Semi-Random

It's so hard to concentrate on what's been on my mind when I have wolfsheim playing. They're so "everything's gonna be all right" sounding.

"...was enthralling," he said. I can hold enthralling conversation. I guess so, while I'm "only" 23 and still have long hair and for now a body that doesn't look completely useless to a man. I hope he has enthralling conversations with his wife. Or at the very least, that they don't bicker.

I would kinda wonder why I didn't like hearing about that person. And then I realized-or perhaps it clicked suddenly that if I blame her for it, then that's at least more closely resembling of logic-that I blame her for a friend losing me. But even that doesn't hold much when I realize I'm only thinking about that friend because I have no other reason to feel sorry for myself.

Dammit. I act like such a goofus around that person. That person I don't even...gaaaah dammit, man. I don't want to act like a goofer. It's annoying, and not what I .... gah.

The weirdest part about the video for Wolfsheim's "Hurting for the First Time" has to be when that guy is suddenly standing around, umm, arranging his junk while talking to some girl. It's like "oh wow, Peter Heppner yum oh gosh he's so cuuuuute and there he is again and. Whoa that dude's grabbing his stuff. Umm. I don't like this video anymore." Somehow I was able to figure out the name of the movie the video's taken from; it sounded pretty lame.

So before.

Lazeys

No one's posting something I want to read. Guess I'll have to make something.

I think the newest secksyest thing in the freaking world is that part of this video where Peter Heppner says "dream I had of you" and then takes a drag off his cigarette.

Wolfsheim. Like Depeche Mode, only more likely to be straight.

Today makes the second night in a row where I've taken two benadryls in the hope of falling asleep immediately instead of actually ... well my plan has been to just sleep and, I guess just stop thinking. It kindof worked last month when my allergies were acting up and the benadryl just barely was able to keep my throat from collapsing. Or some such dramatic shenanigan, idunno. Point was, that 2 benadryl meant I'd be asleep within half an hour. Perhaps now I'm just ... well right now my eyelids are gettin heavy. But I'm sure that's just because I'm blogging right now.

I swear to an effing Popeasaur that the next place I'm moving to on Saturday, shall not be vacated next year. I'm staying there unless I move to either Nevada or London. Or wherever the hell Boyfriend is. I hate dealing with people and their slow ass moving skeeeyollz.

Oh yeah my allergies. Bout month and a half ago I sit at work and my hands start itching. And then my eyes. And then like...wow I have a zit. Inside my lip. Oh wow it's been 10 minutes and now the zit is three times as large. And I'm still itching. My scalp. Behind my knees where I still have the (recessive? Fuck if I know) red swelling from Years Ago when the same thing happened. And the bathroom. Oh good God that was the worst. *deep breath* So, being a girl, and the tp going...tharr. I guess the skin Tharr was affected by the allergies too so...yeah. The itching was there too.

Coworker comes in to replace me, takes a look at me and says to clock out and go to a hospital. I say I'm fine, and call Inostranitz to pick me up sooner 'cause I gotta get to a hospital.

Yeah, I went to the emergency room. Oooooh I just lost all my LP street cred. And I had so much before so, too.

Get to the ER with Inoz. Given a form to fill out. Inoz, not knowing either English to really read the form, nor my personal info, can't to anything. I can't even like, my hands are swollen, I took my ring off...can't even just tell him what to write because he doesn't understand English (quite a trend there, I know) so I take it myself and scribble all over. Instantly wish Boyfriend were on the same fucking continent since he knows this stuff and could easily fill out most of it for me. Beat triage, probably because of my Yes answer on Having Trouble Breathing question. Crack some joke to the nurse about how I don't mind people coming up to me and grabbing me (she was taking my temperature or something) since it's how I usually enjoy my Friday nights anyway. I somehow see myself in a mirror and freak out at how ... haha, freakish I look. Try to tell Inoz to sit somewhere outside so he doesn't see me anymore than he already has. Get the double shots in the fleshy bootey area which tell me (the nurse, not the shots) that they're supposed to immediately bring down the swelling and itching, blah blaaaaaaaah sit around for about half an hour more wherein the itching and swelling gets really really worse, I guess the apex or something, whatever.

Given a prescription for teh drugs, go to what later I find out is an uninsured store, fuck up some other parts of the scenario (the scenario having changed to not paying full price for the drugs), get pissed off/annoyed away from the campus health center...

And then two weeks later I relapse. On the way to work that morning I'm waiting for my food and start noticing that I was starting to force myself to breathe deeply. By the time I'm home from work that really isn't any worse, until I realize that it's happening again, that I'm also going to have to probably pay the entire cost of the ER visit plus that the prescriptions are not going to be covered/reimbursed, plus the idea of having to go to the campus health center again and write a check out to that bitch, plus that the meds are out and I don't want to go to the ER again because I just...I can't afford it again.

Oh yeah I was looking online for a substitute for one of the prescriptions I had that had run out. And from there I called a friend about going to Drugstore to buy it, not realizing the difference between "generic" and OTC drugs, that they're not the same thing. So I started freaking out, and then somehow all the other stuff came up to my pwetty widdle head and that--I guess--triggered the allergies to heighten up.

Embarassing story short I got Benadryl and it mostly worked in that I was able to sleep off and suppress the allergy symptoms. And got an extension on my Early Republic essay.

Uh yeeeeeeeah.

I was told the other night that my failing at work as a manager is that basically, I do not imititate the verbal theatrics of my co-managers (priesthood of all believers and all that) to get things done. Instead I pay attention to the person and how was it put....

"you give your reason for why they need to do this thing. Elsa on the other hand, she shuts everyone out for just two minutes and then...then decides. Does not listen to anything else."

Yeah sure I'll do that. While I'm in this state, the phones are ringing for another two minutes, and the drivers have already left or simply given up on having to do anything in the first place...and I have to start all over with "hey this needs to be done."

Last night sucked.

13 Years Later

I was in front of a tv in the mid 90s. So....let's declare it, 10 years old? Yeah 10.

It was, if not that show that had Nancy Glass, probably Inside Edition with Bill O'Rielly. Oh yeah, hardcore.

Maybe...yeah I was at my apartment. But there's a bunch of shit going on. My mom's talking and hanging out with everyone, everyone being her boyfriendy guy's brothers. There's beer for the Mexicans in the Raiders clothes (I didn't know they were a football team until I was in 7th grade I think), probably beer for the mom, and pot at her "oh so necessary andpulledoutofthedumpster writing desk" piled high with future archives of pre-destroyed lives.

Boyfriendy guy's brothers...maybe only one. Gang....homies? Dealers? Type of people. I don't know.

There was a fat brother of boyfriendy who once told her (assuming she didn't make this up) that he cut some chick up and then fucked (raped?) her. And every time she'd tell me about this she'd make a gutting a fish and then arm waving fucking motion. Like I had any idea what she was doing until I saw rap videos in high school. I got pissed me off at that guy not because he may have did that but because it gave depth to her already self-shallowed repetoire of being a disgusting bitch. Maybe he only cut her a little bit! Whatever, the motherly duty was done and I was warned to not only, go downstairs to their apartment and make a drunken gringa ass out of myself but also tell everyone who'll listen and tell everyone else that yes, Fat Guy definitely did kill someone. I'da been without a clue, otherwise. I bet he told her that (again, if he really did) in hopes that it would just shut her the fuck up. Ha haaaaaaa......aaaaaaah he was probably an asshole anyway.

and this particular night I'm focusing on the tv. Maybe that's why I can't do two things like that at once, watch tv while on the phone or IM or anything while on the phone, I'm self-trained to just...anyway.

Inside Edition being the trashy garbage I couldn't have avoided watching even had I known it as such at the time, there was a "segment" on cleavage. Oh oh ooooooh cleavage is all the rage in Hollywood *5 seconds of some movie star lady walking around, then some model on some runway*

I looked up at....fuck I don't remember Boyfriendy's name. It was a stupid name, for a stupid person. It might not have been a real name. I remember it was cutesy. Johnny, Roachy, something. Ah, Roachy it is.

I looked up at Roachy who was on a seat about...2 feet or so next to me (not on a couch with me, but in a different chair facing the tv) and asked him point-blank what cleavage was. Never heard the word before, no context I could get from the commercials.

"What's cleavage?"

Roachy wasn't very smart, at least that was the only reason at first that I thought he didn't answer me. He also wasn't wearing a shirt. Was it hot outside at 730pm? Idunno. Maybe it was, it was the second floor. He also worked out or so, I guess to the point where, hey at 730 or so pm in Anaheim, why not go shirtless?

So...setting his beer down (etiquette, you see) and with a concerned concentration on his face, Roachy puts his Mecksycan hands on the sides of his pectorals and uh...shoves his lumps. Together. aaaaand count to 3 quickly. Click. Un-shoves, doesn't even look at me, gets his beer back.

Let there be cleavage on the medium-dark hairless Mexican guy. Fiat cleavagus somethingus somethingus. Done and done.

My response, which I have carved into my brain forever lest I should ever forget such a life lesson.

"Oh. Okay." Head turns back to the

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING TO MY DAUGHTER?!?!?!"

"Uh...she asked what cleavage was."

Like, the most random of ten fucking seconds she saw what was going on with me, the mom I guess sees Roachy shovin his lumps and starts yelling about how he's molesting me right in front of her.

I....don't have an ending or conclusion. She just embarassed the hell out of both of us (it's not like he grabbed me), and because he was buzzed and I was too entrenched in the idea that causing a commotion was the gravest sin I could commit, neither of us said anything and of course after that I was uncomfortable around him. Oh shit, is he gonna define another word??! The horror.

This Is Why There Are Comparative Adjectives

"Here, talk to my mother."

Me: "фывафв щшг стугьа" (No idea what I said. I was thinking about how my mom was calling her mom-or her first husband's mom, er, her adopted mom now that I think of it...shit, someone's babymama-to ask her for money, as it had worked last time, and that even though she was technically my grandmother, I...hmm. I don't know, but money was involved, or needed to be involved, so I ...I don't know. It was just a foreshadowing of the other times I'd be traipsed out so she could pity money out of people. )


"Do you go to school?"

"Yeah. Umm. Second grade."

"That's good."

I held the phone against my ear just long enough to make damn sure I remembered both her response to the crazy idea that I was in school (as opposed to working as a bricklayer or something, Idunno) and how damn old she sounded. Daaaaaamn old. My mom was sitting in a rocking chair that was supposedly worth millions because it said "Pacific Bell" on the seat of itsweartoGod...I imagined her adopted mother who I'd been told was Cuban even though I hadn't seen a distinctly Cuban person before (this was before she had to ransack her photo albums for...probably birth certificates, and I saw pictures of the lovely Cuban lady who beat the fucking shit out of her adopted daughter and her twin brother, well perhaps not the "fucking shit out" but left them crazy enough for me to have to deal with them, anyway...also the first time I saw a picture of my dad, who allegedly did the same thing) as a little bony, decrepit woman in a black dress with white trim, rocking the same way my mother was. Or rolling a joint, whatever. I didn't imagine her holding a phone though.

Idunno if she sent money or not. For all I know, that well dried up, or she died... hmm.

Hmmmmmmmmm.

Now I wonder 1) if my legal grandmother is dead or not--the same semi-curious way I wondered about my dad about that barely over a year ago, not so much curious out of a concern for them but out of a desire to know for sure that I can finally stop caring, and 2) who the fuck was that? Was that even her adopted mom? Was it her adopted mom's sister?

Fifteen or sixteen years later I'm in Northeast Nevada, trying to follow native Hebrew for what I would think would be stops for either entire words or at least ideas, or any phrase I recognize a second time as I walk up the steps of their basement after my dad called my name (or at least it sounded close someone's name, and the girl with a similar name wasn't responding, so I figured best out of 2 or something).

" *Hebrew noise, my dad extends cordless to me* Do you vahn to talk to your gran dmother?"

"Wuhl...yeah, okay....umm....lakjsdfl;asd....hi!"

"Heh-looooooow! Is this Friiiiiiitiz?!"

"Yeah."

"How are yooouuuu?!"

"I'm uh....hahahaha, I'm good, how are you?"

While my dad gets up from the stairway and walks back to the living roomforeshadowinglolz, I both, try to think of something to say to a 90-year old woman the sight of whose likeness I see in my middle sister (exact same eyes) yet otherwise I really don't have much to say to, and trip the fuck out. Because...well. Just because I guess.

"Deeed you know that you have a gran'dmother?!"
My gosh. I can hear her smile. I think she repeated the question and added "in Israel" or something.

"Uh yeah I guess...*my stepmom's name* told me about everyone in Israel, yeah."

"What?"

"Huh?"

"Ummm...hmmm."

"Uh. *Stepmom's name* told me. Umm."
Pretty sure I shouldn't say "umm shit" to my grandmother, at least not the first time I talk to her anyway, I somehow hand the phone back to my dad.

"Huh huh huh....blah blah hebrew noises Yeah, Americantza."

More Hebrew noises, still can't tell where words start and stop, hangs up the phone.

"She tought you were saying that *my Aunt's name* was the one who told you about Israel. You confused her."

"*Aunt's name*? Yeah, that would confuse I guess."

"Yeah, I told her dat you're an American and have problem communicating."

"Ah well."

I Think Tonight

while I was working off the clock to hopefully mitigate the calls I'm sure to get in the middle of the day tomorrow for being there so late that I had to work off the clock in the first place, and checking the money out of the "closing" driver (in scare quotes 'cause I got to do all the work tonight), I asked a question.

"Are you a coworker, or are you someone I have to work with?"

...

So the owners of well....well the signers of my paycheck were out most of the past few days at some conference or convention in some fancy hotel. Motivation, information bullshit, idunno. Meanwhile, 2 people at StoreA quit, the semi-important duty of preparing the weekly schedule changed hands amongst two people who basically co-fired someone else, a customer managed to con $40 out of StoreB aaaaaaaaand and lecture me about it because "if you were worth your salt as a manager..." something something and then I don't remember the rest of what she said 'cause it was hard to hear over my sighing and my neck pivoting.

I was telling the boss right above me (she doesn't sign my check but she's the one who will call about tonight) that the owners don't care about X problem she was nervous about them having just seen because "Problem X is all over, in every store. It's probably in Storen which I'm in the other half of my day."

And I'm sure even up to the CEO of the entire brand. This brand is so fucking huge, there is no way to develop any one branch.

Pfffffft. Yeah. Like I know what I'm talking about. I've never even seen a corporate representative of the brand. But at least I know that if I were any higher up within this company than I am already (meaning, just simply meticulous and dictatorial but in a good way--as it always is, right) I'd just get even more discouraged; or think no no man, I can make even these higher up parts better.

gaaaaaaaah what the fuck ever. If I really do that I imagine myself to wake up one day at 44 with three cats and a Bachelors I never used.

Course Not I'm Not Gonna...Of Course Not.

First name, Middle Name, Last name.

That's the way I want to address him. But why?

Why his full slave name, and not "Sir" as I addressed my the abba? Well for one his last name is hard to spell and yes, I do pride myself on never having spelled it wrong. Doso, I already knew that it really was my dad and not mistaken identity. Then also I guess that he's my two oldest brothers' dad, but not mine plus before I was born, so I have no relationship or tie to him that would normally obligate respect. Now that I think (for the first time about this, admittedly ), perhaps I should stick with Sir. Perhaps not as maybe-accusatory. Ain't broke, don't fix it and all that.

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck. Even with controlling for my newfound-obsessiveness with the past, I think I can honestly say that I just want others like me to have the same bitter joy that I have. And that goes for my brother who would rather smoke pot and hide behind our mother's skirt of denial than face the reality of who the abba is, who he was, who he wasn't, who she was and wasn't, and who he could be.

Eddie, on the other hand, I suspect he has a similar outlook.

Before I contacted my the abba, I talked to Eddie about it. "Hey dude you know that one guy when you were maybe 5-8 years old and he beat you and your mom as a kid and left you with a little sister with a dgooo nose and not-as-white-as-your skin to remind you...is it cool if I like, talk to and associate with him. Oh and btw can you drive me to the airport once in a while when I go to the house of this guy?

Well. I'm not that slick. But

If he were bothered by it, enough to express any such that I could detect, then I wouldn't have gone through with it.

Liar. Just not openly. No unsolicited updates on the State of the Bastardy at best, and yet another huge breach of trust between me and him. And since it was by the time David had already burned his bridge, everyone else I grew up with, at worst.

But none was detected. He just said go for it. Your dad, your conscience your life, y'know. In fact, he basically gave me the same reasoning I had when faced with David's "Huh huh I googled our dad he has another family in Minnesota" escapade of a few years ago.

"If my dad wants to find me, he can. I'm right here. Since he hasn't, I just assume he doesn't, and that's his choice. Aden, I think someday I'll just run into him at random and Aden, either I'll want to punch his lights out, or just tell him how I grew up, all the shit I had to deal with."

That's almost to the letter how I felt. Whether from premonition or anxiety about unaccompanied (and generally unapproved) interstate travel to "a land unknown," I wondered about the possibility of "randomly running into" my dad in Tennessee. Of course...I imagined that he'd recognize either his features or his ex-wife's in me, be shocked, and approach me. Perhaps identify me as Joss Hislastname instead of her maiden name. How would he really know, either way? Regardless, the main thing would be that, through neither volitional nor pleading exertions of mine, the disenfranchisement of non-identity and the shame from such that, decrying as "archaic" the social construct from which it comes cannot yet fool us into shaking off, would be unilaterally repealed by one of the few true co-legislators (co-conspirators?) on earth. Perhaps it's nothing to those who have never needed to need this.

Anyway, all I know is what he said out loud was very similar to what I told myself under the same hypothesis.

But is Eddie prepared? Could he handle knowing him, to see him? To be relieved, and disappointed? If he is, how am I supposed to know that? If not, when will he be?

Will he at all? If not, what is he lacking? Why then would it appear then, that some people are good enough to know their dad, and yet others no?

Do I mean to imply that about myself, that I somehow "deserve" to know more than and compared to others; that all of my mom's progeny were born deficient and undeserving yet I the youngest, somehow suffered enough to remit her (or my?) sins, before any of the older three?

No. That's silly. How did I make my leg grow back.

No Really So

I was walking out of the library sometime last week or the week before on the way to get food, pass the belltower, when he approached.

These guys with the clipboards. I almost called them paperclips. Well I did, but then realized that that wasn't the proper referent for the .... for the thing. Anyway. I can't stand these people. I don't want to buy their shit. I don't want to "help them out with their scholarship"

because there IS NO SCHOLARSHIP. You're just a newspaper/magazine subscription salesmen. and hardly even that, as you have to pretend to be just some lil'ole gumshoe tryin to pull hisself up by his bootstraps and gosh golly it's just a little subscription you can have sent to bald kids who can then make you a card....

"Scuse me, Ma'am?"

*looking straight ahead, no emotion in voice* "No."

*can almost hear his head swivel back on his neck* "Daaaayum! Does the sun shine for you, lady?"

...

Walking back again the other way towards Greek class another one.

"Scuse me are you a student?"

"No." *still not looking at person*

"You're not a student?"

"Nope."

"you're not a student, and you got a backpack, and books wi'choo?"

*surprised that he caught on that much* "Nope, not a student."

If the sun weren't so bright in my eyes I would have turned to him and mentioned what tends to happen when you ask stupid questions. But then I also remembered that this was still Rivercide, and he's probably gonna call the store to try to get free Sprite later anyway.

Yesterday I had to go on campus to return some library books (for a change) and buy pepper spray for a girl coworker

Stupidest thing to do, really. Like she's gonna have it in her pockets at all times when she's walking around outside? Or is she gonna not do that because she's wearing tight clothes (nothing against that, if I had her figure I probably would too...well maybe not the tight jeans, that's just never comfortable) and instead keep it in her purse wherein of course any rapist/mugger/drunken assshat Rivercide native will certainly wait for her to panic and fumble around amongst her keys and makeup for her pepper spray.

And I read the label on the back before I gave it to her. Uno, it might not even be legal for her to carry it if she's not over 21--I'd be suprsied if she were 19-- and if she even uses it she might be screwed 'cause there's probably some stupid ass law that says they can't be used. Not to mention it's questionable effectiveness and ... what, is she gonna practice with it?

Still, it's better than nothing, and could potentially instill in her a sense of responsibility.

...? Responsibility for ... Idunno. Anyway, not what I came here for.

So I'm on campus to buy that, and have to pass by the belltower and there's some assface who dun gone and sealed himself off on a spot of grass with a sign about DON'T GO TO HELL FORNICATORS ADULTERERS LIARS DEMOCRATS (it wouldn't surprise me) THEIEVES FAGGOTS LIBERTARIANS (which I would expect, actually) and yelling.

Yelling!

...

Yelling!

...!!!

It was funneh. He's got his back straight, in a suit and tie, coke-snorting glasses, leaning into the crowd on the other side of the sidewalk yelling

"EEEEEYouuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu....are so naughty

DOUBLE YOU TEE EFF HE SAID NAUGHTY

"so naughty in your wickedness and lustfullness you're FULL OF LUST"

I think he was actually addressing some girls who were dressed quite uh..."fashionably," particularly for it being UCR where I guess if you're not some whitewashed Azn bro-ho then you're some hairy shrew (I think personally I'm aiming for the hairy whitewashed look, but that's another...uh...TMI I think)...but yeah.

This was not the idiot last quarter with the American flag with the list of people on Jorge Bush's shit list....who was involved in this little replication of the 16th century debate between Martin Luther and Erasmus:

Assface of last quarter: BLAH BLAH BLAAAAAH JOHN WESLEY SAID

Stupid fat girl, screaming just as loud: JOHN WESLEY WHO IS DAT? WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT

Like...as if Stupidity and Arrogance had a kid, and that kid punched me on the side of my head. I didn't know who to laugh at, nor when to cry at myself.

I coulda gone to Santa Cruz.

So no, this was not the same guy. He was just leaning and trying to ... not yell I guess, but to kind of coo at us.

"ooooooooooh you're such a sinner aren't you. oooooh the fires of hell are thoooo hawt." Or something like that.

And today.

Gosh today. Let me unzip my backpack (pervert!) and get out Exhibit A:

Exhibit a is a flyer I found taped to some phone, company standing up things. I have no idea what they are, but they are next to the sidewalk. People put gum, ads for rooms available, stupid emo-skater stickers, blah blah, and this flyer. Pink 8 1/2 x 11 inch. It's a pretty color.

GASSTRIKE

@ The Mobil on the corner of Dumbass Street [hey, I know where that is] and the 91 FWY. This Sun. 3/18 12:30PM. Come join...

WE NEED YOUR SUPPORI [with the T cut off, so I'm guessing it's a copy]

and then it just gets stupid. Beyond what is already up there since

Eins: The Mobil on the corner of Dumbass and the 91 is about 12 miles away from campus. The campus itself is basically taking up the first 2 lanes of the freeway that leads the hell out of Riverside. No UCR student is gonna have to try to avoid that one.

Zwei: The flyer itself is so placed as unless they cause a crash, no driver will see it. Just some hippie ass who already is biking anyway, or me who's just annoyed.

Drei: "Come join..." us in ignoring something. So I guess the linguistics major didn't make it to the flyer-writing meeting.

Vier: I have a feeling that there's something spelt wrong, though there's nothing that I can see.

...

and then it just gets stupid.

Alphabetical gas strike (start's St. Patricks Day)
1st week--avoid any station that begins with the letter A thru M
2nd week--M-Z!

Spread the word!!!

Is it starting Saturday the 17th, or Sunday the 18th?

Why....why why why. Why alphabetical, you dumb fuck? Are there only 26 gas stations in the area, all started up and founded on the ideal that the next letter of the alphabet was their turn? And what of the people who don't know their alphabet, and can't tell whether M counts as the first week or the second? (Don't be so naive as to think that won't happen.) What if a gas station under this proletarian embargo lowers its prices? Not that it would happen, but still.

yeah so.. .universal literacy. My anti-hope.

By the time I got back onto campus there was an anti-war get up near the belltower, complete with a little wall dedicated to "Down With WalMart" complete with pictures of smiling Jorge Bush...and mariachi music. I kid you not. I don't...I don't care the mariachi music when it's ... in context. At a small restaurant where it's blared from the radio inside the kitchen, for such. Or some other place. But then, I don't like music anyway.

I just...want to walk to class in peace. Why do we need all these circuses...and don't even get me started on how dry the bread is tastin.

Uh. I am so tired. But it's warm out and I don't wanna walk my bike home (uphill...gosh I'm so lazy) until it's darker and cooler, but then my friend wants to go out to eat or Sabbath whatever after he gets off work...le sigh.

Everybody's....pissing me off. It's a nice day today.

So I wake up this morning prepared to turn in 4 pages of an assigned 8-12 page essay with the usual "ah fuckit I didn't care about this class blah blah it's never my fault that I'm such a shitty student..." and sail on downhill to campus, get coffee and sit down in the class, wondering where the stack of 8-12 page, super de duper perfect essays is.

And no. Professor writes down on the board the due date for the papers. Next Friday.

FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK. Okay. Keine Probleme. I can actually add some meat to this little Melian masterpiece, maybe get better than a C for the class.

Meanwhile I didn't bother to do the assignment for the other class. Gah. I'm so lazy. I'm so... I just don't...uuuuuuuuuuuuuh I hate working.

I don't like this

How is it that I was able to sign into blogger just by clicking onthe blogger link? Just simply ... I'm already in. Maybe 'cause gmail's already up? Oh well.

I go now, to turn in a shitty essay. I swear to fuck this is the last time I fuck off the whole quarter. 8 1/2 weeks of just screwing around isn't even all that fun when you don't even have a social life to begin with. Boo hoo.

Or Maybe I Should Just

Maybe it's a test. Patience. Umm. Fortitude. Or faith? There are tests of faith, aren't there? Yeah, sure there are.

I think if anything it's just a regular "don't be a petty slut for a change" type of ...not so much a test as an opportunity. To...ding ding ding...not be a petty slut for a change.

He's not overly attractive in the face, just looks like...like himself. I mean...meh? I just don't really notice him as "dayum fine."

Liar.

I look at his body...usually like, his calves, and general shape, and when...I don't know why every single guy at the store has to do this but grabs the bars over the oven and does pull-ups, it's...I have to look away. I just...information I do not need.

But despite checking him out it doesn't really occur to me that he's oh em gee so hot. He's just...just looks the way he looks.

It's annoying as fuck, is what it is. I do the Right Thing. I tell Lieb about it, how oh so depressing it is that he's on Continent B while I'm on Continent A and there's some other guy "doing Lieb things" like picking me up from work, making me eat food, tellin me about God, but he's not Lieb and if he were Lieb it would be fine and I'd be able to express my gratitude for him doing these things the way I'm used to, the way I want to, but no it's not Lieb it's some .... does it matter who he is? No, it's just Nicht-Lieb.

So I tell Lieb, and I get. A call on the bus stop. An awkward phone call on the bus after using up my phone battery to IM him about it so instead of actually experiencing the emotional...release or whatever of telling him using my voice, I'm rehashing what I just told him as quickly as I could because of the delay in the IM thingie part of the phone.

And European men are assholes, to trust him on it. He's probably just hitting on you because he doesn't see me around (and really, what would that matter anyway? Would just put the responsibility for everything back on me...and really what woman wants to be responsible for her life?).

It's not that I don't believe him, or think that I'm young enough to be naive and think he's just wrong. Just...*sigh*

But then, what did I expect? "Oh Fritz you should totally hook up with him, you'll be 23 forever! I'll always put up with your bullshit!" No. I just...wanted it to go away.

So after a couple days of acting stupid around Nickt, I IMed him what's been bugging me. I don't think he can understand me when I talk to him face to face, unless it's in answer to a question or whatever that he asked or was just talking about. It'd be like, looking up Sehnsucht cold in the dictionary. Or facere.

But online, his syntax is so .... not-conformative to English SVO, that half the time I only get the gist of half of what he's saying. So...whatever. Anyway, as best as I can gather he was truthful that yes he would be interested but knows about Lieb so isn't going to do anything .... he said something about his character and then moved English words around like so many pieces of furniture tossed around in search of missing housekeys that I had no ... no second intentions, he knows I have a boyfriend and ... and blah blah blah. I believe him. I don't have to, but I do.

And now? Now it's like before. I don't really talk much to him so much as he tries to talk to me in English--I was a shitty conversation partner to that Korean girl when I was trying to get college credit for it two years ago, too--which I guess is okay...forces him to go back in his memory for words and phrases he's picked up and use them.

I'm comfortable around him. Not sure in what regard, but...idunno.

With Lieb. It's kinda the same, but better. I told him about this, so I'm not keeping anything from him. It's not like I'm asking guys out and then not telling him about it until about a week after I get stood up. And then not mentioning it or the implications of it ever again.

Oooooh buuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurn. Of who...I don't wanna answer that.

Double you tee eff.

All your blogger are belong to the...shit I don't remember how that line goes. Damn, I wish I remembered it, references to video games I've never played are the only way I can make my point anymore.

I just now saw the comments posted in re the last post at the blog that's still linked around places, attention to which was brought ... idunno, couple weeks, a month, ago. I went back there 'cause I thought I had a link to a Latin dictionary up there. Which I don't...what do I have a German one for in that case, anyway?

My little footies are more important than keeping up a blog I hadn't touched in about five months or so, actually. Aggravating stress fractures (I know, that is a real violin playing in the background, the digs are pitiful, but the digs are classy) does not sound like a beneficial trade off for....comments.

Oh

And Keith Olberman. Fuck that, too. Oh ooooh, every Libertarian on Myspace has Olbermann's Youtubed 10 minute commentaries playing on their profile.

Okay, the renewal of the Patriot Act...I could understand the bitching. Because really...we totally need the freedom to bitch about the government that won't stomp the faces that need to get stomped. I get it. Nationalism pretty much failed in America unless you're...unless....thinking....thinking..............

well the ones who are nationalist, sure as hell aren't in the way that the pre-colonial Europe was. Or they are. I haven't read much Amerikan history lately.

So yeah, his Patriot Act whine was pretty neat. But geez, I've seen high school girls whose daddy's don' love 'em (or do, whatever) with more manly composure than this.


I bet once the camera breaks away to commerical, his eyes sparkle and he thinks he really reaaaaallly got his point across to them.

And he probably did. I'd develop this, or try some coherence, but all that crap in the stores ain't gonna buy itself.

daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaamn. I'm hungry.

I am also in need of rolling my eyes at my youngest sister. But in an "no, it's okay" kind of way. If the worst thing in your life is that oh em gee your mom talks to friends of yours at school while she sees them at the gym...what the hell.

I so don't want any freakin' kids of my own. Fuck that.

aljdflasjdfl;asd..."fuck that." It's literary genius day at Matildah's.

Oh. Oh. Just Oh.

"...I fear we shall find that popular elections are not oftener determined, upon pure Principles of Merit, Virtue, and public Spirit, than the Nominations of a Court, if we don't take Care. I fear there is an infinity of Corruption in our Elections already crept in. All kinds of Favour, Intrigue, and Partiality in Elections are as real, Corruption in my Mind, as Treats and Bribes. A popular government is the worse curse, to which human Nature can be devoted when it is thoroughly corrupted. Despostism is better...we are sowing the Seeds of Ignorance, Corruption, and Injustice, in the fairest Field of Liberty, that ever appeared upon Earth, even in the first Attempts to cultivate it."

-John Adams to Joseph Hawley, 8/25/1776.

Time of the badasses. Found in one of my Revolutionary America class books, the readings for which I haven't been to in weeks.

And now, I am off to the girl-instructor's remaining lecture about how the revolution changed but didn't really change the role and limitation of women.

Talking about men is hard! Cause they're like, looking at our chest and stuff.

I Am Exhausted and Don't Like You

My sister-in-law relative (as opposed to any of the "fucking shit these people exist!?" relatives) called me last night. What do I want for my buh-buh-burfday coming up, what Chis'mus gifs do I want-I guess I might as well...and gawd Amazon needs to change the pictures of stupid broads on its main page. I am so sick of "my family didn't move the border moved geopolitics lol!" I want to see like...explosions. Or pictures from badass earthquakes in black and white.

What was it...oh yeah. I don't...I realized this morning after maybe-high-C-ing a midterm why my in-law and brother's family's holiday celebration always bug the hell out of me. No, not Christmas or Thanksgiving, but Holiday. Not only that all I do is just sit there, watching everyone tell each other stories of how their dog barks and has fat legs or O God the election (my tinfoil hats are pretty obvious to them), this time around I can have the excuse of "I have to read, it's for school" and not insult anyone, but the way that they all go about buying each other gifts.

Lists. They make lists together, and then go buy it. They know exactly what to get everyone, and everyone else knows exactly what to get them. It's so boring to listen to them talk about buying crap. No wondering "gah, I hope they think this is junk so I can have it" or "man so and so will shit their face when they see this." Oh well. Perhaps they do shit their face, just in a way that I don't recognize.

In other news.

Being in school is actually... Actually going. I'm not getting sleep, drinking way too much starbucky cans, and only occassionally talk to Riley on the phone until he's rambling about something and I'm wondering with my eyes closed whether I had just said outloud what's in my head or not. But stuff is getting done.

Essays are getting turned in. Midterms are done the night before they're due (story of this post's title) with only small corrections made. In-class midterms are not...eh. They're not As, but since it's Geology there's at least the modicum of being able to think through the questions to answer. I guess like having something to translate and while you don't know the exact vocabulary, you can figure from the shape of the bound morphemes what's going on. Plus the TA being ridiculously smart and patient and dayum fah-hine doesn't hurt.

Not all is super. I have two 12-15 page papers due by the end of the quarter. One I'm freaking over because I don't have a theme or thesis yet, just simply been reading on the Anabaptist kingdom in Munster (they are dumb muthafuckers).

The other is ethnic studies and I'm pissed 'cause I know that I can't go to my professor to ask him for ideas because he doesn't have any. So far I think I want to just go for a boring point-by-as-many-points-as-I-need-to-fill-up-space analysis of the debates between Booker T. Washington and WEB duBois (also a dumb muthafucker at times) and how they reflected the ideas in one of the few readable articles in the course. If there is a way I can try to argue Uncle-Tom-ism in both people I'd rather do that; but I'm not sure if that would count as "doable."

In conclusion, these stupid azzzzzzns in the computer desk right next to me in this library won't shut up. So I'm leaving.

Not as funneh

But still rad.

"We know what we believe, but it's difficult to live that out. That's not just Ted's struggle. It's our struggle."

I wasn't all too thrilled with what I knew about this guy, but couldn't help but laugh when I watched the Dawkins film linked onto youtube, with Haggard basically asking Dawkins to calm down. His goofy-ass grin made "but please, don't be arrogant" all the more funneh.

Oh oh oh, but schools need more moneys!

If not then some lazy slut would have to actually type in numbers. Oh the horror.

"It's so archaic to transfer something from a sheet of paper to a computer day by day," Hope schools Superintendent Gerrie Fausett told the Santa Barbara News-Press.

I bet that for every Tina Dabby there are twenty households that think that they need this. While the fifth-grader who doesn't know where her mom was last night lost all interest in reading and can't multiply.

More Conversations Of This Order

Riley: So wait...your dad is Jewish, and he was born in-
Matildah: Israel, like...
Riley: But his parents aren't Israeli, 'cause there wasn't any-
Matildah: No, his...umm, one was from Hungary and one from Romania so. So there.
Riley: You're a quarter Romanian then!
Matildah: Yeah, I guess so...maybe more 'cause I don't know about my mom.
Riley: What is she?
Matildah: She was born in Germany I think, but said France, and said England, but was adopted by a Cuban lady and her American army something husband, I don't know anything about-
Riley: So you're...you're a first generation American, then, Matildah.
Matildah: a;lksjdf;laksjdl...yeah I am.
Riley: You know what that means, Matildah?
Matildah: What does that means?
Riley: YOU TOOK OUR JOOOOOOOOBS.
Matildah: a;lsdfjliawkejfl;asjdfkajshdflkjasdl
Riley: Jaaaaahbs.
Matildah: I took a lot of your jobs, Riley.
Riley: *sigh* Yeah. They have to take a lot of jobs to take all the jobs that I won't do.

Seems I did a self-portrait over the summer, and forgot about it.