Hey what's up my blog's back!!

I'll write actual post posts when I'm settled in Charleston, but in my packing I've come across my usual random slips of paper with thoughts on them, that I want to share with you all. Here is what I found on my "to blog about" slip:

"Susan Boyle. NOT good." Well that's just self-explanatory

"Intellectual Disappointment." That's the little nickname I've given myself, because in my immediate family, that's my role. Example: I learned most of my vocabulary from teen movies. You know the scene in Clueless where Cher says "I felt impotent, and out of control"? Weeeelp until I was far too old, and got corrected by an adult, I used the word impotent to mean "restless" or "crazed." I learned the word "amenable" from Legally Blonde, and used it often, and then once I had that Clueless epiphany, I wanted to hide under my bed forevs in fear of what amenable could actually mean. Turns out I've been using it correctly. PHREWF! And of course, Bring it On, which taught me words like "alacrity" and "afulgence" and I still don't know what the latter means. My senior year of high school our Christmas Day choice of movie was Something's Gotta Give and my mom said I didn't have to go because I wouldn't like it. Why didn't she think I'd like it? It didn't have teenagers in it. She'd been taking Rachel to Tennessee Williams plays and poetry readings since the ripe age of approx. 4 months, but I wasn't trusted to like a ROMANTIC COMEDY STARRING DIANE KEATON. Bring onnnnn the chorus: Intellectual disappointment!

And the last notation we'll explore today comes from my first day of Dr. Judy's Psych of Intimacy class this June: "Cal at dinner being condescending"

This is because as we're sitting down for our first class (haha, foreshadowing), Dr. Judy calls everyone's attention to the back of the room to point out that Jason, one of the tech support guys employed by TC, would be joining us because he asked to sit in. But her tone was so condescending, and pointing him out so entirely unnecessary, the first thing I could think of was that scene in Titanic when Cal says to the table, "Jack is joining us tonight from the third class..."

God I love Titanic. Probably because of all the teenagers.

Conversations with Malka aka And Then I Cried #2

Malka is 4. I babysit her and her brother. I love asking kids what they want to do when they grow up, and what they think I should do. The responses are normally hilarious. Yet after last night, I'll never do it again.

Allison: Malka, what should I be when I grow up?
Malka: You ARE a grown up!
Allison: I guess you're right. Well, what should I be?
Malka. Nothing. You're just a babysitter.


...and then I cried

How To Scare Your Mom

Today I'm going on the van at work to volunteer somewhere. Jovan parks the van at health fairs and such, and then people come aboard for condom demos, questions, pamphlets, etc. I wasn't smart enough to ask where we're going or...when we'll return...which led to this conversation this morning:

Mom: Are you home for dinner?
Allie: I have no clue. We're leaving at 4 so chances are we won't be back until 7 or 8.
Mom: Where are you going?
Allie: I wish I knew. All I know is that at 4 pm I'm leaving my car in a parking lot, meeting up with a black man, getting into his van filled with lubricant, and driving away.

HEHEHEHEHEHEHEH FUN TIMES.

Shh I'm not updating I swear

okaaaay fine I had to just put this up because Henry out-cuted himself Friday and it needs to be shared. I was bathing him (rephrased from "We were taking a bath," which is untrue as I am always fully clothed around children, thanks Maddie) and I referred incorrectly to a TV character, so he corrected me, and I apologized. Then I sang to him "It's too laaaate to apologizeeee, it's too laaaaate" and he looks at me with the most sincere eyes and says: "You ALWAYS get a second chance."

And then I died a little and took the cryogenic lock off my ovaries because maybe I will have babies.

I'm Sad

Because I think I have to take a blogcation. I have a lot to say and I love to say it; however, this summer semester isn't just kicking my ass. It's grilling it. In the center of the grill, not the cooler side areas where you put the food to stay warm but not overcook. Even though writing is therapeutic, thinking about updating the blog has become yet another "oh my GOD stress more to do!" thing so for now I'm just taking a blogatus. Like a hiatus. For a blog. I'll be back. Who knows, maybe tomorrow, now that the pressure's off. From all 3 readers...

I Just Ate 4 Dinners

Both me and my dad have "It's Complicated" at home from Netflix. I love that so, so much.

You know what I don't love? People who are too publicly emotional. Yeah, I know, I'm Sobfest 2006 at any funeral or viewing of A Walk To Remember, but otherwise, I keep my shit together. People who start to cry when talking about their great aunt Shirley who died in 1974 before they were even born? GET.OVER.IT. And yes, I know I'm not nice. This was established July 1, 1986, when my mother says I came out of the womb with a judgmental scowl on my face.

So in my Intimacy class Monday, we're going over potential project ideas, and a student from the prof's 2002 class comes in to tell us about his project: he wrote a song. About 9/11. You can't see my face now but...use your imagination. (Since you asked, I firmly believe that songs shouldn't have themes except "Christmas." A song whose sole purpose is to make you cry is a BAD BAD THING. BAD. Let's walk in a winter wonderland and rum pum pum pum but I DO NOT want to be reminded of people jumping out of windows to certain death (his lyrics, not mine). So then he goes into how the woman singing along with him was a dear friend who died last year. Ok. That's sad. So get teary, make your point and sit down. Don't try to fight it. Don't continue on and give me a story about how we're all waiting to become stars in the sky lighting the path for the living when we croak (ok, my word and not his. He's the "passed on" or "in a better place" type, clearly). So it goes on for like, five more minutes and he gets sad about EVERYTHING.

"And we sang it by this statue? That survived (squeak) Hiroshima (voice cracks)?" I mean, granted, I only just got over Hiroshima in 2009, but come on buddy, come on...

Ok this entry really petered out quickly BUT moral of the story: emotional people drive me nuts. I wish everyone were cold, stoic and dead inside like me. We can all wear black and mope and only show emotion during "Party in the USA"

Hip THIS

I really kind of miss my Health Promotion class. It was just six students and our awesome professor joking around a table for two hours. I likened it to the gang from "Community." When my mom asked which one I was, and the best match I could think of was Ahbed, the one with Asperger's...I felt sad.

So I'm at the point where if I hear the term hipster used one more time for just an average young person I might de-eyeball someone. Why does this bother me? It's often used derogatorily, or in a joking way, and always as an "us" versus "them" thing, but I don't get it. WHAT IS A HIPSTER?!

From my sad sad corner of global thought, I have come to realize that based on what people tell me, hipsters are a) trendy b) too cool for me c) insecure. And this makes no sense. Because essentially everyone is a hipster under those terms. Everyone under the sun who wears a hat or leggings, has a low-paying job, drinks cheap beer, doesn't get a lot of sleep, is under the age of 33, and has at one point in their life lived in Brooklyn qualifies. Narrow the parameters people! I mean sometimes I wear leggings with a long button down because it's comfortable and the top was super cheap at TJ Maxx. Does that make me a hipster? I have a superiority complex. Does that make me a hipster?

I guess what I'm saying is that overall the word is too often used, often by people who don't know what a hipster truly is so then just open up the umbrella of the term waaayy too wide. I always thought hipsters were unaffected young city people who make no money but spend all their parents' money and are ridiculous music snobs and act too cool to know you and smoke and deeeefinitely don't shop at TJ Maxx. True hipsterness is not me.

But seriously if one more person claims someone else is a hipster because they wear odd shoes or are <28 and live alone I will murdaaa.