2.24.2005
2.23.2005
endings
Queen of Wands ended today. If you like lesbians, relationship weirdness, murderous vixens, and cannabalistic My Little Pony figures, now might be a good time to start reading. She'll be starting to rerun all the old strips with commentary. Or you can just make your own.
2.21.2005
crap crap crap
Today has been crap. I shall make a pseudo-list:
Yep. Maybe the rest of the day won't suck so badly. I can hope.
- I could not sleep last night. This may have been due to me sleeping through all of yesterday with a hangover. When my alarm went off, I was awake. And yet I still hit the snooze a few times for good measure.
- Finally deciding to mobilize, I took a shower, during which time the fire alarm went off. (You can't hear it in the shower. I'm glad it wasn't a life-threatening situation, because then I'd only have the benefits of being wet to protect me.) I stood outside, soggy and haphazardly dressed, for twenty minutes. This made me late for class. Pissed, I wear the weird clothes the rest of the day.
- Of course, I was determined to go to this class, because I hadn't been for almost two weeks. Of course, the instructor decided we're not going to do anything important, and gives us stupid research surveys. I spend twenty minutes filling out responses from 1 - strongly disagree, to 5 - strongly agree.
- I did then get free hot chocolate and blackberries (yay!).
- I get my birthday money (a check, which I can't cash anywhere because our bank account is negative. yay.). Enclosed is a nice note from my mother, asking me to pay the car insurance. Great, thanks mom. Maybe I should just give the check back to her. It's for less than the car insurance, though.
- Find out that we have two quizzes in Sociology coming up, and I haven't yet read the chapters. This is on top of readings for three other classes.
- After class, I go to Admissions and Records to turn in my course enrollment form for the Nietzsche Class of Doom, only to be politely told that the class is cancelled. I tell her that I've been attending this class the entire semester and it is very much not cancelled, and she tells me to ask if it's under a different course number. I know it's under several, but they're all numbers I can't be enrolled in because I'm an undergrad. Go WVU. I'm taking a class that doesn't exist.
- I go to buy cigarettes, and am faced with the fact that the puny sum of money I have isn't going to last me the rest of the week.
- I want to sleep, but I know someone's going to call me as soon as I do.
- It's only 4:30. I have a lot of work I need to do, and no desire to do any of it.
Yep. Maybe the rest of the day won't suck so badly. I can hope.
Hulk want more miso
I ate all of my miso today to stave off a burning, bile-churning hangover. I didn't even drink that much. I think it might have been the rubbing alcohol-flavoured wine Elena bought. Guh. Australian wine, at least that kind, is nasty. I'd rather drink lighter fluid.
Now where the hell am I going to find more instant miso soup? Not anywhere around here, probably.
And speaking of Japanese food, this guy (who runs a japanese food blog) does the best Hulk I've ever read.
"GRAAARHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HULK HATE FACT THAT JAPAN INDIVIDUALLY WRAP EVERYTHING. HULK WANT EAT MANY BISCUITS. HULK DON’T WANT EAT ONE BISCUIT, UNWRAP ANOTHER, EAT BISCUIT, UNWRAP ANOTHER. HULK NOT SQUIRREL EATING FUCKING NUT. HULK HULK. WHEN HULK RULE JAPAN HULK SMASH THIS KIND OF EATING CULTURE WITH GIANT METAPHORICAL FIST."
Hahahahaha! Long live the Hulk.
Now where the hell am I going to find more instant miso soup? Not anywhere around here, probably.
And speaking of Japanese food, this guy (who runs a japanese food blog) does the best Hulk I've ever read.
"GRAAARHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HULK HATE FACT THAT JAPAN INDIVIDUALLY WRAP EVERYTHING. HULK WANT EAT MANY BISCUITS. HULK DON’T WANT EAT ONE BISCUIT, UNWRAP ANOTHER, EAT BISCUIT, UNWRAP ANOTHER. HULK NOT SQUIRREL EATING FUCKING NUT. HULK HULK. WHEN HULK RULE JAPAN HULK SMASH THIS KIND OF EATING CULTURE WITH GIANT METAPHORICAL FIST."
Hahahahaha! Long live the Hulk.
2.18.2005
bad at talking
I realised tonight that I have a long way to go when it comes to learning how to talk to people. I always feel awkward talking to people I'm friends with, but whom I don't see on a daily basis. I have a set of stock phrases: the usual yeahs, uh-huhs, oh cools, that sucks, and laughter. Then some random strange things to make people laugh, and a stock list of philosophies and beliefs for intelligent conversation. Once those things are exausted, or a situation comes up where none of them apply as responses, I panic. I either end up standing there, staring stupidly and rocking on my heels, or I think of something I needed to do and run off. This probably isn't normal. It's damn sure frustrating, too, 'cause there are a lot of people I'd like to talk to if only I had the ability. At least it's not as bad as it used to be.
I used to have a large collection of unaddressed letters saved up before I moved out of my parents' house and they got thrown away. They were written in reply to similar letters I had given to people I saw every day, just because I wasn't able to discuss serious matters in any form other than writing. I went through a lot of paper in those days. I still sort of have that problem, just not as badly. I'm slowly learning how to become a normal person. The people I meet sort of help with that, but it's still a long, long road to travel, filled with all manner of potholes and speed bumps and all that. I don't know if I'll ever get to the end of that particular road, but I'm going to try. I never understood the people who get dependant on therapy as a means of recovery for all sorts of social and emotional problems. It's so much more meaningful when you fix the problem yourself.
Sweets for the Sweet was fun. I got to play CD putton-pushing monkey for the dancers, and hang out with fun people (most of whom I couldn't really talk to properly, damn). Then I later made the discovery that I know a bit more about Japanese culture and history than I initially thought. I'm by no means an expert, but I know enough to argue with Burr. Maybe that's no great accomplishment. Eh.
Patience... my thoughts are locked in a box within me. They escape, slowly, only through rhythmic scratching and tapping, blind and mute, only speaking Morse...
I used to have a large collection of unaddressed letters saved up before I moved out of my parents' house and they got thrown away. They were written in reply to similar letters I had given to people I saw every day, just because I wasn't able to discuss serious matters in any form other than writing. I went through a lot of paper in those days. I still sort of have that problem, just not as badly. I'm slowly learning how to become a normal person. The people I meet sort of help with that, but it's still a long, long road to travel, filled with all manner of potholes and speed bumps and all that. I don't know if I'll ever get to the end of that particular road, but I'm going to try. I never understood the people who get dependant on therapy as a means of recovery for all sorts of social and emotional problems. It's so much more meaningful when you fix the problem yourself.
Sweets for the Sweet was fun. I got to play CD putton-pushing monkey for the dancers, and hang out with fun people (most of whom I couldn't really talk to properly, damn). Then I later made the discovery that I know a bit more about Japanese culture and history than I initially thought. I'm by no means an expert, but I know enough to argue with Burr. Maybe that's no great accomplishment. Eh.
Patience... my thoughts are locked in a box within me. They escape, slowly, only through rhythmic scratching and tapping, blind and mute, only speaking Morse...
2.17.2005
awake again.
Yeah, I know, I'm always awake at this time of night, not doing anything productive at all...
So at first he's happy. How ya doin', how's your day, all that. Then he starts with the "I just want you to be happy...". No big deal, except what followed is what usually follows. The whole spiel about how I deserve more, how I'll eventually find someone better and live a happy, normal life as a liberated woman with 2.5 kids and a blue Volkswagen Bug in the driveway. Someplace in suburbia. He says he "knows this will happen". I don't discredit that; hey, psychic powers are cool in my book. Here, though, we run into the little problem of fate.
I told him that when you "know the future," you should be able to use that knowledge to change the outcome. I think fate is something that, on some level, you can change. There are at least two paths to choose, if not more. Some people believe that fate is unchangeable; I don't think I can. I'd be done. It's like finding out the murderer in a good mystery before you're through: there's really no point in going through all the in-between after that. If somewhere, someone or some entity knows the time, date, and means of my death and what kind of impact I'm going to have on my little chunk of the world, the adventure of it all is lost. Sure, I settle into my little patterns, as does everyone else, but I like my adventure. I like unexpected twists and turns.
So he asks me if I've ever just wanted all responsibilities to disappear, so I could just lie down, close my eyes, and die. Once, I did. Once, I tried. Obviously it didn't work, mostly because I didn't do my homework beforehand, but I truly thought I was going to die. At the time, I was almost fine with that. It was what my actions showed I wanted, anyway. Since then I've discovered that life means something, even if you don't do anything particularly good or important with it. I want to see where the road ends, is all. And I want to be surprised when I get there.
I used to be a fatalist. I'm not anymore. I may not be able to change his fatalistic outlook on things, but maybe I can show him something worth living for. And maybe, if he's not willing to change a supposedly inevitable outcome, I can change it. And he will be surprised.
So at first he's happy. How ya doin', how's your day, all that. Then he starts with the "I just want you to be happy...". No big deal, except what followed is what usually follows. The whole spiel about how I deserve more, how I'll eventually find someone better and live a happy, normal life as a liberated woman with 2.5 kids and a blue Volkswagen Bug in the driveway. Someplace in suburbia. He says he "knows this will happen". I don't discredit that; hey, psychic powers are cool in my book. Here, though, we run into the little problem of fate.
I told him that when you "know the future," you should be able to use that knowledge to change the outcome. I think fate is something that, on some level, you can change. There are at least two paths to choose, if not more. Some people believe that fate is unchangeable; I don't think I can. I'd be done. It's like finding out the murderer in a good mystery before you're through: there's really no point in going through all the in-between after that. If somewhere, someone or some entity knows the time, date, and means of my death and what kind of impact I'm going to have on my little chunk of the world, the adventure of it all is lost. Sure, I settle into my little patterns, as does everyone else, but I like my adventure. I like unexpected twists and turns.
So he asks me if I've ever just wanted all responsibilities to disappear, so I could just lie down, close my eyes, and die. Once, I did. Once, I tried. Obviously it didn't work, mostly because I didn't do my homework beforehand, but I truly thought I was going to die. At the time, I was almost fine with that. It was what my actions showed I wanted, anyway. Since then I've discovered that life means something, even if you don't do anything particularly good or important with it. I want to see where the road ends, is all. And I want to be surprised when I get there.
I used to be a fatalist. I'm not anymore. I may not be able to change his fatalistic outlook on things, but maybe I can show him something worth living for. And maybe, if he's not willing to change a supposedly inevitable outcome, I can change it. And he will be surprised.
2.16.2005
so.
I was planning on being asleep way before now. It's about 5:30, and I set my alarm for 8. Hopefully my naps make up for my bizarre schedule for normal night-sleep. It's not really because I'm not tired, though. Because I am. Tired, that is.
It's a little thing called Pokemon Leaf Green.
Damn, my brain makes really stupid excuses for not sleeping. "Just...have to beat this gym leader...wait, got a new HM..." Yeah, I'm pathetic. Shut up. Psyduck is cool.
In other news, Valentine's day was pretty great, involving sleeping in 'till 4 p.m., pizza, a case of beer, and Star Wars: Battlefront. Bunnyman's gonna have two weeks of practice on me when I go home next, and he might just kick my ass for once. Maybe. We'll see. It's a shame I can't get paid to play videogames...
We also got a "new" bed, "new" being that it's my parent's old one. Reason number 165 why I don't feel bad about having them pay my tuition: they got one of those tempurpedic deals. Yeah, the ones they show the commercials for late at night, NASA and wine glasses and all that. Expensive. So i reap the spoils. When you get over the ookiness factor of it being the bed my parents have slept in for several years, it's actually pretty nice. Beats the old one, anyway, which was becoming a minefield of springs in a banana-shaped package.
I put the bed together myself. Hauled the matresses myself. Took the old bed apart myself. And felt it the next morning when my entire left side felt like it had aged 50 years without me. Eh. I'm independant, dammit.
Yeah, so. Anyone have any need of a small, plush Jigglypuff? I found it under the old bed...
It's a little thing called Pokemon Leaf Green.
Damn, my brain makes really stupid excuses for not sleeping. "Just...have to beat this gym leader...wait, got a new HM..." Yeah, I'm pathetic. Shut up. Psyduck is cool.
In other news, Valentine's day was pretty great, involving sleeping in 'till 4 p.m., pizza, a case of beer, and Star Wars: Battlefront. Bunnyman's gonna have two weeks of practice on me when I go home next, and he might just kick my ass for once. Maybe. We'll see. It's a shame I can't get paid to play videogames...
We also got a "new" bed, "new" being that it's my parent's old one. Reason number 165 why I don't feel bad about having them pay my tuition: they got one of those tempurpedic deals. Yeah, the ones they show the commercials for late at night, NASA and wine glasses and all that. Expensive. So i reap the spoils. When you get over the ookiness factor of it being the bed my parents have slept in for several years, it's actually pretty nice. Beats the old one, anyway, which was becoming a minefield of springs in a banana-shaped package.
I put the bed together myself. Hauled the matresses myself. Took the old bed apart myself. And felt it the next morning when my entire left side felt like it had aged 50 years without me. Eh. I'm independant, dammit.
Yeah, so. Anyone have any need of a small, plush Jigglypuff? I found it under the old bed...
2.11.2005
random internet time-wasting
I'm enjoying myself tonight because there's nothing I have to do for tomorrow for once. This week has been insane, making presentations and revising papers, three-fourths of which have been in German. I never really found writing papers and presentations in English all that difficult, but they're made all the easier when you look at them in contrast with having to do the same thing in a language you're not 100% competent in. Granted, that is, that your're not writing said presentation or paper for a class full of grad students. English grad students, no less. In a class that's not supposed to be about literary analysis, but is rapidly devolving into one that is. It's a German class, folks. About philosophy. I don't care about the symbol of the love potion in the first act of Wagner's "Tristan und Isolde". I. Don't. Care. And yet I write a presentation about it anyway, possibly because I'm a masochist, or something. I don't know. This is why I changed my major.
I am going home this weekend, and am going to enjoy my Valentine's Day weekend by taking care of a sick Bunnymanand taking large quantities of vitamin C in hopes that I too do not get the head/chest cold of doom. I may be able to have a restful, mindless night tonight, but I do have to get back to work later.
In light of tonight's celebration of mindlessness, here are a load of silly quiz results. Why? It's three a.m., and I've gotta kill time somehow. Preferrably in as non-intellectual a way as possible...
I'm getting there. I don't suck, but I've got a ways to go.
Find your Role-Playing
Stereotype at mutedfaith.com.
Hahahahaha.....
I am going home this weekend, and am going to enjoy my Valentine's Day weekend by taking care of a sick Bunnymanand taking large quantities of vitamin C in hopes that I too do not get the head/chest cold of doom. I may be able to have a restful, mindless night tonight, but I do have to get back to work later.
In light of tonight's celebration of mindlessness, here are a load of silly quiz results. Why? It's three a.m., and I've gotta kill time somehow. Preferrably in as non-intellectual a way as possible...
I am 24% Idiot.
I am not annoying at all. In fact most people come to me for advice. Of course they annoy the hell out of me. But what can I do? I am smarter than most people.| I'm A 1990s Geek |
| Cool, confident, and very powerful, you're the sexiest geek ever! Buckle in, your decade is one hell of a ride. |
| find your geek decade at spacefem.com |
I'm getting there. I don't suck, but I've got a ways to go.
Find your Role-Playing
Stereotype at mutedfaith.com.
Hahahahaha.....
2.05.2005
dOOd. i'm screwy.
| Disorder | Rating |
| Paranoid: | Moderate |
| Schizoid: | High |
| Schizotypal: | High |
| Antisocial: | Moderate |
| Borderline: | Low |
| Histrionic: | High |
| Narcissistic: | Moderate |
| Avoidant: | Low |
| Dependent: | Low |
| Obsessive-Compulsive: | Moderate |
|
-- Personality Disorder Test - Take It! -- | |
How could I be histronic and schizotypal/schizoid at the same time? Huh. Explains the voices....
2.03.2005
get a little religion in yaself
Dude. You've got to help out with this. You just have to. Take my word for it.
Have some blasphemous fun...
Have some blasphemous fun...
2.01.2005
sweet, sweet resignation
Ahh. It's finally February, which means that in a mere three weeks or so I can stop counting birthdays, because the final milestone will be passed. I shall be 21 and there will be much drinking. Hurrah! Even though I'm already a borderline weekend alcoholic, this means that rather than drinking crap Bud Light (sorry, Bunnyman) all the time, I can have a nice, foamy Newcastle once in a while. Oh Newcastle, how I love thee, you most delicious and soothing of beers. Would only that the fountains flow eternally with your syrupy, foamy, alcohol-laden goodness...
This is all Meagunn wants for her birthday. 20 oz. singles, six-packs, 12 packs, and cases are all acceptable, depending on your level of financial well-being. Slips of paper reading "Gud 4 won Nookassel" are also okay, 'cause I know what it's like to be poor. And it really is the thought that counts.
In other news, this weekend was utter crap, aside from the fact that I got a new printer and got to cuddle a bit. In brief:
Maybe I'll do my presentation on that next week.
None of that matters, though. I've got the one I love, and am immensly grateful for the life I portray as so crap sometimes. I don't know what I'd do without my Bunnyman, and I look forward to a long life of never finding that out. It's funny: we're engaged, and no one really realizes it, including us. Devoted mother and wife...I'm already there. Well, sorta. More like devoted offbeat mother who gives daughter tampons to make nunchakas from and holds family viewings of "Rocky Horror"; and bisexual stufty-sleeping noise-obsessed video game-playing japanophile geeky linguist wife.
Can't be too normal, can we?
Oh, and I'm now Local Planning Consultant for the national Young Women's Task Force (otherwise known as Y, WTF?). Ha. Go me.
This is all Meagunn wants for her birthday. 20 oz. singles, six-packs, 12 packs, and cases are all acceptable, depending on your level of financial well-being. Slips of paper reading "Gud 4 won Nookassel" are also okay, 'cause I know what it's like to be poor. And it really is the thought that counts.
In other news, this weekend was utter crap, aside from the fact that I got a new printer and got to cuddle a bit. In brief:
- Our neighbors are refinancing the house we live in and are now supposed to own.
- Due to this, I spent the entire weekend cleaning so that the insurance company would no longer deem the house a "fire hazard" and our conniving neighbors could get the thing insured.
- I was told by said neighbor that if this was not done, they would either condemn the house, call child protective services, or both. (This is a crock of shit.)
- We spent five hours watching our favorite (and most ancient) kitty die on our kitchen floor, helpless to do anything about it. RIP, Mama. You were a cool cat.
- Bunnyman did not make a resume like I asked him to. Will he wake up one morning and suddenly have a new job? I don't think so...
Maybe I'll do my presentation on that next week.
None of that matters, though. I've got the one I love, and am immensly grateful for the life I portray as so crap sometimes. I don't know what I'd do without my Bunnyman, and I look forward to a long life of never finding that out. It's funny: we're engaged, and no one really realizes it, including us. Devoted mother and wife...I'm already there. Well, sorta. More like devoted offbeat mother who gives daughter tampons to make nunchakas from and holds family viewings of "Rocky Horror"; and bisexual stufty-sleeping noise-obsessed video game-playing japanophile geeky linguist wife.
Can't be too normal, can we?
Oh, and I'm now Local Planning Consultant for the national Young Women's Task Force (otherwise known as Y, WTF?). Ha. Go me.
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