Hard-Core Conservatives Fleeing Bush's Side

Actions > Words.
{{And yes, I am happy about that article.}}

Tax refunds > ....Um, no tax refunds??

Yeah.  I can't think of anything else that would sustain that method of communication.

Once more, I find myself living for the weekends.... I heart faire more than probably quite literally anything else.  Even chocolate, go figure.

"Listen.... Do you want to know a secret?
Do you promise not to tell?  Woah wooooaaaaaah,
Closer.... Let me whisper in your ear....
Say the words you long to hear....
I'm in love with yo-ou.
(Woo-oo-ooooooooo-oo.)

I've known the secret for a week or two....
Nobody knows, just we two....

Listen.... Do you want to know a secret?
Do you promise not to tell?"

Part of my horoscope for today:

"Today may very well be one of those days in which other people realize that you're really not as crazy as they might have first thought."

Gee, thanks.

"Life is a triumph."

Technically I'm supposed to be writing papers for science about how a meat-based diet will destroy the world.

Technically.

Let it be known that this, the eighth day of May in the 2006th year of the Common Era, is the date which after 2.5 years have passed exactly, yours truly will be of official legal drinking age.

Disperse, go forth, and bear this good news to the masses.

(And a highly ironic MSN Fact-o-the-Day: Some edible mushrooms are poisonous if alcohol is consumed within five days of eating the mushroom.)

Shameless Plug!!!!
Tennessee Renaissance Festival
Every weekend in May, and Memorial Day.
10am-6pm
On New Castle Road, in Triune.
Jousting, games, food, human combat chess, and various other diversions.
$15

So we had a meeting about graduation today.  Looks like I can't do either chess match at faire that Sunday.  :-(  Curses.  They also told me not to wear heels -- a double blow to my soul!  [Hmmm, like I'll listen to them.]

Ican'twait.
Freemenow.
Eliminateallspacesbetweenwords.

Jazz fest this Friday.... Who's going??

So prom was {a fantastic} experience.  It has been journalled with much wit and commentary in the exceedingly-long paragraphs below.  Feel free to skip, but take a look at the second picture in this entry.  It's a sight.

Pictures in the picture-thingy. Only the related foliage received billing, because otherwise it would all be the same, single word. {I.e. "prom."}

Photographs at my grandparents' were really an elaborate excuse to document the newly-installed deck. No, really, they confessed to this. Then a great to-do was made about some 'blue potato plant' which absolutely must be in a picture with Nemanja and I. What this plant is, do not ask me; I just stood by it. Subsequent attempts in the car to decode the significance of a 'blue potato plant' were unsuccessful, and resulted only in laughter.

 <-- Exhibit A: The famous Blue Potato plant.

The drive to Macaroni Grill was rife with excitement. It began with sitting in a left-turn lane and some guy in a white Blazer taking up half of the lane beside us for unclear purposes. The light turns green. He decides he wants in front of us, and belligerently accelerates almost into the nose of my beloved Accord, R2-D2. Before I could stop it, my right middle finger was displayed for all the world and the Blazer driver to see, while the left hand had cemented itself against the horn. Because those kinds of people irritate me. Waiting to turn right onto the freeway, Blazer Boy raises his hand for me to pull up beside him. He was either going to yell at me or make an excuse; the former was much more likely, and if the latter was true I didn't want to hear it unless the woman with him was giving birth. Access denied – we zip to freedom!! Or… So I thought. Long story short: "Did I just blow by the 840 exit???" "Yes, yes you did." {Insert string of expletives here. And a few moves that I question the legality of.}

But we prevailed. The line at Macaroni Grill was extended out the door and around the sidewalk – very club-like and elitist of them, the snobs. ;-) Fortunately, we were prepared for such an event. "Hi, we have a reservation. Donner, party of four, please." Next time reservations are needed for something, we can all go under the name "Nero," because who doesn't want to share billing with the completely-sane-of-course man who made his horse an advisor? Macaroni Grill is now the Best Restaurant Ever, because they give you paper and crayons. We all practised writing our name upside-down like Elise (our waitress) did, except much slower and less precise.

-- "Is that girl gray?" "Oh my god, she is!" "I hope it's not natural." "I think it is." "Can tanning beds do that?" *Collective shudder* "Let's give her the benefit of the doubt. She could have sniped someone and wiped the camouflage make-up off just before going to dinner."

Fuelling both our desire to be fashionably late and our energy levels, a stop at Starbucks was (of course) mandatory. Jerod Frenzel accused us of stealing his glory by adding to the former non-ratio of prom kids at Starbucks. We mocked him. Not really, but it's the best ending sentence I can concoct right now. Better than being accused of glory-stealing, so there. :-P

Prom. DanceDanceDance. Because really, what else can you do there but walk around and not recognise people? "GAH! Woah, hey, it's you!"

Post-prom involved lots of food and lots of burning things. Well, wood mostly, but marshmallows and plastic cups and orphans were also involved. "Who's pulling into the driveway?" *Gasp, fear* "I don't know! Let's take the marshmallow pitchforks and go check!" {So Reese, Rachel, and Mechelle were greeted by three girls wielding travel-size steel pitchforks. Welcome to the farm.} We discovered the hard way that horse sounds which would be perfectly ordinary by daylight are perfectly abnormal and downright scary around a fire in the middle of a field at 2:00 am. And we also discovered that roosters do not crow at dawn alone. Oh, no, this one got a head start. At every quarter-hour. Reese: "That bird is just asking for it."

*Random noise* "OHMIGOD WHAT IS THAT?!" "It's a donkey."
{That's as far as I'm going with that one.}

Disband at 5:30 am.

Then, after a maximum 1 hour 15 minutes of sleep, it was time to go to faire rehearsals. Faire rehearsals are an interesting event to attend half-drunk from fatigue, especially when you have to rehearse a fight. {Everyone was super-nice to me, though. It was weird. I think they just liked to watch me sway around like Jack Sparrow and run into things.} Pretty sure I fell asleep standing up during notes for the opening gate scene. There is photographic evidence, but only two people have access to it. And I intend for it to stay that way. ;-P

 <-- Our fight director was very intent during rehearsals.

I have "Dancing Queen" stuck in my head.  It's what Andrew/Sven and I process to in the opening gate scene.  Because Abba and Anna are not only palindromes, they're Swedish, too.  It works.

Sarina and I fit two hoopskirts in the front of R2-D2 this afternoon in a downpour.  Then waited by the gate for someone else to come in behind us so we wouldn't have to get back out in the torrential rains to close it.  Really, we saved them the added trip of having to unlatch it again, thereby keeping them a little dryer.  More dry?  Whatever.  This post is too long, and I'm bleary from want of sleep.

Bon soir.

So Caroline [sister] only recently told me about some pernicious aging hag of a woman [my description] who physically accosted her at the 'academic' pep rally.  As in, grab-her-arm-painfully-and-demand-voice-dripping-with-venom-to-know-where-she's-going accosted.  (To which, I'm so proud, Caroline responded to with a sarcasm-laden "Um, back to band."  *Walks off*)

This is completely out of line.  I am so unimaginably pissed off right now you won't even believe it.  It breaches the boundaries of interaction between faculty and students, demonstrates a severe need to assert her feeble power through the physical and verbal intimidation of others [blatant psychosis], and could technically be construed as sexual assault.  Or attempted murder, if she clamped down on one of those arteries.  Whatever works.  [I am so ready to be a prosecuting attorney.  See if I can't turn an innocent glance into all sorts of allegations.  Teehee.]

Suffice to say, Mr. Nolan and I are going to have a little audience with each other come Monday.

Mess with me or mine, you mess with the entire damn mountain.

And I'm the freakin' Himalayas.

It has been concluded that Brian will be my step-dad, and Nemanja will be my adopted brother.

Weep for me, particularly where Brian is concerned.  ;-)

Senior night = rocking out.
-- Weird inflatable obstacle course thing.  "There's TWO ledges?!  *Feral-cat leap*  *War cry*  AIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!!!!"
-- Strange dancing.  But fun.
-- Free food.  Quality irrelevent.
-- HALO 2 in Mr. Hanson's room.  I ran through a massive battle, jumping and spinning in circles and shooting simultaneously, survived, only to fall off the never-ending cliff.  It's almost like respawning three times in a row in front of the same tank, driven by the same person.
-- Not checking in until noon today.

Yesssssssssssssss.

So I went to talk to Mrs. Noblin's 4th grade class at Christiana Elementary about poetry.  Daaaang, those kids got into it.  It was exciting.  We talked for about an hour.  Kids got up to read.  They had me read my stuff, Dorothy Parker, Shakespeare, and Robert Frost.  Good times.  I got two cards, some candy, and a neck rub out of the deal.  The children were really awesome, though, and not just because of the massage.  It was phenomenal to see them get so into poetry and literature.  Makes me feel better about the future generation.

And then I almost hit a prepubescent peacock driving home.

Stupid birds.  I do not gently apply breaks so you can run out before me at the last second and cause me to skid yards avoiding your sorry tail.  I do it so you can run away from the road in fear of the behemoth bearing down upon you.

Skid-skid-skid.

Come to the Renaissance faire, opening May 6th.

Skid-skid-ski.

Time for some overhaul and personal weeding.

We are only temporary.

I've felt frustrated all day long.
Never fear, it will pass, it always does.
Of course, of course.

Sometimes people you see only one month per year or have only known for three years treat you better, with much more consideration, than people you've known twice as long and see much more often.  "Funny ol' world, isn't it?"

I prefer not to discuss any of it, as nothing would be relieved by such explanations and may very well exacerbate my condition.

Suffice to say, the outside world needs to sod off severely.

The National Honour Society induction ceremony was today.

They so told me to be there at 8:15.

So why did I stroll in two scant people before I had to read about the emblem??

A day in the life.... I thought it was funny.  "In my defense, I was late to my own birth by three days, so I could have shown up on Saturday."  Mom wasn't so amused.

And we stole a box of leftover cakes from the teacher's lounge while we skipped second period, offering it as a sacrifice to Mrs. Wolff.

Quite possibly the funniest stint I've ever been involved with during school hours.

I've been wait-listed for George Washington.

You have no idea how unspeakably happy I am about this.
(I cried, to be perfectly honest.)

I am currently composing the "short statement" they said I could attach.  It's very short, simple, and to-the-point -- about four words.

"Admit me or die."

Not really.  I am going to compose a tale of devotion and emotional rollercoasters, however.  Or something like it.

Now if my blood pressure will only normalise....

WOAH!

WE WROTE THE ENDING FOR OUR (Ben Hunt and I) FIGHT!

Kick.  Ass.

It's so rad.

I'm so excited.

I was up until freakin' two in the morning sewing.

*Mini-Implosion*

The house is empty.... And quiet.... Oh, so blissful.

[EDIT] Okay.... So.... I'm bidding on a pair of boots on eBay (because I love eBay and I need new, non-Pocahontas, non-peasant boots for faire).  They are simultaneously described as "never worn" and "very comfortable."  How, pray tell, can comfort level be determined if they have never been worn?  Just something I found amusing.  Feel free to snicker and say, "lame" at will.  [/EDIT]

I'm about to do the scariest thing in the world....
[i.e. Call GWU and say "Yeah, so um I applied there and I'd really like to know what happened with that so I can figure out whether to resign myself to a life of normalcy or not."  Or something to that effect.]

But why can't I touch the phone??

ARG!

Help....

[2 seconds later] --> AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
HHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So I dialled the number I found online for the admissions office.  It rings.  And rings.  And rings some more.  [Hah, try to dissuade me!  I'll show you!  I'll stay on here FOREVER!!  Foreverrrrrrrrrrr.]  Finally, it picks up.  Eureka!  There is a god!!

"Hi, this is Marty Fehver with Combat Emergent Services. You have reached my cell phone --" *CLICK*

*Wahhhhhhh*  I'm afraid.  What the hell is Combat Emergent Services?!  They've probably already traced the call here.  Better lock the doors and get the shotguns out.  [Speaking of shotguns, my mother received mail from the NRA.  Something about a renewal membership, though she claims she's never had one.  Thus, she has rarely been out of my sight lately.  None can be trusted.... *Shifty eyes*  At least she hasn't taken out life insurance on me yet.]

Documents Show Link Between AT&T and Agency in Eavesdropping Case

What's sad is that I'm not surprised this sort of thing happened.

See if you can guess the author.
You'd kind of have to really be into poetry to know it, though.
Oh well.  Give it a shot anyways.
*BANG*

"I went to the woods to live deliberately.
Or, more aptly, the creek,
And I had no idea what drew me down there, but it was not deliberate.
Except I was in a rotten mood, and slipping into past behaviours
Which normal people do not consider healthy.
I had to get out.
The sun was hot, and assaulted my face directly,
And I jokingly cursed the light to myself.
Getting to the actual water required shimmying under a barbed-wire fence,
Which had been there for time immemorial,
Or at least since I was three.
Once on the pocky rock shelves which shored the banks of the stream
I sat on the highest edge I could find,
And extended my feet into the water.
I had not expected such frosty water in the middle of April,
But what could I do? As such,
It became my dance to withstand the icy rush on my toes,
And bit by bit my feet were acclimated.
I bent double, and examined the sediment swirling around my toes.
How long had it taken the dirt to get there? I wondered.
And what mountain was this grain once part of?
I combed my fingers through the forest on the riverbed,
And imagined myself much akin to Godzilla.
Who knew what aquatic Tokyo I was terrorising?
I rolled my corduroys up, and walked, and sank into rolling underwater dunes of
shale
And pebbles
And shells
And found a calm spot
Where I skipped a stone solidly across quivering waters.
I went further downstream, and slipped awkwardly,
Imbalanced in body as apparently in mind.
I found my footing on long, ropy green hairs padding the bottom, but soon abandoned it for unexplored terrain across the stream
Beneath a high mudden wall veined and scaffolded in a million roots.
I bent over and slipped my fingers, godlike, through the water and into an aquatic world far different from my own.
I took a rock – it could have been a life – in my hands, and drew it from its brethren.
Folded it across my fingers.
Then let it slide back into the water.
I took other rocks, and they all fell further downstream,
And I marvelled that the more and more often you let something go,
The farther and farther away it slipped from you each time.
This time I took a fingerful of silt, and exposed it
To the air,
And rubbed it between my fingertips, watched the brown dredge across my palm
In a small, potent smudge,
Then returned my hands to the water and let each tiny grain sweep, fly,
Slide away on the watery breeze like on a wind.
I took another rock.
And threw it.
And watch the ripples of my actions come back to me
As they always do, and always will.
I trudged thoughtfully into the middle of the stream,
Away from the shade and the easy grappling hooks of the roots and the riverwall
Into sunlit waters.
And all at once the sun ran in waving bands
Contrary to the way it should by right in water,
And the world bended, pressed upon me as blood pounded in my ears
And my heart simultaneously ceased pumping
And my eyes were trapped
By the sun
In the water
By the sky falling in a sheet upon me
And pressing me down into the water and the light and bearing me up
And out
And filling me with an oscillating pressure.
My head jerked up, and it was gone,
Over,
Like a snap,
Or someone getting caught,
And there was only me standing knee-deep in a water,
And all was calm.
A singing river.
I breathed the words, tasting them in my mind.
A butterfly appeared, hovered above me in a still
Flight, wondering if maybe it had worked.
And once more I turned upstream and began to walk,
And marvelled at how much difficult something is to return to
Once you’ve walked away from it.
And struck a perfect balance on a teetering rock,
And as I walked home on the painted road
I felt like one newly-placed on earth
And just learning to walk.
No sense was too minute for it to register.
I felt the occasion called for a memento of sorts,
A tribute to this altering experience.
No, they said, your memento is yourself.
And everything was different.
But nothing had changed.
On an ordinary day in April."

Blood drive is today.  I am escaping fourth period to work at it as moral support.

Why is it that every time I give blood, something happens?

Last year: "Here's a vein!"  "If I can see it, I don't want it."  "Um... Okay..."  *Nurse misses vein because she can't see it*  "Hm.  That's not good."  *Wiggles needle and tube around like she's brushing teeth*  *I spasm silently*

This year: *I am draining much too slowly for one nurse's liking (heretoafter referred to as "Evil Nurse").  A noted absence of pain on my part, which I was happy about.*  *She messes with my tubing*  Nice Nurse: "I've already tried all that."  *Evil Nurse moves needle around.  High levels of pain ensue.*  Me, trying to maintain a calm facade: "Yeah, that kind of hurts."  (This is a code term for "Stop doing that now before I beat you with my tubing.")  *Evil Nurse moves needle again.  Pain does not change.*  "Is that better?"  "NO."  *Moves needle again.  Insert a powerful stinging sensation.  Evil Nurse tries to leave.*  "Iiiiit's still hurting."  *Moves needle again.  I seriously contemplate a high level of rudeness by saying "Everything was great before you got here!"  But abstain.*  ....And then I bled through way too many layers of gauze.  The hag.

So that's been my day.  How's yours??

((P.S.  I meant a French-Italian last night.  Drool.  Allison, I'll love you forever.))

Mondays are a depressing concept.

*Subliminal Message* Visit the Tennesssee Renaissance Festival every weekend in May, and Memorial Day!  *End Subliminal Message*

*Subliminal P.S.* And watch the chess match, because it's rad.  *End Subliminal P.S.*

I am pounding my head on the keyboard.  School serves absolutely no purpose for me anymore.  Even with projects and novels and crap, I am still utterly bored by the institution.

Okay.  Time to wrench my mind into an optimistic frame.  Wahoo!!  Excitement.

Why, oh why can't I forget?

Like ripping a Band-Aid off before the scab has formed...

Say prayers and make voodoo dolls.  I'm going to court tomorrow for a certain infamous "California stop," so anything that can be done to prevent my officer from showing up tomorrow would be much appreciated.

I still can't believe he called me rude.  The nerve.  I've read etiquette books since elementary school (yeah, it's weird, but I like it and I was bored, so there); how dare he?  I think that's more offensive than being pulled over.  We'll see if he crosses another Emily Post devotee again!  Hahaaa!!  *Victoire*

Ugh, much errands to be ran, and way too much cash to be burned.  Who knew a single stopsign could make such a wallet-ish dent???

"Love me when I least deserve it, because that's when I really need it."  -- Swedish proverb

Hahahaha, Lexi bought me the coolest thing ever: French underwear, saying "Maintenant ou jamais" (translation: "Now or never").  You know you want it.  Thank you Lexi!  *Snirkle*

Sssssssssssssssunburn!  ....Is getting better.  I can wear shirts with sleeves now!  Yes!!

"Friends multiply our joy and divide our troubles." -- Another Swedish proverb.

Um, okay, quote of the day.  Yeah, you're all going to hell for knowing me.

Lexi: "We get next Friday off."
Me: "Thank you Jesus!  WAIT -- that's Good Friday!!!!!"

So today in history Hitler tried to invade the Soviet Union.

You would think that past precedent would advise him NOT TO DO THAT.

I mean, really.  It never works.  Especially when everyone insists on invading in the winter.  Permafrost, hello.

Idiots.  If it didn't work for Napoleon, why should it work for Hitler?

Remember this, Brian.  Don't invade Russia.  Gently coerce them with nuclear threats.  But don't invade them.

So yeah.  Hope everyone had a fantastic spring break!!

{P.S. I now know how to dance the fox-trot.  It's lame.  Somebody just wanted to dance the waltz pattern during a 4-4 song.}

Still no word from George Washington University.  Who wants to get an apartment in Murfreesboro with me??  *Silence*  ....Don't everybody volunteer at once.

Haha, I'm in a great mood.  We almost died last night, it's negative daylight savings time, and I have a ton of assignments, but today is a good day.  :-)

Yeah.  Just like the subject line says.

I didn't bring sunscreen.  Ohhhhhhh no, looking for that would have made me late, and we were probably going to be in the Hammerbeam structure, anyway, right?

Wrong.
Very, very wrong.

I have melanoma.

Ash is flaking off my shoulders.

Satan is trying to set me up a deal as a furnace in hell, so much heat is radiating from my general back and shoulder region.

But it feels so good to be back in rehearsals.  All is right in the world now.  *Happy*

Even if Krista DID get the "Father Abraham -- had many sons -- and many sons had Faaaaather Abraham" -song stuck in my head.  At least it got the Rent out.  Gah-gah-gah.

Off to ice my back.
Just give me chemo now and get it over with.
At least now I can say, "Oh yes, I'm so hot," and not sound delusional.  Mwahahahahahaha.

Wow.  Sunburn and Sun Drop.  Wow.

I don't need to be out in public in this condition.

....*Sizzle*

WHO: Jump, Jive, and Swing!

WHAT: Swing dancing, with a liiittle bit of salsa and ballroom thrown in for good measure.

WHEN: This SATURDAY {the day after tomorrow}.  The lesson starts at 7:30, goes 'till 8:30.  Then we have generic dancing 'till 11:00!

WHERE: Otter Creek Church, formerly known as Living Word Community Church, formerly known as Brentwood Baptist Church {dang -- it beats Prince/Artist Formerly Known As}!

HOW MUCH: $8, for the live music -- Pete Roze and the Swing Asylum!

WHY: Um, to daaaance?  And have fun?  And meet new people?

I'll see you kids there.  *HintNudge*

Yardwork has created a deep vendetta within me against all plant life.

It started out innocently enough -- weed this patch of dirt by the garage.

No problem, right?  I can weed.  I can yank plants from their life source with ease and aplomb.  Piece o' cake.

One dirt clod and two sticks to the eye, and unseemly amounts of my own blood later: Everything's a weed.

Salads never tasted so good.

Rawwwwwwwr.

In other news, I have finished the Bum Roll.  This lovely little thing helps Elizabethan skirts stick out and transfers the weight of the fabric.

....It looks like a burnt croissant on steroids.  Kid you not.  {{What I get for making it out of black canvas.}}  My God, this thing is HUGE!  Is it supposed to be that big?!  I could serve drinks on it.  There's enough stuffing in this thing to confidently knock someone out {or decorate a haunted house -- we ran out of stuffing, so I resorted to faux-cobweb-in-a-bag.  It was great suddenly coming upon a massive black arachnid when I thought I was still in regular stuffing *insert high-pitched scream here*}.

All in all, a very fulfilling day.  Days without school tend to be.

So I have to write a 250-word essay on "My Most Memorable Volunteer Experience."

Neither I nor my mother can think of anything appropriate.  This is amusing.

-- Florence Renaissance faire doesn't count in her book.
-- Taking over a Girl Scout troop during camp won't work, because mothers called in and complained that I'd given their children diseases by making them sweep out a latrine and wash the walls down with baby wipes.  And let's not even get into my fashioning a whip to keep those children in line.  Or pulling the drill sergeant on them.  "LEFT!  LEFT!  LEFT, RIGHT, LEFT!"  {{They loved it, for future reference.}}
-- -- I guess there's always the Oakland's Day Camp.  Then I can talk about dragging children across busy intersections and scaring them when we went gravestone-rubbing and trying to ditch 'em at the spring.
-- Even at a completely separate camp when we made vegan fudge as a gesture of winter-holiday goodwill, we gave the children the batch we messed up on.
-- My Girl Scout memories don't really involve helping screaming children, anyway.  They involve blenders and daquiri mix and lowering camp bras to half-staff out of respect to Ronald Regan's passing.

End Result: Kelly is not a {do-}good person.