A tart, I am not

Somehow, without Adderall, I've been able to stay course with my final project. I wasn't lying to people when I told them I'd do much better with it if I had two weeks to complete it. Now, it may seem to others that I'm in-fact a slacker, but I'm in fact a furious writer when under pressure. People should stop judging.

Do you think that I worked any differently throughout high school and UMass Amherst? Come on now. Of course I didn't. And I still managed to graduate with honors at both schools. I'm not a moron. I'm a procrastinator. There's a huge difference.

I'm actually really glad I picked the topic I did. Web 2.0 came to me in a dream (not really) and I'm so glad it came out of my mouth in the group meeting back in May while declaring what I'd be writing 12,000 words on. I've learned so much, and I'm not trying to sound like a tart.

To be honest, I think everyone should learn about Web 2.0 (which more or less means the new platform of the web and how the public are the new producers). In the process, I've even stumbled across some really great blogs, like dooce.com.

In another post I'll link to all of them, but I'm too exhausted (from writing 2,000 words today). I've also found some really creepy websites, like LiveLeak.com (previously ogrish.com) and military.com. Video-sharing just got a whole lot more uncut and uncensored. (Viewer discretion IS advised. I had to write about, so had to go to them, but I watched some videos with my eyes closed. I'm a wuss.)

Finally, since I've been writing so much, my carpal tunnel has come back in full fledge. It hasn't been this bad since nearly two years ago when my friends and I bowled every Friday night (don't judge, the bar served beers for $2). I'm currently loving my new bandage that looks like a sock, yet it's a certified Boots bandage. Not quite sure how the public will take it, but I am in London, and as I say fashion-wise, anything goes here.

Today was a good day!

Well, my parents, my flat mate, and I can breathe easy today. I got a job offer! I will not be moving onto the street anytime soon. I envisioned myself finding scraps of food to eat in trash bins whilst clanging around a tin can begging for change and fighting over prime spots near cash points. OK, so I made that last bit up, but the money situation was getting a little tense. Tomorrow I'm going to be calling to accept the offer, and I will officially enjoy my first salary paid position of my life - in London! Hooray.

Other notes worth mentioning. I got Kaiser Chief tickets for Decemeber. Sure, it's ages away, but I'm so excited. General admission, which means I'm getting right up there. It's been a while since I've had the opportunity to sing along to every song, while having other people jabbing their elbows and entire bodies into me. When the crowd sways one way, we all sway. It's like a giant blob that I used to really enjoy. I'm sure I'll hate it now, and forget why I ever enjoyed it. But damnit, it's the Kaiser Chiefs!!

I went for a drink with Drew at the Elgin. I haven't been since the smoking ban. It's amazing to be able to breath in their, I found it to be one of the smokiest bars in the city. And I don't smell like an ashtray, either. Brilliant if you ask me. I'm not sure why people were so worried about the ban, it's amazing. Second-hand smoke, even if you're a smoker, is never pleasant. You can't argue that with me. Unless you hate oxygen. Then, well, sorry you were born on this planet, it's too bad.

I'm exhausted. Today was an exhilarating day. And tomorrow is going to suck. 2,000 more words to write. But then I get to go out for Samira's birthday and celebrate with friends whom I haven't partied with in a while. Should be a good time.

Ciao for now.

I think I should go to bed

So yes, it's officially 2.11am. I should certainly be sleeping, if not tossing and turning. I took melatonin about 20 minutes ago and am beginning to feel it's effects.

Case-in-point: I applied Burt's Bees to my lips -nightly ritual. Then I idiotically rubbed my eye. Have you ever gotten Burt's Bees in your eye? Well I'm pretty sure that icy comforting burn that takes place on your lips is never supposed to be intended for your eyes. I literally had tears running down my cheeks for a good five minutes. It still feels funny, but I'm not running out of bed to dose my eye in cold water (I'm pretty sure that's what the warning label would say to do, anyways).

Today I amazed myself and wrote two more articles for my final. I have completed a total of 4,000 words. In the bigger view, I've completed 1/3 of it. I'm pretty impressed with myself as well. I cannot wait until 27 July (and yet, I can?).

Ok, time to do a sudoku puzzle and fall asleep. I only hope this cool, icy feeling in my eye goes away. Oyyy.

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Procrastination should be my middle name

You know when people say, 'I work well under pressure'?? Yeah, I'm not kidding when I say that either. T-minus 11 days and counting until my final project is due and I have barely gotten anywhere with it. Am I nervous? Heck yes. Will I get it done in time? Hell yes. This is how I work - when the heat is on! Well, I suppose it's boiling at this point, but I'm not too concerned.

My battle plan is to write around 2,000 words a day. At that pace, I should have written the 12,000 words necessary by Saturday. If that's the case, I should have time to go through it all and make sure it's accurate and correct. Fingers crossed. Do pray for me in the meantime.

Changing topics, I have a question. So I flew back to London from my American holiday back in Boston (to be exact Reading, Medford, Malden, Marblehead, Maynard, Ipswich, Nahant, Saugus, Southie, Newton and finally, Boston)last Mon night/Tues morning, and here's my predicament: I had a cold/flu bug thing going on when I flew, and my ears clogged terribly from my stuffy nose. It killed - a pain I wouldn't wish upon any one of my worst enemies. I've since gotten over the cold, but my right ear still feels like it's got water in it. Have I lost hearing from the plane ride? Is that possible? Will it ever be normal again? I'm having heart palpatations just thinking about it. If anyone can answer me that, please, PLEASE do so soon.

Onto some better news. I officially am no longer single. That's right, folks, I have a boyfriend. I know, I know, You maybe as shocked as I am. Trouble is, I keep forgetting I do - three years single is a long time. I figure I'll slowly get into the ways of coupledom. Thankfully, he's fully employed (a London 'bobby'!) and with me trying to write 2,000 words a day, I don't have to feel like I'm ignoring him. And he's not clingy so I also don't have to feel like a bitch that we don't talk, text, or see each other everyday.

Well, I'm officially going to get started on this project. Cheers!

Am I sick of being single?

I've been cynical about love and relationships since, well, my four year relationship ended in 2003. How could I spend so much time with someone and then just completely fall out of love - and not have any reservations, fears, or heartbreak over breaking up with him?

And then six months later I fell for a guy who become one of the most confusing parts of my senior year in UMass.

And thats it. I haven't had a serious relationship since then. I've dated around, but nothing has ever developed. It might be because I'm always changing, always moving on. I'm not exactly sure. But if you want to categorize me, then I'd be a single girl in her early 20s exploring her options, not about to settle for anything. Happy to not have to check in with anyone, happy to mingle and flirt and anything else that may progress from there. Happy to say I moved to another continent without anyone holding me back.

So why am I suddenly re-thinking my ideas of love and relationships? I've technically been boyfriendless since Sept 2004. Nearly three years now.

I've been a content quirkyalone, while many of my closest friends have moved in with their boyfriends, got married, and even bought houses and dogs together. I've always been the friend they can count on to go out and have a good time. I'm the party girl, the group rallier, the one who always wants to have fun, be spontaneous, because we might be hit by a bus tomorrow.

Now, it has nothing to do with the fact that I've been alone for three years that I've suddenly started feeling resentment and jealousy over these girls who have a significant other to lean on and keep them company. I'm not lonely, so I know this isn't it. I think it's something else.

Suddenly, I have options. I don't know yet how real the options are, it's too early to tell, but it's the first time in a while that I have those butterflies when I'm around him. The 'ohmigod he just texted me', 'I have nothing to wear', 'speechless' type of feelings. This is not something I am used to at all.

I talk a lot. My friends could attest to that. But when I'm out on a date and he asks: 'Is something wrong? You've been so quiet' that I need to reaccess what is going on in my head. Am I being shy because I like him? Because I honestly can't think of anything normal to say. And then when I start overthinking, my brain starts to shut down. Please may I have another glass of wine?

Suddenly I feel like I'm in high school and every flaw, blemish and insecurity is evident to him. What has happened to the flirt, who will go up to a guy in a club and start dancing with him without even asking his name? Now it's like that girl is being suppressed because, well, there's a chance this guy may actually like me.

And I may actually like him back. And here I thought I'd have nothing to worry about.

Horrendous Neighbors

Everyone has/had horrible neighbors, past, present, future. It's just the way society goes. There are bound to be people who live in your vacinity that either make your blood boil and make you want to scream "Sod off!"; and there's also those select few who do things that seem aimed to just make you irritated and annoyed (at least, that's what it seems).

When I was a kid we had these neighbors that were horrible. The parents were very rarely around and their kids were in their teens when I was just in elementary school. They would torment me and all the other young neighborhood kids. This included name calling, bullying, and even exposing their "private" parts to us.

As they got older, parties ensued. My parents nicknamed them the "Loud Family", or for short, the "Louds". They were your regular suburban kids who had no motivation to take initiative of their life and use the resources around them to make something of themselves.

Drug busts, domestic disputes, teen pregnancies, dropping out of high school - were what become of the 'Loud' kids. And when they finally moved out as they reached 18 and 19, our horrendous neighbors were all but a family joke to bring up randomly when reminicising about the 90s and the (dare I say it?) good 'ol days.

I went to college at UMass, had some annoying neighbors who enjoyed partying 7 days a week with their music and bass at full levels. This was normal though. We were all the same age - supposedly taking part of the best days of our lives. I then moved out with a few friends off campus Junior year in the Townhouses and partaked in our own partying - thankfully on our own terms. Still, it was a college community and we were living up our new found freedoms to the Nth degree.

And now I'm a graduate living in London. I live a much more toned down life. Parties are more infrequent - but then again I'm not 19 anymore. I live in a council block with probably about 50 other flats around creating our own little -semi-project-like- community. (Funny when my mom and her friend visited they said how much it looks like South Boston. Not the nice parts. Ha.)

So now it's strange to find my horrendous neighbor has become not another punk or college student just living it up. No. Things couldn't be any farther from the truth. To be honest, I almost miss them. Louds and drunks.

No, my horrendous neighbor has taken shape into a fat, middle-aged, house wife who never changes out of her pajamas.

So what makes her so awful? It's difficult to tell if it's the way she screams her son's name every 30 mins or the way how obnoxiously she chooses to do so from her third floor balcony. It's ridiculous actually. At the top of her lungs, as her son is out playing with all the other neighbor kids (who, BTW, are never screamed at just for the sake of it) 'JAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAMES' can be heard in this shrill, fingers down a chalk board, manner.

My room mate and I have actually considered buying her a walkie talkie to give to her son to keep tabs on him. I'm actually afraid one of us might snap and yell back at her to walk the three flights down and peer down the courtyard to see that he is, indeed, still alive and kicking. I'm sure the stairs would be good for her, in any case.

I may seem a bit mad, but she's a GROWN woman. Shouldn't she have any decency to realize that screaming for her son every 30 mins is childish and lazy?

OK, I had to get that all off my chest. And if anyone has any walkie talkies they want to get rid of, please let me know!