Oh, and it's the end of an era . . . I bought my first album on itunes. Takes forever to download though. Might take less time to drive to Recordtime.
It was the Neverending White Lights -- goodbye friends of the heavenly bodies . . . for those who were interested.
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Speaking of Reputation
"Emily's heart is as black as her pants."
A colleague said this on his way out of the building, just loud enough so I could hear it as I walked out of my classroom (so loud, because that's a really long way down the hallway).
Now I've done nothing to this guy. He is on the periphery of my work friends . . . a friend of a friend. He is rude to waitstaff, which bothers me tremendously. Maybe it's that I call him on it.
So, yeah, trying to not take that personally.
A colleague said this on his way out of the building, just loud enough so I could hear it as I walked out of my classroom (so loud, because that's a really long way down the hallway).
Now I've done nothing to this guy. He is on the periphery of my work friends . . . a friend of a friend. He is rude to waitstaff, which bothers me tremendously. Maybe it's that I call him on it.
So, yeah, trying to not take that personally.
Monday, February 26, 2007
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Icy
My father, Mr. Crabbypants, suffers from what we call "White Panic". The white panic is an obsession with sidewalk cleanliness in the winter. It means shoveling when there are just flurries on the ground and salt. A tremendous amount of salt. Because where there is salt, there can be no ice.
Evidently, Berkley had an ice storm this morning. I woke up to a thick layer of ice on my cars and driveway. The sidewalk? Well, because of the construction and diggers, there is a bigger lake than usual. Iced over, of course. And my reaction to this? I went back to bed. No white panic here.
This evening, it occurred to me that I should do something about the iciness, lest the mail person slip, fall and die on my porch. I don't do well with guilt . . . and slaying the mail person with ice negligence? I think there would be some guilt. So while spending my bi-weekly $100 at Meijers on liquids and yogurt, I picked up some salt. Because I've been taught that salt will fix it.
It was treacherous, taking the liquids and yogurt into the house. And then I started with the salt. I have a very nice scoop, made from a wiper fluid bottle, as all the scoops are made in my family, for everything. And you know what? The salt has done nothing. A bit more traction, that's it. It's just sitting there.
Let's hope that it's sunny and warm tomorrow. And that the mail person is careful, with spikes on their shoes. And my apologies to Mr. Crabbypants. Because if he saw my walk, he would disown me.
Evidently, Berkley had an ice storm this morning. I woke up to a thick layer of ice on my cars and driveway. The sidewalk? Well, because of the construction and diggers, there is a bigger lake than usual. Iced over, of course. And my reaction to this? I went back to bed. No white panic here.
This evening, it occurred to me that I should do something about the iciness, lest the mail person slip, fall and die on my porch. I don't do well with guilt . . . and slaying the mail person with ice negligence? I think there would be some guilt. So while spending my bi-weekly $100 at Meijers on liquids and yogurt, I picked up some salt. Because I've been taught that salt will fix it.
It was treacherous, taking the liquids and yogurt into the house. And then I started with the salt. I have a very nice scoop, made from a wiper fluid bottle, as all the scoops are made in my family, for everything. And you know what? The salt has done nothing. A bit more traction, that's it. It's just sitting there.
Let's hope that it's sunny and warm tomorrow. And that the mail person is careful, with spikes on their shoes. And my apologies to Mr. Crabbypants. Because if he saw my walk, he would disown me.
Saturday, February 24, 2007
"I'm Drafty"
I went out with the girls last night. While at this East Side bar . . . because God forbid we leave the confinds of that town that they live in . . . and they all live there . . . there was an awful band, very much like the SNL skit with the music teachers who play everywhere. So it was hard to hear over the third round of Jimmy Buffett but . . .
" . . . and I was drafty. So my father said to just get up and we left."
"You were what?"
"You know. Drafty."
"Like 'the room had a draft'?"
"Yes, I was drafty, so they moved us in the restaurant."
"You can't describe yourself as having drafts."
"I don't have drafts. I was cold."
"Drafty?"
So folks, drafty now also means "being affected, or persecuted by drafts" and therefore a person can actually be drafty. According to Princess. And since she is a high mucky, muck in the Language Arts community (there's a Language Arts community?), it sticks.
Also, if people are upset with you . . .
M2: "You better watch it. You're going to get a horse's head thrown at your house."
Princess: "Or fish. Dead fish on your lawn."
"There were no dead fish in The Godfather."
Princess: "What? No, there were dead fish. And they're are going to be thrown on your lawn."
" . . . and I was drafty. So my father said to just get up and we left."
"You were what?"
"You know. Drafty."
"Like 'the room had a draft'?"
"Yes, I was drafty, so they moved us in the restaurant."
"You can't describe yourself as having drafts."
"I don't have drafts. I was cold."
"Drafty?"
So folks, drafty now also means "being affected, or persecuted by drafts" and therefore a person can actually be drafty. According to Princess. And since she is a high mucky, muck in the Language Arts community (there's a Language Arts community?), it sticks.
Also, if people are upset with you . . .
M2: "You better watch it. You're going to get a horse's head thrown at your house."
Princess: "Or fish. Dead fish on your lawn."
"There were no dead fish in The Godfather."
Princess: "What? No, there were dead fish. And they're are going to be thrown on your lawn."
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Another Day
I lived through class tonight. Did my quiz. Received another annoying assignment. Ahh, to see the other side . . . doing art for the man. I just want to take pictures . . . I don't want them to mean anything. I don't want to question "the reality" of my photography. But I'll suck it up and do it. Still haven't finished the other assignment. Hell, still haven't come up with a plan for the other assignment. Really glad I didn't decide to become a photo major way back when. Evidently, what I'm doing is much more my calling.
I need to get some sleep. I remembered to eat tonight. One more day and it will be Saturday.
I need to get some sleep. I remembered to eat tonight. One more day and it will be Saturday.
Buttons I Do Not Want Pushed
Once upon a time, not all that long ago, I was in love. A visceral "I can't explain it but somehow we are meant to be together" kind of love. And there were extreme differences. And different expectations. And hurt getting in the way.
And now I am not in love. I have a crush on a know it all that I'm currently suppressing. But it's just a crush. And he is not available anyhow. And I'm taking the month off.
Yesterday, I went out with a friend and the thing that caused my limbic storm last week . . . happened. I didn't recognize him at first. We sat four feet from each other. We pleasantly ignored each other. I was working under the "I never want to speak to you again" paradigm. Things were okay. I did not spontaneously combust. It had to happen sooner or later. We like some of the same things, the same places. We did not speak. We avoided eye contact. It was fine. Funny.
I arrived home to find an email. An apologetic email. An olive branch, when I didn't think that would ever be a possibility. And now, I don't know if I want it to be a possibility.
And now I sit, picking at scabs . . . reading what I wrote at the time to remember the pain, the loss. To remember that I don't want to do that again. To go there. And photos that I took during a better time are suddenly posted as icons. And the wounds open again. Wounds that I had stitched carefully. And again, I have no words for what I feel. It is simply felt . . . a connection that cannot be explained.
So I will tell myself that he is simply lonely. He saw me, therefore thought of me, and found the pictures (they are good pictures). He doesn't know that they would bring me back to the moment that I took them. That the pictures are a more effective button pushing mechanism than anything he could write in a "I'm trying to be breezy" email.
And I will do nothing. Remain paralyzed for the moment. I do not want the buttons to be pushed.
And now I am not in love. I have a crush on a know it all that I'm currently suppressing. But it's just a crush. And he is not available anyhow. And I'm taking the month off.
Yesterday, I went out with a friend and the thing that caused my limbic storm last week . . . happened. I didn't recognize him at first. We sat four feet from each other. We pleasantly ignored each other. I was working under the "I never want to speak to you again" paradigm. Things were okay. I did not spontaneously combust. It had to happen sooner or later. We like some of the same things, the same places. We did not speak. We avoided eye contact. It was fine. Funny.
I arrived home to find an email. An apologetic email. An olive branch, when I didn't think that would ever be a possibility. And now, I don't know if I want it to be a possibility.
And now I sit, picking at scabs . . . reading what I wrote at the time to remember the pain, the loss. To remember that I don't want to do that again. To go there. And photos that I took during a better time are suddenly posted as icons. And the wounds open again. Wounds that I had stitched carefully. And again, I have no words for what I feel. It is simply felt . . . a connection that cannot be explained.
So I will tell myself that he is simply lonely. He saw me, therefore thought of me, and found the pictures (they are good pictures). He doesn't know that they would bring me back to the moment that I took them. That the pictures are a more effective button pushing mechanism than anything he could write in a "I'm trying to be breezy" email.
And I will do nothing. Remain paralyzed for the moment. I do not want the buttons to be pushed.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Careful
Oh, how I love it when life (or the fates) kicks you in the teeth.
I'll be spitting out blood and sticking my tongue to the wounds, distractedly, for days. Metaphorically, of course.
I'll be spitting out blood and sticking my tongue to the wounds, distractedly, for days. Metaphorically, of course.
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
What I Have Learned Today . . . So Far
How to download podcasts . . . am now "subscribed" to This American Life -- I hope it's not like my Free Press subscription.
How to make playlists . . . okay, kinda cheating . . . I've done it before on other applications. But unlike previous attempts, these playlist actually worked. I made one for cardio and one for weights. There's nothing worse than being stuck on "Sampson" by Regina Specktor while trying to keep your heart rate up, ditto for the other way around. And yes, I'm now so geeky about working out that I have playlists for it. Perhaps I will make one for photo class too.
That when questioning what to wear . . . I will ultimately go with the black cashmere sweater and jeans. I probably should invest in more black cashmere at this point. (Going with the gray one today)
That every so often, you need to blast an old classic . . . say Sisters of Mercy . . . "I Was Wrong" . . . just cause it's fun . . .
That I really need to keep a list of the music (remember? The right brainers HAVE to make lists . . . and don't like to . . . I keep losing them, actually) that I want to buy. Going to the good "record" store tonight -- have an engagement in Ferndale. Engagement? Meeting? Occasion? Hmmm . . . meeting a friend for coffee in Ferndale tonight, which means a quick look through the Old Navy and CD shopping.
Oh, and I have too many size 7 16 inch circular needles and nothing else . . . meaning I will have to buy two pairs of needles in the next week.
DON'T listen to the eighteen year old Nordstrom salesgirl when she says that the jeans will just shrink "up". Although I still love them and they still make my butt look good . . . they aren't any shorter, and they are going to have to "warm up" on my body for a while. They are no longer put in the dryer jeans.
And it has occurred to me that I'm being a Wembler . . . need to stop that.
How to make playlists . . . okay, kinda cheating . . . I've done it before on other applications. But unlike previous attempts, these playlist actually worked. I made one for cardio and one for weights. There's nothing worse than being stuck on "Sampson" by Regina Specktor while trying to keep your heart rate up, ditto for the other way around. And yes, I'm now so geeky about working out that I have playlists for it. Perhaps I will make one for photo class too.
That when questioning what to wear . . . I will ultimately go with the black cashmere sweater and jeans. I probably should invest in more black cashmere at this point. (Going with the gray one today)
That every so often, you need to blast an old classic . . . say Sisters of Mercy . . . "I Was Wrong" . . . just cause it's fun . . .
That I really need to keep a list of the music (remember? The right brainers HAVE to make lists . . . and don't like to . . . I keep losing them, actually) that I want to buy. Going to the good "record" store tonight -- have an engagement in Ferndale. Engagement? Meeting? Occasion? Hmmm . . . meeting a friend for coffee in Ferndale tonight, which means a quick look through the Old Navy and CD shopping.
Oh, and I have too many size 7 16 inch circular needles and nothing else . . . meaning I will have to buy two pairs of needles in the next week.
DON'T listen to the eighteen year old Nordstrom salesgirl when she says that the jeans will just shrink "up". Although I still love them and they still make my butt look good . . . they aren't any shorter, and they are going to have to "warm up" on my body for a while. They are no longer put in the dryer jeans.
And it has occurred to me that I'm being a Wembler . . . need to stop that.
Monday, February 19, 2007
I'll Just Knit Instead
My headache is finally gone . . . after 48 hours of lingering. Needless to say, I did not go snowboarding, although today would have been an excellent day for it. But snowboarding with a migraine just didn't sound like fun.
And snowboarding alone just doesn't sound like fun, either. I want to learn to do it . . . and I can't seem to find someone to go with me . . . but there seem to be "hot chocolate kiosks" according to my mother, so that seems comforting. (I've never been skiing, so there is a black void in my brain as to what to expect. My mental image is a kinda surreal Sound of Music movie set kind of thing, which is wrong, I'm sure.) I do have wrist guards. And knee pads. I found some at Target for $3.74. Best bargin find all month.
The Lily Allen CD is good angry girl music. I suggest it. Kinda dirty and some f-bombs . . . but bouncy.
Let's see . . . I sliced my fingers three times in class tonight. Was introduced to the band-aid storage, as I was bleeding all over. There is a paramedic in the class, who offered to give me stitches. Invested (covered in plaster) a pretty cool skully ring and some hemlock pinecones (itty-bitty pinecones), so if everything works out Mere, Mom and I will have matching necklaces. The dragon ring is cleaning up nicely, but I need to make sure my wax models are cleaner. I get impatient and then have to file and sand the metal, which is harder to do. In metal the imperfections are easier to see however. (I'll end up using five different colors of wax and the prof doesn't like alcohol burners, so uses candles instead. This causes lots of burnt wax and ash in your wax.) I might want to cast the hemlock in white gold . . . the instructors eyes lit up when I asked about it. 90 grams though. Expensive.
Am toying with the idea of going to the D to take pictures tonight but again, with the alone. So will stay in the house. I guess I can go tomorrow in the daylight. If I was a really good student, I would get up at sunrise. (so not going to happen)
And snowboarding alone just doesn't sound like fun, either. I want to learn to do it . . . and I can't seem to find someone to go with me . . . but there seem to be "hot chocolate kiosks" according to my mother, so that seems comforting. (I've never been skiing, so there is a black void in my brain as to what to expect. My mental image is a kinda surreal Sound of Music movie set kind of thing, which is wrong, I'm sure.) I do have wrist guards. And knee pads. I found some at Target for $3.74. Best bargin find all month.
The Lily Allen CD is good angry girl music. I suggest it. Kinda dirty and some f-bombs . . . but bouncy.
Let's see . . . I sliced my fingers three times in class tonight. Was introduced to the band-aid storage, as I was bleeding all over. There is a paramedic in the class, who offered to give me stitches. Invested (covered in plaster) a pretty cool skully ring and some hemlock pinecones (itty-bitty pinecones), so if everything works out Mere, Mom and I will have matching necklaces. The dragon ring is cleaning up nicely, but I need to make sure my wax models are cleaner. I get impatient and then have to file and sand the metal, which is harder to do. In metal the imperfections are easier to see however. (I'll end up using five different colors of wax and the prof doesn't like alcohol burners, so uses candles instead. This causes lots of burnt wax and ash in your wax.) I might want to cast the hemlock in white gold . . . the instructors eyes lit up when I asked about it. 90 grams though. Expensive.
Am toying with the idea of going to the D to take pictures tonight but again, with the alone. So will stay in the house. I guess I can go tomorrow in the daylight. If I was a really good student, I would get up at sunrise. (so not going to happen)
Saturday, February 17, 2007
New Must Have Music -- Brit Chick Edition
Have I been under a rock? Or has anyone else heard of Amy Winehouse?
Love "I'm no good". So sixties bad girl . . . and every song sounds like it should be a Bond theme.
I also like another Brit girl . . . Lila somebody . . . Lily Allen . . . cute as a button, she is . . . "have a lit'le whine an' a moan"
Love "I'm no good". So sixties bad girl . . . and every song sounds like it should be a Bond theme.
I also like another Brit girl . . . Lila somebody . . . Lily Allen . . . cute as a button, she is . . . "have a lit'le whine an' a moan"
Limbic Storm
I'm beginning to believe that I'm just wired funny.
The "fight or flight" response has been on all day and I can't figure out why. Maybe it's the snowboarding? Or reading "graysontrays" description of how to snowboard, which made my head hurt in the detail, but I just kept reading?
Had a lovely coffee, rice krispie treat, newspaper reading thing going but was all bouncy. Went to work out, still bouncy. Went and had some french toast . . . yummm, french toast . . . now feeling all nervous stomach. Hope I don't throw up.
Didn't help that I saw a Colorado LS with an apple sticker and so freaked out about running into RB while craving bacon, after a workout. Ahhhh. I was shaking until I talked myself down. RB doesn't eat coney island. Bacon has preservatives. And there have to be tons of apple geeks that drive small GM POS trucks. Plus, there was an errant bungee cord . . . and nothing in RB's life would be errant . . . well, in the physical world anyhow.
I made sure not to give the truck a closer inspection and drove away wondering why that made me keyed up. I have run into him before and didn't turn to dust. I still talk to his roommate. (Princess may insert two beer joke here) And I have lived for thirty-five years without running into him before, despite being at the same concerts, living in the same general town and having some of the same interests. Plus I found someone I had the same gut feeling about, who had a job this time (and okay, he was kidnapped by pirates . . . but the point being there are others that I could be fond of, for, whatever). . . and have had a major crush on someone else. Have gotten my head around the fact that there are so many other fish in the tank. So it should be fine to run into him. But at a purely emotional level, it so isn't okay. And my limbic system is overcharged.
And not that any of you would understand this (the boys who read this especially . . . after they get over me calling them "boys") . . . but yeah, sometimes my emotional system just goes into overdrive and there is nothing I can do about it, there is no reasoning with it. And I can think rationally all I want, but my body is still on "fight or flight" all the time. It's exhausting. And talking yourself down, every hour or so, gets tedious. "No really, it's okay that the sink isn't draining as fast as you'd like . . . no, probably shouldn't take it apart RIGHT NOW because then we would have to put it back together . . . and it's okay that you don't have a slip that fits for that outfit . . . and no, you do not have to go buy one RIGHT NOW . . . " My limbic system is on RIGHT NOW mode.
There was this completely appropriate line on This American Life, this afternoon: "So you assumed that everyone thinks just like you, which is how most disasters happen" or something to that effect. But I'm beginning to think that most people don't think like me.
The "fight or flight" response has been on all day and I can't figure out why. Maybe it's the snowboarding? Or reading "graysontrays" description of how to snowboard, which made my head hurt in the detail, but I just kept reading?
Had a lovely coffee, rice krispie treat, newspaper reading thing going but was all bouncy. Went to work out, still bouncy. Went and had some french toast . . . yummm, french toast . . . now feeling all nervous stomach. Hope I don't throw up.
Didn't help that I saw a Colorado LS with an apple sticker and so freaked out about running into RB while craving bacon, after a workout. Ahhhh. I was shaking until I talked myself down. RB doesn't eat coney island. Bacon has preservatives. And there have to be tons of apple geeks that drive small GM POS trucks. Plus, there was an errant bungee cord . . . and nothing in RB's life would be errant . . . well, in the physical world anyhow.
I made sure not to give the truck a closer inspection and drove away wondering why that made me keyed up. I have run into him before and didn't turn to dust. I still talk to his roommate. (Princess may insert two beer joke here) And I have lived for thirty-five years without running into him before, despite being at the same concerts, living in the same general town and having some of the same interests. Plus I found someone I had the same gut feeling about, who had a job this time (and okay, he was kidnapped by pirates . . . but the point being there are others that I could be fond of, for, whatever). . . and have had a major crush on someone else. Have gotten my head around the fact that there are so many other fish in the tank. So it should be fine to run into him. But at a purely emotional level, it so isn't okay. And my limbic system is overcharged.
And not that any of you would understand this (the boys who read this especially . . . after they get over me calling them "boys") . . . but yeah, sometimes my emotional system just goes into overdrive and there is nothing I can do about it, there is no reasoning with it. And I can think rationally all I want, but my body is still on "fight or flight" all the time. It's exhausting. And talking yourself down, every hour or so, gets tedious. "No really, it's okay that the sink isn't draining as fast as you'd like . . . no, probably shouldn't take it apart RIGHT NOW because then we would have to put it back together . . . and it's okay that you don't have a slip that fits for that outfit . . . and no, you do not have to go buy one RIGHT NOW . . . " My limbic system is on RIGHT NOW mode.
There was this completely appropriate line on This American Life, this afternoon: "So you assumed that everyone thinks just like you, which is how most disasters happen" or something to that effect. But I'm beginning to think that most people don't think like me.
Pan's Labyrinth Hangover
Completely depressing movie. And although, I suppose the ending is trying to be uplifting, it didn't resonate in my brain. So I left sad . . . and stayed sad. Yuck.
Now I will have to watch some silly Matthew Perry movies to counteract last night. Or . . . gasp . . . a Meg Ryan/Tom Hanks movie.
Now I will have to watch some silly Matthew Perry movies to counteract last night. Or . . . gasp . . . a Meg Ryan/Tom Hanks movie.
Friday, February 16, 2007
Come on, I think it has subtitles
And the director has the sexiest voice. He's been on NPR all week.
Anyone else want to go see Pan's Labyrinth?
I think that is this evening's plan.
Anyone else want to go see Pan's Labyrinth?
I think that is this evening's plan.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
Being a Naughty Student
I just wanted to close my eyes . . . just for a little bit . . . and I swear I was going to open them at 5:30 . . . and it was only 5:20 . . . ten minutes of rest . . .
Woke at 5:53. Which would be fine if I didn't have class at 6 pm. Late. Shit.
Am now not working on an assignment, because it was making my brain bleed. Also have a combination photography assignment that I will have to do this weekend, or it will not get done. Will not . . . (the current assignment is retouching, for a quiz next week. I know how to retouch, have to do it to yearbook stuff all the time) And I will have to take about 100 shots in seven different locations . . . because I'm like that. Maybe I'll go to my favorite haunts downtown. Here are the examples he gave us. Cool.
As for the retouching thing, you can do amazing things with Photoshop. And I never do them.
And the combo photo assignment is arty, so I will have to think, and think some more. So far I think I will take photos of the Wilcox house in Plymouth to start. It is lovely and abandoned. Maybe some pictures of Suess (sp?) my mother's favorite childhood doll, so I can put her looking longingly out the window. We'll see. Have to think.
Woke at 5:53. Which would be fine if I didn't have class at 6 pm. Late. Shit.
Am now not working on an assignment, because it was making my brain bleed. Also have a combination photography assignment that I will have to do this weekend, or it will not get done. Will not . . . (the current assignment is retouching, for a quiz next week. I know how to retouch, have to do it to yearbook stuff all the time) And I will have to take about 100 shots in seven different locations . . . because I'm like that. Maybe I'll go to my favorite haunts downtown. Here are the examples he gave us. Cool.
As for the retouching thing, you can do amazing things with Photoshop. And I never do them.
And the combo photo assignment is arty, so I will have to think, and think some more. So far I think I will take photos of the Wilcox house in Plymouth to start. It is lovely and abandoned. Maybe some pictures of Suess (sp?) my mother's favorite childhood doll, so I can put her looking longingly out the window. We'll see. Have to think.
Or maybe somehthing with photos of my mother and then photos of me . . . I have an old photo where someone asked if that was me and I thought they meant the baby, so I said yes. But they meant the woman in the photo holding the baby, my mother. I don't dress that well, I told them.
Okay, the prof is coming. Gotta minimize.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Act of God
As it turns out the media, they were right . . . with all their doom and snowy gloom . . . and I do have a snow day today. My mother called around 7:30 a.m. as I was dreaming about someone having stolen my couch (rather my fault, as I had moved it to a public area . . . but I thought my brother was going to watch it) and so I was dozing, waking up every so often to think, "No, my couch is still in the living room."
"YAY. Snow day! You were wrong." my mother says from the phone. I think she enjoys waking me up on snow days, as she has done it for all three. Maybe she is on Mr. Crabbypants' "don't waste the day" plan . . . or she's sadistic, I'm not sure which. She knows I'll be sleeping when she calls.
I proceed to tell her how this day off is messing up my plans for the day. The yearbook was due on Monday, but the thing the company doesn't tell you: they don't look for it until Wednesday at midnight. So I could have made the deadline and still had the "award winning yearbook" tag on this yearbook (because you get an award for being on time -- lame, but it looks good on the P.R. materials). My boss has to look over everything (we are a prior review school) and the kids, they took it to the wire. So it's still in the review stage. Plus, I'd like to teach my other students something this month . . . maybe some non-fiction terminology, the understanding of autobiography . . . something.
"Consider it an Act of God, and give it up, Emily . . ." my mother says, and I struck by how this applies to many other areas of my life. Surrender to the fates. Go limp and take it. I was never good at this. Consider it an Act of God.
So God, through this act, will allow me to work out earlier and go to the mall. I just shoveled my walk. I might try to start the truck, as I have not driven it in . . . well, a while . . . and if it doesn't start, I'll consider it an act of God too. Incredibly freeing, the act of God.
Now if I can just figure out why I took all my living room furniture to Cobo hall (actually, it looked amazingly like a warehouse) and why they only stole the couch. I remember dreaming . . . "but, I can't replace that couch . . . I got it on sale . . . " Craziness.
"YAY. Snow day! You were wrong." my mother says from the phone. I think she enjoys waking me up on snow days, as she has done it for all three. Maybe she is on Mr. Crabbypants' "don't waste the day" plan . . . or she's sadistic, I'm not sure which. She knows I'll be sleeping when she calls.
I proceed to tell her how this day off is messing up my plans for the day. The yearbook was due on Monday, but the thing the company doesn't tell you: they don't look for it until Wednesday at midnight. So I could have made the deadline and still had the "award winning yearbook" tag on this yearbook (because you get an award for being on time -- lame, but it looks good on the P.R. materials). My boss has to look over everything (we are a prior review school) and the kids, they took it to the wire. So it's still in the review stage. Plus, I'd like to teach my other students something this month . . . maybe some non-fiction terminology, the understanding of autobiography . . . something.
"Consider it an Act of God, and give it up, Emily . . ." my mother says, and I struck by how this applies to many other areas of my life. Surrender to the fates. Go limp and take it. I was never good at this. Consider it an Act of God.
So God, through this act, will allow me to work out earlier and go to the mall. I just shoveled my walk. I might try to start the truck, as I have not driven it in . . . well, a while . . . and if it doesn't start, I'll consider it an act of God too. Incredibly freeing, the act of God.
Now if I can just figure out why I took all my living room furniture to Cobo hall (actually, it looked amazingly like a warehouse) and why they only stole the couch. I remember dreaming . . . "but, I can't replace that couch . . . I got it on sale . . . " Craziness.
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
But She Said "Snow Day"
Tomorrow is Valentine's Day . . . and someone said "snow day" very early in the day because of the weather forecast, so I ended up doing damage control all day.
"No, we are not going to have a snow day . . . it's not even snowing . . . look out the window."
And it is currently snowing. Messy on the way home . . . would have been better if I had left before 5 pm ( . . . yes, I can leave at 3:05, according to my contract, and I rarely ever do that, plus I have homework and a permanent 25 minute lunch . . . ) (I know, puppets of the evil empire have the easiest lives.) But it's not snowing enough. Despite the media foaming over the snow, it's not enough snow to shut anything down. I haven't even shoveled yet.
Why does the media get all rabid about the weather nowadays? Did they always do that? Or is it just that now it's the most colorful part of the news, with all their maps and graphs? Couldn't they talk about how Jenny is taxing all the things I love . . . martinis . . . pedicures . . . haircuts . . . pet grooming . . . (okay, I don't have any pets, but if I did . . . ) So I get to deal with a crabby constituency tomorrow who were all ramped up by the news and by someone coming over the P.A. And it will be Valentine's Day . . . which is a simply despicable holiday. I think I will need a martini. Definitely a martini kind of day.
So happy hallmark holiday. On this made up holiday, specifically thought up to make single people feel rejected and awful, I will be going to a high school band concert. Which means I can't have a martini. But on the plus side, I did not have to think of a creative gift for anyone. There. Thinking positive. Aligning that Chi.
"No, we are not going to have a snow day . . . it's not even snowing . . . look out the window."
And it is currently snowing. Messy on the way home . . . would have been better if I had left before 5 pm ( . . . yes, I can leave at 3:05, according to my contract, and I rarely ever do that, plus I have homework and a permanent 25 minute lunch . . . ) (I know, puppets of the evil empire have the easiest lives.) But it's not snowing enough. Despite the media foaming over the snow, it's not enough snow to shut anything down. I haven't even shoveled yet.
Why does the media get all rabid about the weather nowadays? Did they always do that? Or is it just that now it's the most colorful part of the news, with all their maps and graphs? Couldn't they talk about how Jenny is taxing all the things I love . . . martinis . . . pedicures . . . haircuts . . . pet grooming . . . (okay, I don't have any pets, but if I did . . . ) So I get to deal with a crabby constituency tomorrow who were all ramped up by the news and by someone coming over the P.A. And it will be Valentine's Day . . . which is a simply despicable holiday. I think I will need a martini. Definitely a martini kind of day.
So happy hallmark holiday. On this made up holiday, specifically thought up to make single people feel rejected and awful, I will be going to a high school band concert. Which means I can't have a martini. But on the plus side, I did not have to think of a creative gift for anyone. There. Thinking positive. Aligning that Chi.
Sunday, February 11, 2007
It's Sorta all Black
I bought three lip glosses today . . . found a $25.00 cashmere sweater yesterday. Dyed my hair all black, except for a little white streak . . . which is currently kind of purple-ish because of the wash out of the dye. Princess says she can't even see it. The white streak, that is. And sorry, maybe pictures tomorrow. Have to calm down the "Rooster Cockburn" effect.
Princess just made me some turkey chili, which was to die for . . . and she was making cookies at the same time, so I ate some those too (to test for poison, of course). We then stated that some man is going to be soooo lucky . . . cause Princess is an excellent cook. And talked of ceiling wax, cabbages and kings. Oh, and we had a very good French wine, that I bought randomly while my father was at the Ann Arbor wine store (20% off cases). I might have to go get some more.
I must remember to buy metal tomorrow afternoon. And the yearbook is not done, which is totally stressing me out, if I think about it. But I'm not thinking about it . . . it's not my yearbook. But the metal . . . the molds will be the right temperature tomorrow and only tomorrow, so I must have metal to melt. Might be fun to take this class when I have time to think, or carve wax, or be creative . . . something I don't have right now. Time.
Mid-winter break is in four days. Just have to hang on until then. And if there is snow, I will go get a snowboarding lesson.
Princess just made me some turkey chili, which was to die for . . . and she was making cookies at the same time, so I ate some those too (to test for poison, of course). We then stated that some man is going to be soooo lucky . . . cause Princess is an excellent cook. And talked of ceiling wax, cabbages and kings. Oh, and we had a very good French wine, that I bought randomly while my father was at the Ann Arbor wine store (20% off cases). I might have to go get some more.
I must remember to buy metal tomorrow afternoon. And the yearbook is not done, which is totally stressing me out, if I think about it. But I'm not thinking about it . . . it's not my yearbook. But the metal . . . the molds will be the right temperature tomorrow and only tomorrow, so I must have metal to melt. Might be fun to take this class when I have time to think, or carve wax, or be creative . . . something I don't have right now. Time.
Mid-winter break is in four days. Just have to hang on until then. And if there is snow, I will go get a snowboarding lesson.
Friday, February 09, 2007
What will it be this week?
So again we come to the question . . . what color should my hair be for the next six weeks? I'm leaning toward straight black again. I did like it when it was black.
But I hate to waste a good bleaching . . . and half of my hair is already there. Which means I can wait until summer and put a bright color on the white parts (I'm thinking blue, which so makes my parents roll their eyes . . . I suppose I could get a wig for interviews) (Or just tell them that I'm completely willing to go "normal" for an assistant principal job) (That would be hilarious!) or I could put a normal color on the white parts now. I'm wondering if I can do two-tone black, just to break it up a bit. Or maybe burgundy . . . but they might freak about burgundy, thinking that it was going too much toward Elmo.
I would really just like my hairstylist to do what she wants . . . but she did that last time, and I now have this calico cat/skunk thing going on . . . which there are no pictures of because I don't really like it.
So back to black it is. Really really goth "emo" black, the kind that shines blue in the sun. Then I can break out the white foundation and the Cure albums. And there will be no cutting . . . very little cutting . . . I need some stuff over my eyes for Cure songs.
But I hate to waste a good bleaching . . . and half of my hair is already there. Which means I can wait until summer and put a bright color on the white parts (I'm thinking blue, which so makes my parents roll their eyes . . . I suppose I could get a wig for interviews) (Or just tell them that I'm completely willing to go "normal" for an assistant principal job) (That would be hilarious!) or I could put a normal color on the white parts now. I'm wondering if I can do two-tone black, just to break it up a bit. Or maybe burgundy . . . but they might freak about burgundy, thinking that it was going too much toward Elmo.
I would really just like my hairstylist to do what she wants . . . but she did that last time, and I now have this calico cat/skunk thing going on . . . which there are no pictures of because I don't really like it.
So back to black it is. Really really goth "emo" black, the kind that shines blue in the sun. Then I can break out the white foundation and the Cure albums. And there will be no cutting . . . very little cutting . . . I need some stuff over my eyes for Cure songs.
Thursday, February 08, 2007
By the Way . . .
I earned an A on my first project. Actually, the instructor said: "Yeah, ummm . . . you get an A."
So maybe I didn't earn it . . . maybe I just get one.
So maybe I didn't earn it . . . maybe I just get one.
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