Hello, hello.

I just have not been able to be bothered to blog lately.

That sentence had a lot of bubbly b’s in it but I’m too lazy to figure out another way to say it. X so graciously asked me to read over her grad school application essays. One for Berkeley and one for Harvard. I was kind of like, “Me? Really?” Actually, I was exactly like that. I mean this woman has an English degree from Berkeley (With HONORS!) and a master’s degree. I just skated by UC Santa Cruz with a 3.0 GPA in a film major. Not to say college or your GPA in college determines your lingual aptitude or anything but X knows her way around a few words. So anyway, I was reading one of her essays and she mentioned doing two things twice in two years. And instead of having any constructive commentary, my notes said, “That sentence has a lot of twos in it.” I tried rearranging and whatnot but alas, The Millionizer could not make it work. Ok on to more pointless anectdotalism.

Last Sunday was my office Christmas, oh excuse me, holiday party* and we all immediately got shitfaced and talked about wildly inapropriate things to make each other’s guests feel as uncomfortable as we could. When your brother’s co-worker asks you about the first time you had sex and the whole back story and simply will not drop the subject even after you’ve made it clear you don’t want to elaborate, you have to wonder what the heck is up with my place of employment. But really, it’s fun I swear.

* I don’t know why I got all snarky back there. To be fair, it’s not really snark it’s how I talk, I’m all, “Merry Christmas! Oh, err, Happy Holidays!” all the time.

Last night was TBU’s office holiday party. Since he works in San Jose, the party was in San Jose. TBU Sr. got wind of this and offered to get us a room at the hotel because we drink alcohol to aid in the unbearable awkwardness of social interaction.

TBU’s co-workers are not from the same cloth as my own. It was all shmoozy and desperately trying to be elegant. Which was awesome because the only shoes I remembered to pack were black flip-flops with pink skulls. Don’t think I didn’t notice those glances to the floor and back up you turds. I’m fairly certain the be-skulled flip-flops and my obvious foot tattoo were duly noted and filed appropriately. If it weren’t for the sympathetic waiter with the generous pours and knowing glances it would have been a total fail.

As soon as the first couple left everyone lept** from their seats, grateful for the social cue to go the hell home. The Teebs and I rented Waitress from the concierge, he fell asleep and I got to enjoy the movie over the soft (read: soft like nails on a chalkboard) sounds of Downtown San Jose at night. I can’t say it was all too bad. The bed was extremely comfortable.

**I just spent 30 minutes internet researching lept vs leaped. Apparently I am not insane and they are both words and equally applicable in this situation.

There’s more, just not now. I have some great, disparaging quotes from my mother when she visited for Thanksgiving and possibly some video.

The Millionizer needs a shower

A few times a week, on my way home I pass the harbor. For the past month there has been a sign blocking my view of the Pacific, advertising a raffle in which I could win a sailing trip for me and 48 of my friends. And every single time, every single gd time I think to myself, I don’t have 48 friends to invite. Who has 48 friends? I don’t want to know the person who has 48 people at their disposable. I have enough trouble finding 5 people I want to have dinner with, 48 people sharing MY fucking raffle win? No thank you, doesn’t sound like much of a prize.

TBU just mentioned the Counting Crows and I said, I just wrote a post about them. To which he replied, I know. Then I questioned, You did? But you didn’t leave a comment? And he said, I know, it’s not very inviting. And I’m pretty sure that’s indicative of me as a person, like my boyfriend, the person I live with and who(m) the post was about didn’t even feel invited to leave a comment, that has to say something about my writing style and in turn, me.

It’s not a bad thing necessarily, in fact I’ve made it perfectly clear that this is about me, by me, for me blah blah blah but I still really like the interaction. I like reading comments and emails, I like “meeting” new people. Really, I do. It’s just, I don’t know what it is. Certainly, an aspect of it is the social anxiety which has only become less and less crippling with age and alcohol. Another thing is the fact that I am kinda self conscious about my writing. So I’m inclined to not invite commentary (even subconsciously) for fear of reading things that make me feel worse. But I have learned over the past two years (can you believe two years?!) that you should come to expect the kindness of people on the internet. As great as I think I am, I am well aware that the opinion may not be shared, so I try to shelter myself from the fact. I don’t know what I’m getting at.

Let’s move on shall we? Yes, this way please [hand movement to the left] on to a slightly related topic

Last weekend, Savage and Lou were in town. Lou was my next door neighbor freshman year in the dorms, Savage lived upstairs. How do I express the awesomeness of these two? There is no way really. I just asked TBU to remind me of a story and he said exactly what I was feeling, The snake, the car? I don’t remember much, really. I just remember feelings and strong impressions. How can I be expected to remember anything when I was so busy getting drunk off Smirnoff Ice? Remember when that shit came out? It’s like a neatly packaged ghetto drink, which means fabulous. Lou is the guy who shows up at 2am and wants to go spelunking and drinks Zima to prove you wrong, while Savage is the guy who tries to communicate by grunting for a whole week and continually passes out in your living room, forcing you to step over a large human form for 12 hours straight. These are my buds.

I grew up as an only child of a single mother, there was never a male presence in my house. I had no clue how guys worked on a real, personal level, my only guidance was Saved by the Bell and Friends. So when I finally lived on my own and had to use a co-ed bathroom it got real personal and I was like Oh my god, you mean they can act independently of social expectations? I had no idea. I guess it should be mentioned that certain segments of the population find Lou (and Savage too, but mostly Lou) to be devastatingly attractive, namely my mom. When I told her he was going to be in town she made that noise you make while simulating a shiver, or an orgasm, god I hope it wasn’t an orgasm. These are people who you expect one thing from (rampant sexual objectification of women fitting only a narrow definition of beauty and inability to communicate with other women on a level of respect) and you get the complete opposite, well you get some of it but it’s in context and comes off as, oh I don’t know, harmless? I consider living with these guys essential to my personal development. I can’t really explain it anymore than that. I love them, bro-style. Anyway…

They were in town last week and one thing led to another and suddenly there was something happening I had never seen before. Something I don’t think anybody has seen before. TBU sang karaoke. As if that weren’t shocking enough, he got onstage without any encouragement whatsoever. I walked up to help Savage out before he drowned in the deep sea that is “Like a Virgin” and TBU followed. They were rocking it so hardcore all I had to do was gunshot my beer, which by the way illicited the loudest applause. Even the extremely drunk surfer dude who heckled everyone, cheered us on. The Teebs hates karaoke. He once left me in San Francisco because he couldn’t handle all the karaoke. When I asked, “the fuck?” all he said was, “Eh.” After seven years of boycotting all you have to say is eh?

God, what is up with all this weird introspection and lame linearity lately? It’s like my fingertips are on their period, are about to start their period or are 14. I think I know what it is. I haven’t smoked any weed since Canada. I could pass a drug test right now. Well not right NOW but tomorrow afternoon once all the pinot is out. I don’t really know why, my only explanation is eh. I just stopped taking it when it was passed to me and realized I could remember my dreams in the morning. But maybe being this in touch with my mind is getting to me. I’m uncovering the underlying reasons for things that should just be because they are. I don’t like it. I need a hobby or something, something other than grad school applications and human anatomy.

And with that, I have to go to bed. If you need me I’ll be elbow deep in cadaver by 8am.

You know that really juicy color your lips turn when you drink a couple glasses of red wine? Do they sell that in a non-caloric, non-alcoholic form? Like maybe lipstick? So far my research says no.

So it’s getting down to it. I’ll have my application for UCSF in by this weekend. Like, seriously, my life plan hinges on this. It’s incredibly exciting and so nerve racking. I’m drinking red wine with my juicy lips and I keep thinking of all the things I’ve done in the past year. I’ve been working full time and taking up to 9 units of ridiculously hard classes. And not only that, I’ve been doing really well in them. I know that no matter what happens with UCSF I will look back on this time and be like, Holy eff, how did I do that? I got five people I genuinely admire to write me letters of recommendation. When I found out I needed five letters of recommendation I couldn’t fathom that that many people would think highly enough of me to do it. But I had to start turning down offers, and that kinda shocked me. I took the GRE and did way better than I imagined I would. Granted, it’s not a GRE score Josh Her-fuck me- nandez would be happy with, but it’s good enough for The Millionizer. This whole application process is coming to an end and it’s scary because from here on out nothing is up to me. I can’t rewrite my essays, study for the GRE or tweak my application, this is it. They are judging me now and that is some scary shit.

That’s pretty much all my mind is dedicated to and probably will be until notices are sent out in late fucking December. I go to sleep with thoughts of the thick evelope in my mailbox.

The Millionizer is on edge