Amy is glad to be a unicorn. Because unicorns are related to ponies. Jimmy could not be more excited to be Mickey Mouse. Someone get that kid a fun size kitkat bar. Cory, golden retriever extraordinaire, cannot be anyone but herself on Halloween and must survey the scene and protect the chillens.
I should have been a model. (In the background you can see the scary ass Sears mannequin my Dad turned into a vampire. He resided in our basement from November to September and made playing down there alone impossible. Much like a picture of Jesus, his eyes followed you no matter where you went.)
Remember...anyone and everyone is welcome to submit. If you are reading these words right now, YOU can enter. I've got one entry so far. This is not enough to have a contest. Send me your pictures!
So I'm in this poetry class. And my professor is constantly talking about how he expects us to write good poetry (duh). He says, "Like..doves bursting out of your chest good."
This is not an easy task.
To do such a thing, one needs a lot of what Lorca called, "duende". Duende is more than inspiration, it's more than an bright idea. It's the blood and guts and pulse you gotta put in your poetry (and not just poetry, duende applies to any and every kind of art) to make it good. Without duende, your poetry is pretty much just a sack of meat and bones. And nobody likes meat-sack poetry. Or acting. Or painting. Or music. Lorca was a master and blood and guts poetry. Probably, because he's Spanish and the Spanish are like RAAWRR I'M SO DAMN PASSIONATE AND FEEL EVERYTHING LIKE RAAAWWWRRR. RAWWWRRR I'M GOING TO DANCE FLAMENCO!! I'M THE MOON AND I LIKE BLOOD. I'M A GUITAR AND I'M CRYING. I'M A GYPSY!!! I'M DAWN IN NEW YORK AND COME WITH FOUR COLUMNS OF SLIIMMMMMMMMEEEEEEE. RAAAWWWWWRRRRRR. And that's about the only way I can describe Lorca's work. When you read Lorca's writing, ain't no doves bursting out of your chest. Dude writes, you read, and mother freakin' HAWK rips itself out of your chest. For real. I read his stuff, and (because I'm a nerd) giggle with glee because it's so turbulent and emotional and filled with hardcore duende. Anyway. As you may imagine... Duende is very elusive. Especially when you're a 22 year old college student feeling your way through poetry and not some genius master of awesome Spanish writer.
With possibly the most difficult poem of the semester assigned this past weekend...I needed some serious DUENDDEEEEE (it helps to say the word "duende" in your most hardcore voice possible) (ask me next time I see you, I will demonstrate).
So this weekend, I went in search of some duende... *Annddd cue the incidental music (which is probably all wrong if you're on a search for duende)*
Heelllllooo...duendeeeee? Are you here?
(These above pictures are my answer to anyone who asks, "Why do you get up early to be at school earlier than you have to?" Um...because I'd miss this. I'm sorry, but the lake does not look like this at any other time of day and its ok with me that it happens to be between the hours of 7am and 9am.)
Waiting for duende at the lake... But no duende came. Why? Because this is my "cliche" face and not my "duende" face. Duende face needs to be 80 times more intense. This is the face I would make if I wanted to go write a pastoral. Oh wait, I had to do that too. And it SUCKED. Ugh. Pastorals. You are dumb and lame and Lorca would probably piss on you. Ok, wait...Lorca could probably write a kick ass pastoral. It would be freaky as hell. But kick-ass...But he would definitely piss on Marlowe's "The Passionate Shepherd to His Love." Sorry, Marlowe. But it's sorta true.
BACK TO THE SEARCH FOR DUENDE
Are you backstage, duende?? Where I spent my entire weekend?????
Negative. ...backstage was where duende went to die.
Are you in the garbage with the squirrels, duende?
No. No duende, here. And squirrels? It's really ok...I do not want your half eaten brown apple or bag of old Cheeto crumbs, so stop staring at me like I'm going to steal your children. Maybe if you gave me some duende I'd give you my goldfish crackers. Too bad for you.
Is there some duende in here? In this little room I'd never been in before? That I stumbled upon in a campus building by accident? And was shocked, surprised, and tickled to discover???
Oh yes. In here...I found some serious duende. At least...I think/hope.
POP QUIZ TIME
What don't these guys have in their song?
If you answered, "duende" you would be right. Sorry, Sonseed. You read Marlowe, don't you? Although...I'm sort of frightened to admit this but...the song IS kind of catchy. BUT catchy DOES NOT EQUAL duende. Things that make this video so genius: a) "Zap!" b) Dude rocking out to the two chords he knows on guitar. Way to play with fervor and gusto, man. c) The backup singers. And their one line. And their individual close-ups throughout the video. d) Casio keyboard ROCK OUT. e) I could be totally off on this...but I feel like the lead singer of Sonseed just recently came to America, learned english and is pulling himself up by the boot straps through catchy christian bubble gum pop.
DUUUEEENNNDEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
IN OTHER NEWS: I am exhausted. Today, when it came time to get up, my body started moving before my brain. I'm not even kidding you. I was laying in bed, my brain pretty much out cold. And (IN BED, STILL) felt my muscles moving and contracting as though I were walking. Seriously. I was sleep-walking in bed. Who does that? Oh. Right. Amy.
In other news...I got my haircut. Which is good. Because when I start to look like a walking Q-Tip I have a hard time existing in the world with grace and poise. Ok, so, I always have a hard time existing in the world with grace and poise but more so when my the goings-on on the top of my head are out of control. So I went and got my haircut yesterday at this place by my school. Here is what I love about having short hair... I walk into a shop. I sit down. Stylist says, "How do you like it?" I say, "Number 2 on the back on sides, scissors on top." Done and done. None of this language I don't understand about layers and whatever and hair stuff and what I want done and which way I part and which way I want my sides to slope and should the back be this or that blah blah blah. None of that awkward shit I went through when my hair was longer where stylists were constantly trying to make my hair "more feminine". Seriously. One time I went to a place and the stylist was like, "Oh, well I'll do this, this way to make it look a little more feminine. Because you don't want...well, I just make it look more feminine." And I'm sitting there like, "Ummmm...I don't think you understand." It's one of the things I find most interesting about, not even being gay but...just looking more boy-ish/androgynous/non-girl-ish (whatever you want to call it). People aren't at all malicious about it, but I've had such weird experiences where people suggest that somehow I don't know how to look like a girl or be a girl and they have to help with that. They have to help me be more like a girl, because that's what I am. They have to help me and/or suggest ways that I can fit in and be how they think I should be. I need to stress that these experiences have been in no way mean or nasty. They're meant totally well and they don't necessarily bother me, I just find them very interesting. To be more concise: It's hard for people to wrap their brains around the fact that: Hey, I look this way because I want to. This is what's comfortable for me. The way you're suggesting for me to look/be (whatever) feels wrong and uncomfortable to me deep down inside. When I tell people this...that wearing dresses and makeup is totally uncomfortable for me, that I don't want to wear a boost-ee-a (I don't know how to spell that so I just put the sounds there. Sorry. Didn't want to look it up, but you know you love me) because I don't want my boobs to look bigger, in fact I'm sorta totally fine being flat-chested...they're, frankly, shocked. 9 times of 10 if I explain to someone that I haven't worn a dress in years because it makes me uncomfortable on a deeper level than just "this dress itches" they're reaction is, "Reeaaalllly???" Yes. Really. When I try to explain to people by saying, I would be at a loss in the role of Juliet but give my left arm to play Romeo..."Reaallllly???" Yes. Really. I mean let's face, it's mostly 'cause dude gets to SWORD FIGHT on stage, but YES I would rather play Romeo. It doesn't make me not a girl. It doesn't make me a boy. It doesn't make me anything but me. This all is a lot to explain. I do and don't feel the need to explain myself. It depends on the situation. And sometimes it's hard to explain because it's still something I'm trying to figure out too, honestly. Which is why I LOVE how easy it is to say... "Number 2, scissors on top." It's sort of glorious.
Anyway. This place I went to (to get my haircut) (which is where this story started) (before it was derailed by my strange thoughts on gender) was a "first time" affair for me. Normally, I just get my butt into a Hair Cuttery, but this week is slightly nuts, so I just needed to get it done and had no time to search God's green earth for a Hair Cuttery. I go in and get a stylist, who is pretty nice. She's doing my hair, cuttin' away...
HER: Is this your natural color? ME: Yes. HER: Really? ME: Yes. HER: You've never put anything in it? ME: I had highlights once a long time ago and at one point dyed it red-ish but that was several years ago. HER: But this is natural now? ME: Yup. HER: Wow. You have a great hair color. ME: Thank you. HER: It's really nice. Really nice. (As she's inspecting my hair with her comb) ME: (What I wanted to say) Please don't take my hair. ME: (What I said) Thanks.
Anyway. Aside from her infatuation with my hair color, this stylist was actually pretty nice. She did a good job, she did it fast, and she was really friendly (see above conversation about my hair color). She asked my name and introduced herself as Gina. Dear Gina, You still can't have my hair. No, Gina...I would not like to get my eyebrows threaded today. I know they are as O.C. (outta control) as my hair was when I walked in and I will fix that myself later. Beauty is pain and when it comes to my beauty any necessary pain will be dolled out by me and no one else. So drop your tweezers and dental floss. Love, Amy But P.S. I still think you're nice and might come back and see you again.
Anyway. So it comes time for me to pay, and she goes... GINA: What do they normally charge you? Ok. I don't hear well. I'm in a salon with hair dryers and what I think is Indian music playing over the speakers. And Gina has an accent.... ME: Pardon? GINA: What do they normally charge you...for cut? ME: (On the inside) Oh Gina, I normally go to Hair Cuttery. Do you really want the answer to this question? ME: (For real) Like...13 dollars? GINA: Oh. It will be 18. Is that ok? ME: (On the inside) Now I feel awkward. Why did you ask? Ahhh! ME: Oh yeah, that's fine. INDIAN-MAN (I think)-BEHIND-COUNTER-WHO-I'VE-GATHERED-IS-SHOPS-OWNER: I only charge you 18. For men haircut. Would not be fair to charge you for women's because (he gestures to my head). (Now, I gathered that Gina was trying to figure out if I get charged for a women's hair cut or a man's. Oh Gina! Don't you know when you go to Hair Cuttery you can get a cut and wash for a mere 13 dollars no matter what you've got between your legs?) ME: (on the inside) I feel awkward again. Thanks? ME: (For real) Thanks. I appreciate that. INDIAN-MAN (I think)-BEHIND-COUNTER-WHO-I'VE-GATHERED-IS-SHOPS-OWNER: Well, is not fair. You get card come in 4 times, have hair cut for 16 dollars. ME: Sounds great. (And now the boring business of me paying, tipping, and leaving not knowing quite how I feel about my experience in the shop)
Ahhhh!! I wish the rest of existence were are easy as saying "Number 2 on the back and sides, scissors on top."
"What do they normally charge you for a haircut?" "They charge me for a number 2 on the back and sides, scissors on top."
"Why don't you like to where a dress?" "Because number 2 on the back and sides, scissors on top."
"Are you a boy or a girl?" "I'm a number 2 on the back and sides, scissors on top."
...not that I want to be defined by my chosen hairstyle. "Definition" is the very thing I'm rallying against. And I guess, if you really sit down and think about it hard "definitions" don't exist for anyone. BUT in terms of gender, where the mainstream belief is one or the other it gets a little frustrating to not be able to say, "I'm a number 2 on the back and sides, scissors on the top."
(So yes..it is now Thursday night at 10:45 and after sitting with this post all day I decided to delete what I wrote about the bailouts/america/whatever. I just can never seem to say exactly what I want to in the way I want to. These past couple days I've been almost stunned into silence and what was up here earlier today was just my mind exploding onto my blog. Ugh. One day. One day I will be able to write well about such things.)
But here for your enjoyment is still the part about how I couldn't find my keys this morning: So, I got about 4 hours of sleep last night. I wake up pretty early to get so school (5:45am) because I find I got a lot done earlier in the day. I enjoy the morning, starting the day with a cup of coffee and getting the baulk of my work done by 10amish. Because, I start to shut down around 10:00pm. But I had a lot of work to do last night, and passed the "second wind" threshold around 11:30pm so I wasn't terribly tired at 1:00am so I thought, "why not just study some more?" So I did. And went to bed around 2am. I woke up this morning at 5:45am from pretty much a robust nap. I showered, put on some clothes (nobody likes a naked Amy). I gathered my stuff. My keys were on the floor. (Great place for them) I pick them up. I do something with them. I continue to pack my stuff. Wallet in pocket. Cell phone in pocket. Pocket knife in pocket (so gay). Backpack on. Ready to head out the door. ... ... Where are my keys? Desk? No. Under bed? No. Under massive piles of paper and books on desk? No. They were on the floor. I stare at the floor. Not there. Am I missing them? Stare at the floor some more. No. But they were on the floor. "Amy, wake up. Your keys are on the floor. You're just not seeing them." "Amy, I don't see your keys on the floor." "Amy, keep staring. They will appear." "Amy...where are your keys?" Desk? No. Under papers? No. On the floor? "Amy, this time, stare at the floor harder." "Amy, what did you do with your keys?" "Amy, seriously, your room is like...10 feet by 10 feet this is not a large amount of space to lose a set of keys in the span of 5 minutes." "Amy, they were just here." "Amy???" "WAKE UP!" "Keys!" Then I vaguely remembered... Had I? No... Why would I? Oh, I should check... And yes. I did. I put them clipped them inside the little front pocket of my backpack. WHY? Who knows.
And since it's now almost 11:00 on Thursday night I must say that for a day running on 4 hours of sleep, it wasn't half bad. School is off to a decent start. AND I got my pony poem back today in poetry class (I wrote a poem about ponies) (don't worry, I used the word "horse" instead of "pony" like a big girl) AND the professor said it was my best work yet! Granted, it still needs revisions but SHIT I don't know why I waited four weeks into the semester to write about ponies! Soooooo...what did Amy learn at school this week? Ponies + Poems = Winning Combination
First, THIS DOG is so cute it should probably be illegal.
REASONS WHY I LOVE MEGHAN #49459498982343209
This is a short AIM conversation we had this evening...
ME: i LOVE school...but i do not love all the work...(meaning reading edith wharton)
MEGHAN: oh god! i remember her
ME: yeah
MEGHAN: high school. ick. MEGHAN: i miss CLASSES, yes. don't miss homework.
ME: she's not AWFUL. way better than the last thing we read.... ME: BUT ME: I dont want to waste my time reading it ME: lmao ME: that sounds bad.
MEGHAN: no it doesn't MEGHAN: life is only so long, it takes time to read, there are billions of things to be read, and there are billions of things you have no desire to even touch. MEGHAN:<--clearly hyper.
ME: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA ME: why so hyper?!
MEGHAN: i think what i meant was, why should you waste your timing reading something you don't want to read, when there is so much out there that you DO that you may never even get to!? MEGHAN: i have no idea, actually
ME: YES ME: i know what you mean
MEGHAN: i had some cabbage, i think there is a lot of sugar in that vegetable.
ME: HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA ME: you are brilliant
MEGHAN: what! MEGHAN: well i think it's true MEGHAN: okay. guess that was a little weird.
ME: i had a potato tonight ME: maybe thats why im feeling so lethargic
MEGHAN: damn, with that reaction, i expect that to make the blog!
ME: IT IS
MEGHAN: ooh yes they are very filling. MEGHAN: well, apparently, cabbage gives you wings. MEGHAN: i dont even mean the gas MEGHAN: i'm gonna bounce MEGHAN: talk to you later
Bed-headed Amy likes to play with her cardboard haunted house around Halloween time. She likes to make up stories about the going-ons inside the cardboard haunted house. She does this for hours and sometimes, gets scared of the cardboard haunted house. It is never in her room when she goes to sleep at night, but always on the kitchen table in the morning. Something about playing with a cardboard haunted house while eating Count Chocula Cereal just feels right. The cardboard haunted house is definitely way less scary than that serious bed-head she is sporting. Bed-head Amy (who clearly hasn't had her coffee OR Count Chocula yet) would like to remind you to submit your Halloween pictures by October 25th.
Send pictures to non bed-headed Amy (well, she might have bed-head but the great thing about having short hair is that "bed-head" is suddenly "fashionable") at: Magoo1001@gmail.com
OLD MAN BAND This is a link to a blog my Dad publishes for his Old Man Band. I call them the Old Man Band because they change their name before every gig, so it's really the only way I can refer to them with any sort of consistency. And they're old. If you're curious, read ahead but do so at your own risk (seriously).
My Dad did post some awesome pictures on his sidebar of our old house in Edison Park. HERE is a direct link. We had a sweet front porch that my Dad decorated with homemade (Yes, that stuff is all done BY HAND) every year for Halloween. You may surmise two things from these pictures: a) My Dad is pretty bad ass and probably could have been a scene designer for theatre/movies/TV. He made all that stuff without any formal training whatsoever. B-A-D-SPACE-A-S-S. b) As a child (I lived in that house from birth to about 5) I was deathly afraid of my own house at Halloween time. Because in addition to the decorations my Dad also played scary sounds (like, blowing wind, people screaming, ghosts moaning, chains, heartbeats, thunder, ect). I could not go out on the porch by myself and was convinced the Ghouly Guys (what we called scary monsters) would come to life at night and eat my brains. I mean, really. But I was also the kid that insisted my mother take "The Berenstain Bear's Halloween" picture book out of my room at night after she read it to me because I was convinced the Ghouly Guys in the book would come to life, come out of the book and eat my brains. Clearly, I was making it much more difficult for said Ghouly Guys to eat my brains if they were on the other side of my not-all-the-way-closed bedroom door. Because Ghouly Guys can't figure out how to open doors that are not-all-the-way-closed. Right, 4 year old Amy. Right. Don't you know when fresh 4 year old brains are on the menu Ghouly Guys can not only open doors but bust them down with their bare, putrid, rotting Ghouly Guy arms???? ...Well, I guess it all turned out fine. 'Cause sure as I'm blogging here today no Ghouly Guys came to life and ate my brains. ...or did they??
Since Halloween is coming up, maybe I'll find some pictures of my brother and me in our Halloween outfits and post 'em up. We had some pretty amazing Halloween costumes, I must say. I will also find some more of my Dad's decoration pictures 'cause I know there are more floating around ('cause I stole them) (shhh...don't tell him) (I was just worried he'd lose 'em 'cause he's a boy).
...there definitely needs to be some sort of Confusing Ideas Since 1986 Halloween Contest... I'VE GOT IT! Send me a picture of yourself in a Halloween Costume from when you were a kid, OR just your best/most hilarious Halloween costume from whatever age. Send them to me at this email address: Magoo1001@gmail.com
Rules: a) I know I don't need to say this but I'm going to anyway...Nothing nude or lewd. If you send such pictures to me (whether it's you or some special friend you found on the internet) I will take your email address and put you on the mailing lists of the most ridiculous websites I can find. I am not even kidding. Send me anything gross or obscene, I will reap my internet revenge and sign you up for the McCain/Palin newsletter, just to start.
b) Two pictures max per person.
c) You have to be ok with me posting the pictures on my blog. I will do my best to post a picture from everyone who sends me one.
d) Include your name (an alias is fine if you do not wish to be identified)(but make sure I know that you want me to use the alias), what you "are" in the costume, your age at the time of the photo, and if there is any sort of funny story behind the costume.
Sound good? Today is September 13th. Let's say have your pictures into me by...October 25th. Sound fair? I will post the pictures and winner on Halloween (which is October 31st in case you don't know). As always, some sort of ridiculous prize will go to the winner. IN FACT, if you are willing to give me your address I will SEND you your ridiculous prize. Yes. You heard right. This time there will be a palpable, actual ridiculous prize if you send me your address. I would encourage anyone and everyone to send me pictures: If you read this blog and I don't know you. If you read this blog and I do know you. If you're young. If you're old. If you were a cute kid. If you were the sort of kid who only fit in around Halloween...SEND ME YOUR PICTURES. This contest has some serious potential for AWESOMEOSITY. But YOU yes YOU I'm talking to YOU gotta send me your pictures. If you're one of those people who dresses up their animals and wants to send me pictures of you dog/cat/alligator dressed up for Halloween that's ok too. But I need pictures.
I am very, very excited for this contest. I think it might be the best one yet.
QUOTE OF THE DAY
Meghan and I were talking about drunk text messages. She is sitting right next to me. She sends me this "drunk" text message...
I really like being up early. I find that morning is condusive to my "getting shit done". All this is NOT to say that I enjoy the physical act of leaving my warm bed. In fact, last night I was having a good dream (rare) so when I woke up 15 minutes before my alarm was to go off (which I have a habit of doing) I reset it so I could sleep for another hour and keep dreaming good dreams.
So, not everyday but almost everday I visit this website called Daily Puppy. Look! I found...myself? Apparently, I don't make a cute puppy.
So, it may seem a long way off, but really what I'm going to call "gradunewyearbirthmas" is actually really close. Don't believe me? First there's the rest of September, than there's this month called October, then there's this short little month called November which ends with a lot of eating and then it's pretty much the holidays and it will all happen very fast and before you know two weeks into December I'm done with school! And then it's time for "newyearbirthmas". Which is going to be very special. And then I turn 23. YIPES. I don't want to think about that.
I may be ultra lame and start a "gradunewyearbirthmas" countdown. I was going to make a shitload of paper chains but: a) I don't really have time b) My room is small as it is and I don't want to be buried in paper chains c) I like the environment and already waste enough paper on my poems for poetry class. I will start this "digital paper chain" sometime soon, it may even come with hilarious fortunes. Like you know how you sometimes write thing on the paper chains? Maybe I will do that. But right now, it is early. And alas, I have no mind for counting. I will do some calculations later and post countdowns to the various days of "gradunewyearbirthmas"
...it's early...I'm going to go eat a carton of blueberries.
I am at the box office today. Working alone. It is slow.
Here is a crash course in some things I've been meaning to blog about lately:
POINT A: QUESADILLAS YES! The Quesadillas were delcious. No, David, they were NOT a hot mess. Sorry to leave y'all hanging on that one. Verdict: Quesadillas delicious!
POINT B: CLAMS Last week David and I went to an Italian restaurant... DAVID: If I get a clam appetizer will you have some? ME: (Slight pause) Um...sure? DAVID: Do you like clams? ME: I'm not sure I've tried them properly in a while. DAVID: Will you try them if I get them? ME: Yes. DAVID: Will you love them? ME: (Slight pause)...sure. I was slightly wary. But this gorgeous steaming plate of clams arrives in a beautiful white wine-butter-garlic sauce and HOLY COW were they delcious. Clams Delicious! Quesadillas Delicious! Trying new things delcious!
POINT C: SCHOOL POINT 1 ON SCHOOL: I'm a poetry writing class! It's so awesome! Although, the jury is still out on whether I take myself seriously enough to be in that class. BUT I will have to write around 30 poems. Anything that demands that sort of writing from me is so exciting and delicious. Poetry writing delicious! Clams Delicious! Quesadillas Delicious!
Ok...so work was so boring/draining that I couldn't complete the above post yesterday (now it's tomorrow (aka Monday morning)). So in my inability to finish writing yesterday, I started another game of spider solitaire and realized in doing so my eyes might start to bleed and/or up and fall out of my head. Thankfully, Meghan came and talked to me for my last hour. And we talked about how much we wanted to throw a ball. (Ball as in big fancy dance, not "throw a ball" as in Meghan and I wanted to go chuck a football around...but that would be fun too...but Meghan probably wouldn't want to play that with me) Seriously. How much freakin' fun would it be to go to a BALL??? Like..old school, dress up BALL. I didn't save our conversation but I do remember it going something like this:
ME: I want to go to and/or throw a ball. Wouldn't that be ridiculously fun? MEGHAN: Yes! ME: I mean...think about it...a BALL! MEGHAN: Hahaha the lesbian wants to throw a ball. ME: Well, I'd want to wear a tux and/or nice suit. MEGHAN: Duh. ME: Omg, Meghan. How can we throw a ball? MEGHAN: It would be a lot of fun...getting all dressed up. I don't get to dress up all that often.
Later... MEGHAN: I'll bring the string quartet. ME: I'm bring the goblets.
When I went home, after calling Meghan on the phone (because clearly after talking online for an hour we had to talk on the phone) I promptly made myself a tuna sandwich and watched 2 and half episodes of Law and Order: Criminal Intent. And now I say unto you: How is it possible for that show to be so good and so very bad at the same time? Then I did laundry. And then I talked to Sara, who told me the most hilarious story about her escapades in a gay bar in Bloomington-Normal and getting offered free drinks from a 60 plus year old bartender named "Mama" and having to get around the gay men making out in the hallway on her way to the bathroom and past the lesbians grinding on the dancefloor with glasses of wine in their hand. It may or may not be my favorite story of the week, and told by Sara it is priceless.
And so now I sit here on a Monday morning, at my spot in the campus building RIGHT on the lake. Like, literally guys....ON the lake...like, if this was an action movie and I jumped out the window, I would be very wet. And rightfully so, this building is MADE of windows. Uh. I am going to miss this spot after December. The lake is always very beautiful, but today it is particularly so. It's sunny/cloudy today so the lake is this placid combo of gray shimmery-ness which I guess if you wanted to be concise you could call silver. and the wind is pretty calm, which makes for perfectly clear water-OMG! THERE IS SOMEONE SWIMMING IN THE LAKE!!! HOLY SHIT!! (This is strange because there are no beaches around...dude must be a professional swimmer because he is like IN THE LAKE. I am currently looking around me to see if anyone else sees that I see..I hope he's ok! Be careful man!) Anyway...even though on Mondays I don't have to be in class until 12:30...I like to come down here early and sit right here and do my homework (like my poetry writing) (how perfect is that?) (example: the lake is a placid combo of gray shimmery-ness) (that is some nobel prize worthy verse let me tell you)
SWIMMER UPDATE: He (or she) is now swimming by the windows again in the opposite direction. I am worried about this man/woman. I mean...I'm sure he/she is fine and just getting exercise and taking advantage of the calm waters today...right?...I've just decided NOT to watch the news tonight. ...Looks like he/she is backstroking. I sure hope you are Michael Phelps, swimmer man/woman, and I know it's cause my best stroke is the dog paddle and I'm deathly afraid of open water but what you are doing looks 40 kinds of dangerous. Oh, ok-I feel slightly better knowing you at least on the inside of the "No Wake" buoy. Buoy. What a strange word. OMG! That is the object I am going to write my "ode" about! (I have to write an "ode" for my poetry class on a single object...I was at a bit of a loss. Buoy wins for the oddity of a word that it is!) ...the vents in the building are open...so I can hear the waves. God, I love this building. My other favorite thing about this building? Watching birds. I was in here the other day and watched birds fly and swoop past the windows and then just SIT in one spot on the wind. It was pretty incredible. People sometimes stare at me and give me weird looks because I spend a fair amount of time staring out the window, watchin' the world go by...HOW COULD YOU NOT?? I mean...birds...SWIMMERS... AND! AND! AND! THE OTHER DAY A HELICOPTER SWOOPED RIGHT PAST THE WINDOW, REALLY LOW, LITERALLY RIGHT THROUGH MY FIELD OF VISION...the 10 year old boy in my rejoiced. I refrained from saying "that was awesome" aloud, although the slight rock of excitement I did in my chair and my huge smile plastered across my face as I looked around to high give my fellow students was probably enough to make people think I was nut. Oh well. I'm ok with that.
...most random/rambling post ever. I should go write that buoy ode, if you'll excuse me.
QUOTE OF THE DAY
We have a new girl working with us in the box office. Chicken is training her, telling her all sorts of things, about servers and where stuff is and what we put where and... CHICKEN: And if you need to get a new box of brochures I recommend sending Amy...or someone else strong. KATIE: (In slight disbelief/confusion/need for clarification of the ways of the box office) Amy's strong? CHICKEN: Oh yeah. That's why we call her Maximus.
P.S. Can I be angry for a sec? Recent polls have McCain ahead of Obama in a "convention bounce". Did the rest of America watch the convention as me?? Because McCain should be behind Obama in a "republican douchebag deficit." I am worried.
...If you happen to be a lucky soul who did not witness the madness, let me fill you in on what you missed:
Several days of unabashed and pure self-absorption.
Hardly any understanding and/or recognition of what the American people are currently going through right now in light of the tanking economy. Hardly any plans laid out for the future. Hardly anything of what they should have said.
We heard a lot about the brilliant and upstanding citizens that Palin and McCain are. On one night alone (Thursday) the Republicans managed to invoke McCain's time as a POW, foreign black people, foreign children with cleft palates and Mother Teresa.
Seriously.
John McCain spent years as a POW in the Vietnam war. I know it was horrific. I know he was tortured. I can imagine the horrible things that must do to a person (like, apparently, it turns them into a Republican) (what? did I just say that?) (sorry). I don't think McCain is a bad guy. I do respect him and the sacrifices he made. Really, I do.
Cindy McCain...I think it's great that during your speech you called a black woman your hero and said black woman stood up and waved to everyone. This is great. Too bad she was the only black person at the convention.
Cindy and John McCain...I am so glad you adopted a foreign child with a cleft palate from the orphanage associated with Mother Teresa and welcomed her into your white, rich-ass family. But deep down you know she secretly wishes Madonna and/or Brangelina had picked her and not you, right? (Man, I am MEAN today)
All of these things I do honestly respect. I think its great when people are self-less. The world needs more of it. I think its very powerful to find inspiration in people and places you didn't expect. I think when you go through a harrowing life experience it changes who you are deeply, either for the better or worse and maybe a little bit of both. All these things are important and powerful in their way. Yes. I recognize that and celebrate it. Here's the thing...it's got no place at a political convention. All the above things are so deeply personally that, to pretty much vomit up on the American people is just wrong. I almost felt a little dirty after watching the RNC. Like, is this why we adopt children from foreign countries with cleft palates?? So we can stick them in front of a camera during a political convention to prove WHAT ABSOLUTELY FABULOUS PEOPLE THE MCCAINS ARE??? Is this why we go to foreign countries to learn about something and someone OTHER THAN OURSELVES?? To bring a black delegate from that country and call her our hero at a political convention?? PUH-LEASE. That's really freakin' disgusting. I know, I know, before everyone gets mad at me that wasn't necessarily the McCains' intention but BOY HOWDY did it sure read that way to me. It makes me feel a little gross inside. But that just might by my horrible liberal bias talking. Republicans? BE REAL for five seconds and it might actually get you somewhere. Be a freakin' person. Too many of you have forgotten what it means to be a person, to be human and thus you will never ever be fit to lead this country, or any country for that matter. ...and please, don't even get me started on Sarah Palin...
*Calming breath of peace*
And it's at time like these when there's really only one thing you can do...
MAKE QUESADILLAS!!!!
STEP 1: GATHER YOUR INGREDIENTS. It can be as simple or as complicated as you like! But remember: your quesadilla is a reflection of you. Make sure it says the right things! What does my quesadilla say about me (see answer below)
ANS: My quesedilla says that I am exponentially more fresh because I use cilantro. And I'm SPICY!!!! CALIENTE!! (Yeah, I know...I don't buy it either). (What did I do with those "I love ponies" tomatillas?).
STEP 2: WASH YOUR INGREDIENTS BECAUSE SALMONELLA IS BAD
STEP 3: Get a really big knife.
Cooking: the one time when it is okay to stab things. And watching the RNC may make you want to stab things.
STEP 4: Chop those vegetables. Chop 'em good. When you're done a-choppin', put em all in a bowl and mix em up. It looks like this: Mmmmmm
STEP 5: SEASONS OF...SEASON!!!
Also, I forgot to do it in the video, but I later added a little bit of fresh squeezed lime. Fab!
STEP 6 : MAKE YOUR 'DILLA I put beans on mine because my approval rating of beans is probably triple the approval rating of President Bush. They're just refried beans from a can I slathered on one half of the 'dilla and put my veggie fixins and cheese on the other half...
NOTE: Feel free to use REAL Mexican cheese and not...Sargento Sharp Cheddar.
STEP 7: FOLD THAT 'DILLA IN HALF AND COOK THAT 'DILLA
STEP 8: FLIP THAT 'DILLA TO BROWN THE OTHER SIDE
Why YES! That IS photographic evidence of my well-done flip!
Me and Meghan had the following conversation via AIM after watching Palin speak at the RNC. We cracked ourselves up, so I figured it was worth sharing...
MEGHAN: and did i mention that palin shoots yak? MEGHAN: or moose. whatever.
AMY: HAHAHAHAHA AMY: i feel bad for them AMY: and she hates polar bears AMY: and penguins AMY: and ponies AMY: and rainbows
MEGHAN: one line did make me chuckle, though MEGHAN: "this isn't a community, and it doesn't need organizing." MEGHAN: tee hee.
AMY: lol
MEGHAN: i mean that was funny
AMY: "this isn't an ice rink and we don't need pitbulls in lipstick" is what I say
MEGHAN: lmffffffffaaaaaooooooo
AMY: hahahahahahaha
MEGHAN: yo, putin, i was on the PTA BOARD MEGHAN: DON'T YOU EVEN MESS MEGHAN: YOU BIG BULLY
AMY: HAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA AMY: I WILL CALL YOUR MOTHER AMY: DO YOU WANT ME TO CALL YOUR MOTHER?!
MEGHAN: THAT'S RIGHT. NO SNACKS FOR YOU.
AMY: HAHAHAHAHAHA AMY: TIME OUT, MISTER AMY: oooo but she could give the DREADED... AMY: "I'm not mad. I'm just disappointed in you." AMY: KILLER AMY: THAT is a WMD
MEGHAN: oh yeah! MEGHAN: "Excuse me, Iran. I'm not mad. I'm just disappointed in you."
AMY: HAHAHAHAHAHA AMY: crisis: averted. AMY: Iran will be TEARS so FAST AMY: BEGGING for forgiveness.
MEGHAN: "crisis: averted." MEGHAN: i'm laughing so hard right now
AMY: lol! me too! AMY: jesus, I'm beginning to think sending a mom to the white house might be the best decision EVER
MEGHAN: right
AMY: can you imagine if someone messed with us AMY: ?!?!
MEGHAN: "BACK THE HELL OFF MY BABIES"
AMY: SHE WOULD HAVE FREAKIN FOUND AND PERSONALLY POMMELED OSAMA
MEGHAN: yeah MEGHAN: and then she'd shoot him in the face MEGHAN: like a yak MEGHAN: moose MEGHAN: whatever
AMY: HAHAHA AMY: awww AMY: that's right. AMY: she's still a republican AMY: DAMMIT! AMY: and i thought we were onto something
Also, it can't be displayed via blog but the best moment was surely when I commented "Cindy McCain is CREEEEEPY" and Meghan responded in giant lime-green letters, "I KNOW." I love her.
Hi. My name is Amy. I spend a lot of time in my life being ridiculous. And a lot of time being awkward. And then I write about it. This is my blog. Are you excited? I bet you're asking yourself, "Amy, what the crap does 'addleheading' mean?" I'm so glad you asked. It's the most interesting story ever (hyperbole alert). Read about it HERE. You can find links to some of my readers' favorite posts below (some of my favs are included there too). Those posts represent the best of what I try to do with my blog. It's the best place to start if you're a new reader. Feel free to comment!
