I am now 22 years old. A week into this new adventure, may I add. I'm sure we've all heard that saying about when life gives you lemons, then make lemonade. Something like that? Lemons --> lemonade. Simple. I've certainly had my share of lemons in life and looking back, I think I've made my own share of homemade lemonade. Not good lemonade. But good enough. I mean...I'm here. Alive.
As I leave behind my undergraduate years, I've decided to take one extra plunge. Why not take lemons and make lemonade? Literally. And drink it. 10 glasses a day. Nothing else. Just...lemonade. That's right, ladies and gentlemen. I've taken on the master cleanse! Also known as "detoxification." I've always been one for spiritual detox, but now I'm undergoing a physiological detox! Well, I think only my intestines and colon will be fully aware of the effects but that's a different blog post.
So here I am. 12 hours into the master cleanse. And I'm miserable. Absolutely miserable. I suppose detoxing isn't supposed to be a pleasant experience, but why on earth did I think that denying myself the pleasures of solid food would be a worthwhile experience? First, I have to clarify and say that this isn't any old Country Time. It's a homespun concoction including fresh lemon juice (I've opted for the bottled lemon juice because I'm too lazy to squeeze), organic grade b maple syrup, water, and a dash of cayenne pepper. Not to mention a quart of water mixed with non-iodized sea salt every morning for--as the website purports--"enhanced bowel movement." All the cues to this endeavor were red flags telling me to stay away and enjoy a toxic lifestyle. Nevermind that my friend quit after 3 days and a subsequent nose-bleed, nevermind the no-food rule, nevermind the CAYENNE PEPPER, which may I add tastes horrendous. I've embarked on a new stage of my life and I'm determined to follow this thing through...Friday. Maybe.
Not only does the lemonade taste like the bastard child of bad lemons and a cajun entree, but the first day has been excruciating. I certainly didn't receive the memo, but it must have been doughnuts day at the dialysis clinic today. There were doughnuts pouring out of every orifice of that bleach-scented clinic. Doughnuts were offered to me by the patients, the other secretaries, the head nurse...there were even some mysterious doughnuts just lying in a chair in the break room. I know the sensual experience of eating original glazed doughnuts inside and out. Thank the Lord these weren't Krispy Kremes because I may have had to gnaw on my hand all day long. But original glazed doughnuts...I know their sticky touch to the fingers, their sugary smell, the feel of that first bite all the way to that doughy after-taste that can only be resolved with a cold glass of milk. I grew so anxious throughout the day that by the time I'd left at 3 pm, I just had to touch one doughnut with my finger. I hope nobody ate that.
Four more days. Four more days to make these damned lemons I've picked for myself and somehow make lemonade that'll go down and enhance bowel movement. Because that's what you do in life, right? Now if I could only get as much publicity for my detox as Kate Moss. What sweet lemonade that would be...
Monday, September 25, 2006
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Wedding Crashers
This past weekend marked the second wedding featuring people who in my mind actually matter. It would be useless to go into the details of what happened, who was wearing what, and how unbelievably happy everyone was for the couple. So I won't. After all, what decent wedding movie actually focuses on the wedding itself or the couple at hand? Nobody cares about that stuff because everyone already knows what's going to happen; it's the stuff that happens on the periphery that matters. My Big Fat Greek Wedding? Who actually gave a flip what happened to that main Greek woman and long-haired Aiden from Sex and the City? It was the supporting cast that made the movie.
So if the bride and groom were perfect, the dinner was perfect, and the artificial reunion with friends was perfect...that leaves the other stuff, which was not so perfect. Ofcourse i was expecting the barage of questions about what I was doing, how Korea was, and "what? LSATs? I didn't know you wanted to be a lawyer." But leave it to just one person to let those questions sour your mood. After I told a friend's mother that I didn't have a job, she let out one of those shrill can't-tell-if-she's-faking-it laughs and proceeded to tell me how her daughter had not only found a job, but graduated from college, AND gotten married. There it was. The ultimate trifecta of success as measured by Texan mothers, and I'd only checked off one. She didn't stop there. She flashed her own left hand and brazenly announced that she too had gotten married just several weeks before her daughter. She stopped herself and laid her limp wristed hand on my arm and asked, "Well did you atleast graduate?" "Yes," I answered sheepishly. I would have judo-chopped her face with a "...PHI BETA KAPPA, you biatch!" but somehow it still pales in comparison to a wedding ring and a steady cash flow.
I'd already been dreading the reception, seeing as how my best friends were all members of the wedding party and that left me with...no one. I purposely arrived a little late and walked in with a friend of mine who'd luckily come to the wedding plus none. We quickly helped ourselves to glasses of wine and sat at the only remaining table, so far in the back that we didn't even have the privilege of sitting in the main hall. May I also mention how this was the only table located in the serving room/bar. Adding insult to injury, the one person I didn't want to sit with us mingled over to our table. I don't know what it is about tax auditors or people in accounting, but you just get the impression that these people are really fit for these ungodly jobs and nothing else. You have a conversation with these people (2 in this case) and think to yourself, "I'm really glad I'm not in accounting." Even if there's a healthy paycheck in it, it's just not worth it. I had the good fortune of being surrounded by people hellbent to avoid that route for the majority of my college career and atleast for this past summer, I surrounded myself with, well...interesting people.
So really just two crashes at an otherwise fine wedding. I don't see myself going to another one for quite sometime. And next time I'll follow through with the wise choice to bring a date.
So if the bride and groom were perfect, the dinner was perfect, and the artificial reunion with friends was perfect...that leaves the other stuff, which was not so perfect. Ofcourse i was expecting the barage of questions about what I was doing, how Korea was, and "what? LSATs? I didn't know you wanted to be a lawyer." But leave it to just one person to let those questions sour your mood. After I told a friend's mother that I didn't have a job, she let out one of those shrill can't-tell-if-she's-faking-it laughs and proceeded to tell me how her daughter had not only found a job, but graduated from college, AND gotten married. There it was. The ultimate trifecta of success as measured by Texan mothers, and I'd only checked off one. She didn't stop there. She flashed her own left hand and brazenly announced that she too had gotten married just several weeks before her daughter. She stopped herself and laid her limp wristed hand on my arm and asked, "Well did you atleast graduate?" "Yes," I answered sheepishly. I would have judo-chopped her face with a "...PHI BETA KAPPA, you biatch!" but somehow it still pales in comparison to a wedding ring and a steady cash flow.
I'd already been dreading the reception, seeing as how my best friends were all members of the wedding party and that left me with...no one. I purposely arrived a little late and walked in with a friend of mine who'd luckily come to the wedding plus none. We quickly helped ourselves to glasses of wine and sat at the only remaining table, so far in the back that we didn't even have the privilege of sitting in the main hall. May I also mention how this was the only table located in the serving room/bar. Adding insult to injury, the one person I didn't want to sit with us mingled over to our table. I don't know what it is about tax auditors or people in accounting, but you just get the impression that these people are really fit for these ungodly jobs and nothing else. You have a conversation with these people (2 in this case) and think to yourself, "I'm really glad I'm not in accounting." Even if there's a healthy paycheck in it, it's just not worth it. I had the good fortune of being surrounded by people hellbent to avoid that route for the majority of my college career and atleast for this past summer, I surrounded myself with, well...interesting people.
So really just two crashes at an otherwise fine wedding. I don't see myself going to another one for quite sometime. And next time I'll follow through with the wise choice to bring a date.
Friday, September 08, 2006
How much is "not much"?
Several days after a flight to Chicago, a connecting flight to Boston, a round-trip bus journey to and from Amherst, a much delayed flight from Boston to Atlanta, and a post-midnight flight to DFW, I find myself right back where I started: in front of my computer in my pajamas at 9 AM. I had a great time visiting friends and feeling as if this brief visit was but a mere prelude to packing my belongings and moving into my friends' dorms. I wish I hadn't been such a moron and forgotten to put my newly charged batteries into my digital camera, but suffice it to say, this weekend was simply...great.
I never realized just how much I say "Not much." Especially following the overly banal, conversation-starter "What's goin' on?" And ofcourse you have to respond to such a dull question with "Not much." I think I said that about fifty times over the course of the weekend. "What are you up to now, Paul?" "Oh, not much." I sat around and watched a lot of reruns of My Super Sweet Sixteen, Next, Two-A-Days, and Project Runway. If you asked me, my reunion with cable television was hardly "not much." ButI should really stop kidding myself; I was on the verge of useless, while my friends ran around preparing for their last year of college. I spent an entire two years with Colin's run-down futon (God rest its soul) and somehow felt equally acquainted with the new futon, rainbow tie-dyed mattress and all.
This "not much" doing was, however, exactly what I needed. I really needed this time to actually verbalize my plans for the next several months and convince people that my entire "I have no clue what to do in life" front was just a cover up for a minor plan that would get me through the next few months. And not only did I reacquaint myself with cable television, but also with the eggs from Valentine (both scrambled and over-easy) and the Peter Pan Bus. The latter is something I actually vowed never to do again, but it was really the only way to get from Boston to Amherst.
Now I'm back, and somehow the same answer of "not much" isn't sounding so great. No worries. I do have several prospects for part-time jobs to keep me occupied during the day with LSAT classes in the evenings. And thank the Lord, I've got a couple friends still around the DFW metroplex who will take me around the sights and excites of downtown Dallas--something I never really did get a chance to experience. But every hour that I spend thinking about which gift off the registry to buy or which room in the house deserves to get vacuumed first, I can't help but feel that something went terribly wrong. Something in that plan that started when I filled out all those Ivy League college applications back in my senior year of high school, dreaming of extravagant paychecks on the east or west coast.
I really have no excuse to be so negative. It's just that I'm still on an awful sleep schedule that puts me to bed around 7:30 pm and wakes me up at 4 am. This isn't jet lag. This is me having "not much" to do. That "not much" which was so much fun just a week ago has now turned into a funk that I'm relying on tonight and tomorrow to fix.
Tonight: dinner and drinks
Tomorrow: the wedding
I never realized just how much I say "Not much." Especially following the overly banal, conversation-starter "What's goin' on?" And ofcourse you have to respond to such a dull question with "Not much." I think I said that about fifty times over the course of the weekend. "What are you up to now, Paul?" "Oh, not much." I sat around and watched a lot of reruns of My Super Sweet Sixteen, Next, Two-A-Days, and Project Runway. If you asked me, my reunion with cable television was hardly "not much." ButI should really stop kidding myself; I was on the verge of useless, while my friends ran around preparing for their last year of college. I spent an entire two years with Colin's run-down futon (God rest its soul) and somehow felt equally acquainted with the new futon, rainbow tie-dyed mattress and all.
This "not much" doing was, however, exactly what I needed. I really needed this time to actually verbalize my plans for the next several months and convince people that my entire "I have no clue what to do in life" front was just a cover up for a minor plan that would get me through the next few months. And not only did I reacquaint myself with cable television, but also with the eggs from Valentine (both scrambled and over-easy) and the Peter Pan Bus. The latter is something I actually vowed never to do again, but it was really the only way to get from Boston to Amherst.
Now I'm back, and somehow the same answer of "not much" isn't sounding so great. No worries. I do have several prospects for part-time jobs to keep me occupied during the day with LSAT classes in the evenings. And thank the Lord, I've got a couple friends still around the DFW metroplex who will take me around the sights and excites of downtown Dallas--something I never really did get a chance to experience. But every hour that I spend thinking about which gift off the registry to buy or which room in the house deserves to get vacuumed first, I can't help but feel that something went terribly wrong. Something in that plan that started when I filled out all those Ivy League college applications back in my senior year of high school, dreaming of extravagant paychecks on the east or west coast.
I really have no excuse to be so negative. It's just that I'm still on an awful sleep schedule that puts me to bed around 7:30 pm and wakes me up at 4 am. This isn't jet lag. This is me having "not much" to do. That "not much" which was so much fun just a week ago has now turned into a funk that I'm relying on tonight and tomorrow to fix.
Tonight: dinner and drinks
Tomorrow: the wedding
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