EC
I am off (tomorrow)---off to see Mr. Whiz Kid Himself -- Jered -- who's taking the LSAT exam tomorrow morning, and who I am SURE is spending ALL night studying and not drinking any beer, not even one.
Good Luck Smarty Pants! I am rooting for you--I do hope you know that.
Meanwhile--(while Jered is busy EXAMING)--my sister and I will be at the MALL tomorrow, eloquently shopping for shoes, handbags and the like. I also need to find something to wear to that wedding in 3 weeks.
The point here being, me and Mattie shopping may be the greatest thing since sliced bread because there is an OLD NAVY right
inside their mall. They also have a Gap, and I happen to like that place a lot.
I could puke I'm so happy
So today was the day, I finally turned in my art ed. application. This application was my ticket to getting into the SCHOOL OF EDUCATION--my ticket to the future...
I was very stressed out up until today.
I printed off the final draft of my essay, had my resume printed on nice clean 100 percent cotton paper with that little emblem in it that you can only see if you hold it up to the light. Yeah. I even bought "RESUME ENCLOSED-DO NOT BEND" envelopes--maybe that was a little over kill--but it was the mood I was in. I had my folder crisp and clean, out of all the forms with unreasonable amounts of BACKGROUND check-type questions, no pages bent. It was a day to sing about.
I got down to the Education office, and pulled out my envelope. I got it date stamped. And right then and there, I didn't want to let it go....
I was A) so nervous that I had forgotten something, B) scared to death the girl at the receptionist desk taking my application, who was probably younger than me, was not going to give it to the right person, and C) sad that I had to part with this folder--this folder of SHIT--this folder that I am so proud of--this folder that I have been dealing with (and seeing
My Advisor about)--for the past 2 months.
I breathed a sigh of relief though, handing off that folder of shit...then I almost puked all over the floor.
bus amateur
How is it that every time I get on a bus around here, I'm prone to doing stupid things? I don't consider myself a bus amateur out there like some people, but maybe I'm completely clueless. This is aside from the fact that I seem to be the ONLY human being who can not
stand on the bus and not feel like I'm completely intoxicated. I must simply have the balance of a pregnant ostrich on crack. It is like when you were little and you spin yourself around and around and around and around until you are completely unaware of which way is up--until the sidewalk starts to look like it's running vertical and not horizontal--and then you stop yourself and go crashing into things--are you picturing this? That is me, ON THE BUS.
Not to mention I am too short to reach the little loop-de-loo things hanging from the bars up there--those bars that are way too high for the average person anyway.
If I cannot get a seat, or if the bus is too full and everyone is standing, holding a loop-de-loo or BAR, the entire time, I'm wondering what would happen if I just completely lost it and went flying to the front of the bus. I probably look like a constipated, potty training 2 year old standing there, with my knees bent and my ass in that little Korean guy's face.
The point of this story being: I spent far too much time on The Bus today, and it's amazing how much of an amateur I feel when on The Bus. I swear every freaking Stop the driver makes, I think it's mine. Not only do I
think it's my stop, but I will transform into PANIC mode. Where are we? Is this my stop? Should I get off right now?
I think the reasons behind this are partially because I completely zone out on the bus (that is, if I'm
seated)...and because I always make fun of those people who are clueless on the bus....
bubba and earl
Two rednecks, Bubba and Earl, were driving down the road drinking a couple of bottles of Budweiser.
The passenger, Bubba, said "Lookey up thar ahead, Earl, it's a dadgum police roadblock!! We're gonna get busted fer drinkin' these here beers!"
"Don't worry, Bubba," Earl said. "We'll just pull over and finish drinkin' these beers, then peel off the label and stick it on our foreheads, then throw the bottles under the seat."
"What fer?" asked Bubba.
"Jus let me do the talkin', OK?" said Earl.
Well, they finished their beers, threw the empties out of sight & put labels on each of their foreheads.
When they reached the roadblock, the sheriff said "Howdy boys, ya'll been drinkin'?"
"No sir," said Earl while pointing at the labels. "Me and Bubba's on The Patch"
six feet under
Last night...because Steph made me, and because I so desperately wanted to, she and I situated ourselves in front of her lovely tv, a television so full of cable and Charter On-Demand that I could have gone into cardiac arrest, it is just that lovely. We did this so that I could just begin the
Six Feet Under saga already. So many people have ranted and raved about this show for so long-- a show that is now no longer on HBO, except through Steph's magic tv. And since I never got HBO and now that I do not have any cable television, I was eager to begin this journey for two reasons, well three:
1. Because I so desperately needed an excuse to watch tv, and the fact that it involved watching
cable tv just made it all the more appealing and acceptable.
2. Because when a friend invites you over to watch cable tv when you yourself do not have cable tv, you just to it, alright?
3. I can think of no better way to fill a Thursday evening than with a bottle of wine and a good friend.
Oh and did I mention we watched
cable tv?
Though our journey got off to a rough start last night, it turned out to be a lovely evening. And we learned that there was no better way to open a bottle of wine, well
two bottles of wine, than with the tools we had on hand (and finally a seemingly idiot proof corkscrew) plus literally our entire combined deltoidal strength. Yes, I almost threw my shoulder out opening a bottle of wine. But I was also so worried that Steph was going to cut my face.
Thanks for not cutting my face, Steph.
never mix business with pleasure
You can take this and run with it, but I must tell a story:
Perhaps it is a direct result of my phobia of public bathrooms, or perhaps it is the strange, unecessary anxieties that take over my daily life. For whatever reason, I now further believe one should not mix business with pleasure. I will explain, but first a little rambling:
My Wednesday night class aims at acting like a useful tool for teaching. It is a curriculum class, specifically about literacy. And I do enjoy this class, I really do: I love my classmates (most of them are women, a few much older than me--one being a wife and mother), and I love my instructor, she is really, really great. The class runs very smoothly, complete with snack-time and break-time and all kinds of discussion about reading and literacy, teaching, and the overall meaning of life. But this class is about as useful to my education as
The Bachelor. Consequently, they both just take up too much of my damn time on Wednesday nights--more than I want to admit.
To get to my story:
So in class tonight, I took the opportunity on our "break" to skip to the ladie's room. Not so ironically, the wife/mother in my class did the same. Therefore, we left for to the bathroom at approximately the same moment, leaving the classroom only seconds apart from one another. Because of this, and because I am a nice person, I slowed down to talk with her on our common trip to the bathroom--because our trip to the bathroom was surely the ONLY thing we have in common...
Well, I have to pee quite furiously, as I normally do during this class (damn the snack break and all it's juice boxes), so I am trying to move this small talk conversation of ours at a faster rate, so that I can pee ASAP. And our conversation is going quite nicely, she's ready to graduate, she's married, has a few kids...yada yada yada. Guess what lady? I still gotta pee.
So we get to the bathroom, and thankfully there are three stalls, further enabling our privacy from one another. I do what is right and go into the very last stall, the furthest from the entrance to the bathroom. She follows and does the correct, socially acceptable thing which is using the very FIRST stall. Therefore there is a comfortable space, a one stall difference between us. And remember, I have to pee--BADLY. So I sit down to do my business....
and nothing...
No tinkle, no sprinkle...I got nothing.
While she's peeing away, I cannot get over the fact that she and I just met each other and already, less the stall walls, she is peeing virtually at my side. Call me strange, but I cannot pee. Because in my mind, I am thinking about how weird this whole situation is....Should I talk to her while I pee? What should we talk about while we pee?
Talking and walking all the way to the bathroom makes me think maybe we can pee freely in front of one another...
Nope, I don't think so.
Normally, of course, if this were a friend of mine, or someone I know after, hmm, I don't know, THREE class periods, maybe I would be able to pee and talk to this person, talk and pee. But after only two classes....I just cannot do it.
Should we continue our conversation about the class syllabus and how we love our instructor? I should just pee and get it over with. Then we could come out of our respective stalls and converse when we're washing our hands!
But I cannot pee. I. Just. Cannot. Do. It.
So here it is….the infamous Ear.
Turning Older remains the title to this piece, appropriate when noticing the little worm holes and hairline cracks. Since Sara may have killed me, or at least stopped making cookies, for posing a picture of her with The Ear, I opted for this image, entitle Ear on It’s Own. But if you can imagine, The Ear is about the size of a human head (except Parker’s).
This woodworking project is the story of my blood, sweat and tears, and the occasional hand tool (okay, so I used a router for some of it…)
Thanks to dear old Dad, this piece was carved from Elder wood.
Turning Older now sits on his desk.
(I gotta stop giving them my shit!)
another day, another dollar
Having recently returned from a great weekend in Eau Claire, seeing my sister
and Jered
and getting to spend some time with other great friends, I've now realized that tomorrow is Monday--another day of school and work, work and school.
This weekend entailed a lot of fun and a lot of friends. Consequently, I've realized I cannot eat
that many cheese sticks
that late at night
anymore. A special thanks to Jered for washing his feet before bed last night after having almost slipped completely into the confines of a urinal.
The only thing getting me through this humble evening is the fact that, apparently (according to my trusty roommate Sara, who's always looking out for me)
all Kellogg's cereal is on SALE this week at Copps.
TGIF
These past few weeks, I have been laying out the essay for my school of ed application, writing what seemed typical and generic about my experiences in school and of course, Why I Would Make a Good Art Teacher and all this other nonsense. For one reason or another, I felt disatisfied with how it played out in my head, because, like I said, it seemed generic, and I felt I had no special experiences to set me apart from my fellow wannabe art teachers--people my age who had studied abroad or could speak another language. Or people who at least LOOKED like art teachers, like that one chick with mismatched socks and hot pink hair (we're talkin' Bic highligher here). And then there are those fellow classmates, the wannabe art teachers who come from a long line of teachers, and art teachers, and principles, consequently knowing every administrator in every school district in a 50 mile radius.
So because of my nerves and because I had questions about my applicatioin, I went to see My Advisor yesterday. This woman, My Advisor, happens to be one of my favorite faculty members on campus, so keep this in mind when I talk about her. Because even though she is one of my Favorites and is really, very sweet, I firmly believe she would fit in well at the Henry Vilas Zoo or at least a high security mental institution. That said, I would also like to disclaim that I must plan WELL in advance what I wear to these ever so exasperating appointments with My Advisor. Last time, I made the mistake of wearing earrings that got her so excited, there came a point where she
actually stopped listening to me just to watch them sway from left to right when I turned my head. I know this because that day we (or rather, she) talked more about my earrings than my transcript and less about my degree and more about the way my earrings actually
moved with my moving head.
I got dressed yesterday morning, hoping a plain UW t-shirt and jeans, and absolutely NO jewelry of any kind, not even my watch, would not distract her from my meaningful PPST scores and the application that could make or break my future. Well, this woman either loves me, or just flat out loves life, because my red University of Wisconsin t-shirt is apparently The Most Fabulous UW T-shirt She Thinks She's Ever Seen. I started laughing when she said this, because even though this fabulous shirt came from the sweatshops in far away places like Thailand that make up Steve and Barry's, I have only now realized just how much I love this woman.
So even though I quit concert band and French class and haven't taken any more Women's Studies courses and even though I will never take Ballroom Dancing, and
even though it will take me six years to get my undergraduate degree, I know My Advisor thinks the world of me, and will stop at nothing in order to make me feel like an adequate human being.
wishing it was July...
i have internet, see me surf
Yes, that's right. Today has finally come. We finally have internet installed at our apartment. Oh, I cannot say these words enough... We. Have. Internet.
We. Are. Connected. With. The. Outside. World.
Without cable, and without internet for these past 3 weeks or so, Sara and I may as well have been nuns. We would have made quite lovely nuns, actually-- (less the fact that we rented as many Sex in the City DVDs as we could get our hands on).
Now, not to confuse you--we still don't have cable television, and that will stay that way until I begin to gnaw my own arm off or win the lottery. No MTV, no VH1...no BRAVO, nothing to mind-numbingly watch and no bad tv with which to indulge ourselves. No gluttony-by-television, and UNTIL NOW, no INTERNET to rot our brains...
There are not only 101 ways to procrastinate in general, but there are 101+ ways to procrastinate ON THE INTERNET. There are also 101 reasons not to sleep anymore. Why sleep when there is so much internet?
To say the least, I cannot BLOG fast enough. I'm also scrambling to finish this post so that I can go on e-bay and find some obnoxious piece of jewelry and bid on it--BECAUSE I CAN! I cannot wait to shop on anything with a ".com", and e-mail everyone I know these words:
I. Have. Internet.
Oh, and pictures soon to come. Hold your horses.
This. Having. Internet. Is. A. Big. Step. For. Me.
thanks
Though the media is hard to watch, and the stories hard to read, I find it very important to understand or at least try to imagine a slice of
their lives at this moment...
Thanks to those of you who helped in our efforts to donate supplies to the victims of Hurricane Katrina. I hope everyone will find the time in these next few months to
give at some point. Anything, ANYthing, can help.
Thanks again!
all you'll ever need to know
Dear Mattie-
As you embark upon the exciting and seemingly scary journey that is UWEC, here are some (I think) helpful words of advice from your big sister: (the ABCs of College, if you will)
A- Ask questions, even if it's where is the shitter, I really have to shit.
B- Be courteous to your roommate, you never know when you'll need her to hold your hair back.
C- Cafeteria food will make you wish you were back home--DEAL WITH IT, but tell mom you miss her.
D- Don't ever, EVER get dared into taking any kind of shot that involves tequila AND mayonaise.
E- Even after a long night of studying, you may still get an F.
F- F doesn't stand for flunk or even fail, just that you didn't F-ing study hard enough.
G- Girls can be bitches--make friends with spoiled bitches who will take you with them on exotic family vacations to Bermuda and stuff.
H- Have enough to drink that you won't realize you have to walk back up The Hill later.
I- If you drop your toothbrush in the shower, don't be a dumbass and use it again, like me.
J- Just when you think it can't get any better, Dad will call you to see how you're doing, and ask if you need money. Always say yes when this happens.
K- Kindly inform your friends and neighbors that you sleepwalk on ocassion, so that if they ever wake up to an ass in their face or a pillow smothering them, it might just be you. And that you can't help it.
L- Like, if you join a sorority, like, I may not talk to you until, like, Christmas. Unless of course these girls shop at like, the Gap. Then, and only then, will I be able to forgive you.
M- Make a point to visit the library as much as possible--trust me, it's the only place you'll get shit done.
N- Never wear open toe shoes to a house party. And in your case, well, just never wear open toe shoes.
O- Only snort coke if you absolutely must, Mattie. And only if
everyone else is doing it.
P- Parker will miss you. If you miss him, just think of how annoying he can be. Especially when he's stealing the remote control or shooting you in the ass with a paint ball gun.
Q- Question your professors--they're not always right. And if you
are a professor, please stop pacing around and adjusting yourself--it's really getting on my nerves.
R- Ramen noodles get boring after a while--make sure you have many different flavors.
S- Shower sandals are a must--always wear them--NO MATTER WHAT!
T- Tiny rooms, like your dorm, breed germs! WASH your hands like it's your job.
U- UWEC stands for University of Wisconsin-Eau Claire, in case you were wondering why that's written on the side of the hill and on yours and everyone else's sweatshirts.
V- Vodka is only good when you can sleep in the next day.
W- When you go to the mall, can you request that they get a Gap Baby please? In 8 years, when you are still in school and I have kids, I'll need somewhere to shop when I come to visit you. Other than the Trucker's Union.
X- X-ray vision is not real, only something you think you've acquired after a couple shots of Jager. And don't listen to what Tyler says, Jager sucks.
Y- You'll meet a lot of people who are not taking their meds, ie. Prozac. Don't let them bring you down.
Z- Zoning out in class can get you in trouble sometimes, but most importantly, can you seriously request they get a Gap Baby up there, in Eau Claire?
I hope you're enjoying your first week, Matilda. I miss you so much!
Lots of love,
L
how you can help
It goes without saying that everyone in America right now mourns for those in Louisiana, Mississippi, and surrounding areas, but I find it tremendously difficult to even imagine what it must be like for these people and their daily struggles to survive.
In wake of what has happened, my roommate Sara and I are collecting some items for the Hurricane Katrina relief effort, and we will be dropping off anything we can collect to a location at West Towne Mall next Wednesday morning (Sept. 7th). Sara got this list off a local radio station website. Please let me know if you'd like to donate things, and I can arrange to pick them up from your place or if you could drop them off at my place, that'd be great too. I imagine the items are things we can all find around our house (aside from the mobile home and U-haul), and I don't think these things necessarily have to be new:
What Is Most Needed:
Mobile Home/Sleeper Bus
Air mattresses
Linens/Pillows/Cots
Food – non perishable items
Baby items – formula; diapers; food
Hygiene – soap; toothpaste; towels,shampoo toilet paper
Portable toilets
Portable storage units
Bug spray
Tents
Tarps
Water,Water,Water
Trucks/uhauls
Generators
Phone Cards
Gas Cards
Thanks!
Laurel
a farewell to Matilda
Off to college my little sister goes. Hard to believe. Seems like just yesterday we were fighting over the bathroom or the phone, or trying to make the other one miserable in some way or another. Now, it's hard to see you go.
Though we haven't lived together for over four years, your presence at home will truly be missed. Especially when you dress up like you're eighty and walk around with a house coat and cane....
