30 January 2003

[Duck, Duck, Goose]

I tried on my bikini, which hadn't seen the light outside my underwear drawer in two years. It was depressing. I either need to lose weight or grow boobs.

27 January 2003

[Come One, Come All]

A prize for the first person to correctly name the movie which spawned the following quote: "One day Angel, you too might be a sex object."

16 January 2003

[Fast Powerful Relief]

I feel better tonight. I'm in a much better mood. Today has been interesting weather wise. I woke up around 5:30 am and listened to the news as I washed up for work. From what I heard, I thought the snow would begin to fall after arriving home safely from my morning classes. Sure. When I arrived at work, the ground, for the most part, was bare; a little bit of leftover snow hung lifelessly to tree branches and the dead, frozen grass. The streets were black and dry. But about a half hour into my first class -- only eleven of my registered twenty showed -- I asked a student who had a view to a small window out of my eyesight, "So, has it started snowing yet." "Yes," was her reply. I looked out. All I saw was white. The green and black, gone, covered by this snow, which was never taught the finer points of being "fashionably late" or -- at least -- [predictably] on time. Less than half of my nine-thirty class showed. And as I was leaving the campus at around five till eleven, the snow poured. As pretty as it was, I couldn't help cursing the sky. All these students -- sooooo pathetically behind because of the weather. This is the end of the second week, and most of my students have already missed two or three classes. What really irks me is the fact that none of them have made an effort to contact me, and at least ask about the first major essay assignment, which I handed out today. I take that back -- one student contacted me. But, it doesn't surprise me. She's an A student from last quarter. I hate to say it so soon, but I don't predict very high scores for my English 102 students this quarter. Despite the fact that UC did not officially cancel evening classes, I took matters into my own hands. The snow subsided for about a minute, but it returned, covering roads and chilling my bones once more. I e-mailed most of my students -- called those who did not supply me with an e-mail address -- and informed them of my decision to cancel class. Many e-mailed me back, thanking me. I felt I did the right thing. If I would have conducted class, no one would have showed anyway -- something I could have forgiven. Everyone knows what the assignments are; my only hope is that they show up next week ready to work. There's so much to do. I hate canceling a night class. Er. In other news, serpentbite got some lovin. So give her a high five, or something. Well, I'm off like a prom dress. Muah!

15 January 2003

[Promethazine Dreams]

I should be passing out shortly thanks to a wee white pill. .

15 January 2003

[There Must Be Something in the Air]

Everyone seems pulled down and away from their normal selves. And I wish I could say I'm not. My body is hyper, uncontrollable almost. I can't sit still. I can't do my work. I probably won't sleep well tonight. But I know the only way I'll escape this funk I'm in is by sleeping. I generally get in these funks in the spring and late fall. When the weather changes. When academia strikes hard. When my hands and eyes tire from papers and exams. When my mind can't fathom, exactly, why I chose *that* particular thesis statement or author the month before. But here I am, in the dead of January. Not a research trip to the library in sight. My hormones are steady and under control thanks to the marvels of semi-modern medicine. I have plenty of herbal tea and coffee to warm me during these frigid nights. Shelves of books to amuse me. A significant other who cares deeply about me. But there seems to be something missing. Something which is causing me to involve myself in some act of mayhem. I seek havoc, perhaps. I hate myself, my surroundings, more like it. I struggle writing out an assignment for my English 102 students because I can't seem to stimulate brain cells enough. To pull them away from the misery, which I can't seem to pinpoint. My stomach hurts because of my own stupidity. And the pain continues because of my own fear. My fear of another trip to the doctor. Of another co-pay. Of another bottle of pills. Of another finger-pointing or slap on the wrist for not taking care of myself. For not listening. For not writing in complete sentences and for wallowing in an untangible woe, which will seem stupid and silly tomorrow. I am tired of this place. The people here. I am also tired of my criticism. The fact that I will perpetually snub others because of my silly vibes, my need to be catty. I am tired of being cold and dead to the world. Covering all my pain or real emotion with my petty sense of humor and sarcastic pith I spit at the susceptible. I am broken. I raise a white flag and surrender. Ususally, when I get like this, I drive the 275 loop or find a random guy to fuck. But what I really need to do is run to the store for toilet paper, nails, paper towels, cat food and cigarettes. However, the thought of going outside chills my marrow. Perhaps if I order Chinese food, the delivery guy will pick these things up for me. Unlikely. I do need to get some food in my system, though. I hope tomorrow is better.

14 January 2003

[Penny for My Thoughts; How Precious]

First of all, do not, do not, do not visit mavra_chang's livejournal. She is out to ruin my life via incriminating photos. Second of all, I want Cincinnatians to realize that an inch of snow does not denote the apocalypse. Go to work. Go to school. Suck it up and wear a fucking scarf. I just might be bitter as less than half of my students decided to show today. There are twenty folks registered for my eight am; only eight decided to scrape their car windows this morning. Of my nine-thirty am class, in which twenty-five there are registered students, only eleven showed. When these brats come to me thursday, asking, "Did I miss anything?" (which is par for course. At least they could say something like, "What did I miss?" This, would at least indicate to me that they are aware that missing class equals missing "something."), I will turn my head and ignore their inquiries. Oh yes, and I will be even more evil, as I remind them that their absenses -- in no way -- will be excused or forgiven. What is this place, grade school? Besides, I really need to work on being the bad cop. Often, I find myself de-evolving to doormat status, just because I hate hearing people whine. Not this time. Last but not least, I miss being in graduate school. And I am going hoarse, as my students don't understand the concept of class participation (which is a part of their grade), and I am stuck explaining everything -- even the obvious. I hate giving quizzes. But I might have to.

13 January 2003

[Monday Madness]

Currently, I am compiling a list of secrets and personal information not generally disclosed to the regular joes I meet for dean_af. He is giddy like a school girl.

11 January 2003

[Twenty-{Five} and No Fun]

Saturdays here in Livejournal Land tend to be fairly slow. I'm sure folks are immersed in the real world -- even the die hard LJ junkies. Not me. It's not quite eight p.m. and I've managed to surf my "Friends" page umpteen times today, hoping for a bit of mouth-watering introspection or confession. This obsession needs to stop -- as if some social life demands it. Sha right. That'll be the day. This week has been productive, for the most part. I returned to work at the illustrious University of Censornazi. My classes, unfortunately, are large. I had quite a few of petitioners, promising first born children for signed and dated add slips. I'm a doormat, for the most part, when it comes to this. Why the school can't offer more sections of these night classes is beyond me. Besides, many will drop out before the quarter's end. It's par for course. Phase four of my Gynecological Nightmare -- which I briefly mentioned in a previous November entry -- is over. Friday, I saw Dr. Karram, who gave me some reassuring news about the abnormal results I had been getting. His opinion, after gazing into the cellular depths of my cervix (a delightful thought indeed), was that these results were oversights. He saw one slightly sketchy area and decided to take a biopsy at the spur of the moment. I was unprepared for it, but it was for the better, as if I had known he was going to take a hunk out of my cervix with what sounded like hole-punch I would have been much more nervous about the whole exam. Doc laughed at my repeated use of the word "FUCK" and encouraged me to "cuss away." I'm sure the little old ladies in the waiting room lost control of their bladders (I *did* get a couple dirty stares on the way out of the office). I was told that I "was very difficult" thanks to my uncomfortable squirmish movements. My response to Dr. K's assertion was that his speculum did nothing to lube or relax me. I think it's swell when you can make sexual references with a professional. My regular general practioner is a bit of a prude. I think I'll be sticking with this new guy, even though the co-pay is a bit higher. Paying the extra few bucks is well worth the jokes, free birth control, and the new prescription of Levlite, which I can get for less than half of what I'm paying for Alesse. Enough about my reproductive organs already. As for today -- I woke up at around eight a.m., went downtown, ate breakfast, went shopping, ate lunch, tidied my apartment a weeeeee bit, and attempted the crossword. Currently, I am drinking a beer and listening to Sean play video games.

10 January 2003

[Quote of Yesterday]

I read the following on the American Idol message board (don't ask), and I thought it should be preserved in my journal: "Legolas Greenleaf in elvish is loosly translated to mean some mighty fine elven booty!!"

08 January 2003

[How You Doin?]

I was hit on by a member of "young corporate America" at the bagel shop this morning. He drove a nice car, one reflective of a six figure income -- easily. Though I have no interest in becoming some rich-boy's Betty, it's nice to know that normal men who wear suits and ties to work find me attractive.

07 January 2003

[I Really Ought to be Sleeping]

But I've got back to school anxiety -- as if I really have to do anything productive tomorrow morning besides say "here's the syllabus, show up, don't smoke crack, and turn in your papers on time."

06 January 2003

[Cincinnati's 3rd Homicide of the New Year -- In the Works?]

I just heard six gunshots. How precious.

06 January 2003

[The Smell of Old Sweat, Like Fried Chicken]

An eight piece meal from Kentucky Fried Chicken = $14.99 A case of beer from the local store = $7.99 Movies downloaded from Imesh = $0.00 + two days of waiting time A bit o' weed as a peace offering = $0.00 ('cuz I didn't pay for it) Eating fried chicken, watching a movie, smoking weed, eating more chicken, watching half of another movie, having crazy half-baked sex and passing out = PRICELESS. And tonight, kids, I have insomnia.

05 January 2003

[Yes, this is my ass. And no, you may not grab it]

After a brief drive down Central Parkway and a victorious parking job on the street (there was no way I was paying five bucks to park in the lot), I found myself entering Spy Club, paying five dollars for admission and another six dollars (including tip) for a gin and tonic. I think my only motive behind going there was that I would be a stranger, able to sit alone, bum a couple smokes, and observe the so-called "pretty" crowd that exists here in the thriving metropolis of Cincinnati. I could only stand it for an hour -- though the music was good and the two drinks I had were more than strong. In transit to the bathroom, my ass was grabbed twice, and upon making it to the safe haven of the restroom to reapply my lipstick, I was accosted by a twenty-two year old who just kept talking about how wasted she was and how she looked like shit and how -- because it's her birthday -- she shouldn't be this wasted or ugly. I decided that my expensive hour at the club was over. On the way out, a couple wanted to leave with me (I guess if you're alone and you're female, you're lookin' for some lovin' from a married couple. I don't know). And as I left the club, the bouncer -- who I *did* respect at one time -- yelled (in classic fourth grade playground style), "Hey, my friend here thinks you're hot." My reply (as it always is) was either, "That's nice," or "Good for him." I forget, but in any case, I ought to come up with a wittier response, as this type of immaturity via pick-up line tends to happen to me quite often. ::sigh:: I am an idiot magnet, indeed.

04 January 2003

[It's Bob's Fault]

after I chastised him for corrupting his young work shadower with thoughts of a naked Rich . . . and I thought it was funny. "I am not a bad influence, I am a good influence. I am the bringer of joy."

04 January 2003

[Cui dono lepidum novum libellum arida modo pumice expolitum?]

I'm craving more Mediterranean food, but sadly, I have no one to go with this time. I guess I'll take something to read or my notebook. That is, if I can get my lazy saturday-afternoon-naked-ass dressed and semi-presentable.

01 January 2003

[I need some advice. Or guidance. Or something]

I have a fifty-nine dollar credit at Fetish Factory. A gift that someone bought me off my wish list was too much like something I already had, so I returned it, leaving me with this pesky fifty-nine bucks to spend (how fucking tragic). I'm not sure whether I should get something useful or semi-practical like clothing, or whether I should buy something kinky to keep me happy during the winter. Most of the stuff on my wish list is over sixty dollars, so I need suggestions. Do I really need a sixty-dollar vibrator?

01 January 2003

[New Years Resolutions and A Telefunkin' U-47]

I woke up relatively early this morning, as I spent my New Years Eve sober and fairly mood-less, and made a pilgrimage to the local CVS where I purchased a new writing journal, toothpaste, et cetera, et alia. I started writing up a list of resolutions, not neccessarily "real" resolutions -- just things I need to work on. I'm not about to make any hardcore changes in my life. I was mulling over the idea of becoming a "vegetarian" again, though I would rather call myself a non-meat eater because -- frankly -- most card-carrying, sign-toting vegetarians (don't get me started on vegans) make me ill beyond any post-alcohol poisoning hangover I've ever had in my short, drunken existence. Back to the whole no meat thing: that won't happen -- I'm craving a bloody steak as I type this. So never mind and bring out the fucking cow. So whenever I get my "list" done and censored for viewing beyond my eyes, I'll post it -- perhaps some time tomorrow after I pick up my paycheck from the illustrious University of Cincinnati. Insert slightly off topic mindspew: Earlier this year, I was invited by the strange folks at Sundance to take a writing workshop after they perused a one-act play I wrote back in May. Oddly enough, the wackjobs at NBC took interest in me as well. Why I decided to throw these opportunities away is beyond me. ::Amanda slams her head against her desk and weeps:: Why --exactly -- is this a relevant (why is anything?) piece of this senseless ramble (I tend to do this when I'm sober and my serotonin levels are creeping at a dead snail's pace)? I've decided this year, not to be a doormat, and -- additionally -- to jump the proverbial bones of any promising opportunities that are handed my way. Even.if.that.means.pissing.people.off. I say fuck this place and its stadium implosions and casual theatre goers. But alas, UC has me locked in for another quarter of teaching-freshman-composition-fun. So I won't be making a permanent change anytime soon. But, I promise, to go to LA this spring and attend one of Tricia's underwear parties. I have to visit Lacey, too, as she has promised me a lap dance. Ta ta for now.