Sometimes it's a relief when the weekend is over.
I think one of the hardest parts about being in a relationship is looking over at the person you've been sleeping next to for nearly four years and thinking, "Who the hell ARE you?" I know Justin better than I know anyone else except for my dog, but I still have no clue about him at all. I have no idea what goes through his head or how he operates. Those moments are stressful and often horrible. But when the crying and fighting are over, everything feels new and fresh again. He describes it as the fires that gut out the forest so new growth can emerge. That's the best description I've ever heard.
In other news
I made a container garden this weekend. Cutting-edge, according to my mother. It has a daylily in the center, then clamysia (?), which has tall red, yellow and orange flowers, and then English ivy that will cascade over the sides of the pot.
I put Roo into a box of dirt while I cleaned his cage. He was supposed to like it. All the mouse websites say that mice love digging in dirt. Roo's tail got really dirty and he was all pissed off and tried to dig through the box. I gave him a few Toastie-O's - he ate one and buried the rest.
Kate stopped by for mangled chicken parmesean and good conversation yesterday afternoon. It was really great.
How to really piss me off
Write an article about Tap Day saying that QEBH and Mystical 7 are the only societies non-application based and have significantly fewer members than the rest of the societies. DO YOU KNOW HOW TO COUNT? Obviously, there were only six girls in purple robes up there, people. Mystical 7 has...SEVEN. And LSV is the only society that is secret for a whole freaking year, not just two weeks. Two weeks! I could keep anything a secret for two weeks! Do you know how hard a whole year is? Do you know how many people, especially my boyfriend, got freaked out by it? And there's no application. It'd be a lot easier to pick people if there was.
I hate the Maneater and I don't even go to school there anymore! And they even used to employ me! For people who are so uptight about writing "Francis Quadrangle" instead of "the quad," they sure don't do much fact checking.
But anyway, since I'm thinking about it, Easter candy really isn't as much fun without my LSV sisters.
A lot of people are beginning their last few weeks in Columbia. And they're sad. There's no reason to be sad. Once I left Columbia, it was like I never lived there in the first place. I miss friends, sure, but not the place. I think it was, for some reason, very easy for me to leave college and move on. And I'm not one for moving on.
Things I miss about Columbia:
1. Flatbranch.
2. Trops. NOBODY here sells to-go alcoholic beverages in styrofoam cups. This is why other countries hate America.
3. The really rundown Sub Shop (yes, just one can be singled out as such - the one by Columbia Mall) because it has a table-console Ms. Pacman.
4. The Olde Un.
Things I do not miss about Columbia:
1. Cars, cars, cars up and down my street.
2. Sporting event crowds.
3. Columbia Mall.
4. The horrible ladies at that quilting shop.
I do, however, thinking of J-Dub every time I see a Tiger Tail hanging out of the trunk of a car.
Big plans
So I had an idea for a mix tape while struggling home from yoga last night. I could chronicle Britney & Justin's relationship by using their own music. Because I can detail everything that happened at the end just by reviewing the last two albums. Am I the only person that realizes that "Toxic" is NOT an answer to "Cry me a River," but that "Everytime," IS an answer to the last song on Justin's CD? Example:
Justin: You didn't say you're sorry. I don't understand.
Britney: THIS IS MY SORRY.
Hello!!!!! (I can just imagine Abby saying Britney's line in her best pirate/ogre voice. That's even better than Britney's version.)
Speaking of "Everytime," I think I don't know what to feel about the video. I liked the idea of the first version where she actually kills herself. That makes sense. But the whole "my head is bleeding, maybe I got hit by a video camera, look, it's a baby in a hospital" this is quite strange. And why is her hair so ugly? And isn't Stephen Dorff like, 40? Because he should be.
Anyway, I would start the tape with "Hit me Baby" and "Tearin' up my Heart." I'm not sure if I would go chronologically or use songs in a non-specific order that would tell the story better. I do know that I would use "Boys" and "It Makes me Ill." Oh God, the possibilities.
Things are on the up and up. Not my eyesight, though. Everything is super-blurry. Perhaps it's time to throw out the old contacts and whip out a new pack. I think I got contacts in June, maybe July. I got a year's supply - 12 pairs. I have only used six. This could be my problem.
Yarnlust
I am in love with the
Charlotte's Web shawl. I figure it's about $52 to make before tax. I don't know where I would wear it but I want to try lace. And it's beautiful. So many different
color combinations.
How not to have a successful night at yoga:
1. Change medications several times over the course of two weeks
2. Don't exercise for an entire week beforehand
3. Wear high heels the day of (it works different muscles in your legs than regular shoes)
4. Drink a glass of warm wine a few hours beforehand.
5. Forget to grab a towel before class
I was a sweaty, falling down mess. And then afterwards, I was so tired that I didn't think I would be able to make it to my car. I got home in one piece. Getting up the stairs to my apartment was markedly more difficult. Then I took a bath with salts that Chrissy gave me and I didn't get out until the water was cold.
I have never been happier to see a Friday. Hello, Friday. I love you.
Today is better. For now, at least. I'm making it very clear upfront that I have absolutely no control over my emotions. It gets scary, but I keep forgetting that it also gets better.
I watched
Love Actually last night. I still love that movie. My favorite part is the whole thing.
Best dinner ever: pork chops stuffed with pesto and feta, rubbed with pepper, garlic and oregano. Bake for 35 minutes at 375. Amazing.
I could use some sort of baked good right about now.
Oh no. The tears are back. I was tearless yesterday. No more.
Everything is horrible. Just terribly, terribly shitty. I spent Monday crying crying crying at work and I went to the doctor. I'm back on Prozac. Thank God. It wasn't only the immediate side effects that bothered me, but the ones that don't go away after the first few weeks - anxiety, insomnia, nausea (no wonder people lose weight on it) and my favorite, SEIZURES. It just wasn't worth it.
And now I'm in this place, thie horrible place where I don't want to do anything or see anyone or be awake and why oh why am I even alive? Because nothing is worth it and nothing makes me happy and I'm tired of feeling jittery and my mind is running in a million directions and I seriously just want to go back home to Iowa where things are safe and I'm not alone and I don't have to sit in a cube for 7.5 hours a day doing absolutely nothing.
I am scared of myself. I won't do anything to hurt myself (because that would hurt other people a lot and I don't want to hurt anyone) but I will probably yell and be horrible and think thoughts that scare me. But the thought of going to sleep and never having to wake up is rather appealing, except for the fact that I'm afraid to sleep.
And I can't remember which Kleenex I just sneezed in and which I used to wipe my tears.
I feel like I did when I moved here almost a year ago. My apartment doesn't feel like home and I'm tired of Roo because all he does is poop and hate me and I wish I could give him to a school but I would feel bad because the kids would probably squeeze him but he smells bad and I've tried everything besides getting him "fixed."
If I had vacation time I would take it and get the hell out of here, but I don't. So I will just sit and cry and dread going home at night because I really having nothing to go home to. I don't want to knit, I don't want to cook, I don't want to watch TV. I just want my mom and my dog. That's all.
Abby left this morning. We had a great time. We dyed my hair and it looks awesome. She made a cake and we watched six hours of
Jem. We have 18 to go. I was getting really pissed at Rio because even though Jem and Jerrica are the same person, he didn't know that and he was making out with both of them! Rio! You're a slut! I know that eventually she tells him, but sweet Jesus it was pissing me off.
I've been pretty sick all weekend. The side effects of Wellbutrin are not fun. I will not go into graphic detail, but suffice it to say that I've had a lot of general torso and intestinal pain. Antacids are helping, but they don't help the crying. I cry for no reason at all. I cried during Jem, for God's sake.
My shoes are constricting my feet. My feet need to be free.
Some days I really like my job. Other days, I have headaches.
I'm excited to see my favorite pirate.
The custodial staff keeps eating my jellybeans.
Roo is planning a jailbreak.
I've been a bad sleeper lately.
I painted my toenails this morning. They're magenta and gorgeous. I also got to watch my favorite quilting show,
Simply Quilts. It was enough to make me want to spend the day at home.
But I'm at work instead. We just had a potluck and I'm stuffed. Mmmm cake.
Okay, I was able to sign up for Gmail (I guess all other Blogger users can,too) and I'm doing some research on it for work. So send me e-mail with unusual subject lines and text, like talking about your favorite store or shoes or whatever. We're trying to see how the text links work and the searchability of the mailbox. Address: kristinbuel@gmail.com. (If you're sending me something important/personal, send it to my regular address)
I'm doing my very first negotiation this afternoon. I'm nervous. I don't want to screw this up.
All Clear
I feel a lot better now. Thank you for being good friends and making me laugh out loud. I wasn't looking for comments like that (for real). It just...it gets noisy in my head sometimes. It used to be really bad - before I started Prozac again a few years ago, it was so loud inside my head that I couldn't think or sleep for four months. Anyway, last night was the first night in weeks that I've been able to drive home without thinking all those horrible/annoying thoughts. I didn't arrive home all tense and angry and I even sang in the car. It felt so good. I felt a lot lighter.
Dear World,
I have tried so hard to be what you want. All I want is for people to like me and not whisper about me behind my back. But I'm tired, World. I'm tired of not saying what I really think. I'm tired of hiding the things I love in life, the things that make me take off my clothes and dance around the bathroom, just because they're "uncool." I am tired of feeling that I'm not good enough. Because I used to be. I used to be one of the best, even. I used to really like myself and be proud of myself and now I find myself worrying why someone won't talk to me or why someone who hasn't seen me in months would make fun of me in front of friends.
And it's easy to say that I could blow it off or that I didn't care. But I do. I care a lot. I'm never going to stop caring.
But I'm really tired of hiding, of downplaying my actual personality and becoming some sort of half-dead toad, a bump on the conversational log.
This is what I've been too afraid to say.
Don't classify me as a "that girl who knits." I like to knit. It's something I do. It's not who I am, it's not the only interesting or strange thing about me and you are certainly not ever in your whole entire life getting something I made. Don't treat me like I'm weird or old or unhip. I am happy and it keeps me from strangling you when you say something stupid.
If you don't want to hang out with me, just say so. Blowing me off all the time isn't cool, nor is making lame excuses as to why you're too busy. Actually, it really hurts my feelings. I can't figure out why you don't want to hang out time after time after time. Do you not like me? Because I'm starting to really think you don't. And I miss you. A lot. That's why I call.
I am allowed to like the Smashing Pumpkins and Liz Phair and *NSYNC all at the same time. I'm even more allowed to like *NSYNC best of all. My boyfriend, the music snob of the Western Hemisphere (followed closely by Paul, who is also very courteous) has the common courtesy to not make fun of them and even enjoys some of their songs. If he can do that, I'm sure everyone else can keep their mouths shut.
I don't enjoy going to bars. I'd rather talk, not scream, at someone. And I hate having to shower when I get home so my pillow doesn't smell like my smokey hair.
I hate capri pants. I also hate people who wear lace-up shirts to work. I despise flip flops. They should never be worn outside of a setting involving water and/or athlete's foot. Your feet just look stupid in them. NOBODY looks good in flip flops.
My mouse is clean. He bathes about 10 billion times a day.
I'm not a big fan of cats. There are certain cats I really like, but that's because they don't act like cats.
Given a choice, I'd rather not take a shower. Or a bath. I'm all about the dirty.
People who always talk about their weight make me uncomfortable. I feel like they're judging me because I ate a second brownie. People who say they can't eat a certain type of food because of their diet make me even more uncomfortable. If we're going to talk about food, let's talk about how much we love it.
Even though I only tell people the dumb and annoying things my boyfriend does, he is, without a doubt, the most wonderful, loving, generous person I have ever met. He makes me feel like I'm home.
I hate Snow White. HATE HER. I wish she would have just died in the forest while she beat the ground and cried.
I am ashamed that I have to take anti-depressants. It's embarrassing to me. But if I didn't, I probably wouldn't leave the house.
Sometimes I feel closer to the knitting bloggers I've never met than to people I hang out with on a pretty regular basis.
I really wish I had a girlfriend to watch movies and eat cookie dough with. I wish I had someone who I didn't feel stupid telling personal things to. I wish I had someone who didn't find me strange.
I love musicals, but I really hate the traditional ones.
Cats and
Bye Bye Birdie top that list. If I wanted to kill someone, I would make them listen to "We Love You Conrad" over and over and over again. Because I had to do that and I wanted to die.
Love,
Kristin
There is this strange satisfying feeling you get when your parents leave after a weekend visit. You remember when you were so depressed when they left, that you didn't know how you were going to get through the days until you could see them again and how in the world were you going to take care of yourself? Now you're glad that they love your apartment and the city in which you live and you're excited to see them next but you also relish the quiet and clean house they left behind.
Roo is just glad Penny is gone. She gives quite the kisses.
VH1 gives out some damn good chocolates. Yay for rep gifts and yay for bosses whose doctor says she can't eat them.
I had every intention of sewing up my tank top today, but sleeping and lifting weights got in the way, as did working on a gift for my secret pal. I also lost Justin Timberlake in the midst of all that and finally found him in my car where Coldplay usually is (Coldplay, incidentally, is in my alarm clock).
We slept with the windows open the past few nights. It was great. I was in The Nest with my dog. She got her butt stuck under the bed both nights. She's horribly allergic to pollen and can't stop scratching. I suggested Claritin, but that idea was nixed.
I started the new medicine yesterday. It may cause seizures. Keep an eye on me.
Happy day-after-birthday to Chuck B., who was lucky enough to spend it with me.
Big boy mouse
My little mouse is all growed up. Roo has become a man. Not a man-man, but a man-mouse.
He has a penis and I saw it.
It's very small. Itty-bitty, teensy-weensy, if you will. But it's there. And I saw it. Justin saw it, too.
I've been hearing weird things coming from his cage, a kind of clanging sound, but I was always too lazy to get up and see what he was doing. As we sat at the kitchen table last night and looked at a Hy-Vee circular, I heard the noise and looked over to Roo. He was chewing on the bars of his cage. Which totally makes sense, because mice like to chew. But Roo never has before. I gave him a toilet paper tube about a week or two after I got him and he was totally not interested. So I cut up a Kleenex box last night and gave him part of it, and sure enough he was chewing away in seconds. Then I picked him up and we were playing and he wrapped himself around my finger and did some sort of flip and that's when I saw his mouse-parts. Itsy-bitsy mouse-parts.
It makes sense. I figured he wasn't more than a month old when I got him and it's been two months since and a mouse is full-grown/adult at 12 weeks. I'm hoping this means he will stop pooping every five seconds.
But he better not start smoking and bringing home slutty girl mice. There's only so much a mother can take.
Closure
It's been nearly a week since I finished the first and only season of
My So-Called Life. It was emotionally draining. I felt like I was in high school all over again. I yearned through all 19 episodes (I'm not sure what I was actually yearning for, but I did indeed feel a yearning. That's a really weird word.). I wanted so badly for Jordan Catalano to finally treat Angela like a human being and for Brian to just get the hell out of her house; I wanted her and Rayanne to be friends again, but be friends with Sharon, too; I wanted Ricky to feel loved and have a place to live; I wanted Angela's dad to stay away from the Hallie Lowenthal person.
I think it's sometimes dangerous to go that far back into your past, especially to a time with so much emotion attached to it. (It should be noted that in addition to watching the show, I reconnected with very close friends from my middle school and high school days.) I kept wondering why I wasn't more popular and why did I always feel left out and why why why can't those people see that I actually made something of my life and, most importantly, found someone who would love me unconditionally. Why? Why did I feel so alone, so separated from my class all those years? Why did I feel so ugly and ignored and generally hated?
But I dealt with that. And last night, as I listened to Justin talk about friendships, I realized I have my own Jordan Catalano, halting speech patterns and all. Except this boy can read.
More to come - revelations about the mouse. But I have a meeting now.
My mom's sweater is called "Bed and Breakfast Pullover," but I've decided to rechristen it "Mokey," like the wise Fraggle from
Fraggle Rock. And I like saying "Mokey." It's turning out really well. Now that the ribbing is actually started, it's not nearly as wide. My stitch guage is right on, but the row guage is not. Luckily, Jennifer, She of Knitting Wisdom, told me that if I did some simple math it would turn out all right. And she's right! I'm going to start the armhole shaping tonight. This is a gorgeous sweater and so incredibly soft. I want to get some in-progress pictures and post them, which leads us to...
The quest for the perfect blog continues. I signed up for Typepad (again) and it's still hard for me to use on my dial-up at home. I'm thinking maybe I could tweak this layout until Blogger has upgrades available again. I really don't want to lose my archives. They're how I remember what happened in my life.
The weeks go by so fast - I don't dread the end of the weekend as much because I know it'll be back soon enough. My job is getting better - more work to do, finally - and being able to call Justin locally is icing on the cake.
I took this from
Gidget Casts On and it's lovely.
A - Age: 23
B - Band listening to right now: For unknown reasons, I've been listening to a lot of The Cure. I think I'm channeling my inner-Ryan Mahoney.
C - Career future: Something. I hope it's nice.
D - Dad's name: Charles Albert the Fourth.
E - Easiest person to talk to: Justin. I can tell him anything and everything.
F - Favorite song: I enjoy "Interjections" from
School House Rocks.
G - Gummy Bears or Gummy Worms: Gummy Bears, as I am She of Gummy Bear Theater.
I - Instruments: Piano and the long-forgotten flute. And the tambourine.
J - Job: Assistant Media Planner
K - Kids: Darling Roo the Poopy Mouse and Roxy the Upset Fish
L - Longest car ride ever: Seven hours on a school bus to Lincoln, NE. Four freaking times there and back. The longest of those was the one where I was planning on breaking up with my boyfriend when I got home.
M - Mom's name: Marilyn. Her sister's name is Carolyn. Ha ha ha ha!
N - Number of people you slept with: I've slept with many: Abby, Nanie, Miss, Rent, Mike, Nick, Chris, Conrad, Clint, Chrissy, on and on and on. But slept slept: one.
P - Phobia[s]: I really don't like crowds at the mall.
Q - Quote: "But I won't always have to work with people like her. There's only one Hitler."
R - Reason to smile: There are no cats in America and the streets are filled with cheese.
S - Song you sang last: "Red Light" from the
Fame soundtrack.
T - Time you wake up: 6:30 a.m. And then I go back to sleep at 6:48.
U - Unknown fact about me: I won a BMX bike when I was six. It was purple.
V - Vegetable you hate: I just can't make myself like cooked peas.
W - Worst habit: Being a bitch
X - X-rays you've had: Lots of lungs. I've been rumored to have SARS.
Y - Yummy food: Toasted ravioli
This is not the end
Just for kicks this morning, I decided to pass out at the doctor's office. Fun!
Well, I didn't actually pass out. But I was close. It wasn't as horrific as the great 1998 "Let's Puke on the Football Team at the Blood Drive," escapade since no wheelchairs were involved, but I did get some good juice (in a paper Atlanta Bread Company cup, which I have never seen before. I question the origins of that cup and how many people have used it before me. I threw it away.).
Everyone's closing their blogs. I think that's pretty dumb, but that's just me. I love blogs and I miss all of you who have stopped for professional reasons (which is totally understandable - get fired for something better, like spitting on your boss from a 10 story window). Tuttle, this means keep your damn blog and be happy about it. Or else I'm going to make you be a PA all over again. But I think I am going to start a knitting blog like I once invisioned, now that my darling boyfriend has a broadband connection and has graciously said that I can use it to upload pictures. Yay, boyfriend!
Also, a big Boyfriend Happy Birthday. But I'm still older than you.
Let's try to have a more uncomfortable lunch
A bunch of people from my department (probably 15 or so) went to Baja 600 for Dana's birthday. Who do we sit by? People from my old place of employment, including a little man who didn't like me so much. Wow! Could this get any more uncomfortable?
It was really nice to see the other people, especially my mentors. I miss them a lot. They are so nice and sweet and taught me a lot. We were
right next to their table. I tried to imagine what things would be like if I had gotten hired there. Then I looked at everyone at our huge table and I am so glad I'm where I am. Lucky duck, I am.
But not so lucky on the sweater front. WHY THE HELL CAN'T I READ? I open up a pattern and suddenly become a total moron. Hey, Kristin, when the directions say "Begin with the foundation row," why can't you just
do that? Thanks to the episode of
MSCL where Ricky leaves home, I did and everything looks much, much better now. I will be 85 by the time I get to the sleeves.
Self-promotion
I updated this thing three times yesterday, and the last two just now got on. Please read. Because I said so.
I am 23 years old. The only explanation of why I almost went into cardiac arrest when Jordan was making out with Angela in the boiler room last night is because Jared Leto was actually probably 23 at the time and not in high school, which makes me not so dirty and perverted. OH GOD is he a good kisser.
I swatched FOUR times for my mom's sweater. I've never swatched that much. The pattern called for 9s but I'm using 10.5s. It took me three and then some episodes to swatch (episode one), cast one and work four rows completely wrong two different times (the rest). The first time, I couldn't read. The second time, I couldn't read the chart. But this is my first time working with a chart. The sweater is seeming really...wide, but I've only done three rows and it's in a 2-4 rib pattern, so it will undoubtedly not be that wide once the rib gets going.
Right?
And there are cables EVERYWHERE. And I can't find my stupid cable needle. So I'm using a 7 dpn, which is working quite smashingly, actually. My goals tonight is not to have to rip the thing to hell and back. I am, technically, an intermediate knitter, but I've never attempted a project of this magnitude. I'm usually all about color, not texture. This should be really neat. That is, if I don't keep holding the 7 dpn in my mouth between cables. Bamboo tastes like total crap.
Introductions
It has come to my attention that I haven't introduced everyone. I will not, in Bridget Jones manner, say things like "Justin enjoys correcting people's grammar and belching before he kisses his girlfriend." I will say:
Clare is a year older than me and lived in FARC until she went to England the second semester of my sophomore year. The first time I met Clare was at a party they dragged some freshman to and she was very drunk and sat on a glass table without realizing it was glass. It was at that same party that Paul, Justin, and I talked about opening a brothel.
Kate is a year younger than me. She moved out of FARC when I did and worked at the front desk. She loves Penny Lane from
Almost Famous and is dating our former Captain Condom, Adam Henerey.
Erin is a year younger than me as well. She was a PA during my last year in FARC and her FIG had to have a stern talking-to about not having sex with the masses. She is an English major and is the proud owner of a Kristin Buel blanket.
Abby is a pirate. She sails the high seas with her younger sister, Olivia, who holds the position of Littlest Crack Ho. She enjoys calling the 80s.
Sara H is Adrian's wife. I didn't believe she existed until I moved here because everybody talked about her but I never actually met her. I thought Adrian just had a made-up wife or something. (He's done stranger things - remember "spooky-wooky"?) She has a fabulous book collection and is probably too smart to be my friend. I'm sure she'll figure that out soon enough.
Dave is Dave of the Fabulous Hair. As I've said many times before, he once wore all the clothes in the lost and found AND he owns his own tuxedo.
You know who nobody talks about any more? John of FARC. I loved John of FARC, especially when he wanted everyone to have a Rascal, one of those motorized chairs. He made it a Third Floor priority.
Since I'm on here
Let's talk about taxes. I found myself ripping up forms and yelling "No new taxes!" around 9:30 last night, somehow channeling a much younger, much more beautiful George Bush, Sr. I had Turbo Tax to do the federal and Kansas taxes. It decided that I was claiming all these education credits and I clearly wasn't, so of course I called my parents to find out what was wrong and of course my dad was in Mount Joy, examining the road where he fell off his bike two weeks ago. Because, obviously, that will give him some sort of clue as to why the entire right side of his body is, as my mom said, "one giant scab."
I figured out Kansas and federal, did a long download for the second time, and then started Missouri.
Here's the rub: I have never been a resident of Missouri. While I went to school there, I was technically an Iowa resident because I was technically a dependent of Charles Albert Buel (although, for many years, he was dependent on me to make his lunch, thereby forcing me to by hot lunch every day because I didn't have time to make my own lunch). I worked in Missouri. In fact, I had three places of employment in Missouri in 2003 alone. Then I moved to Kansas. I also was employed in Kansas for a bit (because that $3.97 from Borders each week made a big difference in my extravagant lifestyle). So I had to do a Missouri form for a person who didn't live there but worked there AND had income from another state. I didn't have that form. I mistakenly filled out the form Mizzou sent me (God forbid anything, including my non-membership to the Alumni Association, be correct), realized it was wrong and found a different form online.
I think I'm done now. I owe Kansas $252 and Missouri owes me $24. Because that TOTALLY evens out.
We interrupt this pretty good day at work for...
AMAZING BREAKING NEWS.
The love of my young life, Chris Bollig, has reappeared. Despite stories of heiresses and monastaries, he is back and found me and this could possibly be the best day EVER. Besides the day when Abby, Nanie, Miss and I saw Janet Jackson and danced to the new *NSYNC CD in Miss's car while she tried to find a parking spot. But this day is definitely up there. Gay Jim has been accounted for, but where is Nick?
I've found something the people are passionate about:
My So-Called Life. I am also quite passionate about
The Cosby Show and
Designing Women. I used to be passionate about
The West Wing before it went down the crapper.
If you were a character in
MSCL, who would you be? I think that's a tough question because the show does a good job of showing the scope of a person's personality, not just one part that makes them "good" or "bad." I think I would be Tino.
s
Kate, maybe we're not friends anymore. YOU FELT BAD FOR BRIAN KRACKOW? Let's go over why we should never feel bad for him.
1. He likes Angela AND Sharon for no apparent reason, except for the fact that they are female and hates them because they don't like him back. THEY WON'T KNOW IF YOU DON'T TELL THEM. (And anyway, it is so not cool to like two friends.)
2. Even though he completely dislikes Rayanne (is that how you spell her name? Whatever.), he hopes that she tells people they got it on while they were locked in the steam room on Halloween.
3. He tells Delia he doesn't want to go to the dance with her just because Angela asked to ride with them to the dance. And Angela even said WE ARE NOT GOING TOGETHER. In my book, that is the greatest sin. You DO NOT cancel a dance date. DO NOT. It's just mean and she was new and, for reasons unbeknownst to me, was totally into him.
4. He keeps showing up to Angela's house and just stands there. Danielle is the only one who likes him, and she is 10 times more annoying than any front-desk loiterer.
5. He won't stand up to Angela. Grow a spine.
His only redeeming quality is the fact that, after Delia touched his hand, he thought, "Finally. An erection caused by human contact." That made me laugh for quite awhile.
Okay, so we're still friends, but just because you're cute.
