Life. It [Continues]

SHAMELESS PLUG!

It's a blog that I am maintaining for class in Online Journalism.
It's silly. It's me. And maybe you can get some information out of it. Who knows. But it's about cleaning.
Cause that's what I decided I know the most about. And nobody else has ever had the gumption to blog only about cleaning.
So read. Read it daily. I write there most often now because...well...you know....

It's for a grade

Kids are throwing snowballs outside the living room window.
They're pushing each other's faces into the ground and laughing as their cheeks come up all red and puffy and swollen.
I just watched them go at it for 10 minutes, but now that I'm all weirded out by my own nosiness, I've come back into my bedroom to listen to snow music that's more quiet and reserved and much more peaceful than those kids. Those uproarious beings. Those good for nothing, loud and disrespectful germs.
They are destroying the snow. Putting holes in such a perfect coat. I wish they wouldn't. I wish I had the gloves from the passenger's side of my car so I could go out there in a black hoodie and long checkered pajama pants and send one big chunk of perfect snow sailing from my fingers to smack them in their faces. Then I would kick them. And dump snow from areas that already are a little ruffled and not a little perfect.
They would be a fan of my assertiveness and throw snowballs back at me.
And I would block their assaults and dive bomb face first into heaps and mounds of plowed snow. Just like them.

My cheeks would come up all red and puffy and swollen.
And I would laugh with them. Come back inside after a while and sit and listen to snow music that's much more quiet and reserved.

More peaceful.

Ever since this semester started, I've been inundated with journalism classes.
I've had no choice but to embrace this journalistic side of my degree and throw myself out there. But I have to say, I miss the creative stuff. I miss writing poems for creative writing. I yearn to discuss contemporary essayists in class again. And when will I ever again get the chance to write legitimate papers in the voice of Blair Waldorf?

My requirement to write off-the-wall may be ending. But who says I can't make news fun? Heck, I've got news! I just haven't gotten to say it anywhere.

So I'll say it here.

- My Book Review -
Yesterday I finished reading Under the Dome. It was Stephen King's insanely good, insanely thick new book. Weighing lots and coming with 1070 pages, it was trees well wasted. I approve.

- My Sports Coverage -
There was a football game on the television at applebees. That's about all I know.

- My Music News -
Okay so I downloaded an entire Bob Dylan discography with all of his songs from the 1960s until today. I heard the new Joanna Newsom single and I really like it. The National announced their tour for the summer and their new LP. I've listened to (and own) the new albums by Spoon, Charlotte Gainsbourg, Los Campesinos, Beach House, Laura Veirs, Vampire Weekend, Hot Chip, and The Shout Out Louds. Yeasayer put out a video for their new single. And I now have 10,057 songs in my iTunes.

- My Headliner -
I've decided I must get an internship this summer. And a house. And my number one choice for an internship: Harpercollins Publishers

And I would keep doing this, but I don't like it anymore. It's dumb.
So that's all.
Besides the fact that I have a short attention span, I think I made my point.

I feel obligated to post this one.
Because tomorrow is my 21st birthday. And it was July 22, 2003 when I made my first post on this blog. I was 14 years old at the time and I might as well have been writing with a crayon.
(There's a reason I don't show my history anymore)

So yeah, man. Yeah.
I will be a real live adult.
Mom and dad - this one's for you. Thanks for raising me so wonderfully. I will always remember the birthdays you guys made special. Taking me and my obnoxious friends to Pizza Hut. Driving vans of young Power Ranger enthusiasts to the movies. And cooking breakfast after breakfast on mornings after sleepovers for adolescent boys who always ate more than I ever could.
I'll never forget those days.
(And I'll do my best to not forget this one tomorrow)

I'm 21 years of age soon.
Words aren't coming easily to me right now and I want to wrap this up before I get too old. So this is it. Next time you see me, I'll be refined with all the sophistication and wisdom of a real live adult. No more triteness. No more stupidity. No more childish games and nonsensical blog posts. I'll have an age to live up to. I'll have drinks to order. And I'm gonna be an all new Ryan.

...poop

Here it comes again.

If I can just change the sheets on my bed, spoon up some peanut butter, and fall asleep before I start thinking of all the lattes I made today, I'll be a happy enough kid to revist tomorrow and think up some new things to say.
Cause I don't say much lately.
I know it.

That's winter break for ya.

And I use the word "break" loosely.
I'm exhausted.

Jiffy. Here I come. . .

Look. I'm a writing arts major, okay.
Tell me why I feel so stressed over this work I have to get done?

Truthfully, the bulk of my work is coming from one class, but for the first time in my college-final-week-career I'm actually pulling late nighters. This isn't supposed to happen. But I finally fit in.

I'm not lying when I say I spent seven straight hours working on my linguistics project today. And I don't really want to get started on that because it's just a bunch of crock over a pointless assignment. I'm summing up the whole textbook. I'm cutting and pasting like a third grader. I went through three glue sticks in one day. But this is all besides the point.

I POWER WORKED. And there's still more to go. It's all due Thursday so I've got time. Just...wow. It blew.

I pulled a mean streak of work today and I've never really had the chance to do that before. Writing arts is supposed to be essays and creative assignments pulled off in sleep (sometimes literally). I kinda feel out of place when I'm fitting in with the engineers in the apartment, staying up as late as they do in the interest of A+ schoolwork.

Do I like it? Not really.
I'd much rather be catching up on books I want to read. Shows I want to watch. Pieces I want to write.
Putting together a 50 page linguistics project complete with construction paper, word art, and cartoons?

That's what I call stress.

I ain't even playn.
Life is rough.

Did I call it?
I called it.

I got sick! And yes! It was a glorious, glorious illness.
Friday night - It hurt just to hold my head up. I popped not one, not two, but three, wondrous benadrils and conked out like it was the best sleep of my life. Yeah so I had to miss work. And I felt pathetic for having to do that. But sleeping until noon was heavenly. Waking up to a breakfast casserole courtesy of my apartment mates - always enjoyable.

But oh. I do love my immune system.
I pretty much shook my entire fake flu in one day.
The only thing I'm left with now is a stuffy nose. I can deal with that. I welcome that.
Because..well..I hate to go back to my misery, but it was real bad. I had to go out to shoprite and buy sore throat freezepops (second choice because they didn't have the get better bear suckers).

Morale of the story?
Sickness don't stick to me.
I'm walking proof.

I'll be sick within a day or two. I think it's inevitable.
I stocked up on teas.
I like the pomegranate kind with a splash of passion fruit.
I bought a green tea too because it's the standard and it makes me feel worldly.
For extra good measure, I picked up a bottle of orange juice.
I paired all that with a mushroom and artichoke soup for dinner and I think phase 1 is complete.
Immune system.
Under control.

Tomorrow..if I'm not already sick...I plan on eating carrots and grapes and all sorts of fruits. And all of this health business will put me in tip top shape.

For Finals?

Scratch that.

I'm a writing arts major. I don't take tests or answer questions or study.
I problem solve. I drink tea.

What's on my mind?
How about the fact that New Moon is making me self-conscious cause I only have a 4 pack. Every dude (or should I say wolf) in that movie has at least, like 9 abs. I only have 4 on a good day.
And they say women get false body images..psh

Oh and this too!
Thanksgiving is coming. But I'd be much more excited if my apartment didn't just serve 20+ people in our apartment leaving us with 10lbs. of leftovers. I already ate a few meals off it. And the real day ain't even here yet.

And if you're one to read between the lines, connect the dots, I think I'm getting fatter. And it blows. I miss my lean figure. I used to be 115 lbs. Now I'm...what?...130. This is not good.
Not good at all.

And if you're one to really read between the lines. I mean, really scrutinize my lines, then you'll realize that the melodrama of New Moon is a serious thing. It's ridiculous how much of that movie can go frame by frame with General Hospital and still retain the plot. I'm not tryna knock the movie (you know I saw it midnight with the million other teenagers) but I came home, woke up the next morning, and spent a good quarter of my day being sullen and moody.
It's the Twilight effect.
Comes with dark eyeliner and faux hawks.

Good news is I'm over it. But this body image thing won't shake.
Doesn't help that Shakira is taunting me on the AMAs. I'm plopped here with a laptop and a down comforter. I haven't left the apartment all day.
Damn She-Wolf. (And men-wolves)