Today I biked beside a butterfly for about five seconds. It was the best five seconds of my day. I felt as though the butterfly and I were friends, running out a race we had bet against each other, the winner gets a lollipop. But there are probably two lollipops, so it didn't really matter who won anyway.

deux things:

1. I wonder why it is socially normal for boys to have short hair and girls to have long hair. What a strange world it would be if most boys had long hair and most girls had short.
2. I like when my room is a little messy. Maybe the heaps of clothes is a little over the top, but I do like a little disorder. That makes it feel like home.

tonight I am looking at POY Winner's Gallery while eating dinner. And I am listening to Sky Blue Sky, as a whole, one of Wilco's more somber albums I think. These pictures are sad.

I wonder why I don't have eloquent enough words to describe the feeling that makes me not want to finish my Garlic Herb Chicken with Egg Noodles. Haven't I been to three years of journalism school? I start eating the noodles one by one with my fingers, feeling this is somehow the right thing to do. I force myself to read the captions even though they hurt my little heart. Sometimes I wonder about the shallow and mean things I have done to people and wonder if I cannot feel feelings. But right now, I think this is not true.

I am a happy person. But there are things that make me sad.

For my Ginger Ale Friend (we know orange is better)

I am really glad I started running again. Even though getting back in shape is consistently one of the most painful things I put myself through, I forgive myself. There is something to this.

Now go listen to "It's All Gonna Break" by Broken Social Scene.

Changes. (you know. like the 2pac song. or the david bowie song. whatevs.)

So summer in the city is officially over as I am leaving in the a.m. to drive to Columbia, MO. Thus, I feel I should say something insightful about this next change in my life. But I have no insight here.

I can only think about the recurring memory of speeding north up I-55 towards the distant Sears' Tower, cranking some phat beats (most likely a mix cd a friend made me), and making air waves with my hand in the 70 mph wind. This is a good feeling, and a nice thing to remember.

And, that is all. Next post to come from the Show Me State. What does that even mean? Beats me, it's not my state. Represent, Land of Lincoln.

I have been very into reading memoirs lately. And I would be lying if I told you I don't know why. The reason I read these witty likely-enough stories of well known contemporary authors is because a) they are entertaining and b) they make me feel better about my sad excuse for a summer job. Steven King once shoved dirty sheets into a industrial strength washing machine to make money. David Sedaris carried boxes of books up and down flights of new york apartment stairs. Sarah Vowell was a temp for 13 months while crashing on her married friends' fold out couch. And look at where these people are now!

I don't intend to be a famous contemporary American author. All I'm saying is that these stories help drive home the fact that even though I hate my job, it pays well and I'm only 20. Also, I realize that living with my parents isn't too horrible 100% of 40% of the time.

I mean Augusten Burroughs, my god. Even if the whole book is lies, the life portrayed is raw and makes me appreciative. His mom encourages him to fake suicide so she can have some peace and quiet. My mom says "how many meatballs do you want?" I say four or five and ask her if she can fix the straps on my dress, I would like to wear it to Amanda's party on Friday. "Just run upstairs and grab stome straight pins," she says. "I only need a couple."

I went to hear a free Decemberists show the other night, one of the great things about the city of Chicago. It was okay, at best. I'm actually not that big of a fan. But free, you know?

I was more entertained by the find-stranger-in-crowd-and-make-up-a-story-about-him/her/them game. Joe found a man who had mistakenly navigated to becomeafratboy.com instead of becomeahipster.com, mine was a dude who had tried to suppress his hipster ways to earn the love of a sorority girl, and Amy's couple met on eharmony.com. This combined with Amy's talent to pick up guys no matter where she goes, (which resulted in a delicious treat of waffles and nutella pulled from their backpack), I do say it was a good evening. We also saw a man who looked like John Lennon, and certainly encouraged the image with his glasses and haircut.

The last few notes of the band which we were really too far away to see brought some light rain, and by the time Amy and I stepped off at her El stop, it was heavily storming. Do you remember that match when Hermione used the impervius spell on Harry's glasses? The weather was like that.

I chucked my shoes in my bag, and spent the rest of the walk home jumping in puddles and avoiding Amy with the umbrella. She found a way to make it more of a weapon against me than a safeguard from the rain. We slopped up her apartment, and agreed it felt more like a Friday night than a Tuesday one.

Am I accomplished?

Said a friend to me the other day on a cream cheese and salsa concoction of my mother's, "This dip is like a 20-year-old, it doesn't know what it wants to be." I found this to be rather insightful and true, because honestly, what 20-year-old knows shit about herself?

But at 21, different expectations are upon us. Around for two decades and one-tenth, have you accomplished something? Anything?

As I was thinking these thoughts, I decided right then and there that I would make a list of 21 things I have accomplished in my life. The list would be complete before this coming Saturday.

I came up with about seven things off the top of my head and immediately felt disgusted with myself. Why did I feel compelled to post a list of my own accomplishments for all to read? What was I trying to prove? Who was I trying to prove it to? And why did I deem 21 the magical number of what I was supposed to have accomplished, what just because I am quicking approaching the age of the same number?

These are the Things I Look Forward to At Work:

I. Making Active Employee Purple Folders
A. the satisfying eurphoria felt when pounding typewriter keys
B. Rolling my chair between cubicles
i. seeing if I can complete the journey in one roll
II. Lunch
A. Food
B. Not working
C. Reading Harry Potter
III. Brainstorming witty remarks to throw at the Andy-esque character

I also wrote a Haiku, titled "Ode to Old Blisters."

Highlight of my day:
Painlessly peeling dead skin
Below. Fresh, Smooth, Pink

As I was packing my lunch for my miserable, miserable job tomorrow, I started thinking about things that seemed really important when I was a kid.

This stroll down memory lane was initiated by a recent-running-out-of-paper-bags-event at my house. I had to substitute a plastic bag to contain tomorrow's lunch. I remembered when this sort of thing happened when I was 10 or so years old.

"MOM! WE'RE OUT OF PAPER BAGS" I would inform my mother.
"Just use a grocery bag."
"NO! I CAN'T!"

Mom did not get it. I absolutely could not show up to 5th grade the next day with my lunch in a plastic bag. All the kids would think my family was weird or something. Nor could I put my sandwich in a fold-over baggie, since everyone else had their pb&js in ziplock brand baggies. Nor could I use Roseart brand markers. Everyone else had crayola. They would think my family was poor or something.

I act as if these things were absolutes, but they were quite not for the following reasons: 1. my mother pinches pennies 2. she did not care about my grade school rep. And a result, I was sent to the first day of school with generic brand glue when everyone else had Elmer's, and 10 cent notebooks when everyone else wrote in 5 Star.

Did these things really matter? Was I oblivious to all the mean things the people inside the Spacemaker crowd said about the outsiders? Or did the Spacemaker kids even care? Did I just think they cared because I didn't have one?

Beside all of this, I think I turned out okay. Right?

This is what I can recollect from a conversation I overhead in the breakroom at work today.

nameless woman 1: oh you're getting a pop?
nameless woman 2: Yeah… You know, I really shouldn't.
nameless woman 1: Yeah, I don't drink pop anymore
nameless woman 2: oh?
nameless woman 1: yeah
nameless woman 2: what do you drink?
nameless woman 1: water. or coffee
nameless woman 2: I should stop drinking pop
nameless woman 1: I also really like raspberry iced tea

etc,
etc,
etc,…

I am taking my first paycheck straight to the store where they sell guillotines.

Today I did a bad thing.

I bitched out my mom because the dog ate a book that meant a lot to me. It was a gift.

What kind of dog eats a book?
What kind of person become hysterical over an eaten book?
What kind of person bitches at her mom for it?

I hate Lemont. On the flip side, I love Chicago.

I bought a new bike, that is not really new but is used. I love it! Tonight packed some sammies and biked with amy to the skate park, where we admired perfectly executed ollies.

Felt really content on the ride back, as night time had just fallen and on a Saturday, the beach and lake were deserted on one side, but Lake Shore Drive was all the bussle on the other. It wasn't quite raining, but little plips that felt and smelled good and stuck to my glasses.

Later drove home along the same road, a little melancholy at the sight of the ferris wheel because that signals to me exiting the city. But I know every word to "Let's Stay Together" and I'm not ashamed that you or the people driving beside me know it. My kitty is waiting for me at home and anything I worried about earlier today can wait until tomorrow.

once I get back in business to the city, I'm thinking by the end of this week, things will perk up. But as of now I am hanging out in my parent's house in the saceda ridden 'burbs, without a job or much purpose in life and it's not much fun. Also my parents are not much fun, although I do love them dearly. Here is a conversation I had with my mother yesterday

mom: what are your plans for today?
me: nothing. I have absolutely nothing to do.
mom: would you like to try my new pancake puff pan?!
me: yes.

And that, my friends, is what I did to occupy myself yesterday morning.

some things never change, but some things do

when I came home, I immediately had a new and unexpected best friend. Her name is Addie and she is a puppy. She decided that I am her favorite person in the world and follows me everywhere, sleeps in my room and eat my shoes. She always wants to hang out even if I don't want to hang out with her. She will just patiently wait until I am in the mood to hang out. Yestderay I left to go job hunting and my dad called me to tell me that Addie was upset that I hadn't said goodbye. It feels to have a loyal friend who loves me so much!

and home

here we are folks, after a 5 month sejour in France, back in business in lemont, illinois? how is it?

Today I drove over to Ben's house, sat in the sun playing Texas Hold 'Em, then watched some crappy JT movie, and stopped at Taco Bell on the way home while dangerously chatting on my cell phone. It feels like I just woke up from a dream, one that felt real as dreams always do, but upon waking you realize it was only a few hours and none of it really happened. It's exactly life as I knew it before I left. I don't really feel like talking about this anymore.

I have nothing insightful to say. It's weird and that is that.

ew

I just went to the kitchen to get a glass of water and when I revenired my room it smelled like I had been sweating du bellay all day. As it should, because I have.

There is not just one type of french,

All the credit goes to my chateau friend:

I was thinking you should say something bout the different levels of language you use when you're on exchange
like,
1: sweet slang to impress hos so they sleep with you
2: impressively subtle and intellectual banter you use when trying to convince french red tape pushers to cut a corner so you don't get deported due to a slight lack of paperwork
3: absolutely appalingly accented, barely comprensable ruses you pull on the po-po when they're trying to pop a cap in yo ass for being drunk on the streets or when you don't pay for your metro ticket
4: the french you look up in your dictionary when you're doing an assignment because there aint no way in hell you actually could have pulled that shit without a combination of wikipedia.fr, french speaking friends, and roget's extended edition french/english dictionary plus grammar guide

we will call this down, then up

I was so brutally depressed today when I found out one of my exams will be oral. I suck at french. I can't do this. I will be too nervous. My french is shit. I don't know enough. I will make too many mistakes. I can't.

I couldn't concentrate in class. All I could think about was how I have wasted my whole semester because I could not, absolutely could not do this exam. My only solution was to drop the class. I guess that wouldn't be so bad…

But then I found out we can do a final exposé for a different class and I felt a little bit better. Then I had some nice mail waiting for me when I got home. I felt bit more better. I thought to myself, 'a little hard work never hurt anyone.' I can do this. I can.

I am an expert on the following because I have witnessed it 3x in the past weekend

It's pretty sweet when the sky prepares to unleash hell and storm all over Lyon. First the normal stormy things happen, like clouds roll in, distant lightning and thunder. But then it starts getting really windy and all this pollen and other random little shit starts whirling all around. Everyone starts hurrying. Parents cover their babies' cute faces and good boyfriends let their girlfriends nuzzle their heads in their shoulders. Everyone starts sniffling and sneezing and wiping their eyes. If you have sunglasses you wear them. Hurry hurry hurry before it starts to pour! And if you get caught in the storm, the biggest raindrops you have ever seen will rain on you. Then you are wet and still trying to get all that crud out of your eyes and your throat and it is brilliant.