anonymouse

School's out for summer! Yay! Whee.

Woo.

Meh.

Okay. Yeah. So. Um.

Hi, you guys. I'll start replying to comments in old entries soonish, promise. But, hi. I just uploaded a bajillion pictures of my kitties, go look!

I totally forgot what I wanted to write about.

Oh, yeah. I hope Edwards gets to run for president, if only because he's marginally good looking, and the American public is stupid enough to vote based on looks. Americans are stupid! They voted off Trenyce instead of Josh! Trenyce! She has pipes! And mad skillz! And is an enjoyable and versatile performer! Josh is a fake country singer! He does not talk with a twang, and he therefore should not sing with a twang? Dolly Parton speaks with a twang. Johnny Cash speaks with a twang. Hank Williams, Sr. and Hank Williams III both spoke with twangs in their voices. I couldn't care less how Hank Williams, Jr. spoke because I hate him to bits and pieces.

Yeah. I just outed myself as a reality show junkie, didn't I? Oh, well.

So I keep hoping that Mario Cuomo will decide to run at the eleventh hour, but that's not going to happen. Edwards, well, he has good plans. I agree with him. Honestly, I'm happy with whoever wins as long as it isn't Lieberman or Sharpton. Jon Stewart said last night that Lieberman is for people who like Bush, but don't think he's Jewish enough. You know what? I think Lieberman would be Republican if he wasn't Jewish. Though I suspect there are Jewish Republicans, just like there are gay Republicans. My father's jewish, but my mother's vagina isn't Jewish, so I am not, in fact, Jewish. That whole, "Is your mother's vagina Jewish?" bit on David Cross's "Shut Up, You Fucking Baby" CD is fantastic. I like the trailer for the movie, when David Cross calls into do a radio ID as a lisping Isaac Brock. Hee. Funny. Wasn't that supposed to be out on DVD by Spring 2003? Is it out now? I need to check out Amazon posthaste.

"Posthaste" sounds like an old people word, like "whippersnapper" or "ragamuffin."

I'm really looking forward to seeing X2, but I think I'm more excited about seeing Manic or A Mighty Wind. I'm really interested in seeing Manic. The Onion A.V. Club gave it a really, really good review, and it's a subject that's close to my heart. Months ago, I wrote about how I spent some time in the adolescent psychiatric ward at a hospital. I had a complete mental breakdown wherein I stopped eating, wouldn't get out of bed, wouldn't do anything at all. After a couple of days, I no longer had no need to use the bathroom since I wasn't taking in any food or drink. My mom tried force feeding me, but that didn't work, so my parents literally dragged me to Miami Children's Hospital, where I spent about a month. It was tough, but it's nothing like how they show it in the movies. But in Manic, supposedly this movie does reflect life in the psychiatric ward pretty well. When it comes out in Miami, I will probably need a whole box of tissues. I like the prospect that it deals with ambiguities. I really want to see it.

Ooohhh. On Free Comic Book Day, I did not have to go to multiple stores. The lovely gents at A & M comics got a surplus of comics, and they let me choose as many as I wanted. I got: Alternative Comics (which features James Kochalka and Jen Sorensen and a bajillion others), Peanutbutter & Jeremy #4 by James Kochalka, Courtney Crumnin & the Night Things by Ted Naifeh of Gloomcookie fame, and Slave Labor Comics with MILK AND CHEESE on the cover (I was wearing my "Gin Makes a Man Mean" tee shirt that day, actually). I love free stuff.

Blee. I have to work Mother's Day weekend. I still have to buy my mom something. I'm probably going to get her something at Tiffany's with my employee discount, but the employee discount isn't that significant, so it has to be sterling silver. I'll find something that goes with those love knot earrings I got her last Christmas, which she wears all the time and loves.

My back hurts. I'm all pre-menstrual.

I will reply to comments... Later.

Postscript: I forgot the Epitaph of the Day (or so), but I also want to talk about something crazy that happened this morning.

I awoke at 6:16 am today, with the heel of my palm against my closed eye, grimacing in pain. Okay, that was a really shitty sentence. It was something Stephen Fucking King would write, or worse, Judith Krantz. Or Patrica Cornwell. Or any of that tripe on the bestseller list. Of course, if I really wrote like that, I could publish it and make scads and scads and oodles and oodles of cash and buy an Caribbean island with Orlando Bloom and Viggo Mortensen (okay, I don't like Johnny Depp that much, so I'm replacing him with a punk rock man) as my naked houseboys. But, you know, that was a bad sentence.

Anyway, I woke up this morning, and I could not open my eye. I ran to the bathroom, was barely able to crack open my eye to get a little bit of the eye wash in, had tears and eyewash streaming down my face for hours. It got worse when the lights were on, as all vision problems tend to worsen when exposed to light. Yeah. So that eye was really sensitive to light, right? I figured I might've had pink eye, but I think I had that when I was younger. Kids get everything at those ages. I didn't remember pink eye being that awful.

So then I freaked out -- thinking I had pink eye -- since I was pressing my fingers and the heel of my palm at my closed eye in a vain attempt to ease the pain, and I was scared I was spreading the infection everywhere, and wouldn't it be funny if it spread to my other eye and I couldn't open either of my eyes to take the abnormal psych final exam? No, it would not be funny. I already missed one exam because I wasn't aware that my stupid language development professor was not adhering to the final exam schedule, something that is strictly verboten -- I am pretentious -- at the University of Miami. Professors without tenure can get into trouble for doing that. So, as I calculate it, I currently have a fucking D in that class, and I can't do anything, because they left the fucking country. I emailed my advisor about that, and hopefully, since the professor was breaking a big rule, I will get a pass or a W or something. Or I could take it over.

I mean, the fucking professor didn't even notify us via email or on the web, which she had done for EVERY OTHER TEST. I'm sorry I was working on two term papers and studying for two cumulative classes and neglected to attend an ATTENDANCE OPTIONAL class wherein every word that came out of her mouth in that classroom was posted on the web on the course website. I mean, FUCK YOU. That's a waste of my time and money, and you know what? I could fucking use that money since your waste of a class could lead to me losing my fucking scholarship and grant. I hate you.

Wow. Yeah. Anyway.

So anyway, I decided to sleep with my arm draped over my eyes like my orange tabby cat Sammy does when he wants to pretend we're not around and leave him the fuck alone, and I tried to sleep a little. I think I did sleep. A little, maybe. Anyway, eventually it got better, and it still feels the same as it did around 8 am. It feels a little sore, my left eye, but I can keep it open no problem, and it doesn't excessively hurt. And my eye isn't pink. Was it a psychosomatic episode? I don't mean psychosomatic in the sense that the pain wasn't real, because that's a total misnomer. Just because there is no physiological basis for a pain does not make the pain any less real. If it hurts, and you feel it, it's fucking real. And according to many psychiatrists and neurologists, there's a huge fucking chance that psychosomatic pain is -- well, it's more somatic than was once thought and is triggered by something in the brain. Everything is triggered by something in the brain. I once made a clay model of the human brain so I wouldn't have to carve up a poor little sheep's brain in AP Psychology during my senior year of high school.

In other news, the abnormal test was fucking hard. Andrea, the dolphin trainer who I saw for a split second on TLC's "What Not To Wear" last Saturday (she was a colleague of the woman who needed fashion help) agreed, and so did Julie and Cara. I don't know. It could go either way. I'm either getting a B or a C in that class. I mean, it could've been an A or a B, but at the last minute, after the extra credit assignments were assigned and turned in and graded, he decided he would not let the extra credit turn B's into A's, and that students could only earn A's through tests. He never said anything about that, of course, and it was a huge waste of time for me, but what can you do. He's a sucky teacher, too.

Well. I did learn some good news today. A half hour before the test began, and before my friends had arrived, my peers and I were commiserating about the class and the test as worried kids who hate the course as much as you are wont to do. Anyway, we got to talking about sucky professors when my friend Julie arrived, and she said Gillis, a biobehavioral statistics professor, is a really bad teacher. According to her, he's demeaning, and Julie, as an older student (she's in her 30s, but he doesn't look it) told him that she felt the way he spoke was really demeaning to the students (e.g., "I don't understand how you college kids can't understand these simple equations," et al) even if he generalizes. Of course, Gillis had no idea what she was talking about because professors are so full of horseshit for the most part. Anyway, a girl we were kvelling and kvetching said that Sutton is really good in explaining everything, which is great news for me since that's who I'm taking next semester. She said that he's a good teacher, but he grades hard. I think I'll do fine as long as I stick with a tutor from the beginning.

Enough of that. Let us speak no more of it. I'm putting a moratorium on professorial horseshit.

Now! The Epitaph of the Day (or so). This one belongs to Mary Lefavour, a very private woman of Topsfield, Massachusetts, who died at age 74 in 1797:

Reader pass on and ne'er waste your time,
On bad biography and bitter rhyme
For what I am this cumb'rous clay insures,
And what I was, is no affair of yours.