I have been plotting and figured I should update this as when I am done plotting, this will be another way to get the word out that I am done plotting and have finished what I began plotting awhile ago.
In other news, I've seen a lot of movies recently. Here are the movies in ten sentences or less:
Knowing: Nicholas Cage acting sort of creepy. Would have been a good movie, except for how it ended. It was a cop out ending, lame to no end. The whole thing with the little girl, the numbers and the current kids hearing whispering would have made much more sense, and made you care more, if there was not such a cop out of an ending. It ended and I was like, "Hey, wait a minute..."
Ghosts of Girlfriends Past: I hate Matthew McConaughey. He actually annoys me to no end and I cannot think of a single movies I like that he is in. However, I do adore Jennifer Gardner, so I went to see this. For what it was, it was a very good movie. Interesting to see the lead guy go from total sleeze, to confused sleeze, to oh my god I love the same girl but I'm scared shitless to the point I'm lame. I did enjoy how all the "ghosts" came to him and were either past girlfriends or his current assistant. And the hall of girlfriends past was actually sort of creepy.
Star Trek: OMG! This was like the best movie I've seen in awhile. It had everything one would want out of this sort of movie. My husband enjoyed all the explosions and I enjoyed the whole time travel aspect. I am not really into science (nor do I understand it for the most part) so all the "wrong science" in the movie did not bother me. I've always liked time travel things, where characters are in a "different" time line, so I thought it was cool. It was also well acted. I never really watched the orginal series, so for the most part, until Spock showed up, I had no idea how the time line was different. I figured that it had changed in the first minute, but I didn't know for sure.
Night at the Musuem: Smithsonian: Funny movie. Cute funny movie. Ben Stiller did not totally annoy me to no end, the Hank Azaria did. Was he trying to sound like a gay British man on purpose? I also got highly annoyed by Amy Adam's character, Amelia Earheart. Could they carm any more twenties cutie lingo into her? Other than that, it was a cute movie.
Angels & Demons: It had been forever since I've actually read the book, but I don't think the book ended as the movie ended. Actually, I am sure it did not end as the movie ended. For one, Victtoria had a bigger role in the book than she did in the movie. Two, I'm pretty sure the priest did not die. But besides that, I thought the movie was beautiful. The way the Chruch was protrayed and shown actually caused me to see them not as a demon, which is how the chruch is sometimes betrayed in these type of situation. It was well wroth the two hours and two bucks I paid to see it.
Shopaholic: I adore this book. I adore the author of the book. The movie left me feeling luke warm due to all the changes they made. First, they seemed to have cramed at least three books together, randomly picking and choosing from the books. Second, the movie takes place in New York City as opposed to London. That pissed me off from the start. Also, I felt sort of strange as the movie seemed to just take the character of Becky Bloomwood, cram her shopping addiction in along with a few minor plot points from various books, and create a new story line and basically new story. Sort of like Gossip Girl the TV show.
Movies I saw on DVD in less than ten sentaces:
In Burges: My husband and I got this movie because he likes explosions and I was in a mood for a funny, non thinking sort of movie after spending the day watching over 8th graders for 8 hours. This movie had no explosions and required a lot of thinking. (I was really in the mood to see a movie like Star Trek when I saw In Burges.) I was rather confused and unfulled by the time the movie ended. Does the main character live? What the hell is going on? In the end, neither of us felt we had a clue what was going on, nor did we really care.
Doubt: A movie D invited us over to watch on his huge TV. The huge TV distracted me for the most part, but in the end I was not sure what the movie was supposed to do to me...make me doubt? I figured I would have understood more of the movie if I had been Catholic, as a lot of the things going on made little or no sense to me. In the end, I doubted if the movie was any good. The only thing that came out of it was now my husband randomly proclaims, "I have doubts, Ireland. I have doubts." I never had any idea what he is talking about.
No Country for Old Men: I have no idea what this movie was about. Drugs? Texas? Dirty men? This might be due to the fact I did not actually watch the whole movie because I had the flu and thought I was going to die, but my husband did not undrestand it either and he watched it all. His only comment was, "I have to watch that again."
The Departed: Another movie that left me feeling sort of unfilled. I hate movies where everyone is either dead or dying or you have no idea if they live happily ever after. Okay, I admit, I like movies that end with happily ever after. I don't mind the violence, but I hate trying to figure out who is the bad guy, who is the good guy, who is confused on to which side they are on. I did miss the middle of the movie because my husband did something that pissed me off, but I saw the start and end and have no clue how we got from point a to point b. I guess I needed the middle of the movie?
28 May 2009
24 April 2009
suppose i never met you
I've become one of those bloggers that doesn't blog often. The fact of the matter is I have nothing truely interesting to say in the least. I started this blog to get the writing juices flowing and then they did and I forgot to update here. Oops.
I still have nothing interesting to say. Sorry.
I still have nothing interesting to say. Sorry.
12 March 2009
a detective without a case
First: Hotel Manners
First off, do they still exist? I am trying to figure out if they do or not. As a child I was told to be quiet in hotels. You do not run the TV loudly, you do not SCREAM in the hallway. You do not carry on loud conversations at two am in the hallways. You do not run in the hallway, no matter the time of day. In hotels, at all times of the day, someone somewhere is trying to sleep, so you always use a quiet voice.
This must have died in recent years. Or at least in the last year. The last hotel experience I had in Austin was terrible. Besides being over charged for parking and more than likely the room, I was awoke the two nights I was there at least THREE TIMES due to LOUD CONVERSATIONS AND SCREAMING at the wee hours of the morning. A few times these conversions were clearly caused by alcohol, but still. The Fancy Downtown Hotel is not a dorm room. If you wanted to stay in a dorm room, I have a feeling if you waked six blocks the other way, the University of Texas would have happily put you up. I remember nights like the ones I had this past weekend when I was in college. It annoyed me then, but it was weekends on a college campus, I couldn't expect any less. (Of course when people would stand outside my window and rap at two am on a Wednesday morning when I had to be up at eight for class, that pissed me off.)
So, in the future, please remain quiet when staying in hotels. They are not party dorms. Some people are trying to sleep so they don't look like the waking dead the next morning.
Second:
I bought the new Franz Ferdiand album. Before I bought it, I read some reviews. I had been unaware that the last album, You Could Do So Much Better, basically tanked. I was unaware of this. I guess it did not tank at Beloit College, as I heard it everywhere not just my own room. I really liked that album. Especially the songs "Walk Away" and "That Boy." Adored those two out of all the FF songs I know. Anyways, I bought the new album and enjoy it.
Third:
Is it bad I want Britney Spears to stop failing at life? I want her to succeed for some odd reason. I am not sure why. Usually, I do not care.
First off, do they still exist? I am trying to figure out if they do or not. As a child I was told to be quiet in hotels. You do not run the TV loudly, you do not SCREAM in the hallway. You do not carry on loud conversations at two am in the hallways. You do not run in the hallway, no matter the time of day. In hotels, at all times of the day, someone somewhere is trying to sleep, so you always use a quiet voice.
This must have died in recent years. Or at least in the last year. The last hotel experience I had in Austin was terrible. Besides being over charged for parking and more than likely the room, I was awoke the two nights I was there at least THREE TIMES due to LOUD CONVERSATIONS AND SCREAMING at the wee hours of the morning. A few times these conversions were clearly caused by alcohol, but still. The Fancy Downtown Hotel is not a dorm room. If you wanted to stay in a dorm room, I have a feeling if you waked six blocks the other way, the University of Texas would have happily put you up. I remember nights like the ones I had this past weekend when I was in college. It annoyed me then, but it was weekends on a college campus, I couldn't expect any less. (Of course when people would stand outside my window and rap at two am on a Wednesday morning when I had to be up at eight for class, that pissed me off.)
So, in the future, please remain quiet when staying in hotels. They are not party dorms. Some people are trying to sleep so they don't look like the waking dead the next morning.
Second:
I bought the new Franz Ferdiand album. Before I bought it, I read some reviews. I had been unaware that the last album, You Could Do So Much Better, basically tanked. I was unaware of this. I guess it did not tank at Beloit College, as I heard it everywhere not just my own room. I really liked that album. Especially the songs "Walk Away" and "That Boy." Adored those two out of all the FF songs I know. Anyways, I bought the new album and enjoy it.
Third:
Is it bad I want Britney Spears to stop failing at life? I want her to succeed for some odd reason. I am not sure why. Usually, I do not care.
06 March 2009
Failing to truely understand
Well, I've been rather busy of late, hence no update. I missed the year anniversary of Conrad Black heading to prison, 1 March I believe. I was working in St. Louis at the time and hungrily ate up every news article I could find online about Black going to prison.
Anyways, he is still in jail, with nothing to do except defend his beloved FDR and the New Deal. Now, I know I did not write a biography on the man, I am no FDR scholar, but I know that the New Deal did not get the US economy out of depression. Nothing really that FDR did before WWII "got the economy out of depression." He brilliant did give the appearance the economy was turning around. He poured money in through the New Deal, but what got the economy out of its rut was, in fact, the United States entering WWII. Shipping off every able body man to war (paying him to fight) and employing everyone else to build stuff for this war was what jumped the economy back onto the tracks and set it off and running again, until it crashed into another wall at some point.
Before the country entered WWII, the unemployment rate continued to go sky high, people were still loosing their jobs. The New Deal did nothing to change this in reality, it actually made it worse because it made it more expensive for companies to hire people. The draft was what caused the employment rate to decline. The New Deal was a government thing, the projects were government sponsered and thus did nothing for the private sector. Is this country built on the public sector? Huh? No. Its more built on the private sector. And the private sector continued to suffere and die a slow death of failing under the New Deal.
This is something, I guess, Mr. Black has failed to realize. He has bought into the wonderful news reels of the era that basically are propganda for the New Deal and its so called success. I guess he's living in La La Land in jail. It must be nice. I used to live in La La as well, when I was about 8.
Anyways, he is still in jail, with nothing to do except defend his beloved FDR and the New Deal. Now, I know I did not write a biography on the man, I am no FDR scholar, but I know that the New Deal did not get the US economy out of depression. Nothing really that FDR did before WWII "got the economy out of depression." He brilliant did give the appearance the economy was turning around. He poured money in through the New Deal, but what got the economy out of its rut was, in fact, the United States entering WWII. Shipping off every able body man to war (paying him to fight) and employing everyone else to build stuff for this war was what jumped the economy back onto the tracks and set it off and running again, until it crashed into another wall at some point.
Before the country entered WWII, the unemployment rate continued to go sky high, people were still loosing their jobs. The New Deal did nothing to change this in reality, it actually made it worse because it made it more expensive for companies to hire people. The draft was what caused the employment rate to decline. The New Deal was a government thing, the projects were government sponsered and thus did nothing for the private sector. Is this country built on the public sector? Huh? No. Its more built on the private sector. And the private sector continued to suffere and die a slow death of failing under the New Deal.
This is something, I guess, Mr. Black has failed to realize. He has bought into the wonderful news reels of the era that basically are propganda for the New Deal and its so called success. I guess he's living in La La Land in jail. It must be nice. I used to live in La La as well, when I was about 8.
22 February 2009
like sands through an hour glass
Recently, almost every time I sign into Facebook, I get a round of names popping out at me from the past. Names I have not thought about in years, names that would never occur to me on a daily basis, or even a yearly basis.
There's a girl I had known since second grade when she appeared and became the best friend of a girl named Amy and they wore little, high heeled granny boots. I remember these boots clearly as day, as I wanted a pair quite badly but my mother said, "Little girls do not wear heels!" I had to settle for boots that had a heel, but not a high heel that made the clack, clack noise I wanted. Nor did my boots look Victorian, they look like boots. They were a poor, cheap let down from the granny boots this girl had. This was the same girl, many years later who had whispered conversations near by me about something so person I couldn't figure out why she was talking about it with someone in school and within hearing distance of me. The next year she had a total hissy fit and refused to speak to her "best guy friend" who sat next to me in English because he had made some sort of lude crack about her and her 'secret'. Two days later she had another whispered conversation with him, while I continued to sit next to him. I heard every single freaking word she had said.
I don't think she wanted me to know. But I do know. When one is writing, they can still hear.
By this point, I had realized that people thought I couldn't hear when I was writing. I could pretty much hear while I was writing, as I am one of those people who can do two things at once when I want to. By my senior year I was pretty sure I could write my stories and pay attention in class if need be. I usually would put away that stuff thought out of resecpt for the teachers. They had enough issues, I figured I'd remain the quiet, modle student people thought I was.
I alwasy knew more than most people figured I would know about the people at our school. Random bits of information keep popping into my head as these names keep popping up on the News Feed each time I sign into Facebook. I am also surprised by the amount of people my age who have children. As I told my husband last night, "I can bearly handle having a dog. I can't imgaine having two kids by now." He stared at me and made some off hand comment about kids that truely would only make sense if you knew him.
Each person, as their name pops up, I tend to click on their picture to see what it looks like. The profile picture tells me quite a bit. I can tell the high flying, still either single or dating types to the ones that have families and kids running around. The ones that still enjoy a good party, and the ones that would rather hug a kid. When I first joined Facebook, I remember scrolling through the people who graduated from high school with me in a search and being suprirsed when I saw there were people who were all ready married. Now that I'm married, I get shocked when they have kids. I guess this will only stop once I have a kid. Which won't be for awhile. As stated before, I can bearly handle having a dog.
Who is currently sitting in the doorway staring at me.
There's a girl I had known since second grade when she appeared and became the best friend of a girl named Amy and they wore little, high heeled granny boots. I remember these boots clearly as day, as I wanted a pair quite badly but my mother said, "Little girls do not wear heels!" I had to settle for boots that had a heel, but not a high heel that made the clack, clack noise I wanted. Nor did my boots look Victorian, they look like boots. They were a poor, cheap let down from the granny boots this girl had. This was the same girl, many years later who had whispered conversations near by me about something so person I couldn't figure out why she was talking about it with someone in school and within hearing distance of me. The next year she had a total hissy fit and refused to speak to her "best guy friend" who sat next to me in English because he had made some sort of lude crack about her and her 'secret'. Two days later she had another whispered conversation with him, while I continued to sit next to him. I heard every single freaking word she had said.
I don't think she wanted me to know. But I do know. When one is writing, they can still hear.
By this point, I had realized that people thought I couldn't hear when I was writing. I could pretty much hear while I was writing, as I am one of those people who can do two things at once when I want to. By my senior year I was pretty sure I could write my stories and pay attention in class if need be. I usually would put away that stuff thought out of resecpt for the teachers. They had enough issues, I figured I'd remain the quiet, modle student people thought I was.
I alwasy knew more than most people figured I would know about the people at our school. Random bits of information keep popping into my head as these names keep popping up on the News Feed each time I sign into Facebook. I am also surprised by the amount of people my age who have children. As I told my husband last night, "I can bearly handle having a dog. I can't imgaine having two kids by now." He stared at me and made some off hand comment about kids that truely would only make sense if you knew him.
Each person, as their name pops up, I tend to click on their picture to see what it looks like. The profile picture tells me quite a bit. I can tell the high flying, still either single or dating types to the ones that have families and kids running around. The ones that still enjoy a good party, and the ones that would rather hug a kid. When I first joined Facebook, I remember scrolling through the people who graduated from high school with me in a search and being suprirsed when I saw there were people who were all ready married. Now that I'm married, I get shocked when they have kids. I guess this will only stop once I have a kid. Which won't be for awhile. As stated before, I can bearly handle having a dog.
Who is currently sitting in the doorway staring at me.
20 February 2009
the grass is always greener...in the desert
When I was a freshman in college, I spent part of my spring break in Atlanta, Georgia. This was my first trip into the Deep South and I was sorely disappointed not to find people with Southern accents. They all sounded like me.
However, the grass in Atlanta was violently green. Seriously, I have never in my life seen grass that green. I freaked out and cried out, "OMG! Look at that grass?"
"What about it?" my friend who was driving me somewhere asked.
"IT IS GREEN! Like vividly green! Like, florescent green!"
"Yeah? You're point?"
"Grass is not naturally that color! But its all that color here!"
My friend logically rolled her eyes at this point and ignored me, but I could not get over the bright green grass. It was even sort of soft. (Yes, at one point I had to touch some just to see.)
In Scotland, the grass was also bright green, but it was a different sort of bright green, it was not blinding, it was just GREEN! Thus, I never got truely excited about it, plus after six months, I was as numb to the constant green as I was to the lack of sunshine and frizz free hair.
I was walking the dog today and as I rounded the corner, violently green grass caught my eye in the world of shades of yellow. It is spring time in the dirt hole, so there are tiny bits of dull green color coming to the few lawns being watered for 12 hours a day. There are leaves coming back to the trees, buds appearing on other trees.
As I walked closer to the violent green color, I came to realize the trees in this yard were also brilliant green in color, as well as certain sections of the front lawn (the side yard and back yard look like the rest of the yards here....yellow and dead). I came to a stop and the dog sat down.
"Basil Dog, look at that yard. How the hell did it get to be green like that? It hasn't rained in years," I said.
The dog stared at me blankly.
"It looks like the grass in Atlanta!" I exclaimed.
The dog continued to stare at me.
I resisted the urge to go over and touch the grass to see if it felt like the grass in Atlanta. One, because it would have been strange and two, the dog was getting impatient with me to continue her walk.
So we walked on, but I still couldn't get that vivid green color out of my mind.
However, the grass in Atlanta was violently green. Seriously, I have never in my life seen grass that green. I freaked out and cried out, "OMG! Look at that grass?"
"What about it?" my friend who was driving me somewhere asked.
"IT IS GREEN! Like vividly green! Like, florescent green!"
"Yeah? You're point?"
"Grass is not naturally that color! But its all that color here!"
My friend logically rolled her eyes at this point and ignored me, but I could not get over the bright green grass. It was even sort of soft. (Yes, at one point I had to touch some just to see.)
In Scotland, the grass was also bright green, but it was a different sort of bright green, it was not blinding, it was just GREEN! Thus, I never got truely excited about it, plus after six months, I was as numb to the constant green as I was to the lack of sunshine and frizz free hair.
I was walking the dog today and as I rounded the corner, violently green grass caught my eye in the world of shades of yellow. It is spring time in the dirt hole, so there are tiny bits of dull green color coming to the few lawns being watered for 12 hours a day. There are leaves coming back to the trees, buds appearing on other trees.
As I walked closer to the violent green color, I came to realize the trees in this yard were also brilliant green in color, as well as certain sections of the front lawn (the side yard and back yard look like the rest of the yards here....yellow and dead). I came to a stop and the dog sat down.
"Basil Dog, look at that yard. How the hell did it get to be green like that? It hasn't rained in years," I said.
The dog stared at me blankly.
"It looks like the grass in Atlanta!" I exclaimed.
The dog continued to stare at me.
I resisted the urge to go over and touch the grass to see if it felt like the grass in Atlanta. One, because it would have been strange and two, the dog was getting impatient with me to continue her walk.
So we walked on, but I still couldn't get that vivid green color out of my mind.
10 February 2009
Living through a dust bowl
About 6.30 it got oddly dark outside. At first, being a Midwesterner, I thought it was raining. Quickly, I remembered I lived in a dirt hole and it doesn't rain in dirt holes. I went to the window and gazed out and my husband said, "Wow, look at all that dust."
The sky was black. Seriously, black with dirt. The wind was gusting, things were blowing and it was dark. I took a few videos, but they failed to encompass the wrath of the dust storm. My husband turned on the weather channel and it claimed it was 80 degrees and sunny outside.
It was no such thing. Per the other weather sight my husband uses, it said the winds were 45 mph or higher and visibility was less than a mile. By this point, it was pitch black outside and it seriously sounded like a thunder storm outside. The power flickered off only once so far, but we'll see. During a bright, sunlight day we lost power (only on our street) for over four hours. It sucked and ruined by day. I'm holding my breath.
In other news, our dog has worms. We have no idea where she got them as I am positive she did not have them before we left her for the weekend, as I have a habit of watching the dog poop and never saw anything worm like before. Since this discovery of worms, I've seen worms in her poop several times. I never saw anything like them before. It is gross beyond all known reason. Since giving her the over the counter meds for worms, she's been super tired and lazy. I am not sure if it is the drugs or the worms doing this to her, but I guess before the meds, she was a happy puppy, dopy grinning and playing with the other dogs she was staying with. Since she got home she's been sleepy, jumping on the door constantly to go out. And she almost always goes to the bathroom when we take her out. Sick puppy. I got her a gentle leader to aid in walking her, but she's been so tired, we haven't gone on long walks. I did a ten minute training session with her today with it and after I started feeding her food, she stopped pawing at her face and walked with me. We're getting there slowly.
Tomorrow, my husband graduates part one of his training. I have no idea what to wear.
The sky was black. Seriously, black with dirt. The wind was gusting, things were blowing and it was dark. I took a few videos, but they failed to encompass the wrath of the dust storm. My husband turned on the weather channel and it claimed it was 80 degrees and sunny outside.
It was no such thing. Per the other weather sight my husband uses, it said the winds were 45 mph or higher and visibility was less than a mile. By this point, it was pitch black outside and it seriously sounded like a thunder storm outside. The power flickered off only once so far, but we'll see. During a bright, sunlight day we lost power (only on our street) for over four hours. It sucked and ruined by day. I'm holding my breath.
In other news, our dog has worms. We have no idea where she got them as I am positive she did not have them before we left her for the weekend, as I have a habit of watching the dog poop and never saw anything worm like before. Since this discovery of worms, I've seen worms in her poop several times. I never saw anything like them before. It is gross beyond all known reason. Since giving her the over the counter meds for worms, she's been super tired and lazy. I am not sure if it is the drugs or the worms doing this to her, but I guess before the meds, she was a happy puppy, dopy grinning and playing with the other dogs she was staying with. Since she got home she's been sleepy, jumping on the door constantly to go out. And she almost always goes to the bathroom when we take her out. Sick puppy. I got her a gentle leader to aid in walking her, but she's been so tired, we haven't gone on long walks. I did a ten minute training session with her today with it and after I started feeding her food, she stopped pawing at her face and walked with me. We're getting there slowly.
Tomorrow, my husband graduates part one of his training. I have no idea what to wear.
08 February 2009
trying to be something it is not
This past weekend I ventured out of the dirt hole and went to a city and then another smaller town near this city. This town is everything the dirt hole wishes it could be but fails at life trying to be so. The dirt hole tries to keep businesses out of the city in order to keep its "small town feeling."
I don't think anyone who makes these decisions has ever been to a small town before. 30,000 people is not a small town. Once you have that many people, just give up the small town thing and embrace the fact you've managed to trap that many people in the dirt hole.
Another thing, small town usually have businesses they want to protect, you know, local businesses that other big stores would kill. Dirt hole doesn't have any of these for the most parts as they have all ready successfully managed to kill these places. They are also managing to kill their own mall, as I think the mall has maybe two stores now, all others have left. Look up the Beloit Mall. The Dirt hole mall will soon be just like it. Once the stores go, people will stop coming here to shop (except the Mexicans that go to Walmart for unknown reaons). They will get in their respective cars and drive three hours. Just like I did this past weekend. You lost my sales tax money because I LEFT.
This past weekend I watched Pearl Harbor. My husband is unsure why Alec Baldwin is a bad American, as someone made a comment they he should not have been playing the role that he was playing. I'm not sure why Alec Baldwin is a bad American? Because he yelled at his kid? I looked it up on Google News and just got that Alec Baldwin is an alien. That must be it. Unless I have been living under a rock for so long something else happened that I missed, which I am sure is exactly what happened. I'm just really curious about this bad American thing.
Oh well.
Dirt hole sucks. That is all.
I don't think anyone who makes these decisions has ever been to a small town before. 30,000 people is not a small town. Once you have that many people, just give up the small town thing and embrace the fact you've managed to trap that many people in the dirt hole.
Another thing, small town usually have businesses they want to protect, you know, local businesses that other big stores would kill. Dirt hole doesn't have any of these for the most parts as they have all ready successfully managed to kill these places. They are also managing to kill their own mall, as I think the mall has maybe two stores now, all others have left. Look up the Beloit Mall. The Dirt hole mall will soon be just like it. Once the stores go, people will stop coming here to shop (except the Mexicans that go to Walmart for unknown reaons). They will get in their respective cars and drive three hours. Just like I did this past weekend. You lost my sales tax money because I LEFT.
This past weekend I watched Pearl Harbor. My husband is unsure why Alec Baldwin is a bad American, as someone made a comment they he should not have been playing the role that he was playing. I'm not sure why Alec Baldwin is a bad American? Because he yelled at his kid? I looked it up on Google News and just got that Alec Baldwin is an alien. That must be it. Unless I have been living under a rock for so long something else happened that I missed, which I am sure is exactly what happened. I'm just really curious about this bad American thing.
Oh well.
Dirt hole sucks. That is all.
04 February 2009
my dog is barking loudly in my ear
the fluff ball dog that does not own a leash and just wonders the neighborhood is out and invading in Basil Dog's window territory. Dumb dog.
Earlier today, Basil Dog got tired of going for a walk and decided it'd be great fun to take a nap in the middle of the street.
In other news, I heard Stephan King thinks Stephanie Meyer can't write. Be warned, Twi-Hards will be hunting you down Mr. King. However, you might be okay, because the Potter fan will fight those Twi-Hards off of you as you said, JK Rowling could write.
Earlier today, Basil Dog got tired of going for a walk and decided it'd be great fun to take a nap in the middle of the street.
In other news, I heard Stephan King thinks Stephanie Meyer can't write. Be warned, Twi-Hards will be hunting you down Mr. King. However, you might be okay, because the Potter fan will fight those Twi-Hards off of you as you said, JK Rowling could write.
03 February 2009
Scars Tell Our Stories
We all have scars. They might be big, little, or inbetween. They might be somewhere for the whole world to see, or they might always be hidden. However, our scars tell stories about where we've been, what we have done. They fad over time, just like our memories of the events that gave the scars to us. Some scars don't fad and are forever with us.
I have three major scars on my body, along with many little self inflicted ones as I was a scab picker as a child. I did not realize my mother's threats were real until I was about fifteen and noticed that I tanned sort of strange (when I did tan) due to all the tiny white spots on my arms and legs. Now I just don't tan and no one can see those scars that I picked at as a child.
The first major scar is on my back and it is there from my picking at it. It was given to me by a fellow child who was pulling me in a wagon and flipped me out the back and proceeded to drag me half in, half out of the wagon up the street. I remember this happeneing, but I do not remember much about it other than hanging out the back of the wagon keeping my head up. I scraped my lower back up pretty bad. My mother was appalled that the child would do this to me. And later, she was appalled by the fact I kept picking at it.
"You'll never be able to wear a two piece because you'll have that ugly scar on your back!" she would yell at me. At the time, I was about five or so, she would not allow me to wear a two piece and in my wisdom as a five year old, I figured that meant she never would.
Two years later, I had a fake two piece (swimsuit that bared my tummy and back, but was tied together on the sides). I was at my grandma's house and my brother and I were playing in the sprikler on a hot summer day.
"What is that ugly thing on that child's back?" my grandma demanded of her daughter.
"She fell out of a wagon and picked the scab until it scarred. I told her it would be ugly."
I never was able to see this scar, thus I do not know if it is ugly or not. I do now that it faded and it pretty much gone. I was in middle school, now allowed to wear two pieces though I never did and asked someone if I had any scars on my back. No one saw anything. Later, when I was in college and wearing a two piece my dad said, "Hey, that ugly wagon scar is gone."
"Or she's just too pale to for you to see it," my mom commented, still bitter I had picked at it when she told me not to.
While I am not upset that that scar fadded, there are two scars on my body I would rather not have fade away. One is the scar from my appendix removal. The other is a small scar on my left hand between my index finger and pointer finger.
Most people would be happy to have appedix scars fade away over time. These people must not have paid 7,000 dollars give or take a thousdand to have theirs removed. This removeal screwed up a lot of things for me, as I had planned to use that money to pay off a student loan. Also, seeing the student loan was less than 7,000, I would still have the left over money and we could fix the air conditoner in my husband's car. However, no. My appedix decided it had to get infected to the point where they had to phsyically CUT it out and cause me to be in surgry for awhile, hiking up the price. Having to have it cut out of me, also left me with a long thing scar, not the tiny no show dots. The doctor assured me afterwards, I would still be able to wear a two piece swimsuit and it wouldn't show. I looked at him doubtfully, wondering if he had gotten out in the past ten years. The first time I put on a bathing suit after I had it removed, there it was, clear as day. I knew it would be due to the fact when I was still skinny and wore low rise jeans, it showed. Seriously. If long shirts hadn't been in, the whole world would have seen the ugly scar right above my hip bone.
The last scar I have is always visable to the world unless I wear gloves. It is tiny and no one has ever in my life asked me where it came from. I do not think anyone has noticed it. I know it is there and I know the story behind that little scar. It is all I have left, a physical reminder of my life in Glasgow, Scotland. I got the scar on my very last day in the city, New Years Eve. I was goofing around with my then boyfriend and somehow his toenail nicked my hand while I was sitting on the couch trying to read while he was doing something on my laptop. Or something like that. The moment was such a normal moment, my brain did not catlouge it as something important that I should remember. I just remember, suddenly my hand was bleeding between my fingers. I remember, a day later sitting on a train charging towards London, picking at it. By this point in time, I did not pick scabs like I used to. I hardly had any any more for one, and I was no longer fascinated by blood like I was as a kid. I sat there, sad to have my life in Glasgow ending and figuring I would never see that guy again, as I had gone into the relationship thinking it'd be a fling, but it wasn't.
I picked the little scab every day. I always kept a little bit of tissue on me to soak up what little blood would come out of the little spot. I spent five days in London picking at it. By the time I got on the plane to come back to the States, it was almost healed. I picked it one more time on the plane, knowing it would be a scar now.
It is a little scar. I look at it and smile, remembering all the great things about Glasgow. Remember all the great things that relationship did for me. It might have been a short one, a little one just like the little phsyical scar it left behind, but it did a lot for the emotional scars I bore from my past. I always knew it would not take much to heal me. That small amount of time spent in Glasgow healed me in such a way that I was ready for real relationships, I wasn't scared of guys, I knew there were actually nice ones out there that would not emotional abuse me and cheat on me.
And I found one. The ring he gave me sits a finger away from the tiny scar I got on my last day in Glasgow, Scotland. The same guy saw me through the hasself of getting the appendix scar and swears up and down I do not have a scar on my back. He has looked for it on numerous occassions, trying to find this ugly scar I was supposed to have my whole life from being dragged in a wagon. If he has ever noticed the small scar on my left hand, he has never asked me where it came from. If he did, I would tell him. I have noticed as of late it is fading. It made me sad to see the tiny scar fading after all these years of hanging in there. I do not want to forget. It is just that simple.
I can forget about the appedix, I can forget about being dragged in the wagon. I do not want to forget him and Glasgow. I simply do not want to forget.
I have three major scars on my body, along with many little self inflicted ones as I was a scab picker as a child. I did not realize my mother's threats were real until I was about fifteen and noticed that I tanned sort of strange (when I did tan) due to all the tiny white spots on my arms and legs. Now I just don't tan and no one can see those scars that I picked at as a child.
The first major scar is on my back and it is there from my picking at it. It was given to me by a fellow child who was pulling me in a wagon and flipped me out the back and proceeded to drag me half in, half out of the wagon up the street. I remember this happeneing, but I do not remember much about it other than hanging out the back of the wagon keeping my head up. I scraped my lower back up pretty bad. My mother was appalled that the child would do this to me. And later, she was appalled by the fact I kept picking at it.
"You'll never be able to wear a two piece because you'll have that ugly scar on your back!" she would yell at me. At the time, I was about five or so, she would not allow me to wear a two piece and in my wisdom as a five year old, I figured that meant she never would.
Two years later, I had a fake two piece (swimsuit that bared my tummy and back, but was tied together on the sides). I was at my grandma's house and my brother and I were playing in the sprikler on a hot summer day.
"What is that ugly thing on that child's back?" my grandma demanded of her daughter.
"She fell out of a wagon and picked the scab until it scarred. I told her it would be ugly."
I never was able to see this scar, thus I do not know if it is ugly or not. I do now that it faded and it pretty much gone. I was in middle school, now allowed to wear two pieces though I never did and asked someone if I had any scars on my back. No one saw anything. Later, when I was in college and wearing a two piece my dad said, "Hey, that ugly wagon scar is gone."
"Or she's just too pale to for you to see it," my mom commented, still bitter I had picked at it when she told me not to.
While I am not upset that that scar fadded, there are two scars on my body I would rather not have fade away. One is the scar from my appendix removal. The other is a small scar on my left hand between my index finger and pointer finger.
Most people would be happy to have appedix scars fade away over time. These people must not have paid 7,000 dollars give or take a thousdand to have theirs removed. This removeal screwed up a lot of things for me, as I had planned to use that money to pay off a student loan. Also, seeing the student loan was less than 7,000, I would still have the left over money and we could fix the air conditoner in my husband's car. However, no. My appedix decided it had to get infected to the point where they had to phsyically CUT it out and cause me to be in surgry for awhile, hiking up the price. Having to have it cut out of me, also left me with a long thing scar, not the tiny no show dots. The doctor assured me afterwards, I would still be able to wear a two piece swimsuit and it wouldn't show. I looked at him doubtfully, wondering if he had gotten out in the past ten years. The first time I put on a bathing suit after I had it removed, there it was, clear as day. I knew it would be due to the fact when I was still skinny and wore low rise jeans, it showed. Seriously. If long shirts hadn't been in, the whole world would have seen the ugly scar right above my hip bone.
The last scar I have is always visable to the world unless I wear gloves. It is tiny and no one has ever in my life asked me where it came from. I do not think anyone has noticed it. I know it is there and I know the story behind that little scar. It is all I have left, a physical reminder of my life in Glasgow, Scotland. I got the scar on my very last day in the city, New Years Eve. I was goofing around with my then boyfriend and somehow his toenail nicked my hand while I was sitting on the couch trying to read while he was doing something on my laptop. Or something like that. The moment was such a normal moment, my brain did not catlouge it as something important that I should remember. I just remember, suddenly my hand was bleeding between my fingers. I remember, a day later sitting on a train charging towards London, picking at it. By this point in time, I did not pick scabs like I used to. I hardly had any any more for one, and I was no longer fascinated by blood like I was as a kid. I sat there, sad to have my life in Glasgow ending and figuring I would never see that guy again, as I had gone into the relationship thinking it'd be a fling, but it wasn't.
I picked the little scab every day. I always kept a little bit of tissue on me to soak up what little blood would come out of the little spot. I spent five days in London picking at it. By the time I got on the plane to come back to the States, it was almost healed. I picked it one more time on the plane, knowing it would be a scar now.
It is a little scar. I look at it and smile, remembering all the great things about Glasgow. Remember all the great things that relationship did for me. It might have been a short one, a little one just like the little phsyical scar it left behind, but it did a lot for the emotional scars I bore from my past. I always knew it would not take much to heal me. That small amount of time spent in Glasgow healed me in such a way that I was ready for real relationships, I wasn't scared of guys, I knew there were actually nice ones out there that would not emotional abuse me and cheat on me.
And I found one. The ring he gave me sits a finger away from the tiny scar I got on my last day in Glasgow, Scotland. The same guy saw me through the hasself of getting the appendix scar and swears up and down I do not have a scar on my back. He has looked for it on numerous occassions, trying to find this ugly scar I was supposed to have my whole life from being dragged in a wagon. If he has ever noticed the small scar on my left hand, he has never asked me where it came from. If he did, I would tell him. I have noticed as of late it is fading. It made me sad to see the tiny scar fading after all these years of hanging in there. I do not want to forget. It is just that simple.
I can forget about the appedix, I can forget about being dragged in the wagon. I do not want to forget him and Glasgow. I simply do not want to forget.
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