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Was anyone else out there COMPLETELY pissed off at the way both Grey’s Anatomy AND Ugly Betty ended their seasons? I mean first I have to watch the very last episode of my Gilmore Girls two nights ago, then tonight I find out Veronica Mars has been CANCELLED, and then… then THIS?

This is almost as bad as when Irina turned out to really be evil and Jack died in the end. Or when Jordan Catalano slept with Rayanne. Or when Firefly, Wonderfalls, Life as We Know It, Sports Night, Joan of Arcadia and Freaks and Geeks all got cancelled waaaaay before their time.

I’m going to go cry now. And also make up stories in my head about how things really ended for the season. And think about Matt Czurchareaazyzzzyyzzyy and Rory getting back together. Because yes, television does have this much power over me.


I have decided to take as my life’s motto a quote from Emily at Tiny Bug Blog:

When you think about yuck and rot that is what you get and so on. I’ve decided hereafter to channel my five-year-old self. I am going to take on projects for the fun of it. I am going to think about birds and why the sky is colored just so. I am going to pick out nice friends to play with and skip skip away from the bad ones. (If there aren’t any nice ones about I will spin some out of imaginings, pink spun-sugar friends that will melt on my tongue.) I will read big books and think of big questions and then draw little pictures that aren’t very good. I will laugh and play and listen closely for the sounds that only the very small can hear. Most importantly, I will love the people that take care of me and take very good care of the people I love.

I am going to be good. For floppy ears’ sake I will.

The trouble here appears to be the panic that comes with having too much to do and therefore not being able to start on any of it. Also some of my hair fell out. That makes me contemplate shaving the lot of it off and dying what’s left over SFX’s Atomic Pink.

I ramble, ramble, ramble, but at least it’s a way to make sure everyone knows I’m still alive, rather than leave the page blank or hanging at that last entry about search engine terms that I posted about three months ago.

My party was delicious. I could taste it for three days afterward. So could my bathroom floor. I got chocolate and Kill Bill was on and we recited Vagina Monologues and sang karaoke and danced until I fell down. I had a huge bruise on my left big toe for a few days, but it’s feeling better now.

We dyed Sparkle Pants’ hair a radiant shade of red. Very very red, which we at first planned to tone down (before finding out her scalp is allergic to developer) but is now growing on us. My hair is toned pink in parts and grey in parts and is very yellow on the sides and in the back. The place where I lost hair is where I tried to bleach my roots in the front. None of the other roots really got bleached, but none of them had hair fall out in chunks, either.

Today I would rather be at the ocean with ocean smells and hamburgers than at home in my apartment doing homework. Today I would rather be at Great America in the early morning when they’re still testing the rides and you get to be the first person on the Vortex and ride it six times in the very front on the right, and you flip upside down standing straight up; or on Top Gun where gravity pulls your shoes off into the lake when you go over it. I would like to be A.B.H. Anywhere but here.

If you could be anywhere, where would you be?

I love two of the search engine terms that brought people to my site today:

“Raising self esteem because your gay” – See, this makes me not even want to be a grammar-freak. Everyone say it with me: there is nothing wrong with being gay. It is just another way to be. I long for the day when people only have to raise their self-esteem because they’re human, and everyone suffers from poor self-esteem, not because of their sexual orientation. In fact, I long for the day when there is more than enough self-esteem to go around. Raising Self-Esteem person? You are good enough, you are smart enough and gosh darnit, people like you.

“Boy trying to make me mad”
No kidding, sugar. Aren’t they all? Here’s what you do. You see that leg you have? Actually you have two, but you’ll need one to maintain balance while you do the following exercise. Go up to the boy. Now, take that leg and kick it out as hard as you can. Make sure that you aim it for the spot right where his legs start, in the middle. Did you make contact? You’ll know if he’s on the ground crying. Good. Now stomp on his face. I guarantee this will make you feel better.

Also, may I say I love that whenever people search for “peniz” they get me. I am afraid that some of you don’t know how to spell that word, and that seems a little dangerous to me. Please do not do anything with it unless you know how to spell it, all right ladies? Self-respect and good grammar/spelling, that’s all A Girl Gone Mad is asking of you.

Sweet cracker sandwich. Here I am in my living room, on the last day of classes. There are frat parties and…party parties going on everywhere. There’s even, in fact, a party in my pants – and everyone is coming. (Would you like to come to…the pants party?) I am silently watching Spongebob Squarepants, and trying to recover from the fact that I just drove to a town whose name is pronounced entirely incorrectly just so I could eat my weight in fried Tater Tots. And then I had ice cream. Oh yes I did.

There’s not a lot more than that to say. Finals are next week, so if you thought I was stressed before…I’ve also got a ton of stuff to get in to various committees and boards and organizations and individuals before they will give me my fellowship – and I have yet to hear back from anyone about summer school funding… I think classes start next week, so that shouldn’t be too stressful or anything. ;)

No, really, now I’m just looking around the room trying to find something to post about. I think I’m going to go have a life now. Or at least irritate my neighbors with my guitar.

So we spent the night watching El Boyo jazz hands his way through being a member of Hitler’s army, oh, and also reacting emphatically to what people around him were saying. If there were an Oscar (oh, I’m sorry a TONY) for emphatic facial reactions, I would definitely say he won it.

I am still trying to figure out exactly how… okay it is for me discuss El Boyo on this blog. So bear with me while the dust settles and I drill this hole right into solid plaster and try to hang a 59 pound painting from it. When things crash down, ignore the screaming – it’s probably just a broken toe or something.

Then we had entirely too many French Fries, and I ate them ALL. And then they got cold, and I lost interest in food, and then I lost interest in everything and was grumpy for awhile, and then I watched King of the Hill and was EMPHATICALLY grumpy. With facial expressions! And I think *I* could have won some sort of award for my emphatic grumpiness, the aftereffects I’m still sort of trying to puzzle through this morning.

I feel like I’m back in ‘Nam. With the land mines and the fox holes and the what not.

Today we go to look at another townhouse. I have my heart set on one we’ve already seen, but this is cheaper and closer to town, and I know we have to comparison shop…but…FOREST! Forest that smells like the Sierra Nevada! Forest that reminds me of home and summers on the American River! A Deck! A closet into which I can fit both a chair AND my guitar and be very emo for HOURS if I choose to. And write songs! That are emphatic! And grumpy! And reactionary! A closet in which I can fling myself about and get streaks of mascara on the walls and bemoan the emo sadness of my life and be completely non-conformist – just like every other highschool student who listens to The Cure. I can eat chocolate in my closet!

But I must not get too attached to my closet. I must hold myself back. And I must go watch an Adam Brody movie instead of writing a 22 page paper which is due Tuesday – the paper, not the Adam Brody movie. And I will see it DESPITE the horrible reviews it is getting, because it is Adam Brody! And he is very ADAMY in his BRODYISHNESS. And then I will ogle rugs and lamps at Urban Outfitters which I cannot afford! And maybe even get more paint samples! But there will be no cleaning of my room today! Why? BECAUSE I AM GRUMPY! AND REACTIONARY! AND DISINTEGRATION WAS THE BEST ALBUM EVER!!

Hacked into my computer last night. If anyone is posting my address book on the internets, please inform me.

What exactly does one do when one’s phone just…dies? As in the screen stops working, but you can turn it on and off and it makes the requisite noises but then simply…beeps at you. And you even try voice dialing your roommate and there is simply nothing, and you are stranded, and you have no telephone?

La la la, feminist political theory, la la la Chandra Talpede Mohanty, la la la Judith Butler, la la la Maquiladoras, la la la post-colonialism, la la la patriarchy, la la la machismo, la la la boobs, la la la femicide, la la la de-genderization, la la la mass graves, la la la seven year old rape victims, la la la Uma Narayan, la la la kill all feminists, la la la, kill all women with jobs, la la la.

The purpose of that last paragraph was just to cheer you all up when you are stumbling around half awake and blog checking in the morning.

New thesis. Yes. Maybe. If I can get twenty-five pages written.

Too much to do. Can someone copy me and send me to me, so that I can get more things done? That would be nice. But maybe a little scary.

Also, my mother does not know the meaning of the word “yes”, as in, the ninety times she’s asked me in the last two weeks “should i tell your dad about your blog,” and I say “yes,” and then the next time I talk to her, she asks me again, and I say “yes.” And yet.

My mommy is so silly sometimes.

It is time for Sudoku and knitting and old married people things. Clearly the old married person is starting to come out of me, because I was accosted by a very pleasant elderly Indian gentleman tonight who wanted to know everything about the retirement community in Ashland, Oregon, and Bend, as well. I suppose I look like I’m the expert on retirement communities in Southern Oregon. I do not know how I feel about this.

I avoided talking about how people in Ashland are either racist fucks or raging hippies (w00t) or both (double w00t! that’s a perfect description of me!), and just told him that anywhere West of the I-5 Corridor was going to be beautiful and that if he could, he should definitely move to Oregon, because it is the land of sparkly magic fairies, and glitter and ponies.

It’s been four months and I still don’t know what my mom got me for my birthday, but speaking OF!!! I BET IT’S A PONY!!!!! OH, MOM? IS IT A PONY?!!!!!

I spent Thursday afternoon designing a website for my sorority, so I have no creative juices left in me – just viral juices, and those aren’t the ones I’d like to share. For now I’ve got someone else’s design up (and y’all know how I despise that), so I’m sure that soon I’ll find something to procrastinate over and figure out how to hand-code my own WordPress design.

Yes, yes, I’ve moved on to WordPress. Why? Because I am the master guru of Movable Type and after three days I cannot get it installed on this server. WP took me five minutes, and it would have been less if my internet connection hadn’t been so slow. Seeing as I was in the bathroom. Pooing.

I’ve been running about a 109 degree fever since Thursday morning. It was a little lower before that…like, 107. I think by the time I press “publish” on this post, I may be officially dead. My brain certainly feels like it’s liquified and poured out of my ears. And right in time for midterms! So exciting!

I have a 10 page paper due in one class, the prompt for which is ” “.

Did you catch that? Yeah, there is no prompt. It has to have something to do with what we’ve read, possibly, and it has to tie some things together, maybe, or prove a point. It doesn’t really seem to matter what that point is. When I see my professor now, I want to beat her with sticks. Sticks and a bit of my head that I’ve ripped off since it stopped being able to breathe, or swallow, or blink or really do anything at all without the help of massive doses of codeine and ibuprofin and my roommate had her headphones on so that she couldn’t hear the timer on the oven. But I could hear it. And I could hear the music she was listening to.

She’s not cooking me anything, like something that would make a poor girl with a viral infection feel better. No, she’s cooking our fish’s rocks. So that the bacteria dies.

I think perhaps cooking me might be the best way to go if all continues on its present course.

There are only so many ways to make tuna fish sandwiches. How do you like yours?

Currently Reading

Eve Ensler, Insecure At Last

Brettell and Sargent, eds. Gender in Cross-Cultural Perspective

Quoth the Raven:

"Girls aren't beautiful, they're pretty. Beautiful is too heavy a word to assign to a girl. Women are beautiful because their faces show that they know, that they have lost something and picked up something else."

-Henry Rollins
May 2018
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