Somehow, There is Such a Thing as Too Much Information.

Let's say you have two suitor-ettes. One lives on the other side of the country, but who's counting the miles? The other is from your hometown, but currently goes to school in the southern area of the state.

Now let's say that your name is Billy Bob. And the girl on the west coast, she's named Suzie Q. And the girl from you're hometown, Carrie Ann.

Now, Billy Bob tells Carrie Ann all about Suzie Q. He even mentions (to ALL of his friends,) the cookies Suzie Q overnighted him. (Emphasis on OVERNIGHT.) Billy Bob knows that Suzie Q really likes him, she's mentioned moving cross country, and is even coming in for a weekend to visit. Now Billy Bob thinks that these are all gestures of friendship, all good friends want to move closer and come for weekends to visit, right? He knows though that Suzie Q likes him because she's actually said, "If I lived closer to you, I'd date you."

Now Carrie Ann is another story. He and Carrie Ann hang out more often, and have an obvious connection... noticed by all their friends at least. And Carrie Ann has told him outright that she had a "crush" on him. He feels that he could like her, if she was older, lived closer, and if God wanted it to be so. (Now that's just a great way to tell a girl you like her, isn't it??)

Carrie Ann finally got the chance to talk on the phone to Suzie Q. Suzie Q mentions how much she's heard about Carrie Ann.

Carrie Ann realizes, if Billy Bob tells me all about Suzie Q and how she likes him, he must tell Suzie Q about me.... and how I like him.

Somehow, that just seems WRONG. You have two women, both like you and you've most likely admitted to liking both, but you let the each of them know about each other.

Let's make it worse.

That weekend Suzie Q is coming down to visit? Carrie Ann plus a bunch of your friends are going on a road trip to Niagra Falls. To drink, gamble, and do things you shouldn't do. Two girls, one guy. This isn't going to end as a daydream fellows. This could possibly be Billy Bob's worst nightmare.

Stupid, stupid, stupid Boy.

Oreo Cookies

Have you ever really listened to Cake? They make me smile. (Short Skirt, Long Jacket.)

So I felt like blogging, but I really not sure what to say. I envy the blogs that are more daily journals... I feel I should head that direction instead of continuing on the infrequent obscure blogging path I've created.

On that note... I ... well, um... went to class today?

I talked last night online with a ... friend of a friend. Basically he had a huge crush on the friend, I was brought in to be the temporary shrink, and when the other relationship nose-dived, ours has continued. (Also understood as him still IMing me for free two cent advice.) Although, come to think of it, I don't know how much of a shrink I am to him. I'm basically serving up all of Scuba's advice to me... the advice that I usually don't listen to until after the fact. It's funny how the solutions to other people's issues seem so clear, but when they happen to be the exact same solutions to my problems... I wonder why I still have those problems. I guess what last night taught me was that I really should listen to Steve's advice more often, and probably re-think going to grad school for clinical (aka shrink) psychology. I hear that I/O psychologists make a hell of a lot of money, they travel a ton, and all I can think of is the woman in Charlie's Angels who sneaks into the corporation as an I/O psychologist (I think,) wearing the tight leather jumpsuit and cracking the whip as "Barracuda" plays in the background. The less ... glamorous version would involve creating tests and figuring out who the best people are for the company to hire. Like my two hour application for Joseph Beth Books. All the work of an I/O... personality tests, the works. I could do it. (Barracuda style....?)

We went to a thrift store this past weekend. I was along because we also stopped at the open air market in downtown Cincinnati, but got dragged along to the store. Usually I don't mind, they sell books for 25 cents, I can usually find a decent mystery novel. This time though I bought a Cincinnati Reds t-shirt, (small in kids, but it fits quite tight and looks cute,) three vases and a lamp. I'm not really sure what fueled my purchases. The vases I decided to paint, so they went from 45 cents each to about five dollars each after the glass paint was bought. Then the lamp is awesome... but I had to get a shade and some more paint... so it became ten bucks after that... I guess I don't understand the idea of thrift. Oh well.

Um. That's all for now.

Adios amigos.

Rewind

For old times sake... a rewind through blogger history...

Vino (1/24/2004)

I had a few dreams last night that Chris brought me a bottle of red wine. I woke up and had to think for a few minutes where I stashed it... remembering after awhile that it was a dream.
Is it bad waking up at ten thirty and wanting to drink the whole bottle of wine?

Freak (12/24/2003)

My sister, the seventh grader who thinks she knows all about relationships, told me that he (C) must hate me and think I'm a superzoid freak.

Not sure if I want to be one of those.

C, if you read this, am I a superzoid freak?

S-not A Good Idea (10/16/2003) :
jojolibchen: when I was learning the parts of the skull in lab, I realized that I was holding someone's skull - made me think

UnaRegazzaBella: Yes?

jojolibchen: that some day - that might be my skull
jojolibchen: and some kid like me pretending to pick my nose
jojolibchen: shit

My Sister's Reaction to my "Work Out Shorts" (9/7/2003) :

shorttcchik: are they spandex?
shorttcchik: that would be the brightest moment of my life if they are
shorttcchik: u know the ones that cling to ur body like a glove
shorttcchik: o that would look amazing on u
shorttcchik: haha
shorttcchik: and get the matching spandex sports bra
shorttcchik: and the matching sweatband

Reading the Last Page First, a Princess Story's Ending (8/20/2003) :

But alas - she didn't recognize his voice and chopped his head off, splattering blood of gold on her beautiful clothes and tarnishing her crown forever with the heart of her true love.

Love Psychology Given and Recieved (7/31/2003) :

If you're not dating him, and never will, but still are being exclusive to him, you are creating a monster.

For that matter, if you aren't dating him, don't know who else he "isn't dating," and see no future, you're stupid.

If you know there is a high possibility he's using you, you're dumb.

If you've created the monster, feel dumb and stupid, and still want to continue "seeing" this guy, screw rules and have some fun.

~

More later.

Chicken Shit

I should be making dinner right now. I promised the girls I'd attempt some eggplant parmesan... but it's just not going to happen. I made chicken cutlets (big Italian family thing,) last night... all on my own, sans recipe. Everyone actually liked them.... (which reminds me Mr. SB... if you come down here I'll cook you dinner.) So anyway, I felt the need to call my dad and tell him all about it. (I'm coming down with my third pre-season cold... so I'm unusually attached to the parents.... it's that whole "I want my mommy" syndrome.) I'm all excited and call up and "guess what" my father. Being my dad he automatically thinks I either wrecked the car (again) or found a scholarship. (His greatest worry and greatest hope for me, sequentially.) He actually laughed (odd sound from him,) when I mentioned the chicken. Luckally he put my mother on the phone before he could go into his tirade about grades/scholarships/the car. (Ironically, some woman wrote an editorial that was in Reader's Digest talking about how her father asks about her car... but he's really asking about her. I'm wondering if all dads are that way....)

On the topic of chicken, my new quote lately has been: "This is no time to be chickenshit." It's from the movie Under the Tuscan Sun. Frances, the main character is at a crossroads in her life and is being... well chickenshit about making any changes or big decisions. Her friend advises her to stop being chickenshit before her life passes before her eyes and she ends up an empty shell forever wandering.

I'm not quite sure how that translates into my life, I'm at no mid-life crisis, I'm not quite an empty wandering shell... but I do occasionally feel that I tend to act like chickenshit. (The whole, "let's please everyone instead of creating any type of conflict... which includes letting them walk all over you" attitude I often posess.)

Anywho, the anti-chickenshit motto of mine led me to the library. (Amazing.) Lately I've been taking along my CD player and listening to my new christian music. (Impulse buy... I haven't listened to Christian since FUS.)

Like a hammer to the head, (I won't start talking about CSI... promise...) Stacie Orrico's More to Life song finally had meaning to me. It goes along with the chickenshit motto... when you realize something is missing in your life and you begin to notice what it is... don't just ignore it, right?

Well that led to me doing something I've never done before, offering up my frustrations and anger and pain to God. (In the shower with my arms wildly flapping above my head like that motion would somehow make my offerings better recieved.)

Okay, most people are sane and controlled. They go pray, kneeling by their bed or in some overly incensed chapel. We all knew I was different.

So maybe it's unusual to have a motto that talks about "chickenshit." (Which, by the way, do chickens have shit? I'm confused on that one.) And I know it's really strange to be wildly waving your arms in the air thinking that it does something. (Let alone in the shower while belting the words off-key to your new favorite song.) But I've been to the one extreme. (FU.) (S.) And I've tempted with the other extreme. (::Guilty chuckle::) So now, perhaps I'm swinging towards the middle.

Tarzan and Jane style.