Well then...

But my God woke up on the wrong side of his bed.

I am alive and, depending on the definition thereof, well. Life has decided to run the Marine Corps Marathon of Amuck and occasionally it's all I can do but sit back and giggle.

We only have one 21st because the second would kill us.

Shea and I

I really think she might kill you if you try and take that drink from her

Shots

I honestly don't know

Still terribly confused...

More shots

Dear god was there ever not a drink?

Sam, Kat, Shea and Amanda

My very first drink as a legal (bought by Sam)

Adam being awesome

Terrified of Red Lion...

I pretty much left for DC the first day the dorms opened (Aug 18). After a quick drive and an interesting dinner where, for the first time ever, my dad sat down and enjoyed a long conversation with another human being (Kat's dad) I unpacked my worldly possessions and shortly thereafter I arranged my room . Please note that the Wall of Memories is already slowly starting to accumulate just above my pillows. I then proceeded to spend the week driving frantically around the city in one of these...

And eating here (Congressional Country Club off River Rd)...all the while making copious amounts of money. Don't you wish you were me? (The correct answer there is no...no you do not). And then there was the day I spent in West Virginia rafting down the Shenandoah...I capped off the week with a special breed of fun known as...
And just for fun's sake...I did have my first class today. Gangs and Gang Violence. I walked into the darkened classroom to a video of a pregnant teenager undergoing a beat-in somewhere in a small town in the Midwest. Apparently this kind of behavior is "too common to be truly shocking or terrifying." Damn, my major is just straight up possessed by the devil.

I used to say...

...you know you're at a low point when talking to Earle is the only thing that makes you feel just a teeny bit better about the direction of your life. I can now safely say that on my jetplane to rock bottom, I passed that particular level of pathetic about 2,000 feet ago.

Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you the newest phase of the Rock Bottom Strip Mall: When canceling plans with friends seems like a fair trade considering the fact that you wouldn't have to actually get dressed and could remain in your running shorts/tshirts for a few more days.

Yeah, that's right. I'm that person.

More disturbingly, I'm getting that "last week of summer...I don't really want to go back to school" vibe that always rolls up in a pimped out Escalade around this time of year. I know the second we make the turn onto Wisconsin off of East-West Hwy I'm going to start bouncing excitedly in my seat but for now I just keep thinking "who really needs a BA anyways? Masters? HA! I scoff at thee, higher levels of education!"

As a general rule, I attribute this feeling of "just 5 more minutes...please..." to several months spent as an unproductive waste of space. Yes, I survived and managed to have fun doing so but surviving/having fun is a far cry from doing something worthwhile and last semester I was so damned productive that Dr Bennett felt he should send me a letter congratulating me on my achievement. The downshift, which was very much needed in May and June is now just plaguing me with doubts of my own self worth and, ultimately, that's just not good for the psyche.

So, in order to maintain the semblence of mental health that I've managed to create for myself these past few months, I'm going to suck it up, keep my plans and maybe even put on a skirt. But I'm still going to grumble about paying $3.00/gallon. Sept. 15 price break, you haunt my soul and one day you will pay for your endless taunting, crazy-guy-who-wears-lipstick-in-Billy-Madison style.

Felony? Theft? Cup of coffee?

...I feel that I can adequately tell this tale...

So on Sunday morning everyone who had...how shall we say...drank themselves silly at the party the day before was feeling kind of...off. Without exception to this, my mother was feeling "ehhhh...god hates me...must die...." and requested that I run down to the gas station (on base) to pick her up a cup of coffee. She handed me my dad's credit card and I figured, "eh, why not? It's right down the road and she's too ill to drive right now..."

So I walk into the store, fill up my little cup of coffee and proceed to the checkout queue where I had the following conversation with a cashier.

Ash: Good morning

Cashier: Hi. Credit, debit or cash?

Ash: Credit

Cashier: Ok, with a credit card I need to see ID.

Sidenote: The day before my mom had purchased a similar cup of coffee (on the same credit card) without ID. The back of the card is signed so, by civilian law, she can't request identification. Also, please note for future reference: on base, you can't use any credit card that's not your own. Continuing on...

Ash: Uh, I don't have ID and it's my dad's credit card, at any rate.

Cashier: I can't take that then.

Ash: Well that's the only way I can pay, I don't have my purse with me...

Cashier: Well, that's stealing and I'm going to have to call...

the MPs...

Ash: *blind panic* Uhh...*stutter* Umm...

Cashier: *picks up phone*

Ash: *thinks fast* Listen, I'm really sorry, I'm visiting my cousin who just got back from Iraq and I'm not usually on military bases. Let me leave my credit card here with you as collateral and run back to his house on Jacksoon Loop to get cash for you...

Cashier: *hard stare* *2 minute pause* I'll just dump it out this time, but make sure this doesn't happen again

Ash: Absolutely not. *Exit stage left* *Que tears and shock*

Now, most of you probably aren't familiar with the military, much like me, so let me pull you into the loop as to why this was so utterly and horrifically horrible. When you're on a base, any crime committed is an automatic felony resulting in immediate detention in a federal prison until such time as your bail can be posted. My cousin Ruthann actually got thrown into a federal prison for about 4 days once for driving 2 mph above the speed limit on base.

So for you slow students out there let me break it down for you...I nearly...

-Got thrown into federal prison for at least a day for attempting to buy a cup of coffee

and

-Almost had my entire future destroyed because, as you're probably aware, the FBI and government in general will not hire anyone with a felony on their record. I'm over 18 so that little incident would not get expunged and you can be damn certain that all it would say would be "Felony: theft on a military base." I'm pretty sure they would neglect to mention the fact that it was a cup of coffee that I had the money for.

I think there's pretty much only one way to sum up that particular occurance in the life of Ash...

http://mewing.net/meinkampf.shtmlGo ahead. Click it. I dare you.

Who spiked a watermelon? Yeah...that'd be me.

In typical Ash-fashion I really don't have the words to describe the NY soiree I went to this weekend. I (and everyone else) had a fantastic time. In this spirit..let's go through some of the highlights, eh?

-"Don't drop the baby!"
-Shots of liquid cocaine
-1 PFC who had to be dragged to his car
-a Sgt. who had to be wheeled to his car (on a chair...that had wheels)
-Brian falling head first into the keg
-Brian then proceeding to crash into the drinking table to avoid spilling his shot
-Lt. Matt
-God knows how many passed out guy's I walked across to get to a water tap the following morning

I think I drank approximately 15 shots of everything from rum to vodka to Crown from around 4 in the afternoon to 8 in the evening and stayed on my non-British feet the entire time. Notice the eyes? I'll choke the bitch who tries to take my margarita.

Pictured (left to right): Row 1: Jose Cuervo, Rum, Whiskey

Row 2: Jaegermeister, Vodka A, Kahlua, Vodka B, unidentified

Row 3: Margaritas, ice container, pepsi

Missing: Keg, bottles and bottles of Crown, crates of Jaeger and Red Bull, unidentified liquors of varying genres.

Welcome home, EM.

It only hurts when I laugh...

...if by laugh what you're really trying to say is breathe.

Yes, that's right ladies and gentlemen, the return of the infamous Plague has mysteriously coincided with my glorious return to the North. Luckily I've got some Penacillin left over from having my wisdom tooth taken out. Incidently, I was supposed to take them all but panicked when I reacted so badly to the vicodin and just stopped taking everything. Dammit, I do NOT miss those hallucinations.

After spending about a day and a half in Pennsylvania after South Carolina/Tennessee, I went to DC for a few days to work.

Now the drive down to DC is seldom entertaining and never life threatening, but this time was clearly the exception. Let's just say that the area we were driving around in was poverty stricken like its hot and I was abandoned in the parking lot of a McDonalds. I shall not mention the name of the person responsible for this, mostly out of spite. You know who you are. I know where you live and I will get you back one day. Then there was the glorious discovery that M Street dead ends somewhere around Georgia Avenue...into a dirt pile and, also, that there's a street in DC called, I kid you not, Quackenbob Road. Also, people around Howard U are so fond of Eddie Murphy that they named a road after him...incidently I'm pretty sure they misspelled his name.

Having finally gotten into a part of town that was neither life threatening nor absolutely lacking in parking, I hopped the metro to head to Dupont for lunch...only to have my pants eaten by the damn escalator.

Fast forward a few hours and a few hysterics later and I'm hanging out with some rather amazing chicas and then proceeded to finally settle in for the night at James' where some mild debauchery took place. And by mild debauchery what I mean is having my ribs crushed by 6'5" Scottish man who clearly hates his life so much he's dying to encourage me to put another vendetta on his head. I'd like to point out that my last name is MacVEIGH for the love of god and there is no one on the planet who is less Jewish than me. Or less Mexican.

My plans for working in DC for a few days fell apart rather unceremoniously and, to say the least, I was unhappy. Frustrated and angry, I left DC to go to Avon to relax/chill/sunbathe for about a week. And relax/chill/sunbathe I did. I'm now pretty much as tan as I (being horrifically Scottish) can get, and despite a rather unpleasant train ride and coming home to constantly feuding parents, I'm pretty damn mellow.

This mellow-itude is not particularly characteristic to me. If I had to guess, those who know me best would probably have a few choice words to use in describing the essense of me and I highly doubt "mellow" would be near the top of the list.

I'm wondering if maybe intense blood loss has something to do with it.

Say hello to Anopheles gambiae more commonly known as the mosquito or skeeter. This little bastard is apparently pretty damn fond of Yankee blood and came close to sucking me dry in a rather vampiric fashion. Then, when he had gourged himself in a manner that would have made Henry VIII cringe, he called his little bastard children in for the feast. That's right, your daddy can't pay mommy child support, but he can leech off the blood of innocent bystanders and pretend that he's "providing" for his family. I may make it my personal mission in life to eradicate these creatures from the face of the planet. I'm pretty sure they're the only of god's creatures that he doesn't love, so no harm no foul.

I think my record for bites was 5 in 1.5 minutes sustained while walking across the yard. Incidently, one night I subconsciously itched a hive so badly that I scratched the hive and the first layer of skin underneath it off.

Despite the little bloodsucking monsters that plagued me, my tenure at the beach was both necessary and fulfilling. Tomorrow afternoon (August 4) I'm leaving until Aug 7 for upstate New York/Canada. Then I'm back for good. And I hope you realize that by good what I'm really trying to say is until I pack up to leave for fall sometime on Aug 18.

Does Pedro sleep? No, no he does not.

Around 4 am this morning we crossed the Mason -Dixon after having been in the Deep South for slightly over a week. Our first stop was the beaches of South Carolina where we stayed in the condo pictured below which I named (quite aptly) the Giant Condo of Doom.
Myrtle Beach was pretty much a pathetic, soul sucking tourist trap, but I got a nice tan and got to relax a bit. Somewhere during the course of our stay, my parents purchased a time share in Florida. I'm still not entirely sure how this happened, truth be told. They just came home one morning (I had taken the opportunity to nap on the top deck) and informed me of their purchase. If you're noticing a mildly stoic tone in my voice, it's because I'm still shell shocked. I'd like to point out that this purchase happened approximately last Tuesday. Who's up for Florida sometime around Christmas, 'cus I'm damn well not checking that thing out by myself for the first time.

So yeah...Myrtle Beach...yeah...words really can't describe that place so I'm not even going to try. However; I would like to point out that our GCoD was located on a golf resort and (oddly enough) very close to some marshy area. So one day I was wandering around outside , chatting on my phone, when suddenly the guy next door starts screaming "Blonde girl on the phone! DON'T TAKE ANOTHER STEP FORWARD! DON'T GO DOWN THOSE STAIRS!" Confused, I looked out slightly over the ledge I was standing on and, focusing intently, was able to make out a slithering shape blending into the drying grass. Pictured below is a pretty close representation of what I saw. Ladies and gentlemen, please let me introduce you to Agkistrodon piscivorus more commonly known as the Cottonmouth. For those of you unfamiliar with snakes and other creatures of death, it's one of the deadliest snakes in North America. And it was about 6" away from eating my foot. South Carolina was, by no means, a bad trip. On the contrary, aside from the moment when I was nearly poisoned to death I had a great time and I'm truly glad I went. But if you think that's the end of my tale, you clearly have no concept of my histrionic tendencies...or god's wrath on me.

On approximately Wednesday we lit out for Tennessee, because my dad hearts the mountains like whoa and because we're expected at the Gathering of Rednecks that is to take place a few days later. I drove most of the way on the Strom Thurmond Freeway cackling maniacally at signs that describe Pedro's insomnia as well as entire counties called Waccamaw. Somewhere in North Carolina, my dad finally wrenched the wheel out of my hands and steered us through the Great Smoky Mountains Nat'l Park. NOTICE THE PRETTY!! NOTICE IT!
Tennessee was great, everything I've come to expect from visits down there. One of the high points of the trip was learning a lot about my family and solving The Great Mystery of Ash's Heritage. To date I am:

.5 Scottish (obviously)
.25 Native American (way more than I anticipated...rock on)
.25 Dutch. Apparently my grandpa was Dutch. Who the hell ever saw that one coming.

Like I said, the trip and the party was a huge success, everyone got pretty damn drunk on everything from Bourbon to Allegrini to moonshine. Dion sang that god forsaken Statue of Liberty song (dedicated to me) while occasionally taking swigs from his hip flask. I personally opted for half shots of the XXX all night with my cousin and learned...well...you get good and drunk but it's an entirely different kind of drunk. The only way I can describe it is a "batshit crazy" kind of drunk. Let's just put it this way...I finally passed out around 1am, and some of the stronger hillbillies were still going strong. Sidenote: The party started at 12pm and everyone was drinking by 3. A family friend (Charlie) came 'round to check on me and my cousin Amanda around 2:30am and, apparently (as I have no recollection of this) I sat up (very wobbily) said (in a perfect southern accent) "YOU AIN'T GOIN' KILL ME!!" and punched him with a hard left in the jaw. Yeah...like I said, batshit crazy.

Another example of the debauchery is pictured below. I'd like to point out that these women are blood relatives of mine, in their 40s-50s and, yes, your eyes deceive you not, wearing my bras on their heads. They were stone cold sober. Things like this are common at Kope(ki)-Fuller/n gatherings. Don't you wish your family was as cool as mine? Probably not, no one should ever have to see that.

The real creme de la creme of the trip was my encounter with yet another deadly creature. This time, it was not a cottonmouth, but rather his close cousin, the copperhead. This one would have struck out and hit my knee if my cousin Dion hadn't tackled me to get me out of the way. I'd like to point out that it was not my incompetance that brought all these deadly snakes into my presense this fateful trip, I'm just absolutely convinced that god flies the Rebel, drives a pick up and still holds a grudge against Sherman for the whole buring down Atlanta bit. My damn family's from the South though, so you think I'd catch a break. But no. Rest in peace, deep South, for I am so done with you.

Look this way, will you marry me?

Well, I'm back from Rhode Island. Suffice it to say I had a magnificient time. At some point or other I may give details and I'll certainly post pictures sometime this week, but until then I've decided to do one of those current loves/hates lists.

Love

+Black Horse and the Cherry Tree (if you can figure out why the second stanza of this song reminds me of DC you'll win a prize)

+Greg Maguire

+Nick Hornby

+Red Hot Chili Peppers (momentarily Dani California)

+Nutella on graham crackers

+Applesauce

+Supreme Court (specifically the recent Gitmo and DNA exoneration decisions)

+Russian politics (Putin does, in fact, hunt wolves. You don't get more awesome than that)

+Gargoyles (infant and non infant...real and non real)

Hate

-Hips Don't Lie (I think I liked this song the first 20 times I heard it. 21 just pushed me over the edge)

-My cell ringers

-UN resolutions (slowly, the word resolution is stripped of any connotation of conviction)

-Westphalian order (That's right...I somehow hate the UN and Westphalian order simultaneously...your multitudes don't have ANYTHING on mine)

-feathered hats

Not exactly an art gallery...

Last semester I had this ridiculously amazing professor of urban ecology and sociology. He would often regale us with tales of his debauchery...and by debauchery what I mean is "accidently" catching drug deals on camera, then having to scale fences to escape the overlords as they chased him around the streets of the Bronx.

I'm sure he was only exaggerating a little bit.

At any rate, in a similar fashion, when Jo and I had to go to the Gallery (inner city Philadelphia, for those who aren't familar with the terminology) for some debaunchery of our own, I decided to hang out the car window snapping pictures of various incidents of urban disorder and decay. Broken windows theory, anyone? I'm sure that I'll use these somewhere along the way in a paper or presentation, and I'm sure that I came damn close to getting shot to get some of these so I thought I'd share them here, such an obvious forum for open discussion on justice theory.

Without further adieu, I give you the Gallery. Some of the pictures are a tad blurry. We were two white girls in an SUV in one of the worst areas in the country. Of course we were going 50 mph.

I love the BMW...parked next to a dirty sidewalk and a building with metal gates over the doors.
The further into the ghetto you go, the bigger percentage they take out of whatever check you're cashing. Incidently, there's also a disproportionately high number of fine establishments to buy chicken fried steak. Apparently it sells well with shrimp lo mein and gumbo.

By this time next year, I'll be able to read that writing and know exactly what it means. Undoubtedly it's a gangland turf war of some sorts.
I think the grey overcast says it all.

This was by far my favourite picture of the day. If memory serves, it was taken while speeding past one of those fine cuisine establishments I mentioned early, but I believe they specialized in a combination of Jamaican, Ethiopian and cheesesteaks.

I really need a hobby...knitting anyone?

When Ash is bored in Pennsylvania she...

Takes bad pictures of herself while wearing a tshirt that supports a fraternity she has no affiliation with whatsoever. Furthermore, aforementioned tshirt was stolen from her hall during move out...mostly because she was bored.

Steals innocent stop signs from strip malls, gives them harsh German names and calls them her own. Ladies and gentlemen, please meet Johann van Bitte, the product of some Saturday night debauchery with Jo.

When Ash gets bored in DC she...

Dances on her bed, much to the fear of her laptop and the detriment of her laundry.
Drinks far too much, speaks only in a British accent and threatens to have Earle's head chopped off a la Marie Antoinette.

Sketches cracked out drawings and deragatory remarks on people's arms in the metro. I'm fairly certain that took a good week to come off Kat's arm.

Considering that there were grammatical errors in the test itself...

...I suppose it's not a half bad assessment of my political leanings. Though considering the black and white nature of the response choices, I strongly suspect that the moderates who should be running the country are getting lost in the shuffle of polarized politics.

Your Political Profile:

Overall: 20% Conservative, 80% Liberal

Social Issues: 0% Conservative, 100% Liberal

Personal Responsibility: 50% Conservative, 50% Liberal

Fiscal Issues: 25% Conservative, 75% Liberal

Ethics: 0% Conservative, 100% Liberal

Defense and Crime: 25% Conservative, 75% Liberal

How Liberal Or Conservative Are You?

Now that I'm back in York for the time being, I seem to find myself caring more and more about the world around me. I think it's because I'm more isolated from that world here.

In case you haven't figured it out yet, I've lost my ability to sleep in and get bored pretty easily.

It's understood that Hollywood sells Californication

I was reading through journal entries from the summer before I left for DC (2 years ago for those well acquainted with the interior decor of the short bus) and I just can't believe how very different I am now. The changes have all been very gradual, so I only notice them when doing a comparison of...say...dates or events, but they are there.

Sure, there are some aspects of me that are pretty much the same...Botticelli and Rembrandt are still my favourite artists, Shinedown's 45 will always remind me of my dad and I'll probably never figure out the correct usage of the comma, but the overarching theme of the past two years has apparently been change like it's hot. Some of the differences I can identify...I've curbed my rampant liberalism a bit in favor of moderation on many issues, my academic focus shifted from medieval European history to justice theory and public policy and...let's face it...I have friends whose livers could give Chernobyl and Three Mile Island a run for their money. But there are some changes in me that I wouldn't (and don't) notice unless they're pointed out to me by some sort of third party (the advice of whom I typically ignore out of a gradually strengthening fear of being controlled).

Overall, I guess I have a pretty good idea who I was and who I am now and, for the most part, I'm OK with that (both people were/are approrpriate for their life situations and when I stumble to a mirror to brush my teeth in the morning (I still do that obsessively) I don't want to gouge out my eyes with a Q-tip (that I still buy en masse) ). What I'm completely lost on is who I'll be and what I'll be doing two years from now.

I can't even begin to speculate on who I'll be. The greatest influences on my life have always been the people I'm closest with and god only knows who's going to come along and shove me in another direction. That's not to say I'm going to forsake those I hold in my heart. Far from it. Experience has proven to me that those worth their weight in gold tend to have some pretty impressive staying power and right now I've got a few front runners that are pretty much straight money.

Where I'll be and what I'll be doing is a little easier to speculate on. Given my personality and background, there's only so many avenues one can take and be able to sleep at night. With (I hope) a bachelors in hand will I be enjoying the final summer of my undergrad work as I prep for the long haul that is the definition of every juris doctorate program in the State's that's worth it's salt? Will I be in graduate work, honing my public policy skills and training my mind to think like a scholar? Will I forsake academic integrity and legitimacy for the all mighty dollar? Or will I just say screw it all, move to a commune in California and start smoking a lot of marijuana?

I guess, at the end of the day, I'm finally admitting to myself that I don't know where I'm headed. I've got a compass though, and a taser, so I think I should be able to find my way without too many problems. Setbacks I can handle, creepy truckers are an entirely different matter though.

It scares me that I can't say, with absolute certainty, where I'll be in two years, but it's also exhilarating. Fear's one of the biggest driving forces in humanity and, since I'm not lacking in that anymore, I think it's a pretty safe assumption to say that I'll go pretty damned far.

At the very least, this means I don't have to kill $30 on LSAT prep books yet.

Don't make me live for my Friday nights.

Everyone, I'd like to introduce you to the official mascot of the Empire of KatAsh. His name is Jabba and, if you value your limbs, you will show him respect. Notice that menacing stare in his eyes? This is one very very bitter, angry turtle. If you got hit by a semi you'd be a little touchy too. While in the Banks (just shy of Nags Head), Kat, an incredibly helpful local, and I rescued this "little" guy from the side of the road where he lay belly up after getting hit by a truck. I feel it necessary (out of respect for Jabba) to indicate that when I use the term "little" I use it in the sense that an F 16 is smaller than a 757. Also, I'd like you all to recognize the fact that an F 16 has a good deal more fire power than a 757, what with the attached bombs and guns. At any rate, after dragging the turtle out of the pond we'd stupidly put him in with a stick (he latched onto it like a Rottweiler latches onto a steak) we dragged him via plyboard (pictured below) to the local's truck where she transported him to a vet's office to get "fixed up." I can only hope those vets sedated him properly. Otherwise there is no doubt in my mind that he'd retaliate. And by retaliate I do in fact mean mutually assured destruction. You'll all be happy to know that they plastered his shell and he's fine, happily released back into the wild, none the worse for the wear.

Jabba, I salute you, and one day, we will meet again. Fates such as ours are sure to be inextricably intertwined.

(Mis)adventures in the General Vicinity of Camp David

Having successfully thwarted a few F 16s, there was just enough time to teach Ash a quick course in aerodynamics...so that she could avoid flying the small plane straight into a nearby ski resort

Camp David's in there somewhere

Emittsburg, MD
The airfield
The towing plane + Unidentified flying blue thing

Terrorist threat? Possible communist alliances? I think not.
The plane
Dave and I

Champagne - July for Kings

...I'm going to sum up the rest of my summer. Oddly enough, it hasn't felt like summer's really begun until about 5 minutes ago when I read Kat's journal and realized, hey, it's just about time I get started on that whole productivity thing.

Let's start from the beginning, shall we?

May 22-June 7: Lived la vie de hobo in Avon and DC
June 8-June 12: Entertainted Kat in Penn
June 12: Received most unexpected call ever. Still don't know what to do with that.
June 13: Removal of wisdom tooth (singular).
June 13-15: CRACKED OUT AS ALL HELL.
June 16-July 3: Relaxing, working on Red Line, spending time w/ people from Penn
July 4-July 5: FEAR FEAR FEAR FEAR FEAR FEAR FEAR FEAR FEAR
July 6-July 10: ADAM!
July 11-July 20: Returning to Penn
July 20-July 24: Tennessee
July 25-July ??: DC to work for les Wackadoos and live la vie de hobo once again.
Early August: To AVON
Mid August: Penn to pack, participate in the ungodly event known as the Fuller/Fullen-Kope(ki) Family Reunion and say g'bye to family and friends
Late August: Return to the city as a college junior

Goals for Penn:
-Spend time w/ friends
-RED LINE
-Get my back and head straightened out
-Raquetball, tennis and everything in between (which, granted, isn't very much)
-Learn how to fly a plane (hell yeah)
-Become proficient at sailing (and by that what I mean is tip the catamaran)

Once the vicodin has worn off and I can think a little more clearly, I think I'll be tempted to say it's not shaping up to be such a bad summer after all.

Not gonna lie...I really miss Durkheim right now...

Just so you're all aware and can stop fretting and worrying horribly over my condition and whereabouts, I am alive, well and currently taking up residence on a futon in van Ness. We left the beach a bit early and headed up to the city for a few days of "hanging out" w/ friends (and by "hanging out" I do in fact mean consuming excessive amounts of alcohol...except no, not at all) and working for les Wackadoos. I'll be back in Pennsylvania for a stint (god knows how long) on Thursday (6.8) and will be available for hanging out sometime after that.

These past weeks have been filled with everything from relaxation to Star Wars characters manifested in animal form to rats with wings. A very long and tedious entry to follow this one, perhaps sometime after it's all sunk in and I can officially stop thinking did that really happen?

Exactly one month from today I will be in Rhode Island with M. l'Adam, and we all know how very special that will be. I swear to god if the TSA makes me miss my flight there will be hell to pay. And by hell what I mean is approximately one year of college tuitition.

Now just to give y'all a tiny preview of my life since May 22...let me just say that during my time away from the great commonwealth of Pennsylvania I managed to shoot my boss (an ex-MARINE) in the shoulder.

Adieu

Send me back to hell, I've had my fill of heaven.

First things first, I've changed screenname's yet again. I really hope this one sticks, I'm quite fond of it. trifectaofcrazy or rather trifecta of crazy once Rasputin stops being a prick and lets me format it. Most of you who read this probably know the story behind that one, however; feel free to ask, it's a rather amusing story of pain and woe.

Off to the Outer Banks until approximately June 7. If I remember correctly, cell phone reception down there is sketchy at best, and Kat's place has no internet hook ups, so have fun getting in touch with me if you have to. But before that we're stopping overly briefly (for appx a day) in DC where we'll be seeing the Boondock Saints in the theatre, for whatever reason its playing, with some of the ICP. I'm sure many rounds of asshole will ensue afterwards.

Jo, just so you know how very special you are, the only reason I'm coming back on June 7 is to be here for Cake Day, which will be glorious. Margaritas?

It may be an animal city...but it's almost definitely a cannibal world

I've now been back in Pennsylvania for about 2 days during which time I've somehow managed to leave my car lights on for an extended period of time, thus completely draining the battery.

Damn, I'm special.

Other then that, home is OK. And by OK what I mean is war zone. I'm really not going to get into details here because, let's face it, York is a really small town and news spreads almost as fast here as it does among the ICP but I will say that on the sliding scale of badness I devised in anticipation of my return, it's about as bad as I expected it could be. No worse though, so I was as prepared as humanly possible.

My biggest fear is that I see no way that I can come out of the summer as anything but a shell of a person, completely devoid of human emotions and that scares the hell out of me. At this point my plan is to avoid home as much as possible and spend as much time as possible with very colourful people in hopes that it will balance out the grey.

I got an iTrip for Durkheim. This may or may not have been a smart move, we shall see. I also found the first season of Nip/Tuck for like $30.00 as opposed to the $50.00 it is at Best Buy, so I'll be spending some time immersed in that drama, as opposed to my own.

On May 22 (Monday), I'm going to Avon with Kat. All I can say to that is YAY. I will come back gloriously tanned and hopefully relaxed, which was not something I got to do during the last few weeks of wind-down in the city. Not complaining, it was a lot of fun, but it wasn't exactly soothing.

June 8 is Cake Day. I'm mildly playing with the idea of picking up a bottle of tequila when I'm in DC to mix up some margaritas for this glorious celebration. We shall see, we shall see. If not I'm kind of liking the idea of strawberry daquiris...avec or sans rum whatever the case may be.

Paging through the Autobiography of Malcolm X which is amazing. Will hopefully have it finished before I leave for the beach, and will be able to read slightly more cheerful material down there.

Can you say "glee"?

So Jo came to visit this weekend, which was awesome. Everyone here loved her (and someone loved her a little too much...and by someone what I mean is Earl).

Friday night was the celebration of Kat's birthday. Our original plans were to get a huge group of people together to do hookah in Georgetown, but those plans fell through. Frantically we all stared around, dismayed, wondering where the hell such a huge group of mostly under 21s could go at the last minute...luckily James offered up his apartment...and his liquor...and we all had a jolly good time...

And what I mean by jolly good time is BRITISH FRIGGIN ACCENT.

Let's get some highlights going on, shall we?

-Accidently clawing half of Adam's face off...then continuously rubbing it because I felt so bad (which actually made it hurt far worse)

-Tequila shots (complete with salt and lime) w/ Jo

-Vodka shots w/ Diane

-Earl unilaterally deciding to call me "Queen" for the vast majority of the evening

-Walking into the kitchen to see Jeff, Adam, James, Sam and Diane sans shirts

-Ian and Jo practically sitting on me to keep me from "just one last shot"

-Bumming cigarettes off of Will and Earl

^Jo ripping at least one cigarette out of my mouth and throwing it into my eye^

-Kat's cigar

-That god forsaken strawberry daquiri that did NOT have enough ice

-Getting my ass slapped...more or less continuously...by someone though I still can't figure out who

-"Hey! I can take off one of my shirts because I'm wearing two of them!"

At the end of it all, we got back around 5 in the morning...fell asleep by around 6...I woke up at 9 still drunk and had the following conversation with myself.

Ash: Uggghhh....I really need water

Ash's Subconscious: Yes, yes you do

A: *stares down at sleeping Jo* I wonder if I can get down without falling on her

AS: Fool. Sit up, you will quickly notice that the room is still spinning

A: *sits up* Uggghhhhh

AS: Yeah, that's right, maybe that second screw driver wasn't such a good idea, now was it!?

A: I NEED WATER!

AS: You're so drunk that if you try to get out of bed, you'd somehow manage to fall into Kat if Jo wasn't there

A: BUT KAT'S ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE ROOM

AS: I know. *snickers*

A: Uggghhhh

AS: Get a new line.

A: Boo

AS: So ultimately you have two choices....you can either get water and avoid being unhappy in a few hours....or you can try to get out of bed now and be really unhappy right away when Jo pummels you into a bloody heap for falling on her and waking her up.

A: Life sucks.

AS: You were OK with it last night.

A: DAMN YOUR LOGIC

AS: I win.

Now I know what you're all thinking...you're all thinking...Ash...if you were THAT drunk...how bad was the hangover? Well my loves...it was nonexistent. That's right, I'm just that cool.

So on Saturday I went to terrorism, then Jo and I went up to the Mudds to babysit then up to Rockville for some sort of car rally with Will...which was fun towards the end...

...somehow, and I'm still not sure how this happened, we ended up at Earl's playing asshole with Earl, Jeff and Will where I dubbed Earl Chinchilla and threatened to kick his ass if he spoke badly of Adam. Jo and I eventually left to go to Steak and Egg while the guys wandered back inside to drink more until James got home...

We finally got back to campus around 4 (again) and Jo left for Philly around 10. I then frantically spent the rest of the day attempting to get my papers finished (15 pages all together) which I did. When I finally collapsed around 3, I was muttering something about patina sequences and thinking "this is not my life, this is not my life..."

So all in all, it was a pretty damn amazing weekend, sans homework.

It does not bode well...

...for the rest of the semester (and all the writing that it will entail), considering that I'm staring blankly at my blog and am completely unable of thinking of anything even remotely worth saying...

In completely non related news, my room is attempting to suffocate me alive...

And I'm the new Sec/Tres for AU's Debate Society. This was probably a fundamentally bad move on my part. The position nearly drove Kat to ripping her hair out of her skull, and she is far more organized then I am...Mostly I'm doing this so that, should I decide to leave the team, I can do so knowing that I did everything in my power to make it better.

I drank a lot last night...got good and schnockered. It really scares me that I can truthfully say I needed that...rather desperately.

Incidently...I missed a terrorism class tonight due to the fact that I forgot it was Sunday.

If your head is being held underwater, how loud do you have to scream for someone to hear you?

I have conclusive evidence...

...that hell has frozen over...two pieces of it actually. First off, and by far the least interesting, is the fact that I wrote a paper two (2) days before it was due! Two (2)! How do y'all feel about that?!

Secondly is that DC feels like home again. Why, you may ask? Well...with the advent of spring and the cherry blossoms, the illustrious crazies have returned to the streets of Georgetown, affectionately renamed by Kat, the underbelly of society.

Let's begin this sordid tale of debauchery and prostitution at the beginning...Wednesday night.

After begging off a shift at work with Kat, Adam and I metroed down to the Navy Yard for an Against Me/Alkaline Trio concert at Nation, a club in SE. After some dire warnings from Adam about AM/AT concerts, I opted not to follow him into the mosh pit, but rather lingered just outside of it.

This ended up being the best possible course of action as, throughout the night, I saw various people getting dragged out by security for broken limbs and scratched eyeballs.

The concert was really amazing. Got to meet the bassist for Against Me! which was remarkably more exciting for Adam than for me, but it was a great night, overall.

Thursday rolled around and I begged off a shift at Terrorism to go to yet another concert...this time for the New Amsterdams at the Black Cat. Never having been to the Black Cat, and being quite the fan of the New Amsterdams, I was really exciting. Adam and I (again) metroed up to Cardozo pretty early and grabbed dinner. We then proceeded to sit on the corner of 12th and V discussing society and other philosophical topics for a while before wandering down the road to the Black Cat.

Now to backtrack...before we left school we filled up a water bottle full of cheap vodka, to make the first bands seem more *interesting*. Grabbing some cranberry juice mixers, we proceeded to get good and blitzed.

For some reason, when I drink fast I get drunk fast but not for a prolonged period of time. Metabolism like whoa, I suppose. So I was only drunk for about an hour and a half. Adam, on the other hand, managed to stay good and trashed for the entirity of the show.

That would have been totally cool, because I have no problem taking care of the drunkies that I love so much. Seriously...it would have been perfectly fine..if the New Amsterdams had gotten their asses on stage before the dawning of the age of aquarius!!!

The doors opened at 8:30 and there were two opening acts. Reason would not expect to see the NAs until around 10, which is reasonable. When no one got on stage until 9, I was a little suspicious. But Cartel was good and I was drunk so life was sweet. They played a reasonable amount of time for an opener...about a half hour, and I was anticipating a great night. Then the second band got set up and came on stage. And my heart dropped out of my stomach onto the dirty, STD filled floor.

This was, quite possibly, one of the worst bands in the history of music. I can't even remember what their damn name was but they SUCKED. I wanted to gouge out my eyes with a fork. It didn't help that Adam was so drunk he FELL ASLEEP DURING THE PAIN. Every now and then a guy would wander past and kick at him and I'd be all like "don't be kickin' my man! HE BE ALIVE AND WELL" and then they'd give me a funny look and wander away. Shortly thereafter, I totally lost the buzz I'd been rocking and I was just sad.

In short...NAs didn't get on stage until 11. For you anti-District people, the metro closes at 12 on weekdays, but often the last train out of a station leaves around 1145...what does that mean? We had to leave 1130...yeah...only a half hour of the band we bought tickets for. Adam was too smashed to really care, but I was pissed.

So on Friday...Kat and I woke up early and babysat all bloody day. It was actually fun and included lunch at a swanky country club, saw a movie with the girls and was molested by a 6 and and 8 year old...yeah...that's right. And you know what? I've got PROOF! That little blond one sitting on my butt? The sweet innocent one who talks with a lisp? He licked my face. I don't think I've been that freaked out since the guy who did not know the unspoken rule of lips then tongue.

So getting home kind of late an exhausted...Kat and I decided to chill for a while before heading to a new club opening in Farragut North. However, the line being too long, the cover being too high and the crowd being too sketchy, we sort of hobbled along M Street, hoping for a bus to take us to the Prince for some hookah. Lacking anything resembling a bus, we sold our souls to the man and got a taxi.

Grabbing a table outside, we ordered our usual...saloum...which, as usual, made the waiter blink and stare at us before shaking his head in resignation and wandering off.

Now most hookah doesn't really have any affect on the body aside from relaxing it by forcing you to take deep, slow breathes to inhale the smoke. Saloum; however, will get anyone who isn't a druggie high as a kite. As recent experiences have proved, I am very receptive to inhaled substances and was giggling maniacally in about 20 minutes.

Shortly thereafter, two very attractive guys joined us. We later learned that they were originally from Syria and were really kind of amazing. Bidding adieu, we made tentative plans to hang out with one of them tonight before traipsing off down M Street to hunt down the crazies that enjoy wrecking havoc late on Friday and Saturday nights.

While I don't remember the exact order of events, I'll do my best to relay some of the highlights...

*The following conversation with a very drunk man outside a bar

DG: OH MY GOD! Come here! Come here NOW! *beckons Ash with hand*

Ash: *warily inches forward* Yes?

DG: COME HERE! *continues beckoning*

Ash: I can hear you from here...

DG: My friend...he wants to bang you...

Ash: *laugh* But you don't?

DG: No! I do too!

Ash: uhhh...thank you? *walks backward, running into a stop sign*

Note: He may or may not have offered me money to have sex with him. The jury is still out on that one.

*The two guys who followed us across a crosswalk (one risking life and limb by challening a taxi to hit him) to offer to buy us drinks then sadly watching as we declined and walked away.

*A bar fight that ended with a sophomore in high school asking either Kat or I (possibly both) to "hang out" sometime

*Peter, who begged us to never leave him again before trying to persuade us to walk "3...no....6" blocks back to his house for margaritas with him and his friend. Tempted as we were we declined, citing a promise to meet friends back on campus. The conversation ended like this...

Peter: It's not like we're going to hook up or anything! COME ON!!

Kat: Oh you haven't seen Ash when she gets a little rum in her

Ash and Kat wander away

Peter looks on, forlornly undoubtedly thinking...

"But I have rum!!"

Well my loves...those are the highlights of my past few days...there were others such as the occasional "hey bay-be" but in all honesty, only the most famous and infamous will be cited in my memoirs.

Occasionally going to class is worthwhile...

...because you get to learn interesting little tidbits of history...

So, as relatively educated people, I'm sure most of you have heard of Jeremy Bentham. If you have not...well, he was a 19th century British philosopher, tutor to the infamous John Stuart Mill and a so to speak "Big Wig" at the University of London, primarily in the philosophy as well as a Professor of Juris Prudence.

All that being said...he was a rather important man. A Stephen Hawking of his day, if you will. Well...all lives, no matter how great or how influential, come to an end. And his did. I guess he was about 70. But one of the unique thing about very important people is that, when they die, their last wishes often get carried out. Basically...they get what they want. In most cases, this is good. I think everyone deserves to have their last wishes fulfilled and I think this is twice as applicable to those who contributed great things to humanity.

Except in the case of the British, 'cus as Bentham has proved (and as I will tell you) those people are a special kind of crazy.

In Bentham's will, he requested a few things. Among them was not to be cremated or buried but to be STUFFED LIKE A PHEASANT. Furthermore, he wanted his body to lie permanently in state at the University of London. And it gets worse. He also requested that his body not lie flat on his back as any respectable dictator would (you know...Lenin, Mao Tse-Tung). Nonono...Bentham requested that his body be contorted so that he could sit on a throne like chair inside a glass encasing that I'm going to refer to henceforth as the Benthamobile. As if that's not enough...want to take a wild guess at what the last, creepiest and most important of all his requests was? Bentham wanted the Benthamobile wheeled into every meeting of the Board of Trustees of the U. of London for the rest of the university's existance. I bet Ben Ladner wouldn't have embezzled if he had to stare down Jeremy Bentham on a monthly basis.

Those Brits may heart their dead philosophers, but that, ladies and gentleman, is the truest definition of power that I have ever heard.

I'm beginning to think...

...that maybe Kat, Adam and I are just destined to spend our lives together. Because despite best efforts all around to get a huge group of more or less random strangers to go to Lulu's last night open, it was just the three of us.

That's not to say I didn't have a fantastic time. I did. Due mostly to them...and a few creepy guys in between.

At any rate...Lulus. Umm...let's just list out some of the highlights, shall we?

1) Having to declare Adam as my boyfriend/love of my life to get away from Skeevy Guy #832. This statement was half true. Can you guess what half? Eh? Eh?
2) Roommate Sandwich of Grinding. Enough said.
3) Random Guy#34 deciding it would be a good idea to kiss my shoulder.
4) King of the Skeevy Guys attempting to make out w/ me as I walked past him.
5) "You're ANDREW'S friend, aren't you?!?!"
6) "DUDE! SHE TOO TALL FOR YOU!"
7) Killing a beer. With Adam. In the middle of the dance floor. And slowly...a tradition is formed.
8) The GW guy who was hitting two gin and tonics. Simultaneously. While sticking his hand in my pocket. And asking me, repeatedly, what year I was at AU and if I liked it.
9) The Latino who tried to beat up Adam after he "stole" Kat from him.
10) Walking home. On the wet ground. Without shoes. Constantly fearing the glass shards. "AH AH AH! My feet! MY ANKLES! AH AH AH!"

Good bye Lulu's. You will be missed. Nat'l Grill and Daedelus will never quite fulfill our hearts the way you did. And by hearts what I mean is egos.

Remember remember the fifth of November...

...the gunpowder treason and...WAIT...that bastard tried to kill my ancestor! Fucker.

Fun weekend. Full of debauchery. And by debauchery what I mean is screaming babies, cranberry vodka doodads and old British ladies calling me a wretched whore.

Life's kinda cool right now.

Slight change of summer plans: I'm still going to Europe but we're leaving sometime after July 24th and staying right up until school starts again. Only about a month instead of 6 weeks but it means that the trip is way more affordable.

In the end, I think it works out better this way.

You think I'm lying? I have neither the time, the creativity nor the energy to think these things up.

So y'all know that terrorism class thingy that I'm participating in? Well...when I signed up for it I honestly was unaware that listening to 40 year old men's sexual innuendos was going to part of the job description. But I guess I just should have figured...

Details, you beg for? Gladly. So I get to Anderson Terrace just a wee bit late and I drop into a chair next to Hot Guy and I'm all like *grin* and he's all like *grin* and then I'm all like yeah...that's right.

So I slid my headset onto my ears, pick up my list of numbers and start making calls. The first few were no answers or answering machines, very typical. Then I get to a number that I know to be New York City, specifically Brooklyn. Now, this would frighten most people but past experience indicates that New Yorkers are among the most likely to be willing to answer a survey so I'm all like YAY!

Oh how wrong I was. Actually...let me rephrase that....oh how RIGHT I was. I was TOO RIGHT. I was so right that it should be criminal to be that right. Getting an answer, I go into my schpiel. When the guy said, more then enthuasiastically, that he would be all too happy to answer my survey...I should have hung up right then...

So I start questioning the guy...and recording his answers...or at least part of them...because if I recorded everything he said to me I would have had a document approximately as long as the Qu'ran. On every other question he went off into some indepth discussion about god knows what. If he had been slurring his words at all, I would have thought he was drunk, but unfortunately this man was completely sober.

To give y'all an idea of this man's...um...verbosity...this survey takes about 15 minutes to complete, but I've gotten it done in ten. I was on the phone with this man for an hour and five minutes. AN HOUR AND FIVE MINUTES. He was so clinically ill that at one point he wanted MY OPINIONS on the questions. I just sat there dumb founded before saying "Sorry sir, I can't give you any of my personal beliefs, we're afraid they might bias your opinions or curb your answers, and that's what we're really interested in." The man then took this as leave to talk even LONGER. At one point he actually had a call on the other line. He told me to "hold on for one second. I've got to go get rid of another call."

I almost felt bad wishing that call was someone telling him his dog had just been run over or something. Almost.

When he came back, he got just a tad too friendly. He started calling me "hon" and "sweetheart" at every chance he got. Then, when I refused to give him my personal opinion again, he said "You know darling, you're a real tough cookie...you should be working in the government! Our country needs people like you!" He later praised my patriotism and said "God bless you...and you know what? God bless America." DAMN I WISH I WAS A BUDDHIST SO I COULD HAVE BEEN ALL LIKE "Buddha will strike you down while you sleep!" But alas, I could not.

When the survey was over, he decided to tell me about his newly published book that I should "buy and bring to Brooklyn" so he could "sign it for me" because he "would really love to meet" me.

*dies of intense unhappy*

After that terrifying experience was over...I ripped my headset off my ears, laid my head down on a keyboard while Hot Guy was just like "THAT WAS ALL ONE CALL?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!"

But you know what the worst part of all of this was? Despite having only 2 hours to make calls instead of 3 (because Psycho Brooklyn Man took up so much of my time) I still got more surveys completed than anyone else. And you know what else? They were ALL done by men.

Today's lesson, kiddos? Apparently I am not meant for something so lofty as law school or graduate work. Apparently I have no higher calling in life then being a telemarketer. Or may a 1-900 line operator.

There's just no two ways about it...

...last night was bad.

I was halfway through typing, ironically, an entry about how much better I was doing and what a good day I'd had when I started crying quite uncontrollably. I cried pretty consistently until around 1:30 when I finally stopped until around 2 when Kat came home. It wasn't as bad that time, but I still cried myself to sleep for the first time ever.

The worst part of all of this was that, at my weakest moment, there were only two people I wanted to call. One was my mom, which only would have made things worse. The other I no longer trust enough to know for sure that they'd even care, so I didn't dare risk it.

This morning I woke up with the resolve to never cry myself to sleep again. That said, I made an appointment at the counseling centre. I know they can't really help me, but maybe they'll give me a referral to someone who can.

All that said...France closes down for a month in August. Everyone goes to the Riviera. Except Granny. She stays home. In the attic. With the bananas.

So you know that bit...

...about how what doesn't kill you makes you stronger?

Well...I just have one small question for you. Just one. HOW MUCH FRIGGIN' STRENGTH CAN ONE PERSON NEED?!?!?!?! For the love of god. Whatever is going to come up in my life that requires me to have built up this much strength and character, I don't want to face! It's the bastard lovechild of Beelzebub, that Dragon that they talk about in Revelations and the Tooth Fairy.

Gather round, ye faithful readers, and listen to my story.

Arriving home on Saturday, I enjoyed approximately a day and a half of peace and serenity. I was happily making plans with friends and family and was looking forward to a relaxing and fun weekend. On Sunday night, my uncle Davis gave us a ring. I was sitting in the Great Room when my mom walked in sadly and sat down next to me. Alarmed, I quickly asked what was wrong. She then proceeded to tell me that my great Uncle Frisco had approximately 5 days left to live.

Enter HYSTERIA, stage left.

Seriously. Crying and sobbing, I asked how this was possible, how none of us could have known he was dying. Mom said that he apparently had had lung cancer for quite some time, but his emphazema had masked it, so no one knew about it until that past Friday, when the doctor's gave the family the dire prognosis.

Mom and I made plans to travel to Caledonia (north of Gettysburg) to visit with Frisco one last time and his daughter (our cousin) Jeannie, decided to come along (she knew the way to get there better then either of us).

In the car on the way up, Jeannie informed us that Davis had been misinformed and Frisco had approximately 3 to 6 months left to live, not 5 days. I breathed a small sigh of relief, thinking that this might not be my last visit to see him afterall.

We got to South Mountain at around 8, but because of security, we couldn't get to his room until around 8:10. There were two things that I noticed about Uncle Frisco straight off the bat. Actually three things. The first was the fact that, even at age 69, he still had more hair then all of my guy friends, save Adam. The second was that he looked exactly like my gramma did in her last days and the final bit was that his carotid artery (I think) was beating insanely fast and hard. When he went into apnea for the first time (for about 10 seconds) watching that thing beat was the only thing that let me know he was still alive.

I sat down in a chair beside him, held his hand and told him I loved him. I talked about some of the things I remembered about him from my childhood. Spending New Years with him, going to my grandpa's house on Sundays. Very typical, common stuff. Then I remembered how he taught my bird, Tweety, to scream "NGA NGA NGA!" constantly. He also taught Tweety such select words as "FUCKER" and "BASTARD." Tweety happily screeched all of these until the day he died. Tweety loved Uncle Frisco more then he loved me.

Yeah...

After that first apnea, Frisco opened his eyes for the first time since we got into the room. He locked eyes with me for about 15 seconds. In that time I saw no fear, no pain in his eyes. Only acceptance and love. He knew where he was going and he was happy to be going there. In that moment, I did not tell him good bye, I told him to sleep well.

Uncle Frisco went into apnea again. His heart slowed until it stopped. He passed away approximately 15 minutes after we got to his room, at 8:25. I held his hand, my mom had her head rested on his and Jeannie sat by his side.

I have no regrets about my relationship with my uncle. I was closer to him than any of my great uncles, and closer to him that any of my uncles, save Uncle Davis. He passed away peacefully. He went with family, to family that was waiting for him on the other side. God knows we have enough of them there. I got to tell him I loved him, I got to say sleep well and I got to be there with him when he went. I wouldn't change a thing.

But that doesn't mean this doesn't hurt. That doesn't mean I'm not crying. It does and I am. A huge chunk of my childhood is gone now, leaving only memories. It was his time, and I can accept that. I'm happy that his death wasn't prolonged and I couldn't be more grateful that he went so peacefully with people who loved and cared about him. But I miss him. And I'm sad. And the world is a much duller place without him in it.

Cheers, Uncle Frisco. I will never forget you. Thank you for always telling me that I was special, that there was more to life than meets the eye and that I was one of the people who was going to put that extra spark there. I'll do my best to live up to that.

Sleep well.

Houston, do you read me?

After a surprisingly fast drive to Pennsylvania, and a visit to my sister's, I parked my car in the driveway and darted into the garage. The firs sight I saw? Cody. Bouncing around like a maniac. Cody then proceeded to jump on me (punctuated with an "OW! My boobs! OW!"), wrap his paws around my waist (I swear to god, he does that) and give me a hug.

Feeling very loved, I grabbed Cody's collar and pulled him in to the house behind me, where my dad was sitting at the bar, eating a sandwich. Calling very loudly "Daddy I'm home!" my dad responded in a rather curious manner. Let's have a bit of dialogue, shall we?

Ash: *walks through door* Hi Daddy! I'm home!!
Dad: *glances up* Oh, hey Ash, where's your mom?
Ash: *confused* Umm...right behind me
*Mom walks in door*
Dad: Look! Alvenia! I bought you a new vacuum cleaner! LOOK AT IT! ISN'T IT COOL?!?!
Mom: OMGZ! OMGZ! WOW! *grabs vacuum, immediately starts vacuuming kitchen*
Ash: Ummm...so I don't even get a hug?!?!?!?!
Dad: *hugs Ash* Welcome home! Your mother and the dog really missed you. But not me. Never me. I never miss you. Never. DAMNIT STOP TAKING MY MONEY!
Ash: QUOI?!?!!?!?!?!
Dad: Look at her use that vacuum...she certainly is excited...
Ash: It's a vacuum...I'm so confused...
Mom: Here! Ash! Take the vacuum and go clean something! It's so much fun!!
Ash: Umm...thanks but no?

So yes...that was my welcome home...to make it even better...guess what? When I came home...the house was clean...y'all know what that means.

All's quiet on the Northwest Front...

...and the silence is puncutated only by Kat's frantic coughing and gagging for air...

That's right, I passed the plague on to her. For me the plague manifested itself in the form of a wicked bad sinus infection. For Kat, apparently it's a bad case of strep. And by apparently what I mean is doctor's are all quacks and not to be trusted. Ever.

Inevitably, Adam will contract le plague. For him it will more than likely manifest itself in leprosy. Rick will too...his will be...lord only knows

So...let's see...I gave illness to both Adam and Kat. Spring break is at the end of this week. Adam will be going home to Rhode Island. Kat to North Carolina. Rick will infect the part of Pennsylvania that I have no power over. From there it will spread like wildfire and within a few months time I will have unknowingly infected the entire east coast of the United States.

Mwahahaha!!!!

I mean...I'm sorry?

Well, aside from an ill roommate, life's well I guess. My own sickness has more or less abated, though a rough cough that hurts my ribs lingers still.

I finally finished reading Love and Other Near Death Experiences. I must say, I was incredibly disappointed. M. Mil. has two things that make his novels worth reading. Characterization and incredibly witty dialogue and descriptive abilities.

By characterization I do not mean that his characters are deep, heroic and brilliant all rolled up into something that looks like the lovechild of Burt Reynolds and Nicole Kidman. One of the things I like most about him is the fact that he never gives a detailed physical description of his characters. The most you get is "she had blonde hair" or something like that. It's like he's emphasizing the triviality of looks. Triviality I say. Is that a word?

Anyways...characterization. His characters are utterly normal people with largely boring lives and occuptions usually involving books in some way, shape or form (English teacher, librarian). There's an intangible quality about them, usually realized through his trademark dialogue, sarcasm and irony, that just makes you love them. Furthermore, you'll often find yourself wishing that they were real life people, just so the world had better hope for tomorrow...and by that what I mean is so that you could have more friends for Friday Night Block Parties.

As noted about, this man has unparalleled wit and humor. No one makes me laugh quite the same way he does.

Or did.

This novel, it was almost as though he concentrated too hard on making the story interesting and lost what really matters in the first place. Despite several near death experiences involving brainwashed American military, a Christian right terrorist group called the Servants of Azrael, a blown up warehouse and a house set afire in the middle of Wales, the novel was utterly uncaptivating. In past works we've seen the appearance of the Triad (and by that I do in fact mean the crime syndicate) as well as a British soap opera television star, yet in neither of those books was the plot overwhelming the characters or the writing itself and it worked. Beautifully. Perfectly. In this go, he just fell off the ball. The characters had potential, one was mildly interesting but she ended up going too far and just pissing me off, the rest were utterly bland. And I am sad. Utterly depressed, in fact. I'm still a huge fan, have a lot of faith in him, but I am sad.

Furthermore...I just found out that I have a paper due today. It was assigned while I was in Tennessee. And I missed class last week because of the plague. This is the first time I haven't heard of this paper before tonight. Class is in an hour.

Chances are Prof. Ho Chi Minh will allow me to write the paper by the end of the week or maybe even after Spring break, but until I find out for sure I am faced with the conundrum of writing 5 pages in an hour.

However; Brokeback Mountain only won two Oscars despite being up for at least 6. *rocks* All may be right with the world afterall.

You want nothing to do with me...I don't know what to do with you...'cus you don't know what you do to me

It's not very often that I feel defeated by the world or by my life. The last time it happened was when I was unfortunate enough to end up on the scene of a homicide. I think you'll all agree that those are slightly extenuating circumstances. If you don't, well, you're a bit of a wanker. But that's beside the point. When I get that feeling of utter and total defeat, all I want to do is curl up in a ball and sleep. Right where I am. Wherever that may be. For some odd reason, it usually ends up on the side of a road somewhere. After the homicide incident, I was walking home down Nebraska when the intense desire to give up and sleep took over.

Not this past Saturday, but the Saturday before I was happily attempting to drag Thomas out of the car to soccer practice. My phone rang so I ended my cajoling just long enough to answer it and inform whoever it was that I couldn't speak at the time. However, the caller was my mom. Her news was dire. My cousin, Tia (aged 46 I believe) had passed away that morning.

My immediate response was utter silence. Then the full reality hit me. When most people say that they're probably thinking "wow...I'll never see *insert name here* again..." but my full reality was entirely different. Mine was that my great Aunt Jo and my great Uncle Danny (Tia's parents) had 6 children all together. 2 of their 3 boys (Danny and Chris) had died in tragic accidents in the previous years. Danny had a concussion or something from a fall from a swing and Chris died in a motorcycle accident.

Oh, and by the way, Tia had two children, Amy and Kane. Amy was 24, Kane is my age (20). We all used to play together when they'd come up to PA in the summer or I'd go down there to visit. Kane and I were particuarly close. Her husband, Tim, was so devestated that he couldn't function.

Just to paint a very clear picture for you, my aunt and uncle (who are the most decent, hard working, welcoming people in the world) had already buried two of their children and were about the bury a third. No one should ever have to bury one child, let alone three. No one deserves that.

As soon as this hit me, I completely lost it and started wailing. I scared Thomas and the other kids in the car with my uncontrollable sobbing, I think. Like I said, it's not very often that I feel defeated by the world, but this was one of those instances and I nearly collapsed outside of NCS.

Somehow I got it together enough to finish out my day at work (a Thundercats applaud goes out to [Wily]Kat here, she made it a lot easier for me. During the course of the rest of the day I called my mom and asked her if she could pick me up on the way to Tennessee, so I could be with my family during this time. Obviously she agreed, and I think she was proud of me for not only going without being asked, but for wanting to go. Oddly enough, that means a lot to me.

Well, upon getting back to campus, I was depressed as hell. At this point I didn't just feel defeated by humanity, but I felt defeated by the cosmos, God, the Great Eternal, whatever you want to call it, I honestly felt like my family was on the chopping block.

Getting trapped in the elevator for a few minutes didn't help.

[Wily]Kat, being a fantastic and decent friend and roommate, refused to let me do my usual "I want to mope alone" thing and made me continue w/what we have come to call "Roommate Time." After a lot of take out and a round of pool, she broke out the vodka. It's against my better sensibilities to drink when I'm that upset but I believe my exact thought was "Fuck it...god's got it in for me anyways..." and more or less said cheers.

I got so blitzed I was just a notch below Bad British Accent Ash and Ash who wanders up to random strangers and says things like "If you're supposed to be Asian, why are you so tall?"

After drunk dialing Adam and Jo and serenading them with Better than Ezra's "Good" I proceeded to pass out during X2.

So the next day (Sunday) by 4, I was en route to the backhills of Tennessee. An apology goes out to everyone I left in the lurch. I didn't call you guys because a) I didn't really have time and b) I wasn't in the mood to talk and get the sympathy I knew I would get because you're all good people.

Here's where it starts gettin' good.

We were making great time and would probably have shaved at least an hour off our trip. Until we hit the central/southern Virginia mountains. And a snowstorm. In the mountains. Yeah. More than once I was convinced we were gonna die, but somehow, we evaded all of that. Not really sure how, maybe divine intervention, we lived to tell the tale.

Now my Aunt and Uncle live about 30 miles outside of Maryville, which is about 30 miles outside of Knoxville and Pigeon Forge. For those of you not familiar with Tennessee geography (which I suspect is the vast majority), that puts you smack in the middle of the Smokey Mountains. And they're beautiful. Breathtaking even, I'm posting pictures in a later entry.

Arriving at around four am, I consoled my aunt and uncle as best I knew how, had a cup of tea and passed the fuck out until around 12 the next day. That's when everything really got started.

I'm not going to give you the details so much as highlight the event of the week, but believe it or not, this experience which should have been miserable and horrendous, turned out completely amazing. It was wonderful to spend so much time away from civilization, with my family. I rediscovered the intense loyalty and love I have for those people, and learned the fact that they reciprocate entirely back to me.

Tia's funeral was painful, yet healing. She's buried at the end of a cliff even deeper in the moutanins that my aunt and uncle's, beside a lake and a forest that apparently reminds my mother of the forests they played in as children. It was sweet and simple, just as her life, and I think she's at peace now. The women of my family grabbed a handful of dirt and threw it over the casket. The men picked up shovels and closed the grave themselves. The funeral procession was miles long and my cousin Kane nearly jumped out of his car and beat a guy for driving in the procession when he wasn't supposed to. Rightfully so, that man was disrespecting his mother.

At any rate, the entire trip was really healing for me, and spending that time with my family was much needed. But anyways...on to the highlights...

1) Learning how to shoot a rifle, shoot skeet and the ensuing conversations.
Ash: *cocks weapon* PULL! *aims* *hits small clay plate, scattering shards* *grins*
Uncle Davis: Um...Ash...you've never shot a gun before today, right?
Ash: I kind of hate guns...yeah...
Uncle Davis: I'm a little scared that you hit a plate on one of your first goes...
Ash: Mwahaha

2) I'm not really going to say what I did here, mostly because it's horribly illegal. All I'm going to say is you know that scene in the new Dukes of Hazzard where Luke takes a huge gulp of an interesting clear substance that's obviously not water? Yeah. That's not physically possible, I don't care how long you've lived in the hills.

3) Driving up to the very top of the mountains in the area. And having the following conversation with Kane
Kane: *insert heaviest Southern accent you can imagine here* Now Ash...if you're up here alone, and by God I don't know why you would be...do not stop at that house...those are bad people there..
Ash: Umm...ok...how so?
Kane: *sings the music from Deliverance*
Ash: Gotcha
Kane: *pulls out shotgun from underneath seat, places in lap for "safety*
Ash: Ummm...yeah...that can't be good
Kane: Look over yonder! There's a dog on that there roof! Now that ain't somethin' you be seein' every damn day. A goat, sure, but not a dog.
Ash: *snaps picture like a damn tourist*

4) Getting my dragon rites. By this I mean being able to drive the part of TN-129 that consists of 13 back to back hairpin turns that's known as the Dragon.

5) Staying up late talking to my cousin Mark (who is curiously similar to Adam) while he played the guitar.

6) Waking up every morning to the fog rolling over the Smokeys (pictures to come).

7) My entire family having at least 2 drinks before going to Tia's services as a way of sending her off in good spirits.

8) Taking out my uncle Davis' Avalanche for "supplies" with my mildly intoxicated ex-cousin-by-marriage Mark (the other Mark's father).
Ash: *cackles evilly and jumps up into Avalanche* C'mon Mark! Let's go!
Mark: Umm...maybe you shouldn't be driving a car you can barely get in to...
Ash: Lies. *starts engine, attemps to peel out, fails miserably due to weight of vehicle and stone driveway, proceeds to roar down driveway and into a bend* MWAHAHA!
Mark: I'd like to see my kids again...

9) Talks of politics with Uncle Danny at 12 at night. God knows why I enjoyed these.

10) Aunt Jo hanging up laundry on clotheslines while saying "Look, ye Fullen descendents, and remember thy roots"

I got a lot out of Tennessee. A renewed sense of love for family and friends and a renewed hatred for drama. I plan to smash the drama in my life with a calm and steady weapon of mass destruction and I'm doing my best to avoid those who cause me the most angst. Life's too short to be constantly wrapped up in problems.

Incidently, I also got the plague while there.

Rest in peace, Tia. You've led a long, difficult life and you've earned your slumber. You will be missed, but this is not goodbye, simply adieu.

They say taupe is very soothing

An update at the "request" of my roommate. And by request what I really mean is demand...at GUN POINT.

Today I got out of work two hours early. I know many who would say "ARGH! NO! That's 30 less monies!! ARGH!" Occasionally I might even be in that group, especially because 30 equates to approximately 2 nights in a hostel. However, due to my never ending exhaustion that results in such conversations as "Hey Ash...you know what's funny? Napoleon III...and the Southern Reconstruction" and the infamous "ICH BIN CANADA!" which can be thanked for the newest title of this blog. So therefore, nothing but happiness for my two extra hours of freedom.

Oh wait. I'm not really free. I'm never really free. I get to babysit from 9:30-5:30 on Saturday! To quote the roommate...rock awwwwwn.

Seriously, after a summer of camp counseling, what the HELL was I thinking?! I'm half tempted to get an actual job again. Oh wait...I'd have to pay tax on ALL of my income and I'd get paid about half as much for twice as much work. Gleh.

Well...I got nothin'...unless you'd liketo hear a rant about the fact that I've had to eat untoasted bagels for the past two mornings. And I highly doubt that. Or maybe I'm not giving myself enough credit...

I can't go into details, or I'd have to kill you...

Recently I was privy to a photocopied letter from a prisoner in a state correctional facility. Let me just state, straight off the bat, that my reading this letter was not illegal in any way, shape or form. It was subject to no attorney/client confidentiality penalties as it was addressed to an entire Public Defender's Office and was actually asking for something completely outside of their realm of power. So anyways, moving on...

Aforementioned prisoner (hereby known as the Commie Bastard) was sentenced 29-54 years for rape, rape of a minor and possession of pornographic and obscene materials. All thinking people right now are saying "DAMN STRAIGHT! The Commie bastard gets no food!"

Let me just go ahead and put this out there. Being a Justice major, I spend a lot of time studying a lot of very sick, perverse things, including the American prison system. As such, I've developed beliefs that typically frown upon excessively long sentences as they are both ineffective and incredibly expensive. This does not apply to child molestors. I think they all deserve to, for lack of a better term, fucking fry. However, it is not just this man's status as a child molestor that leads me to say he's getting what he deserves, it partially stems from a letter he wrote to the Office of the Public Defender.

I'm not going to reiterate the entire letter verbatum. It's both long and so grammatically incorrect that it makes my head hurt. However, the general jist of the letter was fairly straight simple.

The Commie Bastard wrote to the Public Defenders stating that his trial and sentence was a direct violation of his Second Amendment Rights. And by Second Amendment Rights what I mean is the "right to worship and practise god in Any manner." He goes on to say that God stands outside the judicial system because he created the courts. As such, Commie Bastard refuses to accept man's law because god's law overrides it and trying to make him serve a sentence by something he doesn't accept makes his trial and sentence a violation of his rights and therefore null and void. He asks for a new trial, this one conducted by the "Church of my Lord and Savior."

After reading the letter, in all honesty, I stared blankly at it. Two seconds later, I jumped to my copy of the Constitution just to make sure that I hadn't confused the Amendments. As I'd known all along, the Second Amendment is, in fact, the right to bear arms and form militia. For the inquisitive minds out there, it's the First Amendment that garauntees one's right to freedom of religious expression.

I'm rather scared.

The lesson deemed from all this, children? Well, if you're going to try to appeal your case based on the Bill of Rights, make damn certain you pick the right Amendment to mention four or five times. Also, I highly recommend sending your letter of appeal to someone who a) won't laugh at you (PD's are notorious for this) and b) can actually do something about it, like an APPEALS JUDGE.

Also, the letter has been taped up above my bed if you're interested in reading it.

Europe plans are coming together quite nicely. It looks like we'll be flying into and out of either Ireland or England. We all know Ash's history with planes and the TSA thinking she's a terrorist. If we end up flying into Ireland, I know exactly what's going to happen. All the TSA is going to see is someone with what could possibly be an Irish last name who's return ticket isn't for nearly 2 months. You can be damn certain the first thought through their small minds will be "OMG! Irish terrorist! IRA! Sein Fein! ARGH!"

The conversation will go like so
TSA: Uh..Ms. MacVeigh...can you please step aside we have some questions for you
Ash (to Kat): TOLD YOU! I TOLD YOU THIS WOULD HAPPEN! *gets dragged off*
TSA: Now Ms. MacVeigh...you're clearly of Irish descent, what is your purpose in Ireland? Maybe a trip to Belfast to visit some "family"? You know, your Uncle Timothy still has some family here.
Ash: I'm SCOTTISH! I know it looks Irish, but I swear there's not a drop of Irish in me! Ask any Scotsman and they'll tell you! Ask my friends! I can barely hold my liquor, I hate dark beer and I love vodka! I got so drunk once off like 6 shots that I asked a tall person how they could possibly be Asian! Please let me go! I swear, I'm just here to backpack around Europe like any normal college student!
TSA: Have you taken part in any protest rallies within the past year?
Ash: As an outside observer!
TSA: *nods* OK, Ms MacVeigh, we have to verify some information before we can let you proceed. Get comfortable.
Ash: *wails*
Kat: *laughs*

Also, I have found the most comfortable and unflattering pants ever. Light coloured and approximately two sizes too big, I'd have to gain about 15 pounds to wear them without a belt. They have gaping holes in the knees and the bottoms around the heels are so ragged that they extend about 4" off to the side and occasionally people step on them and tear them further. That said, the other day while walking to work, I got hit on horribly. Let me reiterate. MOST UNFLATTERING PANTS EVER. And I was wearing an oversized sweatshirt that hides any and all attributes and, in typical manner, I went to work looking like I'd rolled out of bed and neglected to remove the rat's nest from my hair.

Seriously, guys, if you're so desperate that you'd hit on me when I look that bad, go find yourselves a hooker.