Monday, August 30, 2004
Classes finally started today... I was getting stir-crazy. Events went as follows:
Art Appreciation, 10:00-10:50 a.m.
The instructor handed out his syllabus, spent about ten minutes reviewing his requirements, and dismissed the class until Wednesday. He mentioned that as a professional/studio artist he schedules showings and out-of-town trips on Fridays; therefore, I never have class on Fridays, but I still receive those credit hours. Ausgezeichnet.Logic, 11:00-11:50 a.m.
The instructor is Korean, but he enunciates well and seems to work hard to make himself understood. He also has a good sense of humour. I suspect I will like the class, even if I don't understand half of the material.Classical Mythology, 12:00-12:50 p.m.
This class is humongous, because people take it to fulfill a humanities requirement. I looked around for people who might also be Classics majors, but all I got were schmos. I am a snob. My instructor seems more than competent, and the two TAs look very Catholic. All the Classics people look Catholic to me, whatever that means. I imagine them diligently reading Mass. The class itself will be interesting.Soon I shall return to my dorm, eat linner (lunch/dinner; April calls it "lupper", she of the freaky regionalisms), and make call-backs to the businesses at which I applied for jobs last week. At 4:30 the Speech and Debate Club holds its first meeting, to which I shall journey (for something to do, if nothing else). I'd like to compete part-time, like I did during high school. I never practiced, but I enjoyed talking uninterrupted for ten minutes to people I did not know.
The computer lab smells like fried food.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 11:47 AM]
Scummy Teeth
Sunday, August 29, 2004
Since I brushed this morning I ate a smoked turkey (with Swiss cheese) sandwich, yet, my teeth feel oddly scummy. I suppose I shall have to brush them again at some point.
My eyeballs hurt again, but I knoweth not why.
Until classes begin tomorrow, I have nothing to do.
Oh! I found out where Rebekah Lilly (the only non-band-nerd I know of who goes to Tech) lives; I ought to call/stalk her and make her play with me.
This is all a bit choppy because that Jordan guy is Instant Message-ing me. Here's what we've got thus far:
Jordan: supHe sounds like a pretty little white boy.
Me: Oh, nothing.
Jordan: cool
Jordan: miss me?
Jordan: ha
Me: Well, I still haven't technically met you, yet.
Jordan: ahh
Jordan: k
Jordan: im anked
Jordan: naked
Me: Spectacular.
Jordan: u should see
Me: Well, why don't you come over and give me a thrill, Frisky?
Jordan: frisky?
Me: Chipper... excited... tail-wagging...
Jordan: only if ur naked
Me: Hmm... nevermind. I have a fat-girl complex.
Jordan: complex?
Jordan: whats that mean
Me: It means I am self-conscious about my body. Actually, I was like that when I was skinny, too.
Jordan: well me naked and you not would be awkward
Me: For you, maybe, but I'd be fine with it.
Jordan: would i be getting kisses
Me: Sure, Romeo.
Jordan: but ur roomy would walk in
Me: Nope; she's busy holding hands somewhere with her little man.
Jordan: lol
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 5:34 PM]
Men In Tights
Saturday, August 28, 2004
The guy (Tim-something) who won the gold medal for Olympic pole-vaulting the other night needs to appear in an action movie- one in which the main character fights with a spear. The silver medalist (Toby "Crash" Stevenson) reminds me of Sonic the Hedgehog's sidekick, Tails.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 11:02 AM]
The Size Of Mickey Rooney
Friday, August 27, 2004
Amy and I remained awake until four o'clock this morning, decorating the room. She finished her side, but I work rather slowly and still have additions to make. I'll eat something, journey back to the dorm, and will then either continue decorating or nap.
I spoke with Jordan over the phone. During the course of the conversation, I mentioned I do not own a car, a computer, or a cell phone. He asked, at one point, 'So, why don't you have a car or a computer?' Awkward pause from the Lauree end of the line: '...Uh, I just don't.' As incredible as it may seem, some people cannot afford all that crap; not everyone has a mommy and daddy to buy them expensive stuff to break. I'm supposed to kiss The Father's pasty ass just to get him to pay for my college. Anyhow, that ignoramus question, plus a few other things, have convinced me Jordan is probably not worth pursuing.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 11:43 AM]
She Put Cigarette Butts In My Coffee
Thursday, August 26, 2004
The girl who made my iced coffee a few minutes ago managed to botch it, somehow; all she did was pour ice in some coffee! She didn't mash the ice or add whipped cream. It tastes like cigarette butts- cold cigarette butts. Three dollars and eighty cents utterly wasted, that I will never get back.
Amy and I finally received the solution to our phone problems last night. I left a note on our Community Advisor's door; she later visited our room with a list of dial-out numbers. Ausgezeichnet. I have attempted several times to call a boy I met online who goes to Tech and needs a playdate, but got no soap dialing out of my room. Now I will be able to call him and make him drive me to Wal*Mart, which is all I really want him for. As I no longer have April around to drive me places, I need to acquire a replacement chauffeur. He lives on-campus, in one of the townhouses. I'll ask if he's loaded; loaded is sehr gut, ja.
Yesterday after the job interview I wandered the mall, which is filled with such thrilling shops as Rave, Aeropastel, American Eagle, Wet Seal, Hot Topic, et cetera. However, I find Express and New York & Company acceptable. I bought a sixty-dollar sweater at Express (I'm thinking of it as my Christmas gift... to me) and a four-piece flatware set at the mall dollar general. The Express girl who rang me out noted the sweater was 'cute'; I thought: Yo' damn right, for sixty dollahs! but said aloud, 'Oh, I thought so, too, when I saw it on the mannequin.' I'm a little curvier than the mannequin, but the sweater looked all right when I tried it on.
My hands hurt... dadgum sunburn. My arms faded to brown, but my hairline and my nose are red. Dadgum lack of carotin, or whatever it is... stupid, blotchy skin tone...
I'm waiting around for The Chauffeur (Jordan) to appear. I sent him an e-mail last night specifying that I would be in the library dicking around on the computer at this time. Since I do not own one, I must utilize the library computers or mooch off of Amy's if I need to upload something. I do not want to use Amy's stuff all the time, so I'll walk to the library every day. If I close my eyes and pretend the sun isn't there, beating down on me and turning my lovely, lily-white skin into different shades of muck, the walk is enjoyable. I rather prefer Lubbock heat- it's hot, but dry air. Even though I've walked everywhere during the day, sweating gallons, my face finally cleared up. I counted only one zit this morning. My hair isn't as oily, either. Ausgezeichnet. This I can get used to.
The dorm elevators alternately reek of sweat or cologne. The community bathrooms are grey and unattractive, but clean. My door lies directly across from the garbage chute and one door down from the bathroom, which means I do not have to hobble far or pass too many people with my scummy self when I venture out for a shower. Laundry gets cleaned in the basement, which is also where the janitors hide out. They are very friendly and were happy to direct me to the laundry room when I wandered down there for the first time the other day. The maintenance crews around campus are also chipper, helpful little folk.
Jordan... oh, Jordan... I know approximately what he looks like, because he sent me an e-mail with his picture. He's a good little Aryan, probably two years older than I am. I forwarded the photograph to Lindsay, who about had a herniatic fit laughing, because Jordan appears a very conservative fellow. In the picture he's wearing a pink polo shirt and is holding a dog (the animal, Louis). I look up (casually, of course) when anyone enters the room, but apparently only brown people use the library. If he does come in, at least he'll be easy to spot.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 8:53 AM]
The Burning
Wednesday, August 25, 2004
The sun scorched me again. Lubbock is nothing but high skies.
As a general response to Elliott's comment, my place satisfies me fairly well thus far. The room itself is cramped, of course, but Amy and I maintain a respective distance. I appreciate living in the one dorm that alternates floors (boy/girl); the fellows are a relaxed, friendly bunch, for the most part. And my microwave works, which is of utmost importance. Amy's microfridge works a little too well; my Diet Sunkists exploded from the cold yesterday. She tried to alter the temperature, but it still hasn't set properly. Oh, well.
Today I interviewed for a job in the mall, at an accessories place called "AfterThoughts". I suppose it is similar to Claire's, but for the late-teen/college crowd. The merchandise is cheesy, but that will keep me from spending money on it. Also, I can get certified to poke holes in people's ears! Hee. My own ears aren't even pierced, but perhaps I can be my own first victim. The manager of the store liked me quite a bit; she said she would put in the good word for me with the district manager, who I presume approves all new hires. Yesterday afternoon I met with a manager at Fuddruckers, which is across the street from the mall (holding two jobs will thusly be easy). He needs an evening cashier; I am available evenings, and I do not need to be trained. He'll call me before the week ends. Ditto with the AfterThoughts lady. Ausgezeichnet. Money is another step or two away.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 5:38 PM]
By The Way...
Tuesday, August 24, 2004
I now live at:
Coleman Hall, Room 709
Texas Tech University
Lubbock, Texas 79406
Please send porn, sleeping pills, chocolate, and money. Also drugs.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 3:43 PM]
Lauree The Lobster
As I do not own a car, I've walked everywhere on campus. The sun burned me to a crisp, which now means that I have colour. By the end of the week, I'll be a little brown nut.
My roommate (Amy, for future reference) decorated her half of the room in an uncoordinated pink colour scheme. My side, in contrast, is dark grey, black, fire engine red, and dark blue. I adore it. She brought three Build-A-Bears; I brought my ancient Funshine Bear, my ancient Cabbage Patch baby, the Kermie Muppet Baby April gave me, and my American Girl doll (which has its own stand). I brought Catch-22, To Kill A Mockingbird, and a plethora of books I acquired over the past year but have not yet read. Amy brought as many DVDs as I brought books.
I brought neither laundry detergent nor bath soap.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 3:43 PM]
Absence
Saturday, August 21, 2004
At work I gouged a hole in the flesh of my index finger; it bleeds periodically. I accumulated more scars in the past eight months than I have received my entire life.
Last night I worked my last shift, which went a bit nightmarishly because the two expos decided not to show up, as some joint protest, I presume. This displeased me. It aggravated the morning expo, who remained all day. Toward the end of the night she was frazzled and the general manager finally sent her home after we'd all been bitten twice.
The Father and Terri vanished to buy groceries and run other errands until after lunch time, at which point The Father will take me to the old house (we stored my crap in the garage) so that I may pack and he may do yardwork. We leave tomorrow.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 7:45 AM]
Back To The Future
Thursday, August 19, 2004
After I get to school I want to do something with Bite The Waxed Tadpole again, so this morning I've been updating the links page. Tonight on notebook paper I shall compose mini-biographies for all my little friends who have weblogs; if anyone wants something particular mentioned, they must e-mail their desires. One caveat: None of my male friends have donkey-sized ding-a-lings; therefore, any such requests will be ignored and perhaps ridiculed.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 11:04 PM]
Garbage
The Father and Terri will host a garage sale Saturday. I folded some clothes in a bag for them to sell, and I think I can part with a few books and knick-knacks I probably picked up in a garage sale.
The Father and I depart Sunday at four to arrive in Lubbock around lunch time. Then we will unpack things and run errands. 'Twould appear I turned in my loan information a bit late, which means The Father must visit the financial aid office for an emergency loan to cover my tuition until mid-September... whoops.
I am going to go incubate myself within Kailey's blankets.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 5:29 AM]
Bleu Cheese
Wednesday, August 18, 2004
Everyone vanishes in two days to the four corners of the earth again. I need to visit the house of April to bid her parents sayoonara.
The Father informed me he has stuff of The Mother's to give me before I leave Saturday. I would like a couple of pictures and a sample of handwriting or two to stare into when I get depressed (which, according to Terri and The Father, occurs chronically).
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 6:35 AM]
The Happiest Street In The World
Tuesday, August 17, 2004
I bought things again. I need to stop doing that:
a microwave, with a George Foreman single-serve grill stowed insideI never wear pajamas, but then, a tubby girl can never have too many drawstring pants. I am disappointed none came in "Cookie Monster", for that would have been more appropriate. I spotted a pair with the Pilsbury Doughboy, but April noted those were too appropriate, and I concurred.
Oscar the Grouch pajama pants
pajama pants with prints of cows sipping coffee, while sitting in gigantic, cow-sized coffee cups
a black shower caddy with suction cups that look like clear breasts
a blue and grey robe
I must call Sarah Jane to help me run an errand. She's also clung to a Marx Brothers poster for which I owe dineros.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 8:23 AM]
You Can't Fire Me
Monday, August 16, 2004
My stepbrother's company fired him for "instigating a fight" with a fellow employee. As a result, Jeremy is the only person not out of my house-that-is-not-my-house today. Last night he beckoned me into his bedroom to ask what we would spend the day doing. Confused (neither of us have cars, and I walk nowhere), I told him to come up with something and to make an appointment with me.
Yesterday as The Father dropped me off at work we had a slight row; I was screaming at him quite openly as I exited the vehicle. He apparently told Terri and Jeremy that I was hysterical, because Jeremy kept asking, periodically last night, if I was all right. Well, in retrospect he probably did not tell Jeremy, but my demeanor upon my return home last night probably made my feelings clear enough to everyone.
Over the past few days, I've figured out that Terri has decided to play what I shall call the Nothing-You-Do-Is-Good-Enough-For-Me game. Saturday she freaked because I squeezed a load of my laundry in between two loads she was doing. She and The Father returned from an errand as I was folding some of the load she had in the dryer so that I could finish the load I had in the washer. She came in and told me, 'Saturday is not your day to do laundry, especially now that I've started school.' She started to pull down the jeans I had hung, growling, 'And we don't hang these. You were home from work early last night; you could have done your laundry then.' I'm reasonable enough to understand her being upset with me about my timing, but she could have informed me of my transgression in a much better way than she did. Apparently, I ought to be punished for not having enough clairvoyance to know that Terri doesn't hang jeans! She made it sound as though I did everything just to make her mad.
She pulled the same show last night- around 8:50 I began boiling some eggs to prepare a tuna salad, as Ashlea, Matt, and Jeremy stood talking to each other/me in the kitchen. As I was finishing (after Ashlea and Matt had left), Terri came down to put something away before she went to bed, noticed what I was doing, and actually yelled at me! She said, 'You know, it really annoys me to come down in the morning to find dirty dishes...' For background, Terri is a bit anal about how and when her dishes get done, to the point that she allows no child to put his/her own dishes in the washer, to turn the washer on, or to empty the washer. She does the dinner dishes and turns on the load before bed; in the morning, she empties the washer. I told her and The Father that I don't feel comfortable with that arrangement; when I make a mess, I ought to clean it up myself. I at least rinse my stuff and put it in the sink. Anyhow, all I had last night was a spoon, a ladle, and a pan in which I had boiled the eggs. I rinsed those, plus three or four glasses some of the kids left on the counter. After Terri rebuked me, she huffed over to the dishwasher, emptied it, and washed the stuff in the sink (I didn't stick around to watch- I was so furious I went upstairs to my bedroom-that-is-not-my-bedroom to hide until she finished). I came out for a second, though, and crossed the hall to tell The Father what had happened. I was tearfully angry, because I've honestly been trying to accomodate Terri, but she refuses to play fair. For the sake of world peace, she ought to consider giving just a little bit, too.
April called a few minutes ago- we are to go shopping. April is my bestest friend in the whole wide world, because she always rescues me and never asks for anything back.
I am going to cry...
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 10:19 AM]
Light Bulb
Sunday, August 15, 2004
I wonder where April is.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 7:23 AM]
Promissory Note
Friday, August 13, 2004
Lindsay directed me to this site, which I then forwarded to The Father at his place of employment. He gets bored, sometimes, and I thought the episodes would be fun and bizarre for him to look at.
My place of business released me early tonight, as they scheduled far too many people. Jamesy Rooh-Bear picked me up (I gave him a burger as his commission), and now Lindsay has promised to take me to the grocery store for the purpose of acquiring a book of stamps. Ausgezeichnet. Stamps excite me.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 4:57 PM]
Did You Like The Taste Of Crystal Pepsi?
Thursday, August 12, 2004
I laughed aloud at the latest e-mail from my roommate. She'll bring a DVD player, a television with a built-in tape deck, and the fridge. She expects me to provide a microwave and a larger television, if I happen to have one lying around somewhere. She referred to these things as "necessities". The girl is from Irving- and apparently, she lives on the good side of the tracks. Below is a list of "necessities" I do not have:
a motor vehicleTevye the milkman speaks the following words before he begins singing, "If I Were A Rich Man":
a cellphone
a television, souped-up
a DVD player
a stereo system, souped-up
a microwave
a Playstation or X-Box console
a laptop
a digital camera
...I realize, of course, it's no shame to be poor... but it's no great honour, either. So what would have been so terrible, if I had a small fortune?Microwaves and mini-fridges are luxury items to someone who wore Emily Koch's older brother's Airwalks from seventh grade to twelfth grade.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 11:00 PM]
A Very Big Key
April wondered aloud several times this summer why Terri and The Father never bothered giving me a key to the house. Jeremy gave me his as he left for his place of employment this morning. I'd hoped to give someone an opportunity to break in and steal... well... The Father's stereo or Terri's humongous collection of animated Disney character figurines, but no such luck.
I need to make plans to visit Aunt Debbie (The Father's sister; she teaches fourth grade at Nottingham Country Elementary and lives in one of the Green Trails subdivisions) before I leave for school. This must be done Sunday before work. I found my birth certificate, so on Saturday (again, before work) The Father will drive me to the DPS so that I can get my Texas driver's license.
Much to do, much to do...
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 6:13 AM]
Novelty Socks
Wednesday, August 11, 2004
Whilst wandering around The Evil Mall with Sarah and Jamesy Rooh-Bear, I purchased three (3) pairs of socks for less than ten dollars. Some are striped, and some are polka-dotted.
Other than that, I did nothing particularly exciting.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 4:58 PM]
Dancing With Myself
Tuesday, August 10, 2004
Running for President in 2008:
Terri, Phillip, and The Mongoloids begin school tomorrow; this evening they all went to bed early, which suited Jeremy and me well. Tomorrow everyone excluding me will be out of the house by nine o'clock a.m. I work at eleven.
I leave in less than two weeks for school. Now that Terri and I have evolved into an openly hostile relationship, I anticipate moving out with ever more eagerness. I am curt; I am blunt; I have an ironic sense of humour; I am somewhat reclusive; but I am not openly rude, usually, and if Terri does not appreciate my personality, then that's just tough noogies for her. For the record, she's far too controlling, with her own children and with the rest of us. When I washed my bath towels with my own laundry loads, off of her little schedule a couple of times, she took it as some kind of personal attack. 'Twas my misfortune to discover that my simple desire to clean my own towels when I soil them would push the woman over the edge, because according to The Father, she hasn't fully recovered.
Meanwhile, I believe very strongly that Jeremy might have reverted back to his drug habits, which consist of using primarily crystal meth. But Jeremy and his mommy are getting along great! Everything is just fine and dandy for them! I violate some retarded rule, though, and suddenly I need therapy.
Calm blue ocean... calm blue ocean...
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 8:46 PM]
My Eyeballs Burn
Monday, August 09, 2004
I believe the fumes from the astringent I use burned my eyes as I cleaned my greasy face this evening.
I also believe 'twas Terri who injected the theory that I must be "clinically depressed" into The Father's very unobservant head. This is, after all, the man who turned around as he filled out my Driver's Ed application to ask me my birthdate and how to spell my middle name. He's not stupid, but I wouldn't call him "the brightest bear", either.
Lindsay kidnapped me to play with her at the comic book store. As I do not read comics, particularly, she made the field trip an informative one. I left with three purchases: something entitled Strangers in Paradise (which is about a man-hating lesbian and a man-loving lesbian), another something entitled Maus (which illustrates the Holocaust using mice as the Jews and rats as the Nazis), and a third something entitled Marx For Beginners (which is just funny).
James suggested I take full advantage of my new-found depression to avoid doing anything. 'Chores, schmores,' I hear myself saying, 'The depressed do not do such things as chores.' Hee-hee.
My stepbrother, Jeremy, currently sits at the kitchen table cutting photographs of voluptuous women from some of his girly magazines for some massive collage he is concocting for entertainment purposes. I ogled at the pictures for a moment before telling him to be certain he shows his mother the completed project.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 11:00 PM]
Problem Child
The Father picked me up from work last night, sat me down, and told me he and Terri think I am depressed (I denied it, naturally; I hadn't been certain exactly what he might say to me before he said it, but had he accused me of leaving the cap off the toothpaste, I was fully prepared to deny, deny, deny). Nothing The Father said during the course of the conversation struck me as "news"; my personality took some bizarre downward spiral sometime during my sophomore year in high school, and I won't pretend I never noticed. However, he suggested that now that I am back on his insurance (he switched after he and Terri married), I should 'go see someone'. For reasons too innumerable to list, I am very much against that course of action.
After we discussed the fact that I am neurotic, I went to my room-that-is-not-my-room to read Get Fuzzy. Sometime later The Father knocked on my door and opened it (without bothering to wait for an answer, I must note) to tell me it was Phillip's birthday and they were all eating an Oreo cookie ice cream cake downstairs. I glared at him: 'Father, you just told me I'm fat and depressed, and now you are tempting me with ice cream!' He replied in his Mr. Sensitive voice I didn't have to come down, and I did not want to, particularly, but I did anyway because everyone would notice me missing and would then think I was upstairs moping, even though I was having a perfectly content time reading Get Fuzzy. Dadgummit. I never win, and that's why I am so depressed.
Mmmm... ice cream sounds good, and I haven't eaten breakfast yet.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 6:58 AM]
Sweat It Out
Sunday, August 08, 2004
I walked about two miles last night. This morning I feel less jiggly, though a little dehydrated. Some tea will alleviate that.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 5:32 AM]
Bic Round Stick- Smooth And Reliable
Saturday, August 07, 2004
I asked The Father specifically to pick up a two or four-pack of black Pilot pens whilst he and Terri shopped for groceries at Wal*Mart. He returned with a pack of cheap pens, the brand being the title of this post. I suspect this was Terri's doing. I told him I would pay for the pens, so why did he have to go and be all cheap, yo? The Father knows damn well how I feel about the pens I use. Now I need to venture out myself to get real writing utensils. Dadgummit. He makes everything difficult.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 6:49 PM]
Sweet As... Bigfoot's Colon
Friday, August 06, 2004
A customer lady I helped today asked me if I knew I was sweet. I replied, 'Yes- but it's nice when other people tell me so.' [I'll never suppress my ego.] She asked for something semi-complicated on her order, and she saw me scurry over to the grill guys to make sure her ticket was right. The guy working the expo counter made some snide comment about the request; the lady heard him and was understandably upset (especially since it required no extra effort on Expo Boy's part whatsoever). She had earlier forgotten to order another chocolate shake, and rather than make her swipe her credit card again, I told her it was no charge and fixed her shake myself. The customer lady came up to expo to thank me when she and her husband left; she said nothing further to Expo Boy (and he tried to look busy with an order), but I knew she did it to antagonize him. That amused me, and it made my evening special.
Anyhow, I do try to be a good little egg when I work. I certainly have no right taking my frustrations out on people (even when they have it coming to them). Most Fuddruckers patrons are either of two things: hungry or thoroughly confused. I push those ticking timebombs through the line as painlessly as is humanly possible, reducing damage to them, me, my coworkers, and the world in general. As I mentioned to Scarface as he drove me to work this morning, I perform my tasks with a permanent, idiotic smile on my face and a dopey disposition, which makes me absolutely untouchable when a guest is upset or lost. They understand that any anger they direct will fly through me, because I'm too dumb and unaware. Guests are suckers, heh-heh. Of course, they are never wrong, and I do love them dearly.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 9:26 PM]
We Can Help Our Cinderell-y
Wednesday, August 04, 2004
I work all week until next Monday, but when I find the time, I must change this template. The situation of ugly here is dire. I downloaded some templates from Love Productions two years ago; I need to upload the images to a picture host first, but the rest of the set-up process should proceed easily, unless Blogger deletes my template.
Well, it's off to work I go.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 8:26 AM]
The Planter's Wart
Sunday, August 01, 2004
I still have not committed any proactive action with regards to dismantling the Planter's wart on the third finger of my right hand. Being bored, I shall pluck it off so that I may play around with the blood that always squirts out of the hole I make in my flesh. Perhaps I ought to think of something more constructive to occupy myself with on a Sunday night, but lately, nothing particularly inspires me. My general manager (Donn) at work is a cheery fellow, but unless he is about, I usually feel like a pile of poop. I am probably the surliest baker in all Fuddruckerdom. I also feel like dung when loafing about my house-that-is-not-my-house. I want to go to school.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 7:03 PM]