Aderyn

TYPEPAD

2005-07-25T20:48:00.000-07:00

I finally received my debit card, so come visit me at my typepad.

Home

2005-07-24T18:33:00.000-07:00

I'm home, and tomorrow after work I'll post all about good ole G Fest, and also about how C. and I came home to see that my crazy neighbor (who was supposed to be fixing our windows) boarded up my back door. Until then......

Guinivere Fest

2005-07-22T12:00:00.000-07:00

And I'm off. This weekend is the annual Guinivere Fest, aka paternal side family reunion. It should be stuffy and conservative. I shall return on Sunday, and will post Slimy, Part Two Monday. Until then, this is Aderyn G., signing off.

Wait, Grrl's baby is on the way! Yay!

Slimy, Part One

2005-07-21T12:11:00.000-07:00

All right, here goes. This is a dig into my very hurtful and emotional past, so please forgive me if I get a little stupid while writing.

I met Slimy about 5 months after C and I broke up the first time. He lived in a "coach house" which was really a garage someone tried to make into a house. It passed, I suppose, but it was a little too small for Slimy, his mom (Mrs. Slimy) and his brother (Lil' Slime). Anyway, I had just been released from being grounded (as I often was) and an old friend, B, came to pick me up. I have known B since I was in kindergarten and we have the same birthday. He has always liked me, but for some reason, I never quite felt the same way. I always saw him as a best friend, not a boyfriend. So, B came and picked me up, and told me he wanted to introduce me to his friend, Slimy. I sort of have to smile (a bitter, bitter smile) at this. Poor B had no idea what he was getting himself into. When I met Slimy, he was in 7th grade and 13 years old. I was a freshman and 15. When I saw him, I felt an instant connection, an instant attraction. He looked...well, like me. He was around 5'3", with short brown hair, pale skin, and green eyes. He played guitar (a prerequisite of sorts to being my boyfriend), he had slightly crooked teeth. I fell for him right away. I ended up staying at his house and let him feel under my shirt, and B left in a huff.

Slimy and I acted like a couple when we weren't. We would hold hands and snuggle, but there was no kissing. I look back and say to myself, Aderyn. He was 13, no wonder he didn't kiss you, he was probably terrified. My brother, P, is 13 and I can't even imagine him kissing a girl. Blech. Anyway, Slimy and I started dating on 11 April 2000. He wouldn't kiss me. Would. Not. Kiss. Me. It drove me mad. Finally, about 2 weeks into the relationship, I pushed him against a wall and made him kiss me. This embarassed him, so he took me further into my house so our friends couldn't see us, and he kissed me. The kiss was electric. I don't care how old he was, or how completely wrong the whole relationship turned out being, he was the first person I kissed that way. After that, we were pretty much inseparable. He went to middle school a block away from my house, and I saw him everyday.

After about a month, I broke up with him. He had had eyes on a girl named Crystal from Indiana before we'd met, and I heard interesting talk about him. He told another mutual friend that it was like standing in the middle of a road, with me on one side and Crystal on the other. He said he didn't know which one to choose. Well, I was going to help him out by choosing for him. The breakup didn't last the night.

And here is Slimy in the flesh (sort of):

Sigh. I forgot he used to look so innocent.

C and Me

2005-07-19T18:16:00.000-07:00

A little blurry, I know, but I labeled them for you and everything.

C and I have known each other for about 6 years. We were in the same "class" in daycare when we were 5, so I'm sure we played a bit together, but we don't remember it. Maybe one of these days I'll dig out that old picture of us with the rest of the "class". Anyway, when I was in 8th grade, my best friend asked me who she should start dating. We'll call her Krissi, because that was her name, and I really don't care if I ever talk to her again. Krissi had this on-again, off-again "relationship" with a boy named Devon (who I also don't care too much about), and I assume she was looking for a change. I knew Devon a little, but I didn't know C at all. I'd seen him a few times when Krissi and I went to pick up Devon from school (he went to the Catholic school in town), but otherwise, there was no contact. C says he was attracted to me from the moment he first saw me in 6th grade, but he should be ignored. He can't even remember what day it is, let alone what happened when we were 12. Anyway, one day Krissi asked me who she should go out with next, Devon or C.* I said, "Go with the one you're not used to" because I couldn't really care less at the time. So, she started dating C. I should add that at the time, I also had a boyfriend.

Things progressed, blah, blah, blah. Krissi started to "share" C with me, as had been our way with previous boyfriends (mine, since none of hers wanted anything to do with me). On July 8, 1999, C and I made out. It was electric, like nothing I'd ever experienced (yes, I was only 14, give me a break, please). To make a long story short, Krissi and I shared C, I broke up with my boyfriend, and Krissi moved away. Now, when you're 20, 30 minutes is a pretty short drive, but when you're 14...it's a death knell for relationships. Krissi tried to keep it up anyway, but after a mere 3 weeks in her new town, I stole C. That's right, I stole him. I told him Krissi cheated on him (she did! But I was probably a bit too enthusiastic about it) and he broke up with her on the phone. She hated me for a very long time after that.

C and I were only together for 3 months that first time around. He was dealing with Bipolar disorder, and I was dealing with being a 15 year old girl with very low self-esteem and being a pushover. Our group of "friends" could get me to do anything. Plus, I cheated on him with Stupid Pothead. C and I had an ugly, ugly breakup, even in teenager terms. It took us at least 2 years to be able to speak to each other like civilized humans again. When we were juniors, we confessed we were still in love with each other. When we were seniors, we sent little love notes to each other. Just one, mind you, just one, because I was dating Abusive Italian at the time. But I still have it.

Under this one it says "It brings me solace to have made my peace with you. You mean the world to me. My angel, my all, my other half, my immortal beloved."

In August 2003, I went away to college in the sticks. I came home almost every weekend to escape the maniacal drug-induced escapades of my roommate. One weekend, I came home, and the only person who knew was C. And my parents, but they don't count. My friends didn't know, and neither did my boyfriend (Obsessed). C came over after work. We talked. It was awkward, and a bit surreal, but he left late, and I felt good about the situation. The next day I got ready and waited all freaking day for C to call me to go out. He sent me an instant message at 8:00 at night, and we decided to go see School of Rock with two of the guys from his band, his best friend and some other guy (who I thought was hot at the time).** Near the end, I got C to hold my hand. When we got back to my house, I showed him my thong (because I was nervous and thought it would break the ice), and he kissed me. It was amazing. When he left, I stood in my living room and just shook for about 20 minutes. We had a very rocky first 6 months, but things began looking up after I stopped drinking all the time. Right.

*Krissi had about 18 boyfriends in middle school, all of them were her "soulmate." This annoyed me to no end.

**These boys are no longer speaking to us, as a result of, well, me. I will write about it eventually.

I wrote this yesterday, but was too lazy to take the pictures. And today I went overboard. Here, ladies and gentlemen, is a shot of my Plantar warts.

Not quite as bad as this.

Here comes the bride...

2005-07-18T19:30:00.000-07:00

I'm a very odd girl. My last 4 boyfriends (spanning in time from when I was a freshman in high school to when I was a freshman in college) have wanted to marry me. An ex-friend of mine (who turned out to like girls much too young for him) used to get himself into a spiny jealous twist about it. You see, he had trouble holding onto a girl, and at the time, we were baffled. Looking back, I see that it was because he was 20 years old and dated 15 year olds. It probably didn't help that he acted as though he was 7. Hindsight is 20/20 as they say. Anyway, marriage. Here's the part where I turn into a hypocrite about above serial satutory rapist ex-friend. When I was 15, I began dating a 13-year-old. Yeah, yeah, please keep the heckling inside your head. (But it isn't as bad as dating girls 5 years younger while you're of legal age! Right? Hello?) I'm not sure he actually wanted to get married, especially considering he had never kissed anyone before I came along, but I sure thought I wanted to marry him. We'll call him Slimy, because I've had some bad experiences with him recently. Slimy's mother was a stripper. Okay, an exotic dancer. I loved Mrs. Slimy. She dressed me up in leather clothing and black makeup once, and even let me wear her thigh high leather stiletto stripper boots. Excuse me, exotic dancer boots. At 15. Anyway, Slimy and I talked about getting married, and blah blah blah, and then he moved away and we all lived happily ever after. Oh, wait. That's a post for another day. Many posts.

Next came Stupid Pothead. I was with SP for almost 2 years. This had never happened before. Granted, I cheated on him any number of times, but we still planned on marriage. Thank God I got myself out of that. My relationship with SP was pretty much role play. I was the stuffy grandmother, and he was the rebellious grandson. We never had sex (well, maybe a few times), I always told him what to do (and he did it), and he never worked. Ever. When I began paying for his pot, I moved on.

Enter Abusive Italian. Let's just skip him over, because, like Slimy, I could write a book on AI. He wanted to get married too.

Last Pre-C boyfriend...we'll call him Obsessed. He told me he loved me after 5 days. And I fell right into it and told him I loved him too, and 6 weeks later I was pregnant. This is the boyfriend I came closest to marrying. I look back and shudder. He still tells me he loves me, 2 years later.

Now C. C and I have been having a pretty rough month (yet more post fodder). This is mostly my fault, but that's beside the point right now. C wants to marry me. Still. After everything I've done. Sometimes I wonder about his head. No matter, because I want to marry him too. We're young (he just turned 20, I'll be 21 in 2 months), but we have an interesting story.

Please commence beating with sticks so there's no more digression.

MARRIAGE. Last winter, I got really into wedding websites. Scary websites with silver bells, and frilly lace, and shrieking women discussing the best use for strawberry smelling stickers. I was obsessed. I was constantly looking at wedding attire, locations, food, gifts, etcetera. I even went so far as to pick a place, a location, a theme, colors, and centerpieces. C was understandably a little freaked out. We are still attending junior college, for G-d's sake, and we work for my father for not exactly living wage. And here I was, planning our future, a wedding in fall, in 2006 (!!!!!), 250 guests (?!?!?!?!), and all sorts of crazy ideas. Never once did I let the words "apartment" or "tuiton at university" enter my head. Oh, no! I thought only of little pumpkin candles, a buffet dinner, cousins as bridemaids, and orange shoes! (what was I thinking?) C and I got into many an argument because he thought I was obsessed and I thought he was underinvolved.

To make a long and boring story short, my computer's hard drive had to be rebooted, thereby losing all of my wedding bookmarks, and with those, my interest in all things wedding. That doesn't mean I don't want to marry C. I do. And he still wants to marry me. I think. But now we're talking about waiting until after college, and maybe doing it in jeans at the courthouse. Which sounds good to me. Today. I may change my mind tomorrow.

Harry Potter

2005-07-16T16:58:00.000-07:00

Was given 6th book from evil, blood sucking grandma at 6 am before driving her to airport. Now she is only evil, not blood sucking. Did not expect said grandma to buy the book for me, so this was a pleasant surprise, after being angry about getting up at 6 on a Saturday. Got home around 7:30, tried to sleep. Gave up around 8, began reading. At 4:37 p.m. the book is finished. I cried for the final two chapters, cursed a few names, and am now immensely hungry.

...he was mad at the Navy.

2005-07-15T14:01:00.000-07:00

C. and I were watching Ken Burns' documentary on the Civil War last night, and they mentioned the guy who built/designed the U.S.S. Monitor. (No, that is not Old Ironside, as I stupidly asked C. Old Ironside is the U.S.S. Constitution.) Anyway, apparently Inventor Guy (I can't remember his name) was mad at the Navy about something. But it amused me, so I've decided every time someone asks me what's wrong, I will reply "I'm mad at the Navy."

My brothers are upstairs listening to who knows what. All I can hear from my room is the loud vibrations from the bass. Last night, C. and I were (still) watching that documentary and I said, "It bothers me that they listen to rap." Pause as I gather my thoughts. "Not because it's rap, just because it sucks." I do, however, enjoy listening to a bunch of white 13-year-olds sing/rap/talk really fast along with Eminem. It is not so amusing when one of said 13-year-olds opens the door to my room every 10 minutes to tell me how beautiful I am. Thanks, kid. Good thing I base the opinion of myself on 13-year-olds. Sometimes I wonder if I'm doing something wrong.

My aunt is coming over with her 4 monster children and a puppy. There hasn't been a puppy in this house for 9 years. We'll see how this goes.

Tuesday

2005-07-12T17:45:00.000-07:00

C.'s brother, Angsty Hormones, leaves for England tomorrow. He got invited by King's College to study architecture or archaeology or something, I don't remember. They're going to freaking Outback Steakhouse tonight, which is just horrible. C. and I used to eat there all the time, but I can't even stand to look at their steaks anymore. I'm invited, and I want to go because it's a going away sort of party, but I don't think I could stand to smell Outback. Ugh.

I got in an argument with our receptionist, known hereafter as Nosy, Pushy, Ignorant Receptionist, or NPIR for short. She's an older woman, born in Italy during WW2. She was adopted and brought up in Chicago. She's a gossiper, and a complainer, and she likes to tell me what I should do with my life. She's also conservative, and a generally ignorant person. I don't mean that just as an empty insult, she truly does not know what she is talking about, unless she is talking about hair. Now, I have said before that I work for my family. I have a pretty shitty job, mostly because I work in a factory. I do what my 14-year-old self would call "bitch work". This is pretty much anything that needs doing. Most people in the factory have a few jobs they are regulars at. I have one of these, and all the undesirable jobs come my way. Anyway, yesterday was my aunt's birthday and my parents went to this place, Meson Sabika. I knew of it when I went through a wedding craze (I'll write about it someday), so I mentioned to Data Processing Girl (DPG) that it was expensive to have parties there. This led to NPIR telling me I should marry a man for his success, not for love, and that someday I would want to run the lovely factory now run by my grandmother. I told her A) I obviously couldn't care less about money seeing as how I'm studying to be a teacher and B) I would rather die than spend the rest of my life in a business suit, in an office, typing on a computer. If my parents try to force me into taking the business by writing it into their wills, I plan on saying "If you leave me that company, it will be sold before your flesh goes cold." I hate that place and never want to run it. Anyway, we were lightly arguing like we always do, when she said "Let's not talk about what you want, because you will want it." And that stopped me cold. How dare you tell me what I think, bitch? So I said, "Let's not have you telling me what to do anymore, because I'm goddamn tired of your unsolicited advice." And it degerated from there.

I realize I am losing allies at work. C. is the driver for our company, so he isn't there a whole lot. Besides DPG, I really only speak to my Supervisor, C's supervisor and two older ladies who have known me since I was three. We'll call them Tulip and Lily. They're sweet, if not a little old school regarding marriage and "wifely roles". I tend to keep to myself, since not only is it a little hard to talk to anyone over the whir of 50+ machines, but also...I don't really like anyone at work.

Plus, there's Creepy Guy. CG has known me since I was about 4 or 5. He has recently been paying a whole lot of attention to me and how I look. It sort of borders on sexual harassment, but this guy is J.'s friend. Anyone who knows J. knows he's more likely to believe CG than me. Today, CG walked up to the table I was assembling parts at, and noticed my legs were locked at the ankle, but otherwise wide open. He said, "Ooh, where my mirror? I'll bet it's beautiful." I chose to ignore that. He also asks me over and over to be his assistant, as if I have any control over that. The only reason he wants me to be his helper is so, and I quote, "You can wear skirts as you climb the ladder." Yeah sure, guy.

I wonder how interested he would be if I mentioned my unruly 70's bush 'fro. Of course, that sort of thing might turn him on. Gah.

Saturday

2005-07-09T21:43:00.000-07:00

I thought I would inform you all that I am thanatophobic, and I see death everywhere. Today I see death in camping. Well, I suppose I've always seen death in camping, since it involves dark woods and the Great Unknown. I am a city girl, even though I spent 4 years of my childhood in a small central Illinois town. Dark woods are terror-inducing for me, as I have seen too many movies, and believe there are sadistic and blood-loving murderers/escaped mental patients lying in wait just so they can spill my city loving blood. I become dizzy and short of breath, sometimes I feel sweaty, and fight the urge to throw up. Sometimes I cry. My heart beats fast and I become irrational, my hands shake and I really can't tell you who I am, just that I'm going to die and I don't want to. It's more than that, really. It's the Great Unknown. The idea of no longer existing or feeling makes me completely batty, and I think it is for that reason I hung onto Catholicism for so long. So, if I do all of these things, I will go to a place called Heaven and continue to live? Offering heaven to a thanatophobe is like offering...well, I can't think of anything clever, but you see what I mean. When I finally accepted that my brain was screaming and fighting against all of this God stuff, I tried to accept death. C. is very mature, and doesn't seem to fear anything, short of lakes. My brave knight does not fear death, but lakes! It figures. He has tried to get me through it, and most of the time if works, if only temporarily. Other times, when I am alone, and I have no C. to talk me down, I become quite afraid and even crazy. The last time it happened, I was at work and had to retreat to the bathroom to calm myself down. I sat on the floor in a ball, trying to control my breathing. I am usually pretty okay with death and dying during the day. It is 2:32 pm right now and I can tell you that I know I am going to die, and I am okay with it. The panic usually grips me at night. When I am lying alone in my bed, I feel the pressure and weight of not thinking about it quite acutely, and I usually panic. I'll call C. or I'll cry until I fall asleep.

Moving on to happier things...actually, there is nothing going on at this moment. My life is in a terrible dull state, the only thing to look forward to is a baseball game I am attending with C. and his family, and that is not until next Sunday. Oh, right, I am also going out to a local show to see C.'s friend play with his band. We'll call C.'s friend R. and is girlfriend Isa, because I doubt she would mind her name being spread around on the internet.

I am back from the show. Let me just say that this genre of music and its accompanying "scene" is not something I wish to be a part of, and C. and I have agreed never to attend another show.

O:SNC

2005-07-07T19:25:00.000-07:00

I Googled "SNC" and the first thing I got was St. Norbert College. Which I thought was hilarious since what my O: SNC stands for is Operation: Spend No Cash. C. and I are off to the east coast (and Pennsylvania) in 1 month and 4 days. We have to save, save, save. We eat out a lot, and the hardest part of the O: SNC will be only going out to dinner once a month. O: SNC will last for approximately 18 months, as August 2006 will hold a 10 day trip to England, and hopefully winter of 2006 will hold an apartment.

Speaking of England, I am so fucking sad about all of this. I watched Fox News (ugh) during my lunch break, and saw Tony Blair giving a speech in front of the Scottish convention center they were holding the G8 meeting at. He looked so sad, and Bush looked so bored that I started to cry. I am so upset that this happened in England, and all the fucks on Fox News can say is "Well, we're patrolling subway systems in Washington D.C. and the terror alert is now orange." We're so selfish and self-absorbed here. 40 people were killed and 700--that's right, seven fucking hundred--were wounded in England, and the only thing we Americans can talk about is ourselves. Now, I am far from a patriot, but I haven't been this ashamed of my country since the truth about the Iraqi WMDs was unearthed.

I spent the majority of the day fantasizing about Sean Astin. I had a dream about him last night. He looked like Samwise from the Lord of the Rings movies, and Frodo was there, and I was there. I guess I was a hobbit. I apparantly was Frodo's baby mama, but I was hot for Sam. At one point in the dream, I got him alone in a bedroom, put my hand on the back of his head and tried to kiss him. To this he responded by turning his head, saying "It is wrong the way we love each other" and then kissing me. The dream ended with some Orcs telling Frodo that Sam and I were making out in a boat and Frodo fighting Sam. At some point during this fight, Sam and Frodo became the same person, and I was killed. When they noticed they had killed me, they became two separate hobbits again. Apparantly I was some celestial being, because I appeared to Sam in a dream and told him I had died because I love him as Sam, and when he and Frodo were one, I had no reason to exist, as what I loved was gone. And I told him I wasn't dead, I was fighting my way back to him. Sigh.

I have a problem with distinguishing reality from fantasy. I used to go to therapy for this. When I saw The Notebook for the first time, I grew obsessed with Ryan Gosling, finding out everything I could about him, and even planning on moving to Los Angeles and changing my major to theatre in hopes that I would meet him and he would marry me. In my mind, Ryan Gosling was Noah Calhoun, and he would fall in love with me on sight, because I was way more Allie than Rachel McAdams/Allie herself. C. took this all in stride, even when I started writing fake interviews in which Ryan and I were the subjects. C. is very good at understanding when mental illness gets in the way of my everyday life. He is very patient, and I am forever grateful,

So this dream with Sean Astin has had me obsessing over him all day. I replay the dream in my head, especially the part where he admitted he loved me, and gradually my mind convinced me it happened. I spent the whole day fantasizing about how he was going to divorce his wife, and take custody of his kids and move out to Boston with me.** I'm still not completely convinced that this isn't true, but C. and my mom are well-versed in diffusing methods and they're starting to get my brain grounded again.

Anyway, back to our trip. We will drive to Concord, Massachusetts (pronounced CON-kerd not CON-cord) and spend Friday and Saturday there. It is about a half hour from Boston, so Saturday night, Sunday, and Monday morning will be spent there. Monday also holds Salem, which is a half hour from Boston. Monday night we are camping at some woods.* Tuesday we will horseback ride, etc., then drive 8 hours to Washington D.C. and stay in Virginia untilThursday night or Friday morning. Thursday/Friday we'll drive the 1 1/2 hours up to Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. We'll drive home Saturday.

*I'm scared of camping. I have this irrational fear when it comes to dark woods, mostly involving murderers. I've seen too many movies.

**I honestly don't know what happens to C. in these fantasies. I guess in some way, my brain lets me know that what I'm thinking isn't real by keeping C. in the picture. In these daydreams, I never leave C., or divorce him. He just isn't there. He knows that, and knows it's the result of an illness, not a defect in him.

Tuesday

2005-07-05T10:29:00.000-07:00

The 4th of July was the 4th of July, even though it rained for most of the day, C. and I still went to the park and saw fireworks. No big thing.

C. played this thing for about 2 hours.

I'm terribly bored with C. playing the plastic sax.

When I was 5 years old, I broke my arm. My parents and I live in a town a few miles west of downtown Chicago. Suburbia, where all the lawns are fenced in, and neighbors shut their doors to each other. When we bought the house, it came with a pool. Now, I am a cat woman. I don't like to swim for longer than 15 minutes, and I don't even like to shower for very long. When I was a kid I was no different. It was an above-ground pool, not one of those fancy built-in ones. There was a deck, that was no more than 6 1/2 feet off the ground, and that's what I spent the majority of my summer days on. As I've said before, I could run for the Palest Woman in the Universe contest and probably win, so I never sunbathed on that deck. I sat, covered in Coppertone sunblock, and watched my friends and my family play.

One day, I think I must have grown tired with not swimming. I asked two of my friends to jump off the pool deck with me. We would run up the stairs, take a running leap, and land in the grass. Surprising, this, seeing as how we have a concrete patio type thing that was no less that 5 feet from where we were jumping. To this day, I can't remember if I was pushed or if I lost my footing, but I fell. I fell onto my arm, but I don't remember hearing the crunch. I don't remember realizing that my arm hurt, or realizing that I couldn't move it. I don't remember getting up. My memory flashes from falling to standing next to my gardening mother, crying. What happened to my friends, I have no idea. They didn't come with to the ER. I don't really remember the ride to the ER, nor do I remember the x-ray. In fact, I don't really remember the pain. Not at all. When the doctor showed my mom the x-ray, he said it was a hairline fracture.* He put a cast on, and asked if I wanted a blue cast or a pink cast. Even as a child I hated pink, but I said pink anyway. My desire to please others began that day, I think. I remember being told I had to wear the cast for 6 weeks, which was an eternity to a 5-year-old. I remember talking to my mom about it on the way home.

While I don't remember the pain while driving to the hospital, I remember the pain afterwards. I had to carry my arm in a sling, and when I slept, the pain shot through my arm like arrows. My mom had to sleep with me for almost a week, before the pain finally began to subside. When the pain was gone, the itching started. I had a pencil that I used to scratch.

The cast came off a few weeks after I began kindergarten, and we saved it. I used to put my arm back in it and try to remember what it was like to have it there.

*Of course it was minor. I've never gotten a major sickness in my entire life. Even my chicken pox were mild.

2005-07-04T10:43:00.000-07:00

I'm the worst patriot in the world. I couldn't care less about what today represents, to be perfectly honest. Not only does that feeling stem from my previous confession of being an American history dunce, but it also comes from a growing dissatisfaction with this country o' mine. More than that, however, is that I'm not sure anyone really understands the significance of Independence Day. There have been wars, yes, and many people in my age bracket are fighting in this most current one, but it seems different. We're not fighting for the freedom of our country. We haven't really fought for the freedom of our country since the American Revolution. Some people might think that our bouts of so-called heroism in WW1 and WW2 were fighting for our country, but somehow I doubt it. If that was the original intent of the men who decided to help out in these wars, I think it has been lost. I think when people look back at the wars of the past, and even the more recent ones, Americans tend to look on our participation as either a) liberators, or b) the strong guy who helps the little one out of a mess.

I apologize for my complete lack of clear writing.

So, anyway, happy independence day. Whatever that means.

2005-07-03T12:17:00.000-07:00

I am a statistic. C. and I were discussing American history, and I couldn't tell him when the Revolutionary War began. Or how long World War 2 lasted. Or who the president during WW1 was. I felt like a fool. I took an American history class in high school, and one so far in college. This is my country, right? Why don't I know these things? I passed said history classes, so I must have remembered something. I've read about how only so many percent of Americans know when _______ (fill in the blank). I'm a liberal, there's no denying that. And I keep up with the issues, I know what the Right is doing in regards to Roe v. Wade, I know what steps are being taken to further supress the rights of homosexuals. But I don't know a goddamn thing about America's history. There were wars, and sometimes bad things happened, like the stock market crashed or there were children working in factories. Some guys wrote some things and we had a war and gained independance. I like to preach that I love FDR...but I don't think I know anything about FDR. Yeah, the New Deal...I don't know what the New Deal did. He died while serving his 4th term, but I don't know when his first began. I know there was a Holocaust, and that Hitler killed a lot of Jews, but I don't know when Hitler rose to power, or when WW2 began.

I feel like a fraud. I love to learn, and I have learned a lot, but I don't understand why I am unable to retain American history. For years the only books I read were fantasy books. I just recently began getting into English history during Henry VIII's time, and French history during Louis XIV's time. I don't think I have ever read a non fiction book before the age of 19 of my own volition. Why? My mom's side of the family has anti-intellectualism running rampant. If you say anything too intelligent, or even if you know the name of some song that was sung at the original Woodstock, my family will call you a "smartypants" and poke fun at your knowledge.

I was recently in Arkansas, and I was struck by how little schooling means in that part of the south. No one seemed to want to go to college, and no one seemed the least bit interested in learning about their country, or biology, or Shakespeare. I don't really understand why anti-intellectualism is so widespread in the south, but it shocks me and makes more than a little worried about the future.

Saturday

2005-07-02T10:32:00.000-07:00

This is not a decision I have made lightly. Writing and maintaining a blog takes a lot of work, and I'm pretty lazy. I'm like the 1950's dad who comes home after a long day of work, and complains about how I worked all day and no one can even make me dinner! For the love of G-d, the injustice of it all! No, really, I'm not like that. I use the "but I worked all day" excuse to make my mother angry, but otherwise I reserve it for when I have been roped into some unappealing task and am muttering to myself in the shower. How about that sentence? I'm not really sure what made me want to start this blog, because I'm not really a writer. I read tons of blogs (as you could probably tell by my links), but I would never presume I could be the writers that many of them are. I am writing a novel, although I'm ashamed to admit it. I don't really like to talk about with anyone, since it isn't quite copyrighted or anything, and the last thing I need is someone stealing it after almost 5 years of work on it. C. reads it whenever I ask him to, and he says he likes it...but he's supposed to say that. He wouldn't get too far in bed if he told me my writing was shitty.

Speaking of shit, I'm having a hell of a time pooping lately. I absolutely hate pooping, I can't even tell you why. I had myself on a schedule for a while, but i just stopped forcing myself. And I won't drink prune juice. Don't even ask.

Like I said in my last entry, I don't have a whole lot of odd things happen to me. I don't have any children, I still live with my parents, and I'm not really very old. I haven't done a whole lot of things. I've been to a few states, but nothing ever really happened. Except in Arkansas, where my aunt tried to set me up with my cousin. Really, that happened. I've been whale watching in Boston, driven all over Maui, and been to New York twice. There's more, but who really wants to hear about how we drove to Montana many moons ago? I certainly don't want to relive it, and not just because my hair was hideous back then.

I do, however, have a 10-year-old collie who is tortured by my mother each summer and goes from having a nice, shaggy collie coat to this....

My poor dog. I feel sad just looking at that tail of his. All the other dogs make fun of him, I know it.

100 Things about A.G.

2005-07-01T19:59:00.000-07:00

So I thought I'd jump on the bandwagon with this thing you call "blog". I like to write, but I don't consider myself to be very good at it, and so usually I refrain. Unless you count my cliche of an unfinished novel. Odd things do not normally happen to me, so I cannot guarantee much excitement. In fact, to keep with this pattern of my oh-so-boring-woe-is-me life, I will try to write 100 things about me. Here goes nothing...

1. My name is not Aderyn Guinivere.
2. No, I will not tell you what my real name is.
3. My major is special education.
4. I love Chicago.
5. I'm a member of PETA, but I'm not a vegetarian.
6. I know next to nothing about HTML and computer stuff.
7. I work in a factory, and it is quite boring.
8. I'm keeping this blog a secret from my family and friends.
9. I don't get out much.
10. As of today, I read 42 blogs, including dooce and mimi smartypants.
11. I read a fair number of infertility blogs, even though, as far as I know, I am not infertile.
12. I had an abortion on April 12, 2003.
13. Please don't tell me you're sorry, because I'm not.
14. I'm a flaming liberal, almost to the point of being a socialist.
15. I have a bumper sticker on my car that says "my boyfriend is a feminist".
16. I made it myself at CafePress.
17. I love Family Guy and The Simpsons.
18. I hardly ever watch either of those shows.
19. In fact, my boyfriend C. and I missed a new Family Guy because we were watching the British House of Commons on C-SPAN.
20. I love Chicago, but am none too fond of America right now.
21. I voted for Kerry, even though I liked him as much as I like Bush.
22. I am a member of the Unitarian Universalist church.
23. But I don't believe in God.
24. Unitarians are weird like that.
25. I am attending community college because I changed my major 5 times in the last year.
26. And ended up back at my original one.
27. I have a mom, a stepdad (J.), and two younger brothers (P. and N.)
28. And a dog named Max.
29. C. and I are going to London next summer.
30. We want to move there someday.
31. I used to be obsessed with wedding stuff.
32. I used to think I didn't want to have children.
33. I used to think I was going to be an actress.
34. I turned out to be dead wrong about those last two things.
35. After work, I sit on my computer and read blogs.
36. I usually smell like machine oil.
37. There are only 42 people on my AIM buddy list.
38. I only talk to about 5 of said people.
39. C. and I lost our friends last September because I called one of them a racist.
40. I dropped all my high school friends in January because they are all cokeheads.
41. I have only done 2 illegal drugs, and one was not coke.
42. I used Flonase for allergies, and that's bad enough.
43. I smoked for 6 years before I quit in May 2004.
44. This is hard.
45. I do have an unfinished novel of sorts--a fantasy novel.
46. I'm 20 years old.
47. I love fantasy books.
48. Next winter, I'm going on an annual Key West trip with my mom and her sisters.
49. I finally get to meet the famed gay man/fabulous drag queen, Michael Patrick/Unstable Mable.
50. I don't want to raise my kids in a place where people think red pens will scar children for life.
51. I've been to Hawaii.
52. It was hot, but beautiful.
53. The first time I went in the ocean, a wave picked me up and turned me upside down.
54. I lost my sunglasses then.
55. I have been known to text message while driving.
56. I drive a '99 Ford Taurus.
57. I enjoy telling my conservative family that they act like Nazis.
58. Tom Cruise disgusts me.
59. I love John Cusack and Ryan Gosling.
60. I refuse to buy into the plastic wristband trend.
61. Someone died in my aunt's condo two days ago.
62. My parents really don't like each other.
63. And by parents, I mean my mom and J.
64. My biological father is not involved in my life and I don't want him to be.
65. I do miss my brothers and sister though.
66. My parents have a lot of money.
67. I don't, and they have never been the generous type.
68. I hate fireworks, unless I'm in a controlled environment.
69. I hate motorcycles.
70. And loud subwoofers.
71. Speaking of that, C.'s nickname is Woofer.
72. C. and I also talk in babytalk every once in a while.
73. I could run for "Palest Woman on Earth".
74. I am Irish, German, Dutch and 1/16 Native American.
75. I'm tired a lot.
76. I have a stylin' hairdo, but I hardly ever wear it down.
77. I have to dry and straighten it, and I hate that.
78. I love autumn.
79. I have a cousin who is autistic, and an aunt and uncle who are ruining him.
80. My top picks for names of my children are Genevieve, Damian, Charlotte and Ioan.
81. I'm almost done!
82. I'm scared of being a teacher, because I don't want to screw anything up.
83. I have one tattoo, but I want to get more.
84. You have to be 21 in Illinois to get one, so I have to go to Hammond, Indiana.
85. I have a shirt that says "I've been touched by his Noodly Appendage".
86. I like to cook.
87. I loved the Lord of the Rings movies.
88. I can't seem to get through the books though.
89. Scientology scares me.
90. A lot of religions scare me.
91. I still live with my parents, and it looks like it will stay that way for at least another year.
92. Night school is hard.
93. Sometimes I wonder if all this working and schooling is really worth it.
94. I still haven't showered, and I've been home since 3 pm.
95. I go to bed around 10:30 and get up at 6:20.
96. J's mom owns the company I work for.
97. I get cut no slack because I'm family.
98. J. adopted me when I was 8 and I took his last name.
99. My real name starts with a K.
100. I did it!