The New England Society for Tea Fetishism

going back to school tomorrow. nothing much to say. packing sucks. the vacuum cleaner fell on my head.

Yes, I know, it's a lot like Amy's, but the blogger blogs are really boring and identical, and this one was the best, other than the one Amy has. So I'm hoping that now Marianne can read this and Tracy can comment. And Amy, just so you know, mine is red with the entries on the left while yours is orange with the entries on the right.
Speaking of Tracy, we went sledding at Gallows Hill Park. No, not on Gallows Hill itself, because in Tracy's words, "It's too rocky." Instead we sled down a narrow cement path that was all ice beneath about two inches of snow, bordered on both sides by trees and little sumac sticks, and went straight up at a 45 degree angle. Keep in mind that this hill is probably one of the highest spots in Salem--they don't call it Witchcraft Heights for nothing. I went about 3/4 of the way up while Tracy went straight to the top. We were on saucer sleds. Oy, my coccyx. A few times I thought I jiggled my brain loose. On my third run down, on a bumpy patch, my elbow hit the ground after every bump. Now I have a nice splotchy black and blue mark that looks like a hickey. And I'll tell you, it was a rip-roaring good time.

. . . can you hear me now?

Last night I went with Tracy and her sisters for ice cream at Denny's of all places. For a time we were the only four customers in the whole place. Lisa and Kerry are actually quite amusing. We all ordered sundaes. When Tracy asked if they had Snickers topping the waiter said very curtly, "We're not Friendly's." After he left we were all like, "Whoa, snap!" It was altogether a whole lotta hoot with a little bit a nanny. At one point we were talking about how in highschool Tracy had this outrageously wrong crush on a kid named Rob that was in band with me. I tried to explain the wrongness of this to her sisters by describing Rob to them--fairly stiff, no discernable sense of humor, hugely enamored of himself, listened to jazz exclusively--not Tracy's type at all (totally aside, once he took her to Denny's and then they went to a movie. When she told me about it I said, I thought you were going out with Kevin. She said, I am. I said, but you went on a date with Rob. She said, that was a date? I told her, dinner and a movie, dear. He certainly thinks it's a date). Kerry ignored all that other stuff, sniggered, and said, "He was band geek!" Tracy and I had our own private giggle, then I looked at Kerry and said, "I was in band." She then tried to backtrack and say that band geek is a good thing now. I'm just surprised that she tried to cover instead of just laughing and pointing and chanting "band geek!" at me. She's really come a long way.

Aw, my bliggety bloggity archives aren't behaving--for me anyway. Amy seems quite able to shuffle through and pilfer some of my best lines, for which I am eternally grateful. Flattery will get you everywhere, my dear. Since being Amy's housewife I have developed an addiction to Live with Regis and Kelly. Although watching---Ohh, oink-oink, moo-moo is on the tv!!---it just isn't the same without having my arms in suds up to the elbows. It really got me into the domestic engineer mode. I feel bad that Marianne can't read my blog, but I love it so! It's so preeeeety! But I guess I'll just have to do without the autumnal colors and get something a little less fancy, but a little more practical.

Cold Mountain is a good movie, although I felt at times that my emotions were being manipulated a tad too much. Just once or twice though. Hell, I think my dad even cried. He seemed kind of choked up when we left the theatre. He said, "Good movie." Then he said, "Kinda sad, though." He's going to give me some money before I leave and then he's going to set up a payment plan for me. Hoorays!
Some funny-ish family gossip: My cousin Russell left his wife before Thanksgiving. So that was the big talk as we sat around all day waiting for the bird to finish. He also brought up the fact that Anne-Marie, before he left, was spending way too much time with a friend, inviting her on vacations without asking him first and going to restaurants and movies with her after they'd made plans to go together. The wink-wink, nudge-nudge thing was that maybe Anne-Marie likes girls better than guys, or at least that particular girl more than Russell. The term lesbian may have been bandied about. My Aunt Wendy, lovely woman that she is, must have told her boyfriend, Paul, that Anne-Marie left Russell for another woman. Paul still talks to his ex-wife, who goes to the same church as Anne-Marie's mom, Louise. Church. What a place to find out that your daughter's a dyke. Poor Louise. She's such a nice lady. Last night my mom got a call from her. They used to work together. My mom told her that it wasn't true and kept calling her sister, "That Wendy," and went on to explain how "That Wendy" lies pathologically. Then came the obligatory "I'm gonna beat the shit out of her," threat that my mom gives all the time. She'll really have to go through with it someday to make it less bark and more bite.

You know, you follow directions, you try to add links into your post, but it just doesn't happen.

Even more begging begins today. I think I'm going to send an email to everyone I know at Southampton and ask for a ride. Also on the docket today, a whole lot of demanding. My dad's picking me up at 11:45 to go see Cold Mountain. I plan to demand a large amount of money from him. Who knows if he has it? Wish me luck.

Tracy's mom went through all these old photos looking for a baby picture of her sister Kerry that she can put in Kerry's eight grade yearbook. Meanwhile, she has also found several hideous, blackmail-quality pictures of me taken during my awkward phase, which lasted from ages eight to about eighteen, although these particular photos are from the grade-school years. My glasses were twice as big as they had to be, and, although I thought I missed out on most of the cringe-worthy fashions of the early-nineties, apparently I was sadly mistaken. How could my mom let me out of the house like that? Said glasses only enhanced my gawky skinniness and made me look about 67 years old. In every picture my hair is half in a ponytail and half in a ratty cloud about my head. The saddest thing is that Tracy, tiny beast that she was, looks like a little angel. I told her, "You were such a cute child, but you can see the evil hiding just under the surface." The fun part of the photo hunt was finding pictures of my mom. She worked at the phone company with Tracy's mom about twenty years ago. There were two pictures of her circa May, 1981, which thrilled me because I have never seen a picture of my mother pregnant. Honestly, never a one. I don't think she's seen one either. It was probably early May, since I was still riding pretty high. Don't even get me started on the pictures of Tracy's dad in tight cut-off shorts and athletic socks. What a hoot.

OoOOooh, it's so preeeety. And archives are intact! Now all I have to do is figure out how to add in links and such. Hooray!

Holy cow. 16 comments? I am going to find a new template with links today and maybe with comments already installed, although from what I remember the haloscan thing was laughably simple. So, all I have to do is paste the html of the new template into my blogger and tah-dah! Right? Amy, do you have anything to add?
I was over Tracy's house yesterday from about 3:30 to midnight. We hung out, went to Wendy's for dinner, and then we watched her Rose Red dvd. If it doesn't sound familiar, it's a tv miniseries written by Stephen King. I actually caught about twenty minutes of it when it was on originally and I wasn't impressed. I thought, it's on television, how scary can it be? Pretty flipping scary, actually. It wouldn't have been so bad, but there were these corpse-y ghosts walking around the house stealing peoples' souls. They looked like beef jerky and the little girl ghost had this withered arm that looked like chicken foot. One of the ghosts was a house-keeper/companion to the woman of the house named Zukeena. During flashbacks that showed her alive we called her Zuchini. When she was a cordwood corpse-y ghost with freakishly long twiggy fingers we called her Aunty Badhands. She got the sexy British character we were lusting after. That was depressing.

The main template and the archive template have both been copied. Also, I am wicked hungry. I think sitting in this sixty degree basement makes my internal furnace work overtime, quickly consuming oatmeal and two cups of tea. In other news, the shameless begging for a ride to school from the Orient Point ferry has begun. If my somewhat friendly aquaintances fail me, I will try the Alices at work. It is so time for a peanut butter banana.
Yesterday Tracy figured out why her link to my blog didn't work (needless inclusion of www.) so I may be getting a new reader soon. Hooray!

I realize that I'm having some blog envy. The problem with that is my intense fear of computer-related thinga-ma-bobbers prevents me from getting a new template because I believe that I will probably screw everything up and lose all my archives, including ever precious blogs such as 36 squares of pain and robots in the ovaries. Any advice?

I just read something quite disturbing. Despite Saddam and his tyrannical ways, Iraq was very progressive in its treatment of women, none of that light your wife on fire crap like under the Taliban. There are women professors and doctors and cabinet members. And now, under the government that the U.S. is helping to set up, there is talk of laws being passed to take away those rights from women. So much for all dubyah's talk of defending human rights and freedoms.

Hello all. Nothing is really happening today. Later on I may take a ride with Tracy to A.C. Moore or Michael's to procure some supplies for her latest project. Being a graphic arts major she has many of the same problems as you, Miss S.T. Killah, but without all that stinky math. Maybe I'll show her the arts and crafts parking lot "bob n' weave" maneuver. Until then, my project for the day is to work on revising my story and try to make it fit for publication. All I have to do is get past this crushing fear of inadequecy and then I'll be typing away. I had no idea that there was so much self-loathing involved in the writing process. Also, I thought that caffeine was an appetite suppressant, but I always feel hungry after I have my cup of tea in the morning.

Just wasting time...


Congratulations! You're Merry!


Which Lord of the Rings character and personality problem are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

Well, I've returned from the frozen Northland, and I still have all ten fingers and all ten toes. Unlike Amy, I have no problem complaining about the cold, and may I say, JUMPED UP CHRIST ON A CRUTCH!! It was devastatingly freezing up there! It's very hard to explain the instinctive panic that I felt crawling under my skin as we walked the fifty yards from Amy's car to the library, but I'll try. It's like that monkey from way back under the roots of my family tree tapped me on the shoulder and said, "Excuse me, but are you insane? Why aren't you in a cave somewhere under a pile of dirt and leaves urinating on your toes to keep them from falling off, or your modern equivalent thereof?" And I was like, "You know what, Monkey, you're right. Only a suicidal moron without a hat would be outside today." Cut to me realizng that I am not wearing a hat and that I can no longer feel my ears.
But other than that, my stay as houseboy in the Maison du Thompson was quite lovley indeed. Actually, Amy referred to me as her housewife, since I took it upon myself to do the dishes while watching chat shows every morning. And I shoveled the driveway. I also made a very dry and unpleasant banana bread. I have to add that Mrs. Whatsit has the most adorable little bumper that I ever did see. Oh, and look for The Station Agent when it comes out on video.
Amy, do you know what I saw this morning on the television? Naughty money! And it was the full-length version of the commercial. Ask and you shall receive, huh?

Dryer pants are great too. But maybe I should have waited until I got upstairs to put them on.

My house is a little nippy and it's around 59 in my basement. I had the best idea ever. I put my huge and snuggly bathrobe in the dryer for three minutes and presto! Glorious, cuddly warmth.
I'm very excited about Maine and everything you suggested, Amy, sounds great. And I have a brand new scarf to wear around your place. It's very long. Please make sure I don't accidently choke myself.

We were about twenty minutes late for the movie and indeed, as we entered the theatre, the movie was just starting. It was enjoyable and beautifully shot, but it wasn't exactly a modern masterpiece. I think I kept getting distracted by the purtiness of Tom Cruise. And Ken Watanabe isn't bad either.
So, house party at my place the week of March 14th. Who wants to come? My Mom and Brian are flying to Vegas for my cousin Alan's wedding and my spring break starts right after they leave. I'll be here all by my lonesome. Unless Tracy wants to live with me for a week. I would go crazy living at her house, sure as shootin', so that's out of the question. Hell, I'd even let her boyfriend sleep over. I'm hoping that she'll go for the idea. My dad offered to stay a few nights if it's okay with my Mum, but I really don't want to listen to him snore all night.

You see, the thing about the computer is that I want to buy a litttle jump drive thingy to plug into the usb port. I just have to make sure that the antiquated computers at school have usb ports, first. And, of course, none of this will matter if I can't translate my Word Perfect files into Word documents, because I'll have to print my stuff out on a lab computer. It depends on what version of Word we have at school. So I might just end up buying a printer. Or paying $100 for Microsoft Office. But I'm almost positive that at work I have this same exact computer that I'm typing on right now, so at least I could use that one to print.
Today I'm going to see The Last Samurai avec mon pere, at 11:30. We will most assuredly be late, but since previews tend to go on for an hour-and-a-half before the actual movie now, I don't think it will be a problem. Right now I have Monsters, Inc. on the tv upstairs and I can hear Boo crying. She's so cute!
Interesting side-note: My dad loves to tell stories. Well, mainly I think he just likes to talk. Anyway, several times I have heard the story of when he baked a batch of pot brownies and his mother ate some and went to bed and woke up thinking that she was dying. Just the other night after watching an episode of That 70s Show with a similar plot, not only did I find out that Nana was told about the brownies beforehand and ate some anyway, it was my mother who baked the brownies (and she vehemently denies eating any of them). And I thought to myself, What a schlub my father was, couldn't even bake his own pot brownies!

Yes, Amy, I hope my highly specific reply of "Vermont something or other," is a great big help. But it was definitely something to do with Vermont.
I had my dental cleaning yesterday and my dentist and hygienist were both quite impressed with me. My dentist, a nice lady with an eastern European accent, said something about virgin teeth, and I almost cracked up when I thought "Just like the rest of me." The little Russian hygienist asked me if I used an electric toothbrush and I was like "Gosh no, I do all this by hand." And in my head I thought, "In your face!!" to all those people who laughed at me and my hygiene obsessions. Well who's laughing now, huh? Who's laughing now?
My laptop has no floppy disk drive and only runs Word Perfect, but it does have a handy dandy little usb port and I can translate my files so they're MS Word compatible. If the computers at school have usb ports I'll be set. I'm so happy!
A while back I wrote about loving inanimate objects, my big black boots I think, and how I knew it was wrong to love a thing, but I did anyway. Firefly-a-thon 2003-2004 is officially over, and I am in love with the show. I'm not sure if loving fictional characters is the same as loving a boot, but there you go.

Hello everyone. I'm back. I've been spending a lot of time out of the house, and last Thursday Brian's daughter Chrisy from Arizona came to visit (and yes, she spells her name "Chrisy"). My cousin Kerry Anne and her husband Walter moved to Arizona in October. Walter's mom got married this past Saturday. Walter's mother's new husband paid for them and their three kids to come to the wedding as a surprise for his bride. Chrisy's grandma, my aunt Patty, saw that Chrisy was kind of bummed because she wanted to go too, so she booked the kid on the same flight. First class. So on Thursday we went to Logan to pick her up and I got to see Kerry and Walter for a bit. We went out to eat, we watched some movies. She was just really happy to see her dad. And she's like eleven now. I think the last time I saw her she was eight. She's like a teenybopper. I was so surprised. She took my bed and I bunked with my mom for three nights. Mom snores. Yesterday we all got up at 3:30 and drove to Logan. I got to see Kerry Anne's kids, so it was worth it. We said goodbye and then we went home. To Boston and back before the sun even came up. Then I went to church and spent the day with my dad and my nana.

So, as for visits to Maine, my mom's work schedule means that I can only be brought to Portland on the weekend. How does this weekend sound?