Giving Winehouse a run for her money

I’ve wanted to write a meaningful post for the last few days, I really have. But you know that life thing? Well, it gets in the way sometimes. The last couple of weeks have been really hectic because I’ve been busy doing the following:

1. Settling into my last semester as a college student. I browsed the campus bookstore for things I feel obligated to buy before my college life is over (a college sweatshirt, a laptop with my student discount, a college mug) but still, I have yet to feel the pang I’m sure will come long after I’ve walked the stage in my graduation robes. And I don’t mean “pang” as in the good-job-you-did-it kind, I mean “pang” as in, Hey Chelsi! This is me, Life. Now that you’ve graduated college I’m here to welcome you to the real world by punching you in the face!

2. Working on the finishing touches for my Internship’s newest gallery exhibit, which opened yesterday and was a huge success. This involved traveling to all corners of the Bay Area with our Program Director, including places like Ikea (which he had never been to), Target, various houses to pick up art, weird printing presses and post office on top of post office. Also, my eyes are tired from creating outlines in Illustrator for dozens of icons that needed to be resized for a zine, and after having spent several hours cutting six inch pieces of thread from a gigantic spool because the artist wanted to use them to represent clusters of ten people in a community of like, eight hundred thousand, I kind of wanted to die. I know that that’s boring talk and what you’re really wondering is how my Program Director had never been to Ikea, but what I’M wondering is how our trip to Target was only his SECOND time there.

3. Trying to make enough money to pay for bills, tuition, and the three fillings I need for the cavities that are causing my molars to rot out of my head. Whoever decided that getting your teeth fixed should cost so much money is a stupid, stupid person, and I’d like to relay the punch in the face that I’m anticipating from life over to them. The same goes for whoever decided we should have only seven days in a week. I need more like ten. That way instead of using the precious few minutes a day I have to lounge around on things like looking for a better paying job, I could work on my spiral into alcoholism, which brings me to:

4. Partying like a rock star, but not in the glamorous sense. Yes I know the promoters, owners, bartenders and DJs at my club of choice (meaning that basically everything is free) but the fact that I didn’t come home for four days because I was spending as much time on that side of the Bay Bridge as possible in order to go to said club and hang out with friends without feeling the rising costs of gasoline, and DIDN’T BRUSH MY TEETH OR SHOWER for three of those four days, heavily outweighs the free-shit benefit of Celebrity and highlights the disgusting crack-head part.

And while I could seriously write pages and pages about any of these four areas of activity, all I can really think about right now is how one of the chicks in my Thursday night writing workshop is perfectly nice and sweet and well groomed except for the three blonde inch-and-a-half long hairs that I spotted growing from the left side of her chin today. Why would a lovely brunette woman allow such an abomination on her face? Better yet, how does a brunette woman even manage to grow blonde hairs at all? She’s a little obsessed with Japanese culture and at first I considered the possibility that she might be experimenting with some sort of Japanese-man-gene-adopting project, but then I remembered that long hairs growing from moles in the face is more of a Chinese thing, so now I don’t know what to think, and I know nothing except for the fact that looking at her makes me insanely uncomfortable and I’ve never felt so compelled to take a razor to someone else’s face before.