Yet Another Day

this is a good time for writing.

Sun, 06 Jul 2008 06:28:19 GMT

I meant to get a bunch of homework done today, but have not. That's ok. There's always tomorrow morning.

I don't know if it's due to the Unisom (over the counter sleep aid) or what, but I am just feeling incredibly centered and all-around...good...right now. Confident. Calm. okay with things the way they are. And that's really rare for me.

I think it's got something to do with how I've been handling my work life lately. I bit the bullet and got back with a company whose work is boring as hell, but it's to save money for the house for next semester. It's a huge step towards gaining independence, for me. I'm really going to have to start growing up. And I can't wait.

Towards this, I'm at Adecco (the office place) 40 hours a week starting monday. If the ARC thing goes through (I hope I hope) that will be an extra evening or two a week and possibly some weekends. So as Cam's mom pointed out recently, I might be looking at a 60 hour work week. That's okay; I feel it would be well worth it. And, it would be EXTREMELY valuable experience towards what I want to do in my career field.

Career. There's a concept I've barely taken seriously until now.

But I can make something of myself. I can go to grad school, I can pursue my field of study; maybe I can even make a difference there. I'm learning what I can do after years of thinking there was just too much wrong with me.

It's a great feeling when you finally shake off the constraints others have put on you; when you free yourself of their doubts, their fears, their misjudgments. When you realize your crappy self-concept is not really "yours" at all.

When you realize what really matters, and just how much you can do about it. And that it's a lot more than you thought.

It's a great feeling.

hello again

Sat, 21 Jun 2008 05:25:52 GMT

I haven't written in here in forevers, but I basically am now b/c I don't think anyone reads it and for once don't want my boyfriend to, but I gotta vent somewhere.

His brother's getting married in October, where he lives, in California. I would love to go with them, but I'm not invited. It would be weird for his family if we shared a room because his father's Iranian friends/family (his dad's Iranian) would frown upon he and I sharing a room.

We've been going out just a little over a year. There's a 2nd reception in Jersey for people who couldn't make it to Cali for whatever reason, but I'm not really interested in that. I don't care about the party. I don't want the consolation prize. I want to see his brother get married. I want to see the ceremony. I want to travel with him and spend those few days with him and generally share in this amazing event. I can't.

I'm not going to say anything more about this to him because we've talked it over enough and now that I understand why I can't go, I'm "okay" with it. But I'm really not, at all. I can't help but feel incredibly left out. It gnaws at me basically all the time now. He and I are hanging out tomorrow, but we haven't seen each other since Tuesday, and I feel like the whole discussion/issue about it (basically being that for a while I didn't even know if he wanted me to go or not, or whether it was ok with his family) has driven a giant wedge between us.

And I have to act like everything's okay.

update

Tue, 18 Dec 2007 03:31:17 GMT

I also have been MIA! but here's a quick review. This year I have:

- Successfully stopped taking medication, in January - "successfully" = with no major incidents and with an increase in GPA...I kinda use how I'm doing in school, plus general emotional states, as a barometer of mental health, of how well I can focus...but yes, I've

- Gone, GPA-wise, from about a 2 something in Brookdale, to a 3.25 last semester @ Rutgers and probably a 3.5 this semester

- Pledged and joined Gamma (wooo!)

- Moved to Rutgers (finally)

- Started dating Cameron, which has been insanely up and down but is slowly getting better (at least this week...)

- Finally settled on a major(s) (Psych and English)

- Met a lot of awesome people : )

- Experienced, possibly due to stopping meds, a ridiculous intensifying of insomnia...only getting a few hours of sleep each night and it's nigh impossible, usually, to get to sleep before 4am. Things like Tylenol PM and valerian do help, though. Though, it has resulted in a desire to rediscover the wonders of Ambien...

- Started writing a lot more, and getting less shy about sharing it

- Stopped talking to people who were really nothing but a negative influence in my life...this has been hard, if they were old friends, but certain things made me realize other certain things. Sometimes you just gotta let go.

- Made, I think, less money than ever. Intrinsic is a lovely job, with lovely people, but the pay is shit. At least this winter break I'll probably be able to go back to the courthouse I temped at and do that project there for more moneys. Because I have

- Gone ridiculously broke.

But I don't want to end on a negative note! So what's one more cool thing I've done...hmm...I think, overall, I've

- Become emotionally closer to the wonderful females who matter in my life. You ladies know who you are. Chick friends and family are the best. : )

and!

- Successfully vanquished a colony of ants which were attempting to take over my school apartment, due to my careless abandonment of half-eaten Chinese food plates on the floor. Lessons well-learned by me...
1) don't leave food laying around - its slobby anyway, and,
2) despite what you may read randomly online, Febreeze does not, in fact, kill ants. It just stuns the little buggers long enough for you to rain supposed fresh-scented death upon their troops, think you've killed them, go off to class all day wondering what you're going to do with the bodies, and come back to find them reanimated and wandering en masse across your carpet. (Due to the physical difficulty of squishing them on a carpet, plus my lack of any real desire to kill things, I ended up mostly gathering them into a cup and dumping them outside, where they probably died due to the cold anyway.)

I still see one lone survivor exploring the floor of the kitchen or my room from time to time, but they're rare anymore. Creepy hive-minded lil bastards. Why did I not just call an exterminator? I have no idea. I think I didn't like the idea of a stranger poking/spraying around my bedroom. So why did I not just get an ant trap? ....because catching them was more fun, dammit. ^_^

Gotta go study and sleep now, or try to, so finals do not kick my ass. 1 down, 3 to go...

sheer REM rebound chaos

Tue, 10 Jul 2007 08:38:34 GMT

This dream terrified me mainly for its reflections of real life events that occurred just a few hours ago, and other warped reflections of general life concerns...

There were aliens at one point, grey, spindly, bending over me, I could feel their bony fingers in places I did not want them to be. and I was in my room, but not really, kind of in the computer room at the same time. Jen called me at one point, making me feel bad about something. (IRL: She and I haven't talked since St. Patty's day b/c she pissed me off.)

I tried to reason with her but does that ever work? Then I was at Intrinsic and the gate was coming down and I couldn't get into the store fast enough even though I had just been there, in the dream, 2 seconds ago. The counter had changed positions...then I then was walking into Cameron's house, (IRL: he and I did hang out tonight)

and his parents had a bunch of people staying over there. They were asleep in the front hall on couches or something and his mom got upset when I woke her up by mistake. She got really scared, screamed kind of. "WHO ARE YOU?!" I had to try to reassure her that it was just me. She looked like a mummified zombie geisha woman. They got upset that I was there and so that was really threatening. Then i was suddenly standing in my driveway and Cam was there, being indifferent and weird. I tried to talk to him but that was pretty ineffective. (IRL: We actually had had really good conversations while I was over there.) (for once. : P)

His family and their guests were still there too, in cars, ready to leave. One of the cars was a giant red thing, that I for some reason identified as a trash compactor. (Looked like, IRL, the thing I moved to the right side of the road to avoid on the way home from Cam's, thinking that it was an ambulance, but it was actually just a huge Hummer.)

He was wearing a white karate uniform and started to put on a belt or something. I kind of playfully freestyled halfway up a tree in my backyard, turned to face him, realized I had no idea what the fuck was going on on ANY level, freaked out, jumped in my car, backed out of the driveway way too fast almost hitting 3 things, including the Cam-mobile and my mailbox, looked in the backseat and there were a bunch of white-gray towels that looked like the laundry i had just been doing in real life. They also looked like ghosts somehow...like shrouds, like shadows. (IRL, my busted DDR pad takes up the same space that those towels did. Also, IRL, I often have no idea what the fuck is going on with Cam. I also sometimes wonder what his family thinks of me. This was like those feelings of anxiety and doubt blown up to, literally, nightmarish proportions.)

I kept freaking out while driving, aware of time and location jumping around and hallucinations happening, tried to call Stephan or Beth, and while the phone was searching for a signal as I drove down Nutswamp road, (IRL it always fucking does this) then woke up.

I have never been so relieved to wake up. Things still don't seem quite right. This is the first time I've ever had this kind of dream. It was like...the opposite of lucid. You're thrown into awareness of the dream, but you can't figure out that you're dreaming. You just think you've lost your fucking mind. And it makes sense that this happened, b/c I only slept about half an hour last night. So my brain's kind of going I NEED TO DREAM, DAMN YOU. Christ, brain, I get the point. No need to go all DMT on my poor psyche's ass.

Holy shit.

This made me giggle.

Sat, 12 May 2007 19:52:08 GMT

Your Personality Is Like Acid

A bit wacky, you're very difficult to predict.

One moment you're in your own little happy universe...

And the next, you're on a bad trip to your own personal hell!

What Drug Is Your Personality Like?

^_^

Things have been damn good lately. My worst grade this semester was a C+, (in Expos...cursed Spellmeyer) and my GPA was about a 3.3! In the fall though, are classes like pre-calc and chemistry, so I hope I can keep this up...we'll see. For once though, I have confidence in myself. I'm not afraid anymore, of much of anything, really. It's been a long time since I've been able to say that.

This summer I'm gonna work a lot, save up and get a (used) new car...I'll need it. Mine's on its last legs. And there's those 2 brookdale classes, that'll be cool. I'm excited for Bio 102. And camping soon for the Allentown Folk Fest in PA! Yaaayyy. I'm gonna read a lot...everything I haven't had time to read this semester. Especially those overdue library books!

My sister got me a free gym membership, essentially, until the end of May. (B/c she's quitting, but they're charging her for the rest of the month, but I can go there on her name.) I should get on that! I wanna lose weight. I have been getting fatter and fatter, its not too cool. Maybe I ask for a real membership for my birtday...

I'm at Stephan's right now, and he is also awesome.

<3

week of insanity

Fri, 30 Mar 2007 23:15:39 GMT

A couple of odd/interesting/wacky highlights from this past week:

Monday - Bringing Bradley the puppy to pledge meeting and having him throw up in my car. Twice. On the way there, and the way back...my car still smells weird.

Wednesday - ER trip with Beth that took us till 4:30 in the morning. I gave her a foot rub, studied Bio, and wrote a new poem, and made friends with a large black woman named Loretta (who the poem is about. Its on my myspace.)

This morning - Cleaning with fellow pledges, which culminated in my one pledge brother, very drunk, confused, and massively sleep deprived, peeing in a corner. On top of a pile of brooms. Not good, and incredibly annoying, but undeniably hilarious if you were there to witness it. Just with that "I can't believe that just fucking happened" kind of feeling. Especially the almost-equally-drunk house member telling him "You need to put your micropenis away."

All this going on and I still wrote the 9 pages or so required for this week. Yay me!

Sooo sleep deprived. Pledging is kind of making me feel like this angry German kid. Thank god it's almost over.

I HAVE HEAD EXPLODY!!!

Sun, 18 Mar 2007 07:36:25 GMT

What JTHM moment are you?

Head splody....watch for flying head chunks
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Wed, 28 Feb 2007 19:45:19 GMT

We broke up for real. We're not going to talk for a while. It's a couple days into it only and I'm missing him like hell. I can't really seem to function.

Tue, 27 Feb 2007 02:14:45 GMT

So Stephan and I are "taking it easy" for now. What does that mean?

I definitely slept through the majority of a four-hour-long class today. I dreamed about smoking pot and then masturbating, right in the middle of class. Oh, and I drew a mermaid. It was very productive.

It was my sister's 30th bday today. Happy birthday Jill!

I gotta do this paper and study, and maybe work out...

I'm really tired.

Sat, 24 Feb 2007 06:13:34 GMT

Pledging a frat can take a lot out of a person. It feels like I'm barely getting any work done lately, though they claim to teach you time management and that everyone there has at least a 3.0 gpa. I guess I'll find out. Only gotta stick it out a little while longer. I'm having a lot of trouble learning who's who and who's related to who and in what way, but that's because I'm a fucking idiot with names. People take it personally, and I wish they wouldn't, because that's not how I mean it. Whatev.

Very busy weekend. Pledge project tomorrow, then watching my sister's puppy as soon as I get back in middletown, overnight, then leaving her house at 8am sunday morning to get back up to Gamma and finish project. Going on about 2 hours of sleep in the past couple days at this point, so I really need to get to bed, but my mind is racing. The Cameron thing. Maybe a trazodone will help.

I feel like a horrible person for everything that's happened with him and Stephan. I've never been this confused over someone I've never slept with. Just wish I would hear from him, wish we could be friends more easily. This kid's so damn important to me and no one understands why. Half the time I'm not sure why either, but usually, it's very clear. Not sure it's even necessarily a romantic thing, at least not all the time. He's just someone I'm very impressed by, and at the same time somewhat amused and confused by, and it's an intriguing combination. He's got willpower I wish I had, dedication I can't seem to keep up concerning anything, and virtuous ideals I lost a long time ago. He can also be manipulative, withdrawn and frightened. So can I, though. We've all got our worse sides. I've got mine. No one's perfect. There's no right to judge.

I love Stephan, he's an amazing boyfriend, but the entire relationship has been fraught with doubt because of how I jumped right into it before being fully over certain things. Same mistake I always make. But now I dont want to break it off, for many different reasons, but it's also hard to maintain for various other reasons. I'm really not relationship material right now. Not with him, not with Cameron, not with anyone. There's so much work I should have done on myself first. Ironic that it takes being in a relationship to make you realize that sometimes. Am I going to break up with him upon this realization? Probably not. No need to make more hasty decisions. Maybe this is nothing. Maybe this will pass, maybe we can save this, maybe we'll be ok. I'm trying to trust where doubt and fear screams in my face. I'm trying really hard. Because after everything he's done for me, he fucking deserves it. He deserves all I can give, and more. Lately things just seem to be failing little by little, like organ systems when the body's deprived of oxygen. But I'm trying, dammit. So is he.

I'm going to cut this off before the emo starts leaking out the screen. Though in all honesty, I fucking hate that term "emo". For some people emotions are a luxury, for some, they're a necessity, sometimes they're an obstacle, they can be all three. Right now, they're presenting a bit of an obstacle. I try to work through that by writing about it. Is expression supposed to be devoid of anything but straight "today I did this" and happy thoughts? I just try to be honest. People shouldn't bullshit themselves. They're all they've got.

Gotta get to sleep.

up, down, turn around,
please don't let me hit the ground,
tonight I think I'll walk alone.
Find my soul as I go home. --moby

I WANT ONE!

Thu, 15 Feb 2007 06:33:19 GMT

<3

No, I still haven't written my damn paper. Either of them. Fuck.

quote

Thu, 15 Feb 2007 02:06:00 GMT

I watched this movie "Schizopolis"...experimental comedy...not quite sure I "got" it, but there were parts I really liked. For example, this quote is what a typical assignment for expository writing at Rutgers sounds like.

Protaganist's Boss: Here's what I need. It should be lengthy enough to seem substantial, yet concise enough to feel breezy. It should be serious, but with a slight wink. It should lay out a new course of action, but one that can change direction at any moment. If you must mention facts and figures, don't do so directly.
The general thrust should remain embedded in one's mind forever, but specific words should be forgotten the moment they are heard. It should contain nothing that can't be confirmed or denied. It should be on my desk Friday morning.

I swear to god. No one knows what the fuck they're doing in this class.

Anyway, I gotta go write that paper now.

Tue, 13 Feb 2007 07:14:45 GMT

"I don't want comfort. I want God, I want poetry, I want real danger, I want freedom, I want goodness. I want sin." - A. Huxley, Brave New World

: D

Tue, 30 Jan 2007 18:53:45 GMT

I feel 1000% better. And no nightmares last night.

strange dreams / visualization

Tue, 30 Jan 2007 01:22:55 GMT

The past three consecutive nights, I've had really odd/disturbing dreams:

First, I dreamed about this couple, this man and woman. They were lovers, but also sworn enemies - kind of like Aeon Flux and Trevor. I was watching a "showdown" between them in which they'd talk about what they wanted to happen to each other, and it actually would. The man said he wanted the woman to die by filling up her lungs and larynx and esophagus with mucus until she drowned from the inside. And as he was saying this, the dream actually showed her open mouth, going down into it, like she was swallowing a camera, and this white junk filling up her throat, killing her. Somehow at the same time, the woman was saying how she wanted the man to die from dismemberment. Needless to say, the whole thing was really graphic and horrifying. At the end of the dream, it showed them again. This time they were sitting in a kitchen together, eating breakfast, chatting politely - "Honey would you pass the toast?" "Sure, dear." A real Leave-it-to-Beaver kind of thing. Except that they were completely encased in this metal that gave them the shapes of humans, joined together...a giant one-piece thing that their bodies stuck out of. Conjoined robots, kind of. Then the metal shell lifted off, and I saw that all that was left of them was atoms - particles joined together by what looked like lines or sticks. Like in the "Learn to Draw..." books where it would show the framework inside the actual figure, which you hadn't drawn yet. It was all that was left. This couple had destroyed each other down to the molecular level.

Second dream (if you're still with me) I was the main character. I was in the back of a van, going somewhere with some anonymous people, when somebody shot me. I took a gunshot wound to the neck, near my collarbone. Still alive but shaky, I dragged myself over to a mirror and looked at the bullethole. Started to freak out, got my cel phone, called 911 and told them "I've been shot, I need an ambulance." But the people at 911 were like "Yeah, okay." They laughed at me, refused to take it seriously, and hung up on me. The rest of the dream I was wandering around looking for help, and no one could or would do anything about it.

Then last night, there was part of the dream where I was under a tree, in the underbrush, bushes and grass and stuff everywhere. I was kind of tangled and trying to extricate myself, trying to avoid the black widow spiders that were hanging around. There was a "zoom-in" effect to show me that they were, indeed, black widows - little hourglass on their stomach and everything. I got myself out, but not without being bitten twice by the widows, on my hand and my leg.

On a more positive note, I was laying around tonight, semi-sick, trying to sleep, when I got this kind of half-asleep vision of a crystal tortoise. It's shell shattered. Then I saw myself, covered in dead skin, with the names of ex-lovers etched all over me. Scratched into the skin where I've been hurt by exes, or where I've hurt them...boyfriends or not...everyone there was ever any pain with, their name was etched into my skin. And this skin cracked, and broke, and little by little I painstakingly peeled it off - sloughed it off my shoulderblades, pierced my fingers through it, scrubbed it out of my hair, peeled it off my legs, dug it out from between my toes. Like the VNV song - I shed my skin like a reptile. Underneath it, my skin was smooth, shining, real. I went and stood under a shower to rinse away any remains (the shower alternately looked like mine and the one at Stephan's.) Don't know where this visualization came from, but it was amazing, refreshing, and right now, emotionally, I feel better than I have in years.

On a more realistic note...school is going pretty well. I seem to be kind of sick with a less-severe version of the Death that Beth caught last week, so that kind of sucks.

I'ma go study Bio now.

picture-less puzzle!

Fri, 12 Jan 2007 07:03:05 GMT

http://ebaumsworld.com/2007/01/white-jigsaw.html

Warning: May be habit-forming.

(I got bored/gave up at 8x6.)

Finally finished registering for classes today at RU! I am taking essentially all english or lit classes, one for a requirement and two electives that fall into that category, haha. And one life sciences class - Medical and Social Issues in Bio. The required writing course is intro to Exposition, and the other 2 are Topics in literature: Madness and Perversion (which I'm taking with Bethy!) and Modern Fiction. Had to get permission for Modern Fiction, but that was retardedly easy - you just call up the department, and they give you a "permission number". I can't wait to start. I am so fucking excited! I need to make a facebook. And get a parking permit, and an ID thing. This weekend I guess.

Also, I worked out today. Half an hour on the treadmill, most of it jogging, and 300 tummy crunches. I need to keep this up!

as long as I can't sleep...

Fri, 05 Jan 2007 08:17:36 GMT

This is from "The New Yorker" and it made me laugh my ass off. The experiences sound more to me like 10+ mg of Ambien, but who's counting.

The first one's eh, but they get better as they go.

THE AMBIEN COOKBOOK
by PAUL SIMMS
Issue of 2006-07-31
Posted 2006-07-24

The sleeping pill Ambien seems to unlock a primitive desire to eat in some patients, according to emerging medical case studies that describe how the drug’s users sometimes sleepwalk into their kitchens, claw through their refrigerators like animals and consume calories ranging into the thousands.
—The Times.

Sorpresa con Queso
Ingredients:
7 bags Cheetos-brand cheese snacks
17 to 19 glasses tap water
5 mg. Ambien

Place Cheetos bags in cupboard.

Take Ambien, fall asleep.

Wait 2-3 hours, then sleepwalk to kitchen, tear cupboard doors off hinges in search of Cheetos.

Find Cheetos, eat contents of all 7 bags.

Fall back asleep on kitchen floor.

When awakened by early-morning sunlight, get up and say, “What the—?”

Wipe orange Cheetos dust from fingers, face, and hair.

Drink 17 to 19 glasses of water from kitchen tap.

Return to bed.

Icebox Mélange
Ingredients:
Entire contents of refrigerator
1 Diet Snapple
5 mg. Ambien

Take Ambien, fall asleep.

Wait 2-3 hours, then sleepwalk to kitchen.

Devour everything in refrigerator (including all fancy mustards and jellies, iffy takeout leftovers, and plastic dial from thermostat).

Belch loud enough to wake wife or girlfriend. When she enters kitchen, bellow, “Can’t you see I’m working here?”

Fall asleep on kitchen floor.

After 4-5 more hours, wake up on subway, fully dressed from the waist up, drinking a Diet Snapple.

Licorice Surprise
Ingredients:
1 black extension cord
1 wall outlet
5 mg. Ambien

Plug extension cord into wall socket near bed.

Plug other end of extension cord into clock radio on nightstand.

Take Ambien, fall asleep.

Sleep 3-4 hours.

Roll out of bed, wake up on floor.

See extension cord, think, What a big delicious licorice rope that is!

Chew on essentially flavorless cord until you get to the metallic center, where the surprise is.

Tummy Cake
Ingredients:
5 eggs
2 cups flour
1 cup Crisco
1/2 cup milk
5 mg. Ambien

Take Ambien, fall asleep.

Wake up in kitchen, mixing eggs, flour, Crisco, and milk in—for some reason—a mop bucket.

Let batter settle.

Go to living room, turn on TV, search channels for a show that explains the second part of how to make a cake.

Curse the designer of your TV remote for making a device that has the buttons on the wrong side—all facing the floor, where you can’t see them.

Remember batter.

Retrieve bucket from kitchen, drink entire contents in 3-5 gulps.

Remember that the batter was supposed to be cooked.

Draw hot bath, immerse yourself in it, knead bloated stomach in effort to facilitate cooking process.

When mouth fills with now cooled bathwater, wake up and return to bed.

Lie back on pillow, watch cartoon bluebirds orbiting your head.

Grab one cartoon bluebird in midair and devour it raw, feathers and all.

Wake up at 7 A.M., with wife or girlfriend demanding to know what the F happened in the kitchen last night.

While trying to answer, burp up a single cartoon-bluebird feather. Cover mouth guiltily, even though she seems not to have noticed the feather.

When she slams the bedroom door and goes to work, pick cartoon-bluebird feather out of the air and swallow it.

Fall asleep for 36 more hours, interrupted only by periodic—and somehow epic-seeming—trips to the bathroom.

Nhi Ho Trang Phu
Ingredients:
1 package beef jerky
1 quart mango-flavored Gatorade
1 saucepan potable water
Salt to taste
5 mg. Ambien

Lay out beef jerky and Gatorade on nightstand, in anticipation of somnambulistic snack attack.

Take Ambien, fall asleep.

After 2-3 hours, awaken half-submerged in a rice paddy in the jungle lowlands just north of the Mekong Delta.

Back “in country.” You know you’re going to Heaven, ’cause you’ve spent your time in Hell. But here you are once again—back in the Shit.

Stay still, stay quiet—as quiet as a mouse. You are asleep, but all of your senses are alert.

Spot V.C. sapper no more than one foot away, playing possum in spider hole beneath duvet-cover camouflage.

Silently stalk stationary V.C.; two can play this game, no?

When you gain tactical advantage, corner V.C. and remove ear(s).

Go to kitchen, put ear(s) into pot of water on stove, tie on souvenir lobster bib from Cape Cod trip last summer, sit down at kitchen table with knife in one hand and fork in the other, saying “Fee, fi, fo, fum” over and over—until water boils, or you wake up in police custody despite now earless wife or girlfriend’s protestations of your innocence as delivered to police detective in emergency room, where she now is (whichever comes first).

arg

Sat, 23 Dec 2006 08:44:27 GMT

Fuck me, I only got a C+ in Statistics. Would've done better if not for those last few confusing labs, and the final which there was not enough time for...but the other grades are better. A B in Life Span Psych, and I'm pretty sure A's in both Quant Psych and Journalism. So...wooo?

Lovin' the fact that Rutgers won't let me register for stuff until I take the writing proficiency test, and even then they won't accept my CLEP exam credits. Which are the equivalent of 2 English courses. Frustrating. Hope I can get the classes I want, assuming I can even work out a decent schedule.

Meh, I still have presents to wrap. And rooms to clean. Probably won't get much sleep tonight. And still a few things to shop for tomorrow...

I do love wrapping presents though. Especially when a Full House marathon is on! <3

my name-a Borat. I like you! I like sex! Is nice.

Wed, 20 Dec 2006 08:39:56 GMT

This was my review of "Borat" for Journalism class. I'm pretty happy with how it came out. Feel free to let me know what you think.

Borat: Cultural Learnings of America
For Make Benefit
Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan

If you’re looking for a heartwarming, life-affirming, family film to get you in the holiday spirit, “Borat” is definitely not the movie for you.

However, if you’re in the mood for a comedy involving racial humor, sexism, public defecation, loose livestock on New York transit, and the unsuspecting American public at its finest, it may be just what you’re looking for. If you want it delivered by a lanky, anti-Semetic, misogynistic foreigner with a dashing grin and a mustache that won’t quit, you’ve bought the right (overpriced) ticket.

Sacha Baron Cohen, the character actor best known from “Da Ali G Show”, plays Borat, a TV news reporter from the nation of Kazakhstan. We follow his misadventures as he and his companion Azamat start off in New York City, intending to interview important Americans there. However, on his first night in the hotel room, Borat sees Pamela Anderson on late-night TV and falls madly in love. Upon hearing that his wife in Kazakhstan has died (“High five!”), he immediately segues their ice-cream truck off to the west, to California, to pursue the woman of his dreams.

Along the way, we watch the hapless Borat and Azamat as they engage in all kinds of off-color hilarity. They purchase a bear for protection, which terrorizes small children. They mistake a pair of cockroaches for the kindly Jewish couple that has put them up for the night – and throw money in an attempt to pacify them. They roll around for several minutes in what’s quite possibly the most disturbing wrestling match in movie history. Through it all, they interact with American citizens in ways both horrifying and hilarious – sometimes at the same time.

One of the most striking examples of Americans’ reactions to Borat is when he visits a rodeo in Texas to sing the national anthem. He immediately gets the whole crowd cheering and applauding for him when during his introduction he declares, “I support your war of terror!” He continues with, “May George Bush drink the blood of every man, woman and child in Iraq!” - to still more cheers and applause. He then proceeds to turn the entire rodeo violently against him by singing the Kazakhstan national anthem – set to the tune of the American one. He is immediately thrown out.

It’s interesting to note that there are only four actual actors in the entire movie (though a couple of scenes, such as those involving Pamela Anderson’s kidnapping, were probably staged somewhat.) For the most part, you get to see Americans’ straightforward, unfiltered responses to this friendly, excitable, and naively offensive character. In this way, it’s a strange sort of documentary – a relatively new style which may very well be part of its popularity. It’s also a modern retelling of the American road trip, with unconventional characters and even more unconventional filmmaking.

For all its insanity, “Borat” does have its moments of clarity. Particularly at the end of the film, when Borat concludes that “If you chase a dream, especially one with plastic chests, you can miss the real beauty in front of your eyes.” While its brand of tasteless humor may keep it out of the hallowed halls of movie classics, it’s definitely both thought- and smile- provoking and should not be missed. But go see it in a large group – the moviegoers seemed more comfortable laughing that way.

"I'm never inspired. But if I'm lucky, my poems are."

Wed, 20 Dec 2006 06:34:28 GMT

So yeah, "Briar" is the working title of that first one in the last post. It's about a part of my personal life, but it was mostly inspired by The Nightingale and the Rose

“She said that she would dance with me if I brought her red roses,” cried the young Student; “but in all my garden there is no red rose.”
From her nest in the holm-oak tree the Nightingale heard him, and she looked out through the leaves, and wondered.
“No red rose in all my garden!” he cried, and his beautiful eyes filled with tears. “Ah, on what little things does happiness depend! I have read all that the wise men have written, and all the secrets of philosophy are mine, yet for want of a red rose is my life made wretched.”
“Here at last is a true lover,” said the Nightingale. “Night after night have I sung of him, though I knew him not: night after night have I told his story to the stars, and now I see him. His hair is dark as the hyacinth-blossom, and his lips are red as the rose of his desire; but passion has made his face like pale ivory, and sorrow has set her seal upon his brow.”
“The Prince gives a ball to-morrow night,” murmured the young Student, “and my love will be of the company. If I bring her a red rose she will dance with me till dawn. If I bring her a red rose, I shall hold her in my arms, and she will lean her head upon my shoulder, and her hand will be clasped in mine. But there is no red rose in my garden, so I shall sit lonely, and she will pass me by. She will have no heed of me, and my heart will break.”
“Here indeed is a true lover,” said the Nightingale. “What I sing of, he suffers: what is joy to me, to him is pain. Surely Love is a wonderful thing. It is more precious than emeralds, and dearer than fine opals. Pearls and pomegranates cannot buy it, nor is it set forth in the market-place. It may not be purchased of the merchants, nor can it be weighed out in the balance for gold.”
“The musicians will sit in their gallery,” said the young Student, “and play upon their stringed instruments, and my love will dance to the sound of the harp and the violin. She will dance so lightly that her feet will not touch the floor, and the courtiers in their gay dresses will throng round her. But with me she will not dance, for I have no red rose to give her;” and he flung himself down on the grass, and buried his face in his hands, and wept.
“Why is he weeping?” asked a little Green Lizard, as he ran past him with his tail in the air.
“Why, indeed?” said a Butterfly, who was fluttering about after a sunbeam.
“Why, indeed?” whispered a Daisy to his neighbour, in a soft, low voice.
“He is weeping for a red rose,” said the Nightingale.
“For a red rose?” they cried; “how very ridiculous!” and the little Lizard, who was something of a cynic, laughed outright.
But the Nightingale understood the secret of the Student’s sorrow, and she sat silent in the oak-tree, and thought about the mystery of Love.
Suddenly she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air. She passed through the grove like a shadow, and like a shadow she sailed across the garden.
In the centre of the grass-plot was standing a beautiful Rose-tree, and when she saw it she flew over to it, and lit upon a spray.
“Give me a red rose,” she cried, “and I will sing you my sweetest song.”
But the Tree shook its head.
“My roses are white,” it answered; “as white as the foam of the sea, and whiter than the snow upon the mountain. But go to my brother who grows round the old sun-dial, and perhaps he will give you what you want.”
So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing round the old sun-dial.
“Give me a red rose,” she cried, “and I will sing you my sweetest song.”
But the Tree shook its head.
“My roses are yellow,” it answered; “as yellow as the hair of the mermaiden who sits upon an amber throne, and yellower than the daffodil that blooms in the meadow before the mower comes with his scythe. But go to my brother who grows beneath the Student’s window, and perhaps he will give you what you want.”
So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing beneath the Student’s window.
“Give me a red rose,” she cried, “and I will sing you my sweetest song.”
But the Tree shook its head.
“My roses are red,” it answered, “as red as the feet of the dove, and redder than the great fans of coral that wave and wave in the ocean-cavern. But the winter has chilled my veins, and the frost his nipped my buds, and the storm has broken my branches, and I shall have no roses at all this year.”
“One red rose is all I want,” cried the Nightingale, “only one red rose! Is there no way by which I can get it?”
“There is a way,” answered the Tree; “but it is so terrible that I dare not tell it to you.”
“Tell it to me,” said the Nightingale, “I am not afraid.”
“If you want a red rose,” said the Tree, “you must build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with your own heart’s-blood. You must sing to me with your breast against a thorn. All night long you must sing to me, and the thorn must pierce your heart, and your life-blood must flow into my veins, and become mine.”
“Death is a great price to pay for a red rose,” cried the Nightingale, “and Life is very dear to all. It is pleasant to sit in the green wood, and to watch the Sun in his chariot of gold, and the Moon in her chariot of pearl. Sweet is the scent of the hawthorn, and sweet are the bluebells that hide in the valley, and the heather that blows on the hill. Yet Love is better than Life, and what is the heart of a bird compared to the heart of a man?”
So she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air. She swept over the garden like a shadow, and like a shadow she sailed through the grove.
The young Student was still lying on the grass, where she had left him, and the tears were not yet dry in his beautiful eyes.
“Be happy,” cried the Nightingale, “be happy; you shall have your red rose. I will build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with my own heart’s-blood. All that I ask of you in return is that you will be a true lover, for Love is wiser than Philosophy, though he is wise, and mightier than Power, though he is mighty. Flame-coloured are his wings, and coloured like flame is his body. His lips are sweet as honey, and his breath is like frankincense.”
The Student looked up from the grass, and listened, but he could not understand what the Nightingale was saying to him, for he only knew the things that are written down in books.
But the Oak-tree understood, and felt sad, for he was very fond of the little Nightingale who had built her nest in his branches.
“Sing me one last song,” he whispered; “I shall feel very lonely when you are gone.”
So the Nightingale sang to the Oak-tree, and her voice was like water bubbling from a silver jar.
When she had finished her song, the Student got up, and pulled a note-book and a lead-pencil out of his pocket.
“She has got form,” he said to himself, as he walked away through the grove – “that cannot be denied to her; but has she got feeling? I am afraid not. In fact, she is like most artists, she is all style without any sincerity. She would not sacrifice herself for others. She thinks merely of music, and everybody knows that the arts are selfish. Still, it must be admitted that she has some beautiful notes in her voice. What a pity it is that they do not mean anything, or do any practical good.” And he went into his room, and lay down on his little pallet-bed, and began to think of his love; and, after a time, he fell asleep.
And when the Moon shone in the heavens the Nightingale flew to the Rose-tree, and set her breast against the thorn. All night long she sang with her breast against the thorn, and the cold crystal Moon leaned down and listened. All night long she sang and the thorn went deeper and deeper into her chest, and her life-blood ebbed away from her.
She sang first of the birth of love in the heart of a boy and a girl. And on the top-most spray of the Rose-tree there blossomed a marvellous rose, petal following petal, as song followed song. Pale was it, at first, as the mist that hangs over the river – pale as the feet of the morning, and silver as the wings of the dawn. As the shadow of a rose in a mirror of silver, as the shadow of a rose in a water-pool, so was the rose that blossomed on the topmost spray of the Tree.
But the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn. “Press closer, little Nightingale,” cried the Tree, “or the Day will come before the rose is finished.”
So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and louder and louder grew her song, for she sang of the birth of passion in the soul of a man and a maid.
And a delicate flush of pink came into the leaves of the rose, like the flush in the face of the bridegroom when he kisses the lips of the bride. But the thorn had not yet reached her heart, so the rose’s heart remained white, for only a Nightingale’s heart’s-blood can crimson the heart of a rose.
And the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn. “Press closer, little Nightingale,” cried the Tree, “or the Day will come before the rose is finished.”
So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and the thorn touched her heart, and a fierce pang of pain shot through her. Bitter, bitter was the pain, and wilder and wilder grew her song, for she sang of the Love that is perfected by Death, of the Love that dies not in the tomb.
And the marvelous rose became crimson, like the rose of the eastern sky. Crimson was the girdle of petals, and crimson as a ruby was the heart.
But the Nightingale’s heart grew fainter, and her little wings began to beat, and a film came over her eyes. Fainter and fainter grew her song, and she felt something choking in her throat.
Then she gave one last burst of music. The white Moon heard it, and she forgot the dawn, and lingered on in the sky. The red rose heard it, and it trembled all over with ecstasy, and opened its petals to the cold morning air. Echo bore it to her purple cavern in the hills, and woke the sleeping shepherds from their dreams. It floated through the reeds of the river, and they carried its message to the sea.
“Look, look!” cried the Tree, “the rose is finished now;” but the Nightingale made no answer, for she was lying dead in the long grass, with the thorn in her heart.
And at noon the Student opened his window and looked out.
“Why, what a wonderful piece of luck!” he cried; “here is a red rose! I have never seen any rose like it in all my life. It is so beautiful that I am sure it has a long Latin name;” and he leaned down and plucked it.
Then he put on his hat, and ran up to the Professor’s house with the rose in his hand.
The daughter of the Professor was sitting in the doorway winding blue silk on a reel, and her little dog was lying at her feet.
“You said that you would dance with me if I brought you a red rose,” cried the Student. “Here is the reddest rose in all the world. You will wear it to-night next to your heart, and as we dance together it will tell you how I love you.”
But the girl frowned.
“I am afraid it will not go with my dress,” she answered; “and, besides, the Chamberlain’s nephew has sent me some real jewels, and everybody knows that jewels cost far more than flowers.”
“Well, upon my word, you are very ungrateful,” said the Student angrily; and he threw the rose into the street, where it fell into the gutter, and a cart-wheel went over it.
“Ungrateful!” said the girl. “I tell you what, you are very rude; and, after all, who are you? Only a Student. Why, I don’t believe you have even bog silver buckles to your shoes as the Chamberlain’s nephew has;” and she got up from her chair and went into the house.
“What a silly thing Love is,” said the Student as he walked away. “It is not half as useful as Logic, for it does not prove anything, and it is always telling one of things that are not going to happen, and making one believe things that are not true. In fact, it is quite unpractical, and, as in this age to be practical is everything, I shall go back to Philosophy and study Metaphysics.”
So he returned to his room and pulled out a great dusty book, and began to read.

It's the equivalent of a few pages long, but definitely worth the read, I think.

There's this whole tupperware of chocolate chip cookies sitting in front of me...man, when I break a diet, I do it RIGHT.

poetry! this stuff isn't entirely happy, but I wanted to share

Fri, 15 Dec 2006 07:30:09 GMT

Untitled

Blind hunter, golden-maned
nightengale finally pulled away -
he'd extended a tender hand
to comfort her, to wash her wound,
unable to see

she'd been bleeding on his thorn
for far too long, pouring out her heart
into his song of praise
just to stain a white rose red,

even as he told her
it was daisies he preferred instead.

Hunter, take the blossom to her mother,
piano swirling from her shaking hands.
Let her song lull you to sleep,
dreaming of a bird now dead.

Jedah

It's a cold place,
the backwaters of your mind.
Do you let me break the surface
for half-seconds at a time?

Not sure I deserved this,
the bitterness that comes with
exile among those others
in your personal oblivion.
Have you convinced yourself,
to some new heights you've risen,
by giving me this oubliette to live in?

Dark Messiah, as you name yourself
from pixels on a screen, projecting
all you never were
all that you wish to be - but
tell me, Giraffe-eyes,
who will you reach
when you can't even save yourself?
When you won't even talk
to me?

Still I wonder,
still sometimes I hope, desparation-driven,
"In some other life, when we are both cats,"
maybe then I'll be forgiven.

"Jedah" needs some work around the beginning of second part, I'd say. Eh. Anyone have any ideas on either?

I just registered for Rutgers classes - crazy schedule! I'm taking English, PreCalc (yuk), Biology 102 and a class in Buddhism. I only have one class on wednesday evenings, so i'll have that day to do homework and shit, so that's kind of nice. Thank you Bethy, for the nights I might be spending at your place...you are so generous. I will try to throw some money your way sometimes. <3

Let's hope my car can keep this up for longer than a couple of weeks.

pms

Sat, 02 Dec 2006 07:38:12 GMT

Yeah, its hitting me hard right now. I was telling Stephan the other day, PMS is like theres a little person in my head, in a boat, on this tumultuous huge rocking sea, trying to negotiate the storm and stay afloat. When I get super-upset over nothing like I do approximately once a month, thats the boat capsizing and salt water flooding in. But it usually manages to right itself, given a few gray wet days.

Sad 'cause I can't see him much lately (its about once a week at this point) and I miss him and am overwhelmed with schoolwork. I have about 6 journalism stories to write before the end of the semester and am stuck on most of them, and am falling behind in Statistics (gonna go to extra help tomorrow.) On the upside, as long as I keep doing decently on the labs and get at least a C on the last test, I'll have an A in that class. But right now the work is really over my head.

I have no idea why I haven't gotten the halloween pictures to Tara or anybody yet. It's got something to do with the fact that it takes my slow-ass computer a year and a day to upload them. There's a few up on my photobucket, but to get the rest up there will take about another hour, and I just haven't had the motivation lately. How dumb is that? Like it's some huge thing. Ugh. I'm sorry. I will try to do it in the next week or so.

On happier notes: I'm reading about 5 really good books when I have time (including Totto-chan! And hey Matt, I'm going to get Wee Free Men from the library as soon as I return the book I have from there now.) I dont care how dorky this sounds, but nevermind drugs or alcohol, reading is the best escape. Or maybe music, or both. I'm probably getting the Tori Amos Piano box set for Xmas from my family, looking forward to that. And Stephan's Xmas present to me is paying for me to get my nipples pierced, which I've wanted to do for ages now. My main present to him is paying for him to get the tattoo that I designed for him that he wants. We're getting each other body modifications, how crazy is that. ^_^

My sister got a puppy, and he is adorable, even when he nips, which he does, constantly. He's a yellow lab and his name is Bradley.

For the record, the entry below about getting crunked was actually made at about 7am. Not sure why the clock says noon. Wacky lj.

surprised I can type

Sun, 26 Nov 2006 12:09:54 GMT

I am at Jeff and Grace's, with Stephan snoring on the couch near me. (Lucky bastard!) We got a lot drunk, a little high, and in my case, disgustingly sick. Jaegertini's = worst fucking idea ever. I passed out around 1-ish probably, woke up at like 4, got sick again, passed out again till now. My stomach is still rolling and I am fighting off what's shaping up to be a wicked hangover.

At least when Jeff and Grace get up we're all gonna go to breakfast. Wooo IHOP or something!

I'ma go get some fresh water and lay down again.

porn for everybody!

Thu, 16 Nov 2006 03:28:20 GMT

Dear Santa...

Dear Santa,

This year I've been busy!

In August I bought porn for modifiedflesh (-10 points). Last Thursday on a flight to Pakistan, I stole the emergency flight information card (-40 points). Last Wednesday I bought porn for theladylivid (10 points). In July von_geisterhand and I donated clothes to the needy (11 points). Last month I punched _eisengel in the arm (-10 points).

Overall, I've been naughty (-39 points). For Christmas I deserve a lump of coal!

Sincerely,
NieEinEngel

brie write stuff.

Fri, 27 Oct 2006 03:37:53 GMT

Winter Coat

Even just after saying
“Bye” to him, and
“I love you” which I do –
I’ll hang out here, in this chill,
speak through shy appendages,
through fingers pale and small out of ratty fake-fur sleeves –
and wait, a while, for you.

And he and I – even among
our bright union of souls, snug as
bears in burrows or bodies in beds,
still, bitter-cold thought-currents
nip sharp as October’s warning that now whispers
in the metal through my ear.
Around the edge of our awareness,
pooling moonlit mercury bleeding, spreading,
trickles down to slip through
my fingers pale and small
out of ratty fake-fur sleeves.

The cold gets to this vulnerable, chubby body –
even layers of flub
and clothes, and jacket
no match for diamond-edged autumnal angry zephyrs.
Racing quicksilver, the myriad split-spilt feelings
chased by vainly reaching mind, controlling hand and shaking ink-filled stylus,
just barely held by fingers pale and small
out of ratty fake-fur sleeves.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I got a flu shot today...now my arms and shoulders and neck hurt. Other than that tho, things are ok.