|
|
Monday, April 10th, 2006
| |
7:57 am - humph!
|
|
GAAAAAARRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHHH! I just wrote a really deep post and the computer ate it!
|
|
|
| Friday, March 17th, 2006
| |
10:42 am - a bit on asses
|
An aquaintance I know is making, what I believe, is a total ass of his/herself. This persona already bugs the crap out of me in a very splintering sort of way, and, for some reason, this last episode has embedded matters even more under my skin than they were before.
There's this praise song that has struck many a church and youth group. I'm not actually that into most praise music--just not enough edge for my taste--but I do distinctly recognize this song as one that was regularly sang at my own junior high youth group, from a songbook that was a bit weathered, to boot. So not exactly an old song, but a psuedo-pre-junior oldies, anyway.
This person was verbally ambushing the Bible study goers last night and telling them how he/she had just won a trip to Vegas for some poetry competition because of some super, marvelous, breathtakingly kickass poem of poems he/she penned and submitted online. She passed it around, along with a scammish e-mail from the "editors" about how they "don't normally do this" but they "were so utterly moved by her poem" that they'd like for her to participate in some reading thing in Vegas (obviously, if there is a competition, they do "normally do this" unless they are having a competition for abnormals in which case this would be great for... oh, nevermind... bad though Em *self flaggelate, self flaggelate*).
I intercepted the papers on the way around, and I noticed along with that e-mail was that song. A friend with me peeked an said audibly "Isn't that a song?" The poet heard this and replied that yes, it was, but he/she added a few lines of his/her own at the end, so now it is a poem. Hearing this breif inquiry about the originality of the poem, the poet's spouse shouted "It's not plagerism!" It was time for small group stuff, so I handed the papers back and went on my merry way.
There's no doubt in my mind that it is plagerism, for I have been trained in the fine art of APA and MLA citation. If a person has a source, especially if they quote it directly, and don't don't attribute it to the author, that it plagerism. Yes, even if you add two lines. Plagerism. Period.
The question is: what should I do, if anything? This is where I start feeling like a terrible person.
At some level, I'd be a small bit amused if it was a scam, and this life lesson just plays out itself. Poet submits a poem that isn't his/hers, gets conned into spending lots of money on a free trip just to read a unoriginal poem, comes back to bitch and moan about what a ripoff it was and how dishonest people are and you can't believe anything you read--there's a amusing bit of irony there.
I realize that reveling in that possibility is evil (unfortunately!), so even if "nothing" is the right thing to do, "because the person will get hurt anyway" not the right reason why.
I could tell this person out of love, but honestly, I don't feel that much love for the person. I was very tempted to self-censor that to make myself sound a little more decent, but the truth is I hate it when people cheat like that, I hate it when they brag about their exploits, and I hate it when people walk into a room, and instead of commenting on the pretty wallpaper or the thoughtful lesson or rainy day, they drone about self-glorifying things. I don't hate these people, but I do wish they would leave me alone and return all of my wasted time. And I hate myself a bit for thinking that.
So the best I can come up with is that I should leave it alone because I'm not mature enough to deal with it. And that hurts a little. So really, in a way, I sense the biggest ass here is me.
|
|
|
| Saturday, March 11th, 2006
| |
10:55 am - the park
|
I dreamt I was blogging last night. It felt so natural in the dream, to the point that when my husband scurried off for his shower, I checked to see if I really did write something. So here I am now.
It's been awhile since I've really written anything, which kind of bugs me. I used to write often, and write pretty damn thoughtful stuff often. Now it seems like everytime I blog something, it's more a letter to an old used-to-be-best-friends-but-now-we're-not-so-close-because-life-kinda-gets-in-the-way, more of an update on life stuff that seems necessary to write about, regardless of how uninteresting the prose turns out to be.
So, to skip the formalities and forced semi-deep stuff about the cat dying and how I wish the library would call and ask for an interview, I'll say this:
Yesterday, I took the first real for-the-hell-of-it walk that I have since I moved to Michigan. There's this pond behind the appartment complex, lined by a small path and lush grassy area, which was sprinkled with a few swings and grills and very climbable trees. The place was really nothing special, but it was filled with so much simple beauty. I felt ashamed I hadn't sought it earlier.
To be fair this is just the beginning of spring, so cavorting about outside much earlier would have interacted poorly with my scleroderma and raynauds. But still. I've been missing my park in Germany, something perfectly splendid was so near. I can't help but mourn for all the afternoons I haven't spent there.
I often feel my life is that way. I'm blessed with a kick-ass husband, a slightly dented but very "me" truck, a cozy apartment, and various other charming things, but theres so much non-stuff that I could experience if I was only willing to look and to make it anything of a priority. Like my bass playing. I know the basics. I could be so much better, and get so much more out of it, if that was one thing that I actually saught. Like the park, I feel kinda bad for all the time I have had and haven't used.
And then there's God. I'm told he's out there, and I believe it, and I have good reason to think so. I know what I need to do to get more connected, and I know that doing so would make my life more meaningful and complete. It's just the doing so...
|
|
|
| Wednesday, February 22nd, 2006
| |
3:03 pm - I really need to get back to whateve it is I was doing in the first place.
|
What's your name?
1. YOUR PORN STAR NAME
(name of first pet + street you live on)
Belcher Colgrove
2. YOUR MOVIE STAR NAME
(grandad's/Grandma's first name + favorite snack)
Greta Sundae
3. YOUR FASHION DESIGNER NAME
(first thing you see on your left + favorite restaurant name)
Pillow Ponderosa
4. YOUR "FLY GIRL/GUY" NAME
(first initial + last three letters of your last name)
E Ith
5. YOUR DETECTIVE NAME
(favorite animal + name of high school)
Cat Mannheim
6. YOUR SOAP OPERA NAME
(middle name + city where you were born):
Maria Ancon
7. YOUR OPPOSITE SEX NAME
(name of sibling/parent [opposite sex] + cell phone company you use)
Dave Sprint
8. YOUR STAR WARS NAME
(first 3 letters of your last name + last 3 letters of mother's maiden name)
Smiace
|
|
|
| |
2:10 pm - grrr.
|
Got my first negative feedback on eBay today. Here's the story:
I bid on several lot of banknotes from a certain seller. I noticed the shipping was 4.95 per lot and there was no combined shipping, but the notes looked pretty cool (although not "rare" like he claimed"), so I bid anyways. When I paid via PayPal, I left a note instructing the seller to please ship the stuff very carefully, as I was more than paying for it. I suggested lining the envelope with cardbord or something. A week later, a few envelopes with 39 cent stamps on them show up in my mailbox. Letter envelopes, with no padding or anything, not even a "do not bend" message on the front. So yeah, I'm pissed, especially considering I paid over $24 for shipping and the actually shipping total for him, envelopes included, is $2. Even with PayPal and eBay fees the total should have been less than $7. I sense obvious price gouging, without even the sense to soften it a bit with some special packaging efforts.
So, being the generally reasonable person I am, I left nuetral feedback. Between the five lots, I wrote:
not a "rare" note as claimed. shipping did not meet expectations for price.
okay service and product, but shipping not careful enough for price paid
banknotes: good --- shipping: servicable
4.75 shipping-I expect a bit more than an unpadded envevlope w/ a 39 cent-stamp
shipping was pretty steep and not well protected, but item came pretty quickly
All things considered, I thought my this was pretty honest, non-inflamatory, and definately warranted, esp. since I ask the seller to pack it well in ways that other banknote dealers do. So today, I checked my feedback, as I often do to boost my spirits on a bad day. And I read, at the top of my otherwise perfect list, "bad ebayer."
Yeah, sure. I think the only thing bad about my eBaying is that I fell for your dumb ploy.
It's been a relatively pissy week, though. Jason the cat died on Monday, after a struggle with arthritis, severe constipation, and liver issues. Mom, Dad, and Annette decided it was time; I probably agree. On the bright side, he had eighteen happy, spoiled years that wouldn't have been had we not rescued him. He also had the luxury of going in Mom's arms, pretty painlessly, instead of suffering and suffering and being found dead somewhere in the house. Everybody made the right decisions, I think, but I still find it hard to believe he's gone.
And to top it off, I had a rather sucky interview experience yesterday. I posted my resume on Career Builder, to get some leads, and perhaps maybe a job. Within a few days, a representative from Combined Insurance calls, says they've read my interveiw, they like what they see, and would love to interveiw me. After a bit of phone tag, she gives me an address and a time to be there. I spend the week prepping: dry-cleaning my best business attire, reading extensive online sources for information on the company, formulating great questions to ask them, getting tips on nailing a job interview, buying pantyhose, etc.
So, Tuesday comes, and it's inteview time. I drive to the street the interview is held, and am looking for someplace that looks like office-y that might be the spot. No luck. Luckiliy, I spotted a postal worker, so I asked her wher 3600 Cork Street was. She points to the Best Western. The representative said nothing about it being held at a Best Western, but just to investigate, I go in. Sure enough, that's the place. I find the interviewer, introduce myself with a nice handshake, and am led to a room. I enter the room and notice there are 10 other people in it. Turns out, this wasn't an interview (like they said) by any means, but rather an informational meeting about opportunities selling Medicare supplements to seniors. Other than a questionaire, no questions were asked to us, and the bulk of the time was spent looking at a handout and hearing the fellow ramble on about his experiences at the company. There wasn't even a Q&A session afterwards. The situation was dealt with in a manner about as personal as lining cattle up to be slaughtered.
I guess the moral of the story is to avoid estatedave and Combined Insurance, and instead spend time with my ephemeral cat.
I'm not sure.
|
|
|
| Friday, January 13th, 2006
| |
3:45 pm - it's psuedo-official
|
|
I'm graduating this month! Yay!
|
|
|
| Friday, January 6th, 2006
| |
1:46 pm - elton time!
|
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Elton John -- Your Song
-------------------------------------
It's a little bit funny this feeling inside
I'm not one of those who can easily hide
I don't have much money but boy if I did
I'd buy a big house where we both could live
If I was a sculptor, but then again, no
Or a man who makes potions in a travelling show
I know it's not much but it's the best I can do
My gift is my song and this one's for you
And you can tell everybody this is your song
It may be quite simple but now that it's done
I hope you don't mind
I hope you don't mind that I put down in words
How wonderful life is while you're in the world
I sat on the roof and kicked off the moss
Well a few of the verses well they've got me quite cross
But the sun's been quite kind while I wrote this song
It's for people like you that keep it turned on
So excuse me forgetting but these things I do
You see I've forgotten if they're green or they're blue
Anyway the thing is what I really mean
Yours are the sweetest eyes I've ever seen
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
|
|
|
| Thursday, October 20th, 2005
| |
12:16 pm - just because
|
Well I heard there was a secret chord
that David played and it pleased the Lord
But you don't really care for music, do ya?
Well it goes like this:
The fourth, the fifth, the minor fall and the major lift
The baffled king composing Hallelujah
Hallelujah Hallelujah Hallelujah Hallelujah
Well your faith was strong but you needed proof
You saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew ya
And She tied you to her kitchen chair
And She broke your throne and she cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah
Hallelujah Hallelujah Hallelujah Hallelujah
Well Baby I've been here before
I´ve seen this room, and I've walked this floor,
You know, I used to live alone before I knew you
And I've seen your flag on the marble arch
And Love is not a victory march
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah
Hallelujah Hallelujah Hallelujah Hallelujah
Well there was a time when you let me know
What's really going on below
But now you never show that to me do ya
But remember when I moved in you
And the holy dove was moving too
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah
Hallelujah Hallelujah Hallelujah Hallelujah
Maybe there is a God above
But all I've ever learned from love
Was how to shoot somebody who outdrew ya
And it's not a cry that you can hear at night
It's not somebody who's seen the light
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah
Hallelujah Hallelujah Hallelujah Hallelujah
Hallelujah Hallelujah Hallelujah Hallelujah
|
|
|
| Wednesday, October 12th, 2005
| |
3:35 pm - whew!
|
The Expatriate
Achtung! You are 38% brainwashworthy, 13% antitolerant, and 33% blindly patriotic |
Congratulations! You are not susceptible to brainwashing, your values and cares extend beyond the borders of your own country, and your Blind Patriotism does not reach unhealthy levels. If you had been German in the 30s, you would've left the country.
One bad scenario -- as I hypothetically project you back in time -- is that you just wouldn't have cared one way or the other about Nazism. Maybe politics don't interest you enough. But the fact that you took this test means they probably do. I'm gonna give you the benefit of the doubt.
Did you know that many of the smartest Germans departed prior to the beginning of World War II, because they knew some evil shit was brewing? Brain Drain. Many of them were scientists. It is very possible you could have been one of them.
Conclusion: born and raised in Germany in the early 1930's, you would not have been a Nazi.
The Would You Have Been A Nazi? Test
- it rules - |
 |
My test tracked 3 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender:
|
You scored higher than 46% on brainwashworthy |
|
You scored higher than 4% on antitolerant |
|
You scored higher than 42% on patriotic |
|
|
|
|
| Wednesday, October 5th, 2005
| |
3:17 pm - better day
|
Monday wasn't as bad as I predicted. My new Doctor seems okay... not as personable as Dr. Lane (or Ringwald, or Sanders, for that matter), but a decent guy. He ordered some bloodwork and told me to see him in three weeks. If it's something like anemia or diabetes, he can help me get that squared away. If nothing shows up on the tests, I get a referral from him to see a neurologist. Meanwhile, I'm supposed to be carrying around a little notebook to record symptoms and times, so he can understand better what's going on and look for patterns. Non too shabby. I don't even remember squirming much for the phlebotomy; all I remember is this little stress ball brain thing on the cart, which I made sing "I Only Have a Brain" to my beloved Liam.
Even officially quitting my job was pretty painless. My last day is the 24th. I've gotta quit being such a drama queen about everything in advance. Life really isn't as scary as I sometimes make it out to be.
Honestly, health issues aside, life is pretty damned good right now. (For starters, I just realized I'm not on a Huntington computer, so I can say things like "life is pretty damed good right now.") Mom and Dad are coming up in a couple weeks, and offered to take Liam and me out to some really nice Mexican joint that Grandma and Grandpa do business with. Uncle Dick is marrying a truly outstanding woman. I've gotten to talk to Annette a great deal more than usual lately, and I'm finding myself increasingly happy for her that her and Jacob's wedding plans are proceeding nicely. I'm finally at peace with the idea. And in a few short minutes, Liam will be here to swoop me up and whisk me away for a lovely evening of snuggling and watching Frasier. Sure, I'm a little anxious about health shit, but I don't want to ever convince myself again that I've got it bad.
|
|
|
| Sunday, October 2nd, 2005
| |
5:45 pm - tomarrow's gonna suck
|
I'm putting in my two week notice. It one of those jobs that I'm constantly looking at the time, and I am relieved in a small way when my shift is exactly halfway over. I figure I can't wait to get home, but at least the first half was 'bearable enough.' That's probably about 20% of the reason I'm throwing in the proverbial towel. The other reason is that I'm sick as ever, so both the stress I face, the sleep I'm not getting, and the contagious stuff I catch from everybody is killing my immune system. I need to get my health up, and I can't manage that with this job. I suppose it's a good thing that I already told my boss I was going to probably resign. I can't say exactly why, but I now have a better idea, based on her reaction, that evrything is going to be okay. Okay-ish, anyway. Still, I hate stuffy encounters, where I'm the peon trying to comminicate to my superior in equisitely polite and professional sentences that I can't take it anymore, so I am quitting. I could save so much time and sleep if I just chose to go through life and just say exactly what I meant without any need for reasonable but non-alarming, PC, overly-conscientous ways to say everything. Like, if I could say, "Hey, I'm putting in my two-week notice today, so I suppose I need to fill out some paperwork," instead of the inevitable what-I-probably-will-say, "Um... I needed to talk to you... when might be a good time... remember when I told you last week that I was probably going to have to resign... well... it looks like I am.... getting really sick... oh yes, I love this job... but it's just not fair to the residents that I don't have all the energy I need to be the best worker I can be... again, I love this job, but I'm afraid I'm just going to have to resign." Screw it, I quit, why do I have to get all worked up about it?
I also have an appointment tomarrow, which means I get to tell my new doctor of all of my quirky symptoms and cross my fingers that he can help, preferably with the least intrusive methods humanly possible. I hate blood tests and piss tests especially, though funky machines that scan and beep a lot are pretty damn cool. More likely, though, I'll probably have the standard-issue phlebotomy or urinalysis, which bites.
And I'm scared of about any result or lack thereof. I mean, if they can't come up with anything, that implies it's all in my head, which mean it is and I'm a hypochondriac, or it means I have something, but they don't know what it is, so I just have to suffer more. But if they do come up with something, that means more treatments, more appointments, more blood tests, more pity, more fear of what things in my life I have to sacrifice, either now or in a few years.
I'm trying to think what limitations and adaptations I'd be willing to make. I mean, if whatever I have means strenuous, high-impact workouts are out, like running a lot, that would make no difference to me at all. I could care less. Even food restrictions or special diets wouldn't really matter, because I don't have that many taste buds anyway. Even eventually walking with assistance of sorts wouldn't bother me much. On the other end of the suck-o-meter, though, is not having the consistent energy reserves to hold down a job, which, as I've implied, is already a limitation. Not being as able to do things I have grown to love, like playing drums or doing funky yo-yo tricks, would also be among my more feared drawbacks. What I'm scared shitless about, though, is not being able to have kids, dying too young, or facing to many limitations that my life in no way resembles the dreams and goals I cling to. I'm not ready to face such a reality.
|
|
|
| Tuesday, September 27th, 2005
| |
6:52 pm - random quizzes
|
Modern, Cool Nerd
91 % Nerd, 52% Geek, 47% Dork |
For The Record:
A Nerd is someone who is passionate about learning/being smart/academia.
A Geek is someone who is passionate about some particular area or subject, often an obscure or difficult one.
A Dork is someone who has difficulty with common social expectations/interactions.
You scored better than half in Nerd and Geek, earning you the title of: Modern, Cool Nerd.
Nerds didn't use to be cool, but in the 90's that all changed. It used to be that, if you were a computer expert, you had to wear plaid or a pocket protector or suspenders or something that announced to the world that you couldn't quite fit in. Not anymore. Now, the intelligent and geeky have eked out for themselves a modicum of respect at the very least, and "geek is chic." The Modern, Cool Nerd is intelligent, knowledgable and always the person to call in a crisis (needing computer advice/an arcane bit of trivia knowledge). They are the one you want as your lifeline in Who Wants to Be a Millionaire (or the one up there, winning the million bucks)!
Congratulations!
Also, you might want to check out some of my other tests if you're interested in any of the following:
Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Professional Wrestling
Love & Sexuality
America/Politics
Thanks Again! -- THE NERD? GEEK? OR DORK? TEST |
 |
My test tracked 3 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender:
|
You scored higher than 98% on nerdiness |
|
You scored higher than 75% on geekosity |
|
You scored higher than 80% on dork points |
|
|
|
|
| |
5:05 pm - sometimes feel like I'm already caught beneath that landslide
|
++++++++++++++++++++
Champagne Supernova--Oasis
-------------------
How many special people change
How many lives are living strange
Where were you when we were getting high?
Slowly walking down the hall
Faster than a cannon ball
Where were you while we were getting high?
Some day you will find me
Caught beneath the landslide
In a champagne supernova in the sky
Some day you will find me
Caught beneath the landslide
In a champagne supernova
A champagne supernova in the sky
Wake up the dawn and ask her why
A dreamer dreams she never dies
Wipe that tear away now from your eye
Slowly walking down the hall
Faster than a cannon ball
Where were you when we were getting high?
Some day you will find me
Caught beneath the landslide
In a champagne supernova in the sky
Some day you will find me
Caught beneath the landslide
In a champagne supernova
A champagne supernova in the sky
Cos people believe that they're
Gonna get away for the summer
But you and I, we live and die
The world's still spinning round
We don't know why
Why, why, why, why
How many special people change
How many lives are living strange
Where were you when we were getting high?
Slowly walking down the hall
Faster than a cannon ball
Where were you while we were getting high?
Some day you will find me
Caught beneath the landslide
In a champagne supernova in the sky
Some day you will find me
Caught beneath the landslide
In a champagne supernova
A champagne supernova in the sky
Cos people believe that they're
Gonna get away for the summer
But you and I, we live and die
The world's still spinning round
We don't know why
Why, why, why, why
How many special people change
How many lives are living strange
Where were you when we were getting high?
We were getting high
We were getting high
We were getting high
We were getting high
++++++++++++++++++++
|
|
|
| Sunday, September 25th, 2005
| |
11:51 am - about that job...
|
Couple entries ago I think I mentioned my job. I work in Schoolcraft looking out for 6 adults with special needs of some sort. For confidentiality reasons, I can't mention anything about specific cases, but the company, HomeLife Inc., works with people who've suffered traumatic brain injury or other sorts of mental disturbances. The job includes cooking, cleaning, playing Uno, doing laundry, talking to the residents... stuff like that. And it's really not so bad t'all.
Except for that thing about nearly every shift disturbing my sleep cycle in some way. First shift, I get up way too early, second shift, I get to bed way too late, and third shift is a proverbial bitch all around (timewise, that is; have actually met some wonderful third shifters).
So my sleep cycle is whacked, which is intensifies the fact that I'm sick and getting sicker. I'm aware of the scleroderma; it was five or so years ago my first Rhumie told me it was probably on deck and almost two years since my actual diagnosis. It seems, though, that it's not just that. New crap has been sproiting up. For several random hours a day, I fluctuate between prickly numb and just plain numb. It's hard to explain. Like, if the cat climbs on my, I can obviously see it's the cat, and I can feel a bit of the pressure of his paws. I can feel his fur. But still, it's about 25% of the normal tactile imput as normal. I can tell much about his fur, like if it's thin or thick. If he licks me, I can kind of sense wet, and I can kind of sense tongue, but again, the deescription ends ther and is devoid of any real discriptors. So I just lay there, numb. and when I'm not on the ground, I'm limping somewhere, and walking takes a more conscious effort. I do have totally normal stretches, but I also just have these several-hour stretches where I'm just feelingless.
I spared my boss this description, partly because my mouth was a bit cottony, and partially because telling a boss that I can't feel kitty cuddles like I used to sounds really lame in a professional conversation. But I did tell her I'm sick, I'm getting sicker, and my two-week notice is probably just around the pike. She seemed professionally sympathetic and overall okay with me resigning. I normally, at some level, like to insist that I'm essential to whatever my academic or professional pursuits are, but this one, from their end and mine, seems so easy to let go under the circumstances. It sucks a bit that there wasn't any more of a fight, a "please stay" of sorts, butin another way, it makes it easier to disengage and get on with other things.
If only I knew what those other things were. I mean, I know school and marriage; those are pretty much the two priorities right now. Luckily, those are also going pretty damned well. Then there's my health, which is growing more and more uncertain by the day. It leaves me so drained, sick, and confused. I'm wondering what it will mean for family stuff and career stuff. I was the wonderkid back then; it was just always assumed that I'd be filled with the same vitality and energy for everything when I grew up. I mean, there are always options, but it seems like there are even more limitations. I can maybe have kids the DIY-way, I can always adopt, but regardless, I'm always going to be drained. As for jobs, I've got the knowledge and ability to learn some wonderful things, but whether I can hold down a great job while battling family and fragile health is another. But yet, if I don't work, there's more strain on Liam to take care of all thing financial, which is not right. I prepared for so many great things, I'm not content to live a low-impact life.
And everybody (slight hyperbole) seems like one of Job's comforters now. Not that anybody blames me (and if they are, they are keeping it to themselves), but it's often the same pity or monotonous sayings about God using this to do wonderful things in mine and other people's lives or something. There are few real answers, and the real answers I get are not the kind I want to hear anyway.
I hate how after all the bitching and moaning, I still don't have even less direction. I'm pretty confident that I need to quit my job and put health first, but so many other things need maintained. If I could read and drum and do yo-yo tricks, that would be my preference. I'm going to try to set up an eBay store and run a small currency dealership, which sounds like a good match for my interests, but it will probably be a little while before I am selling much more than starter kits, and it will take much faith to hold on before it's actually a good business venture. Still there's the nagging wisp of a thought that maybe this will be an absolute failure.
Well, I'm off to nap before the graveyard shift. More later, maybe.
|
|
|
| Friday, September 2nd, 2005
| |
10:14 am - life snippet
|
I'm trying to explain to Jack that his hometown is no more. I show him articles about Slidell flooded and with no electricity for at least another 12 weeks, laced with pictures of trees going through rooves. He kind of sniffs the screen, rubs it, and crawls into my lap, purring. It must be great to be a cat. Some things are just too mind boggling; to be unable to grasp them may be a small blessing at times. I'm ashamed to admit sometime I envy his numbness. He's not purposefully ignorant or cold, just programmed differently, I suppose. And, from all appearances, he lives a life of utter interal peace, upset only by late meals and fire alarms.
Annette's in Louisiana right now, New Iberia if memory serves. I checked the local paper there, and they are openning schools to evacuees from places that got banged, so I suppose that implies that they weren't too much in the line of fire. Still...
Liam and I just celebrated our 3-month anniversary. We are torn between inclinations that it happened yesterday and that we've been married forever.
|
|
|
| Thursday, August 11th, 2005
| |
11:53 am - two months of incessant pouting about not having a job down thre drain...
|
...because now I have one. Yay. It's at an assisted living facility mostly for adults who have experienced some level of brain damage on the very outskirts of Schoolcraft. I have to drive past several cornfields to get to the site, which makes me happy. I also get paid a smidge more than I figured we need to be reasonably comfortable, which is also happymaking.
Which means I can buy that scanner/printer at Wal-Mart I've been eyeing to get my website a bit more image-y. Swanky.
|
|
|
| Thursday, August 4th, 2005
| |
1:03 pm - haven't done these in awhile
|
Sofia Coppola
Your film will be 75% romantic, 28% comedy, 18% complex plot, and a $ 31 million budget. |
| Relatively inexperienced (The Virgin Suicides, Lost In Translation) as a director, but already highly respected and connected -- her dad, Francis, directed all The Godfather movies, Apocolypse Now. Your movie will be a low-budget romantic drama. Sofia's good at that. |
 |
My test tracked 4 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender:
|
You scored higher than 99% on action-romance |
|
You scored higher than 99% on humor |
|
You scored higher than 99% on complexity |
|
You scored higher than 99% on budget |
|
|
|
|
| |
8:38 am - damn cat
|
I might or might not have mentioned that Jack moved in with Liam and me. My folks had collected one too many cats after Abby, the cat of the late Grandma Robbins, joined the family and faied to "play nice with others." So, as the ever-helpful daughter, offered to take a cat off their hands. Liam is new to the kitty-servitude world, and Jack is relatively low-maintenance (and besides, he WAS my cat to begin with), so we opt to take Jack.
Since his arrival in Kalamazoo, we have become accostomed to his varitable plethora of ideosycracies.
His snores have much "umph" and can be heard across the apartment. They have a slow rise in pitch and decibel value until it reaches a climax and begins the falling action of kitty-moaning. The moan finally peters off, and the rising action of crecendoing nasal/sinal cloggedness resumes. It's a vicious cycle.
He begs for food constantly, even just seconds after he's finished a respectable helping. I tred to tell him that there were starving kitties in China that wouldgraciously accept his rations, but Liam pointed out that felines aren't usually on the eating end of the food chain in China. Good point.
He is outspoken with his criticisms of Liam's perfectly good driving.
He thinks he owns my website, sitting on my lap and making unsolicited edits whenever I'm working on it. I honestly don't mind that he likes to pretend to have hobbies more constructive than licking his empty, pointess scrotum for several hours a day, but I'm not sure web design is the ticket.
He considers any amorous activity in the apartment an exciting spectator sport.
Snuggling is on his terms. He has to choose when and where, and he will leave if challenged. Preferred zones of discomfort are necks, groins, feet, and right between Liam and me.
Cats...
|
|
|
| Tuesday, July 26th, 2005
| |
11:17 am - rant
|
So damned odd to think that as a kid, I used to love summer.
Now, it's hot. It's buggy. No one has any expectations of me. There's everywhere to potentially go, but virtually nowhere to be. Most moments seem so sqandered and so monotonous.
I hope I'm not becoming one of those people who hates every little inconvenience or idiosyncracy about life. More and more, though, it feels like I am. I clench my teeth when AOL boots me off for no reason. I add the fact that I'm still waiting for my social security card and my marriage lisence to come from SSA to the fact that I have no job to the fact that the pyromaniac neighbors have this strange affinity for setting off fire alarms at odd hours to the fact that the apartment's distractingly messing and I'm sick all the time, and I sit and fret and mope. It's just that life gets so damned frustrating. It's uber-healthy that I look forward to my husband coming home, and it's natural that I'm anxious about the mail coming, but anymore, that's all the day-to-day stuff I look forward to.
|
|
|
| Sunday, July 24th, 2005
| |
9:00 pm - return of the prodigal blogger
|
It's time.
I haven't posted in a while I suppose, couple months, I figure. Kept dredding a post because I had so damned much to post about, it would be all up-datey and not uber-introspective. I mean, there's a lot to be introspective about, but that much introspection on that many things would just get thick. I prefer to write Robert Fulgham-esqe posts, not neccessarily his style, but ya know, still with that bathroom-reading kind of feel. Not that anyone will read this in the bathroom, I mean, it's a friggin blog, afterall, but I wanted posts to be serving-size, not, ya know, not serving size-ish, and, uh, thick. Or whatever.
Eh, screw it. I'm back. And by reading the last paragraph, I can tell that I'm more than a little rusty. But, as I said, I'm back, and it's time.
There's so much I'm tempted to write about, and there's so many things I could say that just wouldn't do the past two months justice. But I will say this.
All I remember about Liam and I's actual ceremony was us looking at eachother, abosolutely astonished, as I walked down the aisle, Annette dropping the ring mid-ceremony, and Victor presenting us as man and wife. Those memories are more than enough to capture the joy of the day.
Nine-year-olds are funny people, especially when they sign the same guestbook on three different occassions or re-pair the moose on the tables at the reception (who were dressed like Liam and I) to be more "politically correct." Sometimes it seems like I've been separated from childhood for too long. I've become an adult, and I've grown accustomed to associating with adults. I watch kids at th mall or airport (in a non-stalker way), and I greet them when I fetch the mail, but it had been awhile since I'd gotten to truly witness the child psyche at work, which caught me off guard in the most delightful sense of the term. Damn, I want kids.
There are few things more beautiful than flying over fireworks at night.
Spending a few days with old friends is a most delightful honor. I love them as much as ever.
Having no classwork or job is really getting to me. I feel lazy, and I hate that.
I hate always being sick, too. For as little as it feels like I do, I feel so damned worn out.
Marriage genuinely does add a whole new dimension to a relationship. Previously, I had bought the lie that it would just be a technicality, a most splendid technicality, but that Liam and I had pretty much had a full grasp on everything else. It's hard to explain, but whenever I think of it, my mind goes back to the Little Prince and his rose and his realizaion that he was responsible for the rose he had tamed. He tended to it as before, and admired it as before, and cherished it as before. But he realized this deeper bond with that which he loved, and the love was more consumate. Which is the closest, at the moment, I can come to descibing marriage. Which seems to be in the right direction, but not as close as I'd like be to fully describing its previously ungrasped significance. Maybe someday, I'll find the right words.
Liam seems remarkably at peace in NH. He seems happy elsewhere, but something about returning to the place of his childhood which he hadn't seen in eight years brough a new smile to his face. He promised, of course, that someday we could visit Germany, my homeland, together. I look foward to that. Perhaps it will complete something for me, too.
The announcement of the planned closing Benjamin Franklin Village, where I lived for seven years, seemed strikingly natural. I loved the place, but it seems only fair that the place where I grew so profoundly should also be permitted to undergo a metamorphis of it's own. Maybe it sounds stoic of me, but I hope it's something more mature than that. I hope it's an healthy appreciation, nay, an understanding of change.
Jack's still the same brown-nosing cat I brought home in '97. I'm ashamed to admit I still fall for his I-love-you-I-love-you-now-feed-me-dammit gags. The cat's got me hooked, and he knows it.
|
|
|
| Tuesday, May 10th, 2005
| |
6:34 pm - save a drum... bang a drummer!
|
Oh the joys of being unemployed! I signed my final timecard for botht the library and Dr. Priest. Got a couple of references out of the deal, but yeah, I guess I really am almost done with this place. Two exams, a bit of packing, and the turning in of my mailbox key... and I'm GONE.
I'm a bit disallusioned coming out of HC, but I honestly don't hate the place. I hate what they did to Sanders, and I hate the cliques, and I hate how it seems they want to take credit for every little thought and success of students and alumni. That sucks. But the profs I've had, the friends I've made, the cool gigs I've played at... the place has a couple redeeming bits.
But again, enough with HC. I'm outta here.
~~~~
In high school, I asked my English teacher what she'd be if she had it to do over again. She said a horticulturist. At the time I was just bored and sitting in homeroom passing the time--didn't give much thought to the question or the answer. But now, happy but not elated with my decisions so far, and relatively unsure about the decisions yet to come, I wonder what I'd do if I were back in the shoes of 16-year-old-Em. Maybe a graphic arts program at a community college might have been the ticket.
Eh, screw it. I'm 20, I've gone a hellava long way for 20, and I can still be anything I damn well please, certain limitations still applicable. Lamenting a perfectly good past is such a damn waste of time.
~~~~
A good friend pulled me aside after lunch and ask if we could talk. The woman he cherishes more than anything is back in his life. Long story, but he was so amazingly happy to be able to tell it. Just when I am perfectly content with love, somebody comes and shares a story that makes my perspective on the concept yet a smidge richer. And today, listening to this friend, I realized that it is because I love Liam that I understand.
|
|
|
| Sunday, May 1st, 2005
| |
12:38 pm - thought upon waking
|
|
I am getting married THIS MONTH!
|
|
|
| Wednesday, April 27th, 2005
| |
8:15 am - na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na...
|
Batman
Congratulations! You scored a super 71%! |
| Cool, calm and powerful. Whilst your actual super abilities may not be anything too dazzling, you have earnt the respect of both friends and enemies in response to your amazing fighting skills, strategic combat and experience. Luckily you have access to the greens which can fund all your majorly cool gadgets, vehicles and weapons! Also, you're reluctant but still accepting to the idea of having a teammate/side-kick, which just makes everything a whole lotta fun, doesn't it now! On the down side, you've probably suffered some sort of trauma at a young age (that's why we don't talk to the old man near the swings, kids). Similar to the Wolverine, your past is a base for your current motivation, undertaking some kind of personal vow in search of justice. All in all though, you're one tough nut. There's not a lot of people who have the minerals to go up against you, and you're experienced enough not to get cocky and let the little things like never finding happiness get you down! |
 |
My test tracked 1 variable How you compared to other people your age and gender:
|
You scored higher than 80% on Heropoints |
|
|
|
|
| Tuesday, April 19th, 2005
| |
6:33 pm - yeah, that makes sense... unless you've played Risk or Alpha Centauri with me...
|
Incas
You scored 71% for Education, 48% for Religion, 38% for Military Might, and 38% for Decentralization! |
| Mysteriously, this vanished people were enlightened and educated to a magnificent level. Scientific, artistic, with a vast understanding of the stars and astrology, the Incas of Peru were the first great science society in the Americas. We speculate a society of great thinkers and curious scienctist. To value knowledge, art, and culture above all things would make for the best Incan society had to offer. You belong here because you think these things make for immortality, and you might just be right. |
 |
My test tracked 4 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender:
|
You scored higher than 42% on Education |
|
You scored higher than 67% on Religion |
|
You scored higher than 18% on Military Might |
|
You scored higher than 57% on Decentralizatio |
|
|
|
|
| Monday, April 18th, 2005
| |
7:47 pm - anxious and tired
|
I just supressed a yawn for a half hour, and let go. That felt kinda good. I'm tired as anything right now, it will feel so good to get to bed after I'm done with a quick religion assignment. I don't care if it's 8:00.
Liam's been on my mind increasingly, if that's possible. I'm longing for us to finally be married. This forty days of no nuptuals bit feels a lot like Lent.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
