Knucks.

Contrary to popular belief...today was NOT my birthday.

It was my precious friend's birthday and her roommates were throwing her a little surprise party.
I was told to show up early to help decorate cupcakes.

And then I started watching Solitary...and all of a sudden I was late.
How does that always happen to me?
Which by the way, that show is NUTS!
I dunno why I keep watching it...

It's like a car wreck or Anna Nicole Smith (which is pretty synonymous in my book), you just can't look away!

I ran over to their apartment and knocked on the door.
The shades were drawn but I could still hear them inside.
I knocked again.

All of a sudden, the door flew open and it was a pitch black inside.

Crap.

They think I'm her.

You know how everyone hates it when people sing for your birthday?
Well it's even worse when it's NOT your birthday and there's no promise of getting free cake after your meal.

In my head I was thinking, they're all gonna shout Happy Birthday! now and it's gonna be so awkward.

I HAD to warn them.

"Uhm...this is awkward..."

Nothing.

"Please don't yell Happy Birthday, because it's not her!!"

And that's my life.
Fake birthdays and crappy game shows.

ANYWAY


Have any of you heard of spokeo.com?
Supes creepy.

Search yourself & it'll have a bunch of weird information...
Addresses, phone numbers, how long you've lived at your house, family, all that crap...


Everyone on facebook was freaking out about it leaking all of the "important information."
Like anyone cares.
So genuinely interested, I searched myself to see what kind of dirt it had on me.

You'll never believe what it said...

Not a single thing.
Nothing.
I was no where on the site.

This is like in high school when there was this weird Gossip Girl-esque mass text thing that would spread innocent, slanderous gossip about our classmates around the school, for people to comment on...

Sometimes I would just spread rumors about myself...
No one ever responded.

Anyway, I decided to search my sister on spokeo.
She's cool enough to be on there.

And then the website tells me that my family has been living in our house for 16 years and that there are 2 parents and 1 child.

1 child...

Now I'm just concerned that maybe I was kidnapped as a child...and this isn't even really my family.
Did you ever see Face On a Milk Carton where that creepy red-headed girl found out that she actually belonged to a family of creepy red-headed freaks?

That's me!!



Side note: I miss my tortoises.


Also, turns out I was wrong about my rant on life and financial aid.
I received a glimmer of hope this morning and with a lot of hard work, I will be going to Italy in the fall!!

I guess I'll just have to spend another summer as a camp counselor, listening to little girls cry about their "spicy eyes."

Friendboats.

Every time I get a new follower, my heart flutters a little.
If I could hug each and every one of you...I would.

Except I probably wouldn't.
Because I'm not much of a hugger.

But consider this a virtual "knucks."
Because I really do love you guys. (In a non-touchy/feely kind of way.)



I sat in the same waiting room today.
In the same grey chair.
With the same drab walls.
Sitting next to me were different faces and yet they all seemed...the same.

The clock said 2:30.
My foot was shaking in anticipation...
And because I had to pee. (Grande iced chai w/ add shot goes right through me.)

My palms were sweating because it was a bazillion degrees in there.
But my palms always sweat.

30 minutes later, I was still sitting there.
Whatsherface was in no hurry to see me.
Even though I made an appointment...

Should've known though...
She didn't even show last time.

You'd think they'd give you a phone call or something?
Isn't that an episode of Seinfeld? (I quote Seinfeld a lot...I truly am my mother's daughter.)
But no really. Remember that time when George was charged for missing an appointment?

Why is it okay if they do it, but not us?
Just because they sit behind the desk, they can walk all over us?

Finally, they call my name.
I sit across the desk...
Pull out the study abroad papers...
Cross my legs and proceed to let my foot shake once again.
The perpetual buzz of caffeine and the heat of the room made my head start to hurt.

And basically she said, going to Italy is going to cost you your car, liver and first-born child.

"I'm sorry, what?! My liver?"
"Oh I'm sorry hun, you're right. We're gonna need your kidneys too."

And that's that.
At least for now.

I hate being sad.
I'm no good at it.

I'd rather be angry.
So that's what I am.

I'm pissed.
I'm pissed that they encourage us to study abroad...to "get out"...and then make it so freakin' hard.
I'm pissed that they were gonna have the audacity to charge me an extra $500 just cause.
(In the grand scheme of price, $500 doesn't seem like much...but again, I am pissed.)

"What are these 'fees' for?"
"Well it's for processing your papers and what not..." (AKA they need to make a profit.)

How hard is it to file some papers?

Chances are, it's gonna be some numbskull undergrad comm major who needs a job to buy jumbo packs of chicken Top Ramen and rent Transformers or some other crap movie, half a dozen times.

So here I am.
Sitting in my apartment...
With no motivation...
And no shows in my queue on Hulu...
Wallowing in my own self-pity.

I can't say I didn't see it coming though.
A part of me just couldn't fully commit yet, because I was too afraid of it being taken away.

Khalil Gibran says, "Doubt is a pain too lonely to know that faith is his twin brother."

Writers can be so dramatic...

Bravitzlana Rubakalva.

Spring Break has mentally checked me out for Summer...

I'm done for.

All I wanna do is play with my tortoises.
That's right.
There's two of them.

Tortoise #2 was found near the same place my dad "rescued" Spartacus.
I named him/her, Marcel.
Based off "Marcel the Shell with Shoes On." (Look it up, man. Youtube.)

Unfortunately, I don't have pics with the two of them together...but here are some more to marvel at of Spart!






My precious angel.
Miss his little face.


But now I'm left with a plethora of papers and projects...
What kind of sick joke is it to have Spring Break two weeks before Summer...

Dear Professor,
Let's just cut out the middle man...look it up on Wikipedia, because you know that's what I and the "scientists" of Griffith Observatory are gonna do anyway.

Sincerely,
Kelli

Corbeau.

Spring Break 2011 Highlights:

1. Spartacus.
My dad found a tortoise in the street, while running in our neighborhood.
He was running...not the tortoise.
A common misconception.

It's a little baby - literally fits in the palm of my hand and it's ridiculous how much I already love him.
I just want to hang out with him all day.

I named him Spartacus, cause he's a survivor.
But now I'm thinking about changing it to Marcel, because he lives in a shell.
It's still up in the air.
I'm also assuming it's a he, because he's so small that you can't really be sure yet.

I just feel like we're gonna be best friends.

I'm sure it belongs to someone & escaped from their yard and I should probably try to find it's owner....

But obviously Spartacus wasn't happy where he was!!
We belong together.

Here's a super crappy picture of him!
Ignore the make-shift habitat we assembled...we have since googled the crap out of tortoises and are now experts!

But, if any of you have any tips, they are more than appreciated!



Look how small he is compared to the snow peas! (Which he loves, by the way.)
That little nugget next to him is a piece of a grape...(Which he wasn't as fond of as the peas.)

Here's some more pictures of our adventure in the front yard!





(Also, a frog jumped in our pool on Sunday. Too bad my dad had drained it on Friday. Poor little guy...never saw it comin.')

2. Monops.
I dunno why everyone hates monopoly...but I love it.
Almost as much as Spartacus.
Almost.

Actually, I dunno if I love playing as much as I love cheating.
All I do is embezzle money from the bank...
I don't even bother buying property anymore.

It takes about 2.7 seconds for everyone to discover my cheating ways...but it's always worth it.

3. Mole.
Wanna see something gross?
Google "cancerous moles."
That'll ruin your appetite...

So I went to the dermatologist today...
It sucks having a weirdo mole in an awkward spot on your chest, for the undeniably good-looking doctor to examine.
But whatever.
It had to happen to someone.

So while I'm sitting there in my giant square paper towel robe/vest thing (Really!? What am I, Spongebob Squarepants? Who fits in those things?), telling the doctor about all of my skin ailments...while my seat is simultaneously going back...and all of a sudden...he is standing over me holding a syringe...

I guess somewhere in there, I agreed to allow him to remove the mole on my chest.

And then I started freaking out, "Oh...uhm...yeah...uh...right now?!"
And he tries to pull that doctor crap by having me continue my story while he gives me the shot.
I felt so duped.

I have the worst luck when it comes to doctor's apointments.
When I was little, I was always so afraid of getting shots at my check-ups and my mom always reassured me that I wouldn't.
But somehow...I ALWAYS did.

My doctor, with the world's thickest accent would always just throw innoculations, vaccinations, and every other kind of preventive treatment out there...and my mom ALWAYS agreed.

"Kewwi due fo' shot. *(Unrecognizable Words)* Tetanu' & Hepatitus B numba' 2. *(Definitely not English anymore.)*"

And there I was...several years later...several years older...several years wiser...and I was still tricked into the same shots.
Only this time, they were taking a razor to my skin!

And then it was done.
I never even felt it.

Nothing says being an adult, like your first biopsy.


And that's my Spring Break thus far.


Woo!

I miss my tortoise.

Jagadamba.

So remember that one time we were trapped in the Griffith Observatory forEVER!?

I didn't realize that field trips were a part of college curriculum, but I was proven wrong when we all piled on to a charter bus with our backpacks, gummy worms and Dr. Pepper, and made our way to the Griffith Observatory in LA.

I had never been there before, and my inner 4th grade was pretty stoked.
Until I found out we wouldn't be getting back on the bus until 9:30!

What were we supposed to do for that long?!
I figured it must be a pretty extensive exhibit to call for such a long trip, but boy was I wrong.

It actually came to the point where we would break out in applause every time the pendulum knocked over one of those pegs. (Every 10 minutes...)

Once the last peg fell a museum guide came out with a broomstick handle to reset the contraption. (Pretty fancy, huh?)
As he lifted the stand, I started a slow clap that echoed throughout the dome.
One of my finer moments, I might say.

The planetarium show was amazing!
I was feeling a bit nauseous, but it was enjoyable all the same.
The narrator truly had a golden voice.
I like to imagine that he moved to LA from North Dakota in hopes of making it big as a broadcast journalist or soap-opera actor, but is settling for a museum job until he hits it big.

The thing is, we arrived at the museum around 5:00, wandered around a bit until the show at 6:15, which ended around 6:45 and then were left on our own until 9:30.

Not much to see, beside the beautiful view of LA, out on the balcony. (Which definitely made it worth it.)
Once we had visited every room, and even took a peek in the telescope, it was probably about 7:00.
There's only so many times I can watch that stupid pendulum swing...

Here's the real kicker though...the museum tour guides...not as helpful or knowledgeable as you would think.

Our professor had given us a worksheet to fill out...basically to prove we actually LEARNED something.
One of the questions asked us about quasars.

We checked every plaque, monument and picture and the only thing on quasars said, "Less than a thousand."

Less than a thousand what!?

The tour guides didn't want to give away answers, because they were afraid of "doing your homework for you."
This seemed reasonable, but now I just wonder if it's because they didn't know the answer either.

Before we OFFICIALLY gave up, I went up to the table where two tour guides were sitting, eating one of those huge cartons of Whoppers.

"Excuse me, could you help us? We're trying to find out what a quasar is..."
The woman seemed friendly, but gave an awkward scowl as if I asked her to explain to me the theory of relativity without using words.

"Well...it's not that easy..." She said while chomping away at the chocolate malt balls.
It's not!?

She then begins typing away at her computer.
Clack clack clack.

"According to Wikipedia..."

Wikipedia?!?
She should be the one the Wikipedia CITES, not the one citing Wikipedia...

Overall, it was a fun trip...filled with paper football, $3.00 bags of chips (which we were all too cheap to purchase, even though we were starving), beautiful voices comparable to that of Morgan Freeman, 2nd rate wikiKnowledge, and the stir-crazy laughter you can only achieve while being trapped in a museum on top of LA, starving and bored, with friends.

Thanks Griff.

Expectations vs Reality.

I don't want to say I'm super naive...

But I will.

I'm super naive.

"I'm a day person." (Name that quote. I'll be your best friend.)

I'm one of those, glass half full, silver lining, your cat's not dead it just ran away, kind of people.
I mean not all the time...I can be negative and definitely disheartened, but at the end of the day I always believe in the underlying good.

And then reality kicks in and the world sucks again.
But it's nothing an iced chai with a shot of espresso can't fix.

Now that I'm an official scientist and filled with the vast knowledge obtained by my Introduction to Astronomy class, I know that I can not just make claims but need to back it with fact, or even better real-life examples!

So here it is...

Last fall, I applied to study abroad in Italy for the following spring semester.
I got in! (Yay!)
However, due to complications (ie: my cousin's wedding and the fact that I would be going alone), I decided to decline the acceptance.

But not wanting to give up completely, I emailed the people and asked if I could defer my acceptance to a later semester/if I applied again, would me saying no be held against me? People don't like being turned down...

This is what they said, a DIRECT QUOTE: "Your 'withdrawal' will not be held against you! If and when you decide to 'try again' -- which we hope you will — let us know as soon as you make that decision and we will re-activate your application file, probably asking only that you send us an updated transcript, and welcoming you to submit any additional letters of recommendation (in case you would want to identify someone who knows you even more)."

Pretty straight forward, right?

Well the sunshine and rainbows seemed to obscure my vision, because this is what I interpreted that to mean: "Dear Kelli, Not only are you an awesome writer and even more awesome blogger, but a valuable asset to this trip. You are automatically in, no matter what! Just say the word and Italy is yours! Along with that, we would like to give you some ice cream and money, just for kicks. Thanks for choosing us! Love, Italy People"

A common misconception, yeah?

I'd like to say that I misinterpreted it and wisely forwarded it to my mom who quickly put me in my place, but that is just not so.

I went on believing this for MONTHS!
I received that email on October 19th and it wasn't until April 2nd did I finally realize that I'm not an automatic in for the Italy program. (It's like when Rob Lowe broke up with Ann Perkins on Parks & Rec and she didn't even know it!)


So here I am, the night before I find out the final decision...and I'm pretty freakin' nervous.
Especially because I already told everyone that I was in! This is much worse than normal rejection.
This is showing up for coffee with the boy you like and having him talk about some other girl the whole time! (I know you saw that episode of Glee, when they serenaded that one guy at Gap. That'd be me. I'm Kurt watching Blaine sing to the Gap hottie.)

Knowing my luck, I won't find out I'm rejected until I show up at the airport.