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neatta in "Miss Julie", and to have dinner with her. It was a lot of fun, and I'm glad I went, even if I was a bit nervous. It's odd to meet someone for the first time when you've known them for two years. You build up this person in your head -- I build up everything in my head from people's houses to their dogs to their purses as being some great mythical thing and when it comes time to experience it for myself, there is generally disappointment -- but not so with Neatta. She's great; I'm sorry we didn't get to meet before. I'm also a little sorry my dad went, because he gets really excited about things -- it's the mania -- and kind of bulldozes conversations. Also, he drove home in the rain/fog/night down the winding mountain roads and gave me a terrible headache and motion sickness. Never letting him drive my car again. Always ends poorly. When we were driving back, for some reason we started talking about Yann Martel. Most everyone has read "Life of Pi", but what I really love is a certain short story from "Facts Behind the Helsinki Roccamatios". In it, he describes the proper use of a semi-colon, and how effective it is in a sentence. When I was reading the short story the first time, I was so moved by the way grammar influences and affects the text, I actually started crying. So, last night, I got a little choked up about a semi-colon.
( Here's the paragraphs from the story )
As I needed further proof that I'm weirdly in love with grammar.
Also. I had the weirdest Pushing Daisies dreams. As in multiple. There were episodes. John Casey (from Chuck) and Adelle Dewitt (from Dollhouse) were there. It was very odd, and Olive was the hero.
I just found a few class notes from my mythology course, Fall '06, and they are hilarious. I called Telemachos a "namby-pamby boy" and compared Andromache and Helen to Carrie Bradshaw. Why on earth I got A's in the class is beyond me.
Lastly, I found quite possibly the sexiest link ever: Hot Library Smut !!!
Another function of necking is sexual, in which two males caress and court each other, leading up to mounting and climax. Such interactions between males are more frequent than heterosexual coupling. In one study, up to 94% of observed mounting incidents took place between two males. The proportion of same sex activities varied between 30 and 75%, and at any given time one in twenty males were engaged in non-combative necking behaviour with another male. Only 1% of same-sex mounting incidents occurred between females.
Who knew how gay giraffes are? Also, look how creepy their skeletons are.
I find that I have things to say, often, but I never say them. It's easier not to, not because they're hurtful (although, sometimes they are), or because they're hard to say or hear, but because I can't find the break in conversation. I never know when to step in. So, instead of stepping on someone else's words or not being heard (which, if you ask me, is one of the worst feelings invented), or having to repeat myself half as eloquently as I'd said just two seconds ago, I hold my breath and wait for the moment, the spark in my brain, to pass.
I'm being hit on at work. I hate it for a variety of reasons. First, I am not attracted to this man at all, because among other things, the first thing he said to me was, "Are you easily offended?" I made the mistake of not standing my ground and saying, "Yes, I can be offended, and I'm not going to readily open myself to the opportunity." Instead, I gave my best trying-to-fit-in smile and said, "I don't know." He assumed this was an open invitation to make dirty jokes and give me panther-growls randomly throughout my shift. It's disturbing and I have no idea of how to stop it because of aforementioned issue with communicated effectively with others.
Secondly, it's a reminder that I am not being hit on by other, more suitable men. And I haven't ever been, that I'm aware of. Which is another problem. I'm not aware of men. I'm not really aware of anyone, in relation to myself. I sit in my head, behind a desk, thinking and distancing myself and making snap judgements, and it's hard to relate the horrible things the person behind my desk is saying to the person in front of me, because I don't want to be cruel. I don't want to be cruel. It's just there, in my head, this horrible person who hates everyone and everything.
Thirdly, I can't handle it. I can't appropriately make him stop. Instead, I smile, give a very small laugh and go about my business. I'm afraid this isn't the right thing to do -- that I'm encouraging him -- but since I have this torrent of mean things being repeated inside my brain, I can't find some middle ground. I can't yell at him, because I don't want to be thought of as being mean. It's just. Frustrating. And I go into work feeling nervous the entire time that he might talk to me. It's unfair.
Fourthly, I'm quitting in three weeks anyway. I don't want to get him in trouble if I'm going to leave shortly after. You see, I'm going back to school. I'm going to get that ridiculous English degree. I'm moving to Jacksonville, FL, after being so gleeful to leave, because it's the easiest option available to me. To move to a town I know, where I have a few friends, and a few relatives. To get the degree I do not want, but must have. One year. One year. Countdown.
On a slightly less depressing note, as inspired byriseoverrun whose choices were infinitely cooler than mine, I too have made a ( 25 favorite albums meme )
I'm being hit on at work. I hate it for a variety of reasons. First, I am not attracted to this man at all, because among other things, the first thing he said to me was, "Are you easily offended?" I made the mistake of not standing my ground and saying, "Yes, I can be offended, and I'm not going to readily open myself to the opportunity." Instead, I gave my best trying-to-fit-in smile and said, "I don't know." He assumed this was an open invitation to make dirty jokes and give me panther-growls randomly throughout my shift. It's disturbing and I have no idea of how to stop it because of aforementioned issue with communicated effectively with others.
Secondly, it's a reminder that I am not being hit on by other, more suitable men. And I haven't ever been, that I'm aware of. Which is another problem. I'm not aware of men. I'm not really aware of anyone, in relation to myself. I sit in my head, behind a desk, thinking and distancing myself and making snap judgements, and it's hard to relate the horrible things the person behind my desk is saying to the person in front of me, because I don't want to be cruel. I don't want to be cruel. It's just there, in my head, this horrible person who hates everyone and everything.
Thirdly, I can't handle it. I can't appropriately make him stop. Instead, I smile, give a very small laugh and go about my business. I'm afraid this isn't the right thing to do -- that I'm encouraging him -- but since I have this torrent of mean things being repeated inside my brain, I can't find some middle ground. I can't yell at him, because I don't want to be thought of as being mean. It's just. Frustrating. And I go into work feeling nervous the entire time that he might talk to me. It's unfair.
Fourthly, I'm quitting in three weeks anyway. I don't want to get him in trouble if I'm going to leave shortly after. You see, I'm going back to school. I'm going to get that ridiculous English degree. I'm moving to Jacksonville, FL, after being so gleeful to leave, because it's the easiest option available to me. To move to a town I know, where I have a few friends, and a few relatives. To get the degree I do not want, but must have. One year. One year. Countdown.
On a slightly less depressing note, as inspired by
riseoverrun whose choices were infinitely cooler than mine, I too have made a ( 25 favorite albums meme )and as my nurse tells me "it's not funny"
Prep school boy #2: Really?
Prep school boy #1: Yeah, I mean, he's not really invisible, you know?
Prep school boy #2: He's not?
Prep school boy #1: No, he's just black.
so true.
Also! I have gone into this weird kick, where all I want to do is create. I've baked more in the last month than in two years. I made an apron (well, that doesn't count because it turned out all wonky, even though it took me a week). I want to make more. All my time online is spent surfing blogs with recipes, cute ideas, and general inspiration.
The sad thing, or perhaps the most telling thing, is that all these blogs are written by women who are married, with children, and who stay at home. They're my role models - where do I sign up for the life of a housewife? I can vacuum in heels! I can mix a mean martini! I can bake dozens of cupcakes, cookies, pies, at the drop of a hat! I can be catty to my neighbors and utterly loyal to my husband! Let me add my name to the list!
Also, all my icons are terribly old.
ETA : if you haven't already, check out jen's AWESOMETASTIC YULETIDE MUSIC MEME!!!!! Yes, it's that time of year. Trust me, I work in retail.
just an fyi.
Oddly enough, tomorrow, Groundhog's Day, is also her wedding anniversary.
October 13th, my grandmother died. Complications of pneumonia and plain old being tired, and I drove furiously to Jacksonville, hoping she would last just until I got there. She did, and not two hours later, after everyone but my sister Anne, my father, and his brother, and me had left. She stopped breathing. It was sudden but not unexpected. I missed my accounting exam to go to my grandmother's funeral, and I don't care. To add insult to injury, there was no way to make up the exam, so I dropped Accounting, and business. The funeral was a whirlwind of explosive people -- my siblings fought in a terrible way, over something I didn't understand. I went home with my grandmother's cat, something my roommate was a little wary to, but it didn't matter long.
Two weeks after the funeral, my newly acquired cat got sick. Jaundice isn't funny anymore when your cat gets it. She ate a rubberband, a strong blow to her system that she never recovered from. A week of feeding her through a tube every three hours, and she woke up one day, vomitted for five minutes straight and went quiet. The vet gave her a shot and I'd killed my grandmother's cat. Thanksgiving was a warm comfortable time, reminding me of why I love my mother so very much, a good recovery for the blows of October. December found me helping my father move out of the house beside his mother's house, leaving Jacksonville for good. I loaded and unloaded his things, helping him leave the home that he and I set up together, just the two of us. Christmas was a battle of wheres, lots of driving and sleeping in awkward places. But now, I'm home and ready to start the new year.
Of course, I woke up with a throbbing headache on January First. Happy New Year indeed.
just peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
I immediately began crying. That was my grandmother's crochet hook she'd held in her trembling hands as she painstakingly crafted tiny stuffed animals. A lion sits in on the shelf in my bedroom, hand crafted specifically for me. And now my dad was handing me the very tool used to craft these sweet items. I couldn't take it.
I miss my grandmother.
