Confessions

When I "grow up," I want to be a clerk in a court. It's such a cushy job. My father was telling me about his jury duty over dinner, despite certain legalities stating otherwise, and I've decided I want to be a clerk, as long as I am not required to attend law school. If I do ever decide to attend law school, I'll then become a teacher, to continue the Michael O'Donnell phenomenon. (I don't care if Julius says his kid is ugly)When I was four, I wanted to be an exercise instructor. We have many home videos of me jazzercising. It was cute, okay? I was four, and I essentially lived on a trampoline. I also performed Channukah shows, with a full score. "OOOOOOOOOOOH, the Macabees marched, and they marched, and they marched...." Not to mention my occassional appearances as a "whirling dervish." Nobody seems to appreciate the true genius behind these home movies.I learned to play an Eminem song on the piano. I don't listen to rap. I don't like Eminem. I hate Eminem. Goo played me the song from her mix tape in the car the other day, and the chorus has been haunting me since. So I sat down to the piano, and now I can play it -- incredibly simple chord progression. G#m, E, F#, B/F#. There, now everyone can play it. I'm so ashamed.I like Emily better than I like Alice. (theater inside joke -- that's Emily Skinner and Alice Ripley)My Camry does not have a "-mobile" name. It's current name is Gavroche, so called because it's small, and Gavroche is a tough little guy. It was inevitable that my car would be named after a character from a musical. What was I supposed to name it, the Javertmobile? Or how about the Velma Kelly-mobile, or the Yonahmobile, or the Iola Stover-mobile. People from musicals have strange names.I listened to "Eating Raoul" today, during my morning commute. I almost swerved off the road from laughter. WHY DOES THAT SHOW EXIST?I don't like cheese fondue. Guilty as charged.I wrote down a whole list of confessions during C-block today, but managed to loose them. It's a shame, because they were far more amusing than the ones above. Such is life. If I find them tomorrow, by some stroke of luck, I shall type them up.~Jenn

Ghiradelli

I was supposed to make banana bread this evening, but it didn't happen. Banana bread is one of the few foods I am able to make. Such a gourmet chef am I! I'm capable of: cookies, brownies, cakes from a mix, muffins, and the quintessential banana bread [okay, it's also from a mix]. However, my plans altered slightly to accomodate my brother's desire for brownies. Ghiradelli, no less. My father and brother have already attacked the brownies, so I set aside a large portion for their little excursion to CSW tomorrow. Katy has reserved several. I'll probably end up giving them to my Children's Garden kids. I'm not obsessed, I swear! I love those kids. It was Harrison's birthday last week, and I didn't have the opportunity to do anything for the kids yet, because it was public school vacation week. I have a print of a photo that I did on Friday that I need to give them, too -- of Harrison, Liam, and George at the cabin by the field. They are wonderful kids.My brother and I had an adventure taking photographs this afternoon. I needed to complete two rolls of film for class tomorrow: the first roll had to be focused on form and light, and the second roll had the themes of stranges, friends, chaos, authority, and UGLY DEVILS. We walked into CVS to buy a New York Times (which they apparently don't carry, the Boston elitists), and to look for some prime strangers to photograph. I had not walked any farther than the first aisle when we crossed paths with Rich. I nearly snapped a picture of him for the UGLY DEVIL category (take note of all caps), but decided against it. I feel uncomfortable photographing strangers, for the voyeuristic aspect of it -- even more so do I feel uncomfortable photographing my friend's ex-boyfriends who frighten me. I grabbed my brother by the collar, and we quickly ducked out of the store. Close call.I was photographing cars in the parking lot of Barnes & Noble (benign as they come), when a guy in a hooded black sweatshirt walked by, and said, "JEEZ!" He then darted away, and I never caught a glimpse of his face, however, I seriously contemplated using *him* as my UGLY DEVIL, although I don't breed them as ugly or as devlish as Rich.I need some strawberries desperately. Perhaps I'll host another fondue fiesta with Goo and Julia. Those strawberries were *good*.My father inconspicuously left a Dave Barry calendar anecdote at the side of my keyboard, with a little note attatched: "this reminded me of your stories about that kid from your school." See if you can pick out who he means by reading it.In TV commercials, sport utility vehicles are shown splashing through rivers, charing up rocky mountainsides, swinging on vines, diving off cliffs, racing through the surf, and fighting giant sharks hundreds of feet beneath the ocean surface. But nobody ever drives on an actual road. In fact, the interstate highways in Sport Utility Vehicle Commercial World, having been abandoned by humans, are teeming with deer, squirrels, birds, and other wildlife species that have fled from the forest to avoid being run over by nature-seekers in multi-ton vehicles barreling through the underbrush at fifty miles per hour.I will first state that I can't believe Dave Barry gets paid good money to say crazy things like that. Here are your clues as to the student in question: SUV, diving off cliffs, and underbrush at fifty miles per hour. ANSWER: Drew. My father always appreciates a good "look at how stupid Drew is" story. There are so many."Does anyone still wear a hat? I'll drink to that."~Jenn

Reconsideration

I reread my last journal entry, which was peculiar. I could not understand it at all. I remember all of the emotions, but the words didn't seem to match up. They were separate entities. At least I had a restful sleep last night.I need to stop using the adverb "very." It has been bothering me greatly. In 3rd grade, I learned that the word "very" is weak, and should only be used in rare circumstances. From grades 3 - 10, I abided by this unwritten rule, and now, all of a sudden, every other word I say is "very." Oy.This is going to be MY SHORTEST LIVEJOURNAL ENTRY EVER, because I have lots of work due tomorrow. This is a major accomplishment.~Jenn

Constantine, Constantine, Constantine!

Today was such a strange today. I tossed and turned in my sleep all night, from the nightmares. I awoke feeling as if my mother had died all over again. My emotions were on edge all day.I had to be at school for workday at the ungodly hour of 9am. Addam and I made the "owl" tapestry for the musical, although Addam's owl resembles a lemur more than it does an avian. We cautioned Vanessa as to our lack of artistic ability, but she didn't listen. The work for the tapestry was horribly tedious. Charcoal, flog, redo the charcoal, flog again, more charcoal, flog, flog, flog, charcoal...After lunch, for some reason or another, I was feeling more vulnerable. Gwenn pulled me over, for what I thought was to talk more about costumes. She wanted to express her sympathies for the death of my mother. I smiled as she went on to say that I could talk to her if I ever needed to. So many people have offered their shoulder, but I don't feel comfortable enough to talk to most of them.Something pushed me over the edge after that. I was occupied painting the boarder around the tapestry, and suddenly water surged in my eyes, and I couldn't see. I cried in the bathroom for half an hour, my entire face enshrouded in tears. I kept telling myself, "I'm stronger than this," despite the fact that I know strength does not mean the absence of emotion. Strength can come through tears. Then why did I feel so weak? I still miss her so much. I want to talk about her - not a planned conversation, I want to be able to talk freely about her, to see the slightest bit of interest in the other person's eyes, so that guilt does not eat away at me. It's more of an issue with kids at school. There is only one friend my age that I can think of that doesn't shy away when I mention her, or the hospital visits, or illness and death. I feel a great mortality, and yet, I'm not afraid. I am afraid of making people uncomfortable. People's eyes can express so much, then why am I afraid to look at them? What am I so afraid of? Nothing that was listed on Goo's phobia list. Am I afraid of the truth, or am I afraid that they'll see what's in my eyes. I have great control over my mouth, to hide all evidence -- but there's nothing I can do to control my eyes.I've been hiding behind a wall of cynicism to an even greater extent as of late. Some of the sarcasm has been drawn out of my nature, but I worry about the rest. I'm not usually so "catty," and I generally only complain about such trivial events during more substantial relapses.My afternoon was better. I ate at Bertucci's with Goo, Betsy, and Morgan. Our waiter was Constantine (Constantine, Constantine) from Bosnia. He was very... interesting. Morgan, what's the time? If any of the three of you are reading this, thank you so much. I was able to forget the pain (physical and emotional), and laugh, and genuinely enjoy myself.Betsy and I then ventured a la casa de Goo, and had a relaxing afternoon. I needed it. I've been working hard, skipping breaks at school to do more work, and losing sleep. Neglect catches up to me very quickly. My legs hurt so badly, that I can barely walk, and during the show (which, for the record, was wonderful, save that Amy girl) I kept getting double vision to accompany the headaches. That, in addition to countless other physical ailments. I've certainly felt worse, but I hate when I do this to myself. I could have prevented it, but I opted out. I predict a more substantial crash tomorrow, and then I'll spend the next week recovering. I even yelled at Jacquie on the stairs before the show. She was kvetching about walking allll the way back to the main building, after just reaching the theater building, and I barked back, "OH, complain, complain! FIBROMYALGIA AND CFIDS." I think I took her aback, I'm not usually so forward with her. My harsh tone surprised me, too.Tomorrow I get so sleep -- and I plan to sleep as late as I can go avoid the eminent collapse. I've been dealing so well with my Chronic Fatigue lately, I can't believe that I did this to myself. Someday I'm going to get rid of this. Someday, I'm going to wake up, and I'll be able to walk perfectly, and I won't have a headache, and I won't hurt everywhere, and my joints won't ache, and my lymph nodes won't be swollen, and I'll be able to sleep, and I won't get sick, and I'll be able to think properly... and it will be a miracle. Even if the odds are one million to one, I can do it. I can do anything.~Jenn

Limbo

I'm at the brief interlude on a Tuesday, after dinner but before piano. There is not enough time to even attempt productivity, yet there is just enough to recognize that there is truly nothing to do. That's what the "limbo" is about in the subject, it has nothing to do with the shimmy-under-the-pole game, as much as I wish it did.I bought an almost entirely new wardrobe of pants this weekend. I keep putting my pants into the laundry, and then I never see them again. They are eaten, by the monster that is known as Joanne's stupidity. Not only have I lost nearly all of my pants since we hired her, but many of my shirts have also mysteriously disappeared. All I ever get back are socks and underwear -- and take note that the underwear usually does not belong to me. Apparantly, this is not a vicious conspiracy against me, but against my entire family. On weekends, we hold Underwear Swaps, in a last attempt to regain our respective garments.Luckily, the conspiracy will soon end. Joanne leaves on the first of March, along with all of my problems. We have an interview with another person on Thursday. She's just out of college, degree in elementary ed. We've interviewed several others via telephone, but quickly overruled them as a possibility. One of them spoke like Fran Drescher, only more nasal. Uh huh, just picture that one.I taped my commute to school this morning, unintentionally, of course. I found an old tape of Olivia singing, with our freshman year chorus rehearsing on Side B. I tried in vain to listen to the chorus rehearsal, but ended up pressing "record" and setting it beside me for the duration of the ride. I sing in the car. Loud. If you haven't heard me belt a C#, you're really missing out in life. My C# comes with a guarantee of permanent deterioration of your ear drums. I do cover the cost of all damage if settled in court.When you see Amy in school tomorrow, rush to congratulate her. RUSH. She finally broke up with Andy, after a prolonged relationship that consisted of talking once every few months, and occassional, but rare, eye contact. Now she is available to become friends with Crump. What a concept.Katy and I passed many notes in Latin American History -- purely in Spanish. I continued with this because I figured that even if Jeff picked it up, he couldn't understand it. He's one of those French elitist types; too high and mighty to even consider learning a word of Spanish. Most of the notes from my side were better references to Lexy, whom I am certain comes in a box labeled "Mattell." We also engaged in a highly intellectual discussion revolving around the purely evil natures of the Cort?s-based character in the horrible film The Road To El Dorado, and the the oft-questionable taste of women in such movies. Who would you rather date from El Dorado, fun-loving Miguel, or stuffy Tulio? Is it even a question.I took an entire role of film of my Children's Garden kids at lunch, none of which developed properly. ?Qu? frustrating! I believe it's because I discovered that my camera was accidentally set on 800ASA, but I can't be sure. That's the only logical explanation, anyway. I did waste a good hour after school because of this mishap.It's officially time to leave for piano. I have conquered the boredom.~Jenn

Procrastination and a Monday Evening

I have been trying to get work done all weekend, to no avail. Yesterday, I had another mini-CFIDS crash after an erythromycin crash, and spent the day trying to recover while we had guests. That leaves Monday evening for homework.I have just spent the past two and a half hours creating a detailed outline of Cort?s' conquest on M?xico. I glance down the assignment sheet to see that I need to write another detailed outline -- of Pizarro's conquest -- read another, oh, 40 pages of dense, required reading, in addition to writing a 4-page paper. By Wednesday. Is Jeff on CRACK? It's time to go to the Gingerbread Construction Factory and buy another one of those Boston Creme muffins. "The Boston Creme muffin was... unusually good. And it did help her grade." -Jeff BiersachNot to mention Civil War with Rachel Hirsch. As much as I adore history, it's about now that I'm kicking myself for scheduling two history courses in one mod. If I hadn't readjusted my schedule so much mods 1-3 this wouldn't have happened.Is everyone else avoiding their Monday evenings?And Phyllis is a horrible name. It's like that Mary Poppins 'Jolly Holliday" name ... little... thing-ish monologue-ish-rap-ish something-or-other.Mavis and Sybil have ways that are winning,Prudence and Gwendolyn set your heart spinning,Phoebe's delightful, Maude is disarmingJanis, Phyllicia, Lydia, charming.Winifred's dashing, Vivian's sweetStephanie's smashing, Pricilla a treat,Veronica, Millicent, Agnes and JaneConvivial company, time and againDorcas and Phyllis and Glynis are sorts,All agree are three jolly good sportsBut the cream of the crop, the tip of the topIs Mary Poppins, and there I stopI still maintain that I can do it better than both Anthony Carrigan and Matt Christian. I don't run out of breath.And now, it's on to Pizarro!~Jenn

Mod Euro flashbacks: Sing, Swing, Savor the sting...

I spent the day doing errands with my family, and ultimately collapsed by 4pm. When I collaspe, I generally have low threshold for bad jokes. I have had several excruciatingly painful encounters with my father during these moments of collapsation. And to top it off, we were stuck at the mall...For the past two or three weeks, I have been craving soft-serve chocolate ice cream with strawberries. I'm not sure why. My father allowed me to get some at the mall -- or at least, he gave his permission. We began to order, when the cashier cut in saying that they were out of chocolate frozen yogurt. Okay, fine, I could deal without the soft-serve, but wanted chocolate. "Oh, we're out of chocolate, hold on a second..." They had chocolate fudge brownie, but no chocolate. So I chose a substitute, and ordered the strawberries... "Oh, I'm sorry, we're out of strawberries." Do they have *nothing*? Those incompetent people at H?agen Dazs.I'm listening to the Original Broadway Cast Album of The Scarlet Pimpernel, and now I am having flashbacks to Modern European History with Dave Levy, last year. That class was the definition of insanity. Let's see... who was in it: Katy (during her first mod at CSW), Janek (and his foppish hand gestures), James (who was.. James), Peter Droste (who loved to watch the Austin Powers II DVD under the table while Dave lectured. Dave never seemed to catch on. Peter was also going through his Pillsbury Doughboy obsession), Morgan (crazy, as usual), and Ben Gardner (with his amusing pseudo-French accents). Great class. Katy and I played the song "Madame Guillotine" for our report on something French Revolution-ish. Dave kept asking me to sing it, but I couldn't get a note out without doubling in hysterics. For everyone's amusement, here are the lyrics:MADAME GUILLOTINEfrom the musical The Scarlet Pimpernelmusic by Frank Wildhorn, with lyrics by Nan Knighton, of whom I am still suspended in disbelief that she actually wanted credit for this song.I know the gutterAnd I know the stink of the streetKicked like a dog,I have spat out the bile of defeat.All you beauties who towered above me,You who gave me the smack of your bod.Now I give you the gutter,I have you the judgement of God!Vengeance Victorious!These are the glorious days:Women of Paris,Come gather your bloody bouquets.Now gaze on our goddess of justiceWith her shimmering, glimmering bladeAs she kisses these traitors,She sings them a last serenade!Sing! Swing! Saor the sting!As she severs you - Madame Guillotine!Slice! Come, Paradise!You'll be smitten withMadame Guillotine!The world may be ugly,But each man must do what he must.Give in, pretty dear,In a year you will be pretty dust.Now come let our lady possess youIn her breath taking, hair-razing bed.She will tingle your spineAs she captures your heart and your head!Sing! Swing! Savor the sting!As she severs you - Madame Guillotine!Slice! Come Paradise!Our delilah will shave you razor clean!God, when did man lose his reason?Save us, my God, if you're there!God, can you not feel the terrorLike a fire in the air?Flash! Slash! Glisten and gash!She will ravish you! Madame Guillotine!Split! Madame just bit!Give her more to bite! She's a hungry queen!Sing! Savor the sting!As she severs you - Madame Guillotine!Slice! Come, Paradise!Hail, her MajestyMadame Guillotine!If you want to hear this beautiful song (if not just for the chorus), you may click hereNo, I did not add in all of those exclamation points, that's how the lyrics are written in the linear notes. I love the "as she severs you." Touch of brilliance, if I do say so myself.~Jenn