Of Bitches and Their Sisters

I don't normally like to bestow much pity on others (it encourages weakness). But I would like to give an ample helping (in advance) to the man that marries my sister.

Kudos to you, my future brother-in-law. And good luck with that.

...and a very merry Christmas to you as well also.

I am the ultimate Scrooge.

That is all.

Knitting

Yes, knitting. You heard me. I dare you to go double-check your reading of that title... go ahead. I'll wait. *waits*

Actually, it's really not that surprising that I've taken up yet another "Fling Hobby". I like to round myself out like that. Rooooouuuunnnnddddeeeeddd. It makes me feel like maybe I'm a complex, multi-layered young women. Some other projects of the past that have added to this layering include:
-crochet
-latch hook rug...ging
-jewelry making
-sand arting
-Creepy Crawler creationing
-wood burning
-paper making
-clothes pin doll fashioning

Basically, any children's craft that you can name, I've done. Except pipecleaners... I never understood those.

So this month, it's knitting. Which, I must say is the most peaceful hobby that I've ever encountered. You start out with some fuzzy colorful yarn that makes you happy and you put some loops on a needle. In the beginning, you anticipate this perfect creation worthy of any "Better Homes & Gardens" cover. You keep track of tension, stitches, and the state of your yarn. But then you start thinking...

I wonder what the people that I know and love would think if they saw me knitting right now. Maybe I should try to be more like that Jewish girl who knits gracefully in her lap during chemistry lecture. Man, Jewish people are fun. What was the name of that movie with Barbara Streisand as the Jewish boy who was actually a Jewish girl at Jewish camp... or something. I wonder if she knits. Probably not. I wonder what she's doing right now. Does it matter? I'm going to waste my youth away sitting on this couch knitting this... this thing. But that's ok. Youth is a little over rated. Why should I be out "partying it up" against my will? Why can't I just be aware of my good health and naively optimistic perspective and enjoy it for what it is? That's what youth is: basking in etopian ignorance while the misery that is life looms over your head, teetering like one of those pianos in every 1930's cartoon ever made that happens to be suspended by a single rope right over a busy sidewalk. Yes!!! *revelation splooge*

And then you realize that the scarf you were making is shaped like a kidney and there's a peice of bacon all tangled up in part of it.

I wonder what a revelation splooge looks like... *wonders*. More importantly, what does a revelation splooge smell like? Eh? Eh?!

(I was going to do something more heartwarming and festive, but it just didn't do justice to the persona that is Lester.)

Eat! Eat! Eat! (Part II)

I can't take these two day-long Thanksgivings. They make my insides aaaccchhhee. Today was more interesting, as I wasn't being dragged all over the house by a five year-old. That must be the only reason I'm here, everyone else gets to sit together and chat about life and love and living in general, and I serve as the distraction for the small children. Like a chew toy. Or a ball of yarn. Or TV. And no one seems to object, but then again, why would they? Afterall, it is the holiday of gluttony and relaxation, and they deserve a break. Surely the college student who sleeps and eats bagel bites all day won't mind if they dump a few children on her.

But that was yesterday.

Today was much much better. Until my uncle tried to bring up Intelligent Design with me. (Backstory: my aunt and uncle are very very Christianey Christians who interpret the bible word for word and lead a simple life in a remote area of northern Michigan, sustaining themselves on a generator and a small garden. Awesome.) Which was awkward as I've been an "Atheist-in-Disguise" for a while and think that Intelligent Design is a pathetic last-ditch effort for the kingdom of the Mega-church to get a hand in the scientific community. But I didn't say that. I could have said that, but I figured it was neither the time nor the place for a fight. And then I left the room for pumpkin pie... mmmm, gourds...

I was watching "Singin' in the Rain" last night, which, by the way, is a terribly wonderful hokey movie that everyone should watch and laugh at at least once before they die. And I thought to myself "Jesus," (because that's how I refer to myself these days)"this is terrible. Life doesn't unfold this way. People don't talk this way. This film does an absolute injustice to the time period that it's trying to capture." Then as I watched more of the onslaught of color and dance, my mind stumbled upon a whole different line of thought: "Jesus, Jesus! What if... just what if movies weren't made to represent the time period. In fact! What if movies were the antithesis of what was occuring during the time! And we should analyze film as a world unto itself, like a reflection in a rippling pool of water! And! What if my right knee cap is actually Henry Kissinger's lost virginity and the entire world has the consistency of creamed corn!" And then I put away the LSD.

The End.

P.S. I'm coming home for Christmas! Or New Years... actually, it will probably be that week or two following New Years where everyone is sitting around being bored as hell and wishing that there was a voluptuously chubby white girl around to entertain them with her whimsical annoyingness. I'll keep you updated. I want to see everyone! Yes, even you!

P.P.S. When is everyone going back to school?

(To be chanted in frat-boy manner) Eat! Eat! Eat!

Yeeeeeaaahhhhhhh!!!! Dude, you are the fuckin' shit. The shittiest shit, dude. Yeah. Sweet!

I'm done. Holy shit, I just consumed a lot of food. My pancreas is screaming at me. I imagine it with a thick Cockney accent... *imagines*... "You bloody bitch! What do you I look like to you, eh? A frickin' bicarbonate factory?! I've got the bloody gall bladder spilling his bloody bile all over me. For 4 hours straight!!! You'd think that damn jaw of yours would 'ave given out by now, but noooooo... it just keeps comin'. Well I've 'ad enough of it! I'm through with this 'ole bloody production *apoptosizes*." I really should brush up on my British slang...

I still can't believe I didn't die on the flight from Ithaca to Michigan. I was pretty sure this was going to be the one. A day or so before the flight, I always get these very vivid daydreams about the plane falling out of the sky. Or the passengers all clinging to one another, weeping helplessly. But the more I think about it, the more I think it would be a really kick ass way to die... besides the whole... dying part. Your life ends with this great roller coaster ride, you feel nothing, you make the news, and... you get this great roller coaster. But I'm not dead. Not just yet.

My Michigan "unhome" (as I fondly call it) is... weird. I might even go so far as to call it "bizarre", but I'm not in an adjective mood today. It's like you've rented a really nice condo on a lake... except you live here. Now if I could just shift it a few thousands miles south, it would be perfect. *runs out back and starts pushing on house*

So here's an idea... a totally unfeasible, unreasonable, craaazy idea. But an idea nonetheless. I think everyone that I know and love should pile into Jeff's Prism this summer and take a road trip to Michigan. And along the way everyone should crash at my condo-house for a week. There is a helluva a lot of room in this damn house and it needs to be filled... with people that aren't my family. Yes.

And when the time finally comes to leave, we'll make a rule that the last person in the car has to stay and live with Lisa's parents. Yes. Is good.

It's like the second coming of Christ... or something...

teehee... coming... what?!

Bellami is back, bitches! *points to link in sidebar*

I just done did shat myself.

I Give to Thee Thine Gift of Ye Olde Randomoscity!!! ... and Mediocre Old English

Hello again. How are you? I worry about you sometimes. I wonder if you're really enjoying where you're at, what you're doing. Are your thoughts pure? Are you motives strong? Did you change your underwear this morning? Are you even wearing underwear? *suspiciously raises eyebrow*

Erin, I didn't return your text message last night because for one reason or another I was exhausted and collapsed in my bed before I could think of anything witty to say. Sorry. I wish I could have danced with you.

Katherine, my vitamins are called "Multi for Her with Calcium and Iron" (don't judge me) made by Nature Made. The bottle is yellow and purple... just in case you still cared... even though I should have told you a month ago.

Bellami, I love you. Everytime I see a poem that I hate, I think of you and how you never tried to force poetry on me. Thank you.

Meagan, I love your hair. We need to get you some gel/wax/crazy carcinogenic hair product and make you all spikey and kick ass.

I bought some new shampoo this weekend, which, I think, is rather exciting. It's Herbal Essences and smells of God and Jesus and Chocolate rolled into one. The only think that pisses me off is the back of the bottle. (Yes, I am a loser who reads the backs of bottles). The back of this particular bottle reads "... my weightless formula fused with white nectarine and pink coral flower... and my fresh lather will leave you with lush, full volume...". And I thought to myself, why is my shampoo bottle addressing me? Does it things it's a person and not a bit of plastic fashioned into a hollowed out container? Because somehow a product that talks to you like it is a person is more appealing to the consumer than a normal bottle that knows its place in the world as a bit of plastic? What the hell kind of a marketing scheme is that?

This is the longest my hair has ever been. Ever. Just in case you cared.

As for politics... I'm glad that something changed. Who knows if it will be for better or worse. Rumsfeld is gone, only to be replaced with some other guy who has connections to the Iran Contra Scandal... mmm, delectable. We finally have a Muslim in Congress. And Texas is still run by a douche-bag and controlled exclusively by Republicans... delicioso.

Young people are so bitter. Why?

*looks around*... this room needs more plants...

Secrets of the Feminine Mystique... REVEALED!!! ... maybe.

So I was thinking about girls the other day... like the crazy would-be lesbian that I will someday aspire to be... and I realized something (otherwise, I wouldn't be blogging about this). (Most) girls don't want to fall in love or find Mr. Right or settle down in a nice home, make babies, and take Valium all day long, oh no. We just want to be admired. We all want to be that unreachable heroine with nerves of steel and a chastity belt of wit. We lead people on that we know we'll never be interested in. We let them swoon and hope and get frustrated and then we cut them off just when they're about discover us for the dull simpletons that we truly are. And we move our happy caravan of flirtation onto the next unfortunate soul. Such is the way of the Cock-tease.

...or maybe that's just me...

...that's probably just me...

Does anyone else feel like maybe women have lost a lot of the mystery they once held? When I think of a "sexy woman", I think Audrey Hepburn and Ginger Rogers and Melly and Scarlett (who were both sexy in their own ways). Maybe it's because I've been stuck in the "college experience" for a while now, but I just don't understand how spandex and short skirts are sexy. They may be sexually arrousing, but they aren't sexy. At least by my standards. Someone who knows when to talk and when to listen. That's sexy. Knowing the difference between "classy"and "trendy". Hot. Wearing as little clothing as possible and throwing all your inhibitions into a dixie cup of cheap beer... not so much.

The moral of this story, children, is if you want to get into Lisa's pants... *draws a blank*... shit, I don't even know how to get into my own pants. If anyone figures it out, let me know...

It's snowing!!!!

Dammit. And I have to walk across campus for a prelim in an hour. *In sarcastic tone* Good timing, Mother Nature! Geez... dirty whore. *Is destroyed by a pack of rabid woodland creatures*.

Have you ever had one of those moments where you're in your dorm and you can't find your keys? And you think to yourself "Shit, I forgot my keys somewhere!" and then you realize that you wouldn't be in your dorm if you hadn't had your keys when you got there. And then you look outside and they're stuck in the lock. Good times.

If you could make up any major you wanted and pursue it for 4 years, what would you study? I think I would major in "Baked Goods" or "Random Facts" or "Touching Yourself". Or!!! I could major in "The Sex Talk" and people would hire me to come and have that awkward discussion with their children about sex. That job would kick ass! I would bring a Barbie and G.I. Joe to demonstrate. Or a Tickle-Me Elmo and a Stretch Arm Strong. Is Elmo a girl or a boy? And why can't I find a Bondage Barbie (complete with handcuffs and 3 different colored ball gags!).

Did you know that Karl Rove's father was gay? I did not know that. I heard it on NPR so it must be true! I feel kind of bad for famous people sometimes. I would never want to be famous.


Why can't women close their mouths when applying mascara?

Who would make a better child molester, Santa Clause or The Easter Bunny?

The Week (in a nutshell)

This week was a bitch. I haven't been returning people's calls of interracting much with anyone simply due to the fact that I had a shit load of shit due. So... I'm sorry. But I will talk to you before the end of this weekend. Have no fear! (As if this were the kind of thing that would keep you tossing and turning at night... psha!)

I feel kind of like an empty shell. Like the dead xylem cells of plants (which are actually much more fascinating than they made out to be). I don't really think much about my life or why I'm here doing the things I do. I just do them. All the knowledge rushes through me and I'm pretty sure I'm not retaining any of it. I'm making good grades and haven't gotten sick or contracted any VD's yet, but I still feel like somethings missing. I think it's that life-changing revelation that everyone seems to have in college. I haven't even begun to even think about an inkling of a revelation, that's how far behind I am. Sure, there's stuff about Darfur and migrant workers and child labor everywhere. And they do make you think. But they don't inspire. Or maybe they do and my dead xylem of a self is just completely missing it.

Went downtown and got pierced today. 'Twas fucking awesome! The guy I was with got his nipples pierced. The guy doing the piercing said there are only 3 other places that are more painful than the nipples for a guy... I think you can guess the general vicinity they all occur in. So not only did he get these really painful piercings, but he did it with a 10 guage... yes, 10! He almost passed out and couldn't walk up straight for the rest of the night. But no one really cares because you weren't there and you don't know these people and none of this really pertains to your life in anyway. So I'm going to shut up now.

And then we went into some hippie stores and a sex shop. All I have to say is damn, there's a lot of porn in this world. And dildos. I was really tempted to buy this slutty "Border Patrol" costume, except for the fact that I have no use for it. Damn.

Wow, that's all I have to say. I remember when these blogs actually had a purpose... *reminisce*... oh well.


Muh ear!


I didn't know I could do that with my face. Oh, the things you learn in college.

Imaginary Conversations

Random Person: Man, this professor is whack. How the fuck am I supposed to get the fucking concepts? What the hell? That's fucking bullshit. I hate this class, I hate this professor. God damn this fucking ivy-league bullshit.

Lisa: Yeah. Hey! You know what major you should really consider?

Random Person: Huh?

Lisa: Oh geez... what do they call it? I know they have it in Arts and Sciences... oh yeah! You should major in "Go home you fucking pussy if you're going to act like a 7 year-old everytime you're presented with a challenge. Why are you here? Why the fuck are you here? Of course the professor doesn't care about you. You're a goddamn freshman, it's not his job to care. He's paid to teach. If you're just going to bitch and moan and curse everything that doesn't cater to your every need then just go the fuck home." Yeah, that's definitely in Arts and Sciences.

Because I'm turning into an evil bitch, that's why.

Sleep deprivation does these things to people, it's a fact!

Damn, I hate poetry...

...except this one.

For the Record

To write you a poem
unsure and uncaring
whether you'll find
it years afterwards
and think, was he smart,
wasn't he, was he clever,
wasn't he, wasn't he a wonder.

Not to care except
to have you read it
and think, he loved me.

-Gustavo Perez Firmat


Go free, little poem. You've avoided my wrathful scorn for now...

A Black and White Weekend

I don't consider myself to be a prude. I really don't. I've always kind of thought that I was that open-minded, free spirit that didn't judge, but would never actually take part in a drunken orgy or weed or one night stands.

But Saturday night I went to my first frat party and it was... disgusting. I understand how something like that might be fun... but one must be very very drunk to fully appreciate it. I didn't get drunk, unfortunately, rendering me the "uptight chick" in the corner of the room, her arms firmly crossed across her chest in an uncomfortable, protective way.

And then we danced. It wouldn't have been bad if it had been me and a bunch of girls. Or me and... myself. But I had the priviledge of having a large, inebriated white boy dancing with me. For some reason, I felt really uncomfortable in that sweaty, pulsating mass of bumping and grinding (I wonder why...). Under different circumstances it might have been a funny situation that could be laughed off and recalled later with amusement. But it wasn't. I just felt like I was being fucked really hard by someone I really hated. I wasn't actually being fucked, but I just had this helpless, "you got yourself into this situation" feeling. For about 2 hours of the night I wanted to cry and wash myself and throw up all at the same time.

Sunday I went to a "team building" outdoor activity thing in some remote section of the woods. There was a happy little hut with a hippy of man inside and he encouraged us all to be thoughtful and introspective. And we played little games and ate pizza and it was fun. FUN! And no one was drunk or grinding or chugging beer as quickly as they could so they didn't actually have to taste it.

In conclusion, frat parties: never again. Hippy happiness: definately.

Now I know.

Erin has inspired me...

... to bring out my inner-angry vegetarian and blog about why I don't eat meat. So here she is. We'll call her Chelsea. That's a good "pissed off name".

It's not because I care about animals. To be honest, I don't give a shit about animals. And this may just be some unfounded, pissy bitching, but I think the only reason people do care about animals is because of the "cuteness factor": the big-eyed appeal that goes with innocence and helplessness. I also think it has a lot to do with the fact that animals are very very simple. It's easy to figure them out. Granted, there are some cats in this world that are more complex than women, but for the most part, you can scratch behind a dog's ears and they will be your best friend forever. That's it. No conversation. No dissection of personality or motivation.

I'm not a vegetarian for religious reasons (I'm still just a confused little agnostic) and it's not for environmental reasons and (for now) it's not for ethical reasons. To me, it just feels like a healthier lifestyle. Vegetarians generally consume less saturated fat and cholesterol (which is a good thing) and get more fiber in their diet(which is a good thing). It's troublesome to think of myself eating something that was born to be killed and eaten. Not only for ethical reasons, but the fact that cows are now considered a commodity. Which means that you're working for the largest output. Which means that you're pumping them full of all manner of hormones and steroids and... icky icky things. And then I'm eating that.

So I don't eat meat anymore. In fact, I can't eat meat anymore. There's something about looking at steak that reminds me of my own flesh. The idea of sinking my canines into a steaming chunk of animal, and feeling all the sinewy fibers ripping as I tear it from the bone... is really gross.

So that's that...

And as far as veterinarians go!!!! Well, while we're here, I might as well bitch about them too. I think the quote that sums up my disdain for pre-vet people the best is: "Oh no, I could never do pre-med. I don't want to get anywhere near people." So you would spend four years and thousands of dollars on vet school to cure some rich fuck's puppy, but taking care of your fellow man is just out of the question. Hmm...
That's why I can't work at the SPCA anymore. There are too many people in need to be finding homes for kitties and puppies. "Warm, happy, feelings" community service is bullshit.

Well... that was fun!

"... i was homesick and i was high..."

... except I'm only one of those things. Guess which one! Guueeeessssssss...

God damn, I don't want to do anything. Even The Sims has lost its appeal. I just want to go somewhere, throw myself spread eagle on the ground, and see if anyone actually gives a shit. I would go get some ice cream to cheer myself up, but it's just too far away. And then I would have to go through the trouble of that whole digestion thing. This must be what those kids who never did anything in school felt like. Going to class only because the state made them... and sitting there scratching themselves and picking at their nails. It's especially sad because they probably didn't really have anything better to do.

Life Update: -Was thoroughly raped by my chemistry prelim last night.
-Was thoroughly raped by my biology quiz 10 minutes ago.
-Am going home for the weekend (and Monday).
-Am really super-duper stupendously excited... but am too drained of energy to show it right now.
-Am really really hating the cold. It makes my nose sad.
-Am hating my parents for moving to Michigan. It's just not fair.

That's all.

I'll blog more tonight. When I feel the urge... *shrugdie*

Because I needed to write...

Egghead and Me

I got here early so I wouldn’t have to deal with the crowd. That’s what it’s all about these days: avoiding the onslaught of bodies that accompanies every dining hall, every lecture, every aspect of life these days. I look over the outline for the lecture, and breathe a sigh as I sink back in my chair. Another ninety minutes of the meditative rehashing of simple concepts. It’s as big an ego trip as Chem 207 is ever going to give me.

And then he sits down next to me. He doesn’t really sit, it’s more like a flying leap, followed by a good minute of rustling and then settling into his seat. Beside me.

Why?

“Oh hey, wassup? I didn’t see you there.”

You short little fucker, you knew I was here, that’s only reason you picked this seat. That’s the only reason you flung yourself over 5 other people for a mediocre view that’s seven rows away from the professor. “Hey. Nothing really.” My words are come out cool, like the gritty slap of flesh against concrete.

He says some things after that, but all I can really make out is the word “dawg” dispersed here and there and the way his jaw, attatched to that egg-shaped head of his, seems to have a life unto itself. “Yeah, medical school is dawg eat dawg, man. Dawg eat dawg.”

I nod politely. That’s what I’m supposed to do. That’s the submissive, bitch-like position that I assume as the listener. Really I want to slap him. To take my pencil and drive it deep and angrily into his spiral notebook, to kiss the top of his egg-shaped head. Just to shake up the system. I just keep nodding.

The woman at the front of the room starts to lecture. Her arm fat ripples with each dash she makes across the blackboard. I wonder what my own arm fat would look like if I wrote on the board. I wonder if anyone else is as aware of that jolted rippling as I am. Beside me, Egghead is making offhand comments and shouting out answers. Some are wrong, some are right. He doesn’t seem embarrassed either way. Behind me people are laughing, throwing tight little wads of paper at one another, making farting noises. For a moment, I’m back in high school; a really expensive high school that I pay “one really nice car” –worth of money to go to every year.
I can feel my lips pursing into a tight frown. I try to relax, but someone is bouncing their knee up and down on the back of my seat. I bounce right along with them. It kind of feels like rape. Or how I imagine it might be.

I copy a few of the simple concepts from the board. Things I’ve copied a dozen times before (at least). Things that any high school sophomore would probably know, but that I’m paying thousands of dollars to learn. I painted my nails a deep red last night. The paint has little glittering flecks of some unknown substance in it. Probably fish scales or baby tears or something. An ingredient so precious and bizarre that only the cosmetics industry would think to use it. Against my striped sweater, I realize that my arms look like the legs of the Wicked Witch of the East after she was crushed by the house that fell from the sky. Those crumpled limbs that would eventually wither and retract into themselves. Maybe someday I’ll do that to.

But first I need to be crushed by a house.

Egghead is talking again. Something about orbitals. Something about nodes. Some one throws a piece of paper and it rebounds off his head, but my mind switches gears and suddenly I’m thinking about you.

It always happens this way; the steady, persistent ache suddenly culminates, like the subtle pain in the arm that eventually turns into a heart attack. I think of the next time we’ll kiss. I imagine it as a rush of oxygen or those first desperate gulps of water after days and days of thirst. I wonder if you remember that one time when we fed the ducks on that precarious bench that teetered right over the water’s edge. The ducks didn’t come to us that day (they had other things to attend to), so we sat together and watched the soggy wads of bread on the water’s surface.

And then the fishes came. Like sneaky little water elves, they came to the surface and made short work of the duck’s forsaken bread. All they left was a quick popping noise and a few ripples. It’s amazing how wasteful humans can be (like feeding perfectly good bread to fat ducks) when the rest of nature works so hard to conserve. I probably had my head on your chest as we sat there. I could probably hear your heart beat, but I would never admit to something like that.

Egghead says something to draw me out of my dream. I go kicking and screaming back to that place that I don’t want to be. To what degree I don’t want to be here, even I’m not sure.


(You have no idea how hard it is to take a picture of your own hands.)

Why am I not a lesbian?

All the signs seem to indicate that I should be: I loathe men (and have been doing so for a very long time now), I'm all uber-feminist powerey, I want to poke vaginas for a living, I played softball for 10 years, I'm butcher than Rosie O'Donnell...

... yet I am one of the most boy-crazy people you will ever meet. What the hell!? *pokes self* What the hell is wrong with you?

It's not that I don't love women. I do; there are plenty of female attributes (both physical and psychological) that I find fascinating. They just don't... turn me on. At all... ew.

Plus it's so much fun to watch men writher in their own pent up hormones. Flirt and provoke them until they eventually expose you for the cock-tease you are and realize that you were never really interested to begin with. Lord your poonanny over them like a particularly naughty little boy holding a bone just inches from a dog's nose. You just can't do that with women... well, I'm sure you could, but it's not nearly as fun. Women are too difficult. Too emotional.

Maybe when I get tired of being a little heterosexual slut, I'll transcend to greater homosexual feats. But until then, I do love me some throbbing passion sceptor... and Oskar. He's such a nice boy.

So that's that. I'm sorry you had to read it.

Prest-o Change-o!!!

Lisa Version 2.0 (Brunette Style)

On to the peircings!!!

The War Rages On

Do we have way too much time? Yes. Will this pathetic project take over our lives and cut into our studying and over all collegiate success? Probably. Do we care? No.

Walk Wars! (Video courtesy of Oskar Cortez and his mad video makin' skillz)

A Smattering of Events... *splat*

My what a productive week... but not really. For the last 4 days I've been going on 3-4 hours of sleep, chugging coffee between classes, and desperately cramming impossible amounts of biology into my brain. And then I took a prelim... and got a 75. Which seemed bad at the time, but listening to other people describe their grades, I'm fairly certain a curve will be in store. Thus is the way of college.

How are you? I miss you so much, why don't you ever call me? You have my cell phone number. Is it so hard to pick up a phone and give a lonely girl in Ithaca a ring every semester or so?

Everyday I check the 3 day forecast for Ithaca on the internet. And everytime I look it always predicts rain. Every damn day it's supposed to rain. But it never does. Why is that? Who is making these predictions, and where do they get the cojones to be so damn pessimistic? I bet it's some bitter old man who thought that "Meteorology" would involve travelling the world and being blown over by hurricanes and sucked up into tornadoes... but he got stuck behind a desk, carefully monitoring colorful blobs of precipitate on some fancy radar device. He must be a very sad man.

Is it unhealthy to be emotionally attatched to a plant?

You know what's amusing? Obsessions. Yeah, I know! Crazy, right? I was listening to some music from "Moulin Rouge" and it totally rekindled memories of that summer when I would watch it 2 or a 3 times a day. Everyday! In honor of the childhood obsession, I am going to rack my brain... for a couple of minutes, or until I get tired... and recall all the obsessions I've had over the past 18 years...

-Thumbellina (5 or 6 years old)
-"Little House on the Prairie" Series (7-10 years old)
-The Spice Girls (8 years old)
-Cats (the Musical) (10 years old)
-Seth Green (11 years)
-Moulin Rouge (13 years old)
-Elijah Wood (14 years old)... oh man, good times... goooood times.
-Coldplay (14 years old - present)

I just got invited to go "sake bombing" with the rest of my floor. For those of you that aren't drunken Cornell students, sake bombing is done at one of the many many local asian restaurants; the waiter brings out a small cup of sake and a big bowl full of beer, and you are to bang your fist on the table (thus tipping the sake into the beer) and then drink the entire thing as fast as you can. This could be wrong, but I wouldn't know... because I've never been. I'm just the lonely girl at the end of the hall who sits in her room cramming biology concepts into her head until the wee hours of the morning...

No sake bombing for me... I have other tasks to tend to *mischievious laughter*.

Have you ever thought about the things that you use? Like really really thought about it for a length of time? No? Ok, nevermind... *awkward silence*... *whistles listlessly*... well I have!!! And the more I think about some things, the more unnaturally they seem... like tampons! And the eating of meat and those giant sunglasses that girls with Louis Vuitton handbags like to wear that cover 66% of their face. Where did these things come from? And when did it become completely natural to plug up your vagina like a bottle of wine or something?

Bare Bones, Bitches!!!

Man, I love the letter B. It looks like boozies!!!

So, as promised, I've decided to post the bare facts of my life right now. Lifeless tid bits of information that are the outline my existance. This is strange, because I'm usually not up for talking about myself... like this. I like to talk about thoughts I've had or stupid things I've seen or philosophies I've formulated as I trek to and fro over Cornell's gorges and muddy, sketchy, steep paths. Forgive me if this gets awkward.

Location: Cornell University in Ithaca, NY.(It's the little star on the map)

Housing: I live in a single's dorm (against my will) in a big ass residence hall with like 300 other people. I'm serving as secretary on the Executive Board for the residence hall in a half-assed attempt to become an RA.

Classes: Biology 101, Inorganic Chemistry, Nutional Science, Introduction to Latino/a and Caribbean Literature, Belly Dancing

Social Life: Hahahahahah....ha! I wish!

Career Aspirations: As cliche and overly ambitious as it sounds, I really want to be a doctor. I love disease and the body and I could sit around picking through stool samples and poking festering growths and listening to people bitch about their ailments all day. It makes me the happy.

Other schtuff: -I'm a vegetarian now. Surprise!!!!!
-My hair may or may not be a different color the next time you see me... *mischievious eyebrows*.
-I will pierce myself many many times before this year has ended.
-I hate being white.
-I may just sorta kinda be turning into a hippy... maybe.

... anything that isn't here probably doesn't matter!... unless it does. But those things are the only exception.

"Addiction" is such an ugly word...

... I prefer to think of it as a hobby that I happen to watch everyday, often checking the internet multiple times in the hopes that a new episode might be up.

This one especially hit home...

The Show with Zefrank

I wonder who actually reads this shit?

I could just let the number and identities of people that read my blog remain a mystery... but that would be too easy.

So if you're here... and reading this... you should leave a comment. I'll even make a nice little question for you to answer, just in case you can't come up with something to say.

On a scale of 1 to 10, how sad were you when you heard about Steve Irwin (aka the Crocodile Hunter)?

That's it, I'm disowning my X chromosome.

Who knew that chicks could be so annoying? I didn't. Did you?

Maybe it has something to do with the fact that most of my female friends are slightly "masculine". And by that, I mean that our conversations are capable of being about things other than ourselves, giggling and valley girl accents are kept to a minimum, and we only dress like sluts on special occasions. Man, I miss you guys.... girls... whatever.

I used to judge people by how they looked. Yes, it's wrong to judge people and 80% of the time you're completely wrong about the person... but we all do it. Don't lie! You know you're in on it too, you filthy hypocrite of a being. That's right... you heard me.

Anyway... what?

Oh, judging. I've started judging people by how they talk... and what they say. In theory, it's more reliable than the old system... or so I presume... but probably equally reprehensible. Whatever.

I think I'm turning into a hippy. I haven't eaten meat in 3 weeks and would totally not be eating dairy or eggs except for the fact that protein is a good thing. And your body cries when you don't give it protein... and iron... and vitamin B12. (Nutritional sciences has taught me that your body cries over a lot of things. You should not make your body sad.) I'm also turning into an organic produce-loving, white man-hating, fight for third world countries and small businesses liberal. And I don't wear a bra... ever.

So that's all for me. I realize that these humble postings don't really give much useful information (activities, classes, new adventures, feelings, etc.). Maybe I'll try to do a post with the bare-bone facts of my life... someday...

*Shrug*

"He told me he loved me.
The question I wanted to ask was does he even know me, let alone love me? Does he know that I have frequent mood swings and am fake for about 91% of my day? Does he know that I say too much and get high off of gossip? Does he know that I cuss like a sailor and have gotten everything my little heart desires since birth and don't cry at funerals and think I'm going to die every time I leave the house?
Because I don't think he knows these things. And I don't know if he would love me so much after he found out."

"This blogging goes out to all you cool cats groovin' out in cyberspace... dig it..."

... that's the kind of thing I would say if I was a smooth talking black man instead of a pudgy white girl... and if this was a radio show instead of a blog. Oh, the things we aspire to.

Right now, I'm suspended in this strange mood of caffiene-induced hyperness and complete exhaustion. My fingers are shaking a little and I feel very "twitchy" all over, but my brain gave out like... yesterday. I swore that I wouldn't get addicted to caffiene when I came to college. I promised myself that I would get 8 hours of sleep every night and exercise regularly and eat well and lose weight and be fabulous and happy and so far none of that has happened. Should I be surprised? Probably not. I've broken plenty of promises to myself. Why do I even set these goals in the first place?

I was studying in the lounge, and this Asian guy came in and started playing the piano. I thought I was going to cry. I don't even know what he was playing and it was all bangy and loud, but I still got really emotional. I have no idea why. I blame my ovaries and the isoflavones in the tofu I had for lunch.

As promised, here are some pictures of... stuff. Maybe I'll give this collection a grandiose name like "The Journey to Greatness" or "The Splendor that is Over-priced Ivy League Education". Yeaaaahhh.

"Lisa! Give me your camera! Let's cherish this special pre-move in moment forever."
"No, Dad."
"Come on." *snatches camera*... *click*

This is where everyone comes at the end of the year on "Slope Day" to get drunk and listen to the annual Slope Day Concert. I imagine by the end of the concert, all there is a massive pile of passed out drunks gathered at the bottom of the hill with the sober people standing at the top, pointing and laughing at the ones rolling down the hill.

The Tower

Gorges! I practically shat myself taking this picture.

Look at all dat dere ivy.

This is my dorm... just like every other dorm that ever existed... ever.

I named him Lester. He sits on my windowsill and photosynthesizes. And sometimes, late at night, when all the dorm is ahush and no one stirs, Lester and I... exchange oxygen and carbon dioxide!!! Scaaaandalous... and hot.

That's all.

Oh dear... not again.

Look at me! I'm a procrastinating little bitch with way too much work and not enough motivation to do it!!! *dances*... *eats*... *writes unnecessary blog post*... *looks at porn... kinky kinky porn*.

Wwwwhhheeeeeeeeeee!!!*dies*

The big long boring Cornell post that no one will read... I know I wouldn't...

Just a quick skimming of everything that's been done so far: moved in, unpacked, said goodbye to parents (no one cried... because we're the most heartless family that you'll ever meet), went to some orientation crap that was awkward and more pathetic than useful, got schedule, got books, just finished the first two days of class...

And that's pretty much all. I'll probably take a journey to Target later today, but no one really cares about that kind of shit. Lately, I've been analyzing the blogs (and by "blog" I mean any online journal) that I enjoy reading, and those that I find self-centered and pompous. It's strange how two people can both write lengthy posts entirely about themselves, and, depending on the way they write it, I either enjoy reading it all or stop after the first paragraph... hmm... odd... more on this later...

I'd like to say that Cornell is perfect and everything is fine and I can't wait to spend the next four years of my life here... but that's really not true. The truth is that I'm bored and lonely. More lonely than bored, actually. It seems like all the people on my hall are either reclusive or a potential sorority girl. I haven't talked to a lot of guys... they're at the other end of the hall and the "gender barrier" has yet to be broken.

It's not that people aren't nice here, it's just that you have a conversation with someone in the dining hall and then never see them again. In my desperation last night, I went out with a couple of people to see "Snakes on a Plane". It could have been fun, but I had a headache the entire time and the person I went with had one of those laughs that hits just the right pitch to make your ears bleed and the whole situation was just... awkward. And tacky. Everyone seems so fake at this point.

Whatever. That's my offical session of moping for the week. No more!

"Snakes on a Plane" was... disgustingly fabulous in a crude, "oh my god, why the hell did I pay 8 dollars for this?" kind of way. It was almost like the writers say down and said the themselves, "How many ways can we have a snake bite a person?". Then they took the fruits of their brainstorming session, multiplied them by a gross out factor of 12, and put it in the script. Not to spoil the movie or anything... which I totally will in a few seconds... but throughout the entire thing, at least one person gets bitten in the eyeball, neck, tongue, boob, ass, and (my personal favorite) the penis. My advice is to wait until it comes out on DVD and watch it with a large group of sleep-deprived, junk food-filled friends. Which will totally be happening as soon as I get back to Texas.

That's all. It was boring, I know. Don't blame me, I warned yo' ass in the title.

"Love, the kind you clean up with the mop and bucket..."

It's amazing what strange things come up on your iPod when you set it to shuffle and just let it play. And how strangely appropriate they always seem to be.

Finally made it to Cornell (despite my certainty that I was going to die in some horrible, dramatic, fiery inferno before I got here). Moved into the dorm. Exchanged awkward conversings with some of my floormates... or whatever the hell they call them. Had at least a dozen things go wrong in my room (including not being able to get the internet) before I finally gave up on any kind of productivity. So now I'm in the dorm's computer lab... typing on my blog... on an unnaturally soft kepyboard. *ponders*... *moves in for a closer look*...*rubs face on keyboard*... *contracts Chlamydia*... *dies*. Actually, I don't think you can die from Chlmydia. That's the beauty of the STD; you're just stuck with uncomfortable itch and a killer burning sensation for the rest of your life. Your long long itchy life.

I could type about my thoughts and feelings, or even my last few days in Lake Jackson, but I just don't feel like it right now. In fact, I feel very unsafe... in this remote little room at midnight with no surveillance or supervision. Like a den of rape. I should get some mace.

Just know this, my friends: the dorm is lovely, Ithaca is very lovely, and life seems to be OK for now. Which, now that I think about it, isn't really interesting... or informing. *shrug*... don't judge me.

... pictures will come soon.

"They're called 'Death Moths' because they eventually die."

I don't know why that is so funny right now. Probably because I'm high... on life! Bwahaha! But seriously, folks, marijuana is a drug to be taken just as seriously as crystal meth or the crack/cocaine. Be like Nancy and just say "no".

So... the National Geographic Channel has been having a "Dog Whisperer" marathon for the past week and, consequently, I haven't really done anything productive in the past week. Man, I love that show. It gives me the urge to interact with dogs... so if I randomly call you up during the week, begging to walk your dog, do not be alarmed. I'm just a loser and should be approached in a calm and assertive manner. Shh!!...... Shhhh!!!!!... ok, I'm done.

And then I went and met Oskar's family! Actually, I met them the night of graduation when they all hugged me and pretended to like me even though I was just that crazy white girl who occassional drove by the house, picked up Oskar, and whisked him away to mysterious and unknown places. But now! I've been promoted to that crazy white girl who occasionally comes in the house and doesn't talk to anyone because she's too busy shitting her pants with anxiety. *Victorious fist pump*. Movin' up, baby.

I think I love his family more than my own. Which is sad, and probably unhealthy.

I don't know... I just don't know.

Maybe I'll blog... just maybe...

Not!!! Hahaha... suckers.

Dash it all...

Today was a... productively amusing day. Worked at the SPCA for a couple of hours with all the puppies and pussies. I still can't decide which I like better. Dogs have the loveable stupidity to them (most of them anyway). But cats are so deep and evolving. They seem more human... even overly human at times, which might actually be a bad thing. It's just one of those things that you can never decide...

... kind of like choosing between the power to read minds and the ability to fly. It's impossible!!!

And then I bought an anatomy book and "Medicine: a history of healing" at Walden Books. It was a bargain!!! I couldn't help myself. I'll just consider it my gift... to myself after many hours of babysitting last week. *pats self on back*

For the past four hours I've been cleaning my room... like thorough, deep, raping every nook and cranny with the anal retentive spirit of my grandmother cleaning. It's strange, because I usually clean when I'm upset, but I felt fine when I started cleaning today and then all of a sudden I got very very depressed. So I called Oskar and we went and threw bread at the ducks of Shy Pond (it just seemed like the right thing to do). And I was better. But then I started cleaning again (determined to finish my closet before I went to bed). And there was much boxing and throwing away and sneezing and oh my God, I never realized how many shoes I have. And then I was done. And now I'm just kind of in this state of miserable shock. The thought of a month until college was daunting, but now it's like it's grabbed my emotions by the balls and given them a good shake. A ravaging of sorts. I wonder if I would be happier if I were going to UT or Trinity? Maybe this cleaning would feel more like the next step rather than the gutting of my life. I'm tempted to just empty the contents of the trash bags onto the floor and roll in them and refuse to leave Lake Jackson ever.

Man, even ice cream won't work on this one.

...and then I sewed up my vagina.

Thus is the effect of babysitting two 8 year-old boys for two 9 hours days. Wow, that sentence had a lot of numbers. Actually, I've learned a lot about children and how I plan to raise mine. I'd like to share my findings with you now, good reader. I feel as though we all can profit from this experience and learn about one another... and ourselves.

Children should be beaten. Time outs and groundings and intricate systems of checks and X's on a neatly drawn chart don't work. A good sturdy belt... oh yeah, that does the trick. A good smack to the face contains something that taking away the video games does not, and that something is physical pain. When you sit a child in the corner and tell them why they're being punished for something, sure you might reap the benefits of "shame" or "parental disapproval", but instinct understands pain better than any kind of emotion. That's why I plan to marry a six foot tall, two hundred pound line backer that will beat my children reguarly. That way I can be the loving mother who comforts her mentally unstable children while their father puts away the paddle.

Oh, and also no junkfood or TV or videogames.

There. That's all there is to it. Man, my kids are going to be the best. Sure the therapy bill will be collosal, but I feel like it will all be worth it in the end. Motherhood is gonna kick ass!!!

Hooray for America!!!

And to celebrate the birth of this splendid nation of grandeur and the like, I went to beach for fireworks. And almost got killed. Twice! It was probably one of the best Fourths I've ever had.

Then I came home and at a bowl of Peanut Butter Cap'n Crunch, which could possibly be the most amazing cereal on the face of the earth. Except that it kind of looks like dog food. And not even good dog food at that, but the dry kind that you give a dog and then you get to watch him struggle with it as he tries to chew the stale little bits, but they keep crumbling and falling out of his mouth so he's reduced to licking the partially digested crumbs off the floor. Oh the horror of being denied opposable thumbs.

I used to have this one baby-sitter in Michigan who would always made you drink the milk at the bottom of the cereal bowl. Those milky sweet remains that usually take on the color of the cereal (generally, a pastel pink) and taste like death. But you had to drink it all!!! Waste not, want not. And she would never be dainty with the milk pouring, oh no. You would get cereal soup, where there might be a handful of cereal surrounded by like 3 cups of milk. Oh childhood, you really fucked me up.

Speaking of Michigan, my parents are moving back there. Which means I won't really have a home in Lake Jackson by Christmas, which means it will be much harder to see the people that I actually want to see during my break. It's kind of a slap in the face to think that I could have gone to college in Texas, (probably)gotten more scholarship money , gotten away from my parents, and stayed with my friends. But that's not what I chose, and now it's all coming back to bite me in the ass.

Speaking of college, Cornell assigned me to a single's room. A room that I really really really don't want. And it's kind of scares the shit out of me a little... a lot. I should really fix that.

Ok, I'm done. Pointless posting. Who cares, it's not like you're doing anything worthwhile right now. It's ok, that's what summer is all about.

BFTLOGMAN (part II)

St. Peter's basilica... mmm... so pretty. I just want to kiss it.


Granted I know absolutely nothing about art, but of the thousands of pieces that we saw this was my favorite. It's called "The Rape of the Sabine Women" and I have no idea why I love it so. It could be a complex. We just don't know.



Tuscany and its grapes.



If I was my sister, this is the picture that I would want people to remember me by.



Of all the penis I saw in Italy (and there was quite a bit) this was my favorite.

Back from the land of greasy men and Nutella

Italy that is. Italia if you want to be a dumbass and pretend like you're a local and are "in the know". All in all, 'twas a decent trip. I'm not dead; that's always a plus.

Yup... *twiddles thumbs*... oh, what! blog about the trip? Well that's just silly. Nonsense. Blargin even!... which isn't actually a word now that I think about it. I suppose I could. And if you don't want to hear about it, just skip the next 3 paragraphs.

We spent the first 5 days in Rome. Or "Roma", as I like to call it. Actually, I don't think I ever called it that. All of my studying and ambitious attempts at conquering the Italian language were kind of lost when I realized that I don't actually possess the "nads" to speak in front of actual Italians. Because I'm a puss. And hate being judged. Right, Rome. The city was lovely. Not for its architecture or subtle antiquity, but more because it has a story. The Tiber River and the teets of wolves and then that whole Roman Empire thing and then... all the other crap that happened after. Mussolini! Anyway... we did probably... 90% of the stereotypical tourist "must-do's": the Vatican, the Sistine Chapel, the colloseum, and the Pantheon. Most of them involved massive massive queue-age and hoards of tourists rubbing up against you and getting in the way of your picture-taking. The only exception was St. Peter's basilica. We got there at seven in the morning and there was no one, only bubbly little nuns shuffling to and fro. It was so big and beautiful. All you can really do when you walk in is marvel at the detail and years and years of toil and sweat that went into the thing. It even felt... kind of... holy. Makes you wish that you were religious.

And then we went to Tuscany for the next 8 days. There was much wine and cheese and thinly cut slices of pork to be had. Of course we stopped by Pisa for that crazy tower of theirs. The tower really wasn't so great as the spectacle of hundreds of people aligning themselves for the classic "pushing the tower" picture... which of course we did too. Then onto Florence... which would have been better if I had actually taken the time to learn the history behind it. But I didn't. Saw David in la Piazza della Signoria and then saw him again (the original) in a museum and then saw him againon top of some random hill. Crazy Florentines really like that statue. After much consideration, I've decided that I like his pubes more than his nipples. Even though perfect geometric nipples that slightly resembles pieces to this board game that I used to play as a child are pretty cool, a flowing pubic mane kicks ass. So much ass. More ass than you could fit in a wheelbarrow. A big wheelbarrow.

Ice cream, pizza, Nutella, boob walls, harrassment from drunken men in alleyways, Hemingway, accordian players, many an artistic penis, and beggars of every shape and size. That pretty much sums it up. There was no need for actually sentences and explanations. Superfluous.

I'm home again... just in case anyone cared. Give me a ring or a poke or a nudge or just show up at my house, kick me in the shin, and then scamper away giggling... if you want to.

"Sexy sexy made up of plexi disasters..."

Yeah, I listen to Jack Johnson. I'm not going to lie; I hold a special place in my heart for mellow, acoustic, "let's all just smoke a joint and be merry" songs. They make me want to dance... naked... in a public area.

Sooo... went to the Brazosport Museum of Natural Science, which is a rather disappointing place considering about 50% of it is shells. A shit load of shells of varying shape and size kind of just... sitting there... not particularly shiny... just shelly. Anyway, so I'm pretty sure I found a some ancient Indian statue of a guy getting a hand job, which totally made my day 112% better. And to think, little conservative LJ has had really really soft-core porn right under their noses this entire time. It makes me want to chuckle... but only smelly old men with twinkling eyes chuckle, and unfortunately I do not have this classification... yet. And then Oskar and I played with the plastic dinosaurs... como niños.

Six more days until Italy!!! *groan* I really should brush up on my Italian... and by "brush up" I mean "learn the basic components of the language". Actually, pretending to speak spanish for seven years makes it a little easier. I don't sound like a complete hick when I speak... unlike my father, who will surely get us all shanked by a mob of sexy/pissed Italians. I talked to my mom about drugging myself before I get on the plane. Her suggestion: Tylenol PM. Damn, my family is hard core.

I pulled the Windsor Pilates DVD out of... somewhere obscure today. I haven't watched it in six months or so and it was only today that I realized I had created personalities and backstories for all the "demonstrators" on the DVD. I don't know which is more impressive, the fact that I managed to create depth and dimension from five people rolling around on the floor in spandex or that I did it all subconciously. I really should get out more.

The official planning of movie night starts tomorrow. Let the awkward phone calls commence!

Yup...

Even though I have both a Live Journal account and Myspace, I've decided to start posting here. Blogger feels so... old school... vintage, if you will.

I feel like I kind of dropped off the face of the earth for like... 2 months. I don't post anything on the internet anymore and I really don't hang out with friends very much. But at the same time, I'm ok with that. Maybe I'll just stay off the face of the earth until I get back from Italy. By that time I'll be so sick of my parents and hungry for intelligent conversation that I'll slide right back into my little "social butterfly" self.

Speaking of Italy... I'll be going there for two weeks... to Tuscany and Rome to be specific. And I really don't want to. There's the matter of actually getting over there... airplanes... *shudder*. I always have these daydream/premonitions a week before I have to go anywhere on a plane that something will go horribly wrong and I'm going to end up dying in a horrible mass of flames and jet fuel with people screaming all around me and my sister clawing at my face (for some reason) and lights flickering and shit. So if anyone knows a good sedative, 'twould be much appreciated.

Of course when we do get to Italy, there's the whole family thing. Four people who don't really like each other very much crammed into small European spaces. Judging by the "England Experience" two years ago, this isn't going to be very fun. Thank God this is going to be the last trip for a while.

I'm proposing a weekly movie night. Probably on Thursday's, probably at my house, sometime at night. We have about ten movies on the Shanghai list that need to be seen. Maybe we'll do that this week. I don't know. I'll figure it out.

And that's all... for now.

For The Pimp

Mmm... looking particularly white... and wide.

You's a ho!

... and by "you's" I mean Meagan. A crack ho at that.



Yeah. I don't have the account to put photos on live journal, so I just stuck it here. Sorry if you didn't want me to. But here's a redeeming picture...



teheheheheCRACK!!!

Well that was... different.

So I just picked up the phone, and this recording of a middle-aged woman asked me to press one if I supported "the God-sanctioned marriage between a man and a woman". And I didn't, because I wanted to hear what this recording had to tell me about marriage. She started to go into how she was the conservative mother of three, but then the message abruptly cut off. And I was confused. Maybe it was some kind of survey or fund raiser for a lobbying of some sort. Anyway, it was the highlight of my day: expressing my opinions through... lack of action. Oh, the sad sad life I live.

So here's a dilemma. My mom went to Germany and left me alone with my dad, which is a bad thing because I tend to gain a lot of weight when she takes trips like this (last year it was 10 pounds). So just so everyone knows!!! (because everyone should care about every detail of my life) I'm going to the gym tomorrow morning. You hear that, fatty rolls?!? *pokes love handles* We're going to the gym, and we're not coming back until at least one of you is gone. So you two can just discuss which one is going to go. No, I will not compromise and have half of each of you. It's one or the other. I will not yield!!!

Oh right... Prom. I made court! *woot* Which is exciting because that means Prom night could be super-ridiculously-"oh my God I just shit my pants with joy!"-kick ass... or just really really awesome. Either way, we'll have fun. And dance our frustrations out on the dance floor. DAANNNCE!!!

Have you ever noticed how in movies from the 80s, computers could do like everything. For example, in "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" (which you still need to see, Meagan) Ferris actually hacks into the school's system and reduces his number of absent days. On one of those huge beige boxs with the green blinky letters! Before the time of internet!

Just a thought. And a rather stunted one at that. Ok, I'm done.

"I'm the Juggernaut, bitch!"

Link (click... if you dare... *pedophile eyebrows*)

V... for Vendetta! And, apparently, a lot of other words that start with the letter that were addressed in a lengthy little monologue. Vantastic! But before I rip this movie a new one - which I'm totally not going to do, because it was actually quite entertaining and insightful - just let me say, the movie (despite sporadic moments of cheese) was actually quite entertaining and insightful (yeah, I did that on purpose). The twists were great and there was never a dull moment. So all in all, I would rate it somewhere around Quizno's on the scale that uses fastfood chains to represent movie goodness... and looks something like this:

(in ascending order)

Popeye's -> Long John Silver's -> Burger King -> Wendy's -> McDonald's -> Quizno's -> Arby's

The best part about "Vendetta" was that it was so many other stories combined into one! But it was still original! After a few seconds of pondering, I have dissected it as such: 46% The Count of Monte Cristo, 32% 1984, 9% holocaust, 5% Phantom of the Opera, 3% "The Three Amigos", and 1% that Blind Melon video with the little girl in the bee costume. I know that's a really shallow way to look at a movie, but I'm a very shallow person. *shrug*

So that's that.

So Ms. Sweeney's reading assignment. *pauses for the unanimous groanings of all* I'm actually kind of thankful for it. *pauses for the unanimous pimp slappings* When I signed up for this english class I was actually looking forward to the outside readings. Even if we never discussed them and I never used them after this year, it was still nice to think that I would be building up my "reading repetoire"... or some shit like that. The only problem I have with the woman now is that somehow we all magically turn into third graders the minute we walk in the door. And have to read aloud. ALOUD!!!!And the sad part is that some people actually do sound like third graders when they are reading... *sigh*

Must... get... to... Spring Break...

So maybe the almighty ellipsis isn't so almighty. You got the point. Don't act like you didn't! The point is... if I fail the calculus test tomorrow, I'm not really going to care. My conscience keeps telling me that I should do my best in everything, but it has grown very very tiny now and dwells in the deepest regions of my beings where no one can really hear it anymore. It kind of sounds like that faint noise the TV makes when you put it on mute.

Birthday!!!... sometime next week. And I'll I really want is to go to the beach and burn shit. So, gather all your unwanted college brochures, pamphlets, shiny bits of propaganda, and anything else that looks flammable and meet at my house sometime around Saturday evening (we'll figure out the details later this week). This shit be goin' down! I'll bring the marshmallows and nitrate-filled intestines, and we'll have ourselves one high-falootin' splendid ol' time. SPLENDID! FALOOTIN'!

(This is the part where I get all excited because I think gobs and gobs of people are going to show up, and then it ends up being like me and two other people. Don't say I didn't call it!)

I think I'm prejudice against skinny people. Or maybe it's not so much an offensive act toward thing people, but a defensive act of fat people. It's like... passive prejudice. But we'll talk about this later.

I put the ger in hooker baby, yeah! ... wait... what?

Oprah is getting a little pudgy again. Is it wrong that that makes me happy?

DDR PARTY!!! at casa de Lisa. The only requirement for an invitation is the ability to find my house... *maniacal laughter*... *hides house behind tree*. Or knowing my cell phone number... tehe... *hides cell phone number behind tree*. Come if you feel like it. And if you don't, well then you can just stay home and rot like the anti-social filth that you are! Bagh! I spit at you.

And chinese food. Oh how there will be chinese food!

*Looks around*... I really should clean up the house... *ponders*...

No pity comments, please.

Why do I feel like everytime I say something no one is listening? I can be sitting across from someone, just me and them at a single table, and they will find a way to ignore me or interupt or just walk away like I was never there at all. Do I talk too much? Am I being redundant? Am I "the annoying bitch" that everyone talks about as soon as I leave the room? (Actually, that one might be kind of flattering) Would someone just be fucking honest and tell me why. Please. I need a good reality bitch slap.

I think I've decided that if I die in a plane crash on my way to Cornell (which would be a juicy little irony if there ever was one) I would be ok with that. At least I died attempting something worthwhile, which is more than I can say about anything else I've ever done... ever.

I've always wanted a dog. When I was young it was just because everyone else had one, but now I hunger for that stupid, unconditional, slave-love that only canines can give. Yeah, I'm a psycho. What of it? So every time I blew out birthday candles or broke a wish bone or was near a wishing well, I would wish for a puppy. And I still don't have one. It's these kind of things that make children skeptical. And then they grow into pessimists. And then, eventually, they turn atheist and start a blog where all they do is bitch, because no one will actually listen to them in person.

But the real irony is that my dad says he wouldn't mind having a dog... as soon as I move out of the house.

I pushed a little girl down the stairs once. There was a brick wall at the bottom. But I was a little girl too... so does it really count?

Jewin' it up.

One day I was looking through the links I have to other blogs, and I realized that 23% of those blogs don't actually exist anymore. And of the other 77%, more than half barely get a blogging in once every other month. I guess what I'm saying is that the only blog I really read is the sentence or two that Regis throws out every once in a while. And the rest of you are dead to me. Dead!

No. No. I don't care that you moved to Live Journal or Myspace or that you are taking fincancial responsibility into your own hands and working 40 hours a week. That's no excuse. Why can't we all just go back to the care free days when blogs were new and exciting and mysterious and arrousing? The days when everyone blogged about the most trivial matters and assumed that the rest of the world was reading and caring.

Damn you all! (except Regis)

That's all I have to say for now. But I'll be back. Oh, how I'll be back.

Dick Cheney gonna' have to shoot a bitch?

This is why we should not give people guns. I don't care if your second in line to the presidency of the Free World, karma will kick your ass. Hunting is just evil. I have no problems with the legality of it, I just think that guns should be illegal and everyone should have to build their own weapons. From products of the earth. Or wrestle their prey to the ground and rip out the jugular. Either way is fine by me.

Personally, I think it's a conspiracy of some kind. Casual hunting companion or... last link to the Romanov blood line! *Gasp*... yeah, I suck at making up conspiracies, what of it?

And then creative writing killed my printer. Go printer go! Just 50 more pages, that's all.

I think next 6 weeks, I'm going to write a story Baszkiewicz-style with cannibis-enduced plots and random acts of pedofilic description. And the essential Frankfurt setting. It will be a creative writing adventure!

Well that wasn't fun at all.

I got to miss another B-day for my endoscopy. Hooray! for avoiding problems instead of making an effort to solve them. Not so much hooray-ing for the endoscopy. I always had this idea that being put under was like in the movies, where they put a mask over your face and the doctor's voice gets lower and slower as the world fades to black. But the bitches did an IV! They snuck up on me and didn't even give me warning. *Grudge* The rest of the day was me curled up in a ball in various corners of the house trying to get the air out of my stomach. That's the other thing... I kind of visualized it being like that scene in Willy Wonka where Charlie and Grandpa Joe get into the mischief with the fizzy lifting drinks. Just a few burps, and it would all be better. Fuck no. It was probably worse than the pancreatitis.

But I get to eat peanut butter again. *Dances for peanut butter*.

Happy birthday, Meagan! Hope your first day of adulthood was simply splendid.

I have this metaphor... simile... thing going that maybe politics is like a giant swimming pool. Entry into the pool starts with the "toe test" and then the slow descent into deeper waters before you finally push off from the sides and are supported by nothing but water. And that's when the thrashing begins. That clumsy, desperate doggy paddle that could be assimilated to... oh, I don't know, the "radical youth". When you slowly gather your bearings, however, and realize that the your own buoyancy will hold you and you can actually start to swim without looking like an idiot. Or maybe that's just me being stuck in a perspective that only sees the loud radical points of view. The crazy people that roam the halls with their collection of "Bushisms" and cry for anarchy... and don't really know why. Of course, under this metaphor Bill O'Reilly would be the bully who goes around splashing people and Delay would you the loner with the murky yellow aura around his swim trunks.

Whatever.

PEANUT BUTTER!!! *scurries to the kitchen*

Lisa pissy... Lisa smash!!!!!!!

Lisa's Morning: *wake up*... *wipe away drool*... *roll out of bed*... "Mmm... wait... oh shit, another B-day. And navigations. Oh fuck no."... *rolls back into bed*

Ok. So maybe the dialogue didn't exactly go like that. Artistic license, motha' trucka's. God, I'm a loser.

Today was definitely one of those days had I gone to school I would be in police custody right now awaiting my trial for manslaughter... or homocide... or murder. Whatever they're calling it nowadays. The point is... I framed Roger Rabbit.

The Plan

Here's what I'll do:

I'll clone myself and then inject my clone (Lisa version 2.0) with enough hormones to get her from infancy to adolescence within a few hours. THEN! I'll give her a few lessons on eating and socializing and living, dress her up real pretty, and send her off to school in my place. Meanwhile, I'll stay at home and figure out a way to put myself into a "Hollywood coma", where I can wake up in a ridiculously short period of time with no brain damage, and set the coma clock for May 2006. And then graduate. And bond with my clone... if she isn't dead by then.

It's infallible!

"I'd like to be the beginning, the end, and the inbetween. And be your slave. And be your queen."

Yes, I know it's almost February. But I actually put some thought into my New Year's Resolutions this year. My aim is to transcend the fallible level of "Loss 15 pounds" and "Eat healthier", because I'm an Achiever, baby. An ambitious mudda'-fucka', if you will.

I resolve to...

-Stop judging/hating people based on petty titles and classifications (i.e. Christian, Atheist, Republican, Asian, etc.)

-Respect everyone. This includes incompetent english teachers, fathers, and peers.

-Play the piano in public (without being ashamed of the wrong notes).

-Learn to love certain people that I certainly hate.

And that's all.

Wonderful.

"No more monkeys jumpin' on the bed."

I wrote that down somewhere in my creative writing notebook a while back and found it a few days ago. Frankly, I was a little wierded out. Not so much that the past-me would think of something like that, but that she would see it as important enough to write down. Because I don't view of myself as a single entity, but rather a myriad of short-lived ones scattered throughout the past. And, of course, the future. Sometimes the past-me will do bad things, like make promises that she knows I won't want to keep. Or build up grudges that I eventually have to get over. But sometimes she does very very good things, like leaving a money in random places and pockets. She's weird like that.

Last night I died. Twice! In my dreams. It is a rare occasion when I die in a dream, but to do it twice... damn. First, Uma Thurman stabbed me through the head with one of those samurai swords (I know they probably have a real name, but if you really are anal enough to be bothered by the fact that I didn't use it, you can leave a comment, Anal McAnalson.). But not through the side of the head... oh no. Straight through the top. And the strange thing was that instead of the sword going straight in (complete with highly pressurize blood-squirtage, in the true Tarantino fashion) she really struggled to get that sucker in. And then after Uma had killed us all (there were others in the room), she decorated our bodies with ketchup and mustard. Ok, maybe that was the strange thing.

And then I got shot in the head.

Where the hell did the love go this semester? It seems like everyone is always speaking ill of someone behind their back, or to their face, or in one of those sky messages that planes spell out. I've talked to Phillip and Meagan about this, but neither of them knows what I'm talking about. But surely someone must have noticed that suddenly everyone is very sick of one another. I feel like I'm taking crazy pills!

Beebopadoo

iPods are good little things. Drinking soda with a straw... not so much. The carbonation pushs the straw out of the can and then the drippage ensues. I used to have this piano teacher who always drank a can of diet coke with a straw when I came to class. I guess I just have that effect on people...

Now I have a piano teacher who really really enjoys her alternative medicine. Oh how she enjoys it. She rubbed my foot once, reflexology they call it. She told me it would fix my pancreas. I was... really weirded out, but appreciated the foot massage.

I love you so much, Jeff. I will go shopping for anything you want, anytime you want from now on. Promise.

All the people are going back to college. I miss all the people. I suppose on some levels it's comforting to go back to the steady flow of school and sleep and school again, but... eh...

End.