd be pretty badass at it. It made me really happy, and gave me that butterflies-in-the-stomach feeling that I haven't had since May of senior year. Made me rethink things in my life a bit. (PS it's also SUPER unusual for me to have dreams about people and places that are actually a part of my life. This dream made way too much sense.) Another strange thing is that he was nervous about someone in my family coming in and seeing us. This boy is 21... pretty much a man. I should be the one worried about my family, not him- but I wasn't. I just wanted to continue that wonderful prickly sensation that starts in the COCKLES OF MY HEART as Denis Leary says, and spreads with infectious warmth through the rest of my body. Siiigh. Note that I don't even have that big of a crush on this boy... oddity.

Second dream: So, in REAL life, I've been fasting. My current goal is about 5 days (120 hours), although I might extend that if I'm not satisfied with the results, which in all likelihood I won't be. Anywho I'm currently at about 97 hours. So in this dream I'm hanging out with my brother, whom I consider a very good friend. For whatever reason I've decided to break my fast with him, and we're at some restaurant, like Red Lobster or Applebee's or something. So we both have very little cash. We each order an entree, and for whatever reason my brother wants an appetizer, too. So we look at the appetizer menu (even though I have reservations about this), and for whatever reason you can pay for appetizers with things besides cash- like frequent flyer miles or points you get from going to a certain hotel often. So my brother GUESSES that my father's account has some of these points and wants to use them to pay for the food, while I can't really get over the hump that we don't have enough cash, and if we don't have enough cash, there's no way to get the appetizer... I basically came to the conclusion that my brother is a more abstract thinker than I am, even if this particular example doesn't illustrate that. Also, we looked over at a table nearby, and it was a woman and her son, and they were both kind of scrubby looking, on the poor side. But the waiter brought out these two huge dishes for them, with tons of food, and for some strange reason each plate had a pair of what looked like whale flippers sticking out of them. But at the same time the waiter told them that their payment method didn't go through, and I think it was implied that they only checked their payment method in advance because of the priciness of their exotic dish and their appearances. So a scuffle was starting and they were about to run out of the restaurant... all very strange.

I haven't slept long enough to have dreams in a while (or, if I have, I certainly haven't remembered them). It was nice to sleep.

Part of me looks forward to the end of the fast (when I say fast I mean consumption of 0 calories, by the way- mostly all I drink is water, sometimes some black coffee), but part of me isn't satisfied with its results. It hasn't been particularly difficult to fast this long- college life lends itself well to fasting, I think, as opposed to being at home, where there are always snacks and parents asking you what you want for dinner. My friends here don't even give me shit about it as much. They make fun of me, if anything. I can tell some of them are a little concerned, but I'm still pretty chunky (alas), so they have no real foundations for such worry. I desperately wish I had a scale. I can tell I've lost some weight, but nowhere near enough. Sigh.

In any case, the longest fast I ever did was 6 days- 144 hours. My current goal is 120, and I'm currently at 97. I'm really tempted to see if I can break that record. Part of this is about losing weight, but part of it is seeing how far I can stretch my will. I also have no idea what I'm going to do once I start eating again (presumably I have to at some point). Certainly I don't want to just gain everything back.

Sigh. Some people don't understand, because there are several boys in my life who are very attracted to me right now. There are two, in fact, who say that they're in love with me. But this isn't about being attractive to other people. It's about being attractive to myself. Being proud of myself, and what I've made myself into. I guess it's a bit transhumanist. I've always said that my anorexia was a very philosophical anorexia- living my philosophy in the profoundest sense. I don't think you could really call me anorexic currently... We shall see what the future holds.

So I walked into my common room around 7 this morning to take out the recycling, and realized that I was in totally unfamiliar surroundings. There were textbooks laying about on the coffee table and couch, a bag of rice cakes on the book shelf, a hand-made gingerbread house next to the window, and a fully-decorated Christmas tree in the corner. People actually live in this space?

I'm completely alienated from my nine suitemates. I try to do the chores I'm assigned every week, if I need someone to babysit my hedgehog I'll ask the girl who lives in the room next to mine, and if we see each other in the dining hall we'll wave (sometimes)... but other than that, I have no idea who these people are, and what's stranger- they apparently know each other all very well.

I see them walking around campus together, hear them laughing down the hall, curse their irresponsibility in cleaning the shower drain... and I look down my greasy little semitic nose at them. Pathetic little girls, I think! Too inept to find friends out in the real world- the world outside the second floor of Farnam, entryway A. For once I feel superior, in a social sense. I don't have friends by coincidence or necessity or proximity- I have friends because of shared interest, shared humor, shared values, shared commitments, shared passions. I have closer friends now than I ever did in high school. And I sneer inwardly whenever I see my suitemates shuffling in pairs across Old Campus and into Beinecke Plaza, because I refused to accept the people assigned to me. I rejected the easy way out, the convenient way, the last-resort kind of way- I actually ventured outward, and god damn, am I glad I never came back.

Back to the world of inane college-run social activities, of cheap beer and drunken wannabe jocks, of doing each other's hair and make up according to the rules in some magazine, of thrusting old family rituals on a cheap college substitute because there's no forging or adoption of meaningful traditions in this sad, soulless chasm, colored by cheap, tacky posters and furniture and carpeting that just tries way too hard...

The stunted, fake little Christmas tree, full of drug-store-bought plastic ornaments whose third-world paint job is already chipping and falling away. I bet they had a little party when they did it. I bet they made hot chocolate and thought "Wow, I really am happy here at college, this is just so gosh-darned nice." I bet they took pictures with their digital cameras the size of a stack of credit cards, posted the pictures on facebook and made cute little comments to each other about how pretty and adorable it is and what a good idea it was to get the tree at all. It's just so festive.

The sickly sweet gingerbread house, lined with blanched, stale icing and faded hard candies and gum drops, put together step by step according to the dicta of some kit. They probably saw it on sale when they were buying the ornaments. And now it's just sitting there, filling the room with the smell of an overpowering holiday-themed car freshener, growing more grotesque with each passing sunset, as the candy continues to harden and age, as the smell permeates the space more and more thickly, as it gradually begins to fall apart, scattering the crumbs of its foundation upon the table and floor, inciting ants and mice and cockroaches to ring the death knell of the crumbling Yuletide relic.

Yes, I walked away from this. Yet looking back, I find myself not a pile of salt, but a thankful, grateful person, one who feels, as it were, blessed. Life does not have to be meaningless. I think, slowly, my existence is culling meaning and reason and purpose from the world about me. I haven't done my Russian homework, again. But I'm content.

So, last time I promised that I'd continue telling you all why college is fucking mind-blowing... it still is, but I don't feel like elaborating on it anymore (for now). Probably because I've been called a snob left and right since I left New Haven on Saturday evening (after the Great Shame of 2007).

Spent Sunday through Tuesday at The Catholic University of America. Gained a new appreciation for Yale, although I've always loved it dearly. The Basilica they have there is pretty, though. Interesting fact: a building can only be called a basilica if it has been accorded certain special privileges by the Pope of the Roman Catholic Church.

Flew home Tuesday night. Good lord I miss New Haven. I visited my old high school yesterday- it was really nice to catch up with all of my teachers, and see some underclassmen and whatnot... but I miss my friends back home (and yes, already "back home" in my mind means Connecticut). The best things about being back on Long Island are spending time with Jack-the-quasi-boyfriend and my brothers, especially Evan (who is nigh 16, good lord). And Thanksgiving with family is always "nice", and I use the word knowing full well just exactly what it means to many people.

In the course of my existence I've had issues with people reading my blogs, journals, etc, reacting adversely, and resulting in my shame, embarrassment, and regret. I've dealt with it several ways, from completely ignoring the situation, to erasing the entire blog. Recently I've had a few issues with people reading this who perhaps I wouldn't have liked to... at first I ran the gamut of typical emotions, but then I took a step back and said "fuck it". I am who I am- I've been known to say that I am wholly shameless- at least with those I'm close to. There's virtually no question you could ask me that I won't answer honestly. With those I am less close to, I'm wont to be a little more awkward and secretive... I've realized that I really don't care. An intelligent person will form their conception of someone based on several factors: his interaction with said person, others' perceptions of and interactions with that person, and what that person produces and how that person conducts themselves.

So yes, I am vulgar. Yes, I am shameless. Yes, I am judgmental. Yes, I suppose I'm a bit of a snob. I don't really care. Take me or leave me, dears. I'm not being sarcastic or flippant when I label myself a misanthrope. I am indeed jaded and cynical and cruel. I'm not a good person, and you know, I'm not really trying to be- I guess that fits in with my unchristian, heathen status. I do like to think that I can take and tell a good joke, once in a while I'm a pretty face to look at, and if I feel like it I can be pleasant or intriguing company. Take me at face value, and don't expect anything more, because I'll only resent you for it.

In other news, my brother destroyed a beautiful deck of cards my ex-boyfriend got me all the way from Japan, by spilling a fucking soda all over them and not giving a shit.... I hate coming back here. I can't keep nice things here, they get destroyed. I wish I had more room in Farnam so that I could keep my things safe there. I think I'll bring my матрёшки back with me... I'd be beyond pissed if I came back and found them broken apart. I don't really consider myself a materialist, but I certainly do attach a helluva lot of sentimental value to certain things... I really loved this deck of cards. Я люблю тебя, Родя. Tu me manques beaucoup, mon ange. 

I am in college. Overall, it is fucking mind blowing.

First Year Russian:
The Good: I adore this class with all my heart and soul. I have wanted to learn Russian for... about six or seven years now, and finally, I am. Learning Cyrillic was surprisingly easy, and I highly recommend it- it is incredibly cool to be able to read and write in more than one language (and Cyrillic is [I assume] much, much easier than something like Japanese or Arabic or somesuch, but still exotic and fun!). Our textbook series as called "Live from Moscow" and occasionally we watch little movies about Denis, an American in Moscow... they are nothing short of hysterical. I wish I could find on online somewhere... Denis is a greasy, pony-tailed, earring wearing American twenty-something who is guided by Tanya, the beautiful, blonde Russian bombshell through everyday living in Russia. The score (if it deserves such an appellation), the acting, the dialogue... oh gosh. Worth watching whether you want to learn Russian or not.
The Bad: Starts at 9:25 in the morning, Monday through Friday... this is ungodly by typical Yalie standards. Most people don't have their first class until 11 or later, and many people take pains to ensure they have no classes at all on Friday (I, in fact, have only this one). Perhaps the scheduling is why there are only 8 of us in the class... I must admit, as someone who's gotten up for school before 7, and usually before 6, every day for the past five or six years, complaining about getting up at 8:45 (and sometimes 9) to get to class on time seems petty. But damnit, time works differently here in New Haven...
The Ugly: This is billed as an introductory class, as in, those with extremely little to no experience in Russian should take it. Of the eight of us, it is extremely obvious that at least three of the students have had extensive Russian background (two of them admitting to taking three years of Russian in high school)... this bothers me on so many levels. Firstly, it makes me feel like an ass when they understand everything quickly and with little effort; secondly, what does this say about them? They were either too lazy to take the placement test, were looking for an easy grade, somehow retained no real knowledge from previous study, or some combination of the three... this was not the class of people I signed up to work alongside when I decided to come to Yale. Sigh.

Introduction to Cognitive Science
The Good: I like the professor, Brian Scholl, a lot. He gives very interesting lectures, has personality, and strong viewpoints. It's a very large lecture class (200 students, about?), so if I ever decide not to show up, no one's gonna give a crap (although I really do enjoy the lectures, so that's rarely an issue). The readings are usually very interesting, despite the copious amount of them. I like that it's breaking me out of my intensive-neuroscience shell (cognitive science is the lovechild of neuroscience and psychology... and philosophy... and computer science... et cetera). It is also currently the only class I'm taking which has required me to do any writing- and it's very low effort writing, too; read this long wordy scientific article, answer a question about it! It's nice to still write sometimes. Only meets twice a week, Monday and Wednesday, and even then it doesn't start till 2:30.
The Bad: Originally I was choosing between this class, and a more neuroscience-based class called "Brain & Thought". I really, really preferred Brain & Thought. Unfortunately, that class had limited enrollment. Because: 1. I'm a freshman and 2. I couldn't promise to take the class if I got in (it conflicted with a music class I ended up not taking... stupid me for being honest) I didn't get in. Boo.
The Ugly: To keep his many, many students interested, he makes a lot of cutesy pop culture references and pokes at typically unpopular things, like, say, conservatism... I dno. Maybe I'm maturing? I find that much less funny than I used to. Also, there are a lot of stupid people in the class, and while I never have to interact with them, the overall IQ in the room, based on overheard conversations, seems very low... where are the smart people? Why don't they act smart?

Russia from the 9th Century to 1801
The Good: Fucking love this class to death. I can't believe I almost didn't take it! Early Russian history is my adulterous lover. It's fucking amazing. I love this stuff. Aaah. The readings are great and the professor is extremely knowledgeable, and the class is fairly small- about 15 to 18 of us, I think. He also doesn't give a shit if you come to lecture or not (although I haven't missed a single one yet, because I fucking love this class), and so far the only homework has been to read (and I fucking love the readings). Also, this class has introduced me to a new love- history of Orthodoxy. I have the creeping feeling that by the time I graduate, I might be a Christian.
The Bad: I'm pretty behind on one of the readings (every class he assigns readings from Medieval Russia, 980 - 1584 as well as from a huge reading packet [not really a packet]; I'm totally up to date on the "packet", just not the book.) Also, during discussion section, the last half hour of class, I can never think of anything interesting to say or any good questions to ask... A lot of people have that issue, since I hear a lot of "questions that were answered in the reading/lecture but I"m going to rephrase it and ask it anyway so that he knows I'm somewhat engaged"- I doubt the professor is impressed, but people ask these questions anyway. Sigh.
The Ugly: There's this girl in the class who is from Russia... she, of course, always has cool questions to ask and talks to the professor in Russian and brings in cool Russian books and all that crap... I am jealous. I want to be the nerdy teacher's pet. Instead, I am the girl who dozes off during class despite the fact that she is never tired before setting foot in the classroom, and that she is very much interested in the material. Sigh. My notes are always pathetically messy because I doze off as I'm taking notes... erg.

More later!

For those curious, I ordered Jade; I'll let ya'll know how it worked out once it gets here, and when I start using it at college. For the truly curious, Jade was reviewed here. Side note: I wasn't charged for shipping! Score.

Today was my first day without the boy (isn't he adorable?). My nose hurts from all the crying (and subsequent rubbing with paper towels) I did last night. We spent most of the past three days together, which actually doesn't differ much from the rest of the summer.

Sunday was the final meeting of the Feldmann Wrestling Federation, where Jack sported his Febreze-and-sweat-soaked Luchabear costume (he's the one with the booksox on his head). We left early to set up for Jack's graduation party- even though it rained all night, I think it was a really successful party, complete with extensive water balloon fight (we filled about 130 of them) and pool shenanigans. All alcohol-free! I think I was a pretty gracious hostess, and I kind of enjoyed the house-wifey role I took on.

Monday evening we rented a motel room and had sex for a few hours, after which we went to Shawn Evanson's graduation party, which was actually one of the better parties I went to this summer. He kept it fairly small, although it was definitely well-lubricated (Jack himself brought a cooler of various beers). With memories of alcohol poisoning fresh in my mind from Feldmann's graduation party, I drank very minimally, while Jack, secure in the knowledge that he wouldn't have to protect me from myself, got pretty smashed. Memorable quotes:
"I want to fuck you right here, I want them to see." (As he was pulling my breasts out of my top.)
"Condom or not, I'll do it just to spite you."
"Why are you with me? I just saw myself in the bathroom... I'm fat... and drunk..."
However, Jack never reached vomiting-drunk, something which distinguishes him from pretty much everyone else at that party. We, of course, slept over.

The next afternoon Jack's mother picked us up and we had a simple lunch at his house. We spent the rest of the day packing and shopping and packing some more, and later went out to dinner with his family and some family friends. It was a really nice day, overall. We went back to his house and packed some more, watched TV, and putzed around with Frets on Fire on his computer, which, actually, kind of sucked.

Around one in the morning Jack "drove me home". We parked somewhere and had some more sex, and after the second time, as we're laying there, naked, the tears I've been holding back all day start coming down, and I feel terribly for taking time away from more sex, which I know he isn't going to have again until months from now when he comes home for Thanksgiving. He comforted me and was the strong male figure which I always wanted, yet I found myself troubled by the fact that he seemed less upset than myself (read: he wasn't crying). All we had were paper towels, so I kept grabbing them and smearing them across my eyes and nose, and shoving them into the bag with the used condoms. I tried to be happy, but every time I laid my head on his chest or looked in his eyes or did anything, all I could think was "this is the last time I'll get to do this, this is the last time..." Eventually we got dressed, and I kept crying, and we talked.

Around 3:45 he actually drove to my house, and we parked outside and talked and kissed and hugged some more. I told him I wanted to give him one of my penguins to take with him (he'd given me his sweatshirt from All State [page 5] and this wonderful scarf), so I ran in my house and picked out a pair that have magnets in their beaks, so that when you put them close together, they "kiss", and a neon green blanket that we'd slept under together. When I came back out he met me in the middle of the street and we held each other under the street lamp for another ten minutes. It was an incredible feeling... standing there in the middle of the road at 4 in the morning, being totally in the open, but knowing there was no one around save for we two. The sky was kind of grey and all the houses and trees around us were silhouetted beautifully against it, and he looked so, so handsome in the light of the street lamp. I don't think I'll ever forget that night, but I want to write this down anyway, because my mind has betrayed me before. He did start to cry, and apologized for not being strong for me... those tears meant more than anything else he could've said, because he is not one to whom they come easily. "See you tomorrow," he said, while his face was buried in my shoulder (I had to stand on my tiptoes to achieve this position, of course, Jack being a good 10" taller than me), "I know I won't... but if I tell myself that I'll see you tomorrow, then this won't be so hard..." I didn't feel sad anymore, I felt downright tragic.

Eventually we let go of each other, and I ran into my house, not wanting to look back at him, not wanting to extend the painful goodbye process any longer. I slept in the sweatshirt he gave me, until about 4 in the afternoon. We texted each other as often as we could today. He drove down to D.C. today (he'll be attending Catholic University as a vocal performance major) and moves in tomorrow.

Everyone's leaving.

Twelve days from now, I'll be in New Haven.

Hence, I'm starting my college shopping. So far I have socks, underwear, towels, a hedgehog, and a laptop. Not bad, eh?

Next on my list: a laptop/book bag!

I've narrowed it down to about six, whaddya think?

First, the more practical, professional looking ones (which also happen to be more expensive):







So I'm fond of chocolate leather, sue me!

Now for the smaller, uber-girly, candy-ass bags (again, less expensive):







So what do ya'll think? I'm really leaning towards Jade, I just hope I don't regret it when it turns out not to hold as much as I hope it does. Hrm...

Let's recap the past few days, shall we?

Saturday:
Nine hour drive to Maryland and back to pick up my baby African pygmy hedgehog. After much deliberation, he has been christened Nevsky, after Saint Alexander Nevsky.
Was relieved to see that my period finally came (among the many, many reasons I anxiously await my arrival at Yale is the $4-a-month birth control)
Grad party hopping with Jack, who couldn't eat anything because of his wisdom teeth extraction from the previous day. Showed off pictures of Nevsky. Drank a few beers and got my ass kicked in beer pong. Didn't even get buzzed, however. Lots of mosquito bites.

Sunday:
Hedgie cage cleaning (Nevsky is fond of defecating in his wheel).
Grad party de Feldmann. Depression over weight and social ineptitude. Started drinking vodka around 8. Stopped drinking vodka around 8:30. Started vomiting around 9? Continued to vomit for the rest of the night, followed by dry heaving after my stomach was emptied. Jack took incredibly good care of me. People are really nice to you when you're violently drunk! Spent most of the night writhing in my own vomit on a lawn chair. Eventually Jack got me inside and one of Feldmann's sisters was nice enough to let me borrow a clean shirt (she was shitfaced too). Jack found me a blanket with penguins on it. Apparently I kept trying to talk about calculus.

Monday:
Day of the Muse concert.
Day before my 18th birthday.
Woke up on a loveseat in Feldmann's basement, found Jack laying on the floor next to me. Such a sweetheart, that boy. I tried to have breakfast (less than half a plain bagel and some orange juice). My digestive system had other plans. I vow never to drink ever, ever again. Jack makes me give Feldmann's sister her shirt back... I refuse to put on my vomit covered one. Jack gives me his. Jack drove me home with no shirt on. I was amused, despite my nauseated state. Jack's mother calls and is having some sort of nervous breakdown. Jack makes me give him his shirt back. I wrap a neon green blanket around myself, call him an asshole and scamper into my house. I thank god that my father is going to be at work all day.
I assess the damage. I'm incredibly dirty. My purse (and its contents) are covered in vomit. My phone rings, but I don't want to touch it. I put on the disposable gloves I got for cleaning the hedge cage and wash it off. Everything else gets thrown into a bag for later inspection. There's a bagel waiting for me on my desk, along with $120 dollars to pay for train tickets and concert souvenirs. My father's awesome. I'm too nauseated to eat, however. I take a nap.
I wake up at 3:55. Our train leaves at 4:46 for the city. I run in the shower and get dressed as quickly as possible. I scramble to find a new bag, throw in my cellphone, some makeup, and the money my father gave me. I don't bring my digital camera because it's still covered in vomit (which, incidentally, is why I haven't posted more pictures of Nevsky). Jack picks me up around 4:25- my hair is still soaking wet. We arrive at the train station at 4:40. I run to a ticket kiosk and purchase tickets. "Peak, off-peak, what the fuck?" I don't know what the difference is and I'm freaking out that we're going to miss the train. I buy two round trip peak tickets. $52. Holy shit. Train isn't there yet- Jack's mad at me for using the machine when we could've just asked a teller. The teller tells us we should've bought off peak tickets- that would've saved me $14. Jack's grumpy because I never listen to him, because people never respect his intelligence, and me stupidly running to the machine even though he said to go to the teller made him feel as though I don't, either.
We board the train with Justin Maas, who's also going to the concert. We pick up a stray Daily Post and do a crossword to completion (Go Team Discovery!). I eat the bagel my father bought for me- slowly. I don't feel ill!
We arrive in Penn Station around 6:30 and grab dinner. I had an amazing panini called "The Russian" from the Europan Cafe (yes, Europan). Roast beef, muenster, caramelized onions, lettuce, plum tomatoes & Russian dressing. Mmm. I buy a magazine for the train ride home- Scientific American. Scientific American Mind is a better publication (or at least, more interesting, especially to me, a neuroscience geek).
We get to Madison Square Garden. I buy a t shirt for myself and for my brother- $60. Jack buys a t shirt too. He's so handsome. We find our seats- 7:30. Opening band, the Cold War Kids comes on shortly after 8. I wasn't familiar with them beforehand, but they were pretty good. They play for 45 minutes. Half an hour later, MUSE COMES ON.

Oh sweet jesus.

They open with Knights of Cydonia.
It is so good. I am dancing and headbanging and singing along and I feel like the only one in my section who's doing so, although the ENTIRE Garden was standing up for the whole show.
The second song they play is Map of the Problematique, one of my favorite Muse songs of all time.
Next up is Hysteria, from Absolution- I'm relieved that they're playing some of their old stuff. Fucking amazing set list.
1. Knights of Cydonia
2. Map of the Problematique
3. Hysteria
4. Supermassive Black Hole (so much better in person than on the album)
5. City of Delusion
6. Butterflies & Hurricanes (piano, YES YES YES, I fucking love you Matt Bellamy)
7. Hoodoo
8. Apocalypse Please
9. Feeling Good (oh god yes)
10. Sunburn (some old stuff, woot!)
11. Invincible (this song took on a whole new meaning singing it with thousands of other people, swaying in time)
12. Starlight (wooooot! Matt got everyone clapping for this one, so much fun.)
13. Time is Running Out (the crowd got so into this. You could hardly hear Matt singing over everyone screaming, "I won't let you murder it, cos our time is RUNNING OUT!" He let us sing the whole chorus at one point. It was fucking amazing. Even the schlub standing next to me, who'd been pretty deadpan for most of the concert, was screaming along. It felt so good.)
14. New Born (sweet jesus!!! I fucking love Origin of Symmetry. THANK YOU MUSE!)
15. Plug in Baby (New Born followed by Plug in Baby... those men are geniuses. For PiB, they released tons of giant balloons over the mosh pit, it was fucking amazing. Oh my God, it was amazing.)

Then they left the stage! The whole Garden was pitch black, and suddenly everyone starts holding up cellphones and lighters, the whole place is full of these tiny swaying lights, it was amazing. Finally, Muse comes back out.

16. Soldier's Poem (definitely more mellow than anything else they played, but after the excitement and exhaustion of the past few songs, the crowd was ready for it.)
17. Unintended (the highlight of my night. Jack held me and we danced. It was so perfect.)
18. Stockholm Syndrome
19. Take a Bow

Ahhh. They left us all begging and screaming for more. They focused a little too much on Black Holes & Revelations... but then, I loved every song. I was SO happy to hear Unintended, Map of the Problematique, Time is Running Out, New Born, Butterflies & Hurricanes, Feeling Good... I wish they would've played Bliss and Exo-Politics, or Sing for Absolution... Oh, hell, I love all their stuff. Fucking amazing concert.

So then we found a 24 hour Dunkin Donuts and Jack got me a happy birthday smoothie. It was delicious. Best birthday ever. We caught the 12:18 train and were all cutesy and coupley on the ride home, annoying the piss out of anyone nearby, I'm sure. I read some of my magazine.

Tuesday:
My 18th birthday!
I took Nevsky out and played with him on my bed, changed his food and water and cleaned his wheel. Had reheated pizza for lunch and wrote in my blog! Will soon see my darling angel Jack, and we will celebrate my big one-eight.

So, laptop... had it for about a week... was in a rush one day... stumbled out of my computer chair, as my clumsy self is prone to doing... got my foot caught on a wire... said wire was plugged into the laptop... the laptop was jerked off my desk and onto the floor, where its nascent, unsuspecting hard drive was thrown into ultimately fatal cardiogenic shock...

Its replacement arrives Monday. Till then, I'm back on the desktop.

To be blunt, I am a profound stumblebum. I am in a constant state of mild confusion about my physical environs, and often am ignorant about the location of my own appendages in relation to them. I am constantly breaking, slipping, spilling, pulling, pushing, and knocking over- always inadvertently. I misplace things with an alarming frequency, or subject myself to delusions of having misplaced them. Case in point:

One day in Physics class, I was working on a problem set which required the use of my calculator. "Where's my calculator?" I asked, only to be answered with mocking cackles. I looked down to discover that it was under my palm. For the rest of the year, my "friends" would randomly spout "Where's my calculator!" whenever they wanted to get under my skin. Sigh. Likewise, I'm wont to look for my glasses, when not only are they on my head, but in front of my eyes. So apparently, I can even forget how bloody well blind I am (I am, in fact, legally blind in my right eye, and my left one's none too perceptive, either).

I'm an astonishingly poor specimen of the human race. I'm short and slightly overweight. I can't function without my glasses. My nose runs when I eat. I have anemic tendencies. I bite my nails. My teeth are yellow. I (unwillingly) regurgitate everything I eat (resulting in no small degree of halitosis). My periods aren't regular. I can't orgasm. I've lived with eating disorders, depression, neuroticism, and crippling insecurity.  Not to mention that I'm a selfish cunt with a penchant for tacky jewelry.

At least I have a good complexion (most days) and O negative blood.

So the new laptop my father picked out for my came the other day, and I've spent most of the past 24 (36, 48?) hours fiddling around with it, and finding all kinds of fun things to do, like assigning keyboard shortcuts and downloading gadgets that let me listen to Russian radio. It's nice enough- very big, 17" widescreen, with a very large resolution (I had to go through and find all the blind people settings, like fixing the DPI and default text sizes and getting the extra large icons, 'cos I got a headache from all the squinting- I'm not even farsighted!). For those curious, it's a Dell Latitude D830- I am a diehard PC user, and so far haven't had any issues with Windows Vista, although I've got the business edition. The biggest drawback to that is NO SOLITAIRE. C'est dommage. I'll probably download it later.

The GUI isn't too flashy, I don't think, and I like the gadget toolbar- but then, I'm easily amused. I foresee neck ache and many hours of Pharaoh in bed- my summer's looking up. Ha.

A few months ago my family planned an excursion to Florida (their vacation destination of choice since, oh, my birth) to commemorate my 18th birthday, because, as those of you who know me are aware, I have a very special place in the lives of my family members. I was marginally looking forward to it because of a trip to Sea World where I'd get to hold a penguin, and because (here's the actual present part) they were paying for my boyfriend to come.

Long story short I have a major, major altercation with my mother. My father can't get off from work to go, and everyone's well aware that my mother and I can't be civil enough to each other to take a vacation together, so my mum and brothers will be trotting off to Florida August 1st, and I'll be staying home avec mon pere.

But wait! A herald approaches, bearing good news: my chivalrous, attentive, most romantic, upbeat, and optimistic, "glass half full of rain from a silver-lined cloud" boyfriend heard this and, instead of being upset, chirped, "Well now we can see that Muse concert!"

Yes, mesdames et messieurs, Muse, the arena rock sensation imported from across the pond. I'd gladly bear Matthew Bellamy's children, so much do I adore this band. They're coming to MY STATE, the DAY BEFORE MY 18th BIRTHDAY. I, of course, found out about this a while ago, but was already locked into a week of family-fun-in-the-sun down south, so I reflected on what a witty bastard god is by taunting me thus, and moved on with life.

Before I could so much as consult my parents Jack bought two tickets. I still haven't told my parents, but I can't see how it affects them much. We'll take the train into the city, chill at the concert until all hours of the night, go to a diner until wee hours of the morning, probably have sex a time or two or three... maybe I'll come home before sunrise, maybe I won't. By the end of the affair I'll be 18, so it doesn't matter overmuch. It's not as though I'm going to be all typical and get a tattoo to flaunt my newfound legality or anything. I'm very much excited, although I approach the date (August 6th, the concert, the 7th being my birthday, for those curious, ahem) with no small degree of trepidation, because past birthdays have always been miserable, so I'm waiting to see what's going to come along and muck this all up.

In the meantime I've gotten in touch with all of my suitemates for college, and they seem like a nice enough crop of girls- a decent cross section of the campus, I'm sure, although most of them are Californian, which is a trifle unsettling. I'm thinking college will be good, though. I'd like something to be after this ridiculously lackluster summer.