Farewell

For Immediate Release (and by immediate, we mean 5 months after the fact):

Abigail and Heather have decided to pursue solo projects. Although they remain friends (except for when Abigail releases Heather's Palm contacts to the paparazzi, bitch), they would like you to check their new projects and would love your support during this emotionally volatile time.

Sincerely,

Abigail and Heather

Adventures in La Mirada

La Mirada, or "the look" as our southern neighbors would say, dawned crisp and sunny this morning. Or so I’m told. I didn’t see the dawn, as I was sleeping off the effects of finishing a newspaper in the early hours of the morning, coupled with insomnia brought on by my vexatious habit of forming my grocery list as I'm falling asleep. This results in me laying in bed at 3 a.m. thinking, eggs....bread....I'M SO TIRED WHY CAN'T I SLEEP....yogurt...granola….

So when I finally woke up, I was delighted to see my Blog Accomplice, Abigail M. Schilling, standing in the hallway about to embark on a trip to Starbucks. And because about 2/3 of my bloodstream is comprised of nonfat upside-down caramel macchiatos, I said "Can I come? Can I come?" and Abigail said, "Yes but I'm leaving RIGHT NOW." Which resulted in this:



I know that this is the back view, but I really don't think the Internet is ready for the front version. Because I have a lot of hair. A. Lot. And it was all knotted and pouffy from my hard night, and I looked kind of like a crazy-eyed lion tamer slash transient wearing a wig I found in a dumpster. I tried to hide it with the hood, but it kept creeping out from the sides. It has a mind of its own, and apparently, it decided it wanted to be seen. Which is sad news, because our run through the Starbucks drive-thru unveiled an unbelievably hot Barista working the window. Shoot, I ordered my drink extra hot, not my Barista.

Here's a taste of the eye candy Mr. Hot Barista got when we rolled up in the Green Monster:

Squirrel Disposal: One of the many benefits of country living

I just went outside to check the horses' water, and imagine my surprise when I took a deep breath to inhale the crisp country air and instead heaved the Essence of Dead Woodland Animal into my lungs. Yes, there is definitely a deceased squirrel lying on my driveway, emitting a smell so putrid that you can almost see the stench rising from the body and swirling around, cartoon-like, into my nostrils. Rigormortis has apparently been weaving her magic for some time, as all four of its legs are sticking straight up in the air. Currently, my brother is at work, my parents are laying on the beach in Hawaii, and I have no clue what to do with the stiff, dirty carcass rotting outside my house in the 110-degree summer sun. I would really like to know what I did to deserve this life.

Stories Told As Lies in the 1950s

That's right, lies, my friends. Lies!!!

Recently, we received a piece of mail at work with the stamp located at right. That is R. Buckminster Fuller (1895-1983), inventor, professor, and science man extrodonaire. He is being honored by the U.S. Postal Service for his contributions to society during his lifetime. This included the geodesic dome which is what his head is superimposed on in the stamp. I'll spare you the details of what exactly a geo-dome is you can google search it if you so desire.

That's what Amy and I did. Unfortunately, we were sucked in to a little tale called A Visit To Black Mountain by Joe Lewis. This is considered a "story about Bucky" which is what R. Buckminster Fuller's friends called him, we learned.

Now when I read "story about Bucky" I assume it will be a true story full of crazy scientist anecdotes. I was shocked to find out that this story was just a woven web of lies regarding a young boy named Jacob who wanders into the black mountains and finds crazy scientist Bucky tinkering away in his geodome.

Bucky welcomes him into Black Mountain College where he becomes a student of new invention things. At one point Bucky and Jacob enter a room with a piano that makes music that sounds like "tinks and plunks." It is discovered that this is no average piano but a prepared piano by John Cage who describes playing it as being "in control of a percussion orchestra."

The stories falsities were tell-tale with lines like:

But in the twinkling of an eye his boredom was gone.

"Just call me Bucky," smiled the inventor, as Jacob ran off to Aunt Nan's and Uncle Ted's.

"I'm pleased to meet you, Mr. Cage. Do you mind if I ask a question?"

At that moment another man sprang into the room wearing tight black pants, a tee shirt, and no shoes.

Anni and Josef had to leave their homeland of Germany when the Nazi Party took control of Germany.

They would take their pie out in front of their small cabin after dinner and talk the night away.

Raleigh seemed so out-of-date now, so plain and unexciting.



In fact, we learn that Anni teaches weaving. Maybe she wove this web of lies.

In the author's defense, she included the small print at the bottom:

I took these historical liberties in order to introduce readers to the wonderful array of individuals who did visit and or teach at that very special college. Also I wanted to enliven the summer of 1948 as seen through the eyes of my fictional character Jacob Moore.

Got some free time? Read this wonderful tale. Have a lot of free time? Act it out with your friends.

You crazy fan

August 1, 2005 marks the return of the notorious, sweaty, speedboarding Russian Rapper Extraordinaire ILL Mitch to the rap industry.

This album, creatively titled "Still Mitch" is promised by Mitch to be " 2 time as long as first album.It should not be too many more months as long as I dont get arrested again."

Beeeoooooouuuuup beeeeooouup (<-- Smarm Alarm).
Apparently Mitch is as shocked as we are that he has stayed out of prison, because he has provided a list on his web site (www.illmitch.com) of things that he has accomplished since getting out of the slammer. Prepare to be impressed:


- All beat for new record done

- 20 new picture for website done

- Lyric for some song done

- Got movie clip done

- Need to finish more movie clip

- Need to finish more lyric

- And got more thing done that are secret

Call me crazy, but I generally don't count still needing to do things as accomplishments. But frankly, it's an accomplishment this guy ever survived in prison. If I were a convict, I would fully beat up people who use phrases like "call me Lord Master" and "take a seat on my anger sword." On the other hand, this "one more thing that are secret" business has me intrigued. Maybe he learned English. But, judging from this "News" exerpt from his web site, probably not:

"To person who throw me a fruit to my helmet on street. I know color year and styles of saturn car you drive and I tell my probations officer what you look. If I catch you on the drive by my front I do you a serious danger and I can tell you "one thing" you don't drive thats "for sure". You crazy fan."

Well, his blue unbuttoned feather vest is doing the ladies a serious danger, that's "for sure."

Those Rubber Bracelets

I just feel so confused about these bracelets. Especially the ones that are supposed to show "support" to causes. Do proceeds go to the causes? Does wearing them say, "Yes, I am against cancer."

Who isn't against cancer? Am I pro-cancer because I don't wear a bracelet?

And then there are the ones like those above that don't even have a cause. In my google-image searching I found one that read "Drama Queen." Sign me up. Now there is a cause I'll support.

Tonight...

I ordered my first drink, a Venitian Sunset. And I wasn't even carded.

I Ain't No Holla Back Girl

This morning I had the aural treat of waking up to Gwen Stefani's nasal rhasp proclaiming:





This shit is bananas, b-a-n-a-n-a-s

This shit is bananas
b-a-n-a-n-a-s

Again, this shit is bananas
b-a-n-a-n-a-s

This shit is bananas
B-A-N-A-N-A-S
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

And I thought pop music hit an all-time low with O-Town's "Liquid Dreams." (Stellar lyrics include: Posters of love surrounding me/I'm lost in a world of fantasy/Could this song BE any more gay/etc.) Side note: Redding has the misfortune of being Ashley Angel's hometown, and as such, O-Town used to play here on a regular basis until they made it big. And by "big" I mean "dropped off the face of the earth because the world realized they're ugly and tone deaf." If I hear one more Redding girl tell me how she made out with Ashley Angel in high school, I will promptly lodge her Venti Caramel Frappuccino into her larynx.

But anyway, back to banana shit: SPEAK ENGLISH, GWEN. I sat in bed for a good five minutes trying to decipher The Stefani Code, but I honestly could find no connection between America's favorite source of potassium and Gwen's shit. However, I did decide that I found the missing link between man and ape. And also, I decided that I felt like my mom when, the other day, she proudly announced to my brother and me that she watched that "Pimp my car" show on MTV.

P.S.--Happy Fourth of July :)

Why I Am Not Asleep Right Now

My badass neighbor, who is at least 60, probably a lifetime member of Hell's Angels, and resembles the man at left, decided it was necessary to drive his motorcycle around the neighborhood repeatedly.

Now, my neighborhood is not that big and I could hear him, two blocks away purring as he came nearer. The sound would crescendo as he reached my house and zoomed by and if I wasn't in zombie-sleep-mode and had a digital camera I would have been able to capture his mug shot as he passed.

I know its him because yesterday, every time I left the house, I saw him, standing next to his bike, his long silver hair pulled back into a biker pony. He was looking at his bike every time. I waved because I wanted to be a friendly neighbor. Clearly he responded by circling FOUR times.

It's a good thing my dogs don't live here; they would have gone crazy.

Since I have been abruptly awoken, Michael "Could I Be More Ambiguous About My Age" Croghan from CarMax has called twice. See, he's seen my driver's license which has UNDER 21 stamped all over it and a picture of me when I was 16 so I've got nothing to hide behind. He also knows my monthly income.

Ah well, probably isn't the best idea to date car salesmen anyway.

Those $1.99 Magazines Slash Brad and Jen Update

I pay serious money to receive the hard-hitting journalism known as People Magazine. I trust People, I trust what they write and I trust their sources. I know they won't say Britney's pregnant unless she is actually pregnant. They reported she was pregnant and her agent was like "well she hasn't told me." A week later Brit is all "I'M HAVING A BABY!!!!" Shocker, dear. Maybe you should tell sources close to you to stop divulging your secrets.

But this isn't about Britney Spears. It's about Jennifer Aniston, one of my favorite celebrities (I am ashamed to say that I believe I know her because I have read so much about her). Do not read this post any further if you 1) Hate Brad and/or Jen; 2) Know nothing about the separation/divorce/drama; 3) Think Angelina is hot.


The magazine cover at right suggests that Brad has PROPOSED to Angelina. This is IMPOSSIBLE. Brad and Jen dated for 3 and a half YEARS before they got married. And when they married they weren't even committed to life (they were committed to each other, for that time but they don't necessarily see marriage as a lifelong institution). I highly doubt Brad is willing to make any sort of commitment. He is a slowww mover.

Unfortunately, I can't find a picture of the magazine cover I saw yesterday. Same magazine's cover headline read: "Jen's New Man." Guess what?

Her new man is co-star Vince Vaughn! And an eye-witness source, some waiter (they actually did have his name, that's a first) served them dinner recently and they were, prepare yourselves ... "laughing and telling stories." GASP.

Clearly she has moved on. She had dinner with a co-worker and they TOLD STORIES. If only every man I told stories with could be considered mine; I would certainly not be sitting here blogging.

I would be MAKING OUT.

GASP.

Heather Dodds: Fish Troller Extraordinaire

What I Did Today:

Today I went to the lake where my grandpa made me drive his boat at 4 MPH for AN HOUR AND A HALF so he could "troll for fish." This involves me sitting at the wheel, feeling my melanocytes slowly becoming malignant as the sun fries my arms, and having my anal grandpa, who is facing backwards, shout warnings to me AFTER i have passed obstructions. "Watch out for that log!" he'd yell, a good minute and a half after I had successfully bypassed the log.

Meanwhile, I'm staring at all the normal people out wakeboarding, tubing, and actually GETTING IN THE WATER as it is 105 degrees outside, and we are on a LAKE. Instead, I got to sit at the wheel and stare at this stupid fish finder monitor showing NO FISH, as the water is like 80 feet deep. Every once in a while, G-Pa's fishing line would get tangled, and he'd have me but the boat in neutral so he could get situated. I don't know if you've ever driven a boat, but you can't steer when boats are in neutral. So, we'd start to drift. "TURN THE DAMN WHEEL," he'd shout, and I'd say, "I can't, I'm in neutral." "What are you in neutral for?"

Because you told me to, jackass. Needless to say, no fish were caught, and I will be dying young due to skin cancer. What a day.

More tales of my Summer of Unemployment are on the way. Stay tuned.

Cheesecake

Heather and I both have very refined tastes when it comes to cheesecake. I, for the most part, do not prefer cheesecake. Why, you ask? It's a dessert that is made from CHEESE. Come now, people. Why stray from basics like chocolate, milk, flour? Why stray into a completely different food group that has nothing to do with carb and just reminds me of France? Honestly.

Therefore, I will only eat cheesecake if it is covered in some sort of gooey sugary substance that resembles frosting or syrup. This usually means fake strawberry sauce studded with real frozen strawberry halves. Mmm. A Cheese-based dessert has suddenly been transformed into an edible delicacy.

Heather will only eat cheesecake plain. Why, you ask? Because she HATE HATE HATES the fake strawberry sauce. I still love her, though, because I'm just THAT good of a person.

This posed a problem once when we decided that instead of going to class (it was a five-minute walk away and we were standing in front of food) we should eat cheesecake instead. I think I agreed to this because the alternative was going to class since I will normally turn down cheesecake (my favorite thing at the Cheesecake Factory--the baskets of bread they just keep bringing. Its amazing.).

We wander over to look in the glass case to choose our piece of cheesecake (we have to split everything because we're too poor to buy two, seriously). There, laying side by side in the glass case are two cheesecakes. One is plain and one is fake-strawberry. Immediately, I remembered Heather's aversion to the fake strawberries. But, Heather wasn't going to eat cheesecake if I didn't eat any and since I really didn't want to disappoint her, I suggested we get cheesecake with fake strawberries ON THE SIDE. Unfortunately, the high-class eatery we were visiting didn't have on the side strawberries because they buy these cheesecakes frozen. From the grocery store.

We then came to the conclusion that the easiest possible solution was to get the strawberry cheesecake and just remove the strawberries from half of the cheesecake because I love Heather THAT MUCH. Four knives, two forks, and three plates later, we failed. Amazingly enough, we still managed to finish the cheesecake.

Now, recently, I overheard two girls in passing, discussing either fast food or cheesecake. I'm not sure which because this is what I heard:

"But have you ever tried Jack in the Box cheesecake?!?!?! Its amazing..."

Jack in the Crack sells cheesecake? Does anyone else have a problem with this?

Hug a Girl Scout

I made friends with a Girl Scout tonight. Her name was Mary. She came to my door and said, "Hi, I'm Mary. I believe you ordered some cookies?"

And I said, "Have they been paid for?"

"Yep," she said.

"Then yes!"

We were fast friends. But now I'm sitting here eyeing the boxes of Samoas and Thin Mints, and wishing my roommate were here so I could get permission to eat some. It's like freaking Sophie's Choice over here. Do I resist the temptation? Or do I eat some and blame it on Mary?

While I'm deciding, here are some little gems of insight I found on the Girl Scouts of America Web site:

***Girl Scout Cookie boxes are bold and bright and capture the spirit of Girl Scouting. Introduced in the fall of 2000, these boxes clearly show girls having fun and growing strong.***

Well, that's a nice theory, but I'm looking at the box of samoas and seeing a bunch of girls squirting themselves in the face with a fire hose. The thin mints fare no better: a whole troop is attempting to climb into a tree house armed with hard hats and harnesses. I don't know about you, but back when I was a young'n, I climbed trees freestyle. Sans hard-hat.

Or, try this one on for size:

*** For the safety and security of the girls who are selling cookies, Girl Scout Cookies are not available for purchase online.***

Because going door to door in random neighborhoods in the greater Los Angeles area is way safer than, say, filling out an online order form. Not to mention the fact that pedophiles probably really appreciate that the "boxes clearly show girls having fun and growing strong." Stellar logic, Girl Scouts.


Well, I'm sorry to say, I'm giving in to the temptation. Now, the only question is: Fire Hose, or Tree Climbing Gold Miners?

Picas (and why you care)

Have you ever heard of pica?

I did once. On a slideshow, junior year of high school, on how to make a yearbook. It was before computers (BC).

Heather has never heard of pica (her school was apparently rich enough to afford computers--AC).

Picas can quickly be forgotten in this up-and-coming AC age. A pica was a unit of measurement used in paper and print press (or, alternately, a person who has the irrational urge to consume dirt, ashes, bones, etc. usually brought on my mental illness [source: dictionary.com]).

The horrible memory of the high school slide show pica reference was quickly brought to the forefront of my mind last night when I was visited by The Pica Fairy (TPF).

TPF was disguised as a freshman student here at the University. She stopped by the paper to help with layout ("I really like layout and I'm good at counting picas" she told our Editor-in-Chief who was also in the dark as to the definition(s) of pica but allowed her in because she said she was good at something). Since I am the assigned layout person, she was supposed to "shadow" me.

Now, folks, as Layout Person, I have a job to do, so I gave the girl some pages to look over and make comments, you know, for fun. This is when TPF struck. The pages I got back were covered with little notes that said things like, "pica," "full pica," "pica?" along with all sorts of little arrows and lines. Nothing to the affect of, "this picture could be more square" or "this line could be thicker" or "these boxes don't quite line up." Allow, I think she might have referenced that last one with a pica comment.

She then proceeded to ask me several questions as to how we check our layout.
Actual dialogue (do not try this at home):

TPF: So do you line up the picas at the bottom?
Me: Ummmm [as I rack my brain to remember if I eat ash or know was a pica is].... I'm sorry what did you ask?
TPF: Do you line up the picas at the bottom of every text box?
Me [acting like I knew exactly what she was talking about and definately too cool for picas]: Oh, no, we just eyeball it around here.
TPF: Oh, well, at my high school* our teacher was really dedicated to excellance, so we had to count picas. We got a lot of awards.
*her high school: paper was definately better than APU's and Simpson College.

Now, I'm sure counting picas is of terrible importance. But, seeing as I am a full time student, and producing a fine paper without a pica count, I've decided to just dislike her.

Plan of action (to be executed by Heather, myself, and the rest of the staff):

~drop "pica" into everyday conversation, as a joke
~roll eyes at other staff members while TPF is in the room (but not so she can see, not that she would be looking with all the pica-counting anyway)
~throw all her edited pages away and say, "thanks for wasting your time" under our breath
~make up a word of our own (suggestions: apon, wudnut, etc.) and write it all over pages, then ask her to please count the apons
~laugh manically when she realizes how dumb she is.

Well, thats all we can think of now. Please post suggestions.

Women of Wal-Mart

News of the Day:

Did you know that there is a porn mag called Women of Wal-Mart featuring, obviously, ACTUAL female Wal-Mart employees? Oh, it's true. So, i'm not up on the whole porn scene, but i'm pretty sure that i have never in my 20 years seen a Wal-Mart employee that would look halfway decent naked. Come to think of it, there aren't many that look halfway decent with clothes on.

But i bet this magazine will have a huge fan base in Redding (my hometown, for those who don't know...in terms of white trash, think Norwalk times 10) anyway, at any given time, but especially on the 1st and the 15th when welfare checks arrive, half the town of Redding is packed into our tiny Wal-Mart, and most of them are in the drug aisle buying herpes treatment and abusing their abundant children. Pretty much the only aisle that's empty is the one that sells shampoo and deodorant.

But anyway, i'm not sure if i feel good about the porn industry creating a fanbase especially for these people, because A) they probably can't afford to buy it, and it will end up sitting on the shelves in gas stations where I will have to look at it every time i fill up, and B) Most white trash men are already married to their own Woman of Wal-Mart, and don't need to buy a porn mag to see naked nastiness. I'm just waiting for Big Bertha who works the gun counter to decide she wants equal rights and lobby for Men of Wal-Mart. And if that happens, I'm leaving the country.

Softball or Who Sucks and How

I am taking softball this month for 1 credit.


Now, that you've stopped laughing, let me tell you a little more about our class. We have 12 students which means there are 6 on each team (teams are determined at random by the coach at the start of every class and named according to the logo on someone's shirt). That is three under the required about for fielding so the team up to bat has to donate some of their members to the opposition.

This means that the person playing first base is actually on the team up to bat. Ethical issue? I think so.

I am, by far, the worst person in the class. I can hit alright and I can ever throw a little bit but I cannot catch for the life of me. And I can't run very fast either. I'm going to choose to blame the catching thing on my ambidexiotry (random movie quote: "I'm not an ambi-turner...I can't turn left") and thank God I can at least turn left.

Now, at first, with me sucking and all, it was dissapointing to have me on your team. However, my class has now figured out that I am the "Secret Weapon." As the secret weapon, I play first base when my team is up to bat. See, its not an ethical issue for me because I can't catch the ball and I am suddenly the most valuable player.

Is there a lesson in this? I think so.

What was that thing Jesus said about the first being last?

I've never been MVP before. :D

So, maybe I heart Starbucks

Since I last posted (a post, consequently, about Starbucks) I have visited Starbucks no less than 5 times. This may have something to do with the immense amount of pages I am trying to get through and the fact that if I am anywhere near anything else I own (namely this computer or People magazine) I do not read. I also have a new portable CD player which my mom got me for Christmas ("you can listen to your chapel make-ups while you work out!!") and I am finally one of those people with headphones on. I feel so urban. Urban-chic, really, with my pointy shoes (another Christmas gift).

Anyway, last night when I was dining at Starbucks on Vanilla Caramels, I decided that I wanted a Starbucks wedding. Let me paint you a little picture: open Starbucks bar, buffets of muffins, crosaints, and biscottis and more buffets of their beautiful desserts, Blackout Cake, Opera Cake, the list goes on. A Chantico fountain. And then, as I so eloquently described last night, Vanilla Caramels on all the tables with pictures of me instead of labels. And by me, I mean me and the wonderful man who loves me enough to throw me this party.

Unfortunately, Starbucks does not list catering as a business opportunity on their Web site. I'll have to call in a favor.

have you hugged a uterus today?

Forget being knit together in your mother's womb, a uterus can now be made in your living room.

MK Carroll, a knitting (and apparently anatomy) enthusiast now offers an online knitting pattern for all those who desire a uterus doll made out of yarn to cuddle with. Complete with a cervix and fallopian tubes, all you need for this knitting project is yarn, a needle, and probably a severely damaged brain. Mattel better watch out, these babies are going to be outselling Barbie any day now. Up next for Carroll: crocheted prostate glands?


The link thingy isnt working, so you'll have to copy and paste to see pictures. sorry.

http://www.knitty.com/ISSUEwinter04/PATTwomb.html

Call me Chantico

Chantico is the Aztec goddess of the home and hearth. She symbolizes the combination of pleasure and pain, according to a reliable Aztec mythology Web site.

Chantico is also the name of the new Starbucks "drinkable dessert." Debuting today, this 6 oz. steamin' beverage carries only 390 calories. Thats 65 calories per ounce. 8 oz. of orange juice is about 110 calories or about 14 calories per ounce.

The drink is also 4 times the government-determined appropriate serving size for candy (1.4 oz. according to the Hershey Web site).

"This should be a very occasional treat — like maybe on your 100th birthday," Neal Barnard, author of Breaking the Food Seduction, told USAToday. "It has more fat than most candy bars."

This drink is apparently targeted to chocoholics and is also intended to boost sales during the midday and after-dinner lulls. You see, $5 billion in coffee sales last year was not enough money for Mr. Bucks. He can't leave us alone, can he? First its his "tall mochas." Then he's dragging us with the likes of peppermint syrup. Now this?

What I want to know is why this is suddenly the "drinkable dessert"? Lets talk about Frappacinos. Or their whipped cream.

What this really comes down to, I think, is that I love Starbucks. I love their whipped cream and their mellow atmosphere and their wiley ways of convincing me that spending $3.15 on 500 calories of fat and caffeine is totally worthwhile.

I suppose I could just stop going or just avoid Chantico but I think I love the combination of pleasure and pain.

Dude, Merry Snowman!

So I was catching up on my news and investigatory research and found this informative article about the use of the word "dude."

First of all, turns out that a professor actually got paid to do research on the use of the word "dude" in everyday language. Second of all, according to the study, "Men report that they use dude with women with whom they are close friends, but not with women with whom they are intimate."

Read: If he calls you 'dude' then you're just friends.

Lastly, I learned a little bit of history regarding the word:

Historically, dude originally meant "old rags" -- a "dudesman" was a scarecrow. In the late 1800s, a "dude" was akin to a "dandy," a meticulously dressed man, especially out West. It became "cool" in the 1930s and 1940s, according to Kiesling. Dude began its rise in the teenage lexicon with the 1981 movie "Fast Times at Ridgemont High."

In other news, apparently Northbrook residents are celebrating the North Pole this Winter Solstice. Polar Bears and snowmen are the mascots and Santa and Hannakuh Harry are apparently on vacation (I hear that Belize is the new "unusual but exotic" hotspot this season).

So you're bored?

I present to you, "Abigail's List of Things To Do When You're Bored (and Have the Internet)!"

1. Read the news.
a. Pick a favorite news site and check often.
b. Read lots of news and decide for yourself if the media really is liberal.

2. Go to BibleGateway.com and listen to the Gospels in other languages.

3. Start a blog and make other people suffer through your boringness. (I suggest Blogger over Xanga because its owned by Google and Google rocks.)

4. Shop online. Put everything you could possible want on your "Wish List" and send the link to all your family and friends.

5. Make a snowflake.

6. Check out this site and find your house or begin your career as a stalker.

7. Get on AIM and away-message-stalk everyone you know. Heck, if you are bored enough (and stupid) go into a chat room.

8. Google yourself. If you're not on the web, create a Web site.

9. Send me an email. I promise to reply. :)

Welcome home

I got pulled over tonight because our registration is apparently overdue and the cop was a total jackass. He gave me a freakin ticket even though it clearly was my mom's car (she was sitting next to me) and it was obvious that there had been some sort of error--not us being dumb. I hate cops sometimes. Me and The Village of Northbrook are going to have a chat come Monday. I might mention the fact that I no longer receive mail as well. Freakin government.

Oh, and we were on the way back from the animal hospital because my mom's friend's dog (that we were babysitting) ran into the street and got hit by a car. He'll survive, you know, after $3K worth of surgery.

I think I'm going to drown my sorrows in peppermint mochas and text messages to heather.

La La

Alright, now I'm not one to dwell on the evil things of the world but Ashlee Simpson is pissing me off right now. First of all, here are the lyrics to her song "LaLa":

You can dress me up diamonds
You can dress me up in dirt
You can throw me like a line-man
I like it better when it hurts

Oh, I have waited here for you
I have waited

You make me wanna la la
in the kitchen on the floor
I'll be your french maid
Where I'll meet you at the door
I'm like an alley cat
Drink the milk up I want more
You make me wanna
You make me wanna scream

You can meet me on an airplane
Or in the back of the bus
You can throw me like a boom-a-rang
I'll come back and beat you up

Oh, I have waited here for you
Dont, keep me waiting

You make me wanna la la
in the kitchen on the floor
I'll be your french maid
Where I'll meet you at the door
I'm like an alley cat
Drink the milk up I want more
You make me wanna
You make me wanna scream

You make me wanna la la
in the kitchen on the floor
I'll be your french maid
Where I'll meet you at the door
I'm like an alley cat
Drink the milk up I want more
You make me wanna
You make me wanna scream

I feel safe with you
I can be myself tonight
It's alright, with you
Cuz you hold, my secrets tight
You do, You do
---

La la? Please. And! She's a minor. What the frick.

Second, in her "thanks" on the album back she thanks all the guys the songs are about ("you know who you are"). There are twelve songs on the cd. All about love, lost love, or being in love. And she's a minor! How many times as she been in love? 12? One of every year of her life? What the frick.

Third, what about Simon? Does she not love him anymore? I hate it when people think they're too cool for 7th Heaven.

I'm glad I got that off my chest.

"Dittie"

So today we were shopping at Target and had to go down the neccessary but uncomfortable isle known as "Feminine Products" (although $2.5 billion was spent on feminine hygiene products last year, I'd like to get in on that action). Now there are the usual Tampax, Platex, and Always brands in their color coded boxes and styles. But we noticed this new brand called "Dittie."

First of all, there are drawings of girls on the boxes. Cute girls. These products looked like they were from Europe or something. We were wary. We also noticed that all the girls were "ethnic." Now, being an anglo-saxon, I took offense to the underrepresentation. Thankfully, on the backsides of the boxes there were pictures of my own people. Who chooses which side of the box gets to face the shopper?

Anyway, you can read all about it here.

Here they are.

Here they are.

Sick Awesome

Go look at this. But not if you're a pansy.

Confession

I think Johnny Depp looks a little bit like a woman.

Freakin Campus Safety

For the first time (maybe) ever I have extremely bitter and frustrated feelings towards Campus Safety. Here's the story:

The other night we had our closing banquet for The Academy. One of our students, was picking up several of us leaders and some other students in his big giant conversion van to drive us to the Caf Banquet Room (its a long walk in a skirt). Now, before he stopped to get us he pulled about 4 donuts around the Hope roundabout. He was going fairly fast, the van looked like it was going to tip. But we were the only people there and he's in high school. We refused to get into the van unless he promised not to drive like that. He promised. We got into the van, and observed the 15 mile per hour speed limit across campus. Right before we reached our destination a c.s. officer (who, I might add, had come over the night before, wrapped someone's ankle for them and then led the group in worship) stepped out into the middle of the road and directed Kenny very sternly into a nearby parking spot. Kenny parked turned the car off and listened to the officer ask "do you know why I pulled you over?" We were all very perplexed in the back, hoping it wasn't because we weren't wearing seatbelts for the quarter mile drive. The officer stuck his head in the car, asked if all the adults could step out. As we climbed out of the van in our makeup and skirts and blown dry hair I noticed that two other squad cars had arrived on the scene. They all looked very angry and very worried. The long and short of it: Kenny got a brief lecture, we got let off the hook because we werent in the car when it happened, Kenny didnt get a ticket because they couldn't enforce it, and we were told that if anyone other students did that they would get kicked off campus. We apologized to the officers and went to our banquet.

Now I understand that apparently donuts are illegal. But where did these officers come from? They were nowhere to be seen when the event occured--was this because of the new security cameras? In which case, which lame switchboard operator thought it neccessary to dispatch three officers? There were also four of us leaders in the vehicle, would they have really charged us or were they just trying to get the kids? Why three officers? People fly down the uppercampus strip at 30 mph now that the speedbumps are gone--why arent they ticketing those people?

Later that night I got an officer to unlock my office where I had left my cell phone. I do not have a set of keys to my office because I'm not important enough. However, I didn't need to get my name to get into that office, I didn't need to prove that I worked there, I didn't need anything. They just unlocked it for me, just like that. I'm not encouraging criminals, here. I'm just a little confused on the priorities of our Campus Safety.

Working with The Academy

It was really really great working with The Academy this week. Its seriously such an amazing program. Over half the kids are going to come to Biola, I’m sure. At least two will be coming in the fall even though they were already registered and planning to go to other schools. Its such a good intro to Torrey and its so amazing to help dumb high schoolers become not dumb. I wish I had known about it when I was in high school.

I had some challenges working with the program—us chaperones weren’t told exactly what our role was and we weren’t equipped for that undetermined role either. We also only 5 hours of sleep every night (because we couldn’t go to bed til all the kids were asleep and they didn’t have a bed time and we had to go to staff meetings at 7:30 am) and I was also still working full time at apologetics/game room and hanging out with the kids in all my free time so I was exausted the whole week.

It certainly wasn’t worth the money, but it was really worth my time. Its so great to have a venue through which I can have an impact. I'm sometimes at a loss as to how I should really tell everyone about Torrey and Biola and Goodness. Working with The Academy was amazing.