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REPORT: The Wedding

Well, aside from the facts that...

1. The pianist was drunk
2. And there were 5 bridesmaids
3. And a maid of honour
4. And a flowergirl
5. And the pianist was drunk
6. And the bridesmaids smirked through the entire ceremony
7. And the pianist was drunk
8. And nobody in the wedding party took the wedding seriously
9. And the pianist was drunk

...the wedding was okay. Contrary to what the program read, "Cannon in D" was not played, nor was "Canon in D;" the bride instead processed down the aisle to repeated strains of the opening measures of "The Surprise Symphony," as picked out on the piano by a high school music teacher who has seen better (READ: LESS INEBRIATED) days. The bride couldn't keep from laughing as she swore to submit to her husband; the bridesmaids snickered through the entire wedding, and it was as though they were shooting a film and we were all extras.

I've known the bride since we were 6, and most of the bridesmaids for years, and a part of me felt funny at the fact that they were asked to stand there and I wasn't (that one? that bridesmaid? yeah, she and the bride quit talking years ago. They had lived together and then one moved out in a fit because they couldn't stand each other). And part of me felt funny that I was invited to be a part of this day when I hadn't been invited to be any part of her life whatsoever for the past 7 years. And then when the jealousy reared its ugly little head, I quashed it (horribly enough) by telling myself that THAT bridesmaid, that one with the fake Jamaican tan and fried hair, the one who wrecked a few friendships and was the self-proclaimed goddess of the group, yeah, she has the tan now, but man, when she's 60 years old and a wrinkled mess, my skin will still be smooth. Pasty white and emitting a radioactive glow, but wrinkle-free.

And it all makes me very sad.

Early-morning Coversations with Mom

One of my pet peeves (and feel utterly selfish that it is a peeve at all) is when I'm online for the first time of the day, and someone decides to station himself or herself in the same room and talk to me. Not an actual conversation, but occasional snippets, enough to disrupt any train of thought I had going on regarding my Online Experience.

Mom: "I like that commercial." (The t.v. wasn't on.)
me: "Uh-huh..."
Mom: "The one where the little boy is lying on his dad's stomach."
me: "Yeah; 'gorp, gorp.'"
Mom: "'Gorp, gorp.'" slight laugh, long pause.
I get back to checking my e-mail.
Mom: "Laura Bush always looks so pretty."



Today I have to go shopping for a wedding present for the wedding I'm attending this afternoon. I checked out their wedding registries at various stores, and it is MIND-BOGGLING how much stuff is checked-off their wishlists. The first thing I thought of when I noticed that, and remembered that I had spend lots of money on a bridal shower gift, too, was, I TOTALLY UNDERSTAND why people get married 3, 4, 5 times. ALL THOSE GIFTS! It's addicting.

My, how scentual.

If you were to chart out a pie graph of my mind, scents make up the majority of things that trigger memories -- many times, memories I hadn't thought of for years, or details I had never paid attention to. A certain cleaning detergent smell reminds me of my grandma's kitchen; Dreft laundry soap brings back my grandmother and grandfather. One whiff of newly constructed houses, the scent of sawdust in the air, and I'm suddenly 5 years old again, playing with a hammer and nails as Dad and other workers build our home.

Tonight, it was a cologne from Bath and Body Works that did the trick; I went to town with a couple friends, one of whom had to get a birthday present for her boyfriend. We sniffed dozens of scents at Marshall Fields, then meandered over to B&BW. I had her smell the cologne, then sprayed one on myself so she could smell it better. It was quite pungent at first, but quickly settled down to a mellow, warm scent -- and I was suddenly pulled back to a time early last October, stargazing from a chilly lakeshore around midnight, my hands freezing, but my body warmed by the heavy coat that had just been placed around me...and this scent enveloping me, emanating from the warmth of the lining.

It's very calming and comforting; a reminder of wonderful times, my favourite class, an amazing teacher who is one of the most brilliant people I know; the teacher who was stabbed by a guy high on meth last fall (and whose whiteboard on the office door read "Do math not meth" for the week following); the professor who accidentally broke the observatory one afternoon, because we were busy talking instead of paying attention to the list of things to do in order to safely open it; the professor who wanted the theatre professor to flunk me and threatened to not even look at my final and give me a zero, so I would have to stay longer. This scent reminds me of all that, and that I helped secure his job for a while longer at least, cutting through the insane campus politics and writing a long letter to the Dean of the college.

The Dean, oh, the Dean. The Dean who hugged me when I transferred, who played Henry Higgins in the a local production I played piano for, the middle-aged bachelor who leaves his office door open all the time, hoping people will pop in and say hi (I always do), who has The Coolest House Ever; the man who looks like -- forgive me -- a teddy bear. I loved that school so much, and though I've settled in at my new university, my first campus still has a piece of my heart. Sure, there are bigger and better things at my current school, but it's the people, the camaraderie I miss the most.

The campus I attend now is relatively small, as far as 4-year campuses go, but it's just big enough to wipe out most student-teacher interaction outside of class. and that interaction was something I rather took for granted, getting to stop into my professors' offices whenever I had a question, eating lunch with them, and them knowing me well enough to sense whenever something was going on.

Usually, when the semester's over, I throw out any test I got less than an A on; last fall I kept one, the one that had the lowest grade (the only non-A) I got in astronomy, for the inside cover of the test booklet is filled with writing (such distinctive handwriting), commenting on the fact that this work was not [underlined twice] up to my usual excellent level, and was I okay or was I just having a bad day? If I needed to talk, to come see him anytime.

It's that I miss overwhelmingly -- the personal touch, the knowledge of professors being real human beings who care about their students; I know most people believe, due to ethical reasons, there should be a gap between teachers and students, but I'm thankful for the professors whom I knew more as friends and mentors. I learned so much from them than I ever expected; they imparted to me not only math and science, music and english; they taught me about life, they encouraged me, they taught me to be open, to be brave, to try things I don't think I'll be good at. They taught me to broaden my mind and explore. They taught me an insane amount merely by conversing with me, sharing with me things about their own lives. That camaraderie is something I don't have at my new school, and was something I once took for granted. I am so thankful to have ever experienced it at all.

*happy geeky dance*

Last night I won a Rave MP Sport MP3 Player on ebay. It was funny because it was my first ebay purchase; I'd set up ebay and paypal accounts a few days ago in order to sell things, but I hadn't used them yet. I found the mp3 player when there were 16 minutes left on the auction, and when I decided to get it, there were 10 left -- but suddenly, I realized I should double-check my paypal account to make sure everything was in working order. A message came up that said I hadn't entered my bank, rounting number, or checking account number. I ran around the house gathering the information, entered it, then ran around some more and entered my credit (debit) card number, JUST IN TIME to get the player! I'm so excited. I "Successfully purchased" it. I am a Successful Purchaser. I Purchase Successfully, yes I do.

I was interested in mp3 players to use when I exercise, because I like to have something to listen to, something more than just the music playing in my head, the beat to which I tap my teeth together (and my discman is bulky and skips if it's jostled at all). The Rave isn't like my niece's Creative Zen micro, which can store thousands of songs, but I don't need one like that. This plays up to 8 hours of music, and that's good enough for me -- I don't think there'll be a time when I'll be exercising (ha ha!) or driving long enough to need more than 8 hours of music...or if I am, I can just listen to each song twice. BIG DEAL.

The specifications, for those who might be interested:

General Features:

Burgundy profile

256MB Built-in Memory (Up to 8 Hours of Music)

Play Music from most online MP3 and WMA Services

Hi-speed USB 2.0 for Ultra-fast Music Transfers

Quick and Easy - Drag and Drop Music to and from PC

SD/MMC Memory Expansion Slot for Additional Storage (up
to 512MB)

Plays 16+ Hours on 1 AAA Battery (Included)

FM Tuner with 20 Presets

Records Voice, Live Sound & FM Radio

Operating Systems Supported:

Windows 98/ME/2000/XP

Mac OSX

Plain Package Includes:

Rave MP Sport 256 MB MP3 Player

Sport Ear Buds

Armband

USB cable

One (1) AAA battery

Drivers CD

Beltclip

(I usually choose an even number for the minute I publish, but I had to click 12:15 instead of 12:16, because the Magna Charta was signed in 1215 at Runnymede, England. When I pump gasoline, I aim for a number that has Great Historical Significance, too. Yes, I'm a nerd like that.)

(Oh, and in exactly two months and two minutes, I'll be 21. Hurrah!)

New Roommate

Last semester's roommate, my first roommate experience, was a bit of a disaster; I'm just thankful we were only together 3.5 days each week. When I received my new roommate assignment letter in the mail last month, I noticed that this one, Mary, is from the same town as Roommate #1. The same SMALL town, known for its murders and strippers...and I was prepared for a repeat of last semester. But then...Mary and I began an e-mail correspondence, and in the second letter, she told me her favourite things are reading, writing, art, and music, and that she's a Christian. I WAS SO RELIEVED. We met yesterday afternoon, and had such an awesome time. She is super; very open, straightforward, and hilarious!! It was so easy for us to talk to each other, and we had a blast; right away, I felt like I'd known her for a long time. I had been dreading this next semester a bit...now, I can hardly wait for it to begin!!!!

We got this picture right before we left yesterday:



Mary and Dänika - Roomies!

That's my name, don't wear it out

All my life, I've hated it when people say that. Ick. But today I completely understand, after hearing my name FORTY TIMES A MINUTE from little girls who have really high-pitched, whiny, demanding voices - "Dänika paint my nails," "Dänika come here," "Dänika play a game with me," "Dänika paint my nails," "Dänika come here," "Dänika come play a game with me," and I can hardly keep from screaming I FINALLY CAME TO TERMS WITH MY NAME A COUPLE OF YEARS AGO BUT NOW I'M NOT LIKING IT ANYMORE!!

Oh, the screaming and gnashing of teeth, the wailing and shrieking at such insane pitches that it melts the skin on our faces, so that we sit around the dinner table, looking like the evil Nazi on "Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark," dripping onto our grilled chicken. What's that new sauce? Oh, that's my forehead, my nephew screamed at me.

There's so much noise, so much movement, so much moving around all the time, running into people because even though this is such a huge house, they stay in clusters and I can't move without running into the six extra people and the four other people who live here.

I can't wait until they all go to sleep tonight, so I can stay up insanely late, even though I'm tired and am going to the crazy early service tomorrow - I'm staying up late to enjoy the silence, the sound of NOBODY saying my name.

Cooking with PBS

I've been cooking and cleaning this morning, and kept the tv on low to keep me company, as Rob and Joe are upstairs and Mom and Dad are doing an inspection a couple of hours away for Dad's business. I made my way through the end of "Today," an episode of "Home Delivery" (guaranteed to make me cry), and switched to PBS as "Family Feud" came on, because it is the worst show ever created (and hosted by the most insipid, unhumorous guy ever to walk the planet). "Thomas & Friends" was on PBS, and then as the bottom of the hour rolled around, I came over to check my e-mail. A different show came on, and I have realized to my dismay that I can sing along to THE ENTIRE "Barney!" theme song.

Help me, please.

Caller I-Who?

During this last semester, my parents finally caved and got Caller-ID and two new Caller-ID phones. In order for you to properly understand this, I have to explain something. For years, my parents have screened their calls through the answering machine -- the phone rings four times, the answering machine picks up, and they either a) have the volume up loud enough so the message-leaver can be heard throughout the house or b) someone runs to the room where the answering machine lives, in case the message-leaver is a reputable human with whom we've had prior contact.

When the new Caller-ID phone rings now, either a) Dad goes to the phone, takes it off the stand, holds it at arm's length and squints at the green display, then hangs it up, unable to read the name/number or b) Mom thinks she can't get to the phone in time and lets the answering machine get it.

This Caller-ID thing. It's SO working.

Star Wars: Episode GREAT

**Normally, I'd be reticent about sharing so many details of One Of THE Movies, in case I spoil it for someone else, but since I didn't see it until nearly two months after it opened, I figure those who care enough to care about spoilers, should have seen it by now anyway.

Saturday night I saw Star Wars: Episode III. It was horrific, disturbing, and violent…and I loved it. It is my favourite Star Wars movie by far (but I do love me some Han Solo), and for the first time, I’ve realized why Hayden Christiansen was chosen to portray Anakin Skywalker. I couldn’t stand Episode II, the cheesy love lines and brattiness, the inherent stupidity (MS Works just informed me that “stupidness” isn’t a word). But now -- NOW I understand. It thrilled me to no end to see the evil glitter in his eyes, the cold and calculating character taking the place of the insipid little boy.

I knew what had to happen in this movie -- exactly what was going to happen, thanks to my Star Wars Fanatic professor who had clued me in on this years ago -- so I was not as shocked or horrified as I would’ve been otherwise. But even though I knew, my skin still went cold and I had to turn away as Anakin helped seal Mace Windoo’s -- and his own -- fate. And it was disturbing and very believable, as the Sith Lord lured Anakin to the Dark Side by preying on Anakin's love for Padme.

This movie had a complexity not found in the others, and it was more an epic war film than anything else; even the musical score was huge and haunting, as fitting for the massacre of Jedi, yet it could seamlessly double as a background for sputtering black and white film playing out images of the World War II Holocaust.

July 17th, 2005

I nearly finished stripping the wallpaper from the walls of my room today. It’s so strange how such a slight modification (however time-consuming and frustrating it may be) can completely change the feel of the room. It’s after midnight now (12:34 AM), and the room seems foreign somehow, the walls stark and cold and somehow inspiring. I took down the white polyester curtains today and put them in the washer for the first time ever, and the windows seem to gape, huge un-trimmed squares reflecting the strings of white twinkle lights in the blackness of the night, bringing into focus the mirror-image of my room, making it seem that if I were to put my hand out towards the glass, all I would touch would be the basket, the chest, the bookshelf and dresser and telescope. But it scares me a little, because I haven’t seen two of my room like this before, and I feel vulnerable, as though the windows are one-way glass, and there could be droves of people staring in. I comfort myself in the thought that yesterday, when I scoped out my own home as I drove up the driveway, I couldn’t see my windows for all the trees. It helps briefly, but not much, and I don’t like sitting this way, with my back to the window; I keep looking over my right shoulder, making sure nothing in the window-mirror has changed.

What a Volunteering Volunteer!

I need to get OUT. OF. HERE.

For that reason -- and the fact that I haven't volunteered on my own accord for anything before (I have been volunteered scads of times; plus, I like animals) -- I am now A Volunteer at the local humane society. It's a shelter that has a no-kill policy (otherwise it would be an inhumane shelter), and when I got there Tuesday morning, there were 50 kittens; by the time I left that afternoon, there were 56.

When I entered the animal shelter that morning, I had visions of being a Great Volunteer, walking the dogs and socializing the cats, sweeping and feeding and brushing, bonding with the fluffy kittens and the sweet new puppy.

When I left at 1, I had spent the past few hours scrubbing out litterboxes, scraping dried and smeary cat poop off the bottom and corners, and washing them in a huge tub full of greenish-brown, littery water.

Tune in next week for another installment in the glamorous life of a Volunteer!

London.

The first paragraph of this post is something I wrote July 2. London had been on my mind especially the past week, with memories surfacing - things I hadn't even known I'd forgotten - surfacing more vivid than ever.



I've been thinking about London a lot lately. It strange how I spent only a few days there, yet every second of it is deeply imbedded in my heart; I think about it at least once every day. I love the smell of London; in the city, the smell of the restaurants and traffic, the millions of souls which crowd its streets; in the underground stations, the smells of the fuel and tile halls; in the Tower of London, the mossy smell, cold, wet stone and old wood. I remember the night we left Wagamama after supper; the restaurant is next to the Tower of London, separated only by an expanse of brick paving the way down to the Thames, and it was breathtaking, seeing the Tower lit up at night, lights from the city and Tower Bridge illuminating the great river; if you walk to the left, up the rise, you can see the dome of St. Paul's cathedral glowing in the night. It is glorious, and it is something I will never forget.

--

This morning, I woke up at 6 to the sound of my Dad talking to my Mom - something about double-deckers, exploded. I knew immediately what had happened; I had had the sinking feeling for the past couple of days, that something big and horrible was going to happen to London soon, and I only wish that the reasons behind that feeling had not been realised. I got out of bed as fast as I could, threw on a pair of jeans, and made it into my parents' room in time to see videos of what was happening in London - and I couldn't help it, I broke down and wept. It cut me deeper than the 9/11 attacks on my home country did, and I'm certain part of it is that I'd never been to New York City (and it'd been many years since I was in D.C.), so I couldn't fully comprehend what was happening, as I wasn't familiar with it in any way other than photos or movies...yet I'm familiar with London; five of the best days of my life were spent there. It's so beautiful, so quirky and ancient, slightly imposing, visions of grandeur from now and from years past seeping from between the stones. Those places, the places where terrorists detonated bombs, I was there. I rode on the Tube, I walked those streets, and I traveled aboard those double-deckers. I remember and treasure every second of it, and the thought that someone was evil enough to victimize innocent people, to try to destroy the feeling of safety, to mar the beauty of that place, makes me horribly angry.

I've been reading news sites (mainly the BBC News) and listening to the radio almost all day, keeping track of what's going on, how the casualty toll has climbed immensely since the first numbers were released.

"'This is not on the same scale and does not have the same psychological impact as September 11 -- though you will not be thinking in that manner if you lost somebody today,' said one trader at a U.S. investment bank."

I have to disagree with that banker. I believe this does have the same psychological impact as 9/11; there are not as many casualties, to be sure, yet any attack so well coordinated and ruthlessly executed is chilling, rips families apart, and makes people fear for their safety -- it's so very personal, for the attackers are incredibly impersonal.

There will be Londoners who will date their lives from this day, who will think to themselves tonight, "This is the first time I've brushed my teeth since..." or "This is the first time I've lain down since..." or "This is the first time I've had to go grocery shopping..." etc. Something of this magnitude makes you almost begin life again, see life through new eyes, makes you reevaluate, makes you appreciate your family more. I know there are people there tonight who can't fall asleep -- who don't want to fall asleep, for fear of reliving the experience.

I pray that they won't be terrorized, that they will be able to keep their calm and their peaceful way of life. I pray that they will have dreamless sleep tonight, and that tomorrow they will wake up knowing that they will be okay.

hernia II

Hernia. Hernia! HERNIA!!

I can't stop saying "hernia!" I haven't had reason to use it in the past, so it's a brand-new word in my vocabulary, and I've been working it into conversation every time it's suitable, and lots of times when it's not. I'm spreading the joy - Hernia! Try saying it; it's the perfect blend of consonants and vowels -- it just off your tongue. Play with it -- roll those "r's," try it out in different accents! Say it in the bath, when you're sweeping, when you're feeding the cats. It's applicable in all sorts of situations.

Got something wrong with you? It's probably a hernia! That lump on your ankle? Hernia. That scrape on your elbow? HERNIA!

Can't sleep? Try counting herniae, for a change!

Goodnight, hernia-land!

Oh hernia, oh hernia...

Joe: Yeah, so then I told her that I'll most likely have to get surgery.
me: Get surgery? Get surgery?
Joe: Yeah, 'get' surgery.
me: Like it's something you get at a store? Oh, honey, be sure to stop and get a little surgery on your way home!
Joe: Yeah, like that.

Trust.

I just watched dvd's of my cousin's wedding and reception, the wedding from almost a year ago. It was so much fun to see again, to cry in all the same spots, and to get to see them close-up instead of several pews away. I love the way my cousin treats his wife, how gentle and sweet he is to her, and it makes me weep. It makes me weep because it's so beautiful, and it makes me weep because it's what I've always wanted, what I'm praying for.

My mom has told me often that this will be the hardest time in my life, this, right now, being in my twenties, not married or engaged yet, and not yet finished with school. I'm glad to hear it, but there are times it doesn't really help, knowing that it'll get easier from here. There are times when it's so DIFFICULT. Mom and I were talking a few weeks ago about my future, and about how working for a tour group in London would be super, but how it's a dream for my career; the dream of my heart is to be married to a wonderful man -- it's all I've ever really wanted. There are some people who have lofty goals for their career, knowing exactly what they want to be, where they want to work. I've never been one of those people, which is why school was so tough for a while, trying to decide on a major -- because a career isn't Very Important to me. What I want to be when I grow up, is a good wife, a wife who is supportive and loving and who encourages her husband in Christ. A woman married to a man who cherishes her; a marriage of love and laughter, God, and adoration. I'll be a teacher, yes, but it's not The Most Important thing on my list. There are so many times when I want to hurry things along, when I get impatient with God, or worry that things aren't falling into place, and then I realise what an idiot I am being. There are times like tonight when I cry to God, and I need to repeat Psalms 37:4 to myself over and over again -- my mantra, and the reason for this journal's address:

Trust [or delight yourself, depending on the version] in the Lord,
and He will give you the
desires of your heart.

And it's strange; though I've loved that verse, I never over the past year prayed to the Lord and confided in Him about the deepest desire of my heart, not once. Part of it was that I was afraid to voice it, afraid to say it out loud, fearing it might sound silly, but you know, I didn't hear derisive or incredulous laughter streaming from heaven, so it must not've been too bad. I talked to Him about it, told Him how it's been on my mind for the past year, especially the past few months, and that I can't figure out any reason for it, except that it's from Him. I pray every time it crosses my mind, and though there are still times like tonight where I wish I could just fast-forward to see how everything worked out, to see how the pieces are falling into place, I am content knowing that He's in control, that things are going exactly the way they're supposed to be. Once I confided in Him and put my trust in His ability to work it out, to make these desires reality, nearly all my anxiety regarding it, dissapated. I'm not going to say that it all disappeared, because there are still times when I get a bit impatient, wondering exactly what He's doing.

It's always been a difficult thing for me to try to figure out, the line between God being in control of everything and working everything out, and yet being active, knowing what He wants me to do regarding it -- because, face it, why would He want someone just sitting back and twiddling his thumbs; why on earth would that be acceptable? Figuring out what to do without trying to regain control after acknowledging the relinquishment of it to God, has always been difficult for me to understand.

One thing that has helped me regarding this confusion, is a part of an article published in the newsletter from my brother's college; in it, one of the English professors shares a list of things that he's learned over the years. One is (not verbatim, but I don't have it here), "I have learned it is better not to wait and ask for God to show me what I should do, but to go ahead, and pray that I'm doing the right thing." I cannot tell you how much that helped me. I have gone ahead and done something, taken what seemed like the next step, praying that I was doing the right thing -- and, from the overwhelming peace I received, as well as the feedback I received from strong Christians, I know that I was.

Baseball is C-O-O-L!

The Twins won!!!!!! And I was all up on my feet shouting and clapping and cheering and everything, because after a few innings, I had figured out (with help from my baseball-savvy cousin) how things went, and didn't have to be told what had just happened all the time, just every once in a while. And tickets were only $6! And we had a super view of THE WHOLE FIELD, and it is so much easier to follow what's going on when you can see everything at once! And we saw all of Shannon Stewart's cool catches (we were right above him), and he rocked my socks off. I loved everything, and I can't wait to go back!!

*Yes, Jenni. This confirms my entry into the Sporting World, but at least at real games, you get the workout of jumping up and cheering and being all up in your face nervous and walking around the stadium (in order to get to the concessions, but still).

Take me out to a ball game

Tonight I'm going to a the Minnesota Twins home game with my cousin and some of his friends - this is my first time going to a sports game other than kids softball and basketball! I'm totally excited, having to eat my words regarding every organized sport other than tennis (I've always said baseball is tolerable, though, whew -- I have to, though, or I'd be kicked outta this house!).

Get me some coke and a seat and I'm all set, ready to scream out my lungs at the players. WHOOP IT UP!

Where I am from:

I am from smooth linoleum,
From Soft Scrub and clean sinks.
I am from sawdust spewed from
Electric saws as we remodeled our house.

I am from long braids and print dresses,
(dresses my Mama sewed herself),
From bonnets and sandals,
From raspberry-framed glasses
Nestling against tanned skin.

I am from long summer nights
When the sun didn't sleep until 10,
And the dew on the grass
Was cool against my bare feet.

I am from spicy mints from dad's pocket
(Sugarfree Certs, with deep blue centers)
During the church service on Sundays,
To tide us through the long sermons.

I am from pot roasts and spaghetties,
From late-night popcorn (Dad's specialty)
And peanut-butter foldovers with milk,
From chicken stir-fries and homemade cookies.

I am from classical music records,
Beethoven and Bach and Rachmaninoff,
My companions ever since I was little,
Then allies through years of lessons.

I am from once-a-year family reunions,
On Mom's side, for grandparents' birthdays;
Dad's side less steady, only seemingly
Getting together for funerals.*

I am from Kevin Roy and Judith Ann,
From Wilmer LeVerne and Anneka Mae,
From Lloyd Franklin and Maxine Rae,
From Norway, Sweden, Denmark, and England.



* There's the random get-together for a graduation or a Christmas every few years, but, truly, my Dad's side of the family is not family-oriented. I want to marry a man who comes from a tight-knit family, one that spends time together not out of obligation, but liking to; one that goes out of its way to be together and revels in time spent together.

itunes, utunes, everybody tunes tunes

Normally, buying too much music from itunes isn’t a problem for me, since Mom and Dad have dialup at home. Here, I have access to cable 24/7. There, the download time is ½ an hour per song; here, it’s less than ten seconds. Do you see the problem? I do, and so do the 12 new songs sitting in my itunes library. I had to get a few new Russell Watson songs, though, and I needed a some good love songs (“Here with Me” from Dido, “Just Perfect” from Tracy Bonham, “All by Myself,” by Jamie O’Neal [because whenever I hear it, I think about Bridget Jones thinking she‘ll be alone forever and fat and eaten by a pack of dogs, cute], “Ain’t no Sunshine” from Bill Withers, “You’ve Got a Way With Me” by Shania Twain, and “Follow you Down” by the Gin Blossoms) …and I got “Glasgow Love Theme” from “Love Actually,” because I love piano music like that.

I made three cards today: two generic, and one get-well-soon, which is for Sar, since she’s sick again. :(

My car broke down Wednesday morning, leaving me stranded in a suburb ½ an hour south of the apartment. I phoned my aunt, and she came to rescue me and take me back up to my A&G's apartment. Since Wednesday morning, then, I've been driving Gus's Saturn, and I love it. It feels so speedy, since it's not big and bulky like the Buick I usually drive. PLUS, it has a CD player, and the "Amélie" soundtrack has been playing for me every time I'm in the car. I love it, love driving around in the morning and evening, when the air is a little chilly, windows down enough to get a bit of a breeze, and my favourite Amélie songs the accompaniment to the city driving, as I weave my way in and out of traffic, darting between semis and passing on the sidewalks. No, I'm kidding about the semis.

Organic, etc.

I am loving living in the city. In the metro area, there's at least a million people, and I love everything about living in a densely populated area (except for people getting hit by cars). I love being with my extended family, these wonderful people I only see once a year, I love sitting in "my" bedroom and chatting with one of my favourite cousins on AIM -- the cousin who is in the next room on his computer, the one who plays guitar like a genius and calms my soul with "Frail" whenever I ask him to.

I love people-watching. I went to my sister's Thesis Support Group with her, at a coffeehouse downtown; I took a book along, but during the near-hour we were there, I only read 21 pages (normally, I'd've been 80+ pages into it by then), because I was too busy watching people, wondering who they are, and trying to guess where they're going, if they're really in love with the person they're with, what they're thinking.

I was introduced to the Whole Foods Market the day before yesterday, and I cannot wait until I permanently live closer than 2 hours from it. I went back yesterday, just to take in all the beautifully arranged organic produce, to smell the area with fresh cheeses, to look at all the organic body care products (and to sample a greek olive from the olive bar, of course).

In this area of the city, there are so many brick houses, and I love feasting my eyes on them, especially the ones with trees surrounding them, branches draping themselves over the roof. The house in the dreams of my heart is old red brick, with sage-green trim or shutters, one story with an attic, and trees in the front yard as well as the back. The driveway is stone, and there's a hardwood floor and a fireplace in the living room, and the bedroom is painted this blue, with sheer white curtains. But the best thing in that house by far is someone, someone who loves me, someone with dark hair and dark eyes, someone with a sense of direction, a purpose, someone who is calm and steady, gentle, and patient with me when I get upset. Someone who loves going to church as much as I do. Someone who will sleep in with me some summery Saturday mornings, when the soft wind makes the curtains billow gently, and breathes over our skin like a wish passing by; someone who wears the wide gold band that matches the one on my hand. This has so long been a dream, the wish of my heart, and I pray it won't be too much longer before it is no longer a dream, but sweet, sweet reality.

City life

Today, I saw a person get hit by a car, a car leaving the side street I was approaching. There is no way to describe the sickness, the panic, the utter horror and devastation felt in my soul when I realised in my brain what I had just seen. My eyes knew immediately, but it took my brain a second to wrap itself around the concept -- that what the young driver had hit and slammed on his brakes about was not a bird, not a squirrel, but a human being, an 11 year old boy wearing a blue and white basketball jersey. When I first saw the twisted bike under the car, I thought it was a stroller and felt like I'd been punched in the stomach by Mike Tyson and I couldn't breathe. We pulled over to call 911, but by the time my aunt had gotten her cellphone out of her bag, there were already two other people on their cellphones. I wonder how the little boy is doing now, at the hospital, and I wonder how the driver is -- how he's coping with the fact that he hit a human. I wonder if his hands are shaky, if his whole body feels all quivery the way mine still is.

Funniest thing I saw today:

An eyepatch with a message on it, with an arrow pointing to the other eye: "I'm with Blinky."

Shimmy shimmy

Juan: When I was in Florida, I thought of you.
Dänika: (Oh, how sweet!)
Juan: Yes, because one day I was there, and there were SO. MANY. gay men.

MESSAGE TO WINGMAN1 AND WINGMAN2:

SUBJECT: TOP SECRET
PROJECT: USHER 04
STATUS: ACTIVATED
DATE: (TBA)

OVER AND OUT.

I WILL be fine.

Balancing on the edge of the sun-dappled deck before I hurtled my body into the sunlight to snare some Vitamin D, I realized I can be happy about tolerate, maybe even enjoy a little (let's not push it) today (even though this morning, I wished I could sleep through the whole day and wake up tomorrow not feeling so sick).

Why?

Because I hung onto a pair of jeans that are now a size or two too big for me, and I can pull them off without undoing the snaps and buttons. They're perfect for today, when I feel sick and hungover and need a pick-me-up in the vanity department -- having to continually hike up my pants is a good little boost.

Because I don't have any classes this summer that I have to do homework for. I don't have to get up early every weekday morning and sit through classes I don't particularly like. Access to the Internet without having to research for a paper or feel guilty about using the computer for means other than schoolwork.

Because I'm proud of myself for treadmilling this morning before breakfast.

Because I can play around with my watercolours and my journal.

Because we have snails in our garden pond (and tree frogs who congregate there every night, and a huge fuzzy spider who I'm convinced is hiding out somewhere in the vicinity of the bench, which is why I haven't sat there for five days and am constantly on the lookout whenever I venture out by the pond.

Because I have a crazy mom who brought the accordion upstairs and was playing in the hallway outside my room this morning.

Because even though the sun's out and it's hot HOT HOT, there's a wonderful breeze, and it makes the leaf shadows dance around on the deck.

Because our rosebushes are in bloom. When we moved here, there was a huge woodpile north of the house. After we cleared it, rosebushes sprouted up, and they have gradually taken over the whole garden (again) -- they're the best-smelling, loveliest roses.

Because in a week and a half, I'll be catsitting, and will finally have something done to this craaazy hair.

Because if my cousin can take a hint, this summer (and fall and winter and spring and summer...) could be really interesting and fun.

Because my Dad is alive and isn't dizzy anymore.

Because I got to see two of my favourite people yesterday. :)

zombie

(darn, now I have that Cranberries song stuck in my head)

Last night, one of Dad's cousins drove upstate to see us; he's a night owl, so whenever he comes here, he shows up late in the evening, and used to stay until 3 AM or so, and then drive back home. This morning he left about one-thirty, but I had to get up at a quarter after five (AM AM AM), so that was plenty late for me. I'm going to go back to bed in a little bit, just because I have to drive Dad somewhere (2 hrs each way) this afternoon, and I want to be alert. :)

Except for the whole getting up after not having enough sleep, I liked being up that early. We drove down deserted country roads, dew on the alfalfa fields sparkling in the sun; fluffy cloud remnants still hung in the valleys. I LOVE it -- it's like the clouds like to come down and nestle close to the land during the night (and "The stars are God's daisy chain," I know, I know, leave me alone). It's very fairy-taleish and magical, and it always makes my imagination even more vivid.

Day before yesterday, I got an invitation to a bridal shower for Erica, who was one of my friends when we were growing up. She's the second one of my friends to get married in the past 8 months; it's so strange, sometimes, to think that we're that old.

Blah blah BLAH BLAH BLAH.

I want to get married. I only know one person I would even consider marrying (and by "consider, " I mean "YESSSSS! When? This afternoon? I'LL BE READY!"), and I haven't seen him since last year. I'm done dating stupid guys -- or, rather, stupidly dating [stupid] guys; I'm tired of it. What I really want to do is not date around, but wait until the guy who's interested in me is the right kind of guy. Why waste my time and energy and affection on someone who isn't worth it and/or isn't in it for the right reasons anyway? Bah.

Why do I want to get married? Some things that are attractive to me are the stability, the security, being able to always be with the person I like the best out of the whole world, the person I love deeply, and who kind of likes me (just checking -- are you still awake? heh ;) . ...those are just a couple things on my leeeengthy list...

Embarrassing...

I'm not comfortable with my brothers' driving. It's not that they're bad drivers, per se, just that they're horribly inexperienced and don't really pay attention at all (I know, I sound like my mom when I learnt to drive, but there's a reason their insurance rates are, like five hundred dollars every-1/2-year higher than mine!!). Last night I was told that Joe was going to be driving Dad somewhere today, and expressed my trepidation, but Mom assured me everything would be fine. I know I still had that look on my face, though, the "I'm a Better, More Experienced, Older Driver" look.

This morning Joe came into the kitchen: "Where are the keys for the Jeep?"
Mom: "Aren't they in there?"
J: "NO!"
D, shouting from the next room: "They're IN there! They're by the, uh...the...uhhh...uhhhhhhhh....the PARK REVERSE NEUTRAL OVERDRIVE THING!"
J: "Dänika, you mean, the SHIFTER?"
D: "Whatever. Still a better driver."

can lightning bolts strike me from a galaxy far, far away?

With "Return of the Jedi" playing in the near foreground (I'm mobile! The laptop and I are in the living room), stealing most of my attention while I try to formulate something that isn't too boring, I have to wonder: Except for the redeeming presence of Darth Vader, Han Solo, the phenomenal soundtrack, and light-sabres, why do these have a cult following? Who on earth cast Mark Hamill (and why do the Ewoks scare me so)? And, more recently, why-oh-why was Hayden Christiansen cast as Anakin/DV? I couldn't stand him in Episode II (the little brat), and I still haven't seen Episode III, because I'm in no hurry to have to suffer through a couple hours of his stilted acting and any more cheesy love stuff (though one killing one's spouse isn't cheesy love stuff, I know) and DID YOU KNOW that he had to wear huge platform shoes so he'd be tall enough for Darth Vader's outfit? Isn't that a sign that they should've cast someone else? How about Ben Affleck?

Kidding. But not much. Oh, the mental picture...

I've never been a science-fiction buff, but I did harbour a little bit of Star Wars Appreciation (SWA) following a movie-viewing with my former music professor, who showed me how intricate John Williams' score is, how each character has his or her own theme, and how just by listening to the music, you can tell who's onscreen, and what's happening in the film. And, I've been told, at the end of the most recent one, when Baby Leia is onscreen, Leia's theme plays. But still, my SWA extended only to the soundtrack, I just realized.

I just heard Darth Vader's ragged breathing, as Luke removed the mask, showing the hallowe'en-style makeup job on his dad, and I had to laugh, because I remembered one of my favourite skits on "Whose Line is it, Anyway?" Something to do with Famous Movie Lines, the Rough Draft (they just don't pack quite the punch):
Brad Sherwood took the stage, did some convincing DV-type breathing, and then croaked out, "Luke, I am your second-cousin twice-removed."

(Right now, one Ewok partying at the end, providing the percussion by whacking the top of the Storm Trooper's helmets, is eerily reminiscent of Patsy doing the percussion for "Camelot!" in "Monty Python and the Search for the Holy Grail.")

Most "classic" movies I don't harbour an appreciation for, I just realised as I was typing this up: I can't stand "Gone with the Wind" (except for Clark Gable), "The Wizard of Oz" I hate, and there are many others on the Everyone's Favourite Classics! list that I don't like.

But give me a French movie (or an old Gregory Peck film) any day, and I'm happy as a clam.

The First Do-It for the Summer: Watercolour!

I've always wanted to learn how to watercolour. I love the hazy, soft, Impressionistic look of the colours on a good, heavy paper, and how people can take paint of any sort and smear it on a canvas and have it LOOK LIKE A FLOWER, OH-MY-GOSH! amazes me. I figured I've put it off long enough (I ain't gittin' any younger), borrowed a watercolour book from my mom's friend, and bought the supplies yesterday.

I still cannot believe I forked over $14.99 for ONE paintbrush -- this, coming from the person who hates parting with her money in increments over $10 (unless it's the Amélie soundtrack which I'd been wanting for a year), can sniff out the clearance section of any store from just inside the door, and hardly ever pays full price for anything. You can call it Miserly and Cheap if you want to, but I prefer THRIFTY and SENSIBLE, thanks.

The watercolour book I borrowed is just perfect for me; the author keps emphasizing the need to relax, don't worry about wasting paper, don't have high expectations of what my beginning creations look like; they don't look like anything I've seen, because they were painted by me, and I'd never watercoloured before! So yesterday and today, I've had a blast, swirling colours around on the cold-press paper, loving the creation of new colours as the primaries blend and dance around the page.


Thank God for the "Recover Post" feature! It just saved my butt from having to try to remember what I said in this post!

Saturday!

This, THIS, is what I remember Saturdays being like...sleeping in until the birds outside my window wake me up, cool damp air making my curtains breathe; taking the morning slowly, still in my pajamas, taking time to look out the window while I'm sitting at the computer, checking my favourite websites one by one, instead of simultaneously opening them all in six browsers (to save time). Knowing that I don't have anything more pressing to do today than listen to CarTalk and play with my new watercolours, making the colours waltz across the pebbly paper.

As per your request

I've been told I should update more frequently; something confirmed by the numbers of my readership/site hits trickling away. I haven't done writing on this journal for a few reasons: I've begun a paper journal; I'm under the influence of Kathleen Pequignot; I paint and collage the pages first, then write a bit about my day. It's interesting, and I like looking back at what I've done.*

Lately, my days have been full of my family, which makes me impatient for the end of this month, when I'll be catsitting in Minnesota for a week. I love my family, but recently everything I've done has been with them, and I need time to myself, time to get away and be my own person with my own plans. I've been working for Dad, filling out and balancing ledgers; I have two months left from last year that refuse to balance, even though I've used 50'+ printing calculator tape on them, and when these finally work out, I start filling out the ledger for the accounts this year.

I took Dad to his doctor's appointment yesterday; I liked the office. It was on the top floor, and the room was much wider and longer than usual. I studied the colour charts of the brain, and had the 2.5' tall model skeleton dancing to "I Could Have Danced All Night" until the doctor came in. The neurosurgeon listened to Dad for a few minutes, asked a few questions about Dad's symptoms, about the continually poor eyesight (he's still wearing the patch), about the ringing in his ears, about his dizzy spells, of which he still has 20+ episodes a day. The doctor said that he had hoped these symptoms would have corrected themselves by now, but since there's no change, he's referring Dad to a neurologist, who can give him exercises to combat his vertigo, etc. So after five minutes, we left the office, with an appointment 11 AM tomorrow. Hopefully we'll go to Borders afterwards; otherwise, I'll feel gypped, for there isn't anything else to compensate for the 1+ hour drive each way.

We've been trying to sell Dad's office and shop for over a year and a half now; the first realtor with whom we'd listed it did a rotten job, so we tried to sell it ourselves for a year, and then last week listed it with a different realtor. Tuesday morning they listed it online, and yesterday a man came to see the building -- not once, not twice, but THREE TIMES. We met him one of the times he came to the office, and he seems perfect for the building -- he's a photographer, his wife weaves, and a friend of theirs is a potter, and they want this building as their studio. He made the realtor an offer for just a few thousand less than we were asking, and believe me, we were ready to take it, but when Mom and Dad met with the realtor this morning, they were told that the man had stopped in late yesterday and changed his offer -- he's giving us the full asking price. Yeah!!!

I've been maintaining a wheat-free (and mostly corn-free) diet for almost a week now, and it's nearly impossible to describe how much better I feel. I have more energy, my skin is clearer and softer, I have better concentration, and I have no desire to eat wheat...but it is daunting at times, especially when I'm away from home for a meal and trying to find something I can eat that is preservative-free, wheat-free, and meat-free. Enter, stage-right: The ever-glorious Zone bars.

* The other reason is that the thoughts I've been journalling about are too much, too much inside my head and in my soul for me to write about here; they're locked safely away.

And one, and two, and up, and down.

I usually exercise quietly, just the thumping of my feet on the treadmill or loud exhalations keeping time with the music that's supposed to keep my attention off the fact that I have 20 minutes left in my workout. Today, though, I realized it must have sounded odd to anyone who happened to open the door to the basement -- I had "You've Got Mail" in the vcr, headphones clamped on my ears, and occasional quotes slipped their way out of my mouth between inhalations:

Example 1:
"/thump thump/ Kiss me, I'm going to be your wicked stepmother."

Example 2:
"/pant/ I am; I'm having my eggs harvested."

Photo: June 2

Tuppence, June 2005

Inspiring me today:

43Things. I am obsessed with this website! You can make a list of your goals, check off the ones that you've met, connect with people across the world who have the same goals as you (or are willing to help you out!), and give and receive "cheers" -- cheering people on to reach their goals. I received my first "cheer" almost immediately after I added "Be in a movie with Ewan McGregor" to my list; I've also gotten cheered on to "Live in NYC" and "read the classics." There are many people from the USA, of course, but so many from other places -- the UK, Australia, Greece, Spain...I love it!

May 31: Photo:

Bleeding-Heart - May, 2005

Memorial Day

Poppy - May, 2005

Yesterday was my maternal grandfather's 88th birthday. This is the grandfather who served in the military in WWII and was stationed in Guam, while his wife and son were back home in Wisconsin. This is the man who still kisses his wife on the lips -- his wife who is in the Alzheimer's unit in their nursing home and doesn't make sense anymore. This is the man who came to all my music recitals, who taught me how to play Skip-Bo, Phase10, and Uno. His freezer was always stocked with popsicles in the summertime, and his grass was always soft and perfectly trimmed. I remember -- I can even smell it -- running to their basement, getting a rootbeer popsicle, going outside, my bare feet scorching a little bit on the hot deck, then running over to the grass and feeling the lush blades on my feet. This is the man who had colon cancer 20-some years ago, had a tree fall on him 15 years ago, had a hip replaced 10 years ago, and had a heart attack and surgery four years ago -- he was not breathing for a long time after the heart attack, and his brain was deprived of oxygen long enough to give him some memory loss -- he can't remember little things two seconds after you tell him, but he remembers the big things, the things that matter; he remembers that a tree fell on my dad's head, but no matter how many times we tell him, he can't remember how Dad's doing now. But he remembers to ask. This is the man who still dresses in crisp dress shirts and slacks every day, thin dress socks and loafers, his hair perfectly combed. Last weekend when I went to visit him, he was sitting cross-ways in his recliner, reading the paper, his back against one arm, his legs draped over the other. He is ridiculously spry and handsome.

land the prince with the perfect hair

Clouds - May 29th, 2005

I can't believe I have the whole summer stretching ahead of me. I keep thinking that I'm slacking off on homework, that I'm neglecting doing something -- I can't quite wrap my brain around the fact that I don't have to go back in a couple of weeks, that I don't have to plan everything right away, but instead can just take it easy and plan things for, oh, TWO MONTHS FROM NOW if I feel like it. I'm looking forward to the end of this month, when I'm going to housesit for Ang and Gus -- I'm going to like getting away from here for a week or so. It's strange, being out in the middle of nowhere after living in a big city (that has another big city smooshed up against it); other than the oppressive silence, the distance thing is getting to me:

There: Target =4 minute drive
Here: Target = 50 minute drive
There: Movie Theatre = 5 minutes
Here: Movie Theatre = 25 minutes
There: good Grocery Store = 1 minute
Here: good Grocery Store = 23 minutes
There: Library = 0 or 5 minutes
Here: Library = 25 minutes
There: Symphony Orchestra = 10 minutes
Here: Symphony Orchestra = 120 minutes

Being away from home and being my own person: priceless.
Spending time with family: priceless.


I rented two romantic comedies on dvd a couple of nights ago; "Down with Love" and "How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days." I've gotta say, Ewan McGregor is h-h-hotter than I'd remembered -- and I love the song at the end (he has a great voice); it makes me want to watch Moulin Rouge again.

Put the lime in the Coke, you nut...

Today is the last day here in Milwaukee. At the beginning of the week, with five days stretching before us, I couldn't really believe that it would ever end -- the days were so long, and the only times we ever got out of the hotel room were at 7:40, 11:40, and 3:35, when we would take Rob to school/pick him up for lunch/bring him back. Since Sunday night, Dad and I have gone to the grocery store twice, the gas station twice, and Target a few times right after lunch.

I do like West Milwaukee, though. There are lots of trees, birds, squirrels, and rabbits; tons of brick houses (I found My House), and many sparkling Lexuses, Audis, Hyundais, and other nice cars that I don't hit. :) The traffic here hasn't been too bad; there are a few crazy intersections (for example, one is a five-way intersection; four of the ways have stoplights, but we always end up on the fifth one, and just have to make a run for it between cars).

Our hotel is about a mile from Miller Park -- home of the Milwaukee Brewers. Dad and I were going to have a Grand Adventure yesterday and visit the Domes by the Park, spend time in the amazing conservatory, but yesterday was really dizzy for him, so I talked him into taking a nap instead (see, Ang? I'm c-a-p-a-b-l-e).

I can't wait to get home, though -- to have my OWN SPACE, to listen to my music, to have a big kitchen to cook and bake in when I want to, to sleep in, to read my books that I forgot to bring along, to take pictures of the lilacs that are in FULL BLOOM right now. And to get away for a bit -- Holly's family has a cabin, and she and I are going to spend some time up there this summer.

"Bagpipes -- putting the FUN back in funerals"

I just checked my final class grades for this semsester...


STRAIGHT A's, BABY!!! I am THRILLED. !!!!!!!!!!!!!

Voila!

After much tinkering and many talks to my older brother, I got wireless enabled on this laptop, in this hotel. Hallelujah, I have access to the Internet!!

SENSORY. OVERLOAD.

I always felt sorry for Dad, whom Mom would hit and poke and shove during the night when he snores. But now...now, I CAN TOTALLY UNDERSTAND. I'm in Milwaukee; I had to chauffeur my dad and brother here for the week, and we're sharing one hotel room. TWO SNORERS. IN THE SAME ROOM AS ME. Not only have I not had any time to myself since yesterday morning, I haven't had any quiet. Or any sleep. I slept for about three hours last night. I don't know what to do to make them SHUT UP.

Dad is a dry-snore -- and makes the back of my throat hurt, just hearing it.
Rob is a gurgly-wet-congested snore -- and it's disgusting.

All the nerves in my body are at attention, bracing for each onslaught of snoring. I can't use earplugs, because then I won't be able to hear people sneak up on me.



I'm tired -- I had about two days off between finishing finals and coming here.

I forgot to bring books along. BOOKS. I FORGOT. I can't believe this. I have "Nicholas Nickleby" in the back window of the car, but I really don't want to resort to that. I might have to find a library or bookstore here. Somewhere.

I took so many pictures on Saturday, and can't wait to upload them!! I love flowers.

Tulips

May 21, 2005

Summer 1.0

There were a few goodbyes. Only a couple that really mattered -- the goodbye to my roommate, who's graduating today, and the goodbye-for-the-summer to the boy from my history class. He made the class bearable for the last month and a half; the times the teacher would've driven me crazy, he and I'd look at each other and laugh, and it made everything better. We talked a lot before the final, and it made a comfortable feeling in my stomach, knowing that he'll be back next semester -- that I'll have a built-in friend to get to know better.

It still hasn't sunk in, quite, that I'm done with school for the summer, that I've completed a semester at college 2.0. I finished my final final around 2:30, sold back two books (and got $81! Ha, Ang! :P ) and my Mexican boy came to help me take down the loft in my room. After a few close calls to Death by Black Metal Tubing, we finally shook the thing apart and I checked out of my room, with no payments for damages (she didn't notice the towel rack[s]).

I've totally cleaned my room at home. BELIEVE IT OR NOT.

I helped Dad do an inspection on a house this morning.

I've taken so many nature photos over the last week -- hopefully I'll be able to get those uploaded onto my laptop soon.

I spent a lot of time cutting out pictures, letters, and phrases from old National Geographics (extra copies) for my collage-cards.

Last night, I had a picnic by the lake with one of my friends whom I hadn't seen for a few months. It was strange; we weren't as comfortable with each other as we used to be. And then I picked up "In Good Company," and H & J and I got pizza and breadsticks and watched the dvd together at their apartment. I love them -- Holly's the only person I know who would do something as crazy as Midget Dancing with me.

But you were home almost every weekend, he said.
Yes, I replied, But when I came home for the weekends, I knew I was going back in two days. Now, I'm here for months.

Mom: "Dänika?"
Dä: "Yes?"
Mom: "See if you can marry the guy who invented Dyson vacuum cleaners."
Dä: "Ah."
Mom: "That'd be a Good Catch."

chaos

I hate nights like tonight. There are some times when it seems that there are so many ideas bouncing around in the confines of my skull, that I can't pin just one down and concentrate on it -- the others are all so distracting. I need to finish reading a book and get some idea of what I'll say on the essay questions for my native american history class FINAL tomorrow morning, but string theory, quantum mechanics, astronomy, stargazing, admiration, and old journal entries I found - are crowding my mind. It's like stupid static on AM stations -- annoying and interfering, but you just can't tune it out.

Some part of it (okay, a huge part) has to do with the fact that I moved all my things home last weekend and spend a goodish chunk of the last couple of days with my best friend, and lots of time at my old campus. That campus is one of the only places on Earth where I feel comfortable and safe, where my body actually relaxes.

But the other part has to do with the fact that I'm just so ready for school to be finished. I studied my butt off, got straight A's, and I'm just so tired. I didn't come back to school until this afternoon, and I think if I'd come back on sunday evening, as usual, I wouldn't be having this problem to this extent. I got out of the school mode, I think.

phantom

Do I haunt your thoughts as much as you're in mine?

I doubt it.

But it'd be nice to think so.

Code Name

Drew: Want to come to a party with me this weekend? We're gonna have a hot-dog eating contest.
Teen: When you say "hot-dog eating contest," is that a Code Name for a "kegger"?
Drew: No, it's a Code Name for "a hot-dog eating contest."

Iris

There are two kinds of people in the world...

...those who like Neil Diamond, and those who don't.


Josh: So have you moved everything, or did you leave, like, lots of clothes there or something?
Dänika: Yeah, pretty much. Lots of pants.
Josh: So are you dabbling in nudism, then?

tearful parting...

Goodbye, High-Speed Internet. I'll miss you so much. I'll be spending the summer with my old buddy, Dial Up. We'll frolic in the school room at 2 A.M., but believe me, I'll be thinking of you.

See you in August, my Love.

reasonable excuse?

He finished shoving his books into his backpack, put on his windbreaker, then stood up. He looked at me, bright blue eyes probing mine from his 6'2" height. I put my books in my bag carefully, and met his eyes for what seemed an eternity. He looked as though he was about to say something, to the point of taking a deep breath, then changing his mind and letting it out slowly. He hesitated again, and I jumped in.
"Well, I hope you have a good weekend!"
He leaned toward me a trifle expectantly, wearing his trademark huge smile. "What?"
"Have a good weekend?"
His face changed a little, his big smile dimmed; "Yeah, you too...umm...see you next week." He turned and walked out of the room. Why did I just do that? Why did I cut him off like that? We always talk after class, finally going separate ways in the hallway, hands outstretched in a low wave, heads turned back, smiling, and wishing each other a great weekend.

After I slung my bag over my shoulders, I kicked myself all the way out the door and to my dorm.

It's the headcold.

baaaalance

Monday night, I bought this mug at Target, because it's so smooth, and looking at it made me calmer.

as seen on msn

Tinkerbell says:
you need something besides school....
Tinkerbell says:
a LIFE
i know you by heart says:
lol
Tinkerbell says:
that's what it's called

she knows me too well...

Dä: I have a problem. I like L. a little bit.
Kim: You mean, oh! The Guy you sit by in history! Oh my gosh, he is so cute! He seems so smart.
D: I know.
K: How's the boyfriend?
D: You mean, the guy who said two sentences to me the last time I saw him, because he was too busy networking computers to even really say hi or ask me how I'm doing with all the stressors in my life right now? Oh, he's super.
K: That great, huh?
D: Yeah.
K: Well...would you ever ask L out? Would you be so bold?
D: Ummmmm. It would take me quite a while to work up the nerve.
K: Ha! Yeah, and even then, you'd say it all in one breath, like, 'HIhowAREyouareyoudoinganythingtonightwouldyouliketogooutwithme?'
D: EXACTLY LIKE THAT.

(it's times like this when I kinda wish my sister and brother in law didn't have the address of this blog. ;P heh heh. love you guys!)

alert! alert! place all teams on standby!

It's past her bedtime, but my roomie is MIA.

!!

Have I done this before?

Today in psychology, as I was sucking down cough drops and trying not to throw up, I made a list of some things I want in a guy.

My guy should...

• be happy to see me
• not try to get in my pants
• smile a lot
• want kids
• hold a steady job or is a student
• be smarter than me/at least as smart as I
• be in college or graduated
• want to travel
• be calm and steady
• be healthy/exercises
• be respectful of elders/authority
• have wonderful hands
• be gentle
• want to spend time with me, but
• is not possessive
• respect me
• be willing to go to plays and concerts with me
• have a good sense of humour
• make me feel comfortable
• treat me as though I am precious
• want to live in a city for a couple decades, at least
• like to read

Today in history class I was sitting next to L, the guy I've sat by for a few weeks now, and I wish so much that we'd started talking to each other at the beginning of the semester instead of the last couple of weeks. It seems this is always the way it is with me -- I wait until I feel comfortable around people before I start really talking to them, and by then, it's almost too late. L seems like such a neat guy, and I'm kicking myself that I didn't step outside my bubble before, and start talking to him months ago.

But right now, I need to sleep.

fibbabaloobadoo.

So, the test, the test that is tomorrow but that's optional? Remember that test? The test that was called "The Optional Final," the "It has 200 Questions, and Taking it won't Help Anyone's Grade" -- "So DON'T GO!!"? That test? SILLY PEOPLE. That's not the Optional Final. The Optional Final is NEXT WEEK. This IS NOT OPTIONAL. This one is all about sex and drugs (and rock'n'roll). This is where those missing 120 points were when I tallied up my grade last night and was horrified that I apparently had a B.

Crap.

I have three more pages to write tonight on a paper, though, and that's more important -- the test won't be that difficult -- it's mostly just, umm, common sense and listening to the SexTalk.

I've been eating all day, because I have a sore throat, and the only time it feels passably okay to swallow, is when I'm swallowing something of substance -- namely, saltine crackers or runts. Otherwise, the routine is something like this: Swallow, Grimace, "Ouch!" Make a Face. Swallow, Grimace, "Ouch!" Make a Face. Repeat.

I bought shoes today -- beautiful, lovely, spring sandals. I knew they were the right ones; Kristen and I went into separate aisles in the store (call her "Cinderella;" she's the one with the cute little feet), and I saw The Sandals, but not in my size, and called over to her, across the shelves, "I'll bet they won't have these in my size!" Went over to the Giant Feet section, and there they were!! I had just pulled one out of the box, when Kristen came hopping over to where I was, sporting new footwear -- "Look!" "Look!" And they were the same beautiful green sandals. I bought them; she didn't, which was quite a feat (feet, get it? har har), and when I got back home, I even repainted my toenails and everything. Can't wear these snazzy new sandals with old polish, no Sir.

I'm going to take the laptop over to the student center and work on my paper over there.

smooch.

Absence: legitimate

Last weekend Dad was in an accident. I haven't written about it here for two reasons:

1. I've been frantically busy, and
2. I've written/spoken about it so much that I didn't want to go over it again.

He was out burning stuff and clearing out brush from the edge of our yard last Saturday morning. My younger brother was with him, helping pull trees away into the woods after Dad cut them down. Apparently one tree fell the wrong way, or snapped, or something...and it fell on Dad's head. After one frantic 911 call, lots of unconsciousness, one 90+ mph ambulance, one fast helicopter ride (and great paramedic), one CT scan, 20 stitches, one broken tooth, four chipped teeth, one cracked tooth, some louuuusy vision, one hurt shoulder, one grade 3 concussion (borderline traumatic brain injury), one hospital stay of 3 days and 2 nights, later....he's home and sleeping a lot. He can't work for the next month, and any and every little thing wears him out. I take him back to the hosp tomorrow to get his stitches out and vision checked up on.

I hadn't slept well at all since the accident, and didn't dream in more than a week, but I finally dreamed last night...that I was engaged. To ms-prof. Oh boy (oh boy oh boy!).

I found out the same day as Dad's accident, that one of my favourite people in the world, my aunt Patty, has a tumor (larger than a normal orange) on one of her ovaries. Surgery is scheduled for the 18th, and the chances are very likely that it's cancer. I'll be going out to her house after she's released from the hospital, and just taking care of her and stuff for a week.

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.