A night out with the girls.

Lawdy, Lawdy. What an odd couple of days! Yesterday, without warning, a bug decided to fly right in my eye and die. Comletely uncalled for. My mother and I had to stand in the middle of the parking lot manually blinking my eye, so I could produce enough eye juice to allow it to flow out. Easier said than done.

I had this brilliant idea I wanted to begin making t-shirts. So I drive my little buns all aorund town searching for boy's size black A-line shirts. Apparently this was an downright outrageous thought. I mean, why would they have something like that? I think I met a great-great grandson of Murphy (Murphy's Law). Yeah, his name is torrential downpour. Nice to meet you. Anyhow, I finally find some men size ones, which I am still swimming in, but loving the fabric. (Vague Will and Grace reference.) So I do it up Marissa style on the computer, print me out some cute little graphic design I conjured up, heat up the iron and BOOM!

Who knew you had to have dark backing paper for black shirts? The image looked like it had been washed one too many times with a pressure washer. Here's to making shirts today! *clink clink*

So what's a girl to do? At this point it's 9:00 p.m. (EST) So I go pick up my BFF (who by the way, updated!) and we head on out to WalMart. Ah, yes, Walmart, I've heard of that. Hmm...big corporation that pockets all the money then puts nothing back into your community, as well as sucking all the individuality from it...but I digress. So after spending what seemed like eternity searching for this stupid paper that no one knew nothing about and looked at me like I totally made it up, I find it by myself. I shell out the ungodly $10 and walk to my car. Yep, nothing more to do now than to go to Dunkin Donuts.

Little did we know, and little did we realize what day it was. No, no 'scuse me, what night it was. That's right folks, The Republican Convention. Every old person from miles was sardined into Dunkin Donuts, sipping on thier decaf, eyes glued to good ol' Rudy. Ah, that Rudy really knew what he was doing.

So, it's then and there we decide BFF must dye his hair. And have his nails painted. So that's what we do.

Sorry I haven't updated in a while. Been very busy with school. On top of my semi-light load I added more classes, plus open mike night and swimming. I'm busy. Busy. Busy. Busy.

I wrote the longest entry possible on Saturday. AOL messed it up. *turns chin up*

It's pitch black. I'm no meteorologist, but somethin tells me theres a storm a-brewin.

I cannot form a solid thought. I cannot create a cohesive anything. I am lost. Words that are going through my head:

abortion, death, breathing underwater, deep blue, suicide, naked, not good enough, not strong enough, not pretty enough, resistance, distant resolution, forever, congestive heart failure, everybody's girlfriend, out of control, intrusive parents, undetected depression, undetected moments, undectected you, unprotected love, unprotected laughter, contraception, easy way out, Rod Stewart, didn't want, can't love, can't be, peaceful coexistence, if kids ruled the world, if i ran the world, if i slept too late, if i met you sooner, Bobby, awry, vagina, phallic symbol, patriarch, Oedipus Rex, Oedipus Complex, San Fransisco, the boy without a name, family feud, tiny apartment, big dreams, little girl, the army never looked so good, fashion, rations, louis armstrong, guitarless, broken strings, broken wings, broken records, funerals, babies in black, promises, blood, swearing, sluts, homphobes, homosexuals, lesbians, white glace`, noserings, purple hair, skateboards, hakey sak club, poetry, stomach problems, alcohol, marijuana, defining characterisitics, Vermont, jealousy, rude, lack of interest, lack of motivation, mad world, vioxx, nosepicking, earwax, unwanted everything, i ran, early 90s fanatic, legwarmers, heartsongs, music, soundtracks to life, unfolding, boxed in, bricked up, fenced, death, death, death.

'tis all for now.

I love you, Sam.

Today was going fine as usual. Then it hit. I'm going to need some support these next few days, if you could, please leave me a little something nice to come back to. I'll try and update a bit later on exactly what happened but for now, I can't.

The Wart Report

After yet another sleepless night, I somehow managed to roll out of bed at the ungodly hour of 8 o'clock this morning. I have not seen 8 o'clock in I don't know how many years. There's a reason why I don't do this, I thought. But my reason today was a doctor's appointment. No, no, sorry, a dermatologist appointment.

I've had this nasty little wart type thing on my knee for what seems like ever. I've tried everything. Dr. Scholls, freezing, burning, picking, duct tape. At one point I brought a pair of scissors to the little irritated bump. But in the face of two silvery shards against just a mere growth on my skin, I ckickened out. And made an appointment.

I hate waiting rooms. I think the doctor's do it on purpose. While they're playing with electronic golf sets in their offices, we, the patients, are mulling over the fact that you could tell us we're going to die. Subconsciously we begin listing our possessions and by each we put a name of who we want it to go to. This is our internal will. Executor: guy sitting across from me with a rash.

In speaking of guy sitting across from me with rash, there's nothing grosser than parking your behind in a seat in the waiting room of a dermatologist's office. You have no way of knowing what kind of skin disease found itself into the innermost crevices in the chair's fibers. You don't know until you wake up one morning with creepy, unidentifiable symptoms that you picked up from an ill chair somewhere. There's no telling what's crawling around in there. Straight up gross. Lysol, anyone? No, seriously.

I found it hard to concentrate in the waiting area. Each new patient that would walk in, sign and sit down, caught my attention. I couldn't help but wonder what sick skin problem they had lurking under their clothes. Psoriasis, perhaps? Liver spots? Excema? Shingles? The possibilities are endless. The image of flaking, crispy, chafed skin almost brought me to the bathroom where I would experience dry heaves and profuse sweating.

All of this for a little wart.

Before the Rain

It's moments before a big storm

How can I tell?

Easy. It's 8:00 here. The sun is just setting and the sky has a weird grayish yellow brightness about it. The leaves are turned over and a cool breeze found its way through my open window. Like the previous entry, these moments before the storm are ones of true peace to me as well. They remind me on their collecting winds that this is life in its rawest. 

I can now here thunder roaring a few miles away. Though it is quite faint, the pictures on the wall still rattle a bit with its intensity in the nearby town. My mother is walking around the house closing all the window for the impending downpour. I tell her to leave mine open.

I can feel its progress as my hair is blowing more and more into my face. The tiny rows of grass are moving back and forth making it near impossible to focus my attention on anything else. It's beginning to smell like a storm is near. The air seems clearer, purer.

It's raining now and my mom is telling me to shut the window. I don't think I'm going to.

Rainy Morning

It's been a long time since I've seen the rain. It didn't rain the entire time in California, and today is the first time it's rained since I've been home. I usually am not a rain type of a gal, it messes up my hair and means I have to ditch my sandals for the day. But today was different. Today I liked the rain. Instead of ruining plans or transforming into mud puddles, I let it wash over me.

I've always liked smell after a sudden downpour. The serenity after a storm. It's quiet, bright and peaceful. And you think back to moments before, when dark clouds rolled in, when loud crashes of thunder shook the very ground you stood on, and you wonder if it will ever end. And when it does, tranquility shows her face, dewy from the clear droplets that fell from the sky, her warm smile promising of green grass, colorful flowers.

In California, I watched coverage of Hurricane Charley. I saw the devastation it left, I saw the newslines laced with fear fill the screen. Then I saw the morning after. The treetops were no longer touching the ground, being pushed over by the heavy winds. Pieces of earth and debris were no longer flying through the air at full speed, meteorologists were no longer gripping their microphones with white fists, clenched. The morning after had a serenity to it. A beauty hidden in the rubble that once was a home, once was somebody's life.

Today I watched the rain fall outside my window. I listened intently as each drop splashed onto the sill and I watched them glisten in the early morning light. And as I closed my eyes waiting yet again for sleep to visit, I smiled.

Be still, sad heart, and cease repining; Behind the clouds the sun is shining; Thy fate is the common fate of all, Into each life some rain must fall, Some days must be dark and dreary.
Author: Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Source: An April Day

Weekend Assignment # 20

Weekend Assignment #20: Tell us about your favorite entry of your own from the last 366 days (it's a leap year). Tell us why it still resonates for you. And "favorite" can mean anything you want it to mean: Most amusing, most heartbreaking, most affirmative of yourself, whatever. One good way to think of it is if you could show someone only one entry from your Journal, which one would it be?

Hmm. That's tough. My initial reaction was to quickly scan through all my entries to find the best one, though "quickly scanning" turned into an entire afternoon. I made a list, first. I, like Jennifer, am a bonafide listmaker. Post its aren't my weapon of choice, though, I'm more of a Marriott-free-notepad-in-every-room kind of a gal, myself, but hey- to each her own.

So after my list, I revisited each then narrowed it down. This process was identical to the one used to decide the nominees for Oscar night. However, this plan differed in that instead of giving out the entries on a ballot then deciding, I will give to you the winner first, followed by each of the nominees.

But first and foremost, my acceptance speech.

"I would like to thank myself for being so darn brilliant and witty and for having some of the most insightful wisdom I didn't know I had. I couldn't have done it without you. No, seriously. Get it? Like, if I weren't here then I wouldn't have written it...Not even a titter? Hurry up, play the music or something, I'm dying up here. *nervous laugh* Anyone?" ((((Music starts, P Diddy and Uma Thurman come to walk me off stage))) "Thanks..thank you...Oh! And John Scalzi! Without him, none of this would be possible!" I shout as I'm ushered in a fevered panic off the stage.

Ladies and Gentlemen, without further ado, I give to you Marissa at her Finest Hour:

 

Oh, the tangled webs we weave written on: May 30th 2004

 

Interviewed by Babs Walters after the ceremony, Marissa laughed graciously at her win, "I must admit that was some of my best work," the author stated modestly, then joked in response to Babs's next inquiry about her standup routine publicly going awry just moments before her win, "At least they didn't throw tomatoes! This is a Versace!"

And not to leave the other runner-ups out, I give to you a incomplete list of some of my personal favorite journal entries:

 

Marissa's First Time...Skiing

A complete list of Marissa's smart-assed remarks

Bah Humbug: Why Marissa hates Christmas

The Wonder that is Corey Matthews

Spring has Sprung

So, there you have it. Six of the most classic Marissa moments all captured in one digitally remastered collection available for the first time ever. The next six are free of charge when you call the number flashing on the bottom of your screen and send in your $30.00 money order with a 10,000 handwritten essay on why you think you are worthy to recieve the next six entries. You will recieve your order when Marissa feels like doing this again, so stay tuned and keep watching!

Journals goin illegit

Tonight I spent catching up on my journaling. I read my favorites, I've read favorites of my favorites. And in reading those, I have come across a new trend that maddens me beyond belief.

You remember hearing about drug abusers and sex offenders talking about going legit? In the spirits of that---Journalers are now going private. This means that journals that were once open to everyone to read are now privatized (is that a word?) and one can only gain access with a "key" provided to them by the journaler.

Does that make any sense at all to you? If you want a private journal, don't post it online! March your cute little buns down to the nearset Hallmark Gold Crown store and shell out the $14.95 for a journal...or! If you are too cheap or low on sheckles to do that, grab up a pen and paper and write all you want, privately.

Now, I've always been an Amish kind of a gal. I'm not good with technology. Up until a month or so ago, I didn't even know how to use links or post pictures on my own journal, let alone fool around with some damn keys.

But wait! There's more!

Not only are journalers locking up their once public journals, they are also slacking in the typing area! That's right folks, audio entries are the new carbless way to update in 2004. Think last year's Ben to this year's Marc Anthony.

This whole new thing is infuriating to me! See what happens when you leave for 3 weeks?! Utter madness and insanity ensues. I feel like I turned my head for one minute and next thing I know, life as I knew it changed completely! What's next? Renaming toucans threecans? A waterproof, flame retardant, multicolored cameraphone with psychic abilities? Starbucks in churches?! I'm sick of this other other other white meat stuff. What happened to good old fashioned online blogging? The traditional camera phone? I'm just a girl from New York with a simple dream, is all. Where have all the cowboys gone? And really, who let the dogs out? It's getting old.

One day, I will be glad to just wake and see that nothing has changed a bit. I'd like to take a small hiatus from progress, a break from technology. Let's let ourselves experience on day without innovation, without invention. Let's let medical researchers and computer databasers (now I know I made that one up) take a day off from trying to change the world. Maybe it would change itself, if it weren't for the race to get to the top, make the most money, rule the world.

I admit, I like my cell phone and Grande Soy Chai Latte just as much as the next girl, but enough is enough. If you don't want anyone to read your journal, don't post one. If you want to lock up your creative abilities with a key you hold clenched in a white fist, don't bother writing a journal online. Maybe the path to Hallmark is the right one for you.

This girl has no key besides the one to success.

The San Fransisco Treat

I didn't get to San Fransisco until the 3rd week of my trip. I waited and waited and finally it arrived. My mother and I boarded Caltrain (speedy little bugger that runs from town to town) and we settled in for about an hour and 15 minute ride into the city.

The weather when we boarded the train was 80 degrees, no humidity. It was virtually flawless, really. And I noticed as we headed toward the city, that clear and blue sunny sky started to dissipate into a sort of gray, mundane New York looking summer day. My nerves jumped into my throat. Where is this train taking me?! I thought, Where's my sunny California!?

We got off the train and stepped into the...frigidity that is summer in San Fransisco. I just wanted to clear that common misconception about beautiful weather up, before someone else experienced it unknowingly firsthand.

Mark Twain once said, "The coldest weather I've ever experienced was a summer in San Fransisco." Too bad Mr. Twain didn't call me ahead of time and let me know that.

I'm exaggerating. It wasn't that cold. It was about 60 until 11:00 in the am, then rose (if the fog cleared up. Yes, fog.) to about 70. But by golly, if that damned fog didn't clear up you'd be shaken straight down to your underbritches.

The fog obstructed my view of both the Golden Gate and Bay Bridges. I was not a happy tourist. Despite the fact that I downright refused to refer to myself as a  *cringes* tourist , I did carry my camera around with me at all times (mark my words: I will post pictures as soon as I get them developed.)

The last day in the city, we packed our bags and went for once final walk around when I realized: I spent nearly a week in SanFransisco and I hadn't ridden a cable car! If there were awards for the world's worst tourist, I'd have the gold. I can't believe I almost missed it. To think!

So I go. I get in line ( a very long weekendy line) and wait wait wait for close to an hour, all for a little joyride. There's a man sitting under a tree nearby playing his guitar singing anti-war prose and songs about his time in Nam. Then he played, by my request, some good old Elton John.

As Rocket Man filled the chilly air of my last Sunday morning in California, I hopped onto the cable car. With about 60 other people. It was a sardine situation, if you ask me.

We rode all the way to the other side of town and I was planning to ride that same car all the way back, but apparently that seems just a little to easy for Murphy (of Murphy's Law fame.) To my dissatisfaction, I realized (Ok, I didn't realize, I asked the Cable Car operator) that I had to not only get off the car but that I had to wait in an even longer line than before to be able to reboard. It was 1:30. Our train left at 4.

During my wait, I was heckled by a grunged-out looking younger homeless guy, with long ratty brown hair and a potent odor that could make milk curdle or paint crumple right off the walls. "Have you ever killed an old lady?" He asked, "I have."

Good for you, I thought, as I reached into my purse for my cell phone. I called my Grandma to see if she was okay. Just checking.

At 2:00 I boarded the cable car. I requested a special seat (it wasn't really a seat, I wanted to hang off by the pole ala' the Full House gang) So I held on and off we went.

Somewhere on our track we picked up a boy who took the pole next to me. We began talking after I reluctantly snapped a few shots of the streets behind us. "Tourist?" He asked.

"Not really." I lied. "But I am visiting from New York."

Thus began the conversation that lasted as long as the tracks did. By the end of the trip, I took a few pictures of us, and one of him as we walked our seperate ways. You know, I didn't even know his name.

Grande Chai Soy Latte

Yes, it's true. I'm back. Though not necessarily in one piece. I think I left my heart in San Fransisco.

It was a whirlwind trip. I feel like a twister came and lifted me up and, after 3 weeks of being caught in it's dizzying current, dropped me back down right in the same spot. In front of the computer.

I have many tales to tell of my trip, many journals to visit to catch up on all of the Anniversary Festivities, and many bags to unpack. Suprise, suprise. Marissa overpacked and had to send home a 100lb box of extras and goodies she picked up along the way. What can I say? I'm a girl who likes to have options. I only brought 7 pairs of shoes. And bought 3 while I was there. What's wrong with that?

I found out when it came time to pack up and ship out to NY.

::Man at airport:: I am not checking 8 pieces of luggage! You better downsize or make a trip tp UPS!

Somehow my things and I made it here safely, and even earlier than scheduled. I knew all of my luggage wouldn't delay the flight, like Man at airport said. Liar.

California, I learned, knows you not by your name but by the coffee you drink.

I met a few Tall Double Shot Espresso Mochachinos and Rio Grande Frappe This'n That's and made a few single-serving friends on my train and cable car rides.

Work was wonderful at the Pet Wash. I never realized under my cold hearted "I'm not a dog person" exterior there lay a big softee with affection for Cavaliers and Collies and most other barking breeds, as well. I also realized what a striking resemblance a dog and its owner share. It's kind of freakish but completely amusing. Case in point:

A short Chinese man enters to wash his miniature Pekingnese.

A tall muscular man with dirty boots and a truckers hat struts in with a black lab.

An old, frail white -haired woman walks in with her uncanny twin poodle.

Jet Lag is settling in. I will write more tomorrow. I've missed you! (Though not for long...I snuck in once or twice to sneak a peek at some of my favorite journals after I found out libraries are chock full of computers with internet access! Who knew?!)

Until then...