For Wine Lovers!

There is a wine bar in Lansing Michigan that I think everyone should try! http://www.p2winebar.com/
It is owned by an old friend of mine and while I have yet to go there myself, it's on my to do list for Christmas break! It looks like they have really good food and is a "snob free zone" (which is good cause I not almost nothing about wine!)
If you're in the Lansing area, check it out! Let's support our small businesses!

I wonder where the writer did go?

Either way I can't find them! For my project I had this really cool idea that I was going to write handwritten Thank You notes to all of these authors, but a lot of them don't exactly list their home addresses. Which is understandable, I mean I am not posting my home address out there in the world either. SO, I guess I will have to resort to writing Thank e-mails. Which I guess is good, I mean I am saving money on stamps and saving a tree right? But still, there is something that is very magical about getting mail in your mailbox, or perhaps I am too sentimental for this world.
Well I have decided that the first person I am going to write to is Jack Ridl. I saw him at Schuler's Books for a poetry reading and enjoyed every second of it. His poetry is wonderful and he shows great humility in his writing. I did a review of his book of poetry Broken Symmetry, which I recommend to everyone. Ridl takes something as simple as a pencil, and writes a poem of remembrance for this often forgotten utensil. He also did a poem about Ireland which I was most tickled to read as the departure for the wonderful green country draws nearer and nearer with every second of my days. While the subject of his poems may be something simple, they are profound in their message or in their slight humor that sneaks its way in. Ridl was a Professor at Hope College in Holland Michigan and still resides in the beautiful mitten state along Lake Michigan.

To Whom Shall I write to first?

Or is it who? Just because I am an English major does not mean that I am always confident that I am properly using the correct form of who vs. whom. In fact I am extremely self-conscious about attempting any sort of grammar whatsoever. It really is quite the conundrum. I insist on taking a grammar class before I graduate, just so I can be somewhat confident. For once in my life I would like to put a comma in a sentence, a semicolon in the next, knowing that it is completely logical.
Anyway...
I have gone about my room and have written down  a few names of people whose writing I have enjoyed. These are not all the authors that currently reside in my room, but they are the ones that have made the most impact in my life. Some are no longer with us, but that will not stop me from writing to them

Stacy Malkan
Sue Kidd Monk
C.S. Lewis--Died 1963
Jane Goodall
Wangari Maathai--Died 2011
Robin Hemely
Barbara Kingsolver
Jon Hassler--Died 2008
Shel Silverstein--Died 1999
Louisa May Alcott--Died 1888
Sherman Alexie
Ken Follett
William Shakespeare--Died 1616
Bill Bryson
Leif Enger
Sarah Dessen
Philip K. Dick--Died 1982
Octavia E. Butler--Died 2006
Orson Scott Card
Margaret Atwood
Paul Auster
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
Michael Cunningham
E.M. Forster--Died 1970
Khaled Hosseini
Zora Neal Hurston--Died 1960
Harper Lee
Ursula K. LeGuin
Andrea Levy
Michelle Magorian
Ann Rinaldi
J.K. Rowling
Jerry Spinelli
Kurt Vonnegut--Died 2007
Louise Riley (?)
Ernest Hemingway--Died 1961
Edgar Allen Poe--Died 1849
Ray Bradbury--Died 2012 
David Small
Jack Ridl

This list will most definitely get longer with time. This is not everyone that I have read, but it's a start. The order has nothing to do with my opinions of the authors, this is merely the order that I found them in my room. Now, will the authors actually read my Thank You notes? I have no idea, almost all of them just have the address of their agent listed, so I guess it really depends on the agent.
There is also the questionable Louise Riley who I cannot find any information about. The book that I read by her was Train for Tiger Lily, which is a kid's book that was given to my mom. I remember I read it after I took a train to New Mexico to visit some cousins of mine and I loved it (I was 8).
My approach for these Thank You notes is to first address the Authors that are still living. Then  I will move on to honor the deceased bards of human emotion. I still don't know which one to write to first, so that will remain a mystery until tomorrow.

Staring Contest

I have a really bad habit of staring people right in the eye until they look away. It is probably really creepy to them, this girl that won't drop her gaze, I always insist that other people drop theirs first. Why? Perhaps it is a power thing. Demonstrating dominance, not wanting to submit to someone else, like a game of chicken, who can look away first? I am actually really surprised that I haven't experienced any negativity from this habit. You would think at some point somebody would yell "What are you looking at?" and potentially want to beat the crap out of me. But no such thing has happened, everyone looks away. I win! You just lost the staring contest! I also do it when I am thinking of something to write about. In a momentary brain fart I look off to mu right side trying to think of something to write, which often leads to my staring at the person working on their computer to my right. The poor people often look startled when they see me and it takes me quite a while to realize that they think I am staring at them. oops. It is a really fun power trip though. Try it sometime. Just don't stop staring, don't drop your gaze, people get freaked out by that kind of confidence. 

Becoming a Literary Citizen

I have always been an avid reader of fiction and I always thought that was enough. However, recently I read a blog post from The Bird Sisters, and it is an article by Cathy Day who teaches at Ball State University. She calls the readers to become part of a "literary community" and then gives steps on how to achieve that status. There is about six steps altogether but the one that I really liked was the first one: "Writer 'charming letters' to writer's" and I loved this step because I thought of doing this before. At first I figured that the writer's would think I was some really weird stalker, and just throw my letters away rather than reading them. I am actually going to do it now! I am in the process of compiling a list of writer's whose writing I have really enjoyed so I can send them Thank You notes. I would rather send them by snail mail, because not enough people get fun mail anymore. Besides its easy to skim an e-mail, delete it, and not give it a second thought. A physical letter however, is pretty hard to ignore, and if somebody went through all that trouble to send you something it must be important right? I am very sad though, that a lot of my favorites authors are now deceased. Ray Bradbury died this past summer which I was most grieved to hear about, so when I come to the issue of one of my author's not being with us anymore, I will simply do a blog post about them. After all just because they're dead doesn't mean that I can't appreciate them. I will just do it electronically. Maybe all the signals that get shot up will hit an angel and pass along my appreciation post to the author (who knows? Stranger things have happened).   Here a link to the blog,
http://thebirdsisters.blogspot.com/2011/03/literary-citizenship-by-cathy-day.html
however, if there is some difficulty reaching that website, if you just google "Cathy Day Literary Citizenship" then you will find the post. I really hope that all my friends who have a passion for reading will take a look at it. It is inspiring to read it. Had it not been so close to the end of the school year, I would have dropped everything and started doing all of her recommended steps immediately. But, alas, time is not on my side right now so I shall simply begin with Thank You notes.  

Why Do I Blog?

Besides the fact that it was a class assignment, I believe I blog for the sheer reason that perhaps there are people out there who are a little weird like me. And that comforts me.
Most of my blogs are also just ramblings of my day to day life, not particularly interesting, and I think the thing that I am trying to do is find my niche writing. Whenever I talk to any published writers I always ask them how did they become such good writers and they always say "practice." So really this blog is practice, or merely a void to get ride of anything crazy that is blocking my inspiration for writing. Perhaps these blog posts are steps, practices in writing. Is the writing good every day? Heck no! I will tell you that already, but the reason I keep blogging is not only for a good grade (which it is) but to train my writing muscle. 

When I grow up I want to be a rich and famous actress.

Well actually not really. When I was a kid I did love to entertain people, and still do. This morning I was buzzed off to the ER for fainting at work, but that didn't keep me from cracking a few jokes.
"How am I feeling? That seems kind of relative since I am in the Emergency Room. My face hurts but psychologically speaking I would say I am still pretty with it." (The doctor really liked that one).
And every time somebody tells me that I should become an actress I can't help but think why?
Sure I love to get a laugh and am very often the center of attention, but would I really want to deal with all the crap that actresses would have to deal with? I look at children actors/actresses and how some of them just seem to have their lives fall apart at the age of twenty. Do I really want that? Not really. With all the history of drugs, alcohol, eating disorders, messy divorces, I think I would rather just accept my average Joe life. There is such a freedom in not being famous. So perhaps little 7 year old me did want to be on TV and in movies but adult me is just fine with being able to go to the grocery store without my picture being taken talking about the products that I use. Besides, who cares anyway?

Who reads blogs?

Alright I will be honest! I really don't read other peoples blogs that often.
It is not that I don't value their effort or opinions, its just there is so much to read and write who has the time to read a bunch of blogs?
And how does a blog get popular is it simply by chance?
The way that you network?
The type of knowledge that you have?
And how do you know that what you write will be interesting to others?
I mean really, the internet is just this huge dark space, and its like you're screaming into a vacuum. It is a sheer miracle that anything gets noticed at all.
So, if anyone reads this blog. It's a miracle.
Truly.
I mean what are the chances that of all the blogs out there, mine was read.

Grumps McGee

I think everyone at work thought I was really grumpy today because I wasn't talking. What they don't realize is that my silence is part of a research project. I had to wear a sign all day that said "Can't talk. research project" and what is amazing to me is how many people laughed! They would find out what I was doing and start cracking up saying stuff like "no way" "that is going to be so hard" and "are you kidding me? You wouldn't last a day" ouch. Hey meow that hurts! And just by people not believing that I could do it, made me want to do it even more, and it made me really grumpy to have people laugh at me for my serious research. SO the lesson today is don't assume anyone is grumpy unless it is Grumpy from Snow White.

Dance Fever!

What? an unfinished blog post? How terrible! How awful! How incredibly lazy of me!
Well, I have just discovered something about myself, I was destined to be an Irish Dancer! It's true! I first fell in love with dance when I watched Michael Flatley tap, click, and stamp his way across the stage. The fast rhythms thrilled me, and there was something about the music, so sprightly, so full of life, you can't listen to Irish Music and not want to dance. I started dancing when I was about 8. It was a studio that originated from Detroit and was now in my city. My friend from school approached me and my mom about this incredible opportunity. This began my whirl wind romance with dance for 10 years. I loved performing, and often there were bands that were at the same events that we were dancing at. I loved every second of it. Unfortunately I had to quit because I of school and a job that I had just gotten. While I proceeded to take ballet lessons at school and did swing dancing with my friends downtown, it was not the same as my first love. One day my mom and I were talking about Irish dance. She turned to me and said "You know, when I was pregnant with you, your dad and I went to go see this Irish band. The band also had dancers with them. I never thought I was going to give birth to an Irish dancer." I was stunned! And then we found an old cassette tape of the band called "The Renvyle Comhaltas Group" and as we listened I heard some of the Irish dancing songs that I pranced around to for ten years. Imagine, I was in my mother's womb, getting exposed to a culture that I would later embrace in their dance and with my fast approaching study abroad. I can't think this was merely a coincidence, it was fate! I was destined to be an Irish Dancer!

Thanksgiving Reflection

I feel that there is a writhing pessimism at the bottom of Thanksgiving. Many people who are educated in American History often look at the holiday with a sense of loathing. "Oh yeah, Thanksgiving, the holiday where Indians helped Americans only to have the Americans slaughter them by the thousands."
Alright, I am aware of that, but its not like Thanksgiving actually celebrates the demise of Native American Indians (that's the politically correct term right?). But how awesome it is that people actually take the time to sit down and really think about what they are thankful for, how much they have.
This Thanksgiving I spent it with my parents, my brother and his wife and family. They have four little kids, the youngest are twins. Their oldest son always greets me with hugs and their oldest daughter showed me all the art work that she was doing in pre-school. I played games with them, drank beer, and when the kids were in bed we all sat around the living room, burping and exchanging stories. This is what I am thankful for, the fact that I have such a big family. I am thankful for heat, a bed, wool socks, the sound of my radiator, for the mountain of books in my room, for writers and philosophers of the world who want to make change for the better. I could be negative, looking at my white skin, blaming myself for the degradation of the Native culture with colonists came over the sea, or I could be thankful that we have history to teach us what not to do. I like studying other cultures and other worlds that are foreign to me, but their history always seems a little similar to ours, the only difference is that America became a free country from the British a lot sooner than other colonies. We could look at these countries and think of them as the "other" but I would rather see them as "brother" and "sister." After all we all share the same planet do we not? I am thankful for history, for its ability to teach future generations, I am thankful for empathy, humility and the hope that one day we may all learn to respect one another. If Thanksgiving has taught us anything, it is that two different cultures can come together and share a meal together in peace and harmony. Happy Holidays! And enjoy the leftover turkey!

The Art of Randomness

I love being random. In fact it had been my life's goal to be random, weird, and look extremely interesting. I blame it on the fact that I am the youngest in my family, got used to a certain amount of attention and now work very hard to maintain that attention.
So, whenever people ask me why I did something I always answer,
"why not?"
Why shouldn't I buy ridiculous patterned clothing from Salvation Army and wear it with pride.
Why shouldn't I start barking at the bar.
What is so wrong with using interpretative dance to express your future actions.
Nothing my friend. Absolutely nothing.
And then I get that famous response
"Well people might think you're crazy"
Ha they better think that! That's the whole point!
I watch other people my age struggle against this challenge to be "normal" or "accepted" and I think why? what is the point?
In fact I have been asking myself that question since I was a kid.
All the popular girls had the new "in" toy of the year, the had cable, junk food in their house, and didn't have to share their bedroom with a moody older sister.
It was clear to me right from the get go that I would never be considered "cool" and that everything that I did would label me as a "dork" and so I embraced it.
I watched all the episodes of Star Wars with the greatest of interest and emphatically explained which episodes were the best.
I watched Stargate, Beast Master, old school Star Trek and Star Trek the Next Generation.
I sang to the Beatles and Beach Boys while my peers stood by mocking my love for "old people music."
I started to just not give a rats butt about what was the "popular norm" in society and learned the beauty to being completely random.
So, my beautiful readers, be random with me.
Bark at a car, climb a tree, dance down the sidewalk, walk like your drunk and be completely sober.
And we people question your intentions, your reasons for acting so weird just question them back:
Why Not?

The Love to Hate

It is always interesting when somebody says "we have a love/hate relationship" and I have recently read two essays that explore this human emotion of hatred and it got me wondering, what do I hate?
I mean hate seems to be a pretty strong word, there are things in life that I generally don't like, like spiders, wet socks, Brussels sprouts, weak coffee, but hate?
 Perhaps I am too happy right now.
Perhaps in my content state of the morning I don't feel hatred because that emotion seems out of place. Maybe I should write about hatred when I am actually cranky, pissed off at the world, with a mouth full of razor blades.

Are writers truly that humble or just ass-holes in disguise?

I often enjoy going to literary talks/readings where authors stand up and talk about their process and inspiration for writing. Being an individual who is hoping to some day become a writer, I always ask these successful authors the same question every time:
How did you know that you could write?
The question is often greeted with the humble chuckle and shaking of the head along with the statement that they "still don't know" or "doesn't actually think that they can write" and other sweet, humble little comments. Are they really that humble though?  A little bit of me almost doesn't believe that they are because there has to be some inclination, itch, voice-in-the-head, that whispers into a writer's ears "that is really good" and I don't care if that makes them sound like self-centered ass-holes, because it is at least honest. I want to know what that feeling is, what that voice sounds like, what the experience is when you write something that it at least halfway decent so I would at least be able to focus in on those feelings to give me some chance of actually improving my form. I know that practice and dedication are also part of it but there has to be something more than that.

George Lucas...what did you do?

I know that this is probably old news but being a HUGE Star Wars geek I felt the need to comment on this most recent tranaction between George Lucas and the Disney company.
A) Disney is getting HUGE! they are buying out everything!!!! I mean there is even a Disney village!!! Cartoons are going to take over the world! Not that I wouldn't mind that, they are adorable and I would imagine it would be like the "Who Framed Roger Rabbit" movie, but I can't help but notice that Disney seems involved with everything.
B) George Lucas why did you sell Star Wars? I loved the original movies and the newer ones had potential. There is still so much you could do! Heck they are still making Star Trek movies and you could still be making Star Wars movies! but Disney? cartoons? Not sure if I am totally sold about this whole idea.
If I was George Lucas you know what I would have done?
I would read the fan ficiton, the blogs, the ideas that ping about online about Star Wars: these movies have tons of fans! Listen to them they have great ideas!
Then I would have gathered myself a team of just graduated college students who have skills in writing and a veracious mind to prove themselves in the outside world.
Then I would have written a new movie, perhaps going off of some characters from the original three, but I would  attempt to bring in new characters.
And they would make millions.
Why?
Cause I just know.
The Force is with me.

Voting

There is nothing that makes me feel like a true American than voting. In all elections, even it is something small and has gotten very little press I go out and vote as often as I can. something about taking that sticker and putting it on my shirt makes me feel  like I at least tried to make a difference, talked to the government, let my opinions be known about how this country should be run.

Bloated Capitalism

From the title of this blog, it may seem like I am about to go on about how terrible capitalism is and use Marxist theory to defend the eradication of such a structured economy and emphatically explain my plans for the perfect utopia where everyone lives in peace and harmony. This will not happen because 

1. Utopia does not actually exist, the word means both "no place" and "best place" 

2. I actually have a job and therefore am involved in a form of capitalism and I like being able to pay for things 

3. I Love Meijer! It's a great store that I wander through often when I am bored, stressed, or hungry.

With that in mind, I am posting my poem criticizing capitalism. As I was writing a poem, where myself and my colleagues mapped out the rough draft, I noticed a particular theme that was recurring. The poem took a life of its own in a way. I made me think that just because we love something, does not mean that its perfect. 

Even if it is Meijer. 

 Superstore Chain

I have been standing here all my life

with stage lights burning

 the corneas of my eyes

branding my retinas,

a burning sensation of

dread.

 Blinding florescent lights

blanch and bleed all color of life.

I begin my work for Kmart

a pathetic greeting performance.

The Zeus of capitalism bloats

then burps erotically coaxed

customers. Paid with coupons

bought with sales.

Every promiscuous event

creates a godly offspring

housed in a Chinese factory

starving, underpaid

producing products

marked

with their gentle fingerprints.

Chainstore Olympus rises

Target, Meijer, Sam’s Club

Walmart, clouding my sight.

 Giants crushing the small civilian stores

leaving a river of numb workers

measuring their lives in cigarette breaks

buried in catacombs of cheep plastic. 

So I'm a teacher's pet...sue me

The great thing about college is that you can be buddies with your professors, and unlike grade school and high school, you are not seen as a kiss-ass (or maybe you are I wouldn't know) which is awesome because I love visiting Holmdene.
On my way up to Dr. Marhall's office I ran into Prof. Eberle and talked about the weekend, ran into Dr. Chesley and talked about writing and homework and then proceeded to my theology professor friend Dr. Marshall where I proceeded to give him shit for his smoking habits as we talked about literature, hipsters, and things that I should read.
He introduced me to an author by the name of David Berlinski who wrote "The Devil's Delusion: Atheism and its scientific pretensions."
I promised that I would read it over my fall break, but it looks kind of interesting.
No matter what your views are on any subject matter,you can't help but appreciate a well formed argument that leaves you twisting with your own ideals and beliefs about truth.
I frequently study things that I generally do not agree with, or that make me uncomfortable.
For example, I have a research project coming up and I have been toying around with the idea of doing it on strippers.Why is this? Because I "write so I can understand." not to be understood.
Nobody understands me, nor am I about to try and make people understand me.
But I do think there is a benefit to try to understand others, so maybe that is why I glut myself on anything controversial, I have the unreachable dream of being able to create a society of peace.
That will never happen.
But I do want to be at peace with myself,
and that can happen.

Holy Jeans

I will never understand the fad of holes in your jeans.
The reason why I buy new pants is because there are holes in my old jeans.
If you buy them with holes already in them, then you are just asking for your pants to get ruined faster.
Actually it is a genius business plan, give people a product that it already half ruined so that they need to buy a new one sooner.
And they're so expensive!!!!
Why? because they're cool? I thought we were over the whole 90's grunge teenager look. Apparently not.
They don't look that great on people either.
I mean they are fine when you are standing, but when you sit down, the skin bulges out of the whole as if its a blog trying to escape. And with guys its even worse with their incredibly hairy thighs!!! I mean who wants to see a hairy man thigh at 9 in the morning??
Not me. 

If I fail as a writer, I shall be a mailman.

I love getting mail.
And not just any mail, every time I see an envelope from school I know it's about to ask me for more money.
But letters in the mail, free samples, postcards, birthday cards, wedding invitations, thank you notes, all in the mail addressed to me in black ink.
And that exciting moment as you tear into the envelope, the paper fraying, perhaps marked a bit from its journey from the writer to my mailbox.
And opening the letter to discover its contents and the news of friends far away.
I write a lot of letters as well.
Everybody keeps telling me that the mail service is dying and that everything is boiled down to the digital way of communicating, but I am on a one woman mission to stop that.
No experience can match that of discovering a hand written letter in the mailbox.
Nothing.
so please if you would like to become my pen pal, e-mail me your address! I will gladly write you a letter, only please write me back, it is only common courtesy of the letter writing world. 

Lazy

I am really really really lazy today,
so I think I will post one of my favorite poems by Billy Collins

The Best Cigarette

There are many that I miss
having sent my last one out a car window
sparking along the road one night, years ago.

The heralded one, of course:
after sex, the two glowing tips
now the lights of a single ship;
at the end of a long dinner
with more wine to come
and a smoke ring coasting into the chandelier;
or on a white beach,
holding one with fingers still wet from a swim.

How bittersweet these punctuations
of flame and gesture;
but the best were on those mornings
when I would have a little something going
in the typewriter,
the sun bright in the windows,
maybe some Berlioz on in the background.
I would go into the kitchen for coffee
and on the way back to the page,
curled in its roller,
I would light one up and feel
its dry rush mix with the dark taste of coffee.

Then I would be my own locomotive,
trailing behind me as I returned to work
little puffs of smoke,
indicators of progress,
signs of industry and thought,
the signal that told the nineteenth century
it was moving forward.
That was the best cigarette,
when I would steam into the study
full of vaporous hope
and stand there,
the big headlamp of my face
pointed down at all the words in parallel lines.

I'm in love with my couch

I know what love is, so it seems silly to say that I "love" and inanimate object, but barring my family, the couch is the one thing that has always been there for me.
When I was home sick from school, I would snuggle in it and watch soap operas.
I napped, cried, sang, danced, stretched, slept, watched movies, TV, studied, ate breakfast/lunch/dinner (especially when I was all by myself) on my cozy, comfy, comforting couch!
I love it!
how can I not?
As I sat on the cushions today, after a tedious 12 hour work day up to my elbows in dirty dishes, feeling gross and ugly changing into a huge flannel shirt and comfy jeans, and I lovingly patted the pillows and said:
"That 'ill do pig. that 'ill do" And fell asleep.
Nothing says "love" like a well deserved nap.
obviously the couch loves me, and I love him!

What is "it"?

There is a really annoying phrase that people at my work CONSTANTLY say:
"It it what it is" and every time I hear I think.."Is what?"
What is "it"? I think we first need to decide what "it" is before we can say "what 'it'" is and is not.
Is "it" a noun? a verb? a situation? a dog? a horse? a chicken? disease? my mom? your mom? the world's mom? what is "it"???
And what it "is"? fat? short? skinny? bumpy? puce?
WHAT THE CRAP DOES THE STATEMENT MEAN! 
All I know is I am getting a headache just thinking about it.
I guess it is what it is!

Pet Peeves

I generally think that I am pretty tolerable of other human beings.
I have my quirks. I know I am an acquired taste for sure.
But there are things in life that really annoy me.
Here are a few:

People who end their sentence with "at." That is ending a sentence with a preposition. That's not allowed. In fact if anybody has taken simple grammar they would know that. I don't care that it was in a T-Mobile commercial. I don't care that it has become slang. Just stop that. Just stop.

People who talk in a library. If you want to talk, go to some hipster coffee shop with your plaid flannel shirt and discuss how "profound" your poetry is away from the freaking library which is generally a safe haven for those of us who need silence. The thing that really bothered me was one day when I was at the library and a bunch of bros were there talking really loudly to their bro friends talking about how bro-tastically hilarious this one bro movie was. I get it, you have guy friends. I get it, this is a whole cacophony of bromance, but not in the library. So bros with your baseball hats that are half off your head along with your sweat pants that are barely covering your stupid puny asses paired with super tight t-shirts and Adidas sandals with black socks---lips zipped in the library. I have nothing against bros themselves, but their general attitude in the library is highly inconsiderate for those of us who are reading.

Using the word "like" too much. This one sucks because I do it too!!!! You have no idea how shocked I was when I graduated high school, came to college and only just realized  that I used "like" way too often in my sentences. People please, lets stop using like so often. There are so many useful and interesting words in the dictionary, why then should we use only a select few.

People who can't say two sentences without mentioning their significant other. Ladies, I am sorry to say that I find that the female sex does this generally more often than the male sex. Why is this? Are you less of a person without your boyfriend? Did you not exist until you started dating somebody? No? Then stop talking about your boyfriend. I don't care what kind of food he likes, or the sweatshirt that he wears all the time, or the fight that you had over mac n' cheese. Oh you know his opinions on everything? Great. But tell me, do you have your own opinions? If you have some semblance of a brain, you should. 

People who ruin the ending of movies and books. If haven't seen it, then I don't want to here all the details!  I love the mystery at the beginning of a book/movie, not knowing where the story is going. Please let me keep that joy.

Noisy eaters. I swear, there are some people out there that make a bag of chips sound like the they are eating a bag of bones or rocks. How can they make food echo like that? What is worse is when they smack their lips open to take another earthing shaking bite. I mean I know that people make noise while eating, but not that much noise.

Well that is everything so far. Generally though when I a person whose habits annoy me, I always give them the benefit of the doubt. I try to think that they're not doing it on purpose.

Exhausted

I am just too tired to blog.
Got called into work at 6:15AM.
I am not a morning person.
We have weak coffee.
I took a two hour nap.
It barely made a difference.
I totally and completely exhausted.

Internet Hysteria

My interent went out. I cannot believe how dependent I am on such technology until it is gone.
I kept swearing at it.
Calling it a stupid son-of-a-b****.
And it made me wonder, what would happen if all of our technology just died?
I mean a lot of dystopian movies speculate the terrible with an alien invasion or attack of zombies or some gross disease sweeping the nation and killing everyone and I always laugh and smile and say "That will never happen" but what if it did?
How would people react?
Probably terribly!
There would be mass hysteria where mothers would cling to their children sobbin;.
Young people would drink massive amounts of alcohol and consume drugs of every kind becuase the internet is out, their phones won't work, their world is ending so who cares if you're sober or not?
Kids would roam the earth. Their parents are either dead or will be killed at the grocery stores that are mobbed by selfish indivuduals who think of only their survival.
Dogs would become rabid and run in packs, chasing and potentially eating children.
And I would sit in my bedroom and drink tea, and read all my books over again so I can get lost in their worlds and escape from my own.
All of this because of the internet going out!
Maybe it won't be that dramatic, but speaking from somebody who proceed to swear for an hour over the loss of the internet, its not improbable.
But now I am using the internet,
perfectly aware that my outburst and imaginings of a dystopic future were completely irrational.

But it could happen.
You are now warned.

Croutons and Turtle necks

The weather is getting colder. I love fall. The crisp leaves, refreshing cool air, apple cider, homemade doughnuts from Robinette's= Pure and unadalturated bliss.
I also love the clothing. Especially sweaters, turtle neck sweaters.
Every time I put on a turtle neck sweater, I am always reminded of my best friend.
I was a junior in highschool, she was a senior, and we both had health class together.
We got on the subject of turtle neck sweaters and how much we loved them, so the next day we were going to wear turtle necks. Then the conversation turned over to food. We both loved crutons, we were going to eat those the next day too!
It was the first crutons and turtle necks day,
 We sat there in class,
early in the morning the next day,
crunching on garlic crutons,
giggling as crums stuck the the fabric of our sweaters.
So random.
So delightful.
And it was the only one that we had.
So Leah, here is my message to you, let's have another cruton and turtle neck day! especially since fall is here!
I'll post a picture if it happens.

Elegy for Susie Snail

I came upon the most interesting image walking home from school the other day. It was of two snails. One was dead, in a pool of slime and its side split open, and the other was slowly circling around the dead one. So I decided that these snails were married and write a poem about it.

An Elegy for Susie

His companion was dead, that large mass
had trampled her plump, glistening body.
Torn flesh exposed, visceral fluids oozed,
mixing with the tears that flowed from
his probing brown eye. Black hearses came
scurrying: pinched, pried, removed flesh from her side,
as her companion circled round , drawing a
trail of tears on the ground, that sparkled
in the dappled sunlight.
A helicopter lands, the iridescent wings
extend, but no mercy rescue for her.
He finishes circling round her body,
examining for some sign of hope.
Eyes stretched up toward the sky,
rigid back, extended neck,
a silent wail from a slug
whose wife has just died.

Hysterical

Ridiculous. I have been absolutely ridiculous today.
I am sick. I don't like being sick and it makes tired, cranky, and plagued with headaches that chip away at my very soul.
However, this cocktail of feelings proved to have a most interesting reaction as I prepared for my exam on Friday. It is for History of the English Language and as I listened to my professor talk about the exam, the more I realized how little I knew. After he left I bombarded my friend Stephanie for her notes so I could write them down with mine.
As I looked at the messy handwriting, everything suddenly became extremely funny.
Old English? Cracked Me Up
Vortigern? HA! Vorti-WHO??
Each word, letter, phrase, sound was suddenly a punch line.
Tears creaked out of my eyes as I clutched my sides, laughing so hard that I wasn't even making a sound.
Glorious.
Truly Glorious.
But I also think this means I have gone completely insane.
Take me to an asylum.
But please don't put me in a straight jacket, they make me look fat.  

A Sucker for Prizes

Whenever there is an opportunity to enter a raffle, or a drawing, or any other competition where you drop your name into a box hoping that it will get picked, I always put in my name. Always.
I think I have this fantasy, this childish dream that maybe my name, my beautiful name will be drawn and I will win that: car, $100 shopping spree at schueler's, free gas for a week, free gas for a year, free membership at the YMCA (for the first month), etc. etc. etc. 
And I have never won. Ever. But still I give them my name.
I guess I just have that hope, that every once and a while, we get lucky.

I guess I am not spam.

I guess the big fellas on blogger decided I was not spam. That's good. I guess. Of course now I have two blogs instead of one. I guess that will just make me stretch my writing muscles.
Today I made homemade soft pretzels, the good kind (not Guy Fieri's kind).
 I kneaded the dough and twisted pretzels that I would then boil in baking soda water for three seconds and put on the baking sheet sprinkled with coarse salt on top and threw them in the oven.
As I opened the oven door, my cheeks turning rosy from the blast of heat, I began to think of all the baking I have done over the years.
Our house was always one where things were made from scratch (well practically barring the occasional cake mix). And what was more bizarre is I would get teased for all the odd things in my lunch box.
Pumpkin custard, for example, was one of my favorite fall time treats. So it did look a bit like baby poop, who cares! It tastes like the delicious filling of a pumpkin pie. But none of the kids would try it.
And maybe the homemade applesauce looked a bit like barf, but hey it was so delicious!!!!
What added to my torment of lunchtime scrutiny was not the constant teasing (I'm the youngest of four teasing is what I was raised with) no, it was when my mom commented to my teacher, expressing her exasperation with the teasing I encountered. Well my teacher was going to DO something about that. So in front of the class the next day she lectured us on not making fun of other people's lunches.
She then continued to say how when she was in school, her family was poor, and they had to eat ketchup and mayonaise sandwiches. Not every family can afford the fancy things that they put in kids' lunches these days.
I could have died. I buried my little eight-year-old chin into my white turtle neck shirt, agonizing over the idea that my classmates might know that it was me she was talking about. Not that my family was poor, but which would you rather have, oeros or homemade chocolate chip cookies?
And now grade school is done. Making homemade food is now "in" and I am standing in the kitchen twisting pretzels and inhaling the scent of fresh baked bread. Glad that I had these scents all through my childhood. Blessed that mom is a good cook. Hoping that I shall be one someday.  

What? What is this?

I believe that the internet has decided that my blog is not spam. How nice of them. Now is the question: do I continue my new one or my old one? or both? If it's both then one will definitely have to have a theme because a girl can only ramble for so long...

Quit Scaring me!!!!

All day today I feel that I have done nothing but gasp at things that jump out at me or surprise me.
First, I thought I missed a very important meeting, which is next week Wednesday, and frantically flipped through the pages of my planner, checked my e-mail and my other calender to make sure I was not reading the dates wrong.
Then at work, one of my co-workers snuck up behind me and grabbed me by the sides. Lets look beyond the fact that I don't really like being grabbed in the first place, but he also scared the crap out of me, sending my blood pressure through the roof, and inhaled so hard that it made me cough, not cool.
Later, when it was just my boss and I closing up the conference center, he snuck up on me while I was in a very noisy dish room washing dishes. I nearly broke 12 plates.
I normally do get startled a lot and am an absolute wreck in haunted houses or scary movies and I can't help but think why?
Am  I really jumpy? Too high strung? A bit up tight?
I never thought I was.
Yet here I am,
breathing really hard,
heart pounding,
and scared.
Well just stop it world.
Just stop scaring me.
I don't like it.
Please, just quit scaring me! 

Guy Fieri is wrong

If you don't know who Guy Fieri is, all that you need to know is that he is a cook. A very good cook. So when I saw a recipe for soft pretzels, Guy's recipe, I figured I was on my way to an enjoyable snack eating experience.
I have made homemade soft pretzels before, but it was a different recipe than guy's. His was in the food network magazine, with the pages designed with colorful pictures of these delectable pretzels, plain, everything, pepperoni,l pesto, ham & swiss, all looking more delicious than the next. 
Reading the recipe, I thought I had the baking expertise to handle such a recipe.
I measured everything out perfectly, following the instructions meticulously.
Kneaded, waited, kneaded, twisted, and had my face scald from the constant opening an closing of the oven door.My pretzels looked just like the picture, I was so excited to take my first bite.
And then I did.
And it was very bland.
I now have 20 bland pretzels that I don't really want to eat.
Guy Fieri, your recipe was wrong. I did not enjoy my pretzels.
You can have the rest.
You can pick them up at my front door.
Thank You

I Wonder Where the Fish Did Go...

This next bit of turning dull ordinary things into interesting things has been inspired by Monty Python and the Flying Circus. It involves silly walks.
Now typically the average human being walks either fast or slow, and that is pretty much as diverse as it gets.
Now I decided, as I was walking to class, that I wasn't going to walk the same way. I decided I need to walk a silly way.
First as I stepped out my door I tried to impersonate a penguin walking. This walk was not terribly efficient and extrememly exhausting, plus I think I looked more like someone who had to pee really badly.
Then I walked taking ginormous steps as if I was stepping over huge boulders. This walk was more efficient than the previous and gave my neighbors something to marvel at.
Then I decided that I was not going to walk in a straight line. Well, actually I almost never walk in a straight line, but this time I was walking curvy on purpose. Dipping in and out of the sidewalk, walking in zigzags in the streets.
It was exhausting having so much fun.

Alien Abduction

Everyday has small, mundane moments, where the most menial of tasks are completed, frequently these tasks are considered "boring."
But is it not the little things in life that are the most enjoyable?
So why not make those little things more exciting?
For example: I was leaving a note for my parents to let them know I was going out shopping.

What is a typical letter would be:
 "Out shopping. Have cell phone. Shan't be late. Libby"

But the note I left for my parents was this:

"ATTENTION Parental Units Living in the 21st Century:
Future Libby has kidnapped your daughter, current Libby, to save the planet blork from the clutches of the evil Raisonzoids. Don't be alarmed, because of the law of flabbergat along with the calculations of the time differential concerning the space time continuum, she is in no danger of losing any years, nor will she be late. My ship, Star CCS 3000 has a cell phone tower so you can still use the old fashioned telephonic devices if you desire to reach her.
This mission is vitally important.
We need her genius or we will all perish.
Bleep Bloop.
Cyborg2324 singing off"

And that is where I left it. A bit vague? possibly...but answer me this, which note would you rather get?
Perhaps this should be my theme for the week: any moment that seems mundane I shall spice it up, make it interesting, make it fun! What's the point of living life if you can't enjoy the small moments.
This is the Libbinator signing off.

Uncomfortable with compliments

I am very uncomfortable with compliments. I wonder if this is a female thing. I have often heard some general female acquaintances complain that they don't get enough compliments from men/boyfriend/husband/parents etc. Yet when they do get compliments, then they scoff, say that it isn't true. Why is this?

Today, in one of my classes, my classmates had to read a paper that I wrote and then told me what they liked and what they thought I could work on. It was awful! I mean they liked it and said very good things about my writing, but I felt so uncomfortable. A spotlight was on me. My face seemed to contort and make really weird expressions. I can't smile too much because then it just looks like I am full of myself. Don't smile enough and I give the impression of a total prick!

  I am better at receiving compliments from men then I was originally. Before, I used to berate my ex-boyfriends, saying they didn't give enough compliments, only when he did I would sigh and roll my eye. Poor boy.
 He had to date me when I was just figuring out how to date.
It wasn't until one of my guy friends informed me how frustrating it was to compliment me, did I really make an effort to be more gracious in accepting compliments.

But today in class it was too much!

I guess I still have a lot to learn.

Veal

I am coming to a close in my school life and will soon have to go out into the dark, scary, cruel, adult world that is just lurking around the corner. Its times like these where I really envy veal.
I know it's not much of a life, just sitting in a box all day that is supposed to hinder your growth. All you do is just eat, sleep and defecate until a butcher chops you up for Veal Marsala. The end of life would be a fine dinner consumed by the wealthy. However there are days where I wish I didn't have to grow up. All day long I would just play outside, in the mud, catching worms and toads, and just lying down in the middle of grass and do absolutely nothing. I miss my coloring books, the smell of crayons, and the disgusting pleasure of a really good scab that I would pick at for days.
I just wish that my mom would have kept me in a small shack, blowing cigarette smoke at me, and would just never let me grow.
But she doesn't smoke.  
And we don't have a shack.
So it goes.
In theory this would be a wonderful life, but what would be the point?
I read this article (or maybe it was a short story) where the author talks about how we never lose an age, we just gain more. At certain times in your life, when you react to certain things or are around certain people, you act a certain age.
For example, I have known my best friend for about 18 years. Because I knew her as a kid, we resort to certain childlike tendencies. We never eat well, in fact we almost always eat junk food around each other. Then there was the instance where we bought silly putty and we walked around the mall laughing hysterically while we made farting sounds by kneading out fingers into the blob of goop. And that was only two years ago. So really I haven't grown up, not really. The scars on my knees are me when I was five, I hit my head and cry at the age of  seven, and I blush around boys as my thirteen year old self.
So maybe it was a good thing that I was not raised like a piece of veal.
And maybe it is cool that now I can drink, smoke, and don't really have an official bedtime.
Being an adult is cool I guess.
I will just be an adult that colors in coloring books.

Malapropisms

A malapropism is "the act or habit of misusing words ridiculously, especially by the confusion of words that are similar in sound." 

If you were to look this word up in the dictionary you would find a picture of me. I am the personification of a malapropism. My mom often jokes that my real father is Yogi Berra. Perhaps this is true.

Here are some of my more memorable malapropisms:

A friend of mine had frost bite in his index finger, but it wasn't too bad. It was a good thing he didn't have to have it abducted. (I meant amputated)

My mom and sisters were teasing me in the car. I told them to quit flapping their gams.(Gums)

I was bringing someone to my (now ex-) boyfriend's house. I warned her that his family had two laboratories. (Labradors, but it would be pretty cool if they had two laboratories)

In the springtime, the Mongolian trees look so pretty. (Magnolia trees, though I am sure Mongolian trees look cool too) 

My best friend drives a su-boob-aroo. (Subaru)

I wrote home to my family from camp telling them all about my friend Virgina. (Virginia. Leave out one i and you are telling a completely different story)

At the store I love to buy Moby Jack Cheese. (It's Colby Jack Cheese that is used to catch whales)

And Lazy Susans are so relaxing. (I really meant Lazy Boy)

There are more, these are the only ones that I can think of off the top of my head. Some are caused by my spelling errors, others by my lazy tongue, but most are caused by the sounds and letters getting jumbled up in my head.
I don't know why it happens, but it certainly keeps life interesting. They prove to be a very interesting conversation starter, "oh you will just never guess what I called my friend from camp..." 

Bits of Paper

As I journey through life, I will sometimes here phrases or quotes that I absolutely love. In the heat of the moment I often write these things down on whatever bits of paper I can find. The result is a desk drawer full of random strips of paper with the most bizarre phrases.
One, that I particularly loved, was said by my mother and it said, "Wouldn't it be great if we could pee for each other?" This was said in September 2011. My mom had just been in an accident that involved her rolling down a hill with her bike. She broke her sacrum top to bottom, her pelvis and her L4 vertebrae. She also had bruises all down her legs and a gash in her head that required six staples. Experiencing my mom while she was on pain medication and in a hospital bed for two months caused much tension in the household. On this particular day in September, I had just finished a busy day of classes followed by work and then home to do all our laundry and cook dinner. Let's say that I wasn't in the best of moods. Well, my mom needed me to help her get to the bathroom. With a deep, inward sigh, I made the slow procession with my mom to the bathroom. In the middle of my kitchen, half-way to the bathroom, she cried out "oh I don't think I can make it!" to which I replied, "Well you're going to have to!" We continued on, yet my mom was clearly in a lot of discomfort. Finally she looked at me and just asked "Wouldn't it be great if we could pee for each other?" Just the exchange of a glance and we were both in a fit of giggles as we meandered closer to our destination.
My mom has now had a hip replacement and is scheduled to have the other one done soon. A hospital bed in out dining room seems to be a recurring image.
But I like to remind her of all the charming things that she has said to while in the midst of these trials.
When I showed her the slip of paper she merely replied "Well wouldn't it?"
I guess I take going to the bathroom for granted.As well as the use of my legs, arms, and a staple-less head.
So my fellow readers take care, and enjoy a pleasant urination.  

Stumped About Star Wars

I was first introduced to the Star Wars trilogy by my brother-in-law. He saw the geek within me and wanted to nurture this per-pubescent into watching only quality science fiction. I then became obsessed with Star Wars, and was extremely geeked when Episode I came out. It sucked. Keeping my head up I powered through Episode II, hoping there was some redemption in it. There was not. I finally got to the third one with the knowledge that this episode showed the creation of Darth Vader, so clearly there was no way that Lucas could screw this one up right? Wrong. I am very stumped about this fact. How can one person do three fantastic movies and then three crappy movies? Was it all him or did the writers fail as well?
This constant confusion over Star Wars keeps me up at night ( as well as the questions What am I doing with my life? and what is the meaning of life?)
What is even more distressing is that he keeps going back the originals and changing things in those movies. Hey! George Lucas, if it is not broke, don't fix it!
If you would care to defend your actions, I patiently wait for your reply.

The odiferous geriatric house.

Elderly people are quite the eccentric bunch to study. They contain the wisdom of the past, yet young people never seem to take them seriously, as if the elderly were never once young. They were. And as I sit here contemplating my various relationships with geriatrics (and believe me I know a lot) I came upon a startlingly weird conclusion: their houses have a very specific smell. Now I know that EVERY house has a specific smell, but this smell is different. It's like years of dust, cooking smells, perfume, shampoo, cleaning products, and sometimes cigarettes all combine to create a very specific smell that I now identify as the old-people-house smell. Not that this is a bad thing, necessarily but I am always left wondering, what is that smell? Or perhaps there is a stigma that the  housing of the elderly smells? Perhaps then I shall conduct an experiment. Walk into random houses blindfolded and attempt to guess the age of the persons living there. I doubt the general public would very much dislike a random blind-folded girl barging in on their house, smelling the air and then shouting out a bunch of numbers, so perhaps I will wear a sign around my neck explaining my experiment. Until then, I shall continue to enjoy the company of my geriatric friends.