Wednesday, Why Do You Hate Me So

I am stressed and I don't know why. Scratch that; it's because of Dr. Hurlow. Well, not her so much as the article due in twenty-two hours (she hasn't given my draft back yet) and the presentation I have to give tomorrow with no guidelines (except "be creative!" Really? I think no). I hate presentations. They make me literally ill. Seriously, I can't eat for at least 12 hours before I give an oral presentation or it won't be pretty. Sad, sad, sad.

Still, I'm feeling very antisocial. This is not a big deal, generally, cause I'm antisocial all the time. For some reason it's really bugging me now, cause I miss my friends and want to join in their fun hairdying/movie watching/dance party having times. This weekend, you better be awesome.

Also, I'm writing this before chapel. My concealer is missing, which gives me all sorts of free time to blog. I don't know why this needs noting, but I feel it does.

Double also. Dear Kate, thank you for tagging me in your music blog. It made me really happy. I hope I don't let you down. Please bug me this weekend so I don't forget to do it. Love, Tay.

Triple also. I love miscommunication. It happens all the time. Like now. Katelyn and I misheard each other, and now we're talking about Hey Arnold! Does it get any better? No. No, it does not.

I feel I should mention: The show Hey Arnold! includes an exclamation point. I'm not being dramatic, I promise. If you don't believe me, check out my blog title. That'll convince you.

Places I Should Never See My Breath . . .

. . . but have in the past week.

-My car

-The caf

-My dorm room

-Chapel

I'll keep you posted. You know, in the vague, not really sense. Cause if I ever start to see my breath in Morrison or McCreless, my fingers have probably long since frozen off, which tends to hamper typing, so I hear.

Me, Myself and Aye Aye Aye

I have to say, I've just been convicted. Not in a fire and brimstone kind of way, or even with anything particularly strong. Just a gentle "You're wrong" from God.

All day I've been a little irritated at people in general. Nothing huge; just a few specific things that people have done made me way too angry. I was aware of it, and not letting it affect me. No worries.

But I was still judging in my head. "That was so rude of them." "Did they just do that?" "Really? Really?" Even the wordless, welling annoyance in my chest had a hint of judgment around the edges.

I just realized that all of the actions that have bothered me today were essentially selfish decisions people have made. What's the deeper meaning here? I don't know. But I was all prepared to blog (or rant to somebody) about how selfish we, as humans, can be (complete with examples from my day, heavy on the "can you believe that?").

Then I got to thinking: how selfish is it that I'm judging other people's actions?

Yeah, it might have been selfish of them not to think of others in that instance. But isn't it just as selfish for me to expect them to cater to me? Or even when my irritation was on someone else's behalf; how selfish is it for me to get angry about something that the aforementioned person brushed off? Isn't getting mad at others' self-focus putting the focus back on me?

It reminded me of John Weece's chapel message (because everything today has), and, on the whole, my need to let God lead my thoughts. Jesus wants me not to be bitter, even on the smallest scale. Who am I to judge? God doesn't, ever. Jesus suffered for every self-centered action I or anyone else has ever committed. It's so selfish of me to think I have to right to consider other people's actions acceptable or not.

Okay, so this is vague, over-analytical and possibly pointless. But I hope y'all can see through all that to what I'm trying to say. Don't let sin get'cha. Or something like that.

Yes, I Was Blair Waldorf for Halloween

It is ridiculously difficult to come up with a good Halloween costume. My creativity has already been channeled elsewhere, apparently, because I always seem to draw a blank. I think this is because we Brantners weren't allowed to celebrate Halloween before 2004. Mom and Dad, this is all on you.

But my friends had awesome costumes:

And mine turned out okay. Besides,

who could pass up seeing this?

Or this?

Or any of these?

All in all, an evening well-spent.

Also, this blog is sub-par, and that's all on Katelyn. But that's okay, cause we're in love.

5 Stages

When one experiences a loss so great, so deep, that they feel they simply can't function anymore, they often resort to psychological games. Elisabeth Kubler-Ross identified these symptoms in her 1969 book "On Death and Dying." These coping mechanisms, the 5 Stages of Grief (aka the Kubler-Ross Model), can seize those closest to us, leaving us defenseless.

I never noticed Eddie's great love for Bella, but in the time since Katelyn replaced the tried and true periwinkle blue with a nameless cobalt beauty, his grief has been unimaginable. Here I've documented the personal struggles of myself and my car in the hopes that someday soon, we can finally move on (with our lives intact).

The Five Stages of Grief

September 26-October 14, 2009

Depression: Kate, Katelyn and I reach the car, laden with shopping bags and cringing under the steadily increasing downpour. I shove my keys in the lock and turn, but Eddie will not be moved. Several attempts to unlock the door and he gives up, but he remains mopey for the rest of the day. At one point his dejection keeps the key fixed in the ignition. I'm worried.

Denial: "My dad said the key is faulty, and I've got a new one, so . . . . And I know I said the brakes are acting funny, but they're barely jolting. I'm probably just imagining it."

Anger: Katelyn and I are on our way to Penn Station, and I can't help but notice that the brakes are now catching. We shrug it off. Pull into the parking lot. Eddie is growling at us, but he's been foul tempered for at least a week now. I find a spot, pop it into Park, and take my foot off the pedals. Eddie is suddenly, irrationally PISSED, spitting and growling, revving the engine to 5000 RPMs. Katelyn glances at me--"what did you do?"--but my hands are held defensively aloft, both feet firmly on carpet. I snag the key and jerk it from the engine, slicing through Eddie's fury. Katelyn and I lean back against the seats and glance at each other. What the hell was that? He was so frenzied I literally wondered if we would explode. I don't know what I've done wrong.

Bargaining: "Come on, Eddie," I murmur pleadingly as Katelyn places a soothing hand on the dash. "Just a few more miles and we'll be home." I realized that my eternal gratitude wasn't a sufficient incentive sometime between the brakes starting to squeak and the engine accelerating without my aid.

Acceptance: Katelyn, I think we need to play matchmaker. There's only a 50% chance my mechanic will call back, and I don't know Eddie and I can take much more.

Sexy Friday

Today was a good day. Here's why:

1. Skip chapel, sleep til ten

2. Sexy Friday, kickin' heels [bonus: watching my hottie friends walk around campus all day]

3. Two classes canceled, bum around with Sarah, Jenelle and Kate

But probably the best part was Artist Series. And not just the dresses and the makeup and the hair, the pictures and "girrrrl"s and clacking through the rain in crazy high shoes. Not even the wonderful boys who sheltered us from the angry sky. No, by far the best moment of the night was when I stared up at the stage, watching the pianist of Cordis rock out, silky black hair flowing down his back, and this image popped into my head:

Sadly, I then compared each band member to the Aristocats, and my glee was immeasurable upon realizing they all fit. Childhood wish fufilment? Check. What else ya got?

To blog or not to blog

I am indecisive. It took me over an hour to get to this point. How sad.