Reek of Disingenuity. Mostly Kidding. Quarterly Tradition.
I had a birthday post almost done, but I closed the window on accident and destroyed some twenty minutes' work. Too traumatized to try again for days and days.
Bottom line: I've cared less and less about my birthday since gradeschool, (Immediate self-contradiction in 5, 4, 3, ) but I'm glad for everyone who remembered. (2, 1-- Egads, ahead of schedule!) If I knew how to smile believably on command (That's not a joke. Apparently I cannot summon a smile that does not immediately reek of disingenuity. Even-- especially?-- when that is not my actual intent. "Stop ruining the picture, Chao! Smile for real!" True story; ask Katie.), I would undoubtedly do so nice and big for all the lovely folks who left me messages. And the book is positively entrancing thus far, Kathy. Thank you.
It always makes me feel weird when other people are more excited about my birthday than I am. My mother called me and started implying stuff about "Somebody's birthdaaaaayyyyy." I got incredibly confused as to why she was being so terribly transparent about about her impending birthday until I realized that she was talking about mine. (Eric: September 6th, CeCeChao: September 23rd; so you can understand my confusion.)
In any case, I'm finally 21 years old and I don't really seem to give a damn. Thanks for forcing me out of the womb, mom! It was getting kinda cramped in there. (Eh? Eh? "Cramped"? "Womb"? C'monnnn, menstrual cramps are funny because I don't have them!) Then again, this is the same woman who, on numerous occasions, would tell me that:
1) I wasn't exactly born so much as I was discovered in a dumpster, and subsequently adopted.
2) I wasn't actually her son, but instead her younger sister's son. Then traded to my mother for some unnamed arcane reason. (Gambling debts come first to mind. Poor Auntie Lee never knows when to hit and when to stand.)
3) I was, when I inquired as to where we were going in the car, being taken to the Black Market (a growing problem in Santa Clarita) to be sold off to the highest bidder.
Upon cursory recollection, thanks for nothing Mom! (Mostly kidding.)
Now that we're done with the undue unpleasantry of recapping (and the unintended avenues of digression!), we can start the fun. Wooooo!
(That is the first thing that turns up when I run a Google Image Search for "Wooooo!"? Color-penciled boobies? *head in hands* I, I just can't-- *head in hands*)
Note that it was about 6:00AM when I started this post. I have yet to sleep tonight. I have, within the past two weeks, become almost completely nocturnal. It's kind of nice to shut my eyes as the graying dawn oozes around the edges of my blinds, but trust me when I say that it's pretty goddamned disenchanting when one completely oversleeps through a four-hour LSAT Prep Class. And wakes up at about 4PM on a regular basis.
On the bright side, I am chest-deep in somewhat of a quarterly tradition in this cluttered menagerie of assorted refuse that is my sunny persona. Everytime I get a break from the collegiate world, I inexorably sink myself into a nice, deep malaise. (In hindsight, the words "bright," "side," and "sunny" were all somewhat misleading. Must put out a memo to the legal department.) I used to blame Engineering for turning me into such an emotional wreck once I was free free free, briefly beyond the iron grip of the UC Regents. But now that I've surgically removed the Engineering School from my rectum (You're welcome.), I get to face the yummy fact that I am fundamentally depressing.
Leave me to my own devices, and absolutely nothing will happen. And don't misread the implications of that statement. I mean it completely devoid of benignity. Nothing. Will. Happen. I sit on my ass. Inertia. And I resent myself for it. Both retroactively (Ex post facto be damned.) and for the days, weeks to come.
Brace yourselves for impact, everyone. Conundrum, dead ahead: Do I feel like a fucking waste of space because of my wacky sleep cycle, or do I have a wacky sleep cycle because I feel like a fucking waste of space?
Here comes twilight. Suppose I should go lay down for it.
Bottom line: I've cared less and less about my birthday since gradeschool, (Immediate self-contradiction in 5, 4, 3, ) but I'm glad for everyone who remembered. (2, 1-- Egads, ahead of schedule!) If I knew how to smile believably on command (That's not a joke. Apparently I cannot summon a smile that does not immediately reek of disingenuity. Even-- especially?-- when that is not my actual intent. "Stop ruining the picture, Chao! Smile for real!" True story; ask Katie.), I would undoubtedly do so nice and big for all the lovely folks who left me messages. And the book is positively entrancing thus far, Kathy. Thank you.
It always makes me feel weird when other people are more excited about my birthday than I am. My mother called me and started implying stuff about "Somebody's birthdaaaaayyyyy." I got incredibly confused as to why she was being so terribly transparent about about her impending birthday until I realized that she was talking about mine. (Eric: September 6th, CeCeChao: September 23rd; so you can understand my confusion.)
In any case, I'm finally 21 years old and I don't really seem to give a damn. Thanks for forcing me out of the womb, mom! It was getting kinda cramped in there. (Eh? Eh? "Cramped"? "Womb"? C'monnnn, menstrual cramps are funny because I don't have them!) Then again, this is the same woman who, on numerous occasions, would tell me that:
1) I wasn't exactly born so much as I was discovered in a dumpster, and subsequently adopted.
2) I wasn't actually her son, but instead her younger sister's son. Then traded to my mother for some unnamed arcane reason. (Gambling debts come first to mind. Poor Auntie Lee never knows when to hit and when to stand.)
3) I was, when I inquired as to where we were going in the car, being taken to the Black Market (a growing problem in Santa Clarita) to be sold off to the highest bidder.
Upon cursory recollection, thanks for nothing Mom! (Mostly kidding.)
Now that we're done with the undue unpleasantry of recapping (and the unintended avenues of digression!), we can start the fun. Wooooo!
(That is the first thing that turns up when I run a Google Image Search for "Wooooo!"? Color-penciled boobies? *head in hands* I, I just can't-- *head in hands*)Note that it was about 6:00AM when I started this post. I have yet to sleep tonight. I have, within the past two weeks, become almost completely nocturnal. It's kind of nice to shut my eyes as the graying dawn oozes around the edges of my blinds, but trust me when I say that it's pretty goddamned disenchanting when one completely oversleeps through a four-hour LSAT Prep Class. And wakes up at about 4PM on a regular basis.
On the bright side, I am chest-deep in somewhat of a quarterly tradition in this cluttered menagerie of assorted refuse that is my sunny persona. Everytime I get a break from the collegiate world, I inexorably sink myself into a nice, deep malaise. (In hindsight, the words "bright," "side," and "sunny" were all somewhat misleading. Must put out a memo to the legal department.) I used to blame Engineering for turning me into such an emotional wreck once I was free free free, briefly beyond the iron grip of the UC Regents. But now that I've surgically removed the Engineering School from my rectum (You're welcome.), I get to face the yummy fact that I am fundamentally depressing.
Leave me to my own devices, and absolutely nothing will happen. And don't misread the implications of that statement. I mean it completely devoid of benignity. Nothing. Will. Happen. I sit on my ass. Inertia. And I resent myself for it. Both retroactively (Ex post facto be damned.) and for the days, weeks to come.
Brace yourselves for impact, everyone. Conundrum, dead ahead: Do I feel like a fucking waste of space because of my wacky sleep cycle, or do I have a wacky sleep cycle because I feel like a fucking waste of space?
Here comes twilight. Suppose I should go lay down for it.
posted by Unknown at 6:08 AM
4 Comments:
booooooooooooooooooooooooorrrrring.
i was almost sold off to the black market a few times myself. guess my parents felt they paid too much when they bought me from the carrot vendor (in my family, my sister was the one found in the dumpster).
Fundamentally depressing people, represent. Can't you hear the enthusiasm in the previous sentence? Woooo. Yeaaahhhh. Happy belated birthday, btw. Not that you care or anything. Dork.
Yumi (yes I DO sporadically check your online journal, bet you didn't know that suckah?!)
I could say:
"At least your parents remembered your birthday and didn't dash off to Lake Tahoe because they got a free room without thinking about it, only to later call from the casino-- in a moment of lucidity amongst many free cocktails-- to say 'happy birthday.'"
Instead, I'll say:
"You can buy margaritas at Chipotle now. I tried part of Lisbeth's once as part of my quest to eat everything on the menu-- and because they used to get my boss through her workday-- and for $3 they'll do the trick. I'll drive."
-->Ravi
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