The Wall

Right now I am studying for a history text. No wait, thats not right, lets try again. Right now I really should be studying for my American History test. But I'm not. I have hit what they, whoever they may be, call the wall. It reminds me of the movie "Run Fat Boy Run." The bad guy of the movie tells Simon Pegg that in every marathon you hit a wall. I feel like this is true for most things in life, especially hard or unenjoyable things. You plod along, doing your best and then right when you think you're getting some where BAMZO! there is a huge, if not entirely real, wall. I don't know where it comes from, but it's large, and in my mind made of really ugly cinder blocks. Sometimes I can get through the wall. If I know there is something worthwhile on the other side. But other times I just plop down in front of that wall and glare at it, hoping it will move. It usually doesn't. Thats the kind of wall I have hit tonight. It's almost as if my brain is whispering to me, "Jessica, you know you don't care about the causes of the American Revolution, I know you don't care about the causes of the American Revolution and we both know the only thing on the other side of that wall is more studying followed by a ninety minute exam that you may or may not pass and have apathetic feelings toward either way." It is really hard to talk myself into studying when I have such sound logic. So here I am, sitting in front of a really ugly wall. Maybe while I'm here I can do some painting, which would have been tough in pre revolutionary america because the townsend acts placed a tax on paint, and paper, and glass, and tea.

The quinticycle (you've never heard of it for a reason)

Lets talk about bicycles. Bicycles are fun. They have two wheels. If you were to imagine yourself as the wheel of a bicycle it would prolly be pretty enjoyable. You and you other wheel friend are rolling along, moving the bike, making someone's day vastly more enjoyable. So being one of the wheels on a two wheel bicycle would be great. Right? Right. Now if you add a third wheel onto a bicycle what do you have? A tricycle! And tricycles are super fun. Usually on a tricycle all the wheels have a purpose. I mean, sure, sometimes the two back wheels kind of forget about the big front wheel. And they sort of ignore the front wheel and its insistence. But then they remember you and you all roll along happily and all is fairly right with the world, and there is only minimal amounts of awkwardness for that front wheel. Now lets say you have a bicycle with five wheels. What do you call that? Nothing, you don't call that anything except possibly ridiculous. Because that's what a five wheel bicycle is, it's absolutely ridiculous and awkward. A four wheel bicycle is completely plausible. It's like one of those cool push cars or better yet a bike with training wheels. See the two big wheels are getting along super well. They are pros, they know what they're doing. They know each other really well and work well together. And then you have the training wheels. They might not know each other so well, but they are working on getting to know each other. They support the two big wheels together, without overpowering them. Now try to add a fifth wheel into that equation, and what do you get? A very left out fifth wheel. See the two big wheels are all cute and cuddly on the grass swaying to the live music together, sometimes talking to the fifth wheel, but really just wrapped up in the awesomeness of being the two big wheels on the bike. And the two training wheels aren't cuddly, but they sure as heck aren't paying any attention to the fifth wheel because they are too busy talking and getting to know each other better as training wheels and seeing if one day they might want to graduate to being big wheels. So that leaves the fifth wheel sitting in its own discomfort trying to pretend like its not the unwanted fifth wheel while simultaneously trying not to draw attention to its incredibly awkward fifth wheelness. Which leads me to conclude that the five wheeled bicycle is an all around no good contraption that should be banned, or at least altered by adding like a sixth wheel of some kind so that the fifth wheel has someone to talk to who isn't linked by deep love or slight inclination to another wheel. Moral of the story, wheels on a bicycle are best in even numbers, and if the number of wheels can't be even you should at least warn the odd numbered wheel that it's going to be odd numbered so it can prepare itself for an evening of being ignored by people who she barely knows and people she knows really well and hasn't seen in months alike. That way the fifth wheel won't be too disappointed when she finds out that she is going to be the only left out and slightly lonely wheel in a group of five wheels out for an evening of adventure.

Shout out to my readers, all two of you

Dear Krystal and Nick,

It seems some of you (Nick) have been feeling a little left out lately at the lack of mention by me of you. So here I am, mentioning you, appreciating you, loving you, half heartedly wishing you didn't exist so I could go on writing whatever I wanted with no fear of judgement or backlash or you guys not liking what I write. That's not to say I won't go on writing whatever I want, I will, I am just more nervous about doing it. So thanks. If I get an stress induced ulcer I'm blaming both of y'alls, and global warming, and war in the middle east, and broccoli, cuz that freaky green vegetable just stresses me out. But you will be on the list of things I blame! Really though, welcome, feel free to leave your thoughts anytime. I will probably go back to assuming that you don't exist anymore after this post, because it helps my creative juices flow like milk from a cows udders. So don't feel sad or left out. I know you're there, and I appreciate your thereness. I just don't want to mention it ever again.

Cordially yours,

Jessica

Nothing like a good 80s night to sooth the soul

Sorry about my last post all you nonreaders. I know you won't read it, but I did, and it was scary. I was mad, still am, and I needed to let it all out, and as no one really reads this anywho I figured this would be the place to do it. But man am I scary when mad. I definitely wouldn't mess with me. But I'm almost better now. Want to know why? No, you actually prolly don't, but I'm going to tell you anyway. HA! I'm better because of 80s aerobic night. Oh yes, you heard me correctly, tonight my morority (mormon sorority, try to keep up) had an 80s work out night. It was FABULOUS. See if there is one thing I know, its the 80s (nod to my parents and their great culturing of me.) So of course, I show up, bangs fluffed, spandex spatter painted, ready to go. And it was absolutely the best thing I've done in a while. And then I jogged two miles. So basically my endorphin levels have me so high right now the world looks like a cotton candy dream. So when life hands you a poop faced residency committee, just get physical physical, you wanna get physical, just get into physical.

Bonus points for naming the artist of the song I just butchered!

Being a Nowhere Man is not as fun as the Beatles song would have you think

***Notice, there is some bad language and almost bad language in this post, I'm upset deal or don't read it****

So, as many of you nonreaders out there probably don't know, or care to know, I have transfered from the beloved and beautiful UCLA to the beliked and be-prettyish University of Utah. The reason for this sudden move eastward is primarily financial. Even after, living, working, paying taxes and generally loving California with all my heart and soul UCLA still wouldn't give me residency. I could no longer afford to pay out of state tuition. Two choices were placed before me. I could work for a year, pay for my junior year all by myself and then maybe get residency for my senior year, or I could come home and go to the U. What with todays current economic turmoil I decided it would be more practical, more adult, and in the long run, more beneficial to come home and go to the U. So I transfer. And then find out that the University of Utah is not going to give me residency. Say whaaaaaat(insert sassy black head bob, and z formation snapping here) ? So I rush around everywhere, including the DMV in west Salt Lake near the fairgrounds, which is not a fun place to bus to let me tell you what, getting everything they say I need to prove my residence. I gather it all up and turn it in. Then they tell me that they need some more stuff, so I get it. I do everything they ask with a smile on my face, and what do they do? They deny me residency. Those sons of b*tch mother effing DOUCHE BAGS deny me residency. Apparently all that rushing and fearing for my life. wasn't enough, and apparently I made moves to establish residency in California. Do you mean paying taxes U of U? Cuz thats kind of the law. Paying taxes means I was working, not establishing residency. Now I get to appeal the whole thing and go through all the steps of proving I'm a resident again. And you know what I'm thinking they will probably deny me again, because thats just the way my life appears to be rolling right now. They, being the fart nuggets in charge of this sort of thing, said I would be able to get residency in CA after living there for two years, lies, they said that all I needed for residency at the U was a drivers license and voter registration, bull sh*t. Why can't things be like the people in charge say they will be? Why? Why is that so hard? I guess thats life. But you know what the University of Utah residency office can go to hell.

So for all of you who have been thinking to yourself that you might one day like to become a real nowhere man living in a nowhere land making all your nowhere plans for nobody rethink. Its not fun, and there's a hell of a lot of paperwork.