"In vacant or in pensive mood..." I am: Bekah; 24; Law Student / Favorite Things: Carbs (so there!), Johnny Damon, Smiling at babies, Grilled cheese, Comfortable silence / Favorite Supreme Court Justice: Brennan / Favorite Wilson: Owen by an inch / Today's Special: Song: Elliott Smith, "Bled White"; Quote: "You know, there's like a butt-load of gangs at this school. This one gang kept wanting me to join because I'm pretty good with a bowstaff." Please love me: mmbekah@yahoo.com

 


This C & H makes me so nostalgic. It reminds me of my baby sister (now 20) who has always had an unnatural love for comic books and peanut butter. But it also reminds me of my childhood, and how easy it was to be comfortable. I want to go back to the time when peanut butter crackers could solve the world's problems. I had an interview yesterday, and I seriously felt like a little kid playing dress-up. I don't want a job. I want my mommy. And some peanut butter.

posted by Bekah at 10:44 AM :: |

 
Assertions

1. The perfect temperature is 68 degrees Fahrenheit, as long as it is sunny.
2. The Blue album is likely Weezer's finest work to-date.
3. Wooly mammoths look cute, but they were probably mean. Like pandas and koalas.
4. Raisin Bran is delicious, and timeless.
5. Ben Affleck is simply, empirically, unattractive. He has a fat head.
6. First year law students are like those people in line behind you at Six Flags who make you feel better about yourself. (Sorry guys).
7. It is generally not efficacious to get a large cup of hot coffee. It is too difficult to finish drinking that much before it gets cold, so it makes more sense to get a small cup and a refill later.
8. The skirts girls are wearing now that resemble tennis skirts are most unfortunate. So are the furry boots that often accompany them.
9. Late shows are boring.
10. There is nothing even remotely interesting about a Yankees-Marlins World Series.

posted by Bekah at 10:28 AM :: |

 
Most Annoying Moment of the Day: This year I'm not as stressed about school, but somehow I've acquired new sources of tension. I was getting a salad at the student center today and some guy swooped in behind me. He didn't give me any personal space whatsoever. I got some carrots, then he got some carrots. I got cucumbers, he got cucumbers. He was almost touching me. I have never felt more rushed or self conscious. I was thinking, "I want more chick peas than this, but I don't think I have enough time. He's already past the tomatoes. I better just skip the dressing and run away. For the love of god, I think he just stepped on the back of my shoe." I think there should be a strict 2-vegetable buffer zone between you and the next person in the salad line. Wait for the person in front of you to go through the carrots and the cucumbers, and when they're on the tomatoes, you can start with the carrots. I think that would be sufficient. I'm glad I got that cleared up. I really feel better about the whole ordeal now.

Cutest Moment of the Day: My landlady and her husband have two small children. They live downstairs from me. (All of them, not just the children). The older child is a little boy who's about 3 or 4. (He could be 9; I am ridiculously bad at gauging kids' ages). Anyway, I can't ever really hear the kids when they're in their apartment, but when they play out on the stairs I can hear them really well. This morning, I got out of the shower and heard the little boy saying, "Slide me down the rail daddy! Slide me down the rail!" (in reference to the banister on the staircase). His dad was trying to humor him and get him to be quiet at the same time: "Ok honey, ok...shhh...ok." Cutest thing ever. Except the other day when I walked up and the little boy was washing his dad's car with a hose, saying "I'm a fireman! I'm a fireman!" Of course you are, you adorable thing.

Funniest Moment of the Day: The guy behind me in line for frozen yogurt today was this tall jockish type. When it was his turn to order, he simply couldn't handle it. The pressures of speaking in public and making a decision combined to cause complete and utter breakdown. He said: "Give me a chocolate...er, that swirl thing...with the, uh, chocolate and vanilla, or whatever. In uh, a cup." Pull yourself together man! It's just frozen yogurt.

Most Uncomfortable Moment of the Day: My family law professor on what constitutes adultery: "The courts have found that activities that don't amount to reproductive sexual acts can constitute adultery. The tough question is where to draw the line. What about, oh...I don't know...'French kissing...'" (extensive giggling by the class). Yes, we are four years old. Instead of going to class, I should go back home and slide down the banister with my little neighbor.

posted by Bekah at 1:38 PM :: |

 
Note: Yesterday's post was written in the heat of the moment. I usually don't think those kind of things about other people, let alone say them. (Let's be honest, the "lover of grubs and dust mites" jab was a little over the top). Actually, one of my pet peeves (even more of a pet peeve than the term "pet peeve," and that's saying a lot) is when guys say that girls all really hate each other, even their friends. It's just not true. I love my friends more than anything, and, more to the point, I do not hate granola girlfriend. I simply hate the fact that she is with the boy I happen to be in love with and who I will one day marry if things don't work out with Jon Stewart or the brothers Wilson. It's quite simple really.

Also, although some coin-operated pool tables apparently have one oversized ball, I can assure you that the white pool ball on this table is not smaller than the others. They are all the same size. I have played at that table many a time. And if it makes anyone feel less upset with me for being catty, GYC laughed at her when she asked that question too.

Just think of granola girlfriend as Jessica Simpson, and then I won't seem so out of line.

posted by Bekah at 9:18 AM :: |

 
I Am Fortune’s Goddamn Fool

A tragedy of epic proportions has occurred. I am completely, totally, and utterly devastated. I guarantee you that this experience has done permanent damage to my heart and soul. I am scarred. I am jaded. I can never love again.

Please recall my happy conversations with Granola, Yet Clean (hereinafter GYC). Remember the laughter. Remember the witty banter. Remember GYC’s precious smile and adorable mannerisms. Now fast forward to Saturday night at the neighborhood bar. I was there with some friends, watching the Cubs game on one TV and the Ohio State game on the other. I was enjoying a Coors Light (oh, the Silver Bullet, how I love you). I was feeling fine. And then, the unthinkable happened. None other than GYC himself walked into the bar. But he didn’t walk in alone. That would have been a joyful miracle. Instead, he walked in with his girlfriend (about whom I had jokingly speculated only days before). I felt like I’d just been flattened by a huge box of organic granola descending from the sky like a cartoon safe. The dream was dead.

My first reaction was, I will admit, somewhat childish. I started repeating the word “No” under my breath, interspersing the exclamations with the pitiful whimpers of a puppy that had just been kicked. Then I stood up and walked quickly outside. After I’d composed myself enough to reenter the bar, I immediately witnessed GYC and his girlfriend playing pool right next to our table. My friends tried all the usual lines. “Maybe it’s his sister.” “Maybe it’s his cousin.” “Maybe he’s bored in the relationship and is looking for a way out.” “They don’t look like they’re having fun.” “You’re much prettier than she is.” Nothing they said worked. I saw the way GYC was handing the pool cue to that girl. It was not with filial affection.

At first I was just hurt. But then I got mad. And things started getting ugly. First I explained to my friends that I “[felt] as though [I’d] just been gutted, and my intestines [had been thrown] in my face.” Slightly dramatic, but it got the point across. Then, as you might imagine, I started in on the girlfriend. I started small, but pretty soon I got as catty as a high school cheerleader in the girls’ bathroom: “Look at her purse. What is that? Some goddamn Guatemalan thing? Those went out with braided belts circa 1992.” “She might be granola, but she is definitely not clean. Look at her hair. I bet she just got back from a Siberian trek where she ate bark. And liked it. And she hung out with yetis or something.” “I am going to throw away 10 Coke cans just to spite her. Screw recycling.” It went on.

Some of these things might have been out of line (the Silver Bullet, though glorious, can be a harsh and brutal comrade), but listen to this: I overheard the girlfriend ask GYC, with respect to the white pool ball, “Is this one smaller than the others?” No, you ridiculous hemp-wearing, chai tea-drinking, Ani Difranco-listening, bongo-playing, dirt-eating lover of grubs and dust mites. ALL POOL BALLS ARE THE SAME SIZE. They didn’t teach you that on your treacherous, soul searching hike through the Brazilian Rainforest where you got in touch with your inner Zarathustra?

This is a sad state of affairs. I can’t even compete with an unclean granola girl with zero personality and severe spatial differentiation problems. And, on top of everything, I’ve completely lost my appetite for granola.

posted by Bekah at 8:18 AM :: |