A Christmas conversation in the Hughes' car:

A screech from the back seat quickly followed by a second screech
Dan:What?!
(third screech)
Dan: What’s wrong!
Sarah: It pinched me!
Dan: Why is it out in the car?!
(sobbing)
Sarah: I was holding it, I didn’t know it would pinch me!
Dan: That’s why I told you not to take it out!
Sarah: I forgot! (sob, sob)
Dan: You forgot? I just said it when we got in the car!
Sarah: I know you said, but I didn’t know- I forgot! IT PINCHED ME! I HATE IT! (sob)
Ayesha: (burst into tears)
Sarah: I hate it!
Dan: Did it pinch you too Ayesh?
Ayesha: (sobbing) no .. .
Dan: Why are you crying?
Ayesha: It pinched her! And Sarah hates my crab!!
Sarah: Stupid crab!
Dan: It’s not the crab’s fault.
Sarah: I hate it! I hate it!
Ayesha: I’m never going to touch it again!

half hour later:

Ayesha: Daddy?
Dan: Yes, Love
Ayesha: Thank you for giving me my crab, I love it.
Dan: Yes, I knew you would.
Sarah: Stupid crab

What is painful to one generation is insight for the next.
-- Eli N. Evans

"The optimist proclaims that we live in the best of all possible worlds; the pessimist fears this is true." - James Branch Cabell

I was the youngest grandchild. My brothers and cousins were two to seven years older than me, and to indulge me as a toddler they called Santa Claus "Ho-Ho" because Santa Claus is kinda hard so say. However, I couldn't say "Ho-Ho" quite yet either, so I called him "Who-Who."

my brother: "Shannon, Who's coming on Christmas to bring presents?"
me: "Who-Who!"
brother: "Who?"
me: "Who-Who!"
brother: "Who?"
me: "WHO-WHO!!"
my mom: "Stop it! Leave that baby alone!"

I was just reminded because Ayesha was singing about the "partrige in a bare tree."
Merry Christmas

The other night I was playing 20th anniversary trivial pursuit until 5am with an inebriated bunch. I won. I also ended up with an indelible marker drawing of a cigar smoking swamp chicken on my arm. Quite the night.

Two Towers was so good . . . I got a head ache. I need to see it five more times! I can't wait for The Return of the King! Mmmmm . . . the king . . . see December 10 for visual. :0)

I put some baby pictures on Princess Shannon Group under 'family.' I don't know who I'm telling these stories to, I guess I'm enough for now.

Last night was beautiful. A white sky midnight, an April wind December. The city shining to hastening northern clouds and a veiled moon- shy sky lover. Last night was beautiful, but I was alone.

The reason for the season: To dress "little angels" in still creased pillow cases, misshapen wire wings and pipe-cleaner halos.

Groove is in the Heart

Whether picking up white go-go boots at a second-hand store or rounding up the troops for dinner at the chicest sushi joint, you've got psychedelic diva written all over you. People like you make it cool to be groovy again, which is why "Groove is in the Heart" is your theme song. The bubblegum-meets-techno melody of your signature song gets you to jog that extra mile, or take on extra work with a jive-y cock of your head. Deee-Lite's dancehall fave never gets old playing in your head after each successful interview and promising date. Yes indeed, this is the soundtrack to those dee-lovely days and delicious nights when you've got an audience, and your phone number keeps coming up in conversation. But you'll only share your number with that special someone who can figure out "the depth of your hula groove," dig?

Learning about other cultures:

SHE says: will you guys send me a little explanation of what it is you do on boxing day and why?
Manxett says: Sure
Manxett says: It's traditionally called St. Stephen's Day
SHE says: good, religious themed parties are the best
Manxett says: and its basically used to recover after Christmas Day!!! lol
SHE says: recover!?
Manxett says: Christmas Day is all about overeating, drinking, the Queen's speech, chocolate, etc!!!!!
SHE says: okay, we'll drop the queen's speech and keep the drinking and the chocolate
Manxett says: I like that idea!
SHE says: and chips,
SHE says: and salsa
SHE says: cause it's texas
Manxett says: why not! lol

This is how my brain works

I was reading a story about Marco Polo and how he chronicled his adventures through the east. He told a story recounted to him in the Persian city of Sevah about the wise men who went to see Jesus.

As I was reading the story of the wise men according to Marco Polo, I remembered I should get out my Christmas decorations, because even though I don’t have room to put up my itty-bitty tree, I could at least display my nativity set.

While I was pulling out my Christmas stuff, I found a snow globe the Manx gave me a few years ago. Seeing the snow swirl around in the globe made me think of winters in PA, and how I never liked snow.

Thinking about not liking snow made me think of this story my mom told me.

When I was a baby, about a year and a half old, I experienced my first snow. My mom dressed me up in my snowsuit; boots, hat and scarf, but she forgot to put my mittens on my hands and left them hanging on my “idiot string.” (That’s what my mom called the string she crocheted connecting my mittens to each other. The string ran through the sleeves of the coat and the mittens hung about an inch outside the sleeves so only an “idiot” could possibly lose one or both of her mittens.) She dressed me first and sent me out to the porch while she grabbed her coat.

She said I put my hand on the railing, which was covered in snow, and I just started screaming like someone was killing me. I had never touched snow before, and I didn’t like it.

After that she said I would cry every time she got out the snow suit, because I knew I was going to have to go outside and that cold stuff might get me again.

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ummm. . . .yummy!

Ft. Hood, the largest military base in the free world. (Which of course begs the questions, “where is the bound world and who has their largest military base?”) I forgot to ask, I was distracted by an airfield full of $18 million helicopters, and lots and lots full of sandy colored jeeps, hummers, trucks, tanks and other unidentifiable to me vehicles.

I went to Ft Hood this weekend for a visit with “any soldier” as in, during the Gulf War you could write a letter to any soldier and maybe someone would write back. He did and we’ve been pen pals since 1991. I suppose once you meet a pen pal, he’s not your pen pal any more, just a regular old pal. Drat, I don’t have any pen pals left.

I learned ever so much about tanks and helicopters, about military structure and funding. I found out that the stuffed mushrooms at Olive Garden have meat in them, remembered why I stopped watching scary movies years ago and realized that “Grease 2” has a really funny soundtrack. :0) I found out my soldier pal is sci-fi geek. I love sci-fi, but I’m no where near as geeky as he is. (Geekiness is in the details.)

I reminded myself of the importance of relationship over life’s details. This is finals week, were I a “responsible” student I would have stayed home to study all weekend. But how often does one get to meet a friend she started to know years ago?

As females we constantly carry the weight of wariness. It was encouraging to know after all these years that he wasn’t an ax-murderer who wanted to rape and pillage me. I’ve heard all the horror stories about meeting people though the mail and on the net, but I was lucky enough to find another really nice guy. (I think) I’m a pretty tough judge of character, and he minded his manners so well. Of course before we met I may have mentioned the fact that if he “messed with me” I would have to stab him. That may have figured in. It’s hard to say. He may have thought I was kidding, but sufficiently threatened I believe I am that close to the edge of insanity. Thanks mom, I got that from you.

something my coworker said to me: "I like you because you are always interested in something weird." Maybe it was the siamese twins, maybe it was the psychic tests, maybe it was the "God as an alien" discussion. I don't know.

"The reason for time is that everything doesn't happen at once." - Albert Einstein

A girl just walked in who smelled of toilet paper. Not used toilet paper (don't be gross) but that smell when you open a fresh 6 pack of Charmin-- that smell. How does one go about getting that smell? At first I thought it was my imagination-- I mean who smells like fresh toilet paper? But then she left and came back, and there it was again- the tp perfume in the air. I suppose there are worse things to smell like.

"She was nice, whey did you dump her?"
"She smelled like soup."
"She smelled like soup? You dumped her because she smelled like soup?!"
"Yeah, she smelled like tomato soup!"
So I married an Ax Murderer

I went to the used bookstore this weekend, just to look. I was looking, minding my own little used-bookstore-business in the atlas section, finding great pleasure looking at the pictures in a pretty little book called “Atlas of the World’s Highways” when someone behind me started talking.

I figured he wasn’t talking to me, so I flipped the page from the “Friendship Highway” which runs from Katmandu though Tibet to the “Scenic 101” which runs along the California coast.

The thing was, the guy behind me kept talking, finally he said, “Excuse me” and reached around me to get an atlas I was sitting in front of. Then he proceeded to inform me of the most intimate details of atlas publishing and cartography.

Mind you, I had asked no questions, but he proceeded to tell me not only were these atlases overpriced, but that they weren’t even the quality ones he was looking for. “Quality ones like the Rand-McNally 1978 Gold Medallion edition, which has county specific maps of northern Canada . . .” As he was talking I was thinking:
1. I’m trapped in the not-so-much-frequented atlas section of a used bookstore by a gregarious cartophile.
2. I wonder if cartophile is really a word? English is cool because you can just make up words and people still know . . . Wait! I’m trapped!
3. This man has an immense amount of knowledge about atlases and map-making in his brain.
4. He thinks I care.
5. His head is shaped just like an egg.
6. I wish I did care, why don’t I ever come across these kind of people who know stuff when I want to know stuff?

(30 minutes later)

7. He looks weak, I could probably take him.
8. I bet he would never approve of this Highway atlas, the pictures are superfluous, the maps are undetailed and probably (gasp) computer generated.
9. If I start easing my way toward the self-help I can escape into the fiction section—Here’s my chance!

I was just trying to mind my own-little-used-bookstore business.

I went to the geology building today. They have cases of rocks on display all down the halls. It was the first time I had been there, and it reminded me that I miss my rocks. My box of rocks that (when I live in facilities larger than a shoebox) I like to sit on my bookshelf.

A box of rocks? I can hear you—“That’s dumb as a . . . box of rocks.” I don’t care. Rocks are cool—if geology didn’t involved chemistry, and chemistry didn’t involve math (“Do you think anyone will love a girl who doesn’t know new math?” Sally from the Peanuts) I’d be a geologist. Exploring strange new rocks, new minerals and new formations (okay old ones, but new to me) boldly going where no geology girl has gone before!

Or I can just be an English teacher.

mittens are warmer than gloves

I went to the mall the other day to see a movie. I recommend both “Die another Day” and the AMC at the Parks.

Before I got inside there was an encounter with a Salvation Army bell ringer. I’ve never come across a better bell ringer anywhere. Mostly they just sit there, looking sad and “ding, ding, ding (pause) ding” their bell. But not this guy, he saw me coming from across the parking lot and revved up (because he was still going from the last person who had walked by) his bell-in-each-hand-ring-a-ling-a-ling-ling-ling-sidewalk dance. His energy in the cold was well worth a dollar in the pot. He was nearly as entertaining as the movie.

The mall is a happening place these days what with a new cinema, skating rink, eateries and stores. Of course all the clothing stores had the same stuff . . . so I didn’t go into clothing stores- I did go into “The Great Indoors” a home improvement/décor store that seemingly never ends and where I found a shower head (not that I’m shopping for a shower heads) that cost upwards of $1,600. $1,600 for a showerhead?! Granted it was made of pewter and was as big as a dinner plate, but still . . . I could do a lot with $1,600. While I was still thinking about this showerhead I moved on to the “Knife Shoppe” where they were sporting swords upwards of $1,600.

I was standing there looking at $1,600 swords, thinking about $1,600 showerheads and wondering where in life I’d have to be to even think about considering purchasing such items. Alternatively, what would I do with a random extra $1,600? It’s hard to say . . . it is half price day at Goodwill today. :0)

I went to see my first Indian movie last night. It was so fun. I think it may have had more to do with the audience than the movie though. It was a romance (of course) where the young people fall in love, but the father (Babuji) of the girl insists she take part in an arranged marriage to a stranger . . . but how can she go on living with out her lover? Her lover is considered a 'westeral' by her Babuji (I don't know what a westeral is either, but something bad, maybe a cross between a rascal and a weasle) and the father will never approve the match.

The whole movie had the air of a never ending Mentos comercial, complete with cocky-smiling young man, pearly white teeth, head tilted to the side and a thumbs up for every accomplishment made.

But the audience (it's safe to say I was a minority white girl) was awesome. When the female main character danced in the rain singing about the perfect man she is waiting for (as all young women do) the men in the audience whistled and yelled out comments (in Urdu or Hindi so I'm not exactly sure what they said, but I have a pretty good guess from what was on the screen and how the rest of the audience reacted.) When the main male character proved his prowess on screen by scoring in rugby, slam dunking the basket ball and driving a fast car to graduation-- all the women in the audience screamed, and my friend leaned over to let me know this young actor was the "heart throb" of India.

It was an older movie, from the mid 90s. I'm sure most of the audience had seen it, most likely several times. I don't remember the name, something about the groom shall come for the bride . . . This movie came no where near the precision Hollywood gives to its movies-- but it was completely enjoyable for me because it was completely enjoyed by the rest of the audience.

Maybe I'm a crowd follower in the area of Indian movies.

It occures to me you might want to take a psychic test. I'm not advanced enough to know how to link it directly, but here's where it is
http://gotpsi.org/bi/gotpsi.htm

I took a “psychic test”. When the page first opened up, I was looking for the directions for the test, I didn’t see them anywhere on the page, and then I thought, “Wait, is this part of the test? Am I just supposed to know what to do?” I thought about it for a little while, didn’t come up with anything, figuring I wasn’t psychic but I clicked on the first graphic anyway, which (don’t I feel sheepish) led to the directions for the first test.

The first test was a “precognition” test. I was to click one of four boxes, guessing which one was going to be chosen randomly as the correct box. I did it 75 times (it went really fast, maybe 4 minutes tops for the whole set) I got 31% correct. That is 95 to 1 odds of guessing right. I was ranked # 5 of 120 people who had taken the test that day. Whoo-hoo! I’m semi-psychic!

On the next test I was to choose the correct card (which had already been chosen), and if I didn’t get it, I was to keep on guessing until I got it. For some reason, I didn’t do so hot on that one. I don’t know what the difference was but I missed almost every time. I ended up with .2 to 1 odds ranked # 61 of 82 people who took the test that day.

For remote viewing I started out really well, I was supposed to guess what picture was going to be shown. I got the first one right on (food on a table) I missed the next 6. I was ranked # 20 of 57.

On the last test I was feeling psychic again. I was to look at a blank square, pick a spot on the square where I thought the “target” was (it was a little itty bitty target). After I guessed, the target showed up to let me know how far off I was. I ended up with 12 to 1 odds, ranked # 4 of 86. Supposedly people good at this test didn't get lost and/or find lost things quickly. What I don’t understand is why after such a ranking, I am always freaking lost and looking for something I put somewhere "safe"?!

Maybe I should ask a psychic.

It's getting more and more complicated-- I never wanted a higher education, I just wanted a job that didn't suck. Now I'm trying to figure out how to get this done asap. I need four semesters of under graduate language study. I have two. I remember nothing. So, I could try to remember all the things I've forgotten (not sure I ever really understood in the first place) and take two more upper level semesters of Greek, or I can just start over.

To start over, I can try to find a place that teaches a language I want to learn, at a time I can take it, (Seems the University of Utah has a summer Farsi program) or I can take French. French-- France doesn't call to me. French doen't give me much intrinsic motivation-- "Hey! I want to learn French so I can talk to . . . French people . . .so I can go to . . . France?" Okay, I know Canada, North Africa, Lebenon . . . I can talk myself into French because I took it in high school. I can't even try to talk myself into other languages I'm not interested in.

le français n'est pas parlé ici

All my new toys work today :0) I am now the proud owner of a working computer, digital camera, scanner, printer and copier (a fax machine too I think) I have picture programs I don't know how to use, and I am ready to take on the world with all my (okay still behind the times, but new to me) technology.

I had a technological break through like this a few years ago too, I got a bunch of new toys all at once and I got to make some really fun things. This time, unfortunately, I won't have as much time to dedicate to learning how to use my toys. This time I have to work and go to class, as opposed to being locked in my house with the curtains drawn so nobody "gets" me. This time I'm not living in a "dangerous for you" Islamic nation where (according to my employers) I couldn't go outside alone because someone might look at me, or touch me or drop a bomb on me. Ahhh . . . those were the days.

Thinking of those days made me think of Cha-cha-gee. I don't even know what that man's name was. We called him Cha-cha-gee, I was told it meant Uncle-uncle-sir. He was our house guard; we had to have a house guard 24/7 because we were vulnerable, single, American women living alone in an Islamic nation.

Cha-cha was a tall, dark older man with a beautiful oiled beard and blue eyeliner. When he smiled his whole face wrinkled up, delighted. I never understood a single word he said. Nine months, not one word. But on Fridays, I knew what he wanted. He would approch me with an odd mixture of Pushto, Urdu and sign language. He said his prayers faithfully, I watched him sometimes from the balcony. Stand, bow- face to the ground and he would do something I never had seen before. While standing he would put his fingers near his ears and wiggle them around . . . I was told later that was to keep the evil spirits away while he prayed. On Fridays he wanted to go to the mosque to pray.

Our guard was never supposed to leave the grounds while he was on duty. Those were his orders from the man (my supervisor) who hired him. He knew he wasn't supposed to ask, and my two house mates has both told him "no" when he had asked before. But he also knew he could ask me if no one else was around. I would look to be sure my house mates were gone, and I would smile and nod my head.

He would come back an hour later all smiley and wrinkly . . . delighted.

Who was I to keep him from God? Anyway I figured if any one broke in to rape and pillage me at the hour of prayer--well, if they were that determined, they could have got past a napping house guard anyway.

Okay, I admit it! I'm a little addicted to the quizes!

Which book of the Bible are you?
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I still believe
When we’ve all grown up, when we are too old for fairytales, fables, miracles and myths, when the prophet, mystic and dervish no longer speak rhyming riddles in our ears, when the magic show is discredited and we teach ourselves objective, logical, empirical 'truth' . . . where will we find poetry, story, life? Where will we be found? Where will a soul take comfort?

"Everybody is somebody else's weirdo."

I went to a "Who created whom" debate. The theists, atheists and the agnostics all went in and came out with their opinions intact. I came out with a few interesting quotes.

The skeptic: "Any sufficiently advanced ET intelligence is indistinguishable from God."

Skeptic: “Ets will not be like what we see on Star Trek. They will not be like us with gnarly things on their heads who speak English with an Indian accent.”

Skeptic: “What do you get if you cross an atheist with a Jehovah’s Witness?’ Someone knocking on your door for no reason.” :0)

God guy: “Torturing babies and flying planes into buildings is wrong. If you don’t think these things are indisputably wrong, you are wrong.” (Question from Shannon: If God tells you to do something “wrong” is it still wrong?)

God guy: “Historical evidence doesn’t have to be perfect, only good enough.”

Question from the audience for God guy: “Is God an atheist?”
God guy: “Hmmmm . . . well, I’d have to say the answer is No . . . “
(Skeptic shrugs his shoulders and shakes his head)

Question from the audience for Skeptic: “It seems events like this only bring more disagreement among us, so how should believers and non-believers get along?”\
Skeptic: “Beer and Pizza. I believe adult beverages are needed after events such as this.”
God guy: “I agree.”

God guy: “There are infinities, but not physically.”

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You are a descriptive writer. An avid reader of Robert Frost, perhaps, you LOVE to use flowery words and use the paper and pen as your canvas and paintbrush. You prefer to paint a mental image rather than simply toy around with people's minds. A very inspired person, you love to be in nature and usually are a very outdoorsy type of person. A writer with a natural green thumb, perhaps?

Fat, Bald, Ugly, Insecure, Broke?
New Jedi mind tricks will get Swedish super models into your bed
anyway!

http://wwwwww.lightnight23.com/seduction.html

I got this spam, thought someone out there might be interested :0)

The Greek Festival was a bust. The food, (which although looked yummy enough) was way expensive,(turned out to be a church fund-raiser) and they had already run out of vegetarian mousaka, so what was the point? There were alot of people there, I extimate 90% non-Greek, non orthodox-- I suspect they were mostly Southern Baptists looking for some Saturday night grub, being unwilling to wait for the Sunday night church pot-luck.

The music was okay, the dancing was sub-par and the costumes, well they didn't want to make me cry out "opa!" to say the least. The icons didn't inspire me and the pillars were dissapointing. While I wanted to blow out the prayer candles, one of my companions wanted to steal the offering and the other was offended we (girls) couldn't approach the alter so she suggested we "dance naked" on it.

In the end we settled for a New York style pizza and Harry Potter. Does that count as an intercultural religious experierence?

34th annual Ft. Worth Greek Festival--this weekend Fri and Sat 10-10 Sun 11-3
food, music, dances, market, (tours of new sanctuary) free admission any takers? I'm going.

I'm not saying this early in the game that I'm having a bad day today, but I just stapled my sweater together. That is never a good sign.

I didn’t really have anywhere to go Thursday, but I decided since I had a car, I could find someplace. So, I got in the car, and decided to take inventory before I started out on my first solo adventure in some time.

After I’d discovered almost $5.00 in change in the ashtray, I decided to head to the Greek place down the street to celebrate my good fortune with a falafel combo. While I was waiting for my food, I started thinking about the other things that I had found. I’d found a lady’s watch that no longer kept time, ten hair pins, a scratched out grocery list, three pens and a coin from Thailand. I found a set of directions under the driver’s seat and a can of pepper spray under the passenger’s. I didn’t bother to go through the glove compartment before I threw everything I couldn’t use in there.

I wondered if I should feel bad about being the beneficiary of a divorce. I do feel bad. Not for my gain, but for their loss. No matter how okay they say they each are about it, I can’t believe them. I can’t believe it even from this couple I never stood in the same room with. Even though I know next to nothing about their relationship or their lives together, I can’t believe it’s okay. Divorced is just another word for broken hearted, I know that’s not okay.

It doesn’t matter what they say.

But I can’t dwell on broken hearts too long. It makes me lose my optimistic focus for the future, it makes me remember my own brokeness, it makes me wonder how I’ll make it though my next broken heart.

So I shake my head and consider the irony of my situation, about how I couldn’t come up with a better fiction of how I came to drive this car.

I’m driving my ex-boyfriend’s ex-wife’s ex-car.

I was driving down the highway the other day when I suddenly had the sensation that I was on the wrong side of the car. Not the wrong side of the road, but actually driving on the wrong side of the car. It only lasted a moment. Afterwards I tried to figure out if it was a result of being a passenger for so long or some sort of Cypriot flashback.

This car I’m using. It was dark when I went to get it, and there wasn’t any parking anywhere near my apartment when I got home, so I parked way over on the east side of nowhere. When I walked back out there the next morning I realized I didn’t even know
what color the car was, let alone exactly where I had parked it. It took me a while, but I found it. It’s blue.

I think my computer is against me. After faithful service all these years, it’s finally giving up. *sigh* Okay everyone out there, if you believe hard enough my computer will start working correctly again, if you clap your hands and give the Care Bear Stare it will all work out! Just believe! Believe!

I don't have any problem saying I believe everything in the Bible is "gospel truth" (gospel: concerning the message of Christ, the kingdom of God and salvation.) Not literally true, not exclusively true, but it is true to my understanding of God, relationship with him and relationship with men. We've been given the right, even the responsibility within relationship, to interpret, reinterpret, understand, (at least really try to understand) and embrace what resources we have. Including the text. As people of God, we have been blessed (word not used lightly) with a wealth of written information, to help us gain the slightest glimpse of an indescribable entity. To me, the "gospel truth" of the Bible is shaded and nuanced, not changing in the times, but shifting within our understandings. It's beautiful in its art, engaging and repelling at the same time.

Honestly, I don't like reading the Bible (gasp from the audience) but I love to search it out, probe it, question it, and examine details. I love to hear it, learn it, say it, sing it, study it--know it.

I'll spare you all the reasons I proclaim thusly, it's more than enough that it is known it is easy to believe this way.

Congratulations, you're New Orleans, the wild city.
What US city are you? Take the quiz by Girlwithagun.

Rich with stunning beauty, this city glows with bright colours by day and is hung with seductive mists by night. They say no-one lives in New Orleans, but that it lives inside the people. Exotic, beautiful and dangerous; it is a city of extremes. Decadent hotels, historic buildings and crafty criminals inhabit the same streets. From the towering oaks in city park to the magnificent French quarter, every corner of this city is a breath-taking panorama of mysteries. Anyone who visits this city cannot help but take a piece of her home in their heart.

I got this as an email signature from a military guy trying to sell me something:
"Those who turn their guns into plows will plow for those who don't."
First of all, dude, it's swords, swords in to plows, not guns. However, point made, weapondry into farm equipment-- secondly, it also says, "...and no one will make them afraid, for the LORD Almighty has spoken." (See Micah 4:1-6)

So, when the meek inherit the earth those who "haven't turned their guns into plows" just won't have any veggies.

a reminder from pk
(Who's pk?) Never you mind!
We went to the last slave grave yard in TN and we saw the following epitaph:
"Beloved mother and wife
she was the suns-
hinie of our lives."

I hope when I die someone will say that I was their suns- hinie.

a note from pk
"I mean, last week, to celebrate my temp job, I brought home jelly donuts from Krispy Kreme, because as I told you, my roommate has converted WWJD? into the much-loved-by-me phrase "Who Wants Jelly Donuts?" (which is, I believe, what MY Jesus would say). "

part of my horoscope
"Argument, or what you call discussion, is the skill you use most effectively. You know how to charm people and get them to lower their defenses while you prepare their defeat."

"I desire wisdom wealth
Breathe in the Spirit
Breathe out yourself."

My Degree
I finally made some money using my degree. I was at a party this weekend when the subject turned from Micky Mouse to Moses. (???) Someone mentioned the 10 commandments and the woman sitting next to me pulled $3.00 out of her pocket and said, “I’ll give this money to anyone who can name any commandment besides the first one.” I said, “Heck, I can name them all!” I rattled them off and she said, “We’re really not supposed to use God’s name in vain? I’m in big trouble.” I told her not to worry, there are lots of other cuss words she could use. When she found out I had a Bible degree she said, “You have that degree and you’re hanging out with HERE, with US?” I smiled and wondered if I should tell her that Jesus hung out in the most interesting places too.

Santa has a package. See Summer for details.

Barbie
So, I went to the “Midnight Masquerade” Saturday night. I was sitting next to some gregarious drama boys when this skinny blonde wearing a yellow formal walks by. One of the boys says, “Hey, are you supposed to be Barbie?” She says, “No, I’m ‘I dream of Jeanie’ . . . at a party.” I’m thinking that’s kinda random when he turns to me, looks at my black dress and pointy hat and says, “No offense, but you look like a witch.” I said, “No, I’m Barbie.”

Minis
Turns out “mini long horns” aren’t so mini. Granted, regular long horns are huge, so that means when you make a “mini” one they are actually just runt to regular cow size. I took pictures; hopefully I will be able to have them up on my picture site (PSA) soon so that you can live the experience too.

There were about 25 minis occupying a very small pen with one full sized long horn. They got their horns tangled up surprising less than one would expect in such close quarters. The most amazing thing was when the cowboys came and herded all the cows from a very small pen to a cartoonishly-ridiculously small trailer. Much to our wonder we watched the last miniature cow butt be pushed into the trailer, and the door closed. There were little noses, horns and tails sticking out of every window and crack. The trailer drove away and a half hour later the cows “stampede-ed” back to their little pen.

The minis did make a more impressive cattle drive than the big long horns I saw in Ft. Worth. There the cows come out, give the crowd an apathetic cow nod and meander on down the street followed by the cowboys who look equally disinterested in the whole affair.

The minis ran through the West End like mad bovine. They were preceded by cowboys and followed by the “Dallas Police Posse.” There must have been a man on horse for every cow. I guess one can’t really guess the mind of a miniature cow. You never know what kind of mischief size altered cows might get into next. I can see the headlines now, “Mad Minis Mutilate Mob in West End.”

Miniature Cattle
This is my newest quest. I must see some miniature cattle, more specifically miniature Texas long horns. Why must I see them? Because, they exist and I'm Shannon. I need no better reason. I have serious questions about these animals, as does my cow expert friend. (She would deny this title of "cow expert" but with a bachelors in agriculture and an SBC seminary degree, she not only knows about cows, but plenty about bull crap too.)

Questions that need answers:
How mini is a mini long horn?
What counts as a "long horn" on a miniature cow?
Does a mini long horn need a counter-wait on his butt to keep him from tipping over forwards?
Why were mini cattle created?
Are there miniature cowboys? (Do they ride miniature horses?)
Do full size cows make fun of the minis?
Would you pay to see an all out mini rodeo?

I looked on the net to find a picture of a mini long horn, but as fate would have it, none of the pictures would open. I took that as a definite sign, a sign that I should see these creatures in person. I suspect these cows may even surpass the Nigerian pygmy goat experience.

This isn't just out of the blue you know-- there happens to be a miniature Texas long horn cattle drive in the West End this Saturday. Not a miniature cattle drive, with just a few cows, but actually miniature cows.

Who wants to take me?
Come on ... you know you are itching to see mini long horns too!
Seriously, miniature cattle--I'm not kidding.

I just found a video here in the UTA science career and learning center called, "BRAIN SEX: sugar and spice" Hmmpt . . . I don't have any more to say about that.

“there’s no where you can be that isn’t where you’re meant to be”
beatles--all you need is love

A study in Genesis or Things they don’t tell you in Bible college

“In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. Now, the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters.”

“Why was God hovering over the waters?”
“I don’t know.”

“And God said, “Let there be light,” and there was light. God saw the light was good, and he separated the light from the darkness.”

“If the light was good, why did he keep the darkness?”
“That’s a good question, I don’t know.”

My free lunch Friday Christians get alot of air time from me. I think its because I don’t want to really take advantage of their free lunches that I try to want to be involved with their other activities. But I’ve learned from my free lunch Christians that I’m a snob. They didn’t tell me so, they would never do such a thing, but I’ve realized that I am. Indeed, I am. But the food is usually good.

I went to a Bible study one week and snobbishly left feeling it was terribly shallow and uninformed.

I saw one of their banners on campus, their slogan for the year is “Live to Die.” I snobbishly thought 'that’s not the smartest slogan to have on a college campus if you want people who don’t know what it means to come to your ministry. College students don’t want to die, its not their thing.'

I read their news letter and snobbishly yawned at the most incredibly boring, trite and flat attempts of wit, humor and profundity I’ve read in some time.

*Sigh*

What to do with my free lunch Friday Christians? I’m sure they mean well. They are always nice at lunch. They know my name when I come in the door. This is where I wonder about my role in such situations. I take notice, but I’m not a revolutionist. I don’t
want to be, leadership seems to me disenchanting. Disenchantment is easy enough to come by without the hunt. Should I point out what I have noticed? Would it even make a difference? Would they be offended? What will it require of me? Most importantly, what
will it require of me? Am I ready to give it?

I don't think I am, not yet.

Emily and I do not endorse Bedknobs and Broomsticks

$100 shoes, faded out second hand jeans, a "Save the Elephants" T-shirt from Ching Mai, a 1970-something leather jacket and a homemade purse--- I vaguely remember brushing my hair this morning before I put it in a pony tale. Wine-tinged lip gloss

this is me today

There are days that are just muddled through. Days where at the end I sigh, and say to myself, “I made it through again.” There are days that go unnoticed and unremembered. We remember the good, we remember the bad, but I think too often we forget the living that happens in-between.

I celebrate yesterday’s living by remembering today.

Yesterday was not extraordinary.

I slept in, went to work, had a late lunch and got my winter clothes out of storage.

Then I remembered to live.

My friend and I went out to eat. We decided to get an appetizer and a desert. On the menu we found corn meal-rolled-deep-fried pickles and jalapenos. (This, you must admit is living.) Because my friend knew the waiter, we also got a free order of chips and salsa and finished off our meal with a deep fried cherry pie alamode. This is living with no concern for that night’s bellyache or tomorrow’s not fitting into my jeans.

Afterwards we went to our weekly community group meeting, and told our stories. Following the meeting, we all went to a fifties diner for milkshakes. White-rhinestone-jumpsuit-seven-foot-tall-Elvis was performing. As a matter of fact it was his birthday, and his entire fan club (spearheaded by his mama) was present for the celebration. Elvis sang “Amazing Grace,” because he loves Jesus, and we joined the fan club to sing “Happy Birthday,” because they love Elvis (and we just happened to be there).

There had been mention earlier in the evening about an old graveyard near my apartment complex. It was a place for unwed mothers, illegitimate children and orphans to be buried at the turn of the century. I wanted to see it. And what better time is there to visit such a place than a crisp, three quarter moon, mid October evening between the hours of 11:00 and midnight?

Sometimes living means visiting the dead, remembering the forgotten, pushing away dead leaves and grass from 100 year old graves. Sometimes it means wondering who mourned for Josephine, Edward, Lura and infant 17. Living means remembering our collective pasts, forgiving our collective mistakes, celebrating our collective present and anticipating our future together.

Yesterday was a good day to live.

She is the Creator: Rumi

There's a tradition that Muhammad said,
"A wise man will listen and be led by a woman,
while an ignorant man will not."
Someone too fiercely drawn by animal urges
lacks kindness and the gentle affections
that keep men human.
Anger and sharp desiring are animal qualities.
A loving tenderness toward women
shows someone no longer pulled by wanting.
The core of feminine comes directly as a ray of the sun.
Not the earthly figure you hear about in love songs;
there's more to her mystery than that.
You might say she's not from the manifest world at all,
but the creator of it.

There is no punch line, the story is in the telling.

One time I was baby-sitting this little boy, we were watching TV and a Depends commercial came on. He said, “My gramma uses those because she lost her blabber control.” I thought, “I know alot of people who have lost their blabber control.”

Free Lunch Friday with the Christians.
The lunch topic this week: “post apocalyptic literature class.”

The guy I was sitting across from said he was taking a “post apocalyptic lit.” class. Really? This sounded interesting. My first thoughts: 1. he was taking a class on the book of Revelation at a Christian school, which would transfer to UTA as a lit credit? (it’s possible) 2. He doesn’t know what “apocalyptic” means. (very possible) 3. There was an apocalypse and I missed it. (I’m not a history whiz, but come on!)

I decided to ask. “What kind of class is it?”
“Post apocalyptic. Apocalypse is like the end of the world or something.”
“Yes, I know what apocalypse means, I want to know how you are studying literature that was written after something that hasn’t happened.”
(he gives me a blank look)
“Oh, no, it’s like Fahrenheit 451 and The Postman, stuff like that.”
“So, it’s negative utopian fiction class?” (gasp on the inside)
“Yeah, I guess.”

This is big news in Shannonland! Negative utopian fiction is the preferred form of literature here. I’ve been talking about such a class for years now. Brave New World, 1984, A Handmaiden’s Tale, Fahrenheit 451-- these are standard classics for negative utopia, but are there more? Where are they? I need to know! I’ve asked around before, but you say “negative utopia” to most people and their eyes glaze over like you are talking in tongues or something. I’ve already started looking for info, but I haven’t found it in the class schedule yet. At the very least I need the reading list for this class. I’m going to have to call the English department Monday.

Quotes from Gustave Flaubert’s Madam Bovary


“Love, she felt, ought to come all at once, with great thunderclaps and flashes of lightning; it was like a storm bursting upon life from the sky, uprooting it, overwhelming the will and sweeping the heart into the abyss. It did not occur to her that rain forms puddles on a flat roof when the drainpipes are clogged, and she would have continued to feel secure is she had not suddenly discovered a crack in the wall.”

“ . . . since no one can ever express the exact measure of his needs, his conceptions or his sorrows, and human speech is like a cracked pot on which we beat out rhythms for bears to dance to when we are striving to make music that will wring tears from the stars.”

“But disparaging those we love always detaches us from them to some extent. It is better not to touch our idols; the gilt comes off on our hands.”

“Why was life so unsatisfying? . . . But if somewhere there existed a strong, handsome man with a valorous, passionate and refined nature, a poet’s soul in the form of an angel, a lyre with strings of bronze intoning elegiac nuptial songs to the heavens, why was it not possible that she might meet him some day?”

“ . . .for of all the winds that blow on love, none is so chilling and destructive as a request for money.”

I took the "death test" at http://www.thespark.com/deathtest/ this is what it told me:

Mark your calendar or Palm V. You can expect to die on:
July 26, 2051 (an idle Wednesday)
at the age of 76 years old.
On that date you will most likely die from:
Alien Abduction (22%)
Cancer (19%)
Heart Attack (14%)
Alcoholism (12%)
Third Degree Burns (7%)
Contagious Disease (7%)
Wow, I'm really impressed by the fact I have a better chance of dying from alien abduction than from cancer. Hmmm, my time watching X-files was well spent I see.

verily, I say unto thee, know thine own limits

I had a conversation tonight that baffled me. Generally I don’t feel quite so inept in conversations. I think I’m pretty patient and I’ve had lots of practice attempting to (and not doing so bad) understand not-always-clear conversations from people who don’t know
English well, are really old and/or senile are drunk, high or crazy (really crazy and off their medication,) but there is a guy in one of my linguistics classes who just . . . baffles me, every time.

I would like to point out that he’s a really nice guy. I don’t mean that in a generic way. I mean I intuitively know, for sure, he’s an honestly good person. I don’t even know how to express the fact that I believe that he is absolutely genuine in his goodness.

Usually when I meet people perceived as “really nice” I try to avoid them, like they are too goody-goody-syurpy-sweet-happy-lovey-lovey-fake for me to take for more than a few minutes in Shannonland. Shannonland is full of brutal realities laced with garlands of free
flowers the florist can’t keep over the weekend, sarcastic inside smiles, 30 year old discarded double-knit polyesters, hard candy and homemade gifts. I don’t have much room for sticky pretenders.

But this guy isn’t like that-- I would allow him in Shannonland if only I could understand what the heck was coming out of his mouth. He looks like a together person, well groomed, his clothes match-- it’s not his accent, it’s standard American, but when he starts talking I get the sensation that his words aren’t coming out in the proper order. (I’m not the only one who thinks so, the girl who sits in front of me turned around and asked me if I thought he was on drugs.) He takes long pauses in the middle of his sentences, which makes me think that he is formulating something profound, but when it comes out I find myself thinking, “I know its English, but . . . WHAT IN THE WORLD?!”

He approached me tonight to comment on something I had said weeks ago. I hardly remembered what he was referring to--a question about a linguistics technique for formulating structurally correct questions. Once I figured out he was referring to,
he started talking about how people are drawn to him, how is mother is depressive and how he’d been thinking about my question for a while. I was trying to figure out how these subjects related, but I found my mind wondering to other questions like, “IS he on drugs after all? or maybe I am and this conversation is the result of a bad trip.” After a while I just agreed with him. I don’t know what I agreed to. He wished me a good life as a missionary (did I say I wanted to be a missionary?-- I don’t remember that) and we departed. He is a odd duck, an odd, odd duck.

Odd Duck--here’s to you-- keep’em guessing!

I went grocery shopping for the first time in over a month this weekend. It wasn’t as fun as I had hoped it would be. I was feeling rushed for time, and there were way to many people in the store. But at least I have some food in the kitchen now. (Added bonus, I got paid $7 to take a survey and tell them that I didn’t think their new product was a good one.)

Where to put the food in the kitchen was another challenge in my ever-so-interesting life. I was the last one to move into this apartment. Everyone else has a full size cabinet to keep their dishes and food in. Being last, I got what was left over in the way of storage space-- a shoe box sized space above the sink, which I can’t even reach with out a chair, and a sliver space next to the oven. In a regular kitchen this would be the place you keep you baking sheets and really skinny skillets. I don’t have baking sheets or skinny skillets.

So after careful consideration, I decided to put my dishes and food in the dishwasher. It’s good storage space. I’ve never seen anyone use it and it’s just taking up space. I thought about telling my room mates about my decision, but for some reason I found a cryptic pleasure in the idea of them discovering it for themselves.

I was informed this is classic passive-aggressive behavior.

The passive-aggressive life is good.

Leading Lipstick Indicator
"Coined by Leonard Lauder (Chairman of Estee Lauder), it follows the idea that when a consumer feels less than confident about the future, she (or he) turns to less expensive indulgences such as lipsticks. Therefore lipstick sales tend to increase during times of economic uncertainty or a recession."

Did you know there was a lipstick indicator? Indeed, I've seen this more than once. I don't think my lipstick buying habits would lead to this conclusion. Lipstick is expensive (when you live below the poverty level.) L'Oreal lipstick costs $6.99 a tube. Admittedly, it's a lot cheaper than going to the hair salon (I get my hair cut once every three years, so whatever) and cheaper than buying an new outfit (unless, like me you shop at second hand stores on sale days.) I try to keep my lipstick buying habits under control-- but tonight, I had to buy some. There was a sale (don't you see, I had to do it!) It was L'Oreal buy one get one on the "Endless" line. It is supposedly an 8 hour lipstick, but I have my doubts. The good news is it goes on very smoothly, smells good (tastes good) and has great color. This is my recomended purchase of the week. It's right up there with my globe lamp from a few weeks back.

I remember when I was in kindergarten I used to walk to school with my friend Donny. My mother never worried about us getting lost, because Donny knew the way. He had been to kindergarten the year before me too. In the autum, we would walk, crunch, kick-- splash through the fallen leaves. Northern PA in the autum is beautiful, the air is crisp the trees are abundent and the colors are spectacular. I would look for pink leaves as we walked along (which I could occationally find in the mix of reds, oranges, yellows and greens.) Donny would look for blue leaves, (which may be one of the reasons why he spent the year before me, the year with me and the year after me in kindergarten.)

I miss the leaves. I wonder if Donny ever made it out of kindergarten.

"There is an aesthetic pleasure in communicating cryptically."

"The Goose is in the Hat."
"Is the Goose in the Hat?"
"You know too much already!"
"Betty? Are you out there? Can you hear me?"

I'm not a violent person, but there are times, like now, when I want to stab the boy who lives upstairs from me. Regardless of what time it says this blog was posted it is now 11:46pm and he just decided to turn his music WAY UP. Every freaking night. I've complained, my room mates have complained-- I don't even know what this boy looks like, but I do want to stab him.

SHE says:
sometimes I think my whole life is an ongoing bob dylan stream of consciousness song
theyblinked says:
that is an exciting way to think about it.

Summer does NOT endorse multi-colored Sweedish Fish--- only red ones.

A letter to Who ever is in charge of the Texas State Fair--

To Whom it May Concern:
I am writing concerning my recent visit to the Texas State Fair. As I was a first time visitor, I was very impressed with the wide variety of shows, events, displays, rides and games. Admittedly, I was somewhat skeptical of the $11.00 price tag for the entrance price, but I
feel after walking around for 7 and a half hours, I got my money’s worth (although I can’t say the same for the $7.00 parking, that was just a racket.)

As I said, I enjoyed the fair, however, I do have a few suggestions to make the event even more enjoyable for next year. First of all, it is generally believed that ‘Big Tex’ is of the homosexual persuasion. I can neither confirm nor deny this belief, being as Tex and I conversed only briefly. (I have my suspicions-- ‘straight’ cowboys don’t really tuck their jeans into their boots-- you know what I’m saying?) However, I believe a statement should be made concerning his orientation. If he is in fact gay, I am sure it would encourage the homosexual constituency of Dallas to rally around Big Tex and support his decision by sponsoring colorful and entertaining ‘alternative’ events within all the fair categories. For example, my friend has an idea for a new ride called ‘AssseX.’ I’m sure it would be a big thrill for everyone! If he’s not gay-- I know the Southern Baptist Convention will continue to stand by Big Tex.

The second suggestion I’d like to make if for more Nigerian Pygmy goat shows--honestly those pygmy goats were simply fascinating. Thirdly, (also concerning goats in a manner of thinking) I believe you could engage more of our Muslim brothers and sisters in the livestock competitions and shows if you changed the name of the “Swine Barn” to “The Goats of the West House.” I find it an all together more apealing name for easterners and westerners alike.

My fourth suggestions concerns the “Spirit of the Dance” show. My friend and I recommend more Cowboys, more Patty-Cake and more black lights. Maybe Cowboys Patty-Caking in black light? It’s just a thought. Maybe a dancing fetus and a giant uterus would add a little pizzazz to the show as well. Stop the singing-stop the madness!

Finally I’d like to address the issue of the scantily clad puppets I saw at the “World on a String” show. Assuredly I did NOT expect to be confronted by mostly naked puppets at the onset of the production. Let me assure you I was both shocked and appalled by the display. I’m sure it should have had a PG. rating on the front curtain.

Thank you so much for you time-- I know you will consider these suggestions for an even better Texas State Fair 2003.
Sincerely,
SD Peterson
PS-- What happened to the Cajun Sticks?

SWARMY- adj. revealing or marked by a smug, ingratiating, or false earnestness: unctuous "I like to go to free-lunch Fridays at the Tri-C to irritate the swarmy Christians who think they are better than the rest." (This is just an example sentance, I think the Christians I irritate on Fridays are earnest in their God-brown-nosing-activities.)

So, I've been duely warned to not have my actual adress on the web for the world to see. But wouldn't it be an adventure to meet the person who wadded through all the other crap not only on my little blog, but (any stranger who I didn't send the address to) the whole dang web to find MY address-- then be plucky enough to come stalk me? Maybe I'll take it off after all :0)

I apologize if you are offended by the following transcribed conversation. As a linguistics student I am dedicated to the study of natural conversation-- it's my job, don't you see, to record what is said and how it is said-- then think about it (and laugh about it) post it on the net for all to see --then write a paper about it. I hope you understand.

Summer: Because we were talking about David and Justin having ass sex a while ago. Did you get that?
Shannon: No, (turns on recorder) but I’ll turn it on now for any future references you’d like to make.
Sum: Any future refernces to what?
Shan: Ass sex.
Sum: (laughing)
Shan: Yeah
Sum: (laughing)
Justin: You’re all, heh-heh-heh ‘Shannon said ass sex’
Mirranda: Wow, I missed somethin’
Shan: Summer’s craking up
Flossie: Shannon said ‘ass sex’
Sum: (laughing)
Krista: An’ Summer’s just . . . dyin’
Mirranda: Wow . . .
Sum: (laughing)
Shannon: Anybody else wanna say it? Keep’er goin’
Mirranda: One time,
Krista: See, I don’t think it would phase her (Shannon interupting: 'Ass sex') if I said ‘ass sex’
Sum: It was funny that Shannon said ‘ass sex’
Mirranda: Oh, I know it was funny
Sum: Then you were like, ‘Shannon said ass sex’
Mirranda: One time I was teaching preschool one of my kids said somethin’ and he said “shiit” and I’d thought he’s said aybe “shoot” and I just didn’t understand’im and he kept sayin’ and and finally I was like, “Dylan, what are you sayin’? And the kid next to him turned to me and said, “he said shit.”
Sum: laughing
Melissa: Oh my God
David: Today, today one of my students was doing a play on the word sophmore and refered to the girls as ‘softwhores’
Shan: softwhores
David: Yeah, he got in trouble for that
Mel: Is that what happened during 8th period?
Dav: 7th period, that was what I was complaining about
Mel: What happened during 8th period?
Dav: It was really sweet
Mel: huh? You can’t tell everybody? (overlapping) Dav: I’m not going to tell it around them ‘cause then they’ll be all awwwwwh-eeahhh
Mel: Do it
Krista: Come on David share . . .
Mirranda: Yeah, you’re not sharing all your life with us, David
David: I don’t share all the meaningful stuff
Shan: Come on share
Krista: Just cough it up
David: All right, what it was, was, um, there’s a class across the hallway from me . .
Sum: Shannon said ‘ass sex’
(laughing)
Krista: So, anyway, David, what happened?
David: Class across the hall way, uh Miss Youngblood’s class- she teaches junior level, I
teach sophmores, an’ so it’s interesting, ‘cause I always like to keep up with my students to see, you know, that they’re keeping up with the other students
Sum: sure
David: Because if all my student’s are progressivly dumber than everyone elses-
Sum: it’s a problem
Dav: Then that means I- I messed up somewhere. This is like her favorite class, Miss Youngblood, her favorite class- an’ I peered in there and they’ve got like about 10 of my old students, like, it is literally like an all-star class of someof my favorite students
Sum: Cool
Dav: Like my-my most gifted, intelligent, creative. . . just kind students, they’re all wonderful . . .
Mel: alright . . .
Dav: Part of the story is telling the story the story (Mel: Oh . . . right . . .) there’s no punch line
Sum: There’s no punch line
Mirranda: Wai-Wai-Wait, Shannon knows one
Shannon: That’s how my stories are
Summer (laughing)
Shannon: Ass sex
David: Ass sex, at the very end, that’s the punch line
Sum: (laughing)
Mel: So, you came in, and they were all there. . .

It’s banned book week! (or month, I’m not sure how long we’re reading havoc causing titles.) I got a list of “The 100 Most fequently Challenged Books of 1990-2000.” Pretty exciting- I’ve been looking for a good reading list. Many of these books are children’s books, and Newberry award winners. Others are required reading for (I thought most) high school students. Still others, I’ve never heard of, but I’ve looked up and they really do sound a little risqué, but so what?
Here’s the site, check out the list for yourself. http://www.ala.org/bbooks/top100bannedbooks.html.
I’ve read 20% of these books (I better get cracking on the rest of these titles!) and will recommend several titles as really enjoyable reading.

I suggest the following “challenged” books:
#22 A WRINKLE IN TIME, Madaline L'Engle (for 10-14 year old readers)
# 37 THE HANDMAIDEN’S TALE, Margaret Atwood (adult-negative utopia)
# 41 TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD, Harper Lee (highschool-adult)
#52 BRAVE NEW W0RLD, Aldous Huxley (highschool-adult -negative utopia)
#56 JAMES AND THE GIANT PEACH, Ronald Dahl. (8-12)

another site is http://www.ala.org/pio/presskits/bbwkit/classics.html

I got a call from a long lost penpal last night. He's been my "penpal" for a long, long time--we started writing in 1991 when he was serving in Saudi during the Gulf War. After a few years we dwindled down to just Christmas cards and an occational post card-- (how we kept up with each other between all our moves is mindboggling) then came along email and messenger services--- and the fact that he's now stationed in the states so he can call. I'm still dirt poor (dispite financial aid) so I leave the calling up to him, but I think its so cool to have a friend I've never met out there.

Okay, I promise I'll get off the mail topic soon, but not before I say I got an invitation to my 10 year highschool reunion. *gasp* I'm officially old. And what I need to know is HOW DID THEY FIND ME? Seriously-- I haven't kept in touch with any highschool people. I knew it would be coming up, but I was confident that they wouldn't find me! *sigh* I'm not going-- as far as I'm concerned they already know too much!

"I am a SWF, I have eyes and hair. I like traffic lights and long walks on paved and non-paved areas. I love the taste of water. I'm looking for someone with similar disinterests. I will not accept correspondence from Ghana."
Shannon Peterson
no address here - you should have gotten it when you had the chance
Arlington, TX 76013

I was looking a a penpal site this morning-- amusing myself by reading the profiles-- (this penpal thing goes back to the mail obsession) looking for someone who could at least make themselves sound semi-interesting. (not happening) I kept noticing people saying they wouldn't accept correspondance from inmates, perverts or Ghana. What's wrong with Ghana?

Defining day in Shannonland--I got the key. You want to hear room mate stories? I got ‘em. These stories will never live up to “The Betty Saga,” but I work with what I have. Perhaps I should publish previous aspects of my life. I’m thinking an autobiography--- “the extraordinary life of miss peterson: adventures in Shannonland.” Anyway, back to the precursor to the point-- I am (and some people don’t believe it, but I swear it’s true) an eternal optimist. Sure, a sarcastic, critical optimist, but optimistic none-the-less. I’m always expecting something good to happen. I don’t know where it might be coming from, so I have to check all the avenues. Mailbox, (there might be a letter from a long lost friend, or even a check from, well who cares if it is made out to me?) email, (perhaps someone has been thinking about me-- sent me a thoughtful and encouraging message, a funny joke or a great story) answering machine- maybe a call from a friend who wants to take me to lunch (take me anywhere, I don’t have a car, I need to get out more.) I walk through my life expecting good things, looking for them. My theory/motto is “it can’t always suck like this.” Sure, I’m
often disappointed, and sometimes surprised. Things happen, they aren’t always good--they are most often just plain weird, but that’s another topic.

All this background information to say (here’s the point.) I like to check the mail. I really like it. It’s not as bad as my lip gloss addiction, but it is way up on my list “Important things in Shannonland.” So, last night I walk in and ask if anyone has checked the mail that day. My roommate, Kelly, says “Are you expecting something?” Am I expecting something? Of course I’m expecting something! I’m always expecting something! Anything!
I say, “Yes.” (Although I can’t really name anything specific I’m expecting.)
She says, “Okay, I guess I’ll go look.”
I say, “I’ll go if you give me the key.”
She says, “no, (sigh) I’ll go.” (The burden of it all.) She doesn’t get mail here, she gets her mail at her mom’s house, she has no stock in this checking of the mailbox ritual.
I say, “Why don’t you just leave the key in the kitchen so we can all use it when we want to?” (She’s kind of a control freak, this one.)
She says, “Because the key is in my name, and if any one of you loses it, I have to pay $30.00 to have it replaced.”
First of all $30 for a stupid little key? That’s insane! Second, like we aren’t going to pay her if we lose it. Duh--
So I just said, “Okay, fine.”

A few minutes later, she comes back saying the key doesn’t work, and there’s a new lock on the mailbox. So, today I went to the office and asked about it, and I got the new key. In MY name. It’s a little gold key that feeds my addiction. NOW I HAVE THE POWER! HA-HAAA!

Anyway, I got some good news and some bad news in my mail box today. First the bad news. Centennial Courts regretted to inform me that I was not selected for the community assistants position. Punks, I was “amazing” in my Miss America interview! I must have been too good to be true, their loss. The good news was I got my free poster from the University of California Davis,
School of Veterinary Medicine. It’s a picture of a cow’s head (practically life size) and it says, “Udderly the best! UCDavis” I figure I’ll cover up the UCDavis part and have a fully functional advertisement free poster. The other good news was that I (FINALLY) got my financial aid check. Yeah! Now I can pay rent, buy books, food and toilet paper (Thanks to Blondi for the thoughtful birthday gift, of course it was fabulous to receive in such a timely manner.)

My day was full of other good things too. For example, I got my computer to work, I got my TV cable to work, and I got free lunch with the Christians. At lunch I argued with some missionary lady about Harry Potter. Neither one of us had even read it, but it was fun to get her going. To celebrate my financial aid check I went to the store, bought some ice cream and a vanilla coke and had a private party. Wow-- lunch and a semi-diner in the same day. I am living it up!

This is suddenly alot of pressure to perform