As some of you very well know, I am recockulously poor. I can only go out to eat when people offer to pay for me, I mooch gas money off of my grandmother, my cell phone has been cut off, I couldn't get any of my close friends burfday presents this month, and well... it got to the point last night where all I had to eat was peanut butter straight from the jar. Not that there is anything wrong with that, but I didn't have any options. So as of right now... I am going to start a mission: to make money.
Now, I know this seems very simple to all of you... get a job, right? Well, of course I am going to get a job. I'm also going to hound my current boss about paying me ALL of the freaking money he owes me. But that stuff just isn't creative enough. I want to start a project that will yes, make money, but also be thoroughly enjoyable and wacky to do.
Problem is... I used up my idea of the day for coming up with this idea about having an idea. So, uhh, anyone have any ideas?
Saturday, November 30, 2002
Friday, November 29, 2002
a few things:
numbah 1: our heater is broken. somebody come over right now and warm me up!
numbah 2: i miss push pops. i will purchase some tomorrow at the grocery store.
numbah 3: i'm not kidding about that coming over thing. ::winks seductively:: call me!
numbah 2: i miss push pops. i will purchase some tomorrow at the grocery store.
numbah 3: i'm not kidding about that coming over thing. ::winks seductively:: call me!
Thursday, November 28, 2002
Wednesday, November 27, 2002
they closed the engineering office two and a half hours early! i needed that $17!! poop.
however, now i have two hours to play around with you. so let's begin.
i feel as though a gigantic weight has been lifted. i turned in my internship contract today, put some money in the bank, and paid my part of the gas bill. i sat down with my ENGR bosses and worked out a schedule for me to help with orientation over break, and posted the winterguard squad list.
last night i had a wonderful conversation with my adolescent development professor about everything that's been going on... and we talked about resilience and how strength may not be a quality really recognized or appreciated by a lot of people, but that it really does make you beautiful. she is discounting my last exam grade and re-weighting my final. hallelujah.
i've also decided that i am moving back home for the spring semester, and getting a job somewhere in rockville or gaithersburg. even though this is not my first choice for my living situation... i think it will be the best thing for me in the end. not having to worry as much about money will be wonderful... and i can use the commuting time to buff up on singing again. i really do love that drive.
now if i could just get my father to speak to me again...
overall, though... this last week has been the best few days i have had since i can't remember.
yay, me!
however, now i have two hours to play around with you. so let's begin.
i feel as though a gigantic weight has been lifted. i turned in my internship contract today, put some money in the bank, and paid my part of the gas bill. i sat down with my ENGR bosses and worked out a schedule for me to help with orientation over break, and posted the winterguard squad list.
last night i had a wonderful conversation with my adolescent development professor about everything that's been going on... and we talked about resilience and how strength may not be a quality really recognized or appreciated by a lot of people, but that it really does make you beautiful. she is discounting my last exam grade and re-weighting my final. hallelujah.
i've also decided that i am moving back home for the spring semester, and getting a job somewhere in rockville or gaithersburg. even though this is not my first choice for my living situation... i think it will be the best thing for me in the end. not having to worry as much about money will be wonderful... and i can use the commuting time to buff up on singing again. i really do love that drive.
now if i could just get my father to speak to me again...
overall, though... this last week has been the best few days i have had since i can't remember.
yay, me!
so waldorf is pretty interesting. so is the emperor's new groove. so is sharing a twin bed with my favorite kenyan. second recockulously late night i've had in a row... i'm probably going to drop dead tonight when i go home to G'burg.
... like you care.
... i really don't have anything interesting to say.
... yeah.
... like you care.
... i really don't have anything interesting to say.
... yeah.
Tuesday, November 26, 2002
rock, starz.
i dunno how, but i let it out. not all of it... and not as well as i know i can in the privacy of my own car and shower... but i let it out.
jason and i played for over 4 hours last night.
i think it's just that understanding... that connection between the two of us and what he want to do with this musical magic that makes me so comfortable with him. i know for a fact that i couldn't do what i did with anyone else there, because while joe was outside with us, and even while dan was merely on the other side of the wall, i was choking up, chickening out, and basically sounding like a scared little kid trying out karaoke for the first time.
i just need to get inside these songs and make them mine. i need to stop trying to sing the song just like the original singer. and now i need to work on putting my own words to music. jason is picking up on that one already and i couldn't be more excited. heh. i think he's even learning lisa loeb for me :)
so uh, after a few more practices (hopefully not as spread apart as the last three have been), we are going to try playing for an audience. i'll keep you posted.
i just can't believe how good this feels. it's unreal. i'm slowly starting to slice off those ugly, little, chicken shit wings... and grow some gorgeous, angel wings of my own.
thanx, jason.
jason and i played for over 4 hours last night.
i think it's just that understanding... that connection between the two of us and what he want to do with this musical magic that makes me so comfortable with him. i know for a fact that i couldn't do what i did with anyone else there, because while joe was outside with us, and even while dan was merely on the other side of the wall, i was choking up, chickening out, and basically sounding like a scared little kid trying out karaoke for the first time.
i just need to get inside these songs and make them mine. i need to stop trying to sing the song just like the original singer. and now i need to work on putting my own words to music. jason is picking up on that one already and i couldn't be more excited. heh. i think he's even learning lisa loeb for me :)
so uh, after a few more practices (hopefully not as spread apart as the last three have been), we are going to try playing for an audience. i'll keep you posted.
i just can't believe how good this feels. it's unreal. i'm slowly starting to slice off those ugly, little, chicken shit wings... and grow some gorgeous, angel wings of my own.
thanx, jason.
Monday, November 25, 2002
Bestest Weekend Ever!
Friday:
Take exam. Survive English. Get free food at ENGR. Go to the knee doctor in Bethesda.
So I hafta wear these blue, hospital gown type shorts. They are unisex, obviously, and have ample crotchular room. My mom watches me amuse myself for about 3 minutes pretending to have a boner. We discuss my lack of sexual maturity and how she sometimes snorts when she laughs too hard. The X-ray doode starts picking on me right away because I choose to walk around the office without shoes on. We engage in friendly conversation until I lay down on the X-ray table and he adjusts my legs, commenting on how I could use a shave. I return the favor by making fun of his ear hair. We giggle and he sends me back to my mum, who by now has folded up my ripped jeans in a manner that the Doc can't see the holes.
Doc comes in. Doc is young. Doc is hot. He picks up on my vibes right away and starts making fun of my "funny" knee caps. He explains how being interesting is a plus, but having an interesting medical situation is a huge minus. Thanx, Doc. So he lays me down and starts fucking around with my knee. He then sits down and starts talking to me about my knees and my past problems with dislocating them. As to not be rude, I sit back up on the table thingy. No later than 10 seconds after I sit up, he instructs me to lay back down and starts feeling my leg muscles to see how much physical therapy I'm going to need. Then he sits back down, and I sit up. We go through this routine two more times, my mother giggling and snorting more each time. By now, my face is a pubescent-acne-pink, and my shorts are becoming a little tighter due to my imaginary boner.
We discuss my options and possible issues with surgery. Doc states that I am an "obviously active girl," with "ample leg muscles," but feels that I should do 60 leg lifts a day. Now I hafta lay back down again so he can properly instruct me on how to do these lifts. I hafta lie flat and bend one knee to stabilize. Then I hafta tense my whole leg and lift it slowly to a 45 degree angle, hold it there for ten seconds, and then slowly lower it. Then I hafta relax my leg for ten seconds and then repeat. Sixty of these things a day. That's going to take me over 20 minutes. A day. After number 20, Doc says it's going to taste like burning. I try to negotiate with him, using the valid argument that I already have thunder thighs, and would rather he give me a target work out for my abs. Doc is not convinced, but gives me a quick up-down to see if there were any other areas I might need to work on.
Doc explains to my mum that he'd rather me deal with the occasional pop-out with minimal pain, then a 3-month long, painful surgery that may only lead to early arthritis. He says that I need to come in 6 weeks from now so he can check my progress and see if there is any other issue. Shit. It's like a hot personal trainer only worse. This one has a stethoscope.
Doc slips out and two med students come in to fit me for my very own, fancy-shmancy knee brace. Mum hints from behind them that she thinks the one on the left is attractive... and so naturally, I kick him in the shin while he tries to adjust the straps on my brace.
Smooth.
After another snort, a $20 co-pay and a moral dilemma over keeping or throwing away the shorts, mum and I exit the office.
Then I meet my brother back in College Park. Give him tour, go Quiznos, play Twisted Metal Black, shmooze about his painting and in general, enjoy Michael's company. Love. That boy.
Then fart around with roommates (literally in Danny's case) and head over to 8709 for a toga party. Didn't stay long, or really dig the scene, but saw and hugged Alley so all was worth it. Did I mention Danny's gaseous explosions? Ok, good. Then home for staple pj pants, tank top and 10 Things I Hate About You.
Saturday:
So I sleep until 1pm. Take heavenly shower and put on my staple grey sweat pants. Roll out with Dawnie Bears for some partay shopping at Target and a burfday burrito.
We ran into a parade. In the Ghetto Mall parking lot. I'm not kidding. A parade. Right in front of Target. "Only in PG county," states burfday girl.
Head to G'burg for burfday dinner wif brother and parents. Oh, sweet geezus I ate well. Good thing too, because it helped me drink like a fish later in the evening.
Ok. Let's get to the party. Can I just say... I had the most wonderful time. Cleavage... gorgeous hair... African Hip Hop... The Wheel of Passion... awesome new people... the "We Hate Boys" beer pong game... shot after shot after shot...
I mean, don't get me wrong... there was drama. A shit load of it. To quote an old friend of mine "a cubic shitload." But you know what?!?!
I KNOW!! HOW INSANE IS THAT?!
I just hope that Dawn knows, deep down, how wonderful she is and that anyone who could diss her like that is not worthy of her tears. She had one hell of a party. Everyone had fun. And she has so many wonderful, caring people who love her... it was wonderful just to be a part of that. I owe her big for pulling off the party that I couldn't. She is truly a goddess.
Sunday:
Slept till 12:30 in Dawn's gargantuanly delicious bed. Retreated back to 2020, only to shower, glow and go see Harry Potter again wif Brandon. We got into it about motivation and ambition. Silly how different things are now. Then had dinner party with Kinya and gracious host, Tina. Excellent food and superb conversation.
Didn't think about any of my drama until I got home and talked with one of my roommates a little bit about depression and family issues. Funny how things can revamp all of your priorities and truly change your entire outlook on life. I wish he (and I) the best of luck.
Then had juicy conversation with rock star, Jason. He is the most wonderful boy in the world. Hands down. Cute, silly and just pure yummy-slacker-goodness. We are making music tomorrow night (er, tonight). I cannot wait to sing with him.
And on that note, you assholes, consider yourself fuckin blogged.
Take exam. Survive English. Get free food at ENGR. Go to the knee doctor in Bethesda.
So I hafta wear these blue, hospital gown type shorts. They are unisex, obviously, and have ample crotchular room. My mom watches me amuse myself for about 3 minutes pretending to have a boner. We discuss my lack of sexual maturity and how she sometimes snorts when she laughs too hard. The X-ray doode starts picking on me right away because I choose to walk around the office without shoes on. We engage in friendly conversation until I lay down on the X-ray table and he adjusts my legs, commenting on how I could use a shave. I return the favor by making fun of his ear hair. We giggle and he sends me back to my mum, who by now has folded up my ripped jeans in a manner that the Doc can't see the holes.
Doc comes in. Doc is young. Doc is hot. He picks up on my vibes right away and starts making fun of my "funny" knee caps. He explains how being interesting is a plus, but having an interesting medical situation is a huge minus. Thanx, Doc. So he lays me down and starts fucking around with my knee. He then sits down and starts talking to me about my knees and my past problems with dislocating them. As to not be rude, I sit back up on the table thingy. No later than 10 seconds after I sit up, he instructs me to lay back down and starts feeling my leg muscles to see how much physical therapy I'm going to need. Then he sits back down, and I sit up. We go through this routine two more times, my mother giggling and snorting more each time. By now, my face is a pubescent-acne-pink, and my shorts are becoming a little tighter due to my imaginary boner.
We discuss my options and possible issues with surgery. Doc states that I am an "obviously active girl," with "ample leg muscles," but feels that I should do 60 leg lifts a day. Now I hafta lay back down again so he can properly instruct me on how to do these lifts. I hafta lie flat and bend one knee to stabilize. Then I hafta tense my whole leg and lift it slowly to a 45 degree angle, hold it there for ten seconds, and then slowly lower it. Then I hafta relax my leg for ten seconds and then repeat. Sixty of these things a day. That's going to take me over 20 minutes. A day. After number 20, Doc says it's going to taste like burning. I try to negotiate with him, using the valid argument that I already have thunder thighs, and would rather he give me a target work out for my abs. Doc is not convinced, but gives me a quick up-down to see if there were any other areas I might need to work on.
Doc explains to my mum that he'd rather me deal with the occasional pop-out with minimal pain, then a 3-month long, painful surgery that may only lead to early arthritis. He says that I need to come in 6 weeks from now so he can check my progress and see if there is any other issue. Shit. It's like a hot personal trainer only worse. This one has a stethoscope.
Doc slips out and two med students come in to fit me for my very own, fancy-shmancy knee brace. Mum hints from behind them that she thinks the one on the left is attractive... and so naturally, I kick him in the shin while he tries to adjust the straps on my brace.
Smooth.
After another snort, a $20 co-pay and a moral dilemma over keeping or throwing away the shorts, mum and I exit the office.
Then I meet my brother back in College Park. Give him tour, go Quiznos, play Twisted Metal Black, shmooze about his painting and in general, enjoy Michael's company. Love. That boy.
Then fart around with roommates (literally in Danny's case) and head over to 8709 for a toga party. Didn't stay long, or really dig the scene, but saw and hugged Alley so all was worth it. Did I mention Danny's gaseous explosions? Ok, good. Then home for staple pj pants, tank top and 10 Things I Hate About You.
Saturday:
So I sleep until 1pm. Take heavenly shower and put on my staple grey sweat pants. Roll out with Dawnie Bears for some partay shopping at Target and a burfday burrito.
We ran into a parade. In the Ghetto Mall parking lot. I'm not kidding. A parade. Right in front of Target. "Only in PG county," states burfday girl.
Head to G'burg for burfday dinner wif brother and parents. Oh, sweet geezus I ate well. Good thing too, because it helped me drink like a fish later in the evening.
Ok. Let's get to the party. Can I just say... I had the most wonderful time. Cleavage... gorgeous hair... African Hip Hop... The Wheel of Passion... awesome new people... the "We Hate Boys" beer pong game... shot after shot after shot...
I mean, don't get me wrong... there was drama. A shit load of it. To quote an old friend of mine "a cubic shitload." But you know what?!?!
None of it was mine!!!!!
I KNOW!! HOW INSANE IS THAT?!
I just hope that Dawn knows, deep down, how wonderful she is and that anyone who could diss her like that is not worthy of her tears. She had one hell of a party. Everyone had fun. And she has so many wonderful, caring people who love her... it was wonderful just to be a part of that. I owe her big for pulling off the party that I couldn't. She is truly a goddess.
Sunday:
Slept till 12:30 in Dawn's gargantuanly delicious bed. Retreated back to 2020, only to shower, glow and go see Harry Potter again wif Brandon. We got into it about motivation and ambition. Silly how different things are now. Then had dinner party with Kinya and gracious host, Tina. Excellent food and superb conversation.
Didn't think about any of my drama until I got home and talked with one of my roommates a little bit about depression and family issues. Funny how things can revamp all of your priorities and truly change your entire outlook on life. I wish he (and I) the best of luck.
Then had juicy conversation with rock star, Jason. He is the most wonderful boy in the world. Hands down. Cute, silly and just pure yummy-slacker-goodness. We are making music tomorrow night (er, tonight). I cannot wait to sing with him.
And on that note, you assholes, consider yourself fuckin blogged.
farting around
i've grown accustomed to
playing the part that i do
i've gotten used to
not being the one that goes home with you
you've gotten used to
avoiding my stares
you've gotten used to
me always being there...
you think that's good?!
well... you should hear me sing it. i mean, damn!
playing the part that i do
i've gotten used to
not being the one that goes home with you
you've gotten used to
avoiding my stares
you've gotten used to
me always being there...
you think that's good?!
well... you should hear me sing it. i mean, damn!
Sunday, November 24, 2002
damn.
i really need to post some quality again... it's been like two weeks.
sorry to those of you who bother to keep checking anyways... i'll have some good, new shit tonight! i promise!
but for now.... it's off to Hogwarts.
sorry to those of you who bother to keep checking anyways... i'll have some good, new shit tonight! i promise!
but for now.... it's off to Hogwarts.
Saturday, November 23, 2002
Thursday, November 21, 2002
I realized a long time ago that the less that I do and the less I put myself out there, then the less I am going to learn. The less I’m going to know. And just that knowledge… just that opportunity to experience something- and how it makes you feel, grow and develop… I just can’t help but love that. I think that’s the love of my life right there: learning.
/dork
/dork
Wednesday, November 20, 2002
Tuesday, November 19, 2002
oh, and before i get time to write about the adventure that was last weekend... i should at least give mad love to the members of the DCC. i can't think of too many other people i'd acutally want to spend such a retarded and drama-filled weekend with. and dear lord, if we EVER go camping again... we will check the freaking weather report, we will give clear and consise directions or all drive together, we will all learn how to drive a big truck, we will all train so we can run 10 miles in the rain with no socks and sprint away effectively when people try to shoot at us, and we will NOT take fire crotch.
thank you.
thank you.
movies that you should see. like... right now.
8mile: surprisingly inspirational and thought-provoking. marshal ain't a bad actor at all. and if for no other reason... you need to hear their version of Sweet Home Alabama.
Harry Potter Numbah 2: i dunno how, but they made me cry again. i just cannot get over how quality this stuff is. seriously, it takes real talent to create something so entertaining and enjoyable without falling back to the sex, violence and nastiness that is the current media scheme. read the damn books too.
Harry Potter Numbah 2: i dunno how, but they made me cry again. i just cannot get over how quality this stuff is. seriously, it takes real talent to create something so entertaining and enjoyable without falling back to the sex, violence and nastiness that is the current media scheme. read the damn books too.
Monday, November 18, 2002
It’s been over twelve years.
Twelve years and I can still remember crawling into bed with my mom and my dad in the middle of the night. I would slip in between them, and as my dad scratched my back, my mom would listen to me explain my bad dreams.
I can still remember what his side of the bed smelled like and what her side of the bed smelled like.
Twelve years and I can still remember crawling into bed with my mom and my dad in the middle of the night. I would slip in between them, and as my dad scratched my back, my mom would listen to me explain my bad dreams.
I can still remember what his side of the bed smelled like and what her side of the bed smelled like.
Monday, November 11, 2002
a lot of people have been asking me where i was this weekend and how i am doing... and i feel as though i need to explain myself a bit. the reason i have not been inclined to talk about things is a very simple one: i'm sick and tired of having so many problems and issues that i need to deal with.
and no, don't try to pull that "the only way to help get through these things is to talk about them" crap with me because i've talked everything in my life to death. talk, talk, talk talk talk... it gets draining and old. i figure i just need to do what i have to do and not waste my time trying to explain everything to everyone.
everyone has issues and things they need to deal with. especially at this point in our lives. college is a mind trip and an overload. and let's just say that i am feeling both of those right now.
it makes me sad that i have come to expect and accept the worst in my life. it is almost the norm for me. things happen for a reason... and i know that i will go through what i need to go through in this life even if it does have a rediculously negative undertone. i know that there is a point to all this. holding on to sight of that is what my challenge is. and it is a personal challenge... one that i don't need to share with the world... yet, anyways.
so again, thank you to everyone who has offered and hinted at being there for me, listening to me, trying to give me advice and just checkin up on me and reminding me that they care. i appreciate it more than you know.
my life has taken a pretty big turn this weekend, one that has made me re-prioritize. and unfortunately, this means nanowrimo will be an unsuccessful adventure for me this year. i will write a book. many books. i am just not supposed to do it right now. i have to live the story before i can write it.
love.
and no, don't try to pull that "the only way to help get through these things is to talk about them" crap with me because i've talked everything in my life to death. talk, talk, talk talk talk... it gets draining and old. i figure i just need to do what i have to do and not waste my time trying to explain everything to everyone.
everyone has issues and things they need to deal with. especially at this point in our lives. college is a mind trip and an overload. and let's just say that i am feeling both of those right now.
it makes me sad that i have come to expect and accept the worst in my life. it is almost the norm for me. things happen for a reason... and i know that i will go through what i need to go through in this life even if it does have a rediculously negative undertone. i know that there is a point to all this. holding on to sight of that is what my challenge is. and it is a personal challenge... one that i don't need to share with the world... yet, anyways.
so again, thank you to everyone who has offered and hinted at being there for me, listening to me, trying to give me advice and just checkin up on me and reminding me that they care. i appreciate it more than you know.
my life has taken a pretty big turn this weekend, one that has made me re-prioritize. and unfortunately, this means nanowrimo will be an unsuccessful adventure for me this year. i will write a book. many books. i am just not supposed to do it right now. i have to live the story before i can write it.
love.
Sunday, November 10, 2002
very fitting for me at present:
"I like it when a flower or a little tuft of grass grows through a crack in the concrete. it's so fuckin heroic."
~George Carlin
~George Carlin
Thursday, November 07, 2002
Wednesday, November 06, 2002
Tuesday, November 05, 2002
Monday, November 04, 2002
Kristi is going through that stage in her life where she desires, probably more than anything in the world, someone to give her a unique and meaningful nickname. However, because her expectations are so high and her desire for this is still unspoken, no one in her life has successfully accomplished this yet. And being the take-charge kinda girl that she is… Kristi has come up with an idea on her own… Krist.
I know, like her real name wasn’t cute and different enough already.
……….
“Yes, mother, I am aware that it resembles the word ‘Christ,” but no one is stupid enough to actually make that association except you.” With that, my mom’s whole body went from that yummy, squishy, mommy goodness to that rigid and cold stuff that drill sergeants are made of.
“I mean… umn… no one is as religiously aware as you are…” Ugh. Nice save there, Kristi. There she goes with the look! How the hell do I get myself out of this one?
“Yeah… I’m just going to stop talking now.”
“That’s the most intelligent thing I have heard you say all week, dear. Now please, I just want to make sure you aren’t taking this little creative outlet thing too far. I’m all for self-expression and uniqueness and all, but- who even gave you that lame nickname in the first place?”
“It’s not lame, Mom, and you wouldn’t know him. He, uhh, he goes to school with me.” No, no, no! Don’t fidget with your fingers… she knows you do that when you are lying!
……….
I knew she was lying. I have the same trouble with not telling the truth that she does. Us Sintell’s are just not good at being dishonest. She even looks to the left just slightly as her brain tries to configure the story like I do.
“Sometimes you make me wonder.”
“Wonder about what, Mom?”
“Do you really think that I can’t tell when you lie to me? I mean, this is what I do for a living… catch little rats like you in the act. Give me a little credit, Kriiiiiist.”
……….
So what if she is an Adolescent Psychologist?! She’s only human, for God’s sake. I figure I can slip one through the system every now and again.
“Look, just let me be who I want to be. I like being called Krist. And I think you’ll eventually like it too.”
……….
Actually, it’s what I had in mind to call her my entire life. I’ve always wanted it to be Krist. That’s why I named her Kristin in the first place. Jake just didn’t like it… thought it sounded too gothic for our first child. So I settled with Kristi, hoping that this idea would eventually come up. Damn, I’m good.
Sometimes the connection I have with my daughter scares me. I hope it scares her a little bit too.
The only trick now is to make sure she can’t see how excited I am about this development.
“Fine. Call yourself whatever the hell you want to! And in following, you can call me Turnip Lips. I’ve gotta go pick up your brother.”
……….
God she can be such a bitch.
……….
Heh.
I know, like her real name wasn’t cute and different enough already.
……….
“Yes, mother, I am aware that it resembles the word ‘Christ,” but no one is stupid enough to actually make that association except you.” With that, my mom’s whole body went from that yummy, squishy, mommy goodness to that rigid and cold stuff that drill sergeants are made of.
“I mean… umn… no one is as religiously aware as you are…” Ugh. Nice save there, Kristi. There she goes with the look! How the hell do I get myself out of this one?
“Yeah… I’m just going to stop talking now.”
“That’s the most intelligent thing I have heard you say all week, dear. Now please, I just want to make sure you aren’t taking this little creative outlet thing too far. I’m all for self-expression and uniqueness and all, but- who even gave you that lame nickname in the first place?”
“It’s not lame, Mom, and you wouldn’t know him. He, uhh, he goes to school with me.” No, no, no! Don’t fidget with your fingers… she knows you do that when you are lying!
……….
I knew she was lying. I have the same trouble with not telling the truth that she does. Us Sintell’s are just not good at being dishonest. She even looks to the left just slightly as her brain tries to configure the story like I do.
“Sometimes you make me wonder.”
“Wonder about what, Mom?”
“Do you really think that I can’t tell when you lie to me? I mean, this is what I do for a living… catch little rats like you in the act. Give me a little credit, Kriiiiiist.”
……….
So what if she is an Adolescent Psychologist?! She’s only human, for God’s sake. I figure I can slip one through the system every now and again.
“Look, just let me be who I want to be. I like being called Krist. And I think you’ll eventually like it too.”
……….
Actually, it’s what I had in mind to call her my entire life. I’ve always wanted it to be Krist. That’s why I named her Kristin in the first place. Jake just didn’t like it… thought it sounded too gothic for our first child. So I settled with Kristi, hoping that this idea would eventually come up. Damn, I’m good.
Sometimes the connection I have with my daughter scares me. I hope it scares her a little bit too.
The only trick now is to make sure she can’t see how excited I am about this development.
“Fine. Call yourself whatever the hell you want to! And in following, you can call me Turnip Lips. I’ve gotta go pick up your brother.”
……….
God she can be such a bitch.
……….
Heh.
My english professor is a crackhead.
I have no respect for her or how she runs her classroom. And I do believe she is very much aware of this fact. It definitely proves to be an interesting learning environment.
The course is Intermediate Writing, and it is an elective that not even English majors are required to take. So you’d think… being that she is an educated woman… that she would realize we are all there BY CHOICE. And that we don’t need some guilt trip assy-ass attempt to keep us serious about that class.
Alas. She attempts to keep the class in check by shhh-ing us. Yeah.
Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Is a very effective way to get your classroom full of 8 year olds to quiet down but come on, lady. I’m old enough to go out and drink you under the table.
She brings stuffed animals into class all of the time. I think she thinks it’s cute and hip. Today, for instance, she decided to have us do a free write about this ugly-as-sin turtle that her daughter slobbers all over (I know she slobbers all over it because she gave us vivid details…and then… yes… you guessed it! She passed the nasty baby-germ-infected thing around to the class so we could thoroughly examine it. Spread disease much?). Now she told us we could describe the retarded thing any way we wanted to. So I CANNOT get in trouble for this:
You know that face from the scary movies that stays in the back of your mind for weeks after you see it? With the big, bugged out eyes… that burn fear and angst into your soul?
Yep. This is what we are giving to your 8 month old.
There is a hole in its underbelly that you can pull a small, baby turtle out of after you rip its skin open, letting the red, bloody goo from its intestines ooze out with the creature, putting me in mind of that scene from Alien 3… yeah… you know the one I’m talking about.
It crinkles, rattles and squeaks… just like the sound effects from Children of the Corn and Pet Cemetery.
Those bright, neon colors burn your eyes like a fire and lead you to turn away in horror.
Children throw it around, chew on it, rip its skin apart… they look at the disfigured reflection in the mirror on its back and begin their long battle with self-esteem…
The symbol in the center of its shell marks, with no doubt, its allegiance to some secret, satanic cult, its extremities being pushed and pulled… beaten, squished and abused unmercifully…
And all the while it has a smile curved on its lips, haunting you with sick pleasure.
Don’t lie. You know you enjoyed it. And I think she will too.
I will be very surprised if I pass this course with anything higher than a C.
The course is Intermediate Writing, and it is an elective that not even English majors are required to take. So you’d think… being that she is an educated woman… that she would realize we are all there BY CHOICE. And that we don’t need some guilt trip assy-ass attempt to keep us serious about that class.
Alas. She attempts to keep the class in check by shhh-ing us. Yeah.
Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Is a very effective way to get your classroom full of 8 year olds to quiet down but come on, lady. I’m old enough to go out and drink you under the table.
She brings stuffed animals into class all of the time. I think she thinks it’s cute and hip. Today, for instance, she decided to have us do a free write about this ugly-as-sin turtle that her daughter slobbers all over (I know she slobbers all over it because she gave us vivid details…and then… yes… you guessed it! She passed the nasty baby-germ-infected thing around to the class so we could thoroughly examine it. Spread disease much?). Now she told us we could describe the retarded thing any way we wanted to. So I CANNOT get in trouble for this:
You know that face from the scary movies that stays in the back of your mind for weeks after you see it? With the big, bugged out eyes… that burn fear and angst into your soul?
Yep. This is what we are giving to your 8 month old.
There is a hole in its underbelly that you can pull a small, baby turtle out of after you rip its skin open, letting the red, bloody goo from its intestines ooze out with the creature, putting me in mind of that scene from Alien 3… yeah… you know the one I’m talking about.
It crinkles, rattles and squeaks… just like the sound effects from Children of the Corn and Pet Cemetery.
Those bright, neon colors burn your eyes like a fire and lead you to turn away in horror.
Children throw it around, chew on it, rip its skin apart… they look at the disfigured reflection in the mirror on its back and begin their long battle with self-esteem…
The symbol in the center of its shell marks, with no doubt, its allegiance to some secret, satanic cult, its extremities being pushed and pulled… beaten, squished and abused unmercifully…
And all the while it has a smile curved on its lips, haunting you with sick pleasure.
Don’t lie. You know you enjoyed it. And I think she will too.
I will be very surprised if I pass this course with anything higher than a C.
Sunday, November 03, 2002
I do some of my best thinking in the shower. I am one of those people who enjoy ridiculously hot water… so hot that my skin comes out a big, puffy shade of pinks and reds… the shower door and bathroom mirror all steamy and dripping. Oh dear lord, that’s love right there. The steam clears your sinuses like a curiously strong mint. The juniper breeze body wash foams on your body and fills your newly open nostrils with the pure and clean scent you have come to call your own. The water makes every surface so slick and smooth- even the light layer of mildew collecting at the corners of the tiles closest to the floor. And on days when none of my roommates are home, my voice echoes off of the walls, ringing back to my ears, full of warmth and life that I can’t comprehend why I am not letting anyone hear this. My eyes squint to hold in the contacts I’m not supposed to be wearing in the water, my dollar nail polish chips off of my nails that are now soft and bendable, and my finger tips become wrinkled and squishy to the feeling of my lower back and hips as I wash them of all the stress and pain of my daily excursions. How could I not be filled with thoughts deep and full of rich and delicious life? How could I not feel free and strong in my blue room?
The back of my shirt is now damp with the drops of love still dripping from my wet hair. I could spend days in the shower. In fact. I want to go back right now.
The back of my shirt is now damp with the drops of love still dripping from my wet hair. I could spend days in the shower. In fact. I want to go back right now.
Friday, November 01, 2002
nanowrimo begins.
I’ve been waiting about a month to write this book. And now, when I sit down to actually start typing the words… I don’t go blank like I thought I would. I imagined myself sitting here, totally clueless as to how to begin or where to go or what exactly to write about.
Maybe I don’t know myself as well as I thought I did.
I painted my fingernails tonight. A silver-grey kind of color. Yes, grey with an E. I think it looks classier. It looks more how I imagine grey would look. Stop hating against my spelling, Mr. Spell Check Underliner Guy.
Yeah.
It’s funny that I started this month off with one of my “I have given up on guys and all that cuddly, yummy, romantical stuff. Seems like the perfect way to start a novel. That slightly jaded, bitter yet still hopeful idealist who has decided that she is better off alone. This is where, if plot sequences hold true like they do in the movies, the man of her dreams comes along and presents our heroine with a whole new set of problems.
It is always about love, isn’t it?
What if you wrote a book that was all about you and your daily excursions… only stretched and skewed just enough to make it seem ridiculous? Maybe that’s what this experience will be like for me.
My life on extremes.
But then again, my life doesn’t really need to be taken to extremes to hold elements of the ridiculous.
So here we go kids, on a thirty-day adventure. Or, more realistically speaking… thirty days worth of journal entrees that just rambled on way too long.
I apologize in advance to anyone who actually reads the whole thing.
Maybe I don’t know myself as well as I thought I did.
I painted my fingernails tonight. A silver-grey kind of color. Yes, grey with an E. I think it looks classier. It looks more how I imagine grey would look. Stop hating against my spelling, Mr. Spell Check Underliner Guy.
Yeah.
It’s funny that I started this month off with one of my “I have given up on guys and all that cuddly, yummy, romantical stuff. Seems like the perfect way to start a novel. That slightly jaded, bitter yet still hopeful idealist who has decided that she is better off alone. This is where, if plot sequences hold true like they do in the movies, the man of her dreams comes along and presents our heroine with a whole new set of problems.
It is always about love, isn’t it?
What if you wrote a book that was all about you and your daily excursions… only stretched and skewed just enough to make it seem ridiculous? Maybe that’s what this experience will be like for me.
My life on extremes.
But then again, my life doesn’t really need to be taken to extremes to hold elements of the ridiculous.
So here we go kids, on a thirty-day adventure. Or, more realistically speaking… thirty days worth of journal entrees that just rambled on way too long.
I apologize in advance to anyone who actually reads the whole thing.
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