Here we are, blog. At the beginning of another New Year full of unforeseen surprises and potential wonder. I can only imagine the adventures that I will report to you as my life unfolds, and how you will have to just sit here, like the abstract semi-existent location that you are and listen to it all. I've never told you this, blog, but I don't tell you the truth about my life. In fact, I edit and modify a lot of the things I do tell you so that you might not judge me too harshly. You know how your judgment hurts me, blog. Like daggers in the heart. Or a lawn dart in the knee cap. Or a tiny bit of jalapeno juice in the eye.
I think I might be buzzed. Or slightly drunk. I'm still trying to decide. Either way, the internet has become surprisingly difficult to use. This must be how senior citizens feel when they take a stab at technology.
Speaking of senior citizens, today I went to Frankenmuth to share a delicious chicken dinner with some of my extended family. My maternal grandmother (the racist one) has an especially large immediate family, and, therefore, I have been given the gift of an especially large extended family. Whose names I am only just now learning. In case you're not familiar with Michigan, Frankenmuth is a city with lots of German history and famous chicken (and fudge and taffy and indoor water parks). And we ate our chicken. And my great aunt and uncle were still puzzled over why I wasn't eating the chicken. But I don't really miss the chicken. Me and meat are done. Through. Finished. No love. The love has left the building.
My family really is comprised of nice people, despite our spontaneous lapses into racism... which really only happens to the older generations... and maybe a few of the newer ones. Okay, my family is sometimes comprised of nice people, depending on which sections of the tree you're looking at. But I feel like racism doesn't make someone a terrible person. They were probably just raised in a different time. With different ideas. And I could understand how those ideas would be hard to break.
Just like I now understand why Christians can't incorporate evolution into their religion. At all. To any degree. It's because it undermines the teachings of the bible, which seems like a "duh" kind of statement, but bare with me here. Hang on. No. Back story.
So my aunt and uncle got my sister this book as a graduation gift call "The New Answers Book" which promises to explain evolution and the creation of earth and the great flood and dinosaurs all from a creationist point of view that is "scientifically solid" (as declared by the book's back cover). I started reading it, and then began to skim it, and then just looked at the amusing little graphics that were dispersed throughout the thing. And thus, I gained a better understanding... and a good amount of amusement.
You can't believe in evolution and the bible, because the bible is always right. Always. And any disagreement or conflict with the most literal interpretations of the text completely destroys the credibility of the rest of the book. Because evolution and fossils and the age of the earth (as acknowledged in the scientific community) stomp all over Genesis, they are all wrong. And evil! You're either with the bible, or against it. There is no happy, middle-ground were rational people romp and play in peace. Only bible-land and nonbible-land.
I think "bible" should be capitalized in that last paragraph. But I'm not going to do it. Too much effort.
It's like that time junior year when Jon B. typed an entire paragraph in all caps and then explained that he wasn't shouting at the reader, he was just didn't realize caps lock was on and was too lazy to go back and fix it. And then we all laughed as Rozzy shot mind bullets at him.
Or that time the floor was lava.
... the floor is always lava.
Okay. I'm thoroughly gone. But you could have known and prevented all this if you had just called.
Monday, December 31, 2007
Sunday, December 23, 2007
Oh, fun fun.
It's 2:37 on the morning of Christmas eve. It seems like a good setting for a story. That would take place in a hospital. A hospital waiting room with an array of month-old magazines coated with the germs of hundreds of patients passing through. Maybe I'll write that story someday. And the people who read it will think to themselves "Oh. Ah. How clever she is with her subtle symbols and her myriad of metaphors and her shameless alliteration." But I'll probably never write that story, because I'm too busy listening to Yvette's Myspace playlist and being stupid and weepy and feminine. And it's 2:43 in the morning, and I'm never going to sleep ever again.
Friday, December 21, 2007
Rough Night
So I took this pottery class. And I made these pieces that I was intending to give to my family for Christmas. And last night when I opened the plastic bag that I had put them in in my suitcase, most of them were broken. Actually, they're still broken and sitting on my night stand with all their respective shards placed neatly in what remains of their bowl shape.
At the time, it kind of felt like someone had killed my children. Tears were shed. Sleep was lost. It's kind of pathetic, but this is the saddest thing that has happened to me in a long time.
At the time, it kind of felt like someone had killed my children. Tears were shed. Sleep was lost. It's kind of pathetic, but this is the saddest thing that has happened to me in a long time.
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Lies!
Truth. The fuzzy, grey stuff in between.
Does anyone remember the show "Figure it Out"? With the guest panel (of not so funny B-list television actors) and the talented (and not so talented) children? Eh? Anyone? Probably not. There was this one kid that went on the show, and his... thing was that he had the world's largest collection of toe jam. Which was really just a jar of lint. But he still got to be on TV for 15 minutes. Which made me wonder why they call it "toe jam". To me, that implies either pain or moisture. Gelatinous moisture.
Which made me wonder why feet get such a bad rep as far as body parts go. Sure, they get kind of sweaty and fungi-ridden, but I feel like they deserve a second chance. They do contain something like 25% of all the bones in the body. And... that's the only redeeming quality I can think of right now... dammit.
And then I tried to think of a body part that wasn't disgusting, but all I could come up with was fingers. But they're kind of the most disgusting of all. They do all the dirty work. Plus, they're all nobby and gropey and full of knuckles. And then all those thoughts ended, and I moved on with my life.
I was folding jeans today and decided that my entire family could be represented by the number and types of jeans that they had in the load of laundry. My mom had many different colors and styles of jeans (about 3 of them) for she is the most versatile of us all, as far as different roles go. And also wears the pants in the family. My dad had one pair of jeans in the entire load (it was a big load) and they were "Relaxed Fit", which basically means that he is a man. A man that wears pants. My sister had at least 4 pairs in the load, all of them fairly identical which just screamed "attention whore" to me (at the time that I was folding all these).
My sister's size 2 pants also made me think of how tiny women are these days. And how hard it must be to raise children (or conceive at all for that matter) with such little body fat. If you've never watched a toddler for a few hours, let me tell you, they are physically exhausting. And that's just a couple of hours! Not even close to full-time motherhood.
It's like the female body has been turned into a piece of art. It isn't really valued for it's usefulness or durability anymore, just for the arc of the cheek bones. Or how tightly you can get the skin to stretch over your ribs. Personally, I kind of like using my body, because I'm young and it still seems to be working fairly well. And... oh God, this is turning into another self-righteous, body-image bashing fest...
The point is, I plan to let my body do what it was meant to do (run, jump, fall, shed, digest, make babies, wear out, die, etc.) whether it's an asthetically pleasing process or not. Maybe we should stop holding the traditional idea of a "work of art" in such high esteem, and start regarding other qualities as artistic in their own right. Like a crowbar. A crowbar is useful (depending on how resourceful you are with it) and you'll probably only need to buy one in your lifetime... and now I'm comparing women to crowbars.
I think I should just go to bed.
Does anyone remember the show "Figure it Out"? With the guest panel (of not so funny B-list television actors) and the talented (and not so talented) children? Eh? Anyone? Probably not. There was this one kid that went on the show, and his... thing was that he had the world's largest collection of toe jam. Which was really just a jar of lint. But he still got to be on TV for 15 minutes. Which made me wonder why they call it "toe jam". To me, that implies either pain or moisture. Gelatinous moisture.
Which made me wonder why feet get such a bad rep as far as body parts go. Sure, they get kind of sweaty and fungi-ridden, but I feel like they deserve a second chance. They do contain something like 25% of all the bones in the body. And... that's the only redeeming quality I can think of right now... dammit.
And then I tried to think of a body part that wasn't disgusting, but all I could come up with was fingers. But they're kind of the most disgusting of all. They do all the dirty work. Plus, they're all nobby and gropey and full of knuckles. And then all those thoughts ended, and I moved on with my life.
I was folding jeans today and decided that my entire family could be represented by the number and types of jeans that they had in the load of laundry. My mom had many different colors and styles of jeans (about 3 of them) for she is the most versatile of us all, as far as different roles go. And also wears the pants in the family. My dad had one pair of jeans in the entire load (it was a big load) and they were "Relaxed Fit", which basically means that he is a man. A man that wears pants. My sister had at least 4 pairs in the load, all of them fairly identical which just screamed "attention whore" to me (at the time that I was folding all these).
My sister's size 2 pants also made me think of how tiny women are these days. And how hard it must be to raise children (or conceive at all for that matter) with such little body fat. If you've never watched a toddler for a few hours, let me tell you, they are physically exhausting. And that's just a couple of hours! Not even close to full-time motherhood.
It's like the female body has been turned into a piece of art. It isn't really valued for it's usefulness or durability anymore, just for the arc of the cheek bones. Or how tightly you can get the skin to stretch over your ribs. Personally, I kind of like using my body, because I'm young and it still seems to be working fairly well. And... oh God, this is turning into another self-righteous, body-image bashing fest...
The point is, I plan to let my body do what it was meant to do (run, jump, fall, shed, digest, make babies, wear out, die, etc.) whether it's an asthetically pleasing process or not. Maybe we should stop holding the traditional idea of a "work of art" in such high esteem, and start regarding other qualities as artistic in their own right. Like a crowbar. A crowbar is useful (depending on how resourceful you are with it) and you'll probably only need to buy one in your lifetime... and now I'm comparing women to crowbars.
I think I should just go to bed.
Monday, December 10, 2007
This is a test.
A what?
Five more hours until the organic chemistry test eats my soul, vomits it up, and then eats it again. On one hand, I hope nobody else is having to endure the kind of academic torture that I'm going through. But on the other hand, I kind of hope you are. Just so we can all bitch about our shitty finals experiences together. There's nothing like group-bitching to cleanse the pores.
If I were to make a trip down to Texas to see all my beautiful lovelies sometime in early January, what days would everyone be around?
Five more hours until the organic chemistry test eats my soul, vomits it up, and then eats it again. On one hand, I hope nobody else is having to endure the kind of academic torture that I'm going through. But on the other hand, I kind of hope you are. Just so we can all bitch about our shitty finals experiences together. There's nothing like group-bitching to cleanse the pores.
If I were to make a trip down to Texas to see all my beautiful lovelies sometime in early January, what days would everyone be around?
Friday, December 07, 2007
A New Strategy
Huddle, team. Huddle.
Okay, so instead of acknowledging that studying is futile and admitting that we're probably going to fail all of these exams anyway and mentally resigning ourselves to a life of making babies and taking copious amounts of Valium to get through the rigors of trophy wife-dom, we are going to implement a new strategy.
We are going to pretend (for the next week or so) that every bit of knowledge we attempt to cram into our brain is logical and was meant to be there. And of course we're going to remember it come test day, because we are a sponge for knowledge. Hell, we are the sponge. And our stupendous ego will over ride all doubt or logic or reasoning that may plague us in the week to come.
Break!
Okay, so instead of acknowledging that studying is futile and admitting that we're probably going to fail all of these exams anyway and mentally resigning ourselves to a life of making babies and taking copious amounts of Valium to get through the rigors of trophy wife-dom, we are going to implement a new strategy.
We are going to pretend (for the next week or so) that every bit of knowledge we attempt to cram into our brain is logical and was meant to be there. And of course we're going to remember it come test day, because we are a sponge for knowledge. Hell, we are the sponge. And our stupendous ego will over ride all doubt or logic or reasoning that may plague us in the week to come.
Break!
Thursday, December 06, 2007
It's one of those nights...
... where you suddenly realize that you just ate an entire sleeve of Fig Newtons and are about to finish off a bottle of cranberry juice and you're thinking to yourself "Why are portions so large these days? I could easily subsist on 8 oz. of juice instead of the 15 or 16 that I have been given. " And then you curse the establishment and the men who created the establishment, and hop right back into your quasi-feminist shoes of wrath.
My refrigerator is being ridiculously loud. It isn't necessarily a problem right now, but at 7:30 in the morning when I'm trying to sleep and already feeling semi-nauseous it happens to be right by my head. And then we have problems.
I've been watching "Angels in America" for the past week or so, and I still can't decide exactly how I feel about it. I'm glad that it was made into mini-series (courtesy of HBO), and the cast is great, but there are still some parts that I feel are just... awkward when you watch them in that televised setting. Just because they come out really scripted in this really realistic place that you're taken to. Plus, I hate the ending dialogues.
All I know is that I want a funeral filled with drag queens and good gospel music. And that's pretty much all I want from life right now.
And Justin Kirk is a beautiful man... but only in profile.
Thirty-three more hours until the Spanish final destroys me! I should start a countdown feature. If only I were so skilled...
My refrigerator is being ridiculously loud. It isn't necessarily a problem right now, but at 7:30 in the morning when I'm trying to sleep and already feeling semi-nauseous it happens to be right by my head. And then we have problems.
I've been watching "Angels in America" for the past week or so, and I still can't decide exactly how I feel about it. I'm glad that it was made into mini-series (courtesy of HBO), and the cast is great, but there are still some parts that I feel are just... awkward when you watch them in that televised setting. Just because they come out really scripted in this really realistic place that you're taken to. Plus, I hate the ending dialogues.
All I know is that I want a funeral filled with drag queens and good gospel music. And that's pretty much all I want from life right now.
And Justin Kirk is a beautiful man... but only in profile.
Thirty-three more hours until the Spanish final destroys me! I should start a countdown feature. If only I were so skilled...
Tuesday, December 04, 2007
Wootah!
A title totally unreflective of my current mood...
Hello, oh my jizzlety Jesus on a Ritz cracker! It's been so long since we talked. I feel like there's so much to say and so little time. So very little time.
Well, don't you hate when people start a sentence with "Well,...". It makes me feel like they're trying to justify the fact that they're speaking. Or get you all warmed up for the gargantuan schpeel that they are about to let loose. Just say what you are going to say, dammit! And be proud that you can speak. And make eye-contact, for the love of all things holy. And when you shake my hand, don't let your grip go limp in my fingers just because I'm a woman and your ego is so massive and throbbing that you think you might actually crush my hand. And don't let your handshake be soft and gentile because you're a woman and you think it is the right and proper thing to do. Dammit!
I've been sick for the past few days. It all started with the flu shot I so brilliantly decided to get on Friday thinking "Well, I do have exams coming up. I should protect myself against any illness that might lower my grades." So by Saturday my arm and back were very sore. Sunday brought a strange numbness in my legs and much lethargy. On Monday I had a mild fever and some pretty awesome chills, so a day that should have been spent studying was mostly me under a blanket oozing misery and bitchy about the cold. I feel better today (thanks to the Boy-Wonder that is DayQuil), but there is still a dull ache in my head when I move it too quickly. And I can't stand up for very long. Flu shot = never again.
But I'm starting to strongly believe that even if I do get better, I'm still going to fail my first two exams out of my own sheer stupidity. I've been looking over the Spanish final review for the past couple days and just weeping at my own utter lack of knowledge. I don't know where it all went. I'm so lost that I can't even think of questions to ask that might help me. I can't go into the professor for help because I have trouble understanding what he's saying (he only speaks in Spanish) and get all embarassed and sweaty everytime I try to meet with him. It makes me sad because I really thought I liked that class. And I really thought that I could be fluent someday. *tear*
I have decided that every woman needs a pair of flaming red high heels as part of her wardrobe. At all times. (I bought mine a week ago. Fantastic.)
And that's all I have to say... or should say... because I should be studying... at this very moment...
Hello, oh my jizzlety Jesus on a Ritz cracker! It's been so long since we talked. I feel like there's so much to say and so little time. So very little time.
Well, don't you hate when people start a sentence with "Well,...". It makes me feel like they're trying to justify the fact that they're speaking. Or get you all warmed up for the gargantuan schpeel that they are about to let loose. Just say what you are going to say, dammit! And be proud that you can speak. And make eye-contact, for the love of all things holy. And when you shake my hand, don't let your grip go limp in my fingers just because I'm a woman and your ego is so massive and throbbing that you think you might actually crush my hand. And don't let your handshake be soft and gentile because you're a woman and you think it is the right and proper thing to do. Dammit!
I've been sick for the past few days. It all started with the flu shot I so brilliantly decided to get on Friday thinking "Well, I do have exams coming up. I should protect myself against any illness that might lower my grades." So by Saturday my arm and back were very sore. Sunday brought a strange numbness in my legs and much lethargy. On Monday I had a mild fever and some pretty awesome chills, so a day that should have been spent studying was mostly me under a blanket oozing misery and bitchy about the cold. I feel better today (thanks to the Boy-Wonder that is DayQuil), but there is still a dull ache in my head when I move it too quickly. And I can't stand up for very long. Flu shot = never again.
But I'm starting to strongly believe that even if I do get better, I'm still going to fail my first two exams out of my own sheer stupidity. I've been looking over the Spanish final review for the past couple days and just weeping at my own utter lack of knowledge. I don't know where it all went. I'm so lost that I can't even think of questions to ask that might help me. I can't go into the professor for help because I have trouble understanding what he's saying (he only speaks in Spanish) and get all embarassed and sweaty everytime I try to meet with him. It makes me sad because I really thought I liked that class. And I really thought that I could be fluent someday. *tear*
I have decided that every woman needs a pair of flaming red high heels as part of her wardrobe. At all times. (I bought mine a week ago. Fantastic.)
And that's all I have to say... or should say... because I should be studying... at this very moment...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
