Finally, someone who agrees!!

A hate-site for the worst, horribly over-used font ever.

the ultimate...

according to the referrals tracking on my blog, someone happened upon this site by searching yahoo for "joshua bell girlfriend."

booyah!

bzzzz

"When Sting retires, do you suppose he'll change his name to 'Stung'?"
-Colin Mochrie

phobiä

For as long as I can remember, I've been scared that someday, when I'm sitting in the bathroom, a serpent is going to slither up out of the hole in the toilet bowl and latch onto my butt. I still look in the toilet bowl before I sit down. I have no idea where that phobia came from; I don't think there's a movie I saw where that happened...

I can't wash my face without panicking that someone, while my eyes are shut because of soapy lather, is going to come up behind me and push my face into the sink, drowning me.

When I sleep, I have to have the left side of my neck covered, so I won't get shot by a poison dart. This phobia goes waaaay back, and stems from one of my parents' favourite British mysteries I used to watch with them when I was little. Come to think of it, the last one was from a mystery that I watched when I was really little, too. HMM...

I don't like shower curtains. Germs, mold, spiders, and other Questionables could be lurking in their folds, and I'm always afraid when I see a closed shower curtain -- someone could be hiding in there, or a dead person could be hanging in the shower.

I don't like clowns.

There's a midget on a QuickCash commercial around here, and he freaks me out so much. I'm just glad I know some midgets personally, otherwise, if I were only exposed to this Evil Midget, they might be on my list of phobiäe.

I'm always afraid someone is hiding behind the hanging clothes in my closet, and will come out and grab my ankle as I climb into my loft in the dark. This is why I don't turn off the lights until I'm sitting on my bed, and have surveyed the room for predators.

I don't wear scarves at night, even in the cold cold winter, because it'd make it easy for someone to strangle me.

When I'm driving and pass someone, I always have a split second of mind-numbing fear that they're going to shoot me in the head as my car pulls just ahead of theirs.

I've always been scared of not being good enough, but that's subsided a bit lately; with the knowledge that there's someone out there who isn't related to me, but thinks that I'm amazing and loves me just the way I am -- and what else has helped is the recent realisation that I'm getting straight A's. !

I'm terrified of vampires.

And wolves.

I don't like most odd or prime numbers. Except for 9. Which is odd. Not prime. Threes, fives, and sevens make me feel strange and unbalanced (Sarcastic devil: Unbalanced, did you say?).

Headline: Stress Tremors Register on Richter Scale: 4.3

I have had it up to HERE with Stress! Dad always tells me, so calmly, "Just don't let yourself get stressed." Right. That doesn't work with me. I try, but I still end up panicking. There are times when I can't see ever getting past the thing that's stressing me out. I'm amazed that it's Thursday afternoon right now, that Saturday is the day after tomorrow; there were times this week when I doubted I'd get to Saturday, because the Stress is just so BIG and DEMANDING and IN MY FACE.

Wednesday, I had to give a speech in communications, and take a fitness test in the afternoon, then drive a little over an hour each way and meet mom and dad at a gas station/subway so they could give me a check to pay the rest of tuition.

Thursday (thank God it's almost over), I had to give a presentation in my First Nations (codename for "Native American") class, take a psychology exam, and register for classes (I was supposed to register last Friday, a week before it opens up to the other undergrads, but had to pay the rest of the tuition from this semester first, and as Dad hadn't gotten paid by the morons [it's a state/government job this time], I couldn't pay yet, and couldn't register on time).

I was up until 4 AM working on my presentation; basically, we just finished reading a little book - a First Nations spiritual/inspirational guide/book, and we were supposed to pick an idea broached in the book, and present about it, expound upon it. The problem was, the authors of the book had already expounded on it to the fullest extent. There was nothing left to expound upon! (upon which to expound. sorry.) I didn't have even a glimmer of an idea of what to do, and finally fell asleep at 4 AM, dreading the 10 o'clock class. I usually have good writing ideas when I sleep, and actually remembered them when I woke up at 7:20, so I ended up presenting a Native American myth, with a Super intro and conclusion written by me.

The thing I hate about that class is that it detracts from my other classes -- to me, the psychology exam was so much more important, but I had to devote my time and energy and stress to this crazy little presentation.

I registered for classes, and three (out of five) of the ones I need are full, so my advisor and I are going to have to figure out ways around that. I cried when I saw the "ERROR - CLASS FULL" notes as I registered for classes online (especially the one next to the Holocaust class that I want to take, so badly. And my friend The Slacker who hardly ever goes to classes and doesn't care about grades, GOT INTO THAT CLASS AND I'M THINKING OF STRANGLING HER AND TAKING HER PLACE).

Health class. I studied psych.

Tornado drill. I studied psych.

Psych exam. Probably going to be the lowest score I've gotten in that class. I hope it's not below a ninety -- I totally hammed it up on the essay questions.

There's a paper due for health class tomorrow, I have to work on a research paper for my First Nations class, cut out newspaper articles for that class, too, pack up my things for departure tomorrow, take books back to the library (I think I'll skate over there), and call Mom and let her know how much the bill for tuition was.

I hate money issues.

I can't wait until Saturday evening, when I can go watch my people sing in a choir concert. Seeing my people always relaxes me and makes everything easier to deal with, or makes me forget about the problems completely. I like that. I like the break of a few hours, when my mind forgets about the stress of school and money and getting a job and stuff, and I can just enjoy being around the people I love.

try it the flamingo way!

In speech class today, I won a flamingo figurine, and was startled to see that it had webbed feet, so when I got back to my room, I googled "flamingo anatomy." To my recollection, the flamingos I've seen (in cartoons, I know) had talons, not webbed feet.

The first of the two sites that came up was a british how-to on masturbation (maybe "the flamingo" is a technique ;) ); the second was a thread about a woman's fake flamingo who disappeared from her yard for a while, then returned with pictures from where it'd been. Its travels are here. Like Amelie's father's gnome, only different.

I regoogled just "flamingo," followed a SeaWorld link, and...

they do have webbed feet. A dollar store flamingo figurine is anatomically correct!


Countdown: Three days until Saturday!

...let me count the ways...

...because even though thou art working insanely long hours, two full time+ jobs, thee finds the time to send me sweet messages, telling me that thou art thinking of me and letting me know that thee appreciates the person I am. that means so much to me.

time for the blades, baby!

So the snow here is finally all melted, though the currents in the lake keep bringing in ice floes from Far-Off Places. The sidewalks are clear and dry, and I remembered to bring my rollerblades back with me yesterday! I put in a solid half-hour of work-out skating last night before supper, then this morning, I got up early and skated for a good 45 minutes before coming back to my dorm and showering and getting ready for my 9 o'clock class. Tonight, again, I skated a hard half-hour before supper...I love this. I love the feeling of working out so intensely that my throat burns a little, and pushing myself so that I'm sweating as I skate. I love knowing that each stroke of the blades is helping get rid of The Thighs and some padding that I don't like. My body gets tired, and I want to go back to the dorm, but I turn around and make myself skate back to the other side of campus...this morning, I skated each sidewalk on campus, twice.

I take my keychain pepper spray with me, clipped onto my belt loop; I don't take my phone for fear that if I fall again (I fell yesterday, once, because my skate caught in a deep place between two slabs of sidewalk), I could hurt it, or it could hurt me. However, there are 14 or 16 Emergency stations set up around campus, and except for a slight detour down a city street so I can stand there and gaze at the newly renovated cathedral (it wouldn't be out of place in a french town), I don't stray off the campus sidewalks; apparently there are roughly 200 registered sex offenders in a 12-mile radius (or so) of here. Yuck. But I'm careful; and I don't wander around campus after dark. I'm not paranoid (har); I'm just not stupid, and not taking any risks.

i know you by heart

Early last year, my best friend and I were wondering about the possibility of a boyfriend-girlfriend relationship, but I noticed how uncomfortable he was with any silences; any gaps in the conversation, he was quick to fill with empty chatter; he even told me how uneasy he was with any silence.

--

This summer, I'll be going to the doctor, seeking help for ocd. It's worse now than it's been ever before, and I told Mom today that it makes me not want to have children -- unless this can be harnessed into control somehow. I don't want to have children while I'm like this; if I have kids, I want them to be born to a stable mother, one who doesn't have strange problems and phobias. I know I'm at high-risk for being a post-partum depressee, and I want to avoid it, curb it. It scares me sometimes, because I can't always control what I'm thinking or doing; I'm wearing a series of four bandaids on my left arm because when Dad was talking to me last night, one of the fingers on my right hand was scratching my left arm hard, not because of an itch, but because I was nervous; I looked down, and my arm was bleeding. I want to get help. I don't want to be like this.

Oops...

When I was little, much younger than I am now (okay, until last year), I thought that snakes lived out the winter in little snake holes in the ground. Whenever I saw a round hole in the ground, it gave me the willies and I would step away from it as quickly as possible, because snakes freak me out more than almost anything else. It wasn't until a few months ago when I told Dad I saw a whole colony of snake holes, that he did a double-take. "What?"
"Snake holes! You know, snake burrows?" Still no flicker. "Snake homes? In the ground?"
He burst out laughing. "How do you think they would make them, Dänika?"
I guess I never thought it through that far. Worms can live in the ground; why can't snakes? I guess I never realized that they'd have to eat the dirt and then poop it out.

Don't freak out

I found my wedding dress. Normally, I could tell my Mom about this, but because she and Dad are so funny about my boyfriend, I don't think I should mention anything. It's not that I'm getting married now, since, ummm, I'm not; it's just that I have found the dress that I want to wear when I do get married, whenever that is. My friend Kristen and I went to JC Penney's the other day, because she was looking for something, and eventually we wound up in the Prom Dress section. I didn't really see anything that caught my attention, and then suddenly, I saw it. I looked at it, felt it, and made a move to look at some more, but turned back right away and had to go try it on. It was perfect; strapless ivory brocade (because, seriously, who looks good in white!?), laced up the bodice with 3/4" wide ivory ribbon; just above the waist, the brocade opened up and showed the cream-coloured satin underskirt, and both fabrics brushed the ground. Contrary to what it sounds, it was very simple; it was beautiful, reminding me of a dress that would be in "Ever After." I tried it on, and it fit perfectly, and it felt wonderful. That dress and cream-coloured long-stemmed roses...that's what I want.

I tried finding it online, even a picture, but the maker doesn't have a website, it's not on the jcpenney website, and I typing in the design number doesn't come up with it, either. I can't stop thinking about it! I want to go back and try it on again, but get a picture this time, so that I have it for future reference; if that dress isn't available anywhere when I get married, I want to be able to show a dressmaker just what it looked like.

Update: The Roommate and I, in a 45-minute time slot we had open, drove over to the mall today, to jcpenney's. I COULDN'T FIND THE DRESS. We looked all over the store...and then I realized that I'd been in Younkers yesterday, not JC Penney! Silly. Went to Younkers, and it was still there! And in my size! And it was still just as lovely as it had been before. I'd sneaked my camera in my purse, and tried the dress on, then took a few pictures of it, and then just of the dress, so that I won't forget what it looks like, in case I don't get married for years and years and years. I felt slightly illegal, and kept coughing to cover up the sound of the camera, but my roommate was laughing, because she could see the flash from where she was sitting, outside the whole dressing room complex. heh.

Nerves, Part Two

And it's you and me and all of the people
And I don't know why I can't keep my eyes off of you
'You and Me,' Lifehouse

I got to his place at 10:30, fifteen minutes before church starts, and after I let myself into the house, the first thing I heard was him calling down the stairs to me, "Do you know how to tie a tie?" I got upstairs, and he was in the bathroom in front of the mirror, trying to remember how to tie it; with both of us working on it, we got it to look, well, not quite the way it's supposed to, but pretty darn close.

I don't really feel as though I can write well about the rest of the day yet, as I am still mulling it over in my head in little, disjointed thought fragments.


He wore a suit
(And was nervous)
And was lovely and a gentleman
('as is his wont')
And nearly fell asleep during prayer
(I knew, because his hands twitched)
----
After church
(which ran long)
We went for coffee
(since he hadn't slept)
And discussed my parents
(so he would know what to expect)
----
When we got two miles from home
(just before the church on the curve)
He said, "We must be getting close"
(so I asked him how he knew)
And he knew because I was nervouser
(about my family, not about him)
----
He met my parents
(and my aunt and uncle)
And my brothers
(and my grandfather)
And was good with the dogs
(even though they were hyper)
----
We had chicken stirfry for lunch
(but I didn't eat the chicken)
And I gave some to the dog
(and he swatted my hand)
And he was someone to be proud of
(but I wasn't worried about that)
----
We sliced up fruit for a salad
(and everyone talked about murders)
And I felt wonderful
(and I didn't slice up my fingers)
And it was fun, cooking with him
(and I want to do it again)
----
He and I went into the living room
(the only other room he saw)
And sat together on the couch
(both almost falling asleep)
And the littlest dog got in the way
(she scooted in between us, the chaperone)
----
I ran upstairs to get some things
(because we had to leave at 3:45)
And it was wonderful
(and calming and comfortable)
To know he was downstairs
(and wasn't going to run away)
----
On the way back to his place
(a 25 minute drive w/o speeding)
He fell asleep for the last 8 miles
(hadn't really slept since thursday)
And I watched him and the road
(and committed that moment to my memory)
----
And we got to his house
(and he woke up, disoriented)
And we went inside
(one roommate was packing)
And I thanked him for today
(and he put his arms around me)


You don't know how lovely you are
'The Scientist,' Coldplay

something sneaky...

So the other day, I was nosing around online, taking my sweet time before launching myself on the 2-hour drive home, and an ad popped up for Yahoo!Personals. I'm not single, and thus not looking, but I was curious to see what the Singles in this area are like. Do they flaunt the fact that they have two snowmobiles and a 4-wheeler (and two kids and four ex-step-kids)? I typed in the zip code, waited two seconds for the results, read the first one...he was in his 40s, and wasn't very interesting. I hit 'back' to go to the main page of results, and scrolled down a bit...clicked on the third entry. I read the blurb about him, and enlarged the picture...HIM! I KNOW WHO HE IS. I see him at least twice a day. This is freaky, I feel like an FBI agent or something, knowing stuff about this guy, when he has no idea (and just in case any of you girls are looking: he wants kids, he likes the outdoors and photography, speaks 4 languages, and did I mention he wants kids?).

Yesterday, I was talking with a classmate after our psych class, talking about homosexuality, and how in all my research, I did not come across anyone who could say that they have targeted a "gay gene;" that "It isn't genetic."
"Oh, oh yeah! I didn't think it was genetic. It's just biological."
"Ummm."
"So I have a question for you -- if it's too personal, just tell me to shut up."
"Okay..."
"Are you bisexual?"
"(ha! ha ha ha!) No; no, I'm not."
"Well, have you considered it?"
"Uh, no."
"Oh. Okay."

Last night I dreamed that my brother and I were taking subs to a friend's place, only, he isn't my friend; I just see him around campus every day; anyway, we got to his apartment at night, and buzzed his apartment through the intercom, but he told us to wait a minute, we couldn't come up yet. Eventually we were allowed in, and who was there with him? Marilyn Monroe, of course, and they'd been doing something sneaky.

Hallelujahonlyfivemoreweeks!! Five, and then I'll be back in the home area and working a summer job and having a steady source of income!

Off to take a shower...

I caught sight of myself in the mirror. I really should have taken my makeup off last night. One side of my hair was plastered to my head, the other sticking out in a series of peaks and horns. It is as if the hairs on my head have a life of their own, behaving perfectly sensibly all day, then waiting till I drop off to sleep and starting to run and jump about childishly, saying, "Now what shall we do?"

Bridget Jones's Diary by Helen Fielding, pg 57

bow to me! / Paha Sapa

So this morning, after typing a 337-word paper in 20 minutes, all of which was about how Native Americans have been repressed by big bad White Men and Their Corporations and Governments ever since the White Men stepped foot on Native American Territory, I was rethinking my life; maybe I should be a lawyer. I gotta say, I'm getting pretty darn good at saying whatever the teacher wants to hear, even though every time I take one of her tests, write a paper for her, or share my comments with the class, I end up wanting to throw myself out the window and think I'm doomed, since liars go to hell, because it's just a load of crap; it's not what I really think. It wasn't until this class that I realized how racist some Native Americans are -- it's enough to make goosebumps scamper up my arms.

A paragraph from my 20-minute, typed before I could see straight this morning, paper:

To add horrific insult to injury, Paha Sapa is the location of the most monstrous, immense tribute to four white men: Mount Rushmore. As one Native in the film spoke, “Every cubic inch of [the Black Hills] is sacred; carving any of it would be like putting graffiti on the Tabernacle.” White men and White governments, supposedly embracing religious freedom for all, limit Native religions; it seems the government is trying to, by either limiting or cutting off Native access to religious sites, wring their religion out of them. White men seem to have forgotten why they migrated here in the first place: In 1620, seeking a place where they could worship freely, without interference from the government. Not only have they forgotten, but they are treating Natives as the Whites were treated in Europe before they moved here; but where is there for Natives to flee this religious persecution?

quotes

"How is it, Draco?" simpered Pansy Parkinson. "Does it hurt much?"
"Yeah," said Malfoy, putting on a brave sort of grimace. But Harry saw him wink at Crabbe and Goyle when Pansy had looked away.
"Settle down, settle down," said Professor Snape idly.
-Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban; JK Rowling, page 123


Why is it so difficult and uncomfortable to be naked? It's because when you have clothes on, you can always make those little adjustments that people love to do. Hitching, straightening, adjusting. You know, you feel like you're getting it together. "Yeah, pretty good. Feeling good, feeling pretty good."
But when you're naked, it's so final. You're just, "Well, this is it. There's nothing else I can do."
That's why I like to wear a belt when I'm naked. I feel it gives me something. I'd like to get pockets to hang off the belt. Wouldn't that be the ultimate thing? Picture that. To be naked and still be able to put your hands in your pockets. I think that would really help a lot.
-Jerry Seinfeld


When Carol breastfeeds Ben, and Joey and Chandler get grossed out...
Ross: "Come ON guys, this is the most natural and beautiful thing in the world!"
Joey: "I know, but there's a baby hangin' on it!"

Chandler: "And this from the cry-for-help department: Are you wearing makeup?"
Joey: "Yes, I am. As of today, I am officially Joey Tribbiani, actor slash model."
Chandler: "That's funny, 'cause I was thinking you look more like Joey Tribbiani, man slash woman."

Friends

Esmerelda: "He has been sent first to tempt you. But it's not too late. You must push him from you. Expel him. Trample down the perversion of nature."
Joyce: "Did you hear that? He's the perversion of nature. Wow, isn't that exciting?"
Edward Scissorhands

In memoriam:

1920-2005

there's a first time for everything...

...and today was my first time going on a date to a movie. I'd been to the movies before, a lot, of course (my best friends both work at the theatre, and so we get in free! free! did you catch that? free!), and gone there with a guy before, but not, like, on a date. Date, as in, with The Boyfriend, and he pays for everything and holds open the doors (but he's always done that). We saw The Pacifier...a rather funny choice, I thought dubiously, for what man in his right mind would take his girl to a movie where the main character is such a H-H-H-U-N-K? That'd be as stupid as me treating him to a movie in which some tall, unproportional Barbie-like curvy blonde has the lead role. I kept my comments to myself, though, something that was made easier than usual, since he (The Boyfriend; not Vin Diesel) held my hand during the entire movie. Kept me from appreciating Vin Diesel too much. ;)

The movie was much better than I'd expected; I actually cried four times. When we left the theatre amongst the gaggle of little kids who'd sat in the back row, The Boyfriend was even looking goofy about them, sporting the "Awww, they're so cute..." look. He tries to hide it, but he's a softie (a softie who works more than eighty hours a week and who hardly ever sleeps).

whittling down this girlish figure

I haven't liked mirrors for a couple of years, with the exception of a day or two here or there. Generally I try to stay away from them, because I never feel quite pretty. Or, I'll feel pretty, but won't look the way I expect myself to.

This semester, I've been on an exercise regimen; aerobics for an hour, three times a week. The studio we work out in has floor-to-ceiling mirrors, and I always stayed at the back of the class and avoided looking at myself in the mirrors, because I didn't think I looked too great. Today, there wasn't room at the back, so I had to take my mat and step so I was in the second row, just one person away from the mirrors. I was thunderstruck. I was wearing my (size small!) workout pants and a tanktop, and I felt -- and thought I looked -- BEAUTIFUL. I kept grinning at myself in the mirror like a doofus, because I couldn't get over it. I looked cute! And somehow, I feel more confident, sexier; I think it's a combination of the new hair colour, the weight I've lost, and knowing I was wearing a size small.