allison

03:36 pm: I'm starting to get really fed up with people in my house. Why on earth should I have to explain to them that we're all friends, and that you shouldn't have a problem talking to your friend about a problem you might have. If personal shit happens, keep it out of sorority business--it has no place there. If sorority shit happens, keep it out of your personal business--it has no place there! My sisters need to learn how to separate Phi Sig from friendships. They need to learn how to manage their time better. They need to stop BITCHING and just do what they need to do. They need to stop making my house meeting last twice as long as they need to.

Lately, I'm remembering why I hate girls.

04:18 pm: I was a very sad little girl a year ago.

07:30 am: I'm not sure I'll ever have sex again...sheesh...

But I did dream that I made out with two of my guy friends from home, I cannot for the life of me remember who they are, dammit... But that was pretty good. The dream-make-out, that is. I need to remember who it was.

02:34 pm: I love drunk dreams...
...in this one, I was pregnant with Pat's baby (we were not dating in the dream...) and I had kind of decided to have an abortion because:
a) um, Pat's baby...psycho ex-girlfriend much?
b) the few times we talked about something like that happening while we were dating, we agreed that neither of us were ready to take care of a kid at this point in our lives.

So then I remember it being like 2 days after I knew I was pregnant, and I had gone out drinking both days, and I freaked out, because, hey, I'm pregnant! I don't want a kid with FAS, that would be awful...! But just then, I saw Pat, and I totally kept my cool.

I treated it like it was no big deal, and so he was okay with the whole situation, but then he said "Alright, awesome" and walked away.

I called after him, "That's not fair! I want you back!" and he turned around and said,

"Why...?" like he was testing me or something.

So, I said, (and at this point I started to bawl) "Because there's no way I'm making this decision all by myself, I need your help."

He said, "Well, I like the 'I want you back' part, but I'm not so sure I like the reason..." and then CUT TO THE NEXT SCENE, where I'm sitting in a Planned Parenthood-type waiting room with all of Pat's relatives, and I'm feeling really awkward but still, I'm thanking them for coming with me. Pat is MIA, because he's a douchebag, and medical science has evolved to the point where abortions are performed by the afflicted woman taking one pill at one Planned Parenthood center, then driving to another Planned Parenthood center to take another pill, then driving to ANOTHER Planned Parenthood center to take ANOTHER pill.

I woke up with my mother yelling at me, because we had an appointment at the 2nd PPC at 9:00, and it was 9:30 and I wasn't sure which way to turn onto Erie Boulevard in Syracuse to get to 690 West.

...I was driving to get my own abortion pill...weird...

07:37 pm: I was going to say something funny, but I forgot what it was.

12:31 am: So I'm growing out my pubic hair so that I can have it waxed.

I haven't had a hairy box since I was, like, 12. It's very awkward for me. I can't stop touching it...petting it... It's like having a kitten! (Pun not intended...but funny nonetheless.)

11:39 pm: Um, can we please discuss how INCREDIBLY GORGEOUS Jennifer Tilly is?! She's 48 fucking years old, but looks MAYBE 30. I hope I'm that smokin' hot when I'm middle-aged...

11:30 pm: Here are the things I'm doing with myself:

--studying for the LSAT (need to actually register soon)
--working for the phone-a-thon at school (I get to be a telemarketer!)
--attending an astronomy lecture every Wednesday (very, very cool.)
--listening to CDs for the radio station (oh em jee, sooo many CDs...)
--writing letters to relatives

It's fun...what else should I do? Now accepting applications!

07:16 pm: I bought a gerbil!

His name is Phoebo.

It was going to be Phoebe, but he turned out to be a boy.

01:42 pm: I hate American news...
"WASHINGTON - They tried border collies in Virginia. They tried a stuffed coyote in New Jersey. In fact, officials nationwide have tried just about everything to get rid of large flocks of Canada geese that move in, eat the grass and leave lots of unwanted poop." ("Killing of problem geese OK'd," Associated Press)

I think there's a much more humane approach to this problem--we train the geese to only leave the WANTED poop all over the nation's capital. Then it's win-win!

03:27 pm: One day, a little chickadee decided that it was time to leave her nest, for she was getting bigger and it was quickly becoming too small. So, the little chickadee said goodbye to Momma chickadee and Daddy chickadee, and then flew far, far away from the little tree in the park. After three hours of flying, her little wings got very tired, so she landed in a different tree in a different park. It was a hundred years older than the tree she lived in with Momma chickadee and Daddy chickadee, and just a little bit bigger. She liked this tree just fine, because it was home to lots of other little chickadees, and even some squirrels, and she had never met a squirrel before. While she was resting in this tree, she heard of a MUCH bigger tree in a MUCH bigger park very far away, and she was sure that she would like it better. But she was still very tired, and for now, this tree was just fine.

The next day, the little chickadee met one of the many squirrels that lived in this 100-year-old tree, and they became great friends. The squirrel made the little chickadee laugh all day long with his funny faces, and kept her warm at night with his big, furry body. He even shared his nuts with the little chickadee, and so she shared her eggs. She liked very much spending time with her friend the squirrel, but she kept making her plans to fly to the MUCH bigger tree in the MUCH bigger park very far away. When the little chickadee told her friend the squirrel about her plans, the squirrel became very sad, and told the little chickadee that he would not go with her. This news made the little chickadee very sad as well, but she was sure she would feel better when she arrived in the MUCH bigger tree in the MUCH bigger park, and so the two friends parted ways.

It took the little chickadee five hours to fly to the MUCH bigger tree in the MUCH bigger park, and she thought about her friend the squirrel during the whole flight. She found the MUCH bigger tree without much difficulty, but it was MUCH different from the way she imagined it. It was MUCH different from the 100-year-old tree she used to live in, and MUCH different than the tree she lived in with Momma chickadee and Daddy chickadee. The little chickadee was scared; she missed her friend the squirrel and thought of him every day. She wished that he had come with her.

The little chickadee decided to fly around the MUCH bigger park and to make new friends. The squirrels and chickadees that lived there didn’t make her laugh like her friend the squirrel, and though some were willing to share their nuts, they were very bitter. Her friend the squirrel only shared the sweetest nuts, and so the little chickadee soon became very hungry. The little chickadee started to realize that she didn’t really fit in better in the MUCH bigger tree in the MUCH bigger park, and so she started making plans to go back to the 100-year-old tree and back to her friend the squirrel.

It took a very long time, and she needed to rest for a little while at the nest she used to live in with Momma chickadee and Daddy chickadee, but she finally made it back to the 100-year-old tree. After an even longer time, she found her friend the squirrel, and she told him just how much she had missed him. She didn’t just miss the nuts he shared; she missed the way they used to laugh all day and the way he kept her warm at night. She realized just how sad and cold she had been without her friend the squirrel, and right then and there she promised that she would never leave the squirrel again.

But then a big fucking black cat jumped into the tree and ate the little chickadee and the squirrel, and her promise didn’t matter.

The end.

12:54 am: Randal Graves: Seventeen year olds nowadays are crazy. They're up for anything. They even like it when you go ass to mouth.

Dante Hicks: You never go ass to mouth, Randal.

Randal Graves: You sound like my mom.

10:55 am: So I'm back. Clarkson has changed, albeit very subtlely. The newest
joke around campus is this "Defy Convention" ad campaign that
Clarkson's implanted. It started out as viral advertising--grafittied
website addresses on the paths that say "doyoudefy.com" and some
writing on the steps up to the Barben rooms that were undoubtedly
intended to be inspirational and motivating to the student body. Tony
Collins' (henceforth referred to as "T-Bone," because Jimmy James
called him that at Eboard yesterday, and I like it) idea behind it is
that Clarkson students Defy Convention by excelling where others
don't, and by breaking down barriers on their paths to a better world.
The students--and most of the professors--have taken "Defy
Convention" to mean "Break Whatever Rules Clarkson Has Imposed, and
You Won't Get In Trouble." After all, rules are conventions, are they
not? So when some drunk sophomores lit the Moore House dumpsters on
fire last Saturday night, they were just Defying Convention...same
with the couple of ninjas who took some golf carts for a joyride a few
nights ago. Nothing wrong with that--they were just doing what T-Bone
told encouraged them to.

Brenton Faber is a surprisingly vehement supporter of the phrase "um,"
especially considering that he teaches my COMM210 class. Oh, that's
right--I should probably pass the word on, since Clarkson was nice
enough to let me find out on my own; they changed the name of the
Technical Communications program to "Communications and Media" or
"Media and Communications," I haven't quite figured that part out yet.
They changed the name of my effing major without, like, letting me
know...changed some graduation requirements, too--how nice of them.
No email, no phone call, no carrier pigeon--nothing.

I'm in the middle of discussing the "Black Girl in my LW270 Class v.
Wears' Cactus Company" case (my idea, of course.) Here's the issue:
Wears has a company based in Texas that supplies a steady stream of
cacti to the poor cactus-less travellers on Route 11 (it's a roadside
stand, you see...) I've been employed by Wears to man the cactus
stand and sell to anyone who wants one--I figured the market in the
North Country would welcome some cactus-herders, seeing as how there
are none here... The issue is that some of these cacti are poisonous,
and are also irresistible to cats. There's a little sign on every
cactus pot that warns to this effect: "If your cats eats this, it will
die. Just to let you know." Some poor sap (the only black girl in my
class) bought a cactus and failed to head the warning, and her
priceless, purebred Persian cat has kicked the bucket. (In a most
unpleasant way, too--these cacti contain neurotoxins...cat would have
been spasming and flailing about for at least 5 minutes before a coma
set in, and after that it would just lie in utter suffering as all of
his limbs doubled in size and the increased pressure on his heart
caused a cardiac arrest. Moral of the story: always read the signs.)
So we're trying to decide who this black girl should sue, and where.
At least I have a good reason to be there at 8 am...

I'm afraid I'll have to cut this short, as I'm going to be late for my
Drugs class, (which is also going well--my father's convinced that
sweet little Gary Kelly is going to spend three hours a week teaching
me how to make my own meth lab out of ramen and staples.)

03:23 pm: I'm sorry. It was never supposed to happen. Never. I absolutely regret it.

But now you have one more reason to look away, and I have one more reason to hate myself.

...like I needed any more of those...

12:50 am: Maybe I'll just go gay.

07:49 pm: THIS WILL BE THE MOST AWESOME ELJAY CHAIN POST EVAR.
I love music. Doesn't even have to be good music--sometimes the worst songs make the best songs, y'know? (How else can you explain the themesong from "Grease" or "Who Let the Dogs Out"?) Unfortunately for me, I am also ridiculously poor right now...some might even say "in debt." My readership is comprised mostly of a similar demographic, so my assumption is that if you're reading this, you're pretty broke as well.


SO HERE'S WHAT YOU DO:
1) Make an awesome mix tape. Make sure there's a theme, make sure you've got all the song titles and artists listed somewhere.
2) Put it in one of those paper CD envelopes, tape it shut, and put your return address on it. Oh, and a stamp or two.
3) Check the comments on this entry, and send your CD to the last person listed.
4) Once the CD is in the mail, put your name and address in a comment, and wait for the music to come rollin' in.
5) Cross your fingers and hope I figured this out right...

02:14 am: Argh...

I can't go to sleep with tears still in my eyes. Just can't. Won't do it.

I promised myself at least 8 years ago that I would never waste tears on someone who didn't deserve them, and that I would NEVER under ANY circumstances cry myself to sleep. I'm better than that. I'm worth more than that.

...so why can't I convince myself of that and stop crying? Why do I need a guy to tell me that before I believe it?

This is what I don't know--does he deserve them? I think so...

When Callie said "Don't cry over him, Allison--he sure as hell doesn't cry over you..." I had to run and find a bathroom to sit in for a few minutes until it passed over me. Was she wrong?

WHEN DID I GET THIS FREAKING EMOTIONAL!? I'm not like this!!! I'm not this person, I swear.



I don't need anybody.





I don't WANT anybody.







...I'll just force all emotion out of my system, so I'll never get hurt, and I'll never get worked up, and I'll do well in school and I'll make a lot of money, and I'll buy a puppy farm and I'll just read a lot of books.

I won't be happy, but I won't be this fucking depressed, either... All things considered, that's a better option, isn't it?

01:55 am: Talking to you makes my day absolutely 10,000% brighter. (Usually.)

Thinking about you makes me smile so much that the people I work with ask me if I'm okay. (Usually.)

Imagining myself in your arms makes me feel safer and more comfortable than when I realize I'm lying in bed totally alone. (Usually.)

...then there are those times when talking to you makes me wonder if I'm going to lose you for good this time.
...or when thinking about what I did to you makes me think I'm crazy for even hoping for another chance.
...or when I imagine you with your arms around someone else and I can feel my chest split open and I'm convinced that I somehow deserve to feel this way...


...why can't we just be in the same place at the same time...? Can't this just be perfect for once, like I know it should be (and should have been)?

02:56 am: If you could be doing anything in the world right now besides what you're already doing--I'm talking at 4:36 pm on a Thursday, in school, in life, with your hair, with your family, with your friends...open interpretation--what would you do?

...and why aren't you doing it?

01:58 am: If I invite you to spend a couple of days hanging out with me by the lake and meeting my extended family, you should say "Yes."

If you really don't want to come, or don't think you can make it because of previous engagements, you should say "No, sorry, but maybe next time."

What you should not say is "Maybe," or "I'll see how I feel after putting 900 bails of hay in a barn with just me and my brother," and then decide not to come after all without calling me to tell me. A simple "I'm sorry, I'm just way too exhausted" or even a direct "Listen, I woke up hungover at 2 pm; there's no way I'm driving 5 hours today..." would be fine and understandable.

You also should not wait until I call YOU at 6 pm and say "So, you're not coming?" to say "...nnnooo? It's a five hour drive, why would I start this late?"

I'm not high maintenance, and I don't ask much--all I want is for you to fuck me whenever you get the chance, tell the truth about everything, follow through on promises, and have a decent sense of humor.

The count's at 3-2...swing too late at the next one and you'll strike out.






...or am I not reading the signs...?




...don't make me feel more stupid than I already do--just tell me...