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|Thursday, August 29th, 2002|
|Tuesday, August 27th, 2002|
|Do you like bunnies?
I like leaving money in my pants pockets. This way, when I wash them and I find a wad of cash at the bottom of the washing machine, I feel like someone has paid me for doing my laundry. If I have children I think I'm going to invent a story about The Laundry Faery.
- I think I want to have (a/some) child(ren).
- But for the wrong reason.
- I think it's wrong to try to change other people's opinions if you're not willing to contribute to society by, well, creating it. However, this is a crappy reason to have children.
- I loathe babies. I like young children. When they're impressionable, but not too stinky.
- Maybe I'll adopt.
- I really shouldn't worry about it. All the same, usually when I don't worry about things, they just go away. Like homework.
- Kids are like VD: They never go away.My choice is what I choose to do,
And if I'm causing no harm it shouldn't bother you.
Your choice is who you choose to be,
And if you're causing no harm you're alright with me.
Grace wrote me an email. I just received it a minute ago.
[ ... ]
That ellipsis marks a span of twenty minutes. I've spent that twenty minutes trying to explain the sheer importance of this event. I was unable to do it without sounding... creepy. So I gave up. But it needed to be recorded.
When I die I want my body to be handled in the Tibetan fashion. That is, I want to be stripped naked, my ligaments and joints broken, and my body left in the desert for scavengers. I can't think of a bigger thank you than having a tree grow out of me after having fed a group of vultures.
Spasibo ochyen'.Your skin makes me cry.
I'm going to go listen to Everclear and cry.
I don't think I'm going to post in LJ for a while. Maybe never again. We'll see. If you want to know what's happening call me.
Best of wishes,
Ezekiel Hcarfn Fordsmender, Marquis de Ceppria Current Mood: khoroshyj
|Thursday, August 22nd, 2002|
Everybody has bad days now and then.
Today was mine.
Eh. I guess it was bound to happen sooner or later.
1.) Overslept. Rushed out the door while still dressing. Even though I had time to shower, I felt like I smelled funny all day. No time to pack lunch.
2.) Detention assigned. Shit. First one since freshman year. And it's for the crappiest reason, too.
3.) Hungry as fuck because of lack of lunch. Too proud to beg. Only enough money for a drink.
4.) Forced to take shoes off in Psychology. I hate taking my shoes off in public. I'm beginning to dislike that class. A lot.
5.) Band practice fucking sucked.
6.) Because of a malfunction in AIM I missed talking to both Kristin AND
Grace. *Thunk* Not that Grace would have dignified my existence anyway.
7.) Lack of sleep + stress = sick. I'm running a pretty high fever. Only reason I'm up is that Marc and I needed to talk, but no Marcus.
I'm going to sleep.
|Wednesday, August 14th, 2002|
|The Spirit of Ether
The Banana. Look at it. There exists no possible way to eat a banana and look manly. I'm sorry. First of all, it's bright yellow. I mean, c'mon. Then there's the peel folding down over your hand -- they look like puppy dog ears, or flower petals. Not very manly. Of course, perhaps most noteably, there is the acute resemblance to felatio the eating of the banana bears -- the whole phallus in the mouth bit. Speaking of phalluses (phalli?), wouldn't bananas (bananae?) make fantastic dildos? About the appropriate length, and thick, ridged, and firm, but pliable. You'd have to cover the little huskish, nubby part there at the end, but you could do that with... wax. Or something similar. Play dough? Anyway. Now that I look at one, bananas do sort of have a pistol grip. If they were silver, black, or grey they'd be menacing looking. I wouldn't want to eat one, though -- as a general rule, I don't try to eat metallic objects. But it would sort of make eating one look more manly. Hmm.
Emily gave me a ride home today. I owe her my life. It's hot as... a... witch's teat? No, no... uh... hot as a... shphew... a... mmmmmmm... It's hot outside. Thank you, Emily.
School (for all my out-of-state comrades):Period 1
: French IPeriod 2
: AP Macroeconomics (AP American Government second semester)Period 3
: German IVPeriod 4
: AP StatisticsPeriod 5
: AP Literature and CompositionPeriod 6
: AP Psychology
French. Gag. It's not the teacher so much as the plethora of underclassmen. The teacher (Mlle. Johnson) is a verteran of UGA's linguistics department.
Econ. I'm not sure yet...
German. I'm filled with optimism, but only because I'm afraid not to be.
English. I really don't know. Most of the class is not composed of AP students, but instead of Honors or even college prep students who somehow managed to pull of essays which got them into the program. It shows. I keep 75% of what I think to myself just so I don't look like I'm showing off. I did the same last year.
Psych. I really liked this the first two days, but I'm beginning to wonder if it's too
I'm still in the getting-to-know-you stage in all of my classes when I'm being abnormally pleasant to all my teachers. My face smiled too much today. I have a lot of homework to do, and I'd really rather take a nap.
|Monday, August 12th, 2002|
Today really didn't do it for me.
Later. I'll figure it out later. Now I must sleep.
|Sunday, August 11th, 2002|
| Last night we watched "Batman"
Bruce Wayne: Dick...
Dick Gracey: C'mon, Bruce, gimme a name. Uh. Batboy. Night-Wing.
Steve: How about "Wingèd Dick"?
Bruce Wayne: How about "Dick Gracey, college student"?
Zeke: How about "Batdick"?
Steve: Look at Batman's nipples.
pples. Hey. How many teats does a female bat have anyway?
Zeke: I have no idea. Most mammals have six. Six?
Steve: *In the Count voice" Six. Six nipples. Er. Bapples.
Zeke: I have a perverse idea for a coloring book...
Steve: I can top it: The Scratch & Sniff Guide to the Human Body
Steve and Zeke: *giggle*This morning at Mom's birthday brunch
Steve: Stone Mountain is so ugly.
Zeke: It reminds me of a bald man.
Steve: Or a mangey dog.
Zeke: It's a hairy wart on the face of Georgia.
*My grandfather walks up*
Verle: Stone Mountain is so beautiful.
Steve: [aside to Zeke] Uh. Don't go to Stone Mountain. White man paleface likes it.At my grandparents' house after brunch
Zeke: So let me get this straight: instead of using an old school trap, which breaks the thing's neck in a fraction of a second, you're now using a so-called "humane" trap so you capture the rodent alive, starve it for who knows how long, let it roast in its little metal prison in the summer sun until you realize it's out there, and then grab your oak branch and brain the thing?
Zeke: If you're going to use a humane trap, why don't you shoot what you catch? It wouldn't take as long.
Verle: But it wouldn't be fair. Shooting fish in a barrel.
Zeke: (Jocularly) You could mount your quarries' heads that way, though.
Verle: (Stone-faced) I don't think your grandmother would like squirrel heads on the wall.
(By the way, he started laying so traps so he could get this imaginary rat, but he's been extending his game call to squirrels now in order to exact revenge for years of the little buggers stealing from his bird feeders. *Blank stare* I think this is pent-up agression left over from Korea, personally. Maybe he should take up boxing.)
|Saturday, August 10th, 2002|
Lenin Claus says "In Russia, when little boy ask for toy train, everyone get toy train."
Lenin Claus is coming to your commune!
He knows when you've been greedy;
You knows when you're sharing.
You knows if you've been a dirty capitalist pig.
But it doesn't matter -- You get presents anyway!
Lenin Claus is coming to your commune!
"He's a connoisseur."
"Well. I guess this settles it. Barr is
"I thought so."
"You can tell Bob Barr's a villain. He's got the mustache. And the cigar. And the big, black hat. And the opera cape. And he ties virgins to railroad tracks."
"Mmmmmmmm nuh sleeepnnnnh."
"Yes, yes, you were, Kyle. We were talking about you the entire time you were asleep."
"Nuhhh. Then it would been like... five or twenty minutes or something."
"A lot compare him to like a religious figure, like Jesus."
-- Dolly Parton, speaking of Elvis
"So that's what? Only petty theft and a curfew violation, right? Psht. Who's in?"
"Hey. I think I just realized why we -have- a curfew."
"Huh. You're right."
"Would you pass me an blueberry? Would you like an sausage? Would you like ans change?"
"No, "ans" -- plural of 'an.' "
" 'Ans' is shorter. So we... so we... can eliminate the name "Anne" altogether... and... and... and... okay, just use 'some.' "
"No -- do you know what would be really, -really-
cool? Gasoline. In like... those big metal things they wash dogs in. And... and... flaming Nerf arrows."
"Do they still make those?"
"Nerf arrows? This is probably why they discontinued them."
"If you were gay, would you have sex with Kyle?"
"I'd fuck me."
|Wednesday, August 7th, 2002|
|The Continuing Adventures of Morphophonemic Man in the Land of the Grammatically Misinformed.
In case you wondered, the above is the reason why linguists don't write comic books.
I've decided that my happiness as a human being is completely dependent upon the fact that I can choose not to remember certain things at certain times. I think my success as a human being is completely dependent upon the fact that I never truly forget anything at all.
I have summerreading to do. Fortunately, I was able "not to remember" it long enough to go out and have a good time. But I didn't forget it. I wouldn't forget it. I never, ever forget anything. Ever.
I had that little epiphany above this evening, well, night really, as I sweated away the last bit of espressocaffeine in the passenger seat of Marc's car, watching a satellite move across the sky. We were listening to Cohead and Camrea
... or something like that.
I bought a pair of Birkenstock clogs this weekend. *Holds breath* This is a big step for me. I have not bared my foot to any but the most intimate of friends and family since... I was in Dramatic Reality. Dramatic Reality. DR is largely responsible for a big piece of my sexuality, as well as the way I deal with my sexuality. Of course, I've gone barefoot for things like swimming when I really didn't have a choice. So the Birkenstocks are a really big step. I'm coming to terms with myself and how I function. I think there are seven stages in human psychological development: 1) infanthood, when one has only a skeletal personality shaped by wants and impulses; 2) childhood, when one has a personality shaped largely by ayr parents; 4) adolescence, when one discovers ayr personality but is too afraid to show it; 5) young adulthood, when one reveals ayrself varyingly; 6) "mature" adulthood, when one bases ayr personality around that of ayr peers in order not to call unpleasant attention to ayrself; and the variable 7) senility, when one's personality is shaped by wants and impulses, like that of the infant. So perhaps these are my first steps into stage V. I'm going to stay here as long as I can. Not having children will help.
Middleage men who talk to teenage boys are one of three things: 1) lonely, 2) looking to score, or 3) really cool .m. it was "Art Night" at Somethin's Brewin. Campy, right? Actually, it was really cool.
If you wondered, .m. is the closest approximation to a piece of punctuation i invented. It connects two or more seemingly unrelated clauses that have special signficance to the speaker. .j. connects two or more seemingly unrelated clauses that the speaker assumes has special significance to another person.
Lessa: I'm changing ay
: ey, eir, en. "ayr" violates the rules of English orthography, it should be "air," but I don't want to create a homonym with "air." So I'm using ey
from this point forward.
|Saturday, August 3rd, 2002|
"What most people don't realize is that unrestrained children in a car wreck become chubby little missiles of death."Today
Driver's ed ended. We did about an hour's work in the span of seven hours. Lots of sitting and staring. I finished Dorian Gray
and worked with base numbers: base-7, -13, and -16, to be specific. Wow, base-16 is perhaps the best thing I've ever seen in math. It's nothing but patterns. I think it's because all the divisions are even: half of sixteen is eight, half of eight is four, half of four is two, half of two is one. With base-10 it's half of ten is five and there it stops. Fantastic. Base-13 also has a strange set of patterns I didn't expect. With Peto, I'm going to use both base-7 and -13, with special suffixes that distinguish the base. -13 will be the "standard" base, but base-7 will be there for... base-7 purposes. Magick and whatnot.
I have a sinus infection, and so that I could sit through driver's ed without sneezing and itching to death, I had to take some heavy antihistamines. I also had to take some of Mom's diet pills to counter the effects of the Benadryl. (Mixing stimulants and depressants: this is how Chris Farley died. ... ) I stayed awake. I didn't feel great, though. I still don't, and that's okay. I was a bit of an ass when the phone rang, but I'll make up for it tomorrow; I do feel bad about it.
I invented two alphabets today: one vertical one, read left-to-right, and one horizontal one, read right-to-left.
I'm calling them Akilon Gaudolo
and Bzcárwy Ýmaéndyrie
Alexa's great. I mean, how many people could you send on a mission to discover the history of and the psychology behind foot fetishism? I was surprised she found anything. Duke has very little on sexual deviance, Borders has nothing, and Amazon.com only sells pornography on the subject. I can't wait to see what she's copied.
|Thursday, August 1st, 2002|
6 more hours of driver's ed until i'm done. forever. ugmph. it wasn't as bad as i thought it was going to be the first day. driving while someone's watching makes me really nervous. i'm deathly ill. hopefully i'll get better before paul's party. paul? when is your party? i have to do summer reading like you (or i) wouldn't believe.
that's the "more" i promised yesterday. now i'm going to read, pass out, wake up, go to driver's ed, and sleep again. lessa ~ i'll be home at about 6:30 tomorrow. maybe a bit later. tried to reach you tonight.
|Wednesday, July 31st, 2002|
I'm home. I'm sleeping in my own bed tonight. No more grandparents.
But driver's ed still.
I'm not in a bad mood (well, angry I missed =w=), but I'm very, very, very tired. I'm going to sleep.
Much more tomorrow, I think.
|Saturday, July 27th, 2002|
sorgnar eycsre eiliv feio lug yn i ny gul oief vilie erscye rangros
|Friday, July 26th, 2002|
Here's a great thought: Feldman on COPS
. The Man of the Hour himself wearing an Armani shirt and a silken tie, running blindly through a tenement neighborhood, pursued by illerate, alcoholic upholders of American justice. That would be... so... funny.
|Thursday, July 25th, 2002|
|The Bare Midget Project
We should do it again. I know last year sucked, but there were reasons. And we have to do it again.
We have one more summer before we go off to college. I don't know what we'll do next year, but I just don't see all of us crowded around in Paul's basement. One more year: we have to do it.
And we have to do it like we originally planned: it'll have its funny moments, but eventually it has to end up scary. We need a rough script. The actual lines will be improvved, but we need something basic to stick to. -- Who has a tent? We spend too much time outside, in the open. Well, I guess we could use the shed -- but the shed is such a bright, shiny, happy, warm place. A lantern maybe? Hmm. I'll give that one some thought. I also think we need to shake up the characters a bit. Kyle's is fine. Eric -- Peabody? Eh. That humor is so... 8th grade. We'll see. And Paul? Poor Paul. The boy can't be "the Bassplayer" again. We need an underdog who comes through at the end and is on verge of saving us when the Bare Midget nabs him at the last minute -- you know, what Jimbo did for us the first time 'round. Paul? Want the job? I. I'm quite content remaining "That Guy," though perhaps a change-of-name is in order. We can tackle that later. Soundtrack? No, no, I don't think so. Hmm. I think we should only see Will once -- or never at all, perhaps. (If we use his recorded laugh again, we've got to figure out how to tape *over* the Beatles -- remember that one?) We can't pull a Blair Witch, running around and screaming and swearing, so we're going to have to be better at being
Paul, Kyle, and Eric: your mission is to respond to this post so that we can get crackin'. I'll, uh, also answer questions from any non-Cartero-Englerto-Guglielmoetic parties. Current Mood: waiting
I think my phones are fucked.
My TV won't get anything but static, either.
CD player works. Computer too (I think -- so far).
I have two theories: 1) when we lost power the night before last, something happened to the phones and the TV and 2) dad messed something up when he played with the wiring. I think it's the former, though, because the CD player and the computer wouldn't work without power, unless my room is on two different circuits, which I doubt.
In other news... Cynnie called home yesterday when I was alone and told me that she had a friend coming and that I had to clean. So I cleaned. Friend came -- Joanna. Just left. I... am... about to go to sleep. Or... uh. No. I'll go argue with NS, Rob, and Oliver some. That Chris guy is hanging around. Hmm. Mmm.
|Sunday, July 21st, 2002|
I got my allative. I didn't even need to beg :) I also got the IEesque accusative ending -ma changed to -s and the genetive -s to -n. Woo-hoo! Woo-hoo! Oliver's happy because he got his perlative case, NS's happy because he got his -va in the ablative and -kan in the abessive, Rob's happy because we didn't pass any of the case endings NS suggested that he couldn't stomach, and Chris couldn't be contacted. Shucks.
It was a very long and very heated conversation, though, so I think I'm going to take a victory nap.
I'm working on a new linguistics project; this one is a "collabolang" -- a constructed language which is the collaborative work of several authors. They're all members of the language club, of course. NS has been with us since March, and I didn't like him at first, but I'm warming up to him quickly. Rob, who I did
like at first is wearing on my nerves. His personal mission in life is to stand in direct opposition to everything I want this language to be, or so it seems. ... Well, that's not true. We agree on several points: that the language should grammatically complex and on many of the grammatical cases we should use: nomino-absolutive (subject/patient), accusative (object), ergative (agent), dative (to/for), genetive (of), ablative (from), instrumental (by), and illative/inessive/locative (in/into/at). He wanted comitative (with) and abessive (without); I conceded. I passionately want an allative (to/for). See, we're working with a split nominative-accusative/ergative-absolutiv
e system, and nom/acc uses datives and erg/abs uses allatives. It just makes sense! I even let him use his little indoeuropeanesque -ma accusative ending in the hopes that he'd let me get my allative, but he hasn't cracked yet. He will, though. Oh, he will. NS talked him out of subessive (under) and superessive (over) cases, which I really didn't mind. I also think the ~/locative should be an illative, and "inside" case, but Rob thinks it should be an "inessive," an "into" case. I'm hoping Oliver, the new guy, will come in and back me up in both the allative and the illative battles. He helped me flesh out the "animacy hierarchy" which decides what takes which agent/patient scale, but he's kind of an impassive guy whereas Rob's forceful, so I'm afraid we'll shy away from Rob. I might have to appeal to NS. The fifth guy, Chris, has just sort of planted himself in the middle of the project and hasn't done anything of note. He's been stoned at every one of our discussions thus far. We kicked him out of the group a little over a year ago for being a weird jerk, but his one-year-suspension is over and he's back. He's still a weird jerk. But he's an asshole in a very passive, victimized way, so I feel wrong in yelling at him. He's mostly been playing devil's advocate. I actually don't want Drake to join the project. I admire Drake's linguistic work, and he's a really nice guy, but if Drake comes, William will follow, and William and I don't work well together. The three of us -- Drake, William, and I -- have tried to work on a project in the past together, Bálabhádh, and it was impossible to get anything done because Wm blocks every point I bring up. In the end it just fell through. Rob treats me like an equal, and for that reason I don't -dislike-
him at all; I'm just temporarily annoyed with him. Wm doesn't treat me like anything close to an equal. He constantly reminds me that I haven't been to college yet and implies that my work is therefore vastly inferior. He's a good person to have around for one reason, though: because of him, I make sure everything I do is good
before I share it. I think I blew my one chance with him with Peto, when I first submitted the idea over a year ago. I was talking to him about my ideas from the Lily library computers, about my indexical pronouns and how the language would inflect for state of mind and state of being, but I was too quick to post my thoughts when I got home and I left a lot of holes in the work. Reading through what I wrote back then, I'll admit, the logical gaps are big enough to drive a Mac truck through. The indexicals stick out like a sore thumb -- the language is in no way fluid. ... Hmm. Hmm. Wm wouldn't stand for the IEesque -ma suffix. He'd like the -si- plural, though -- another thing which isn't sitting right with me. But he'd like the allative. No, no. I'll leave him out of this. I don't want this project to end in a flury of rapidfire, illwishing emails. I have to stay on good terms with the man. We're cofounders, and there's no point in trying to force the group to behave if the founders are bickering.
New projects are remarkably good for my weal and mental wellbeing. Gives me something to think about and makes the hours pass by more quickly.
In other news, I'm beginning to think that accepting that dinner with Amanda was a colossal mistake. It's not anything to do with her directly, or me, or any of her friends (even though her ex-boyfriend, the one after me, Louie, does indeed scare the motherloving hell
out of me), instead it's everyone else I know. Mom's been asking me on an hourly basis when was the last time I talked to Alexa, and if the answer isn't "within the last five minutes" she gets this far-away look in her eyes. Not only that, but the entirety of the Creekland Middle School faculty is handling me like a piece of glass. Yes. The middle school teachers have "involved" themselves. Vic Chen, Amanda's eighth-grade teacher, wrote me a letter about love and loss. The gifted math department has been forwarding me inspirational poems. The pinacle of ridiculousness was a phone call I received from the front office staff of CMS wishing me well. Honestly, what the fuck? After six months, why does all of the middle school, the middle school
, suddenly assume I must be distraught and despondent? Someone who's seen me recently please answer -- do I seem to be distraught and despondent? If the answer is indeed yes, I assure you it is -certainly- not because I broke up with someone half a year ago
. I'm worried about Ashley, her son (who was bad -before-
the divorce), my thirteen-toed cat, the fact that the HOPE board recently announced that they won't
be covering Mom's graduate work, or any of the host of family-related problems. It bothers and offends me that so many of the adults I know think I'm so shallow that I'm dwelling like that. Errrrghaarghlack.
Okay, I'm better. I really wasn't that angry with everyone to begin with; I just needed to vent a bit. Last night, between Mom's interest in Alexa's and my telephone activity and the pity-call from the CMS front office (Honestly... sheesh), just got to me. I dreamt I was chained to a stage wearing solid white and covered in white grease paint and Kyle, Marc, and Julia were trying to drag me off the stage, but I was, you know, chained
there. That one's not too hard to interpret. If I'm going to be the topic of conversation, I'd like it to be because of something I'm good at, like linguistics, not because of some gossip story.
|Friday, July 19th, 2002|
|these are all english words
the scientific word for "cockfighting"allantoid
a Christian place of worship, the attendents of which are exclusively seamenbibliophagist
"one who becomes sexually aroused by literally eating books"centner
unit of weight equal to some 110 poundsfug
"a thick, smokey taste in the air"gigantomachy
"a battle between giants and gods"henotheism
this is a complex practice in which the people of a tribe or clan recognize a local god as being more important than the larger pantheon, though they do still recognize that larger pantheon.huckaback
"terry used for making towels"kenosis
the process whereby Jesus rejected his divine side through his assumption of human formkephalanomancy
a sort of divination [future-telling] using a baked ass's headmechanolatry
"worship of machines"od
a mild cursepaedarchy
"a government ruled by children"pteridomania
"abnormal fondness for jungle plants, especially ferns"ret
"to soften by soaking in urine"rom
"a gypsy man"tup
"the striking face of a hammer"zymogenic
|Thursday, July 18th, 2002|
For a potentially unpleasant and awkward outing, it wasn't that bad. Saw Kelly Belsom there, who I haven't seen since I was a freshman. We talked. She made me miss the Stumps. Oh, and it's Kristin Barker's birthday, if anyone wondered. I had forgotten *slaps wrist*Mom?
Still counselling Ashley, says Cynnie. Been there the whole day. This means things are worse than I thought. Gives me a stomachache.Dad?
Asleep next to a half-eaten salami. Kinda gross.Me?
Tired. I didn't do any summer reading. My grandmother called me asking when I was coming up while I was out. I erased it. I've had a big day already and it's only 8:00. I feel like an old man. I'm beginning to look like one, too. My senior pictures show a disturbingly large shock of white hair at the front of my head. Plucked.~Marc
: Need to call him. Thanks Kyle. Might do it tomorrow. Kinda want to sleep off the past two days. Kyle
: Wouldn't I Wanna Be Like You
from The Jungle Book
be an awesome cover?Sarah
: I love you. Kudos for the headstand! Everyone says not to eat before yoga, but I find putting your legs in the air is easier with some weight in your stomach. Especially with shoulderstands. Oh. Try the shoulderstand. It's not so easy to fall down and it helps with getting use to balancing. I'm proud of you :)Kevin (and Sarah)
: Sheesh. I hate it when my mother worries about my weight. I think she thinks I'm anorexic. She says things like, "You know you'd be attractive even if you gained some weight. It'd be okay if you were ten or fifteen pounds heavier."Alexa
: No, don't worry. Things are cool.~
There's something else I need to do... Thursday. Today's Thursday. What do I need to do?
I've wanted to write a lot recently, and I've typed up a lot to post: three of the entries I've written of late were well over a typed page. But they just haven't made it to LJ. In most cases I've thought better of posting them, but sometimes I've just become consumed in something else. Such was the case yesterday. A lot happened yesterday. Exhausted, I went to bed early, too, and ended up getting nearly 17 hours of sleep. Let's see if I can cover some of what's been happening here:
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
My cousin's getting divorced. This is the first divorce any part of my maternal family has seen. Sides have been drawn. Mom is counselling Ashley about what to do with her year-old son. I actually think she's going to send the baby to live with her sister. Great, just what Marnie needs -- a fourth child. And it's not exactly like the world needs another baby raised by my fanatical Christian extremist relatives. They're Creationists.
Dad took me driving, just to see what I could do and how well I could do it, and unlike Mom (who grimaces and makes whimpering noises every time she's in the car with me -- even if I'm doing 15 down a straightaway), dad didn't mention how I was driving, except to compliment a right turn. It put me at ease. Our conversation was exceedingly bizarre, though, but it's sparked a strange (but good) new relationship between him and me. I'm glad we had the talk we did before college, because I doubt we'd ever have after I left. It sort of put ... a lot into prospective. And it hasn't put me in the best mood, either, but that's okay.
My grandparents have been trying to get in touch with Mom to organize my move to their house. I haven't exactly been helping the process along. See, Mom's out so often with her graduate work that I'm home alone most of the time. I've been erasing their messages. Childish as it is, I'm not leaving if I can help it.
The Zeke's-things-returned-from-Amanda process has finally come to a close. Her sister Cassandra found a few of my things in Amanda's old room when they were packing up the last of the boxes, and they're now sitting on my desk. Grllagkrrglrkl. I was really beginning to feel like a nasty little ogre about all of this. At first, I thought of it as a way to assert myself, to show that I was being final and definite, but it quickly became a sick, sadist ritual. (The four who supported it were the Stumps, Marcus, Phil, and my father.) I told her as much, and to show no hard feelings, we're going out to dinner tonight.
This morning I stumbled upon the fact that I haven't been eating recently. Odd, I know, but I really hadn't noticed. I've been averaging one meal a day, and I realized that all I had yesterday was a cup of tea. To make up for it today I had two poptarts, a bowl of banana nut bread-flavored Cream of Wheat, potatoes, steamed carrots, a side of chicken, and two slices of Boston cream pie. I'm too full to do yoga. Nearly broke my neck.
I really need to do some reading. Summer reading. I'm going to as soon as I post this. School starts in two and a half weeks and I have a book and a quarter done. I also need to wash a load of laundry, straighten up my desk, clean my yoga mat and my sheets, and a few hours with my zen tea garden probably wouldn't hurt me any either. Uh. There's actually a lot I need to do. Today's Thursday? Sheesh. I need a haircut, some new school clothes (SOCKS!), and a job (damned driver's ed -- wait... is it "driver's" or "drivers'"?)
The cat, even though she was bitten by a snake, is okay. She's missing a toe, but okay. It must have been a fairly dry bite.
I promised I'd post this:
"I half-expected to blush. I mean, we -are- talking about my past sexual conquests."
"I was just referred to as a conquest
. I'm not sure I'm happy about that."
make you feel better?"
"How about triumph
"No! Well. Mayb-- Eh. *Sigh* Okay, yes."
"You know, your mother is ruining my sexual life."
"Yes, she is. Bitch."~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
And now I'm off. Dad's doing -something-
with the wiring, and he's knocking out the power.
Oh, a note: cranberry juice + coffee? Bad, bad idea. As appealing as it may sound, it tastes like tart cough syrup. Has about the same thick consistency, too. Hrn. I thought it was going to turn out like those flavoured coffees people who don't like actually coffee sometimes drink -- I've seen raspberry quite a bit, vanilla, chocolate, orange, cherry, and we ourselves have strawberryflavoured sweetener. I've been playing the part of the gourmet alchemist since moving the espresso machine into my room, and most of my concoctions have been pleasant enough, but this one was awful. Here's something I do recommend, though: make a white Russian, steam that, and use it as the base for cappuccino. Add whipped cream and chocolate or nutmeg. Current Mood: mellow