Wednesday, June 30, 2004
I viewed the first of my Groucho DVDs... 'twas delightful. The Mongoloids watched it with me, but they understood very little. Jeremy peeped into the room at one point and noted it was a wonderment the four of us could gather into a room and not one of us was dead yet. I offered to sacrifice Michael.
I spooked Terri this morning at about six when I creeped down the stairs for a glass of water. I hadn't been able to sleep, so I went running around five-thirty. She told me I need to see a doctor about my massive sleep deprivation. I did not mention perhaps I ought to sleep on something more substantial than an air mattress. I wake up every hour, which is why I do not bother going to bed until midnight or later.
I travel to Lubbock in mid-July for New Student Orientation. I look forward to my first cow-tipping.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 7:03 PM]
You Bet Your Life
Tuesday, June 29, 2004
I acquired a DVD copy of lost episodes from Groucho Marx's You Bet Your Life game show series. It is approximately ten-point-five hours of non-stop hilarity. The viewing begins Wednesday, when I am utterly free from work.
Eddie Bob seems to appreciate Bucky Katt's Big Book of Fun, as well he ought. I snatched it as he worked on his new, special-order Lego set last night. And in the other book I am reading (it has pictures, too, but they are photographs of indigenous peoples), I am learning about the spread of crops and animals across north-south and east-west continental axes that affected their subsequent domestication or lack thereof.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 6:53 AM]
Printer Paper
Sunday, June 27, 2004
I miss my old St. Louis Fuddruckers. The managers here give me no hours. Their treatment is utter hokum.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 6:33 PM]
I Love You In The Evening
Saturday, June 26, 2004
I will finish template-tweaking later.
Tomorrow I work from eleven-thirty in the a.m. until eight o'clock in the p.m. Eddie Bob turns twelve on Monday. The past few birthdays, The Father takes us out to eat at the restaurant of our choice. Eddie wants us all to eat at Arby's, and he's asked me several times this week if I work Monday, but I won't know until Fuddruckers deems it necessary to inform me of my schedule tomorrow evening. I suspect he wants me to be at the little party. I ought to start calling him "The Beav".
The kid owns several Calvin and Hobbes collections, so for his birthday present I shall present him with the latest in Get Fuzzy. He might not understand some of the humour, but he can read it again in a few years and say to himself: "Ahhh... soooo!" It's the gift that keeps on giving, but it is not chlamydia... Eddie will probabaly get that later, though.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 9:45 PM]
Harriet The Spy
My older stepbrother's best friend told me said stepbrother's LiveJournal address. Reading about his pathetic life makes mine seem much less sordid. It reminds me that regardless of how hard I try, someone, somewhere, leads a more depressed existence.
Now I shall read before I boot Mr. Ed off the Playstation, on which I am binge-ing for the summer duration.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 2:36 PM]
With Snappy Serapes
Friday, June 25, 2004
I paid everything and applied for everything necessary at Texas Tech... or so I would have me believe. The Father must take care of my tuition, which he now balks at doing, of course. Last night when I approximated the sum total per semester, he started laying on the guilt:
You have three siblings behind you...He did this to me last year, right before I was to go to The University of Missouri. He got cold feet after he paid the housing deposit and saw the tuition fees a-creeping from behind. If he doesn't want to pay for my college, I wish he would just make up his mind and tell me he won't, instead of yanking me back-and-forth.
Is that other school that accepted you cheaper?
You know, I'm not obligated to send you to college.
You're going to have to make compromises.
I'm not like your friends' parents. [Yeah- most of my friends' parents probably aren't blackmailing their children.]
Why did the school only offer you a Stafford loan?
You need to stop making demands.
I didn't have to pay out this much for Ashlea.
Quit flying off the handle.
I don't think you're taking this [lack of funds] seriously enough.
I told him last night (during a discussion of upcoming payments and such between me, The Father, and Terri) if it will make him happy, then I don't have to go to college. I'll just get an office job somewhere and snag a husband. Of course (and especially with Terri sitting there) he tried to retract; he told me, 'Oh, don't worry- I'll get you through college somehow'. He's told me before, 'Don't worry- I'll take care of it'. So I haven't been, at least not verbally with him, anyhow. Then he complains that I don't seem to understand the veritable realities of the financial situation. When I respond with incredulity, he accuses me of 'flying off the handle', and then he tells me to relax again!
At this point, I might be expected to express homicidal feelings toward The Father, but I shall instead admit I've never had the inclination to commit patricide... The Father isn't worth a red cent. I've informed him of as much, which in hindsight might not have been the brightest thing I've ever done, because he now feels he has some power to wield. After all, he can't be killed.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 4:24 PM]
Apples Or Indians?
Wednesday, June 23, 2004
I just read a delightful chapter about the spread of staple crops from the Fertile Crescent to the Mediterranean, and thenceforth to western Europe and north Africa. The author hints that the next chapter details the domestication of five major animals- dogs, cows, goats, sheep, and pigs... oh, goody!
An hour ago I imbibed Diet Sunkist, which makes me twitchy.
Time to play games and ignore reality.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 10:17 PM]
Deathworld
Tuesday, June 22, 2004
My little brother, Eddie Bob, since the age of ten has been working on a Deathworld Project. Master Skull controls Deathworld, Eddie's fantasy land that he illustrates and for which he creates an elaborate, ongoing history. Eddie created a language (Deathian) by which his Deathworld creatures communicate. He requested my assistance in learning hiragana, katakana, and kanji (which supplement his independent study of Egyptian hieroglyphics). This evening he asserted that he studies other languages in order that he may understand how best to construct Deathian. My response to this was:
'That's good, Eddie. Bizarre and a little twisted, but... good.'Indirectly progressing from that subject, I researched the requirements for my Classics major. As presumed, to teach Latin I simply take certification courses through the School of Education. I also found something interesting as a second option: a Bachelor of Science degree in International Economics. I could minor in Japanese or German for that one, more than likely. In the long run I would make more money (which equates to more happiness) with an economics degree than if I go straight to teaching. Besides, teaching is for talentless pussies, according to most people. I am not a talentless pussy; I just lack motivation and direction.
For his birthday I purchased The Father the latest biography on Alexander Hamilton. He reads Jefferson, Adams, Franklin, et alia, and I struggled internally as I stood before that shelf at Books A Million (I think the chain was originally to be called "Books For A Million", but some dip misprinted all the signs), because most of those boys thought Hamilton was a chump. I traipsed to the Robert E. Lee section, found nothing appealing, and settled on Hamilton after busting my mind for a solid twenty minutes. The Megabitch and her Love Matt handed The Father a DVD of a recent Willie Nelson concert. I must snatch it sometime.
Tomorrow and Thursday I worketh not. I have a lengthy list of people to call, now that I am back in the K-hole. I avoid calling people to play, though, because I lack ideas for entertainment. I don't know how to have fun. I ran into oncoming traffic once, and that was as close to "fun" as I have ever allowed myself.
I have many books to read.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 9:42 PM]
Ungood
Monday, June 21, 2004
I feel like a smear of poop, which is as poetic as I can think to phrase it. I consider the myriad tasks I need to complete, and then I crawl back under the covers. Oh, woe is to me and my misery.
Damn April to theoretical Hell, and the same goes for anyone else who dares enjoy life while I wallow.
Maybe I am suited for the desert.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 2:09 PM]
Chocolate Syrup Smear
Thursday, June 17, 2004
Bhavin (a kid who Fuddruckers hired after me) managed to lose/was unable to account for a hundred dollars from his drawer the other night. If I missed that much, I would cry like a girl.
I began using the Herbal Essences anti-dandruff shampoo, which works well so long as I avoid scratching my head. My face broke out with several massive zits, because I fell asleep on it without removing my make up. At work I sprayed myself with chocolate syrup whilst preparing shakes (not for the sheer enjoyment of so doing, though I have considered it numerous times); I smell like a Hershey's chocolate candy bar. That is my body's current state.
I think someone somewhere is holding Americans hostage right now. I know nothing else, but at any rate, sucks to the hostage-takers' assmar, I says.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 8:02 PM]
Schoolage
Wednesday, June 16, 2004
I decided to go to Texas Tech, because red and black are way cooler colours than burnt orange and white. The school sent me a lovely e-mail, congratulating me on their acceptance of me (and The Father's money) and assuring me that if I wait by the mailbox, I shall receive a lovely acceptance letter and a notification of all the lovely fees The Father will soon commence paying. Estimated costs per semester come to $8,640.50. I might be able to scrounge up fifty cents, but The Father needs to pawn some things to cover the rest of it. Sucka.
I listed myself as a Classics major, because dead languages are where the money is these days. However, I think I might change over to Linguistics, with a minor in Classics. This I shall discuss further with my academic advisor, when I meet that magical person at New Student Orientation.
Other than researching some things I need to do to attend school, I did nothing particularly constuctive today. Sometimes I wonder if the lack of activity I constantly engage in impairs my senses. Then I get tired and get on the computer to stare at the screen for a few hours until my head stops hurting enough that I can fall asleep. Upon waking I shower for work, which I know stimulates absolutely nothing besides my desire for an escape from it. When I get to Lubbock, I need to find a decent office job, where I can lick envelopes and record phone messages.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 5:58 PM]
Player Piano
Tuesday, June 15, 2004
When The Father moved into Terri's house, he naturally brought along the family piano (it was my maternal grandfather's; Kailey will probably be the kid who gets to "keep" it, eventually). Kailey began piano lessons again this summer, which pleases me because she practices an hour daily, but hasn't had any kind of instruction in several years.
A few minutes ago I caught my new little stepbrother playing "Heart and Soul"... awwww... it is a very basic song, but he's a sophomore in high school and has never played a piano before. The child has been tainted with art, by my family, oh wonder of wonders.
Usually my family taints people with either dirt or callousness.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 1:26 PM]
Miffed
Monday, June 14, 2004
Upon my return from present-shopping with Lindsay I went into my bedroom [Kailey's bedroom, really- I'm just sleeping there on an air mattress for two months, but for brevity I shall reference it as "my bedroom"] for a nap around three o'clock. During my slumber The Father's Wife cleaned around the house (vacuuming, dusting, bathrooms), and by the time I woke up, she had pretty much finished. I came out and asked if she had anything she wanted me to do, but she smiled sweetly and said she did not. As a semi-apology, I told her she could have gotten me up to help her, and as she walked up the stairs, she growled something to the extent of, "That's all right, but you know, I shouldn't have to tell y'all when the bathroom needs cleaning. I've waited and waited, but no one bothered to do it..."
For one thing, it's been less than a week since the kids' bathroom was cleaned (by Terri, I'll admit). It wasn't even dirty today, except for a stray hair or two lying around the sink- literally, two or three hairs. But fine- this is her house, and she can be as anal about it as she wants; I would be, too. However, I take umbrage with her insinuation that I must not do any housework, ever. I try to do the dishes after dinner, for instance, but she won't let me. I've kept out of trying to do chores because The Father informed me they had some magical system by which each kid (including Terri's) performs certain chores each week on a cyclical basis. I've just been waiting for them to tell me what I'm supposed to be doing.
And besides, this isn't my house, so I don't know where the cleaning stuff is. That's excuse enough to avoid doing anything!
Anyhow, The Father just walked in the door as I wrote this post, so I gave him a little sob episode, telling him that they'd better make up their goddamn minds about what they want me doing, chore-wise. I also took The Mongoloid aside (he is The Mess-Leaving Culprit) and threatened a whooping-upon if I caught him leaving Doritos on the floor, washcloths in the bathroom, et cetera.
Sigh... well, Lindsay returns in about half an hour to whisk me away for fun and games celebrating the birth of Donna. The festivities will provide an escape from The Brady Bunch From Hell with which I find myself contending.
The Father getting remarried was all cute and fascinating until he made me live with them. Now I just want to retch.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 2:54 PM]
I Went Outside
Sunday, June 13, 2004
I played the Playstation II all night until about one this morning. I woke up at five to urinate, felt fat, and went running around the construction in my neighborhood for about twenty minutes. Then I went to sleep again, without cooling down my legs [I do not remember how to stretch, exactly], for which I shall be much regretful tomorrow morning.
Living with The Father and The New Wife is a bit tense for me. The Father tried developing a new, more "sensitive" personality, but he fails to impress me much. I call it "too little, too late". My lack of appreciation for The New Father irritates him thoroughly, but frankly, my dears, I do not give a damn. He spent eighteen years making me feel that as soon as I graduated high school, he wanted me to get of the house and get on with my own life. Two months of living with his new, happy-joy family [where, by the way, I must walk around on tip-toe] will not change my socialization one iota.
All I ever wanted was love and affection. I'm not kidding- I used to write for it on my birthday lists. But I never did get that, oh, no... The Father viewed a Smashing Pumpkins CD or an American Girl doll as enough to make me a happy, devoted daughter.
I am cranky, and now I must go to work... to contend with people... ignorant, incompetent people (or, as Fuddruckers refers to them: "Our Guests, who we love and who are never wrong").
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 12:40 PM]
Waa
Tuesday, June 08, 2004
Will you show up?
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 7:32 PM]
Professor Ludwig von Drake
Monday, June 07, 2004
I spent an hour and-a-half editing the dadgum template, only to have Blogger delete the entire thing (except the top banner), which is precisely what occurred on my last blog. I believe I restored everything, though, which ought to be well and fine.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 12:09 PM]
I Feel Hung Up, And I Don't Know Whyyyyyy
...I don't mindI look forward to an afternoon of reading before I skip off to work at five-thirty. I still haven't finished Guns, Germs, and Steel; I read perhaps four or five pages before I am paged to something else. Then the other books I bought over the past year remain to be read.
I could wait forever,
I've got tiiiiiiiiiime...
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 10:06 AM]
My Head Constantly Aches
Sunday, June 06, 2004
Early this evening Lindsay and I travelled to the bookstore to giggle over the romance novels. Incidentally, Lindsay spotted a hilarious little game entitled "Dirty Minds". We tested it at my new domicile and found it to be muy bueno.
If Bullet agrees to be a good little doggy, I shall arise early tomorrow morning to walk him around the neighborhood. Apparently, The Father feels The Mongoloids pay Bullet too little attention anymore. He threatened to take Bullet back to the SPCA, where Bullet will surely be gased. I don't want the doggy to die, so I will attempt to save his life. Terri and her kids loathe dogs and are of no help in this matter.
Tomorrow I need to call The University of Texas to figure out my status. I just want to go in as a freshman, who happens to have some hours, but the University keeps trying to count me as a transfer applicant, even though I do not have the hours to transfer- unless my AP credits count along with my community college hours. I hope I get a human on the line.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 9:17 PM]
Finnigan Begin Again
Saturday, June 05, 2004
My old blog collapsed, somehow, and rather than waste further time attempting to reverse its death, I abandoned it to create this one. Also, if anyone desires to continue reading about my wild adventures from bed to bathroom to work to bed again, he or she must alter his or her links accordingly. Having that power, miniscule though it is, greatly pleases me.
For the record, this template does not please me greatly, but I shall replace it at a later date, when my head does not ache.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 5:11 PM]