U don't have 2 watch Dynasty/ 2 have an attitude





I wish I had a good April Fool's joke for y'all. Sorry. Try again next year.

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I guess I shoulda closed my eyes/ When U drove me 2 the place/ Where your horses run free



Has anyone (besides marilyn, who I totally told already) guessed were my last few post titles have come from? Anyone?



Well, if you don't know I'm not telling.



Pollen = gross yellow mess everywhere in ATL.



And, oh yeah, it's Thursday, and that means TV night!!!

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I was dreamin' when I wrote this/ So sue me if I go 2 fast



Toadzilla, my friends, is yet another reason why introducing non-native (aka "invasive") species to an area is a baaaad idea. Other compelling reasons are the Burmese python that gorged on an alligator in the Everglades and the noisy coqui frog who refuses to shut the fuck up in Hawaii. And don't even get me started on Asian carp.

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Dearly beloved/ We are gathered here today/ 2 get through this thing called life



I got my pedometer in the mail today for this walking challenge taking place in the month of April. I've been walking tons since selling my car and am excited about having a way to measure exactly how much I walk in a day. I need to measure my actual stride, because it is definitely more than the average 20 inches currently pre-programmed in the pedometer. (It claimed I took six steps when I had taken three.)



Dancing With the Stars, my deepest frivolous pleasure, started up again last week. It's on right now as I type this.

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I never wanted 2 be your weekend lover



Ran into an old friend on the train today, and I felt bad because I hadn't returned her phone call from...uh...two months ago? I think this officially makes me something of a bad friend.



It's true, the only persons I can promise to talk to on a regular basis are my dad and CV.



Also, my love affair with getting to the point has made it very difficult to write academic papers, especially since I've been writing lots of AP-style news stories for a reporting class. If I can't distill the heart of the matter down to a 25-word lead, I have no interest in writing it. I also hate speculation and love action verbs. Subject, verb, object. In fact, I'm rather smitten with Spanish verbs and the fact that they don't require a subject. Verb, object. What could be more to the point than that??

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The crankiness will continue until moral improves...or May 2, whichever comes first



Um...I really am on the verge of posting school assignments here, since I'm so addled and stressed I don't have two seconds to myself to form non-school thoughts into coherence. The only thing that stops me is the work involved in cutting and pasting from a Word document to Blogger. Be very glad I am too tired to do that, or else it would be 8-10 page paper city.



I have all these wonderful, amazing things planned for May. May is going to be awesome. I have five weeks of no school, just work, and I'm going to Reno & Lake Tahoe (hopefully) for Memorial Day weekend, and CV and I are talking about a trip to the beach. Listen to me, I'm just babble babble babble...my brain is the mush...

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What's in a name?: All about my name (somewhat)



Ok, I have finally settled on the new, improved version of my name. This is the spelling I will legally change my current misspelling to this summer. It's really quite nice, once you get used to it. I'm basically dropping one of my "s"'s. It still looks feminine, it doesn't make my signature look weird, and I like it. What more do you want from a girl?

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The truth about Lindsay Fontaine



Well, when MP called with tickets to see Molly Ringwald as Sweet Charity at the Fox, what could I say? Of course I said 'yes.' We took public transit, in order to avoid Midtown traffic and price gouging at the parking lot.



Once in our seats, there was LOUD chatter from the audience during the overture, and MP turned to me at one point and said, "What's with all the talking?" I replied, "It's called the overture, and it means 'shut the fuck up!'" To which MP said, "I'm OVERTURE talking!" Yuck yuck yuck. Also, Molly Ringwald wasn't exactly low class enough, or over the top enough, and when she huffed and puffed her way through "If My Friends Could See Me Now" I wanted to tell her to sit down and catch her breathe, but the supporting cast was most excellent.



The show ended around 10:30. It took us a good minute to catch a Southbound train, since they were single tracking (#$&#&@#&!!!! This is the second time in four days I have been screwed over by the single tracking...get that shit fixed, MARTA!) We found ourselves in a car with a very obnoxious gaggle of fifteen year olds (curfews, anyone?) that we managed to shake at Five Points on the Eastbound platform.



However, at Five Points there was this very doofy looking white guy on the platform across the tracks from us. For those who don't know, at Five Points the platforms are one on each side for any given train, meaning people standing across the tracks from us, such as doofy white guy, were waiting for the same train as we were. As luck would have it, doofy white guy got on our car and sat down across from us. I immediately adopted my patented "Don't fuck with me, I am riding this train and you will not fuck with me. Do you hear? Don't fuck with me!" look and avoided eye contact. So he looks at MP hopefully and says, "Excuse me." And thus the real show began.


I don't think I can do it justice here, but the hilarity that ensued entertained the entire train car. People were turning around to listen, I literally was biting my lip to keep from laughing, and I could feel the heat turning my face the color of my reddish-purple skirt. The high school boys next to us got in on the act, too, egging MP on in her charade as Lindsay Fontaine, Lesbian. The best part was when doofy white guy said, "Lindsay Fontaine? That name sounds familiar. Have you been in the Creative Loafing? Hey, you're not one of those girls who says she's a lesbian just to get rid of guys like me, right?" It was MP's best performance to date.



Somebody call shenanigans...

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Same



Nothing new to report.

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BFF?



Dear lord, I think CV and I are verging into high-school-like BFF territory. It's a little scary, yet exhilirating, what with the near-daily meet-ups and the run-downs of conversations with our various paramours. And don't forget the inside jokes. Oh yes, gotta love the inside jokes.("Your mom stays at the Effenhaus!")

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Incidental



I've worn off quite a few letters on my keyboard at home, which I've had since I lived out in Portland. The "m" is completely gone, and the "n" is not far behind. The "c" is only a quarter semi-circle, and the right "shift" key is fading fast.



Quick, somebody interpret these facts as a metaphor for my life.

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This is how I unwind



How much does pre-sucky Liz Phair rock my world? I mean, really.
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Oh, here's a photo of Marilyn and me on the subway train late Sunday night.

**************************************************************************************


And, um, I did really really well on the two midterms I've had returned. I almost posted the entirety of the one take-home that garnered an A+ (oh, and you were thinking I was just some burned-out former adolescent genius with good hair and an ex-husband who's main claim to fame is a notorious American Idol audition; well, ha, take that!) but then I thought about my readership and decided most of you were probably not interested in my comparative analysis of the U.S. Congress and the German Bundestag, or what I believe are the four essential components of a successful constitution.



Lastly, I need a wife. Someone to cook and clean for me and run all my errands and stroke my ego. Maybe I just need a personal assistant? Let me think on this a little bit more...

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That's pretty much the photographed highlight reel from New York. The unphotographed parts? Well...

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Cranky



I am not fit for human consumption. Clearly. I feel cranky and ready to fly off the handle at any moment. I can't tell if this is an almost-cold I am experiencing, or just general---what? Irritability? Dissatisfaction with life (the general human condition)? Frustration that time moves so fast and yet so slow? I have no idea.



My boss has taken pity on my worn-down state. Today when I called her to find out what was going on tomorrow, she told me I would basically spend the day as a glorified messenger girl. Sweet. I used to love how, in elementary school, I'd always finish my work before anyone else, and the teacher would send me on errands to the principal's office, or to the fifth grade wing, or to the outer hinterlands known as The Portables. I'd pretend the folded over note or large manila envelope was an important message from the Queen, and that I, her most loyal servant, was the only one trustworthy and wiley enough to get it over enemy lines. A smile and "Good morning" to the custodian was really the secret code that let me use the back stairwell unharmed. A wave and mouthed "Hey" to my best friend from first grade sitting in the front row of the classroom where I waited for Ms. F to write a reply was the signal that kept my identity secret.



Yes, I had an overactive imagination and way too much spare brain time. Still do, in fact.

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Quick thoughts on the whole Asian thing



First thought (from the April 2007 Marie Claire feature on Sandra Oh): "It's not only that Oh is Asian; it was also that she wasn't our kind of Asian, with that delicate/etheral/submissive/zen vibe. So what followed were years of walk-ons and one-liners and best-friend and cop roles."



Second thought: TBS has been playing Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle almost non-stop all weekend, and I just can't get enough. Harold is not "our kind of Asian" either, and Kumar is not our kind of Indian, and I love them love them love them for it.

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Forward



Man, I'm hungry, but I've told myself I'm not allowed to leave the #!$*@ library until this paper is done, so I guess I'll just have to be hungry a little longer. At least I'm getting some words on paper today, although it's scattered and all over the place. (Thesis statement, what?) I also have to keep removing ellipses from every other sentence. I have an unhealthy love affair with the ellipse, which anyone who's ever corresponded with me via email is probably already familiar with. I just love the ... and how it connects thoughts and ideas so vaguely, or how at the end of a sentence, the ... lets the mind linger on the ideas put forth in the subject-verb-object of the words just read...



It really is a beautiful thing.



I am all kinds of confused after springing forward at 2am last night. I had a fitful sleep, filled with overactive dreams and events that might have been real. I tried unsuccessfully to emerge from bed on three separate occasions, at three separate hours. The first time I managed to make it to the fridge and grab a bottle of orange juice, which I took back to bed with me. The second time I grabbed a bowl of leftover popcorn, which I took back to bed with me. The third time I got some coffee brewing and made the bed, in order to deter me falling back into its embrace.



It's amazing how I can write all sorts of other things except the very thing I need to be writing.

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Something to make me---and you---smile



Don't make fun, but I totally sing along every time I hear "Fergalicious." It came on the other day when I was riding in CV's car, and I couldn't resist.



"So delicious...caselicious..."



CV cracked up and said, "Caselicious? Really?"



"Yeah, you love it," I replied, and then we both burst into a delirous giggle fit.

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Blocked



I think my last post was a little bit of a downer. This one isn't, I'm afraid, going to be much better, but I'll try to veer away from the overly melodramatic or histrionic.





I've got a major case of academic writer's block, which is something I generally sneer at as an excuse for not doing work. So here I am, all blocked up, and instead of feeling mopey and sorry for myself I'm all snarly and sneering. Snarl snarl. I thought going and working at the library would help, but when I got down there this morning everything was locked up tight for spring break. Snarl. I came home, unsure what to do with myself. I briefly thought a good cry might loosen my brain a bit (it's been a while) but before I could get serious about thinking sad thoughts Rob called, and asked if I wanted to do brunch.





I found it more than a little amusing, after yesterday's post about ex-marriages and whatnot, so of course I agreed. We ate, I got some cds from his place and played with the kitties, we stopped by Publix and I got a few groceries; a completely lazy, wasted Saturday afternoon was had by all.





Now I'm back at the ranch, so to speak, and still nothing---still no words for what I need to write. Damn it. It's like my brain has just refused to go on.

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I couldn't tell you if I tried



I hate talking about certain things. Ok, lots of things. Mainly personal things; things about myself and how I got to where I am today. Most of these things are just painful, or perhaps a little shameful, or both.



My former marriage falls squarely in the realm of personal-things-that-are-painful-and-more-than-a-little-shameful.



It's not even been a year since Rob and I seperated for the last time, and only six months since the divorce was finalized. There are still tender places where there was once an "us" and now there is only a "me". I still have moments of confusion about what the hell happened. I have many, many thoughts and memories that I can't even begin to describe, because, truthfully, a dissolved marriage is a little like a stolen Picasso: only you, the thief, can ever look at it and appreciate it, because it is an illicit thing that no one else can ever see. (Maybe that's a poorly executed metaphor, but it's the closest I can come to describing the intimate unspokenness of something that exists simply in the used-to-be.) I don't know what to say when people ask questions...like so many things, I often wish people just wouldn't ask.



Sometimes I hate the past.

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Overslept, and a cryptic txt mssg awaited me upon awakening



The txt was from a phone number that wasn't in my phone...but it seemed vaguely familiar. It was a 678 number. It said if I ever saw Karl (?!) again, to tell him he's an asshole. Um, ok. I'll try to remember to do that.



I am still a little confused and reeling from my trip ("Wait...where am I again?"). I also have homework I need to get done this weekend ("Wait...isn't this supposed to be spring break?"). Also, watching Labyrinth with a couple of people who have never seen it before makes one very self-conscious about how ridiculous the whole thing is ("Omigod, look at David Bowie's bulge! Ewww!").

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Six Girls and a Bathroom, the zany new sitcom starring Merle, Bonnie & casetheplace!



Major props to Bonnie on the whole "six girls and a bathroom" comment. Because when we were staying with Merle in Harlem Sunday and Monday nights, that was totally our life. Throw in radiator-based heating (I felt like I was back in my old elementary school) and an elevator that smelled inexplicably like cat pee and you have Merle's apartment building. It had so much character you wouldn't believe. I loved it.



Also, Merle's roomates (at least the two that I met) were very nice and sweet and gracious for letting us invade their living room. Also, it was discovered that Merle isn't even human, but is indeed a femmebot. Since neither Bonnie or I are Austin Powers, she didn't try to kill us outright, but instead tried to make us drop dead from sheer exhaustion while trying to follow her insanely packed schedule. That girl is an unnatural force of nature. Completely amazing. And fun.



We did so many things I don't even know where to begin. There are photos, and I'd love to post them, but I feel like I'd have to write explanations for them and right now I'm too tired still, and wound up, and god-knows-what-all to do so. I also have to finish writing this paper that I was supposed to finish before my trip...but there were so many other schoolwork things to do, too, and I had to pack, and what on earth possessed me to take such a heavy load this semester??



The point is, I'll get to posting photos and whatnot when I get to it.



YEAH! SPRING BREAK 2007!

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It's funny because it's true





Awww, they've gone and made a show about when my friend Loy lived in Atlanta! I miss that boy ("It's not boy; it's Loy!") I once helped him move at 9 o'clock at night, in the middle of the ghetto, from one halfway house to another halfway house. No lie. My car also got stuck in the mud. At the new halfway house. No lie. Totally verifiable truth. Promise. Just ask Loy.

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ADDENDUM: Omigod, it was created by and stars Oscar from The Office!! I'm in love...