Apparently, There is No One Out There For Me...Thank God!

Browsing through my e-mail, I noticed a message from Cupid.com indicating that men in my area are interested in me. Huzzah! I'm am superpsyched about this because, to the best of my knowledge, my Cupid.com profile is an empty shell (not unlike my dating persona). I set it up to go Speed Dating with the ladies about a year ago. The best thing about Speed Dating? How quickly it's over! That's right—I spent $32 for the empirical evidence I needed to prove that—yes, yes!—I'd rather be single.

But back to my new potential dating pool. Tee-toll-holic* proclaims "im not into the bar seen." Hmm...ya don't seem to be into the grammar or spelling scenes, either. Next! Brain-Ded indicates "I...[enjoy] the simple things in life who [sic] refuses to settle for anything less." Um...so, you won't settle for anything less than the simple things. Like, what are those things? The molecular components of the simple things? Ok, I guess that makes sense; I'm no fan of the molecular sciences anyway. And I like dirt. Moving on...Han-so-Stud says, "What to say? You know what I look like." Sir, you are so right: my approach to dating has been flawed all along! Not only should I 1) stop expecting a potential date to say anything (my bad!), I should also 2) know what he looks like. If I only knew what the heterosexual unmarried men looked like, I'd be much, much more successful in a dating situation.

Close reading accomplished: cattiness achieved. Violet, out.

* Not their real fake names.

Weirdest To-Do List Ever!

Whew! I've been busy this week. In retrospect, I feel like I've fit three weeks' worth of work and drama into one big, demanding fast-paced week. Of course, I could talk about a hundred different things, but that would take too much of your (and my) precious time. That said, I'll limit this post to the most humorous part of the week: my wack-assed "to do" list. On Tuesday, I basically had two things to do—get a hot stone massage and host a protest poster-making party at my place. As I was going about my day, I was thinking that this combination of activities has to be one of the weirdest I've encountered in a long time. By themselves, the massage and party aren't that strange, but, together, they make for a big bunch of "huh!?!"

First off, let me just say that, if you haven't been rubbed down with hot stones by a complete stranger, you're missing out. This massage is heavenly. At the spa the ladies frequent, you get to undress, put on a robe and some sandles, and lounge around in this fake-candle lit waiting room where you can munch on granola bars and tea or hot chocolate. Once you get to the massage room, you take off the robe; situate yourself under some covers; and wait for the masseuse. My massage was great—the masseuse used lavender oil and there was some soothing music in the background. The only real problem came when I turned over onto my stomach. I've had a cold this week, and, as I put my head in the little padded-hole thing, my nose started to run. Duuuuuude! I asked for a tissue and was consigned to frequent nose-swipings to stanch the drip. At least—at least—I had the dignity not to just shove a wad up there and leave it. See, I've got the "class."

After the massage, I had that blissed-out drive back to the apartment where nothing could possibly get you down. I was mentally patting myself on the back for having shopped earlier for the poster-making party because I'd become way, way to relaxed to do anything productive for a few hours. By 7 p.m., people started getting to my place, and I had supplies (around 20+ foam-boards, 15+ posterboards, and a slew of markers) waiting for them. Let me just say that having eight people in your house using markers at the same time should be illegal. Honestly, I'm pretty sure some markers should be classified as hazardous materials. What's more, the most effective markers out of the bunch were the Crayola ones. I was shocked as hell. In fact, I'm thinking of writing a letter to the company; if there's an "official marker of protest-sign making," they should get the honors. The only marker that came close was Sharpie's Magnum. And, yes, we got the giggles tossing the Magnums around to each other.

While people came and went at different times, my last few guests left at around midnight, and I went right to bed. The next day, I woke up, and my back was killing me. Only then did it occur to me that I'd spent almost five hours sitting on the ground and bending forward to color in my posters. D'oh! On a positive note, though, I successfully stretched my back out through some yoga, and the protest was well-attended. To-do list complete.

Putting the "Fun" in "Dysfunctional"!

It seems that I am so stressed out lately that I've decided to perform the least important tasks imaginable, and, goshdarnit, I am doing perform the hell out of them. !. Why? Because I need to feel like I'm in control of something and God knows anorexia is way, way out of the question.

First order of business: clean the shared TA office. Why? Whythehellnot? Have you seen that place? Filthy! I need to scrub every available inch. Er...scratch that—I got started yesterday, so my available inch-scrubbing has effectively been cut by half already. But I will need to restock some wipes in the near very future.

Second order of business: four boxes of leftover books from the BWC Conference? Sort through them to weed out the copies of AAA's 2002 Guide to Florida and the 70's bestseller Your Erroneous Zones (creepy!). Take the nasties down to lovely grandmother-ly lady at Friends of the Library (check), and start planning for an ERGO used book sale (check, check). And, yes, Andretta, we can have a sale to raise funds, it just has to be off-campus. (I put in a clarification question to the contact person for SAC.)

Cleaning, sorting. Sorting, cleaning. I'll feel like myself again in no time. (And thank you to those of you who've expressed your love—I'll be fine.)

All Hell Breaking Loose and Finding Words to Describe It

So, for the past week or so, my life has been in a state of partially-ordered chaos. In general, I've maintained a sense of calm, staying low, covering mouth and nose, hosing down so I don't catch flame. Even so, I get the sense that I will not be able to do this indefinitely. Bummer. In an effort to give you a general idea of what's so wrong with my life without endangering every aspect of my professional and personal life investments, I'll try to be circumspect.

1) My job. Hopefully, I'll get to keep it.
2) My department. Hopefully, I'll get to keep it.
3) My academic work. Hopefully, I'll get to finish it.
4) My personal relationships with others. Apparently, I'm an asshole.
5) My love life. Apparently, I'm un-date-able.
6) My self-confidence and sense of happiness. Fucked, fucked.
7) My future...?

Well, that's succinct. In times like these, when I risk both boring and offending my readership, I find it apropos to quote from those more insightful and poetic. That's right: the 'Giants. Witness "Snowball in Hell" (from the Lincoln album):

Avalanche or roadblock
I was a snowball in hell
Avalanche or roadblock
A jailer trapped in his cell
Money's all broke, and food's going hungry
If it wasn't for disappointment
I wouldn't have any appointments
Side effect or drug trip
Don't tease me with all of your mind
Side effect or drug trip
My panacea's in a Xerox shop
Have a nice day, you want it when?
Have a nice day, have a nice day

"I didn't expect to find a salesman drinking coffee this late in the morning. How long you been here Joe?"

"Oh, I don't know, I guess thiry, forty-five minutes, maybe. Why do ya ask?"

"You must be making a lot of sales; piling up a good income."

"Oh, I'm doing all right. I could do better but...ooooh...I get it, Paul: back on that old 'time is money' kick, right?"

"Not back on it, Joe; still on it."

Avalanche or roadblock
I was a snowball in hell
Avalanche or roadblock
A jailer trapped in his cell
Money I owe, money I ate
Money I owe, money I ate

Avalanche or roadblock
I was a snowball in hell
Yes, I was a snowball in hell
Yes, I was a snowball in hell

Go, Fetch!

So, in an earlier post, I bitched and whined about getting bit by a pony at my little brother's going away party. To plead my case, that was one of the weirdest and most noteworthy things to happen to me in many moons. Even so, I overlooked talking about how much I love my brother and how much I would (and will, and do) miss him. Well, yesterday, Jake called me from New York which gives me a fabulous excuse for talking about him now.

He and Kinya (his "Kay") are doing well up there. He's tracking down possible jobs and apartments while they live on top of each other in her studio. She's in the orientation process at NYU's graduate acting program. And I am so proud of both of them. It sounds like they're doing well managing the fear and excitement that always come with a big move and certainly come with living in a bigger city.

In fact, Jake just started a blog to talk about his experiences. As I told him, it's so great to read his writing. He's got a real appreciation for little things, which is a necessary trait when you grow up in a small town. If you can't appreciate the little things there, ain't nothing much to talk about, believe me. I also like how he contrasts Southern (and small-town) manners with Northern (and metropolitan) ones. As he would say: good times, good times.

Anyway, I send all my love and best wishes to him and Kinya.