ON ACCEPTING THE FRENCH IDEA OF GENIUS:

If the video doesn't imbed (seems to be having an on and off issue today) here's the link: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/worldnews/article-1215240/James-Dean-lives-New-Allan-Gray-advert-gives-original-rebel-cause.html
(totally worth a look)


My first reaction: offended. As an eternal fan of James Dean, I am a bit miffed to see him raised from the dead to help garner recognition for a South African Investment firm.
My second reaction: my heart is breaking.

"Given more time, imagine the possibilities."

For fuck's sake. One of the last things I needed to see/hear today, as I'm sitting in my freezing cold office (it's hot outside, so the AC is cranked through the roof here at school), within eyeshot of a stack of portfolios almost 2 feet deep...and nary a one graded. It is overcast. I am annoyed. I want to sleep. I have a billion things to complete this week. My brain is being pulled in all directions: home/school/work/obligations/fascinations. Given more time, imagine the possiblities.

In honor of my no-time-having self, my todo lists:

Today:
prep 101
teach 10am
teach 11am
create discussion board for 06/08 sections
post Stephen King essay to all sections
update and reorganize course docs on blackboard
post power point on word choice to all sections
waste time by bitching about todo lists on LJ
grade 10 portfolios
do dishes
clean kitchen
walk dog (park??)--didn't happen.
grocery store
make dinner
wash jeans/towels
fold jeans/towels-put away
submission list/database update
ready submissions for 5 contests (find checkbook?)
shower
breathe
grade blackboard postings TR
check email for student issues
I guess if I don't do them I move them forward?

Tomorrow:
submissions in mail
complete proposal(s) for App Studies Conference
10 portfolios
check email for student issues
prep 101
teach 1:40
teach 3:05
prep MWF
Ketner lecture 6 pm
watch Project Runway
ready chapbook submissons
sleep

Friday:
Proposal(s) due App Studies Conf
prep 101
teach 10
teach 11
Blackboard postings for weekend
15 portfolios??
chapbook submssions in mail
ready more mms subs for Sat mailing
Zombie conference proposal
make dinner
gather notes for monday ethos/logos/pathos workshop at 1

Sat:
submissions
portfolios
presskit for roy, upcoming writers/book fests

Sun:
submissions
portfolios

I WANT to do the following things, but believe I might be nuts:
update squeefinity (I have 5 updates, but need to work on them before I post them)
start on invites/todolists for halloween
figure out if there is a way to get away for R and I's anniversary
start narrowing down poems for SAMLA presentation
get some things out to some people
finish my draw-a-cup
record some Blood+
work on fixing that quilt
work on some poems
write a bit

Things I need: time, James Dean, a massage, and (right now) something to eat.

I always thought that Criss/Cris/Chris/whatever Angel was an annoying fuckwit. Then again I'm not very hip to the magicians (illusionists...whatever); they remind me of LARPers and they are always cheezy (with a z). So, I'm not often, um, "mindfreaked" by any of them. Criss Angel in particular, with his oh-so-subtle mix of hot topic/cinnabun worker/gothtard and what I suspect is the sharp scent of nerd-smugness (after a lifetime of doing card tricks in his stepmom's basement alone while masturbating to pictures of David Copperfield and Claudia Schiffer he's finally pullin some tail of his own), stirs up a pretty intense mockery/ridicule impulse in me (also, he looks like he doesn't wash much). So, color me shocked when Chriss Angel DID IN FACT FREAK MY MIND! How, you may ask?
This:

"Christopher Nicholas Sarantakos (born December 19, 1967), better known by his stage name Criss Angel"

WHAT THE HELL?? Criss Angel is 42 years old! 42!
And he looks like this:
Now, I know the reason for all the stage makeup and Jared Letoesque (Jared Motherfucking Leto [eyeroll]) eyeliner.

Here are some theories I'm tossing around.
1. He really is magical and has made a pact with a demon--he can remain young forever, as long as he also agrees to be the biggest cheesedick in North America (asking someone to be the biggest cheesedick in the world is a lot...I'm looking at you Norweigians).
2. He wears an obscene amount of greasepaint and pancake makeup to cover the fact that beneath it all he is actually...wait for it...mummified Ralph Macchio...duh, dun dun.
3. There are literally bizillions of Criss Angels, like in that movie the Prestige. Somewhere David Bowie invented a machine to "teleport" and but in reality it only creates clones of that person in order to make it look as if they were transported from A to B. In order to keep the world from being overrun with cheezedickery, in a eerily lit lair beneath Las Vegas there are innumerable tubes of dead Criss Angels. Also, somewhere in his secret Bowie vaults, David Bowie is at this moment admiring one of his many dead clones...I agree...gorgeous, Mr. Bowie...gorgeous!
4. This seemingly remarkable anti-aging thing is a direct result of having lived in his stepmom's basement for 20 years, without seeing the light of day. What a remarkable piece of evidence that the suns rays are damaging. Since he moved directly from basement to darkened casino and (I suspect) darkened corny magician castle; he's essentially lived a UV free life.
5. His eyeliner is actually a mixture of potent age reversing herbs and plant extracts...and he refuses to share this mixture with anyone (especially Jared Motherfucking-haggard-ass-looking Leto).
6. The undead Kristen Nöel "Kristy" Swanson was born December 19, 1969. Also born in December during the late 60s--Lucy Liu, Brendon Fraser, Sinead O'Connor, Carla Bruni and Dexter Holland. Perhaps, there was some strange cosmic debris which changed their biological structure in utero? Well, the rest of them...really, because we all know there is no way undead Kristy Swanson was born in 1969...1669 maybe. She creeps the hell out of me.

Well, those are my theories. Congratulations, Mr. Criss Angel, you have, for once impressed me with your magic. (Of course it was accidental, so congratulations withdrawn).

P.S. Don't quit your day job...at Cinnabun!

Why is that movie almost 3 hours of my life that I'll never get back? Was this REALLY nominated for an academy award? It was horrible. HORRIBLE! I HATED IT LIKE I HATED THE NOTEBOOK. No, the Notebook was better because it had James Garner in it, and I love that man. This. Well, the Benjamin Button was not my thing, no, sir, not...my...thing. Why do I even try to watch these tearjerker things? I guess I should have known. But I had hopes, because I know the F.Scott Fitzgerald story it's based off of (I read it years ago in "Tales of the Jazz Age," a perfectly dull collection, except there was a story about a mountain that I liked. ); as it turns out there is little connection between the story and the film except for the idea of aging backwards, which is not a very clever idea since the ancient britons had it first.

EH. Plus if they wanted Brad Pitt to look younger they should have stolen footage from Thelma and Louise, instead of CGI-ing him into some sort of mechanical looking man thing. The only thing I did like about this film--my girlfriend Tilde Swinton was in it. And she's lovely. (Although in the movie she is described as plain...how can a 6 foot tall, willowy, odd looking woman be "plain?")

And no that isn't a typo. I've been oogling emo and scene haircuts because despite the oftentimes ridiculousness and pretension of them...they are so effing cute that my inner drag diva wants to dip those kids in sparkles and kiss their glittered cheeks. The girls are tricked out like my little ponies on crack. The boys are androgolicious. And I, I am too fucking old to be adorable, except on halloween which reminds me...I should totally dress like a zombie scene girl on halloween, my dreads last year were very scene.

I'm losing my focus though. This isn't about Halloween, or my desire for anime hair, it's about Jared Leto (who, ridiculously, pops up when I'm looking at google images of Scene hair). Yes, it's that time of year again. Time for me to make fun of the hottest cheezedick in the corn maze, Jared Leto (let's hope he remembers that I'm laughing AT him, not with him).

Jared Leto was born December 26, 1971. I need to point that out. He is 4 years older than I am. FOUR YEARS...that makes him 38 years old. Last time I checked that was a fuck lot closer to 40 than to...well, 35. AND

http://www.jaredletopictures.net/displayimage.php?pos=-26765

Jared motherfucking Leto should be hit with a shoe. That's it...hit with a fucking shoe. Right now, I HOPE, his long blonde dead Kurt Cobain look is for a film, because otherwise...this is a worse look than the time he tried to pull off a pair of granny crocs in an emo way. So,

Dear Jared Leto,

Stop. Just....stop. If you need help, I'm here. I have some scrubbing bubbles (because lately, you've been looking smelly), I have some sissors, I have some age appropriate fashion, and I have some shoes that aren't made of plastic. Please...for god's sake...stop. I will put aside the very mysterious and very complete revulsion/passionate need to bone that I seem to feel towards you in order to assist you in becoming an adult. It isn't a bad thing, being an adult. And, if you want, we can still play dress up a few times a year. Put down the pleather pants and back away from the lip gloss.

Love,
M

---

Do they have an intervention for this sort of thing? I should start a Jared Leto tag.

The gunman was a creative writing student in poetry. In Lucinda Roy's classroom. Dang.

I am so angry right now, but I'm not sure why. I'm angry at this kid, I'm angry at what he did to other students, what he did to their families and what he did to creative writers at EVERY FREAKING SCHOOL in the US.

I predict some poetry under attack. POETS of the world, call out your few recognizable voices. Robert Pinsky...take care of this will you? I mean, you were on the Simpsons. You're pretty much it as far as poet/politician goes.

Poets are by nature a peaceful tribe of harmless loonies (ignore the few crazies in the corner...they're long gone), or at least if they get that upset they usually only destroy their own lives (and/or the lives of their children...it's a tradition people, don't judge our cultural morays). So this jackass fucks it up for the rest of us, now, under scrutiny, creative writers everywhere will be on their best behavior for the next year. Nothing important will be said because we're too busy avoiding being targeted as a loner, a malcontent, or an anti-social misfit. Sorry, that's every poet people. EVERY ONE.

---

On a personal note, I applied to the english dept at Virginia Tech three months ago. I was hoping Hickok could put in a good word for me.

And this morning I just said: People in English Departments NEVER do this sort of thing.

Dang.

---

From: http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/virginia_tech_shooting;_ylt=Ag11T801Z0T0FXPZs4NAoJ6s0NUE

Meanwhile, a chilling portrait of the gunman as a misfit began to emerge.

Professor Carolyn Rude, chairwoman of the university's English department, said she did not know Cho. But she said she spoke with Lucinda Roy, the department's director of creative writing, who had Cho in one of her classes and described him as "troubled."

"There was some concern about him," Rude said. "Sometimes, in creative writing, people reveal things and you never know if it's creative or if they're describing things, if they're imagining things or just how real it might be. But we're all alert to not ignore things like this."

She said Cho was referred to the counseling service, but she said she did not know when, or what the outcome was. Rude refused to release any of his writings or his grades, citing privacy laws.

The Chicago Tribune reported on its Web site that he left a note in his dorm room that included a rambling list of grievances. Citing unidentified sources, the Tribune said he had recently shown troubling signs, including setting a fire in a dorm room and stalking some women.

ABC, citing law enforcement sources, reported that the note, several pages long, explains Cho's actions and says, "You caused me to do this."

Investigators believe Cho at some point had been taking medication for depression, the Tribune reported.

Classmates said that on the first day of an introduction to British literature class last year, the 30 or so English students went around and introduced themselves. When it was Cho's turn, he didn't speak.

The professor looked at the sign-in sheet and, where everyone else had written their names, Cho had written a question mark. "Is your name, `Question mark?'" classmate Julie Poole recalled the professor asking. The young man offered little response.

Cho spent much of that class sitting in the back of the room, wearing a hat and seldom participating. In a small department, Cho distinguished himself for being anonymous. "He didn't reach out to anyone. He never talked," Poole said.

"We just really knew him as the question mark kid," Poole said.

---

You son of a bitch, thanks for not only killing innocent people, destroying families and breaking hearts...but also for raining shit down on creative writers.

"Chilling?" That's every other student in an intro class...troubled, quiet, wearing a hat.

dammit.

I think I have missed my calling, I think about this sometimes. I like smells. I can identify what you've put in a meal from the smell. I can smell rain and snow before they fall. I know what vodka smells like. Porcelain has a different smell when it's cold and when it's hot. All metals have their own smell. I can identify some flowers without looking, and I hate perfume because it is too noisy and it lies (eg. most "honeysuckle" perfume smells quite unlike honeysuckle and more like a strange jasmine based perfume my grandma wore in the 70s...the ONLY one I like is the Demeter version, because it smells like live, green, real honeysuckle not wilted and pressed blossoms soaking in alcohol). Did you know they call a person who works with perfume a "nose?" So, smells is the topic of the day.

Christopher Brosius worked for Demeter for years and has now established his own company, his website is: I Hate Perfume . I agree. I hate perfume too. Some of the scents he has listed sound amazing. I want to pilgrimage and sniff them. He also does custom scents. This is intriguing...there are smells I would like.

Because you love my lists (well, I tell myself you do), Amander's favorite smells: ( “listed )

Q: Can you help me file my taxes?

A: No. No, I cannot do that. No.

---

Why would anyone expect the GC to help them file their taxes? Why would anyone expect me to help them file their taxes? Am I missing something? Is there a logical leap that I'm just not seeing?

Now, mind you, I get a lot of weird questions. Actually, Rabbit and I were just discussing some of the odd daily questions I receive.

A list of my favorites:
1. Can I talk to X? (stranger variant: can I talk to (first name)? I can't remember their last name.)(Does X still work at Western?)
(A: I am not the operator. B: This university has around 30,000 students and quite a lot of faculty/staff. C:WHAT?) My answer: Hmmm. Well, let me see what I can find out for you. (Then, of course, I look up X and cheerfully give them the number.)

2. (more of a conversation)
Did you receive my application?
I'm sorry, I don't have that information. I can transfer you to Graduate Admissions and they should be able to help you.
Oh, Graduate Admissions just transferred me to you.
(WHAT??? OH, Admissions, how I loathe thee!) My response: Oh, I'm sorry they must have misunderstood your request, when I transfer you back tell them that you are interested in finding out the status of your graduate application, it's option one on the touch tone menu.

3. I'd like a master's degree. What degrees do you offer? (Who does this? WHAT???)
My answer: refer them to the website (which never works), ask them to narrow it down by saying, "We offer around 40 different master's programs, could you tell me what fields you are interested in?"

4. Can I get my degree online?
My answer: Not with us.

5. Can I use the printer in the College of Arts and Sciences?
My answer: Maybe you should ask them?

6. Yes, I'd like to sign up for a class.
My answer: you have to talk to a department for that. Which department are you with?
Their answer: oh, I guess I'd like to take a course in X?
My answer: Are you in a program here?
Invariably: no. Can I sign up?
My answer: no.

7. If I have a degree in art therapy/massage/elementary ed/nursing, can I apply for a masters in quantum theory and rocket science?
My answer: why not? Let me transfer you.

I guess they aren't too odd. But sometimes I get some doozies: like the lady who asked me why she couldn't sign up for classes this semester (two weeks after the semester had started, and without having applied to any program...then she yelled at me because someone else told her that Phoenix online wasn't a good school. UM...I don't work there, and it isn't.)

---

I'm just grumpy. Bah.

Okay, first of all....MY FREAKING DRESS FITS, oh yes, it fits. And only two months ago it barely zipped, now there is no tugging, no pulling, nothing zzzzzipp! The only alteration that needs to happen is to the chestal area (no surprise there). But tommorrow I am back on the diet, in hopes to drop maybe another 5 pounds in the next twenty days, maybe my oobies will get smaller? Probebly not, in my junior year of high school I was 108 pounds and I still wore a 34 DD (with my size 4 jeans...waaaahhh!) so, the chance that I'll fit my tots into this dress are slim to crap...someday, oh someday, breast reduction, you will be mine. In the mean time I have a nice flowered wrap to cover up the major cleavage this halter-style dress produces.

The shower went off mostly sans hitches, and turned out lovely. My aunt whose mother is british (a war bride like your gramma surfer), said that I had everything exactly right for high tea. Yeah me! Here is a rundown of my weekend.

Friday: Called off work and gathered stuff, got rental car (which turned out to be a shitty red neon...with no CD player!) and hit the road at around 4:30 p.m. Since all I had was CDs I stopped at the outlet mall across the indiana border and bought a book on tape, "Spine Chilling Stories of Horror and Suspense" which turned out to be less spine chilling and horror filled, suspenseful than they had advertised, although quite nice (Vincent Price narrated Beranice). My mom called me when I was about an hour away and said I should meet them somewhere because they wanted me to look at a jeep sport for sale so I did, and was sad because it was a very nice jeep, with very low mileage for the cheeeeeep, but alas twas only a rear-wheel drive so sux to that in the MI snow. Then I took my momma and her friend jo downtown to drop jo off at her hotel (she was in this week for the tole convention...if you do not know what tole is, please raise your hand and I will try to explain). Then momma and I hauled ass across columbus to canal winchester and our waiting famblies. Said hey, ate a snack, lil'bob went home and I went to bed, but since I can't sleep alone I read "The Giver" (thanks Rabbit). So, asleep maybe at 4ish? 5ish? am and then awoken at 8:30 am.

Saturday: 8:30 am wake up call, scramble, scramble. Pick up Heather "cookie", at her work downtown, haul it northside to the big mall, Macy's (nice skirt for Mandie at the momma's insistence), Kaufmann's (hat for mandie at momma's insistence), 8 dozen pissy little stores looking for shoes we never found, TGIFridays for a salad (momma had a long island iced tea, cookie had a beer), and then on our way back to the parking lot I passed something amazing, so amazing I think I went into shock: there, in the doorway of the Ralph Lauren store, the most beautiful boy I have ever seen (a model from the ads/catalog) standing shirtless and barefoot in jeans with the edge of his R.L boxers peeking just above the waistband. Silence. There were four of us momma, cookie, teeny and me...blah blah blah and then silence for about 30 seconds as we walked past and down the center of the mall, and then my momma said "I can't breathe." and I looked at her and said, "I know, my chest feels all tight." Heather just looked shocked, and Tena said "Holy shit! That maniquin is talking. Holy shit, that's a guy. Holy shit, he's not real, he can't be real." In fact...HOLY SHIT!!!!! I have seen many beautiful menfolk, but in all seriousness I have never, NEVER seen anything like him before. Unreal. I think if I had looked any longer I might have passed out. (I for real am not exaggerating, it was like looking at god. I almost cried.) Okay, so after divine vision: flower factory (a wholesale flower and crap store), and back to drop cookie off. Then home to drop tena off, then pick up man-maw, then to anderson's, sam's club and popeye's chicken. Then, eath, senior center, whore-ma's, back home, fix shower games, collect decorations, organize, print games, search through photos, and done, kick lil'bob and heath out...it is now 12:30 am. I am pooped. I go to sleep on the couch because manma has the guest bed, and I pass out around 2 despite the itchy uncomfortableness of the couch. At 3 ish? in the morning some doggies decide that my face is a great place to lay, and then they won't leave me alone, so I gather a pillow, and a throw and head to lil'bob's old room where I sleep on the bare floor. In the morning when my momma comes to wake me up, she can't find me anywhere and decides that I have been abducted so she runs yelling through the house only to find me on the floor yelling back "good god damn, woman, shut the hell up, who would steal me?" I have tossed and turned all night, it is 8 am.

Sunday: dress, makeup, pack the car, hit the grocery store, senior center, make scones, set up decorations/tables/buffet, make all other food (tons) and put shoes back on to greet guests (whew), have fun shower (ack), interact and be cheerful (no cussing). When the shower is over, wash dishes, tear down, pack up, dance with dad (we're practicing), and get back to the house at 6 p.m. unpack shower stuff (see shawn for the first time all weekend), pack up my stuff and take off. I am on the road by 7 pm and I don't get home until 1:30 in the morning. About 40 miles from home I get really tired, and although I said I would pull over if that happened there is no way I am stopping 40 miles from home, so...I crank the AC, crank the radio, guzzle a diet coke and motor through (singing at the top of my lungs to bad Yes songs). When I get home I'm deliriously dumb and have a caffine buzz that won't quit. So, in bed at 2 am, wide awake and panicking at 6 am, again at 8 am, up at 9 am and returning the rental car. TIRED. Tired. tired. only 40 minutes of work left. So tired.

This was a dull entry, but it will keep me from repeating the mundane bits. For shower details and skuttlebutt on the crazy folk, call me bitches.

We made 80 ish jingle bell wands for my sister's wedding, we RULE...well, rabbit rules!

So, my little porkrinds, I will be leaving tommorrow, in my fat rental car: A/C, CD Player, cup holder (...fucking cup holders? What is that? I love cars with cup holders, I have never owned one, and now I get to drive one all weekend? I will return spoiled and pampered with the promise of a safely balanced beverage...how can I go back to those rickity plastic in-the-window 1980s OddLots cup holders. My life is a 3 pack of OddLots window beverage holders for 99 cents!) So, no LJ for me, I have scones to back, and cream to clot, and brides to hypnotize into kindness and out of panic attacks. See ya'll monday.
Kiss my cupholding ass.

Oh, Walwood Hall, you maze of shifting crapola and funny smells! (That's like an invocation to the muse.) Why must the soda machine be in the scariest basement ever created? Here is my journey:

We begin in my cube, which I have plastered with pictures of folk I love, toys, and, of course, anime boys kissing other anime boys (stop judging, dang). I sneak past Kevin's office door, looking like I have some place very important to be (like the copy room), and head towards the very posh lobby of the Graduate College (we have a lovely worn leather sofa and some comfy chairs), but before I reach the comfy chairs I make a right, past the copy room, down a narrow aisle between some cubes and into the fabulous break room (which smells of burnt coffee and curry...since I am a smell oriented person, be ready for smell descriptions), which is not fabulous but who cares because I don't take breaks anyway (except for LJ update breaks, like this one); the break room does have one interesting feature, the windows, which are huge, swing open onto the roof (I will have to play out there one day). So, throught the breakroom and it's many smells of old curry, burnt shitty coffee and some soured smell which I will call spoiled yogurt, yes, spoiled yogurt, around a corner and then another corner, and then down a short ramp that leads towards "Public Affairs and Administration" (yes that's a degree program...not quite sure what they do, but no one is ever in the office). Here is where the candlewax smell begins to blend with the curry/food smell, it is quite pungent really...quick, now a left, right, scamper down a very narrow hallway with nothing but windows on one side, and another left, then the hallway opens up to, dah da da, "Cistertian Studies" (I had to look that one up too, don't feel bad. The Cistertian monks (nuns too) were a sect of the Carolignian Monks (see "The Order" with Heath Ledger) who produced a large quantity of Illuminated Manuscripts. There are still 8 orders of Cisterians in the United States, most of the Monistaries/Convents are self sufficent because they run farms. They do not take a "vow" of silence, but do maintain silence unless speaking is necessary. The Cistertian studies dept at WMU is the only department in America devoted to the studies of Cistertians, and produces the BEST (whatever that is) journal on Cistertian findings in the world.) where we find the freaky elevator (going down?). The freaky elevator is carpeted, has a wastebasket (why?) and both front and back doors. I have never seen anyone else on the freaky elevator (either coming or going) unless I have brought them with me. I highly suspect that no one but me uses the freaky elevator unless it's an emergency. So, I'm on the 2nd floor, the soda machine is on the ground floor...this is the point that, if I am with myself I take a deep breath as the elevator doors clothes, if I am with someone else I say..."Ooooh, you are gonna so love this!" (right Rabbit?), and I push the button for the ground floor. Shake, shake, shake, it stops at the ground floor, which is somehow different from the first floor and first floor reverse, and the back doors open to a landing with nothing but plain yellow brick wall. Now I look around cautiously, why is it so quiet? (Although if I ever actually heard a noise I would freak...actually, a few days ago I had the feeling that something was going to happen and as I was walking to the soda machine I heard voices, it turns out someone was getting a soda, but I was scared nonetheless). What is that smell? Candlewax? Red licorice? Cleaner? Onions? Something dead? (all of the above for some reason.) Okay, out of the elevator, and turn right, there are stairs up to The Medieval Institute straight ahead (nerd city) and to the left 8 stairs that go down to the creepiest hallway ever made. (Think boiler room in "Nightmare on Elm Street," think Romania in winter, think cold war patched up bunker, think any minute an alarm will ring and we will be attacked, think someone is breathing behind that door, think no one can hear you here if you have a problem) The walls are smooth yellow ceramic brick and the hallway (four feet wide) is littered with broken furniture. The floor, which was ceramic tile, is patched in long strips with rough cement. Right, Left, past the empty room with no door, it contains only a light table and a microwave, right, now the long hallway, at least 40 or 50 feet, the ceilings are too high (15 feet?) the hallway is too narrow (4 feet) and there is only one door (Women's Restroom...as IF!!). Five to six feet above the floor (near head height) utilities are stretched haphazardly (wires dangle, pipes turn in and out of view, florescent lights hum and flicker), and every 10 feet there is a space in the yellow brick wall covered by rusty grates that are held in with stripped wire and/or duct tape, the space is filled with wires or pipes (one of them steams a bit...very unpleasant) or (the scariest yet) nothing but crawlspace. The long hall ends in a T, blank wall ahead, Utility room to the right, and off to the left? The Cages. Huge fence cages right up to the ceiling with swinging doors and padlocks. Each cage full of old record boxes, damp, moldy papers, and fun new smells (cardboard, the red licorice smell, mudpuddle, dust, old book). Now you have a choice, go through the cage room to the soda machine (which is at the other end), or down the "rat trap hallway" and to the soda machine. I choose rat traps. Someone could be in the cage room. Okay, past more cast off furniture and carpet rolls, past the sticky rat traps that say "Do not Move: Rose Extermination" and through the doorless door on the right. The cages are behind you, and there is the Coke Machine!!! Oh, glory, glory coke machine! (It's like the garden at the end of purgatory.) How did I ever find you, because most people don't know you are there Blessed Coke machine. I love you, gimme a diet coke please!!!??? So, now I have to do the whole thing backwards. Well, maybe it's not a very good story, but it could be. And to be honest, I would totally like to get it on down there...fear is sexy.

Here is what one part of Mandie says, "You have a wedding to go to and you need to buy some makeup, plus it's not like you aren't getting a deal, I mean it's on sale, and you buy makeup like twice a year so it will last you through march, and even if it is $60.00 (shit,shit) that's like only $10 a month and you waste more than that all the time. And those clothes you bought, well you do kinda need them, and you didn't buy anything that wasn't over 50% off, and not a single item cost more than $15, not even the two super cute tops you have been coveting since they were full price and 'just in' over 9 months ago. And it's not like you buy yourself stuff too often."

The other part of Mandie says, "You are a stupid wasteful person who has a ton of clothes you don't even wear, and you don't NEED that expensive makeup. So what if things are on sale, it doesn't mean you have to buy them just because they're cheap. You probebly won't wear them anyway, or they won't fit right because you didn't get to try them on. And if you think you're getting that shirt from LB now, you are so mistaken...ONLY ONE WHIM PURCHASE A SEMESTER!!! You think you have money to blow? What if your car breaks down for good? You know it will happen any day now...listen to the sounds it makes. And what if the difference between you being able to buy another car is the $100 bucks you wasted today on unnecessary crap? You'll feel like a total ass! What if something else happens and you've wasted money on crap? What if someone else needs that money? What if somebody gets hurt and needs that money? People all over the place don't waste that kind of money. Do you know how long you have to work to make $100? That could have filled the fridge at save a lot. You are so stupid and selfish, what is wrong with you?"

Okay. Too late though. Stuff on it's way. I'm gonna go home and return cans.

I never post to my journal, just on ya'lls, so I thought I'd update with some internal drama.

Okay so yestermaday I gots me an eye examination (which btw is creepy because the room is dark and the dr. guy is like 2 centimeters from your face, and you can feel his subway breath all up on ya), and then I got a prescription for some glasses and had a hard time deciding whether or not to actually get the prescription filled, because glasses are expensive (wtf, people, wtf!) and I don't even really need to wear them inside (outside/large rooms only he sd...but supposedly good for driving ..."look ma, I can see!") so I mean I didn't want to crash the car or anything (which I don't think I would) or not recognize people from a distance, but I mean, how often am I all..."I need to see very far right now!" anyways? So...I bought some glasses from sam's club, because they're cheaper, but now I feel bad about buying glasses that I only need sometimes, because I COULD live without them, and I hate spending money on me (Although I LOVE spending it on other people, love, love love!!!! "Ooh, you need that, can I buy it for you?"), and if I were going to spend money on me it would be for something like new shoes because my old ones are smelly (although my old ones only cost like five dollars at Meijers...but they are Rocket Dogs and if I want new non-smelly ones they're gonna cost me like at least 20 bucks or more) and now I've totally spent all the me money I can spend without being physically sick and I have big time Buyer's Remorse. But, my glasses are very cute and when I get them I will have Roy take a pic and then I will post it somehows (they are thin metal, in a kind of funny cat-eye but not cat-eye shape, and the best part is that they are tortose shell on the outside, but on all the inside edges they are a very sparkly turquoise, which makes my eyes look all turquoisy because it reflects back...ooooh). So, in summation, Mandie has very groovy and stylish specs for the firstest time in her life (too much close work makes a mandie not see very far), but Mandie feels guilty because she hates spending money on anything for herself, unless it is unavoidably cool and necessary (although very little is). For those of you who have ever gone mandie-shopping with Mandie, you will be aware of the manner with which I shop for myself ie. I carry things around, make a face and then put it back while saying "I can't buy that" or "I don't need it" or "I'll wait until it goes on sale next season." A and V have often had to talk me into purchasing such luxuries as socks, or a $25.00 skirt...or a $6.00 pair of shoes. What is wrong with me? Am I cheap? I probebly am, that sux. I mean, I sent Roy to the doctor for a rash, and I won't go even though I seriously think something may be wrong with my hand...what is that? I just spent like $40 dollars on my sister's bridal shower invites, and am unwilling to buy a cd I want because it costs $6.00 used.

I think I got this from my momma.

Is rubbing off on her boss, who called her five minutes ago to laugh about some lady's outfit. And laugh we did! Oh, I am not a mean bad person am I? I feel panicky right now because I think that perhaps I am, ouch..my soul hurts, my most of me is achy, and I am cruel and wicked but don't even know it, maybe? Maybe that too, yes. maybe. And also am I so bad that I don't even know what I've said sometimes? Yes, probebly that too. Most likely that too. "Snarky?" Who said that first? I don't remember, but that also...snarky and sarcastic and unintentionally hurtful. I don't know, maybe I don't have emotions, maybe I'm not human ("you're not human it doesn't affect you.") but am just a jerk of a monkey.


Welcome, my friends, to the transition between manic and tragic, we like to call it self-pity and regret with a creamy center of total befuddletude. And no, you may need your whole seat, it could take a while for me to pick a direction. The 4th roast coffee is making my hands shake. I want to eat something other than slim fast. I don't wanna leave town this weekend. I am supposed to be sending out invitations for a bridal shower that has no date (to date). I feel lazy and neurotic at the same time. I don't feel very good, my stomach hurts, and I have a sinus headache. I probebly should have done something very different with my life. Why can't I be happy with a stupid day job? Why can't I be happy and dumb and leave everything at some 9-5 where there's no weight of judgement looming over me like a rabid student loan officer? Why don't I just drink myself silly at the bar? I see people who do this, they seem happy, they seem just fine in their lives. Why is it always little things that eat me alive? I want a big obvious problem with a big obvious solution, but none of my problems even exist, they just mass up, a bunch of smaller illusions and sit on my forehead (right where the crease forms "the curse" between my eyebrows like some sign of the beast) or on my chest and punch me in the neck periodically. Or maybe this is what it is, a small attack of randomly generated guilt/sadness that has no focus and no purpose other than to drive me slowly batshit.

What brought this on? I dunno. I never know. My mom sd I needed crazy pills, I sd no, I am okay with my crazy...and most of the time it's true. Right now I feel like I have too many things to do, but when I sit and think about them they aren't even there.

argh. I just wanna go to bed.

Eh, the true nature of a mandie is staisis...and longing. Staisis (which I am surely misspelling) and longing (which is surely misdirected most of the time towards a goal which borders on obsession). I am a sedentary (also "miss spelled") monkey who likes to look at shiny things. Alas, the world is full of shiny things, which are distracting to a small monkey/girl. Which is why I don't finish sentences when you talk to me. (Oh, you've noticed bitches...when I start a sentence and then I..........) I forgot what I was saying. What was I talking about? Oh, once I was convinced that those were just little seizures, but they ain't, my brain is easily distracted by things, and easily obsessed by things. I can look at a shiny thing for hours, lessin another shiny thing distracts me from the first one. So, you ask, "SO?" what's the point to this post Aman DUH? There ain't un. Neva is, neva neva. I am merely here to amuse myself, and take quizzes, which seldom surprise me, but sometimes seem wrong, or out and out stupid. C'est la vie. Quelle dommage...ou (rather) quelle fromage. What cheese my friends, what cheese! In the end isn't it best just to say: I stayed a while and sat, and there was cheese and conversation, which was interupted time to time by a passing shiny thing?

"Shiny Shiny! Shuichi!"

Awww. They missed me. I feel special, no really I do. And I am kinda sad about not going, because I like a good story. So here's Roy's report on the 18th consecutive year of the Luzerne Canoe Trip, as filtered through Mandie.

Day one, Jon Jon and his friend (who is like jon jon without the charm...wrap your heads around that one ladies--A, Roy sz you met him...Dan, the guy that was with jon jon on your trip to Romeo), built a Tiki bar from things they found in the yard. The big surprise of the weekend was that the tiki bar stayed up, that it didn't get tossed directly in the fire, and that no one set it on fire at all. This is probebly because Scott's brother, the pyro, was at home with his wife and new baby. Roy got toasted, and was mixing his alcohol, and he only ate McDonald's all day, so...hungry, dehydrated, sleeping in a hot tent, and drunk off his ass...roy puked in the yard. (Roy never throws up, so this too is a surprise). At least he didn't throw up in the tent. Poor bee bee. Plus his glasses broke...sux.

Day two, Roy feels like crap and decides not to drink, good call Roy. The canoe trip was scheduled for 3 hours, so factoring in binger breaks, futzing around and general mayhem, they made good time at just under 7 hours. A sober Roy gets to watch the insanity unfold. Hot girls flirt with him, scott hits on his own cousin (not blood related), and three of them decide that launching a canoe down a 45 degree embankment is a great idea. They ask ROy to play too, but he uses me as his excuse..."Nah, sorry guys, Mandie made me promise not to do anything this obviously stupid and dangerous." Good boy, we ain't got insurance, and I don't mind coming off as the nagging wife in instances like that. They say, arright, suit yerself, fill the canoe halfway up with water (you know, for safety purposes and speed) and launch...surprisingly it worked, go figure. Eh, there's a first time for everything. Later that night...jon jon's friend Dan almost got the shit kicked out of him by a whiskey drunk, scary, uncle Rog. The cops came. Hijinx ensued. Rog slapped jon jon in the head after they got in a fight over who was more drunkerer. And Roy was granted "HOnorary Steinbrink" Status. Way to go Roy, now you too can be loud, throw things in the fire, and start fights for no reason. I'm so proud. Incidentally, this makes me a Steinbrink-in-law, so I am lucky too.

Day Three: Roy chased a rooster and fed it some beer, then he got in the car, visited the outlet bookstore, and came home to a waiting Mandie.

The End of the LUzerne Saga (in which many drunk men try to score at MaDeeters but there are no takers)...oh what a riveting tale it was.

In other news...Sammi, escape artiste extraordinare, somehow escaped from both the yard and the house this time (can't even think of how to explain that one!), and was found crossing the street, and covered in poo by big and little bob, neither of which recognized her immediately. "Hey, somebody's dog...wait, that's our dog!"
Past exploits of Sammi, the labrador Houdini, include "The great bank heist," "The raid on The Children's Place," "Sammi visits the Firestation across Town," and "Sammi wants Ice Cream so she goes to Dairy Queen herself." This latest exploit shall be called: "Sammi's Great Shit Escape!"

Lil'bob is feuding with the neighbor "Motherfuckin'Roy," MFRoy for short, who is not to be confused with "our Roy," because he said "Oh, I see you finally caught her, she's been running around the neighborhood for hours now." Bob's response "Oh, well next time I see your fat curler-headed wife out on the loose, I won't bother putting her back in your yard." God, I love my sister! Such skill, really. Damn.

Going to bed, adieu.

I did shower though. And clean the kitchen. So, yeah me! Bonus points. Bruce is being an ass pain, he doesn't want to go outside with me, so I have to carry him up the street and walk him back, otherwise he'll just hunker down and head for the stairs as soon as I set him down. See, so, no, not the best dog in the world, but he is cuddly...tee hee.

The things I did do: a few pages on BGN, mostly revision. I watched INUYASHA...which totally fucking ruled! And then I drew a really good picture of inuyasha...p.s. I am not in love with inuyasha, it is just a really good show. I am limiting my animated lovers to a select few. I also watched a movie, but it was in japanese, so I don't know what it was called, but it made me cry hysterically at the end, and I loved it. I like a good cry movie. (yes, it was a cartoon, but it was really sweet). Then I ate a whole bowl of chocolate pudding. By myself. So what?!! I like pudding...it makes me as happy as bill cosby (eat the puddin').

I also read Twelfth Night, why? Well, the movie was on, but it goes too slow and I read faster than they speak so, I figured why watch the movie when I can read the play in like 1/2 hour? Because I really do like the play. And, oddly enough, it gets props in the BGN, so it's like research. Somebody, aka one of ya'll, memorized the willow gate speech, who is it? Fess up. I have some shakespeare in my head, but it's all from MND and Hamlet. My fav line is "I could be caught in a nutshell and count myself the kind of endless space, were it not that I have bad dreams." (That's for you A.) I probebly messed it up, it's been a while. God, I love Hamlet...freaking awesome, death, mayhem, feigned madness, what's not to love? And MND is just dead sexy. My fav line from it: "Spurn me, strike me, neglect me, lose me; only give me leave, unworthy as I am, to be used as you would your dog." HA! or "In the temple, in the fields and in the town you do me mischief, fie demetrius."

Lesseee, whut else d'i do? Oh, yeah, In the Company of Wolves...what a cool, weird, movie. I love the werewolf thing, and I lurve Red Riding hood, so this movie is two thumbs up, ya'll. Sometimes it don't make a lick of sense, eh? That's okay, I'd rather see something try to be interesting and odd and fail from time to time, than settle for the lowest common denominator. I think the director made some bad choices, but at least he didn't make dumb choices. I recommend it, but it is a bit creepy and nightmarish, so don't say I didn't warn you. (Actually, last time I watched it I had very strange dreams about being little red riding hood, so I decided to be her for halloween that year, and I wrote a poem about it. So, ms. A, even if you are having nightmares, you should make something good out of them, write some poems, it's like purging them.) Creepy Angela Lansbury...that's not very murder she wrote of her!

Well, although I am tempted to stay up all night and write on BGN, I am off to bed. It is nice and cool this evening, I am clean and good smelling, and I have the whole bed to myself: so I am hoping for some good sleep.

Okay, I am a lazy ass bitch. I skipped the farmer's market, played with the dog, ate christian chicken with Rabbit and watched "not-nearly-as-gay-as-we-hoped" anime, got hit with a cherry coke bottle, smoked a lot of cigarettes, watched part of "Hottest Celebrity Girlfriends/Wives" (and now totally have a crush on Helena Christensen...and she banged Michael Hutchence a good un, so she is my hero, and if I do her, then it will be like I'm doing him, even though he is dead from the autoerotic asphyxiation...forgot my point, um, she's hot.), drank most of a two liter of cola, confessed deep dark secrets to Rabbit who will be killed instantly if she reveals them (Oh, I will so kungfu your drawerless booty!), straightened the kitchen, did a load of dishes, and am about to...drum roll...take a freaking shower (roy is not in town, and you know what that means girls...yes, my hair is secreteing its own styling product.). Later I will return to on task behaviors like: finishing bob's present, straightening the LR and DR, and maybe I'll even fold some clothes and put them away. My plans for later this evening are as follows: Midsummer' night's Dream, brand freaking new INU-YA-SHA!!!, and at 1 am...Company of Wolves (if you have not seen this movie you should, it is a beautiful and bizzare version of LIttle Red Riding hood with a creepy Angela Landsbury as the grandma...it is also totally grrl powa). All of these plans, however may be destroyed by BGN.

I need some vegetables, although maybe fried okra in hot sauce is a vegetable?

Weather is great, big storm a comin' (my kitchen window is leaking)!!! Now if only roy were here...sexified.

Later ya'll the soda in the freezer is calling my name, so is the shower. (Must get clean before Roy gets home, otherwise no love for me, just a "Damn woman! Take a shower!" like he's so great just because he's clean? Show off shower takers!)OOoh, maybe I'll take a bath...eeep.

I have been on hold for 12 minutes, oh wait!

Now am on hold after talking to dumb girl who is wondering why I think that I don't owe 30 cents for my graduate student tuition remission....wtf? Is this for real? For really real? How can I owe on a remission? Chrissakes, even I can understand this type of math. Yesterday they had given me two stipends, we corrected that and they pulled both of them...now I have no stipend. Fucking Idiots!!!!

Also yesterday I asked about my Federal Loans, AFTER talking to them about them having overcredited me, and they said "You make too much to qualify." I was floored! They had just said they paid me too much accidentally, now they said I made too much money despite KNOWING the budget they had wasn't correct! Morons! They have one motherfucking job, and they can't do it right.

I have now been on hold for 6 minutes while dumb girl picks grundies from her ass.

Here's a scenerio: I order a hamburger from Mickey D's.

Oh, dumb girl picked up, am now on hold for someone else because , lordy be, she can't figure out the problem...uh. I'm shocked.


Now the new lady couldn't figure out the problem...I AM TOTALLY T.P.ing FINAID!!

More later.

Today I played with a naked baby in a pool of peewater. It was awesome! And by that I mean I were done filled with awe. It is freaking hot and Vicki's nose is sweating, but she sz it be a clean sweat. I on the other hand, am my normal dirtball self, and I have dirt on my knees, not because I did anytyhing bad. I don't know what else to say. Vicki is now typing this shit. And she won't let me censor. So I'm going to bite her on the mole. I did have fun tonight. (Went to a hippie party at Marcel's.) The best part was when Sarah laughed so hard she fell face down onthe ground and then pretended that she was dead and made her huge dorky laugh. The second best part was that I admitted to my boss (Marcel's friend, too), that (giggle) that I was working on a gay romance novel. And she said it was so cool! Plus she likes my picture of two guys kissing on my computer screen at work. (Enter Roy, who tells us that we have the Bunnies on the independent film channel...no, right now it's a burlesque show based on Reservoir Dogs. But instead of killing people, they commence to lovin'. And smooching.)

Amanda: My butt is sweaty. I need to get in a shower.
Roy: Go hose off your lady business.

Your Inner European is French!

Smart and sophisticated. You have the best of everything - at least, *you* think so.

Well, obviously. I like coffee, poetry, meaningless discussions of philosophy, plus I'm uber keen on art. Viva la crap! This would be as good a place as any to publicize my position on the French, and their stunning idea of Genius.

THE FRENCH IDEA OF GENIUS (as I see it)

Is extremely important, yet extremely simple, let's look at is as a logical syllogism: IF I do not understand this thing I see/hear/read/taste, THEN it follows necessarily that I am not clever enough to understand this thing I see/hear/read/taste. If I am not clever enough to understand it, THEN it must be smarter than I am. IF few people understand it, THEN it must be smarter than most people. IF something is so smart that most people cannot understand it, THEN it must be genius. THEREFORE...IF I do not understand the things I see/hear/read/taste, THEN those things must be GENIUS!!!

This is why the French were so keen on accepting things like Truffles (Which I am convinced are a form of moldy pig booger...tasty yes, but who thought to eat that?!!), Surrealism, Abstract Expressionism, Cubism, Jean Cocteau's Films, Jerry Lewis, Berets, Baudelaire and Rimbaud, Gertrude and Alice, Pet Monkeys, Syphillis as fashion accessory, the Merkin, Pompadors and Perrier (admittedly some of these things are genius, others are merely ridiculous...I leave you to decide which). Mon Dieu! C'est vachement stupide, vraiment!

Apparently in France one can do absurd and disturbing things, and the greater the level of incomprehensibility of those things...the closer one is to pure unadulterated brilliance! Any day now, I'll be receiving a letter from the French government inviting me to be their poster child for the new millinium, and I will spend my days as mascot surrounded by small dogs of various hues, and will roll my naked body in finger paints, then over butcher paper and folk will line up to buy my buttprints, and spout nonsense like the gargoyles of Notre Dame spout water, and wearing only one of those cheese hats from Green Bay (dyed vermillion and covered with bridal cake toppers), and shoes made out of halved pineapple and fat shoelaces, out to the gardens of Versaille, where I will ceremoniously deficate in the self same spot where Marie Antoinette once pinched one off before her beheading, only I will do so surrounded by can can dancers and elvi in flaming jumpsuits who are singing the Aria from Carmen backwards beneath the light of fifty thousand pink glowlights held in the teeth of fifty thousand green parrots who will be released into the air by twelves small girls dressed like madeline from giant wicker sculptures of cell phones...and they will think I am absofuckinlutly genius.

Perrier smells like rotten eggs. Deny it! You can't.