Monday, December 27, 2004

. . .

I found out this morning that the mother of my theatre prof(he treats me as though I'm a daughter, and his daughters and I have been really good friends for the past few semesters) died sometime over the weekend. We'd been expecting this for quite awhile; she was on dialysis, had a quadruple bypass in October, and had been hospitalized since then. She was on a ventilator after the surgery until she made the doctors take it out a few weeks ago; she couldn't swallow anything; her son, my prof, conviced her to have a feeding tube put in, and it was a week after the scheduled date, that the doctors finally did it. She was in a hospital over two hours from here, until my prof finally talked the doctors into moving her closer to home...last week. It's just been one mess after another, and I have hurt for that family so much over the past couple of months. I'm glad it's over. We all thought she was going to die back in October, and she's alternated between hovering-near-death and not-doing-that-poorly for the past two months...the emotional trauma of going through that so many times was horrible (she's dying! oh. no. she's doing better! no. she's dying!). I'm glad it's over and they can heal.

I'm going to the visitation and funeral tonight.

Wednesday, December 22, 2004

Christmas shopping

Old Navy, how do I love thee?
Let me count the ways...

Because of...
silky camisoles,
2 comfy pairs of jeans,
1 green
Ski Bunny shirt,
1 snuggly Aspen retro ski long-sleeve tee,
orange polo,
1 soft beige
cardigan, and
ribbon belt (which so snazzily matches exactly the beige cardigan and the lace on a camisole)

...and by far, thy most expensive item was a 16.50 polo shirt; this, truly, is why I love thee so deeply.

Tuesday, December 21, 2004

bamboo slivers under my fingernails

The Tension. Yes. This is why I'm glad I'm moving away. I'm going to miss this university, miss my people, but this constant tension at home is what makes my moving even more sensible.

I just realised, the constant presence of the rapper/deciding my major might not be the only things affecting my phobia/lack thereof. The worried, anxious part of my personality started receding at the same time I started spending all day, every day (except for saturdays) at school, instead of at home. And now it's surfacing again. Finals just got over yesterday, this is the first day of my being at home, and my nerves are already feeling shaky.

I don't want this anymore.

Monday, December 20, 2004

the weapon I'm talkin bout is mistletoe

Some freshman just detonated a fart bomb in the upper level computer lab in the library.

I totally understand the feeling behind it -- "today was my last final! woo! enough with the books and the writing of papers and the staying in this place until after it closes! enough with getting 105% on tests! enough with only getting to watch 'Seinfeld' two days a week! enough with having no social life! enough with being the teacher's pet! enough with the fluorescent lights! enough with the grimy unergonomically-correct keyboards! enough!"

but I totally don't understand the stinkiness. ICKY STINKINESS.

Sunday, December 19, 2004

no. way.

This is ridiculous. Every college teaches French, right, since it is so popular, so why should I bother to double-check the university that I'm transferring to? Oh, maybe because THEY DON'T OFFER ANY COURSES IN FRENCH. I could learn Ojibwe, Chinese, Spanish, Japanese, German, or English, though. OJIBWE. I don't WANT Ojibwe. I want FRENCH.

I did a search of the site and found a "new faculty member" who has taught english and french for 22 years, but other than that blurb (posted I-don't-know-when), there is absolutely no mention of her on the site. No course listings, no e-mail address, nothing.

Thursday, December 16, 2004

finals "week" aka THE "WEEK" FROM HELL

II down, II to go.

At my school, we no longer have finals "week." No, instead of a separate week of tests at the end of the semester, the administration has decided to have finals start on a Friday and run through a Wednesday. Why? I don't know. It doesn't make sense to me, either. I'm just grouchy about the fact that yesterday was the last day of class, and my first final was today -- apparently my astronomy class voted to have it a day early. I was at the library on campus until after 10 pm yesterday, and studied mostly all day today (with a break for a Subway run, where the white rapper turned on the charm by acting mentally retarded (he was my younger brother, Mickey, and we don't take him out much) and smushing chips in my hair) for my 5 o'clock test. I'm confident I got a high A on the astronomy final -- on my previous test in that class, I didn't get an A (my first non-A in that class), and when I opened the cover of the blue book, there was a letter in it from my professor, saying how this was "not representative of your usual work," and do I "want to talk?" and was I "just having a bad day?" Last night I talked with him, and found out that my grade thus far, even factoring in that not so great test, was an extremely high B. I told him I was planning on getting an A on the final; "I'm not arguing with that plan! I want to put another fat A on your exam." Tonight, though, when he was telling another kid and me about his plans for next semester and found out that I'm not going to be here, he threatened to not even look at my test, just give me a zero so that I can't leave. ;) He's the second professor who's threatened that. I'm going to miss it here so much. It's so cozy, so friendly...I know nearly all the professors, and they all call me by name; that campus has seemed like a home for the past two and a half years.

Today, the anthropology/sociology prof caught me sneaking into the teacher's lounge and emerging with some goodies from their Christmas feast. I tried to explain myself to her: "See, the way I look at it is, I've been here longer than a lot of the faculty..."

Tomorrow I have finals in French, and Vocal Techniques...

edit: I pestered my astronomy prof this morning about grading my test, and ran into him in the hall before lunch, when I was going to go see if he had graded it yet -- or if he'd been slacking off again. ;)
"Yes, your test is graded."
"Oh! May I see it?"
"No, you may not. Because if I let you see it, there will be no living with you anymore, because your head will be this big."
Then, he didn't even tell ME what my grade was, but instead talked with another professor who was standing there, about my grade.
"Yeah, so SHE just got 105 on my final. Not 105 points. 105 percent. Sheesh."

Monday, December 13, 2004


Poverty often leaves people with no choice other than to donate kidneys.


1. Movie Star (favorite snack food + maternal grandfather's first name): Cookie Lloyd

2. Fashion Designer (first word to your left + favorite restaurant): Windows Garden

3. Socialite (silliest childhood nickname + town where you first partied): DJ Dallas

4. "Fly Girl," e.g. "J. Lo" (first initial + first two or three letters of surname): D. Mas

5. Detective (favorite baby animal + where you went to high school): Kid Valley

6. Soap Opera (middle name + street name where you first lived): Joy Seventeenth

7. Rock Star (favorite candy + last name of favorite musician): Nutty bar Martin

^ Heidi's was cooler.

feeear me

A bit ago, I mentioned the fact that I hadn't been able to wash my face with my eyes closed for a very long time, out of fear someone would come up behind me and push my head into the sink and drown me in warm water laced with Oil of Olay Sensitive Skin Foaming Face Wash. For the past two months, I've gotten consistently better, and I can now wash my face with my eyes closed, like, every single night. This is amazing!! I've been wracking my brain, trying to come up with a reason, and I can only think of two things that are different than before:

  1. I've decided on a major
  2. The constant presence of a white boy rapping.

Whatever it is, I'm not complaining. It's amazing, this being able to live without such choking fear.


As of today, my parents have been married for thirty-five years. Thirty-five. Wow.

Sunday, December 12, 2004


Make love not spam.

holiday cheer 1.0

There's something horribly disturbing in the fact that after my brother told me he had to "go drop a few logs" and headed for the bathroom, I heard him whistling Christmas carols, the wonderful acoustics of the bathroom accentuating the slightly off-pitch notes.

Seasons 1 & 2

K: "So Newman called me again last night at three in the morning saying he was going up to the roof to kill himself."
J: "So what did you tell him?"
K: "I said, 'Jump!'"

When I move away and have a pet, I will name him "Kramer." And he will be my Kramer.

I messed with my hair with scissors again. Everytime I think about it, it sounds like a good idea, until I actually do it. I just get an itching for the feeling of cutting my hair sometimes. I can't believe this. What am I, FOUR?

I watched almost all of SNL last night, and enjoyed it so much -- though it isn't as great without Jimmy Fallon, and why do people keep talking about Lindsey Lohan's boobs? Are they really that interesting? I don't think so...but maybe that's just me.

Wednesday, December 08, 2004


How adorable.

death throes

I've been frantically busy. In the past week, I've written a paper, given a presentation, performed piano and voice in two concerts, painted an entire set for a play, helped run lights, and last night I had half an hour of Seinfeld before I got to fall asleep in the nook, snuggled up on my side with two fleece blankets to keep warm and a pillow nestled against my back. I hadn't felt that relaxed for a couple of weeks, and it was wonderful.

art prof: "I'm getting old. I...I don't like getting old."
me: "That's ok Don, you can still come play Spin-the-Bottle with us anytime."

The semester is winding down; my astronomy presentation is over, as of last night; the library is open an extra hour at night until finals are finished. The set from the last play is stuffed into the shop, half dismantled; the stage has little green splotches of paint all over and needs to be repainted. The professors are getting more boisterous; the students are getting quieter -- scared out of their minds thinking about finals.

When I'm nervous, anxious, or distressed, I play piano. It's a temorary escape; it allows me to take the hurt from inside my mind and give it to the instrument, so I don't have to think about it for a while. Yesterday I sought solace from the piano in the Fine Arts Center, and this led to a new arrangement of "What Child is This," one of my favorite Christmas songs (that and "O Holy Night"). When my hands work out something that sounds nice, I have to keep playing it.

I have a babysitting job tonight, and I am SO glad.

Sunday, November 21, 2004

requiem for a nightmare

Around two o'clock, I find myself in a town about an hour south of here, ensconced in a not-so-comfortable theatre chair, a little jittery with anticipation. The orchestra files out onstage, sans concertmaster, and the choir floods out and claims the risers. Lights dimming, conversation in the auditorium dropps off to a trickle. From the very first swipe of the director’s baton, the beginning strains of the Introit and Kyrie rolling over the audience to fill every corner of the auditorium, I have severe goosebumps. There's always been something about Mozart's Requiem (his last piece, not even finished before he died in 1791) that overwhelms me. It's so dark, so deep, so amazingly powerful. I feel dwarfed by its presence; it makes my forearms prickle, chills zip up my spine, and tears fall down my face.

. . .
(change of tenses inevitable)
. . .
Later, I was on my way home and turned on the radio to the sound of the ancient newscaster's drone -- he always sounds slightly mechanical, and his voice didn't sound any different today, delivering the newsflash. About forty minutes from where I live, a guy in camo with a rifle was traveling around on an ATV, SHOOTING HUNTERS. He killed five and injured three more. I totally freaked out. I thought my theatre god was hunting in those woods today, and I felt like I was going to throw up. I text-messaged him (O, CRUEL ADDICTION!) and felt sick until twenty minutes later when I got a call. He's safe, and I'll see him tomorrow. I hadn't been that worried about anything for a long time...anything real, that is. I worry about tests and projects and trivial stuff all the time, but this was something so much more important...a life. the life of a human being to whom I'm close. During those 20 minutes, my mind raced and acted out many scenarios. I wondered what it'd be like if he had been shot. What would I do? Would I still take my French test tomorrow, or would I be in the downstairs lounge at the student center, wrapped in a blanket and crying my eyes out? Would people leave me to mourn alone, would they understand my grief, or would I go nothing? What would his family do...his father...his older brother...his 90 year-old grandmother? He is just one human, but he has touched so many people. If something happened to him, who would I sit by in theatre class? Who would wink at me after every test? Who would gloat over beating me at my own game? Who would leave stuff on my windshield for me when I've had a long day? Who would go for walks with me and laugh at the cold nika who's wearing his jacket that completely engulfs her body all the way down to her fingertips?

I don't know. And now, I'm relieved I don't have to figure it out.

Wednesday, November 10, 2004

amelie and magical girlfriends

Magical girlfriend: [ma-ji-kul gurl-frend] Unable to be detected by normal humans, a Magical Girlfriend is discernible to only a best friend, and startles/dismays everyone else when she appears out of thin air.

When/if I ever snag a boyfriend, I'd darn well better not be a magical girlfriend. he'd better talk about me, at least drop a hint, at least let the "g" word pass through his lips sometimes. there is only one thing I dislike more than magical girlfriends, and that is brushing my teeth in front of people. this is serious.

In the movie "Amelie," the young woman (Amelie, heh) finds pleasure in bringing special beauty into the lives of those who surround her, in the form of little surprises, left anonymously. I feel like Amelie tonight, as I prepare a 7-track CD I'm going to slip into someone's backpack tomorrow (undetected, please oh please! leave your backpack -- unattended -- where you usually leave it when you go to lunch!). sneaky sneaky, O Bestower of Beautiful Music on Unsuspecting Masses.

Sunday, November 07, 2004

weekend quotes

"It's all about the hat."
"So I should get a baseball hat!"
"You could...but could you look this good?"

"A vote for Nader is a vote for soul."

Theatre class instructor: "During the Italian Renaissance, people didn't go to the theatre to watch the play. No, they got all dressed up in all their finery, in these amazing outfits, and they went to be seen."
"That's the only reason I come to class. To be seen."


Friday night and all day Saturday, I was a middle-school counselor at a camp; all the 12 year olds in my cabin got crushes on two of the male counselors, Dustin and Josh. Last night we were praying before they left, and I started the prayer, asking for safe travel, etc., and then anyone who wanted to pray, could. Kelsey prayed, Mariah prayed, Kerryn prayed, and then I heard Mariah's voice again.
"God, thank you for Dustin."
They were already giggling, and I couldn't help speaking up...
..."God, thank you that Dustin and Josh are so HOTT."

Wednesday, November 03, 2004

wherein realization strikes me like a lightning bolt

While lying on the living room floor at one AM, watching NBC and waiting for votes to be counted, I suddenly saw truth:

At times,
John Kerry looks like an old, wrinkly Hugh Grant .


I exercised my democratic right to vote yesterday between my com and astronomy classes. I am so tired of political banter and disgusted by the rude, disrespectful way people treat the candidates (yes, I know I said that that one quiz about John Kerry made me throw up a little. I subsequently issued him an apology). I'm glad it's over; my mom and dad's BushCheney04 lawn signs are down now, and my school is no longer divided. The last few days, Kerry waged a good battle, and was a good loser. His speech today was amazing, and I was very proud of him. Proud to live in America. Clap, people. It's over, and we all have another four years of Bush.

Saturday, October 30, 2004


How lucky I am that the multiple thousands of dollars of debt that I've racked up playing Vegas-style solitaire on my computer in the middle of the night isn't real.

I just went to CompareDecideVote and I am evenly divided between Bush and Kerry. Freak me out. I have a knot of anxiety in my stomach over this election similar to the knot of anxiety in my stomach over surgery this spring. What if I vote for the wrong one?

Friday, October 29, 2004

Get on my bad side 1.0

Seduce college students into voting for you by serving them JonBonJovi and Bruce Springsteen as delectable side dishes to your pathetic speeches. VOTE FOR ME - I BRING ROCK STARS TO YOUR CAMPUS.

Tuesday, October 26, 2004

differing opinions and complete respect

There's a guy on campus whom I've been getting to know over the past semester. Patrick's been attending there nearly as long as I have, and though I knew who he was, we'd never spent time talking or anything...until this semester. I'm having a wonderful time getting to know him, and I respect him more than just about anyone else I've ever known -- on campus and off. One thing I respect about him is that he is so meticulous, thoughtful, and well-informed. He's voting for Kerry in this election, knows I'm not, and we don't argue about it. He doesn't try to change my mind; but when he finds information from a reputable source that shows Bush to not be a good leader, he makes the information available to me, and vice versa.

The other day, there was a girl in the learning lab on the computer between us who said that she was just fed up with this whole election and isn't going to vote. Pat was horrified. "You're not going to vote?!" Right. She isn't going to vote. "Why?" She didn't have a real answer. "One of the worst things you can do is not vote. [he gestured to me] D's voting -- she and I are not voting for the same person, but I am glad she's voting."

There was a debate on campus yesterday between the democratic incumbent for a position in Madison, and her opponent. The incumbent was horribly rude, obnoxious, arrogant, and loud. I couldn't stand her. When her opponent was stating his case, she was crossing her arms and acting like he wasn't worth listening to; when she talked, she pointed her finger at him and yelled and was a total jerk. Afterwards, I went up to the republican, shook his hand, thanked him for coming -- "You are SO getting my vote." heh. He seemed taken a little off-guard.

In the crush of 225 people pushing for the doors, Pat and I ended up next to each other, and as we went into the hallway, I noticed the College Republican's table set up, with a roll of 4"x3" BUSH CHENEY 04 stickers sitting on it. We said goodbye, and then I doubled back to the table, snatched a sticker, and put it on his backpack...without him noticing. Unfortunately, his older brother (who's a prof) saw, thought it was funny but that I was going to get myself in trouble, and alerted Pat as to what was on his backpack. I was far away by this time, heh. :P

Later, I walked into the Learning Lab to check my e-mail; Patrick was there. I struck up a conversation... "Hey, Pat, I just wanted to tell you how thrilled I was to see you sporting a BUSH CHENEY 04 sticker earlier. I know they would be thrilled to know that they have your full support this election." One thing I adore is his sense of humour -- he totally didn't miss a beat.

"Yes. I know some people might be surprised by it, but, you know, I've thought about it a lot, and I've realised it was the only logical decision to make. ... That, or some [D] character put it on my backpack."

suburban roadkill

suburban roadkill
pours forth its powdery guts
onto the white lines,
dusting passing tires with
chalky graininess.

Monday, October 25, 2004

The count is up to 5

Two more A's today. French and Astronomy (!!!!!!).

Since I'm not a seasoned user of bad language, I'm just plain thrilled.

Friday, October 22, 2004

Quote Book & 150%

Recently, I began keeping Quote Book. Quote Book is gradually being filled with funny, thought-provoking, interesting, and otherwise noteworthy quotes I hear throughout my day -- usually from people at school. Quote Book gains a few new quotes every weekday...what can I say? I know some pretty darn interesting people.

Recent additions to Quote Book:

  • "Why? Because I'm a nerd, that's why." - MSP
  • "I'm pretty sure that's what's holding my car together -- bumper stickers." - KJF
  • "I don't have the money to put you all on a plane for somewhere fun and warm and where the legal drinking age is seventeen." - MSP
  • "A mind is not a vessel to be filled, but a fire to be kindled." - Plutarch
  • "You know the proverb, 'All things come to he who waiteth'? I like to amend that...I say, 'All things come to he who waiteth and worketh like hell while he waiteth.'" -MSP

Middleface to this post: You know, I'm not against bad language. In fact, I think there is a time and a place for it...but obviously not all the time, everywhere. I'm glad that I have this viewpoint, because if I used bad language all the time, what on earth would I say when confronted with something really awful?

I had a really, really good conversation with ms-prof and a buddy of mine tonight; we talked for nearly two hours after class finished. The main focus of our discussion was on how the public school system is so obscenely dumbed-down; how students are applauded for anything they do, whether or not their work is good and worthy of praise; how undiscipline, mediocrity, and poor work has become so accepted. This brought to the surface so much stuff for me; I am so sick of being surrounded by people who do half-assed work and then get mad at me when I do well. Case in point: Today I received my third A in French class. There is a girl in my class who makes a point of asking me how I do on the tests and, when I tell her, gets so miffed and acts like such a jerk. I figure if she didn't want to know, she shouldn't've asked. If she wanted to do well in that class, she should be in the Learning Lab by 8:30 each morning, getting things taped, making flashcards, too; yes, I have a natural propensity for languages, but I still work my butt off, to ensure good grades. She can study and be a good student, or, fine. She is welcome to wallow in her mediocrity, but I want her bad attitude to leave me and my A's alone.

I love doing well in school. A couple semesters ago, I was working 43+ hours a week in an incredibly high-stress environment, and taking 18 credits. There was no time to study, as I was in school from 8:30 am through 3 pm, and worked from 3 until 10:30 or later; I live half an hour away, so a usual day involved me being out from 7:45 AM until 11:15 PM or so. I cannot exist on fewer than six hours of sleep; I get physically ill (and, um, why am I sitting here instead of sleeping? I got two hours of sleep last night because I was so stressed out about my French test; for at least 5 days before a test, I don't sleep well, and I hardly eat anything. It's like I go through anorexic phases ten times per semester). I failed two classes. Failed. I'd never failed a class before. I totally lost all confidence in my ability as a student, and had such a low opinion of myself; I thought I was stupid -- because how else could I fail even one class? Even now, when I get straight A's, I still don't have confidence in my ability. My professors love me, they uphold me as a good example; tonight, in fact, ms-prof read aloud one of my answers (he actually didn't say it was mine, because "I don't want to embarrass [this student" but, heh, I have my answers memorized) for the test we took a week ago, and applauded it, saying it was excellent and just the kind of answer he was looking for...and that he hadn't, prior to reading my answer, even been aware of some of the facts I presented. That's what I like to hear. :D

The conversation we had tonight motivated me even more -- I am going to conquer math. Maths and sciences have never been my forte, and I thought they were just subjects that I would never understand. He told me tonight that math is a skill, math is a really good skill to have, and that being skilled in mathematics opens so many doors. Conquering math is no different than conquering a language or a musical instrument, and I have proven multiple times that I'm capable of doing those things. Tonight when I got home, I pulled out my old Algebra II book; there were some concepts in there that I still have trouble with, and I am going to figure them out. I finished my Intro to College Algebra course with a B, and I know I can do better than that. I'm sick of being intimidated by math.

Another point ms-prof made tonight that hit home was about how, when a professor tells you that you need to do that much to get a good grade on the test, why do only that much?! Why not do THIS MUCH, and have complete knowledge of the subject?

I'm starting Nicholas Nickleby, by Charles Dickens; I feel like such a sponge, wanting to soak up as much knowledge as possible.

Thursday, October 21, 2004

smellin good, man!

"I'm no longer a person!! You've reduced me from a human being with feelings, to a mere aroma."

You are so in my quote book, man.

Wednesday, October 20, 2004

ethical dilemmi

I posed an ethical question to one of my fellow SGA members today: Is it wrong to refer to a professor as "a fine specimen of manhood" and/or "eyecandy"?

Apparently not. Yay.


Guys who smell good should expect to have women sniffing their necks at frequent intervals during the day, and not shoo them away.

Tuesday, October 19, 2004

what was I thinking?!

Yesterday morning I went to the lib on campus to get Ovid's "Metamorphose" [for a wee bit of light reading]. I found it in the computer catalogue, and went to find it on the shelf, but the numbering system here is so screwed up. It doesn't make any sense. At all. So, where Ovid was supposed to be, there was a book creatively titled, "The Boston Strangler."

I checked it out.

Seriously. Me. The freakiest, most paranoid person on the planet, checked out a book on the Boston Strangler! As if I were not already looking over my shoulder enough. I read twenty pages in cafeteria, and got so freezing cold from shaken nerves that I had to put on my jacket and buy food just to warm up.

I left "Amélie" playing in my dvd player all night, so there would be light and sound in the room, and I wouldn't think that a strangler was skulking in the shadows (or at least it would cover up the sound of his footsteps, heh).

But last night, I didn't dream about being strangled. I dreamed about the Russian Revolution, when Nicholas II was ousted and he and his family were murdered; in a woods in Russia, while searching for their remains, workers found a human finger. A finger. Ew. And that is true. Anyway, this finger had centre stage in my dream -- the guy who found it found another one, too, and was going to take them home and paint the fingernails and then put one on display in his house or something [sicko]. And just then when he was holding the fingers and cackling, and a cold chill went down my spine, I woke up, clutching my pillow to myself and seriously freaking out.

Sunday, October 17, 2004

richard cory

Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him.
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.

And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
"Good-morning," and he glittered when he walked.

And he was rich - yes, richer than a king -
And admirably schooled in every grace.
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.

So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head.

-Edwin Arlington Robinson

I adore verse two especially. Verse three, because it's followed by verse four, gives me chills.

recent developments

  • I am learning how to play guitar -- I am so excited, even though it's making my tennis elbow/tendonitis flare up almost much as playing violin does.
  • I have been over at K&J's (the young couple with two kids whom I met through my mom a while ago; I mentioned K in one of my posts) house last night and the night before. They are wonderful, and K and I hit it off especially; she is so sweet, and so funny, I can't help but love her. She's older sister closer to my age. I love it! J is the one who is teaching me guitar; in return, I'm teaching him violin.
  • I think ms prof is being my friend. This is weird. Nice, but disconcerting. I feel like I need to e-mail my old music professor and admit that ms prof is not an arrogant jerk as I had once claimed (to him, my music prof, over munchies at Applebees after a concert).
  • I see Joshua Bell again in five (5) days.
  • I just might need to employ bad language in French class tomorrow.
  • I hate brushing my teeth in front of people.
  • I hate watching people brush their teeth.
  • Whenever I wash my face, I'm afraid someone is going to come up behind me and try to drown me in the sink. Friday morning was the first morning in 12 years that I have been able to keep my eyes shut during the entire face-warshing procedure -- at the cost of much mental torture. I haven't been able to do it again.


As of ten days ago, I cannot walk outside without being amazed. My breath catches in my throat, and a multitude of emotions swarm in, around, and through my being. I am in awe. I feel insignificant, yet incredibly special. Chosen.

Astronomy photos
Orion nebula

Monday, October 11, 2004

...something new each day...

Today I was taught how to say "Would you like to sleep with me" in French. It sounds so much classier in a foreign language.

Right after I learned it, I announced it to the quiet fine arts centre -- only to be horribly embarrassed when the guy washing the doors gave me a grin, "Oui!!"
"*petrified* You...know what I said?"
"Je parle français!"
"Merde!" *

* Crap, okay? Crap.

Saturday, October 09, 2004

Remember this: caveat.

Because I've gradually gotten sadder and sadder over the course of the day while thinking about stuff, I'm writing this list as a pathetic attempt to cheer myself up. Or at least lessen the sadness a trifle.

1. I went stargazing the other night.
2. My french teacher rocks.
3. Someone who used to never acknowledge that I exist, has been having deep, really good conversations with me over the past few weeks, and is making an effort to get to know me.
4. I got a box of nerds a few nights ago [nerd points] because I found Casseiopia all by myself.
5. I'm having Thanksgiving tomorrow with my family [on Thanksgiving Day, I'll be catching a flight to London].
6. I've met such a fun, sweet young married mother who lives, like, two miles from where I live.
7. I've heard the word "caveat" used twice today. Rock on.
8. Today, I listened to a lecture on the physics behind rainbows, and -- wait for it, wait for it -- actually understood it.
9. I can bake pies now.
10. Conan's on.

Tuesday, September 28, 2004

biological clock and crap

Man. I sure hope God isn't going to have me wait to get married until I'm 87 or something like that. He's put such a desire in me to get married, have a kid...and this longing just increases each time I hold a baby (TPR's 3-month-old nephew is adorable!) or see a man holding a baby. So sometimes, when I'm frustrated by the fact that I don't even have any "potentials" in my life -- well...depends on the definition of "potential." if "potential" means "the kind of guy I want to marry" then okay. I remember that God is in control...that maybe I do know The Guy already, and I shouldn't be frustrated.

I remember on the back cover of a National Geographic from the 70's, there was an ad for...I think it was Kodak...anyway, it was of a guy relaxing (shirtless), with a diapered baby in his arms, and they were just looking each other in the eyes -- anyway, I thought that was so beautiful (I was 9 when I found it, I think). Over eleven years ago. Good heavens.

My birthday was on Sunday, and I spent the day (after going to church, talking to TPR and holding his nephew -- I held a baby on my birthday. awww. I was on a baby-high for the next day and a half) with my friend, H. She and I went to a family fall fest thing (sponsored by her church) at a huge pumpkin patch in town, had food, and colored each other's hair. My hair is now a dark burgundy brown, and when the sun hits it, it's bright red. It's so fun. :D So far, the comments on it stand thus:
J - "I really don't like it." (well, that's fine. I wasn't doing it for him, anyway. :P )
H - "I love it!" (of course. she did it to me. :D )
J - "I noticed it." (amazing, coming from the most unobservant person on the planet)
TPR - "I like it." (aww. thanks, man!)

I love going to a college where I know everyone. My friend C -- recently remarried -- is more like an older brother to me, and when I see him in the morning, he gives me a huge hug, lets me smell him (his cologne is perfectly splendid), and compliments me on some aspect of my could be my hat, or dangly earrings, or a shirt, or coat, or anything. It's so nice. :)

Thursday, September 23, 2004

so, I was right.

The ring is what I thought it was -- and he got it on his 16th birthday, too. Rockin'!

Tuesday, September 21, 2004

hey Kramer, dude, you ever killed a man?

"What do you think?! Do these LOOK like hands that have been soaking in Ivory liquid?"
I like saying that in a freaky voice and holding up my hands in front of my mom's face.

Last night at 10:37, I slayed The Beast, but it regained consciousness this morning -- BRIEFLY -- when I realized I'd not alphabetized my bibliography, and had left out one source. But let me say this, I nailed a stake through that sucker's temple and mailed it out PRIORITY today.

May the rejoicing now commence. I love knowing that my evenings are my own again -- that I can watch "Amelie" and Seinfeld and do my regular homework. Without the impending doom of an 18-page research paper hindering the experience.

Today for breakfast, I invented something very tasty and proteiney. In the food processor, I blended 1/2 cup of skim milk, 6 oz of fat-free, sugar-free everything-free strawberry yogurt, 1 1/3 scoops of chocolate protein shake mix, and 5 ice cubes. Mmm. A sugar-free chocolate-strawberry smoothie. That was a nice thing after working up a nice sweat downstairs on the treadmill pre-breakfast.

Is it bad when you're so craved for sweets that you talk to the candy aisle in Walmart? Yeah, I thought so.

Monday, September 20, 2004

demon-possessed mouse

The cursor just began sliding up to the top of the screen, and I swear I didn't touch the mouse. It did it all by itself. Eew.

The head librarian here keeps a dish of hard candy sitting out on the bookshelf, and just told me that I can help myself, whenever I want. She really didn't know what she was getting into, when she said that. I can stuff my face. For free. If I wasn't on the Body for Life program. Darn. Oh well, I'll eat my dry pitas and salty cottage cheese and drink my Perrier water and pretend that it all tastes as good as root beer barrels and butterscotch thingies.

Sunday, September 19, 2004

So tell me whattya want, whattya really really want...

I'm taking a wee break from being scared out of my MIND (and my chair) from the suspense -- oh, the HORROR -- of the brilliant movie, Speed. I haven't seen it for years, and only saw a bit of it then, and now I understand The Attraction that is Keanu Reeves.

Speaking of hats, I started the Body for Life program today. It entails eating healthy food and exercising between 20 and 40 minutes a day, six days a week -- the seventh day you can eat whatever you want, and don't exercise -- for 12 weeks. At the end of the 12 weeks, I will have lost about 23 pounds, and gained nice slim, trim muscle. I'm excited. I feel better physically and emotionally when I'm thinner, and I've gained some weight recently because I've been eating when I'm stressed or anxious -- and I'm stressed and anxious, like, all the time.

Here I come, New Me!

Let the countdown begin!

Last night I purchased a ticket to go see Joshua Bell perform Vivaldi's Four Seasons in October. I'm so excited!! This will be the fourth time I've seen him in concert/met him, and the second time this year. In February, he remembered meeting me from the November a year and a half before. Uh-huh. That was fun! The man behind me in the queue to meet JB thought that I was just another teenybopper, who doesn't really know about music or Joshua Bell (except that he's cute, heh); when JB saw me, exclaimed "Oh, it's good to see you!" and stood up and gave me a huge hug -- oh boy, the look on that guy's face was priceless.

Joshua Bell, here I come!

Saturday, September 18, 2004


Late nights are harsh.

Dear God (and my family),
Please let me sleep in today. I need it. I know I slept in yesterday morning until 10:29, CST, but I'm really tired today, too. Saturdays are made for sleeping -- that's why it starts with an S.

Friday, September 17, 2004

"blarg blarg bloo, ok?" "HUH?"

A silent conversation the other night between myself and The Purity Ring, sitting 20 feet apart from each other during the science lecture, reaffirmed something I'd been suspicious of for a long time:

I'm horrible at lip-reading. So blatantly awful that we nearly burst out laughing during the lecture; something which would have been very odd indeed -- two people, one sitting in the front of the room (and supposed to be facing the front), one sitting much further back, simultanously bursting into laughter at, um, what exactly? Uh-huh. Astronomy is that funny, folks!

Wednesday, September 15, 2004

fast-acting laugh medicine

Need a laugh?

...that means YOU, Maria

TO: Maria Shriver, NBC
FROM: A Disturbed Boss, the Bossiest of All Bosses
RE: Siegfried and Roy

Ms. Shriver,

1. Don't use the word "inspiring" in the same sentence as "Roy Horn." Especially when the "Roy Horn" part is accompanied by an "is SO" which is then immediately followed by the "inspiring."

2. This morning, you used this odd coupling of words four times in two minutes. OVERLOAD!

3. I hope your cold gets better.



mom: *gasps in amazement and holds up gargantuan chicken breast*
ps37: *clutches own chest* "I feel so bloody inadequate.

Sunday, September 12, 2004

mojo, etc.

Today in church, a cute, chubby little african-american kid was sitting two rows ahead of me, and during the praise&worship time, he was really gettin down wit' his bad self. He was belting out the songs, clapping his hands and shaking his booty, loving every second of it. His brother and sister were just standing still on either side of him, but, man, HE was enjoying himself.


The rest of this is a whine.

I never used to be allergic to anything other than honeydew melon; that state lasted until I was 14 or 15, and I've been gradually acquiring other allergies. I'm allergic to a whole slew of preservatives (monosodium glutamate, sodium benzoate, potassium benzoate, potassium sorbate -- think Doritos [or any flavored chips except for SunChips], nearly all soda, almost all deli meat, KFC, pizza, barbeque sauce, nearly all asian or european cuisine served at restaurants here in the US, etc.), sodium nitrites (bacon, ham, pepperoni, anything like that), pollens (I have a headache, sore throat, and sinus problems 8 months out of the year), cats (we have three, and we are not getting rid of them), walnuts, honeydew, pineapple, kiwi fruit, corn and corn products (popcorn, corn chips, etc.), and bean plants, to name a few. I'm sick of feeling sick all the time. Ibuprofen and otc allergy stuff doesn't really help. At this rate, I'll be living in a bubble by the time I'm 25. No wonder I won't get married, Jenni.

Saturday, September 11, 2004

darn the low pressure systems

I feel awful. I've always been affected by low pressure systems, and I am so tired today. You know what it's like when you're trying to run through deep water -- it just feels like all the effort you're putting into movement totally isn't working the way it should. I just want to go lie down and sleep until this pressure system slogs its way to another part of the nation, but I can't.

I have a 15-page (not including the cover page or bibliography) paper due on the 21st of this month. Ten days away. On homosexuality. If the topic was anything else, it'd be finished by now (or at least 10 pages further along than this one is). There's only so much you can say about it -- and I've said it. Now I'm trying to think of really creative ways to tease this sucker out to the required length.

I have to write a 2-page paper for the blankety-blankety-blank-blank new music professor. I want the other music professor back. I miss my friend.

I have to stumble through another part of a chapter for astronomy -- jump in, try not to drown in it, and pull myself out with my fingernails, on the other side.

I have to memorize a song to sing for that new music professor. I so do not want to do this.

I have to read another chapter or two in my theatre book.

And I'm already terrified about midterms, which are over a month away.

Thursday, September 09, 2004

the pickup line that almost was

"Oh, wow, is that a purity ring!? I have one too, look!!" (so what are you doing Friday night?)

Thank you, Lord, for keeping my big mouth shut.

kangaroos and record lows

I don't know really what's up, but lately, I've heard/had some pretty funny things/thoughts. Or maybe having my nieces here lowered my standard of funniness. Whichever it is, I'm thoroughly enjoying it. And herein I laud my own presumed Funniness and those of People Near Me:

"Lately, my heart's been jumping like a kangaroo on steriods," was the thought that flashed across my mind, neon light zapping my retinas, as I stood refilling my water bottle.

The astronomy professor prodded a dozing student in the front row; "You're not going to die on me, are you? That'd really be a new low in the history of teaching."

The same professor exclaimed with gusto a few nights previous, "Muslims go to Mecca; nerds go to Westminster Abbey!" Thanks. I'm going there in November but you are STILL more nerd than I will ever be.

Surveying the rhinestones that spell out "Anne Klein" across my chest, "Hey, is that Braille?"

I left a message on Dad's cell just before I had to go to my astronomy class wherein the professor spent the entire hour and fifteen minutes bashing the Church: "Oh, wait, I have to go; it's almost time to enter the Chamber of Death. Love you. Bye."

Lately, we've gone through more toilet paper than a woman pregnant with triplets.

I'll spare you from the rest.

r U mY mAn?!?!?!?!?!

Inspired by Gorgeousness PersonifiedTM, Jenni herself.

My Man Must:
-be a true Christian
-have beautiful, artistic hands
-love and cherish the odd person I am
-realise that I'll have crappy days where all I want is a hug and a shoulder to cry on
-not be arrogant (die! die! die!)
-not be too macho to weep occassionally
-love worshipping the Lord
-have lovely eyes
-adore children
-[without my asking] Rub my feet when I'm pregnant
-get along well with my family
-recognize the fact that I'm an odd individual, and not try(or want) to make me change
-want to travel
-love learning
-have lovely hair, but not on his back or feet(eew!)
-get excited and put christmas decorations up in early november
-want a dog
-be nice and warm to snuggle up to
-adore my wonderful cousins
-feast on my nephew's cheeks with me

Not in any order except for the first three. Oh, and the ones about hair and snuggling and eyes and cannibalism. Those are important, and are vying for a place in the first three.

Any applicants who fit all points, please clone yourselves and spread out over the world in a network of Great Eligible Guys, so as to counteract the influx of Horrible Awful Guys.

Allons au café François!

Monsieur, Monsieur, s'il vous plait?!
Un moment, Mademoiselle...Oui, Mademoiselle, vous désirez?
Un café crème pour moi, e pour Madame, une orange pressée, s'il vous plait.
Oui. Pour Mademoiselle, un café au lâit, e pour Madame, une orange pressée, oui?
Non, Monsieur. Pour moi, un café crème, s'il vous plait; pour Madame, oui, une orange pressée, s'il vous plait.
Oui. Pour Mademoiselle, un café crème; e pour Madame, une orange pressée.
Oui, oui.
Voilà...un café crème pour Mademoiselle; e pour Madame, une orange pressée!
Merci, Monsieur!
Je vous en prie, Mademoiselle e Madame.

Monday, September 06, 2004

gobble up the babycheeks!

Oh my word. My brother&SisterInLaw's spawn are here, and the baby boy -- the youngest, clocking in at 7 months -- is the most adorable creature I've ever seen (including Spiderman, which is really hard to believe, I know). I've always been repelled by any reference to cannibalism, but let me just say that if he disappears in the night, and the leftovers are little toes and some fuzzy hair left by my pillow, it's all his fault for being so darn cute.

Thursday, September 02, 2004


After recent developments, mine eyes have been opened to a New Truth:

My love story is not being lovingly crafted by my heavenly Father.

Apparently it's in the hands of someone here on Earth.

I've been relegated to the realms of ancient spinsterhood by none other than (...wait for it, wait for it...) Jenni.

I thought she loved me!