June 29, 2003

The end is near... I'm going Dixie

The day I moved in with my first college roommate, I had fierce, panicky urges to hop in my car and go back home. I wanted out as soon as I got to my dorm room. I wasn't homesick... no, I couldn't wait to get the heck out of my house. Rather, I was sickened by the site of a Dixie Chicks magnet on my new roomie's refridgerator.

Let me explain.

Growing up, I got exposed to many, many different kinds of music. Punk, hip hop, techno, rock, pop, classical, and yes, country. I liked almost every style I heard, except for that last one. I hate country music. I hate everything about country music. I hate the way it sounds, I hate the way country musicians dress, I hate that darn accent. As far as I'm concerned, Toby Keith and Garth Brooks may very well be demons in disguise.

I hate country.

My first roomie and I got along amazingly well, considering the fact that she was a Dixie Chicks diva and I was an MxPx maniac. I think we influenced each other somewhat. By the end of the year, she was shopping at Hot Topic, and I was listening to the Chicks without cringing. I still wasn't a fan, though, and my hatred of all things country remained in tact.

And then came Stephanie.

My last roomie, who couldn't be any more different than myself (unless we were of different species) was also a Chicks fan. And she loved them. And she listened to them. And she worked on me. And now I'm downloading Long Time Gone, I bet, with her approval. Hmmmph. I don't know how this happened. Maybe it's the Chicks' resistance to pro-war pressure that has so impressed me, but some of their songs just sound a lot better to me now.

This is weird.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not letting go of my anti-country punk passion. At least, not in the full sense. I still hate cowboy hats, southern accents, and country twang. I don't like apple pie either... *gasp,* but I just like some songs. Just some individual songs by one particular group, who has grown on me a little bit over the past couple of years. I just can't believe they're country.

Another sign of the apocolypse.

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June 25, 2003

And then some good news...

My fabulous hostee, Xee, has returned from her hiatus with an amazing new layout for her web site. This is now my favorite version of your site yet, Xee, no kidding!

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The horror, the horror!

Bathing suit shopping. Yeah. My mom and I went to the mall today, probably the first time since she's been shopping in a long time. In a couple of weeks she and my dad are headed for some fun in the sun down in Clearwater, Florida. The only problem is that she currently lacks an essential item that no beachgoer could do without --the dreaded bathing suit.

We stopped at my mom's favorite store where we headed straight for the bikini n' mumu section. We looked around, looked around some more, checked the same rack a few dozen times... the sales chick was way too busy helping out the less fully-figured girls to pay attention to me and my plus-sized mom. Let me tell you of the joys of having an un-supermodel behind.

After making our rounds (and then some) my mom found a nice black number with white stripes down the sides. Considering her poor track record with such items of clothing, I was surprised to see her go for something classy yet hot. Go mom. Anyway, we made our way to the cash register, and after waiting five minutes for Debbie (the sales chick) to actually look in our direction, we finally got our transaction going.

Too bad the bathing suit was $120 bucks. They should have had that written somewhere on the darn thing, because it would have saved us the time we spent waiting for Debbie. My mom returned the suit, and we left without any swimming attire. I hate bathing suit shopping. Let me repeat that, just in case I didn't make myself clear enough: I HATE BATHING SUIT SHOPPING. Enough said.

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June 22, 2003

My post-college friendship-deprived life

Surviving college is one of the accomplishments that I'm most proud of, especially since my undergraduate years brought me a countless number of non-academic struggles in addition to my study stress. Life, in spite of the blessings it brought me, was hard. I got myself trapped inside a long depression where I harmed myself in so many ways. Two people I love died within eight weeks of each other. And several times I survived civil war blazing in my own home. To say that I'm glad it's over doesn't even begin to describe the relief I feel from getting a chance to start a new chapter in my life.

I love starting new things; new jobs, new relationships, new paintings, new everything. New things give me the chance to get out of an old rut, change an old habit, or shed an old skin (no not literally, dorks). And I don't feel any different about starting this new period of my life, except for the fact that I'm leaving behind not just the bad old things, but the good old things too. Like friends.

At school, I met a lot of people. Some I liked, and we became hallway friends, chitchatting in between classes and while standing in line at the Lang dining hall. Others I didn't like so much, and sometimes complained about them to my hallway friends when they annoyed or angered me. Yeah I wasn't always the nicest person. I'm working on it. But there were other people I met who slowly turned from strangers to family all during my short stay at Baldwin-Wallace College. And last month I moved home from school, started the newest phase of my life, and found myself without the people who meant the world to me the last couple of years. And now I miss them.

E-mail and AIM are wonderful tools that have helped me keep in touch with all those people I no longer see on a daily basis. The phone has been pretty great, too. Thank God for Alexander Graham Bell. But even with all these cool communication tools, I still feel like some of my friends are light years away, even if they're only across town. I don't see them everyday anymore, and now I feel the kind of withdrawal that drive crack fiends crazy. I just... miss my friends. This new, wonderful, fantabulous chapter in my life may be a great beginning, but it's just not as great as it could be. This chapter would read so much better if those members of my friendship family were around to help me write it.

Miss you guys.

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June 17, 2003

Another hole in my shirt... Rats!

I love Fat Bastard, my cute little albino rat. And he loves me. He loves to sit on my shoulder and watch me type on the computer. He's very affectionate and playful. What a great pet. I love him. It's just that I'm a little ticked right now. He put this big hole in my favorite shirt... just nibbled right through it while hanging out on my lap. The darn thing is ruined, and he's just sitting there looking at me like an innocent little angel. Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

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June 15, 2003

I've been a bad, bad blogmaster

I admit it. I'm a slacker... a lazy, good-for-nothing (sort of) slacker. Only a few short weeks ago I was burning up my blog with multiple daily posts, and now I'm struggling to make more than one update per week. Slacker. The problem as I see it is two fold:

1. I now have jobs. That means less online time.

2. I'm the mercy of the intenet dungeon master, AOL.

Every time I mean to blog about something... a stupid Drina moment, maybe an interesting experience I've had, etc. I keep getting sidetracked by this thing I have. Oh gosh, what is it called again? Um.... hmmm, oh wait I got it!!!

It's called a life. And it's sucking away at my blog.

Sorry to upset my fan club (Stephanie) but lately I just haven't been able ramble as much. I promise, though, that as soon as I get DSL (which will likely be around 2027) the blogs will come. Until then, just wait for me. You know I'm worth it ;)

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June 11, 2003

Drina can't play tennis. Just move on.

Yesterday after work I met my awesome friend, Ro Jo, for a game of tennis. While talking to her on the phone, I got the impression that we'd be hitting the ball back and forth a little just for fun. I can't play tennis worth crap even though I love the game, but I try to hit the courts every now and then anyway. Only problem is that she got the impression that I could actually play, and that we'd be keeping score for a friendly competitive match.

Yeah, no.

When we got to the public courts she whipped out her shiny new racket and started hitting the ball inside the lines (where they were supposed to go), which I proceded to return outside the lines (and in some cases outside the fenced-in court). She was trying to be nice, giving me tips and giving me praise, but in the end we both came to the conclusion that I just can't play tennis. I can't. Period.

After getting home from my comical display at the community courts, I took a shower and layed down for a nap. I was beat. And as I drifted off into that blissful state of unconsciousness, I dreamed that my name was Venus, and that I could whip a tennis ball from here to San Jose and hit my mark with such accuracy that I could make Andre Agassi cry. My imaginary foray into the world of professional athletics was cut short by the kick-start of an old lawnmower next door, but today I'm still feeling some of the residual high left over from my two minutes as the winner of this year's Wimbledon. Ahhhh.

Kudos to Heather for the Kelly Clarkson layout. I like :)

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June 10, 2003

No, I said say cheese, not eat cheese

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June 07, 2003

My Mid-Year's Resolution.

I've only done this about 43,286 times before, but I figure persistence might someday pay off. Yesterday I started my new workout routine at the YMCA. I got my black wind pants out of storage, borrowed my sister's Croatian techno CD, and biked, lifted, and squatted myself into a post-excersize burn that I'm still feeling today. I plan to go back tomorrow and do some more cardio and weights... whether I actually show is still up in the air. I am seriously going to do this. Seriously.

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June 05, 2003

There, I updated. Happy Stephanie?

I never thought my life would end up here, but it has. I've traded in my blank canvases for blank IACUC (Institutional Animal Care and Use Committee) forms. This part-time job as psycholgy lab director is giving me full-time responsibilities that are eating away at my creative energy. Don't get me wrong... I do like my job, I'm very interested in the research we do, and it's been a great experience so far. I just wish I knew how to make peace between the artist and the scientist in me, because right now they're at war. And the little creative weakling with the paint brush and beret is getting pummeled by the bad ass in the white lab coat.

Peace, I need peace. As Christ said, a house divided against itself can not stand. And if my two halves become any more divided, I just might collapse on a lab assistant, or something. Now I know how split-brain folks with no corpus callosum feel. Ugh.

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June 02, 2003

New toys for my beloved Fat Bastard

Over the weekend my family threw a graduation party for me and my sister. We overplanned on everything, and we're now stuck with huge amounts of left-over food and several cases of various alcoholic and carbonated beverages. We have lots. Come visit me and take some home with you. I'm not kidding.

My family and friends gave me many gifts to reward my academic accomplishment, including a fair amount of cash. It was just in time, really, because I've got some serious bills to pay. My brother and sister-in-law also got me a Petsmart gift card, which I used to buy Fat Bastard an excersize ball. It's one of those hollow things you put them in so that they can walk around. He's been running around the kitchen for the last half hour... he loves it.

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