The New England Society for Tea Fetishism

From the "long live the paper" department:
Well, crazy snows, huh? We were so smart to skip class and miss this storm. That's exactly why we left a day early, too. Right? The paper is done and sent through the email. Now I must do the midterm or the kid dies. I mean, or she won't do my recommendations. I hope everyone is enjoying their vacation and will have wonderful Turkey Day. Well, in most of our cases it's a Happy Side-Dishes Day, unless Brian makes a meatless lasagna, which I highly doubt will happen.

From the "random thoughts to escape the random thoughts of Faulkner" department:
I had a thought and it went like so--black umbrellas should be outlawed. How dull and dreary are black umbrellas on gray days? And with all the rainy days we've been having lately it's enough to make you slam your head into a wall just to see some color. I want bright colors and pastels and silly reproductions of Van Gogh and Monet paintings on all umbrellas everywhere. How great would that be?

From the "when did I become such a dick?" department:
So, Messiah went off with a few hitches, but none of them were chorus related and we were amazing. However, in all the craziness of the performances and my homework and my life, I forgot that today is my mom's birthday. I already have a present for her, but I didn't send her a card and I called her today and she had to say "it's my birthday today." I felt so awful. I'm an only child--I have my mom and dad's birthdays to remember--that's it. Why am I a spazz? This is highly upsetting.

From the "it could be worse--it could be S-Club 7" department:
If I could rate my intestinal woe on a scale using modern pop groups, Coldplay being the best and LFO being the worst, I'd say I'm around an Avril Levigne. We're moving into the hinterlands of the Kingdom of Suck. My intestines are like an angry Canadian woman-child, trying to rebel, but against what?--they're not sure. I just hope they're not wearing ties and wife beaters and scary black eye makeup.
I keep having small panic attacks about grad school. I think, "What if I have no talent? Am I a hack? What if I don't get in anywhere? What happens then? Will Amy, Amy, and Kirsten have room for a fourth roommate?" So those are my BIG WORRIES. No institute of higher learning will find me attractive and I will have to find comfort in the arms of a correspondence school, or the University of Pheonix online. Of course, I realize that this probably won't happen. Of course, nothing at all will happen if I don't finish my applications. Hmm...maybe I should set aside some time for that.....

From the "the paper is dead: long live the paper" department:
While I was brushing my teeth I realized that I forgot to explain why Uncle Ike has issues with land ownership--I just referenced the part of Dirk Kuyk Jr.'s book that explains his issues. Whoopsy. And what kind of a name is Dirk Kuyk Jr. anyway? You realize that the Jr. indicates that there are at least two of them out there. All I can picture is a white-blond Scandinavian with full-on Viking accoutrement and a penchant for interpreting the significance of suicide in Faulkner novels.

From the "maybe they won't notice I'm really a fraud" department:
Well, the paper, incoherent as it is, is finaly finished down to the works cited page. I'm hoping that my complete lack of original thought and the absence of a follow through on my thesis statement will go completely unnoticed. *twitch,* *snark,* *twitch*

1:03
page the fifth
(I took a brain-break)

Whoopee! it's 11:07, and I have 4 pages. : )

From the "way too happy to have two pages" department:
I'll give you one guess how many pages I have-----that's right!! Three more pages to go and I've only explained one aspect out of three. I might even finish before I leave switchboard. I need a computer with no access to the internet. Oh, how simple and undistracted my life would be without instant gloabal communication. Yes, global, hmmmm..... I sense a bit of irony here--three quarters to whoever can figure out what it is.

From the "I just want to eat Cheetos and procrastinate all day" department:
I have officially started my paper. It is due tomorrow at 6:20. Upside--I don't have to turn in a response paper. Downside--instead, I get to turn in a 5 page paper on why "Pantaloon in Black" does indeed fit in with the rest of the stories in Go Down, Moses. I'm thinking about hourly updates, so my head won't explode while trying to keep the McCaslin family tree straight.

From the "sucking black hole that is named Friday" department:
Whoopsy! I spent a day without blogging. How could this be you ask? Well, in an effort to get a paper done I decided to read a book on the quad which completely tuckered me out, and I ended up not doing enough research to start the damn paper. As if I could ever get any real work done on a Friday. Fridays pull me into this zone where school work goes against the laws of physics--as a foot cannot become a duck, so Sarah cannot write a paper on a Friday.

This just in from the "wreckless spending, but all I own is tank tops and it's nearly winter" department:
Why is it that when I really need something--like boots--it takes me forever to buy it, but when Amy wants to go shopping nine times out of ten she spends nothing and I'm the one who ends up walking out of Rugged Warehouse with the $17.00 sweater that Abercrombie and Fitch rejected? By the way, Kirsten, they have Spongebob do-rags.

So..tired......can't..lift..arms.........must......post......
I'm feeling quite boring today, probably because I spent a good part of it unconscious. I had the robots in my ovaries. I think they were playing darts. So, I popped two motrin (though not at the same time. Some of us just aren't talented, Amy) and slept for two hours. One motrin=one hour of sleep. That's the equation from now on. If I'm messed up enough to medicate I must need a nap.
My final project for Design will be entitled "Kittens on the Brain." Kittens, ladies and gentlemen, with stethoscopes and Ph.D's.

I have several pet rants, but this one is my favorite. I like to call him Pete ; ).
As many of you know (Amy), I have issues with the Jesus Fish. You know, those little outlines of fish that are often found on the backs of minivans and other various vehicles. Sometimes they have Greek writing in the middle. You may have also seen some of the "response fish" that the Jesus Fish has spawned, like the Darwin fish with legs, etc., you all ride in cars, you all know what I am talking about. Anyway, back to the Christ Cod. My question is, What is the point? Well, the point, dear lady, you might say, is to signify that the owner of the car is a Christian. Once again, I reply, so what? In the first couple centuries A.D., Christianity was an underground cult that had fervent followers, but was reviled by the public at large, kind of like the polka scene today. Special symbols that only Christians knew were used so that they could identify each other--symbols like the chi-ro (sp?) and the fish. It was necessary to keep it all on the down-low because in the Roman Empire, Christians often ended up as lion kibble. Today, all a Christian has to do to find another Christian is, well, spit. Chances are it'll land on someone who is a member of some branch of the religion. Also, if you publicly reveal your Chrisitianity, the government won't execute you in a giant brass pressure cooker shaped like a bull. So basically, all of the above is to illustrate that the purpose of the Jesus Fish is to say, "Look at me. I am a Christian and I am so hardcore into Jesus that I glued this fish to my car, ultimately bringing down its value in the name of Jesus Christ our lord, amen."
Okay, the real point. If you feel that you are a real Christian, you should not feel the need for a fish. Here's an effed-up comparison: Amy and her lambda tattoo. She wanted one and then realized that she didn't need a mark on her body symbolizing that she is a lesbian. Having a girl on her arm does that just fine. If you are a Christian, people should know that by the way you act and what you do--not by the symbols you surround yourself with. It's been a while since Sunday School (8 years) but I seem to remember a line in the New Testament saying "You will know them by their works."
That was my pet rant Pete. More rants will be posted at a later date.

Yikes! Library pooters are much slower than work pooters. I thought I would take a nap today, but I am surprisingly awake now that I'm not reading Faulkner criticism. Lately I have felt like I am rotting on the inside. Could it be a side effect of rhino-virus? Yeah, I'm thinking that, my sloth-like physical activity over the past two weeks, and a larger intake of dairy than usual. Have you noticed an over-abundance of things cheesy at the dining hall? I think I'm switching to a liquid/vegetable diet starting right now, and maybe since I'm only coughing up little rubbery bits of lung when I lie down I can start power-lifting again. I just drank a whole Dasani in about twenty minutes, and I'm hoping that this "purified water, enhanced with minerals for a pure, fresh taste" will somehow purify my insides, or at least beat them into submission. I run a clean ship here, and if my entrails don't behave I'm going to have to put them in the brig until they learn their lesson. Have you ever noticed that no one ever calls them entrails until they're out of the body and being used to divine someone's future? "You are destined to buy mylanta"
Okay, this has gone a little farther than I intended. As for me, I see an Odwalla in my future, and perhaps an Emily Miller, sans cheese, or at least with much less cheese than usual.

Tonight, Amy and I relived our glory days as sophomores, when we shared a room and projectile plush toys. While watching Meet Joe Black in her room, I proceeded to go for the kill zones: the feet and behind the knees. I also pummeled her with Tigger. She tried to break my legs. Good times.

Aww, Amy used to think I had class. How sweet. I notice that I make that impression on people, until I open my mouth. I often wonder what it would be like to be a classy broad. I guess I'd have to stop saying things like "Stuff it in your pants, jackass," and "So what are you assholes up to tonight?" I don't think classy broads make sculptures out of their plastic and styrofoam dinner ware and pour fruit punch over them. I don't think classy broads watch Jackass and wish they could marry Chris Pontius. And I can forget doing the "Bob-and-Weave" maneuver in the dangerous parking lots of arts and crafts chain stores, not to mention Mission Impossible tactics on the quad.

So I was reading another blog called DougDay, on which some random person has decided to post all manner of news and websites and literature concerning men with the name of Doug, because apparently every Doug has his day, or so the theory goes, right? Well, one of the newest articles is about a new cremation service that a certain company represented by a certain Doug is providing for the bereaved. Apparently, with a special cremation process that only they can provide, this Doug and his associates are able to take carbon from your deceased loved one's ashes, put it under great pressure, and make a diamond. This "service" is provided because urns are great, but big and clunky, and you can't take them everywhere you go. So now it's possible to have a sparkly little piece of Great Aunt May with you at all times, because it's so heartbreaking to have to leave her on the mantle every time you go to the White Hen Pantry for a slushy.

another day, another dollar

Is Granny an amoral, high-handed blasphemer, or a concerned citizen doing what must be done to preserve her community? More to come. On another note, I love britannica.com. Rule Britannica, Britannica Rule the Waves.....that doesn't work as well as I'd hoped. And I have found blogs to read that are written by people I have never met. My personal downfall begins.

Okies, it is 12:15, regardless of what it says below this entry, and after a rousing 4 hours of websurfing to wake myself up after 5 hours of sleep, it is time to get to the omnipresent paper that everyone else is talking about these days.

I don't need everyone to agree with me--just 2/3 of Congress

(Monster Truck Rally Voice)
Today, Friday November 8th, 36 Squares of Pain!!!!!!! Purple, Gray, Blue and Green, All in One Afternoon, All in One Classroom, All on One Piece of Matte Board!!! Tomorrow, 27 Squares of Pain!!!!!! See Her Apply Red, Orange, and Yellow!!! Watch Her Brow Furrow!! Watch Her Eyes Squint and Wobble!! Watch Her Search the Yellow Pages for a Chiropractor!! Coming to You This Sunday, Sunday, Sunday!!!!!!!

So, for some reason instead of working on a paper I decided to evaluate my television character crushes--and I do separate the character from the actor. I may say that I think David Duchovny is dreamy, but what I really mean is that I want to cradle the emotionally vulnerable Fox Mulder in my arms and let him rest his beautiful head on my bosom and tell him that everything will be okay. Did I just type bosom? Anyway, that's beside the point. I noticed that all my crushes are older men, and not just like 'he could be my father' older. More like, 'he could be my relative who came over on the Mayflower' older. I've got to stop watching so much Buffy and Angel and Highlander and get myself a real fake boyfriend.

Yay!!! I just started my very own blog! Now I'm just like all the cool kids. I'm unoriginal like fire. That is all.