whether there is weather

Whatever higher power that is romping around above us meek human beings has an ironic sense of humor. The humidity has gotten to me; to both my attitude and my heavy hearty hair. I'm worried that if i stay in this damp room much longer i won't be able to fit my fro through the doorway, and will be forced to bloat until the room gets up and leaves instead. At least i'd feel like i accomplished something with my unconscious protest. Holy hot, michigan. I have never been nostalgic for the weather 3 months ago. Scratch that, 3 weeks ago. The cold, the snow, the frostbite. I remember ever so clearly shaking some mitten-covered fist at the greyed and snowing sky yelling at mother-fucking-nature about how it's mother-fucking-april. I took it too far, so this is probably all some sort of cosmic justice, telling her (mother nature that is) that i understand she's been around for some thousands of years and i'm sure this is just her menopausal mood swings setting in but she should get a grip. And now, after lecturing her about the concept of heat, oh, she's giving it to me baby.
In the haziness of the heat and devastation of finals, the campus has turned into one big mirage for me. Errbody else is done with their exams and stumbling around in a celebratory-drunken stupor, headed to one giant-fucking party that i'm not invited to. I keep seeing an oasis of friends, shining in the distance, but as my eyes focus in and out i see only the glow of my computer screen and papers rustling in the wake of this life size fan, blowing used air over my used body, and doing nothing good for the current situation of my hair that i had described briefly above.
Denise and i wandered on over to rendezvous at some point during this endless night, to get a little bit of learn on, but ended up telling stories to each other, mostly on my part. With the hope that i am just as enigmatic to her as she is to me, i put a little part of myself onto the patio table and watched my history spill through the holes and onto her lap. But instead of grabbing a napkin and wiping my words off of her, i decided to let them seep. I hope she spills something huge and steaming on me one day too, because hell, y'all know misery loves company. This heat is really doing something to me, pumping into my pores until older parts of me overflow and cascade down, drowning villages and towns. I feel pretty drained right now, after dumping myself onto an unsuspecting bystander, but as long as this humidity continues forecasts predict me to be fairly swelled up once again by tomorrow. Hope to withstand all this weathering.

"i bought her a drink, but she wouldn't sleep with me, so i bought her another"

Unless the man sitting to my right is robin williams in Jack, then i'd have to assume from his completely greyed hair and full bearded look that he's around 50. However my inadvertent eavesdropping would tell me otherwise. I would like to assume the teenage attitude towards relationships would grow as you do, but maybe it's simply instilled in certain people, which leaves me very worried. Today someone described college in the best way i could think of. Before coming into this world of scheduled thought even i had the attitude that, hey, i'm going into the real world. Well, college baby, is anything but. We live in this world, a "student ghetto", a redlined area for people going through the exact same things that i am, all told that they are intelligent enough to come here, and floating on the remnants of that belief. And i'm right there with them, up stream, with one of those shitty plastic paddles. So it may be this atmosphere that has left me thinking that nothing in the world is different, especially attitudes about love. We've all got that modern-love-bug. Take nothing seriously, skate by, waiting for the next best thing, because once it's good it'll eventually come to us. At least, that's what Mr. Middle-aged on my starboard side thinks. He, and his fairly silent but agreeable friend just "doesn't give a fuck" and is "just looking for a good time". It's not that bad, i tell myself. No big. Because i have faith that eventually i'll be in the process of searching for a great time, a long time, a life time? Maybe this is what we've entered, an era of haphazard relationships, bumping into one another and ricocheting off in the opposite direction until we run into someone else. The seven-year itch has expanded into a full-fledged bodily rash, that leaves us wanting to scratch all the live long day. I heard oatmeal baths help, however i'm not sure how to relieve an irritated mind. The most devastating part of this scenario is that my sweater is dangerously similar to that mans. I see my future, and it is middle-aged and meek.

Ta-da

Today i found my fingers itching for the comforting click of key-typing today, a clear facebook-withdrawal symptom after LJ and i took a girlscouts oath to stop wasting our lives away on the ether and changed each others' passwords. however the age old adage rings true once more reminding me that when one door closes, another one opens. so here i am, 4 internet tabs away from insanity, browsing through craigslist personal ads, episodes of old addicting tv shows, pictures of celebrities, mayan facts, BBCmundo, anything that could relieve my need for rifling through other people's personal lives in the privacy of my own room. i took a short, but well earned, bathroom break, and upon my return i saw the severity of the situation, with the window showing a list of fight-club quotes, and decided that i need a different form of therapeutic release, just to ease my aching-facebookless-soul.
Maybe banning facebook, the one stable aspect of my life at the moment, wasn't such a good decision. It was almost comforting to know that i had the overly published details of every person's life that i have so much as smiled at lingering right there in front of me. Although i never really care about how much homework chelsea has, or even remember who the fuck ezra, who is now single by the way, is, the fact that i could access said information was a great fall back. But the truth is that while FB allows me to get a sneak-peak into the lives of other unimportant people who i don't think about, it distracts me from thinking about, well, me.
So here's my plan b: blogging. I keep telling myself that i'll keep this updated because it serves as my own mental release from whatever was clogging my mind beforehand, but the idea of it seems so very angsty. I was rarely angsty in highschool, mostly bitter, but even so i generally kept it to myself. However it seems that the blogging-boat that i embarked on was filled with throngs of angry-angsty teens pouring their hearts and souls, or rather other people's depressing song lyrics, out and into public domain. After spending some time sifting through teens writings, i realized more and more that i was becoming one of them, an idea that both shocked and attracted me. It's mob mentality basically. I have no need to recount how linkin park was obviously writing about my life when they wrote the song "i was born this angry, i can't help it, go fuck yourself", but if everybody's doing it then it must be good. Anyways, i hereby dub this post a semi-permanent welcome back party for myself, that is, until i forget to return tomorrow. Let's whip out the streamers and champagne baby.

sell your dope

This is all things considered, from NPR news, I'm Rachel Sherman. I get oddly comforted by music that has no correlation to my life whatsoever. This may explain my newly adopted choice to listen to too much afroman for my own good. Although i'm not black, don't smoke very much weed, or deal it for that matter, i still like to know that if i can't find a job because my skin ain't white, i can always sell my dope, and everything will turn out relatively well. Today is valentine's day, a celebration made for happy people to bask in their love, and the unhappy to drink away their emotions hoping that they may hit that point where vodka meets the time-space continum and skip this holiday altogether. I'd say that this discovery could mean one small step for mankind, one giant leap for alcoholics. I've been feeling super domestic lately, and that combined with the big v-day has left me very few options. So far my best one yet is turning into a leather-wearing alcoholic single mother who heats up microwaveable meals for my children while i watch re-runs of Threes Company on my crappy television. And they say you need direction for a happy life. Yesterday i got into a pretty heated conversation about the nature of list-making. I can spot a list-maker from a mile away. It has something to do with their smell, or maybe my sonar radar, but either way, i know that i'm not one of them. This impedement has caused some unnecessary conflict in my life, mostly because i forget to do everything that i should. But lists do nothing but remind me of everything my lazy ass has yet to accomplish. It's not the most satisfying of feelings. Anyways, i think i'm sensing a change of heart coming on, and so i figured i might as well hop on the bandwagon. 1) homeworkkkk? this includes reminding myself that i neither understand, nor give a shit about astronomy, but should probably look up some information before my midterm. i do feel better about being so g-d awful at it though by reminding myself that at least i'm not an astronomer, studying things that don't matter and will never fully understand until the armageddon comes and i have to drill into a comet with bruce willis and ben affleck. also some history writing, some slavery studying, some spanish reading, and some serious coffee drinking 2) thank becca for her valentine. although i hate the holiday, i would love the sentiment if i were a part of the previous group of people 3) set up study sessions with that semi-iffy guy in my discussion section 4) pee 4.5) wash hands 5) find short shorts for a potentially awkward party tonight 6) rent space jam 7) buy excessive amounts of alcohol, get pregnant and watch more Threes Company I think that was thorough enough for my first attempt at listing. Support for Rachels Ramblming comes form our listeners and Hostess cupcakes, eat your bodyweight. Thanks for listening!

we're not in kansas anymore

I may be lost now that i've been here enough to know where i am. My bed feels too comfortable, my clothes too worn in, my thoughts too premeditated. I've established a routine that i already need to break, and considering the last time i went to the gym was during 'nam, i really don't think i have to upper arm strenth to break it. It's kind of like high school again, with less bells telling me where to go and when. I wish i scheduled my classes earlier in the morning so i could sleep through some of them, instead of sleeping whilst i'm in them. The chairs there don't really welcome a quality hour and a half nap. Maybe i need to wander more, but the moment i begin to wander my wandering mind comes right back into the frigid -4 degree reality. So because physical wandering proved too arctic and difficult, i tried some mental wandering, which was easy since i can't really find myself right now. Somehow i ended up cyberly wandering and accidentally stumbling upon an application for a custodial job at the League (i'm not quite sure how i got there or who exactly filled out the form. i may have been sedated at the time, but now soberly i still kind of hope i get it. i'd be oh-so katie holmes in Mad Money, jamming out to my walkman that i have yet to aquire and pushing carts around). The worst part is that i expect my friends here to help find me, because that seems like a fairly friendly thing to do, but i guess i'm not giving them much to work with. Even back at home too many people told me i'm to distant, although i seem so close, to be readable at all. I just wish i could be written down by someone somewhere so that i could glance at this intangible book every once in a while, you know, just for reference sake. I can't stop making The Wizard of Oz connections in my head, but i should let it be known i hate small dogs, my group does not consist of any particularly furry, metalic or straw characters, and i would look ridiculous in a plaid-blue dress. Dorthy really got lucky with that one yellow road, i mean, there were a limited amount of wrong turns she could take. But she did have her downfalls every once in a while (mostly i'm refering to her minor opium addiction. i can't really blame the girl, everybody loves poppies). I should show up to one of those infamous little-people conventions (sorry if i offended any rouge migit out there reading my rambling. i don't know the proper PC terminology. i'd never fit in) i've always heard of, hoping maybe they can tell me exactly which color of brick road to follow. Why the fuck is everyone around me normal sized? They're useless.

just another part o' my mini-legacy

There's an aspect about the internet that is much more eternal than any other type of record-keeping device. Once you put something out there, it's out of your control. What's done is done; an idea that has always comforted me. This dawned on me while watching a 1993 episode of the X-files about a learning computer taking over its surroundings. That's why i write in this blog, rather than a silly word document. Well, that and the fact that windows vista is evidently more intelligent than i am, and i'm fairly resentful of its accomplishments. I would like to hope that if, or maybe i should say when, one day, technology surpasses us meek humans, my oh-so-important thoughts will be a part of the impending imperialism. What if i never get the chance to do my part to destroy an entire race? I need to get my hostile tendencies out somewhere. Look ma, i'm evil!

Anyways, i'm glad the following wonderment is about to be added into what will eventually lead to the technological apocalypse. And zach, this one's for you champ, if you're out there :). I recognize that clearly i am not totally comfortable with myself in my surroundings all the time. But i don't understand what about attraction makes most people change or overly analyze the way they are. It seems to me that there is no point in going after someone who won't return the same feelings to you, as yourself. In fact, most people harbor qualities that are unique to themselves only, and because of that, people are naturally attracted to you. So where does changing yourself come into play? If anything, one should be overly self-like if they want to have that reciprocated care. The only people who have real game are those who just know how to play their game well enough.

I know too many people who assume that they aren't good enough for someone (including myself) and simply give up on the idea. Lets depict this in a cost-benefit analysis format so that i can get my econ practice in for the day. If you do dare to make a move on someone, you run the risk of getting rejected, and if it's really serious, it can end in full-fledged heartbreaking, tears falling, tub of ice cream, emotional damaging, meg-ryan-movie-watching disaster, but if you get what you want, it's just the opposite. Now, if you see the previously listed costs as too dangerous (that's a lot of meg ryan you'd have to handle), the decision is made to exit the industry and shut down your business in that market. However, you still have invested many fixed inputs, such as emotional commitment, and tons of mental capacity that was wasted on imagining you and that special someone in a wedding gown, or bed covers, or whatever your ideal situation was during the process. And because of this, you end up losing anyways. Now it seems to me that there is no point investing in an idea you know you'll lose by not taking the risk. It's just more practical to go for it. Hey, you might just gain experience from it. Or at least a shitty story you can tell to your friends when you're crying over meg ryan's tribulations about falling in love with a man on the radio, or the same man that happens to run her out of the competitive bookstore business. It's all working towards some greater ends i guess.

Is it hot in here or is it just me?

It's hard to find alone time here, and when i do, i tend to feel like it's being wasted. 976 lost games of mindsweeper doesn't exactly give me the peace of mind that i'd have hoped for, contrary to popular belief. Even if i do choose to exit my riveting game of MS (i'm clearly too comfortable with minesweeper when i start acronyming it), i somehow end up on facebook, which is the internet equivalent of a giant fucking party. I think the issue is that i like playing host a little too much. If we're gonna get analytical then i think it's best that i delve into my childhood, a time when i vehemently was against playing house with the rest of the class, mostly because for some reason i was always voted mom. What in the world qualified me as the most matriarchal of all my fellow jewish female friends is beyond me. I figure that now i'm just compensating. This may also be the source of my anti-children attitude. Thanks PJA, you severely fucked me over as far as conventional housewives go.
I think Thoreau had it right when he wrote Walden, aside from the fact that he's a loony. It should also be noted that when i typed the word loony, an instant picture of Thoreau chasing after Roadrunner and getting hit by an unexplainable amount of TNT popped into my head. Where can one actually find time to reflect when we're surrounded by distractions like making other people E-Z mac and blowing yourself up via old school computer games? All of these factors have also made it pretty hard to be one on one with people, since i can't even stand to be one on one with myself. This also explains my severe hatred for phones, and most things that mimic a phone. Sorry liat. You seem to be on the losing end of this distaste, but i swear i want to talk to you :). I mean, i love spending time with people, but sometimes when it's just me and someone else i get this prodding anxious feeling. It may be because when i'm in a group, there's little to no opportunity for the room to totally clear out so i can get my time for myself, but when i'm just one person away from my mini-finish line, my unconscious goes psycho and does all it can to clear that person out. The truth is i tots miss my old life, despite how much i love it here. I can't find the same comfort, which is to be expected since it took 4 years to find my place at home. I just miss the unconditional acceptance and complete understanding that my friends seemed to be naturally equipped with. Plus to add more to my mental stack of work, i have to choose my clases for next semester, and, let me tell you, i have far too many options. Among these are an american culture class called "beatniks, hippies, and punks", an astronomy class explaining the big bang, an art history class which is perfect for my neglected art background and lack of interest in art altogether, a creative writing course, spanish readings, psychology of language, and to top it off a "frauds and fantastic claims" archeology seminar. You know, strictly the necessary basics for a girls college experience. This weekend need to all sorts of low key for me to organize my distraught state-of-mind. Alls i can say is thank goodness for thanksgiving.