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.
25 March 2006
22 March 2006
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.
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.
14 March 2006
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.
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.
12 March 2006
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.
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.
07 March 2006
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.
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.
28 February 2006
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.
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.
15 February 2006
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...
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...
10 February 2006
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.
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.
09 February 2006
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!
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!
04 February 2006
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.
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.
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