Potions Class

So, I recently change my minor from Chemistry education to Speech and Drama education because it's eight less credits, and ... um ... how to phrase it exactly ... chemistry is hard. I don't know what it is, if it's the fact I'm half asleep in class since it's a 7:45 class or if maybe I just spontaneously suck at it now, but I woke up today knowing I had to finish my lab worksheet and I didn't really know how and I almost started crying. Couple that with the fact that when I took my Chem exam on Monday I got the test and realized I had no idea how to do the first half of it. Needless to say, I failed. That's the only test in college I've failed so far. Worst part is my friend Charles invited me to a study group but I got distracted by Lord of the Rings. So, in the end I'm glad I change my minor since I don't know how I could stand taking six more chem classes before I graduate, but I'm also glad that my failure isn't what got me to change in the first place. I'd hate to have the conversations about the change go like this:
Me: So I changed my minor
Friend: Cool, why?
Me: Cuz' I suck at Chemistry.
Friend: Why'd you even want to go into it in the first place?
Me: I dunno!

Instead of how they are going, which is to say, more like this:
Me: So I changed my minor,
Friend: Cool, why?
Me: Because I want to get out of here in four and a half years. Did you know Organic Chem 1 is five credits? That's insane!
Friend: Totally.

But this feeling of animosity for chemistry is really bugging me. I mean back in high school I loved chemistry! Got a solid A in it. If high school chem was Potions class, then I was like the Half Blood Prince or something, and now, in college chem, I'm like

Neville. It's unsettling.
Weirdest part of the day was I was making that Harry Potter comparison in my head on the way to Lab and then when I got there my Professor was wearing a wizard hat. We were doing Alchemy today, so I guess he felt it appropriate. I just got really nervous that when he graded my lab he'd frown and say, "Heather, you're a moron, twenty points from Gamma 1." And then all the girls on my floor would hate me or something like that, which is totally ridiculous, because we don't even have a point system like that at our school. Anyway, in the end he wasn't in his office, so I have a week to figure out what the heck went wrong with my lab last week so I can fix it.

Why can't life be better paced?

This past week has been a bit on the nuts side and I'm kinda left with that feeling when you let go of the intertube and watch the boat speed away, and you're totally in pain since you bellyflopped at high speeds and you feel sort of stranded and helpless at the same time.
Anywho, here's the skinny on that... first I break up with my boyfriend, then I get stalked by some guy who was mad at me since my truck sprayed some pebbles at his car and "cracked his windshield really bad, then I get totally hooked on a new anime, then I have to deal with my therapist talking about how we only have a few more sessions left (because of stupid insurance mumbo jumbo that I don't even begin to understand), then I'm forced into realizing how close college is when I went shopping for dorm stuff.
All of this I probably could have handled if it hadn't been for what happened the next day.
So I go to the doctor about this cough I've had for like two weeks and I'm expecting him to say bronchitis, or at worse pneumonia, and firstly he gave himself a rather stupid looking triangle patch of hair on his chin which totally ruined his typically hot appearance (of course I shouldn't find him hot since he's older than MY MOM). Anyway, he did say bronchitis, but that's not all, he said I have asthma.
In my mind I'm still on stutter mode. So I cover my shock up with a ton of witty statements like:
"Well I guess this is one more way I'm like Dad"
"This will help me understand Cameron's character better"
"Well this explains why Dr.Flourentine (my cardiologist) didn't see anything"
Alright, about zero of those were witty, but they cover up that I HATE THIS!
Being born with a serious heart defect one would imagine I'm used to feeling weak, and in a way, I suppose I am, but it doesn't mean I like the idea of feeling weakER.
I mean I'm already below average, I don't want to be more below average, you know?
So I'm sorry this isn't funny or whatever but, blergh.

4th of July, a day to celebrate our freedom to wear really ugly shirts.

Really though, I don't think I've ever seen so many hideous shirts in one day before, and only half of them were patriotic. I mean, I'll allow the guy with the Mount Rushmore polo shirt to pull that one out today, that makes a little sense I suppose, but I draw the line when it comes to just plain ugly Hawaiian shirts. I think the men that wear those are hoping no one will notice that their shirt isn't patriotic. Like people will see it and go, "Ahh, ugly shirt!" and look away before they realize the ugliness isn't even celebrating our country.

On a semi-related note, my brother claimed his dream patriotic shirt would have a snarling ferocious grizzly that had a gun in one hand and something I can't remember at the moment (it was manly and patriotic though, I remember that much) and the shirt would be covered in red white and blue and the bear would be saying "These colors never run" and then on its shoulder would be an eagle "holding a snake, or quite possibly a trout."

We do own our own horrendous yet patriotic shirt at our house, I think my dad got it for the bicentennial or something like that. It's a short sleeve button up that's covered with different versions of our nations flag, and maybe if I remember I'll post a picture of it so you can get the idea of how truly ugly it is.

Well, happy independence day! And for the record, no matter how happy that smiley faced firework looked, I'm not buying having your face blown up is a pleasurable experience.

How's it going? Sew Sew.

So I went fabric shopping today for a shirt I'm planning on sewing this summer and I'm searching up and down the rows of material looking for the perfect pattern, and I found one of the most awesome fabrics I've ever seen in my entire life. It was green, covered in question marks, and once I saw it I had no choice but to find a skirt pattern to use it with.

I hate to admit it wasn't until later that I recognized the print as being the Riddler's.

Seems obvious now, sigh.

The craziest part came when I was looking for that picture. I ended up finding this:

I mean, The Doctor as a Batman villian, has the world gone nuts? The most unsettleing bit is that the unalterd version of that picture

was my computer desktop for a long time. Sigh, why'd David Tennant have to go, I mean I like Matt Smith and everything, but still.

Thought of the day: Owning the moon.

Man is a hungry thing, he wants to possess as much as he can. The moon we say is our planets satellite, but is it? We avoid definitions that would claim it otherwise and why? Even though it's quite simple when you think on it, why don't we title it a planet? Are we so desperate to own the moon? A giant rock in space? It would sell just as well on ebay, even if it wasn't a satellite, maybe even better, a stake in another planet. We could say we've gone to other planets, and wouldn't that be a fascinating notion?

Bonus thought: Oh, and why does every other planet get cool names for their planets? Naming our moon, Moon? Why not rename the earth Planet? Or the Sun, Star? Weird, it's just weird.

The Great Missing Book Caper

About a month ago I decided it was time to "clean" my room. This of course means taking everything off the shelves and then sorting everything into the following categories: Garbage, Clothes, Books, and Random Stuff Which Will Remain on the Floor (ie. nail files, broken headphones, a purse which looks like a Chinese takeout box, a box of saltwater taffy, ect.) Anyway so I glanced at my bookshelf to verify all the books were retrieved from the pile when I noticed something. Something frightening.
Peeps was missing.
I mean I knew exactly where it was supposed to be, right in between Nightlight and Pretties but it wasn't! I racked my mind for all the places it could be and left panicked messages on all the walls of anyone I had ever lent a book to, ever. Slowly, one by one, the messages came in. None of them had borrowed the book.
I didn't know what to do. I resigned myself to the fact I'd never see my beloved book ever again.
Later in the week my mom asked if I wanted to go out to eat since she had to get some craft supplies at Michaels, or Hobby Lobby, whichever ended up having what she needed. Knowing I had received gift cards to two different book stores I asked her if there were any nearby. She answered that Shulers was and I excitedly grabbed the card and started singing my "I'm going to a book store" song.

The I'm Going to a Book Store Song
I'm going to a book store
I'm going to a book store!
Oh, I am going to a book STORE!!!!
Tra la la la la!

We ate at Olive Garden and I felt like a complete failure since I reached my food consumption limit right when I had one ravioli left. There is hardly anything more humiliating than that. I mean, you can't finish your plate, but you can't get a box either, since really, who gets a box for one ravioli? So you're left feeling like a spoiled food waster who doesn't care at all about the starving children in Africa. But in the end it didn't really matter that I didn't finish it because our waiter was like, the coolest one in the world.
So after going to Michaels and having me wander the aisles randomly looking at stuff and trying to keep my gift card buffer money from being spent, we went to the book store (insert angelic choir music here).
I knew with complete certainty I was going to buy Odd Thomas but I encountered the problem of genres. I hate genres. To me, music is music, books are books, movies are movies. I don't understand why we have to split everything up, I spent pretty near forever searching all the wrong places in the book store for Odd Thomas. I decided to give it a rest and head over to the Young Adult section, a section I love since it doesn't decide to separate anything on genre, you just look up the last name you want and your good to go. I got to the W's and just stared at Peeps, stared at it for a long time. How certain was I that I wouldn't ever find my copy again? Pretty dang certain. I picked it up, checked the price to make sure it didn't put me over my budget, and decided to keep it. Then I recruited my mom to help me find the last book I was looking for.
She glanced at my pile of books. "So you decide to get it again?"
"Yeah," I responded, "I'm pretty sure my copy is gone."
Being a mom, she has this strange ability to find anything within about thirty seconds, so she had no problem locating Dean Koontz books. I picked up the one I wanted and paused.
Should I really get Peeps again? Is it really a stupid idea? I went back over to the W section to put it back. I sat on the bench wondering if I had made the correct decision, and with a deep breath I exchanged the copy of Peeps I had picked out for one with a different cover, my logic was this: My copy of Peeps wouldn't recognize this new one, and therefore wouldn't feel the need to reveal itself in defiance of the newcomer. So I caved, bought it, and happily took my loot home.
After getting in a semi-epic battle with my brother (including him pretending to be a robot while I pretended to by a hotel lobby fountain) which ended with my mom intervening and talking about "conflict resolution" and how she and my dad have been horrible examples of this since they never fight... blah blah blah. Which ended with Ben complaining about how unfair it is to be a guy since girls take everything so personally, I went to put my books away. To make room for the new books I had to constantly shove others down a shelf (which leads to chain reactions of the shelf below getting to full and needing even more books put down a shelf). The last book I removed from the bag was Peeps. I attempted to jiggle it into place but found all the books were too snug and I went to move another book down.
And which book do you suppose was hiding behind my book of 24 Italian Arias? Hmm?
There, compleatly out of alphabetical order, was Peeps.
I sat dumbfounded for a bit and pondered how if I hadn't bought another copy of Peeps I never would have found it.