Things I learned last night

  1. At the clubs, black dudes dance like they’re having rough sex. White guys are just awkward. I don’t go near Asians. Latinos are alright.
  2. I need to remember to wear less clothing at Cly’s. Now I realize why so many girls dress up like total skanks even in the dead of winter — because inside the bar it’s friggin’ hot as hell.
  3. Always wear backings to earrings!! I’m so upset I lost one of my earrings on the dance floor last night. Someone bumped into me and I just felt it fall off into the abyss…
  4. The line to the guys’ bathroom are definitely MUCH longer than the line for the girls’. It’s like an anomaly. Quite amusing, really.
  5. It’s always funny watching ghetto/urban people trying to dance to classic rock songs like “You Shook Me All Night Long.” And vice versa — watching white people rap along to old school Biggie.
  6. It sucks having a high tolerance. I miss the days when it was much easier to get drunk.

Now it’s time to go and be a good student for once.

Is my name THAT hard to figure out?!

Last night at Brothers, my roommates and I met some people. There was one guy I remember meeting. Can’t quite remember the name (I *think* it’s Luke), but he was wearing a really preppy-looking polo shirt. The conversation went something like this:

Me: What’s your name?
Guy: Luke(?). Yours?
Me: Raissa.
Guy: What?
Me: Ray-sah.
Guy: Huh?
Me: RAISSA!!!
Guy: Okay…nice to meet you, Christina?
Amanda (one of my roommates): IT’S RAISSA!!!!
Guy: Okay, okay. What’s your name?
Amanda: Amanda.
Guy: Oh!! See, that’s easier. I like you better already.

FUCK YOU, ASSHOLE. Fuck you.

A dream-mare?

Last night I had a dream that, if it were real, would have been one of the best dreams ever. But in this dream, I was somehow dreaming in the dream. So I knew the dream wasn’t real. I don’t know if this makes any sense.

The “good” part of the dream involved a boy, a boy whom I have always thought was cool in the two years that I have known him. I never had a serious crush on him, but I still have wanted him at times all the same. In this dream, things were normal. I walked away from him, but then all of a sudden we kissed and he was confessing his feelings for me. I was in shock, because I thought that after all this time, nothing could ever happen between us. But he kept reassuring me and coming on to me.

The frightening part is the fact that although all of this felt very good on the inside, somehow I was still terrified. It was as if I knew that I was dreaming all of this, and I had to keep telling myself that none of it was real, that it was all a dream. And this was occurring within the dream itself. It was like a dream and a nightmare all wrapped up in one seriously weird cycle. When I woke up, I didn’t have that sweaty feeling I usually get after nightmares, but I didn’t have that “OMG, I want to go back to sleep so I can keep dreaming!” sensation either. I just wished that I didn’t dream it, because it wasn’t making me feel any better about anything.

I’m supposed to be leaving for Champaign in 10 hours. I am much more excited to be returning than I was earlier today, but all the same, I am not packed whatsoever. My room still looks like a disaster zone.

Fuck.

Anybody care to decipher this?

I had the most peculiar dream this morning. I’m pretty sure that it was specifically this morning, as I remember waking up initially at around 9, and then drifting off, experiencing this dream, and waking up at intervals until my eyes finally stayed open at 10:30. Anyway, from what I can remember, the dream begins when I jump into this outdoor pool. The pool is located in the middle of nowhere: cloudy skies, occasional power lines, and endless fields of grass. And in this pool with me are Miley Stewart and her brother, Jackson, from Hannah Montana (why they appeared in this dream is beyond me, since I stopped watching that show a long time ago and absolutely detest anything to do with Miley Cyrus). We swim around for a while, then decide to rinse off. Jackson gets out of the pool first and goes into their house, which happens to be a vast mansion.

I go to follow him, but some servants come running out of the house to inform me that strangers were not allowed to enter. Of course, I am furious at this, and start rattling off about how Billy Ray knew perfectly well who I was and surely he would not mind me coming inside just to shower. Eventually I see a couple of bathrooms in the corner of the house opening up to me, so in I go. There I notice that the bathroom I am showering in is completely closed off from the rest of the house; I am still considered an outsider. Miley is in this bathroom with me, and I try and get her to fix the situation but then mayhem ensues and all of a sudden I find myself in a moving, driving van.

Sitting right next to me in this van is Craig David, although in this dream he looked more like a mix of himself, Tony Parker, and Thierry Henry. Inside, my heart is beating very fast, because of course, this is Craig David I’m sitting next to! However, the Craig David of my dreams is not the famous singer I love in real life; instead, my dream Craig David is just a regular guy. (And if this dream Craig David represents who I think he represents, god I wish my subconscious would stop doing that to me.) So as we ride in the van along some unknown highway, being driven by an equally unknown driver, we converse; me, the meek little commoner, and him, the gorgeous Brit.

Eventually we arrive at our destination, which Craig informs me is the city of London, and the place is absolutely beautiful. It is Christmastime now. The trees are all decorated with snow, and the people are bundled in thick coats and huddling around for warmth. I think to myself, “I’m SO moving to England!”

After our brief tour of the city, we are gathered in some sort of living room, which I think was in the same house I had been trying to enter earlier. In this gathering, I am still the outsider. Lower class. Though it bothers me, I had accepted my status without complaint, because Craig doesn’t seem to care.

Anyway, there seems to be some sort of Christmas party going on. At one point, an Indian father and son are arguing, and the father is criticizing his son for letting his beard grow wild and dirty. So as punishment, the son must shave his beard off. Only this seems to go way too far, and the son, either because this is what his father instructed him to do or because he’s doing it in protest, begins to shave the skin of his chin off as well. It is disgusting, and I quickly turn away, looking for comfort in Craig.

And then…I wake up. Dream ends. Nada más.

I hate playing these LoveGames

Remember those days in middle school, high school? You see a cute boy (or girl), you try your best to get them to notice you, you do everything you can to make Cupid strike that arrow of his? Because, you know, you like that person, and when you like someone, the natural due course is for you two to get together and eventually have fun making babies.

In high school, I remember the times when I’d try to rearrange my routes and walking patterns so that I’d pass by a certain boy in the hallway. I’d live for those moments. He would smile at me, or wave, or do that nodding-of-the-head thing. There would even be times when I’d go to my locker when I didn’t need to, just so I can have a few moments of conversation with that boy just because he happened to be passing by at the time. With another boy, I also carefully planned the timing of everything: when I’d get into the lunch lines, when I would walk up a stairwell, and other silly little things like that. Just thinking back to those days makes me want to laugh at my naivety. I’d certainly learned a lot of things about boys since then.

But the thing that sucks about the most about those foolish habits? It never ends. I’m going into my third year of college, and I still find myself doing little tricks just to get a chance to talk to some cute boy I’m crushing on. It’s almost pathetic. And I feel like it’s just going to get worse, now that I’m older. I go out to the bars at school, meet a cute boy, go out to the bars again and see him there again. The cycle continues. Only this time, you’ve got stupid things like alcohol and Facebook thrown into the mix, this LoveGame (thank you, Lady Gaga) that we play. And now I plan out my outfits, makeup, the nights I decide to go out, etc. — just to see that cute boy again. It’s ridiculous!

And now this recent little pickle I’ve found myself in. I am doing the same effing thing all over again. I dress up, I wonder if I’m going to see him today or not, I wonder if I get to talk to him again. Ugh.

Why do I have to be such a girl?