Brain Food for the Mentally Starving

Brain Food for the Mentally Starving

         It's scary when your television is on late at night and you're hardly paying attention to it, occasionally darting quick glances only to realize that your TV has suffered countless hours of reruns, reality shows and strange Geico Insurance commercials that throw people off with talking cavemen. 
         I've been thinking a lot lately because I've been so bored. College is out and I'm trying to find a job. But in the mean time, there's absolutely nothing to do. My friends have jobs. My parents have jobs, even my rabbit has a job shitting all over his cage because nobody thought is was a good idea to potty train him.
         
         When it's quiet at night, you start thinking about random things in your life. Like how I could've acted today to get twenty dollars from mom. Or how the next time I go outside, I'll say hello to my neighbors for once.
         As of lately though, it's really been about my relationship. I've been with this great guy for seven months. But now that college is out for the summer and we're both out of state, this long distance thing is getting to be a real pain in the ass. Worst thing of all is that he's terrible at talking on the phone--it makes this whole long distance thing even more terrible than it already is. I don't think I can take it anymore. Sometimes all you need is a good person who can talk to you for hours. Hours about nothing, about something, about anything random. Hours about how you could get twenty dollars from mom, or when to say hello to your neighbors for once.
         I can't get that with him.
         Sometimes I wonder if he even likes talking to me at all. Even when we were together face to face, we never had the long and deep conversations I was hoping an intellectual college guy would offer. Now that I think about it, the last conversation we had was actually an argument as to why the terrorist could attack America's power grids if they were smart and why a Boeing is bigger than an F-18 and that I was an idiot to not know the difference.
         Arguing with him makes me forget about logic. It’s like common sense takes a vacation on me. I knew a Boeing was much bigger than an actual F-18, but since I was flustered that day, I must’ve forgot.
         But I can’t forget around him. I  have to stay on my feet or else he’ll suspect I’m mentally incapable of proportion.
         I hate arguing with him. It makes me feel sorry for being the bitch in the first place. Like when I start an argument that he apologizes for and how I get mad at him for apologizing for something he never even started. He makes me feel like the bitch when he’s trying to be nice--worst thing in the world to do right there. We would argue, then he would suddenly stop as if some revelation had occurred between sentences and suddenly reveals his true opinion, finalizing and ending the argument right then and there. And yes, I would feel bad in the end for starting the argument in the first place, but I’m not one to apologize so easily so I carry on like it’s his fault.
         Relationships are so weird. It's like one day, you're in love and on top of the world, and the next day you‘re fantasizing about being single.
         I remember this one time in seventh grade, sitting down at my desk and planning out my college relationship. It was supposed to be perfect. But then again, nothing’s perfect in this world and if it is, you should be suspicious. It’s not like I ask for much in a guy except that he be smart, funny, good looking and easy to talk to on the phone. It’s the same clichéd characteristics every woman on television idolizes. 

         Well this is what I think about when it’s late at night and the TV is still playing  one cryptic commercial after another.  I think about money from mom, my neighbors and why this great guy can't be so great on the phone.
         I think I need to resort to an alcoholic beverage.


Fragment 1

         You know, it took me almost ten minutes to figure out what kind of font to use on this story. Fonts to me make up the mood of the entire page. Sometimes when I use Times New Roman, I feel like I’m supposed to shit out something similar to a Charles Dickens novel. Or when I write in Arial, I feel like writing an essay about something that changed my life in a most positive way. And for some odd reason, Lucida Console makes me feel like I’m concluding an episode of that old doctor show Doogie Howser M.D.  God, what a stupid ass name.
         But “Franklin Gothic Demi” is perfect. It’s bold and obvious, and after ten bold minutes of searching for that perfect font, it was obvious when I stumbled upon ol’ ‘Frankie Goth‘. Sometimes I mess around and highlight all the text to see what they would look like in the other fonts. Then I kick it up a notch by changing the text to some eye sore of a font like ’Blackladder’ or ’Matisse’. Those are the kinds of fonts you use when you’re making a card for someone and typing something short. You could even get away with using them in those Power Point Presentations everyone by now has to be familiar with. It’s like there’s no other strategy for sharing information to a group of people.
         Which reminds me.
         Power Point Presentations can be dangerous if you’re not good with them. Imagine, if you will, walking into a big conference room and there, right in front of the room is a plain, white, simple Power Point Presentation projected on the wall, staring back at you, laughing at you because for the next ten minutes you will have to endure this unadorned and lackluster approach of informing someone that there will be a Pot Luck on Friday at seven.  It’s a terrible thing, seeing someone read word for word the bullets posted one after the other. Kinda defeats the purpose of a presentation.
         But then, some of the best lectures were given on Power Point. It’s what Microsoft had planned all along since it’s birth on Windows, to make a program that would turn boring and mundane lectures to pleasurable performances, with words swishing and swooping this way, making asinine yet entertaining noises to accompany these words going across the colorful and eye-catching templates. Finally a program that made pen and paper seem Neanderthal while at the same time, making the long-forgotten chalkboard it’s bitch.
         
         And for those of you who have no idea what a Power Point Presentation even is, that last bit was meaningless to you, and embarrassing to me. 

         I know this semester I’ll be taking COMM 114. The class seems pretty straight-forward and easy, I mean it’s just communications right? But at Purdue University, nothing is ever straight-forward and easy except getting your lunch tray at the dining court. I guess for some people, college is an unsolvable obstacle after another--an emotional rollercoaster that never stops. It’s like some days I get it and some days I don’t. Unfortunately, a majority of my freshman year was spent trying to figure out the latter.
         I don’t know why college has to be so damn difficult. Learning should be an easy process, you come in, learn, take notes, read them over, then you get it right? Well there’s obviously some hidden magical process I must be missing because so far, none of that stuff has worked for me yet. I hope I can figure out by next semester. I have to! Let’s see, school starts up again on August 20. And today is June 4. Looks like I have some time.
         That’s another thing I’ve been thinking about lately: college. College so far has deemed a rather interesting experience. After all, I did meet Greg there, my boyfriend of seven months who doesn’t enjoy talking on the phone but likes pizza. And I met some other pretty kick ass people including my best friend, Laura and whacked out roommate Casey. But the thing that always bothers me about the whole college experience was the academics itself. It’s that thing about being a freshman, where you don’t know what to do or who to ask for what or how to study for this…
         It’s all bullshit.
         Sometimes I wonder if every college got together and planned a meeting that ensured the degradation and misery of all incoming college freshman. They probably even made it on a Power Point Presentation, those sneaky bastards.
         That reminds me of another argument Greg and I had a couple nights ago where he said that all freshman start off bad but get better as time goes along. I argued that that’s not always the case--he had to take into consideration those who drop out of college or those who are on academic probation like there’s no tomorrow. Saying that ALL freshman get better is quite a bold statement. I guess the argument really was settled over a misinterpretation on my part because when he says ‘all’ he really means ‘most’. I hate arguing with him.
         
         Right now I’m laughing at the dogs a couple houses over because they’re barking at the ice cream truck. Even funnier is that there are hardly any kids in our neighborhood.  I wonder how you get a job as an ice cream truck driver? I mean, I wonder what the application process is like and where do you apply for those kinds of jobs anyway?
         There have been many times when I wanted to reach into my purse for some money and go outside and stand at the end of my driveway, waiting for the sirens to come closer, it’s haunting tune reminding me of a strange and misspent childhood. I don’t want to look stupid though, being the only person that ever stops the ice cream man in our neighborhood. But then again, maybe I’ll make his day since all he does everyday is drive around our block with no avail.
         Hmm. Maybe I’ll do that tomorrow. And if I see my neighbor’s I’ll say hi.
         I’ve always wondered where the ice cream man goes after his shift. It’s like there’s some secret ice cream truck headquarters somewhere we don’t know about and that’s where he drops off the truck every night. Or maybe he just leaves it in his driveway and drops the ice cream off some place else? Whatever.
         Now the dogs are yelping for whatever reason, but all I hear are the owner‘s going “Stop it, stop it…” as if the dog actually gives a fuck about it‘s owner when it‘s yelping.


DEAR SIS,
THERE ARE PLENTY OF KIDS WHO STOP THE ICE CREAM TRUCK IN OUR NEIGHBORHOOD. ALL THEM BLACK KIDS ON THE BIKES…
This might help:
Professionally built ice cream trucks that sell prepackaged product (Novelty Trucks) use commercial cold plate freezers that plug in overnight and when unplugged maintain the cold for at least 12 hours. Music systems are commonly digital devices that have no tape or other moving parts. Each "Music Box" has as few as 1 or as many tunes as one can have programmed onto the chip. The opening on the side that drivers serve from is commonly referred to as a serving window and will usually have a serving counter. Awnings can be attached to trucks over the serving window. Safety equipment usually comes in the form of an electric or vacuum swing out sign which may resemble a stop sign or a triangular shape, as well as vinyl lettering or decals that advise others to use caution.

So I guess my brother thought it would be funny to vandalize my story.
Ha.
That was pretty funny actually, so I’m going to save it since I’m a great big sister.  Maybe next time he decides to look at random windows closed on the taskbar, he’ll be greeted with this:

Dear broseph,
I understand that those black kids on the bikes do stop the ice cream truck, but they do not buy anything.
I would like to know the following:
How much of this story did you actually read?
Why?
Does shear stress vary linearly with shear strain when water flows between two plates which are inclined?
Also you never answered my question about the whole application process of becoming an ice cream truck driver. I could easily look it up on Wikipedia or Google, but since I don’t feel like it, I’m going to pretend that the answer to that question doesn’t exist.

I think I have a strange family.