searching for signal

The one's who put themselves in charge and make the rest of the world hate a particular group aren't always the majority, just the loudest.

     --> We listen to them because the human race has a morbid fascination with the negative.

I wonder if optometrists could invent transitions contact lenses.

Sometimes I think gay people are more homophobic than straight people.


I also sometimes think minorities are more racist than the white people they accuse.


If I moved to Spain to work, I would learn to speak Spanish.


Occasionally I wonder if I'm the only person who thinks I have good things to say.


If you read my blog, please comment so I know I'm not just writing this to myself like the loser I try to convince myself I'm not. It doesn't even have to be a full sentence. A period or some other mark of punctuation will be sufficient. I just want to know you're there.


There was an Altoid avalanche on the stairs by the mailroom.


I think I'm really going to love it here. I think there are people who really just get it. Get what it's like for no one to get it and understand that it's not just okay to struggle, but natural even. That things that come naturally to some people just don't to others. That we're all just on this journey together and although our ups and downs are all going to be different, the point is we're all going to have ups and downs. I'm ready to be creative. Let me at 'em.


These are just random thoughts that passed through my head today.

"Then the clouds opened up and God said, 'I hate you Alfalfa.'"

Update: I guess I wasn't done thinking for the day.

I think this bee thinks my computer is a flower.

If you stumbled upon me right now, you might think me very collegiate. I feel collegiate. I'm sitting under a tree with my back against the trunk. The sky is blue. My laptop computer is sitting in my lap (go figure) and here I am typing away at it while occasionally eating part of the scone I just bought from the food court. If you saw me right now, you'd probably also think I was listening to music but the truth is I really just have my headphones on so no one will bother me. I'm not actually listening to anything at all (although I plan to).  What you'd never know though, is that I'm actually looking for ants. Yes ants. The little black things that can carry 100 times their weight and seem to be attracted to red and white checkered picnic blankets. It's for an art assignment.

Oh my god. I just found ants with wings!

...

They flew away. -insert sad face here-

I don't think anyone gives a damn about what I have to say on here. Knock knock. Hello. Cricket. Pen drop. Etc.

I hope no one else saw that...

This tree root is starting to put my butt to sleep.

OH! What I originally started to edit this blog for besides telling you (if there is a you out there) about the  ants. What I wanted to say is that I hate automatic flush toilets. Yes, I understand that they help prevent the spread of germs. But holy crap (no pun intended) today I was in a restroom with an automatic flush toilet and it flushed like, 4 times. I flushed when I sat down. It flushed when I leaned over to grab toilet paper. It flushed when I stood up (the only time it was actually supposed to). And then it flushed when I turned around to get the stall door open and leave. So, while that toilet may prevent the spread of germs that I would have killed 30 seconds later anyway by washing my hands like I'm supposed to, it wasted a lot of water in the process. Plus, it still didn't protect me from all of the germs that are on the handle to the stall door that I had to touch to get it open on my way out.

Speaking of toilets that waste water, my dorm here has "green handles." Yes, they are called "green" because they're supposedly good for saving water and helping the environment, but they're also literally the color green. Anyway, the point is that if you only go #1 (liquid waste - as it descriptively says on the accompanying plaque) you lift up on the handle and it only uses however much water one clipart water droplet represents. If you go #2 (solid waste - again, thank you plaque) you push down on the handle and it uses three clipart water droplets' worth of water. That sounds really good in theory. The only problem with it is, when you only go number #1 and you pull up on the handle to try to conserve water, it never gets it all down. The stream just jets out really fast and I'm convinced it just opens and closes quickly because all it does is tear up the toilet paper so you have all these fragments of used TP in the bottom of the bowl now, plus the water in the bowl is always, always, still tinged slightly yellow. So you have to flush it again. And then sometimes a third time. And by the time you've flushed it three times it's used the exact same amount of water as if I had just flushed #1 using the #2 method, so it's really not saving water at all. So that's that.

I'm going to post this again and look for more ants and maybe actually play some music. I might update again tonight. If I think some more.

Oh! There's an ant. Gotta go!


Update (Again): I know. How did I come up with even more to say?


I guess in a really narcissistic way, I want to be the only one who gets it. And when I come across someone who makes me know I'm not, I kind of flip out. I know how stupid that sounds. I should be excited, right? That someone else gets it? But I'm not. Because that means there's just one more thing that isn't unique about me. I keep trying to find something about me that makes me different. And every time I think I do, I see someone or hear something that tells me someone already wrote my words or thought my thoughts or whatever it may be. And then I feel like shit.


I hate having to go to the bathroom. I was completely comfortable outside. But then I had to pee. And I had to pick up all of my stuff and come inside to go to the bathroom and use that dumb "green" toilet handle. And even though I was enjoying sitting outside under that tree and looking all collegiate, I'm inside now and I don't feel like dragging all my stuff out there again.


I actually did start listening to some music in case you were wondering (you probably werent'). Bo Burnham (Go figure.) Maybe it's just Bo I want to feel like gets it. If he says something that makes me feel he gets it, I feel like we could be friends. But other people get what he gets and what I get and then I'm not important any more. And I can't be.


And this makes me feel sorry for myself. And I hate that. And I just...


It's all a hot mess.


You know what else? I have a lot of friends and people who care about me. But I always feel like there's someone they care about more. Like, let's just say there's Friend A, B and Me. And if all three of us had to choose one person, A would choose B and B would choose A and then there would be me.


I'm so glad our gym teachers always assigned us teams in school.


Maybe I should stop thinking for the day.


I think that's a good idea for now.


Love,
A Spastic Fat Chick

oh bo...

So. I'm so torn. And I know no one else will understand.


But I'm in love.


Yes, I said it. I'm in love. With a boy. And his name is Bo Burnham.


If you haven't heard of him, go youtube him. (I'm actually listening to him right now.) Unless you are easily offended or take things personally or are a minority who likes to play the racist card or... Well, if you're white, go listen to him.


Seriously, though. My freshman year of high school, my friend showed me a video by this kid, and I think I knew then that he was everything I wanted. (Evan, if you're reading this, I didn't know you then, and I'm sorry.) He was a tall, scrawny, white kid who played piano and guitar, sang (well, I might add), made me laugh, and wasn't afraid to be politically incorrect or offensive. Genius. (And now as a freshman in college I actually understand 95% of what he alludes to in his music! Hooray for learning!)


So, like I said. Freshman year I listened to him. And for the next few years every once in a while I just needed a good laugh that only Bo could bring about. Then recently, I rediscovered him and his new material and since then I've been overwhelmingly taken by him. Maybe it's because I'm older now and actually understand just how ingenious he really is because I can appreciate that fact that he's not only clever, but well read and informed. Maybe it's because he's kind of like a fictional character, a celebrity it's okay to fawn over because I know he'll never be mine (which is just fine with me because I have a wonderful boyfriend now. Love you, Evan <3). Maybe it's because he's still a tall, scrawny, white kid who plays guitar and piano, sings well, makes me laugh, and isn't afraid to be politically incorrect or offensive. It's most likely a combination of all three.


But most of all, I just appreciate him. He has a knack I think a lot of people want. I was recently told that talent is mostly just busting your ass. Bo knows what he wants. From what I've read, he always has. And he worked for it and got what he wanted and now he's doing what he loves. And I commend him for that.


I'm also intensely jealous.


I'm a freshman in college. I keep telling people I want to study visual communications. And I do, I think. But mostly I just want to know what I want. I want to know who I am and not be afraid to be just that. People keep telling me it's okay to not know right now. I'm only 18. But Bo was 18 (for only a few days, actually) when he became the youngest person in history to record a special for comedy central. He's only 3 years older than I am and is touring, preforming his comedy skit.


I want that. No, not the touring and the comedy skit. But I want to know what I love and be good at it. I want to bring something refreshing into the world like Bo does with his raw humor. I want people to appreciate what I do because I'm good at it. I want to feel unique and like I actually add something to this world. 


I'm only a freshman in college, but I'm working on it. I'm trying to embrace my quirks and my awkward and enjoy just being me. But it's so difficult. I watched the comedy troop Second City last night. They came to my college and did a performance. I laughed incredibly hard and loved the entire thing. But I couldn't help but think this: On stage, it's okay for them to act ridiculous because they're actors and it's what people except from them. But, if they were students on campus who acted like that, they'd be the outcasts. It would be completely socially unacceptable. This is why it's so difficult.


But I'm working on it. And listening to Bo along the way for inspiration and a reminder that it's okay to be myself and be ridiculous because one day, people will appreciate it. And perhaps if I'm just, well, me, other people will want that, too. And I think that would make the world a better place.


I've though about this a lot and I really want to tell Bo that he's been an inspiration to me, as corny as it sounds. I've been trying to figure out how to say it without being a creeper. Posting on his FaceBook wall? Creep. But commenting on something he posts? That just makes me one of 147,689 other fans that felt they had something to say that was worth Bo's time. (Not that I'm saying what I have to say to him is more or less worth his time than what anyone else has to say except, well... it kinda is... jk. But seriously.) I tried to tweet him, but you can't get this across in 140 characters or less, especially when 10 of those precious characters are taken up by simply tagging him in it. I also posted on his YouTube wall, but I couldn't say what I really wanted to...


So I just wrote this blog. Which he'll probably never read because I'm a coward and don't have the lady balls to send it to him somehow.


But Bo, if you ever read this for some crazy reason, please know that I love you in the least creepy interpretation of the word. Love as in admire. To an intense degree that I'm completely overwhelmed by. I hope you don't think I'm creepy now. That's the last thing I wanted, but, much like "My Whole Family..." this blog has most likely been completely counterproductive...


Peace out.


Kinsey.

passing through the orient.

You know how when you play The Game of Life, the first think you do is make a choice? You can either take a left out of the gate and get right to work, or you can take a right and get your miniature car an ed-ju-ma-cay-tion. When you go straight to work, you get to choose your job immediately, bypass the first of several stops along the way, and get paid right off the bat. When you go to college, you have to travel across 8 extra spaces and interrupt your play no matter what you roll to select a job, all without a single Pay Day space. So, if you hit any of those "Something ridiculous and unrealistic happened to you. Pay this ridiculous unrealistic amount of money now," spaces, the only thing thing you have to work with is the money everyone receives at the beginning.


So, you have to wonder, why do 90% or more people who play The Game of Life choose to take the college route? Because once you do get to choose your job, all of your choices pay more money than any of the jobs available for people who just start out in the field.


Well, I have chosen the longer, poorer route of going to college in my actual life and I expect it to pay off in the long run. (You know, retire at Millionaires Estate. Or at least comfortably at Countryside Acers.) I moved in last Wednesday (oh my... I've been here almost an entire week already!) and after all that orientation I'm finally setting off with my rape whistle, ID, and room keys all attached to my handy-dandy notebook! ... I mean Sock Monkey lanyard.


So far I've had 2 days of classes and I already kind of feel like all I am is a little pink peg stuck in an open-roofed plastic van. I'm easily lost, stepped on, moved... I guess that's just part of it, huh?


Well, wish me luck!

"Why is it that any time you do anything new that involves a group of people,
the first thing that happens is 'orientation'? 
Are human beings in such constant danger of becoming disoriented

 that we have to keep stopping and orienting ourselves?"

"Why I Let My Hair Grow Out" by Maryrose Wood