You guys right now, at this point in my life, at 26 years old, after cleaning up my fiance’s food chunks soaked in absinthe and throwing a blanket over a man on the couch, there are two things in life I recommend. Kings of Leon and Friday Night Lights. That’s it. Yes I know, I’m perpetually a 16 year old but I don’t want to meet the person who can resist this shit.

A bit pretench? Over the top? Doesn’t matter, that guy who is making you feel like you’ve got something in your teeth has got the best voice in music since NKTOB. I downloaded an album not realizing it was live until I wondered what all the hooting and hollering was about and bothered to look at my iPhone. That speaks for the whole band. Two other pluses are that they have songs about road head and lovesick vampires and it makes your giny tickle. So get on track and pick me up some bottles of booze.

Ok and Friday Night Lights. I’m almost ready to promise to stop talking about this but I’m serious, watch it. It’s not all about football, it’s about life and rooting for #7.

That’s number 7, tell me he’s not adorable. Still no? Ok how about now?

Ok well if Matt Saracen working at the Alamo Freeze doesn’t do it for you, then you’re probably more of a #33 kind of whore girl person.

I mean that’s fine if that’s what you’re into, sure Tim Riggins is easy to look at.

But you know he’s overdue for a visit to the clinic. So you have fun with that hot piece of #33.

OK, that’s it, I swear, no more Friday Night Lights but only because I’m sure I’ve convinced you all to watch the first three seasons which are easily accessible on Netflix watch instantly, get it done people! Otherwise we’re not going to have anything to talk about.

Alright. It’s getting down to it. The wedding, adulthood, middle age. Although you wouldn’t know it from the night I had. If I hadn’t bothered to look at a calendar in eight years I would have thought it was freshman year in the dorms, complete with drublic punkeness, getting lost, falling in bushes, throwing up, people longer than your couch sleeping on your couch and passing out before brushing one’s teeth. It doesn’t help this was all done with people I actually went to college with. Ain’t much changed. But that’s good, I love these guys.

I feel like I want to write about my job but I just don’t even know where to start. I just don’t know. It’s not all bad, but this one girl, this one goddamn nasty girl with body acne who picks then looks at her fingers – no! I won’t go any further. Six months then I’m CEO guaranteed.

In writing this post I got side tracked by Kings of Leon you tube videos and I realized that music videos have a completely different language than film or TV. In their effort to include all band members, if you read it like a film it would play with strong homosexual under overtones. Watch Sex On Fire and try not to see it. I dare you.

Side note – the lead singer of Kings recently spoke publicly about his anorexia. Disordered eating club, high five! I mean, I wish you recovery and a sound self image.

Is he not doing it for you? Is this not enough to convince you to listen to things I tell you to listen to? I mean, his voice, my goodness. I imagine it’s like when Ms A first watched Jesus Christ Superstar and got chills. He is that good, they all are. Ok, now I think I can commit to no more KOL talk. I can’t guarantee a time frame but for the remainder of this post, I’m done. How can someone be so beautiful and have the voice he has, unfair. That man got more than his share of good genes. Ok, I’m done, I’m done. But he’s like hard to look at straight on, right?

Sweet TBU is passed out next to me in his clothes, his glasses askew and all oblivious to the blue light from the laptop and the typing. Adorable. It doesn’t hurt that the cat who got high and cost me a $200 vet visit is cuddling with him and purring. My boys!

Me though, I’m not tired. I had half a cup of coffee at 8:30 yesterday morning. So I don’t expect to sleep until Sunday night. Just in time to get a good night’s sleep for work.

Haha, remember when I was obsessed with Brandon Flowers? I’ve moved from mormons to pentecostals. When will a nice hot Atheist boy come along? Geez America, is this all you have to offer me?

Ok, I’m going to end this dinosaur now. But I will tell you what we’re being for Halloween. I will be a Girl Scout, wearing the uniform I wore when I was a Girl Scout. Scarily enough, it pretty much all fits me. TBU is going as Zombie Johnny. As in Zombie Johnny Castle from Dirty Dancing. As in Zombie Patrick Swayze. Too soon?

The Millionizer can see the giggling virgins overlooking me

• Working on my speech (about the human cell! – I’m actually kinda stoked on that)
• Working on my Communications test
• Studying for Microbiology test on Tuesday
• Writing paper for Micro
• Studying for Nutrition final (proctored by X!)
• Printing stuff out for my school apps
• Expense sheet for work
• dishes
• vacuuming
• laundry
• unpacking shit from a strip to San Diego like a month ago

Things I am doing

• this
• eating
• generally laughing in the face of productivity

I am sooo tired, you guys. This semester is worse than the one I took statistics and chemistry while working full time. That semester I got a B in chem but this semester made me want to scream FUUUUUUUCK as I withdrew from my English class today. I’m still in 3 other classes (as noted above) and working full time. So I’m sure there are a few more fucks to come. I am exhausted.

The absolute worst time to mention anything that I find even remotely unsettling is when I’m high. Once I ate a ganja edible and couldn’t fathom leaving the house for an improv party. In the interest of staying on topic I won’t rant about the fuckery that is an improv party. Instead, I stayed home and watched Rock of Love while TBU went and claimed my illness. I previously kinda enjoyed Rock of Love but almost had a mental breakdown while watching it. I was rocking back and forth near tears at the baseness of humanity. Every time I’m high I believe that I see through all the bullshit into society’s real intentions. And by intentions I mean evil intentions. I’ve come up with several theories while high, that I still firmly stand by, no matter how cacamamie (sp?!). Like how the government secretly funds big budget, hive like TV shows like Lost in order to coerce people into complacency that weren’t previously rounded up by lesser forms of entertainment, Everybody Loves Raymond anyone? There is a reason I had to curtail the habit.

Last Saturday night I was persuaded to partake. When I said no, everyone was all, “Noooooo, Millz you’re the best when you’re high!” “C’mon!” So like the forever 16 year old that I am, I did it. How wrong they all were.

**Start skipping**

Like two seconds after I started in with my marijuana induced babble TBU said, “Do you guys want to hear about the coolest thing I saw in a porn?” In my head I was like NOOOOO noooOOOO nOOOOOOO! But I only made a face that said you are the biggest fucking retard, why would I want to hear that right now? Apparently TBU doesn’t read faces so he proceeded to tell us about a scene where two chicks were lesbians (first off: I’m sure they were real life lesbians second: how fucking original) and they needed a place to live so some guy was all, oh you can live here but I get to fuck you guys. Just that was enough to get me SO FUCKING IRRITATED. But that wasn’t the worst part. So the dude starts doing it with one chick but then has the other chick put her mouth right next to the other girls vag so the guy could stick his dick in one hole and then the other.

**You can decide to stop skipping now**

It wasn’t so much that mental image that bothered me. I mean, I have seen a few porns in my life (I hate the word porno, I will not use it). But the image that it conjured up came to symbolize the utter disgust I had at the whole situation. So in the week that’s almost passed it’s been replaying like an unwelcomed guest in my head and every time I see it I get angry like really, really fucking angry. So angry it’s been ruining my whole week, I couldn’t listen to Adam Carolla, I couldn’t watch TV without wanting to pop a cap in “the man’s” ass.

What angered me about it was 1. The reason TBU thought it was soooo disgusting. It wasn’t because women were being exploited for whatever dick accommodating hole they possessed but because one girl got a mouthfull of a dick that had just been in another chick. Why is that the gross part? Weren’t they just lezzing out? He can’t tell me or anyone he hasn’t had a face full of vag. 2. The porn industry is by and large just fucked up. 3. I’m extremely sensitive to sexual abuse issues.

I have always instinctively seen the inner workings of things. I was the kid who wanted to go behind rides at Disneyland and see them move. I have never been able to watch any sort of media without thinking of the crew that set up the lights, what the actors were thinking as they did whatever they did on screen, how the movie got funded, how that shot was set up, how the editor thought of that crazy technique etc. etc. etc. And it’s only gotten worse since I graduated college where I delighted in learning to deconstruct the theory and essence of moving pictures. So, when I see porn now I don’t see hot sex. I mostly see sad girls with sad smiles wearing a lot of makeup, acting out past abuses and the dudes who are fucking them onscreen and behind the scenes. I see the director coming up with ridiculous postions and ordering them up. I see girls and women who are leasing their bodies for a $1200 shoot in Simi Valley and the hope of one tomorrow. I see the bruises no one bothered to cover up. I see a lot of emptiness. What I don’t see is how anyone can get off on that.

I’m totally aware of the exceptions to these rules and that’s part of my argument. Because I’m not offended by the theory of porn. I don’t think it’s inherently wrong and I fully support the freedom of sex to be a commodity by consenting adults. But just like we don’t support the idea of our shoes and clothes being made by people who’ve been stripped of their rights, why should we support the idea of women being tossed around by the porn industry? Why not support porn that puts women in a position of power? That’s not what turns you on you say? That’s fine because I don’t necessarily mean a position of power during sex. I mean a position of power in the industry that markets and sells their bodies.

Those women are out there and I thinks it’s important that they are supported. If you want porn, quality porn where the woman is actually enjoying it and her screams are of actual pleasure, find a woman who makes her own. Or find a company like Kink.com that gives the talent the right to their bodies on screen. Yes, these porn venues usually cost money. But that’s kinda good because when you give them money you make their business model viable and you encourage other similarly focused business models. That increases distribution and access. Just like we support local, sustainable agriculture, just like we support renewable energy.

I’m not going to hold my breath but wouldn’t it be fucking nice if porn was no longer the dumping ground for sexual abuse (trying to) survivors? Wouldn’t it be nice if they were kinda forced to find a more healthy outlet to work their shit out in?

TBU’s answer to this was to just not talk to me about porn anymore. I don’t think he gets my point. I’m not angry that he watches porn, I genuinely don’t care. What bothers me is him busting a nut to the exploitation of women who are in a desparate situation. True, I don’t have empirical evidence that these women were abused or are currently being abused but as long as he’s not directly supporting the production of porn where women are seen as business, creative and sexual equals he’s supporting the status quo. And that is the worst part. That is the feeling that accompanies the image I’ve been seeing all week.

The Millionizer says TBU is due for a post about his awesomeness

When the semester started at my local college a couple weeks ago it became clear how much I love teaching and not just teaching but how much I love science and knowing science and helping completely confused people understand science. Two years ago the thought of being a real life scientist seemed like the farthest possibility, but now I feel legitimate. I walk into the biology department and professors says hello, they ask me how I am, they ask me for help. I love it. I love knowing about human anatomy and physiology. I am grateful for the knowledge. I can read a health report and understand it. I can call bullshit on Jenny McCarthy and her crusade for publicity and the whole antivaccine sham. A side note: don’t be fooled by that woman.

If I had gotten into UCSF maybe I still wouldn’t realize that I want to be a nurse and I want to be a college professor, preferably in a nursing program. I suspect I’ll be a fucking awesome nursing instructor.

I got student reviews back from the last semester I taught and they showed me that my effectiveness was equal to the enjoyment I get from doing it. The second semester I taught an anatomy class I hit my stride, I figured out a way to keep my sense of humor, have fun and still get the respect of someone who knows what they’re talking about. I am either the same age as or much younger than the students and if I were any less confident or any less committed to what I was doing I don’t think I would be as well liked. There have been a few rough patches where 45 year old soccer moms didn’t want to take instruction from a 24 year old. But professors have been extremely supportive and have made it clear to students that they are lucky to have me as a TA. Students have come to my class telling me that their friend told them to take my class because I was the best. Once a shy, older lady who easily fell into the background told me that she went to other labs to make up work and was completely ignored by the TA’s, how unapproachable they were and that she was glad I was there to help her. That’s exactly the kind of nurse and teacher I want to be. The kind who kicks ass and makes everyone feel important, the kind I like knowing. I knew I liked TA-ing as soon as I started doing it two years ago but today when I left the classroom I had a strong sense that this is where I was supposed to be. If I were off to UCSF, I wouldn’t be able to TA this semester and that feels like a tragedy.

It’s a rush being in there with all the evidence and forms of science. I like that people leave with an appreciation for it, that somehow something I said made them grateful for the cadavers instead of fearful. TBU thinks I like it so much because I like knowing everything and I like being in charge and he’s not wrong. That’s not a small part of it. But I like that I’m also really freaking good at it and that I can make other people want to be good at it.

This is not where I expected this to go, I totally forgot what I opened up this post for anyway. I guess I felt it needed to be said. I feel like I should apologize for the length and general lack of entertainment I provided you.

The Millionizer accidentally locked her cat in the bedroom all day

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.

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

Can anyone tell me why answer B is greater before I go postal?

::violin::

I almost cried in my chemistry class tonight. I forced myself to keep it together. Note to self: do not take 9 units, work full time and expect 8 hours of sleep each night. I left in the middle of lecture to take a lap. I managed to convince myself that once I walked back into the room I would understand everything. And you know what? I understood it a lot better when I sat down. The problem with chemistry is that it’s made up. Like Tolkien’s language, it’s documented and everything, but it’s not really real. That’s not science, it’s science fiction.

My teacher is kind of a prick too. He doesn’t do test reviews. He plows through a chapter a week and the examples he does on the board are straight from the book. He’ll answer any questions you want, but you have to understand it well enough to have a question. Argh.

Oh, now for the real reason I logged in. I got my hair done in SD last week and my hairdresser told me that the review I wrote of him on Yelp brought him no less than 5 new customers. People were walking in and asking for Fred the cock sling guy by name! So rad. It’s funny when you write stuff on the internet and it gets back to you. When I write I assume no one reads it. It’s more fun that way. Except I do lose sleep over the possibility of my mom reading this. She has a sense of humor but jeebus.

BTW my moms dog is uh-dor-uble. Oh jeez she’s fucking cute. Even when she’s shitting on the carpet she’s cute. She has a little rubber dumbbell she runs around with. Imagine the smallest dog you possibly can. Now imagine it has a red mini dumbbell hanging out of it’s mouth while it runs manically around your feet. It’s what love is made of.

One more thing. Teebs bought our tickets to Canadia today. This summer, a white Mexican girl goes North. A story that will have you laughing. The most heartfelt movie you will see this year. I dunno if you got that that was supposed to be in the movie announcer voice. But yeah Canadia! I’ve never been. I’ve considered a blind emigration. TBU has advised against this. He says it’s all sweaty glasses of lemonade and fun in the lake during the summer but come winter I will be begging to be back in the USSA. He also says that Canadia may have good PR but this North American Union bullfuckingshit just makes it the Northern US.*

TBU also says that it is my bedtime. Just kidding! I am a big girl. Seriously, though he’s right. But we’ll get free health care for our frostbite.

*I don’t call the US “America.” You know why? Because America is a continent/hemispheric designation. If we can be called America, so can Canadia, or Mexico or any individual country in Central or South America. We are not two fucking continents, people. I hate to be the one to tell you. I also hate people who say they “could care less” for similarly observant reasons. I won’t explain that one to you yet. I’m going to let you stew on it and if you still need an explanation in a couple days, fine.

The US/America thing is not only a nitpicky thing, it’s also a Hispanic political thing. Referring the the US as America subtly invalidates the numerous other countries of the Americas, the majority of which, are Latin. I want to go on about how Latin isn’t even a totally accepted designation either, but I can’t. The Millz walks a tight rope of identity every day. Do we all do this? I can’t help but think other people don’t obsess about their self identity vs. cultural identity vs. social identity. Another day, another post. The Teebs was right, it’s getting close to my bedtime.

The Millz did not make this real quick, guys

Now I have a week break to post meaningless run-on sentences for your ambivalent enjoyment. If ambivalence can even be called enjoyment. Whatever.

Sir Chinko is changing internet locations, now his snobbish foodie-isms, along with the city living rants of an insane Chinese man can be found at HerraChinky.blogspot.com. Sexy. If Asians can even be called sexy. Fucking weird Asian fetishists. Also, I was looking at what people wrote him on Facebook and I took the advice of one of the wall writers and Yahoo image searched, “angry white man,” and that’s all I’m gonna say. And if that weren’t enough, Sir Chinko shares my love of Skype. Who doesn’t like hearing their computer ring with pleasantness? Nobody but cranky grandmas that’s who. And them bitches don’t even have computers so no one cares. Skype=love.

Wait, this is a blog about me and my snarkiness, laziness, supreme being-ness, why am I talking about someone else’s blog? I guess that’s about as interesting as I get. I ate a lot of chips today, I’m feeling the carb guilt.

Things that have changed since my last post

1. I have committed myself to hardcore vegetarianism/lazy veganism
2. Cheese digesting into opiates in the digestive tract=confirmed
3. The cats now get a completely raw meat diet
4. I’ve stopped saying the eff word, I haven’t stopped typing it though

Did I ever tell you guys how I’m an internet minister? Oh yeah, it’s a scene man. X said that if (when?) she and snake get married I can officiate. Uh oh, X I’ve told the internets, you’re legally bound to honor a random comment you made while pass out drunk.

Apparently, I’m obsessed with my far away friends tonight. Oh! You know how when you’re friends with someone and then they do one too many dick ass things and then you are just totally over their jank ass? Well, I’ve got room on my friends list. Well I had room on my friends list. I had this friend, who also got me my job. And I was like cool, now I have a job. But these days he’s too fucking cool for school. It’s like fucking high school up in there. He completely ignores me when I’m around, he’ll talk to the people I’m talking to but he’ll go out of his way to avoid eye contact and other shit. At first I was bothered and I whined to a coworker and she had the nerve to say it wasn’t all about me. And I was like, where have you been? Of course it is! But no, she was right. I still took it real personal like. So I dropped him like a used condom, with my head turned and washed my hands after. He’s a fairly internationally well known DJ and spells things like “beatz” he also has people calling him “rude boy.” Is this 1989 East LA? Do you have a teardrop tattoo for every rival gang member you’ve murdered? No? Well then stop acting like it, bitch.

I’m like Jerry Seinfeld and can only handle so many friends at a time otherwise I get overwhelmed with worship. But it all worked out in the end because I have a new friend now and she’s awesome. But she’s moving to Portland in June so there will, once again, be room room in my platonic heart for you. Just don’t try to hug me in the first few months of our relationship. We’ll build up to that, maybe.

The Millionizer wants us all to put that guitar down and fuck Matt Damon

PS Seriously, has Matt Damon looked hotter since 1997? I think not, mmm.

[tags]Matt Damon, dubstep, work[/tags]

what’s up bitches. i just picked up a chp at the taqueria santa cruz on soquel. i was pissed that i had to get my ucsc news in a fact based format. so why don’t you get your punk ass newspaper over to my side of town? why not just pick it up while i’m on campus you ask? well i graduated two years ago and pay my student loans by mail. plus, we all know ucsc students are a bunch of pussies these days. my point is that frl is a far superior publication and i miss it and i want to get it while i pick up my munchies at 1145 on a tuesday. make it happen, the millionizer implores you. my other point is that i want to write for frl. how does one make that happen? i have ideas that people need to know about. i also have ideas that no one needs to know about. i suggest the latter. seriously though, i don’t want money just recognition.

tits and ass, love

I failed to mention that I’m just going to keep on emailing them until I get my way. There’s a phone number on their half-assed website, I might start calling that if I need to. Actually, I won’t start calling them because The Millionizer does not need people knowing her phone number. You win this one FRL.

The Millionizer in print, oh my!