Summer Story Arcs Concluding...

My Grandma finally died today. She left early this morning (2:20 California time). So, thinking about my life in terms of a television show, the dying grandmother arc is complete. Now onto the funeral, which should only take two to three episodes.

I'm not sure when it is going to be. I'm not sure if it's going to cut my internship short. I'm not even sure if they will let me leave for it. If they don't, then I will have to quit, but I can't imagine anyone being that harsh.

So, how do I feel about my grandma dying? Okay. Pretty peaceful actually. I'm never quite sure what to feel when people die. I was 14 when my grandpa died. My mom burst into my room in the morning:

"Your grandpa died. We're not going to school," she said.

"Okay..." I said, and then I laid there until I went to sleep.

I'm odd like that when it comes to death. I guess if it would have been sudden, I would have reacted differently. Grandma's cancer was a long, slow battle, and we all knew the outcome.

I'll miss her, of course. (She's the only adult in my life who ever advised me to "whip [someone's] ass.") But what can I do?

I have 9 days left of my internship. I'll be so happy when it's over. Oooh, so the dying grandmother storyline and the internship storyline might have a joint conclusion. Grandma's is obviously ending with a funeral, and the internship might end there as well.

It's so fun when you think of your life in terms of television.

Other random things that my grandma would do that were hilarious:
1.) She referred to cucumbers as "cukes." (I saw the spelling on her grocery list once.)
2.) Her secret to vegetable soup was to dump everything you could think of into. The best was when she discovered"mini corn cobs."
3.) She would often say "animul."
4.) She would often call me to help her move furniture in her house. Whenever I would go over there, the furniture would already be repositioned. "I just decided to do move it myself," she would say.
5.) She liked to pretend that she was up to date on current music. I don't know where this came from, but whenever Thurman bought me The Strokes' "First Impressions of Earth" for my birthday, she picked it up, studied it and said "I've never heard of them before."
6.) She liked to tell everyone her life story. It was usually prefaced like this: "I have five kids. One boy and four girls. And let me tell you, that one boy was harder to raise than all four of the girls put together."
7.) She usually made me put on a fashion show whenever I bought new clothes. "You look just like Audrey Hepburn!" she would say.
8.) She invented the Goodie Bin, which was basically a hutch that always had little toys for me and Thurman in it.
9.) She wanted to be everyone's grandma. Anytime my friends would come over, she would say, "Just call me Grandma!"
10.) Instead of saying that something was hysterical, she would say, "Well, that was just historical." This was usually when she was being sarcastic.

Somehow I am tan even though I haven't made any attempt at sunbathing this summer. I'm locked away in the chilly office for three fourths of the day, and by the time I get out, the sun is on the retreat and the moon is threatening a coup. I'm just lucky I guess.

Anyway, blogs are for complaining, right? There are verifiable journals--which we all know are only for bitching--except that everyone reads them and is supposed to sympathize. Whatever. Anyway, I think this gives me the right to complain.

And here's my complaint for the summer:

This is the worst summer ever!

Five Reasons Why This is the Worst Summer Ever:

1.) My grandma is dying. I went to Cali in May to see her one last time, so that made the whole trip somber as hell. She is still on the way out, and my entire family (minus my dad) is out there right now.

2.) Bouncing off the previous grievance, my family is weird this summer. Mom has been gone since May. Thurman is Thurman and is now gone to Cali. Dad is stuck at home, which is sad. And I miss everyone and don't feel like I get to spend time with anyone except for Dad.

3.) I'm not enjoying my internship. I wanted to put "hate," but I really don't "hate" the internship. I'm just not enjoying how I have to spend my time. I would rather be in Cali with the rest of my family. It's making me regret my choice of major also, which is a sucky thing to think about when you are a senior.

4.) Along with familial weirdness, I also have a couple friend problems. I will leave this as vague as possible because toes will get stepped on and there will be tears.

5.) My face is breaking out like a 15-year-old triple threat son/daughter of a famous movie star. I haven't had a summer of breakouts in forever. I assume that I am under a lot of stress. ARGH.

So, yeah, I'm not having fun, and that is what summer is supposed to be about. This feels like an extended school year.

Total Blarf of the Heart

A twenty-one year old hottie (take it with a horse pill, k?) shouldn't know about filling 990 tax forms. Or the difference between real nonprofits and fake forprofit nonprofits.

Unfortunately, I must announce that I do know what it all means and can stumble out an explanation--don't worry, I'm not going to now. Sheesh.

I started my internship for Arkansas Business weekly newspaper, and let's just say that I have enough material for a book titled "The Unlikeable Intern." I'm thinking about adding another adjective, like moronic, onto it in light of the recent revelation that my supervisor and editor of the newspaper just brought to my attention:

I can not alphabetize properly.

In the movers & shakers section of the pape, I am responsible for gathering a bunch of press releases together, taking two good sentences out of it and then sorting them altogether. This requires putting them into categories, and that is where my alphabetization skills failed me miserably. For some reason, I didn't put them in alphabetical order!

And for some other reason, no one caught it.

"I've never had to look for that," my boss said, which translates to "We've never had anyone intern here that's stupid enough to forget the alphabet."

She then went on to say that every intern has different quirks--also known as weaknesses--and that one intern didn't bother to clarify the correct spelling of names when they are spelled two different ways in a press release.

I immediately felt better because my fact-checking experience ruled out that folly.

"She never got a job in the media," my boss said as she started to walk away. "The last time I saw her she was waitressing."

OMG. That could be me! My lack of alphabetizing could land me in the culinary service business forever. And I don't mean like sous chef extroadinaire--anyone remember Jules the Iron Chef? Wow.--I mean like "would you like fries with my dignity?"

Anyway, my internship has been a complete anomaly. I don't know how these things keep happening to me, but it's getting ridiculous:

Six Weirdo Things That Could Only Ever Happen to This Weirdo Intern:

1. There was mass confusing over my name because I put my full name on my resume. I did this because I wanted my full name for my pen name. This only resulted in some people calling me Julie and others calling me Julie Ann. It all culminated into "What is your name?" which to me is a strange question to ask someone after a week of work. My reply was probably most confusing to them because I said, "Well, technically, they are both my name...but I usually go by Julie." This did succeeded in righting the confusion, but it also managed to boot my clever pen name scheme as Julie Ann was nowhere to be found on that page. Just Julie...how boring.
2. I nearly killed a group of my coworkers whilst driving to a biz lunch when I Tokyo drifted onto the highway. Because my first attempt didn't succeed--and wasn't embarrassing enough--I proceeded to then almost rear-end somebody. People were screaming. Need I say more?
3. Because of said unexpected biz lunch and lunch with Beks the next day, I failed to eat my peanut butter sandwich the day I made it. I thought, "Well, it's peanut butter. This can't go bad. You don't have to refrigerate it!" Three days later, I took a bite out of it and nearly puked. It tasted like chemicals. And this is when I learned that peanut butter can ferment if not refrigerated or eaten in a timely matter. I was eating lunch with my fellow interns--who had finally invited me to lunch, and I was super ecstatic about it--and so I quickly shoved the sandwich into my Beatles bag and ate cookies and cake for lunch. Totally healthy.
   
4. The second day of work, I wore my shirt inside out. And no one said anything...
5. After my first deadline day, I drove to a car wash when I got home because my car was caked in bird crap--there was a partially digested worm on my windshield. The first wash didn't succeed in getting it all off, so I drove to the gas station down the street from Alycia's house so I could use the 25-cent car wash. I took off my brown heels and left them in the car while I washed it. The 1:24 seconds of high-powered spray didn't get all the soap off, so I decided I could spare another quarter. I tried to open my car door, but, of course, I had locked my keys inside the car with my shoes, my phone and basically my life and my dignity. I had to go inside the gas station and call a locksmith who didn't answer the phone, the UCAPD who refused to help me and 911 which made me wish I had locked in a puppy in the back. Out of options, I walked home, barefoot and alone, while people honked at me and roadkill judged me.
6. Yesterday was my second D-day, so I was prepared to stay late since my boss made such a huge deal out of staying late even though all of my work was complete. So, anyway, with nothing to do, I worked on the nonprofit list. I sit with my back to the rest of my coworkers, so while I am working ahead, I notice that it is suddenly deftly quiet. By now, it's nearly six o'clock, so I turn around and notice that everyone is gone. My coworkers left without telling me that we were finished...

So, yes, three weeks in and enough for a New York Times bestseller--God willing, of course.

And in 20 minutes, I will be leaving to go shopping with Beks and Lains. Totally cathartic end to this day.

The Filthy Youth Is Just...Well, Filthy.

I love Chuck Bass.
I love Ed Westwick.
I love Ed Westwick as Chuck Bass. It is serious good acting. I don't care if he whispers every line. He just knows how to verbally structure emotion into a sentence. It's amazing.
But enough about his acting. There is one thing about Ed Westwick that I can't brainwash myself to like:
His band. The Filthy Youth.
Omg.


At work today, I was bored and so I started to flip through my obscure bands lexicon. For some reason, I thought "Hrmm. I guess I will give Ed Westwick's band a listen." I had only briefly heard them once, wrote them off as emo-ish pub punk, and left it at that. It was time for redemption, right?
Not really.

I think the name of the band says it all. The Filthy Youth. I give them props for not trying to hide their out-of-the-garage-and-into-the-gutter sound. I feel like I need a shower after listening to them. I'm not sure why. Westwick's vocals are like someone spilling a draft down the back of my shirt. And the power chord inflicted guitar is like, well, the floor of a pub.

The first song on their myspace page is called "Boy Don't Smoke." I can't locate any lyrics for this song, and I can't understand Westwick at all. I just know that he doesn't smoke which I already knew from the title. I don't know if we are supposed to commend the kid for saying no to cancer or just kick his ass. It's all very confusing.

The next song is "Le Soleil," which is a mature title for such a juvenile band. This time the guitar line is catchier, and the song is actually likeable. The melody is also pleasing to hear. It's kind of like seeing the sunlight after being stuck in a subway tunnel with only a tack to defend yourself. I could actually stand to listen to this more than once.

And then comes their fan favorite--I'm saying this because every teenage girl that hearts Gossip Girl seems to love this song for no reason--"Come Flash All Your Ladies." I'm wondering what the hell this song means. Here in America, it sounds like an invite to lift up your tank top. However, the song--as I try to piece it together--is about a girl that loves to have sex, wants to have babies which is fine with dude because that just means she's gotta do it again, and has a college scholarship. Is it about horny co-eds? Is it about a girl using her bod to get free things? Who knows? I actually like the intro to this song. It's simple, speeds up, and then goes into a ska rhythm complete with tons of up-beats. I also think that Westwick's voice matches the general presence...oh my god, it's growing on me. Now, if only I knew what it meant.

The next song starts with Westwick screaming "Hello! Where'd your summer go?!" This sent me into hyenia hysteria at work. This is the beginning of "Orange," which is another ska homage. Apparently this song was in an episode of Gossip Girl, but, yeah, I totally don't remember it. The pool scene maybe? Anyway, it's okay, but that's about as far as it goes.

Then there is "Pirate," which also opens with Westwick mumbling something unimportant. I want to like the song because at the minute mark, the tune actually changes into some sort of Rush-esque slow down--but not as awesome. And then it speeds up again into everything we've heard before.

The last song on myspace is called "City Stop." It starts with the question "Have you ever been drunk on an airplane?" Sure. Whatever. Once again, the guitar part sounds like a thirteen year old picking out a three note combo over and over again. And then there's the ska rhythm again. Maybe I just shouldn't listen to these all at once. They sound like the same song.

Anyway, I want to like the band. I like Westwick. I like the fact that he's in a band. I just don't like the band. It sounds like one giant jam session. Granted, this could be because they haven't released an album and this is all just crappy bathroom recordings.

Actually, I can't imagine what this band would sound like if they were digitally cleaned up. They are too rooted in the pub grunge quality that if they went in with mixers the end result would be complete silence.

I like Westwick's vocals, I think. I can't really tell if he's singing. He does this Jagger yelp every once and a while. I guess that's singing. I heard him sing on Gossip Girl. It sounded...acceptable? Does the kid have any stage presence? I would like to hope so. But I get the feeling that he might just zombie it up there and rely on his chiseled face. I'm not complaining.

And I just watched a Youtube video only to discover that he rolls with the drugged/retarded rock star persona. There's the lazy swing of the mic, the staring off into the distant nothing, the slowly stumbling backwards followed by turning his back on the audiance. Everything he does is just lazy. The dude needs to watch some Jim Morrison or Ian Curtis vids.

This band is just such an enigma to me. I want to believe that they are being ironic in that let's-make-fun-of-groddy-pub-bands-by-sounding-like-them, but I don't think that is the case. They just are a groddy pub band. And they are nothing else.

I added this pic of the band because I couldn't stop laughing about it. First, I love how Ed Westwick is the only attractive one of the bunch. There should be a law that someone attractive as him should not be allowed to hang out, let alone make music with, the other drags. Three of the dudes could also pass for the same person. I'm talking about the guys with the weirdo '80s shags on their heads. And then there's the kid on the right that looks like a teenage fan that just bopped his way into the photo at the last minute.

And to end this rant, I want to say that I really want to like The Filthy Youth. It just seems impossible at this point in their career. Maybe there's hope with their first cd release. Well, only if it comes with a lyrics booklet inside so I finally know what they are mumbling about.

And, Omg, I had to put this at the end. It's the bad boy with his parents! Look at his fam! I love that his dad is wearing a shiny black vest over his black shirt! I love that his Mom has a glass of, um, beer, maybe? And I love the fact that they support his average music! Cutest picture ever!



Note: I would still have sex with Ed Westwick regardless of the fact that he is in an unforgivably forgettable band.

The One Where Julie Mistakes Indigestion for a Hangover

This is not a joke. I literally thought that my extreme stomach ache was as a result of my night on the town. Instead it was just a bad mix of queso and goat cheese.

So, to celebrate the joint birthdays of Laura and I, we went out and about to Little Rock. Adam DD'd, which we were all thankful for. We went to the Rev Room and watched a hillbilly band. And I mean a hillbilly band. Complete with washboard and whatnot. I think a juice harp even made an appearance.

And to clear the records, I was drunk. But I was not blitzed. And this is entirely amazing because I downed three margaritas before we left and then kicked back three Long Island iced teas in the city. 

So, basically, I defy the very nature of my stick figure. I am far from being a lightweight. It's kind of like how I possess the shoe size of someone who is five feet tall. So, basically, I can't balance this bean pole because of it.

And I blame my alcohol immunity on my one drunken night in Paris. It's like I've developed alcoholic antibodies as a result.

Anyway, we went to the Flying Saucer afterwards, totally forgetting to say goodbye to Bre and Micah. Bekah and Laura dared me to sit next to the guy playing the guitar in the corner. However, I figured I couldn't muscle that armchair next to him, so it was a lost cause. If there had been a fold-out near him, I definitely would have considered it.

We went to Ernie Biggs' Piano Bar next in hopes that they would let me sit on the piano for my bday. However, they were all giant jackasses and brushed off my coming-of-age partay.

It is probably all for the best, though, because I probably would have climbed on stage, removed all of my clothes, and gave the younger piano player a lap dance. Then, I would realize moments later that he's really not at all attractive and that my haute dress had disappeared. So, then I would have had to run around LR in only my gangster skivs and my spanking new stilettos.

So, it was probably for the best that I did not hop on stage.

We went over to Willy D's, but they were charging and there was only forty minutes left before closing. Eventually, we just gave up and went home.

I nearly tumbled out of Adam's car whilst it was moving when we got back to the dorm. So, that's my only major inebriated moment of the night. That I remember.

We went to bed circa 3 a.m. and it was around 6, that I woke up to feel my stomach crawling. I thought that it was the hangover setting in, so I went to the bathroom to barf. 

Except I can not for the life of me throw up EVER. I have to pretty much ram a rifle down my throat and empty gunpowder into my gut to make me vomit. And that's just leads to death, so I don't try it often.

I tried to make myself throw up. I stuck my finger down the back of my throat, juggled the uvula around, and still nothing. I gagged a couple of times, but nothing happened. I only tensed up, injuring my tongue.

It was horrible, and I couldn't go back to sleep. I had to drive home that afternoon, so I kept picturing myself driving down I-40 and vomiting out of my open window.

But I will conveniently remove all details of the detoxification that my body experienced for the rest of the morning. Let's just say that it was an "everyone move out" operation.

Anyway, I am home for Christmas now. And I'm sure it will be unexciting until the end of break. But, who knows?

It is December First.

I love December.

I was born in December.

Christmas is in December. New Year's Eve is in December.

Winter break rocks my striped toe socks.

Basically, December should be the greatest month of all time.

However, it usually ends up slightly depressing. A morose grey.

I remember when I used to be so excited about December because Lord of the Rings was being released in theaters. And if it wasn't for that damn leap year nonsense, Return of the King would have been released on my birthday. Not the day after.

So, this December better be amazing. Or I will cry on the street corner in front of the Lewis Science Center!

The Politics of Being a Girl

I never understood teenage politics. And I definitely don't understand why they never go away.

I imagine it's easy to be a dude. You never fight with your friends. When you do, it's over something stupid like a bag of doritos or the final hit of a joint.

Being a girl, however, we fight over everything. Even with our best friends.

And why do we fight with them? Who knows? Maybe we really are that catty.

Luckily, these disputes tend to not last too long. Unless it's on television. And then they will drag it out all season and bring it back for the next. But, I just get tired of dealing with them in quick successions.

I remember getting in a fight with one of my friends from jr. high, Aarika, because I told her she was turning into a prep. Yes. This was when I thought I was "punk."  I remember going to English class, where I sat right next to her, and we didn't speak to each other. For some reason, the rest of the class was discussing what would happen to us if we were on a desert island.

"You would probably die trying to find an outlet for your hairdryer," I said to Aarika.

"You're probably right," she said with a laugh. "And you would die after wandering off into the jungle, getting lost, and accidently walking off the edge of the cliff."

"Too true," I said.

And we never fought again.

I also remember that me and another high school friend, Teresa, got into an argument one day in drama class because I thought that she liked Thurman. Needless to say, I was appalled, and it the rumor wasn't true anyway. However, our argument didn't even last all day. It barely lasted an hour.

"Yeah, I can't do this," Teresa said. "I have another Shoptaw story to tell you." Shoptaw was our favorite student teacher EVER.

"Great, because I need to hear this," I said.

So, even though I may be having silent problems involving two of my best friends, I am hoping that it will blow over just like it always does. Until then, my mind will constantly wander over what I've done wrong, if anything.

But, seriously, if you have a problem...just say it!

And, yes, I have so much to write about what happened this weekend. Right now, however, I can barely wrap my mind around the amazing events. So, I will collect and then publish.