If you want to say yes, say yes

It snowed today! At school! It wasn’t a lot and it didn’t stick, but it snowed!! And sure, Las Vegas has gotten snow before, I’ve woken up to a substantial blanket of snow covering the ground and this is nothing in comparison when you’re talking quantity, but I’ve never actually *seen* snow coming down from the sky out here. So that was exciting.

And while it was snowing, I was comfortably inside having a very nice conversation with a very nice person, a conversation which has put my mind to rest about something that’s been troubling me for months now– I’m going to stick with CpE. I really like the sound of EE and CS has always been enticing to me, and it seems like CpE is the closest thing to a middle ground for the two. Nice thing about this is, it’s what I’m already down for in UNLV’s system, so there’s no mess of paperwork.

On a mostly unrelated note– I’ve had two songs stuck in my head all day, one by Cat Stevens:

If you want to sing out, sing out
And if you want to be free, be free

and the other by The Nerve Agents:


Madam butterfly
Seek out your true brillance
Let no one ever stop you!

I’m so happy in this moment of time. My life just feels *right.* I like that.

Baby, it’s cold outside

It may be nearly March, but it is flipping freezing outside still and I hear tell that Japan is going to be just as cold, if not colder, when we get there. Being as I have two kinds of "outerwear"– thin cotton Danskin jackets and floor-length 15-lb. evening coats, I decided it was high time I found a practical, through-the-years wool coat.

And of course no one has any. Even the goddamn COAT STORE, which specializes in COATS, doesn’t have any. Because it’s nearly March. Pfft.

Though Windsor had a bunch of cute fashionable jackets on-sale-on-clearance, and it’s kind of hard to say no to something that’s actually in my size and has been reduced to $15. Not what I had intended on getting, but hey. Blocks the wind AND looks nice? Sold!

Victoria’s Secret always has cute coats, but as to date, nothing left in both my size and preferred color. And even the department stores have done away with coats, though, much to my frustration and chagrin– the MEN’S departments have a plethora of gorgeous black wool coats all over the damn place.

BOO.

L.A. is my kind of city. You could even say L.A. is *my* city, period! Ha ha!… oh, you probably don’t get that joke.

Knowing what you want out of a weekend is fine and dandy. But *getting* what you want? Oh. Glorious!

The weather was perfect in L.A. on Saturday and I got to spend time on Malibu beach (seals! dolphins!). I got to meet a lot of really nice people and discovered Gelson’s, which– OH!– has a whole display thing devoted to items delivered fresh from La Brea Bakery. (I raided that display this morning before heading home to Vegas.)

On a slightly related note: either my vocabulary is largely stunted, or I am just too much in awe of the world. Approximately 90% of everything I said on Saturday consisted of: "fabulous," "wonderful," "incredible," and "amazing." Pedestrian!

Also: if a requirement for what you ultimately want is something with imperfections (human nature = uncomfortable with perfect conditions), then doesn’t that mean that what is your perfect fit– is imperfect?

And to think I almost didn’t go. To think I almost turned around after one hour in San Diego, so afraid was I that my expectations were too high (it’s been over two months since I last went out of town) and I would ultimately be disappointed. To think!

I see you baby, shakin’ that thing

Oh, San Diego leads. You keep me dancing in a whirlwind of melodies and only let me leave the floor long enough to hastily take a sip of water. I adore you.

Also, what happens when you make nice with one of the guitarists from the band during their set breaks:

[right before they all go up for their final set]

Other Guitarist Who’s Kind of Cute: Hey, so you can play drums for us, right?
Me: What??
Other Guitarist: You’re gonna play drums for us this last set.
Me: Oh! Ha ha. Right, right. Of *course* I can play drums! [smiles agreeably, remains firmly in seat at the bar]

At which point the original guitarist with whom I’d been chatting reappeared, holding out a pair of maracas and motioning for me to scoot over to the stage.

Though there were only about six of us left in the bar, I was *humiliated.* While also, admittedly, kind of thrilled, in that oh-my-god-I’m-so-embarassed-but-this-is-kind-of-cool sort of way. I protested (A LOT) but, in the end, obliged.

They had me up there for three songs. I played two varieties of maracas and a tambourine, for the most part while holding a rubber iguana in my left hand. It was– interesting, to say the least.

If the rest of my weekend turns out crappy, tonight will have more than made up for it in advance.

It’s never too late to party like it’s mardi (gras)

Jeremy has a detailed procedure for everyone outside of New Orleans on how to replicate an authentic experience of Mardi Gras in the city. For whatever reason, this was my favorite part:

6. Invite some kids from a local fraternity over to stand in front the
television, blocking your view of the college coeds and sexy
secretaries exposing themselves. Make sure they’re loud and bump into
you a lot, and that they all have names like Cody or Tyler or Hayden or
Skeet or Heath or Preston to ensure maximum annoyance factor.

I highly encourage the curious masses to try it out. Never fear– Uncle Jeremy would never steer his adoring public wrong.

They’re still stinging. I mean, *damn.*

Why Constructing A Makeshift Bra Out Of Duct Tape Because Your Top Has A Complicated Cut To Its Front And You Don’t Have Time To Go To Victoria’s Secret But You Really Really Want To Wear This Particular Top Tonight, is awesome:

BECAUSE IT’S FREAKING SUPPORT MADE ENTIRELY OUT OF DUCT TAPE.

Why CAMBOODTBYTHACCTIFAYDHTTGTVSBYRRWTWTPTT, sucks:

Band-Aid removal x 10,000. Ooooh.

I still have my tonsils, too

For over two weeks now, something has been seriously wrong with my right pinky. It wasn’t until I took off the bandage for my Thursday night performance that I realized just how bad it had gotten– I’d been flying under the stubborn impression that it would heal itself, as most things that go wrong with this body o’ mine tend to do.

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Most of the skin that typically surrounds a fingernail, mainly to keep it in place, has disappeared and there is a painful amount of fluid that’s collected underneath the nail, which wiggles like a loose tooth.

On Friday, I went to a doctor and was given a prescription for amoxycillin, a form of penicillin– apparently, it’s just a bacterial infection. How’d it happen? Not a clue. Not a single, single clue.

But! These pills! My god! It’s a round of penicillin large enough to sterilize an elephant!

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In the meantime, I’ve been tempted to cut off the entire finger. It serves no purpose other than to cause me pain and anguish– every now and again, it’ll come into contact with something or other and my entire body tenses up; last night I was stupid enough to go out dancing after my show, and some of my leads would accidentally grab that finger and it was all I could do to not scream and fall writhing to the floor.

And I don’t want that. I don’t want to have things in my life that only cause me grief, that do nothing but hurt me and give me reasons to cry. I waited two weeks before I did something about it, suffered for two horrible weeks, believing it would get better on its own, believing it would return to its normal, wonderful, happy and fully-functional state, before actively seeking a way to change things.

Luckily, a solution was available– but what if there hadn’t been? What if there were no such things as doctors and penicillin? If I knew, without a doubt, that it wasn’t going to get better, that it was just going to keep on being a hindrance to my well-being and happiness– what then? Would I have the strength to do away with it? Would I be able to convince myself that the short-term pain of casting it off would be far overshadowed by the long-term pain of keeping it around? Loss is never easy; choosing to lose something deliberately, even less so.

"Useless" appendages, I don’t mind keeping around– things like my appendix, which just hangs out and takes up space, neither being productive nor making me miserable. But boy, you know the *second* that fucker turns on me, I’m having it snipped out without a second’s consideration.