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Confessions of an Anglophile
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Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in the "salaciousminx" journal:[<< Previous 20 entries]
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11:52 pm
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Numb
I'm currently uploading photos from my two visits to U of I in October and this damn computer is taking it's sweet time. Don't know why, but I feel compelled to get it done today. I guess it's just one less thing for me to worry about later. I don't want to cart the photos with me to NZ as it will 1) waste space and 2) they would probably get deleted on my first drunk night out. Anyone who's known me for a long time will know that I'm a picture whore. I want your pictures and my pictures. As a kid, there was nothing more exciting than when I got to pick up pictures that I had gotten developed. Alright, there were more exciting things but my parents made a huge mistake when they got me my first camera when I was in first grade. From there on out I wanted top-quality processing and doubles of even random junk. Huge mistake for them. I could safely say that a good chunk of their retirement is sitting on the shelves in my room in the form of wacky junior high and high school memories and unclaimed doubles that no one ever wants to see again.
It's funny because I think of all these great things to write during the day, but by the time I get around to it at night I could really care less. Probably because my feet are absolutely freezing and to be honest I can't feel them. This house is colder than death.
Countdown: 10 days till I leave for New Zealand. Or 11, whatever. Got to hang out today with the fabulous Miss Brown. We wandered around Woodfield for a few hours. Too short of a time! But I will see her and Lance in NZ when I visit them at the farm. Yay! Then took off for STC to grab lunch with Ripley's. Luckily came away unbitten this time. Sorry kid, but I'm not a chew toy.
Right well that's about it for me. I tried to pack a little more tonight but cut that short when my attention was diverted to, what else, screwing around online and getting back to emails.
Email me when I'm in New Zealand! jamie.luedtke@gmail.com --Trust me it's a good time. And I'll need to know if the OC's that I miss are any good.
Over and out.
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10:58 pm
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So close
Leaving for NZ in 14 days. I know my LJ is pretty gross to look at. I just wanted to change a few background colors but there are about 10-15 color things to change. Too much effort to put in right now.
Umm yeah. That's it. Karaoke on Wednesday anyone?
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11:21 pm
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Gonna be homeless again...
So I leave for New Zealand in 20 days. Moving for good? I wish. Running away with a foreigner? Not quite. Enjoying myself for 7 weeks? You bet. That's right, folks. In case you've been cemented behind a wall for the last few months, I am heading out for New Zealand soon. Jealous? Yeah, you probably are. But when have I not been jealous of every friend of mine that has studied abroad anywhere--especially in the UK. Since everyone seems to have this hankering to go to Europe, I'm branching out and going south: The Dirrrrty Dirty South. Actually, it's probably one of the cleaner countries I will ever visit, but it's about as far south as you can get.
Of course I'm excited to go. But the real pangs of excitement come and go. I occasionally get them at work, sometimes in the shower, and even when I'm grocery shopping. It's not a matter of, "Wow it's almost time!" but rather, "It's about damn time. Get me out of here."
The packing...this will be a feat. I'm spending 7 weeks in NZ and 1 week at my sister's in San Fransisco. 7 weeks backpacking with a very very small fraction of my clothing in one bag. Gross. I'll probably take as much on this trip as I do to one weekend in Champaign or Wisconsin.
Speaking of Champaign, congrats to my old team on taking 3rd at Midwest. You guys rock, and kick some ass against UNI this weekend--it's yours for the taking.
My how I could ramble, but I'm tired. More to follow. Stay tuned for my excellent adventures.
Current Mood: flat
Current Music: the voices in my head
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09:23 pm
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Stuck in a rut
Here I am, more than half a year later, trying to make this a regular thing. If there is one thing I have noticed a lack of lately in my life, it's consistency in pretty much everything. Erratic behaviors, fits of going mental, who the hell knows. All I know is that I'm sick of it and I'm wondering how I got here in the first place.
I graduated over two months ago with a solid plan of how to spend my first months of freedom from the grips of academia: eat, work, play, plan. And the outcome? Hodgepodge. I'm due out of the country in about two months but have no solid plans. A few emails here and there but really, it's all my fault for not getting things into gear. Exactly how am I going to take the publishing world by storm when I'm making the same hourly wages as any other Jane Doe working some retail job? Of course, I heart my job--mostly the people I work with. I will not profess any sort of love for outdoor patio furniture or the ecological friendliness of my company to teak forests in Indonesia, but I'm kind of glad that now it's back-to-school time, I don't have to deal with frantic mothers trying to heap clothes on their screaming children. We get our share of wailing rugrats in the store, but I'd much rather help them find that perfect magic rock than the perfect cardigan with bows and lace.
I could write more clever things (or try to...this is kind of a pointless effort), but I have an itch to read for the first time in two months. Since I've already done enough damage for one day by opening my mouth, I'm putting my muse to bed.
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08:47 pm
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Still Alive
My room is really bright right now. Just changed the light bulbs. Got 100 wt instead of 60. Oops. looks like it's back to the store tomorrow.
Shit's shit and that's it. 60 pages of crap to hack out/revise/write/bullshit and a crapass project all due before next Friday. This should be interesting.
Nothing further to write. Everything pisses me off these days. I'm waiting for the heart attack to come...
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11:58 pm
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You want random? Here it is.
I'm in the middle of hacking out a paper for a man who spends more class time, on average, talking about his canoe rather than technical writing. Fine by me, but I'm paying how much for this class? In return, I am composing a paper of equally ambiguous critiques and assumptions. You fling mud, I fling shit.
Our coaches have decided that Sunday practice is a wonderful way to get our hungover asses out of bed on the morning of the Lord's day. Actually, it's more of my day off, but it's not like I don't send a shoutout here and there up to the heavenly skies. Connections are good. Anyway, I have discovered the key to making practice fun and tolerable--at least until we run: go to practice still drunk! I think it'd be fun to drink before practice, say starting at six a.m., like people who tailgate. It's not that the practices are hard, I just don't enjoy sacrificing that time. The underlying paradox is that even though I am beginning to loathe these practices, I will still go. Let's just hope I don't puke one of these days.
I think I should explain that last post. Yeah, it was ornery. I was tired and pissed off; a regular crappy week. I found out Wednesday that my sister miscarried, which completely blew me away. She was only one month along, but she was so excited. I can only imagine how devastated she and her husband are, especially her. I was pretty much there when she found out she was pregnant.
On a smaller note, I've had a million appointments with various doctors and people who are here to help me get better, but I'm sick of it already. I don't feel like I have the time or motivation. What ails me you ask? Ah, but I keep this dirty secret to myself. I won't be dying any time soon, but it may keep you reading my bastard posts. Maybe if you guess, I will tell you. In truth, I'll probably tell you I am allergic to you, and that will be the end of it.
Classes are crap as well, but there are a few good things. I try to be optimistic, but I'm just so used to being ornery and spoiled. It's a lifestyle, kids, and it isn't easy to keep up. My global studies prof is awesome. Yesterday, she had the class over to watch a documentary and made us this fabulous dinner. She's the kind of person you want to adopt as your grandma.
Unfortunately, there are no exceptionally attractive people (whom I don't already know) in my classes. Even worse, none with accents. The English Department is not the Dating Department. Am I lonely? No. If someone tried to sleep in my bed with me I'd probably make them leave in the middle of the night. Or sleep on the floor. (can you tell I'm the youngest child?)
I need to finish this circumlocutory bullshit. (Look it up. It's called a dictionary. I'm calling the stress management people soon, too.)
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11:21 pm
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Test
Yeah, it's been 3 months. I just wrote something and it didn't post. I'm pissed off, stressed out, and tired, so bugger off. I'll write more when I feel like it.
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11:11 pm
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That's life
So I haven't updated in about three months. Cheers for me, that's a new record. What's happened in the last three months? Get real. If you haven't bothered to talk to me, you won't find out until you do. People who live vicariously through friends' websites or blog thingies need to get a life. No, not me. Yes, that's you. Honestly, how hard is it to pick up the phone or type "sup"? Too overbearing for some.
I have not been a fan of this week, but hopefully the weekend will bring some more joy. I'm tired, stressed out, and feel like everything is starting to slide from underneath my feet. The key word in the last sentence is "stressed." Everything you do will stress me out. I probably won't last out, and probably won't apologize if I do. This year started out shitty, and has not gotten any better since.
I'm calling about stress/anger management therapies on Monday.
Class, rugby, work, beer. This is my life, in no particular order.
We're playing ISU this weekend, which fucking rocks because I was not looking forward to a ten hour drive to and from Michigan. I wouldn't have minded playing Grand Valley State, but the drive bears down on one's soul (and one's transmission). Hopefully, my dear friend Mary Ellen is still alive, ready for me to kick her ass on the field. Even if I don't play the same team she does, I'll still take her down for good measure. The rest of the ISU team as well.
Otherwise, life is life. I have to work at 5 am. Time for bed, with tons of work left to rot in hell.
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09:48 pm
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Slices of Freedom
Week four or five of living at home for the summer. I no longer track long periods of time by slashing off the days on a non-existant calendar but wait with anticipation at the arrival/deposit of my paychecks. Aurora is lame. I confess that I have not been seeking out regular excitement this summer. Instead, I hope things that appear in my numerous daydreams (all at work) manifest themselves: an entire male rugby team arriving at my doorstep with kegs tucked under their arms like newspapers (a gathering to which I would immediately invite my rugby team), certain buildings starting on fire, finding 20 bucks in my pocket every time I pull my hand out (rubberbands from orchid deliveries relplace this), or waking up to my beer gut's anticipated disappearance (pssshh).
Next weekend brings, finally, the arrival of my first full weekend off since working two jobs. Today was my first taste of a full day off in two weeks. I spent the time cleaning, running, and taking a sweaty post-run snooze on my "nap bed" in my room. (No longer sleep in my room as bed is too small, so have choice of four other rooms and have taken over.) In celebration, I'm heading to Champaign to see friends, hang out in my apartment, and bug the shit out of my roommates. I can't wait. Oh yeah, and drink excessively for two nights. My liver leaps in excitement.
To this my summer has amounted. Why so lame? I think in part that I have evolved into a lamesque being, characteristic of other people I know. Staying up past midnight on a work night brings feelings of anger and confusion--why stay up so late when no papers sit before you? This must stop. A crazy weekend in a few corn fields over would alleviate my incessant whining about agreeing to come home this summer. Just a taste of my life during my academic cycle of the year will satsify my craving for endulging in binge behavior.
Tomorrow I get to go to the doctor and tell them why I've been abusing myself for the last eight years. I don't really feel it's any of their business, or that they can do much for me, but if it keeps my family happy I guess it's what I must suffer.
I started writing this feeling like I was finally starting to come out of my writing rut, but I think I've just sunk back in a little. More updates from S&H and other adventures of this lost soul to appear soon. Whenever I feel like it. Just because.
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10:59 pm
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Gluttony
Chicken Quesadillas and a large chocolate shake. this is what my night revolves around. Watched about half of Kill Bill, then decided I'd had enough bloodshed for an hour. Nothing new and exciting. hardly any motivation to write...or do much of anything.
Quit marathon training. This is not the year.
Working two part time jobs. Not hard, good pay. Sick of working weekends. No I cannot go cavorting off around the country on one day off every two weeks.
Cats rock.
Hoegaarden (HOO-gardin) is my friend on these lonely nights.
I heart rain. A lot. Am actually happy. Let it rain more.
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10:07 pm
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Wayne's World
Home Sweet Aurora.
Still haven't been to the outlet mall. Then again, with double digits in my bank account, I probably wouldn't be able to afford anything. Kate Spade store still not open, according to my inside sources at Big Dogs.
For some reason, something possessed Libby and me to rent a movie called "Nine Dead Gay Guys" the other night, along with renting "Cheaper by the Dozen." Something for the family, something for the curiosity. I think what attracted us the most that it was a foreign film, with English and Irish people in it. Many of you already know I am a raging anglophile, but I think Liz's spat in London during the fall helped thrust her into liking English people too. "Nine Dead Gay Guys" is about these straight men (mates) who consider giving blow jobs to gay men as, well, jobs. They do it for money so they can go on the piss or whatnot every night. They get tied up in a series of deaths which all lead to some universal truth or moral or whatever. Definitely an indie film, it left me feeling slightly uncomfortable and detached, like someone had finally pointed out a massive piece of toilet paper hanging out of my trousers at some nice luncheon. Just didn't feel right at the end there, buddy.
Finally went to the gym again today, hoping there would be all of about ohh zero people there. Of course, there were many many more than that. I think I impressed some guy walking into the gym because I held the door open for him. He obviously kept staring from the weight area to the treadmills--that or the kid has a terrible case of tourettes. Funnily, he'd had enough of the gym right after I decided I was done for the day as well. Walking out, he's like, "I'm sorry but can I get your name?" Hahaha so I AM a sex pot when sweaty and gross. Not. So, I made a friend named Aaron at the gym, talking to him just long enough to satisfy his curiosity and leaving him hanging so that I could escape. No English accent. Poor bastard doesn't stand a chance. Men trying to pick me up (when it happens in a blue moon...must be that time of year now) always makes me skittish. Oh well. Damn these good looks of mine.
I'm going to endulge myself in some history of the Oxford English Dictionary. Speaking of Ox-like things, I get to see the fabulous rugby Ox this weekend, and also my sister and nephew, in Findlay, OH. Started work at Smith & Hawken today. If anyone has any garden-decorating needs or some new outdoor teak furniture, I'm your woman. I am definitely the youngest associate at the store. A coworker at the law firm where I work said S&H is "too tame" for me. haha...whatever.
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11:51 pm
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two more things...
1) www.katespade.com
2) I paid $1.93/gallon for gas today. Hell yes.
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10:53 pm
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KATE!
I'm screwed. Completely and utterly screwed. there's a new "premium" outlet mall opening a mere 20 minutes down the road. Versace, Armani, and Calvin are all to be in appearance. But my worst weakness opens sometime this summer. Kate.
Kate Spade.
UGGGGGHHHH why why why? I came home with absolutely NO urge to shop, but I know that this will be ruined. This feeds my drive to find another part time job even more.
Things at the good old law firm are the same. Everyone is just as gossipy and depressed as when I left before. The only difference is that we have a new receptionist, a new law clerk, and a new attorney. It's weird walking past my old sister-in-law's office and seeing someone in there. Supposedly I was hired back to be one partner's "personal assistant," according to him. He comes up to me yesterday and tells me that we're going to be throwing out stuff in the basement next week. One morning, all alone. Not creeped out in the least...I shudder.
I've found that cookie dough substitutes as a lovely dinner. Fills you up, and has lots of protein (eggs). After consuming it, you feel the need to drink so much milk that it could be a potentially nutritious meal. Right.
Time to read more about British people.
I'm waiting for you Kate....mmmm Kate Spade (bags...not women!).
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11:20 pm
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on the range
At home, bored as hell. I have discovered that the law firm where I work has no intention of hiring me back as more than part time. Ruined are my dreams of working 8:30-5 M-F and having the weekends to traipse around the midwest. But, this is life, so tomorrow I start my search of looking for another part time job. Maybe someone will tell me that their store isn't open weekends, adn will pay me money to sit and read. It would be just like working at school, although I work weekends there.
I sold back my books to the tune of a whopping seventy-nine dollars. I felt like I betrayed Shakespeare, but I am poor beyond words at this point.
Nothing creative to say, but Libby's home for the summer, so I am v. excited.
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05:51 pm
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Good Samaritan
Boil Order in effect for campus! Some dumbass contractor hit a pipe across town, so now everyone isn't supposed to drink the water in University buildings. ANY of them, including residential housing, where I happen to be working for the duration of the evening. The stinky ones can still shower and the OCDs can still wash their hands. But what about the thirsty ones still hung over from last night? That's right, they get to come down to the GARNER OFFICE and receive their bottle of water. But it gets better.
They have to show their ID. I have to check them off. They will complain and moan, especially if their ID is upstairs. Then someone will want a cart, a package, or to check out of their room. So what do you do when you have over 1000 (or is it 2K) students coming crying for water? Well, I will have COMPOSURE--man, rugby sure teaches you some great things.
I feel like a Good Samaritan, or maybe the MessiAhqua, bringing water to my thirsty and oppressed people. I am a glorified relief worker. Maybe this is a step to my calling for the Peace Core.
Oh come on, let's get serious. I'm a lot more selfish than that.
This damn tedious process will only add to my tired, cranky demeanor. Switch fake smile on. At 8 PM, I will have a case of beer in my hand, and a real smile on my face.
Current Mood:  drained
Current Music: Sean Paul and Sacha...B96.1 what a great station
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11:24 pm
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The touch, the feel of cotton...
Right, so I just got out of the shower, and sit at my desk, clad in my towel. Fat girl burrito. Great image, right? But for some reason, I have been more productive writing and have more ideas flowing because of that refreshing shower. In the midst of writing a 15 page beast, this is what I need, but in a constant stream. So, maybe I will just keep my towels out, and hop in the shower when I feel a writer's block coming on. I've already got my teabags lined up for the night. I have found that these provide the most sustaining source of caffine. All night? Alright!
It's not like I haven't put off papers this badly before. Not long ago, I was excited about writing my paper. I am basically comparing the evolution of the Darcy/Elizabeth relationship between the novel and two film adaptations. I started off with three adaptations, but discovered that I will limit my discussion with three. All this culminates to is the fact that I have spent a fair amount of money in late fees on a movie I'm not even going to talk about. Oh well. If anything, it reaffirmed my belief that Colin Firth is THE ultimate Darcy figure. I feel bad for my future husband(s) because I will probably make him dress up like Darcy and parade about our abode, ordering him to say such lines as "You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you" in a haughty British accent. I feel even worse for the poor bastard if he already HAS an accent (highly likely), because he will be expected to deliver only top-notch performances. Fetish? Maybe. Fantasy? Of course. But I digress.
I still feel somewhat philosopher-y in my navy robes. I'm sure plenty of people have an attachment to their nakedness, and love to parade sluttishly around their apartments when no one is looking. Girls strut, boys flex. It's all there, it's just that no one admits it.
Anyway, I will be up all night, feeding my fat face with Frosted Mini-Wheats for inspiration, and undoubtedly wasting time reading your pathetic away messages. Whine about finals all you want, you have no pity from me. I would take a multiple choice piece of crap over continuing to write this paper (almost) any day. Granted, I still wouldn't study.
PS...If anyone is in Champaign and would like to offer a few minutes of their time...my car is a piece and wouldn't start the other day. I think it just needs a jump. Do your duty, help the homeless.
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11:27 pm
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Revelation
The following is one of my favorite emails I ever wrote. I was inspired to post it because I just inhaled a shitload of Frosted Mini-Wheats. The obsession becomes self evident by the end. I wrote this to my sister on January 24, 2004 while sitting at work (hungover, of course). *For entertainment purposes only.*
Date: Sat, 24 Jan 2004 09:23:39 -0600
From: Jamie Luedtke <jluedtke@students.uiuc.edu> Add To Address Book
Subject: Revelation
To: Joelle
The only thing vaulable about working at 7 AM on a Saturday morning is that I
get out of bed to come and get paid to watch TV, read tabloid magazines for
free, and look for 15% off coupons from American Eagle (their underwear
rocks). I have, however, discovered the joys of a food product that has been
around some time but has recently emerged on the popular scene--Frosted
Mini-Wheats.
Seeing as Mom and Dad are being "healthy" and not keeping an abundance of
tanalizing snacks loaded with trans-lard and saturated lard, I discovered
Frosted Mini-Wheats to be among the few cereals still kept around. They are
pretty tasty when dry, so I loaded up a bag and took them to work. Loved
them. Absolutely loved them. Brought some back to school (grocery shopping
en totale down here absolutely forbidden on Dad's time) and am working way
through box as I write.
Not only is this phenomenon local, but even Hollywood thinks it is all the
rage. Apparently the very-pregnant Debra Messing of NBC's "Will and Grace"
craves them as well. This brings to mind a few questions:
1) Am I headed for stardom? If all the stars are snarfing down Frosted
Mini-Wheats while I am, we must have something in common. Most of them don't
have any talent anyway, so it could be a given. It's the first step in this
long road.
2) Could I be pregnant? If Debra Messing sucks them down like a vacuum while
she is pregnant, my sudden inhaling of these sweet wheat treats must be
showing a sign of changing biological functions in my body. Of course if I
haven't even held hands with a boy in quite some time, then maybe it is a
modern day:
2a) Immaculate conception? I am the modern day version of the Virgin Mary,
the main factor being that I will be a single mother of a Frosted Mini-Wheats
craving wee babe. Note: Single mother will raise child to be a star, and I
will bask in the fruits of its labor for the rest of its life. Also will meet
and marry Matt Damon, Hugh Grant, or Colin Firth (yes, he'd be divorced). New
Messiah will treat all with love and respect, and give me the loudest horn on
my SUV that will make people cower with fear when I'm zipping along the
expressway. Kellogg's execs and creators of Frosted Mini-Wheats will go to
heaven, while General Mills and Post people will serve time in purgatory for
not creating artificially-inseminating cereal. Golden Grahams creators
granted leave to go to Heaven, as savior's mother adores that cereal when not
pregnant with historical figures.
2b) Side effect of lesbianism? No, I'm not a lesbian or a bisexual.
However, maybe rugby had something to do with it and hanging out with the few
bi's we have on our team biologically rubbed off on me. I did pass out near
but not next to two lesbians at the 80s party, so maybe it wore off and by
some "miracle" I am now going to be a single mother. Also a medical
phenomenon that women can reproduce with each other, or just by being near
each other. Am poster child for future demise of necessity of male race.
....On second thought, that makes me quite sad. Not the rugby part. Hopefully
this baby will be a strapping Rugby player and be a powerful forward for the
New Zealand All Blacks. Baby will have cute accent, too. Maybe the baby is
product of gods of Greek mythology and baby will magically sprout out of my
head. Or my nose. Then it would break and I would have to get this
monstrosity redone. As long as baby doesn't give me stretch marks, I'll let
it live. I've got enough from when I was a fat kid.
3) Destined for Nutritional Greatness? This cereal has 6 grams of protein
per serving. Six! That's six g. every 24 tiny squares I pop into my mouth
(I'm probably at about 18 g. today). 6 g. of Dietary Fiber as well per
serving. Soon I will be a lean, muscular minx and create new FMW Diet,
developing best selling book, new diet craze, and establishing online diet
website (family members free). And not only that, I will be *regular* too.
[That is for you and your cult of disgusting Kashi-inhaling followers and your
"regularity," my pet.]
4) New Drug Trend Emerging? Seeing as how I am not the only who seems to be
addicted to this sweet wheat treat, I could be hot on trail of the latest drug
scandal. Inside the white frosting is really something addictive, like
whatever they put in Godiva chocolates--but it's worse! Soon all the kids
will be doing it, and drug rehab centers will be flooded with thousands of
Frosted Mini-Wheat snorting teens showing signs of withdrawl. Twitching
common. But seriously, have you ever noticed that at the bottom of the box
lies a pile of white "sugar frosting" and all of those wheat shreds? If you
take those and crush them up, they'd probably make a fine line to snort. Or
you could roll them and light up. So put that in your pipe and smoke it.
As you can see, this time-honored cereal of worldwide reknown is slowly losing
its ground. It's been family friendly for so long that no one would suspect
it of being laced with drugs. These drugs probably make people delusionary,
with visions of grandeur, stardom, and pregnancy. Who really knows, but it
might be some patent worth investigating in your little corporate world of
patent lawyery.
I leave you to ponder the future of the world. In the mean time, protect
yourself from Frosted Mini-Wheats. Send them to me instead and I will
investigate. The mail just came, so I have more magazines to read.
Yours ponderingly,
Kit
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05:25 pm
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Jiggle Bottoms
Warning: This entry contains graphic detail of a self-conscious fatass who is really just a bit unnerved with the physical state of the union.
I just got back from running. It was more like a half-assed walk/run attempt, as something is amiss with an ankle here and a groin muscle there. (Not sure what you're supposed to call "groin" muscles for women, so it stands.) Probably just my body rebelling against infinite laziness over the last few weeks. As I walked, I became more and more fed up with how I've let myself do this to myself. What's this "thing" I'm so pissed about? Fat. Fatty Mcfatfatfat.
I felt like my thunderous thighs didn't deserve to be exposed to the general public of U of I today. Why? It may have something to do with the cookies I ate during Rhet 227 (last of that class, I am v. sad and will go through withdrawl soon am sure). To be honest, I eat like shit. I buy all of the healthy stuff at the store, but it also just seems to be some of the most time consuming to make. Now that's strange. That or I'm just too busy to make it.
Running along, feeling the fat jiggle like aftershocks of a 10.5 earthquake, I've decided that I'm done with allowing myself the simple pleasures in life that concern food. Out with the junk, in with the greens. I know I've said it a million times before, but I think this will help me "go public" about my fat days. Everyone has them, although girls whine about them a shitload more than guys.
From here on out it's healthy. Salads, chicken, water....and beer and Frosted Mini Wheats.
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12:09 am
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Billy is nobody's friend
I am a firm believer in the theory (my new theory) that Shakespeare is the devil. See, no one would really believe this because he made such a great contribution to the English language, as well as to England itself with all of his artsy fartsy theater shit. Other than Billy, what have they got? Nothing but bad teeth and cute accents. Anywho, Billy, as I mentioned, is 100% pure evil. This has everything to do with the fact that I have been working on a paper for the last three days and am still stuck in a rut, halfway through the paper. Not only that, it's still muck and needs to be revised. Sometimes I think I'm overthinking things, other times I am not making my arguments concise enough. But it's not an argument, it's exploration and ANALyzation (my capital stressings). This, combined with a rather tedious paper topic given to my fellow seminarmates and me, makes me really hate Billy right now. Billy's been a bad, bad boy.
I am all for the fact that Billy was writing for entertainment. Sure, he probably had his head full of it when he was writing, thinking "shit, they'll eat this one right up, Anon." I wouldn't be surprised if he was a womanizing bastard who got drunk every night and then took it up the ass/gave it up the ass to one of the pubescent boys playing Juliet or Ophelia. Actually, then he wouldn't be dealing with women, but you know what I mean. Maybe he wrote such great plays to make up for the possibility that he could have had a small penis, or that he was incompetent. Usually when a man can't perform in bed, they have to show off some other way to make up for it. Making up for manliness, or lack thereof. I love it. I'm sure all the women were hot for his pants, at least all the whores, just so they could say, "Yeah, I slept with Shakespeare," and then pass it down through the family line. Who knows how many offspring he created. Ever notice how there is so little documentation of his actual life? Yeah, that's to cover up his rampant promiscuity and droves of illegitimate bastards.
Why do I retaliate against one of the greatest literary geniuses in the English language? Because I'm fed up with writing papers about him, discussing topics about him, and having to analyze HIM. HIM HIM HIM. ME ME ME. Billy's just basically on a 500 year old ego trip. People just can't get enough of his shit. Yeah, it's great. We've read it, maybe seen it, but WHAT ELSE. What else is there left for you to do, Bill? I think we need a break from Bill, and let more interesting things like reality TV ruin the minds of the youth. Oh wait, already in progress. In any event, I need a break from him. Also from this next to impossible paper. I like to hear about all the shit he supposedly has hidden within his plays. But seriously, the man was writing to entertain people, not to torture people in smelly classrooms in a haunted English building.
So you know what, Bill? It's over. I'm sorry, but we have to take a break. I'm not really sure if this is how you say "I need a break" very eloquently. (Bill could probably do it with a sonnet or nine.) After all, when's the last time I had a functional relationship? Oh, that's right, never. I spend more time worrying about dead men and what they thought (Bill, Geoff, and the like) than actually cultivating a future with any decent men I might know. But I digress.
If I had a penis, I would tell my paper to suck it hard, good, and for a really long time, because I feel like I'm being demoralized in the exact same way.
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04:58 pm
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roller girl
Tonight I'm getting in touch with my inner junior high hellion and raising trouble at the Roller Rink. Watch out Funway. It takes me back to the good old days of 7th grade when my then boyfriend, Nate Smith, put everything he had into giving me a kiss on the cheek. We broke up one week later. About a year later, he had transfered schools, changed his last name to "Flowers," (his family was fucked up), and was bisexual. So the rumor mill told me.
The big event on my plate tonight is getting to go out with my fantabulous Rhet 227 class. Then we're heading out to Murphy's and getting teeerashed on our Bar Crawl. We highly anticipate a visit from our prof. She said she couldn't, but I told her to bring her Middle Eastern lover for protection...har har.
I know I haven't written anything in awhile. Too much shit going on! Florida (2 weeks ago) was a lot of fun, but also had it's moments. Sadly, we lost to Princeton in the first round at Sweet 16s, but won against UFlorida the next day. I didn't play, so I think I was drunk a decent amount of the time. Drunk dinners are fun, too. A few things to remember (more for me and my awesome teammates):
-Shark in a barrel
-Drunk PB&J Assembly Line
-Mumus...good god those were hilarious, girls
-"Hey, I thought ball boys were supposed to be neutral."
-Chaps on the plane: "John, what color are your pubes?"
-Me walking through JAX Airport, carrying a case of beer; one girl in a group of cheerleaders asks me, "Are you guys a rugby team?" Me: "umm yeah!"; People in the terminal: "Is that real beer?" Me: "Yeah, I get nervous on airplanes"
-Caroline: "That dog I pet yesterday felt like a penis!"
...and other stuff, to be added later.
Time to go slave over a hot, steamy novel so I can go camping this weekend...still up in the air, but I will do everything possible to go.
word.
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