anger, angst, grammar, puppies

I think because I hate my English class so much I'm taking it out on the world. On a recent essay my professor wrote two things on my paper: don't use "because" in essays, and don't put a comma after a compound verb. I got a B on it, which is the lowest grade I've received on a college essay to date. Have I mentioned that my professor looks like the Witch of Blackbird Pond? She does.

That, coupled with the fact that there is snow on the ground gives me more than enough reason to vent:

1. I HATE the phrase "cool beans." Is there a more lame phrase in existence? No, there isn't. It's rock bottom.

2. The word "yeah" is not spelled "ya." Check the dictionary.com definition of "ya" if you don't believe me.

3. I don't know if I hate it more than "cool beans," but I find it incredibly tacky when people decorate their blogs in accordance with holidays. 4th of July is the worst. It's made my usual rounds of blog stalking much less pleasant. The world needs more grinches.

On a more pleasant note, I didn't really think I liked animals until I discovered what a teacup poodle is. Now I want one. With all my heart.

Happy one year, Andrew

Whenever I'm about to do something potentially cheesy, I usually feel the need to justify/defend myself, and this post won't be an exception. While I never intended to turn my blog into one of those Mormon couple blogs that seem to be springing up like an epidemic (not that I don't enjoy reading some of them and mocking others of them), I will say that I write about Andrew a lot more than I ever thought I would. I've been intensely private about our relationship because I don't think it's something the whole world needs to see, but I've finally decided to share our story for those who are curious.

The first time I saw Andrew, it wasn't love at first sight. I knew from a) the fact that he was wearing a Threadless t-shirt (I Listen to Bands that don't even Exist Yet) and b) that he was discussing a Death Cab/Tegan and Sara concert with someone, he thought he was a hipster. I wasn't impressed.

The first time we actually met was at a gathering in a friend's backyard. Our conversation started with Sufjan Stevens, moved on to his love of Neil Young, and concluded with discussion about our mutual love for documentary film. I realized he didn't think he was a hipster and was much more impressed.

On our second meeting, he remembered my name but I had forgotten his. We talked politics, of our hatred for Glenn Beck, and I promised to let him borrow a David Sedaris book that took place mainly in Japan, where Andrew had lived for a short while.

After a few walks to free, outdoor, weekly concerts, movies at the Broadway, and various musical exchanges, we were inseparable. Summer came. It was filled with bicycle rides, concerts, good food, good film, and occasional road trips. Summer left. It was time for me to move to a different city. I told him I loved him and he announced he wanted to marry me. 2.5 months later we made it official.

Come on baby in our dreams we can live our misbehavior

For most of my life I rarely, if ever, remembered my dreams. In the past year or so though, I've remembered my dreams almost every night, and I'm afraid my fears of being insane have been confirmed.

Last night I dreamt I was with my sister and one of her roommates and we went to this local music store called Slowtrain. We walked downstairs to the basement of the store, and it was gigantic and dungeon-like. A bunch of other girls were down there too, and there was a huge room filled with yarn, and we were each given a small string by the people who own Slowtrain and told to do something with it. The musician Ben Lee came in and said he was going to be giving us a free concert. I then experienced some deja vu and knew that I had been in this basement/dungeon before. Ben Lee had given a concert, and during one of his songs he had busted out a huge medieval looking axe and started chopping people up. It turned out he was in cohorts with some Nigerian terrorists who wanted human flesh to sell on the black market.

I couldn't remember how I had managed to escape the first time, but as soon as I heard him announce a concert, I knew we needed to get out of there, but I didn't want to break off from the group because I thought there might be Nigerians patrolling the hallways. We got herded into the biggest stadium I had ever seen, and I got separated from my sister and her roommate. I looked down and saw my dad and the rest of my family sitting several rows below me, so I hurried over to them. I asked what they were doing there and then had a panic attack because I realized Andrew wasn't with them. I didn't have cell phone reception so I couldn't call him to see if he was safe or somewhere in the stadium. Then, I woke up.

Polaroid Paradise

Okay, so thanks to the wonders of the internet I just found this website. You can take digital photos and turn them into Polaroids. Needless to say, I am in love and addicted.

























































Also, my headbands are now being sold in a boutique in Jackson, MS. I'm excited.

Acid. Wash. Jeans.

Just because Urban Outfitters and American Apparel sell them doesn't mean they were, are, or ever will be okay.

Favorite moment of the week so far:

We passed a taco stand last night. Andrew shuddered and said, "Why don't they just re-name it El Hepatitis?"