Outwitting Bacteria's Wily Ways

By the Way

2010-09-04T21:52:00.000-07:00

Oh, I forgot to tell you! You can read me here now.

Easy in my harness

2010-04-08T22:37:00.000-07:00

Right now, the EMU is quiet. There are no epileptic children squawking, as there often are. It makes this place feel like a pet store full of myna birds and guinea pigs rather than a specialized care unit in one of the more prestigious hospitals on the Eastern Seaboard. When it is quiet like this, and no one is fussing with my electrodes or checking my pulse, and all I can hear are the sounds of minutes passing by I think I might mistake whatever I am feeling for something close to contented.

It is, in some ways, a relief to be literally glued to one spot for a time, at least for me-- at least for now. For all the discomforts of the wires, and the tedium, and the terrible food they bring me (or forget to bring me...), I can sort of make peace with being stuck here. I have to be here, for a predetermined length of time, for a predetermined reason, and that is that, There is no anguish on my part whatsoever over what I should be doing, and if it is the right thing to be doing at all. It is easier to stifle longing for various elsewheres when I cannot even walk across the hall. Of course I cannot be at Knox right now, I am glued here. I am glued here until Monday, and so why bother longing at all?

It is, of course, not so easy to settle into my surroundings when I am at home. There I am also trapped, in a lot of ways (some some of them literal, some of them less so), but for no good reason. When I am able-bodied and un-glued, I do not think I should be content to sit in Maryland, biding my time until somebody signs my permission slip. Just as the wild animal who knows he is injured will allow himself to be handled and caged, and the one who is well will bite and pace when he is restrained, so too do I, I suppose (Now I apologize for that metaphor, I really do, but it was apt, you see. You understand. Don't make fun).

All of this is not to say that I do not want to be at Knox right now, because of course I do.I just have momentarily sorted out "something I want" from "something I should have", and so the turmoil of being trapped has died down. It's nice. When you give up the struggle, it is quiet. The myna birds of the EMU will teach you that.

**Post originally written 3/27/2010. There is sadly very spotty internet in the Epilepsy Monitoring Unit, so it was not published at the time.

Ain't no tuition for having no ambition, and ain't no loans for sittin' at home

2009-07-21T21:05:00.000-07:00

Listening to rap makes me write papers faster. Who knew?

Bananas are the worms of the fruit kingdom

2009-03-31T13:32:00.000-07:00

Ah, springtime. The air is warming, the breezes are slight and welcome, the cherry blossoms are emerging, the lawns are slowly greening, and the occasional rain is perking up the tired shrubberies and encouraging tiny crocuses to burst forth from the thawing soil.

Do you know what else the gentle, sweet-smelling rains of spring are doing?

FLOODING OUT THE MOTHERFUCKING WORMS.

Now, don't get me wrong, I totally dig the nature scene. What I lack in actual wilderness skills, I attempt to make up for in enthusiasm. I will watch (and enjoy) a two-hour PBS program about the world's largest crocodiles, killer bees, sloths, or the mating habits of invertebrates of the sea. In fact, a good portion of my winter break was spent learning about the snakehead fish, or Channidae (well, that and Freemasons...). My leisure reading currently includes "The Life of Prairies and Plains", and the stupidest excuse of a state I've ever lived in (Maryland) is only redeemed by its state parks and woodland creatures. I hang nineteenth century biological prints of beetles and snakes in my dorm room. I know what Michigan's state flower is (trillium), where to find it (low-lying, in shady to partial sun areas of woodlands), and why I shouldn't pick it (it's pretty rare 'n' stuff). My favorite books as a child were "The Root Children" and later "Where the Red Fern Grows". What I saying here, and I think you've picked up on it by now, is that I am by no means ANTI-nature.

Here's where the beetles an bugsies come in. I'm kind of...not totally okay with all of them, PARTICULARLY worms. Oh gosh, I shudder to think of them, actually. In the days when I walked the one and a half blocks to Willow Elementary, I came close to hyperventilating on many a rainy morning in April. Worms are just...icky. They're all squishy, and squiggly, and...ew. I'm grossing myself out here just thinking about it.

Actually, the real reason I'm grossing myself out is that the means by which I evaluate a bug's relative ickiness is by evaluating its hypothetical mouthfeel.

Now, I know what you're thinking. "Krissy. Um. So like, you imagine...so wait, WTF?"
And I know what you mean! But see, I don't actually ever EAT bugs. I don't WANT to. And I don't imagine how they would TASTE. I just, you know, contemplate their texture and chewiness. So, not actually weird at all. If a bug seems like it would be squishy or slimy (I don't like melted cheese, Portabello mushrooms, pudding, or bananas for a reason, people), then chances are I am either grossed out by or afraid of it. If a bug seems like it'd be crunchy or at least kind of firm, then no problem (I'm a fan of the exoskeleton, apparently)!

In conclusion, I can't wait for it to be May.

Get to Know Your Serotonin Representatives

2009-03-04T22:31:00.000-08:00

There comes a time in every girl's life when she asks herself: "How well do I really know my circulatory and nervous systems?"

This usually occurs after an episode of syncope, as it did for me, and it led me to physician after physician seeking answers. this is because, as it turned out, I didn't really know my circulatory or nervous systems at all. Here I had been, thinking that my fainting spells were "out of character" for them, when really it was them finally manifesting their underlying character. It had been there all along.

With every new pronouncement of pathology that gets filed away in my ever-expanding medical record, I get to experience that strange collision of frustration ,worry, fear, bafflement, optimism and doubt that is the moment of diagnosis.

And so, upon reflection, things really aren't so bad after all.

...But Sometimes They Ask About Other Things.

2009-02-17T22:51:00.000-08:00

Other things being: Are you alive? Are you still in college? Have you told the folks about the convulsions, Krissy?

Unconventional Usage of SSRI-class Medications for Experimantal Treatment

2009-02-02T14:32:00.000-08:00

I have not been unconscious in a while. The pills are keeping me upright but making me sad.

Operation CBC EBV

2008-12-27T21:03:00.000-08:00

18 December 2008:

8:30 AM

I am asleep. An alarm is set for 9:30. This allows me precisely one half-hour to wake, dress, and eat before leaving for a physical therapy appointment. I have no plans of being awake until that time. In fact, I have no plans whatsoever. This is due to my being asleep.

My mother places a phone call to Pediatric Associates of Ellicott City, inquiring about test results to see if I have mono. Since I am eighteen, she is unsuccessful.

9:00 AM

My mother, believing the hours before eleven AM to be the most crucial, wakes me. She requests that I call the Pediatric Associates of Ellicott City myself to get the results that she could not. I decline.

9:05 AM

My mother attempts to wake me again, although I have not yet fallen back asleep. I am tired. This is due to my lack of plans to be awake. Too fatigued to yell downstairs, I place a call from my cell phone.

9:07 AM

The house phone rings. My mother answers. This exchange follows:

Krissy: Why, mother, WHY, did you think it was a good idea to wake me up half an hour before I NEEDED to be up to ask me to make a NON-ESSENTIAL phone call that could just as easily be made half an hour later?

Carmen: Well, I just thought...

Krissy: WHY?

I hang up.

9:10 AM

I am unable to fall back asleep. I go downstairs. I ask for the phone number to the Pediatric Associates of Ellicott City.

9:15

After calling the Pediatric Associates of Ellicott City, I am still on hold. I tire of listening to smooth jazz selections from the Nutcracker Suite. I abandon my mission and get ready t go to physical therapy instead.

9:30

Afraid of the Pediatric Associates of Ellicott City returning my phone call while I am out, and risking their refusal to leave my test results on the answering machine or with my sister, I hatch a plan.

Krissy: Kylie, I have a spy mission for you.

Kylie: ...

Krissy: If the doctor's office calls while I am out, TELL THEM YOU ARE ME. They will give you my test results. WRITE THESE DOWN. Okay?

Kylie: Okay.

11:00 AM

I return home from physical therapy.

Krissy: KYLIE! Come down here and give me your spy report!

Kylie: Oh, um, well, okay, so, I told them I was you, but, then they wanted to know what the test was for, but I didn't know...

Krissy: Did you crack?! GOD, Kylie, you ALWAYS crack! You are a TERRIBLE spy!

Kylie: I didn't! I didn't! I stuck to the plan! I told them the fax number of your cardiologist, but they still wanted to know what the test was for. So, I just said I needed to ask my mom...

Carmen: You did the right thing, Kylie. WE'll just have to call back...

Krissy: You failed your spy mission. The man from Uncle would NOT be proud.

Kylie: I was given faulty intelligence!!

Krissy: There are no excuses for failed spy missions. I am going back to bed.

2:00 PM

I wake from my nap. My mother has attempted to call the Pediatric Associates of Ellicott City twice more to get my results. The first attempt was unsuccessful. On the second try, the mission was a success.

I had mono.

I Got Rhythm

2008-11-23T10:30:00.000-08:00

You (if there is a "you" anymore for this blog) will not likely be surprised to learn that I have returned to blogging only because I am stuck at home. You will also likely assume that I am stuck at home because of medical complications. As it happens, you are right.

Postural tachycardia syndrome (POTS) and neurally mediated hypotension (NMH) are at it again, those rascally disorders responsible for such hilarious hijinks as "In the ER Again" and "Passed Out on the Pavement"! They're back and better than ever, this time sending me home from college early with incompletes in all of my classes. Now, don't get me wrong. I'm used to this stuff! I was expelled from my high school because of this stuff. I spent a year not leaving my house because of this stuff. I went to community college for a year because of this stuff. This stuff didn't jump out from behind the shrubbery and surprise me one foggy evening.

Excluding the element of surprise, though, does not make POTS and NMH significantly more manageable. For whatever reason, no matter how many times I explain to the paramedic that I KNOW what's wrong with me, and I DON'T need to go to the hospital, they never seem to trust the trembling eighteen year-old that is lying on the floor of the classroom that they arrived to find unconscious and convulsing. Go figure.

What all of this means, and what I'm getting to, is that I'm back and at it again-- new medications! After altering the dosage of something I'm already on (Florinef), it has been determined that new and different classes of medications will be required to treat my symptoms. That's where Norpace comes in.

Norpace is an antiarrhythmic drug that works by blocking certain signals to the heart that may cause it to beat abnormally fast. It's kind of an intense drug, usually administered in hospitals to patients with life-threatening ventrical tachycardia. It is not recommended for minor conditions. It is not designed to treat the conditions that I posses. It can (rarely) cause congestive heart failure since it, you know, is messing with the heart and its beating. Naturally, I am totally excited to start this medication.

I mean it!I am! Even though new drugs often result in my inability to eat solid foods, sleep, and walk around the house, I am absolutely, legitimately excited to start messing with meds again. In a strange way, I really do enjoy seeing my doctors at Hopkins. Dr. Peter Rowe (my cardiologist) is very possibly the most brilliant and kind physician I have ever had the privilege of working with, not to mention his delightfully sharp wit. I end up feeling very honored to be seen by a doctor who spends his time researching, lecturing, and practicing on some of the most interesting and complicated medical cases in the country. It is even more exciting for me to be prescribed drugs whose effects on me may assist his research and understanding of medicine. I feel terribly important. And, as they always say, self-importance is the best medicine.

Kind of.

If you would like to give me presents

2008-06-14T17:49:00.000-07:00

I would very much like this teapot...

Seasonal Affective Disorder

2008-06-01T14:45:00.000-07:00

It is quiet and muggy today, and being awake seems like more work than necessary. I've eaten, run an errand, and wasted away on the internet for hours. That's it. I'm resisting the urge (which I typically give in to) to take a nap, and to wake up at eight or so, when I can eat dinner and watch television and call it a day. I'm resisting for a number of reasons, one being that I spent approximately ALL of last week sleeping or near sleep, and in doing so destroyed any chance I had at a restful and effective sleep cycle.

So. No naps. This has meant internet for the majority of the afternoon. I'm bored, though, of siting in one place and being passive. I kind of want to make something. I want to set a table or assemble a salad or frost a cake.

Oh, mannn do I want to frost a cake! With really fluffy, thick, frosting. I want to rotate a cake stand and swirl a spatula and put some mint and berries on top...but the kitchen is kind of a mess. And I'm not really hungry. And were I hungry, I really don't need any cake. Hmmm.

So what to do? I think I'd like to play badminton, but that requires an opponent (How do only children ever get by?)...I don't know. I want to do eight million things but simultaneously have nothing to do.

It feels like summer...

I'm basically a doctor

2008-05-24T13:01:00.000-07:00

So. If you have a fever and a cool, damp cloth just isn't cutting it, I recommend slathering yourself in peppermint oil lotion. Then you will be cool and tingly.

BONUS! The scent of peppermint is good for nausea!

IMPORTANT ISSUES

2008-04-07T07:48:00.000-07:00

I am wearing pants today.

I just ate a Reuben sandwich.

I am desperately trying to think of IMPORTANT ISSUES that I can address on my blog instead of doing my homework. Because, you know, if they were IMPORTANT enough, it would justify it. Unfortunately, while me wearing pants is surprising (I have pretty much only worn dresses for the last six months) and Reuben sandwiches are pretty delicious (I think so, at least), I'm not sure they qualify as IMPORTANT ISSUES.

Now, you may have noticed my capitalization of IMPORTANT ISSUES. This is because the internet says that if you capitalize things, your statement has more impact. Thus, it is more important.

So I am going to try this again...

I AM WEARING PANTS TODAY.

I JUST ATE A REUBEN SANDWICH.

Now I feel okay about doing this instead of writing a philosophy paper.

Ask me about 19th century American Locomotives!

2008-03-31T09:53:00.000-07:00

I bought this scarf so people will think I'm a train enthusiast.

I'm wearing it today, and I hope people ask me about "George S. Griggs in 1854". That's my favorite train.

You can't carouse in skinny jeans

2008-03-29T19:08:00.000-07:00

I had sailor pants. Sailor jeans, actually, but they were still cool. They had wide legs and buttons, and I was all set for drunken carousing.

Somehow, they are now too big. I bought them 2 weeks ago. I've worn them once. This is the saddest tale of losing weight that I've ever heard, really.

WASTED SAILOR PANTS!

This is some tragic stuff.

Why Why Why Do I feel compelled to intellectually prove myself?

2008-03-28T21:07:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow I need to write a research paper to be presented at an undergraduate philosophy conference alongside seniors from such legitimate institutions as Johns Hopkins. Who are philosophy majors. And much smarter than me. Who didn't just sign up because their religion professor flattered them. Also: they may have done legitimate research/know what they are talking about. The official program of this conference, for which I am not even close to being prepared for, follows:

Villa Julie College

presents the

8th Annual Undergraduate Conference

Bodies Sacred and

Profane

Wednesday, April 16, 2008

9:00 a.m. to 4:00 p.m.

St. Paul Companies Pavilion

Sponsored by the

Humanities & Public History Department

9:00 Registration and refreshments

9:15 Welcome, Dr. Paul Lack, Vice-President and Academic Dean of Villa Julie College

Introduction: Alex Hooke, Conference Chair

9:30-10:15 Session I: Sacrifice and Alienation

Moderator: Esther Horrocks, (Chair of Interdisciplinary Studies, Villa Julie College)

1. Salmah Y. Rizvi (Senior, Anthropology/International Relations

Johns Hopkins University)

“On Suicide Bombers”

2. Keith Burton (Senior, Philosophy,Towson University)

“Alienation”

3. Celsus Robert (Senior, Social Relations/Criminal Justice, Cheyney University)

“Should Juveniles Be Treated as Adults in Criminal Matters?”

10:15-11:00 Session II: Beauty

Moderator: (Christine Noya, 3.

1. Chipo Siantumba (Junior, Business Adm., Cheyney)

“The Human Body: A Canvas of Artistic Expressions”

2. Elizabeth Cucchiella (Junior, Interdisciplinary Studies, Villa Julie College)

“Grin and Bare It: The Face of the Exotic Dancer”

3. Stuart Knazik, (Sophomore, Philosophy/Religious Studies, Howard CC)

“Every Breath We Breathe is a Miracle: The Visionary Work of Alex Grey”

11:00-11:45 Session III: Affirmations and Violations

Moderator: Ann Arbaugh (Alumni, Accountant, Villa Julie College)

1. Jennifer Pecor (Junior, Philosophy, The College of Notre Dame)

“Environmental Existentialism and the Human Body”

2. Annmicha Blugh (Junior, English, Morgan State University)

“Sanctity and Violation of the Body in Christianity and Islam”

3. Virginia Petrucci (Junior, Interdisciplinary Studies/Film, Villa Julie),

“Friends as Meals”

11:45–12:15 BREAK Presentation of Certificates

Lunch provided for presenters and their guests

12:15–1:00 Session IV: Images and IDEAS

Moderator: Robert Chee-Mooke (Asst. Professor of Philosophy, Villa Julie)

1. Kia-Lillian Hayes, (First year graduate student, Masters of Professional Studies Program , Georgetown University)

”” Blatant Lies and Intentional Deception: Media and Moral Obligations”

2. Choshena Bhagwandin (Senior, Chemistry, Villa Julie) ”

“The Perfect Smile”

3. Kristen Carpenter (Sophomore, General Studies, Howard CC)

“Physicians and Friars; How Greek Science and Early Christianity Shaped the Medieval Woman”

1:00–1:40 SESSION V: Sexes/Objects/Toys/Cyborgs

A Goucher College Panel Discussion

1. Derek Ford, (Senior, Philosophy)

"Cyborgs in Exodus"

2. Rachel Wilkins, (Senior, Philosophy)

“The Historicity and Re-Writing of the Sexed Body, Sex Toys and Sexual

Agony”

3. Michelle Kurta, (Senior, Peace Studies)

“The Pregnant Body, The Docile Body, The Useful Body”

1:40-2:00 Session VI: Panel on Location and Space

Moderator: Richard C. Monk (Professor of Criminal Justice, Retired, Coppin)

1. Chioma Uqwveabulem (Junior, Communication/English, Cheyney)

“The Feminine Body in the Igbo’s Perspective”

2. Jeremy Mann (Junior, Mass Communication, Towson)

‘Homecoming: A Personal Inquiry Into Location, Space and Angst”

2:00–2:45 SESSION VI: Powers of The Gaze

1. Chidi Okpalaoquchi (Junior, CIS/Mathmatics, Cheyney)

“The Influence of the Eyes on Moral Perception and Inclination”

2. Jessica Rachid (Senior, Interdisciplinary Studies, Villa Julie)

‘I See Me”

3. Kyla Bender- Baird, (Master’s Candidate, Women’s Studies,Towson)

“Gender Anxiety and Abject Bodies”

3:00 KEYNOTE SPEAKER

Moderators; Manminder Singh, Kellie Smith (Seniors, Science, Co-Chairs of Philosophy Club, Villa Julie College)

Alphonso Lingis (Professor of Philosophy Emeritus, Pennsylvania State University)

“Love Junkies”

Woo! It's a good thing I am so experienced with failure...it will come in handy, I'm sure.

Above the Store

2008-03-24T18:42:00.000-07:00

Patty is my grandmother. The location is Quincy, Michigan, and this store is arguably one of the most influential places in my life. I grew up playing hide-and-seek in racks of wedding gowns and being babysat by employees, playing in dressing rooms. I can't possibly begin to explain how the store's physical qualities-- its rooms, staircases, wallpaper-- have influenced the aesthetics of my imagination.

Out of all the fantastic spaces in the store, upstairs is by far (in my mind) the best. Formerly apartments, interior walls have been torn down, windows boarded up (covered by the faux-stucco facade), and a place where families used to live their lives is now "storage". As depressing as that sounds, it's kind of fantastic. The following photos far from do the space justice, mostly owing to poor lighting and my incompetency, but it's something. I might steal some photos from Kylie, too, as she has a bit more skill with the camera...

*

*A note on this one: My mother, who "never did drugs" painted this "when she was a kid" Mmhmm...

Hole in the floor

Hole in the ceiling

I am solving all of my problems

2008-03-23T18:32:00.000-07:00

I hate the shoe cliche. If anybody ever gives me a novelty plaque that says "If the shoe fits...buy it in every color!" or a calendar with a different pair of 6-inch heels on it for every month, I'm going to be pretty pissed. This is a problem because I absolutely fit the shoe cliche, the shopping cliche, the "give me some peep-toe pumps and a piece of chocolate and I'll be happy" cliche. THERE ARE NOVELTY FIGURINES AND CROSS-STITCHES THAT APPLY TO MY LIFE.

This is unacceptable. I am WAY too pretentious to acknowledge that I may have something in common with the so-called fashionistas of mainstream middle America.

Naturally, I had to do something about this. Abandoning my shoe collection, or even ceasing to expand it, really wasn't an option for me. Instead, I bought these:

See? They are totally practical and almost ugly (I'll still wear them with dresses, though). Shoes bought entirely for their functionality.

They don't make motherfucking cross-stitches for that.

Happy Philospher Death Day!

2008-03-07T23:26:00.001-08:00

So, technically it is no longer March 7th, because it is 2:26 AM, BUT, this news is too exciting/essential to your life that I need to blog about it.

It is Philosopher Death Day!! The greatest holiday since Leif Erickson Day, clearly!

Both Aristotle AND Thomas Aquinas died on March seventh. And like, Thomas Aquinas was totally influenced by Aristotle. So. This is significant. People should be having parties and getting drunk and eating traditional foods on this day.

But seriously, do they know the actual date of Aristotle's death? Foreal?

Take it from me

2008-03-01T22:06:00.000-08:00

Tip of the week:

If you are not interested in feeling like a horrible human being, don't watch The Last King of Scotland and then go to the mall.

What I did yesterday OR How to be a productive member of society

2008-02-23T11:36:00.000-08:00

My clothing is now mysterious and intriguing.

2008-02-19T19:16:00.000-08:00

I have a really stupid habit of, in a burst of misguided creativity, taking scissors to my clothes and mangling them beyond repair...Altering the neckline of a T-shirt becomes completely removing any traces of a neckline, or any features (sleeves) that would otherwise indicate the intended function of the piece of fabric. This is not an isolated incident. I've lost dresses (cut too short), ruined tights (I couldn't find a pair of leggings, so I cut the feet out), and much more.

Today, I almost lost a skirt. I was sick of its asymmetrical hem, and since it was jersey (that means it won't fray if there isn't a sewn hem), I decided that I could just even it out a bit, no problem. I was about to put scissor to cloth, and I reconsidered. This was obviously not going to end well. Knowing me, I would end up cutting so much of the skirt off in attempts to straighten it out that I would end up with a really even jersey belt.

Instead, I cut the tags out of the skirt. Don't ask me why. They weren't particularly obtrusive, just your standard sewn-in tags. But it was satisfying. Bits of cloth fell to the floor. I decided to cut the tags out of a dress I saw hanging nearby. Then it was a cardigan.

Naturally, my garbage can is now full of dozens of little cloth bits saying things like "H&M" and "Size Medium". At least now the Forever21 dress hanging next to the silk Ralph Lauren won't develop an inferiority complex.

6. I lie about myself to gain street cred.

2008-02-18T19:49:00.000-08:00

Things you Probably Do Not know About Me

Or Maybe You Already Do

1. I own running shoes. They have been worn.

2. I think that I can tap-dance (I have realized that I actually can't, but continue to self-identify with tap-dancers)

3. I have a cardigan fetish. It's pretty serious. I've recently realized that I am totally attracted to ANY male wearing a well-fitted cardigan.

4. My sense of time is entirely dependent on meals.

5. I have a gunshot wound in my left thigh.

It was bound to happen (And you probably saw it coming)

2008-02-08T20:50:00.000-08:00

I just sat staring at the computer trying to think of what to blog about for so long that the screensaver came on. Clearly, my life has reached a new and infathomable level of awesome. There is absolutely no other explaination.

2008-01-29T15:37:00.000-08:00

I might possibly sort of be making friends. It's too early to say for sure, but it might be happening...

Ow ow! (and it's not because you look good)

2008-01-23T16:16:00.000-08:00

So apparently our insurance company is refusing to pay for my physical therapy because it isn't "medically necessary". But the fact that a 2-inch portion of my spine does all the bending, and can only bend one way, and the fact that my hypermobile hips could dislocate at any given time, and the fact that bending my neck back consistently pinches a nerve kind of sound like medically necessary reasons to me.

But hey, what do I know? I'll just get back on the oxycontin for the chronic pain. No prob.

If I played the harmonica, I'd write a song called the bloggin' blues. Thankfully, I don't.

2007-12-09T18:48:00.000-08:00

Since I've blogged last, I have composed approximately 7 interesting and complete posts, including pictures and links. Unfortunately, they were all in my head, conceived at convenient times/locations like: at 3:30 in the morning, in the bathtub, during a world religion test, while stir-frying vegetables, in the car, while hanging three-foot canvases at work, and during Gossip Girl (which I am NOT about to tear myself away from...shut up). So. Needless to say, none of them quite made it to the internet, and instead were put back on the metaphorical shelves that line my messy closet of a brain.

Alas. They probably were not nearly as good as I imagined them to be, anyway, especially the one I thought SO FREAKING PROFOUND, MAN! at half-past three in the morning.

Fire Safety Is my #1 Priority.

2007-11-30T09:59:00.000-08:00

So. I burn candles in my bathroom, because I like them, and it enhances bubble-bathing. Sometimes I forget about them and leave them burning while I go do other things. Sometimes the candle melts itself and the wick burns down to the end and green candle-wax drips and splatters all over the place, then dries.

The flash made it look really gross, but you can see it better:

I know, you wish you had my life...

I was going to talk about cable-knit stockings, but...

2007-11-18T18:44:00.000-08:00

Okay, so sorry about the lack of posting. Normally I can at least manage some random creepy observations about people who don't know I exist....but let's move on, shall we? Let's talk about Maryland.

The state of Maryland (perhaps excluding Baltimore...we'll see about that one later) is like a guy who wears a cowrie shell necklace. He thinks he is SO cool. He probably has convinced quite a few clueless chicks who wear too much black eyeliner (even though they are blonde and it looks tacky) that he is SO cool as well. Really, he is a self-absorbed asshole who nobody likes. Only wait, people do. And I am left scratching my head, trying to figure out what anyone sees in him.

For the metaphorically challenged, let me break it down for you: I still hate Maryland. I hate it as much as I do pseudo-surfers.

So.

Sorry about that. The reason I avoided posting was because I have been feeling particularly bitter lately. I wanted to wait until I had something to say besides "Maryland sucks", but who knows when that will be. After two years and STILL NO FRIENDS, I'm not holding my breath.

Go college!

I'm no fun

2007-11-15T20:31:00.001-08:00

Sorry sorry sorry, I still exist, I'm just too tired to blog. So. That's it.

I don't even want any candy.

2007-10-31T20:27:00.000-07:00

Today: a shot on both arms, holographic star-shaped bandages from the nurse dressed as a fairly princess, and the realization that I need to write a research paper by tomorrow morning. Happy Halloween, guys.

At the University of Krissy, acceptance will be based on awesomeness. No essay required (but if you want to submit one--hey!).

2007-10-29T18:20:00.000-07:00

For a while now, I should have been working on college application essays. I've just been so sick of hearing about college, and school, and test scores, and everything else that goes along with the application process, that I've ignored it. Even I can only procrastinate so long, though, and I sat down today to start an essay for my Earlham application.

Seriously! I sat down, intent on cranking out some bullshit essay (to be modified later), just so I could say that I started. Well, it's actually not that easy. I can write a six-page research paper the morning that it's due, but this had me stumped. What am I supposed to say? How can I sort through all of my life experiences and label just one as the most valuable? And honestly, is what I consider valuable what these colleges want to hear about?

I want to write about the car ride home from the hospital after recieving morphine for the first time, watching Christmas lights whiz by, drifting in and out of consciousness, feeling utterly safe and happy and childlike. I want to write about Aly's backyard in September, when everything is yellow and lovely. I want to write about Angie's house in the summertime, or even about slicing parsnips with my shiny new chef's knife. I want to write about bowling with my cousins the day after Christmas in a smoke-filled, flavored-condom-dispenser-in-the-bathroom, small-town recreational league bowling alley.

I do NOT want to write about my experience with chronic illness and what I've learned from it.

But, alas. That's probably what my essay will be about, simply because it's the most suitable topic.

At least I'm not addicted to nicotine...

2007-10-24T20:07:00.000-07:00

Oh, community college: "Where nobody actually wants to be".

Alas, I am stuck stuck stuck for this year, and while there are worse alternatives (senior year of HS), community college is living up to its unofficial slogan. I am utterly apathetic. Like everybody else here. We're all just kind of going to class (or not), usually with some sort of goal in mind, but nobody (save the nursing students) are actively working towards it. We're just biding our time until circumstances change, and change comes slowly at community college. That's what I don't like about it here. Honestly, I was excited to skip my senior year and start college, even if it was "only" community college. I wanted to move on, but community college seems like a place where everyone is doing everything BUT moving on. They're stuck in high school, or in their minimum-wage rut, and they like it there. Spare time is spent working their lame mall jobs or spending their pay on cigarettes (did I mention that EVERYONE smokes here?). And they all seem perfectly content to stick with whatever clique they fit into in high school. Isn't that the oposite of what college is supposed to be? Doesn't everyone look forward to going somewhere they can be whoever they want, try something new?

And I think I just found my answer. Everyone wants to GO somewhere, and community college isn't going much of anywhere. It's twenty minutes away from your house, in your parents' car, in the dreary suburbs of your adolesence.

So I'm stuck here, like everybody else, only without a driver's lisence or group of friends leftover from high school, and that's just the way it is. I haven't hung out with anyone particularly interesting, despite my fascination with several individuals who shall remain nameless (you know one of them by his piercing). And, it seems, I don't really care.

Because that's what community college does to you.

Dostoevsky needs to meditate on the word "concise". Like, foreal.

2007-10-21T11:01:00.000-07:00

There is whole lot of Russia. Steppe, forest, tundra.... it's pretty vast.

Usually, this is not a problem for me.

Enter Russian Literature course to be completed independantly by the end of November

Now it is a problem. A problem that requires 80 hours of coursework and spans 40 seperate Russian works. And man, can those Russians write.

So like I said: There is a whole lot of Russia.

So, uh, sorry LR of the future (who is my friend and reads my blog). I am a total creeper.

2007-10-18T20:07:00.000-07:00

Yes, well. Do you mind if I'm creepy for a bit? No? Good....

Because it's about Lip Ring.

1.He has worn sweater vests on several occasions. One of which was argyle. Also, one time he wore a tweed cap.

2.He doesn't own the textbook for the class, but brings French literature to read instead.

Why are we not friends?!

A conversation we needed to have

2007-10-16T19:46:00.000-07:00

Hey blog. What's happening? What's goin' on?

Nothing much.

Really, though, how have you been lately?

Ugh. Things haven't been so swell. It's like I don't exist or something....

What do you mean?

Well, I hardly ever get new posts, and when I do, I feel like only three people ever lay eyes upon them. I just feel totally underappreciated. But whatever.

No! Not whatever! That's a valid feeling, blog, and I'm glad we're talking about it. Truth is, I've always thought you deserved a larger readership.

Really?

Really.

Hmm. I mean, thanks and all, but things are still the same....y'know?

Yeah. I know.

But hey, it was good talking to you...just saying it helps, I think.

I'm glad.

Well, I guess I'll see you in like a day? A month? I never really know with you, Krissy.

I know, blog...I'm working on it....but you will see me. And hey, maybe sooner than you think.

I'll believe it when you post it....

I know you won't do this, but...

2007-10-09T19:45:00.000-07:00

Okay, so Dolce and Gabbana's fall ads definately look like stills out of a really pretentious production of Pericles or something. Seriously. Flip through their fall 2007 ads on the D&G site and you'll see what I mean.

Also, I kind of lost interest in the manual labor post, but I'd like to give a shout-out to Kylie for reminding me to write it. Maybe another time. Probably not, though.

In which a brief reflection is promptly dismissed

2007-10-02T19:39:00.000-07:00

I just realized that if LR ever facebooks me, and then finds this blog, he will be totally creeped out. Oh well. Perhaps it will be creepy in an endearing, quirky kind of way? That's what you'd think if you were LR, right? Well, no matter.

I don't feel like writing it now, but remind me to write about my recent experiences with manual labor.

LR Update!

2007-09-30T19:08:00.000-07:00

So. I forgot to tell you earlier, but LR sort of talks to me now! An actual conversation follows.

(I walk into class on a test day, to find LR there, flipping frantically through his notes)

Me: So did you study for the test?
LR: A little. (scans notes for highlighted sections)
Me: Is "a little" what you're doing right now?
LR:Nope. I actually studied.
Me: Wow. That's more than I can say.
(LR is still looking at his notes)
LR:.....

Exciting, right? I think we are well on our way to being best buddies.

Maybe you can drive my car

2007-09-30T13:57:00.000-07:00

I guess I should write something new for you all. I really don't feel like it, though. I mean, between classes and college applications, I'm pretty much written-out. I would rather cook or shop or flip through magazines or talk, anything so long as it isn't pounding on a keyboard....but here I am. And it's just because I don't want my readers to have abandonment issues.

Lately I've been contemplating learning to drive. I've always had a handy excuse, courtesy of neurally mediated hypotension, not to, but my doctor has esentially given me the go-ahead. So I technically can learn to drive. My other excuse, of waiting until I'm 18, is fast approaching its expiration, too. So I soon may find myself behind the wheel of the family car, which brings me to my next point.

We own a Chrysler Pacifica, a Lexus somethingorother, and a junky Taurus (which is now my sister's). The Pacifica is impossible to manuver, even for a skilled driver, so there's no way I can drive that. The Taurus is at college with my sister, and is basically hers anyway. This leaves the Lexus.

It is not new, it's like a 2003 or something, but it is still kind of fancy and nice, and I get the feeling my parents would not be cool with me wrecking it. So what will I drive? Hmmm....perhaps something else?

So. This has led me to start thinking about cars, something I have never done (well, beyond saying "Ew. that Hummer is ugly"). I have no idea if my parents will buy me a car or not, but a used one is, I'm thinking, not out of the question. So what would I want, say, if they were to buy me a car? The practical answer is obviously a hybrid, like a Prius or something, but I don't know how much that costs/if it would be very cheap used. Instead, I've kind of been lusting after Jeeps.

Wierd, right?

I like the old-school safari style Jeeps, that can probably drive through quicksand and mountains and maybe even upside-down. Like, a real Jeep, all army-inspired and khaki and with a roof that unzips. Only, with suede and wood interiors in a medium brown color....I'm thinking custom, of course.

Actually, I'm thinking maybe I should put down the fashion magazine that is touting utilitarian chic and deal with the prospect of a totally lame used Honda.

So much depends upon the kid with piercings

2007-09-13T12:14:00.000-07:00

Last weekend I cleaned my room, and I was going to take pictures and show you all how clean and nice it was....but I never got around to taking out my camera, and now it's a mess. So that's not happening. Maybe someday, but for today I've given up.

So what am I supposed to tell you about? I've kind of actually done stuff lately, but I don't feel like sitting here and listing off the events of the last ten days. I guess I'll tell you about Lip Ring.

Lip Ring sits next to me environmental science. He, oddly enough, has a lip ring. Hence, the name. LR has sat next to me since the first day of class. He does not have to sit there. He chooses, consistantly, to sit in a corner next to moi. He also chooses, consistantly, not to speak. I don't mean that there's no chatter, or smalltalk, or regular conversation. I mean he does not speak. Ever.

Example of a typical (non)conversation, at the attendance sign-in sheet:

Krissy: "Hey, can I borrow your pen for a sec? I forgot to bring mine up with me."
LR: *hands me pen*
Krissy: "Thanks!"
LR: *blinks*
Krissy: *signs initials, gives back pen* "Thanks again."
LR:*signs initials*

He simply would not speak. He did not nod. It is clear he could hear me, he responded, but entirely without words. I thought he really didn't like me, except that he continued to sit next to me.
Why??

......

......

......

I still don't know. But I do know that today, things changed. LR spoke. During a "group quiz", LR spoke to me for the first time in three weeks of sitting next to each other. Sure, he only said "Uh, what'd you get for number eight?", but to me, it mean so much more. It meant that maybe, if I keep working at it, I'll be able to walk into environmental science one day and say "Hey LR. How was your weekend?" and he'll say "Meh. It was pretty cool." and I'll say "Cool." and it will be wonderful.

Almost like having a friend.

Lunch today was splendid

2007-09-01T18:27:00.000-07:00

Lamb with pancake sounds utterly unappetizing, doesn't it? Actually, it's not.

Today I had Ethiopian food for the first time, and it was delightful. Everything is served on a large, communal platter, and is eaten not with silverware, but with a velvety bread that was the exact texture of a pancake (it wasn't sweet, though). The food is delicious, a combinated of stewed meat dishes (kind of like Indian), chutney-like salads, stir-frys, and lentils. Heavy on the tumeric, the spicing is otherwise similar to some mild Indian dishes, like Rogan Josh. And eating without utensils was awkward at first, but made for a really intersting experience. I think it would be really fun to go for Ethiopian with a few new friends, or even a date. How better to break the ice than over a platter of foreign food?

I do regret, though, turning down a cup of Ethiopian coffee after the meal.

This never happens at J. Crew

2007-08-05T19:05:00.001-07:00

I went shopping today. After church, with the whole family, all American and such. We ate at a chain restaurant, shopped an enormous mall complete with Medieval Times and Cinema complex, and filled our trunk with lovely, unnecessary things.

But that's not what this post is about.

It's about how I tried on a jersey dress and it clung in all the wrong places, unflattered me to the extreme, and beat the shit out of my self esteem. And then, when I tried it on again for my mother to see, it was perfect. Curve-skimming, flaw-hiding perfection.

For only 24.99 at H&M.

Lunch today:

Couscous Salad

Plain Couscous

Chicken broth

Cucumber (from garden)

Red and yellow cherry tomatoes (from garden)

Fresh mint (from garden)

Feta cheese

Lemon juice

Extra-virgin olive oil

Grilled Eggplant

Eggplant

Olive oil

Sea salt

Pepper

Rosemary Olive-oil Bread

(Purchased)

It was extra yummy.

Everyone's a suspect.

2007-07-28T12:38:00.000-07:00

So. Today was garage sale day....

6:05- Wake up for the first time.

6:10- Wake up for the second time.

6:15- Wake up for the third time. Get dressed, stumble downstairs.

6:20- Growl at my mom for not putting the muffins in the oven yet. Make three more signs leading to our house on old window shades.

7:00- Assemble way ghetto signs. (Window shade signs+garden stakes+coat hangers+lots of duct tape)

7:25- Wait on first paying customers (and non-paying customers) of the day: A lady and two guys. I take the lady's money for some random household crap, my mom takes guy #1's money for a microwave, and guy #2 walks off with an antique adding machine. My dad gets pissed and won't shut up about it. So a guy stole our adding machine. You're out maybe three dollars. Get over it.

7:40- Leave with still pissed-off father to put signs up.

8:00- Return to garage. Eat muffins. Sell random crap to random people.

8:30- Biker guy shows up, in full spandex and helmet with mirrors. I stifle a laugh and sell him random crap.

9:00- Kylie comes and hangs out in the garage with me. I make her go buy me iced coffee.

9:35- Kylie comes back. I listen to Belle and Sebastian (pretty inoffensive music to shoppers) and half-listen to Kylie while I sing along. We talk about sidewalk chalk, the Prince of Space, and spunky Asian chicks.

10:30- Kylie leaves to get ready for work, I keep selling random crap. People buy the refrigerator and cabinets and leave. They'll pick them up later.

11:00- Parents ditch me to go eat macaroni. I listen to Sufjan Stevens.

12:00- I yell inside and make my mom come be cashier while I eat. I go iside and eat Chinese BBQ pork buns and green pepper.

12:30- I reluctantly return to the sale. My iPod dies. I grumble and refold stuff that customers messed up.

1:00- Biker guy comes back, sans spandex. He buys two bike seats (of course), a polo, and a dehumidifier. Fridge lady comes back and loads fridge into pickup. Her nephew (or something)'s house burned down. He needed a new fridge. Makes sense.

1:30- Cabinet people show. They load the cabinets and buy a hat shaped like a dog's head. I go inside and make my mom watch the sale until it closes. I go watch cooking shows in my room.

2:00- I go back outside and start packing up. It's hot and my feet hurt.

2:30- Stuff is pretty much packed up, I go with my dad to take down signs. We get to the place where the last sign was, and it's nowhere to be found. The day ends as it began, with my father getting pissed because people stole random stuff that's really not valuable.

So. Now you're up to speed. I'm bored and tired, and my neighborhood is full of thieving idiots. Whenever I see someone closing a garage door, or opening their car, I quickly look to see if they appear to be harboring stolen goods. Now, everyone is a suspect.

The end.

I'm health-conscious, I swear!

2007-07-23T11:58:00.000-07:00

I tend to get a little weird when I'm grocery shopping. Well, actually about a lot of things, but today I went grocery shopping, so that's what I'm talking about.

I really like to grocery shop. I'm kind of a foodie, not to an extreme, but I like to cook and I certainly won't deny I enjoy the snobbish satisfaction it gives me. I buy organic canned goods, because Lord knows Miur Glen crushed tomatoes taste waaaaaaaaay different than Hunt's. I refuse to buy any bread except whole-grain (unless it's a baguette or something). And I definitely, definitely, do not buy McCormick taco seasoning.

My mother does. And here's where I have a problem: I can't deal with seeing it in the cart. When I grocery shop, I look in other people's carts and judge them. Like, for fun. Examples:

Bananas+cat food+low-fat bologna+velveeta=old lady

Gatorade+Poptarts+Cheez-Its+Sponge-Bob fruitsnacks=brand name snack foods soccer mom

frozen lasagna+frozen "burrito casserole"+frozen fishsticks+frozen chicken pot pie=grandmother with a deep freeze who feeds her grandchildren food they hate

Etc.

So anyway, since I judge people, I assume other people do the same thing. Because of this, I insist that the cart be fulled at least halfway with fresh produce, contain only fresh meats, at least one kind of fish, only organic/health snack foods, whole grain breads and bakery products, and cheeses costing at least seven dollars. When I go shopping with my mother, though, I end up with things like McCormick taco seasoning thrown in the cart.

And I feel compelled to hide it. Yes, I actually stop the cart and act like I'm rearranging so things will fit, when really I'm hiding the taco seasoning and wonder bread (my mother's favorite) under my organic green tea and yellowfin tuna steaks. I don't know why. I mean, It's not like I have to eat my mother's bleached-out bread, but I get paranoid that someone will see it in my cart and assume that I am going to consume it. It makes be nervous.I have no problem going grocery shopping with tangled hair and mismatched clothes, but I am afraid of the contents of my cart misrepresenting me.

Go figure.

2007-07-21T13:03:00.000-07:00

So I've decided to start blogging again. Just about random things, like I used to. I'm hoping to avoid angsty rants. They're no fun.

I looked at luggage today (on the internet, I didn't go shopping). I don't really know why I've got this thing about luggage, but I'm convinced that a set of old-fashioned trunks (with wheels) is absolutely necessary. I don't really travel much, and when I do it's hardly for more than a week. Still, I've got this notion that me having a heavy trunk with lots of latches and leather straps is a really good idea.

It's not.

I struggle with standard carry-on. You know, those little roller bags? Remember how when you were little it seemed impossible to drag them along without them (or you) falling over? I still have that problem. I'll be briskly walking down the terminal, feeling all jet-setty with my trenchcoat and moving sidewalk stride....and then I totally trip over a bag the size of a cereal box. Not cool.

Also, trunks are kind of heavy. Now, I've convinced myself that if I get one with wheels, it'll be no problem. It'll weigh a ton, but I can just pull it along like any other piece of luggage. This will not happen. I will end up flattened under the enormous weight of my beautiful trunk, which I sadly could not control long enough to make it check-in.

My final prolem is the luggage carosel. Well, more acurately, the luggage carosel + my lack of upper body strength. As in, TOTAL lack of upper body strength. I'm the girl who is crashing into everyone as she runs around the carosel, tightly gripping her luggage, but is unable to actually lift the bag off until some annoyed businessman takes pity and helps her.

So the trunk thing is definately not going to work.

So.....I want this one.

Krissy crosses the Mason-Dixon line

2007-04-04T18:34:00.000-07:00

I can't say I dislike Georgia. The overly-tanned, Corona tee-shirt-wearing, "there are fourteen of us packed into one motel room and we don't care if we keep you up all night blasting music and having sex we won't remember" crowd doesn't exist here, and the retirees don't wear speedos. So it's not Florida. I don't hate it.

Savannah is a kind of charming city, despite the sunburnt senior citizen tourists that it seemed to magnetically attract. Looking past the trolley tours and Thomas Kinkade gift shops, there is Spanish moss, gorgeous architecture, and a decent art museum. I think a lot of the charm of city can be missed, though, if the historic district is all that you see. Driving out of the city, we skipped the expressway and drove through the neighborhoods in search of a place to eat.

As we drove past the manicured gardens surrounded by elaborate wrought-iron fences, I spotted, in the midst of tourist territory, a group of Asian hipsters on bicycles. Continuing on in the same direction, I saw more. Girls in vintage dresses with ironic $250 Nikes, scruffy-looking guys with charcoal smears on their shirts, angular haircuts and dark, plastic-framed glasses abounded. All in the middle of the trolley tour route?

The mystery was solved when I spotted the Savannah College of Art and Design bookstore (we stopped in for coffee and amusing people-watching). While the school's location was obviously based on being in the historic district, rather than its proximity to "Ye Olde Savannah Gift Shoppe", I rather enjoyed the sight of the odd elderly tourist accidentally wandering into art student territory.

Driving out of the downtown, things became even more interesting. Catfish and BBQ joints were common, including the "Oriental Foods Market" occupying an old gas station and selling bamboo, BBQ, noodles, and dried alligator heads. Yum. We ate at Love's seafood, recommended by my mother's Georgia-native friend, which was delicious. (The downside: throwing up catfish nuggets and hush puppies later that evening.)

Tourists, hipsters, and food aside, the biggest impression Savannah made on me was the importance of religion in the South. And so, based on my day in and around Savannah, I present:

You know you're in the Bible belt when...

-Easter services are advertised on billboards and with commercials

-The motel with hourly rates and an attached liquor store has a bible verse on its sign

-There are bible verses on menus, but no wine list to be found

-Even the synagogues look like cathedrals, down to the cross-shaped floor plan

-The island you're staying on has three restaurants, no grocery store, but five churches

And

-A waffle house on Sunday morning at 10:30 is empty, but at 11:30, the line stretches out the door, everyone dressed in suits and dresses

That's all I can think of at the moment....

Iron deficiency

2007-02-28T15:01:00.000-08:00

For a long while now, I haven't been able to think of anything to say. Anything, that is, that wouldn't be cause for you to worry.

I've become so stuck in this place that I'm in that sometimes I wonder if I shouldn't worry. I'm hanging in some sort of limbo between real life and total meninglessness, where I exist but don't participate.

I can excuse it now, sure. I'm hundreds of miles away from the only friends I have, I'm too sick to go to school and make new ones, I don't pursue any hobbies because of my physical state, I don't read because my head is too clouded by medications. Nobody's blaming me for sitting around doing (literally) nothing. But I wonder what my excuse was last February, when I was surrounded by friends and seemingly happy with my life. What will be my excuse when I head off to college on my own? My isolation and disinvolvement, while currently pushed to an extreme by circumstance, may not go away.

It's a frightening thing to contemplate. For so long, I've romanticized college, convincing myself of is magical transitional powers. And while I maintian that getting out of Maryland and sorting out my medical concerns will improve my condition, I'm afraid I'll still do this to myself. Like I know, while invisible, that I'm doing now. Like I've done before.

It is not the incapablity of happiness. I enjoy things and I still laugh. What I'm describing is the incapability to sit, alone with my thoughts and decisions, and be fine. Not happy, just fine. Happiness is something else entirely, something fleeting and needing no contemplation. But what I'm talking about, what I'm struggling with, is something more closely related to satisfaction or fulfillment of the self. And while I don't expect my own or anyone else's levels of this thing to ever be complete, I'd like to be a little less anemic.

Same old, same old

2007-01-19T12:39:00.000-08:00

I am so freaking tired of being unhappy.

Sometimes I amaze myself...

2006-12-19T18:50:00.000-08:00

There are not many things that I am really, really good at. I am adequate at many, decent at some, and good at few. But really, really good? Why, it's almost unheard of. That being said, I have discovered something I am really, really good at.

By this point, we all know I'm excellent at being sick. That basically doesn't even count anymore. However, being sick does play a role in my newly realized talent. So, um, yes. On with it.

I am really, really good at ruining holidays for myself.

Awesome, right? I totally think a $50,000 cash prize is headed my way somewhere in the near future. Although, if this talent is going to win me any contests, I'd better supply something to back my statement up. So here it is, a few of the more recent occasions that I've managed to make miserable:

1. It hasn't happened yet, but this Christmas will suck because I'm sick right now, and viruses generally take me and my incompetent immune system 4-5 weeks to fight off.

2. This past Thanksgiving, I spent the night before throwing up, and the day itself curled up on a couch with no appetite, refusing my grandmother's constant culinary offerings. (which, by the way constitutes an unforgivable crime in her household)

3. Halloween, I sat in my basement with my dog, because I have no friends.

4. My birthday 2005, 2004, and 2003, I was grounded.

5. Last Mother's Day, I slept all day (I was just released from the hospital a day before) and in doing so, convinced my mother that I hated her.

I'm only giving you five, because my skills are getting a little depressing. Happy Kwanzaa. I haven't screwed that one up yet....

In which Krissy upsets herself

2006-12-15T17:56:00.000-08:00

I started to clean my room today. When this occurs, it is not generally prompted by my mother's requests. Nor is it prompted by her threats ("No Martha Stewart magazine until your room is clean!"). Rather, it occurs only when I have the desperate need or want to find something long buried by piles of clothes or hidden in shoeboxes of random junk.

Today I remembered something, and realized how sorry I was to have forgotten it.

Wasting time on facebook, I began to think about (naturally) my friends. I started to miss them, like I always do, and I began to reminisce about last year, before moving to Maryland. Then I started thinking about my going-away party, and then I started thinking about the going-away gifts, cards, and letters I received. I suddenly had the urge to find them, to sit and reread what had been written.

And so my search began. I started with the bin I keep pictures in, and began removing albums and loose photographs. First I unearthed my Damn Yankees phone tree, then my G.I. medals. I hadn't found what I was looking for, but I was on to something else. I continued my search elsewhere, in shoeboxes, folders, and bins. Now I was looking for not only going-away letters, but, reminded of G.I. and my various E.R. and hospital visits, for get-well cards and pictures, and perhaps most importantly, a set of notes written on Hilton notepaper that I received at G.I. state finals last year. I thought about this more and more, about how I had almost missed it because of collapsing, how my mother drove me down by myself because I missed the bus for a doctor's appointment, and how, upon my arrival in Springfield, I was greeted so warmly by my friends. Sometime that weekend, several of my friends gave me notes or drew me pictures (a certain someone surprised me with fruit snacks). I kept those notes, and put them on my bulletin board when I got home. I remembered now how I had packed them, along with everything else pinned on that piece of cork, and everything else inside my room, in an assortment of boxes and bins one week last June. And now, digging in my closet in Maryland, I wanted to find those notes.

I can't exactly explain why I wanted to find them so badly, aside from sentimentality. All I know is that I tore through dozens of still-unpacked boxes that are housed in the back of my closet, under my bed, and stacked in corners of my room. I dug, frantically, through every receptacle that had even the slightest possibility of containing that for which I searched. At the end of all this, I sat.

In the middle of the floor, surrounded by throw pillows, unironed slacks, human Geography papers and more, I began to cry. I couldn't find them. I had come across some letters sent by friends after I moved, and read over them fondly, but they weren't what I needed to find. Wiping away my seemingly unnecessary tears, I began to understand why I needed to find the particular notes that I did. It was because if couldn't find them, every scrap of paper and photograph and unremarkable object that I had ever saved and placed inside a shoebox was random junk. If I couldn't find them, it meant that somewhere along the line of packing and moving and unpacking, I threw them away. I discarded something meaningful, irreplaceable, and truly valuable. I left myself only with random junk.

The phrase "random junk" is significant, because you see, I used to think of my shoebox stuff as "homeless mementos". I would occasionally keep something given to me by a friend, or made by a younger cousin, and stow it away in one of these boxes, because I had no other place to put it. But all of this time, I believed that I cared about my shoebox stuff. I believed that I kept it for a reason. Upon the realization that I had disposed of such wonderful gifts from friends, I could no longer continue thinking that kept that which was important or meaningful. At whatever point I started "cleaning out" my boxes to save space (or whatever reason I had at the time), I turned my homeless mementos into random junk.

I'm still looking, in binders and drawers and folders, for those couple of notes. I'm quite sure that they're gone, because I've searched everywhere I can remember packing that sort of thing. Because sifting through my memories like I have today has made me want to read them. More than that though, it has made me want to prove to myself that I was not so foolish as to cast off a crumpled letter, and to keep only what was framed or purchased.

I do not like to put a space between the can and not of cannot.

2006-12-06T19:36:00.000-08:00

I am in the sort of mood to be quiet and read Jane Austen novels, the sort of mood to twist my hair up and secure it with a pen. Naturally, I should be drinking tea. And eating apple crisp. In bed, with flannel sheets and a big down comforter. Also, my dog should be curled up at the end of the bed, not smelling of dog.

Instead, I am blogging. And punctuating fragments as sentances. Soon, I will get between normal cotton sheets and blankets and pretend I am sleeping. I will not be. I'll accidentally kick my iron footboard, and it will bang against the wall, interrupting the quiet, which is the only part of my plan that will actually be carried out tonight. I'll get thirsty and sip from the waterbottle on the floor next to my bed, in the shoebox with all of my pills. I will shut my door to keep the dog out, because if I let her in she would only make noise and smell.

Good night.

What an eyesore

2006-12-02T06:26:00.000-08:00

"Oh, how bizarre, how interesting and bizarre..." says Dr. Tong, examining the technician's findings. I'm sitting, slightly elevated, in an optical exam chair. Dr. Tong leans over charts filled with measurements (of what? I don't know) and my mother wrings her hands nervously. "Well," he says, "you have fourth-nerve palsy." I lean back, and for a reason I cannot recall, mutter "I gots me some palsy." to myself.

Dr. Tong continues, explaining exactly what the condition is. To paraphrase, a specific nerve/muscle combination that controls my left eye is screwed up. He stands up, takes a series of prisms from a drawer, and walks over to my mother's chair. "Using these prisms," he says, with a precise and oddly-emphasized English characteristic of non-native speakers, "I will simulate for you the way Kristen's eyes see the world." He lines up the prisms and holds them up to her eye. "Oh, my," my mother said, screwing her face up in concentration. "How on earth does she..." Her sentence goes unfinished. Dr. Tong removes the prisms and asks her what she saw. "Well, everything was doubled," she began. "But not just that. One half of something would be over here," she gestured to her left. "and the other half would be somewhere to the right and above it! I don't know how Krissy possibly sees." Dr. Tong nods. "Hold on," I say, "I don't see like that. I mean, I'll get double vision when I look in certain directions, but it's nothing so drastic as that." "Ah," Dr. Tong turns to me, "But it is!"

He begins pointing things out about me, things like my crooked glasses and the way I tilt my head slightly to the left. My mother tells him that the glasses are nothing, that I've always had crooked glasses, I have since I was in preschool, and so that couldn't possibly indicate anything. Growing more passionate with his speech, Dr. Tong responds. "Precisely!" He takes out some angle-measuring device and, holding it up to my glasses, mutters a rapid series of complex measurements to himself. "Her glasses are crooked at the exact angle to partially alleviate her condition! And you say they have been like this since she was young?" "Well," my mother says, "We always thought she was just rough on them." "Kylie always thought I had crooked ears.." I add. Dr. Tong is fascinated. "It all makes sense." he says. "The way you have bent them is therapeutic to your eyes. It moves things for you. Do you remember how your mother said things looked split through the prism?" I nod. "Well, by tilting your glasses, the lens moves things closer to where they should be. It is remarkable though, for a patient, even subconsciously, to have made these adjustments, especially from a young age!" "Oh. But if that doesn't entirely remedy my condition, how come I see fairly normally?" "Well, you tilt your head to the left, and while it is only a slight tilt, it contributes to the effect of the tilted glasses. Aside from these outward remedies, the rest is done through muscular compensation. You say that you have been diagnosed with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome?" he asks. "Well, yes," I answer, "But I think that has more to do with the Ehlers-Danlos* syndrome than anything else..." "This may be true," Dr. Tong continues, nodding, "But the muscles of your left eye are working five, perhaps more, times as hard as your right eye in order to straighten out your vision. While it does not seem like your eyes could make you feel tired, this could be a major contributor to your already existent problem. You may not feel strained at this point in your life, but somewhere down the line, perhaps sooner than you think, the constant fight to see will take a toll on you. It will be too much." My mother looks at me, but I don't quite know what to say. "Furthermore," Dr. Tong continues, "your head tilt is dangerous, especially since you have Ehlers-Danlos. Over time, the vertebrae in your neck will stop looking like they are discs, and start looking like they are wedges. Your bones will change shape." "She's already in physical therapy for her back and neck!" my mother blurts out, looking overwhelmed. "Well," Dr. Tong says, "Let us explore the treatment options."

I sit back, waiting for the expected round of drugs that usually comes my way when doctors discuss my treatment options. "You have three options." Dr. Tong begins. "You can have surgery, wear prism glasses, or do nothing. I strongly warn you not to do nothing, because while it may not seem like an insurmountable challenge to overcome right now, fighting this disorder will only become harder for you. Surgery is your best option." "Well, we don't really want surgery." my mother says. "What are the prism glasses?" "The prism glasses use special glass, prisms, to shift the problem. You must be aware though, that the problem is not corrected, it is merely shifted. As Kristen currently sees, her vision to the right (with glasses) is fine. The center is mostly fine, but she occasionally sees double, and her vision to the left is awful. What prism glasses will do is shift the problem so there is no problem in the middle, less problem to the left, but the right, where there was no problem, will now have some problem. That is why I recommend surgery." Alright, but exactly what does the surgery entail?" my mother asks, clearly unsure of herself.

"Well, we don't actually take the eyeball completely out..." says Dr. Tong.

And so it looks like I'm getting eye surgery pretty soon. (I don't know how long it takes to get an appointment.) It also looks like I gots me some palsy.

I feel like Harry Potter, and for once it's not teen angst

2006-11-30T16:24:00.000-08:00

Last night, I had a terrible dream. I can't quite recall what happened that made it so terrible, but I woke up trembling, with this awful feeling in the pit of my stomach that can only be described as a feeling of dread, or possibly doom. I keep getting that feeling, or a random shiver, and I'm not sure if I caught whatever nervous disorder Kylie has over Thanksgiving, or if some subconscious event (that of my dream) is goin' all psychosomatic on me. Or, perhaps it is dementors! I haven't noticed any frosty windows around the house (it's 70 degrees here), and eating chocolate doesn't work, so I guess not. Perhaps, though...

Anyhow, I haven't the foggiest what's really causing it. Maybe it's just Maryland. Maybe it's just me. Maybe I should try the chocolate one more time, just to be safe.

Why I stuffed my mouth with Kleenex at 2:40 last night

2006-11-16T18:33:00.000-08:00

I can't sleep.

That came first. I came off a med or two, started up some new ones, and I can't sleep. Okay, fine. The doctor said that might happen. Sure, it's uncomfortable when four o' clock rolls around and I'm still tossing and turning, but cool. Whatever, I'll just take a nap tomorrow.

It continues. Three nights later, my problems start. Not sleep deprivation. Not even headaches. Nope.

Saliva.

It's only 11:30 on Tuesday night. I'm awake, no surprises here. But holy shit, I'm swallowing an awful lot. Hold on, maybe I'm just being paranoid, maybe it's just because I'm lying here with nothing else to think about except swallowing. That's it.

Gulp.

It's 3:45 now, and what the hell? I can't stop swallowing! Okay, everyone swallows their spit. I've always done it...so why is it happening so often, or why am I noticing so much? Maybe a drink of water will help.

Ugh!

The stuff's only tasted worse at wellgroup waiting for a urine sample. And that's saying something. It's probably just the meds. I'll get used to it. I fall asleep sometime after 4:30.

I'm fine.

Until Wednesday night. It happens again, only it starts in at nine, not eleven. I haven't even crawled into bed yet. Again, swallow...swallow...swallow...swallow...swallow...swallow...swallow...that's all my brain is doing. Telling me to swallow. I try to focus on other things, anything!

4:15

...swallow...swallow...swallow...swallow...swallow...swallow...swallow...swallow...
Somewhere along the line I drift off. 8:30, Mom calls upstairs, time to get up. And swallow.

No!

This went away after sleeping yesterday! Well, as crime fighters everywhere (or maybe just Buzz Lightyear) bellow at evil-doers: "Not today!!" And so ,as Gogol Bordello would say: "Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!"

Twelve hours pass.

Still swallowing. And still not knowing if its the meds or I'm just crazy.

It's sleek and speedy. And not a Dell.

2006-11-12T15:34:00.000-08:00

I imagine that it will echo in my dusty corner of cyberspace when this entry is posted. The space has long been empty. It will probably take several years for some intrepid explorers to uncover this post. The "Abandoned Blog" sign has scared most readers off long ago. But here it is, to be found tomorrow or next August: An update of Krissy's blog.

I've rediscovered the internet, it seems, after months of ignoring it. The principal reason behind my rediscovery is the computer I'm typing on. While not the apple I'd hoped for, my new Sony Vaio is certainly satisfactory. No more busted-up Dell with dial-up. Quite frankly, it's inspiring.

So that's what brings me back to the internet. Hopefully, I'll stay here, and not drift back into technological seclusion, but I can't say for sure...

I heart Cat and Girl

2006-08-23T10:16:00.000-07:00

Guess which one I want.

Coming soon to Krissy's blog....Photos and updates a-plenty!

2006-08-03T14:02:00.000-07:00

I apologise for not writing more frequently. My life is frightfully dull.

Right now, though, as I speak (or type or something), something exciting is happening! there are six men in my front lawn digging holes! That's right, holes! Now I'm sure you all are curious as to why they are digging holes. It must be, as I said, terribly exciting! Is there hidden treasure? An ancient burial site? Or perhaps an expansive network of undergroud caves that my mother discovered while gardening?!?!

It is none of these.

Right now, six men are digging holes in our lawn to bury a cable. That's right, a cable. A cable which will bring with it faster downloading, more efficient blog updates, and will free our singular phone line from the bondage of Kylie's lengthy online fanfics! That's right, friends, I'm getting high-speed internet!!!

Please note: I do not endorse, promote, or encourage excessive punctuation in any way, shape, or form. However, in order to convey such an overwhelming emotion, it was necessary for this post. I will continue to make efforts aimed at minimizing the use of this unfortunate and tasteless device in the future. Thank you.

I've got a bag of Milanos, a shopping magazine, and an iPod in my carry-on.

2006-07-24T08:19:00.000-07:00

For lack of anything better to do, I have devoted my life to Audrey Hepburn-ing.
It makes me happy. Cropped black pants and tailored shirts, sixties evening-wear, and short pixie-ish haircuts....what's not to love? I can sit in my basement and drink cocoa and watch movies and almost forget that I live in the lamest place ever. It's nice. I can hug my poodle and and hum along to corny romance themes that play under the dialouge....and then I can go to my room and read the biographies of Audrey that I keep getting from the library.

It's pathetic, it's a waste of time, and it's fun. So hrmfp. I'll do what I want, bitch!!! (That is me being assertive. Not bad, eh? Note the excessive punctuation.)

Anyhow, I'll be back in Illinois (pronounced in the French manner: eel-ee-nwah) by 9:30 tonight, and for a week, my only unhappiness will come from stressing about not having time to see everyone I want to.

Krissy reaches a new low

2006-07-19T16:49:00.000-07:00

Before I come out and say it, I want to establish a few things:

1. I still dislike being white.
2. I still dislike (as a whole) white people.
3. I still dislike WASPS.
4. I still dislike my recent tendency to continue getting WASPier.

Unfortunately, there's nothing I can do. You see, and please don't hate me for it, I

1. have decided that J. Crew is almost my new favorite store (it was a close tie with Banana Republic)
2. bought myself a leather and linen handbag for far too much money
3. wear white cropped pants and a grosgrain ribbon belt at least every other week.
4. wear heels to the grocery store

And, worst of all,

5. saw a coach bag in the store and intend to buy it, despite the fact that A) It is Coach, and I hate Coach, as well as people who like Coach. B) I will be wasting 118 dollars on it.

Please. Still talk to me. I know it will never be the same, but I didn't mean to like it! It just happened! I only wish I had never seen it, and that we all could return to the happy days of my Coach loathing. But we can't. I've already seen it, and wanted it, and decided that it would go really nicely with my black wool coat. All I can say is that I'm sorry.

If it's any consolation, it is black, which automatically makes apparel better, and because of that, you cannot so clearly see the little "C" design printed all over it. I know, I know, it's the principal of the thing, but face it, kids, things have changed.

I'm addicted to lazy.

2006-07-19T16:19:00.000-07:00

I am all kinds of unhappy right now. My migranes are back, despite my various meds, I live in Ellicott City, my father is annoying, I have absolutely nothing to do with myself all day, I have a stupid schedule at my new school, and, oh yeah, I'm fat now!

I have no idea if it's the meds, which can cause weight gain, or my constant boredom (read: constant eating), but I've definitely gone from a size 4-6 to an 8. I only know this because I went shopping yesterday, and also because I fit perfectly into my baggy jeans. I know it's stupid and superficial, and it shouldn't bother me, but it really does. Also, I know that I'm not obese or anything, but it's just one more thing on top of everything else. Oh, and also my parents, father included, were telling me that they weighed less than me in college. This again? Didn't my mother get this out of her system when I was in seventh grade? I didn't think parents wanted their children to become anorexic, but hey, what do I know?

In not-so-stupid news, I gave my dog a bath today. Yes, that is how bored I am here. I chose to bathe my dog.

Back to stupidity. (But wait, Krissy, how was you blogging about bathing your dog not stupid?) I can't eat feta anymore.

(space to react)

I just can't. We even found a middle-eastern grocery, where I can get any variety my heart desires, fresh pitas, hummus, pastries, and everything else I live for. The only thing is, there's a pound of Bulgarian feta in my kitchen just waiting to be devoured, and I can't go near it!

Maybe this is why I'm fat! Maybe, there was some enzyme in the feta that sped my metabolism, and now that I'm not eating it, my already disfunctional body's entire digestive system has slowed down! Yeah! I'll bet that's it! I'm a genius!

My brilliance aside, I really don't know what's going on with this whole feta thing. It worries me though...

Flexible Fabric Is Better

2006-06-06T15:09:00.000-07:00

I really hate plastic band-aids. They remind me of every part of my chilhood that I hated. The uncomfortable feeling of it being either too tight or too loose depending on how you move, the way it never really fits, I can't stand it. No matter what you do, a plastic band-aid will not be comfortable.

You have to make sure, when applying a plastic band-aid, to choose the correct size. If you pick one too large, you will not only waste it, because there are always less big ones ion a box, but you will cover a larger area with adhesive than neccessary. This means more stinging than neccessary when the time comes to rip the band-aid off. If you choose one too small, it will fall off easily, exposing the wound and losing adhesive. You will then have to apply a secondary band-aid. A careful consideration of band-aid proportion is very important.

I hate things that don't fit. I always have, always will. I refused to wear anything but stretch pants until the age of eleven. I still refuse to wear souvenir tee-shirts until at least two years later, after they've shrunk and I've grown. I will only wear certain pants with certain shirts, not because I care so much that I look cool, but so that things don't bulge or baag or cling in the unappealing ways that most people don't even think about. Things don't necessarily have to be tailored--the occasional tunic or breezy linen blouse is fine. However, they must be carefully matched so that the outfit is balanced, not baggy all over, but not loose on the top and skin-tight on the bottom. I like it when things fit.

Also important when using a plastic band-aid is applying it. Certain angles are not condusive to muscular movement, and certyain locations on the body are hard to fit band-aides to. When dealing with a difficult spot, multiple band-aids are sometimes needed to protect a wound. It is also important that they are not made too tight or loose, as it may case wrinkling or other undersirable things, like peeling or loss of adhesive.

I'm pretty sure that half of my childhood was spent making sure things fit properly. I did not like it when I was playing with a friend dressed in pastels and I was wearing brights. I did not enjoy putting on my mother's shoes, because they were obviously too big. I wasted hours and hours of collective classtime reorganizing my desk at school to accomadate each and every new item, from a stray pencil to a new workbook. Textbooks on the right, stacked parallel to the blackboard, folders and workbooks on the left, perpendicular, pencil cases and tissue boxes had to be level, and no more than two writing utensils coiuld fit in the pencil tray without being stacked. This was very important.

When wearing a plastic band-aid, regardless of whether or not the box says "waterproof", bear this in mind: Plastic band-aids are not waterproof. Do not wash your hands if you are wearing one on your thumb. It will start peeling and you will have to reapply. After bathing or showering, you must also reapply. It is possible though, to kind of "wash around" a bandaid, say, when rinsing your hands off because they are sticky. To avoid loss of adhesive, use one hand to carefully wash the other, rather than slathering both in suds under the faucet. With great care, it is possible to both wash your hands and keep a band-aid. It doesn't quite get your hands as clean, and the band-aid doesn't ever really stay dry, so really it's simply a hassle.

I also really hated conflict as a child, I still do. When I weas young, though, I really hated it. I hated disagreements and uncomfortableness to a point where when my sister and I made up imaginary games, I would sooner have our characters redecorate three times than have them go on an adventure and potentially get in trouble with their imaginary parents or get lost in an imaginary world. I couldn't watch "Arthur" if the characters were fighting. It made me too upset. This feeling applyed to my real life as well, where from third to eigth grade, I carefully cultivated friendships with members of "groups" that did not get along. In elementary school I would schedule when I would sit at what lunch table, because my friends didn't all get along, and I didn't want to upset anyone by not sitting with them. Monday, Wednesday, Friday at Bridget's table, Tuesday and Thurday at Sam's. Every week the schedule rotated, so it was even. The two groups never hated each other, they just didn't get along. I scurried back and forth this way well through juniopr high, taking pains to ensure everything remained intact, that I wouldn't lose bearing in one group by spending too much time with the other. I sidestepped conflict, promoted mediation, and made compromise my middle name.

Plain plastic band-aids are ugly. They not only have the discomforts listed above, but they are just not as cool as the neon ones with cartoons on them. They are boring and tacky, but not in the over-the-top tacky way band-aids should be.

Because of my chilhood quirks above, I turned out to be a really dull child. I hated dirt, activity, games, adventure, and just about everything else that makes a childhood a childhood. I was a delusional six-year-old who thought she was an interior designer. I was a stupid sixth-grader who thought she was an event planner. I kind of hated fun. It wasn't orderly, you couldn't rearrange it, and you had to be spontanious. I wasn't a trouble-maker who started food fights or a pre-teen who had strings of prepubescent boyfriends. As long as I can remember, even in my pre-Kindergarten days, I cannot remember ever wanting to do what my peers were doing. I was always "too mature" or "too good". As result, I became a ridiculously dull child. To this day, I wonder why I ever had friends.

That is why I hate plastic band-aids.

After tripping on the patio...

2006-06-04T13:02:00.000-07:00

Ow. Ow. Ow!

Oh, woe.
My left big toe
wrapped in half a roll of paper towel and the blood soaking through it is beginning to show.
It drips onto the patio.

I'm quite the poet, am I not? So yeah, ow. I can't manage to go more than two days without seeing a doctor. They can't put stitches in it, though, because of its location. Thank God. I will, however, be taking advantage of my get-out-of-class-five-minutes-early pass, so I can hobble from class to class.

I am ridiculously pathetic.

AP Euro, Adrien Brody, and Blogging

2006-05-26T06:44:00.000-07:00

My glands are swollen. And I am in Euro. Also, I am not very cool, as is becoming rapidly apparant by Sophie's ring of Sri Lankian(?) bloggers. They are cool. They have friends, and dance, and go camping in tents made of blankets, and ride trains, and take really cool pictures of wasps. Not my kind of wasp, either, it's the kind that is yellow and buzzes. Also, they are very pretty and tanned.

Sophie has moved on mow to researching the Warsaw ghetto uprising, as per Mr. Osman's directions, which I am choosing to rebelliously ignore! I feel dangerous. As dangerous, you might say, as a Nazi in Poland. (Not quite...)

Due to the lack of both point and direction, I will now discontinue my post.

Krissy Triumphs Over the Poor Design Choices of Middle America

2006-05-20T12:23:00.000-07:00

I win!! My parents said when we move we can remodel the kitchen right away, rather than waiting for several months. That means that I won't have to go through with my threat of not cooking until it's de-vinyl-pine-and-laminate'd and granite-hardwood-and-tile-ified, which I was prepared to do in the name of good taste, but didn't really want to. True, this change of plans is based on the fact that someone actually wants to buy our house!!! and therefore my dad's company won't have to buy it, and therefore we get more money for it, but still, I like to think that I, alongside my crusade for a tasteful culinary environment, won.

Also, I am very excited to shop for bedroom textiles. 'Twill be very fun and stuff.

My mother thinks I'm breaking up with her

2006-05-15T12:08:00.000-07:00

So, yesterday was Mother's Day! How nice. My dad bought flowers that Kylie and I pretended to have picked out for her, I made her favorite kind of cookies because I was craving them but didn't say anything, and, oh yeah, we got in a huge fight.

The thing is, I had no idea we were fighting.

I stayed, aside from going downstairs to eat/make food, in my room all day, as I have for the past four days since returning from the hospital. My head hurt, and due to various side effects from various new medications*, I sleep for at least 16 hours a day now. Anyway, Sunday. At lunch, when seated with my family, my father kept asking me questions about how I felt. Not, "Does your head still hurt?", but "What emotion are you feeling right now?". Gee, Dad, how about "Pissed off"? This is because, since returning home, my father is convinced that I am suicidal, depressed, and made up my heart condition and seizures to, I don't know, why would I make that up? So all he had done was ask me, "How are you doing... emotionally, I mean?".

Here I must deviate again, so that you understand why this question, coming from him, pisses me off. We are WASPs. We don't hug. We don't even brush shoulders when we sit next to each other on the couch. I haven't told my parents that I loved them since I was six years old. We are cold, socially akward, WASPs. We DO NOT talk about our feelings. We don't talk about anything but work, school, redecorating, and the occasional anecdote. Now, when my father thinks I'm going to kill myself and faked unconciousness that resulted in a four-day hospital stay and the discovery of a medical condition that caused my unconciousness (yeah Dad. Just kidding! My heart didn't really stop beating during that test, I faked it!Haha!), now, he wants me to show some emotion.

So I was mad at him. And so I mumbled "fine" and continued eating. My head hurt, still, and so conversation, especially this one, was not really something I wanted to take part in. I sat in silence, save for a few good-natured remarks about my sister's lack of aptitude in the area of handling cutlery, but they just my usual, sarcastic, well-recieved bits. You know, like, "Kylie, unlike the Spainish members of the royal court in the sixteenth century, you should by now be familiar with the fork and how to use it, as it is no longer classifiable as a new invention". Stuff like that. Kylie doesn't recognize it as nasty or intentionally harmful, nor does anyone else who at all knows me. My mother though, couldn't take it. Sheleft her plate, half un-eaten, and went upstairs to cry.

Unaware of why she left, I continued eating, then went back to my room to sleep for four more hours. All this time, I had absolutely no idea that she was upset. The only thing that could have created friction between us in the past day or so was an incident on Saturday night, in which I had an episode, passed out in the living room, and came to while she was yelling at me for sleeping with my face in a book. Confused and shakey, I started crying, she yelled at me for sleeping on my face and crushing my glasses, my father came in, knew that I had been unconcious and not sleeping, and told my mother to calm down. He asked me if I was stressed, because he thinks I have episodes on purpose to be excused from my responsibilities. I said yes, because after awaking to my mother literally yelling in my face for sleeping, when I had absolutely done nothing wrong, I was kind of stressed. I told him this. He said, "I know, but your mother just was stressed so she started yelling. This whole business of yours has been very hard on her, you know." And so, choosing to ingnore his talk of "this business" of mine, and just how hard my medical woes, including chonic pain that triggers my heart condition, was on her, I nodded and wobbled upstairs to my room, to sleep.

Apparntly this was our falling out. I had no other incident or words to go on, when Sunday evening my father approached me and asked "Are you mad at your mother?". I answered no, out of honesty, though I cannot say my voice was not tense with resraint. I had had it with his attempts at a heart-to-heart, and was trying not to let my anger towards him blow up into something unmanagable. "Well, then," he said. "Are you being mean to her for a reason?"
"What?"
"ARe you purposefully being mean to her on Mother's Day for a reason?"
"What did I do?!?"
"All right."
"What???"
And he got up and left the room.

My mother has not spoken to me since. She only gives pained looks, and turns away at the sight of me, then goes to read her eight or so "Thinking of you" and "I'm here for you in these hard times" greeting cards from friends. (NOTE: I have two get-well cards. I don't want more, but, why does she have eight?)

So that's it, kind of. My mother is mad at me, I'm mad at my father, and I can't leave the house for another week. Oh, and did I mention she's having her friend babysit me? Anyhow, life kind of sucks here, with the exception of feta, but I'm dealing with it.

*Um, I was going to go into it, but it's too long. Another post, guys, another post...

Her Glorious Return

2006-05-12T11:17:00.000-07:00

Home again, and the cat meows and my dad never stops conference-calling the plant at Lake Charles on speakerphone and we get kicked out by prospective buyers and a slightly pushy realtor and I have piles of missed schoolwork to do...it's good to be back.

I was released yesterday with four new prescriptions that I'll never remember to take, three scheduled follow-ups, an order to be home-bound for up to another week, and no dietary resrictions. NO DIETARY RESTRICTIONS!! The first thing I did with my dizzy and drugged self when I got home was to break out the gorgonzola and order Chinese. Hell, I don't care if my heart momentarily spazzes and I sieze unconciously, it's better than my no dairy, no acid, no spices diet. I can eat cheese! And asian food! Mexican! Italian! INDIAN!!

I am happy. That's right, not angry, not cynical, well, still cynical, not depressed or anything else I normally am. I feel wonderful. It's truly awesome, as awesome as ten billion hot dogs, what a bit of salty, smelly, viened cheese can do.

F-A-D spells stupid.

2006-04-27T08:16:00.000-07:00

Okay, guys, here's a question. What is up with pop culture and spelling bees? I mean, the musical, the movies, and now, get this, a Frosted Mini-Wheats commercial? I just don't get it. Were spelling bees ever really that exciting or cool? No! They weren't! The kids that win them think so for a few years, but even they have to admit that the prestige quickly fades. I mean, when it gets to a certain point in a battle of wits, throwing out "Well, I won the all-school spelling bee in fifth grade!" really doesn't further your argument. Why, then, has the world gone spelling-bee crazy?

I, of all people, understand the thrill of big words. Don't get me wrong there. I was the kid that got really excited for a box of 500 vocabulary flashcards and played games with them for fun. I mean, prefixes and suffixes are some pretty cool things. Even I, however, know that this is not really good material to make a movie about.

So why is this so popular? Why is Starbucks endorsing it? Is it the whole geek chic thing? The thinking that America is so stupid that intelligence is novel and cool? I couldn't tell you, honestly. I kind of thought geek chic was over. I could be wrong though, easily. I am in no way a pop culture expert, in fact I'm far from it. However, the spelling bee fad has intrigued me. Tell me what you think, kids...

Quality time

2006-04-19T17:48:00.000-07:00

"Zinzi, I hate this."

Zinzi trots over and stands in front of me. I look inside my house, barely able to make out my living room furniture for the glare. I am sitting on the steps to my back patio that come out of our dining room. The steps are green, and our patio is the faded, whitish color that asphalt gets when it hasn't been properly maintained. I look down at my dog, then again at the window, squinting. This time I can see my grandmother sitting inside, reading a book, and my grandfather stooping over a newspaper propped on the footstool. Zinzi sits down.

"What will you do, Zinzi, if you don't make any new friends in Maryland?"

She inches towards me to rest her chin on my lap.

"What if the other dogs there are all just a bunch of golden retrievers and labaradors? What there aren't any poodles, or Spainish water-dogs, or cumberland spaniels? What if they're mean to you?"

Zinzi snorts.

"Awww. Well, we will come bakc and you can visit your friends from the pooch parlor, Zinzi, don't you worry. Even if the doggies there aren't nice, we'll come back to see your puppy friends."

Zinzi sees a bird and chases it. I sit still, by myself now.

Zinzi can't come back for visits. They don't let poodles on airplanes. As much as I want to tell my dog that she will get to come back as much as she wants, and that she'll be happy, it might not be true. Zinzi will probably never see her puppy friends again, quite frankly. Zinzi, though, will get along just fine. You see, Zinzi likes other dogs. She does not think she is too good for some, or dislike the nature of others. She wants to be friends with everyone. She is very nice to other dogs, and does not cynically disapprove of their decisions or motivation. Zinzi will be very happy.

"Come on, puppy, inside we go."

She bounds back and grins at me, in that goofy way that only a friendly dog can, and trots ahead of me to the door.

"Go on, Zinzi."

I hold the door open and she walks in. I follow her, and sigh.

2006-04-10T11:07:00.000-07:00

Today is one of those days where I don't really have anything to blog about. It also happens to be one of those days when I nothing better to do than blog.

I did spend the last twenty or so minutes myspacing out. Now, I don't have a myspace,nor do I particularly like them, but I've found the website a useful tool for research. I look up a town that I will probably be living in next year, such as Catonsville, and find high school/college age students that live in or are from the area. It is through this research that I have decided that I hate Ellicott City. I hate Catonsville less, but don't get me wrong, it still sucks. You see, Catonsville is the sort of small town that isn't small. It's got its historic small town feel, with a downtown area, (which I must say was better than Ellicott City's historic downtown, which had only hippie shops and yuppie shops) but was still a bit "quaint" for my liking. Given, I'll take Catonsville quaint-ness over Columbian sprawl, but I still find it irritating.

Anyway, Catonsville highschooloers: Are they cool? This is what I'm struggling with. I mean, they have myspaces, wich already lame-ifys them, but that aside, would I like them? I'm sure that if I saw some of my current friends' myspaces that I would like them less, but it is some indicator of personality and interst...The Catonsville kids altoghether seem to be an artsier, more offbeat crowd than Ellicott City, but I've got some problems with them. I'm going to make you a list describing the Catonsville youth, as per Myspace. Draw your own conclusions.

1. Every Catonsville myspace that I saw had Harry Potter listed under its "Favorite Books".

2. There are self-described "theatre kids"...

3. There was this, which displays a disturbing amount of town pride, but was actually kind of funny. It even made me like Catonsville for a minute there...

4. There were far fewer trying-to-look-sexy/beauty/airbrushed fifteen-year-old type profile pictures.

5. There were far fewer drunken/polo-wearing/asshole-looking/party-at-John's house-'cause-his-dad-has-a-full-bar-in-his-basement-and-we-can-totally-get-some-chicks-drunk-and-hook-up-with-them pictures.

6. There were less myspaces.

So overall, Catonsville is "Less Up Its Own Ass than Towson" (a suburb we looked at but was too far away and sucked)but still not great.

In Desperate Need of some Bulgarian Lovin'

2006-04-05T18:32:00.000-07:00

Feta cheese. Is that all I've got? Is that really the only thing that makes me excited, satisfied, and validated? Is it possible for a salty, crumbly, smelly, hunk of dairy product to affect me more than any other pursuit of interest? I should certainly hope not...

...And yet, it does. I think, and I write this with utmost despair, that it is time for a bit of a change.

The problem I am now faced with is this: What to do with myself? I'm obviously not going to ignore my feelings for feta cheese, but I feel moving on is not only inevitable, but necessary. How can I, without betraying my feelings for feta, move on with my life and direct my passion towards a more fruitful, sensible, and accessable interest? Is it possible? Will I learn to live with out the constant cravings for some good Bulgarian lovin'(er, eating...they're very similar, you know), or will I distance myself from the cheese, but never really stop craving it, and thus starve?

These are truly times of uncertainty for me. As it is, I find the notion of anything replacing feta's high position in my ladder of appeal and desire slightly ridiculous. But then, all things can change. Maybe with time and a little direction, feta and I can, while maintaining a fairly close relationship, function apart.

I think it might get a bit lonely, really. I'll be lying awake at night, worrying, only I won't have a tasty companion to distract myself with. I'll have to resist my urges to slice off a hunk, close my eyes, and just devote myself entirely to the pleasure which feta brings. I'm going to become independant. I don't want to have to rely on something that I can't always have, or something that when thought about, triggers only salivation. No, I'm going to focus on something else. Something, perhaps, that actually matters. Maybe it will be Russian literature, or current events. I could become an activist or a devoted fan of something. I could be a writer, a painter, or a volunteer for a worthy cause! I could be passionate about something that has influence and bearing in this world! I could broaden my mind, help the less fortunate, stand up for what is right! For some people, these things are like feta. They think about them, dedicate time to them, and look forward to enjoying the benifits of these activites.

Maybe someday. Right now though, there's a little bit of feta in the fridge, and even if never again , it's got my name written all over it.

I also went to Perros Gyros

2006-03-29T08:53:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, I found out just how boring my life is.

Kylie and I wanted to go somewhere yesterday. We weren't stuck at home for any reason, what with Kylie being able to drive/having a car, so we decided to go out. We sat, at our breakfast bar, her eating cookies and me sipping juice, trying to think of anywhere we could go. Not downtown, it was too expensive and too far. Not in Flossmoor, too expensive and too boring. This continued for at least half an hour. Finally, having exhausted all other options, we decided.

"Lincoln mall?" I asked, mostly to myself as we settled into car on the way out of the garage.
"Where else?" she said, her neck craned behind her so as not to run over the garbage cans she hadn't brought back to the house.
"Well," I said, hand extended under my chin to catch the crumbs from the Milanos I was eating, "At least it's got a bookstore."

After stopping at the bank, and taking the long way 'round, we arrived at the mall. We walked through its barren parking lot into Carson's, one of the few major retailers remaining in this ghost mall.

"Why are we here?" I asked, as we blazed through men's wear.
"No idea." Kylie answered mechanically, swserving suddenly to avoid crashing into a colonge display.

We emerged from the department store into the bustling atrium. All right, so it wasn't bustling, and the atrium is about the most pathetic mall you've ever seen. But still, it was light filled, and had it not been eleven-thirty on a Tuesday mornig, you might have heard excited shouts of children and witnessed frantic shoppers whizzing by....

We walked. Through the southwest wing, and nothing. Through the east wing, and nothing. Through the nothwest wing, and still nothing. It was time to go upstairs.
Finally, after covering the majority of the second level, we saw it.
"Look, Krissy, Bargain Books!"
"Finally!"
Our pace quickened, and soon, we were in the entry of the saddest, emptiest bookstores we had ever been inside. There were no shelves, only long, unorganized tables, labeled with signs that said "SELF-HELP", "HUMOR", "SPIRITUAL" and "NEW ARRIVALS: FICTION". This bookstore sucked. Until, that is, I saw the sign.
"Kylie!" I half-yelled, pointing at a children's easel with a poster propped against it.
"Art, photography, and literature, 50% off!" I read. "Where's the art, photography, and litereature sections?"

After some quick searching, we found it. A whole corner, right behind the stacks of "One Hundred Easy Wiccan Spells" and "The Christian Soldier" (both on the "SPIRITUAL" table), was devoted to art and literature. Some Doestevesky for $1.50, Best American Non-Required Reading for $2.00, and so on. All half off! We spent, easily, twenty or so minutes, thumbing through art books, and sorting through stacks of literature. Finally, hands full, we staggered to the checkout.

So there. Be sides the library booksale, that was my excitement for the week. And so, I have concluded that my life is, indeed, just as we all suspected, boring.

This is what I do before I go to bed every night.

2006-03-26T16:05:00.000-08:00

I'm sitting here, listening to lovely Brazillian music, and thinking about what I shall do this week befor leaving for Maryland.

I'm going to make a movie with Aly.
I'm going to listen to lots of music that I got from the library.
I'm going to read at least three of my new old books that I bought today.
I'm going to watch Masterpiece Theatre.
I'm going to finish the scarf I half-knitted over Christmas.
I'm going to stop throwing up so I can eat Mexican/Asian food, which I am totally craving.
I'm going to make a lot of lists.
I'm going to sleep.

"Do you think I could get those spinny rims for the Pacifica, too?"-my mother

2006-03-20T13:18:00.000-08:00

This past week I've felt a lot like an Expressionist artist. Stressed, dealing with illness, and er, living with the gruesome images of war frozen in my memory...

Alright, so I'm not feeling that much like an expressionist paper. And yes, for those that are wondering, my AP Euro paper is about post-WWI German art.

This weekend, whilst my mother and Kylie were in Michigan, our 1993 Dodge Minivan broke down. So, naturally, they drove a 2006 Lincoln Navigator home. For those not familiar with that way my family works, I will explain. This week, my grandfather tired of his Lincoln Aviator and pickup truck. He decided to replace them with a Navigator and a Cadillac Escalade Pickup. These are both comepletely ridiculous vehicles for my grandparents, as there are only two of them and they use their vehicles for hauling construction supplies and landscaping materials between their various properties. Now, my grandmother's Cadillac car doesn't fit in their garage, so they've decided to keep it at their lake house (less that five miles from their house) rather than get rid of it. So basically, they bought a bunch of frivolous and inefficient vehicles that they don't really need and don;t suit their purposes very well. But I digress. My mother and Kylie arrived in Michigan, after which our ancient van promptly broke down. This caused our family, who actually has a need for three cars, to run into problems, the most pressing being the means of return to Illinois. Since we would need a new car anyway, and my grandparents didn't really need the Cadillac, my mother suggested we buy it off of them. This greatly upset my grandmother, who couldn't possibly part with her car that she replaces with a newer one every two years anyway. After much consideration, my grandfather decided to have us take the Navigator, because he "needed" his Escalade pickup this week. So now, sitting in our driveway, is a massive, shining, fancy-pants, thing. The worst part of all, though, is that my mother loves it. Ugh. If she buys one to replace the van, I am so running away from home. Like, totally.

So that's my story for today. It's of frivolity and suburbia at its best, is it not?

All things must come to an end...

2006-03-07T09:28:00.000-08:00

Well, it's my last day in the school library for gym class. The book fair has moved on, and the silver dome has disappeared just as mysteriously as it came. All that's left is a forgotton poster outside the library doors, advertising "Cool stuff" and "Hot picks". It's almost kind of sad, really. No, not the fact that the book fair is gone or that I never figured out what the dome was for, but the fact that without these ridiculous library-promotions, I have nothing to say. As silly as they were, they gave me an outlet for pent up sarcasm, something to scoff at. I need something to scoff at. I can't handle taking everything seriously and respecting it. I just don't have it in me.

Oh, book fair! For all of the cynicism I hurled in your direction, I really enjoyed the time we had together. You would stand, with your flashy merchandise and cardboard signs, drawing freshman lit. classes in with your promise of all things "cool", and I would sit, at the computer three feet away with legs crossed and eyes rolling, and watch. Book fair, I never really thought that I would miss you. In fact, at first I wished that you had never come. Now, though, that your mobile shelves and carts of useless trinkets have made their way to another south suburban library somewhere, I kind of miss your presence...

I suppose that's it. This marks the end of my library phase. Sure, I'll post again, but it just won't be the same. I will be at home, on my own time, and I won't get to feel like a badass for blogging instead of researching ice skating (as per my gym teacher's instructions). So with regards from the library, That is all.

Theatre kids are such attention whores...

2006-03-06T17:34:00.000-08:00

Hmm. I suppose all thespians aren't that bad. I'm actually glad that I did G.I. (Group Interpretation) this year, finally. I was getting really sick of dreading my time spent with theatrical types. I enjoyed rehearsal today, even though we performed for the cast of Contest Play. I dislike performing for people I know. I feel stupid when I do. That being said, the performances for the school later this week should be really fun for me. Oh well, at least G.I. gets me out of class, right?

Ah, well enough theatre-talk. No one wants to hear about it anyway.What do you want to hear about, though? Do you prefer sarcasm-soaked encounters and events, or refelective-thought stuff? What is interesting to you? Should I even be asking that question?

No! No, I shouldn't! This is my blog! I am the author of it, it consists of my thoughts, whatever they may be. I don't have to listen to you, to give you what you want! I can write whatever I want, thanks. You can't influence me, or try to sway me with your comments! Ha! I laugh at comments! I don't need them. I don't need anyone's input or approval for anything! I am independant! Opinionated! I don't need you, you need me!

So, um, comment if want, guys...
...Please?

Really, I mean, you don't have to. As I expressed earlier, I in no way need your input or attention to fell satisfied with myself.

Seriously.

But if you wanted to comment or something, I can't exactly stop you...

Well, I could, but that would, er, be, um, hindering your right
to...er..express...your...individual...ity. Yes. Individuality. Which is totally what I'm all about.

Right, then. Comment if you wish.

Wouldn't it be nice if I were inetresting?

2006-03-01T09:34:00.000-08:00

Yet again, I'm coming to you live from HF's school library! Yes, the book fair is still going, and yes, they still (remarkably) have troll pens left for purchase. I suggest,though, that you seize this opportunity while it lasts, because there's another class coming in right now, and I'm getting the feeling that trool pens are going to be a pretty hot commodity. All sarcasm aside, people really do like the troll pens. Seriously. I mean, at first I thought the idea of people wanting one was just funny, but appartantly Schoolastic knows what they're doing. Just yesterday in my AP Euro class, I overheard a girl saying "Hey you know that book fair, they've got those troll pens... I totally want one. Will you lend me money so I can get one?...Pleeeease, they're so cool!" So yeah. People actually want this stuff.

In other library news, there is a large, inflated dome behind the reference section. The dome is maybe fifteen feet across and ten feet high. It is silvery-gray, and does not seem to be serving any purpose. There is no indication nearby of what the dome may be there for, and no students or staff members have approached it since I've been here. Perhaps it is a side attraction of the bookfair, or possibly a new, advanced, referance media that allows the student to step insidew the inflatable dome, and experiance a 360-degree holographic projection featuring up-to-the-minute information from credible researchers worldwide, as well and audio and video clips that would greatly enhance a student's research. Probably not, though. But really, I've no idea what the "dome" is.

We'll be here 'til Thursday

2006-02-27T10:13:00.000-08:00

So right now I am sitting in HF high school's library. It is not very big, but not very small, not very useful, and not very exciting. It is pretty much a normal place. THere are (obviously) books, internet, and tables with wooden chairs. It is a fairly pleasant place to spend one's gym period when out on "medical" leave. However, today is not just a usual* day in HF's library. Today, there is a book fair! THe book fair, usually featured in elementary schools, holds many exciting and interesting items availiable for purchase. There are books at eigth grade reading levels, erasers shaped like smiley faces, and even a box full of assorted holographic bookmarks! THere are "Hot Picks!" and "Cool Stuff!" as indicated by colorful cardboard signs. All in all, it is quite the fair. I mean, this place is buzzing with action and excitement. THey even have troll pens. Troll pens!! How awesome is that?!? AW man, book fair, you are so cool! (And the best part is, students, my peers, my supposed equals, are buying this crap!) I find all of this rather remarkable.

*"a usual"...is that correct? Because you use "an" before a word that starts with a vowel, but "an usual" does not work. I think, that because of the "y" sound at the beginning of usual, it must be "a usual". If any of you have knowledge on this subject, do share it with me.

Colonial, Ranch, or Split-level?

2006-02-16T09:11:00.000-08:00

So...today I'm resesrching houses and schools in MD. Here's some of what I found:

My first thought upon the encounter of this website was "Why, it's just like HF! They, too, have a tradition of excellence!" Upon further examination, I discovered that I could join breakdancing club, latin dancing club, German, Italian, or French club, or, my personal favorite, Jewish awareness club. The club's purpose is "to share Jewish heritage and customs with Jewish and non-Jewish students". Gee, that sounds great.I'll bet they get to learn about the Holocaust, too.

Now here's a school I really like. See, I happen to be a person, so I matter! They sure know how gove the people what they want...

My actual favorite is Howard High, who doesn't have a slogan. Maybe that's why I like it. Or maybe, it's because it's the only high school that I"ve looked at to have an AP program. I think, though, it's because of this:

It's by far the coolest house that exists in Columbia, MD (and the surrounding area). It's in the middle of a woods, on tons of land, although if I really feel like chilling in suburbia, it's right outside the forest.
Plus, it is not an ugly vinyl-siding and brick split-level horror. And...check this out

Purple=black people
Yellow=asians
Teal=Hispanic
Blue=(you guessed it) white people

I know that the whites are still a huge majority, but I mean, there are still other ethnic groups represented, more than the other schools, too.

So I guess that's the best I'm going to get. Disappointing, but okay.

Ugh.

2006-01-25T17:47:00.000-08:00

So I can't remember having taken this picture. I kind of like it, though.

I'm sitting in my basement now, kind of cold because I'm only wearing a tee-shirt. My mother is talking to the television, watching American Idol. My dog is chewing on a tennis ball, matting down the lime fuzz with her foul-smelling saliva. It's kind of distgusting, actually. I mean, the fact that my mother is totally entertained by this is really disappointing. Not to mention irritating. I mean, I'm in the same room, I have ears, have some respect, jeez.

Well, I've got a lot to do. I need to finish cleaning my basement and my room, make muffins for breakfast tomorrow, take my dog for a walk, and finish my homework, so I'm going to leave.

Ummm...

2006-01-17T18:29:00.000-08:00

Today I think I'll reflect on/ramble about... I don't know. Um, teen angst! Life sucks! I didn't have any intriguing thoughts, no particularly interesting incidents took place today, and no major changes in my life have occured. What else can I blog about? Suburbs sucking? High school sucking? Me sucking? I've got nothing else.

On that note, I'll go finish watching Scrubs and find something else to eat.

Another Something New...

2006-01-16T16:39:00.000-08:00

Damn Yankees is over. Thank God.

Actually, the end of this show has given me about the most mixed feelings I've had in a while. Not just the whole "Oh my god, I can't believe it's over. I'm so relieved, but I'll miss it sooo much!" , but mixed feelings in general. About lots of stuff. About friends, and un-friends, and what I like, and who I like, and what I think, and mostly what I want. I don't know shit about what I want. Oh well. Things will return to their usual. Either that, or I'll adjust to a new usual, which will probably be the case. Right now, my usual is sitting in a windowless, fluorescent-lit room with about ten to forty other thespians at any given moment. Right now, usual is feeling overtired, sick, and generally unhappy with myself. I need a new usual really badly. I like change... most of the time. Anyway, um, have a picture. This one is me in the aforementioned green room, only the lighting looks way cooler in this picture (which, by the way, I obviously didn't take).

Now I need to go finish illustrating my comic book of the Brothers Karamazov for English class.

Much love to you all

Greetings from Fabulous Flossmoor!

2005-12-30T20:21:00.000-08:00

So...right now I'm watching "La Cage aux Folles" on (you guessed it) PBS. It's pretty much the coolest possible way to spend a Friday night, especially during winter break. But then again, I'm pretty much the coolest possible person...

Oh. I thought of something. (Shocking, no?) I'm getting new glasses. I know, it's a lot to take in all at once. I'm sorry I sprung that on you so suddenly like that. Such earth-shattering news needs to be carefully handled so as to not put my readers into too much of a shock.Please accept my apologies for my insensitive and reckless approach. Anyway, they are slightly cooler (I think) than what I have now, but they are not that interesting. My mother wouldn't let me get dark, or artsy, or fancy hipster-type glasses, which I thought would have been far more amusing, not to mention making my parents uneasy. She also is continuing her crusade for contacts, which I am not all too eager to get. Oh well, I actually don't care too much. Just so long as I can see...

Well, as usual, I've got nothing too interesting to say. Have lovely new years, all.

Michigan

2005-12-29T16:42:00.000-08:00

By now you must know that I was in Michigan, with various relatives, for the past week. I was going to tell you all about what happened, etc., but I don't feel like it. Here's the highlight of the week:

In case you were wondering, that was my sister Kylie and me, when we went with Peter (cousin) to have light-saber duels in the street. (that was just a "pblicity-shot" we took in the driveway. The duels are on video.)

Other than that, I don't feel like talking about winter break too much. It hasn't been all that it was promised to be, and I'm kind of upset about that. I'm also kind of upset that I went into Wal-Mart this week. I am very anti-Wal-Mart, but my aunt made me. Peter took an amusing picture though, and I guess the random crap we found there (like fuzzballs with eyes and removable skin) made it somewhat worth it. Still, Je n'aime pas Wal-mart.

Well, I'll post again soon. Right now, though, I've got some catching up to do.

If you aren't Sophie and you're reading this... thanks. Actually, if you are Sophie, thank you as well.

2005-12-14T18:23:00.000-08:00

So...I have a blog now. I don't really know what to do with myself. You will note that I have, with the kind aid of my friend's photobucket account, added a profile picture. It is, not surprisingly, of me. It is, surprisingly, not an abosolutely horrible picture. I'm kind of freaked out by the exposed wrist, but since it's a very small picture, I think I can handle it.

I guess I really wasn't paying attention to life today, because I really don't remember a whole lot about today. The only really memorable bit was choir, wherein Sophie, Tori, Rachel, Tori II, and I discussed "The Superb Owl", a replacement, quite a good one, too, for the superbowl. It is a long and wondeful story, one that I do not wish to type out for you, whoever you are, so I apologize for mentioning it and then letting you down like that. I guess I'm a jerk. I will tell you that it involved promoting world peace through Carnivale-like festivities (if that's what you'd call them). Really, if you must know the details, I suggest you take your inquiries to Sophie's blog, for she can probably explain the whole mess with much less effort and clumsiness.

Anyhow, that's really all that I can remember happening. I think I went to some theater-oriented meeting after school, because that's kind of where I always end up going, but to tell the truth, the details are all rather foggy. Like I said, I really wasn't paying attention to today. With that, I shall conclude.

A Frustrating Fourth Attempt...

2005-12-13T18:39:00.000-08:00

Ugh. Every time I've checked back to the page after it elling me that it sucessfully published, nothing new was there. Did it or did it not publish? Is it just lying to me? First, it prevents me from typing at all, then it lets me type, but won't publish... why does my computer suck so much?

2005-12-13T18:37:00.000-08:00

A Thrid Attempt at Posting

2005-12-13T18:23:00.000-08:00

Hmmm...a click to "Edit Html", and it's letting me type. I may be on to something! If this works, screw xanga!

It does! I have a functioning blog! This puts a whole new perspective on things...

I may switch completely to blogger, and abandon my xanga, because (sorry if these are offensive generalizations to anyone) a.)xanga is just one big teenaged angst-fest. and b.)the majority of xanga's users are not particularly proficient writers, or are just flat-out stupid. the only thing is, I'm kind of attactched to my xanga. As much as I sort of hate some of my previous posts, because I sounded like an idiot, or because I really don't want to remember what was going on in my life at that time, I'm still kind of attatched to it. It's like a journal, and I guess I don't want to just throw it away. True, I can always just go back and read it, it's not like I'm deleting it, but I kind of feel like the thing just dies if you don't keep it up. Oh well, I'll worry about this later.

Wow. My first real blogger rant. I feel so smart and witty...

My computer does not allow me to type actual posts, just titles. However, I quite like the idea of not actually having content to my blog...

2005-11-28T16:18:00.000-08:00

This blog is all Sophie's fault...

2005-11-27T18:55:00.000-08:00