Hello, everyone!

Well, I am almost twenty! And, as ridiculous as this may seem, it kind of makes me feel old. Less than a week from now I will no longer be a teenager. Which means that a whole bunch of dreams I had as a kid are officially out. For example:

How cute is she!

I will never get to be a flower girl. Now, you might be thinking, “Really, Marni! You’ve held onto this dream for 19 YEARS? GET OVER IT!” But it was sad watching my flower girl potential disappear. And, for the record, I would have ROCKED as a flower girl in my prime. 

Undeniable cuteness right there, my friends!

But no! I was never invited to a wedding. And all this went unused!

Use it or lose it, I guess.

(I’d like to point out that dorm lighting is not exactly flattering).

Anyhow, I’m too old now. I’m in that place between sparkly nail polish and a subscription to AARP. Incidentally, I read this issue of the magazine while dog sitting and found it pretty enjoyable. 

I loved Martin Sheen as President Bartlett on the West Wing. It made me want to be a valedictorian and attend an Ivy League university. My plan was to use the law to change the world. And to have a closet full of black suits. That's one phase I'm glad I've grown out of--now I can write and have fun instead of pulling all-nighters reading legal briefs.

There are some things I hope I haven’t passed yet, though. Like a surprise party. I always wanted someone to take the initiative to kidnap me on my birthday. (Note: this is directed at my friends not to someone who will likely star in an episode of To Catch A Predator.)  Have a group of awesome people haul me off somewhere in Portland where we have adventures that might have to be abridged on this blog. Maybe have it so that we all have to stay in our Halloween costumes! 

Just a thought. Or a hint. Whatever you want to call it . . .

On a different note, I’m sorry it has taken me this long to update my blog. I promise to try and blog more responsibly in the future. And do adventurous things in the meantime . . . like sneak photos of my roommate cuddling with her boyfriend that I am prohibited from posting but which are completely adorable. I guess that just goes to show that age is just a number  . . . and I’m done counting.

More later.

Obsessively yours,

Marni

Hello, everyone!

So, I attended a very tasteful memorial service Sunday night. A group of us gathered by the Lewis & Clark reflecting pool to pay tribute to the passing of Huck Finn, my old roommate’s fish.

RIP Huck Finn. You will be missed!

Now, you might be wondering who on earth has a Viking Funeral for a fish but Huck was not just any old fish. He was full of personality (well, for a fish anyways). Kate and I were never sure whether he had kicked the bucket so we had to constantly check to make sure he was still alive. Good times.

Anyhow, the service was great. We were all trying to keep a straight face, but we couldn’t stop laughing. The eulogy was well delivered though and Kate and I both said some words about the deceased before she set a piece of wood with a goldfish cracker on fire.

A beautiful location for a fish funeral.

Then we all sang “Amazing Grace” while we watched the flame sputter and go out. The crazy thing is that funeral was possibly the highlight of my weekend. I spent most of it writing (things other than my essays. I know, bad Marni) watching television, and checking out things in Nordstroms with a friend that neither of us could ever afford (although the other shoppers found our advice most helpful). It was a fun weekend but in some ways it was a lot like Huck Finn. Nice at the time, nothing really to write home about, and once it’s gone you realize how freaking lame your life is. Or in my case, just how hellish my week will be thanks to my procrastination.

Think good thoughts for Huck and me, please!

More Later.

Obsessively yours,

Marni

P.S. Still no word from Cory Monteith. Doesn’t he realize what we have is real? Apparently not.

Hello, everyone!

Good news, my essay was pushed back! Now I get to procrastinate more with a much more interesting blog post than the last. I got some feedback that I dropped the ball. Which is flattering in a way since it means people care enough about my blog to be irritated when I don’t deliver some high quality stuff. But a little scary because I’m getting the feeling that if I don’t make this post great someone (or several someones) might attack me. And these people know where I sleep. And eat.  

So, I’ll skip to the exciting part of tonight. For the first time, I watched a movie with the Lewis & Clark Film Club. Now, this might surprise you since I love movies and friends and the club has both of those things. But usually they pick weird films that I have no interest in seeing whatsoever.  

Anyhow, the pick for tonight was Hitchcock’s famous Rear Window starring Jimmy Stewart and Grace Kelly which I saw in high school and remembered fondly. So, I said “Why not! A little suspense sounds like fun.” And for a while I had a blast as I stared longly at all the awesome clothes Grace Kelly wears in the film.  

Which was satisfying for about fifty minutes and then things started really getting intense. I began to get jumpier, to squirm in my seat, and to mutter things to the characters. I was too nervous to even keep whispering with the girls about how none of us would ever climb over a fence and then break into someone’s apartment in a tight dress and heels . . .   

And then the killer returned to find Grace Kelly snooping in his apartment! That was when I really started freaking out. Which meant by the time that Grace signals that she has evidence that the guy really did kill his wife I was grabbing onto my friend Kelsi and trying not to hyperventilate.   

So when it was just poor Jimmy Stewart alone in the apartment trapped in his wheelchair with the murderer drawing nearer I completely lost it. We’re talking head in jacket, curled up in a ball, rocking back and forth, stifling down panicked laughter, and chanting “No! No! No!”  as if that would make it all better, lost it. My friends let me cling to them and started patting my head and telling me to calm down. But that’s not easy to do when YOU DON’T WANT JIMMY STEWART TO DIE BECAUSE HE PICKED UP THE STUPID TELEPHONE AND GAVE HIMSELF AWAY!  

Anyhow, I doubt I’ll be seeing another film club movie any time soon. In fact, after this I seriously doubt that they will invite me ever again. I’m just lucky that my former RA is the one running the whole thing and wouldn’t let anyone kill me just to shut me up. And now, I’m going to call it a night. Hopefully, this entry was exciting enough for everyone. If not, well, I have a plan . . .

"Don't mess with Marni"

I’ll sic the killer on you!

More later.

Obsessively yours,

Marni

Hello, everyone!

Sometimes I feel like I should be a cartoon character holding a “yikes” sign.

Only I haven't found any worms in my apples.

This is never more true than on a Wednesday afternoon. Because that’s when I face all the homework I have for Thursday. And that’s just brutal. See, I have 3 STRAIGHT HOURS of Lyell Asher (the GPA Slasher). No, I did not come up with this nickname–I wish I had though.

My Thursday goes something like this:

8:30–Cell phone alarm goes off. Find myself sleeping on it. Not comfortable. Ignore it.

8:50–Cell phone alarm goes off again. Open eyes slowly.

This girl did not wake up on top of her cell phone! You can tell.

9:10–Realize that I have class in 20 minutes and have not finished the reading. Scramble around my room while simultaneously trying to remember important details about dead male poets.

9:30–Take the evil reading quiz and discover, much to my chagrin, that I remember absolutely nothing. Wonder if it is possible for someone to be stupider after reading Sidney’s Defense of Poetry. Also why I had to memorize the first eighteen lines of Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales in Middle English. Highly doubt this will impress anyone.

11:10–Class is dismissed and everyone else leaves the room. I remain in my seat waiting for the older Shakespeare kids to show up. Pretend not to be intimidated.

11:30–Yet another reading quiz. Evil, I tell you! They’re freaking diabolical!

12:30–Stomach grumbles. Stare at clock and will it to go faster so that I can eat lunch. If anything the clock slows down.

1:00–Freedom! Lunch, last minute homework, and hanging out with friends.

3:30–Psych! Try to figure out what is wrong with me. Have an embarrassingly long list of conditions I might possibly have. Do not show this list to anyone as they would surely call me a hypochondriac. Perhaps should add that to the list.

5:00–Dinner. Yes, this is insanely early. But the alternative is to go to my room first and homework is waiting for me there.

6:00–Procrastinate. Tell myself that I will stop procrastinating. Do not stop procrastinating.

6:30–Talk to my mom. Tell her I am about to apply myself and will really get my work done. Do neither of those things.

9:00–Begin homework. Hate Walt Whitman because he rambles and I’d rather be sleeping than deal with his narcissism. (Note–Hating Walt Whitman is not a very popular position to take. This was made clear to me in my American Lit class. That’s right, I am in three literature courses. I wonder if Obsessive Bibliophilia is a condition that will be discussed in Psych.)

Please tell me you're thinking of getting an editor, Walt. Because you need one. Really.

 And that’s a typical Thursday. I should probably come up with a really great lie to spice things up. Like between 11 and 12 a.m. Cory Monteith and I discuss what’s going on in our lives over Facebook. He is quite impressed with my Middle English. How’s that for exciting?

Anyhow, as busy as Thursday is it’s actually easier than Wednesday. Since Wednesday is when I have to do all the homework for my classes. Which is why I should not be writing this post right now but rather working on an 7-8 page essay on Marlowe’s Hero and Leander for, you guessed it, Lyell Asher.

Which, for the record, I haven’t even started. And worst of all, I don’t have much of an opinion on. That means that I really can’t afford to procrastinate any longer. Who wants to bet that I’ll find a way to put it off anyways? Mom, since I know you’re reading this, I’ll get it done I swear.

I better go . . .

That’s all for now, folks!

More later.

Obsessively yours,

Marni

Hey, everyone!

So the general consensus was that I should send Cory Monteith a message via Facebook.

I couldn't resist adding another photo

Which was exactly what I did after consuming massive amounts of sugar pretty late at night. With the encouragement of one of my friends I produced the following message:

Hi Cory,

I can’t believe Katie showed you my post but I’m glad that you are entertained by it. I’m comforted by the fact that people have probably said crazier things about you/to you . . . although I can see why that might make you feel awkward. Anyhow, you seem like a really nice guy and I promise if you friend me I will not write stalkery things on your wall. No pressure though.

Sincerely,

Marni 

P.S. You have excellent taste in girls. Katie is a sweetheart.

Okay, so maybe the last line could have been omitted. But it’s so true. I mean, she’s a kindergarten teacher who cares about dolphins being killed in China. She even has that whole naturally pretty thing going for her.

It’s funny though, since I remember freaking out right before I met her. My brother had never really brought home a girl before so I wanted to make a good impression. Even then I was picturing the two of them married. And she was going to like me or I was going to die trying. Yeah, sometimes I can be a bit . . . ridiculous. Anyhow, I grilled Jordan into telling me her dessert of preference–only to panic when he said cheesecake.

There are some things I can bake, but cheesecake is not on this (limited) list. In desperation, I called in for reinforcement. So my Grandma and I did a practice run cheesecake. Essentially she told me what to do and I pretended like I understood what was going on. It was delicious and my Grandma left for LA a few days before Katie and Jordan were to arrive confident in my cheesecaking abilities.

The night before, I got down to business and promptly messed everything up. I accidentally doubled a few ingredients and ended up throwing all the oreo graham crackers I had into the crust to soak up the butter. Then I set the oven several hundred degrees higher than I was supposed to.

My mom was watching a movie but luckily, after much begging, she agreed to check on my cheesecake. I remember her shriek when she saw the oven temperature. By this point I was exhausted, confused by the instructions, and panicking over my unfinished homework for AP US history (which I had first thing the next morning). I was a total mess. I kept saying “Oh my god, she’s going to hate me! Jordan’s girlfriend is going to try the cheesecake and she’s going to hate me.”

Everything worked out though. Turns out whatever I threw into that cheesecake was just right since Jordan swears its the most delicious cheesecake he’s ever had.  And he ended up hoarding it so he wasn’t just trying to protect my feelings either. Katie loved it too, not that she would have hated me  even if it had been disgusting . . . probably.

My cheesecake was not quite this pretty but I bet it tasted better!

This is why Marni really needs to go to sleep at a reasonable hour. And to avoid sending embarrassing messages to television stars.

I’ll be sure to keep everyone posted on any new developments!

More later.

Obsessively yours,

Marni

Hello, everyone!

Most of you are probably familiar with the “Oh Marni!” In fact, I’m guessing that at one time or another most of you have probably said it. See that’s the response I am usually met with when I inadvertently do something ridiculous. Examples of “Oh Marni” moments include the time I tripped over my own feet in the cafeteria and somehow knocked the cane out of the hand of a blind boy.

Whoops!

Or the time when due in part to a head cold I mistook a certain green substance in my roommate’s possession for old tea and threw it out. Yeah, she wasn’t too happy with me when she returned to campus after Thanksgiving break to find it gone.

I did apologize profusely. Live and learn, I guess . . .

 You might think that after years of being “Oh Marni”ed and then writing an autobiography that includes some embarrassing stuff that I might be used to it by now.

Plenty of embarrassing stuff in here . . .

The truth is though, that no matter how many times I do something that defies words and reduces my friends to “Oh Marni!” I never see the next “Oh Marni!” coming. Take this blog, for example. When my editor, Debbie, told me that she was setting up a webpage and a blog for me, I was so excited. What better way to communicate with my (gasp) fans! And yes the idea of having fans really is that shocking to me. So I started writing . . .

I'm so grateful for technological advancements.

 without realizing just how many people were going to read this blog. And people are reading it. Obviously, since that’s what you’re doing right now. But it never hit me just how many people until my friend Branden told me that he and his roommate Will read my new posts to each other before they go to sleep.

I'm choosing to be flattered rather than creeped out.

What does this have to do with the latest “Oh Marni!” moment? I’m getting there.

You guys remember my last post about Cory Monteith from Glee?

I'm guessing this will jog your memory.

Remember how I mentioned that he used to date my brother’s bride-to-be? Well, she felt the need to share my post with him.

The happy couple scouting out wedding locations in Thailand.

Which I think is hilarious. Although Katie is so sweet even if I didn’t find it funny I wouldn’t be able to be mad at her. Anyhow I came back to my room after a long day of classes to find this in my inbox from Katie:

I talked to Cory yesterday and told him about your blog Marni (sorry). Here is his reply:
“omg thats hilarious and awesome! she sounds so sweet! i’m actually blushing.
how are you? how’s life? hope you’re well!” 

And I burst out into hysterical laughter. Just ask my roommate, she’ll verify. Because I never thought that he would actually read my blog. Or that he would have such a nice response to it. I’m guessing that when you are starring in a popular tv show (seriously people, Glee is excellent. You all should be watching.) that having people you don’t know post pictures of you on their blog might be a bit disconcerting. Especially when they mention having children with you in a potentially joking manner. So I’m glad that he chose to be flattered instead of creeped out too. He seems like a really nice guy!

Now you might be wondering why I am blogging about this. Since he might read it again . . . Hi Cory! But I thought you guys might want to examine the end of the message with me. If you’ve read this far on a Monday night, I’m guessing you don’t have anything better to do. So, here’s where my English Minor side goes into overdrive. When he said “how are you? how’s life? hope you’re well!” that was directed at Katie, right? This seems like a safe assumption since in the second sentence I’m referred to as “she”. Can I pretend to not have noticed this difference and send a friend request on Facebook? Something along the lines of “Hey Cory, you’re future wife here.” Except, you know, far less stalkery? Or by even mentioning this here have I foiled a potentially genius plan?

I’m curious to hear what you guys think so please post your opinions either on the blog or on my Facebook page. And if words fail you, I will accept “Oh Marni!” as a response. To send the friend request or not to send the friend request . . . that is my question. Now I better get back to my Shakespeare homework. 

More later.

Obsessively yours,

Marni

Hello, everyone!

Well, I hope this blog has removed the notion that I live a fast-paced life. To be honest, most of the time I feel like I’m meandering through my day. Which is nice, don’t get me wrong, but sometimes I crave adventure. So today I made a bet with my good friend Heather Bailey.

She's pretty much the coolest person ever.

Heather is one of those friends from high school that I will still be talking to when I am in my late forties. And we plan to stay in the same retirement center in our nineties.

This is so going to be us. I'll be the one showing more leg.

Heather and I have a tendency not to do things over the weekend. Or during the week for that matter. We do homework, watch The Office, listen to great indie rock music, and repeat. So to get out of our rut we made a little bet to see which one of us could have the most exciting Saturday night. Whoever was more adventurous would receive a drink from Starbucks. Now, I admit, I have an advantage living in the dorms but I’m definitely curious to hear about her night. As for me it all started with this:

Two of my friends, Kirsten and Anna, went with me to howl at the full moon. Which was really fun since we walked down this cobblestone path and it was really dark and creepy. I felt like I was in some vampire related film as Unsuspecting Random Girl who gets all her blood drained within the first ninety seconds. 

This is what I kept expecting to see.

But we made it to the Reflecting Pool alive and we howled for all we were worth. Which inspired some people hidden in the shadows to start howling too. We then checked out a bunch of still-life paintings  in the art building before going to Kirsten’s room to watch Bridget Jones’s Diary.

A fantastic movie and an equally great book!

I love this movie, possibly too much for my own good. I sing along during Bridget’s rendition of “All By Myself” and I squirm when she humiliates herself  (which she does with alarming frequency). And at the end when she runs through the snowy streets of London in her sneakers, sweater, and leopard print underwear after Mr. Darcy, I am cheering her on.

I love the ending. That's all I'm going to say.

After the movie, the three of us found ourselves following a hilarious (and seriously inebriated boy) back to his dorm so that he could be reunited with his cell phone. We also wanted to make sure he didn’t get injured in the process, as he very nearly did when he decided to jump down a set of stairs.

Mission completed, I decided to blog, write a little, finish eating my frozen mango chunks, and go to sleep. I hope this wins me the drink.

More later.

Obsessively yours,

Marni

P.S. Oh yeah. Shocking news! Turns out my brother’s fiancee, Katie, dated the star from Glee (Cory Monteith) that I’ve been crushing on (is this too embarrassing to admit?) in Jr. High school. 

And he sings too!

All I can say is that I hope she invited him to the wedding. Because I want to meet him, and then date him, maybe have a few children . . . kidding. Or am I?

No matter what I think I can safely say that Heather and I have this to look forward to:

What more could a girl want?

So I guess I’m set.

Hello, Everyone!

I have a man in my room. He’s dashing, intelligent, and all mine!

Don't judge me!

Okay, fine. He’s Benjamin Franklin. Why, you might be wondering, do I have a Benjamin Franklin doll in my bedroom? He’s a present. That’s what my mom brought me from home. A Benjamin Franklin doll, a bunch of blankets, an extra towel, and a massage chair that the football players on my hall are enjoying. I call it the Chair of Doom after I spent too long in it once and walked doubled over like the Hunchback of Notre Dame for a week.

It wasn't pretty.

Anyhow, I love my Ben. Probably more than I would have liked the real Ben Franklin since he would sleep with just about anything that moved. Especially if it was French. The real reason that I wouldn’t have gotten along with Ben Franklin though? He didn’t like John Adams!

How can you not love John Adams? Riddle me that, Franklin!

Still, stuffed Ben and I get along very well. And for right now, that’s all the male activity going on in my room. Sad, right? Although that might be because, according to my friend Chris, Ben Franklin creeps people out. Apparently, his eyes follow Chris across the room. If anyone else has dating suggestions, I’m always all ears. Although it might end up in a book some day. Fair warning.

I did receive a gift recently that everyone has loved. The mail people at Lewis & Clark even complimented me on it. 

It's me! Kinda . . .

My wonderful editor, Debbie Reber, sent me a framed copy of my book cover. Along with hundreds of bookmarks. So now the mail people all have their own personal Louder Than Words bookmarks. Thanks Debbie for the wonderful gift!

And as a special gift to everyone who needs a good laugh, I present you with this:

The Chad is something of a player. Check out the hotties that were flocking!

And this . . .

Keepin' it real, Bro.

Oh yeah!

I’m still impressed that two football players were willing to squeeze themselves into those outfits. Especially since they put on eyeliner! I don’t even put on eyeliner. It scares me.

One wrong step and it's life as a Cyclops.

I know, I’m a wimp. But come on! I think the football players would agree that this at least is not an irrational fear. My fear of Gummy Worms though, well . . . that they might not understand.

Creepy, right?

What scares me the most right now is having to explain to my English teacher that I didn’t read Melville because there was a new episode of Glee.

Such a good show!

And that after watching the new episode I had to revisit a few of my favorite scenes from previous episodes. Specifically when the football team busts out into the Beyonce routine to Single Ladies (Put a Ring On It).

Don't let the L's fool you. This is one seriously cool, talented group of performers.

Still, I doubt that answer will satisfy my professor. So I’ll be getting back to work now . . .

More later.

Obsessively yours,

Marni