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.

What the Deuce?

Having grown tired of my blog's previous appearance and along with Kat's heathen exodus from Blogger, I hijacked a format similar to hers but with a different colour scheme.

Just read on Drudge that Cindy Sheehan had been rumoured to be considering a run for CA Senate. Excuse me while I fling myself from the White Cliffs of Dover IN FLAMES. Dear mother of GOD, are you bloody serious? That woman, with no decorum or decency, a US SENATOR FROM THE MOST POWERFUL STATE IN THE UNION?!?! Furthermore, had she actually run and won she would have displaced Dianne Feinstein, a moderate Democrat who's actually done a lot of good for the state.

Well, luckily it was just a rumour and Sheehan denied any intentions of running for office stating "If I thought that running for Senate would bring our young people home more quickly I would do it in a minute but I am not convinced that that would do so."

I won't pretend for one second that I actually care about Sheehan and what she has to say as much as some other people, but the THOUGHT that she was even considering a run for Senate agitates me extensively. Mostly because her popularity and ability to stretch 15 minutes of fame into 3 hours might well have won her the election.

I can just see the debates...

Moderator: And now, Senator Feinstein, will you please tell us how you plan to reduce gang recruitment within the public education system?
Feinstein: *Insert intelligent, relavent speech here*
Moderator: Mrs Sheehan, your response?
Sheehan: BRING OUR SONS HOME NOW!!!! Oh damn! I forgot to use the politically correct, non gender specific "children." Oh well. Hey...any chance I can meet Tony Blair? He's kind of hot.
Moderator: Uhhhhhh...ok...any comments on the current situation with the Danish consulates in the Middle East?
Sheehan: Wait...Danish? Those still exists?! I thought that Hitler like, you know, ate them all?
Moderator: Well...actually I'm referring to the Scandinavian country of Denmark, not the pastry called Danish. Furthermore, I can say with certain authority that Hitler, being dead, has not eaten every Danish ever baked. In the physical world we occupy, it's simply not possible.
Sheehan: Oh. Could you get me one then?

Maybe when we behead her, we can get her to say "Let the people have Danish!"

Seriously...that might just be about on par with "He forgot the great republic of Poland."

In completely unrelated news, I'm going to Europe this summer and next Spring I'll be studying in London!

We be burnin'

Well Kat's friend from NC, Crystal, is here for a visit. In honour of her stay Kat, Hill, Crystal and I went to a club called Lulu's that's halfway between GWU and Dupont. But before that...clearly we had to whore out to the extreme. How did I accomplish this? A silk shirt that's semi-see through, short denim skirt, fishnets and HOOKER BOOTS. Mwahaha.

My entire rationale behind dressing like an absolute whore was "hey...it's dark in there...um...yeah...and most people will be wearing practically nothing..." Unfortunately I neglected to factor in the fact that, you know, you have to get there.

So on the metro, we were all laughing and talking loudly and this amazingly attractive European man and the conversation went like this...

EM: Looks like you ladies are heading out for a fun night on the town.
Us: Yep!
EM/Us: Chat Chat Chat
EM/Us: Chat Chat Chat
Someone: Where are you from?
EM: Scotland
Ash: REALLY? My family's from Scotland!
EM: REALLY? What's your name?
Ash: MacVeigh
EM: *pronounces Ash's name in the most orgasmic fashion ever* That really is quite Scottish.
Ash: Yeah, it used to be spelled different but the butchered it on Ellis Island. Of course.
EM/Us: Chat Chat Chat
EM: *takes pictures of Us* Aye, when people ask me how the States are, I'll just show them that.

So...the long and short of that was that I wanted to jump him, but didn't. Still kind of regretting that. However, I am now more determined than before to marry a Scot.

We all exit the metro and begin the trek to Lulu's, where while we are at a stop light waiting to cross I have the following conversation with a random guy on the street corner.

Guy: Hey boots!
Ash: *turns* Hmm?
Guy: Will you marry me?
Ash: Uh....
Guy: I won't cheat on you!
Ash: *stares in blind shock* Uhhh *desperately tries to think of something to say, failing horribly* Thanks but no? *light changes, Ash darts across street*
Crystal: *giggles*

Danced with a sketchy guy or two and, overall, had a glorious time.

Find me a Scottish man and I will love you forever. And by you, clearly what I mean is him.