g-d save the queen

A british accent is much like marijuana in the sense that it just amplifies the current state of the situation. In this specific case, the subject of my thesis is brittney murphy. What i'm avoiding admitting is that i just wasted and hour and 46 minutes of my life watching possibly one of the worst romantic comedies of all time. I'm not sure how terrible the movie was originally, but the kicker was when the director gave brittney murphy a pseudo american/british accent. The movie did in fact note that Murphy was half american, half british, thus explaining her awkward accent, which is most likely due to the fact that she can't form a proper british accent on her own. What a sly cover for such a horrible sound. What is it about a british accent that makes life so appealing? Everything seems to be that much more attractive when there's a healthy layer of british sounding words slathered on top. Harry potter, the osbournes, prince william, david beckham, VICTORIA beckham, the word colour, poorly dressed pop groups, psychology, spice world, orbit gum, the spanish armada. All of these things seem to lose their glamour as soon as you remove the adorably soothing voice of the UK from the picture. If only my attempt at a british accent didn't morph into the voice of mr. quikimart clerk meets western meets oliver twist. Maybe i'd be a whole lot cuter.
Speaking of adorable, i recently ate my body weight in cheesy fries. Or maybe they were cheez-e fries. The class of cheese is fairly questionable. But no matter where this cheese originated from, there was a ton of it. The basket of fries themselves wasn't actually that large. I think it was just the density of the meal all together that sealed the deal. This was some massive side dish. I'm pretty sure i couldn't bench this basket, even with proper spotting. But i'd like to think that the fries were a positive contribution to my soul as opposed to my belt buckle. I'm fairly confident that weight control is all mental. Take that jenny craig. The clickety sound of me typing is making my cheesy-self a little nauseated. I'm gonna go throw up my major internal organs.

Ouch charley

I sunburned my lips. Scratch that. I fucking sunburned my lips. There, that has the right amount of umph to it. Because of this issue i have encountered, i have recently taken notice at just how important lips are. Now, originally i saw lips as simply a sexual tool, which is one of their many great purposes. However it seems that lips are also important for the following: eating (fuck), drinking (damnit), breathing (meh), talking (uh oh). And for the not so lip-savvy like myself, let me give you ample warning of things sunburned lips do not respond well to: pineapple, alcohol, listerine, balsamic vinaigrette, rachel.
Aside from my excessive pain, today has been yet another day. I went to a fencing club meeting, and stuck out like a sore... [insert fencing term here]. On the up side, i did learn a lot about fencing. On the down side, i did learn a lot about fencing. This can just be another tally added to my obnoxiously pretentious club meetings that i have, and will be going to. So far i have sailing and fencing under my belt, both of which were inspired by other people, but neither of which was i hesitant to attend.
I still don't like the phone. I'm convinced it's the government's way to keep tabs on me. I'm also ridiculously self involved. Also, i think i've developed a physical reaction to speaking on the phone, or skype for that matter. Extreme discomfort is a medical condition, right? Now i have the heart-wrenching decision to make between finishing my spanish homework, or watching Dexter on netflix and living vicariously through a serial killer. The latter it is then.

yes, but my friends call me ACHIE

It's 2:20 in the morning and, surprise surprise, i can't fall asleep. Instead i'm trying to convince myself that the essay i just wrote, which is probably the third worst piece of writing i've ever pumped out, won't make me look like a complete asshole. I say third worst as an educated guess, leaving room for anything written in a foreign language, and/or a particularly horrible first draft of an uninspiring college essay. Somehow, this assignment was so demoralizing, that i needed to go back into my saved documents, and read things that i've written before to remind me that at one point in time, i knew what i was saying. I think i may have chosen the wrong classes. It's that, or the hazy mess of my exhausted mind has left me feeling uninspired. Either way, at this point in time, i feel like i'm going no where. Maybe i need to drink more water. I spent a riveting 4 hours yesterday standing in the sun with another 100,000 people, pretending like i really care about football and like the color yellow. That, followed by a lack of sleep, and a night of vodka and dancing probably didn't help with the dehydration. Plus my lululemon bag told me that apparently water's good for you. You never know when advertising will give you those precious nuggets of golden wisdom. Thanks lulu. I tried to take the RACHIE off my wall, because i thought that removing it might help me sleep. Sometimes, when i'm lying in my perfectly comfortable bed, about to drift into slumber, i can hear the supple whisper of "raaaachhhiieeee" echo through my brain. Yes, it is as unsettling as it sounds. Anyways, i started with R, since that seemed a grammatically perfect place to start, but it seems my super durable double-sided tape as just as durable as it claims to be. Instead of a clean strip, there was still the pathetic remains of the letter left lingering on my wall, like mayan ruins after thousands of years of weathering. That simply wouldn't do. Now here i was holding a partially decorated R in my hands and staring at an equally disturbing ACHIE. I gave up, and decided that instead of rearranging my interior decoration, i should just rearrange my identity. That might be easier.

Goodnight mug, goodnight rug

They say a dog is a man's best friend, which has recently become more and more evident as i spend increasing amounts of time away from my canine. One good thing that's making it easier to be away is that blintzes isn't a dog. she's more of a bathmat. Thus, as a way to be weaned off my pathetic excuse for a mutt, i bought myself (and the roommate) a surprisingly high maintenance rug. In fact, blintz and this rug have more in common than one would presume. Both have little affect on my life aside from aesthetic purposes, both shed an obnoxious amount, neither of them are the most social of creatures, and most importantly, both scare the shit out of unsuspecting strangers. The best part about my rug (which will remain nameless until the perfect one comes to me) is that without much effort, it seems to welcome me home at any hour of the day. I don't know if it is the bright color or the furry nature, but something about the rug, similar to my dog, makes me feel appreciated.
Tonight was a good night. Fat lip aside. Expand upon this fat-lip story you ask? No, i couldn't. Ok, only because you persisted. We were tossing around a paper towel, because thumb-twiddling seemed far too cliche, and the ball lay in caitlins court. For some enigma of a reason, caitlin thought that the playfulness of the crumpled paper towel toss wasn't quite her style, and needed something more dangerous. A close cousin to the paper towel, caitlin picked up a jumbo combination highlighter that she found next to her. Now here is where the blame game gets all muddled up. Clearly displaying the highlighter to me, caitlin assumed that it was safe to toss. This assumption was not only incorrect, but also a little irrelevant, because why would i ever expect a highlighter to come flying at my face. Instead of moving like a sober and/or rational human being would, i opened my mouth. I think you can finish the rest of the story on your own. Now, in my slightly inebriated state, i'm going to watch Daria until her emotionless negativity lulls me into a drunken slumber. This is definitely a good night.

Previously on Heroes

I think i'm starting to despise my key card. In fact, this may be the truest emotion i have felt here yet, and i don't mean to downplay the rest of my feelings thus far. I have in fact felt famished, stuffed, pissed off, happy, and lonely since i've arived, but this animosity blows the rest out of the water. Every time my card happens to be forgotten in my room or elsewhere, i notice that it isn't MY absent mindedness that left my card somewhere, but some hurtful alterior motive of the electrical strip. Now that i have finally trained myself to carry it with me, i am overcome with a surge of energy, and feel that the card is physically being repelled from my body, but bound in the protective container that is my pocket. I see very little use for the device. One might suggest it could serve as a way to get into the building, but i have noticed that if you look pathetic enough, which isn't a challenge for me as a freshman, someone will open the door. And then there's the "but what about bathrooms" argument, which can be easily shot down with the use of the unisex facilities that can be found in every hall on every floor.
I've noticed that anytime i need to go back to my dorm room, i am consistently overcome with the need to use the restroom. It may have to do with gravity as i walk up my one flight of steps, or maybe a psychological unconcious hope that i'll run into someone i know in the hall, but either way, nature is nature and a girl's gotta go. Today the urge presented itself once again, and as i waddled in the direction of the toilet, that pesky little card made it's bold i-hate-you statement once again. Enough was enough, and i worked my way towards the handle of the unisex enterance. But wait. What's the etiquette for dropping a deuce? Should i spare the other 50% of the population my possible smell and just inflict the women of Prescott 2nd? Or could i sneek in and out unnoticed, and blame it one an evil male? Before my decision could be made by key card had somehow lifted my hand and i had turned the nob without knowing. I was in, and there was no turning back. Luckily, i had not been the first to encounter this problem, which i realized as soon as the door swung open and i was thrown back by a waft of a stench from before. This is not a unisex bathroom, as the sign would lead you to believe, but a place made for a poo.
Today, something inside of me flipped. Yesterday i didn't yet feel that i was at home. Last night i slept horribly, and this morning i had anticipated a wave of cynicism and excessive eating. In fact, that's what may have made me more settled. I spent a solid portion of today in my bed watching Heroes and glaring at the people outside from my second story window. Eventually i forced myself to get out, and saw what it was like to be those fancy-pantsed i-go-outside types. After some free food and company, i came back to the courtyard and read what could have easily been my diary published by a 32 year old gay man. He, and i, unwaveringly decided that living is highlighted by the unwanted moments in time. The best thing to do is to take them in, and write about them.

Fit damnit

Oh hey readers. Welcome to the mind of Rachel 2.0 - Collegiate edition. So far i've been pretty behind on logging my many thoughts into the semi-permanent capsul that is the internet since i've gotten here, but i'm hoping with time the 2.0 version will be like Sims Superstar or something equally epic. Maybe i'm overestimating the my popularity. Either way, when i look back on these postings on some rainy, or most likely blizzardy; seeing as i'm now a michigander; day, i'll be able to see the difference in what i write. Recapping the college experience so far may go a little something like this. Marni, move-in, Marni and company, dining, Marni, shopping, Marni, greenwood... i think you can see a pattern. What's the word i'm looking for? ohh, co-dependent. Actually things here are great, but i'm still lacking that vital comfort that camp and/or portland brought. I miss those hours i can spend alone, and knowing that i can always call certain people for something to do, no matter what it is, or when it would be happening. I miss bitching and moaning, because no one likes a complainer right off the bat (though if this whole "be yourself" motto is actually all its cracked up to be, maybe i should show the people i meet the real me, rough cynical edges and all). I miss being sick of knowing where i'm going and having to explore the untapped areas of the city, i miss needing a smoke because some people are just too much to handle, i miss superbad-esk searches for alcohol becuase it's just too easy to get drunk here, i miss every little crappy, frustrating, mediocre, sedated, difficult, dirty part of my life back home that i hadn't quite parted with because i didn't realize that they'd be missed. I'm not miserable at all, i just want to be able to be. The other night i lay in my bed trying to control the ridiculous amount of information filtering through my limbic system and couldn't find comfort. That session of constant tossing and turning felt like a description of my feelings at that moment to the T. I wasn't unhappy that i couldn't sleep, but that just wasn't what i expected to be doing for so long. I became so desperate that (i'm shocked that i'm about to admit to this horribly trite and dull action) i actually tried to count sheep. Sheep for fucks sake. I got to about 24 when i realized what a giant moron i was, and gave up trying to force it. After another 3 hours my body's better sense took over and i finally passed out. I just don't want to force it.

come on snake eyes

Summer has been like a cheap, ongoing board-game. Process of elimination helped me put my finger on the exact fun-filled game that i'm thinking of, but just for shits and giggles, lets recap the decision-making process. First i thought that maybe, despite the cliche, my life could be LIFE. But right off the bat with the whole "get a real job, house, husband, and children" i realized that LIFE was not so liveable. At that point, in my morning cynacism, i moved onto Sorry, thinking that maybe its apologetic nature would suit summers mistakes. Turns out not apologizing is more fitting for me than admitting i am wrong. It's one of my best qualities you know. Clue seemed too riveting, Candyland seemed too delicious, and i'm far too passive aggressive to dominate anything, so RISK was out of the question. Desperately scrambling, i went through any and all other rainy-day games that i could: Rummikub - more fitting for my grandma. Trivial Pursuit - i'm not well-rounded enough. Dominos - too communist. Backgamman - what the fuck? Eventually after some deliberation, it hit me. My summer was Monopoly. It was perfect. Monopoly, as far as i'm concerned, is the definitive, be-all and end-all of board-games. It has everything you need, both luck and strategy. It's competetive nature brings out the true colors of its participants, always leaving the strongest link on top, and only ends with frustration and/or a whole lot of tears. Plus, as Dane Cook so eloquently describes, this is anyone 4 hours into a game of monopoly. "fuck this game! it's 4 in the morning grandma, YOU WIN! plus where'd you get those pink 50s you cheating whore". Welcome to summer 08. Unfortunately i think i've hit the "go directly to jail, do not pass go, do not collect 200 dollars" moment in my estivation. Throughout the game so far i have been fairly strategic, choosing my moves as precisely as possible. So far my game has been played with very little slip-ups. The occasional bad card from the treasure chest has cost me temporary set backs, but it's always been compensated for through my rail-road profits or boardwalk turn-ins. It all happened so suddenly. One bad roll of the dice, completely in the hands of fate, and i'm in the dog-house. I don't have the cash for enough bail, and while the justice system gives me one low-probability attempt at scoring freedom, my competitors are racking up all the primo property. Ok, my hyperbole has been spread as thin as it can be by now, and i'm just grasping for straws. What i'm really talking about is that i usually know exactly what to do, but here i feel like it's out of my hands. I know you read this, and may not appreciate my poorly constucted analogy, because it's not fitting at all, but i want you know know that i don't know what i'm supposed to do from here. When you care about someone, you take what they give you, even if it's complete shit. I'm sorry if that's what i've been dishing. Honestly, i'll miss you like crazy.