LIGHTS OUT ON GBG | "weirdo, FTW"

It's not every day, or any day actually, that this girl goes to the bar. Um... The "Errybody-Let's-Get-Fucked-Up" gene must've skipped this pool. Trust me. I've got enough bad habits. I enjoy being social and gabbing and laughing and getting rowdy; it's just... I prefer it over a latte. Besides a drunk chicken gets herself into a lot of unsavory situations: reckless flirting, a false sense of invincibility, vomiting and [often by the end of the night] end-of-the-world weeping. And for the love of Titan, keep me away from my phone.

All this said, I decided it was time to shelf my need for productivity and join some friends at a bar downtown. My new pad allows me the ability to walk and so I thought I'd stroll down. A lot farther than I figured, but I'm happy for that little feature on my iPhone's map app that allows one to route by foot.

So as I'm making the turn off of Main Street and toward Harry's, an ambulance whizzes by and I make my decent into... complete and utter darkness? No street lamps. No neon bar signs. Even the stoplight is blacked out, hanging from its rope like three dark eyes glaring an omen. I stopped in the sidewalk and waited. Listened. From the unlit guts of another local bar came an outpouring of stumbling 30- somethings.

I hesitated in midst of all this, of course, but ambled down the hill towards Harry's anyway. What the hell. It was definitely more exciting than what I'd been doing previously. When I got there, a few loud drunkards were rolling out the door, beer-in-hand, apparently just as excited. But guess what?! There was light inside the joint!

It was my first time at Harry's and I must say, probably one of the most memorable bar experiences. Maybe it was because I decided NOT to drink after all [sooooo lame, I know.] But I really believe it was the setting: the bar lined with tiny candles, the shadows of people laughing an harassing one another, the group of new and old friends that I hadn't seen for quite a while, and even my own thing I had going on—doodling by a wee flame, taking it all in.

The owner, in his attempt to razz just about every warm body at the bar, came over a few times to shine his flashlight on my doodle, snatch it from me and then proceed to show it off to everyone at the bar. But, at some point, this sweet, somewhat gruff gesture was followed by a "Damn, weirdo drawing pictures at the bar," at which I cringed and got a little blue for a moment. But then smiled because I knew he was just being a jackass, but also because I was having fun and I didn't give a shit, you know?

I'll be the first to admit that I'm strange, and sometimes it makes me feel 900x more alone. But most times it's ok. And I realize the best strange is being strange with strangers. Ha. Make sense? Maybe it doesn't. But I had a good night, even if the power never came back on. Probably because of it.

mt

To the moon. One shot.

The poem-a-day gig is leaving its indent on my days. In fact, I spend much of my time determining a suitable time slot for versing it up. Sunday: between grabbing dinner and visiting with a friend [Walking Dead time]—I pulled into a Baptist church lot to pull a poem from me. Felt odd. Sadly it didn't end there. I spent another hour later trying to hone it in, just touching noses with the midnight "deadline."

Alas, a poem is born. I'll share one soon. The prompts have been pretty accessible. I'm sure something, at least, will come of it. (:

I thought, in spirit of my doodle madness, I'd share some squiggles with you all. And namely, there is this master toy-maker (aka A-Fred) to whom I've been promising a post!

Not much on this gadget, but...

<3
mt

Falling, fire trees & the Stank Bug Wars

Thanks to groweat.blogspot.com for the laugh.

So. It's here. Fall. And finally we're getting a taste of this glorious season—and I'm not just talking pumpkin lattes and pastries; though, I think I've hit up just about pumpkin-flavored treat this side of the Mississippi. The hillsides are lit up with every fiery shade imaginable, and for once, I'm glad to be a Pennsylvanian suburbanite. There aren't many times you'll hear me say that... Let's face it: unless you're glued to your careers or your families, most of us are forever planning our escape routes. It's like one of those emergency exit maps on the wall, you know? I'm sure we all have them taped up in our heads.

We bitch about the cold. We bitch about the heat. And if there is any middle ground, it's probably raining. So when fall rolls around and the colors pop, I think—just maybe—it's not so bad.

But then again, the Stank Bug Wars of 2012 make this cooler weather a plight all its own: a battle of wits, perhaps, to keep these resilient, alien-faced troops out of our homes, our cars and, as of the other day (for this girl), our beds. Listen, folks, it's no joke. These nasty warriors sport camouflage and a visible armor reminiscent of Zelda's shield. It's not bad enough they can fly, but these nasty bastards are running amok on stick legs with some ungodly self-adhesive properties, making them more than a bitch to remove from your clothes or your hair.


And if you think I'm being dramatic, I probably am. Bugs are an irrational fear of mine. Besides, according to Stink Bug Smackdown, they don't DIE. Stinkbugs just HIBERNATE. In your house, people! If you don't think this is a problem, then why don't you come take mine with you, huh?!

Oh, and something delicious to remind you about, as my friend just so sweetly reminded me (you know who you are!), there is a recipe for a stink-bug-seasoned bean dip. Yeah, apparently these lemon-headed creeps taste like cilantro! In Bruce Leshan's article on 9News Now, "If You Can't Beat 'Em, Eat 'Em," you can find a recipe for Stink Bug Tacos even.

Shit, people... get on this train. You eat the bugs. They leave me alone. Simple.

I drew a little cartoon here. Can I tell you? I actually gagged whilst drawing the "unders." Gross.

And I think that is about all for today. Up all night grading papers last night, spending my day working...still thinking about all the things I want to do. Such is life.

Hopefully you're enjoying what is left of the season... sans the stink bugs.

PCLD: Let's Talk Post-College Blues

All right. This will be my first semi-serious post, and for this reason, I will attempt to step up my game on the little doodles. There's nothing a pregnant cat in a penguin t-shirt cuddling a 10-day-old puppy can't soften. Right? Or this...

Anyway, to keep this rolling in the right direction, and away from cracker-nibbling rodents, let's move on to my late night, earth-shattering epiphany. (Please note: my epiphanies are more frequent than the time it takes for new episodes of House to show up on hulu.com. Still.)

I've recently come to the conclusion that pretty much every young person I've come in contact with these days--in particular, my crew--has been negatively affected by college. It's not college at all. It's the after college that seems to destroy people. And if an undergrad happened to go to grad school, this mental disorder was only prolonged until after that degree. I thought it might be more helpful to set this disorder up in a way that might be accessed as easily as any other WebMD definition. 

PCLD: Post-Traumatic Life Disorder

Much like a premature version of a "Midlife Crisis," PCLD can be classified as a mood disorder that interferes with everyday life and occurs following the anticipated graduation from any post-secondary education. PCLD is characterized by one or any of the following categories:

Avoidance

This category is normally defined by those "fresh" out of college or post-secondary schooling. After a number of years confined to a rigorous routine of responsibility, one might find a false sense of solace in abstaining from anything academic or related to his or her field of study.

"I'm just going to take a break"

• Feelings of detachment
• Emotional "numbness"
• Little to no concern for future
• Lethargy
• Weight gain
• Lack of interest in field of study, or former interests
• Minimum wage job(s)
• Heavy drinking, followed by a need to "just dance"
• Sense of stagnancy without the will to change
• Caffeine dependence
• Facebook

Negative Self-Realization

The definition of this category relies heavily on the lingering insecurities of adolescence. It is largely found in those who pursue degrees in the arts or similar creative studies. As creators, it is common for those with PCLD to experience symptoms directly and/or indirectly related to their creations, such as feelings of inadequacy, worthlessness, and a need to change goals in light of negative self-discoveries; PCLD commonly takes the shape of feelings and actions associated with early adolescence. This category is also referred to as Regressive Post-Traumatic Life Disorder.

"I don't know what I want."

• Hopelessness and self-blame
• Search for an undefined dream or goal
• Lack of confidence
• Sense of making the "wrong choices"
• Indecisive
• Nostalgic
• Interfering, and often unwarranted, fear of failure
• Depression
• Nick at Nite

Defensive Frustration

The last category of PCLD is the most actualized. Hardly a resolution, these symptoms often surface in the latter stages of PCLD, typically in response to previous categories' symptoms. If the pendulum were, for instance, swinging downward in the other categories, this is the most erratic, upward swing of PCLD, characterized by a hyperactive ego, which follows a low, often depressive, state.

"The world is my goddamn oyster."

• Sense of freedom from rules and life limitations
• Exaggerated responses and reactions
• A tendency to be overly defensive
• Concentration difficulties
• Inflated sense of self
• Irritability or outbursts of anger
• Hyperawareness, or paranoia
• Impulsive and often masochistic life decisions
• Heavy drinking
• Insomnia
• Sports

Without being funny, I'd like to explain myself. I'm pretty sure the time frame for the once-typical "coming of age" has been prolonged. Unfortunately for most, the decision is already made. You're going to college right after high school. Your other option is to go against your parents, society, your peers... If you don't go, you are looked down upon. C'mon. We've all eyed up the "Votech" kids as if they were of below-average intelligence. I have since changed my opinion.

Once you find a school, you must then choose what you want to do for the rest of your life. Key words here: rest of your life. It's like a death sentence. From the moment you were hatched, the hopes were instilled: you can be anything you want, even president! Big dreams create high hopes, which are then introduced to the "real world" of low odds and let down. Next step: PCLD. Am I right?

I'm not here to knock education or academics. I'm not even sure what I'm knocking. I just know that the majority of my peers are struggling to find jobs, struggling to know what it is they really want, and feel as though they are the only ones out there experiencing it. NO, please know that you are not. There are a gazillion kids with degrees and no hope for a future.

I guess my questions are simply (ha!):

1. Will the majority of us ever know what we want OR be happy with what we have?
2. Is the previous question linked to the infinite realm of possibilities?
3. Are we just a bunch of spoiled babies?
4. Are we "spoiled babies" because of the false hopes that were instilled in us? Who is to blame?
5. Is there a job that is completely fulfilling, while remaining so for the longevity of working life?
6. When will the education system STOP making studies about money and more about skills/intelligence?
7. When does PCLD end? Is there a cure?
8. Will Dr. House and Cuddy ever get back together?

Well?