I have been broken open.
This was not my master plan.
I was comfortable watching from the stands.
I have been broken open.

- Cold War Kids, Broken Open

-+-

"Christa, no one knows you as much as you do.  Don't let anyone else make you think otherwise."
...
"As much as we so dearly want to, we can't be best friends with everyone."

-+-

I'm finally free from the devil's playground.  Thank god.

It was anger, of all things, that would bring everything together.  

I woke up this morning after one short hour of sleep, yet refreshed with a vivid fit of indignation.

Truthfully, I actually don't know the last time that I've been angry.  There has been frustration and exasperation, there has been stubborn irritation, but never anger.  When stressors or difficult situations come my way, when I encounter people and settings that should inspire fury into me, sadness is always my default.  There was never as accurate a statement as the bickering of, "I don't think she can get angry, man.  Christa doesn't get mad; she gets sad instead."  When I make a deliberate effort to recall anger, the last time was summer, when the air was still heavy with heat.  The tissue culture room reverberated with my strings upon strings of curse words in outrage towards the way that my fellow undergraduate researcher was being disrespected by her mentoring graduate student.  And before that, I could only recall my countless tantrums with Phuc.

And honestly, today has been an everlasting testament to the idea that women are complicated creatures, because I've been responding to my anger with gratitude.  I have been feeling emotionally hindered, but this... this definitely broke through.

It was so unfamiliar to me that it was akin to a new perspective, as pissed off as that perspective may be.  It's counter-intuitive, yet it loaned epiphany to me, as I viewed myself through this foreign lens.

It's no secret that after half a year of strength and progress, I've hit a slump for the last month.  "You've plateaued."  I'll admit explicitly that at one point, I burned out.  Simple as that.  No skirting around it, no apologies, no looking back.  I burned out, and I broke down.  I've felt like I've been in the process of rebuilding a low-quality wick.

Hey.  Fuck that.

I’ve been feeling caught in an emotional and mental web, in a maze of my own thoughts and feelings that I could neither decode nor decrypt.  But there’s something so straightforward and raw about this.  There’s no question or mystery, there’s no hidden pathogen that I have to probe for.  Simply, I’m outraged.  Simply, I’m pissed.

And unlike my previous pathology, unlike my general feeling of “unsettled,” there’s no wondering about this.  Easy diagnosis: I'm... pissed.

Yet I’m thankful, because I realize that if I had to go through this situation a year ago, I would have just submitted myself, defeated.  I would have lost myself in every single tiny word, fact and fiction alike, and trap myself in a whirlwind of self-criticism and self-hatred.  And for an instance, I peered into that bitter world again.  For an instance, I surrendered.  I agreed to fit myself into this mold that someone else built for me.  I filled my questions with any answer I could think of, just because I needed an answer.  For an instance, I went back to fishing for black holes, and throwing any and all stars back to the empty sea.  

But come morning, come sunshine and warmth, come camaraderie and logic, come sensibility and realization, I managed to look in the mirror in the morning and give my reflection a huge, resounding, “Hey.  Fuck that.”

That very rage reminded me that I'm not actually that weak, useless, meaningless, directionless son of a bitch that I've been perceiving myself to be.  For an entire month, I thought I was no one.  But wow, really?  Fuck that.

For a month, I’ve been lost, I’ve been torn.  I've been afraid.  I couldn’t decipher what was me and what wasn’t me, and that wore me down.  But I know now.  I may be still learning, but I daresay that I know myself better than anyone else tries to claim hold to.  Honestly, it's the exact same story that I endured when I was dating Phuc.  Except this time, the plot plays out much differently.  It's not that I'm empty-handed and just livid with nonsensical rage.  I've walked away with lessons; I know the errors, I see the holes, I realize the crevices that need repair, and I've already begun mending them accordingly.  But this time, I can sift through the gold and the grime, and distinguish between what really matters.  This time, I'm not going to throw myself down that well again.  I am not going to stay on this bandwagon of belittling myself.

Fuck that.

I know I'm broken, I know I'm flawed, I know I don't compare.  I know that I am a bulldozer and a puppet, a jezebel and a dreamer, all in one.  I am concurrently both learning and ignoring lessons.  I have been sawing down trees and planting regret in their place.  But so help me, if nothing else, I will not let this laughter see devalue.  I am not getting caught in that hurricane anymore.  God knows, that if anyone would know what a fake smile is like, it'd be me.  I know what makes a flawless mask.  I've been there.  I've spent years chiseling majestic lies into the highest grade porcelain.

So I won't dare be persuaded into thinking that this flesh and this warmth isn't my own.  I am not letting this sunshine get taken away from me.  I am not letting this fall from my fingers.  I will not be broken.  Not this time.  No.  Not again.

And so help me god, with a heart so fervent that my hands now tremble: I won't dare see love taken away from me.  No fucking way.

No fucking way.

Call me dead, call me broken, call me incapable, call me damaged goods, call me pitiful, call me ignorant, call me undeserving, call me tired, call me idiotic, call me disgusting, call me immoral, call me a whore, a slut, a liar, a fake, a front, a persona, a loser, a shamble, a worthless piece of trash, a pathetic excuse of a human being, call me every fallacy in the book, and I will turn the other cheek.

But this one flame, this one ember, this one glimmer that I am protecting with every ounce of my being - you are not allowed to take it away from me.

No fucking way.

So a month in a slump, huh?  Well, month over.

This is the part where I find resound.  Feel the vibrations of the earth.  When you feel the tremors resonate underneath your feet, know that I am the cause of them.

This makes no wick, no benign candle.  Nope.  Fuck that.  I'm building a fuse.

“Plateaued,” my ass.

-+-

The story between-the-lines:

Honestly, you really don't know me as well as you think you do, but thank you all the same.

Because you never truly know what's worth fighting for until you finally have to fight for it.

'Cause even the stars, they burn -
some even fall to the earth.
We've got a lot to learn;
God knows we're worth it.

- Jason Mraz, I Won't Give Up

-+-

"It's like you're psychic."
"No, Christa.  You're just predictable."

D:

-+-

Thank you for being my silver lining.

Things have been difficult, but the laughter that you always provide and the smile that you always inspire never fail to transcend the limits of gratitude. It is the greatest amount of wealth.

When I beat myself up, you're the one that holds me back. When I'm going to beat someone else up, you're the one that holds them down to make it easier for me to punch them in the nads, because of course, only you're allowed to beat me up, right? You're one of few that's allowed to beat me up. That is, until multiple members of the few form the Anti-Christa Squad in my kitchen, then I just want to fight everyone. Holy shit. Oh my freakin' god.

You're the one that cheers and screams, "Oh my god, CHRISTA!" when we coincidentally see each other in the halls, in the green room, on the fourth floor of the library, in the lantern, in the S&E third floor, in Target, in another city.  You're the one that remembers my birthday, after seven years of giving up on getting presents on my birthday.  Your friendship is the greatest present I could ask for, but that wasn't enough for you.  You were always the one that wanted to give more.  

You're the one that remembers details about me, that nods when I tell you a story because you already know the ending, because you remember the last billion times that I've told it to you.  You're the one that still messages me on AIM, even though it's been years since we've had classes together.  You're the one that still visits me every year on my birthday, even though it's been almost a decade since I moved away.  You're the new face that I have barely met, or yet to meet, but I know that I'll adore you all the same.

When we stay up studying all night, you're the one that buys me breakfast and chats with me over coffee for as long as possible before we have to part ways. You're the one that wants me to watch all of your favorite movies so that we can talk in catchphrases and inside jokes. You're the one that laughs in perfect synchrony with me as we smile, walking towards our respective labs. You're the one that keeps me down to earth. You're the one that reminds me to check my technique, because I'm not as perfect an undergraduate researcher as everyone is convinced.  You're the one that convinces me that I am going places.  You're the one that drives me to chase those places accordingly.

You're the one that spends all day reviewing Microbiology with me, even when we're so exhausted that we're comatose on the floor of the library.  You're the one that stays up all night with me reviewing organic chemistry, taking frequent breaks in laughter.  You're the one that tells people that I have dates with my Biochemistry textbook, then smiles at me, "Some people just don't get it like we do."  You're the one that sings songs with me while we're both doing tissue culture work.  We don't just move monolayers, we move mountains.

You're the one that thinks I'm worth investing in.  You're the one that tells me in secrecy that I'm known as the one that everyone on the S&E third floor adores. You're the one that meets me between cities for a breakfast lost in time.  You're the one that reads all of my many websites and knows me almost as well as I do, if not moreso.  You're the one that knows all my flaws, all my mistakes, all my terrors, and you accept me all the same.  And at the same time, you're also the one that doesn't put up with my bullshit.  You're the one that I can be human with.

You're the one that calls me names.  You're the one that gives me nicknames.  I've learned that those two are completely different things, but both completely full with amity and fondness.

You are the one that respects me.  You are the one that makes me feel like treasure, when I used to feel like trash, and even when I sometimes still do.  You are the one that has turned to me, and you are the one that I've also turned to.  You are the one that I know I can always turn to.  Not only are you the one that makes me smile, but you are the one that smiles because of me.  You are the one that I can be myself around.  You are the one that makes me feel wealthy.

I'm lucky to have friends like you.

Thank you for reminding me that life is wonderful.

Thank you all, for giving me a life full of love.

2 o'clock in the morning, something's on my mind.
Can't get no rest; keep walkin' around.
If I pretend that nothin' ever went wrong, I can get to my sleep,
I can think that we just carried on.

- Mika, Happy Ending

-+-

"You really take a lot from life, Christa."
"I don't know if I do, but... I try to." 

-+-

I've been taking a break to just let myself be lonely for a change.

The great thing about weak moments is that they're just that -- they're moments.

It runs in my kin to be susceptible to mental fragility, but luckily, I've recently been blessed with the gift of transience.

My year has been rough so far.  It seems and feels like I have kicked off the year with three weeks of mistakes.  Parts of my life are involuntarily living in the fast lane, while other aspects are just as undesirably dead in the water.  It makes it difficult to concentrate on how perfect everything can be, and how gorgeous everything actually is.  The sun is shining through the overcast and is kissing my cheek with delicate, minute amounts of warmth, yet I've spent too long feeling unsettled to properly appreciate it.  But even then, I'd still be doomed if not for these silver linings.

It's not even a clear feeling, it's not a definite sensation.  I just haven't been feeling... just right.  There is a pathology in my blood that I can't seem to diagnose, but it doesn't satisfy me to just let this virus continue to course through my veins.

For example, I've spent weeks being unable to cry.  It's one thing to spend weeks not crying, but another thing to be unable to.  Even when tears do touch my cheeks, I feel no connection between the sensations and my emotions.  Even when I was feeling so low, so fragile, and so burnt out, I just couldn't manage to cry.  I'm currently in the process of rebuilding my wick, and I'm immensely thankful for every ounce of recovery that comes my way.  But I am still perturbed. If I can hold so much empathy for others, why can't I feel anything for myself?

This month has just been both so similar to and so unlike my last seven months of explosive change and evolution.

But there's more at stake now, and it frightens me.  I've learned that my heart is not encased in platinum - it is flesh, and that fact is bewildering me.  I've been stricken into over-protection.  Ignorance is bliss, and thus, awareness brings fear and worry.  I've begun to see flaws in my attitude, and I'm struggling to adjust.  I still don't understand how to not give unconditionally, and I still must absorb that not all opportunities are opportunities to be seized.  I still need to understand that sometimes, coincidences must simply be left as coincidences.

It's so hard though.  I'm so used to giving away everything I am, everything that I possibly have to give.  But I've finally tasted what it is like to give too much, and it is a terror that has been proving impossible to reel back from.  I feel as if I've been welted with wounds irreparable.  With burns that will only scar into deformity.

It makes me wonder - 

am I taking a break in loneliness,

or am I confining myself to quarantine?

I apologized for falling down the stairs.

We’ve never met before, but I’ve seen him everywhere.  I’m comparatively a nobody, but I know exactly who he is.  I’ve pointed him out to crowds and I’ve held my breath when he’s walked by.  He’s a man of reputation.

The problem is that somehow, every time I do something embarrassing, it’s been in the presence of this apparition that I’m still yet to meet.  He was the one that gave me the bewildered face when he overheard me talk to myself in war cries.  He was there when his kin shamed me, and I ran away in flustered confusion.  So I’ve known him for half a year without ever actually knowing him.

Today, we spoke for the first time.

I was walking up the stairs, when he turned the corner and we made eye contact.  Recognizing him, I made attempts to be pleasant and smile.  But the eye contact maintained, as if by trance, which in turn stole my gaze away from watching my step.

I face planted.

He helped me up, and picked up my things from the floor for me, and I was just apologizing excessively, with every apologetic word in my apology word bank.  I was the one with the abrasions on my hands, yet my reflex reaction was to apologize for submitting him to the sight of my embarrassing nature yet again.

He awkwardly laughed, taken aback by my apologies, “It’s okay!  But are you okay?”

I reassured him, “Yes, I’m okay!”

He handed me my water bottle that fell out of my backpack, and said, “Okay, good.”

Then I continued my venture up, and he continued his venture down.

And so ended our first conversation, and so continued his unfortunate proximity to my spaztic tendencies.

Wrap up your questions, keep them down;
let the water lead us home.

- Mumford & Sons, Home

-+-

"Christa.  You're skewing my data.  I'm trying to run an experiment here."

-+-

Not a single drop of sin, yet I know I'm going to wake up in two hours with a hangover.  I'm done with my Chemistry courses for the rest of my college career, but somehow there was nothing quite as enthralling as spending countless hours in the middle of the night going over organic chemistry nomenclature.

I missed this.  I missed my confidant.

He was the one that carried me through summer.  I was fresh out of my break up, and he was the one that stayed at the library late with me, because I told him that I was saddest when I was home by myself.  In the fall, I would lose him to fight the good fight of Boy Problems and Social Issues, but he was always the one that called me one of the bros.  He will always be the one that took me under his wing when I confessed to him a lifetime ago that I had zero friends in the entire city of Merced.

I leaned against his white board as he taunted me that all of my cell cultures are doomed because I'm the one that's handling them, while I warned him that if he couldn't draw out ethyl acetate, I was going to sock him in the stomach.  He taught me a valuable lesson: mac 'n' cheese tastes fantastic when mixed with sriracha sauce and ketchup.  It is an important life value that I hope to apply to my own life in the very near future.

I've missed the absence of worry, and I got to sample it through the arguments over optimal abstract structure for our respective research conferences.

No stress, no heartbreaks, no complications, no overthinking, no wondering, just friendship and science.

Friendship and science.

Live through this,
and you won't look back.

- Stars, Your Ex-Lover is Dead

-+-

"Well, you know, half of it is the attitude."

-+-

There is something so beautiful about aiming for "impossible," and truly believing that you have the potential to achieve it.

Yet, once you strike those diamonds, once you actually accomplish unearthing that core, "impossible" becomes dangerous.  It is both extraordinary and frightening when dreams manifest into reality.

The consequences are instantaneous.  You become unable to settle for less.  You can no longer chase improbables, because once you have tapped into that oil rig of impossibility, it becomes more than "achievement."  It even transcends amazement.  It becomes addiction.  

It is a high when life becomes unreal.  Once your storybook daydreams see the printing press, you can't close the pages anymore.  You can no longer bring yourself to look back.  You see the themes and the fables everywhere, and you meticulously pick stars from the sky and make them your own.  You decorate your room with them, to illuminate you, and you alone.

Yet the constellations on the wall, in all of their glory, are beautiful.  They are exhausting, and they drain you of strength and power, yet they are so beautiful.  You wonder why you ever tolerated their fire, until their luminous dances remind you of why you are always running, running, running.  It's enchanting.  It's gorgeous.

Whether "impossible" is under the magnification of phase contrast microscopy or in the relapse of distant memories, "impossible" is so gorgeous, it becomes difficult to remember how ominous it is.  It just entrances you in its spell.  It is bewitching.

Impossible is such a beautiful addiction.

Edit 1/20/2012: nvm i got this. /Edit

Right now, there's nothing as painful as admitting that I need to take a break.

I feel like I have absolutely no reason to be exhausted.  I'm only in twelve units this semester - the fewest I've ever taken in my college career.  Yet we're only on the third day of the semester, and I already have the mental and physical exhaustion that I had during finals a month ago.  I'm already getting so little sleep a night since I got to Merced, and it's honestly befuddling me as to why, because I'm still not as on-pace as I want to be on all my readings.  I'm trying to do a tally.  Seven hours of labwork today, three hours yesterday, four hours on Tuesday, nine hours on Monday, and four hours on Sunday.  And then I'm anticipating five hours tomorrow, and three hours on Saturday.  It feels like a lot, but then I remind myself that I'm only in twelve units and I need to suck it up.  I'm also a little, "You're this tired after only three hours of lab work?  You know you can do more."  I feel like if I wasn't in lab, I'd be in some lecture, so I still crave registering for Cancer and Tumor Biology.  I feel so academically unproductive, even though I know how crazy that is, considering how tired I am right now.

I just know that I'm knocking out the moment after I'm done writing this.  Five personal statements done, but I still have seven more personal statements waiting for me in the morning - although I admittedly want "morning" to be "I'll set my alarm for 3 AM and work more," but I know better.  I need to get some rest tonight.  Then I'm going to pick up my transcripts and find out what the hell to do with them, and pray to all sorts of things that they get to my institutions in time.

It's stressful because I feel like my career is on the line.  I want to blame myself for procrastinating, but all my professors lack doubt - they believe that we can make these deadlines.  I can make these deadlines.  They believe that I can make it to the Big Ten Research Universities.  "The University of Iowa has one of the leading microbiology programs in the nation.  So does the University of Illinois at Chicago.  You should also look into Stanford.  You have this in the bag; this is going to be a piece of cake.  You're a very strong applicant."  And every time, all I can think of how amazing the opportunity would be.  How much I would do for a chance like that.  And right now, that's exactly how much I'm trying to do.  But I can't do it.  I can't blow seven personal statements out of the water right now.  I'm so mentally spent after the first five, and after my number of applications doubled just hours ago.  And I have to admit: that makes me feel so mediocre.  I feel less than average right now.  Why am I still behind on my readings?  Why am I still less than half-done with my applications?  People keep telling me not to overwork myself, but I keep feeling like I'm not doing enough.  I keep feeling like I have no reason to be this exhausted, like I have no reason to complain, because nothing's done.  I feel like I need to work harder, like I'm not actually really doing that much, not enough to be so exhausted, and yet I'm so tired.

I keep completely forgetting about my birthday party tomorrow, and I keep having to remind myself.

Okay.  I'm finally going to get some sleep tonight, because I can't let myself burn out.  I'm re-reading this post and even I can tell that it seems like I'm on the threshold of it.  Okay.  I'm going to sleep, and tomorrow will being my glorious comeback for rejuvenation.  For the love of god let my next post talk about good things.

Whew.

And when you think you're safe,
you fall upon your knees.
But you sit within your picture;
you still forget the breeze.

 - Damien Rice, Elephant

-+-

"You hate me, don't you?"
-- "Yes!  I hate you!"

Yet, on the inside, all smiles. 

-+-

"All you really need is for the new semester to start.  Things are just hectic right now because you're much more functional when you're busy and more in your momentum."

Today was the first day of spring semester, and I spent it completely physically exhausted from minute one, yet I was eager to reap the rewards of productivity, education, and social minglings.  My many many many fears with many many many people are starting to see resolve, and I'm thankful for that.

I started my first day of spring semester by completing two experimental protocols in the morning and getting a liquid nitrogen burn midday, justifying the way that the graduate students keep telling me, "Take it easy; don't work too hard!" and the undergraduate students telling me, "So I heard that you've been working yourself insane!"  Regardless, I volunteered to perform an extra protocol for my lab tech anyway, before it was finally time to start my first class.

It was my first time having a course taught by my research faculty mentor, and it was quite an experience -- she kept riddling her lecture with my name!  Whenever she needed to use a student as an example for a hypothetical story, the student would suddenly be "Christa," e.g. "Say I'm writing a letter of recommendation for Christa.  Well, then..."  Whenever she scanned the class for questions, she went, "Questions?  Christa?"  So now I have two professors this semester that absolutely love singling me out to the entire class - my Immunology professor does the same crime, except he just pokes fun of my expressions and my nervous laughter during every lecture - "So Christa is giving me a look like she has no idea what I'm talking about, so..."  I'm yet to see what Physics II holds for me.  I'm yet to see if it will be a semester of, "Dude, all my professors frickin' keep dropping my name during lectures, what the heck, it's the most ridiculous thing I've ever experienced in my life," or if my Physics II class will be a restful break from all the flattering yet "O_O;;;???" amounts of professor acknowledgement.  But yeah, hella flattering.  Also: "Everyone in that class is going to hate you." LOL

I'm also back to the state of mind of, "Why... why don't I know you?  What kind of amazing personality am I missing out on by not knowing you?" and I almost forgot how much I now actually absolutely love enriching my life with new friends and strengthening my friendship with old ones, how much I adore making smiles and memories!  It's so cheesy, but it's honestly such a joy when I make eye contact with someone and their entire expression just brightens up.  That's just the best. 

I don't know how I could have possibly questioned myself about this life full of love.  I always just assumed and accepted my past tendencies of methodology and protocol in social interaction, but after becoming more self-aware of it, I'm realizing just how much everything is truly lined with simple love.  The extent of methodology have decreased to initial contact - then, the rainbows and unicorns flow, annotated by, "If you have something nice to say, then say it without hesitation," and, "Don't be shy to be yourself."  Honestly, my "protocol" now consists of things like, "Make mental note of things that they like so you can get them a present later!" and "Introduce yourself to everyone you talk to, no exceptions allowed!" and "Make them feel as special as possible so that they remember this conversation with fond thoughts later!"  Everything feels like it's lined with sunshine right now, and that's such a relief to me!  Whew!

It makes me smile while writing this, and it's so lame, yet I like that.  I like that a lot.  

I need more posts that are just brimming with positive energy!  After all, concentrating on the silver linings is much easier when you're actually concentrating on the silver linings.

You stole my heart like a thief in the night -
stopped in your tracks in the middle of a fight.
To make it right, let the brimstones burn.
I’ll let you live yours, now let me have my turn.

- Theophilus London, Why Even Try

-+-

"Why?"
"Because you're exemplary." 
"No.  No, I'm not." 

-+-

I heaved a sigh.  I am yet to tell if it was out of relief or exasperation, or if it was out of sadness and regret.

As I looked in the mirror, it resonated in the forefront of my mind, over and over again.  It keeps ringing, not like a bell, but like an alarm.

"You didn't tell him out of strength, and you didn't see him because you're some iron woman.  Why are you doing this?  This isn't about 'moving on,' this isn't about a 'leap of courage,' and this isn't about 'not losing time.'  You did it because you're weak and you're afraid.  You're afraid, so you destroyed what you built and you killed what you had because it scared you, so you had to close that door, and you made sure that you closed it forever.  

You didn't do it because you had to answer your questions.  You did it because you were afraid of your questions.  So you suffocated them.  You forced the answer to be no, because you are so afraid of not only yes, but of what you're asking in the first place.  It's one thing to be afraid of being human.  But I honestly wonder: 

is it because you think you don't deserve to be human?

...

You have to stop fucking up."

I have no options left but to move forward.  And as empty as it feels: mission accomplished, I guess.  It's not that I lack the luxury of looking back.  It's that I murdered it with my bare hands.

I heaved a sigh.  I'm already so exhausted.

Whether I'm ready or not - it's time to take you on, spring semester.

Love's sinking in the sand,
petals falling on demand.
My feet are running like the wind.

- Little Dragon, Ritual Union

-+-

I'm very prudent by nature, so I grew up with extremely minimal contact with alcohol.  I've never really partaken in that dimension of the college culture - the only experience I had was a college party freshman year where all I did was help a girl throw up in the bathroom all night and try to keep my roommate from making out with everyone.  So I've ever wielded any particular interest for any part of it.  I didn't care for alcohol or partying at all.  So for most people, it's not really something worth writing about.  But when I finally tried dipping my toes in that water, it was a very monumental, new experience for me.

My Bro and I sat there, leaning against his bed, with him just teasing me about how uninformed I am, and I laughed, "I am the worst 21-year-old ever.  I have no idea about anything.  I feel like I need to be better at being 21."  He took me to Raley's and we scoped out the liquor section, and when I went, "OH! A gin and tonic?!" he replied, "I'm surprised that you know what a gin and tonic is, to be honest," and I added, "I'm surprised too, actually." Yep.

Eventually, I would learn that I am actually a really ridiculous drunk.  I always expected myself to be some fantastical creature of rainbows and unicorns, who is somehow even happier than I normally am.  I'd be that joyous, jolly drunk that dances jigs on the counter and strikes everyone in song.  At first, that really is what I do.  It's just funnier and more sarcastic, more vulgar and more free.

But when I actually get drunk, imagine the most obnoxious, irritating person you have ever met - the person that makes you want to ram a shiv in their eye every single time that they dare take a breath, let alone open their mouth to talk.  That is who I evidently become.

When I was challenged, I became insanely aggressive.  I cursed outrageously - conversations become riddled with "shit" and the F-word.  A guy hit on me, and before even exchanging names, I yelled at him, "HEY. SUCK IT!"  Later, I verbally smacked down my sister in an extraordinarily arrogant manner, and afterward she would constantly tell me, "I was... about to kill you."  I was selectively remembering the argument - I thought I was being some logical creature who stated everything matter-of-factly and was accurately describing my personal views, whereas Sober Designated Driver Sister brought me to the revelation that I was actually just acting like the biggest douche of the universe.  Which is the reason of all my emo posts yesterday - I thought I was acting sincerely, and I had no idea I suddenly had this hugely annoying god complex who was completely inaccurate about all the things that I actually believe in.  She called me a monster and she called me a robot because I was, well, kind of being the biggest douche in the universe.

And when I meet new people whilst drunk, it's this horrific monstrous version of my natural social butterfly nature.  Any normal day, I can't even make impressions of a "valley girl" accent.  It hurts my soul and my brain cells every time I even give it a thought.  Then I drink a few mimosas and a long island iced tea, and all of the sudden my natural voice during first impressions with everyone at the bar becomes: "Oh. My. God!  That is so cute, oh my god, that is so interesting!  My name is Christa and my sister's name is Christine, isn't that amazing?!  Our parents are so creative!  Oh my god, I LOVE Big Bang Theory!  Oh my god, I LOVE Sheldon, he like, makes that show!  Oh my god, that is so funny!"  I remembered it all as just normal conversation, so which is also why I was so confused and affected by my sister's disgust at my social interactions.  I had no idea that I was actually... being an enormously dumbass ho-bag.

My sister spent the entire day after making impressions of Stupid Idiot Drunk Valley Girl Christa and I washed in shame.  I would rebut, in my usual flustered high-pitched voice, "OH MY DEAR GOODNESS, I swear to god, I am NOT like that when I actually meet people.  Holy crap, NO.  No no no.  Oh my god, I am earnestly an intelligent human being, I SWEAR."

She adds, "Dude.  You're not allowed to socially drink.  You're such a total bitch, dude.  Everyone that would be around you would not want to be your friend anymore, because they would all go, 'Man, she's a bitch.'"

I then tell her, "So I'm trying to accurately describe myself when I'm drunk, and it's apparently... annoying, obnoxious, flirty, arrogant, aggressive, idiotic valley girl."

She replied, "Yep.  Sounds about right."

When my housemate later asked me about how was my first time socially drinking, I said, "Haha, yeah!  It was an... experience.  But my overall conclusion is that it's not... really my thing."

SOML.