meow

i want to go into one of those long white tubes and see what is inside my head that makes it hurt all the time. I want to buy a cat scan machine. but then my neighbor will get jealous of my cat scan machine and get one of his own and it'll be this big ongoing battle of who can have more cat scan machines and then a bus full of children will crash and ALL of them will need a cat scan at once but there won't be enough in the hospital and it'll be all my fault. So maybe i'll just let my head hurt.

I've decided

I've decided.
I can have my own goals. I don't have to be dressed in white or a suit. I can be dressed in a long sweater and sit down every morning and write my novel. And that's good enough. And I can be excited about getting off work in one hour and going to class where Alex is and we can hold hands. And thats' magical. And I can be excited about the wind and the rain and I can be excited about next semester and reading all of Shakespeare's plays. That can be exciting to me. And it is. I just have to stop letting the bitter-sweetness taste only bitter.
Because I like sweet things so much better.
Like pumpkin pie and candy canes and ice cream cake.
And love and happiness and giggles and hilarious bird kisses.

And my life is better now than it ever has been before. Really for really.
And I love the mountains and the year 2012. And when Alex literally screeches to a stop in front of my apartment building and yells for me to get in and that he has just come back from the future and turned his car into a time machine with the "future flux capacitor".
And I love other people being in love and getting what will make them happy. And I know I deserve that and I'll get it one day and it'll be magic like Disney.

I'm just so hungry.

papers.

I'm writing my ten page paper like I write my book. It's completely my voice this time. At least, I'm trying to make it so. It's an experiment. To see if my voice can actually get me a good grade. I always shift into my college-I-want-a-good-grade-voice when writing papers. But not this time. I'm going for it. I'm editing it and pretending it's my book. And we shall see. As for the fragments that I love so dearly. .. .I have introduced the semicolon into my paper many many times. Hope he likes it.

;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;

One thousand wink faces.

If it were up to me...

If it were up to me, I would spend all day on amazon.com searching for books that I want to read; reading the first few pages and then buying the book for only a cent. If it were up to me, I wouldn't have four 10-page papers due the day I get back from Thanksgiving break. I would only have letters to clack out on my typewriter. If it were up to me, my teachers would let me write my papers however I want. And I would use run-on sentences. The kind that leave you out of breath and excited when you finally reach the period gasping for breath, trying to remember how that sentence started and wondering why you are now talking about the sound of a wet Popsicle falling on the hot concrete slithering beneath your bare feet. And fragments. I would use lots of sentence fragments. If it were up to me, it would be snowing right now instead of going from extreme cold to oh-this-is-okay-weather so I would know what kinds of clothes I should wear everyday. Once it starts snowing it's easy: snow suit. If it were up to me, I would have worn my knee-high rainbow socks today because these pants just aren't keeping my legs warm enough. If it were up to me, I would still be asleep in my bed. Curled up under the blanket that feels like a bear, dipping in and out of my bucket of dreams. If it were up to me, we'd both be ready but we're not and that's okay because time is growth.

But my teachers are still going to say "Find your voice!" and when they read, "I just. Didn't. Care." they're going to circle it and write fragment in red pen and put question marks on the page and give me a B-. And that's okay. I guess I can write fragments on my own time. And I can curl up with my bear blanket in the middle of the day and pretend it's still too early in the morning to be awake and I can try to find those dreams I was having a few hours ago. And I guess I can write four big papers in a week. I'll just take breaks where I breathe for a minute and then search amazon.com for books with long titles. And if it takes a while to snow, I can still wear my snow suit and pretend I'm a spaceman or someone's teddy bear. And I can wait any amount of time to be ready. I'll just spend my time typing on my typewriter fragments and run-ons and words of endearment like "pood".

I get dressed with the lights on

I really do want to go back through my life and count how many times I have heard the exact phrase, "Did you get dressed in the dark this morning?" directed at me. I bet it would be a lot. I heard it today when I walked into work. I heard it all the time in high school. I hear it at work a lot too. People must just think I have some bad fuses in my house. But really. I rarely get dressed in the dark. I just have a philosophy called I wear whatever I want to wear and sometimes that means I wear my red sweatshirt with hot pink boots over my dark blue pants and green and black scarf. But I just wanted to wear the boots so my feet wouldn't get wet and I like my red sweatshirt and I just finished making the scarf today so I wanted to try it out. It's very warm.
So.
Really.
When you look at me. You just have to look at each thing individually for it to make sense. Oh nice boots. And scarf. Oh nice sweatshirt. See? It all fits together. They match because they are all nice things. They have a common thread between them: I wanted to wear them.

But really.
If I get a time machine, I will go back to each time that it was said to me and I'll count. Or maybe I'll get a life computer. One that has a script of your whole life written out and I can CTRL F and find each time.

I don't know how I feel about prop 8. And I don't know how I feel about people celebrating about it. . . .

My Dramatic Monologue

I remembered last night near midnight that I was supposed to write a 20 lined dramatic monologue for my British Literary History class. My first draft was a story about a safari tour guide who eats his tourists but since the last poem I wrote for that class was about a jungle and graphic gore, I decided to change the subject matter. Liz, laying lifelessly on my couch with her knitting resting on her stomach suggested writing about Cat in the Hat. And with Liz and Alex yelling lines and ideas and me laughing so loudly I'm sure I woke the neighbors, this was created:

A Famous Poet’s Conversation with His Mother

Mother, do you remember the first book I tried to publish? The not-so-famous one?
No, not the Cat in the Hat; the one before the operation.
I see you trembling, mother. Were you afraid that I would remember?
You think I don’t remember my true father, but you are wrong. I remember his
strong paws, how I used to hop on pop. Oh, the places we would go!
But look at us now; a disgrace. We’ve betrayed our own kind
from the moment we walked into that plastic surgeon vet’s office. I remember it all.
And just because clogs weren’t a popular trend yet and the hat, that damned hat, was always in.
Oh, yes I’ll have more eggs please. Make mine green.
But back to the real issue; you forced me to get pointy ears and a sunken in face
and to poop in this sand box! Oh, if I were to go back – things would be different.
The Dog in the Clog would rise in popularity and we could still have this lavish life – but it would be honest. Now, I suppose you’re right. The clog did go in and out of style quite quickly,
and the hat has never failed us yet.
I just don’t like the fact that you traded in our own culture for a quick buck.
And what I’m trying to say, mother is it’s time I go back.
Leave this life of fame and lies and fleas and chew on a nice juicy bone the way I was born to.
Don’t give me that Seuss abuse, mother! I’ve made up my mind! I am going back!
It’s beginning! Arf! Arf!
The Dog in the Clog will hit stores immediately, May 2009!
Be prepared, mother. All your secrets will be revealed.

It's Not Easy Being Green

Here are the things that I do to be environmentally nice:

- If the baggers at the store ever ask "paper or plastic?" I respond, "Paper, please."
- I save all of the plastic bags from my grocery shopping trips in which the bagger does not ask. I tie them in a knot and put them under my sink and use them for garbage bags and then day dream about all of the other uses which could come from them.
- When using public restrooms, I only use one paper towel to dry my hands
- I don't use aerosol hair spray cans, In fact, i don't even use any hairspray
- When I see obvious litter, I pick it up and throw it away. I was really happy when those commercials came on TV. The ones where people just stand around staring at the obvious litter next to the trashcan but not picking it up and then someone comes by and finally throws it away. Because I'm that girl. I'll pick it up.
- I don't eat fish. Thereby: not endorsing the killing of whales and fish and sharks.
- I reuse Big Gulp cups.
- I don't let my hair go down the shower drain
- I turn off the lights when I don't need them on.
- When my roommate turns the air conditioning on "ON", I switch it to "AUTO" so it isn't constantly blowing.
- I don't leave the water running while I brush my teeth.
- I take long showers. So I get cleaner. And less air pollution...
- I have a Britta filter water pitcher so I'm not constantly buying Dasani water bottles and wasting plastic.
- I don't wash my pants until they smell like they need to be washed.
- I ride my bike to school and other close places in which a car seems ridiculous to use.
- My boyfriend sings "It's Not Easy Being Green" in his Kermit voice
- I own a shirt that says, "Love is the New Recycle" which I don't get but. .. I wear.
- I also own a shirt that says, "Don't be Trashy Recycle" which is also hilarious.

So. I'm the Green Queen.
That's what I'm trying to say.
Vote for me for a cleaner environment.
Culp '08

writing.

I'm writing a . .. book? Story? Something. I'm writing a something.
This is how I write.
I type. Just type and don't stop to think. It just comes out. Then I pause and put my head down on my hands on my desk and think about what happened next. I try to just picture it and then I wish that it was all written already and that I didn't have to write it, that it would just be done. Then I lift up my head again and maybe read the last sentence or two that I wrote. Maybe try to pop my back or my neck. Look at my fingernails. Check my phone. And then start typing again. Describing what my brain sees. And repeat the process. There's a lot of resting my head and thinking and wishing.
It's the secret. I'm willing this book to be written and the universe is writing it. haha. Ohhhh secrets. Hilarious. Deodorant.
It's hard. Writing is hard. But I feel like robotron: MUST WRITE BOOK. MUST CONTINUE. or the Donner party. Must go on. Can't give up. I'll eat people just to not give up. .. .
Extreme, I know.
I just sit here and imagine when it's done. How long it will be. How successful it's potential is. If it has potential at all. If it should be more than just for me. If it could be for everyone. Money. Will people want to hear more from me if they read this one? Will people be mad? Should I use a fake name? Will I even finish within the next year?
All unanswered questions. An unanswered book...

Okay. Time to get back to willing the universe to writing this story for me.

more cakes

this one is awesome too

STOP THE PRESS!

Wait!!!! I've decided I don't want that lego cake. I found a better one!!!
Seriously
This is the one.
Not even a joke
This has to happen at my wedding or I will DIE

Check it out

How many times in my life have I done exactly this?

Too many to count. . ..

This is a cake. A Batman Lego cake. I'm so glad I know about this because. .. . now I need it for my wedding cake. This is amazing. Well. .. actually I'd rather have Lego Star Wars cake. .. but this is amazing. Wow.

Emily's blargh says that she is a living testament to the phrase that youth is wasted on the young. I doubt that. She's awesome. She's the best youth there is. Because she feels things and reads things and tries really hard to improve herself and has goals and dreams and is extremely multi-talented and it doesn't matter that she can't do a push-up because she's young and "F PHYSICAL EDUCATION!" and that's the spirit of youth. She's youth.

I'm youth. Her blargh also says she can't wait to spring out of adolescence. So I thought about that. I'm in that adolescent lit class and adolescence seriously rules. You get to experiment with everything and try things out and ask scary questions and intimidate adults and rebel and revolt and feel alone and say, "No one understands me" and actually believe it. That's the best. I still feel like an adolescent. We read those books and talk about how they would be good for the younger audiences and I think, "Man, I really related to this." I've got a young heart. And brain. And teeth. And feet. I think eyes are the only thing that truly age.

And Sharks have several rows of teeth so that when they lose one, another one moves up in its place within 24 hours sometimes! So stop cutting off their fins and killing them for your stupid shark fin soup. Because I own a shark and he's the nicest little Hambone ever. I make zero sane.

I Make Zero Sane's debut: Sharks are a little joy in my life. I see them and I say, "But I like sharks" and then i say, "I like tuhtuls." Because I do. I live in the sea. My name is finny and I live in bright orange coral and my name is also coral. Magical Maniac Mystery Montague Morning Mourning Miracle.

Lee Harvey Oswald is frying my brain.

homework?

New post.
Here are all of the things that I would rather do than my homework when I get off of work:
-shower
-nap
-get a pumpkin pie shake from the malt shoppe
-write my own book
-write letters
-eat
-play boggle with myself so I can be prepared for the next time I go head to head with Alex.
-paint with my water colors
-take a walk
-go running
-build a fort
-put on a puppet show and record it to show people later
-finish my power point presentation for biology. It's about sharks

I think my mind is in one thousand places at once but one of the thousand places is not the books I have to read for classes. I got 99 problems but a book ain't one. So I guess it's not a thousand. More like ninety-nine. I should have counted better.
Someone yelled BUTT on campus today.
I'm getting really good at drawing picture of pumpkins on the top of my notes for the word October. The O is a pumpkin. They're getting good.

Nope, I'm not good at blogs.

John Madden

Okay. Make a Wish Foundation.

Some things I would think about wishing for:

-having a video game made about me so my legacy can go on forever
-get a book published of my ramblings
-meet John Madden
-A day with Michael Jordan
-For Body Glove clothing to come back in style
-A pair of really nice bell bottoms
-a time machine
-a cure.

Body Glove

it's gettin' cold

Utah decided to rain and then turn really cold. Cold without warning. And change of weather makes my insides change real fast. I wasn't ready for it. No one ever is though.

Here's what cold makes me feel and think of:
cigarette smoke
mountains
long talks about life
black lights
Derek and Liz and Logan
The smell of alcohol
long sleeves
Jesus candles
The Bavarian
Late nights
long car rides
fast bike rides home in the middle of the night
the smell of latex
stairs
home alone
writing
genius ideas
pumpkin pie
strange beds
leather couches
costumes
driving driving. long drives into nothing. cigarette smoke. late nights. laughs. logan. derek. liz. liz. liz. talking talking. talking. silence. heaters.

So. This abrupt change to fall has me all confused.

clogging. I mean blogging.

Do you notice how I never write on here? I do. Do you wanna know why?
Because I'm afraid of blogs. People writing their thoughts and feelings down all eloquently into the internet. The scariest invention on the planet. Doesn't anyone ever think, "One day this thing is gonna blow"? Because I do. I just know it. One day blogspot is going to explode and everyone's eloquently formed words and all their thoughts about beauty and nature and art and that fat sweaty guy sitting next to them in the computer lab will be gone. And where the hell will they go? No one knows. Cyber space. The worst place on earth. Or. .. not...on. .. earth. . . In Bill Gates' house. In the walls. I'm pretty sure Homer Simpson got stuck there once and he said it was a lot like Tron. And we all know how that goes. . .not good. Kind of slow. Boring. Lots of lasers.

So. I don't write in my blog. Because I'm afraid of blogs. I write on paper. Because I feel like it's more likely that the whole internet will explode than my journals to catch on fire. DOESN'T ANYONE REMEMBER Y2K?!
I do.

I was at my friend Jenni's house. We always went there for New Years Eve parties. Even if I didn't want to. But I always went becuase where else was I going to go? So we were there eating cheetos and peanut butter m&m's. Standing in front of the 14 inch screen tv watching Dick Clark age. 5....4.....3.....2.... and then it went dark. 2 people fainted. One fell on me. I couldn't tell who it was but I graciously let them fall all over me before letting their head hit the hardwood. Outside there was this horrible noise like King Kong screaming. An airplane crashed outside, the impact was incredible. Blew Uncle Frank's toupee off. Bill Gates had a heart attack and so did Dick Chaney. Ellen got married and Clay Aiken decided to have a baby. It was horrible.

Well really Jenni's dad just went into the basement where the power box was and turned off all the power. But it really felt like I had an Uncle Frank. I was convinced.
Don't you see how easy it is for the internet to explode?
Blogs scare me.

Our Prank.

Eric and I put a little surprise in Rachel's room. This is our interpretation of how her reaction went.
So we made this video. . .then had it up on my computer screen for when Rachel came home. So she would see the video and THEN the surprise. haha. Since Eric nor I were home to capture her reaction. . .we made this. Hahahaha. Oh Eric.