Famine

It really is feast or famine . . . and I can't figure out if I'm doing something wrong . . . though I rarely have the same behavior patterns . . . unless I can't see it and I do . . . have the same behavior pattern that is . . .

Another subject: Bought a humidifier, so hopefully my throat will stop being angry. Found some old pictures for class tomorrow, although not the pictures I wanted. I'm hoping I put those pictures back. Tomorrow is Thursday and then there is Friday . . . and then there is knitmichigan, which I am looking forward to . . . yay . . . yarn.

Cause If I Were Smart, I'd Be Done With It

I skipped some stuff this afternoon and blissfully shovelled my walk . . . something I haven't done all this winter. I also figured out how to make a masthead and how to change them up, something I've wanted to do for about a year now.

Now if I can just get the Christmas tree packed up tomorrow (What? It's festive . . . and still January.) I'll be good. Oh and any suggestions about what I should take pictures of for the "my world" assignment . . . any at all . . . would be great. Today I took pictures of the meat I was cooking for chili (I think it will be next month's masthead background!), so it's getting pretty desperate. Tomorrow I might take pictures of the inside of the washer. "My world" includes ninth graders, meetings, the YMCA and class . . . and none of those areas contain things I want to take pictures of . . . well, some of them might be funny pictures, but frowned upon, very frowned upon.

Maybe pictures of my gray siding . . . as a metaphorical statement?

You'd think it was slippery or something

Two accidents in less than 12 hours. Six car spin out on the way home at 9:30 p.m. that I also COULDN'T stop for . . . which is why people were spinning I suppose. Mr. Crabbypants gave me snowtires for the skunk car, the only reason I didn't spin as well. But a nice big patch of black ice last night under the overpass at Telegraph. Skating cars. Whee. And no, I didn't stop.

Less than twelve hours later, after a particularly wonderful morning of sickness and computer glitches, I'm driving late to my meeting (I had called to say I would be late and therefore not speeding) and a Jeep Cherokee spins and breaks into pieces. I see the air bags go off and stop. No one else does. 911 asks me questions that I cannot answer . . . the lady looks fine, no blood, but the air bags are spilling their smoky powder and I tell her not to move. "What should we send?" the dispatcher inquires. I am standing on a now obviously icy freeway, next to a car in the path of other irritated motorists. Antifreeze is dripping. Plastic is crunching. "I don't know. Probably an ambulance? At least a cop car." And I don't know. The Cherokee is facing oncoming traffic. The lady doesn't look hurt, but she's shaking.

The dispatcher says I don't have to stay but I do . . . talking to the woman, telling her that it's going to be okay. She doesn't know what happened. How her car landed here. It occurs to me that I should somehow get the SUV off the freeway. I peer underneath the car at the puddle of antifreeze. Doesn't look like the whole radiator. I've done much worse. And I realize the car is on, still running. Could have blown us both up by now, especially if we were to get hit by another person not paying attention and then trying to stop. "Turn on your hazards. And after this truck passes, can you pull slightly forward and then back up to get the car off the road." I am standing on the freeway, over the white line, feeling the whoosh of air was cars speed pass, swerving to avoid the Cherokee.

"Is it still running?" she asks. Before she fully understands what I'm telling her to do, the sheriff's deputy arrives. Dismisses me quickly. I walk to my car, fifty yards up. Turn off my hazard lights. Drive off as three full-size fire trucks pull up. I guess that's what the dispatcher meant when she said "I'll just send everything." And I feel a twinge of guilt. As if I could have made the call about what to bring. I certainly knew that they didn't need three firetrucks. Well, at least the car won't get hit again, which was my most immediate fear. And H. seemed kind of out of it . . . but we had just met, so I can't really make an assessment. People react differently to totalling their cars. She did say that she wanted to be checked out. Which was nice, to be in agreement. Hope she is alright.

And now I'm hesitant to drive home. And I was driving to my meeting thinking about being cursed . . . but my car wasn't smashed and I didn't have three fire trucks, which I'm sure someone has to pay for . . . so I'm going home, doing a little work for school and then working out. Might be a treadmill and weight day. I'm kind of tense.

You Could Just Leave That One Short

Somehow, I broke three nails last night at the Berkley Front. This means I can't go get a manicure for at least another two weeks because she will cut them all to match . . . and I don't want them that short. (ah, more evidence that I have been reading way too many fashion magazines and they're rotting my brain) It's like they have OCD, with the evenness.

I also think I might be coming down with a cold. Yesterday at the allergist, while getting my shots, I had to say something to the nurse, the usual pleasantries we exchange as she is poking me in the arms and shoving burning liquid into my flesh. But I opened my mouth and nothing came out . . . eventually my voice worked, but it sounded like Phoebe in the episode when she does sexy "Smell Cat". And I couldn't figure out why I didn't know that my voice didn't work . . . I had a conversation with my brother earlier -- why I was busting my ass to get to the allergist, because I had to do something with his family. Until it dawned on me . . . the conversation had been on IM. I haven't tried to talk today. Okay, just did and have a voice.

Maybe it's just that my house is too dry. And too messy . . . have to get on the messy today. Cleaned part of my kitchen yesterday and all of my "delicates". But still have two weeks worth of mail to sort through on the coffee table. There are parts of me that love never being home, but the pile on the coffee table is irritating me. So must be dealt with. And I tore apart a bunch of stuff, looking for my jeweler's saw frame and can't find it. So if you know where it is . . . please let me know because I don't have time to buy another one.

And yes, for those of you who are concerned . . . I had fun. Likes to argue, interesting job, nice truck (as if I care what someone drives) and made me laugh. And I gave him this address. So enough. It will not be spoken of again.

Getting Stood Up for an Independent Film

I think. To his credit, I don't even know if my phone is in the house, or in the car. Should go check.

(check) It's on the kitchen table.

This morning I was lounging. Didn't get up with the alarm. Did some stuff on the computer. The im thingy pops up with my brother.

"You coming? Should we pick you up?"

Pick me up for what? Shit. Z.'s class. I promised that I would go. And I when I made the whole stay at home and clean plan, along with the "date" plan, I had this funny "forgetting something" feeling.

"Yeah. Don't pick me up. I'll be there, but late."

Have to go get my shots. Go and work out, so there will be no workout guilt. And this will be great because the guy I'm meeting is somewhere near the class, so we can just meet there. But then have the problem of getting dressed for a date AND getting dressed to go to Z.'s class . . . and merging the two. Black turtleneck sweater. Jeans. Boots. Pink scarf. Pleather motorcycle jacket. Make up casual but on my face (and a bit too pink, once it was all said and done). Trying for Audrey Hepburn. Probably more looks more Joan Jett. Going for the dressed but not looking like I thought about it . . . even though I did. And no heels, because I couldn't explain heels in the snow.

Get to the place with Z.'s class only an hour and twenty minutes late. We go to Traffic Jam and Snug for lunch and have fried dill pickles. Then we take Z. to the DIA again and he goes through all the same rooms but looks at different paintings. Poor Z., he has that damn aunt with an art degree that keeps asking him questions about what he thinks about the art. (insert eye roll here)

Guy said that he would call sometime around five. The DIA closes at five. So I had nothing else to do . . . and so drove home. Now I may take my paper and go to Starbucks for some crack-like latte, because I can't take a nap with the makeup on and I would have to change clothes to clean. But it's after five, and so there is no free parking for crack lattes. And my sweater keeps riding up in the back. And I'm sure he will call . . . you can't plan on when your independent film will stop shooting. But it just would have been more convenient if he had called while I was already down there. But it would have been more convenient to sit on my couch instead of going to Z.'s class . . . and I could have said "no". But I had made the commitment last week.

But if he doesn't call in the next hour, I am so going to sleep.

But Will the List Be Cool Enough?

Someone asked me what is on my ipod today and I don't know exactly how to answer them. I don't remember telling him that I had an ipod in the first place, but now that it's out there, do I list the 4 gig? Or just go over the highlights? Who askes "what's on your ipod" anymore? And plus, how is the other stuff . . . not ripped yet . . . or just hanging out on itunes . . . addressed?

Yeah, I know, I think too much. And I'll go with my standard list for the "what music do you listen to?" question that always comes up.

Last Purchased: Blue October (only like one song . . . there's another song that makes me depressed . . . and that's about it)
Next Planned Purchase: Evanescence (if I can't steal it from my brother) and +44 . . . and Neverending White Lights, if I can find it anywhere.
Playing Right at this Moment: Ben Folds "Landed"
Next Song: Sisters of Mercy "Temple of Love"
Favorite: Matthew Good
Favorite Song: "Suck" . . . but the Trent Reznor version
Old Standards: Tool, NIN, Bauhaus, The Smiths
Classical: Arvo Part, Bach
. . . and I do have Ann Margaret on my ipod.

And you know the title is a joke, right?

Class

What I learned today . . . sorta.

Trails of Myspace

So I was looking for inspiration today for my photography project and came upon a Cranbrook student that I had talked to, months ago, on myspace. "Huh," I thought to myself, "his podcast is really cool. I should email him and tell him that. Because I like it when I get emails telling me that I am really cool. (and I assume that everyone thinks like I do)"

So off into the myspace world I go . . . and notice that one of his "friends" had emailed me randomly two weeks ago. It was a woman who also lives in Hamtramck, who wrote to me about liking monkeys. "Hmm, small world" I thought.

Then later this evening, during an email conversation, myspace was brought up again. Go to the person's profile and recognize another "friend" on the friend list . . . who is on photography guy's list. So everyone in Hamtramck, knows each other . . . and have added each other. Granted, this boy has 581 friends, so he knows everyone. But still, it's all coming back to Cranbrook photography guy tonight.

Creepy.

And I only have 12 friends . . . and now feel so lame.

Learning Curve

If you look at life like a learning process . . . and although M2 disputes that I've learned this . . . well, there are people in your life that you decide are . . . and I'm trying to put this delicately . . . unhealthy . . . or more to the point, out and out crazy, or evil, or bad mojo. Whatever, you don't want to be around them, or need to be around them. And it took me a long time to figure out the difference between interesting and toxic.

And yes, M2 is right. I prefer to think of myself as in search of interesting people, people who think outside of the box, but M2 is right. Some of them are just crazy. (But then again, I'm having a theme name problem right now {2 R.s, 2 C.s} and we had a whole discussion about the negative connotation that someone had just because he had the same name as RB. And I can't dismiss someone just because he has the same name. That's not his fault anyhow. He didn't choose it. But I digress.)

Let's just say that I don't like to judge people . . . right away anyhow.

So when I get a note on myspace from an old high school acquaintance, who doesn't know who I am because there is nothing identifying me on myspace, I have to pause. She said that she thought my profile was cool . . . and she probably found me by searching the Alumni part of myspace. However, in high school, she was nuts . . . I vaguely recall. Had a good sense of style. And I think there was a rumor that she killed herself after high school.

So I click on her profile and the first thing I see? Another former friend of mine, who is mad as a hatter, is listed as one of her friends. We didn't go to high school together, so interesting how things are connected, but yeah . . . I wouldn't trust N. with a plant that I didn't like. So no happy reunion. Learning curve.

Of course, I didn't see any of this until I sent H. a perky little note. So must look at profile before emailing perky little notes. Learning curve.

And now M2 would say something about how my profile attracts the insane.

"Sweetie, Let Mommy Finish Her Martini"

I've been reading too many magazines while working out at the Y . . . and I'm turning into one of those Salinger female archetypes, the ones who actually care about things in magazines. As proof of this, I have started writing down everything I eat . . . because Instyle or Cosmo or whatever other drivel was in the rack told me to. Told me it was a great idea because, then, you will think about what you eat. And we all need to think very hard about what we eat.

I don't want to think about what I eat. At least not in any detail, unless the details include "and it was incredibly yummy." But here I am, writing down my food. Because I read about it in a magazine. Shit, it's such a girl thing. I think the idea behind the whole thing is that you will think twice about eating that cheese danish . . . that yummy calorie filled cheese danish . . . if you have to write down that you ate a cheese danish. And you know what? I did think twice.

If I start talking about my pores or start complaining that I don't have a date on a Friday night, please come and bring the deprogrammers.

For Some Reason

One of my favorite pictures from the Auto show.

Really, the Best Part was Playing Pool

This morning I woke up refreshed, despite the vodka shower (not my choice) and cigar that I had the night before. I showered, put on the second oldest sweater I own (J. Crew . . . muted green), decided on a hat and was out the door.

I went to C.R. Hill first and was pleasantly surprised to find it open. Someone keeps telling me to be more positive (keeps = twice, so not all that often) and when I found myself doubting that the obscure metal and jewelry tool secret store would be open, I consciously told myself to quit it . . . and taa-daa, it was open. From 9 am to noon on Saturday. I bought $80 worth of wax and wax tools. You all better appreciate your rings (and should send me your ring sizes if you want them to fit). It was soooo nice to buy art supplies for a class when I have the money. Although I was always working in college, I was also making slightly more than minimum wage and had to pay for, well, more school. Today, I could impulse-buy dental tools. Hey, you have a book on how to carve wax? Sure, throw it in. Some wax saw blades. Heck, yes. I held off on the twenty dollar file though. I think I can find one exactly like it at Home Depot for a fourth of the price. So I didn't go totally crazy. Already have the dragon ring in my head, with little prongs to hold in the beads for eyes.

Then I drove to my brother's to borrow his laptop for my Romeo and Juliet meeting. He had excellent coffee and we made fun of music videos for a half an hour. He is currently addicted to the IMC (I think that's what it is called) which has much better videos than VH1 or MTV. As a child of MTV, I do enjoy a music video once in a great while . . . although I don't like imagery to be stuffed into my head. "MTV is for him now." D said, pointing at the nine year old playing with action figures on the floor while singing along to Blue October. And that was my heyday with MTV also, so it makes sense.

Made it to the Dearborn Borders without being late. Had a very productive meeting, with everything assigned and planned by week. Six weeks of teaching Romeo and Juliet . . . and I got to go shopping. Bought the new juxtapoz, Metalsmith magazine and the new American Craft, just for ideas.

Drove downtown via Michigan Avenue. Met my brother and sister-in-law at CCS. Found more wax at the CCS bookstore (cheaper too!) and bought Z. a shirt so he could have even more bragging rights about "goin' to college". He is taking a cartooning class for kids through their community education program. Best part of the class? He got to play pool in the student center during break. His instructor writes comic books. He saw them. But nothing about the title or characters . . . just comic books. And he learned how to draw eyeballs.

We went to the DIA. Z had never been there. Tried to tell him about some art but really . . . talking about art is boring. Swords are kinda cool. The stairs were the best part. There really should be more stairs . . . or more correctly, more stairs open to the public. Then we went to the Auto Show, which was overwhelming just in the amount of strollers on the premises. Good to see wall-to-wall people in Cobo . . . but only needed to see that for about four seconds.

Walked to Layfette Coney Island, which is next to a pipe store, possibly explaining it's early discovery by my Grandfather. I know, it's famous. But I had never been there. And it's good. Really, really good. Crack was put in the chili good. Plus the yelling and writing nothing down, the fact that your food comes in seconds, the original decor, the standing room only part. Just good. And I will always try to sit next to the radiator. Toasty butt and a loose hamburger with everything. Yum.

So it was a good day. I'm going to read about carving wax effectively and maybe do a little knitting. Mr. Crabbypants and I have a Costco and wine drinking meeting tomorrow. Again, sounds lovely.

You Give Me Nightmares

As I was swooning about sharing a book with tattoo boy last night (he has a Weimaraner, which he dresses in sweatshirts in the winter, and he was looking for something on the Noir website last night, and he took just as long to do his assignment as I did . . . and I get really picky on photoshop and will select pixel-by-pixel . . . and no, I don't mean to sound like he was slow . . . just careful, like I was . . . sigh.)

M2 looks up and says "Who?"
E2: "Tattoo boy"
M2: "Who is that?"
E2: "Remember the one that you said that you would have to tell Emily to stop talking to in a couple of months?"
M2: "Oh, that one."

Then other people in our party questioned M2 statement, to which she replied:

"Fine. I'll start sending her to you whenever she wants to talk. Because the things she talks about . . . it gives me nightmares."
"I give you nightmares?"
"Yes, nightmares."

Other person from party: "Well, maybe you should stop talking then."

Oh Bother

I woke up this morning at 5:16 a.m. and it felt like someone had cut off the top of my skull, scraped the inside until it was raw, and then plopped it back on my head. It hurt. Really, really bad. And it wasn't a migraine.

So I did what I always do with a early morning headache. I took some ibuprofen and went back to tossing and turning until the alarm goes off. Three snooze cycles later (8 minutes each) and I'm up looking in the mirror . . . and realizing that I am nauseous. "I shouldn't go to school." But I go to school. With the headache and the nausea and the weird hot blushy feeling and the chills. Because it is easier and somehow better than having to do the "emergency" lesson plans. Plus I have to go to class tonight anyhow. And community college, they are all about the attendance.

I make it through the day. Read to them. Coast. Read to them some more. Kids want to stay for "homework help", which isn't really helping . . . they help each other . . . it's more just using my room and me being the referee. Manage to do my homework (wrote test for tomorrow) and get out by 4:45.

Drive home to pick up "George". Pay some bills. Check email. Change into jeans. Drive by the mailboxes with the bills. Park somewhere that I will have to find an ATM to get out of. Eat a Z-bar for dinner. Realize that I left my extra battery at home and the battery in the camera is cashed. Have to buy book and can't spring car without three bucks. Figure I'll make it with the battery I have. Run to bookstore.

I had forgotten how much college is very much just a lesson in bureaucracy. The bookstore. A line to get your book. Get to front of line, then wait for the guy to find your book. He can't find the book. He looks some more. Finds three books and brings them to you. Pick correct book, but it is used. At this point, I don't want used . . . I finally have the means to buy new, fresh, untouched, unhighlighted, unbent. New. But there is no new book. Have to buy book for class. But cannot take book, must now take number. And go to another line. Wait. Waiting. Waiting. Wait some more. Get to front of line. Guy has to find book. Guy cannot find book. I point to the book sitting behind him. Give debit card. Just want to buy damn used book, sometime this evening, preferably before class starts. Must have "valid I.D.". Dig for I.D. Find license. Sign slip. Then the person has to do this ornate dance of paperwork. Stapling. Printing. Stamping. Stapling again. Just give me the damn book. "Do you need a bag?" Yeah, now I remember about college.

Class took all four hours. I took my pictures in RAW mode and then couldn't see them. He told us last week to take everything in RAW . . . but he didn't mean it. The pictures are huge. But I did learn how to use my manual mode on "George" and I did talk to tattoo boy. He has a dog. I think his name is Jeff. And the girl with the eyeliner . . . she's Felicity, or something. And I don't think the Nikon twins showed up today. And random comment man, well, he's still random comment man. The instructor is now treating him like a child. A hyperactive child that he is forced to sit at the children's table with at Thanksgiving. Nice, but with a ever so slight edge. Cause grandma would kick his butt if he was mean to him. Forced. Took a swell picture of a tree. Which is too big to even place on my computer to resize. So the world will never see it.

My headache is now a plain old familiar migraine. Comforting compared to this morning. Just a sharp stabbing pain on one side of my head. Currently feels like an ice pick just above my temple but occasionally moves to be a vertical line of pain through my head, radiating from the top of my mouth . . . a little to the right. Maybe I will go to work tomorrow.

Keeps me off the Streets?

It's just Tuesday and already Thursday, Friday, and Saturday are booked . . . solid. And don't get me wrong, I like to be busy. I am at my best when I am slightly overscheduled. Otherwise, I think too much . . . and get caught up in the thinking.

College: worked two jobs and took 21 credits a term (ah, the dual major) . . . and somehow partied like a rock star . . . and made grades. No cracks about being an art major.

Early career: worked at the restaurant because my "real" job wasn't paying the bills. Worked 8 to 4 at real job, Wednesday night, Friday and Saturday at restaurant.

I think I'm back to that with the two classes plus the yearbook advising.

For those of you are interested, in my oh, so exciting life:
Thursday: Class -- get to hang with the Nikon twins again! And sit next to tattoo guy.
Friday: Magic Bag. Friend of a friend's band.
Saturday: Work meeting, that I am running and then DIA (quick like bunnies), auto show and Layfette Coney Island (which I SWEAR I have NEVER been to . . . not even with Grandpa Don . . . you people, you never brought me along on those trips)

I'm very excited about crossing the threshold of the famed Layfette Coney Island. Maybe I was there when I was three, but I don't think so. I'll see if anything looks remotely familiar.

And I have exams to write. And books to buy for classes. And maybe I should make an agenda for the meeting on Saturday.

Anyhow, the point was: I really just want to fall asleep on the couch.

From Tuesday Night

I had to retouch a finger (thanks Dave) so my mother wouldn't freak out. She insists that is why she doesn't have a decent Christmas picture either. Cause we are all about the sticking up of fingers.

Princess and her Pennylicious

Hat Update

Sister of Princess: "She made you a hat?"
Princess: "Yeah, she made me a pink one . . . I've worn it twice. It makes my head look fat."
Me: "It makes your head look fat?"
S of P: "Go get the hat, I'll wear it."
"It's in the basement . . . somewhere . . . "
"It's been banished to the basement?"
"Well, I wore it twice."

So much for the guilt working. Banished to the basement.

"It's not banished to the basement."
"Go get the hat, I want to see the hat."
"Fine. I'll show you how it makes my head look fat."

Princess goes to basement, comes up with hat on.

"See, my head looks fat."

I put hat on . . .

"See. Emily's head doesn't look fat."
"That's because she's wearing it differently. You have it to your eyes. She's wearing it back on her head."
Princess puts on hat.
"Yeah, that's better."
"But there's so much forehead."
"Okay, gimme the hat. (hat is thrown) Here is choice A (back of head) . . . and here is choice B (how you wear the hat)."
"B is definitely better."
"Well, I'm sorry that I'm not positioning the hat correctly. You still look like a cat burglar."
"A cat burglar in a fuzzy pink hat?"
"Well . . . a friendly cat burglar then."

In the Trunk

I don't have a USB cord, so I can't post the adorable pictures I just took of Princess and her dog.

"Her butt is getting so big, we're starting to call her J-Lo . . . actually more like P-Lo for Penny. She's got some junk in the trunk."

correction

I've been told that the pictures in the gallery of www.dodgemotorsports.com are completely random. So the comment made about my pictures being in the back was in error.

I Wanna Be Like You Hoo Hoo

"So tattoos of a spine on someone's neck screams 'Go sit next to this person' to you?"
"Cause it only screams painful to me."
"It screams that I'm going to have to tell Emily to stop talking to him in a couple of months to me."
"What we need to find is a guy that is totally mainstream . . . but thinks he isn't."
"So just like Emily?"
"Pretty much."
Emily, cutting in on conversation: "Yeah, but where do you find one of those?"
"You would think you could just go where you go . . . but that so isn't working is it?"

Pretty Colors to Order Your Bug in

Went to my other class today and it turns out that I really needed to buy "George". Instructor is my age, Cranbrook grad, no ring. The crowd is older this night, with people who are all about sharing how much of a snotty, snotty know-it-all they are . . . which is usually my job. It was nice to have a night off in the know-it-all department (though I may have gotten there if the others weren't so vocal). And there is this guy in the class that has the most amazing tattoo . . . a realistic spine tattooed were his spine is. So I am going to try to sit next to him next time, if only to get a better view of the tatt. So Thursday night is looking like fun.

And I have to get a move on for class on Monday. Any requests? I want to cast in white gold . . . at least a couple of rings. And just to challenge myself, I would like to do stone setting (not required, but I have never done it before). If I go to CR Hill this weekend, I could have the molds done in time for him to do the demo (speaking of snotty, snotty k.i.a.) . . . I wonder if you can order diamonds over the web. They should be cheaper if they are not already in rings, right? Or rubies . . . rubies are good with white gold. So fun to think of the possibilities.

And ridiculous because I don't even wear much jewelry.

Shattering

"So are you okay with yourself? You know . . . not just comfortable in your own skin but do you really like who you are?"

"Yeah."

"No, I mean really."

"Yes. Really."

"Yeah, I don't think so."

Oooh, Pretty Colors

The pictures are up on Dave's car thingy (see link to the right) . . . and it is surprising how you're always still the big sister, because I would have taken some poor girl's head off if I had been there. She's lucky I was at my day job.

Anyhow, if you go to the "gallery" tab . . . I think my pictures are last. I looked through pages 1-11 of 65 and didn't see any of mine. Sorry, I don't have control of the site. And don't have the patience to look for them. So instead I will give you pictures of the paint displays. This is the paint display for the Smart car. You can get the teeny car in all those colors.

Eventually, I will have collages of "chairs of the auto show" and "floors of the auto show" but have to go back and get more shots. I think I can get in all next week. Or maybe it's all this week. Oh well, I'll figure it out.

Oh, and I stepped on the clip of my camera case and broke it. So any suggestions about how to fix that . . . and yes, I know I'm stupid sometimes. I might just try to return the bag, as I've had it less than a week, but I'm having some problems with the integrity of that action. But really, they should make stuff strong enough for you to step on it at least once.

Contributing to My Delinquency

First Class

I left the auto show with hours to spare, because I was afraid of traffic. Didn't want to be late for my first class. Seriously considered not showing up for my first class because I could be at auto show parties, smiling and fluttering my eyelashes. But I already have the attitude of "it's community college, how hard can it be?" in the back of my brain . . . and the front (or side, or whatever) thinks, make that knows, that it's a bad thing to be thinking. So I'm here . . . early . . . with basically bells on.

And because I'm so early, I've found the coffee shop. And because I came straight from the auto show, I have "George" with me. I'm not leaving him in the car. And hopefully class will entail "Here's the book you need . . . buy some metal . . . bring 10 sketches next week . . . the lab hours are . . . " and be done in ten minutes, so I can go back to the auto show.

Postscript: The class lasted two hours. So no auto show tonight. There are multiple spelling and grammatical errors in the syllabus (I know, let she who is without cast the first stone) . . . and not "your - you're" kinds of things, stuff that you would find on spell check. It took all my powers not to fix them and hand it back. Instructor is cool. I'm older than him. Most of the students are kids. The word "kegger" was said in the first four minutes of class. "The Little Mermaid" is four of the students' favorite movie (we did the name game). And when I was talking to one of the students, he pointed out that I seemed to know more than the instructor (I don't actually.) So MUST keep my mouth shut. Get in, put the ipod on, and get out. 3 credits. 4 months. Should be easy enough.

The Pretty and the Shiny

I spent a lot of time today shrugging my shoulders and saying "I take the pictures of the pretty shiny things." This was in response to any car question requested of me. Then there was some eyelash fluttering and a smile on my part.

I entered a secret world today. A primarily male word (I'd say 20 to 1 today) where there was talk of "torque" and "horsepower". . . and rear-slip differential being standard. Of press conferences and hype . . . and we have to best, best, bestest cars/trucks/motorized somethings ever. And everything was free. But nothing was free when you needed it. And I need to go to bed so I can do it again tomorrow.

I love my new "George" still. I might have taken some sweet pictures. Hard to tell when you have 400 of them. Smoked a cigar and now smell . . . and feel slightly queasy, but it was worth it to look like a bad ass for twenty minutes. And felt bad for the "car girls" . . . the pretty girls who have to stand in short dresses next to the cars. They were there in high heels at 9 a.m. and still there posing and smiling when I left at 6 p.m. Those girls were troopers.

My card reader is not working, otherwise you might be subjected to a few pictures. More tomorrow, I have to pass out from exhaustion.

A Room, with Free Computers

So I'm here . . . and can post because they have a bazillion computers in the "media center". Missed whatever food they were serving with lemon curd because "the crew" was late but already have some interesting pictures. Should've brought my USB cord.

And Mr. Crabbypants is right. One shouldn't try to learn a camera on the floor of Cobo.

. . . and love him and rub him and pet him . . .

Sorry, can't find this on youtube . . . or anywhere else. Please accept this to watch in it's stead.

Rabbit of Seville.

And I so want a "Duck Dodgers" costume. Just to wear around the house.

My New Friend

On Looney Tunes (?), there was this character that used to say "This is new friend George. He is my friend he is. And I will hug him and squeeze him and pet him and love him . . . " I think it was some sort of dog. Please, all my minions, please find it on youtube and send me the link.

Anyhow, I bought a new camera . . . and I'm seriously considering calling it George. And I want to be with it all the time. And I want to hug it and squeeze it and love it . . .

I bought a Nikon D80. And it cost more than all of the leather furniture in my living room combined. And it does amazing things . . . most of which I am unaware of . . . but I'm sure it would make me scrambled eggs, if I liked scrambled eggs. And did I mention that I love it?

And the purchase was mainly because of penis envy (can I say that on here?), as I am "press" and I don't want to look foolish with my measly little Fuji 7000. I don't have a flash, so you will still be able to tell that I'm amateur. But it makes me feel better and takes sweet pictures. (Have a good one of Mr. Crabbypants, but didn't get his permission to post, so won't. And have a bunch of pictures of my brother with his eyes closed.) And I will love it and squeeze it and never take it off my body. I may sleep with it tonight. George.

But look at the paint

I have press credentials for the Auto Show and I'm taking it very seriously. I'm hoping to get a guest column somewhere . . . at least my brother's website (see link: Dave's car thingy). And although I despise the hype that the Detroit media foams up every year, I'm now, very slightly, part of the club. Almost makes me want to stalk Christian Slater for a picture. But not really.

Maybe there will be free food. And pretty paint colors.

So expect pictures of pretty paint colors . . . and any free food . . . in the next few days. My brother is wireless, so I can post from anywhere. And this will frustrate Mr. Crabbypants (also part of the family press corp) because he really wants me to appreciate the cars, the actual cars and their pieces parts. Their engines and exhaust systems. And I just "ooooh" at the paint. Sometimes the design. Ultra-frustrating is when I am fascinated with the booth . . . and don't even look at the car. Both D and Mr. Crabbypants hate that.

So it should be interesting, the right brain vs. left brain perspective of the family fun time.

Resolution

This year I promise that I will use denial more. For example, I didn't see RB last night . . . I just thought I did. It was some guy that looked like RB, with a bad haircut. But it wasn't RB. The mind, it plays tricks on you. (Thank you, Princess, for this wonderful life strategy.)

I promise to go to the Y and sweat for a least a half an hour, every other day, in an attempt to not punch anyone in the face. If there is sweating then there is less urge to hurt someone when they are being dumb. And I will try not to ogle at the cute boys.

I will try to not be such a smartypants . . . or if that is not possible, I will try not to be such an overt smartypants. There are times that it would be better if I kept my mouth shut. And maybe smiled.

I will try to make more art. I have been a little light on the creative side for a couple of years. Will try to make a painting. Will do more photography. Will really push myself on the jewelry.

I think I need to think more about what is a need and what is a want. I really want a boyfriend . . . but don't really need one. Same with soy lattes. And clothes. I don't need any more clothes. Or CDs. So yeah, think about wants versus needs before whining. Or doing things. Or buying things.

I want to learn to snowboard (I know that I just said that I would think about wants versus needs, but this doesn't count) . . . so I'm going to learn to snowboard this year. If it ever snows. I will wear a helmet and try not to break anything else.

I want to go back to Europe, although Princess just backed out of Italy. I didn't really want to go to the Vatican anyhow. So see if someone wants to go to Prague (or someplace) with me and my sister . . . cause Mere and I can only handle each other for three days.

I will try to go to an art museum at least once a month . . . and be more active in the art community. Maybe volunteer at the MOCAD. If they will have me.

And I need to save more. And not think that people are dumb, cause sometimes they surprise you. And have more of a poker face, in all respects.

There you go . . . what I'm going to do in 2007.

Falling

You know that feeling you get when you are falling for someone? Maybe it's the feeling just I get . . .

Suddenly you care. You care what they think. You care about what you are going to wear. You care about the next time they call. And when that's going to be. You care about which girls they think are hot in your stupid knitting book.

And for someone like me, for a control freak like me, the sensation is literally like falling. And I have to pull the chute on this one. Serves me right. I may always be in love with a bad idea . . . but I'm working on the idea not being a reality.

Not the right one. Move on.

Be the superhero.

Speaking in Vast Generalities

Arrrggh! Boys suck.