Just Can't Getchu Outta My Head...

I'm supposed to be writing a paper right now, but I just can't help myself. I've got this girl, this character, stuck in my head and I can't seem to get her out. The thing is I can't figure out what kind of story she's supposed to be in, so I have to draw her. The problem with that is, I don't really know how. I mean, I know how to draw (sort of), but I don't know how to draw her. I got a bunch of soft pastels and some watercolors and stuff today, but I don't really know how to use those, either. I have a feeling this is going to be an uphill battle.

Her name is Brenda, and I can't figure out if she has blonde hair, red hair, or light brown hair. She has large eyes and she's very adventurous. She comes with a dragon named Chester. Chester presents another problem in that I don't really know how to draw a dragon. Especially not one like him. I think he will be modeled roughly after a cow. A Jersey cow, I think. Maybe a Durham Red. I shall have to do much cow research. But he is soft and sort of leathery-feeling, very friendly and I think of him whenever I see those reddish-purple leaves that all the bushes around here are showing off. Brenda and Chester have been friends since they were tiny children. They live in a cave high up on a forested mountain and they go flying together every day. They're strange because even though I know they have a story (eventually they'll save the prince), they just refuse to be written. I think after I've drawn them a couple of times something will start to come out.

Does anyone know how to use pastels? I've really only ever used graphite sticks and charcoals before, but I feel like I need more color. Maybe after I've played with them for a while it'll get easier.

And as for my huge paper due tomorrow? Um...we'll see.

Song of the Day: Utilities

I'm not going to do that thing where you repost all the lyrics of a song in your blog. If you want to read the lyrics, you can just click here - and I suggest that you do.

On Sunday evening I was hangin' with some friends (my posse, if you will) when we started discussing "perfect" songs. Not objectively perfect songs, because I don't think such a thing exists, but songs that are or have been perfect for you, your mood, your life, etc. You know those moments when you listen to a song and you feel like you're writing it instead of hearing it? That's what I call the perfect song. It's interesting how much you can tell about a person from their list of perfect songs. For one thing, it tells you what kind of music is really their favorite - and it usually isn't "everything" like everyone says (I think we all listen to a little bit of "everything" these days - but that doesn't make everything your favorite). This particular discussion also reminded me about how no one I hang out with seems to listen to the same things I do. Interesting. Incidentally, the list of perfect songs I came up with on Sunday can be found in the appendix to this blog post (or in other words, in the small print at the bottom).

The very next day I was walking to class with my usual headphones on and the above-mentioned song, "Utilities," by The Weakerthans, came on. And for the first time, that song was perfect. Personally it'd never been my favorite song from their new album - I fell in love with the acoustic version a while ago and this one had just never done it for me - but for some reason on Monday morning this version of this song was just...perfect. I swear I almost started crying on my way to class at like 9 o' clock in the morning, which is either a very good sign or a very bad one. The sound, the voice, the oddly hopeful musical interlude contrasting with the melancholy lyrics; everything just came together under that refrain of "make me something somebody can use." I won't go into a lot of details right now, but I've been through some things lately and somehow that song just fit amazingly. It was like John K. Samson came to me, took everything I was going through, and created out of it 4 minutes and 35 seconds of total connectivity. Which he might've - and I couldn't blame him, because who wouldn't jump at the chance to encapsulate my feelings? Anyway, it was the perfect illustration of what it means to have a perfect song.

So thank you, John K. Samson. You've reminded me again how the perfect song on the suckiest day may not make everything better, but it does make it seem a lot more meaningful. (And sometimes you kind of feel like you're in a movie, which is fun.)

Julie's Impromptu List of Perfect Songs (as compiled Sunday, 8/21):
"None of the Above" - The Weakerthans
"Virtute the Cat Explains Her Departure" - The Weakerthans
"Left and Leaving" - The Weakerthans
"I Suffer This Like a Dream" - The Paperbacks
"Books as Furniture" - The Paperbacks
"The Devil Drives" - Murder By Death
"Further North" - Jets to Brazil
"Empty" - Ray LaMontagne
"Can't Get Enough of Your Love" - Barry White
At this point I stopped listing, I think because the conversation changed (nothing derails a conversation like the casual mention of Barry White). Could've gone on for a long time though...maybe someday I'll try to list them all, because that sounds like a fun exercise.

I Like to Make Lists

"Favourites from Plimpton's list of objects thrown by Rangers fans: soup cans, a persimmon, eggs, a folding chair and a dead rabbit." - The Weakerthans, Elegy for Gump Worsley

Things I started out saying as a joke that have now become a part of my regular vocabulary, making it so that every time I open my mouth I just want to mock myself:

• "Yo."
• "Word."
• "Sup?" and "Whattup?"
• "Cello" in place of "Hello" in phrases such as "cello, you got a bass"*
• "Like"**
• "So totally" or its more pernicious variant, "Like, so totally."
• "Whatev."
  
• "Samwich" instead of "Sandwich."
• Shakespearean-sounding words and phrases such as "Verily," "Doth," "Hath," "Quoth," "Whilst," and the like.***
  
• "Ain't" and its close friend "ain't no."
• "More better," "More bigger," "Biggerer," and other inappropriate uses of the suffix -er.
• Comebacks involving "your mom" and "your face."
  

Words I like enough to insert into my daily speech even if they make me sound ridiculously pretentious:

• Pernicious
• Non sequitur
• Loquacious
• Hyperbole (or Hyperbolic)
• Quintessential
• Dionysian
• Machiavellian
• Didactic
• Eschatological
• Dissemble
• Ginormous****

Things I like that some people judge me for:

• Dogs in clothes
• Unicorns
• Pink things
• Makeup
• 4-inch Heels
• Sword fighting
• Cheesy teen romantic comedies
• Justin Timberlake and others of his ilk
  
• Spice Girls
• Spider-Man comic books
• Video games
• America's Next Top Model
• "Modern" Art, including Abstract Art
• Taking pictures of myself

None of these lists are meant to be all-inclusive, I'd like to make that distinction now. Anyway, that's it for today.

*Watch School of Rock. Just do it.
**But it was in like 5th grade so by now it's an inextricable part of my vocabulary.
***A while back someone knocked on my door and I actually shouted, "Hark, who calls? - er, I mean, who's there?" Very embarrassing.
****Okay, so this one doesn't make me sound pretentious so much as give me away as a Will Ferrell fan.

New AND Improved!

Tired of my old blog template, I have sought out and customized this one. Hurray! It's dark, it's edgy, it's moody...just the right backdrop for a blog apparently entering its rebellious teen years*. You'll notice also, assuming you've ever read the blog before, that I changed the title. The simple reason for this is because the old title "Beaucephalus Beauregard III," while fanciful, made positively no sense. So read, my friends. Read and enjoy. Especially because I can't guarantee that it'll look like this for long.

In other news, I'm trying out Netflix** and have just discovered that I can watch all the seasons of "The Office" (US version) on my laptop anytime I feel like it. So you might not see me for a while, that's what I'm trying to say. Woo-hoo!

*What does that even mean?!
**And they didn't even pay me to link to their site...yet. Anyone from Netflix out there reading?

I Don't Really Like Halloween.

For someone who pretends like she's other people all the time, I really don't like dressing up in costumes very much. I also don't like being scared all that much. And I'm Hypoglycemic, so being surrounded by candy I can't actually eat isn't really that appealing. But now that it's October and everything seems to be turning orange and black, I can't deny that Halloween is upon us. Now, normally I would remain in denial about the whole event until the night of, when I would throw together some things from my closet and call it good, but since I know some friends who are already planning their Halloween parties and dances, I figure I should get on it. The thing is, I haven't planned a Halloween costume in advance since I was a little kid and Halloween was about innocent dress-up fun and going trick-or-treating. Now that I'm all old and jaded and I don't want to spend much time or effort on a real costume, I'm finding it hard to come up with an idea. Let's brainstorm a little bit, shall we, beginning with some popular costume ideas, most of which I've tried before.

The Cowgirl
Jeans, button-up shirt, boots, borrowed hat. Slap on a bandanna and some pigtail braids for extra measure. Inspiration: Annie Oakley, Calamity Jane, some girl country singers.
Pros: Easy
Cons: Sweaty guys in cowboy hats who think you're easy (why do so many people think that costumes and making out go together??)


Eighties
Leggings, long shirts, huge belts, boots, ginormous hair, crazy makeup. 80's is fun, fun, fun! Plus it's apparently back in style now. There are a few basic directions to go with 80's: punk, mainstream, or aerobics instructor. All are fun, and though the differences between them are subtle, it's best if you choose one. Inspiration: Debbie Harry, Cindy Lauper, Molly Ringwald, Suzanne Somers, Madonna.
Pros: Easy (Goodwill and DI are your friends), plus the night comes with a built-in soundtrack.
Cons: Hugely overdone.

Punk/Rocker
Piercings, hair wax, temporary color, black eyeshadow, ripped up clothes, safety pins, fishnets, boots, leather. The problem with punk is you kind of have to choose a particular era in the music's history. Personally I recommend going back to the roots rather than trying to emulate the punks of today, especially if you aren't really in touch with current punk trends. You want to dress like a punk, not a poser (actually, dressing like a poser could be fun idea, but it requires very delicate work). Inspiration: The Sex Pistols, The Ramones. If you want to head in a more general "rocker chick" direction, look at Siouxsie Sioux, Stevie Nicks, or the like.
Pros: SO much fun.
Cons: Lots of people won't get it.

Animals
Wear anything you want and then just throw some animal ears over it. You can look as much like or different from the chosen animal as you'd like. Animals are one of the easiest routes to take if you're wanting to go in the "Sexy _____" direction. For example, on our right here we have the Sexy Cat, Sexy Bunny, and Sexy Mouse costumes from Mean Girls.
Pros: Easy, Flexible, Adaptable
Cons: At best, it looks silly. At worst, slutty.

It's a delicate balance with Halloween costumes - too obscure and nobody gets it, but too generic and nobody cares. Hopefully I'll have a good idea by the 31st, but until then these basic cliches should make a good start. And if I don't feel like putting in more thought this year after all, they could form a fine ending point as well...

Personally, I just can't wait for November 1st so I can really kick off my Christmas celebrations in earnest. Only 77 days until Santa comes!

Random Thoughts

I can't think of any one thing to write about, so here's lots of things instead:

I wish I learned as much from my success as I do from my mistakes. Maybe then I could have more cool stuff and be a better person.

Hanging out with friends really can make everything magically better - at least for a while.

My favorite part about making cookies is giving them away. I can't eat cookies anymore because I'm hypoglycemic, but I still like to make them because then you can give them to people and for a tiny second you'll see what their eyes looked like when they were just some 5-year-old kid who loved cookies.

I really want to learn Gaelic. Did you know that Irish Gaelic is the oldest written language still spoken in Western Europe? There's at least one instance in which Ireland beats Luxembourg.

I love to perform for children because of the way they allow themselves to affect you. I love the way they demand a shared experience instead of just sitting back and making you do all the work. However, I love to perform for adults because they realize that you're a regular person just like them and try to keep quiet even when they're bored. I suppose the ideal audience would be comprised of polite, communal man-children. Or woman-children.

Just once in my life I'd like to say, "That's sweet of you dear, but I really don't have time for you to sweep me off my feet right now" and not be making a pun. On a related note, I recently discovered that my bedroom window is ideally situated for nighttime serenading. I'll be waiting expectantly come Valentine's Day this year.

"Wow, that doesn't look nearly as bad as I thought it would" is still a compliment, even if it's one I have mixed feelings about.

King Lear is great. Performing in the Nelke is great. Knowing my friends are in the audience at a show is great. If you could all come see King Lear before we close our on-campus run this coming Friday night, then that would also be great. Tickets are still on sale at the HFAC ticket office.

I LOVE birthdays. Anyone's birthdays.

I hate Physical Science. Any Physical Science class. I especially hate my Physical Science class.

I don't like to sweat. I find it gross.

Once when I was in London on study abroad I had a chocolate emergency. I decided I just HAD to have some. So I grabbed some cash and set off down the street to the little mini-mart store thing. There was always this guy sitting right outside of this store, and I always just ignored him. I tend to ignore all strange men I see on the street actually, especially when I'm having a chocolate emergency. Anyway, I walked into the store and spent all my money on chocolate - probably like 5 or 10 pounds (that's British for "dollars") that I really couldn't afford to spend frivolously. When I walked out of the store, there was that guy. And then I remembered that he was homeless and had basically nothing, while I was wasting all of my money on chocolate because I was having some kind of "emergency." I didn't know what to do because I had nothing to give him but candy, which seemed somehow inappropriate; I finally just walked past him and went home. The chocolate did little to assuage my guilt. It tasted really, really good though.

Really big earrings make me happy.

I hate going to computer stores alone. This is largely because of a few too many bad experiences involving store attendants wearing "hate cologne"* who stand way too close to you and follow you around the store even after you tell them you don't need help. I'm never sure if it's because they think I'm pretty or because they enjoy knowing more about computers than I do. Either way it makes me uncomfortable. I know that the vast majority of computer store employees are probably very nice people who would never dream of invading your personal space, but those are my prejudices and I don't aim to change them very soon.

Eye contact is confrontational to almost every animal except for humans. Some would argue that eye contact is confrontational for humans, as well. I tend to disagree with those people, though it is interesting how direct eye contact can become really unnerving if it's held for too long. Interestingly, if you want to tell a dog to calm down, you should avert your eyes, yawn, and turn your body away from her/him. If you want to annoy your mother, do those exact same things. Now you see how lots of people stress their dogs out by treating them like humans while other people offend their mothers by treating them like dogs.

I'm out of things to say now. I hope this was an enlightening experience for all involved.

*I don't know if it's a particular brand of cheap cologne or what it is, but there's this scent some guys wear that automatically triggers my hate reaction.

On Having More Fun: Another Blog of Pictures

"I'm not offended by all the dumb blonde jokes because I know I'm not dumb... and I also know that I'm not blonde." - Dolly Parton

Well the deed, as they say, is done. The fabulous Kirsten Nelson at Adagio Salon in Orem (soon to be the fabulous Kirsten Nelson at Element Salon in Orem) and I spent many, many, many, many hours together on Saturday as she painstakingly lifted the base color of my hair from dark brown to its current fairer state. Since Becca told me to post pictures of the finished job, and I tend to do what I'm told, and I like to take pictures of myself anyway, I went for a walk today and came back with some pictures to share with you all.


On the left here is my new Facebook profile picture and also the picture so far wherein my hair appears the lightest.

I have included this picture on the right because I think I look epic in it. It is now my MySpace profile picture. Oh, like you needed more evidence that I'm an ubergeek.

And this is roughly how I felt after spending FIVE HOURS in the salon on Saturday. I'm told my hair was a particularly difficult case. Good thing Kirsten is such a neat lady, or it might've been miserable. Plus I was reading The Perks of Being a Wallflower during the "processing" times, which is an AMAZING book that I recommend to anyone. Wow.

What you can see from this and the picture to your left below here (aside from the fact that I'm a raving lunatic) is how for some reason I come off as a strawberry blonde in most lights. This is odd because Kirsten put Ash blonde in my hair - which is a blonde with greenish undertones placed there for the express purpose of neutralizing any red in the hair. And my hair was obviously bleached out before that, leaving it with only a few traces of orange.

But somehow in that picture on the left I look rather like my longtime friend Kristen, a well-known redhead (who is not to be confused with my stylist Kirsten, though both are fabulous). This just goes to show how no matter what color you put in my hair, it will come off as the "reddish" version of that color once you give it time to process. I swear my hair has a mind of its own.* I don't mind though, because I just realized that my hair is almost the same sort of "rose gold" color as that of the Flower Ballerina Nutcracker Barbie, who was - no joke - my ideal of beauty as a child.

See? Who wouldn't want to look like that? Now if I can just get an extremely ruffly dress, pointe shoes, and part of a lace heart backdrop, I'll be all set.

Back to me...

There, I even included the highly cliché "finger in mouth" pose, which I don't think was supposed to come off looking so Stalk-Me-Please-MySpace-Whore-ish. Normally I would've deleted it by now out of sheer embarrassment, but without it there are only three pictures, and then I wouldn't have a square, now would I? Besides, it's a good picture of the hair. THE HAIR, you weirdo.

So that's me as a blonde so far. And if those aren't enough pictures for you, I'm just going to get extremely creeped out. Now I'm going to do something productive (like write my English 311 paper...or stare at myself in the mirror), and then I'm told there's some serious fun I ought to be having.

*This concept gives rise to my eventual one-woman show, entitled Me and My Hair: A Two-Woman Show.

(Last minute edit: note that you can click on any of the above pictures to enlarge them.)

Blonde: The Final Frontier

So I made a New School Year's Resolution to have more Crazy Adventures and though I've been trying to fulfill it as best I can, so far the results have been pretty tame. I've gone out to dinner with a bunch of boys I just met (my mother would disapprove), bought a fish (listen, it counts!!), and moved into an apartment building/ward in which I know absolutely no one (where I typically remain fully clothed...not much of an adventure if you ask me). I was going to break up the monotony by road-tripping to a Weakerthans concert in AZ at the end of this month, but I found out I can't do that because I'm performing in a matinée that day. I fell into a long downward spiral of grief and mourning (not only are they my very favorite band, but I swore a solemn vow that I would be there), and have now finally emerged weathered, but undaunted. My attentions now turn to a grand adventure which is one of my favorites: The Hair Adventure.

That's right my friends; I'm going blonde.

Why blonde, you ask? Quite honestly, because it's the only color of hair I've never had (except for that summer when I just wore it all bleached out because the green dye faded and I was too lazy to redo it - which doesn't count because it was unintentional). I have had my hair every other color I can currently think of except for orange, which I will never do. This includes pink, showcased here as it appeared in my family photo circa 2002. I've put black bars over my family's eyes in case they've decided they don't want to be seen with me (you never know).

Another reason is because every time I mention my newfound desire to join the ranks of the fair-haired, somebody says - and I quote - "I don't know; I can't picture it." Don't you see how it must therefore be done?

This is totally uncharted territory for me, people. But just look how many new looks and identities there are to explore!



I could go all peroxide rocker-chick, like Debbie Harry of Blondie...

Or bombshell it up with Scarlet Johanssen.

I can be classy...

Or totally trashy!

Sorta blonde...


Kinda blonde...











Very blonde, or...





Hey, if it's good enough for a sequel (and a Broadway musical), then it's good enough for me.







Apparently being blonde is somehow good for one's dating life. This should make my bishop happy, then.






And finally, there's that old, well-advised adage: if you can't kiss 'em, join 'em.


And so the decision has been made. By Saturday these sultry brunette strands will be bleached away in favor of the shimmering locks of some kind of girl with blonde hair. At that time I promise to actually take some pictures of myself on my newfound adventure. Until then, I must go and conquer the unknown, boldly going where no Julie (except for lots of Julies who aren't me) has gone before...

My New Superpower

So this weekend I finally (finally!) got to move into my private bedroom in the apartment I'm living in. I'd been living in the shared room all summer, staring longingly at the private room (but not when the girl living there was home because that would be creepy) in anticipation of my chance to move in and have at last have my own space. And now I'm finally here! It's wonderful. But anyway, I was unpacking and moving my things in when I happened upon a smallish leopard-print box in which I recalled having stored certain keepsakes and the like in the past. Wondering if there might be any pictures I could decorate my boring white walls with, I opened it up and took a look. Inside I discovered, to my mild surprise, many assorted mementos from near-relationships past (interestingly enough, I seem to have kept nothing from my actual relationships...which I don't regret, because those boys were lame). As I was looking through them all again, re-reading the notes and letters and remembering why the random objects were significant, the song "To Love Somebody" sung by Damien Rice & Ray LaMontagne suddenly came on my computer's playlist and started playing. I looked up to realize that the words "Baby you don't know what it's like, baby you don't know what it's like, to love somebody, to love somebody, the way I love you" were underscoring everything I was reading. It was weird, and it reaffirmed my growing suspicion that my life is actually a weekly hour-long dramedy beloved by the Gilmore Girls crowd. I have included the song in this post for maximum effect.

This got me thinking, though. See, when I was a freshman here at BYU, my friends and I all came up with superhero names for each other, like Ridiculous Girl and the Fickle Female. I was dubbed Captain Confusion, and my power was the ability to irritate my enemies to death by constantly asking what was going on. Yeah, I was pretty clueless as a freshman. Now that I'm a senior though, and considerably wiser (suuuuure you are, you're saying. Well, I say shut up), I think I should be a new superhero. They could call me The Rejector. I'll have the super ability to damage my enemies' self-esteems so badly that a fight won't even have to take place. Think how effective I could be! Big, bad enemies and monsters could come up and I could just be like, "You know, you're a really great bad guy and all, but I'm just not interested in fighting you. I'm sure you'll make some other crime-fighter very happy...or miserable, which ever one you want to do." Or, "Wow, you're a really scary monster, and I'm really flattered that you want to destroy me, but I'm really not ready for a fight right now. It's not you, it's me." Or I could be really cruel and just say, "Huh - what? Oh, I'm sorry, I was too busy trying to beat up this villain over here to notice you." I would make SUCH a devastating superhero. Wow.

So there's something for all you comic book (or sorry - "graphic novel") creators out there to consider. Me, I'll just be going about my merry way, utterly oblivious to the destruction left in my wake. After all, just as Nightwing will always be remembered as Robin*, so I shall always be a little Captain Confusion.

*So I've got some comic book nerd in me. Get over it.

Progress! Sweet, sweet progress!

Oh yes - this very morning (or early afternoon; it's all the same to me) I finally sat down on my newly cleaned blue carpet, opened up my computer, and wrote two whole pages of rewritten play. TWO PAGES. Considering that I've written four pages in the past month or so, two pages in one morning (or early afternoon) is a very big deal. I'm ridiculously excited. I have decided to celebrate by eating lots of things and watching some Scrubs episodes. Then it'll probably be back to the rewrites for me - progress is great and all, but considering that the previous 5 drafts (which grew out of the 4 versions of Act Two and 3.75 versions of Act One) were each about 90 pages long, I've still got some serious writing ahead of me. I'm so glad to actually be getting something done again!

In other news, I'm rapidly losing my grip on grammar. I particularly can't seem to remember. How to use punctuation; My best guess is this is because I've quit writing for grammatical correctness and started writing for colloquialism and rhythm. Everything, must have a price: I suppose.

A Letter to My Roommate

Dear Roommate,

I know what you're thinking. "Didn't she wear that shirt yesterday?" And my answer to you is: Probably.

Sincerely,
Julie

My Temporary Roommate

She is displaced for two weeks while they renovate her apartment. I'm sleeping in the shared room for two weeks while I wait for my other roommate to move out so I can take the private room. Together, we make the best of what we've got.

Reasons to like my temporary roommate:
- She's from Japan.
- Not only that, but she talks on the phone in Japanese in my presence.
- She's nice.
- Even though she usually goes to bed after me and wakes up before me, she never wakes me up.
- She wears really cute outfits I could never personally pull off.
- We're both used to private rooms, so we understand the value of not bothering each other.
- She finds my whole-grain pancakes impressive.
- She prefers using her laptop in the living room, which I consider a sign of intelligence.
- Even though we don't interact much, I can tell she's cool.

Reasons to not like my temporary roommate:
- Her name reminds me of Yoko Ono's, and it's getting hard not to make jokes.

So okay, I guess I do like my temporary roommate. Still can't wait for my private room to open up, though, even though I like the roommate who's in there now. I mean, I don't know her super well because we're never here at the same time, but she shaved her head while I was at home in Oregon, and that's just cool.

I'm thinking of getting a fish. What do you think?

A Day in the Life of Rewrites

Just got back into Provo and not working yet? Suddenly realizing that you're way past the deadlines you set yourself for a total rewrite of your play? Well, worry no more! Just follow this helpful itinerary and you'll soon be, if not productive, at least well scheduled.

• 10:00 AM - Wake up
• 10:30 AM - Get out of bed, turn on computer. Remember that you really ought to eat breakfast.
• 11:30 AM - Go to computer, open up Word. Remember to shower.
• 1:00 PM - Decide that your hair and makeup look alright. Now it's time for lunch. An elaborate lunch - experts say it's best to take time to eat, you know, and really pay attention to what you eat. Health is important, after all.
• 2:00 PM - Go to computer, remember that you have rehearsal at 3, and decide not to write. After all, what if you get on a roll and you don't want to stop? And shouldn't you be preparing for rehearsal? Shows are important, after all.
• 2:30 PM - Stop playing piano because it's time to head to rehearsal.
• 5:30 PM - Get home from rehearsal. Watch an episode of Scrubs to unwind.
• 5:50 PM - Make that two episodes of Scrubs.
• 6:10 PM - Dinner time. Take time to carefully contemplate before choosing which leftovers or prepackaged meal to eat. You can't rush these things.
• 7:00 PM - Go to computer and turn on your music. Wonder if this is really the best playlist you could've chosen for rewrites of this particular play. Carefully comb through your entire music library to make sure you haven't missed any crucial, inspiration-bestowing songs. Then recheck your playlist to make sure there aren't any detrimental songs on it. Be as thorough as possible.
  
• 7:45 PM - Switch back over to Word and open up the saved copy of your latest draft. Stare at the spot where you stopped last time. Visit Facebook to see if there's any inspiration there. Read lots of profiles, but don't actually reply to any messages you've received - you don't want to leave anything that could be construed as evidence of procrastination.
• 8:15 PM - Wait until a song by your favorite band plays. See if you can figure out when their new CD comes out - and if you can preorder it somehow.
• 8:30 PM - Go for a walk. Walks are therapeutic or something like that.
• 8:35 PM - Get bored of not talking and call someone. If they ask about your play, tell them you're taking a break to go on a walk. Talk about anything you can think of. Talking is a good way to get ideas, right?
• 9:30 PM - Hang up because the other person has to go. Realize that it's definitely getting dark outside now. Go home.
• 9:35 PM - After that long walk, you really need a drink. And some snacks. And some more TV.
• 10:30 PM - Have you checked your email yet? You should do that.
• 10:45 PM - Find yourself on Glamour.com for no good reason. Read some stuff.
• 11:30 PM - Write in your journal. Someone has to chronicle all the exciting events of the day.
• 12:00 AM - Check to see if the Stephen Mitchell translation of the Tao Te Ching is in any of the libraries in your area. Then check to see if you can buy it online, and if so should you? Everyone says it's the best version, after all.
• 12:15 AM - Consider your play. Decide that you're blocked. Look up cures for writer's block on Google. Don't actually read any of them, though.
• 1:00 AM - Realize that you're back in the living room and you don't remember why. Return to your computer.
• 1:30 AM - Decide that it's been a really long time since you wrote in your blog.
• 2:00 AM - Hopefully, get some sleep.

Follow this schedule every day and while you may not ever accomplish anything, at least you'll be so frustrated with yourself that it won't really matter anymore.

Things to Be Grateful For - with bonus pictures for visual learners!

There are many, many awesome things in the world. Here are a few, in no particular order, that I feel like mentioning right at this exact moment.


Jackson Pollock
This is Summertime 9A, by Jackson Pollock. Since I first encountered Pollock in my early teens, "Be in the same room as an actual Pollock painting" has been on my list of Things To Do Before I Die. Then this past Spring Term when I was in London (best six weeks of my life, I'm fairly sure), I decided to stop by the Tate Modern one afternoon when I was supposed to be somewhere else. I rode up this unbelievably long escalator, walked into the first room I saw, turned the corner, and there they were. I think I actually started crying when I saw the Pollock paintings; I certainly responded strongly enough to prompt a strange look from the museum guard. I found a bench and sat with my back to one of Monet's waterlillies staring at this very painting (singing Gershwin's "Summertime" in my head every now and then) for a long, long time and it's one of the most satisfying ways I've ever spent an afternoon anywhere. I know a lot of people don't like non-representational art because they don't "get" it - or more likely, they don't think there's anything there to "get." But for me, I love. Love. LOVE. Modern art.*

Snowmen
Now that it's snowing again, I have to look on the bright side. And the bright side of snow is...snowmen!! Also, the occasional snowball fight. Hopefully this will be good packing snow.



Sunshine
And beaches, and sunsets, and standing in an epic silhouette. Also, I'm grateful that I know how to spell silhouette.






Ninjas
"A ninja needs no weapon. A ninja is a weapon." - Storm Shadow (G.I. Joe)


John Kerry
I've spent over a year and four months coming home to this tall, shiny man every day (except for when we were separated this Summer. Sigh...). You might say that he's stiff and even cardboard, but I say he's smiley, an excellent listener, and the sassiest dresser I've ever met.

Literacy
I like books. A lot. I mean, like, a lot a lot. I have absolutely no idea what my childhood (or the rest of my life) might possibly have been like if I hadn't been able to read. I really don't know who I'd be if I hadn't been able to read. Do you ever imagine what that would be like? Plays, novels, magazines, nonfiction, encyclopedias, dictionaries, comic books, the occasional poetry... It's all great. Reading is love. And I'm grateful for tigers, too. Especially tigers who love mid-19th century Russian playwrights as much as Trent here does.

The Weakerthans
"If you ask how I got so bitter, I'll ask how you got so vain. And all our questions blur together. The answers always sound the same. We can't look at one another. I'll say something thoughtful soon, but I can't listen to the quiet so I hum this mindless tune I stole from some dumb country-rock star. I don't even know his name. It's like my stupid little questions: the answers always sound the same."** And so much more.

Bob Dylan
Do I really need to elaborate on this one? Honestly.

Brad Pitt

A picture's worth a thousand words. But when that picture is of Brad Pitt, none of those words actually matter.

A Short Attention Span
What distressing event? Which persistent worry? Thunder Hotrod McWholicutty? While my inability to stick with most things (other than the few things I cling to unfailingly) is often counted as a weakness (particularly if you happen to actually be Thunder Hotrod McGillicutty and you can't figure out where I've disappeared to), it has its strengths. Take, for example, this phone conversation I had with my dad a while back:

Dad: So how're you getting over that boy?
Me: Who?
Dad: Weren't you dating someone?
Me: When?
Dad: I mean, didn't you just...break up? Or something?
Me: What?

I had broken up with someone about three days before. Now, maybe I'm cold. Maybe I'm heartless. But at least I don't usually wallow in self-pity for longer than about a weekend.

Blogs That Actually End at Some Point
Like this one, which has probably gone on too long as it is and must now come to an end. This is fun though - you should try listing the things that you're grateful for sometime. Once you get started the list just keeps going on and on and on...it gets so long you realize you could just sit there coming up with new things to be grateful for for the rest of your life. Especially if you spend so much time sitting and thinking of things that you stop eating, drinking, or sleeping, because then your life wouldn't be very long. And I'm grateful for life. Which all puts me in mind of my favorite Dostoevsky quote, from The Brothers Karamazov:

"And I seem to have such strength in me now, that I think I could stand anything, any suffering, only to be able to say and to repeat to myself every moment, 'I exist.' In thousands of agonies - I exist. I'm tormented on the rack - but I exist! Though I sit alone in a pillar - I exist! I see the sun, and if I don't see the sun, I know it's there. And there's a whole life in that, in knowing that the sun is there. Alyosha, my angel, all these philosophies are the death of me. Damn them!" (Mitya, from the Constance Garnett translation)

*That wasn't really a sentence, but you still get it, right?
**The lyrics are from "None of the Above," which is actually on their album "Fallow," not "Left and Leaving." Left and Leaving is pictured, though, because it's my favorite overall.

I'm Such a Foo-ool...to You

I take the title of this one from a Whiskeytown song which is called (surprisingly) "Fool." You ever just hear a song and you always loved it before but now suddenly you listen to it and you realize that somehow it's actually about you? Like, what was before just a really neat song that you liked now fits your life so completely that it seems written for this particular moment? Well, I've decided that "Fool" was written so that it could become a part of my life soundtrack right now (you know, like in a movie). Allow me to explain.

There is this boy that I know. Because I'm apparently still in junior high school I don't generally call him by his real name when I speak about him in this context; I call him by the most hardcore name that I could think of off the top of my head when I first nicknamed him, which is Thunder Hotrod McGillicutty. I have a kind of a minor (major) thing for this boy right at this moment. He is fabulous, wonderful, attractive, blah blah blah. Now, I know by now a bit of my pattern with regards to boys that I like: I meet one, I develop some kind of intense attraction to him, and then I think to myself "I've never felt this way before!" when in fact I've felt exactly this way many times before, and then after a while (usually about 4-6 weeks) it fizzles and I move on to repeat the cycle with someone else. But I honestly think that I've said more outright stupid things to and/or around Thunder Hotrod McGillicutty than any reasonable person should have to hear coming out of one's own mouth. It's ridiculous. And this poor guy has received so many mixed signals from me - and this has been going on for months.

You see, I'm impossibly oblivious when it comes to how other people feel about me. I can spend months hanging out with someone, even sharing some pretty personal experiences with them, and not realize that we're friends until they say something. And I basically NEVER know if a guy likes me. I'm the kind of girl who comes home to her roommates and says things like, "So his friend says that he likes me, and he's always complimenting me and giving me things, he keeps coming over here, we hold hands frequently, and I'm pretty sure the other day he kissed me. Do you think he likes me?" These roommates proceed to laugh, and I remain confused until they actively convince me that not only does he certainly like me, but I've also been involved in an exclusive relationship for the past two weeks. Never underestimate how clueless I can really be. So this leads to me sending poor Thunder a lot of crazy weird mixed signals - it's not just that I'm afraid (which I am), but since I can't figure out what kind of "signals" he's sending me, I have no idea how to act toward him. At best, I miss these things completely. At worst, I completely misinterpret what I get (oh, he keeps looking at me. He must think I'm weird). It's ridiculous!

And then I'm not generally self-aware enough to know what kind of signals I'm sending out anyway. I'm basically incapable of thinking before I speak. Seriously. If I plan out what I'm going to say before I say it, I'll inevitably get all my words mixed up and turn into a stuttering weirdo within moments. I forget to say the first part of the sentence because I'm thinking about the last part of I'll just get all the words out of order or who knows what. So in general I'm stuck thinking while I speak. But that gets hard because there's so many other things to think about while you're speaking, like if your words are coming together in a way that makes sense or if they're listening to you at all, so actually most of the time I save my verbal self-evaluations for after I speak. Though I've been told this should give me a natural advantage in acting Shakespeare (whose characters tend to verbalize all their thoughts), it definitely holds me back in the relationship department. I wind up sitting there with Mr. Thunder Hotrod McGillicutty, and there are all these words coming out of my mouth, and I'm just thinking What am I saying? Why did I start telling this story in the first place? Oh well, I guess it's too late to stop talking now. And then a few hours later as I'm running back through the conversation in my head, I suddenly realize that not only did I make myself look like an idiot, but I probably offended him and certainly made it sound like I was interested in anyone in the world but him. What's my problem and how should I fix it, you wonder? How am I supposed to know??

Anyway, all of this is long ramble about my personal neuroses is really just a very long preface to a long set of song lyrics I'm about to post here. Normally I'm opposed to posting song lyrics in my blog-style writings, but I figure in this case it's an obscure enough song that you're not likely to know why it applies because you aren't familiar enough with it. So Thunder Hotrod McGillicutty, assuming that you know who you are (and you probably don't, you poor soul), this one's for you:

Whiskeytown/Ryan Adams - "Fool"

Held up on the interstate
Sky pretty enough to paint
Held out and I was too late
Held out and I was too late
I should 'a laid it down
I should 'a been myself
But I'm such a fool
I'm such a fool
I'm such a fool
To you

Busy night on the town for a drink
Doing up on the bathroom sink
Pretty lights, pretty wasted so
Somewhere in New Mexico
I should 'a laid it down
I should 'a been myself
'Cause I'm such a fool
I'm such a fool
I'm such a fool
To you

Imagine the slowest dance in the whole wide world
Roll through the crowd with your arm around a girl

Dressed up with no place to go
See the people I don't want to
Two drinks and we'll take some pills
Wonder how it used to feel
I should 'a laid it down
I should 'a been myself
I'm just a fool
I'm just a fool
I'm just a fool
For you

How to Become a Stress Case

Since I know everyone's always looking for more sources for stress, here are a few tips and tricks I've learned through the long years of experience. Now, keep in mind that I'm no expert - though I was once told that the level of tension in my neck and shoulder muscles was normally only seen in car accident victims who were suffering from whiplash... Anyway, when I really want to stress myself out, here are a few things that I like to do:

1. Say Yes to Everything

Want to perform in my show? Why yes, I do. Want to perform in my show, which opens within a week of the previous show, meaning that you will deal with overlapping rehearsal schedules and many a late night, resulting in disappointed directors and no time to do your homework? That sounds great*! How about then auditioning for another show, meaning that while you're trying to polish up your lines and movement, get everything performance ready, and then actually perform for audiences, you'll also be trying to find time to prepare for and then perform at callbacks? Best idea I've ever heard. Oh, and hey, can you have a final draft of the 90-page play you've been intensively rewriting for months now to me sometime soon, requiring you to spend your Thanksgiving break going through the unusually extensive and time-consuming rewriting process you've set up for yourself as the only effective method instead of actually relaxing or spending time with your family? I'd love to! Can I help with the Stake Activity this weekend, too? Please?

2. Try to Be Perfect At Everything

Don't mess up a move in your Modern Dance class, get less than 100% on your Theatre History assignments, screw up your monologue, forget a line at rehearsal, show up late for a class or - heaven forbid! - leave the house without perfectly applied makeup every morning. Why, the world might end if you get something wrong! In order to really hate one's life, one must intertwine one's sense of self-esteem so closely with one's performance that the two become indistinguishable. This way, doing badly at anything can brand you an essentially bad person, giving you such a host of fears and insecurities that even daily massages from a good friend won't help you feel relaxed. The True Perfectionist is so afraid of showing a flaw that she would rather fail perfectly than succeed only in part. Ironically, the only thing many of us are able to get to 110% is our stress level.

3. Please Everyone

Don't talk to anyone unless they talk to you first. If someone else wants something, and it's in your power to give it to them, then do it, even if it was something you wanted. Do anything anyone tells you to do. Get in the middle of other people's business. Require everyone's approval, and worry constantly that you aren't receiving it. The list can go on and on.

4. Never Admit That You Want Things

Wanting things only makes it harder when you don't get them. Of course, not wanting anything makes anything you do receive completely meaningless, but that's beside the point. And admitting to others that you want stuff is clearly a stupid idea, because it's not like they would help you get it, right? Right?

5. Be Either Too Lazy or Too Ambitious

Actually, you'll probably get similar results from any kind of extreme. When you're too lazy, you never accomplish anything, so that you feel unfulfilled and worthless. But hey, I bet you watch a lot of TV, which could be a plus. On the other hand, be too ambitious and you'll inevitably sacrifice your personal life, meaning that one day you'll find yourself with everything you ever hoped for and no one to call and tell about it. Extreme behaviors can be a wonderful source for stress.

6. Trust No One

Once you realize that you have nowhere to turn - then, yes, the true self-destruction can begin. Never be vulnerable. Never tell anyone anything personal. Try to somehow convey to others that they can trust you without ever actually trying to trust them. Turn yourself into a happy little island - a party island if you want, like Jamaica or The Island of Misfit Toys, but don't let anyone come to visit because you're probably an island with a dormant volcano on it that could finally explode any day now and you just don't want foreign tourists around when a thing like that happens.

7. Care About Dating

This alone should be enough to send anyone off the deep end.

8. Run From Your Problems

Like if you have a ton of homework to do and it's past midnight and you have an 8 am class tomorrow, don't actually do your homework. Do something frivolous and wonderful like write in your blog instead. That's the smart way to live your life.

9. Love the Word "Should"

"Should" is a wonderful stress creator, because by using this word effectively you can create for yourself an entire imaginary world that will make reality look so disappointing that you'll never be really satisfied with it. I should be a size two. I should have a 4.0 GPA. I should eat healthy food instead of this food. This should turn the TV on. She should know what's wrong with me without having to ask. In the past tense it's especially powerful, because you can't even do anything to fix it. I should've known that was a bad idea. I should've just gone in there and told him what I was thinking. That should've happened six weeks ago. Oh, I could go on all day.

There now, by incorporating these nine simple tips into your everyday life, you too can know the joys of Stress. If you incorporate them and don't stress out, there's probably something wrong with you because really - these should work.

*The really sucky thing is, it is great!!

My Life, the Identity Crisis

Perhaps you've noticed that I haven't written anything in a long time. There are two major reasons for this:
1) In the words of Jon Stewart, "I'm not your monkey."
2) My life is rather absurdly* busy right now.
But I like my blog (nerdalicious as I feel saying so) and I like the approximately two people who read it, so I guess I'll keep it around.

So yesterday I was walking through the HFAC (Fine Arts Building) on campus (as I often am, since I'm there a good 12 hours or so a day) following a preview performance of "Anne of Green Gables" (for Mask Club, this Thursday at 1, 2, and 4 o' clock), just minding my own business when suddenly this girl walked past me. Normally this wouldn't be so unusual except that as this girl passed me she said, "Good job, Emily." I turned around and she was looking straight at me, so I just said "Thank you." Then she walked off and I went up the stairs. Now, we all know my name is not Emily. It's Julie. But did I correct her? Of course not. Then again, maybe my name is Emily. Maybe the act of her saying "Emily" and me answering it made me Emily. Maybe I was interpollated at that moment! Oh man, I've been spending way too much time going to classes.

Anyway, I think the reason that I didn't correct her is because this is a part of a much larger problem: people don't know my name. People definitely seem to remember me - I certainly get the "Hey, it's you again!" reaction a lot following the first meeting. But when it comes time for the naming of names (like if I say, "Hi, Your Name!"), they always go blank. I've used people's names correctly only to have them forget mine so many times that it's gotten to the point where I refuse to use anybody's name in a conversation until they've used mine first. I'll perform very complex verbal acrobatics just to get around saying it, all the time knowing full well that I know their name (often first and last) so that I can get out of seeing them go "Oh...yeah..." with that awkward look on their face. You know, the one that says "She knows my name and I don't know hers! What do I do?" It doesn't help that I happen to be pretty good with names myself. Let me just quote this experience from my friend Ben Phelan's blog (originally posted Feb 2006) to show you what my life is like:

Well, that night while I was at auditions for Arsenic and Old Lace (I didn't get in, by the way. Thanks for asking.) I saw that girl. You know. . .that one girl that I just met mere hours before. I went up to her and said, "Hi, I know we just met but I can't remember your name, don't tell me. I'll get it." So, I tried. And I tried. And I failed. I must've guessed about fifty names before I finally guessed it. Julie! She then coolly and calmy told me, "And your name's Ben, right?" I felt terrible. It was the second most embarrassing thing that happened to me that day.

Now, Ben thinks that this is his problem. But this happens to me ALL THE TIME. And it's not even only people I've just met. I've come to believe that I just don't look like a Julie. I don't know what a Julie looks like, having assumed that that girl I kept seeing in all the mirrors was one, but I ain't it. I'd say I look like a Julienne, but that wouldn't be fair because I've never seen another Julienne. Besides which, people are less likely to guess that than Julie. Instead I most often get mistaken for Lauren, then Jessica, Megan, and now Emily. There's also this guy in my ward who consistently refers to me as Julia even though I'd say we're pretty good friends now, but I can excuse that because Julia is only one letter off and there's another girl named Julia in our ward. But even in addition to the false real names, I'm one of the most oft-nicknamed people I know. I've been called Flip, Flash, Princess (a personal favorite), and I don't even know what else to the point where people actually forget that I have another name. A disproportionate number of people switch over to calling me solely by my surname every day. In plays, my name is usually among the first to be replaced by that of my characters, which often becomes a nearly irreversible change.

It can't be that it's entirely my own fault; from an early age, I was trained to answer to names that weren't my own. My family used to love to recount the story of the day that I, then a small toddler, first climbed up onto Santa's lap. Mr. Claus turned to me and said, "What's your name, little girl?" In perfect seriousness, I answered, "Sister Glenn." My own family had ceased to call me Julie! No, I was referred to almost exclusively as either "Boose" (rhymes with Goose) or "Sister Glenn." I can't begin to explain to you why. As I grew older, these names faded away and my mother came to call me Harriet, again for unexplained reasons. Perhaps, then, all this current name-switching is the fault of a deep identity disconnect within myself that began in my childhood, the result of which is that I myself am unable to understand or "know" completely what my own name is, and I am therefore unable to communicate that awareness to others. Whoa!

At any rate, I suppose I'm rather used to it by now, seeing as how it's been going on all my life. And I honestly don't mind the nicknames - in fact, I often rather like them. Besides, things are looking up: today my partner for my Midterm fight in Stage Combat class - a guy I've known since January and had just spent two days slapping, hitting, and rolling over - said to me as we exchanged numbers, "Your name is...Julie, right?"

Yeah, maybe there's still hope for the world.

*Speaking of Absurdism, if you know Samuel Beckett then you might find this hilarious. I certainly did.

Love Songs & Negotiations: An Advert

Ever just really, really, really, really wanted to see a sweet 10-minute play festival? Well, you should now! Because this weekend (Thursday/Friday/Saturday) in room 1170 of the Talmage Building on BYU campus there is going to be a super sweet playfest. The theme is "Love Songs and Negotiations," which comes from the title of a Paul Simon song I've never actually listened to. Anyway, I'm the proud playwright to one of the 10-minute plays being put on! Hurray!

So please, drop by this weekend to check out all the plays, including "Trashpile," a lovely little farce about a couple who go to drastic measures to solve the problem of who, exactly, is responsible for taking out the trash. I'll be the MC (I never get why people spell it out as "emcee" - I mean, didn't you abbreviate it for a reason?) all three nights with my sassy new haircut, so be sure to be there!

Nine Tips for Scoring Chicks

In my continuing quest to make sweeping generalizations about huge groups of people, I've noticed that all boys suck at dating. Having noticed this, I would like to fulfill one of my New Day's Resolutions: give more unsolicited advice, and deliver the first nine of Julie's Tips for Scoring Chicks.

Okay, let's start about by looking at the number one accepted model for chick-getting, the so-called "chick flick." First, a brief overview of a common plot variant seen in these movies. Ahem.

Boy meets Girl. Girl is hot (hopefully, Boy is also hot, but it's not a requirement). Boy falls for Girl (why wouldn't he? She's hot!). Boy asks Girl out. Girl says no (in most cases, Girl is already in love with Hot Guy, whom everyone knows is a jerk except for her). Boy asks Girl out again. Girl says no. Boy follows Girl around school; shows up at her place of employment; sends flowers, candy, teddy bears, love notes, love letters, and official Declarations of Love; publicly displays his affection in some loud and embarrassing way. Boy displays a frightening level of knowledge concerning Girl's hobbies, interests, internal workings, intimate secrets, and ancestral background. Boy chants "Go out with me. Go out with me. Go out with me." Girl decides that Boy is "funny" and "cute" rather than "obnoxious" or "stalkerish." Girl goes out with Boy. Much love, sunsets, and acoustic guitars. Boy and Girl have a tragic misunderstanding and/or someone cheats on someone and/or someone thinks someone cheated and/or Hot Guy suddenly decides he likes Girl, after all. Boy and Girl break up. A montage. Sadder acoustic guitars. It rains. Boy and Girl get back together.

*Note: it helps if Girl has an engagement that she can break off - because nothing's more attractive than a woman who will string you along out of self-pity until you're convinced you want to spend the rest of your life with her and then chicken out at the last minute.

Okay, this leads me to Tip One: Do Not Act Like the Guys in Chick Movies, because in real life, any halfway sensible girl with call the police. And believe me, nothing stalls a budding romance faster than a restraining order.

Now I'd like to briefly discuss the actual Asking Out Moment. To do this, I'll be analyzing a few real-life situations acted out by Hotface (aka, the boy I like) in his attempts to score The Most Amazingly Beautiful Woman in the World (commonly abbreviated as Julie).

Attempt #1

Hotface: Hey baby, whatchu up to fifteen minutes from now? I wanna take you out to the Wal-Mart!

Okay, there are a few things wrong with this. First of all, "whatchu" isn't actually a word. But even aside from that, Tip Two: Never Call a Girl "Baby" unless you know it's okay - ie, you're already dating her, and she says it's okay. A baby is a small, irregularly proportioned person who is completely incapable of coherent speech and most likely bears a striking resemblance to Winston Churchill. Now don't get me wrong, I love babies - I just fail to see why anyone would want to date one. Going beyond the Baby Issue, I'd like to point out Tip Three: If She's Known About It For Less Than Two Hours, Then It's Not Really a Date so much as a last-ditch effort to find someone to hang out with before you plunge irretrievably into boredom for the evening. At best, you're hanging out with a friend. Finally, while Hotface follows Tip Four: Have a Plan (after all, if she'd wanted to plan the thing she could've just asked you out), he fails on Tip Five: If You're at Wal-Mart, You're Not on a Date (okay, that's part Girl-Getting Tip and part memo to one of my ex-boyfriends). It's universally understood - or if it isn't then it should be - that Wal-Mart is a no-date zone. Even if you're on some more elaborate sort of date, and you just have to stop into Wal-Mart for a minute, you are not on a date while you're in Wal-Mart. Before you go into the store and after you come out, maybe, but never while you're actually in the store.

Attempt #2

Hotface: I...I...Iwantyoutohavemybabies!!

Tip Six: Don't Tell Her You Want Her To Have Your Babies. Keep that to yourself for now.

Attempt #3

Hotface's Friend: Hotface likes you.

Let me ask you, what is she supposed to do with this information? I'll tell you what her usual response is:

Julie: Okay.

Therefore, I would like to add Tip Seven: Ask Her Yourself. Please note the careful wording: ASK her yourself. The upfront "Hey, by the way, I like you" conversation has in my experience never been anything short of completely awkward. I would like to type two important words from that last sentence again, only bigger this time for emphasis: COMPLETELY AWKWARD. Do not just tell her. Do not tell her over IM. Do not tell her in an email. Do not tell her in a text. Do not pass her a note during study hall. If you have some kind of mental illness that prevents you from not asking her, then at least have the decency to face the awkwardness head-on and tell her yourself, in person. Because I really discourage this, however, I'm just going to add Tip Eight: If You Like Her, Ask Her Out. It's so simple. You don't have to stalk her, manipulate her, sit around waiting for her to come to you, or have some big monologue moment in front of all of your friends. You just have to ask her out. If she says no, then there you have it. If she says yes, then it means she's willing to consider it. And hey man, be considerate: let her consider it. Whoa, that's catchy. I think I'll put that on a tee shirt.

Attempt #4

Hotface: Hey Hot Stuff, wanna go get some eats?

I actually don't see anything wrong with this one. He compliments her, he's got a plan. And besides, he's Hotface! It's not like I'm going to turn him down! (Here's where we find Secret Girl-Getting Tip #1: Be Hotface. I can't put that one in bold, though, because it's a Secret.)

Because this blog is getting to be a ridiculous length, I'm going to just jump into my final bits of advice. Tip Nine: Never Underestimate the Power of Girl Network because Girl Network can hurt you. Girl Network here refers to the mysterious ability girls have to just know stuff about people. Do not offend Girl Network. Girl Network will know if you are a jerk. You do not want anyone in Girl Network to decide you are a jerk, because a sensible girl will consult Girl Network before agreeing to go out with you - and if you're a jerk, nobody wants to date you (unless possibly you're really really hot, but that's another story). Don't avoid Girl Network either, though, because it can help you out a lot. If your reputation says you're an awesome guy, that'll increase your chances greatly. Also, you can use Girl Network to figure out if the girl you want to date is a psycho. Knowing this can prevent you from dating a psycho, or at least from being surprised that you've been dating a psycho.

Okay, that's all the advice I feel like giving right now. If you like what you saw here, you can probably purchase the rest of Julie's Tips for Scoring Chicks for the low price of nineteen-ninety-nine-ninety-five. Call now. I might actually answer my phone.