Estella's Revenge, Issue #2

The May issue of Estella's Revenge is up and running! This month's issue has a "sensuality" theme. Let me know what ya think!

Click the picture to check it out.

Listening: "Paint it Black"...The Rolling Stones

Sex dream #17

I keep tabs on my sex dreams because they're pretty rare. If we take a moment to do math, I'm 25 and I've had 17 sex dreams. I don't think I actually started keeping count until I was 17 or so, so really, they've been all squashed together, but I don't think I've had many in comparison to others. Then again, maybe the others are just lying to me.

But anyway, I'm not going to give details because I'm not a total blog skank. However, I will tell you that this was a wonderful dream on two levels.

1. It was partially about Jake Gyllenhaal. Apparently my Hugh Laurie crush has overtaken and the Jake part of my subconscious wants some attention, too. In the dream Jake and I fell in love. Hard. But, you know what I did? I cheated on Jake. I cheated on Jake with a real-life friend (shout out to Jeff! This will make him indescribably happy). Jake was crushed and he cried.

2. The sex part was awesome!

That is all.

Misanthropy, cultural whoredom, and slothful bliss...

I always know when my blog stats take a huge hit, I'm being fucking boring and/or not posting enough. Readers are a finicky lot. Actually, without looking at my blog stats, I still know I'm being boring and not posting enough. It's a sad day when I say....

I have writer's block.

I do. It's tragic. I've had immeasurable trouble settling in to write school papers, to blog, AND even trouble writing my pieces for the upcoming issue of the 'zine. I'm hoping the problems will assuage slightly today as I'm feeling very fluttery and artistic. And it's cloudy outside which, oddly enough, helps. I hate sunlight. I think I'm 1/8th vampire. That would explain the archy eyebrows and penchant for black, white, and red.

I have another confession:

I haven't sat down to read a book in probably a month. I've slogged through parts of readings for classes and such, but my vigor for reading has been down the shitter. It's a concentration issue. However, even though I'm not reading, I'm still having a mad urge to order Siri Hustvedt's book of essays from Scamazon. OH, and Hugh Laurie's first novel, The Gun-Seller...because if he can act, write, row, and play music, I shall hunt him down and rape him. Like I don't have enough books as is. Check out this link to see my books.

I'm starting to feel the itch to read again, and here's a short list of the books I'm aching for:

Close Range: Wyoming Stories (Annie Proulx)...which I started a zillion months ago.
The Amber Spyglass (Philip Pullman)...also started and is undoubtedly wonderful. WONDERFUL!
The Human Stain (Philip Roth)..also started. Promises to intrigue.
The Position (Meg Wolitzer)...Heather liked and sent, which means I'll adore it.
...and a stack of graphic novels. Maybe I should start with those. Easily chewable pieces of literary goodness.

And I'm having a music craving, too. Elise and I went looking for Dave Matthews' solo album, Some Devil yesterday. Circuit City continues to be worthless--I'm sure many of you remember the laptop/restocking fee scandal from summer.

I hate the end of the semester. It's an emotional vomit stew.

Listening: "Collide"...Howie Day

Crock of shit?...Anyone? Anyone?

I went to do my degree plan today since I'm starting thesis hours and shit in the fall. Had to fill out some stuff, talk to The Man about the master's exam, etc. I took my thesis advisor because this is the first thesis she's directed--we both need the info. So, we're sitting, we're chatting with The Man and get the paperwork done, he gives me some copies of red tapey shit, blah blah. So we get to the part where he asks what my plans are after graduating. I tell him I'm applying to Ill State, U of Florida, yadda blah blah. I make sure to throw in that I need to go AWAY to a bigger university in order to be able to teach at a shit-sized one like the one I attend. He knows this. He's The Man for Jehovah's sake. So after I finish telling him where I want to go he.....get ready....slumps back in his chair, hands crossed across old man belly and ROLLS HIS EYES. Why? Because he can be a selfish old shit and wants everyone to stay at our shit stain to help boost the grad programs.

THEN, he goes on to get two solid digs in on children's/adolescent literature (my field) because he's old school and thinks it's not a real field.

Awesome. Fabulous. I love academic politicking.

Damn The Man.

Going for a record...

Yes, yes dearies, I'm going for a record. I think I'm at 2 weeks with no makeup wearing...except on one special occasion. But everyday makeup wear is a thing of the past. Why? Because if I look like shit at work maybe the students are less likely to want me to tutor them. Sounds perfectly sane, yes? I thought so.

I bought one of man's greatest inventions this weekend. THE GAZELLE! It's currently languishing on my living room floor in the box. Why? Because kidney infections generally render one unwilling to work out, even if there is House motivation in the DVD player. (Did you notice that House reference I put in? It was just for Jeremy. To make him wanna die.) And, just for the record, even though I love the Gazelle, I hate Tony Little. Tony Little can shampoo my crotch.

To improve your day, courtesy of Married to the Sea:


This final-paper-writing-frenzy has rendered me boring and cranky. It'll be over soon. Two weeks (after this one). Shit. Three weeks sounds so much worse than two. Although, considering how little I've actually done, it's good that I have three weeks to finish it all.

Estella's Revenge Issue #2 coming May 1st!

TV: None. But I'll be playing on my laptop in exactly 16 minutes.
Listening: The Who
Reading: NOT A DAMN THING.

The good and the fugly...

It's been a busy weekend. I worked at the STD (shuddup, it's the unfortunate abbreviation for the National English Honor Society) book sale/food sale yesterday morning and then Elise, Jeremy, and I judged Ready-Writing for the Regional UIL competition. After that, food, drinks, good conversation until all hours. It was a good time. There's nothing quite like talking with people who like nerdy introspection as much as I do.

Today has been an asswhip. I still feel like death, but now it's weird back pain. I think I have a kidney infection or something, so I'm hopped up on meds with my fingers crossed that it GOES AWAY soon.

I finished my conference paper for my fake conference in class tomorrow. Well, finished is a bit of a strong word. I have a page or so left, and I'll do that tomorrow when I proofread. It's pretty shitty, but I'm completely unenthused.

On the brighter, nicer side...I received an interesting e-mail today in reference to the 'zine. A theater company from NYC e-mailed to ask if I'd like to attend their preview party and a showing of DEAD CITY...a "contemporary riff on Ulysses." Now, given that I live in Texas, that's a problem. If I could go, I tooootally would love to.

Go check 'em out at www.newgeorges.org.

In the meantime, I'm working on getting one of our writers from the NYC area to attend and write about it for the June issue. Or maybe I should check out weekend flights. Hmmm.

On TV: Drunk rednecks
Listening: Ryan Adams
Reading: The backs of my eyelids
In my head: Obsessables

Six things...

The lovely Vixen tagged me. I'm supposed to tell six things no one knows about me. I have a ton I haven't spewed here, but it's remembering it on the spot that's tricky.

1. I lost my "flower" at age 22.

2. I still feel guilty that my CPR skills didn't save my grandfather...even though, intellectually, I know no one's breath would have saved him.

3. The buds on the yucca plant in my backyard look like glands, and that bothers me.

4. I believe in God, but I think humans fuck up religion.

5. Two of my high school students in NC came to me with their problems. I saved them, and that responsibility is what drove me from public school teaching.

6. I strongly believe that the more you learn, the less you know. It's a wonderful confusion when binaries crumble.

Wonderwall....

HA! I stayed up half the night trying to download Ryan Adams' version of "Wonderwall." No go. Soulseek was bein' a little bitch and no matter how many times I begged the minions of the greater universe, no download. I finally gave in and decided to download the regular ole Oasis version--since I couldn't find What's the Story Morning Glory? no matter how hard I hunted. I was doing all this in a sickly stupor since the snot finally overtook me yesterday. I woke up coughing my head off, my lungs in full-scale revolt, and with the wheezy cadence of Tanya Tucker in my throat. It all sounds very eloquent, doesn't it? It wasn't really. Just snotty and wheezy and miserable. And the Oasis didn't download either. So I went to sleep in a pouty mood listening to Rascal Flatts.

Woke up this morning feeling a little more human, but with my head threatening to twist off its axis. Or maybe it was just my unborn twin trying to tunnel his way out again. Either way, I had two sugar-free shortbread cookies for breakfast accompanied by a side of Excedrin Tension Headache. The pussified red kind don't work as fast. I miss the days of the white ones that looked like overgrown vicodin. Quite suitable for sprinkling over a sandwich or dry-swallowing.

The good news is, "Wonderwall" (the Adams version) downloaded this morning. All is right with the world. At least until 2:15 when I have to get dressed and be amongst the living. I like the living (shout out to Jizzle, Lil E. and Goose) but I still feel like shit. And being cute while I feel like shit is just so wrong.

And I have to write a 9-page paper by Monday. Actually, make that seven. The abstract was two. Either way, no motivation and limited time to work on it.

OH, and one exciting thing. E-mailed my prof yesterday to tell him I wouldn't be in class last night--to my surprise he took it rather well and offered me an independent study in the fall. I need to get sick more often!

On TV: "Honeymoon"...House
Listening: Ryan croon-me-into-a-stupor Adams..."Wonderwall"
Reading: The Blindfold. Screw required reading I say. It seems to have become my mantra.
In my head: A chemical romance...thank you Excedrin.

maybe you're gonna be the one that saves
you're gonna be the one that saves me
and after all
you're my wonderwall

A Change Gonna Come...

In the immortal words of Sam Cooke...

i was born by the river

in a little tent

and just like the river

i've been running ever since

it's been a long, long time coming

but i know a change gonna come

oh, yes it is

it's been too hard living

but i'm afraid to die

i don't know what's up there beyond the sky

it's been a long, long time coming

but i know a change gonna come

oh yes it will

Oh yes. Yes, brotha Sam.

Or in the immortal words of Spinal Tap...

"..it goes to 11."

Watch out!

*Yes, it's cryptic. It's another epiphany. 25 years in the making. I'll post the proof someday.

Romantic reminiscences...

The irony of it all is that I love romancey chick-lit'ish movies, I dig the occasional romance novel (Jennifer Crusie), and I like relationships even though I'm not in one (and I'm not good at them). But, I don't do romance. Romance, in the traditional hearts and flowers and candles way, makes me uncomfortable and giggly. Giggly in an awkward I-can't-keep-a-straight-face way. It all sounds very good on paper...in a novel someone else wrote or a movie that someone else produced...but when it comes to putting romance into action, I fall short. I cook special dinners, I say nice things, but when the sap is aimed at me, there are problems. One reason I detest Valentine's Day, and sappy romance in general, is the conventionality of it. Sure, it's nice to get a card and some roses, but it's all so standardized. Some of the most romantic things that have ever been pointed in my direction were unconventional, tailored, and that makes me swoon. I'm also not a huge fan of "things." Things from the heart are special....the obligatory cheesey card is not.

My friend Paul used to send me little dinky surprises in the mail. Mix tapes, letters, a book on soccer once (just to share because he loved soccer). On my 22nd birthday, in the throes of my Dave Matthews Band obsession, he sent a gawd awful tie-died Dave Matthews shirt, circa 1996. His favorite Dave shirt, as a matter of fact. I had pictures of him in it, he was usually wearing it when we talked, and he sent it to me so I'd feel closer to him. I almost cried when I got it. It was worn and really really ugly, but it was his.

He wrote a song for me once. Actually, what made it so special was the fact that it was a song about me more than for me. I was going through a tough breakup and feeling very lost and lonely. I sent a long, pensive e-mail one night, and a few days later he'd taken my words and woven them into a gorgeous song. I have it stashed in a journal and pull it out occasonionally to take a gander.

My friend Jeff said something to me years ago that still sticks. It's the first thing that comes to mind when I think of all the sweet things anyone has ever said to me...."I hate that you know what 10:30 feels like before I do."

And perhaps the best way to ask a girl out...when I was a sophomore in high school a junior asked me to his prom with the following question: "So, when are you going to ask me to prom?" Just the right balance of awkward and hopeful.

House-terglow

It sucks that I missed so much of Season 2. Now I'll have to wait for reruns or the DVD to get caught up.

Last night was fantastamundo. House is hot, Foreman is an ass, and Cameron is slowly growing some nads. Woot!

Insultation gyration....

It seems the habit of reading, in addition to my chosen profession (scholar), is one of the most easily criticized by people in general: family, friends, fuckrags, douchebags, strangers with no teeth. For it seems when we (colleagues/friends and I) share our love of reading and thought with another breathing human, said human assumes that it's ok to throw our thoughts and opinions and UNDYING LOVE of what we do into the gutter and take a piss on 'em.

**Jeremy just put his head over my shoulder and scared the shit out of me when I turned around. I, in turn, bit his neck. Moving on...

Here is a smattering of backhanded, nasty comments I've gotten when stupidly attempting to share my literary life with others. Or not...sometimes these come up when I'm minding my own fucking business:

• What kind of life do you have? If you spend all your time reading, seriously, what kind of life is that?
  
• There are better things to do than reading.
• Who thinks crazy stuff like that? (in reference to any and all deep thoughts)
• Do you really think this matters?
• It's so pointless.
• You're making this up. You're reaching. It's worthless.
  

And that's just a small sampling. I don't think for a moment I could walk up to an accountant and say, "You play with numbers all day? What a fucking waste of time."
Or a doctor, "You spend like 10 years in school? For what? You obviously have nothing better to do."
Or a fireman, "You climb into burning buildings on purpose? That's stupid and pointless."

I don't think that, and I would never say that. It just doesn't cross my mind to down other people's passions that way. I'm too wrapped up in my own happiness, I suppose. My worthless, pointless passions for higher learning, abstract thought, and the pursuit of that Truth thing that doesn't exist.

So, words to the wise...if you're ever in my presence and you make a shitty comment about my career or my hobbies to my face, I will wrap your intestines around your neck and string you up with them. Because there's just no sense in being nasty.

Listening: "Untouchable Face"...Ani DiFranco
Watching: People buzz around

The mother of all search terms....

Someone just found my blog by searching MSN for "rhinestone pasties." That's fantastic. *wave* at whoever it was!

My depression cycles faster than Lance Armstrong...

*snagged from Gus Greeper

I'm reasonably happy again, though NOT in the mood to do anything work or school related. I've been looking up House pics all morning. See...



But that's beside the point. Elise and I went out for the BEST girl's night in the history of creation. Mary Magdalene and her friends had nothin' on us. First, Clay Pit. We had coriander calamari, seafood grill (white fish, salmon, prawns) and some kind of curried garlicky business with shrimp, mahi mahi, and mussels in it. And garlic naan. And beer and a mango margarita for me. So good. I'll never eat again, although I wish I'd realized last night that I shouldn't have eaten any more.

We went to Addison Park and sat on a bench at sunset and talked forever. About serious stuff, about life. I vented. I can vent to Elise like few others because she just "gets" it. After a good long emotional vomit we decided to REALLY indulge. What is REALLY indulgent? The Melting Pot for chocolate fondue. We got the s'mores chocolate with various dippables (cheesecake, marshmellows, pineapple, strawberries, bananas, graham crackers, etc.). And the really wonderful topper? Lemon drop martini. Hell yeah!

I will never eat again. Never. So good. Unbeatable.

And then we drove aimlessly around Dallas listening to Ani DiFranco and Metallica. Because Elise is the shit and understands the wonderful catharsis of driving to music.

I can proceed with life now. Still not 100%, but I think I'm on the mend.

Some devil....

I'm in a supremely horrible mood for the third day or so. Plenty of sleep, day and night, etc. Depression, anyone? Welcome to the world behind the happy face. It could be worse. I haven't broken out the Ativan yet. Although, it's tempting. Alas, I will keep my stockpile in tact until the next time I have a 12-day tension headache that threatens to drag me into the belly of insanity and drives me to wish I could remove my own head with a garden trowel.

I finished the first season of House, M.D. and I have to say, I'm obsessed. We all know the obsessive nature of my personality, and Jake Gyllenhaal has been knocked from his pedestal for the time being. I'm almost positive that people think I'm nuts the way I go on about things sometimes, and I don't really fucking care. It's sort of like that conversation I had with E. about characters in books becoming real to "people like us." Same with TV and film for me. There's some wicked-talented writer behind the character and it's a wicked-talented actor that can give an obsession-worthy performance, so at the root of things it's really artist-envy.

On a more Freudian level, I'm sure it's also projection. And memory. I had my very own House, M.D. a few years ago. Not an M.D. but very House in some ways. Older. Sarcastic. Dimples. Motorcycle fanatic. Etc. Please refer to the name of this blog for how that turned out. It wouldn't have worked out even though he was the love of my life. Short life, yes. True love, definitely. As soon as someone convinces me love is worthwhile again, I'll be back in the game.

The other day an acquaintance who I've steadily gotten to know a little better over this past semester said something to me that made me think. "People often say they wish they'd taken more chances like I did. You're one of those people, Andi, who will get those comments. People will wish they'd lived your life. You're not afraid."

Flattering, yes. Bullshit, yes.

For the last two months I've been almost completely unable to go to sleep at night without the light on or the TV. I can't bear to close my eyes and be in the dark. Something happened in mid-February that brought my grandparents' death surging back, and now I'm so haunted by it that I can't even close my eyes. It's getting a little better now. Some days I can turn everything out once I run myself far enough into the ground.

We're all damaged.

Listening: "Baba O'Riley"...The Who
Reading: Nothing.
Happy Easter? Sure. Whatever.

Busy bizzle....and other assorted niblets...

Elise said the following to me this morning, "You need to blog, dude." And that's a pretty direct order, so here I am.

This has been one hell of a week. I started feeling worse (snot monster), which surprisingly didn't manage to get me in bed any earlier. I had a 3am night (day?) early in the week, crashed the next night, then another late night, yesterday was a 23.5 hour day, etc. Summary: the sleeping has been a bitch, but I'm beginning to function comfortably on 4 hours sleep. Any less might be a stretch (as evidenced by the 3am night which equalled 3.5 hours sleep).

We had that long-ass annotated bib due Thursday (it doesn't matter what an actual annotated bib is...it was 13 pages long). Got that all finished, went with Dr. S to pick up an English department head candidate at her airport hotel yesterday at 6:45 am, and went today to watch the interview Q&A. Blah blah blah. Lots of boring academic stuff that threatens to drag this blog into the underworld of the totally uninteresting, so I'll move on to something even less interesting to some of you.

On my way home from lunch with the peeps and the Q&A, I stopped at Hastings to see if they might happen to have the first season of House, M.D. on DVD. As many of you know, I had planned to put off the renting of the aforementioned piece of excellent television until May...after I finish all my school shit. I have the willpower of a cashew, so I broke down. I spent the next 10 hours watching House. And I'm only halfway through the season! Must practice temperance and reason tomorrow in an effort to get my school shit done.

But Hugh Laurie is so compelling....

But that's another post.

So, yeah, that's why I haven't been around. The crunch probably won't let up for a few weeks yet, so if I'm a sporadic poster, I apologize ahead of time.

TV: House, ready to roll
Listening: Patty Loveless

Add another body to the count....

Jeremy was the first to get denied for the SCMLA conference in Dallas. Elise and I went down in flames today. Elise and I both submitted for the children's lit area, and apparently they were only putting together one panel and got a bunch of submissions. Or so they say. We have a feeling they picked four papers and we rounded out a grand total of six...or something equally as depressing.

My nose piercing has a bump. I'm doing a sea salt soak twice a day to attempt to rid myself of said bump. If it doesn't go away I'm losing the nose ring. And I really don't wanna do that.

I'm shooting for a Hugh Laurie dream tonight to raise my spirits after the conference-denial ego killer. A picture for inspiration. Pretty nice guns for an old fart with a cane (which I still say has enormous promise). And you all know how I feel about wrist/arm veins. Rawwrrrr! *lick*

Listening to the hind-end of the buffalo. Code for the 2nd CD in the Foo Fighters', In Your Honor.

Blah blah blah.

Going to sleep.

Randomativity

I actually got a full eight hours of sleep last night. Highly attributable to the 3 I got the night before, but nonetheless it was a good thing. I still feel as if a sheep has crawled through my ear, into my head, and backed his fluffy ass up to my nasal passages, but at least I'm upright and can still hear a little. I expect to sneeze white fluff or lambskin condoms any time now.

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

I had the weirdest (actually 2nd weirdest) dream last night. I'm waiting for TheOtherFeminist to interpret me. It went a little something like...

I was expelled from my homeland for some stupid reason, so one of my professors (who shall remain nameless except to say D-rock) took me into his home to live with his family. I had my own room, so I was cool with that. He had a teenage daughter in the dream who was delightful and fun and we became friends. I discovered one night, as I was feeling homesick for my own family, that there were caves beneath D-rock's home. As luck would have it I could magically morph into Robin Williams...but not just Robin Williams...Robin Williams in a bionic robot suit/diving gear. Outside the caves and passages under D-rock's house there was an ocean and I wanted to go diving. So, go-getter that I/Robin Williams am, I morphed, tore through some rock with my bionic claws and went diving in the hidden ocean thingy. It was pleasant for a while, but I discovered a shipwreck with some dead bodies, etc. which freaked my freak, so I returned to the house. What I hadn't taken into consideration was that by tearing through the rock, I opened the floodgates so to speak, and the house was flooded. As a result of the flood, D-rock's teen daughter was killed and I fled in shame without ever telling he and his wife that it was my fault. I found myself in a medieval land full of kilted, scrungy men, hiding behind hay bales and other such stinkies in sort of a mazelike situation. All I was really concerned with was hiding from D-rock and keeping away from the scrunge-factor.

And then I woke up. Not as good as Fem's "Patrick Stewart as God in an irridescent, transparent jumpsuit on a great mattress in the sky" dream...but close. Maybe.

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

The night that I only got three hours of sleep, it was because of a flood of epiphanies. I've decided to apply to the PhD programs at:

Illinois State
University of Florida
Texas A&M

If I don't get into any of those programs, or some other program with a tuition waiver, I will not be pursuing my PhD at this time. I can't imagine getting into any more debt than I'm already in. So, if the PhD doesn't work out, I will be taking a full-time community college teaching position or going corporate. Whatever earns me the most clams.

I saw a show on HGTV the other day that featured THE HOUSE I WANT! I've always wanted a home build on the countryside that appeared New York loftish inside. And this guy had one! My dream is possible! And it'll take money and a bitchin' bit of investing on my part to ever have it. So I have to figure out how to make that happen...whether it's with a PhD or a real job.

Epiphanies, I now know, are exhausting.

Listening: "More Human Than Human" ...White Zombie

I am the jigsaw
Man I turn the
World around
With a skeleton hand say -
I am electric head a cannibal core a
Television said
Yeah do not victimize
Read the mother
Fucker-psychoholic lies -
Into a psychic war I
Tear my soul
Apart and I
Eat it some more

A productive weekend indeed....

First off, I feel like death. The snot monster has once again invaded my head and my mouth is drier than a popcorn fart because I'm doped up on Tylenol Allergy Sinus. It's not a pretty picture, babies, but I'll have to suck it up and try to be halfway attractive tomorrow because I'm teaching a professor's children's literature class.

I finished 15 of the 20 annotations for my honkin' bibliography. I'm halfway through Call It Sleep, I posted some stuff for Picture Books, I prepped for tomorrow's class, and I even had some time left over to watch a National Geographic special about the Gospel of Judas and talked to my friend Sherrie from NC. Not bad if I say so myself.

Sherrie may come visit this summer, and I'M SO EXCITED ABOUT THE PROSPECT! Go over to Projectile Reviews to read more about that.

Oh, and to any of you feverishly searching for the Kelly Pickler sex tape, it's not HERE! Give it up! Site Meter is a wonderful thing. *evil grin*

On TV: Everybody Loves Raymond the Douchebag
Listening: "Leisure Suite"...Feist

To where does the time crawl away?

Unlike Elise, I've done nothing thus far today. Nothing. I woke up around 8:00, went back to sleep, backed out on going to pick out some new New Balance sneakers, went back to sleep, woke up, watched TV for a bit, read one source for my annotated bib, did the annotation, ate some shrimp from Long John Silver's, changed my nose ring for the first time since January (now sporting a kicky irridescent stud), moved all my annotated bib shit (including computer) to my desk in a vague attempt to get serious, moved all my annotated bib shit (including computer) back to my bed where I can really get some work done, and now I sit here blogging instead of writing my annotated bib.

THIS MADNESS HAS TO STOP!!

I'm unhooking from the internet, and you won't hear from me again until the bowels of night expel me.

TV: Nothing! I'll even watch Twister to keep from working, it seems.
Listening: NOTHING!
Reading: Stuffy journal articles. 20 of them to be exact.

Talk about uncomfortable....

I went to bed around 2am last night. I was totally exhausted, and after listening to "Message in a Bottle" 5 times to unwind into a sleepy state, I died. One and one-half hours later...3:30 for those of you who don't have a calculator handy...my phone rang. Phones ringing in the night scares the shit out of me in general. I get massive heart palpitations and loss of breath, and usually knock everything off of my nightstand diving for the lamp. Of course, my first thought is always, "Who died!?!" It's even weirder when my phone rings in the night because it's not the main line to our house. Most official business comes through the other number. The one in my room is our previous number from another home that I kept for my massive computer usage.

So anyway, it rings, my heart explodes, I dive, and I don't recognize the number on the caller ID, but it comes up as "Unknown" so I answer it for the hell of it...and I was too sleepy to know any better.

It's a man that I don't recognize, and he asks for my mother. I asked who was calling, and the reply went something like, "Bslhjgkhaelkoirfep...Keith."

Hmm. OK.

My first thought was, "Why is Keith [one of the town cops] calling the wrong number, drunk, at 3:30?"

I stood up, still sleep-stupored, as if I was going to take the phone to my sleeping mother and walked around in a circle before I asked, "What is this in regards to?" I said regards at 3:30 am in the midst of a fog. ENGLISH NERD! But whatever. The answer was, "Blalkerfohgioaefewro'p talked to her and she told me to call."

Hmm. OK.

By this point I was thoroughly convinced that this fucker was shit-faced and worthless and he'd INTERRUPTED MY SLEEP, so I hung up on his ass and fell back into bed without a second thought.

I told Mom about it this morning, and we came to the conclusion that it was L____ Keith, a guy who wanted to marry her when she was about my age. They've kept in touch (a little) throughout the last 30 years or so, and I have to say, it's the first time he's called drunk. Pretty good record, one drunk-dial in 30 years.

But he still interrupted my sleep. Fucker.

I blew my wad!

Boy did I blow it. I indulged in more than a bit of retail therapy today first with a bout of clothes shopping and then at the biggest Half-Price Books in the freakin' universe.

I hate clothes shopping more than anything ever, but I bit the bullet and dropped a bit of cash on 4 shirts, one pair of denim capris, three pairs of shoes, 4 pairs of earrings, a purse, and a pair of sunglasses. They look a lil sumpin' like this:


Green crocheted top. I can't believe this shit is back.


The edge there is a chocolate brown, v-neck top that makes my ta-tas look like gold (and it goes nicely with my super-red hair), middle is a gawdawful black tee with camo stars (love it!), and the last one is even worse...camo with a silver butterfly in the middle. They're AWFUL, but strangely enough, I still dig 'em.


Three pairs of luscious (cheap) shoes. Click for a bigger pic of my red slippers, black/silver/bronze flip flops, and the green butterfly flip-flops.


And a tan bag with gold threading throughout, black gypsy earrings, and a 3-set of turquoise, green, and white/wood danglies.

On top of all the wearable goodness, I blew the rest of the Half-Price gift card I got for Christmas. I purchased:

Zombie, by Joyce Carol Oates
Heroes and Villains, by Angela Carter
Bet Me, by Jennifer Crusie (hardback, for my keeper collection)
Manhunting, Crusie
Tell Me Lies, Crusie
The Complete Stories of Zora Neale Hurston

And last, but CERTAINLY not least, we had lunch at The Cheesecake Factory. Mom had fried shrimp, I had fish tacos, and of course we got cheesecake for dessert. She had the dulce de leche caramel cheesecake and I had chocolate peanut butter cookie dough cheesecake. SO GOOD. And they're inhuman-sized pieces. I'm getting all excited just thinking about it. There were leftovers, so I'll be polishing those off later this evening.

Now, it's time to stroke my new stuff and read Call It Sleep.

Later, babies....

The Devil Made Me Do It

Cincy tagged me, and I do whatever the SunDevil wants.

Instructions: Go to your music player of choice and put it on shuffle. Say the following questions aloud, and press play. Use the song title as the answer to the question. NO CHEATING.

How does the world see you? : On a High (Duncan Sheik)
I'm on a high, I'm on a high
There's nothing more to it
We are the sea and the sky
And the blue that runs through it

Will I have a happy life? : Who Says You Can’t Go Home (Bon Jovi and Jennifer Nettles)
Doesn't matter where you are
Doesn't matter where you go
If it's a million miles away or just a mile up the road
Take it in, take it with you when you go
Who says you can't go home

What do my friends really think of me? : Leisure Suite (Feist)
Build fires to stoke them
Let’s fix what’s been broken
Words have been stolen
But silence is golden

What do people secretly think of me? : Better Days (Goo Goo Dolls)
And you ask me what I want this year
And I try to make this kind and clear
Just a chance that maybe we'll find better days

How can I be happy? : Brown Eyed Girl (Van Morrison) -- this obviously refers to my brown-eyed lesbian girlfriend, Kate Winslet.

What should I do with my life? : Mad World (Gary Jules, Donnie Darko Soundtrack)
And I find it kind of funny
I find it kind of sad
The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had
I find it hard to tell you
I find it hard to take
When people run in circles it's a very very
Mad world

Will I ever have children? : Like a Stone (Audioslave) -- guess not!
On a cobweb afternoon in a room full of emptiness by a freeway i confess i was lost in the pages of a book full of death reading how we'll die alone and if we're good we'll lay to rest anywhere we want to go

What is some good advice for me? : Love is a Battlefield (Pat Benatar) -- 'nuf said. No lyrics required.

How will I be remembered? : What Kind of Love (Rodney Crowell)
What kind of love makes you go out in the wind and driving rain
What kind of love runs through your heart with a pleasure so close to pain
What kind of love
Only this love that I have

What is my signature dancing song? : Disco in the Cold (Majorette)
One more chance keeps staring back
Your little words and a shot of Jack
You learn to leave you learn to leave
Know when it’s over
I think I took too long to call you

What do I think my current theme song is? : Central Reservation (Beth Orton)
I step through every shade
Any the color you bring
This time, this time, this time
Is fine just as it is
Today is whatever I want it to mean

What does everyone else think my current theme song is? : Highway Blues (Marc Seales)

What song will play at my funeral? : Sweet Home Alabama (Lynard Skynard)
Big wheels keep on turnin’
Carry me home to see my kin

What type of men do you like? : Threadbare Gypsy Soul (Willie Nelson and Pat Green)
Got myself a threadbare gypsy soul
Likes to dance and drink and go wherever the wind blows
Got a little threadbare gypsy soul
Got a little threadbare gypsy soul

What is my day going to be like? : Eric’s Song (Twelve Stones)
Sometimes I feel like I am so far away
I’m lost inside my thoughts and I don’t know what to say
And I know I need you now more every day
I push and I pull and I run so far away

Currently listening to: "Mandolin Rain"...Bruce Hornsby

Peachy days....

Yesterday was a good day. It's too early to decide how today's gonna be.

The goodness:

I asked Dr. S if she would direct my thesis and she said yes!!! Yay! I thought she probably would, but it's still nerve-racking to ask.

T. defended his thesis and kicked ass!

I'm ready to try Masala Bhangra (Indian dance workout). It looks like so much freakin' fun.

Watching: Today Show
Listening: "Message in a Bottle"...John Mayer
Reading: Call It Sleep, by Henry Roth

Thank you...a million times....

"Just a little lower and more fun..."

To those who scolded me for not watching "House, M.D." (Heather, Sam), I THANK YOU A MILLION ZILLION TIMES OVER. I now have one more crush. Honestly I've thought Hugh Laurie was a dish since he guest-starred on one of the Friends wedding episodes (disgruntled Brit on a plane who scolded Rachel for being self-centered). I forgot about him through the years, but BOY HOWDY did I recognize him when I started seeing commercials for House. But did I watch it? No, no. Andi has to jump on the cutie-tooter bandwagon 10 mins after the rest of the ladies.


This show is HILAAARIOUS. And dramatic. Seriously, where else on network TV are you going to find a scruffy, smartass doctor (no, no this isn't the unusual part yet...here it comes...) who will pick a tick off a woman's pubic area IN A HIJACKED ELEVATOR while she's hanging on the verge of heart failure in order to save her life? HOUSE! House, I tell you!

Watch the fuck out. I've just found my new favorite show. And I would be fine if Hugh Laurie decided he wanted to get freaky. I like 'em scruffy, old, and dependent on a cane.

Uppers, downers, and all-arounders....

I'm slightly more mellow than I was this morning. Although, if I don't get my ass to bed I'm going to be strung out on rage again tomorrow. Things on my mind. Which I hate. It screws up my already horrible sleep cycle.

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You are officially not allowed to comment on this portion of the post.

I'm single again. By my own hand. I know it had to be done because of school shit, etc. etc., but it's still a downer. Downer.

We're on good terms, still friends.

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Trying to plan out when exactly I'll be building my thesis committee and all that. Planning to bust my ass in summer courses in an attempt to be DONE by next May. DOOONE. Finished.

I'm really excited that I might be taking an Art History course in the Fall. I haven't taken one since my Capstone during my senior year of college. Art History makes me quiver like a puddle of KY.

We found snake eggs in our yard yesterday. SNAKE EGGS. You bet I said a prayer to TGLJC that my dogs don't get man-handled by a wayward snake. We took it upon ourselves to dig up the eggs, stomp on them, and throw them out into the street. Never trust anything with no legs.

I have to go read 30 more mins of Tender is the Night.

G'nite my lovelies....

Listening: "Threadbare Gypsy Soul"...Willie Nelson and Pat Green

P.S. Quote o'the day compliments of Jeremy:

"Maybe we should talk to A-train about the new website:
whythefuckarebirdsinmywreath.com

Sounds like it's sweeping the nation."

Venomous Vixen

It is an unmistakably Kat Auster morning. I've officially begun to gauge the day by what rock star I feel like emulating. Another weird habit to add to the list.

I'm still venomous this morning. I fucking hate everything. I blame this on a chemical imbalance. It's days like this that I miss the dark, sweet teat of Zoloft.

On the way to work I found myself calling multiple people in traffic "cuntfaces." Ladylike, eh?? Not gonna lose any sleep over it.

I'm now sitting at work, listening to Ani DiFranco because I can do that at work, and it's days like these that I thank Jehovah (God) for that. Tomorrow I'm bringing my digital camera to work so I can show you all a picture of our newly constructed altar to Yoda. We have a Yoda. They decided he needed an altar. Who am I to disagree? Yoda is one of the few deities I could get behind.

My whining is even uninteresting to me. I had a whole post worked out on the way to work. I must've left it in the car.

My weekend via the bulleted list...

I'm tired. All you get are the bullets.

Friday:

• A haircut only vaguely akin to the one I wanted (my fault for telling her MORE TEXTURE)
• Liquor with friends
• Sleep

Saturday

• Book shopping (bought Middle Age by Joyce Carol Oates, and Jemima J by Jane Green)
• Mexican food
• Cleaning

Sunday

• Bitchiness
• Flightplan...not totally awful
• Capote...excellent

TV: Shit
Listening: Shit
Reading: Nothing

I see you.

Listening: "Girl"...Tori Amos