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Saturday, May 19th, 2007
7:31 pm
I'm all moved into philly now, meaning that the piles of boxes from our previous condo have been sucessfully moved into the new apartment. Jason and I are tag-teaming on the unpacking process, but I keep having hangups with the way he's throwing things into place, so settling down here could be a long process. My main goal is to get some paint on these walls. Starck white is not the most inviting color in a loft style apartment. I might as well be in an insane assylum. This is the problem with being married. I want to preserve my sanity and paint the walls, and Jason wants to enjoy the white and save money. I thought living here would feel glamourous, but it feels like something more out of a Seinfeld episode. I have the whole nasty doorman situation going on. 

I start my GSK internship Monday. I've been pretty excited about this because it's in a highly specialized area, but now I'm getting a bit nervous. I'm not sure how I'm going to be able to create a literature review over the course of three months. When I had this class in school, I created it  the day before it was due, and I think it consisted of less than 15 pages. I'm sure I'll manage, but it's always interesting when you realize 4 years of college have taught you nothing that will actually help you in the long run.

I don't know if anyone here has heard of SWEAT, but I love this gym. I did an hour long cardio class based on mini trampolines today. I can't say I had fun, but I'll probably be back. I want to go for a few weeks in a row before I make a judgement call on the bounce your way to fitness idea.

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Friday, August 19th, 2005
11:17 am
A few weeks ago I sunk to the bottom of unemployment desperation and resorted to such tactics as snagajob and Monster. Online job searches are all well and good if you have a PhD, because professional jobs can't be found by walking in and filling out a job application, but even with minimum wage jobs, this doesn't always do the trick. After 10 applications and zero callbacks, I broke down and signed up for an online babysitting service. Surprisingly enough, there are actually parents who use this and I've actually gotten legitimate contacts through this website.

Meeting families online is probably not the safest course of action, but I figure that my general health and well-being is at a higher risk from my landlord if I opt to stop paying rent. He'd probably get his henchmen at the landscaping service to come after me. That being said, I've already met up with one family, we'll call them the Gray Family, and they're surprisingly charming. The Grays just moved here from England, and we all know British people are great, and even if they aren't nice, I'll at least enjoy listening to them talk.

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Sunday, August 7th, 2005
7:11 pm - why read the paper when you can get your classifieds right here?

Hi, my name is Rebecca and I drive my boyfriend's car, shop with coupons, and read the Sunday paper. Minus the part about the boyfriend, I'm practically a 30-year-old single's ad. Well, that or a gay man. Now that the initial "let freedom ring!" euphoria of moving out of my parents' house has subsided, I'm finding myself experiencing the middle-age doldrums and it's looking bleak. I confess I expected this to happen at some point, but not before my 20th birthday. Maybe it's because my boyfriend's still in California, or maybe it's because when I moved out, my parents moved to North Carolina, but suddenly I'm alone in PA, living the swinging single life. 

I should expand upon the above term of living the swinging single life. Hi, my name is Rebecca and this week I changed my own oil, lost my oil cap, bought a new oil cap, prevented an engine explosion and cooked chicken parm. As great as this newfound independence and self-sufficiency is on my budget, dinner for one is only so much fun, and now that I've become waxing poetic, this is where I stop.

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Friday, August 5th, 2005
11:45 pm - screaming bloody murder
Erin and I finally managed to have a sleepover this summer, and I have to say it's among one of my more amusing nights from these past few months. I'm not sure whether this sleepover is especially memorable because of our mutual accomodation of a rather small bed in a non-ventilated/non-air-conditioned room or because I tend to be a rather aggressive sleeper, but last night topped the height of my sleepover experiences. While I managed to stay on my side of the bed last night, for some inexplicable reason, I started screaming hysterically at 4:00 a.m. This was a full out, scream-for-your-life-because-I'm-about-to-be-murdered-scream.

What woke me up was not my own shouts of fear from whatever nightmare, but my friend's sudden and profuse profanity. If you think about it, it's really hilarious. I'm fast asleep and all of a sudden Erin is like "F!J!C!F!F!F!". The last time I heard her swear like this was when we were about to be impaled while climbing that stupid fence in Gardening Class. Now I'm laughing hysterically and I just can't stop. If you ever get a chance to sleep with Erin, I highly recommend it.

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Tuesday, August 2nd, 2005
7:16 pm - death to trans-union
It's interesting how completing a few mundane chores makes you feel euphoric (well, it makes me euphoric). It's also interesting how a few mundane events can make you want to go on a violent rampage. For instance, I recieved a letter from a credit card company saying that they prefer not to issue a credit card to me because I have a history of late payments. Come on guys, throw me a bone. My free credit report clearly states that such an event has never occured. Being the responsible consumer that I am, I immediately called the listed number for yet another free annual credit report, but this service isn't even available in my area until this September. I'm so mad, I think I'll become a Democrat.

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Monday, August 1st, 2005
11:34 am - miss manners
I've been in everyone's bed but my own this summer. Between state hopping from California to North Carolina, I've spent about a grand total of 1 week at my own apartment. This isn't anything new to me, since I used to float from dorm room to dorm room when I was a commuter my freshman and sophomore year of college, but a few puzzling events did catch me off guard this time around. My boyfriend and I would alternately sleep in the guest bedroom at my Grandmother's house, and each time she knew the switch was about to happen, she would insist that we change the sheets. I can understand this if I were planning on sleeping in a bed previously contaminated with ebola, but if it's my boyfriend and I'm the one who has to remake the bed, I say keep it dirty.

I think I might have actually expressed this sentiment to my grandmother, Grams as she likes to be called, and she was a bit horrified. She proceeded to explain to me why unmarried men and women cannot share the same sheets. I think it goes something like this: women cannot sleep in men's sheets because you never know what's gone on in there during the night. Men cannot sleep in women's sheets because they'll get way too turned on. I believe the exact quote was "he'll smell your scent and find it arousing." Moral of the story? Lock up your linens because men are apparently hunting dogs.

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Tuesday, May 10th, 2005
2:11 am - man eater
I just looked at the bookshelf next to my computer desk to notice that my roommate has added several of her books to my collection. Maybe I should say I added a few shelves to her collection. Excessive shelf space on my part and excessive memoirs and novels on hers makes this mutually beneficial. Normally this wouldn't be exciting enough news to receive an honorable mention in livejournal, but this is the first night I've actually noticed the books I'm housing. Observe: Jenna Jameson-How To Make Love Like a Porn Star; Jessica Simpson-Achieving Your Dream Wedding; 40,0001 Best Baby Names. Watch out boys; I'm coming to get you. I could see this being very problematic should this be misinterpreted, but who am I kidding? These books are surrounded by How To Get Into Top Law Schools and Donald Trump-How To Get Rich. You'd have a better bet of psychoanalyzing my intentions if you look for the Harry Potter books. Jenna Jameson and Harry Potter: Now that's a winning combination a man can't refuse.

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Monday, May 9th, 2005
11:58 am - around the world in 80 days. or every three years.

It appears as if my family is once again moving, and by appears I mean my parents bought a house in North Carolina last weekend. This means the Brown family will have officially lived in 4 states and five houses in the past decade. When this move was still in the on-again-off-again planning stage, I thought okay, I'm going to rock this. I made a thoughtful, detailed list of reasons why it would be most logical for me to continue living with my parents and came to the conclusion that North Carolina was the place to be. The use of past tense in that sentence obviously indicates that that rationale was shot out the window. I met my current boyfriend and now, as I'm writing this, I can't even remember what those thoughtful, detailed reasons remotely encompassed. Three weeks ago I packed up and moved into an apartment, which actually closely resembles the house from the Amityville Horror. This makes sense. For an apartment seemingly so cool, there has to be a crazy man or a ghost in the deal.

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Friday, December 24th, 2004
9:22 pm
I've just been officially blacklisted by ebay. I may also be on the public library's hit list. You would think by now that they would get the idea that I have no intention of paying $130 worth of late fees. I simply will not do it. I think I may have heard rumors of something called Library Forgiveness Day, so I'm holding the books as collateral in the unlikely event that such a day does exist. If it doesn't, Royersford Public Library will never again see the books I checked out for my self-imposed summer reading. Except I just remembered the unfortunate fact that I had to give them my driver's license identification number to register for a library card. Excellent. They're going to track me down and I'll end up running story time and puppet shows for remedial community service. Or quite possibly, nothing at all will happen and I'll proceed with my illegal actions as usual.

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Wednesday, September 22nd, 2004
12:37 am
Well, I'm back at school and things are bigger and better than ever. Please note the dry sarcasm in this sentence, less you think that I am actually excited to be digging out chemistry and spanish books again. Make sure you're sitting down before you read the next sentence, because it's going to be extra fun and exciting. I dyed my hair auburn and changed my major to elementary education. That last part is actually inaccurate, because I'm still technically pre-med and pharmaceutical product development, but I have every intention of getting out as soon as possible. As soon as possible refering to sometime at the end of this semester. I swear my life is groundhog day. I'm trying to change to a completely different field and I'm still finding myself doing chemistry homework every night. Also a lie. I haven't done chemistry homework once this year, but it would probably be beneficial for me to do so. This semester is remarkably similar to the one I just had last year, and I'm realizing that last semester wasn't entirely pleasant. This brings me to the conclusion that I can either get through this by hard work and dedication or a minor cocaine addiction. I vote in favor of the cocaine.

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Friday, July 23rd, 2004
10:32 pm
I've returned to my patterns of cohabitating Jen's house, and we are currently watching the Exorcist with her brother and his friend. I'm pretty sure that I was the one who recommened the movie feature of the night for us, but the demon possession became slightly too intense for me. I'm hiding behind the couch with the computer right now, which seems like the safest place to be at present time. Unfortunately, I can still hear some strangely gutteral noises coming from that scary little girl. I seriously hate kids in movies.

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Thursday, July 15th, 2004
10:34 am
I think I got shopped at Champp's last night. Each month two undercover shoppers come to the restaurant and grade the server on their serving skills and general etiquette. A score of less than 85 results in instant termination of the said server's position, so if a score comes back and doesn't meet the grade, you grab your stuff and it's adios. For a job that doesn't require any type of formal education, it's pretty intense. My shoppers each ordered alcoholic drinks and an appetizer, which isn't all that uncommon, but then they actually let me list two items from each menu category, whereas normal people would have just told me to shut up and get them a beer. I literally gave these people a five minute speech. I definitely got shopped.

Once I figured out I was being shopped, I did my best to follow my cheat sheet to "10 easy steps to great service", but I kept forgetting to follow protocol. The woman ordered a bloody mary, and I had no idea what was even in a bloody mary, so I couldn't ask if she wanted to upgrade her alcohol. Vodka. Of course it was vodka. Only I would forget the contents of my shoppers drink, one of which almost gave me alcohol poisoning several months back. This never would have happened if I were an alcoholic. Alcohol competence or no, I better pull an 85 or it's back to the Bob Evan's farm for me...

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Thursday, July 8th, 2004
3:06 pm
Because my life is a joke, I have swollen lymphnodes. Again. Ordinary this would be no big deal for the average person, but my immune system sucks, so swollen lymphnodes equal strep throat or death or something like that. My parents always make me go to the doctor, and since I'm past the stage of lollipop euphoria, doctor visits have lost their appeal. I need to check into finding a new doctor, because there is something purely chemical about the mutual dislike between this so-called-doctor and I. I dislike him because I feel that I am never sick enough to be wasting his time, and he dislikes me for a yet unidentified reason. Probably some chemical aversion as I just stated. I'm going to reiterate that first sentence about my life being a joke, because my rapidly increasing tonsil size led me right back into the same glove-covered hands of Noah Bass this afternoon. Come on. Noah Bass? What kind of a name is that for anyone who doesn't have a background with ark building and animal gathering?

I was laying on the tissue-papered cot when Dr. Bass crept into the room and proceeded to say something along the lines of "you again." Way to make me feel like an idiot, Noah. I thought about leaping up to give him a big hug, but it just didn't seem worth the effort given my degenerative state. He diagnosed me with tonsillitis after my rapid strep test came back negative, this is where it gets fun and exciting, tapped the tips of his fingers together in the classic fashion of "here-is-the-church-here-is-the-steeple", and said this: I've made up my own recipe for sore throats that will make you feel better. Hurray. The witch doctor has a solution. He then said something about mixing an anti-allergen, a household cleaner, and a type of Novocaine, which, now that I think about it, sounds dubiously similar to the black market method of manufacturing crystal meth. I am now drugged beyond the point of thinking of a clever closing sentence. Oh yes, I'm sick.

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Wednesday, July 7th, 2004
5:33 pm - smited again
I'm on my third day of being smited by unidentified flu-like symptoms and now I'm just getting pissed. Let me list the things that are currently pissing me off:

1) Isabel Allende. Her books take far too long to become even remotely interesting.

2) My crappy, ineffective immune system.

3) The fact that my family repeatedly deletes Futurama from our Tvo before I view it.

4) The mailman. He's completely inconsistent with delivery time. I wish I had a dog
to gnaw on his leg.

5) My lack of knowledge of where I'll be living one month from now. Probably the

6) Advil Cold and Sinus. Does it work? No.

7) The Harry Potter series. I cannot be expected to wait until I graduate from
college to read the next book in line.

8) While I'm thinking of Harry Potter, the people that go around in cloaks are
completely unacceptable.

Thank you. Have a nice day.

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Tuesday, July 6th, 2004
1:53 pm
My parents have spent the past three months demanding to ad nauseam that I clean my room, but until recently this was an action that just couldn't quite make it onto my to-do list. It was when I came home after several nights of staying out to find that my mother had attempted to move my belongings to the unfinished basement that I figured I should probably do something to address the current situation. Luckily for me, my room was so messy she was forced to renege on her bedroom relocation program. In retrospect, I think it would have been hilariously funny had she actually resettled me next to our hot water heater or attractive pipelines down there, but I probably would have been a bit irate at the time.

I have decided that the only appropriate response to this attack on my room is to counter by delivering an obsessively clean room. If you want clean (and are willing to move your firstborn into the basement to achieve this), you're going to get clean. I have made it my job not only to wash laundry for the first time this summer, but to also reinstate my system of color-coordinating all the clothes in my closet. I threw out all the hangers that didn't follow my preferred hanging style and color and attempted to space my shirts and various items on hangers approximately 1/4" from each other.

Now this is the good part: I made a list of all the hanging items from left to right complete with the brand name and color/pattern description and I'm going to put it on my closet door after I have it laminated. I've placed my underwear in plastic baggies according to the style and date bought, so now all I have to do is alphabetize my books and CDs. I'm hopping that my parents will find this as amusing as I do, because there's a good chance I'll wind up seeing a psychiatrist if my little parody falls flat.

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Sunday, July 4th, 2004
5:35 pm

Today a very disturbing thing happened. Upon being summoned to join the rest of the crew for our tri-annual family dinner this afternoon, I discovered some sort of carb deficiency error on my plate. After a quick scan I noticed that I was the only child out of six that was not given a hot dog bun for our Fourth of July dining celebration. I inquired about the missing bread, which lead my mother to smoothly transition into a promotional talk about the South Beach diet. She then graciously pointed me towards the various green vegetables on the table and a suspicious looking low-carb Dannon yogurt already positioned beside my plate.

My dad has also initiated some nice pro-diet verbal slander by point blank telling me that my shorts were looking a bit tight. Ironically, he told me that I was looking quite thin about two weeks ago. I have decided to make a little chart entitled the Fat Chart for my parents. They can reward me with a gold star when I am adequately succeeding in self-starvation, and conversely mark a big black "X" on the chart whenever I eat without inducing vomiting or taking laxatives. I think this will work very nicely for all involved parties.

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Thursday, July 1st, 2004
8:40 pm

I'm back from my double shift at Champps and Cheesecake Factory a bit earlier than I expected this evening, which kind of sucks because I need to start generating some revenue for my living expenses this upcoming semester. It appears as if I will be living with a nice girl who is a friend of Christina Hade's (the girl who is dating the Colin Firth look-alike) in an apartment right near campus. In retrospect, I'm thinking that paying for an apartment may not be as exciting or thrilling as I once thought, because saving all this money is starting to interfere with some of the events in which I would like to participate. I just blew $300 at Creation, but I'm chalking it up as an experience, because it was like Atlanta Fest, only Orbisonia  farm style. For those of you not familiar with Orbisonia, it is home to Boy Scout troop #354.

My dad has invited me to come to a location in France with him and my sister for a week at the end of the summer. I really, really, let me add one more really to emphasize my desire to flee the country for a week, really want to go with them, but I don't think I can afford to take a week off of work. Unfortunately, if I don't go with them, my sister can't go either, because she's too young to fend off the anti-Americans dissenters or something. I keep thinking this is a chance of a lifetime because I won't have to pay for the ticket, hotel or food expenses, but I also won't be making any money during that time. We're already going to California for two weeks over the Thanksgiving holidays, so I need to start thinking ahead. Theoretically, that is a good idea. I should think ahead and get used to it now, because this is what it's going to be like to be a starving English major/waitress for the rest of my life...

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Thursday, February 19th, 2004
2:11 pm
After being so rudely awakened the other morning in Jen's room, I decided to switch things up a bit last night by returning to Tet and Amanda's room for a guest appearance. I'm not exactly accustomed to sleeping in a twin bed with two people since Jen forces me to sleep on the floor when I stay in her room, but Tet and I decided to give it a go and sleep head-to-foot. It was all fun and games until her toes (intentionally) brushed my forehead after my incoherent refusal to turn off the alarm clock. I was so thoroughly freaked out, I leapt out of bed and headed to my microbiology class, which is saying something considering my hatred of early rising.

Approximately five hours later, I arrived at Spanish class, where I spent about an hour and thirty minutes perfecting an in-class composition. The subject material wasn't exceedingly difficult, but I threw in a few cliches for good measure. I would have finished with time to spare, if it hadn't been for Dr. Garfolo's utter repulsion at the site of my microscopic handwriting. As I watched her struggle and squint to read my size 8 font-like print, I took pity upon her and offered to rewrite the whole essay, assuming that she would wave me on and comment on the perfection of my style. It actually had a lot less to do with pity then with my desire not to fail, but in any case, that is not an offer I will be repeating anytime in the near future.

As I attempted to re-scribe the paper in larger, sloppier handwriting, she told me to take my time while she proceeded about cleaning the classroom. This is the part that kills me: she then wheeled out the projector and turned off the lights, leaving me in darkness. I was sitting in the front row, clearly visible, so I assumed she would return after properly situating the projector in whatever place the projector is situated in its time of unuse. I sat there with my completed paper for about 20 minutes before I realized that she wasn't coming back for me or the essay. It was exactly like the time my mom forgot to pick my up from karate class when I was nine. After trudging about with my rather heavy backpack, essay and pen in hand, I finally found her in her office eating Sour Patch Kids. I think it may be time to check out basic French skills.

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Wednesday, February 18th, 2004
7:28 am
I'm up at the crack of dawn this charming morning because the two people whose room I crashed in last night decided to get up and work out at 6:30 a.m. Like any decent, nonmanical person, I chose to sleep, but since I am a light sleeper, it looks like that pleasantry is now over since they have returned. I should take advantage of this morning to attend my 8:00 chemistry class. Seeing as I almost certainly failed the test Monday, I suppose upping my attendance would be the best course of action. I haven't actually received my grade, but I have no doubt that it will be ugly. It's occurred to me that I've managed to singularly ruin my chance for medical school through my actions over the past two weeks.

I started to become re-motivated as I watched Scrubs last night, but then I realized that there is no hope for me if I can't even get my act together freshman year. I know I generally pull through in these types of situations, but this time around I think I have efficiently screwed myself. I state all this and yet I remain surprisingly cheerful in a wow-my-life-has-lost-all-it's-meaning-but-it-doesn't-bother-me sort of way. As fun as analyzing my failures as a pre-med student to the point of utter misery is, I must now attempt to understand the rates of reactions as applied by thermal kinetics... (If this branch of chemistry sounds unfamiliar, keep in mind that I might have made it up. I have tendencies to do so when I miss extensive amounts of class.)

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Monday, February 16th, 2004
4:40 pm
While cashing a check at the student service desk at Sykes, I caught a deep red sign imprinted with the catch phrase "Rape-Free Zone" in my peripheral vision. This is the third sign of this nature that I have seen on campus. I wonder if this means that if I find myself in impending danger of being raped, I can quickly scamper over to one of these signs to prevent any unsolicited coital action? It's like playing tag as a kid, with these signs as the established safety base. I can just imagine myself running away from a pursuer and shaking my fist triumphantly upon reaching the "rape-free zone". I learned through some random class of mine that there are approximately six cases of forcible rape each year on campus, which probably makes these rape safety zones quite the investment. What an excellent school I attend.

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