Rose of all roses, Rose of the world!
You, too, have come where the dim tides are hurled.
Upon the wharves of sorrow, and heard ring,
The bell that calls us on, the sweet far thing.
Beauty grown sad with its eternity
Made you and us, and of the dim grey sea
Our long-ships loose thought-woven sails and wait,
For God has bid them share an equal fate.
And when at least, defeated in His wars,
They have gone down under the same white stars
We shall no longer hear the little cry
Of our sad hearts, that may not live or die.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Friday, September 12, 2008
And Now For Something Completely Tasteless
Wow. So that last post was unusually emo, even for me. Which maybe makes this post all the more fitting.
Did you know there is an entire entry on Wikipedia listing unusual deaths in history? Seriously, it's here. I love Wikipedia!! Some people have the most fucked up deaths! If I have to die before me time, it'd better be cool enough to get me on Wikipeida.
Indigestion killed a lot of people: Henry 1 of England, King of Sweden Adolf Frederick, and Chrysippus, a Greek philosopher, who is believed to have died of laughter after watching his drunk donkey attempt to eat figs.
Then there's death by laughing: The Burmese king Nanda Bayin, The Scottish aristocrat Thomas Urquhart,
Or this poor soul who died from both: 1410: Martin I of Aragon died from a lethal combination of indigestion and uncontrollable laughing.
Death by monkeys. MONKEYS!!!! Alexander I of Greece was killed by a couple of damn, rabid MONEYS!
And then there's this little gem: 1947: The Collyer brothers, extreme cases of compulsive hoarders, were found dead in their home in New York. The younger brother, Langley, died by falling victim to a booby trap he had set up, causing a mountain of objects, books, and newspapers to fall on him crushing him to death. His blind brother, Homer, who had depended on Langley for care, died of starvation some days later. Their bodies were recovered after massive efforts in removing many tons of debris from their home.
And here are a few that really stand out from the pack:
458 BC: Aeschylus, Greek playwright, was killed when an eagle dropped a live tortoise on him, mistaking his bald head for a stone. The tortoise survived
336: Arius, the heretical priest who precipitated the Council of Nicea, passed wind and evacuated his internal organs. Farted out his guts!
1478: George Plantagenet, Duke of Clarence reportedly was executed by drowning in a barrel of Malmsey wine at his own request.
1979: Robert Williams, a worker at a Ford Motor Co. plant, was the first known man to be killed by a robot.
1994: Gloria Ramirez was admitted to Riverside General Hospital for complications of advanced cervical cancer. Before she died, her body mysteriously emitted toxic fumes that made several emergency room workers very ill. She has been dubbed as the "toxic lady" by the media.
And while it is terrible that they all died, and died horrible deaths, maybe it just goes to show that everyone really does have a purpose in life. So maybe they're purpose is to bring amusement to sick fucks like me.... well..... Yea, I'm going to hell.
And now I'm going to watch Child's Play. Because I just don't haven't gotten my fill of death yet. Fucking Chucky. Creepy, life-sized little bastard.
Cheers,
Alette
"Life does not cease to be funny when people die any more than it ceases to be serious when people laugh." -George Bernard Shaw
Did you know there is an entire entry on Wikipedia listing unusual deaths in history? Seriously, it's here. I love Wikipedia!! Some people have the most fucked up deaths! If I have to die before me time, it'd better be cool enough to get me on Wikipeida.
Indigestion killed a lot of people: Henry 1 of England, King of Sweden Adolf Frederick, and Chrysippus, a Greek philosopher, who is believed to have died of laughter after watching his drunk donkey attempt to eat figs.
Then there's death by laughing: The Burmese king Nanda Bayin, The Scottish aristocrat Thomas Urquhart,
Or this poor soul who died from both: 1410: Martin I of Aragon died from a lethal combination of indigestion and uncontrollable laughing.
Death by monkeys. MONKEYS!!!! Alexander I of Greece was killed by a couple of damn, rabid MONEYS!
And then there's this little gem: 1947: The Collyer brothers, extreme cases of compulsive hoarders, were found dead in their home in New York. The younger brother, Langley, died by falling victim to a booby trap he had set up, causing a mountain of objects, books, and newspapers to fall on him crushing him to death. His blind brother, Homer, who had depended on Langley for care, died of starvation some days later. Their bodies were recovered after massive efforts in removing many tons of debris from their home.
And here are a few that really stand out from the pack:
458 BC: Aeschylus, Greek playwright, was killed when an eagle dropped a live tortoise on him, mistaking his bald head for a stone. The tortoise survived
336: Arius, the heretical priest who precipitated the Council of Nicea, passed wind and evacuated his internal organs. Farted out his guts!
1478: George Plantagenet, Duke of Clarence reportedly was executed by drowning in a barrel of Malmsey wine at his own request.
1979: Robert Williams, a worker at a Ford Motor Co. plant, was the first known man to be killed by a robot.
1994: Gloria Ramirez was admitted to Riverside General Hospital for complications of advanced cervical cancer. Before she died, her body mysteriously emitted toxic fumes that made several emergency room workers very ill. She has been dubbed as the "toxic lady" by the media.
And while it is terrible that they all died, and died horrible deaths, maybe it just goes to show that everyone really does have a purpose in life. So maybe they're purpose is to bring amusement to sick fucks like me.... well..... Yea, I'm going to hell.
And now I'm going to watch Child's Play. Because I just don't haven't gotten my fill of death yet. Fucking Chucky. Creepy, life-sized little bastard.
Cheers,
Alette
"Life does not cease to be funny when people die any more than it ceases to be serious when people laugh." -George Bernard Shaw
Monday, August 25, 2008
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Hey! Look! Listen!
I *heart* video games. Unusual, since I did not have video games growing up. Or maybe that's why I like them... the novelty hasn't worn off yet. When I was a tween, I saved up all my birthday and christmas money so I could buy a Gameboy and get the Legend of Zelda game (this was back in the mid-90's), cuz my friend had it. Well, that never came to be.
Fast forward a few years to a new town and a new friend who was playing the Legend of Zelda on the N64. I wished to partake, and my parental wouldn't let met get a Nintendo. Long story.
Fast forward a few more years and I'm in the dorms and my friend down the hall has a Game Cube, and I am indoctrinated into the cult of Resident Evil. I LOVED that game. I made my friends leave their room unlocked so I could go in there between classes and play. That's my next purchase: a GameCube so I can play Res Evil.
And a few years after that I borrowed a N64 from my gay friend Sam, and finally got to play Legend of Zelda. I made it to the castle before school and life forced itself to the top of the priority list and I never got to finish playing.
So imagine my child-like excitement when I found out Roomie owns a N64 and will bring it to the apartment for me. And even better, I won an auction on eBay last week for an original Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time game. It's like a missing piece of my life has finally fallen into place. And what have I learned from all this?
I fucking hate that fairy.
Link is the the most uncoordinated little toe rag I have ever seen. Who else falls off cliffs, bounces themselves off rock, and waves their sword in the wrong direction while zombies knaw on their backside? (Yes, I am still talking about LoZ) The boy without a fairy......... I snickered a little bit.
And I fucking HATE that fairy. Supid fairy floating around my stupid head getting in the way and saying stupid things that I already knew cuz it already told me once. Thank you Captian Obvious, Commander of Useless Information.
And that stupid princess sure gets kidnapped a lot. From what I know of the Legend of Zelda mythos (which really isn't much), and there's like half a million of these games, and Zelda gets kidnapped at least once in every game. Which really means that her guardian - Impo....Impa.... whatever the hell her name is - really, really sucks at her job. And in this glorious kingdom of Hyrule, isn't there some sort of standing army? CIA? FBI? Blackwater? There isn't a professional that can hunt her down? The fate of the heir to kingdom is left in the hands of the one weirdo semi-retarded kid? "The boy without a fairy" That's like, if Jenna Bush got kidnapped, and they sent the Kid Who Eats Paste to find her. Really?
Excuse me, I'm off to watch the end of My Big Fat Greek Wedding, and thanking God I have a small family and that I promised my mother I'd elope.
Cheers,
Alette
"If someone's trying to kill you, you try and kill 'em right back!" -Mal Reynolds, Firefly
Fast forward a few years to a new town and a new friend who was playing the Legend of Zelda on the N64. I wished to partake, and my parental wouldn't let met get a Nintendo. Long story.
Fast forward a few more years and I'm in the dorms and my friend down the hall has a Game Cube, and I am indoctrinated into the cult of Resident Evil. I LOVED that game. I made my friends leave their room unlocked so I could go in there between classes and play. That's my next purchase: a GameCube so I can play Res Evil.
And a few years after that I borrowed a N64 from my gay friend Sam, and finally got to play Legend of Zelda. I made it to the castle before school and life forced itself to the top of the priority list and I never got to finish playing.
So imagine my child-like excitement when I found out Roomie owns a N64 and will bring it to the apartment for me. And even better, I won an auction on eBay last week for an original Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time game. It's like a missing piece of my life has finally fallen into place. And what have I learned from all this?
I fucking hate that fairy.
Link is the the most uncoordinated little toe rag I have ever seen. Who else falls off cliffs, bounces themselves off rock, and waves their sword in the wrong direction while zombies knaw on their backside? (Yes, I am still talking about LoZ) The boy without a fairy......... I snickered a little bit.
And I fucking HATE that fairy. Supid fairy floating around my stupid head getting in the way and saying stupid things that I already knew cuz it already told me once. Thank you Captian Obvious, Commander of Useless Information.
And that stupid princess sure gets kidnapped a lot. From what I know of the Legend of Zelda mythos (which really isn't much), and there's like half a million of these games, and Zelda gets kidnapped at least once in every game. Which really means that her guardian - Impo....Impa.... whatever the hell her name is - really, really sucks at her job. And in this glorious kingdom of Hyrule, isn't there some sort of standing army? CIA? FBI? Blackwater? There isn't a professional that can hunt her down? The fate of the heir to kingdom is left in the hands of the one weirdo semi-retarded kid? "The boy without a fairy" That's like, if Jenna Bush got kidnapped, and they sent the Kid Who Eats Paste to find her. Really?
Excuse me, I'm off to watch the end of My Big Fat Greek Wedding, and thanking God I have a small family and that I promised my mother I'd elope.
Cheers,
Alette
"If someone's trying to kill you, you try and kill 'em right back!" -Mal Reynolds, Firefly
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Inappropriate Conversations, Pt. 1
Roomie and I had some school chums com visit recently, the Hippy and the Geek, whom we used to work with. We went out to eat at a place near the apartment, and got to sit on the rooftop patio. The food was really good, but that's not what I'm here to write about.
Later that night, back at the apartment, Roomie is sitting on the couch massacring what's left of the icecream cake. I'm making fun of her for acting like a crazy drunk person (she wasn't drunk, but that's a whole other story), I was going to start throwing things at her, since she wouldn't remember anyway.
"My roommate used to throw things at me," she says, referring to Crazy Kate.
"Didn't we see her in Bemidji, outside Keg?" Hippy asks. "Good thing Roomie stayed home."
"Yeah, CK might have started throwing things.... rocks, small children..." I smirk in the corner.
"Well, if you have to throw something heavy," Geek chimes in.
"And then kids scream, sounds like an incoming missal. Then they flail..." I'm enjoying this far too much. "Makes it easy to hit multiple targets."
"Hey now," Hippy cuts in, mock serious, "Let's not give the terrorists any ideas."
"Yeah, lob one kid, watch the whole crowd go down," I laugh.
"It's better than throwing IUD's into crowds," Hippy says. Wait.... what?! There's a moment of silence.
"That would properly combat an excess of children," I say as we laugh ourselves silly and sick.
These days we should take the treat of terrorism and IEDs seriously. But it you're already talking about kid-missles, there's no point in worrying about being politically correct.
Cheers,
Alette
Later that night, back at the apartment, Roomie is sitting on the couch massacring what's left of the icecream cake. I'm making fun of her for acting like a crazy drunk person (she wasn't drunk, but that's a whole other story), I was going to start throwing things at her, since she wouldn't remember anyway.
"My roommate used to throw things at me," she says, referring to Crazy Kate.
"Didn't we see her in Bemidji, outside Keg?" Hippy asks. "Good thing Roomie stayed home."
"Yeah, CK might have started throwing things.... rocks, small children..." I smirk in the corner.
"Well, if you have to throw something heavy," Geek chimes in.
"And then kids scream, sounds like an incoming missal. Then they flail..." I'm enjoying this far too much. "Makes it easy to hit multiple targets."
"Hey now," Hippy cuts in, mock serious, "Let's not give the terrorists any ideas."
"Yeah, lob one kid, watch the whole crowd go down," I laugh.
"It's better than throwing IUD's into crowds," Hippy says. Wait.... what?! There's a moment of silence.
"That would properly combat an excess of children," I say as we laugh ourselves silly and sick.
These days we should take the treat of terrorism and IEDs seriously. But it you're already talking about kid-missles, there's no point in worrying about being politically correct.
Cheers,
Alette
Monday, August 18, 2008
Ode to Monday
A poem - written in nonsense-pentameter, and does not rhyme.
How I do loathe you, Monday!
Your sunny disposition hides
The rabid beast within.
Oh, how you play games
With me Monday!
My alarm,
It is so very loud.
My air conditioner,
It is so very broken.
I leave the house and
My shoes don't match!
Unfortunately, this is not exaggeration.
Monday! Why didn't you tell me
There was a PTD call at 8:30 this morning.
For that matter, why didn't my boss!?
Monday, are you and hi
In it together
To drive me crazy?
Oh Monday, you herald of all things
Miserable and wrong.
There is not enough Midol
To get me through this day.
I need an anti-acid.
I need a Diet Pepsi.
I need it to be Tuesday.
Cheers,
Alette
"I never called myself a poet" -Alette
How I do loathe you, Monday!
Your sunny disposition hides
The rabid beast within.
Oh, how you play games
With me Monday!
My alarm,
It is so very loud.
My air conditioner,
It is so very broken.
I leave the house and
My shoes don't match!
Unfortunately, this is not exaggeration.
Monday! Why didn't you tell me
There was a PTD call at 8:30 this morning.
For that matter, why didn't my boss!?
Monday, are you and hi
In it together
To drive me crazy?
Oh Monday, you herald of all things
Miserable and wrong.
There is not enough Midol
To get me through this day.
I need an anti-acid.
I need a Diet Pepsi.
I need it to be Tuesday.
Cheers,
Alette
"I never called myself a poet" -Alette
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Friday, August 8, 2008
The Hearing
I have a few pet peeves in my life: political ads, people who drive too slow in the left lane, No Child Left Behind act, taxes, the price of gas....
There is only one thing I hate more than movies based on books that can't follow the source material, and that's 1-800-numbers that require you to speak into the phone in place of pushing numbers. I'm ok with punching numbers. I cannot stand the falsely happy female voice requireing me to talk to it like another human. You're a computer! I don't talk to computers! (Well..... I do sometimes, but that's completely different. I'm usually yelling)
This was totally not what I intended to blog about. Just thought I'd share. (had to call my credit card company today and change my address. FAIL USPS mail forwarding system. Unrelated, but my balance wasn't nearly as terrifying as I thought it was. Huzzah for less debt!)
I had to go to court yesterday. Well, not really. It was an appointment with a Hearing Officer at City Hall regarding parking tickets. But it sounds cooler to say "I had a court date." My third day in the Cities I woke up to discover a parking ticket on my car. Not really a parking ticket, more of a HA! You're Fucked! ticket. My tabs were outdated. Like, 5 months outdated. Said tabs had been purchased back in January when they were due, and were in the glove compartment (don't look at me like that! I was graduating.... I forgot). I immediately put them on the car, to avoid any further confusion. But the $102 ticket did not magically disappear. Damn. So Roomie and I voyaged downtown to City Hall so I could talk to someone about said ticket. Which leads to the appointment I had yesterday.
It was at 8:40 in the morning, which was good. Roomie kept me company while I waited. I fidgeted. She fidgeted. The large black man across the isle fidgeted. The TV in the corner reported death and destruction. It was all very comforting.
The doors at the end of the room slowly groaned open. Screams of the damed could be heard from within, like the Gates of Hell. The guard beckoned, and terrified, I followed. Down long, dark labyrinth tunnels, carved out of the bedrock itself, I was led deep beneath City Hall. In the darkness I was left pondering my fate. Somewhere far above me a voice intoned, "You have sinned."
Which I knew, obviously, and tried to explain. Shadowy figures loomed over me. Judge, jury and executioner, my fate was in their hands. "And the other ticket?" they asked.
Oh shit. Yeah, that one. The one I got for parking too close to the stop sign, which is a complete joke if you ask me. But I was going to pay it anyway, sooner or later. When I had a spare $20.
The shadow judges glared down at me, their voices rumbling in conference. "We can forgive you," they said, "in exchange for YOUR SOUL!"
Ok.... so not really. The hallway was short and white, and there was one dude in a cubie/office mutant, who laughed at me in amazement that I made it five months without getting a tabs citation. But that's Bemidji cops for you. He was kind enough to throw out the tabs ticket, and reduced the other ticket by half. So I walked out of the inquisition escaping a $130 fine for only $14. And I didn't even wear a low cut shirt!
Cheers,
Alette
"I have always found that mercy bears richer fruits than strict justice." -Abraham Lincoln
There is only one thing I hate more than movies based on books that can't follow the source material, and that's 1-800-numbers that require you to speak into the phone in place of pushing numbers. I'm ok with punching numbers. I cannot stand the falsely happy female voice requireing me to talk to it like another human. You're a computer! I don't talk to computers! (Well..... I do sometimes, but that's completely different. I'm usually yelling)
This was totally not what I intended to blog about. Just thought I'd share. (had to call my credit card company today and change my address. FAIL USPS mail forwarding system. Unrelated, but my balance wasn't nearly as terrifying as I thought it was. Huzzah for less debt!)
I had to go to court yesterday. Well, not really. It was an appointment with a Hearing Officer at City Hall regarding parking tickets. But it sounds cooler to say "I had a court date." My third day in the Cities I woke up to discover a parking ticket on my car. Not really a parking ticket, more of a HA! You're Fucked! ticket. My tabs were outdated. Like, 5 months outdated. Said tabs had been purchased back in January when they were due, and were in the glove compartment (don't look at me like that! I was graduating.... I forgot). I immediately put them on the car, to avoid any further confusion. But the $102 ticket did not magically disappear. Damn. So Roomie and I voyaged downtown to City Hall so I could talk to someone about said ticket. Which leads to the appointment I had yesterday.
It was at 8:40 in the morning, which was good. Roomie kept me company while I waited. I fidgeted. She fidgeted. The large black man across the isle fidgeted. The TV in the corner reported death and destruction. It was all very comforting.
The doors at the end of the room slowly groaned open. Screams of the damed could be heard from within, like the Gates of Hell. The guard beckoned, and terrified, I followed. Down long, dark labyrinth tunnels, carved out of the bedrock itself, I was led deep beneath City Hall. In the darkness I was left pondering my fate. Somewhere far above me a voice intoned, "You have sinned."
Which I knew, obviously, and tried to explain. Shadowy figures loomed over me. Judge, jury and executioner, my fate was in their hands. "And the other ticket?" they asked.
Oh shit. Yeah, that one. The one I got for parking too close to the stop sign, which is a complete joke if you ask me. But I was going to pay it anyway, sooner or later. When I had a spare $20.
The shadow judges glared down at me, their voices rumbling in conference. "We can forgive you," they said, "in exchange for YOUR SOUL!"
Ok.... so not really. The hallway was short and white, and there was one dude in a cubie/office mutant, who laughed at me in amazement that I made it five months without getting a tabs citation. But that's Bemidji cops for you. He was kind enough to throw out the tabs ticket, and reduced the other ticket by half. So I walked out of the inquisition escaping a $130 fine for only $14. And I didn't even wear a low cut shirt!
Cheers,
Alette
"I have always found that mercy bears richer fruits than strict justice." -Abraham Lincoln
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Fail Blog
I am not well acquainted with crushing defeat. I set my goals, make my plans and get to work, and at the end of the day, I usually get what I want out of life. Maybe this is because I only set my sights on things I know I can achieve and I don't dream too far out of the box. Maybe I only reach for the clouds and not the stars because when I was younger and my all-consuming dream was to be an actress and director (this is the girl who organized her cousins into mini-productions at the grandparents' house, that I wrote, complete with costumes, sets, and occasionally singing), and I was told I'm just not pretty enough to be an actress, and I should aim for something more reasonable. But that's a blog for another day.
When I was in elementary, I wanted to do Post-Secondary Enrollment in high school and take college classes then. I did, and I was the only student in my Junior class who made it into the program. Then I wanted to go to Bemidji State for graphic design. I did that too, and got a couple more emphasis on top of it. I wanted to drive a 2000 Honda Civic, with a stick shift - and I do drive it, when it's not in the shop. I wanted to live in Minneapolis, and work at a particular design firm there, and both of those things happened. I got the internship at least five of my classmates were competing for.
And here's where the crushing disappointment comes in. My boss told me Monday that my internship would not be extended into permanent employment. Through no fault of my own; I've been a fabulous employees and an asset to the company these last few months. But, Corporate is holding out on the fundage. I believe I babbled semi-coherently about this on Monday.
I am sad to be leaving. I like it here, I like the people. I like the neighborhood. I'm frustrated because I feel like I've been working my ass off all summer, and for what? I'm scared because I hate job hunting, and what happens if I can't find a job right away? I can't afford to be unemployed.
And a small part of me is excited and optimistic; this is a chance to start fresh, to go somewhere new. To have a mini-adventure. All those other emotions are drowning out the happy part right now.
I'm also happy because for some bizzare-ass reason, despite all the turmoil in my life, I'm sleeping full nights again. And I'm unhappy because my stomach is acting up and I lost my roll of Tums.
In unrelated news; this man is my hero (link here)
Cheers,
Alette
"Act as if it were impossible to fail." - Dorothea Brande
When I was in elementary, I wanted to do Post-Secondary Enrollment in high school and take college classes then. I did, and I was the only student in my Junior class who made it into the program. Then I wanted to go to Bemidji State for graphic design. I did that too, and got a couple more emphasis on top of it. I wanted to drive a 2000 Honda Civic, with a stick shift - and I do drive it, when it's not in the shop. I wanted to live in Minneapolis, and work at a particular design firm there, and both of those things happened. I got the internship at least five of my classmates were competing for.
And here's where the crushing disappointment comes in. My boss told me Monday that my internship would not be extended into permanent employment. Through no fault of my own; I've been a fabulous employees and an asset to the company these last few months. But, Corporate is holding out on the fundage. I believe I babbled semi-coherently about this on Monday.
I am sad to be leaving. I like it here, I like the people. I like the neighborhood. I'm frustrated because I feel like I've been working my ass off all summer, and for what? I'm scared because I hate job hunting, and what happens if I can't find a job right away? I can't afford to be unemployed.
And a small part of me is excited and optimistic; this is a chance to start fresh, to go somewhere new. To have a mini-adventure. All those other emotions are drowning out the happy part right now.
I'm also happy because for some bizzare-ass reason, despite all the turmoil in my life, I'm sleeping full nights again. And I'm unhappy because my stomach is acting up and I lost my roll of Tums.
In unrelated news; this man is my hero (link here)
Cheers,
Alette
"Act as if it were impossible to fail." - Dorothea Brande
Monday, August 4, 2008
*Insert Adequately Witty Title Here*
What a weekend! I was going to post about my trip to Podunk, North Minnesota to visit friends in my old college town. I was going to tell the story about the seediest damn place I've seen in a long time, and how it hurts my heart to see people take beautiful historic buildings, gut them, and turn them into a meat market thinly disguised as a bar.
I could have told the story about how I finally found and purchased a vest (I've been looking for one for months. Harder to find than you'd think), after which I crossed the mall hallway to the Borders where I met Super J and Roomie (who had just gotten her eyebrows waxed and her forehead was an angry shade of red), and before my verbal filter could be activated, I shouted out, "OH MY GOD! WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR FACE!!" Yes, people stopped and stared. And yes, I was the Asshole of the Day.
Or I could tell you about how I got so completely drunk Saturday night, I'm still recovering (no joke!) and that I couldn't tell you when I got that intoxicated last. For some reason, when I'm drunk I feel the need to call my buddy Mr. California. I'm being escorted down the sidewalk by Super J and the Modern Hippy (they've decided it's time to call it a night), screaming into my Blackberry:
"OHMYGOD!!!"
"IMISSYOU!"
"YOUSHOULDCOMEVISITME!"
"IMREALLYDRUNK!"
"IMINBEMIDJI!"
"YOUSHOULDCALLME!!!"
And later, while on the phone with another friend,
"OHMYGODJYOURDRIVINGTOOFAST!"
Super J is in reality slowly turning the corner by the apartment, but when I'm drunk the whole world turns into a funhouse. The floor moves at unexpected times, and no chair can be trusted. Oh course, I'm not wearing a seatbelt, and the centrifugal force is enough to make me fall out of the car seat. How does one fall out of the seat in a Honda Accord? How is there room to fall out of that seat? I have no idea.
But my fun story telling mood has been sullied by todays events.
My car is broken. Like, uber-broken. Again. F&$@&% car. I thought the wheel bearing was shot, since I've already replaced two of those (one in this car and one in another) and I'm well aquainted with the dull roar it makes. So my grandpa's mechanic is taking a look at it, and in the mean time I'm driving my roommates boat of a sedan.
I got the call from my grandpa with an update this morning. Not only is the wheel bearing shot, but so are the timing belts, and the water pump, and other "incidental things". It's quite possibly $1,000 broken. I am not happy.
And then......
My boss took me back into his formal office to tell me that he couldn't offer me a job when the internship is over. Not for any fault of mine, but Corporate just doesn't have any plans to hire in this office any time soon. A poor disicion on Corporates part, if you ask me. But no one is. I did not go drown myself in the toilet like I threatened. I decided to take a long lunch instead. I didn't originally intend it to be a long lunch, but I got lost trying to find the Burger King. My life is so sad.
I'm trying to be optimistic about it all. Now I have the opportunity to update my resume and a reason to redesign my webpage. I'm thinking moving away from the flowery/lavender/birdie/girly theme toward something a little more mature/bold/lavender and wine red/steampunkish..... it could turn out way cool if I do it right. It'll be a more accurate rendering of my personal flavor of design, a blending of the modern and the antique.
Farewell, I'm off to the liquor store
-Alette
"We find no real satisfaction or happiness in life without obstacles to conquer and goals to achieve." -Maxwell Maltz
I could have told the story about how I finally found and purchased a vest (I've been looking for one for months. Harder to find than you'd think), after which I crossed the mall hallway to the Borders where I met Super J and Roomie (who had just gotten her eyebrows waxed and her forehead was an angry shade of red), and before my verbal filter could be activated, I shouted out, "OH MY GOD! WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR FACE!!" Yes, people stopped and stared. And yes, I was the Asshole of the Day.
Or I could tell you about how I got so completely drunk Saturday night, I'm still recovering (no joke!) and that I couldn't tell you when I got that intoxicated last. For some reason, when I'm drunk I feel the need to call my buddy Mr. California. I'm being escorted down the sidewalk by Super J and the Modern Hippy (they've decided it's time to call it a night), screaming into my Blackberry:
"OHMYGOD!!!"
"IMISSYOU!"
"YOUSHOULDCOMEVISITME!"
"IMREALLYDRUNK!"
"IMINBEMIDJI!"
"YOUSHOULDCALLME!!!"
And later, while on the phone with another friend,
"OHMYGODJYOURDRIVINGTOOFAST!"
Super J is in reality slowly turning the corner by the apartment, but when I'm drunk the whole world turns into a funhouse. The floor moves at unexpected times, and no chair can be trusted. Oh course, I'm not wearing a seatbelt, and the centrifugal force is enough to make me fall out of the car seat. How does one fall out of the seat in a Honda Accord? How is there room to fall out of that seat? I have no idea.
But my fun story telling mood has been sullied by todays events.
My car is broken. Like, uber-broken. Again. F&$@&% car. I thought the wheel bearing was shot, since I've already replaced two of those (one in this car and one in another) and I'm well aquainted with the dull roar it makes. So my grandpa's mechanic is taking a look at it, and in the mean time I'm driving my roommates boat of a sedan.
I got the call from my grandpa with an update this morning. Not only is the wheel bearing shot, but so are the timing belts, and the water pump, and other "incidental things". It's quite possibly $1,000 broken. I am not happy.
And then......
My boss took me back into his formal office to tell me that he couldn't offer me a job when the internship is over. Not for any fault of mine, but Corporate just doesn't have any plans to hire in this office any time soon. A poor disicion on Corporates part, if you ask me. But no one is. I did not go drown myself in the toilet like I threatened. I decided to take a long lunch instead. I didn't originally intend it to be a long lunch, but I got lost trying to find the Burger King. My life is so sad.
I'm trying to be optimistic about it all. Now I have the opportunity to update my resume and a reason to redesign my webpage. I'm thinking moving away from the flowery/lavender/birdie/girly theme toward something a little more mature/bold/lavender and wine red/steampunkish..... it could turn out way cool if I do it right. It'll be a more accurate rendering of my personal flavor of design, a blending of the modern and the antique.
Farewell, I'm off to the liquor store
-Alette
"We find no real satisfaction or happiness in life without obstacles to conquer and goals to achieve." -Maxwell Maltz
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
The Anti-Disney
So there was a post here previously detailing my raging substance abuse. And then I realized that it made me sound like a raging substance abuser. So I deleted it. No one needs to know how many nights a week I mix alcohol and sleeping pills before bed.
Anyway.....
This website is the coolest thing for anyone interested in fair tales: http://www.brown.edu/Courses/FR0133/Fairytale_Generator/gen.html
(We all know my fascination for original, pre-Disney taint, fairy tales is rivaled only by my fascination with serial killers.)
Selecting my functions, I generated quite eloquent, but strange, sample of fairy tale-ishness.
"Sugar and spice," the old woman beckoned as she held out palms filled with cinnamon falling between her fingers like sand. As she sprinkled it across the floor my head swum up in a dizzy spell of hunger. I could no longer control my feet moving towards the cheap gimmicks of an old woman.
Under my feet I felt the rhythm of aches and sighs breathe with each step I took. I felt like I was walking on quicksand. And indeed, when I tried to move my feet I could not feel my toes but only the inability to move them on the surface of palpable danger. When I turned to ask for his help he only laughed. Then I began to think it was he who was making my feet turn to stone.
The little man handed what looked like a small wooden piccolo. The small, thin object looked old but not dusty like the man’s worn garments. "A single note from this musical stick will bring rain from the heavens to satisfy this thirsty land," the little man said to me. "But heed my words, should you be tempted to produce sweet melodies to entertain yourself and those around you, mother nature will heighten the aching of the earth around you: the sky will heave torrents of rain producing a monsoon that will be echoed by the quaking of the earth as it splits, spewing forth fiery magma that will consume you and your vanity.
My feet, wearing their newfound bottomed shoes, pressed gently across the soils as not to wake the men clamoring upwards. But I still felt a shadow trail at my footsteps that did not feel like my own. As I walked faster the shadow moved behind me as well, sometimes touching my bare skin with sodden ground.
My family pressed their hands on various swells of my body as they embraced me with joy.
A familiar gold and silken robe of dragon scales was placed in my hands on account of me killing the creature. For an odd reason I could not help but feel regret. The girl with the white hair and her foxlike sibling did not mean any real harm but only wanted to protect the mountain as the men of soil bade them do.
I reccomend anyone with time to kill give this a try. I've also added it to my blogroll to the right of the page.
Cheers,
Alette
"The cure for anything is salt water: sweat, tears, or the sea."
Anyway.....
This website is the coolest thing for anyone interested in fair tales: http://www.brown.edu/Courses/FR0133/Fairytale_Generator/gen.html
(We all know my fascination for original, pre-Disney taint, fairy tales is rivaled only by my fascination with serial killers.)
Selecting my functions, I generated quite eloquent, but strange, sample of fairy tale-ishness.
"Sugar and spice," the old woman beckoned as she held out palms filled with cinnamon falling between her fingers like sand. As she sprinkled it across the floor my head swum up in a dizzy spell of hunger. I could no longer control my feet moving towards the cheap gimmicks of an old woman.
Under my feet I felt the rhythm of aches and sighs breathe with each step I took. I felt like I was walking on quicksand. And indeed, when I tried to move my feet I could not feel my toes but only the inability to move them on the surface of palpable danger. When I turned to ask for his help he only laughed. Then I began to think it was he who was making my feet turn to stone.
The little man handed what looked like a small wooden piccolo. The small, thin object looked old but not dusty like the man’s worn garments. "A single note from this musical stick will bring rain from the heavens to satisfy this thirsty land," the little man said to me. "But heed my words, should you be tempted to produce sweet melodies to entertain yourself and those around you, mother nature will heighten the aching of the earth around you: the sky will heave torrents of rain producing a monsoon that will be echoed by the quaking of the earth as it splits, spewing forth fiery magma that will consume you and your vanity.
My feet, wearing their newfound bottomed shoes, pressed gently across the soils as not to wake the men clamoring upwards. But I still felt a shadow trail at my footsteps that did not feel like my own. As I walked faster the shadow moved behind me as well, sometimes touching my bare skin with sodden ground.
My family pressed their hands on various swells of my body as they embraced me with joy.
A familiar gold and silken robe of dragon scales was placed in my hands on account of me killing the creature. For an odd reason I could not help but feel regret. The girl with the white hair and her foxlike sibling did not mean any real harm but only wanted to protect the mountain as the men of soil bade them do.
I reccomend anyone with time to kill give this a try. I've also added it to my blogroll to the right of the page.
Cheers,
Alette
"The cure for anything is salt water: sweat, tears, or the sea."
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Mailbox! Open Mailbox!
The funniest goddamned thing I've seen on the interwebs in quite some time. Which just says that I haven't been spending much time on the internet. I spend all day sitting in front of a computer, and I can't even check my email on a regular basis. But that's another story for another day....
Monday, July 14, 2008
Suing God
I like to read the news. Usually when I'm supposed to be working. I like reading the random news off of sites like Fark.com and Digg.com. Which is where I come across gems like these:
The headline reads: "Man sues church, claiming the spirit forced him to fall."
Aparently this dude went to church and prayed for God to give him a real spiritual experience. God says "sure", reaches down, and pushes him over like the thirteen year old cousin you wish would play in traffic. Dude is now suing the church for $2.5 million because he got what he asked for.
Link to article: http://www.tennessean.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20080710/NEWS06/80710021
But wait! There's more....
Headline: "Can you sue the Almighty's publishers?"
A man in Michigan is suing the company that publishes the Bible because the Big B calls homosexuality a sin. Thanks to the Bible he has suffered from discrimination, general unhappiness, and a rift with his family. Apparently you can't blame the Bible for being a douche-bag.
Excuse me for a minute while I laugh hysterically. And then get sued by a pretentious gay man with too much time and money on his hands.
So this got me thinking. If the trend these days is outrageous lawsuits, I'm going to blow them all out of the water. I'm going to sue Satan for all the pain and suffering that's been dealt womankind. Here's how it's going to work:
If the Serpent hadn't tempted Eve, she wouldn't have bitten the damn Fruit. If she hadn't eaten the fruit, she wouldn't have offered it to Adam. And God wouldn't have gotten mad and kicking them both out of Eden. And since it's apparently all Eve's fault, she was punished with that Original Sin clause, and pain of childbirth, PMS, sexual discrimination, arranged marriage, nylons and stretch marks. All of which has been passed on to the female sex. And none of this would have happened if the Devil hadn't meddled.
Don't go trying to poke holes in my argument.... she didn't have to give in, God didn't have to put the tree in the garden and create the tempting situation to begin with, it's all a silly religious myth anyway.... whatever. Since when did facts have anything to do with litigation?
Maybe it'll be class action. Maybe I'll make the front page of Digg.com!
Hiring a good laywer,
Alette
"There is nothing worse than a sharp image of a fuzzy concept." -Ansel Adams
The headline reads: "Man sues church, claiming the spirit forced him to fall."
Aparently this dude went to church and prayed for God to give him a real spiritual experience. God says "sure", reaches down, and pushes him over like the thirteen year old cousin you wish would play in traffic. Dude is now suing the church for $2.5 million because he got what he asked for.
Link to article: http://www.tennessean.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20080710/NEWS06/80710021
But wait! There's more....
Headline: "Can you sue the Almighty's publishers?"
A man in Michigan is suing the company that publishes the Bible because the Big B calls homosexuality a sin. Thanks to the Bible he has suffered from discrimination, general unhappiness, and a rift with his family. Apparently you can't blame the Bible for being a douche-bag.
Excuse me for a minute while I laugh hysterically. And then get sued by a pretentious gay man with too much time and money on his hands.
So this got me thinking. If the trend these days is outrageous lawsuits, I'm going to blow them all out of the water. I'm going to sue Satan for all the pain and suffering that's been dealt womankind. Here's how it's going to work:
If the Serpent hadn't tempted Eve, she wouldn't have bitten the damn Fruit. If she hadn't eaten the fruit, she wouldn't have offered it to Adam. And God wouldn't have gotten mad and kicking them both out of Eden. And since it's apparently all Eve's fault, she was punished with that Original Sin clause, and pain of childbirth, PMS, sexual discrimination, arranged marriage, nylons and stretch marks. All of which has been passed on to the female sex. And none of this would have happened if the Devil hadn't meddled.
Don't go trying to poke holes in my argument.... she didn't have to give in, God didn't have to put the tree in the garden and create the tempting situation to begin with, it's all a silly religious myth anyway.... whatever. Since when did facts have anything to do with litigation?
Maybe it'll be class action. Maybe I'll make the front page of Digg.com!
Hiring a good laywer,
Alette
"There is nothing worse than a sharp image of a fuzzy concept." -Ansel Adams
Monday, July 7, 2008
Existential Crisis
Some days I feel the need to wax philosophically. Today is one of those days.
I'm feeling most displeased with my life today. Maybe it's the shitty conference call this morning, maybe it's Monday, a side-effect of the sleeping pills, the disappointinly short life-span of my BlackBerry battery. Maybe it's my unintentionally orange hair. I don't know. But I find myself sitting here at 2:41 pm questioning my life goals.
All of my life I have wanted to build things. I'm not even going to pretend I'm good enough at math to be an architect. I didn't feel I was pretentious to be an interior designer (thank you, silly world views of youth) So I picked door number 3. Exhibit Design: the bastard love child of architecture, marketing and interior design. I love it. It loved me. I thought I'd be happy doing this the rest of my days.
Today I'm not so sure. I blame my school for punching out as many graduates as possible, without properly preparing us for the real world. I mean, really preparing us. My education has to base in reality. There are no rules, regulations. Shit, even gravity doesn't seem to apply. When I stood up in front of the class to present my designs, no one questioned: how does it stand? How are you going to get electricity to those strangely placed light fixtures? For this I blame my teacher, that tie-died hippy in the corner who never taught us anything at all. We were given access to a 3D progam and told "have fun!" Never did we have to work within a budget, or in a group. It was all fantasy. It was all sunshine blown up our butts from the faculty telling us how amazing we were and that the world will love us.
So now I'm sitting at a shitty intern desk wondering if this is really what I want to do with the rest of my life. There is no sunshine. There is no fantasy. There is a 10x20 foot booth and a $15,000 budget, which really doesn't buy you more than a square of carpet and a tin of sardines.
If I stay here I'll barter in my soul and creative vision in trade for a project and a few extra buck. I'll become a marketing whore.
Wow. That was really emo of me. Excuse me while I go cut on myself for a minute.
Like I said, this is just a shitty day. And it's probably this project, which I haven't been feeling from day one. Tomorrow I'll probably love my life again. But I'll still be disappointed with my BB battery and my hair.
Cheers,
Alette
The Artist is nothing without the Gift. but the Gift is nothing without the Work.
I'm feeling most displeased with my life today. Maybe it's the shitty conference call this morning, maybe it's Monday, a side-effect of the sleeping pills, the disappointinly short life-span of my BlackBerry battery. Maybe it's my unintentionally orange hair. I don't know. But I find myself sitting here at 2:41 pm questioning my life goals.
All of my life I have wanted to build things. I'm not even going to pretend I'm good enough at math to be an architect. I didn't feel I was pretentious to be an interior designer (thank you, silly world views of youth) So I picked door number 3. Exhibit Design: the bastard love child of architecture, marketing and interior design. I love it. It loved me. I thought I'd be happy doing this the rest of my days.
Today I'm not so sure. I blame my school for punching out as many graduates as possible, without properly preparing us for the real world. I mean, really preparing us. My education has to base in reality. There are no rules, regulations. Shit, even gravity doesn't seem to apply. When I stood up in front of the class to present my designs, no one questioned: how does it stand? How are you going to get electricity to those strangely placed light fixtures? For this I blame my teacher, that tie-died hippy in the corner who never taught us anything at all. We were given access to a 3D progam and told "have fun!" Never did we have to work within a budget, or in a group. It was all fantasy. It was all sunshine blown up our butts from the faculty telling us how amazing we were and that the world will love us.
So now I'm sitting at a shitty intern desk wondering if this is really what I want to do with the rest of my life. There is no sunshine. There is no fantasy. There is a 10x20 foot booth and a $15,000 budget, which really doesn't buy you more than a square of carpet and a tin of sardines.
If I stay here I'll barter in my soul and creative vision in trade for a project and a few extra buck. I'll become a marketing whore.
Wow. That was really emo of me. Excuse me while I go cut on myself for a minute.
Like I said, this is just a shitty day. And it's probably this project, which I haven't been feeling from day one. Tomorrow I'll probably love my life again. But I'll still be disappointed with my BB battery and my hair.
Cheers,
Alette
The Artist is nothing without the Gift. but the Gift is nothing without the Work.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Aesthetically Unappealing
The unforgiving sun beats down on blistering pavement, slow roasting the road-kill squirrel from last week. I awake at night, flesh stuck to sweaty sheets. The lights flicker occasionally as the power grid is taxed to the limit. My second floor apartment is a brick oven. The only air coming in the ridiculously small windows is super heated from the roof of the building next door. If I can't find the cats, it's because they're in the dark bathroom, sleeping behind the toilet. It is both the most disgusting and coolest place in the apartment.
It's that time of year again.
I buy a small air conditioner at the Home Depot store. As far as a/c units go, it's a complete pussy. But it should keep my bedroom a few degrees south of roasting.
So here I sit, perched on the Stairs to Nowhere, contemplating the situation at hand. I have one window large enough to fit a small a/c through. Unfortunately it is one of those windows that opens on the side, cranked by hand. You know what I'm talking about. The kind not built for mechanical appendages. I love a challenge.
Step one: crank that damn thing open as far as it goes. Step two: remove the crank mechanism and store it safely away. Step two fails; the crank won't come off. So I heft up the a/c and jam it into the window, balancing it precariously on top of the crank box. I wedge small chunks of scrap wood in place to help balance it. It doesn't fall out of the window when I let go, which means I'm heading in the right direction.
I have purchased a chunk of plywood to seal up the top half of the window. It is square.... the space it has to fit into is trapezoidal. I slam the sucker into place, and screw it directly into the window frame, my maniacal laughter drowning out the buzz of the drill.
Let's step back and take stock of the situation. Bottom, a crooked air conditioner. Top, and equally crooked piece of wood. I'm doing good.
I proceed by stuffing bits of the foam insulation that came with the unit into the cracks and gaps. When I run out I resort to using the dish towels I don't really like all that much. Then I seal it all in.
The purple duct tape is a nice touch. There is a thick band of bubble gum purple around the edge of the window and along the seal between the a/c and the ply wood. It looks like shit. But the point is that it's pretty much air-tight.
Now for the moment of truth. I drag the bright orange extension cord across the bedroom to the nearest outlet. A set up that is sure to trip and kill me in the night as I stumble to the bathroom. But the humming from the window and the blast of cool air is a sweet, sweet symphony.
Flash forward a year. I'm in a new apartment, with marvelously large proper windows. And yet, I find myself sealing in the air conditioner with bits of foam, dish towels and duct tape. Silver this year, it matches the decor better.
My father would be proud.
It's that time of year again.
I buy a small air conditioner at the Home Depot store. As far as a/c units go, it's a complete pussy. But it should keep my bedroom a few degrees south of roasting.
So here I sit, perched on the Stairs to Nowhere, contemplating the situation at hand. I have one window large enough to fit a small a/c through. Unfortunately it is one of those windows that opens on the side, cranked by hand. You know what I'm talking about. The kind not built for mechanical appendages. I love a challenge.
Step one: crank that damn thing open as far as it goes. Step two: remove the crank mechanism and store it safely away. Step two fails; the crank won't come off. So I heft up the a/c and jam it into the window, balancing it precariously on top of the crank box. I wedge small chunks of scrap wood in place to help balance it. It doesn't fall out of the window when I let go, which means I'm heading in the right direction.
I have purchased a chunk of plywood to seal up the top half of the window. It is square.... the space it has to fit into is trapezoidal. I slam the sucker into place, and screw it directly into the window frame, my maniacal laughter drowning out the buzz of the drill.
Let's step back and take stock of the situation. Bottom, a crooked air conditioner. Top, and equally crooked piece of wood. I'm doing good.
I proceed by stuffing bits of the foam insulation that came with the unit into the cracks and gaps. When I run out I resort to using the dish towels I don't really like all that much. Then I seal it all in.
The purple duct tape is a nice touch. There is a thick band of bubble gum purple around the edge of the window and along the seal between the a/c and the ply wood. It looks like shit. But the point is that it's pretty much air-tight.
Now for the moment of truth. I drag the bright orange extension cord across the bedroom to the nearest outlet. A set up that is sure to trip and kill me in the night as I stumble to the bathroom. But the humming from the window and the blast of cool air is a sweet, sweet symphony.
Flash forward a year. I'm in a new apartment, with marvelously large proper windows. And yet, I find myself sealing in the air conditioner with bits of foam, dish towels and duct tape. Silver this year, it matches the decor better.
My father would be proud.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Breakfast, with a side of aggrivated assault.
How many other's can say they get gas, breakfast and a front row seat to a skinny dude getting punched in the face till he passes out, all before 9 o'clock in the morning?
Ok, so technically I didn't see Skinny get punched. But I did step over his body lying prone on floor.
I pulled into the local Super America this morning to get gas. And of course I tried to pump before I paid and FUBAR'd the system. (That's a lot drive-off assholes! You've ruined my routine!) So wallet in hand I headed to the store to fetch some trans-fat-carb-processed-sugar goodness to pump into my body for breakfast. This huge scary black dude came out right before me, and held the door. I said thanks and ducked past, not looking directly at him. I've learned to not do that... you get shot, or hit in the face.
Diet Pepsi and gas station dough nuts in hand, I wound my way past the chip rack to the counter to pre pay for my gas, and lo and behold! There's a skinny black dude lying on the floor, fetal position, not moving. There were four people standing there staring at him, trying to see if he's dead or not. The manager was on the phone with the cops. I stepped over his legs and made my way to the counter to figure out what was going on. Oh, and pay for breakfast and gas.
Turns out Skinny was waiting in line. Scary Line-backer cut in front of him. Skinny made a fuss, and Scary finished paying for his orange juice, and then turned around and hit Skinny in face until he fell down and passed out.
I got the hell out of there as fast as possible. I didn't want to be there when Scary came back with a shot gun to finish what he started. As I was getting into my car the sheriff came flying in, Killer the Doggie in the back seat barking like a maniac. I contemplated walking over and saying "hi puppy!" But I probably would have died. Or gotten arrested. Which would have sucked either way.
Cheers,
Alette
"And if someone's trying to kill you, you try an' kill 'em right back!" - Firefly
Ok, so technically I didn't see Skinny get punched. But I did step over his body lying prone on floor.
I pulled into the local Super America this morning to get gas. And of course I tried to pump before I paid and FUBAR'd the system. (That's a lot drive-off assholes! You've ruined my routine!) So wallet in hand I headed to the store to fetch some trans-fat-carb-processed-sugar goodness to pump into my body for breakfast. This huge scary black dude came out right before me, and held the door. I said thanks and ducked past, not looking directly at him. I've learned to not do that... you get shot, or hit in the face.
Diet Pepsi and gas station dough nuts in hand, I wound my way past the chip rack to the counter to pre pay for my gas, and lo and behold! There's a skinny black dude lying on the floor, fetal position, not moving. There were four people standing there staring at him, trying to see if he's dead or not. The manager was on the phone with the cops. I stepped over his legs and made my way to the counter to figure out what was going on. Oh, and pay for breakfast and gas.
Turns out Skinny was waiting in line. Scary Line-backer cut in front of him. Skinny made a fuss, and Scary finished paying for his orange juice, and then turned around and hit Skinny in face until he fell down and passed out.
I got the hell out of there as fast as possible. I didn't want to be there when Scary came back with a shot gun to finish what he started. As I was getting into my car the sheriff came flying in, Killer the Doggie in the back seat barking like a maniac. I contemplated walking over and saying "hi puppy!" But I probably would have died. Or gotten arrested. Which would have sucked either way.
Cheers,
Alette
"And if someone's trying to kill you, you try an' kill 'em right back!" - Firefly
Monday, June 23, 2008
Greetings & Salutations!
Ah, to blog again. A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away I had a blog titled "I don't suffer from insanity.." Unfortunately when my email account was hijacked by eBay bastards from Nigeria, my blog was lost as well. *tear*
The windows are open, my cat is sleeping on the sill, Andrew Zimmer is grossing the fuck out of me on the TV, I'm eating cool fresh cherries, and my new friend at AT&T is going to help me get a cheap BlackBerry. My love life is still a barren wasteland, but the bills are paid this month. Be glad for small mercies, I guess.
Back to that hijacked-by-Nigerian-terrorists blog. So many memories lost. And in the meantime life has a tendancy to move on. So here I am, freshly graduated from college, with three years of memories just waiting for a drinking bing to be forgotten.
I present for you now a new blog. Part memoir, part metafiction. The present and the past, together in one literary experiment, blended together until you don't know which is which, and it doesn't matter.
Cheers,
Alette
"The problem with people who have no vices is you can be pretty sure they have some pretty obnoxious virtues."
The windows are open, my cat is sleeping on the sill, Andrew Zimmer is grossing the fuck out of me on the TV, I'm eating cool fresh cherries, and my new friend at AT&T is going to help me get a cheap BlackBerry. My love life is still a barren wasteland, but the bills are paid this month. Be glad for small mercies, I guess.
Back to that hijacked-by-Nigerian-terrorists blog. So many memories lost. And in the meantime life has a tendancy to move on. So here I am, freshly graduated from college, with three years of memories just waiting for a drinking bing to be forgotten.
I present for you now a new blog. Part memoir, part metafiction. The present and the past, together in one literary experiment, blended together until you don't know which is which, and it doesn't matter.
Cheers,
Alette
"The problem with people who have no vices is you can be pretty sure they have some pretty obnoxious virtues."
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