Today was incredible. Incredible. I'm reduced to redundancy and illiteracy, a complete lack of fully cooperative and functioning verbs, nouns, and adjectives. So bear with me here.

I spent 8 hours today with my AP English Lit and Grammar (are those the two AP English classes? Well, she taught whatever the two class were) teacher. She is brilliant, and wonderful, and insightful, and inspiring, and an amazing woman, and an even better mother. I see in Ms. S what I want to be when I grow up; granted, she's only ten years older than me. We talked about everything: politics, religion, books, her 15 month old son, poo, Pooh, affirmative action, Iran, and everything in between. I felt like a sea sponge. A lucky, lucky sea sponge with not enough room possible to soak up every wise and good thing she said; I tried to let all of her comments wash over me, absorb into my skin (not just through my ears - I wanted to feel her wisdom), and fill my literature-starved body for at least a little while. I felt like I was parched for great conversation about books and hungry to be challenged to make an assesment of a novel's characters other than that they're "great" or "interesting" -- why, Jen? Explain to me why they make you think this. I don't know if Ms. S knew how greatful I was for what she gave me this afternoon -- a bath in literary insight and care and comfort and history -- but I'd like to think I gave her some modicum of satisfaction in return because I think I showed her, besides telling her repeatedly, how much her instruction was key to my success (and yes, in engineering).

I was glowing the whole afternoon, just radiating joy. My cheeks hurt. Being with her was a simultaneous window into what I hope my future will be, what I've already done well for fulfilling for my present goals (making use of the time I have here, maturing friendships, and nurturing past relationships), and the comfort of reminiscing in the past. *Sigh* :) I'm sorry, I think I'm gushing.

In other news, Katie's wedding was beautiful (I suppose it was Joel's wedding, too) and good fun. I posted some pictures from the reception on Flickr. Saturday night Meg, Biffy, and I went out in Uptown Charlotte. Not quite the wild night we were expecting, but it was still a really, really fun time. I had the most adult, Sex in the City-esque dinner I've ever had. We sat outdoors on the patio, talked about men, life, the future, and wine. And more about men. We danced at the salsa club (I was very proud to have known - or at least heard on the radio down here - most of the songs played, and to recognize when it was time to dance Bachata (sp?) thanks to Danny's previous instruction). We laughed when we walked into an Irish pub and felt like we had just walked in on a fraternity mixer (seriously.).

I've got more I want to say about needless(?) death -- what, if anything, are we learning from all the deaths of civilians and military people in Iraq? what purpose in the grand scheme of things, if there is one, do their deaths serve? -- and the reasons people think they'll know their life's match (disparate topics indeed). I'm starting to collect these reasons, so comment if you've got one. The two I have so far from guys, sources unnamed, are:
1. She will taste perfect
2. I will appreciate her for her imperfections

Today was also exciting in a couple other ways - my new mattress was delivered (mmm a King Koil Queen sized bed), I bought a washer and dryer from Best Buy, AND I got a call from my HR person at work saying I'll be taking my 6 week intro-to-oil (not quite what it's called, but you get the idea) class in .... wait for it.... the Netherlands! Woot woot! I'm so very excited :)

So, life's moving along nicely. I'm off to Boston Wednesday afternoon (I suppose that's today already) to see Kristy (wweeee!) for some sightseeing and Fourth of July weekend fun (tea party anyone?). I'm hoping to update while I'm there, so until then, Goodnight Wonderous World!

And I'm also contemplating adding more links to my recommended section, of other friends' blogs, but I'm not sure - what's the blogging ettiquette? Do you add people just because they have you linked? Or do you only add it if you read it regularly and want to specifically tell other people to read it? Hrm...

INTERNET!! Well, temporarily, anyway. I love hotels with free internet, like the one I'm sitting in right now in Charlotte, NC.

I was so excited about the prospect of having the afternoon of relaxing internet time, that when I got here and had the world wide web available, open, and free to me I couldn't concentrate, didn't know where to start, and couldn't figure out how to go back and blog about the many different topics that I've jotted ideas down about in my little notebook.

I wish I had whipped out Lester Brown (a random name idea for this wonderful incredibly beautiful top sitting on my lap right now, that came to mind while writing an email the other day; I'm also thinking about "Sage," which seems a little more consciencious, worldly, and nuanced -- more what I'm going for with this collection of keys and circuitry) in the terminal today, or taken her with me walking the clean streets of Charlotte. I felt as though a book was being written before my eyes: everyone I met or saw was brimming with personality, their characters written in bold, large font and seamlessly woven through their countenances and conversations. Every individual was a personification of some trait I've read an author create - not necessarily a stereotype, just very distinct different types from one another, which made their own idiosyncracies that much more noticeable.

There was, well, let's call him Alan, who --

It's a different experience, doing everyday things alone. When you're with other people doing everyday things, you don't notice the alone people, but they notice you.

...to be finished later...published now only to prove I'm alive :)

Drats! NO INTERNET since last week (whenever I last posted). More flurries of organizational sweat later, though, and I've posted pictures of the past -- some from my summer adventures at Busch Gardens Tampa Bay with the Terratrekkers program (essentially, being a zookeeper for a week), Sandi as a puppy, and a *great* picture from Sophomore Summit. :)

More thoughts to come...wish me luck getting the wireless to work again. This "network system administrator" thing's not all it's cracked up to be -- why can't Resnet make house calls to Florida??

Help Me Solve the Problems in Sudan

First, go here.

I give a damn. But when I finished reading this column, I felt more dejected than I did before. With lots of time and a voracious appetite for NPR and The Miami Herald, I'm fairly well informed for your average college graduate. I already knew about the problems in the Darfur region. I understood the "geo-political context" (a Jody phrase) of why more is not being done to help alleviate suffering in the country that doesn't even recognize there's a problem. After reading Pitts, though, I was suddenly overwhelmed with faces in my mind -- faces of particular women, with blank, withdrawn looks on their faces -- belonging to people I've only ever seen in Knight Ridder's stock photo collection that's dusted off for page 23A.

And now I can't stop thinking about those women being raped. Or being forced to watch their children be raped. Or being unable to tear their eyes away from their brothers and husbands and cousins being beaten to death.

I give a damn.

So what can I do, Mr. Pitts? What good will come of my $500 in the hands of Doctors for Borders? Some good, I'm sure -- I'd hope -- but what of those women in my mind, what of their rapes? I'll gladly email, snail mail, and call my senator and representatives; I'll even get ten of my friends to do the same in their districts. But what of the women in my mind, what of their friends and daughters who will be raped tomorrow and the next day and the day after that? The geo-political landscape dictates that until the problems in Sudan infringe on US national security, it will be up to the opinion pages, Nicholas Kristof, NGOs and, well, who?, to keep reminding the world that real people like your grandma and your sister and your favorite check-out teller at your local Walgreens are being killed.

Tell me what to do because I give a damn.

You're the one with the bully pulpit, Mr. Pitts, so tell me what to do. Tell your large, syndicated readership one thing to do, one person with power to write to, so that collectively we may have a louder voice of outrage heard. Because I give a damn. And right now I feel like a worthless, helpless, incapacitated, guilty bystander who promised she learned from her obsessive reading about the Holocaust and visits to Holocaust museums and memorials and is now doing nothing but worry irrationally about irrational acts of violence with no ideas or plan for concrete action.

The similarity of my medically treated hand to Nemo's eyes struck me last night. So I snapped away.


See the resemblence? (the bluriness helps)

Warning to the squeamish: this story is a little gross (but I guess you've already suffered through the pictures, so you might as well find out why my hand looks like a fish's eye)

After being frustrated for a few weeks by a seemingly persistent pimple (eewwww) on my left hand, I took my disturbing skin to the skin doctor, who told me that my epidermis was instead home to a wart (double ewwwww!). I was no longer going to allow this eye sore (ha. ha. that's almost a pun if you refer to the pictures again. ha.) to nest in between my first two digits, so I gave Doc the go-ahead to burn the sucker off with some liquid nitrogen.

He conveniently forgot to tell me that before it looks like it does in these pictures it would turn into this hideously large bubbly blister filled with puss (which leaked clear goo a little everyday - "blood cells and stuff," said dad). I couldn't even look at myself - sigh! I was disgusting.

I played all sorts of games with my post-wart blister, the kind you play when you stare up at the sky and attach common shapes to mishappen clouds. I joked that my bubble looked like a real fish eye. Or a boob (I'm starting to think I use that word way too much in this blog). Or the nasty results of those veneraeal diseases my mom always warned me about. Or a shark egg.

I would poke at it gently, kind of daring it to come out and play ("yes! I got some puss to ooze out! cool - hey ma, look at your defunct daughter!"). I tried to keep it covered in public - I couldn't blame people for staring, I couldn't even help but focus on it when exposed.

The blister popped on its own (with some help from a haphazardly handled towel), bled a little, and is now as it appears in the pictures. Still a little fishy-eyed. Still a little hard to not stare at. At the same time, though, it's as though my imaginary friend from grammar-school days has - poofed! - disappeared again. No more Personal Secret to giggle at under my breath ("oh my gosh I don't deserve to go out of my room - I'll horrify good, decent people!" hehehe).

I think this'll do for my Ode to Francis.

And don't even try to tell me you've never named something equal odd. We are all struggling to find ourselves in this tumultuous time after leaving four years cacooned in the relative comfort and stability of college, ok?

I'm sorry, Jonny! I've sucked at our blogging game this week, and I'm about to break all the rules you hate. I must regress into reviewing the past few days of my life, because I really think they're worth the review - naked women are included - and I'll do my duty of writing something quasi-intellectual soon, I promise. (I've already brainstormed and outlined! a blog about blogging and religion and life - whoa :))

Quick shout-out to JLee: wooo!! A comment!! Aaa! And also, thanks again and many months later for the Jason Mraz CD you gave me a while ago - I just found it and am jamming out to "You and I both" (only my favorite Mraz joint).

I bought a condo in New Orleans! I'm the only 21-year-old I know with a mortgage (or will be soon, hopefully, if my application is approved), which is a little overwhelming and frightening and moderately stressful. I posted some pictures of it on Flickr. Now I'm going through the possibly even more stressful and frustrating process of searching for a sofa and table. Being the only grandchild in a small family, I inherited my grandparents' furniture when they passed away (the most intelligent and kind man I'll ever know, my Grandpa Jerry, Christmas 1998, and Grandma Laura, 2002), and am fortunate to not have to buy any more furniture than a sofa and table. My head hurts with all the options I've seen in the past few days. I don't even know what colors or materials or sizes I want anymore. I'm almost at the point where I want to tell my mom to get something and surprise me. I've done my dorky engineering thing and drawn the floorplan in autoCAD and on graph paper to see how the different pieces of furniture I've seen will fit, which has muddled my mind even further. But I know these are good and exciting things to kvetch over :)

When I got home Friday night I got the call from D that we were finally going to Tootsies (use your imagination). We'd talked about going forever, but were waiting for a big group of his fraternity brothers to go so we'd be part of a group. After a slight snag (H leaving his debit card in the ATM machine - he had to get singles), we met up with the brothers and sat down in the front row (seriously, FRONT ROW) by the stage.

I didn't realize what I was in for. I expected some boobies, but whooooaa!, the girls took it ALL off. I'd never seen so many parts of a woman before, to be honest. I also didn't know you could do - that - with a woman's body. I found myself saying, "wow...whoa!!" many times throughout the evening, and hoped the entertainers weren't insulted by my incessant laughter (to Hanson: think those are real? H to me: no way! pointing to another rack now those, those are nice.)

It was a great time, hanging out with friends and being surrounded by nature; though it was of a different sort than I normally try to find, I still felt like I walked away from the night having learned something new (who knew you could grab a dollar bill with your butt cheeks?). I also tipped two dollars of H's money and got a few standing claps for it...

What rounded off that experience, though, happened the next night at a party we went to in south Miami, by FIU. A few of the guys who were at Tootsies the night before were also at this party, and were severely intoxicated by the end of the night. As in, no mental filter to the words that poured out of their mouths. So as we're saying our goodbyes to leave, one of the guys tells me, "You should be a stripper." I was like, what?! Uhhhh..thanks? (what do you say to that?)

I laughed and was mildly flattered (yes! drunk guy thinks I look good enough with my clothes on that I'd look better with them off! hehe), but then - then! He gets his buddy's attention (also a Tootsies attendant) and says, pointing, "Look at her tits. Shouldn't she be a stripper?" Buddy agrees, and everyone in the kitchen is staring at me (but not my face). At this point, I turned bright, bright red (which the first guy also pointed out) and wasn't sure whether to be mortified or complimented. I'm still not sure what to think, but I'll go with complimented so I can sleep at night without feeling creepy. It was suppose it was very, very funny. H and D found endless amusement in replaying the scene over and over for me.

So, a new domicile, a strip club, a new job possibility...what more could I ask for out of a weekend? :)

I want to have lettuce-y thoughts again soon: crisp and fresh. Wash me in that spinning bowl thing that flings the water of cloudy adverbs off my withering leaves, o literary gods, and imbue my chlorophyll-starved pieces with self-created, clearly evident ideas.

and this. is great.

Overheard in the women's bathroom next to gate B7 in the Louis Armstrong New Orleans International Airport today, 12pm:

1st lady, waiting in line: I only wish I was a man when I have to wait in line for the bathroom.
2nd lady, from her stall: laughter
1st lady, entering a vacated stall: But then I would have to learn how to aim, I guess.
3rd lady, from her stall to my left: Why should we? They don't!
All 7 or so women in the bathroom: collective laugh

Today, my first house-hunting day in the Big Easy, was exciting -- to actually see, see!, potential walls and floors and light fixtures that might play supporting roles in the next few years of the story of my life. There were some nice kitchens and less stellar bathrooms and fake wood floors and big windows. Tomorrow brings my most look-forward-ed to locale, so I'll check back then with some thoughts (there's free wireless in the hotel. yay-yer!)

And Chris, a special shout-out: Adam Sandler's HOT! hehe and thanks for the comments - they make me smile, just like this :) (But not sideways. I try to smile with my face in its normal vertical position.)

Oh! and how could I forget, my new Flickr photos webpage! And the cool button Flickr helped me make (checkout the bottom of my sidebar) -- I'll try to post some new pictures when I go home Friday.

Sigh...what my perfect man will say to me one day:

“'Yeah, I put in a desalinator, redid rewiring, got a
satellite phone. I had to fix up the galley. You gotta
go down there and look out the starboard porthole,
you can see half water, half sky.'
...
'I love you Amy, but I can’t be here and
need you all the time.'
Amy walks away and leans on the galley hatch, looking away
from him.
'Come with me Amy and we’ll sleep under the stars, we
won’t have any distractions, we could just ...talk.. be.
Come with me.'"
--From the TV show Judging Amy, in which David asks Amy to
sail away with him.

After seeing The Longest Yard last Friday (plus my
previous experiences with Fifty First Dates and Spanglish)
I've decided that I have a celebrity crush on Adam Sandler. But
that's beside the point.

This is me, filling my mind with oh so important rabble. Maybe
because I'm starved for um...well...the more *exciting*
things in life (ehem, ehem), but I've been grousing about
love and romance and all that in my mind. There's really
not much more I'd like to share about that in this forum,
though. Perhaps I'll keep to writing things about *that*
down in my paper journal.

Do you ever think about, really think about, that fact that
maybe hopefully somewhere out there at this very instant the
person you're supposed to be with for the rest of your life, or maybe
just the person who will make you the happiest you'll
ever be for even a short period of time, is out there
living their life somewhere, right now? Right now.

What if you've already met that person, though, and passed
right by? What about then?

I found this poem scratched hapharzardly on a random piece
of paper in my cardboard box of "things I want to keep right
now because I can't bear to part with it because the memory
is too recently made and I need it to foment this memory
before I can begin trashing relics, remnants of that period
ofdefinition that made me -that- much more like the person
I will be someday" that I'm currently organizing (or, more
appropriately, discriminately throwing away). I can't
remember if I wrote it along with the other person whose
handwriting penned a stanza, or if we borrowed it from
someone famous -- if anyone has heard it before, let me
know. It feels very familiar, so I doubt it's original.
I really like its simplistic eloquence.
We (the other handwriter
and I) read it sometime during an NCCJ camp I was a
volunteer counselor at.

"You turn blue when you're sad
you turn red when you're angry
you turn pink when you stay in the sun
you turn green when you're sick
you turn black and blue when you're hit

When I'm sad, I'm black
When I'm angry, I'm black
When I stay in the sun, I'm black
When I'm sick, I'm black
When I'm hit, I'm black
And you say I'm colored?"