...In which our heroine ponders the strange and wonderful world of technology.

I'm sitting on my home couch watching UK kick some Wake Forest ass and my tummy is full of my momma's cupcakes. It's a lovely feeling.

Here's the thought for the day: The internet is a strange and spectacular place, most of the time. Through happenstance, I've gotten very into reading various Tumblr accounts on a regular basis because why read when you can look at lots of pictures...kidding. I haven't started one myself, but I find the format to be really interesting in terms of how information gets disseminated so widely.

Case in point: In my ongoing quest to love my body just as it is, one of the Tumblrs I check is called Fuck Yeah Chubby Girls. It's a body positive site that encourages reader submissions and posts them. It provides me with a daily self-esteem boost, and a lot of times there are cute fashion tips. Another way I've been working on embracing my curves is to take pictures of myself on days when I'm feeling cute. One such picture ended up very cute and I thought - hey, why not share my narcissism with the world. So I submitted to FYCG, and it got posted. 

34 people have liked, and 4 have reblogged the picture of yourself. I wasn't doing it to fish for compliments, but more so for 15 year old versions of myself that found FYCG and could have more positive role models - we all know the media is devoid of them. One of the likes was from a 15 year old, whose Tumblr mentions her low self-esteem. I know it would've helped my 15 year old self if I would have found such a site sooner.

However, 2 of the reblogs were porn sites. I clicked on them, and there I was between a couple hardcore shots. I realize that putting yourself out onto the internet opens you up to all sorts of that stuff, but it was still weird. Aside from some cleavage, my picture in no way shape or form resembles the other stuff on the sites.

It presents an interesting conundrum to me: I submitted a picture as a means of self-empowerment and obviously people liked it, but just enough to get posted on pornographic Tumblrs. It also begs the question of how not anonymous people are anymore. While I don't post my business all over the internet, I do have a Facebook, a Twitter, this blog, and now have submitted to a site where a photo of me takes you to sites featuring content unmentionable for this blog. It certainly wasn't my intent, but it's done now and forever out into the black of cyberspace. It makes me wonder if I'll ever submit anything again, even though I really do like the site and what it does for chubby girls like yours truly.

Isn't the internet a strange place, that one photo of you, or a post made, or a video made, can be seen throughout an entire network of people you don't even know. Nothing is private, and we're doing it to ourselves. I don't even mind so much that the photo ended up where it did - I opened that up when I submitted it - but still, it isn't everyday that I as your pesky, verbose heroine faces such a situation.

In other fantastical news, WE FOUND AN APARTMENT. It's right in Lincoln Park, the yuppiest part of Chicago (my mother called me a "yupster," a yuppie and a hipster, of which I am neither) and near a Borders, an Aveda, and an arthouse theatre. 4th floor walk-up, 3 bedrooms, huge living and dining rooms, newish kitchen, lots of breeze and beautiful natural light. I'm so in love with the place, and can't wait to make it my own. We signed the initial paperwork yesterday, and I had one of those moments - despite the blister from having to wear the cute flats to visit apartments and the fact I didn't do as well on midterms as I should have - when you realize that sometimes life gives you exactly what you could only dream of.

RIP Alex Chilton - this is one of the sweetest songs ever written.

...In which our heroine needs a necessary distraction.

Midterms this week. Zero motivation to write my producing analysis on A History of Violence or study for my biology exam tomorrrow.

So instead, since my internal clock is all fucked up from the time change and I took a nap at 6PM:

      I'm sitting in the spot where Kara slept this weekend. When the adorable bald clerk at Sephora asked how long we'd been friends, the enormity of the answer - 15 years - struck me then. We had so much fun drinking wine as sweet as grape juice and getting scared by low budget horror films and making faces at the St. Patrick's Day drunks and eating dinner at 10PM. The bones in front of my ears hurt and I don't know why. We looked at apartments today - Emily called, and I e-mailed eight potential dwellings for the next year. Lots of promise, lots of excitement. Somedays I have to remember I'm capable of such decisions. My parents gave me a check for $500 that they certainly don't have for, as my dad said, "life, school, etc." I think I'm going to buy a new television with it, HD, because I can't watch movies on the same blue television that I've had since I entered double digits.

      The forecast predicts weather in the 50s all week and I bought a pair of tights at the grocery store today to wear dresses. Why must everything in women's clothes be different - numbers, letters, names. The thighs of my jeans always conveniently rip out when I'm about to go home, which I am on Saturday. OSU and UC spring breaks are the same as mine and this is a delightful fact. PITCHFORK OR LOLLAPALOOZA...this is the most significant decision facing me right now, and for this I'm thankful. My dishwasher always makes noises befitting of demonic possession, and with the apartment to myself, I'm sure to run it before I go to bed always.

       Today I saw that Ben had one of his articles published online, and I was overwhelmed at how happy I was he's being productive and succeeding, even if we barely ever talk. Little joy - I couldn't get that phrase out of my head. I bought a red writer's notebook at the feminist bookstore in Andersonville and am keeping my thoughts in it. Kara touched it, saying she knew a million dollar idea would be stored within. I had a table read of my first 25 pages of the new script and it sounded good. My friend Steve told me I write like the Coen Brothers and it was the best compliment of the week. NOT, the security guard at work who calls me baby doll. Chicago public schools are a mess - I'm learning this from the inside out - and I feel so badly for the kids trapped within. I visited ACT Charter High School, which is being shut down by the city, and felt like I was in an episode of The Wire. In some small part, even though I mostly just write e-mails and file papers, I feel like I'm helping with CCAP. "'Cause everything be great, and everything be good, if everybody could," is the quote on my Facebook and that's how working at CCAP makes me feel. Maybe it doesn't matter in the whole big dance of it all, but at least we can try. 

I love this song so much. It makes me think of University of Iowa blankets made it forts and sleeping until 1PM and the boy I stopped loving a year ago. It really is the "Album of the Year," - this song, that he gave to me on those nights.

...In which our heroine recaps.

The Oscars were the biggest yawn-fest in my viewing history, which began in 1995 when I wanted Babe to win Best Picture over Braveheart. I was six. Oscar nights make me nostalgic for when I used to dress my Barbies up for the red carpet. Bad or good, the Oscars are my thing.

Highlights of the evening included:

 

  

Yeah, it was a boring show, but triple foxy redheadedness, the first female director to win!, a tribute to John Hughes that made me cry, and some divine company (with the elusive Sofia Coppola sparkling wine) the night was certainly uber-bingo.

...In which our heroine does a happy dance.

It is a glorious day. Why, ask you humble readers? MY HORRIBLE ROOMMATE MOVED OUT. She is gone, all that was left was her trash around the room, which I picked or vacuumed up as soon as the last load of her shit was gone. I've already re-arranged and re-decorated the place, but in such a way that even if I get a new roommate it won't be an issue. In a last act of defiance, Baby Girl, as we oh so lovingly called her ripped my nametag on the door off and scattered it in the hallway. I deleted her from Facebook - it's official, and I couldn't be happier.

Also: Nine pages of a screenplay written. Bus tickets bought for both My Morning Jacket in Columbus, and my return to the nasty, from March 21-26th - don't worry, there is plenty of time to mark your calendars. Made the prettiest lasagna known to man tonight. Ate a row of Samoas and didn't feel bad about it. Drank Funky Llama wine, discovered it's a bad mix with PBR. Pictures of Quentin, Jean Grey, and Princess Leia up on the wall. Bought 3 dresses in the past week, including the most beautiful garment I've ever put on my body (for another day). Want: Sofia Coppola's canned pink sparkling wine, a new TV, a fella with a beard (or my crush to notice me), moleskin notebooks like Mr. John Hughes, and warmth.

Katydid's Mostly Perfect Oscar Predictions:

Best Picture - The Hurt Locker
Best Actor - Jeff Bridges
Best Actress - Sandra Bullock
Supporting Actor - Christoph Waltz
Supporting Actress - Mo'Nique
Best Director - Kathryn Bigelow
Best Original Screenplay - Quentin Tarantino
Best Adapted Screenplay - Jason Reitman & Sheldon Turner
Best Editing -The Hurt Locker
Besr Foreign Language Film - The White Ribbon
Best Sound Editing - The Hurt Locker
Best Sound Mixing - Avatar
Best Animated Film  - Up
Best Original Score - Up
Best Original Song - "The Weary Kind"
Best Documentary - The Cove 
Best Art Direction - Avatar
Best Cinematography - Avatar
Best Costume Design - Nine
Best Makeup - Star Trek

I could talk upsets too, but I'll spare you the time. I love Oscar day more than my birthday or Christmas.

...In which our heroine strikes back.

I think since my roommate called me an advocate of the devil, he's (or she's) made work for my idle hands.  I am sorry for the absence, but I really am busier than I've ever been. Not that I hate it, it just makes it difficult to do things like, oh say, watch TV (which I haven't done in 3 weeks) or write silly little blog posts.

So with that in mind, let's get readdddddy to ramble!

I started my day at 9AM with my first ever work staff meeting. This was greatly improved by the presence of 6 month old Amelia, who belongs to our head of HR, Edna. She had on socks that looked like little slippers in the embroidery, and was the best distraction from words like "innovative arts partnerships." Amelia also liked my red nails, and crush's beard. He loves kids and made a really good pork roast with tomatillos this week. A man who can cook and likes kids is terribly sexy. It kills me to be in close proximity to him but "oh what a wonderful feeling, just to know that you are near me." That's correct, Bob.Sometimes it worries me how much I see babies and want one. GO! maternal instincts, GO! I just woke up from a 3 hour nap, so I'll probably read this later and think it to be incoherent.

Writing a screenplay, making a structural outline this weekend. I LOVE Screenwriting II, but I wish I could focus all of my energy on it. Fleet Foxes into Neutral Milk Hotel, well-played shuffle. I'm tired of all the negativity amongst my friends. I don't like this 20s malaise about how relationships suck and school sucks and work sucks and parents suck. GET OVER IT. "When they're young, they're green." Facebook tells me there's a mini reunion in Columbus this weekend and I kind of wish I was there. There's a Pixies Visa commercial apparently, but my computer is too slow to watch. Black Francis said they did it for the money, as well as the Doolittle tour, and that should offend me but it doesn't but they're still the Pixies, and could be charging $200 a ticket like the fucking Eagles, but still only charge $50. Going shopping tomorrow for some respectable work clothes, and (hopefully) seeing Patti Smith read at the Harold Washington. I really want to stop wearing jeans everyday and more dresses and skirts. I want another tattoo, again. 

Yesterday I ate raw goat's milk white cheddar and then Reese's Pieces for dinner. This is very good for me. Tweet tweet tweet away. Did you see Christina Hendricks on the cover of New York magazine in a "vintage corset from her own collection?" Their cover story is about the return of curves and the hourglass shape, good for them. Everything is melting outside and giving me false hope for warm weather. It isn't event that warm. Thinking about the future. Staying in school forever, or until the world ends or until the economy isn't like one of those big dead squids they find 20,000 leagues below the sea. Summer classes maybe I think? I could get a free U-Pass and save approximately $500 on transit, which would be like getting one of the classes for 50% off. Summer school, I really have gone crazy. This time last year all I did was smoke pot and play video games and watch the lust fires die out with Ben and pretend to be busy and now I'm talking about summer classes and grad school. 

WHO AM I?

(Cue Lynchian double identity swap.)

(Cue film noir lighting.)

(Cue Kaufman's dreamscape.)

(Cue Lifetime movie commercial break.)

...In which our heroine thinks karma is a cruel mistress.

Good news, bad news yesterday. Bad first - it makes the good that much better.

Kara told me yesterday our advanced studies teacher from grades one through five at Sharonville, Mr. Pat Bowes, has mouth cancer and is not doing well at all. He's had his tongue removed, can't speak or eat, is on a feeding tube and weighs 85 pounds. None of us know exactly how dire the situation is, but it isn't good. It just is not fucking fair that he, one of the most caring, warm, and genuinely kind individuals I've ever met gets dealt such a shitty hand in the game of life. There's no explanation other than it fucking sucks. Paige and Kevin are organizing a book of letters from all of his former students, with pictures of us now, and an update on our lives. As much as anything, I feel really guilty for not keeping in better touch with him - a lot of my thought process and most crucial skills as a child came from time spent in his classroom. I had a good cry last night as I was writing the letter, and I wish Mr. Pat only peace, whether that means life or death for him. Maybe that's rude, and I certainly cannot speak from any kind of similar experience, but I know such a devestating illness would make me question my quality of life. I dunno. Makes every other worry in life seem trivial.

So good news. Although I don't know her very well, one of my co-workers, April, announced yesterday that after trying for eight years, she is finally expecting a child via surrogate. She was so happy, and I've seen her with kids, I know she'll be a great mom. The office had such a warm reception towards her - I really felt a sense of family with my co-workers. It was an ironic counterbalance to the bad news of the day. Sorrow and joy, it's how life works itself out.

Otherwise, school and work, that's about it. I've settled into a nice, rigid routine of balancing homework, errands, and even a little fun. Like tonight's thrilling plans of A History of Violence, the graphic novel for class, and music, and solitude. I got a screenplay idea nailed down as well, now I just have to write the damned thing. My roommate called me an advocate of the devil this week, and pulled out her bible to compel my sinful friends out of my room. She hasn't been home since, except to take shower. I hope she stays gone.

And then there's this. She's with Matthew Weiner, the creator of Mad Men, but I mean really, who cares. Love that dress and her most epic cleavage ever:

And this, which I dreamt about last night. Zach Galifianakis and this wonderful gent were at the lost children's tent at Lollapalooza. I hugged the gent, and we drank coffee and Andre and I think we were in love, but I woke up. That was terribly disappointing. Let's hope it happens in real life - tickets being purchased tomorrow. I recommend all of the From the Basement videos, they're great quality.

...In which our heroine updates her affairs.

Morning dreams are the weirdest. Maybe it's just because I remember them more, but this morning entailed chasing an anteater though the Cincinnati Zoo which had obviously turned into a casino with a movie theater and a Starbucks. Another one involved being the secret love child of Dale Cooper and Audrey Horne in a Twin Peaks second generation reunion movie.

One week of work and classes down, 14 to go. If the 800 pages, and not that is not hyperbole, of script I have to read today is any indication, it's going to be quite a semester. Class by class - American Independent Pioneers should be lovely and just for me. My teacher smoked pot with Robert Altman and has sexplotation, zombie, and David Lynch planned as topics for us. Biology of the Immune System is a big Columbia gen ed joke, and I do not think it will be a stressful class at all. Human Sexuality started with oral sex tips and condom distribution and the book is called The Guide to Getting It On. Also not stressful. Then we come to Screenwriting II, which I should be loving but still do not have a concrete idea for. FABULOUS. Muse, plz come back? Script Analysis is a front heavy class - I'll be cuddling up to three separate drafts of Alien 3 today, but a really useful class I think as well.

Work is really going well. I'm enjoying both the job and the people. We'll see if I can make the full 20 hours work with my schedule, but I'm really hoping to. Yesterday, part of my job tasks were to play with a 4 and 5 year old that were the children of employees. Fantastic.

A Single Man is one of the single most entrancing films I've ever seen. It put me into that zen mode of movie-going where I do not move and do not think and take shallow little breaths. The last film to do that was The Wrestler. Gorgeous cinematography, powerful imagery, a stunning lead performance by Colin Firth, detailed set design, and a score that I was humming as I left the theatre. A must see. Also, I'm thrilled to see that The Hurt Locker picked up PGA and DGA wins, especially since Kathryn Bigelow beat her ex-husband and became the first woman ever to win the DGA prize.

My Morning Jacket, Columbus, May 2nd, at LC Pavillion, which is the best place I've ever seen a show. Megabus to Columbus, skip my Monday class for the Sunday night show. Marry Jim James. Bring him back to Chicago with me on Megabus. Solid plan, I think. If I go that only leave one band on my list of unseens: Rilo Kiley, I'm talking to you.

Jon Hamm looked super attractive on SNL last night, but this was the only good sketch. When did SNL get so unwatchable? When Tina Fey left, I know.