After having professed himself Jedi Knight, Luke Skywalker launches an expedition to save a frozen Han Solo from the vile, fugly, red eyed Jabba the Hutt with Princess Leia & co. in tow. What I’m trying to say is… this is me, out to save my frozen fittingly from falling into some black hole in cyberspace. Because nicole.fittingly, I am your father. [End Scene]

The days leading up to Thanksgiving holiday were hard to power through, given all the sleepless nights I’ve been having. It’s that time again - a two week-long surge of anxiety, restlessness and desperation. Might this insomniatic behavior walk, talk and smell like Finals? Yes. With a capital F.  The pressure of getting an exceptional GPA to become an ideal job candidate in a less-than-ideal economic climate irritatingly hangs over me like my brother’s cowlick hangs over him on a bad hair day.

So, yeah. That’s the red-eye thing.

The other thing is how the other day I rediscovered old parts of myself rereading this very blog and how that realization brought me to this very moment. Some house faves: OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OHMYGOD, Three’s a crowd (but eight’s a family), Sweden isn’t just good for civil unions and heavy metal, “Welcome to UC Davis”, The California Aggie & the acronyms I didn’t know, Shits and giggles. Since then, both nothing and everything has changed. I’m still antsy, still dreaming - but I’ve outlined a different model of success and of the future for myself. There are projects to be unveiled and cities to be seen. Anticipate long-overdue Chicago adventures with Mills and Bel real soon. Studying in London and Paris also in the (near, and not so near) future. Speaking of, I’ve had a real education in lust and love and I think I’ve finally graduated. More soon.

And lest I forget…

Happy Birthday, Phillip James Loury. For you, a cake baked with flour, eggs, security envelopes from Wells Fargo and lots of love by yours truly.

May the force be with you,

N

I’m sorry. This is just a moment of nonspecific discovery. No type were harmed during the making of this broadcast.

Questions of the we(a)k:

Leave or Stay? NY or CA? SF or SJ? Study or sleep?

Galileo or Glide? 

And of course, now everything is starting to feel less like a plan and more like a choice.

Today, in my tea:

I know, I know. I have a problem with updating. Whatever. 

The end of freshman year is close! I can smell it! I can… I can…

Applying for internships and summer jobs has consumed the meat of my life  recently, but hopefully this investment will provide a high-reward return. And, maybe some bank. Then again, maybe I won’t get anything because, nowadays, the unemployed is up and fighting. Some girl with minimal life experience and blog updating issues will easily be overlooked. News and updates on the quest for employment soon.

It’s no hidden truth that people embellish their work history with experience that may or may not have occurred. But who’s to say that companies don’t embellish their job descriptions either! Sorry dear, but the hard reality of Media Production Office Manager is not “ability to prioritize tasks and perform with a high degree of independence and minimal supervision”. It’s “ability to endure burns from extra-hot lattes at any given time, to order chinese take out from non-English speaking hostess, and to provide bandaids for paper cuts acquired while enveloping several hundred promotion mailers a day.”

A job listing with more than !!! ten exclamation points? STAY AWAY, my friend. STAY AWAY. 

The real gems are the ones who don’t have an automated system email you the time of your phone interview, or have you upload a resume on a fancy careers site to some unknown vortex of human resources. No, the real gems aren’t on craigslist or internzoo or the UC Davis listserv. They’re hiding somewhere in the wild, roaming with your savage competitors, waiting for all the townspeople to become sick of your wolf cries. And then, from the forest’s dark abyss, it will leap into the field of your hopes and dreams, and devour all of the bitchwork sheeps in your herd. And by herd, I mean Bookmarks Folder. And by Bookmarks Folder, I mean the one filled with all of those potential jobs you found on craigslist.

Happy Hunting, generation X. 

Oh, and go read a newspaper.

Or send a funny card to your BFF.

Seriously, vote Kerstin.

Bring water to a boil. Dissolve contents of one packet in 8 oz. of hot water. Stir briskly before and after heating. Repeat every 4 hours until symptoms disappear. Avoid alcohol, sedatives, and tranquilizers while taking Theraflu. 

Story of my life. 

I’ve been directing all love and attention to my shiny, new Twitter that, I forgot how good it feels to write more than mere 140-character increments. How sad, though, that nearly a month later, it’s the same damn la vie quotidienne. Unless daylight savings counts. By the way, daylight savings is totally unproductive and an assault on logic. Not to mention a complete sleep disturbance. Thinking it was 11, I curled back into my comforter - until my noon-time phone alarm screamed otherwise. Can humankind just stick to the plan and get on with it??

I did manage to bring myself into an alive(ish) state so Karen, Hillary, Taylor, Lisa and I could go carb-load at Crepeville. And as if brunch wasn’t enough, we slumped (with Tay clinking along in her crutches) over to Yolo Berry. Lisa is 19 on Monday, which begs the question: Do you know how freaking old we’re getting? I still feel like I’m 12. 

So long, size zero.

In other non-important news you probably don’t care about… I am now an Archivist for AS Papers at a rate of a next-to-nothing $49/week. If there are any hiring employers in the crowd, shoot me an email. I can start immediately. Seriously. You try working long hours in Lower Freeborn (…you might recall from my death encounter at the California Aggie). “Lower” is just a euphemism for basement, really.

The AS Papers office is cold, like whip-out-your-Northface cold. I piece together ancient issues and file them neatly away, but let’s be real - it’s bitchwork. It’s scanning. A lot of scanning. So I spend my time reading the humor section from random publications in the office. I’m deep into the 1990’s of Al-Wasilah, the Muslim quarterly, and the last piece I can remember is “You Know You’re Muslim When… Your Family Has Knives Bigger Than Your Head.”

Yeah, I’ll let that sink in a little. 

I still have to work on the Chicano/Chicana paper, the African-American paper, the Vox Feminista which is exactly-what-it-sounds-like paper, and the Jewish paper …it’s like being constantly surrounded with the anger of racial oppression. “RACIST LOU DOBBS CNN” hangs above my desk as an explicit reminder. 

When I’m not working or getting an education, I’m usually walking due to the fact that my bike was STOLEN by some punk who has hopefully realized its worthlessness by now. I guess my old bike had some sentimental value; I did have some questionably-great moments with that piece of shit. My dad brought up a replacement bike for me, of which I have no picture because well, you don’t even want to know. He has so lovingly named it “The Dark Knight.” Probably due, in part, to its shady disposition. 

Yeah, fun times.

My throat is being possessed by devilish flu fiends at the moment. I’ve had to restrain myself from taking one too many Advil on several occasions …but c’est la vie. If you too, are plagued with the sore throat-body ache-fever trifecta, Theraflu will drive that cold out of you exorcist-style.

Just remember to not exceed the recommended dosage. 

Pce, Luv, & Racial Oppression, N

“When you are in town, wearing some kind of uniform is helpful, policeman, priest, etc. 

Driving a tank is very impressive, or a car with official lettering on the side.

If that isn’t to your taste you could join the revolution, wear an armband, carry a homemade flag tied to a broom handle, or a placard bearing an incendiary slogan.

At the very least you should wear a suit and carry a briefcase and a cell phone, or wear a team jacket and a baseball cap and a cell phone.

If you go into the woods, the backcountry, someplace past all human habitation, it is a good idea to wear orange and carry a gun, or, depending on the season, carry a fishing pole, or a camera with a big lens.

Otherwise it might appear that you have no idea what you are doing, that you are merely wandering the earth, no particular reason for being here, no particular place to go.”

- Louis Jenkins, The Backcountry

‘Tis the week of St. Valentine’s! Come Saturday, you’ll either be dining at tables for two, or hanging from your shower rod. With any luck, you won’t find yourself situated in the latter; sending gifts of self-love Phyllis-style, or drinking away your emotions is just as effective. Keep in mind that those who wear L’eau de Loneliness, succeed in life. Well okay, that part I made up. But, in the words of the whores on the corner of 5th and G, “whatever it takes”. So for those who lovingly wander the streets, or hide makeup-less in the safety of their humble abodes, I give you The Backcountry.

Here, my mobile uploads and I digress. 

01/09 Rave

02/07 SF

02/08 Eden of Jelly Bellies

Busy, busy February! May even forget Valentine’s… lucky me. This girl in History 4C expects nothing short of perfect from her ‘bubba boo’.

Are you vomiting too? Leave me a message, I’ll be in the shower.

I have a couple midterms soon and a paper due; therefore, I blog. Just because life and weather have resumed melancholia, for the time being at least. Nothing unusual so far, just your run-of-the-mill January. You know, sunny mornings, cloudless skies, seventy-degree temps. Same old, same old - but don’t run away to MTV just yet. 

In the midst of all the Spectacular, Spectacular of Obamz becoming prez, it’s kind of great to meet an optomistic antonym. I’m talking about my Lit teacher - skinny, white, and a lazy left eye - who looks like he’s either still in college or fresh out of. He’s cynical, downbeat, sardonic and wears shirts like “Shakespeare hates your emo poems.”  He’s completely distracted by inappropriate humor (i.e. colored linens named “geese-turd green”) and draws arbitrary life lessons from  pop culture (i.e. “Hitchhiker’s Guide  to the Galaxy”). He’s crass, crude and does not hesitate to use “fuck”, “shit”, and “rapist” in the same sentence when the situation permits it. He’s predisposed to blurt out random hilarities (i.e. “Due to technical difficulty, I’m going to smack the shit out of something”). He’ll play “Your Body Is A Wonderland”, “Sexual Healing”, and “Let’s Get It On” - laughing the entire time to make a point about sexual innuendos.

Yeah, it’s pretty great. Maybe as great as my human sexuality class. Just a couple days ago, the chapter was “Sexual Arousal and Response.”  We were talking about primary erogenous zones.

“Any guesses anyone?”

Cricket.

“None of you are turned on? Ever?”

And from the sea of 500, two gigantic arms emerged from a far corner of the hall.

He hollered, “BOOTY.”

More arms.

“COLOGNE.” “ABS.” “LARGE CLITORI.” “LESBIANS.”

Completely irrelevant to the term “erogenous zones,” meaning an area of heightened sensitivity not the perverse kinds of things that turn you on - but that’s besides the point. Tomorrow is Moans, Groans, and Intimate Relationships.

Good times, good times.

I’ve spent a good twenty minutes hiding in this refurbished barn. For those of you non-Aggies, it’s not as ancient and agrarian as you think - I’m here for the WiFi (”moobilenet”) and the curly fries from Carl’s Jr. downstairs.  Anyways, twenty minutes too many.

Like I said, a paper and some midterms. 

Have a McRib-iffic Lunar New Year, y’all.

PS - Twitter me. Millie is the only one who ever @’s.

Columbia Scholastic Press Association did us good. I really, really heart New York.

The Eye, Evergreen Valley High School, San Jose, CA

This is how my conversation went down with my mom:

“Hey… Why are you calling so late Dad is sleeping…”

“MOM I JUST. OH MY GOD I’M FREAKING OUT…”

“Is everything okay? Do I need to come get you?”

“NO.. NO.. THERE WAS THIS THING IGOTTHETICKETSICANTBELIEVEIT!”

“What are you even blabbing about? How are your grades? Do you have finals this week?”

“NO MOM, I JUST WON TICKETS TO YOUTUBE LIVE!!!”

“I don’t get it.”

“YOUTUBE LIVE IT’S JUST THE MOST MEGA LIVE STREAMED EVENT EVER IN SAN FRANCISCO AND I’M GOING TO BE THERE!!!!”

“Nicole, it’s so late…”

“I just needed someone to call, love you Mom.”

[Click.]

I turn to Karen, standing in the doorway.

“K, you see that red tin on the bottom shelf? It’s caramelized popcorn. Get it, we need to celebrate.”

She leans over and pushes aside the ramen.

“Awww, is this Boy Scout?? My dad buys this too. He’s such a sucker for this shit.”

I rip open the wrapping and bust the silver bag.

“UGH IT’S TRAIL MIX.” 

So to Millie, Belinda, Chris, Kevin, Mimi, Karen, Naseem, Katrina, Katrina’s mom and whoever else [Biz] reads this puny little fittingly speck in the universe of the World Wide Web: I AM ELATED. I am mostly excited for Julia Nunes and the Mythbusters. But I guess Akon, Katy Perry, Will.I.Am, Soulja Boy and practically every YouTube star in the planet isn’t too bad either…..

P.S. - Much, much love to ryanwade.com

The election is over, I don’t want to/can’t make fun of Obamz and life is dull.

Until today. Revelations:

1. Nobody likes a smart ass.

No asshole, I don’t want to be on your team or in your study group or in your Saturday night Cops TV party. Just because you jump and blurt the answer to every question does not mean that you are superior to me. It just means that you have a speedy reaction time and a desire to show the professor (and the cute TA you totally have a crush on) how much time you didn’t spend doing things that those other “ignorant kids” do… like, voting or taking a shower. No asshole, I don’t feel sorry for you because you are rude, racist, and belligerent to people trying to help you realize that you can’t scream “No! You’re Wrong!” at somebody giving her damn opinion. Judging your peers will not make them your friends.

2. Leggings are not pants when: a) you’re not at the gym and b) your shirt is above your crotch.

Eight AM classes, laziness, and especially fashion do not excuse women from serious cases of camel toe as a result of leggings that are too sheer, too tight, or both. Put on some damn shorts for crying out loud.

3. PETA is propaganda that I feel guilty calling propaganda because cute wittle animals are dying all over the world and I’m eating them for dinner. But it is propaganda nevertheless.

“Daddy?”

“Yes, son?”

“This lamb is delicious. Where did it come from?”

“God dropped it to us. From out of the sky.”

“God is nice.”

“Yes, son. God is nice indeed. Ha, ha, ha.” Mr. Wertzinfg winked to his wife.

“Daddy?”

“Yes, son?”

“Why did you just laugh and wink at Mommy?”

“No reason.”

“Did this lamb really come from God?”

“No, son. I guess you’re old enough to know.We are eating Teresa.”

Save the cute wittle kiddies from financial funding for the PETA, won’t you?.

OKAY SO:
It’s Monday Celebration because there is no school tomorrow and midterms are overr!!!! (Really, this time.) Congratulations to me, myself and I but mostly, congratulations to the bored-to-the-point-of-deliberately-cruel at my old high school for mistaking Gossip Girl as potential reality and thinking that a copycat, try hard blog will validate your life (it won’t) - seriously, get over yourselves. At least be original or something.

WHY ARE APATHETIC GUYS SO ATTRACTIVE:
“Hey Ben, you are a mellow dude, what’s your secret to your chill factor?”
“There’s a lot of things happening inside of my head so there’s not a lot of energy to put out.”
“Ben you’ve got great hair, what do you put in it?”
“Shampoo.”
“What’s your favorite part of the Lord of the Rings movies?
“Shadowfox.”