This journal has nothing to do with anything.
I'm looking into getting a new laptop, but I don't know where to start. Hmm, what would be the best for what I'm looking for? Basically, it's a desktop replacement with the capacity for HUGE programs. I'll probably need a big ol' 6GB memory with a decent graphics card and a solid build. This, plus a fast processing speed. Knowing me, if I design a nice little scene in Maya or 3D Studio only for the sucker to freeze up on the render, I'll probably punt it through my bedroom window and head straight for the nearest whiskey bar.
Oh, don't ask why.
I'm having another one of my weird crushes. Ready for this? It's John Oliver. The Daily Show correspondent turned "Community" costar. I know, I know. Don't judge me. I really liked the "Community" pilot, too. Hope the show does well.
I'm not sure what it was that made me start looking at Oliver. In all likelihood, this is just another one of my obsessions of the week and before too long I'll just go back to thinking he's a funny guy. A funny guy with an accent ..that...
Oh! That reminds me! I'm going to London next month! Yay me! The only drawback is that I won't be as "fixed" as I would like, the first time in a new country.
...Ok, "fixed" is definitely the wrong word. I suppose "repaired" is a little more gentle. I suppose it still takes a little explaining. To put it simply, I have the worst case of Ugly Duckling Syndrome of anyone I know. I have always viewed myself as being tragically ugly; tragic, in that I would apparently be stunningly beautiful if I could get everything lined up. All my life, people have been telling me I was Pretty*. That asterisk is usually phrased "Pretty but" or "Pretty if." As in, "You know, you're very pretty but you need to lose some weight." Or, "You'd be so pretty if you had your teeth capped." Or, "You'd be so pretty if you wore your hair differently." And on it goes, yadda yadda yadda. So, by the time I was 15, I had a list of about two dozen things I needed to fix before I could call myself pretty with any confidence. Without an asterisk. No qualifications.
Now that I'm all grown up, as it were, a lot of things are falling into place on their own. The things you'd expect--the growth and development in taste concerning the fashions that work for me, a proper interest in those ridiculous grooming practices known to Western women, and the cessation of the typical embarrassing physical malaise associated with the late stages of puberty--are all working in tandem with the steps I myself am taking to reach my goals. The weight is dropping. The hair is growing. The people skills are being exercised. And, the most important part, I've been approved for Invisalign braces and should have a perfect smile by November of next year. FINALLY!
There are some things I know that are just never going to be "fixed." I'll always be top tall, unless they come up with a significantly less terrifying procedure to add about three inches to my leg length. I'm not interested in rhinoplasty to straighten that bend in my nose (God only knows why that's even there in the first place). My eyes are always going to be too big for my face. Things are always going to be a little asymmetrical. I'll never be as pretty as people seem to think I'd be if everything matched my mother.
But seriously. One year from now, I'm going to be forty pounds lighter with waist-length blonde hair, no glasses and a perfect smile. I'm going to be unjustifiably hot. There's no excuse for me.
Which reminds me. Mom. Her 52nd birthday will be October 3rd. I'm going to be across the Pond until the 2nd, and one of the places I'll visit is Ireland. My mother's fondest fantasy was to visit Ireland, and she never made it. So there will be MUCH picture-taking.
Twas brillig at the slithey--My GOODNESS I'm getting discombobulated. I must be getting tired. What time is it? ...2 a.m. Yup. I'm tired.
GOOD NIGHT SEATTLE, WE LOVE YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!