Alternate title: WHY DON'T YOU HAVE A SEAT OVER THERE?

So I'm getting my wisdom teeth out tomorrow, and of course, I'm nervous as fuck about it. I had to get all my shopping done yesterday because I'll be out of commission on Monday and probably the remainder of the week, and the last thing I want to do is take my swollen chipmunk cheeks to the mall and fight off angry soccer moms for the last winterberry-scented candle.

Anyway, my dad previously mentioned that he wanted this one of kind of beer that has only recently become available in Michigan (my parents are both from Ohio and also lived in the South most of their pre-Diane lives.) So I go to get him the beer, which was awkward enough because I looked like a total alchie buying a case of beer at 4 p.m. while everyone else is out finding a Yule Log and other Christmas shit. I get home and confer with my mom, only to discover I've bought him the wrong beer. So I decide to leave it in my car (it's heavy) and exchange it later.

That evening, I go to Sara's so we can exchange gifts. I got her a few vintage "wife skills" cookbooks and a reusable book bag and a notepad with a brocade pattern on it. She bought me two volumes of gay vampire erotica, along with a book called "Box Lunch: A Layperson's Guide to Cunnilingus" and some other books that weren't gay porn-related. I loled, of course.

Her fam. was having a movie night, so I wanted to let them spend time together and left early. I was still really restless about the wisdom teeth, so I decided to drive around and return the beer at the other Ann Arbor Meijer (across the highway from Arborland, toward Ypsi for those of you in the know.) Well, I get to Meijer and realize I left the receipt at home so I can't return it. I decide to keep driving, thinking I'll turn around soon and head home. I then spy Arborland across the highway and then "Oh great, a shortcut! I'll just turn left and be on my merry way."

Well apparently the "shortcut" actually leads to the highway, which I DID NOT WANT to go on. Already in the left turn lane, I figure when the light goes green, I'll gun it and get ahead of the guy in the lane to the right of me. I do this, noticing the guy in the right lane slowing down, so I figure he understands what I'm doing. Ten seconds later, I hear a siren and see the lights of a cop car.

FAIL.

I go, "oh FUCK no" and take a left into a nearby restaurant parking lot and wait for the cop to come up and see me. I'm so nervous I can't even roll down the window properly. I finally manage, and this is the conversation that follows:

FEMALE COP: Tell me why you did what you just did at that intersection?

ME: Yeah I realized I was in the wrong lane and I didn't want to go on the highway, so I tried to get in the other lane.

COP: Where are you going right now?

ME: Well I'm home from MSU over break, so I'm going back to Saline, but I got a little lost and confused and sometimes I just drive around at night because I'm nervous or stressed about stuff, like I'm getting my wisdom teeth out and I'm freaking out so I thought I'd just drive around and I was going to return something at Meijer but I forgot the receipt blah blah blah etc. rambling Lorelai Gilmore-style.

COP: ....Are you on medication?

ME: No.

COP: When's the last time you had something to drink?

ME: A week ago.

COP: How long have you been driving?

ME: Four or five years.

COP: *Explains that the guy in the right lane was also trying to turn left because there are two left turn lanes, so basically I cut him off and crossed a lane I shouldn't have, and she could give me a ticket for failing to obey a signal, etc.*

ME: OMG, wow, I didn't know that. I'm so embarrassed!

And the whole time, all I can think about is the BEER in my trunk (Which is totally visible from the window because I have a hatchback and the little divider thing that keeps the contents of your trunk hidden from view is still in the back of Diedra's car from when we tried to fit her bike in it one time) and the GAY PORN in the seat next to me. During the entire thing, BOX LUNCH is sitting next to me on the seat, in full view. I also have a SHOVEL next to the beer. IT WAS SO SHADY, LIKE WHAT THE GUYS WHO ARE IN "TO CATCH A PREDATOR" HAVE IN THEIR CARS WHEN THEY GO TO MEET UNDERAGE GIRLS FROM THE INTERNET.

COP: (Comes back after scanning my license and seeing I have no prior tickets, just like I had told her.) Well I'm going to let you go, because you have a clean record, and because I have to go to a real crime now. But GO HOME and STOP DRIVING AROUND.
ME: ...OK.

So that's the story of how I got pulled over when I had gay porn, beer and a shovel in my car. Can you imagine if they'd searched the car? Or if she believed I was drunk/high/on meds and arrested me?

CRIMINAL'S POSSESSIONS: A 30-PACK OF BEER, THREE GAY PORN BOOKS, A SHOVEL

My life is so weird.

It's a dark and stormy night on Mackinac Island. It's a perfect night for ghosts, really, and since our house is built on land where a cemetery once stood, (and where they DID NOT REMOVE THE BODIES WHEN THEY MOVED THE HEADSTONES), let's all hope it's sans ghoulies and ghosties and things that go bump in the night. (Other than drunk boys from Grand Hotel's dormitories who may or may not be doing drug deals in the yard next door.)

I've been here for three weeks and I can't say that I love it. I certainly don't hate it, and I have my own apartment on one of the main streets and our office is downstairs, so that's pretty nice. But I don't think I'm a small town kind of girl. I don't want to stop and chat, I just want to go about my business in the morning, looking cross and wearing sunglasses until at least 11 a.m. I hate having to say "good morning" to people and I hate when tourists stare and I hate having to be nice to people who amble into our office and ask what we do. I find I walk faster than a majority of the population, and that's saying something. But then again, I'm probably walking so fast to avoid having to make conversation with people who are probably judging me so they can tell their fellow islanders what the interns are like.

I hate the word "intern," too. I feel like the media has made it some kind of sexual term since Monica Lewinsky, and every time I hear myself referred to as an intern I feel slutty. Maybe this is just my imagination? Idk.

I'm questioning journalism again, but I think it's that I hate small town journalism. I hate covering the school. I like covering city council and zoning and listening to people debate which kind of wooden trim is more historical for their porch. That stuff is amusing and has many angry townspeople. Biking four miles to watch children play in the dirt so I can get an "adorable" photo op is not. I do not want. EVER. OK? OK. Thank god school is done next week. Every time a kid takes a shit we cover it, I swear.

Sometimes I wonder if I'd be better suited to some sort of PR or Press Secretary-type job. I know I'm in the right field, and I do enjoy interviewing and writing and stuff, but I'm not a very good investigative journalist. I'd rather smooth things over than be the cause of conflict. I like to walk away from an interview feeling like I was polite and everything was peachy. I hate to ask the hard questions. I know I like covering up things, and I love making a first impression and talking about myself and making stuff look good even when it's not. I like the "fly by the seat of your pants" feeling that you get when you're talking about how great you are in an interview, especially if you're lying completely. I like making people like me, because I'm really only likeable once. I'm not a great leader. I'm loud, but that doesn't mean I can get people to do what I want them to. I'm way too concerned about making people like me than preserving leadership. Seriously, do not put me in a position of power. I suck. I'd rather be the "funny second in command" and leave real discipline to someone else who would actually abide by the rules. I suck at following rules and reading instructions. If someone broke a rule, my reaction would be "yeah, don't do that. hey wanna hear about the time i almost got arrested for posing in a picture with a 10-foot stone rooster?"

So maybe I should look into something like Andrew 2.0's job with one of the state representatives. Maybe I'm more of a politics girl who can write? I want to stay in Lansing, I know that. I'd love to work for Gongwer (the news service who almost hired me after a month of dangling me on a string and then saying they gave the internship to a graduating senior), but maybe I should try for some of the nonprofits as a communications person. A lot of former Capital News Service people have ended up at places like Department for Human Services and things like that. I mean I know I say I'm not much of a humanitarian, but CNS has changed the way I look at a lot of things, and while I may not be the softest heart around, I wouldn't mind working with people who are. Who knows, it may even rub off?

The Great Plan for the Future has changed a lot lately, but it's still in essence the same as it's always been. (Except now I know I can't marry Han solo. Which sucks, but that's life I guess. Stupid reality!) I want to graduate and become a permanent and well-known fixture in the Lansing political/journalistic scene. This will take years, but I have to work up to that fab. apartment in the new Stadium District that I really, really want. I picked it out already, it has a balcony and is walking distance from bars. Every time I drive by, I say that I will live in it. I like having ridiculous goals like that. Then I'd like to move on to various papers throughout the country, going wherever and doing whatever strikes me. It's not like I have family or boyfriend, so I can move anywhere I want. I love that.

Then I'd like to move to DC and see what kind of damage I can do there. Eventually, of course, I will have a column or blog that pays well enough and is syndicated. I will publish a book based on my columns, if I haven't published a book about college already. Then I'd like to go and teach at a J-school somewhere, like Eric. I'd even love to start a CNS program at another school. Eric is my CNS editor, but he's basically the Giles to my Buffy. He pushes me hard, he's a tough editor, but I respect the hell out of him and he's one of the few profs I've ever wanted to impress. He also won a Pulitzer, published multiple books, and his idea of fun is to drive around the state, stop at random towns, and find out their biggest story and write about it. Seriously, this man is my hero. He's the man version of Michele, my boss from camp, so I guess that's why I love him. Seriously, if they had a baby (which, eww but go with me anyway on this) it'd be the most awesome, New York-accented, caffeinated, high-achieving baby ever. <3<3<3

Enough gushing. Sorry, I got carried away but there are so few people I really look up to that I thought they were worth going on about. I do on occasion like to talk about the positive people in my life, and they are definitely high on the list of awesome.

I'm hoping to journal more, but we'll see how it goes because I write so much during the week. I'm pretty much working 24/7, which is good and bad. I like to be busy, but this whole biking thing sucks. My bike is slightly too short for me, and I feel like someone should be playing circus music whenever I'm on it. Speaking of which, there's a guy who wears weird hats who rides a bike with a boom box attached to it. The boom box blares country music, and the guy always seems to be riding around looking for a party. Perhaps he's already drunk. But anyway, we were at the bar on Friday night (well, me and my roommate and our one friend so far. We fail at socializing, which bugs me but whatever,) and I was just about to mention how he's weird and has hats and country music, and he WALKED THROUGH THE DOOR! It was seriously bizarre. I summoned him!

Well it's late so I should stop, I have to be up at 8 a.m., which blows considerably. Good night and sweet dreams.

This post was inspired by http://onesentence.org/ .

Thought it might be interesting to create some of my own one sentence stories. Feel free to do the same in the comments (anonymously if you want.)

( She wrote an essay about how I was perfect; it was the best compliment and the worst criticism I've ever received. )

In the last minutes of 2007, I'd like to make some resolutions.

1.) To start dealing with the real issues behind my problems, instead of picking little random outside things and getting mad at them instead.
2.) To pull my grades up. It's no longer about maintaining, but improving.
3.) To be a more positive person and not let my negative thoughts overpower the good things about my life.
4.) To get into better shape and be more healthy. Cake and carbs are great, but I need to start supplementing them with real food. People who eat better feel better.
5.) To open myself up to the fact that I'm not perfect, and to let people see that. Nobody likes someone with no flaws. Flaws make us human, and part of the charm of writers everywhere is that we get to see their flaws with a microscope. Their dysfunctional families, their small scale adventures and their combined joys and tragedies are what make them interesting. I pledge to be OK with not being perfect.

BONUS RESOLUTION: More hilarious small scale adventures!!!!

Comment and I will:

1. Tell you why I friended you.
2. Associate you with something - fandom, a song, a colour, a photo, etc.
3. Tell you something I like about you.
4. Tell you a memory I have of you.
5. Ask something I've always wanted to know about you.
6. Tell you my favorite user pic of yours.
7. In return, you must post this in your LJ.

I like to talk about myself, and people like to hear about themselves. So participate! (I mean, if you want to.)

Ugh, what a week it is already. It's only Monday and part of me wants to crawl back into my bed and sleep forever. I have a Geology test on Wednesday that I've barely studied for. I have a law enforcement story due in Journalism 300 and no idea or sources- it's due Friday morning. Not to mention our lab ran over today and I was twenty minutes late to mythology class because I would rather get food than starve for two hours. On the way it snowed and I got all wet and the strap on my awesome red shoulder bag broke. Swell.

Sometimes I feel like I can't handle the pressure. I'm shouldering a lot of responsibilities right now and the burden gets too heavy to bear. I love everything I do, I wouldn't change a thing, but there are days when I'd kill to spend one day away from Journalism.

I'm Editor (in Chief) of SpartanEdge.com, and that owns my soul. It's my baby and I'll never abandon it. But I haven't blogged in a week and don't see when I will again. I love Spartan Edge, but sometimes I get sick of seeing someone from it every day of my life. I know I'm relatively unimportant at MSU, but not a day goes by where I don't see someone from the publication and have to act presentable and respectable. I do have to assert some sense of control, and there are times when I'd really rather be in the passenger seat. It's permeated every aspect of my life, even my love life.

I go home next weekend for my birthday, and now I'm stressing out about being at home because my family makes me anxious and I worry my sister will screw up and do something schmandalous and my family will have to deal with it. But that's another story I don't even want to think about right now.

I am mainly angered by all the times I am forced to choose JRN 300 over my other classes, to the point where I am skipping class to call sources, etc. But I can't help it, I feel that is the most important class and is my highest priority. I just wish I were naturally brilliant so I could handle everything at once. I know my GPA will continue to decline because of journalism, and that sucks.

I've been chasing this dream for so long. It's like I'm married to my major. I declared passionate and undying love for Journalism at the age of nine, and have not looked back since. We had a brief falling-out last year around this time, but I realized the error of my ways and left that whore English and returned to my faithful spouse. But sometimes I wish I didn't love what I do quite so much. Every time I turn around, I'm freaking out that someone is doing better than me. I am so competitive that I drive myself crazy thinking I'm not the best. I know I don't have to be the most amazing, but it's my natural drive. I'm an assertive person, and I like to be superior to others if possible. Maybe my parents didn't hug me enough. (Although they did make me hug trees, but again, that's another story.)

So I guess we'll see how this week turns out. It'll be crazy, but I guess I'll just hold out for the weekend, especially my birthday on Sunday. Wish me luck. I'll need it.

Once upon a time, I had a GreatestJournal and hilarity ensued, although most of it was unintentional. I enjoyed stalking boys who were just not that into me and giving them demeaning nicknames.

(Jan. 28, 2005)
"things are temporarily stalled on the pudding front. tapped on the glass while he was cleaning computers in the library, but he didn't look particularly enthused. perhaps previous incidences were due to blow to oddly shaped head. heh."

Sentences like that are the reason I'm over here. I thought it was time to move away from the old journal, and any journals at all that reference real life men as dairy products.

So here I am. Back to writing for myself, which is an odd change from Fred Fico's Journalism 300 class, where I write about the wonderous happenings of Meridian Township and other riveting tales of local government. And as much as I enjoy Spartan Edge, that's still censored and public and well, less freeing. When it comes right down to it, I need to just talk and talk into something that mostly doesn't talk back.

Here is a picspam I made for our facebook group "Team Fangirl." I really think all you ever need to know about me is contained within these glorious images.

( Space Pirate and Ambassador UST )