Well, I'm deleting my myspace page.
For those of you who don't know, I've been blogging on there for over three years now and in that time I managed to accumulate quite a few writings (over three hundred in fact).
I also made some really good friends, who, ironically, I've never met.
I will miss going on there but the fact is, I was on there WAAAAY too much.
One of my greatest phobias is making a pest of myself and I was afraid that was exactly what I was doing...so I quit. Cold turkey.
Well, not exactly... I have "rss"-ed some of my favorite bloggers and bookmarked a few pages that I tend to check entirely too much. However, the move I made will keep it from being way too easy to send lots of messages and make unwarranted comments.
So anyway... I am hoping that this complete change of venue will result in the burst of creativity that has been lacking for about a month...
We shall see together...Shall we?
Sunday, May 18, 2008
The Year that Passed...
Well, it's 4:16 on a Sunday afternoon, it's raining and I just got home from the Saltmine.
I met some Saltmine inmates for a breakfast meeting (they are awesome and humbled me by offering me money to show up... How sad is it that I'm the teacher and can't afford gas so four juniors pooled their resources to make sure I could attend a meeting with them? I love those guys, I'm going to miss them next year).
Then I went up to Saltmine Central and inputted my grades for three hours (for once I'm done with them early...they're due tomorrow).
Next, I roller bladed for an hour in the Saltmine environs...tank top, black jeans, pig tails, loud music and all...
And while I was doing that, my mind was racing faster than my feet... Moving me backward and forward from past to present...
Every year about this time I start to become more and more withdrawn. I feel the need to pull back inside my sea-urchin-like shell so that when it's time to say goodbye in June I will be protected by my tough exoskeleton.
It's hard.
The greatest thing about teaching is getting to know so many fabulous people.
The worst thing about teaching is having to say goodbye to those fabulous people, knowing that if I've done my job, most of them will go away forever...
It's harder to say goodbye to some of them more than others.
The absolute toughest part is never knowing if I've really taught them something, if I've done my job as best I can... I've always believed that for me personally, teaching is more a function of who I am than the material I impart. I think that the connection is what ensures that Inmates will actually listen...
But then someone will say, in a fit of pique..."I haven't learned anything."
And I beat myself up about it.
Still...I continue to put on the armor, wade in, do my best and hope every day for a good result...
I hope it's enough.
I already miss the Inmates.
How could I ever do anything else with my life but this job?
It has me by the short hairs.
I am the Saltmine's wench.
But I kind of like it. Does that make me weird?
I'm just sayin'.
I met some Saltmine inmates for a breakfast meeting (they are awesome and humbled me by offering me money to show up... How sad is it that I'm the teacher and can't afford gas so four juniors pooled their resources to make sure I could attend a meeting with them? I love those guys, I'm going to miss them next year).
Then I went up to Saltmine Central and inputted my grades for three hours (for once I'm done with them early...they're due tomorrow).
Next, I roller bladed for an hour in the Saltmine environs...tank top, black jeans, pig tails, loud music and all...
And while I was doing that, my mind was racing faster than my feet... Moving me backward and forward from past to present...
Every year about this time I start to become more and more withdrawn. I feel the need to pull back inside my sea-urchin-like shell so that when it's time to say goodbye in June I will be protected by my tough exoskeleton.
It's hard.
The greatest thing about teaching is getting to know so many fabulous people.
The worst thing about teaching is having to say goodbye to those fabulous people, knowing that if I've done my job, most of them will go away forever...
It's harder to say goodbye to some of them more than others.
The absolute toughest part is never knowing if I've really taught them something, if I've done my job as best I can... I've always believed that for me personally, teaching is more a function of who I am than the material I impart. I think that the connection is what ensures that Inmates will actually listen...
But then someone will say, in a fit of pique..."I haven't learned anything."
And I beat myself up about it.
Still...I continue to put on the armor, wade in, do my best and hope every day for a good result...
I hope it's enough.
I already miss the Inmates.
How could I ever do anything else with my life but this job?
It has me by the short hairs.
I am the Saltmine's wench.
But I kind of like it. Does that make me weird?
I'm just sayin'.
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Four Girls and a Movie
The drive-in was packed and since I had no money, I had my three friends hop in the trunk.
They said it was pretty cozy back there but it was worth it only having to pay 8 dollars instead of 24.
During the movie we decided to honk at other people and do lots of Chinese fire drills.
The other movie goers hated us, until we held the consession stand up with water pistols and pirate guns and distributed our booty to everyone else in the lot.
We were afraid we might get arrested...
But no such luck.
The movie was pretty good... Though Reifsnyder the pink missed the last 5 minutes because she was rescuing a kitten from a tree...
Oh wait, it wasn't a tree, it was someone's back seat.
This was not intended to make sense... I've been reading a lot of Edward Albee and Luigi Pirandello.
I'm just sayin'.
They said it was pretty cozy back there but it was worth it only having to pay 8 dollars instead of 24.
During the movie we decided to honk at other people and do lots of Chinese fire drills.
The other movie goers hated us, until we held the consession stand up with water pistols and pirate guns and distributed our booty to everyone else in the lot.
We were afraid we might get arrested...
But no such luck.
The movie was pretty good... Though Reifsnyder the pink missed the last 5 minutes because she was rescuing a kitten from a tree...
Oh wait, it wasn't a tree, it was someone's back seat.
This was not intended to make sense... I've been reading a lot of Edward Albee and Luigi Pirandello.
I'm just sayin'.
Monday, May 12, 2008
THE WAR TO END ALL WARS...DOWN WITH PLAID!! (aka...I’m Gonna Get You Mr. Chemistry)
... After all that I've said and done, why would ANYONE think they could mess with me and get away with it?
You see...here's yet another reason why I've been incommunicado recently...
Dear friends...
The Pirate Queen is at WAR.
Oh no, I am NOT kidding.
You see...it all started when this guy... this BillNye guy decided to emotionally torture me.
How?
With fashion of course.
You see, I've never claimed to be fashion conscious. In fact, I have admitted on more than one occasion that I am in fact "fashion roadkill."
But this guy...
He makes me look like Yves St. Lauren with a little bit of Chanel thrown into the mix.
Let me just tell you about MrBillNye...
He is a geek. Now, being an admitted geekgirl myself, I can't fault him for that... But you have to picture this guy... He looks like a stick figure with a bobblehead. He has a voice that's a dead ringer for Kermit the Frog and he wears pocket protectors every day.
But that's not the worst of it... He also wears...
*shudder*
Sweater vests. OH THE HUMANITY!!
The war began, not with the "shot heard 'round the world" or even a crash-bang-clatter as so many other altercations... It was much more like T.S. Eliot's poem "The Hollow Men" in which he said,
"This is how the world ends...
Not with a bang but a whimper."
The whimper, good reader, came from me.
It was brought on by the sight of this human preying mantis in a pair of blue shortpants with little green boats on them.
Alright, I can hear you over there saying, "Hey, that's not so bad... What's the problem?"
Well, okay fine. Maybe it's not a problem for YOU, but that's because you didn't have to sit next to him for 6 hours whilst he regaled you with stories of his wife-in-laws-roof-AP Chemistry stuff... Even the stories wouldn't have been so bad, if he hadn't repeated the same ones...Over...and over...and over...in his muppet voice... with a shark-like smile on his face... Taking great pleasure in my ignoring him.
The more I ignored him... The worse he got.
Finally, just to shut him up, I responded by giving him the hardest of hard times I'd ever given anyone in my life.
I mocked his clothing.
I mocked his repetitious stories.
I mocked CHEMISTRY for Carlos' sake...
I even went so far as to give him my dissertation about how the laws of Thermodynamics are completely made up.
But in the end... I lost.
Yes, ME.
How so? I'll tell you how.
He loved my diatribe so much, that he began to LOOK for me, to actively SEEK ME OUT.
He adored being the object of my mockery.
I kid you not.
If there was a meeting, he sat next to me. If I was in my room attempting to "work," he stopped by to show me his latest fashion disaster. If I was given an obnoxious new duty, he offered to help me out with it.
Clearly, his masochism has reached a level to which all other masochists one day aspire.
The more I abuse and mock him... The more he loves me.
It would be the perfect friendship...If only I were a sadist instead of the closet masochist that I am.
At some points, I've even felt bad about giving him so much crap... but when I'm nice, he gets this disappointed look on his geekboy face and says things like,
"But aren't you going to make fun of my new sweatervest? Are...you... okay?"
At which point, I ACTUALLY FEEL BADLY FOR BEING NICE TO HIM!
The man is SICK.
And recently I've been forced to "step it up" since, in order to REALLY freak me out, he wore a pair of hideous PLAID PANTS to an all day meeting...
Just for me. I know you think I'm kidding... but I'm not.
So I recently put my artistic acumen to the test... making him a couple of posters which I ever so indiscreetly placed in his room... on his board... while he was teaching. These stated in blatant terms my complete disgust with both his subject and his plaid pants.
As you can probably guess... He loved it.
And now... he thinks he's going to get me back. He has actually been attempting to call converts to his side... The self-same scurvy inmates who have learned to love and serve the Pirate Queen so diligently in the past... Strangely, it's the inmates I least suspected to be on my side who ratted him out to me.
And ironically enough... he has managed to convert one of my trusted lieutenants.
That's right... he has usurped my place and the loyalty of one of my most favored crew-mates.
For this... more than anything else he's done... HE MUST PAY!
Oh boy... he's going to be soooo disappointed tomorrow... Not only have I formulated a clever diversion which will distract him from his own evil scheme, I have another plan for the following day which will cause him no end of amusement.
Don't worry...It's a bloodless plan...
In fact, if I didn't know what a thrill he's going to get out of how I am going to upstage his evil plans, I'd almost feel bad for him. Almost.
Of course... I have a sneaking suspicion that my victory will be short-lived at best.
My friends... This war is FAR from over.
The worst part is... I'm enjoying it more than I think I should...
What can I say?
I'm a pirate queen... I LOVE WAR.
I'm just sayin'.
You see...here's yet another reason why I've been incommunicado recently...
Dear friends...
The Pirate Queen is at WAR.
Oh no, I am NOT kidding.
You see...it all started when this guy... this BillNye guy decided to emotionally torture me.
How?
With fashion of course.
You see, I've never claimed to be fashion conscious. In fact, I have admitted on more than one occasion that I am in fact "fashion roadkill."
But this guy...
He makes me look like Yves St. Lauren with a little bit of Chanel thrown into the mix.
Let me just tell you about MrBillNye...
He is a geek. Now, being an admitted geekgirl myself, I can't fault him for that... But you have to picture this guy... He looks like a stick figure with a bobblehead. He has a voice that's a dead ringer for Kermit the Frog and he wears pocket protectors every day.
But that's not the worst of it... He also wears...
*shudder*
Sweater vests. OH THE HUMANITY!!
The war began, not with the "shot heard 'round the world" or even a crash-bang-clatter as so many other altercations... It was much more like T.S. Eliot's poem "The Hollow Men" in which he said,
"This is how the world ends...
Not with a bang but a whimper."
The whimper, good reader, came from me.
It was brought on by the sight of this human preying mantis in a pair of blue shortpants with little green boats on them.
Alright, I can hear you over there saying, "Hey, that's not so bad... What's the problem?"
Well, okay fine. Maybe it's not a problem for YOU, but that's because you didn't have to sit next to him for 6 hours whilst he regaled you with stories of his wife-in-laws-roof-AP Chemistry stuff... Even the stories wouldn't have been so bad, if he hadn't repeated the same ones...Over...and over...and over...in his muppet voice... with a shark-like smile on his face... Taking great pleasure in my ignoring him.
The more I ignored him... The worse he got.
Finally, just to shut him up, I responded by giving him the hardest of hard times I'd ever given anyone in my life.
I mocked his clothing.
I mocked his repetitious stories.
I mocked CHEMISTRY for Carlos' sake...
I even went so far as to give him my dissertation about how the laws of Thermodynamics are completely made up.
But in the end... I lost.
Yes, ME.
How so? I'll tell you how.
He loved my diatribe so much, that he began to LOOK for me, to actively SEEK ME OUT.
He adored being the object of my mockery.
I kid you not.
If there was a meeting, he sat next to me. If I was in my room attempting to "work," he stopped by to show me his latest fashion disaster. If I was given an obnoxious new duty, he offered to help me out with it.
Clearly, his masochism has reached a level to which all other masochists one day aspire.
The more I abuse and mock him... The more he loves me.
It would be the perfect friendship...If only I were a sadist instead of the closet masochist that I am.
At some points, I've even felt bad about giving him so much crap... but when I'm nice, he gets this disappointed look on his geekboy face and says things like,
"But aren't you going to make fun of my new sweatervest? Are...you... okay?"
At which point, I ACTUALLY FEEL BADLY FOR BEING NICE TO HIM!
The man is SICK.
And recently I've been forced to "step it up" since, in order to REALLY freak me out, he wore a pair of hideous PLAID PANTS to an all day meeting...
Just for me. I know you think I'm kidding... but I'm not.
So I recently put my artistic acumen to the test... making him a couple of posters which I ever so indiscreetly placed in his room... on his board... while he was teaching. These stated in blatant terms my complete disgust with both his subject and his plaid pants.
As you can probably guess... He loved it.
And now... he thinks he's going to get me back. He has actually been attempting to call converts to his side... The self-same scurvy inmates who have learned to love and serve the Pirate Queen so diligently in the past... Strangely, it's the inmates I least suspected to be on my side who ratted him out to me.
And ironically enough... he has managed to convert one of my trusted lieutenants.
That's right... he has usurped my place and the loyalty of one of my most favored crew-mates.
For this... more than anything else he's done... HE MUST PAY!
Oh boy... he's going to be soooo disappointed tomorrow... Not only have I formulated a clever diversion which will distract him from his own evil scheme, I have another plan for the following day which will cause him no end of amusement.
Don't worry...It's a bloodless plan...
In fact, if I didn't know what a thrill he's going to get out of how I am going to upstage his evil plans, I'd almost feel bad for him. Almost.
Of course... I have a sneaking suspicion that my victory will be short-lived at best.
My friends... This war is FAR from over.
The worst part is... I'm enjoying it more than I think I should...
What can I say?
I'm a pirate queen... I LOVE WAR.
I'm just sayin'.
I Just Love Monday Mornings
Ahhh...there's nothing like waking up on a Monday morning and freezing your butt off.
I made the rookie mistake of leaving a downstairs window open and it's a bit...brisk in here right now.
Plus, I fell asleep wearing a tank top and (of all things) a skirt.
My soul feels like smouldering embers but my skin is like ice. I refuse to move from this bed.
There are three cats on the bed, one sleeping on my feet, one on my back and one my pillow. Apparently they don't like the cold either.
Plus, there's a text message on my phone about Starbucks, which gives me an excuse to lay here for a while, since they don't open until 6:30. Good news for me, since that allows me to avoid exercising this morning.
I'm such a backslider.
But at least I'll be a backslider with good coffee.
Go me.
I had strange dreams last night filled with people I don't know very well and talking trees...
And I woke up with this haiku in my head...
"The tree stretched
lay on the garage roof
You have your heaven it said,
Go to it."
(That's a paraphrase by the way).
I really should get up but my theory is, as long as I'm philosophizing I have an excuse to remain right where I am.
That's my story... and I'm sticking to it.
Yo Ho, Yo Ho.
Is it bad that I woke myself up this morning humming my profile song?
These ramblings are disjointed...much like my sleep pattern...Just a coincidence?
Dang. Cat on the pillow is biting my hair...Time to get up.
I still haven't come up with anything impressively funny and moving to say in my speech and I can feel the deadline sneaking up behind me like a freshman with a squirtgun full of fake blood...
Ug. Coffee... bye.
I made the rookie mistake of leaving a downstairs window open and it's a bit...brisk in here right now.
Plus, I fell asleep wearing a tank top and (of all things) a skirt.
My soul feels like smouldering embers but my skin is like ice. I refuse to move from this bed.
There are three cats on the bed, one sleeping on my feet, one on my back and one my pillow. Apparently they don't like the cold either.
Plus, there's a text message on my phone about Starbucks, which gives me an excuse to lay here for a while, since they don't open until 6:30. Good news for me, since that allows me to avoid exercising this morning.
I'm such a backslider.
But at least I'll be a backslider with good coffee.
Go me.
I had strange dreams last night filled with people I don't know very well and talking trees...
And I woke up with this haiku in my head...
"The tree stretched
lay on the garage roof
You have your heaven it said,
Go to it."
(That's a paraphrase by the way).
I really should get up but my theory is, as long as I'm philosophizing I have an excuse to remain right where I am.
That's my story... and I'm sticking to it.
Yo Ho, Yo Ho.
Is it bad that I woke myself up this morning humming my profile song?
These ramblings are disjointed...much like my sleep pattern...Just a coincidence?
Dang. Cat on the pillow is biting my hair...Time to get up.
I still haven't come up with anything impressively funny and moving to say in my speech and I can feel the deadline sneaking up behind me like a freshman with a squirtgun full of fake blood...
Ug. Coffee... bye.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Humour, Hotness and a Long Absense
Yeah, sorry 'bout that...I've been mentally away for a while. Too much going on around here between Saltmine Central and the noise inside my head... The stress of the end of the year is taking its toll...
And then there's this...
I would like to rant for a few moments (I know how much you love it when I go off on a roaring tangent, so if you like that kind of thing, please enjoy).
You see, as I've mentioned a few times, I've recently gotten all healthy and crap (NOT!)... Actually, I'm just getting progressively smaller and smaller.
The point is, according to a small minority of the population, somehow I've gone from being just me to being some new and improved "hot" me...*snicker snicker*
Anyway, I had an experience which nearly sent me over the edge into screaming insanity last week and after ruminating on it for a few days...
I need to rant.
Here's what happened...
I had arrived at a local pirate hangout to spend some time with PaperGrrl. We have been hanging out at this establishment on a regular basis (trans: 2-3 times per week) for the past 4 years...
Let me just say that one more time...
4 years.
When I arrived PaperGrrl was already there waiting for me. She passed me a carbonated beverage of the Dr. Pepper variety and I settled in to decompress. She then informed me that the owner of the establishment had been asking her about me just before I arrived. Keep in mind, this gentleman has seen/spoken to me on a regular basis for FOUR YEARS. He said the following,
"Hey, is your friend single?"
She replied, "Yep." He then said,
"Really? I'm surprised... She's hot! Is she straight?"
Again PaperGrrl replied, "Yes, yes she is." He responded with this,
"What's her name? She seems really nice... smart and funny too."
PaperGrrl agreed with his assessment and told him my first name.
End of conversation.
Okay, fine. I'll be the first to admit, anyone who thinks I'm hot is okay in my book, regardless of whether or not I'm interested, so that was pretty cool.
After that information had a minute to get settled in my consciousness and the appreciative glow of knowing that there is at least one person in the free world who thinks I am "hot" made its way into my schema... I suddenly began to get pissed.
REALLY pissed.
Why?
I'll tell you why.
You see, as I say... I have been coming to this establishment for FOUR YEARS.
This was a very enlightening experience for me. I have always known that living in this time and place, that appearance is important to people.
Fair enough.
However, I always believed that it wasn't the ONLY thing that was important.
Sadly however, I was wrong.
Appearance is indeed the ONLY thing that is important. I could be the biggest, meanest, cruelest BI-CH in the free world...but as long as I look good, that's all that matters... How disappointing for me. You see,
I have always been "funny" (at least, I think so...but I'm a sarcastic wench, so what do I know?). I have pretty much always been "nice" also...(Quiet Shaggy, I can hear you laughing out there somewhere). Also, I am actually pretty darn smart too.
But clearly, these qualities mean absolutely nothing. All that matters about me is the way I fill out a pair of low rise jeans and a tight sweater.
Boy, it's good to know that I've wasted my entire life getting educated, developing self-esteem, and living life to its fullest, when all I really had to do was starve myself in order for members of the opposite sex to express interest in me.
DAMN YOU COLLEGE!!
I spent all that money, yet all I really had to do was force myself to barf on a daily basis...
Dang. If only someone had told me that when I was an impressionable young girl.
*sigh*
Alright, fine...for those of you who are sarcasm-challenged, I'm just kidding. I'm not starving myself.
But I am annoyed. It's good to know that people currently find me attractive... But I do wonder... Was I worthless before?
And this has made me appreciate all the more those people who knew me before and thought I was pretty great BEFORE I lost weight.
*deep breath*
I'm okay now.
I'm just sayin'.
And then there's this...
I would like to rant for a few moments (I know how much you love it when I go off on a roaring tangent, so if you like that kind of thing, please enjoy).
You see, as I've mentioned a few times, I've recently gotten all healthy and crap (NOT!)... Actually, I'm just getting progressively smaller and smaller.
The point is, according to a small minority of the population, somehow I've gone from being just me to being some new and improved "hot" me...*snicker snicker*
Anyway, I had an experience which nearly sent me over the edge into screaming insanity last week and after ruminating on it for a few days...
I need to rant.
Here's what happened...
I had arrived at a local pirate hangout to spend some time with PaperGrrl. We have been hanging out at this establishment on a regular basis (trans: 2-3 times per week) for the past 4 years...
Let me just say that one more time...
4 years.
When I arrived PaperGrrl was already there waiting for me. She passed me a carbonated beverage of the Dr. Pepper variety and I settled in to decompress. She then informed me that the owner of the establishment had been asking her about me just before I arrived. Keep in mind, this gentleman has seen/spoken to me on a regular basis for FOUR YEARS. He said the following,
"Hey, is your friend single?"
She replied, "Yep." He then said,
"Really? I'm surprised... She's hot! Is she straight?"
Again PaperGrrl replied, "Yes, yes she is." He responded with this,
"What's her name? She seems really nice... smart and funny too."
PaperGrrl agreed with his assessment and told him my first name.
End of conversation.
Okay, fine. I'll be the first to admit, anyone who thinks I'm hot is okay in my book, regardless of whether or not I'm interested, so that was pretty cool.
After that information had a minute to get settled in my consciousness and the appreciative glow of knowing that there is at least one person in the free world who thinks I am "hot" made its way into my schema... I suddenly began to get pissed.
REALLY pissed.
Why?
I'll tell you why.
You see, as I say... I have been coming to this establishment for FOUR YEARS.
This was a very enlightening experience for me. I have always known that living in this time and place, that appearance is important to people.
Fair enough.
However, I always believed that it wasn't the ONLY thing that was important.
Sadly however, I was wrong.
Appearance is indeed the ONLY thing that is important. I could be the biggest, meanest, cruelest BI-CH in the free world...but as long as I look good, that's all that matters... How disappointing for me. You see,
I have always been "funny" (at least, I think so...but I'm a sarcastic wench, so what do I know?). I have pretty much always been "nice" also...(Quiet Shaggy, I can hear you laughing out there somewhere). Also, I am actually pretty darn smart too.
But clearly, these qualities mean absolutely nothing. All that matters about me is the way I fill out a pair of low rise jeans and a tight sweater.
Boy, it's good to know that I've wasted my entire life getting educated, developing self-esteem, and living life to its fullest, when all I really had to do was starve myself in order for members of the opposite sex to express interest in me.
DAMN YOU COLLEGE!!
I spent all that money, yet all I really had to do was force myself to barf on a daily basis...
Dang. If only someone had told me that when I was an impressionable young girl.
*sigh*
Alright, fine...for those of you who are sarcasm-challenged, I'm just kidding. I'm not starving myself.
But I am annoyed. It's good to know that people currently find me attractive... But I do wonder... Was I worthless before?
And this has made me appreciate all the more those people who knew me before and thought I was pretty great BEFORE I lost weight.
*deep breath*
I'm okay now.
I'm just sayin'.
Monday, May 5, 2008
Why I Need a Night Light
As you are well aware by now, the Pirate Queen has a myriad of hidden talents and skills...aka kicking ninja behind, bending the law of gravity and, of course, bellydancing (shhh...It's a secret).
But there's one talent I have that I'm not so proud of.
I am able to freak myself out like nobody's business.
Case in point... I currently live alone in a house that resembles the Gingerbread House from Hanzel and Gretel.
It's a good little house.
Just one problem... My bedroom is on the second floor. This has many positive attributes, however, there is one major drawback...
No easy escape route handy for when the whacked out pyscho killer emerges from the trees that separate me from the rest of civilization.
Not that I think a psycho killer is coming for me or anything (I'm not THAT paranoid... YET).
Unfortunately, there are times when I'm lying in bed, staring out of the skylight or the sliding glass doors and I'll suddenly hear a strange noise from downstairs...
I have no closets to hide in.
The bed is too low to the floor for me to get under it.
And the cats, though fierce, will most likely COMPLETELY FAIL to protect me from a large man weilding a 6' stiletto...
Uhh...
I think I hear a noise down stairs...
Cold chills are racing down my spine, up my neck and making my hair react unpleasantly...
Oh Mother of Carlos... I'm gonna die...
Please...someone call 9-1-1...
I'm just sayin'.
But there's one talent I have that I'm not so proud of.
I am able to freak myself out like nobody's business.
Case in point... I currently live alone in a house that resembles the Gingerbread House from Hanzel and Gretel.
It's a good little house.
Just one problem... My bedroom is on the second floor. This has many positive attributes, however, there is one major drawback...
No easy escape route handy for when the whacked out pyscho killer emerges from the trees that separate me from the rest of civilization.
Not that I think a psycho killer is coming for me or anything (I'm not THAT paranoid... YET).
Unfortunately, there are times when I'm lying in bed, staring out of the skylight or the sliding glass doors and I'll suddenly hear a strange noise from downstairs...
I have no closets to hide in.
The bed is too low to the floor for me to get under it.
And the cats, though fierce, will most likely COMPLETELY FAIL to protect me from a large man weilding a 6' stiletto...
Uhh...
I think I hear a noise down stairs...
Cold chills are racing down my spine, up my neck and making my hair react unpleasantly...
Oh Mother of Carlos... I'm gonna die...
Please...someone call 9-1-1...
I'm just sayin'.
Sunday, May 4, 2008
The Beauty of the World--The Pirate Queen Turns Contemplative
I just recently got home from yet another long, mind clearing jaunt in my car (with a brief stop to do some roller blading as well) and had some interesting thoughts...
I was parked near a mountain, watching the sunset through the trees... The clouds were turning the color of flaming embers and I wondered...
What exactly is beauty? I mean, sure, the poets have been talking about it since the dawn of language... but really... what is it?
I came to the following "conclusions" on Beauty...
1. Beauty is in struggle... it's anticipation, not acquisition...it's in the moment of creation, the "I've almost got it" not in the solution.
2. Beauty is what you see in the eyes of a "friend"... Someone who "gets it."
3. Beauty is in follow-through... promises that are kept, not just given out with a casual word... when people do what they say they will.
4. Beauty is in generosity of spirit and selflessness... Caring, even when you know chances are "fair to middlin'" that no one will notice.
Sorry for the semi-crappy-philosophical-wanna-be musings... The Pirate Queen is in a contemplative mood this fine evening.
But I will say this...for once the ride really did actually calm me down... And every now and again, philosophical musings please me...
In fact, I frequently force both my scurvy pirate lackeys and my cabin boys to listen to my ramblings... Mostly they stare blankly at me but once in a while I see a flash of recognition that pleases me immensely.
That's real beauty baby.
I'm just sayin'.
What follows is a poem I personally love by Gerard Manly Hopkins... Though I am not a Christian, I have always found his sentiment to be particularly beautiful... The idea that beauty is not just about celebrities and women on magazine covers with perfect skin... Beautiful. (NOTE: G.M. Hopkins was writing in the Victorian Era in England...so he wouldn't have had any idea who Paris Hilton or Britany Spears are... LUCKY HIM).
See what I mean? Do you get it?
If so, and you actually read this far...
I love you... You're beautiful. :)
P.Q.
"Pied Beauty"
GLORY be to God for dappled things-
For skies fo couple-colour as a brinded cow:
For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches' wings;
Landscape plotted and piece-fold, fallow, and plough;
And all trades, their gear and tackle and trim.
All things counter, original, spare, strange;
Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:
Praise him.
I was parked near a mountain, watching the sunset through the trees... The clouds were turning the color of flaming embers and I wondered...
What exactly is beauty? I mean, sure, the poets have been talking about it since the dawn of language... but really... what is it?
I came to the following "conclusions" on Beauty...
1. Beauty is in struggle... it's anticipation, not acquisition...it's in the moment of creation, the "I've almost got it" not in the solution.
2. Beauty is what you see in the eyes of a "friend"... Someone who "gets it."
3. Beauty is in follow-through... promises that are kept, not just given out with a casual word... when people do what they say they will.
4. Beauty is in generosity of spirit and selflessness... Caring, even when you know chances are "fair to middlin'" that no one will notice.
Sorry for the semi-crappy-philosophical-wanna-be musings... The Pirate Queen is in a contemplative mood this fine evening.
But I will say this...for once the ride really did actually calm me down... And every now and again, philosophical musings please me...
In fact, I frequently force both my scurvy pirate lackeys and my cabin boys to listen to my ramblings... Mostly they stare blankly at me but once in a while I see a flash of recognition that pleases me immensely.
That's real beauty baby.
I'm just sayin'.
What follows is a poem I personally love by Gerard Manly Hopkins... Though I am not a Christian, I have always found his sentiment to be particularly beautiful... The idea that beauty is not just about celebrities and women on magazine covers with perfect skin... Beautiful. (NOTE: G.M. Hopkins was writing in the Victorian Era in England...so he wouldn't have had any idea who Paris Hilton or Britany Spears are... LUCKY HIM).
See what I mean? Do you get it?
If so, and you actually read this far...
I love you... You're beautiful. :)
P.Q.
"Pied Beauty"
GLORY be to God for dappled things-
For skies fo couple-colour as a brinded cow:
For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches' wings;
Landscape plotted and piece-fold, fallow, and plough;
And all trades, their gear and tackle and trim.
All things counter, original, spare, strange;
Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:
Praise him.
Yet Another Formal Event Sucks My Soul Out Through My Ears
Last night I arrived home at 2am after attending yet another formal event...
For the fourth year I was invited to attend the Saltmine Prom.
Yes, the PROM.
And I tell ya, there is absolutely NOTHING like being 33 years old, getting all dressed up, attending a Saltmine dance... ALONE... To make you feel like a complete and utter WINNER at LIFE.
Let me just set the scene for you...
The room was on the 3rd floor of a place I'll call... The BrickMill.
The floors were hardwood. The walls were made of brick. The room was tiny, decorated in christmas lights and lovely blue and white bouquets. The food was quite good actually.
It was cold.
Until the dancing began.
At which point, it took less than 30 minutes for the room to become so packed with pheromones that you could practically body surf on them. Hell... you could practically SEE them.
And let me tell you... The only thing better than being a 33 year old single woman at a Saltmine Formal Event, is being a 33 year old single woman who knows that she is virtually the ONLY person in a room who will be going home to her CATS at the end of an evening of music, dancing, food and raging hormones.
Ahhh...Youth.
Anyway, I will admit that the evening had its high points. Everyone looked beautiful, I got to buy some sexy new shoes and a dress that was pretty damn fabulous (if I do say so myself), and I got to hang out with some of my favorite people.
Naturally, a couple of the other Saltmine workers gave me crap... "Why aren't you sitting with us? Are you trying to say that you'd rather hang out with Inmates?"
Uhh, actually... Yes, yes I am.
Plus... what do I have in common with people who teach mythological subjects like... Chemistry? Physics?
Let's face it, you and I both know that Chemistry and Physics do not exist.
I am proof that there is no such thing as gravity or the laws of thermodynamics.
All you have to do to know that is take a look at my shoes to know that.
I'm just sayin'.
For the fourth year I was invited to attend the Saltmine Prom.
Yes, the PROM.
And I tell ya, there is absolutely NOTHING like being 33 years old, getting all dressed up, attending a Saltmine dance... ALONE... To make you feel like a complete and utter WINNER at LIFE.
Let me just set the scene for you...
The room was on the 3rd floor of a place I'll call... The BrickMill.
The floors were hardwood. The walls were made of brick. The room was tiny, decorated in christmas lights and lovely blue and white bouquets. The food was quite good actually.
It was cold.
Until the dancing began.
At which point, it took less than 30 minutes for the room to become so packed with pheromones that you could practically body surf on them. Hell... you could practically SEE them.
And let me tell you... The only thing better than being a 33 year old single woman at a Saltmine Formal Event, is being a 33 year old single woman who knows that she is virtually the ONLY person in a room who will be going home to her CATS at the end of an evening of music, dancing, food and raging hormones.
Ahhh...Youth.
Anyway, I will admit that the evening had its high points. Everyone looked beautiful, I got to buy some sexy new shoes and a dress that was pretty damn fabulous (if I do say so myself), and I got to hang out with some of my favorite people.
Naturally, a couple of the other Saltmine workers gave me crap... "Why aren't you sitting with us? Are you trying to say that you'd rather hang out with Inmates?"
Uhh, actually... Yes, yes I am.
Plus... what do I have in common with people who teach mythological subjects like... Chemistry? Physics?
Let's face it, you and I both know that Chemistry and Physics do not exist.
I am proof that there is no such thing as gravity or the laws of thermodynamics.
All you have to do to know that is take a look at my shoes to know that.
I'm just sayin'.
With Great Power Comes Great Responsibility, Or, With a Great Honor, Comes Great Anxiety
I got some news at the Saltmine yesterday but I haven't really told many people about it yet. Apparently, some of the Inmates voted for me to speak at an event being held at the end of the year (June 14th I believe).
Actually, enough of them voted for me to speak that I actually won.
Dude...You could have knocked me over with a crayon. (I'm trying some new analogies on for size).
But honestly, when MrStrangeHairdo came and told me...or rather, asked me, "They voted for you...will you do it? You don't have to answer right away..."
I answered right away.
I mean, who would say no? Who could say no? (Seriously, the day in question is all about them and what they want...It would be selfish to refuse, even if I had wanted to refuse, which I didn't).
Of course, now the bigger question remains...
What the heck to say?
I am well and truly freaked out.
I'm thinking the same thing I did when the Saltmine hired me...
"What were they THINKING?"
This is going to require a great deal of thought...
I'll get back to you on that.
Actually, enough of them voted for me to speak that I actually won.
Dude...You could have knocked me over with a crayon. (I'm trying some new analogies on for size).
But honestly, when MrStrangeHairdo came and told me...or rather, asked me, "They voted for you...will you do it? You don't have to answer right away..."
I answered right away.
I mean, who would say no? Who could say no? (Seriously, the day in question is all about them and what they want...It would be selfish to refuse, even if I had wanted to refuse, which I didn't).
Of course, now the bigger question remains...
What the heck to say?
I am well and truly freaked out.
I'm thinking the same thing I did when the Saltmine hired me...
"What were they THINKING?"
This is going to require a great deal of thought...
I'll get back to you on that.
The Worst Field Trip EVER!!!
Today at the Saltmine I took some of my inmates on a field trip.
The fact that this was yet another example of my truly evil side never even crossed my mind until Shaggy pointed it out to me...
Yet another of the small ironies in life.
There I was, in the library during the last period of the day, when Shaggy came in...
He said, "What are you doing in here?"
I responded, "Field trip."
He asked, "What are you doing?"
I answered, "They're taking a practice test."
He looked at me for a long moment, his face slathered in a mask of incredulity.
Slowly, he began to laugh, shook his head and said, "They've been in the library all day...Taking...a...test?"
I didn't get it. I said, "Yeah, so?"
At this point, he began to laugh. I asked why.
He shook his head. Then he said, "Only you would tell your students...Hey guys, I'm taking you on a field trip! Then when they got all excited and asked, 'where are we going?' You'd say, 'the library.' And then, when they asked, 'what are we gonna do?' You'd say, 'Take a test!!' And then laugh maniacally..."
He added, "You really are evil...You do realize that this is the WORST FIELD TRIP EVER, don't you?"
At that point, I did in fact laugh maniacally, until I began coughing.
After he left, I told a group of kids what he said.
They agreed that it really was damn funny.
I'm still laughing about it.
The best part of the whole thing was, even TheBeardedOne had to say something that went a bit like this...
"I have to admit...He's funny...No wonder you like him.(In reference to Shaggy)" (If you knew TheBeardedOne, you'd know...That's high praise indeed).
Ha ha ha...worst field trip ever...That kills me.
The fact that this was yet another example of my truly evil side never even crossed my mind until Shaggy pointed it out to me...
Yet another of the small ironies in life.
There I was, in the library during the last period of the day, when Shaggy came in...
He said, "What are you doing in here?"
I responded, "Field trip."
He asked, "What are you doing?"
I answered, "They're taking a practice test."
He looked at me for a long moment, his face slathered in a mask of incredulity.
Slowly, he began to laugh, shook his head and said, "They've been in the library all day...Taking...a...test?"
I didn't get it. I said, "Yeah, so?"
At this point, he began to laugh. I asked why.
He shook his head. Then he said, "Only you would tell your students...Hey guys, I'm taking you on a field trip! Then when they got all excited and asked, 'where are we going?' You'd say, 'the library.' And then, when they asked, 'what are we gonna do?' You'd say, 'Take a test!!' And then laugh maniacally..."
He added, "You really are evil...You do realize that this is the WORST FIELD TRIP EVER, don't you?"
At that point, I did in fact laugh maniacally, until I began coughing.
After he left, I told a group of kids what he said.
They agreed that it really was damn funny.
I'm still laughing about it.
The best part of the whole thing was, even TheBeardedOne had to say something that went a bit like this...
"I have to admit...He's funny...No wonder you like him.(In reference to Shaggy)" (If you knew TheBeardedOne, you'd know...That's high praise indeed).
Ha ha ha...worst field trip ever...That kills me.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
A Sad, Sad Little Woman? You Be the Judge!
Well, tomorrow will be back to the Saltmine day for your favorite grammarian-superheroine-ninja-slaying-recovering-cult-member...
Uh...that would be me in case you are wondering to whom I refer.
And I have been experiencing a weird feeling. One that only comes over me at this, most festive time of the year...
You see...there are really only a very few short weeks left at Saltmine Central and I find myself thinking frequently about how much I will be missing my inmates soon. This of course makes me quite eager to get back into those shark-infested waters.
Naturally, I realize that to most people, this makes me a complete freak.
Still...May and June really are the best of times at the Saltmine...
There is a ton of stuff to do, lots of celebrations and awards ceremonies, the weather is nice so I frequently find excuses for my Saltminers to go outside to do work, and although stressful, the oldest Saltminers love this time of year since they have really begun to appreciate just how close they are to leaving forever.
The leaving part makes me feel pretty hollow inside sometimes. Although I am very happy for the inmates and want to see them move on to be happy, successful and have great adventures of their very own... I get really attached.
I think that's why this job of Saltmining is truly for me. I am forced to appreciate everything and live in the moment, since I am always aware that my time with each of the inmates really is extremely limited. They each change my life in some small way and frequently "teach" me as much, if not more, than I "teach" them.
And this group of flyers will definitely be one of my toughest yet... Some of them have been with me for all four years! (Yes, you must pity those poor souls...4 years of the Pirate Queen can be a bit much, even for the strongest of Inmates).
Anyway, the truth is...I'm looking forward to going back.
And I will cherish every moment I get with the inmates... That's a promise.
Uh...that would be me in case you are wondering to whom I refer.
And I have been experiencing a weird feeling. One that only comes over me at this, most festive time of the year...
You see...there are really only a very few short weeks left at Saltmine Central and I find myself thinking frequently about how much I will be missing my inmates soon. This of course makes me quite eager to get back into those shark-infested waters.
Naturally, I realize that to most people, this makes me a complete freak.
Still...May and June really are the best of times at the Saltmine...
There is a ton of stuff to do, lots of celebrations and awards ceremonies, the weather is nice so I frequently find excuses for my Saltminers to go outside to do work, and although stressful, the oldest Saltminers love this time of year since they have really begun to appreciate just how close they are to leaving forever.
The leaving part makes me feel pretty hollow inside sometimes. Although I am very happy for the inmates and want to see them move on to be happy, successful and have great adventures of their very own... I get really attached.
I think that's why this job of Saltmining is truly for me. I am forced to appreciate everything and live in the moment, since I am always aware that my time with each of the inmates really is extremely limited. They each change my life in some small way and frequently "teach" me as much, if not more, than I "teach" them.
And this group of flyers will definitely be one of my toughest yet... Some of them have been with me for all four years! (Yes, you must pity those poor souls...4 years of the Pirate Queen can be a bit much, even for the strongest of Inmates).
Anyway, the truth is...I'm looking forward to going back.
And I will cherish every moment I get with the inmates... That's a promise.
Saturday, April 26, 2008
To Boys Who Wear Girl Pants, or, Fashion 101
Okay, I've been putting this off for a while but since I'm still experiencing flashbacks from last weekend's concert that cause me to awake in the middle of the night screaming and drenched in icy sweat, I've just got to say something...
These days, many young gentlemen choose to wear "girl pants."
Let me say, right at the start, that I have absolutely no problem with this. I say, wear whatever the hell you want. If it makes you happy and doesn't hurt anyone else, go for it...I'm on your side.
Here's the problem...sometimes... others are inadvertently scarred for life by your fashion choices.
Case in point...
At the concert I went to last Saturday, there was a young man wearing black girl pants.
Fine, fine.
You see, there was just one problem with said person.
Because generally when a young gentleman wears "girl pants" he also wears undergarments.
Oh yeah, you know where I'm going don't you?
That's right. This guy was "goin' commando" so to speak.
Every time he skanked past me and the group of young women I was with, I cringed inside. It was painful.
Finally, I just couldn't take it stoically anymore. I leaned over to one of the girls I was with and asked her, "Hey, do you have a glue stick?" She looked at me strangely, laughed and said,
"Why?" I replied,
"'Cause the next time that guy comes past here, I want to grab him by the beltloops, and glue his ass to his pants so I don't have to see his 3 inch plumber crack anymore."
Needless to say, this caused the lovely young woman I was speaking with to burst into uncontrollable laughter. She admitted that she'd had a similar thought. Then I asked both her and three of the other young ladies that were at the show..."Now, be honest with me...is this a look that you find to be...well...sexy? attractive? cute? All of the above?"
They were unanimous in their dislike of said look...especially on the boy who apparently lost his underwear when it came time to dress for the show.
So I'm just sayin'... I have no doubt that there are some guys out there who can pull off the "girl pants" look successfully. Just please please please...
Don't forget the boxers...or briefs, whichever you prefer... Trust me, the ladies will thank you for it.
That is all.
These days, many young gentlemen choose to wear "girl pants."
Let me say, right at the start, that I have absolutely no problem with this. I say, wear whatever the hell you want. If it makes you happy and doesn't hurt anyone else, go for it...I'm on your side.
Here's the problem...sometimes... others are inadvertently scarred for life by your fashion choices.
Case in point...
At the concert I went to last Saturday, there was a young man wearing black girl pants.
Fine, fine.
You see, there was just one problem with said person.
Because generally when a young gentleman wears "girl pants" he also wears undergarments.
Oh yeah, you know where I'm going don't you?
That's right. This guy was "goin' commando" so to speak.
Every time he skanked past me and the group of young women I was with, I cringed inside. It was painful.
Finally, I just couldn't take it stoically anymore. I leaned over to one of the girls I was with and asked her, "Hey, do you have a glue stick?" She looked at me strangely, laughed and said,
"Why?" I replied,
"'Cause the next time that guy comes past here, I want to grab him by the beltloops, and glue his ass to his pants so I don't have to see his 3 inch plumber crack anymore."
Needless to say, this caused the lovely young woman I was speaking with to burst into uncontrollable laughter. She admitted that she'd had a similar thought. Then I asked both her and three of the other young ladies that were at the show..."Now, be honest with me...is this a look that you find to be...well...sexy? attractive? cute? All of the above?"
They were unanimous in their dislike of said look...especially on the boy who apparently lost his underwear when it came time to dress for the show.
So I'm just sayin'... I have no doubt that there are some guys out there who can pull off the "girl pants" look successfully. Just please please please...
Don't forget the boxers...or briefs, whichever you prefer... Trust me, the ladies will thank you for it.
That is all.
Friday, April 25, 2008
Skaters, Rollerbladers and Why Dick's Sucks
No, that's not a typo in the title in case you were wondering...
I spent all day looking for new wheels...and I finally found them. Thanks in large part to some skaters I met unexpectedly.
See... I thought that finding guitar strings would be the hardest thing I had to do this week... I was oh-so-wrong. I got those no problem...
It was getting new wheels for my rollerblades that was the problem.
It took 12 hours. And the only reason I even have them is because I learned to do a kickflip on top of a picnic table.
Yup.
No, I'm not kidding.
So there I was... In Dick's Sporting Goods... The guy there swore to me that rollerblades were a thing of the past, saying, "No one uses in-line skates anymore...So we don't bother carrying them... Or wheels for them."
I very nearly punched him. (Ironically enough, as I had driven into the parking lot, I had passed three people roller blading on Loudon Rd).
What a dick.
So instead, I caved and purchased a skateboard.
I figured..."Why not? What have I got to lose? I've got a deathwish and lots of extra padding on my body still... It's an idea whose time has come."
So I went to Merrimack Valley High School to practice with my sweet new hardware...
I sucked to a phenomenal level. I sucked so hard in fact, that a group of about 6 teenage skaters who had been strolling by the high school stopped and stood watching me, mouths gaping open. One of them said to the others, "Holy s---, it's an old chick with a board!"
That was about all they could say. They couldn't even laugh at me they were so struck with wonderment...
One of them accidentally swallowed a bug.
He barely noticed.
However, even having a dumb-struck teenage audience could not quelch my spirit. I was determined that I would NOT surrender to the forces of Judgement, Pride or Embarassment.
I WOULD NOT.
So I perservered.
After about 20 minutes of watching me, one of the skaters dropped his board, got on it and cruised toward me at warp speed, stopping abruptly just as I was sure he was going to knock me over and put me out of my misery.
Oddly enough, he instead decided to take pity on me. "You're doing that wrong." He began and proceeded to demonstrate the finer points of some simple manuvering.
As this was going on, unnoticed by me, the local PD had arrived.
Apparently, skating is VERBOTEN at Merrimack Valley... Un-freaking-believeable... I mean seriously, what kind of Saltmine bans skating on school grounds? ...Oh wait... uhh... nevermind.
Anyway, as the officer walked toward us, fully prepared to send us all off on our merry way (I mean, vandalizing buildings, smoking pot and terrorizing old ladies are behaviors far preferable in our nation's youth, than *gasp* SKATEBOARDING...)
Before he could even open his mouth to get started, I turned politely to the officer and said in my sweetest, most law-abiding voice...
"Hello Officer! My name is Virginia ______, I'm a Saltminer at _____ and I just brought a few of my honor students with me down to Penacook to attend the game over at Rolfe Park this afternoon... Since we're early and I wanted to keep these hoodlums out of trouble, I decided to let them teach me some skateboarding tricks... I promise I'll keep an eye on them and we'll only be here for a few hours..."
The officer was completely non-plussed. He had no idea what to say, so instead he tipped his hat to me, nodded and said, "Well, okay little lady, you just keep these boys in line. Have a good afternoon."
Then he got back in his car and cruised out of the lot.
The six "hoodlums" stared at me in awe and wonder.
I thought at any moment they might start chanting my name like some prayer to a pagan goddess of war or something.
But they got over it as soon as I fell on my butt when my board went out from under me.
Anyway, we skated for a few hours (with no more trouble from the PD, I might add)...and they taught me the picnic table trick.
Sweet.
Don't worry...no picnic tables were damaged... I promised no vandalism.
Anyway, as the sky began to grow dark, one of the six said, "Hey, I'm gonna go get something, I'll be right back..."
15 minutes later he returned with a set of almost brand new roller blades... Good ones too.
I think he might have stolen them from his sister... but they were the exact right size, so I asked no questions.
About 30 minutes later, we parted ways.
So except for that guy at Dick's... It was a pretty sweet day.
I'm just sayin'.
I spent all day looking for new wheels...and I finally found them. Thanks in large part to some skaters I met unexpectedly.
See... I thought that finding guitar strings would be the hardest thing I had to do this week... I was oh-so-wrong. I got those no problem...
It was getting new wheels for my rollerblades that was the problem.
It took 12 hours. And the only reason I even have them is because I learned to do a kickflip on top of a picnic table.
Yup.
No, I'm not kidding.
So there I was... In Dick's Sporting Goods... The guy there swore to me that rollerblades were a thing of the past, saying, "No one uses in-line skates anymore...So we don't bother carrying them... Or wheels for them."
I very nearly punched him. (Ironically enough, as I had driven into the parking lot, I had passed three people roller blading on Loudon Rd).
What a dick.
So instead, I caved and purchased a skateboard.
I figured..."Why not? What have I got to lose? I've got a deathwish and lots of extra padding on my body still... It's an idea whose time has come."
So I went to Merrimack Valley High School to practice with my sweet new hardware...
I sucked to a phenomenal level. I sucked so hard in fact, that a group of about 6 teenage skaters who had been strolling by the high school stopped and stood watching me, mouths gaping open. One of them said to the others, "Holy s---, it's an old chick with a board!"
That was about all they could say. They couldn't even laugh at me they were so struck with wonderment...
One of them accidentally swallowed a bug.
He barely noticed.
However, even having a dumb-struck teenage audience could not quelch my spirit. I was determined that I would NOT surrender to the forces of Judgement, Pride or Embarassment.
I WOULD NOT.
So I perservered.
After about 20 minutes of watching me, one of the skaters dropped his board, got on it and cruised toward me at warp speed, stopping abruptly just as I was sure he was going to knock me over and put me out of my misery.
Oddly enough, he instead decided to take pity on me. "You're doing that wrong." He began and proceeded to demonstrate the finer points of some simple manuvering.
As this was going on, unnoticed by me, the local PD had arrived.
Apparently, skating is VERBOTEN at Merrimack Valley... Un-freaking-believeable... I mean seriously, what kind of Saltmine bans skating on school grounds? ...Oh wait... uhh... nevermind.
Anyway, as the officer walked toward us, fully prepared to send us all off on our merry way (I mean, vandalizing buildings, smoking pot and terrorizing old ladies are behaviors far preferable in our nation's youth, than *gasp* SKATEBOARDING...)
Before he could even open his mouth to get started, I turned politely to the officer and said in my sweetest, most law-abiding voice...
"Hello Officer! My name is Virginia ______, I'm a Saltminer at _____ and I just brought a few of my honor students with me down to Penacook to attend the game over at Rolfe Park this afternoon... Since we're early and I wanted to keep these hoodlums out of trouble, I decided to let them teach me some skateboarding tricks... I promise I'll keep an eye on them and we'll only be here for a few hours..."
The officer was completely non-plussed. He had no idea what to say, so instead he tipped his hat to me, nodded and said, "Well, okay little lady, you just keep these boys in line. Have a good afternoon."
Then he got back in his car and cruised out of the lot.
The six "hoodlums" stared at me in awe and wonder.
I thought at any moment they might start chanting my name like some prayer to a pagan goddess of war or something.
But they got over it as soon as I fell on my butt when my board went out from under me.
Anyway, we skated for a few hours (with no more trouble from the PD, I might add)...and they taught me the picnic table trick.
Sweet.
Don't worry...no picnic tables were damaged... I promised no vandalism.
Anyway, as the sky began to grow dark, one of the six said, "Hey, I'm gonna go get something, I'll be right back..."
15 minutes later he returned with a set of almost brand new roller blades... Good ones too.
I think he might have stolen them from his sister... but they were the exact right size, so I asked no questions.
About 30 minutes later, we parted ways.
So except for that guy at Dick's... It was a pretty sweet day.
I'm just sayin'.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
I Just Cleaned Out My Car and My Myspace...and Boy is My Soul Tired...
Well, let's be honest right from the start here (and yes, I DO see the irony of me saying that, given my penchant for story telling and hyperbole...) as I once said,
"On a good day, people call me a story teller, on a bad one, they call me a pathological liar."
That my friends is funny (possibly) but has a grain of truth. I promised myself before I ever started this thing that I would never reveal the whole truth about anything.
I soon compromised and said that I would tell only things that were true "from a certain point of view."
Well, let's face it... I've done just that.
Recently, I've been feeling the need to clean things up. Perhaps it's simply because I sense that a change is coming and I want to be ready for it... Perhaps it's because I realize that I have a tendency to "hang on" to things, even though I know from a Buddhist perspective that "things" tend to weigh on one's soul...Holding it in place...
...Then again, perhaps I've simply lost my freaking mind.
All things being equal... The latter is definitely a genuine possibility.
Of course, I've already admitted to being the queen of hyperbole, so there isn't much I can do about that...and I still do love to tell stories. I will continue to do so.
Cleaning can only change just so much.
Besides, telling stories, writing poems and working at the Saltmine are the only things which manage to keep me even marginally sane as you well know.
Ironically enough, they are the same things that make me appear so completely insane...
Hmm.
Just a coincidence?
I think not.
There are no coincidences my friend... I planned all of this right from the start...
"On a good day, people call me a story teller, on a bad one, they call me a pathological liar."
That my friends is funny (possibly) but has a grain of truth. I promised myself before I ever started this thing that I would never reveal the whole truth about anything.
I soon compromised and said that I would tell only things that were true "from a certain point of view."
Well, let's face it... I've done just that.
Recently, I've been feeling the need to clean things up. Perhaps it's simply because I sense that a change is coming and I want to be ready for it... Perhaps it's because I realize that I have a tendency to "hang on" to things, even though I know from a Buddhist perspective that "things" tend to weigh on one's soul...Holding it in place...
...Then again, perhaps I've simply lost my freaking mind.
All things being equal... The latter is definitely a genuine possibility.
Of course, I've already admitted to being the queen of hyperbole, so there isn't much I can do about that...and I still do love to tell stories. I will continue to do so.
Cleaning can only change just so much.
Besides, telling stories, writing poems and working at the Saltmine are the only things which manage to keep me even marginally sane as you well know.
Ironically enough, they are the same things that make me appear so completely insane...
Hmm.
Just a coincidence?
I think not.
There are no coincidences my friend... I planned all of this right from the start...
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
I'm in Love!!
So yeah, here's something you might not know about your favorite grammarian superheroine Saltminer...
I learned to drive when I was 16. (Shocker, huh?) Actually, that's not the interesting part. What's interesting is, my mother was terrified to ride with me. After the very first time, she told my father, "I'm never getting into a car with her again...EVER! She's got a deathwish and a need for speed... YOU teach her how to drive!!"
So he did. Of course, since she also refused to let me drive her precious car, I had to learn on my dad's enormous green truck (imagine the Incredible Hulk in vehicle form). This thing was a total beast. It had disk brakes (which means I basically had to put all my weight down and STAND on the damn thing to even get it to slow down) and enormous girth. I actually learned how to parallel park it (wonder of wonders) and even back up without hitting any small children or cars.
I loved it. I could drive that damn thing down any backroad ever designed by man or demon. It was great.
Sadly, I have never had the cash to buy a truck of my own (or the money for the gas it would take to feed one if I did). Still, I've always loved driving trucks.
Yesterday, I borrowed an F-350 from a friend to transport my bike across town so I could torture myself with my first bike ride of the year.
The bike ride was okay. (By okay, I of course mean, scary and painful as hell... When I arrived back at the truck, sweating and my legs shaking from effort, I actually threw up. It was the first time I've EVER thrown up after exercising, though I know that some runners do it fairly often).
On the other hand, driving the truck was freaking awesome!
I had to hoist myself up into the driver's seat by hanging on to the door frame for dear life. Once inside, since I couldn't move the seat, I had to scoot forward a little bit so that my feet could reach the pedals (I'm only 5'2" remember).
My feet didn't touch the floor.
SWEEEET.
I inserted a CD I had brought with me, cranked volume to max, rolled the windows down, and blew out of the driveway as though the hounds of hell were on my ass. (No, I did not spin my tires...That's juvenile behavior done only by boys who are afraid that other boys will think they are gay).
I had nearly forgotten how much power one of those beasts has but I remembered soon enough. I found that while barely touching the gas, I was up over 40mph...on a back road in Deering, NH.
I tried to summon the desire to slow down...and failed miserably.
Perhaps I'll go for another bike ride today...
Heh heh.
I learned to drive when I was 16. (Shocker, huh?) Actually, that's not the interesting part. What's interesting is, my mother was terrified to ride with me. After the very first time, she told my father, "I'm never getting into a car with her again...EVER! She's got a deathwish and a need for speed... YOU teach her how to drive!!"
So he did. Of course, since she also refused to let me drive her precious car, I had to learn on my dad's enormous green truck (imagine the Incredible Hulk in vehicle form). This thing was a total beast. It had disk brakes (which means I basically had to put all my weight down and STAND on the damn thing to even get it to slow down) and enormous girth. I actually learned how to parallel park it (wonder of wonders) and even back up without hitting any small children or cars.
I loved it. I could drive that damn thing down any backroad ever designed by man or demon. It was great.
Sadly, I have never had the cash to buy a truck of my own (or the money for the gas it would take to feed one if I did). Still, I've always loved driving trucks.
Yesterday, I borrowed an F-350 from a friend to transport my bike across town so I could torture myself with my first bike ride of the year.
The bike ride was okay. (By okay, I of course mean, scary and painful as hell... When I arrived back at the truck, sweating and my legs shaking from effort, I actually threw up. It was the first time I've EVER thrown up after exercising, though I know that some runners do it fairly often).
On the other hand, driving the truck was freaking awesome!
I had to hoist myself up into the driver's seat by hanging on to the door frame for dear life. Once inside, since I couldn't move the seat, I had to scoot forward a little bit so that my feet could reach the pedals (I'm only 5'2" remember).
My feet didn't touch the floor.
SWEEEET.
I inserted a CD I had brought with me, cranked volume to max, rolled the windows down, and blew out of the driveway as though the hounds of hell were on my ass. (No, I did not spin my tires...That's juvenile behavior done only by boys who are afraid that other boys will think they are gay).
I had nearly forgotten how much power one of those beasts has but I remembered soon enough. I found that while barely touching the gas, I was up over 40mph...on a back road in Deering, NH.
I tried to summon the desire to slow down...and failed miserably.
Perhaps I'll go for another bike ride today...
Heh heh.
Monday, April 21, 2008
Drama Anyone? (An Irregularly Scheduled Rant)
It's funny. Must be something in the air...
I have a friend who recently closed up shop (so to speak) on Myspace. She said, "I've had enough of this crap and I'm outta here."
Don't worry, this isn't a rant about her, she's an awesome person and I believe she had her reasons. Furthermore, I certainly can't blame her for wanting less drama in her life... Goodness knows I've considered doing exactly the same thing myself on more than one occasion. (Yes, I actually have considered deleting my account on Myspaz and giving up blogging--at least on there...not here). For now, I've decided to wait on it.
Again, dramatic? Melodramatic? You be the judge.
This really irks me, since one of the things I always detested in my mother was that she was so dramatic... When I was a kid it was like every day of my life with her was a page out of The Worst Case Scenario Handbook. I've always said I really didn't want to be like that myself.
And here we are...back to your regularly scheduled drama, already in progress...
Of course, I work in a Saltmine...my daily life is shrouded in a thick miasma of drama. On a weekly basis there are fights, feuds, and fierce rivalries...
Which brings up an interesting question, as well as a chance for a good rant...something I haven't done in a while.
The question is...why all the drama?
Seriously. Even when I attempt to stand firm on my Buddhist principles, I find that there is a part of me that seems to actually WANT to get sucked into drama. How is this possible?
Now, of course, a lot of what I say has to be taken with a grain of salt. The people who know me best realize that I'm a complete story teller...and let's face it, no superhero story is very good unless you triumph over overwhelming odds and save the day. So yeah, some of my stories seem to rub off on my view of the world...I think that's probably inevitable. Still, for the most part, when I'm melodramatic, it's ALL IN FUN. Meaning of course, I don't actually believe it when I say things like:
If someone hurts me, "IT'S A CONSPIRACY!"
If someone ignores me, "THEY HATE ME!"
Yes, I am a grammarian superheroine with a tendency toward hyperbole. But still...
Case in point, I posted a blog today about something that was making me feel dramatic... I referred to the thing I was blogging about as... "that tool of the devil... that destroyer of lives"... LOL
See what I mean?
So, what I'm saying is...Do we all just make up drama for the fun of it? Or is it just me?
I'm thinking of making myself a t-shirt that says..."I love my drama"
Anyone else want one? LOL
By the way... I also love vacation...
I'm just sayin'.
I have a friend who recently closed up shop (so to speak) on Myspace. She said, "I've had enough of this crap and I'm outta here."
Don't worry, this isn't a rant about her, she's an awesome person and I believe she had her reasons. Furthermore, I certainly can't blame her for wanting less drama in her life... Goodness knows I've considered doing exactly the same thing myself on more than one occasion. (Yes, I actually have considered deleting my account on Myspaz and giving up blogging--at least on there...not here). For now, I've decided to wait on it.
Again, dramatic? Melodramatic? You be the judge.
This really irks me, since one of the things I always detested in my mother was that she was so dramatic... When I was a kid it was like every day of my life with her was a page out of The Worst Case Scenario Handbook. I've always said I really didn't want to be like that myself.
And here we are...back to your regularly scheduled drama, already in progress...
Of course, I work in a Saltmine...my daily life is shrouded in a thick miasma of drama. On a weekly basis there are fights, feuds, and fierce rivalries...
Which brings up an interesting question, as well as a chance for a good rant...something I haven't done in a while.
The question is...why all the drama?
Seriously. Even when I attempt to stand firm on my Buddhist principles, I find that there is a part of me that seems to actually WANT to get sucked into drama. How is this possible?
Now, of course, a lot of what I say has to be taken with a grain of salt. The people who know me best realize that I'm a complete story teller...and let's face it, no superhero story is very good unless you triumph over overwhelming odds and save the day. So yeah, some of my stories seem to rub off on my view of the world...I think that's probably inevitable. Still, for the most part, when I'm melodramatic, it's ALL IN FUN. Meaning of course, I don't actually believe it when I say things like:
If someone hurts me, "IT'S A CONSPIRACY!"
If someone ignores me, "THEY HATE ME!"
Yes, I am a grammarian superheroine with a tendency toward hyperbole. But still...
Case in point, I posted a blog today about something that was making me feel dramatic... I referred to the thing I was blogging about as... "that tool of the devil... that destroyer of lives"... LOL
See what I mean?
So, what I'm saying is...Do we all just make up drama for the fun of it? Or is it just me?
I'm thinking of making myself a t-shirt that says..."I love my drama"
Anyone else want one? LOL
By the way... I also love vacation...
I'm just sayin'.
FYI...The Rules According to AOL and the Pirate Queen
Okay, here it is for those of you who are interested...The rules of AIM.
Why?
Because Instant Messenger programs are the devil...and unfortunately, I am the devil's bitch.
Seriously.
So, here are the rules of AIM for those who are interested...
Rule 1. Have 3 screen names (Warning: As this will inevitably ensure that you NEVER remember any of your passwords, please make sure you check the little box when you log in the first time that says you want AIM to remember your password...otherwise the entire exercise is null and void right from the start...and as anyone with any sense knows, it is a very bad idea to assign the same password to three different accounts).
You do this for several reasons and with a plan in place before you even begin...
a) The first name you pick will be your "Common Name," (that's what I call it anyway) the one you give absolutely everyone who asks you. Of course, you only go on this name every once in a while, otherwise you will be inundated with messages all the time from people you can't remember and don't really want to talk to anyway. Make the name something simple that pretty much anyone will recognize as you. Generally, you should set this name as "AWAY" most of the time so you can screen your conversations. You may ask, "Wait, if you're never on it, and are always AWAY when you are... Why even have it? Simple, you have it for two reasons...one is that it is a simple name you can give anyone to prove that you are not a technophobe who is stuck in 1993 and two is that it is a testing ground for new people you talk with, so you can determine if you really want to dedicate the time to talking to them at all...if you find that they are interesting and you enjoy talking to them, you will ultimately give them your second name, your "INCOGNEATO Name" (I used to just refer to it as an Incogneto name, but then I began reading Incogneato's Blog and thought it was both an amusing and clever rendition of the same word...Thanks girl).
b) The second name you pick will be vague, with no connection to you whatsoever...or at least none that you will ever reveal to anyone. This will be the aforementioned "INCOGNEATO Name." You will give this name only to a handful of very select individuals who you particularly enjoy talking to. Usually when you are signed in, this is the name you are signed in as and unless you actually are AWAY, you will not screen the people who communicate with this name. WARNING: be VERY careful who you give this name to, since if you give it to someone who later manages to irritate you, you may be forced to choose yet another "INCOGNEATO Name" in order to get away from them, and this inevitably results in confusion and possibly hurt feelings on the part of the person(s) you may still like, but no longer wish to talk to.
c) Your third name is your "effable and ineffable secret name" (to steal a line from T.S. Eliot, my favorite poet after E.A. Poe). This is a screen name that you NEVER EVER EVER give to anyone. It is used only on the DL so that you can judge two things...one, if someone you don't wish to talk to on one of your other accounts is on (thus determining if the "coast is clear") or if you are trying to figure out if someone else has blocked you. That is why this name must never be mentioned to ANYONE. Once it's integrity has been compromised you will no longer have any clue if someone is blocking you on the DL.
Rule 2: Profile. Profiling is WRONG. (LOL...yeah, I went there). Here's the thing...especially if you think there will ever come a time when you might want to mess with someone...or might accidentally begin talking to the wrong person... Don't ever put profile information in for any screen name except possibly your "Common Name." This could also save your ass if you message someone from your "INCOGNEATO Name" who you don't want to have it. When/If they respond you can simply say..."Oops, wrong number," or words to that effect. This alone can result in some amusing conversations.
Rule 3: If you do block someone for whom you have two screen names... NEVER make the rookie mistake of blocking only one of their names. And not for the reason(s) you might think. One, it sends mixed messages. Two, it reveals you to be a total poon with no concern for the other person's feelings. Three, it is just not smart. The other person will almost always immediately see what you've done and be hurt by it.
As I've said, this is absurd.
How could anyone be hurt by instant messaging?
I know I never have...
And that's all I have to say about that.
P.S. I realize that there are contingencies that I have failed to mention as well as loopholes...give me a freaking break, okay? I was RANTING!
Why?
Because Instant Messenger programs are the devil...and unfortunately, I am the devil's bitch.
Seriously.
So, here are the rules of AIM for those who are interested...
Rule 1. Have 3 screen names (Warning: As this will inevitably ensure that you NEVER remember any of your passwords, please make sure you check the little box when you log in the first time that says you want AIM to remember your password...otherwise the entire exercise is null and void right from the start...and as anyone with any sense knows, it is a very bad idea to assign the same password to three different accounts).
You do this for several reasons and with a plan in place before you even begin...
a) The first name you pick will be your "Common Name," (that's what I call it anyway) the one you give absolutely everyone who asks you. Of course, you only go on this name every once in a while, otherwise you will be inundated with messages all the time from people you can't remember and don't really want to talk to anyway. Make the name something simple that pretty much anyone will recognize as you. Generally, you should set this name as "AWAY" most of the time so you can screen your conversations. You may ask, "Wait, if you're never on it, and are always AWAY when you are... Why even have it? Simple, you have it for two reasons...one is that it is a simple name you can give anyone to prove that you are not a technophobe who is stuck in 1993 and two is that it is a testing ground for new people you talk with, so you can determine if you really want to dedicate the time to talking to them at all...if you find that they are interesting and you enjoy talking to them, you will ultimately give them your second name, your "INCOGNEATO Name" (I used to just refer to it as an Incogneto name, but then I began reading Incogneato's Blog and thought it was both an amusing and clever rendition of the same word...Thanks girl).
b) The second name you pick will be vague, with no connection to you whatsoever...or at least none that you will ever reveal to anyone. This will be the aforementioned "INCOGNEATO Name." You will give this name only to a handful of very select individuals who you particularly enjoy talking to. Usually when you are signed in, this is the name you are signed in as and unless you actually are AWAY, you will not screen the people who communicate with this name. WARNING: be VERY careful who you give this name to, since if you give it to someone who later manages to irritate you, you may be forced to choose yet another "INCOGNEATO Name" in order to get away from them, and this inevitably results in confusion and possibly hurt feelings on the part of the person(s) you may still like, but no longer wish to talk to.
c) Your third name is your "effable and ineffable secret name" (to steal a line from T.S. Eliot, my favorite poet after E.A. Poe). This is a screen name that you NEVER EVER EVER give to anyone. It is used only on the DL so that you can judge two things...one, if someone you don't wish to talk to on one of your other accounts is on (thus determining if the "coast is clear") or if you are trying to figure out if someone else has blocked you. That is why this name must never be mentioned to ANYONE. Once it's integrity has been compromised you will no longer have any clue if someone is blocking you on the DL.
Rule 2: Profile. Profiling is WRONG. (LOL...yeah, I went there). Here's the thing...especially if you think there will ever come a time when you might want to mess with someone...or might accidentally begin talking to the wrong person... Don't ever put profile information in for any screen name except possibly your "Common Name." This could also save your ass if you message someone from your "INCOGNEATO Name" who you don't want to have it. When/If they respond you can simply say..."Oops, wrong number," or words to that effect. This alone can result in some amusing conversations.
Rule 3: If you do block someone for whom you have two screen names... NEVER make the rookie mistake of blocking only one of their names. And not for the reason(s) you might think. One, it sends mixed messages. Two, it reveals you to be a total poon with no concern for the other person's feelings. Three, it is just not smart. The other person will almost always immediately see what you've done and be hurt by it.
As I've said, this is absurd.
How could anyone be hurt by instant messaging?
I know I never have...
And that's all I have to say about that.
P.S. I realize that there are contingencies that I have failed to mention as well as loopholes...give me a freaking break, okay? I was RANTING!
Words, Words. Words...
I had a plan.
It was a good plan.
At least I thought so at the time.
Unfortunately, the end result of said plan was that I ended up here.
Where is "here"?
Why it's a dark, dank basement with a roaring pump in the background. I'm soaking wet and freezing cold. There is light coming in through a small, grubby window, whose face is matted with 5 o'clock shadow of spiderwebs and dead leaves.
The roaring of that damn pump is ringing in my ears...
I can't think. My feet are numb from the wire holding my ankles together and my teeth are clicking together uncontrollably...in my fear I sound like the fastest typist EVER. The only thing keeping me from giving in completely to panic is the thought that someone, somewhere will be sad if I never surface again.
The scariest thought of all is that no one will notice my absence until next Monday when I fail to show up at the Saltmine...
I can hear a thumping over-head. Feet clad in boots are making the ceiling above my head reverberate in an echo that sounds like, "doom, doom, doom, doom..."
At first it seemed like this vacation might be better than the last...
Until I got here.
Damn this basement sucks.
My jeans must weigh 20lbs by now with all the water soaked into them. I swear I'll never be warm again...I really wish I'd worn a sweater. There a flecks of rust on my arms and shoulders from lying in this puddle next to a rusty and frankly, diseased looking push lawn mower.
It's all my own fault you know.
See, I have a tendency to be a little nosey.
I really ought to know better.
And then, my feelings get stung when I realize that someone doesn't appreciate my nosiness...even though I probably have no right to be upset.
I should really learn to leave people alone and mind my own business.
Now if only I had learned that sometime BEFORE 10:27 last night...I might not be tied up, lying in a frigid puddle, counting my own breaths to keep from screaming.
Of course, then again, part of my charm is in the fact that I care so much...
"It's a blessing...and a curse."
Still, I really don't think they should have tied me up and left me here when they realized that I was spying on them.
It's just that I heard raised voices and wanted to know what they were saying... They had distracted me briefly from my rollerblading in the moonlight and my daydreaming (although night dreaming would be closer to the truth) and I figured, what was the harm in dancing myself a little closer to the car...
Bad move.
Once the members of the band had thrown me in the trunk, laughing, I freaked out and began thrashing around, until oxygen deprivation and a heinous thunk of my head on the trunk lid put me out for the duration...
So I woke up here.
Cold.
Wet.
Sorry for myself.
I've got my cell phone, but no one will answer my text messages for help...
Sit.Reps. to follow...
It was a good plan.
At least I thought so at the time.
Unfortunately, the end result of said plan was that I ended up here.
Where is "here"?
Why it's a dark, dank basement with a roaring pump in the background. I'm soaking wet and freezing cold. There is light coming in through a small, grubby window, whose face is matted with 5 o'clock shadow of spiderwebs and dead leaves.
The roaring of that damn pump is ringing in my ears...
I can't think. My feet are numb from the wire holding my ankles together and my teeth are clicking together uncontrollably...in my fear I sound like the fastest typist EVER. The only thing keeping me from giving in completely to panic is the thought that someone, somewhere will be sad if I never surface again.
The scariest thought of all is that no one will notice my absence until next Monday when I fail to show up at the Saltmine...
I can hear a thumping over-head. Feet clad in boots are making the ceiling above my head reverberate in an echo that sounds like, "doom, doom, doom, doom..."
At first it seemed like this vacation might be better than the last...
Until I got here.
Damn this basement sucks.
My jeans must weigh 20lbs by now with all the water soaked into them. I swear I'll never be warm again...I really wish I'd worn a sweater. There a flecks of rust on my arms and shoulders from lying in this puddle next to a rusty and frankly, diseased looking push lawn mower.
It's all my own fault you know.
See, I have a tendency to be a little nosey.
I really ought to know better.
And then, my feelings get stung when I realize that someone doesn't appreciate my nosiness...even though I probably have no right to be upset.
I should really learn to leave people alone and mind my own business.
Now if only I had learned that sometime BEFORE 10:27 last night...I might not be tied up, lying in a frigid puddle, counting my own breaths to keep from screaming.
Of course, then again, part of my charm is in the fact that I care so much...
"It's a blessing...and a curse."
Still, I really don't think they should have tied me up and left me here when they realized that I was spying on them.
It's just that I heard raised voices and wanted to know what they were saying... They had distracted me briefly from my rollerblading in the moonlight and my daydreaming (although night dreaming would be closer to the truth) and I figured, what was the harm in dancing myself a little closer to the car...
Bad move.
Once the members of the band had thrown me in the trunk, laughing, I freaked out and began thrashing around, until oxygen deprivation and a heinous thunk of my head on the trunk lid put me out for the duration...
So I woke up here.
Cold.
Wet.
Sorry for myself.
I've got my cell phone, but no one will answer my text messages for help...
Sit.Reps. to follow...
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Who Would've Thought?
I learned something last night.
Apparently, moshing is illegal in the state of Vermont.
I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, yet oddly enough, I am.
So there I was, innocently watching a show, feeling the vibrations radiating out from my sternum when people around me started moshing to a song about fighting the government...
Ironically enough, at that very moment, the town sherriff stepped into the pit and began pulling people apart.
The dancers went willingly enough I suppose... They made the choice not to fight the law (probably the correct one in the circumstances).
Still...I think what some people don't understand is the direct correlation between the level of adrenaline in the bloodstream during a concert and the fact that pain doesn't really exist under those circumstances...
But what do I know?
I'm all about pain.
Apparently, moshing is illegal in the state of Vermont.
I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, yet oddly enough, I am.
So there I was, innocently watching a show, feeling the vibrations radiating out from my sternum when people around me started moshing to a song about fighting the government...
Ironically enough, at that very moment, the town sherriff stepped into the pit and began pulling people apart.
The dancers went willingly enough I suppose... They made the choice not to fight the law (probably the correct one in the circumstances).
Still...I think what some people don't understand is the direct correlation between the level of adrenaline in the bloodstream during a concert and the fact that pain doesn't really exist under those circumstances...
But what do I know?
I'm all about pain.
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Yup... you guessed it...some random person I'm putting up a picture of...no relation to me at all
Okay fine. It's me.
