Wow, that last post was left up longer than it had any need.

I am now the proud owner of 18 feet of plastic pearls. Noble costume, here I come. Although it takes more than 18 feet of plastic pearls [courtesy of Hobby Lobby's ever-expanding Christmas section] to make a noble costume [we're looking at a minimum of 8 yards of fabric for the gown alone], it's still nice to have. I've also got two massive plastic fleurs-de-lis ornaments that I'll hopefully be able to sand down, make 'em look like gold-painted wood, and turn into part of a really cool fan. Possibilities are endless. Now if only I could get that 50-hour sewing project out of the way.... *Bangs head on grouchy sewing machine* [Thanks to the benevolent Woolfolks for their loan of a non-grouchy sewing machine.]

I went out for sushi today with Megan and Leland. First time ever, and got a little adventurous [I'm paying for it now]. It involved squid, octopus, eel, snails, and salmon eggs. Geuh. Those eggs are forever embedded in my mouth-sensory database. It was.... Disturbing. Tasty, but disturbing. I highly recommend the eel, however.

Waking up tomorrow will be interesting, considering I've not yet been conscious for nine hours. This is a disappointment, for I only realised fifteen minutes ago that today was Sunday, and not Saturday. GAHHHHHHHHH.

A tout a l'heure.

Due to popular demand by Matt, I have actually uploaded a couple photographs. In typical narcissistic practise, they both involve myself. I'll upload cool, non-narcissistic Paris scenes when I don't have to be at work in 56 minutes. Shoney's keeps botching my schedule. I've already told them that being at work before 6:30 on Tuesdays and Thursdays is impossible because I have a class which ENDS at 5:45. For some reason, they think I can be in at 5:00 and 4:00 on those days, respectively. *Slams head on server's tray* I just keep telling myself that it's money, which is slightly necessary for the promotion of this dwindling social life I possess.

Please pray for my grandfather, Jim Jeskey. He needs some sort of divine intervention. I'm not going to be any more specific until the doctor's can tell us something definitively, but if you can just wish him good health, I'd be unspeakably obliged. That "punched in the stomach" feeling on Tuesday's got nothing on this.

@-->----

Gotta love getting home a little after 3:00 to find a note on the door saying to be somewhere by 2:00 at the latest.

....

When you already have plans to be somewhere 45 minutes away from the 2:00 location at 5:00. *Slams head*

But what I was going to say before the door-note fiasco is that....

My best friend is fucking amazing. That CD is all I've been listening to for the past 2-3 days. You are awesome, and I love you.

Off to LaVergne....

Sometimes you just feel like you've taken a hit to the gut. Or elbowed in the solar plexus. One.

On the plus side, my French class went quite well [despite being late -- at least I wasn't the latest person there -- ha!] We're reading the first written fairytales, penned at the court of Louis XIV. These are not your Disney classics. For instance, there IS no kindly woodcutter who ambles in at the exact convenient moment to save Little Red Riding Hood. Instead, she becomes Hors D'Oeuvre No. 2.

I'm afraid of what he did to Sleeping Beauty [or, La Belle au Bois Dormant]. Things could get ugly. As many of you know, I have an all-consuming fondness for the story, ballet, and movie.

Still feeling slightly mugged. Hopefully, it'll pass.

I need music.
And a hug.
Someone to love would be nice while we're at it.

Well merde.... I just found out I've tested out of half a minor in French, despite not having spoken or written the language in two months. After this year, I'll need one more class to have a minor in that language. Sweetness.

So dual-enrollment has blissfully been accomplished. My schedule runs something like this:

Criminal Justice Administration
Monday/Wednesday 2:20-3:45
[Kinda missed the first day of this one. Oh well. I was busy registering for it at the time.]

Intermediate French II [*Sigh*]
Tuesday/Thursday 4:20-5:45

Oh the scholastic sweetness. And after Criminal Justice Administration, I'm going to take Criminal Law, or Organised And White-Collar Crime!! Excessive excitement.

Ooh, stuffed crust pizza. It's amazing how a day listed as the definition for "infinitely trying" in the dictionary can turn great in two hours' time.

"I feel like the magic in me is slowly dying. After five years without seeing the light of day it's no wonder, but I'm still concerned and clinging to it as desperately as possible. The harder I hold onto it, though, the faster it seems to diminish."

So I took the language placement exam for MTSU yesterday because, hey, I was there and it was there, so why not? I didn't really reflect on the fact that I've not spoken a lick of French since May. So I tested into a 2020 class. I'm absolutely livid. Not only is a certain Disservice To The Female Half Of The Human Race in that level, but 3010 is sooo much cooler. And fits right in with my schedule. And isn't full -- yet. And is exactly what I want/plan to take. Intensive Conversational French. Mmmmm, it's like toffee to the tongue. [I vented my frustrations on an ill-timed retirement plan that was addressed to me in the mail. I proceeded to severely damage this package by hurling it at a window repeatedly until a kitten walked underneath the target and got nailed in the head. Subsequently abandoned packet-hurling for shredding each and every page in the pamphlet, and felt much better.] So Mr. Truax [mon prof de francais] has kindly offered to telephone the foreign language department and see if I can't retake this test-o-doom. I was remembering so many answers as I walked out of the building that it's not remotely amusing. I am rarely [if ever] denied that which I set my heart on months in advance. [So I've only got one example of it, the role of "Ariel" in The Tempest -- sue me.] I've set my heart on Intensive Conversational French. One way or another, I will acquire this course. And it will not be in the spring semester. *Bumbumbummmmmm* *Squinty Eyes*

Yeah, so pretty sure Danny the Dish-Boy is getting mentioned to one manager or another. The guy is ancient and mangy and scruffy, and he makes me uncomfortable. Not physically. Verbally. He keeps asking me when I'm going to "take him riding" in my car; "show me your town;" "take me to the movies with your friends;" and all sorts of crap. The man is really pressuring me on all related issues. And he's not the sort you can chalk it up to insanity or the state known as "senile." He's seriously off. [The fact that he routinely stares at every single underage girls' ass as she walks by does nothing to help his case.] Ugh. Stupid people. I'm perfecting the art of innocently side-stepping, I swear.

Time to troll through eBay....

W00t, I'm free until Wednesday! Now who wants to go do something??

I found the best chocolate bar and the best t-shirt ever at Target yesterday. [M*A*S*H 4077th.] It is love. As is the Seattle Chocolate Company espresso bar. Dark chocolate. Milk chocolate. Ground Turkish espresso. All in shiny gold foil. You must try it; it is delirium. Do not consume while driving.

They're building two houses down the road from us, in fields that used to be Mrs. Heaton's farm. Buggers. They're going to stick vinyl clapboard houses in a field that used to graze donkeys that let us pet them and cows that ran away whenever I walked by [disturbing at the time but nostalgic now]. Pretty soon this place will no longer be the BFE haven I admittedly love and instead will be populated by families with SUV's and wandering children who will no doubt infilitrate the boundaries of our hallowed plot of land. I'm thinking landmines and taking a ratchet to every crucial part of the bulldozers that will respond. Who's with me??

Granted, I plan to move to an urban wasteland someday soon. I love cities. I do. Where they are.
Not where the one house I've lived in my entire life is.

Okay, that's about two paragraphs of negative energy right there. I need something cheery.

Nuclear warheads, for instance.

I have finished reading one of the greatest books of all time. Check out Phillipa Gregory. She is astounding genius when it comes to historical fiction.

I'm out. Have to get ready for auditions. Woot!

Bugger all. I had to work this Friday and I'm working next Friday.
[I should deal, I should deal, I should deal....]
I'd really like to be able to pay money to socialise at a football game at least once in my senior year.
[I'm dealing, I'm dealing, I'm dealing.]
It'll happen.

If not, more money for shopping on those Saturdays, I guess.

I had my first experience ever of being hit on by a drunken construction worker. It was interesting. Even after I told him I was seventeen. "So are you seeing anybody? Boyfriend? Girlfriend? Married?" [Married?] "Well, you're gettin' that heifer's [yes, "heifer's"] tip. So when are you gonna take me out??" "I can't do that, sir, I'd get us both in trouble. I'm seventeen, remember?" "Oh yeah...." Gets up from table, ambles over, and whispers in my ear, "But I'll bet you're not really seventeen!" "Ohh yes sir, I most certainly am; will be for some time." Eh, he was drunk and lonely. And fifty. Poor kid. Then there was the man who ate alone because his son went out God knows where, his wife died one year ago in three weeks, and took my hand and made me vow never to do drugs. Interesting times. Oh yes. Interesting times.

Tomorrow I go to look at senior pictures of the Lovelace persuasion. Yeah, pretty sure I did crap to get ready for those. *Cringe* We'll see.

Why is the lid to the butter dish up here??

People with striking eyes and nice hair can be infuriating and somewhat moronic.

That and the subject line are all I really have to say.

Freakin' a.... Work last night was a bitch. First off Janie, the supervision terror, decided to pay a visit, and got incredibly pissed off that I was waiting on half of a near-empty section because I hadn't completed my eight days of training. (We had squeezed eight days into seven, because it was easy.) So Nick offers to put me in section 1. "No, then you can't watch her to be sure she doesn't mess up!" So she puts me in section five. All of section five. All of the section-five, by-the-bar, busiest-damn-section five. I swear, it was filled so much. I was running around for hours. Then a table gets pissed off, doesn't mention anything about it or try to flag me down to fix it, and insults me behind my back to another server. Bitches. I pictured them wrapped around a telephone pole. But no blood. Okay, maybe a little. Them and their screaming, spaghetti-throwing children. But it's all good. Tips were very satistfactory. *Grins* I'm heading out right after this, lol.

Aww crap. Our weather alarm's going off. I better get a-running.

Retail therapy.... I love it. ;D

::::EDIT:::: Tomorrow I'm auditioning for Christopher Fry's play, The Lady's Not for Burning. Any prayers involving "the role of Jennet" and "Kelly" would be highly appreciated. :) ;D [That and prayers that I can pull off high school, college, work, faires, and this play. It's going to be an interesting first semester, that's certain.] :::: DEATH OF EDIT ::::

Holy crepes! I haven't been able to get on here in a freakishly long time. Accept my mostly humble apologies.

Okay, everyone else is doing this, so I guess I might as well. Group mentality is fun, no?

Schedule
1.] Government -- Gahhhhhhhhhhhhh
2.] A.P. English IV -- Already Mrs. Wolff is threatening to chuck markers at Chris. She has bad aim. I sit in front of Chris. BUT.... We're reading two of Shakespeare's works. I'm quite elated.
3.] A.P. European History -- I find it highly amusing that the tranquility ended as soon as we walked in the door and staked out our corner from last year. We're studying predominantly the Renaissance. This proves that this is in fact the Year Of Kelly. I had spasms of joy when Mr. Bryant mentioned our focus.
4.] Environmental Science -- Gahhhhhhhhhhhh
5.] Honours Statistics -- Shall be dropped for bigger and better things. Like Intensive Conversational French.
6.] Aide?!!! Do see above.

Fast tracks were then made to Fazoli's, where we cracked more jokes than were healthy [all of them quite horrible to hear] and ate a significant dent into their breadstick supply. Then Kyle and I decided to pay a visit to the Espresso Shelf on the square. This would have been great, if the place hadn't decided to close for days on end [which prompted me to kneel in a spare parallel parking spot and say something along the lines of, "Why, God? Why?!"] "....What was that you said about the Clay Cup??" Mmm, chai. Excursions to Enchanted Planet ["Put the preserved tarantula down. NOW."] and various jaunts around the historic division of Murfreesboro ensued. After a healthy retaliation to provocation involving the fountain outside Linebaugh Library, I am now fearful of my life. That is all I can say on the matter. Even the walls have ears. *Paranoid shifty eyes*

I learned how to close at work last night, speed version so we could get to some random party. It wasn't a party so much as a bunch of twentysomething scene kids standing around with red plastic beer cups, but hey. [Jeff will feel my wrath, though. He was the only person I knew there, or would have been if he hadn't left so early. Eurg.] Oh well. At least I met Hunter, a lovely lad who I shall unfortunately probably never see again.

I'm rambling. This does nobody any good. Why am I so out of things? Oh right -- no morning coffee. *Weeps*
....And where the hell is everybody??

I'm off to prevent the dogs from breaking down the door. That or the kittens from inadvertently committing suicide. It's difficult to tell which. Ciao!

Well, I can't really think of anything worthwhile to say [because who wants to hear about finding corset pieces and toupee tape while rearraging a room? It's not what you think it is, I promise], but I have this urge to update.

Therefor, I'm slapping a piece of writing up here and calling my job "done." Contrary to what these might suggest, I'm not bitter.

Oh, for a rose that never dies,
Whose sweet essence fills the room,
That overwhelms the nose’s eyes
With a lover’s heady fumes.

Oh, for a heart as red and pure
As this sweet Venus-flower.
Alas, too much have I endured –
My bloom grows blacker by the hour.

Oh, for a man who’s worth a rose
And lives not in a book.
I guess, my dear, it goes to show
We needn’t bother look!

Annnnnnd another one. Because they have the same theme. Sort of. Because that one didn't take up near enough room. Because my Mom is watching Harry Potter down below. Hell, I don't know. Pick a reason.

This twisted, wrent, and wilting flower
Tearing in my fists
Reminds me with such righteous power
Wherefor my soul does twist.

Ah, this pretty rose, so fine to see
Now its petals have been shorn
Serves as a bitter memory
From whence our love was born

A gift one breathless long-since night
Before your mask was doffed
When guiding stars were shining bright –
They’re hidden now I’m lost.

This lovely rose, with petals soft
Emits its sweet and velvet scent
With such a plaintive, painful cry
That even saints repent.

The petals fall now one by one
Dying on the breeze
Such a murderous antidote becomes
This thing called "love’s" disease.

Ciao!

Dirty, stinking, very evil, fascist, rotten, iron-fisted, fundamentalist, malicious, pernicious, right-wing, perfidious, dratted, ornery, rejective, twisted, warped, utterly malformed totalitarian dictator of a computer-like machine....

All I want to do is read the Newsweek report of how George W. Bushes support is failing. Is that so much to ask????

....Apparently.

I can read all I want to about TunisAir and AirFrance's tragedies. I can scrutinise the details of flying NASA-brand foam. The treaties between multiple countries and Iran/North Korea and their right to produce elements that can be made into nuclear weapons is out in the open air. I can enlighten myself on Marilyn Monroe's heretofore-unreleased psychiatric notes and how they pertain to her death. The plight of a Russian submarine is readily availible. Bodies of missing park rangers are made known to me. MSN reveals the details of up to four deaths at Disneyworld this year. But can I check up on Bush's flagging support? Does the site detailing his lack of backup even load?? No, dear readers, it does not.

But other than that, the world is fine.

Which reminds me.... I've gotten involved in a delightful little game at www.nationstates.net, which is based off the novel Jennifer Government. Several of you would enjoy it [particularly our benevolent Chope Chorey, and the madman referred to as Brian King]. [Join the region of Surrey.] I've created a democratic socialist nation, Opera Populaire, based off of Gaston Leroux's small, insignificant novel The Phantom of the Opera. [I.e. Greatest story of all time.] Day 1 shows that it's famous for verdant greenery, where the national animal the "phantom" frolics freely. One of the issues that came up was whether to bulldoze the rainforest in order to mine uranium stores beneath it. I legalise a little bit of mining. Just a little bit. The teensiest, tiniest bit imaginable, in order to give our "reasonable" economy something of a boost. The next day we're renowned for our barren landscape. I kid you not. Barren. Landscape. I am so pissed off at my nuclear engineers right now. Frickin' incompetents.... I have since legalised marijuana to help me cope with this. Mwaha. Then made the probable mistake of allowing hospitals to pay people for organ and blood donations. Now I'm just waiting for them to start hiring bounty hunters to find harvestable bodies. *Cringe* I need to legalise more drugs.... This is going to become insane. Although I did specify my government type as "psychotic," so perhaps I had it coming, don't ya think??

Off to do dishes and finish off a dessert of some form or fashion.

Ciao!

I only worked four hours today seating people, but dammit if I'm not tired.

Swing music at the square. For weeks I was labouring under the delusion that it was a dancin' event. Apparently it's just a concert, but I get the distinct feeling it's not going to end that way. Mwaha.

I hate it when people know the value of the stuff they're hawking on eBay. Most are just slapping on $10 prices right 'n' left, but nooo. Some have to be informed and do research, making it impossible to take advantage of them. Sigh. Foiling my subversive bidding methods once again.... "No rest for the wicked," as Leland put it.

I'm off to take a break from being wicked. Blahh.

So apparently with the uniform we have to wear a tie.

I was excited until I decided to try to knot one. I tried three different methods. Regular, full and half Windsor.
Now here I sit with Jerry Garcia draped across my shoulders, the wider end mysteriously knotted around itself.
I will not reduce myself to clip-ons. I will triumph. Then we'll see who's laughing, Jerry, oh yes, then we'll see who's laughing.

But until then, anyone feel like teaching this clueless female how to tie a silken noose around my neck?? I would be ever so appreciative.

*Mutters*

::::EDIT:::: TAKE THAT, JERRY GARCIA!! ::::/EDIT::::

Well, tomorrow at 3:00 I start training. I'm excited. I have excellent Old Navy trousers to work in. And a boy's uniform shirt that repells stains [v. important]. It's fun. It's a uniform. It's wadded up in a bag in my trunk.

....I just realised that 2 parts of my uniform came from the boy's department, 1 [the trousers] came from women's, and black socks are unisex. Hm. I'm not quite sure what to make of this.

Along with stuff from Governor's School that's ALSO wadded in my trunk, lmao. Like the comforter for my bed. And school bags. And.... Countless other things, no doubt. I bet if I unloaded it all I'd get better gas mileage.

All of my dual-enrollment stuff has been squared away. Now I just have to wait for something to come in the mail regarding classes. I'm so excited about this, I really am. Already dreaming about Intensive Conversational French and Character Creation and Criminal Proceedings.... Blissful sigh. Fun stuff, oh yes, fun stuff.

Actually, I'll probably get stuck in Trigonometric Physics Part V: Bovinicular Functions and Their Impact on the Outer Cosmos. Because hardly anyone signs up for it, and there will be plenty of room availible. "Stop asking me what brand of pocket protectors I buy! I tell you, I don't own the damn things!! YES, I still expect to survive in this class despite the fact!"

Well, that's all. I'm out. Wish me luck!

Au revoir!

This leap in the mathematical field was discovered whilst trying to explain guys to a friend.

Guys, do not hate me. You're the ones who came up with mathematical proof women are less than human, after all.

Guys are mathematically proven to be both the equivalent of and inferior to bricks.

-- Guys = Bricks

HOWEVER:
-- Bricks = Sundried mud
-- Guys = Flesh and bone
-- Sundried mud > Flesh and bone
-- -- This last principle is founded upon the fact that sundried mud is used to create lasting structures of stability that house people for a lifetime. These include windows that allow for the exchange of clear, honest views on both the inside and out. Roofs which permit for protection from negative elements in life. Furniture to make it a place of comfort and solace. Kitchens which yield food for nourishment. These structures can not be destroyed except by tremendous outside force [Example: a wrecking ball]. [Note: Sundried mud will also harm flesh and bone if beaten against it. The inverse action results only in further damage to said flesh and bone.] Flesh and bone, on the other hand, is fallible. It's fickle. It does not provide all that sundried mud can. Its idiocy knows no bounds. It talks back. It insults. It lies. It leaves. Hell, it dies [sometimes this has its benefits]. Sundried mud, on the other hand, can not descend into acts of stupidity, for it is incapable of mental devolution. It is both silent, offering no unwanted advice or falsehoods, and transcends time. And it will never ditch you for the implanted peroxide-head serving ice cream in a minimum-wage job.

THEREFOR:
-- Bricks > Guys

CONCLUSION:
Guys are dumb. Date a brick.

Nothing was happening fast enough with the law firms to suit, prompting me to set my sights on ye swanky Shoney's.

So I start training on Thursday, and begin to exploit the food service industry for my own ill-gotten gains. I'm actually kind of excited and nervous. I've wanted to be a server for the longest time [well, two-odd years], and since I've been involved in theatre at least ONCE in my life it's kind of mandatory. I'm just afraid of messing up in a big, bad, blackballed-from-society-as-a-whole, half-the-restaurant-charred, anarchy-and-chaos-everywhere sort of way.

But it's a job. And it's money. So until I inadvertently destroy half of Murfreesboro whilst on the clock, I'm really quite happy and shall suspend worry. If you're really cool you'll come visit me and be nice. If you're SUPER cool, though, you'll turn in an application as well. So we can both destroy half of Murfreesboro. Not really. I'm just rambling, taking up space....

Now I just have to find a bunch of stuff so as to blend in with the rest of the workers. I'm thinking of raiding the Old Navy girls' school uniform department. Does anyone know where you can find short-sleeve, button-down with a button-down collar, most importantly WHITE shirts? I'd steal one of Dad's uniform work shirts if they weren't.... Uniform work shirts [And about 20 sizes too large].

Still rambling and taking up space....

Not no' mo'! {Exeunt}

Don’t call me pretty, don’t call me lovely,
Don’t call me comely or fair.
Don’t say I smile most cherubly,
And don’t dare you compare the sun to my hair.

Don’t say I’m sweetness embodied.
Don’t match my laughter to bells.
Don’t say next to me Aphrodite is shoddy --
I’d prefer to be known as the terror of hell.

Don’t call me gentle, do not think me soft,
And especially don’t call me charming.
The words above all that I’d hear most oft
Would be "witty" and "sharp" and "alarming."

Try to be chivalrous, speak one saccharine word
And I warn you, I’ll turn tail and run.
But if it’s "discerning iconoclast" that you would have heard,
Then it’s my heart and my mind that you’ve won.

On a completely unrelated note, I bought French posters for my room. One is a painting of the English book shop Shakespeare and Co. The other is a hazy painting of a woman in gold mist, with the tremulous shadow of the Eiffel tower in the background, and scrawled across the whole of it is "La nuit passe a Paris.... Jamais a oublie." Or, "To spend the night in Paris.... Never to forget." At least, that's the closest translation that makes sense. Lovelove love. Or should I say, l'amourl'amourl'amour. Or "aime." Is it a subject or a verb that I'm repeating?? I should never have gotten started on this. REGARDLESS.... I'm going to marry a lovely French lad with dark eyes. Or at the very least someone who can speak a few words beyond "bonjour." He'll need to, at any rate, because we're getting a Paris flat at some point in time. His opinion on the matter really isn't necessary. It'll happen regardless. "You'd rather learn Italian? Well darling, we can get a summer home." Because hey, who wouldn't want a summer home in Italy? Stop raising your hands.... :P

I'm off to continue working on those three chapters for government. Doing an entire semester of work in two weeks is fuuun.

*Vreeeeeeeeee* Ciao.

So I called Mitchell & Mitchell yesterday. Rachelle [attorney] hasn't been able to speak to the enigma known as "Jack," who is apparently in charge of such things. Unfortunately, they want to know what hours I can work. The thing is, I don't even know. Because I haven't been able to register for the second half of my school day at MTSU. Bugger. And how ignominously unprofessional is it to come in without a decent idea of what hours you can work?

Bah. I'm going to Hobby Lobby.

Catch you guys later.

Ciao.