Twist

Whoa. An Update.

2011-01-12T07:49:00.000-08:00

Hello fellow blogger bloggers.

I moved.

I had to - it's a time of rebirth. In fact, there are numerous accounts of my inability to adequately care for my blogchild here on blogger. But I've dedicated myself to updating every single day in 2011. It will be good discipline for me. I hope you understand.

Come visit me! I'm still too attached to this page to let it go, and some day I may return. But you can follow me at www.thejackieblog.com

I miss you. Come back to the gooey insides of my brain.

Dirty Little Hookah

2008-06-08T23:25:00.000-07:00

Um, I went to a hookah bar last night.

Yeah, I know. I don't do hookah and I don't do bars. The world is momentarily off-balance.

This is what I've learned from my experience: hookah bars are a rip-off. All right. To be fair, the Sphynx Cafe here in good ol' Oakland is the biggest rip-off I've ever seen in my life. Allow me to indulge you. Regale you, even.

At the Sphynx Cafe on my particular evening of choice, there was a four dollar cover charge. Since I don't do bars, I don't do cover charges. I don't like the idea of putting a down payment on an experience that I can in no way ensure will be enjoyable. A more appropriate version of a cover charge would be a system in which I am allowed to browse my bar of choice to gain a general sense of its ambience. Yes, that's right. I want a sense of the ambience. Then, if I decide it's something I want more of, I can make the investment with high hopes that my evening will be one in which I have wisely invested.

For example, a brief overview of the Sphynx would reveal that it is nothing more than a large room of a used-to-be-church that has been renovated to look like a living room through the delightful touch of several dyed and detailed curtains, enough pillows for ten middle school slumber party pillow fights, and a few poorly placed tables. Tables which must not be moved, mind you. You cannot move the tables. I'm not sure if that's because the manager has an overwhelming need for control, because of some legitimate reason unbeknownst to me, or simply because it would catch the belly dancer off guard and she would trip, spilling the little greasy ones in her jingly skirt tragically down to the ground.

Oh yeah. There was a belly dancer.

I sat down with my party of seven around a dinky little table and a couple of floor pillows. I expected good conversation, a little soothing music, and a particular category of smoking for which I would ultimately not care. For the most part, it was that. And then the Indian music came on at a surprising decibel, and the belly dancer came out, clad in jingly little coins, little dollar bills that I'm certain she put there herself only to suggest the act, and a tiny little dancing tummy. Good conversation was not an option simply because conversation was not an option. It was impossible to hear. It was also impossible to see anything other than jingly coin dancer girl...because she was certain to always be in front of everyone. She was agile. Very agile.

Might I add that a critical evaluation of her belly dancing skills would reveal that she sucked. I don't mean according to the small crowd of 40 year old men in the corner who couldn't take their eyes off her all evening and stuck their crumpled up ones in her panties. I mean to anyone who knows anything about belly dancing. Brace yourself; this may come as a shocker. I know something about belly dancing.

I know; I'm just full of surprises as of late.

Okay, so I know something about an instructional dvd and booklet I bought ages ago when I was bored at the bookstore. I'll admit it... I went through the tutorial. My belly has never looked like Sphynx girl's, but my hand florets are lovely. And I'll have you know that proper form dictates that one's arms may never drop below shoulder level. Sphynx girl's did. In fact, I'm pretty sure they were never above shoulder level.

Ridiculously critical? I think not. Because I paid 4 dollars for her. Yes, my four dollar cover charge was to cover the belly dancer. Granted, she took a break in which I could hear my friends and was almost content, but then she came back. With a new costume. A little more black strap material and a couple more coins. Man, am I glad my friends and I paid a combined flat charge of 28 bucks to see that. It was stellar theatricality.

All right... so it was part of the experience. I accepted it. Then I looked at the menu and saw that every drink was at least 4 dollars and that there was a one drink minimum to be allowed the pleasure of said belly dancer, awkwardly placed tables, and uncomfortable pillows. The drinks weren't even pretty. No cool glasses, no 2-part mixtures with floaters, not even a bendy straw. Just little plastic cups. Fine. Beautiful. That's 8 smackos and no guarantee of fun. Actually, I would venture to say 8 smackos for a deliberate deprivation of fun. Friends included, that's a minimum of 56 buckaroos just to sit down in a louder, more Indian version of your living room.

Except it's filled with strangers.

And you can't use your own cups.

And your furniture can't be rearranged. I mean, it CAN be. It has the ability to be. But let's pretend your dad (let's call him "the manager") is in a bad mood and just decides you can't because it's annoying. There. Now you're in my world. Taste the ambience.

All right. Bam! Out with the hookah. We're looking at at least 10 bucks each. And the "waitress" will get the flavor wrong and drop hot ashes on your feet. It'll be awesome, I promise.

While we're on the subject of hookah smoking, allow me to dispel a myth.

Hookah does not get you buzzed. Hookah smokers who are convinced of this are simply mistaking the lightheadedness that results from the lack of oxygen to your brain for "buzzed." Inhale some hookah lovin', then inhale some oxygen. It's why God put it there. Against popular belief, our bodies do not survive on mint-flavored hookah alone.

Okay! So we're all set. We've got the cover charge, the belly dancer, the drinks, the music, the immovable furniture, and the clumsy, forgetful waitress. Check time! We're looking at about 70 bucks. There's a bright, glowing ATM in the middle of the establishment (which, mind you, does not at all fit the Indian decor), and for the convenience of all Pittsburghers, it's courtesy of the 5/3 bank.

The 5/3 bank. In Pittsburgh, where PNCs are on every corner, there are seven universities in the downtown area, and each college student has a PNC check card option attached to their student IDs, the Sphynx Cafe in Oakland decides it's a wise business decision to instead feature a bank's ATM that doesn't even understand the concept of a top-heavy fraction. That's another 2.50 per person of my party who has to withdrawal cash. Thank you, Sphynx Cafe, for having the customer in mind.

So I've decided to open a hookah bar. Yeah, that's right. I'm just gonna do it. Because I think people would pay a buck at my door and buck for a little hookah smoke if it meant they didn't have to watch a sucky belly dancer, get their conversation drowned out by obnoxiously loud music, and pay for a drink they don't want from a flimsy, pathetic cup.

And hey; if they decide they want the belly dancer, who knows? I might just bust out my instructional DVD and booklet and try my shot at getting a couple greasy little ones. After all, tuition did increase again this year.

Farewell, My Jedi Baby

2008-04-09T17:52:00.000-07:00

I met Luke Skywalker today.

Yeah, Luke Skywalker. Not even Mark Hamill. It was just straight-up Luke Skywalker all like "Hey, Jackie; I'm Luke Skywalker. Let me impregnate you."

Let's get something straight. I wouldn't do Luke Skywalker. One, I don't go for blondes. Two, I'd be self-conscious of my inability to rock his world in bed since I don't have this whole "force" thing down. Lord only knows what the man could accomplish with his mind. I can't compete with that and quite frankly, I have no interest for the toll it would take on my mental health to know that I had a chance to go at it with a Jedi and he was ultimately displeased.

Not to mention he'd probably make me wear his sister's golden bikini and dog collar accessories and I simply couldn't handle him going all Jabba the Hut on me in bed. I'm down with role-playing, but I have my limits. A big gargling tub of poo with a domination complex is where I draw the line. Yeah, I know; my bar is set pretty low.

Nonetheless, I will admit; when I was standing not 15 feet away from the man who saved the galaxy, I wondered if I could overcome all this if it meant I would give birth to a metachlorian-charged Jedi baby.

I thought of all the benefits my Jedi baby could bring to the family: quick cooking, easy clean-up, direct access to Yoda and Samuel L. Jackson, and the ability to let me know when all is not well with the force. Because sometimes I wonder, you know?

Then he started to talk about his kids. Turns out Luke Skywalker has babies. Three of them. Except they don't sound like Jedis at all. One buys a lot of clothes and only votes so she stays in Luke's will, one is a comic book artist, and the other, um, I spaced out for. Cuz I was thinking of his metachlorian-charged sperm.

Then I realized; maybe he married the wrong woman. Is it possible that Luke Skywalker wasted his incredible Jedi jizz on a female counterpart who is unable to supply him with Jedi babies?

It became alarmingly apparent that I had to save the Jedi race. Yes, it was up to me.

Unfortunately, I was unwilling to submit to his roleplaying necessities or to the fact that he's a blonde. I don't care if he's the New Hope; I have a type and I stick to it. End of story. So there was only one thing to do; steal Luke Skywalker's sperm.

As I was devising some sort of Dr. Evil-esque way to steal Skywalker's mojo, I began to tune back into reality. Suddenly, it became apparent to me that the man in front of me was not Luke Skywalker at all. It was Mark Hamill. I know this because Mark Hamill mistook an X-wing for a tie fighter, Cloud City for the Death Star, and kept referring to his stage weaponry as a "gatling gun." Plus, he didn't move anything with his mind. Not once.

So here I am, working out the details of Operation: Jedi Baby and he's fumbling over the most rudimentary chapters of the Star Wars Nerd Encyclopedia.

I guess somewhere underneath it all I expected him to be a nerd, too. I mean, if I know all about Luke Skywalker, shouldn't Luke Skywalker know all about Luke Skywalker?

It figures.

I've waited my whole life to get a hold of some metachlorian sperm and the moment it's within my grasp, it all falls apart. All I wanted was a Jedi Baby. Was that really too much to ask? I wouldn't have even made him pay child support.

But they get stuck in your teeth!

2008-01-20T21:15:00.000-08:00

It appears I have neglected my blogchild for a full 4 months. That seems about the accepted interval of time for a child to go unattended before I drop in and throw it a burger. Or a jujyfruit.

So here it is: the jujyfruit of January:

I have come to face the beginning of the year with a sort of hesitation. I'm not one for resolutions for much the same reason I'm not for Valentine's Day: I think it's silly to declare a national holiday to express or improve something in yourself when you have that ability at any moment. I have enough good sense to survey my standing for the year and review, in short, where I stack up and if it's where I want to be at this point in my life. I also have enough good sense to know I'll never look as good in a 2-piece as I'd like and that loving my love handles will save me at least 15 wrinkles on my face and thousands of dollars in emotional eating.

I have nails... that's a new one. Up until this point in my life, I'd been carrying around red little stubs. I'm now growing what I'd like to think of as talons. I want to see how far I can go. I'm lashing out against 21 years of exams, fear of parental units, stress from relationships, and, well, hate of my love handles that forced my talons into remission. I'm a stubborn, grudge-holding girl. There's a chance I could break the Guinness record.

I have less credit debt. That's nice. I mean... I'd like to think that the automatic withdrawal that takes the wind right out of my gut each month is actually flying off to some magical land with ponies and bon bons where it is multiplied by small leprachauns who love me and understand the mistakes of my past and thus decrease my debt by a severe fraction of its original sum. Unfortunately, it just goes to some jerks who want me to pay 15 dollars for a 5 dollar pizza I bought in 2005.

Yeah, I'll admit it: the bulk of my credit card debt is food. And clothes I bought because I got fatter and needed some. Yes. I'm paying three times as much on items that did nothing but hurl me into a fat depression. Once upon a time I ate an entire Freschetta pizza and a pint of Ben and Jerry's every night for dinner and I won't be able to forget it for another four years. It's justice in a disturbing and dirty form.

I have longer hair. I'll cut it soon, I'm sure. I don't want to dye it because when I did it last year I didn't like having a part of me that wasn't actually a part of me. Maybe that's poetic, and maybe it's just retardedly conservative. At any rate, it's damn genuine.

I don't have a boyfriend. I don't have a date. I don't have any prospects. I have no penises in my vicinity that I consider to be worth my time. That is correct. I'll repeat it, actually, for good measure. I have no penises in my vicinity that I consider to be worth my time.

You see, I am attracted to a wee population of the universe. Physically, I mean. It's not that I'm shallow. It's just true. I'm more likely to be wowed by charisma than any physical feature one could possibly possess. The problem as I see it is that I'm incredibly jaded. I look around at my age group and see a bunch of boys who want to play. They're all interested in experiencing life and getting to know people... which translates into bad decisions and lotsa random hookups, neither of which I'm particularly a fan of at this stage in my life.

So I think about the pretty tight screws holding my skull atop my body and the pretty loose ones atop theirs and somehow I'm just apathetic. That, and I play video games and can belch better than any ball-bearer I know. And I've been told by almost every guy who's ever had an interest in me (after the fact of course) that I "intimidate the shit out of them."

That might have something to do with it.

I don't really care. See, that's the difference. This year, I just don't care. It's fine if I'm not dating. I'm over it. Someday maybe I'll meet a guy who loves that I belch or hates it but endures it so he can catch a glimpse of my amazing MarioKart skills in the downtime. Someday maybe I'll meet a guy who I'm intimidated by.

Or maybe not. Whatever. Because I'm happy.

I look at my off-and-on-nail-biting self, my love handles, my lack of social grace, and my list of expenditures for the year 2005 and I'm okay with it. I'm my cake and a guy is just my icing. Or maybe a jujyfruit. Either way, if I find one that's lovely. But I think my list of expenditures will vouch for the fact that I'm rather accepting when it comes to desserts: naked or not.

What's Up, Doc?

2007-09-26T20:57:00.000-07:00

I've had several less-than-glamorous moments that compose the fuzzy collage of what is my childhood. From leopard pants paired with bright blue tops, fuschia skirts and lime green blouses, to even day-glo, all-green Reeboks, I didn't have a care in the world for what it thought of me and was more than happy to show off my fashionable fashion taste I could display as I debuted the new seasons of hand-me-downs and thrift store pizzazz. One could say I was the Vera Wang of the lower class.

The beauty of those times is encapsulated in how gorgeously apathetic and ignorant I was to the opinions that surrounded me. I gorged myself on books about Jim Carrey and aspired to be him. My face got stretchier, my clothes more exotic, and my life even more enjoyable. Yeah, I wore big glasses and had permed hair long enough to adequately lustrate my lower region, but I had spunk. And big teeth.

Lots of them, actually. Lots of big, freakin teeth.

One could say I hated them from the beginning. I scooted around the house as a toddler with teeth to the wind, running at full speed toward any solid object that dare enter my field of vision. By the time I was 6, they had to be removed. They were black, cracked apart, and dead to me. Success!

Until they grew back.

They grew back with a vengeance. All of them did. Angry at what I'd done to their brothers and sisters, they came back fiercer, bulkier, and more demanding than ever before. Jutting out from all sides of my jaw, I wondered how it was that I would avoid swallowing them. On the roof of my mouth, in every crevice, outside every natural jaw line, and even deep in the roots of my wisdom teeth, they multiplied. And at the front of the militia, two perfectly straight, perfectly large teeth shone for all the world to see, forcing their way past the others in a desperate cry for attention. ... and that they got.

I became instantly famous for a gag called "The Bunny Face" in which I embraced my curse, scrunched up my nose, put my fingers behind my head, and chomped up and down as a small woodland creature might chew upon a small twig. Instant fame. The cheers and pleads for The Bunny Face lived from 3rd grade up until my freshman year of college, when I officially retired it and publicly announced that it would no longer be featured on the Jackie Baker Showtime Hour.

My mouth retaliated.

A trip to the dentist revealed more troops; at the back of my jaw, six wisdom teeth had begun to move in. That's right: six. If indeed an average person has all their wisdom teeth come in, it often denotes four. I, however, am a special case. A small percentage of lucky, tooth-blessed folk get what are called "super incisors," which grow in immediately behind the regular two on the upper jaw. Super Incisors. Sounds almost... bunny-like.

I underwent a ridiculous procedure in which eight teeth were removed. At the same time. Six wisdom teeth and two regular asshole teeth that wouldn't behave, one of which was located right on the roof of my mouth. Really.

By my sophomore year of college, my mouth was looking good compared to its sordid, toothy past. My smile line was lookin' swell, and I was on my way toward worry-free dentistry.

Cue senior year: audition feedback meetings. After a silent two years, my front teeth are back and bold. It is brought to my attention that my overbite is interfering with my ability to speak well. My front teeth are older, wiser. With no Bunny Face with which to bombard me, they have struck in a much more intellectual way: by stunting my ability to easily handle the speech mechanisms that compose the Shakespearean language. Blasted!

And so my battle begins again. I care more about what the world thinks these days than I did in my thrift store fashionista days. After two years of pride, I've been reduced to The Girl with the Overbite. I struggle, I pine, but alas, I can do little to help my moneyless estate.

Since the dental procedure required involves a great deal of money, I must settle for investing in one-holed ski masks. I will immediately cease talking and will invest in a variety of bold and bright colors and they shall mask my pain. ... and my overbite. Leopard print, bright blue, fuschia, and lime green. I'll wear them with every outfit, I'll set new trends, I will overcome the setbacks of my toothy past and shoot for the stars. I shall return to my childhood splendor and set new standards of fashion amongst the criminal demographic.

I, Jackie Baker, will no longer be set back by my bulky, malicious front teeth.

Hot Child in the City

2007-09-10T15:05:00.000-07:00

(Read: Stupid, Country Girl in the City)

I was given my dad's old car this summer for my birthday. In part because my parents knew how hard it was for me to get decent groceries and transport them on the dirty, neglected child of Pittsburgh that is the transportation service. Mostly, however, it was because he got a convertible.

Convertibles and my family don't go together well. I grew up most of my life wanting nothing more than to finally be able to afford both milk and cereal at the same time. Or something other than macaroni and macaroni for dinner. That being said, it blew my mind to be sitting in a car that was less than two decades old, running, quiet, and spacious. Oh, and a convertible. I actually felt awful and wanted to put a sign on the door that said "We can't afford this!" in bright, orange crayon and my own blood.

Regardless, my father is now somewhat more capable of completing his journey to fifty years old since he'll be driving the depressing path to it in his nice car. And, luckily, I now have a grocery wagon with which to make frequent trips to Giant Eagle, a poorly named grocery store where they actually don't sell any eagles at all.

Unfortunately, I've also become a bit of a taxi service. It's not that people ask so much as it is that I offer...because I know how much I liked rides when I was a vagabond. Today, for instance, a good friend of mine mentioned he was headed downtown and wanted to know if I'd join him on a shuttle ride while he made some errands. I offered to drive him instead. Like an idiot.

So there I was, in rush hour traffic, driving around the city that's impossible to navigate even when it's 3 in the morning. I'm also too stubborn to pay for a parking garage....so basically I left at 4, drove around the city until 5:30, dropped him off and said goodbye. I got home at 6.

Some of this has to do with Pittsburgh's impossible parking situation, and most of it has to do with the fact that I'm a bumbling idiot.

So these are my days in Pittsburgh. I'm either driving around downtown, wondering if I'll wreck or find a parking place first, or I'm at home watching my housemate's cat try to hump mine. TV altogether bores me at this point in my life. For some reason, when the decision to relax in front of the tube is juxtaposed with a good cat rape, I can't stay focused on the TV.

Tonight, however, I get to change things up a bit and go to an audition downtown. Oh... well I guess the only part that's different about that is the intention. I mean... I'll still be driving around like an idiot again. My audition's around 9. It's 6:15.

I'd better leave now if I'm going to find parking.

Stool Softener and Fruit Snacks

2007-08-15T02:59:00.000-07:00

This summer.

There would be something following that, so as to perhaps describe my summer (i.e. "this summer was the bomb-diggity") if I could figure out who spanked my summer sideways and where they put it when they were done.

My past summers have been spent mostly in the wee hours of morning, still talking and goofing around with some of the greatest people in this world from the evening prior. Unfortunately, most of them took off for another country, claiming it would "culture them" or something. I don't buy it.

As a result, I've been left to my own devices of solitude, and my summer was still mostly spent in the wee hours of morning, but stocking candy and health items at the local Sam's Club. I can't tell if my overly emotional state is a result of my normal almost-diagnosable crazy-old-coot syndrome or if it's a result of the funk-wacky hours I've been pulling. Granted, I would love to sleep all day long every day for the rest of my life, but waking up to dinner on the table is an adventure I haven't accomplished since the tenth grade. Nothing like cheeseburgers for breakfast.

Regardless of the three-month hiatus from school, the most pertinent thing that sticks out in my mind happened within only the past few days. Funny how it's such a small percentage of time spent and yet how it drowns out everything else that's happened. I refer to a falling out between myself and a favorite person of which I shan't go into detail. Suffice it to say that I find myself wondering for the first time if returning to the status of strangers would be better for my well-being than continuing on as I have. I feel like doing so is entirely against who I am as a person, and yet I feel that because of what this person has done to me, I haven't really been myself for quite some time.

A lot of me is in my friends. I reflect a great deal of what they give me back to them. It's always been this way since as long as I can remember. In high school I actually went through a bit of a complex where I thought I had no personality but rather consumed those that were around me. Like some kind of soul-sucking banshee. When I lose faith or trust or the friendship of one, I feel like somehow I've lost an aspect of my personality. Retarded? Yes. True? Yes.

I haven't really been the same since. I'm self-medicating; I plan to hang out with as many people as possible as much as possible before I go back to school. And while I'm there, I might just be the most sociable I've ever been in my life. ...Which is huge for a cranky old shut-in like myself.

I've been reflecting on what I've accomplished on my hiatus from school. What have I been doing all this time? Where are the new friends, the catch-up sessions with old ones, and the late night talks? Where are the days when I used to look around me and wonder how I was blessed with such amazing, trustworthy people in my life? I'm still trying to figure it out, but I have a feeling this is the best I'll be able to summon up for my efforts:

Somewhere between stocking stool softener and fruit snacks and losing my closest friend in this world lies my blissful, unchanged summer.

Ode to the Arctic Ground Squirrel

2007-06-04T22:25:00.000-07:00

I grow more antisocial as I grow older. This I have noticed about myself.

I don't know what it is, really. I mean, I go out constantly and I have what I like to think is a large social network. I have a good time, they have a good time; it's more symbiotic than parasytic (in most cases). Regardless, I've never much been a fan of people, which is strikingly obvious to anyone who knows me well. In fact, I rather abhor them. This is very uncharacteristically non-Christian of me and is probably my biggest struggle. Every day is a challenge to get out of bed and face the world. Going out with friends is absolutely dreadful, but I do it anyway because I know that if I don't, my cat lady fantasy will someday become a reality. It's like depression, except a lot more skeptical and selfish.

So here I am, attempting to fill my summer days with a job and other silly money-making tasks so that I don't have to actually get along well with others. It's not that I don't do it well... it's just that I'd really rather not. I don't know what I'll do when I get out of school and I no longer have a summer hiatus from regular social interaction. Maybe I'll die first.

It's a wonder I have any friends in all honesty. I think about it constantly when I'm bundled in my cocoon. I push them away, I mock them, and I openly state that I generally don't like people and that it often includes them. Yet they come. In fact, at a time in my life when I was using the virtual social environment of WarCraft to escape the utilization of actual social skills, my suite was broken into by a group of friends who shut down my computer and pried my white, clenched knuckles from my dorm chair to take me out. One day soon I'm sure they'll realize what a ridiculous, bitter turd I am and they'll leave me to my antisocial agenda. Then what?

I'd love to pretend that my home life is just so satisfying that the real world lacks in comparison. In reality, however, I just spend the majority of my time pestering my father and wondering where he hid the militant behemoth he used to be. My mother's always at work and when she's home, she takes on an extraordinary fascination with our dirty, starving, geriatric cat. I've woken up to many a mom lunch break to see her feeding the cat an ear of corn. Whole.

And of course...when they're both home at the same time, they're humping. Cuz that's what they do.

So now it's June and I'm rapidly approaching 21. On a year when most people my age branch out and get all beligerant and crazy, I'll be quietly spinning my cocoon. 21... it's weird. Since all my life I've had the incredibly strong premonition that I'll die before I'm 30, this means I only have nine years left tops. That's nine potential years to grow even more inward. Nine years of watching the cat who will outlive me gnaw on corn cobs.

I've fantasized about cutting myself off from everyone who knows me and disappearing for as long as I can remember. I'd buy a boat and sail away Enya-style, but I'm the only person I know who gets motion sickness from looking at waves. It's a bit of a spoiler.

So, here's to labor, inwardness, and corn: the makers of my 21st summer.

A Rant to a Tin Can

2007-04-19T21:44:00.000-07:00

You know... I'm single because I'm holding on to my belief that I don't have to settle. Out there somewhere is a guy who loves girls who will belch unashamedly, perhaps out-eat them in a pizza race, absolutely hand them their ass on a plate in Mario Kart Double Dash, never know where she's going even when equipped with a map, coo over any baby animal, grammatically correct English professors' syllabi, and verbally spar any challenger to her pride.

I admit, I have quite a few flaws in that list. Lovable flaws, perhaps. I'd like to think so. It helps me get out of bed in the morning.

I'm single because I don't see the point in dating a guy who doesn't try his hardest to achieve his greatest passion, doesn't love God, and/or doesn't love me.

Call me retarded, but I see movies and I believe that the same kind of crazy passion can exist in my own life. It's my one solid goal. I don't care if I end up in an entirely different profession or in a cardboard box in the middle of Oakland talking to a tin can.

For some silly reason, however, I do care that I find someone who will love me enough to pretend the tin can can hear me.

Here's to you... ideal tin can man. Look me up sometime soon. I'm bored with all these jerks.

I Want Chicken, I Want Liver...

2007-02-22T20:18:00.000-08:00

Yeah, I step away for a while...but I always come back. Something about publishing tasty little portions of my easily aggravated soul for the world to freely access is just too tempting in such ripe times.

I've actually attempted a post several times since and have been unable to tap my usual flair for writing. I'm not sure what sucked it out of me... but I have a hunch it was an absolutely superfluous amount of drama. Granted, I'm in theatre so quite a bit of it comes with the territory. What I'm referring to, however, is mostly due to friend groups. Namely, vaginas.

Mmm, vaginas. Hoo-has, cha-chas, the wonders down under.

I don't know when, but at some point in my life I was injected with the fundamental belief that women are inherrently evil, drama-filled, self-absorbed, diva princess strumpets. Though it's true my father had a great deal to do with my childhood in that he mostly raised me while my mother worked, I don't blame him. I'm pretty sure he just spent that time treating me like a little girl and not whispering tidbits of corrupt vagina stories into my toddler ears.

In the attempt to pinpoint this belief, I considered my two older brothers... my only siblings and main sources of education in a number of the finer things in life: belching, joking, rough-housing, and (my favorite), sarcasm. Maybe it was the fact that I watched them get stepped on and spit on by several women throughout high school when they didn't deserve it. Then I remember that they were nerds and gave me a lot of Charlie Horses when I was young and those sentiments quickly settle into acceptance.

So what is it?

I suppose first-hand observation. There's nothing like getting the dirt directly from the source on their own manipulative tendencies. They really are all just as terrible and capable of the same things.

Of course, I'm one too... I can't deny the fact that I own and operate a fully functional (to my knowledge) and God-certified vagina. But I also don't deny the fact that I'm capable of some pretty atrocious stuff when I put my mind to it.

So I've taken a pro-active approach. I surround myself with as many guys as I can. I have Nerf wars with them, I play Nintendo with them, I eat, belch, and make an ass of myself with them. I find they're the best type for fun-having. When they have a problem with each other, they either beat it out of the other or they just cut all ties. Better yet, they often just let it go because (simple as they've been blamed to be) they're practical enough to realize that life is better without drama.

So here's to being a spinster. Perhaps instead of cats, I'll just have a bunch of college boys hanging around my house playing Nintendo with me when I'm 70. It's true that acting like one of them doesn't do much for attracting them, but hey... I've done the single thing for quite a while now and I think I've got it down. Maybe I've just stopped caring.

Or maybe I've hung out with them long enough to realize that while women may be manipulative, men are generally flirtacious, self-centered, egotistical creatures with the romantic attention span of a gnat with ADD. After getting the dirt right from the other source, I've lost faith in the concept of good old fashioned boys who believe in being interested in one and only one girl.

Or maybe the world is lacking the kind of girls worth settling down for.

Hmm.

Bring on the cats.

Poopy Baby.

2006-11-09T18:26:00.000-08:00

If my blog were a baby, it'd have a great deal of poo accumulation, battered and broken in a corner somewhere and shaking from lack of food and warmth.

Here's a lolly. Quite your whining.

Recent events of life have been neither inspiring nor hilarious, just thoroughly annoying and sometimes disturbing. As such, blogging has temporarily slipped into hiatus.

Speaking of which... Thanksgiving, anyone?

Lambs and Barley

2006-10-10T17:00:00.000-07:00

Ever since I was in high school, I have been rewarded without ceasing for my amazing tendency to procrastinate.

I remember time after time, my parents would watch me stay up late each night, putting off work until the last possible moment before rushing into sudden death mode, armed with pizza, cheese steaks, candy, and Ben & Jerry's as proper motivation tools to help me reach my inevitable end. They constantly told me it would bite me in the ass. Nice and hard, like a good ass bite should be. Thing is, it never did. Ever.

I remember my greatest feat, one year into college: At 8pm I had a Philosophy paper (2-3pgs.) on Plato's Allegory of the Cave as it related to my college experience, 3 English journals (1-2pgs each) on Lysistrata and two plays in the Orestia, a Media Paper for Adolescent Development, and (get this) a 10 page research paper on Theatre in India and China, for which I hadn't even the slightest formation of a thesis yet. You'd think the walls should have caved in on me, or the universe might have come to a gigantic collision in my bedroom. Instead, I wrote them all on the brink of insanity (and aided with the proper motivation tools) and got A's on them all. A's! It was so unfair! I almost wanted to hand them back to the teachers, "look...I know for a fact this has to suck more than you thought the first time through. give it another go." I remember telling myself that I would never procrastinate again if I got a B on any of those papers. But I didn't... and that's how it was; I just always won. In fact, Caitlin (my partner-in-crime/fiance) and I constantly laughed at the do-gooders' misfortune. One such do-gooder was our lovely Emily, who struggled and fought and sacrificed little baby lambs to make sure she had her papers in on time, her tests adequately studied for, and her ducks all in a row (though she neither had ducks nor rows. where does that saying come from?). Poor Em. She'd constantly prepare and we would constantly prevail. If we skipped a project or forgot about it, the gods of procrastination would align them selves ever so perfectly so that the project date would be moved. Tests would magically be made into open-book. Teachers would be abducted by other-worldly beings so that our papers, projects, and tests for which we did jack would be put off for another day (which we would do jack for again). Time after time, maniacal Caitlin and I would laugh our maniacal laughs as we watched all the over-achievers seek justice to no avail. We, the no-achievers, were in our glory.

It seems the gods of procrastination are looking out for me still after all. I started to think that Caitlin was magical. Or maybe there was some sort of procrastination voodoo trick that came in the power of two lazy people. Not true. Case in point:

My science class is a one-a-week, 3 hour class that takes place on Mondays. Sound familiar? I blogged about it last time. Brief summation of the beginning of the course: First Class- syllabus and intro...let out early. Second Class- Labor Day...no classes. Third Class- Went. Almost learned something. Fourth Class- Cancelled.

It was here, after my one-a-week, three-hour course had been cancelled for the first time, that I realized that it was my only academic class and thus the only one I could skip without getting in huge trouble from COPA. That, and it sucked... so it was great to just not go. I got a taste for it. I began with high hopes for my achievement. I even read part of the first chapter and took notes, thinking that the only way to keep up in a one-a-week was to read the book. Then I was overwhelmed with my procrastination feeling. It burned in me like a good deep lust. It was awesome. Thus ---> Fifth class: Left on the half-way break and didn't come back.

I thought this would come back to bite me in the ass, like my parents said. After all, it was about time, wasn't it? We had a homework assignment that I didn't stick around to hear the details of. Who knows what I was going to do about it. I didn't even touch it. I ran into a girl from my class before the next week, however, and she basically pointed out exactly where I could find the answers to the worksheet, showed me how super-easy it was, and told me the directions I missed that day. Sweet. So I'm in the Sixth Class and she's talking about collecting the homework at the beginning instead of the end. Oh no, I thought... I don't have the time to do it! That's when the gods set off the fire alarm. Every floor of Lawrence, Academic, and Thayer spilled out onto the Pittsburgh streets. There, everyone in the class was scribbling their homework. The professor, after all, was nowhere to be seen in the glob of people.

Bam: homework done. Another point for the Jacklynator.

It gets better, my friend. Much, much better.

So she then talks about the test we would have the following week (Seventh Class). Right. A test. I hadn't even gained any knowledge on which to be tested. I told myself I'd study. Study hard, even.

I didn't. I knew I'd fail. Good. That'll teach me a lesson, I thought.

Seventh Class- Cancelled.

It gets better.

So the test was then moved to the following Monday. I'm so gonna study. I got lucky, I thought, but my luck is wearing out. Get responsible, Jackie. Grow up.

I didn't.

But here's the thing: Eighth Class... we walk in, and there's a sub. Weird, we thought. Turns out it wasn't a sub. It was a new teacher. That's right: A brand-spankin' new teacher. Our old teacher was, well, old... and had to go to the hospital for a while for old things. As a result, we now have a new teacher with new ideas.

So the test was cancelled permanently.

She wants to start fresh, start clean. After all, how can she hold us accountable for information she didn't teach us?

Awesome, I thought, as I put my lambs and barley on the altar to sacrifice in celebration.

I don't know if I'll ever stop procrastinating at this rate. The worse I get, the better the reward. I keep thinking it's gonna come down hard on me soon, it's just a matter of time. Well...I don't know how things are with Caity-poo and her tendencies, but mine are functioning just fine without her.

Conclusion? Caitlin's not a bit magical, and I need more lambs and barley.

"Neu...tron?"

2006-10-02T15:45:00.000-07:00

I should be in science right now. Amazingly, the class has been cancelled for the second time this semester. Throw Labor Day exemption in there and we've missed three weeks of her class. Actually, I should be taking a test, not just sitting in class. It's a test on three chapters of the book... only two of which she discussed and neither of which she discussed at length or without reading directly from a packet or book.

Class is cancelled because she's allergic to everything. Literally. I think she's allergic to life itself. We're in an old classroom because it doesn't have any of the new-fangled allergy-inducing substances that put her in a coma. She mentioned the necessity of changing the venue if anyone decides to vaccuum or maybe change the chairs to a different type of new plastic. I can't be the only one who finds it hilarious that an environmental science teacher is completely allergic to the environment.

I think it's so easy for me to make light of the situation because I haven't really solidified a respect for her ability in teaching. This is for a variety of reasons. First and foremost, I have learned absolutely nothing new in the class. It's a three hour period on Mondays only. Granted, with the three classes we've missed it adds up to a total of two times I've actually been in her class, neither of which I haven't considered bringing a coloring book to ... actually... minus one because I left on the 15 minute break one day and never came back. It wasn't my fault, really. She was showing a video on the Big Bang for the second half and a little piece of me felt it was my duty as a Christian to not go. Yeah. That's it.

Anyways... I think my favorite part of the class thus far has been her asking the class what Hydrogen has (as in a proton or a neutron). I figured the class would respond in one unified answer, as if she asked how our day was.

Of course, then I remembered that I'm at Point Park, and no one knows...Including the teacher.

When no one answered, she looked around in a bit of disbelief. Someone let "neu...tron...?" slip from the corner of her mouth. The teacher's ears perked up and she agreed with a sigh of relief that someone knew.

Meanwhile, I'm in the back of the class in a bit of disbelief myself.

A neutron?

I sat there in shock. Complete and udder shock. It's like Big Brother teaching us that 2+2 can equal 5. I looked around the room for a periodic table of the elements, wondering if this fact had indeed eluded me throught my three years of chemistry studies.

Indeed it hadn't; they're just stupid.

So there you have it. Tonight, I am spared the evil necessity of bearing a class I absolutely abhor. A class that, instead of teaching me anything new, actually attempts to reteach me things I thought I knew with incorrect facts in their places. It's quite possible that I will become dumber from these three credits.

Tonight, however, I am spared. My brain cells rejoice in unified, ecstatic, jubilation.

Playin' Momma

2006-09-27T06:12:00.002-07:00

Several times throughout my daily Jacklyn Adventures, I've thought, "I'd like to blog about this." Unfortunately, I haven't managed to hide a laptop in any orifice of my body so that such strokes of genius are dealt with at the apex of their potential. In fact, I don't even have a laptop.

So instead, I'll have to settle for the moments I manage to sit down and write, and hope that something I care about eventually remembers to come to the surface.

Lately around here, I've felt a little used and taken for granted. It strikes me as funny because there used to be a time in my life when I never felt that way. I guess it goes back to a convo Cait and I once had, where she told me to stop doing things for other people for just one night and do what I wanted to do. From then on, I really noticed when people told me I didn't look out for number one enough. I'm not really sure how I feel about that... namely because Christ gave of himself without ceasing. I certainly hinge this attribute of myself on my faith. Unfortunately, it also makes me see a lot of people as generally selfish. I just feel that if everyone would spend more time focusing on each other and less on themselves, everyone would find out their needs are fulfilled regardless, and we'd all be a lot happier and less frustrated.

I've helped people around me with papers, homework, whatever, since I was young. I don't know what it is about predicates, prepositions and punctuation that gets me off, but it really does. Though I don't take pride in many skills that I have, I will gladly step up to something that deals with English and Grammar. It's not really because I'm talented, it's just because I care. Most of it is a matter of simple rules and memorization that a lot people never care to do.

It hit me the other night when I was helping Eric with a paper. As soon as both his roommates discovered I cared enough to help, I was automatically assumed room tutor; help one write his papers, help the other pass his science course.

It's not so much that I mind doing it, because I don't. I'm glad to help others when I can. The unfortunate part comes in when I meet people who don't give back... or even more disappointing is helping long-time friends who have forgotten how to genuinely say thank you because they're used to the help. Sometimes even more hurtful is being taken for granted altogether. It's when spending time with someone is seen as less special or even routine simply because you carve time out so often to be with them. It's an ugly and unfortunate truth. Where does that leave me? Do I stop hanging out with people in hopes that they'll realize that it's a concious choice and effort for me to spend time with them? Do I tell people no when they ask for me to stay up with them early in the morning working on a paper into which they've only invested half their effort?

As I matured, I realized that my mom's way of loving our family was in folding our clothes, cleaning the house, and cooking meals. The least we could have done was not only say thank you, but help her with what she did by setting the table, picking up after ourselves, or helping her with a chore without asking if she wanted or needed it.

I guess most of the world is really designed like ungrateful or ignorant children. I'm not sure whether they're just not aware, or whether they're apathetic. At any rate, I'm commanded to love and to not hold back... so I'll continue to try. I hope that I can be like my mother and continue to give of myself, with or without help or thanks.

Nugget, Anyone?

2006-09-09T14:01:00.000-07:00

Ever since I was in high school, I thought it'd be awesome to go to fat camp. I think this desire really just stemmed from the concept of going away a fatty and coming back a knockout. Now that I'm at Point Park, I finally have my wish.

There's nothing like an 8 am Stage Movement class to give you a good ass kicking. Last year I thought it sucked waking up for an 8 am Government class. Turns out real suckage is waking up and being told to do 7 one handed push ups on each arm. Yeah. Right.

So here I am at fat camp. There are even strategically placed beautiful dancers everywhere to remind me that should I actually consider eating the pizza in the cafe, I'll never achieve dancer hotness. I'm not sure if I envy them or I just want to beat the hell out of them.

I think the hardest adjustment so far has been keeping busy so that I don't feel lonely. I'll admit it... I miss my lock haven friends. It was nice to constantly be surrounded by people and places I knew. Granted, Pittsburgh has a lot more to offer for the nightlife, but seeing as how I spend my nightlife in the playhouse until 11 every night, that doesn't leave much room for adventures in Southside or anything.

I'm also experiencing for the first time the extreme saturation of a homosexual population on campus. Basically anyone I ever attempt to check out ends up being gay. Every class I have is a theatre one...and every theatre class is full of gay kids. They come in all shapes and sizes here. It's astounding. My gaydar has been going off so often that I don't even think I can tell who straight guys are anymore. Every single one just sets off the radar. It's reached a new level of hypersensitivity and I'm not sure that it will ever be restored to it's original pristine condition. I've considered sending it back and making good on the warranty, but I think it expired some time ago.

I guess the good news is that I won't have to worry about putting my energy into dating any time soon. Of course there's a portion of that thought that's entirely depressing. It's been so long since I've been in a real relationship or even been on a real date. I'm not even sure I have an interest in it at this point... I guess it's just that when I look around and see how many gorgeous girls there are on campus, I realize that even if I were interested, getting anyone to notice would be so much more difficult than I care to challenge myself with. I feel like the next four years will just be a series of working at the playhouse, doing my homework, and sticking my nose to the grindstone so that I don't ever feel lonely.

It's not that I haven't made friends, because I certainly have. It's just that the quality of people here is much lower than other places I've been. It's like comparing a good home cooked chicken to the old school McDonald's chicken nuggets. Everyone here is an old school chicken nugget. An old, crusty, dark meat, phosphate-injected nugget. And I don't want a nugget. To even find someone normal is a challenge in itself. Then, if you find one that's creepy-free, it's nearly impossible for them to have an ego that's in check. I've just never seen so many self-involved people gathered in one place before. I guess that's the downside of not having normal classes.

I'm not here for the people... I'm here for the classes and the education...which, by the way, is altogether lovely. I suppose I'll focus on that. It's not about the nuggets.

Pudges

2006-08-21T20:38:00.000-07:00

This is a post entirely born of my ever-increasing pangs of guilt in neglecting my blogchild. Thus, as it is relatively uninspired, I cannot be held responsible for any parts therein being full of material suckness.

Speaking of unwanted children, I've recently come to realize that turning twenty meant nothing would be instantaneously new for me (aside from no longer dwelling in the dark carverns of prime number-dom), something awful and disgusting has now surfaced at which my skin crawls with the mere confession: I've begun to... coo over babies.

THERE. I SAID IT. Yes, I still want to punch them in the face when they whine or their faces contort in that demonic fashion that signifies they either didn't get something they want or they just shat in their pants...but still. The fact that I lean toward a coo at all is humiliating.

Now, I'm very particular about coo-worthy babies. They have to be fat. I mean... crazy fat. The pudgier the better. In fact, I've dubbed them "pudges¹." I want them to be squishy and soft...almost like warm Silly Putty. I want to feel as if I could push my hand into their stomach and pull it back to leave an imprint.

Occasionally, I stumble upon a toddler I enjoy, but the physical appearance must be almost a complete opposite condition. I refuse to gleefully accept a fat toddler. There is simply no excuse for it. It sickens me. Bearing in mind the aforementioned requirements for a baby enjoyment factor, realize that this means that the chances of me wholeheartedly approving of a young person fluidly from the age of 0 to 3 are very, very...well, slim. No pun intended. In all reality, that baby would have to have the metabolism of Heidi Klum (referring, of course, to her startling ability to rid herself of the bread dough leftovers of childbirth before her Victoria Secret runway walk). And if indeed there were such a super baby clone, I'd most definitely loathe its existence after 5. Firstly, there's absolutely nothing good about the ages 5-16. Secondly, I'd envy the amazing body that I could never have without super human genes. Immature? Yes. Entirely founded and appropriate? Certainly.

This entire theory makes me think that perhaps hating children and babies and other unnecessary evils is un-Christ-like. Of course, we know from the song that Jesus loves all the little children. He didn't even discriminate. He loved all colors and all sizes. I, however, am more fashion-concious about my babies. I take them only in large. Any color will do...but only large.

Hmm...which brings me to my next consideration in the "Flaws of Jackie" series: Why I Automatically Dislike Most People. Eh...a bit hefty topic to cover now. Maybe I'll cover that later on.

^{1 The use of the term "pudge" and any inferences therein are registered trademarks of Eric Tuller Appropriate Terminology Fabricator Labs (all rights reserved). Any and all uses or extractions of this term or its respective inferences regarding overweight newborns without proper attributation to ETATF Labs will be subject to extraneous amounts of fines. Residents of Florida, Massachusetts, Maine, and of course, Canada, will also be subject to flogging. They know what they did.}

Pappa C's Funky Space Boots

2006-08-08T11:39:00.000-07:00

Learning to love myself (aside from a physical sense) has required me to acknowlege and make peace with the fact that I may never attain Southern Belle-dom. My mother probably had less to do with raising me than the overwhelming 60% maledom that was ever present in our loving Baker abode. Thus, certain parts of me will always be manly: my hands...my calves (which could kick your calves' asses by the way), and a few unrefined mannerisms. Try as I might, I still think it's wonderfully relieving to belch as loud and as often as I please...and to not say excuse me because doing so would display some sort of shame, as if there were something imposing about my belch.

My belches do not impose upon themselves.

My ovaries, however, are very much a result of my underlying and legitimate femininity and try as I might they still manage to give me the gift of uterine lining, and a baby half every month. I don't know what it is about this process that I can't quite get down, but I get ridiculously, absurdly, inexplicably emotional.

I used to not mind snapping at people every so often. It was understood (if not accredited to my personality automatically) that I was probably undergoing some sort of premenstrual syndrome or other. Unfortunately, as of late, I've stopped being mean and started crying. A lot. I've cried over many silly things at PMS time... the list includes (but is not limited to) an overwhelming feeling of loneliness, homework, and *drum roll* a hole in my sock.

I'm not even talking about a whiny, bratty sort of cry. I'm talking all out gnashing of teeth and hunched over sobbing in some dark corner. I just fold into myself and disappear for a good hour or two and bawl my eyes out...be it for the loss of a small portion of fabric in my footsie or the loss of a loved one. One really can't know the differenc if judging solely (ha...sole) on appearance. Thus, I deeply appreciate the half handful of friends who can handle such instances if they happen to be present, and who know that they must comfort me through the loss of my sock just as sincerely as they might comfort me over the loss of an immediate family member.

I'm wondering what the best method of attack is. I could, perhaps, rip out my ovaries and become even more physically representative of my inner man-dom. Unfortunately, that would stop me from procreating and polluting the world with my own speckles of terror in the future. I could, then, resort to illegal drugs including (but again not limited to) the reefer, the crack, the heroin, or perhaps the shrooms. Maybe I should start with the gateway drug and go from there: giggly sticks. If taken at the exact time of appropriateness, I could counteract the ovarian curse with my superhero narcotic power.

So there it is. I have to do drugs if I ever want to have children.

Feel free to send donations. Send it in a non-mysterious, totally non-suspicious looking box addressed to the Pappa C's Funky Space Boots, care of yours truly.

If you can't afford to donate at this time or are running low on your otherwise aplenty stash of non-mysterious, non-suspicious boxes, checks will also be honored until August 24th. Thank you for doing your part to assure accurate and expedient research can be done to alleviate the symptoms, if not someday the source of this outbreak.

But Not in Spirit

2006-08-05T19:28:00.000-07:00

Poor, that is.

I don't know who it was...some random dude on Comedy Central Premium Blend (which, if you're going to have any sort of blend, it's good that it be premium if not fruity). His general stance was that he has no pity for the homeless. Not because they're without homes, but because they're even. They're not in the black, but they aren't in the red. I agree.

Think about it. I'm in loads of debt. So are you. We all are- Visa, Mastercard, student loans...whatever (excluding rich kids...who, to the best of my knowledge, don't read my blog). In fact, I'm working this entire summer in order to attempt to dig myself from the trenches of credit card debt and go to Pittsburgh with a couple Georges in my pocket (I'm too poor to refer to them as Benjamins...because let's face it: they're not). Homeless people, however, don't owe anyone anything. In fact, every penny that they get from some wandering pedestrian on a street or alley is one more penny that they have than me. My pennies don't accumulate. They pay massive amounts of owed money.

I keep thinking that I should have done things differently to avoid such a situation. Unfortunately, thinking that way doesn't dig myself out of debt. Regardless, I've come to the conclusion that it is rarely, if ever, a good reason to look at the cashier when they give you your total and hand them a card or piece of paper that directs them elsewhere.

So about 3 more weeks of this and I'm off to pretend I believe in bigger and better things. An entire summer and I've literally spent about 5 of them with friends in the Haven. Actually, I think that may be an exaggeration. I've spent more of my summer taking care of two big drooly bears than aimlessly wandering the railroad tracks at 5 am or sneaking around the dike late at night. More about the drooly bears later this week. What scares me is my increasingly solidified notion that this is what it's like to grow up. I'd rather be a prime number again.

Homeless.

2006-06-18T01:49:00.000-07:00

This was not my original intent.

For weeks now I've been thinking that perhaps a clever attempt at wit was well overdue. Instead, it's nearing 5am on a Saturday night and I'm feeling reflective. You hate those, I know you do. It's not the innards, but the veneer that's more enticing. I have innards too. Let me put them on display for a short while.

I'd venture to say this has been the most life-altering year of my entire life. Seeing as how I'm creeping up on twenty of them, I'd say that's a pretty hefty claim. People tell me I'm a sort of emotional stronghold. Some people don't even think I cry. The funny this is that the ones who have (and many times at that) are the ones who tell me they think I'm strong. I love that about them.

I've been a bit of a mess, really. I've moved twice and am working on a third. I've come close to having separated parents and dangerously closer to losing a sibling. My friendship circles have been turned upside-down. My relationships are in an entirely different world. My finances have seen depths of ugliness I never imagined for myself. My future is altogether unpredictable, completely uncertain, and frightening as hell.

My current state of emotional stability and strength is yet to be determined.

Perhaps the hardest thing for me is not really having a home. Herein, I think, lies my deepest rooted issue. Where do I belong?

It seems against the natural order of life for parents to move out. Is it possible that I have empty nest syndrome? And then to depart even farther... to sever myself from all live-in family ties. Independence? A facade at best. What is it then? Where am I?

I think I'm searching for my home. I think that I miss permanence. I'm looking to the future and not knowing where I'll next lie down, where I'll come "home" to, and where I'll feel I belong.

Most of my life I've felt too mature for my age. Emotionally, mentally, whatever. As I approached twenty, I began to think that things had evened out...that I was finally in balance with those around me. That's when changes hit. That's when this year floored me. So much has changed, and so much pain has been necessary in order for me to grow.

So much for certainty.

Greeks Eat Babies

2006-05-11T11:35:00.000-07:00

So.

Alpha Psi Oh-my-golly-they're-going-to-eat-my-firstborn.

Well that's close to the name, I think. It's all a blur after the dark, mysterious room and the black clothes.

I guess I should start this all by reminding those who love me of my deep, deep disdain and instant scepticism for anything represented by Greek letters. Now, some Greek associations are actually prestigious, well-renowned groups that are honorary and respectable in some fashion or another. These groups are few and far between and often squelched by the existence of silly slutty/drunkard affiliations that serve as a hook-up spot for the lower class of college society who wish to hump within their own caste.

That's my humble opinion anyways.

I've already been a draft attempt of the latter; a girl in my computer course apparently took a look at me and decided I was soriori-slut material...so she invited me out to one of their drunken stupor gatherings. Needless to say, I decided against it, despite my huge bundle of anticipation for such an opportunity.

The former, however...that's what interests me. Teachers associations, academic groups, and (like the black-clothed, baby-eaters soon to be in discussion), theatre societies.

I was called to a professor's office to get my invitation. I was nominated into Alpha Psi Omega, an organization that claims to tap its members based on their theatre involvement. It's not just quantity, but quality, and is talked up to be quite an honor. Woot for me.

So I'm sceptical (surprise) but I decide to do as the invitation says: show up in the art gallery at a certain obscure time for induction. I show up and see a slew of other theatre folk who have achieved one thing or another this semester...and start to overhear something about how secretive this all is. Apparently (though I had no prior knowledge of this), the meeting was secret and we weren't allowed to talk about why we were there. So here we were... 10 or so theatre folk standing in the art gallery and wondering what was to become of us. I, however, was also fearing for my firstborn upon this newfound knowledge of secrecy.

I don't trust secret societies. It's not like the innocent "Girls/Boys Only" treehouse or the cliques from elementary school. It's the secret ceremonies...the underground affiliations (not counting Harriet Tubman's gig)... those are the ones that creep me out. Needless to say, at this point I was considering ducking out. Curiosity kept me.

So there we were... random people coming up and asking what we were standing there. Friends came up and inquired as to the occasion but we were vague generally apathetic toward conversation. Fifteen minutes later, we were summoned. We were told to get in a specific order, in which we would remain to enter the elevator and then the theatre.

So we're riding up the elevator...things don't seem entirely creepy...and then we reach the 3rd floor. The theatre door is opened to reveal a platform with just as many chairs as inductees, and blue on blood-red lighting. Dark, evil, baby-eating lighting. A friend grabbed my hand and asked me what was going on. Apparently something about our sealed lips and blank faces walking in a procession to a dim theatre caught her attention. I (only half-joking) asked her to save my child. She held on tight but alas, our bond was broken by the insistance of ceremony.

I followed in line and sat in my assigned chair. Out of the woodwork (or from behind the curtain, rather), came friends of mine who were already in the frat...all in black clothes and seemingly not themselves. Creepy.

They proceeded to follow a script as I searched about for an innocent lamb or goat. Try as I might, I spotted and smelled none. I saw no paraphanelia for sacrifice or substances for imbibing. I sat in a state of confusion and paranoia...and intrigue.

So we were asked to fill out contact information, told the history of the group, and told what was expected of us in order to complete initiation. Some nonsense about not being able to talk about what happens in the meetings or whatnot (I never signed anything) and the insisting of the goal of this group: to promote theatre on campus. Funny that's the goal and yet barely anyone knows of their existence...or anything about them...or who is in it. Curiosity raged on.

So after finishing the creepy mysterious Gregorian-like script, they all abruptly left us there, on stage. We all had a little nervous giggle to relieve the tension and began working on a folder of information required of us in order to further imbed ourselves in the cult.

Memorization of the Greek alphabet, singing the motto/song of the organization, a presentation, a resume, memorization of Shakespeare, signatures and meetings with all the existing members, memorization of the flower, color, badge, coat of arms, etc. of the organization, creation of a prompt book containing this information, the sporting of a ribbon for 12 hours a day until initiation, oh... and slap down 40 bucks.

So needless to say, I was out. How very kind of them to extend the offer a week before finals. And people wonder why theatre majors have bad GPA's.

I'm not sure if I'll be sacrificed for speaking out about what happened at the meeting. If something secretive occured, I must have missed it. Like I said, I didn't even see the lamb. If so, just let this blog serve as evidence at my trial. Please.

Sperm Blossoms

2006-04-19T16:57:00.000-07:00

ah, the sweet smell of semen in the springtime.

...Those are the words on everyone's lips anyways. Apparently the administration has chosen a lovely species of tree to line every lane with here on campus. It blossoms with the distinct perfume of semen in the springtime. That's right...our entire campus smells like sex. Chillingly appropriate.

How am I any authority on the smell of semen, you ask? As Sheila once said..."but...Jackie's vagina is full of cobwebs and it's probably cold and things."

True, Sheila. True. But remember my nympho parents? Remember? The ones who hump so loud that a date on my front porch actually asked what the moaning was inside the house? (Their bedroom window directly faced the porch. Lucky me. Or rather...lucky dates.) You don't think the smell of sex stayed contained to their quarters alone in a 2-bedroom duplex, do you? Of course you don't. I know the smell of sex.

On a completely unrelated note, I'm moving to Jersey Shore. I almost hate to say it. It's like saying I'm moving to Renovo or Orviston. Granted, Jersey Shore is like the winning queen at a drag contest compared to the other two (it rises above, but still...it ain't all that pretty), but still: we called their high school the Jersey Shore Whores. Ah, karma.

That'll be my 5th move in the last 3 years or so. Lock Haven to Mill Hall, Mill Hall to...Mill Hall, Mill Hall to Lock Haven, and Lock Haven to Jersey Shore. I'm just shacking up their with my brothers for the summer until I get out to Pitt. Should make for a good time. Hopefully.

Oh, and I made a pact with myself: to go to all my classes for the rest of the semester. You see, I've been slacking. I've undoubtedly missed at least 20 classes this semester. The result? As far as my grades go, I'm still fine. As far as knowing when tests are? Not so good. I skipped Sociology 3 times in a row and came back to a test...which to me was a Pop Exam. Granted, I got an A on it by the grace of God alone, but still. I'm sure it took years off my life in stress alone. So I'm doing the class thing. Every one, every time. I've decided.

So that's it. Life of Jackie unwound. Well...the less important parts of it anyway.

Oh, and if anyone can find a kitten or cat that's all white with black paws, a black stomach, and a black chin, please randomly abandon it on my front porch. I'll name it Lalo. Then I'll have yin yang kittens. Lola and Lalo. It'll be glorious. It's my new goal.

Well...that and the class thing.

The Mythical Christian

2006-04-12T08:59:00.000-07:00

The only thing that sucks more than making mistakes is realizing that your testimony to others is also tarnished.

It's impossible to be perfect... that's the whole point of Christianity. But alongside the terrible gut feeling I get when I do something I realize has hurt others and is wrong, I also realize how bitter those people can become toward Christians. After all... if Christians are just as terrible as everyone else, what's the point of being one...right?

Well I suppose that's exactly the idea of the whole thing. We're just as terrible as anyone else...and we've sought forgiveness for that fact. We don't think we're special...we know we're not. I don't expect to sin any less than the next Jane Doe. I try pretty hard, and hopefully that helps, but in the end? I'm just as terrible and filthy as the next person.

If there were such thing as a perfect Christian, there would be no need for Christianity.

All we can do is recognize our mistakes, seek forgiveness from all parties involved, and move on. Right? Such is life. ...and such is Christianity.

"Let's Talk About Shit."

2006-03-04T19:35:00.001-08:00

It's the opening line of a monologue in Nickel and Dimed, which I saw this evening. Coincidentally, it's a good one-liner explaining my long absence from pampering my blog child. There's no easy way to talk about hard things in life...and making a mockery of them (as you know I'm accustomed to doing) was really, really inappropriate. Basically, if I'd have posted, each day would have been something along the lines of that opening one-liner: "let's talk about shit."

All in all, I'd say I did you a favor. You can thank me later. For now, let's recap.

Things that happened while you were disconnected from my life: family issues, a 34 hour drive to Florida and back, auditions for the shows at school, a severe shift in my social circles, moving out of my parents' house, my parents moving out of my parents' house, my antisocial cat becoming social, and an audition at Point Park University.

Crazy shiznit, eh?

This has actually been the most life-altering 6 months I've ever experienced, I believe. At points, it was hard to not just take my sarcastic ass and shove it in people's faces when they were rude to me. If I could have just poured all the crap that was in my life into their ears for just 3 minutes, I felt like they'd lay off me a bit. But alas, who wants pity kindess? Not this girl.
So I'm back.
You know, of all the things in that list, I think the biggest event is the fact that my 15 year old cat has finally gotten out of her habit of lying like a cold aborted fetus in the corners of dank, stale hallways in favor of being a social butterfly. She's apparently walking around my parents' new place as if she's a real oxygen-breathing feline. How 'bout that?!

Or maybe it's the fact that I moved out. Finally. You know, since Jeremy came back home after he moved out, I think that retracts his initial move-out. That technically means I'm the first kid to move out of the house....and I'm the youngest. How 'bout that? And moreso, since my parents actually moved out on my brothers thereafter, they can never ever have the joy of moving away from the parental units. My mother and father were crafty enough to snatch that moment of glory from them. Sly dogs.

Auditions at school went well. I got the part of Audrey in Little Shop and I about lost it when I saw the cast list. I literally teared up...I really wasn't expecting it. I worked hard on the part though, and I hope I can do my momma proud. I was also given the role of Improv Captain this semester. The theatre thing is going well for me. Support, however, is not. But hey...that's a whole 'nother blog for a whole 'nother day. Or maybe never.

As for auditions at Point Park, I'll know in about a week. I'll get a letter of rejection in the mail...which I think should be in pure black with blood-red writing. It would fit the mood better than forest green on white. Green on white acts as if nothing just cut into your soul and stole away your childhood dreams. It doesn't reveal itself soon enough. You don't suspect green and white. It's forest and clouds, grass and picket fences, inchworms and cobwebs. But those Point Parkanese know what they're doing. They're out to crush you. Sly dogs.

So it's me and the cat in my new shack. Oh, and the two housemates who have completely opposite schedules of me. Works out nicely. I've grown accustomed to talking to the cat when I'm the only one home. I ask her questions. When she doesn't answer, I continue interrogating her in higher pitches and with more force and repetition. She has yet to answer me. I have faith.

There ya go, kids. That's my life as of now. Hangin' in the new abode, crazy talkin' to my kitten, disconnecting from my family, and about 2 weeks away from staring at an empty wallet, a rejection letter, and a cupboard stacked full of high sodium, low budget ramen noodles.
Bring on the adulthood.

I'm it...Ghetto Style

2006-01-21T08:58:00.000-08:00

I kizzle I neva do these saggin' but I git tagged all tha tizzle fo` them...so I figured tizzle maybe Id do one every so often ta pleaze tha masses. This ones in honor of tha playa Lori fo gettin her pimp on. Since theyre bor'n ta a lot of people, Ive gone aheezee n taken tha liberty of putt'n it in ghetto-speak...coz its eternally fun.

4 Things

4 Jobs You Hizzle Had in Yo Life:
1. Kmar
t2 mah nizzle. Mary Kay Beauty Consultant
3. LHU Bookstore
4 . Keep the party crackin while I'm steady rappin'. Receptizzles at Eagle Ford

4 Movies You Could Watch Over n Ova:
1. Ferris Buella Day Off
2 bitch ass nigga.
A Christmas Story
3. Monty Python (any of them, really)
4. The Princess Bride

4 Places You Have Lived:
1. M-to-tha-izzill Hall, PA
2. Lock Haven, PA

...I have no 3 n 4 fo' real. how....sad.

4 TV Shows You Love ta Watch:
1. Battlestar Galactica
2 . Relax, cus I'm bout to take my respect. Whose Line Is It Anyways?
3. The Showbiz Show wit David Spade
4. Family Guy

4 Places You Have Bizzy on Vacation:
1. Atlanta, GA
2. Bitch NY

...and againI hizzle no 3 n 4 now pass the glock Anotha dogg house production..

4 websites you visit daily:
1. Gmail
2. LHU
3. Facebook
4. Blogs

4 of yo favorite foods:
1. Pizza
2. Cheese Steaks
3. Chocolate
4. Steak

4 places you would ratha be right now
1. The Mizzy (wit money)
2 spittin' that real shit. In Bed
3. The Theatre
4. On Vacation

4 Bloggers you tag
1. Prerana
2. Joshua
3. Steve
4. Megan

I Know Why the Caged Vagina Sings

2006-01-09T23:43:00.000-08:00

So it's 2:42 AM and I can't sleep.

Yeah, I know, I know. I'm usually up at this time...what's the big deal, right? The big deal, my furry friend, is that I've actually laid down 2 times and been unsuccessful at an attempt to sleep. I've failed at sleeping, one of the most basic functions of a human. I've failed at existence.

Okay, I'm over it.

So it's been a bit since I've done active bloggery. I think the overall feeling of my entire vacation can be illustrated with an example from a single night's activity: Christmas Eve.

My parents had sexiled us. For those of you unaware, here: sexile: (v) to banish other sentient beings around you who otherwise have rightful claim to wander such territory for the sole purpose of humpage. Got it? All right. So the kids were sexiled for the evening and my parents had planned to lure each other into bed using a steak dinner. We didn't know where we'd go for dinner or even for entertainment. But after the Christmas Eve service, we were darn hungry with no place to go. We drove everywhere. Who woulda thunk it, but everywhere was closed. Duh.

Oh wait, there was one place. Sheetz.

That's right. Christmas Eve, and I'm in the MTO line, ordering 2 cheese steaks and a ham sandwich to go with the leftover macaroni from my parents' pre-sex meal. (Yes, they had steak and macaroni and cheese. Here at the Baker House, we only get half-classy). I tried to make it fun...calling it a "Shmristmas Shminner" or something. But then, somewhere between coming straight through the door and right to my room, apologizing for not obeying the sexile order because there was nowhere to go, and gnawing on my "made to order" Christmas cheese steak, I remembered... Just because I put a Sheetzy "Shm" on the beginning of my meal doesn't make it festive. It makes it suck.

The fun part was seeing families from the church service that had stopped at Sheetz for gas on the way home. They saw me in line for food. They probably thought I just couldn't wait for dinner and needed a "premeal." Maybe they thought I was a particularly hungry girl. Maybe they even thought that I was just grabbing something before starting a good trip to my grandparents' house where I'd eat a hearty Christmas Meal. I know what they weren't thinking. They weren't thinking I was sexiled.

So that sums up the winter solstice for me. Don't wanna be home, but really don't have anywhere else to be.

My cats are duking it out again. I'm waiting for the day Lola realizes that Jazz isn't holding back on her...she simply isn't equipped with claws anymore. That'll be the day when Jazz is no longer with us. Good thing I'm getting Lola out of here this week.

Oh, right. I'm moving out. *sound fanfare*

Finally.

After years of curfews and crazy ridiculous "you were already out once this week, you can't go again" rules, I finally get to just do whatever I want. I always thought the rules were a bit absurd simply because I'm the kid who really gives the least amount of trouble to the parental units. Or maybe it's because there's absolutely no logic to the rules. I'd plan my week out mathematically to ensure that I hadn't gotten out too many times and would be able to indulge in a weekend's worth of jolly fun and get something like "No. You...ate bologna the other day." Around that time, I began to catch on. There was absolutely no logical or mathematical formula that could calculate my escape. Their response to the rule objections is "well...you're a girl. It's different." Apparently the mystery behind my caged vagina will be revealed to me when I become a parent myself. Actually, I could write a memoir when I come to that realization. I'm thinking some sort of pun involving Maya Angelou's I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings...but a "singing vagina" isn't exactly the right imagery I'm going for. But hey...let's face it... if I'm gonna get raped or stabbed or attacked by a wolverine, it won't be in the middle of dunkin' donuts at 3 AM with 10 of my best friends.

So now I get to fend for myself. That's actually a little daunting, just because if you recall, I don't have the best habits of a highly effective and independent person. For example, for a while, I was under the understanding that doing a load of laundry was required only when all my underwear was dirty. Then I matured a bit and realized that it was altogether unnecessary. Now I just buy more underwear.

Yeah. That's me. Living on my own. The girl whose friends accuse of stashing a hobo in the back of her car because that's the only thing that could excuse such an accumulation of crap.

Speaking of which, I should clean out my car before school starts. Maybe I'll find money for books. Unless the hobo spent it, in which case I'll be very mad. If he had money, he should have bought his own food, not waited for me to throw my leftovers in the back seat.

I Like Cinnamon Best.

2006-01-02T13:00:00.000-08:00

I know, I know... I haven't been updating and I said I planned on getting back on a regular schedule. But you know, I tend to blog about silly little insignificant crap in life... and lately all I've been given for material is the real hardcore stuff that I can't really publicly mock.

So when Life slows down a bit and stops handing me ginormous pieces of crazy information to deal with, I'll be back.

Soon my children. Soon.

Blankets, Babies, and Beastiality

2005-11-25T15:17:00.000-08:00

It'll make sense...trust me.

I've been thinking that since I'm mostly Native American, I probably shouldn't even take part in this "Thanksgiving" nonsense. After all, while white man was eating turkey and "maize," we were dying of small pox blankets. So I suppose this holiday really is about giving... about giving thanks for small pox infested blankets that will obliterate your people. I mean cmon...blankets? We couldn't have suspected blankets! They're so innocent. You might as well have infected babies with SARS and chucked them into crowds of Native Americans. That's right. SARS babies. And don't even get me started on what you did to the buffalo.

So there's that... and that the whole process of preparing a turkey is so disturbing. It gets anal raped by a hand. Anal rapage... Anal sex of any sort between any two entities (be they human or not) is just wrong. It's an out hole, not and in hole. Imagine if turkeys ate humans. You croak and they spread your legs, flip you over, and have one turkey hold your feet apart and the other turkey shove bread up your butt. Then they bake you and take it back out. Disturbing? Exactly.

So now that I've blamed you for killing my people and anal raping turkeys, maybe it's time I move on while I still have your attention.

I'm glad the break is here. I don't really care why there are breaks these days...I'm just glad that I have them. If they wanna start giving us time off for Kwanzaa, I'm all about it. Just get me away from classes so I can sleep and get my life back in order. Back in order, you say?

I realized it was spiraling downward when I sat in front of my computer the other night at about 3 in the morning with an entire bag of white cheddar cheesy poofs and a partially emptied half gallon of juice.

I finished them both.

As for the rest of my disarrayed life, it's pretty much not up for publishing... which is the reason I haven't posted in about a month.

So here's to the break; whether it be granted us for the passing of blankets, babies, or beastiality.

The Virgin Whore

2005-10-31T02:12:00.000-08:00

(and my baby, Bob)

The thing that amazes me about gossip is that no one can avoid it. The more sparkling your reputation, the more people want to believe terrible things about you...and of course if you're anything less than perfect to start with, it's all the more believable.

So I meet this guy who's pretty cool, and we happen to watch all the same things and be into the same hobbies. Awesome, right? Right. Now, I can't exactly date him because he's Jewish. That's not to say that I hate Jewish people (contrary to popular belief), but to say that my entire reason for existence is something he doesn't even believe in. Obviously, I'm not cool with that. Makes for awesome friendship material though.

Apparently, you can't be friends; you have to be having sex... and not only that, but I'm obviously a Jew-hater because I won't date him for his Jewishness. Whaaaat?

I know the people that actually know me are laughing their butts off at this... I mean cmon... if I dated a guy for 3 years and abstained from sex, why would I run off with a guy I met a week ago and start humping his brains out? I guess it just goes to show that wherever this stuff is coming from, it's obviously a source who doesn't know me well enough.

I do have a child, however.

That's right; call it immaculate conception if you will, but I've got a baby. Since Astyanax decided to stop showing up for practice, we replaced him with a baby doll (who turned out to be a much better actor). Gino, in his attempt for the overachiever award of the year, thought it'd be a great idea if the baby could look as realistic as possible. The solution? Bob the Builder!

Anyone who knows their Bob the Builder trivia knows that the toy has a button on the stomach, which, when pushed, will make inspire Bob to hammer and go about his daily construction chores. Unfortunately, Andromache didn't give birth to Bob the Builder...and while he may possess the means to "rebuild Troy's towers and walls," he leaves little to be desired in the realm of heir to the throne. Call me crazy, but I think his resume only has one thing to offer; impressive construction experience.

So, I obviously can't hold Bob up to Ulysses (like Simba in The Lion King) and shout "Look! LOOK!" and ask him not to kill him. That's preposterous. Besides, Andromache could give birth to such a well-cast piece of plastic, but I think the audience would recognize the fact that this would have been painful, and would also make one question the nature of the father. Perhaps Billy Bob is a few chromosomes short of stable.

Enter Gino...who rips the head off a perfectly innocent baby doll, rips the head off Bob, and exchanges them. The result? A cute baby head who kicks butt at construction. We wrap him in swaddling clothing and whatnot (think Moses) and I push his stomach. He begins to build...which, through the cloth, looks like he's pawing at me in discontent. Yay for mechanical babies.

Of course, when I say "one day, he shall rebuild our towers, our walls, our home," I find it increasingly difficult not to burst out into a raging torrent of laughter.

Oh well... unlike the last two candidates for the part, at least this Astyanax has some sort of reaction; even if I do have to punch him in the stomach a few times first.

I Don't Even Like Baseball

2005-10-21T05:20:00.000-07:00

Got outta practice early today.

8:30, and I was headed to Joshua's house to finally spend time with him. Our recent nights of me reading Shakespeare silently and him programming silently but acknowledging each other's simultaneous presence just hasn't been my idea of bonding time.

My door opened funny... I thought nothing of it. It was cold, and my car's been through a lot. I don't want to expect to much of it, so I just eased it open far enough to get my butt in, and headed to Josh's. Once I got out of the car at his place, though, I thought I should check to see if it was the cold or whether it was something caught in between the metal that was causing an issue.

There was; it's called more metal.

What's that, you say?

Oh, that's just a picture of my car after the apparent hit-and-run it experienced while parked today. Thank you, anonymous apathetic criminal. I appreciate your compassion and concern.

I suppose the real fun I had was when I called to report it. I called 911 and asked for the local police. They didn't put me through. Instead, they took all my information (even though I let them know it was a casual call about a hit-and-run). It took them some time to realize why I was no longer at the scene. No, not out of sheer stupidity, but because I didn't notice it in the dark when I left the scene. Apparently, I should have been harsher on my car. Though it's been through a lot, I should have been suspicious of it and checked the door for it's malfunction. I just... I didn't want to anger it or make it feel bad about itself.

So the 911 kids took my number and said I'd get a call or visit from an officer. I got a call from a local, asking me all the same information I had just told the 911 kids. Fabulous, the communication that goes on.

Picture it: I'm half-dead, hiding under my bed from an axe murderer. I fumble through the details of what I can recollect in my frazzled state of mind to the 911 dispatch, only to get a phone call from the local officer asking me to fill him in because he wasn't exactly paying attention earlier. the axe murderer hears the phone, hears me pick up, and listens for talking. Lo and behold, he discovers my hiding place and hacks me to little tiny bits. All I can do is hope the officer is listening this time.

Exaggeration? Certainly. But if we can't get this right for a car, how are we supposed to get it right for an axe murderer?

I mentioned that the damage looked like the size of a soccer ball... As if someone just threw a soccer ball really friggin hard right at it. I did this because the insurance company in my last endeavor of this sort, asked that I relate the damage to a ball of some sort. I chose soccer. The officer's response? "Wait now, back up... now first you said it was a hit and run and now you're telling me someone threw a soccer ball at it?" Oh, yes, officer. I called to tell you that a 3-year-old relentlessly bashed the front of my car with a soccer ball kicked by his little impish appendages so many times that I can no longer open my door properly because of the damage. I'd like you to arrest him immediately.

So I manage to finally tell him all the details I told the first chap (after convincing him that it's indeed a hit-and-run...no recess equipment involved) and he says he can't help me. He'd have to see the damage for himself; we can't just have people calling in claiming they were hit by something or other, silly.

Looks like that axe-murderer bit wouldn't work out all that well for me even if the cop were paying attention on the phone. After all, we can't have everyone calling in, claiming they're being hacked up into little tiny bits, now can we?

Soooo I take my car down to city hall (because I countered that it was indeed possible for me to show him the damage as proof...smart kid that I am). He gets all situated and gives me a little insider's scoop on how to take care of that dent. "Oh yeah, somebody hit you all right" Oh...that's the concensus? Good thing I came.

So they'll file a report and I'll get to see a little snipit in the paper under police news. I'll save that for the scrapbook.

I wasn't even really mad. All I could think of was the hours of labor and the hundreds of dollars I put into replacing my front quarter panel on my car after my accident... and now it's back in shambles. SHAMBLES! I don't want to go through all that paint color matching again.

The rest of the night was good though.... I made some good conversation online tonight. This morning, I suppose.

At this point, my bed is gorgeous. Pristine, even. The only thing that almost ruins it is the glow of impending doom from the alarm clock.

Luckily, I have my soft little "microfiber" blanket I recently purchased at Wally World. It must come from factory that has its own little lamb farm where it raises lambs and then boils them for their precious silken lambskins and coats to make my "microfiber" blanket...which is really wal-mart-speak for "made from fresh boiled lambs."

Mmm...Sweet sleep.

Please Don't Make Me Touch Him

2005-10-08T01:44:00.000-07:00

He hates me.

I even tried to do the high-five thing when he came on stage and called him short stack like other, "kid-friendly, kid-approved" people do. He ignored me. If you have no idea who I'm talking about, it's probably time you clue yourself in.

He's my kid, and I'm sending him off to his death because I have no choice. I'm crying, he should at least think about the idea of conveying the concept of being slightly blue. I'm screaming and offering to have myself killed in his place, he's standing there. Staring. I give him one last kiss and hug before he goes to die, and what does he do? He has a cootie problem. That's right. He's no child actor. Not in the least. He's a kid the director snatched and thought he was cute. The result? A 7-year-old kid is being sent to his death and all he can think about is whether his mom has body lice.

I don't have body lice, just for the record. I keep telling him I don't like touching him any more than he likes touching me, and that he should be happy I at least take my lip gloss off before I smooch him on the forehead. Hey...I told you. *Sticks sign on self* DOESN'T WORK WELL WITH KIDS.

I actually was told by my director to "hug him tighter." I don't want to "hug him tighter." The kid is sticking up his nose and not even pretending to hug me back. How am I supposed to even pretend that I give a crap if he goes off stage and dies? At least then the acting will be easier.

The most fun part of the show is the stage combat. That's actually always my favorite part. The best segment of this is when I get to do a groin kick to the guy who's been throwing me around like a rag doll on stage (at my request) and leaving bruises. As a result, I look like I get beat either by my boyfriend or my father. (My mother just simply isn't husky enough for that kind of business...then again...neither is my boyfriend). I like to make sure I wear short sleeves and ask a lot of questions in class. The reactions are hilarious. It's like some sort of morbid fascination/curiosity takes over people and I get to watch them have an internal monologue about how they think I got them. Glorious.

All right, as much as I love our time together, I really must get a few hours of sleep before I go run the downtown bookstore again tomorrow. I get paid to do my homework essentially, because I get about 10 customers in 5 hours. The downside is that if I fall asleep on the counter there isn't anyone to wake me up except a customer, who probably won't want to put their chosen items in a pile of my drool before I ring them up... and I don't know how to give them a discount for their "damaged" items once the drool has done its damage.

Finger Lickin' Good

2005-09-19T00:01:00.000-07:00

It seems that quite a few people actually read my blog, because for the past *insert days of hiatus here* days, I've gotten emails, comments, etc. telling me I should post regardless of whether I was forgiven or not. As much as I missed blogging, it felt good to know that if Tom ever visited my page, all he'd see was my apology... and then it felt amazing to see he actually read it and forgave me. No, we're not on the best terms... but there's a little patch on the leaky boat now.

So I'm back. I'm staring at my room full of crap I need to pick up, read, or throw out. I had to watch my step on the way to my desk because the 5 feet of floor space surrounding it is concealing precious valuables beneath the heaps of dirty laundry... and yet I'm back. I'm blogging instead of doing things important. Ridiculous.

Actually, I came to the conclusion the other day that I can no longer do wash based on when I run out of underwear. That used to be the deciding factor...because I'll wear a shirt twice without it being washed, but nooo way am I wearing dirty underwear. Unfortunately, that measurement no longer serves its purpose. Now, I just buy more underwear.

So that means I need a new motivation. I've realized recently that the family is always out of clean towels just about the time I need to do wash. It seems they're all in my bedroom.
Unfortunately, I did a load of towels (they're easy to spot because of their big, fluffy attributes) and I still have only done one single load of wash that will do nothing more for me than save me a couple bucks on underwear.

...That's not at all what I intended to tell you. I intended to tell you that I got the supporting lead in the fall mainstage show...which is very cool for me. I actually like it a lot better than the lead and put it down as the part I wanted the most on the form before auditions. (Yay)
Of course, the downside of that up is that there's a 7-year-old in the show.

He plays my son.

For all those not understanding the complication with these statements, please reference "I'll Shake Babies."

So with that in mind, this is going to take a lot of acting on my part. Am I incapable of feigning love for a hated creature? Find out...come to the show (plug to be featured later).

After a good discussion of serial killers and baby-drowners (ease up..it was after a class in survey of dramatic literature discussing Medea and the like), a friend of mine and I came to the conclusion that my nickname would be Shake 'N' Bake. He says because I could shake them and bake them. I say because my last name is Baker. I don't want to eat them. The whole point is that I don't like them. I don't even care if babies are tasty or not; I'm not interested. We had this discussion in the Freshens Smoothie Line downstairs Bentley. After a while, we realized that no one was talking...they were just staring at us like we were crazy baby killers.

So that's what the back of my honors Tshirt for '05 will be (if they accept the order because I'm late with it)... On the back? "Shake 'N' Bake." I'll walk down the street and stupid people who don't know me will think the nickname is due to a fondness for the method of preparing chicken. Those who do may venture a guess that it's just a nickname joke because of my last name.

Only the people in the smoothie line and the faithful blog-readers will know the truth.

Ode to Tom

2005-08-29T03:50:00.000-07:00

...A few thoughts on hypocritical Christianity.

Alas, I've yet again neglected the blogchild and put other priorities before it. These include but are not limited to: finishing the last day at Eagle Ford, visiting a college, gathering application materials, chiseling away at my summer to-do list, figuring out what to do with my car, fretting over Josh's spider bite, welcoming him home for the first time in two months, seeing my friends before they left to conquer the world again at their respective colleges, and tending to the 8 new holes in my mouth.

Apologies all around.

Given all those priorities (time-engrossing as they were), it's obvious that I have ample material with which to feed my blogchild. Instead, I'm going to make this post what I expect will be my last. It will not contain mockeries of my life or anyone else's... only a gross truth about myself and an apology I'm not sure will ever be accepted.

On Friday, December 10th of last year, I visited Lori and Tyler in Altoona (PSU). I'd heard a lot about a friend of theirs that they couldn't wait for me to meet. I'd had an image of this person before I even saw them and they spent the evening (along with others) showing me the details of their imagery so that I had an eyewitness account to his attributes.

At breakfast the next morning, Tom (their friend) and I got in a religious discussion that we were somehow or other thrown into as a bit of a spectacle. Turns out Tom's not one for religion, except for that of bowling (which I think he meant as a joke but I'm not quite sure).

The night before that breakfast, I went to Lori's room and wrote a blog about Tom. I'm sure a few of you remember it. No, you can't access it now because I've deleted all the junk I wrote about him. It now is entitled "I'm a Jerk." I took what I'd been told about him, and what I'd seen, and used my blog as a mockery. I'd said nothing to Tom about these jokes or what I thought of him...not that it would have justified doing it in the first place.

I've felt pretty terrible about it for a while, but tonight I made a joke that Zach (friend of Tom's)was going to turn into Tom (who seemed to play video games a lot) because he was playing Madden instead of talking to me. Tom was over the screen of course and had a few choice words with me.

He had a lot of points...I'd venture to say all of which I agreed with and all of which were accurate and terrible. A lot of my jokes are at the expense of others. What kind of a Christian am I?

I come from a family where joking is the norm. When I gain weight, fat jokes come out. When mom and dad are heard having sex, we definitely talk about it at the dinner table. It's bonding, it's love, and it's obviously a family trait that's best left to the family. Turns out that I don't transition so well with others...I'm just plain rude. Tom actually put it better, but I'll spare his terms.

Hypocritical Christian. Talked to him about religion at the breakfast table and made fun of him online behind his back. He's right.

I've hurt a lot of people in the past. Some I don't even know I've hurt...and I'm sorry. Some I do, and they won't accept my apology because it's too late...and I understand that.

I'm not proud of the mistakes that I've made in this respect. I think it's disgusting and it disturbs me that I called myself a Christian and thought it was funny to make jokes at the expense of others. Turns out that when God says not to judge others that he doesn't just mean not to point at their sins and weigh them in comparison to yours, but not to judge their appearance, their actions, their language... anything. Don't judge, lest ye be judged. Period.

Tom isn't talking to me. I don't blame him; I wouldn't talk to me. At any rate, I don't plan on blogging again. I intend to keep this post here until Tom sees it and forgives me or talks to me. It's my hope that someday he can forgive me. I understand entirely that he wouldn't want to and even better understand the fact that he could think I'm full of it right now. In the event that he doesn't ever hear from me again past this blog entry (which I fully expect and understand and am actually miffed that he might even read this far)...I'm so very very sorry, Tom. I don't even know you, I didn't know you, and unfortunately now I might not ever get the chance to actually know you. I judged you, mislead you, and mocked you. Thanks for the honest remarks about my actions. Because of you, I hope I'll never do this again in the future.

I'm sorry.

To the rest of you: take lesson if you're like me
forgive me if you're not.

Thanks for being a reader; maybe someday I'll post again.

-Jackie

Gettin' Some Pussy

2005-07-30T12:45:00.000-07:00

haha.

So I was finishing up at the Rec Center about a week ago when Meg gave me a ring on my cell stating that I needed to get to her place when I was sufficiently sweaty to see the kitten she was harboring in her house. Apparently, she found it along the side of the road and took it in as her own. Upon hearing there was another left there, I suggested we head back and try to find it.

We did... and it was a hoot.

...or a meow.

or a mew.

never mind.

You see, we had one kitten already. It was in our hands. That's when Meg dropped it and we tried to use it to our advantage (no, not that she was brain damaged; that she could call to the other one in the bushes). We thought she'd come back to us with no problem considering she was practically making out with our necks every time we picked her up. Unfortunately, she turned out to be a bit of a frigid b*tch... well...that's a female dog, not a cat. Tomcat is a boy...

one sec.

*google*

Hmph. Seems we live in a patriarchal society or something.

So anyways, she was a mean female kitty. Although what we believed to be her sibling was in the bushes as well, and calling to her, she just laid in the sun and closed her eyes- just out of reach of Meg and I, and just blatantly ignoring the sibling...who, by the way, we couldn't grab a hold of either because it was so scared.

So I got a hold of the kitten again (the one mocking us while sunbathing) after a good 30 minutes in shrubbery and bryers and such. I had cuts all up and down my back and legs, and almost called it quits when I cut myself real well on my finger and had blood all down my hand. Silly me, I still went after her though (albeit I found it increasingly difficult to not refer to her as "you little sh*t" after her frolicking through poison ivy and thorns before me).

I got her eventually. Not her sibling, though. I really really tried, but one kitten was all I could retrieve from the wilderness. Meg even did a McGyver thing and took off her One bracelet, slipped it around the kitten's neck, and then linked the dog chain she had around the collar. So here the little thing was, a furry little statement for poverty and the aid effort in Africa, and there I was looking cut up and bleeding like a poor African in need of aid. Love: how sweet.

So after seeing my cuts, my parents finally let me have a kitten. She costs a ton of dough, however. When I brought her home she was sleeping all the time, getting remarks like, "she's so well-behaved!", "oooooh, how cute!", and the like. Now she runs around like the healthy hellian she is. Whee.

I also had to take a trip to the doctor since I had poison ivy all over my limbs. Funny that her vet trip cost about 100 smackos but my doc visit cost me 20. That's America.

So in the end, it would have been better to just keep a hold of the first kitten and not to try to use her to bait her sibling. Of course, I don't believe Meg's intention was to allow her to fall to the ground, but still...the lesson here is obvious: a cat in the hand is worth two in the bush.
No, this isn't my hellian. I think it's something that showed up for an open call for Star Wars. It's funny though, and kinda makes me want to put a lime on my newly acquired pussy's head.

The Baker Bunch

2005-07-22T01:19:00.000-07:00

We'd have a theme song, I'm sure. Definitely not a jingle. We're not jingle people.

So the fam's currently all under one roof. It amazes me how many things have changed since the last time that was really true. Not since the last time Jeremy (oldest cookie in the batch) came home, but since the last time we were all really here...not going about our separate lives and running out and not returning 'til midnight or later (like Wendy's drive-thru). There was a time when mom actually made dinner and we all sat down to eat it and talk about our day.

I bought two frozen pizzas tonight. The microwaveable kind... less time in house=more time out.

So Jer's home. Then he's off to Florida. He's never been to Florida...just sounds good to him and all. Silly Bakers and their rash decisions and quick judgements.

Mike (middle cookie) and I (freshest cookie) tried to show him a good time tonight. We went about our Lock Havenite ways. Jeremy's response? "Smells like crap. Don't you think it smells like crap?"

Yes, it does, and yes we do. You're not in the ghetto anymore.

Then again, how "ghetto" can any section of Pennsylvania be? Aside from Philly or some parts of Pitt, William Penn and "ghetto" just don't jive.

Jive? Too much That 70's House for me.

So there we three cookies were, cruising around the "strip" and ending up at Wal Mart (ah, the ingredients to every social gathering in these parts), where I spent more money. That's my fifth time there this week (which Lori and Laurel so kindly point out each time I'm there).

Oh, news. Right.

Josh is coming home :)

For all you who don't keep tabs on my life (and I'll assume that's a large portion of you these days) Josh is in NY and has been gone for a month and a half. He's stopping by next weekend for a day or so. I'll be entirely selfish and keep him to myself.

Hopefully *rubs hands together*

Ew, not for that. I'm plotting.

I assume he'll be here for the duration of a Saturday...which is an 8-5 day for me. That means if he's here and spends time with me, he'll do so at Eagle Ford. Cute.

I'll give him fair warning though. Chances are he'll realize how unappealing that idea is and go chill with Steve for the day (every dude needs to reaffirm the status of his manwife counterpart after long absences). If I'm lucky, I'll see him for an hour or something.

I really didn't expect to see him for another month yet. That was good news for my exercise regimen. A whole other month to feel the burn before I actually care about how my results have come along. Now I've got a week left.

Maybe I'll wear a tent dress.

Stupid 70's House.

All right... I need sleep if I'm gonna hit the gym tomorrow. I don't think he wants to come back to a girl in a tent dress. Luckily, he's been at a boy scouts camp...so I'm gonna take a guess and say I'll be the best thing he's seen in a while regardless of whether I look better or worse than when he left simply because I'm a female.

Then again, those boyscouts are pre-pubescent.

Pimpin'

2005-07-20T01:00:00.000-07:00

There comes a time in every East Coast jalopy-owning girl's mind when she asks herself... "Hey...why don't I pimp my ride?"

My time was yesterday.

You see, I don't live on the West Coast. That's the most important factor for pimpination. I thought at one point that Xzibit could indeed come make fun of my car and take it away to the land of pimpy reincarnation. Alas...he can't. Unfortunate, indeed.

Almost 165,000 miles on that sweet child of mine. (Okay, I can't help it... that song is always playing at the SRC in the morning). It's not ghetto fabulous enough to be featured on the show anyways. I mean it's getting there...it's an old man. But I doubt that a glaring white quarter panel (installed to replace the original one I ruined in my wreck), a couple dings, a water-stained roof, a "not-so-automatic" window, a broken handle cover, an unrecognized CD player, a cherry-stained backseat (thanks Anna), a lack of air conditioning, rust that is spreading like cancer, and a gas tank I believe to be leaking (please don't spread that around), is even enough to rival the crap trophies they rejuvenate on that show.

Thus, it's left to me.

I channeled the essence of Xzibit, went to Advanced Auto and Wal Mart, and bought what I thought would take the least amount of money for the most amount of change. I wanted to get rid of the brilliant white panel and do a little custom interior.

Solution? A can of spray paint, some sandpaper, and a new steering wheel cover.

Oh, and I cleaned it out too.

I can't say it's spectacular, but I can say that I feel like I'm going incognito when I'm out now. People have to actually look at my face and not my front end to know if it's my little jalopy coming or not. I call that success. Plus, I like to think it's appreciative of the time I've put into its appearances. The last thing I want is for it to get angry at me. When it's angry, it eats money.
----
On a completely different note, I heard interesting news at the dealership today.

A week or so ago, I came in for the evening shift and asked a salesperson what was new for the day. She informed me that she had a very intriguing pain in the butt come in and ask for a car that morning. To make a long story short, she changed her mind very often, came off as a bit insane, and was quite testy.

An hour later, I got a phone call from a woman who asked for that salesperson. When I couldn't get a hold of them, I asked if she wanted to leave a message. Ooooh did she.

I was to tell this salesperson that she "wasn't a very smart girl," that this woman thought "she was very good" and that she'd "better see that Focus removed from her credit." Fabulous. She was screaming the entire time but I kept a calm receptionist-esque voice and tried to accurately say her last name back to her. I got it wrong. She screamed louder.

I passed the word along to the salesperson that they aren't very smart, and we assume it's the last we hear from this lady.

Wrong.

She comes in the next day, asks if the Focus is still available, and when the salesperson says yes, she hugs her and looks as if she'll burst into tears. She mumbled something about the Women's Center and sat down to wait for the deal to begin.

As the salesperson humbly agrees to work with her (after all...she's not very smart), I take a moment to observe the specimen before me. She seems to be over 50. She's small and disjointed in her ambling from here to there. I begin to hear her talk to herself as I think, "she's crazy or something." Something or other about how her shoes are terrible...not very good, whatever. It's raining and her feet are wet. What terrible shoes. She'll never buy them again. I glance down to note her footwear.

Sandles.

Right.

I'm almost giggling to myself but I'm too busy taking notes for future "crazy characters" I may have to play. That's when she takes out her purse and stuffs her hair into it.

Let me say that again.

That's when she takes out her purse, and stuffs her hair into it.

You see, when she came in, she had quite a bit of hair. It was one of those typical over-50 color choices: not quite brown or amber, and odd enough to look violet in the sun. It seems it was just for show, though... because most of it was easily removable. Portable hair, easy clean-up. Interesting.

So with her shoes off and her hair... in her purse, she begins to deal with the salesperson upon her return. She bids her farewell when it's over, and I believe (with some doubt this time) that it's the last we'll hear from her.

I talked to the salesperson today. She called this woman to update her as to the status of the deal only to be informed that she wasn't home. I believe the words she heard from the other end of the line were that she's been "put away."

Seeing as how she's not an article of clothing, I believe that means she's crazy.

Cool.

Jackie's psycho-dar strikes again.

No Blow Jobs for Me

2005-07-13T01:54:00.000-07:00

Contrary to all prior expectations, the anniversary of my birth did not suck...or blow (the only cake I had today was without candles).

So 2 decades ago (less a year) my mother practically ripped herself in two (and perhaps did) giving birth to a log named me. Remember the Ren and Stimpy log song? "It's looog, it's looog, it's big, it's heavy, it's wood. It's looog It's loooog, it's better than bad it's good! (everyone wants a looog)..."

So maybe everyone didn't want me. For starters, my own mother...who, seeing the 11.5 pound toddler who had just erupted from her volcanic uterus, cried. Not tears of joy. Oh no. She cried because she thought I was a boy. Only boys are big, right? After all, Mike and Jeremy (the two brothers who weren't accidents) were 9 lbs and some change. Surely something over 11 had to come with a penis.

No...I have a vagina. A heavy one.

*sigh*

So I spent 18 years working it off. The weight, not my vagina. I contend that baby fat is difficult to rid one's self of. That and I ate a lot.

I was an awkward child- to everyone but myself. I dressed like a walking yard sale and thought it was cool to stand out. Crazy overshirts in 3rd grade, neon green shoes in 4th grade, leopard pants in 7th grade, a purple boa in 9th. Oh...and soccer socks in gym class to match my outfit every day. That was 12th grade. I suppose I never really grew out of it.

Mike (the 2nd brother mom wished was a girl as well) was always convincing me to have better hygiene. I never quite caught on to that daily showering regimen until somewhere in middle school. Brushing my hair until I glide the brush through it effortlessly came to me as an epiphany, not as a given. Charming child, I was.

I had enough achievements, but not enough kindness I think. I'm still working on that. I spent so long coming up with defense mechanisms and funny things to say so I wasn't dismissed for my looks or lack of charm that I got a little too hard-edged. I'm still trying to soften up a bit...maybe someday I'll be nice. Now I can't quite find a level of appropriate self-esteem. I still find it amazing that anyone could even find me remotely attractive. Sad, I know. Confidence is sexy or something...and I do a good enough job faking it I think.

Back up. (Mariah Carey "Wait a minute this is too deep (too deep)") This has gotten way too personal and pathetic. I won't delete that since this is always stream-of-consciousness. This has never been about throwing up my insides online...it's been more like throwing up the sarcasm I held in all day in my attempts to be nice.

So kudos to those who made my day cool; Shane, Meg, and Joc for the flowers, fake kitty, and apples (helping my endeavor to avoid cake); Mike for the digital camera (waaaay too much money for me!); the boys at the dealership for the ice cream cake (though they only needed an excuse to buy more ice cream); Prerana for the phone call at work (nothing's better than Pre on my speaker phone at work); Joshua for calling me at all (rare these days); Dev for the visit and the awesome card and gifts (she always chooses the best cards; and the parents for the dinner out, the gifts, and pretending (or are they?) to like each other again (I don't even know what's going on there anymore); and everyone online who changed my wall on facebook or sent me a message on AOL to wake up to :).

Oh, and no thanks to

Caitlin, who didn't even call...Best friend my left arse cheek.
Jeremy (other brother...also desired by mom), who calls me every July 14th to wish me happy birthday because he never marks down the right date on his calendar.

Surprisingly good day...surprisingly odd number to be at. Nineteen...what good is that?

Frankenstein's Bride

2005-07-06T22:49:00.000-07:00

Yes, it's that time again. FPM's: Fat People Motivators.

So the holiday break was a whole lot of running around and not paying attention to what went in my mouth. That's not to imply that I went around passing out blowjobs like a candy parade, but rather that I ate a lot of unhealthy things. Pervert.

Thus, an FPM is in order. They're so much better in spandex.

Life's been joyful lately. A bunch of silly things I never imagined myself doing...like going to a sleep tank and meeting an online person in real life. Ooooh the joy.

The sleep tank was a real hoot. Nothing's better than curing yourself from sleep problems than a neurological test center. Apparently, sleeping away from your natural habitat to be put in a room with cameras (kinky) microphones (just borderline gross) and wires (...bondage?) is the first step toward help. It sounds more like the first step to becoming a dominatrix sex offender.

I filled out a 10 page questionnaire about my sleeping habits, times when I'm likely to fall asleep, whether I forget things, etc. while my "sleep attendant" (also kinky) talked to me about the things that would be attached to me that particular evening: 2 wires on each leg, 1 wire for each side of the chest, 2 belt straps under the breasts, 1 glowing wirey apparatus taped to my left index finger, a nasal wirey bent thing under my nose, and 12, yes...12 wires attached to my head and face. Sounds like slumber to me.

She scored my head with a red pencil (which I believe she had the consideration to freshly sharpen pre-scoring...how kind) then she put a mysterious gray tacky substance on the wire suction cups and stuck them to my body. All 2000 parts of me (or so Lever 2000 claims). Theeen she taped some things on with masking tape.

All that extra sticking power makes for a real fun wake-up call. "5:30 AM...time to rip off all the junk you wrestled and got tangled in last night." I tell ya...I almost leaped out of bed to let her have her sadistic ways with me except for the fact that I was bound by a myriad of strategically placed wiring and belt straps under my breasts.

Results come soon. I hope they say something of worth.

That was pretty taxing to write.. I think I'll hold off on the "meeting of the online entity" until next time, kids.

While you wait, go sign up at your nearest neurological testing center: "Turning perfectly normal terrible sleepers into sadistic sex offenders almost daily."

Kitty Butter Crunch

2005-06-23T01:29:00.000-07:00

...wait. That makes it sound like it's made out of kitties. Or perhaps some sort of kitty secretion. No, that's not it at all.

You see my mom sent me to Weis the other day for their huge "10 for 10" sale. It's big. I'm talkin' huge. Old ladies, young ladies, middle-aged ladies. (That's..."never used wrinkle cream", "beginning to use wrinkle cream", and "hoping wrinkle cream is working") everywhere. I'm questioning cart etiquette (do aisles work like streets?) and flipping through coupons for 2 cents of my next 5 boxes of Snifflesnort or whatnot when I see that cat food is also part of the "10 for 10" deal. It's really rather misleading because you don't have to buy 10 at all. I think it's just a tricky way to weed out stupid people from shopping at the store. Then again, I assume smart people know cart etiquette...and in that case, it didn't work.

Right...the cat food.

So my mom has these coupons for Friskies or Hornies or something and I notice that the "dental hygiene" cat food is covered under this sale. Yeah...I know. Who thought that your kitty's teeth were such an area of concern? They never are until you have to decide their fate based on what kind of cat food you get them. There are balanced meals, weight control meals, shiny healthy coat meals, healthy heart meals, urine tract meals, and dental hygiene meals...which was the particular choice I made on this day. Yes, my cat may suffer the plagues of kittendom all throughout her body, but by goodness her teeth will be brilliant.

I got 3 bags (or 4 or 5) so I hope she likes it. I can't really tell if she likes much of anything. It's like asking a homeless guy if he likes Corn Flakes or Special K better. Who gives a a crap? Yes, I can compare my cat to a homeless guy.

I've really spent far too long on this subject. The point, of course, is that it looks like Reese's Peanut Butter Crunch. You know, the candy you can eat for breakfast? Well, thin girls and chubby children can. Fat college girls should abstain... and opt for the homeless guy's bowl of Special K (2 bowls daily for advertised weight loss).

I have peanut butter and toast...but that's irrelevant. Except the peanut butter part...because it's in peanut butter crunch, which is what looks like the bowl of cat food at the bottom of my stairs. I constantly have to remind my college girl self (and the chubby child within me) that it's indeed cat food and probably doesn't taste the way it looks. My willpower is dwindling.

I made dog biscuits the other day (read: 3 weeks ago). It was just this dry mix that I put with water and mixed together...then I flattened it out and cut out little biscuit shapes. Ceaser loved them. And my dad was so intrigued by the thought of cookies (for I indeed placed them in the family cookie jar) that I got him to eat one. I did the medieval test (baker eats before king) and spit it in the sink when he wasn't looking. He ate them and questioned my baking skills and then realized what had happened. Glorious.

Speaking of puppies and biscuits and things, Josh is in NY for the whole summer. I'll be graced with his presence again at the end of August, when I'm scheduled to get 8 teeth removed. Yes, 8. 6 wisdom teeth and 2 extras. I'm wise, mofo.

So I guess I'm in a long distance relationship for a little while. That's unfortunate but a nice growing opportunity or something like that. I missed his call tonight because I was sleeping. I took a six hour nap. I think I'll have another. Night.

Thanks be to Henry

2005-06-14T18:39:00.000-07:00

So...Henry Ford

One of the many Americans featured on "Greatest American," which recently aired on the Discovery Channel or some other educational fiasco like that. Perhaps good ol' Henry is the man because he was innovative. He created things such as the assembly line and the car or something.

The car. Hmm. The reason for my current summer job: Eagle Ford in Lock Haven. In fact, I'm getting paid to sit here and type about it right this moment. One of my "superiors" (clad in a pink polo shirt he's already been made fun of for...by yours truly) is sitting beside me, looking through the Lock Haven Express and House and Home flyer for hot women. Hot younger women, that is. He recently pointed to a picture of a portion of the cast for "Best Little Whorehouse in Texas" and said he might have to go see it. Translation? He'd like to get his hands on a piece of little girl ass. Turns out he was talking about Caitlin Antram. HAHAHA. Ooooh that's good stuff.

We often talk about religion, Tom and I. He says we get along "handsomely." A lot of the guys in this place are a piece of work. Almost every single one has asked me whether I'm eighteen or not... Once again...Translation? "If my penis just so happened to fall into your vagina, would it put me in the slammer?"

What's fabulous about this entire conversation I'm writing up right now if the fact that my superior is having a conversation with me as I simultaneously type about him. Ahaha. Lovely bits. Lovely.

So this is my only source of income now; Stan fired me or something like that. Big shocker, right? Actually Stan didn't; his wife did. For quite a long stretch of time, Stan and I didn't have perfect schedules for this whole house cleaning bit. He would tell me he needed me and I'd be busy that day or I'd be available and call at the "expected time" and he'd be doing geezer aerobics or something. Then when I had finals, Betty told me not to worry about coming out to clean... but during finals week Stan called me to ask me to come out and got frustrated when I was a bit confused by the lack of communication between then. It got to be quite ridiculous and I wondered how I'd continue to clean the urine crust and poopish explosions with any amount of joy for the next 3 years of my life. Thankfully, as I was unhappily vacuuming the upstairs living room, Betty meandered her way up and started to "uh" herself through a firing process.

"Uh, Jackie...uh...do you have a moment?"

("uh's" aren't uncommon for Betty. She used to be a speech teacher and somehow she hasn't mastered the filler concept even in her old age).

"Yeah sure" *turn off vacuum*

"Uh...so Stan and I uh don't uh, well we're gonna be needing uh a lot of uh work done uh around here uh and need someone uh who's really available uh. Do you uh have another uh job where you can uh make money uh this summer?"

"Oh yeah absolutely. I work down at Eagle Ford as a receptionist. I kinda just do this here and there on the side."

"Oh, well good. Uh. Good. So then uh, you won't uh need to worry uh about coming out uh then. Uh maybe we'll use you uh or give you a call uh here and there uh when we might need uh you later in the summer uh or something like that. Uh."

"Okay, that's fine." *Cue vacuum*

So...well for the most part that conversation is accurate. Not verbatim, but accurate; and I can assure you it's probably lacking in the "uh" department on Betty's part.

So I finally finish for that day and Stan ends with a "So give us a call when you get a chance to come out again Jackie."

...which left me confused but apathetic regardless.

So Stan calls one night at 9:30 pm and asks if I can come out again the next day.

"Jackie, you don't work on Wednesdays, now is that correct?"

(Stan has a lot less "uh's" than Betty but is a little heavy on the "Well's")

"Yeah, that's right."

"Well then could you come out tomorrow?"

"For what, Stan?"

"To clean the house."

"Um..Stan I thought you let me go."

"What? No, no, I didn't let you go. Did I say something to make you think that?"

"...No...Betty did. While I was cleaning last time, she told me not to bother with coming out again because I wasn't available enough and you were going to find someone else."

"Well I'm sorry if you got that interpretation."

"...okay..."

"Well would you be able to come out tomorrow then?"

"No Stan. When you let me go, I filled in my schedule accordingly and I really don't have the time now."

"Well all right then...Sorry you got that interpretation and so I guess we'll look for someone else."

"Okay."

Ha. Apparently "Don't worry about coming back" eans something different to a speech professor. Maybe if I'd taken her class, I'd understand the "hidden meaning" behind those words.

So there's another stress in my life that's dumped :). Yaaaaaaay.

Not to say that life isn't stressful. Family issues have come up and they're never fun. Maybe more on that later.

Actually, I'll do a rain check on blogging the rest of my life as well. I think you've had enough for today. Carry on.

Ridickyouluss

2005-06-11T01:35:00.000-07:00

Crazy... I haven't blogged in so long.

This isn't even a blog...this is a post to acknowledge my lack of postage. Once I steal Josh's laptop and bring it to work, I think I'll begin to get paid to blog. *rubs hands together in fiendish-like fashion*

Okay, but I'm alive. I don't do the AOL thing lately because I'm simply used it as an answering machine...which can be found on my phone. My cell phone serves as a permanent one since I never put minutes on it, and my home phone is my effective one. I've also found that people can't harass me about never being there if I'm truly never...there.

I think this is mostly due to the fact that I have a life now. This is the first summer I haven't slept away...I actually get up and do stuff...like work out and clean up the house and go to work. Amazing.

I'll be back eventually. Really, I will.

Oh, and Shane?

*blinks twice*

Poodles and Whores

2005-05-02T01:52:00.000-07:00

I saw a big fluffy curly ugly dog today and had a revelation.

..."Poodle" sounds a lot like a little pile of poo.

"look!...a poodle!"
"ew...there's a poodle"
"mommy I have to poodle"
"what a cute little poodle."

And now on to less important things.

Let's back up, shall we?

Banquet: While I didn't get the UP awards I was nominated for, Rookie of the Year went to Shawn and he dedicated it to me...which was awesome and cool all at once.
Gino, however, made his own categories and handed out awards...he called them the ONIG awards. Clever. The cool thing about those is that they recognized things like the most dedicated, the life savers, etc. I got nominated for physical exertion in a show (dagger fighting in Rashomon), and won "Just Because You're Beautiful and Amazing"...which I think I'd rather have over all the rest anyways :)
They then announced the shows for next year : Trojan Women and Little Shop of Horrors. I still don't know how I feel about them, but I'll be auditioning nonetheless.

Concert: LHU had their annual concert : Vanessa Carlton and Sugarcult. It was an awesome show... the only thing that was unfortunate was the fact that Vanessa belongs in a coffeeshop and Sugarcult at a rage fest, thus half the audience was less responsive than the other in both cases.
The guitarist threw his pick at Meg and I's feet. She got it. Jerk.
I got all the autographs...and then washed the jeans with the ticket in it. Retard.
I got my ass grabbed too...by Megan. Lesbian.

Summer: Got a job as a receptionist...I think I already told you that but it's now official...I start Thursday.

Summer CRAP: as for the jobs I don't want... there's that whole cleaning bit. A friend of Stan's (remember the looming vaginas over the living room? that's stan)...called and asked me to clean his place to. I said yes because I'm stupid and spontaneous like that...and now I have TWO houses to clean for the rest of my life.
Funny...the first time I tried to make it to this dude's house, I was looking for 258. I couldnt find it for the life of me. There's this big void between the 220's and the 300's...as if the houses said "screw it" and got up and left. I went home, called the guy and said I couldn't find his house. He muttered something about directions that was incoherent and ignored by yours truly. I eventually found out it was 25, not 258. Hmm. Then I overslept...so that's 2 days I said I'd do it and didn't...and he still didn't let me go. I went today.
He doesn't believe in mops apparently. Oh wait...yes he does, because he has like...6 dry mops. (wtf do you need a dry mop for?) He has swiffer sheets without a swiffer broom... and no wet mops. I washed every floor on my hands and knees: downstairs and up.
When I was done, he said he had dinner with Stan the other night and Stan said he pays me 8 an hour. Stan didn't even START ME at 8 an hour. I started at 9 and now I make 10. I explained this, he almost seemed not to buy it. I wanted to point out that I have a perfectly functional 18-yr old brain...something that Stan can't honestly say for himself and thus the reason for the misconception. However, if I go to Stan's next time and find out he's actually reduced my pay because he's old and doesn't remember, there'll be no more cleaning toilets for Jackie.
Miscommunication is my biggest issue with this all. Stan and his wife seem to never communicate. I'm constantly told to clean something by one and later to ignore it by the other. For example: I called Betty to tell her when I was available next. She said don't worry about it until after finals. I said lovely, and we moved on. I called Stan (double checking the "dude friend's" fake address...) and he asked me when I was coming up this week. *smack forehead* And then he sounded bothered when I mentioned what Betty said.

Blah.

next?

I don't like the new Black Eyed Peas song.

Don't Funk With My Heart? ... they even edited it on mainstream. I think because it sounds too much like Don't [Procreate] with My Heart...but that's yet to be determined.

Mike's graduating...that's lovely.

Dad's getting commissioned to do a stone piece for quite a bit of money, which is nice as well. It's apparently a result of the recent Art Walk downtown. Groovy.

Shane's home from college...also groovy.

I have to paint a sign for VBS, sing at 2 formal events...and I think that's all the obligation I signed up for so far this summer. (minus the house cleaning job from sex-injected hell).

Caitlin and I are going to be workout buddies apparently. She's in Best Little Whorehouse in Texas at Millbrook (I told her she was typecasted) and I told her she should get in shape if she doesn't want to play the fat whore.

haha.

OH...I suppose I should say something about finals.

I have them, they're hard.

1 Spanish, 1 History, 1 English (paper), 1 Theatre (paper), 1 Gender and Performance (paper).

No, I haven't started any of the studying.

...or the papers.

...hmm.

NIGHT!

I'll shake babies

2005-04-21T01:36:00.000-07:00

I'm a horrible mother. *holds up right hand* I vow to take better care of my blogchild when school is out.

For now, I'm trying to keep up with facebooking everything and everyone in my entire life. It's crazy shiznit.

Hmm...new things.

Got nominated for both my performances this year for Performance of the Year. That was pretty freakin' amazing. I realize I won't get voted the award, but I'm completely honored to be nominated. Jackie's a happy kiddo.

ummm...got a new job as a receptionist at Ford on Bellefonte Ave. I'll be answering phones, sounding happy, and trying to make people think they'd like to continue in their decision to buy a car because the lady on the phone sounds happy. It's just for the summer (which is lovely) but I can't go to church camp. That's enough to make me cry in itself...

Anyways, I'll have an income again... Stan is home so I'm back to cleaning once more, and now I have another "client" as well. I'll be starting to clean for him this coming week. Hopefully he isn't fond of naked chicks on his walls and sex figurines with holes and pegs.

Finals are coming...impending doom, etc.

I just finished Model UN...got a pic in the paper and a spot on the news (yay for news and paper). Aaaand I just signed up to be a judge in CM's writing fair this year.

blah blah blah, right?

Right.

Night!

Plugging and Such

2005-04-06T00:34:00.000-07:00

No, not the anal kind.

First, and most importantly, a shameless (non-anal) plug:

A Midsummer Night's Dream

Sloan Auditorium

TFS, April 8, 9, 10

8:00

Free for LHU folk (with ID)

$5 for foreigners

This production is in its last week running and has had nothing but awesome reviews. Set in the 1920's, Shakespeare's characters will take on a personage unlike anything you've imagined in English class. It's definitely a must-see and the best production LHU has done in years.

aaaand now on to my life. Let's hear the run-down, shall we?

Done: I scheduled for next semester's classes, put together a skit for the church spring day that later fell apart, got a script (first practice tomorrow night) for the replacement skit, wrote a bunch of papers, did a bunch of crap, started working out, started eating a lot better, drained checking account, developed an affinity for mcintosh apples unlike ever before, cleaned my car (though still haven't returned donations from Christmas that are in boxes in the back... I kinda like the hobo look), got slated to do the VBS sign for church, visited my brother in philly, got asked (and had to turn down due to lack of time) to be on ticket as treasurer for the SCC... hmm...am I out?

Current anxieties: Eng. paper due Wednesday, keeping workout schedule toward end of semester, finishing up honors hours, knowing what to say yes and no to for next semester (I tend toward self-destructive chaos) doing well on my final monologue, holding my 4.0 in light of my crazy history teacher and my crappy english teacher, keeping up the gusto to attend the spanish class I now view as a hemorrhoid, finally returning the boxes of crap in my car to their rightful owners, making a skit work in 3 days, cleaning Stan's house (he returns on the 10th), sending out all the letters and crap I've been to stubborn to take care of for quite some time now, singing for the regional ladies' Christian conference, singing for Shanna's wedding, doing VBS sign, wondering about whether I'll ever be able to do Study Abroad, a job, this summer's plans...aaaand I think that's it

So there's my update. It's quick, it's shameless, it's effective. Lovely.

Kanadia

2005-03-27T01:38:00.000-08:00

What's with the maple leaf, anyways?

So...Canada was nice. The falls were lovely. They're still falling, in case anyone is interested.

Oh...I suppose I should begin with my first spring break before I indulge you on my second.

My first spring break was an opportunity to go to the Philly Museum of Art. Shane and Caitlin were accomplices in crime...we almost died about 2059 times because Caitlin Antram is the world's worst driver. Need proof? She actually came to a dead stop in the middle of an intersection, and wondered why cars were coming at her.

It proved to be a good time, all things considered. We saw the Dali exhibit, and I learned more during those few hours than I ever imagined I would. He's actually a more amazing artist than I thought prior to my visit. It was fabulous.

A lot of stuff happened...annnnnd I'll just zoom to the past weekend, because it's much too complicated/boring/involved for me to care about at this point.

Oh...well my Art class got worked out slightly more. Instead of my withdrawal, the vice president agreed to give me credit, which is quite nice. I'm thinking about taking it to the President for a grade since I've made it this far on the appeal ladder anyways, and the fact that the VP agrees with my position (demonstrated by him awarding me the credit) shows that I have a worthy case. *shrug*

I've been looking into transferring of course.. a lot of junk there to sort through there that I don't particularly feel inspired to indulge in either.

So my second spring break was spent in New York near Rochester. I went with my parents as they celebrated their anniversary (that is, they humped every night). We went to a hobby shop that's grown to be quite big up there, and went to Niagara Falls. I'm not sure if the falls were more interesting than the appeal of the customs officers or not.

There are so many questions and they ask them so rapidly. They're demanding, but you're not quite sure if they suspect you or are just trying to keep you on your toes. They made mom roll down the back window when they saw something moving in the back (me). I wanted to rock back and forth and speak Spanish, but I decided it was best for the sake of time if I just shut up and answered questions. My mother did well enough on her own anyways. When asked her nationality, my mother actually replied, "Pennsylvanian."

Canada was lovely. It wasn't quite what I expected, however. I practically tube feed myself with Comedy Central, so by the age of 18, I'd anticipated a big burly man or a very massive hairy woman with bacon in one hand and a hockey stick in the other to welcome me with a big ol', "Welcome to Canada, eh?" Needless to say, I was slightly disappointed.

Almost everyone there spoke a different language because they were all visiting the falls. The Canadian side is so much prettier than the American side. Of course since it's so cold, there were some great ice formations around the falls but I still wished it were a bit warmer so we could have gone on the Maid of the Mist. Maybe I'll take a trip up in the summer. I want to go to the butterfly garden too...I've heard it's great. I have to admit though that it was lovely to have a limited amount of people there.

Sooo I'm back home.. I think I'll take the dog in my luggage next time. He would have made great company while I was alone in my room giggling at Spanish soap operas while mom and dad did a little bit of Barry Manilow action.

All right... tomorrow's Easter! I hope my dad comes to church, but I won't get my hopes up too much; he only comes once a year and I'm thinking I should save the request for Christmas.

Regardless, I hope everyone enjoys the day and remembers that it's not about eggs and baskets. I'm glad my parents aren't doing that this year. Candy is nice, but I'd rather focus on Christ than gnawing on a chocolate bunny's ears.

Another Kit Kat, Anyone?

2005-03-22T13:41:00.000-08:00

Um... I planned on actually updating, not faux-updating...but I'm leaving for NY for the 2nd spring break in about 2 hours and I have a class to go to in 20 minutes...SO that's a little out of the question :)

Regardless...I'm gone for the rest of the week. Mental breaks rock.

Niagara Falls, Canada (eh?), Crazy Egore's, and a whole lotta hotel chill time.

See ya when I get here...even though I'm secretly hoping I get stuck on Canada's side of the border...just because it'd make for good material.

Like a Kit Kat

2005-03-11T03:00:00.000-08:00

...an entire one.

Break means break: no work, no obligation, no motivation.

...until the end of the week (tomorrow) when I realize I have to do all the work I've been denying the entire time. But until I get that motivation, I refuse to blog about anything. Mostly because it requires exertion of energy. Complaints from the peanut gallery will get you no where. Patience is a virtue

...and the name of a few undeserving young girls.

Tennessee and Mrs. V

2005-03-01T23:55:00.000-08:00

tonight was opening night.

Well...the first act (being the show) went relatively well. I say relatively because the play isn't all that fabulous to begin with. I know I'm supposed to like Tennessee Williams but I really don't...so there. I've said it.

Suddenly Last Summer is no exception. Or maybe it is an exception simply because I believe it's my least favorite of his plays. Don't believe me? When it was over, someone in the front row just said..."What the F*ck?"

...I wanted to walk up to them and look them straight in the eye with a hand on their shoulder...and say in my deep southern-stage-voice-accent, "I know- believe me: I know."

It sucks to have the show running the same exact week as midterms. The only one that really scares me is my history test...and that's because he handed out the sheet with the possible essay questions on it and I realized at that point that although I consider myself a capable, intelligent being who has paid attention in class and probably taken the most thorough notes of anyone... I can't recall a single thing he lectured on that has to do with those questions. Oh, and then he mentioned that he might ask us about the book we're supposed to be reading (leading up to the final paper)...which I haven't touched since the 20th page. We're supposed to be on almost 200 by tomorrow. It should be fun.

I can't wait til spring break. Granted, I have a whole heckuvalot of things to do over the break...but LHU only has me going to school for like... 9 days in the month of March. Somehow I've already wrapped myself up in a great number of things that will make my break not seem like much of a break at all. But heeeey: summer's creeping up fast, right?

So since I've got a lot on my plate that I don't feel like blogging about, I'm just going to use this as a fancy way to shamelessly plug the show on the world wide web.

* A Night of Tennessee Williams

Feature: Suddenly Last Summer *

Sloan 321 *

* Countdown Theatre

March 1-3 *

8 pm

Come see it... I hit people with a cane and get pushed around in a wheelchair. What's better than that? You can't get that kind of fulfillment from a night on the town... I don't care how slammin' your social life is.

One for Chuck

2005-02-21T22:29:00.000-08:00

Life hurts a lot lately. No sooner do I find a way to cope with one obstacle than another just pounds me right back down. I know that God only gives us challenged we can meet..."As thy days, thy strength shall be in measure." I know it's in me.. it's just been tough lately.

It's time to see just how strong Jackie is deep down inside. Or rather, how much she can rely on God for her smile instead of herself.

Something about Wesley Forest.. that place is so full of the spirit and I love the thought of even going back. In fact, as soon as I got the forms in the mail for post-senior-high camp, I made sure I hit up Jason to see if he'd be there. I convinced him I'd get enough "cool" people to go and we made a deal we'd show up...even if it were just him me and Lori.

Something about that place...you don't even have to live near or hang out with those people any other time throughout the year. For some reason when you come back, you can just pick right back up where you left off.

Jason... I was really looking forward to seeing you in Wesley Forest this summer. Now, I'll look forward to seeing you in Heaven. I'll do my best to remember that you're with God now, and so I need not cry. At least now you'll really be able to know before Nancy whether Jesus approves of Steven Lynch songs. Play your guitar nice and loud for those angel choirs, and make sure we can hear it down here, too. I'll be listening...and maybe someday you'll be my accompaniment up there too.

...Here's to Jason; may he dance with delight before the Lord for all eternity :)...at least until we all get there to do it with him.

Strap it On

2005-02-16T22:42:00.000-08:00

Your metaphorical seatbelt, not that!

I lay low for a couple days and before I know if I've got ample blog material.. a superfluity of it actually. Strap in kids, this might be a long ride.

I stopped by to talk to Gino the other day... I've had this whole transferring thing on my mind for far too long. Each day I'm more convinced it's what I need to do. To make a very long story with a lot of options very short... I can either pack up and go to Hollywood or NY and start running the 10 year treadmill until I get known enough to be "a star," Stay at LHU and come out with an impressive resume (since I've been told I should be able to sweep leads every semester), audition and attend conservatory theatre programs in the hopes to get my name out there while I'm yet in school, or... well let's just say there's a lot of options and only one little Jackie brain to sort through them all. I think I know what I'm going to do, but I'll be darned if I'll say anything about it until I've chewed on it long enough in my brain to sip it through a straw.

Don't ask about the ridiculous metaphors. With all the reading I've been doing for my Gender and Performance class, the comedy shows I've been watching in Orientation, and the southern Tennessee Williams I've been speaking, I've become chock-full of stupid statements.

Eddie Izzard is my new infatuation.

Speakin' of which (SLS, that is) I have to be off-book tomorrow night at rehearsal. HA! Yeah... "line?"...."liiiine?"...."uh....line?"

That's what I'll have. Oh well...we'll see.

There's a new addition to my pink/orange haired, withered-bosomed lady friend: A squint and deformation to the left side of her face (from a stroke)... This character just keeps getting more and more interesting. We got the official wheelchair today. Needless to say, that's a darn good time.

Oh! and the fake cigarette. It poofs when I blow.

There's a lot of cool stuff going on for University Players. I'm doing a BOWL A THON! ...that's right. I bowl, you give me money. You can pay me per pin, per strike, per spare, per point... whatever stipulation you want. Anyways, if you wanna sponsor me, pleaaase do. You can even give me a penny if you wanna be a cheap bastard!

And if you want a meatball sandwich (homemade, goooood cookin') to help support UGRPC, The Women's Center, and the SPCA, order one! 5 bucks.

Um...what else am I haggling people for? oh... if you want to donate to the initiation of a White Student Union that Erin and I are going to be the only members of, please let me know as soon as possible. (Well, all credit is due her, but I'm sooo a member.) The proceeds will go toward our books, and T-shirts...which will be appropriately labeled "More Power to the Crackers." *complete with Saltine mascot*

Hmm... oh.

Spanish class today...we're doing subjunctive (of course)... the kids in my class can't even conjugate the present tense verb in the beginning of the sentence correctly, let alone attempt to fathom the concept of subjunctive tense. *sigh*

Ummm so I haven't been to work in oh, three weeks? It's become nearly impossible for me to balance everything right now. I'm so sleep deprived that something always ends up giving in. .. so it's usually my tuesday and thursday mornings...which are the only times I don't have class. Nonetheless, I think I'll go tomorrow (if I can)... I'll just walk in and pretend I've been there all the time for the last 3 weeks. They're old...they won't know, will they? The problem is... if I go to work all morning and then go to my honors things all day, and class, and rehearsal... I'll be back to Friday...and I'll just have to stay up all over again and catch up on the weekend...only to set myself up for the same cycle next week. *tear out hair* Prerana, I feel your pain.

This whole JFP is going all right. I kinda wish I could weigh myself just to see if it even matters, but that's not the point... and I'd probably just be reeeeal disappointed. So I have to get my butt working out sometime this week and fulfill that part of the pact as well. Yee haw.

The gallery finally changed over for the next artists, so my art was taken down. I'm thinking about putting something in the show next spring as well. Of course that means I have to draw. And that means I have to have time.

ha.

Model UN is coming up soon *rubs hands together*

All right.. I could go on and on...but I'm absolutely dragging right now. My notes from history are practically useless. They morphed into odd cryptic symbols scratched by convulsing alien monks. Even Megan told me I looked tired this morning in Orientation...soo I'm gonna get my tushin to bed in an attempt to get to at least the double-digit negatives on my hours of sleep.

Gnight, moon.

Girl-on-Girl: Free Admission!

2005-02-12T19:03:00.000-08:00

The junk food pact hasn't been so tough.

Well, except for last night. At UGRPC (and no, I'm not spelling it out because that's not the point of an acronym *evil laugh*) I sat beside Jen, who brought Cotton Candy and chips. Well, the chips were made of soy (insert hurl here) so that wasn't even slightly tantalizing. But the cotton candy was a different story. Then mom walked in the door with about 15 Frosty's to pass around the table. *sigh*

On a positive note, I weighed in on Wednesday at less than I expected. I don't really know how that was possible seeing as to how my diet before this consisted of Ben and Jerry's and a Pandini's pizza every day.

I haven't really been going to class lately. I've taken a strong liking to napping...mostly because I never sleep at night. I'm working on that though..I hope to go to all my classes this week.

ooooh the play.

So! There's this kid who joined Suddenly Last Summer (SLS from here on out). He's a grad student who's only at LHU because he coaches women's lacrosse. He joined the theatre dept. because apparently he had been into it before and finds it to be a good outlet for activity and friends.

Welcome to the studio show, mr. new guy. Unfortunately, he'd been accustomed to directors who allow you some creative space and allow you to live in the character... which wasn't in this particular director's "vision." It's my first time working with him too, and so I could relate to mr. new guy. I mean, after all, he's employing character development tactics that I don't really agree with. I think they make characters flat, one dimensional, and quite frankly, mechanical. But I'm trying to assimilate a few of his own ideas into my process.

Well...I'd been talking with mr. new guy quite often because our scenes were together and the director needed to work the rest of the cast before he could move on. One evening we were talking for about 3 hours afterward... and I realized that the questions he asks in practice were only the surface of the issue. This guy had some serious artistic/professional disagreements with the director.

I showed up the next day to practice (as did mr. new guy) with the assignment to "write a biography for our character" which I think is silly... but I did it anyway because I don't want to get on the director's bad side and I don't want to cause problems for the cast. It's that whole outlook of being a team player, ya know? Mr. new guy didn't want to.

I showed up the day afterwards to find that mr. new guy had quit. Unfortunately it was too late in the rehearsal schedule/spring semester to find a guy that had enough time to dedicate to the part. So...we compromised "LHU-style." We brought in a girl and told her to play a lesbian.

That's right! Girl on girl action in SLS. If that doesn't get butts in the seats, I don't know what will. Maybe we should advertise it as such. "Lesbo action in Sloan 321: Free admission!"

Needless to say, my strict Baptist, racist, anti-gay exposure grandparents (who I love dearly) won't be showing up.

On an entirely unrelated note, I'll draw your attention to the addition of Zach on my fellow blogger links. Give him a visit.

The conclusion of the beloved Fat Week

2005-02-08T02:19:00.000-08:00

All right: it's time to commence the "non catholic fat girl pact!"

So for those of you who don't know, the "junk food pact" is something that gained momentum a few years ago when Lori and a few of us lunch table folk talked about seeing if we could give up something for 6 weeks just for the sake of the effort. We agreed it wasn't a Jesus thing because we don't believe that it makes sense to try to give up something as trivial as junk food for a God who gave His only Son for us...We just figured it would be easiest if attempted while the Catholic friends of ours were giving up things as well (usually chocolate and junk food, etc). To make a long story short, it's now a yearly ritual. The rules always slightly alter from year to year, but the goal is the same: try to stick together and be healthy for 6 weeks to get a jump-start on extra confidence for swimming weather. Cheaters will be revealed by guilt... they always are.

Instead of declaring "Fat Tuesday", we declare "Fat Week" and eat whatever we feel like it whenever we feel like it with no guilt the entire week before Lent. Today marks the end of that week.

Soooo this year's rules (for me) are!... (you can view other versions elsewhere... I know Lori has posted hers in her blog).

1. We are fasting all day Ash Wednesday (February 9th), and only drinking water.
2. No junk food until Easter (March 27th)Therefore: No desserts/sweets, no bagels/waffles/pancakes, no chips, and no chocolate or icecream
3. Snack foods we can have include pretzels and light popcorn, and wheat thins, Kashi cheese crackers
4. Gym resolutions include: Hitting the gym at least once in the week for a real hardcore workout, and at least twice a week hitting the Pilates routine
5. After weigh-in and measurements Wed. morning, no scale or measurements until the end.

Notice my gym resolutions leave a little to be desired: that's because I'm on campus from 8:30-10:30 sometimes and I want to be able to keep the resolutions. Good luck to Lori and her ambitious undertakings in that department! Kudos to her if she can follow through. As for the food... I had to make it "doable" cuz I get pretty desperate from the 2nd week onward. I'm not cutting pizza... though I'll attempt to cut it down to 1 bentley pizza a week. and I 'll eradicate the frozen pizza thing.

Tonight for dinner I had a whole pint of B+J's and a whole frozen Pizza :)

...and tomorrow will be the last day I can binge... (but I haven't been too impressive with this cold)

So... good luck to the ladies...and here's to better health! Wish me fun on my last Fat Day.

The Babblage of a Sick Piglet

2005-02-05T22:42:00.000-08:00

I'm a sick little piglet again.

Could be a sinus infection... could be a cold... all I know is that squeaking out the voice of a 67-year-old southern lady will be tough when my tonsils are screaming for relief. It could be fun! :)

I got my witchcraft essay back on Friday. Oh wow... I haven't taken the opportunity to blog about my history class, have I? I'll begin.

So my history prof, from the very first class of the semester, has had a habit of running over the alotted time for his class. It's not a big deal, but I have a class directly afterwards: a 300 level seminar on Gender and Performance with a prof that I really don't want to disrespect by being late. Here it is: the 2nd month of the semester and not only does he still run over, but he begins early. I'm not sure which one annoys me more. So Friday, I showed up a bit early, took the clock off the wall, and set it ahead (which was really more like 'on time' because it was slow). And what do ya know?...he started and ended just on time. Maybe his internal clock was off...maybe it was just a fluke...but I have to admit...I felt a little like McGyver.

At any rate, we had these witchcraft papers to write a week or so ago. The assignment called for us to read about 60 pages on this packet, watch a video from the history channel on Eurpoean witchcraft, and then analyze the overall underlying causes of the rise of the witchcraft trials in Salem. Blah blah blah. Pretty cool stuff to get to know, but meanwhile we're reading the text for the class: The World and a Very Small Place in Africa, and studying a billion Empires from 1450 onward. What do these all have in common? I'm still a little unsure.

We were anticipating the reception of our papers, wondering how we did on them. I felt that I had done a good job on it. Although I finished it pretty late at night (read: in the morning), I used all my notes and all the information from the video to build a case for why the Salem witch trials weren't an aberration in our history, but a natural effect spawned by all the underlying factors. He ended lecture 5 minutes early to tell us all how we shouldn't have anticpated our papers being handed back so soon because we didn't do a good job. He proceeded to tell us how we hadn't yet mastered the basic concepts of writing (News to me since I'm an English Writing Concentration) and all kinds of things. The odd thing was that most of his words were focused directly on me, making me think I was one of the "stylistic writers who missed explaining concepts and failed to get him as a reader to want to turn the page." He handed back the papers, and a couple kids I know to be hard workers in the honors program (you know, the ones who show up 50 minutes before class to review notes?) got B's. They all looked pretty PO'ed... I didn't even ask what the average folks got... so I didn't look at my paper. Everyone surrounded me, asking me what I got but I refused their bandwagon tactics. I went down a separate stairwell and began to review my paper. There were lots of questions in the margins, which I didn't have any way to distinguish whether they were ones he wanted me to answer or ones that were naturally inspired by the text. At any rate, I flipped through, getting a little more nervous with each red mark. The last page? "A: Very Good."

I don't know if he just wanted to make me nervous or if the rest of the class really did such a pathetic attempt... But that's the happiest I've been over an A in a long time.

Speaking of which: my art grade was finally fixed! (The Dean is still a big jerk in a suit, but I accepted a simple Withdraw). I'm still deciding whether I want to follow through with the rest of the appeal process and take it to the President or not. I have a number of issues regarding the organization of the administration within a department I'd like to speak with him about. Regardless, the errors in the database have been fixed and so my GPA is finally a 4.0! :)

Hmm... anything else exciting in my life? (Not that any of the above qualified...)

I was asked to sing at the local Christian Lady Fellowship (I'm sure there's a real name for it that I can't recall)...which is pretty cool. That'll be coming up in the summer break. Right before then, I'll also have to sing for Shanna's wedding...that's an experience I haven't ever had before. I really hope I don't let anybody down. I think they've heard that I can sing by word of mouth and I'm afraid my abilities have been exaggerated a bit :)

The school is interviewing candidates for Gino's temp position (including him). I'm almost positive that if they get rid of him, I'll immediately look to transfer. I don't see much in the LHU theatre program without him.

I guess they're looking to do the Rocky Horror Picture Show in the fall. Either that, or the Little Shop of Horrors. Sounds interesting, but I'll be abroad (or so I hope). Besides... I couldn't be Janet because she has to be somewhat naked...and I'm not that kinda actress ;)

All right...enough babblage for the evening. I'm off to bed or something like that. I woke up at 5:30 pm today. There's such dissonance between my weekday and my weekend ambitions sometimes :)

* * *

* *
---'night all.---

How to Manage Time You Don't Have

2005-01-29T02:52:00.000-08:00

This semester is already off with a bang.

Last night marked my first "5am-er." I stayed up to write a 6 page paper on the real reasons for the Salem Witch Trials as a microcosm to the overall development of the same craze in Europe. It was actually very interesting, but seeing as how it kept me from my pillow, yours truly could have been slightly more tantalized with the overall concept.

I had one of those moments today. Those ones where you look at your parent/s and think "I could so just leave and not miss this." Not in a wretched rebellious way, but more like one of those many moments where you realize how very human your parents are...and that you're subject to their vices. I guess that's one reason I'm pushing to go to England so badly... I want to explore "Jackie Abroad."... no theatre groupies, no auditions, no Sloan, no honors kids, no parents, no talking to high school friends. It's so exhilerating to me.

On that note, one of my honors discussion groups sat down to discuss values and such... and I came to realize that "safety/security" is waaaay at the bottom of my list. Comfort is scary...scary because it's not scary at all. Paradoxical, yes, but it makes sense.

I haven't been to work in like, 2 weeks. It's sad, but I find it increasingly difficult to get the time to go in. Since kindergarten it seems I've loaded on more and more activities and expectations for myself every year until I see how much I can take. I like to push my limits, explore boundaries, come to a halting reality with my true abilities. Sometimes I experience overload. The only sad part is that I've realized how I manage to pull it off. I completely eradicate the concept of sleep from my daily routine.

Think about it: remember my blogs during the hell that was finals week? I even think the title of one was "Hell...pure firey raging hellflames" or something to that effect. 3 days straight on nothing but paper-writing, drawing, and energy drinks. It's taking a toll on my body to the point where I get sick (point in case 1: mono senior year=point in case 2:throwing up, staring at toilet right after finals= point in case 3:consant undereye concealer point in case 4:recent chronic headaches) and on and on the list goes. For some reason this semester, I've also decided to stop shortchanging my education by using sparknotes and cramming for my studying sessions. I'm actually reading the books. Great time to start, right?

Well...the point is that in the end of all this, I realized it's difficult to sleep and work...because if I do my work in the day, I don't have the time to run from class to the bookstore and back, then go eat, run to practice/auditions/whatever....

I'm going to have to reconsider my time management skills this weekend.

Oh: theatre. I got the lead in the studio show. (crowd cheers). the fun part will be the adventure of performing 2 elderly southern Tennessee Williams ladies and making them distinctly different from each other. The audience will see me as both Mrs. V and Mdm. Duvenet the same evening, so it'll be a tough one! And of course, my Macon, Georgia father will be there to criticize the authenticity of my southern accent. :)

Okay... 3am and time for sleep. I spent the evening up alone (was invited to another beer party and turned it down). I watched CSI, What Not to Wear, and Comedy Central and managed to read 5 beauty magazines that have accumulated unread. All accompanied of course, by an adequate portion of junk food.

Maybe I'll try fasting or something. I've read a lot about it and may give it a try. If I don't get this whole sleep thing under control, though, I might shrivel into a malnourished zombie. (All the better to play Helena with?)

Oh... and Mom got a promotion. She's now OIC (Officer in Charge/ Temporary Postmaster of another office for a few months). She gets to get out of this wretched political office and go somewhere in the boonies out toward the valley. She'll make a great boss! I'm happy for her...she's always worked so hard. Jeremy got transfer acceptance to a few offices closer to home as well. The Postal World and the Baker family is just going all ablaze at the moment.

We went out, partially in celebration of this fact tonight. We intended to go to Pizza Hut (Full), then Ruby Tuesday (fuller), then OIP (full), then LH OIP (full, though I disagreed), and ended up at Wendy's. True Baker style.

Goodnight, world. :)

Jimmy Dean and Cookies 'n' Cream

2005-01-27T00:07:00.000-08:00

Ever meet one of those Dean folk on campus? I have.

Today I had the pleasure of sitting down with the Dean of Arts or whatever at school to discuss my "grade situation" along with the 2 other students who had an issue with the course (including my daddy). He had this passive agressiveness to him that I can't stand about people. It's probably my number one pet peeve (woof). Make artful twisted frank statements through a smile so that the people you've offended or the people you're making to look a fool actually feel as if a laugh is appropriate for the atmosphere. Cringe.

He let us know he won't change our grades. He said we can file a complaint against the chair for his ignorance in the position, even though he admitted that no chair in any department has a handbook or guideline of what their responsibilities are in such a position, nor are they equipped with any sort of means to discover what kind of policies they are allowed to enforce. Yeah...like I want to complain against him for that? I'll be darned if I weren't confused as all sausages about the whole ordeal if I were in his place as well.

...are sausages even confused?

I was thinking about skipping out on my history class today because I needed an afternoon nap. I was in Dad's studio doing some reading for my Gender and Performance Seminar later in the day and convinced myself it was best for me to stay up so I wouldn't risk missing history...
I encouraged myself with the promise of a candy bar or something sweet to keep me awake. I went to Bentley, endured a certain visitor I didn't feel like talking to, bought the candy bar, digested the calories, and trudged along through my day.

I went to RAUB...sat and waited for the teacher (along with about 8 other people) and wondered where he and the rest of the class were. 5 Minutes passed and we all were shocked, because he's never ever late. We talked about how odd it was that we saw classmates running around like we didn't have class, and checked his office to find his hours were cancelled for the day. I got excited and informed the class that University policy states that if he doesn't show up in the first 10 minutes of class, it is automatically cancelled. 10 minutes passed, we rejoiced and left. "Hey...there isn't a note on the door or anything is there?" I asked on my way toward the door. Laura:"No, there isssssn......uh....yeah. There is. It says class is cancelled."

... Honors kids. All of us.

Well..with all due respect, it was posted beside the door on a ledge facing leftward.... it was hard to notice.

I had my 2nd night of auditions for Suddenly Last Summer again. Surprisingly, I managed to pull the character out that I made up last night, even the deep southern accent. The only flub up I had was when I read for Catherine once (it was a cold reading anyhow) and kind of dropped the accent...and wasn't drug-induced enough. At any rate, I got to read a lot for her last night and figured I'd be pressing my luck to ask for another shot at it. *shrug* We'll see what happens.

And on an artsy dorky note, I was walking to my car from my last class yesterday and I cut through the backside of the SRC to do so. There, the road is all tiny rocks and stones...the kind that turn deep gray when they're wet. The snow all around campus has melted into a slush and the beautiful white blanket that peacefully rested a few days ago is pulling back to reveal grass and the world below... a sort of unpretty dissonance to some. But as I was walking on this road to my car, I noticed that the gray stones were just slightly revealed and the white snow was still white from the lack of traffic through the backside area. Suddenly my mind turned me into a 5 year old and I felt like I was walking in a giant tub of Cookies 'n' Cream Ice cream... you know the type with the little tiny Oreo pieces and big chunks in random spots? And sometimes the pieces are so small that it blends with the white and gives a grayed appearance to the ice cream? I was so enveloped in my ice cream world... and I completely lost sight of Honors, Theatre, English, Papers, My house, The Bookstore...and even my kitty litter kitten.

Well, it was a grand perspective to me...

but no doubt I looked like a retard. :)

All this talk of sausages (I don't know what that's about) and ice cream? Perhaps I'm hungry. Regardless, it calls for pictures.

A Little Smoke for the Chute

2005-01-25T12:32:00.000-08:00

Bam!

...I don't know... I couldn't think of an opener so I stole something appealing from Emeril.

On that note, I watched Iron Chef last night. I find new and amazing ways to entertain myself instead of reading Gulliver's Travels like a good little honors kid.

Sunyoung (the gal I used to tutor from S. Korea) moved away the other day. She had a big party at her place with Korean food. We ended up chilling out and watching Battlestar Galactica (welcome to SciFi America, kids)... It was pretty hard to say goodbye to someone I knew I'd probably never see again. I believe she's off to California first to live with some family and then will go back to S. Korea. Eventually I suspect she'll be back for her masters but not here. It's been amazing getting to know her and S. Korea better. (Like I knew S. Korea before, right?) What's even cooler is she has a roommate named Ruaa from Iraq who moved here quite a while ago. I got culture lessons every time I hung out with them. I guess the lessons are over though... I'd like to still hang out with Ruaa. She graduates this semester, and I can't imagine what we could do together *ponder*

Yeah....soooo the show.

What Gino did really dug at me, and he posted a letter to all who auditioned that said if you want to talk about it, feel free to go chat. So of course, I did.

No sooner did I plant my butt in the seat opposite him than he said "Because you're a freshman and you're too short." Well there you have it. Apparently he's doing a whole "Ursula" vision for Titania, a short/dark haired/stout thing for Hermia/Lysander and a tall/skinny/blonde (not to mention drop dead gorgeous) thing with the Helena/Demetrius gig. Welcome to theatre, right?

I asked why he kept me around if I didn't fit into his "vision." He admitted that the people he cast in certain areas weren't the best actors for those parts, but other things won over (physical attributes) and in the case of Hippolyta (being an Amazon Queen, it mattered very little what she appeared as) it went to a senior. He said he has three more years with me and considers me talented and trustworthy in almost any role he could throw at me... and so my time is coming. He agreed that it's normal to be POed in such a situation (being an actor himself) and tried to get me to be optimistic as possible. I wasn't looking for something to ease the blow, I was just looking for answers: so he gave them to me.

At any rate, he said I could have chastised him for not allowing me to read for other parts. He never asked me because he said he already painted me in the picture for those roles as a possibility, without the need for me to read. However, he admitted that had I been given the chance to read in front of everyone and blown everyone's socks off publicly, he couldnt have justified giving the part to someone else. He said the possibility of impressing him any more was very low so he chose not to have me read...

Of course, the question is: how much of this all is smoke being blown up the chute? :)

Meg and I worked out today. Jocelyn joined us, which was a real treat. Apparently everyone is honing in on resolutions or something though because the place was jam-packed! Saw a few CMers working out... and a vball game that I sorely wanted to play in. I miss it dearly. Maybe me working out all the time will produce a tall, blonde vixen.

It sounds like my cat is peeing down the stairs. I'm afraid to look.

SO! Auditions for "Suddenly Last Summer" are tonight (it being 12:30 am)... I don't like the play, but there is a crazy woman in it I might like to try my hand at. Well...disputably crazy....but there's a scene where she "forcefully" presses a dude close to her and kisses him and gets all desperate...

Not sure how I feel about that one, but it's either her or the old lady or nothing at all

Nothing at all means "Jackie gets a job" Because let's face it... I can fill out the application, I can tell everyone I'm going, I can get the International Office to slate me down... but unless I have the dough, I can't go to England.

I plan to work for the summer...most likely at Ruby Tuesday though I heard they treat their employees horribly... Anyone know anything about that? I can't imagine it's all that bad, but hey...let's consider Kmart ;)

I'm experiencing a whole lot of everything right now.... Spanish class craziness (I think I'll stop by the school tomorrow and ask Mrs. Mosser to go over my composition with me). There's tons of reading for all my classes. I haven't really slacked off yet, so you've gotta give me props for that.

Mike had a big meeting with Pfizer folk today in New Jersey. I guess he's some kinda big shot :)

UUUmmm...yadda yadda, I'll keep in touch.

Thanks for the notes for my last blog, guys... you remind me of my actual fans (who sometimes might blow smoke up the chute as well but in a much more trustworthy and sincere way) ;)

Night!

You kicked ass...buuuuut...

2005-01-20T17:20:00.000-08:00

So I'm ready to feed the blogchild regularly again.

I had auditions for A Midsummer Night's Dream these past two evenings. I had my heart set on the part of Helena for a number of reasons I won't bother to discuss here...

Yesterday morning before my first theatre class, the director took me aside and told me that I'm a versatile enough actress that he knows my strengths and that he could put me in any one of the parts and count on me to do well. He then asked if it was okay that he move me from Helena if he needs to since the other girls up for the part could be nothing but her. I said he could do whatever the show required except make me part of the chorus.

I went to auditions..and he had me read for Helena once... and I sat there the rest of the time watching everyone audition. I had no idea why he kept me around... I thought so that he could remember that I was in the running, but he didn't have me read for any other parts either... so I was confused.

I came in this morning to look at the cast list and not find myself anywhere on it. A bit of a shocker, I suppose... After our talk, I assumed he needed to put me somewhere. I went to acting class and he explained why he casted everyone the way he did... and at the end, pointed me out to say that it basically came down to the ugly physical reality was that I was too short for Helena, too tall for Hermia...and though I was a talented actress who could have done anything, I really just didn't fit anywhere in his physical vision. Sounds familiar.... a lot like Blithe Spirit, actually. Stephen: "Yeah, there are no problems I can say you had with auditions" Me: "What??" Stephen: "Well Jackie, to be honest, you kicked ass...but you don't have a penis." And the cast list under "Madam Arcati" was a guy...because that was the physical reality of his vision for the show.

...Perhaps I should invest in a pair of high heels and a strap-on. Then one day I'll be able to do mainstage productions.

Oh well... more time for me I guess. Maybe I'll try out for the studio show again...but I don't know if I want to go through with the "backup plan" again. *shrug* Homework, food, and TV await. ..and maybe I'll go to the gym and attempt to further alter my ugly physical reality.

Temporary Suspension

2005-01-17T01:38:00.000-08:00

Don't worry; I'm still breathing

A post tomorrow perhaps?

(...Ah, the suspense... right?)

Twice Neglecting the Blogchild

2005-01-10T18:37:00.001-08:00

I know, I know.. I've once again neglected my blogchild. If it's of any consolation, at least I can't shake it when I'm angry.

This weekend has been pretty hellacious. I got the terrible news that a good friend of mine killed himself Saturday. I've been bawling my eyes out off and on for the past few days... The hardest part was calling my friends at college and letting them know. There's nothing worse than reading that kind of bad news in the paper or having a distant phone call from your parents when they ask you if you knew "some boy by the name of..." I thought I'd try to get the word out beforehand and prevent that from happening. Unfortunately school started today and this weekend wasn't the best time to be getting news like that... but then when you think about it, suckiness isn't welcomed at any point in life.

At any rate, I'm doing better now. I've gotten to the point where I can talk about it without bawling so I consider that to be "better." I won't talk about it on here, because though it's a journal, it's an online one and I'm not sure I deem it appropriate to be discussed by means of casual electronic media.

...so moving on...

School started today. I blocked 5 classes for MWF and just one for TR so that I can sleep in and work at the bookstore casually in the week. My classes are all very interesting and for the most part engaging and enjoyable to me... but they're also challenging. I got 4 pages of notes just from listening to my history prof today for 50 minutes. I'll have a number of very lengthy papers due this semester as well.

I walked in to Spanish 4 not knowing what to expect since I placed into it. The prof spoke in Spanish almost exclusively (which I'd expected) so it required my complete attention. I thought I'd be on the bottom rung of the class since I wasn't brought up through the University language system, but from the looks of the first day (and a bit of intuition) I think I might actually be on top. The prof is the same one who gave me the exam and he said to expect to be on top since I almost placed into Conversational Spanish but I still didn't really believe him... Kudos galore to Mrs. Mosser for being a kick-butt teacher.

My theatre classes are fabulous this semester. I'm going to learn so much about gender and performance and theatre on a broad spectrum and arena... It's so energizing to think about what I can expect from those classes. They're all taught by Gino :) He didn't realize until today that I slated him for three classes (ha).

Well... I've updated. It's not funny or colorful and it's hardly compensating or explaining the big void that is my life between these to blogs, but I don't really care to fill that void with information at the moment. If the future yields not to adventure and sarcasm, I'll revert to the past... but honestly...we all know the chances of that are quite slim.

*pet blogchild*

Odd Ponderings of a Frustrated Mind

2004-12-28T03:24:00.000-08:00

Care to share a couple festering thoughts with me?

All right, I'm sick of people (and by people I mean friends)...(and by friends I mean Prerana and Lori ;) ) blogging about how they want to go back to school and stuff here being boring. Break is boring? Shut your face.

I understand that Altoona and State College are lovely places to be, but while you're here, you're home...and home is relaxing and quiet and lovely in its own little way. I don't know...maybe I'm biased. Especially considering my break technically starts tomorrow (my last drawing is completed and I'll *hopefully* hand in my appeals as well). That means I'm free of school obligations for about 10 days or so. Whee!

I'm in a pretty "out with it" mood.. so I'm just gonna talk about whatever is on my mind. I suppose that's what I often do, but tonight it's different and I'm not sure how or why.

I hung out with friends tonight... we had a sort of "former theatre folk" thing. I don't really feel the same way about everyone anymore. Being away from them kind of keys you in on what you really know about them, miss about them, dislike about them. I found myself saying "I hate..." a lot tonight. Call me irritable...I don't know what was going on. I feel like I'm compromising sometimes when I'm with my old friends... like with a few of them we just kind of hide a couple issues between us and all is well. It gets exhausting to put all that aside because it's right there all along and we all know it. No one seems to understand my frustrations though, so maybe it's just me that it drives wild. Shouldn't one enjoy time with friends? It's beginning to change with me. Lately I'd just rather stay home. Really. I love genuine people; you fill in the gaps. Times like that really make me space out and think about my possibility of going to London in the fall. What would I feel like then?

I got called a "moral nazi" tonight. I made a comment as to how some friends won't talk to me when they've done something they don't think I'll "approve of." That's not to say I shun them or lecture them (unless they ask me to), but they know what I think regardless and it's changed many of my friendships in the past as a result. I suppose "moral nazi" is not approving of drinking (most especially underage)...or smoking...or drugs... or sex. Yeah, I said it. Sex. *shrug* I'm not compromising my standards or beliefs because the world doesn't agree with me. You call me uptight, you say people like me don't exist... I guess if there isn't a guy out there who agrees then I'll just never hook up. Of course I don't believe that at all. I'm just crazy enough to think there's someone out there just as opposed and frustrated, being told there's no decent girl out there like him who isn't Amish.

I'm tired of Mormons. I understand them, I know what they believe and why... I know what drives them... I'm just tired of them. I don't like caffeine to be a big deal... or the fact that in the summer people wear tank tops (no matter how modest they may be). Or that by being reduced and withheld all your life makes you feel rebellious by doing the most ridiculous of things. I don't feel like I've ever really met one that's genuine and feels genuine underneath it all. In fact when I pick their brains, I find they really question their faith but follow it anyway for fear it's correct and they're simply backslidden. Again...I love genuine people; you fill in the gaps.

Sometimes I just don't feel like waking up. I don't mean that in the lazy way...the way that the electric blanket has warmed your bed to the most delightful temperature you could ever ask for... I mean that in the way that I wake up and think about my world and all the people in it, and I just don't feel like experiencing it that day. It'd odd, really. I take on the world most days voluntarily... and yet choose not to even step outside my door otherwise.

Well... I have some appeal letters to write...it seems I've run out of rambling and curled thoughts for the moment so I'll move on to something productive.

I'm not even sure what I've said here... I know it's real... I know it's how I feel right now... and it's not down, not depressive... simply ponderings... Odd, really.

Mary Elizabeth

Which 'The Perks of Being a Wallflower' character are you?

...Perks is one of my favorite books of all time, if not the most favorite, so I couldn't resist the post.

Like a Record, Baby.

2004-12-22T03:25:00.001-08:00

...right round round round.

College sucks. I've got 3 A's and 2 E's. That's right. 2 E's. You know why? Because college sucks. Or maybe it's just LHU...I haven't decided yet. Let's begin, shall we?

In the beginning of the year, I found myself in two classes I disliked. One was Math: Intermediate Algebra. The other was Drawing 1.

Math was too easy. I'd taken up to Honors Trig in High School and some guy explaining aglebraic equations to me was ridiculous... I wanted to test out.

I went to the chair, who I had to make an appointment with to talk it over (after some other lady screwed me). I gave him my availability, he never got back... I stopped in one day and made him see me. I explained my situation and he said I might be able to test out; he'd have to check. He finally did and asked me when I'd be available to take the test. I posted my hours for 2 weeks...he never got back to me. (I'm a busy gal by the way, so this kind of crap is just not cool.) I finally stopped in on his office hours and reminded him I was alive. He said he forgot (who knew?). He told me to come by later in the week and take the test. By the way, by this point I was past the period for getting my money back for the course...so he already had my money. I was paying for nothing. I took the test, and even though he could have graded it right there, he didn't. He told me it would take a few days and told me to stop in later in the week (like I hadn't heard that one before)... so I did...he claimed the appt. was for the day prior (I ignored him because I wrote it down and he most likely didn't) and he pointed to a note on the door. I opened it to find I had passed the test and he explained he would accredit me without it affecting my grade. "So I don't have to go to class anymore?" "no." "Well is there anything else I have to do?! Is that all??" "yes. that is all, I will take care of everything with enrollment services" "Thanks!" The end.

Or so I thought.

I check my account today and find that BAM! I have an E. AN E. No credit, no comment, no nothing. One big fat failure. WTF? I'm in the process of an appeal.

Drawing 1 is a whole other ball game. ...or is it?

Short story: The professor was one huge jerk...so I talked to the chair about my situation. He told me I could just not go to class, hand my work into him instead of the professor, and he would give me a grade. In other words?? "Work on it, give it to me, I'll grade it. No more prof."

Cool Beans... until today.

The chair just made me aware that the work I did got me an E. Why? Because although he agrees that I'm capable of above what the class has done as far as work goes, he says he can't actually change the grades and he was wrong. Thus, I have to accept the prof's grade.

Well what would you give a kid who never showed up and didn't turn anything in? An E?? that's just about right! He won't even look at my work. He doesn't care. Jerk.

So I'm doubly screwed by two Chairs. Chairs. Think about that. The people that are supposed to know their crap completely screwed me sideways. Now I've gotta go through the whole appeal process, explain to the honors program that I'm not a loser, and watch my 4.0 get pulled down by two very unfair, very unwarranted grades...hoping the appeal is fast and painless and gets me the non-grades I deserve.

I suppose Christmas break isn't going to be anywhere near the stress relief I wanted after all.

*insert scream of utter frustration and agony here*

Hell. Pure, firey, raging hell flames.

2004-12-17T01:58:00.000-08:00

7 days since my last post? This is ridiculous.

This has been the week from hell. No really, if hell could manifest itself into the form of time, this would be it. I haven't lied in my bed for 3 nights straight... and this will be the fourth. You see, I've learned (or have I?) that college is a breeze...unless you procrastinate. Hmm...good thing I don't procrastinate, right? : /

Well...basically I had 4 chapters to read, 4 drawings to complete, 5 essays to study, 2 journals to write, 7.5 hours to work at the bookstore, 1 monologue to memorize and perform, and one singing gig to do.... all before tomorrow/today (Friday). I got some of that done... I don't really know what will happen to the rest... I guess I'll find out tomorrow.

At any rate, I was blessed enough (Thank you, Lord) to get an extension on my drawings, so that's what I'll be obsessing over all weekend. I keep telling myself that come Monday, everything is over... except for tutoring and work... but still. In fact, I'm so crazed about having to finish up everything (because heaven forbid I sleep a little and get a B) I'm locking myself inside this weekend... all my friend are coming home and I'm not going to even exist. I will be dead to them. No phone calls, no movies, no hang outs, no nothing. I don't even know if I should take the time to read Christmas cards. Yeah... so if you're reading this, don't expect to see me until after Christmas. I owe myself about 36 hours of sleep...and no, I'm really not exaggerating. I already had a friend stop by with an early Christmas present: Adrenaline Rush energy drink for my consistent all-nighters.

My English final was a real charm today... the one essay I thought I'd have mastered was pulled from the test. We had 2 hours for the whole thing and I spent 30 minutes of it running to and from the bathroom (I got sick half way through). Blech. Oh well, my joy was found again when I took a real serious question (something like... "a culture can be defined by the literature, major works, and yadda yadda of the eras in which they lived. If you were to choose such works from our time to describe the ideals/values of modern-day America in the 2nd millenium, what would they be and why?").... I said South Park. And I'll be darned if I didn't write 4 pages on the bloody thing.

All right.. my dog needs my attention... and then my English journals, and then studying for Philosophy (which is to commence in approximately 6 hours. Woot!

I'm a Jerk.

2004-12-10T02:47:00.000-08:00

I know, I know.. I've been slightly negligent of my blogchild. My apologies.

Meg and I have been faithful to our workout routines. We've added on things for difficulty and have even adopted a new motivation tactic: F+S motivators. You see, every week we're going to each find a really fat person (see previous blogs for examples) and a really skinny person to look at. Really this is just a way to aquaint ourselves with a great deal of fat people who are accessible to the public. We'll give them names.

The last few days have been madness. In a crazed dash to attempt to finish my drawings before the end of the semester, I've had to pull another all-nighter. I just drink diet caffeine free coke and tell myself its the same as Red Bull. The next day, however, I do not feel that it has succeeded in giving me wings.

I'm at PSU Altoona right now... commonly referred to as PSU TunaTown to me...

>>my deepest apologies for the immaturity.

Well I could continue, but there are multiple people in the same room to hang around and mingle with.. and so I shall go and continue later on.

Pro·crasti·nator: n

2004-12-05T23:10:00.000-08:00

One who puts off until tomorrow what they've already put off until today.

I've been home since 12:30 today. Do you know what I've done with my day? Jack crap. That's right: absolutely nil. I took a nap, woke up, ate... and took notice that Comedy Central Presents: was on aaaaall day long. How could I resist? Honestly...come on now.

So it's 10:58 as I write this sentence, and I've got a persuasion paper due tomorrow morning. Actually, this week is going to be hell. You see, I've got this problem where I put everything off until the last minute. And no, I'm not your average procrastinator (see 11/25: Gobble Gobble). I've got 4 drawings to do before the end of the semester (2 weeks), a bunch of hours to make up for honors, a bunch of hours to put in at work, and meanwhile have to memorize a monologue for church and learn a Christmas song for the Ladies' Prayer Breakfast. The disgusting thing is that I'm unphased by this massive accumulation of poo I've heaped up for myself. It's fabulous. If I've learned anything from the adventure as recorded from the 25th of November, it's that I can handle these things (granted, I've only gotten one of those papers back so far...). It doesn't help that my adolescent development prof was discussing personality types as it related to the Myers-Briggs test and noted that "my kind" are likely to leave everything for the last minute but always finish it anyways. See, people? It's science.

At any rate, my persuasion paper is on the honors program and how it needs to be refined for the incoming freshmen and better tailored for their needs. I haven't complained about any paper I've had to write since that Indian/Chinese Theatre History hunk of junk I handed in the other week. Maybe that's why I think I can handle this Drawing I Studio catch-up... Then again it often takes me a week to finish even one picture *cough*...

So there I was, on the couch at 10:30, realizing that I need sleep and that I have an early day tomorrow... thinking of what could possibly motivate me to move (since the impending deadline obviously wasn't enough in itself). No fear: I found inspiration in the form of a cheese steak w/mayonnaise (balanced by 1/2 the fat chips and diet soda). I rationalized eating a full meal at nearly midnight by thinking of how little I'll probably eat tomorrow as I dash from place to place trying to make up for weeks of laziness. Go me!

All right: I'm off to conquer the world.

...or maybe just my persuasion paper for now. I'll conquer the world tomorrow.

Hoo-ha

2004-12-01T23:56:00.000-08:00

So I just was informed of a most hilarious story from a fellow (although stranger to me) blogger. I'd say it's a must-read for any appreciator of good humor. Oh... and also notice the new friend links on the left if you haven't already. I'll be adding friends as I discover them. Today's additions are William Isaiah "Shane" Moore and Mr. Joshua Bucknor. So then, nothing funny or sarcastic today... no account of my day.. just a funny story and a few more good friends.

Enjoy.

Jackitrichimonosinusosis

2004-11-30T22:31:00.000-08:00

Boy, am I sick.

I woke slightly disgruntled this morning. Apparently since I hit snooze a couple times before waking, my mother took the liberty of dragging every Christmas tote we own out of the attic and down the wooden stairs beside my bed. Honestly: it was 9 in the friggin' morning. Who does that?

Well.. I had planned on blowing off at least half my responsibilities today since I felt like a congested bag of waste (for the fourth day in a row), but with a good-morning such as that, why wait to spring into action? I actually went to both my honors meeting and my philosophy class.. we had a quiz on Play-doh and Ariscottle. I just marked what looked good at the time. A quiz after Thanksgiving break? Please. I lost my "naturally philosophical mind" somewhere between the yams and the cherry pie.

As I sat in Bentley today, downing another pizza from Pandini's (which is so soaked with a mysterious greasy liquid that stains fingernails), my viewing pleasure of the muted "Walker, Texas Ranger" (a poor choice for anyone, college student especially) from across Jazzman's Cafe was interrupted by 2 very loud black men. I took the opportunity to listen to each word they said. I thought of it as a lesson in blackspeak, a derivative of the English language I have yet to master. Maybe someday I'll be able to watch the Black Entertainment Channel.

I think I got a taste of what an asthma attack is like tonight. I've begun the winter marathon battle between myself and my sinuses. Tonsilitis, Mono, Infection...anything's possible. I was attempting to ask my mother about her day and my lungs felt like they were 1/3 their natural size. I could barely get out a full sentence and ended up doubling over p anting. Word to asthma sufferers... tonight I was one of your kind.

The W family will be back in town either tomorrow or the day after. I wanted to go clean today but I passed out in a ball of sickness in my bed. I would go late tonight but their house scares the dickens out of me...and I'm not just talking about the fear of being alone in the dark with the vaginas looming over the living room. Hopefully I can get it done tomorrow morning if I feel well enough. Otherwise I'll just have to hope they understand and let me do it this weekend.

I also have a skit to prepare for church this Sunday. I wanted to go give people the scripts for it today but well... same as above. Soooo now my timeline is even shorter and I have to stress about letting people down. Ack!

I think I'll go downstairs and read a magazine alongside something warm and a box of tissues. I have yet to decide whether that something warm will be hot chocolate or a dog. Or maybe a hot dog. A friend brought me chicken soup today... maybe I'll have that.

The semester is coming to an end and all my profs keep reminding me of the doom that is approaching. Thanks: it's a big stress reliever, kids.

2 weeks until Meg and I's road trip to Altoona... it will be full of stops to adult toy stores and other mind-opening experiences. Any suggestions for entertainment along the way? Post it. I'll be sure to blog about our adventure and successes/failures with suggestions.

A Bit More Inspiration

2004-11-30T04:11:00.000-08:00

...well, more than a "bit."

I'm too tired to recall the events of my day in the ordinary fashion, and so I'll leave you with a little something I stumbled upon on the web. I like to call it, "Santa shops on EBay."

And yes, I worked out today.

The Day That Wasn't

2004-11-28T20:23:00.000-08:00

Today was practically non-existent.

I wanted to go to church but felt like crap. Last night I went to bed at 3 only to lie restlessly for another 3 hours. When I woke up, I felt even worse. Apparently I'm kinda sick :) Thus
I spent my day in bed.

Last night was a good time. Old friends were in town for a few days and every night we ended up at Dan's talking about life and playing cards. Last night some other folks stopped in that we weren't that great of friends with so we moved the party to Dunkin' Donuts and continued to talk about nothing and everything all at the same time. Afterward, those who could went to Caitlin's place to watch old reruns of SNL. Her dog attacked me but I avoided his jaws of death with my cat-like reflexes.

Tomorrow I'm supposed to hand in at least one drawing to be reviewed by the Art Chair, but I'm not feeling up to completing one so I hope I can avoid the issue and finish up all the work before the beginning of finals. Wish me luck in maintaining sanity in the home stretch.

All the ol' friends scurried back to college and I'm the same old townie here at LHU. Since the play is over, I'll have to find something else to make life exciting and exhausting all at once. The holiday season is officially here, and I must say: It feels pretty nice to be single... but it's tough to avoid nostalgia.

The green-eyed monster strikes again.

African American Friday

2004-11-27T03:37:00.000-08:00

Today was Black Friday and I went looking for adventure.

I found the most fun-loving friend I have (Cait) and woke her at 3am to be at Circuit City by 4am... and neither of us is a morning person. I tried to lessen the blow by going to Dunkin' Donuts where she received an ample amount of caffeine to sustain her and I received a hot cocoa...which made me happy.

So we were off to CC where I was to get a list of things my brother had marked off for me since he works there and can't take advantage of the awesome deals. When we arrived, there was one person in line with a lawn chair and 4 soccer moms waiting in their minivans to see who would start the mad rush for position number two. Caitlin and I sat in the car, waiting to pounce. Actually, I was ready to pounce and she lied back in the seat sipping her espresso.

As soon as I saw 5 people in line, I got out... that was 4:15. The store opened at 6. For nearly 2 hours Caitlin and I talked about life... oh... and how friggin' cold it was as well.

I walked out with a portable DVD player (17 bucks), a GameCube, DoubleDash game, 3 controllers and a memory card (99 bucks), a Battery Back up (10 bucks), and 3 DVDs (5 bucks for 2 and 12 bucks for the other). Not bad :) Afterward, we stopped over at the mall to see how crazy it was (the BonTon had a line 5 people wide and 100 people long all the way to the road by 5 am). It really wasn't too bad by the time we arrived.. .we got manicures as a reward for our insanity and went back home to sleep for the rest of the day.

When I got up I called old friends to hang out and ended up at Dan's again. By the end of the evening there were 4 of us left (Dev, Dan, Matt and I) and we got philosophical on each other. We were going to head to Dunkin' Donuts for a change of atmosphere and to continue the evening (hey... my day would have started and ended in the same place!) but a call home changed that for me. Apparently I was supposed to be in by 11:30 this evening. I thought it was suggested as the estimate but not the expected. I was wrong.

So anyway, my evening was cut short and I'm a little disappointed about it... but tomorrow I shall hang out again. I don't know how or where or what we'll do but it's planned nonetheless. I also have to get some drawings done before Monday and should really take advantage of the downtime to catch up on some of the readings. But we all know I won't actually do that, right?

So... off to surf the web and entertain myself until I'm sleepy. I just got done re-manicuring myself since today's job had already gotten chipped. How sad.

I really must start exercising or something... I've been maintaining weight since I walk all over campus, but I don't want the holidays to do me in... so here's a little something to inspire us all to be healthy. Enjoy.

Gobble Gobble

2004-11-25T13:33:00.000-08:00

My second-best sleeping record of all time: 19 hours.

Once I did 24 but that was back when I was lazier, and that was without good reason.

All my papers for all my classes were due Tuesday, the day before Thanksgiving break. Being the lovely procrastinating little pupil that I recognize myself to be, I've given up on worrying about papers and putting them off and feeling guilty. I simply make the decision to put them off beforehand as to save myself the time and trouble. Unfortunately, my 6 papers (yeah, 6...) were all to be written Monday night.

One was 1 page: no biggie... and I'd actually already typed it up because the syllabus had the wrong due date on it. The rest though, were very much undone. 3 English journals...2-3 pages each on Gender Roles in Lysistrata, Justice in The Oresteia, and Reflections on Sappho's Personal Poems...1 Philosophy paper on My college experience as it relates to Plato's Allegory of the Cave... and the big kicker *sound fanfare* A 10 page research paper on Modern Theatre in China and India and its ties to the past. Mind you, I'd only even gotten the books for the India part of that paper about 2 nights before this... and didn't read them *cough*

So I finished them... I stayed up all bloody night. Don't underestimate that. I got up at 9am for school on Monday and stayed up all through the day, all through the night, all through the day again, and went to bed at 5pm... at which point the 19 hour snoozathon commenced. I've actually had a minor headache ever since and can't shake it.

So over this break I need to do some heavy-duty Drawing I catch-up... and meanwhile catch up with old friends who are back in good ol' LH for the holiday.

I've been listening to Accuradio online for quite a while now. Right now, Secret Agent Man is on... which I always mistook for "Secret Asian Man." ... *shrug*

I got my car back finally. It needed the big ol' dent taken out of it so I got a side panel but it was white.... so now my car is 2-tone *shudder* I wish someone would pimp my ride. At any rate, I asked a friend to sand it down and paint it for a pretty penny and he said he'll hook me up with some services over Christmas Break. Until then, you'll recognize me by the blatant white panel on the front of my car. Maybe I should temporarily paint it myself? : /

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go prepare myself for consumption of fowl in mass quantities.

Wasting Time

2004-11-22T01:41:00.000-08:00

So nothing really happened to me today... I slept, went to church, ate Chinese with mom, Jer, and Shannon (who are were in from Philly), went to the mall with my brothers, aaaannnnnd came home and procrastinated on my research paper. While I was procrastinating, I read a survey someone took.. and although it's one of the lamest ones of its kind, I took it anyway... so here it is.

PAST
first grade teachers name: Mrs. Montei from Christian School*shudder* she accused me of stealing and I had to read the Bible for a week of recess
Last words you said: no idea
last song you sang: Santa Baby
last thing you laughed at: My brother

PRESENT
whats in your cd player: Jesus Music, Dave Matthews, Classical Piano
what color socks are you wearing: Dog Slippers
whats under your bed: a bed box with crafts and photos from life

FUTURE
what is your career going to be: Professor? Actress? w
here are you going to live: Who knows?
how many kids do you want: 3…two boys and a girl

CURRENT
current hair: strawberry blonde
current clothes: sweatshirt, sweatpants
current jewelry: none
current annoyance: research paper
current smell: pajamas?
current longing: Freschetta Pizza and skittles
current desktop picture: the caribbean
current favorite music artist: The Beatles
current book: don’t have one
current worry: research paper
current hate: English Class
current favorite article of clothing: black turtleneck
favorite physical feature on a boy/girl: Eyes
one person you wish was here right now: no comment
line from the last thing you wrote to someone: “copy and paste it to word pad” Exciting, huh?
i am happiest when: with theatre folk
i feel lonely when: … I’m not sure.. I’m rarely alone and treasure moments when I am
do you think too much: I’m not sure there is any such thing
if you could live anywhere in the world, where: Mill Hall
do you have any regrets: yes
favorite coffee: none
favorite smell: a great guy cologne
what makes you mad: people who suck
favorite way to waste time: sleep
what is your best quality: no idea
are in currently in love/lust: unfortunately
what's the craziest thing you have ever done: strutted around in front of a mall in leopard pants with a thong outside my pants in front of a ton of people
do you find it hard to trust people? Depends on the person
last thing you bought yourself: a new Bible and earrings
bath or shower: Shower
favorite season: fall
favorite color: blue
favorite time of day: late night
favorite day of the week: Saturday
gold or silver: silver
any secret crushes: yup

FASHION
how many coats and jackets do you own: 1
Do you wear a watch: I lost it
Favorite pants color: jeans
Most expensive item of clothing: pants: 40 bucks
most treasured: jeans

YOUR FRIENDS
do your friends know you: I tend to think so
what do they tend to be like: Theatre folk, funny, charismatic, witty
can you count on them: some
can they count on you: most times

LAST
last book you read: The Cambride Guide to Asian Theatre
last movie you saw: Ferris Bueller’s Day Off (for the 50th time)
last movie you saw on the big screen: wow… The Notebook?
last show you watched on tv: whatever I caught while my dad channel surfed
last song you heard: The Shrine: Celtic Harp Orchestra
last thing you had to drink: diet coke
last thing you ate: Herr’s Baked Potato Chips (no good)last time you showered: yesterday *gasp*
last time you smiled: a few minutes ago
last time you laughed: downstairs about 15 minutes ago
last person you hugged: Jeremy
last person you kissed: Joshua
last person you talked to online: Ralph
last person you talked to on the phone: Devanie

DO YOU
smoke: no
do drugs: no
drink: no
sleep with stuffed animals: yup
have a dream that keeps coming back: no
play an instrument:piano
believe there is life on other planets: dunno
read the newspaper: yes
have any gay or lesbian friends: yes
believe in miracles: yes
consider yourself tolerant: somewhat
consider police a friend or foe: foe
like the taste of alcohol: wouldn’t know
believe in astrology: no
believe in magic: no
Pray: yes
go to church: yes
have any secrets: I think everyone knows everything about me, just not individually.
Have any pets: yes! Fish, cat, dog
go or plan to attend college: yes
talk to strangers: yup
Have any piercings: ears only
have any tattoos: no
hate yourself: no
wish on stars: sometimes
like your handwriting: not particularly
believe in witches: yes
believe in ghosts: yes
believe in the tooth fairy: no
have a second family: several :)

Beer Parties Are Lame

2004-11-21T02:27:00.000-08:00

Tonight was my first beer party.

I've been invited to three so far, and this was the cast party, so I decided to stop by and see just how lame it would be... to which my answer was, "very."

Granted, on the scale of beer partiage, I'm sure this was a real winner, but in my book (which consists of amazing, hilarious, non-alcoholic, 5 AM giggling and pondering the most retarded of instances in the world)... it sucked.

We played Kings, and I drank water to participate. I actually didn't mind playing the first round because when I drew a king (granted it wasn't the last one), I poured water into the middle... which thus diluted the alcohol content of the mixture for the last person to drink :). I felt like I was doing something good.

It's very hard for me to explain what tonight was for me. It's like I needed to force myself to enjoy the atmosphere because it all comes so unnatural to me otherwise. There's something about underage college kids getting sloshed and taking off their clothes that really just doesn't do it for me. I guess it's so hard because I place such value on intellect and conversational connection... and was placed in an environment where trashing that intellect was the norm. There's nothing more retarded than watching people who you know can't physically be intoxicated act like they are because they buckle in the atmosphere. Someone was even drinking a Strawberry Daiquiri drink mix... and pretended she was losing ability to think clearly.

Well... regardless, it's over (not for the people still there, of course). I left at about 12:30 with the only friend I had there who also didn't find it to be genuinely entertaining. I figured that anything that happened after he left would leave me feeling alone and unamused, with no real way to escape comfortably... so I took the opportunity while it still lingered.

So the show is over... and I fear the friendships are as well. No longer are we forced to exist in the same time slots together each night, and no longer are we forced to undress together in close quarters; what else, then, can be expected to come of our relationships? I guess I can only look forward to the next play, which sadly will not include the same people.. and possibly may not even include me. At any rate, I'm left feeling disappointed and saddened by the fact that especially one of those friendships will likely never deepen past what it is unless we cross again in the spring play. Change is sometimes unfortunate, but necessary and thus the essence of life.

Here's to the Unexpected

2004-11-19T02:43:00.000-08:00

Today was so...unpredictable.
I woke up cranky as could be I suppose. I didn't really begin with it in mind, it kind of just happened. I scooted off to make it on time for my honors freshman discussion group hour and searched for them for half an hour to no avail (they were hiding in the back of the library eating cake with no notice given to yours truly). I suppose that's what set it off. Oh, well that and the fact that I'm PMSing :)!

I Get really depressed once a month... I feel like the little Zoloft thing (which is adorable). I mean it's not anything unnatural, but I hate knowing I'm out of sorts and not knowing how to get back in.... and it's nothing I want to talk about to anyone because I know it's silly.

So I didn't go to work today. I still owe like... 4 hours but I just hate being there and pretending I'm busy. I feel like I'm cheating or something, not to mention the fact that it's absolutely boring.

I went back home and lied down only to be woke by my father, who was ready to head back to school himself (we only have one vehicle while mine's in the shop). I changed my shirt, put on some makeup, and hoped I'd feel better. The day turned around when a friend unexpectedly dropped by for conversation as I was avoiding work. Actually, it's quite safe to say it made my day.

The show went very well tonight. It still wasn't perfect, but that's what makes art beautiful, right? At any rate, Andrew fought as if his hand had never been hacked apart by the blade only a night before. It was great.

A lot of friends unexpectedly came to the show... Jocelyn, Sheila, Josh, Steve, April, Mrs. Antram (in place of Caitlin and Anna, who couldn't make it)... they even brought flowers, which I had a difficult time accepting. I introduced them to Danielle and we decided to go out to eat together, but had no idea how we'd fit in the truck... so we were in the middle of devising some way of gently breaking the law when Mike saw us and told me to take his Jeep.

Excuse me? Your Jeep? He could have just as well said, "Go ahead, take my left testicle... just be careful." Yeah- it's that important to him.

So... I was shocked, and happy, and ready to go... we headed to Mickey D's where I sucked down a large, triple thick, chocolate milkshake to top off my day. I got home rather early and with very little homework (because I'm putting it all off for the weekend- read, "Sunday night") but didn't manage to get my tushy upstairs until right now... 2:30 AM. *Sigh* When will I learn I'm NOT NOCTURNAL?!

On a completely unrelated note (to Nocturnal-ness-age-tion...) I'm a pretty messy gal right now. I hate getting mixed up in silly emotions... ones that you know are silly and unfounded and that you don't have time or energy for, but the ones that are there nagging at you regardless. Ones that you can't talk about for fear they grow, and you can't keep inside for fear your innards burst. Yes... vague... but I feel slightly more expressive of my situation now... and for now, that shall do.

Here's to the unexpected

The Show Really Does Go On

2004-11-18T01:35:00.000-08:00

Wow... tonight's been... dramatic?

Rashomon officially opened tonight and it was absolutely packed. I'm talkin' people standing, people locked out and can't get in. I'm talkin' breaking fire codes, everything: crazy.

Door shuts, opening scene commences. First monologue part cued, bam: the first sword fight. It's fluid, it's beautiful, it's fast... until my peripheral vision catches a glimpse of the last of the final four strikes. It's one which makes both Andrew and Dave jolt just a bit... and all seems well.

Of course, all seemed well. But that's just because I was so intensely focused on myself apparently.

Blood quickly poured from Andrew's hand and collected in a puddle below him. The lighting made it so that this was not easily acknowledged by audience members, much less by those in character on stage. His next block was to kneel with his hands bound behind his back. He did... and blood flowed... and flowed, and flowed.

(Mind you, I'm entirely oblivious)... people are going crazy backstage... they wonder whether we have to stop the show or not and worry about Andy but he's on stage before we can tell him we'll stop for him. ... He's wrapped a bunch of silk around his hand (once light blue and now black in the stage light drenched in his blood). In between his fast-paced entrances and fight scenes, he's getting wrapped in whatever materials we have backstage.

...and I'm still, completely, oblivious.

Finally, at the end of the show, I begin to notice people frantically running about and Andrew changing faster than every (and only with the use of one hand). "stitches, Emergency Room.." I look at his hand and see it entirely drenched. I look at my costume and notice blood, I look at the stage and see blood, and I realize what's happened: He had cut his hand in that first sword fight, and the bastard mustered up balls of steel to do every other sword fight and every other line on that stage without me even noticing he was bleeding. Absolutely awesome. Painful... and awesome.

So everyone was going to go home and call it a night but I felt horrible knowing he was at the ER getting stitched up from the show... so I tried to convince people to head over to LH Hospital just to see him when he got out. Finally a few people obliged and eventually we had about 6 folks who waited to see him. Gino was there, of course. If there's anyone I felt even slightly worse for, it was Gino. Here he is: amazing, talented, taking a risk on a studio show with real props and elaborate fight sequences in his first semester here at the college. He we are, practicing them 4 times a day every day if not more and they're great.. and the one time it goes wrong, it goes very wrong. So now we have an injured samarai with no understudy, no time to teach new sequences, and no way to disguise the fact that Andy can't use his hand properly... or the fact that he has about a pound of dressing on it to keep the bleeding at bay.

hmm... ponderings.

So after we made sure all was well at the hospital, he went home (no doubt to figure out what he's capable of for tomorrow night's performance), and we went to Ruby Tuesday on Gino... where we gabbed about what happened at tried to relieve the stress of the ridiculous things that happened throughout the evening.

Some people blame it on those who peeked out the curtain at the audience. Some blame it on those who cracked open the door to see the line outside. Some blame it on the muttering of "MacBeth" backstage... blah blah blah. Well, I'm not one for stage superstition, but I do believe one upset equals many upsets in a show.

There were stumbles in lines, early blurts, late sounds, missed lights, ... *sigh* And incredibly enough, it honestly was still a beautiful show. Seriously... things were smoothed over and the audience really couldn't tell what was going on... but we could. And now we have to figure out how to handle the rest of the week's run.

Crazy Crazy Drama. How could you NOT want this to be part of your life?

And so the show will go on... We aren't sure how, but it shall. As for me? I feel absolutely horrible for the entire ordeal. I empathize what seems to be too much at times... I just want to fix Andrew and erase the whole thing for the sake of him and Gino. I feel even worse that I was too focused on my part to realize what was going on. In hindsight I guess it's better for the show that I was in character but I really do feel quite wretched about the whole thing. There I was, ticked off for flubbing a line (which was barely worth the trouble of tickage) and he's bleeding beside me. Granted, it was very dark backstage and you can't see a bloody thing (... pun intended?) but I still feel ridiculous.

*Sigh*

Yes, more did happen to me today... but lately it seems whatever happens in daylight hours is just necessary monotony I have to trudge through to get to the real reason for the day: play practice/performance. With that in mind, the fact that I almost placed into Conversational Spanish today and that I'm officially and English major with the Theatre part on the way just dim in the background of tonight's events.

So...I'm off to bed... I'm gonna need some good rest to wear this off before tomorrow night.

Hangovers or Dance Revolution

2004-11-14T23:38:00.000-08:00

Church made me happy today. I love those days where you could just sing and sing forever. :) I got asked to put together a skit for December about Lottie Moon (she was a missionary who opened up the idea of missions in China; she was the first woman to do so.) I think that's some pretty awesome stuff.

Showed up to practice at 2... Gino was nice enough to get two run-throughs in and knock off the 7-11 part for the evening (which we were all exceedingly grateful for). Half the cast showed up with hangovers, one of which I wanted to go over and rip off his costume so he wouldn't pass out on stage. At any rate, my idea that everyone in the cast drinks was one that I found to be inaccurate today. Turns out two of the zaniest ones there don't touch the stuff... so of course I hung out with them tonight. Right after practice we went out to eat.

We didn't really have room for everyone in the car so we had one person just lay across the three in the back. That always makes for a good time. We walked into Aungst at 7:30 and it closes at 8. By the time we all ordered it was 7:45... but the waitress just happened to be Stormy so I told her that if she didn't rush us and stayed late tonight I'd make sure she got a sweet tip; she easily obliged. Then we were off to hang out and play Dance Revolution (ha). I forgot how refreshing it is to be stupid in large groups. The show runs this week... only one more practice until we have an audience!... And I have sooo much due in the meantime (eek).

Wish me luck... Hopefully I'll get time to blog sometime this week.

The Art of Chopsticking

2004-11-14T03:10:00.000-08:00

And so another late night.

You know I actually went to bed at 8 because I was so tired, but woke up at 1 am. Why is it that I can sleep for more than 12 hours if I hit the sack late, but can't even manage 6 if I go at a decent time? curious...

I could really go for a sticky bun right now.

So last night was a good time... I went to practice at 2; we did a run-through for lights and tech (but not full tech) which meant no costumes... happiness.

I was backstage thinking about how hungry I was so I decided to get people to out to eat with me... it was really a matter of whoever was backstage at the time, and whoever didn't have to stay after main practice cuz I was starving. I figured it'd be one of the few times I could hang out with them without beer. We scooted over to Gourmet Buffet (a local Chinese place), loaded up our plates continuously and entertained each other. I didn't realize how adept other people are in the art of chopsticking. Perhaps I should learn.

How would one eat a sticky bun with chopsticks?

I'm slowly adjusting to this whole nocturnal thing so perhaps I'll finish some more work on this page. Notice, if you will, the new sidebar addition of other friends' blogs. (Thanks to Lori's help).

Since I woke up, went to practice, went to eat, and went to bed... I really don't have anything else of interest. Until then...

Breast Milk and Lab Rats

2004-11-12T00:02:00.000-08:00

You know... I've just recently been struck with the question of how milk comes from humans. It's odd enough to me that milk can be slowly pressed out of the pink appendage-like sack that hangs from a bovine... but milk from a human? And only temporarily at that. ...And why do men have nipples anyway? It's not like they lactate, so what's the point? ... and so the questioning mind of the philosopher Jacklynstotle rages on.

I could be at a keg party right now. It's funny... you make friends at college and it's like the next "step" in your friendship is to go get drunk with them... and when you decline, its like the friendship remains stagnant... as if you denied it the ability to go any deeper. If that means I'll never have a "real" good time with them, well... that's unfortunate (partially because the lot of them are friggin hilarious and mostly because some of them are brilliant.) Doesn't it only make sense that I wouldn't want to see them in their most retarded and pathetic of human states? Apparently not. I'm absurd. *shrug* They're lovely enough when they're sober. If I had it my way, we'd all pig out all night and watch stupid comedies until we looked drunk. I guess that was a high school pasttime.

So my car's still in the shop. I was told by a certain someone that they'd look around for the light assembly for me while I was at school today... which later turned into them calling around, which later turned into them not doing it at all and telling me to take care of it. *sigh* And they wonder why I try to take on the world alone :)

This weekend begins the insanity that is Rashomon. Sunday I'm there from 2-11 :) whee! No really, it'll be a good time: the drama folk bond through complaints and entertaining each other in sheer boredom... the perfect atmosphere for such is Tech runs.

My cat's living in her litter box. How refreshing it must be to sit in a pile of your own feces and bodily fluids. That's the life. I actually woke her up to attempt to lure her away fron the enchanted kitty litter and she squinted, raised her chin, and I took notice to the cat litter pieces that had attached themselves to the fur of her bottom lip. ...disturbing.

I get to be a lab rat tomorrow. My psych prof is giving out extra credit to people who sign up for experimentation down the hall. Since I'm bordering A-, I thought I'd take advantage of it to gimme the A... but then we have a test coming up on 4 chapters I didn't even look at the pictures for. College is grand.

Grammatically Correct Chaos

2004-11-10T14:36:00.000-08:00

I've come to realize that talking about the overwhelming chaos that is overturning my life (and yet keeping me alive all the same) helps me to sort out what I'm doing and when I'm doing it. I forewarn you: Hell week is soon approaching and hence will likely be the topic of my blogs for days to come.

Last night at the Countdown Theatre, we had a woman come do a presentation on the Women of Shakespeare. It was impressive :). She had 2 workshops today and planned on working on a Midsummer Night's Dream monologues, which would have been perfect for me since that's the show I'll be auditioning for in the Spring.

Unfortunately, practice ended at 11:30 last night so I got home just before midnight and began reading Agamemnon so I could elaborate on the role of Cassandra for English class. Just then, a friend from MIT called (Dev) to talk about the hell that is geek world. It's hilarious to listen to her go on about it. She's a black and white person... she's all about Dualism. I could call her Dev the Dualist, actually. I, on the other hand, am interested in theories and hypotheticals and though processes. She calls me to complain about classes that aren't based on numbers and absolutes: ha.

At any rate, our conversation wrapped up about an hour later, and then I attempted once again to tackle Agamemnon to only be interrupted to answer questions about Significant Digits in Physics (from my brother, who was taking on some science homework for Penn Tech). All in all, I finished up around 3:30 and couldn't see waking up four hours later to go to this workshop. I like Shakespeare and being prepared for auditions and all, but let's be realistic: I'm so sleep-deprived that I automatically fall into REM sleep when I'm still for more than 15 minutes.

So... Onward ho! I have a long rearended research paper due on India and China in about one week, as well as a drawing I have to at least begin to make headway on. Oh.. and now that I remember it, I have a test on 4 chapters of Adolescent Development (that I haven' t yet read) in 1 week as well. Oh.. and I have to take that Spanish Placement Test... aaaand then there's the papers on Plato and the Allegory of the Cave.

Soon I'm sure my brain will reach maximum capacity. How am I supposed to keep learning if there is already so much crammed in my tiny head?

All I can do is take my English-paper-writing-grammar-nazi tendencies on those I love as a result of being constantly badgered and harangued myself to use them. And so, a glimpse into the future love life of Jackie...

...compliments (obviously) of Toothpaste for Dinner: http://www.toothpastefordinner.com/archives-aut04.php

Mencken's right

2004-11-09T15:02:00.000-08:00

*sigh*

So I'm posting from the college today, where I've had little luck accomplishing anything of importance. You see, I have the innate ability to complete mundane tasks with the most brilliant finesse and the inability to do anything with real value to any successful extent.

My car is in the shop because it's practically dying. I could hear it slowly falling apart as I rammed to and fro... with the inspection 2 months expired. It became a sort of video game where I avoided cops, or when they spotted me I'd just happen to pull in somewhere nearby so they couldn't identify which one they saw. It helps that the sticker was slightly bent upwards after being restuck on my new windshield installment (recovery from a grouse hitting my old windshield and shattering it. Yes, crazy but alas, true). Anyways... it's in the shop, and fortunately I left all the important books for my classes inside the trunk. I only have one copy of my key because I never got around to making another (that's one of those important tasks I never got around to). This leaves me hitching a ride with my father to and from the school, which is increasingly difficult with the many things I try to do in a day.

I had an appointment with my English professor sometime today and grabbed the wrong notebook, thinking I jotted down the time inside. I didn't. I tried to go from memory and swore to myself that I wrote 2:30 as the appointment time. I showed up, she didn't. I checked my email 20 minutes ago to find a message left by her at 11:00 in the friggin morning asking where I was. Apparently my photographic memory failed me this time. Even so, I don't know if she'll let me make up the appointment and I think she's quite disturbed. Well... so am I: I hate her class.

Perhaps that's the key. I accomplish the things I really care about. Maybe I just think I have a lot longer than I really do to achieve everything. You see, college has become quite a challenge in the area of time management (even more so without a car) because no one is hounding me every day to get things done, and no one is handing out sheets with a due date or a deadline. Thus, I procrastinate, but with no set deadline as the end of the procrastination capability. I'm pathetic.

This isn't to say I don't get anything done. OOOh no, I get plenty done. It's just a matter of how much of it has any real value and if it could have been exchanged for something of higher quality.

*Sigh*

This guy just walked in who looks a lot like a Curtis I know. Almost an exact replica actually. I smiled happily to acknowledge him but when he looked at me I realized I was quite incorrect. ...awkward.

So H.L. Mencken said "School days, I believe, are the unhappiest in the whole span of human existence. They are full of dull, unintelligible tasks, new and unpleasant ordinances, brutal violations of common sense and common decency. It doesn't take a reasonably bright boy long to discover that most of what is rammed into him is nonsense, and that no one really cares very much whether he learns it or not."

*raises glass*

Here's to Mencken.

Cleaning Service Erotica

2004-11-08T03:12:00.000-08:00

Today was my brother's birthday. I asked my director (I'm in a play at the college) if I could show up a little late to celebrate with him, to which the answer was yes. (He's amazing).

So before I continue, I should let you know that I have two jobs. I work at the bookstore on campus for just about nothing an hour, and on weekends I clean the house of a retired professor (a job handed off to me by a friend who flew off to Utah). This guy draws and paints, and yadda yadda. I'm a huge appreciator of art, by the way. What's fun is that this guy is into the erotic stuff and nudies, and his wife was a beautiful lady... so he has huge nudies of her mounted in the living room. The first time I was introduced to her (she's now like... 70), I noticed a cavernous vagina hanging over the coffee table which just happened to be hers. Lovely. I pondered what the appropriate reaction is to such a thing. Do I compliment her vagina? Do I pretend I can't see the vagina even though it's looming over me?

So yeah.. that's the background. Cute, huh? I was supposed to clean Sat. for him but I had set contruction so I said I'd come over today. I caught the early church service so I could call him exactly at 11 (he's very meticulous) so he could tell me to show up at 12, meaning I'd be done at 2:30 or 3 and home in time to celebrate with Mike and then go off to play practice. No... no that didn't happen.

I called at 11, he told me to come at 1 (against the original plan, mind you). I showed up and he had me polish the chrome in the bathroom of the separate house he owns (it's a mini-dome). That added a bit of time. Then he requested that I do a thorough job of vacuuming the dead bugs out of the sliding door track s(they have, like 10 of them). Again, more time. All in all, I got outta there at 4:30 (2 hours behind schedule), and missed dinner with Mike and the fam. I was there for cake, but *sigh* I failed. It's not a good feeling to let people down, much less on their Birthday.

On a less vaginal note, then I went to theatre practice, as I do every night, to continue to bond with my drama family :).

What mishaps might tomorrow bring?

Perilous Night? Fight? Plight?

2004-11-07T13:47:00.000-08:00

So I went to PSU tonight for a little cultural awareness lesson. The Emcees were Indian and all their jokes made absolutely no sense to me. I figured it was a little like a Chinese person trying to understand a Redneck crack: it just doesn't click. At any rate, one of the best parts of the whole show was when a girl sang the national anthem. First, she messed up words. It's like she just threw in "hailed" wherever she pleased and changed words just so that they rhymed correctly. Maybe she called it creativity... but everyone knew the words to the Indian national anthem (Which by the way I didn't... and so I had the decency to not sing it.) At any rate, they had a number of malfunctions with the sound system and right at the climax when she's ready to go up to the high notes for land of the free, she takes a huge long breath and the radio comes on with a commercial. There's a guy with a deep deep voice saying "it makes me so thirsty..." and I busted up. Front row, Jackie Baker (one of what...2 white girls in the room?) cracking up at her own national anthem.

The rest of the show was pretty amazing... everyone was beautiful, skinny, and could dance circles around me (and run up walls and do back flips to end in a break dance)... I left with very little self-esteem.

Prerana had to practice so Meg and I wandered around PSU looking for Dan's hall... we finally found him in his room shining shoes. Yeah, that's right. An hour and a half of hard core ROTC partying: a good shoe shine. He had the wax, the buffing cloth, a lighter, and the shoes all laid out. I was surprised I didn't hear Barry Manilow in the background.

After I ate his last piece of pizza he'd kept in his fridge and we met all his friends (not bad, if I do say so myself), we went to Cold Stone Creamery... which has now taken the new spot of #1 Ice Cream place in my heart.

Tomorrow's fun? My bro's Bday, Theatre Practice, Church, and Cleaning the house of an erotic artist.

The fun never ends. ;)

To begin again?

2004-11-06T03:51:00.000-08:00

So the past few nights I've been staying up all night long and passing out until half-way through the day. I'm simply rendered unconcious. Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately?) I sleep through everything that happens the next day until at least 3pm. Translation? I've missed soooo many classes

*gulp*

As if the force that is Jackie wasn't busy enough already, let's just SLEEP ALL DAY so I accumulate a debt of to-do's with myself, eh?

At any rate, I'm off to PSU tomorrow night to see Prerana dance her non-existent Indian butt off. That's only after I go to work and do set contruction of course ;)

... perhaps I'll begin blogging regularly again... but come to think of it, I don't think I'm talking to anyone anymore. They all gave up on the notion of me updating.

2004-06-28T22:10:00.000-07:00

So should I get a job or not?

I slept in until about 3:30 today. I think it's a problem of motivation. I watched Office Space tonight for just about the 20th time and I can relate so well. I just want to do nothing for the rest of my life. Is there anything wrong with that?

Unfortunately, I'm running out of excuses for people to send me money in the mail. Unless I fake polio or something, I think the checks are going to die down pretty soon. I may have to get a job.

My car is becoming a money pit any more. This is the second flat tire I've had in less than a year. That's pretty annoying. Turns out I ran over a screw. That's right...a screw. One screw'll cost me a pretty penny. ...that sounds pretty bad.

So..off to bed or something like that. Hopefully I'll get up at a decent hour and actually try to accomplish a few of the things hanging over my head.

Or maybe I'll get up and have dinner again.

2004-06-27T22:16:00.000-07:00

Soooo....back from church camp and ready to roll :)

Camp was amazing. Actually, It'd say it was beyond words but I've tallied up about 4 hours of blabbering on about it since I've gotten home.

At any rate, I've returned from the magical Jesus vacation and am realizing more of the realities I left on the 20th (I need a job, I procrastinate, I lack sleep, I need to work out, etc.) I think I just might apply for a waitressing job somewhere...I'll finally be 18 so I can work at the cool places.

My birthday's coming up. I just realized it yesterday, which is sad because usually I'm counting down to it. In actuality, I don't feel 18, I forgot I was turning 18, and I really just don't care to become 18. So I don't think I will :).

I've thought about the party thing...still deciding on that one. I don't want to make it a big deal, but I also know my friends are all looking for excuses to hang out since school is no longer an option. hmm...

All right...it's about 1:30 and I'm looking for excuses to stay up. Maybe I should work 3rd shift. Night.

2004-06-18T22:31:00.000-07:00

Went to my fourth grad party tonight. At least I think it was the fourth... anyways, I have another tomorrow. Rumor has it they'll go into July 30th :). It's not like I have anything better to do

Although I do have a huge to do list to tackle tomorrow... I leave for camp sunday ...(God and Lori week) so I have to get on the ball.

Tyler's coming over tomorrow to steal my car and fix it. I hope it works out. Stupid turning signals on my 93 Impreza are shot. No one can fix them. WHY IS MY CAR SCREWING WITH MY MIND!? I think it's because I hadn't cleaned it out in about 6 months... it's revolting. I just know it.

2004-06-17T21:19:00.001-07:00

Wow... it's been a while kids, but I'm back to publishing my life online.

What's the deal with the gmail craziness? I think I'll get one just to be cool...I'm running out of ways to classify myself as such.

Joshua got the wisdom teeth out today...funny how much fun someone can be when they have no control of their limbs.

Anyway a lot's happened since back in april. I quit my gay rearended job and am being sucked into the cult of Mary Kay...I'm beginning to think I'm not cut out for this whole labor thing.

2003-04-19T18:05:00.000-07:00

Yeah so I did another 8-5 shift today. I've had to tolerate those just about every Saturday for the last month. Oh, but I checked the schedule today for next week, and this Saturday I get to work 8:30 to 5!! ...which means I get up a half an hour later and get half an hour less of lunch. ...i.e, I get screwed. ah yes, the loveliness that is Kmart. I'm beginning to realize that nearly all my blogs are about that wretched place. The other day someone asked me why I work there if I hate it so much and I really couldn't give her a good answer. I got by without the money before... why can't I now?

At any rate, if I didn't tell you, I got employee of the month... right after I won 1st place for my informal essay about how much I hate the place. The irony :)

They gave me off for prom. Needless to say, I was almost shocked.

The other night they called me back to the office to tell me my drawer was 40 bucks short one night. GREAT. now I look like a thief. I dont even know how that happened... I searched all around my register... now I'm extra paranoid when I count my money out :(

Blah... I'm off for Easter. I had to switch to get it. I think it's hilarious that I try to switch on normal sundays so that I can go to church and Satan decided to work me EASTER sunday... and expected me not to switch? ha.

So I'm done talking about Kmart. I've realized I'm a whiner. I've turned into a fat whiny moody piece of crap and I've resolved to stop being that. Looks like I'll have other things to blog about here soon :)

2003-04-11T21:24:00.000-07:00

I have to work 8 am - 5pm tomorrow, and it blows little tiny monkeys. I can't stand that place on 5 hour shifts lately... another 9 hour one will kill me. On top of that, I'm the gay employee of the month. Funny how I got it for the month I was there the least. And when other people get it, their names get put on the dry erase board in the break room. You think MY name is there? No. No it's not. It says "Our number one goal is to make money." That's wonderful. Thanks for the congratulations, kids. You run a nice place here.

I'd love to quit, but unfortunately, I'm still there out of obligation. I need the money (for what, I'm, still trying to figure out), and my luck I'd quit just when they start hiring the cool people.

The other night was a classic. "Jackie from the checkouts to register 3 with a mop!" I'm in the aisles, somewhere back on the other side of the store, stomping on the floor, ready to crash my cart into a random customer and I almost start to cuss up a storm. I marched onward to register 3 after fighting off the disgusting janitor's closet for the wet mop. Fortunately, I didn't have to clean up kid barf. It was soda. My question is why couldn't the fat rearended cashier on register burn the calories to go get the freaking mop herself?

1/2 a year "anniversary" or whatever is coming up on the 13th. I think Josh will take me to Hooters. TOO BAD I WORK THAT NIGHT. Jerks. I hope someone torches the Big K. I'd love to see the red go up in flames. I'll bet they don't give me off for prom. or Church camp.

oh buddy... if they don't give me off for those, I'll quit right there no doubt.

So anyways, come visit me tomorrow. I'm sure I'll be miserable but I'll put on a good act.

I'll go help old ladies with their yardwork for money in the summer. At least they won't ask for a senior citizen discount.

By the way... know any places that are hiring?

Anyways, I felt like venting, because it's coming up on 12:30, and I have to be up by 7:30. Unfortunately, I'll be needing a shower tomorrow morning so I don't look like a bubble-gum chewing skank on the registers.

Come visit me.

2003-04-05T19:39:00.000-08:00

Kmart is hiring. I keep selfishly hoping some cool people will get in there so my job doesn't blow monkeys so much. I'm starting to notice that they really like to hire girls though. :/ I've thought about quitting... I don't even know what to do about getting off for camp or what I'll do in fall for volleyball season. Life seems so much more fun without 10 people over your head telling you what to do 10 different ways and demanding that you put your job over all other priorities in life. Yeah right... let me be a shallow teenager every once in a while. I'll be lucky if I can get off for prom night. HA.

I took the SATs today...and I've determined that my only choice is looking to be lesbo land of LHU.

Haircut coming up Tuesday.. I'm thinking about actually getting it cut for the summer and putting highlights in it...but the last time I got spontaneous, I ended up with 2 platinum blonde stripes down the front of my head.

2003-03-31T20:03:00.000-08:00

Yeah, so Kmart is hiring. This blows so much! I can't believe how much a job sucks. I just had to ask for like... 7 weeks of a specially tailored schedule to fit my needs. They gave it to me reluctantly, and now I'm back on the clock regularly starting the 2nd. The part that really blows it up the crack is that Negger and the gals are getting a beach house in delaware this summer, Josh is going on a trip, and I'm going to camp. But the times that I'm not having fun, I need a way to make money over the summer. So either my entire last summer sucks majorly, or I quit, end up moneyless, but enjoy the heck out of my summer. I could go to Millbrook maybe and see if they want me... or maybe find something drama-like to do. At any rate, I have no idea what to do and if you've talked to God lately and He's told you something He's keeping from me, I'll pay you to tell me. *sigh*

2003-03-19T19:54:00.000-08:00

Bush just addressed the nation, and to be quite honest, I'm scared. I've heard both sides of the argument, and I must say that I'm neutral. All I know is that this could get a lot worse than everyone likes to think, and that while we go on living in our vain American comforts, others are dying so we can do so. The end times are coming, and the Lord said it would be done with fire... ever think it could be real soon?

I was thinking it'd be nice to have sex before I die though...

2003-03-08T19:47:00.000-08:00

I've noticed that there really is no point in me having this page. I dont visit it, I dont encourage others to visit it, and if either one of the two would take place, there's nothing here to see anyways. So I guess my point is... who in the #(_% came up with this retarded idea anyways?

2003-03-03T19:23:00.000-08:00

Yeah... so I'm playing around with buttons, with no clue what they do or if they'll work. This is tons of fun. It's like my own little button factory, except I can play with HTML and reallly screw things up beyond all madness because I'm clueless. At least Neysa couldn't do this either. I'll be strong...I'll keep playing.

2003-03-01T08:21:00.000-08:00

You know it really ticks me off when I write something and put it in my info...like a poem or a line or a little blurp that I've written myself, and without asking someone just saves it to their computer and puts it in their info when they deem appropriate. Yeah... if I wrote it and it's my work, you shouldn't take credit for it. Or at least ask to use the freaking thing. grreth

2003-02-27T20:19:00.000-08:00

So anyways... I want to make Prerana feel like the little trendsetter she so aspires to be. So I'm jumping on this crazy bandwagon that's like tube feeding my addicion to infos on AIM... we shall see how long I can last before I just take this off the server :)