The New England Society for Tea Fetishism

Just a quick note to add that I read a news report about that Nick Lachey movie with David Boreanaz on Zap2It and it was completely different from the report on CHUD. Apparently David Boreanaz is the star and it co-stars Bruce Dern and some guy from "I Capture the Castle." No mention of Nick Lachey anywhere. There is hope yet.

In our bathroom we have two stalls, each with a tp dispenser that holds two rolls. On Friday we had one roll left in one stall. Nobody refilled the tp on Monday, and by Monday night we were out. It wasn't refilled yesterday either. I called res. life at about 3:45, when I got back from my last class of the day, but, of course, nothing was done. So I took matters into my own hands.

After dinner it was pouring buckets, but I decided to take a walk down to the Fine Arts building and see if there were any loose rolls hanging around the bathroom because I really didn't want to waste any more of my tissues. No luck. I tried prying open a dispenser or two but they were locked tight. Then I remembered that the dispensers in the first floor bathroom of Chancellor's Hall (those hold two of those giant rolls side by side) had a habit of falling open on me whenever I was in there. On my way I thought I'd give the library a shot, too, but hardly anyone ever uses it, so I didn't have much hope. But I guess the janitorial staff also believes that no one ever uses it because what did I find but a box full of toilet paper rolls (at least two dozen) and three rolls of paper towels. I took four rolls and if I had a duffel bag I would have grabbed some towels too, but my backpack wasn't big enough. I put a roll in a stall and kept the other three in my room because I know that this is going to happen again.

And just to add a little to my wonderful beach adventure, I forgot to tell you that I had about a half-pound of sand in my bathing suit. I needed a rest so I sat on the beach where the water could just come up and cover my legs. When I finally stood I felt like I had a hockey puck between my suit and my ass. There was also a lot of sand . . . elsewhere. I don't know what a "craw" is, but I'm sure I had sand there as well.

Yesterday, after I lured Tracy outside to try out the little parachute soldier that I put together with an action figure and a plastic Shaw's bag, I commented on how hot and sunny it was and suggested that we go to the beach. This time we actually went in the water. I now have a very healthy respect for the ocean. These waves were breaking about three feet above my head, and the undertow as they went out kept dragging me across the bottom. My knees are still a little red. The farther out I went, the easier it was to just ride over the waves, but when I was about neck deep I started having shark fears, especially as the rip-tide pulled me down the beach and away from a group of succulent young children playing in the breakers, leaving me the loan piece of bait in a thirty yard radius. The way this beach is, you could be standing where the waves come up the sand and barely touch your ankles, and then suddenly a huge wave will break up to your thighs and knock you down. It happened to Tracy a couple of times.

Speaking of Tracy, did you go to the beach up in MA, my love? We made an agreement and I held up my end. What about you?

The "Where's my smile?" janitor struck again. This time I was taking money from the ATM and I heard a man down the hall say, "You know there's a new rule about using that machine?" all serious, like he owns the bank or something. I recognized him immediately and said, "Oh, yeah? What's the rule?" He told me that I have to give him half of everything I take out. Ha, ha, ha. I shouldn't have humored him. I don't know why that makes me so mad. Maybe not mad, but supremely annoyed. Why does he feel the need to put himself in my life like that? I just want to take out my lunch money and get the hell out of there and now I have to listen to this guy's bad joke and act like I'm amused. Crazy old janitor men.

Well, I just got some terrible news.
David Boreanaz is currently shooting a movie starring Nick Lachey. Yes, Angel is going to be in a movie that stars Mr. Jessica Simpson. All I keep hearing is how he wants to move on from Angel, that he won't do a tv movie to wrap up the loose ends of the finale, etc., etc. Maybe he should rethink going back to Angel, since the only other movie I've heard of him being involved in is a fourth Crow movie that's probably looking at a direct to video release. Sadness.

So, my dad's been in the hospital for the past two nights. He's okay, but he felt really run down and several people thought his eyes looked yellow, so he went to the clininc to get checked out and they made him check into Union Hospital to have a bunch of tests run. Nothing has turned up as of last night at 7:30. He's pretty much bored out of his mind since there's nothing to do except watch tv and read, and my dad isn't much of a reader. But I do hope that this little experience has given him a good scare because he really needs to change the way he's living. You know, eat better, stop drinking, get some moderate exercise, etc. All that stuff.

The water in my bathroom is yellow. Yellow tinted, but still, yellow. After I dried my hair this morning my white towel had big rusty streaks in it. Ewww. However, the water coming out of the faucets seems to have turned back to normal, so I guess I'll see how it is tonight before I call someone. Oh, and facilities actually fixed my lock so I don't have to bruise my hand on the deadbolt whenever I want to get out of my room.

I went to a Pagans Club meeting on Tuesday night, and it was quite palatable. Almost all the faces were new to me, and I think they are mostly new to the club. It was actually a nice, quiet meeting until Ian showed up and proceeded to play a little game I like to call "Look at me! Look at me!" Much like last year, he can't shut his goddamn mouth. But, unlike last year, he seems to be the only one with this problem. That's why I quit going in the second semester--it was just too much of a drain to sit there and watch all these people completely ignore what was going on, slowing down the meeting, and not be able to do anything about it. At least in TEA I was semi-in-charge and could yell at people to shut the hell up, but there I had no power. And, this year, it looks like we'll actually learn about Pagan stuff at the meetings. I'm keeping my fingers crossed. Oh, and since I don't really no anyone in the club, and Tracy doesn't look like she's coming back, I probably won't have to go out and fundraise. Whoo-hooo!!

I'm rather ashamed that last week I watched CSI almost non-stop since there was a marathon on Spike TV. I never watched it before (mostly because 90% of what passes for entertainment on tv today is utter shite and CSI is supposedly the number one show in America) and had only seen one episode of CSI: Miami, but only to marvel at the incredible scenery-chewing of David Caruso. Now every time the original is on I have to watch it. I know that it's rather ridiculous and totally inaccurate as far as real police procedure goes, but I have been sucked into the fold. And I am developing a crush on William Peterson. Old, bloated William Peterson and his Manhunter beard. Oh, I tingle with the thought.

I'm wearing my class ring. I'm rather irked that I'm not wearing it on the correct hand, but I'm wearing it nonetheless. I guess the only thing to do to fix the problem it to get engaged.

And I got your package, Amy. Well, I went to the window to get it, but the mailroom was closed until 12:45, so I will actually have it in my hot little hands as soon as Alice comes back from lunch and I can get out of here for a few minutes.

FX has been running The Royal Tenenbaums every weekend for the past few weeks. I am officially a Wes Anderson fan. Or maybe I just like the one movie. It makes me happy. It's hard to go wrong with both Wilson brothers, Gwyneth Paltrow, Ben Stiller, Gene Hackman, Angelica Huston, and Bill Murray. His next movie is called The Life Aquatic, and stars Bill Murray as a Jacques Cousteau-type oceanographer who wants to hunt down the shark that killed his partner. Owen Wilson will be his long-lost son, and Willem Dafoe is his faithful but underappreciated crewmen. I've seen previews online and it looks like one of those movies that people will either really like or totally despise.

Mitch Hedberg: I did a show last week and all the people there either really liked me or they hated me. Or they thought I was okay.

I got so much work done this weekend it boggles the mind. I finished a 400 page book, wrote two essays, and started a short story. All the coffee and tea I drank may have been a factor.

This morning I stuck my head out the door to see how cold it was, because I knew that if a blanket was required in my usual sauna of a room, then the temperature must be pretty chilly. And I was right. I also got a very unpleasant scare. When I stuck my head outside I swear I heard a male voice yell out, "Smile!" I thought, oh my god, that uber-creepy old man janitor has followed me from the Montauks to torture me every morning! When I looked around there was nobody there except one janitor across the way in the one of the empty dorms, and he was neither old nor creepy. Phantom janitors. Spooky.

Tracy heard from George that Jeff is coming back to campus to work upstairs in the tutoring center. Nice.

And in my first act as Supreme Moron of the Universe, I got so excited about buying printing supplies that I took out my carving tools, attached the big gouging blade, and put it on so tight that I had to borrow Tracy's Swiss Army wrench to get the damn thing off. Brilliance in action, ladies and gents.

Speaking of Tracy, she had horrible morning that I hope didn't last into the afternoon, and if it did I hope someone was merciful enough to shoot the poor dear. I was brushing my teeth in my room, watching Regis and Kelly, and when I went into the bathroom to spit I found her coming out of one of the stalls. She looked like death. She had the robots in the ovaries so bad she was crying. I started getting sympathy pains. I wanted to stay with her, but short of smashing her over the head with a cast-iron frying pan, there was really nothing I could do to help her, so I left my office phone number on her door and left for the day. I'll check up on her before I go to dinner to see if she's okay and if she wants me to bring her anything from the galley.

Yesterday was a bit of a downer. I left work at 10am with cramps, went back to my room, skipped my 11am class, laid down for a while, watched the end of The Boys From Brazil on the History Channel, and then watched an hour-long program on Himmler. It really was the Hitler Channel yesterday. I felt better after I got some lunch and I read 70 pages of Sister Carrie, which is 400 pages long and must be read my Monday at 6pm.

So, if you check my archives for this past May, I think I wrote a post about going to a party after the last MFA reading of the year and flirting with a boy in the program named Jeff. You remember, the one with webbed toes? Anyway, I guess I made an impression, because after he broke up with his fiance over the summer (honestly, I had no idea he was engaged) he asked Tracy's boyfriend, George, if he had my IM screen name. Maybe I should tell George to tell Jeff to give me a call.

My room was like a horror show last night. It really isn't fair. When Tracy had something cricket-sized jumping around her room it turned out to be the teeniest, tiniest tree-frog that I have ever seen. It was so cute I couldn't contain myself and I started squealing.
I am not so lucky.
I was sitting on my couch-bed doing some work when I saw this long black shadow creep behind my laundry basket. Immediately I jumped off of the bed and flung the basket aside while desperately searching for a shoe with a nice flat sole. Whatever the shadow was, it was gone by the time I slipped the shoe on. I moved the bed. I got a flashlight. I shook all the boxes that live under the bed, but no sign of whatever it was. So I convinced myself that it was my imagination (or the naughty ghost that supposedly lives in my room) and went back to work. Later on, a little moth flew by my head, so I tracked, smacked it, and stunned it. It was on the floor maybe half a second before a spider shot out from under the heater and started eating the moth. They are both dead now. And later the little shadow scurried across my floor again and turned out to be this crazy long roach-looking thing. Big crunch. Thank you, Hillcrest, for giving me so much practice killing spiders and silverfish, and for deadening my squick reflex when it comes to nasty bugs.

But forget all that because I finally went to the beach. Hooray! Of course, we were only going to check out where it was and did not expect to spend three hours there, otherwise I would have worn a bathing suit. It took a lot of self-control not to run right in, though. It was so warm! And the waves were incredible. People were surfing. I'd say Tracy and I walked at least two miles up and down the beach, which was incredibly clean, and picked up all kinds of shells that you don't see much of on the beaches of the North Shore. And back at home all the beaches are on a bay or a harbor of some kind, so you only get a little bit of horizon. This beach had 180 degrees of blue horizon. If the weather isn't bad this weekend (although there really isn't much hope of that with Ivan going up the coast) we're going back to swim. Tracy Nash, if we ever get out here together, we are going to the beach. You have no choice.

Hello, C.W. Post. Isn't Demagogue grand?

I wrote this post two days ago, but it wouldn't publish, so I'm trying again.

I miss you too, Amy.
Yesterday was a roller coaster of emotion. I went from being ready for a nap to spitting mad in about 1.7 seconds. The ride to school was fine. We hit a little traffic but we made the ferry on time, had a smooth ride across the sound and got to school with no problem. When I got my key I was told that I now live in the Peconics, not the Montauks. Wouldn't that have been a nice thing to tell me, like in a letter or an email? Then I got to my room, put the key in the door and locked it, just to make sure that it was the right key, and the door wouldn't unlock! So I went back to res. life and they were all, Here, try this key, the lock is a little sticky. Bullshit. So, I eventually get into my room, but it's filthy. There were three socks, several used Oxy pads, gum, and whole lot of dirt all over the floor. Oh, and ten or fifteen very tiny spiders living on my window. I got my broom out and started sweeping when I realized that not only am I missing a mattress, there's no furniture in the room except for the bed frames. I assumed that the big moving truck outside was moving the furniture in. They were taking it out. The guy in charge called res. life and cleared everything up, and I got my furniture (but no book shelves).
I was so mad I was shaking. My next stop after blogging is the res. life website so I can write an angry e-mail. After I moved everything in my room and started unpacking I felt better. I think I've moved on to acceptance, and I'm to the point where I'm like, what's a angry e-mail going to accomplish? but somebody needs to be held accountable for this because it was a major screw-up. Hood was never this bad.

Update: The letter was sent yesterday, not quite angry but clearly expressing my disappointment in this school.
I guess I forgot to forward my mail, because when I opened my mailbox it was stuffed with letters from the red cross and two very disturbing letters from the state of New York which apparently point out that since I'm not a resident I can't vote here. Oh, and I also got a letter, a postcard, and several Spongebob stickers from Amy. A very belated thank you, Amy. You will find a surprise in the mail very soon. Please disregard the part of the letter where I assure that you that my phone number is still the same. I'll e-mail it to you soon.

The ocean is cold. I think I could have stayed in longer, but I was actually expecting to go to the Outback and have a nice big plate of Walhalla Pasta, so I didn't eat much all day. When I got in the car with my dad he said that he couldn't find the gift certificate that I gave him oh, two years ago, so instead we went swimming at Nahant. Very nice waves, but the tide was high and still coming in, so it was bringing all kinds of calf-numbing currents in with it. And I was hungry. After our little bathing adventure we walked over to Tides and had a late lunch/early dinner. Linner, if you will. My dad got a prime rib and was very disappointed. He should know better by now that the only thing Tides does consistently is mussels.

Later in the evening, after I was home, I watched Taking Lives with my mom and Brian. It was actually pretty good until Ethan Hawke and Angelina Jolie started making hot monkey-love on a desk in a hotel room, with Angelina in nothing but a very open robe while Ethan was fully clothed. Not that I want to see a naked Ethan Hawke (he's probably nothing but skin and bones) but I was just thinking about nudity equality. Anyway, from there the movie just became the predictable crapfest that I hoped it wouldn't become and I was forced to wag my finger at the screen and scold "Bad movie. Baaaaad movie."
There was a part where Ethan asked Angelina why she was a (very morbid and freakishly observant) homicide investigator and she went into this story about how she killed a sixteen-year-old burglar when she was twelve. She was so serious that I was waiting for the "ba-doom-boom, crash," like she was going to suddenly laugh and say "I do this job because I like it and I'm good at it, why do you think I do it?" Like on My So-Called Life when Rayanne told Brian this long story about being afraid of the dark because her dad used to lock her in the basement and then was like "I'm kidding, I don't know why I hate the dark, I just do." But no such luck with Angelina.

I had my farewell dinner at Gourmet Garden last night. What a hoot! There's nothing that stimulates conversation like wacky Chinese and Japanese appetizers. Like a fried whole soft-shell crab with maraschino cherry eyes. And chopsticks are always fun. Even the waitress was joking with us, although I think it was because she realized how much we were spending and was thinking about her tip. $95 for three appetizers, two entrees, a side of lo mein, and sushi. I'm still stuffed.

Dear WBCN,
I like you. Do you like me?
If you do, place a check next to yes [ ]
If not, please check no [ ]
If you checked yes, do you want to go steady? There is no other radio station that I would rather be with, even if you do run Howard Stern every morning until eleven. Please give me your response a.s.a.p., since I am going back to Long Island soon and really want to take you with me because the radio stations there make the baby Jesus cry.
Your (girl?)friend,
Sarah

I got a call from Tracy yesterday around 4:30 asking me if I wanted to go to Hooters in Nashua. I said, "Hell yeah, Nashvegas, here I come!" Hooters, you ask? Yes, it was for David's birthday, a very nice but incredibly horny young man who is turning 18 next week. And the only bad part about Hooters (other than the menu which has very few seafood options and nothing completely vegetarian) was the "seat yourself" policy. Tracy and I (we were there with Tracy's boyfriend, Jeff, Jeff's brother, Eric, Eric's girlfriend, Helena, and Dave) looked out across a vast sea of men and boys watching sports and nary a free table for six left in the place. We found one near the back by the ladies room. Lots of very tight shirts and shorts everywhere flirting with the customers, except at our table. I suspect that the waitresses turn the charm down when it appears that there are girlfriends at the table. Our waitress looked exactly like a slimmed down version of Beth Vacante. Weird. Oh, and the stools we were sitting on are not good for the knees or the lower back.
All in all, it was a fun evening.

I took a break from packing to read up on Will Saletan's RNC blog on Slate. Zell Miller is a douchebag. Anyway, as I read his summaries of the speeches and his commentaries on them, all the while getting so angry that I began yelling obscenities at the computer screen, I realized that I am going to a be a total wreck during the election. Unless Kerry takes a big lead from the start I don't think I'm going to be able to sleep until the results are final (of course, if the final results are that Bush wins I won't sleep then either). I can just see myself wandering around the Montauk quad, wringing my hands and mumbling, "Four more years, four more years," with a blank yet terrified look on my face.

I've discovered that many people stumble across my blog through searches in which they misspell the word "music." I spent a few minutes typing out "music" several times to see if my fingers slipped up and approached anything like "muise." Not once. But that's what it has to be, because who in their right mind looks for "muise of all kinds," "Latin muise," or "Kill Bill muise?"

I was checking out my statcounter and found a link from a blog by a young lady named Kati. Obviously another product of the lovely navbar that blogger has provided us. She's having a problem with an anonymous commentor who claims to be a nationally recognized newspaper writer (top 250 in the country) who feels the need to criticize her blog for grammatical and syntactical errors, going so far as to rewrite an entire post of hers in his comment as he believes it should be written. I commented and defended her, even though her friends have already come to her aid several times. I really just wanted to say something nasty to "anonymous" because he's being such a total tool to this nice girl who just wants to entertain her friends. Because I have manners I didn't comment as anonymous, so he may just show up here and spew his overblown opinions, using the words "erudite" and "nomer" several times. Wouldn't that be fun?

Tracy, I finally saw the episode of ER when Dr. Greene dies. Big, fat tears all over my face.