Genesis

I had intentions to have my first blog be full of deep thoughts about society delivered with dry detached wit or a sarcastic spin but now that my fingers are on the keys I find absolutely nothing in my head save the events of the morning (nondescript and routine) and what is marching obediently onto the screen right now.
I guess I wanted to start this because I feel like there are hundreds of me out there. There are hundreds of little poser-redheads with glasses and few friends. A little recently out girl in a school counting down the days until she's 18 for the legal rights to celebrations, inebriations, fornications, ...inhaling small conflagrations, and all the other -ations that come with the accomplishment of surviving for 216 months. Its funny. They've turned life into a video game. when you turn 15 there's level one: congradulations you can now go to therapy without parental consent and have confidentiality with your doctor. level two is 16, now your car can take you to those appointments. 17: level three. Now you can drive, in your car, to your therapist, to talk about the R rated movie you just saw. 18 is the second to last level most people get to use. Now you can smoke outside the R rated movie leaning against your car plotting who you'll vote for, and which porn video you just purchased will make better fodder for your therapy session.

There, I've commented on the mediocrity of society in a detached sarcastic manner.

But really, my life is logically a very good one. I've got everything I need. I've got a dog who worships me when he's not worshipping himself, a dad who, while still growing, makes me the apple of his eye, and a girlfriend who the most realistic person I've ever dated. Somehow her seriousness, her authenticity makes this the first valid, adult relationship I've ever been in.

I just thought that my pedestrian experiences and somewhat esoteric ponderings should be documented and published, not because I am somehow extraordinary, but because I know there will be others who had nearly the same day and will be glad they weren't the only ones.

I wish I could say that I am sitting in a local coffee shop that's struggling under the recession and recent invasion of Starbucks. I wish I could say my bangs are a curtian over my horn rimmed glasses while I sip a black coffee (to match my soul of course). I wish I could talk about the muggy day and watching some overly perky cheerleaders bounce along outside like breast-augmented sheep in social droves while Malissa Ethridge tells my iPod about "refugee" and my "tree hugger" sweatshirt clings to my shoulders.
Unfortunately for my reputation (forntunatly for my mood) I'm in chemistry waiting for class to start. There's a Gatorade next to my (unadorned) lap top (this is to appease my girlfriend, we'll call her Numbers). I'm listening to "The Shins" and my T-shirt says "pickles: cucumbers soaked in evil".
I lent my calculator to Lieutenant Bowie last class. The screen, upon awakening for me just now, blinked, lit up, and flatly told me "BOOBS". He is in this class also and He's snickering from his table. Thank (insert respective higher power) that some of us can still regress to 4th grade. we need more of that in these times.


That's all for now.

Coyote Out