Yule Time!

Our Apartment Complex had a decorating contest this year for Christmas. They had a front-window contest, and a patio contest.

I entered. I won.



The most amusing part to me? The Pagan won the Christmas contest. We made a Yule tree. A seven-foot-tall fake tree, with leafed vines for garland, red berry sprigs instead of a star, pinecones and weird red bundles and sprigs of evergreen for ornaments. We wrapped the railing of the balcony with the garland vines, lit up the tree and the railing, set out two chairs looking at the tree, one with a blanket, on with a Santa hat, put a bow on a grill, a bike, and wrapped empty boxes for presents. We put down a rug, hung some stockings, and hid a CD player under the presents, with Christmas Carols on repeat.

We rocked.

*Sigh*

Life's crazy right now. My computer is still down, finals are over, I'm moving in two weeks.

I hope things get better when we move.

I'm afraid they won't.

Stupid Oven-Safe Clay

Is only oven-safe if you're smart enough to work it.

For Christmas this year, I decided to make some Christmas ornaments for my friends. Kris is German, and has this weird Christmas Pickle tradition, so I made her a Christmas Pickle. I made Jesse a Red rose, with a blue stem.

And Jen, got a Very Sad Christmas Penguin. He was a very cute Christmas Penguin. He had a dark purple body, blue feet, a yellow tummy, blue eyes, and a red Santa Hat. If I do say myself, he was very, very cute.

So, I set the oven to the right temp, and put them in the oven to back this morning, while I made homemade pie crust for the apple pie I made. After about hour, I went to check on them.

THEY WERE MELTED! They were all a giant melted mass on the bottom of my plate. Someone had packaged up the wrong kind of clay in my package. I'd even written a little poem to go with the Pickle and Rose, and The Very Sad Christmas Penguin has his very own story I made up for him, in children's book style, with little illustrations.

Now, I have to try over again. *Hmmph*

A Series of Events

My computer died. The one I just got back? The male end of my charging unit pulled out of the computer, and is currently stuck inside the female end. Crap.

Jen and I were all set to go to our new town Thursday, fill out our paperwork, and settle in to our apartment. I got a phone call Wed. afternoon from my father.


"How would you and Jen like to save money on your rent?" That'd be great. Why?

"Could you take on another roommate?" Dad, no. The reason we're moving into a two-bedroom place instead of saying money at a one-bedroom place, is because we need space. We can't share a room again.

"Your little brother is moving to school there. You could let him live with you. It's only a semester." Dad! Jen and I are signing papers TOMORROW. No. There's not enough room, it won't happen. I haven't even gotten a chance to talk to her about it.

Conversation with Jen:
"We need to talk about our move. Dad just called, (insert details here.)

"NOOO!" Jen, if we say no, Dad'll push the issue until he guilt-trips us into it. Or, he'll say "Fine", and ask us to let Twit stay with us until he finds a place, since we're being jerks and it's so short-notice, and then Twit'll never move out...

"Arrrrrrgh!! This is not fair!! *Temper Tantrum*"


Well, Twit is moving in with us. But, Dad called around, pulled some strings, and did pretty well. We're not sharing a two-bedroom apartment. We're sharing a three-bedroom double-wide trailer house, with a full dining room, living room, kitchen-and-bar, two bathroom, kitchen and laundry room trailer house.

It's gorgeous. It's a mile and a half out of town, on a horse farm, with the most beautiful view. I get the master bedroom-bath combo... And that in itself is bigger than our current apartment.

Glen, Willow, you should stop and visit next time you go to Texas. ;)

A minor little Incident

I was working drive-thru today at work, when this terribly drunk man pulled through. Eyes half-open and bloodshot, slurring his words, nodding off to sleep midsentence, couldn't count his money.

I called for my manager, who called the cops, who said to keep him there. So, I asked him to park in a space for me while we made him fresh french fries. He couldn't park in the space... He took up three of them, and yelled something that might have been an apology.

We left him there, waiting. When the cop pulled up across the street, we were going to take him out his order, and let him pull out. Then, the cop would pull him over for making an illegal turn, and we would laugh while he got field-tested.

Well, I guess the gentleman decided he had waited too long, and was trying to back out of his space back into the drive-though lane to ask where his food was.

He collided with the building.

I was standing in the little protruding "box", and he collided with it. Not major, but I started freaking out, and yelling for my manager. "He ran into the building!! Kim, come here, he's leaving, he hit the building!" He realized he hit it, pulled forward a little to get a better angle... and hit it again.

All in all, he hit the building three times. He pulled out right as the officer was pulling up, and Kim and I were leaned out the window, pointing at him driving away, with Kim on the phone to the local dispatcher. The cop took off, lights blazing.

That man in sitting in jail as I'm typing. I might even get to go to court as a witness.

See, I told you. Just a minor little incident.

Blind Panick

Someone Please help me.

I'm moving in a month. *facepalm*

Somehow, in the course of just less than a month, Jen and I have to go to our new town, find jobs, put down money on our new apartment, go through all of our stuff, donate our unessicaries, pack up everything else, clean the entire apartment, move, unpack, and start work.

I think I'm going to die of a heart attack before then.

Any suggestions?

My Family's in Texas

But, I'm still in Oklahoma.

For Christmas this year, my Dad's boss gave him tickets to the Big XII Conference Game in San Antonio, TX. My grandparents live down there, so they're staying with them. My little brother went, too, because it's a weekend, and he doesn't have a job, and loves OU, and wanted to see my Grandma and Grandpa.

I didn't get to go. :( My parents found out they were going on Wednesday, and had to be ready to go by Friday morning. So, they called me, and asked if I could take three days off work to go see my grandparents that I haven't seen in 4 years.

Oh, yeah right. I have to know two weeks in advance to go anywhere. So, I politely declined. It would have been ok if that had been the end of it. But, no. Everytime I talked to them since i said I couldn't go, they've been excited. "Did you find someone to work for you?" "Did you change your mind about going?" "Are you sure you can't come?" And today: "We haven't left the city yet. We'll wait for you, if you want to go..."

It's not fair. It's hard enough that they get to go and I don't. Why can't they just leave it alone? It's just like Thanksgiving... Only worse.

I Have Wonderfully Exciting News

And I can't tell everyone yet, because the details aren't finalized . Let it just suffice to say that I'm very, very excited for after Christmas.

I got my Yule gift from Zillah today. I want to open it SOOOO Bad!! I made Jen take it away and lock it in her trunk where it will be safe. Willow says I should be getting my other present soon, too. Oh, and my person should be getting theirs tomorrow or Saturday. I love giving presents. I can't wait to find out if she likes it.

A Modern-Day Sleigh Ride

Since I have no horse, and no carriage, we went for a mordern-day sleigh ride.

Loud Christmas music, a convertible with the top down, lots of layers, some hot cocoa,and three blankets, driving around at 1 am, singing at the top of our lungs, looking for Christmas lights.

Several people stopped and asked us if we were drunk or stoned. I suppose it's unnatural for us to have that much fun being crazy. But, I only have a month left to do it, so...

Besides, I'd rather be crazy than normal.

I Feel Like an Idiot

My internet is so unreliable. It's driving me crazy. It hates me, and everyone else in the apartments. If mine works, Kris's doesn't. If Mine doesn't work, Kris gets "very low" signal. If we're both getting "Excellent" signal, there's nothing but a "Page Not Found" or an "Invalid Username/Passcode" page. Grrr. I cannot wait to have internet that works all the time.

I got to mail Yule presents today. I'm so excited!! Soon, soon, very soon.

You know, boys never make me crazy. Never. I'm not intimidated by them. I'm not shy or awkward or giggly or any different than I normally am. If I'm interested in a guy, i'm tactfully blunt. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. Either way, I'm good with it. I don't want regrets, I don't want to have to wonder. I want to know.

That kind of attitude ends up in one of two ways: Serious long-term relationship, or one-night stand. Done both, am happy with either. If it's serious, I'm very up-front about what I'm looking for, and what I won't tolerate. If it's a short-term thing, they know I'll take scissors to any strings.

So, of course... I really kind of suck at the date-for-fun thing. I don't date. Even when I'm dating someone, it skips the get-to-know-each-other-over-drinks-and-dinner and goes straight to the my-boyfriend-back-off-barbie thing.

And you're probably wondering why I'm babbling. (Or, you're female, and already know.) There's this guy in the Mass Comm department named Caleb. We both started here at school the same year, we both did the same kinds of things in high school, we both listen to the same kinds of music. We'd been decent friends since we'd met. I've had a small crush on him since then, but I ended up dating the Ex, so Caleb and I stayed friends. Had some of the same classes, went to the haunted house together. The Caleb ended up with a fiance, who hated to share him, so we stopped hanging out.

About the same time the Ex left me, his fiance decided she liked his best friend more. We've talked several times since then. He recently started work at McDonalds. Put my name down as a reference. We now work together several times a week, see each other at the bar, talk and joke an stuff.

Now, as we've established, I like him. I think we'd have a lot of fun. Nothing that would last, but a lot of fun. I think we'd be good for each other.

I can't tell him.

And I don't know why! It's driving me crazy! I've never had a problem with this before. It's very simple, but I just can't do it. And, tonight, I was talking to Jess about it, and she says "Well, I saw it too. He was flirting with you."

I think my brain's going to explode. I don't know what to say, or do, or think. I'm moving away in a month, I'm not looking for serious, and nothing comes out right when I try and talk about it.

I feel like an idiot. He's just a guy!! Grrr. *huff*

It Snowed!!!

Jen's car.

Guilt Trip

So, I worked until 1 am the day of Thanksgiving. I went home, I called my family, and explained that I wouldn't be coming home. No inclement weather to prevent it, but it's a six hour round trip for me to spend less than 24 hours with my family. I'd be tired, cranky, and pissed off that I had to come home so soon. Plus, it is supposed to snow Friday morning, which means I would have trouble getting home.

I cried while explaining this to her at 1 am. She tried to convince me otherwise, and finally said she'd call and talk to me about it the morning.

So, she called in the morning and I explained, again, why I wasn't coming home. So, she put my Dad on the phone. I explained it to him. We argued a little. I pointed out that I really wanted to see them, I just didn't think it would be a good idea.

He started crying. Not loudly, not open, but quiet, lets-make-Inyanna-feel-guilty tears.

So, guess where I am? Yup. Back home, in Hickville. I'm glad I got to see everyone. I'm glad I've got my laptop back. I feel bad for Jen, who was stuck having Thanksgiving at work, and is now sitting at home by herself.

And I wish I didn't have to go home tomorrow. I'm tired, I'm cranky, I don't want to drive three hours tomorrow to go back to work. I'm glad I got to see everyone.

But, I'm pretty sure tomorrow, I won't think it was worth it.

Thanksgiving is Here

Well, almost.

I'm scheduled to work until close the day before Thanksgiving, and I work at 2 the day after. Assuming all goes well, I'll be leaving at 7 am on Thursday, and coming home at 9 am on Friday.

If things don't go the way I want... Well, the weatherman says it's supposed to snow and ice an sleet Wednesday night and all day Thursday. If that happens, it'll be the first Thanksgiving I've missed. Jen and I will be stuck up here with no friends, no family, and no turkey.

That would suck.

I Can't Sleep

I


Can't


Sleep


....

It's Been a Slow Day

I woke up at 1, I lazed around til work at 4, I went twork, JEss and I talked a while after, and then Jen, Jess and I went to Walmart for some Christmas shopping.

All in all, pretty uneventful.

It smells like it's going to rain. I'm waiting up on it, since I've no class for a week.Yay, no class. I love Thanksgiving Break.

I just wish I was going honme for Thanksgiving.

I Wish I lived in a Bigger Town

Please don't get me wrong. I'm not a big-city kind of girl. I lived in the largest city in Oklahoma this summer (which is not a big town by most standards, but it's big to me), and I hated it. There were crowds, and traffic, and mean people, I didn't know anyone, and it's expensive. I love my little small-town roots, where I know every customer, and all the cashiers at WalMart, and can actually turn at a stop sign without worrying about getting sideswiped.

So, you may be wondering why I want to live in a bigger town. That's easy.

I want to learn to dance.

I love to dance. I love the bar, with it's loud music and dance floor and crowds of people. I love the looks from surprised men and women when the fat girl can actually move, not just sway back and forth. But, I would like to know more. I would love to learn to belly dance. I would love to learn to Waltz, to Foxtrot, to Salsa and Tango and Swing and Latin Sizzle. Modern Dance, pom and twirl, and even take a strip class. (You know, the one where you leave your clothes on.) I've taken classes on two-step, and line dance, and square dance, and had some minimal teachings on swing, but I'd love to know more.

Why? There's very little else that makes my body feel quite as good, as pure and useful and attractive and healthy as dancing. I've always been very sensitive to music. Good music can clear my head, make my moods better, relieve stress on bad days. Music that has a lot of dissonance, or very, very deep bi-tonal bass can make me so physically ill I actually get sick.

And, even if there were someone here who offered those classes, I'd know the people in them, and wouldn't feel comfortable.

So, I can't wait til Jen and I move. They have a YWCA there, and I'm gonna find me a place to dance.

Holidays are Coming

There's a topic on the forums that has me thinking. It's a pagan forum, so naturally, they're discussing Christmas, taking Jesus out of Christmas, putting Jesus back in Christmas, the best way to wish people happy holidays, and how to avoid Seasonal Affective Disorder. All very valid, very informative topics.

But, it got me thinking about whether or not I'm giving up what I believe, by celebrating Christmas the way I do.

I love Christmas. The day after Thanksgiving, my tree goes up, with a big party to celebrate. Right up until Christmas, I wish people merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, Yuletide Greetings, Happy Hannukah, and Happy Kwanzaa. I sing Christmas carols, each and every one, at the top of my lungs, to the 6 or so Christmas CD's on repeat in my CD player. On Christmas Eve, my family and I go to my Grandparent's house and open presents with them and my cousins. At 11:00 pm, we go to one-hour candlelight church service with them. Then, we go home, and go to bed, and sometime in there, "Santa" comes to fill our stockings and put out presents. Then, my little brother and I sneak out of bed at, oh, 3 or so, check to see what's in our stockings, and fall asleep on the couches, staring at the Christmas lights. We open presents, and go eat Christmas dinner with my grandparents.

Each and every one of those things could have a very Christian meaning. Most carols are Christian songs, I wish people Merry Christmas, I even attend church (for the one day of the yearg). But, I've never associated Christmas with Christ, or God, or Jesus, or Christianity.

Christmas always meant family. It meant joy. It meant Goodwill that's seriously lacking during the rest of the year. It meant donating coats, and canned food, buying a present for a name on the angel tree, carolling at the nursing and indigent homes. It meant making a little extra effort to smile at the person passing you on the sidewalk. It meant helping a lady with a newborn carry a bag up to her apartment. It meant laughing with friends during the inevitable snowball fight during carolling, and sitting with them around a lit tree drinking hot cocoa, thankful to be warm and toasty together. It meant seeing family members that I only see once a year. It meant seeing my Grandparents happy. It meant sharing a secret moment with my little brother, trading a piece of candy for an orange in the stockings, watching Mom and Dad laughing at my little brother making a wrapping-paper pile and then diving into it. It meant dressing up, Dad and Grandpa and the other men watching hunting shows on TV, Twit and Lendell chasing after the two youngest cousins to keep them from getting into things. It meant a kitchen overflowing with 5 generations of women making a meal for the people they cared about.

Even the church service was never about church, it was about the smile on Grandma's face when she got to show everyone off to the community. It was a prayer offered up to anyone willing to listen for a safe, happy, healthy year; one a little less violent, a little less painful, a little more loving for an entire planet in desperate need of those wishes.

I think we would all be a bit better off if it could be like this for everyone. If we could stop feuding about who's right and who's wrong. If we could let everyone celebrate their reasons, without adding our own agendas. If we could push for the peace, joy, love, and harmony that we sing about, and hang ornaments of. If we would stop taking offense, and start giving time.

The holidays are coming, and I propose a challenge: This year, let your actions speak for the words you use. If you ask for respect for your religion, offer the same to others. If you sing "Peace on Earth, good will towards men", drop some spare change in a Salvation Army bucket. If you string your house with lights, light up a child's eyes by sending a gift to a local family in need of help.

The Holidays are Coming. There are choices to be made. Will you say Merry Christmas, Happy Hannukah, Yuletide Blessings, Happy Kwanzaa?

Or, will you be a living example?

My Other Job

Nine months of the year, I'm a professional student. I also work then, at various fast-food places. I do small alterations for people.

When I'm home for breaks, I work at a funeral home. I also do side jobs here and there, for various people.

During the summers, I'm often a part-time student, holding down a part-time fast food position, and working as unpaid help for someone who can help me down my career path.

I've been a golf shop clerk, a college snackbar, worked at Sonic, Flying J, a funeral home, a college, Montana Mike's Steakhouse, another funeral home, a convience store, for the PGA of America, been a camp counselor, the first funeral home, Walmart, another sonic, an independent living center, The Bricktown Association, Spaghetti Warehouse, McDonalds, and Goldentreewands. (Wow. 21 years old, 20 jobs in seven years, all left on good terms.[Ok, except for the second Sonic, but, they totally deserved it. I walked out on them midshift.] That's got to be a record.)

But my absolutely favorite job of all time has only happened in the last few years.

I blow shit up for a living. >:)

My dad's best friend's son, Levi, works for a company called Premier Pyrotechnics. During peak season for fireworks shows, we put in a lot of hours setting up explosives. I love it. It's amazing. I get to go to school for a week in April to learn how to actually be the one putting match to fuse. *squee*. I helped do this this summer. It was thirty minutes long, and each burst was set to a complilation of music, but... No one knows what the song a the end was. I guess that's what happens when you put up ten shells per second.


Anyway, there is a movie coming out soon called "Splinter" (or something like that) that we rigged explosives for. In the final climatic scene, this terrible evil monster chases some innocent people to an old abandoned gas station. In the madness, a propane tank explodes, which blows up the gas pump, which blows up the building, which blows up the monster. And, if I do say so myself, it FREAKING ROCKS!!!

It's not something I could ever do for a living, but it makes one hell of a fun side-job. Pay's not bad, either.

Listen to Your Heart

That's such a cliche, right? People always tell you, listen to your heart, follow your instincts, blah-dee-blah-blabbity-blah.

The reason cliches get to be cliches? Because they work.

I'm not sure if it's for me, one of my friends here, or one of my internet friends, but someone needs to know this. It's been bugging me all day.

You know you better than anyone else does. Yes, advice is nice, because it gives you a chance to hear things you sometimes need to hear, and hear it from a new perspective. But, advice is not always right. Only you know your life, your choices, your goals and thoughts and hopes and dreams and loves and passions. Sometimes, even when it seems wrong, to you, and to everyone else, your heart is screaming for you to make a choice. It may be a hard one, and it may hurt you, and you may have bad days where you stop and wonder "What was I thinking?!", but there is a reason you need to do this. There is a point, and a lesson, and you'll find the ends were worth the means.

Trust yourself. Love and respect yourself. Listen to that voice, the tiny, fiery one that is normally drowned out, but is crying so strongly, so desperately for a chance to prove itself now. Listen to your heart.

I Apologize

For the insane amount of pictures I'm about to post. As you will soon be able to tell, I've been a bit busy these last few days. So, I've posted pictures of what I've managed to accomplish (mostly while I was supposed to be taking notes in class.)

Willow, Fyrecreek, I do apologize for stealing both your names and identities, and taking creative license with them, but... Well, there is no but. I kind of already did it, so, there.;);)

Jennica Got Pulled Over

For the very first time, actually. 20 years old, and just now got pulled over for inadvertantly speeding. She got off with a verbal. But, it got me to thinking about the times I've gotten pulled over. Hehe.

I: 16, Red Jeep Cherokee. The day I got it. Went out riding around with some friends on a friday night. Music up waaaay to loud, look up in my rearview, see blue and red flashing lights. Turn the music off. I'm on the main drag, so there's no place to pull over, so I wave at the officer, and keep driving until there's a safe place to pull over. I stop the car, and turn off the engine, and hear over a loudspeaker "Please exit the vehicle with your hands where I can see them." Shitshitshitshitshitshitshit. I get out, shaking, about to cry, and this state trooper walks up to me. I can't get my door back open to get my purse out, cause I'm shaking too hard. I get escorted back to his car, and sit there while he runs my license. The whole time this is happening, the poor officer is going "Please don't cry, ma'am, you're going to be just fine. Please stop crying ma'am.... Ma'am, it's ok, please don't cry, aw jeez..." Want to know why I got stopped? My headlights were off. When we had put in my radio, some wires had gotten crossed, and turning my radio on turned my headlights off. Verbal Warning. And, an apology for scaring me, but I drove pretty far without responding to the lights, so he was just being careful.

II: 17, Black Ford F150 Pickup. I was driving home after having gone to the farm (seatbelts are not required on a farm), and turned the corner to head up the straightaway that headed to home. Ah, crap. There's a state trooper sitting, hiding, behind the corner. I keep driving, and his starting lights come on. I pull on my seatbelt really quickly and pray. Double crap. He whips a U-turn, and the flashing lights come on. Shitshitshitshitshitshit. He walks up to my window. "License and registration please ma... Ah. Well, I see you know why I pulled you over." He takes my stuff, heads back to his car. (Terribly important side note. My father is both a funeral director, and a fireman. He knows every law enforcement officer in a 300 mile radius of hickville. He also has a scanner, so he can know when to leave for wrecks and fires.) A few minutes later, Officer comes back to my window, laughing. Shitshitshitshitshitshitshit. "Well, Miss Inyanna, I could give you a ticket, but I'm fairly certain your dad just heard your registration go out. And, quite frankly, whatever punishment he has planned will probably work much better than my ticket. Here's a written warning, I recommend you head straight home."

Oh, and he was right. I got home, sat on the chair at the kitchen counter, and a minute and a half later, I hear screeching tires, a door slam open, and door slam closed, and then the kitchen door slammed open. I got a thirty minute lecture, and grounded for two weeks. Dad even took away my keys, made me take the bus to school.

III: 18, Kansas, The Little Green Frog. Over Christmas break, I was staying with a friend and working. I left for work one day, and headed the 15 miles back into town. I pass a cop headed in the far direction, and my gut sinks when he flips around. On go those lights. I pull out my license and temporary insurance, as my new cards are in the mailbox at the dorms, and they don't allow us to have access to it over break. (Dumb, huh?) The officer walks over to the window, and I smile my most confused-sweet-and-innocent-very-confused-edly charming smile, and say "Hiii thehr, awficer. Is somethin tha madder?" (Again, that only makes sense if you say it in my accent.Come on, try it. You know you wanna.) He laughs and says, "You're not from here, are you, darlin?" "Nossir, Ah'm shore not." Turns out, he grew up in a town 15 mintues from Hickville. Was best friends with my favorite teacher. Went to the college that my mom works at.

20 miles an hour over the speed limit, no seatbelt, invalid insurance, snow-and-ice covered plates, and an expired license. (The post office won't let me have my mail, so the insurance company sent me this and said it'd work. And I knew my license expired two days ago, but it's Sunday, and Christmas week, and I was supposed to fix it when I got to go home for break, but work scheduled me. I don't even get to see my family for Christmas.)

I should have gotten about $450 in tickets. Or arrested. But, he let me off cause I was such a "nice young girl. Now, don't you speed, and try and get the rest of that taken care of once school starts again." *gloatgloatgloat*

IV: 20, Little Green Frog. No valid insurance. Taken off my record after proving I had it.

V: 21, Silver Chevy Cavalier. Got turned around in the city, didn't yield at a yield sign, almost ran into a cop. He felt bad for me, but no valid insurance. Again, waved on proof.

I gotta stop getting pulled over. One day, my luck's gonna run out, and I'll end up paying a lot of money...

Hard Talks

For about a year now, there's been a man on the fringes of my life that I've been friendly with. He was dear friends with Zillah, a Magic: The Gathering partner for the boy, and more recently, the ex-boyfriend of Kris.

He's a very, very odd person. Very odd. Most people can't stay to be around him for long periods of time, because he's weird. Which means, he's also fairly lonely. When Zillah moved, and The Boy moved, and Kris dumped him, there was no one left but Jen and I, and only I can tolerate him.

He's very immature. He's 28, with the life's knowledge of a 10-year-old, and the wisdom of a 40-year-old. Interesting complication, let me tell you. Occasionally, he needs someone to talk to, and I, apparently, am the best candidate. So, we go to the park on campus, and walk, and talk.

He's been trying to arrange to talk with me for about two weeks now. I've been dodging it, because I know he wants to talk about Kris, and how he can make her love him again so they can be together and happy. Being together makes her physically ill with guilt, because she doesn't love him, and only spends time with him because he begs. It has become my responsibility to gently inform him that she needs space, since she lacks the tact to do so.

We met at the park today. Turns out, he didn't want to talk about Kris. He had something entirely different on his mind.

He was supposed to be dead.

Wait, huh? Yeah. He had been born with a defect. He'd been born with two hearts, very odd tonsils, and a blood-type no one else in the world had ever seen. Perfectly functioning. But, the doctors warned his family that it was VERY LIKELY he would die before he was thirty. When he was 16, he'd had a premonition that he'd die before he turned 19. He didn't, but still didn't expect to live past thirty. Last week, he had a doctors appointment. They examined him, and guess what they found?

Functioning perfectly. Perfectly healthy.

So long as he doesn't need a transplant, or get in a car wreck, he should live a normal lifespan. The problem? He'd never planned to live. He didn't know what to do with himself. He had no idea where to go for the next 50 years. He was lost. What's the point of living? What was he supposed to do? He had no drive, no ambitions. What's the point of life?

I'd already gone through the same problem with Zillah. She had known since she was 13 that she would die on Oct. 23, 2006, the day before her 24th birthday.

She didn't die. She was lost. She'd never planned on graduating, getting a job, having a husband or a family. She stopped going to class, pulled away from her friends, started sliding into a depression. One night, a month before she graduated, I'd had enough. I'd seen enough. I sat her down on my bed, worked us up to a good yelling fight, and then screamed at her: "I'm sorry you weren't ready for this. Guess what!? You're alive!! Stop wishing you were dead, and start living!" (BTW, it worked.)

I can't do that with Remmi. He's not ready for it yet. So we sat there for a little while, and I thought about it. Why are we alive? What's the point of living? And then I knew.

"Moments like this. That's the reason we're alive. Moments sitting on a park bench, watching the fall leaves, talking with your friends. Knowing that you're loved, and cared for, knowing that, for just this moment, you're happy with yourself, and your surroundings.'

"Moments like right now, when time stands still. That's why we're alive. That's what we living for. Not to be a millioniare, or see the world, or work a mindless job on Wall Street.'

"Life is worth living, for times like right now."

Stupid Internet

My apartment internet is down again. Four the fourth time in as many weeks. This time, it's been down for a full three days, and they're not sure what's wrong, so they don't know how long it'll take to fix. So, hopefully, it'll be fixed soon, and I can go back to writing on here.

Cause ,I can't talk about everything I want to talk about sitting in a classroom surrounded by other students.

An Oddly Artistic Mood

I am not an artist. I am kind of crafty, and can do little projects. I enjoy them. I can be an artist with words, twisting poetry, leading a reader down a passage of prose, or through the darkened corridors of a story. I do not, however, have that talent with pencil, pen, or brush. I cannot draw, or paint, or sculpt. (Although, I do thoroughly enjoy myself a pottery wheel.)

I do, however, occasionaly have myself an oddly artist mood, where my creative mind demands that it have a chance to explore itself. Most often, this in via word processor, and they result are, more often than not, less than spectacular. More rarely, it will demand colored pencil and paper, as some aspect of some person begs a design to fit them. I've pages and pages of shirts, suits, and dresses, all inspired by someone, made specifically for them, and named after them. Jen, Kris, Zillah, Zoe, Dana, Malory, Fyrecreek, and Willow all have at least one. Hell, even I have one, and I never draw stuff for myself.

But today, my inner artist cried for a different type of pencil. She poured herself onto the page, a rough sketch done in less that five minutes, touched up with a pen in as many more, so the scanner could see it. In my head, she's splashed in color, ground brown, leaves of gold and orange and rust and auburn and fire, hair raven, skin fair, gown of muted silver and fine cloth, cloak of earthy green, eyes vivid green and burning with an inner fire.

Her story wrote itself as she appeared in the physical, a tale of fear, and hope, and the smell of burnings nearby. She's alone, possibly for the last time. She's with her earth, her air, her nature, and for a moment, in the Witchs' Place, one of the last remaining, she is whole, and strong.


I told you I was feeling oddly artistic, didn't I?

I Shoved a Marshmallow In Jen's Ear

No, seriously, I did.

You know the little hot-cocoa-sized marshmallows? She was throwing them at me. I warned her not to throw them. She kept it up. I threw them back, warned her that I would shove one in her ear. Did she listen? Nope. So, I pinned her down, acted like I was going to shove it up her nose, and when she went to cover it, I stuck it in her ear. Yes! I am not full of fail!

Yeah, I've been in a weird mood all day. Woke up sick, but I feel fine now. And I'm still adjusting to the time change, so even though it actually feels like 2:30, I'm still wide awake, cause I slept til 1. Crazy, baby.

Ohohohoh!! So, for Thanksgiving and Christmas, my Mahaw and I always make our own divinity and peanut brittle and hard candy. I've always helped her (read: mixed the ingredients, watched it come to boil, watched her pour it onto the cooling thinger, eaten the results). So, today, I decided to try and make pomegranathe hard candy.

Man, was that bad. It stuck to the wax paper, and tasted like burnt sugar. Ok, so that makes another thing to add to the list of "Do Not Allow Inyanna To Make": Hard Candy, raspberry fudge, pumpkin pie, divinity, fruitcake, pecan pie...

Anyone else noticing a pattern here?

Note to self--Great Cook, not a baker, should not make recipes calling for fruit...

Boys Are Dumb

I went shooping today. Zillah came up to the nearest town, Kris and I went over, Zillah got her new tattoo. Since I got my loan check in a few days ago, Kris and I went shopping after Zillah left. I needed some winter clothes, and some other female-required clothing.

I was really excited. I normally hate shopping for bras, and I hate putting clothes on my body. I'm a big girl, and they do not carry an "F" size bra in Oklahoma, nor do they make clothes for larges chest unless they also cover giant stomachs. A giant stomach, I do not have. But, we found three bras, and several very cute winter shirts. I love ROSS. Seven items, 35$.

I came home, Jess called, wanted Jen and I to go with her to the bar so she could babysit a friend of hers. We agreed. I put on makeup, fixed my hair, put on some of my new clothes. I thought I looked very cute. So did everyone else.

We were out on the dance floor for the last song, and I'm dancing, Jess is dancing, Jen's kinda swaying (which is how she dances), and Jess's friend is drunk and all over the place. I was feeling pretty good about how I looked, out there in my cute clothes, rollin my hips to "Pop, Lock, and Drop."

Three guys walk by, and two of them try and shove their buddy in to dance with Jess as they walk by. Jess is about my weight and build, about 5 inches shorter, and cute as can be. Carries herself very well, looks nice in everything. The guy takes one look at her (behind her, so she can't see), makes a gagging face, and smacks his buddies, who're laughing.

Of course, naturally, I see this, and it pisses me off. So, I glare at them. The two buddies have the good sense to look away, but the one guy looks at me, mouths "What? You're fat and ugly too. You three look like a bunch of whales trying to wiggle back into the ocean." Then he flips me the bird and walks off.

Knew I should've stayed home.

The Stupidest Thing Ever

I absolutely love Christmas. It's one of my favorite holidays. Food, lights, family, The Christmas Story on TV, joy in the world, and giving presents to light up people's day. What could anyone possibly not like about Christmas??


Oh, ok. Maybe just this one little thing. IT ATE MY @#$%^ HOLIDAY!! Halloween is my favorite holiday. This year, the day they started putting up Halloween stuff... Christmas started going up in the next aisle. The next day, little display christmas trees went up. A week before Halloween, it took over one entire aisle of my two-aisle Halloween display. The day before Halloween, it ate another half of my aisle, and filled it with Christmas candy.

Every sign in WalMart says, "54 shopping days left 'til Christmas." Why are we shopping for Christmas? I'm not even sure I can afford a turkey for THANKSGIVING!!!!

And now, the final straw. Jen says the great big giant Christmas Tree went up in the entrance today.

This is crap. *sulks* It ate my holiday.

It is Done

My paperwork is all turned in. Things are signed, completed, and soon to be graded. It's official.

I no longer work for Goldentree Wands. MY LIFE IS OVER!!!

Nah. Actually, I still have a few bits and pieces to send them this weekend, as MicroSoft FrontPage is being a butthead. But, according to the school, I'm done.

A few of you may be confused. (A few of you. Pffft. The only people who ever read this are Willow, Jen ((when she's editing)) and me.) "Why, Inyanna, I didn't know you worked for the Goldentrees," you may say. Well, you're part right. I, Inyanna, did not work for the Goldentrees; my alter-ego Kyna did.

I had to have this internship thing for school, and the Goldentrees were ever-so-kind enough to let me intern for them. It ROCKED!! But alas, it has come to an end.

We had one trick-or-treater yesterday. One. A big gray rubbermaid tub full of candy, decorations everywhere, and we get one measly trick-or-treater. And we kind of kidnapped them from someone else. We hear *Knock Knock Knock* downstairs, lean out the door, and go... "Are you trick-or-treating?! We have Candy!! Come Visit Us!!" We're sad little people.

Oh, yeah. We saw "The Game Plan" tonight. It was really cute.

And The Rock is gorgeous without his shirt.

It's Here, It's Here!!!

It's finally here! My favoritest day of the whole entire year has finally arrived. I spent the entire day getting ready. Do you know how long it takes to carve 10 pumpkins? Ten of them, each with indivual expressions, each one important. I carved two sets this year. One is called "Mmm, Brains!"

The other is "They eat their own..."

I know, I need serious help. We got all the details done for all four costumes tomorrow, spray-painted the cardboard that will become an electric chair and a coffin, dyed Jess's socks, and put Kris and I's hair up in curlers.
See, I look stupid.

We also got the blacklight and the spider webs put up in the stairwell, and picked up a bottle of Hypnotic to make Margaritas with, to give to the "big" kids (AKA the Good Doctor and his Wife.)

Tomorrow, we have to build an electric chair, a coffin, make a scarecrow, spiderweb the back porch, put up the in-house decorations, clean the kitchen and living room, get dressed up, help Jen, Jesse, and Kris get dressed, go to class, make Sam&Ham dinner (Ribs, cheesy mushroom rice, day-before mashed potatoes, roasted corn, Pomegranate Creme`), pass out candy, entertain the adults, and visit the Haunted House... All before Midnight.

Geez, I don't think I should sleep tonight, or we'll never get all of that done.

I Bought Black Candles

Since I have fallen into a wee bit of money (my student loan check came back today. Go, me!), and we needed some things from Wal-Mart, Jen and I went shopping at 3:00 am.

We picked up our necessaries, picked up some extras. Talked about how frickin excited we are for Halloween, what we're going to carve our pumpkins into. Decided on what we're having for Halloween dinner, since it's a big deal for me. Tried to figure out the best way to keep Kris from telling Jesse about Sam&Ham before she gets used to us enough for me to find a way to tell her about Sam&Ham, and why it's important without making her uncomfortable.

We also bought some Halloween supplies. Little decorations to go in our side of the house, since Kris and Jen & I are splitting decorations to the balcony. Kris's side will be spooky, Jen & I's will be for younger kids, and we'll give out candy in the back. Also bought some raisins to give the kids who are too old to be trick-or-treating.

We found some orange candles, purple lights, and some black-and-orange mixed candles. I have orange, I wanted all black. So, I took out the orange ones, and replaced them with the black ones from another package. (I know, I'm a monster.) Anyway, Jen's watching me do this with this annoyed look on her face, because, as a Wal-Mart employee, she HATES when people do that kind of stuff. So anyway, she's watching me do this, looking annoyed/horrified/disgusted, and I spout off:

"What? Do you think I'm going to use them and then eat babies? Take them off with me to them park, cook 'em up in my witches' cauldron?"

She started laughing so hard, if she'd've been drinking a glass of milk, the milk would have shot through her nose and left a dent in the far wall.

I love that my friends are so easily amused.

Project: Guinea Pig

There is a writer for Slate Magazine/Slate.com named Emily Yoffe who used to write a column called Human Guinea Pig, where she "embarrassed herself for fun and profit." She would do things that you'd always wondered about, but never really had the guts to do for yourself. She was a Nude Model, a Telephone Pyschic, the Washington someteams Mascot, a Mime, worked on a oil rig, all kinds of things.

Very talented, very gutsy woman.

As they say, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. Well, I'm not imitating her. I completely ripped off her idea. I even kind-of stole the name of her column. Bad Inyanna. Bad. Anyway, I'm enrolled in newspaper practicum, which requires that I write a column for the paper. Since I was such a fan of her column, and every other idea I had was taken, my professor and I decided to steal her idea.

A few weeks ago, I went out and spent the day working with a nice man named Derald Brown, City of Hickville's street sweeper. I got to drive, and refill the water, and sweep the streets. In a few weeks, I'll be riding with a police officer, and then I'll be teaching a freshman seminar class.

Yesterday, however, I was Rowdy Ranger, the mascot for my university, at our football game against the Warriors. A giant fiberglass head, a leather vest, leather chaps, black jeans, and a white button-down is all it takes.

It is impossible to see out of a fiberglass head. There is no airflow. You aren't allowed to talk, and even it you do, no one can understand you through the head. You can't take off the head, so you can't take a drink. You can't see the game, so you have to take cues from the cheerleaders and the band as to what you should be doing. And you must constantly be in motion, running and waving and dancing and generally entertaining people. But, I did get my very own personal assistant to walk with me, because you can't see. And, children consider it perfectly acceptable to kick and punch you, because you're not a real person.

There are also two reactions children have to you. They either love you, and want to take a picture and touch you and try on your stuff and lift up your head to see who you are--- Or they're TERRIFIED of you, and run screaming the other way, which parents find hilarious. They will actually pick up the screaming child and carry them to you, just to get a better reaction.

Speaking of grown-ups, one piece of advice. It is simply not acceptable to try and steal the mascot's head to see who's under there.

Even if the mascot has suddenly, overnight, grown boobs.

It's Late

And I'm still wide awake.

You know, working close shift at McDonalds has rewired my brain. I am still wide awake at 3, 4, 5 in the morning. Not a problem, no yawning, no sleepy-eyes, no lethargy, no nothing. But, when I make it to bed at one of those times, FOR YOUR OWN SAFETY, do not attempt to wake me up before noon. I tend to be a bit viscious when woken before I'm prepared to wake. I throw things. And bite. And turn commonly-used, everyday phrases into swear-words that'll make you cower.

The problem here is that I have class at 8 a.m. Guess how many times I've made it to that? I'll have to be dropping it soon. My class at noon, however, is not a big deal, because I've known the teacher for three years, and she's cool as hell. So long as we make it one day a week, turn our stuff in, and do what she needs us to do, she's fine with it.

So, what do I do in these wee hours of the morning, you may wonder? Watch movies, hang out with friends (who are also closers), do laundry, clean house, mend clothes, work on costumes, buy groceries, and go shopping. Everything except send mail, because the post office is only open during the day.

And the only reason I'm ever awake in the mornings to go there (since class is in the afternoons) is if I'm still up from the night before.

Because, I'm still wide awake.

Harvest Time

I had a very productive day.

Well, Jen and I both had a very productive day. My kitchen is all clean and pretty and organized, my craft/sewing corner is put back to rights, and the dishes are all done.

We finished a massive pile of laundry, and got it all put away. We also went to the store to pick up some things we'd missed the other day, and I made crockpot stew.

I got a package from Willow. Oh, I was so excited to get it! Shoebox Girl got her package, too. Her cloak rocks, she let me try it on. It's really warm. Although, if she yells "Glomp!!" and swoop/attacks me because "Look! It can hide you and me at the same time!!" one more time, I might have to push her down the stairwell. ;)

Jesse came over, and I finished her Smurfette costume. She looked so cute in her little blue shirt and stockings, with the white dress and hat I made her. It went really quickly, I was so proud of myself.

While we were out running around, we stopped by the local pumpkin patch. I am now the proud owner of 12 pumpkins, that all have to be carved by Wed. But I've got a lot of them! And they're soooooo cool! They're all different shapes and sizes and one of them is huge!! Man, I can't wait for Halloween...

I've Been Missing Him Today

After yesterday's post, I started listening to some of Bonnie McKee's music. Her album Trouble is one of my favorite female albulms ever.

Anyway, one of her songs is called Sensitive Subject Matter. A girl's boyfriend has just broken up with her, but calls her his best friend, tells her he doesn't want to lose her, and asks her for her advice about another girl he'd like to date.

Baby it's you,
That kept my feet on the ground,
Thought that I could choose,
If I always wanted you around,
Darling I do,
Think we need time apart,
I still need time to mend my broken seams.


He meant so much to me. He was my present, my future, my strength, my weakness. He loved me for what I was now, not what I could be. He swore he saw beauty, even in my flaws. He held me when I couldn't hold myself up, and I held him when losing his Grandmother was too hard. I loved him, I supported him, neither one of us walked in front of the other, we walked side by side, but neither one of us was afraid to stand in front and lead when the other didn't know where we were going.

When he left, it had been six months in the making. Aside from the goodbye kiss, I don't remember hugs, kisses, snuggling, holding hands since Christmas. I don't remember sex after February. We felt more like friends than we felt like lovers. But, he was a dear friend, one I was loathe to lose. When he left, he said "You're my best friend. I don't want to lose that, I want us to be like you and Zillah." I couldn't do that. I could barely breathe, much less let him confide in me. He and I were lovers first--friends came after, and one without the other sliced through me.

Last time I heard from him was the first day of August, when I needed to know that he was alive, and that the flood hadn't harmed him or his family. He mailed back some of my things... And nothing since. It hurts to know I was so easy to forget. I was certain that at least on Oct. 7, the day that would have been two years, I'd at least get a Hey, How are You? email or phone call. Nothing. I didn't know he was capable of leaving an entire life behind without a backward glance. No one in our little college family has heard from him since he moved after graduation. How do you leave behind a family, a little sister, a big sister, two best friends, and an almost-fiance?

What did we do to deserve that? How did he manage to cut that part of himself off so cleanly? How did we miss that part of him, how was it so well hidden?

But I cannot forget how hard I cried,
When I discovered you had lied,
When you said I could never hurt like this.

Baby it's you,
That kept my feet on the ground,
Thought that I could choose,
If I always wanted you around,
Darling I do,
Think we need time apart,
I still need time to mend my broken seams.

Well I'm weary, I'm so weary,
I told you I'd be there,
I'm broken, I'm so broken,
But I'm here.
It's painful, It's so painful,
I told you I'd be there,
These are secrets I cannot afford to hear,
Oh, these secrets I cannot afford to hear.

I Can't Think of Anything

No, really. I've got lots to say, and lots of opinions, but nothing super-cool.

So, I present you with something else I've stolen.

Pick a band/artist and answer using thier song titles.
Band/Artist: Bonnie McKee

1. Are you male or female?: Confessions of A Teenage Girl

2. Describe yourself: Open Your Eyes

3. How do you feel about yourself?: Trouble

4. Describe your girlfriend/boyfriend/interest: Somebody

5. Where would you rather be?: Green Grass

6. Describe what you want to be: A Voice That Carries

7. Describe how you live: When It All Comes Down

8. What is most important in your life?: I Hold Her

9. Share a few words of wisdom: Sensitive Subject Matter

Happy-Perky-Secretary-Person Syndrome

Happy-Perky-Secretary-Person Syndrome is a term coined by my friend Chase to describe the way I act when working, or putting up with people I don't like.

It has been honed by years of training. Working as a customer service specialist at Sonic for two years meant my job was to go deal with the people screaming because my managers' lacked to social skills not to yell back. I can sincerely say "I'm sorry that happened; How can I fix it?" in my sleep. Working at a truck stop allowed me to master the I'm-too-ditzy-and-naive-to-know-you-just-said-something-inappropriate, so that I can smile, nod blankly, and giggle with while in my head I'm going "Eeeeeeeeeew, you're fifty and haven't showered in a week, don't touch me!" Being the funeral director's daughter lets me be sympathetic and understanding, and growing up in FFA means I can pretend I remember you with the best of them. And being the annoying voice in the box at McDonald's means I can be cheerful and helpful, even when I WISH STUPID PEOPLE WOULD DIE AND NOT COME THROUGH DRIVE-THROUGH!! (Can you guess what inspired this post tonight?)

The only time the happy-perky-secretary personality cracks? The more pissed off I get, the sweeter I get, and the thicker my accent drips. Right before I really do snap, the day I actually gut someone like a trophy buck, I swear it'll sound like this. "I's just aahwful saahhrieE 'bout that, Mister. Iss'er sumpin I kin do-tah feex'it for yah?" followed by the Valley Girl Giggle. (Adopt a Southern Bell accent and read that out loud. Proceed to laugh hysterically. Everyone else does.)

And the more I watch people the more I see it, and can tell who's worked in service and/or food service occupations before. It makes me feel good to notice that I'm not crazy... People who need things make everyone else crazy, too!!

I Already Knew

I bet you think I'm talking about Dumbledore, don't you? Well, you're wrong. I'm not. Although, I already kind of suspected.

I'm talking about my knack for knowing things. Whatever little bit of insight you have, or little tidbit of gossip that you just found out and you're so excited to share with me cause you knew first?

Yeah, you can just chill. I already know.

I am, by my very nature, an intensely nosy person. I'm also very insightful, very empathic, very people-observant, and very sweet-innocent-you-can-trust-me-tell-me-everything-I-won't-judge-you-I'll-just-hug-you-tell-me-everything looking. And please don't let that come off poorly. I don't tell people what you tell me; I'm completely trust-worthy. Ask my friends. But, if I want to know something, I WILL know it, and you WILL tell me, or someone else will.

I can tell when you're hiding something from me, or when you're lying. I notice subtle gestures, pronunciation, glances, and changes in posture. Just ask Jen, or Zillah, or Ishie, or the Ex, or Stevo. Don't lie, don't keep secrets, I will sniff them out.

I also know when you're lying to yourself. Example: one of my friends recently (about two months ago) realized she is gay. I've known for two years.

I also know what you're deepest desires are, what it is you desperately crave, but are afraid to admit to yourself, because you are afraid of it. I know what it is; let me help you acknowledge it. Fear of your own desires simply breeds more fear, and a twisting darkness that can eventually blind you to real issues.

Just look at Dumbledore. If he'd admitted he was in love with Grindewald, nobody would have blamed him for writing those papers. Boys and Girls in love do stupid stuff, and then people forget. :P

I Like Pie

In case you couldn't tell from my picture, I'm a big girl.It's not something I'm ashamed of. I come from a long line of german-anglo women, and native american women. Everyone in my family believes in food. We eat when we're sad, when we celebrate, we eat for holidays, special occasions, and not-so-special occasions. I've used my weight to call attention to an important cause, and thoroughly enjoy the attention my ample cleavage recieves when we go out.

But, this is the heaviest weight I've ever been at, and it's starting to reach unhealthy. I've got the genetics for diabetes, heart problems, stroke, you name it. Plus, I've got weak bones and stressed joints, and my weight is starting to it's toll on them.

So, someone on the forums is trying to group-motivate for weight loss. My goal is ten pounds by Christmas, but I'm not going to judge this by weight. I'm going to judge this by how I feel, and my goal is to be healthy, not skinny. Jen's joining in, too. We got groceries and vitamins tonight, and are really going to work for this.

While we were grocery shopping, we picked up stuff for Zillah's birthday. She now has a package with six birthday cards, Mardi Gras beads, a slinky, a green Rubber Duckie, balloon rockets, Star Trek Nemesis, and a happy birthday banner. The priority shipping box has been drawn on, colored, sprinkled with Happy Birthday Confetti, and laminated with clear packing tape.

Let's see her try and have a quarter-life crisis while she's laughing at us!!!

Worried About My Roommate

Meet Jen

She's 20. She's a sweetheart. She's funny, and shy, with a heart of gold, an infinate amount of patience, she's undstanding, flexible, a little niave, and manages to not only live with me (which is a feat in and of itself), but to enjoy living with me, laughing at my quirks and putting up with the constant danger of having me around.

Jen grew up with a Mom who was a user, and bounced from boyfriend to boyfriend. She remembers her best Christmas was living with her grandparents for a year, because they could afford presents. She has a little sister in Texas that her mom had to give up for adoption because she couldn't afford her. She has a little sister that she helped raise, because Nicole was born when Jen was 12, while her Mom was working two jobs and her step-"father" worked, and smoked pot in the back shed when he wasn't smacking her mom around.

Because she grew up so fast, she's taken the opportunity to be on her own, and to enjoy being a kid now that she can. That makes her sulky, with serious passive-aggresive tendancies. She doesn't handle money well, and usually overspends herself. She's also gained about 50 pounds from high school, and is frustrated with the fact that she doesn't wear the same size, so she still buys juniors' clothing, which pulls and squeezes and bulges, and refuses to wear anything that doesn't look like it belongs on a fourteen-year-old. She never learned how to cook (She can screw up boxed macaroni and cheese), can't iron or sew or do laundry or change a tired or handle conflict. She's a slob, even when she's trying to be neat.

And she never learned what a healthy relationship is. He very first boyfriend cheated on her, demeaned her, used her like a doormat. Her second used her, when he wanted her. Her thrid was good for her, but moved to Colorado when he graduated. Her latest, well, he liked her well enough to have sex with her, but not enough to call her back when she called him.

That second boyfriend, the flake? He called tonight, wanted to hang out, watch a movie. That was an hour and a half ago, and she's still sitting on the couch, filling out a word search, waiting on him to come by and get her.

A Show of Support

My dear friend Willow had a new blog on her list, and because I'm an incredibly nosy person, I clicked it.


http://www.iamemilyx.blogspot.com/


These women amaze me.

I am pro-choice, and have taken a lot of grief in my life for being that way. I believe that it is a woman's body, and she had the right to make whatever choice she wants with it. THIS DOES NOT MEAN I ADVOCATE STUPID CHOICES! I disapprove of people who choose abortion as a means of birth control AT ALL. I however, think that a woman should be allowed to terminate life if it is for the good of the child, or for the good of the mother. If you can't care for it, please, give it up for adoption. If you don't want it, or you are a single parent without means for a child, give it up for adoption. If it will kill you to have the baby, choose whatever is best for you. If the child will be born to a short, painfilled life, do whatever you think is best. If your child is caused by incest or sexual assault, it's your choice.

At the age of 18, in my freshman year of college, I was held hostage, raped, assualted, beaten, and sodomized. After he was arrested, I skipped my next period. A Planned Parenthood Clinic had me blood-tested for STD's, had a Pap Smear done to determine any damage, treated me for a UTI, and gave me a pregnancy test. I was sick with worry.

I was not capable of raising a child. I had no income, no family support, no friends, no education, no nothing. I knew I wouldn't be able to give the child up for adoption, knowing that one day it would come back to me and want to know why. I also wouldn't be able to keep it, knowing that I would spend the rest of my life going through custody battles, knowing that my rapist would use our child to spend the rest of my life torturing me. What if it had his personality? Would I see him every time I looked into it's face?

I could discuss this with my nurses, with my doctor. They listened without judgement, and told me that it would be my choice, and they would support whatever I chose. Thank Goddess I never had to make that decision. The nurse almost cried with relief when she told me I wasn't pregnant.

These are the women that are accosted every day. These women are the support system for education, for choices, for life. For women they've never met, they are everything for as long as they can.

Since I can't afford to donate to them, I'll offer them what I can. I offer support. And thanks.

Thank you, Emily X. Thank you each and every person at Planned Parenthood, for what you do for women. Thank you.

I Hate Kids

Ok, that's not entirely accurate. I hate kids as a collective. I like children as individuals, so long as they belong to someone else, and I can give them back when I'm done with them. I really like babies, and can handle them for longer periods of time, but give me more than one of any child ages 2-14, and I will tear my hair out and struggle a serious internal battle between wanting to shake them, and wanting to run.

I know, that makes me a bad person. I can't help it. Just looking at me, you'd never know I dislike your child. I'll play with them, I read to them, I listen to stories and piggyback them around. I've worked as a mentor to children's groups, taught a class to 3rd, 4th, and 5th graders, and worked as a camp counselor for a summer for grades 3-12.

But they cry, and they whine, and they're loud, and they scream and sulk and need your attention constantly and they're sticky and they want to touch you. Even when I was a child, I disliked that. In third grade, my best friend was a 12th grader.

I like grown children. I like teenagers, and twenty-somethings, and desperately enjoy playing Mom/Mentor/Best Friend/Advisor/Co-conspiritor to people that age. I have a maternal streak a country-mile wide; I just prefer to use it on older children, and people my own age.

I also don't want to have children of my own. *Rolls Eyes* Yeah, yeah, I know. "I'll grow out of that." Whatever. Exhibit A: I've never liked children, nor wanted any of my own, in 21 years. Exhibit B: Due to medical problems, I may not be able to have children. Exhibit C: I want to adopt/foster teenagers. I watched my cousins torn apart in the foster system, because it is impossible to get teenagers adopted.

Why can't I? I like teenagers, I want to be able to make a difference in someone's life, I want to give someone a fighting chance at a good life. So, why is everyone so opposed to me doing this?

Oh, right. Because little kids are cute and cuddly, and I do not like them, therefore I must be a monster. Pfffft. Fine. If you like them so much, you let them put their candy-sticky hands in your hair while they screech at the top of their lungs.

It Rained Today

Yes, it did. It rained for almost 4 hours, a very light, soft, soothing gray rain. I sat outside and watched it for a while, and then sat inside watching TV with the window open, listening to it.

It was a very condusive atmosphere for a nap. So, I took one, and Jen took one. I snored and drooled all over my pillow, so you know it was a great nap. After I woke, the neighbor and I *glomp*ed Jennica while she was sleeping. I think I gave her a heart attack. I felt bad, but it was a lot fun until she screamed.

I've been working on my costume. It started out as a Red Cloak, jeans, and a red shirt. Then, I decided to be Little Red Riding Hood. So, I decided to make a skirt out of some cheap material. Finished the skirt, and decided I needed a cheap Can-Can (the underskirt that makes skirts poofy). Now, as I'm working on my Can-Can, I'm thinking I need a better shirt. Maybe a white RenFair/PirateWench type shirt, and a red corset-style shirtvest.

I know. I get easily carried away.

Ode to the Coccyx

O, Dear Coccyx
The End of the Spine
The support of the Buttocks
You do Your Job,
Day in, Day Out,
Without any Need for Me
To remember You're
There.

But, I assure You,
Today I Remembered
You Are There.
Will you Please
Stop Hurting
Now?




Are you curious now? No, I haven't lost my mind. So, in my last post, when I slipped down some stairs, and my bum hurt?

I was very sore today, and unable to work from the soreness, so I called my boss, who insisted that I go to the hospital to be checked out. I, personally, though this was a stupid idea, as I was just sore from my fall, but it was not negotiable. So, I went to the hospital. Can you guess what they found?

Yup. I snapped off the last two inches of my tailbone. I get a butt-pillow, three days off work, and some freaking awesome painkillers, plus orders that I'm not to lift of 25 pounds for three weeks.

Yay, Me!! >>Stupid stupid stupid sheepish stupid<<

I Smell Like a French Fry

I smell like a French Fry. So does my hair, my clothes, my laundry basket, my chair, my covers, and my bed.

"Why, Inyanna, do you smell like a French Fry," you may ask.

Well, Good Reader, that's a good question. I smell like a French Fry because I work for McDonalds, who prides themselves on smelling like French Fries 24-7. And since I've currently worked 14 days in a row without a day off (since I've filled in shifts for people with some extenuating circumstances), all of my work clothes are dirty. And since my bed is also my couch, I sit on it in my work clothes, smelling like a French Fry.

Methinks I might not be working tomorrow, though. Not because I'm off, mind you. No, no, please don't get that idea. I kind of fell down the stairs tonight. I was walking down the rubber-coated steps in my grease-watery-not-non-slip shoes (because I can't find my non-slip ones, since I haven't gotten a day off in two weeks) and slipped on the second step. I fell on my butt, and bounced down about 6 steps, and came to a stop by catching myself with my hands and feet.

So, my butt hurts, my lower lumbar hurts dead center vertebrae, and there's a definate line of hurt (skin-deep only) where my head bounced off a step. The company nurse says I can't lift over 10 pounds, I shouldn't lift over my head, I should ice the "injured area", and take some Tylenol. Methinks my back and butt will hurt like hell tomorrow, and I will be in bed with said ice and Tylenol when I should be working.

Spirit in A Parking Lot

Tonight, Jen and Kris and I went out running around. We swung by Mickey-D's and picked up salad, then went out to the park and ate them. We played on the swings, visited about how excited Kris is to get her cloak in soon, and how much Jen would love some fairy wings, and how much I would LOVE a day off. (I've worked 14 days in a row now, eight hour shifts a day. I don't get another day off until Tuesday.) We looked at the place I'll spend Halloween night, and whether or not we would be safe out after dark.

Then we went to Walmart to find fabric to make my Halloween Costume out of, and some lipstick. I'm going to be Little Red Riding Hood. As we were cashing out, we overheard some of the employees talking about something in the parking lot under the basket.

Being the naturally nosy person I am, I starting asking questions like "What's under the basket?" Apparently, someone driving into town had hit an owl, and she'd been trapped against the grille of his truck until he slowed in the parking lot. She had a broken wing, so they tipped over a cart to protect and contain her, and then called the police, who called the game warden, who said he'd come get her. "You should go look at her, she's huge."

So, we went to look. Sure enough, a very large, very scared, very beautiful Great Horned Owl lay on the ground under the tipped-over cart. We approached her slowly, as not to offend her dignity. Heaven knows her pride would never forgive us for spooking her. I walked slowly, surely, with an even, slow pace and stride, and she watched us approach. Jen gave her a start when she cooed and jumped around and got right up next to the cart, but I squatted 5-or-so foot from her, and just rested there on my haunches. When she settled, she sat there, and looked at me, great yellow eyes wide with fear, imploring us to help her. Her wing was broken, her foot bruised, some of her tailfeathers broken.

We had to leave her. Even though I begged and pleaded to move her from the middle of the parking lot, even though the bar would be loosening the drunk college people into the town in thirty minutes, even though we offered to put her in a temporary cage in the foyer of Walmart, we were told that since the game warden had been called, she was considered a ward of the Fish & Game, and as such, a ward of the State, and touching her, or her container, would be a felony. And, then we were told to shoo.

It broke my heart to watch that creature, a creature sacred to my Choctaw heritage and sacred to me personally, sit in a vast expanse of concrete, trapped under a makeshift net, broken and in pain, pleading with me, and know that I could do nothing. Not because I am afraid of some law, for there are some things worth fighting for; because I was too weak, without knowledge, and her pain too great, her fear too strong. I could not save her, any more than I can save myself.

I hope she forgives me.

Stupid Little Twit

Meet my little brother. His name is Twit, and man, is he living up to it right now. And when I finally get my hands around his little neck, we're going to have a heart-to-heart about him reconnecting the side of his brain that tells him what's right and what's fun.

My little brother and I were pretty close when we were growing up. Typical brother and sister tear-each-others-eyes-out-I-hate-you-Mom-he's-touching-me-I'm-not-touching-you-stay-on-your-side-of-the-car-you're-on-my-side! kind of feuding, but we were mostly pretty close. We talked about a lot, very honestly, and spent a lot of time together on the golf course, and in a car on the way to a golf course. When I moved to college, we still stayed fairly close, even though we ran in different social groups, and were very different kinds of people.

This year, my little brother started his freshman year of college 4 hours away from me. He got a scholarship to play golf at a private minority Christian College. $16,000 a year. Plus, he gets a $2,000 stipend a year.

He's about to get himself kicked out of college. Skipping classes, sleeping through practice, and was even taken to jail, but released when the police realized it was just a wrong place, wrong time scenario. Weekend before last, he was supposed to go visit my Mahaw and Pahaw, who are thirty minutes from him on vacation. At 4:30 in the afternoon, after 23 phone calls from all kinds of people, his hangover cleared enough for him to wake up. Scared us all to death. Last weekend, he had to go to Kansas for a golf tournament. He showed up to the bus so hung over, he was puking. Coach called Dad, who was on his way to see the tournament. Twit was bumped down to last man on the team, and is now on probation for violating the morality clause in his scholarship contract.

So, to celebrate the last tournament of the season, the whole team went out and got drunk last night. And, he was still in bed, hungover, at 2:30 this afternoon when I called to say hi. Course, he was the DD last night, so he was just hung over. They other guys were still drunk >>insert whiny little boy voice here<<.

I'm gonna kill him.

I Want

I've stolen this from my dear friend Bonnnie. You simply write the words "I Want" as many times as there are years you've been alive (In simpler terms, one wish per year), and the fill in your wish. It can be simple, or petty, or fantastical, or concientious, but it must be something you want.

I want... An unlimited supply of Braum's Frozen Yogurt. Twist, please.

I want... To be warm, and safe.

I want... To sleep more.

I want... To visit my grandparents. And some dear friends of mine, that'll I'll probably never actually see.

I want... To feel with every fiber of my body.

I want... To be happy with myself.

I want... To see the good in others.

I want... To be purely passionate.

I want... To stop hiding everything.

I want... To be unafraid of judgement.

I want... My bills paid off.

I want... Violence to stop.

I want... Women to rule the world!

I want... To find someplace to volunteer.

I want... To ache for all that is good.

I want... To do something meaningful.

I want... To change the world. Slowly. Overnight.

I want... To change someone. Preferably, for the better.

I want... To be a pretty pretty princess.

I want... Someone to snuggle with.

I want... I want something.

Toolin' Around Town

I got to ride a motorcycle today.

It's been since I was, oh, eight or nine since I've been on a motorcycle. My grandparents own a Honda Gold Wing, and it used to be the neatest thing I'd ever seen.

13 years later, a friend of mine owns a Honda Street Bike. I finally talked him into taking me out on it. Strapped myself into a helmet, hopped on behind him, and we went for a ride.

Despite the heat from the exhaust, despite the 30 mph winds that day, despite the 90 degree weather, it was awesome. A chance to feel true power, with nothing to hide me from the energy of nature.

And even though my face felt like a peeled grape afterwards, it still rocked.

Besides, women go to spas and pay lots of money to make their faces feel like peeled grapes. I got a facial for free. ;)

Failing Sex Ed

I think sexual education should be mandatory. I also think, sex ed should be a full-fledged class, split into single-gender classrooms for a semester, and then merged for second semester. I also think it should be a second-semester required course for all collegiate freshmen.

Now, before everyone gets their backs up about "it's my child, and I'll decide what's healthy for them to learn," "if we teach them about sex, they'll have sex" or my favorite "It's against our religion to teach kids about sex," hear me out. I've a few valid points.

Sex is something your child is going to hear about, even in the bible. It's in music, on TV, in classroom, and in their parents bedroom (otherwise, they would not exist.) Therefore, you must assume that you child is going to recieve some kind of sexual education. It is your job as a parent, and teacher's jobs as professionals, and the state's job as education mentors, to provide that child with the best, most correct, most comprehensive information possible.

Now, I am in no way advocating showing pornography or graphic pictures, or teaching masturbation and oral sex techniques in a classroom setting. No. I'm proposing that we teach children things like birth control options (alongside abstinence lectures. Because, let's face it, no state would be so liberal as to forget the "stay abstinent" lecture.), practical STD information, sexual health information (like signs of cervical or breast cancer, god forbid they ever need it). Teach them that the pull-out method and the rythym method DO NOT PREVENT PREGNANCY. Teach our boys how to put a condom on properly, explain to them the female menstrual cycle, and the dangers of promiscuity.

Then, merge the classes, and show them the last ten minutes of the movie "Knocked Up." (Just kidding.) Teach them together, in a non-threatening environment, about various kinds of sexuality (straight, gay, bisexual, asexual) and the science behind that, WITHOUT SLANDEROUS SUBJECTIVITY.

In college seminar, set the boys on one side, set the girls on the other. Set a panel with one expert, one teacher, two male college students, and two female college students at the front of the room, all of whom have been selected for their ability to be open and honest. Then, let the questions begin. Anything and everything, truth and rumor, fact and science, wivestales and positions. ANSWER EVERYTHING.

Then, I won't ever have to explain to a 28-year-old man what a menstrual cycle is EVER AGAIN.

Think about it?

The Top 10 Things I Love

1.My family

2.My friends

3.Having my own place (That does not belong to the school or my parents.)

4.Dancing, movies, music, and Theatre

5.Passion

6.That I can cook just about anything. (Thank you, Mahaw.)

7.Fall

8.Rainy lazy days in bed with a new book

9.People. Their noises and colors and motions, and thoughts/opinions/beliefs.

10.The current limbo I'm in. For now, it's nice to be comfortable wiht who I am, where I'm at, and who I'm with, without the need for a roadmap or a deadline.

My Parents

It never ceases to amaze me how much my parents have learned in such a few short years.

I was a typical teenager. About the time I turned eleven, my parents became stupid. Intensely, unfailing stupid. I'm not sure exactly how that happened, because they had been very intelligent up until then, but one morning, I woke up and then -bam- They were dumb. They never understood anything that I was going through. They ruined my life, with all their rules, and chores, and jobs, and errands, and punishments. Didn't they realize that I, as the oldest child and their only daughter, was the most important thing in the world?

About the time I turned 14, my distrust in them turned poisonous. They had such high standards. Involved in sports, in FFA, in FHA, In Band, choir, speech, academic teams, and student government, every other parent would have been thrilled to have me. But not my parents. My father had a temper that leaned toward abusive, and my mother was a sheep, following his lead blindly.

At sixteen, I'd fallen into a sneaky depression, contemplating suicide on the inside, happy-perky-bubbly and outgoing on the outside. I had to have my gallbladder taken out (two weeks of throwing up even water before the doctors figured out what was wrong), and was put on Demeral and Loritab after they let me go. I got hooked hard.

Finally talked to my creative writing teacher, who talked to my school counselor, who called my parents.

Things got better, but my parents were still dumb. Even into my first semester of college, they still had not regained any of their once-astonishing intelligence.

Now, it amazes me how much my parents learned in the last three years. They know everything. If I need something, or some advice, or have a question as to how things are done? They know the answer. I also now realize that it must have been hell trying to let me grow up, when I was so stupid. Dad and I have a semi-truce, and Mom and I are getting to be good friends.

What brought this up, you may ask?
This video.

Enjoy!

I've Got Nothing to Talk About

I've got nothing to talk about... It's been a slow day, and it'll be a slow evening. I go in to work a little later, which will be fun.

So, I'm going to tell you about the time I met Paris Hilton and Nichole Ritchie. I was waiting table for Flying J in my little hometown, and saw a black-shirted bulky dangerous-looking man conversing with our manager. There were only three of us on the floor, so, of course, we huddle up and try to decide who he is and what he wants. (Don't ever let anyone tell you waitresses don't gossip. They're lying.)

While we're watching, he turns and walks off, and my manager makes a beeline for us. She shoos away the other two girls (who are 16 and 17, I am 18, which makes me Head Wait for the evening, since they can't do a lot of things. Like use knives. Company Policy.) and proceeds to explain that "a couple of celebrities are coming in, they will be in the corner booth with two bodyguards, I am to wait on them, there will be a camera, and they must not be treated as special in any way, but," she hisses, "Make sure they are completely happy. This might be on TV."

And in walk Paris Hilton and Nichole Ritchie, filming The Simple Life 2. So, I seat them, and wait on them.

Paris had fish with a side of lemon, rice pilaf with no oil or butter used to make it, salad with raspberry vinegarette, and a bottle of Evian, and was a complete b**ch. Picked at her food with her noise in the air the whole time. Don't-look-at-me-don't-touch-me-those-people-are-sitting-too-close-make-them-leave-why-is-my-napkin-made-of-paper.

Nichole had Chicken fried steak, smothered in white gravy, mashed potatoes, mixed veggies, and onion rings, with iced tea. Ate half her plate. Was a total sweetheart, laughed, joked, asked about school, and in general, was just a nice person.

Left me a 15% tip, which equivalates to $4.50.


And that, Ladies and Gentleman, is the time I met Paris and Nichole.

Oh, my aching head...

Ok, so, maybe not really. It doesn't exactly hurt yet, but methinks that that may be because I've still some alcohol in my system. Apparently, we were celebrating something at the bar, because I kept finding drinks in my hand.

I hate waking up still drunk. Bad Inyanna. You said you were through doing stuff like that.

Work went very well. I got to have Remmi and Juju in drive-thru, and they let me go home an hour early. So, I came home, Jen and I got all dolled up, we went out, had a lot of fun, danced, sang, I got a little tipsy (read- Could not stand up of my own free will.), and this really really hot guy came up out of nowhere during the closing song and was dancing with me. (And no, he was not "drunk hot", because Jen was sober, and she was jealous. Although, he may have drunk to be dancing with me.)

We came home, and a dear friend of mine, whose boyfriend lives two apartments down, knocked on our back door. So, Mel and I played drunk on my kitchen floor, and Jen and Mel's boyfriend recorded it. I am not lookinf forward to that video at work today.

I have a biology test tomorrow. Wish me luck!

Here We go Again

And we're off again.

A new place to write and think, and make friends. I've outgrown my Xanga, which lasted me almost 3 years. I was bored last night, and reread my entire history. Wow, some of that stuff was stupid. Some of it was insightful. But mostly, it was full of angst. Ick.

Work was no fun last night. I was not in a good mood to start with, and they put me in drive-thru with Lavell. I tend to be a very patient person, I genuinely like people, I work hard, and it takes a lot to make me not like you. (Or very little, if you push the right button. But, that's a whole extra post) I also ABSOLUTELY HATE being in drive-thru by myself. I cannot do everything we're required to do in there by myself when we get busy.

I have found the person who makes me want to be in drive-thru by myself. He drives me crazy. Not because he says anything (because he's too good to talk to me, now that he knows I turned him in for stealing). No. It's because he is completely incapable of doing his job. I didn't say, "can't do it well." He cannot do his job.

And, he is lazy. And a thief.

I hope work goes well today. Afterwards, we're all getting dressed up, and going out. I've missed going out so much. Even without the alcohol, we still have fun. I really like my new friends.