Loch Ness

It's Tuesday, and there's only two weeks and two days between me and a plane headed west. Throughout the past three weeks, I've been in three countries, met The Boy, met C*'s mother and brothers and family and come to discover that I never want to leave here, that I want to make a life here with C*. I'm wondering if C* feels the same. I've already asked him to marry me. His reply? A not-too-uplifting "I'll think about it."

Hm.

A little more than a week ago, C* took me to the nearby shore of Loch Ness. With dog Woody in tow, we enjoyed a wooded walk around part of the perimeter of the famed loch, but there was nary a monster in sight.



This lake is huge: 23 miles around, to be exact. And it's so deep that no diver has ever been to the deepest part of the bottom of it. The legend of Nessie is still alive and provides a living for at least one weirdo who has set up shop on the lake's shore. He considers himself to be a "researcher," but his method of research where the legendary beast is concerned involves nothing more than looking through his stupid telescope to see if the monster has decided to rear its massive head. He lives in his research van on the lake's shore and sells Nessie souvenirs made out of what looks like bits collected from around the lake. Can anyone say "freak"?



We made the trip to Loch Ness on an overcast day making for dramatic views:



And this:



Woody picked up some tics as he scoured the wooded area sampling all the scents that were to be found. But he had a good day, and so did wheeeeeee!

PARIS! (day 2)

On day 2, C* and I used the Eiffel Tower as a starting point. Getting there involved a 10-minute walk from the hotel. We climbed halfway up the tameable beast for this view, among others. That body of water, my friends, is the famous Seine:



Afterwards, we strolled arm in arm along the Seine before catching a train to the Louvre. We didn't go into the Louvre, mind you. There were far too many tourists waiting to get in, and we didn't feel like spending our whole day fighting our way through the maze that is the largest museum known to man. Instead, we sat outside:



This photo is in no way representative of the enormity of the Louvre. For better pics, go here.

From there, we did the walk of shame (all tourists, all the time) up the Champs Elysees to the Arc de Triomphe:



Along the way, I snapped this photo of les jardins des tuileries:



The Champs Elysees is a minefield of tourists and swanky shops. Several high-end car dealerships sit along this row of shops-that-are-way-too-expensive-for-my-meager-budget.

Halfway between the Louvre and the Arc de Triomphe, C* and I decided to rest on a bench. It was there that some maniacal kleptomaniac pilfered C*'s sunglasses and a box containing ONE cigarette right out from under us! The aforementioned items sat between us on the bench, and the lunatic took a seat on the bench behind us facing the other direction. Somehow, he/she managed to secure the glasses and cigarettes in his/her grubby little paws before heading off down the street. We considered ourselves lucky that that's all that was stolen from us during our stay. After all, signs at the Eiffel Tower warn visitors of pickpockets. Those nasty little Frenchies!

After a meal of table wine, cheese, fruit, quiche and bread procured at an outdoor market, C* and I headed back to the hotel beaten by exhaustion. We stayed in the rest of our last night in Paris. The next morning, we hunted for souvenirs before getting back on the train that would take us to the bus that would take us to the plane that would take us to the car that would take us back home.

Side note: Americans hate the French. That's how it is. We mock them. We call them weak. We think they're faggots. We are certain they are rude. I don't think that way, of course, but your average American is brought up harboring a certain disdain for all things French. Lucky for me, I have ignored it all. Instead, I immersed myself in the French language and culture from the time I was in middle school. I studied French throughout middle and high school and got a minor in the romance language in college.

Since I was young, Paris has been the one thing I had to had to had to had to experience to consider my life complete. I have to say after experiencing it that it's everything I ever imagined and more and that America is way, way wrong. All the French people we were fortunate enough to communicate with were helpful and kind. Some even went out of their way when it was obvious they were in a rush to help us get to where we needed to go even though our language skills and accents were way under par.

So, in summation, fuck you, America! I'm siding with the French!

PARIS! (night 1 and the following day)

C* booked a weekend trip to PARIS! for us a week or so before I flew to Europe. I've always wanted to go to Paris, and I was turning 35 that weekend. What better way to celebrate?

We flew into Beauvais airport an hour or so south of Paris. Ryanair got us there at a cost of 1 pence for each ticket plus taxes. We each ended up paying $25 American for a round-trip ticket, but we had to drive to Glasgow to catch the flight at Prestwick Airport and catch a bus from Beauvais to Paris.

Paris is beautiful. Talk about every view being a postcard! Et voila:



After we found out about the three-day, unlimited-use pass for the subway and got directions (twice) for our maiden subway voyage to the hotel, we got to the hotel, checked in and had a walk around the neighborhood.

We stopped for cigarettes (when in France...) and a couple of pints at the nearest bar where we got a taste of just how expensive things can be in a large European city. Two pints of 1664 cost 13 Euros ($17.57 American)! Added to that was a mystery charge of 3 Euros. We think it was added on because we chose to sit outside but we're not sure, and we didn't want to look cheap and/or stupid by asking. We looked dumb enough trying to order drinks and cigarettes.

The next morning, we headed off to Pere-Lachaise, the final resting place of such notable greats as Apollinaire, Bernhardt, Camus, Chopin, Ernst, Modigliani, Moliere, Piaf, Proust, Seurat, Stein (Gertrude, of course!) and Wilde. The main reason we made the long trek there was to see where Jim Morisson lay, of course.

I had seen TV images of Morisson's grave. The candles, the grafitti. The flowers. The hordes of people travelling from far and wide to offer gifts to the grave of the famous and infamous rock legend. We went there on a quiet day, however. Of anyone's grave, Morisson's definitely attracted the most attention, but, the whole time we were there, there weren't but a dozen visitors at any one time.

Morisson's grave is packed tightly among various other graves making it hard to photograph. It's made even harder by the fact that a metal fence circles it to try and keep the grafitti artists at bay. But the fence was easily climbed. Voici:



After several hours at Pere-Lachaise, we wandered on over to the Sacre Coueur and spent the rest of the day in the part of Paris known as Montmartre. Historically, Montmartre is where so many of the great painters lived and spent their time painting and drinking their lives away. It's widely known as a tourist area now, but plenty of locals still live there. Its narrow cobbled streets and the variety of painters who still peddle their paintings there allow residents and visitors alike a glimpse into the past that's still alive and well there. This is the area I'd want to live in if I ever moved to Paris. I mean, come on! You can still buy absinthe there! How great is that?

The Sacre Coeur:



Looking down on Paris from the steps of the Sacre Coeur:



Painter row in Montmartre:



Painters love their absinthe. I'm thinking it's more expensive now than it was in the 1800s:



The preferred mode of transportation in Paris:



C* posing with his first-ever crepe - with cheese:



The view from where we stopped for a beer in Montmartre:



A gorgeous residential street in Montmartre:



After the cemetery but before hitting the mean streets of the tourist area of Montmartre, C* and I stopped at a lovely little grocery and stocked up on provisions for a picnic in a park. Restaurants are wildly expensive in Europe, so we dined on grocery goods the entire time we were in Paris. This meal included ham and cheese sandwiches, chips and drinks in an urban park frequented by bums and other Parisian weirdos. While we were there, C* made a friend who told him, in French, that he looked like an American. But not just any American. He looked like an American cowboy.

C* and his new Parisian friend:



Before we left Montmartre, we stopped at a museum there dedicated to 300 works by Salvador Dali. St. Petersburg, Florida, holds the highest number of works by Dali outside of Figueres, Spain, but this museum held several of Dali's 3D works, all of which I had never seen, even in a book. He made statues. He made furniture. He even made dresses, none of which I would ever be caught dead in. But the trip to the museum was well worth it as I had a chance to see 2D works by the frazzled genius that were outside the realm of what you'd normally expect from Dali.

One of Dali's sculptures and some 2D works you would never attribute to Dali:



After this long day of walking, we went back to the hotel and stayed in for the rest of the night watching funny French commercials and writhing naked women on the hotel TV.

Next post: Day 2 in Paris

OK. UK! (Inverness)

I am now in the land of quid, fish and chips and mushy peas, a real pint and driving on the left side of the road whilst sitting on the right side of the car.

As I taxied down the runway a week ago last Tuesday, all kinds of crazy thoughts ran through my head. What if they all hated Americans? What if they're really different from me? What if I stick out like a sore thumb that everyone wants to bash with a hammer over and over and over? What if C* doesn't even show up at the airport and I end up having to exchange my return ticket and scoot home heartbroken straight away?

All this worrying was for naught.

They don't all hate Americans. They're not so different. I don't stick out like (such) a sore thumb. They're all too poor from paying $8 American per gallon of gas (about £.94 per litre) to even own a hammer, and they're all too drunk to accurately aim for my head. *wink*

My first impressions of Inverness are that it's a quaint city full of down-to-earth people and overpriced everything - including restaurants. I know the minimum wage here is the equivalent of $10 American, but get this: a free-range omelet and fries and a huge burger with fries and two drinks for the equivalent of $32 American? And that's at a roadside diner in the middle of nowhere!

But everywhere you look in this town, it's like staring at a postcard. And this city's downtown puts Tallahassee's to shame even though Tallahassee has a population nearly three times the size.

I think I like it here. As long as I'm not looking to buy anything. Ever.

UK. OK!

I hadn't been writing because I'd had nothing to say and because I had been super busy with long hours at work. Three months out of the year, we work our asses off in my office. The bad news is that it involves 12- to 14-hour workdays and six- to seven-day workweeks. The good news is that it allows me to accrue tons of comp time that I am now burning with a vengeance with a five-week trip to Scotland to see my sweetie.

This is my first time out of the United States except for a five-day trip to Montreal in 2000. Ever since I was a wee lassie, I had been wanting to go to Europe - specifically to PARIS! I always told myself that I could die happy once I had been to PARIS! - and now I can.

First things first, though. Getting into London.

I almost wasn't allowed into the UK. The immigration control lady at London Gatwick grilled me about who I was going to visit and why. Where was I staying? How did I meet this person? On the Internet? Hm. Seems suspicious. Has he ever been to the US before? Had we ever met in person before? When are you returning to the US? Where's your itinerary? No itinerary? How do I know you plan on going home? ARGH!

The lady finally let me by, and I've been in Scotland since May 8 except for a 3.5 day trip to PARIS! that ended yesterday.

In the coming weeks, I will be posting details (and hopefully photos) about my trip as well as my impressions of the places I have visitied and will be visiting between now and June 14.

Next post: Initial impressions of Inverness
Next next post: PARIS!
Three posts down: The Highlands

Yay, guns!

Thirty-two people at Virginia Tech are dead and all the NRA and other gun nuts can do is pull their weapons tighter against their breasts and staunchly dig their heels into the ground in favor of gun owners' rights?

That's what's wrong with this country.

In my opinion, the Columbine killers had some kind of leg to stand on when they extinguished their prey 10 years ago. I mean, at least the topic of school bullying (bullying = bad) was brought to light and bandied about for some time before that event slipped into obscurity. Unfortunately, for all we can stand to learn from the VTech massacre, this Cho Seung-Hui kid comes off in his videos and writings as just some kind of delusional freak who was operating without a full set of batteries.

OK. I got it. He was peeved because he perceived his fellow classmates as having far too much. Cognac? BMWs? Those kids were living the high life, it sounds, yet complaining about their miserable existences all the way while poor, little Cho Seung-Hui was stuck out in the cold receiving only a great education while not having to work. Poor Seung-Hui! Why couldn't the United States have given the poor immigrant boy more of a chance in life?

So far, I know that he was a senior English student at Virginia Tech and that he had a history of depression. He had no friends and didn't socialize. He ate alone. He went to bed early most nights. He was a shitty writer. He liked to wear sunglasses and preferred his baseball hat pulled low. He listed his name as "question mark" on a classroom sign-in sheet. He stalked a couple of female students and took photos of females under his desk. He scared teachers. He was referred for counseling. He was sent for a psychological evaluation. He was thrown out of a class. He was marginalized by fellow students and teachers. On and on and on.

But he was still going to class? Still a student at VT? Still roaming free?

That's what's wrong with this country.

Did school officials not step in sooner and harsher because they didn't have the legal authority to do so? Or were they just scared of him? Did they not want to deal with it? Did they not have enough evidence? Did he need to kill someone first before anything could be done?

That's what's wrong with this country.

Where are his parents in all this? Why haven't they stepped forward? Why hasn't anyone interviewed them? Was the murderer abused as a child as his writing might suggest?

That's what's wrong with this country.

I heard on some newscast that this kind of brutality is uniquely American. What is it that we, as a country, are doing wrong? Are we not taking mental disorders seriously enough? Is it still taboo to discuss them? Do we still foolishly think that young people will just live in their misery and that this misery won't leak out to affect others?

That's what's wrong with this country.

And will those powerful right-to-gunners always think it's perfectly sensible for someone - largely, anyone - to be able to walk into a store and buy loads of guns and enough ammunition to destroy thousands? Will the NRA - with its very deep pockets - always be so powerful?

That's what's wrong with this country.

In the end, I think Cho Seung-Hui's actions could very well open up all kinds of debate and teach us, as a nation, a lot about mental illness, troubled youth and the effects of the second amendment on an individualistic, capitalistic nation whose morals and virtues (more money, more power, more everything...NOW!) are largely skewed.

Seung-Hui might not end up getting his rambling and incoherent message across to the country that survives this event, but I think we have a great chance, if we choose to listen hard enough, to hear and learn powerful messages and lessons that could change society for the better.

Chances are, though, we won't listen.

We never do.

That's what's wrong with this country.

World map discoveries

maarmie: (looking at a world map) Did you know...that the United Kingdom...is an island?

C^: (with mock surprise) It is?

maarmie: Yes. And did you know...that Ireland...is southwest...of Scotland?

C^: Yes. I knew that.

maarmie: I don't understand...why they don't build a bridge.

C^: A bridge where?

maarmie: Between England...and France.

C^: That would be good. There's already a tunnel.

maarmie: (shocked because the map clearly does not indicate a tunnel) There is??? That's so...cool! I love tunnels!

Pendulum swings, part deux

Long-distance relationships are hard, and I suspect that the people who say they are easy/in any way fun/remotely satisfying are the same people who are only comfortable in relationships that have a low degree of intimacy.

Long-distance relationships are not for the meek…or the insecure.

All kinds of trouble can brew in a long-distance relationship when you're talking to your beloved (or are in the middle of phone sex?!) and you hear him/her furiously typing in the background. Who is he writing to? Why is she ignoring me? How come she's not telling me what she's doing? Is it a big secret? Is he cheating on me? Did he meet someone else in a chat room, and is he now feverishly typing her the first of a series of ardent love letters? AM I ON THE WAY OUT?!

All kinds of trouble can brew in a long-distance relationship when all you've got is webcam/phone sex in the place of a real fleshfest and one of you can't quite get there for some reason. Is he having a dry spell? Is she not turned on by me anymore? Is she thinking of something or, worse, someone, else?

All kinds of trouble can brew in a long-distance relationship when the only connection you have is a phone, and you are tired/depressed/irritated/frustrated. Sighs and dead silences can be severely misconstrued leading to a barrage of inane questioning and, most likely, an argument or 20.

All kinds of trouble can brew in a long-distance relationship when, after months of sending and receiving cards and gifts, talking on the phone for hours a day and writing and reading sweet e-mails, you realize that all you fucking really fucking want to fucking give/get is a fucking kiss and/or a fucking hug to/from your significant other but all you fucking have in front of you is fucking nothing. This continued realization tends to make one cranky and/or bitchy and can lead to unsolicited arguments. Fun! Fun!

All kinds of trouble can brew in a long-distance relationship when you're an insensitive clod - as humans are prone to being, especially when harboring ill feelings - and you make less-than-loving comments to your sweetie such as "You're a jerk!" "I've dated bigger and better feminists than you!" "Your son doesn't need you! He's going to have a new father soon!" "You look awful today! Your face looks smashed!" "You're a liar! You're a liar!" "You're stingy!" "Fuck off!" "Men suck!"

All kinds of trouble can brew in a long-distance relationship when one or the other or both of you have major insecurities and you aren't there to see what's going on but you get to hear all about: the male employee she hangs out with when she's bored; the female co-worker he hung out at the beach with one day; the single female neighbor who moved into the empty apartment across the hall from him; the guy who invited her out to coffee and then tracked down her e-mail address; the married women who boasted of their many boyfriends he shared vodka with at the airport before trading e-mail addresses with them after one of the women invited him to an upcoming party; the guy who is on her IM list and the male friends she goes to the movies/out to dinner with.

And it's not just the "who's" that can get your long-distance significant other's hackles up, it's the "where's" as well.

He thinks she's coming right back to the computer to chat after putting the groceries away but she gets on a roll and ends up cleaning out her fridge and doing the dishes before heading back toward the webcam. When she gets back, he is gone and has left an IM saying "You should have just told me you weren't coming back."

She thinks he'll be home at 5 p.m. her time to chat, but he doesn’t end up coming home until 1 a.m. his time after hanging out at a bar with his male friend who he has brought home with him to keep the good times going for another few hours and forces her to chat with his buddy on the phone even when she is fuming and CERTAINLY. DOESN'T. FEEL. LIKE. TALKING.

demain: Pendulum swings, part trois

Pendulum swings, part un

I apologize for not having written in so long, but I've been on a crazy rollercoaster the last few months and am just now taking the time to breathe, reflect and share.

At the beginning of November, I met a man online, a random partner with whom I shared a few games of backgammon on Yahoo! games. Those few games turned into lengthy conversations, a sharing of e-mail addresses, more conversations over Yahoo! IM, then with webcam, then on the phone. Great talks. So much in common. Lots of laughter. Fabulous.

General stats: Born and raised in England, 39 years old, Taurus, student, one son, never married, 6'1", approximately 170-180 pounds, blue eyes, grey hair (formerly blond).

Two months after first meeting him online, he flew from Scotland (yes, Scotland) to Tallahassee over new year's so we could spend time in person and see if the chemistry in the flesh was as good as the chemistry on the phone and the Internet. It was.

We had a great time talking, kissing, canoeing, traveling to Savannah, meeting friends for dinner. He flew back home at the end of the first week of January knowing we wouldn't see each other again until May at the very earliest. Four months away from each other. Would it work? Could things last?

Neither of us had ever attempted a long-distance relationship before, and, I, for one, can say that I never wanted one until I met C^. Here are the things about him - and the relationship - that I love the most, the reasons I decided to make a go of all this in the first place:

1. C^ is completely unique/doesn't follow the herd.

2. He recognizes and appreciates my uniqueness.

3. He is emotional and shows his emotions easily.

4. He is incredibly intelligent.

5. He is reasonably understanding/open minded.

6. He is usually willing to admit when he is wrong.

7. He seems open to self improvement.

8. He appreciates my intelligence and frequently tells me he thinks I'm beautiful.

9. We share many of the same beliefs about religion, politics, relationships and parenting and the way the world ought to be/work.

10. We have a similar sense of humor and agree on nearly every topic under the sun.

11. We like the same books, movies, music and activities.

12. His accent is to die for.

13. He can turn me on like you wouldn't believe.

14. I'm pretty sure he puts the toilet seat down after ever wee...AND HE WIPES THE RIM!

...However...

Even though we share all this, even though I appreciate all this, even with all of this as a foundation for a relationship, this relationship has been more incredibly difficult than I ever thought imaginable.

Had I written this post a month ago, it would have been some kind of blathering love letter, a syrupy-sweet ode dripping with the kindest of words and comparing our relationship to the very best of relationships that ever existed or ever would exist, putting what seemed to just naturally exist between us and what I thought we had created on a pedestal for all the world to see, admire and attempt to emulate.

But, after three months, harsh words, misunderstandings and more arguments than I care to admit, the luster has worn off some. The reality that nothing is ever perfect is setting in. The realization that our "effortless" relationship isn't going to be so effortless after all has slapped me in the face. Can we learn from our mistakes? Can we improve ourselves and, through these improvements, improve the relationship? Can this relationship last? And, most importantly, if this relationship doesn't work out, how am I ever going to stalk him when he lives so very far away???

demain: Pendulum swings, part deux

Transition

There's not enough maarmie left in this body to come to you as her, so, instead, I'll be coming to you as myself. But this won't be the first time, and it certainly won't be the last.

Writing this blog has been a strange experience for me. This maarmie character didn't turn out to be a character at all, even though, at times, I liked to think that's all she was. I wanted to think she was merely the voice of some fictional embittered woman, one who had grown tired of disappointments and was ready to strike back any way she could. One who, through having a voice on the Internet, could unburden herself by writing about bad bosses, bad people, bad men, bad public policy, bad situations, a bad world. One who was finally going to be able to get some power through that voice.

All along, maarmie has been me, a little pocket of my personality, thought patterns, fears and hopes that grew larger with every post. maarmie gained power through this blog, indeed, and she, in time, gained strength in me as a result. It wasn't fun, but I suppose it was cathartic. Perhaps it was a necessary stage for me after having gone through the shit I've gone through the last few years and throughout my life. But I've come to realize that, through my poor decisions, I played a larger role in what I went through than I care to admit. Because of my previous pathetic needs to please others and be liked at almost any cost, I put myself in and stayed in situations that were unhealthy for me, and, frankly, beneath me.

All that has changed. Perhaps I have maarmie to thank for it. She may have acted as my bridge to a better way of being.

maarmie has not been eaten...

but she has all but vanished. Update in the next day or so.

If you can't go to the UK, then the UK shall come to you

From: The Olde Travel Agente, London Towne

Hear ye, hear ye!

Let It Be Known that (insert name) has hereby booked himself passage on ye olde steam boat to the colonies of New America.

He's a-coming, oh yeah, it's for real.

Signed

Her Maj., the Queen

Turkey-induced Thanksgiving nightmares

Since I'm an orphan, my friends and coworkers always know that I'll need to be taken in on Thanksgiving and Christmas. Every year for Christmas, I try to go somewhere where there's snow. Two years ago, I went to Montana. Before that, it was Providence, Rhode Island, and Boston. This year, I'd like to be in Scotland, but I don't think that's going to happen, so my Christmas plans are up in the air if there are any takers out there who want to play host for me that day.

For Thanksgiving this year, I went to two homes for two very different meals and to a third home for a little Thanksgiving greenery. I didn't show up to the meals emptyhanded, however. I made cornbread! And not just any cornbread. Cornbread that required boogers in snot sauce. I wasn't sure it would turn out OK (this thought was made worse by the fact that I almost threw up while I was stirring the mess and was driven to exclaim "this stuff smells like shit" when I was checking on it in the oven). But it turned out fine, of course, as evidence by these photos. Call me Betty Crocker.

Kitchen overview

First, there was the cornmeal, 1.5 cups



Then flour, 1/2 cup



Buttermilk, 1 cup



Olive oil, 1/4 cup



2 tsp. baking powder, 1/2 tsp. baking soda, 1 tsp. sugar and 1 tsp. salt



Two large eggs



Snot sauce, aka creamed corn, 1 can (8 ounces)



Boogers, aka diced green chilis, 1 can (4 ounces)



Cheddar cheese, 1/2 cup (2 ounces)



Stir for 30 seconds



Empty pan, sides and bottom greased



Pour it in



20-30 minutes in 450 degrees. Et voila!



Oops, I forgot the chili powder (1 tsp.). They were good anyway!



I made two of these, one for a coworker who invited me to her mom's house to eat with her, her ex-husband, her current live-in boyfriend and her son from hubby #1. We played Scrabble. We had the typical turkey feast that included this fabulous stuffing and some kind of pumpkin trifle that just happened to be the best dessert I've ever had in my life before playing Scrabble. I came in third out of four people. I was almost in second place. Swear.

Afterward, I went to my friend Michael's house to eat with him, his wife, his two sons, one daughter and their significant others and children. Vegetarians, all of them, so we ate tempeh (moldy soybeans) with cheese, salad, potatoes, green beans, cranberries, pumpkin and apple and blueberry pies, etc. Delish. Topped off the evening at my coworker's house where we lit a fire among other things and finished the evening on a mellow note.

A superior Thanksgiving was had by all, though I had the munchies at 3 a.m. and finished off most of my turkey leftovers. Hence the title of this post.

New music: Four Tet/Remixes

ze frank fights...er...writes back

ze frank, the latest, greatest comic who gives me a chuckle each day, has recently honored me with a nugget of wisdom, one I feel just maybe might could solve one of the most confounding riddles that plagues humankind: What is love?

Being that I am mildly insane at most and not at all in my right mind at least, I wrote him this romantic missive by way of introduction:

----------

On 11/15/06 1:12 PM, "maarmie maarmie" wrote:

You're smart.
You're funny.
You're cute.

I'm horny.
No, I'm in love.
No. Horny.
In love?
What is love?
No, just horny.
Love.
Horny.
Love.
Horny.

Keep up the good job.

----------

In lieu of barricading his apartment door, forwarding my message to the local authorities or ignoring the e-mail so as not to egg on a would-be stalker/attacker, the luscious ze chose, instead, to potentially thrust himself in harm's way by answering the one question buried deep inside my emotional outpouring. Yes, he, or someone mightily resembling himself, responded thusly:

----------

love is just horny + valium.

----------

A comic genius AND an insightful philosopher? Once I obtain ze's home address, he can look forward to stumbling upon one pair of crusty undies steeped in my deepest affections. Muahhahahahaha!

Stephen Colbert was here

Stephen Colbert came to speak at Florida State University's homecoming powwow last night. He wore a suit. He did his political bit. He added bits about Florida. He added bits about Florida State University football (rah! rah! rah!) and it's not like he really cared about Florida State's loooooosing team but it's the...bit?...that?...counts?

He's hot. I want to have his baby. Some other girl in the audience wanted HIM to have HER baby - and loudly proclaimed her passion to him and the other thousands who attented.



I took lots of bad photos at the event. This posting holds the best of the worst, including this one:



where Colbert was giving a geography lesson to show us that Tallahassee is where the balls of America would be - noticeable pause for comedic effect - if America HAD any balls. Hee haw! Snore!

He had a "today's word" to introduce a bit about how crazy/zany/weird/pick a word Floridians are



and talked about pot, being a college student, football, Florida, Bush, politics, blah, blah, blah. He was dynamic. He was, as always, cute. He tried to be funny. But with many of the same tired lines, it's kinda hard.


But I'm glad I went.



Because, if nothing else,



Colbert is a smart, little hottie



who can make my panties wet.

HI, HOW ARE YOU

If you haven't seen it yet, you need to check out The Devil and Daniel Johnston, a nifty little biopic about Daniel Johnston, the most famous musician who hardly ever was. His life was/is a brilliant nuclear mess, and this T-shirt I just bought -



the cover of his very first album - is way cool. He's still performing all over the world. I don't know whether to bow to him, fear him or pity him. Probably a little of all three.

Happy Harroween

Instead of sitting at home Halloween night watching some scary movie on TV that I've already seen a million times, I decided to go to the mall and buy myself a few treats - namely these:



and these:





And what day - much less holiday dedicated to sweet, sweet candy meat - would be complete without a sackful of these:



If only I had a costume, I might get some candy for free for a change.

Negligent blogger

Haven't been writing lately, have I?

I could talk about how my ex friend and ex boyfriend are STILL together - surprise, surprise. I could talk about the fight my dad and I got into last weekend and how he told me he'd never talk to me again before hanging up on me. I could talk about all the weight my brother has lost and how proud I am of him. I could talk about the fact that my therapist is moving her practice, and I will have to find a new shrink. I could talk about how I won't have anyone to spend the holidays with or the awesome time I'm having taking tennis lessons. I could talk about how I survived the round of firings at work. I could talk about my plans to go to Europe for a month next year or what's going on with my law school dreams. I could talk about the nasty e-mail I sent Heather Armstrong (dooce) about her bitching and moaning over a matter in which she was clearly in the wrong. I could talk about how she's probably going to sucker punch me when she meets me at a future BlogHer conference but not the 2007 one because it's going to be held in Chicago and I've already been to Chicago and I am going to Europe for a month in 2007 anyway so why would I waste money going to BlogHer? I could talk about how I recently got screwed out of some virtual money or about the extra duties I've taken on in my volunteer work. I could talk about the cigarettes I've smoked lately or about all the sleep I've been getting, the bad dreams I've been having that include everyone I dislike including my former boss. I could talk about the weight I'm trying to lose but doing a bad job of it because I love, love, love to eat pounds of Jelly Belly jelly beans in one sitting. I could talk about my miserable foray into the disgusting bowels of The Ashley Madison Agency or about the 14 X-rays I recently had on my wrists, knees and left elbow. I could talk about today's lunch - beefaroni served up by lunch ladies in an elementary school cafeteria.

But what's the point? I no longer have a direction for my blog. Should I be "me" or should I be maarmie, a more sarcastic and nasty version of me? What should I write about? And can I keep whining about the same old shit and expect to have any readers left at the end of the day?

New plan

Alternate decision time. I decided to put off law school for a year (Fall 2008) so I can pay off my debts, have plenty of time to study, take the test again, apply early.....and.....go to Europe for a month before I, hopefully, start law school.

I don't want to rush into anything, and there are things I have and want to do before I commit myself to years of singleminded study.

I did worse than I ever feared

Score in moments ago: 147

I guess I, in fact, will be attending the Florida Academy for Future Psychics and Lawyers. They churn out mostly psychics, but they churn out a few, ahem, lawyers, too.

No doubt about it. I'll be taking the LSAT again in December.

View from the RNC in NYC, 2004

So, so tired

Yesterday's fund-raiser for America's Second Harvest of the Big Bend went off without more than a couple of hitches, a wondrous fact considering it was a first annual event.

My friend and former employer, Denise, and her employees worked for months to put on this fund-raiser, one held in the downtown park that included musical acts, poetry and literature readings and an experimental theatre piece about hunger. Hundreds of local schoolchildren crafted bowls out of yarn, clay and paper mache for the event. The empty bowls were displayed on rows of tables containing facts about hunger. A silent auction included artwork created by local artists and donated to the cause, and local eateries donated all kinds of yummy soups and breads for the people who showed up. The attendance wasn't stellar though the event had been promoted on the radio and in the newspaper, but it made the food bank some good money and laid the groundwork for similar events in the coming years.

I got there at 3 p.m. and stayed to help pack everything in the trucks after the event. My biggest job was to hang out at the table that held flyers about hunger and the food bank and one of the band's CDs that were on sale. There were about a trillion volunteers - school kids from the various Tallahassee schools - on hand to man tables, put up and take down tents and tables and pack and unpack the bowls and works of art. It was amazing to see just how much work and coordination it took to pull off such an event, and I was sad that I didn't work there anymore and couldn't have been responsible for helping the event come to fruition. That's probably why I worked so hard after the event to take down tents and load trucks, my knees stiff and hurting by the time the evening was over.

Afterward, I went with Denise and her husband, a board member and a couple of employees and friends to dinner. I didn't get home until 11 p.m., but I had a great time. The board member was a cute and single CPA who was funny and nice, too. I put in a word with Denise, and she has promised to have us both over to dinner at her house and perhaps feel out the situation with said board member.

At home, I have thrown every pencil I own into a drawer and hidden all papers and other items that remind me of the LSAT. I have been battling a desire to write to the LSAC - the people who administer the LSAT - and request that my test never be scored. I can do that, you know. I still haven't made a final decision (I still have seven more days to make up my mind) but if I decide to have the test scored, I will have the results by October 23.

Now, I am facing the task of writing a personal statement for my applications. Two people have yet to write and mail the recommendation letters they promised, so I will have to get on them (in a nice way!) as well. For the next week, though, I think all I'm going to do is sleep, read for pleasure and try to have a little fun.

Somebody, please kill me

At 8:15, I was sitting in my seat in a lecture hall at the FSU law school. By 1:30, the test was done. I know for certain that I completely flubbed the writing portion of the test, but I'm not sure how I did on the rest. The writing portion isn't scored, but it's send to all the law schools to which one applies. If two candidates are close in every other regard, writing samples are perused.

Considering my head is throbbing and that it was practically spinning by the time I left the testing site, I definitely wouldn't look forward to ever taking it again.

What I need right now is a four-hour nap. Instead, I am leaving right now to do some volunteer work for a friend and former boss who needs my help at an event to raise money for the hungry.

Yawn! I'll be sleeping good tonight.

Down to the wire

It is 9:45 p.m. the night before the LSAT. I took two more practice tests today (scored 157 and 159 on them) and went to the FSU law school to see exactly where the test is being held tomorrow morning. My alarm clock is set for 6:55 a.m. so I have time to do a few practice questions in the morning (as advised by more than one source) and go over the outline of what makes a good writing sample.

I've got six sharpened pencils, a huge candy bar (a gift from a coworker for test day), a non-noise-making clock, a huge eraser, a pencil sharpener and the form I need to get into the exam all ready and waiting for tomorrow morning. I dyed my hair today so I could be freshly funky and punky for the exam, and I did my laundry today so I'll at least have clean underwear. I'm excited, and, strangely, not too terribly nervous - probably due to the hours and hours of preparatory work I put into this process.

Whatever score I get is the score I get. I'm prepared as much as I can be. That's all I can do. Why sweat the things that can't be changed. I think that's my prescription talking, folks, because it sure isn't me.

Thanks to everyone who wished me luck for the test. It means a lot.

I'm still alive

The LSAT is in a few days. I'm taking Friday off for some last last minute reviewing and relaxation. These days, I've been doing nothing but taking full-length sample tests. Consistently, I have been scoring in the upper 150s - which is just the better side of AVERAGE.

AVERAGE? Who wants to be AVERAGE? AVERAGE won't get me into UM Ann Arbor. AVERAGE won't get me a scholarship. AVERAGE won't have anyone clamoring to accept me. WTF? I really expected better out of myself and will likely vomit every morning until the day of the test just like I did this morning. No food. Just burning liquid from the stomach. Yum. My favorite.

I hate feeling like the last month has been a waste, but I wonder how I would be doing on the practice tests had I not studied so much. I had a minor breakthrough with a certain type of question last week that is allowing me to answer more of that type of question correctly and am hoping I have a similar breakthrough somewhere else in the next couple of days. I tried out the June 2006 LSAT and found that the reading comprehension portion was harder than I had previously encountered. I also found that logical reasoning questions on the actual tests are easier than any I had encountered while studying.

Wish me luck.

Stephen Colbert and I have a date

I waited in line for two hours Monday, but I got primo seats to see Stephen Colbert, the hot little Catholic who has his own nighttime "news" show and wasn't afraid to bitchslap the president at the Washington press corps dinner a while back.

Two friends and myself will be taking up three seats in the center of the 8th row at the Florida State powwow on November 17. The night should be interesting. Seems there's definitely a big hype surrounding the featured talent considering the tickets sold out in no time flat. Some of the young 'uns in line still aren't sure what to make of Colbert, however. A group of college-aged kids a ways back in line think he's a Republican. If they don't get his style of humor, the show might not mean much to them.

I'm counting down the days. I'm hoping to get close enough to Colbert to either get arrested or be awarded a restraining order. That would make it a good night, indeed.

The life of a nonprofessional catsitter

I am catsitting for the same people for whom I housesat and dogsat a couple of months ago. I go to their house every other day and refill the large feeding dishes, freshen the water bowls and empty the kitty litter box. I've already done my laundry there and scoured the fridge for something good to eat (to no avail) so I just get in and get out. No hanging around. Especially considering that one of the two cats just sits by the door when I'm there meowing and being all pissy because he's not allowed outside while my friends are gone. And cat shit? It stinks!

On the LSAT: Studying is going slowly and horribly. On two of the three types of questions that will be on the test, I consistently miss 1/3 of the questions on practice tests. I routinely answer the third type of question correctly only 1/3 of the time. I did fine when I was on a beginner book, but now I'm on more advanced books with questions that have a difficulty mirroring questions actually found on the test. The test is in two weeks. So far, I'm up the river with only 1/2 a paddle.

We got our ass kicked by a couple of old women, one of whom had a knee brace

Even though we got our ass kicked (6-0, 6-1) by a couple of old women, one of whom had a knee brace, I rocked at tennis Saturday. Here's why:

1. I wore a sporty pair of retro-style shorts with the stripes down the sides.

2. I worked on perfecting my John McEnroe impersonation by cursing - and often - when I'd hit a ball too hard for the millionth time, thus sending it beyond any semblance of a white line.

3. I raced around like an idiot doing pirouettes "en plein air" whereby slowly working on getting good at a second sport: air acrobatics.

4. I actually hit all except TWO balls that came whizzing at me.

5. My serves improved heartily once I realized we weren't going to win. I guess my nervousness wore off and my killer spin serve came back to me.

6. I regarded them as "the enemy" at the beginning but shook their hands at the end.

7. The winning opponents had been playing most of their lives, they said, and we didn't do half bad on a point-by-point basis.

My teammate and I are meeting up after work Wednesday to practice, and we play again next Saturday. Same time, different location. We'll win yet if I have anything to say - or do - about it. The evil hand of competition is rearing its ugly claw yet again. Woooooooooooo!

Peppertree

My latest find is a band called Peppertree, the French-Canadian version of Radiohead. That's what they say, and that's how they sound. I highly recommend. The album can be purchased off their Web site.

Losing steam

Here I am. I went to Clearwater this past week and ended up staying there until Monday visiting with my brother. It either rained or was ungodly hot the entire time I was down there, so we just went to the movies, went geocaching for a few hours Sunday and played putt putt golf with my brother's wife and friends. I was the big loser of the game because my brother wouldn't let me cheat, but at least there was an alligator pond out front and people could feed the gators hot dogs using poles and strings ending with clips. Uh oh! Hot dog!

Faithful MAD TV viewers get the hot dog reference. Those of you who don't watch or have access to that show, don't despair. It's not THAT funny.

We didn't want to pay for the hot dogs and poles, so we fed the alligators ants instead. Little known fact: Alligators love to chew on live ants.

My brother and I went to see World Trade Center. It pretty much sucked except I didn't know only 20 live people were pulled from the ruins. I highly don't recommend the film.

Other than that, I've got nothing to say. Nothing funny. Nothing witty. Nothing sad. Nothing horrifying. Nothing stupendous. Nothing revealing. Nothing excrutiating. Nothing sexy. Nothing maddening.

I'm pretty even these days. Still studying for the LSAT. Still getting things together for law school applications. Way, way tired of all the old dramas, it seems I'm a bit boring these days. And not at all inventive. Or manic. Or fabulously interesting. Or hardly so, anyway.