Heartstrings.

Meet Benny

Benny is a 3-4 month-old rat at a rescue in Vancouver, B.C.. He was found abandoned on the side of the highway, and is reportedly very shy.

I've put in an application to adopt him. Should we get him, we are going to call him "Goodbye Benny Anderson." Yes, that is a Mummy reference and a tribute to Neo. He'll move in with Melvin and Percival.

I am going to continue looking at this photo until my body once again decides it would rather live.

** D:

I feel like I am married to a bottle of Ginger Ale, but am being blackmailed and forced to cheat with the toilet.

@.@

Nausea. Just what I need before a flight. Oh, vomiting. Even better!

::EDIT::

Well, I'll be flying out tomorrow. Now if you'll excuse me, I am going to go be ill for a while.

Post spam.

I've posted six billion times today, but so much crap keeps happening.

Family:
Unc agrees that aunt is being total prat about the tuition/loan business. I've spent the day looking for other signs of the apocalypse, but none have been forthcoming.

Fam was going to make me take a taxi to the airport tomorrow, but [girlfriend] offered to drive me instead. Fam found out about this and insisted that she was perfectly fine with taking me all along, really. We are now going out to ice cream like one big happy family so she can re-assert her dominion in my frame of existence.

Beowulf:
The paper is supposed to be six pages long. Holy crap. I'm already 1/3 of the way done and I'm not even into my content yet.

Woot.

My first draft of the Plato paper is, for all intents and purposes, complete. There are three paragraphs I need to finish, one point I can elaborate on if I like, and one source to add to the bibliography once I get it at home. It is exactly fifteen pages with the bibliography, but is within the minimum word count for the paper, meaning that I can focus on finishing those small sections without worrying about padding .

I think I have earned a nap. After that, I pack a little and then start on Beowulf.

One of us has to be insane. That's the only explanation.

There's nothing quite like being woken up by stupidity. I am currently working off four hours of sleep, but am too angry to go to bed. Can you guess why?

You don't really need to.

My family has been notoriously bad about actually remembering to send tuition money. Granted, I'm still glad they are paying for my Uni and weren't letting me take out any student loans, but all of that was at their insistence, so I am a little upset at them today.

Last night I got a call at 10PM. Apparently the university called Unc and told him that if UPS didn't get a check by today, they were going to drop me from all my classes. He calls Fam, Fam calls me.

"You need to call them tomorrow and talk to them about student loans."
"Okay, I will, but you need to call them too, because regardless of the loan, they are still going to need money tomorrow."
"Hey, don't get pissy."
"Forgive me for being a little upset that they are threatening to kick me out my last semester. I happen to know someone this happened to."
"Well, maybe they didn't pay their tuition. How much is your tuition this semester?"
"I'm trying to check, but the internet is being slow. Hold on. Ugh, I don't even know what number I have to call."
"You know what? Maybe I'll just call. You sound a little ignorant."

Yes, why don't you just call? After all, you're the one who has to arrange the payments. Having me contact them would just be silly. "O hai University, I hear you want money, should my family call you? Yes? Kay, thanks! :D" Waste of everyone's time.

So where is this going? I'm pretty sure you know where this is going. I just got a call from Fam.

"I called them, and I am sending you a check to give to them directly on Monday."
"Okay, will do."
"You have to give it to them then, or they won't let you attend this semester."
"Of course."
"They're open from 9AM to 3PM that day."
"Okay, I'll stop by first thing."
"I also have to tell you I am a little perturbed at you for not calling Wednesday about the loans like I asked you to."
"...What."
"Thanks to you I have had to scramble--"
"Hey, Fam?"
"What."
"Thanks for doing everything you can to make sure I actually get to go to college this semester." -.- (Thankfully, she didn't catch the sarcasm.)
"Well, you're welcome, but you need to start taking responsibility for onc-"
*click*

Oh yes, she went there. She, who I have been telling needed to pay my tuition since the sixth, and who kept not requesting the money from the fund, she is telling me I need to take responsibility for once. She, who can't be arsed to send insurance cards my way, get me packages on time, or generally manage to give half a damn about my existence, is telling me I need to take some responsibility.

For once.

Excuse me. Who the fuck just spent two months dealing with doctors, and is now scrambling to get everything done for her classes so she isn't behind in life? Who the fuck usually ends up paying for her own medicine, her own copays, and her own school supplies since "we don't have as much money as we used to?" Who the fuck got all her graduate exams done during this and did well? Who has had a job since sophomore year so she was guaranteed to have the money for when her family inevitably fucked up? Who is dealing with adjusting to two chronic conditions, and despite all this, is doing decently in school? Who has had an amazing credit rating since she was 16?

Yes. I clearly need to start taking some responsibility, for once. I've been leeching off them for years, after all. I'm always back in Saint Louis, and I never do anything on my own. My poor, fucking put-upon aunt has to drop what she is doing constantly and bail me out of my messes. Because that's what this is, you know. It's not her mess. It's not their mess. It's my mess, because I didn't call to ask about student loans.

News flash, honey. Loans do not come from fairies, unicorns, goblins in dank caves, or any other supernatural source capable of materializing items out of its ass. You cannot call on the phone and say "Hurr, ah needs a loan," and then magically get funding. There's paperwork, which I have already filled out, which means there will be paperwork to undo that paperwork. And then the money has to come from a source, which means that source has to have time to get the money to the university. Now, I know this, which is why I am perfectly aware that had I called on Wednesday we would still be having this problem today. Take your own goddamn advice next time, and let me stay asleep. I do not need this shit from you.

At least this is the last time I will ever be forced to rely on them for anything. Summer semester and grad school are my responsibility. I have never been happier to go into debt.

On the plus side, they're paying for this semester. I have a feeling the office told her what I've been saying all along about what happens when you decline a loan. The fact that I was right seems to have been more than she could maturely handle.

Well, I am certainly awake now.

Well, that works.

I got to page 12 of the Plato paper before my eyes started crossing, but I have the rest of the pages mapped out, and know exactly what to write for the conclusion. It should be right at 15 pages on the first draft, which is heartening. I'm gonna go to bed, wake up, hash the rest of it out, pack a little bit, and then start digging into my Beowulf paper.

Ugh, I hate plane flights. At least I'll be back in Tacoma on Saturday.

My spring schedule is now official.

Today's Goal:

Write my entire Plato paper so I can have my first draft over and done with.

Tomorrow's Goal:
Do the same for Beowulf. Pack.

Plane Goal:
Read my coursepack stuff for Ancient Cities, write smut.

Oh, the irony.

The one decent photo I have of my tongue stud, and it just happens to be the skankiest thing I have ever seen.

Seriously. Looking at it makes me feel dirty.

You're welcome.

Today has been a good day.

My sample review seems to have officially rocked my new boss' socks, because I got an e-mail this morning telling me I had been approved to be a reviewer for the site and won't I please fill out my profile and state my product preferences?

Okay! :D

One hour later I have my pen name, avatar, product list, no-no list, new e-mail, new AIM, and first product to review selected. I had no idea they let you choose what you wanted to review! First up on my list is "Lips Like Sugar," an anthology of women's erotica edited by Violet Blue. (Apparently she likes new talent, and I am currently wondering how I can get her attention given to my stories.)

Also, they asked if I wanted to do other things, such as write sex guides and "sensual stories." I checked yes on both, but the yes on the second one was far more emphatic. So who knows, this may end up being my "in" for the world of erotica, too. They let you link to a personal webpage, and I am considering making a blog specifically for my erotica short stories and linking to it. Couldn't hurt, right? I shall keep considering, because I need at least two more written and I really don't have time right now.

That's not all that went well today. Fam took me on a shopping spree that won me two new pairs of shoes, a sexy skirt, two new pairs of Levi's, black dress pants, grey pinstripe pants, smoke blue pinstripe plaid pants, two dress wrap tops (I seem to have finally developed the boobs to pull them off), two button-down dress tops, one green babydoll t, a set of turquoise lounge pants, and a new set of earrings. She also helped me mail off all my packages, told me to buy some Sketchers online and tell her how much they were so she could pay me back, and didn't mention money once. I tallied up my receipts, and she easily spent $800 on me today. I am thrilled because I now have several dressy outfits for job interviews (or working at a place that requires a graduate degree, or grad school, or dinner out...), and they're all really quality Ann Taylor and Liz Claiborne stuff that will age well and last forever.

After all that, we went out to lunch, and one of the employees at the Panera Bread kept wandering over to me when Fam was busy and chatting me up. Forcefully. Fam, after the third time he dropped by, looked at me and said "you know, I think he thinks you're cute."

"Oh, I am aware," I replied. Since all our conversations were about "how fucking amazing" my hair was, the concept had gotten across.

Then, at the package store, a lady with a thick Brooklyn accent asked me if my hair was "accidental."

I think I'll have a heart attack and die from that surprise.

Fam asked me out to dinner tonight. I should have been suspicious. If I had been, my misgivings would have been validated by the two-hour long whinge about money I was forced to sit through. I asked for her help shipping a few small boxes to the PNW since my suitcases would be full. Help, mind. I offered to pay half, but told her I didn't want to spend money unless I had to because I didn't have any money right now. (I won't till February, and my first full paycheck will be in March.)

"Well hasn't Unc given you money? He said he gave you money."
"Yes, he has been paying for my gas, my groceries, and the books I needed for my final papers."
"Oh. Well, I'm buying you clothes tomorrow, and I gave you spending money already."
"I know. I used it to pay my bills."
"I just don't know how much more money I can give you."

Two minutes later, she's bitching about how her car is in the shop because she backed into a trash can and scratched the paint. That, there? That's an essential repair.

Then, at dinner, the student loans.
"So, my payment was due on the 5th."
"Oh, how much will it be?"
"I don't know."
"I usually pay eight or nine thousand. How much will it be?"
"I'm not sure. That is the extent of my knowledge."
"Well, you don't have to be snippy!"
"You asked me the same question twice in a row. Is my answer supposed to change?"
"Well. By the way, have you looked into loans yet?"
"No, you told me I'd be paying for summer semester."
"Well, your college fund is almost empty."
"Unfortunately, I have declined student loans this year, by your request."
"I told you this a week ago." (Yes, because that's relevant. )
"I can always take a loan out through my bank."
"Well, a Stafford loan would have less interest."
"Yes, but I declined the Stafford loan, like you told me to."
"Oh, well, you may need to get a loan from somewhere else."
"Oddly enough, that's what I was thinking."

And then finally, when we were discussing birth control. (Quite against my will, mind.)

"I really just want to get an ablation."
"Would they do that for you? I'm surprised they gave you an IUD."
"They didn't have a choice on that one. Anyway, they know I don't want to have kids."
"Oh, wait until you're 35 before deciding anything. You might change your mind!"
"I doubt it. First of all, pregnancy with fibromyalgia is reportedly excruciating. Secondly, being unmedicated, bipolar, AND hormonal for nine months doesn't sound like a picnic. Then, there's the postpartum depression because of my medication. Bipolar people are put on suicide watch after birth. Then, I wouldn't be able to breastfeed. Anyway, I think it's irresponsible to have children knowing what horrible genetic problems I could be giving them. I don't want to knowingly give my offspring bipolar disorder."
"Well, you should talk to a geneticist about that. The chances of me giving Claire my depression disorder were really low."
"Yes, but that's not even in the same league as bipolar I disorder. People with my problem have a tendency to go insane. You know what happened to mom."
"Yes, I do. And you know, from a family perspective, I'm really glad you got treated. You've been really pleasant to be around this time, and I'm sure you think we're a lot more tolerable, too."
"Uh-huh."

I wish the sighs I heaved had mass and heat-seeking capabilities. I would totally punch people with my breath.

It's nice to know that some things in life never change.

So I went to visit Allie yesterday.

Driving down, I was worried things were going to be awkward. I hadn't seen her in six years, had never met her husband, and am generally not a kid person. Some small part of me was also convinced I had changed too much and we no longer had anything in common. I think Allie also had the same worry. (Some of our old friends haven't been the most understanding people on the planet, which I am sure made it worse.)

Luckily, none of that was the case. Her husband, Brandon, greeted me when I showed up, and within five seconds we were having a perfectly normal conversation. I decided instantly that I liked him. He's intelligent, has a great sense of humor, and is also a good conversationalist. He's one of those people who instinctively knows how to keep conversations going. (Sounds easier than it is, let me tell you.) He also seems like an excellent husband, down-to-earth, practical, but not in a killjoy way, and a patient and loving father. Allie, you're a very lucky woman, I hope you know that. Writing this knowing you'll read it is a little strange, but my friends are curious about you and I figure you won't mind a little ego feeding. I was also pleased you said he reminds you of me in some ways, because he's a really great guy and I like being compared to people that don't suck. How odd.

As for Allie, any changes she has gone through have not changed her essentials. She's got the same sense of humor, the same mannerisms, everything. I felt like she and I had been in touch the entire time. We spent hours all three swapping stories that ranged from the hysterical, to the infuriating (family), to the academic. I had an amazing time, and left feeling better than I have in months. Allie has known me almost all my life, and it's nice to be able to talk about the past with someone who knew my mom before things went wrong. In a way, it's also scary that there is someone out there who knows just how much like my mother I am. I'm still not sure how I feel about it, since there are many qualities in her that I would gladly never share, but I'm hoping I got the best and managed to move past the worst. She has promised to start a blog, so hopefully we'll have less trouble keeping in touch this time around. They expressed interest in eventually moving to the PacNW, and I told them I'd be more than happy to help them job and house hunt should they need me. (I have every intention of recruiting everyone I know into this area. I rather like having all my friends in one region I AM LOOKING AT YOU MIKE.)

Then there's Bowen, their little boy. He is absolutely the most adorable child I have ever seen, and not just because his favorite show is Family Guy. He's wicked smart, and is going to have one of the best smiles ever seen by mankind. I was shown baby pictures of Brandon, and he and his son look as much alike as my mother and I did. It's really uncanny. I still have no intention of ever having kids for roughly eight billion reasons, but if I ever do I'd be happy to have one as cute and intelligent as he is. Granted, I know I saw him on a good day and that like any other kid he can be a total hellion, but he already loves reading, and that makes up for any tantrums, in my humble opinion. XD

And that was my day. I left Saint Louis at 1:40 in the afternoon and got back at 2:10 AM. It was a long day, but I got a full night's sleep last night, without any pharmaceutical intervention. I had dreams that Sylar from Heroes had fallen in love with me and we spent hours half-heartedly trying to kill each other with forks because he wanted my brains (I blame your silverware set for this, Allison! D:<) before I wrecked the Monte Carlo downtown at 3AM. We ended up giving up and hobbling home together, limping and bloody. It was adorable. Mick Jagger was also there, surreptitiously asking me out via a waiter at the club we stopped to get a drink in. I also owned a film store for a little while, but nothing cool happened there and I eventually just gave it to the old man whose car I hit with the Monte Carlo. I woke up wondering what effect stashing my SAT scores in my bra would have on my sex appeal, promptly yelled "what the ever-living FUCK" and leaped out of bed angrily. No wonder Sylar tried to kill me. If I'd used my ACT scores instead, he wouldn't have had a chance.

Plans for this year:

1) Find a permanent house in Tacoma.
2) Get off-campus job.
3) Start herb garden again. If in apartment, invest in lots of pots.
4) Perfect my recipe for cucumber and cream cheese sandwiches. Fresh basil is key, hence 3).

I am such a dork.

inspiration here

That felt good.

I just spent the past hour and a half working out. I'm hardly going to be able to MOVE tomorrow, but that won't stop me from doing it again. Best part about it? Not a single stomach twinge.

Emotions? In my body? (It's more likely than you think.)

I am turning into a sappy adult woman, apparently. In the past three days two books and one movie have left me sobbing like a little girl. All of them I had read or seen before, so the material was nothing new. It's not like me! (Granted, I have gotten 10 hours of sleep total in the past 72 hours, which might account for it somewhat, but holy crap.)

It gave me a flashback to the night everyone in Comic House left for Winter Break. I spent the whole day getting my ratties ready to leave, and when Maddo got ready to go, I started crying because I didn't want to leave for a month and go back to this damn city. Trevor looked at me and started laughing. "I'm so used to you being emotionless! This is weird!"

I'm not sure "emotionless" really describes me. Sarcasm is an emotion, right?

ANGRY KITTY MUST BE SATED

(It's a conversation between me and Maddo. Don't ask. Alternate take.)

This is what happens when I get bored.

I've been randomly offered the chance to be a reviewer for an adult product site. If I get the position, they send me whatever I agree to review for free, and I write 300-500 words detailing my opinion of it. Since I've been writing erotica off and on for years, I figure I could sign up to be an erotica expert. I think it would be really fun to have an enormous shelf full of erotica in my room and be able to say offhand "oh, yeah, I get those all for free from the company I work for." I'll be handing out books I don't want like candy. I'll become the Campus Porn Fairy!

In other words, I have no good reason for doing this, which is exactly why I am going to try. Just like my desire to write erotica professionally, I am trying because I can.

Which hasn't been the best reason in the past, but whatever. Clearly I learn selectively.

Bold sentences are true

Father went to college (I have no way of knowing whether or not he did.)
Father finished college (See above.)
Mother went to college
Mother finished college (Well, she got her BA before she died, but she had plans for an MA.)
Have any relative who is an attorney, physician, or professor. (Blood relatives, even, though most of them are still ministers.)
Were the same or higher class than your high school teachers
Had more than 50 books in your childhood home
Had more than 500 books in your childhood home (Hell, I own more than 500 books personally.)
Were read children's books by a parent
Had lessons of any kind before you turned 18
Had more than two kinds of lessons before you turned 18 (Karate, Salsa, which I paid for on my own, Cheerleading courtesy of mom.)
The people in the media who dress and talk like me are portrayed positively (I'm just going with the fact that I am an upper-middle class white girl and ignoring the hair, piercings, and black because it's too nitpicky...)
Had a credit card with your name on it before you turned 18 (but paid the bills myself)
Your parents (or a trust) paid for the majority of your college costs (or will pay)
Your parents (or a trust) paid for all of your college costs (I'm bolding this because I've only got one more semester to go.)
Went to a private high school (but paid $9k a year to go to a different public school)
Went to summer camp
Had a private tutor before you turned 18 (by force.)
Family vacations involved staying at hotels
Your clothing was all bought new before you turned 18 (I visited consignment stores by choice.)
Your parents bought you a car that was not a hand-me-down from them
There was original art in your house when you were a child
Had a phone in your room before you turned 18
You and your family lived in a single family house
Your parent(s) owned their own house or apartment before you left home
You had your own room as a child
Participated in an SAT/ACT prep course (again, by force.)
Had your own TV in your room in High School
Owned a mutual fund or IRA in High School or College
Flew anywhere on a commercial airline before you turned 16
Went on a cruise with your family (No need. We have several yachts, one of which I have my own room on.)
Went on more than one cruise with your family (See above.)
Your parents took you to museums and art galleries as you grew up
You were unaware of how much heating bills were for your family

Frustration.

I have made a terrible mistake, I think. I loaned Fam a series of my favorite children's books when MiniFam was born. I want them back, but they are now nowhere to be found.

So now I get to tear apart the basement and harass my aunt and uncle until their whereabouts are made known.

-.-

I am so weak.

I have an 100-calorie can of soda in my hand. I'm debating drinking it, because I'm sure I would feel less like hell, but I'm also worried I am rationalizing and will never quit drinking it.

But man, I was up until 7AM, I have a headache, I am sick to my stomach, and I am still shaky. Quitting red meat was nothing like this.

::EDIT::

1) Am altering my New Year's Resolution to "Quit Soda Addiction in a relatively painless manner."

Dear Allie:

Call me already.

Love,
the girl who hasn't seen you in six years

Lovely.

Thought quitting soda was a bit too easy. Am trying to do Geology homework, and am shaking uncontrollably. Want bed. D:

Ambien-approved antics

Enjoy while you can, because if I see this in the morning I might just delete it.

Squeaker: gah. drinking from large ramune bottle is too much like giving head.
Squeaker: This really bothers me.
Maddo: LMAO
Maddo: pour it into a glass?
Squeaker: loses the fizz.
Squeaker: I need a shirt. WILL FELLATE FOR FIZZ
Squeaker: oh god tim is asking why I am laughing
Squeaker: and now he wants a sip and there is no way I can watch him drink oh god
Squeaker: *DIES*
Maddo: *simuldeath*
Squeaker: I was clutching it and screaming "NO YOU CAN'T D:"
Maddo: he probably thinks you're insane
Squeaker: HE DOES, HE TOLD ME
Squeaker: but I can't read that convo out loud
Maddo: paste it to him?
Squeaker: Don't want to discuss penis bottles with tim
Squeaker: Peniry. Penic?
Squeaker: All things Penical.
Squeaker: I am in so much pain.
Squeaker: oh god oh god
Maddo: stop laughing!
Squeaker: I CAN'T

I had to go have a lie-down due to stomach pain, so I gave him the ramune and left the room so I didn't have to be there while he drank it.

Went to the Zoo today.

Took over 100 photos with the new camera, and kept twenty. I have uploaded seventeen for your perusal over on Flickr. Click the adorable Burrowing Owl to go see the rest. Comment here, or there. Or both. Both is good.

My favorites are the owl, the python, and the angry tortoise.

I am such a brat.

I have concluded that Resolution Number Six does not apply if uncle is the one supplying the money for the items I don't need. Case in point.

I left my iPod on a chair in the living room of Comic House.

I left my iPod.

Since this moment I have been an empty husk, a shadow of my former self. Food has no flavor, tea no bouquet, the sheets feel like burlap on my skin. All days are cloudy. I had no idea until the moment I got on the shuttle and realised I have left all my music behind just what a shallow and dependent person I am.

But there it is. I am someone who listens to music at all times, and my Sony Stereo System just isn't portable. Also, the left speaker on my laptop just went out, and I am debating whether or not I should get it repaired while I am here. (In light of tonight's events, I have concluded I should wait a week before asking for the funds to do so.)

Tonight, I had an epiphany: I shall ask for an iPod Shuffle! It will hold enough music to tide me over, and I could probably convince Unc to fork over the money. Dollar signs in my eyes, I amble over to unsuspecting Unc, watching TV.

"Hey Uuuuunc?"
"Yeah?"
"I have an idea."
"Yeah?"
"You know how I've been having trouble sleeping?"
"Yeah."
"Well, I think I figured out why. I've fallen asleep listening to an iPod for the past four years, and now I don't have one."
"Yeah..."
"So, can I get an iPod Shuffle? They're like seventy bucks."
"I don't care."

There is a loaded pause. I smile at him in what I hope desperately was a winsome fashion.

"You're asking me for money, aren't you."
"Yep!" :D
"...When do you want it by?"
"I was planning on ordering it online tonight."
"Credit card?"
"Sure!"

[Girlfriend] begins to laugh. Unc looks at her, looks at me, frowns, and says:
"Fine, I'll go get it."

"Thank you!" I follow him, smiling charmingly, as flowers bloom and birds twitter in my wake.

So, I am now waiting for it to be delivered. I am the proud new owner of a (Product)RED iPod Shuffle, with the phrase "I love my rich uncle" lovingly engraved upon the back.

I figured buying one that supports a charity was only fitting, since I am a useless brat.

New Years' Resolutions

1) Drink no soda for 365 days.

2) Lose fifteen pounds. (It's like math. If 1), then 2)...)

3) Actually finish a story I start.

4) Graduate.

5) Claw someone with my nails. No, bad Wren!

::EDIT::
6) Stop buying things I don't need. Am not rich in manner of snobby uncle.

Oh God.

Feel like am dying. No homework today. Can't move, sit upright, write , or type. Perhaps I should just nap in the shower.

I'm my own damn reality show.

Put list of make-up work I have left to do in sidebar to encourage me to work on it. I think it may have been a little counter-productive, because now I am just overwhelmed. Which may also be a good thing, since it will encourage me to work.

Right then. Geology labs it is.

I really liked my hair today.

Merry Christmas

[Girlfriend] gave me a ring.

Dear left foot:

If you are angry at me, there are ways of going about it. Randomly losing an entire toenail and portions of two others is not what I would call either mature or subtle. I know you're pissed that you always feel like your toes are curled. Trust me, I am too.

But it is not my fault.

Also, your ploy didn't work. My foot may look kinda nasty, but I didn't feel a thing.

No love,
Wren's brain, which has quite enough on its mind already, thanks

This is what happens when you go to bed annoyed.

Five hours later, you wake up with amazing body... and the sudden urge to

• Mug
  
• Magic
• Draw
• Item

  ---

Seriously. When I move my head, it bobs around. WEIRDEST FEELING EVER. D:<

What.

I have met a girl that makes MiniFam seem polite. In fact, MiniFam may be becoming more polite because of her.

Both of these girls received easily $1k worth of presents at the ripe age of seven. MiniFam loved them all, but all the other brat did was complain about getting "an ugly iPod."

YOU ARE SEVEN. You are lucky you HAVE an iPod! No. You shouldn't have an iPod, because you are going to lose it or break it in about two seconds. Holy crap.

If I am woken up at 7AM to watch two rabid brats tear through paper ever again I am going to maim someone. This family misses the point of this damn holiday, and are creating two of the most spoiled brats ever to terrorize Saint Louis. At least MiniFam knows she is spoiled. Maybe she'll end up all postmodernist like I did.

I AM GOING TO BED.

Note to Self:

It is not a good idea to wear a shirt that says "You Have Cholera! :D" to the family Christmas Eve dinner.

Okay then.

Er. Last night apparently re-designed story blog site while under the influence of Ambien.

I really need to stop moving when I take that crap.

I want to be Bohemian like you.

Here's my room. First shot is from the basement hallway, through the door. Pictures are huge so you can spy and see details. Yes, I do keep it this clean.

This is my amazing bed. It's a full futon on a queen futon frame, so there is space around the mattress between the frame. I used the bed skirt to fill the gap with shiny crinkly fabric, which looks amazing. Unc once tried to get me a new mattress, and I foamed at the mouth. I love my bed just the way it is, and if you can't figure out exactly why, I am not telling you. XD

The bedspread is handmade, I believe, and cost almost $400. There are currently three tears in it from Spawn and Co. sneaking into my room, which I have every intention of fixing tomorrow while listening to some sort of Medieval music. The pictures above the headboard are the only cool thing Unc has ever gotten me of his own volition. Oh, and those ceiling lights can be dimmed.


On the right side of the room is my bookshelf and the door to the bathroom. The shelf has a few of the several hundred books I have to my name. It also currently has my mother's journal on it. The CD stand to the right with the enormous candle? The pot it's in used to be the home of Cassandra the Orchid. Yay trivia.


I usually leave the door to the bathroom open in my room and keep the one in the hall locked. Makes my room feel less enclosed, and makes listening to music easier when I am in the Epic Shower (tm). A long time ago Rose (Anna) dubbed this the Alice in Wonderland bathroom. I'm short enough to where moving around in it isn't a problem, but I think the ceiling in it is almost a foot shorter than the ceiling in my bedroom.


Here is the door to the Epic Shower. The shower extends on either side of the door to either wall of the bathroom. When the door shuts, it seals off completely, so it can get really steamy in there. The bench you can see on the left has a twin on the right. They are cool, but a little cold (shocking, since it is stone). If I feel like sitting I usually sacrifice a towel. The visible knob is for the left shower head, which feels like a thunderstorm. The one on the right is removable and has like twelve settings. I don't know what Fam was thinking when she built this, but I can guarantee it wasn't about sex. IT'S ALL A COINCIDENCE. V:


Here is the dresser that sits opposite my bed on the same wall as the main door. It makes my clothing smell overwhelmingly of wood, but I am going to attempt to fix that with socks full of baking soda. Fam bought it for me when I whined about not having a closet. I still cannot decide how I feel about its existence, but it matches the room. The topmost decoration is the infamous calligraphy set. Below it is a pot that used to have a plant in it. :( Below that is a dragon candle I've had since eighth grade whose head is slightly melted. Below that? Three-wick candle. Below that is my Crying Buddha statue, below that some Chinese Dragon china, and the bottom is a big vase that I used to put orchids in.

The pillows in the corner are what remains of my enormous collection (thank you Spawn and Co. -.-) that I used to keep around for maximum Sex Rug floppage. The Sex Rug is currently awaiting me to freak out and clean it, and is not yet on display in the room. Despite its name, there are cosmic laws against sex ever actually being had on it. (Ever tried to clean bodily fluids off leather? Sorry, but it has to be said.)

Opposite the bookshelf is my stereo system and the shelf I am using for an impromptu desk, plus Toby the Tuxedo Tiger, but I forgot to get a picture and am now too tired to do so.

Downsides to my room:
1) It is freaking small.
2) The walls are taupe.
3) When did it become Bohemian? I blame the infamous furniture-buying spree.
4) Unlike High School Wren, I am no longer comfortable surrounding myself with letters and words in a language I cannot read.

Upsides to my room:
1) Close proximity to Epic Shower.
2) Family's rooms are two floors above, so can blast music whenever I want.
3) Basement door exits to kitchen, allowing me to have Covert Food Missions if I want to avoid people.
4) Sex Rug.
5) No French doors.

::EDIT:: Went crazy and put Sex Rug back down. Here is shot of rug and one of left side of room to show off my retro stereo system. V:

Made it.

Made rather painful decision upon coming back to Saint Louis and seeing how immaculate my room was. (I have taken to calling my room the Wren Museum. I'll explain later.) Apparently [stripper girlfriend who is as old as I am] busted her ass to get it clean and ready for me. There is not a speck of dust in sight, and all my candleholders have fresh candles.

So, she is now simply [girlfriend]. It is clear she's trying to be nice, and I really can't justify being a bitch for no reason. I may not respect her, but if I were mean to everyone I didn't respect...well. I'd run out of venom.

Unc is being his normal self. He gave me the requisite hug, handed me car keys and $100, and called it a day. As long as he keeps giving me money, this will not be an issue. >> I was also invited to eat dinners with them every night by [girlfriend], which is an enormous step up from last year.

Went through my room today while unpacking in the hopes that a clean and moved-in room will cause me to do homework more efficiently. While sorting through all the old body wash in my bathroom, I stumbled across a large box with a clasp. Opened clasp, discovered High School Me's Nailpolish Stash(tm). After much squeeing and accidental brain cell murder, I had them all reconstituted, and now have a veritable rainbow of colors to choose from for my nails. They are all lined up in a row by shade behind my sink now. Just seeing them makes me ache for nailpolish remover.

I think I'll take pictures of my living quarters and post them later, since none of you have ever seen my bedroom here.

Oh, Ambien.

Last night I apparently decided it was a good idea to nailpolish a huge orange flower onto one of my suitcases.

I'll certainly be able to find it at baggage claim, anyway.

There is a special place in Hell being crafted for me as we speak

I hit on my hot professor today. In front of the entire class. D:

We had our final at noon. Otto and I went to the room at about 11:35 to get settled in. Oddly enough, we were the first ones there. I desperately wanted to get on my laptop and surf the web for a little while to let my brain unwind before the exam, but the only electrical outlet is at the front of the room, behind the professor's desk. Like that is going to stop me!

"He is going to be so flustered when he walks in and finds you in his chair, Wren," notes Otto, which is probably what I can safely blame the rest of this fiasco on. I set my laptop on the desk, place my cappuccino beside it, then get out a bunch of papers and spread them across all the rest of the empty space. As a final touch, I open up iTunes and start blasting some music.

"You're my obsession," says Animotion.
"You're insane," says a scruffy classmate as he walks in.
Students are walking by in the hall, slowing down, and going o.o .

Other classmates start filing in and giggling. I wave and smile jauntily. Some of them begin wondering if the professor would let us listen to music during the final. Others suggest other bad 80s songs to play. My favorites begin dancing in their chairs.

It is now 11:58, and Corey Hart is elucidating why he wears his sunglasses at night. The professor walks in at his normal brisk pace, sees me, and stops cold.

"Hi!" I smile.
"Hello, Wren..." He approaches the desk tremulously.
"Trade ya." The words slipped out of my mouth before I knew what was happening.
He blinks. "You want me to sit at your desk?"
"Yeah, actually. I really have no intention of moving."
He glances at the desk, then back at me. Several people in the class begin giggling hysterically.
"But I want to grade papers. I'm not sure I'd have enough room at your desk."
"Welcome to our world." The class begins to giggle harder. The professor is grinning bemusedly.
"Wren."
"Okay, fine. Can we at least keep the music on?"
"No. That wouldn't be fair to everyone else."
"Actually, it was their idea." One of the guys in the back of the room is now crying.
"Okay. It wouldn't be fair to me. I think I wouldn't be able to grade papers."
"I think the beat might help you get a good rhythm going."
He gives me a look.
"Okayyy, fine." I kill the music and slump off to my chair, pouting. (Oh God I pouted at my professor!)

He rallies valiantly and attempts to get a semblance of control over the class. He explains the basics of the final and then asks if anyone has a question. I raise my hand.

"Yes, Wren?"
"Can I steal you for a few seconds before the final?"
"Can you what?" The giggling resumes.
"Steal you."
"You want to talk to me."
"Yes."
"In the hall?"
"That would be preferable, yes."
"Okay, let me hand some stuff out."

He does so. Several of my classmates are too busy staring at me to hand out papers effectively. He finishes up, and looks at me.
"So we're talking now."
"Yes."
"Okay. I am walking towards the door." He begins to do so. Tears resume from the boy in the back row.
"Excellent." I get up and get to the door. Professor does an about-face.
"Wait, let me hand something else out first."

I hover in the doorway with my back against the doorframe and wait for him to finish. When he turns back toward me, I roll around the doorframe and into the hall.

I roll around the doorframe and into the hall.

He joins me, and we discuss whether or not I should take the final. We conclude no, pick a date to do so, and finish up the paperwork. I ask him for his signature and suggest we go back into the class where he can sign it at his precious desk.

"No, I'll just do it out here." Instead of using a wall, he kneels down on the floor.

So there I am, staring at my professor, who is down on one knee in front of me with paperwork in hand. A student walks down the hall, sees this, and gazes at me with great interest. I resist the urge to remove his spine.

Paperwork now signed, I give the professor his copy. We wish each other a good break and he flees for the classroom. "Thanks for the card," I hear him mumble. (I had sent all my professors thank-you notes for being so reasonable with my incompletes.)

I slink in a few seconds later, gather my stuff, and head for the hall. As soon as I leave the building, I call Maddo and explain that she is under no circumstances allowed to let me outdoors for the remainder of the day.

Otto called me later and told me I couldn't possibly have disrupted the class any more. For once, I am inclined to agree.

Haaaate.

Saturday is going to be a disaster.

Unc's stupid twat of a receptionist booked the wrong flight for me home, so I will now be flying from Seattle to fucking Dallas/Fort Worth before heading in to Saint Louis. To make matters worse, I have just been informed that neither of them will be picking me up at the airport.

MiniFam will "be asleep," and Unc will be "out with [stripper who is as old as I am.]"

Nice to see you guys, too.

I am typing with my face.

I have a final at noon today, and another one at noon tomorrow. I woke up at 8AM to study for this one in the confines of our lovely cafe (♫ which has a heated floor ♪ ...), and have since made a terrible discovery.

My brain seems to be full.

How am I supposed to be able to do well on this final and take one more if my BRAIN is full? It's not like a hard disc. There are no tools for me to run that compress old files and delete all the temp files. In any case, I have a feeling deleting all the temporary files would be counterproductive, since I highly doubt any of this material has made it through the cobweb-ridden detrital labyrinth that is my memory to find a free niche to set up shop.

Right now all I want to do is get on the plane, collapse akimbo all over a seat, and watch my newly remastered copy of The Last Unicorn.

I guess this is kind of like a metaphysical hammock

So they think they know what is wrong with me.

The current theory is that this is another fibro flare-up, similar to my hands, and the resulting pain has caused me to tear a muscle in my stomach. So, we get rid of the pain, and the muscle gets to heal. They're planning on sending me to a pain clinic to receive trigger point therapy, and hopefully everything else will right itself.

::EDIT::
Fam: "How did you tear a muscle in your stomach?"
My Inner Brat: "Sex."
My Wiser Self: "I have no idea."

No, really, I have no idea. It certainly wasn't sex. =(

The ratties had a Secret Santa!

Head over to LJ for the thank-you post. You might also want to check out the actual flickr page, because there are more photos than I actually posted in the community.

No, I am NOT too lazy to link here, but I AM in the middle of finals. XP*

Dear God:

If you really loved me, I would be in a hammock right now.



...



*sob*

maps and such as

Attempting to blog this before the Ambien sets in full.

Wren: I'm going to take a shower. After taking Ambien.
Sarah: ...are you going to be alright?
Wren: Yeah, should be fine. I'll hallucinate, but I won't pass out in the shower or anything.
Sarah: ...give me a time frame.
Wren: 30 minutes?
Sarah: Okay, if you're not out in 30 minutes I am sending in a squat team.
Wren: ....a what now?
Sarah: SWAT! SWAT! SWAT TEAM!

Let me tell you, internets.

awww.

Gratuitous Oblivion Post

Caleigh*, Bosmer, Knight of the White Stallion, Knight of the Thorn, Knight-Sister of The Blades, Sister of the Order of the Virtuous Blood, Grey Fox, Arch-Mage, Grand Champion of The Imperial City Arena, Champion of Cyrodiil, Resident of Rosethorn Hall, follower of the Court of Madness, and Wearer of Fancy Black Dresses.

*(Yes, that is her personal unicorn. Her name is Celeste, and no, you may not have one.)

Dear University:

Please stop making it so clear you would rather I just dropped out.

Thanks.

Quotes!

1)
Squeaker: I hate the world today
Maddo: I know. You need something happy. Do something amazing in your one-hour breaks
Squeaker: Sorry, I don't believe sex should only last one hour
Maddo: hehehe! at least you still have your wit
Squeaker: Yah, I think you guys will never be free of that. I will be the most sarcastic Alzheimer's patient ever seen.
Maddo: awesome

2)
Squeaker: HAAHAHAHAHA: "Anyone know how/when the golf cart was side swiped. There are several deep scratches on the driver’s side to the rear of the seat."
Squeaker: Oh, Big Boss.
Maddo: tell him godzilla attacked it
Squeaker: I'd love to.
Maddo: that would be amazing
Squeaker: He'd kill me with EYEBEAMS
Squeaker: He's really Mothra
Maddo: lmao
Maddo: blog!

3)
Squeaker: You know, I should have been a poet. Everyone with a sickly constitution was a successful poet.
Maddo: just don't end up with your head in an oven dear
Squeaker: If I were a successful poet, it would be too swelled to fit.
Maddo: you should be like... a movie critic
Maddo: everyone would love your criticisms
Squeaker: "This movie would only be improved by the addition of a pack of rabid dogs which had the ability to go back in time and eat all the actors."
Maddo: exactly!
Squeaker: Hmmmm.
Squeaker: But I hate movies.
Maddo: you do not hate movies
Maddo: you just hate bad movies
Maddo: but being able to destroy them with your witty criticisms would make it all better
Maddo: you could be like Ego, from Ratatouille
Squeaker: hmmmm. How does one GET that job? I highly doubt it pays the bills either
Maddo: it does it you're roger ebert

"What have you dooone?"

Have discovered downside to Unbreakable Fingernails. Kevlar does not coat entire hand. Soft tissues now in significant danger of having nails ripped off them.

I am a genius.

Alternately, I have gone insane.

For the past few days I have been having a problem. My nails are getting rather long, and it has been making doing simple things difficult. For example, typing. Typing hurts after a while. Also, earlier today I was unable to open a Ziplock bag. Twice. Usually I don't have this problem with long nails, because my nails are stronger than most people's. They don't break, really. Instead, they shatter, and nail shrapnel goes flying and embeds itself within soft tissues in a five foot radius. When I used to swordfight in high school, the wrong blow ensured everyone involved would be left a bloody pincushion. The last time one broke, during field work on this semester's research trip, I believe it killed a clam.

Needless to say, I am not used to having problems with my nails. Then again, it has been a very long time since my nails were quite this long.

So how did I deal with this issue? Did I, perhaps, trim my nails? Oh no. Did I purchase a minion to follow me around and do all my opening and writing for me? Oh no (but not for lack of trying!)

Did I coat them in fucking Kevlar and rhinestones and go on about my business?

Bingo.

I have been given a prescription for Ambien.

THIS IS ME TONIGHT.

More LOLrats for your delectation and delight

Yogie shark, originally uploaded by no_understandy.

Lilith really needs to learn how to share. Poor, unsuspecting S.T.

This post is really so I can test out Flickr's photoblogging system.

I really wish I were asleep.

Obit.

Neo was laid to rest today in the campus Arboretum, under a Western Red Cedar. He was buried with his favorite wood shelf, chew chain, and hammock. His headstone is a granite boulder large enough to cover the entire grave and prevent tampering. In attendance were the entirety of Comic House, the friend who brought him to us, and his original owner from the psych lab. The entire ceremony, from digging to me crying, went off without issue or busybody interference.

We'll miss you, little guy.

GRE results.

Taken cold, with no studying beyond familiarizing myself with question types:
Math: 510/800
Verbal: 640/800
Writing: TBD

Both are passing scores and high enough on the bell curve to satisfy me. I'm not proud, but I'm not going to drop another $200 to try again, either.

More doctorly antics

So, I had yet another test today. Go to the hospital, check in, get robed, get on the X-ray table. I'm supposed to drink some liquid contrast and let them take periodic X-rays of me until it has traveled all through my digestive system. Alright, peachy.

Nurse hands me the first cup of contrast. It looks exactly like semi-gloss eggshell wall paint. "Am I going to have brain cells left over after this?" I enquire.
"In theory, yes. Also, the faster you drink that, the sooner you get out of here."

Right then. As she turns her back, I turn the cup bottoms up and just down it all in one go. Three seconds later, there are 16oz of white paint sitting heavily in my tummy, which is preparing to write another round of angry e-mails insisting it was not informed the contractors would be redecorating as well as examining the structural soundness, and I have a coating of white goo on my tongue and lips.

"May I have a napkin?"
"Sure, hon!" The nurse heads over, hands me a towel, and grabs hold of the cup. There is a pause as she realises it is empty.

"Holy shit." There is a pregnant pause. She stares at me, all agog, and I smile back demurely.

"I have never seen anyone drink this that fast." She continues to stare at me like I am a mutant, and Maddo wisely keeps mum about the whole no gag-reflex thing. "I haven't even made the next dose!"

"Well, you did say this would go by faster."

"....right."

XD

Peachy.

I was informed today that both Fam and Unc will be out of town on Christmas Eve and Day, meaning I will be spending the holiday at home alone.

Rest in Peace, Neo.

August 19, 2007- December 4, 2007.

*flounce, giggle*

My hot professor misses me. He totally said so.

Right, back to a world of sanity.

Sometimes the blank blog post text box can be really daunting.

So, the results of the latest tests are in. Apparently my intestines look 100% normal.

Which means we've run out of tests to do, and they still have no idea what's wrong. Unless one of my biopsies (which felt LOVELY, let me tell you) comes back with some sort of result, we're back on square one.

I have no idea what to do about my classes.

12:17 P.M.

And done.

I am never drinking four liters of fluid in a single day again.

Newsflash.

I have found the one thing on this planet that makes me gag when it touches my tongue.

And I have 1.7 liters of it left to choke down.

1.5 liters down (of four total)

Letters, part two.

(A continuation of this post.)

---

FROM: "._." <"stomach@wrensbody.com">
TO: "-.-"<"brain@wrensbody.com">
SUBJECT: What.

Brain:
I swear, if I make it out of this alive, I am climbing up our esophagus and ripping you out of that skull of yours.

---

FROM: "i want to die" <"brain@wrensbody.com">
TO: "stfu"<"stomach@wrensbody.com">
SUBJECT: RE: Just stop.

Stomach:
Quit your pansy-ass whining, or I'll drink this shit faster. I'm the one who's suffering here, NOT YOU. You can't SEE the way this stuff won't dissolve Crystal Light. You don't SEE how much of it we still have left to drink.

And Holy Shit. You can't TASTE it. You can't even FATHOM how sickeningly reminiscent this stuff is of wet baby powder, currently flavored with lemons in. You also can't FEEL the way it coats our mouth grittily and then just kind of sliiiiiides down our throat.

All you have to do is channel it on into our intestines. So please. Leave me to wallow in my misery. Or I may snap and kill us both so I don't have to order our hands to pick up the glass and our throat to swallow anymore.

I will be signing out of my e-mail account until further notice. Please do not try to contact me, as I have every intention of being comatose on the floor under a blanket.

The Brain.

---

...four glasses down. That's 24 oz. I think I am going to vomit.

WHAT.

My new phone tells me whenever I have e-mail. This means that, no matter where I go, I am now one with my inbox. It's at once comforting, daunting, and embarrassing that it is so clear I am a child of the information age. I mean really--does it have to be that obvious?

In other news, my stomach has been speaking to me for the first time in a month. Our exchange has been going something like this:

---

FROM: "Im in ur body, digestin ur foodz" <"stomach@wrensbody.com">
TO: "Vicodin has put me out of a job!"<"brain@wrensbody.com">
SUBJECT: HEY!

Dear Brain:
I've noticed a sudden lapse in food being sent down my way. What gives? Did someone beat you with a copy of Skinny Bitch or something? I'm all for self-improvement, but what you're doing here is war.

Please remedy this situation as soon as possible, or I will be contacting the proper authorities.

Regards,
Stomach.

---

FROM: "The Seat of Power" <"brain@wrensbody.com">
TO: "One of the Proles"<"stomach@wrensbody.com">
SUBJECT: RE: beg pardon?

Dear Stomach:
I must admit to being rather surprised at hearing from you at all. As far as I or the people at payroll are concerned, you have been AWOL for nearly a month now. I've been having to decide whether or not to feed this body arbitrarily, with absolutely no cues from you! What a disaster. And now you simply show back up and expect me to cave to your petty demands just because I am under orders to feed you nothing but broth and Jell-O until our friends the intestines finish being violated by a long, narrow camera with a hooky bit at the end?

Unacceptable. Do me a favor-for once- and go back to doing what you spent the past month on. Nothing! How hard can that be?

Sincerely,
The Brain.

---

FROM: "I knew I should have unionized" <"stomach@wrensbody.com">
TO: "derr-de-derr-derr-dur" <"brain@wrensbody.com">
SUBJECT: Re: It's on, bitch

Brain:
Look. You and I both know this broth sucks. Know why? Because it's chicken, and fat, and seasonings, MINUS THE CHICKEN AND THE FAT, AND THE SEASONINGS. You even gave me the low sodium kind! Which means that it smells like chicken, delectable, filling, nummy chicken, but there's not actually anything there to digest! You are basically filling me with chicken-flavored water and you expect me to be happy about this! What is it you DO up there in that skull all day? Huff glue?

Ooooh. You know what, though? It smells yummy. Reminds me of stuffing. A huge bowl of fluffy, moist stuffing just waiting to be fluffed with a fork and rammed into our body's slavering jaws. C'mon. Be a pal and eat that instead.

Ta!
Stomach

---

FROM: "Mother knows best" <"brain@wrensbody.com">
TO: "Who gave this prat access to the internet?"<"stomach@wrensbody.com">
SUBJECT: RE: I fucking hate you.

Stomach:
Look, you're just hurting us both here. I love stuffing just as much as you do, possibly more, since I am capable of enjoying the aesthetics of a dish far more than the organ that receives its masticated remains.

Unfortunately, the intestines have been feeling under the weather, and that means everyone is going to have to deal with some discomfort. Remember getting that camera rammed into you last week? Well, now it's their turn. Yes, I am aware that this is unfair to you, especially since I get to be asleep for the whole thing again However, I think you would be making us all a lot less miserable IF YOU WOULD STOP FUCKING TALKING TO ME ABOUT FOOD I SWEAR I WILL STAB YOU IN THE E-

Ahem.

Eat your Goddamn Jell-O. I made the extra-jiggy kind just for you, since it is better at masquerading as a solid food.

Adieu!
The Brain

---

FROM: "Fuck Jell-O" <"stomach@wrensbody.com">
TO: "Evil Overlord" <"brain@wrensbody.com">
SUBJECT: Re: Who fooled you into thinking Jell-O was food?!

Brain:
Love,
Stomach

---

FROM: "Sweet revenge" <"brain@wrensbody.com">
TO: "You have no idea what is in store for you"<"stomach@wrensbody.com">
SUBJECT: RE: How convenient!

Stomach:

It is now 6:30 AM. It is time for me to drink 8OZ of electrolyte fluid every ten minutes until I have choked down a gallon of it. Sources say it will take five hours. Want to feel full, bitch?

WELL GOOD, BECAUSE NOW'S THE TIME.

Fuck off,
The Brain.

---

FROM: "Backpedalling Frantically" <"stomach@wrensbody.com">
TO: "Drives a Hard Bargain" <"brain@wrensbody.com">
SUBJECT: Re: wait, what.

Dear Brain:

Let's not be too hasty. Perhaps we can talk about this!

Sincerely, oh God, so very sincerely,
The Stomach.

---

Yeah. About that gallon of fluid...

ACHTUNG!

I have a new cell phone number. If you are interested in receiving it, comment here and I shall dish it out.

*squee*

Also, after you get the number...CALL my phone so I can get yours back. My contacts list won't import. D: