Last night, while ranting about the worst DJ in history, I forgot to mention that what was really upsetting me was the fact that last night I was the closest I've ever been to catching the bouquet at a wedding, but I didn't. I'd decided that I was not messing around this time, because I've recently accepted that I just plain like to win things. It's a little cruel I know, since I'm not with anyone right now and not the type who would jump into marriage quickly, but I was pretty much okay with dooming all those other single women to spinsterhood for my two seconds of glory, you know, due to the selfishness.
The memory is a little blurry, and, as far as I know, I could have leaped across the whole room for it, taking out everyone in my path, but, as I said, it's a little blurry, so I'm not really sure. Regardless, in the end, it brushed my fingers on the way down, before it landed right beside me. All I needed to do was reach down and pick it up. But I didn't. Because I'm introspective, I'd decided that this was probably a metaphor for something deep and troubling deep inside me, and that is the way I have been telling the story (I tell a good, if disturbing and self-centered, story). But, I'm telling you now, that's a lie.
The truth is, I just really like to follow rules. As soon as that bouquet hit the ground, I was trying to figure out if it was still in play, or if there was going to be a timeout so that we could replay the whole thing. My recent experience with ultimate frisbee may have played into it, where I quickly learned to run away as soon as the frisbee hits the ground, so that someone who can actually throw a frisbee can pick it up. Then I run around praying that they won't throw it to me, since my catching is worse than my throwing. But a bouquet is different from a frisbee in many ways, so this probably has nothing to do with it. I might also have been searching my brain for wedding superstitions, like, "If you pick up a bouquet that fell on the floor, yes, you will be the next one to get married, but your husband will be eaten by piranhas on the honeymoon. Oh, and don't try to just go to Antarctica, or some other place where there are no piranhas, because you will just find them where you least expect it and the surprise will make it all the more horrid. ("Surprise, piranhas for dinner, oh my god, they're still alive! But how...? Oh wait, it doesn't matter because they just ate my eyes.")" By the time I realized that that particular superstition and a few others did not exist until I created them, the bouquet was long gone.
I'm not sure where I'm going with this, except that I wanted to come clean about the fact that I'm so obsessed with following rules that I let my one bouquet chance slip away. But, I think I'm okay with it in the end, because rules are what separate us from the bears. Rules like: "Don't eat garbage, because, ew," or "Don't maul people at random with your giant bear claws."
Speaking of the importance of rules, I realized today that I'd broken a big one, which was, "When groupies blog about the band they...ummm...group, they should probably give info that might allow one of their five readers to to come to see the band so that they can become famous and desert their first tame groupie in a bizarre and dramatic 'Behind the Music' style series of events." The only excuse I have is that I was so distracted by their insane dancing monkey promises that I didn't give any info that might increase their fan base. On the dancing monkey front, word is that it is going well. I'm hoping they don't get rabies trying to get them, because I'd feel really guilty for pressuring them so much. Also, I've heard hydrophobia doesn't help with singing.
To make up for my bad groupie-ing, I'm going to choose one of their songs for happy song of the day. Unfortunately, I've only seen them live and don't know titles, so my choice is ________ by I Only Date Astronauts. I know the one though, it's the one where I feel like I'm on an epic journey...with a unicorn. Then it goes kind of crazy, so it's more like I'm on a journey with a dragon, but the dragon is still friendly and such, but it also will set my enemies on fire. Then it keeps going crazy and I imagine there are hobbits everywhere, because a really good song should always inspire images of hobbits. Okay, so maybe it's clear that I'm not good at describing the song, but it's good and I like it, so it's happy. Okay? Good.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Worst DJ ever.
The wedding was wonderful, and I am tired, but before sleeping, I need to comment on the worst DJ in history. Why is he the worst DJ in history? Well, I feel that when one requests the song Don't Stop Believing it's implied that they want to hear the lyric "Don't Stop Believing" at least once, not to have all the build up and then end it just as everyone knows it's coming. He was a song tease. I just can't understand why he felt there was time for the entirety of Mambo Number 5 but that I couldn't have a little "Don't stop believing..." I would have even taken it without the "Hold on to that feeling," although the perfect DJ would play the entire song, and then probably repeat it later on for good measure. He also played Chim chim cher-ee from Mary Poppins during dinner. Don't get me wrong, I love Mary Poppins, but really? A song about dirty chimney sweeps while I'm trying to enjoy delicious naan bread?
Now that he has been blogged, that will show him. Hopefully, the next DJ I encounter will think twice before messing with my Journey.
Now that he has been blogged, that will show him. Hopefully, the next DJ I encounter will think twice before messing with my Journey.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Yashtastico!
Today is the wedding of Katarina Yashtatisco! So I am posting this now to ensure there is something, and if I squeeze in time, I will post something longer, but if I don't, no one can fault me because I posted this. Booyah.
The day began with the realization that I might not have a ride, followed by the realization that because my invitation to this wedding occurred on g-mail chat (because that's how we roll), I had no idea where or when it was. One might think you would work find out this information before the day of the wedding, but one is not me (well, sometimes it is, but this one isn't). I spent awhile frantically trying to figure things out before I realized that I had a ride all along and that I was simply confused. It was fitting, because once Katarina posted one of those Facebook pictures where you tag all your friends with labels like "the naughty one", "the evil genius", or "the narcoleptic one", and I was "the confused one". It's always nice to prove someone right on their wedding day. I am often confused. The only problem today was that Yashtastico is my favorite person to go to when confused, but she is also the most likely to destroy me today if I get in her way, because she is highly efficient and would not hesitate to smite me if my confusion slows things down. And since it is her wedding day, her smiting would be completely backed up by law. Or so I've heard. Mostly from her (okay, she never said that, but I imagine if I asked her, she would have, but I didn't ask her, because she already thinks/knows I'm the confused one).
Katarina and I have a wonderful history. Once, we starred in the school play as Reindeer 1 and Reindeer 2. We were pretty fantastic, mainly because our antlers had little bells on them that jingled as we walked/pranced. You might imagine that we've known each other a lifetime from this story, but this was just last Christmas. Unfortunately, we grew up in different countries, although our state/province name started with the same letter, so it's almost like we were from the same place except that we very much weren't. We met a few years ago when we started mutually stalking each other. Everywhere I went, she was there, and everywhere she went, I was there. This continued until it stopped, but our accusations of the other one stalking have never quite stopped. I like to think that it was our souls stalking each other, because they knew we were supposed to be friends, or at the very least acquaintances who accidentally stalk each other.
I wanted to choose a happy song that relates to Katarina, but the best one was Don't Stop Believing so, like a genuine stalker, I decided to search my g-mail for "Yashtastico" and "music" to see if she ever mentioned a happy song. I found a drawn out conversation about the importance of good montage music, but no actual montage music. But then, thinking of montages, I thought of Arrested Development, and how for awhile Katarina and I used to greet each other (or maybe I just greeted her...I can't remember) with "Hey Hermano", because of our mutual love of the show. And eventually, Arrested Development always gets me to The Final Countdown, one of the best montage songs in history. If there is a montage of today, I think it will be to that song.
Also, on a side note, I'm really hoping she went with hobo chic. And I probably won't post anymore today, because this managed to grow pretty fast. However, I might edit. Then again, maeby not.
The day began with the realization that I might not have a ride, followed by the realization that because my invitation to this wedding occurred on g-mail chat (because that's how we roll), I had no idea where or when it was. One might think you would work find out this information before the day of the wedding, but one is not me (well, sometimes it is, but this one isn't). I spent awhile frantically trying to figure things out before I realized that I had a ride all along and that I was simply confused. It was fitting, because once Katarina posted one of those Facebook pictures where you tag all your friends with labels like "the naughty one", "the evil genius", or "the narcoleptic one", and I was "the confused one". It's always nice to prove someone right on their wedding day. I am often confused. The only problem today was that Yashtastico is my favorite person to go to when confused, but she is also the most likely to destroy me today if I get in her way, because she is highly efficient and would not hesitate to smite me if my confusion slows things down. And since it is her wedding day, her smiting would be completely backed up by law. Or so I've heard. Mostly from her (okay, she never said that, but I imagine if I asked her, she would have, but I didn't ask her, because she already thinks/knows I'm the confused one).
Katarina and I have a wonderful history. Once, we starred in the school play as Reindeer 1 and Reindeer 2. We were pretty fantastic, mainly because our antlers had little bells on them that jingled as we walked/pranced. You might imagine that we've known each other a lifetime from this story, but this was just last Christmas. Unfortunately, we grew up in different countries, although our state/province name started with the same letter, so it's almost like we were from the same place except that we very much weren't. We met a few years ago when we started mutually stalking each other. Everywhere I went, she was there, and everywhere she went, I was there. This continued until it stopped, but our accusations of the other one stalking have never quite stopped. I like to think that it was our souls stalking each other, because they knew we were supposed to be friends, or at the very least acquaintances who accidentally stalk each other.
I wanted to choose a happy song that relates to Katarina, but the best one was Don't Stop Believing so, like a genuine stalker, I decided to search my g-mail for "Yashtastico" and "music" to see if she ever mentioned a happy song. I found a drawn out conversation about the importance of good montage music, but no actual montage music. But then, thinking of montages, I thought of Arrested Development, and how for awhile Katarina and I used to greet each other (or maybe I just greeted her...I can't remember) with "Hey Hermano", because of our mutual love of the show. And eventually, Arrested Development always gets me to The Final Countdown, one of the best montage songs in history. If there is a montage of today, I think it will be to that song.
Also, on a side note, I'm really hoping she went with hobo chic. And I probably won't post anymore today, because this managed to grow pretty fast. However, I might edit. Then again, maeby not.
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Things that are scarier than bears
So, I've graduated. Somehow, I feel the same though, only a little more embarrassed, because after graduating, I had a Marilyn Monroe moment on a subway grate downtown. Well, a Marilyn Monroe moment minus the holding it down part. Classy. And I was only afraid I'd fall on stage. Apparently in 22 years of education, I was never taught how to not make a fool of myself. Or I missed that class. Or I was there, but daydreaming about monkey butlers. Actually, that's probably it, because those with monkey butlers need not worry about things like subway grate drafts. Monkey butlers are good that way.
Speaking of monkey butlers, in addition to being a recent graduate, I also became a groupie about a month ago. I wasn't sure that I could actually be a groupie, because I'm pretty tame, but I was told that all types of groupies are needed (all the colours of the rainbow, from skanky to tame). So, I'm a groupie, for a band. A real band. Not in my head at all. The reason I bring this up now, is that they are having a show in June where they have promised dancing monkeys. Although I had already agreed to be a groupie, and thus was obliged to attend, I was also pulled in by the dancing monkeys. However, I'm also concerned about this promise, because, seriously, dancing monkeys? In downtown Toronto? Is that even legal? I'm going to say no.
I'm told that they're working on the dancing monkeys though, which is good, because that's not the kind of promise you should just throw around. People take dancing animals very seriously, and monkeys even moreso. Maybe they have access to a research lab I'm not aware of, and they're going to sneak the monkeys out under a giant lab coat. I hope they've thought this plan through though, because monkeys do not respond well to being shoved in an over sized sleeve, especially if that sleeve contains an arm. It's all the worse if that arm is that of a band drummer, bulked up from excessive drum banging, because lab monkeys like their angry revenge-for-being-shoved-in-a-sleeve meat as lean as possible. Because they've heard about heart health. Overall, animatronic monkeys might be a safer bet. They should try to stick to songs you can dance the robot to.
Today I gained a new fear, one unrelated to terrible bears. Apparently, there were fish going missing in an aquarium and the owners weren't sure what was happening, so they watched nighttime security footage and found out that the octopus in the tank across from it was climbing out of his cage, walking (wait, do they walk, or just sort of shuffle) across the catwalks and eating fish. This is friggin' terrifying, because if an octopus can climb across a catwalk to steal fish, it can climb across a catwalk to drop on my head and suck out my brains (I think that's what they do.) Then, for good measure, a bear will probably jump out to maul me.
In the same conversation where I learned that octopi are evil geniuses, we were discussing the zoo and the degree of awesome that it has. One person mentioned they'd grown up walking distance from a zoo. I thought it was cool, unless a tiger escaped (I believe I may have mentioned this theory in the past). Then, another person said to their mother, "Was it a polar bear that escaped from our zoo?" And I thought, "Holy crap." I don't think I need to add any more to that story at this point, because holy crap.
So that brings me to a happy song. This task seems easier some days than others. To comfort myself about the idea of polar bear escapes, I'm going to go with At the Zoo by Simon and Garfunkel. I don't think it needs anymore explanation than zoos are automatically happy (assuming all the cages are intact) and the zoo keeper is apparently drunk.
I was about to publish this post, when I realized that bear and octopus in the same sentence seemed strangely familiar. Then, I remembered that a few months ago a friend introduced me to the existence of the bear-shark-octopus, but I blacked it out (for obvious, terrifying reasons), until this unfortunate post. Now it's all flooding back, and I'm never sleeping again, which is probably good, because I'll have time to get a lot more done. Of course, most of that time will be spent trying to figure out how to escape a bear shark octopus mauling/biting my arm off/brain sucking. I know that you're supposed to make noise for bears, and hit sharks in the nose, but I haven't heard about octopi. Maybe you just have to somehow confuse them so they tie knots in their many tentacles. It would work in the cartoons, so it would probably work in real life.
Speaking of monkey butlers, in addition to being a recent graduate, I also became a groupie about a month ago. I wasn't sure that I could actually be a groupie, because I'm pretty tame, but I was told that all types of groupies are needed (all the colours of the rainbow, from skanky to tame). So, I'm a groupie, for a band. A real band. Not in my head at all. The reason I bring this up now, is that they are having a show in June where they have promised dancing monkeys. Although I had already agreed to be a groupie, and thus was obliged to attend, I was also pulled in by the dancing monkeys. However, I'm also concerned about this promise, because, seriously, dancing monkeys? In downtown Toronto? Is that even legal? I'm going to say no.
I'm told that they're working on the dancing monkeys though, which is good, because that's not the kind of promise you should just throw around. People take dancing animals very seriously, and monkeys even moreso. Maybe they have access to a research lab I'm not aware of, and they're going to sneak the monkeys out under a giant lab coat. I hope they've thought this plan through though, because monkeys do not respond well to being shoved in an over sized sleeve, especially if that sleeve contains an arm. It's all the worse if that arm is that of a band drummer, bulked up from excessive drum banging, because lab monkeys like their angry revenge-for-being-shoved-in-a-sleeve meat as lean as possible. Because they've heard about heart health. Overall, animatronic monkeys might be a safer bet. They should try to stick to songs you can dance the robot to.
Today I gained a new fear, one unrelated to terrible bears. Apparently, there were fish going missing in an aquarium and the owners weren't sure what was happening, so they watched nighttime security footage and found out that the octopus in the tank across from it was climbing out of his cage, walking (wait, do they walk, or just sort of shuffle) across the catwalks and eating fish. This is friggin' terrifying, because if an octopus can climb across a catwalk to steal fish, it can climb across a catwalk to drop on my head and suck out my brains (I think that's what they do.) Then, for good measure, a bear will probably jump out to maul me.
In the same conversation where I learned that octopi are evil geniuses, we were discussing the zoo and the degree of awesome that it has. One person mentioned they'd grown up walking distance from a zoo. I thought it was cool, unless a tiger escaped (I believe I may have mentioned this theory in the past). Then, another person said to their mother, "Was it a polar bear that escaped from our zoo?" And I thought, "Holy crap." I don't think I need to add any more to that story at this point, because holy crap.
So that brings me to a happy song. This task seems easier some days than others. To comfort myself about the idea of polar bear escapes, I'm going to go with At the Zoo by Simon and Garfunkel. I don't think it needs anymore explanation than zoos are automatically happy (assuming all the cages are intact) and the zoo keeper is apparently drunk.
I was about to publish this post, when I realized that bear and octopus in the same sentence seemed strangely familiar. Then, I remembered that a few months ago a friend introduced me to the existence of the bear-shark-octopus, but I blacked it out (for obvious, terrifying reasons), until this unfortunate post. Now it's all flooding back, and I'm never sleeping again, which is probably good, because I'll have time to get a lot more done. Of course, most of that time will be spent trying to figure out how to escape a bear shark octopus mauling/biting my arm off/brain sucking. I know that you're supposed to make noise for bears, and hit sharks in the nose, but I haven't heard about octopi. Maybe you just have to somehow confuse them so they tie knots in their many tentacles. It would work in the cartoons, so it would probably work in real life.
Friday, May 28, 2010
I nearly ran out of tape, but I made it
I'm graduating today, so I don't have time to write much. Although I'm looking forward to seeing all the people that have been my family the last 4 years, I'm not looking forward to walking across the stage, because I don't have any shoes with treads good enough to ensure I won't become, "that girl who fell." I've spent 4 years cultivating the "that red head girl who wears a lot of green...and sometimes blue" image. Not that distinctive, I know, but dependable, like the colour green...or blue.
Graduation makes me nostalgic. Only 4 years ago, I had freshly graduated from my undergraduate program and was looking forward to exciting new adventures. If I have a fault, it's that I tend to be overly optimistic. I imagined that this new school would be like a hidden utopia nestled in North York. On nostalgic days like this I could almost imagine I was right. But I wasn't right. I was very wrong. Even if the heating system in the building hadn't been menopausal, the school still would have had some work to do to get to utopia. But that's okay, because now that I'm leaving, like my undergrad, it will slowly morph itself into the wonderful experience I wanted it to be. That is the magic of memory.
During the last 4 years, I've learned many things. Number one among them is the importance of crying. I had considered trying to drink enough at formal to replace the tears I shed over the last 4 years, but thought that dying of alcohol poisoning might not be the best way to celebrate graduation. I think it's a way though, and will consider it the next time I graduate from somewhere that seems to relish in repeatedly crushing my soul. That was another key lesson. For 4 years the school would intermittently smash my soul, and I would pick up all the little soul pieces and try to figure out how to put them back together. It was problem based learning. Eventually, I was able to eliminate the less essential parts of my soul, replacing them with shards of awesome. Yes, it's mainly held together by bits of string and scotch tape, but my soul is now 19% more awesome than it was 4 years ago. So now is the opportunity for me to thank my school for so thoroughly destroying my spirit, because, coming in, it was a mediocre spirit, at best, but now it is awesome enhanced.
So, what have I learned, other than what it feels like to have your soul repeatedly pulverized, and how to most efficiently repair it with odds and ends you find around the house? That's a good question. Well, I learned that anytime something goes wrong, saying things like, "there's nowhere I can be that isn't where I'm supposed to be," or, "this is part of my path," or, "this happened so I can learn," will comfort me more than I imagined possible. For example, if something goes wrong and I miss the subway, I'll think, "chances are if I'd caught that train, it would have been the train where a bear would have eaten me." Or if someone rejects me, I'll think "chances are they were a bear who would have eaten me." The point is, there are bears around every corner, and the only thing preventing you from becoming their delicious dessert is a string of seemingly unfortunate events.
Today's happy song is Ramble on by Led Zeppelin, which has, for a long time, been my favorite end of the school year song. I also like it because I'm a fan of all kinds of rambling, both the verbal kind and the kind that makes your feet hurt. The Lord of the Rings references are also a little bit awesome, because, even though I haven't actually gotten through the books, I respect those that are so open in their devotion to fiction. If I wrote a song, I would reference Fraggle Rock a lot. It wouldn't be as cool as Ramble on, and would probably contain more instances of the word "radish" than any other song in history. Actually, I don't need to write a song, because it already exists. It's called the Fraggle Rock theme song. Crap, I think I just wasted two happy songs in one day. Oh well, I guess it's a special day. I'll just have to turn a horribly depressing song into a happy song later on to make up for the loss. I'll try to find one with a high casualty count, just because I like the challenge.
Graduation makes me nostalgic. Only 4 years ago, I had freshly graduated from my undergraduate program and was looking forward to exciting new adventures. If I have a fault, it's that I tend to be overly optimistic. I imagined that this new school would be like a hidden utopia nestled in North York. On nostalgic days like this I could almost imagine I was right. But I wasn't right. I was very wrong. Even if the heating system in the building hadn't been menopausal, the school still would have had some work to do to get to utopia. But that's okay, because now that I'm leaving, like my undergrad, it will slowly morph itself into the wonderful experience I wanted it to be. That is the magic of memory.
During the last 4 years, I've learned many things. Number one among them is the importance of crying. I had considered trying to drink enough at formal to replace the tears I shed over the last 4 years, but thought that dying of alcohol poisoning might not be the best way to celebrate graduation. I think it's a way though, and will consider it the next time I graduate from somewhere that seems to relish in repeatedly crushing my soul. That was another key lesson. For 4 years the school would intermittently smash my soul, and I would pick up all the little soul pieces and try to figure out how to put them back together. It was problem based learning. Eventually, I was able to eliminate the less essential parts of my soul, replacing them with shards of awesome. Yes, it's mainly held together by bits of string and scotch tape, but my soul is now 19% more awesome than it was 4 years ago. So now is the opportunity for me to thank my school for so thoroughly destroying my spirit, because, coming in, it was a mediocre spirit, at best, but now it is awesome enhanced.
So, what have I learned, other than what it feels like to have your soul repeatedly pulverized, and how to most efficiently repair it with odds and ends you find around the house? That's a good question. Well, I learned that anytime something goes wrong, saying things like, "there's nowhere I can be that isn't where I'm supposed to be," or, "this is part of my path," or, "this happened so I can learn," will comfort me more than I imagined possible. For example, if something goes wrong and I miss the subway, I'll think, "chances are if I'd caught that train, it would have been the train where a bear would have eaten me." Or if someone rejects me, I'll think "chances are they were a bear who would have eaten me." The point is, there are bears around every corner, and the only thing preventing you from becoming their delicious dessert is a string of seemingly unfortunate events.
Today's happy song is Ramble on by Led Zeppelin, which has, for a long time, been my favorite end of the school year song. I also like it because I'm a fan of all kinds of rambling, both the verbal kind and the kind that makes your feet hurt. The Lord of the Rings references are also a little bit awesome, because, even though I haven't actually gotten through the books, I respect those that are so open in their devotion to fiction. If I wrote a song, I would reference Fraggle Rock a lot. It wouldn't be as cool as Ramble on, and would probably contain more instances of the word "radish" than any other song in history. Actually, I don't need to write a song, because it already exists. It's called the Fraggle Rock theme song. Crap, I think I just wasted two happy songs in one day. Oh well, I guess it's a special day. I'll just have to turn a horribly depressing song into a happy song later on to make up for the loss. I'll try to find one with a high casualty count, just because I like the challenge.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
I'm not feeling very "inciteful"
Grad formal last night was fantastic. My hair actually managed to curl in a way that wasn't reminiscent of an old, neglected Barbie doll, and the company, as always, was wonderful. There were about a thousand good blog ideas that I said I probably wouldn't remember, and then I didn't. They might come back to me, but I sort of doubt it. Since I had a pretty full day today, I'm crashing a bit now. The next few days blogs could get interesting, since time to write is not obviously available, but that's part of the fun of blog.
Although I forgot most ideas for blogging, I did come home to a Facebook message from my friend Vincenzo O'Lun in which he suggested I blog about not making plans to stalk people, because it probably won't work out then you'll be stressed and it won't be very attractive. Or so is my understanding. I'm going to clarify next time we have coffee, then I'll probably blog about that. Actually, his opposition to stalking is good to know about, since our friendship basically began when we kept encountering each other 2-5 times a day for no apparent reason. I'd assumed stalking was involved, but knowing his feelings on it now, it was probably coincidence or demon related. He also messaged last night to let me know he was going to leave a wall post for Yelsel to remind her that he helped pay for formal (something with a camelback ridiculously full of water...I didn't read too closely, but it probably made some sort of sense.) If I'd known he felt that way about it beforehand, I would have shoved my leftover chicken and steak in my purse to bring to him today. But I didn't. Which is probably good for that purse, which I do enjoy.
I always look forward to my coffee dates with Vincenzo, because he is generally full of intrigue, and yet a complete open book. He lives in his own world, with his own set of clearly defined rules that I'm not familiar with (well, maybe other people live there too, but I haven't met them. The point is, I'm not from there). So, being friends with him is like doing a very large jigsaw puzzle. You start talking and you don't quite know what's happening, but you ask a few questions and then you realize, what you were putting together wasn't the dogs ear, it was his hind leg, then it all makes sense. Until you try to put attach that leg to anything. Figuring that out is going to take another coffee.
Once, Vincenzo told me the story of the Jehova's witness that used to visit him. One day he came to the door and Vincenzo told him he was already Christian, then the witness asked if they could read scripture together. So, Vincenzo thought, "Well, I'm not really planning to do anything for a few hours, why not?"
At this point in the story, I asked, "So, you just invited him in to read scripture?"
"No," Vincenzo responded, "I held him at the threshold." Apparently this occurred every 2 weeks for over a year. Vincenzo, standing at the door with his Jehova's witness friend, reading scripture, because he didn't really have other plans. I asked him if he ever felt like a tease, because I would, letting that poor guy come every week, thinking he's going to convert me when I know the whole time there's no chance. He didn't.
Once his Jehova's witness brought his wife over. Vincenzo wasn't expecting him that day, and when he answered the door, they seemed a little shocked because he was wearing a shirt with a machine gun on it (sorry Vincenzo if I put the wrong type of gun, I easily forget such details...I'm sure you'll correct me). So, they silently handed him a brochure on how guns are the number one evil of our times and slowly backed away (or so I imagined, during the telling of the story). "Guns? The number one evil?" Vincenzo said to me at this point in the story, "What about machetes?!" This was said as if I was supposed to already know the answer to that question. I think it's something like, "Of course, machetes, terrifying." I'm not really sure, I haven't quite completed that part of the puzzle yet.
This morning, I was talking to my friend Chutney Paradise, who I had not informed of the existence of blog yet. She's about a thousand times better at whatever it is that I'm doing than I am, but she said that she'd tried blogging but didn't have anything "inciteful" to write. At first I though this might be the greatest spelling error I'd ever encountered, until I realized there was every chance that she actually meant that she wanted to write something that would incite general chaos. I have many terrifying friends.
So, happy song time. I've realized that I keep on wanting to post songs that aren't happy at all, but I imagine they might be for god knows what reason (please don't start suggesting reasons), so this whole thing is going to get very interesting very soon. However, today has to be What I Got by Sublime, because the one thing I've learned over my 4 years in a ridiculously painful program is that the love of friends and family is can get me through anything, and this is the song I listen to when I need a reminder of this fact.
Although I forgot most ideas for blogging, I did come home to a Facebook message from my friend Vincenzo O'Lun in which he suggested I blog about not making plans to stalk people, because it probably won't work out then you'll be stressed and it won't be very attractive. Or so is my understanding. I'm going to clarify next time we have coffee, then I'll probably blog about that. Actually, his opposition to stalking is good to know about, since our friendship basically began when we kept encountering each other 2-5 times a day for no apparent reason. I'd assumed stalking was involved, but knowing his feelings on it now, it was probably coincidence or demon related. He also messaged last night to let me know he was going to leave a wall post for Yelsel to remind her that he helped pay for formal (something with a camelback ridiculously full of water...I didn't read too closely, but it probably made some sort of sense.) If I'd known he felt that way about it beforehand, I would have shoved my leftover chicken and steak in my purse to bring to him today. But I didn't. Which is probably good for that purse, which I do enjoy.
I always look forward to my coffee dates with Vincenzo, because he is generally full of intrigue, and yet a complete open book. He lives in his own world, with his own set of clearly defined rules that I'm not familiar with (well, maybe other people live there too, but I haven't met them. The point is, I'm not from there). So, being friends with him is like doing a very large jigsaw puzzle. You start talking and you don't quite know what's happening, but you ask a few questions and then you realize, what you were putting together wasn't the dogs ear, it was his hind leg, then it all makes sense. Until you try to put attach that leg to anything. Figuring that out is going to take another coffee.
Once, Vincenzo told me the story of the Jehova's witness that used to visit him. One day he came to the door and Vincenzo told him he was already Christian, then the witness asked if they could read scripture together. So, Vincenzo thought, "Well, I'm not really planning to do anything for a few hours, why not?"
At this point in the story, I asked, "So, you just invited him in to read scripture?"
"No," Vincenzo responded, "I held him at the threshold." Apparently this occurred every 2 weeks for over a year. Vincenzo, standing at the door with his Jehova's witness friend, reading scripture, because he didn't really have other plans. I asked him if he ever felt like a tease, because I would, letting that poor guy come every week, thinking he's going to convert me when I know the whole time there's no chance. He didn't.
Once his Jehova's witness brought his wife over. Vincenzo wasn't expecting him that day, and when he answered the door, they seemed a little shocked because he was wearing a shirt with a machine gun on it (sorry Vincenzo if I put the wrong type of gun, I easily forget such details...I'm sure you'll correct me). So, they silently handed him a brochure on how guns are the number one evil of our times and slowly backed away (or so I imagined, during the telling of the story). "Guns? The number one evil?" Vincenzo said to me at this point in the story, "What about machetes?!" This was said as if I was supposed to already know the answer to that question. I think it's something like, "Of course, machetes, terrifying." I'm not really sure, I haven't quite completed that part of the puzzle yet.
This morning, I was talking to my friend Chutney Paradise, who I had not informed of the existence of blog yet. She's about a thousand times better at whatever it is that I'm doing than I am, but she said that she'd tried blogging but didn't have anything "inciteful" to write. At first I though this might be the greatest spelling error I'd ever encountered, until I realized there was every chance that she actually meant that she wanted to write something that would incite general chaos. I have many terrifying friends.
So, happy song time. I've realized that I keep on wanting to post songs that aren't happy at all, but I imagine they might be for god knows what reason (please don't start suggesting reasons), so this whole thing is going to get very interesting very soon. However, today has to be What I Got by Sublime, because the one thing I've learned over my 4 years in a ridiculously painful program is that the love of friends and family is can get me through anything, and this is the song I listen to when I need a reminder of this fact.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
C-c-c-curly! (hopefully)
Tonight is graduation formal. This means that after publishing last night's post, I spent an hour trying to put hair curlers in, despite holding a deep-seeded belief that they were doomed to fail and that I would probably have to just straighten it at the last minute. There's nothing like feeling like your sleeping on pillow made of large pebbles and yet knowing that it's unlikely to have any benefit whatsoever. So I ended up dreaming that each of my dreams cost 5 cents each and the ones I had were just previews, so I'd wake up 5 seconds after they started, since I wasn't willing to fork over 5 cents for something I usually get for free. The point is, I'm a little sleepy, which is definitely going to add to my looks at formal. The best part is, I knew that's exactly how this whole curl thing would go down, but did it anyways, because the idea of actual curls is so mystical to me that I have to try even futile efforts that will keep me up all night. I just really want to boing them.
The most exciting thing about formal is that I'm in charge of the buses. I jumped on that task, because, who doesn't want the power of bus? Also, anything that involves me checking people off a list while wearing a fancy dress amuses me. I don't know why. But it really, really does. It might just be that I'm looking forward to the first person who tries to mess with me, so that I can shut them down (in a fancy dress). I've been practicing the line, "Get off the bus, motha trucker!" all week. I've nearly perfected it, but for the optimal furrow to my brow. You see, when dressed all fancy-like, a perfect brow furrow is imperative to intimidation.
Speaking of fancy dressing, I'm not sure how well I've planned it out today. I mean, I bought a dress, and I put the curlers in, but as far as I know right now, I might be wearing paper bags on my feet and earrings made from the bones of small animals. Actually, that second one is unlikely, because I live across from the mall, so animal bones would be much harder to acquire than any random pair of earrings, but you probably get my point. I'm comforting myself by reminding myself that you don't really want to look too good for this, because you don't want peoples final memories of you to be "Damn, why does she have to look so good. I'm so jealous." I'd prefer them to get together years from now and say, "Hey, remember that ginger that only wore one shoe to formal, because she realized she'd lost the pair as she left the house?" It kind of has a Cinderella flare to it, minus the prince since 87% of my class is female. Also, glass shoes are horribly impractical, and an excellent way to end up with a severed tibial nerve.
Happy song of the day. Well, formals always make me think of high school prom, and just before my prom was when I discovered exactly how much I love Joni Mitchell, a love that has only grown since then. I wish I could say Song for Sharon, since it's the only Sharon song that I have, but it's very long and not even I can stretch it enough to classify it as happy (introspective, maybe?). So, for today, I'm going to go for Judgment of the Moon and Stars, the Travelogue version, because the orchestra helps. Again, not exactly happy, but, I like imagining shaking my fist at lightening and being a forest fire, because of the futility and the destructiveness, respectively.
So, while finishing this post, I noticed I had a new e-mail, which always excites me, then usually disappoints me. This time it was notification of a new comment on my blog though, which is always exciting, or so I thought. I started reading it and was confused. "Excellent topics, I really like this topics. Can you publish more articles?" This seemed odd. First, what topics, friends that are robots? Grass-eggs? Novel forms of messing with your childrens lives? I don't get it. Also, how many more articles do you want? I'm writing everyday? Then I did get it, because they followed with an ad for a chiropractic clinic (I've since deleted it, for fear of viruses). I was so very sad. So, I decided to do some online stalking, and figured out through my excellent online stalking skills that they came across my blog through the search term "carpal tunnel syndrome". Having had carpal tunnel syndrome, albeit briefly and guitar hero induced, I don't like my people (yes, my people) being preyed on in blog form. To my mysterious poster, if you ever read this, I suggest that you scan for the following words in a blog before you attempt to advertise: kill, robot, evil, crack bottle. This is not an extensive list, but simply a few that might have clued you into the fact that my readers are unlikely to be searching for your clinic anytime soon, and that if they were, you'd likely not want them to find it.
Now I'm afraid that since I mentioned severed nerves, tomorrow there's going to be a comment from a bargain basement neurosurgeon.
The most exciting thing about formal is that I'm in charge of the buses. I jumped on that task, because, who doesn't want the power of bus? Also, anything that involves me checking people off a list while wearing a fancy dress amuses me. I don't know why. But it really, really does. It might just be that I'm looking forward to the first person who tries to mess with me, so that I can shut them down (in a fancy dress). I've been practicing the line, "Get off the bus, motha trucker!" all week. I've nearly perfected it, but for the optimal furrow to my brow. You see, when dressed all fancy-like, a perfect brow furrow is imperative to intimidation.
Speaking of fancy dressing, I'm not sure how well I've planned it out today. I mean, I bought a dress, and I put the curlers in, but as far as I know right now, I might be wearing paper bags on my feet and earrings made from the bones of small animals. Actually, that second one is unlikely, because I live across from the mall, so animal bones would be much harder to acquire than any random pair of earrings, but you probably get my point. I'm comforting myself by reminding myself that you don't really want to look too good for this, because you don't want peoples final memories of you to be "Damn, why does she have to look so good. I'm so jealous." I'd prefer them to get together years from now and say, "Hey, remember that ginger that only wore one shoe to formal, because she realized she'd lost the pair as she left the house?" It kind of has a Cinderella flare to it, minus the prince since 87% of my class is female. Also, glass shoes are horribly impractical, and an excellent way to end up with a severed tibial nerve.
Happy song of the day. Well, formals always make me think of high school prom, and just before my prom was when I discovered exactly how much I love Joni Mitchell, a love that has only grown since then. I wish I could say Song for Sharon, since it's the only Sharon song that I have, but it's very long and not even I can stretch it enough to classify it as happy (introspective, maybe?). So, for today, I'm going to go for Judgment of the Moon and Stars, the Travelogue version, because the orchestra helps. Again, not exactly happy, but, I like imagining shaking my fist at lightening and being a forest fire, because of the futility and the destructiveness, respectively.
So, while finishing this post, I noticed I had a new e-mail, which always excites me, then usually disappoints me. This time it was notification of a new comment on my blog though, which is always exciting, or so I thought. I started reading it and was confused. "Excellent topics, I really like this topics. Can you publish more articles?" This seemed odd. First, what topics, friends that are robots? Grass-eggs? Novel forms of messing with your childrens lives? I don't get it. Also, how many more articles do you want? I'm writing everyday? Then I did get it, because they followed with an ad for a chiropractic clinic (I've since deleted it, for fear of viruses). I was so very sad. So, I decided to do some online stalking, and figured out through my excellent online stalking skills that they came across my blog through the search term "carpal tunnel syndrome". Having had carpal tunnel syndrome, albeit briefly and guitar hero induced, I don't like my people (yes, my people) being preyed on in blog form. To my mysterious poster, if you ever read this, I suggest that you scan for the following words in a blog before you attempt to advertise: kill, robot, evil, crack bottle. This is not an extensive list, but simply a few that might have clued you into the fact that my readers are unlikely to be searching for your clinic anytime soon, and that if they were, you'd likely not want them to find it.
Now I'm afraid that since I mentioned severed nerves, tomorrow there's going to be a comment from a bargain basement neurosurgeon.
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