odder otter

I call him back and we have, as Brad Etter would say, a 10,000 dollar moment. Perhaps not a full meeting of the minds, but I speak my peace, and he and I are as reconciled as we can be at present.

Is it possible to be reconciled to someone you don't trust? If you are at peace with someone to the point of accepting whatever type of friendship you can have with them, but have no expectations, is it reconciliation? I don't know of a word to describe it otherwise- just an elusive "okayness" that we tenuously have reached. But that is okay, too. As far as I am able, to be at peace with my fellow man- I believe this is what he and I so desire. However, we live our lives differently, so we will have to proceed accordingly. Honestly, I don't see much possibility for interaction, so it may not matter anyway- but it was certainly nice for him to take that next step.

I find myself at the mate factor with Yashah- we talked and talked and talked. As always, there are a great many things about this life that make sense. Is there ever a perfect way? Should I find the eschaton descending onto my shoulders, I imagine I would make my way to them. Does this make me a coward for not doing it now? I believe God is glorified in my learning, in my scholarship, in my intellectualism. I believe God put those things in me for a reason. Harking back to Eric Liddel, the great Olympian runner, I feel His pleasure- not when I run, but when my mind is engaged, working towards some elusive concept, discovering God's truth, hidden or no, in all things. Would He call me to turn away from a gift He has given me? This is my struggle on the matter. This and my inability to box God into a literalist theology.

God is not hidden. He longs to be found. In gratitude, in reconciliation, in the company of friends. Being here, being unencumbered by work or schedule, with mate and books and notebook and pen is just about as close to heaven as I could hope to be.

didn't see the headlight

Ahhhhhh, Monday, bloody Monday. These are my long days, Mondays and Thursdays- today made especially so by the 7 am meeting that leads were required to attend. Looks like I'll be in the cafe Wednesday all day, which will be fun.... mostly because I know I'll be able to leave and not be stuck there permanently. I remember working at the Pavilions store last year, looking out at those lucky ducks cruising around on the book floor in their normal clothes. I was stuck behind a grinder and sanitation pails, dried milk on my shoes and apron around my waist. Quad venti breve? Sure, no problem. Who cares if I know about Flaubert?

As an aside though, I love working for Barnes and Noble. I'm dead serious. I wouldn't be in retail in any other job; they are the bees knees, people.

So today when I was driving home from the clinic, I hit a bird in Plainfield. It was flying so slowly, in a straight line away from my windshield ahead of me, and I hit it anyway. I didn't mean to! It was just reluctant about moving quickly and then thunk, it smacked the windshield and lolled on my hood for a few moments before rolling over the side of the troops. It made me sad. I think it was a sparrow.

It made me remember that one time when Draco brought me a nearly dead bird. I think I'm going to categorically say I'm not in favor of them.

200

This is what I do.
Deep breath
Center.
Warm hands reach out
to touch the back
on this table.

Oil.
Smooth,
or resisted
the expanse is covered just the same.

Just the same.

Work along ribs
the latissimus dorsi
the great knobbled spine
forever separating the two halves
one
from
the other.

The apex of the neck-
the great head
resting on its axis.
Resting
here in my hands.

Rock.
Rock.
Roll.

The cleft between
erectors and spine
those long, sinuous muscles
providing bookends
to that great, bony protector.

That joint beyond all joints.
The SI.
Forever joining
perambulators
with
everything else.

Muscle
bone
hinge

I stand amazed.

Here
wrapped in these sheets
humanity bares herself for me
and I for her
no glove separates these blunted nails
these stunted tips
these calloused prints--
there is no bridge to cross.
Just skin and skin.

And this is what I do?
I stand amazed.

Goodbye Steve

By BRIAN CASSEY, Associated Press Writer Mon Sep 4, 9:34 AM ET

CAIRNS, Australia - Steve Irwin, the hugely popular Australian television personality and conservationist known as the "Crocodile Hunter," was killed Monday by a stingray while filming off the Great Barrier Reef. He was 44.

Irwin was at Batt Reef, off the remote coast of northeastern Queensland state, shooting a segment for a series called "Ocean's Deadliest" when he swam too close to one of the animals, which have a poisonous barb on their tails, his friend and colleague John Stainton said.

"He came on top of the stingray and the stingray's barb went up and into his chest and put a hole into his heart," said Stainton, who was on board Irwin's boat at the time.

Crew members aboard the boat, Croc One, called emergency services in the nearest city, Cairns, and administered CPR as they rushed the boat to nearby Low Isle to meet a rescue helicopter. Medical staff pronounced Irwin dead when they arrived a short time later, Stainton said.

Irwin was famous for his enthusiasm for wildlife and his catchword "Crikey!" in his television program "Crocodile Hunter." First broadcast in Australia in 1992, the program was picked up by the Discovery network, catapulting Irwin to international celebrity.

He rode his image into a feature film, 2002's "The Crocodile Hunters: Collision Course" and developed the wildlife park that his parents opened, Australia Zoo, into a major tourist attraction.

"The world has lost a great wildlife icon, a passionate conservationist and one of the proudest dads on the planet," Stainton told reporters in Cairns. "He died doing what he loved best and left this world in a happy and peaceful state of mind. He would have said, 'Crocs Rule!'"

Prime Minister John Howard, who hand-picked Irwin to attend a gala barbecue to honor President Bush when he visited in 2003, said he was "shocked and distressed at Steve Irwin's sudden, untimely and freakish death."

"It's a huge loss to Australia," Howard told reporters. "He was a wonderful character. He was a passionate environmentalist. He brought joy and entertainment and excitement to millions of people."

Irwin, who made a trademark of hovering dangerously close to untethered crocodiles and leaping on their backs, spoke in rapid-fire bursts with a thick Australian accent and was almost never seen without his uniform of khaki shorts and shirt and heavy boots.

Wild animal expert Jack Hanna, who frequently appears on TV with his subjects, offered praise for Irwin.

"Steve was one of these guys, we thought of him as invincible," Hanna, director emeritus of the Columbus (Ohio) Zoo and Aquarium, told ABC's "Good Morning America" Monday.

"The guy was incredible. His knowledge was incredible," Hanna said. "Some people that are doing this stuff are actors and that type of thing, but Steve was truly a zoologist, so to speak, a person who knew what he was doing. Yes, he did things a lot of people wouldn't do. I think he knew what he was doing."

Irwin's ebullience was infectious and Australian officials sought him out for photo opportunities and to promote Australia internationally.

His public image was dented, however, in 2004 when he caused an uproar by holding his infant son in one arm while feeding large crocodiles inside a zoo pen. Irwin claimed at the time there was no danger to the child, and authorities declined to charge Irwin with violating safety regulations.

Later that year, he was accused of getting too close to penguins, a seal and humpback whales in Antarctica while making a documentary. Irwin denied any wrongdoing, and an Australian Environment Department investigation recommended no action be taken against him.

Stingrays have a serrated, toxin-loaded barb, or spine, on the top of their tail. The barb, which can be up to 10 inches long, flexes if a ray is frightened. Stings usually occur to people when they step on or swim too close to a ray and can be excruciatingly painful but are rarely fatal, said University of Queensland marine neuroscientist Shaun Collin.

Collin said he suspected Irwin died because the barb pierced under his ribcage and directly into his heart.

"It was extraordinarily bad luck. It's not easy to get spined by a stingray and to be killed by one is very rare," Collin said.

News of Irwin's death spread quickly, and tributes flowed from all quarters of society.

At Australia Zoo at Beerwah, south Queensland, floral tributes were dropped at the entrance, where a huge fake crocodile gapes. Drivers honked their horns as they passed.

"Steve, from all God's creatures, thank you. Rest in peace," was written on a card with a bouquet of native flowers.

"We're all very shocked. I don't know what the zoo will do without him. He's done so much for us, the environment and it's a big loss," said Paula Kelly, a local resident and volunteer at the zoo, after dropping off a wreath at the gate.

Stainton said Irwin's American-born wife Terri, from Eugene, Ore., had been informed of his death, and had told their daughter Bindi Sue, 8, and son Bob, who will turn 3 in December.

The couple met when she went on vacation in Australia in 1991 and visited Irwin's Australia Zoo; they were married six months later. Sometimes referred to as the "Crocodile Huntress," she costarred on her husband's television show and in his 2002 movie.

the elusive disaster

"I wrote a lot of trash last year. I'm still trying to learn how to write."
-KLS, 8/28/06

Only today did I really realize how strong my hands are. Riddled with veins, my fingers sit on the end of my short palms like thick stumps, waiting to kill something barehanded, or at best pull back a bowstring or weild a machete. In truth, they are covered in oil, stroking soft skin, carefully holding sheaves of words bound on paper, or restraining the vibration of a thin string. Who knew so much force was necessary for such delicate tasks.

I'm so tired. Exhausted, really- working as much as I have has crept up on me gradually, until it seems that no matter how much I sleep, it's never enough. Most of the problem is that I can't sleep, or when I do I wake up all the time... much to my amazement the last couple of days, I woke up alone after a sleepover, and had no idea when the other person left. It's like magic.

Chris said it best today at work when he said he feels like a lot is going on inside, and that he just needs some sort of epiphany to work it all out. I like that word. I like thinking about words, and what they really mean, and then applying it to every context in which they are used- Chris needed a little visit to a baby saviour in his head to make everything make sense.

I guess I do, too.

fun things in the night

pay no attention to the man behind the iron curtain

hello friends, Romans, thespians. how are you all?

peachy. thanks for asking.

Work has been paying off. I mean, I'm still working like a horse, and not in fact a llonkey, but the cashola came in today from massage city, and let's just say I may not have been the mayor, but I was at least his deputy. Or her deputy.

yikes, the one thing I am the mayor of tonight is run-on sentences! Somebody needs to whack me in the face with the grammar hammer.

Speaking of, I've been writing quite a bit of music lately. Gasp! it's true. And I think it is more beautiful and better structurally than anything I've yet done. Which is saying a lot, since lugen-flugen himself once wanted to cover my work. And I'm only one degree away from playing a show with both OTR and Dashboard. People! I've practically arrived. How can you stand me?

So Chris and my bro and Ben are all kind of bandying about the bush, saying let's gig together! yeah! but I will confess, I must confess, I must hasten to add that I am hesitant. So many times before (ok well two but it feels more like 4823) I've gotten burned by this "let's get together, yeah yeah yeah" scenario. We're talking singed eyebrows, superficial facial swelling kind of burned. but the crappy thing about me is that I can't stand losing you, music. I try to act disinterested at the prospect of making some sounds with three intelligent, talented, balanced men, one of whom is my bro, the other two have been pros at this previously. The fourth word of that last sentence was key, friends. because it's a friggen act. yikes! I just can't get away from the fact that I love making music. anytime, anywhere, with quite a few people. Chris has already committed to buying a kit. seriously! I don't even know how I feel about that, like maybe I'm supposed to sing a few bars of Ben Folds to him, wander away, and call the whole thing off. But then he lays down, with little human beatbox sounds and flailing of invisible drumsticks, the most excellent little finesse parts. uh. hit that hi-hat on the four of that count. uh. shuffle, one ee and UH TWO ee and uh. hot. get that stick up on top of that ride, yes, downbeats, thump thump thump underneath. and I'm all grind and strum and torque across from him, moving sideways next to my box in the parkinglot, letting my vocal cords shimmy around in my neck. and then comes the POP and I hear it all in my head, ben floating on top of everything with that sick beautiful reverby electric sound, Dan sliding perfectly into the pocket on my jazz bass. this could work, people. this could work- and they all love my music. even Dan grudgingly admits to it, only after defending himself by saying he's my brother, and he's never bought any of my recordings. true on both counts.

so those are the things I'm up to. and I'm running again.

death be not proud

The following is actually from my mentor, John Hay, Jr.'s blog, bikehiker.
On an evening when I have been confronted with my own inner push against the pull, I have found it illuminating. Never can I be the tsubo, the stillness, the absence, the jar, the feminine.... there is always this friction within me that my heart doles out, seemingly of its own accord. This upward thrust of my spirit, when I try to meditate on my bed throughout the watches of the night. In just four hours now I'll need to be up, getting ready for another day in which to sling books, grimacing as my upper ribs audibly snap in and out with each monstrous pile moved. In the midst of my instability, stability exists. In the midst of my chaos, peace resides. Though I cannot grasp it, though I cannot understand it, it is still immovable, invisible, immortal- God, only wise.
This is the solid rock on which I stand. I am the sand, and I am sinking- even as Peter sank. Jesus knew he would, but bade him come out anyway. This is the most miraculous part of the story.

What do I look for tonight? The ears to hear, and the presence of mind to put my leg over the side of the boat, even though it may lead to my ruin. For my saviour calls to me.

(what follows is all John Hay, Jr.'s words; may the peace I felt upon reading them be also with you.)


FROM RESENTMENT TO GRATITUDE

ANONYMOUS E-MAILS & POSTS. For nearly two years, I have occasionally received quite hateful e-mail and blog posts from an anonymous source (yes, they continue unabated). The writer reads my bikehiker blog and is familiar with West Morris Street church. The writer sorely twists my words and intended meanings and pens caustic, intimidating little diatribes. I have not quite figured out who it is. But this person’s identity does not matter to me so much as the level of resentment and anger he or she expresses. If I could, I would drain away their resentment and anger, for I am afraid it will ultimately consume them.

GOD HELP ME. Henri Nouwen offers the following reflection for all who minister to others in Christ's name. I pray: God, help me continue to try to respond in a healing, compassionate way to any who live with resentment, or who direct their resentment at me:

TWO WORDS FOR HEALING MINISTRY. "Healing ministry can be expressed in two words: gratitude and compassion." Healing happens often by leading people to gratitude, for the world is full of resentment. What is resentment? Cold anger. 'I'm angry at him. I'm angry at this. This is not the way I want it.' Gradually, there are more and more things I am negative about, and soon I become a resentful person."

RESPONDING TO LOSS. "Resentment makes you cling to your failures or disappointments and complain about the losses in your life. Our life is full of losses— losses of dreams and losses of friends and losses of family and losses of hopes. There is always the lurking danger we will respond to these incredible pains in resentment. Resentment gives us a hardened heart."

PAINS LEADING TO JOY. "Jesus calls us to gratitude. He calls to us, 'You foolish people. Didn't you know that the Son of Man--that you, that we--have to suffer and thus enter into the glory? Didn't you know that these pains were labor pains that lead you to the joy? Didn't you know that all we are experiencing as losses are gains in God's eyes? Those who lose their lives will gain it. And if the grain doesn't die, it stays a small grain; but if it dies, then it will be fruitful.'"

CAN WE BE GRATEFUL? "Can you be grateful for everything that has happened in your life—not just the good things but for all that brought you to today? It was the pain of a Son that created a family of people known as Christians. That's the mystery of God."

LETTING RESENTMENT GO. "Our ministry is to help people to gradually let go of the resentment, to discover that right in the middle of pain there is a blessing. Right in the middle of your tears—that's where the dance starts and joy is first felt. "

NOT SEPARATED. "In this crazy world, there's an enormous distinction between good times and bad, between sorrow and joy. But in the eyes of God, they're never separated. Where there is pain, there is healing. Where there is mourning, there is dancing. Where there is poverty, there is the kingdom."

JESUS’ PRESENCE IN OUR WEAKNESS. "Jesus says, 'Cry over your pains, and you will discover that I'm right there in your tears, and you will be grateful for my presence in your weakness.' Ministry means to help people become grateful for life even with pain. That gratitude can send into the world precisely to the places where people are in pain. The minister, the disciple of Jesus, goes where there is pain not because he is a masochist or she is a sadist, but because God is hidden in the pain."

do you carry every sadness with you?

Hem asks me this question, as I sit and yawn at my screen.
Quite possibly.

Tonight at work a man had a seizure, over in the cookbooks section of the store. Mary came running towards me, a worried look on her face, and forced calm cloaking her every move. Call 911. Call mall security. Get Val. I run around the corner, why am I always running around corners to find somebody unconscious and needing help? Why does panic always choke my long neck with her white, slender hand?

No matter how many times I go through this, it's still the same. I grudgingly admit to Val that I know CPR, before I go out front to wait for the ambulance. All the while I mutter under my breath, damn, damn, damn. Keep breathing, you idiot. Keep freaking breathing. Those glassy, unresponsive eyes scare the lightheartedness right out of me, the banter I was sharing with pals over in the cafe moments ago is lost utterly. I'm still not ready. I'm still not. Will there be a time? Will there be a time that I can react calmly when someone collapses in front of me, puke near their head and moans issuing from behind clenched teeth? Will I ever pull off the act of hero?

I don't know. For all the talk of eternal now, and blustering I may do about things unseen, it comes down to this; you really shouldn't trust me farther than you can throw me. And I'm a big girl these days.

bang a gong

for some reason my browser will not allow me to use an apostrophe. so there will be no contractions in this post. yikes!!!

so what is on my mind then, is that I have this profile on Myspace, and I have been looking around, messaging a couple of folks who are in my prospective track at Fuller, to get their feel for it. as I come across a plethora of Fuller folks, I notice that quite a few of them have one thing in common, which is blatant Christian advertising all over the page. Everything is all about Jesus, all the time. ok, I realize I might come under some fire here for this, but stick with me.

If your life is all about Jesus, do you really need to advertise the fact? Shouldn't (ACK! ACK! THE APOSTROPHE IS WORKING) it be obvious to everyone? Does your headline need to be "soldier for Christ" or "looking for a godly man so I can be submissive" or "I save up all my toenail clippings in a little box so that Jesus can have all of me".... ? (disclaimer, no, these aren't actual headlines. I tamed them down considerably.) What I don't understand is why people do this. Do they think someone will be impacted positively for the gospel through such ridiculousness? Is it an attempt to prove to everyone, their friends, heck themselves, how godly they are? Look at my righteousness. My profile screams evangelical from a mile away. LOOK, PEOPLE! LOOK AT MY RIGHTEOUSNESS! COWER BEFORE ME!!!!!!

I wonder if some people know right off the bat that I believe in God, or if they're left hanging. The fact that I am totally consecrated to God is something I'm secure with, and I guess I don't have a need to smear it carelessly around the internet. Oh, don't get me wrong. I'm all in favor of well-done cyberspace Jesus talk, as can be found at places like Midwest Mindset or John's Blog.

I guess asking for taste and tact from twentysomething christians in the US is just too big of a stretch.

Thoughts?

i'd dance like the king of the eyesores

Massaging at the county fair: dusty, shuffling passersby refuse to make eye-contact. For some reason every time a person is asked if they want a chair massage, they laugh. Is it funny? Is this because people don't know what else to do, so they laugh? Do they think I'm funny? That the notion of getting a massage is somehow (not good funny) ridiculous? I don't know.

Tonight I bought a gyro on the way out of the fair, and walked alone among the throngs in the not-so-dark dark, lit up with all the carnival rides and booth/foodstall lighting, bubbles from a bubble machine flying through the air. Fat kids stood about, eating popcorn. The girl who made my gyro had a little piece of fried chicken on her ass. There were sounds off to the right, from the pit area, where maybe there were ATVs. Little boys crawled around in the grass off in the darkness, and a very butch young woman belted a dance-remix version of Alanis Morrissette's "You Oughta Know" at the karaoke contest. It smelled like manure, and I was eating. For some reason, this satisfied me; at the county fair, it makes sense to eat and smell shit all at the same time. I decided to keep my foil wrapper in my breast pocket of my scrubs; the trashcans were disgusting, and had lids on them that you had to push up in order to throw away items. I'm assuming this is meant to keep flies out, but it discouraged me from touching the lid. All the trashcans were like this.

This morning all my ideas came to me in the shower. Everything else waited until later.

many waters

I disregarded friends tonight and had a three hour dinner date with my grandfather.
Then I went and had ice cream in the bug with my mom and grandmother and cousins. I have not felt this familial- nor this stuffed- in quite some time.

I feel more peaceful right now than I have in a long time as well- becoming that leaf in the stream, I suppose. I am the tsubo, the jar, the holder of chi. I am like the wind, not even knowing where I come from or where I'm going.

I'm just glad Someone does.

verbatim

the following is why I love my dad.

*ring, ring*

"hello."

"hello? who's this?"

"your fairy godmother."

"oh, sweetie! hi!"

"hi bubz."

"is mama there?"

"no, she went shopping with Sharon."

"oh, I thought you went with them?"

"no, just eating."

"oh. where'd you go?"

"TGI Fridays."

"oh boy. what did you eat?"

"Jack Daniels Salmon."

"oh boy. what did mama eat?"

"Jack Daniels burger."

"oh boy. what did Sharon eat?"

"Club Sandwich."

(a beat)

"anything else?"

"Uh, spin dip."

"oohhh..... gross."

(a beat)

"Well have a good day honey."

"you too, dad."

*click*

a rare parrot teacher

this is so beautiful, I wanted to share it with everyone.
Her name is Regina Spektor.
The song is called "Samson."

an unguarded moment

well, it has been some time now since I have talked to you. and mostly, I'm "getting over" things, or you, or whatever. or so I tell myself. the real truth of the matter? I'm afraid to even open that box.

I'm listening to you right now, and you are damn good. damn. I get a head shake and a sigh and a smile, because I know it- I know that whatever else happens with you, and I, you are the most amazing person I've ever met. I've never stopped believing that. you are everything I wished I could be for a long time. I finally started figuring out I needed to be my own dream. and all the bs I told everyone about your guitar player needing more melodic development in this demo- a load. a total load. I friggen love it. I wish you were here because I'm writing this song on keys, it's ok yeah, but I'm totally having issues with the stupid chorus transition, and I just don't know my way around well enough to do it right, you know? you could fix it. you would know what I was trying to do. that's where we started out, after all.

all of it, all of it, it was all what I wanted. it was always some of the best I've ever had. shoes and coats and crazy and you, elbowing me in the nose in the dead of night.

to borrow a line,
I think I've finally found myself.
(your wailing still gives me chills, just like the first time I heard it, kid. just like the first time)


how are you doing on that?

speaking words of wisdom

I think I have a sternalis. Yes, very exciting. I may even have two.

Tomorrow is a biggie- the DM comes, and will look over what I've been doing since the ole step-up-the-ladder. I'm not nervous. I growl at her, and she laughs. I'm interested in what she has to say. However, I am more interested right now in writing some of these one short stories that kind of fit together but mostly don't but are all about the same thing.

gah.

My hair looked good today. So did Dustin's. We pretended to be siblings with people that already knew us, and then he told me I was his best friend as he tossed a stack of Japanese language CDs on the info desk. He sounded really bored about it. It's ok.

My right ankle is still kind of dodgy. Although the good news is, I can leave BW3s without falling in the gutter every time. I can laugh just as much, though. And feel the texture of the wall, really feel it, because texture is everything. Sometimes the backseat of your own car is the center of the universe, and your hand hanging out the window to ensure the perfect temperature of coolness is like a small flesh-covered, tethered satellite.

all the "hey man"s are my homilies.

haha I just remembered this joke:

And I'm begging you to give me eyes to see
And I'm begging you to give me heart to love
And I'm begging you to give me hands to serve
And burn, burn, burn

pyromaniac requests lead to fiery deaths. I should know- I write them all.
kick up your heels!
kick up your heels!
John Philip Sousa is alive!

the pen and the sword... or, picking up where I never left off

hello.

there are a number of reasons I haven't written much lately, most(ly) of which is the fact I've been doing some music again, and it is good for my bones. and lovely. and my lovely bones.
the other reasons will be dealt with briefly now, and I do mean briefly.

a) if you want to know me, to see my point of view, to get me and my perspective, as it were, I have never meant to make it difficult. I have written on here for many months. I plan to continue for many more. that is the one thing that has not changed. and none of it is hidden. the archive tabs are just below and to the left, feel free to use.

b) I have not ever, nor will I ever, belittle, berate or bewitch anyone but myself. ok, and maybe the sitting U.S. president. if this is what you think I am doing, refer back to point A.

c) and this point may be key, which is why I saved it for last. I am twenty three years old. Yes, cyberspace, you heard me. And with this potentially damning piece of evidence, I may lose my identity, my dental fillings, and my existence, just like what happened in the necklace game I used to play with Jericho. (to further illustrate point A, I will at this time draw attention to the fact that the entire last sentence I just wrote was incredibly sarcastic. by telling you this, I am lampooning my own humor. oh well.) Yes, I am twenty three. Which means I'm a person, and an adult, and I do possess a cell phone, and live in a house with a phone, and have email that is perfectly good and frequently receives all sorts of messages. So, please approach me if you have an issue with me. Or my writing, which is my vehicle of self expression, and after re-reading quite a few posts recently, demonstrates a fine writer at the ripe old age of twenty three trying to figure herself out, and nothing more.

sorry to be so anticlimactic.

to end on a happy note, I like oatmeal cream pies. yum.

hiatus

until further notice I will not be posting on this blog.

just as I am

well, being around real friends has shown me one thing....
I really don't know how to be a friend anymore.

suck city, I am your mayor. welcome. stale doritos can be found in the corner on the card table. feel free to use the tv- be careful with the rabbit ears; they're duct taped to the back of the set. and nobody else will be coming. sorry.

can I simply say that I'm burnt out? that I feel wasted, used? unneccessary? how many consonants are in unneccessary, anyway? am I even spelling alright? even if my social life is a shambles, I'll cling to my spelling. or throw myself into book slinging. is it ok to feel empty inside while you sort stacks of trade cloths on the civil war? I'm sure it is. I don't even know what I want. I want nothing and everything, nobody and somebody, companionship and an empty bed.

maybe I'll punch myself.

friviolity

Go to google, type "(your FIRST name) was arrested for" and see what you got sent to the slammer for. Remember to use the quotation marks! Stick your result below...

1. Noah- I was arrested for murder during my wedding
2. ERICA- Erica was arrested for maintaining a crack house
3. Carrie- I got arrested for making sexual advances towards a cop.
4. Meagan was arrested for lewd behavior. There are no other details available at this time.
5. Jacob was arrested for riding his horse on gravel sidewalk and splashing folks with mud.
6. Walter was arrested for violating Penal Code section 642, otherwise known as grave robbing.
7. Elizabeth was arrested for witchcraft.

(I tried Liza and got 0 returns. Apparently they don't know about my sinister past...)