I am eating a fat boy. A few days ago, in a moment of weakness (more like several minutes of weakness) I bought a 12 pack of fat boys, 12 dreyers fruit bars, strawberry orange juice and ginger ale. I’m sure one would have sufficed. I am weak with exhaustion tonight. The moving has begun. Brother and I had a nice time in SLC yesterday. We went to the Monet to Picasso exhibit at the University of Utah. I was worried I’d seen it all in Paris last year, but I didn’t. Everything, the walk up there, the bookstore, the museum, were surprisingly relaxing. I needed to get my mind from aimlessly spinning it’s wheel.
I am too sad to even think about Boyfriend.

p.s. Oral sex used to be called “genital kissing.” I say we start a petition to bring back “genital kisses.” Doesn’t that sound way better than what we’re calling it these days?

Yesterday, while we had Pakistan’s prime minister pledging his support to the US, six people were killed when a bomb hit a religious school there. In Iraq yesterday, 50 people were killed (and many injured) by suicide bombers. It seems to me that the leaders of those countries should be asking for our help. Our leader should be visiting them and pledging his support. We aren’t losing any lives on American soil, after all.
Yesterday, I read an essay from a student, which outlined the necessity of the war. He said a strong offense is the best defense. Well, this isn’t a high school basketball game. Actual people are dying. Thousands of US soldiers have died, and hundreds of thousands have died total. What are we fighting for? When will we have our quota? What are we defending ourselves against? I honestly do not know. Just your standard, state-sanctioned disaster capitalism?
It scares me that people (he is a bright student) is so incapable of seeing the flaw in his own logic. Namely, that he never made one single solitary point justifying the war, and yet he concluded at the end of his essay that yes, indeed, we must “stay the course” in Iraq. 

I just finished the Freaks and Geeks series. Loved it. Also, I went to the opening night of Step Brothers and loved it, despite bad reviews. Here’s the thing, the humor is juvenile, the the plot crashes and burns, there are gaps and problems and dull spots. I’ve come to expect it from these types of movies and I.still.love.them.

Stephen Colbert on what is butter brickle (an ice cream ingredient): “I assume that’s some sort of English treat made from candied lamb cartilage.” …

I just watched Blue Velvet for the first time. Why does David Lynch remind me of David Mamet? I feel nauseous. And, before you feel smug about my nausea, I want you to know that I think it has more to do with my diet today than the moldy ear and slow motion gore.
I say, let someone else watch this shizz.

Usually when a stranger tries to add me on myspace, I can tell quickly if they are spam or trying to get me to pay more to see a little “more” or trying to get me to like their music. Occasionally, I cannot tell. Here is what transpired:

Stranger: Hey, what’s up? (along with a request to add me)
Me: Do I know you?
Stranger: Nope. Read my shit.

Now, I know that some people read tarot cards or tea leaves, but I’ve never heard of anyone reading shit. Apparently this stranger has faith that I’ll be able to see into the future or assess him by reading his shit.
If this is a talent that I have, I do not want to find out.
Although, I do know some things about reading one’s shit from Dr. Oz. It should be a smooth j-shape. It shouldn’t be too dark or too light. These are evidence that a healthy amount of fiber is being consumed.
Okay. That’s it. I’ve talked myself into it. I am going to read this stranger’s shit. Maybe I do know a thing or two!

Rhetoric. How much do I love rhetoric? One time as an undergraduate, my boyfriend and I read something by Hemingway, something about how rhetoricians cannot be trusted. We laughed. We agreed. Yes, fiction, rather, was it. But now, I am studying rhetoric, something I’ve laughed at. This might mean I am no longer trustworthy. That is, unless I continue to work summers at the plywood mill, in which case you can continue to trust me, if you ever did to begin with.
Doubt/concern/fear/nausea aside, here is something that is True. I love my job. It sure as hell beats working at the plywood mill, and that Truth moves me forward.

I’ll admit that I seek relationships that are fun, but don’t last, or that have some challenge. This propensity leads me to believe that deep down I am not ready for a committed, long term relationship (since actions speak louder than words). This is in spite of the fact that I though I wanted a committed, long term relationship–with someone fabulous, of course. I fell in love in this last relationship. At first, I had crazy fantasies about running off with him. We’ve been together for over a year now, and the relationship has significantly changed from the passionate, impetuous, frenzy that is was in the beginning. Still, I will be so sad to leave him when I move to Pullman. At the same time, I really believe that we should not be together any more. The whole thing has grown… toxic (although I despise this use of that word). I can’t trust him like I used to. He’s not as available to me as I need him to be. I am not getting what I need out of the relationship. Despite this truth, a geographical relocation is the only thing that will separate us. With out it, we would probably just keep going back.
Of course, I fear loneliness. As much as I like the idea of being independent, I am happiest when I am with someone. Building a new relationship, learning new boundaries, and establishing trust seems like an insurmountable task right now, although I suppose this is a typical feeling to have as I exit a relationship. For the rest of my time here, I’ll just keep on keeping on. I want to.

Dear Don,
Yesterday, with a few minutes to spare before class, I stopped by your office for a visit. When I found that you were gone, I let out one mournful cry, slid down the door, and sobbed on the floor. The janitors stared and then vacuumed around me.

The pages of library books are stuck together with boogers.