Shameless Self Promotion

And on my own personal blog, no less. Go figure.

As my book (I feel weird calling it that) has gotten longer, and people have given me more and more amazing feedback, I've been giving more and more thought to protecting my story.

Maddo being totally paranoid helps.

Today I had one of my epiphanies and made a private, invitation-only blog to host the chapters at. This way they can stay together in an easily-viewable format, and if it gets stolen I have a short list of people to torment and murder by fire.

Also, now I can put the glossary up without making everything all confusing!




In short, now is your chance to get on the list if you ever have any interest in reading. Those of you who I know read it have been sent an e-mail, but if you've not gotten one, leave your e-mail here or IM it to me and I will give you sign-in directions. Hell, I'd sign up just to see how damn awesome the layout is. That's the best layout I've done in six years of blogging.

Testimonials from those who read it and like it are also welcome so people know I'm not completely off my rocker. Just sayin.

Ugh.

One week later, and I feel almost normal, but I am not sure a single round of antibiotics is going to fix this.

Just proof I am not dead.

Yergh.

ER Saturday. Severe kidney infection, not allowed to move for next two days. Have done nothing but sleep. Am bored of sleeping.

A: Filter

I have this problem where I open my mouth and words come out. Is there anything that can fix that?

Decontextualized Words of Wisdom

"The caged squirrel cannot stash his nuts."
"Like he'd want to stash his nuts with you."
"Well, of course not! Do I LOOK like a knothole?"
"Do you really want me to answer that?"
"The answer is no. Obviously."

It's like...

Bahahahha.

Wednesday I was handed a stack of A papers with glowing comments written all over: "Terrific! Thoughtful! Honest! Clever!"

I huffed them. :D

In retrospect this is obvious.

Note to self: There is nothing wrong with buying lube, or deciding to hide how faded the couch cushions are. But when you buy lube with a slipcover, be prepared for odd looks.

Fine, Maddo. Here I go.

*sporfle*

Grave shifts are all about the productivity.

<--And I am a fucking GENIUS.

In which my new car tells Tim and his poorly-timed elitist comments to suck a fuck

I have a new car. Finally, after six weeks of wheel-lessness, I have a new car. It is a fully-loaded 2008 Toyota Yaris. Behold:

This car has fewer than seventy miles on it, a better sound system than I was expecting, and a ridiculous amount of room for a compact car. It gets 29-35MPG, which is comparable to my Saturn SL2. And I made them drive it to me same-day from three cities over.

My initial impressions:
1) Pretty.
2) OMG what if I get hit!
3) Ooo, what does this button do?
4) ...Brr.

Igny was a whiner. She'd do what I wanted her to if I coddled her and pushed her just the right way, but she made it clear she didn't like it. Compared to her, this new car (which is male), is positively feral. I push a pedal, and it actually responds. It likes to drive.

I'm bouncing a few names around for him, and I think I have a good idea, but I want to make sure before I make anything final.

Why do I do this to myself?

Want: Prius, at just under 25k. Blue. Hatchback.
Have: 5k for downpayment, job. Loan money.

---

Budget
Rent: 367.50 (Will be covered by Student Loan money
for next 12 months, along with credit card bills.)
Phone: 96.00
(70.00 supplied by Fam. So, if lose internet, $45.00. Phone is now free.)
Internet: 50.00
Utilities: ~40.00
Rats: ~30.00
TOTAL: ~120

Income
Work: ~800/mo (after taxes, not including money from Concert
Hall)
Unc: 300/mo for car payment.

This means I have about $680/mo unaccounted for, with plenty of wiggle room from second job. Factoring in food, that means I can still afford car insurance payments on my own. Am guaranteed to have job after grad school, so security isn't an issue.

Which means if I wanted, I could afford a Prius.

Fucking fuck.

::edit::
Of course, this is all hypothetical.

oooh!

Mt. Rainier volunteer seed collectors needed

Volunteers will be needed in August and September to help collect plant seeds at Mt. Rainier National Park. Due to the heavy snowpack, the flowering season is delayed, shortened and for some species maybe even nonexistent this year. The work will need to be done quickly to collect as many seeds as possible before the snow starts falling again, to help with resotration work in flood-damaged areas of the park. If you are interested in participating, contact Anine Smith at anine_smith@nps.gov.

---

That sounds like a ton of fun! :D (Maybe if I get my new car tomorrow I can...)

I am a scientist.

Math is good for you.

Let me tell you about the Fucked-to-Fine Quotient. FFQ is a complex representation of a number of factors that can help a person determine just how much he or she has to worry about an Other having designs* on them.

Social Situations
Q(Social)=Fucked/Fine

Fucked= number of times Other makes physical contact (knuckle taps count) + number of interested glances from Other + number of times conversation with Other makes other people awkward+ number of compliments + number of alcoholic drinks you've both had + how many times someone else asks "so, what do you think of Other?"

Fine= number of times Other makes physical contact with someone not you + number of glances that scan entire party + number of times Other makes conversation awkward on his/her own + number of compliments given to rest of party + number of people not you or Other at gathering

For example, my current FFQ(social) is:
(8 + 7 + 3 + 1 + 4 +2)/(1 + 3 + 0 + 0 + 5)
Q= 2.5

The greater the number from 1, the more fucked you are.

---

One-on-One
This one takes a bit more thought, and since it has fewer variables, is generally considered less accurate.

Q(solitary)= Fucked/Fine

Fucked= number of times Other brushes against you while sitting/walking and does NOT pull away (knuckle taps STILL count) + number of times Other compliments you + number of times Other remembers seemingly minute details of previous encounter + number of times Other suggests hanging out again

Fine=Number of times Other brushes against you while sitting/walking and DOES shift away + number of times Other mentions attractiveness of someone else + number of times Other suggests hanging out with general group of friends + number of hours willingly spent in one another's company

The greater the number from 1, the more fucked you are. (DRAFT 2: Allan pointed out that previously it would be possible to divide by zero.)

---

The handy new section of the sidebar will keep you updated on my current FFQ as the semester progresses.

*Designs: Any attraction that will lead to some sort of attachment (crush, desire for a date, drunken pawings). Generally unwanted, hence presence of attraction being labeled "fucked," but rarely it can be considered a good thing. Whether or not you consider yourself fucked is entirely interpretation.

::EDIT::
If he offers to buy you lunch/dinner, add five points to the FFQ.
If you go out to lunch/dinner and he ninjas the check, add ten.

It was like being head-butted by a baby Yeti.

Tom, Peter, and I are driving back in Peter's truck from dinner at The Ram. Tom is bitch. Peter turns a corner, and then keeps going on down a straight road. During turn, Tom smooshes into me and then stays there with his hair tickling my neck and the side of his face against my chest. I tolerate this for a moment, then:

Me: "Tom, hon, you're squishing me."
Tom: *jerks back into upright position* "Sorry! Centrifugal force."
Peter: "We need to call Stephen Hawking, Tom, because you clearly have your own source of gravity. This is a straight road."
Me: "Opportunistic gravity?"
Tom: -_-
Peter: XD
*Peter makes another turn, and Tom rams into me again vindictively.
Me: "...please don't squish my sandwich."
Tom: XD
Peter: "That's two excellent turns of phrase in under a minute!"

In which Wren gets in gear.

Scattergories!

Copy the text below, erase my answers, then use the 1st letter of your name to answer each of the following. They have to be real places, names, things.. nothing made up! Try to use different answers if the person in front of you had the same 1st initial.. You CAN'T use your name for the boy/girl name question.

WHAT IS YOUR NAME? Wren
4 LETTER WORD: Wren
BOY NAME: Walter
GIRL NAME: Wilhelmina
OCCUPATION: Wrangler
A COLOUR: White
SOMETHING YOU WEAR: Wool
BEVERAGE: Wine
FOOD: Wren
SOMETHING FOUND IN A BATHROOM: Whitening toothpaste
PLACE: Wyoming
REASON FOR BEING LATE: Wild dog attack.
SOMETHING YOU SHOUT: WRYYYYYYYYY. D:

It was amazing.

The Dark Knight

If you do not want to have sex with the Joker after seeing this movie, you are far more sane than I am.

That is all.

Happy Half-Naked Thursday!

In which Wren wonders why everyone's so serious about this week's post being rather late.
The original photo can be found http://lh3.ggpht.com/wrendw/SIGXyO1Bw4I/AAAAAAAAAHk/z-Tl1_f1QAo/serious%202.jpg
hAhaHAHaHAhAHAhAHaHA!

Sleep deprivation is lovely.

So I went into Blockbuster to pick up a couple of movies. (I recently decided to give Sunshine another go now that I am mentally prepared for the suicide scene.) I search the New Release wall, Action, Drama, and Horror sections, but cannot find it. Fine. Time to plead.

Dude: "Ready to check out?"
Me: "No, actually, I was trying to find Sunshine, but didn't see it on the wall."
Dude: "Hmmm."
Computer: We have it in!
Dude: "Well, it's definitely on the wall."
Me: "I'll look again. It's very likely I am blind--I've been up for like 28 hours."
Dude: "Sleep blindness is a valid excuse! I'll come help!" :)

Movie found, we amble to the front and begin the check-out process. Daryl walks over, grinning like an idiot.

Daryl: "Wren, guess what I just saw for rent! 2015: Doomsday, the movie.
Dude: "Do you know what it's about?"
Daryl: "Yeah, that's when the Mayan calendar ends."
Dude: *lots of in-depth calendar info here*
Daryl: "But the funny thing is...the calendar is cyclical, so really it probably just starts over again."
Me: "Yeah, but the sensationalist aspect is so much better. After all, I can't justify skipping classes on Friday to go see The Dark Knight if a huge asteriod isn't going to destroy the world in seven years!"
Dudette: *hysterical laughter*
Dude: "That is an excellent rationalization."
Me: "Anyway, if my professor gives me crap I'll just ask him 'why so serious?'"
Dude: ...
Dude: "Nerd!" :D
Me: "Oh, indeed."

Sheesh.

Just spent an hour in the office trying to deal with a networking issue that would have taken five minutes to solve if someone had told me we magically decided to rout all the computers. Got into fight with boss, who insisted the campus server was down and we needed to follow on-call procedures and wake up a bunch of cranky old men. In the meantime, all "of my pretty, essential programs are crashing left and right like Caesar at the hands of the Senate (Et tu, internets?).

What did we actually have to do? Unplug the fucking router for ten seconds. Before today, that was the "yay, students have wireless internet now!" router. Now, it seems to be the "since the office is being torn apart and we all now live in a bunker, it is high time we streamlined the network! :D" router. I follow some cords, discover this fact, and roll my eyes.

"Dude, I fixed it."
"What?"
"The internet. I reset the router."
"How?"
"...I...unplugged it?"
"What, and everything magically works now?"
"Yes, actually."
"Oh."

I COULD HAVE FINISHED MY DRAFT! D=<

(Now I am just left wondering what the office would do without me.)

Dear Mouth:

Since I've spent a good portion of the morning puking into the toilet, I can't help but noticing how much saliva you produce before the actual vomiting takes place. Why is that? Is it to protect my teeth from all the stomach acid about to be ejected from my poor, sore little body?

If so, it's like lube for mouthrape, and I hate my brain for letting myself think this as I stare at Round Two Pancakes.

No love,
The Theravadan Buddhist perception of the body is sometimes scarily accurate.

Happy Half-Naked Thursday!

In which Wren runs out of time and is forced to kick it old-school.

I will cherish this memory until the day I die.

Dispatcher and I made two cheerleaders run at breakneck speed across campus last night. They got sick of waiting to be let into their room and left to "come get the key themselves." We arrived after they were gone, radioed into base, and said "they're not here, we're leaving."

"They're here. I'm sending them to you."
"No, they can call when they get here again."
"They're running."
"...This I have to see."

Sure enough, seconds later they arrived, so out of breath they were blissfully silent until I let them into their rooms.

This shift is boring.

I am contemplating making a Twitter for Reid.

I've been wired all week!

Daryl and I go out to lunch everyday between my class and his. We were waiting to pull back into the Student Center parking lot from off-campus. A girl in a pink shirt was waiting to cross the street. Traffic was oncoming.

Daryl: "I can has turn?"(YES I AM A BAD INFLUENCE)
*oncoming car stops for pedestrian. She gives a look of O__o and then hops across the street. Vigorously.*
Wren: "Don't worry, honey. We only stopped so we could watch your chest bounce as you walked."
Daryl: "..."
Daryl: "You. Are Such. A. BAD PERSON!"
Wren: "What? It's true!"
Daryl: "The thought didn't cross my mind!"
Wren: "You're not straight."
Daryl: "Neither are you!"
Wren: "Nope, I'm just easily distracted by anything pretty that moves."

Later, we are eating lunch in his truck when we see one of our coworkers, Awkward Turtle, walking across campus.

Daryl: "Oh God, there she is!"
Wren: "Do I bounce like that when I walk?"
Daryl: "No."
Wren: "You'd tell me, right?"
Daryl: "Yes."
Wren: "Because she looks like an orangutan."

*minutes pass*

Wren: "There she is again!"
Daryl: "Where?"
Wren: "How can you miss her? She's the four-wheeling pogo stick at four-o-clock!"
Daryl: *aghast* "You are SO going to--to come back as something inhuman!"
Wren: "No, because I am being observant of my surroundings! This is the first step!"
Daryl: "Wren!"
Wren: "What? Nothing I am saying is inaccurate!"
Daryl: "I know, but it is very wrong!"

Sometimes even I am wrong.

Night vision is useless if you don't look down.

Work sucks right now because we only have one flashlight, and it is never charged. It's not usually a problem on day shift...unless it is time to lock a dark building.

Building: *IZ TOTES DARK YO*
Daryl: "...shit!"
Wren: "We'll be fine!"

*Wren begins humming the Superman theme.*

Wren: "♫Da da da daaa, da da daaaa! I've got night vision♪, daa da daa daa--AAAUGH!"
Desk: *O HAI*
Right Knee: *OMG LEARN TO DRIVE U NUB!*
Daryl: *dies of laughter*

I just can't get over this.

Found an incomplete story I started in 7th grade, and I cannot stop laughing. The sarcasm. The angst. The characterizations of my family. The formatting.

You guys have to see this for yourselves.

This is your brain on rage.

How to annoy Wren in a few easy steps!

1) Invite her to hang out.
2) Tell her to take the bus when she says she has no way to get there.
3) Decide you don't believe her when she says how long the route will take. Look up your own route and tell it to her in a manner that insinuates you think she was lying.
4) When she points out that she wouldn't be able to get home due to holiday schedule, or would only be able to stay for an hour, snark.
5) Magically conclude she is right after all, then decide to leave her to her own devices without any further attempts to solve the problem.
6) Cover your ass by saying you're "in a weird mood" and then going afk.

Stop. Fucking. Punishing me for not having a car. I am not a charity case! I was in a perfectly good mood before this happened, and now I am not because all I can think about is how fucking upsetting it is to be stranded in U-Place with no way to do anything because nothing is within walking distance and biking on Orchard is certain death. And of course I have no way of knowing when I will finally have wheels again because the insurance companies are dragging their feet and I can't get new insurance or a new car until I know what they have decided. And this would be totally fine if people would stop pointing out how much this fucking limbo I am stuck in sucks.

Now if you'll excuse me, I am going to go clean something. Happy fucking Fourth of July.

Happy Half-Naked Thursday

Wren discovers trying to match her blanket often ends in pain.

It is the end of an era.

Bright light. (o_o)


Smile. (\m/)

Eyes. (-_\\)

I will be growing it back out from this cut.

Hmmm.

So, if anyone else uses Pandora, let me know so I can friend you and stalk you. Musically.

(Anyone else have a problem where it takes forever to get a station right? I just now got one almost perfect and I am afraid to thumbs up or down anything else ever again in case I ruin it.)

Summer's here.

Jadis and Lilith would like you to know they missed you.


Lily oms a pea.

The one on the left is the youngest by several months. Geez, Basil! D:


GASP! (Melvin)


More of my frumpy baby. OMG HE MAKES ME SO HAPPY.

Machine Ballerina

Suzanne Vega always needs more love.

Am I an afternoon's pastime?
A thing on a string
To be thrown and retrieved
Like a phone call received
On somebody's birthday
To tease and delight
And then say goodnight
And then just say goodbye?

Am I a toy on a tray ?
A soft piece of clay
Queen or clown for the day
Machine ballerina
Soldier of tin
Standing so loyal
While you sit so royal
Then I'm put away?

For your approval,
Perusal,
And your possible
Refusal,
I'm amusing,
I'm a puppet for your play.

Am I your Mad Magazine?
Skin trampoline
Pin-up pinball machine
Your fantasy girl
Of puzzling parts
But none fits or starts
We match wits but not hearts
I'm heard but never seen?

For your approval,
Perusal,
And your possible
Refusal,
I'm amusing,
I'm a puppet for your play

Happy Half-Naked Thursday!

Wren discovers she is actually three types of bird.

I feel as thought I should share my handiwork...

Here are two new icons I made recently from a VGCats comic. It took a lot more work than it looks, trust me. Text bubbles were moved. Text was redone. Backgrounds were re-done. Fonts were downloaded. HAVOC WAS WROUGHT.

(For the record, the one on the left is Kairi from KH2, and the left most definitely features Sora and Riku. Finally, the truth has come out.)



The backgrounds were especially fun. ._. *Shudders*

The phrase of the weekend?

"It's okay. I'm a scientist. "- Me, Mike.

The problem with that phrase is that all the hypotheses we were justifying ended up causing horrible bruising. My left arm is missing skin because I whacked it on the wooden couchback while playing the Wii. Boss battle! It was necessary to use extra force!

The wedding may have sucked, but hanging out with Mike made the trip back worth it. He's the only one I talk to from there, anymore. The only problem is I got about eight hours of sleep the entire weekend, so now get to go to work exhausted.

This was CLEARLY a mistake.

The wedding is today. I went upstairs to meet everyone, and stumbled across Unc's sister, K.

K: "Oh. I didn't know you were going to be here..."
Me: "Yep." *walks off*

I don't know anyone from the party. Current plans are to see the wedding, steal bbq and a cupcake, and disappear downstairs into the basement until they all leave.

And then it started raining. And you know you've been in the PNW for too long when you see the rain and go "So...?" I figured we'd just move the food inside and have the ceremony there, too.

Nope. [Girlfriend] starts crying and runs upstairs, leaving the wedding cake to its own devices.

---

Another crisis. The storm clears up, we have lovely ceremony by the pool. Unc decides kids can swim after they are done eating and turns on pool slide. Pool slide sends out jet of water and douses uncut wedding cake. [Girlfriend's] shrieks of rage enlighten me to the problem while I am devouring a successfully filched cupcake. I leap in front of cake with arms outstretched, half-eaten cupcake in one hand, and get soaked. Am now spared any pictures with the photographer, and nommy dessert is safe. Mission is personally considered huge success.

As I am ducking back in to change shirts, am waylaid by small, unfamiliar boychild.

Child: "Do yoo like puh-ple?"
Me: "Nope." (This is a reflex response by now--I honestly wasn't intending to be a bitch.)
*candid stare* "Den why is yourw hairw and shirt puh-ple?"
Me: "Shampoo accident." *flees for basement*

Smart kid.

This is shaping up to be an absolutely hysterical day.

Happy Half-Naked Thursday!

Wren discovers glaring at her iPod does not change the song, no matter how many brainwaves she puts into it.

In case you were wondering.

When one of your rats jumps up on the edge of the tub to say "o hai" and accidentally falls in with you while you are taking a bath, it is hysterical.

It is somewhat less amusing when done by the cat.

Well, that was exhausting.

I have most of my first identified set of antiques for sale on eBay. >.<

If they don't sell there, I am selling them wholesale to a massive antiques company.

Note to Self:

While effective at making them go away, hissing at dive-bombing crows while on patrol scares the bejeezus out of nearby custodians.

By the way...

We did has a graduation.

Happy Half-Naked Thursday!

Wren suddenly realises that the new bed may be the cure to her sleepless nights.

Did you know cats snored?

I know, now.

Badlands.

Tacoma Bound, Part the Fourth: Montana simply does not end.

Ever seen a llama run? It's hysterical.

Yesterday our mental health stop was the Badlands. Today, it was an IHOP in Bozeman, Montana. I'm sure you can imagine just how effective that was.

It's true, though. Montana doesn't end. We went through half of Wyoming, Montana, and Idaho today to reach Spokane, but Montana was so long I keep forgetting we were in Wyoming at all. By the time we reached Idaho, it was pitch black and foggy. I was driving the U-Haul in the mountains, which I am sure you all know just how little I enjoy doing. There was an enormous metal sign at the end of a hairpin turn, reflecting my brights back at me blindingly and obliterating all sign of the road ahead while screaming “WELCOME TO IDAHO.”

I screamed right back, Maddo giggled.

Around the next bend was a “HISTORIC VIEW POINT PULL-OFF,” but to the right of me was the inky blackness of a fall to our deaths, and to the left of me was an overzealous Jeep that passed me going 90 and swerving. “I DON'T CARE,” I replied to the sign, and Maddo giggled harder.

Right about this time, Snape killed Dumbledore, but luckily Spokane is 15 minutes from Idaho, so I kept it together long enough to get a room.

The thing that has surprised me the most is that we've been pulling 14 and 16 hour days, but the trip has been fun overall (at least I have thought so. Maddo will have to speak for herself on this one). There have been moments of tension, sure, but so far no real moments of near death. Maddo is able to nod off in the passenger seat with a skill I genuinely envy, but we haven't really needed each other to stay awake. The cab of the U-Haul is too noisy for music, but audiobooks are fine--we just turn it down so we can shout at each other over the roar of the engine.

The last stretch is ahead of us.

Tacoma Bound, Part the Third: Iowa to Montana, or the Day of Paris Hilton Shades!

Starting out peeling bug corpses off your windshield wipers does not bode well for your day, just so you know. Luckily, all other signs have indicated things will be going well today—that is, assuming we manage to find a store that sells iPod cables. If the iPods go dead, I think we might be proper fucked.

Called Fam this morning to let her know we weren't sucked up by a tornado and deposited in Topeka.

“I'm glad you called. I was worried, but I figured if they'd found your little bodies dead in a U-Haul, I would have gotten a call by now.”
“...Thanks.”

Unc and I keep playing phone tag. He seems to actually want to talk. This is either a bad sign, or he is trying to live vicariously through us while we are traveling. At this point, both are equally likely. Our repeated (and failed) attempts at conversation have given Maddo ample chance to win, however.

“Dude, I swear I just heard your phone.”
*checks “Huh. You did!”
“I WIN!”
*iPod queues up Marriage of Figero. Hysterical laughter commences.*

::EDIT::
I have fallen in love with a man in South Dakota. He has the perfect car, the perfect hat, and a rather nice tattoo on his left arm. I would have noticed none of this if it didn't take 15 minutes to fill the U-Haul's gas tank (I've named the car Mamma Gikka.)

And he's just driven off. Right then. This one-sided love affair is over.

In other news, I have a theory. I have concluded that if we keep collecting bugs at a consistent rate, the corpses of bugs past will create a sort of cushion, and any new bugs will simply bounce off unharmed. I told Maddo this and got a sick sort of satisfaction at the look of horror on her face. She probably would have been less freaked out had I not told her one of my mother's favorite road trip jokes mere minutes before passing on my new-found wisdom:
Q: What's the last thing that goes through a bug's head before it hits the windshield?
A: It's asshole.

::EDIT::
Concerning Ribs:
Maddo and I treated ourselves to dinner tonight on Unc's dime. I got a chicken sandwich, and Maddo got baby-back ribs. I was fine with this, perfectly fine, until she offered me a rib. I figured one wouldn't hurt, so I nabbed one and took a bite.

And then my taste buds came all over the rib. It was...intense.

I knew better than to have another one, since I didn't want to get sick and die on my way through Wyoming, but unfortunately Maddo didn't finish her rack and decided to take the leftovers as a snack. She drove her next shift, and I was ordered to be Keeper of the Leftovers. An hour later, we are driving down the road in a rainstorm, watching lightning zip about in the clouds above us, listening to a Harry Potter audiobook, and I can feel the ribs calling to me.

Maddo: *hears surreptitious rustle*
Me: *Om to the nom, motherfuckers*
Maddo: “What are you eating?”
Me: “...a rib.”
Maddo: “Oh my God. How many have you had?”
Me: “I ATE THEM ALL!” D:
Maddo: “Well, let me know if I need to pull over so you can barf.”
Me: “I regret nothing!”

15 minutes pass.

Maddo: “Hey, a rest stop. We could switch and you could wash your hands since they're all gross from the bbq.”
Me: “Oh, no they're not!”
Maddo: “No sauce was spared!”

10 minutes pass.

Maddo: “Wren, what was that noise?”
Me: “Oh, you know. I just put my foot through the lid of the to-go box and squished the sandwich.”
Maddo: -.-
Me: “What? It's not the ribs! I don't care!”

One final note: The pillowcases in the inn are labeled “soft” and “firm.” Unsurprisingly, I prefer the firm ones.

Tomorrow, we are planning on tripping to at least Spokane, though we'd like to actually reach the Cascades.

Tacoma Bound: The Travels of Wren and Maddo, Part the Second (6/6/08)

Maddo and I have both concluded we should have known things would not go smoothly with my family. Here is a brief list of why:
1) Unc told us to wake up at 7:30 to collect the truck. We dragged our asses out of bed at 6:45. At 8:00 AM, Unc was still in the shower.
2) Thanks to his poor planning, instead of being done at 11:00 like we wanted, we were done at 2:00. (Don't ask.)
3) Then there was a thunderstorm, and Fam actually refused to drive us back from lunch to get to the U-Haul so we could leave.

In other news, I have murdered more bugs than I knew existed. But now we are at a Holiday Inn, courtesy of Unc's credit card (which he has sent with us), and eating pizza and watching movies. So I feel a lot better about life.

Now if only we weren't 120 miles behind schedule...

Tacoma Bound: The Travels of Wren and Maddo, Part the First (6/5/08)

I don't think Maddo was prepared for the extent of my airport jitters. She's never flown with me before, so the sight of me tweaking and nauseated in the passenger seat of Daryl's truck this morning must have been a surprise. It's not my fault, really. I just sit there, dreading airport security, thinking of all the things that have gone wrong in the past and oh god what if they yell at me for having my face lotion in my makeup bag and is my bra going to set off the metal detector again do I have my driver's license what if I didn't lock the back door why am I motion sick and where are my meds!

Breathe.

I did have a bit of a run-in with the TSA, but it wouldn't be a trip to Saint Louis without it. I had just made it through the metal detector without issue when I hear “FEMALE ASSIST, BAG CHECK!”

Oh God.

Turns out it was indeed my backpack being suspected. “WHOSE BAG IS THIS!” shrieked an old bag (Ha, you see what I did there), and I sheepishly raise my hand.
“Come here.”
I amble over. “What's going on?”
“You have a LOT of liquids in here.” She glares at me accusingly, and I flash back to running into Peter, Brandon, and Matt at Target yesterday. (“Are you making meth?” “No, I am going on a road trip!”)
“I know. I'm going on a five-day trip,” I reply tersely.
“Step back outside the metal detectors.”

Great. What did I do wrong this time?

I do as I am told and watch her grumble to herself as she dons gloves and grabs a Ziploc bag. It took about as twice as long as it should have because she was so busy yanking the gloves on she lost fine motor skills and got the fingers tangled. Then she kept missing the Ziplocs. She follows me out with my bag and begins to yank at the zipper, which is about as effective as her glove-obtainment was. After a few awkward moments, I decide she's probably going to tear the damn bag before she manages to get it open.
“Do you want me to get that for you?”
Stony silence is my only reply. Maddo is staring at me through the metal detectors, managing to look at once amused, sympathetic, and triumphant.
The zipper finally obliges, and she reaches in and yanks out an offending bottle, only to find all the other “liquids” have come with.
“Oh. They're already bagged.” She deflates a little.
“Indeed.”
The gears in her head turn, and righteous wrath resurfaces. “Well, next time you need to leave it out on the belt so we don't have to go through this again!”
“That's fine.” I consider pointing out that there is no sign stating this anywhere, but think better of it.
At this point I decide she's actively trying to pick a fight, because instead of letting me go, she gives me a suspicious stare. “Are you suuuuure those are the only liquids you have?”
“Yep.” (Other than the face moisturizer, I mean. Heh. But really. What's the point of Ziplocking the fucking things if I'm not going to do all of them?)
“Fine. Go back through.” And she storms off, . Back through the metal detector I go, to discover that Maddo was allowed to get by with her liquids without a search. (I think the guy who called the bag check felt bad.) But still, this proves my hypothesis that all airport security people think I am a druggie.

Hopefully this is the only bit of random rudeness I encounter. As Maddo pointed out: “She was just trying to bully you so she could feel powerful. I don't think she expected you to fight back because you were so much younger than she was.”

That usually ends badly for people.

As of 8AM, Fam is AWOL and Unc and [girlfriend] are at the house, gathering all the stuff I need to pack together to make it easier for me and Maddo once we arrive. I think this is very nice of them. They've also asked us to pick a restaurant for tonight's dinner, which is also nice of them. (“I think [girlfriend] is the best thing that has ever happened to your family.” - Maddo) So, assuming I can survive the damn plane flight, I just have to pack and get dinner and then pick up the U-Haul tomorrow morning and then get out of STL.

Note to self: Do not forget to buy a cooler and an iTrip or we may not survive Montana.

::EDIT::

Oh my God. Funniest thing ever. Went to dinner with the family, and invited Mike along (not you, Eri. Clearly). We decided afterward that we'd meet up to go swimming, but Mike needed to drop by his house and get his swim trunks. Unc decided to take us to his new office, so Mike ended up getting back to the house first. I get the following text:
"You here yet?"
"Nope. Just sit there and look shady until one of my neighbors calls the cops on you."
"Kay."

We got there seconds before the police did.

Tacoma Bound

FYI: Madeline and I are flying into Saint Louis tomorrow to pack the rest of my stuff up and drive it back to Tacoma. We plan to be back early Monday. (Yes, this will turn into another chronicle.)

Wish us luck!

Moment of creepy.

My most popular, highest-ranked Flickr photo is this one.



150 photos of rats, some that have actual artistic merit, and the general populace chooses this!

I has a kitty.

Wow.

So I bought a new bike. He's a hybrid that's road-bikey enough to go fast on pavement with little effort and be lightweight enough to transport, but mountain-bikey enough to make me happy. His frame is nice and beefy, too, which is what caused me to name him Thor.

Which means I have been biking to work. At three miles one way with only two hills, it's not that bad of a trip. Takes about twenty minutes. The only thing I really have to complain about after 12 miles in two days is how fucking saddle-sore I am.

I've had sunburns so bad I couldn't wear bras, and allergic reactions to fabric softener so bad I couldn't wear shirts, but I have never-- and considering some of my stranger antics, this is genuinely saying something-- never had a bruise so bad I couldn't wear underwear. Thor appears to be a tough lover, and anyone who makes a joke about his hammer will be sacked (a phrase I have chosen purely for Brandon's benefit.)

The funniest thing about this post is the ego.

Theory.

If I am less funny, boys will consequently be less attracted to me.

Problem.

I have no idea how to go about being less funny.

Fuck.

Yo yo yo yo yo yo yo I killed the rock rock rock rock rock

Daryl and I have concluded that I get to do whatever I want, and other people are just forced to go along with it. For example:

When I switched to dispatch last semester, I was given a new badge number randomly, and I sulked for a long time. When I switched back to patrol, I proceeded to throw a fit until they gave me my old number back. Bossman Prime is never going to let me live it down, ("'It's a palindrome!' is not a reason, Wren.") and Tom keeps making "you just want to be under me" jokes, but I wanted my old number back, damnit!

Today, Mother Goose (my new name for an old bossman, see here) decided that Daryl was to spend all eight hours in the office dispatching. I decided he was wrong. We proceeded to "compromise," and as a result he has spent one hour in the office dispatching. I'm sorry, but learning buildings are more important.

And now, I eat sushi.

i have a mortar board sunburn.

I graduated yesterday. Barefoot.

Things Wren is no longer allowed to do at the apartment:

1) Answer the door wearing only a towel and brushing teeth and proceed to have a conversation like all is normal. Thirty-something upstairs neighbor-dad can only pretend not to be freaked out for so long.

Someone in the apartmet complex doesn't understand why their network should really have a password assigned to it.

Taking a break from getting the apartment set up, because otherwise I might die. I want to be completely moved out by tonight so tomorrow and Monday I can do a lot of house cleaning. Well, tomorrow, because Monday the internet people are coming, and I am having my TV moved. (There is no way in HELL I am doing that on my own ever again. Too many people I know have lost too much skin.)

My room already looks amazing. Fam and Unc are sure to hate it when they come in.

Crap, I need to get showered/dressed, because Maddo's family has offered to take me out to dinner. I want to nap, but they are going to a Japanese restaurant, and I would love some agedashi tofu. Been craving it for weeks.

Alright, this post had no point. I'm not dead, guys.

I, what, but...bzuh?

I just finished my last final. My major and minor are officially done. All that's left to do is take the grad school prereq and my advanced fiction writing course this summer, and I am all ready to become a graduate student.

Two things are running through my head right now:
1) I am done with science classes for the foreseeable future.
2) OMG MUSTMOVEOUTNOW.

All you need to know about graduation:

1) They misspelled my name on the programs. I am now "Renn Williams."
2) My family isn't showing up until Sunday morning, one hour before Commencement.

It's been an interesting day.

I've been propositioned for sex twice in six hours.

What happens when you discuss drugs with a disapproving Wren

Mike: you are probably all shaking your head at me
Wren: not really
Mike: it's what you usually do though
Wren: that's just your paranoia talking
Mike: seems like you get into mommy mode when i talk of doing bad things :P
Wren: sod off.
Mike: the brits are rubbing off on you
Wren: I like it when they rub off on me.
Mike: ewww
Wren: I love me.
Mike: no. that line was just gross
Wren: you're the one who read into it.
Mike: you definitely didn't mean that to be harmless
Mike: you intended to be very harmful and awful!
Wren: ^-^
Wren: semen: my anti-drug.
Wren: *runs awaaaaay*
Mike: aghahgashgalsghasdflgk
Mike: I HATE YOu*

*that lowercase u was when his brain snapped, I think.

How to have my day in several steps

1) Write this into your final paper:

When Beowulf first plans to meet Grendel in combat, he goes into graphic detail regarding the violent and painful nature of his own death, should he fail:

Nor need'st thou then

to hide my head; for his I shall be,

dyed in gore, if death must take me;

and my blood-covered body he'll bear as prey,

ruthless devour it, the roamer-lonely,

with my life-blood redden his lair in the fen;

no further for me need'st food prepare! (446-452)

Beowulf is well aware that should he die, it will likely be painful, but he seems perfectly sanguine about this (literally, perhaps), and even seems to have a sense of humor concerning the entire ordeal.

2) Hear this from Daryl:

"I'm sorry, I just can't see you as a stripper! You look too classy!"

3) Get into a fight with a drunk girl at work:

"Security, this is Wren."
"Um, hi. I need to be let into my room."
"What's your name?"
"Um, [First name]."
"And your last name?"
"Um, [Last name]."
"Can you spell that?"
"Um, [zkfbadslfbasllmumble]."
"...And where are you locked out of?"
"I don't remember the room number, but I live in [dorm.]"
"...Hold please."
*Computer tells me she lives in a completely different dorm than she wants let into. She is informed I am talking to my boss to try and see if there is any way we can figure out where she belongs. She's on hold a grand total of two minutes before she hangs up and calls back.*

"Security, this is Wren..."
"Hi, I REALLY need to be let into my room."
"I know, and getting you in there would be a lot easier if you could actually remember your room number. I'm putting you back on hold."

Luckily, then my boss showed up to save the day and dealt with her himself.

Oh, indeed.

Maddo: “Your sandwich is so gross.”

Wren: “Shut up. You're the one with Sex Stomach.”

Maddo: “You just wish you had Sex Stomach.”

Wren: “No, I just wish I had sex.”

Maddo: “That's the general idea. If you don't have Sex Stomach, you were doing it wrong.”

Wren: “Maddo, we've had this conversation. I know all about post-sex hurt. You're talking to the Queen Bee of Masochism.”

Maddo: “...ew. Bees.”

This is your brain on grave shift.

I is a human
they not a human
I has a food
om nom nom nom!

(The rats were bitching about being hungry.)

The worst feeling in the world is waking up right before your alarm at 3AM.

The second worst feeling* in the world is accidentally taking a big swig from a mug of recently-cold tea at 3:25 AM.

*This is, of course, excluding such feelings as labor, being stabbed in the gut, or breaking one's fingers in an automatic gate.

The College Student's Dilemma

1) I am tired.
2) I have class.
3) If I go to class, I will still be tired, and I have a paper to work on.
4) Crap, I forgot my postlab was due.

*brushes teeth and hair, finds clean underwear.*

1) I'll just nap after class.
2) But I have that paper to work on.
3) But am sleepy now.
4) But if I sleep now, I might be too awake to sleep before work.
5) But if I don't sleep now, I might not be productive on my paper.
6) So maybe I should just stay awake and work on the paper instead of nap.

This is where Matt stepped in and screamed "NAP."

I love songs about stodgyness

A dull and dreary day.
What else can you say?
"Eustice, you’re always such a bore."
Why, thank you, Isadore."
"They say a door is nothing on its own;
it must lead somewhere.
I’d like to go somewhere.

We could go for a look-about in the attics and the closed rooms
find diaries and letters of long-dead distant lovers.
It’d be just like when we were children sneaking all around
we wouldn’t make a sound;
they’d beat us black and blue if we were found,
but they can’t touch us now!

"Izzy, don’t mean to be a bore
but really Isadore.
You know these grey days make me blue.
I don’t know what to do.
No...there’s nothing I want to do."

The dull and dreary day becomes a dark and stormy night.
"Eustice, we could go outside and bottle fireflies.
Fairy lamps burn bright
in the face of stormy night
and the old black umbrella
could keep us from all harm.

We could go to the lichyard and see what there’s to see.
Maybe a cabal meets underneath the banyan trees.
It’d be just like when we were children sneaking all around
we wouldn’t make a sound;
we thought they’d reach out from their graves and drag us down,
but they don’t scare us now!"

"Izzy, don’t mean to be a drag
but I’ll do no such thing;
I’m staying in this chair.
I’d probably break my neck
falling in an open grave
or catch some horrid, fatal ache."

"Oh Eustice, come with me; come outside.
It’ll be all right."