Wtf...

Uh...I don't even know what happened here last night. Beer pong happened, and fire alarm pulling, and AUSTIN WAS HERE, because he left me a sweet note to read when I woke up. And Jill, because there's a cup with her name on it in front on my computer. And she left me an IM. Also some cool girl named Rachel. I made friends last night. In any case, I like Austin more now. Because he doesn't hate me after seeing how ridiculous I am.
And also. Kool-aid=good stuff for hangovers. But mine isn't as good as AGR Koo-aid. Nothing will ever make me feel the way that stuff does. So so so so good.

Best song in the universe!!!!

It's called Dragostea Din Tei. And it kicks ass. Put that into itunes and download it. English or Romanian. It's totally worth the 99 cents. But not the real reason I'm updating mere hours after my good morning post. Apparently, Matt drunk texted (is this a word) Christine last night, so she called him back today, on a lark. In any case, Matt was talking to her today, and asked her if she wanted to speak with me. So we made some forced awkward conversation for 5 minutes or so, and then I hung up and felt like crying. It's not like this was some casual friend from high school that I don't give a fuck about. I loved this girl, really did, as much as I love Jill and Kris still now. But we've just fallen apart, as though our friendship was something that couldn't transcend high school. And I understand she's hugely busy, with hospital work, a switched major, and her fiance had a rough time at the end of last year, from what I hear. So perhaps it is a child's hope that keeps her in my thoughts, wishing that things would be somewhere less weird than they are right now. I don't even want what we had in high school, because I know that is too much to hope with the distance between us...just something, I guess. Maybe not. Maybe I don't even care anymore. I should probably just send her a "Have a Happy Life" card, and hope things go well for her. More thoughts later on how this girl seems to have defined the high school experience of my friends and me.

I don't think they hated me...

Which is good, of course. I spent last night, movie night, with Austin, Maura and Mel. And I had so much fun with those girls. I love my boys to death, and of course I have Jill and Christy, but sometimes I'm afraid I've forgotten how to act around girls, because my girls are both girls that like to hang out with boys, like me. Let's see, just to give you guys a visual...Maura reminds me a lot of Mike's cousin Andrea, physically, the same dark hair, wide dark eyes, even the smile was nearly identical. I was actually a little unnerved by it. She's fairly soft spoken, but not in the shy way, just in volume, a little random, a lot smiley. And there's something about her that made me want to open up to her. I don't know. Austin and Mel say she's a hypochondriac, but...I hope the doctor tells her what she wants to hear today. Mel...well, if I've ever met someone who typifies the 'firecracker' personality, it's got to be her. She's tiny, because she iceskates. How cool is that! But she's got pretty blond hair, and these really piercing eyes...bluish, I'm pretty sure. She's one of those people who has no trouble looking someone in the eye. Which is damn impressive to me, really. And she actually did a lot to make me feel as though I wasn't on the outside of the trio; every time she'd start to talk about someone or tell a story, she'd look up at me and make sure I knew the story or the person. And Austin and I hung out up there 'til 2.30 in the morning, which is apparently late for those girls. So. I'm pretty sure they didn't hate me.
Went to Smokey Bones Bar-B-Que with the boys last night for supper...OHMYGOD. I don't even like bar-b-que, and I think that place is my new favorite restaurant. So so so good. Brunswick Stew. That's all. Let's see...what else interesting...Jill and I played DDR Thursday night, and she loved it. Cuz it's the best game ever. But. I need to get to the boys' apt. We're having lunch, watching a movie, (DDR?) and not going rock-climbing. And that disappoints me, ladies and gentlemen.

All kinds of a good day

Ahem. I AM A SUMMER INTERN WITH THE INDIANA REVIEW! Dude, seriously, they hired me before they even interviewed everyone. Which is totally awesome. So, I'll be putting in about 10 hours a week there this summer, which is superb, because I get to go in to the journal every day, but I'll still have enough free time to work. Hopefully I can pick up a pair of jobs in addition to the internship. And be ridiculously stressed out. But wealthy enough to go to Ireland. Which I still haven't heard back about. Hmm. To make the day even better...I love the girls in my self-defense class. Today was the first day we all seemed to gel, and I had a blast. It's fun to kick ass with girls. And also...it's Thursday. So Jill's coming to sleep over. Because that's how it goes down on Thursdays. Plans for the evening include Dance Dance Revolution, drinking a lot, 2 o'clock trip to taco bell, and getting up 10 minutes before I have to be at class. That's how we roll.

So. I probably shouldn't download games on to the university's computers. But I'm dying here! Zone has a new game out, and my one drawback of the otherwise stellar Firefox is that I can't do my gaming. It's quite horrible.
So, I was pissy for a long time last night, not for any special reason, other than I was prodded into an argument that I didn't really care to be in. In any case, it caused me to sleep poorly and wake up before my alarm clock went off. Or maybe it was the little black cloud over my bed that woke me, all thundery and such. Like Pooh. And I somehow managed to lose my student ID on the way from my apt to the bus stop. It's like 40 feet. So hopefully roomie finds it for me, or someone turns it in to the office. If not...no ballgame for me tonight. And that really would suck. Because we play Purdue tonight, and I think it'd do my heart good to see IU on the giving end of a slaughterfest. We're fighting desperately now, to stay alive and well for dancing, but I just don't know. If we beat Michy St. and come out with a decent showing in the Big 10 tourney, we've got a chance. Well, when I say we have to beat the Spartans, I mean, really, that we have to win out. And I think that's our toughest game left. Thank god we don't play Illinois again. I'm sure we'lll see them in the tourney. That's the way Hoosier luck goes. Besides, Illinois could use a loss. I'd love to see our boys stick it to 'em.
As I was stomping to class this morning, though, I guess I didn't look as stormy as I felt, because I got stopped by a mom. :) And it made me smile, the way she put her hand on my shoulder and asked, "Honey? Do you know where seventh street is?" She and her daughter were horribly turned around, it seemed, standing out in front of the Union, and she picked me to ask. So I pointed them in the right direction, and just like that, my black mood was gone. It made me happy, the way she called me 'honey'. The way they looked a little more sure of themselves after I told them where to go. And poetry reunion is on. It's on like honky chong. Set for April 1st, the day of fools. I'm highly amused by that. How lovely is shall be to get sloshed with a pack of poets.
Oh, and my hair dye worked this time. It's not drastic at all, and I think, if someone didn't know to look for it, they couldn't even notice. But I, the owner of the hair, can definitely tell. And it makes me feel a little mysterious, like I'm a little bit of a different person now. Maybe I am. Maybe that's why the mood struck me last night the way that it did.
Another short thing. I pulled out my new book, Eye of the World, by Robert Jordan, today before class, and this boy looks at the cover, looks at me, and says, "Hmm. I wouldn't have pegged you a Jordan fan." And I had another guy talk to me about it also. So, Christy is right, these books make friends. Still, I can't help but wonder what he meant when he said I didn't seem like a Jordan fan. Because I'm female? Because I don't look like a RPG kid? Because I don't look like I read or enjoy fantasy? I have no idea. And it's a little unsettling, say true.

I have seen heaven. And it is Cold Stone Creamery.
Jill and I went there tonight, and it's seriously the best stuff I've ever had. Go there as soon as you get the chance. I had Peanut Butter Perfection, which was chocolate ice cream, spread with peanut butter and a Reese's cup, topped with chocolate syrup. Jill had this Apple Pie something, which was sweet cream ice cream, with apples, cinnamon, and caramel syrup. OH MY GOODNESS. So freakin' good. And I'm sorry that I ranted to you about it. But I can't help it.
In other evening events, Jill and I tried, and failed miserably, to color our hair. Hairs? Well, we did it, but either the color didn't take to our hairs, or we just picked colors that were too close to the original colors. In any case, we're trying again on Wednesday, with more drastic colors. She's wanting to lighten up, and I'm wanting to erase the blonde from my hair altogether. We'll see what happens. My muse is calling me. So. I must answer her. More later, perhaps.

I need video games!
Really, that's the only thing that could make my Sunday complete. I woke up a little too early, and all I wanted to do was curl up at the bottom of my bed and play video games. Alas, though, I cannot justify the money that one of the systems would cost me, and besides, I don't even know which one I'd buy. Maybe I should just go into a gaming store and see if I can find, like, a Sega or a SuperNES. Even that would satisfy this gaming urge that has come over me. Mario or Sonic, hell yeah. I guess, since I'm up, I'll have some lunch and pick one of my new books to read. I got four yesterday :) which was a big surprise for me. Mom and Dad usually cut me off after two.

First off, who thinks that a white cowboy hat is a necessary accessory for a prom dress? Anyone? I'm hoping all of you said no, because...ew. And I own two cowboy hats, so you know it's gotta be bad.
Secondly, and quite lengthily, the dream I suffered through this morning:
Mike, Christy, and I go to visit David, Christy's boyfriend. There's some other girl there when we arrive, too, who appears to be an ex-girlfriend of Dave's. I don't recognize the place we were in, which is a big deal for me, *see other dream post* but it appears to be a big old house in the middle of nowhere. Christy is pregnant, not showing, but I'm very conscious of the fact that she's with child. She and Mike go somewhere, and I'm left alone with Dave and the other girl. I'm not sure what order this happened in, but I think I kissed Dave, and then walked in on him kissing the girl. It could have been the other way around, that after I walked in, he came over and kissed me. Regardless, I freaked out when I saw him kissing this other girl, went nearly hysterical at how I imagined Christy was going to react. Dave coolly reminded me that I'd just done the same thing, and there was no possible way I could rat him out. And the emotion at this point got so strong, I could feel my mood changing, I could feel the tightness across my chest, the stinging in my eyes and nose, because I knew that Christy would hate me, I knew I'd let her down, and I couldn't bear it. She and Mike came back from wherever they were, and I hid in a spare room. There was a bed there, with an ugly green bedspread, a wooden floor, chairs covered in white sheets. One wall was all windows, and I remember it was dark outside, and the door that led to the rest of the house was preceded by three wooden steps. It sort of reminded me of the apartment I stayed in whilst in New York, but that's just looking back now. I heard Christy storm in then, like she knew something had happened. Her and David, conversing in fast, furious voices. She barges into the room where I'm hiding, hair in the long curls she wore sometimes in high school, wrapped in white like a high priestess come for a sacrifice. I remember thinking that in the dream. She crossed the room yelling, "Did you touch him? Did you touch his face? Did you run your fingers through his beard?" I knelt, crying, confessing that I did touch his face, but nothing more. I lied to her, and begged her to forgive me. And she did, she lowered herself to the ground and pulled me into her arms, hushed me with, "Don't cry, little sister, don't cry. I love you still." She asks me then, holding me on the floor, if Dave had kissed that other girl. I affirm that he had, and she only nods, a little sadly, her hand on her belly. Christy then launches into the fact that she'd had suspicions for a while, ever since another ex-girlfriend from Michigan State had gone up to visit him. She sighs, says we must leave now.
A weird jump in time, and Mike, Christy and I are in an SUV, on what looks like a post-apocolyptic highway. It's Brent's Durango, that's what we were driving. And we take a turn off of this huge chunked up freeway, onto this little extremely windy sideroad. It's only one lane, and the curve are ridiculous, nearly 90 degree turns. There's no guardrail, and there are trees below us. Mike makes some crack about the road being a little narrow, and we get to this weird hill thing. I'm not actually in the vehicle at this point, because I see the SUV go down over this hill, and it looks like it's falling and crashing, which is does, a little. The SUV crashes into what looks like one of those huge old army convoy trucks. The canvas flies off the back, and we see all of these soliders in there. They are bleeding, faces contorted in pain. Mike killed them all when he smashed the Durango into the truck.
Another jump in time. I'm in a neighborhood that I don't recognize again, which is really starting to freak me out. I'm almost always lucid in my dreams, and I know that I should recognize my dream places, because I always do. This place, though, sort of reminds me of the street I lived on when I was younger, but it seems to be indoors, the whole block, with huge steel doors in the places where I remember dividing up the neighborhood when I was younger. My cousin Justin was playing with little bro Collin between two of the doors, and I remember talking briefly to them, but nothing of what I said. I was trying to call Mike on my cell phone, but he wouldn't answer, and I started to get worried. I wanted to call Christy, but I didn't want to freak her out with worrying, and somehow I could see her on my cell phone, and I knew she was in Aisle Four of the grocery, which, for some reason meant that I couldn't call her. I don't know. But I started walking down this highway, still trying to call Mike, and I just kept getting his voicemail. I woke up when I started running.
Fuckin' weird.
Thirdly, I am the best English major ever. I got a paper back today that I started on the day before it was due, and wrote the first half under the influence of some illegal substances, and the second half the morning it was due, mere hours before the paper had to be in his hand. And I got a 95%. Findley writes:
Ms. Kelley--After reading essays mostly about Justice Overdo and Busy, it is a delight to read about Cokes and Grace Wellborn! You write with a clarity throughout. The essay lacks only quotations from the text to guide and support your commentary which, in addition to being a welcome change, is assuredly excellent.
So. I could've had 100% on this paper had I used in text quotations. But I never do that. So. I'm pretty pleased with this. I'm sure it was one of the highest grades in the class. He's sort of a hard ass grader.
But now. Lunchtime and cleaning my room. Kisses!

And Christy. I'm really sorry that I kissed your boyfriend in my dream and lied to you about it. I still feel kinda guilty. I wouldn't do that.

Conspiracy Uncovered!
Okay, so go here: http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=4502278
Listen to the interview, listen especially hard to the second time Ron McLarty talks, when he's reading an excerpt of his book. It isn't him. My father has convinced me that it's Stephen King. McLarty is a real person, yes, but I'm doubting that he really wrote this book. This is the first thing he's had published, ever. And he got picked up by Penguin and Viking, with a two book deal for 2 million dollars AND Warner Bros. picked up the movie deal for another million. No effing way. This does not happen to first time writers. JKR sent Harry Potter to something like nine different publishing houses before she got picked up for what's turned out to be one the the best-selling series of all time. And no way she got paid 2 million for the first pair of those books. Sure, now she's a gazillionaire, but only, really, after the fourth book and the movies and merch hit the stores. In any case, I've gone out and purchased McLarty's book, and plan to spend tonight reading and doing some rough character analysis. If this is, in fact, the much adored Mr. King, I should have no problem figuring that out from the way his main character progresses in this novel.

Did I mention, the novel starts with a car crash in Maine?

Okay, so. The poem, however rough and bad it is, has been completed. Perhaps. There's a chance that I might have to scrap this bad-boy and throw together something totally different. Here's hoping that isn't the case. First class started a few moments ago, and since I'm missing it, there's really no reason for me to go to my cjus lecture. This week has been horrible for me in the going to class dept. Ah well. Next week shall be better, as I've an exam on Monday, language journal due Tueday, midterm in self-defense on Thursday. So. I can't really miss classes, can I? In any case, I've just showered, so I must get ready for my day. 'til later!

How many classes will I have to skip for poetry????? It's almost 4.30 in the morning, and I have nothing for workshop tomorrow, nothing at all. Not even a real inkling of an idea. So. I'll keep the alarm set for early, and see what happens when I get up.
In other news, watched saw and hung out with Austin tonight. Hot damn. That sums it up, really.

Eep! The parents are coming up this weekend to meet Austin. A little...no. A lot nervous about that whole situation. Ah well. I'm sure everything will go...spectacularly. In any case...I'm off to buy SAW...ah. Such a great great movie. You should go buy it. Or give me a call, and we'll watch it together. And getting some lunch. And then maybe doing dishes when I get home. Fun stuff.

Dear 24,
I'm glad you're the best show I've ever been introduced to. Thanks for that.
Love,
Erin

Guess what I just got done watching??? Austin was nice enough to hook me on this show that damn near kills me every time I watch it, but I just. Can't. Stop. It helps that the leading men on this show are drop-dead gorgeous. I want to slash them so hard. But. I don't know enough about their actual characters yet. Because the chemistry is definitely there. Everyone sees it.
Had a weird freakin' dream last night. Think it's because I've been slacking in the homework department. If you know me, you'll know about how strange my dreams are anyways. Because...I've got like this whole alternate universe in my head, and everything is always in some place I've been before. So this one took place in my high school, which is decidedly nothing at all like the high school I attended. It's huge. And, for some reason, I remember being enrolled in college courses, but in the high school building. Christy was there. A lot. We may have been the same age, or just in a lot of the same classes. In any case, I somehow managed to fuck up my schedule and had two classes at the same time. One of which was taught by Mrs. Hewig. And you can't miss a class with her, ever. And the other was this ridiculously fast-paced computer class that I had to have to graduate. Being the sort of person that I am, I tried to ignore that this clearly couldn't work, and tried to split my time between them, and ended up upsetting both instructors, and getting automatic failing grades in both classes. So, I was sitting on the stairs, upset and brooding, Mrs. Carlton, a first grade teacher from my grade school days, and now the principal, walks in front of the stairway to this tv monitor that's showing...an airplane bombing something, I think. And she pulls this book off a shelf next to it, and starts reading, and it's one of those ridiculous books of quotations. But every time she finishes one, she rips it out of the book and throws it on the floor, going faster and faster, until she isn't reading, just ripping the hell out of this book. Then I woke up.
Bizarre, eh?

Quick post before I run to campus. Well. Ride the bus. Whatever, you know what I mean. I hatehatehate Valentine's day. A lot. Because...you don't know why the hell we have it. I do, now, but only because I asked last night. It's a Hallmark holiday, ya ken, and everything that happens today is because Hallmark tells you to do it. Buy her flowers, candy, and lots and lots of card. Jewels. Teddy bears. Be original. Or, do something the day before. Or a couple days after. Don't center it on V-day. I guarantee you, the woman in your life will be so much more excited if you buy her flowers on a random day. And just tell her that you love her. Randomly. It's sweet. So there, Hallmark. I don't need you.

No, I don't have a Valentine. But that doesn't matter. I could if I wanted.

The radio is talking to me. Bizarre. So, the real pressing things weren't so much answered tonight as they were effectively ignored. But in such a way that things are settled, I think. He asked me to come to Cali with him for Spring Break...not sure precisely how serious he was...but we outlined a glorious plan to take St. Patrick's Day to suburbia. It would be a damn fine way to spend my holiday, so long as I was well-fortified by my Irish drinks of choice. It's nearly five in the morning! Ah!!! I should be sleeping, or at least working on my homework that I was distracted from this evening. Not that I'm complaining. Tuesday. SAW. Me and Austin. He better love it.

Heh. So, my dad just called me to tell me about a ridiculous tee shirt he just purchased. It's bright fuckin' yellow, and has an outline of the state of Utah on it. The text of this shirt reads:

Utah. But I'm taller.

I laughed so hard I couldn't breathe. Am thinking about going to Wal-Mart to hunt for my own.

So. Let's say that I was roving around on the internet, and I've discovered precisely how sneaky and covert I can be. Austin, you with your spy movies can't possibly trump me. However. What I'm doing could quite possibly be considered borderline stalkerish, even though I don't see it that way. heh heh. Watch out for that girl behind you...she might know everything about you now.

Ah ha! You can't keep me out forever, blogger. I've finally managed to get back here, even though I did have to ditch Internet Explorer to do so. *sticks tongue out at Bill Gates* Heh. See? I can do something on my computer without you. Just not very much. But I just started a livejournal...and linked it in my profile. Should I keep them both? Perhaps. I'll develop a different personality over there...dude. Seriously, that's a good fuckin' idea. Exercise my creativity to the extreme. A possibility. So, it's 10.17 on a Saturday night, and I'm sitting home, eating lunch, and blogging. Why, Erin, why is this what you're doing? I honestly have no idea, Constant Reader, no idea at all. I might head over to the guys' place in a few minutes, or I might just snuggle down with the one book in my apartment that I haven't read yet, and have Erin-time. It by Henry Turtledove, the book I haven't read, and it's about time-traveling to the height of the Roman Empire. So...there you go. I'm a little bit of a sci-fi reader, but not too much. I do dig time traveling, though. If I could go anywhere...hmm. I think I'd go back to when Brian Boru was the High King of Ireland, and the damn Anglo-Saxons came in and ruined everything. Fight with my ancestors. How cool would that be? What if you die in time travel? I don't really know the rules. Would I still be alive in my own when?
A hypothetical situation (yeah, I know you believe that).
There is a girl, a sophomore in college, and a boy, a damn lucky senior. These two kids meet and hit it off in December. By February, things are at the stage where it's time to choose the path, friends or something more. They have great conversations, because they're both poets and ridiculously smart kids, and these conversations range from serious (family issues, personal fears) to highly absurd (like what to do about the homeless word 'aigch'). They are compatible on all the important issues (religion, politics, thickness of pizza crust) but open enough to not worry about disagreeing (because Tarantino, to some of us, is an asshole). On the surface, things seem ripe to become serious between these two kids, and who would wish them anything but luck? Ah, but Lady Fortune isn't so kind...the boy is moving to California after he graduates in 3 months, while she's planning on being in Indiana for quite some time...at least 5 more years. Three months is clearly not enough time for a relationship to begin and then end for no good reason. The boy ignores this sound reasoning, claims he wants to spend as much time as he can with the girl. The girl has a very breakable heart, and knows this can only end badly for everyone involved. Still, she can't push him away. The friendship they have means far too much for her to stop seeing him. What should she do, though? Give me your thoughts, and I'll pass them on to her.
Okay, I'm heading over to the boys' now. Dance Dance Revolution, anyone????

Hanging out in my favorite computer lab on campus, waiting for Self Defense to start. In 2 hours. Sigh. The better part of my day on campus is spent in either a computer lab, or giving over to the mind-controlling drugs they pump into the Union and sleeping sprawled there on the floor. Seriously, I'm convinced that they release some sort of sleep-inducer in the air and then drag unconscious students away and perform gross experiments on them. I always nap by the window, just in case. I miss little kids. I hate being up here, surrounded by pseudo-grown-ups all the time, twenty year olds who maintain a worldly facade by day, but act like drunk fuckin' morons by night. I need something innocent. Some sweet and just turned four or five, a different perspective than this jaded one I have now. I strive very hard to keep a child-like view of the world, but it's hard, with no little kids around to show me how to think. I should go play at a daycare or nursery or something. Not for money. Just to get down on the ground and play with someone who still knows how to giggle.

RIP, Little Brother. I love you and miss you every single day.
RIP, Grampa Russ. I miss you as well, and there's a hole at Christmas without you.

There's just something about Ballantine...
So for all my cussing and spitting about not being able to write, while in E-linguistics this morning, I was flipping through my writing notebook, and ran across a little partial stanza I'd written sometime over Christmas break, so far as I can remember.

Every night I lay
the lines
striving for nothing
except perfection.

And, okay, granted, those seconds two lines are nothing special, but the first two really galvanized me, and I have a poem now, one that compares poets to cocaine addicts. Incidently, having never done cocaine myself, I don't know how accurate my simile actually is, so feel free to leave me a comment about your experiences with this mystical drug. But regarding my tagline...I realized that so far this semester I had spent no time in Ballantine computer lab number one seventeen, so after I read that little bit of poemthought, I headed immediately for my favored lab, and my muses were looking out for me today, gave me a good computer. I sat down and hammered this poem out. It just felt...right. Regardless of whether or not the thing is good right now, it will be before tomorrow, and I feel really good about it. 'course, there is the teensie problem of it having two endings...ah well. My midnight workshop buddy shall sort that mess out for me, I think. He's nice like that. Mike commented the other day that it seems like my workshop is the only class I talk about, and he's right. It's my favorite class and it's really the only one that applies to what I want to be when I grow up...if I grow up. Which I don't plan on doing for a long long time. But I need a shower. I'm a smelly kelley. Hehe. I crack me up. C'mon. I know you laughed...or at least rolled your eyes.