Stupid stupid..

I'm in the Denver Int'l Airport right now, using an internet kiosk that has buttons instead of a real keyboard, typing about 4 wpm, erasing all the double letters which KEEP APPEARING.

The flight out here was great, after we finally got off the ground; it was more than an hour late, and was a smaller plane than the one we'd been booked for, so there was lots of rearranging.

I need to go in a minute, get back to my mom, aunt, uncle, and grandfather, before I kick this machine; I have to go work up the nerve to call someone, someone I met on the flight out to Denver. AAAAAAHHHHHH!!

I just realised there's a camera on this thing, STARING AT ME. I hadn't realised I'm being watched. Creepy.

Oh. And this plane is 2 hours late, and I'm sick as a dog. I hope the medicine I took will make the flight bearable.

Party like, it's your birthday a MONDAY

A month from today is my 21st birthday! I was all excited, until I realised (months ago) that it falls on a MONDAY. Monday. Monday as in I-Have-Classes-at-Insanely-Early-Hours the next day! Yeah, what am I going to be doing, the night of my 21st birthday?

HOMEWORK.

Two timeth a day, for half an hour each, I don't talk. BELIEVE IT OR NOT.

A few days ago I bought Crest Whitestrips PREMIUM. In the instructions, they have a list of activities to do while sporting the Crest Whitestrips PREMIUM for half an hour, twice a day.

Included are the following activities:
Surf the Web / E-mail!
Exercise!
Shower / Get ready for the Day!
Go Shopping!
Play Hockey!
Beat up Small Children and Steal their Lunch Money!
Chat on the Phone / Talk to Friends!

Yeah, they threw in that last one to make sure you’re paying attention. I mean, TALK?! What kind of people are they, anyway? I got rid of one speech impediment, and now I'm paying them for another one, half an hour two times a day.

Tomorrow morning Mom, Grandpa, and I are leaving for Denver, Colorado. It'll be...interesting, taking him out there. The thing you have to understand is, Grandpa's memory is...what was I saying? Something about Denver? Are you going to Denver? Oh, we're all going to Denver! What, tomorrow morning?! Dänika, you're going too? Oh ho ho! (five minutes) Now, what are you doing tomorrow?

We'll be gone for four days, visiting favourite relatives; I'll be laughing, eating, taking pictures, going to church, holding cute babies, reading, and thinking about how lonely it must be to be in Mississippi, going through ARMY training, without friends or family or relaxation. And I think of how tense I get regarding him going to the Middle East, and I know that the ever-present knot of anxiety in my middle, yeah, it's not even a fraction of what he's feeling right now. It's worse than nervousness for a dentist visit or panic about finals at school -- because it doesn't fit into a short blip of time; it isn't a one-day experience. It's a YEAR. And I feel so bad that I missed a call from him last Wednesday; I listen to the voicemail again, and his voice sounds tired and small and so alone.

If at first you don't succeed...

...Sigh loudly, grit your teeth, and go for a walk, during which time you stomp your feet so hard in frustration that they go all the way through the blacktop; you free your left foot, but eventually have your dog gnaw through the right one in order to get back home without being hit by a car, or killed by a rabbit with big pointy teeth.

RIGHT. I churned forth an exquisite post earlier; lengthy, humorous, and practically perfect in every way. Thanks to dial-up and blogger indigestion, that breathtaking post is lost to the the great void (fitting soundtrack: Queen, Another One Bites the Dust).

And, ironically enough, the post began with a tale of technical difficulty, the first item covered being my shame at being outsmarted by my own laptop. I could handle it if it happened once; not hold a grudge, let bygones be bygones, but after it happened TWICE in a few days, I can't. I'm mad and ashamed. My name is Dänika, and I've been whupped by my own laptop.

The first instance of insubordination occurred when I was attempting to take songs from the laptop (call it "Sylvester," just to make things easier) and put them on my mp3 player (call it a piece of BEEEEEEP!, for short* ).

Second: I was attempting to transfer pictures from Dad's camera to the Stubborn Laptop, and couldn't. I can do it just fine with Mom's computer, but not this one. Ehh.

Today Mom and I were talking about beds, and I shared that I always get the name for a "twin bed" messed up, because I can't believe that a twin bed is the one that's big enough for, oh, yeah, ONE PERSON. I have a twin bed, and it doesn't look big enough for twins to me. Unless, of course, we're talking about Siamese twins. That would explain a LOT.

Jake, my soldier-friend, left on Tuesday. He asked if I could meet him that afternoon, so we met and hugged and talked for a while. I wish he didn't have to go. I'm so proud of him, though, for doing his duty and not complaining about it. He's brave and lovely, and before he left, he gave me his ring from Basic Training; I'm to keep it safe until he comes home. It's strange, but I was so glad to get the ring; it's heavy and beautiful and I have it on a cord around my neck; I leave it on except for when I shower -- then, I leave it in my room, for I am scared to death of losing it down the drain. Scared of losing it because I know how much he likes this ring, how proud of it he is of what it symbolises. The ring helps remind me to pray for him, and when I look at it, it wrenches my heart a bit to see the Infantry insignia, because there is no worse place to be than the Infantry. And that makes me pray even more that he'll come home safely. I'm looking forward to giving this ring back to him, safe and sound.


* Shortened Version of a Long Story which I Had Typed up Earlier: I bought the mp3 player off ebay; received it and the screen was all scrambled and undecipherable after 30 seconds. E-mailed the seller's customer service (they have a computer store online); e-mailed them again after three days of nothing, then again, then again, before finally receiving the Return Merchandise information I'd requested. In each e-mail, after commending them on great shipping, I had explained the problem, told them I would be returning the product, asked for the Return Merchandise Information, and requested they refund my money. I shipped the mp3 player back to California, and was waiting for the $42.99 to worm its way back into my bank account, thinking everything was settled. But wait! Plot twist! FedEx stopped by my house a few days ago and delivered what? ANOTHER MP3 PLAYER.

How they could interpret "Please refund my money" to "Send me another mp3 player, please!", I don't know. I was so irritated at first and then decided, What the heck. I'm sick of messing around with these people; I'll just keep it, if it works.

The screen on this one seems to work well. But I can't transfer songs from Sylvester (remember him?) to IT, because IT didn't come with any software that shows Sylvester what to do. I searched the web for the appropriate driver, etc., etc., etc. And I haven't been able to get it to work. Enter, stage left: The computer-savvy brother-in-law who DIDN'T COME OUT THIS WEEKEND. Thanks for nothing. ;P

Addendum: I just noticed that as of today, I've had this place for a year. So in the now four minutes left before tomorrow: HappyAnniverarytoMe. And a big thank you to everyone who stops by -- especially those who comment! :D

the boy soldier.

I met his parents today, and it's such a puzzle, how those sets of genes colliding had this result. Sweep clear the canvas of your mind, and allow me to paint a picture. He's six feet tall, slender and clean-cut, with beautiful hands and long, strong fingers. His eyes, a rich hazel, are set under dark, straight brows, and he smiles easily, showing a set of perfect teeth. The hair on his head is cut short, thanks to the National Guard, and the last time I saw him, he was in uniform, camoflauge wrinkle-free and boots so shiny you could see the hot summer sun reflecting off them. I found out the day before yesterday that he's been activated, that he just got back from Basic.

Today, he told me he fell in love with me last year.

The day after tomorrow, he'll be shipped out to a fort in the South for the next few months, then overseas to Kuwait for a year. He wishes there were more time before he had to leave.

And it all breaks my heart. I didn't tell him I love him, because it was very much out of the blue, and I haven't seen him for so long; and I don't care for him like that yet. He told me I'd better be available when he gets back from Kuwait.

We're going to write to each other over the next fifteen months. I can't promise him my heart, but I can be someone to write to, someone who will send silly letters back, letters about what's going on here, letters to cheer him and help him get through all those months when he's lonely and scared.

1-800-GET A GUY

"Dänika?"
"Yes?"
"Do you have a boyfriend?"
"No."
"You have to get one."
"...Why?"
"Because you need to get married."
"Oh."
"Because I need cousins."

She just turned seven, and she promised me this afternoon that next time she comes out, she will find me a guy. Hooray!

If I could speak, it would go something like this:

I'm so sorry. I'm sorry that people are so close-minded and ignorant, so scared, so easily intimidated by the fact that you're so young and so brilliant. I'm sorry they're so insecure that they're trying to run you off the campus and out of town, not even a year after you bought a house here. I'm sorry they won't let you do your job without questioning you every step of the way. I'm sorry they're so shallow that they won't even recognize the fact that you are the best thing that's happened to this campus in years.

I never realized the insane campus politics until last fall, and I don't know if it was because I was just oblivious, or didn't care, since it didn't affect any of my favourite people.

But now, now I know, and I hate it. I hate it because it's turning your life into a horrible caricature of what your life should be. I hate it because you're paler and paler each time I see you. I hate it because it robs you of your sleep and your quirky sense of humour. I hate it because it makes your eyes sad and tired. I HATE IT.

Holy moley!

I've always been sensitive about my moles. They're scattered across my skin, and I have one, one that's more like a birthmark, on the lower right side of my back which I've always been self-conscious about and kept covered -- nobody other than family members has ever seen it. Swimsuits and clothes have been purchased with that mole in mind.

It's not that I'm too vain about it; instead, it's just another thing that makes me even more different than other people -- like being named "Dänika," being homeschooled, starting college when most people have a couple years of high school left, and having eleven fingerprints* isn't enough?! I grew self-conscious about my moles about the same time I wished my name were "Brittany" or "Ashley;" just anything normal so I could blend in.

But, thanks in part to dooce's latest Monthly Newsletter to her daughter, Leta -- and partly due to a comment a man left on her photo, a comment about how his fiancee's moles are somehow endearing and he would never want them removed, I have come to terms am coming to terms with my moles. It's a new experience, thinking of them as quirky features instead of shameful non-blend-in-able marks that should be hidden, but I feel more comfortable in my skin than I have in a very long time.

I've been examining them, and that smattering by my left wrist? Well, it ain't no Cassiopeia, baby, but it sure looks like the handle of the Big Dipper!

Tomorrow I go to the hospital to get a mole checked out. It started bleeding last month, which is unsettling, as that is never a good sign; I'm going to see a doctor to make sure it hasn't crossed over to the Dark Side and become troublesome. And suddenly the thought they will most likely take it off, as well as a few others, makes me a little upset **, because I was just getting to know them.


* The eleventh is on my left palm, and a different type than all my others.
** Add that to the nervousness factor, and we're all set - yikes!

musical mishaps

This morning, we were talking about losing loved ones to disease, opposed to from an accident; brought on by the story of a woman who lost twin sons in 2001, and whose husband died in a motorcycle accident a week ago.

dänika says:
And it's terrifying losing people in an accident -- if they have a disease, you can at least grow sort of accustomed to the fact that they won't be here much longer -- but like with Dad's accident, it was like running into a brick wall and getting the wind knocked outta you. Errr, but worse.
dänika says:
It's numbing.
Joshua says:
yeah
Joshua says:
i can't imagine
Joshua says:
just one minuet here
Joshua says:
next minuet gone

Minuet. You are so cute to me. Do you still want to name your kids "Vivace" and "Allegro"?

S.W.A.T.

I watched S.W.A.T. with a couple of friends last night, and couldn't get over how odd Samuel L. Jackson looked in uniform, when the most recent thing I'd seen him in was a Jedi robe.

JACKSON: You know you want to be back on The Team. Come on.
ME: Or he will cut you with his light saber.



It's my Mom's birthday, and she's spending it with the daughter who must be the one she loves more, hmm. So I'm alone with the dogs, plotting out my day of ricecakes and orange juice, laundry and taking care of the dogs, while Mom frolics about Minnesota. Happy birthday, Mom, I hope you have a great day, no, seriously!

This morning, I dreamed that I had a great article for a newspaper, so great it was going to be The Article of the Century, and I had to submit it to my newspaper...and then I forgot to, and then I woke up. Man. Foiled again!

Nugget

Last year, the campus-wide reading project was Jurassic Park, which was a totally stupid decision by the board. They touted the book as being full of things you can relate to and learn from, things to enhance your life.

Learn from? Like, "Don't grow dinosaurs from millenia-old DNA and feature them in an amusement park, for they will eat you."

Whew, I'm so glad I know that, because I had been planning to clone dinosaurs tomorrow! What a lucky break!

Urrrgh.

I just got off the phone, ending twelve minutes of incredibly uncomfortable near-hell on earth -- what, you think I'm exaggerating? I was on speakerphone. Yes, it was that bad.

It was a phone interview for the front desk job in my dorm, and the inaneness of the questions and scenarios they asked me/set me up with ("During your shift, you sold two small pizzas and three ice cream bars...") made me want to hang up in the middle of the interview. Suddenly my mind went blank, and the only thing I could think to do was laugh and say, "Look, this is uncomfortable for all of us. How about we hang up, now? One...two...three..."

(But I didn't.)

I hadn't been job-interviewed in three years, and so this was relatively foreign. I'm still waiting for that tense coil inside me to unwind. I have a horrible time trying to Extol my Virtues. They're going to make a decision by Friday, and let me know (how soon I'll be shipped to Timbuktu).

FLICKRiffic

Flickring STOP Cant stop long enough to write much STOP Discovered flickr groups STOP Insanely excited when get comments or favourited STOP Cant get offline STOP help