Sunday, January 31, 2010
Now I know you’re just itching to find out how this is relevant. My Advil won’t help you. It says on the bottle that it’s for headaches, toothaches, menstrual pain, minor pain caused by arthritis, muscle, joints and back aches as well as reducing fever. WOO! And no, I don’t have Goldbond for itching. I do have Vaseline hand cream though.
Rochester: Lauren, get to the point. Please. Some of us have better things to do.
Lauren: Like what?
Rochester: Well you put that movie on and now I’m interested so... move along.
Lauren: Fine... I’d give you Advil if it helped with moods... So, as some of you may or may not know, I detest cotton balls. They are the most disgusting substance on the face of the earth. Or at least one of them... I hate the noise they make, I hate the feel of them. It’s like wet mittens! Wet wool mittens! For those of you who live far away from snow throw some water on a wool blanket or sweater and wait for the screechy horrible sound and feel.
Freud: Zis iss an irrational phobia. I vould be very heppy to vork on it vith you.
Lauren: I know you would. Thank you. Maybe when you tell me that secret of yours we can work on my cotton ball phobia. So, here I am, glad I have wonderful pain relief medication and then I remember something horrible. Advil stuffs a cotton ball in the bottle. BLAST YOU!
Rochester: Just suck it up and pull it out.
Lauren: It makes icky noises. I don’t wanna. You do it!
Rochester: I’m imaginary!
[Lauren looks to Freud]
Freud: I em also imaginary Lauren. Ve go over zis every time.
Lauren: Fine... I’ll ask Maggie. [typing sounds coming from the closet stop. The door slides open and Magda pokes her head out.]
Magda: Sorry Lauren. I think you know my answer. [In matter of fact tone] But if it makes you feel better, Freud dances to Gwen Stefani when you’re at school.
Lauren [smirking evilly]: That’s your secret? Which song?
Magda: Oh that’s not his secret. And he’s particularly fond of Rich Girl though he does sometimes dance around to Holla Back Girl. He sings to that one. It’s a bit disturbing.
Freud [to Madga]: Just because you know everything doesn’t mean you have to say everything.
Magda: Meh, Lauren pretty much lets me stay here on the condition that I take her side in arguments. Plus, she had a shitty day. She could use a laugh.
Lauren: Yes... my shit is BANANAS! [laughing hysterically].
Freud: Can we wrap this up. You were talking about cotton balls.
Lauren: Right. Cotton balls. I’m going to get my mommy to take it out. So... do you play the song on and MP3 player or just break out randomly? [Freud slams Lauren’s laptop closed before she has time to finish her bl—
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Probably the best way to describe me. Not that it matters because I can’t drive anyway. I believe the words were written by Nancy Meyers, I only wish I’d thought of it. I think it’s completely true and funny. We have parking spaces reserved for the handicapped and expecting mothers. Why can we not have special parking for victims of unrequited love? Or at least designated parking at the grocery store where they bring you ice cream and cookies at a reduced cost.
I have made a resolution. To top my resolution of no more looking, I must now go through a third party to have any woman, friend or otherwise, approved and deemed sane and healthy. Another stipulation is that the aforementioned third party must also be deemed sane and healthy. This comes about because I’ve been doing a really shitty job finding friends and women for more-than-friends myself. It also doesn’t help that I don’t get out much and that the gay community here is still buried deeper than friggin’ Atlantis. So it’s also a good policy for widening my network. I’ve at last reached a point where I’m just sick of having my heart broken. I realize it’s part of life, but I’d kind of like it to be broken up with some instances of success.
Clearly I’m frustrated and getting sick of hearing that it’ll happen... eventually. The eventually isn’t very comforting. Though the sentiment and purpose are.
Other than that, Maggie didn’t show up today, which is good because I went out a-visiting. I got sick of being home, so I called my godmother. We went to dinner, visited my cousin’s fiancée and after that my grandma. So maybe Maggie will be ready tomorrow.
Also, because this was a question, the In the Closet title from yesterday was simply a reference to Magda moving into the closet. It has nothing to do with Freud. He has a different secret which Magda didn’t tell me... I guess she saw that one coming and took off. Her legs are longer than mine and she’s in much better shape so there was no way I was catching her. I will figure it out though... someday... preferably soon.
Sorry about the somewhat cranky blog.
Friday, January 29, 2010
11:00 am – Dentist
12:30 pm – Pick up glasses
1:00-3:00 pm – self indulgence
3:00- 3:40 pm – cleaning and prepping for work
4:00- 4:15 pm – work (Helen had too many people come in)
4:15- 5:00 pm – grocery shopping
5:30- 6:30 pm – tenant interview
I was able to get everyone together before my first interview. I thought it would be important for Rochester and Freud to be in agreement with anyone new coming to the table or...under my bed... whatever. We tried to put up an intimidating front. Hey, this person has to deal with all three of us. Or just me. Anyway, Rochester was looking very mafia-don sitting in my computer chair. Freud was looking quite threatening leaning against the wall. I was sitting on my bed, trying not to move so that I couldn’t ruin the front with my clumsiness. Then she came in.
Lauren: Come on in. (Rochester and Freud glare)
Rochester: Holy shit! How tall are you!?
Lauren: Rochester, have you forgotten your manners. You both remember Magda.
Freud: Of course.
Magda smiles shyly and waves.
Rochester: How come I’ve never seen her?
Lauren: Because you used to hide under the bed and never come out? Magda’s my omniscient narrator. She’s been working via email so she hasn’t actually had to suffer our company. She’s been having a little infestation problem at her place and well, after the flood damage, the near fire, the tap lessons and operatic aspirations of her landlord, she’s decided to move out.
Rochester: So you want to stick a, what? Six foot five woman?
Magda: Give or take.
Rochester: Six food five woman under your bed and subject her to another infestation?
Magda: There’s an infestation?
Lauren [dismissively]: It’s only dust bunnies. And it’s very mild.
Magda: Lauren, I’m omniscient, I know what you’re thinking and feeling...
Lauren: Riiiight.... did you still want to see the space?
Magda: No, but you have space in your closet right? It’s probably better that I have more head room anyway.
Lauren gestures toward the closet. While Magda is busy examining the closet, Rochester, Freud and Lauren huddle together to discuss.
Freud: She can tell vat ve are sinking?
Lauren [grumbling]: Annoying isn’t it?
Rochester: She can use me as a golf tee and you’re worried about her reading our minds!
Lauren: Guys, she’s one of us, she needs a place to stay. And who knows? It might work out.
Freud: But vat iss her purpose if she can read our minds?
Lauren: You’re very focused on that issue. Is there something you’re trying to hide?
Freud: Of course not. I have no hidden passologies, phobias, repressed behaviours...
Magda: While I appreciate the effort of huddling, not only do I know what you’re thinking, I can hear you. Lauren, this space looks great. I could really get a lot of work done here. Oh, and you can call me Maggie. Your spellcheck doesn’t like Magda. I can also screen your thoughts out if you would prefer.
Lauren: Great! Sure! So when can you move in?
Magda: Sometime this weekend? I don’t have much stuff. And don’t worry Rochester, I don’t golf. I’m more of a stay at home kinda gal.
Lauren [leading Magda toward the door]: I’ll be here all weekend doing homework so stop in anytime. [whispering] What is Freud so afraid of?
Magda: I... I don’t think I should say... [leaves]
So, Freud has a secret and Maggie’s moving in this weekend. Curious why I need a mind reader in my closet? In answer to that, I’m going to ask another question. Why do I need a leprechaun under my desk? You have to admit, not many things in here make much sense.
I think for now Maggie’s gonna be my only new tenant. Unless I get some strange inspiration. Maybe I should ask her about it! She is omniscient! –runs out of the room chasing after Magda-
Thursday, January 28, 2010
I was able to show my dad that I do in fact learn things at school. While watching MASH, Hawkeye starting singing “In the Fuhrer’s Face”. My dad didn’t know what the joke actually was (though the comment itself is funny). I finally explained it to him thanks to Youtube. It’s from a Donald Duck cartoon making fun of the Reich. Great piece of American propaganda. YAY for American History class! It’s also kind of funny if you want to watch it. You’ve got to love random knowledge.
I also learned today that I qualify as CW. That means Crazy Weird. Apparently it’s not a bad thing because Bitch Weird exists. I was asking for help in finding a suitable tenant for under my bed. No one was able to help me. I’m in my own category of weird so say my friends. Ugh... does being imaginative really put me in a category all my own?
Anyway, I’m in a pretty crappy mood so light heartedness will resume tomorrow.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
First I’ll just go over who was suggested. Evelyn suggested herself and Mrs. Butterworth. Aunt Jemima was also mentioned, along with Wonder Woman (the later years) and of course the possibility of the Tooth Fairy or the Easter Bunny. Bonnie suggested a troll.
I entertained the notion of a troll for a while thanks largely to Bonnie’s sales pitch. I don’t remember much of it now but it involve being Pro-Troll and having Troll Pride. How can I argue with that? Later, we ended up connecting Mrs. Butterworth and Aunt Jemima. Were you guys together at some point and craving pancakes? Anyway, Bonnie thought I should start a pancake restaurant or something. It could be the first IHOP in my town! Ugh... but morning traffic would be horrendous. Besides, I’m not really the kind of girl to bring strangers into the bedroom. And I’m not starting now. We then, for whatever reason, threw the troll in the mix (lame pun intended). Just for the fun of it I think, a very twisted idea of a new Three’s Company started evolving. Thank goodness it didn’t get TOO detailed. Bonnie suggested the possibility of opening an apartment building but I think once I get into the double digits that my imaginary characters will be too difficult to manage. The last thing I need is for them to revolt. So I’m exing that idea now. VACANCY FOR ONE! TWO AT THE MOST. I’m wondering if having two characters isn’t too much.
Basically, I guess I’m trying to say that I really don’t know who to shove under my bed yet. I think I may have found a tenant for my closet though. But you’ll just have to wait and see about that one. And let’s not forget Frank in the attic, my silent and ever loyal secret boyfriend. Holy crap I have a lot of people in my head. Maybe I should receive more intense therapy. I’m going to leave the ad up for a bit. We’ll see. Perhaps I should schedule interviews. That might help me make up my mind.
Anyway, I’m going to keep thinking about it. This issue is very important to me.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
After successfully putting her life in jeopardy, I came home, did some laundry and caught up on things. Ironically enough, I had to rush out of the house to avoid missing the bus that would take me to work. Turns out I forgot my work pants on the counter of my kitchen. Uh, bummer? My mom was nice enough to bring me my scrubs. Much better to work in than my jeans. Picture this. I'm behind the bar and there's a customer paying. All of a sudden there's me saying:"Hi mom! Can you bring me my pants? I forgot them." Everyone always stares at me...
Finally, I get home and start reading all of your wonderful comments. Should I be afraid that my imaginary friends are more entertaining than me? Or that my imaginary friend (Rochester) is now sitting through sessions with my imaginary therapist (Freud)? Well, I do have an idea. I'm putting up an ad looking for someone to fill the vacancy under my bed.
Space for Rent: Cramped, seldom used space, furnished with some junk that will likely never be used. Rarely cleaned. Sometimes invaded by sulky cat or clumsy human seeking socks or left work shoe. Heating included. Food not included. Small dust-bunny infestation. Closet space also offered. Available immediately.
If anyone out there knows someone who fits the bill, let me know. I think it would be nice to have a female imaginary friend. One who doesn't yell at me and complain all the time like Rochester. Or one who actually sides with me unlike Freud. I need some girl power! I suppose I'm asking who you (my lovely, fantastic, amazing, up-lifting, totally wonderful readers) would like to see enter into my twisted universe. I'm curious... so sue me. But don't really... I still have two years of school left.
Monday, January 25, 2010
- Make my bed,
- Make massive hot chocolate.
I am now in my bed, hoping to God I won’t die of exhaustion. I was at school twelve hours today. That should be illegal... bastards... On the bright side, I’m positive I only fell asleep for ten minutes in fascism! I’m getting better!
But what I would like to discuss today is how everyone has a place. Like when you’re in a group. You have the smart one, the nerdy one, the weird one. Well, I think in my creative writing class that I’m the weird one... I’m sure we’re all weird to some degree, we are writers after all, but I think I stand out a little... I may or may not have mentioned Freud being my imaginary therapist and Rochester, the non-Irish leprechaun living under my bed and the history that goes along with him. Okay, so I totally mentioned it!
Lauren [highly offended her imagination would speak that way]: Well, that was a bit excessive.
Freud: Lauren, I sought ve discussed not tellink people zat you are seeing me. Both literally and professionally.
Lauren: I’m the allegedly crazy one and you’re expecting me to use logic? And reasoning? At the same time? Has being dead thrown off your game that much?
Freud: You are right of course. Rochester? Vould you fetch ze restraints? Apparently a more hends of approach iss necessary.
Lauren: It most certainly iss not necessary! –glancing around nervously for Rochester-
Rochester: There’s too much bloody drama in this room. Can’t I just sleep? Wacky dead man, stop harassing the living. Lauren, stop being weird. NOW SHUT UP AND LET ME SLEEP!
Freud: Indeed. Do you sink somesing is troubling him?
Lauren: Somesing had better be bothering him because I am not taking that tone from people that don’t actually exist.
Freud [crawling under bed]: Rochester, ve are all friends, zis is a safe space, tell us vat is the ze matter.
Rochester: Safe space... it’s not safe under here!
Freud: He hes a point Lauren...
Rochester: I would like for Lauren to imagine a less cramped place for me to live. And do you know that she never cleans under here? It’s disgusting.
Freud [slipping out from under the bed]: It actually is. He said-
Lauren: I heard, I heard. He’s under the bed, not under the Earth’s crust. And I can hear you too! Fine. Ask him if he’d like to live in my closet. There’s room since I no longer live there.
Rochester: You clean that even less!
Lauren: What do you have in mind then?
Rochester: Under your desk. Then I can use the chair when the cat is out.
Lauren: Fine... and I’m the weird one...
So to sum up, Rochester now lives under my desk, I have a vacancy in my closet and I accept my weirdness. Thank God Freud was here to solve it. Quite the mystery buff that man... Now, because today was sickeningly long and I still have some work to do, I shall bid you all goodnight!
The little people in my mind bid you goodnight as well!
Sunday, January 24, 2010
We spent the next hour or so examining the differences between the newer flicks and the older ones. The first and most obvious was how the sexism was... more pronounced? Like that makes sense. We both started to laugh when Bond says: “Man talk”, slaps the girl on the ass and sends her off. I don’t think they’re quite as... blatant? anymore. Oh the sixties!
The next thing we noticed was a vast difference in Bond hairiness. I think they were all pretty hairy up until Daniel Craig. Personally, my romantic interests have little body hair so I can’t fairly speak to the attractiveness factor here.
Difference number three was the super sexy clothes. In the first scenes of Goldfinger, we see Bond sporting a towel-made, one piece jumper (with short shorts). HOT! Then in the more recent movies... we have this:
Poor Sean... While snugly towels made into clothes may feel nice... they don’t look it. I’d hate to say it, but I think I prefer Craig’s short shorts.
Technology was also a major difference. In Goldfinger we giggled at Bond hiding a tracking device in the trunk. It was about the size of his hand and twice as thick. I think we know who has the upper hand in this argument. Pierce Brosnan with the invisible car of course! (Which I totally hated but it makes no difference.)
Then came the fighting. Veronica just laughed. I think she’s more used to the rough and tumble (does that have a double meaning) Bond who falls down flights of stairs, defibrillates his own heart and survives having his testicles beaten in. Surprisingly enough, that doesn’t hinder his libido. The Bond we witnessed tonight was far more cautious, got his ass handed to him and only survived by electrocuting his victim, from a distance.
I’m a fan of the old Bond movies. Even if it’s only to laugh at them. I think they’re great. And come on, they just don’t come up with names like they used to. Veronica was introduced to Pussy Galore. Don’t have names like that in the new ones... Too funny.
So yes, they’re misogynistic, unrealistic, and probably countless other istics, but they are entertaining. Next up, Roger Moore.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
All of that is in fact leading a point. Today was Saturday. I didn’t have anything to do. I didn’t have to be awake for anything. Given the most recent trend of waking me up, I locked my door the night before as an extra precaution. This morning sometime around eight thirty, my mom banged on my door. For whatever reason she wanted in. I told her to go away. When she insisted that it was important, I told her I didn’t care. Naturally that was translated to “go get your spare key and by all means, come in”. So in she came. She was after my prescription. I looked on my nightstand (meaning I flailed looking for a folded piece of paper). That wasn’t enthusiastic enough. She turned my light on, I got out of bed and of course I’d taped it to the back of my door. That being accomplished I attempted to go back to bed. I failed. All of this was important because they were leaving right away. Thing is, they didn’t leave until ten thirty. GAH!
Sometime around two I attempted to do some homework. I fell asleep. Nearly ten minutes after that, my mom knocked on my door. I forget what she wanted. She came and went and I quickly went back to sleep. A while after that, she knocked again. They needed help with something... I don’t know what. When she asked I only said no. She went away and I went back to sleep.
At least when I came down for supper she didn’t seem too angry. I suppose she eventually figured out that she kept waking me up. I was rather cranky. I think I understand how Meeko feels now, when he’s sleeping and looking all cute and we come by and pet him. Hopefully my little nap doesn’t make it impossible to sleep later tonight...
Now you know what I don't have a watch or use alarm clocks. They're hardly necessary. Later on tonight I'll be setting up traps with Sigmund and Rochester.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Anyway, my old doctor was... creepy. He used to get so close to my face that I could almost feel his eyelashes batting. CREEPY! Then he’d kind of pop in and out of view, switching eyes and bobbing strangely. CREEPY! I don’t know how to describe it, but it kind of reminds me of that awkward seventies dancing?
Possibly something along these lines: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kwrgEiPILYM There was less arm flailing and Red Foreman didn’t pop in to save me. I love Red.
Other than that there’s all kinds of TV shows that make fun of optometry. Friends for instance. I was about to do that pressure test thing where they shoot a puff of air into your eye. It took so much effort not to laugh uncontrollably. All I could picture was Rachel flailing around, screaming and being childish. Love that episode!
When I was actually in the office, I could only think of Family Guy. She put the giant lens thingy in front of my face and all I could think of was Jafar saying the exact same things I was. Stupid TV! To her credit though, she stayed far away from me, did not dance and took less than half the time to tell me that my prescription hadn’t changed.
After all that fun, I decided that I wanted to change my frames. Again, this office proved to be superior. The lady, whose name I don’t know... we’ll call her Jill, actually helped me! Due to my incredible indecisiveness, she created a Maybe Pile and kept passing me frames she thought I’d like or thought would look good.
Jill: Here, give these a try.
Lauren: Nah, I don’t like the pink.
Jill: How about these, they’re a nice light frame, not too crazy.
Lauren: Yeah, these aren’t bad, I definitely like these.
Jill [placing glasses in maybe pile]: Alright, so try these next.
Lauren: These aren’t bad.
Jill: Okay, let’s see. How about these?
Lauren puts on glasses and before she can look at herself in the mirror, Jill comments.
Jill: No! You can’t have those! I will not let you walk out of here with those. No.
Lauren [still clueless about what the glasses look like]: Okay then, I take it they’re bad.
The glasses are put back without further discussion.
We finally found a pair that Jill would let me leave with. They’re kind of similar to the ones I have now, the colour’s a little different and they’re made of plastic. I like the plastic! I must say it’s much nicer! It hides the fact that my lenses look like the bottom of a Coke bottle. And that’s after they’ve compressed the glass. Yes... I’m blind... well... not actually, but getting close.
In short today was much better than yesterday. Although, I am kind of curious what those glasses looked like.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
So after crying my face off in therapy, my therapist suggested talking to my doctor about raising the dosage of my medication. I’m not particularly fond of the idea. Actually, I hate the idea. But I’ll talk about it with the doc regardless. Talking never killed anyone. I don’t think so anyway.
I would also like to take this opportunity to mention that anti-depressants are NOT happy pills. They do not make me feel happy. They do not make me high. They do not induce any feelings of good will or euphoria. What they do is put me at the “normal” level. The average baseline if you will.
I don’t take the pills to make me happy. In fact, it bothers me to no end that I have to take medication to feel “normal”. I hate that when I don’t take it, I’m trapped in an unbearable mental state. I’m very uncomfortable raising the dosage I’m on. How high will the dosage get? Sometimes it feels like a lose/lose situation. But when it’s working, it really is working and I feel right. (And no, I did not easily jump on the “take a pill and fix it” band wagon.)
I am defensive about this because it’s once again something a lot of people don’t understand and are rather quick to pass judgement on. The people I live with for instance.
That’s about all I have to say today. Not very uplifting. I’m actually kind of neutral about all of this right now. Should I mention that I’m okay and that you’ll probably see a very different blog post tomorrow?
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
It kind of got me thinking about my Children’s Lit class from this summer. Red Riding Hood was one of the first fairytales that we read. What I find funny is that my teacher tonight made a point of specifying that the PC version she read us would be read to high school kids. Are you wondering why I thought that statement was funny? I shall tell you. When studying fairytales this summer, I learned that fairytales are very adult. Which I obviously hadn't realized as a child. They're perhaps even more adult than they are intended for children... maybe. I think that’s why I love children’s stories so much, they’re so darn sophisticated and layered!
If you start analysing the writing, you can see it pretty clearly, but they say a picture is worth a thousand words, so we’ll just do that. I don’t feel like writing an essay right now and I’m sure you don’t feel like reading one. I wrote one on Cinderella if you’re really desperate... I mean, interested. I’ve edited these images so you can see them the way I was taught. I don't think the first two are recent. I could be wrong.
Beauty and the Beast
Now where is her other leg? Is she seriously straddling the Beast? And what's up with that look on his face it looks as if he just had the greatest s- oh... And again with that brown hair!
Do I really need to explain this one? Swords are phallic. It brings new meaning to "Goin' in!"
Everyone enjoy that? Scary isn’t it? Writing my Cinderella essay totally ruined the Disney movie for me. And not only because I watched it about twenty times in a month.
But that’s all for me.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Moving on. I have a lock on my bedroom door. It took me about thirteen years to get it. Anyway, my parents keep a key in case I lock myself out. Which prior to today, I’d never done before. I usually always have my keys in my pants pocket. Today they were on my night stand.
Of course this caused quite the kerfuffle. When I realized what I’d done, I turned to go to my mom’s room. But she also has a lock on her door so there was no getting in there. DAMMIT thought I. I ended up calling her at work, had to listen to a very strange song that sounded like a mix of Spanish, French and English, and finally when my mom answered, we agreed that my younger sister (who now has her licence) would drive me to my mom’s work where I could get the keys not only to her room, but to the house. The fun part was that on the way to my mother’s work, the following songs were playing on the radio:
Bad Day- Daniel Powter (Powter and his hit song is Bad Day?)
Ironic- Alanis Morissette
Life’s a Climb – Miley Cyrus
Can you not hear God cackling? The giant boom heard round the world was Him falling off His chair, laughing His ass off.
Nonetheless, I got the keys, after some snooping (I found out my mom has not one, but two Bibles), I was able to find the damn key to my room. In the end, I was very happy. I had to work today and desperately needed my uniform and decrepit shoes. When I finally buy a new pair I’ll show you what I did to those poor soles. Soles, souls, get it? It’s been a long day.
For now I think that’s it. By the way, the rest of the day was much smoother.
Monday, January 18, 2010
Actually, when I was explaining the concept of Rochester in the WC (Women’s Center) today, I met some resistance. Apparently there are laws to being a leprechaun and Rochester doesn’t qualify. According to the source of this information (who quickly got on my nerves) the fact that Rochester isn’t Irish and that he isn’t a cobbler disqualify him from his leprechaun identity. Personally, I don’t see why Rochester can’t be of another nationality and practice whatever career he so chooses. We as humans expect these rights. I don’t understand why we would then disallow them for other creatures. It’s racism and discrimination I tells ya!
Rochester: What does he want! I’ll show him my damn passport and my citizenship papers... bloody bastard!
Lauren: Rochester, I’m taking care of this, get back under the bed.
Rochester: Oh I see how it is. Stick the problem under the bed.
Lauren: Hush! Or I’m removing you as a character and then I’ll be the only one who has to hear you talk. Besides, it takes you forever to type. Now, will you let me deal with this? I’m on your side. I told him all about how your father fought in the Leprechaun Resistance of 1789. Why is that the same year as the French Revolution by the way?
Rochester: That was the First Resistance. My great grandfather fought in that one. It was for the right to roam the country without fear of being hunted. We think the upswing of people needing good luck around that time increased leprechaun hunting. We lost that war. My father fought in the Second Leprechaun Rebellion in the early 1900s. It was mostly for the same reasons but also for the freedom to emigrate and choose our careers. Obviously we won.
Lauren: Oh... well... I’ll be sure to pass that information along.
Rochester: Thank you. And be sure to tell him that my grandfather lost his eye in that rebellion... Make him feel guilty.
Lauren: I’ll do my best, now back under the bed please.
Okay, where was I? Right... About my creative writing class. My teacher walks with a cane and she is older so when I noticed her pen under the table, I figured I should help her out. It was the end of class and we were the only two left in the room. I bent over and heard a ripping sound. Yeah, it wasn’t my pants. I never thought in my life that I would say this, but I burst my bra. I’d recently fixed it. The underwire had become an outerwire. So tonight, when I bent over, RIIIIIIIIIP! There goes my crappy stitching job and there’s my underwire! Somehow, I managed not to say anything, escape from class and get all the way home before cursing and tossing the bra aside. Dang blast it! I have to go bra shopping again. I hate bra shopping...
Aside from becoming a Leprechaun Rights activist over the last six hours or so, nothing much happened. I had a very normal, average day with the usual amount of Lauren-ness thrown in. I only embarrassed myself once (oddly enough, not the bra incident) but I’m over it... so, whatever. My parody seems to have gone over well! YAY!
But that’s pretty much it for today. Is it a bad sign when imaginary characters start interrupting you? Probably... Oh well, I’m seeing my therapist this week anyway. The real one, not Freud.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Shortly before supper time, there was a little conference being held in my bedroom. I was a bit annoyed. Freud was in my computer chair, Meeko was sleeping on my bed and Rochester was sitting on the edge of my bed, no doubt wondering how many times he could poke Meeko before waking him up. When I walked in, they all stared at me with a strangely pitiful look. Except of course Meeko, he was asleep. Our discussion went something like this.
Lauren: Hi... what are you guys doing here?
Freud: I sink you know zat already Lauren.
Rochester: Exactly, why should we explain it to you?
Lauren: Why aren’t you Irish?
Rochester: Oh yes, because all leprechauns are Irish. Talk about a stereotype. I can ride a rainbow to anywhere in the world. Why would I stay in one place?
Lauren: Just as well, my Irish accent is horrible. But God are they sexy.
Rochester: I’m male, it doesn’t matter. [Lauren rolls eyes.]
Freud: Can ve get beck on topic? Lauren, you heve been in a terrible mood lately. It is time to talk about it.
Lauren: Oh, I dealt with that already.
Freud: Vhat are you talking about? You cannot solve issues alone. Zat is vhy you imagine me.
Lauren: Yeah, as usual, you’re completely useless and I’ve dealt with my “funk”. Why do you think it’s so clean in here?
Rochester [grumbling]: You didn’t clean under your bed...
Lauren frowning: So you can charge me with invasion of privacy? Please, do I look that stupid?
Rochester: You’re imagining a conversation with a leprechaun and a dead therapist... yes you do look that stupid.
Meeko: SNORE! SNORT! SNEEZE! DISGRUNTLED MEOW!
Freud aside to Rochester: I’ve been verking vith her on zat.
Rochester: Not hard enough apparently.
Lauren: Okay, guys, problem is gone, so you can also be gone. Toodles!
Sighing Freud walks out the door, Rochester crawls back under the bed, Meeko is back to snoring.
I’ve always been a believer that when one is in a craptastic mood, one must work in order to get out of it. I’ve just been feeling too crappy to do that. It’s the catch 22. Today I cleaned everything. I washed my duvet cover, my sheets, folded my laundry, put it away, tidied my desk, dusted, washed my windows and did some homework. So there! Productivity helps.
Now what’s got me a bit annoyed is that Meeko is back to hanging out in my room. I just defurred (not differed, de-furred) everything in my room and where is the little monster sleeping? Right in the middle of my bed. Couldn’t be on the side, or the end so I could sit there too... No, the tiny cat takes up the whole damn bed... He is so lucky I love him.
For those of you who are new to my daily experiment, you’re probably wondering: Uh, what the hell? Well, I have a very active imagination and sometimes... it gets away from me. Today was Rochester’s first blog and as you can see, he’s a crusty little thing... OWWW! He just threw my manicure kit at me! Apparently he doesn’t like the term “little”. Fine, he’s a crusty height deficient thing. I’d be mad except that I was looking for my manicure kit.
Well, that’s it for today. Welcome to all you new folks!
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Given that I’ve very little to say today (I was busy moping and suffering from cabin fever), I’ll just jump ahead to all the fantastic rules that go along with these awards. In the usual Lauren fashion, I’ve just raided everyone’s followers. I must say, it seems like a lot of people out there are married to their best friends. Right... the rules!
- Put Lemonade Stand logo on your blog or within your post.
- Nominate 10 blogs you really enjoy (I chose at random... I only read like six)
- Link the nominees within your post (If that means making a giant list of links, cool!)
- Let the nominees know they have received this award by commenting on their blog (I hate that part!)
- Link to the person from whom you received this award (Okay! And to those who are receiving from me, you don’t have to admit you’ve met me. I understand.)
I found each blog through the blog that precedes it in the list, beginning with Nerdy Nomad. The last two are exceptions. They come from my blog. I know Smileyfreak already has a trillion of these I’ll bet, but I haven’t been the giver of any and that just feels criminal.
http://technograns.blogspot.com/ (Neither here nor there)
http://rebelmother.blogspot.com/ (Rebel Mother)
http://kalynnblog.blogspot.com/ (Kacklin’ with Kalynn)
http://speakingofwitch.blogspot.com/ (Speaking of witch)
http://hissyfitsandhalos.blogspot.com/ (Hissyfits and Halos)
http://applejuiceandmilk.blogspot.com/ (Apple Juice and Milk)
http://littleblkbook.blogspot.com/ (Little Black Book)
http://necessaryquotationmarks.blogspot.com/ (Necessary Quotation Marks)
http://keepsmilingsmileyfreak.blogspot.com/ (Nowhere Over and Out)
http://nakedinthecloset.blogspot.com/?zx=91f13c144c953de8 (Naked in the Closet)
So, this time I don’t have to say seven things about myself. I think that’s a good thing. I’ve already mentioned all the weird, funny, bizarre bits that make up who I am. The ones I’m willing to admit to anyway. You won’t find out about how I put on socks here! HAHA!
Well that’s it I think. Thanks to ~:C:~ for the award! (I saved the best part for last, that’s why I didn’t mention you further up... it’s not because I’m being ungrateful.)
Friday, January 15, 2010
SO CUTE! Somehow cute animals make everything better. For like thirty seconds but that's still thirty seconds of feeling better.
I actually think I'm going to follow this kitten's lead and go to bed. Tomorrow will be better. Today wasn't bad. I maintain that if today was any other day I would have had to say that today was good. I have an icky cloud over my head. Yes, I said icky.
Looking forward another ten hours
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Anyway, today was indeed a new experience. With exams approaching the students were freaking out (which I can relate to but still find funny) and exam reviews were being conducted. In the first class there was a bit of verbal sparring going on between two girls. In all honestly I probably shouldn’t have been laughing, even on the inside, because I’m not yet sure if the one girl is all talk or not. She seemed quite annoyed at being told to shut up. Don’t feel too bad for her, she probably should be bound and gagged in a corner. At the very least gagged.
After that class, the grade 10s were working on their Romeo and Juliet review. Now, I’m sure we can all remember the class clown. For the purposes of this discussion, I’ll be calling this particular clown... Earl. (I can just picture my former teacher face palming. It kind of fits though don’t you think?) The class was divided into eight groups, each with two questions to focus on. Everyone was getting organized, settling in and out of nowhere there’s this MASSIVE ball of light and yelling coming from Earl’s corner. We both turned at the same time to see Earl and his accomplice still freaking out. Now, I’ll give you all a moment to guess what the ball of light was.
- He was trying to light himself on fire.
- He’s a wizard and conjured ball lightning.
- He put a paperclip into an electrical socket.
When the teacher was again out of the room, he started throwing an eraser at his accomplice who whipped it back. Of course, being sarcastic as I am, I don’t know if I should have or not, but I suggested in a very roundabout way that he desist.
Lauren: You know erasers work best on paper? It’s really cool actually. If you rub them on paper, lines disappear.
Earl: I’m writing in pen.
Lauren: Maybe you should try rubbing harder.
Earl [scribbling in pen and trying to erase]: Nah, it doesn’t work.
Lauren [dismissively]: Keep trying. Just keep rubbing harder.
Our conversation stopped after that. I don’t know about him, but I was pretty amused. After brief talk of attempting electrocution a second time, he appeared to have gotten most of his silly out.
For today’s ‘Oh-so-Lauren Moment’, my dad picked me up from my placement. He had the secretary call me over the intercom. My dad is a Special Constable. His job is to escort prisoners to and from their court appointments. He showed up in full uniform. So I got to walk out escorted by my personal police officer. Wonder if any of the kids thought I was being arrested...
This is my dad's torso. He's a bit camera shy. I wonder where I get it from.
Oh! Because Kathryn asked, I arranged with my sister and mom to get my dad the full series of M*A*S*H. I’m actually watching it now so it works! YAY! NO RETURN SHIPPING! I really didn’t feel like getting Helen to translate the shipping form for me.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
That's the duck/rabbit. They later argue over whether another shape is an ant eater or a dinosaur. It was cute.
When I finally got home from school it was to discover that my dad's Christmas gift finally got here. Turns out it wasn't shipped from the States as indicated on ebay. Judging by the packaging it was sent from China somewhere. It's been a while since I took a geography class but I'm pretty sure the US and China are quite a distance apart. Unless you're in Hawaii... then it's closer... but that's beside the point. It also smelled like moth balls. I'm hoping it works the way it was described. I really don't feel like paying return shipping.
Anyway, that's it for me today I'm afraid. I'm feeling really lazy.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
So that’s my day. What I really wanted to talk about however, is another Lauren Moment. I must know if other people out there have done this because it will help me feel much less... bewildered.
Today, after catching the bus home from the mall (where my doctor’s office is located), I was forced to walk home. Since I had to go to school and carry a few more items than usual, I had my back pack with me. In such a case, I keep my keys and my bus pass in my pants pocket. So I’m walking home, cursing the snow because it ruined my shortcut and froze my brain, but I got to my front door. I check the mail. My package from ebay had not yet arrived. After shaking my fists in anger, I unlocked the door, replaced my keys in my pocket, put my things away, said hey to Meeko and decided that I needed to go to the bathroom.
--------- Lauren doing her thing----------
When I was feeling better, I proceeded, like most people, to pull up my pants. The toilet was flushing. This is when it happened. My keys flew out of my pocket, hit the toilet but thankfully did not fall into it. I stared stupidly at my keys on the floor, then back at the toilet which had finally finished flushing. Then I started wondering, what would have happened? What would I have done? How the friggin’ hell was I going to explain that without being laughed out of the house? “I dropped my keys in the toilet and they went down”. I just picked up my keys and skipped away. I asked my dad about it later and he assured me that the keys would have disappeared. He then asked: “Did you flush your keys?”
I’m that transparent apparently. Damn... –hangs head-
So, anyone done that or is it just me? And what is it with bathrooms! Why do I keep having accidents there!? Hehe, accidents... I didn’t mean it that way. Mind out of the gutter!
Monday, January 11, 2010
In other news, I’m starting to wonder about this business of hoping. Normally I hate being proven wrong. I think most people feel the same way, but when it comes to hope, I love nothing more. Normally for me, I hope for things, nearly get them, or think I’m getting close and then fail. I would love, LOVE for one person or event to occur and prove me wrong. It happens fairly often with little things, but there are a number of rather large things that I hope for that I would be forever grateful if they ever happened.
Hope is a weird feeling isn’t it? It never fully seems to go away. Even if in the back of my mind I know something is 99.99 percent unlikely, there’s still that 0.01 percent chance that I keep alive. Not only that, I always for whatever reason, have faith that if I missed out the first time, that next time I’ll get what I hoped for. I sound like a disappointed kid at Christmas don’t I? If only it were that simple.
Sometimes I catch myself hoping to feel a certain way again. Sometimes I’m hoping to see someone again. Sometimes I’m hoping, even though there’s not always a way of knowing, that the people I care about are alright. And sometimes, I’m waiting and hoping and the same time and mother of God that is annoying! Do I still sound like a kid at Christmas?
Yes, I am trying to say something, probably rather incoherently, but another part of how I hope is in secret. I never tell the whole of what I’m hoping for. I guess it’s more of a wish that way. And wishes do on occasion come true. Right?
I guess it’s part of being a stupid, mortal, human. I suppose I’ll have to live with that.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Basically, I have them going to Central Achaea High School and of course, the cheerleaders are the rulers. Because they lost a competition to the Trojans and because Agnes (Agamemnon) took a tutor from another school she’s being challenged by Rachel (Achilles). In the end, Agnes ends up taking Rachel’s tutor for being forced to give up her own. This is my version (some of the phrasing is directly from the Iliad) of Achilles’ oath:
"Rachel spent one long moment glaring spitefully at her rival before she uttered her sincerest hope. “Someday, a yearning for me will strike you and all of Achaea’s cheerleaders. But then, nothing you can do will save you from the Trojan’s synchronized triple back handspring combinations. Then you’ll be sorry.”
Clearly, I had fun.
Aside from that, I have to admit something. I complain about my family a lot. But you already knew that. This weekend though, my sister and my dad did something that surprised me and I felt rather proud of them. I started watching my DVDs of The L Word. For over a year now, my parents have known about me and they’ve never seemed comfortable with that part of me. They would literally flee the living room when I put on the L Word. (Should I mention that The L Word is a series that follows the lives of a group of LA lesbians in which there are some... mildly graphic sex scenes?) That’s not the whole thing mind you. I’d have gotten bored of the show if all it was about was sex. Actually, I learned a lot from The L Word about sexualities other than gay and straight. They did some great episodes about breast cancer in seasons 3 and 5. There’s a lot of stuff not relating to sex at all. But my parents were having none of that.
The other day, my dad sat down to fix his boot laces. He eventually started watching (during a montage of sex scenes, ironically enough) and started asking me questions about the characters and their storylines. He seemed most interested in the storyline involving a lesbian who was in the army and was being charged with homosexual conduct.
Later, my sister also came and sat down. She watched a couple of episodes with me. While she didn’t understand much (because I'm watching season 5), she was asking questions and seemed genuinely interested. Although I was definitely not explaining varieties of lesbian sex to her. I don’t know if I should put this on my blog but at one point during a sex scene (yes, there’s at least on per episode) she just shouts out: “How did that even happen? I can see both her hands.” Okay, her question was more graphic. I admit it, I cleaned it up. The point is that I was not taking that bullet. Maybe she was trying to bait me... I don't know... she's crafty like that. Besides, it was amusing watching her try to remember all the characters. They all have alternate names now. Bangs Girl, Fake Bangs Girl, Army One and the always popular "No! That one! Not that one!"
All in all it was nice. Weird, but nice. Kind of like... finally being a little bit more accepted. So, I’m proud of them for trying.
Oh! And thanks to Dreamfarm Girl for trying to help me with my homework. That's actually another assignment I have to do later this year so it's not a lame idea at all.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
I guess I’m just waiting. For ideas... for people... for an opportunity to jump on.
Sorry for the short post. Think of it as compensation for the extra long one from yesterday.
Friday, January 8, 2010
“They’ll be ready in a moment,” she sneered, indicating that they should sit down.
“Were you able to find out what this is about?” Lauren whispered to her companion.
“No more zan you. I’m part of your imagination. How can I know vat you don’t?” Lauren rolled her eyes and neither spoke until a rail thin man with a twirly moustache emerged from a large conference room. He introduced himself as Mr. McSnooterson, one of the three partners they would be dealing with.
In no time, the purpose of the mystery meeting became clear. Lauren and Dr. Freud sat together opposite four men. Three had the same twirly moustache (clearly the partners) and one was an older man in glasses with half a dozen little creature perched on his shoulders.
“Ms. Daily, Dr. Freud, we believe you already know our client, Dr. Seuss?” Lauren nodded along with Freud. “He has a series of complaints against you, the most important of which is copyright infringement.”
“Mr... Snoot?” Dr. Freud began, “Ve are not responsible for any legal issues. Lauren vas infected vith a life sretening case of a disease vhich your client created. If anysing ve should be charging you.”
“Yeah!” Lauren chimed in, only to receive the stink eye from the Grinch, and the Cat in the Hat, both of which were now standing on the table, riffling through thick stacks of legal documentation.
“Ms. Daily, are you currently in remission from this so-called disease?”
“Of course I’m in remission, it was a temporary condition.” Lauren froze, glaring at Freud. “Why am I rhyming?” she hissed.
“Vell, I never told you zat I had not exectly fully tested ze dosage. Ze rhyming may come and go for some time yet.” Lauren’s mouth fell open.
“Well, we’ll just take that as our answer,” Mr. Snooty grumbled, scribbling on his legal pad. “Dr. Seuss is amenable to settling this conflict with a deal.”
“Ze terms?” Freud said instantly, eager to have a distraction. Lauren looked about ready to tear his head off.
“Any future rhyming performed by Ms. Daily cannot be in story-telling format and cannot follow an AABB rhyme scheme. Dr. Seuss is not to be mentioned in future postings on The Lauren Daily Experiment without express written permission by himself or those in his office. Characters created by Dr. Seuss will only be invoked with permission from the author and the characters invoked must be paid accordingly. A back payment to The Grinch will be paid within the next thirty days to the total of three million dollars for illegal usage of his person and defamation of character.”
“I didn’t defame anything! He does hate Christmas!”
“These are the terms.”
“What if instead I tell everyone that he’s actually very nice and smells like coconut shampoo?” Dr. Seuss nodded his approval. “Cool. I can live with that.”
“Oh, that’s not all,” Mr. McSnooterson said. “Dr. Freud must also pay 30% of the profits from his Seuss-itis remedy to Dr. Seuss as a professional courtesy. We would also like stock options.”
“Zat is robbery!”
“Take it. You’re imaginary. You can't actually have stocks or cash,” Lauren muttered, jabbing him in the ribs with her elbow.
“I accept.” The accompanying documents were signed shortly afterward.
With the business at hand successfully resolved, Lauren and Freud were allowed to leave. As they walked toward the elevator Lauren stopped suddenly.
Hey Blogville! It’s Lauren! I’d like to thank my narrator Magda. And the Grinch is very nice and smells like coconut shampoo. It’s actually very distracting.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Also, since I was busy discussing poop last night, I never told you about my fantastic social faux-pas. My sister is in my Sociology class and usually, she gets her friend to drive us home. Last night, her friend’s car was disabled. So, my sister got her boyfriend’s friend to drive us. Now, since I do occasionally remember things people tell me, I knew that Friend 1 and Friend 2 were dating. When Friend 1 was telling me about her Genius Smarty Pants Neurological Biology Thing-gummy class, she mentioned that she was the only girl but that she was surrounded by scary nerdy guys.
Lauren [pointing at the back of driver’s head]: Well at least he doesn’t have anything to worry about then.
Friend 1 [mouthing] and making breaking hand gestures: We broke up.
Lauren understanding and embarrassed: “Oh, well, then I guess he won’t care.
Lauren: And now for an awkward subject change... We can talk about... CORN! (I was kidding)
Friend 1: Corn?
Lauren: Yes... corn... Like... different kinds... or... colours... like... yellow. (Still kidding)
When I told my sister she said it was a good thing that Friend 2 didn’t hear anything. Might I add that I know nothing about these people? I also found out that Friend 1 probably didn’t know that I was joking. So not only am I awkward, I sound like a moron. Although, that’s not really new for me either... Meh.
As of now, I’m watching Julie and Julia with my mom. It’s a good movie. I was laughing my face off in the theatre when I first saw it. Then again... I work in a kitchen with short people so I could relate. Oh! I forgot! I loved The Pianist! I was so happy at the end when the Nazi soldier saves him. I was about to throw something at the overhead if the poor guy got screwed over again. Sorry to anyone who hasn’t seen it.
I don’t have much else to say... I shall be sure to come up with something interesting for tomorrow. While it sucks for blogging, I rather enjoyed an uneventful day.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
This is the cover of the book. And no, that’s not hair on top of his head, that my friends in Blogville, is poop. Yeah, wait, it gets better.
Notice that it's the "Plop-up" edition? That's actually very important to note.
Anyway, SPOILER ALERT! the Mole finds out it’s the Dog, so he walks over to the dog house, climbs up on it, and proceeds to poop on the dog’s head.
I was laughing my face off. I’ll admit it. All day I was wondering what I would blog about and then this happened. Honestly, I don’t know whether to find it funny or revolting, because as you saw, they describe the poop’s colour, shape and sound as it hits the ground. A book about pooping on one another. I think I may have been trying a bit too hard with my novel writing. But then again, I suppose it is funny and... it does teach kids not to poop on one another? Scatology for beginners?
Personally I’m really curious to see what she brings in to class next week. She has this thing with an Australian book called “Dougal the Garbage Dump Bear” but apparently she’s working us up to that one. It made for an interesting first day back. I’ll give her that.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Since it was quite late when I finished writing my paper, I decided to do the referencing work this morning and to print it at school. Go figure, I forgot my damn Anthology of British Literature. I’ve had this book in different volumes and editions for a few years now, so I did as much as I could from memory, but it wasn’t enough. In the end, I ran to my prof’s office and asked to borrow his anthology. He kind of looked at me like I had three heads. When I caught my breath (because I literally ran and I’m quite out of shape) I started making sense and he finally came to understand what I wanted and why. He ended up saying no, because all of his notes are in his book, so I understand, but he was nice enough to write the information on a lined sheet of paper for me. This encounter took about fifteen minutes. There are four page numbers, two letters, a dash and the name David Damrosch et al written on that page. Now, you may be wondering, why are you running Lauren? Well, I’d roped a friend of mine, who was working at the time (it was Lisanne), into staying in the office for the purposes of being laptop guard. Also, I had about fifteenish minutes before my class started and the paper was due. When I finally finished the citations, the referencing, printed it, I skipped off to class and got there a few minutes early. Like a good little student, I pulled out my stuff including the hopefully fantastic Coleridge paper, and noticed something. The date on my paper was November 3rd, 2009. Clearly I use a format for my essays.
The next oh, so Lauren moment occurred when I got home. My shift was... let’s see, how shall I describe how it went... I would prefer to be dragged naked behind a car for about five miles down a dirt road rather than repeat this evening. But then I settled down, and I sat on my bed and Meeko came up, demanding that I pet him. So I did. Every time he turns his head, his nose touches me and I get a shock. The way I’m sitting, his nose is touching my boob. It’s really uncomfortable to keep getting static shocks there. So I stopped petting him and now he’s mad at me. Jackass. But has he moved? No. He’s still beside my arm, making typing difficult.
The other details of my day are... unimportant. We’ll just say I’m pretty annoyed and pissed at my boss right now. It took a lot of self control not to say or do something stupid. She insulted me twice, in that nice, unintentional way that’s still an insult. I’m still fighting the battle not to phone her and correct certain statements. Unlike normal people, I actually know my boss’ home number by heart. So wish me luck restraining myself.
I never thought I could write two papers in two days. HOLY SHIT IF I DID IT! Of course I’m going to be practically comatose tomorrow but whatever, I get to keep my reputation! I’ve never yet handed anything in late. EVER! I know it’s not a big deal really in the grand scheme of things, but when you get to be known as the somewhat frigid, lesbian with mental disorders, you cling to whatcha got (that’s a joke by the way). The mental disorders, which is only a technical term in my mind and not an actual “condition” if you will, are a reason I’m particularly proud to have finished these papers! They do tend to slow the process a tad. I’m short by a little bit but I do not care at this point. AH! I’m totally excited! Which is probably bad at 1:30 in the morning. Man I’m hungry.
Anyway, short but important info to note before I forget. I started my creative writing class today. Looks fun and a little terrifying! My professor reminds me of Mrs. Doubtfire. I mean that in a nice way. Not like she looks like a man obviously. That’s not nice at all. Like, the way she talks and acts, it’s kind of similar. I can say this before she tears me to shreds grading, but she actually seems like a very nice lady.
I know you’re probably sick of hearing about it, but we’re watching the Pianist in Holocaust history. Amazing movie so far. I highly recommend it. But I haven’t seen the end yet... so don’t tell me and don’t hold it against me if you don’t like it.
I have to be off though. I still need to bathe and sleep for at least four hours. I can skimp on the sleep, I will not skimp on bathing. Onward to soap and cleanliness! –Lauren dramatically tosses laptop aside and with arms strategically stretched over her head, runs off superhero style. Yes, whoosing wind sounds are involved.-
Monday, January 4, 2010
Ugh, I don’t know how to explain today. It was a combination of determination and extreme ill humour. I spent nearly the entire day pouring over articles about Nazi medicine. I think only a Nazi could be happy looking over that. Actually, I think I finally realized that my class is going to start getting emotionally difficult. I had to read over details of all kinds of experiments done on innocent people. It... it was hard because I was imagining it. That’s all I can really do. There’s no way I’m going to know how it felt or how it really was. Not that I want to. The book I was reading, it’s fantastic really, the guy who wrote it was having nightmares of Auschwitz as he was writing it. I don’t want to know what it was like for him. I mean, he’s Jewish for one and he’s interviewing survivors and perpetrators alike. At one point I desperately wanted every single woman that Carl Clauberg tortured to inject whatever he was injecting them with, into his testicles one woman at a time. Alas, that would not be his Earthly punishment. Probably for the best. I should probably mention that he was a gynaecologist looking for a cheap, easy way of sterilizing the Jews. His focus was obviously on women. I know there was also a deranged doctor performing similar experiments on men, I didn’t read those, but I wish the same treatment as Clauberg upon him.
That’s one thing I absolutely hate about history. It’s in the past. It’s horrible, it’s infuriating, but for all intents and purposes, it’s over. I should also clarify that I was aware this class would be difficult. The first part was the social and political history that enabled the Holocaust. Now we’re at the actual event and it’s more than dates, clashing ideologies and political manoeuvring. It’s people now and it’s hard to shake the feeling of revulsion and get on with your day. I guess that means my prof is teaching it right. That’s the other part of today that disturbed me. As I was going over all of my research, I started understanding (as much as a twenty year old in 2010 who has never had to see genocide can understand) how these doctors entered the web of death. And it is a web. There’s not just one factor that made them do what they did. It’s a huge, complicated, intertwining narrative that I’ll be surprised if we can ever unravel. And while I started understanding and placing things into context, it was still immeasurably wrong, but in a small way, I could see how it made sense to them as people. My human side doesn’t like it. My historian side is rather pleased. I don’t like to think of anyone as purely or inherently evil... but... these men and women, sometimes they get pretty close.
I don’t know. On the one hand, it feels perverse being curious about probably the most atrocious crime of– can I say our time? But on the other hand, I feel that we truly do need to know all of history, the good, the bad, the evil and the wonderful. We can’t understand who we are as people without understanding who we were. It’s the whole yin yang thing. No light without dark.
Well, that was quite heavy for a Sunday night. I should really write something more uplifting for people to read on Monday, but I just couldn’t. I’m a bit... absorbed by other emotions right now. Tomorrow is a new day and a new opportunity to learn. If you need something uplifting, my Friday post can serve that purpose.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
For a long time I’ve been claiming that I can have an entire conversation in rhyme. For the hell of it, one night on MSN, one of my friends asked me to. So I did. The conversation lasted about an hour and at the end of it, I felt as thought I had in fact become Seuss. It’s ridiculously amusing and at the same time, an excellent mental exercise. It was suggested that I become a rapper. What would I rap about? I mean really? And my music videos? I don’t think my conservative views regarding dress lend very well to the genre. No one wants to see a girl in a turtleneck. Actually, I don’t think I own a turtleneck... My friend also suggested that I could befriend Eminem. To that comment all I have to say is: “I had to look him up in order to spell his name.” Although the candies are quite good. I don’t think they’re related.
While recovering from my near fatal condition, I’m referring to being stabbed in the ass by the way, I worked very hard on my term papers due in two days. So far I’ve discovered that Nazi doctors are bad. I knew that already. But now it is proven by people with degrees so it must be right. Now all I have to do is write the darn thing. It’s about how Nazi doctors were able to effectively reverse the tenets of the Hippocratic oath and kill people rather than heal them. I’m guessing that topic is also contributing to my less than giddy mood at the moment. I don’t know why, because they were all quite awful, but Carl Clauberg freaks me out more than the others. Maybe because he was specifically centered on sterilizing women and I can... I dunno... feel for the women he tortured. Anyway, enough of this topic.
The other term paper is on Coleridge and his use of the imagination in his poetry. Right now I’m imagining little homework fairies dancing about gaily as they do the work for me. I didn’t get one for Christmas even though I was very good and asked Santa very politely. It’s probably because of my various theories that Santa is actually a bad man. His name is an anagram for Satan and he can see me when I’m sleeping. What am I supposed to think? So I’ve resigned myself to settling for Meeko. Obviously Meeko’s no help either. He just falls asleep near my arm making it impossible to type. Right now he’s actually staring up at my bed longingly. HA! He shan’t get hair all over my new sheets! Again. It took forever to get it off last time.
What else can I pointlessly prattle on about? Oh, I know. Today marks my one hundredth post! Yeah, craziness! The girl who can’t keep a journal for more than two weeks has managed to blog everyday for one hundred days. Not to toot my own horn (though I totally am) but I’m quite impressed with myself. And surprised that there are people out there reading me nearly every day. Or maybe every day, I dunno. You tell me.
Friday, January 1, 2010
You see, vithout ze proper care, she would continue speaking in rhyme. Her condition vould vorsen over time and eventually, she vould only speak zat way. Obviously zis vould be annoying and disruptive to Lauren’s daily life.
Lauren: What are you talking about, I’m perfectly fine
That these lines are rhyming is no fault of mine.
It is purely happenstance.
Or do you not believe in chance?
Freud: Lauren, I don’t vant you to panic but I must give you a shot.
Lauren: I maintain that there’s nothing wrong with my speech
And since you’re dead, I don’t care what conclusions you reach
Freud: Lauren, listen to yourself. Zat is not normal.
Lauren: What’s normal Dr. Freud? No one’s normal.
So let’s all calm down and be less formal.
Cup of coffee? Cup of tea?
Get the hell away from me!
Freud: Seuss-itis is nossing to laugh at. It must be cured. It’s only one shot Lauren.
Lauren: Do I look like I care! Hey! Back away!
I’ve been in therapy six years keeping psychiatrists at bay!
Don’t think you’re coming near me with your gobbledygook
I’ve read of your theories in book after book.
I’ll say it once more and then I’m done
I’m fine and I ain’t getting stabbed by no one.
[Lauren is side tackled by Freud who pins her to the floor. Thinking quickly, Lauren punches him in the groin. Freud falls over in shock but recovers quickly. He chases Lauren around the room until she clotheslines him as she makes her way to the door. Unfortunately, in his fall Freud manages to kick the door closed on Lauren’s hand. Taking advantage of her distraction and pain, Freud stabs a rather large needle in Lauren’s ass, administering the cure to Seuss-itis.]
Did you ever cure anyone or just drive them berserk?
Freud: It vill take a few moments before ze shot takes effect.
Lauren: A few moments you say?
Here’s an interesting thought
I’ve already put up with more than I ought
Freud: You can leave once the shot kicks in, not before. Now sit down.
Lauren: You stabbed me in the butt and you want me to sit? Ugh, I’m so mad at you right now. And how did I punch you in the groin and you just manage to shirk it off?
Freud: I’m dead remember? And it seems zat your Seuss-itis is cured. Your velcome. Until your next delusion. Goodbye Lauren.
[Freud pushes Lauren out the door, leaving her confused and with a sore backside, but no longer rhyming.]
I worked today and it wasn’t fun
All I did was run, run, run.
From the second I walked in the door
I’m talking, before my foot even hit the floor
I was Lauren-dishwasher
Then Lauren-deep fryer
But once those tasks were done
I couldn’t find work with anyone
Ed sent me to Tanya, and Tanya to Ed
I was wondering why I’d come in and left my warm bed
Finally I went out front and changed once more
I was now Lauren-bar tender, now Princess of Pour
I’d snap open beers, pour and uncork wine
All in all I was doing fine
But then the night ended and guests disappeared
I was back in dishwashing, just like I’d feared
I finished up washing dishes for one hundred thirteen
I shouldn’t be surprised, I’m dishwashing Queen
By five after twelve I’d finally signed out
A good thing, I was ready to shout
I felt never ending, but it was finally done
One day down for Feast number one.
That’s why I don’t write poetry. I can only do it if it’s intentionally silly. Sometimes I swear I’m my own royal court at work. I’m Queen of Shrimp, Queen of dishes, I’ve been playing bartender. Being bartender is ironic because I don’t drink. I’m probably called a lot of other things that people won’t say to my face. Oh well, as long as it’s not to my face I don’t care.
It was a busy night but it’s over, I don’t have to work until Tuesday and it’s New Years! So Happy New Years everyone out there!
My resolutions for this year are to practice being happy, to meet new people, to finish at least one novel I’ve been stuck on and if I’m really lucky, maybe to find someone special to spend New Years with next year. I think it’s doable. The first three are anyway.
Hope everyone had a great evening!