Crude and ridiculous as what you are about to read might seem, I am very proud. These are poems I composed aloud, without really thinking at all, just to have fun and make myself feel better. Luckily, Tyler had the foresight to write them down as I was saying them. Because I think they are pretty fucking hilarious. At least I do now. Maybe when I've gotten some sleep that won't apply any more.
But, what the hell?
Enjoy, bitches.
"shaw"
I watch the wind flutter
flit flit like butter
under my shutter
im baking with butter
hot buttered bread
bread and jam
that’s who I am
sam.
"lavander ty"
tyler is the path straight to my uterus
when he looks down the road, his eyes see straight through to us
oh if only you knew the eyes of his blue
the pink of his pink
the soft of his soft
the cough of his cough
and when he whines he really whines
and when he sighs he really sighs
and when he dies he really dies
"how things are"
tyler is the jester in my court
making him cry is such good sport
his tears are perfect round and fat
just like that giant fat vat on his back
(a.k.a. his butt)
he’s a slut
he can’t stop playing with his balls
that is why Niagara falls
"traffic in tokyo"
tyler really likes to poop
I wonder if he can make a loop
a loop of poop
on the stoop
in the soup
for the troops
through some hoops
tyler’s poop just flew the coop
"party time"
tyler yawns like a gaping cavern yawns
like a gaping cavern yawns with bats
bats in hats
bats in party hats
party hats and icesicles
sucking on their popsicles
cutting cakes in halfsicles
tyler has ankles
"grandma's anthem"
over the river and through the woods to grandmother's house we go
but grandma’s a stinkin’ hoe
we’ll string her up by her pantyhose
and hang her out with the mistletoe
out in the frigid whipping snow
cause ho ho ho, who wouldn’t know?
grandma’s a fucking hoe
she fucked santa, big and red in his big ol’ suit
she turned the Christmas carols down to mute
she told him he was awful cute
then her cooch consumed him whole
and now the silver bells will always toll
for santa
so tell me are you surprised to hear
that before the end of that fateful year
grandma got run over by a reindeer?
------
I know what you're going to say... I'm an immature bitch.
Well...
Suck it, whores. SUCK IT!
Always,
Mei
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Oh, my... I seem to have broken about a million vows about how I was going to keep this blog. Oh well. I've been going through a series of mini-crisises and "battling" depression (hate that phrase, but whatever), none of which I really would like to talk about, so writing has really been pushed to the back of my mind. I don't really have it in me to write biting, sarcastic crap about Johnathon's vagina, nor am I ready to write about what's bothering me, soo....
I tried freewriting the other day, and I came out with a pretty good poem. So I think I'm going to try that again today. See what happens.
Ooo! I actually produced two poems! Be sure to tell me what you think.
to the sky!
to the sky! to the sky!
but my aloneness is a
thimble threading
the dark like a skylark
underwater, beating its
wings, sodden and heavy.
i’m sinking. my flight
is a paper machine
dipping in the air
like the fluttering of a final
breath.
your eyes
let me just drift
so i can live
without urgency,
for once. to have my eyes linger
on the sky. to breath in
slowly.
counting each feather,
counting each feather on my wings.
i wish i could stand
the empty
spaces.
let things just be.
let me just drift.
my eyes are pale
hummingbirds, they never sit
still. they are beating,
always beating against the palm
of the sky. swimming
out to the stars, against
the current of the cosmos.
i cannot
bear this river as it bears
me out to the sea.
all i can do is drink
it until it belongs
to me; makes sense to me.
so i cough and sputter
all these hasty words, saying
things i don’t mean; trying
to wear a stranger’s clothes
until i discover the clothes are
mine, and the stranger is me,
and i never really
knew. until i saw
you;
until i looked into
your eyes and
paused.
breathed.
measured
each second
by the beat of your heart;
measured out all
the dark, lonely spaces between
the spidery stars and
saw, saw
that i could fill them with
your eyes.
----------------------
Yours in Eternally Smoldering Evil,
Mei of Mei
I tried freewriting the other day, and I came out with a pretty good poem. So I think I'm going to try that again today. See what happens.
Ooo! I actually produced two poems! Be sure to tell me what you think.
to the sky!
to the sky! to the sky!
but my aloneness is a
thimble threading
the dark like a skylark
underwater, beating its
wings, sodden and heavy.
i’m sinking. my flight
is a paper machine
dipping in the air
like the fluttering of a final
breath.
your eyes
let me just drift
so i can live
without urgency,
for once. to have my eyes linger
on the sky. to breath in
slowly.
counting each feather,
counting each feather on my wings.
i wish i could stand
the empty
spaces.
let things just be.
let me just drift.
my eyes are pale
hummingbirds, they never sit
still. they are beating,
always beating against the palm
of the sky. swimming
out to the stars, against
the current of the cosmos.
i cannot
bear this river as it bears
me out to the sea.
all i can do is drink
it until it belongs
to me; makes sense to me.
so i cough and sputter
all these hasty words, saying
things i don’t mean; trying
to wear a stranger’s clothes
until i discover the clothes are
mine, and the stranger is me,
and i never really
knew. until i saw
you;
until i looked into
your eyes and
paused.
breathed.
measured
each second
by the beat of your heart;
measured out all
the dark, lonely spaces between
the spidery stars and
saw, saw
that i could fill them with
your eyes.
----------------------
Yours in Eternally Smoldering Evil,
Mei of Mei
Friday, November 21, 2008
Let's Put a Smile on that Vagina! (Or: Johnapuff, Why So Serious?)
Tyler is here reading over my shoulder. I wish he would walk in another direction. There we go. Good job, Ty.
So, I'm sitting in Moe Joe's (big surprise) blogging (but you now that). We went to the Save the Astro rally, which I'm all for since I miss being able to see movies without doing something illegal or spending a ton of money. But the thing was a big disappointment. I got funnel cake, which momentarily gratified me, but now I just feel fat. And I want to talk to Cece, but Moe Joe's is jam-packed with BITCHES. And I'm not just saying that they're bitches because they're here breathing Cece's air, which would be bad enough, but they are damn obnoxious. There was this one bastard kid who sat down where Khoa was sitting a moment before, declaring, "We're kids. We sit!" The self-same kid took one look at me and shouted to the girl sitting next to him, "I'm gonna step on her tittie!"
These kids are bastards.
I had a frustrating day that, when I come to think of it, consisted of not very much. I slept late, missing all of my classes, because I woke up with a pain that felt distinctly like a raptor claw reaching through my vagina and pulling out my innards. I was finally getting my period! For the first time, I was very happy to be in this state, since it was almost a half month late. I had been thinking that maybe I had gotten pregnant by some of Tyler's Miracle Semen seeping through four plus layers of clothing when he came in his pants (secretly) as I sat on his lap. Or something. Despite my joy to find that blood was oozing from my vagina, I decided it might be better to be unconscious during the more unpleasant parts of the affair. So I took my special period medicine and went back to bed.
I woke up around noon, when Lan Chi got back from all of her classes, and we had a nice conversation about boxes, books, and the many annoying features of Puff the Magic Gay Dinosaur. Like crawling into bed with Lan Chi squealing, "Swweeeping???" and pretty much ruining any chances she had of sleeping by doing so. And bragging to her every time she accomplishes something. And following her. Into the bathroom. And offering to help her pee, asking if everything is alright and asking if she needs any Tylenol to relieve the pain. Yes.
Craig and I decided to go to Hendrix and eat Burger King, like the pair of fattys that we are. We noticed that Johnathon was walking around with his Executive Folder of Doom, and we wondered why he always seems to be clinging to it these days. Freud would actually have some pretty good answers, in this case. Anyway, he stalked Lan Chi while she checked out all ten thousand villages at once, and wagged his sausage fingers at her merrily. Then we figured out that he was going to his Fancy Executive Meeting for CGSA, even though he is not executive. Craig and I debated for some time whether we should go and embarrass Johnathon by existing in his vicinity as our less professional than him selves. Unfortunately, by the time we decided that this would be a good idea indeed, we lost all of the executives and couldn't figure out where they had gotten to. So we went looking.
We went to the second floor, but found ourselves accosted by vampires (aka, the blood donation people) all of whom make really nasty faces whenever you don't want to give them your blood at that exact moment. So when one of them snarked at us, I shouted, "We can't! We're going to a CGSA meeting!" (gay people aren't allowed to give blood). And ran. After that, we decided to give up the cause.
We ran into Matt along the way, and my hand had sex with his hand, but we were too afraid to ask him if we could follow him to the exec meeting. Matt is one of those political kids who is really earnest and serious about everything. We aren't. We walked a little farther and saw Steven, who is our president. Actually, he's black. And president. He beat Barack to it. Anyway, he was listening to his ipod and therefore, oblivious, so he didn't see us for a while. When he did, he headed for Craig, looking eerily like an abominable snowman. Then he tripped. Scratch that.
So we followed Steven and complained lightly about Johnathon not liking us because we aren't as "executive" as he is.
"He's not executive," said Steven, snobbishness seeping from his pores.
Craig joked that I should be president, being a hot woman and all that. "It takes more to be a president than being a hot woman," cautioned Steven. Um, Steve? No duh.
Then I joked additionally, hoping that Steven would catch on that yes, this was a joke. Then again, being an executive isn't anything to joke about. I guess. But, being stupid and not realizing this, I said, "Well, I'll get myself a nice collection of pantsuits, and then I'll be qualified." An obvious allusion to Hilary Clinton, right, right?
"No, being president is more than just the wardrobe." No shit, Sherlock. I hate people who are condescending just because I can find it in my heart to joke about such mighty things as executive positions. Oh, Lord.
So, I'm sitting in Moe Joe's (big surprise) blogging (but you now that). We went to the Save the Astro rally, which I'm all for since I miss being able to see movies without doing something illegal or spending a ton of money. But the thing was a big disappointment. I got funnel cake, which momentarily gratified me, but now I just feel fat. And I want to talk to Cece, but Moe Joe's is jam-packed with BITCHES. And I'm not just saying that they're bitches because they're here breathing Cece's air, which would be bad enough, but they are damn obnoxious. There was this one bastard kid who sat down where Khoa was sitting a moment before, declaring, "We're kids. We sit!" The self-same kid took one look at me and shouted to the girl sitting next to him, "I'm gonna step on her tittie!"
These kids are bastards.
I had a frustrating day that, when I come to think of it, consisted of not very much. I slept late, missing all of my classes, because I woke up with a pain that felt distinctly like a raptor claw reaching through my vagina and pulling out my innards. I was finally getting my period! For the first time, I was very happy to be in this state, since it was almost a half month late. I had been thinking that maybe I had gotten pregnant by some of Tyler's Miracle Semen seeping through four plus layers of clothing when he came in his pants (secretly) as I sat on his lap. Or something. Despite my joy to find that blood was oozing from my vagina, I decided it might be better to be unconscious during the more unpleasant parts of the affair. So I took my special period medicine and went back to bed.
I woke up around noon, when Lan Chi got back from all of her classes, and we had a nice conversation about boxes, books, and the many annoying features of Puff the Magic Gay Dinosaur. Like crawling into bed with Lan Chi squealing, "Swweeeping???" and pretty much ruining any chances she had of sleeping by doing so. And bragging to her every time she accomplishes something. And following her. Into the bathroom. And offering to help her pee, asking if everything is alright and asking if she needs any Tylenol to relieve the pain. Yes.
Craig and I decided to go to Hendrix and eat Burger King, like the pair of fattys that we are. We noticed that Johnathon was walking around with his Executive Folder of Doom, and we wondered why he always seems to be clinging to it these days. Freud would actually have some pretty good answers, in this case. Anyway, he stalked Lan Chi while she checked out all ten thousand villages at once, and wagged his sausage fingers at her merrily. Then we figured out that he was going to his Fancy Executive Meeting for CGSA, even though he is not executive. Craig and I debated for some time whether we should go and embarrass Johnathon by existing in his vicinity as our less professional than him selves. Unfortunately, by the time we decided that this would be a good idea indeed, we lost all of the executives and couldn't figure out where they had gotten to. So we went looking.
We went to the second floor, but found ourselves accosted by vampires (aka, the blood donation people) all of whom make really nasty faces whenever you don't want to give them your blood at that exact moment. So when one of them snarked at us, I shouted, "We can't! We're going to a CGSA meeting!" (gay people aren't allowed to give blood). And ran. After that, we decided to give up the cause.
We ran into Matt along the way, and my hand had sex with his hand, but we were too afraid to ask him if we could follow him to the exec meeting. Matt is one of those political kids who is really earnest and serious about everything. We aren't. We walked a little farther and saw Steven, who is our president. Actually, he's black. And president. He beat Barack to it. Anyway, he was listening to his ipod and therefore, oblivious, so he didn't see us for a while. When he did, he headed for Craig, looking eerily like an abominable snowman. Then he tripped. Scratch that.
So we followed Steven and complained lightly about Johnathon not liking us because we aren't as "executive" as he is.
"He's not executive," said Steven, snobbishness seeping from his pores.
Craig joked that I should be president, being a hot woman and all that. "It takes more to be a president than being a hot woman," cautioned Steven. Um, Steve? No duh.
Then I joked additionally, hoping that Steven would catch on that yes, this was a joke. Then again, being an executive isn't anything to joke about. I guess. But, being stupid and not realizing this, I said, "Well, I'll get myself a nice collection of pantsuits, and then I'll be qualified." An obvious allusion to Hilary Clinton, right, right?
"No, being president is more than just the wardrobe." No shit, Sherlock. I hate people who are condescending just because I can find it in my heart to joke about such mighty things as executive positions. Oh, Lord.
---------------
Now, I'm going to talk about group dynamics in very general terms so as not to confuse anyone.
Groups are, by definition, gatherings of people. Sometimes, groups form accidentally, such as when you walk into an elevator with people who you do not know, and then the elevator gets stuck, and you rot in there for five days until you die of starvation/boredom. You and the people with you in the elevator are a group.
Many times, however, groups meet together because they have something in common. Like being gay. Sometimes, they meet together for multiple reasons. Like being gay and pompous and horny. Groups like this must have a leader. Why? Because. Because they won't look like a very official group unless the gayest, most pompous, horniest one of them all becomes leader. The leader has many responsibilities. Responsibilities are things you have to do. Like organizing. If you aren't organized, you won't look very good like a file cabinet, which looks better than most other things. Sometimes groups are called organizations because of this.
A group should be streamlined. Which means that those people who know how to be organized should organize all the other people, and hush them up as much as possible. In order for a group to function well, group members should never tell others how they voted. Ever.
It becomes necessary, when the less organized group members become annoying, that all the Important People gather together in a room with a very long table. The long table is a must. Proper etiquette at the table includes: 1) not raising your hands because this is seen as childish 2) refraining from spinning around in the spinny chairs even though this is VERY TEMPTING 3) sitting up straight and folding your hands on the table, so you are in constant contact with the table and never forget how important you are and how lucky you are to be SITTING AT THIS GIANT ASS TABLE 4) stroking the egos of those who are speaking so that when you speak they will stroke your ego in turn.
Sometimes, when you discover that the organization is not as organized as its name suggests it should be, it becomes your divine duty to impose yourself on everyone and take over. You can do this in one of two ways 1) killing them 2) being a slut, fucking everyone head one person at a time. Studies have proven that this second method is more efficient, given that this first method results in no group being left after you are finished. Which is sometimes considered a drawback.
The art of sucking up is an art.
You must stroke many egos simultaneously with your dexterous little sausage fingers. You must speak with many fluff words that serve the purpose of changing the sentence in such a way as to give it the appearance that it is conveying a missive of greater importance than, in actuality, it is, in truth-- even if sometimes this results in the aforementioned sentences becoming a run-on string of redundancies. No one will notice, because they will be too impressed with your puffing abilities. PUFF!
And if your puff sentences need some substance, you can take ideas that your friends came up with during the course of your conversations, and put them in one of your Speeches. Because it is for the greater good, and everyone needs a good figurehead who fancies himself a dictator.
--------
I think that says it all.
Angrier than Usual,
Miss Mei
The Full Circle (aka, FAT... I'd rather be an Un-Full Circle)
I write to you today with cheese encrusted fingers, evidence of the fact that I am a total fatty (I don't even like cheese!) I am soo lucky that I have never found drugs tempting, because I have a horrible addictive personality. My drug of choice is just food. I really am a glutton. Sometimes I eat because I'm bored, or because I get kind of "aroused" just thinking about food. Like, I'm not hungry, but I think about a chocolate chip cookie, and then I'm freaking out until I get me some damn chocolate. I like the taste, the way it feels in my mouth, the chewing part, the swallowing part... yeah. I'm a fatty. Grosssss!
Today I ate dinner before I worked out. Bad mistake. Because after I finished my two hours of futile running/rowing/pedaling/pushing/pulling/lifting/crying/etc, I came back to my room only to discover that I was famished. "No," I told myself, "I will refrain from eating." Then I went into Tyler's room for a good make-out session to relieve my oral fixatedness. Then Tyler was all like, "Craig got two people we don't even know commenting on his blog!" and I was all, "Nuh-uh," and he was all, "Yuh-huh." Khoa was making all these stupid Asian faces the whole time, like he had never seen an angry fat lady. And I made this face back at him that was all, "Watch it, puny engineer, because I probably weigh more than you, and I will CLAW you until you beg for your mom and then I will CLAW YOUR MOM!! BIIIITCH!" Then I turned to Craig, and stuck out my tongue, which meant, "You may be a cooler writer than me, but I can still dazzle you with my maturity! What now, ho?" Then I grabbed Tyler's Doritos, and turned around to give the boys one last look, daring them to point out that the last thing I needed to do right now was stuff my face with Doritos to avoid contemplating the thoughts brought on by an inferiority complex. They didn't say anything. That's right, bitches.
On another note, I have been informed by Yahoo! (and then subsequently re-informed by friends who were also informed by Yahoo!) that some team of geeks has proven E=MC(squared). I don't really understand how they did this, when I still can't manage to prove to my boyfriend, through a series of really hot sexual favors, that I exist. But I get all horny when I think of a bunch of sweaty dudes (a good fraction of them Asians) talking each other through some marathon calculus. "Come on man, you're almost there! Just a little further... look it's oscillating... Come on... Come on!!! Yeah! Yeah! THAT'S IT!!! YOU GOT IT!!!" While the hot lady mathematicians give them lap dances (because women can't do math, obviously). Men need to stay sexually satisfied in order to solve complex equations. Why can't Craig's professor figure this out, and give him a hand job or two? I'm sure his grades would perk up, along with a few other things I could mention. Of course, when all the women tire out and die, then the men have the real fun, stroking each other under the table, while doing some rapid maneuvering with their TI-89 silver fancy editions. Hellz yeah. Now you see why I was excited to hear this news.
In other news... vagina. Sorry. I had to.
Okay.
So. My day. Got up around 11, and started reading The Princess Diaries, which Lan Chi gave me to read. I'm liking it a lot better than Twilight, another book that the Chinius gave to me so I could understand the phenomena that I didn't even notice until a couple of days ago when Carly started orgasming, "ummm, Twi!ligh!t.... ahhh! ohhh! that's ri!ght, Twilight, ba!by!!!" I don't get it. The book is just okay. It has a really slow start, which I wouldn't mind, except the characters never develop into anything more than two dimensional figures, except for the narrator, Bella, who is decently drawn, if only because she is talking to us for 400 pages. There's no hot sex, not even hot kissing, really, and none of the stuff about vampires is that interesting. The only villain shows up in the last 6th of the book, and he just seems like an afterthought. He's supposed to be really badass, but he doesn't seem too impressive, seeing as he's beaten in about 2 seconds. It wasn't horrible... I just don't understand the enthusiasm.
But, yeah, The Princess Diaries is great. I like the movie, but it's definitely as Disney-ficatation of the book, which has much more attitude. I'd like to write my blog entries like Mia's diary... she's very funny and reminds me of Craig, which is probably why his readership is expanding at an alarming rate and mine isn't. Oh. Well.
I rolled around with Tyler for a little while, did homework, and then went to go get lunch at Hendrix. It's lucky I did, because we discovered that they were having the Ten Thousand Villages sale today. Basically, this store from Greenville, which sells all these really neat things crafted by natives of different poor countries, and sells them to people here, making sure that the artisans who made everything get fairly paid, came to Clemson and sold stuff here. You'd think that everything would be really expensive then, but most of the stuff wasn't that bad. And all of it was really nice, handmade, and unique.
(the following is a descriptive passage in which the subject is shopping, and may be found objectionable by some readers. if you suffer from dizzy spells, pregnancy, or a weak constitution, you should probably skip this ride. and tell james madison to father you a stronger constitution. jeeze)
So I decided to get my Christmas shopping done early. I got my mom one of those bowls with that blue on white pattern (there's some name for it, which I can't remember) because she collects things with that pattern. Plus it matches our kitchen. I got my two cousins both jewelry boxes... one of them is carved out of some kind of gem and has a flower on the top, and the other one is carved out of wood from a cinnamon tree (the inside smells so good!)-- it still has the bark on the outside, and the Chinese symbol for "luck" is carved into the cover. They're both so cute and pretty! I got my Grandma a necklace made of amber colored gems, and also a tiny jade box to keep it in. I got my aunt a really cool journal, withe a painting of the rooster in the middle of the cover, and the rest of it woven out of strips of old newspaper. And, after I heard Lan Chi talking about how much she likes boxes, I bought her one. It's round and has really intricate carvings of flowers on the cover and also around the outside. I got one kind of like that for myself, except it's a little bigger, and shaped like a treasure chest. I love it so much! I felt kind of guilty buying something for myself when I was doing Christmas shopping, but I had to. I completely fell in love with this box-- it looks all old and important, and it makes me feel like anything I put in there will become precious and meaningful, like historical artifacts. I'm going to make it my memory box, I am going to cuddle with it, get splinters, and love it anyway! Woo!
(okay, you can look now)
This all took a long time. I was there with Tyler, who got himself a really cool journal with a cover made out of leaves. Then I went back to the dorm and realized that I wanted to get a box for my grandma's necklace. Conveniently, Johnathon decided that he wanted to go and shop for his family, so I followed him. On the way, he bitched about Khoa bitching, and I thought to myself, "We are all bitches. So why all the bitching about bitchiness? It's bitchy." Everyone's always snarking at each other. Myself included. Why can't we just admit that we love it?
By the time I finished shopping and gave Lan Chi her present, which I was very happy to find she really liked, it was time to eat again. So Lan Chi, Tyler and I went to go dine together. Lan Chi and I ate at Firehouse, and Tyler brought his Moe's in with us. Lan Chi actually ended up snagging a free dinner for Khoa, by being a vegetarian. She ordered a tuna sandwich, and somehow the sandwich lady misheard "tuna" for "turkey." So Lan Chi got a turkey sandwich. Then she informed them, and got her tuna. She gave the turkey to Khoa, who was happy in a way only Khoa could be. He immediately started making plans on how to allocate this unexpected windfall, and eventually decided to bury for the winter (aka put it in his Secret! Backup! Refrigerator! Of! Nuclear! Doom!). I was briefly thankful for Lan Chi's inexplicable need to massacre vegetables/fish inhumanely. You show that lettuce, Chichi Baby! (Tuna killer)
Which brings us full circle. Almost. After dinner, we went to Moe Joe's and I encountered Cece, whose last day is on Sunday (yes, that's her last day. After that, she's being made a sacrifice to the sorostitute Goddess of Boobage, Dolly Parton. Apparently, Dolly heard that Cece was bragging that her boobs were better than hers. And Dolly is a very jealous and tempestuous woman. So, after writing some really nasty things about Cece's boobs on Juicy Campus, she demanded that the sorostitutes offer the offender as a sacrifice. The execution is on Sunday). I can't even start to talk about how upset this makes me. But I will. On Sunday. When Craig, Lan Chi, Tyler, Johnathon, and I will sit in Moe Joe's and write about all of the good times we've had with Miss Cecilia, and all the inner turmoil that's getting kicked up by her leaving us. And so on.
But, for today, I will just tell you what happened. Which wasn't much.
Cece was training The Bitch, aka Courtey (if this is what we have to look forward to in terms of future baristas after Cece, Mark and Stephanie are gone, Moe Joe's is headed down a bad road. The girl can't tell her head from her ass--then again, neither can I-- or resist overflowing every latte with foam because she finds the foam pretty. And she's anorexic looking and whiny. And doesn't know how to swipe a credit card. And somehow manages to make lattes watery (???) Yeah). Luckily, Bitch didn't have much to say. I ordered a hot cider with a shot of pumpkin pie, and fumbled in my Jack Bauer bag for the present that I was giving Cece, a little two dollar magnet that has a tiny table covered in a blue-and-white checkered tablecloth, a tiny pair of glasses on a tiny newspaper, and a tiny cup of coffee. Behind the table, a plaque reads... um... some cute quote about coffee and its position as The Ultimate Good in the World, which I have forgotten. I felt so stupid. This is, again, like me with my teachers. Ugh.
If Cece didn't like it, she was gracious enough to put on a fairly convincing show to the contrary. She pouted, making a little doggy/kissy face, and baby noises. "Soooo (she pronounced this sue) cuute!!! Thanks!" Then she asked us if we were going to stay. Much as I hated to, I had to say, no, I was going to Fike because I was fat. "You're okay," she said.
"What do you know?" I thought, "I'm a lump of lard that was pooped out of a pig that was raised on a steady diet of raw sewage. I look like rabbit that was shot by and hunter, and then overstuffed with arsenic and mayonnaise, and mounted on the wall next to a belligerent-looking moose, who would rather be next to the duck than me." But I love Cece, even though she is a liar.
Now I've come full circle. Go. Me. Circle!
Yeah, okay, so I haven't kept my promise and made all my posts about writing. But at least I've been writing. And I'll start feeling like working on my book soon enough. I don't think I need to force it right now, as long as I'm staying in practice and writing something everyday.
I'll leave you with some poetry, so I can keep up the pretense that this blog is about literary shit. And I'll tie it into the post, too! Sexy mathematics.
"The Asymptote Poem"
Dawn stretches across the eastern rim of the sky
as I lie in my bed
contemplating Calculus, asymptotes, and you.
Your smile is like a parabola
divided by an rational number.
Oh, but my love for you is most irrational,
my emotions oscillating wildly.
How I long to lie tangent to your curves,
but, alas! that can never be!
For there is an asymptote betwix your heart and mine
I am infinitely reaching,
but I will never touch you.
(Yes, it's meant to be funny. And yes, you're right, this could be about me and Cece. Though I'm holding out hopes for a hug before she's carted off to the killing fields. Am I right, am I right?)
Fat and Oozing and Utterly Yours,
Mei of Mei
Today I ate dinner before I worked out. Bad mistake. Because after I finished my two hours of futile running/rowing/pedaling/pushing/pulling/lifting/crying/etc, I came back to my room only to discover that I was famished. "No," I told myself, "I will refrain from eating." Then I went into Tyler's room for a good make-out session to relieve my oral fixatedness. Then Tyler was all like, "Craig got two people we don't even know commenting on his blog!" and I was all, "Nuh-uh," and he was all, "Yuh-huh." Khoa was making all these stupid Asian faces the whole time, like he had never seen an angry fat lady. And I made this face back at him that was all, "Watch it, puny engineer, because I probably weigh more than you, and I will CLAW you until you beg for your mom and then I will CLAW YOUR MOM!! BIIIITCH!" Then I turned to Craig, and stuck out my tongue, which meant, "You may be a cooler writer than me, but I can still dazzle you with my maturity! What now, ho?" Then I grabbed Tyler's Doritos, and turned around to give the boys one last look, daring them to point out that the last thing I needed to do right now was stuff my face with Doritos to avoid contemplating the thoughts brought on by an inferiority complex. They didn't say anything. That's right, bitches.
On another note, I have been informed by Yahoo! (and then subsequently re-informed by friends who were also informed by Yahoo!) that some team of geeks has proven E=MC(squared). I don't really understand how they did this, when I still can't manage to prove to my boyfriend, through a series of really hot sexual favors, that I exist. But I get all horny when I think of a bunch of sweaty dudes (a good fraction of them Asians) talking each other through some marathon calculus. "Come on man, you're almost there! Just a little further... look it's oscillating... Come on... Come on!!! Yeah! Yeah! THAT'S IT!!! YOU GOT IT!!!" While the hot lady mathematicians give them lap dances (because women can't do math, obviously). Men need to stay sexually satisfied in order to solve complex equations. Why can't Craig's professor figure this out, and give him a hand job or two? I'm sure his grades would perk up, along with a few other things I could mention. Of course, when all the women tire out and die, then the men have the real fun, stroking each other under the table, while doing some rapid maneuvering with their TI-89 silver fancy editions. Hellz yeah. Now you see why I was excited to hear this news.
In other news... vagina. Sorry. I had to.
Okay.
So. My day. Got up around 11, and started reading The Princess Diaries, which Lan Chi gave me to read. I'm liking it a lot better than Twilight, another book that the Chinius gave to me so I could understand the phenomena that I didn't even notice until a couple of days ago when Carly started orgasming, "ummm, Twi!ligh!t.... ahhh! ohhh! that's ri!ght, Twilight, ba!by!!!" I don't get it. The book is just okay. It has a really slow start, which I wouldn't mind, except the characters never develop into anything more than two dimensional figures, except for the narrator, Bella, who is decently drawn, if only because she is talking to us for 400 pages. There's no hot sex, not even hot kissing, really, and none of the stuff about vampires is that interesting. The only villain shows up in the last 6th of the book, and he just seems like an afterthought. He's supposed to be really badass, but he doesn't seem too impressive, seeing as he's beaten in about 2 seconds. It wasn't horrible... I just don't understand the enthusiasm.
But, yeah, The Princess Diaries is great. I like the movie, but it's definitely as Disney-ficatation of the book, which has much more attitude. I'd like to write my blog entries like Mia's diary... she's very funny and reminds me of Craig, which is probably why his readership is expanding at an alarming rate and mine isn't. Oh. Well.
I rolled around with Tyler for a little while, did homework, and then went to go get lunch at Hendrix. It's lucky I did, because we discovered that they were having the Ten Thousand Villages sale today. Basically, this store from Greenville, which sells all these really neat things crafted by natives of different poor countries, and sells them to people here, making sure that the artisans who made everything get fairly paid, came to Clemson and sold stuff here. You'd think that everything would be really expensive then, but most of the stuff wasn't that bad. And all of it was really nice, handmade, and unique.
(the following is a descriptive passage in which the subject is shopping, and may be found objectionable by some readers. if you suffer from dizzy spells, pregnancy, or a weak constitution, you should probably skip this ride. and tell james madison to father you a stronger constitution. jeeze)
So I decided to get my Christmas shopping done early. I got my mom one of those bowls with that blue on white pattern (there's some name for it, which I can't remember) because she collects things with that pattern. Plus it matches our kitchen. I got my two cousins both jewelry boxes... one of them is carved out of some kind of gem and has a flower on the top, and the other one is carved out of wood from a cinnamon tree (the inside smells so good!)-- it still has the bark on the outside, and the Chinese symbol for "luck" is carved into the cover. They're both so cute and pretty! I got my Grandma a necklace made of amber colored gems, and also a tiny jade box to keep it in. I got my aunt a really cool journal, withe a painting of the rooster in the middle of the cover, and the rest of it woven out of strips of old newspaper. And, after I heard Lan Chi talking about how much she likes boxes, I bought her one. It's round and has really intricate carvings of flowers on the cover and also around the outside. I got one kind of like that for myself, except it's a little bigger, and shaped like a treasure chest. I love it so much! I felt kind of guilty buying something for myself when I was doing Christmas shopping, but I had to. I completely fell in love with this box-- it looks all old and important, and it makes me feel like anything I put in there will become precious and meaningful, like historical artifacts. I'm going to make it my memory box, I am going to cuddle with it, get splinters, and love it anyway! Woo!
(okay, you can look now)
This all took a long time. I was there with Tyler, who got himself a really cool journal with a cover made out of leaves. Then I went back to the dorm and realized that I wanted to get a box for my grandma's necklace. Conveniently, Johnathon decided that he wanted to go and shop for his family, so I followed him. On the way, he bitched about Khoa bitching, and I thought to myself, "We are all bitches. So why all the bitching about bitchiness? It's bitchy." Everyone's always snarking at each other. Myself included. Why can't we just admit that we love it?
By the time I finished shopping and gave Lan Chi her present, which I was very happy to find she really liked, it was time to eat again. So Lan Chi, Tyler and I went to go dine together. Lan Chi and I ate at Firehouse, and Tyler brought his Moe's in with us. Lan Chi actually ended up snagging a free dinner for Khoa, by being a vegetarian. She ordered a tuna sandwich, and somehow the sandwich lady misheard "tuna" for "turkey." So Lan Chi got a turkey sandwich. Then she informed them, and got her tuna. She gave the turkey to Khoa, who was happy in a way only Khoa could be. He immediately started making plans on how to allocate this unexpected windfall, and eventually decided to bury for the winter (aka put it in his Secret! Backup! Refrigerator! Of! Nuclear! Doom!). I was briefly thankful for Lan Chi's inexplicable need to massacre vegetables/fish inhumanely. You show that lettuce, Chichi Baby! (Tuna killer)
Which brings us full circle. Almost. After dinner, we went to Moe Joe's and I encountered Cece, whose last day is on Sunday (yes, that's her last day. After that, she's being made a sacrifice to the sorostitute Goddess of Boobage, Dolly Parton. Apparently, Dolly heard that Cece was bragging that her boobs were better than hers. And Dolly is a very jealous and tempestuous woman. So, after writing some really nasty things about Cece's boobs on Juicy Campus, she demanded that the sorostitutes offer the offender as a sacrifice. The execution is on Sunday). I can't even start to talk about how upset this makes me. But I will. On Sunday. When Craig, Lan Chi, Tyler, Johnathon, and I will sit in Moe Joe's and write about all of the good times we've had with Miss Cecilia, and all the inner turmoil that's getting kicked up by her leaving us. And so on.
But, for today, I will just tell you what happened. Which wasn't much.
Cece was training The Bitch, aka Courtey (if this is what we have to look forward to in terms of future baristas after Cece, Mark and Stephanie are gone, Moe Joe's is headed down a bad road. The girl can't tell her head from her ass--then again, neither can I-- or resist overflowing every latte with foam because she finds the foam pretty. And she's anorexic looking and whiny. And doesn't know how to swipe a credit card. And somehow manages to make lattes watery (???) Yeah). Luckily, Bitch didn't have much to say. I ordered a hot cider with a shot of pumpkin pie, and fumbled in my Jack Bauer bag for the present that I was giving Cece, a little two dollar magnet that has a tiny table covered in a blue-and-white checkered tablecloth, a tiny pair of glasses on a tiny newspaper, and a tiny cup of coffee. Behind the table, a plaque reads... um... some cute quote about coffee and its position as The Ultimate Good in the World, which I have forgotten. I felt so stupid. This is, again, like me with my teachers. Ugh.
If Cece didn't like it, she was gracious enough to put on a fairly convincing show to the contrary. She pouted, making a little doggy/kissy face, and baby noises. "Soooo (she pronounced this sue) cuute!!! Thanks!" Then she asked us if we were going to stay. Much as I hated to, I had to say, no, I was going to Fike because I was fat. "You're okay," she said.
"What do you know?" I thought, "I'm a lump of lard that was pooped out of a pig that was raised on a steady diet of raw sewage. I look like rabbit that was shot by and hunter, and then overstuffed with arsenic and mayonnaise, and mounted on the wall next to a belligerent-looking moose, who would rather be next to the duck than me." But I love Cece, even though she is a liar.
Now I've come full circle. Go. Me. Circle!
Yeah, okay, so I haven't kept my promise and made all my posts about writing. But at least I've been writing. And I'll start feeling like working on my book soon enough. I don't think I need to force it right now, as long as I'm staying in practice and writing something everyday.
I'll leave you with some poetry, so I can keep up the pretense that this blog is about literary shit. And I'll tie it into the post, too! Sexy mathematics.
"The Asymptote Poem"
Dawn stretches across the eastern rim of the sky
as I lie in my bed
contemplating Calculus, asymptotes, and you.
Your smile is like a parabola
divided by an rational number.
Oh, but my love for you is most irrational,
my emotions oscillating wildly.
How I long to lie tangent to your curves,
but, alas! that can never be!
For there is an asymptote betwix your heart and mine
I am infinitely reaching,
but I will never touch you.
(Yes, it's meant to be funny. And yes, you're right, this could be about me and Cece. Though I'm holding out hopes for a hug before she's carted off to the killing fields. Am I right, am I right?)
Fat and Oozing and Utterly Yours,
Mei of Mei
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