Confession Of A White Unmarried Female

So, I have a bit of a confession.

I love this book.

I just finished re-reading it (you can imagine my Grandfather's surprise-even shock- when he realized not only what I was reading, but that it wasn't my first time reading it, either!) And I just....adore it. It's just so beautifully written, so compelling.

Perhaps it's my own 'connection' to Lolita (those of you who know me 'for reals' know on how many levels) or simply Nabokov's perfectly written pathos. You can't help but feel sorry for Humbert Humbert, trapped by his own malformed mind. (And yet, and yet! His real-life counterpart is so vile!) As much as you understand, as you abhor, you want it to work out, you desperately want them to be happy, Humbert and his poor Lolita.

Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta.
She was Lo, plain Lo, in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock. She was Lola in slacks. She was Dolly at school. She was Dolores on the dotted line.

But in my arms she was always Lolita.

The Crazy Cat Lady: It Starts

Victory Is Mine!

My Abnormal Psychology professor from last semester (who was, on a side note, extremely attractive) when sending out our grades, attached this to the bottom of his email:

"You'll have to find my address out on your own if you want to throw a brick through my window."

So I replied:

"......is that a challenge? :)"

And his response:

"Um, I think getting a brick through my window would make a great story so ya, consider it a challenge :)"

Jury's In, Folks

After quite a long deliberation, I've decided.


I'd hit that. Just once, it would be worth the crazy. Took me a long time to figure out if I would or not, but after MI4 (Jesus, that blue suit!) I said, sure.

Just once.

Why I Love Having My Birthday In January

So True.

Like A Boss

So this past weekend I was laid up with a bad bout of food poisoning (check expiration dates, kids!!) and so you can imagine my anxiety about getting to class on time today.

Unfortunately, the universe had other plans.

I have to cross the street to get the the bus stop in the mornings. Like always, I paused at the designated crosswalk, sighed at the amount of people already there, looked both ways and began to cross the street. There's another apartment complex across this street, and their parking lot opens right by this crosswalk. As I'm nearly to the other side of the street, I see this Jeep paused waiting to turn right. I keep walking, because, really, who wouldn't see me walking in the middle of the street, right? But then he turns, and I keep walking, thinking that he's just getting out into the street and will wait for me to cross. Then he got closer. And closer.

And then I realized: Holy s*it. He's going to hit me.

And then all I remember is sky, the image of shattered glass, a tumbling sensation, and hitting the ground.

"F*ck," I muttered, because even at BYU, when you get hit by a car you're allowed to say that. I started to pick up my head, because, seriously, I'm lying in the middle of the street. I raise it up just enough, then say 'screw it. I need a minute.' I heard everyone rush over, someone yelling to call 911, but it all seems far away. I raise my hand and see blood trickling down, but it actually doesn't seem that bad. I manage to get up, grab my bag (dammit a strap's broken) and stumble over to the curb.

"Well," I say awkwardly, because about 40 people are staring at me, "crossed that one off the bucket list." This gets a few laughs, but the awkward gaping stares prevail. Then the bus arrives, and I think about getting on, (because hey, I can't be late for this class) but right as I start to move, the police car shows up behind it. Damn.

So the cop comes over, and the bus leaves, and before I know it everybody has all my information (as I give the EMT my birthdate, he looks up and awkwardly says "Happy Birthday....") and before too long, I'm signing the incident report and am on my way to class.

Although, as I was walking along the sidewalk, I was suddenly terrified of every car that passed by me, even when I was walking as far away from the curb as possible. DAMN YOU, CONDITIONING!!

I called my mom about 5 times, and she didn't pick up. So I called my dad, and told him the story, and then a few minutes my mother frantically calls me back. "The ONLY time I ignore your call is when you get hit by a car?!" Haha. It would be funny, if it was the first time she'd ignored my call :P

The EMTs gave me a long (unsurprising) list of 'symptoms' that I should be aware of, and if I started to feel them, I should go to an ER, and after my first class....I did. So I managed to push myself through my next two classes, then headed down to the local ER. (I'll be bitching in a separate post about the RIDICULOUSLY LONG WAITING OF OUR MEDICAL SYSTEM).

(I took those for my mom, who was very worried that it 'wasn't a real hospital').



The doctor said that I seemed like I'd be fine, but that the pain was going to get way worse tomorrow and the day after....and that he wasn't going to prescribe me anything.

Bastard.

(The gown was seriously made for someone at least 300lbs heavier than me. Awkward).

I had a good friend pick me up from the ER and take me home, and we laughed at my utter failure at life.

(This is the 'Freshman Meme,' I had to do it).

But seriously...I got hit by a Jeep, hard enough to shatter one of his headlights and the plastic thing on his hood, and my body, my MacBook, and my iPhone (which was in the pocket on the side I got hit) are all fine. I got up and walked away, with a broken backpack, some bruises, scratches and a torn coat.

Let's be honest here.

I'm clearly a superhero.

:P