i'm not in denial... i just refuse to listen to your truth.

i graduate in approximately 9 days. in 9 days, i could drive across the country. in 9 days, i could listen to "brighter discontent" by the submarines over 3,103 times. in 9 days, i will be unemployed.

my impending poverty makes me question my recent purchases that could have provided 6 months of groceries, like the above betsey johnson dress. add the ed hardy watch and you're approaching 8. add the nina shoes and you're at 10. add my diamond necklace and you're at 2.5 years. all for one outfit. (i'll insert here that the black shrug was only $6 on clearance at vanity!) the occassion that calls for such extravagance: the 4th annual english majors association banquet.

nevermind that the theme of said banquet was "the great depression." boxes of baking soda, mac and cheese, and canned corn were the centerpieces. a brown, worn boot accepted donations.

two of my friends' fathers have been laid off in the past week. another friend works 2 jobs and complains about the whiny "masters holders" that work at starbucks with her. the career center rep from BSU bemoans the sudden dearth of off-campus job postings.

i'd like to think that even albertson's needs someone to arrange the red, shiny apples just right. or some lazy CEO needs a girl to staple his revised budget reports and proposed productivity increases. or bath and body works needs an "elf" in a green apron to offer product scents and squirts of lotion.

leave me to my denial. let me bask in the glory of unfulfilled expectations. it's nothing that i'm not used to.

i can't be who you are.

i just woke up for the last time at my lovely little yellow hillview house. my room is bare except for my (gutted) desk, bed, and computer. some of my landlord's furniture lines the walls-- all empty. i feel like every keyboard stroke shatters against the bare blue paint, echoes glaringly off the gold curtains (now limp and pulled taut across the windows), and weighs heavily on the floorboards that creak with my last footsteps across the knots and separating planks.

i won't lie-- i'll miss pieces of you. but for the pieces i won't, i've boxed up our memories, sealed them tightly in a circular, green box and left them for you in the corner. parcel them out yourself.

be warned: you'll find cobwebs of wide smiles, dusty lint that whispers late night conversations stuck on repeat, and many, many pictures of regret.

goodbye, you bastard. may you reign here as unhappy as you were when i first shook your hand and fell for the mask they all still ignorantly accept.

i suddenly understand:

i heard a line somewhere (perhaps read a line somewhere) that's something like this: "at the precipice edge we stand alone." sounds pretty dark, right?

but that's where i am right now.

in many aspects of my life, i've reached the end:

-the end of my student days at boise state
-the end of my masters degree
-the end of my conversations with fellow TAs about the meta-meta-metaness of rhet/comp theory
-the end of my teaching faithful yet heartless 101 students
-the end of my cohabitation with a guy i used to really admire and who seemed to emulate all those wonderful bookish-writerly things that i never was
-the end of living with roommates.ever. (husbands don't count)
-the end of purchasing spendy (and now very mainstream) ed hardy items online, since i now have a rent payment/utils to pay for SOLO
-the end of vacillating freely in the far-off notion that someday i'll have to make a decision

because i've reached the edge of the precipice. and i am alone. i won't have my student peers to remind me of how english studies dumb i am, or students to email me frantically in the middle of the night so that the first thing i do in the morning is check my "teacher" email, or loudly thunking footsteps outside my door in the AM.

i wish i could describe the view from here, but i'm afraid of opening my eyes. i wish i could dance and sashay my hips a little to celebrate that i've made it. i'm here. i've arrived.

just please tell me it's not a dead end. i don't have wings to fly. and i don't have the guts to jump.

personal essaying

last night, i sat down and wrote a segmented personal essay. it gets better: not just any personal essay, but a personal essay that i assigned for my students. i sat down in my cozy, welcoming office (*sudden outburst of hysterical laughter distracts writer*) and looked over my own assignment sheet for unit one.

i asked my students to explore the question, "why write?" which framed my entire 101 semester. we brainstormed some reasons in class, and the activities we did responded to their ideas. but it was my turn to share why i write with my students, and i referred to a list of brainstorming questions i gave them almost 10 weeks ago.

not only did i stare at the blank screen for longer than expected, but i found myself bullshitting my own assignment. "ha, i write because i have to. neener." "i write because i'm emo." oh man, is this what happened for my students too? and why did i feel the need to mock an activity that i use to define myself-- my interests-- my goals in life?

perhaps i was uncomfortable admitting to my students how seriously i really do enjoy writing. it's not a choice for me. i write because i am a shriveled up, cranky, apathetic mess without it. how could i possibly share that with them? i'd seem like a freak. (who wears ed hardy shoes. i just have to add that because i'm staring at my pink shoes with a bright koi fish staring back at me. loves.)

but i am a freak.

aren't you too? don't you write because you have something to say? and not just anything: but something you deem important enough to set pen to paper (or-- who am i kidding-- finger to keyboard)? writing is selfish; writing is self-centered; writing is--

self.

it could always be worse:

greetings, dear blog readers (all 2 of you!). i've been noticeably absent lately, and i whole-heartedly blame this on a number of things-- including the typical "i've been busying updating my facebook status... isn't that enough to appease you people?!" excuse-- but i also point the finger at the increasing emo attitude that has sunk into the return of my purple eyeliner and 3 skimmer shoe purchases lately.

(the shoes are cute though. one pair is black with blue and purple stars on them. not at all emo. stop looking at me like that.)

it seems like any post that i wanted to start would probably detail how miserable grad school makes me right now (including no literature classes...it's sooooo great that i'm pursuing a degree that doesn't offer any interesting classes at the right time for its students!), or how i die a little inside each day i walk to my 101 classes, or how much i hate being single and i'm becoming increasingly convinced that i am utterly undesireable and destined to reign domestically alongside 10 ferrets and closets full of ed hardy shirts.

but, in all reality, school is much better than i thought it would be. and my students are actually fabulous writers with incredibly rich backgrounds and beliefs about writing. and my love life would probably improve if my choice in boys would likewise improve.

so, you ask, what is your deal? can you find nothing to celebrate?

boise's rapid descent into winter has begun with the threat of rain, chilly mornings, and almost overnight change of leaf colors. this morning after i woke with a killer hangover (from my attempts to drown my emo outlook with blue boar beer and season two of "arrested development"), i made a special trip to campus to print and deliver an article for a student (i care too much, even though i said i wouldn't). on the way there, i selected p!nk's new song "so what" to blast on my stereo, slapped on my hot pink aviators, and slung my left arm over my steering wheel like a bad-a from mo-town in central cali.

i floored it. so what? i'm still a rockstar. i've got my rock moves, and i don't need you. and guess what? i'm havin more fun. and now that we're done, i'm going to show you tonight: i'm all right, i'm just fine, and you're a tool. so... so what? i am a rockstar. i've got my rock moves. and i don't want you tonight. p!nk is surprisingly therapeutic.

as i rounded the corner, i passed a lady in a light blue tank and sweats walking a large brown dog. her head whipped around to look at me with scorn as i passed. so i backed off on the gas. it's probably not a good idea for retired women with a penchant for punishing reckless driving youths to know my car and where i live.

as the corner straightened out, i slammed on the brakes so hard my ipod flew off my seat and landed on the floor.

at least 10 squirrels.

frolicking on the asphalt.

chasing, ducking, tumbling, chattering (i suppose). playing. gathering. together.

i sat there in my car watching their friendly tag. i realized how much i love boise at this time of year. if i wasn't teaching and had a "real" full-time job, i would have missed this sight. if i wasn't a student of writing, i may not have the right skills to present these miniature experiences so that you, dear reader, might appreciate it too.

oh, autumn. let me fall with you.

whilst most turn to their religious book of choice, i turn to moby-dick.

"Again: as the profound calm which only apparently precedes and prophesies of the storm, is perhaps more awful than the storm itself; for, indeed, the calm is but the wrapper and envelope of the storm; and contains it in itself, as the seemingly harmless rifle holds the fatal powder, and the ball, and the explosion; so the graceful repose of the line, as it silently serpentines about the oarsmen before being brought into actual play-- this is a thing which carries more true terror than any other aspect of this dangerous affair. But why say more? All men live enveloped in whale-lines. All are born with halters around their necks; but it is only when caught in the swift, sudden turn of death, that mortals realize the silent, subtle, ever-present perils of life. And if you be a philosopher, though seated in the whale-boat, you would not at heart feel one whit more of terror, than though seated before your evening fire with a poker, and not a harpoon, by your side."

We try to live honest lives, but like the seamen on the Pequod, death circles us-- often unbeknownst-- like a whirlpool in my coffee cup or a steady wind from the east.

los angeles: the city of traffic, palm trees, mark, and more

listen:
as i pack for my second summer trip--to las vegas (with my bff kim texting me every hour or so asking if i've packed yet... she's been packing for a week now)-- i realized that i didn't blog about my last trip to los angeles. after a tumultuous beginning of summer-- with my teaching/student dilemma, dumb boys, and moving into a new place (complete with my ex-friend-current-roommate-"awkward"'s shrinking my laundry, insulting my family, and telling me to "move the fuck out"... good times!), i really needed a break. i haven't felt this bitter about and spiteful towards people and life in a really long time, so i booked a flight to a city that makes everyone feel like they belong: los angeles. (can you sense the viscosity of sarcasm here?) my friend from junior high, mark, graciously offered to let me visit him and his new residence.

instead of giving you a detailed account of everything that we crammed into 3.5 days, here are some of the highlights:

- i toted kurt vonnegut's breakfast of champions with me to read on the plane, along with 5 fashion magazines. i read vonnegut the entire way there, immersed in the american life of kilgore trout and dwayne hoover. i pondered over words like "legume" and decided i want to start every piece of writing with "listen:" hovering over my prose.

- there are birds in LAX. no joke. chirping birds.

- upon arriving, mark informed me that his place was broken into the night before. the primary suspect is a 10-year-old boy who lives next door. however, little convict-in-training stole mark's keys, including ones to his home and car. that meant:

- going to in-n-out burger was a must before our ride departed. i would marry in-n-out.



- i got my butt kicked at trivial pursuit: dvd edition. it didn't ask me the important stuff: angelina jolie, britney spears, or "america's next top model."

- los angeles zoo! we spent 5.5 hours walking around, eating cold treats, wondering why the wax figurine makers were out of commissions, marking off all the viewed exhibits on the map (i left that up to mark), watching the "world of birds" show, and taking funny pictures like this:


(i love the camel's mouth. it's a black cavernous hole.)

- visiting mark's old seminary school, mostly because he treated me to a wonderful sushi dinner and warm sake in old pasadena:



- experiencing the getty museum: garden tour, bernini exhibit, and soaking in all the wonders of art. at the peru exhibit, a botanist drew a picture of a morning glory and assigned a latin phrase to it (here translating in english): "on the same day brings forth and ends it." beautiful.



- "nothing but beethoven" by the los angeles philharmonic symphony at the hollywood bowl. this was perhaps one of the coolest musical experiences i've ever had. if you look closely, you can see the hollywood sign above the bowl in the hills above it:



- hearing (which i did at venice beach) and seeing (from the getty) the ocean (at the same time) in santa monica:


- realizing that no matter where i go, i still feel so small. the world is such a big place; i'll leave this earth only having come to know a miniscule percentage of all it has to offer:

give me your single and beautiful:

my mother has given me the ultimatum: clean out your room or it all goes in the garbage. while i don't think she would really throw away something as precious as a peacock feather in a squatty purple vase or my portable CD player from 8 years ago (complete with car charger and cassette adapter), i'd rather not take any chances.

while going through boxes and piles of papers, i've found some interesting nuggets of memorabilia, including my senior memoirs from eagle high school. for those of you who are unfamiliar with this tradition, all seniors at ehs were required to keep a notebook (or for the more creatively inclined: scrapbook) of at least 5 key moments per month (plus an "artifact" or graphic) for the duration of our senior year in high school. i assume that the main purpose for this is to reflect over 5 years later and marvel at one's ignorance, pithy adventures, and pre-college lb's.

i came across this entry, however, which is dated march 31, 2003, entitled, "mr. right... i've only begun the search." a picture of a girl holding her heart in her hand with "here" written in a speech bubble graces the upper left hand corner of the pink stationary. i list qualities that i found important in a potentional boyfriend in big blue marker, and my elaboration around these terms (literally, i wrote around these points) made me giggle, tearful, and somewhat disappointed that i no longer hold the guys i date to such rigorous standards. at the beginning of my "memoir," i write: "even though it seems really shallow to create a checklist of qualities (not necessities) i find attractive in a potential husband. . . i did it anyway."

here's the list (in no particular order-- i'll save that for another post):

-intellectual ("to me, someone's mind is much more attractive than physical attributes. a person can change physically in my eyes if i can see their honesty and intellectual abilities in their eyes.")
-understanding ("i can often be very neurotic and comtemplative." i wonder if i meant "contemptuous".)
-amusing ("life would be very boring without jokes." a brilliant statement, if i may say.)
-writer ("people who read and write have the advantage of learning by example through text." i obviously hadn't read moby-dick yet. i also wrote, "the ultimate present is flowers and handwritten note or poem.")
-patient ("awkward silence makes for a rocky relationship." and we all know about my reticence. har. har. har.)
-honest
-realistic
-knows his own heart (this one came from a line in a jewel song: "show me one man who knows his own heart; to him, i shall belong.")
-musical (but right before this, i wrote, "he must be financially stable to support my clothes and shoe fetishes." apparently, i hadn't done my proper research on median incomes for writer/musicians.)
-focused
-charming ("he'd get along with my family and return my desire to pursue life.")

i find it pretty interesting that i didn't really comment on three "qualities": honest, realistic, and focused-- especially because those are probably the 3 most important "qualities" to me now. i think i'd forgo a lying intellectual for an honest c-average guy. and i'd for sure ditch a charming musician for a focused certified public accountant. just saying.

i wonder about the importance of creating a checklist like this; a part of me is rather regretful that i failed my 17-year-old self by pursuing people that exhibited 2 or fewer of these qualities. is it that i have changed perspectives? have i given up on finding someone who possesses these attributes? a combination?

another chapter closed:

since the beginning of june-- june 4 (the day after the rush concert), to be exact-- i have been a professional dog-walker. well, maybe not so "professional," but i am now rather skilled at handling a particular 70+ pound rotweiler puppy named kobe (beef), of whom i have become quite fond. kobe's family is really busy (and 75% of them are vacationing outside the country right now), so i was his creative and physical outlet for the day-- a break from the quiet and boringness of the backyard so that he could have his "visual orgasm" (i'm using kim's term) with a 45-minute daily walk around the neighborhood 6 days a week.

at first, i was really scared. his rawhide bones for chewing were bigger than my forearm. the first day that kim and i practiced walking kobe, he took off after paper products and we ended up mostly yelling at him. so it went for the first few days. he bit my left hand (which gripped the leash about 6" from where it connects to the choke chain collar) several times until it was swollen pink with small dots of blood. i also stunk of dog drool.

one day, we approached a freshly gardened front yard with new flowers and plants in loose dark soil. kobe stopped to smell some small purple flowers, which he quickly uprooted in his mouth. shaking the plant around, i was sprayed with dirt while shouting, "drop it! drop it! drop it!" but it was too late: he ate the flowers. he also likes to eat pine cones.

but it got better. much better, in fact. about two weeks into my dog-walking, i realized the routine we'd established: i park in the driveway (with my music usually blasting), open the garage door (and while it opens, i roll down my car windows-- save for the driver's side one...), and exit my vehicle. everyday, i see kobe's gigantic black nose and two front paws reaching under the wood fence, sniffing and softly whining. i open the side garage door to go into the backyard. kobe sits in front of me. i put on his chain collar, connect the leash, tell him "stay" until i'm through the door (a tip that shows kobe i'm in control and that he cannot run ahead of me), and ask him to "come." then our walk starts.

like clockwork.

for the past month or so, my duties expanded into a professional dog-companion. each day after our walk, i sip on a juice box (provided by kobe's owner) and kobe cools down by laying on the floor while i watch a movie or tv for a while. yes, we hang out.

since june, i've learned many things about kobe, such as:
- even though he looks like a meaner, he's really a big softie inside (i.e. he likes to smell flowers and is scared of loud noises)
- he protects me, as any object moving towards us in a faster-than-normal fashion makes him tense and alert and sometimes he growls
- he hates sprinklers, and he gives me this incredible look of scorn anytime we have to walk through them
- i know every single rock and pole that he will pee on (and trying to get him to stop sometimes means that he will pee on you... trust me)
- if kobe was a human, he would be a bulky 17-year-old boy who listens to loud rock music and rides a crotch rocket
- his most ticklish spot is right on his bark box, and scratching there makes his back foot thump
kobe has become the one thing that i see (and who sees me) on a regular basis these days. but, his family gets back on monday, so kobe will no longer need me to save him from solitary confinement; he will experience sensory overload when two little girls return from vietnam to find their little puppy isn't so little anymore. i am happy that kobe will have someone to play with him all day-- instead of just an afternoon playdate.

but i will miss him and our hang out time. goodbye, kobe koberton. your walk was mine, too.

like a broken record

sometimes i don't think i should be allowed to speak. i know i'm an english major and all, but i seriously lack effective oral communication skills. i've compiled a series of examples to illustrate my main point/thesis:

example A: "two wrongs do not make a right"
i often repeat the same word to achieve a certain emphasis. . . which really only draws attention to my lack of vocabulary, i.e. "sure sure", "like like", "really really", and so on.

example B: "read between the lines"
as a poet, i refrain from asking direct questions without considering that my audience may not fully receive my intentions properly, i.e. "can i help you?" really means "i want to help you. please tell me what to do. and when you deny me, i'm going to get kinda mad because i'm assuming that you just dont want me around and you think i can't help you."

example C: "x to the infinite power"
i say "ok" a lot-- especially at the end of a phone conversation. and i even say it when i don't really mean it (which means this example could fit into the small space between two overlapping circles-- like if A and B were really a venn diagram!). here are some specific scenarios:

the break-up OK:
"we just want different things."
"ok."
"it doesn't mean that i don't think you're a cool chick."
"ok."
"or that you're not beautiful."
"ok."
"i'm just not ready for a relationship right now."
"ok."
"ok?"
"ok."
"good. see you never."
"ok."

the best friend phone call OK:
"don't be depressed, andrea."
"ok."
"have a good day."
"ok."
"i'll talk to you later."
"ok."
"thanks for hanging out."
"ok."
"you'll be ok."
"ok."
"rove you."
"ok."

the i'm-getting-talked-into-something OK:

"trust me that this will all work out."

"ok."

"it will be fun."

"ok."

"i promise."

"ok."

"are we ok?"

"ok."

"i'm about to commit mass genocide on your face."
"ok."
"and then make it look like an accident."
"ok."
"this won't hurt a bit."
"ok."

sometimes i don't think i should be allowed to speak.