Last night, instead of responding to the emails in my inbox, I went driving around with Chris, de-humidifying his car, and in search of french fries. I am already having pre-meditated thoughts to spend the majority of the afternoon eating healthy junk food and playing video games.

I think I deserve it after the first half of my overly stressful, homework filled week.
I got locked out of the house two days ago and walked around campus for 40 minutes looking for Chris in the computer labs. I hadn’t felt that flustered since being robbed in Costa Rica. I felt like such a girl fighting back that lump in my throat everytime I opened a lab door and didn’t see a little blonde head poking out from behind a computer monitor.

Thursday I register for classes; I’m genuinely excited about next semester. Chris was going to take a class with me, jewelry and metalmakings, but he decided to take a class on Hebrew texts instead. He says “becoming an expert on the old testament is more important [than making jewelry].” I beg to differ.

Part of me is a bit bummed because this will be the last lower division art class I’ll be taking. I was excited to have Chris in an art class with me so that he will finally realize that he has all of these artistic capabilities that haven’t been unearthed, but I guess that won’t be happening.

Now that I think about it I can understand his motives, though. I mean, if I were to reverse the situation here, there’s no way I would take a Religious Studies course, even if he were to take it with me. The very idea is simply terrifying and I’d much rather be hanging out next to the dektol making my brain explode from fumes than from serious religious discussion. I would feel just as insecure around all of the intellectual types, pseudo or otherwise, as I’m sure Chris would feel sitting in an art class, though I can assure him that, unlike the Religious Studies department, there are no real intellectuals in the Art department.

I came to the shocking realization that my lack of drawing the past couple weeks has less to do with a mutual lack of free time and more to do with our neighbor borrowing my pencil sharpener and not returning it in a timely manner. The shock comes into play when, instead of taking literally one step out my front door and asking for it back, I start to wonder if we have knives in the house sharp enough to do the job.

To sharpen the pencils that is– not to kill my neighbors.

Thanks to this game I’m suddenly being catapulted back into youth where my two brothers and I took one-hour turns playing video games. It’s a good thing Chris and I have pretty opposite schedules during the school week, because I can already tell we’ll be butting heads this weekend for time in front of the tv.

It’s pretty hilarious how many childhood memories are uncovered from playing this together– like the imminent danger of saving over someone else’s file, or being lightyears behind the other person as far as the storyline goes– how do boys do it?! My brother Alan always managed to beat games weeks, sometimes months before I could. Lord knows how he did it, especially with a bratty sister like myself always accidentally saving over his files and then lying about it! Maybe it’s just my need to know so I spend forever exploring, and oh, how much there is to explore in this particular game.

My favorite memory I’m currently reliving is the backseat RPGer– being constantly reminded by someone else of what you should do; such advice is most likely to turn up during stressful battle situations. “You should use the berries.” “Don’t forget about the Knot of Rust!” “Why don’t you cast Oil?” I hope Chris doesn’t read this and feel bad, because I think it’s real funny.

I remember one instance as a kid when my oldest brother, Mike, was playing a game well past his 1-hour mark. I don’t think our mom was home so I had to take matters into my own hands. The first line of offense was insufferable little sister nagging. “Mike, MIKE! Turn it off it’s MY TURN!” But all I’d get as a response was, “Hold on, hold on– I gotta find a save spot!” over and over. I can’t even rememeber what game he was playing at the time, but I picked up the instruction manual and lo and behold, he had the ability to save the game whenever, wherever, he’d like.
Needless to say, there was lots more of that insufferable little sister nagging to be had thereafter.

Last night Vetiver rolled into town to play a show at Jambalaya. It was supposed to start at 9:00, so we arrived a few minutes early. It didn’t start for another 40 minutes. There were two bands playing before Vetiver were supposed to take the stage… By the time the second act got halfway through his set it was almost midnight. We went home before even getting to see Vetiver, despite really liking the second act.

I’ll never be good at going to concerts. I can only count two shows I’ve ever been to where I had the time of my life, and that’s because I was diehard about the band performing. Not even that helps, sometimes; I went to a show I was very excited for in Berkeley once and was miserable the entire time.

They’re big, loud, congested, claustrophobic. People are always drinking and talking and exhuming their egos.

I’m just no fun at all ’cause I’d rather be at home.