First, how the hell did that happen? How did it get to be the end of the year? Oy. I'm telling you, the older I get the faster it goes. People in their 90's must just feel like they blink, and boom! Another year gone.
I'm a big believer in resolutions. Not the hokey kind that none of us ever have the intension of keeping, but the real kind that will make me a better person. Truly a better person. A better person, friend, daughter, sister, lover, girlfriend. This year I plan to work on being fearless. On living a fearless life. A wise man once said, "The only thing we have to fear, is fear itself." Sure he wasn't the first person to say it and he had oh, a few nations and several thousand troops standing behind him, but still. I get the meaning. Fear. What would we all accomplish and do if it wasn't such a big part of our lives? Would we have the courage to pursue our hopes and dreams, pursue a new career, the career we really want to pursue? Would we have the courage to say what we want to say to whomever and not worry about their response because, damn, it felt so good to be honest to them, honest to ourselves and how we felt no matter if it is god or bad, just fearless honesty.
Honesty isn't really something I have a problem with, but tact also needs to come into play sometimes, and well, I may be doing away with some of that. I mean, how many of us have been on a date and really wanted to end it hours before we actually did, because it was the polite thing to do? Or, when they asked us if we wouldn't mind going out again, we said, "sure" when we didn't mean that at all, it was just a knee-jerk response. I'll be honest, one of the most refreshing dating moments I've had recently was when I told the guy who was bad-mouthing his ex-wife, that I found it "incredibly unattractive and he was more bitter and cynical than he was giving himself credit for." God that felt great. Or simply been in the company of someone else, co-worker, stranger, and they are just being an idiot about what they're saying. We choose to ignore them and their statements instead of telling them to can it because we don't want to cause trouble, when really they are the ones being the ass.
Tuesday and Wednesday night I had two different dates. Nice enough men, both have asked me out for a second date and I would be glad to go out with either of them again. But, I'm not excited to go out with either of them again. The reason, because the person I wanted each of them to be was, Mr. London. When there was an awkward pause in the conversation, when there was an uncomfortable silence, when I was pulling teeth to try and get another topic on the table, and well simply in general I wanted to be sitting across from him, not them. Therefore, to be fair I need to tell Mr. London how I feel. It isn't fair to me not to.
Since before I was 18 I've wanted to move. I turned down chances to attend college in Atlanta and New York just to name two. Then it was because of family. Now, I keep telling myself it is because of work, honestly it's because of fear. I'm not afraid of finding a job, or a place to live, navigating my way around, but of being able to make friends. A good solid network of friends. Think of how many people you actually go out with, talk to, hang-out with, or who knows you and who you really are. What, maybe one or two out of how many? Think how long you've known that person and how long it took to get to that point. All of mine are right here and I've known Billy my whole adult life and Nick for a couple years. However, if something happens with my job and the proposal falls through, as I still haven't heard and won't for a few more months, then this gal is going to look for a job anywhere and everywhere and I'm going to see where this thing called, life takes me.
Those are just a few fears I hope to conquer this year. Mostly, I just want to learn how to live a fearless life and not have fear be anywhere on the radar. Not on the radar when it comes to seemingly simple everyday things and also when it comes to the bigger not so seemingly simple everyday things.
How about you?
..... and very happy 2007! Be careful out there on amateur night!!
Friday, December 29, 2006
Friday, December 22, 2006
Happy Merry Christmas!
...and to all a good night with someone to spoon!
Okay, so I know it's early, but I plan a boycott of my computer from 3:00 today until sometime next week. Not sure which day the boycott will end so I wanted to get my wishes for love, tenderness, adoration, heavy petting, and (*cough*) presents in today.
I hope it is everything, anything, all that, and then some, and in whatever shape or form you want it to be in, on the Big Day for all of you. Cause, I think you're all the most bestest!
As for myself, I plan to meet with my "mentor" tomorrow morning way too bright and way too early at 10 a.m. I called to remind him of our appointment mere hours ago and well, it was a good thing I did. Yeah, nothing like driving an hour to find...no one there...
Then I plan to boycott anything that has a keyboard and screen attached to it until...as yet to be determined.
I have a, stepping stone present project for the 'rents to finish up that is causing a large mess in my living room, a.k.a library, a.k.a art room a.k.a dining room right now that my vacuum will love and adore me for. Then I plan to leave the said art table up until way past the new year cause I plan to get down and dirty in the paint. (Yes, please take that in any way you wish.)
I have a couple drink dates next week. (I am NOT moving on from Mr. London. I'm just trying to be less cynical and checking out what's around the corner. Cause, who the hell knows. I mean, have you met me? Okay, so you haven't, but play along.)
I have a shitload of manuscripts ready to go to the publishers. C'mon, rejection letters.
I also have a, big ugly comfy couch with my name written all over it and lots of mindless TV coming my way.
Movies. Lots of movies and popcorn in my future, also.
Vodka. Can't forget my love for the fermented potatoes.
And a new year to ring in. Perferably with a man attatched to my lips (or other parts) when I do so.
Oh yeah. I guess I should have mentioned. I have the next several days (14 days (including the weekends), but whose counting?) off from work. And thank god for that, cause this Party Girl is tired. Tired, tired, tired. I am emotionally drained, brain fatigued, and way too cynical for my own perpetualy perky self right now. So, I need a break.
May you all enjoy yours and may Santa be kind to all of you. I've already sent him my, "Oh, please. Do I really need to explain all of that?" letter. I am hoping for understanding, but not forgiveness.
Okay, so I know it's early, but I plan a boycott of my computer from 3:00 today until sometime next week. Not sure which day the boycott will end so I wanted to get my wishes for love, tenderness, adoration, heavy petting, and (*cough*) presents in today.
I hope it is everything, anything, all that, and then some, and in whatever shape or form you want it to be in, on the Big Day for all of you. Cause, I think you're all the most bestest!
As for myself, I plan to meet with my "mentor" tomorrow morning way too bright and way too early at 10 a.m. I called to remind him of our appointment mere hours ago and well, it was a good thing I did. Yeah, nothing like driving an hour to find...no one there...
Then I plan to boycott anything that has a keyboard and screen attached to it until...as yet to be determined.
I have a, stepping stone present project for the 'rents to finish up that is causing a large mess in my living room, a.k.a library, a.k.a art room a.k.a dining room right now that my vacuum will love and adore me for. Then I plan to leave the said art table up until way past the new year cause I plan to get down and dirty in the paint. (Yes, please take that in any way you wish.)
I have a couple drink dates next week. (I am NOT moving on from Mr. London. I'm just trying to be less cynical and checking out what's around the corner. Cause, who the hell knows. I mean, have you met me? Okay, so you haven't, but play along.)
I have a shitload of manuscripts ready to go to the publishers. C'mon, rejection letters.
I also have a, big ugly comfy couch with my name written all over it and lots of mindless TV coming my way.
Movies. Lots of movies and popcorn in my future, also.
Vodka. Can't forget my love for the fermented potatoes.
And a new year to ring in. Perferably with a man attatched to my lips (or other parts) when I do so.
Oh yeah. I guess I should have mentioned. I have the next several days (14 days (including the weekends), but whose counting?) off from work. And thank god for that, cause this Party Girl is tired. Tired, tired, tired. I am emotionally drained, brain fatigued, and way too cynical for my own perpetualy perky self right now. So, I need a break.
May you all enjoy yours and may Santa be kind to all of you. I've already sent him my, "Oh, please. Do I really need to explain all of that?" letter. I am hoping for understanding, but not forgiveness.
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
I said, call me Betty!
I was going to write about "Apocolypto" and how it was a decent movie. How the over- all meaning was good and deep. How materialism and conspicuous consumption destroys a civilization. (Hello, America??) How humanity and revenge will kill a nation, a civiliation. How when the credits rolled I said very audibly, "Good Lord, I'm exhausted." Turning to my girlfriend, "I was going to see if you wanted to go to dinner, but I could seriously throw-up right now." Seriously. Lots o' blood. But, that's not any fun. I was way too cynical today. Then I went and saw a bloody movie and well, I'm all happy and hyper, so I called Billy. I thought I would relay the convo. In case you haven't figured it out by now, all of our conversations take place through laughter and I'm pretty sure there are hyenas looking for their mate when we're on the phone.
The conversation started by Billy telling me he got a phone call from a guy he hasn't heard or seen from in 20 years. The guy clearly had alternative motives when he called Billy. Billy wasn't up for it. Why? Because it was after 9 p.m.
PG: Jesus, you are so old.
Billy: I know. 8:59 I would have been all for it. 9, no good. Can't leave the house. I can't leave the house for a geriatric booty-call.
PG: Cause ya got your rollers in? Blowing your nails dry? Have your white bathrobe pulled up to your chin and your face is slathered with cold cream?
Billy: Yes. And call me Betty.
PG: So sad. This is like when I told you I had a date to go bowling and you were excited about the possibility of the bowling alley food. You went on and on about the greasy cheeseburger, pitcher of beer, and cheese balls. And my response was, "...I don't think I would be up for sex after all of that. Jesus. Talk about bloaty and farty. Yeah. No, sex. I can't have, bloaty-after-bowling-sex." And your response was, "Oh, I wasn't even thinking about sex." Which was a clear testament to where your life is right now.
Billy: Oh, yeah. Forgot all about that. Yeah. Sad. It's funnier the second time around though.
Then somehow the conversation merged over to strap-ons. I have no idea how. Or why.
PG: God. I could so get into that. Maybe not in terms of a relationship, but definitely for one night. Oh yeah. (...and drift off into visual...)
Billy: Really. Well, there is a long cold winter coming up.
PG: Oh, yeah. I could SO get out some of my aggression...
Billy: Oh. No. I'm not down for that...
PG: Call me Betty! Call me Betty! I don't care that it's not my name! I said, say it!
Billy: The visual I have right now....
PG: ...Are you on all fours and am I smacking your ass with a riding crop and are you calling me Betty?
Billy: No.
PG: Hmm, well in my head you are. And you like it.
(Side note: My phone makes weird quiefing sounds. It makes this really high-pitched pussy farting noise every now and again and usually when I'm on the phone with Billy.)
PG: I said to call me Betty!! Mistress Betty! I said, quief, bitch. Squeeze out another quief!! Squeeze it out! Squeeze it! Do it! I said, do it! Hey, how do you spell, "quief?"
Billy: Q-u-i-e-f. "I" before..
PG: "I" before what, "Q-U"? That's a grammar lesson I missed out on.
Billy: Betty.
PG: Martha. I said, "Quief, bitch."
Billy: Is this going to go on your blog?
PG: What do you think? "Apocolypto" or this. Yeah, tough.
Half an hour later...
PG: Hey. How do you spell, "quief?"
Billy: Q-u-i-e-f. Why? Are you writin' something?
PG: Uh-huh.
Billy: That's a conversation starter. "How do you spell, quief? There wassn't even a, 'hello.'
PG: I said, call me, Betty. Now, quief!
The conversation started by Billy telling me he got a phone call from a guy he hasn't heard or seen from in 20 years. The guy clearly had alternative motives when he called Billy. Billy wasn't up for it. Why? Because it was after 9 p.m.
PG: Jesus, you are so old.
Billy: I know. 8:59 I would have been all for it. 9, no good. Can't leave the house. I can't leave the house for a geriatric booty-call.
PG: Cause ya got your rollers in? Blowing your nails dry? Have your white bathrobe pulled up to your chin and your face is slathered with cold cream?
Billy: Yes. And call me Betty.
PG: So sad. This is like when I told you I had a date to go bowling and you were excited about the possibility of the bowling alley food. You went on and on about the greasy cheeseburger, pitcher of beer, and cheese balls. And my response was, "...I don't think I would be up for sex after all of that. Jesus. Talk about bloaty and farty. Yeah. No, sex. I can't have, bloaty-after-bowling-sex." And your response was, "Oh, I wasn't even thinking about sex." Which was a clear testament to where your life is right now.
Billy: Oh, yeah. Forgot all about that. Yeah. Sad. It's funnier the second time around though.
Then somehow the conversation merged over to strap-ons. I have no idea how. Or why.
PG: God. I could so get into that. Maybe not in terms of a relationship, but definitely for one night. Oh yeah. (...and drift off into visual...)
Billy: Really. Well, there is a long cold winter coming up.
PG: Oh, yeah. I could SO get out some of my aggression...
Billy: Oh. No. I'm not down for that...
PG: Call me Betty! Call me Betty! I don't care that it's not my name! I said, say it!
Billy: The visual I have right now....
PG: ...Are you on all fours and am I smacking your ass with a riding crop and are you calling me Betty?
Billy: No.
PG: Hmm, well in my head you are. And you like it.
(Side note: My phone makes weird quiefing sounds. It makes this really high-pitched pussy farting noise every now and again and usually when I'm on the phone with Billy.)
PG: I said to call me Betty!! Mistress Betty! I said, quief, bitch. Squeeze out another quief!! Squeeze it out! Squeeze it! Do it! I said, do it! Hey, how do you spell, "quief?"
Billy: Q-u-i-e-f. "I" before..
PG: "I" before what, "Q-U"? That's a grammar lesson I missed out on.
Billy: Betty.
PG: Martha. I said, "Quief, bitch."
Billy: Is this going to go on your blog?
PG: What do you think? "Apocolypto" or this. Yeah, tough.
Half an hour later...
PG: Hey. How do you spell, "quief?"
Billy: Q-u-i-e-f. Why? Are you writin' something?
PG: Uh-huh.
Billy: That's a conversation starter. "How do you spell, quief? There wassn't even a, 'hello.'
PG: I said, call me, Betty. Now, quief!
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
I dust myself off, pick myself up, and get on with life
First, thanks to all. You all are the most bestest!
Second, being a 32 year-old Party Girl, well I don't dilly or dally and I don't waddle for very long. I pick myself up, dust off, and get on with life, cause it's short. Very, very short.
Last week I discovered that I tend to cycle through the stages of grief very quickly. What are there, 7 or 9 stages? Yeah, I went through all of them in a matter of two hours on Monday and Thursday in terms of the thesis. (Fucktard, mentor.) It took me a little longer in terms of Mr. London, but hey, I'm allowed.
I cried all day...all-day... on Friday. Ah, cathartic. Saturday I hit the shopping with The Mom and well, it was good to get out of the house. Saturday night I hit the bottle of wine. (I only had half a bottle. I think that deserves a prize.) Sunday I painted a large canvas, which felt so awesome. I haven't had the time to do anything creative since the summer. Yesterday, I was sort of blah, but I went to see, "In the Pursuit of Happyness." Very good. I recommened it. (Popcorn was dee-lish.) Then I hit the workout, and I painted some more. Ahhhhhh.
Some thoughts:
First, (I'm all about my points today.) Perhaps he didn't ask me to go to London with him for a few reasons:
He knows I have my own life here. He knows I'm waiting to here about my job and I'm going to be applying to grad schools within the next year. Perhaps he thinks it would be selfish of him to ask me to pick-up and leave; to uproot my whole life just for him. It's actually pretty considerate.
Second: We haven't known each other that long.
Third: He is going to be major swamped between now and April. How much time is he going to devote to me? If he asked me to go with him and then we can only see each other once a week or something, how fair is that to either of us? And then on top of it he has asked me to move half-way around the world, but can't see me here?
Fourth: who the hell knows what will happen between now and April. If my past and present is any indication, my life is just complete random randomness. I try to live a good life. I truly believe in karma. I try to live on the good side of karma. Who knows what will happen tomorrow let alone in four months.
I do know I plan to keep him in my life because yes, that's just how I roll.
I also think perhaps the reason I met him was because I always, always fall for the wrong man. Always. The one who makes all the promises, but has no follow-through. The one who says all the things I want to hear, butdoesn't mean any of them. Just a day of rememberance, some highlights this year there has been: Out-of-Towner, The Dick (the guy who was married, but failed to inform me of that.) The guy who smoked pot everyday. The guy who talked horribly about his ex-wife. And on and on and on.... So, maybe he is just to prove to me that I can fall for a good man.
Perhaps I don't need to over think it and just enjoy it and see where life takes me. I truly plan to enjoy the ride.
Another update: Over the weekend, out of nowhere, two guys who I meet previously, but it didn't go any where because my schedule sucked big hairy donkey balls, well, they emailed me over the weekend. They just wanted to say, hello and to see what I've been up to, and would I like to get together some time.
I'm not saying I'm moving on. I'm not saying, Mr. London is out of my heart. I'm simply saying, life is funny and you never know what's going to be around the corner. I'm looking forward to see what awaits.
Second, being a 32 year-old Party Girl, well I don't dilly or dally and I don't waddle for very long. I pick myself up, dust off, and get on with life, cause it's short. Very, very short.
Last week I discovered that I tend to cycle through the stages of grief very quickly. What are there, 7 or 9 stages? Yeah, I went through all of them in a matter of two hours on Monday and Thursday in terms of the thesis. (Fucktard, mentor.) It took me a little longer in terms of Mr. London, but hey, I'm allowed.
I cried all day...all-day... on Friday. Ah, cathartic. Saturday I hit the shopping with The Mom and well, it was good to get out of the house. Saturday night I hit the bottle of wine. (I only had half a bottle. I think that deserves a prize.) Sunday I painted a large canvas, which felt so awesome. I haven't had the time to do anything creative since the summer. Yesterday, I was sort of blah, but I went to see, "In the Pursuit of Happyness." Very good. I recommened it. (Popcorn was dee-lish.) Then I hit the workout, and I painted some more. Ahhhhhh.
Some thoughts:
First, (I'm all about my points today.) Perhaps he didn't ask me to go to London with him for a few reasons:
He knows I have my own life here. He knows I'm waiting to here about my job and I'm going to be applying to grad schools within the next year. Perhaps he thinks it would be selfish of him to ask me to pick-up and leave; to uproot my whole life just for him. It's actually pretty considerate.
Second: We haven't known each other that long.
Third: He is going to be major swamped between now and April. How much time is he going to devote to me? If he asked me to go with him and then we can only see each other once a week or something, how fair is that to either of us? And then on top of it he has asked me to move half-way around the world, but can't see me here?
Fourth: who the hell knows what will happen between now and April. If my past and present is any indication, my life is just complete random randomness. I try to live a good life. I truly believe in karma. I try to live on the good side of karma. Who knows what will happen tomorrow let alone in four months.
I do know I plan to keep him in my life because yes, that's just how I roll.
I also think perhaps the reason I met him was because I always, always fall for the wrong man. Always. The one who makes all the promises, but has no follow-through. The one who says all the things I want to hear, butdoesn't mean any of them. Just a day of rememberance, some highlights this year there has been: Out-of-Towner, The Dick (the guy who was married, but failed to inform me of that.) The guy who smoked pot everyday. The guy who talked horribly about his ex-wife. And on and on and on.... So, maybe he is just to prove to me that I can fall for a good man.
Perhaps I don't need to over think it and just enjoy it and see where life takes me. I truly plan to enjoy the ride.
Another update: Over the weekend, out of nowhere, two guys who I meet previously, but it didn't go any where because my schedule sucked big hairy donkey balls, well, they emailed me over the weekend. They just wanted to say, hello and to see what I've been up to, and would I like to get together some time.
I'm not saying I'm moving on. I'm not saying, Mr. London is out of my heart. I'm simply saying, life is funny and you never know what's going to be around the corner. I'm looking forward to see what awaits.
Friday, December 15, 2006
life is funny- in a not so hilarious way
Life and how it unfolds is also all about timing. I always seem to be on the wrong time. I always seem to be running about 15 minutes late.
This is an update on my love life and also on my thesis. The thesis part will be short.
Okay, so I haven't been talking about my love life recently and here's why, because it has been going too well to write about. I didn't want to talk or write about it because truly, wow. I met the most wonderful man (notice, not a guy) a little over six weeks ago. He is: smart, funny, successful, a blast to be around, a laugh a minute, he has follow-through and doesn't play games. He actively listens and asks questions, he knows how to carry on a conversation and talks with me for hours about everything and anything. He's easy to be with. Completely opposite in the way I think, he's a left, I'm a right brainer, but it doesn't matter. This relationship is like breathing, so easy, don't need to think about it, it just is. I am totally myself. I'm not trying to jinx it, ruin it, or fuck it up in any way, shape or form. I truly, truly enjoy being with this man. On top of all of that he absolutely repects me and he isn't trying to simply get me into bed, fuck me, and kick me out, he actually really wants to get to know me. Me, as a whole person. Wow. Yeah, girl moment. Color me so impressed, and twitterpatted.
Over Turkey Day week he went to London and Barcelona to give a talk on alternative fuel resources (yeah, he's like super extra mega smart. Whole, PhD, 32 years old, works at local Big State University as a researcher) As a result of this talk, last week he was offered a job at King's College. That's in London. This week he accepted the job and he will be moving to London at the end of April.
Last night we broke up. Why did we break up? Because he doesn't want to lead me on. He doesn't want to fall for me even more. He doesn't want me to get hurt. He doesn't want to be the jerk. He wants me to be a priority, as I should be, but he knows I won't be in the next months. He knows I will get pushed to the side and that's not fair. Not fair to me. Not fair to him because he knows he'll fall for me even more.
I said, "I am truly, truly happy for you. I really am. But, I am also sad for me."
To which he responded, "Yeah. Exactly."
"Life it's all about timing."
"Yeah. Timing."
We agreed to still be friends and keep hanging out with each other in the next months. As friends.
Of course.
As much as I hope and want that to happen, I don't know that I can.
Here's my girl moment: I think you all know me well enough to know how I am in terms of love, relationships, and men. I'm cynical. I am guarded. I've been hurt. I've been lied to and cheated on. I've been chewed up and spit out. When things are going well I will, and have, always fucked it up (on purpose) in some way. I don't fall. I don't become smitten. I am not the girl who goes all girl about a guy.
But, see, here's the thing, he's not a guy. He's a man. A true gentleman. I would absolutely, without hesitation, pick up and move. Move to London. Move half way around the world to be with him. I know, I know. Trust me, I know. But, it's true. If he asked me to move with him, I absolutely would move. Completely and totally irrational makes not a lick of sense, but I can't articulate how calm it makes me. How completely sane it sounds and seems to me.
So, last night as I closed the door behind him, and I really didn't want to close the door. To close it behind him. Because as soon as a door is closed, it's closed. Who knows when and how it will be reopened. If that person will ever appear on the other side again. As soon as the door was shut, I placed my hands on the door and with my forehead against the painted wood, even before I had a chance to bolt the locks, the tears started. They continued well past the point of being in bed and they started as soon as my alarm went off this morning. They've continued since I've been at work. (I knew mascara and contacts were a mistake today.) I'm sure they will flow freely, today.
Timing.
Yeah.
Timing.
Maybe he was supposed to come into my life to let me know there are good men out there. That I can be open and myself and I don't have to be gaurded, I can just be.
Maybe he came into my life to tell me I need to move. Not to London, but when I am finished with school in May I need to forget about this place and pick up and leave. Somwhere, anywhere, but move. I've always thought and known that my personality is too big for this place.
Maybe I don't know why yet.
(Exhale....)
Thesis update: Monday 12/11. I was to defend my thesis at 3:40. My "mentor" called me at 9:45 to tell me it wouldn't pass and it was disorganized. I need to take an incomplete and if I want, he will have another mentor work with me and he is now willing to meet me half way, ect. (Recall that I asked for an incomplete and the week before my thesis was, "good, very good")
Tues 12/12, I leave a message stating I want a new mentor.
Thurs 12/14 He calls me at 1:30 to tell me no one is will to work with me (pause) because of the holiday and winter break. (yeah, thinking he could have put that sentence in front of the other one.) Everyone has now read it and it is, "disorganized, rambling and I don't know how to construct a sentence and my use of grammar is very poor." He is willing to meet me at his office on 12/23 at 10 a.m. to help me on this.
I apologize to everyone who reads this blog for any rambling and disorganization that I have in my posts. I will try to have a better grasp of the English language, soon.
I also guess all of the "A's" I've recieved, as well as being published, as well as the praise I've received over the years, all crap.
Wow, way to kick me. Yesterday I lost all faith in myself. I was going to send several pieces out to the publishers yesterday and I couldn't bring myself to do it, not after I spoke with him. I completely doubted my ability to write. How dare he. Then I had another instructor look at it and she thinks because my page 3 and 4 are weak they then didn't read any further because she doesn't see what he means. So, by last night I was over that. I'll work on it next week and kick it out of the ballpark.
So, broken hearted and doubted myself, my writing, and my education. How was your Thursday?
This is an update on my love life and also on my thesis. The thesis part will be short.
Okay, so I haven't been talking about my love life recently and here's why, because it has been going too well to write about. I didn't want to talk or write about it because truly, wow. I met the most wonderful man (notice, not a guy) a little over six weeks ago. He is: smart, funny, successful, a blast to be around, a laugh a minute, he has follow-through and doesn't play games. He actively listens and asks questions, he knows how to carry on a conversation and talks with me for hours about everything and anything. He's easy to be with. Completely opposite in the way I think, he's a left, I'm a right brainer, but it doesn't matter. This relationship is like breathing, so easy, don't need to think about it, it just is. I am totally myself. I'm not trying to jinx it, ruin it, or fuck it up in any way, shape or form. I truly, truly enjoy being with this man. On top of all of that he absolutely repects me and he isn't trying to simply get me into bed, fuck me, and kick me out, he actually really wants to get to know me. Me, as a whole person. Wow. Yeah, girl moment. Color me so impressed, and twitterpatted.
Over Turkey Day week he went to London and Barcelona to give a talk on alternative fuel resources (yeah, he's like super extra mega smart. Whole, PhD, 32 years old, works at local Big State University as a researcher) As a result of this talk, last week he was offered a job at King's College. That's in London. This week he accepted the job and he will be moving to London at the end of April.
Last night we broke up. Why did we break up? Because he doesn't want to lead me on. He doesn't want to fall for me even more. He doesn't want me to get hurt. He doesn't want to be the jerk. He wants me to be a priority, as I should be, but he knows I won't be in the next months. He knows I will get pushed to the side and that's not fair. Not fair to me. Not fair to him because he knows he'll fall for me even more.
I said, "I am truly, truly happy for you. I really am. But, I am also sad for me."
To which he responded, "Yeah. Exactly."
"Life it's all about timing."
"Yeah. Timing."
We agreed to still be friends and keep hanging out with each other in the next months. As friends.
Of course.
As much as I hope and want that to happen, I don't know that I can.
Here's my girl moment: I think you all know me well enough to know how I am in terms of love, relationships, and men. I'm cynical. I am guarded. I've been hurt. I've been lied to and cheated on. I've been chewed up and spit out. When things are going well I will, and have, always fucked it up (on purpose) in some way. I don't fall. I don't become smitten. I am not the girl who goes all girl about a guy.
But, see, here's the thing, he's not a guy. He's a man. A true gentleman. I would absolutely, without hesitation, pick up and move. Move to London. Move half way around the world to be with him. I know, I know. Trust me, I know. But, it's true. If he asked me to move with him, I absolutely would move. Completely and totally irrational makes not a lick of sense, but I can't articulate how calm it makes me. How completely sane it sounds and seems to me.
So, last night as I closed the door behind him, and I really didn't want to close the door. To close it behind him. Because as soon as a door is closed, it's closed. Who knows when and how it will be reopened. If that person will ever appear on the other side again. As soon as the door was shut, I placed my hands on the door and with my forehead against the painted wood, even before I had a chance to bolt the locks, the tears started. They continued well past the point of being in bed and they started as soon as my alarm went off this morning. They've continued since I've been at work. (I knew mascara and contacts were a mistake today.) I'm sure they will flow freely, today.
Timing.
Yeah.
Timing.
Maybe he was supposed to come into my life to let me know there are good men out there. That I can be open and myself and I don't have to be gaurded, I can just be.
Maybe he came into my life to tell me I need to move. Not to London, but when I am finished with school in May I need to forget about this place and pick up and leave. Somwhere, anywhere, but move. I've always thought and known that my personality is too big for this place.
Maybe I don't know why yet.
(Exhale....)
Thesis update: Monday 12/11. I was to defend my thesis at 3:40. My "mentor" called me at 9:45 to tell me it wouldn't pass and it was disorganized. I need to take an incomplete and if I want, he will have another mentor work with me and he is now willing to meet me half way, ect. (Recall that I asked for an incomplete and the week before my thesis was, "good, very good")
Tues 12/12, I leave a message stating I want a new mentor.
Thurs 12/14 He calls me at 1:30 to tell me no one is will to work with me (pause) because of the holiday and winter break. (yeah, thinking he could have put that sentence in front of the other one.) Everyone has now read it and it is, "disorganized, rambling and I don't know how to construct a sentence and my use of grammar is very poor." He is willing to meet me at his office on 12/23 at 10 a.m. to help me on this.
I apologize to everyone who reads this blog for any rambling and disorganization that I have in my posts. I will try to have a better grasp of the English language, soon.
I also guess all of the "A's" I've recieved, as well as being published, as well as the praise I've received over the years, all crap.
Wow, way to kick me. Yesterday I lost all faith in myself. I was going to send several pieces out to the publishers yesterday and I couldn't bring myself to do it, not after I spoke with him. I completely doubted my ability to write. How dare he. Then I had another instructor look at it and she thinks because my page 3 and 4 are weak they then didn't read any further because she doesn't see what he means. So, by last night I was over that. I'll work on it next week and kick it out of the ballpark.
So, broken hearted and doubted myself, my writing, and my education. How was your Thursday?
Thursday, December 14, 2006
word origins: "It's all fun and games until someone loses an eye"
I LOVE this one:
The saying, "It's all fun and games until someone loses an eye" is from ancient Rome. The only rule during wrestling matches was no eye gouging. Everything else was allowed, but the only way to be disqualified was to poke someone's eyes out. (Yaou-za!)
(Or, if you get a Red Rider BB Gun then you'll shot your eye out. Had to add that one)
The saying, "It's all fun and games until someone loses an eye" is from ancient Rome. The only rule during wrestling matches was no eye gouging. Everything else was allowed, but the only way to be disqualified was to poke someone's eyes out. (Yaou-za!)
(Or, if you get a Red Rider BB Gun then you'll shot your eye out. Had to add that one)
inner dork: Satan, The Devil, Beelzebub, Lucifer
Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwww, sinister isn't it?
Have you ever wondered what the difference between, Satan, the Devil, Beelzebub, and Lucifer are? No? Well, dammit I have and now I have the answer.
So, did you know....
Satan is the name of God's archenemy in Judaism and Christianity. In Jewish tradition, God did not create this evil being; in Christian tradition, God did. The word frequently means "accuser."
The Old Testament doesn't mention his fall from heaven. In the New Testament, post-fall and proper name now instated, he tried to tempt Jesus into worshipping him and cements his reputation as the personification of evil. (Ta dah!)
The Devil: The one title that comes with a "the" (sounds so important, doesn't it?) is regarded in the Judeo-Christian scheme as a fallen angel. According to Christianity, the Devil tries to lead humans astray from the path toward redemption. The Devil has several meanings including, "adversary" and "slanderer."
Beelzebub: This one first appears in the Old Testament as a Phillistine god in the city of Ekron, southwest of Jerusalem. In Hebrew, the word means "lord of the flies" (yep, just like the book.) By the New Testament, he has in effect merged with the concept of Satan and evolved into the aforementioned Prince of Devils or Prince of Demons.
Lucifer: Lucifer is Latin for "light bearer" or "morning star" (not very sinister sounding, is it? More like hippy children if you ask me.) When the Bible was being translated into Latin, early Christians interpreted a passage from babylonian cuneiform mentioning "Lucifer" as the story of Satan, an angel in high standing who rebelled against God and was tossed from heaven to hell, where he became leader of the demons (cue scary music.)
Class dismissed. Now, go pray.
Have you ever wondered what the difference between, Satan, the Devil, Beelzebub, and Lucifer are? No? Well, dammit I have and now I have the answer.
So, did you know....
Satan is the name of God's archenemy in Judaism and Christianity. In Jewish tradition, God did not create this evil being; in Christian tradition, God did. The word frequently means "accuser."
The Old Testament doesn't mention his fall from heaven. In the New Testament, post-fall and proper name now instated, he tried to tempt Jesus into worshipping him and cements his reputation as the personification of evil. (Ta dah!)
The Devil: The one title that comes with a "the" (sounds so important, doesn't it?) is regarded in the Judeo-Christian scheme as a fallen angel. According to Christianity, the Devil tries to lead humans astray from the path toward redemption. The Devil has several meanings including, "adversary" and "slanderer."
Beelzebub: This one first appears in the Old Testament as a Phillistine god in the city of Ekron, southwest of Jerusalem. In Hebrew, the word means "lord of the flies" (yep, just like the book.) By the New Testament, he has in effect merged with the concept of Satan and evolved into the aforementioned Prince of Devils or Prince of Demons.
Lucifer: Lucifer is Latin for "light bearer" or "morning star" (not very sinister sounding, is it? More like hippy children if you ask me.) When the Bible was being translated into Latin, early Christians interpreted a passage from babylonian cuneiform mentioning "Lucifer" as the story of Satan, an angel in high standing who rebelled against God and was tossed from heaven to hell, where he became leader of the demons (cue scary music.)
Class dismissed. Now, go pray.
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
just sayin'
I think at the next departmental meeting when they ask, "Does anyone have anything else they want to bring up?"
I'm going to suggest casual sex Fridays.
Whatcha think?
I'm going to suggest casual sex Fridays.
Whatcha think?
Thursday, December 07, 2006
inner dork: hodge-podge
Oh, I do love a good dorking. Today's category: is a complete hodge-podge of things.
Did you know....
The practice of exchanging presents at Christmas started with the Romans.
(And God bless. Wait..that's not right..)
According to ceremonial customs of Orthodox Judaism, it is officially sundown when a person cannot tell the difference between a black thread and a red thread.
(Okay, don't know about you all, but for me the diffrence can be between wearing my glasses and not wearing my glasses, regardless of where the sun is.)
Maine is the toothpick capital of the world.
(I will remember that the next time I eat corn on the cob.)
NERF, as in the football, doesn't actually stand for anything.
(Really? Not even on the purple footballs? Even when they are soaked with water??)
One ragweed plant can release as many as one billion grains of pollen.
(And I feel every. single. one.)
Rats can't vomit.
(Yeah. I don't know. I just thought it was funny. I mean, did it even occur to you that they couldn't?)
The average raindrop falls at 7 MPH
(So, when one hits you on the top of the head and you say, Ouch! now you don't have to feel like a sissy.)
Organized crime accounts for an estimated 10% of the United States national income.
(That is one hell of a garbage business. I'm just sayin'.)
The sale of vodka makes up 10% of Russian government income.
(..and it takes 10% of mine.)
Did you know....
The practice of exchanging presents at Christmas started with the Romans.
(And God bless. Wait..that's not right..)
According to ceremonial customs of Orthodox Judaism, it is officially sundown when a person cannot tell the difference between a black thread and a red thread.
(Okay, don't know about you all, but for me the diffrence can be between wearing my glasses and not wearing my glasses, regardless of where the sun is.)
Maine is the toothpick capital of the world.
(I will remember that the next time I eat corn on the cob.)
NERF, as in the football, doesn't actually stand for anything.
(Really? Not even on the purple footballs? Even when they are soaked with water??)
One ragweed plant can release as many as one billion grains of pollen.
(And I feel every. single. one.)
Rats can't vomit.
(Yeah. I don't know. I just thought it was funny. I mean, did it even occur to you that they couldn't?)
The average raindrop falls at 7 MPH
(So, when one hits you on the top of the head and you say, Ouch! now you don't have to feel like a sissy.)
Organized crime accounts for an estimated 10% of the United States national income.
(That is one hell of a garbage business. I'm just sayin'.)
The sale of vodka makes up 10% of Russian government income.
(..and it takes 10% of mine.)
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
and now the rest of the story
... thesis has been finished.
I sent the final draft at 3:15 yesterday.
Here's why I was so stressed. It had nothing to do with the topic. It had nothing to do with the page requirement. It had everything to do with the fact that I was supposed to be able to pick the mentor of my choosing and have help all through the process. I didn't have any of that. I did the thesis completely and totally on my own. No help.
It started back in September. Email from the head of the English department at Big Name Private College. I was hoping to be able to do a creative project, but no can do. No, problem. I pull a topic out of my ass. "The American Dream in terms of: The Great Gatsby, Death of a Salesman, and Tortilla Curtain." Eh, not bad. Not great, but not bad. I wasn't willing to dive into books I hadn't already read. These I have read to death.
I then go on the, great white futile search for a mentor. See, I've been doing night classes at satellite locations and 99.9% of my professors have been adjuncts. The only full-time person I know, I didn't care for. (This past summer. She missed two weeks out of a five week course. Yeah. That was worth the $1,000.) So, I go with my favorite adjunct instructor. Nick beat me to the punch by literally five minutes. Damn, gay. So, can't have her. I go with option number two, he already has four students and can't take on a fifth. K. I go with option number three. Contemp. lit isn't her dilly-yo. K. Choice four....repeat until you get to six. See. I had nothing...absolutely nothing..to go on in terms of which door I should pick because I didn't know jack or shit about any of these people. Never met any of them. Never taken a class with any of them they also know nothing about me. At this point we're already almost two weeks into it and I'm still without a mentor. I call the dept. head and he tells me, "I'm an Americanist, so I'd be a good choice."
K.
What the hell is an, Americanist? Am I an Americanist, because you know, I'm an American?
Anyway. Finally have a mentor. My sixth choice, but I finally have one. I tell him my paper topic. I'm told, "It's okay, yet fairly obvious." I take out, "Death of a Salesman" and tell him how I am going to proceed. I'm not doing some lame-ass character analysis or anything like that. I'm going to do it in terms of how futile the American Dream is and how it's gone from being about substance and family to being about materialism and how ultimately the Dream consumes a person and can kill them. He likes it. Yay! me.
I proceed to meet all deadlines. However, I'm supposed to meet with my mentor throughout this whole process. I email him to see about getting together. I give him my schedule: work full-time and part-time, taking 16 credits, I work until 5:30 every night and I live 80 miles away from the main campus. Could we meet somewhere half-way or on a Saturday as it would be after 7pm by the time I would be able to meet?
Nope. He wasn't willing to meet half-way. He wasn't willing to meet on a Saturday.
K.
We agreed we would just do this through email and phone.
K.
I meet all deadlines for outlines, sources using, ect.
Then October 10th happened. That was the day I discovered I was in the wrong class, (the Java class) and the class I need to be in won't be offered until Feb. So, I am no longer graduating in December. Or, next week, however, I want to look at it. All ambition, drive, gritted teeth determination, going on all cylinders on six hours of sleep, perpetually perkiness, always optimistic, yet slightly cynical went completely to hell. I was now beyond stressed as this completely screwed everything up. Grad school had to be delayed, getting another part-time job was now going to be virtually impossible, my life was going to have to be put on hold...again, and I had to magically whip $1,000 out of my pretty little boh-tay, and my, "I totally rock and kick-ass because I managed to complete four years of college in two, but more importantly, I just kick-ass," trip to Greece wasn't going to happen. Therefore, I was tired. Tired, stressed, bitter, and my cynical level was at an all new high. Oh, and perpetually perky had flown the coop. As one person put it, "...I remember when you use to be fun." Which got a response of, "Gee, Ass, that didn't hurt my feelings." Yeah.
Moving on.
I sent my "mentor" a very, very rough draft at the end of October, as the final was due December 1st. I heard nothing back.
I sent another pretty schlocky* draft at the first part of November. I heard nothing back.
I then sent Nick a draft to look at a couple days before Thanksgiving to get some feedback on as I was starting to get very irritated with my "mentor."
Nick said, good, but not cohesive in any way.
Yeah, I know.
I was then so sick of trying to work with the schlockyity, schlock, schlock I had that I then started a new 30+ page draft the week after Thanksgiving. Again, finally is due 12/1.. Still no word from my mentor on anything I've sent him.
I then talk with my mentor and find out he hasn't received anything I've sent him.
Great.
I fax him one of my schlocky drafts. Just a clue: It takes eight minutes and 43 seconds to fax 30 pages. Just lettin' you all know.
He tells me, my research is great, my ideas are great, my writing is shit.
Okay. he didn't say, shit. He did say, my writing wouldn't pass.
I then tell him, no, shit Sherlock.
Okay. I didn't say, Sherlock. I did say, "Yeah, I know. It was a very, very bad draft. I was just showing you my ideas and what I had to see if it was okay."
He didn't seem convinced. I think he thinks I'm an idiot. Oh, and he had no sense of humor. How the hell did I get this guy? Doesn't he know I'm hee-larious?
Anyway. Incredibly long story short. (No. Really. It is much longer than this.) Repeat the parts where he doesn't receive my drafts and I have to fax it, three times.
Repeat this next part at least eight times: He never receives any of my emails or drafts, however, it takes me four-five days before I receive notification by email stating that it didn't go through.
Then there was last weekend: Since he isn't receiving my emails we decide I will email my draft to his home account so he can look at it over the weekend. He calls to tell me he got it and he'll look at it Saturday morning. He'll give me his feedback and I can turn in my final on Monday the 4th. (Deadline was Friday 1st). He called early Saturday morning to tell me his computer crashed and he lost my paper. I didn't get this voice mail until late Saturday afternoon as I had to work. I then sent it to a different email address. He would go into the office on Sunday to get it. He called early Sunday to say, he didn't receive my email. I try a different email addresses. I send two, one with my paper attached, one without it attatched. I call him to tell him his. He is very excited as he received the one without and he anticipates the other with will follow shortly. "Well, see. I sent the one with the attatchment, first."
At this point we're both frustrated. He tells me to fax it to him on Monday, he'll give me feedback, he extends my deadline to Tuesday, but he still wants me to defend it on Thursday.
K. No, pressure there.
He gets back to me Monday afternoon. He likes it. Good paper, here are his suggestions and some changes to make. Great. I'm flying high. Go, me! Then, then, he says something that pushes me over perverbial edge and makes my stress level increase and my heart beat to cardiac arrest levels. "Yeah, I just really wish we had more time to work on this together, to tighten your quotes and such."
I'm sorry. What was that? Ummmmmmmmmm, yeah. I really wish you had found it in your life to make the time to meet me half-way somewhere so you'd know who the hell I was when I go and defend this thing. I wish you would have returned my phone calls, and received my emails so then we would have had more time to work on this together.
Yeah, I didn't say any of that. Instead I say. "Okay. Well. I want an 'A' on this paper." He, of course, can't guarantee that. He, of course, doesn't know how the other members of the department will react to the paper." I hold off from saying, "Um, yeah, Dick, I mean, Todd, no, shit." Instead I say, "Well, yeah, I know that." He wants me to make the changes that day/night and turn it into him the next day and he still wants me to defend it Thursday. (This was Monday, 12/4.) Blood. pressure. so. high. I don't feel this is fair to me. I'm not whining, I'm not bitching. I simply don't think it's fair. I tell him, "I take full responsibility for the emails not getting to you, but c'mon." That, I did say. He has full faith that I can do this. Personally, I think that because he is the dept. head that it will reflect poorly on him if I have to change my defense date, my deadline, or take an incomplete and finish this in the spring. Just a guess, but I'm guessin' I'm right.
I think about it for about 10 minutes. Nope. Not happy. Not fair. This sucks. Plus, I didn't have my laptop that night to be able to work on it at home, I'd have to stay at work. (Which is no big deal. I stay late all the time to finish up papers so I don't have to do it when I get home.) I also was afraid that in my rush to fix the suggestions he had that I would inevitably make more mistakes. I call and tell him this.
Sure, no problem. I can have until Wednesday, change my defense date to Monday, 11th.
I finished my thesis yesterday at 3:15 and emailed it to him. Stress level back to, not even palpable. Perpetually perky always optimistic yet slightly cynical girl has returned. As one person put it yesterday, "It's nice to see you smile again."
Ahhhhhhhhhh.......
I called him yesterday and again this morning to tell him I emailed it and can he please let me know either if he did or did not receive the damn..I mean, great piece, of writing I sent him. I am still waiting to hear from him.
Whatev.
The vodka tasted awesome last night. The cuddle time on the couch was much appreciated as well. And life is back to normal. (Whatever that means.)
Thanks everyone for the cheerleading. It was much, much appreciated!
*Schlocky is Yiddish for, 'el crapo,' which is Spanish for, 'big pile of poo.'
I sent the final draft at 3:15 yesterday.
Here's why I was so stressed. It had nothing to do with the topic. It had nothing to do with the page requirement. It had everything to do with the fact that I was supposed to be able to pick the mentor of my choosing and have help all through the process. I didn't have any of that. I did the thesis completely and totally on my own. No help.
It started back in September. Email from the head of the English department at Big Name Private College. I was hoping to be able to do a creative project, but no can do. No, problem. I pull a topic out of my ass. "The American Dream in terms of: The Great Gatsby, Death of a Salesman, and Tortilla Curtain." Eh, not bad. Not great, but not bad. I wasn't willing to dive into books I hadn't already read. These I have read to death.
I then go on the, great white futile search for a mentor. See, I've been doing night classes at satellite locations and 99.9% of my professors have been adjuncts. The only full-time person I know, I didn't care for. (This past summer. She missed two weeks out of a five week course. Yeah. That was worth the $1,000.) So, I go with my favorite adjunct instructor. Nick beat me to the punch by literally five minutes. Damn, gay. So, can't have her. I go with option number two, he already has four students and can't take on a fifth. K. I go with option number three. Contemp. lit isn't her dilly-yo. K. Choice four....repeat until you get to six. See. I had nothing...absolutely nothing..to go on in terms of which door I should pick because I didn't know jack or shit about any of these people. Never met any of them. Never taken a class with any of them they also know nothing about me. At this point we're already almost two weeks into it and I'm still without a mentor. I call the dept. head and he tells me, "I'm an Americanist, so I'd be a good choice."
K.
What the hell is an, Americanist? Am I an Americanist, because you know, I'm an American?
Anyway. Finally have a mentor. My sixth choice, but I finally have one. I tell him my paper topic. I'm told, "It's okay, yet fairly obvious." I take out, "Death of a Salesman" and tell him how I am going to proceed. I'm not doing some lame-ass character analysis or anything like that. I'm going to do it in terms of how futile the American Dream is and how it's gone from being about substance and family to being about materialism and how ultimately the Dream consumes a person and can kill them. He likes it. Yay! me.
I proceed to meet all deadlines. However, I'm supposed to meet with my mentor throughout this whole process. I email him to see about getting together. I give him my schedule: work full-time and part-time, taking 16 credits, I work until 5:30 every night and I live 80 miles away from the main campus. Could we meet somewhere half-way or on a Saturday as it would be after 7pm by the time I would be able to meet?
Nope. He wasn't willing to meet half-way. He wasn't willing to meet on a Saturday.
K.
We agreed we would just do this through email and phone.
K.
I meet all deadlines for outlines, sources using, ect.
Then October 10th happened. That was the day I discovered I was in the wrong class, (the Java class) and the class I need to be in won't be offered until Feb. So, I am no longer graduating in December. Or, next week, however, I want to look at it. All ambition, drive, gritted teeth determination, going on all cylinders on six hours of sleep, perpetually perkiness, always optimistic, yet slightly cynical went completely to hell. I was now beyond stressed as this completely screwed everything up. Grad school had to be delayed, getting another part-time job was now going to be virtually impossible, my life was going to have to be put on hold...again, and I had to magically whip $1,000 out of my pretty little boh-tay, and my, "I totally rock and kick-ass because I managed to complete four years of college in two, but more importantly, I just kick-ass," trip to Greece wasn't going to happen. Therefore, I was tired. Tired, stressed, bitter, and my cynical level was at an all new high. Oh, and perpetually perky had flown the coop. As one person put it, "...I remember when you use to be fun." Which got a response of, "Gee, Ass, that didn't hurt my feelings." Yeah.
Moving on.
I sent my "mentor" a very, very rough draft at the end of October, as the final was due December 1st. I heard nothing back.
I sent another pretty schlocky* draft at the first part of November. I heard nothing back.
I then sent Nick a draft to look at a couple days before Thanksgiving to get some feedback on as I was starting to get very irritated with my "mentor."
Nick said, good, but not cohesive in any way.
Yeah, I know.
I was then so sick of trying to work with the schlockyity, schlock, schlock I had that I then started a new 30+ page draft the week after Thanksgiving. Again, finally is due 12/1.. Still no word from my mentor on anything I've sent him.
I then talk with my mentor and find out he hasn't received anything I've sent him.
Great.
I fax him one of my schlocky drafts. Just a clue: It takes eight minutes and 43 seconds to fax 30 pages. Just lettin' you all know.
He tells me, my research is great, my ideas are great, my writing is shit.
Okay. he didn't say, shit. He did say, my writing wouldn't pass.
I then tell him, no, shit Sherlock.
Okay. I didn't say, Sherlock. I did say, "Yeah, I know. It was a very, very bad draft. I was just showing you my ideas and what I had to see if it was okay."
He didn't seem convinced. I think he thinks I'm an idiot. Oh, and he had no sense of humor. How the hell did I get this guy? Doesn't he know I'm hee-larious?
Anyway. Incredibly long story short. (No. Really. It is much longer than this.) Repeat the parts where he doesn't receive my drafts and I have to fax it, three times.
Repeat this next part at least eight times: He never receives any of my emails or drafts, however, it takes me four-five days before I receive notification by email stating that it didn't go through.
Then there was last weekend: Since he isn't receiving my emails we decide I will email my draft to his home account so he can look at it over the weekend. He calls to tell me he got it and he'll look at it Saturday morning. He'll give me his feedback and I can turn in my final on Monday the 4th. (Deadline was Friday 1st). He called early Saturday morning to tell me his computer crashed and he lost my paper. I didn't get this voice mail until late Saturday afternoon as I had to work. I then sent it to a different email address. He would go into the office on Sunday to get it. He called early Sunday to say, he didn't receive my email. I try a different email addresses. I send two, one with my paper attached, one without it attatched. I call him to tell him his. He is very excited as he received the one without and he anticipates the other with will follow shortly. "Well, see. I sent the one with the attatchment, first."
At this point we're both frustrated. He tells me to fax it to him on Monday, he'll give me feedback, he extends my deadline to Tuesday, but he still wants me to defend it on Thursday.
K. No, pressure there.
He gets back to me Monday afternoon. He likes it. Good paper, here are his suggestions and some changes to make. Great. I'm flying high. Go, me! Then, then, he says something that pushes me over perverbial edge and makes my stress level increase and my heart beat to cardiac arrest levels. "Yeah, I just really wish we had more time to work on this together, to tighten your quotes and such."
I'm sorry. What was that? Ummmmmmmmmm, yeah. I really wish you had found it in your life to make the time to meet me half-way somewhere so you'd know who the hell I was when I go and defend this thing. I wish you would have returned my phone calls, and received my emails so then we would have had more time to work on this together.
Yeah, I didn't say any of that. Instead I say. "Okay. Well. I want an 'A' on this paper." He, of course, can't guarantee that. He, of course, doesn't know how the other members of the department will react to the paper." I hold off from saying, "Um, yeah, Dick, I mean, Todd, no, shit." Instead I say, "Well, yeah, I know that." He wants me to make the changes that day/night and turn it into him the next day and he still wants me to defend it Thursday. (This was Monday, 12/4.) Blood. pressure. so. high. I don't feel this is fair to me. I'm not whining, I'm not bitching. I simply don't think it's fair. I tell him, "I take full responsibility for the emails not getting to you, but c'mon." That, I did say. He has full faith that I can do this. Personally, I think that because he is the dept. head that it will reflect poorly on him if I have to change my defense date, my deadline, or take an incomplete and finish this in the spring. Just a guess, but I'm guessin' I'm right.
I think about it for about 10 minutes. Nope. Not happy. Not fair. This sucks. Plus, I didn't have my laptop that night to be able to work on it at home, I'd have to stay at work. (Which is no big deal. I stay late all the time to finish up papers so I don't have to do it when I get home.) I also was afraid that in my rush to fix the suggestions he had that I would inevitably make more mistakes. I call and tell him this.
Sure, no problem. I can have until Wednesday, change my defense date to Monday, 11th.
I finished my thesis yesterday at 3:15 and emailed it to him. Stress level back to, not even palpable. Perpetually perky always optimistic yet slightly cynical girl has returned. As one person put it yesterday, "It's nice to see you smile again."
Ahhhhhhhhhh.......
I called him yesterday and again this morning to tell him I emailed it and can he please let me know either if he did or did not receive the damn..I mean, great piece, of writing I sent him. I am still waiting to hear from him.
Whatev.
The vodka tasted awesome last night. The cuddle time on the couch was much appreciated as well. And life is back to normal. (Whatever that means.)
Thanks everyone for the cheerleading. It was much, much appreciated!
*Schlocky is Yiddish for, 'el crapo,' which is Spanish for, 'big pile of poo.'
Thursday, November 30, 2006
I'm asking you all for a favor
cause see, here's the thing. The reason why I haven't been posting and such. The reason there hasn't been any nakedness, no sex posts, not even showing off my inner dorkiness the reason why is because I haven't had an original thought to save my boobs because of school. Yep, that dreaded six letter word. School. My (insert as many four letter words as you can string together *here*)senior project is due tomorrow. Here's the thing, it's not finished. I won't go into all of the reasons why because it will just sound all whiney and complainy and well, who wants to read that? But, I'm fried, burnt, crispy, fork in both butt cheeks, I am so done, burnt out. 130 credits in two year. 100. 30. credits. in. two. years. Who does that? Well, apparently this girl. This Party Girl, no less. (There's an oxymoron just screaming to be let loose in that statement.)
No problem on it not being finished. I can have the weekend. Alrighty. Then I go defend it next Thursday in front of the entire English department at 4:10 p.m. to be exact. Thirty+ pages on the (insert as many four letter words that can be strung together *here*) American Dream and also in terms of two books that I no longer care to reference.
Okay, so, here's what I need from all of you: I need you all to be my cheerleaders over the next couple days. I need you all to tell me I can do it. I need you all to tell me I have actually learned and retained something over the past 130 credits and two years and $50k spent with interest still multiplying times infinity for the next 20 years. I need you to tell me I can do it. I need you to tell me that this post isn't cheesy and sad and pathetic or point out all the errors and how much it doesn't make sense, or hold it against me in the months, years, and pitchers of beer and glasses of pink vodka to come. I am my worst critic, my toughest competition, my worst enemy. See, cause here's the thing, a little somethin'-somethin' about me: I don't ask for help. I don't admit that I'm freaking out about something until the problem has resolved itself, I don't admit I might not succeed or be able to follow through. I don't do that. No, no, no. The best motivation a person can unwittingly give me is to tell me I can't do something, that I'll fail. *Don't do that in this case* That will not motivate me. I think I would simply cave into defeat and say, "Yep. You're right. I suck." And I wouldn't be referring to my head giving abilities. Even now as I type this I think it's pathetic. But that's what blogdom is for, right? To rally the troops, to bitch, moan, whine, tell people things we don't tell to those around us, show body parts...? Yeah, that's what this is. So, yeah. Goooooooooooooooooooooooooo Team!
....I'll be better in a few days. I promise.
Exhale.
Oh, here's the best part: I can't even work on the bloomin' (*here*) paper on this (*here*) computer cause I forgot to (*here*) update my Word because I was on the trial- basis- free-until-I-have-to-buy-it-Microsoft Office, which expired today. Yahhhhh!
Ew, vodka.
Ew, sex toys.
Gotta go.
No problem on it not being finished. I can have the weekend. Alrighty. Then I go defend it next Thursday in front of the entire English department at 4:10 p.m. to be exact. Thirty+ pages on the (insert as many four letter words that can be strung together *here*) American Dream and also in terms of two books that I no longer care to reference.
Okay, so, here's what I need from all of you: I need you all to be my cheerleaders over the next couple days. I need you all to tell me I can do it. I need you all to tell me I have actually learned and retained something over the past 130 credits and two years and $50k spent with interest still multiplying times infinity for the next 20 years. I need you to tell me I can do it. I need you to tell me that this post isn't cheesy and sad and pathetic or point out all the errors and how much it doesn't make sense, or hold it against me in the months, years, and pitchers of beer and glasses of pink vodka to come. I am my worst critic, my toughest competition, my worst enemy. See, cause here's the thing, a little somethin'-somethin' about me: I don't ask for help. I don't admit that I'm freaking out about something until the problem has resolved itself, I don't admit I might not succeed or be able to follow through. I don't do that. No, no, no. The best motivation a person can unwittingly give me is to tell me I can't do something, that I'll fail. *Don't do that in this case* That will not motivate me. I think I would simply cave into defeat and say, "Yep. You're right. I suck." And I wouldn't be referring to my head giving abilities. Even now as I type this I think it's pathetic. But that's what blogdom is for, right? To rally the troops, to bitch, moan, whine, tell people things we don't tell to those around us, show body parts...? Yeah, that's what this is. So, yeah. Goooooooooooooooooooooooooo Team!
....I'll be better in a few days. I promise.
Exhale.
Oh, here's the best part: I can't even work on the bloomin' (*here*) paper on this (*here*) computer cause I forgot to (*here*) update my Word because I was on the trial- basis- free-until-I-have-to-buy-it-Microsoft Office, which expired today. Yahhhhh!
Ew, vodka.
Ew, sex toys.
Gotta go.
Monday, November 27, 2006
two things I would like back
My time spent in the line for the bathroom and money spent on pantyhose.
Pantyhose. God lord what a waste of money and a reason to cause a fire between my thighs these things are. For these two reasons I no longer wear pantyhose. Waste of money. Put them on, get a run. Put them on, get a run. Repeat until you die or refuse to ever wear a pair again.
$12 pair of black silk thigh-highs. Slip one on, get it up to my thigh annnnddd...fucking 'A, you have got to be kidding me. Silk. $12. Thigh-highs. Ran one. Just one. The outfit will not have the desired effect. Sure, it will still have the desired outcome, but not the point.
Time spent waiting for the bathroom.
Guys have no idea. Well, maybe they do because as a result of their evolutionary development of: stand, pee, don't look left, don't look right, shake, flush, wash hands, dry hands, recontaminate hands on the door handle as they leave. They have to wait for us who, because of our refusal to learn evolution in how to pee quickly; stand in line outside the bathroom. Make new friends. Wait in line inside the bathroom. Compliment the new friend. Laugh about something that you both find utterly ridiculous and yet totally hilarious. Go into stall. Look at the seat. Wipe the seat. Put a layer of toilet paper down on the seat. Pee. Because of the ability to sit while I pee, ponder life's bigger problems. Wipe. Flush. Adjust boobs. Wash hands to a full lather. Dry hands. Comb hair. Fluff hair. Reapply lip gloss. Compliment someone on something. Look at my ass. Check outfit. Look at my boobs. Check out the other women in the bathroom. Fluff hair again. Check teeth. Catch reflection one more time. Leave bathroom. Try to not touch the door handle on my way out of the bathroom to totally contaminate my hands with the germs that have yet to reach their full third eye gill to land potential. Meet the man waiting for me outside the bathroom. Smile at said man and apologize for the wait, but not really be sorry at all.
Yeah.
I'll be honest. I really just want all the money back that I've wasted on hose. I enjoy making new friends.
Pantyhose. God lord what a waste of money and a reason to cause a fire between my thighs these things are. For these two reasons I no longer wear pantyhose. Waste of money. Put them on, get a run. Put them on, get a run. Repeat until you die or refuse to ever wear a pair again.
$12 pair of black silk thigh-highs. Slip one on, get it up to my thigh annnnddd...fucking 'A, you have got to be kidding me. Silk. $12. Thigh-highs. Ran one. Just one. The outfit will not have the desired effect. Sure, it will still have the desired outcome, but not the point.
Time spent waiting for the bathroom.
Guys have no idea. Well, maybe they do because as a result of their evolutionary development of: stand, pee, don't look left, don't look right, shake, flush, wash hands, dry hands, recontaminate hands on the door handle as they leave. They have to wait for us who, because of our refusal to learn evolution in how to pee quickly; stand in line outside the bathroom. Make new friends. Wait in line inside the bathroom. Compliment the new friend. Laugh about something that you both find utterly ridiculous and yet totally hilarious. Go into stall. Look at the seat. Wipe the seat. Put a layer of toilet paper down on the seat. Pee. Because of the ability to sit while I pee, ponder life's bigger problems. Wipe. Flush. Adjust boobs. Wash hands to a full lather. Dry hands. Comb hair. Fluff hair. Reapply lip gloss. Compliment someone on something. Look at my ass. Check outfit. Look at my boobs. Check out the other women in the bathroom. Fluff hair again. Check teeth. Catch reflection one more time. Leave bathroom. Try to not touch the door handle on my way out of the bathroom to totally contaminate my hands with the germs that have yet to reach their full third eye gill to land potential. Meet the man waiting for me outside the bathroom. Smile at said man and apologize for the wait, but not really be sorry at all.
Yeah.
I'll be honest. I really just want all the money back that I've wasted on hose. I enjoy making new friends.
Thursday, November 16, 2006
I'd like my potatoes fermented, thanks
The day of giving thanks is next week and as is tradition and keeping with gender role stereotypes I was talking with my mama about what I would be bringing, what time I will show up to help and more importantly what I would like at the Turkey Day table.
PG: Vodka.
Mama: You can't have just vodka.
PG: Yeah I can.
Mama: You don't want anything else but vodka. (It wasn't really said as a question. More of a statement really.)
PG: Nope.
Mama: Any particular kind you would like me to get?
PG: Stoli. Not Skol(i). (There was a mix-up last year Turkey Day. An emergency trip to the grocery store was called for. Let's see, five dollar vodka, twenty dollar vodka.)
Mama: Okay. Vodka.
Conversation today:
Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah......
Mama: So, the only thing you want is, vodka, you don't want me to fix anything else for you?
PG: Nope. Just vodka.
Mama: Any kind of mixers....anything...?
PG: Hmm, no. Well, cranberry juice. Good for the urinary system, good for the continuous vodka drinking.
Mama: Okay. Vodka it is.
I love my mama. Our level of communication needs no explanation.
Last night at the bar:
Before the Cute Waitress Girl could even say, 'Hi, my name is.."
PG: I'll take a double vodka cranberry.
Two drinks later and not liking the level of redness in my beverage.
PG: Hi, are you sure this is a double?
Cute Waitress Girl: Yeah, does it not taste like it?
PG: No. Too red. I want it to be pink. Strong. I want to take one drink and say, "Oh, hello. My name is, Drunk."
CWG: No, problem. I'll get you some more vodka.
One over-flowing shot glass later....
CWG: How's that tasting?
PG: Ooohhh, much better. See, it's pink. Not red. That's what I want. Not red. Pink.
Three doubles later with a total of 7 shots of vodka, yeah. I was feeling much better.
PG: Vodka.
Mama: You can't have just vodka.
PG: Yeah I can.
Mama: You don't want anything else but vodka. (It wasn't really said as a question. More of a statement really.)
PG: Nope.
Mama: Any particular kind you would like me to get?
PG: Stoli. Not Skol(i). (There was a mix-up last year Turkey Day. An emergency trip to the grocery store was called for. Let's see, five dollar vodka, twenty dollar vodka.)
Mama: Okay. Vodka.
Conversation today:
Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah......
Mama: So, the only thing you want is, vodka, you don't want me to fix anything else for you?
PG: Nope. Just vodka.
Mama: Any kind of mixers....anything...?
PG: Hmm, no. Well, cranberry juice. Good for the urinary system, good for the continuous vodka drinking.
Mama: Okay. Vodka it is.
I love my mama. Our level of communication needs no explanation.
Last night at the bar:
Before the Cute Waitress Girl could even say, 'Hi, my name is.."
PG: I'll take a double vodka cranberry.
Two drinks later and not liking the level of redness in my beverage.
PG: Hi, are you sure this is a double?
Cute Waitress Girl: Yeah, does it not taste like it?
PG: No. Too red. I want it to be pink. Strong. I want to take one drink and say, "Oh, hello. My name is, Drunk."
CWG: No, problem. I'll get you some more vodka.
One over-flowing shot glass later....
CWG: How's that tasting?
PG: Ooohhh, much better. See, it's pink. Not red. That's what I want. Not red. Pink.
Three doubles later with a total of 7 shots of vodka, yeah. I was feeling much better.
word origins: everyday quotes
Continuing with the theme...
Did you know Shakespeare introduced over 3,000 words into the English language? Yep, that's right, good 'ol Shakes.
He is also responsible for many quotes that we say everyday. Here is a sample:
It’s Greek to me,” “if you recall your salad days,” as the years spent in college. If a set of car keys have “vanished into thin air.” If a co-worker “refused to budge and inch.” When a person saw their ex-boyfriend’s new girlfriend and then “suffered from green-eyed jealousy.” If a person has ever been, “hoodwinked,” or “tongue-tied,” and then found themselves “in a pickle.” When faced with a tough decision and still managed to be “the tower of strength.” If the deer in the middle of the road was, “dead as a door-nail.” Stood before someone who was the “the devil incarnate” then Shakespeare has been quoted.
Did you know Shakespeare introduced over 3,000 words into the English language? Yep, that's right, good 'ol Shakes.
He is also responsible for many quotes that we say everyday. Here is a sample:
It’s Greek to me,” “if you recall your salad days,” as the years spent in college. If a set of car keys have “vanished into thin air.” If a co-worker “refused to budge and inch.” When a person saw their ex-boyfriend’s new girlfriend and then “suffered from green-eyed jealousy.” If a person has ever been, “hoodwinked,” or “tongue-tied,” and then found themselves “in a pickle.” When faced with a tough decision and still managed to be “the tower of strength.” If the deer in the middle of the road was, “dead as a door-nail.” Stood before someone who was the “the devil incarnate” then Shakespeare has been quoted.
inner dork: Elizabethan grammar
Hey boys and girls guess what day it is?!?!?! That's right, it's Inner Dork Thursday! YAH!!
Okay, I'm totally cheating. Well, kind of. I am currently working on a paper about the differences between Elizabethan grammar to modern grammar and the influences Shakespeare has had on the English language. It is actually pretty fascinating. Well, okay, I think it's fascinating and well, frankly that's all that matters. Okay, not really cause I want you guys to be all impressed and stuff with my vast and scary knowledge of all things useless and interesting.
So, did you know....
Elizabethan English is only one linguistic generation removed from the English we speak today. The principles between the two are generally the same. There are some dialect differences and some prepositional usage and verb agreement anomalies as well as some words that have dropped from use and many others where the meaning has changed completely. The Tudor/Elizabethan alphabet contained 24 letters opposed to today’s 26 letters. In the Tudor/Elizabethan alphabet the letters “u” and “v” were considered the same letter as were “i” and “j. The letter “j” was most commonly used as the capital form of the “i” in the alphabet. The letter “u” was commonly used only in the middle of a word, and the “v” was commonly used only at the beginning of a word. Another difference between the Tudor/Elizabethan alphabet to today’s alphabet is the letter “y” which was used to represent the “th” sound for example, the word, “the” was written as “ye”. Many words were also spelled using an additional “e” at the end and many numbers were represented by letters in the lower case when representing Roman numerals, with the last “i” in the number written as a “j” for example, viij March.
I know. It is fascinating, isn't it?
Okay, I'm totally cheating. Well, kind of. I am currently working on a paper about the differences between Elizabethan grammar to modern grammar and the influences Shakespeare has had on the English language. It is actually pretty fascinating. Well, okay, I think it's fascinating and well, frankly that's all that matters. Okay, not really cause I want you guys to be all impressed and stuff with my vast and scary knowledge of all things useless and interesting.
So, did you know....
Elizabethan English is only one linguistic generation removed from the English we speak today. The principles between the two are generally the same. There are some dialect differences and some prepositional usage and verb agreement anomalies as well as some words that have dropped from use and many others where the meaning has changed completely. The Tudor/Elizabethan alphabet contained 24 letters opposed to today’s 26 letters. In the Tudor/Elizabethan alphabet the letters “u” and “v” were considered the same letter as were “i” and “j. The letter “j” was most commonly used as the capital form of the “i” in the alphabet. The letter “u” was commonly used only in the middle of a word, and the “v” was commonly used only at the beginning of a word. Another difference between the Tudor/Elizabethan alphabet to today’s alphabet is the letter “y” which was used to represent the “th” sound for example, the word, “the” was written as “ye”. Many words were also spelled using an additional “e” at the end and many numbers were represented by letters in the lower case when representing Roman numerals, with the last “i” in the number written as a “j” for example, viij March.
I know. It is fascinating, isn't it?
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
how to make a woman's day each and every time
So today I was feeling fine, not outstanding, just my usual self. Then all of the time and effort I put into a paper yesterday mysteriously vanished from the time I went to bed last night to the time I got into work this morning, so you know, eight hours. Eh, what can you do.
Then a fellow employee came up to me and said this:
"Well, um. Well, I'm just going to come right out and say it, you look damn sexy today in that outfit. Damn sexy"
Yep. That'll improve a girl's mood everytime.
I thanked him several times for brightening my day.
He thanked me several times for wearing the outfit and told me that he has already had numerous fantasies about me today and he plans to continue with them.
Ah, thanks.
That concludes today's lesson. Class dismissed.
Then a fellow employee came up to me and said this:
"Well, um. Well, I'm just going to come right out and say it, you look damn sexy today in that outfit. Damn sexy"
Yep. That'll improve a girl's mood everytime.
I thanked him several times for brightening my day.
He thanked me several times for wearing the outfit and told me that he has already had numerous fantasies about me today and he plans to continue with them.
Ah, thanks.
That concludes today's lesson. Class dismissed.
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
disconcerting moment of the day
Told to me by an instructor:
When she asked her class to name the major religion of Israel, no one could.
When I asked her if they at least made an attempt to thrown something out, any religion any religion at all say, oh I don't know, Christianity.
She said they did say Christianity and Islam.
I wanted to make sure I heard her correctly. "You said, Israel, right?"
"Yep."
I then told her I was going to ask her a question, but then realized how dumb the question would have been to ask. I was going to ask if they knew the history behind Israel and why there is such turmoil in the country. Obviously if they don't even know what the dominate religion is they aren't going to know the history of the country.
Oh, we got a good laugh out of that one.
I sat and stared. Sadly it wasn't in stunned disbelief.
I just shake my head and hang it in shame.
College, people. This is college.
When she asked her class to name the major religion of Israel, no one could.
When I asked her if they at least made an attempt to thrown something out, any religion any religion at all say, oh I don't know, Christianity.
She said they did say Christianity and Islam.
I wanted to make sure I heard her correctly. "You said, Israel, right?"
"Yep."
I then told her I was going to ask her a question, but then realized how dumb the question would have been to ask. I was going to ask if they knew the history behind Israel and why there is such turmoil in the country. Obviously if they don't even know what the dominate religion is they aren't going to know the history of the country.
Oh, we got a good laugh out of that one.
I sat and stared. Sadly it wasn't in stunned disbelief.
I just shake my head and hang it in shame.
College, people. This is college.
Thursday, November 09, 2006
a salute
To our veterans
Because they give their lives to what many are only willing to give a voice to.
Because freedom comes at a price.
Because we say we need heroes yet, they are all around us right here in
the everyday.
word origin: the whole nine yards
The yards in question have nothing to do with sports. Sorry.
It originally referred to the amount of fabric a customer purchased from a tailor to make a suit. Whan a tailor used the whole nine yards, it meant he hadn't been stingy with the cloth.
It originally referred to the amount of fabric a customer purchased from a tailor to make a suit. Whan a tailor used the whole nine yards, it meant he hadn't been stingy with the cloth.
inner dork: vestal virgins
Did you know...
Vestal virgins have been around since before Christ. Vesta, the Roman goddess the virgins honored, was the oldest daughter of Saturn. She never married, but dedicated herself to hearth and home. Vesta evolved into quite the matriarch, commanding a circular temple that stood in the center of Rome. Every Roman house had a shrine to Vesta, and every meal began and ended with an offering to Vesta.
So, what about the virgins?
They, the virgins, were actually priestesses who kept watch over a sacred fire that burned in Vesta's temple. The custom began in primitive times, when fires were difficult to make. (So, before Bic and Zippo) People would obtain fire from the local chief, (the fire chief?) whose daughters kept a flame burning at all times. (A flame of love, baby) Eventually fire making became routine, but the vestal virgins must have appealed to the Romans, who kept six virgins posted in Vesta's temple round the clock, keeping the city's home fire aglow. (So, I guess lose virignity out a job, huh?)
Vestal virgins have been around since before Christ. Vesta, the Roman goddess the virgins honored, was the oldest daughter of Saturn. She never married, but dedicated herself to hearth and home. Vesta evolved into quite the matriarch, commanding a circular temple that stood in the center of Rome. Every Roman house had a shrine to Vesta, and every meal began and ended with an offering to Vesta.
So, what about the virgins?
They, the virgins, were actually priestesses who kept watch over a sacred fire that burned in Vesta's temple. The custom began in primitive times, when fires were difficult to make. (So, before Bic and Zippo) People would obtain fire from the local chief, (the fire chief?) whose daughters kept a flame burning at all times. (A flame of love, baby) Eventually fire making became routine, but the vestal virgins must have appealed to the Romans, who kept six virgins posted in Vesta's temple round the clock, keeping the city's home fire aglow. (So, I guess lose virignity out a job, huh?)
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
just askin'
How long do you think it was between the first rubber band coming off the assembly line to the first rubber band being shot at an unsuspecting co-worker?
Monday, November 06, 2006
Sunday, November 05, 2006
any club that would have me as a member...
chances are, I started the club.
Phone conversation with Billy...
Billy: "Turn on BBC."
PG: "K."
Billy: "There's a show on that I thought you could relate to."
PG: Flipping the channel to BBC, "My 100,000 lovers?"
Billy:"Uh-huh, I thought it was a subject you'd know something about."
PG: "Okay, first, you're such a bitch. Second, That's not even possible."
Several minutes later...all of which were spent laughing and questioning why I'm friends with him...
PG: A preview comes on."Okay, there's a show on BBC called, 'Mile High Club' and it looks very slutty and sex-filled."
Billy: "Hmmm, something else you can relate to."
PG: "Oh, yeah. Hello, air head. The Mile High Club is a fun club to be in. I need to take advantage of my membership more often."
Phone conversation with Billy...
Billy: "Turn on BBC."
PG: "K."
Billy: "There's a show on that I thought you could relate to."
PG: Flipping the channel to BBC, "My 100,000 lovers?"
Billy:"Uh-huh, I thought it was a subject you'd know something about."
PG: "Okay, first, you're such a bitch. Second, That's not even possible."
Several minutes later...all of which were spent laughing and questioning why I'm friends with him...
PG: A preview comes on."Okay, there's a show on BBC called, 'Mile High Club' and it looks very slutty and sex-filled."
Billy: "Hmmm, something else you can relate to."
PG: "Oh, yeah. Hello, air head. The Mile High Club is a fun club to be in. I need to take advantage of my membership more often."
Friday, November 03, 2006
Apathy? What's that?
After reading the headline in the school newspaper, "Students don't care" and then reading the article only to find out what they don't care about is this upcoming election, but more than that, students don't care about anything to do with America today. Unless it has to do with money, clothes, their car, their new i-pod, cell phone...name anything else material...they don't care about anything of substance.
After speaking with several students about the lack of empathy for the war, government, the election, about anything. They stated the main reason they don't care is because the politicians don't care about them. They (students) are nothing more than a sound bite and a hopeful vote for, pick any politician. So, based on that, why should they care? Why should they vote? The war doesn't directly impact them because they know they won't get drafted. Therefore, the war is b.s., but ultimately in the long run, who cares. They're safe here at home. Which leaves me to question the males who went on their 18th birthday to register, did they just see it as an obligation, and did they take into consideration at all about what it was they were signing? My answer was in the expression on their faces. The answer was clearly, no.
I saw their point and I knew that anything I had to say would just fall on ears filled with i-pod headphones.
However, what I see lacking in the youth of America and what I find most disturbing is the feeling and the sense that they matter. That one person can make a difference and that one person can change the world or the world of one person on any given day. When I was 19 my plan was to go to South America and save the rainforests and god dammit! I was going to do it all by myself if it came to that!
Obviously the full level of my cynicism didn't happen until a few years later.
I understand that they have seen and experienced images, and lies, and more political spin than most of us seen before we attended our first college frat party, but still. Where's the hope? If the hope is dead already, then god, I don't want to know the level of cynicism in 10-20 years. If they aren't willing to go vote, or even willing to register to vote, then I don't see a commitment happening in their future of making it to the ballot box come election day when they have kids and are living in a different shade of beige in suburbia USA.
I don't know what the answer is other than trying to get the message across to one person at a time and hopefully it catches onto the next and then the next. Call me hopeful that something as simple as open conversation could cause such a radical effect. However, someone needs to wear rose colored glasses, I'll be happy to volunteer.
If you're looking for your daily dose of, can do it-ness, please, read the following article. Regardless of your political affiliation I think we can all use a little, hell ya, this morning. color me inspired.
After speaking with several students about the lack of empathy for the war, government, the election, about anything. They stated the main reason they don't care is because the politicians don't care about them. They (students) are nothing more than a sound bite and a hopeful vote for, pick any politician. So, based on that, why should they care? Why should they vote? The war doesn't directly impact them because they know they won't get drafted. Therefore, the war is b.s., but ultimately in the long run, who cares. They're safe here at home. Which leaves me to question the males who went on their 18th birthday to register, did they just see it as an obligation, and did they take into consideration at all about what it was they were signing? My answer was in the expression on their faces. The answer was clearly, no.
I saw their point and I knew that anything I had to say would just fall on ears filled with i-pod headphones.
However, what I see lacking in the youth of America and what I find most disturbing is the feeling and the sense that they matter. That one person can make a difference and that one person can change the world or the world of one person on any given day. When I was 19 my plan was to go to South America and save the rainforests and god dammit! I was going to do it all by myself if it came to that!
Obviously the full level of my cynicism didn't happen until a few years later.
I understand that they have seen and experienced images, and lies, and more political spin than most of us seen before we attended our first college frat party, but still. Where's the hope? If the hope is dead already, then god, I don't want to know the level of cynicism in 10-20 years. If they aren't willing to go vote, or even willing to register to vote, then I don't see a commitment happening in their future of making it to the ballot box come election day when they have kids and are living in a different shade of beige in suburbia USA.
I don't know what the answer is other than trying to get the message across to one person at a time and hopefully it catches onto the next and then the next. Call me hopeful that something as simple as open conversation could cause such a radical effect. However, someone needs to wear rose colored glasses, I'll be happy to volunteer.
If you're looking for your daily dose of, can do it-ness, please, read the following article. Regardless of your political affiliation I think we can all use a little, hell ya, this morning. color me inspired.
Thursday, November 02, 2006
word origin: quid pro quo and cahoots
Quid pro quo comes from Latin and basically means, 'tit for tat.' However, to hear someone in power say, 'tit for tat' just doesn't have the same, umph as, quid pro quo. In political and business worlds it's now Latin for, 'you vote for my bill and I'll vote for yours.'
Cahoots:
The term comes from the Middle Ages and is derived from the German word, "kajuetes."
When Germany was thick with thieves and bandits, many of whom lived near the Black Forest in shacks called, kajuetes. When several bandits lived together they were in kajuete with each other.
The phrase has survived and has come to describe two or more people who are up to no good.
Let's use the two together in a sentence, "All politicans are in cahoots with each other and expect a quid pro quo relationship with those in their own political party."
Good job. Gold star.
Cahoots:
The term comes from the Middle Ages and is derived from the German word, "kajuetes."
When Germany was thick with thieves and bandits, many of whom lived near the Black Forest in shacks called, kajuetes. When several bandits lived together they were in kajuete with each other.
The phrase has survived and has come to describe two or more people who are up to no good.
Let's use the two together in a sentence, "All politicans are in cahoots with each other and expect a quid pro quo relationship with those in their own political party."
Good job. Gold star.
inner dork: the fourth estate
Did you know...
Let's start with the first three estates and go from there.
The first three estates signified the classes of men's activities during the feudal era in Europe, which began about A.D. 850. These activities amounted to praying, fighting, and working the land for food. Thus the first estate was the clergy, the second estate was nobility, which included kings, and warriors. The third estate was everyone else, but consisted mostly of peasant farmers. Eventually the members of these estates came to be known in England as lords spiritual, lords temporal, and commons (hence the House of Lords and the House of Commons).
The concept of a fourth estate is believed to have originated in 1828, when Thomas Babington Macaulay referred to a group of news reporters as "a fourth estate of the realm." Soon the 'fourth estate" was a popular nickname for members of the newspaper profession. Later its meaning expanded to include any influential aspect of English political life that was not the government i.e. the army or the news media regarding anything in radio, TV, or print.
Let's start with the first three estates and go from there.
The first three estates signified the classes of men's activities during the feudal era in Europe, which began about A.D. 850. These activities amounted to praying, fighting, and working the land for food. Thus the first estate was the clergy, the second estate was nobility, which included kings, and warriors. The third estate was everyone else, but consisted mostly of peasant farmers. Eventually the members of these estates came to be known in England as lords spiritual, lords temporal, and commons (hence the House of Lords and the House of Commons).
The concept of a fourth estate is believed to have originated in 1828, when Thomas Babington Macaulay referred to a group of news reporters as "a fourth estate of the realm." Soon the 'fourth estate" was a popular nickname for members of the newspaper profession. Later its meaning expanded to include any influential aspect of English political life that was not the government i.e. the army or the news media regarding anything in radio, TV, or print.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
The Power of One: Alice Paul
Because it's only been 86 years since women gained the right to vote. She is one of the main reasons why we've had that right for 86 years.
"
Alice Paul
"Alice Paul
Monday, October 30, 2006
just askin', just sayin' Halloween is the most bestest holiday of the year
If a person gets arrested on Halloween do they get to change out of their costume before their mugshot?
I mean, I can't imagine there is someone dressed as the Bride of Frankenstein, or Joan Crawford as Mommy Dearest, screaming, "No more wire hangers, ever!" or Nurse Betty, a fairy princess, a priest with a little fake boy doll attatched to his genitals has a mugshot reflecting these Halloween costumes, but I don't know. Anyone?
Although, those would be some pretty kickass mugshots to see. I'm thinking the Bride of Frankenstein wouldn't be looking so blushing after sitting in the back of a cop car at 4 a.m.
This is why I love Halloween. Hands down my favorite holiday. Only second to my birthday. I have permission to go out and show off all my little perversions and fantasties to the whole wide world and they embrace me! Actually, I think a person can see a lot about another person and all of their inner what-nots on Halloween and see what things are really lurking inside someone on a night like Halloween. Someone's demons, thoughts, fantasies, sense of humor, fetishes. It's so freakin' wonderful.
Me, this year I was a Catholic schoolgirl. A slutty one. Boobs up to my chin, more make-up than I wear in a year, and white lace stockings complete with fuck me shoes. It was wonderful. I had a nun eyeballing me all night. I was channeling all his impure thoughts. I'm pretty sure he wanted me back in the classroom with a ruler in his hand. At least that's what he told me.
(Jay?)
So, what were you this year?
Oh, and here's the end of my jokes:
What do you call a man with no arms and no legs hanging on the wall?
Art.
What do you call a man with no arms and no legs laying on the floor?
Matt.
How do you make a hormone?
You pay her. (Whore, moan.)
I mean, I can't imagine there is someone dressed as the Bride of Frankenstein, or Joan Crawford as Mommy Dearest, screaming, "No more wire hangers, ever!" or Nurse Betty, a fairy princess, a priest with a little fake boy doll attatched to his genitals has a mugshot reflecting these Halloween costumes, but I don't know. Anyone?
Although, those would be some pretty kickass mugshots to see. I'm thinking the Bride of Frankenstein wouldn't be looking so blushing after sitting in the back of a cop car at 4 a.m.
This is why I love Halloween. Hands down my favorite holiday. Only second to my birthday. I have permission to go out and show off all my little perversions and fantasties to the whole wide world and they embrace me! Actually, I think a person can see a lot about another person and all of their inner what-nots on Halloween and see what things are really lurking inside someone on a night like Halloween. Someone's demons, thoughts, fantasies, sense of humor, fetishes. It's so freakin' wonderful.
Me, this year I was a Catholic schoolgirl. A slutty one. Boobs up to my chin, more make-up than I wear in a year, and white lace stockings complete with fuck me shoes. It was wonderful. I had a nun eyeballing me all night. I was channeling all his impure thoughts. I'm pretty sure he wanted me back in the classroom with a ruler in his hand. At least that's what he told me.
(Jay?)
So, what were you this year?
Oh, and here's the end of my jokes:
What do you call a man with no arms and no legs hanging on the wall?
Art.
What do you call a man with no arms and no legs laying on the floor?
Matt.
How do you make a hormone?
You pay her. (Whore, moan.)
Sunday, October 29, 2006
The sexiest thing a woman can wear is her head held high
the same it true for men, as well.
Confidence, self-esteem. I don't care what a person looks like, if they have a great outlook on life and an amazing personality and the self-confidence to go with it, wow. Color me sold.
After spending a Saturday afternoon with a home full of women and where two of the women were having a pissing contest between them over who felt worse about themselves. Who was the fattest, ugliest, and who had the most things wrong with them, seriously, it had to be a Madison Ave. ad man's wet dream. Finally when my breaking point of listening to it all had reached its limit I told them that the next person who said something negative owed me $10. Amazingly enough, all negative comments ended.
Here's a news flash: I'm not perfect. Here's another news flash: I don't pretend to be. (most days) Here's one more news flash: I don't want to be perfect. Perfect, is boring. I'll take all my flaws, thanks.
However, if I spent my time thinking and talking about all of my flaws on any given day, well, hell, I wouldn't make it out of bed most days. Instead, I choose to ignore what I think needs to be fixed, or more likely, I choose to embrace it. And here's the thing, it's what I think is wrong. If I were to point out what I didn't like about me to any one of you, chances are it's something you'd never even notice. It's all of the invisible things that we see and we think they are flashing a huge neon green sign to the person looking at us that they in turn are thinking, "Oh my god! Look at her! How the hell did she manage to even get out of bed today looking like that?!?!" When in reality, chances are they don't even see it or they may be envious because of it, or they wish they had whatever it is that we hate and vice versa.
I just don't understand why we spend so much time hating ourselves and putting ourselves down.
Ew! EW! Wait! I know this answer, it's because we're told by all of the ads we see and hear and TV shows devoted to what is wrong with us and what we need to change that we see and therefore buy into it. Dr 90210, anyone? Or as I call them: my nose is huge, my eyelids are sagging and my boobs aren't nearly big enough, and I have a tiny lump o' fat in my ass, shows. Trust me, I can be a victim to this as well. So, again it comes down to society and images killing us. Killing oursleves and it's not softly. However, I think we do an amazing job of killing ourselves, our self-esteem, our self-image, our self-worth each and everytime we say something negative about ourselves or about someone else we kill ourselves. We kill a little bit about what is great and individual about each and every one of us each time we buy into it and frankly, I think it's ridiculous.
So, how about we all start wearing the sexiest thing a person can wear, our heads held high. Let's all stop buying into the Madison Ave. wet dream and start wearing all of flaws proudly.
Confidence, self-esteem. I don't care what a person looks like, if they have a great outlook on life and an amazing personality and the self-confidence to go with it, wow. Color me sold.
After spending a Saturday afternoon with a home full of women and where two of the women were having a pissing contest between them over who felt worse about themselves. Who was the fattest, ugliest, and who had the most things wrong with them, seriously, it had to be a Madison Ave. ad man's wet dream. Finally when my breaking point of listening to it all had reached its limit I told them that the next person who said something negative owed me $10. Amazingly enough, all negative comments ended.
Here's a news flash: I'm not perfect. Here's another news flash: I don't pretend to be. (most days) Here's one more news flash: I don't want to be perfect. Perfect, is boring. I'll take all my flaws, thanks.
However, if I spent my time thinking and talking about all of my flaws on any given day, well, hell, I wouldn't make it out of bed most days. Instead, I choose to ignore what I think needs to be fixed, or more likely, I choose to embrace it. And here's the thing, it's what I think is wrong. If I were to point out what I didn't like about me to any one of you, chances are it's something you'd never even notice. It's all of the invisible things that we see and we think they are flashing a huge neon green sign to the person looking at us that they in turn are thinking, "Oh my god! Look at her! How the hell did she manage to even get out of bed today looking like that?!?!" When in reality, chances are they don't even see it or they may be envious because of it, or they wish they had whatever it is that we hate and vice versa.
I just don't understand why we spend so much time hating ourselves and putting ourselves down.
Ew! EW! Wait! I know this answer, it's because we're told by all of the ads we see and hear and TV shows devoted to what is wrong with us and what we need to change that we see and therefore buy into it. Dr 90210, anyone? Or as I call them: my nose is huge, my eyelids are sagging and my boobs aren't nearly big enough, and I have a tiny lump o' fat in my ass, shows. Trust me, I can be a victim to this as well. So, again it comes down to society and images killing us. Killing oursleves and it's not softly. However, I think we do an amazing job of killing ourselves, our self-esteem, our self-image, our self-worth each and everytime we say something negative about ourselves or about someone else we kill ourselves. We kill a little bit about what is great and individual about each and every one of us each time we buy into it and frankly, I think it's ridiculous.
So, how about we all start wearing the sexiest thing a person can wear, our heads held high. Let's all stop buying into the Madison Ave. wet dream and start wearing all of flaws proudly.
Friday, October 27, 2006
word origin: scum bag
The word 'scum bag' originally referred to a used condom.
Now, it seems to refer to the men I date.
Coincidence? I think not.
Now, it seems to refer to the men I date.
Coincidence? I think not.
inner dork: sex through the ages
Did you know....
Forming the letter V with your index and middle fingers (the peace sign) today has a positive meaning. However, originally the gesture had a different meaning. In Europe it was seen as an obscene gesture symbolizing a double phallus and suggesting infidelity. If you made the gesture to a man you were basically saying, "Your wife has been cheating on you."
(Maybe the original meaning needs to be brought back. Can't find the words to tell your buddy their wife has cheated? Form a V. Ta dah!)
During the Victorian era it was considered improper to have sex on Sunday.
(Hell, I require it three times on Sunday. I feel I do my best praying on those days, with all of the "Oh Gods!" and all.)
In darker times the Catholic confessional was used by priests to recruit women for sex.
(Now they recruit little boys.)
Spartans use to dress their wives as little boys in order to be aroused enough to have sex with them.
(Jerry Springer, anyone?)
King Solomon at one time had 700 wives and 1300 concubines, according to the eleventh chapter of the First Book of Kings.
(Well, now that's a bit excessive, donchya think?)
The Egyptian pharaoh Cheops used income from prostitution, including that from his daughter, whom he pressed into harlotry, to finance the constrution of the great pyramid at Giza.
(Hmmm, wonder how much therapy she needed after that?)
Moorish baths in the 15th Century had women who were skilled in the art of pulling out pubic hair in men to induce orgasm.
(Ga! See, yet another excellent reason to be shaved.)
In the 13th Century if married Christians were not planning on having children, they were forbidden to have sex.
(I want kids!!! I want to have kids!!!!) (Okay, I'm lying, but geesh, can you blame me?)
During such sexually repressive times such as the early Christian era and the Puritan and Victorian eras, flagellation reached popular heights as a means of sexual gratification.
(I have sinned! I have sinned!!! Now, punish me!)
That's all for today's lesson. Class is dismissed until next week.
Forming the letter V with your index and middle fingers (the peace sign) today has a positive meaning. However, originally the gesture had a different meaning. In Europe it was seen as an obscene gesture symbolizing a double phallus and suggesting infidelity. If you made the gesture to a man you were basically saying, "Your wife has been cheating on you."
(Maybe the original meaning needs to be brought back. Can't find the words to tell your buddy their wife has cheated? Form a V. Ta dah!)
During the Victorian era it was considered improper to have sex on Sunday.
(Hell, I require it three times on Sunday. I feel I do my best praying on those days, with all of the "Oh Gods!" and all.)
In darker times the Catholic confessional was used by priests to recruit women for sex.
(Now they recruit little boys.)
Spartans use to dress their wives as little boys in order to be aroused enough to have sex with them.
(Jerry Springer, anyone?)
King Solomon at one time had 700 wives and 1300 concubines, according to the eleventh chapter of the First Book of Kings.
(Well, now that's a bit excessive, donchya think?)
The Egyptian pharaoh Cheops used income from prostitution, including that from his daughter, whom he pressed into harlotry, to finance the constrution of the great pyramid at Giza.
(Hmmm, wonder how much therapy she needed after that?)
Moorish baths in the 15th Century had women who were skilled in the art of pulling out pubic hair in men to induce orgasm.
(Ga! See, yet another excellent reason to be shaved.)
In the 13th Century if married Christians were not planning on having children, they were forbidden to have sex.
(I want kids!!! I want to have kids!!!!) (Okay, I'm lying, but geesh, can you blame me?)
During such sexually repressive times such as the early Christian era and the Puritan and Victorian eras, flagellation reached popular heights as a means of sexual gratification.
(I have sinned! I have sinned!!! Now, punish me!)
That's all for today's lesson. Class is dismissed until next week.
Thursday, October 26, 2006
crack dealers and prostitutes
What's the difference between a crack dealer and a prostitute?
....A prostitute can wash her crack and sell it again.
(OH! Thank you. Thank you very much. I'll be here all week.)
....A prostitute can wash her crack and sell it again.
(OH! Thank you. Thank you very much. I'll be here all week.)
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
that's gonna leave a mark
Why did the girl fall off the swing?
...because she had no arms.
(I've heard it once and told it four times today and each time I've laughed so hard I almost pee'd myself.) (almost)
Welcome to my world.
...because she had no arms.
(I've heard it once and told it four times today and each time I've laughed so hard I almost pee'd myself.) (almost)
Welcome to my world.
my knack for honesty + the fragile male ego = too many things at the dinner table last night. (or how to make a great date go bad)
...and so my night went.
Something about hurting his pride in regards to a comment I made over dinner. He was bad mouthing his ex-wife who he has two kids with. I told him how extremely unattractive I find that. I then explained why I find it unattractive. He understood. (He said.)
Walking me to my car he told me I hurt his pride. I told him that wasn't my intention, but I'm not going to listen to him talk about his ex-wife that way.
Then the kiss goodnight by my car was mighty short. (mighty)
The two might be related.
Yeah.
More to come.
Maybe.
(God I'm sick of dating.)
Something about hurting his pride in regards to a comment I made over dinner. He was bad mouthing his ex-wife who he has two kids with. I told him how extremely unattractive I find that. I then explained why I find it unattractive. He understood. (He said.)
Walking me to my car he told me I hurt his pride. I told him that wasn't my intention, but I'm not going to listen to him talk about his ex-wife that way.
Then the kiss goodnight by my car was mighty short. (mighty)
The two might be related.
Yeah.
More to come.
Maybe.
(God I'm sick of dating.)
Sunday, October 22, 2006
ducks and their chapstick
So, this duck walks into my office on Friday, I know what you're thinking, Pirates named Joe and now a duck randomly walking into my office, but truly, that is how random my job is. So, Steve, the duck, walks into my office and says, "Give me some chapstick, and put it on my bill."
I know, how odd. Who knew ducks, let alone those named Steve, like moist soft lips.
I know, how odd. Who knew ducks, let alone those named Steve, like moist soft lips.
Thursday, October 19, 2006
word origin: hermaphrodite
The term, hermaphrodite, meaning to have the sex organs of both a male and female derives from the Greek god and goddess, Hermes and Aphrodite. They gave birth to a son who ended up half man and half woman.
inner dork: falling off the wagon
Did you know....
The term, 'on the wagon' comes from a time when the streets were watered down by a horse drawn carriage or wagon. A person who swore to give up alcohol thus had then, 'climbed onto the water wagon.' So, when a person went back to alcohol they had, 'fallen off the water wagon.'
I know. Fascinating, isn't it?
The term, 'on the wagon' comes from a time when the streets were watered down by a horse drawn carriage or wagon. A person who swore to give up alcohol thus had then, 'climbed onto the water wagon.' So, when a person went back to alcohol they had, 'fallen off the water wagon.'
I know. Fascinating, isn't it?
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
lessons 101
How to draw unnecessary attention to yourself while at work: unintentionally dress like a Catholic schoolgirl. Complete with glasses, ponytail, and tights.
I was told that when I go out tonight I should lose the glasses or there will be serious fantasy fullfillment.
That concludes today's lesson.
I was told that when I go out tonight I should lose the glasses or there will be serious fantasy fullfillment.
That concludes today's lesson.
career opportunities
If a woman with big boobs can get a job at Hooters, where can a woman with one leg get a job?
....
I-Hop.
....
I-Hop.
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
The Power of One: Making a difference
I know the power of one is supposed to be about others, but it turns out I've been making a difference to one person and they told me about it today.
My part-time gig has been privately tutoring (and mentoring) a student. We meet twice a week and I help him with homework, study for tests and the like. I also, in a non-intrusive way, ask him how things are going in his life and calm his nerves about school. (He's an 18-year-old first year student, has had a past drinking/drug problem and has a one-year-old daughter, so it's the whole, world is there for his taking if he just takes advantage of it, that we all had at that age, but with actual life responsibility on top of it.)
So, today as we are winding down I ask him about Thursday and his tests, grades, how it's all going and the spring semester. I tell him I am still planning to meet and work with him in the spring and summer and well, frankly for as long as he needs me. He tells me in that random nonchallant 18-year-old-guy-way, that he wants me to keep working with him this semester and yeah, he really wants me to keep helping him, because he really appreciates it and I've made such a difference with him this semester and with his classes and his grades and he doesn't know how he would do it without me and thank you so much for all my help....
I'm just sitting there listening to this really wonderful and remarkable young man tell me how much I matter to him and all I'm thinking is, 'don't cry, don't cry...'
So, yeah, wow.
It was one of those moments where everything came together, and someone told me I make a difference. That what I enjoy doing and I can hardly call or consider a job, matters.
Yeah.
So awesome.
It was my, warm-fuzzy-heart-all-a-glow-misty-eyed-floating-on-air-moment-on-a late- Tuesday-afternoon. Life is so wonderful in all it's randomness sometimes, you know?
My part-time gig has been privately tutoring (and mentoring) a student. We meet twice a week and I help him with homework, study for tests and the like. I also, in a non-intrusive way, ask him how things are going in his life and calm his nerves about school. (He's an 18-year-old first year student, has had a past drinking/drug problem and has a one-year-old daughter, so it's the whole, world is there for his taking if he just takes advantage of it, that we all had at that age, but with actual life responsibility on top of it.)
So, today as we are winding down I ask him about Thursday and his tests, grades, how it's all going and the spring semester. I tell him I am still planning to meet and work with him in the spring and summer and well, frankly for as long as he needs me. He tells me in that random nonchallant 18-year-old-guy-way, that he wants me to keep working with him this semester and yeah, he really wants me to keep helping him, because he really appreciates it and I've made such a difference with him this semester and with his classes and his grades and he doesn't know how he would do it without me and thank you so much for all my help....
I'm just sitting there listening to this really wonderful and remarkable young man tell me how much I matter to him and all I'm thinking is, 'don't cry, don't cry...'
So, yeah, wow.
It was one of those moments where everything came together, and someone told me I make a difference. That what I enjoy doing and I can hardly call or consider a job, matters.
Yeah.
So awesome.
It was my, warm-fuzzy-heart-all-a-glow-misty-eyed-floating-on-air-moment-on-a late- Tuesday-afternoon. Life is so wonderful in all it's randomness sometimes, you know?
skeletons
What do you call the blonde skeleton in the closet?
....
..
..
The 1983 hide and seek champion.
....
..
..
The 1983 hide and seek champion.
vodka + laughter = a happy party girl
I'm so easy to make happy.
A girlfriend and I went out after work last night.
I ordered a few tall doubles, a greasy hamburger and fries, lots of laughter and sex talk and well, I am no longer wallowing in my own self-pity.
I was reborn.
I am all good.
Yep, buy me some drinks, some greasy food, let me flirt with the waiter, talk with a boy, talk about sex and well, I'm a happy, happy gal.
I still need a $1,000.
Just putting that out there.
Still need money.
But hey, for now, I'm all good.
Tonight I'm out with one of my gays, and well, tomorrow all of life's problems with seem shiney and bright.
A girlfriend and I went out after work last night.
I ordered a few tall doubles, a greasy hamburger and fries, lots of laughter and sex talk and well, I am no longer wallowing in my own self-pity.
I was reborn.
I am all good.
Yep, buy me some drinks, some greasy food, let me flirt with the waiter, talk with a boy, talk about sex and well, I'm a happy, happy gal.
I still need a $1,000.
Just putting that out there.
Still need money.
But hey, for now, I'm all good.
Tonight I'm out with one of my gays, and well, tomorrow all of life's problems with seem shiney and bright.
Monday, October 16, 2006
antifreeze
Do you know how to make antifreeze?
..
.
.....
...You take away her nightgown.
(Annie freeze/antifreeze)
Oh, I kill me!
..
.
.....
...You take away her nightgown.
(Annie freeze/antifreeze)
Oh, I kill me!
just askin': tattoos
I don't want to write about what's really on my mind, so I thought I would ask a question instead.
Do you have any tattoos?
If so, who, what, when, where, why, and how come?
Me? My body is naked of any permanent body art. I've thought about getting one several times. I created my own designs and then I sat on them for a year. If I still wanted it after a year then I would get it. I never did. Thank god for the ability to look ahead.
Piercings? Got any?
Me? Just my ears. Six on each ear. I got the first one at three-years-of-age and the last when I was twenty.
Thought about getting my belly-button and nose pierced. Sometimes one of my nipples. Thus far just my ears.
Do you have any tattoos?
If so, who, what, when, where, why, and how come?
Me? My body is naked of any permanent body art. I've thought about getting one several times. I created my own designs and then I sat on them for a year. If I still wanted it after a year then I would get it. I never did. Thank god for the ability to look ahead.
Piercings? Got any?
Me? Just my ears. Six on each ear. I got the first one at three-years-of-age and the last when I was twenty.
Thought about getting my belly-button and nose pierced. Sometimes one of my nipples. Thus far just my ears.
Thursday, October 12, 2006
movie trivia game
courtesy of GirlGoyle...
Proving, once again, that I am easily entertained, here is a trivia movie game. Killed an hour at work yesterday. Thus far I have 33 correct. (And I'm not a horror movie fan. I rock!) (and kick ass!) (just sayin')
Good luck and happy wasting of time on the clock
Proving, once again, that I am easily entertained, here is a trivia movie game. Killed an hour at work yesterday. Thus far I have 33 correct. (And I'm not a horror movie fan. I rock!) (and kick ass!) (just sayin')
Good luck and happy wasting of time on the clock
inner dork: The Rosetta Stone
Did you know....
The Rosetta Stone provided the link between ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics and Greek writing. The basalt stone, measuring 3 3/4 feet high and 2 1/2 feet wide, dates from 196 B.C. It was discovered in 1799, and it took three scholars working successively for more than thirty years to determine the basic principles of hieroglyphic writing. The Rosetta Stone wasn't intended to be a translation tool; it was a decree honoring Ptolemy V Epiphanes, written in three types of script. At the top of the stone the decree is written in hieroglyphics. In the center of the stone the decree is repeated in a script of spoken Egyptian, and at the bottom it is repeated again in Greek. Because the Rosetta Stone is nearly intact, scholars of written Greek were able to translate the Greek portion, and based on the translation, to decipher the hieroglphics. One especially exciting aspect of the endeavor was the discovery that hieroglyphics were largely alphabetic, not just pictorial. They actually spelled words, and didn't merely represent ideas through pictures, as had previously been thought.
The Rosetta Stone provided the link between ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics and Greek writing. The basalt stone, measuring 3 3/4 feet high and 2 1/2 feet wide, dates from 196 B.C. It was discovered in 1799, and it took three scholars working successively for more than thirty years to determine the basic principles of hieroglyphic writing. The Rosetta Stone wasn't intended to be a translation tool; it was a decree honoring Ptolemy V Epiphanes, written in three types of script. At the top of the stone the decree is written in hieroglyphics. In the center of the stone the decree is repeated in a script of spoken Egyptian, and at the bottom it is repeated again in Greek. Because the Rosetta Stone is nearly intact, scholars of written Greek were able to translate the Greek portion, and based on the translation, to decipher the hieroglphics. One especially exciting aspect of the endeavor was the discovery that hieroglyphics were largely alphabetic, not just pictorial. They actually spelled words, and didn't merely represent ideas through pictures, as had previously been thought.
word origin: listerine
The name of the common household product is named for the 19th-Century surgical pioneer, Joseph Lister who introduced antiseptic surgery.
(and thank god for that!)
(and thank god for that!)
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
Pirate Joe
So, this pirate walks into my office this morning. (I know, in this day and age, but yeah, a pirate) He tells me his name is Joe.
"Hey Joe, what can I help you with?" As I ask this question I notice he has very lovely ears. Very kissable, but more importantly he has some really cool earrings. Nothing to blingy or anything, just some nice studs.
He sees me looking.
He says, " Oh, you like the earrings? Yeah, I just got my ears pierced yesterday."
"Really? How much did that cost you?"
.... a buck an ear.
OH!
It hurts...so....damn....good!
"Hey Joe, what can I help you with?" As I ask this question I notice he has very lovely ears. Very kissable, but more importantly he has some really cool earrings. Nothing to blingy or anything, just some nice studs.
He sees me looking.
He says, " Oh, you like the earrings? Yeah, I just got my ears pierced yesterday."
"Really? How much did that cost you?"
.... a buck an ear.
OH!
It hurts...so....damn....good!
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
oh, but wait, there's more..
...and look it's raining, how apropos.
I talked about my day up until 9:45 a.m. here's how the rest of my day went. The short version: The story ends with me not graduating in December. Don't mean to ruin it for you, but, yeah.
Okay: I told you my feelings towards Java. To recap: no skin + rock salt= less painful.
But, hey who cares, I can stick it out for another eight weeks.
*Ding* thought: This class is meeting a requirement, doesn't that mean I have to receive at least a C- in the class? I wonder if that's possible. Hmm, I should call my advisor. Yep, I need to get at least a C-.
Hmm, (there's gonna be a lot of 'hmmm's' in this post. Just warning you.) with my GPA I should graduate with high honors. That C-, yeah, not gonna make honors.
I email my instructor and ask his thoughts on the possibility of that C-. (See last night we got our tests back. I was totally excited about my grade because I got five more correct than I thought I would, I was totally high-five'in' the guy next to me. I thought I only got 6 right, and I got 11. Whoo-hoo!
Oh, maybe I should point out that, that was out of 50. Go me!
The instructor pointed out that, I'm getting a 100% on the homework, but that test, well....
I dunno, something about an English major (me) in a computer class (them) that is like a nun and anal sex, just doesn't seem right. (Last night I had an epiphany about me and the class: I'm looking at the sea of people and they are all dressed in monochromatics. Then there's me. I'm in my stylish long black skirt, my black tank, and my darling bright pink circa 1954 button down cardigan. Not to mention my black stilettos with the pink stitching and my hooker hoop earrings. Hmm, who doesn't belong....which one, boys and girls who just doesn't seem to belong....here's another hint: the chick in the pink sweater didn't get, nor did she understand, the 'computer humor' that was so rampant in the class, yet many students thought the pink sweater chick was hee-larious..)
So fast forward through a few conversations with the advisor and the financial aid office and I am out of the Java class and into another class that doesn't start until Feburary. (See, that's two months past the, to graduate by, date.) (However, also see the class I should have been in to begin with. Again, see an English major + programing class = pink sweater girl adding up how many weeks she has left in the class while the instructor drones on....and on...and on....and on..8, she has (had) eight weeks left.)
The financial aid office, tells me I am all outta fundage, but it wouldn't matter if I did have fundage left cause I would only be taking the one class and they wouldn't pay for it as I wouldn't be at least half-time.
The class that starts in Feburary is on the main campus i.e.: the cross country trek than takes an hour one way and is 80 miles round trip.
As there is no fundage I will have to pay $1k+ out of my own pocket for the class and the books. (As it's a nice private college where I be gettin' all of my kanawledge from. I think it has been money well spent.)
This the part where I tell you about my plans for myself in May: As a, I-totally-kick-ass-and-I- did-four-years-of-college-in-about-two-years-and-I'm-so-awesome-in-all-my-fabulousness-I- think-I-deserve-a-graduation-present-as-I-haven't-had-a-trip-or-a-vacation-in-eons-at-this- point, trip. Hmm, where should we send PG, where oh, where?? Hey, I've always wanted to go to Greece. Yeah, I think I'll go to Greece. A nice little 12 days cruise to the Greek Isle and the thought of all those Grecian men just made me sweaty with orgasmic anticipation. So, yah me!
I'd started saving up for the trip about a month or so ago and all the money from a part-time job gig (yeah, I forgot to mention, I'm also working a part-time gig on top of the full-time gig and the 16 credits and all) was going into a jar marked: 'Greece fund.' It's not a fancy jar, but hey, it was my fundage jar and I loved it. I even made a cute, funny, witty, and whimsical (can something be witty and whimsical?) jar for work. I made $9.21 from my witty and whimsical work, 'send me to Greece' fundage jar, before I was told it wasn't appropriate. Funny, but not appropriate. (whatev.)
Well, I'm just guessing, just pulling it out of my ass really, (are you ever amazed by what people pull out of their asses? You know what would impress me if it came out of an ass? A bowling trophy. Now that would be impressive my dear readers. Painful, but impressive.) that the funadge for Greece, yeah it's now going to go to that class. I'm also just going to pull out of my ass (...and a goat. If a person pulled a goat out of their ass. A goat named Billy and it needs to be 'bah-haing' when it comes out. Yep, a white/gray-ish (is it grey or gray, never know, and what's the difference? Ump, there's that kanoawledge at work again..) goat named, Billy. Wow, that'd be good TV right there I'd almost pay money for the psychotherapy that would come from something like that) that the trip won't happen at all. (I realize that a trip like that costs more than $1,000, however, trying to scrounge any and all loose fundage only to have $1,000 of said fundage taken away...might as well be trying to sell an ass covered goat eating a smelly bowling trophy to recover the loss.)
So, a short recap:
Not graduating in December.
Out $1k+ for the Java class that I dropped, plus the paper-weight, aka book, gas and time.
Will be paying $1k+ for the class I should have been in the first place, plus book.
I'll be taking the $1k+ from the fundage that I was going to treat myself for a much needed and deserved trip to Greece for said class, book, and cross country trec twice a week.
There won't be any Grecian men in my near future.
Might be, better be, (soon) (very, very soon) sweaty orgasms in my future.
Unless I am suddenly hit in the head with an ass covered bowling trophy and a goat I will graduate with high honors.
I would pay money to see someone pull a bowling trophy and a goat out of their ass.
All of that was before noon.
...and I was tir'd. Not tired, but tir'd. (There is a difference. It's like poor and po. In the latter one a person is so po, they can't even afford the 'r'.)
After noon, I'll say, around 12:30-ish or so, I was told by my girlfriend that she cheated on her husband with a girlfriend and she received another speeding ticket costing her $177. (Neither are actually related to the other one. I mean, she didn't get the ticket as a result of the tickle me clit, just how she told me the events.) I told her, perhaps hypocritically, (sure, it's a word. More of that kanowledge.) that girl on girl is not the same as girl on guy. Then she said it was a threesome
..um, well, ah, well, um....
I finaly told her I lived in a glass house and didn't believe in throwing stones and she can always tell me anything cause, yeah, that whole, 'don't judge and glass house thing' I so firmly believe in.
By the time I left work I found out it wasn't just a one time only thing...
who knows what tomorrow will bring.
Both in her story and my life....
I feel like I'm forgetting something..
God, my ass hurts.
Huh, how'd my bowling trophy get up there...
and a goat!...what the...
I talked about my day up until 9:45 a.m. here's how the rest of my day went. The short version: The story ends with me not graduating in December. Don't mean to ruin it for you, but, yeah.
Okay: I told you my feelings towards Java. To recap: no skin + rock salt= less painful.
But, hey who cares, I can stick it out for another eight weeks.
*Ding* thought: This class is meeting a requirement, doesn't that mean I have to receive at least a C- in the class? I wonder if that's possible. Hmm, I should call my advisor. Yep, I need to get at least a C-.
Hmm, (there's gonna be a lot of 'hmmm's' in this post. Just warning you.) with my GPA I should graduate with high honors. That C-, yeah, not gonna make honors.
I email my instructor and ask his thoughts on the possibility of that C-. (See last night we got our tests back. I was totally excited about my grade because I got five more correct than I thought I would, I was totally high-five'in' the guy next to me. I thought I only got 6 right, and I got 11. Whoo-hoo!
Oh, maybe I should point out that, that was out of 50. Go me!
The instructor pointed out that, I'm getting a 100% on the homework, but that test, well....
I dunno, something about an English major (me) in a computer class (them) that is like a nun and anal sex, just doesn't seem right. (Last night I had an epiphany about me and the class: I'm looking at the sea of people and they are all dressed in monochromatics. Then there's me. I'm in my stylish long black skirt, my black tank, and my darling bright pink circa 1954 button down cardigan. Not to mention my black stilettos with the pink stitching and my hooker hoop earrings. Hmm, who doesn't belong....which one, boys and girls who just doesn't seem to belong....here's another hint: the chick in the pink sweater didn't get, nor did she understand, the 'computer humor' that was so rampant in the class, yet many students thought the pink sweater chick was hee-larious..)
So fast forward through a few conversations with the advisor and the financial aid office and I am out of the Java class and into another class that doesn't start until Feburary. (See, that's two months past the, to graduate by, date.) (However, also see the class I should have been in to begin with. Again, see an English major + programing class = pink sweater girl adding up how many weeks she has left in the class while the instructor drones on....and on...and on....and on..8, she has (had) eight weeks left.)
The financial aid office, tells me I am all outta fundage, but it wouldn't matter if I did have fundage left cause I would only be taking the one class and they wouldn't pay for it as I wouldn't be at least half-time.
The class that starts in Feburary is on the main campus i.e.: the cross country trek than takes an hour one way and is 80 miles round trip.
As there is no fundage I will have to pay $1k+ out of my own pocket for the class and the books. (As it's a nice private college where I be gettin' all of my kanawledge from. I think it has been money well spent.)
This the part where I tell you about my plans for myself in May: As a, I-totally-kick-ass-and-I- did-four-years-of-college-in-about-two-years-and-I'm-so-awesome-in-all-my-fabulousness-I- think-I-deserve-a-graduation-present-as-I-haven't-had-a-trip-or-a-vacation-in-eons-at-this- point, trip. Hmm, where should we send PG, where oh, where?? Hey, I've always wanted to go to Greece. Yeah, I think I'll go to Greece. A nice little 12 days cruise to the Greek Isle and the thought of all those Grecian men just made me sweaty with orgasmic anticipation. So, yah me!
I'd started saving up for the trip about a month or so ago and all the money from a part-time job gig (yeah, I forgot to mention, I'm also working a part-time gig on top of the full-time gig and the 16 credits and all) was going into a jar marked: 'Greece fund.' It's not a fancy jar, but hey, it was my fundage jar and I loved it. I even made a cute, funny, witty, and whimsical (can something be witty and whimsical?) jar for work. I made $9.21 from my witty and whimsical work, 'send me to Greece' fundage jar, before I was told it wasn't appropriate. Funny, but not appropriate. (whatev.)
Well, I'm just guessing, just pulling it out of my ass really, (are you ever amazed by what people pull out of their asses? You know what would impress me if it came out of an ass? A bowling trophy. Now that would be impressive my dear readers. Painful, but impressive.) that the funadge for Greece, yeah it's now going to go to that class. I'm also just going to pull out of my ass (...and a goat. If a person pulled a goat out of their ass. A goat named Billy and it needs to be 'bah-haing' when it comes out. Yep, a white/gray-ish (is it grey or gray, never know, and what's the difference? Ump, there's that kanoawledge at work again..) goat named, Billy. Wow, that'd be good TV right there I'd almost pay money for the psychotherapy that would come from something like that) that the trip won't happen at all. (I realize that a trip like that costs more than $1,000, however, trying to scrounge any and all loose fundage only to have $1,000 of said fundage taken away...might as well be trying to sell an ass covered goat eating a smelly bowling trophy to recover the loss.)
So, a short recap:
Not graduating in December.
Out $1k+ for the Java class that I dropped, plus the paper-weight, aka book, gas and time.
Will be paying $1k+ for the class I should have been in the first place, plus book.
I'll be taking the $1k+ from the fundage that I was going to treat myself for a much needed and deserved trip to Greece for said class, book, and cross country trec twice a week.
There won't be any Grecian men in my near future.
Might be, better be, (soon) (very, very soon) sweaty orgasms in my future.
Unless I am suddenly hit in the head with an ass covered bowling trophy and a goat I will graduate with high honors.
I would pay money to see someone pull a bowling trophy and a goat out of their ass.
All of that was before noon.
...and I was tir'd. Not tired, but tir'd. (There is a difference. It's like poor and po. In the latter one a person is so po, they can't even afford the 'r'.)
After noon, I'll say, around 12:30-ish or so, I was told by my girlfriend that she cheated on her husband with a girlfriend and she received another speeding ticket costing her $177. (Neither are actually related to the other one. I mean, she didn't get the ticket as a result of the tickle me clit, just how she told me the events.) I told her, perhaps hypocritically, (sure, it's a word. More of that kanowledge.) that girl on girl is not the same as girl on guy. Then she said it was a threesome
..um, well, ah, well, um....
I finaly told her I lived in a glass house and didn't believe in throwing stones and she can always tell me anything cause, yeah, that whole, 'don't judge and glass house thing' I so firmly believe in.
By the time I left work I found out it wasn't just a one time only thing...
who knows what tomorrow will bring.
Both in her story and my life....
I feel like I'm forgetting something..
God, my ass hurts.
Huh, how'd my bowling trophy get up there...
and a goat!...what the...
directions on how to not let a bad day get to you
Day starts out basic enough.
Alarm goes off at 5:54.
Let the alarm go off three times.
Get up at 6:19.
Leave the house by 7:23, get to work on time.
Color yourself impressed.
Leave for the doctor's office at 8:30 for 8:45 appointment.
Converse with the staff.
Make another mental note of why you love your small independent neighborhood doctor. (And she's female. Bonus points.)
Nurse and doctor take their time and chit chat, actually still seem like they care after all these years.
Doctor tells you what you expected. (Nothing big deal, girl stuff.)
However, she wants to run labs.
She knowns you don't have insurance, she's sorry, she just wants to cover all basis.
You understand, but inside stress over the future lab bill.
Ask the receptionist if I can make a small payment today and then if she can just bill me. ( You know, like always.)
Of course, she says, no problem.
Doctor remembers that she has samples of my everyday perscriptions to give me. (That cost hundreds of dollars.)
Thank everyone profusely (as always).
Leave to get perscription filled.
Tell yourself you don't want or need a Starbuck.
Drop script off.
Wonder around Target for 15 minutes until it's ready for pick-up.
15 minutes later pick script up.
When they give me the total I ask if they filled it as generic.
Yes.
Crap.
Give them a credit card instead of debit card.
Decide I still have several hours left in my day.
I won't let myself be sad.
Told myself I wasn't going to cave to the temptation of Starbucks when I walked in.
Decide to cave to the temptation of Starbuck as I walk out.
Order a light pumpkin frappaccino.
And a big frosted cookie.
Laugh with the Starbuck guy.
Sip the frap.
Get into my car, read the directions to the script.
Pop a pill.
I will not let myself have a bad day.
Things will get better.
Put on continuous repeat.
Pull out of the parking lot drinking frap and eating the big frosted pumpkin cookie.
Pop in the Fergie CD.
Start to dance and sing to the CD.
Sit in work parking lot pretending to be at the gay disco while finishing the cookie and finishing the song.
Get back to my office.
Resolve to have a good day.
Pick up the half-empty frap.
Notice that I seem to have th shakes from all the sugar and caffeine.
Decide that even though I think coffee is a food group unto itself, figure it probably really isn't.
I will not let myself have a bad day.
(and repeat.)
Alarm goes off at 5:54.
Let the alarm go off three times.
Get up at 6:19.
Leave the house by 7:23, get to work on time.
Color yourself impressed.
Leave for the doctor's office at 8:30 for 8:45 appointment.
Converse with the staff.
Make another mental note of why you love your small independent neighborhood doctor. (And she's female. Bonus points.)
Nurse and doctor take their time and chit chat, actually still seem like they care after all these years.
Doctor tells you what you expected. (Nothing big deal, girl stuff.)
However, she wants to run labs.
She knowns you don't have insurance, she's sorry, she just wants to cover all basis.
You understand, but inside stress over the future lab bill.
Ask the receptionist if I can make a small payment today and then if she can just bill me. ( You know, like always.)
Of course, she says, no problem.
Doctor remembers that she has samples of my everyday perscriptions to give me. (That cost hundreds of dollars.)
Thank everyone profusely (as always).
Leave to get perscription filled.
Tell yourself you don't want or need a Starbuck.
Drop script off.
Wonder around Target for 15 minutes until it's ready for pick-up.
15 minutes later pick script up.
When they give me the total I ask if they filled it as generic.
Yes.
Crap.
Give them a credit card instead of debit card.
Decide I still have several hours left in my day.
I won't let myself be sad.
Told myself I wasn't going to cave to the temptation of Starbucks when I walked in.
Decide to cave to the temptation of Starbuck as I walk out.
Order a light pumpkin frappaccino.
And a big frosted cookie.
Laugh with the Starbuck guy.
Sip the frap.
Get into my car, read the directions to the script.
Pop a pill.
I will not let myself have a bad day.
Things will get better.
Put on continuous repeat.
Pull out of the parking lot drinking frap and eating the big frosted pumpkin cookie.
Pop in the Fergie CD.
Start to dance and sing to the CD.
Sit in work parking lot pretending to be at the gay disco while finishing the cookie and finishing the song.
Get back to my office.
Resolve to have a good day.
Pick up the half-empty frap.
Notice that I seem to have th shakes from all the sugar and caffeine.
Decide that even though I think coffee is a food group unto itself, figure it probably really isn't.
I will not let myself have a bad day.
(and repeat.)
just askin', just sayin'
Do you know what would be less painful to me than sitting in my Java computer class for four hours every Monday night?
Having my skin riped off and rolling me in rock salt.
Just throwing that out there.
Truly, truly painful. (The class. Again, the no skin/rock salt thing = less painful.)
Having my skin riped off and rolling me in rock salt.
Just throwing that out there.
Truly, truly painful. (The class. Again, the no skin/rock salt thing = less painful.)
joke of the day
Do you know what kind of coffee they served on the Titanic?
....
..
......
Sanka!
(Oh yeah, all- ALL- down hill from here.)
....
..
......
Sanka!
(Oh yeah, all- ALL- down hill from here.)
Sunday, October 08, 2006
joke of the day: the beginning...of the end
How, oh how, did I let one week of October go by without one joke of the day? How I ask you?!!?!?
Okay, with it being October and the grand month of Halloween and all I will be doing a joke of the day.
Now, what you should know about the jokes I like and the ones I tell are, they're bad. Really bad. Not bad dirty, not can't repeat around your parents bad, or children under 15 years of age, or certain co-workers bad, no, they're just cringe, hang your head and laugh in spite of yourself make it stop, make it stop, kind of bad.
I like my jokes to be short and sweet. I also like to incorporate them into everyday conversation if I can that way I can hit you with the badness when your head is not in the game.
Okay, so, here is the first one:
What do you call a boom-a-rang that doesn't come back?
..
....
....... a stick!
...Yeah, I know, but I bet you by the end of the month you'll have repeated at least one.
Or, that you laugh in spite of yourself.
....You love me. Admit it, you can't help yourself.
Okay, with it being October and the grand month of Halloween and all I will be doing a joke of the day.
Now, what you should know about the jokes I like and the ones I tell are, they're bad. Really bad. Not bad dirty, not can't repeat around your parents bad, or children under 15 years of age, or certain co-workers bad, no, they're just cringe, hang your head and laugh in spite of yourself make it stop, make it stop, kind of bad.
I like my jokes to be short and sweet. I also like to incorporate them into everyday conversation if I can that way I can hit you with the badness when your head is not in the game.
Okay, so, here is the first one:
What do you call a boom-a-rang that doesn't come back?
..
....
....... a stick!
...Yeah, I know, but I bet you by the end of the month you'll have repeated at least one.
Or, that you laugh in spite of yourself.
....You love me. Admit it, you can't help yourself.
Thursday, October 05, 2006
deal breakers
I got to thinking today about deal breakers and compromises. What would you be willing to give up if you met the man, woman, tranny of your dreams that was all that, then some, and a little bit more?
Those things that make you happy, all those little things that eventually add up to the big things that you like in a person, in your life, in a relationship; what would you be willing to compromise on, give up, in order to keep that man, woman, he/she that is the dog's pajamas, the cat's tuxedo, and the milk bone of your world?
So, let's talk deal breakers.
Me? I can't stand cigarette smoke, mostly because it makes me sick. Pot smoke on the other hand I'm okay with. Oh look, a joint.
I like my alcohol and I can't imagine dating someone who didn't have an occasional drink. Yet, I am strangely amazed when I down a few cocktails and my companion doesn't.
I need someone who is open and honest in all aspects of their life, so someone who said, "I don't want to talk about it," or was always shut down or extremely walled up when questions and conversations are happening, well, it's not going to go well between us.
Sex, please, be open and tell me what you like and want. I will do the same. I like anal sex, I like my ass to played with. Someone who isn't going to want to smack, play with, grab or occassionally fuck me, well, eventually that's going to get old.
Chewing with your mouth open.....
No.
I'm thinking too big.
Let's think smaller.
Unibrows. I will eventually become cross-eyed from looking at it and wonder why the hell your not aware of it. Same with nose hair. And comb-overs. I mean, really, have you not heard the comments and jokes about these things??? Please, tweeze, pluck, plow, shave and generally take care of these things.
Someone who isn't a good kisser.
Kissing is very important to me. Essential, really. Yeah. There is something about two pairs of compatable lips coming together for the soft, hard, passionate, breathing in sync, tongues mingling, not too wet, yet not dry, warm taste of each other mixed together that is so.damn.perfect. (She types as her fingers unconsciously touch her mouth and her fingernails go across her lips....)
Someone who doesn't think birthdays are a big deal.
Someone who doesn't get excited about the small things. The really, really, really small things that make life, life. A beautiful full moon. The way something smells. A great song on the radio. A really good book. How something feels.
Someone who doesn't make me laugh.
Christ. You know where I would be without the ability to laugh? In Happydale Insane Asylum waiting for my nex telectric shock therapy treatment.
Someone who can't or doesn't want to talk on the phone for hours at a time. Sure seeing each other is best, but sometimes, with life being life, that isn't possible.
Someone who doesn't have a nice voice. I realize a person can't really control this one, but if I have to spend the rest of my life listening to a person I want to be able to listen to the words coming out of their mouth without thinking, "shut up! shut up! shut up!"
Someone who doesn't like pets. I prefer dogs to cats, but hey, as long as you like one, were good.
Someone who doesn't say, "bless you" when I sneeze. Remember I sneeze on average five times in a row. I could go at anytime. I need to be blessed.
Someone who complains. All.the.damn.time. Here, here's the pot, piss already.
Someone who doesn't say, "...and you?" That's a biggie. A hugey, actually.
Yeah, it would never work.
Hmm, I seem to have gotten stuck on all the kinda big things, well, those are essential to me that would eventually ware on me and the dog's tuxedo who started out as the milk bone of my world would eventually turn out to be another crumb in the annals of my dating world.
So, what about you? What would your deal breakers be?
Those things that make you happy, all those little things that eventually add up to the big things that you like in a person, in your life, in a relationship; what would you be willing to compromise on, give up, in order to keep that man, woman, he/she that is the dog's pajamas, the cat's tuxedo, and the milk bone of your world?
So, let's talk deal breakers.
Me? I can't stand cigarette smoke, mostly because it makes me sick. Pot smoke on the other hand I'm okay with. Oh look, a joint.
I like my alcohol and I can't imagine dating someone who didn't have an occasional drink. Yet, I am strangely amazed when I down a few cocktails and my companion doesn't.
I need someone who is open and honest in all aspects of their life, so someone who said, "I don't want to talk about it," or was always shut down or extremely walled up when questions and conversations are happening, well, it's not going to go well between us.
Sex, please, be open and tell me what you like and want. I will do the same. I like anal sex, I like my ass to played with. Someone who isn't going to want to smack, play with, grab or occassionally fuck me, well, eventually that's going to get old.
Chewing with your mouth open.....
No.
I'm thinking too big.
Let's think smaller.
Unibrows. I will eventually become cross-eyed from looking at it and wonder why the hell your not aware of it. Same with nose hair. And comb-overs. I mean, really, have you not heard the comments and jokes about these things??? Please, tweeze, pluck, plow, shave and generally take care of these things.
Someone who isn't a good kisser.
Kissing is very important to me. Essential, really. Yeah. There is something about two pairs of compatable lips coming together for the soft, hard, passionate, breathing in sync, tongues mingling, not too wet, yet not dry, warm taste of each other mixed together that is so.damn.perfect. (She types as her fingers unconsciously touch her mouth and her fingernails go across her lips....)
Someone who doesn't think birthdays are a big deal.
Someone who doesn't get excited about the small things. The really, really, really small things that make life, life. A beautiful full moon. The way something smells. A great song on the radio. A really good book. How something feels.
Someone who doesn't make me laugh.
Christ. You know where I would be without the ability to laugh? In Happydale Insane Asylum waiting for my nex telectric shock therapy treatment.
Someone who can't or doesn't want to talk on the phone for hours at a time. Sure seeing each other is best, but sometimes, with life being life, that isn't possible.
Someone who doesn't have a nice voice. I realize a person can't really control this one, but if I have to spend the rest of my life listening to a person I want to be able to listen to the words coming out of their mouth without thinking, "shut up! shut up! shut up!"
Someone who doesn't like pets. I prefer dogs to cats, but hey, as long as you like one, were good.
Someone who doesn't say, "bless you" when I sneeze. Remember I sneeze on average five times in a row. I could go at anytime. I need to be blessed.
Someone who complains. All.the.damn.time. Here, here's the pot, piss already.
Someone who doesn't say, "...and you?" That's a biggie. A hugey, actually.
Yeah, it would never work.
Hmm, I seem to have gotten stuck on all the kinda big things, well, those are essential to me that would eventually ware on me and the dog's tuxedo who started out as the milk bone of my world would eventually turn out to be another crumb in the annals of my dating world.
So, what about you? What would your deal breakers be?
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
soapbox rant: politics, media, and stupid ass politicians
Although I know this has been, and will continue to be, covered to ad nauseum in the next days, weeks, and god help us, months after waddling in the spew over the information over the latest politico scandal I felt the need to throw my two cents into the blogdom.
Yes, the lying irritates me.
Yes, the "cover up" is ridiculous and irritates me.
Yes, the hypocrisy, although far from making me spin on my stiletto in mock shock, still manages to irritate me.
However, none of those things are behind the need to type this post when I should be studying for my two exams tomorrow. No, what is taking precious time away from the books, and has managed to churn my stomach a few times this morning while listening to the radio are the following things.
Foley was on the committee for missing and exploited children. Hmm, more hypocrisy and yet another case of, "thou protesteth a little too much.."
The fact that those within his political party felt the need to lie and cover-up evidence that wasn't even hidden and shock of all non-shockers it was all taking place during a midterm election and the need for votes was greater than the need to do what was and is the right thing once again, although not shocking, I find the fact that I am not shocked by it to be disturbing.
How cynical and jaded have I, and am I, becoming?
Political cover-up.
I mean seriously, have politicians learned absolutely nothing over the course of time, history, and failed paper trails only to be unearthed by Washington Post journalists? Let's recap a few, shall we?
"I did not have sexual relations with that woman..."
"I was not part of the Watergate cover-up.."
....and then pick anyone for any kind of statement involving extramarital sex, drugs, drinking, car accidents. (Mmm, say Ted Kennedy.)
If they deny (usually vehemently) point, pound on something, or here's a tell, can't look you in the eye, well....yeah, the truth is out there it's just a matter of time and patience to see exactly where and when the truth will land, I mean, be splatted, all over America.
I don't care that my president has sex. I don't care if that sex is gay, straight, bi, tri, or otherwise and gets down and freaky in the White House. Frankly, I have more respect for him (some day I hope it to be a her) for having down and dirty sex (affair no. dirty sex, yes, please) just be honest about it. I'm just going to guess on this one, but I bet being the president or any politician is a stressful job. I mean, lying and trying to cover up those lies must truly be a full-time job. You know the best cure for stress? Orgasms. Lots and lots and multiple orgasms. So, please, have sex. Please, have it be with your wife or husband, not your mistress or boy toy, it doesn't have to be on a mattress just have sex. Thanks.
(Grrr)
Excuses and reasons for bad behavior.
Drugs, alcohol, the devil himself made me sell my soul for a semen stained blue dress on the crossroads by the light of a full moon. Unless there is a gun pointed at your head and you have to make a choice between your penis named Fred and your family, well, I don't care the reason and frankly I'm not going to believe the reason. What was/is Foley's reason? Alcohol. What? Gasp! Shock! To hell, you say!
Now, I'm a drinker. I like my vodka. (I like it a lot.) I like my beer. (You could say we're friends.)I like my Jager shots. (Mmmm, gets me right...about...there..) As a result of these loves, friendships, flirtations I've had bad one night stands, good one night stands, all weekenders, sex with my best girlfriend, held a spanking demonstration on said girlfriend in the middle of a Belgium pub, and once, twice, (three times a lady) I've even drank so much I've thrown up to the point that I was pretty damn positive there was nothing left but my stomach lining and through my blurry, glassy, tear soaked eyes I was certain it was lying in the bile at the bottom of the toilet water. However, never have I had, let alone been involved in, underage sexual relations. So, need a new, better, excuse, please.
Apparently others (spin doctors) felt the same way because what is his new reason?
(Spin Doctor shakes the Magic 8 Ball)
"I was molested by a priest!"
Well, of course he was. Surely people will believe and forgive him now, right?!?!.
Yawn.
Hmm, nope. That's not dimming the glaring media coverage. (Spppttt, Hey, doc, what else can we come up with?)
What, oh what, can he pull out of his ass??...
Got it!
He's gay!
To be a gay American shows that he is patriotic, and he can go back to blaming the priests, and well, deviance of course.
Yep, yep, that's it. Okay, recap: Alcoholic, molested by priests, gayness. Whew! Good. Think all the bases are covered and well, since he's an alcoholic of course he has been taken into the warm and comforting arms of those under the roof of denial known as the Betty Ford clinic. And magically when he has reached the peak of sobriety known as the 12 steps of enlightenment thus releasing him into the ADHD society also known as the suburbia of America, well we will long have forgotten who Foley was/is/had been/going to be/ and the "news" vans have long gone onto circling their next prey and we will be seeking and searching out our next Gasp! Shock! Mock Shock! cynicism inducing scandal that will last all of 2.3 seconds that will inundate our lives, minds, eyes, senses, and TV and radio waves before the Ritalin has time to take effect and we will have moved on to the next "scandal" and "cover up."
Oh look! A rampage of school shootings...ew! and the Amish are involved in one! Whoo-hoo! Let's bring all of our modern technology to this isolated community who have been happy to leave the God hating, technology loving, ADHD, different shade of beige, 2.5, Hummer driving place known as Wonderbread White America behind them and try and capitalize on it! Can you say, black buggy driving, white bonnet wearing gold mine?!?!?!
Yes, the lying irritates me.
Yes, the "cover up" is ridiculous and irritates me.
Yes, the hypocrisy, although far from making me spin on my stiletto in mock shock, still manages to irritate me.
However, none of those things are behind the need to type this post when I should be studying for my two exams tomorrow. No, what is taking precious time away from the books, and has managed to churn my stomach a few times this morning while listening to the radio are the following things.
Foley was on the committee for missing and exploited children. Hmm, more hypocrisy and yet another case of, "thou protesteth a little too much.."
The fact that those within his political party felt the need to lie and cover-up evidence that wasn't even hidden and shock of all non-shockers it was all taking place during a midterm election and the need for votes was greater than the need to do what was and is the right thing once again, although not shocking, I find the fact that I am not shocked by it to be disturbing.
How cynical and jaded have I, and am I, becoming?
Political cover-up.
I mean seriously, have politicians learned absolutely nothing over the course of time, history, and failed paper trails only to be unearthed by Washington Post journalists? Let's recap a few, shall we?
"I did not have sexual relations with that woman..."
"I was not part of the Watergate cover-up.."
....and then pick anyone for any kind of statement involving extramarital sex, drugs, drinking, car accidents. (Mmm, say Ted Kennedy.)
If they deny (usually vehemently) point, pound on something, or here's a tell, can't look you in the eye, well....yeah, the truth is out there it's just a matter of time and patience to see exactly where and when the truth will land, I mean, be splatted, all over America.
I don't care that my president has sex. I don't care if that sex is gay, straight, bi, tri, or otherwise and gets down and freaky in the White House. Frankly, I have more respect for him (some day I hope it to be a her) for having down and dirty sex (affair no. dirty sex, yes, please) just be honest about it. I'm just going to guess on this one, but I bet being the president or any politician is a stressful job. I mean, lying and trying to cover up those lies must truly be a full-time job. You know the best cure for stress? Orgasms. Lots and lots and multiple orgasms. So, please, have sex. Please, have it be with your wife or husband, not your mistress or boy toy, it doesn't have to be on a mattress just have sex. Thanks.
(Grrr)
Excuses and reasons for bad behavior.
Drugs, alcohol, the devil himself made me sell my soul for a semen stained blue dress on the crossroads by the light of a full moon. Unless there is a gun pointed at your head and you have to make a choice between your penis named Fred and your family, well, I don't care the reason and frankly I'm not going to believe the reason. What was/is Foley's reason? Alcohol. What? Gasp! Shock! To hell, you say!
Now, I'm a drinker. I like my vodka. (I like it a lot.) I like my beer. (You could say we're friends.)I like my Jager shots. (Mmmm, gets me right...about...there..) As a result of these loves, friendships, flirtations I've had bad one night stands, good one night stands, all weekenders, sex with my best girlfriend, held a spanking demonstration on said girlfriend in the middle of a Belgium pub, and once, twice, (three times a lady) I've even drank so much I've thrown up to the point that I was pretty damn positive there was nothing left but my stomach lining and through my blurry, glassy, tear soaked eyes I was certain it was lying in the bile at the bottom of the toilet water. However, never have I had, let alone been involved in, underage sexual relations. So, need a new, better, excuse, please.
Apparently others (spin doctors) felt the same way because what is his new reason?
(Spin Doctor shakes the Magic 8 Ball)
"I was molested by a priest!"
Well, of course he was. Surely people will believe and forgive him now, right?!?!.
Yawn.
Hmm, nope. That's not dimming the glaring media coverage. (Spppttt, Hey, doc, what else can we come up with?)
What, oh what, can he pull out of his ass??...
Got it!
He's gay!
To be a gay American shows that he is patriotic, and he can go back to blaming the priests, and well, deviance of course.
Yep, yep, that's it. Okay, recap: Alcoholic, molested by priests, gayness. Whew! Good. Think all the bases are covered and well, since he's an alcoholic of course he has been taken into the warm and comforting arms of those under the roof of denial known as the Betty Ford clinic. And magically when he has reached the peak of sobriety known as the 12 steps of enlightenment thus releasing him into the ADHD society also known as the suburbia of America, well we will long have forgotten who Foley was/is/had been/going to be/ and the "news" vans have long gone onto circling their next prey and we will be seeking and searching out our next Gasp! Shock! Mock Shock! cynicism inducing scandal that will last all of 2.3 seconds that will inundate our lives, minds, eyes, senses, and TV and radio waves before the Ritalin has time to take effect and we will have moved on to the next "scandal" and "cover up."
Oh look! A rampage of school shootings...ew! and the Amish are involved in one! Whoo-hoo! Let's bring all of our modern technology to this isolated community who have been happy to leave the God hating, technology loving, ADHD, different shade of beige, 2.5, Hummer driving place known as Wonderbread White America behind them and try and capitalize on it! Can you say, black buggy driving, white bonnet wearing gold mine?!?!?!
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
The Power of One: The random simple act of a Hershey bar
One day a couple of weeks ago I was sitting at my desk at work when one of my work, and occasional out of work, friends stopped by to do some harmless chit and chat. I wasn't have a good day and I wasn't having a bad day, it was just a day. There wasn't anything good or bad about it.
She was standing on one side of my desk and I was sitting on the other side I was making her laugh and she was letting me talk at my usual 109 MPH when, out of seemingly nowhere, she pulls out two candy bars, more specifically, two chocolate bars. She told me to pick one. My hands flew up to my mouth in disbelief, my eyes glittered like diamonds, my heart quickened with the thought of a chocolate jolt, I started laughing and kept repeating, "Really? Really? For me?!!?!?! You bought a candy bar for me??!!?"
She commenced laughing and said, "Yeah, pick one. I knew you'd be thankful. I had no idea you'd have this kind of reaction!"
I hesitated, was she serious? Surely not. Who randomly gives out free chocolate? I choose the rather simple and harmless looking Hershey bar. It wasn't dark chocolate, it didn't have almonds, there was no golden ticket inside, it was nothing more than a simple milk chocolate Hershey bar. Yet, you would have thought it did hold the golden ticket, you would have thought it was brought over on horseback traveling hundreds of thousands of miles from the Andes and hand delivered by Milton himself. However, it was bought from the cafeteria, cost about a dollar, and delivered by my friend and it made an ordinary nothing day into a really great day. It was the simple random act of a Hershey bar.
Proving that the power of one and the power to make someone's day doesn't cost a lot and it doesn't take a lot. It simply takes a simple act and moment to think of someone else.
What's your Power of One, random simple act of the Hershey bar going to be today?
She was standing on one side of my desk and I was sitting on the other side I was making her laugh and she was letting me talk at my usual 109 MPH when, out of seemingly nowhere, she pulls out two candy bars, more specifically, two chocolate bars. She told me to pick one. My hands flew up to my mouth in disbelief, my eyes glittered like diamonds, my heart quickened with the thought of a chocolate jolt, I started laughing and kept repeating, "Really? Really? For me?!!?!?! You bought a candy bar for me??!!?"
She commenced laughing and said, "Yeah, pick one. I knew you'd be thankful. I had no idea you'd have this kind of reaction!"
I hesitated, was she serious? Surely not. Who randomly gives out free chocolate? I choose the rather simple and harmless looking Hershey bar. It wasn't dark chocolate, it didn't have almonds, there was no golden ticket inside, it was nothing more than a simple milk chocolate Hershey bar. Yet, you would have thought it did hold the golden ticket, you would have thought it was brought over on horseback traveling hundreds of thousands of miles from the Andes and hand delivered by Milton himself. However, it was bought from the cafeteria, cost about a dollar, and delivered by my friend and it made an ordinary nothing day into a really great day. It was the simple random act of a Hershey bar.
Proving that the power of one and the power to make someone's day doesn't cost a lot and it doesn't take a lot. It simply takes a simple act and moment to think of someone else.
What's your Power of One, random simple act of the Hershey bar going to be today?
..and now for something completely different..or how to spend 10 minutes at work today.
If you're a fan of Star Wars (and I know you are) seriously, watch this video.
May the force be with you today
...and you're welcome.
May the force be with you today
...and you're welcome.
Monday, October 02, 2006
Retards and BDSM
Billy, who manages a group home for retarded adults (his words, therefore I can repeat them) had to write up an employee for the third time for keeping a client in restraints too long.
PG: Hey, how do you know the clients don't enjoy the restraints? Maybe they're into BDSM, but they can't articulate it, you know, because they're retarded. Maybe they act out so they can be restrained.
Billy: (laughing) Trust me, they don't enjoy it.
PG: Okay, well, I'm just putting it out there. They may like it. You just may have a whole house of retarded submissives on your hands just looking for opportunities to act out so they can be restrained. Oh, and you'd be their master. You're the master over a house of retards. Just sayin'.
PG: Hey, how do you know the clients don't enjoy the restraints? Maybe they're into BDSM, but they can't articulate it, you know, because they're retarded. Maybe they act out so they can be restrained.
Billy: (laughing) Trust me, they don't enjoy it.
PG: Okay, well, I'm just putting it out there. They may like it. You just may have a whole house of retarded submissives on your hands just looking for opportunities to act out so they can be restrained. Oh, and you'd be their master. You're the master over a house of retards. Just sayin'.
Sunday, October 01, 2006
those damn American women anyhow
Sometimes for shits and giggles I scout the dating sites to see what's out there. Sometimes I am pleasantly surprised (rarely), sometimes I am mortified (often), sometimes I find something that is so bad it catches my attention and I feel the need to share it with others (this time).
I am sharing it one, for shits and giggles, two to see if any of you agree with what it is he is essentially stating: that American women are too independant, demanding, not family oriented, blah, blah, blah and well, if you do think that, why the hell are you reading me?
Welcome to Ideology 101 where I'm looking for a woman who is worthy of me. Today we will learn that most of the women I meet fail a cost-benefit analysis and among the fraternity of men an American woman makes the worst mate on the planet. In regard to career pusuits and independence, American women are to be commended. However, in repect to home and family they are failing misserably. Any woman that thinks she is too good to care for her family has absolutely no business being involved in a marriage. REAL women view family duties not as a burden but as an honor. There is honor in taking care of your children. There is honor in taking care of your husband. There is honor in taking care of your family. And there is complete honor for any man to be a part of this woman’s life. Most American women to me are far uglier inside than they ever could be on the outside. I have met a few that certainly were not attractive in the classical sense, but they were real women indeed. Unfortunately, most women are loud, demanding, cantankerous, rude, self aggrandizing, selfish, sociopathic and vapid beyond belief. In laymen's terms if she is a car she doesn't handle well and requires too much maintenance. I'm searching for a solid late model German import with low (no) mileage and a good set of child bearing hips. Speaking English is an option, understanding English is important and wrestling experience is a plus. I finish what I start and I'm the type of man you could grow old with. I'm ardently set in my ways and my mantra has become "My way or the highway." I'm not crazy - I'm realistic and contrary to popular belief I haven't lost my marbels - I've lost my patience. Additionally, if you wouldn't mind moving in with my parents that would be great (after marriage of course). If you have any questions please e-mail me. That's all the space I have available today... class is dismissed. Safe journey Mars fans... wherever you are.
So, in conclusion; he is a virgin who lives at home and isn't able to find a docile white girl to take either off of his hands.
I am sharing it one, for shits and giggles, two to see if any of you agree with what it is he is essentially stating: that American women are too independant, demanding, not family oriented, blah, blah, blah and well, if you do think that, why the hell are you reading me?
Welcome to Ideology 101 where I'm looking for a woman who is worthy of me. Today we will learn that most of the women I meet fail a cost-benefit analysis and among the fraternity of men an American woman makes the worst mate on the planet. In regard to career pusuits and independence, American women are to be commended. However, in repect to home and family they are failing misserably. Any woman that thinks she is too good to care for her family has absolutely no business being involved in a marriage. REAL women view family duties not as a burden but as an honor. There is honor in taking care of your children. There is honor in taking care of your husband. There is honor in taking care of your family. And there is complete honor for any man to be a part of this woman’s life. Most American women to me are far uglier inside than they ever could be on the outside. I have met a few that certainly were not attractive in the classical sense, but they were real women indeed. Unfortunately, most women are loud, demanding, cantankerous, rude, self aggrandizing, selfish, sociopathic and vapid beyond belief. In laymen's terms if she is a car she doesn't handle well and requires too much maintenance. I'm searching for a solid late model German import with low (no) mileage and a good set of child bearing hips. Speaking English is an option, understanding English is important and wrestling experience is a plus. I finish what I start and I'm the type of man you could grow old with. I'm ardently set in my ways and my mantra has become "My way or the highway." I'm not crazy - I'm realistic and contrary to popular belief I haven't lost my marbels - I've lost my patience. Additionally, if you wouldn't mind moving in with my parents that would be great (after marriage of course). If you have any questions please e-mail me. That's all the space I have available today... class is dismissed. Safe journey Mars fans... wherever you are.
So, in conclusion; he is a virgin who lives at home and isn't able to find a docile white girl to take either off of his hands.
Thursday, September 28, 2006
word origin: carnival
The word, 'carnival' comes from the Italian for a festival meaning, "farewell to meat."
inner dork: storm clouds
Did you know...
Storm clouds are dark because sunlight is scattered by the Earth's atmosphere unless the particles that make up the atmosphere get too big. If this happens it makes the visible light become reflected instead of scattered.
Water droplets that reach this size are seen as clouds. Thin clouds appear white because they still allow some of the solar light through. The thicker the cloud, the less light passes through, and the more of it is reflected. Very heavy storm clouds look black because no light is passing through them; it is all being reflected away from the cloud.
...that concludes today's lesson on weather..
Storm clouds are dark because sunlight is scattered by the Earth's atmosphere unless the particles that make up the atmosphere get too big. If this happens it makes the visible light become reflected instead of scattered.
Water droplets that reach this size are seen as clouds. Thin clouds appear white because they still allow some of the solar light through. The thicker the cloud, the less light passes through, and the more of it is reflected. Very heavy storm clouds look black because no light is passing through them; it is all being reflected away from the cloud.
...that concludes today's lesson on weather..
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
don't make me show you my last IQ score..or, what is more parking lot babble
Nick and I after class standing in the parking lot on Monday night. Or more specifically me leaning into his passenger window looking like a hooker bartering for a $20 blowjob.
He and I discussing the Amazing Race...
Nick: I like the two Asia guys.
PG: Ew, me to. I think their pretty. I want to lick the one with long hair.
Nick: I think their twins.
PG: No, I think their just brothers.
pause...
pause..
PG: Yeah, I can't believe I just said that either. (I then proceed to make fun of myself) So, if their twins do they like have the same birthday and stuff? Do you think they like have the same DNA?
...and the conversation went steadily downhill from there.
leaving the parking lot..
PG: Hey, I got the new Fergie and the new Justin Timberlake CD and I have to say, pretty damn good. Very danceable. They have a nice beat and I can dance to them. I give them an 86 on the dance scale.
Nick: I want the new Janet Jackson CD. "20 Y O."
PG: Yeah, saw it on Oprah today.
Nick: Twenty years since "Control."
PG: I don't get that, what does 'Y O' have to do with "Control?"
Nick: It's been twenty years since it came out. Twenty years ago.
PG: I still don't get it. Where's the 'Y O' in control?
Pause.
Nick: It's been twenty years. Twenty years old.
PG: Yeah, I still don't get it. 'Y O,' control, twenty years old, where's the connection?
this went on for a few more banters back and forth, I will spare you the redundancy...
*ding*
PG: OOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. Twenty Years Old. Y-O..20 Y O..
Pause..
PG: Yeah, I don't think their twins, just brothers.....
Goodbye, Nick...
IQ was a 142 the last time I tested.
...at least that's what the little popup quiz told me. Swear.
He and I discussing the Amazing Race...
Nick: I like the two Asia guys.
PG: Ew, me to. I think their pretty. I want to lick the one with long hair.
Nick: I think their twins.
PG: No, I think their just brothers.
pause...
pause..
PG: Yeah, I can't believe I just said that either. (I then proceed to make fun of myself) So, if their twins do they like have the same birthday and stuff? Do you think they like have the same DNA?
...and the conversation went steadily downhill from there.
leaving the parking lot..
PG: Hey, I got the new Fergie and the new Justin Timberlake CD and I have to say, pretty damn good. Very danceable. They have a nice beat and I can dance to them. I give them an 86 on the dance scale.
Nick: I want the new Janet Jackson CD. "20 Y O."
PG: Yeah, saw it on Oprah today.
Nick: Twenty years since "Control."
PG: I don't get that, what does 'Y O' have to do with "Control?"
Nick: It's been twenty years since it came out. Twenty years ago.
PG: I still don't get it. Where's the 'Y O' in control?
Pause.
Nick: It's been twenty years. Twenty years old.
PG: Yeah, I still don't get it. 'Y O,' control, twenty years old, where's the connection?
this went on for a few more banters back and forth, I will spare you the redundancy...
*ding*
PG: OOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. Twenty Years Old. Y-O..20 Y O..
Pause..
PG: Yeah, I don't think their twins, just brothers.....
Goodbye, Nick...
IQ was a 142 the last time I tested.
...at least that's what the little popup quiz told me. Swear.
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