...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?
23 April 2006
15 April 2006
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...
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.
04 April 2006
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.
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.
01 April 2006
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!"
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.
27 March 2006
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.
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.
25 March 2006
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.
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.
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.
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