Guess who had a crow pecking around her car this morning?
Of course it’s me, who else would I write about? Well, that made me smile, then, on my drive to school I saw GNA. That bitch.
Yesterday on my drive home from class (that was cancelled by the way), late at night, in the snowy wonderfulmusness that is Ohio in January, a red Bug drove in front of me going all of 20 miles an hour... when the speed limit was 55. Ah, to be fair, her top speed was around 23 miles an hour.
And not just for a few miles.
And no, she wasn’t looking for a street or a house address.
She was driving from the University into my town, about thirty minutes away. And for about forty five minutes I sat in my car, driving ever so slowly, with just my middle fingers, behind the bitch, staring at her license plate “GNAS BUG” and cursing her with every curse word in English and Mandarin I could think of. I finally said “who gives a crap about safety” and passed her in the blizzard. In case you’re wondering, I did survive.
She is now my enemy for life. A pox on GNA and her screwed up odometer.
And today I saw her. In that evil red bug, with some nasty man in the passengers seat, the most annoying license plate “GNAS BUG” and stuck in traffic right outside of town. Ha! That’s what she gets for driving like that. I clapped and beat on my horn that doesn’t really honk but is truly a celebratory stress reliever.
Also, I made chocolate covered raisins today and feel so very chef-y and cool. Before the chocolate I tried to be all crafty and makes these seemingly cute things but failed miserably. Let’s just go back to the chocolate.
Friday, January 30, 2004
Wednesday, January 28, 2004
"Straw Warts"
Crows are my good luck symbols. I know it might sound a bit odd, most folk lore’s I’ve heard say that crows are the bringers of bad news or death, but not for me. I’m not superstitious, I don’t really believe it, but I like being able to say that I have a good luck charm. Some people have lucky numbers, days, or charms… I have crows.
One day, when I was sixteen, I was walking between buildings at my campus style high school and saw this big ass tree with no leaves but three crows perched on it, one on the left, one in the middle, and one on the right and the half moon behind it all. As I was walking the crow in the middle flew down and over my head, his wing brushing over my head. It was my spiritual/surreal experience that was kinda laughable but kinda cool.
So, since then I’ve figured that crows are my good luck symbol. Now I just need to figure out why my bad luck symbol is, ‘cause it was around today. I wont go into all the details, but it involved me falling on my ass and cracking my head on the ice, again having to crawl through the evil Mazda’s trunk, and then missing yet another class. I’m thinking that maybe snow is my bad luck symbol. Nothing seems to go right when there’s snow around.
And here's a link for you. Oodles, and oodles of... fun... with palindromes?
http://www.palindromelist.com/
One day, when I was sixteen, I was walking between buildings at my campus style high school and saw this big ass tree with no leaves but three crows perched on it, one on the left, one in the middle, and one on the right and the half moon behind it all. As I was walking the crow in the middle flew down and over my head, his wing brushing over my head. It was my spiritual/surreal experience that was kinda laughable but kinda cool.
So, since then I’ve figured that crows are my good luck symbol. Now I just need to figure out why my bad luck symbol is, ‘cause it was around today. I wont go into all the details, but it involved me falling on my ass and cracking my head on the ice, again having to crawl through the evil Mazda’s trunk, and then missing yet another class. I’m thinking that maybe snow is my bad luck symbol. Nothing seems to go right when there’s snow around.
And here's a link for you. Oodles, and oodles of... fun... with palindromes?
http://www.palindromelist.com/
Monday, January 26, 2004
I was curious when I could expect to see Living ‘till The End in theaters so I sent off a little e-mail. Here’s the response I got back…
kaythryn;
we're still in post. keep checking the site for details and more shots of sean...have given him his own page -- not up yet. thanks for the response...spread the word.
best,
amanda
And she even spelled my name right. I can’t wait.
And after looking at this list I don’t know how you could say anything and it not have something to do with masturbation.
kaythryn;
we're still in post. keep checking the site for details and more shots of sean...have given him his own page -- not up yet. thanks for the response...spread the word.
best,
amanda
And she even spelled my name right. I can’t wait.
And after looking at this list I don’t know how you could say anything and it not have something to do with masturbation.
Sunday, January 25, 2004
Saturday, January 24, 2004
Global warming my ass, it’s cold outside!
First off, man socks are the shit.
Those little white girly, size four, so short they sink down under your heel after three steps socks may be cute in the summer, but nothing beats a man sock in the winter. They come in all kinds of dorky patters, warm comfy materials, and reach all the way up to your knee.
That being said, this morning I needed socks. It’s ten degrees outside, I need man socks. I rummaged though my dad’s sock drawer, nope, none of those I wanted. Went to my brothers room and what do I find in his underwear drawer? A fourteen year old boys underwear drawer…hummm… let’s think.
Porno magazines?
A pack of cigarettes?
Underwear even?
No, no, and yes but who cares. I found an unopened bottle of Don Perignon. Do all fourteen year old boys have bottles of Champaign in their underwear drawers? I’m really quite afraid for the world.
I took this death test at TheSpark.com and it told me I’m going to die on March 12, 2054 at the age of 69. I was really hopping to live longer than that. It said that I have a 29% chance of dying of cancer, 17 % chance I’ll die of a homicide, 7% chance I’ll die of third degree burns, and 5% chances that I’ll die of either lonelyness or a hear attack. Oh yeah, and 325355 people claim to have leprosy.
Not terribly uplifting, but a little interesting none the less.
This is a very fun site . They do all kinds of interesting experiments and tricks.
How evil are you?
Those little white girly, size four, so short they sink down under your heel after three steps socks may be cute in the summer, but nothing beats a man sock in the winter. They come in all kinds of dorky patters, warm comfy materials, and reach all the way up to your knee.
That being said, this morning I needed socks. It’s ten degrees outside, I need man socks. I rummaged though my dad’s sock drawer, nope, none of those I wanted. Went to my brothers room and what do I find in his underwear drawer? A fourteen year old boys underwear drawer…hummm… let’s think.
Porno magazines?
A pack of cigarettes?
Underwear even?
No, no, and yes but who cares. I found an unopened bottle of Don Perignon. Do all fourteen year old boys have bottles of Champaign in their underwear drawers? I’m really quite afraid for the world.
I took this death test at TheSpark.com and it told me I’m going to die on March 12, 2054 at the age of 69. I was really hopping to live longer than that. It said that I have a 29% chance of dying of cancer, 17 % chance I’ll die of a homicide, 7% chance I’ll die of third degree burns, and 5% chances that I’ll die of either lonelyness or a hear attack. Oh yeah, and 325355 people claim to have leprosy.
Not terribly uplifting, but a little interesting none the less.
This is a very fun site . They do all kinds of interesting experiments and tricks.
How evil are you?
Sunday, January 18, 2004
Phones are a special commodity in my house. They are rare and treasured.
It’s not that we don’t have many, we’ve got three cordless phones and four cell phones, but the real trick is in finding them. My mother and father don’t even try any more. They just let it ring and ring until someone else gets fed up by the loud reverting sound and goes hunting. Lately it’s just for my brother. His many girlfriends call numerous times a day to check on him and what he’s doing, and dozens and dozens of his guy friends call asking for rides, times to come over, and video game gossip.
Now as soon as I’ve taken off my shoes, curled my legs beneath me, grabbed a brimming cup of hot chocolate, balanced my lap top on one knee, the cat on my shoulder has fallen asleep, and the dogs curled at my sides are calm, the phone will ring.
Ah, hell.
So I have to toss the computer to the side, scaring all three dogs away; the scattering dogs freak out the sleeping cat who then digs into my shoulder before springing away and causing me to spill my hot chocolate all over my leg and drip into my empty shoes. Then I have to jump, skip, hop, and plow through the swirling mess of dogs that will twine around my legs thinking that I got up with the sole intention of letting them outside. When I manage to clear the dogs I break out into a sprint, sliding across the wood floor, feet tingling with the threat of splinters, headed first towards the kitchen phone.
Is it there? No. Of course not.
Next to the living room. Phone? Yes! Is it charged up, does it work? No.
Why the hell did I build my hopes up in the first place?
Okay, to the third spot, my brother’s room. Up the stairs, three turns, down the hall, into his room and smack into the weightlifting machine thingy. Ouch. The phone’s still ringing. On his desk? No. Under the blankets? No. I pause and try to ignore the sound of my breath as I wait for another ring.
It’s coming from my parents room. I ran down the hall and into their room. The phone isn’t on the phone jack, but it’s still ringing. I climbed up on their bed and starting looking on the back shelf, shuffling though piles of magazines, and bank statements, under cat beds and remotes. There, among black, phone sized DVD, TV, fan and stereo remotes was the black, phone sized phone.
“Hello?”
“Hi, is Jake home?”
“No Lauren, like I said earlier, he’ll be home this evening. Like around dinner time… like later.”
“*sigh*…alright.”
“I’ll have him call you.”
“Bye.” Click.
All of that just to tell on of Jake’s girlfriends to calm down and go away.
Now that I’ve just finished ranting on the fact that I never get any calls, my aunt called for me. My aunt, quite the pink princess covered in porcelain dolls, and I are great pen pals. She’s a writer and is always sending me literary magazines and books. Just recently, about three years ago, she starting working as a advertisement, executive, traveling speaker thing for a church in Maine. Abracadabra, she’s now religious. This book she just finished a few days ago is supposedly about these three, or possibly four, witches. She loved it. She thinks she has a little witch in her. She also said that my mother and I are like that. Well… okay, whatever you say Auntie… but doesn’t the bible have some not nice words about witchcraft? She isn’t terribly sarcastic and she does help pay for my college books, so I held that little bit back.
The last book she sent me was “Asleep“. It was okay. Nothing I would really recommend or read again.
And last night I finished “The Scars of Evolution”. Wow. I love Elaine Morgan. She’s just the super coolest person ever. I don’t know how anyone can’t accept the Aquatic Ape Theory. It’s the first evolutionary theory that I really researched and looked into, so that might of swayed me a bit, but damn, it’s good. “The Scars of Evolution” is a good book, very good, but more so I recommend “The decent of Woman”. It’s by the same author on the same theory, but in this book it focuses more on women’s characteristics and changes over time. It rocks. With those two finished I've started on “Neanderthal”. Yeah, yeah, I've really got to get back to Snowcrash sometime. I will.
Clocks are cool. I like this one best, but this one is pretty nice too.
You're Most Like The Season ... NO wait! Hold it!
You're not like a season at all! You're a
psycho... You need a new season created just
for you.
You either answered wildly to be different, or you
truly are a 'special case'. Independant -
maybe, Intelligent - somewhat. Weird and wacky
- most certainly.
A nut case, a fruit cake, the joker, the insane
lunatic :) However be careful or you may get
locked up.
Well Done... You're not at home in any of the
seasons, you creat your own.
?? Which Season Are You ??
brought to you by Quizilla
It’s not that we don’t have many, we’ve got three cordless phones and four cell phones, but the real trick is in finding them. My mother and father don’t even try any more. They just let it ring and ring until someone else gets fed up by the loud reverting sound and goes hunting. Lately it’s just for my brother. His many girlfriends call numerous times a day to check on him and what he’s doing, and dozens and dozens of his guy friends call asking for rides, times to come over, and video game gossip.
Now as soon as I’ve taken off my shoes, curled my legs beneath me, grabbed a brimming cup of hot chocolate, balanced my lap top on one knee, the cat on my shoulder has fallen asleep, and the dogs curled at my sides are calm, the phone will ring.
Ah, hell.
So I have to toss the computer to the side, scaring all three dogs away; the scattering dogs freak out the sleeping cat who then digs into my shoulder before springing away and causing me to spill my hot chocolate all over my leg and drip into my empty shoes. Then I have to jump, skip, hop, and plow through the swirling mess of dogs that will twine around my legs thinking that I got up with the sole intention of letting them outside. When I manage to clear the dogs I break out into a sprint, sliding across the wood floor, feet tingling with the threat of splinters, headed first towards the kitchen phone.
Is it there? No. Of course not.
Next to the living room. Phone? Yes! Is it charged up, does it work? No.
Why the hell did I build my hopes up in the first place?
Okay, to the third spot, my brother’s room. Up the stairs, three turns, down the hall, into his room and smack into the weightlifting machine thingy. Ouch. The phone’s still ringing. On his desk? No. Under the blankets? No. I pause and try to ignore the sound of my breath as I wait for another ring.
It’s coming from my parents room. I ran down the hall and into their room. The phone isn’t on the phone jack, but it’s still ringing. I climbed up on their bed and starting looking on the back shelf, shuffling though piles of magazines, and bank statements, under cat beds and remotes. There, among black, phone sized DVD, TV, fan and stereo remotes was the black, phone sized phone.
“Hello?”
“Hi, is Jake home?”
“No Lauren, like I said earlier, he’ll be home this evening. Like around dinner time… like later.”
“*sigh*…alright.”
“I’ll have him call you.”
“Bye.” Click.
All of that just to tell on of Jake’s girlfriends to calm down and go away.
Now that I’ve just finished ranting on the fact that I never get any calls, my aunt called for me. My aunt, quite the pink princess covered in porcelain dolls, and I are great pen pals. She’s a writer and is always sending me literary magazines and books. Just recently, about three years ago, she starting working as a advertisement, executive, traveling speaker thing for a church in Maine. Abracadabra, she’s now religious. This book she just finished a few days ago is supposedly about these three, or possibly four, witches. She loved it. She thinks she has a little witch in her. She also said that my mother and I are like that. Well… okay, whatever you say Auntie… but doesn’t the bible have some not nice words about witchcraft? She isn’t terribly sarcastic and she does help pay for my college books, so I held that little bit back.
The last book she sent me was “Asleep“. It was okay. Nothing I would really recommend or read again.
And last night I finished “The Scars of Evolution”. Wow. I love Elaine Morgan. She’s just the super coolest person ever. I don’t know how anyone can’t accept the Aquatic Ape Theory. It’s the first evolutionary theory that I really researched and looked into, so that might of swayed me a bit, but damn, it’s good. “The Scars of Evolution” is a good book, very good, but more so I recommend “The decent of Woman”. It’s by the same author on the same theory, but in this book it focuses more on women’s characteristics and changes over time. It rocks. With those two finished I've started on “Neanderthal”. Yeah, yeah, I've really got to get back to Snowcrash sometime. I will.
Clocks are cool. I like this one best, but this one is pretty nice too.
You're Most Like The Season ... NO wait! Hold it!
You're not like a season at all! You're a
psycho... You need a new season created just
for you.
You either answered wildly to be different, or you
truly are a 'special case'. Independant -
maybe, Intelligent - somewhat. Weird and wacky
- most certainly.
A nut case, a fruit cake, the joker, the insane
lunatic :) However be careful or you may get
locked up.
Well Done... You're not at home in any of the
seasons, you creat your own.
?? Which Season Are You ??
brought to you by Quizilla
Saturday, January 17, 2004
I like blue...
You are blue. You are somewhat innocent, in the fact that your genius only extends to the physical world. You have a false sense of contentness. You are usually the quiet one, the genius. Everyone can count on you to help when they have problems, but you only fall short of being able to solve your own.
What inner color are you?
Dark magician. You love the dark because of it's
beauty and just the life that no-one else sees.
Mysterious, calm, quiet... But that doesn't
mean you're not friendly!
Please rate ^^
What kind of dark person are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
Wednesday, January 14, 2004
“I just want bang, bang, bang”
I had a nice chat with a young woman at Kroger’s this afternoon. She was quite pretty-- short brown hair, a groovy pink sweater. So very hip. She offered me some of her lotion, bath and boy works, but I declined as would be proper. Then she offered me her left sock. When I declined this she just laughed at me and threw it to the floor. Yeah, she was about one to one and a half years old. Babies are so cute.
Okay, now I know this is called the annoying laughing cat, but it’s actually, stupidly funny. It helps if you’ve not gotten a lot of sleep in the last few days. It scares the crap out of my cat and if you listen to it for awhile, your hysteric laugher starts to sound like the cat’s… snorts and all.
Jake sat me down and made me watch all of these, so I have to pass them on…
Here is the origin of the F’word, Wheeee, the the Icon War, and my boy humor favorite, No Relationship Please.
Also, since I’ve been bad and forgetting to post links, here are a few to make up for it.
Build your own face- fun to play around with, and Mag? Could be get an artist rendition of the one and only maguinan?
Poke the penguin - poke at your own risk. Hi-larious.
And lastly, astronomy picture of the day, just kind of a nice site to check every once in awhile.
Okay, now I know this is called the annoying laughing cat, but it’s actually, stupidly funny. It helps if you’ve not gotten a lot of sleep in the last few days. It scares the crap out of my cat and if you listen to it for awhile, your hysteric laugher starts to sound like the cat’s… snorts and all.
Jake sat me down and made me watch all of these, so I have to pass them on…
Here is the origin of the F’word, Wheeee, the the Icon War, and my boy humor favorite, No Relationship Please.
Also, since I’ve been bad and forgetting to post links, here are a few to make up for it.
Build your own face- fun to play around with, and Mag? Could be get an artist rendition of the one and only maguinan?
Poke the penguin - poke at your own risk. Hi-larious.
And lastly, astronomy picture of the day, just kind of a nice site to check every once in awhile.
Tuesday, January 13, 2004
I just got asked to go dancing and bar hopping downtown with some of my dancer friends for one of their birthdays.
Yay!
But it won’t just be at any clubs. We’re hitting the male gay bars.
Whooo…I’m sure all the gay men are gonna want to dance with me.
And this isn’t with just any friends. One of them is about seventy five years old, and the other two are between forty five and fifty years old.
Yippie? Let’s party all night long…
But they’re dancers… that should be fun, right? Um… maybe not, they’re all professional ballroom dancers.
Wow.
And friends, that’s a loose term. I’m going with my boss, a girl friend of his, and my mom.
Hum. Me, my mom, my trollish boss and his Hungarian friend from the studio, waltzing the night away at the techno gay bars.
Fun!
Yay!
But it won’t just be at any clubs. We’re hitting the male gay bars.
Whooo…I’m sure all the gay men are gonna want to dance with me.
And this isn’t with just any friends. One of them is about seventy five years old, and the other two are between forty five and fifty years old.
Yippie? Let’s party all night long…
But they’re dancers… that should be fun, right? Um… maybe not, they’re all professional ballroom dancers.
Wow.
And friends, that’s a loose term. I’m going with my boss, a girl friend of his, and my mom.
Hum. Me, my mom, my trollish boss and his Hungarian friend from the studio, waltzing the night away at the techno gay bars.
Fun!
“My glorious prose filtered though the mind of the insane”
How do people with lives blog? I’m genuinely interested in knowing. I’ve only got school and yet I’m finding it near impossible. But then again, I’m quite lazy.
Quills… a movie?
No.
It’s a porno with three cups of dirty, a spoonful of teary angst, a pinch of medieval torture, a healthy dash of Joaquin and the dark rider, some crazy people thrown in to taste, and way too much male frontal nudity… some pale, mushy nudity. Did I mention the creepy stories yet?
All in all I enjoyed it. I watched it in the dark in my room as I hid under the covers occasionally having to mute it (my poor virgin ears burned though that movie) and cover my eyes. Of course I’m watching it again right now. It’s better the second time around.
I redesigned my website again. Not really, just a little bit. I changed the graphic, but that’s not much, the big thing that’s making me happy is that the ad’s are gone.
Yippie!
And I didn‘t pay.
Double yippie!
I used some anchor-target-bookmark thing code…thing. I credit Spark. He knew what it was called and links and all that good stuff.
I went with my brother to get his ear pierced the other day. Wow, it takes a lot of lying to get a fourteen year old boy’s ear pierced.
“Yeah, I‘m him mom.” -didn‘t work. To the next store we went.
“He’s 18.”
“Let’s see his I.D.”
“Uh… well… he’s got a fake I.D. A pyro license. Heh.”- didn’t work. Next.
“My parents abandoned us years ago, leaving only this half of a locket for when they return, *sniffle* I’ve been taking care of him since he was knee high to a grasshopper... So…can I sign for him?” -didn’t work. Okay, there are more stores.
“Yeah, I’m his legal guardian, can I sign?” Ding, ding, ding! That worked. Piercing Pagoda believed us. And to the Fireflyish part of our trip, we stopped in Sam Goody before going home and they had two Firefly DVD box sets still left unsold. So I pulled out the receipt from piercing Pagoda and wrote on the back of it,
“Buy this DVD.
It Rocks.
Keep flyin’ Browncoats. ”
Then I folded it in half so it would stand upright, and put it on the shelf. I plan on doing this at any stores that have unsold FF DVDs.
Quills… a movie?
No.
It’s a porno with three cups of dirty, a spoonful of teary angst, a pinch of medieval torture, a healthy dash of Joaquin and the dark rider, some crazy people thrown in to taste, and way too much male frontal nudity… some pale, mushy nudity. Did I mention the creepy stories yet?
All in all I enjoyed it. I watched it in the dark in my room as I hid under the covers occasionally having to mute it (my poor virgin ears burned though that movie) and cover my eyes. Of course I’m watching it again right now. It’s better the second time around.
I redesigned my website again. Not really, just a little bit. I changed the graphic, but that’s not much, the big thing that’s making me happy is that the ad’s are gone.
Yippie!
And I didn‘t pay.
Double yippie!
I used some anchor-target-bookmark thing code…thing. I credit Spark. He knew what it was called and links and all that good stuff.
I went with my brother to get his ear pierced the other day. Wow, it takes a lot of lying to get a fourteen year old boy’s ear pierced.
“Yeah, I‘m him mom.” -didn‘t work. To the next store we went.
“He’s 18.”
“Let’s see his I.D.”
“Uh… well… he’s got a fake I.D. A pyro license. Heh.”- didn’t work. Next.
“My parents abandoned us years ago, leaving only this half of a locket for when they return, *sniffle* I’ve been taking care of him since he was knee high to a grasshopper... So…can I sign for him?” -didn’t work. Okay, there are more stores.
“Yeah, I’m his legal guardian, can I sign?” Ding, ding, ding! That worked. Piercing Pagoda believed us. And to the Fireflyish part of our trip, we stopped in Sam Goody before going home and they had two Firefly DVD box sets still left unsold. So I pulled out the receipt from piercing Pagoda and wrote on the back of it,
“Buy this DVD.
It Rocks.
Keep flyin’ Browncoats. ”
Then I folded it in half so it would stand upright, and put it on the shelf. I plan on doing this at any stores that have unsold FF DVDs.
Monday, January 12, 2004
“Welcome to our humble madhouse”.
I’m watching Quills.
Whoa, sex.
Oh. My. God. So much sex. They can’t even talk about wine without talking about sex.
Ohh, look, nuns.
Whoa, sex.
Oh. My. God. So much sex. They can’t even talk about wine without talking about sex.
Ohh, look, nuns.
Thursday, January 8, 2004
I love sociology and I love my sociology professor. It first hit me when she said “I think there’s a special level of hell reserved for professors who lecture after exams”.
A special hell.
Then our first day of class was only 24 minutes long. A Firefly-like saying and less than half an hour of class, how could I resist?
As I was typing about my wonderfulmus socio teacher, I just got this e-mail. It’s forwarded to me from my mother who got it from my great aunt who got it from a co-worker. As if you care about that.
“This huge rock is located on highway 25, and kids use to put obscenities
etc. on it. However, since the rock was painted like this, it's been left
alone. This rock is in Adair County, between Greenfield, and I-80. The kid
that painted it is a local guy, named Bubba. This kid is really talented,
take a look at it.
Be sure to scroll all the way down to see all sides of the rock.
check it out at…
http://www.ticz.com/homes/users/bob/On-A-Rock/On-A-Rock.htm”
A special hell.
Then our first day of class was only 24 minutes long. A Firefly-like saying and less than half an hour of class, how could I resist?
As I was typing about my wonderfulmus socio teacher, I just got this e-mail. It’s forwarded to me from my mother who got it from my great aunt who got it from a co-worker. As if you care about that.
“This huge rock is located on highway 25, and kids use to put obscenities
etc. on it. However, since the rock was painted like this, it's been left
alone. This rock is in Adair County, between Greenfield, and I-80. The kid
that painted it is a local guy, named Bubba. This kid is really talented,
take a look at it.
Be sure to scroll all the way down to see all sides of the rock.
check it out at…
http://www.ticz.com/homes/users/bob/On-A-Rock/On-A-Rock.htm”
Monday, January 5, 2004
“You are on your deathbed, you confess to a dozen murders, then get better”
Ah, fun, fun, fun, that is sooo not freaking fun.
Today is the first day back to school for most students, and for the students at my college, the first day of winter quarter. New classes.
So, this morning I crawled out of bed while it was still dark, got all pretty-- fluffed my hair, painted in my eyebrow, and wore clean jeans all tight from the dryer. I was looking good. Had my book bag all packed with necessary schoolish stuff, had my keys and was out the door.
Sound familiar? Okay, for some of you men, not the tight pants bit, but things were smooth. You’d think Firefly would have taught me a lesson. Smooth is not a good sign.
Out to the car and the Mazda’s doors wouldn’t open. Okay, I can deal. It’s cold, my car doors are always freezing. I yank and pull, kick and pull, curse and pull. Then I yank, curse, kick, curse, pull, curse, then sit and curse. The primitive woman spoke out loudly though the cursing.
“Need stick.”
Whooo! I’m a genius. I grabbed a crowbar from the basement, pried a bit, then pulled a bit and go me, the door opened. Just a little kicking from the inside opened the drivers door.
Me--“Doors open?”
Me--“Check.”
Me--“Next step.”
Me--“Key goes in the ignition. I’ll turn key. Car supposed to start.”
Me--“You’re smart.”
Me--“Thank you.”
I’m not missing something am I? Because that’s what I did, and there was no car startage.
The engine turned over twice, and then it whined at me. I tried again, this time there was less turning and more whining. I called my mom and let her hear what the car sounded like. Then I tried again just for fun. Another time for luck. I had a strange feeling so I tried again. Still with the whining. Then I called my dad and let him hear it once. I tried with the doors open, with them shut. I waited until I thought the car let down it’s guard and quickly tried. No go.
Great. I’m already five minutes late to my first class with a new proof, and my car is playing dead.
Goddamned bastard battery.
So, I grab the little black box from the garage that’s the battery recharger thing. We call it the trickle thing. I plugged it into the wall then went to open the hood.
It didn’t move. Okay, attack of dumb blonde. I forgot to pull the little lever in the car for the hood to open. D’oh. Pulled lever, tried to open hood. Still, not opening. There was a short fit of yanking, cursing, pulling, cursing, kicking and cursing similar to the earlier door situation before inner cave woman spoke to me again.
“Need stick.”
Can do. I grabbed my handy crowbar and pried away. Whooo! Hood open! Now I’ve got two wire thingies with metal crab claws on the ends, one red, one black.
Way back a long time ago I learned the right way to do this. There is supposed to be an order and I made up some logical reasoning for that order so I would remember.
“Red doesn’t seem like it should go first, so it does.” Occasionally I mix this up and it becomes, “black doesn’t seem like it should go first, so it does.” But, due to the lack of crazy sparks and death or whatever horrid thing is supposed to happen when you do it wrong, I believe I got it right.
Now I’m half an hour late, my nose is all red, my fluffy hair is frizzy, my tight pants have frost and engine goo on them, and I have to wait for the car to charge up. Fun, fun. On top of that I got a check up call from my dad to make sure I didn’t kill myself, and was told not to tried to start the car for awhile because I might flood the engine. Hummmm…. whoops.
Oh, and #firefly keeps kicking me.
And to keep with the fun, fun, fun, here’s a fun site that I can relate to. Today ranks just bellow finding out that there’re big worms in your eyes. 1,452 something dolors.
Today is the first day back to school for most students, and for the students at my college, the first day of winter quarter. New classes.
So, this morning I crawled out of bed while it was still dark, got all pretty-- fluffed my hair, painted in my eyebrow, and wore clean jeans all tight from the dryer. I was looking good. Had my book bag all packed with necessary schoolish stuff, had my keys and was out the door.
Sound familiar? Okay, for some of you men, not the tight pants bit, but things were smooth. You’d think Firefly would have taught me a lesson. Smooth is not a good sign.
Out to the car and the Mazda’s doors wouldn’t open. Okay, I can deal. It’s cold, my car doors are always freezing. I yank and pull, kick and pull, curse and pull. Then I yank, curse, kick, curse, pull, curse, then sit and curse. The primitive woman spoke out loudly though the cursing.
“Need stick.”
Whooo! I’m a genius. I grabbed a crowbar from the basement, pried a bit, then pulled a bit and go me, the door opened. Just a little kicking from the inside opened the drivers door.
Me--“Doors open?”
Me--“Check.”
Me--“Next step.”
Me--“Key goes in the ignition. I’ll turn key. Car supposed to start.”
Me--“You’re smart.”
Me--“Thank you.”
I’m not missing something am I? Because that’s what I did, and there was no car startage.
The engine turned over twice, and then it whined at me. I tried again, this time there was less turning and more whining. I called my mom and let her hear what the car sounded like. Then I tried again just for fun. Another time for luck. I had a strange feeling so I tried again. Still with the whining. Then I called my dad and let him hear it once. I tried with the doors open, with them shut. I waited until I thought the car let down it’s guard and quickly tried. No go.
Great. I’m already five minutes late to my first class with a new proof, and my car is playing dead.
Goddamned bastard battery.
So, I grab the little black box from the garage that’s the battery recharger thing. We call it the trickle thing. I plugged it into the wall then went to open the hood.
It didn’t move. Okay, attack of dumb blonde. I forgot to pull the little lever in the car for the hood to open. D’oh. Pulled lever, tried to open hood. Still, not opening. There was a short fit of yanking, cursing, pulling, cursing, kicking and cursing similar to the earlier door situation before inner cave woman spoke to me again.
“Need stick.”
Can do. I grabbed my handy crowbar and pried away. Whooo! Hood open! Now I’ve got two wire thingies with metal crab claws on the ends, one red, one black.
Way back a long time ago I learned the right way to do this. There is supposed to be an order and I made up some logical reasoning for that order so I would remember.
“Red doesn’t seem like it should go first, so it does.” Occasionally I mix this up and it becomes, “black doesn’t seem like it should go first, so it does.” But, due to the lack of crazy sparks and death or whatever horrid thing is supposed to happen when you do it wrong, I believe I got it right.
Now I’m half an hour late, my nose is all red, my fluffy hair is frizzy, my tight pants have frost and engine goo on them, and I have to wait for the car to charge up. Fun, fun. On top of that I got a check up call from my dad to make sure I didn’t kill myself, and was told not to tried to start the car for awhile because I might flood the engine. Hummmm…. whoops.
Oh, and #firefly keeps kicking me.
And to keep with the fun, fun, fun, here’s a fun site that I can relate to. Today ranks just bellow finding out that there’re big worms in your eyes. 1,452 something dolors.
Saturday, January 3, 2004
"Eyebrows are sooooo last year"--Psychically Comatose Robotic Child Killing Adults
I’m starting a new fashion trend. It’s called the asymmetrical bald plucked spot on your right eyebrow. I’ll be in class in two days, I’m sure it will be a big hit with the college kids. You heard it from me first, folks. So, when you see Beyonce, Brittany, and Madonna with what looks like a bad eyebrow job, just know it’s really fashionable, and I started it. Or at least that’s what I’m telling people. I should have known that when I saw my friend hacking up newspaper that she would not be able to subtly shape eyebrows with tweezers. But she has such pretty eyebrows herself, and seemed quite confident of her abilities.
As with every story, things began smoothly. She plucked, she tweased, she worked her magic. Then she drew blood. Okay, ouch, but smack a little toilet paper on my eyebrow and she keep plodding ahead.
I should have had her quit right then. I should of said no… but… I was weak.
Minutes passed. A little pluck here, a little there, then she pulled me up and tugged me over to the mirror. For some reason I only had one whole eyebrow. The other one was only half of it’s former self. Where’d the other half of it go? Was it going to be put back on?
The answer was no.
Oh. Hun. I wish I knew that earlier. Also a little tidbit she could of shared with me earlier: Her eyebrows were done at the beauty parlor.
The little old lady that works at our library sprays her eyebrows on with a stencil and some paint, I’m thinking about asking her for tips.
This is an intresting site.
“Purpose: To protect all earth children from Psychically Comatose Robotic Child Killing Adults”
Oh, and I’m going brush crazy. I’ve got some Serenity brushes and some sign brushes at my site that I must share because I’m simply giddy about them. I know they're dorky, but I'm learning. I think I'm learning.
As with every story, things began smoothly. She plucked, she tweased, she worked her magic. Then she drew blood. Okay, ouch, but smack a little toilet paper on my eyebrow and she keep plodding ahead.
I should have had her quit right then. I should of said no… but… I was weak.
Minutes passed. A little pluck here, a little there, then she pulled me up and tugged me over to the mirror. For some reason I only had one whole eyebrow. The other one was only half of it’s former self. Where’d the other half of it go? Was it going to be put back on?
The answer was no.
Oh. Hun. I wish I knew that earlier. Also a little tidbit she could of shared with me earlier: Her eyebrows were done at the beauty parlor.
The little old lady that works at our library sprays her eyebrows on with a stencil and some paint, I’m thinking about asking her for tips.
This is an intresting site.
“Purpose: To protect all earth children from Psychically Comatose Robotic Child Killing Adults”
Oh, and I’m going brush crazy. I’ve got some Serenity brushes and some sign brushes at my site that I must share because I’m simply giddy about them. I know they're dorky, but I'm learning. I think I'm learning.
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