In December, I graduated from JMU a semester early. I won't walk and/or receive my diploma until May because I love the sun and I want my graduation to be like my mother's when she walked across the quad in the summer. In the meantime, I have a social media internship with National Public Radio that is based at Harrisonburg's member station. It's unpaid. My boss is an eccentric, very intriguing, "free bird" hippy woman whose published journalism pieces have won all sorts of awards. Hearing about her experiences as a freelancer for NPR -- driving cross-country simply to meet people and write about them -- inspires me and almost encourages me to see past the fact that I am still in Harrisonburg, Virginia. Don't get me wrong, I love our town; however, I spend most of the work day redesigning Web sites and burning my eyeballs, hoping that someday NPR will rediscover my cover letter and resume and see that "photojournalist" was what I applied to do...in Washington, D.C. At this point, though, anywhere new would suffice. I am craving a change of pace, a change of faces, for awhile.
Our heater is and has been broken, and the only radiator in the entire apartment that actually radiates heat is in the living room (a.k.a. No Man's Land). Unfortunately, the building manager refuses to acknowledge that our liquids outside of the refrigerator are colder than those inside, so we will continue to shiver. Luckily, having a constantly tense body due to a 40-degree-Fahrenheit apartment is a great workout. My abs have never been so chiseled. Also, since it's too cold to get out of bed and get dressed to go grocery shopping, I'm eating extremely healthily: for dinner tonight, I ate a cucumber and half of a green pepper dipped in fat-free Thousand Island dressing, along with a whole wheat tortilla smothered with apple butter. Yum!
Being a college graduate is obviously a dream come true.
In the last two freezing days, I've snuggled up reading Chelsea Handler's My Horizontal Life in which she essentially turns her one-night stands into chapters. Some of them are more than just one night, but they shouldn't have been because she only kept those guys around for convenient usage of their shlongs. I've never been a big reader (my mom and I always watched sappy romance movies together in my childhood, most likely as an escape from the harsh reality of single-dom and unappreciative, clueless men......maybe I should keep going to Blockbuster), however this book has me furiously flipping pages and holding my [rock hard] stomach from laughing so much. It's like this woman has never been heart-broken. She talks about her "notches," well, just like they're notches. There's been one chapter out of seven so far in which she shows signs of the typical feminine sensitivity and emotionality. That chapter was called "Desperado." Otherwise, she refers to her lovers as "Guess Who's Leaving Through the Window?," "My Little Nugget" (he was a Mexican midget) and, the chapter I'm on now, "Skid Mark." She talks about guys the way I'd imagine most guys talk about us. It's kind of disturbing. And disturbingly refreshing.
Feeling good. Oh, by the way, Youtube "Feeling Good" by Michael Buble when you get a chance. Ugh, it's fantastic and, might I add, a little tingle-in-the-pants worthy.
Our heater is and has been broken, and the only radiator in the entire apartment that actually radiates heat is in the living room (a.k.a. No Man's Land). Unfortunately, the building manager refuses to acknowledge that our liquids outside of the refrigerator are colder than those inside, so we will continue to shiver. Luckily, having a constantly tense body due to a 40-degree-Fahrenheit apartment is a great workout. My abs have never been so chiseled. Also, since it's too cold to get out of bed and get dressed to go grocery shopping, I'm eating extremely healthily: for dinner tonight, I ate a cucumber and half of a green pepper dipped in fat-free Thousand Island dressing, along with a whole wheat tortilla smothered with apple butter. Yum!
Being a college graduate is obviously a dream come true.
In the last two freezing days, I've snuggled up reading Chelsea Handler's My Horizontal Life in which she essentially turns her one-night stands into chapters. Some of them are more than just one night, but they shouldn't have been because she only kept those guys around for convenient usage of their shlongs. I've never been a big reader (my mom and I always watched sappy romance movies together in my childhood, most likely as an escape from the harsh reality of single-dom and unappreciative, clueless men......maybe I should keep going to Blockbuster), however this book has me furiously flipping pages and holding my [rock hard] stomach from laughing so much. It's like this woman has never been heart-broken. She talks about her "notches," well, just like they're notches. There's been one chapter out of seven so far in which she shows signs of the typical feminine sensitivity and emotionality. That chapter was called "Desperado." Otherwise, she refers to her lovers as "Guess Who's Leaving Through the Window?," "My Little Nugget" (he was a Mexican midget) and, the chapter I'm on now, "Skid Mark." She talks about guys the way I'd imagine most guys talk about us. It's kind of disturbing. And disturbingly refreshing.
Feeling good. Oh, by the way, Youtube "Feeling Good" by Michael Buble when you get a chance. Ugh, it's fantastic and, might I add, a little tingle-in-the-pants worthy.
