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.