Home is swell. There’s not a lot to do, which I have just gotten used to. How did I keep myself entertained when I lived here? I have no idea.
Mom and I went to the mall today. I completed my interview outfit. After the mall we went to dinner with two of their friends. I always forget how good Doubleday’s is. Sometimes I really feel connected to my parents, and I know that I belong to them. Other times, not so much. Living away from them has let me get to know them better. I think I like it.
I need to come clean, although I’m sure none of what I’m about to type is no shocker to anyone who has been in contact with me over the past few weeks. I am scared. I am a wreck all of the time because of this LA thing. Do I want to go? Yes, I think I do. What am I so worried about? I just want people to like me. I’ve been fragile lately. I walk around at any moment ready to burst into tears, and I am constantly sick to my stomach. I’m not exactly sure what is making me this way–I usually can handle stress.
Now I need to apologize to everyone who has dealt with me lately. If I have been snappy, please understand that it is not you. If I have gotten emotional over something insignificant, if I have been rude, if I have ignored a call or ditched plans, I am very very truly sorry. I also need to thank anyone who has listened to me lately. I’m sure it gets old listening to me complain about getting to leave Ohio to hang out in California. I’ll get over it, no need to worry about me.
countdown: 5 days
Today in the car I realized just how much useless data I have stored in my brain. Jimmy Buffett’s “Margaritaville,” a song I find particularly offensive, came on the radio, and I caught myself singing along. Then something really scary happened: I realized I knew all of the words. I knew every word to that terrible, terrible song.
Maybe I knew all of the words because I hear the song at every restaurant remotely close to a beach in the state of Florida, maybe it’s because several people of my youth worshiped the lazy singer, maybe it’s because there is just something inherently evil about Jimmy Buffett. I’m not sure what it is that lets me know all the words to a song that I don’t like, or how to prepare some foods from scratch by memory, but the same thing prevents me from even temporarily memorizing the names of bones or mathematical equations that I need for school.
Why do I hate that song so much? It’s hard to tell. Probably because of a certain group of people that lovingly refer to themselves as “Parrotheads.” What I find so disgusting about these people is that they are very similar to hippies, only worse, because they are grown adults who just want to be hippies on the weekends. They also have chosen a terrible mascot: the king of all things evil and lazy: JIMMY BUFFETT. These folks make my skin crawl.
SHAME ON YOU! YOU ARE ADULTS!
I would like to direct your attention to this website: Parrothead Hunters
. I would like to join their cause.
In short, thanks to jerks like Jimmy Buffett, I failed my last History of Dinosaurs exam.
Also: I got a sixth offer for an interview.
Erica and I went to Myles Baker Street again this morning. We ended up staying long enough to eat two meals there: breakfast and lunch, so we did. They have such wonderful baked goods, great coffee, and a very friendly staff. We have a new friend; her name is Julie, and she is very, very nice.