Wednesday, June 27 My foot hurts, and it is not the foot that tends to hurt at all. It's my right foot, and it happened when I was walking down a road with no shoes on. Damn the streets of this world, because now I'm limping around my house as if I'm terminally ill when I'm nowhere near that level of pain. It's near noon (or actually a little bit past it), and the sun is outside -- even though the sound of thunder is heard in the distance. No rain, but a slight overcast. I hate this weather, because it's seemingly not different from candy hovering out of reach out of a child's grasp -- it's a tease. You and I both know that it desperately wants to pour outside, but maybe something's holding it back. When I was little, I used to think that a big plug held up all of the rainwater in the sky. The physics of it all never really made sense.
So, all I've done today is try to figure out the messaging service on this stupid cellphone. The service provider is Verizon Wireless (I only know this because they gave me a perky message when I forgot to dial the area code on calls I made while out of town), and it's not cooperating with my demands to add the idea of messaging to my service even though it should be in there to begin with. I'll have to work on it a little bit -- just like I had to work on the voicemail messaging. I changed that around a few days ago, as well. Instead of recording it in the middle of the night, as I tend to do so, it was re-recorded in the middle of the day and says something like this: "Hello, you've reached Diana's voicemail. Unfortunately, I'm unable to answer the phone right now, so please a message after the beep or try calling back later on. Thank you." The or is highly emphasized in the message for no particular reason whatsoever. Oh, yeah, and I'm still in my PJs and in dire need of a refreshing shower.
I found a cool little tool online called The Words You Use, which you add text of any sort and see the most common word used, as well as the rating of every other word. To satisfy my own personal curiousity of what I write, I have added all (Jan 01 - present) of the entries from this page unto the little program and got some rather enlightening results: I've used a total of 27,772 words. The most common word used was the word "the" (1,095 times), followed by "I" (1,069), "and" (822), "to" (785), and "a" (688). Some of the most interesting words used only once are "airbags", "boob", "cowboys", "encephalopathy" (whatever that means), "fingersmudges", and so on. The most common curse word used is "hell". Interestingly enough, I've mentioned "Fred" more than anyone else (sans Him, since the program cannot decipher if it's capitalized or not), which kind of scares me to know.
Some nights ago, MEREDITH (I make it capitalized to prove a point, and perhaps boost her mentionings in some sort of way) brought a website to my attention that's known as bonsaikitten.com. I had heard of this website a long time ago via a few threads via MetaFilter, but had not even taken a thought of looking at it until MEREDITH brought it to my attention a few nights ago. The site, which after reading a little more about it in the foresaid threads, has been determined as a "joke" of sorts to cause a reaction from animal rights activists such as the PETA and the Humane Society to attempt and shut the website down. According to an e-mail reply that I've recieved from an administrator for the PETA, the website was inspected by the Humane Society (HSUS) and found to be owned by a name that did not exist, yet was later tracked down (with help from the FBI) to a few MIT students. The e-mail that the lady from the PETA sent back (her name, by the way, is Kelly S. Cunningham) said that if anybody would like to get involved, please send any input to the FBI Web Fraud website, seeing that laws such as this (which, as I see it, is deciphered cruelity to animals) are not covered under law. It's all very disgusting, even if it is fake.
Speaking of animals, Excel Co. (a Georgia meatpacking plant) is recalling 190,000 pounds of fresh ground beef and fresh ground pork due to a possible e-coli contamination. After hearing of such news, I let out a cheer and screamed continuously, "I knew it would happen!" I know that's wrong to do, seeing that people's lives are on the line of being contaminated by such a deadly and irreversible disease such as this, but it just seemed that after my months of preaching about beef, something actually happened. Of course, e-coli isn't such a deadly disease to all people: it only affects people with weaker immune systems, such as younger or older people. Many people get it every year but it goes undetected and fades away due to being beat up by the immune system. Most of the first signs of it are stomach-aches, only occurring a few hours after consumption occurs. Soon following, vomiting of blood incites and the body is "eaten" by the bacteria. Depending on the human that is infected, the life of the victim ends a few days -- roughly a week -- after contamination, which is when the bacteria finally reaches the heart and makes it, to put as easily as possible, mush. I've read a few books upon the topic, and I highly suggest looking into the novel Toxin (or you can just read more about e-coli).
"Fred" and He came out of nowhere to stop by and bug me earlier this week. It was the first time that I've seen "Fred" since he outlandishly confessed some odd obsession with me that he's been containing for awhile. It's getting very uncomfortable to be around him, since every time I try to start a conversation with him, it always ends up consorting to me.
Me: "Hey, give me five words that describe your life right now."
"Fred": "Can I use seven?"
Me: "Sure, whatever."
"Fred": "I-can't-get-the-girl-I-want."
Stuff like that. So, anyway, the reason they showed up (with "Judy" as well, which I will get to in a minute) was to show off what He did to his brand-new car: added ridiculous lights to the sides of the car. I don't understand why they do such stupid things to their cars -- even though I'm just as guilty with the entire cow motif. The entire two minutes that "Fred" and He were here, "Fred" kept on staring at me and He consistantly kept on trying to fix one of the lights on the side of his car that was "water-logged". And then they left, leaving "Judy" with me. Which wasn't a bad thing. In fact, it was rather okay to sit around and mindlessly jabble about why "Fred" and He were such asses. I can really live without the two of them in my life if I so desired to -- but who would I humor?
A few days ago (I believe even the same day as the entire incident stated above), the girls (being Meredith, Patsy, Kelly, and myself -- Ophelya was absent from such an adventure) piled into Meredith's new little car and zoomed over the Applebee's for an early lunch. We were the first -- and for a short period of time, the only -- ones eating in the place. The ignorant waiter we had -- his name escapes me -- kept on messing up our orders and all we gave him for a tip was all of the change we had in our pockets. It probably totalled to $2 or so, but it made everyone's pockets (or maybe just my pockets) seem quite a bit less dense than they had previously enclosed. It was a nice little outing with the four of us (not to sound as if I'm excluding Ophelya, seeing that would be the last thing I wished to do) just milling around and causing a ruckus. The night before, however, it was Ophelya, Meredith, Patsy, and myself in Meredith's car (once again), at the McDonald's drive-thru. I would like to make it very clear at this current time that I do not enjoy the drive-thrus that you have to speak into a speaker. They are so damn confusing and annoying, and it ended up with Ophelya sticking her head out the backseat window and screaming very quickly, "six-piece-chicken-nuggets!" None the less, we didn't push too much for the needed condiments for our meals, and I was stuck eating my chicken nuggets with bar-be-que sauce I found in Meredith's fridge. Don't get me wrong, the sauce was good... it just didn't carry the same essence that the stuff from McDonald's hands out.
So, how is Diana doing today? Diana is content. She is hurting (her foot is, at least), and she is still very tired and wished she had the ability -- like everyone else seems to have -- of sleeping in until the later hours of the day. Diana's not a sad person, but a rather concerned person. Diana is speaking in third person for no particular reason whatsoever, and will stop doing so immediately. I am still in my pajamas. I am consuming a glass of just-opened-the-bottle Coca-Cola, which is very yummy and yet very unhealthy. I'm trying to turn into a healthier person, with the only exception being my undying love for lemonade and pizza. Pizza with mushrooms and spinach... mmm...
Here are some interesting links to hold you all over until I decide it's a good idea to post again (hint: mouse-over the links for a description): Cheese-O-Matic, three kids kicking the crap out of a chair for no reason, Furniture Porn, How To Be A Drag King, TheSpark.com IQ Test, Fray, Kvetch, song365, Boneville, Batboy: The Musical, Crime Library, Band-O-Matic (also see: Yahoo: Name Generators), Yahoo: Death Row, and Urban Legends Reference Page. »
Monday, June 25 In harsh reality, I don't fully want to be here at this current state of time. Maybe because there was a feeling of privacy [at home]. You don't get too much privacy by sharing a small hotel room with your family. Everything I love and hate (more love than hate) is in a small blue bag and a big suitcase shared by my mother. Todays' the bridesmaids' lunch, and then a latter of rehearsal. With all of these wardrobe changes, I feel as if I'm in some deranged movie of sorts. Tomorrow's the wedding. And the day after that is the day we go into the woods. I just wish I could make a detour home. But, no... I miss everyone. - 6/15
Everything for the wedding turned out splendid yesterday. The bride was marvelous, the groom was proud and everything marveled me. And now we're on Blood Mountain, Georgia. It's gorgeous, but I just wish I was here with someone who would fully enjoy all of its lush wonders with me. My [cell]phone isn't working. I'm very anguished due to that. The cabin runs off a satelite for the TV. I can hear the highway zoom around the mountainside. Most of this horrid traffic is crazy motorcyclists. Or crazy locals. The sun is setting. Maybe there will be lightning bugs. I hope for something good. Very good. - 6/17
Horse riding. That was very exciting. Well, no. It was more of just a few tourists. I actually could've lived without all of the hoopla. Afterwards, we went "panning" for gold. My dad spoke to one of the workers and found they actually put small fragments of gold in there for effect. Crazy hicks. Our aunt and cousin are visiting the cabin. I didn't feel too good today. On Wednesday, we're adventuring to Helen, Georgia. And on Thursday, I really want to go to Brasstown Bald - the highest point in Georgia. I've decided to play U2's "Walk On" on top of the mountaintop, spread my arms, and smile. Because I found "Walk On" to suddenly become a very good song. Perhaps I've begun to actually enjoy this journey. It's good to get away and wonder who's a priority to you. Yes, I miss everyone in Savannah. Yes, I wish I could drive Ladybug (I've named my car). I wish I could get a hug. No offer? Even the road has calmed down. It's going to be a good day. Or night. - 6/18
I came home Friday evening. It's good to be home. »
Wednesday, June 13 In the issue of packing -- say, for a long trip, perhaps -- is a big thing to my father. He continuously passes by my bedroom in search of something extra to add to the already-overblown suitcases that rest in my parents' bedroom. He asked if I had a bathing suit. He asked if I packed the right amount of shoes (four pairs, thank you). He asked if I was packing enough of pants, socks, hair ties, deoderant. Eventually, when he came to realize that I was indeed sifting through my underwear drawer to find a few more pairs of panties, he came to figure what he was intruding upon and finally dropped his paranoia by saying that he was going off to take a jog. And, yes, I found my adequate stash of underwear. It's nice and tightly packed, along with everything else that I'll only wear once and never again.
It's the afternoon. In the evening, my parents will debate -- without the input of their children, mind you -- whether or not to leave at night or in the morning. We can't check into the hotel (which, by the way, is a very nice hotel) until tomorrow at 3p, so there's absolutely no point on exiting so early just so we can end up in a small cramped hotel overnight and thus "get a move on". It's pointless as lots of things are, but whatever they choose is what shall be done. After all, they are the ones driving. And there is a storm a-brewin', it seems, so maybe it would be a good idea to leave early. I don't know, but it seems so incredibly useless to be paranoid about where I shall rest my head tonight.
In other news, my "weblog" (as the correct wording would be) was reviewed a few days ago, and this was a snippet of it's oh-so-goodiness: Very interesting site to read. The author has a lot of talent when it comes to writing. She writes about her personal life and other things that are going on. All very well done and very sincere. Two problems though with the site, the first is that her image of a Popsicle, is not loading properly. Why do I know it is a Popsicle? Cause I looked at the code. Second, her weblog is very narrow. There is a lot of white space at 1024X768 resolution on either side of her blog. I suggest doing something with it. Adding links, archives, background image, something to liven it up a bit. But as I said, this is a site for reading and for her to write. It does very well at achieving its goal. I accepted the criticism with open arms (as I do with everyone else) and to suit his needs, as well as the needs for all of the visitors that happen to reign on this area for the next ten days, I've changed some things around to include some of the (and I dare not over-exaggerate) marvelous tips and comments that he had said of this site. As it mentions, this page is -- like a great deal of other weblogs, particularly ones of my dear liking -- made specifically for writing things and I at first did not want to include any form of links in order to sidetrack the visitor from seeing what was meant to be seen. That, of course, is the writing. But, hey, I tend to experiment frequently with the depths of how FrontPage works its little HTML wonders, and thus I've made it Brent Todd-friendly. (Brent Todd is the person whom reviewed the webpage.)
I still have errands to do before I leave. I have to at least get a bit of gas in my car just so that the thing is able to run when I get back. Besides that, there's still the idea of renewing a book at the library so I can take it with me. Then I can stay at home for the rest of the day and work on the idea of eating everything in this house that will spoil. And, of course, some of the foods that won't spoil are going to be consumed as equally as fast. Such as chicken soup. Mmm.
So, I said my goodbyes. I did my farewells and actually enjoyed my day of (thus far) running errands and dropping in on people's lives. And now I just want to sleep and not do anything but relax and perhaps catch a little bit of the "Let's-run-around-on-a-beach-for-a-summer-and-call-it-entertaining" channel that we shall call MTV. You don't like that idea? Tough. I'm turning into a lazy-ass. »
Monday, June 11 Timothy McVeigh, as it has been widely broadcasted, has died at 7:14a (Central Time), which was fourteen minutes before CNN announced of it. He did not speak (but preferred to stare at each and every journalist that was witnessing), but rather wrote a final note which was actually a poem that I had to actually memorize last year for English class. Only one of the journalists that had been a witness, Nolan Clay, could identify the poem. Not to seem as if I am an extreme communist or anarchist (I'm actually anything but), but I was sort of sad that it had happened. I was sad for two particular reasons: 1) the idea of killing someone seems as bad as being killed, and 2) lethal injection, especially since they also use numbing medication in the first step, causes no pain to the victims. I've always been more of an electric chair person, if you understand what I mean.
Answers Of
Ten Things About Me (And One That Isn't)
1. I've appeared in two movies. TRUE. The movies were, in this order: Something to Talk About (in which I was paid for walking up and down steps all day) and Kiss of Fire (I was in the right place at the seemingly right time).
2. I used to have an extreme affixiation with rocks and minerals. FALSE. I never had an extreme affixiation for anything, minus an every-now-and-then liking to the opposite sex.
3. I ran into a table at age 5 when I was trying to skate underneath it. TRUE. It was for a talent show at a summer camp. I have no outstanding talents, so my parents taught me how to rollerskate in record time. I, however, did not perfect the skill and when the counselors suggest that I skate under a table, I ended up hitting myself square in the forehead on the edge of the table.
4. My worst childhood fear was automatic-flush toilets. TRUE. It was more of the noise than the idea of automatic flushing that got me scared. I'm happily no longer scared of them, but I prefer to not use them.
5. Up to the age of 5, I only wore skirts. TRUE. I had pants, but I felt girly.
6. I was the first-runner-up in a beauty pageant. TRUE. There were only two other contestants going against me in a local beauty pageant at a fair, and I flirted my way into a nice second place... or, if you will, first-runner-up.
7. My father thought that my mother was joking when she went into labor and took his time to get to the hospital. TRUE.
8. My brother once caught me simulating sex between Barbie and Ken dolls. TRUE. My dolls, when it was cool to like Barbie, usually didn't have adequate amounts of clothes for them to wear, so a few of my dolls were nudists by chance. It was at a time of sexual curiousity (seven years of age, approximately) and my brother walked into the room at the wrong time.
9. I've survived a week without a shower. TRUE. And I'll end up doing it again. But who hasn't survived a week without one?
10. I had a lisp earlier in life. TRUE. Four years of speech-impediment classes calmed down my troubles with the letter "s", and also caused me to skip reading class every day. In the same year that I ended my speech courses, I was enrolled in "higher education" courses (SEARCH), and so, in result, I have not been enrolled in a regular reading class since first grade.
I've been particularly peachy lately for no apparent reason. Maybe because I'm leaving town soon and I get to "survive in the wilderness" for a few days. One of my goals is to finish reading the popular-amongst-bloggers Fast Food Nation (Schlosser, Jan 2001), which I am currently on page 73 out of 270. It's not too bad, and it gives me yet another reason (besides the entire cow meat ordeal) to minimize the variety of places to eat my food.
Yesterday, Meredith, Patsy, Kelly, and myself all stuffed ourselves into my cramped little car and drove out to Keller's Flea Market for a bit of searching. Unlike other visits, this one was unsuccessful because my parents' searching eyes were not with me. I usually go there sporatically with my parents, just because they're junk freaks and know when things are a deal or not. We're talking about the kind of people that like watching "Antiques Roadshow" to see if they have the stuff. Most of my clothes (or at least my shirts) are from Goodwill stores, which doesn't really bug me as much as it used to. But, anyway, Patsy ended up with two tapes (one of them being the Empire Records soundtrack, which was a rarity between the all of the vinyl Lionel Richie) and Meredith bought five packs of X-Files trading cards for $5. Afterwards, we drove back towards home and stopped at Arbie's for a quick eat. I have never driven that far in my car, nor have I ever had a "full load" of people in my car before, so it was a fairly cool personal adventure to face. And today I have to go on errands for my parents (post office, grocery store, the like), so I will end up in my car a lot. The thing has been "Diana-ized" with a button of Frank-N-Furter (Tim Curry) from Rocky Horror as well as a badge from an Applebee's experience with the girls. Hopefully, I can get around to going thrift store shopping today and perhaps pick up a few odd-and-ends for the little miserable car.
I'll update one more time before I exit from town on Thursday. I promise. »
Monday, June 4 There was this song that used to play on the radio, and that song was "Butterfly Kisses" by Bob Carlisle. And I could never listen to that song because it made me teary-eyed. And my father could never listen to it because he made it teary-eyed. And there's always going to be an image of the four of us (my father, mother, brother, and I) in the car and that song coming on the radio. By the opening chords, my father and I simutaneously reached and turned off the radio without a word coming from either of our lips. I don't know why that memory is embedded in my head because it wasn't a significant life-altering event. But, eh, whatever.
There's a new trend going around on the blogs that involves saying ten things about yourself and having one of them be a faux idea. This automatically disqualifies friends who visit this website, because they already know too much about me. I know a few others have already beaten me to the trend, but alas I've always been late with these things. So, thus, I give you (until next time, when I tell you the incorrect number)...
Ten Things About Me (And One That Isn't)
1. I've appeared in two movies.
2. I used to have an extreme affixiation with rocks and minerals.
3. I ran into a table at age 5 when I was trying to skate underneath it.
4. My worst childhood fear was automatic-flush toilets.
5. Up to the age of 5, I only wore skirts.
6. I was the first-runner-up in a beauty pageant.
7. My father thought that my mother was joking when she went into labor and took his time to get to the hospital.
8. My brother once caught me simulating sex between Barbie and Ken dolls.
9. I've survived a week without a shower.
10. I had a lisp earlier in life.
This summer thus far has been uneventful. I was supposed to go somewhere today but I didn't just because the person I was supposed to go with didn't feel too good. Two people were supposed to call me back and arrange for plans to do today, but they didn't. One didn't even pick up their phone, so I guess I don't mean too much to them anyway. I haven't taken a shower today, nor have I bothered changing any of my clothes in the past twenty-four hours. My hair's all ratty from prior-day braids, my body odor has become increasingly disturbing to only me, and I've been finding a lot of wax in my ears and boogers in my nose. Yes, I've gotten bored enough to actually attack at my nose. Shut up, you do it too. The family cat won't get five feet near me because she's afraid that I'm going to chop her up or something. I find myself sitting close to the wiring throughout the house. I've ran out of books to read already, and I haven't even bothered looking at summer reading. My car's been making weird sounds and shaking a lot. My toes are in dire need of a pedicure. My legs' hair has grown out into a spiky black buzz. My dazed-and-confused look is becoming more and more indented into my head. I've been drinking more Coca-Cola that you can shake a stick at. Bright lights have begun to scare me. I think I'm growing something in my hair, now that I think of it. I'm a mess. It's summer. Remind me to actually, you know, take a shower tomorrow.
The stupid neighbors across the street have a babysitter that wears short shorts and small tops. She's driving around in this (seemingly) lovely Mustang that's been time-warped from the 1970s. It would be a nice car if she knew how to drive it, and perhaps actually fixed the damn muffler on the thing. But, alas, she allows all of the greasy boys that live in that house (my guess is that there's roughly ten) try to squeal the tires in that messy car and all that they end up with is a terrible attempt at doing something that would be seemingly cool in a small car such as that. I wouldn't mind that car. It's just the new Mustangs that give me the heebie-jeebies -- and the fact that they're Fords. He got me onto the idea of disliking Fords, and Kelly later confirmed it. I follow trends like that. (By the way, someone described Him as the "Dixie Outfitters king" today, which I felt was highly appropriate to be called. Just thought it'd be nice to note it.)
Yesterday, the ice cream truck passed by the house for the first time in years. I think the neighbors across the street scared them off with their scary nicotine habit. But, anyway, we were all sitting in the living room and suddenly the rhythmic music began to play. Of course my parents and brothers (my older one was home for once) thought, "Wow, ice cream truck!" I, of course, thought, "Wow, job opportunities!" Of course no one agreed with my idea of being in an ice cream truck for the summer and I was soon told to get some ice cream from the refridgerator. And so I'm still without a job. But, hell, I've been living off $20 since last Thursday and have only spent $3 thus far, so I guess it isn't too bad if you dimish all ideas of buying a CD or renting a movie or going out to dinner.
I saw Moulin Rouge last Friday with a few pals. In between bitching about my over-buttered popcorn ("Fred" works as a person who does things at a movie theatre now ever since he was put on probation from being a lifeguard, and he thought it'd be fun to let all of the butter onto my popcorn), the movie was actually pretty good if you just remember that the bright colors are supposed to be like that, and, yes, there are two guys singing "Like A Virgin" to each other. But, wow, Ewan McGregor really can sing (but you would already know that if you saw him go at it in A Life Less Ordinary), and though Nicole Kidman's character is a bit fluffy in the storyline, she can really belt out some of those lovely lyrics as well as he can. I'd give it four out of five stars, though, just because parts of the movie made me feel as if I was watching some distorted Alice In Wonderland-esque acid trip. But that's just me. Go watch it with a date. Then complain about the popcorn afterwards. »
