First, I apologize for the typos in the last post--I'll fix those someday. Second I offer helpful advice for the day: don't be a bitch. Nobody likes it and one day you'll just get popped.

I played my last Steel Band concert today. As the end of the semester (and my college life) draws to a close I find myself experiencing a number of "lasts". In some ways it is very depressing, but I look ahead with zeal. I have no idea what awaits me after I graduate, most likely many months in my parent's house where I will be unemployed and driven crazy by my mother, but I have little fear it will all work out eventually. At least I know my mother won't leave her dishes full of food on the counter...and if she does we own a dishwasher. I will never complain about chores at home again; that is for certain. It is amazing, a person moves out on their own and all of life's little luxaries, dishwasher, washer and dryer, clean bathrooms, become so much more valuable. I have realized the depth of my spoiledness as a child--I used to complain about doing the dishes. I had to put them in the dishwasher and put them away when it was done. Boo-fucking-hoo. At least I know for my own children, if they complain about dishes I'll allow them to experience washing by hand for a few days. I have to admit, I look forward to free laundry. Being able to wash my underwear when I wish without raping the couch for quarters will be truly grand. I'll be living like a queen. Hell, I might even get to drive every now and then. It will be like being sixteen again--except I won't have to worry about acne.

I have to admit I've nearly written myself out for the day. I have actually taken it upon myself to revise and edit one of my fiction stories (yes, feel free to thank the Lord). The forty-page monster, however, does not take kindly to being revised. It managed to suck seven hours of my life away last night without my noticing. Don't ask how that happened, you would have to be an artist to understand. Notice I said artist and not writer, because that phenomenon is not localized to writers. I've known painters and musicians to suffer the same fate. At least we are self entertained. My creative processes are flowing, though, I have to admit I think the blog helps. I can relieve my mind of the majority of random thoughts that swim in my brain all day, and it leaves me amazingly free for other things. I apologize to those of you who read the random drizzle I birth onto this page, but I'm not really sorry for you. You must be somewhat special if you've made it this far.

Alas, I think I've rambled myself into a corner. It is time to return to my life of nail biting and movie watching. For all of you I know, ta-ta. For all of you I don't, toodles.

I love Madonna. I'm half tempted to end the post right there. But alas, it would go against the grain for me to be so short-winded!

I can tell you: I am never going to find a job. Never say never, I know, but even Fiefel (or however you spell the rat's name) didn't try to find employment with a Bachelor's in English and lots of experience with music. God love me, I'm all set to spout Shakespeare while pounding on a drum. The drama of my job is nothing compared to the drama of my apartment, however.

I have learned, by observing my roommate and her on again, off again boyfriend the merits of being single. I have also learned, by watching my other roommate, the beauty of love. Now there is a quandary for discussion. To love or not to love? Or better yet, lust versus love? With the beautiful invention of a light switch lust is so simple, easy and pain free. With the invention of the condom and oral contraceptive it can stay that way weeks later. I make no promises based on the skills of one's lover, hitting the wrong spot, nailing one's head against the headboard, etc. but theoretically it can be simple and pain free. If there is one thing I've learned in my tenure here at college it is that blunders will always be abundant, not matter what you do. Funny how that is only increased with alcohol intake...

Ah-ha, Madonna's "Papa Don't Preach" has just come on, coincidence?

So (indulge me here) I have to wonder, what is it about men and women that makes us so dumb when it comes to dealing with each other? Or rather, with dealing with one we have romantic feelings for? Not even men and women, but men and men or women and women. It seems when two human beings are taken by each other's merits (whatever they might be) the brain ceases to function as it should. The skin thins, emotions replace logic, and everything means something. "Well he calls me every night" or "man, did you see the way she put her head on my shoulder?" or "oh, he hugged me!" or "why is she flirting with me so much?" It never stops. Communication no longer exists. Everyone has to walk on eggshells around the other; afraid they will upset their partner or say the wrong thing and come off as a dork. Who cares? Everyone's a dork in one way or another, and do you honestly want to be involved in a relationship where you can never say what you think? If you boyfriend/girlfriend/fuck-buddy is a raving lunatic shouldn't you be entitled to tell them? I recognize there is a significant amount of crazy women in the world; the one's with the butt the size of your thumb but they still think is fat. But, honestly, wouldn't you feel better if you could just tell them? And wouldn't they be better off for knowing they are crazy? Or (to be kind) some of their habits are crazy? As far as the males go, why can a female never tell you what is wrong without it being due to PMS and not your fault? Or if it is your fault it is somehow an attack on your manhood and we're simply trying to belittle you? If you start the relationship out with complete honesty it speeds things along while keeping everything clear. "Hey I like you." Why is that so frightening? If s/he says no you go on about your business and become friends (if possible). If s/he screams "ooh, gross!" you'll know s/he never graduated fourth grade and feel better about the rejection. I mean come on now, how many people missed the chance for happiness because they never grew the balls to just talk to each other? Not only in romance, but simple friendship! And here's a newsflash boys, just because a girl likes you does not mean she is going to jump your bones. If she's worth her spit she'll be more than content to be your friend and will support you in everyway. She isn't going to rape you while you sleep, stalk you and chase off perspective girlfriends. Sometimes you fellows have entirely too high an opinion of yourself (no offense).

I have to say this something that has been bothering me for quite some time. Now, I fully admit there are some people out there who just cannot handle it. You tell her the truth and she runs off in tears, great hiccupping sobs echoing back down the hall following her retreat. This philosophy won't work for her (or him) but it does alleviate a lot of life's little annoyances. Not to mention, if you know she (or he) can't handle life you are in a much better position to evaluate how much time (and effort) you want to devote to her (or him).

Wow, this has been one heck of a rant. How about menstruating huh? Sorry if that subject disgusts you. Get over it. That's a whole other rant right there. Why are bodily functions disgusting (disregarding the smell of course)? It's a fact of life, shit happens--literally. Bleeding happens and despite what the Bible says women are not "impure" during that time, nor the seven days following. I love God, the men that wrote the Bible is another story. I think this is a rant for another blog. I better leave you now before you never read me again.

For all you ladies out there, beware the 3 a.m. cramps. Especially if you have been consuming large quantities of alcohol. I wonder if anyone else has this problem: drinking multiplies cramps by a factor of two hundred. Do you know what that equals? One pissed off drunk girl who sure doesn't want to be touched. Unfortunately, when you are surrounded by drunk friends with whom you were having such a dandy time five minutes ago, no one understands what could cause such a rapid, massive mood change. In the middle of the party mostly populated by inebriated men is not the time to explain. I chose instead to lie on the couch until someone sobered up enough to drive me home where I could sleep the pain away. I love being a girl!

I think the human reproductive system is further proof that God has a sense of humor. Think about it, girls begin menstruating at eleven or twelve, long before they are anywhere near mental maturity. Hell, they don't even hit their sexual peak until late twenties to early thirties. Guys, on the other hand, start filling their happy sacks around eleven or twelve and are automatic weapons all the way through puberty. The majority of women, having nowhere near the same sex drive in their teen years are constantly fighting off pawing hands. Along comes the twenties and guys slow down as women pick up. Suddenly the roles are reversed! Where is the logic in that? God, in her all knowing self, had to have known this was going to happen. Maybe she was bleeding when she thought this whole thing up. That or she was pissed off at humanity in general so she did her best to make sure sex drives never match up. She's definately a women; a man would never be such a bitch.

Ah yes, I am going to hell. Let me know if you want me to save you a seat.

Wow, blogs are a hella-good time. It is rather amusing to ramble and wonder who will stumble across it.

What does a person blog? Anything they want I imagine. Not much worth saying, even less worth hearing. I have been inspired by my friends Kraus and Mike to blog--heaven help us all.

I played my last wind ensemble concert tonight. For those of you who aren't band geeks I'll clarify: I'll never play drums again. Much like a graduation but much more painful. Imagine that which your life centers around, everything you are accustomed to ending, be it a person, a sport, music or a hobby. Like some pathetic hometown hero I now have to wake up and face the reality of different, if not bigger or better, things. I don't know which is more pathetic, that I am sad my days of drumming are over, or that I am already planning the day I will have my own house with my own piano and marimba.

There is something amazing in being part of a really great ensemble. There is something fantastic in making great music. When you stand on stage, the audience ceases to exist, the moment stretches, elongates until time is measured in the beats of the conductor's wand and your body is no longer controlled by you but by the music. It flows through the air, a palpable thing that enters through your ears, filling you from your toes up until it bursts from your eyes and mouth and hands onto the drum where rhythms explode with the winds, vibrating the bones of the auditorium. In that moment life becomes something greater than existence. In that moment life becomes worth living. That is what I will miss. That is what I will never regret.

I will never lament what is no longer mine. There will be times, misty-eyed I will listen to others play and fondly remember my time, but my life will continue, evolve. I share it with you now that you might understand why a person would devote over of third of her young life to drums and music. I share it with you now because it is one of the greatest feelings in the world. Que bonita.