And So It Goes

2009-02-19T14:02:00.001-05:00

My New Slogan

2009-01-08T14:06:00.002-05:00

2009-01-06T15:34:00.000-05:00

2008-12-19T16:14:00.001-05:00

A Reverse Gift Functional Christmas

2008-12-18T16:30:00.002-05:00

whenever i used to ask my mother what she wanted for christmas or her birthday, she would respond with guilt-ridden demands like, "i just want you to keep your room clean; that would be the best gift ever." i'd scoff and get her a candle or something. that's much easier.

but since i am cash poor, i have been thinking about this concept - gift giving in the form of meaningful actions. but we are more likely to offer meaningful actions that require little more than the candle - a back rub, a day of cleaning, i'll write your paper for you. but what if on christmas morning, there was a santa hat filled with little wrapped boxes that contained paper. and the gift distributor would pull one out and say, "dad! it's for you!" and dad opens up the box and must read the paper aloud to all: i really wish you would stop being so critical of my boyfriend. love, gina. thus, dad's gift to gina is that he stops being so critical of her boyfriend. adam, you smell like a sick, old goat. please shower more and be sure to use soap. love, mom. arnold, when you call me a mexican it really hurts my feelings. please stop and compliment me more. love, natalie. you get the picture.

this solution makes christmas a cheap, loving, therapy session, in which everyone can give meaningful gifts that will work towards the ultimate wish for all, peace on earth. one family at a time.

a very burgess christmas

2008-12-15T16:04:00.002-05:00

the list of reasons why i love kt burgess keeps growing. but why aren't we getting paid to do stuff like this??

http://elfyourself.jibjab.com/view/US8Ka6hfqCLu6BXHvp8N

2008-12-12T09:25:00.001-05:00

2008-12-11T11:21:00.001-05:00

"In the mornings I write long circular journal entries when I wake up. Too early. Before work. But even though I am making steady proclamations about who I will go for next, and why, and how it will all be different, it is brutal to imagine the idea of meeting a new person. Going through the same routine. Saying the same phrases I have now said many times: the big statements, the grand revelations about my childhood and character. The cautious revealing of insecurities. I have said them already, and they sit now in the minds of those people who are out living lives I have no access to anymore. Awhile ago, this sharing was tremendous; now, the idea of facing a new person and speaking the same core sentences seems like a mistake, an error of integrity. Surely it is not good for my own mind to make myself into a speech like that. The only major untouched field of discussion will have to do with this feeling, this tiredness, this exact speech.

The next person I love, I will sit across from in silence. We will have to learn it from each other some other way."

http://www.nerve.com/fiction/benderaimee/onasaturdayafternoon/

2008-12-10T13:31:00.000-05:00

2008-12-04T15:06:00.000-05:00

2008-12-03T12:06:00.001-05:00

Attention Bloggers!

2008-12-01T22:54:00.002-05:00

As many of you know, Blogger.com has increased its traffic and users significantly over the past year, almost by 89.876%. Due to this sudden increase in workload, the 8,943,234 employees at Google are unable to keep up with the hastening pace.

Blogger announced earlier today that they will be DELETING Blogger accounts beginning January 1, 2009 unless the user has LEFT A COMMENT ON THIS BLOG. Your comment must include your childhood nickname, favorite kind of candy, and whether or not you are currently wearing socks (at the time of your comment, not this post). And, if you are an ANONYMOUS commenter, BE AWARE - if you do not comment by January 1, 2009, your identity will be revealed and your anonymity will not be protected.

Hurry! The clock is ticking. Save your blog now.

Bonding

2008-12-01T14:07:00.003-05:00

Why so morbid?

2008-11-30T23:04:00.002-05:00

how fast could i have driven home today? i dunno. i think i've done it in 4:17. why did it take six hours? because people slow down to see the wreckage.

of course, my selfish mind said for a moment - gee, i hope this is a wreck instead of post-thanksgiving rushing home traffic so once we pass it the traffic will let up. but then i removed that wish from my brain - i'd rather have bumper to bumper traffic on I-85 than have someone gravely injured and/or dead. once the tow truck and ambulance passed (in that order) i knew it was a wreck, and when the sirens were in my sight, i cringed. not a good way for someone to end the holiday.

when we finally approached the wreck, it turned out to be a four car fender bender. all cars were safely out of the traffic lanes. no one seemed to be hurt. a girl was cuddling her dog. wtf? everyone has to slow down to look. this is our nature. if we did not need to slow down and look, i could have been home 45 minutes earlier.

did i slow down and look? heck yes.

Because it's worth writing these things down

2008-10-08T09:02:00.001-04:00

i have started a new blog to celebrate the unique and odd and wonderful things that come out of trevor's mouth.

become a follower today!

If I Could Help It, I Would

2008-10-07T10:03:00.004-04:00

finally - a topic about something i am good at. thanks, kara.

when i was little, my mother constantly yelled at me when we arrived at destinations (the grocery store, the library, etc.) because i hadn't put my shoes on in the car. i would promise to, but i would inevitably wait until we got there and she would stand outside the car impatiently as i slowly tied my laces. as i got older, my mother bought me mountain dew to keep me up the night before an english paper was due. and now, it is the seventh of the month, and i have yet to pay my bills. where is my mother? retired in the mountains as she should be. after all, i am thirty-four.

i don't blame my mother's enabling of my procrastinating tendencies for my persisting issues. it is a default property in my brain, my natural way of being, and no matter how i try, i cannot help it. it is how i operate. but despite my acceptance of my weakness, it still causes constant frustration and chaos, loss of sleep, heart palpitations. and lectures from non-procrastinating "do it now" people make me want to drill a hole in my head. a. i know all that already. b. say it til you're blue in the face, i'm still going to wind up paying a late fee. c. you don't have the procrastinating gene, so shut the hell up.

perhaps some research will yield some scientific evidence of my theory, and i can claim procrastination as a disability and get a silver medical bracelet that says, "procrastinator. please call my mother." until then, i will have to settle for the gratifying fact that my procrastination keeps the public library (and blockbuster, and FSU, and gilchrist elementary) in business.

These Boots Are Made For Walkin'

2008-09-30T11:57:00.004-04:00

i wonder if a pair of nancy sinatra boots are hidden in this pile of rubbish. the pile reminds me of portobello road from bedknobs and broomsticks, anything and everything a chap can unload, but you have to be really dedicated to find gems among junk. but nancy sinatra boots would be gems, because i could put them on, zip them up, and start walkin'. where dorothy got no special power per se from wearing the ruby slippers, my boots would make me a bad-ass, and i could walk all over people. only bad people. people who make me cry. and the power in my boots would radiate up my body, into my hands so my finger could wag in faces, and my mouth would speak harsh truths i am normally too timid or fearful to say. yes, i think i will go the phillipines, find this pile, and dig for my boots.

if only i had a magic bed to fly me there.

(picture and topic furnished by mya)

In Emma We Trust

2008-09-22T23:35:00.003-04:00

so emma is running for school treasurer. this i love because a. it's super cute and b. i'm hoping she will be able to take over my finances by age 12.

my first suggestion for her campaign slogan was "i'll take kizzare of your kizzash" which she was not fond of. i then suggested she henceforth refer to money as "benjamins" which she did not like either. but when i suggested that she put her mug in the middle of green poster board with dollar signs in the corners and write "in emma we trust" i thought i'd struck gold for real. she was hesitant. in frustration i suggested "e. pluribus unum" and she left the room.

we decided on simplicity - line editing taught me that busyness detracts from the message. so, after running all around town at 9pm trying to find play money, i finally found some at CVS (after 4 other stops) and her sign now reads EMMA LEE 4 TREA$URER. The four is spelled out in fake coins, the poster is framed in fake bills, and her name is in tricked out florescent letters. sweet. she's very proud.

tomorrow we write her speech. look out.

My Favorite Rumors

2008-09-20T15:29:00.003-04:00

katie picked gossip.

i am okay if i am gossiped about. anyone who will talk to you about other people will talk about you to other people. i am okay with this. it's the way it works. perhaps this is because i have endured being the center of an entire community's gossip. one of my favorite rumors: i was pregnant by a black man, we were having twins, and then moving to london. perhaps this is why two weeks ago i had a very vivid dream that i was indeed the mother of black twins, girls, anna and rachel. i woke up very relieved that this was not reality. not because they were black, but as lawrence fishburne so eloquently put it in what's love got to do with it: "what am i gonna do wit two mo' kids?!"

i am a little proud to be the center of such a bizarre rumor. it's right up there with mikey from the life cereal commercials dying from eating pop rocks and drinking coke, alfonso ribiero breaking his neck breakdancing, and steve from blues clues dying of a drug overdose. and let's not forget the one about britney spears shaving her head and not wearing underwear in public... oh, wait.

so in light of this fantastic topic, i am going to start a new celebrity rumor: oprah is the antichrist.

pass it on.

I think I'm an Anti-Dentite

2008-09-10T20:03:00.004-04:00

danielle chose dentists in the great topic revival.

it's not that i don't like the dentist. although most recently, while my mouth was propped open with a suction tube resting in my gums, my new dentist took the opportunity to share his political views, pentacostal policies, and fervor for the civil war and how the country would be so much better if the south had won. he fell short of whistling dixie, but what better way to shove your beliefs down someone's throat than when her mouth is incapacitated and she owes you $900?

i told him stonewall jackson was my cousin in hopes of getting a discount but he just called for more suction and a different drill bit.

when i was young, getting a clean dental report card felt a bit like straight As (although i never got those until college). no cavities! good for you! here's a free toothbrush and a toothy character nightlite. but as i got older and my mother no longer scheduled my appointments, the dentist fell to the wayside, as did my dental health. i think this is common. that's what i tell myself anyway.

i mean, i don't have meth mouth. (actually, the billboards in north carolina make me feel better about myself.) but the shame of not going to the dentist made me not go the dentist, and so on and so forth, and on and on and on, and pain in my stomach when i thought about it, and fear of being shamed, and so on and so forth, and then severe pain i could no longer ignore, then a root canal. and a few fillings. and a cleaning procedure that my hygienist compared to pressure washing one's house.

so, $2500 later, i am proud to say i am back to straight As. but i don't like going to the dentist, and i don't like the correlation between my dental health and my mental health. i wish there were fillings for my brain.

Sorry, Dear Gustav

2008-08-26T16:21:00.002-04:00

Dear Gustav,

Thanks for you interest in visiting me – you are one among many suitors. While I am flattered, I must decline your invitation at this time. My areas are already flooded from previous relationships that didn’t work out (the others “moved on”) and I’m really not ready for your hurricane-force love. I am still trying to clean up the broken promises and shattered dreams that litter the yard of my heart.

Please understand. Perhaps if you veer out into the Atlantic and try again in another couple of weeks, things will be different. But for now, I ask that you please respect my wishes. I am a Category 5 in emotional instability.

Thanks and good luck,

Me

So Many Choices, So Little Deliciousness

2008-05-24T10:44:00.002-04:00

i have not blogged since october 2007. if you continue to check my blog, i apologize for your certain torture in viewing photoshopped photos of me, despite their burgess wonderfulness.

as of now, i've got a whole lotta nothin' - but, if my sweet friends are still interested, how about a weekly topic revival?

this week - food courts.

Baby Loves Katie Burgess

2007-10-23T20:18:00.000-04:00

why? first, she came to the football game. second, she makes online photo albums about baby, just like she said.

nobody puts baby in a trash can.

nobody puts baby in a bunny suit.

nobody puts baby on a cake.

nobody puts baby in a trailer.

nobody puts baby in a corner.

nobody puts baby in an aquarium.

and, quite possibly my favorite...

nobody puts baby on some chick's back.

baby loves her some katie.

Nobody Puts Baby in a Trash Can

2007-10-17T08:46:00.000-04:00

the musical.

Flirty Cooking

2007-10-12T14:32:00.000-04:00

when i broke my ass, i ceased running. and blogging. i am trying to resume both habits because they are good for body and mind and soul, but it is always slow starting back. when i think, i should go run, or gee, i should blog, i inevitably find myself mesmerized by another law and order rerun. or a chocolate cookie.

danielle chose cooking, and katie chose flirting, so i am combining the two topics in order to expedite service and catch up.

i once saw a show on cults that described a witnessing technique used by young women in the group called "flirty fishing." they would go to bars, seduce men, bring them home, do the nasty, then try to convert them in bed. i'm not making this up. they even backed it up with a bible verse.

i suppose a flirty cook might wear only an apron with high heels while she kneeds the biscuit dough. she may also use double enterdres about her cooking like, "i love the feel of these (meat) balls," or "could you come in here and taste my niblets?" it's pretty hot in the kitchen, and i haven't even turned on the oven yet.

now in my head i'm singing "cookin' flirty" to the tune of "ridin' dirty."

I Will Survive

2007-09-04T13:21:00.000-04:00

so now i'm back... from outer space!

i came out of my self-imposed blogging hibernation to find things not as they were. the topics are gone. the band broke up. everyone is using facebook.

i could give an update as to my whereabouts and activities, but this would be long and tedious for me and you, gentle reader. all i can say is, if you'll have me, i'd like to return to the fold.

but do i have to join facebook? my next million dollar idea - i'd like to create a web community called "assbook" where one can join and "enemy" people. you can look up that bully from grade school, or the girl who stole your boyfriend in high school (no she di'int!), or the PE coach who called you lead butt o'brien. once you find them, you invite them to be your enemy, and you swap nasty comments.

it's just in the idea phase right now, but i think it's up there with b's Inside Magazine: For People Who Don't Like to Go Outside.

New Topic

2007-07-09T21:33:00.001-04:00

bloggies - sorry for my delinquency in picking a new topic.

this week: going to the doctor.

ORCA: A Killer Movie

2007-07-07T15:41:00.000-04:00

keegan came home the other day with a new obsession - the movie ORCA. he says it's supposed to be like Jaws, only better. he says they were made around the same time and ORCA was just overlooked. he called every video store in town with no luck. i say what does that tell you? he tells me to shut up.

he says at this point, it's no longer about the movie - it's about the hunt. he must find it. and, he finally does. so i go to this dinky little video store in killearn and rent the VHS. he wants me to watch it with him. i say no way. about eight hundred times. last night, i gave in.

the movie was made in 1977 and bo derek probably wants to forget she was in it. a shark hunter decides to set his sights on a killer whale, thinking it will bring big bucks from an aquarium, and bo derek deftly foreshadows the tragedy to come: "you know whales are monogamous. that means they have one mate their whole lives. we could be breaking up a family."

the harpoon nicks the male target and hits his female mate. she writhes and squeals. then she swims into the boats propeller in an attempt to commit suicide. when they pull her in, she is bleeding, and then a grotesque mass bulges from her privates, and her young fetus falls on the deck. the male has lost his love and his unborn child, so now, you guessed it - he's pissed.

the female dies, and the male (i call him willy) stalks the fisherman, wreaking havoc on the small fishing village where he lives. he bites off bo derek's leg. he sets the town on fire. the villagers become angry with the fisherman, urging him to go out to sea and "fight" (this is what the whale wants). and, in a cleverly placed dramatic plot point, we learn that years earlier a drunk driver killed the fisherman's pregnant wife. he feels the whale's pain. they are one.

in a moby dick like chase, he follows the whale into icy seas, the whole crew dies, and he falls in the water and the whale waves his great fluke and tosses the man onto an iceberg, crushing his skull. vengeance is willy's.

so, ORCA - Jaws meets Moby Dick meets Free Willy. it's a horror/suspense/drama. but i've never laughed so hard in all my life.

2007-07-06T15:32:00.000-04:00

www.toothpastefordinner.com/

Scaaaars!

2007-06-26T13:19:00.000-04:00

danielle chose scars as this weeks topic; for some reason, when i say it in my head, i close one eye, make a hook with my finger, and say it like a pirate - scaaars!

the other night i watched the end of jaws on tv. as the the three men on the orca sat around the table drinking, they were comparing scars. and, it was not the size or shape of the scar that made it superior to other scars, it was the story of how it came to be. and perhaps that's why scars are cool - they each have a story. not always a cool story, mind you, but a story nonetheless.

scars are reminders of what we've endured and that we indeed heal; i think that's why i really like them. i don't have many - one on my left leg from a steam burn (i call it the hawaiian island), and about five up and down my left leg from surgery i had about five years ago. the largest one is on my ankle, and the area is still numb to the touch. but every time i look at those scars, i remember how they got there, how much they once hurt, and how amazing it is that they are all that's left.

and if we didn't heal and have scars, we would be walking around with unsightly oozing wounds like massive head-wound harry (see picture, if you don't remember him). which brings me to emotional scars, wounds, and healing, not so obvious, not so automatic. where our tissue succeeds, our minds and hearts often fail - i wonder if these wounds and scars could be actually seen like our fleshly ones, if we would all be grotesque, stinking, oozing messes. and we would say, "hey, where'd you get that one?" and unlike the cool stories swapped in jaws, the answers, the stories, might make us very sad.

I Want to be Wilma (not Flintstone)

2007-06-16T17:07:00.000-04:00

will (who needs to come see us) picked TV remix.

my sister and i used to make bracelets out of kleenex colored with magic markers and pretend we were electra-woman and dina-girl. i should note, that in our tv role playing, this was the one instance where she actually let me be a girl character. but i don't want to get into it.

i think i want to be erin gray. erin gray had the two best roles on television - wilma on buck rogers, and kate on silver spoons.

buck rogers was my all-time favorite, and i should note that i did have a BIG crush on buck. so, to be his leading lady, complete with laser pistol and shimmery white spandex body suit... well, let's just say i've had daydreams.

and of course, who wouldn't want to live in ricky stratton's house complete with arcade video games and alfonso ribiero? i wasn't keen on ricky schroeder per se (and he's hideous all grown up, but i did cry when i watched the champ) but the dad was cute, and of course, so was jason bateman. what i would have paid to have been erin gray, riding on the miniature train that ran through the living room.

imdb tells me that erin gray has gone downhill since these roles i coveted; some baywatch, some port charles... and it's really no surprise. there was really no place to go but down.

Summer of Love

2007-06-12T13:59:00.000-04:00

yay, v! she picked summer flings.

the summer i fell in love with rick tuttle, i was ten and he was 46. it wasn't that kind of love.

the tuttles had been our next door neighbors for as long as we lived in our house, but i can't say i ever saw them much. they had kids much older than me who, by the summer of love, had all moved out. they had a dog named j.j. that i saw a lot and loved like my own until he ran away. mrs. tuttle was always kind. mr. tuttle had multiple sclerosis and was paralyzed from the neck down. he spent his days in a lawn chair in his living room.

i don't remember exactly what brought me to their house that summer day, but mrs. tuttle invited me in where she was playing computer games with mr. tuttle. they had an apple IIe (ha!) and so did we, so i was familiar with it. she asked me if i would like to play, so i sat down while she escaped to do other things, and for two hours, i became mr. tuttle's hands, pushing the keys he told me to push. we played chess and cribbage, but his favorite game was wizardry. for the rest of the summer (and the next three years) i went to the tuttle's house and played computer games with rick.

he could barely speak; it took a lot of effort. when he laughed, he would open his mouth wide and no sound would come out - he would only make noise when he sucked air in. he had a catheter, and his urine bag hung off of his lounge chair. i could occasionally hear pee trickle into it. when he got thirsty, he would say "drink" and i would grab his glass of watered down cranberry juice and hold the straw to his lips while he gulped. his hands were fixed in tight fists across his thighs, and occasionally, he would shake involuntarily. he told me jokes. he taught me how to play chess and cribbage. he had graph paper in a special folder - when we played wizardry, we mapped out all nine levels so we would know where the doors, pits, and teleporters were. it took a long time. when i had to go home, i would kiss his forehead, and he would thank me. i hated going home.

looking back, i imagine i was a great help to mrs. tuttle, giving her free time to do other things. but they were a great help to me. there is something so pure about love from a man who is completely incapacitated and vulnerable, who exists to just, well, exist. i know i brought him joy and brightened his day, but he loved me in a way i needed at that age - his house was my escape, and his friendship was the safest i'd ever known.

the tuttles moved to clearwater beach when i was thirteen. i occasionally went to to see them, but not very often; by then, a book had come out with all the maps to the levels of wizardry. when i was sixteen, rick tuttle died. i hadn't seen him in a while, but at his funeral, i sat in the very back and cried more than his family. i understand he was probably a burden to them. but he was never that to me. i went to his casket and kissed his forehead one last time.

why do the good ones always get away?

and that, my friends, is as melancholy and nostalgic as i get. i'm now going to go have a good cry and put my broke ass on ice.

Teacher Top Ten

2007-06-07T18:03:00.000-04:00

sorry for the late post on b's excellent topic, teachers; i blame the delay on my broke ass.

TOP TEN teacher memories that may have messed me up just a little:

10. androgynous high school volleyball coach known just as "yengel" (like "prince" "madonna" or "yeti") called me "lead-butt o'brien" during suicide drills.

9. mr. gray, high school IPS teacher, pulled me aside and threatened to sue me for slander because he read "button your shirt, mr. gray is a pervert" written in pencil on my black lab desk. my friend kim wrote it, and when he went to show me, he couldn't find it. and, i think he meant libel.

8. senora fernandez cried in front of my honors spanish II class when she learned that eric beyer stole the midterm exam and we all had a party and memorized the answers. "how you do this to me?" if i wasn't sad for cheating, she broke my heart.

7. mrs. neumeier shamed me in seventh grade for jokingly kissing a boy. she grabbed my wrist hard and said, "i can't believe you did that!" i wanted to die for days. i recently saw mrs. neumeier in clearwater at a picnic. she said to my friend cate and me, "i have always LOVED you girls. i just LOVE you." she got up to wipe her eyes, and i looked at cate. "wasn't she really mean to us?" she laughed. and nodded.

6. in sixth grade, my science teacher mrs. golding intercepted a note i was trying to pass to my friend jannette. unfortunately, all the note said was "Mrs. Golding is UGLY!"

5. a favorite pastime of young parochial school children filing down the hall is to hold up one hand and make the peace sign in the little windows in the doors of classrooms. in first grade, my teacher mrs. donahue got tired of this one day and slammed her hand through the window. the glass shattered and her hand was all bloody. who puts these people in charge of small children?

4. as a senior i took anatomy with mr. gasper. he relentlessly picked on me. once we were discussing the hardware in the penis. he asked the class how the penis knows to release semen or urine, then he called on me (i did NOT raise my hand). i said, "um, there's a flap." he said, "oh, no, susie baby, the girls are the ones with the flaps!" i turned very red. and, there IS a flap. jackhole.

3. last night i had class with dr. blankety-blank. i don't know if it was my broke ass or his incredibly long, boring lecture, but i tried to slit my wrist with the edge of a page of tennyson's poetry.

2. mr. calise taught me eighth grade english. he made me love writing. in my yearbook (several pages after my ugly mug) he wrote, "you are a very talented writer. i'll be looking for you to win the pulitzer prize... you can do it!" is that why i'm here? oh, good gracious, i hope not. but, i did love mr. calise.

1. in freshman religion class, sister deborah told us if we were struggling with sexual desire, it is best to masturbate rather than sin outwardly with another. now that i think about it, she was always such a happy nun...

Robot Chicken-Star Wars parody

2007-05-29T21:03:00.001-04:00

in honor of keegan - this is his fave.

He Loved Me Not

2007-05-25T19:33:00.000-04:00

leave it to the poet to select unrequited love. thanks, sandra!

my eighth grade year, i fled the shelter of parochial schooling and attended palm harbor middle school. not only did the students not wear uniforms, but they made out in hallways, cussed a lot, and had food fights in the cafeteria. please know i did not stand in judgment of such shenanigans - it just shocked the pee out of me.

as if being forced into such strange surroundings wasn't enough, i was UGLY. now, you say, oh you were probably cute... but trust me. i didn't got no alibi - i was ugly. i had braces and a poorly growing out asymmetrical haircut. i think i dressed like a dork. i have a yearbook - i can prove it.

still, i was not without love interests. i set my heart on jimmy schimpf. in my twelve year old world, i LOVED him. and, he knew it. in graphics class, i carved a keychain that said "i love jimmy." in shop class, i made a wooden clock in the shape of a football helmet, and meticulously painted the washington redskins logo on it. i gave it to my dad. that is a side note, but this post is on unrequited love, right?

jimmy was my friend, but he never gave me a second glance for anything more. i thought of him, looked for him everywhere i went, daydreamed about the day he would ask me to be his girlfriend, and of course, kissing him, though such realities were foreign to me. at the end of the year dance, he asked me to dance. but don't get excited like i didn't- he was just a nice guy who knew i'd lasted all year with my heart on him. it was sort of like end of the year charity.

there is nothing quite like admiring someone and not being admired back; it tends to confirm low self-esteem and negative beliefs. it is rejection of the heart - i say, "here it is!" and he says, "um. no thanks." hope is the only thing... i kept hoping all year that jimmy would like me when he never would. i think there is some safety in that... liking the boy who you know will never like you. i'm not sure what i would have done if jimmy had returned my favor - i probably would have run and hid.

the next year, my hair grew out, i got highlights and my braces removed. i ran into jimmy at the football jamboree at his high school, and he did a double take and stopped to talk to me with great interest. he said maybe he'd call me. but it was too late. i'd moved on to matt sipera.

he didn't love me either.

see, i told you i was ugly.

oh, but look! so was jimmy.

2007-05-24T19:22:00.000-04:00

marriedtothesea.com

Chicken Sweat Very Often!

2007-05-21T08:22:00.000-04:00

kara chose jobs.

the events you are about to read about are absolutely true. they really happened. nothing has been embellished or exaggerated. i am a little embarrassed about this.

my father's partner in cardiology was john k. dr. k had a wife named carmen and a son named sean. oh, my dear, dear sean k. i began babysitting him when i was about twelve and he was nine. i think his parents were paying me to be his companion more than his caretaker, but i didn't mind - $7 an hour plus dinner was unheard of in 1986. when i consider the various jobs i have had over the years, this one is my favorite. i will highlight select adventures.

he had a llasa apso named "cuddles" but he called her "sonia!" he had this squeaky, exaggerated voice when he did this that i so wish i could explain. like, "soooohnya!" once while on her back, he squealed, "sonia! i see your vaginia!" we once got out his camcorder and he put sonia in a chair. i sat next to her wearing a skeleton mask. he filmed us - my name was "skeletor's bride" and i was there to interview cuddles. when i asked her questions, sean would speak her answers from behind the camcorder. this exercise was complete with commercials. i sat on a stool with a guitar and sang the tune for doxidan (when nature needs a helping hand). sean was obsessed with a local weather guy named dick fletcher (danielle may know this guy!) and he gave weather reports. he would start, "hello, my name is diiick fletchah!" it was wild. he basically forced me into all of it, and although i secretly enjoyed it, i was MORTIFIED when he insisted on playing it for his parents when they got home. but, they did ask me back. what i wouldn't give for that tape now...

he wrote a self-illustrated book called "Alfredo's Alphabet Pritz!" sean had recently discovered that "pritz" was the german (i think) word for fart. alfredo was the main character who went through the alphabet encountering different pritz situations. A was alfredo. B was "Blondie Butt - she pritzes with her lips open!" C - "Catfish Caper - you can see the image of a bucking horse in his pritz!" H was just a scribbled mess with the heading: "Henry! Not Now!" i'm telling you, this kid was priceless.

i watched him a lot one summer during the day - we would walk to ponderosa and zayre, pushing a cart around, mocking their commercials... "notebook paper, notebook paper..."

he got me hooked on mary poppins. we watched it OVER AND OVER. and sang all the lines.

he had a little casio keyboard. one feature was that you could record up to four vocal sounds and replay them on four buttons. you could then do your own remix with the keyboard and the sounds/words. his four words: "chicken" "sweat" "very" "often" - remixed, it was like this: "ch-ch-ch-chicken, ch-ch-ch-chicken, sweat-sweat-sweat-sweat-sweat-sw-sw-sweat-sweat, very- very - v-v-very, oooooooften (he would slow this word down so it was low and drawn out).

this post in no way does justice to the most bizarre adventures i had with sean k. he was the greasiest, most obnoxious, yet wonderfully weird and creative person i've ever met. and his parents were straight-laced as they come. they paid me well - but i would have done it for free.

i googled sean k, thinking he is either a multi-millionaire creative wonder genius or in jail - turns out he is a life coach. go figure.

Curse You, Chin-Up

2007-05-15T19:22:00.000-04:00

... the kind you do in p.e. - not that sweet song that charlotte sings to wilbur.

i am fairly athletic and remember very much enjoying p.e. - it was like recess but with more structure. and orange cones. and red uniforms. but once a year, for one week, i did not enjoy p.e. - it was time for "physical fitness."

first, the class was divided into groups according to age; the red group with the older kids, the white group with the younger kids, and the green group with one kid - me. i was a full year younger than my classmates in school, and my standards for physical fitness testing were lower than theirs. this created sighs and dirty looks when they had to run 1.2 miles and i only had to run one. shut up, i thought, you will have boobs and a driver's license before me.

coaches stood over us with charts and clipboards, counting our sit-ups and timing our miles. i never did a single chin-up during physical fitness, but i grabbed the metal bar and pulled, turning red-faced and sputtering, my palms becoming red and chaffed. the clipboard carrying tyrant would utter futile encouragements while i hung there like a pathetic monkey with no hope of even doing a nose-up. i would drop to the ground humiliated, take my big fat zero, and move on to the metal pole climb where, once again, my lack of arm strength would bring me misery. i suppose there were benchmarks - certain things you should be able to do at a certain age. but i am now almost 33 and i still can't climb a pole or do chin-ups.

i reflect on this now, and wonder: wtf was up with physical fitness? what did it really matter how many chin-ups i could do? i've never given this information on any application of importance. it is not listed on my transcript next to my SAT scores. and, didn't they already know that fat sandy thurman would not be able to complete her mile in under 20 minutes? did they really need to test and humiliate her?

it would have been much more interesting if they would have measured, say, how many hot dogs we could eat in a single sitting on hot lunch day. or, more obscure talents like, jimmy mcknight can't do a single sit up, but he deftly picks up small objects with his toes. or, better yet, get sister therese marie's butt out of the principal's office and see how many chin-ups she can do. in her habit, of course.

My Dearest Blog Friends,

2007-05-10T14:40:00.000-04:00

i'm up. after serious contemplation, i have arrived at this topic: P.E.

Coke Nail

2007-05-07T05:52:00.000-04:00

sweet mya has suggested fingernails.

i have researched the phenomenon of the long pinky nail with no credible results - just a lot of forums and message boards with subject lines like, "what's up with the long pinky nail? LOL!"

apparently, it is more common among asian men. sometimes, it is a sign of wealth. more often, it seems to be used for very practical purposes - picking the nose, cleaning the ears, and snorting coke on the go. this last use was most commonly suggested among the blogs i read - it is referred to as the "coke nail."

but why stop at cocaine? what if we all grew our pinky nails really long and started using them as official measuring units? would you like some coffee? sugar? how many coke nails? it would save clean up while baking cookies if we only needed to add two coke nails of vanilla extract instead of messing with the little metal spoons.

once this custom is firmly embedded into our culture, the coke nail will invade our vernacular, and "coke nail" will replace words like "smidge" and "dash." upon breakups, one lover will say to the other, "don't you love me anymore? not even a coke nail?"

if this post is really bad, i apologize. i have been up since four; i didn't sleep a coke nail.

Who's Up?

2007-05-03T18:39:00.000-04:00

i've lost track... i think it's mya, but she's out of town. are we on hiatus? do we want to poll to see who still wants to do it?

while we're deciding, i have posted this picture. you must come up with a caption. leave in a comment if you want to play.

All I Want Is a Pair of Madras Bermuda Shorts

2007-04-30T14:39:00.000-04:00

is that too much to ask?

for some reason, i have chosen plaid bermuda shorts as my distraction from submitting final grades and various other pressures currently in my life. last week i looked in gap and old navy with no luck. today, after finishing my morning's work, i rewarded myself with a trip to the mall.

but wait, was it the tennessee strip on saturday night? no. it was the governor's square mall. i have never before braved the intimidating doors of hollister and abercrombie and fitch, but i had to because they have plaid bermuda shorts. they also have dim lighting, blaring music, and teenagey fashion models with low IQs manning the various clothing stops. i felt really OLD.

i found a pair of shorts on sale at hollister and finally found the dressing room for "bettys" in the maze of palm trees and trendy furniture. the guy opened the door and said what sounded like, "how many?" but i couldn't make it out over the techno rave, so i said, "WHAT?" and he said, "HOW MANY?" and i said, "TWO!" and then i said, "hey, sonny, what color are these shorts anyway? IT'S SO FREAKIN' DARK IN HERE!"

the shorts fit, to which i snub my nose at the teenagey fashion models, but they were tapered in the thigh, to which i say, if i wanted to accentuate my thighs, i would get short shorts. isn't that the point of bermuda shorts, to cover up the thigh in a loose, beachy manner?

needless to say, i found my dream pair at american eagle (and they had the lights on) but they cost $45. my new obsession - waiting for them to go on sale.

It's Not Easy Getting B's

2007-04-27T18:54:00.000-04:00

the last three days have been absolutely exhausting, physically, emotionally, mentally... typing even a sentence of my vic lit paper was like wringing out my brain, and it had very little to give. never have i struggled so much writing a paper, and in the end, it was half a page short and seven hours late. and for what? probably a B.

i said this in the beginning of the semester, i don't care if i get a B or two, and here it is, the end of the semester, and i'm probably looking at two. and i do care. just a little. not because i'm a grade freak. well, okay, i'm a little bit of a grade freak. but it's okay. i'm getting over it.

but if i had not done such extensive research, i would not know that victorians found a cure for the artificial anus, were obsessed with the uterus, and invented intricate belts to serve as anti-masturbation devices for both men and women. you can learn a lot scanning microfilm in dirac.

Am I Horrible?

2007-04-25T18:33:00.001-04:00

i have no time or energy to blog on the topic at the current moment, but i'll provide a preview. i am certain i should not think this will ferrell video is funny. but i do.

the landlord

2007-04-23T21:37:00.000-04:00

this graph is from my site meter. note the spike in the last few days.

have i been discovered? does the world finally appreciate my funny? did oprah link me up on her evil website?

none of the above. apparently, there are LOTS of google image searches for ugly babies. all the more reason to start the show.

2007-04-23T20:05:00.000-04:00

Ugly Baby No More!

2007-04-18T18:44:00.000-04:00

this week's theme, chosen by danielle: reality makeover shows.

hmmm. i don't really watch any. i've seen extreme home makeover and pimp my ride a few times. while waiting for channel 61 to appear on the tv guide channel to see if law and order is coming on, i occasionally get sucked into look alike. my parents are hooked on dr. 90210, which, although i've never seen it, i find slightly disturbing.

i'd like to propose my own idea for a reality makeover show. i'd call it ugly baby no more! parents of really ugly babies would be counseled in the first segment to admit that, indeed, their baby is ugly. they must confess that the obnoxious lacy hair bows, baseball caps, pastel smocks, and over-sized pacifiers were fruitless attempts to mask the obvious - baby is ugly. then, a computer artist would take a picture of ugly baby and digitally age it to confirm that indeed, baby will only get uglier as he/she grows older, causing him/her and parents more distress. once the evidence is irrefutable, the surgeon enters with a magic marker.

of course the surgery is dangerous - it is a baby. but parents must weigh this against the possibility that baby will be made fun of, never get married, and possibly end up on a more humiliating program like the swan. the camera will be delicate as it shows baby getting liposuction, nose job, hair plugs, and lip implants. then, while baby is recovering, parents are taken to gymboree to pick out a new wardrobe for soon-to-be-cute baby. puke stained onesies and faded glory overalls are thrown into an incinerator with glee and tears.

in the end, baby goes home bandaged, confused, and scarred for life, but he/she will be much better looking. i imagine a follow-up show. it could be big.

2007-04-15T12:32:00.001-04:00

2007-04-13T14:06:00.000-04:00

i am at all saints. i just overheard this conversation between two young men:

"knock, knock."

"who's there?"

"not dale earnhardt. (pause) you know, cause he's dead."

"uh-huh."

"did you you know dale earnhardt has a son?"

"yeah."

"what's better than being in the daytona 500?"

"what?"

"having a father."

"man. that's pretty mean."

The Ant Bully

2007-04-12T12:08:00.000-04:00

our most excellent friend, will, chose this week's topic: bullying.

i am aware there is a movie called the ant bully, but i've not seen it, and this is not what my title refers to. friends, i am a bully magnet. from birth, i have been bullied by my sisters and then their friends. in school, mean people (like carolyn shinsky) could verbally assault me (by saying doctors are all greedy jerks and their daughters are rich spoiled brats) and not only would i not retaliate, i would make efforts to win the bully's favor. in high school, i was often the "best friend" of the moody, pushy girl who would turn on me in a moment's notice, accusing me of not calling her back, not saving her a seat at lunch, or whatever. i have learned to live with pain in my stomach over the stress and walking on eggshells so as to not provoke the wrath of bullies.

but what does a lonely, stepped-on young girl do with all her rage? i took it out on ants.

frequently while growing up, i would step in an anthill and have to run and jump in the pool (yes, i had a pool - i was a spoiled doctor's daughter) to get the swarming fire ants off of my feet. our backyard was like a minefield of dirt mounds filled with the biting pests. in the evenings before dinner, i often armed myself with a bag of doritos, a metal stake, and a can of raid and entered my backyard on a mission to seek and destroy the pure evil that awaited me - fire ants.

i used the stake to disrupt the mound. i then threw a few doritos on top of the mess, and the ants would gather and cling to them, sucking in all the processed cheese powder they could. i waited. i watched them carrying eggs, scurrying around, wondering what had happened to their peace and quiet, pleased at the free gift of junk food. once the ants were out in full force, and the doritos were covered with little red bodies, i sprayed. not lightly - i sprayed until little pools of poison collected on the doritos and ants were curled up and floating. i sprayed every ant i could see, holding the button down until my finger turned white, and it hurt, and the mound was wet, the fumes invading my nose with deep pleasure. i think i clenched my teeth.

the problem was, i never killed the queen. in a day or so, the mound would resurface a few feet away, and my process would repeat. but i suppose my anger never went away, only worsened, and my attempted solution failed because i never really got at the root of the problem. i could still kill ants today, with no less momentary satisfaction.

perhaps i could imagine all my bullies as ants, biting at my feet, leaving sore, itchy blisters. i could offer them a dorito, then spray them in the face with raid. but then again, they would probably just resurface a day or two later.

2007-04-11T19:39:00.000-04:00

The Student Who Must Not Be Named

2007-04-11T11:35:00.000-04:00

grading papers stinks. there's no two ways about it. however, occasionally there are viewpoints expressed that serve to amuse me to no end. for instance, the boy who wrote a paper promoting the legalization of prostitution ending with the question, "after all, everyone likes sex, so what's not to like about prostitutes?"

this semester, i have shared about a student who expressed the opinion that transgender surgeries will wipe out the human race. for her research paper, this same student chose to write about abortion. other than the fact that abortion is an overwritten, cliched topic, i don't mind opposing opinions as long as they are well thought out. it is not a hot button for me. but this one... let me share.

first, she discusses abortion in the case of rape. she knows "lots" of people who have been raped and kept their babies and are doing fine. thus, she says, women who are raped and have abortions are "selfish and lazy."

next, date rape. according to her, women should be more careful about who they go out with and not be alone with a guy if they aren't sure about him. okay, fair enough, but certainly not all-encompassing. furthermore, she says, they were probably scantily clad, and were thus "asking for it." no joke. she said, "asking for it." and then, what are women doing walking alone? and if they must walk alone, have they never heard of mace?? yes ladies, if you are assaulted and raped, it is your fault for not carrying mace or getting to it fast enough.

i was gentle in conference. i told her if her purpose was to convince people on the fence, she might want to tone down the angry, judgmental rhetoric.

i then told her to go stroll down a dark alley.

2007-04-07T12:20:00.000-04:00

so i emailed the democrat yesterday and they called me around 4pm. my name is in the paper today - i now wish i'd said something more exciting or controversial.

note how they say the driver isn't named because he's a juvenile. no mention of how they named him yesterday. or how they got it wrong. dorks.

TDO has it all wrong...

2007-04-06T11:51:00.000-04:00

on the front page of the democrat online is this article about a high speed chase and teenager pulled from a flaming car. this is not exactly accurate. how do i know? i saw it happen.

i was loitering outside my home last night and heard a strange noise - maybe a car accelerating. i walked towards the noise, then heard tires squealing, a loud male scream, heard a loud crash, then saw a car plow into the concrete electrical pole in my neighbor's backyard. next - an explosion.

i ran inside, got my phone and dialed 911 - i did not realize that tallahassee drive dead-ended behind my street so i told them i thought it might be clare drive. my neighbors came outside and we saw a crumpled up patrol car (it hit the pole) next to a crumpled up black mustang with a bald young man inside. the engine of the patrol car was on fire, not the mustang. the fire was put out by us with fire extinguishers before the fire dept. even got there.

i watched them pull the boy from his car - he was bloody and limp. my neighbor got his camcorder. the officer in the article indeed tended to the driver, but did not pull him out of the car - ems did, securing him on a board, a bloody oxygen mask over his face.

very weird. why was i outside when it actually happened? maybe i'll write about it someday.

Drool on the Pillow

2007-04-04T16:55:00.000-04:00

v (not to be confused with b, or the old television program about reptilian aliens, or the movie with bald natalie portman, or this) has joined our blog ring and chosen this week's topic: guilty pleasures.

the first thing that comes to my mind is, of course, miller's cheese fries. but i don't actually feel guilty after i eat them. just happy. sometimes a little sick. i suppose the same goes for any food indulgence. i perhaps get a pang of "i shouldn't have eaten that" but rarely is this a guilty feeling. unless i stole the food from someone else, but i don't steal food. just rocks and lamps. sometimes pepper grinders.

i do however feel somewhat guilty after a nap. oh, i know, that isn't the forbidden fruit you were hoping for, but i love naps like linus loves his blanket, like edmund loves his turkish delight, like mr. krabbs loves money. sometimes i think i could sleep all day. for this, i feel guilty.

there are so many things to be done, so many responsibilities pulling me every which way, when i give myself an hour or two to indulge in a nap, i rise disoriented, frustrated that i have wasted time, and my list begins to weigh on my chest. things are dirty. children have homework. i have homework. things should be sent off for publication. today, i needed to go to the library but i instead raced home to grab an hour on my couch before i had to resume responsibilities. where is the alison winter book i desperately need? at the library. do i feel rested? not really.

in my defense, i don't sleep well at night. but lots of people don't sleep well at night. do they sprawl out on their office floor at the college of engineering while on the clock? keep a red squishy pillow on their office desk? drool all over b's couch? i can remember naptime in kindergarten when i was forced to lie down for half an hour on a cot but i never could sleep. how foolish i was to not appreciate the golden opportunities of my youth.

that was exhausting. i think i'm going to go lie down.

MAKE IT STOP!

2007-04-03T11:58:00.000-04:00

since the week's theme has not expired yet, i have something new to add.

currently, i am sitting at my desk trying to read for my class at 12:30. danielle is conferencing, mya is writing, katie is loitering. a car alarm outside (a repetitive honk) has been going off for about twenty minutes now. sometimes it stops, and we sigh in relief, then it starts back up again. WTF?

we did make up a dance to the noise. we call it "honking the horn."

sarah has noticed that the po-po are on the scene. we are looking out the window, watching them helplessly inspect the car. one has left a note on the windshield on a torn out piece of notebook paper. it has now taken three police officers to realize that it is indeed a car alarm.

the owner has now gotten in his gray sedan - an uncrippled frat boy with a buzz cut. the po-po may have determined that he is indeed not handicapped. the po-po are now conferencing at their suv while the non-handicapped driver waits in his now silent car. the shorts-wearing po-po is on the cell phone.

they gave him back his license and confiscated his handicapped parking pass. this is so much more exciting than the moonstone.

2007-03-30T12:48:00.000-04:00

Ghost Riders

2007-03-29T17:00:00.000-04:00

b's topic this week: things that piss me off.

this could be a series.

so who are the ghost riders and why do they frustrate me so? the ghost riders lurk in the halls of the williams building, particularly on the first and second floors. i have a feeling that they have returned in a ghostly afterlife after some kind of untimely death in an elevator shaft, or possibly after dying in a fire while trapped in an elevator. their mission: to piss me off.

i should first say that i am primed to be pissed off when i encounter the ghost riders and their shenanigans. typically, i am out of breath and in a hurry, having just walked 1-2 miles from my car with my 84 pound backpack on my shoulders. there are no lights above the ground floor elevator, so i have to lean my ear close, listening for movement, anticipating the arrival of the slothful transportation device. finally, when the doors open, i step inside and press "3" to get to my office where i will finally be able to dump my burdensome crap and pee.

the elevator takes off like a clunky old car, slowly climbing the shaft, and i say, "please don't ding, just keep going," but the ghost riders know this. they like to torment me. it is the only pleasure they have. the elevator stops on the first floor. the doors seem to take forever to open. no one is there. i frantically press the door close button, to no avail. i wait for the ghost rider to board and get his kicks. second floor. same thing.

so what seems like two hours later, the two ghost riders and i disembark on the third floor, and stumble into the bathroom where they forget to flush. yes, that's them too.

Everything's Yellow

2007-03-28T18:55:00.000-04:00

if pollen were pixie dust, i could fly instead of having red eyes and a throbbing headache. my van could fly too.

why, flowers, trees, nature, in the peak of your beauty, do i suffer so?

Now I'm Depressed

2007-03-27T21:11:00.000-04:00

i'm very sad today. but emma did finally get to dress up like molly brown and give her presentation.

so, who's up next? i'm ready for a new topic. and, do we have a new blogger/bloggers??

2007-03-25T21:38:00.001-04:00

i knew it was only a matter of time. it was going to happen sooner or later. this week, it did - per sandra, the theme is SEX.

This Little Piggy

2007-03-17T15:46:00.000-04:00

i understand why toes are called piggies. but why the market? why roast beef?

looney tunes characters were fond of this rhyme, like when sylvester the cat is hanging onto a clothesline by one foot, and tweety plays this little piggy until, "oops! ran out of piggies!" but the thing never changes. toes two and four always get screwed.

continuing in my celebration of feet, i would like to liberate toes (piggies) from their boredom and create a new mad libs version of "this little piggy" for all to enjoy.

this little piggy went to (place);
this little piggy (past tense verb) all night;
this little piggy drank (alcoholic beverage);
and this little piggy saw (excellent band) in concert;
and this little piggy went "(expletive, plural noun)" all the way to (exotic place)!

play along in a comment, if you like. your piggies will thank you.

Feet, Part 1

2007-03-15T20:18:00.001-04:00

one way to celebrate this too often scoffed at body part.

Just Kick Me While I'm Down

2007-03-14T22:38:00.000-04:00

when i put emma to bed, she feebly asked me to cross out today on her kitty calender. this is what i saw. she marked it as soon as she got the assignment.

will she get over it? she already has.

will i? never.

Sometimes Life Just Sucks

2007-03-14T08:44:00.000-04:00

two weeks ago, emma came home from school with an assignment. she had to pick an american historical figure and write a report. she picked "the unsinkable molly brown."

for the past week, she has been diligently preparing, taking copius notes, bugging me to help her on msword, and she has a polished 3 page paper, the result of her hard work and enthusiasm for the project. in addition to the paper, the students get to dress up as their historical figure and read their report to the class. that day is today.

last night, emma printed her report and beaming, read it aloud to me to practice. she found a plastic sheath to put it in so it would not get damaged. we found a great floor length black velvet and red chiffon dress in her closet (not sure where it came from), a string of pearls, and digging around in the garage, a black hat with a flower in it, just like molly brown wore in the pictures of her. i gave her a shakespeare book to carry. molly brown loved literature.

this morning at 6am, as i was sleeping on the couch, i heard footsteps on the stairs. emma came down crying, went into the bathroom, and puked her guts out.

why does this happen? certainly there are worse disappointments, but to an eight year old, this is big. all morning she has cried, angrily confronting me, she feels fine, why can't she go to school, she wants to see everyone else's costume. i want to look away, to run away, to not deal with her heartache. if i do, i cry. i have no words for her. it's school policy. it's not fair to the other kids. she'll get to make it up. maybe the teacher will take a picture. i'm so, so sorry.

really, it just f-ing sucks. i think the best thing for me to say is nothing. when she sees me cry, she gets it.

Here We Go

2007-03-13T18:53:00.000-04:00

greetings, blog friends. first, please welcome will to the blog ring. we love will!

this week: FEET.

blog amongst yourselves.

Woe Is Me

2007-03-11T22:27:00.000-04:00

i just wanted to say that I HATE GRADING PAPERS.

but i am learning things. for instance, transgender operations are bad because they will ultimately result in the extinction of the human race. oh, and did you hear? america is one huge melting pot of different races and cultures. and, get this: when guys sleep around they are "cool" but when girls do it, they are "sluts." can you believe that double standard?

okay. i feel better now. 26 down, 10 to go.

all quiet on the western front.

The Adjective Form of Therapy

2007-03-10T18:18:00.000-05:00

therapeutic. right? as in, "that therapy session was not very therapeutic."

parting with the noun and embracing the modifier puts a whole new spin on things. writing is therapeutic. so is drinking beer. and eating cheese fries. and watching movies. naps.

this therapy i like. as it turns out, the very things i am in therapy to change are indeed "therapeutic." i think i have just unlocked the key to the universe.

party on, wayne.

John Tesh Explains It All

2007-03-08T15:54:00.000-05:00

mya picks "therapy."

john tesh told me something today about therapy.

he was talking about binge eaters who get their stomachs stapled. once they have the procedure, they lose the weight and suddenly realize that being thin is not the answer they were looking for so they "switch addictions." the fat girl in wilson phillips had this problem. she got skinny and became an alcoholic. jt says that this happens because the deeper issues that were causing the binge eating in the first place were never addressed. therapy, he says, is the answer, not gastric bypass. thanks, john.

i wonder if this two minute snippet actually helped anyone, sent someone to the yellow pages to find that perfect counselor who takes his or her insurance. i wonder if the hour i spend in the counselor's office, and have spent off and on since the age of 14, really helps me. sometimes i think counselors, john tesh, and oprah (the antichrist) are extending a hand to help us up with a foot planted firmly on our backs. making us feel worse, making us feel like we need them, which in turn, pays their bills. dredging up the past is good, if it serves a purpose, but often i feel like i just sit there and analyze the week's events in light of my "story" and still run around in hopeless circles like a hamster on a wheel. is this just life? and, if it is, do i need to pay someone to listen to me talk about it? and this aspect of therapy seems counterproductive to boosting my self-esteem; you are only listening to me because I'M PAYING YOU. shit. i really am a loser.

of course, i don't mean that. i believe that the money i have spent on counseling is like donating to charity; i am very good at spitting out the same wisdom i am given to other people, and i say it with authority like i know what i'm talking about. and sometimes, i say it over miller's cheese fries.

which, coincidentally, i am addicted to.

the end. so sad.

2007-03-07T22:07:00.000-05:00

Say, Joey, Have You Ever Seen A Grown Man Naked?

2007-03-06T13:11:00.000-05:00

this week's theme: "nudity" a la katie.

the word "nudity" makes me think of movies. rated R movies. movies that are rated R because they have "nudity" or "partial nudity."

what is "partial nudity?" a butt cheek. maybe one boob. what is full on "nudity?" harvey keitel in the piano. i have heard of women who complain about all the naked chicks on the sets of movies and protest: what about eye candy for the ladies?

i ask, who are these women?

the movie the piano was up for an academy award. what do i remember about it? holly hunter got her finger chopped off and i saw harvey keitel's wiener. that's pretty much it. i have heard that men are visual creatures, enjoying the sight of the female anatomy, but i am no man. i had no desire to see harvey keitel's saggy business. it just appeared on screen out of nowhere, like a train wreck. i stared in horror. and, really... harvey keitel?

i'd much rather see harrison ford or liam neeson in a tuxedo.

Punk'd, AWP

2007-03-05T19:45:00.000-05:00

so how do two fiction MFA's from FSU entertain themselves at the VIP party on the top of the hilton? easy. we approach writers from various universities, claim to have been in their workshops, watch them squirm as they try to remember and then say "oh, yes, of course!" to top it off, we ask for a picture. katie was quite enthusiastic in this game, and i was proud to be her friend.

it got better when mark winegardner got in the action, first accusing us of being mean, then pointing people out for us to scam. note him giggling in the background of katie's picture with dan chaon.

good fun? we thought so. good for our writing careers? probably not so much.

but we did meet some neat people on the up and up, like tom franklin and todd pierce.

and, yeah, what's up with my freakish red eye?

read katie's version.

Is Krispy Kreme a Gay Hangout?

2007-03-04T11:27:00.000-05:00

will's nanny thinks so. this is us eating mexican before the VIP party; when we got to the door at nikolai's lounge, we were told that katie's invite was only good for her and one guest. i was the lucky cat chosen to accompany her and we made some trouble i don't have have time to blog about now. later, with pictures! off to little five points.

2007-03-03T18:35:00.000-05:00

it's been a full three days. i've been to some interesting panels: writing faith for the faithless, research and the novel. party nation led the awp disco on thursday night, a nice spectacle (see man dancing). b has forced me to talk to people i wouldn't normally talk to (see the green lady in the pic who was staring us down... i said what's up with the green lady staring? and b said, i don't know, let's go talk to her!) turns out she's from alaska and bob butler's book changed her life.

lee smith gave a great keynote address... touching, inspiring. i snuck into her after party but was disappointed because i didn't get to meet her and all the food was gone. tonight we are going to the VIP party with ann beattie... katie dirtied up an invite so we'll be legit. but first, we are going to cruise the receptions in search of free food (after all we are starving artists) but we unanimously decided that we cannot take any more cheese cubes. we draw the line there.

all in all, good fun.

AWP continued...

2007-03-02T11:44:00.000-05:00

AWP!

2007-03-01T18:14:00.000-05:00

we're here! the drive was fun. we decided that we would rather be able to fly than read minds or have the ability to turn invisible at will. katie made an official AWP soundtrack which provided us with listening pleasure. jessica told an interesting story about a flat tire that i can't repeat. b took a nap (see picture).

on my way to the hilton to mingle and try to get a book deal...

2007-02-28T19:49:00.000-05:00

why do i love katie? because she picks topics like "nudity." i'll have to think about this one.

My Life as a Cell Phone

2007-02-27T18:35:00.000-05:00

i want to customize my life like a cell phone plan.

here are the features i'd opt for:

rollover minutes. all my wasted time, 5 minutes here, 2 hours there, would be compressed and carry over to the following day or month. i complain i have no time, but i seem to spend a lot of time doing nothing, then rush at the last minute to get something done. if i had rollover minutes, which were measured by lack of productivity, this would not be a problem.

poor coverage. rather than wanting lots of bars, having too few would be convenient. then when i am talking to someone and wish to end the conversation, or i am called on in class and haven't done the reading, i can simply "drop" them. i'd just fall over or something. sorry, no coverage.

free roaming. easy enough; the freedom to go where i want, when i want, with no penalty.

the power to cause brain tumors. i don't really want to cause brain tumors. but it would be cool if there was a rumor that i did so people would be afraid of me.

a plug-in charger. i'm not sure where it would plug in to, but it would be nice to get recharged in such a surefire way, not having to toss and turn and wonder how tired i will be the next day. this could also save the red pillow on my desk from acquiring excess drool.

caller-id. but with people. i could see them coming and duck into the bathroom. if i wanted. (of course, if you're in my "in circle" i'd never use this option against you.)

my own personalized ringtone. like, when i walk in a room, my own theme music plays. not sure if i'd stick with knight rider. maybe diff'rent strokes. or alltel's theme- come and get your love! (not that kind of love, silly)

these are the things i think about. now you know why my vic lit presentation today sucked arse.

Beware the Internet-Savvy 4 Year Old

2007-02-25T11:56:00.000-05:00

trevor is quite skilled with a mouse. he deftly navigates web pages like thomas the tank engine, handy manny, and raven pinball. he pounds on the keyboard until he figures out which keys make things happen. thus, lazy, tired parent thinks to herself, how sweet, he's entertained and learning computer and critical thinking skills (pats herself on the back here).

however, this is not a good thing. a few weeks ago, he was playing a nice innocent fishy game on ebaumsworld, a game keegan plays, and keegan and i were watching television. keegan looks over and says, "what the?" he gets up and walks over. "uh, mom? trevor's watching video of sadaam hussein's execution."

the next morning, i walked by the unmanned computer, and there was video playing of two girls kissing. stricter monitoring started.

but this morning, he requested to play table tennis. i could hear the blip sound of the ball going back and forth as i did homework in the corner. all is well. until i start to hear explosions and blood-curdling screams. closer inspection revealed my son playing "staggy the boy-scout slayer II" - and, i must say, he's not bad with a sword. his black-clad, machete-wielding character made his way through the campground severing the heads off the unwitting boyscouts, occasionally slicing them in two. blood squirts, campers scream. trevor says, "c'mon, c'mon!"

maybe he will be a marine someday, or a computer programmer or game designer. maybe the boy scouts are actually evil, and he is fighting for justice. perhaps sadaam hussein's execution was a good life lesson. or maybe kids are one step ahead of us all the time.

now i hear gunshots. i think i will unplug the computer for good, evil box of death.

amish living sounds good about now.

Let Them Eat Crap.

2007-02-22T21:09:00.000-05:00

this is what the world says to members of the FSU english department.

every time i'm in pancheros i swear i'll never go again, but my memory gets fuzzy after about a month or two. so today i find myself crazy hungry at about 10:30, and becky and i go to get a snack... what are our choices? the sweet shop, southgate, boca, and pancheros. mmmm. oh, i forgot the wiener stand, which only takes cash.

i decide i will order at boca, continuing my boycott of pancheros because they charge for sour cream and will only sell you a bottled water (no free cup). bastards. anyway, i am looking in the cold case at the lovely chicken bacon ranch salads that have no time or date written on them, but instead a "v' or a "u." i ask the young man behind the counter, "what do the letters mean?" and he looks at me with glazed eyes and says, "uh, b is fresher than a." helpful.

i say, "but these have u and v on them." he then tells me that he's sick and can't think straight. as he moves to make a latte, i inspect the salads more closely. he then calls over, an afterthought, "the later letter is fresher." ah. this means "v." becky, who is only getting coffee, says, "looks like you should go with 'v'." i say, "looks like i should go with pancheros."

i ask the guy, "were any of them made today?" his reply? "I dunno."

i say, "well i think that's something you should know if you want my patronage." (or "matronage" as they like to point out at all saints). i say that like i was all up in his business, which would have been cool, but i really just said it under my breath to becky and an amused girl with strange piercings in line next to us. and then i figure, if they were made today, they were made by this guy who a) doesn't remember; and b) is ill.

needless to say, i chose the lesser of two evils, and paid over 8 bucks for a burrito and a coke, and that was with NO sour cream. it was mediocre at best, probably worse than that, but i was so hungry. and a little mad.

so, why do the business and science geeks get all the good food? the food court, einstein bagels, quiznos, and more? could i walk there? sure. should i have to? no way. I recently shared undercooked chicken fingers with mya at the sweet shop, so my choices are dwindling.

i guess i need to start bringing my lunch. or pursue a nursing degree.

2007-02-22T05:23:00.000-05:00

okay, so i thought my big goal was to get a novel published, maybe run a marathon, but i think i'd much rather aim at this.

Pustulio!

2007-02-21T17:28:00.000-05:00

thanks to b, this week we have zits.

i should begin by saying that i hate the word zit and am not much fonder of pimple. i guess i would prefer a euphemism like blemish, but it doesn't sound right saying, i have this huge, ugly blemish on my forehead.

in a particularly disgusting episode of invader zim called "rise of the zitboy", zim develops a large zit on his face (after rubbing it with bacon grease... it's a long story). he is at first worried that this will impede his mission (to take over the earth) by making him socially unacceptable, but then makes peace with the pimple believing it has power. he draws a face on it, gives it a fake clothed body, and names it "pustulio."

perhaps invader zim is on to something. maybe if i made friends with my pimples, gave them names, personalities, and special powers, i would be able to exercise restraint from picking and popping and otherwise making things 18 times worse.

so i see you at the grocery store.

you say, "hi."

i say "hi." and then i say, "say hello to frederica the great here on my forehead. she was a chipmunk in a former life, is very good at math, and likes sunsets."

now you have a personal connection to my blemish and it does not gross you out. and i have a friend i can talk to, who can help me figure out the tip at restaurants. not only have i avoided using the word zit, but how could i ever pop or even complain about frederica the great?

Reunited (and it tastes so good)

2007-02-18T15:09:00.000-05:00

if you love something, set it free. if it comes back to you, it's yours. if it doesn't, it never was.

it has been a long time coming. i have driven down north monroe street and fought that ache in my chest, that longing as i pass the closed down dairy queen wondering if it will ever return to me. there had been rumors... but every blizzardless day has been like a thousand.

last night i had a voice mail from my good friend paul, of paul and barrington, informing me that indeed, the dairy queen on north monroe had reopened. my heart danced with joy, not for the buffalo chicken strips or chili dogs or double bacon cheesburgers or even the parfaits - it is the blizzard i love, specifically the butterfinger, and i can sit in the staples parking lot and throw back a medium in 3 minutes, 23 seconds. i have complained that there was not enough candy, too much candy, or that it was not well-blended leaving nothing but ice cream at the bottom. i have ordered a medium or large and not finished it. i have driven by, and opted for a mcdonald's milkshake instead. it wasn't until my love was taken away that i realized my foolishness... perhaps if i hadn't been so picky, so unfaithful, it never would have left. of course, there were the rumors of unhealthy kitchen practices (which makes me wonder about the extra chunks in my blizzard) but another cliche came to mind: don't know what you've got til it's gone. i put on my cinderella cassette tape and cried.

but, my love has returned. first chance i get, i will drive thru, sit in the staples parking lot with my red plastic spoon, free ice water, and pile of napkins, probably listening to delilah... reunited and it feels so good!

What's Your Vector, Victor?

2007-02-15T13:33:00.000-05:00

this week's theme - flying in an airplane.

my sister has a mildly troubling obsession with air disasters. this does not keep her from flying, but it makes booking flights slightly more complicated. for instance, she must have a seat over the wing. in plane crashes, it has been shown that this area of the fuselage seems to stay in tact. she requests an aisle seat because it is easier to escape. she asks which plane model she will be flying on, and if the answer is a dc-10 or 737, she'll say, "i'm sorry, we'll have to do this over."

other tips i have learned from her: count the seats as you walk to yours to see how far you are from the nearest escape hatch. this way, if all the lights go out, you can count your way to safety. wear shoes that tie. slip ons will fly off on impact, and you don't want to run barefoot over broken glass and flaming metal. and, don't wear pantyhose. the intense heat will melt them to your legs.

there is other less useful information about microbursts and ailerons that really can't help you, but somehow, the knowledge leads to some sense of control. and this is it - while flying is touted as the safest way to travel, i am not in control. if it goes down, i go down with it, along with my tie shoes and panyhoseless legs. all her instruction is really no match for a $5 glass of wine.

Sucks to your Valentine's Day!

2007-02-11T08:38:00.000-05:00

arbitrary. that's what holidays are.

just ordinary days with meaning ascribed by men. no one can seem to pinpoint which valentine's day myth is true, yet we scramble around looking for a gift, a date, something so we won't feel left out of the collective celebration. humbug.

what is the ratio of happy to sad people on this day? how many people have true love to celebrate, and if they do, why do they need a designated day? i think more people are either sad, lonely, or disappointed with their date because they only got one so they wouldn't be alone (the same is true for proms). it seems to me valentine's day is a marketing ploy to generate revenue for card shops, florists, restaurants, counselors, and pfizer. if you love love so much, why do you need somebody else tell you when to say so?

where is the holiday for broken hearts?

now i sound like hope.

Rear-ended. Again.

2007-02-10T21:45:00.000-05:00

today, i was rear-ended in the turn lane to wal-mart. this makes the third time this month. what is about my rear end?

since i have a vast frame of reference, i am certain that today's incident was different. this person was going much faster. with no warning, my car shook and my head hit the head rest hard enough to hurt bad and make me dizzy. when i pulled into the murphy usa gas station (which gives you 3 cents off per gallon with a wal-mart card... i know this because i was sitting there for an hour), i got out and asked the guy for his insurance. he said his "foot slipped off the brake" but it seemed unlikely.

so i got in my van, contemplating. why should i feet guilty calling the cops? isn't that what one's supposed to do? my head, neck, and back hurt, so i called. i don't think the guy was happy.

an hour later, i had a police report in case i wake up unable to move tomorrow. my cowardice in such situations usually wins out, and while i still felt like a coward, i did the right thing. yay me! of course, if you read minivan confessions, you'll understand my slight panic waiting for the police man because i could not find my insurance card. although it would have been a typical, appropriate ending, i did not get a ticket.

hoping my neck, back, and rear end keep it together from here on out.

Dead Pet Diaries: Smudge

2007-02-09T22:06:00.000-05:00

i am guilty of catslaughter.

i didn't see the black cat coming. i was driving home from work and it just darted out in front of me. i heard the tell-tale "ba-bump" under my van, stopped, got out, and saw the poor thing dead as can be on the pavement, one green eye bulging out of its skull. i was very sad. somebody loved this animal.

i did not know what to do... should i knock on doors, looking for the owner and fess up? i thought i should. but i didn't. the cat's already dead, i thought, what would be the point? i went home for lunch, and an hour later when i left to return to work, the cat was gone. indeed, somebody loved him.

it wasn't until my daughter came home from school that it hit me. her friend three houses down has cats. shit. i asked her, "so, does savannah have cats?" and she said, "yes, two. chocolate and smudge." and i said, "oh." and she said, "well, actually, smudge died. he got hitted by a car." smudge was, indeed, a smudge.

it turns out that i knew the victim. not only did SOMEBODY love him, my daughter's best friend and her family loved him. i found this funny, this murderous secret, partly because the friend is bossy (see roger), but it really isn't very funny. i never told them. i never apologized. when savannah's sister introduced me to her new kitty, the one she got because "her kitty got killed," i smiled and said, "he's so cute."

this story has been so funny to me. but not so much right now; why wasn't i sadder? why did i not care for this girl and her pet? she must have been very sad. whoever found smudge in the street must have felt like she was punched in the gut. but i made jokes and hid.

perhaps it's not too late to go to hallmark and get a card for "loss of pet."

Dead Pet Diaries: Schweepie

2007-02-09T04:27:00.000-05:00

baby iguana
fresh lettuce, sweet fruit cocktail
why wouldn't you eat?

Dead Pet Diaries: Roger

2007-02-08T17:39:00.000-05:00

staying with the rodent thread, about two years ago, my daughter bought a gerbil. she named it something cute, like snuggles, but then spent an afternoon with her bossy little friend up the street and mysteriously declared later that day that her gerbil's name was now "roger." (for more on this neighbor, see a later entry on "smudge").

roger lived a strained existence. once emma lost interest (after about a month), he would sit, neglected. he had his wheel, but no playmates, and often his basic care was left to me putting away underwear in emma's drawer, looking up and saying, "oh, crap! roger has no food!" (substitute water, clean shavings, dignity here)

but then roger began chewing off his own tail. it was this tragic self-mutilation, this desperate cry for help, that caused me to lay down the law with my daughter, but i was undermined, no doubt. one day i came home and emma said, "roger ran away," and i said, "what?" and she said, "dad was cleaning out his cage and he ran away." she looked sad. a little relieved. i was mortified.

these things happen. parents give away pets and lie to their kids. sometimes, they release them into the backyard, reasoning that they will fare better in the wild than under the care of an irresponsible eight year old, and then lie to their kids. but it was not the same as dumping out my jar of captured caterpillars to let them go. this was cruelty and deceit at a high level. i would have at least fed him to the snake.

i have included roger in the dead pet diaries because i assume he is dead; frozen to death, or maybe dinner for a snake or a hawk. or maybe he found a nice little burrough and made some field mice friends, and they dance and sing songs and drink tea and tell stories by the fire. i'd like to think he has lots of cheese wherever he is. perhaps he is hiding, spying, plotting his revenge, hanging out at peta rallies, forming a gerbil army. wherever he is, i'm sure he is better off. my tail is chewed down to the nub.

Dead Pet Diaries: Willie

2007-02-07T16:30:00.000-05:00

when i was in about the sixth grade, my friend shannon spread the news that her hamster had babies, free to good home (unless they were cannibalized first). my sister mary and i went to her house and picked out our new pets from the litter. her hamster, willamena, was golden all over; mine, milliscent, was golden with a white stripe around her midsection. willie and millie.

they were sisters, we were sisters. they snuck out of their cage, later in life we would sneak out of our windows. they fought, we fought. they squealed and peed on each other; we drew the line there. after several violent squabbles, we decided to separate them. one would get the cage for a few days, the other a nice homey bucket, and then they would switch.

two notes. after a few months, my sister lost all interest in her hamster and they both became my pets. after about a year, i bought an untrained, mean but sweet dachshund named rusty.

okay, so i was not always nice to my hamsters. i would set up a pillow on the couch, stand far away, and gently toss them to see if i could hit it. it was like a beanbag toss, but with hamsters. rusty, a hound, knew these creatures were there, and i guess i may have occasionally teased him with them. maybe.

this is where the story takes a most unfortunate turn. it was willie's turn to house the bucket and i must have left it in a not so good place, because when i called for rusty, he came trotting in the kitchen, head high, fresh kill in mouth. what happened next was a whirlwind... i screamed, he dropped her, my sister kathy beat the crap out of the dog, we drove to the vet's office (on a saturday) because willie was not yet dead. but she was going to die. we sat in my sister's subaru and i cried and cried, holding poor, wet, bloody willamena in my hands. where was mary? who knows. she didn't give a shit about her hamster.

i believe this was my first real encounter with grief over loss of life. i sat in the bathtub and cried. i remember this, muttering small prayers like, "why? why did willie have to die?" not to mention, i felt just a teensy bit guilty over the teasing. i placed willie in a shoebox. next to her, i laid a rose and a wallet sized school portrait of me - short ugly hair, plaid shirt, dr. spock eyebrows in full effect. i dug a hole near a pine tree in our backyard and invited my family to come to her memorial service. i was DEAD serious. so we gathered at her graveside, kathy, my mother, my father, and where was mary, the deceased's rightful owner? she arrived just a few minutes late - she and her friend chrissy from down the street took some extra time to dress in all black and find veils to wear over their faces. i started to pay my respects, and everyone was giggling at my sister and her friend, and probably at the absurdity of my seriousness, and i threw the box down and stormed off with some dramatic expression of juvenile frustration. something along the lines of a tearful, "this is serious, nobody cares!" or "i hate you all!" or... something.

i forgave rusty, but not the rest of them. a few weeks later, my dad drew a sketch of rusty and put it on the fridge. "wanted for hamster homicide." the story is still told with feigned sympathy and suppressed giggles. but behind my old house on ranchette lane, buried next to a pine tree, lies a thom mccann box that once held saddle shoes. willie's skeleton, a dead rose, and a yellowing school photo of me lurk there like ghosts. none of us really ever had a chance.

as for the fate of millie and rusty... another time.

Dead Pets

2007-02-06T23:36:00.000-05:00

the problem with pets: they die.

my life is filled with dead animals, stories of love, loss, emotional attachment, and neglect. we buy pets to care for them, when really, they are the ones caring for us, our emotional deficits and need to be needed. i suppose there exists a genuine love and friendship between man and beast, and this is why hallmark has a small section under "sympathy" for "loss of pet."

my dead pets run the gamut: fish, hamsters, birds, a dog, a gerbil, monitor lizard, iguana, hermit crabs, and hong kong lobsters (fancy term for crayfish). what do they have in common? they were all under my care, and now they are all dead. i currently cannot choose one to focus on for it's late and i have a presentation to give thursday, but i plan to provide portraits of some of these beloved creatures who have gone to the other side.

so, millie, willie, rusty, shweepie, snowy, spirit, roger, cupcake, little mil, big mil, elmo, elvis, and the rest... here's to you.

Minivan Confessions

2007-02-04T20:31:00.000-05:00

things i found while cleaning out my van:

1. 28 pieces to electronic battleship (hey, you sunk my air craft carrier!)
2. 5 coats/jackets
3. the interview with michael baker i have been looking for
4. a fork
5. not a plastic fork from a fast food restaurant, a real fork from my kitchen
6. antibiotics from three months ago
7. an unopened christmas card from a friend in atlanta
8. chewy sweet tarts anyone?
9. 4 empty water bottles, 5 legal pads, and 86 gum wrappers
10.trevor's christmas artwork (would have looked nice on the fridge, i guess)
11. i blow my nose approximately 94 times a day. let's just say you could stuff a king size pillow with the tissues i found.
12. kelly bryan's wedding present
13. my dignity and self-respect
14. $2.45 in change

these are just the highlights. but, hey, tomorrow's a new day!

Fear Continued... and Realized

2007-02-03T15:49:00.000-05:00

yesterday i went to a local day spa and had a manicure/pedicure. of course it was lovely and therapeutic, foot and hand massage, lots of pretty, smelly creams and things, and paraffin wax intended to stimulate circulation. i told the lady that she better dip my whole head in the stuff, but she said it was not part of the service.

so, my fear of exposure. contrary to what you might be thinking, it was not a fear of removing my socks and being exposed for stinky feet. when i was finished, my nails were still wet. she told me she'd walk me out, so she grabbed my purse and keys and we headed up front. i thanked her, but she proceeded to open the front door and step outside. i told her i could get it, really, but she insisted. she opened my van, put in my purse, started my car, then put on my seatbelt for me.

if you know me well, you know where i am going. the interior of my van looks like a trash can, school locker, and halloween trick or treat bag all threw up in it. cleaning it out is on the top of my list, (i am NOT a slob, i just have some slobbish tendencies), but i was mortified that this woman saw my crap. and it made me think about my fear, and i decided that these things i don't want people to see... i guess i should contemplate them and make a list: "things that need to change" and "things that i am okay with, even if the manicure lady sees them." i'm not sure about my van in the long run, but it is getting a thorough cleaning today. well, but, it's cold out. maybe tomorrow.

Um... Not Quite

2007-02-01T17:29:00.000-05:00

so the coach decided to put me back in the game today, giving me a two week extension to finish up and make a smooth transition. we huddled in his office and he told me i had four fouls and was close to fouling out, but he wanted me to take it straight to the hoop. i asked him if i could just be a cheerleader, maybe a water girl, but he said, "no. you historian."

so now that i have thoroughly worn out my metaphor, i will stop, but i must add a special thanks to my faithful friend barrington, whose appointment as my engineering woes dumping ground has also been extended for two weeks. sorry. i'll try to keep it to a minimum.

Free at Last

2007-01-31T16:34:00.000-05:00

it's no fun to get benched. the coach trusts you - four-foot something, 6th grade point guard, number 21, jv high scorer - to make it happen. get in there little o'brien, she says, foamy spit gathering in the corners of her mouth, grotesquely obese woman chastising frail little girls for not moving their hips fast enough. but inevitably, some days you just don't have what it takes. the ref blows the whistle - you see janet donahue at the scorer's table, number 5, tube socks pulled up above her knees - and the coach points to you, motions, "sit." you run over, head high, slap janet's sweaty palm but don't look her in the eye, then watch the game from a metal fold out chair. you want your team to win, but you can't help secretly wishing airballs, travelling calls, and vicious fouls on janet.

i think i got benched today. after many months of harried writing with no solid final product in sight, i received an email from the coach's crummy little toady that i would be turning the project over to him. my first reaction - they think i suck, and that bothers me. my second - this information in an email? my third - i'm free at last!

i have not realized the pressure and stress this job has put on me until i contemplated freedom from it. unless they change their minds, which they have been known to do on a weekly basis, i will suddenly have time for school again, time for my writing, time for my life, time that is not clouded over by a looming deadline for something i'm not enjoying doing. but as i slap their hands, i hope to wish them well. of course, i wish them maybe a stolen pass or two, an elbow in the ribs, so they can appreciate my difficult situation and hard work. but beyond that, i hope it turns out to be the most phenomenal coffee table book that no one will ever read. after all, it will have my name on it.

Fear Not, Lindsay Lohan

2007-01-30T15:47:00.000-05:00

so the topic is fear. i have some petty fears, such as fear of vomit and/or stomach flu, witnessing a plane crash (when i see one in the air i am always certain it is going down), being trapped in my car underwater, and being taken over by andrea yates frustration and tossing one of my children over the railing from the second story of the mall. but the chance of any of these things happening to me (save for the vomit) is unlikely. just don't get offended if you are hunched over the toilet in need of a friend and i disappear to bathe myself in clorox, refusing to see you for at least two weeks.

perhaps all my real fears can be summed up into the fear of exposure. fear i will be exposed for not being as smart as my mother has always said i am. fear that in my english major, i will be discovered for being severely under read and for continuing to use sparknotes.com at the age of 32. fear that, while i put carrot sticks in my son's lunchbox to look good, he will tell his teachers that i sometimes let him eat cocoa puffs for dinner. my inadequacies, my failures, my bad habits, my idiosynchrasies. so much of the way i live is out of the fear of being seen for who i really am.

and what does all this have to do with lindsay lohan? absolutely nothing. that was just a cheap ploy to up my site meter. and if you happened upon my blog by googling linsday lohan, it's time to stop. your obsession is getting out of hand.

If I Were a Ghost

2007-01-27T21:19:00.000-05:00

when i lived in clearwater there was a desolate street with a rundown, supposed haunted house near the end. the legend was, if you drove down this street at precisely midnight with your lights off, a female ghost (i guess an inhabitant of the house, i can't remember the specifics) would appear in front of your car. i never did this and can't say i know anyone who did, but it was enough to drive by the street in the daytime and imagine it might be true. i also never made it into the bathroom at midnight during a slumber party to say "bloody mary" three times and see a bloodied female ghost appear in the mirror. i was afraid it was true.

i watched plenty of "creature feature" as a kid (hosted by dr. paul bearer). i remember watching "13 ghosts" which was particularly scary, although all i remember is a scene where a man gets trapped in a canopy bed and the top closes in on him, crushing him to death. he screamed a lot. it was very unnerving. but equally unnerving was watching whoopi goldberg almost make out with demi moore. patrick swayze's ghost, while kind and attractive, still had this notion of "unfinished business" that seems to be associated with ghosts, perhaps a human invention that gives us hope we will have some kind of second chance to set things straight. haunting for haunting's sake seems unlikely; ghosts are either tormented by not having a home in the afterlife so they have nothing better to do than torment us, or they cannot go to their final resting place until they have completed some task or reparation.

if i were a ghost, i think i would be much too busy to waste my time scaring people. assuming my task could wait, i'd probably spend the first three days or so flying through walls. or just flying period. i'd go to disney world for free, ride all the rides, have an especially hearty ghostly chuckle in the haunted mansion. i might look up ex-boyfriends and spy on them, maybe pull their pants down in a public place, but nothing too sinister. i could hop a plane to almost anywhere, see the world, only aching at the fact i could not eat. and, i would not have to fear a plane crash or even snakes on a plane. i suppose i would eventually get back to my "task" of exposing my murderer or contacting my mother to tell her i love her because my last words were unkind, something about her speaking out of turn regarding how i rear my children. and, if i had a passionate love in my life who i wanted to kiss one more time, if i really loved him, i would spare him the unpleastry of having to make out with the male equivalent of whoopi goldberg.