I'm super-speedy . . . 

Them's my hands . . . 

I hate seagulls. So, you may rightfully ask, why would I take a picture of them? Honestly, I had every intention of infusing it with voodoo-istic-type powers and burning it with the hopes that all seagulls everywhere would spontaneously combust. Alas; I have yet to make an actual hard copy of this picture . . . but when I do, watch out for flaming gulls. 

Just so that's out there for everyone . . . Fluffernutters. They really DO exist. Here, in this rare photo of a Fluffernutter in its natural habitat, we can explore the odd habits of this bizarre mutation of a perfectly normal peanut-butter sandwich . . . 

I never thought of this shirt as flirtatious until I wore it to a party and everyone said it was slutty. It's just a T-shirt . . . I guess TastyKakes mean different things to different people . . . 

Picture courtesy Isaac . . . before he was exed . . . before he was even ex-able, actually . . . Thanks, Ike. 

Dude . . . I wish that were my bike, and I wish that were my hat, and I REALLY wish that that duck was MY duck. 

I think this is where bad computers go when they die . . . 

This was awhile ago . . . but there she is. My car. 

I'm fat.

I'm off the hunger strike. I like food too much. I am getting sort of . . . soft and round . . . though . . . that's not cool . . .

I'm hungry.

I've gone on a hunger strike. Don't ask questions.

Tick off one more life's goal as accomplished, slight tho' it may be.

So I'm posting from Cafe Noir, which I think is a first, although I used to spend a lot of time here. Way back when . . .

I went shopping with Tasia today, ostensibly to get myself some new running shoes, but walking around the mall reminded me that I don't NEED running shoes because, well, I can't run right now. So . . . instead, I bought myself two bags of "Moose Munch" popcorn (my mother would DIE . . . so good . . . kind of Cracker-Jack-esque, only they come in different coverings, like Milk Chocolate, Vanilla Almond, Peanut Butter, S'more, Dark Chocolate . . . ) for $10, and an adidas backpack that has a padded computer pocket. Perfect . . . I have ALWAYS wanted an adidas backpack, and I was just thinking yesterday about how I wish I was comfortable with just chucking my computer in my backpack, and how I needed another backpack anyway so I could leave school stuff in that one all the time . . . I'm so happy. Yay! Seriously. My weekend has been made.

I must be getting old.

Ouch. My right foot hurts, my left knee hurts, and my left elbow is stiff to the point where I can't actually straighten my arm. Why is this? I have never been so . . . injured . . . in my life. And I'm not even really DOING anything. I did WAY more than this in high school; where were the injuries then? Actually, I don't think my arm is INJURED, per se. It's just really really sore from working out. To the point where it feels torn. Maybe it's injured.

Anyway, I AM back on long lunches; I got a B+ in the form of an 85.6% on my reading test (disappointing but due primarily to ambiguous multiple choice answers) and a 99% on my listening test. (Speaking was A-; speaking grades don't really matter anyway.) So, no more enhancement (YAY!) and no more short lunches . . . at least until next test. Tasia actually makes me do my homework now, though, so it's like built-in studying. (!!! Homework has a PURPOSE??? !!!)

Well . . . still trying to come up with something to do for the Fourth of July . . . Dane wants to go get a cheap hotel room in/near San Fran and have everybody stay in it and drink alcohol . . . I don't like San Fran, I don't like alcohol, and odds are pretty good I don't like everybody . . . so I was thinking that if that's the plan . . . I'm out. I'll entertain myself. I used to be really good at that. I have rollerblades, I have a skateboard, I have a football, I have a soccer ball, I have a big variety box of Band-Aids . . . I'm good to go.

Tasia wants me to go shopping tomorrow with her, Seth (her boyfriend), and Isaac. Hm. I said I'd go, and then I asked where and who, and she said Gilroy and gave me that list, and I said, "What the hell kind of group is THAT?" She and Seth fight all the time (it's funny, but I can't ever tell how mad they really are), and Isaac and I are exed for a reason. Even if we're currently getting along fine, as soon as it seems like he's paired with me for anything, all of his antics will annoy me. A lot. I don't care if he makes himself look like an ass if we're not together, but I don't usually want to be linked with his particular brand of asininity. But it's shoe-shopping . . . so we probably won't see Seth the whole time; I don't really know how he is about shoes . . . Tasia's all about them, usually, but this is running shoes and she really hates those . . . Isaac's a big fan of shoes; he buys them and destroys them constantly. He's always buying skate shoes and then ruining them by using them as brakes or by wearing them on the beach. And then he buys running shoes for PT and decides they'd be cooler in a different color and spray paints them, which eliminates their breathability. I need some new running shoes, but I haven't seen any that I've liked lately. Women's shoes don't ever come in the right colors/styles and I won't buy anything other than adidas. Funny, though; in Alaska, if I started looking at the men's shoes, some salesman would come over and smirk and say, "These are men's shoes. Women's are over there." In California, they don't do that. Hmmm . . .

Here we go around again . . . (name what song THAT's from . . . )

So today, I have a LONG lunch because we had a test, so there's no Enhancement Hour and no Special Assistance and no Additional Training or anything else like that. Hoo and ray. Last night, there was a power out in Building 649, where I was visiting Sarah. It went like this:
On Tuesdays, Sarah and I "work out." This usually consists of not working out. Especially since yesterday I had a package to mail, so we booked it to the PO right after school and then stopped at the Farmers' Market on the way back and then . . . didn't work out. So we went back to her room, stopping by mine so I could grab stuff to "study," and by that I mean not study, and when we got there, my knee was feeling pretty gnarly (the not good kind of gnarly) so I took some Ibuprofen and then Sarah said I should take a bath while she cleaned her room, so she filled the tub with VERY hot water and then the power went out. But the bathroom light is the emergency one, so I took a bath anyway and let Sarah do her homework by the window. And I listened to Korean. When I was done with the bath, it was just about dark. And when it got dark, I fell asleep. And then, at like 0330 or some insane time like that, it got very light again, because the power came back on and no one had thought to turn the light switches off. So there was a brief moment of fear, panic, pain, confusion, and way too much brightness. And then everyone went back to sleep. And that's about all the news I have. Test seemed to go well; as I told the teacher (in KOREAN, cuz I ROCK), it was "frighteningly easy" and so I probably did badly on it. Oh well. More later. Like tomorrow. When I know how I did.

Just because it's been awhile . . . there's really nothing to say . . .

I have a speaking test today right after lunch . . . this will be ugly, because I don't speak Korean very well . . . and I have the rest of my test tomorrow . . . this will be even uglier, because I'm a worse listener than I am a speaker . . . and I haven't really looked at this unit at all because I've been dealing with . . . issues . . . and that's really all I have to say, I think . . .

Truism or Brilliant Thing? (from "Agnes")

Well . . . the birthday was mostly good . . . generally better than my birthdays have historically been, but so very far from perfect . . . ah well. That's life, hey? There was a "dinner party" . . . reservations for nine. Jessica cancelled; disappointing but hardly surprising. Jamie also cancelled; she had to go to Study Hall. (That's what Jessica said, too, but I don't think she really wanted to come anyway. Antisocial . . . like I'm not?)

Speaking of me being antisocial, I thought it was a little funny that everyone just assumed that what I would want to do for my birthday would be the same as what Sarah wanted; dinner at a restaurant she'd never been to before. I didn't tell anyone what I wanted to do, and dinner was actually excellent, so I'm not complaining, but . . . dressing up and going out to an unfamiliar restaurant is actually the OPPOSITE of what I like. I like to NOT dress up, and I like to eat food that I already know so I don't have to pick something weird off of a menu, and I like to sit around with just one or MAYBE two people, order pizza, and watch a movie. And run around outside playing catch or football or something. (Not in that order. Running around should come first. And then food. And if there's going to be football, there should be more people.)

But whatever. There's going to be a trip to a drive-in theater tonight, and that'll be fun, but it was supposed to be tomorrow night, so the change in plans is causing people to have to cancel. Like Lina and Isaac, and hopefully no one else. But Melinda and Chris and Brandi and Tasia and Seth and Sarah and Billy and Jamie and maybe Matt and maybe Jessica and Adam and Kelli and I guess that's about it but it seems like there should be one or two more . . . ah well. I've never been to a drive-in; that'll be cool even if it sucks. :-D

Oh, and Kim called last night, which was really the coolest part of the whole birthday. (No offense to anyone else, but I go out to eat wit' you schmucks all the time. Kim doesn't call very often.) Thanks, Kim . . .

Whoops . . . there goes my life again . . .

My apologies to anyone who actually reads this for updates; there haven't been any for awhile. Here's why: I'm on EH for the first time ever, which means my lunch times have been shortened by half an hour. And the internet only works sporadically in my room, so I can't update from there either. Etc. So. Long and short, I'm on enhancement because my grades dropped, and I'm on a profile because my knee's messed up (which means I'm going to get fat because I'm not allowed to run, use a treadmill, use a bike, use a stairmaster, use an elliptical, or do anything that requires knees besides marching), and it's my birthday. That's all.

Ow, Hank; m'leg . . .

Well. Went for a very long walk Sunday and woke up Monday morning with a stiff knee and a sunburn. By lunch time my knee was making wet-rubber-band sounds and felt bubbly and still hurt. I figured I'd just wait until the next day and hope it wasn't eval day at PC. It was eval day. So I limped over to the new-woman-whose-name-I-don't-know and said I couldn't eval because of my knee. And she said "Did you go see someone about it?" I said No. She said, "Why not?" I said because I didn't realize it was actually injured until this afternoon. (And by that I mean that if it hadn't been an eval day, I would've limp-walked around the track and let it heal on its own.) So she demanded some paperwork and said I better go get that checked out before class tomorrow. I said Okay. Then she sent me to sit on the bleachers. Which I did. And it hurt.

Then, Tuesday morning, I went to Sick Call, because that's the only time to go before class, and I walked in, and they said, "This is an illness, right?" (By "they" I mean Angela's old roommate, who works in the Medical Office because she's broken.) "No," I said, "injury." "Well, injuries have to come in the afternoon." "I know," I said, apologetically, "but I was told to come in this morning before class." "Told by whom?" "I don't know," I said, getting all irritated. "Whoever was in charge of PC yesterday. That new one." "Well, we can make you an appointment . . . " "Fine," I said, not giving a damn. "Do that." "We don't have any available until next week." "Fine." "When's your lunch time?" "1050 to 1240." "How about 1115?" "Fine." Shit; I just remembered that my lunch time has changed since then and is now 1125 to 1240. Oh well; I get out early. My knee will probably be better by then anyway.

Anyway, they gave me a waiver until my appointment, so I get to join Jessica and Tasia and the rest of the WaiverPeople, just as I have recently joined the ShortLunchPeople, and not do PC today. So I miss an eval . . . yay . . . they better not phase me back for that. I'll be pissed. It's not my fault I broke. (Well . . . it might be . . . I walked a longass distance . . . )

PlumesTheFirstOneThatStartedTheMadness 

DaneRoom 

MyRoom2 

MyRoom 

Plumes5 

Plumes4 

Plumes2

Plumes3 

Plumes1 

Noir 

Whoa . . . long time no post . . .

So. I haven't posted since Sunday. I guess I can't think of much to say. I talked to Jeremiah the other day (co-worker from long ago that I spent Thanksgiving with two years ago and something about that grammar must be wrong), and he said he might try to come visit on a long weekend. That'd be frikkin sweet. Do it, Jer. C'mon, do it.

Ummm . . . so . . . someone in this library is wearing some pretty strong cologne or aftershave that smells really familiar to me but I'm not sure why. Maybe an uncle or something; it's that kind of familiar. I think scents are the most powerful memory triggers, but I'm not sure why that is. Maybe because other things, like sight and hearing, are used so much more that they get kind of overloaded. Like, for example, an ex-boyfriend's truck. I could sit in that exact same truck, listening to the same music, but if it didn't smell like his truck, it wouldn't be weird to me. However, I could sit anywhere in the world, in silence, and if it smelled like that truck, I'd get all freaked out. (And slightly nauseous.) Ooh, like anything that smells like anything raspberry-scented. (As opposed to smelling like raspberries, which is different.) And certain kinds of gum. And gunpowder. And spruce sap. And sun-baked dust. And raw, field-dressed meat, although I bet that sounds . . . weird. Certain people's sweat . . . sunblock . . . bug spray . . . mosquito coils . . . woodsmoke . . . cigarettes and beer . . .

I'm suddenly reminded of a time when I made up a book report. In tenth or eleventh grade. I don't remember which. Maybe I was even a senior. Ms. Dean, a French-Canadian English teacher (I always thought that was funny; French-Canadians can't even speak English . . . ), used to make students do very in-depth book reports. I don't remember what she called them, but it wasn't "book report." You had to write a couple of things for it, like letters to the author or prologues or epilogues or summaries etc, and you had to do some kind of art project (drawings or dioramas or models), and you had to do an interview with her about the book, which involved answering questions about the book, reading a passage from it, and explaining why you did or did not like it. And I read all the time, but I didn't feel like going off of an actual book. And I wanted to know if I was capable of faking it. So I looked at all the crap I'd written in my sort-of journal and other sundry stories on the computer, and I picked random passages, and made up a summary of a book called Me, with the author being a pseudonym of mine (that I won't tell because then it wouldn't be secret), and I drew some pictures of . . . I don't remember . . . a keyboard, I think, and a person sitting at a computer, and . . . I don't know what else, but I think I needed to have three. Maybe I just took the loss in points. And the interview was tough, because you're supposed to have the book right there to read your passage from, but I just printed them out on a piece of paper and said I'd borrowed the book and had had to return it already. She asked some weird questions, so I think she guessed it wasn't a real book, but I think she also guessed what it was and so never called me on it. That was kind of fun. I felt guilty about lying, though . . . but hey, it might be a book someday . . . (ha!)

"I suggest you stick to two subjects: the weather and everybody's health." So . . . the weather sucks . . . it was crazy misty yesterday, I think, but I also think it was hot for awhile because I definitely went out and about in a tiny shirt, but I don't really remember. And then Sarah bought a softball glove and we went and played catch in the dark (which is SCARY!!! I thought I was gonna DIE!!! or if not die, per se, at least break my nose . . . ), and it was cold then but I was sweating anyway from the "exertion" of playing catch. And then I hurt my arm---my forearm, not my shoulder---because it's still not quite right (and probably never quite will be). So that covers weather and also some health. (Yes . . . I rule . . . )