No, YOU back that ass up

It has recently been drawn to my attention that I have an ass. You'd think this wouldn't come as a surprise, but for someone who spends a lot of time dealing with the largesse of other body parts, the knowledge that I have a double-wide trailing behind me ALL THE TIME has escaped me until now.

I exaggerate. A little.

While standing in my choir dress waiting to go onstage last night a friend of mine and I started talking about asses. She claimed she didn't have much of one, and oh woe is her, and then, before you know it hey! somehow, Hilary's ass is all kinds of involved in this conversation! She turned me around and triumphantly said to anyone who could hear, which was everyone, "Now that - that, is an ass."

And, to my shock and awe, it was, indeed.

Not to toot my own horn (or trunk, as the case may be) but after it was stared at and complimented by many a choir boy and girl, I decided that, for once, my Italian genes had come through for me, and instead of cursing my wide hips or very Italian nose, I could just get over myself and enjoy my body, which is so bootylicious.

For in Italy, she discovered the most priceless of all posessions...

I think the universe is trying to tell me something. And that something, is that I need to go back to Italy.

I have been having dreams lately where I'm just strolling down a nondescript street, alone, when I see a door to my left. I walk up the stairs, go through the door, and voila! I'm in Italy! I'm not sure where in Italy I am (my subconscious hasn't been too specific) but there are linens hanging from the clotheslines above my head, cyprus trees bending in the night breeze, and there are geraniums blooming in window boxes, and in Hilaryland, all Italian windows must have boxes, thus, flowers, thus red geraniums in every single box (apparently, in my Italy, everything matches.)

And there are lots of warm lights that glow from windows where people sit, eating pasta and drinking wine together, couples ride away on Vespas, and I stand in the street, looking in the windows, wishing that I, too, could be in Italy.

Also, yesterday I saw a huge truck with a license plate that read "GELATO."

It's definitely a sign.

Oh those funny engineers!

The punchline to a joke that I don't get:

"But it was an alloy!" (insert ridiculous laughing and snorting *here*)

Engineers have jokes about alloys, music kids have jokes about fermatas. I'm just waiting for a geeky joke about William Randolph Hearst to come my way.

Although I do know a really funny one about Final Cut Pro...

Confessions

1. Last night (oh, and right now. I can't lie to the internet) I am eating a chocolate bunny in the most chocoholic way possible - that is, with complete greed and utter lack of modesty. If you've long been a reader of this blog, you will know that the dark devil and I go way back. I'll admit, some days I still struggle, but the fact that I am clutching the tail of a hollow, milk chocolate Easter bunny and knawing on its ears disgusts even me. Unfortunately, not enough to keep me from continuing to eat it.

2. I also just drank a soda. You can actually see the imprints of both bunny and beverage on my ass when I stand. This will be my motivation for going to the gym...later...perhaps...if I'm not too tired.

3. I am currently reading "A Million Little Pieces" by James Frey. However, the knowledge that even part of his book is fabricated cuts to the core of my uppity, journalistic integrity - so much so that I have now disregarded the entire novel as fiction. This is sad, because his book will resonate with so many addicts and give them hope that they too can get better. Unfortunately, now James Frey is not addicted to crack, he is addicted to his own fame. If I am ever addicted to something (besides chocolate) I would rather the crack. At least I'll still have my dignity.

4. I love fresh lilacs. Every year when they bloom, the smell of them reminds me of all the springs before it, and I can remember each individual spring since I was five because my mom and I pick lilacs every year. This year, she sent them to Ft. Collins so I could have them in my room. What's to be guilty about? The fact that when this bouquet dies, I fully intend on shearing off some lilacs from outside the engineering building. I like to think of it as pruning. I'm helping the landscapers.

5. I borrowed season four of "Sex & The City" from Jess C. the other night because I was THAT desperate to finish my quest. The girls have missed me, and I them. And now, I have to go to bed, because I have an early deadline in the morning and I'm supposed to be meeting Charlotte and Miranda for coffee on the upper East side.

Sex & the separation anxiety

It's a little bit like a drug. It's consumes my time, I'd rather be doing it than hanging out with my friends, it's pretty much all I can think about. And I can't get enough.

I am, of course, talking about "Sex & The City" on DVD.

I borrowed the complete set from a sorority sister last week, for a class project. No really, it was for a class project. But then I thought, if I had them, I might as well watch a few of them. For the sake of the research, you see. But then, by the time I got to the middle of season three, I was hooked. I watch it before I go to bed, I watch it while I'm getting ready in the morning. I even come home in the middle of the day and, instead of reading the newspaper or having lunch with friends, I go up to my room and watch it.

I clearly have a problem.

I realize, thanks to my Media Effects class, that I'm having a completely inauthentic experience with this particular show. According to critical media scholars, somewhere, in my subconcious I believe that I am friends with Carrie, Miranda, Samantha and Charlotte. That I, too, go shopping at Barney's and own the latest Manolo Blahniks. I sleep with half of the men in Manhattan, I drink Cosmopolitans every night, and I have a well-read sex column that is modeled after my well-sported sex life. And in forgoing actual experience with actual people, I am living a life that is inauthentic, and completely untrue.

That is ridiculous. I know that these characters are not real people. I am in college, my disposable income is zero. When I do have money it is more likely to be spent at Target, not Tommy Hilfiger. I do not have a column and I do not have a fabulous boyfriend named Aidan (I'm only in season three.) I am not friends with these people.

But in my defense - who cares? Isn't college all about the late night movie marathons? The weird addictions? At least I didn't plan my class schedule around the soap operas I watch (unlike someone I know...) If I want to watch my DVDs, then I should be allowed to, free from judgment.

However, they aren't - tragically - my DVDs. They belong to a certain sorority sister downstairs. And now, knowing what you do, you can imagine what a problem I'm having now that the afore-mentioned sister has taken her DVDs back. I can't be separated from them!

What if they go shopping without me?

H is for Hangover...

I went to my friend (and also my new roommate!) Lindsay's house last night to hang out with the people I work with. The equivalent of more than 10 shots of vodka later, we were eating "Sex Mix" (known to real people as "Chex Mix") throwing things at each other, and whining about how much we wanted pizza. Well, the pizza thing was pretty much me.

Also, things got a little crazy in the office romance department, because I think two people may have had a little sex mix of their own. BUT IT WASN'T ME! And I absolutely mean that. I did end up staying the night, though. On the couch. By myself. Ordinarily I'd prefer that someone sleep with me, just for the spooning benefits, but this time, I'm glad that I was A to the L-O-N-E. You just don't want to spoon within the office.

So, in a very classy manuever we like to call NOT taking the walk of shame the next morning, and as part of another manuever we like to call NOT being present when the happy ( and awkward) couple comes up the stairs the next morning, I left - in my car - at 7:00 a.m.

And now, in a manuever passed down from all the sorority girls before me, I'm going back to bed. And sleeping until noon. After all, sleeping in your own bed, by yourself, is the classiest manuever of all.

Quack Attack

I think the sight of it might have scarred me for life, and yet I couldn't turn away.

You know when you're watching Discovery Channel and the cheetah is about to take that zebra down and you don't want to see it, but you can't close your eyes? It was like that. And if you don't watch Discovery Channel, trust me - you wouldn't be able to look away either.

LP and Stella and I were at the park last night. Spring makes me antsy and I really needed to expend some energy so we decided to take a walk. Stella had just had her nails done, so she was all "Do we have to go to the park?" and I was all, "You're a dog, so you have to do what we say - we're going to the park." Plus, she weighs four pounds, so we just picked up her manicured self and away we went.

As we were walking around the lake, we saw some ducks come in for a landing near where we were standing. I am always a little taken aback by birds, given my history with them, but they were far enough away that I could just look at them.

They were splashing around, doing their duck thing, having a good time, when all of a sudden these two boy ducks came up to an innocent girl duck, and well...you know. I'm not one much for PDA anyway, but it was the way they did that it was horrible! First one would hop on while the other pecked at her face! Then the other one got on, and I guess he weighed more because the weight of him held her under water! The girl duck couldn't breathe! She was being drowned while forced to have sex! If I am ever reincarnated, I sure hope I don't come back as a duck because NO ME GUSTA!

We watched her struggle, not knowing what we could do for a fellow female in need. I tried to tell those boy ducks that NO MEANS NO! but I don't think they heard me in the heat of the moment. We also threw sticks at them, but to no avail. They were very persistent.

Anyway, it was finally over when some other, more well-intentioned boy ducks came over and shooed away the rapist ducks. The female looked grateful, and also a little frantic. As they swam away together, I would like to think they went to the Victim Assistance Team clinic right away.

And then Stella was all, "This totally depresses me, can we go home now?" And I had to agree with her, so we picked up her manicured self and away we went.

PSA from your friendly neighborhood hitwoman

Dear kid in class who talks too much,

As a public service to the rest of the class, I feel compelled to tell you what you probably already know: you talk waaay too much. I know, it's a political science class, and everyone has their two cents to put in. But thus far, you've contributed at least $75.86, and I'm afraid that is well over the two-cent comment limit. And since we're a political science class, and not a political campaign, you can keep your money - and your mouth - to yourself.

Sometimes I wonder if you were ignored as a child, or even worse, overly encouraged. Every word you say is not always valid or interesting, your running commentary and sound effects actually don't enhance my education, and no, you are not a unique and special snowflake. Deal with it.

And the way you begin every comment with "Ummm... well, I've been thinking about it, and..." also really makes me wonder. Have you been thinking about it? Really? Do you think of all that in the five seconds between the last time you opened up your mouth and now, the moment of time in which you are again talking?

I know this won't prevent any more outbursts like today's (in which you called everyone in the class "fucking idiots" just in case you forgot) nor will it cause you to ever verbally censor yourself in any way, which is a shame because you need a verbal censor like I need a haircut - badly! But this might be my release from prison when my defense attorney uses this post as Evidence A. "She did warn him, your Honor."

Yes, she did.

Sincerely,
One whose mafia connections run deep

Just FANtastic

I have been awake at 4:00 a.m. for the past few nights. And by "few nights" I actually mean the past five nights. Now, I am pissy if I get less than eight or nine hours of sleep, so imagine what a ray of sunshine I am if I have to give up an hour of my precious recharge time, and at 4:00 a.m. no less. If I could make phone calls or discuss matters of great importance, then fine, I'll sacrifice - but 4:00 a.m.? The only thing you can do at such an ungodly hour is jump on the bed and then eat cookies, and frankly, I'm getting tired of that.

I have no idea why I am waking up at 4:00 a.m., it's a mystery. I have never had any trouble sleeping, and the older I get the more likely I am to fall asleep mid-sentence or while eating a sandwich or something. So why I cannot sleep in my delicious princess bed is beyond my grasp. The only reason I can think of is because I'm hot.

I am a hot sleeper, I'll admit it. I wish I wasn't though. Some people luxuriate in a warm bed, but I cannot stand to be hot. So I keep my room at sub-zero temperatures, and then layer on the clothes and shiver my way to sleep. I can't explain it.

But then, during the course of the night, the clothes come flying off, (not to mention the socks and extra blankets) my feet are enflamed, and I have singed the hair of off anyone within 10 feet of me. Perhaps this is why I sleep alone?

I have always been a hot sleeper. When I was five, I had a pair of Strawberry Shortcake footy pajamas (the pjs with the tractioned socks attached, if you weren't cool enough to own a pair.) In the middle of the night, convinced that my feet were on fire, I threw the mother of all tantrums and my parents had to cut the feet off the footy pajamas while I was still WEARING them. This should have been a sign.

So last night, (at 4:00 a.m.) was lying awake, contemplating how I was destined to live a tortured life as a hot sleeper, forever waking up and having to furiously fan myself to become cold enough to sleep again, when I discovered something amazing: the fan switch.

What, you didn't know you could switch the direction of the ceiling fan so that it would blow cold air DIRECTLY on your hot sleeping body? ME NEITHER! I only found out about this at dinner on Sunday night (thanks a bunch, Dad!) I think my parents have been keeping this from me intentionally, the humor of a hot (and disgruntled) sleeper in too many clothes is just too funny for them to give up. Well, newsflash parents: you two totally owe me a pair of footy pajamas.

Yes, a new age of sleeping has been ushered into room 17 at Hacienda Kappa Delta. An ice age, if you will. Bring on the socks.

Stress: It's a killer

I know I usually write about funny things, or at least halfway amusing things. But life isn't always funny, and mine isn't funny at all right now, it's completely chaotic - and not in the Britney Spears TV show kind of way, although that's probably a good thing.

I have been having anxiety attacks over the past few weeks. Not every day, but enough that it's starting to scare me, because I have never experienced this before. I don't know if this is part of growing up, just part of being a junior in college, or something I have done to myself. Probably a combination of all three. I have to be honest with myself and realize that this is something I will need to deal with, because it won't go away. Depression and anxiety run in my family, and it's a disease that I may have to face one day, although I don't at all believe that I am in an extreme place right now.

I don't exactly know how to deal with it, is the thing. I don't want to over-dramatize this, because many people have harder and busier lives than mine, but for me, taking 15 credits, having two jobs, trying to get good grades, be a good friend, and do things for all the other stuff I'm involved in is a lot to deal with right now, and my stress threshold has been reached.

I don't yet know if I have the internship I wanted for this summer, I don't know where I'm living this summer or next year, I have several tests and projects due (some of which are group projects, which means that I end up doing all the work) and I feel like I cannot live up to what everyone expects of me all the time, which is hard. Because from everyone else's point of view, whatever they need from me is most important, and I always feel like I'm disappointing them on some level.

I will get through the next month of school, because time keeps going and I'm going with it. The fact that I know that tells me there's a light at the end of the tunnel. But the thought that my grades might not be as good as they could be, or that I might not be doing all I can at work, at home, and for other people eats away at me.

I don't know how to stop worrying. And that is starting to worry me.

How do you cope?