25 April, 2005

i've got the stigmata all over my fingertips!

According to Aids (Adrienne), Neutrogena's lotion faux tan is one streaky motherf#*$!er. Consider yourself warned.

My cat has been especially annoying this morning. She has been walking over me as I (attempt to) slumber, all 14 pounds of her, gazing lovingly at me from about one inch away, and tapping me on the forehead with one extended paw/claw. I kind of hate her right now so I'm withholding physical affection from her, much like my mother did to me when she was displeased. Wait, I guess my mom never actually did that. Well, SOMEONE'S mom did it and I'm emulating her. Did I mention that the Lawrence City public works people ARE RIGHT OUTSIDE MY WINDOW? They're banging on a tympani they've setup on the sidewalk.

Why doesn't anyone want me to sleep in?

So, it's possible that Benedict the XXXXXXXIIIIIIIIIIIIVVVIIIQ is the Antichrist. Ever since he's been elected pope, mysterious gashes have been appearing on my fingertips, like I've been pinching a Bic razor or something. I have a feeling that the pope put them there because he doesn't like me.

22 April, 2005

Hey, kids! Let's email the new pope!

In English, the address is benedictxvi@vatican.va. In Italian: benedettoxvi@vatican.va.

Email him. Tell him you're sorry he's not South or Latin American. Tell him that no matter how young he was at the time, no matter how oppressive and bullyish the Nazis may have been, no matter how short-lived his involvement, he should never have joined the Hitler Youth. Tell him about your great aunt's cataract surgery and your mailman's prostate cancer. Tell him that when no one's looking, you put your finger in weird places and then sniff it. Tell him that sometimes you don't even believe in God. Seriously, do it, tell him. You'll feel better. He's not going to read it anyway.

20 April, 2005

My friends are talking about the splendor that will be my goodbye party. No, I want no goodbye party! Seriously. I won't go. Knowing my luck, if I planned a goodbye party I would get some seriously bad news the next day, like "Middlebury mailed your acceptance in error, you're not actually allowed to come study here" or something like that. Or I'd have a spontaneous seizure and have to be life-flighted to the Mayo clinic for months of MRIs. Or I'd get really sentimental and decide not to leave. I don't know. Maybe instead we could just do something us girls... a little group of my favorite ladies.

I think this new pope means that Germany is officially forgiven for that whole Hitler debacle. And in other news, the Bennifer thing worked out so well that Demi Moore and Ashton Kutcher are now referred to as "Dashmi." I was so confused, it seriously took me forever to realize who they were talking about. I was thinking along the terms of Bollywood... a picture was right next to the article, but whatever. I'm slow.

And on that note, I'll leave you with this: I'm never going to hear from Middlebury again. I realized that Middlebury is like some boy who I've had a crush on for years, who unexpectedly smiled at me once, making me so excited that snotted myself; thus making him uncomfortable, so now he avoids me at all costs.

Just tell me if I passed the grammar test!!!! You're killing me! Why is this taking so long?

18 April, 2005

Waiting for my grammar test results from Middlebury...

I'm never going to hear back about my test. It's just never going to happen. I feel like I never got accepted, like I'm still in complete limbo. Hadley was trying to tell me that I should start packing some of my stuff to ship off to Dad's for storage, but why would I do that when it doesn't even seem real yet? I personally think that "they" are all standing in a room, clustered around my disaster of a grammar test, wincing and whistling in surprised alarm: "Did you think it possible for anyone to do THIS badly? How could she study Russian for five years and UNlearn everything?"

Now "they" are all afraid to break the bad news that they've revoked my acceptance and I should start looking for a career in fast food, retail, or coffee-making.

06 April, 2005

I am feeling very poopy these days. It seems as though I have successfully scared off Hot Single Dad, which SHOULD be a relief, as it was all I wanted every time he darkened my doorstep... but now I feel all regretful.

Another thing: my brother turns 18 in 2 years, and if my parents (i.e., Dad) don't assume guardianship of him, then he will become a ward of the state and placed in a group home. My dad keeps talking about how he'll "have Scott paid off in 2 years" and he's already thinking about which new car he wants to buy, but he doesn't seem to realize that this kid has special needs and is going to require care for much longer than just two more years. Maybe ten years, or maybe life, but even so Dad should realize that he can't wash his hands of the whole thing just because Scott's of age.

I told Mom I would assume guardianship of Scott in the event that Dad refused, but we're not going to let him off the hook that easily. Part of me wonders if perhaps I shouldn't resign myself to the "small life" in favor of caring for my family. That in and of itself is still noble, still a worthwhile existence... right? They're seem so helpless sometimes, as though they really do need my help.

Laine drove all the way to Newton with a bottle of Jack Daniels last week. Yeah. I don't even care about that anymore; it's weird, but I totally fell asleep after I got the call from Kasey, who was trying to find her. I thought to myself, "There's not a damn thing I can do about this" and went to sleep. But an hour later a prank caller kept calling me over and over again, and only THEN did the insomnia hit. Not because of my sister, but because I kept getting up to make sure the phone was unplugged and the doors locked against a possible stalker. When I finally got to sleep, it was 8am and my cell phone was ringing.

I could be happy if I stayed here; I could find things to fill my life to make it worth something. And that's all that really matters: when I die, I want to know that my life was worth something. Maybe I just need to birth some babies - I have the hips for it. Then I could be like all the other parents in the world who project their unattained dreams onto their offspring. I'll be all "DAMN IT! You will study Russian! You will go to Russia!" I will groom them for Middlebury and when they fail, I will give them an icy stare and say "You just didn't try hard enough." Then I will birth another baby and try again.

See, I have a Plan B.

05 April, 2005

Last night they were talking on the news about the mail workers' strike, which I guess I would usually - albeit ambivalently - support, but now I am convinced that those bastard psychotic postal workers are holding my Middlebury acceptance/rejection letter hostage over an "issue" like longer lunches and *gasp* dental!


I am bouncing between Peter and Hot Single Dad, whose kid seems to really like me. I really need to run away from this and HIDE!!!! Oh my god.

I'm so ready to leave Lawrence, but there's just not enough money to move anywhere unless I have a job lined up in advance. I want at least 2 or 3 months of living saved up beforehand... which is hard to do on a barista/crafter's salary. Should I get a real job? Like at Allen Press or somewhere office-y? I want to enjoy my time in Lawrence before I leave; I've put in my time in the "Office Space" world, and the only way I'm going back is if it is a REAL JOB and not some interim time filler.


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