friend-o-phobia.

Toby: “Federated states of Micronesia”
Sam: “Toby says it’s a country”
Pres Bartlett: “It is a country, you know where?”
Toby: “I assume it’s a small island in the south pacific”
Pres Bartlett: “Its actually 607 small islands in the south pacific…interestingly, while its total land mass is only 270 sq miles, it occupies more than a million square miles of the pacific ocean, the population is 127, 000 and the us embassy is located in the state of ponapei, and not as many people believe, on the island of yap”
Toby: “Why would a person have that information at their disposal?”
President Bartlett: “Parties…”

Parties…(sigh)…we used to go to parties. In fact, I even used to Host parties. Or at least, I hosted gatherings designed to get my friends drunk enough to compliment my cooking…

The other day I came home from a dog-date with a classmate. He is also a Texan, and as I recounted in detail to Bryce all the brilliant things Bear did that day (jump, chomp, run, walk, chomp…) I also mentioned that I told said Texan that I was ready to go back, or at least, I planned to end up in Texas, and practice law there.
Bryce was shocked. I think he actually choked.
This change of heart hinges 99% on one thing. Friends. (the other one percent is a small portion of my heart that knows Texas needs a liberal lawyer a wee bit more than California, where I’d much prefer to set up “Katie-saves-the-day-for-Gay (and other marginalized groups) Inc.”
I cannot make new friends. More than that, I don’t want to. I like my old friends. I need to stick with the very small group of people I’ve honed after years and years of being turned off by, or more likely, turning off, potential friends. I need people who enjoy sarcasm and pie, are both funny and smart, and will love me despite the fact that every time I get even moderately drunk I end up dancing in a small group of people like an ungainly Tevya. (also, they can’t judge the bottle of fruity vodka I have to drink to get to that point)

However, even if I thought there was someone else out there for me, I’ll never know, because I’ve devolved into a hopeless sweaty agoraphobe. Here are some illustrations of my hopelessness. At least I can laugh about them with my new confidant, the ol blog…


Before Christmas, as I was studying for finals, two people knocked on our door. Apparently this very kind looking couple just moved in to the street behind us and were canvassing the neighborhood, meeting people, which entailed a pleasing conversation and a concerted effort to learn our names, and passing out homemade candy.
Here are my immediate thoughts:
‘DANGER!!!!! Obviously, they were canvassing the neighborhood, targeting tiny homes like ours with Saturns out front, in order to case the joint for the inevitable treasures within. ‘ ‘Also, this candy is totally poisoned. Even though it looks damn delicious, I’m throwing it away. They plainly want to kill us AND take our stuff.’
A month later, they invited us to a basketball game. I was on the verge of saying “no, no-no, NO”, when bryce came in, met them, and immediately accepted.
Turns out, they are damned nice. So nice, in fact, that I wish I had eaten that candy.

One of our teachers has a very bizarre pattern of speech/inflection. She says each word separately, allowing them to hang in the air, and slowly build into a sentence. It’s a real mental challenge to piece them together, but I would hope I typically would not laugh at other people’s speech impediments.
Well, yesterday, in about the middle of a sentence, as I was trying to visualize each word and hold them up as a banner in my brain, she got to the word “BALLS” and it just hung (har) in the air for a few minutes. I lost it. I am a child.

A girl I like at school was wearing a belt with turtles on it…(in a cute way, not in a weird-o, hello kitty way) On the tip of my tongue was the following: “Hey, turtles are my third favorite animal!” I was forced by a diversion in her attention to reflect, and hopefully have retained a shred of dignity by keeping that little gem to myself.
In case you were wondering, #1 bears, #2 owls.
More to come…

Joy cometh in the Blogging

My blood feels like its boiling. In fact, in the past few years, and particularly while in law school, this seething discomfort occurs fairly often, it's increasing, i believe, and it is driving me fucking crazy. Statements regarding (wrong) positions on guns, anti-choice, anti-gay, anti-woman, or any minute allusion to the aforementioned get me so riled, I quite literally lose control.
If I consider raising my hand in class to assert an alternate view, my heart beats so fast I feel raising my hand may be the last thing I do, and since I’d much rather have that be eating cake or meeting Martin Sheen, I quickly lower the offending limb. The physical manifestations spread, making my face turn red, my hands and voice shake, and my cutting remarks come more quickly, yet unfortunately much less creatively, than they ought.
For example→
Today I wrote “Justice Scalia is a prat” in the margin of my con law text book. Typically I would not support graffiting one's disparagement of the Supreme Court, who I revere. In fact, much as I stumble, I'd like to refer to members of high office by their title (which i did here, by habit i suppose) and with the respect that such an office deserves, no matter who they are, or if they are destroying the meaning of freedom (yeah, didn't manage the respect so much).
I couldn’t help it. (you believe me right?) This is a medical condition! I just had to release some of the effervescent indignation building from reading a Texas case which provided some sort of hick-decoder ring for the 2nd amendment and discovered the inalienable right to shoot people (the right to shoot animals and 3/5 of people is a given). This, combined with the forboding awareness that the Supreme Court has recently affirmed this view, and passed out guns at a recent meeting of the 5 families in D.C.--ugh, I couldn't even finish the chapter.
So I resorted to more cheerful endeavors. However, this despoiling of a $170 text, in addition to the smoking of one cigarette, reading of 3 chapters of Persuasion, and eating an entire bag of ranch flavored mini rice cakes, (rendering them less healthy, perhaps?), did not distract my mind or buoy my spirits. Therefore, I return, fair reader, overcoming my blogger’s block once and for all, to divert myself from this god awful feeling. It seems my only recourse is to amuse myself by returning to vox populi and investing a considerable amount of time pondering the workings of the best faux white house there ever was. I had resolved to be a better student this year, but i think its plain that's already gone to shit, sooo...
Let the writing begin!

Nobody say gun, or I won’t be able to type.