Coming Home

Well fuck. Somehow a horrible combination of tears, nostalgia, confusion, dread, Greyhound bus stations, and the Shins lead me to decide that I MUST start a blog upon arriving back "home" in Seattle. I had all these incredibly profound thoughts as I pictured myself, the Urban Cowgirl, again traveling into the sunset... alone. Maudlin, but drunk on my own self pity and fucking awesomeness.

I think I lost the delusion that I was the insightfully ironic voice of the new generation when my iPod died and I had to listen to the white trash kids from Kelso make lots of fag jokes. That kind of killed my inner poet. Thank god. Not for hateful white trash (irony of classist remarks intended), but glad to have pulled my head out of my butt. As I was still into composing life changing works, I switched my internal monologue to a letter to the president.

"Dear President Bush,

I think you have failed. I say this because I am currently listening to a bunch of ignorant white trash talk about what a horrible president you are and how you are personally responsible for the deaths of hundreds of American soldiers. These are the people who are supposed to believe all the lies that you tell and think uncritically about the fact that you conflate Iraq, Iran, and Afganistan. But even these dumb kids who tell fag jokes and say 'ex-specially' think you suck. Wow, that must hurt."

I know, I know. It's totally going to end the War on Terror. It is also has a perfect kind of logic with absolutely no holes. I should be a political scientist.

Now I'm in my room at the QUEST house. I just watched Team America: World Police with my roommate Treye who has seen it probably one hundred times. He quotes the lines as they come and sings along to the soundtrack. I finally realize how annoying it must be to watch Reality Bites with me. One thousand apologies.

This is saying nothing I thought it would. I can't believe I'm blogging again.