In the next two weeks, I have to pack, and call people, and pack, and sell things, and find a job in California, and register for classes, and pack … and I’ll get to it. Don’t worry. In the meantime, denial is proving to be very time-consuming.

I really don’t feel actively nervous or stressed, and I will deny to the death that this move is a big deal. My brain is smarter than me, though.

Brain: Kell, it’s okay to be nervous and excited, and maybe a little sad.
Me: Oh, I know. But I’m really not. I get a little anxious from the waiting, but otherwise, I’m fine.
Brain: That’s cute, hon. But this is kind of huge.
Me: I guess I know, but …
Brain: No. No, you don’t know. Maybe you should stay awake and think about it.
Me: Wha? Um, okay. I mean, I’m not really tired, anyway, but …
Brain: Yes. Yes, you are. Too bad. No sleep for you, missy.

So, yeah. There have recently been a lot of tedious, sleepless nights. My brain took pity on me sometime last week, and placated me with a lovely dream featuring a really incredible shoulder massage from a handsome stranger, but other than that, it’s been nothing but Tough Love.

What better way to continue avoiding the inevitable than to FINALLY respond to Teetsie’s request to “list 5 things that society in general apparently enjoys or tolerates but that I don't get”?

All ranting abilities notwithstanding, this was kind of a challenge for me.

I’m highly tolerant. I think I have good taste, but I’m not anti-mainstream. I don’t have a functioning television, and i DO miss being "in the know" as far as commercials and programming is concerned. I have a slight passion for celebrity gossip. I’m not ashamed to say that I miss “Friends.” I have lost days of my life to “Real World” marathons on MTV. In short, I have first-hand understanding of why “society” enjoys many, many dunderheaded things. Dunderheaded things can be fun.

Sure, when the moment strikes, I’ll bitch about Paula Cole or other things that I hate with a passion, but I don’t get all frenzied about things like why Jessica Simpson is so successful despite the fact that she’s abhorred by everyone I know, and I don’t have a vast pop culture vocabulary. I’m pretty lame.

I’m also slightly weird and pretentious, and make giant metaphors out of those same dunderheaded things. So, if I truly can’t wrap my head around a cultural phenomenon, I’ll justify it by talking out of my ass or placing it in a specific context. Now, I’m really not in the mood for that.

So, what are we left with?

1. Ass-crack Pants.

No, okay, I do understand the appeal of plumber-cut, super-low-waisted jeans, as they are made for, and usually worn by, tiny, pretty boys and girls with those elusive “rock-hard abs” that get so much hype. Those people are nice to look at, and so are their abs and the little dimples over their bums. I don’t blame them for flaunting it a little.

What I don’t understand are the physics behind the ass-crack pants. How the hell do they stay up? Staples? The power of prayer?

It amazes me. I always find myself staring at people in their plumber-cut jeans, not because they’re hot (though they usually are), but because I want to see if these people will tug at their waistlines as constantly and obsessively as I undoubtedly would. BUT, THEY NEVER DO! Ass-crack pants, how do you work? You are a miracle of science.

Okay, so the miracle is shattered a bit when the wearers sit down and their asses hang out. And it makes me all, “Sister, if your buttcheeks had nipples, you’d be pulling a total Lindsay Lohan right now.”

2. Blonde Highlights.

Again, I understand this. Many people look quite pretty with blonde highlights, and I’m not trashing anyone for getting them. I had them for a while, and they looked quite natural and flattering. But one day, when I was on the subway, I noticed that I had the same fucking hair as almost every other woman on the train, and it lost its appeal. Too easy.

These days, my hair is an unapologetic, FAKE red. While I was in line at the grocery store the other day, some guy said to me, “Your hair is beautiful. What color is that?” “Well,” I answered, “the box said, ‘True Red.’ Ironic, huh?”

3. Flute.

God, I hate to continue this theme of innocuity, but I understand why people like the flute, both for listening and playing, but I don't get it.

In middle school, when people start learning instruments, I think a lot of girls choose the flute because it’s light, it’s pretty, and you can fit the case in your backpack to avoid looking like a band nerd when you go to your locker. It’s also quite pleasant-sounding, but I’m sorry. It just doesn’t do it for me.

And before you suggest I listen to a more “expressive” example of flutery, like jazz flute, let me tell you that jazz flute, no matter how skillfully executed, makes ANGER AND VENOM DRIP FROM MY LOINS. I WANT TO KICK JAZZ FLUTE IN THE TEETH, SPIT IN ITS BLOODY MAW, AND SHOVE IT UP PAULA FUCKING COLE’S ASS.

I have no idea why.

4. The Whole Star Wars Thing.

How many people gasped in horror just then? Get over it.

Okay, so the first movie came out the year before I was born, but that’s apparently no excuse, since plenty of people my age and younger are completely appalled when I tell them I never got into Star Wars. When I was a little kid, I got a little swept up. I wore the Star Wars Underoos with pride, and I specifically remember diving for a Luke Skywalker action figure in a pool, and then holding him underwater until the chlorine turned him green.

Later, when I was twenty-one, I attended a prestigious costume ball dressed as Han Solo, with my date dressed as a drag Leia. It was totally my idea, and my date looked really hot in his chainmail bikini.

But, I haven’t seen all of the movies. Moreover, I can’t even tell you which of the movies I have seen, because I don’t know my “Return of the Jedi” from my “Empire Strikes Back.” I don’t think this makes me a lesser person. I’m not against seeing them, and would actually enjoy a viewing-session with friends, but, even though I know it was all fun and ground-breaking, I don’t. Understand. The CRAZE.

5. Fast Food.

I’ve never had a Whopper, Big Mac, Extra Crispy Chicken, Arbee’s Whatever, Popeye’s Anything, Taco Bell Intestinal Hell, or whatever else needs a ™ after the name. I’m no health freak, and I have the formidable digestive system to prove it, but other than the occasional hangover-cutting breakfast from McDonald’s, I almost never eat fast food.

It’s not really a conscious decision. There were Happy Meal treats when I was younger, once in a while, and I loved them. But I didn’t grow up eating fast food.

When I started going out to eat with friends, I was in my All Food is Evil phase, and while it made me salivate like a Labrador to watch other people eating fries, I found the prospect terrifying. Since then, I’ve just never developed a taste for it.

I did have my virgin bite of something from White Castle a while back, and, surprisingly, it made me completely sick to my stomach. I should have seen the name as a clue. I can’t think of any name more damning for a food item than “Slider.”

I’ll leave you with that. I have some not-sleeping to do.

~ Last Five Entries ~

Arm-in-Arm Down Burgundy - 09.05.05

Motivated! - 08.25.05

Moths, and Relative Nonsense - 08.18.05

I Finally Have Internet Access in my Bedroom. But, No Ashtray. - 08.09.05

Here I Am - 08.02.05

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