Potporri that doesn't smell like Potporri.

My computer takes so long to do things that I myself can humanly do in 55.8 years. I think I even saw that little blue loading bar at the bottom of the page go backwards. That's how slow this piece is.

Anyhow, with the impending holiday I find myself sick; some may say lovesick and I agree. But that term, lovesick, does that mean I'm sick from too much lovin (MONO) or does that mean I miss the lovin' feeling (woho that lovin' feeeeheeheelin' but now it's gone, gone gone, wohohowo.) ??? I just don't know.

Bobby's back and there's gonna be trouble. (Hey-la-Hey-la Bobby's back!) If you don't know Bobby, allow me to introduce him. Bobby, this is everyone. Everyone, Bobby. Good Luck getting him to notice you. He may talk and actually hold a conversation but that doesn't mean he's actually there. I question his existence.

I'm going to apologize to those who read my journal twice an hour for not updating as much as I used to. My sister, (who by the way hit a taxi,) hoards the slower-than-a-turtle-in-molasses-on-a-hot-July-day computer 24/7.

It's snowing again. My boots are frozen to the driveway still so I tied hockey sticks to my feet and ventured out. Needless to say, it didn't work and I'm still looking around for tennis rackets. Now would be a good time to be preppy, huh?

And now for the fake news:

Michael Jackson lost custody of his 3 children. Now he can only dangle them on weekends.

Have a lovely rest of the day.

HEAT WAVE! 22 DEGREES!

Remember the show "All That" ?

With Keenan and Kel? "Welcome to Good Burger home of the Good Burger, may I take your Ordaaaa?"

Or Keenan in the tub doing silly french accents then translating them into "Why is there cheese in my umbrella?" or the classic "Please pass the pie." (K, that last one was really from Friends but still.)

And Loribeth Denberg with Vital Information (or, Vital Information with Loribeth Denberg.) I wonder what she's up to now. Maybe 250 or 300 pounds?

Now that I got that out of the way...

I can talk about more important things like...why my butt hurts.

I feel like sitting in a snowbank. Which, by the way, I would need a ladder to reach anyway.

I saw Anthony today. Best friend, that is. It's been way too long, but maybe that's why it was so interesting. He's the only one who can make me wet myself and not be angry about doing it. I mean, of course there are times when I pee my pants (or peoples Dad's pants) but I don't get aggravated that I'm a yeast infection waiting to happen when I'm with him. Sure, it's uncomfortable for the first while when it's cooling off, but then he makes me fuggedaboud it soon with more of his silly cockamamies. (Just wanted to use the word.) I also pee a little when I sneeze. One bodily function goes and BOOM! Triggers all sorts of things. I just can't keep it in! My functions are such hardworkers. I mean, they get up in the morning to do their jobs and boy! They deliver!

Also, I took a #2 in school today. There's a first time for everything, right? I'm just glad the person that was in there didn't stay long. I think they got nervous when I started giggling halfway through. It was just so unbelievable to me. I must say, it was slightly unnerving, but I really let loose, which made me feel more confident the rest of the day.

Hey did you ever judge a book by it's cover? And then get really sad when it turns out the title is a false advertisement? Read my title. Then reread my story.

Then get really sad.

Have a lovely day. And don't forget to flush!

The Snowball Effect (Why I have gray hair)

Hi. Good Evening. Whatever.

I'm angry. Infuriated. In a state of emotional instability.

I'm sick of generic people. I want a real someone. Who wants me. But why why why would someone want this? Not even my friends like me anymore. Well, I guess they like me, but from a distance I suppose. Maybe I'm too much to handle. Perhaps my presence makes them uncomfortable, so they keep me at arms length. I don't know.

I'm sick of my family. You know, the ones who are there all the time? Who don't knock, who don't support you, who don't let you go out? The ones who give you a hard time about being you? Yes, those ones. I know I'm not the only one. I've never felt so smothered in my life. I'm like a burnt out match, gasping for air for one last chance at a flame. They douse my flame with thier overbearingnance. (I don't know the word, okay?)

I'm sick of the tears that just pour out of my eyes. The ones that you don't have to blink for, that just drop out. The saddest ones, I've always thought.

So goodnight. I'm going to lay in my bed on my soggy pillow now. Sweet dreams.

My Neurosis

I have strange behavior. Some may say it's a neurosis, and I agree.

I attempt to rearrange and rewrite and reorder all the recipes in the recipe box. I do about 1/16th of the job and leave it to collect dust for a year. Needless to say, there's not much baking going on around here anymore.

I pack and repack. I don't have a hope chest so I opted for dozens of cardboard boxes. They are scattered around in 5 different locations in the house. But are in great order. I have a "future kitchen" box, "baby stuff," "miscellaneous," "crafts for my kids when I have them," "stuffed animals," "bathroom," "candles," "den." I suppose it's a good thing to be prepared, but there is such thing as overly prepared, I'm assuming. I don't plan on moving out anytime soon. My mother even allowed me to pack her things that she uses now for my future use. Isn't she great?

I take doilies from resteraunts. I have no use for them now but swear when I have kids they will use them for a cutsey Valentine's Day project or something.

I also have an abundance of shoes. A surplus, even. I certaintly don't have 75 feet. I have a large amount of purses. And coats. The list goes on.

I have each room in the house, save my sister's, jam packed with my things. All my clothes don't fit in my closet and dresser. So, I use my dad's dresser. And my dad's closet. My mom's dresser and her crawlspace. I use the spare room's closet.

I buy things for the house I may have in the future. I just got a Maytag catalog and am looking at dishwashers. Well, I may as well be.

When I clean my bedroom I make a bigger mess. Then leave it.

I attempted to clean the basement, so that I could have a nice clean space to dirty up when I paint and refinish wood and things of that sort. I never finished. It's a mess. I literally seperated each screw from nail for weeks and abandoned it shortly thereafter.

I'm not a packrat. I throw hundreds of things out every 2 weeks or so. I give things to the Salvation Army and to the thrift store. Some people probably think they struck gold when they pick up a never worn pair of Gap jeans.

Some may say I can't finish what I start. But looky here, I'm almost finished writing this! But not quite.

I guess my neurosis may be a product of the zodiac. I'm a Gemini.

Me and the twins can't finish what we start. At least I'm not alone!

All Romeos Must Die

I hate men. I especially hate men that are really boys just growing older. Just having birthdays that don't really in any way make them any more mature.

Any guy I come across has a new thing. Some anti-Marissa thing.

Maybe they don't like my hair. Or the fact that I'm extremely quirky and at times I have memory lapses. Maybe it's because I'm different, I suppose.

They sleep with me because they don't love me. Or care about me for that matter. Explain that one. I've tried. I just don't get it. I'm damn good in the sack, if I do say so myself (and I do.) And yet do they care about anything more than just a good roll in the hay? I think you know that answer. And if it was yes, I wouldn't be enduring such anguish.

I don't know why I feel this way. I can't control it I suppose. I mean, if I could control my feelings and all human life could control their feelings we wouldn't have Paxil (tm) or Zoloft (tm).

The silent torment is licking my bones. It's been 4 months (in 1 day) since I've last had a date. That's the longest stretch in 5 years. It sounds pathetic and desperate that I keep track, but what kind of girl would I be if I didn't?

Fuck you.

Yeah that's right. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck! How much more can this tiny girl take?! I'm fragile you know, easily breakable. So watch it.

Have a nice night.

Wow! That's So Funny!

A funny thing happened to me today.

This is where I would post what happened to me that was particularly funny.

But nothing funny did happen to me. I just thought it would be a good opener.

How could something funny possibly happen to me today? It's only 10 o'clock and I haven't even taken a shower. Maybe something funny would happen in the shower. Like, say, I dropped some shampoo or something. But that didn't happen yet, so I can't write about it right now, right?

I only got up an hour ago. Not even. Try 45 minutes. In that time, I made french toast while chewing on some Gertrude Hawke Smidgens I recieved for Christmas. Then someone came to the door. I was embarrassed about my outfit and even more embarrassed about my retainer. Then I ate. Nothing funny there.

My mom came home. She had underwear and pantyhose in her hands. Yes, she came in with pantyhose and underwear in her hands. No bag or anything! But still, that's not that funny. Am I right?

And now here I am. I'm a little bit gassy from the french toast and and in dire need of a shower. I'm still wearing a "Fashion Don't," as they say and there's nothing funny to report.

But HA! I knew that line would suck you in!

Have a lovely day. Make sure something funny happens. It's good to laugh.

Good Evening

Good evening to all of you out there in Journal Land.

I'm now officially in my second semester of college. I think that is grand. Don't you agree?

Elemenatray Statistics was my only class today. My teacher, Mr. Kulis, reminds me of a Jim Carrey character. He's kinda silly like that.

Tomorrow I will have a schedule from 9-5. *pouts* But it's all good. I have a two hour break in there somewhere.

I'm exhausted, so I will be leaving you for tonight.

G'night.

Have a lovely day.

My Favorite Poem

My favorite poem as a child was this, and I am typing from memory, mind you.

"My New Shoes"

See my new shoes

so bright and so black

a bow at the front

a tap at the back

they're only for parties

Mother tucks them away

but sometimes I find them

and I dance and I play

I click and I clatter

all down the hall

oh how I love my new shoes

but Dad doesn't at all.

 

That brings me back. To a time when life was simple. When life consisted of nothing more than mudpies and catepillars and all boys had cooties. Well, some still do. I wish I still had my childhood naivete and innocence to protect me from the harshness of the outside world but unfortunately, this little mudpie-making catepillar-catching girl has grown up and she's all alone.

Disney World Really Is Magical

Disney World really is a magical place.

It changed my life in 8 short days.

My parents held hands. Now I ask you, how long has it been since that last happened? Let's just say I wasn't around and Richard Nixon was probably in office.

I fell in love with Aladdin. He can take me on a magic carpet ride anytime he'd like. I heard those things get good gas mileage.

My family got along. Well, for the first 5 days or so. After that it was downhill. Sister threw a fit about miniature golf and brother had a tizzy about a hotdog. I figure us getting along was party due to the fact that my mother had bronchitis and laryngitis and couldn't talk, or, for that matter, yell at us.

Everyone is Disney World is super-di-duper-y nice. I can't even count the array of interesting conversations I had with the bus drivers, the characters (Belle and Genie, both) and the waiters/waitresses at the restauraunts.

Did I mention while I was there that I had the best meal of my life? Yes, it's true. If i was on Death Row I would go to Emeril's for my final meal. Everything was exquisite. I had the 14oz. porkchop with sweet potatoes with a honey glaze and braised red cabbage, a radicchio walnut and endive salad and for dessert Emeril's world famous banana cream pie! The crust was made out of real bananas! How can you beat that?! BAM!

My life is completely transformed. I'm tanned and moving down there ASAP.

And a sidenote, it isn't so magical to make me ever ride the Tower of Terror again. It was TERRIFYING! I CRIED!

 

 

 

90% off...Life Just Doesn't Get Any Better

Can you believe it? I woke up to a ringing telly at 9 a.m. I figured I should embrace the day and, reluctantly, roll out of bed and go out with mia madre for breakfast.

For as long as I can remember, "breakfast out" was at a quaint, ski lodge-esque cafe in a nearby town. It's sometimes the only constant in my life. But-hey now, what's this? They changed the name?! Why on earth would they do that?!

Anyhow, we go in, recognized by all (think 'the place where everybody knows your name') and first thing out of my mouth to my wonderful friend/waiter/chef Mike, "What the hell were you thinking?!"

The menu's changed a bit, but they still have my usual. Granola with yogurt and bananas, although today it felt like eating a bowl full of carboard, but I digress.

So after breakfast, madre and I go to the local CVS (it's WAY better than ours) and I head to the clearance section. No, I'm not cheap...THRIFTY! And Good Lord in the Heavens above! 90% off! GODDAMN LIFE JUST DOESN'T GET ANY BETTER!

Xmas Garland   .29

Xmas Candle Set   .69

Vase   .59

Xmas paper   .19    (Can you believe that?!)

Tree Topper   .49

So, you can pretty much see that I lived out one of my wet dreams today.

Have a lovely day.

No, YOU have a lovely day.

The Best Sandwhich in the World

Here is my kick-ass recipe for the best sandwhich in the world. But first, this isn't any ordinary sandwhich. This, my friend, is a breakfast sandwhich. Yes, you read that right. A breakfast sandwhich. It has everything breakfast has to offer between to slices of toasted bread, or what I like to call "toast."

First, you boil the water for your eggs. These are poached eggs. (See the aforementioned.) Then, you put 2 slices of bread into the toaster and, if you are a cool "techie" like me, you have the 4-slice toaster, which makes it easier to toast your toastable hash brown at the same time thus, making cold breakfasts obsolete. You have to have the right state of mind before you even start the actual cooking. That way, everything will be done at the same time. It's the positive outlook that makes this sandwhich great.

Next, get your poacher all positioned. Add butter. Watch as butter melts. Then add the eggs. In this case, we will need two. Salt and Pepper them. My motto is, "Stick with what you know." And also, pepper is good on EVERYTHING. Look at the time. Your eggs will be ready in 3 minutes.

While you anxiously await the cooking of these eggs, prepare your jelly mixture for the toast. Get raspberry jelly and add pepper. Stir.

*Toaster Pops* Sweeeeeet. Butter toast immediately and put a dollop* of jelly mixture on it. Add hash brown. OOOOHHH looky here! 3 minutes are up! Grab up those eggs and toss 'em in the middle of the 2 toasted slices of bread (again, what I like to call "toast") and the hash brown, smoosh together and bam! There you go! The best breakfast sandwhich ever! But be careful, it turns pink and gets mushy real fast. Also, never put the sandwhich down. You won't be able to scoop it back up. Oh yeah and don't look inside. It's not very appetizing to look at, either.

Please pass the orange juice?

 

*Dollop-a generous heap of de-lishness

Oddly Enough, The Egg Is Cracked

There are 5 locations in my house where pans are located. The cabinet under the sink, the cabinet near the sink, the other cabinet near the sink, the cabinet underneath the butcher block and the pantry. Those are only the known locations. Just think where the unkown locations are. I'm pretty sure it's the same place where those lost socks from the dryer go. Maybe that's where my egg poacher is too. But I wouldn't know, because I CAN'T FIND IT!

Are poached eggs too much to ask for? I didn't think so.

Have a wonderful day rearranging your kitchenware. I know I will.

Hi, my name is Marissa & I'm a Mario Kart addict

I don't know what it is about it, but I LOVE it. My hands are aching and my palms are sweaty and I'm on the verge of developing Carpel Tunnel disease, but I don't care. This game is the shit!

Life Is Funny

I'm going nuts. I think. I'm not sure.

Don't look at me. I'm uncomfortable in my own skin. I'm uncomfortable with this life.

I'm angry and confused and anxious and a little sad, too. Also I'm curious, unsure and I feel like ripping my heart out and throwing it on the floor.

My tummy doesn't have butterflies, it has seagulls. My heart is pounding to the tune of "Come On Feel The Noise." And my knees haven't turned to jelly, they've gone to the next stage of fermentation and have turned to raspberry-flavored water, red color #40.

My hands are fidgety and I can't sit still. I need to be keeping busy at all times and I sleep until noon. My dreams are of Jerry Seinfeld in a mall and another terrorist attack that raises our country to another color of the rainbow. Red. Not # 40, just red. (If we make it to red, I will make brown.)

I've been chain smoking. I'm not even a smoker. I don't know if finishing one pack a month qualifies me as a smoker, but gosh darn it, I'm not.

*She Sighs*

Life is Funny.

Sand In My Toes

The art of love is a tricky one. It's sneaky and devious. It leaves your hair tousled and your soul undone. You don't know if you should laugh or cry, because you could quite possibly do either or both at any given time.

Your time is consumed by meaningless thoughts of walking along the beach with moonlight drenching your path or of snuggling up to some low-rent movie like "Uptown Girls" with Brittany Murphy, just because it's a chance to snuggle.

Sleeping is a challenge also. You think of the person there next to you and when you wake up alone, you could cry.

But I don't. Because I still have those thoughts of walking on the beach to keep me warm, although right now, I am quite chilly.

10 Cents for The Jimmy Fund

With my mood all over the place and my impending trip to Disney World, sleep hasn't visited me in a while. Sure I sleep here and there but never peacefully without interruptions (i.e. telephones, giant loud whistles...)

Thank God my lack of sleep didn't keep me from giving my best perfomance the other night in the Cirque De Soliel, right Sean? All we could use now is a trapeez and we'll be all set. Not like we need that or anything.

Harry Potter is a good man. He also has an uncanny resemblence to Anne Robinson - think The Weakest Link, Goodbye.

As for Lord of the Rings, though I didn't see much of it, all I can say is 3 hours and forty-five minutes is absurd. Absolutely absurd. They should give you free food and a porta potty with your purchase of a ticket just so you can make it through the first half. I'm an antsy person, movies of this nature aren't good for me. I pee my pants at the drop of a dime and if someone misses the can for the Jimmy Fund I'm outta luck.

Don't Look At Me

I have not slept in 38 hours.

The time drags on as if standing still.

My ability to love is dwindling with each splash into the tested waters.

My ability to hate and despise is growing, like a huge erection.

I feel as if I'm wandering through my life as if it were a dark hallway. I no longer see or feel what I am experiencing, if anything.

My process of growth feels stumped at some points, like grass that's buried underneath snow in the winter.

My days are filled with silence, as are my nights and I'm lonely.

Lonely for what? I don't know anymore.

Maybe I never did.

Wish me sleep.

I Laugh in the Face of Hunger- MWAHAHAHA

The drunken madness was uneventful. I had to keep myself from walking into walls I knew I was going to walk into anyway, but after a few bumps on the head and drunken giggles, it didn't faze me. The coffee I drank at 6:00p.m. last night was supposed to ensure my staying awake for the "dropping of Dick Clark's balls." (Anyone who watched New Year Rockin Eve knows what I'm talking about.) The caffeine worked, though perhaps a little too well. No sleep. No Sandman. Not even a titter.

I played Mario Kart(tm) until 3-ish, when I was interrupted by a ringing cell phone (DO NOT GET ME STARTED WITH THAT.) Then I tickled my best friend until we were offically rendered "uncomfortable" with all of the unnecessary touching. (We hate things like that.) I retreated back to my room and laid restlessly by the glow of the television. "Roseanne" is kind of hard to fall asleep to. Her voice isn't exactly lulling.

Hunger struck around 5:00am, but alas, Full House was on and it was just too damn good to leave the room. So I stayed, hungry and frustrated until 11:00a.m., when the rest of the house awoke. My first words?

"I want pancakes."

So we venture out. IHOP should be "International House of Patience," since that's what you need for an hour of waiting for the actual pancakes.

So we go to Denny's. No one actually likes it there, but it's ALWAYS open. They may have slightly decent pancakes (cold and doughy-Mr. Subliminal.) And the parking lot itself was a nightmare. In the words of my brother, the driver, "Fuck that."

It's all about Price Chopper, baby. We'll make our own. We're humans. We can fend for ourselves in the face of danger. Or in this case, the face of hunger.

Have a lovely day.