Relaxing Weekend = NONE motivation

So yesterday was Labor Day.  David and I slept in a little (9:30 or so-not too bad), packed the Ergomatic, and set off on a Mountain Adventure in Rocky Mountain National Park.  A few omissions from our packing list: napkins, any form of toilet paper, and sunscreen.  Whoops.

There will be pictures forthcoming very soon, but we had a very nice time hiking, listening to the Avett Brothers, getting lost on the winding roads, and eating a cold lunch packed last-minute by yours truly.  It was very nice to get out of the house and enjoy the wildlife, though there was never a place on the trail where we were completely out of sight of the road.

The mountains were breathtaking, and the day was slightly cloudy with intermittent sun, so it was hot and cold in turns.  Hopping from rock to rock on the trail took most of my attention, but there were some legitimately beautiful moments, and the drive up was full of magical mountainy things like cozy cottages, babbling brooks, and the craggy cliffs found only in Colorado.

After lunch, we hiked back, and somehow made it out of Rocky Mountain and into Estes on less than a gallon of gas.  Possibly because the ride back was downhill.  At a gas station, I removed one of the under-layers of my clothing, and felt much better about life and the human condition as a result.  We purchased pink and blue Powerades and started on the drive to Denver for my course books, which finally arrived.

We stayed at Dad's for an hour or two, during which I realized exactly how much the disadvantage of lack of Russian literacy prohibits David from speaking with my family.  My dad and I spoke almost exclusively in Russian, and every time I remembered David sitting there, I had to backtrack and translate everything that had been said.  In the car later, he said that it wasn't too bad, but I know he's understating the truth of the matter.

Now that I have the majority of my books, I'm more intimidated by my classes than ever. In fact, that's what this post was initially about.

I'm terrified that all of my professors will soon discover what I've suspected for years: that I'm not actually even remotely as intelligent as the impression I give others, and that the majority of my wit is simply smoke and mirrors.  I'm evasive and stupid and very, very impulsive, and I have terrible retention in spite of the arguments of people like David, who insist that I remember things for a much longer period of time than the Average Bear.

Traditional and Modern Grammars is simply a nightmare in another language.  Fantasy and SF is too much reading, and no time to process it.  195 is perhaps the only class I stand a chance of passing, and even then, it's only because the class is supposed to be a Freshman level.  I ordered the wrong copy of Letters to a Young Poet, and now I'm screwed royally for my Thinking about Art class.  At least we read Maugham.  That was nice.  Shakespeare is hellishly difficult, and I'm not a Shakespeare scholar.

I don't know if I can do any of these things, and I'm so frightened and intimidated that all I want to do is curl up into a ball and watch the new Doctor Who episode.  I have a paper due tonight and I'm intimidated.  And I need to study for Grammars, but I don't understand 75% of what the professor says, and he goes at a lightning-pace.  Catch up or mess up, and neither would particularly bother him.

Is it too late to enroll in Accounting school?

The worst part about all of this is, of course, that the material is legitimately interesting.  I'm honestly engaged and enjoy every moment of the discourse.  Why are things so damned difficult?

And now, the pictures!  Sorry they took forever.

Why I'm a closet masochist

Living with someone who doesn't share your eating habits is interesting.  Not only does David eat meat, he's NOT on the Dukan Diet with me, which means that his lunch can (often does) consist of toaster strudels, and I get to watch.  It's different, especially since I do the majority of the cooking.

For example, yesterday I made garlic butter for pasta and a cookie recipe his mother was nice enough to provide for me when I asked, exasperated, what he actually eats.  The answer was meat and cookies.  Since I'm morally opposed to the former if it isn't provided under very exact specifications, and have never made the latter, his mother took pity on me and gave me a recipe.  I can't explain how depressing it was to cook cookies and not be able to sample anything, or how difficult it was to prepare the garlic butter judging by smell alone.  Apparently, it turned out well enough, because he ate three of the cookies, and all of the pasta before leaving for his second job.

This morning, I sent him off with more cookies, secretly hoping that he would take all of them and I wouldn't have to look at them any time I pass the dining room table during the day.  Every time I see the delicious, fresh, homemade cookies, I can't deny the irrational desire to stuff one in my mouth, but I know I should resist, and I often do.

Out of sheer frustration at the diet yesterday, I ate entirely too much yogurt, and gained .3 kg overnight.  Roughly a pound.  David said that all of his coworkers enjoyed the cookies, which is encouraging, since I substituted karob chips instead of chocolate chips, because we shop together and chocolate chips would've been a dead giveaway as to my intentions.  I had no idea how it would taste, and I'm glad it turned out decently.  However, I swear, the cookies taunt me every time I pass them.  If I weren't on this stupid diet, I would have eaten all of them by now.

Can I do it? Yes, Dukan! Well, maybe Dukan't.

Bad pun.

Anyway, the past two days have been devoted to getting as much inspiration as possible for continuing with my weight loss regime.  For the past month, I've been devoted to the Dukan diet.  Apparently, it's a big celebrity diet right now, reputed to be much more manageable than Atkins, and it doesn't limit any sorts of portions whatsoever.  I first heard about it at one of my jobs, bought the book, and started the first phase the next morning.  Probably not the smartest idea, because it was right when David and I were moving in, but there's never a really good time for a diet, a baby, or exercise.

There are four tiers to the program:
1.  Attack
2.  Cruise
3.  Consolidate
4.  Stabilize

The first phase lasts anywhere from 3 to 10 days, based on how much weight you need to lose.  I completed the first phase in 8 days about a month ago now.  During the first phase, you are only allowed to eat lean proteins, drink lots of liquids, walk 20 minutes per day, and eat one and a half tablespoons of oat bran per day. 

During the Cruise phase, you alternate days of just protein, and protein with vegetables.  You aren't allowed all vegetables (for example, starchy veggies high in sugar like corn and peas are strictly verbotten) but for the most part, you aren't very limited.  Some people do the cruise phase alternating five days of pure protein and five days of protein and vegetables, but the book recommends the one-one ratio for lasting weight loss.  How long you stay in the Cruise phase depends on how much weight you have to lose.

Dukan's website offers a free service wherein he calculates your "true weight," which takes into account your habits, bone structure, past weight loss and diet plans, previous pregnancies, and spits out a number that's supposed to be attainable and manageable for the rest of your life.  Dukan doesn't recommend that you lose weight beyond your "true weight," but let's face it: with a history of encouraging dieting behind you, when you finally reach your true weight, it's superhuman to expect anyone to stop. 

I've been in the Cruise phase for over three weeks now and I'm honestly getting sick of eating the same thing over and over.  At first, I was excited to try new recipes from the book, but now I'm just sick of losing maybe one pound per day, three or four per week.  If this keeps up, I'll be in this phase for another two months to reach my true weight, and of course my goal is lower.

I'm about 17 pounds away from the true weight set for me by the website, but the fact that my scale now tells me my weight in kilograms means that my weight loss is much more mystical than it was previously.  Also, I'm not fitting into my clothes as well as I was hoping I would at this stage.  He does prescribe exercise daily, which I was getting pretty good at until I sprained my foot biking to the grocery store.

Now, I'm crippled (dramatization, but valid, I swear), and eating my feelings, and protein isn't very good at keeping away the sad.

I've already lost almost half of the weight I wanted to lose, and with another two pounds, I will be solidly at the halfway point.  However, I'm definitely losing a bit of focus, as well as motivation.  There are just always so many things to do, and so many people to do them with, and food is almost always included in activities, and it's just difficult to say no.

I feel like I'm always obsessing over food, one way or the other.  I'm either obsessed with eating as much as I can, or as little as possible to punish myself for the times that I indulge.  It's important to find a balance if I want to maintain the weight I lose.  I suppose that's what I should work on above anything else.

Made crab cakes the other night, which turned out very well.  I've also been exploring the wonderful world of Boca burgers and tofurkey as alternatives to omelets every single day and fish when I can afford it.  I also go through epic portions of nonfat yogurt, and I've been to frozen yogurt more times than I care to count.

It's a small indulgence, but it means a lot, especially when I can't have sugar added to anything.  Not that I'm complaining; Stevia is pretty delish; but I'd like something normal.

Last night, David and I went to his mom's to pick up bandages for my foot, and she made me a boca burger without the bun and hesitatingly gave me a tiny glass full of a smoothie she blended especially for us.  I ate the burger even though it probably isn't on the list of approved burgers, but sat with the drink in front of me for the entire night.  I can't believe I didn't even sip it; she must think I'm one of the craziest people she's ever encountered.

With Nanowrimo lurking around the corner, I'm also getting a little terrified of the challenge.  50,000 words in a month.  I did it last year, but who's to say what I'll do this year?  Maybe I can make it, but the amount of ideas I've had have been dwindling.  Aside from a pretty terrifying dream I had about the Demonic Male Theory last night, my creativity has been limited to color schemes for the kitchen and bathroom.  Maybe that'll change within the next few months.

Somewhat frustrated,

Maria

An update on life, or something like it

Due to full-time work schedule at one job, part time at another, and moving things, I've been unable to update anything like regularly.

That's untrue.  Instead, I found it inspiring to sit on my couch, read lots of diet books, and completely change my lifestyle to account for an extra person.  And consume what must be an unhealthy amount of non-fat dairy products in the form of yogurt, both frozen and simply chilled variety.  But due to a very recent change in my work life and increasing internal/external pressure to update people on my life, I've decided to take a few minutes today to jot a few impressions down, and possibly provide insight into the last three months since returning from Europe.

First things first: Best Book Read in the Past Month
While it was a close race between my first Agatha Christie book (Murder on the Orient Express; phenom!) the diet that changed me for the next year of my life (The Dukan Diet, which is going swimmingly, thank you), and the entire Harry Potter series as I was gearing up for the last movie, the prize must go to Chocolat.

Let me begin by saying that it's almost nothing like the movie.  While I've never actually watched the movie version, it's my understanding that the female character seduces Johnny Depp, and he ends up falling in love with her and her free-spirited drifter hippy child after moderate unpleasantness with the townsfolk.  A decent movie, possibly quite good considering the cast, but overall played and seen before.

The book, however, is in its own special category for excellence.  The setup is parallel first-person narrative, and only half of it is from Vianne's perspective.  It's a modern tale of living as a single mother, the daughter of a gypsy, whose internal compass led her all over Europe and eventually to America, constantly running from "The Black Man," who seeks to force women to conform to society's steriotypes.  The road is no life for a child.  One must go to church every Sunday.  You must live as your neighbors do, and respect your priest, and not indulge the senses.  The story is a champion of freedom within society instead of slavery to one's social milieu.  Oh, and there are deliciously-crafted scenes during which Vianne cooks her chocolate, almost as intricate as the confections Joanne Harris depicts. 

There is a sequel, which I will be picking up as soon as I get the chance.  The style is earthy and realistic and fragile.  A lovely read.  Highly, highly recommended.

On Gainful Employment
I am now the proud employee of two companies, both of which are located very far from my current living quarters.  Armani Exchange, which is a two-hour drive away, and ESM, which is also two hours away.  Luckily, ESM allowed me to work from home, since the majority of my work is simply sitting at a desk and answering a phone.  Also, being an insufferable know-it-all, which is one of my many natural talents.

Work interferes with a lot of things.  I am grateful to have the jobs, and I do enjoy the autonomy the money allows me, but I still feel as though I'm wasting a good portion of my life.  I'm exchanging valuable hours of my time and energy for meagre wages that would be lower if the company could get away with it.  It's better than the limbo I was in before ESM hired me on, of course, but there are positives and negatives to any situation.

On Living, and Relationships
David and I moved in together lyke offichul this Monday.  Looking back, I really have no idea how it happened, but we just get along really well.  Also, as I've concluded, this was the only way we could stay together during the school year.

Long distance doesn't really work.  It can, as long as the understanding is that the situation is temporary, and you have a very solid base of trust under the relationship.  If the timing of long-distance is undefined, you end up going crazy like the pidgeon in the Skinner Box that keeps getting shocked with no sense of control over the pain.

At least now, when we say "hello" or "goodbye," I know that the standard is the former.  Since I work from home, I can go into his closet at any moment and see his clothes.  His pictures are on the wall (something I've just come to accept, in spite of our completely divergent opinions on design) and his movies are in the DVD rack.  His shoes are lined up next to mine on the shoe rack.  We share a bed.  It's unbelievably strange to look back on our awkward courtship and countless misunderstandings with the perspective of today, but there it is.  I'm now living in Greeley.

School
I'm at the school here, but I have no time with work.  I'll need to ask for at least one more day off per week in order to get anything like a normal schedule, but it's nice to be registered for at least once class, and an interesting one at that.  All about literature and art.  Not something that will techincally help me with my degree, perse, but it's fascinating, and I look forward to learning a lot.

Other things
My diet's doing pretty well.  I've been on it for about a month, and have another two months or so to go.  It's difficult for me to work on controlling portions, but luckily, this diet doesn't restrict quantity.  Just type.

My life is consumed with a million little household dramas that resolve themselves in due time, of course.  When are the dishes going to be done?  Who's going to make the bed?  Where do I put all of my shoes?  Do we need a drying rack for dishes?  What about clothing?

Time passes quickly, and I always intend to contact people, but it doesn't always happen.  I need shelves for the books and I need more time in the day.  Possibly less time working.

Till next time!

A secret, some business, a silly thing, and the quest for a lasagna recipe worthy of Garfield...

Today, I went to the park with my friend and her son.  It was a beautiful day, made even better by the fact that I now have a phone that does its job.  Namely: it remains alive for an entire day, is vaguely fashionable, allows me to surf the Internet, and has a minimum of special features.  Is anyone else concerned with the fact that phones come solely in touch-screen varieties now?  I don't mean to be old-fashioned, but the touch-screen technology isn't nearly well0developed enough yet to work properly for more than a year, and once the phone breaks, or the ridiculously-flimsy screen cracks, or the screen becomes slightly less sensitive, you're SOL and have to shell out another 300+ dollars for another stupid gadget that didn't need all these ridiculous additions to begin with.  Who cares if your phone can recognize a song it hears for thirty seconds?  I could even do without the Internet.  I have a computer, and it's virtually impossible to be completely without wifi these days.  Is it really that necessary to have facebook in the palm of your hand?  I digress.  This entire paragraph reduces to a very simple conjunctive statement: my phone works, and I am happy.

I haven't seen the bf in a few days, which upsets me slightly.  I know that we saw one another six days in a row last week and were somehow not sick of one another, and one shouldn't push it when things are going well, but I still miss him and it makes me very sad to know that I can't reach over and hold his hand whenever the fancy strikes me.  However, his presence elsewhere has allowed me to get some things done, so that's a positive.  I've officially completed three loads of laundry, accepted a business proposition, bought a bicycle (yay!!!!!), and fixed my phone.  All these things are important, and difficult to do when you have an affectionate distraction attached to your hip.  We have talked daily, sometimes multiple times, which is a vast improvement over the former state of things.  We'd dated briefly before I left for Europe, and the main issue I had with everything was the fact that we didn't communicate.  At all.  That's the problem with having friends in common, I suppose: that you end up complaining to all the same people, and news travels quickly between friends, and you secretly begin to resent each other for reasons that you can't mention because of the giant elephant in the room.  It's not like that any more.  In fact, I'm excited and very frightened by how severely non-luke-warm my feelings as they relate to him are at the moment.

Wanna see my cool bicycle?

It's super awesome!

All it needs is some streamers from the handlebars...

Okay, I'm unreasonably excited about the prospect of a bicycle that I might very well kill myself on, but it's seriously cool and pretty and awesome and will save me untold amounts of money on transportation, so bear with me.  And it's teal.  Which is obscenely BA.

At the park today, Lacey and Gregory and I played with bubbles and the fountains and spied on unbelievably immature Middle-Early High Schoolers, who decided that the children's park was a great place in which to curse like sailors and take off tops to reveal brightly-colored sports bras and take pictures for Myspace.  It was annoying, but got me to thinking about what an awkward age that is.  Right after puberty for the girls, and right

Sidenote: Watch Grey Gardens, Workaholics.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It's really difficult to find time to blog between life things.  I spent some more time in Greeley since typing most of this post, and am planning a strange change to my entire life.  We'll see how well it goes, but based on what I know of the Law of Attraction, I'm sure it'll be perfect.  Things will work out the way I want them to, because I know that they need to.

Speaking of things working out the way I want them to: I received e-mails from the people I interviewed with a few weeks ago asking for second interviews.  I'm extremely excited, because that's exactly what I wanted: a decently-paying job that doesn't involve an over-abundance of effort on my part.  Hopefully, they'll let me work from home, and I'll be able to do work even in Greeley and bypass a few potential issues.

I feel a little crazy, since my life is more or less revolving around my relationship.  It's difficult to think about anything else with any degree of excitement, and that's frightening.  But things work out the way they need to, and I believe that.

This title isn't particularly appropriate any more, but I was looking for a lasagna recipe to prepare while watching The Godfather.  David and I ended up watching it yesterday, but without any Italian food.  We'll have to have a marathon with excellent Italian recipes one day.

I also met his mother, her father, boyfriend, and other son the day before yesterday.  It went as well as it could've gone, all things considered.  I made bread in a shameless attempt to impress them with my homemaking skills (totally worked!) and played lots of Rummy and Durak.  Saw some baby pictures, and had a discussion or two about pure-hearted philanthropy and factory farming.  On the way back, it rained, and I realized that Greeley can actually be a pretty beautiful place.  Also, it's close to Danielle, who ate the sandwich.  She lives in Loveland.  Not that I'm stalking her or anything.  I'm not stalking her, but if we happen to meet in the same coffee shop, and strike up a conversation, and happen to become BFFs, I wouldn't object too terribly.

A strange realization

The last few weeks have been a little strange for a plethora of reasons, most dominant amongst them being the fact that the wifi in my mom's apartment mysteriously stopped working.  So I have no Internet access, and no way of updating at home, which is where I usually end up writing because there is never any time when I'm elsewhere.  And my standard setting is 'lethargic,' so I have little motivation to leave my nest at the best of times, least of all when it's rainy and cold and very unwelcoming out in the real world.  It's been that way for the past few days, but that's not really an excuse.  In fact, I have no excuses; I simply feel as though it's easier to stay in bed and do absolutely nothing day after day.

The cleanse didn't turn out precisely as expected, since I have no wifi, and other things occurred that impeded my progress as a healthy, happy hippy.  These things will be explained in due time.  Let me begin with what I think is most pertinent, however.

The book situation: bleak.  I'm still working on The Name of the Rose.  Not because it's boring.  In fact, I'm finding it one of the most interesting books I've picked up in some time.  I just have very little time to myself right now, and that small amount of time is being taken up by other hobbies that I've been collecting.  I decided to make bread for a full week a while ago.  After that, I decided I wanted to knit again, so I started knitting a scarf before making anything for anyone I know.

I've been spending a lot of time in my head recently, thinking about what I want to do with my life and whether I'm going anywhere worthwhile.  I think I am, but there's no way to know for sure, of course.  I try to lead my life so that I won't regret too much when I'm done, but things always slip through the cracks.  I still haven't gotten my cute Dutch bike, which is a little sad, because I definitely don't have the money to pay for gas right now.  And on top of the money issues, my phone has stopped working normally altogether, so even though I've gotten phone calls asking for interviews, I haven't been able to respond to them since no one leaves voicemails.  And when they e-mail me (because that's on my resume, as well) I can't read the e-mails until about a week later, because I don't have wifi, and have a work schedule, so I can't find Internet when I need it.

The last few days, I've been playing house in Greeley.  I remember writing that I spent an amazing day with a friend last week, and that some things happened that I'd rather not think about.  Since this is about the most private place I can think of (ha!), I thought I'd take the opportunity to vent about my emotions here.

So, this guy and I dated before I left for Europe.  It was an exceedingly vanilla relationship.  We did things, had some similar interests, and some vaguely comparable outlooks on life, but that's where the resemblance ended.  We had fun sometimes, but it was like a large wall stood between us.  Like at school dances, where the chaperones put a giant balloon between the couples to ensure Puritanical morality is upheld.  I broke up with him shortly before I left because it wasn't fair to him to have a girlfriend half a world away, and in part because we had nothing to talk about during the few instances when we did converse, and the phone would fade to utter silence.  Also, on top of everything, the relationship was long-distance.  It was a bit comical.

After I came back, I met him halfway between our homes, and we spent a day together.  I knew he had a new girlfriend since we'd seen each other last, and that depressed me a bit, but there was nothing to be done.  He was taken.  And I was so ridiculously frustrated because he finally opened up to me.  It was as if there was a switch in his head that read 'relationship,' and when it was switched off, he was an actual person.  It was kind of glorious.

We planned on going to concerts together over the summer, and all sorts of random hangouts.  He confessed that the main reason he was with his girlfriend was to get over our relationship, and I encouraged him to attempt to make the best of it, kicking myself in the head the entire time because what I really wanted to say ran something along the lines of "break up with her and ask me out now, k thnx bai."  But I'm a generally nice person.  So I told him to make the best of things, and that there was a reason that they were together, and all of that good stuff, because everyone knows that people deserve chances, and things happen for reasons.  And we said goodbye.  And I drunk dialed him, and obsessed with all of my friends, and thought about facebook stalking him, and maybe looked at their pictures together and was upset because I didn't know if they were serious or not, and finally he came to see me and we had another friend date day.

Thor was amazing.  Freaking epic.  I made fun of him and almost got him to stop talking to me because I suggested a cross-over with the Green Lantern (DC Marvel cross is sacrilege!) and he walloped me soundly in chess.  Thrice.  And it was amazing, again.  I played him the playlist I made when I was really sad about the fact that he would never be with me again under the guise of a random casual playlist, though I think the message came through.  And then we went into my room and cuddled and one thing led to another and we kissed.  A lot.

I feel like a terrible person, because I knew that he had a girlfriend.  I knew that said girlfriend hated me (with good reason, it turns out) and that he wasn't as into her as she was to him.  And I still went ahead and did what I wanted.  Though I felt guilty, he didn't ask me out immediately.  That assays the terrible bad person-ness I'm feeling regarding the entire situation.

From there, I made plans to go see him and help him and one of my best friends move into their apartment.  I went up on Sunday night, and only came back yesterday night, in all spending four days and three nights with him.  Straight.  And I'm not sick of him.

Putting an apartment together is a lot of fun.  Especially when you're in the phase of merely adding, instead of finding a way to store things.  I cooked every night, and felt like their kitchen is entirely my place in the house.  I helped decorate all of the communal areas, starting from the bathroom and working through the living room and kitchen.  I picked out artwork for the walls, and put together a bookshelf from wood planks and cinder blocks.  I played guitar and knit and felt like I was home.  I didn't want to leave.

While this entire experience might very well be a pathetic and juvenile attempt at escape from my life, much like reading, or the trip to Europe, I think there's something real here.  He came down to see me last night, and I realized as soon as I saw him that I'd missed him an unreasonable amount.  We went to see my very good friends and stayed out until late, then came back to my house, and this morning woke up very late.  He brought one of my best friends (his roommate) along, and we spent the day together in the rain, speaking, and eating, and bike shopping, and visiting puppies at the mall.  Now we're at the book store, and my friend is talking about her relationship issues, and I'm writing, and he's sitting nearby with a book, legitimately concerned with her life, and offering the best advice he can possibly consider.  And I love this man.  I can't believe I'm that girl.  Maybe being soft and vulnerable isn't as bad as I always thought it was.

A photo shoot taken at Village Inn

We're a very attractive couple

These are pretty amazing

Oooh yeah

I saw what was going on, and it got too intense

And he kept going

And going

And going <3

I need to make a flip book out of these.

What the lemon juice taught me

Over the last two weeks, I've fallen back into some bad habits.  Most prominent among them are: boredom eating, overeating, oversleeping, antisocial moroseness, general misanthropy, chronic overspending, desperation in romantic matters, cigarettes, and poorly-masked alcoholism.  Basically: all symptoms of an underlying condition that probably needs serious psychotherapy to set right.  Unfortunately, or fortunately, I haven't yet admitted any of these things to anyone outside of my own head.  So for the moment, my mini-dramas remain my own, and I can deal with them as I wish.  And I decided that this was the perfect time to cleanse again. 

I'd bought lemons in anticipation of this event about a week ago.  I bought maple syrup from the health food store a few days ago.  I still had cayenne pepper, so I was just waiting until I would stop putting off beating my numerous addictions to start the process.  It isn't about weight loss.  That's what I always tell myself.  It's not about weight loss, or the slight (who am I joking?  Massive) ego boost I get from being able to affect my body so drastically in such a short amount of time.  It's about being healthy.  It's about being comfortable in my skin.  It's about exerting some modicum of control over my downward-spiraling habits.  It's about not admitting that I probably have some form of eating disorder at this point.  Scratch that last.

So this morning, I made my 72 ounces of daily-allotted food/drink and went on my way to work.  Did I mention the mensies are back in town?  Joy of joys.  I have a few rituals about starting things.  I've heard that weight-loss regimens, or serious commitments, are best kept by women if they make the resolution shortly after their period.  I don't know why that would help, but it can't hurt.  Also, Sundays seem like good days to start things on.  It's technically the first day of the week.  And stuff.  Those are my only two rituals.  What, were you expecting a full-moon dance (bazinga!) with burnt offerings?  Perhaps a visit to the local charnel house?  Nothing nearly that dramatic, I'm afraid.

In spite of the stomach cramps, general fatigue, and weeks of poor eating habits, I launched straight into day one on a day when I had to work for five hours on my feet.  It was ridiculously hot and bright and unreasonably cheery for April.  I almost miss the winter already.  Work was fine, in spite of my half-hour early arrival.  I finally picked up Shantaram, though I can't actually read it until I'm done with The Name of the Rose, which I put on hiatus during my day of rest (Saturday) for the Fables graphic novels.  I've now finished Fables, and expect to breeze through the end of the Eco book by next blog post.  I took a sneak peek at the first ten pages of Shantaram, and am undecided, but it seems decent, and comes highly-recommended. 

In other news, I have a splitting migraine, and throat soreness.  And a lot of books to read.  But I decided that I would document my days on the cleanse, so look forward to more frequent updates. 

So far: I feel crappy.  I had a few cubes of watermelon when I came home because everyone was sitting around the table and it's my favorite, plus I haven't had my day's supply of the cleanse drink yet, and probably won't at this point.  The headache might very well be caffeine withdrawal, which I go through every single fucking time I stop drinking it after a week or so with coffee and normal tea.  Now, I'm back on the herbal sissy stuff, and feeling like a small flock of fairies decided to crawl on my face and stick tiny, invisible needles into my eye sockets during sleep.  I also had lots of water, and some chamomile tea, but I still feel like a warm piece of poop.  My metaphors have never been tighter.  I adore waking up earlier than I ever wanted to.  I also love feeling every tiny little cut on my hand as a result of the constant lemon juice I'm squeezing.  Nine more days of this shit?

More coming soon.  If I recall, the first three days are always the hardest. 

A child's dilemma

Today was a lovely day.  This past week hasn't been too busy at all, but in looking for things to write about, I invariably come up short.  It's strange to look at your life retrospectively while in the process of living it, with a mind to the events that could be useful or insightful.  I finished another book before the month changed, bringing my total up to 12 for the month of April.  I'm pretty impressed with myself, and will review the last book of the month shortly.

I've also been playing the guitar fairly frequently, (I'm sure) to the chagrin of all my neighbors.  I don't know if they like hearing She and Him and Deathcab for Cutie mutilated frequently with great abandon several times daily, but that's what happens when you live in an apartment.  I've also been going to the gym religiously, and using the time on the elliptical to digest various texts that have been on my To Read list.  I also made enough bread to feed a small army by the recipe detailed in the following video.  The bread turns out light and moist with a pleasant crust every time, and the recipe is super easy.

Go here for the recipe.  The video is pretty awesome, too.

Today was about as close to a perfect day as I could imagine, which is why I'm finally finding the time to blog about everything.  I met up with a good friend at one, and we spent the day together until around seven.  We went to the book store, did some shopping, got crepes, and talked for a long time in the sunshine.  It was super comfortable, and I feel as though we've never been as close as we got today.  I had an amazing day because of it. I also learned the American idiom "getting one's Irish up," which apparently means the same as "getting one's ire up."  Etymological similarities, anyone?

After meeting up with him, he needed to get back home, and I needed to meet my dad, which I've been putting off for one reason or another for about a week.  I finally got there, and found my little brother there as well.  Dad and I set out my brother's homework for him, and explained some aspects of it to him while sitting down to tea and conversation.  Within moments, there was an issue that involved throwing the homework to the side and staring blankly at the television, which was broadcasting some hockey event at maximum volume to drown out the ridiculous rap music of the neighbors'.  I don't understand why it's necessary to blare a rap song whose words are literally "I don't give a fuck" after dark.  As if that weren't all, they were intent on singing along, if you could call it that.  I digress.

After I attempted to explain the assignment to him one more time, he threw his cell phone at the floor in a huff, and stormed off to the other room.  I took the opportunity to relieve him of both his cell phone and his DS, which prompted an hour-and-a-half-long temper tantrum, the screams of which I refused to dignify with any response aside from "I can't hear you.  When your voice is as quiet as mine, we'll speak."  He took my car keys in an attempt to bargain, and if I weren't so caught up in the insanely psychotic silliness of it all, I would've found the opportunity to study the stages of grief fascinating on a micro scale.  Sometimes, I wonder about my own humanity.

Eventually, he calmed down enough to deal with the situation, finished his homework, and received his phone and gaming system back.  This was after he probably woke up every person in the neighborhood, threatened to kill himself out of desperation, and ran around screaming in pure frustration.  It's difficult to be a child, and from my experiences helping with the raising of my little brother, I think I've found that I either never want children, or will raise them in such a way that they'll never be exposed to video games.  Or caffeine.  Maybe I should convert to Mormonism.  Even better: I could be Amish.  I'd have to learn how to quilt, sew, and see without corrective lenses.  Maybe I'll get Lasik and then become Amish.  I have always wanted to learn German.

After playing my dad in chess, I drove home to watch The Green Hornet, finish off the last of my bread, and speak with my mom when she came home about the Jerry Springer episode my brother had pulled at Dad's.  Not that we discovered that anyone was sleeping with anyone else's cousin, farm animal, or blow up doll with the caveat of a pudding pool added for no particular reason.  At all.  Why would anyone assume that from the terminology I just used?  I just don't know about children these days.  The well-behaved ones all seem to be seriously disturbed, and the poorly-behaved ones are obviously flawed.  There are no perfect people, and no perfect children, but it always seems as though a little nudge in the right direction will get them where you want them to go.  I honestly don't know what to do about it.

Gonna get along without you now

Between avoiding unpacking, avoiding eating, going to the gym, and avoiding the world through reading, it's no wonder I've taken so damned long to update this.  Unfortunately for the people around me in my real life, they've had to suffer the brunt of my frustration at not venting my emotions through a highly privatized online medium.  Isn't it funny the way the world works?  In fact, I realized I desperately needed to write something today, while bitching myself out over playing the guitar poorly.  So I've added loads of Avett Brothers to my radio, have some tissues at the ready, and am prepared to unload some misadventures, thoughts, or insights. 

When last you saw me: I was in London, living at Gill and Diogo's, being generally awkward and misanthropic and emotional because my vacation was almost over and I wasn't ready to go home.  This isn't to say that I didn't miss my family: I did.  I just was ready to be selfish for a little bit longer.  My last night in London, we went to Joe's concert, and then ate ice cream at home and played cards.

They're pretty adorable together.

My last day in London, I woke up fairly early, took a shower, and packed.  I was fairly amazed that everything fit in my backpack.  I left London with a good 25% more in the Ergomatic, which was stuffed to capacity to begin with.  I watched the most recent episode of The Only Way is Essex, which I can no longer stream in America (sooo very, very sad!) and we drove off to get my legitimate, English Fish & Chips.

You don't want to see the bottom of the bag.  Trust me.

So glorious...

I ate so much, I thought I would burst.  I'm also very glad that I discovered this delicious, crispy, sour, slightly painful confection at the end of my visit, and not at the beginning.  If I'd known how good these are, I probably would've eaten nothing else, gained twenty pounds, and spent all my money.  We ate in the car, and I also had a Ginger Beer, which is quite delicious, and very gingery.  Quel suprise.

Oh, yum!

Irresistible

Yuuuuup

We drove from there to the airport playing summery songs.  We passed through Chelsea, where I will live when I meet an exceedingly rich English gentleman who decides he can't live without me.  Totally happening.  For sure.  It's a gloriously lovely place, with friendly-looking mini parks, and right on the Thames, too.  I was lost in thought for a long time, considering the gravity of my return, and what I would do once I came home.

I had to check my backpack in the airport, because apparently the flight was crowded.  I wasn't happy about this at all, but what could I do?  Then I bummed around the airport for a while by myself, and it was time to board the plane.  I was reading the borrowed If on a winter's night a traveler by Italo Cavino and surreptitiously spying on my fellow passengers while riding on the tram to the airplane.  There were Swiss, British, American, and Old.  Maybe some blurred the categories.  I was seated between two women, both of whom were fairly interesting.  The woman on my right was grading decently-written philosophy papers about lies, and the one on my left had a fountain pen and a beautifully written (visually, since I couldn't read her damned handwriting) journal.  I think she might have been Catholic, because that's the only place they teach you such nice calligraphy.  I finished the tenth book of the month in Cavino, and I'm still not too sure what I think of it.  Certainly interesting, unique, and not something I would've picked up myself, so thanks Gill!  I think I might need to re-read it to post an actual opinion, though it's certainly worth the trouble.

When I landed, the security people decided I was suspicious, so I had to put my backpack through the extra scanner, and repeat that I wasn't carrying any food products.  Seriously, I wasn't.  I hadn't been around livestock either, but maybe the Denver airport personnel don't understand any motivation for visiting the amount of countries I saw that didn't include biological terrorism.  It's a valid point of view, I suppose.

Mitch met me, and it was very nice to see a familiar face after all that time.  He told me that a man on my plane had proposed to his girlfriend as soon as he came out of baggage claim right there in the airport.  I was sad I'd missed it.  I still am.  It's reassuring when people hold hands and pledge their lives to each other in this day and age.  Maybe not everyone thinks about the ramifications of marriage and codependency the same way I do, but it really warms my heart to see people overstep the terrifying prospect of stagnation and decay with the optimism required to vow to be together for as long as they can.  Officially.

On the drive back to my house, I realized how tired I was, and made conversation as well as I could.  My mother was home when I got there.  The trees have begun to bloom, and the air is filled with their perfume.  I keep meaning to take a branch or two home.  I ran up and hugged her hello while Mitch brought my backpack up the stairs, and deposited it in my room.  He really is one of the warmest people I know, in spite of himself.  Then, Mitch left, and the rest of my family arrived.  I spoke with my grandparents and Dad and Mom as we sat there at the table, trading stories and jokes until I could barely keep my eyes open.  Then, everyone dispersed, and I went to sleep.

The last two days have been fairly uneventful.  It's now Monday, and I've been home for a total of three days.  On Saturday, I caught the premiere of Doctor Who (terrifying!  What the hell?!  Why is it so scary, oh my sweet lord?!), painted eggs for Easter, and bought the last Pasha in the store.  I made up the Easter baskets and was set to go to the church and bless them when I realized yet again how tired I was, and went to sleep.  Sunday, I ate eggs and blessed Pasha, listened to my mom tell stories about the night before and the subsequent drama, went to the gym, took my brother to see Rio (adorable!) and read some more of The Jungle.  Today, Mitch came over, and we hung out.  We played guitar, chess, and saw Your Highness, which was vulgar, but hilarious. 

I've been waking up at six in the morning like clockwork, and been feeling definitively under the weather.  I might be allergic to my cat and have never noticed, or I might be legitimately ill.  It's a toss up to be sure.  Today, I also started feeling very low, and there's no particular reason why.  I still need to go to the gym, and maybe read some more, or see my dad.  Maybe if I keep distracted, I won't notice how much less interesting I feel, and subsequently how little I like myself.  Maybe eventually, I'll fool myself into enjoying spending time with myself.  I've been dragging my feet in accomplishing things I need to do like get my brakes fixed, go to the bank, and fill out my FAFSA.  When abroad, I felt like I could be anyone; do anything.  Now that I'm home, I've assumed the vacated role of the person I was when I left.  This life feels alien, and chafes my skin.  None of these belongings are mine.  Even this body is unfamiliar.  Is that insane?

Unreasonably early wake-up for no reason

Life is very difficult while traveling. For a while, your body seems to be on your side, experiencing all the great things your mind is going through with patience and resignation. 

"Well, if you must, you must.  I'll just be along for the ride, keeping track of your every movement, bite, and unwary hand placement."  Eventually, though, and more often sooner than later, your habits catch up with you, and there are no excuses.  For example: when you look down at the scale and find you've gained five pounds in spite of all the walking, or when you look at yourself in the mirror and find a HUGE pimple in the middle of your forehead. 

When you sit down somewhere and realize the most attractive option is immediate sleep; when you calm down for a week or so and your body decides to remind you how frail your immune system ACTUALLY is, or when the curtain is lifted from the romance and all that's left is the stench of your feet in a hotel room in a town whose name you couldn't pronounce for the life of you.  None of this comes from personal experience.  No, of course not.

I'm nauseous this morning.  Maybe because I'm still technically lactose intolerant, and last night was a whole lot of ice cream, and very quickly.  My stomach still hasn't forgiven me, possibly because I wasn't concerned with its welfare while stuffing my face.  Just goes to show: you can't escape your decisions, regardless of their scope.  Let me start over.

Yesterday, I woke up at ten thirty, and was tired.  I took a shower, because sedentary people do these things.  Brushed my hair out, fixed my face, and went into the kitchen for breakfast.  Had some olives, dates, and black tea, because I wasn't feeling my best.  I fled to my room with the boxes and the drum kit because I couldn't really stand sitting at the table awkwardly making conversation for another morning.  Gill eventually came in, and I confessed how crappy I was feeling.

We'd smoked hookah the day before.  I'd partaken in a cigarette, and my throat felt like it had been scythed by the pastoral cast of Yentl.  I was coughing, which was potentially-frightening, because every single person in this house has fallen victim to a strange illness that renders you absolutely dead for days on end.  It always begins with a cough.  That's the first thing I need in a foreign country that I'm leaving in a day, right?  So instead of going to the National Gallery with Gill, I decided I would spend the day inside, recovering.  I ventured out and bought some raspberry jam, sweating all the way.  The day was hot.  I wasn't feeling well.  Luckily, Gill understood, and hovered a little bit to insure I was feeling well.  She even dragged out her only (lost) bottle of nail polish so I could feel slightly more like a human being, and made me tuna pasta for lunch.

All day, I sat in the room, read, and drank tea with raspberry jam.  This is possibly the best thing to drink when you're anticipating illness, because raspberry jam causes you to sweat, and sweating out the sick is a very good idea.  I finished another graphic novel, and my last book of vacation reading, which brings my grand total for the month up to 9.  Seven books, and two entire series of graphic novels.  Sometimes, I wonder what's wrong with me.  Other times, I wonder what's wrong with the rest of the world.

The Learners was good, by the way.  Chip Kidd is the master of one medium (jacket-making, so graphic design) and is quickly making advances on another one.  I'm an equal-opportunity bibliophile, but even I sense that Kidd is something special.  Since The Learners is a sequel, I recommend people read Cheese Monkeys first.  Not only does it introduce you to the characters, it seems a little more light than this more current book.  The current one has been out for two years or so now, but I've been waiting for the opportunity to purchase the paperback, because the hardcover edition (though absolutely beautiful, and chock-full of fun graphic inserts and things) is super expensive.  I finally bought the paperback in the Borders Closing Sale.

This series chronicles the misadventures of one, Happy, an up-and-coming graphic artist in the 20th century.  People say it's a little like Mad Men, which I haven't seen, so I can't verify.  Cheese Monkeys explains Happy's college years, and The Learners is what happens once he's out on the job market for reals.  Happy has a good voice for narration, because he's a little unattached in spite of his engagement with the world around him. 

In The Learners, Happy moves to New Haven, Connecticut, for a job as an assistant to a graphic artist in an advertising firm whose main client is a potato chip company.  He takes this step because his freshman-year Graphic Design professor started out at the same firm years ago.  Happy learns an unbelievable amount about the graphic world, and the reality of the utilities of graphic design.  He gets a firm grasp on the fundamental skills like drawing a straight line, and rendering in blue pencil. 

The great thing about setting this book in the 1960's is that these techniques come across as wholeheartedly brilliant, or as they appear to most novices hearing about this stuff for the first time (Kidd's readers), instead of the first thing you learn nowadays in your graphic design class.  Happy's doing fine for a while until a ghost from his past storms her way into his life with the grace of a well-dressed bull in a paint shop, demanding the misplaced head of a rhinoceros.  Her name is Himillsy, and is the fag hag to Happy's--whoops, sorry, that's never said outright!--anyway, her intervention sparks a chain of events that lead Happy to taking part in the Stanley Milgram experiment going on at Yale.

If you're somehow unaware of the Milgram experiments, or want a refresher, here's a link to the Wikipedia article.  Don't be shy to follow it; I'll still be here when you get back.

Now that we're all up to speed, let's return to our scheduled programming.  Happy takes part in the experiment, and finds out something that he never wanted to know about himself.  He just can't get over the guilt and shame brought on as a result of the thing he learns, and spirals downward, which Kidd illustrates through frequent breaks of the fourth wall, very interesting use of text/font, and design influencing the content of the pages.  He does this very well, being a graphic artist.  As a book that stands alone, I would call The Learners a rousing success.  As part of a series, I would give it a cursory golf clap and be done with it.

Firstly, in Cheese Monkeys, Happy is completely obsessed with one particular person.  That person is mentioned only peripherally in The Learners.  Himillsy also takes a large part of the text away from Happy in the first book.  She steals the show neatly, and with the great style of a true Manic Pixie Dream Girl.  Here, she has a round chapter, and occasional mention later on.

Kidd drops so many different potential plots that I didn't notice when the actual plot came sidling into the room, and it was so much less interesting than any of the other routes he could've taken that I was exceedingly underwhelmed.  Don't get me wrong: I liked the book.  I just thought Cheese Monkeys was much better, and less up its own ass.  There were some legitimately funny moments in both books, but Kidd seems obsessed with the idea of building a calm, idyllic world, and completely shattering it in the last few pages with the bipolar gusto of a child who spends an entire afternoon building a sandcastle, admires it for a moment, and kicks it to bits.  Kidd is a great artist, and a wonderful designer.  He has a way with words, makes me laugh, and seems to have mastered multiple literary techniques designed to keep me engaged.  I'm not sure if he breathes life into his characters.  In short: for an artist, he's an amazing writer.

I would definitely recommend this book to my artist friends, and people looking for some relatively light summer reading that's as far removed from Danielle Steel as possible.

Anyway, that occupied the majority of my afternoon.  I also read Paul Pope's 100%, which was short, well-drawn, and dramatic.  I painted my nails, and drank more tea.  When I finished the book, Gill let me borrow If on a winter's night a traveler by Italo Calvino, which is meant to be my introduction to Post-Modern literature.  So far, it's entertaining, but bulldozes through the fourth wall as if it were air.  I'm about forty pages in.  Hopefully, it'll keep me for a few hours on the plane today.

Then, Rashed made green curry, Gill made rice, Diogo came home, and we sat down to eat.  After food, Gill and I practiced catching gummy bears in our mouths from opposite sides of the table like frat boys while the boys sat on the futon and watched Naruto.  I don't get the appeal, since I'm not a boy, and predisposed to hating most anime that's main-stream because of the--forgive me if I misspell this!--weebos. 

Anyway, after that, we all went out to The Old Queen's Head to listen to Joe's band.  They were decent, though slightly cacophonous.  The guy before them was a fairly convincing one-man band.  Whiskey sours in this time zone are pretty decent, but served with lemon, which confused me at first.  Some hilarity ensued as we watched the band members hit on girls, and we sat down in the couch that was literally right in front of the stage because Diogo is a brave one, and we all wanted to do it, but were too shy.

Our seat afforded me a good angle on the rest of the room, so I took a little time checking out the fashion of the Indie scene in London.  This year, they really like the bun on top of your head, the way they've been doing it in Japan for years now.  Also, they like the checker pattern, skinny jeans, and wing-tipped shoes.  Gill correctly associated it with 1960's American fashion, with a splash of rockabilly.  I don't mean to seem imperialistic, but the more I travel Europe, the more I find people trying to emulate American culture and fashion.  Rock n' roll, as it were, came from the jazz scene in America.  In Prague, we saw a Jack Rabbit Slim's (of Pulp Fiction fame).  In Italy, the younger kids were all rocking their Chucks and Adidas.

I digress.  By the time Joe's band finished, it was about ten, so we went out for a smoke, and then headed back to Gill and Diogo's, where we sat until about 12:30 playing a Portuguese card game and consuming two pints of Ben & Jerry's.  One was Phish Food, and the other was Half Baked.  Both were delicious.  Then, in no fit state to blog, I went to sleep, and awakened today at 8 AM for no real reason at all. 

Today is Good Friday here, and a Bank Holiday, so everyone has work off.  This is good, because everyone will be relaxed, but bad, because I need to be at the airport right at rush hour.  I still need to get my super authentic British fish & chips, and we're leaving the flat at one PM today.

I can't believe that my trip is already over.  It didn't turn out at all how I expected it to go, but I saw a lot of Europe, and spent some time getting acquainted with myself as a traveler.  I learned a few things about myself in the process.

1.  I am stubborn.  If I say I'm going to do something, I will fight for it until the bitter end.

2.  There's a steel pole in my back instead of a spinal column.  If I need to, I will carry a 20-pound backpack up and down flights of stairs, through a city, in the snow, uphill both ways.  And I won't complain about it anywhere but my blog.  ;-)

3.  Art museums take me an average of an hour and a half per floor.

4.  Archeological museums interest me peripherally, at best.

5.  Every meal should begin with bread and olive oil, and end with gelato.

6.  Little luxuries make me sane, and feel as though I'm at home.  These include, but are not limited to: hot showers, shaving my legs, painting my nails, changing my shoes, e-mails from my loved ones, music in English, and having clean socks.

7.  I actually enjoy feeling like crap on the road.

8.  I can make myself understood in the Czech Republic through sheer will.

9.  I'm not addicted to cigarettes, pot, liquor, or any other substance intended to get you "high."  This includes caffeine.

10.  Cappuccinos are delicious; dates are your best friends.  

11.  I'm a compulsive collector/hoarder of books.

12.  Pickpocketing is completely avoidable if you're aware enough.

13.  I'm capable of drinking entire bottles of supremely crappy wine.

14.  When stressed, I grind my teeth during sleep.

15.  Water is the most amazingly useful substance known to man.

16.  Riding a bike is simultaneously easier and more difficult than it looks.

I think that's about all the wisdom I've gathered thus far.  Too soon, it's time to go.  I'm ready to be home, and back to my normal life.  Anyway, this is by no means the end of my travels.  In the mean time, though, I'll have to find something slightly more interesting than my life to write about.

Life Truths Gleaned from The Only Way is Essex

1.  If it rhymes, it's sound advice.  Example: 'Bros before hoes' (or, alternatively: 'Bros before hose'--as in hosiery, or stockings--)  Also: 'Chicks before dicks'; 'Check yourself before you wreck yourself'.

2.  "Shut up" actually only has three letters.  "Shuuuu-uuuuu," with your voice going up on the last "uuuuuu" sound.  If you want to make this expression shorter, just cut out the length of the "uuuuuu-uuuuuu."  "Shu-u!"

3.  Full words are too long to remember.  Making them shorter is cool.  Example: "jeal" for "jealous."  Ideally, use of this word can also rhyme.  ("That ho is jeal for real.")

4.  If you look any shade lighter than a piece of whole-grain toast, you're a white freak; unattractive, and unlovable.

5.  Asking people rhetorical questions at the end of your sentences is cool.  They don't have to make sense.  "That's a nice spray tan, innit?"  "She looks good tonight, don't she?"  "Shai 'as a noice pehso'aiity, dun it?"  If your every phrase is perceived as a question, and you're as attractive as these people, everyone is bound to agree with you.

Amy, who owns a salon, and has trouble pronouncing "Sylvester Stallone."

Lauren, whose nose doesn't exist

Mark, who's slept with most of the women on the show

6.  A woman's attractiveness is gleaned by her propensity to topple over for being top-heavy.  You should be a size 00 on bottom, and at least a double-D on top, or you're a fat freak (possibly a flat-chested one), and no one will ever love you.

7.  When resorting to plastic surgery, remember: looking like a race horse is cool.  You want no expression in your forehead, a tiny nose, lips the size of half your face, and very large teeth.  Think of a cross between Mr. Ed and a Bratz doll.

Chloe: a perfect 10

 8.  If your son breaks up with his girlfriend and is very sad, buy him a new girlfriend.  Go for the white Range Rover.

9.  Even though each of your boobs is twice the size of your head, you shouldn't cover them.  They were bought to be shown!

Amy again, because she's so quintessentially Essex

10.  When arguing with your significant other, the best way to placate them (if it's a girl) is to propose.

11.  When on a break from your significant other, the best way to get him to propose (if you're a girl) is to get the tattoo of his name removed.

12.  "Reem" is a word.  It means "really, really good."

 13.  When talking to/about someone who's "normal," one should refer to them as a "geezer."


14.  No one cares how stupid you are, or your knowledge of current events, if you're as obviously attractive as this guy:

Joey Essex, who they couldn't possibly have made up because he's so vain and vapidly stupid.  I sort of hope they made him up.

The following is a transcription of an actual conversation had during the show.

Girl: So, what are some of your, like, interests?

Joey:  -smile- Uh, well, you could say, like politics.

Girl:  Politics?  Who's the prime minister?

Joey: What, of Essex?

Girl:  -giggle- No, of England.

Joey:  Well, that's actually what I studied in school, is politics.  Um, they taught us stuff like, well, about the city, and stuff.  That's politics, innit?

Girl:  They didn't teach you who the Prime Minister of England is?

Joey:  Well...

Girl:  Don't you think that's something you should know?  -demanding- Who's the Prime Minister of England?

Joey:  Um, well -pretending to think- it's that geezer, innit?  Like, um... -toothy grin- I dunno.

Girl:  -giggle-

15.  The more annoying your laugh, the cuter it is.

16.  If you can still frown, you haven't had enough botox.

17.  20 years old is a fine age for sleeping around.  Any older, and you're a "slag."

18.  Essex is the Jersey Shore of England

19.  If your hair moves in the wind, you aren't using enough hairspray

20.  If your nether-bits haven't had Swarovsky crystals glued to them, it's unattractive to the opposite sex.  Men are like crows, so go and get your "vagazziles" done.

21.  When choosing your makeup for the day, remember: if anyone sees your eyes, it's because they're looking too hard.  Also, false eyelashes are daywear, and you're naked without  shiny, shiny gloss smeared all over your over sized, collagen-filled, comical, clown-like lips.

22.  When your boyfriend doesn't pay enough attention to you, whine.  Without end.

23.  If you're worried about him cheating, get a 20-32 black-and-white portrait of yourself taken, and hang it in his bedroom, right over the bed.

24.  Only lazy, ugly people aren't glamor models.

25.  If I watch any more of this show, I will talk of nothing else for YEARS.