Well, I went to counseling today. I should've known she'd suggest a referral when that test said clinical levels were 15 and I registered a 64 on the fucked-up-o-meter. Tomorrow, I'll be having more head examining via MRI. Sally in my Pilates class asked me what they were expecting to find on it, and I responded with a very clever, "Hopefully nothing!"
I just remembered I keep meaning to title a post "Pilates: Crucify the Fat," but, alas, I keep forgetting. I find it disturbing that it's spelled the same way as the plural of Pilate, but then again, when would one ever make Pilate plural?
Hey, the feast is up early. Woot!
Appetizer
Name 3 things that you think are strange.
1) People who wear belts and suspenders at the same time. Seriously, how big are your pants?
2) Celebrity baby names - they're almost always grounds for emancipation. You know, in Germany, there's a law preventing parents from giving their children stupid names. Baby Apple wouldn't exist in Germany.
3) Girls who wear make-up when they're just going to work out.
Soup
What was the last ceremony you attended?
University Convocation last fall. It was thrilling, I assure you. At least the speaker was good. I got to meet him.
Salad
What is one lesson you have learned in the past year?
The value of discerning what is out of my control and then being able to accept it as is, regardless of how much I want to change it or wish I could.
Main Course
Tell us about one of your childhood memories.
When we got out of the bath when we were little, my mom, sister, and I would always hug each other. Misty and I would be wrapped in towels, and my mom would be helping us dry off, and we'd go, "Everybody hug Misty," and we would, and we'd make a humming sound. Then it would be me, then Mama. It was really cute.
Dessert
If you could extend any of the four seasons to be twice as long as normal, which season would you want to lengthen?
I'd extend a few, so, instead, I'll just give you my ideal 12-month span. I'm not getting rid of holidays or anything. So, for instance, the Fourth of July would actually take place in June, because that's the new seventh month. This is just for weather purposes.
April
April
May
May
May
June
June
July
July
July
August
September
Thursday, March 30, 2006
On the Verge of a Breakdown, On the Brink of a Breakthrough
After reading this on NIT, I had to blog.
If someone's going to put a little Church of Christ out there for the vast expanse of Internet, it might as well be yours truly. I think I can provide a little insight that the men in charge can't grasp. How fitting it is that tomorrow (I guess technically today, being as though it's after midnight) I'll be going back to counseling. At least I know how I got there.
When I was 16 I went to Governor's School for the Humanities. When I graduated high school, I had only applied to two schools - Emory and Rhodes - and was accepted to both. How I ended up at MTSU is a completely different blog that boils down to the type of people who went to Emory, but I think I have an idea on what gave me an edge into all these esteemed programs: I nailed the essay.
For each essay, I chose the same topic: The first time I prayed aloud in church. I remember it vividly because it happened when I was 16 years old at my best friend's church (he was there, too).
Until that point, I hadn't been allowed to lead prayer in church, read scripture aloud or serve the Lord's Supper (yes, we still call it that - it's the South, people). If I had wanted to teach a class, I would have only been able to teach a class consisting either of women or of children up to the second grade. Once kids enter third grade, they are taught by either their own sex (as is the case until middle school or high school), or by men only. Women do not teach classes if they consist of males older than 8 years.
Eleven-year-old boys who stumbled over I Corinthians were allowed to read scripture before the entire congregation during church services, provided they had been baptised. This also held true for serving the Lord's Supper (which my church referred to as serving on the table). However, I, an intelligent female with much higher reading skills than my male counterparts, could not do so because I was female.
Our youth group took a mission trip to Mexico (I didn't go, but that's beside the point), and upon returning, here's how they reported the trip to the church: The females each had a sentence or two printed in the church bulletin, and the males each got up in front of the congregation and told his experience. I asked some of the girls who went if they were bothered by this, but they said they weren't because they were allowed to speak to the ladies' class about the trip.
I vividly recall the abortion sermon, and I don't have anything against churches having abortion sermons. It's pretty much a necessity. However, during the one at my church, the preacher was talking to the men, completely failing to recognize or acknowledge the women of the congregation, the ones who would have a much better chance of becoming pregnant, seeing as they have all the apropriate organs.
Church was never a happy place for me, at least, not like it should have been. I was able to see my family once a week (aunts, uncles, cousins), but I usually cried after church. I knew I was different than the other youth members, because I questioned things that didn't seem to add up. I didn't just accept what someone told me without testing it first, and perhaps they viewed that as weakness.
I know they looked down on me. They didn't have to say it, but I could tell. I was the only one left out of their clique, the ones who went to private Christian school and all sat together during church, judging me and a few others who didn't conform to their mindless acceptance.
I, not surprisingly, ended up in therapy shortly after for severe depression and extreme anxiety. It was during a session with my parents that I finally said I didn't like our church, and they agreed they didn't either. I think sometimes they feel responsible for my problems because we went there, but they really didn't know what it does to you. I vowed then never to raise a child, especially a daughter, in that environment. My daughters will not be taught that they are any less worthy than men because of their gender, and certainly not where God is concerned.
If someone's going to put a little Church of Christ out there for the vast expanse of Internet, it might as well be yours truly. I think I can provide a little insight that the men in charge can't grasp. How fitting it is that tomorrow (I guess technically today, being as though it's after midnight) I'll be going back to counseling. At least I know how I got there.
When I was 16 I went to Governor's School for the Humanities. When I graduated high school, I had only applied to two schools - Emory and Rhodes - and was accepted to both. How I ended up at MTSU is a completely different blog that boils down to the type of people who went to Emory, but I think I have an idea on what gave me an edge into all these esteemed programs: I nailed the essay.
For each essay, I chose the same topic: The first time I prayed aloud in church. I remember it vividly because it happened when I was 16 years old at my best friend's church (he was there, too).
Until that point, I hadn't been allowed to lead prayer in church, read scripture aloud or serve the Lord's Supper (yes, we still call it that - it's the South, people). If I had wanted to teach a class, I would have only been able to teach a class consisting either of women or of children up to the second grade. Once kids enter third grade, they are taught by either their own sex (as is the case until middle school or high school), or by men only. Women do not teach classes if they consist of males older than 8 years.
Eleven-year-old boys who stumbled over I Corinthians were allowed to read scripture before the entire congregation during church services, provided they had been baptised. This also held true for serving the Lord's Supper (which my church referred to as serving on the table). However, I, an intelligent female with much higher reading skills than my male counterparts, could not do so because I was female.
Our youth group took a mission trip to Mexico (I didn't go, but that's beside the point), and upon returning, here's how they reported the trip to the church: The females each had a sentence or two printed in the church bulletin, and the males each got up in front of the congregation and told his experience. I asked some of the girls who went if they were bothered by this, but they said they weren't because they were allowed to speak to the ladies' class about the trip.
I vividly recall the abortion sermon, and I don't have anything against churches having abortion sermons. It's pretty much a necessity. However, during the one at my church, the preacher was talking to the men, completely failing to recognize or acknowledge the women of the congregation, the ones who would have a much better chance of becoming pregnant, seeing as they have all the apropriate organs.
Church was never a happy place for me, at least, not like it should have been. I was able to see my family once a week (aunts, uncles, cousins), but I usually cried after church. I knew I was different than the other youth members, because I questioned things that didn't seem to add up. I didn't just accept what someone told me without testing it first, and perhaps they viewed that as weakness.
I know they looked down on me. They didn't have to say it, but I could tell. I was the only one left out of their clique, the ones who went to private Christian school and all sat together during church, judging me and a few others who didn't conform to their mindless acceptance.
I, not surprisingly, ended up in therapy shortly after for severe depression and extreme anxiety. It was during a session with my parents that I finally said I didn't like our church, and they agreed they didn't either. I think sometimes they feel responsible for my problems because we went there, but they really didn't know what it does to you. I vowed then never to raise a child, especially a daughter, in that environment. My daughters will not be taught that they are any less worthy than men because of their gender, and certainly not where God is concerned.
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
I Have Nothing to Wear
It's time to play Dress the Wendy, because I seriously need a dress for my May formal. Here are a few things I'm looking at. Keep in mind some of them are only contenders if I decide to dye my hair brownish, which I'm debating and will probably decide whimsically tomorrow. Try to ignore the annoying backgrounds in some of these. Keep in mind, I'm pale as death and refuse to go to the cancer-inducing coffin-like structures known as tanning beds.
I already own a lot of black and a fair amount of various shades of pink, so I'm thinking of changing it up a bit, but I'm still undecided.
I already own a lot of black and a fair amount of various shades of pink, so I'm thinking of changing it up a bit, but I'm still undecided.
Monday, March 27, 2006
Satan Called and Your Ice Water Is Ready
So much to blog about, so much apathy. Today, I present a few things you kids should keep in the background of your minds at all times. It'll help, really.
Top 5 Signs I Think You Should Go to Hell
5) I've actually told you to go to hell.
4) I've called you a myriad of names in trying to get you to stop doing whatever it is you're doing that's pissing me off. Among those are: asshole and douchebag.
3) I then specified that "douchebag" meant "a bag of douche from the cunt of a cheap French hooker."
2) You refuse to apologize for continuously calling me a whore for a period of about an hour or so.
1) I've started to work out the logistics of how to "accidentally" hit you with at least one of the following: car, house, tree, tire iron, my foot to your crotch.
I know, I know - you guys think I'm being passive-agressive, but I'm not. I actually said all of this stuff, and now, because I'm still so lividly angry I could probably spit acid, I've decided to take it out on the Internet, at least until I get an apology that shouldn't be so goddamned hard to get when the other person is so blatantly wrong. Look, I'll make it easy. Just copy this:
I'm sorry that I kept insinuating you would take money for sex, even though you repeatedly asked me to stop, because my fucked-up sense of humor combined with the alcohol I will inevitably blame this on made me think this was a good idea.
And, no, I don't think I'm overreacting, and the next time your friend calls you a whore, feel free to rant and rave on your own blog.
And while I'm on the subject, I hardly think that wearing an outfit that leaves not even a smidgen of skin showing constitutes dressing like a hooker. So thanks for your unnecessary input that nobody asked for, but I will wear whatever I please, and everyone who thinks it's somehow within their right to criticize my attire can find a way to fit themselves into one of the five aforementioned categories.
I feel better already.
Top 5 Signs I Think You Should Go to Hell
5) I've actually told you to go to hell.
4) I've called you a myriad of names in trying to get you to stop doing whatever it is you're doing that's pissing me off. Among those are: asshole and douchebag.
3) I then specified that "douchebag" meant "a bag of douche from the cunt of a cheap French hooker."
2) You refuse to apologize for continuously calling me a whore for a period of about an hour or so.
1) I've started to work out the logistics of how to "accidentally" hit you with at least one of the following: car, house, tree, tire iron, my foot to your crotch.
I know, I know - you guys think I'm being passive-agressive, but I'm not. I actually said all of this stuff, and now, because I'm still so lividly angry I could probably spit acid, I've decided to take it out on the Internet, at least until I get an apology that shouldn't be so goddamned hard to get when the other person is so blatantly wrong. Look, I'll make it easy. Just copy this:
I'm sorry that I kept insinuating you would take money for sex, even though you repeatedly asked me to stop, because my fucked-up sense of humor combined with the alcohol I will inevitably blame this on made me think this was a good idea.
And, no, I don't think I'm overreacting, and the next time your friend calls you a whore, feel free to rant and rave on your own blog.
And while I'm on the subject, I hardly think that wearing an outfit that leaves not even a smidgen of skin showing constitutes dressing like a hooker. So thanks for your unnecessary input that nobody asked for, but I will wear whatever I please, and everyone who thinks it's somehow within their right to criticize my attire can find a way to fit themselves into one of the five aforementioned categories.
I feel better already.
"Good enough for me and my Bobby McGee"
I'm torn between a light-hearted "here's how I spent my weekend" blog and an "I can't believe everyone's priorities are so fucked" rant.
So, to keep the balance normal, I'll offer some brief tidbits and call it a night/day.
* I finished Smallville season one, and it was worth the late fee I will incur for not having it back sooner.
* I meant to bring a picture of my sister back to scan in so you could all revel in her beauty, as do so many other people. Alas, I forgot.
* I also meant to bring my freshman yearbook to prove my cheekbones used to hide from the world.
* I have now had the song "Me and Bobby McGee" stuck in my head for more than 24 hours.
* I have a gynecologist appointment on April 6. I hope I don't enjoy it, or I'll be breaking my Lent.
* I need a date to my sorority 10-year formal in May.
* I also need a dress.
* And I wouldn't mind having Easter sex.
So, to keep the balance normal, I'll offer some brief tidbits and call it a night/day.
* I finished Smallville season one, and it was worth the late fee I will incur for not having it back sooner.
* I meant to bring a picture of my sister back to scan in so you could all revel in her beauty, as do so many other people. Alas, I forgot.
* I also meant to bring my freshman yearbook to prove my cheekbones used to hide from the world.
* I have now had the song "Me and Bobby McGee" stuck in my head for more than 24 hours.
* I have a gynecologist appointment on April 6. I hope I don't enjoy it, or I'll be breaking my Lent.
* I need a date to my sorority 10-year formal in May.
* I also need a dress.
* And I wouldn't mind having Easter sex.
Friday, March 24, 2006
"But I did not shoot the deputy"
Yes, the fucking sheriff came again. I opened the door with an exasperated, "HE DOESN'T LIVE HERE!"
"Who don't live here?"
Yes, they have impeccable grammar.
"Yancey, or whoever you're looking for."
"We're looking for Jocelyn."
That's new - now you're harassing me about someone else I don't know. Lovely.
"We are the ONLY people who live here. We have lived here since April 22. We have already given you our landlord's information three times. Who do I have to call to get this to stop?"
"We'll try to get you off the list."
TRY HARDER!
So I called to make a complaint. Here's how that went down. First, I got transferred about three times until I was finally in the warrant section, where everyone is always so cheerful. I explained the situation, and the lady asked for the last name. I gave her mine, and she replied with, "No, the one on the warrant."
"I don't know - I don't even know these people! They just happened to live here before I did. I have the address - can't you use that?"
"No, I have to have the last name. Can you get the last name?"
"Oh, I'm sure they'll come back in a day or two." Click.
Fuck you, Truman Jones.
This really needs to stop. I'm running out of sheriff-related blog titles.
And now, on to today's feast.
Appetizer
How would you describe your personal comfort zone?
This is an interesting one. In one word, familiar.
Soup
What is your favorite tree?
I'm a fan of the Bradford Pears or whatever the hell blooms all over my subdivision, and, of course, the Sugar Maple. Oh, wait: Christmas Tree!
Salad
List 3 foods you'd like to include in your dinner plans for tonight.
Medium rare rib-eye, chocolate mousse pie with Oreo crust, corn grilled in bacon and butter. I'm probably having all that tomorrow night, so I guess it can wait.
Main Course
What is the best advice you've ever been given, but didn't heed?
Live each day as though it were your last. I know it's cheesy, but if I did that, I'd never get anything done.
Dessert
On a scale of 1-10 (10 being highest), how much attention do you feel comfortable receiving from others?
It depends on the nature of the attention. I give me a 10 on positive attention and a 1 on negative attention. At least I'll admit it.
Guess what, everyone? I FINALLY finished biology! I just took my last two tests, so that incomplete is about to be a grade. Let's hope it's a good one.
"Who don't live here?"
Yes, they have impeccable grammar.
"Yancey, or whoever you're looking for."
"We're looking for Jocelyn."
That's new - now you're harassing me about someone else I don't know. Lovely.
"We are the ONLY people who live here. We have lived here since April 22. We have already given you our landlord's information three times. Who do I have to call to get this to stop?"
"We'll try to get you off the list."
TRY HARDER!
So I called to make a complaint. Here's how that went down. First, I got transferred about three times until I was finally in the warrant section, where everyone is always so cheerful. I explained the situation, and the lady asked for the last name. I gave her mine, and she replied with, "No, the one on the warrant."
"I don't know - I don't even know these people! They just happened to live here before I did. I have the address - can't you use that?"
"No, I have to have the last name. Can you get the last name?"
"Oh, I'm sure they'll come back in a day or two." Click.
Fuck you, Truman Jones.
This really needs to stop. I'm running out of sheriff-related blog titles.
And now, on to today's feast.
Appetizer
How would you describe your personal comfort zone?
This is an interesting one. In one word, familiar.
Soup
What is your favorite tree?
I'm a fan of the Bradford Pears or whatever the hell blooms all over my subdivision, and, of course, the Sugar Maple. Oh, wait: Christmas Tree!
Salad
List 3 foods you'd like to include in your dinner plans for tonight.
Medium rare rib-eye, chocolate mousse pie with Oreo crust, corn grilled in bacon and butter. I'm probably having all that tomorrow night, so I guess it can wait.
Main Course
What is the best advice you've ever been given, but didn't heed?
Live each day as though it were your last. I know it's cheesy, but if I did that, I'd never get anything done.
Dessert
On a scale of 1-10 (10 being highest), how much attention do you feel comfortable receiving from others?
It depends on the nature of the attention. I give me a 10 on positive attention and a 1 on negative attention. At least I'll admit it.
Guess what, everyone? I FINALLY finished biology! I just took my last two tests, so that incomplete is about to be a grade. Let's hope it's a good one.
Thursday, March 23, 2006
Fantasies of a 13-year-old, Solutions of a High Schooler
I forgot to mention this last night, but Delicia thinks I should FUCK OFF. Yes, my readers, she used all caps, which also means this was in letter form and not at all direct. It was more like "The following people can not fuck off: (insert list here), and everyone else can." Guess where I fit in? I think she should be less passive-aggressive. Maybe come out and say this stuff, perhaps even throw in a bitch-slap. We can't hide behind ink-jet printers all the time. Did I mention I'm on the verge of insanity? It's a short trip to a short ledge with sharp pointy rocks at the bottom.
I've decided to start dealing with my problems the way I did in my latter years of high school: therapy. It did me a lot of good. I entered a very bad point in my life, one in which I was struggling emotionally, spiritually, personally, pretty much every way but grammatically.
I'm at that point again: I can no longer single-handedly deal with being me. There are a myriad of reasons for this, but I think a lot of it comes down to the fact that I've had the same fantasy since I was 13 years old: leaving. I used to want to get in a car and drive somewhere and never come back. Now I want to get on a plane and fly somewhere. Still, the concept is the same. I don't think it's healthy that my greatest ambition in life is to get as far away from it as possible.
Sure, I'm underappreciated, but who isn't? I don't feel I live up to my potential, but who does? I can't be everything I want to be to everyone, but who can? I'm drowning in disappointment and losing sleep over a family I can't be there for. I can't really discuss all that on here, but with my aunt, my cousins and my sister, there's plenty of needing Wendy to go around, and I can't even talk to my sister on the phone because we're never available at the same time.
At some point, everything got really fucked. Things that used to matter to me don't anymore. Things that used to be important have taken a back seat to other things, because, when it comes down to it, I'm stuck with me, so I'd at least better like myself.
I'm wrestling with inner demons while the outer ones pound at the door 24/7. I'm obligated to so many things that I don't even get to do what I want. I don't even have time for school unless I don't sleep or eat. Things used to be simpler. Things used to be better. I used to be better.
I need 24 hours for my degree, but it'll take me two years because of how they space things out. I feel so stuck, like I'm in quick sand and even though I've read that part of the Worst Case Scenario Handbook I have no wood to grab onto, and I'm sinking. Everything is going black, and I'm letting it, because I'm tired of making myself care about anything other than myself and my loved ones. I know that's selfish, but I need to be selfish now. I'll lose myself if I'm not.
I've decided to start dealing with my problems the way I did in my latter years of high school: therapy. It did me a lot of good. I entered a very bad point in my life, one in which I was struggling emotionally, spiritually, personally, pretty much every way but grammatically.
I'm at that point again: I can no longer single-handedly deal with being me. There are a myriad of reasons for this, but I think a lot of it comes down to the fact that I've had the same fantasy since I was 13 years old: leaving. I used to want to get in a car and drive somewhere and never come back. Now I want to get on a plane and fly somewhere. Still, the concept is the same. I don't think it's healthy that my greatest ambition in life is to get as far away from it as possible.
Sure, I'm underappreciated, but who isn't? I don't feel I live up to my potential, but who does? I can't be everything I want to be to everyone, but who can? I'm drowning in disappointment and losing sleep over a family I can't be there for. I can't really discuss all that on here, but with my aunt, my cousins and my sister, there's plenty of needing Wendy to go around, and I can't even talk to my sister on the phone because we're never available at the same time.
At some point, everything got really fucked. Things that used to matter to me don't anymore. Things that used to be important have taken a back seat to other things, because, when it comes down to it, I'm stuck with me, so I'd at least better like myself.
I'm wrestling with inner demons while the outer ones pound at the door 24/7. I'm obligated to so many things that I don't even get to do what I want. I don't even have time for school unless I don't sleep or eat. Things used to be simpler. Things used to be better. I used to be better.
I need 24 hours for my degree, but it'll take me two years because of how they space things out. I feel so stuck, like I'm in quick sand and even though I've read that part of the Worst Case Scenario Handbook I have no wood to grab onto, and I'm sinking. Everything is going black, and I'm letting it, because I'm tired of making myself care about anything other than myself and my loved ones. I know that's selfish, but I need to be selfish now. I'll lose myself if I'm not.
Purple Rain on My Parade
Well, I've been AWOL from the blog for a bit, but I have good reason: Heidegger and Derrida have been making me their collective bitch. I'm pretty sure if this were actually the case, Derrida would be much gentler.
But enough about dead philosophers fucking me.
Last night, I hung out with some music folk for Kipp's 21st birthday. I was told by one of Claire's friends that I have great bone structure, which is an odd compliment but I enjoyed it all the same.
But enough about my genetics. Let's get on to how my dryer turned my work clothes purple.
I got home last night and washed my work clothes and some aprons - they smile upon cleanliness at the Bux. After they were sufficiently clean, I, of course, planned to dry them. I opened the dryer and noticed the inside was slightly stained, so I wet my hand to see if any of it would come off on my hand. It didn't, so I figured it was safe, because it had already been slightly pink from the red dye before without any pink clothing repercussions.
Boy was I wrong.
I woke up this morning to find my work clothes spotted with deep purple! Thank God I had some black work clothes that remained unscathed, and, oddly enough, so did my aprons.
That's right, kids - Starbucks aprons refuse to be anything but green. My white shirt I can bleach if need be, but what to do about those khaki pants? They were so soft and comfortable...and khaki.
How did this happen, you ask? Oh, I'm happy to fill you in on yet another reason why I'm counting down the days until I can put this life behind me.
Well, after a long couple of days (although I did manage to pick up a difficult Latin jazz combo after only seeing it twice - bonus!), it's getting to crunch time with the drag show. Now, some of our girls are wearing black shirts. However, not all of them bought black shirts. Some, in fact, bought white shirts.
Yes, I am aware of the whole opposite thing, and of the whole black/white concept. However, anyone who argues that black is the absence of color has not seen my dryer or the clothes that emerged from it. There's definitely some purple involved.
Ergo, the white shirts had to be dyed black, and I'm sure you can figure out the rest.
I washed them again in highly concentrated cleaner, which left the spots a nice shade of magenta. That's better than purple, I suppose. It's at least not as dark. I then headed to Wal-Mart to get some dance clothes for tomorrow (being as though I can't really do laundry unless I'm washing purple or black stuff) and some color-safe bleach and some regular bleach. I'm ready to bleach the hell out of these clothes if I have to.
I can't go to work dressed as the Angel of Death two days in a row - they'll think I'm brooding or something.
But enough about dead philosophers fucking me.
Last night, I hung out with some music folk for Kipp's 21st birthday. I was told by one of Claire's friends that I have great bone structure, which is an odd compliment but I enjoyed it all the same.
But enough about my genetics. Let's get on to how my dryer turned my work clothes purple.
I got home last night and washed my work clothes and some aprons - they smile upon cleanliness at the Bux. After they were sufficiently clean, I, of course, planned to dry them. I opened the dryer and noticed the inside was slightly stained, so I wet my hand to see if any of it would come off on my hand. It didn't, so I figured it was safe, because it had already been slightly pink from the red dye before without any pink clothing repercussions.
Boy was I wrong.
I woke up this morning to find my work clothes spotted with deep purple! Thank God I had some black work clothes that remained unscathed, and, oddly enough, so did my aprons.
That's right, kids - Starbucks aprons refuse to be anything but green. My white shirt I can bleach if need be, but what to do about those khaki pants? They were so soft and comfortable...and khaki.
How did this happen, you ask? Oh, I'm happy to fill you in on yet another reason why I'm counting down the days until I can put this life behind me.
Well, after a long couple of days (although I did manage to pick up a difficult Latin jazz combo after only seeing it twice - bonus!), it's getting to crunch time with the drag show. Now, some of our girls are wearing black shirts. However, not all of them bought black shirts. Some, in fact, bought white shirts.
Yes, I am aware of the whole opposite thing, and of the whole black/white concept. However, anyone who argues that black is the absence of color has not seen my dryer or the clothes that emerged from it. There's definitely some purple involved.
Ergo, the white shirts had to be dyed black, and I'm sure you can figure out the rest.
I washed them again in highly concentrated cleaner, which left the spots a nice shade of magenta. That's better than purple, I suppose. It's at least not as dark. I then headed to Wal-Mart to get some dance clothes for tomorrow (being as though I can't really do laundry unless I'm washing purple or black stuff) and some color-safe bleach and some regular bleach. I'm ready to bleach the hell out of these clothes if I have to.
I can't go to work dressed as the Angel of Death two days in a row - they'll think I'm brooding or something.
Monday, March 20, 2006
The Day Smyrna Took Off
I didn't do this Friday, because, apparently, the entire town of Smyrna had the day off work and invaded my store. Afterward I drank something green. It was Everclear, vodka and green something. It was delicious. At long last, I present Friday's Feast.
Appetizer
What job would you definitely not want to have?
There are two: anesthesiologist (I would pass out several times a day seeing all that needle-in-vein action) and George W. Bush's speech writer. I imagine that person has to go through several edits to get words that are hard to fuck up.
Soup
Oprah calls and wants you to appear on her show. What would that day's show be about?
I'm going to optimistic and say my recent and unsuspected marriage to Johnny Depp.
Salad
Name 3 vegetables that you eat on a regular basis.
I don't really eat vegetables on a regular basis, but let's pretend like I do. Here's what they would be: green books cooked with a pack of bacon, corn grilled and wrapped in bacon, baked potato with butter, cheese and bacon. Do you notice a recurring theme?
Main Course
If you were commissioned to rename your hometown, what would you call it?
I think it'd be safe to rename Hendersonville one of the following: Suburbia; Classy Gallatin; Poor Man's Brentwood; Soccer Mom Town
Dessert
If you had a personal assistant, what kind of tasks would you have them to do?
Correct grammar in everything I read before it gets to me, like so: "If you had a personal assistant, what kind of tasks would you have him or her do?" That's much better. One personal assistant does not constitute "them." I'd also have this person - let's use the name Lackey to avoid unnecessary pronouns - screen my phone calls, run my errands (in Lackey's own car, of course, so my gas tank remains full), schedule my appointments, get me out of my appointments, occasionally rub my shoulders, and any other tasks I think of that I don't feel like doing.
Appetizer
What job would you definitely not want to have?
There are two: anesthesiologist (I would pass out several times a day seeing all that needle-in-vein action) and George W. Bush's speech writer. I imagine that person has to go through several edits to get words that are hard to fuck up.
Soup
Oprah calls and wants you to appear on her show. What would that day's show be about?
I'm going to optimistic and say my recent and unsuspected marriage to Johnny Depp.
Salad
Name 3 vegetables that you eat on a regular basis.
I don't really eat vegetables on a regular basis, but let's pretend like I do. Here's what they would be: green books cooked with a pack of bacon, corn grilled and wrapped in bacon, baked potato with butter, cheese and bacon. Do you notice a recurring theme?
Main Course
If you were commissioned to rename your hometown, what would you call it?
I think it'd be safe to rename Hendersonville one of the following: Suburbia; Classy Gallatin; Poor Man's Brentwood; Soccer Mom Town
Dessert
If you had a personal assistant, what kind of tasks would you have them to do?
Correct grammar in everything I read before it gets to me, like so: "If you had a personal assistant, what kind of tasks would you have him or her do?" That's much better. One personal assistant does not constitute "them." I'd also have this person - let's use the name Lackey to avoid unnecessary pronouns - screen my phone calls, run my errands (in Lackey's own car, of course, so my gas tank remains full), schedule my appointments, get me out of my appointments, occasionally rub my shoulders, and any other tasks I think of that I don't feel like doing.
Thursday, March 16, 2006
Molestings, All Around! OR Why I Should Frequent Class More Often
I went to class today in one of my rare but exciting cameo appearances (hold your judgements - remember that blood-coughing incident a few weeks back?) because I thought I was having a test. I fought TSSAA traffic, cursed slow drivers in the parking lot, frantically walked across campus, bought a ScanTron, and moseyed into class one minute late, only to find...
No professor, and a fairly empty classroom.
One of the guys in class (let's not kid ourselves here - I don't know names of these people) was all, "Don't you know what happened?"
The rest of the class, like yours truly, stared blankly.
"That guy got taken to jail last night."
"That guy" refers to this guy, who I vaguely remember from class as being the one who mutilated the curve for everyone else on account of his being a former attorney and this class being Insurance in Estate Planning.
Fine by me. Guess we won't be seeing him again. I'm not sure where the professor was (the arrested guy - Rasmussen - was a member of Gamma Iota Sigma (he was even wearing the shirt when arrested, according to the in-the-know guy in class, and our professor was the adviser, but I doubt that's related), but we had a sub - Porter, who has taught all of my previous insurance classes. He's a blast.
The greatest part about all this: click on the link above, and then take a stab at what the photo file name is.
kiddiepornguy0316.jpeg
Now I don't feel so bad that we had a photo folder at Sidelines named Guns and Weed.
Hey, it was for a story.
No professor, and a fairly empty classroom.
One of the guys in class (let's not kid ourselves here - I don't know names of these people) was all, "Don't you know what happened?"
The rest of the class, like yours truly, stared blankly.
"That guy got taken to jail last night."
"That guy" refers to this guy, who I vaguely remember from class as being the one who mutilated the curve for everyone else on account of his being a former attorney and this class being Insurance in Estate Planning.
Fine by me. Guess we won't be seeing him again. I'm not sure where the professor was (the arrested guy - Rasmussen - was a member of Gamma Iota Sigma (he was even wearing the shirt when arrested, according to the in-the-know guy in class, and our professor was the adviser, but I doubt that's related), but we had a sub - Porter, who has taught all of my previous insurance classes. He's a blast.
The greatest part about all this: click on the link above, and then take a stab at what the photo file name is.
kiddiepornguy0316.jpeg
Now I don't feel so bad that we had a photo folder at Sidelines named Guns and Weed.
Hey, it was for a story.
Dead Caesar Count: Zero
Well, the Ides of March came and went, and, wary though I was, no one kicked it. At least, no one I know. I guess it's safe to consider this a normal day from here on.
In honor of the Ides of March, I present a lesson in Latin. You can use these phrases on your friends!
Et amici sunt agricolae.
My friends are farmers also.
Verbum tuae matri
Word to your mother
Puella viam videt.
The girl sees the road.
Hic ego multas puellas futui.
Here I fucked many girls.
In honor of the Ides of March, I present a lesson in Latin. You can use these phrases on your friends!
Et amici sunt agricolae.
My friends are farmers also.
Verbum tuae matri
Word to your mother
Puella viam videt.
The girl sees the road.
Hic ego multas puellas futui.
Here I fucked many girls.
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
Pi sans e OR FouCAULK
Yes, I'm actually making both a lame math joke and a reference to my crappy car and a philosopher. Sadly, the only person I am certain who would understand that part is Vince, who does not read this blog. Sigh. I'll Discipline and Punish you later! Oh, I love making smart jokes. I might print this out and bring it to work - I'm sure he'd laugh at my own lameness.
So Pi Day has come and gone, and I'm sure after seeing that NIT link, you all knew it wouldn't be long before I blogged about it. Why does pi get a day and not, say, e?
Euler's number is much more useful in higher-lever mathematics. I've actually heard calculus professors, on more than one occasion, say to solve an integral by taking the natural log and "then you have to e it back," as if it is some kind of verb. E-ing something back may sound foreign, but it makes perfect sense to me. I've actually done it, and it does make for simpler integration. But no one I know who reads this blog will understand any of that paragraph, so moving on.
My dad caulked my sunroof this weekend because it doesn't work anyway, so we thought we'd see if it helped the leaking any. Well, there came yet another monsoon (isn't is supposed to be April showers - did I sleep through March or something?), and my car's interior was still damp, albeit not nearly as drenched as I would have expected, so that's promising.
Yes, I'm aware my lame joke doesn't work with Foucault's correct pronunciation, but I was more hoping to bridge the gaps between contintental philosophy and MacGyvering one's car.
Oh yeah. This one's for Euler, the first 25 digits of e: 2.718281828459045235360287.
And, just because I remember it so fondly from an episode of Third Rock from the Sun, "Sine, cosine, cosine, sine! 3.14159!"
So Pi Day has come and gone, and I'm sure after seeing that NIT link, you all knew it wouldn't be long before I blogged about it. Why does pi get a day and not, say, e?
Euler's number is much more useful in higher-lever mathematics. I've actually heard calculus professors, on more than one occasion, say to solve an integral by taking the natural log and "then you have to e it back," as if it is some kind of verb. E-ing something back may sound foreign, but it makes perfect sense to me. I've actually done it, and it does make for simpler integration. But no one I know who reads this blog will understand any of that paragraph, so moving on.
My dad caulked my sunroof this weekend because it doesn't work anyway, so we thought we'd see if it helped the leaking any. Well, there came yet another monsoon (isn't is supposed to be April showers - did I sleep through March or something?), and my car's interior was still damp, albeit not nearly as drenched as I would have expected, so that's promising.
Yes, I'm aware my lame joke doesn't work with Foucault's correct pronunciation, but I was more hoping to bridge the gaps between contintental philosophy and MacGyvering one's car.
Oh yeah. This one's for Euler, the first 25 digits of e: 2.718281828459045235360287.
And, just because I remember it so fondly from an episode of Third Rock from the Sun, "Sine, cosine, cosine, sine! 3.14159!"
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
Some More Notes to Pass the Time
Note to self: Try to live out as much of the song "Last Mango in Paris" as possible. Especially that part about the third-world girl in Buzios. You need one of those.
Note to self: Sleep with the windows open more often.
Note to self: Always have a cat.
Note to self: Wear braided pigtails more often.
Note to self: Take a vacation this year. You've earned it.
Note to self: At least once in your life, have a forbidden love affair. Avoid married men.
Note to self: Take a road trip.
Note to self: When you graduate, move to another time zone.
Note to self: Sleep with the windows open more often.
Note to self: Always have a cat.
Note to self: Wear braided pigtails more often.
Note to self: Take a vacation this year. You've earned it.
Note to self: At least once in your life, have a forbidden love affair. Avoid married men.
Note to self: Take a road trip.
Note to self: When you graduate, move to another time zone.
Monday, March 13, 2006
Time Zone Travel
I'm blogging with Destiny in my lap. Yes, The Tina came back, and wouldn't you know it, the cat came back, too! She's playing one of her favorite games, Get in My Way While I Type. She's quite good at it and is the reason I'm overusing the backspace key now.
I went to bed at 5:30 a.m. and woke up at 11:30 a.m. How annoying. It foiled my plans to sleep all day.
This weekend I talked to my parents about my post-graduation plans. I think they always knew that I'd go somewhere, most likely New York City. When I mentioned my European aspirations, my dad was all for it. He did quite a bit of traveling in his college-aged days (he was in drum corps and played Carnegie Hall once), and he agrees that I should explore the world before I do any of those pesky adult things that everyone else my age is so keen to get into: marriage, mortgages, kids - pretty much 18 years of your life devoted to trying not to fuck up someone else's while always owing someone money.
Apparently, I have lots of insurance ties, but until my parents told me, I didn't know I had insurance ties in England, too. This is exciting. A lot of my parents' friends are in the insurance industry, and Chuck, who is a blast, goes over there quite a bit. They said I should go with him sometime to see how I like it. We know a few other people who do insurance in England as well. At least I'll have some job prospects, assuming I ever get out of college.
Other places I'm considering living upon graduation: Australia, Switzerland, Scotland, Wales (I should just say the UK and make it easy), New York and Canada (the land where Bush is NOT the president of anything). The problem? Most of these places are cold, and I like heat, although New York summers are mighty sweltering.
I'm going to take some foreign language. I'm debating between Latin and German. Anyone have any thoughts on that?
I went to bed at 5:30 a.m. and woke up at 11:30 a.m. How annoying. It foiled my plans to sleep all day.
This weekend I talked to my parents about my post-graduation plans. I think they always knew that I'd go somewhere, most likely New York City. When I mentioned my European aspirations, my dad was all for it. He did quite a bit of traveling in his college-aged days (he was in drum corps and played Carnegie Hall once), and he agrees that I should explore the world before I do any of those pesky adult things that everyone else my age is so keen to get into: marriage, mortgages, kids - pretty much 18 years of your life devoted to trying not to fuck up someone else's while always owing someone money.
Apparently, I have lots of insurance ties, but until my parents told me, I didn't know I had insurance ties in England, too. This is exciting. A lot of my parents' friends are in the insurance industry, and Chuck, who is a blast, goes over there quite a bit. They said I should go with him sometime to see how I like it. We know a few other people who do insurance in England as well. At least I'll have some job prospects, assuming I ever get out of college.
Other places I'm considering living upon graduation: Australia, Switzerland, Scotland, Wales (I should just say the UK and make it easy), New York and Canada (the land where Bush is NOT the president of anything). The problem? Most of these places are cold, and I like heat, although New York summers are mighty sweltering.
I'm going to take some foreign language. I'm debating between Latin and German. Anyone have any thoughts on that?
"Destiny is calling me"
Actually, she's not. She's not waiting on the back of the couch for me when I get home, ready to meow her disapproval of my going to work all day. She's not around to stand on my chest and dig her claws into me while I'm trying to read at night. She's not been turning around in a circle a few times before lying down to sleep on that blanket on my bed. Hell, she's not even wreaking havoc on my blinds to sit in the window.
That's right. The Tina took the cat home for the break, and I'm really weirded out by this. It's made me realize that whenever I'm out on my own, I have to have a cat or some kind of similar pet.
I've been hanging with the chinchillas and the snake, but I'm not about to sleep with Salazar, and the chinchillas are excited to get their nightly treats and run on the wheel I put back in their cage for some exercising fun, but it's not the same as having the cat there to rub against me, lie all over my clean laundry so that's it's covered in "Destiny was here" hair.
I've even told people that my room is actually her room and she just lets me sleep there. I'm quite certain she believes it.
At least I've been able to shower and bathe without being watched - that's the only perk. Destiny always manages to push her way into my bathroom (the door doesn't completely shut), whether I'm brushing my teeth, peeing, showering or taking a bath, she's there to watch and, whenever possible, rub against my legs. Sometimes she'll stand on the edge of the tub and try to drink my bath water, but I stop her because it's full of Victoria's Secret bubble bath, and I'm not sure she's supposed to drink Romantic Wish.
The Tina will be back today, and she better bring Destiny. I can't wait to tell her how we don't have an outside trashcan anymore because Thursday's monsoon swept it to God knows where - I was at work during all this and came home to find us trashcan free. This is hilarious to me, at least until trash day.
That's right. The Tina took the cat home for the break, and I'm really weirded out by this. It's made me realize that whenever I'm out on my own, I have to have a cat or some kind of similar pet.
I've been hanging with the chinchillas and the snake, but I'm not about to sleep with Salazar, and the chinchillas are excited to get their nightly treats and run on the wheel I put back in their cage for some exercising fun, but it's not the same as having the cat there to rub against me, lie all over my clean laundry so that's it's covered in "Destiny was here" hair.
I've even told people that my room is actually her room and she just lets me sleep there. I'm quite certain she believes it.
At least I've been able to shower and bathe without being watched - that's the only perk. Destiny always manages to push her way into my bathroom (the door doesn't completely shut), whether I'm brushing my teeth, peeing, showering or taking a bath, she's there to watch and, whenever possible, rub against my legs. Sometimes she'll stand on the edge of the tub and try to drink my bath water, but I stop her because it's full of Victoria's Secret bubble bath, and I'm not sure she's supposed to drink Romantic Wish.
The Tina will be back today, and she better bring Destiny. I can't wait to tell her how we don't have an outside trashcan anymore because Thursday's monsoon swept it to God knows where - I was at work during all this and came home to find us trashcan free. This is hilarious to me, at least until trash day.
"Here's to you, Mrs. Robinson"
I was off work Friday, so I spent some quality time at home with my parents. My mom had a funny story he told me once I got there: My mom was shopping at Tower in Opry Mills looking at flute magazines when some 20something guy asked her out. She laughed and told him she was old enough to be his mother (which is true, although you'd never know it looking at her, but I'm the baby and I'm 23, so do the math).
Number of times my mom has been asked out in 2006: 1
Number of times I've been asked out in 2006: 0
Yeah, that's messed up, considering she's been married since 1979.
My dad has started calling her Mrs. Robinson.
Number of times my mom has been asked out in 2006: 1
Number of times I've been asked out in 2006: 0
Yeah, that's messed up, considering she's been married since 1979.
My dad has started calling her Mrs. Robinson.
Dial F for Feast and L for Late
Here is the super late Friday's Feast.
Appetizer
On a scale of 1-10 with 10 being highest, how intuitive do you think you are?
I thought it would be fun to find out what dictionary.com says about intuition. Here's the skinny: "The act or faculty of knowing or sensing without the use of rational processes." How irrational am I about what I know or sense? I give me a 10!
Soup
What is your favorite kind of gum?
I have an odd affinity for dual-flavored bubble gum, like strawberry-watermelon Hubba Bubba or Strappleberry Juicy Fruit. It's strange, I admit.
Salad
Name a CD you own that you would never get rid of.
I have many CDs, and I can't picture myself getting rid of any of them. If I had to pick one, I guess it would be Films about Ghosts, the Counting Crows greatest hits album. However, all of my Counting Crows CDs are worth keeping, so it was hard to pick just one. August and Everything After and Hard Candy rank right up there, too.
Main Course
When was the last time you said something you didn't mean?
I try to avoid that. I'm sure I told some asshole customer to have a nice day when I was really indifferent on the matter.
Dessert
What is the sum of the numbers in your birthdate? (Example: 3 + 2 + 1 + 9 + 7 + 9 = 31)
1 + 2 + 2 + 0 + 1 + 9 + 8 + 2 = 25
Appetizer
On a scale of 1-10 with 10 being highest, how intuitive do you think you are?
I thought it would be fun to find out what dictionary.com says about intuition. Here's the skinny: "The act or faculty of knowing or sensing without the use of rational processes." How irrational am I about what I know or sense? I give me a 10!
Soup
What is your favorite kind of gum?
I have an odd affinity for dual-flavored bubble gum, like strawberry-watermelon Hubba Bubba or Strappleberry Juicy Fruit. It's strange, I admit.
Salad
Name a CD you own that you would never get rid of.
I have many CDs, and I can't picture myself getting rid of any of them. If I had to pick one, I guess it would be Films about Ghosts, the Counting Crows greatest hits album. However, all of my Counting Crows CDs are worth keeping, so it was hard to pick just one. August and Everything After and Hard Candy rank right up there, too.
Main Course
When was the last time you said something you didn't mean?
I try to avoid that. I'm sure I told some asshole customer to have a nice day when I was really indifferent on the matter.
Dessert
What is the sum of the numbers in your birthdate? (Example: 3 + 2 + 1 + 9 + 7 + 9 = 31)
1 + 2 + 2 + 0 + 1 + 9 + 8 + 2 = 25
Friday, March 10, 2006
The Uterus Tangent
Apparently, while I was working today, I entered a time warp and ended up in the early 1970s. No, I didn't see weird clothing, and nobody said anything was "far out," but I do recall reading several accounts of a disturbing bill that passed the Senate. Yes, my friends, I, too, will give my very colorful feelings about SJR-127.
First off, in a pro-choice society, people can choose not to have an abortion. In fact, people have babies all the time. I know, because I hear them screaming in Wal-Mart at night. No one forces women to have abortions.
Here's the super-skinny on the bill: It states that the constitution does not protect a woman's right to an abortion.
But surely it makes exceptions for rape and incest right?
Hell no! Shouldn't have been walking to your car by yourself in this neighborhood.
What if carrying the child puts the mother's health at risk?
Maybe she should've thought of that before she got all freaky with the milk man.
Here's a big beef I've always had with all this anti-abortion legislation talk: How is it that a zygote, a mere fertilized egg that has attached itself to the wall of some uterus, that doesn't even have its own reproductive organs yet, could possibly have more rights than the woman whose body it's growing in? Since when do the rights of a fetus trump the rights of a living, breathing, thinking, voting woman?
I have a little message for Sen. David Fowler, who thought this whole thing was a really good idea.
Dear Mr. Fowler,
If you are against abortion, don't have one. This should be quite easy for you, considering you DON'T HAVE A UTERUS. Please keep your legislation out of mine.
With more loathing than you could ever imagine,
~ More than just a babymaker
Abortion is not birth control. People know that. That argument is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. From what I understand, it's not a pleasant thing. I can't imagine an abortion would be anything other than a grueling, draining (physically and emotionally) process that comes after much deliberation when it is decided that it's the only viable option. Women don't just go around aborting fetuses.
Suppose a woman dies in childbirth. What then? Is the man held responsible for her death for impregnating her? Naturally, this sounds ludicrous. When it comes to unplanned pregnancy, there is no easy answer, and there's also no equivalent for a man. It's not like every time a man has sex, his name is randomly entered into a drawing, and every few months or so someone's name is picked, and that guy is forced to restructure his life and adopt a baby. These things don't happen.
I can't speak for all women, but I can speak for me, and this is outrageous. I can also speak for my uterus. Here's a little bit on that.
As readers of this blog know, I had a fun bout with endometriosis a few months ago. What does this mean? Well, the lining of my uterus was spilling over into the rest of my body, and it hurt a lot, and they lasered it off. However, it might come back - they can't really guarantee that it won't.
One of the possible complications of endometriosis is ectopic pregnancy (that's tubal pregnancy for all you who aren't OB/GYNs). That's right, folks. If I decide I want to have kids (I do eventually), I have a higher risk of ectopic pregnancy than most people. Those cause all kinds of complications, the most common of which is internal bleeding, and, you know, that can kill you. And all that could happen with a planned pregnancy.
The narrow-minded assumption that only loose women with no morals have abortions is outdated at best. There are plenty of women who have abortions to save their own lives. Other reasons exist, as well, and judging women who have had to make such a hard decision is a low-life scumbag thing to do.
I've been asked before if I'd ever had an abortion, and I don't think I could, but I really don't know. I've never been pregnant, so I've certainly never experienced becoming pregnant as a result of rape or incest. I also have an extremely supportive family, and regardless of what I did, they wouldn't disown me or anything. But I don't really know what I'd do if I were in a different situation. I can say I could be the bigger person and have the rapist's baby, but until anyone is in a situation, they don't know how they'll respond. I'd certainly think about it.
Regardless of what I would do, just because something isn't right for Wendy doesn't mean it's wrong for all women at all times in all situations. If it's the wrong decision for someone, he or she will know it.
First off, in a pro-choice society, people can choose not to have an abortion. In fact, people have babies all the time. I know, because I hear them screaming in Wal-Mart at night. No one forces women to have abortions.
Here's the super-skinny on the bill: It states that the constitution does not protect a woman's right to an abortion.
But surely it makes exceptions for rape and incest right?
Hell no! Shouldn't have been walking to your car by yourself in this neighborhood.
What if carrying the child puts the mother's health at risk?
Maybe she should've thought of that before she got all freaky with the milk man.
Here's a big beef I've always had with all this anti-abortion legislation talk: How is it that a zygote, a mere fertilized egg that has attached itself to the wall of some uterus, that doesn't even have its own reproductive organs yet, could possibly have more rights than the woman whose body it's growing in? Since when do the rights of a fetus trump the rights of a living, breathing, thinking, voting woman?
I have a little message for Sen. David Fowler, who thought this whole thing was a really good idea.
Dear Mr. Fowler,
If you are against abortion, don't have one. This should be quite easy for you, considering you DON'T HAVE A UTERUS. Please keep your legislation out of mine.
With more loathing than you could ever imagine,
~ More than just a babymaker
Abortion is not birth control. People know that. That argument is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. From what I understand, it's not a pleasant thing. I can't imagine an abortion would be anything other than a grueling, draining (physically and emotionally) process that comes after much deliberation when it is decided that it's the only viable option. Women don't just go around aborting fetuses.
Suppose a woman dies in childbirth. What then? Is the man held responsible for her death for impregnating her? Naturally, this sounds ludicrous. When it comes to unplanned pregnancy, there is no easy answer, and there's also no equivalent for a man. It's not like every time a man has sex, his name is randomly entered into a drawing, and every few months or so someone's name is picked, and that guy is forced to restructure his life and adopt a baby. These things don't happen.
I can't speak for all women, but I can speak for me, and this is outrageous. I can also speak for my uterus. Here's a little bit on that.
As readers of this blog know, I had a fun bout with endometriosis a few months ago. What does this mean? Well, the lining of my uterus was spilling over into the rest of my body, and it hurt a lot, and they lasered it off. However, it might come back - they can't really guarantee that it won't.
One of the possible complications of endometriosis is ectopic pregnancy (that's tubal pregnancy for all you who aren't OB/GYNs). That's right, folks. If I decide I want to have kids (I do eventually), I have a higher risk of ectopic pregnancy than most people. Those cause all kinds of complications, the most common of which is internal bleeding, and, you know, that can kill you. And all that could happen with a planned pregnancy.
The narrow-minded assumption that only loose women with no morals have abortions is outdated at best. There are plenty of women who have abortions to save their own lives. Other reasons exist, as well, and judging women who have had to make such a hard decision is a low-life scumbag thing to do.
I've been asked before if I'd ever had an abortion, and I don't think I could, but I really don't know. I've never been pregnant, so I've certainly never experienced becoming pregnant as a result of rape or incest. I also have an extremely supportive family, and regardless of what I did, they wouldn't disown me or anything. But I don't really know what I'd do if I were in a different situation. I can say I could be the bigger person and have the rapist's baby, but until anyone is in a situation, they don't know how they'll respond. I'd certainly think about it.
Regardless of what I would do, just because something isn't right for Wendy doesn't mean it's wrong for all women at all times in all situations. If it's the wrong decision for someone, he or she will know it.
Thursday, March 09, 2006
"Way on Down South, London Town"
Yes, they're still looking for the guy who used to live here, only this time, it was a Tuesday evening appearance from some bail enforcement person. I'm pretty sure that's a nice way of saying bounty hunter, but I wasn't here for that (just missed it), so I can't confirm it.
Work was long today (11 a.m. to 8:45 p.m., with an extended lunch break). My feet still hurt. I watched Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire to help take the edge off. It did help.
Today I was asked: "Do you want to go to London?"
Me: "Sure!"
Apparently this is a permanent move kind of thing. I'm down with that, though I can't, at the moment, afford it. Truth be told, for a while now (about a year or so), I've had this fantasy (dream, ideal situation, call it what you will) about leaving this - all this, and just going anywhere but here. I've become too stagnant even for my own tolerance, and I've been itching for a change. I'm not sure if I'll last until I graduate.
Ideally, I'll wait until I get that elusive piece of paper (or they assure me it's in the mail), then I'll pack all my shit and get the hell out of dodge. I'd like to give Europe a shot. Lord knows I'm an anglophile, and if nothing else, I wouldn't mind at least hearing all the mundane things in a different accent.
Murfreesboro has taken all that is good and lively in me and sucked it completely dry. I feel like all I do here is waste away, become less of a person, hope to accomplish something when in reality the only thing I really want is to escape.
Work was long today (11 a.m. to 8:45 p.m., with an extended lunch break). My feet still hurt. I watched Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire to help take the edge off. It did help.
Today I was asked: "Do you want to go to London?"
Me: "Sure!"
Apparently this is a permanent move kind of thing. I'm down with that, though I can't, at the moment, afford it. Truth be told, for a while now (about a year or so), I've had this fantasy (dream, ideal situation, call it what you will) about leaving this - all this, and just going anywhere but here. I've become too stagnant even for my own tolerance, and I've been itching for a change. I'm not sure if I'll last until I graduate.
Ideally, I'll wait until I get that elusive piece of paper (or they assure me it's in the mail), then I'll pack all my shit and get the hell out of dodge. I'd like to give Europe a shot. Lord knows I'm an anglophile, and if nothing else, I wouldn't mind at least hearing all the mundane things in a different accent.
Murfreesboro has taken all that is good and lively in me and sucked it completely dry. I feel like all I do here is waste away, become less of a person, hope to accomplish something when in reality the only thing I really want is to escape.
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
Close Encounters of the Sheriff's Kind
Yesterday, I had lunch with Lindsey, Phil, Joey and Cox. Lindsey's taco salad was the size of a baby, not to be confused with Manda, who has openly admitted (is there any other way to admit things?) to eating babies.
I got home, and around 1:30 p.m. the doorbell rang. Tina was still asleep, so I answered the door, saw two sheriff's deputies and immediately started laughing. Apparently, this isn't the response they were looking for, but they'd already told us they weren't coming back, so I didn't care.
"We're looking for Yancey." I'm not even sure how you'd spell that.
"We've lived here since April. You guys told us you wouldn't come back - you've already been here twice. Last time we gave you our landlord's information." I gave it to them again.
"We said we wouldn't come back?"
"Yep. Thanks for not coming at 7 in the morning this time." I actually said that. He made some notes, probably something like Show up early, catch subjects off guard, and they left.
I wonder what will happen when they show up next week.
I got linked at NiT, which explains the unusually high blog traffic today. Between today's hits and yesterday's Jake Gyllenhaal searches from Trinidad and Tobago and three locales listed as "Unknown Country," I'm racking up quite the readership. What exactly is an unknown country, anyway? Surely whoever is clicking my blog knows where he or she is.
Today I met with the DM, then traveled to Green Hills to get a book. I had to go to Green Hills because Murfreesboro bookstores have philosophy sections consisting of books on Buddhism, The Tao of Pooh and the Kabbalah. Apparently, whoever categorizes this stuff is really confused on the difference between religion and philosophy. Try telling the Jewish mystics they're just philosophers. I'm sure it'll go over well.
I got home, and around 1:30 p.m. the doorbell rang. Tina was still asleep, so I answered the door, saw two sheriff's deputies and immediately started laughing. Apparently, this isn't the response they were looking for, but they'd already told us they weren't coming back, so I didn't care.
"We're looking for Yancey." I'm not even sure how you'd spell that.
"We've lived here since April. You guys told us you wouldn't come back - you've already been here twice. Last time we gave you our landlord's information." I gave it to them again.
"We said we wouldn't come back?"
"Yep. Thanks for not coming at 7 in the morning this time." I actually said that. He made some notes, probably something like Show up early, catch subjects off guard, and they left.
I wonder what will happen when they show up next week.
I got linked at NiT, which explains the unusually high blog traffic today. Between today's hits and yesterday's Jake Gyllenhaal searches from Trinidad and Tobago and three locales listed as "Unknown Country," I'm racking up quite the readership. What exactly is an unknown country, anyway? Surely whoever is clicking my blog knows where he or she is.
Today I met with the DM, then traveled to Green Hills to get a book. I had to go to Green Hills because Murfreesboro bookstores have philosophy sections consisting of books on Buddhism, The Tao of Pooh and the Kabbalah. Apparently, whoever categorizes this stuff is really confused on the difference between religion and philosophy. Try telling the Jewish mystics they're just philosophers. I'm sure it'll go over well.
Monday, March 06, 2006
A Sex-free Me...Until Easter
I guess I should've posted this last week, but let's not forget how sick I was.
I've been feeling the need for a change for a while, and I went through the short yet satisfying list of hedonist things I do that I could do without, because, let's face it, I'm not Siddartha, and I won't reach Enlightenment and become the Buddha because of it, so I should stop.
There's no way I could survive without chocolate or caffeine, and I don't want to try to live without bubble baths, books or Buffy the Vampire Slayer, so I opted to give up sex, and yes, that includes sex with myself. Here's why.
I remember the last time I had sex. It was Saturday, I suppose, because it was about 4:30 in the morning. He wanted me to be on top, I wanted him to be someone else, and afterward we never spoke of it. We always claimed we were just friends, and I used that to justify not having to justify my actions to him, and I had my suspicions that he felt the same way, and I was sure he wouldn't have done me the courtesy of telling me. After all, we were just friends.
I stopped sleeping with him because it became clear to me (thanks to some outside realizations) that it was him or me, and I will always choose myself over a man. I enjoy sex, but I don't define myself by it, and I'm certainly not going to lose who I am because of it. Afterward it occurred to me that I'd broken my one rule, the one thing I swore I'd never do: I let it be casual.
I don't think sex is dirty and wrong like church told me when I was growing up. I do, however, believe that casual fucking for nothing other than to get yourself off is wrong. Is that what I did? I like to think not, that I did care more than that, that it was something more than fucking and less than lovemaking, and I imagine I'll slap the word "passion" on it because that's how I prefer to think of it. I think everyone could use a little passion.
But even that doesn't take away the casual nature in which we could just end this with no words and everything would be normal. It was all so casual: You wake up one day, realize you're becoming something you don't like, and you stop doing what it is you think contributes to that. You don't talk about it, you never mention it, it's like it never even happened. It becomes just another ghost you think you hear when you can't sleep at night.
Ergo, I'm giving up sex - pleasures of the flesh (note how I don't call it a sin). I'm going to see what I'm like when I don't let my inner demons take hold of me. I don't think I ever really craved the sex as much as I let on, anyway. I think, really, I liked it best afterward: I like the look of skin in afterglow, I like the smell of a room that's loaded with pheromones, I like the kind of sleep you get when you've really tired yourself out, I like to be held when I sleep.
I'm going to stop seeking pleasure and try to find it in the mundane. I think that's a good place to start.
I've been feeling the need for a change for a while, and I went through the short yet satisfying list of hedonist things I do that I could do without, because, let's face it, I'm not Siddartha, and I won't reach Enlightenment and become the Buddha because of it, so I should stop.
There's no way I could survive without chocolate or caffeine, and I don't want to try to live without bubble baths, books or Buffy the Vampire Slayer, so I opted to give up sex, and yes, that includes sex with myself. Here's why.
I remember the last time I had sex. It was Saturday, I suppose, because it was about 4:30 in the morning. He wanted me to be on top, I wanted him to be someone else, and afterward we never spoke of it. We always claimed we were just friends, and I used that to justify not having to justify my actions to him, and I had my suspicions that he felt the same way, and I was sure he wouldn't have done me the courtesy of telling me. After all, we were just friends.
I stopped sleeping with him because it became clear to me (thanks to some outside realizations) that it was him or me, and I will always choose myself over a man. I enjoy sex, but I don't define myself by it, and I'm certainly not going to lose who I am because of it. Afterward it occurred to me that I'd broken my one rule, the one thing I swore I'd never do: I let it be casual.
I don't think sex is dirty and wrong like church told me when I was growing up. I do, however, believe that casual fucking for nothing other than to get yourself off is wrong. Is that what I did? I like to think not, that I did care more than that, that it was something more than fucking and less than lovemaking, and I imagine I'll slap the word "passion" on it because that's how I prefer to think of it. I think everyone could use a little passion.
But even that doesn't take away the casual nature in which we could just end this with no words and everything would be normal. It was all so casual: You wake up one day, realize you're becoming something you don't like, and you stop doing what it is you think contributes to that. You don't talk about it, you never mention it, it's like it never even happened. It becomes just another ghost you think you hear when you can't sleep at night.
Ergo, I'm giving up sex - pleasures of the flesh (note how I don't call it a sin). I'm going to see what I'm like when I don't let my inner demons take hold of me. I don't think I ever really craved the sex as much as I let on, anyway. I think, really, I liked it best afterward: I like the look of skin in afterglow, I like the smell of a room that's loaded with pheromones, I like the kind of sleep you get when you've really tired yourself out, I like to be held when I sleep.
I'm going to stop seeking pleasure and try to find it in the mundane. I think that's a good place to start.
Surprise, Surprise
I know some of you probably expected liveblogging during the Oscars, but did you really expect me to do anything other than stare at the television? I even silenced my phone.
Most of my predictions were right, and I'm happy that Crash pulled the upset Best Picture win. I wanted it to win, but I didn't think it would. Why? Well, Crash is the kind of movie that changes people. It had all the elements of a great film: screenplay, stellar cast, editing, music, reality. In short, it was a microcosm of American life.
Sure, Brokeback Mountain was a great love story, and I loved the score, but to me, Jake Gyllenhaal was that movie. Heath Ledger was good, but his performance didn't move me or anything. Jake Gyllenhaal ripped my heart out and showed it to me. I was pulling for him for a Supporting Actor upset. Sigh - I did not see that Clooney thing coming. I was right on all the other main categories, though: Director, Actor, Actress, Supporting Actress; I even got some of the lesser ones right - Jonathan and I made our picks at work.
And didn't Nicole Kidman look gorgeous? I swear that woman glows on stage.
Saturday night I met my parents at Grand Stands for some food, liquor and music, all of which were good. I only had three drinks in the four-and-a-half hours we were there, so I insisted on driving them home after watching them drink pitcher after pitcher of beer. On the way home, my dad commented, "Wendy, you're doing an excellent job." I kind of figured I'd end up DDing, which is OK because they did it for me last weekend. They also told me they didn't claim me on their taxes this year. That was a nice surprise, because I might actually get money back, which I can use to pay my credit card and put in savings.
Tomorrow, I'm having lunch with Lindsey! I love days off. If only Spring Break were warmer.
Most of my predictions were right, and I'm happy that Crash pulled the upset Best Picture win. I wanted it to win, but I didn't think it would. Why? Well, Crash is the kind of movie that changes people. It had all the elements of a great film: screenplay, stellar cast, editing, music, reality. In short, it was a microcosm of American life.
Sure, Brokeback Mountain was a great love story, and I loved the score, but to me, Jake Gyllenhaal was that movie. Heath Ledger was good, but his performance didn't move me or anything. Jake Gyllenhaal ripped my heart out and showed it to me. I was pulling for him for a Supporting Actor upset. Sigh - I did not see that Clooney thing coming. I was right on all the other main categories, though: Director, Actor, Actress, Supporting Actress; I even got some of the lesser ones right - Jonathan and I made our picks at work.
And didn't Nicole Kidman look gorgeous? I swear that woman glows on stage.
Saturday night I met my parents at Grand Stands for some food, liquor and music, all of which were good. I only had three drinks in the four-and-a-half hours we were there, so I insisted on driving them home after watching them drink pitcher after pitcher of beer. On the way home, my dad commented, "Wendy, you're doing an excellent job." I kind of figured I'd end up DDing, which is OK because they did it for me last weekend. They also told me they didn't claim me on their taxes this year. That was a nice surprise, because I might actually get money back, which I can use to pay my credit card and put in savings.
Tomorrow, I'm having lunch with Lindsey! I love days off. If only Spring Break were warmer.
Saturday, March 04, 2006
Time to Feast on Pudding
I've been craving pudding for days. I don't know why - I'm about to go to the store and get some Swiss Miss. Their pudding is far superior to the other brands - Jell-O be damned! I had caffeine today at work for the first time in a few days, and it was nice to kill the headache, although I saw stars shortly after. That's what happens when you drink nothing but Gatorade for days on end. I'll be having a Buffy marathon in my room tonight. I'm having trouble deciding between seasons one and six. Aye me. And now, it's time for the feast.
Appetizer
How many pillows and blankets do you sleep with?
Two pillows, one down comforter. I have a Pirates of the Caribbean blanket (I think this is completely normaly, by the way) that usually sleeps by my head or serves as a footwarmer, and I have another fleece blanket by my head on the other side. I sleep in the middle of my bed, and the blankets keep the cat from tearing up my satin sheets with her razor-sharp claws of death. OK, they're not that bad, but if she wants to make biscuits, she can do so without damaging my bedding this way.
Soup
What are you currently "addicted" to?
It's certainly not random quotation marks. Right now it'd have to be movies, with the Oscars being Sunday. I'm also addicted to caffeine, Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Charmed. I watched the complete fourth season in two days.
Salad
If you could make a small change to your current routine or schedule that would make you just a little bit happier, what would it be?
I need a drastic change - a small change isn't going to cut it. If I had to choose, I'd like to spend more time with my friends, but seeing as how they've scattered about the country, that isn't really possible. OK, actually answering the salad question: I'd spend at least an hour a day doing something just for myself, most likely reading or taking a bubble bath, shutting out the rest of the world.
Main Course
Which adjective do you find yourself using often?
I have several current favorites: tragic, fucking (always up there on the list), chaotic, ridiculous, nuts, unpredictable
Dessert
Have you ever picked up a hitchhiker?
I barely weigh 100 pounds, so that's an extreme no. I'm a little girl, and, let's face it, it wouldn't be too hard to throw me in a ditch somewhere. I don't stop to help stranded drivers, either, if I'm alone. If I'm out driving around with my dad, that's another story, but if it's just me, and there's a random stranded driver, I don't buy it. Most people either call someone or start walking toward the exit. Keep your tire iron out of my skull, buddy. Oh, and add random to my list of adjectives. I like that one.
Appetizer
How many pillows and blankets do you sleep with?
Two pillows, one down comforter. I have a Pirates of the Caribbean blanket (I think this is completely normaly, by the way) that usually sleeps by my head or serves as a footwarmer, and I have another fleece blanket by my head on the other side. I sleep in the middle of my bed, and the blankets keep the cat from tearing up my satin sheets with her razor-sharp claws of death. OK, they're not that bad, but if she wants to make biscuits, she can do so without damaging my bedding this way.
Soup
What are you currently "addicted" to?
It's certainly not random quotation marks. Right now it'd have to be movies, with the Oscars being Sunday. I'm also addicted to caffeine, Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Charmed. I watched the complete fourth season in two days.
Salad
If you could make a small change to your current routine or schedule that would make you just a little bit happier, what would it be?
I need a drastic change - a small change isn't going to cut it. If I had to choose, I'd like to spend more time with my friends, but seeing as how they've scattered about the country, that isn't really possible. OK, actually answering the salad question: I'd spend at least an hour a day doing something just for myself, most likely reading or taking a bubble bath, shutting out the rest of the world.
Main Course
Which adjective do you find yourself using often?
I have several current favorites: tragic, fucking (always up there on the list), chaotic, ridiculous, nuts, unpredictable
Dessert
Have you ever picked up a hitchhiker?
I barely weigh 100 pounds, so that's an extreme no. I'm a little girl, and, let's face it, it wouldn't be too hard to throw me in a ditch somewhere. I don't stop to help stranded drivers, either, if I'm alone. If I'm out driving around with my dad, that's another story, but if it's just me, and there's a random stranded driver, I don't buy it. Most people either call someone or start walking toward the exit. Keep your tire iron out of my skull, buddy. Oh, and add random to my list of adjectives. I like that one.
Friday, March 03, 2006
"That's why I'm screwing your sister"
Yes, that's a reference to a song - it's quite funny.
This comes after a very disturbing dream in which [name witheld] slept with my sister! You don't go around sleeping with my sister, people! Not even in my subconscious mind. Now, as far as I know, there was no sex, but, hell, I wasn't in the room the whole time. I was half-dressed in a towel (topless, though) watching The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy in one of my parents' spare bedrooms (it wasn't actually our house, as we only have one, and we use it as an office), FREAKING THE FUCK OUT.
So all you people out there, you keep your paws - in this world and in my head - off of my sister. You got that? Can you handle that?
It should also be noted that I revisited my high school in this dream, running into various former teachers. That was all good and well. I even subbed for Mrs. Stephens again (I did that once my senior year for her Honors Topics class - it was fun). But then I went to the office to get an excuse note for why I wasn't in classes I hadn't been in for years. What the hell is going on here? Why are all my dreams so whack? And why were the math teachers in the English hall? I don't get it.
Then I went to tell my friends about my bad day, and they did they whole, "No, I had a worse day," thing, because there was some wreck on their way home. Sigh. As if that would be worse than the sister fiasco.
Oh, yeah, can't wait to see you again! But, you know, my sister is off limits.
This comes after a very disturbing dream in which [name witheld] slept with my sister! You don't go around sleeping with my sister, people! Not even in my subconscious mind. Now, as far as I know, there was no sex, but, hell, I wasn't in the room the whole time. I was half-dressed in a towel (topless, though) watching The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy in one of my parents' spare bedrooms (it wasn't actually our house, as we only have one, and we use it as an office), FREAKING THE FUCK OUT.
So all you people out there, you keep your paws - in this world and in my head - off of my sister. You got that? Can you handle that?
It should also be noted that I revisited my high school in this dream, running into various former teachers. That was all good and well. I even subbed for Mrs. Stephens again (I did that once my senior year for her Honors Topics class - it was fun). But then I went to the office to get an excuse note for why I wasn't in classes I hadn't been in for years. What the hell is going on here? Why are all my dreams so whack? And why were the math teachers in the English hall? I don't get it.
Then I went to tell my friends about my bad day, and they did they whole, "No, I had a worse day," thing, because there was some wreck on their way home. Sigh. As if that would be worse than the sister fiasco.
Oh, yeah, can't wait to see you again! But, you know, my sister is off limits.
Even More Proof That I'm Weird OR More Cowbell
Perhaps not so much cowbell - right now I'm fever free, at least for the moment. It's a nice change to all the sweats and chills and shakes and all the other joys of fever, especially considering I have to work Friday night, which I guess is technically today.
I didn't kill The Tina! She is not infected with the plague that has me sick. Also, in case I forgot to mention, my parents and Mike and Fran all have been sick, too, so it's a family and close friends affair. It's nice to know I'm not the only one suffering - just the only one in Murfreesboro. The ultrasound results came in and were normal, so a special shoutout to The Girls(yes, that's what I call them) for not having cancer. That's a real treat.
Bambi just tagged me for a little weird meme: I'm supposed to list six weird things about myself (or weird habits) and then tag six other people. It's going to be hard deciding, but here goes.
1. My natural hair color is...almost black. It's a very dark brown that really doesn't work with my skin tone. It's pretty close to the color my sister dyes her hair (she dyes hers darker than her natural color). I even color my eyebrows so that it's not so obvious that I really look like Morticia Adams.
2. When I have weekend nights off from work, I prefer to spend them with my parents drinking and listening to music rather than going out to bars and clubs. I say it's because they pay, but, really, my parents are better company than most 20somethings.
3. I know my way around Manhattan way better than I know my way around Nashville. I've never lived in Manhattan, but I've lived within 30 minutes of Nashville for 15 years. Manhattan streets make sense: All you do is count.
4. I find math, especially calculus, to be extremely relaxing and calming. If I'm stressed out, I sometimes do math to calm down. If I have homework, I always force myself to do my other homework first and save my math for the end, because I like it.
5. Unless I'm alone in my room or in an otherwise private setting, if I'm writing (as in, writing something for myself), I use Greek. I find most people can't read it at a glance, and it keeps them from trying. One of my biggest pet peeves is when people read something personal without my permission. The blog, of course, is fair game.
6. I sew for fun. I don't spread that one around, either, but it's true. My mom taught me when I was nine, and I find it is also very relaxing. I usually do it while watching many episodes of Buffy.
Tagging six weird people I know: Jessie, Claire, The Tina, Chrissy, Lindsey (for tagging me with that book thing) and Kristin, because I'm actually going to link you now.
I didn't kill The Tina! She is not infected with the plague that has me sick. Also, in case I forgot to mention, my parents and Mike and Fran all have been sick, too, so it's a family and close friends affair. It's nice to know I'm not the only one suffering - just the only one in Murfreesboro. The ultrasound results came in and were normal, so a special shoutout to The Girls(yes, that's what I call them) for not having cancer. That's a real treat.
Bambi just tagged me for a little weird meme: I'm supposed to list six weird things about myself (or weird habits) and then tag six other people. It's going to be hard deciding, but here goes.
1. My natural hair color is...almost black. It's a very dark brown that really doesn't work with my skin tone. It's pretty close to the color my sister dyes her hair (she dyes hers darker than her natural color). I even color my eyebrows so that it's not so obvious that I really look like Morticia Adams.
2. When I have weekend nights off from work, I prefer to spend them with my parents drinking and listening to music rather than going out to bars and clubs. I say it's because they pay, but, really, my parents are better company than most 20somethings.
3. I know my way around Manhattan way better than I know my way around Nashville. I've never lived in Manhattan, but I've lived within 30 minutes of Nashville for 15 years. Manhattan streets make sense: All you do is count.
4. I find math, especially calculus, to be extremely relaxing and calming. If I'm stressed out, I sometimes do math to calm down. If I have homework, I always force myself to do my other homework first and save my math for the end, because I like it.
5. Unless I'm alone in my room or in an otherwise private setting, if I'm writing (as in, writing something for myself), I use Greek. I find most people can't read it at a glance, and it keeps them from trying. One of my biggest pet peeves is when people read something personal without my permission. The blog, of course, is fair game.
6. I sew for fun. I don't spread that one around, either, but it's true. My mom taught me when I was nine, and I find it is also very relaxing. I usually do it while watching many episodes of Buffy.
Tagging six weird people I know: Jessie, Claire, The Tina, Chrissy, Lindsey (for tagging me with that book thing) and Kristin, because I'm actually going to link you now.
Thursday, March 02, 2006
Can't We Just Play Freeze Tag?
I didn't die! But I think I gave The Tina the plague. Yikes. I'm hanging at home today seeing if my fever is going to come back or if it's gone for good. In the meantime, here's some literate stuff, tagged underhandedly by Lindsey.
[1] Name 5 of your favorite books
1. Catch-22 by Joseph Heller. This should come as no surprise to anyone, as my most prized possession is an autographed, leatherbound, gold-leafed-paged copy that I don't read every year. I do have a paperback copy that I read. Why did I first read it? Because some parents wanted to ban it. Take that, censorship!
2. GUT Symmetries by Jeanette Winterson. I had to read this my sophomore year of college, and I just fell in love with it and her writing. It's amazing. I loaned that one out several months ago. I want it back!
3. The Tao Is Silent by Raymond M. Smullyan. This book is a large factor in why I love Eastern philosophy. This one, too, has been loaned. Lent? I don't? For Lent, I'm giving up loaning out my favorite books.
4. Sleepers by Lorenzo Carcaterra. This was my favorite book until Catch-22 came along. I read it when I was 12. Looking back, that's a little young for prison rape and murder.
5. The Hours by Michael Cunningham. How can a man write women so well? I adore this book. It was required reading my senior year of high school.
[2] What was the last book you bought?
Dan Brown's Angels and Demons
[3] What was the last book you read?
Angels and Demons
[4] Name five books that have particular meaning for you.
1. One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish: When I was in day care, the teacher would let me read to the class sometimes, and I would always read this book, because I loved it.
2. Catch-22. I know I've picked this one already, but I can't leave it in just one category. I adore this book. I read it every year, and I often use it for paper topics, when applicable. I think it's because I usually prefer British literature (I really didn't like much, if any, of what I had to read junior year), but something about this book just gets me. It's often referred to as the "anti-heroic anti-novel" - I can see that. Oh, and that post about the "snowed-ins of yesteryear" that nobody got was a reference to this book, when Yossarian asks, "Where are the Snowdens of yesteryear?" You can bet that if my away message says, "Looking for the Snowdens of yesteryear," I'm reading this book, or writing a paper on it.
3. Job. This was always my favorite book of the Bible, and even though I stopped going to church years ago because organized religion did me more harm than good, I still like this book. Doing some research, many scholars believe it is the oldest (meaning it was the first to be written down - not that it happened first), and it is also the only book written in dramatic form. Neat, huh?
4. The Code Book by Simon Singh. Cryptography has always been a hobby of mine, so I bought this book to read up on some of its history. I thoroughly enjoyed it.
5. The Complete Collected Poems of Maya Angelou by Maya Angelou (duh). Since eighth grade, she's been my favorite poet, when my English teacher did a reading of "Phenomenal Woman."
[5] Three books you are dying to read but just haven't yet.
1. I Ching by some dead Taoist masters. I don't own this one yet, but I really look forward to reading it someday. As soon as I finish The Tao of Physics, I'll probably start it.
2. Godel, Escher, Bach: An Eternal Golden Braid by Douglas Hoftstadter. Mathematics, art and music coalesce in this really large volume recommended by Ron Bombardi. I own it. It's quite thick, but I can't wait to read it and have to keep asking my parents what all the music jargon means.
3. Critique of Pure Reason by Immanuel Kant. Vince at work talks about this book a lot, and we talked about it in Jack's class, so I'd like to jump in and see what it's like.
[6] Tag five people to go through this same ordeal.
I'm going to do what that sneaky Lindsey did: If you're reading this, you're tagged.
[1] Name 5 of your favorite books
1. Catch-22 by Joseph Heller. This should come as no surprise to anyone, as my most prized possession is an autographed, leatherbound, gold-leafed-paged copy that I don't read every year. I do have a paperback copy that I read. Why did I first read it? Because some parents wanted to ban it. Take that, censorship!
2. GUT Symmetries by Jeanette Winterson. I had to read this my sophomore year of college, and I just fell in love with it and her writing. It's amazing. I loaned that one out several months ago. I want it back!
3. The Tao Is Silent by Raymond M. Smullyan. This book is a large factor in why I love Eastern philosophy. This one, too, has been loaned. Lent? I don't? For Lent, I'm giving up loaning out my favorite books.
4. Sleepers by Lorenzo Carcaterra. This was my favorite book until Catch-22 came along. I read it when I was 12. Looking back, that's a little young for prison rape and murder.
5. The Hours by Michael Cunningham. How can a man write women so well? I adore this book. It was required reading my senior year of high school.
[2] What was the last book you bought?
Dan Brown's Angels and Demons
[3] What was the last book you read?
Angels and Demons
[4] Name five books that have particular meaning for you.
1. One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish: When I was in day care, the teacher would let me read to the class sometimes, and I would always read this book, because I loved it.
2. Catch-22. I know I've picked this one already, but I can't leave it in just one category. I adore this book. I read it every year, and I often use it for paper topics, when applicable. I think it's because I usually prefer British literature (I really didn't like much, if any, of what I had to read junior year), but something about this book just gets me. It's often referred to as the "anti-heroic anti-novel" - I can see that. Oh, and that post about the "snowed-ins of yesteryear" that nobody got was a reference to this book, when Yossarian asks, "Where are the Snowdens of yesteryear?" You can bet that if my away message says, "Looking for the Snowdens of yesteryear," I'm reading this book, or writing a paper on it.
3. Job. This was always my favorite book of the Bible, and even though I stopped going to church years ago because organized religion did me more harm than good, I still like this book. Doing some research, many scholars believe it is the oldest (meaning it was the first to be written down - not that it happened first), and it is also the only book written in dramatic form. Neat, huh?
4. The Code Book by Simon Singh. Cryptography has always been a hobby of mine, so I bought this book to read up on some of its history. I thoroughly enjoyed it.
5. The Complete Collected Poems of Maya Angelou by Maya Angelou (duh). Since eighth grade, she's been my favorite poet, when my English teacher did a reading of "Phenomenal Woman."
[5] Three books you are dying to read but just haven't yet.
1. I Ching by some dead Taoist masters. I don't own this one yet, but I really look forward to reading it someday. As soon as I finish The Tao of Physics, I'll probably start it.
2. Godel, Escher, Bach: An Eternal Golden Braid by Douglas Hoftstadter. Mathematics, art and music coalesce in this really large volume recommended by Ron Bombardi. I own it. It's quite thick, but I can't wait to read it and have to keep asking my parents what all the music jargon means.
3. Critique of Pure Reason by Immanuel Kant. Vince at work talks about this book a lot, and we talked about it in Jack's class, so I'd like to jump in and see what it's like.
[6] Tag five people to go through this same ordeal.
I'm going to do what that sneaky Lindsey did: If you're reading this, you're tagged.
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