That's all she wrote, for now anyway.

I wish I could say this blogging had been a pleasant experience for me. Or maybe not. I'm just glad it's over.  Today is the last day I can post (at least according to the calendar I've been following; I suppose I'll know the truth when I get my grades). I've hit my goal of 20 posts; though admittedly, a few of them were fairly lackluster. Still, I did accomplish something. I forced myself to do something completely anti-me, and I think occasionally I came up with some good shit. Mostly not, of course; but there are a few things I said here which may have been at least slightly entertaining.

I'd say I promise to post more, but that'd most definitely be a lie. I can't even promise I'll leave this blog up after June 20th. I'm 99% sure I'll be deleting the whole darn thing. I'm guessing no one cares though, since I'm fairly certain other than my bff K, no one has read this outside of my class. If I'm wrong, feel free to post a comment and tell me so.

I do know one thing for certain. I will not be finding a new career as a blogger anytime soon.

So now, peace out.

P.S. My mother is a fish.

~Ido Wah-Nah

What's up with disappearing ideas?

It's inevitable. Every time I have a great idea for a blog post, I'm no where near my computer. Then, by the time I get home the idea is gone. I sit down, stare at the blank spot and just drool. (Ok, I don't actually drool, but whatever.) 

Why can't I ever remember the good stuff? I know, I know; I should keep a little notebook to scribble the ideas down in. That's what all the cool cats do. Thing is, I suck at that. I never remember to bring them with me, or I end up with a dead pen, or I'm driving, or drinking. You name it, I have a way to fail at the task. It'd be so cool if I had a tape recorder in my head. Then I could just mentally push record and never miss a thing. 

Ok, I know, that's not realistic. Still, it'd be pretty damn cool. It'd be even cooler if you could record other people's conversations too. Think of all the funny moments you'd have. It'd certainly make researching a character type easier. If I were a scientist I'd totally follow up on this idea. (Or maybe not...sometimes my thoughts can be scary.)

Blah. Oh well. Maybe I'll remember what I actually wanted to say here tomorrow. Tune in then.

~Ido

I know you are but what am I

What's up with people acting like they're in high school when they're supposed to be grown ups? In the last three weeks I've had to deal with high school drama. Problem is, I'm almost 34 years old. I really can't stand drama. AT ALL. It's why I've isolated myself in my own life. I don't have people over often, I rarely go out, and I only maintain a few really close friendships. Otherwise, everything is done via email, facebook and phone. I'd rather not deal with childish behavior.

Of course, since this blog is only partially anonymous, there is always a danger I'll get accused of being "passive aggressive" or some such bullshit. I'm not being passive aggressive though. I'm being damn serious here. I HATE DRAMA. I'd rather watch paint dry while sitting next to a porta potty after 3 days of a barter fair using it. So why do people insist on causing it? Why can't they just play their role, step up and help out, and not try and break things that aren't broken.

At least this noise is almost over. 7 days and I graduate. S e v e n days.

If wishes were horses, beggars would ride

What is it with people handing out axioms like this to random strangers? You know, like when you're standing in line at the grocery store and someone walks up to you while you're trying to deal with a screaming four-year-old who wants "fruitsnacks right now! GIMMIE FRUITSNACKS!" and says: "Like my father always said 'spare the rod and spoil the child.'" I mean seriously, why do they think that shit is ok?

If they were wise, of course, they wouldn't actually make the mistake of saying this to me. I'm not exactly the type to react well to random idiots doling out advice. I'm actually one of "those" people who are prone to explosions of vulgarity when inappropriately "harassed" by busy-body blue-hairs. 

I wish people would mind their own damn business; unfortunately, wishes aren't horses, and I'm certainly not riding today.

It's 1:26am, do you know what your new neighbor's up to?

I live in a duplex. I've lived here for over 6 years now; I hate moving. The duplex is actually a two-story house which was (I'm assuming) converted into a duplex sometime in the 60's (at least based on the dark wood paneling, gold counter-tops and hanging lamps serving as ceiling lights in the bathroom). I live in the bottom half of the house, with the other half of the duplex above me.

During the 6 years I've lived here, I have had several neighbors; however, since mid-2007 I've basically had a vacant airspace above me. I've grown used to hearing nothing upstairs. I could listen to music 'til all hours of the night, let the kids scream at the top of their lungs and not be concerned when my 10 year old drama queen wanted to scream about my "murderous" ways because I took away the cable tv.

Then last week my landlord mentioned he had rented out the upstairs apartment. I immediately began to mourn the loss of my "solo" existence; I was going to have to deal with the noise intrusion of another and curtail my own explosions of sound from below. I warned the girls an upstairs neighbor was imminent and tried to mentally prepare myself for her arrival. I did take heart in my landlords description of her: "She's a cute little old lady who works at Wal*Mart in the Valley." Little old ladies aren't loud, right? And maybe she has the "grandma" trait which allows kids to do no wrong so she'll understand my kids occasional squabbles. I tried to tell myself it would be ok.

This afternoon I got a text from my landlord that the new neighbor was going to start moving in today; sure enough, when the girls and I got home for the day, there she was sweeping out the garage upstairs, with a jam packed u-haul out front. Being neighborly, I figured I should go introduce myself and the girls; so the three of us walked up to say hello and welcome her to the house.

Ok. I admit it. I also had an ulterior motive. See, I forgot to tell you one thing about the upstairs half of the duplex. Upstairs, instead of wall to wall carpeting, there is wall to wall hardwood floors. When the unit is full of furniture, it's tolerable (more things for sound to bounce off of and fade out), though still loud; but when the house is empty (like it is just prior to move in) it's downright deafening. I figured if I let her know up front how well we can hear the goings on up there (you can often hear casual conversation) and introduced her to my obviously still in bed before ten children she'd realize she shouldn't move around loudly after a decent hour. I thought she'd get the hint and cease the moving in process after say 9:30pm? Certainly no later than 11.

Ha! Tricks on me. I've been working on this blog now for 30 minutes and in that time I've heard my new neighbor move several large items into the house (clomp, clomp, clomp, screech, thump - "Damn it! I scratched it J-"). I've heard her break something; judging by the sound, this something was rather large. I've heard a vacuum, the sink run 4 times, and I'm pretty sure she's currently dancing directly over my head.

I'm concerned about the future of this relationship between us. She hasn't even lived here 24 hours yet and I'm already irritated. I really freaking hope this is an anomaly.

LOST, Failed

Ok, I admit it. I was a Lost junkie. I watched it every week, re-watched the seasons during the summer, spent time on forums reading fan theory, and just generally went overboard. I was looking forward to the end of the series last night, too. I didn't think they'd answer all the questions (they posed too many of them for that), but I was expecting a bit of closure.

So, did I get it? Did I get the resolution I was looking for? (Hint, if you're unsure of the answer, reread the title of this blog.)

Talk about a copout. That finale was atrocious. I was looking for a continuation of the incredible story-telling; instead, I got a pathetic excuse for an ending. They were all dead?!? The whole time. But it was real, but not real. And the island was purgatory, but not purgatory. Yet there is a sub? Or is there no sub...ARGH. Even 24 hours later I'm still pissed off. They never even explained what Eloise had to do with anything. Or why they had to all get to the concert. Or why they had to be busted out of jail...it makes no sense. That's ok though, because it was all in Jack's head anyway.

I. Demand. A. Do. Over.

129188404142994339.jpg (500�385)

129188404142994339.jpg (500�385)

It's headlines like this which make me smile. Why can't all the news have such fun headlines?

Words for no reason

I'm sure I'll get busted for this grumbly blog; but frankly, I just don't like doing this, and it's hard to come up with things to talk about. I've never been good at forced creativity. I don't like formulaic type things, either. This whole blogging process has pretty much irritated the hell out of me. I can't wait until the quarter is over and I've hit my prescribed posts for the year so I can stop this nonsense.

I have no intention of posting my poetry here, and I don't want to run a blog someday (I'm going for my MA in Lit next year and plan on going for the PhD after.) This is just a means to an end, nothing more. I wish I could figure out things to say which would be interesting to read. It'd be much easier if I had a list of epically awesome ideas floating inside my head. I actually contemplated if it would be acceptable to type the alphabet repeatedly, or recite nursery rhymes backwards; I decided that probably wouldn't count. Instead, I'm just going to post this rant of whining. It may not be entertaining to read, but at least it's not a pirate translation of Paparazzi.

Stressed spelled backwards is Desserts. Too bad I hate that crap

You know what I hate? Feeling guilty for being overwhelmed. I hate that I can't say what hell my life is like right now without knowing that someone's going to say I'm doing it wrong. Or even worse, saying "don't worry about it girl; you always figure it out somehow." Because when you do it all on your own for so long, people get used to you relying on you. They expect that you'll figure it out. It sucks to be dismissed.

Being a student in this economy is hard. Being a single mom in this economy is hard. Being a single-mom who is a student in this economy is exponentially harder. 

Let me give you an idea of my typical schedule:

• Wake up 6am
• Study 6-730am
• Get the girls up and off to school 730-830am 
• Carpool to campus 830-930am
• Tutor: 9:45-10:45am
• Study/Gym 10:50-11:50am
• Class/PLUS Group Facilitating: 12-220pm
• Pickup Kids 3pm
• Homework, Housework, Dinner, kids, etc: 3:15-8:15pm
• Study: 8:30-11pm
• Sleep: 11pm

Sometimes, this schedule is thrown off by other things, such as meetings, counseling appointments for the kids, extra activities for work, school, etc. I don't get every other weekend off when the kids visit their father (because they don't ever see their father); I don't receive child support (if I were to receive a lump sum payment of back child support owed, I could buy a Subaru, for cash).

Someone once asked me how I do it. I said "I don't know. I do it because I have to." And that's true. I do it because I only have one life; I only have one opportunity to get this shit right and I know what I want to do. I want to write poetry, and I want to pass on my joy for literature and the exploration of language to other people by teaching. That means I need to get a bunch of acronyms and attach them to the back of my name. It means I have to go to school and work my ass off. It means I have to make sacrifices (often including my sanity) so that while I'm working on my educational goals I still have time and energy to devote to my kids. It means sometimes I operate on 3 hours sleep because my girls want me to volunteer at field day. 

Thing is though, sometimes, I also realize I'm overwhelmed. I'm not superwoman afterall; I'm just highly motivated and determined. I'm also not stupid. I know when I need to delegate; I know when I need to take a deep breath; I know when I have to get a few minutes of quiet solitude where I do nothing but vegetate. So it really sucks when I reach one of those points and get faced with reproach for poor planning, or praise at my greatness and the face-slap compliment: "you'll figure it out, you always do" when I ask for help.

I could understand if I was a lazy bitch who never helped out anyone else. If I was a slacker who failed all my classes and never got my work done, I'd totally get it. But I'm not a slacker. And I do help people out. I'm the mom who always lets the girls classmates spend the night when their parents need a break. And I don't just take one kid, I take them all. And I always help my friends when they ask for help on an assignment, or need someone to bounce ideas off of. I complete my work in group projects and never let the group down. I help my family out even when I can't afford to or don't have the time; I make the time appear.

It's ok though, really. Cause they're right. I will figure it out. I always do; I do it because I have to. And I'll still smile when I see you and say don't worry about it. It always works out.  It will work out this time too. I'll do it. Don't sweat it. I won't even need ice cream or chocolate to get it done, either. I'll find some other way to destress, eventually.

You have got to be kidding me

Well, now I'm just irritated. I just spent an hour writing up a post, went to hit post, and stupid blogspot swallowed it. I even saved the stupid thing while I was writing with that save now button. Apparently that doesn't work. As a result, this post is the nitty gritty instead of the wonderfully written awesomeness that it was going to be. Sorry to let you all down.

Governor Gregoire is speaking at graduation.

• Politics don't belong at graduation.
• How is this not a political stunt?
• Who the hell thought this was a good idea?
• Why can't we have someone who graduated from EWU speak?
• Can someone tell me the positives of this idea?

The end.

Is it Me, or Not-Me, That is the Question...

An interesting idea was brought to my attention in regards to this whole blogging question. A good friend of mine was tasked with evaluating my blog here, and said that the voice on this blog is that of a character outside of myself. You know, like someone who is me, but not-me. This statement got me thinking. Am I portraying someone outside myself when I write this blog? Are the thoughts I post here just some fabricated reality; a person outside myself I've concocted to protect my true self from being seen?

My knee-jerk reaction is to say "What the fuck?" Of course this blog is me. It's coming from inside my head, and the stuff I spew out here is unadulterated Aubra mind-vomit. I'm not some wishy-washy fakesy-foolout person. Why the hell would I create a character? That doesn't seem like something I'd do, does it?

But then, I thought about it a bit more; I wondered, was this friend onto something? I mean yeah, the things I write here are my thoughts and ideas; but, I do check myself a bit. I know that there are people reading this thing, and regardless of how open and honest I set out to be I am protecting myself - at least a tiny bit. I know that if I were to say what I'm really thinking on a regular basis, there would be a huge potential for a riot.

Ok, maybe not a riot. I'm just some random person typing words on the interwebs; I'd be delusional if I thought I'd cause a real riot. But, I do realize that my honest thoughts can sometimes come off as caustic and a bit bitchy. Ok, a lot bitchy. And I also know that beyond the random interlopers who stumble upon this blog and actually read it (hello, are you out there? Why don't you ever comment damnit! I'm lonely) there are people from my class who I see on a daily basis who read this, not to mention that Professor person who is going to give me a grade at the end of the quarter. These are people who are my friends, people who I truly care about, and I don't want to offend them. So I do guard my thoughts, just a bit. And I check myself before posting the truly terrible ideas (not terrible for me, terrible for them), so that I won't inadvertently hurt them.

So I guess this friend of mine who evaluated my blog was right, sort of. Not in the sense that the person writing this blog isn't me; it's more that the person writing this person is a part of me. The part of me that I am comfortable sharing. It's the part of me that is cleaned up and approved for public viewing.

I'm wondering though, am I doing myself and this blog a disservice by doing this? Should I be talking about the things I really want to talk about? I mean I set this blog up for the world to view annyomously; I did it so I could spout the true feelings in my head. Yet, because it's posted on the classroom discussion board with my name attached to it, its lost the annoymous nature within my classroom. This, of course, lead me to protecting my friends from being hurt and myself from being screwed - academically speaking. It has caused me to think about topics I want to blog about, then toss them because I don't want to be offensive. (If you're wondering what sorts of topics, the one I'm thinking could be the most troublesome for me is my thoughts on religion, and my lack of it.)

So I ask you, readers, does it bother you that I'm only sharing a tiny bit of me here? Am I dumbing this shit down by only talking about the safe stuff? Or, am I doing the smart thing in protecting myself and my friends. I really do want to know.

Btw, to my friend who pointed this out when you critiqued my blog, I hope I didn't offend you with this post. I appreciate your feedback, and you really got me thinking, so thank you.

Ido

Blisters, Bloomsday and Bitching...Coherence be damned

Yesterday was my third year completing Bloomsday (www.bloomsdayrun.org if you're unfamiliar with the race or want more information.) I spend loads of time training each year, working out both on the road as well as in the gym on the treadmill; my goal is to always beat the finish time of my previous years run and this year was no different. My first Bloomsday, I finished the race in a terribly disappointing 2hours 31 minutes. I had planned on going much faster, and had in fact posted faster training times in the weeks leading up to the race. Unfortunately, I broke a cardinal rule of walking/running prior to that first race: I bought new shoes and wore them straight out of the box on race day. I learned that day why I also have a secondary goal of finishing the race without a blister. By the time I finished the course, I was in so much pain I couldn't hardly stand myself. My feet were full of bloody, gucky blisters and each step was pure agony. It took over a week for my feet to heal. I did however learn why they say you should break your shoes in.

The second year I did Bloomsday (last year) was just about as disastrous, but for slightly different reasons. I  didn't make the mistake of wearing new shoes; no, this time I made the mistake of wearing the same shoes I wore the previous year. I figured they must have been broken in since I'd worn them for an entire year at that point. Thing is, shoes don't last forever, so instead of getting blisters from new shoes, I got blisters from old shoes. Go me! Additionally, I did the race a mere two days after having surgery to break up some kidney stones. The doctor had said walking would help me pass them, so I figured why not walk 7.46 miles! Of course, I probably shouldn't have done it, but in my vicodin induced haze, I thought I could rule the world. Instead, I spent half the race dizzy and lightheaded from the drug, and the other half seeking out a toilet. Quite an interesting experience. Still, I beat my time of the previous year (by a whopping 5 minutes) and I felt a sense of accomplishment.

This year, I made some changes to my game plan. I decided I wouldn't wear brand new shoes, and I wouldn't wear super old shoes. I went out and bought new shoes a month prior to the race and spent the time leading up to it breaking them in. I also went to a running store and got advice on new socks, and I got some of that super cool glide stuff I'd heard so much about. I set out with the goal of not just finishing faster, but finishing the race without a single blister. I figured that the new wicking socks, coupled with shoes which fit properly and had been appropriately broken in would make all the difference in the world. HAH! Seems my feet had other plans. I actually got my first blister before passing the one mile mark. By the third mile, I could feel the familiar squish which signals that a blister had exploded, and by the 5th mile I was in so much pain I could no longer carry on a conversation with my friend. Each step was so painful all I could do was bite my lip. The only thing that kept me going was knowing that even through all the pain I was ahead of my previous years time. When I crossed the finish line, I had beat my previous years time again (this time by 9 mins.) and finished in 2hrs, 18mins, 45 seconds. I almost didn't care though. My feet were (and are) currently more closely related to hamburger than a human appendage suitable for mobility. I was actually considering amputation last night. This morning isn't much better. My right foot is oozing fluids and the idea of walking to the kitchen is liable to send me over the edge. Thankfully the girls have no school so I'm forced to stay home and wallow in my own self pity and pain.

So the question then becomes, why do I do this to myself? What is it which drives me to put myself through so much agony? I wish I could say I know for sure the answer. Unfortunately I don't. I just know that regardless of the pain I go through, I have to finish it. I set the goal each year and I refuse to give up. Kind of like everything else I do in my life. It doesn't matter how much it hurts or how hard it is, if I want to say I did it, then I actually have to do it. Blisters and bitching be damned.

Pizza Delivery Shenanigans

I spent this weekend taking a class on Stimulants and Intoxicants. It was a fascinating course, but it pretty much sucked the life out of me. I was there Friday from 6pm-10pm, and Saturday and Sunday 9am-5pm. In between the class I had to finish reading Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott and All the Kings Men by Robert Penn Warren, write an essay on As I Lay Dying by Faulkner and deal with the death of my internet (which is fixed now, thankfully.) To add to the insanity of the weekend, my good friend R asked me to help write his performance evaluation for work (he's a great coder but a terrible writer.) I had already committed to help him, so I couldn't exactly say no - especially when he told me it was due Monday morning. Needless to say, by Sunday evening I was pretty much exploding with stress and the thought of making dinner for the monkies was not exactly appealing. I decided ordering a pizza was a great idea.

Now I just have to say this: I don't normally order pizza for delivery. I'm a huge fan of take and bake pizza. It tastes way better and I get the added benefit of a house filled with the smells of a freshly baked pizza. It makes me happy inside. Even when I do order pizza, I stick to the Pipeline. They have this yummy asian chicken thing that my tummy rather enjoys. It costs a fortune, unfortunately, so this time I didn't really have the funds to order it. So, I decided to take Dominos up on that offer they've been blasting all over the TV. You know, the 'we know you all think we sucked before, so we're going to change our formula and try and get you to come back by offering a really cheap deal' commercials that have inundated the airwaves lately. I haven't had a Dominos pizza in at least 15 years, so I figured since I was going to order one anyway, I might as well get one from them.

Heh. That was such a terrible idea. I placed my order at 8:27pm (I know because that's when they charged my credit card according to the bank records.) I was told that it would arrive in 35-45 minutes. I should probably mention here that my house is not exactly easy to find. Well, technically it is easy, it's just that because there isn't a house number on it and the post office doesn't recognize the address as being real, it won't always come up in a gps locator. This means that I always have to tell the driver to call me when they're near my house so I can go outside and flag them down. No big deal, usually. I told the person who took my order on the phone to have the driver call when he/she/it was nearby and I'd come right out.

Around 9:30, I started to wonder why my phone hadn't rang. I decided I'd give the store a call and ask if my pizza had left the building yet. The man who answered the phone asked me for my name and when I told him he immediately started yelling at me. (No, I'm not exaggerating, he really was yelling at me. Loud enough the girls came in from the living room to find out what was up.) He said something along the lines of "Our driver was at the address you gave for 25 minutes driving around, and he called the number you gave but it was FAKE and for a fax machine." I replied to what he said by saying "Um, then your driver is lying to you, because I've been sitting here in my house at the address I gave you and I haven't gone anywhere, and my phone did not ring once." I was fairly irritated at his demeanor on the phone, and I probably shouldn't have called his driver a liar, but I couldn't think of anything else to say right at that moment.

Apparently calling his driver was the WAY WRONG thing to say because at this point the guy on the phone totally went off the deep end. He started screaming at me, telling me that I was the rudest person he had ever dealt with in his life. I tried to interrupt him repeatedly, but he kept screaming at me 'stop yelling! you're upset about a damn pizza, does this make sense?' I was thinking to myself 'um, douche, you're the one screaming.' but I couldn't of course say that because every time I would try and talk he'd say 'STOP INTERRUPTING ME OR I'M GOING TO HANG UP ON YOU!' After about 10 minutes of this, he finally started to calm down a bit, so I asked him 'So can you resend my pizza now?' And he said 'No, I'm concerned about the safety of my driver. I think you're a threat.'

Huh? You just spent 15 minutes screaming at me because I innocently inquired about my pizza and it's lack of delivery, and somehow I'm a threat? W T F

Oh, I should also mention this: the guy who was yelling at me? Yah, he was the General Manager of the store. I learned this when I tried to end the conversation with him by asking to speak with his manager. He replied 'I am the manager, bet you wouldn't have talked to me like you have been if you knew that! Keep being nasty and I'll ban you from ever ordering pizza here again.' Yay, a Pizza Nazi. As if I would want to order another pizza after being treated like that. I'm not a fan of paying to be treated like shit.

I told the guy that I'd just like my credit card refunded at this point (I was actually crying after his nastiness, which I think is a testament both to how much of a dick he was being, as well as the level of stress I was feeling at the time.) He actually refused to refund it. Spouted some crap about how I had placed a crank pizza order and I didn't deserve my money back. Right, because I enjoy ordering and paying for pizza's and not eating them. That makes sense.

I finally gave up and just hung up the phone. Ended up driving to McDonald's at 10pm to pick up happy meals for the kids and stewing myself in a pot of rage for a bit. Totally productive use of my time. I also called around to neighboring Dominos and got the name and number of the owner (the maniacal manager refused to give it to me) with the plan of spending all day Monday getting the guy freaking fired. I also posted my saga on facebook, looking for sympathy, which I got quite a bit of. One of my friends though, H, said something which I thought was quite brilliant. She said 'I often wonder, when situations like this occur, what is going on in the person's life to make them behave like that.' She said that maybe the guy was having an absolutely terrible day. Not that it would excuse his behavior, but maybe it would put it a bit in perspective.

I went to bed thinking about what she said. In the morning, when I made my phone call, I kept what she said in my mind. I talked to the owner (who was really nice, btw) and he confirmed the sentiment. He told me that the manager had been going through a really rough patch personally. Told me that this was the first complaint he had ever had about the guy and he was totally shocked. He said it didn't excuse the behavior, and he would get to the bottom of it.

About 30 minutes later I got a phone call from the manager. It was a completely sincere call too. He didn't try and lay blame on me at all. Said he was totally in the wrong and he felt really terrible. He knew he had made me cry and he was pissed at himself for the situation. For some reason, I believed him.

I don't know that there is a moral to this post. I guess it's just this: remember that we're all human. Sometimes, we fuck up.

The end.

Technology Dependence Blows Sometimes

So this weekend, my internet died. At first, I thought it was due to a bad modem connection; however after working with the cable company I learned that it is actually an issue with the transmission of data back to the cable company. Basically, I can receive data, but I can't effectively send it back. This means that I can't connect to the internet, nor can I use the on demand services of my cable box. 

Why is this a big deal? It's not like I need the internet or on demand in order to eat, sleep, or entertain my children. I can still walk the dog, and I can still drive my car. I can even still watch tv. You'd think I could just hold out until it can be repaired (Tuesday morning between 9-11am, if you're wondering.) Well, the thing is, we don't just depend on the internet for fun and entertainment anymore; we use it to complete tasks required for work and school, balancing our checkbook to ensure we don't bounce payments, paying bills. In my case, I'm required to post to this blog twice a week, yet I've had a problem doing this because I have no internet access. I missed the requirement of posting because I was unable to secure a connection easily to post. I also am supposed to be writing a paper which requires research. Without access to the internet for research purposes, I can't complete my paper easily. Dragging two kids out to Cheney to study in the library isn't really something I can do effectively.

This isn't to say I don't appreciate the use of the internet and technology, or the convience it provides for me. It just means that when it is no longer available to me, I realize how dependent I've become on it.

I'm truly dumbstruck.

NCLR: issues & cases > case docket > greene v. county of sonoma et al.

For once, I'm truly speechless.

Shame on you Sonoma County.

Way to fail, Mom

129156884821484602.jpg (500�375)

I've been a follower of failblog for a long time. Usually, I get a good chuckle. Not this time though. This picture is disturbing to me on so many levels. I can't even imagine what this Mom was thinking. I can tell by the drink in her hand that it's most likely not beer (looks like a bug juice bottle if I had to guess), and I'm sure she thought it would be 'funny.' Thing is though, it's not. If this picture had showed up on my facebook status updates or made it's way into my inbox, I'd probably have felt inclined to report the mom. Or if not report her, at least inform her that she's an idiot of the highest order. I'd also be sure to remove her from my friends list. Such a classy move...not.

I really don't have a darn thing to say....or is that a lie

So, yeah. I've got really nothing to say today. I've usually got nothing to say.

Ok, that's a lie (I'm apparently prone to lying now.) I usually do have something to say. Those who know me well know I've almost always got an opinion on something. It's just that I don't have anything to say as a blogger. I'm only posting to this blog because I'm required to. There is no other reason. I'm not the type to spill the ideas I have out of my head in this sort of forum. It's just not my thing.

Plus, I'm a poet. I'm not a writer. Not in the way that other people are. I mean I sometimes will write things -stories for my girls, letters to the editor, research papers exploring the meaning of names in novels - but I don't consider myself a writer in the general sense of the word.

We were told we had to write on these blogs in order to develop a habit of writing every day. It's supposed to be solving the 'butt in the chair' issue for us. But the thing is, that is NOT how it works for me. Because I'm not a writer. I'm a poet. Even if I felt I needed to have the 'butt in the chair' issue solved for me by being forced into writing a poem a day, there is no way I'd be posting my half-assed, forced out, uninspired bullshit poems on a blog for the whole world to read. I don't share my poems until they're ready to be shared. And even after I think they're ready to be shared, I wouldn't want to share them on a public blog and basically publish them. That'd be rather counter-productive to the process.

Ugh. I did it again. I lied. I actually did have something to say.

Yay for negativity.

Cops: Dad left pot in kindergartner's Elmo bag | KOMO News - Breaking News, Sports, Traffic and Weather - Seattle, Washington | Offbeat

Cops: Dad left pot in kindergartner's Elmo bag |
KOMO News - Breaking News, Sports, Traffic and Weather
- Seattle, Washington
| Offbeat

Ok, so after reading this, I have a couple of questions.

First: how in the hell do you forget you put four ounces of weed in your kids backpack? I mean seriously. That's more than just a little baggy. That's like 4 freezer bags of the shit.

Second: why the hell didn't anyone smell it prior to the dad calling them about it? I mean seriously, if the kid had that much bud in his backpack it had to have been stinking up the classroom like a dead skunk.

Third: If you ARE dumb enough to leave your four ounces of weed in your kids back pack, do you seriously think it's a good idea to call the school and tell them you're coming to retrieve it? I've met a lot of potheads in my days (I am from Seattle after all) and while they may not always be the brightest bulb in the box, they're usually not idiots. It takes a special type of ganja-guru to manage that sort of stupidity.

Fourth: $100,000 bond for 4 ounces of pot? Seriously? I know it's more than what they'd deem appropriate for a 'personal use' misdemeanor, but $100,000? That seems a bit extreme. Some idiot hit a kid with his car while driving drunk the other day and only got a $20,000 bond, is being an idiot stoner really worse than that? FFS.

Blathering is Dangerous...Too bad I live for danger

I've decided to throw the whole 'thinking before I type' thing for this post out the window. I'm not going to even edit what I type for clarity; not because I don't care about being clear - I do. It's just that, right now, my brain is spinning too fast to come up with coherent thoughts.

Ok, I lied. The internal editor in my brain is still working on overdrive - even though I told it to shut the fuck up at least a dozen times. Maybe if I go to the mirror for a second, I'll silence the mofo who keeps me from saying what I want to say without hitting delete a dozen times....give me a second or four.

Damnit. Didn't work. Maybe I'll try and write my way into this one....except, I'm not sure how to even do that. Crap....Cussing is allowed on these things right? I hope so, 'cause if not, I'm screwed.

I know. I'll type the words I want to say, then if I decide I don't like how it's starting, I'll hit enter instead of delete.

Nah...screw it. I'll just say it and get it over with. Bragging is boring, but sometimes a girl's gotta do it anyway.  About an hour ago, after sitting on pins and needles in the land of limbo, I learned I've been accepted into grad school. I've been working towards this goal since 2003; I sacrificed a hell of a lot personally and financially in order to get here. I moved away from family and friends; I ate, slept and breathed this goal, day in and day out; I often sacrificed my own sanity for this moment; I'm actually still in a daze and wondering if this is all just a dream.

Phew. I feel better now.

I suppose everything starts somewhere...

I could lie and say this is my first time starting a blog. I could make up a bunch of wicked cool shit and wow you with my pithy humor and well thought out reasons for avoiding starting a blog before now; I'd probably be believable. Unfortunately, I have this thing about lying; I don't like it. Sure, lying can be useful occasionally, and it's great for telling a story, but the fact is I just can't do it. So, I won't be saying "this is my very first blog, please be gentle." Instead, I'm going to say this: I suck at blogs. I'm not good at randomly spewing my thoughts out for the whole world to see; I'm terrible at deadlines and upkeep of things which have no 'real' boundaries or timelines; I'm bored of bragging.

Seriously. I mean yeah, I know, I'm a writer. I'm supposed to write. It's in my blood, right? It's a part of my soul and when I don't let it out a bit it gets despondent. Crap. It's all crap. I write, so what? I write when I'm inspired; I write when I get excited by a random conglomeration of words; I write when I feel like it. I rarely, if ever, write just because I'm supposed to. 

Ok, that's sort of a lie; I need to reword this. I do write because I'm supposed to, sometimes. I write when one of my professors tells me to for a grade; I write when my girls need a letter explaining why they won't be in class once a week for counseling; I write comments on the rent check so I have "proof" I paid. But I don't record my thoughts in text daily because I have to; it's not who I am. 

Plus, like I said before, I'm no good at it. I forget to log in for weeks at a time; I can't come up with anything worthy of writing (or I can but one of the girls has forbidden me to share the story); I suck at the hook. In general, this is just so not my thing.

Why then, you're probably wondering, I am I writing this blog now? Pretty simple answer, really. Because this is one of those "supposed to" things. You know, for a grade?  

Yep, this is straight out of the "you must complete this task or suffer the consequences" moments. I'm doing this only because I'm "supposed" to. 

That's not to say I don't give a damn in the process of course; I completely "get" the point of the task. It's just, like I said before, I can't do this if I don't begin it honestly. It's better that way.

I'm going to make no promises on the content of this blog - I've not developed a single theme I'll follow. I'm just going to log on, frequently, and type what comes into my head. 

We'll see how it goes. This is all a work in progress.