I have too many books for my single bookshelf.
[So naturally, instead of extending my literary collection to a random wall-display-shelf-thing, I put my magazines on display.  All three complete years of monthly issues, plus an additional half-year of 2oo2, and another random one from 2oo1.  It makes sense.]

And the cat is on Valium.  Again.  He walks just like a little drunkard [one covered with black fur] -- it's so sad!  "I'm from Scotland, here's my mother's telephone number," and all.

New Current Favourite Quote:
Never give up what you want most for what you want right now.

Live it, love it, serve it on toast, etc.

Come on, MTSU, a little room assignment action would be wonderful.  Thank you.

OH!  Haircut.  Thursday.  I am so excited.  You have no idea.  It's been too long.  This whole "growing out" concept is a pain.  XP  Blech.  Snippy-snippy!

At my mother's inspiring, a rant about the location of the computer in her bedroom.  *Rant.*  ((No mothers were harmed in the making of this rant.  All rights reserved, printed on 100% recycled paper.  "This bill is legal tender for all debts public and private, all rights and privileges thereto pertaining." <-- That was hers.))

Hmmmm, so I went to my friend Leland's apartment to let the TV guys in (Leland being at work), told to be there at 2:00.  Soooo I'm waitinnnnnn', and I'm waitinnnnnnnnn', sitting there with my little magazine.  Long story short, the movers never came, but my phone is missing, so I couldn't know that.  Two very funny moments:

A.) Sitting on the couch w// my magazine, all of a sudden I hear an arrow whistling through the air.  Proceed to fall of couch and try to climb under coffee table.  Turns out to be his "email received" soundclip, which is the "*TWANG*  Message for you, sir," from Monty Python and the Holy Grail.

B.) Now stretched out on couch, relaxing, magazine utterly exhausted of all content.  Door flys open and someone comes in.  Aiiiiiiiii!  ...Just the owner of the house.  Heart rate returns to normal at the speed of dormant fungus.  TV men never showed up, so Leland treated me to coffee ((woo-hoo)), fries, and You, Me, and Dupree.  Fun film, highly enjoyable.  :)

Wooooooooooow.  Try going off coffee for several weeks ((too effin' hot)), then having two cups of potent regular within, mmmmmm, sayyyyyy, six hours.  DAMN!  Phew.  I could run around the block... Or do horrible things to Tori while she's asleep.  It's been tempting lately.  I'm thinking something involving fur clippers...

You ever really randomly had a huge craving for a glass of wine, and maybe a cigarette?  And you don't smoke??  More the glass of wine, than anything.  Something juicy, with berry notes.

Okay, I should probably stop confessing things like that in a public venue.

And nattering on about inconsequential things, like sibling vendettas and the restorative powers of coffee.

By the way, if you have a chocolate craving and consider making frosting out of regular sugar, cocoa powder, butter, and milk... Don't.  I am seriously contemplating sticking a spoon down my throat, or something.  You will regret this decision, feel generally gross, and your mother will have no sympathy ((she'll regret this when I die early, mark it)).  Make, like, a spoonful-worth.  Not a soup-bowl's worth.

I'll regret every single above paragraph in the morning, when I'm sobered of caffeine.

But right now, dammit if it isn't fun!

Bush vetoed the stem cell research bill.  ( ... )  The one (there were three, after all) which would employ excess embryos taken for in-vitro fertilisation that would've been thrown out, anyway.  Which in that case technically classifies them as a gamete, and kinda negates the 'murder argument.'  Just when we finally get most everybody up there to agree on something...

Link to Relevent New York Times Article

I had a really weird dream.  It involved my future (unknown) roomie, Kroger, and driving around at midnight.  And webcams, but not in the skanky way.

PotC 2 is decidedly more enjoyable when viewed on a decent amount of sleep, at a decent hour.

Lord Jerkface's real name is Lord Cutler Bennet.
And I think I know how the dice game works.

Still vastly displeased by the ending, however.  That ruling was never expected to change.

I've started compiling a folder of Renaissance portraits for costume-y references when March rolls around.  It is a much larger undertaking than I had anticipated.  Egad!  Because, well, there are a bloody lot of people who insisted on having portraits made, to say nothing of the vast quantity commissioned by our very own Elizabeth I.  And then there are people from different countries, and laa-de-laa-de-laa.  It's insane.  But conquerable.

This, in addition to a new costume-y fetish revolving around the late 18th century.

Calm, calm.

So with this post I am officially smudging with virtual burning sage to cleanse any negative energies from my little Phusebox home.  Or sublet, one.

Though I must confess, it's sometimes difficult not to be irritating for irritation's sake.

*Sigh*

*Sage*  *Sage*  *Sage*  *Sage  *Sage*

Hahaha, so we visited my Dad's parents today and found a photo album from back in the day.  ...Dad's hair has not changed since he was six years old.  *Snirkle*  Close-cut, parted on the left, and what God has put together, let no man put asunder, lalala.

And, due to popular request, photographs of referee Horacio Elizondo, the extraordinary gentleman in neon jersey of the FIFA World Cup finals.  Apparently he's Argentinian and 42; who knew?  Soccer seems to have Fountain-of-Hottness capacities.

The classic Baywatch run...

Uhhhh... Macarena?  Insert your own caption here.

I don't know what to say for this one, either.

"Who's your daddy?"  ((Hey, I wouldn't object to having a badass referee for a father.  That'd just be awesome.))

There would be more, but most of my Sources just had the same ones over and over.  Sadness.  :'(

Some things threaten to break your mind before they break your heart.

On a slightly different note... Israel is really getting annoying.  Seriously.  It's like watching a toddler pitch a fit.  With missiles.  Not to say that the human lives of those soldiers isn't worth fighting for, but Is-rizzle is doing much more harm than good.  And oh, wouldn't it be ironic if they hit the building where those men were being housed?  *Shakes head*  Did they even try diplomacy, on the off-chance that something might come through?  Or was it kind of like starting a race and saying "Onetwothreego!" and streaking away before your opponent even has time to check his shoelace?  "Give'embackorwebomb*BOOM*" 

And here we have the Reader's Digest version of current events in Southwest Asia:

Isreal: "You have some of our soldiers!"  *NUKE*
Lebanon: "Aiiiiiiiiiiii!"
U.S.: "Errr... Ooh, looky!  Something in the opposite direction!"  *Stares at it*
Israel: "Iran, you looked at us funny!  You must be with THEM!"
Iran: "Wait, what?!"  *Aide hands PR guru a brief*  "Oh.  That thing."
Israel: *Threaten* *Threaten* *Threaten*
Everyone: *Cringe*
Lebanon: "Hey you guys...?"
Israel: *NUKE*  ...*NUKE*  *NUKE*  *NUKE*
Lebanon: "Aiiiiiiiiiiii!"
Iran: "Blah blah blah, neither confirm nor deny these allegations, but if it helps we have been working with Hezbollah for, um, oh.  I mean... Bad!"
France: "Vive la revolucion!"

Vive la revolucion indeed.

In the mean time, get me some Aleve.

So there we sat in the broken apartment, clustered the three of us in the one place that was untouched.  The back door was wide open to the world, and a small square of light illuminated the wall of plant life which hid the highway so nearby.  After midnight, even in Antioch, nobody was on the roads.  R was seated at the computer, clicking through MySpace and reading LiveJournal comments aloud as they came in.  S was curled up on the papisan chair rubbing C's head; it was the only thing that would calm him down.  A pump-action shotgun lay on the floor beside them as they waited for the police to come.

They did, of course, but not until after three hours had passed.  As the officer walked in the door, K took one look and literally inhaled her soda.  "You thought he was cute, too, didn't you?"  R asked.  "Yeah...." the other girl replied, as sheepish as she could be while choking.  The officer came and went, but not before they had both noticed the wedding band.  An investigator showed up, deeming nearly everything unfit for fingerprints.  After helping the officer's, S resumed his seat on the floor.  R lit another cigarette, and the smoke dangled itself through the air.  Talk of astrology as a science began, and C rattled off numerous obscure details, surprising S and intriguing R.  Marlboros mixed in the air with rum and soda and easy talk as a complete stranger wearing purple gloves picked through the remaining belongings.  He had easy going of it -- everything was on the floor.

C sighed.  "Two days before I moved..."

So it would seem the literal shit has hit the proverbial fan.

Isreal is going to work on Lebanon in the own-your-face way.

And Iran is asserting its justifiable right to develop nuclear technologies.
Which I fully support.  I mean, really, they say they're going to use it for peaceful purposes, so why bother getting into a star-spangled snit about things until they violate that claim??  That's like paying interest on money you haven't yet borrowed.

Meanwhile, back on the ranch, I have uncovered an obsession with Hamlet's Ophelia, writing a poem thereof, and pre-Raphaelite artistry.

GAHHHHHHHH!

I found a DVD copy of my favourite movie ((EVER)) at Wal-Mart for $5.50.  *Long, High-Pitched Squeal*

Dead Again: A story of murder, revenge, true love, and past lives ...To put it in the insanely Reader's-Digest form.  I cry -- literally, bawling, cry -- every time I see this movie.  Because it's just so beautiful.  We need to have a movie night at my house and watch it.

And it looks like I'm going to reside in a dorm, instead of the ever-so-fabulous apartment.  I've been doing a lot of thinking about that, and it just seems like the most logical, cheapest thing.  Because if I'm leaving in two years to another dormitory anyway, it wouldn't make sense to set up complete house.  And if I study abroad like I want to, that would be even more screwing over of the self.

So rawr.  No mad-rad house-warming party.  Boo.  *Weeps*  But it's for the best.

...Just remind me that this was my choice when my roommate turns out to be an aggressive butch-lesbian satanist and the asbestos starts speaking in tongues.  O_O  Egad!!

So yeah.  Good day.  Nothin' like Panera Bread-vintage-stores-free-concerts-and-espresso-beans-with-a//the-Vegan.  Woohoo!

If the soccer team is any indication of the current state in Italy, I am SO marrying an Italian man.

{{They travel in black suits.  Their captain’s name is Fabio.  Granted, the ones with longer hair appear to own several shares of stock in hair gel, but that’s easily forgiven.}}

{{Mmmmmmmm.  Does this make them eye caramella instead??}}

{{^^ Captain Fabio, debating how he will propose holy matrimony to me.}}

Me: "Not the faaaace!!"

Coach: "…And this is what happens when we mix whites with reds in the laundry!"
Player: "Dude, that so wasn’t me."

LATER...

"Whoever did this is gonna dieeeeee..."

{{Brokeback Appenines Mountains.  Believe me, there are more game-action shots like that. It could have looked much, much worse.}}

{{Talk about hurting when you fall from heaven.   I HAD TO SAY IT!!}}

"Okay, so maybe croquet wouldn’t have been that bad."

Me: "Skank, step back. They’re mine."

"…What?  I’m stretching!  ....Weirdo."

{{Unseemly amounts of sweat never looked so good.}}

{{Further proof in the power of soccer.}}

Coach: "Mussolini was an AMETEUR."

"So… When do you think they’ll find out about the laundry?"

"Uhhhhhh… Now. TOLD you we shouldn’t have separated ours out!!"

Does anyone have a "pre-customs" workbook for MTSU that I can swipe?  In their infinite wisdom, the university decided to make all crucial PDF downloads incompatible with the basic Windows program.

Then again, what else should I expect?  This is also the institution that took one phone call and three pissed-off visits before they'd approve my basic financial aid, and still sent out a letter saying I was screwed the day it all passed.  So I'm not really expecting anything spectacular or even elementary from them.  "Blessed are they who expect nothing, for you shall never be disappointed."

I will kill them all one day.  Or at least thoroughly erode their self-esteem until every last one of them is but a shell of their former selves.

After 20 years, a man has emerged from an MCS {{Minimally Conscious State}}.  This article absolutely floored me.

http://health.msn.com/healthnews/articlepage.aspx?cp-documentid=100139038

E.B.S. {{Extremely Bogus Situation}}: So my family decided to have the 4th of July on the 3rd.  Bear with me, I'm not being psychotic.  Under normal circumstances {{i.e. say Dad had to go fly on the 4th}}, this would be understandable, even embraced.  But no.  My aunt has plans with her boyfriend on the 4th.  So instead of just accepting the fact that she made alternative plans and dealing with it like a big girl {{she's the one who made said plans, after all}} suddenly we're grilling out and being happy like the Cleavers and accomodating her because she's already arranged to be elsewhere tomorrow.  I've missed, say, Memorial Day for the past three years due to the Renaissance Festival, which in my opinion is a far higher calling that some lousy date {{but I'm bitter and weird, so maybe that's what's talking}}.  Are we defrosting burgers on Tuesdays instead?  Um, no.  And I'm fine with that.  Because I chose to do something else, and since I chose to do that Something Else and physics will not allow us to be in two places at once, I "miss out," as it were.  That's a "consequence" or a "result" of my choice, and I live with it.  Some people, however, do not seem so capable of basic adult reasoning.  What the hell.  This is so screwed up.  That entire side of the family is screwed up.  Mental issues frickin' abound.

And they're leaving.  Thank God.

Sorry about that.  I just had to vent.  It might seem trivial, but I got really pissed off.  There's more where that came from, believe you me.  Like, headache-inducing amounts, et cetera.

So.... Um.... Happy Independence Day.  Early.
*Sparkler*

Okay.  A long, long time ago I fell madly {{and unrequitedly-slash-he-had-no-clue}} in love with a gorgeous gentleman.  We'll call him Fido.  No, it wasn't a dog.  That's gross.  REGARDLESS.  Fido and I had seen each other occassionally at the place of commerce where he works and established a rather lovely rapport, if I do say so.  Got on first name basis, exchanging life//childhood details, et cetera.  Certain friends who knew of my undying love {{tongue-in-cheek, haha, no pun intended *wink*}} were harrassing me about making 'moves' and being bold and other crap like that.  All of the above has gotta count for something, right?  So I'm in Place of Commerce and we're talking, asking how each other is, pleasantry-pleasantry-pleasantry.  And Fido says he's even better than last time we talked!  Well, of course, I ask why.  Share the joy, and all.

"Well, I got another job, and tomorrow my wife finds out if she's having a boy or a girl!"

?!!!

My response: to gasp rather too loudly and clap both hands over my mouth.  Fortunately, Fido interpreted this as shared happiness for him, and added, "Yeah, I'm pretty excited, too."  At this point I had recovered my composure enough to whip out those improvisational acting skillZ and congratulate and be all girly with his girly coworkers about it.  {{All the while contemplating suicide.}}

AGH!!  UGH!!  URRRG!!!!  *Spasm*

My one true love has betrayed me.... *Melodramatic Fainting Motions*

So yeah, I thought you guys might enjoy that and get a good laugh out of my broken heart.  </3  Because I don't want to suffer in vain, you know.  ;)

Yeah, I'll laugh after the therapy.  Chocolate counts as therapy, right??

So the mandate concerning my attendance to at least one house of Judeo-Christian worship on Sundays has been lifted.  I'd sing hallelujiah, but that would be what we call "contradictory."

Let's see if they mean it this time.  Four years ago, yeah, people kind of went back on their word, which even now clenches the muscles within my jaw to vice-like proportions.  I guess they thought my views would change with age.  Instead, without the freedom to choose as I saw fit, I stopped believing in anything at all, which they may or may not deem worse.

Que pensez-vous?  Quel est plus mal?
{{What do you think?  Which is worse?}}

By the way.... I have the most awesome French book for intermediate study.  It's packed full of idioms and proper grammar.  Inches thick.  And only $15.  I love it.  *Hugs book*  His name {{for "livre" is a masculine noun en francais}} is Etienne.  Or perhaps Guillaume.  Decisions, decisions.  Etienne-Guillaume!!  Hahahahaaaaaaa!!!!!  I can't wait to go to Starbucks and study E.G. for as everyone knows, Starbucks is inherently conducive to scholarly pursuit.

A bientot!

Hang me from the highest branch.
Scorn me with your sharpest words.
Leave me, trailing, days on days.
Feed my body to the birds.

Rip apart my memories.
Mock the works of mine own hand.
Tell all my love was simple lying.
Sear me with the traitors brand.

Slash out my existence.
Ensconce me in obliging ground.
But know this if ye think to try:
The truth wont die without a sound.

-- © Kelly Sullivan
-- June 25, 2oo6

Highlights from the past few days....

-- Going from pyjamas-and-last-night's-makeup to office-worthy-presentable, making a Starbucks run, and the drive to Nashville in under 90 minutes {{no small feat for me, particularly the zero-to-presentable aspect}}.

-- Making phone calls and pretending to be a wise, benevolent god of finance at a title company.  {{Just use your first name when calling, which implies that they should know you by that alone.  Oh yes.}}

-- When asked details I don't know, scrapping the deity concept.  "Let me double-check on that ma'am//sir, I'm just a temp worker."

-- Not quite sure if this is a highlight in the Joy-Elation sense, but a gaggle of girls stalked me around the Forever 21 store in Opry Mills examining the racks I touched.  It's a tough call between Freakishly Scary or Cute In A Stalker Way.

-- And this definitely isn't a highlight in the Joy-Elation sense: a kiosk worker at Opry Mills stopped me and I first thought he was trying to sell me something.  "You wear a ring?"  "No thank you, I'm not interested."  "No, no, you wear a ring?"  Man holds up left hand.  Mine is firmly inserted in a pants pocket.  I look at my visible right hand.*  "No, I'm not wearing a ring.  I'm allergic to the metals."  Man grins.  "Noooo, a ring!"  Points at my left hand, points at the ring finger of his own.  "Uhhhhh.... I have to go now...."  Perhaps not the most eloquent response, but I doubt anything more would have been understood, as his English was a bit spotty.  Trauma.

-- A run-in with the unknowing love of my life {{granted, there are many of these}}, Capuccino Man.

-- Prix-Saint-Georges dressage riding at Miller Coliseum.  Oh, sweet heaven.  Never have I seen more beautiful riding.  The freestyle to music routines were all right, but the seven-minute tests where the horse seemed to be floating above the ground were my absolute favourite.  Beauty.  Almost makes me want to climb back on one of the beasts.  Almost.  Hmmm....

{{Aside from the obvious fact that Kelly is a raving heretic.}}

The first time since Sunday that I've actually made an effort, gotten dressed beyond pyjama pants and a tank top {{or a swimsuit, for that matter}}, actually put makeup on.... And my car refuses to start. REFUSES to START. The temerity. If I didn't love that metal frame on wheels so much, I'd.... *Graphic depiction of vehicular demise, rife with expletives*

So.... Who wants to come pick Kelly up and go have a wild time of some form or fashion? I smell good.... Hahahaha.

::EDIT::

So apparently God and Kelly have a love-hate relationship. That whole door-window thing from The Sound of Music, and all. {{Except God doesn't just close the door, he closes it on my hand. Ouchies. But when he opens a window, at least it's the open-late drive-through of a medical complex of sorts.}} Thank you for rescuing me, Andrew!! *Hearts*

Fact: I get on www.internetbumperstickers.com when I'm bored.

Here, you see the resulting carnage:

Oxymoron #1
Government accountability

Oxymoron #2
Religious tolerance

Oxymoron #3
Political ethics

Quote #1
"Just tell Nemo you couldn't find him because you were getting high.  He'll understand."

Quote #2
"I drank what?"
-- Socrates

Good night, everybody.

The Supreme Court voted 5-4 to repeal the "Knock and Announce" requirement for police.  For a better, more comprehensive summary, click on the lovely link below.

http://www.nytimes.com/2006/06/16/washington/16scotus.html?ex=1308110400&en=f5adf0b4a255928c&ei=5088&partner=rssnyt&emc=rss

They had this sort of thing going on in V for Vendetta.... You know, the fascist totalitarian dictatorship??  Yeah, that one.

Remember, remember,
The fifth of November:
Gunpowder, treason, and plot.
I know of no reason
That gunpowder treason
Should ever be forgot.