indecisiongirl

Last night was my last night out with friends. I am now sequestered in Pack-istan (in the house, packing for college). I am going to miss everyone so much, even the people I don’t know very well. It’s not just the past I’ll miss, it’s the aborted future.

But we still have the past.

I don’t usually like to stay up past 2 or 3, but at 4 am last night I was gliding down the smooth, deserted city streets. Because of construction on I10 and Memorial, I had to take a much more complicated route than usual. Usually, I take 45 to I10, but last night I had to take 45 to 59 to 610 to Woodway to Voss to I10. It was eerie driving around at that time of night. I think the last time I was driving at that time was prom night. As I slid into my driveway at 4:30, I couldn’t help thinking that if I had left half an hour later I would’ve been able to listen to Morning Edition on my way home.

So now I go to face new faces. New friends? I hope so. We’ll see.

After admitting that they had viewed the admissions decisions of several Yale applicants without authorization, several Princeton admissions officials have revealed that they have no life.

“And when I say no life, I mean no life,” one official, who asked not to be named, said. “Even if we added up the sorry fragments of lives that we each possess, it would still add up to less than one life. Even in our collectiveness we are incomplete.” The official confirmed that he had, in fact, been a philosophy major at Princeton. “How do you think I ended up in this job?”

Last April, the Princeton officials logged on to the Yale admissions website and used information from the applications of students who had applied to both Princeton and Yale to see whether or not those students had been accepted at Yale. The official said the idea to access Yale applicants’ admissions decisions was a spontaneous one.

“We had spent the last four months reviewing applications. Thousands and thousands of applications. Do you know how hard it is to look at the same manufactured drivel day after day after day?” He then launched into an unprintable tirade about working in Princeton’s admissions office.

“Man, that was cathartic,” he said. “So anyway, after we made our decisions, we weren’t quite sure what to do with ourselves, so we thought, ‘Hey, we have all this so-called privileged information, why not use it to have a little fun at the cost of the trust of ambitious high-school students all over the world?’ We thought of hacking into the admissions site, but since we’re all philosophy majors, none of us knew how to hack. So we just plugged in the students’ birthdates and social [security number]s, and we were in!”

As for which students’ information to view, the official said “We went for the famous ones first. Then, the ones we thought we could beat up the most easily. You know, Matheletes, chess team captains, that kind of thing.”

When asked whether he thought the scandal would hurt Princeton, he shrugged. “Nah, I don’t think so. After A Beautiful Mind, everybody loves us. We’re golden.”

I have this theory that I am currently referring to as my 3-for-1 theory. It deals with a conversation between Person A and Person B (which may include more than one person).

Assumptions:

-The conversation is premeditated by Person A
-Person A is an introvert
-The conversation is of some signifigance to Person A

Theory: For every conversation that fits the above description, Person A actually experiences 3 conversations: One before the conversation (C1), one during the actual conversation (C2), and one after the conversation (C3).

C1: Person A plans the conversation during C1, preselecting phrases to use during C2 and anticipating Person B’s response. Person A may even prepare a rebuttal during C1.

C2 is self-explanatory.

C3: perhaps the most masochistic of the phases. Person A analyzes the results of C2 during C3, assessing the strengths and weaknesses of each person’s performance and imagining how the conversation could have been more advantageous for Person A. More often than not, Person A wishes he/she had said something different rather than wishing that Person B had responded differently. Person A chooses a new plan of attack (that probably will never be implemented) and anticipates Person B’s responses in the new conversation.

Sometimes Person A’s perception of C1 is so realistic he/she forgets to have C2. Then Person B is upset when he/she thinks that Person A didn’t want to reveal something, when in fact Person A thought he/she already told Person B whatever it is that needs revealing.

Are you confused yet?

To National Sleep Dynamics, Inc:

Dear Sir or Madam,

I am interested in participating in your sleep study, “Affects of Shift Work on Sleep Habits.” I think I qualify for your study because I work at night. As you suggested, I have completed your “Sleep Test.” Enclosed are my results.

1. I have been told that I snore- Yes, several people have told me this, but I promptly sucked the life out of them and enlisted them in my army of the undead. Consequently, I am unable to tell if this is a regular or just an occasional occurrence.

2. I have been told that I hold my breath when I sleep- See Question 1

3. I have high blood pressure- Yes, the pressure on me to find adequate quantities of blood is great.

4. My friends and family say that I’m often grumpy and irritable- See Question 1

5. I sweat excessively during the night- I don’t feel this question is quite fair. After all, I, unlike most people, get a considerable amount of exercise at night, what with the constant transformations, flying around the world, blood-sucking, and seduction of beautiful women. All the same, I must concede that I do sweat excessively during the night.

6. I have noticed my heart pounding or beating irregularly during the night- See question 5

7. I get morning headaches- Only when I eat those frozen bags from the red cross for breakfast. They look just like strawberry Popsicles! However, when I eat them too quickly, I do get a headache.

8. I suddenly wake up gasping for breath- Yes, but only after I dream that I am sleeping and wake up in a coffin that isn’t lined with imported satin.

9. I seem to be losing my sex drive- I should say not! See Question 5.

10. I often feel sleepy and struggle to remain alert- Totally! Ach, did I really say that? I’ve been watching too much Real World.

11. I frequently awake with a dry mouth- If by “dry mouth” you mean “blood-thirsty,” then yes

12. I have difficulty falling asleep- I think not. In fact, I have the opposite padfh;kndsak;lkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk

13. Thoughts race through my mind and prevent me from sleeping- Hey, even vampires have to worry about the economy. Those capes don’t pay for themselves, you know.

14. I anticipate a problem with sleep several times a week- Yes, whenever it’s sunny outside. Ach, those tiny points of light streaming into my coffin! Would that I had opted for the opaque window shade!

15. I worry about things and have trouble relaxing- See Question 13

16. I wake up earlier in the morning than I would like to- Yes. This is especially troubling because if I emerge from my coffin even a second too early I will shrivel into a pile of undead dust.

17. I lie awake for half an hour or more before I fall asleep- Ach, yes. The constant work- flying and biting, flying and biting, seducing, terrifying- it is so stressful. It takes me a while to wind down.

18. I often feel sad and depressed- Yes, but it fits my image.

19. I have trouble concentrating at work or school- Yes. Once I was just about to sink my teeth into a really fine specimen, when I suddenly found myself wondering if Boris had picked up my capes from the dry-cleaners. My prey escaped, alas!

20. I have fallen asleep while driving- Flying, thank you, and no.

21. I have fallen asleep in social settings such as movies or at a party- If only I knew! Work, work work! See Question 17

22. I have trouble at work because of sleepiness- Yes! I once fell asleep while changing out of my work clothes(transforming from a bat into a man). When I woke up, I had a human body, but I had long, velvety ears, very acute hearing, and no eyes whatsoever. I had to use echolocation just to find my coffin.

23. I have dreams soon after falling asleep or during naps- Yes, I dream often- of a summer home in Antarctica and a winter home in Scandinavia. Ah, to be perpetually in the dark! Free to feast and terrify whenever I please! For once, I could have a 9-to-5 job. Maybe then my wife would stop complaining about my obsession with work. No, for that to happen, I would probably have to stop seducing beautiful women. Eh, I shall just continue to ignore her nagging.

24. I have “sleep attacks” during the day no matter how hard I try to stay awake- See Question 23.

25. I have had episodes of feeling paralyzed during my sleep- When I am asleep I am generally not concentrating on whether or not I feel paralyzed.

26. I wake up at night with an acid/sour taste in my mouth- Yes, but I think my diet causes that more than anything.

27. I wake up at night coughing or wheezing- Yes. Unfortunately, I am allergic to dust mites, and as my estate is very old, it is excessively difficult to avoid being thwarted by the aforementioned allergen.

28. I have frequent sore throats- No, but I certainly cause my fair share! BUWA-HA-HA-HA, cough, cough. Sorry, I couldn’t resist.

29. During the night I suddenly wake up feeling like I’m choking- No, but sometimes I wake up and feel like choking someone else

30. I have noticed (others have commented) that parts of my body jerk during sleep- See Question 1

31. I have been told that I kick at night- See Question 1

32. Sometimes I can’t keep my legs still at night, I just have to move them to feel comfortable I beg your pardon, but I am a bit disquieted by your intense interest in my legs. Could it be that you have a fetish?

I sincerely hope you will consider my application. Otherwise, I will promptly suck the life out of you and enlist you in my army of the undead.

Regards,

Count Dracula

Click. The file cabinet opened, and with it a long-postponed chore: the weekly cleaning. Well, he had intended for it to be a weekly cleaning back in January when he was high on ambition, but resolutions of that nature have a way of coming undone. But now, now he would do it. He squatted down in front of the gaping lower drawer, his knees cracking. God, it had been too long since he’d opened the thing. Dust had lined the creases between the pages of his old, barely begun journals. Most of them contained entries that began around the first of the year and picked up in July of the next, then died off as soon as he got a new journal. He had completely forgotten about most of them.

Seeing the extent of his chore, he pulled open the top drawer and peered inside. He ran his finger along the side of the folders so he could read the labels. Tax returns, magazine articles, pay stubs, birthday cards, and address books were filed away accurately, if not neatly. One file seemed to be full of scrap paper: a random assortment of prematurely yellowed napkin bits and post-its. The file was labeled “Joanna.” His hand started to move on to the next file, then faltered. He pulled it out and left it on the desk. He did not look at it for another week.

Seven days later, he noticed the file under a pile of newspapers. He opened it and began to arrange its contents meditatively on the surface of the desk. He stared transfixed, rearranging the papers as if trying to make things come out his way. It’s funny how quickly the present becomes the past, he thought, funny how the past can defeat you. It makes you think of all the things that could have done and never will, of all the mistakes you should have made. It comes back to you in a form so beautiful, so fragile, like the little glass figurines you were always tempted to crush underfoot as a kid, just to see what they would look like imperfected. Frustrated, he left the papers there.

Just three hours later, he returned to rearrange them again. And again. And again. Angrily, he picked up the last letter and tore it up. Frightened by what he had just done, he gathered the pieces, all the fractured conversations of a stunted relationship. He scrambled them together and stuffed them in his bare fist, then he thrust the bundle into the dying fire. The fire accepted them with a feeble burn. He sank into the sofa, relieved to have the whole mess behind him.

He returned to the file cabinet and completed his weekly cleaning with a clear conscience. Now, he thought, that whole mess was behind him. Now, he could really sink his teeth into this organization business. He returned to his task with an air of confidence, of renewal. First task: color-coding the paper clips.
He worked diligently for two hours. Yet…he couldn’t resist turning an idle eye to the fireplace. Again and again. The embers glowed and died, oblivious. Just like they always had.

He remembered his mother sterilizing needles in the flame of a match. She would do this every time she had to sew or dig a wooden splinter out of his scraped up childish hand. She took such pride in the calluses the work had worn on her fingertips. He remembered watching her press the tip of the needle against her toughened fingertip.
“See?” she would say, “Not a scratch. That’s what happens with time.” You can’t make the pain go away, but you can dye it pink.
Even as he surveyed the color-coded paper clips, the newly labled files, the heap of old journals in the plastic trash can, he couldn’t shake the memory. He went to bed early, hoping to drown his uneasiness in dreams.
In the morning he scooped up the ashes from the fire and stored them carefully in a jar.

Note: HSPVA is my old high school, The High School for the Performing and Visual Arts

HSPVA Library Schedule
May 2002
May 6-10: Closed for AP testing. No check-out, no check-in.
May 13-17: Closed for AP testing. No check-out, no check-in.
May 20: Closed for fake library inventory. The second one this semester. No check-out, no check-in.
May 21: Closed for wild librarian bacchanal. No check-out, no check-in.
May 22: Closed while librarians nurse their hangovers. No check-out, no check-in.
May 23: Closed for United Superintendents Everywhere Leading Everyone Somewhere Safely meeting. No check-out, no check-in.
May 24: Closed for Power-card rally. Public ridicule of all those without power cards. Bring rotting produce. No check-out, no check-in.
May 27: Closed for Memorial Day.
May 28: Closed for finals. Last day to turn in books. No check-out, no check-in.
May 29: Closed for finals. Public ridicule of those who have outstanding library books. Bring tar and feathers. No check-out, no check-in.
May 30: Librarians laugh in your sorry faces. No check-out, no check-in.
May 31: Collection of exorbitant fines for those who have not turned in library books. Librarians cackle with glee as they restrain seniors with outstanding fees from walking across the graduation stage.
June 2002
June 3: Librarians meet to count their huge hoard of paper, ink, tape, and staples that they won’t let anyone else use.
June 4: Chair-tucking-in party.

Note: HSPVA is my old high school, The High School for the Performing and Visual Arts

HSPVA Withdrawal affects over zero teenagers each year. Signs of HSPVA Withdrawal include:

– constantly surfing pva02.com
– standing in front of your microwave for 20 minutes before each meal, pretending to be in line
– purposefully de-tuning your piano
– holding “rehearsals” with your stuffed animals and calling sectionals after each one
– spending so much time at Diedrich’s that people assume you’re a decorative mannequin from Cities
– identifying sentence patterns in magazine articles and TV shows
– renting Fame and refusing to return it
– chanting “Make it a great day or not. The choice is yours.”
– eating all of your meals on the floor

If you know a friend who is suffering from this condition, or you think you may be suffering from this condition, and you live in or plan to visit the greater Los Angleles area, please contact us at

Jeopardy!
P.O. Box 75
Beverly Hills, CA 90210

All my life I’ve tried desperately to dig up whatever latent talent I might have that would catapult me into fame, right up there with Mozart. I’ve pretty much run the gamut of the arts world – violin, viola, voice, piano, poetry, pottery, acting, drawing, and conducting – without any major discoveries. By far my worst area was ballet. My dance debut was so horrific that my family refers to it only as “the incident,” and even then in hushed voices.
My only hopes, the last two unexplored areas of my artistic sensibilities, are what I hear are the two easiest instruments in the world: timpani and tuba. I figure the timpanist has the cushiest job in a symphony orchestra. He just sits in the back, reading Timpanist Today, and waits for the conductor to point at him. The conductor always cues the timpanist because he (the conductor) is convinced that he (the timpanist) is dumb as a brick. Even then, he (the timpanist) only has to play two notes, four max, and he gets to hit things. Tuba players have a similar advantage in most pieces (although they don’t get to hit things), plus they can store things in the bell of the tuba, like enormous stuffed tongues.
Anyhow, I figure that since I have discarded all but two possible performance careers, I am sufficiently embittered to try my hand at criticism. After all, a critic only needs two things to be successful: publication in a major newspaper, and an endless arsenal of insults. In order to secure my career path, I have already prepared some generic comments that I hope you will find witty and incisive:

“[Soprano] sang with all the dexterity of a dying cow, and her portrayal of [character] seemed distracted at best, especially when I began pelting her with little pieces of my playbill.”

“[Conductor] entertained the audience marvelously, but failed to give equal consideration to his orchestra.”

“[Actress] is clearly sleeping with the director of [show]. There is no other logical explanation for her casting in this role.”

“[Director]’s production of [show] is just traditional enough to be boring, and just avant-garde enough to be tasteless.”

“[Conductor]’s choice of tempi indicated either a more light-hearted approach to the program or a dire need to use the restroom.”

Now I just need to find a major newspaper willing to take me on. And something to review.

Alanis Morisette Writes New Song

Still riding her fame of five years ago, singer/songwriter Alanis Morisette released a new single today that will be included in an upcoming album.
“My critics say I’m running out of ideas, but I really disagree,” Morisette says of the new song, “Enronic.” “It’s about hope and dreams, and money. And revenge. Sweet, sweet revenge.”
Morisette says writing “Enronic” has helped her channel her emotional energies in a more productive way.
“My therapist says I have a lot of rage,” she explains. “In fact, the lyrics to this song are based on a true story!”
Here are the lyrics to Alanis Morisette’s new song, “Enronic”:

An old man turned sixty-eight
Planned on retiring the very next day
Put all his trust in his 401(k)
It’s selling that stock two minutes too late
And isn’t it Enronic…dontcha think

It’s like sleet on your wedding day
It’s a free ride when you’ve already paid
It’s the bad advice that you decided to take
Who would’ve thought…it figures

Mr. Play It Safe was afraid to buy
His accountant told him to diversify
1000 shares of WorldCom sounded just right
And as the stock crashed down he thought
“Well isn’t this nice…”
And isn’t it Enronic…dontcha think

It’s like sleet on your wedding day
It’s a free ride when you’ve already paid
It’s the bad advice that you decided to take
Because your accountant is a back-stabbing little worm
Who would’ve thought…it figures

Well cash has a funny way of slipping away from you
When you think everything’s okay and everything’s going right
And cash has a funny way of becoming invested
In companies that “implode in a wave of accounting schedules”
In your face!

A traffic jam when you’re already late
A no-smoking sign on your cigarette break
It’s like ten thousand spoons when all you need is a knife
To kill your idiotic accountant
And injure his beautiful wife
And isn’t it Enronic…dontcha think
A little too Enronic…and yeah I really do think

It’s like sleet on your wedding day
Being arrested at the height of your glory
Because of the bad advice that you decided to take
but you showed him, the back-stabbing little worm
Who would’ve thought…it figures

Cash has a funny way of slipping away from you
Cash has a funny way of driving you insane
Insane

Hello all! I’m back from my family vacation (and only vacation) of the summer, a Caribbean cruise. How many alliterative vacations have you had lately? We sailed with the Princess line, famous for the TV series Love Boat. Unfortunately, the population of this particular cruise seemed convinced that they were on the Drunk Boat. They prowled around the halls in packs, these preteen partying fiends, bragging to their friends about the time they licked beer off the floor. Then they bought a coke for $4 and drank it from out of a brown paper bag in the most visible area possible.
Occasionally I would stop laughing long enough to accomplish the many important tasks on my To Do list for the vacation, including kayaking, snorkeling, and the incessant application of sunscreen. The latter was the most troublesome. There is a problem with the way tanning is done today. If you just lay out, your friends will later confuse you with a lobster or an angry Mr. Seible. Therefore, you need to apply sunscreen. However, the application of sunscreen is, as I have already mentioned, troublesome, not only because of the need to apply it incessantly but also because of the tendency to miss patches of skin that turn into unintentional brown tattoos. These only slightly less painful versions of their actual counterparts can in theory be erased by more tanning, but trying to tan again raises the two aforementioned issues. My solution: the tanner rotisserie. You rotate constantly so that no one side of you is crispier than the others, plus it comes with a free sunscreen baster. Pretty cool, huh?
Kayaking was pretty interesting, too. I rented one with my sister. I sat in front so we could both see. We could only successfully paddle in one direction, so we would go that way for a while, then take a break and let the current pull us back towards where we had started. It was great. We were actually among the more successful watercrafters around. I personally witnessed the beach patrol hauling in a paddleboat carrying two largish men and two women, presumably their wives, wearing floral one-piece suits with the little skirts. That made me feel better until we mowed down two nearby swimmers. Then we got hit by a sailboat. Yep. It’s funny running into other people on a watercraft. You can see what will happen almost a full minute beforehand, yet it’s still inevitable. All you can do is flail your limbs and yell, “Aaughh! Look out! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Aaughh!,” then watch the whole mess as if it were a slo-mo instant replay.
Snorkeling presents a whole new set of problems. In most cases, unless you want to endure a 45-minute gut-churning boat ride with a captain whose “coffee” smells suspiciously like a cocktail of tequila and Nyquil, you have to snorkel beachside. That means you see more snorkelors than fish (“Hey look, Mildred! A white fish with little blue lines- oh wait, that’s your leg. sorry.”) The constant downward gaze of most snorklers creates a navigational process I like to call bumper-snorkeling. Because you run into people. Haha. This view also gives you the same visual experience as a glass-bottom boat except you get all wet and are inflicted with painful bruises. Because you run into so many people. Haha.
Anyway, I’m back at home again. In case you’ve been wondering, this isn’t really a humor article, but more of a humorous account of real events from my life. Or is it?