I'm still working on this blasted Art Information File.
At some point I'll probably have to finish doing this, too.
Blah.
Friday, November 23, 200103:11 a.m.
listening to; Deliver Me / Sarah Brightman
reading; Daughter of God / Lewis Perdue
..::: - & - :::..
Ooooops...
In my crazy sick-like state I almost forgot:
Happy Thanksgiving, americanos.
May your uhm.. cornicopias always..uhm.. be overflowing.. with...
K, well, nevermind. I'm gonna go get some tylenol.
Thursday, November 22, 200105:44 p.m.
listening to; Deliver Me / Sarah Brightman
reading; Daughter of God / Lewis Perdue
..::: - & - :::..
To quote Hamlet: "Headaches doth suck."
W-ell.. Hamlet may or may not have said that. All I know is that I agree with that statement; be it from whichever centuries-old character it comes from. (Jesus: My brothers, God has decreed: Headaches suck. Again; hatemail)I've spent the entire day lying in a dark, quiet room (save those blasted phone calls. Eg, one message from Sarah: "GRRRRRRRRRR. WHERE ARE YOUUUUUUUUU??? *sigh* Ok, fine.. I'm coming over. If you're asleep WAKE UP NOW, DAMNIT!"..I'll have to remind her that we get our messages replayed on the telephone, not on a secondary machine, and thus I couldn't hear her. Although, I guess that might of been her tapping up against my window -- but I thought that was a dream, so I dunno.) At any rate, I've been sick since about 11:00 a.m. when I realized that if I heard one more Shakespeare quote my head was going to cave in on itself, thus saving the brain from anymore examples of foreshadowing.
But, since I should absolutely not be sitting at my computer of all places, I'm going to leave you with a few messages I found in my email junkpile (why, oh why, do I get porn?? blah.)
The subject lines:
-Put More Wood In Your Woody! ... (I like how this could also apply to, perhaps, increasing your video collection of Woody Woodpecker cartoons.. or building life-size wooden statues of Woody Harrelson, then applying faux parts to it by machinery. Yep. Isn't that everyone's dream for the future?)
-Wave Your Flagpole High! ... (Maybe patriotism is now spreading to every appendage?)
-Use Your 12" Dick As A Weapon! ... (Riiiight. That'll come in handy. Sure thing.)
Those were just a few of them -- I'd rather not add the other ones lest I get more perverts finding these keywords on their searches for the pursuit of like-wise disgusting pedophiles.
And now, some medication...
Thursday, November 22, 200105:29 p.m.
listening to; Deliver Me / Sarah Brightman
reading; Daughter of God / Lewis Perdue
..::: - & - :::..
search engine referrals:
It seems the entirety of my search engine referrals come from two factions: disgusting, impotent perverts and scholars, perhaps hoping that I've posted complete essays on the internet.
I'd rather post the essays then have the pedophiles.
Yuck.
Wednesday, November 21, 200107:22 p.m.
listening to; Deliver Me / Sarah Brightman
reading; Daughter of God / Lewis Perdue
..::: - & - :::..
The Pink Sweater Of Power
Wow. Don't wear pink, guys. Or, rather, I shouldn't wear pink. It may seem like a really prissy pansy-ass colour that would more likely be found at garden club meetings or martha stewart tapings, but believe you me --- that shade is AGGRESSIVE.
I went to the debating club today, and we did a theological debate. I don't mean to brag, but people: I KICKED ASS. Or, more to the point, I made the other team cry.
Hah. HAHA!
Erm, well, maybe not so much cry as shrink back into their desks in fear. Then the speaker kept flashing pictures of women in underwear at me. (I now wish I'd repaid such immaturity with a witty comment... such as... "Those are nice pictures of your mom, but now's not the time." Or; "So that would be what you hope to look like Post-Op?" etc, etc.) But we were debating that Religion is the Root of Evil, and I was on the government side, and in the minds of my team.. and well, we were the only team that counted, we won.
I'm currently quite aggressive. After the debate I got in an argument with Adam. I won, and now I'm boasting. Hurrah.
Anyway, I got home and I was feeling really nostalgic.. specifically for Saskatoon. I've been trying to find my best friend there--uhm, Bonnie McHattie, but she moved away or something.. I dunno. But at any rate, since I'm not making much sense and am quite ready to beat my chest in absolute agression (I should probably take off the sweater. Its ugly, yet it has this sort of effect on me. I'm like Sesame Street's Telly gone mad. Or on hormone pills. (Side note, is it just me or does Telly continually look like he's in the middle of a seventeen year drinking binge? And also, This is kinda disturbing.), here are some links to some places I really remember in Saskatoon:
Festival Of Trees {Christmas was awesome there.)
Persephone Theatre (I was in "acting school" here for 6 months -- I sucked.) Meewasin (Or Beaver Creek -- we went here a lot. The water fountains tasted like blood and we saw a dead deer carcass. Other then that.. it was okay...)
Forestry Farm. (They should have warnings: Be Prepared to Be Attacked By Giant, Angry Peacocks bent on Zoo Domination.)
Ukrainian Museum of Canada (What I remember about this place is scary, faceless mannequins in Ukrainian garb.) Western Development Museum (An entire museum dedicated to uhm.. the development of uh.. the West. Equally scary mannequins, yet this time in pioneer garb. And eating salt pork.) Broadway (My favourite street in the entire city. A lot of the old stores are gone now: Mama Africa's, the Bead Store -- it was so wonderfully bohemian. Plus, scandalous. I specifically remember the theatre playing "Secrets of a Male Orgasm". But actually, until Brad explained the meaning, I thought that maybe it was a scientific look at biology, etc. Y'know. Maybe featuring David Suzuki. Who knows? It still could've. Maybe he's branching out.)
Well, thats it for now.. I'm going to go clean some stuff.. as I'm apt to never do anymore. I suggest we all move to Saskatoon.
Wednesday, November 21, 200102:47 p.m.
listening to; Deliver Me / Sarah Brightman
reading; Daughter of God / Lewis Perdue
..::: - & - :::..
Extra Note:
By the way, I was reading my first entry ("And the car says: Death to the Jawbone") and I realized I somewhat contradicted myself when I started theologisizing (is that a word..?? Well, if not, we'll pretend it is. I imaginitate words all the time.) -- I said no label could be put on God, yet I referred to "Him" as "He"... but thats mostly 1) out of habit, and 2) Saying "It" sounds too weird. And saying "She" makes me think of some of the creepier people I used to know back in Saskatoon. (The ones with the Paula Cole body hair, you see.)
And like Alicia told me yesterday, "God could be broccoli."
So I'm seriously considering referring to God as some kind of produce from now on. Hurrah for Lettuce! (Or; "Our Carrot, Who Art In Heaven.."... you can send the hate mail here, you crazy fanatics.)
Wednesday, November 21, 200109:36 a.m.
listening to; Deliver Me / Sarah Brightman
reading; Daughter of God / Lewis Perdue
Hurrah for fear-inspiring karate chops a la white girls with no balance/finesse/kung fu skill!
Go, mechanics, go.
=insert similar praises to all mechanics everywhere here=
My firstborn will be named Mechanicles. Which I think is a name from the Disney cartoon show 'Aladdin'. Nonetheless...
Wednesday, November 21, 200109:33 a.m.
listening to; Deliver Me / Sarah Brightman
reading; Daughter of God / Lewis Perdue
..::: - & - :::..
where where where are my pants?!?
I'm supposed to go driving this morning-- and yet, I'm so tired and thus disoriented and thus lacking many of the nutritious brain power causing... things.. that I need to be a good defensive driver. (Read: Stay off the road, you crazy hippies.)
Phone Rings.
DAMNIT! The stupid car is in the stupid garage with those stupid oil-sniffing mechanics. (As well as the drug-free mechanics, too of course. Thumbs up for the mechanics union and those nice, nice people that are hopefully working on my car with speedy, speedy fear lest they break something and have me to answer to--cue Karate Chop Action Threat. Oh.. and the mechanics union? Do you think it would be wrong to call it the Mechanical Union?? Hahahaha. Of course, its not really funny.. but I can no longer drive today so like a shivering junkie living in her own filth in the gutter, I need to find my horrid, horrid kicks where ever I can.)
Of course, this means I must walk.
Blah.
Stupid legs.
Wednesday, November 21, 200109:19 a.m.
listening to; Deliver Me / Sarah Brightman
reading; Daughter of God / Lewis Perdue
..::: - & - :::..
And the car says: Death to the Jawbone
Owowowow.. stupidity thy name is Sarah. Or; Sarah's jawbone. The entirety of Sarah isn't necessarily stupid. But blaming only specific non-descript body parts allows me to stay in the ignorant shadows of denial a little longer.
Anyway, I was getting into Brad's Ford Tempo, or as I call it, "Brad's Spectacular WeedMobile". This is followed by the following exclamations: "Wow, Brad. Your car smells like Whitney Houston's house." or, "Geez, Brad. You're car makes me feel like eating entire bags of Tostitos. And lots of hot rods." Soooo, I was getting in, when my hand/eye coordination took a turn for the worse (or, actually, by usual standards actually improved. Remind me to tell you some stories, later.) and my jaw connected with the door. Stunned for a moment, I sat down and rubbed it, only to find that... I HAD NO JAW. dun dun dun.
Ok. Well, I'm just joking. No actual spooky cliched music was played.
My jaw hurts though. The migraine's are lining up at the door. Some are showing fake id's and coming onto the skull for admittance.
I still have a few Hamlet questions to complete, but I really don't want to. My jaw hurts and I'm cranky. I drove the Buick car today ("The Retirement Car", or as Brad creepily refers to it: "My baby.") ... and uhm, may have forgotten it was in reverse.. and possibly could have wound up on the lawn of my neighbour across the street. Of course, my parents were freaking out in the front. Screaming and such. Until I turned around and said, "If you two don't shut the fuck up, we're turning this car RIGHT around." This was followed by, "Dad, stop poking Mom. Mom, stop licking your finger and touching Dad. And Dad, fer fucksakes let Mom look at the Invisible Pen Set, too." Then, when this failed to work, "That's it. Santa hates you."
I'm going to be an awesome parent, indeed.
I got my essay back. 74%. I SUCK. Nonono.. academics suck. Better yet, Churchill in its entirety SUCKS. And because I've gone to such a limiting school, I can't even find another descriptive word other then sucks. Oh, the horror.
Actually, there was a "threat" at my school aimed for tomorrow. Apparently, some angst-filled teen wrote on one of the bathroom stalls, "Jocks go down: 11.21.01". Thus, the emergency meeting and frightened parents removing their children from classes, yada, yada, yada. I'm so entirely sick to death of threats and retarded people and the absolute hatred in the world. Evilevilevil. But besides being evil, threats like this-- stupid people writing stupid things on stupid bathroom stalls -- its ignorant, and to reiterate; stupid. I can barely give it any credit, but worrying people uselessly with idiocy deserves a giant boot in the ass. Blah.
My dads down right now -- we had a deep theological discussion during dinner tonight. I'll write more on that later -- it basically comes down to my belief in ... the evilness of.. male dominance in the Christian culture.. at one point my mom looked at me like I was the Anti-christ, but all was well when I stole her soul in a game of chess.
But my dad understood what I was getting at I think-- organized religions have too often been used in power struggles to turn things black and white: I'm right, you're wrong. I'm male. You're female and thus, I'm owner. You're property. I'm not saying Christianity is exactly like that now, but there are a lot of biblical contradictions that piss me off. I think at some point I'm going to research the Great Goddess; a religious icon in the form of a woman that the europeans probably worshipped around 20,000 B.C.
I just have a hard time accepting God as a solely male entity. I think putting any sort of label whatsoever on his sex is ludicrous.
For the love of pete (hah), he's not human and supposed to be incomprehensible, so how could he ever be a singular sex?? Ei-chihuahua. I'm about ready to grow out my armpit hair and burn my bra.
But then, I'd just be falling into Paula Cole's little trap, wouldn't I??
Anyway, I'm going driving tomorrow.. I suggest all who read this stay off public roads.
'nite. ;p
Wednesday, November 21, 200112:54 a.m.
listening to; Deliver Me / Sarah Brightman
reading; Daughter of God / Lewis Perdue
