Trick or Treat! Smell My Feet!

Come on-a my house, my house; I'm gonna give you candy!

And now, let's talk about me...

I am really stressing out about my personal statement for my law school applications. I mean, I stressed about my college applications too, but coming out of high school, I was kind of a badass, so it didn't matter. Coming out of college though, I am mostly just an ass who is bad. Hee. I started this post multiple hours ago and I can't really remember *exactly* what I was lamenting, except that it involved my law school applications, i.e. the bain of my existence. My question is: if I don't know what makes me an outstanding person, how am I supposed to tell the law schools?

I helped T. with her Halloween costume tonight. She is being a hippie (hippy?). I had to explain to her what that was, which was odd. I mean, even though I wasn't alive in the 60s, I feel like I always kind of knew what hippies were. Hell, most of my family were residual hippies in some form. Also, Material Girl came on the radio and I asked her if she liked Madonna. Her response: who's Madonna?

Face it, you're old.

The More You Know

Before I say anything else, let me say: SEE THIS MOVIE! :Bowling For Columbine

Today, I carved a damn fine pumpkin. Two, if you count the carving I did on my little sister, T's pumpkin. I carve one every year, and every year I surprise myself by how freakin hard it is. I have a lot more respect for my brothers and sister who would whine when I would pick out the HUGEST pumpkin available for us to carve. I thought big even as a youngster, knowing full well I wouldn't have to do the work. Man, I am already a great politician! Ha.

Another thing that T and I did today was go to the bookstore to pick out some books to read together. I know she doesn't have any books at her house, but she's very bright; plus, I remembered how ridiculously much I adored it when our teacher would read aloud to us in school. The children's section in bookstores is awash with memories for me. I ran my fingers across the spines of so many beloved titles remembering the summers I would spend in a red armchair in my room, but in so many other places at once. When T was trying to pick out her books, she was astonished to discover that I had read almost every book on the shelves. I didn't understand what was so weird about that until I had a flash: oh yeah, I didn't really have any friends as a kid. I just had dogs and books. Oh well.

One thing that is comforting to know (as E. pointed out): all of our friends are people that didn't really have friends as a kid. This is not because we weren't amiable people; we just had junk to do, like read every book or play with our home chemistry sets. Oh yeah. We were TOTALLY likeable.

So for once, I am contributing to something other than delinquency of minors. Yay me! But some things never change, like me: Cool back then. Cool now.

hahahahahaha

P.S. New poll.

P.P.S. T has no idea who Nancy Reagan is. For those of you my age and older, I have three words for you: Just Say No.

or as we dorks say...

Just Say Know.

ba-dum pssh. Ok, sorry. I'm going now.

Mad Props for Mrs. T

My mom just sent an email to me and my sister to remind us to change our clocks. Spring forward and fall back and all that. My mom is always making sure we're taken care of, even though at 22, I'm the youngest. Aww, mom!

Where the fun never sets...

I attended summer camp at Camp Longhorn for like...20 years. Okay, more like 10, but it was a long time. Now, I will try to avoid rambling on with camp stories as I have a tendency to do (hey, it's not band camp) but when I was 14, I was a *marina* at summer camp. Basically, this translates to a sort of "Welcome Freshmen" type thing at camp where you roll in the mud and act all goofy and your *generals* yell at you. My year, our generals were named Twist and Shout. None of this matters, really.

So all the marines (the boy versions of us) and marinas were out on the darn. Yes, the darn. That is what they call the dam at CLH. Um, so it's August and we have just been swimming in the lake and we're sitting on the darn. The kind of fat kid was sitting there and when he moved his leg and it slapped against the wet cement of the darn, it made this really hilarious farting sound. The generals seized the opportunity to make fun of him and said that from now on, we would all call him TRAF, which is fart spelled backwards. Now, this is rambly and dumb, but I laughed so hard about it back then that I almost peed myself. They probably would have called me EEP.

The other night, J. and I ordered a pizza and I smelled the most offensive odor ever and I'm like-- oh my God, J. is a foul S.B.D. farter. He is kind of prim so I didn't want to embarrass him, but I almost had to leave the room. When I got up to take the dishes, I realized that it was *Molly* who was the culprit behind it all and I bet J. probably thought it was me. Man, what a quack up.

Btw, M1 knows this from painful experience: never get in the car with a gaseous Molly. It's *really* bad.

Farting is funny. See Patrick for details.

And for you, Grasshopper.

"Sewer rat may taste like pumpkin pie, but I'd never know cause I don't eat the filthy motherfuckers....I don't eat dog, either." --Pulp Fiction

That was for the guys I guess, or the crude constituents? It's an important quote right around harvest time, I feel. I have sold my soul to Fondren Library until this research paper is turned in, so that's all I have for you kids today.

P.S. Speaking of filthy mofos, in squished traffic circumstances I was up really close next to a Jeep Cherokee and this guy was smoking away. So then he throws his (cigarette) butt out the window and forgetting that we both had our windows rolled down and this man is maybe 3 feet from me, I say disgustedly "You filthy animal." At least I made my point.

Tell it, Sister.

"I assure you that my personal tragedy will not interfere with my ability to do good hair." --Steel Magnolias

[This is M1's scariest movie, but this one's for the girls anyway. :)]

A Free Gondola Ride is Neither Free, Nor a Gondola Ride

Telemarketers, I'm on to you.

I wish I could afford caller ID. :( Now, that's livin'. Instead, I sort out the riff-raff the old-fashioned way.

They: Hello, this is AT&T.
Me: Is this AT&T?
They: This is AT&T.
(this is an old joke that's actually not that funny unless you're me and laugh at basically anything, so I'll stop now)

But seriously, this is my method for handling telemarketers:
They: Hi, can we speak to your old roommate who moved out 5 months ago and doesn't even go by her full name, even though we always say it?
Me: Yeah, you have the wrong number...[bitch]. Please remove me from your call list. Have an enjoyable day. Bye.

or alternately

They: Hi! Would you like to subscribe to the Houston Chronicle?
Me: Yes! [click.]

Moment of Zen

You know, it's sad to watch a relationship deteriorate before your eyes but not be able to let go of it, to keep hoping some great miracle will occur because you both want it to work out so much. Opposites may attract, but there's something to be said for having things in common.

Bad signs:
1. He never laughs at your jokes (i.e. you're actually funny, too)
2. You cannot find any common ground in one of the following: movies/tv/music/restaurants/interests
3. You hug, but never kiss.
4. The common silence between you is not a comfortable one.
5. You don't know his friends, but you're pretty sure if you did, you'd hate them.
6. He knows your friends and your friends hate him/think he's a tool.

Don't let this happen to you. Don't think it can't. Be on the alert, friend, or you too will be in a loveless relationship that you're not sure you want out of; some might call this laziness, but I prefer convenience enthusiast.

P.S. Sour Bob advises me to find a nice, cool Texas boy to move on to. I have a nice, cool Texas boy, but you see the issues above still apply. Also, I'm not convinced there's a ready supply. Pity.

I kiss you!

The other day I mentioned everyone's favorite Turk-- Mahir. That got me to thinking about the good old days of college when email was my major and I looked at every damn web site on the internet. Here are some I remember (that were fads) and some that I found randomly, but couldn't stop visiting. Honestly, some of the sites are like cinemax porn: you wanna look away, but you just can't.

Shanks for the memories!
-Peter Pan
-The New Home of Mahir
-Thank me later. (not responsible for sucky midi files.)
-Love is Always 17

There's more to come, but believe me, if you enjoyed the "Poems for Missy," you'll *really* like these sites. :)

I really, really am going to hell. Crap.

Put Me in the Zoo

Ask any of my friends: I may be the cleanest human being in the world. I clean all the time. I change my sheets for a lark. Who is the enemy? Dust bunnies are the enemy.

But there's a small caveat for nominating Mary T. to the nobel prize for cleanest person ever (it exists, I swear). I am a really messy eater. I have a big mouth and bad hand-eye coordination. (It's no secret that my athletic ability is less than stellar or even that I sort of hate sports.)

The earliest documented days of my youth show an infantile Mary T, mouth ringed in chocolate and/or crumbs. When my mom wanted to know who ate the cookies (and it was always me), there was no lying. No hiding. I get food everywhere. I have worked and worked at this. I have excellent table manners, but honestly, whatever I am eating will end up on my shirt/face/eating area and possibly in large quantities.

I'm sorry Mom. I know you wanted to raise a lady. But at least I am good at washing the stuff I get messy. Damn, I'm clean.

(By the way, for those of you that know about my big, messy dog-- is this not a testament to how much I love animals? I have battled a smelly/hairy car for two years now.)

The Cliffs of Insanity!

Sorry I keep taking these quizzes, but who knew they were all out there just waiting for me? I saw this one on a reader's page. Thanks, Stennie.

No more rhyming now, I mean it.
Anbody want a peanut?



Which Princess Bride Character are You?
this quiz was made by mysti

Run for Your Pants

How hilarious is the word pants? Saying underpants instead of underwear is all it takes to make me smirk. I was dating this guy once and we were talking on the phone and he was telling me when he'd come pick me up and so and then he said, "Damn! I need some pants!" I think I laughed for like an hour. I was probably late for the date because of it. I may have fallen out of/off of some sort of furniture.

I bought the best pants today, for $16.99 at the Gap. I am all about the sale price of yoga pants, yo. I may never remove them from my body. People will think I just have charcoal grey legs and that I run like a gazelle. Well, maybe not the gazelle part.

Completely unrelated:
Does anyone remember Mahir, the famous Turkish guy on the web? "I have home-car. I like to take the photocamera. I like models and nude peoples." What ever happened to him? What about the Hampster Dance? Yeah, those were the days.

Bam! Bitch went down!

All of my friends (well, mostly) were the type of kid that got picked on in school. The traumatic tales are a whole other experience, but suffice it to say that "nerd" was about the kindest name and on the other end of the spectrum-- G. got beat by locker locks. Ouch.

Does anyone make it out of school without a hellish amount of mockery? Death to the popular kids. By the way, if people had looked beneath my brilliant, nerdy exterior, they would have found the heart of a brilliant nerd. :) Hee.

Grow to know me and as I like to remind people: appreciate me now and avoid the rush. And pick on someone your own size, you a-hole.

P.S. "I may be small now, but I'm drinking milk." Remember that? I was 4'11" in 6th grade and approximately 85 pounds of dorky innocence. Now I am 5'8" and a fighting weight at that.

Fondren Library and Me...

Could the people that work there (not the students, the actual for not-peanuts pay folks) be a little more bitchy? They're handing out fines like it's going out of style. That's just really freakin' great. The problem is, they're being inept like it's going out of style too! I'll check out a book and the next day I'll get a recall notice saying: someone wants this book. So, I go back to the library and they're like-- oh, it's you who wanted it. Carry on. And then they charge me fines for that. I have no idea what's going on, but they get all pissy when you even inquire about it. Hi, I'm sorry, I would like to graduate without massive amounts of fees due, especially undeserved ones.

Furthermore, speaking of people who get mad when it's their fault. Today, I'm on Rice Blvd trying to make a left turn onto Hazard. Please note that I don't have a stop sign. So, when I can go, I go, but this woman on Hazard who indeed has a stop sign tries to pull her big old Mercedes out in front of me to make a left onto Rice Blvd. Then she gives ME the finger! WTF?! I'm sorry, even if you're a moron, right of way still exists. Who ever said just becuse people turn into geriatrics they become nice is WRONG. I can't believe I got the finger. How's that stop sign working out for you? And what is WRONG with you?

Thanks,
the Management

New Poll

*Poop snapple blatantly thieved from M1's blog. That's quality comedy.

I could incur the wrath of Sour Bob for this...

I took one of those stupid little quizzes and it looks like the winner is: Hotlanta. Shocker. I never fancied myself as a city.


Congratulations, you're Atlanta, jewel of the South.
What US city are you? Take the quiz by Girlwithagun.

Hello, Heartbreak.

I miss my friends. I got this email tonight for an event that eight of us did together every year. And then there was one. :( I miss you, elders.

What's your favorite scary movie?

Ah it's the yuletide season again. The nippy air and the colored lights signal that another Christmas is here again. What's that you say? It's only October? Halloween hasn't happened yet? I beg to differ! The River Oaks Shopping Center began putting up colored foil Christmas trees and strings of lights today. How could it possibly be only mid-October?

Geez, give Halloween a chance before you milk the hell out of the big shopping season. Three months is AWHILE to keep up decorations. Can't they put up rubber bats and glow-in-the-dark eyes?

This kind of behavior is appalling. It's barely 70 freakin' degrees, people. Do NOT decorate for Christmas.

Disgusting.

Big, Yellow, Different

Ugh. You know what I hate almost as much as city buses? School buses. That's right. Today because of insane amounts of cars parked on either side of the road, there was only room for one vehicle to pass through so I had to pull over in order to let a HERD of school buses pass by. And by herd, I mean approximately one million (rounded up to the nearest million).

I used to have to ride the bus home in the afternoons as a kid and I HATED it. Not only was I always the very last stop (ridiculous considering we went out to BFE before we came back in again), during that hour and a half on the bus, I was constantly picked on. To keep kids under control, our bus driver assigned seats and so I sat in almost the very back, far, far from the driver's watchful eyes between two older kids notorious for being bullies. It was hell. They would tell me (and no, I didn't steal this from an after school special) that they would beat me up (or some other such threat) if I didn't do their homework , plus I wasn't allowed to talk to them. Those were lonely days on that dusty, bumpy bus.

I hated it then and I hate buses now. Rar.

Club Sniper

I know. I know. This blog is for rants and making fun of people in a cruel and light-hearted fashion, but dude-- the sniper is freaking me out. It looks like the sniper killed another woman last night outside of Home Depot in Falls Church, Virginia. What is the DEAL? I mean, just like men (and worse than men, I mean) I don't try to understand the mind of a serial killer, but GEEZ. I know-- could I be any less articulate? I'm sorry but this whole thing baffles me.

In a similarly gruesome tale, a kid at UT was beaten to death by another UT kid with The Club. Yes, the one you "secure" your car with. This apparently happened in the parking lot of these apartments where my ex-boyfriend used to live. It's not that I expect to be bludgeoned by the club anytime soon, but do you think that guy expected it? WTF? People are so sick. I mean, I'm twisted and make mean jokes, but violence: I don't play dat game.

The Coffee's Cold, Too! They Thought of Everything!

I'm well aware that I'm going to hell, if such a place exists, but I'll be in good company. I mean, as I am always saying, I love the Lord :), but I am constantly doing jerky things like posting a link to some poor sap's blog of "poetry" for his girlfriend.

I. can't help. myself.

It's a Family Affair.

Apparently, buying tires is the new *fun* thing to do with your family on Saturday afternoons. Friday evening, on the way home from work, a kind man honked at me and told me I had a flat tire, although fortunately, I was almost home. AAA came and the guy changed my tire. Yea. (And for all of you naysayers who whine that girls don't know how to do that, shut up. Seriously. I DO know how to do it, but why would I when the AAA thing is free and the guy has better tools and can do it much more efficiently. Plus, the spare seriously needed air which, it may surprise you to know, that I didn't have readily available. I can also change my oil and air filter, but hello-- that's why there's jiffy lube. Get over yourself, psycho do-it-yourselfers who judge me.)

Ok, so Saturday I got to Discount Tire at 2 pm and waited...and waited...and waited. THREE hours lapsed and everyone had basically cleared out of the waiting area--even people getting four NEW tires-- and I got a bit perturbed. It turns out, the job had been done, but the paperwork was lost. The repair would have cost $10.00, but because they were such jackasses, they did it for free--which I appreciate. While I waited, however, not only did I read the entirety of Ladies' Home Journal, a much better publication than one might expect, and Family Circle (as not good as you expect), but I also watched a bunch of weird tire-buying people. A lot of people elected to bring their entire families. Five kids, two parents, a grandparent or two. I wouldn't be surprised if Sparky was in the car getting fixed, too. A girl who decidedly had a phlegm problem kept hacking away next to me until I felt my stomach turn. It was a lot like what you might imagine the 5th circle of hell to be.

I'm not prejudiced against a certain type of people. I really don't like anyone. Could you be next? ;)

I'm an excellent driver.

Smart people think I'm dumb. No, they really do. I don't know why. I think they're dumb. I mean, I do have this problem with being forgetful, but that's only short-term memory when I am sort of thinking of something else anyway.

A lot of the kids at school think I'm dumb. I'm in this foreign policy of Nixon and Kissinger seminar and there are only five people, the other four being a lot smarter than me (or at least they think so). Ammendment: Two are smarter than me. The other two? Not so smart. I am the dumbest of the girls though and I am the oldest of all. By a lot. So we talked about Vietnam and I asked ninety million questions. Were the Soviets involved? What was the point of the DMZ if no one obeyed it? And consistently, I was the only one to ask questions and everyone looked like they knew everything about Vietnam. Sorry, I was busy not being alive in the 60s-70s. Ask me about Reaganomics. (Something -d-o-o economics...voodoo economics)

When I was in high school, I used to talk about running for U.S. President someday. (I still talk about it, though that's neither here nor there, in regard to this blog.) So my friend and I are talking about it before our U.S. History class and this girl walks in and says...

Sophia:Oh, you mean you want to run for First Lady.
Me: Umm, Sophia, you don't run for first lady, and no, I want to be president.
Sophia: But women can't be president.
....
Same class, a few days later... during a mock congress, I give a speech:
Me: ...and with a national deficit of upwards of 5 trillion dollars...
Sophia's best friend (in rebuttal): Well, it's the government. Can't they just make a little 5 trillion dollar bill and end that?
Me: What president is on that bill, may I ask?

I may be goofy and forget really weird and random things, but love my mind-- I'm smart when it counts. And by the way, I bet I could bitchslap you and your whole family at reading comprehension. AND I use my turn signal.Yeah.

Excellent, Smithers.

That's it. I am tired of playing nice with the chicky-boom neighbor. Long-time readers will remember my struggle with the terrible upstairs neighbor whose friends do their laundry all the time, so I can't; throws cigarette butts all over my porch; plays loud chicky-boom music well into the early morning hours so that it shakes my walls; invites his friends to take all of the resident parking and now-- the worst. My upper upstairs neighbor and I suspect him of vandalism.

Lately, the chicky-boom has been restless in his covered parking space (as opposed to our spaces next to the building, completely exposed to the elements) due to the flash-flooding in the car port. You wouldn't want him to get his toes wet, now would you? (Only if it would drown him.) He wants us to get our wet, so he has been alternately taking everyone else's parking spaces. Now, understand that there isn't assigned parking at my place, but when you live in a five-plex and parking is limited, people basically park in the same spot all the time in relation to which part of the building they live in. We don't step on each others' toes. At least I don't and most of the others don't, too.

Okay, so back to my stupid neighbor. Both K. my upper upstairs neighbor and I have experienced (mine being today, hers last week) "mysterious" flat tires. We think it's because the two of us made a concerted effort to keep Idiot out of our spaces and out of our piece.

I would just like to add that there are six trash cans for our five-plex and I am consistently the only one who takes out the garbage every week. And I don't mean one trash can. I mean all six. I hate my stupid, evil neighbor. If only I could set his apartment on fire without damaging my own.

I can dream, I suppose.

With an *Oink Oink* Here..

And while I am on a manners rampage...
Dear Gentle Reader,
How was the barn that you were raised in? You weren't raised in a barn, you say? Well, I'm here to inform you that these days, you are in the minority.
I am posting this from school (I'm early for class) and I just rode the shuttle in from the stadium, where I enjoy doing such things as parking in BFE. It's no secret that a large group of Rice kids, especially Rice boys, are completely socially inept, but what is the DEAL?! For one thing, I don't care who you are or where you are: president, head of state, and elevator, bus, subway-- whatever. You let the people getting off go first and then you get on. And when you board, you let ladies go first. Always.

This is old-fashioned you say? Hmm. Is our ability to carry your babies old-fashioned,out of style? No? This is my point.

Anyway, these guys today not only practically knocked over this girl exiting the shuttle, they jumped right in front of me to do so. I patiently waited. This is like those same jerks who cut in front of you when you're about to turn right, only to go straight, so you have to wait for the light. You know these people.

Manners MATTER.

No time to say hello. Goodbye!

I believe that being fashionably late is a-ok. God knows my friends and I all subscribe to it. But repeatedly being an hour or more late is just inconsiderate. Ugh. Men. Will I ever understand you? (Add this to my list of questions to the universe.)

Sour Bob says manners count and he's not foolin'. Be on time, please.

Thar, she blows

What's the deal with the yard guys who walk around all day with those gasoline-fueled tanks on their backs just blowing leaves around. How is that helpful? Is that necessary? From what I have observed, they mostly just stand in the street and blow leaves and debris into my car. I am not a fan. Can someone get those guys something to do?

Almost Famous

I can't believe it! I have arrived! After all the hopeful visits, after so many coffees and soups of the day, E. and I were picked tonight as Customers of the Week at Empire Cafe. I'd like to thank all the little people who made this possible, and my debit card. You're all very special. If you're in the Montrose, stop by and see our picture inside! Yay! Free drinks for a week! Yay!

Human kindness is overflowing...and I think it's gonna rain today.

E. and I love bad weather. No, we love it. Why do people not love it? Do those fools not appreciate that it gives you complete freedom to be in a completely pissy mood? Do they not appreciate the cleansing of the air that makes it smell so sweet when it rains? People, what's your deal? (Or as we say in East Texas: what's your dill, pickle?)

I (heart) misery. I guess. Also, the sound of rain is so calming. I don't mean like those lame-o cds that are like "ocean sounds" and "amazon rainforest" that people buy at the Discover Channel store. I mean real rain, when it matches your heartbeat and makes it sooo great just to close your eyes and sink into your pillow. Especially if you're wearing your bathrobe. It's sad when you have fantasies about your bed with only you in it.

You know one thing I don't love? I don't like the thin patches of mud on the sidewalk that after the rain are like patches of death. You slide on one of those babies, well, see ya later.

Also, I don't like it when I am wearing socks in my house and I step in something wet. Ugh!

99 and 44/100 % ...something

I took the LSAT today, but that's not why I am a nerd. At least, it's not in and of itself. In the past, I have been proven to be a pretty successful standardized test taker and the root of this evil: dorkiness to the core. In the reading comprehension sections, I actually become engrossed in the sample passages and find myself looking in bookstores for the books that corresponded to the passages or that were mentioned, or wondering long after the test if the main idea of the paragraph had to do with photosynthesis. I do go to a dork school too, which, by the way, womped Louisiana Tech tonight playing at Reliant Stadium. I don't even like sports and I thought it was a great game. 37-20. Go Owls!

Reliant Stadium is a monstrosity. I'm sorry if you support this ridiculous kind of sporting venue, but even the average Joe would admit that some of the trimmings of this place were gratuitous. In the high-rollers area upstairs where you can buy a cup of beer for the bargain price of $6.50, there are these cheesey Roy Rogers couches that, frankly, are hideous, but are obviously expensive. I will say this for old Roy: he chose comfortable furniture, tacky though it may be. Imagine a cowboy shirt. Now project that onto a leather couch. Yeah. My thoughts exactly.

But I have meandered away from the point which is: I'm a dork, so if you think you're cool for reading my site, you're mistaken. (I do probably like you, though!) I do subscribe to fashion, however ( a rather unpopular concept around Rice, by the way). I consider personal grooming an extension of the obsessive compulsive behavior I exhibit in keeping my house orderly and fresh. (This does not, however, indicate that I don't occasionally lose my car keys or my mind. On the contrary, I need to get a beeper for my keys and something like rope for my mind. Or Prozac. You know.)

Has anyone seen my pocket protector?

P.S. Today (Oct. 6) is Molly's birthday! Happy Birthday, Puppy! My baby is two!

P.P.S. I love tomatoes. I think people who don't are weird (yes, E, even though I love you). I wish I had an egg and tomato sandwich. I like my eggs over easy and I like to dip my toast in them. I miss breakfast at home with my family. :(

Hurting yourself is funny.

I don't mean this in some demented way (how else could it be taken, really?) like go get the razor blades right now, but in the way that you and especially I love to laugh at people being stupid. Kids especially love to see people get hurt. Remember in Big Daddy when the kid would only stop crying when Adam Sandler threw himself in front of the moving car? When I was a little kid and had to take naps, I could never fall asleep, so my older brother would come in and we would jump on the bed and throwdown until one of us got hurt and then I would either cry myself to sleep or laugh at my brother. Ahh, childhood! (By the way, I was in the age range of like 3-7 here which means my brother was umm..14-18. Great role model...)

Anywho, this kind of behavior explains (but does anything explain it?) why the clear leader in my current poll is the idea that jokes about myself at my own expense are the point of comedy best exploited on this site. Surprisingly, Jesus is down in popularity. God will not be happy about this, so if the world ends, it's your fault for not voting for his son. You saw what happened with the presidential election in 2000 when George Bush's son wasn't gonna win. That was just a little piece of plastic (sorry that was Cameron's dad--oops!)...err, a filthy politician. Do you WANT that kind of debacle? I wash my hands of the matter. I voted for the short bus.

By the way, who can leave the most comments (of some substance)? The winner gets...a prize. I promise; it will be good.

See me. Feel me. Touch me. Heal me. But don't really touch me.

Ladies and gentlemen...

Our President. You just can't fool him.

"The problem with the French is that they don't have a word for entrepreneur." —George W. Bush, discussing the decline of the French economy with British Prime Minister Tony Blair

If you're snappy and you know it...

I have a dilemma. I like to have a steady readership, my constituency, if you will, but I am not about whoring my site all over the internet. I can't say why exactly. I don't want people to read my blog just because they're passing through. I want the content to speak for itself (loudly, if possible). I want people to say to their friends: that girl is a complete nut job. Thank GOD it's her and not me? I want them to live it, to love it. In short, I want you all to adopt me. Wait. No.

Actually, as I mentioned last week, results of my silly FIRO-B career services testing indicate that I really like to be included and am a popular leader, but I don't like people to get close to me. The bottom line? Please don't touch me. Ever. Ha. No, I'm serious.

How come people hardly ever leave notes in my comments section? Surely, I am thought or opinion provoking. I consider myself composed almost entirely of ready opinions (and don't call me Shirley). Wouldn't you like to disagree or stroke my ego or something? Come on, you know you want to. All the cool kids are doing it.

Also, all the cool kids are making fondue and pouring it down the object of their dis-affection's pants. Ooh! Rock me, Amadeus!

Pique. Peek. Peak.

My friends and I have often discussed the subject of "peaking-out." For those of you not familiar with this concept, it's the idea that in a particular relationship, one person is dating the best person they will ever date and will never be able to fiind someone better. This leads to my questions: Does someone peak-out in every relationship? Is it possible for both persons to peak-out? (and if so, does that mean marriage or true love is inevitable?) Are there relationships in which no one peaks-out? To answer this, there has to be, I guess a scale on which the person who has been peaked WITH is measured. Looks? Talent? Heart? Smarts? Fashion?

For you naysayers out there, I KNOW you have seen peaked-out couples before. You know, when you're walking in the mall and you see this couple holding hands and you gawk and stare and generally make rude gestures. (This would imply that peaking-out is based on looks, but you can tell more about a person by looking at them than just how they look, although in some cases you may actually KNOW the people involved.)

In my dreams, everyone peaks-out with me and I leave them drooling, while I run on to lead my fabulous life.

And THAT is why they're only dreams. :)

Joe Bastardi said it would!

What's the deal with weather people having weird names? Joe Bastardi is the Accuweather man who predicts that Hurricane Lili will have those of us along the Gulf Coast running for...dry...ness? When I was in elementary school. Stu Bauersox came to our class and told us we could look forward to riding our bikes in all the sunshine on Saturday and it rained the whole damn weekend. Whatever. His name was Stu. More of a thick soup, than a name, if you ask me.

I used to want to be a meteorologist, especially after local weatherman John Adams (come on, that's totally a president name, although...) gave me first place in the science fair in 6th grade for my homemade psychrometer, which measures relative humidity. I'm not sure why I didn't go on to do that. I guess because I would have had to go somewhere like Univ of Oklahoma and really, I'm just not about that. It's not like they don't have weather in cool places, but I don't make the rules.

To quote Cowboy Mouth: God makes the rain.

So stay dry, or prank call Joe Bastardi! hee hee...

Mr. Trask is our fearless leader: a man of learning, a voracious reader.

Well kids, I thought I'd be taking a blogging break, but it turns out that even being sad can't keep me from being grumpy and maniacal. Today I'd like to address a very important concept: right of way. This morning on my way to school, I pulled up to a four-way stop. I was the first one there and following my stop, I was about to head into the intersection. Not ONLY did another guy (who was the 3rd arrival) attempt to go in front of me to turn left, but another guy who was second I think, waved to me to "go ahead." Thanks. I will. I'm familiar with right of way. How are you at it?
Don't take this to mean that I don't appreciate the friendly wave. Just before the four-way stop on the treacherous street that is mine, I pulled over in a crowded part to let another car go and she waved and I smiled. Yea. When someone lets you in-- a wave is not only appropriate but frankly, expected as a courtesy. Yet, when someone gives you the go ahead wave when it's clearly your right of way, what is the appropriate response? It's like someone going into your closet and getting one of your favorite shirts and giving it to you for your birthday. "Enjoy it," they'd say. You'd say--"I will. I have. I....? Hey! Who are you? And what are you doing in my closet?"

Also on this eventful drive, workers were doing construction on one of the side streets. Despite the fact that this construction was not impeding traffic on this main drag I was on, there was still the guy dressed like a sherpa waving people on. "Keep driving!" he indicates, "nothing to see here!" It's almost as if he's guarding a bathroom stall in which his friend is peeing. Move along folks! Show's over! What? I WILL keep driving because unless there is a cement truck in my way (or some other such impediment) I am STILL familiar with the MY right of friggin' way.

I would additionally like to note that this right of way extends to sidewalkage. In America, we walk on the right side. No, we do. Don't argue with me. My school proclaimes to be all kinds of craziness when it comes to academics, yet no one knows what side of the sidewalk to walk on! It's the RIGHT! It's the RIGHT! Am I a side-ist? No, I'm a lefty. (Of course, this is like saying..am I a racist? No, I'm black. It doesn't mean crap, but go with it. I would like to add, however, that my dog is black.) Okay, so people, if you're wondering who to yield to on the sidewalk. it's the person on the right side. I am all about coloring outside the lines, but people-- when will you figure out that I don't want you to touch me?!

Two more thoughts:
1. People on the Rice shuttle: one seat is alotted per person. If you have a fat ass, then stand because I am sick of your rolls (not the dinner variety, although perhaps they once were...) being all up in my piece. Also, your briefcase does not take precedence over a pregnant woman. (I'm not pregnant, but some people are and I just wanted to go to bat for them.)
2. Are they just discovering make-up in Russia? Covergirl must be making a killing. There are all these Russian chicks on Rice campus today ( I have no idea why) and they're like-- HELLO! Debbie Gibson is queen again! Remember 1985? How could you forget!!

And now I feel better. Thank you to the concerned and loving fans who emailed me. You're my favorite anonymous constituency.