Do you ever wonder what that feels like? I do, often. I imagine it to be a prolonged version of the rollercoaster/vertical drop feeling, just maybe not as intense. Or I’d probably liken that feeling to the one I get from listening to certain songs (see: For All The Marbles by Amandine; Welcome Home, Son by Radical Face; most of the songs by the Kings of Convenience; etc.) — maybe that’s how I want it to feel like. And if that is indeed the case, I would like to fall forever.

Unfortunately, it’s not a very useful feeling to get while I’m writing a paper.

Being home is strange. There are still students here that I know; I think it’ll take a couple more years before no undergrads recognize me. You know what’s funny? At AU, all undergrads are babies to me — even the seniors. But not the seniors at Penn, no. The ones I know, I met them when they were freshmen and I was a junior; maybe that has something to do with it? Maybe it’s because I wasn’t a grad student here?

It’s already Thursday. There’s this paper that I need to write (I have until June 1), which means I’ve been spending every day so far at the library (Van Pelt). And this is okay because Mom is working — but she has off next week, which means that I won’t be able or even want to work at all. This also means that I won’t be able to see my friends, because I feel bad not spending time with Mom when she’s not working; because when she’s not working, she’s alone; because when she’s alone, she gets literally bored to tears. You know, when she calls me sobbing and saying that she just wants to hear my voice? It’s heartbreaking, really. It’s bad enough that I live in fucking DC.

It’s already Thursday. So far, I’ve met up with Ashley for lunch twice, run into Frank after one of those lunches, and run into John at the library. I’m having lunch with Luke today, with Bob tomorrow, and seeing Star Trek with (the same) Luke tomorrow — or at least that’s the plan. And then? There are still a shitload of people that I want to not just see but actually spend time with. Maybe that means I should move back to Philly.

It’s already Thursday. I still haven’t stopped by the old workplace to visit. Well, “old” — I’m still doing work for them. Actually, they have work for me to do. Maybe I’ll stop by tomorrow. You see, the problem with me is that I’m never fully satisfied with getting a big group of people together and hanging out. Yes, good food and good company make for good times, for sure, but for some reason I feel the need to meet with people one-on-one first; I think it’s because catching up is easier that way. Well, that and I’m never too keen on mixing my circles of friends together; I like to keep them separate. Is that crazy? I don’t care. I actually find that to be quite normal and logical, but I won’t tell you why, because 1) I don’t feel like getting into it and 2) I don’t have the words to explain it. Besides, logical things don’t need explaining.

Socializing can be so awkward sometimes.

Or maybe SEPTA just sucks. It’s nearly 11PM and I’m no longer fuming, but I figured I should blog this before it all becomes somewhat irrelevant.

I made two bad decisions in a row this morning — both before 10AM. My plan for today was to get up early and go to the library (at Penn) to get a potentially massive amount of work done. As I painfully tore myself away from bed, my mother told me to stay home and get some more sleep. Not wanting to seem lazy, I got up anyway and headed to the bathroom for a shower. I was so incredibly sleepy, and stood there looking at myself in the mirror, wondering what I should do; I really wanted to crawl back into my warm bed and get another two or four hours of shut-eye. After five minutes of deliberation, I jumped into the shower; it feels better to sleep when you’re clean anyway. A couple minutes later, as you may have guessed, I was wide awake and ready to tackle this hard day’s work.

Fast forward to me walking to the library after having bought a toasted whole wheat bagel with cream cheese from the local Dunkin Donuts. I have a habit of looking at the windows of a building before I go in, partly to see what’s going on, partly to weigh the situation and see if there’s anything telling me I shouldn’t go in. It’s my paranoid side taking over, I can’t help it. The library looked strangely empty and dim, almost like it was closed. I walked up the steps and tried to discern some silhouettes, but to no avail. I finally got to the glass doors and got a good look in; nobody was there. I tried to open the doors anyway, and, of course, couldn’t.

The library was closed. Of course it was! I had just proven to my mom that I wasn’t a lazy bum, Penn just HAD to shit on my parade.

For some unknown reason, I thought that either Houston or Williams Hall would be open. But as everyone should know, if the library is closed, it most likely means that the University is closed — especially if it’s right after New Year’s Day. I’m just a dumbass, so I walked over to Houston anyway.

It was closed. So I walked over to Williams.

It was closed, too. Duh.

So I called my mother who simply said, “Ha ha haaaa!” It wasn’t even a laugh, like “hahaha!” It was a deliberate attempt to laugh at me. She asked me to go to the Reading Terminal Market to get some shits like apples and bananas, since I was going back east anyway. Now all I had to do was figure out how to get downtown.

Enter bad decision numero dos. Since I was by Williams Hall, I figured the fastest, easiest, and therefore best way to get my ass downtown would be the trolley at 37th street. BOY was I wrong! Who knew that this usually short ride would turn into thirty minutes of unspoken frustration?

After having reached 36th street, the trolley went crazy, beeped real loud, and stopped. There was a big red light on the dashboard (is that what it’s called on a trolley?), and the conductor tried to start again. Once more, it beeped and stopped. He tried another time, with the same result. It was 9:15AM, and the conductor remained strangely silent until another man showed up ten minutes later. The man poked around the trolley for a few minutes, and still nothing was explained to the passengers — and there were about fifteen of us. Interestingly, none of us said a thing nor showed any sign of dissatisfaction. Most were either sleeping or staring off into space; meanwhile, I was contemplating how warm my seat was and how much I liked the fact that SEPTA took care to heat the seats.

Two trolleys passed right by us, heading in the same direction. I wondered why they couldn’t lead us off the trolley to the functional ones.

Fifteen minutes later — that’s 9:40AM — a third SEPTA dude came and finally spoke to us. I couldn’t understand the first two sentences that he said because of his thick accent, but then I heard that we were “on the wrong track” and that if the conductor kept going, we would derail.

Fast forward five minutes, and we’re good to go. Thirty minutes wasted — a solid half hour of my life spent warming my ass up and wondering if my bagel was getting soggy.

On a brighter note, we’ve officially left 2008 behind! 2008, craptacular year, you will most definitely NOT be missed.

and there’s nothing anyone can do to stop it.

We live in a world of savages — or, at the very least, my mother lives in a city of savages. The crime rate in Philadelphia is going up. Wake up, people! I remember when in the winter there were talks of lower crime rates; I bet now everyone’s wondering what the hell happened.

I’ll tell you what happened: the winter ended.

Criminals are like roaches: when it’s cold out, they stay indoors; when it’s warm out, you can find them all over the streets.

I’m really sick and tired of what’s happening currently. Have we no respect? Have we so little shame that we’d go so far as raping and murdering an 84-year-old woman, beating and robbing an 83-year-old man? What the shit is this world coming to?

I want to know what the fuck goes through these people’s hollow heads. Wind? Because it’s certainly not reason.

COWARDS. You really have to be a fucking coward who’s got nothing better to do (certainly no job in sight) than gather up two of your friends to beat on a senior citizen. And rob him, adding insult to injury. Though I’m not really quite sure if their intent was, from the very beginning, to rob him. They got away with something like $50. FIFTYmotherfuckingDOLLARS. Are you fucking shitting me?

Really? Fifty fucking bucks? Split amongst three people or are two of them the third one’s bitches? Because, frankly, either way you look at it, $50 won’t get you very far nowadays.

And then, on a larger scale, bombs are going off in India, trains are colliding in L.A., passenger planes are crashing in Russia, we’re a total hurricane magnet and China’s still fucking with everyone’s consumables.

It’s time you all start praying to your respective gods.

I’m almost wishing the flicking of the switch on September 10 had killed us all. If you’re gonna end this world, make it quick and painless — or at least make it so that we all go at the same time.

and I don’t want to go to sleep. Is it silly? I just want to hang out in my room a little longer.

I’m very confused about everyone’s opinion on La Colombe. I traveled the city on foot with mom today and stopped by La Colombe for a cup of coffee; the first time I went there was June 30 of this year–I was with my cousin Carol who could not believe I had never stepped foot into that place.

The coffee was decent. Good, even.

Apparently, though, the staff is rude. Snobby. Uppitty. “European,” they say. I didn’t have to deal with the staff the first time I went there, but I did today–and I didn’t get to witness their bad attitude. The barista barely cracked a smile and his way of speaking was very dry, but not unfriendly. We exchanged words, but I still can’t tell if it was a friendly exchange or a very indifferent exchange. The delivery was very dry on both of our parts, and neither of us smiled at all–but by no means was it hostile. Is this weird? I’ve never experienced that before.

Maybe it’s because I left a tip upon paying for my coffee. Maybe it’s because I returned the cups and saucers to the counter instead of leaving them on the tables (I got a ‘thank you’!). Maybe it’s because I wasn’t on the phone while I ordered. Maybe it’s because I’m not a coffee shop dweller and thus don’t have any set expectations. Maybe I just got lucky.

I don’t know. Friendliness is nice, but when people are too enthusiastic it makes me wary.

Reviews also speak of long lines and crowded space; I didn’t see that either time I went there.

I’m not sure what to make of this. I’ll go there a third time and see what happens.

Why do I always end up sitting near the inconsiderate jackholes who spend their entire train ride trying to pick a ring tone? Would it be wrong to grab the phone, run to the other end of the car, throw it down violently and scream “TOUCHDOWN!”?

Why do some non-homeless people smell so awful?

And why was there no a/c on the train this morning?

It makes me want to hurl. I haven’t felt so sick on public transportation in such a long time. It didn’t help that I saw two puddles of puke–yes, two–as I walked up Market Street after my hellish morning commute.

I hate everyone. Everyone. I hate them.

On a brighter note, I almost got crapped on by a bird this morning.

I know. It’s nice out. We’ve been waiting for this for a long time, and our patience has been rewarded; it’s sunny and warm, just like a blissful summer day–minus the atrocious humidity. But that doesn’t mean you can wear a fucking napkin as a shirt.

No.

For the love of God and all that is holy, please take a good look at yourself in the mirror–preferably a full-length mirror–before leaving your house. And do it right.

What do I mean by that? Allow me to explain.

When some people look at themselves in the mirror, it goes something like this:

“Does it look good?” –> “Yes.” –> *leaves house*

Wrong. That should not be the first question you ask yourself when evaluating your appearance. Simply put, whether or not you look good depends on the answers to a great many questions. Try these instead:

- Is it too small?
- Are my ta-tas hanging out?
- Is anything else hanging out?
- If the wind starts blowing, will it fly away?
- Does it look like a napkin?

If you answer “yes” to any of these questions, the answer to “Does it look good?” is nothing but a resounding and emphatic “NO!”

I’m going to start carrying a permanent marker at all times; every time I see someone wearing something ridiculously ill-fitting, they’re getting a free tattoo.

“A egg in a basket, a egg in a basket is something something, better than a a a a hand in a bush or something, yeah, I know what you’re saying.”

I don’t know what YOU’RE saying.

http://abclocal.go.com/wpvi/story?section=news/local&id=6064476

concernedcitizen10 has a very good point. I’d like to add to that the fact that kids get out of school way too early. 3pm? Give me a break. That’s the time most schools have their mid-afternoon breaks in France.

The efforts to make people use public transportation instead of their cars are all in vain until this violence issue gets resolved. I’d rather pay an exorbitant amount of money for gas, waste my time in traffic jams, and get to where I’m going intact (barring any road-related injuries) than pay an exorbitant amount of money for a transpass and hand my life over to a bunch of punks.

Unfortunately, I don’t have car.

http://cbs3.com/topstories/SEPTA.death.center.2.685410.html

http://abclocal.go.com/wpvi/story?section=news/local&id=6043617

I’m sorry, this shit should not be happening.