I just wanted to say I am not blogging here anymore. If you want to continue reading my blogs, such as they are, please walk on over to http://www.dawnolmo.com
Gracias!
7.08.2008
6.17.2008
Wanna See?
This is my baby. It's dark. I blame the camera (want to buy me a new one?) and photobucket. It's not this dark on my computer...
6.16.2008
Old Classmates and New Books
Cheyenne Jackson was a friend of mine from High School. He always was into acting and had a great voice. I have to say that while all the girls lusted after him, I never did. Sure, I thought he was cute and hot and all that, but to me, he was always just a friend. I never thought of him in any other way. I thought about his older brother in lustful ways. OMG, did I ever. Well, I thought of A LOT of guys in other ways, but never him. So, when I was told he was gay (in a shocking voice, as though it was a horrible thing) I just nodded and said, "I thought so." It was just something I'd always wondered about him... The person who told me said, "He always went out with the most beautiful girls in school, but always broke up with them when it got too real." Or something close to that, maybe she said intimate, but this girl isn't the smartest kid in kindergarten, so I could be wrong. I thought back to all the girls I'd known about, and really, she was way too liberal with the word beautiful. This is my catty side coming out, of course, but one of the girls he dated was really really skinny. She looked like a reanimated skeleton. She would not have been beautiful if she'd had fat under that skin, or muscle. I feel mean saying that, because she was beautiful inside, I suppose, though I never got to know her well. Anyway, so it wasn't a big deal to me. I love his website (http://cheyennejackson.com) and wonder who keeps it up. I doubt it is him. So, yeah. Ok. Whatever Dawn, let's get back on track.
Anyway, I dvr'd the early show last friday, cuz he was on it. Damn them waiting until the end of the show to show Xanadu and Cheyenne. But it was neat seeing him on my TV, when before I'd only seen him in my classes, or on stage at school. I was supposed to play his mother in Bye Bye Birdie, but my stepmom was being whorey and didn't want to drive to Newport everyday to pick me up so another girl took the part. I'm not bitter. Really. I left Newport after 10th grade, so I missed any other performances he may have been in...
So it was awesome. Yvonne said, "This looks gay." And then I found this on YouTube and laughed my ass off.
I love Nathan Lane. I'm a bit jealous of Cheyenne, I'll have to admit it. Such a jerk! :)
I'm kidding. He's never been a jerk. I just wish he'd hurry it up and make it big so that the few things I have from him could be worth something lol. Not that I'd sell the picture of me he drew, or the signature book he said "You can too sing!" in (see, he was always nice) but it'd be nice to frame lol.
Well. Anyway, just wanted to share. It's too bad they were all wearing those fakey underwear. If i was more into broadway and youtube, I'd know who this cubby bernstein fella was. I'm not, and I don't care, really, so I'm not going to bother looking into it.
On a different note, I finally get a chance to read for pleasure and I can't find any books that interest me. There is this one that Theresa at the S. Hill hastings recommended, it says, "Awe inspiring!" on the cover. It is called, Across the Face of the World and not even half-through the book I have found a sentence with the title's name in it. I don't know if the title was the author's idea, or if it was the editor's idea. It doesn't matter... it was a bad one, plus I have not been inspired to awe. I've been inspired to, "Ahhh this is crap," but that's it. The writing is horrible (it feels like something that was never edited for clarity) and the storyline is the same storyline you can find in ANY fantasy book. It is like the author liked the ideas from all the books he's read and tried to incorporate them into one book. It keeps pissing me off. I keep reading it, hoping that maybe it will get better. I am starting to give up hope.
It makes me wonder if it is because I've been ruined by all these creative writing classes, or if it's really bad. Then I remember The Name of the Wind and realize that no, it isn't that. The Name of the Wind is an awesome book. I fell in love with it... so in all likelihood, it's a horrible book.
Um... baby is cruising and crawling. Today she stood up next to the table without holding on. It won't be long before she's walkin'. Yay. She is into EVERYTHING. Her favorite thing to do is to take things out of things. If it's in a box, she empties it, a bag... empty. Anything she gets her hands on, empty. I've also moved her to yvonne's room and moved Yvonne to the girls's room, and she is sleeping all night long. Yay! I get sleep. It is nice.
I'm bored out of my mind.
6.10.2008
Looks to be a Good Guide....
Haven't had the chance to read the whole thing yet, but I will. Until then, this is what I'm talking about:
Link (Or you can click on the title)
Blurb:
Now this is from deviantart.com and yes, it's based on critiques there, however a lot of it can be digested and diverted into other areas of life. Email critique, blog critique, one on one critique... grad school critique. :)
Chris. You are mean.
Link (Or you can click on the title)
Blurb:
6. Harshness and critique
This is an unending debate. Let me begin with what I consider to be absolutely unacceptable: personal attacks, racial comments, sexist remarks, and other such idiocy. This is called rudeness. Rudeness is bad. It is different from harshness, because harshness usually has a point and if taken in the right way, can work wonders.
Now, should you be harsh? No, I don’t think so. Firm is better than harsh, but a very fine line separates these two. My rule so far is: if you can’t take someone giving you a critique that is harsh, you certainly shouldn’t be offering a harsh critique to someone else. This said, I would say that harsh critique is acceptable. “Go read a book,” is critique and good critique at that, no matter how much it stings. I would suggest not phrasing it in the same way, and in the event that you feel it is necessary to gear the writer towards better writers, suggest it carefully. Ask what kind of books they read, how often they read, and so on. Suggest books that you think can help them.
A couple of things to consider:
The maturity of the writer: It is important for you to know beforehand whether the writer is capable of taking your criticism or not. Since this is hard to gauge over the Internet (unless you are already familiar with the person whose writing you are critiquing), it is safer to avoid harshness of any kind.
We’re talking about deviantART: There are no moderators who will come swooping down to defend your harsh critique. There are GDs, staff members, and other influential types, yes, but the vastness of the site prevents them from noticing every little quibble.
In conclusion, be honest and firm; try not to be harsh, unless absolutely necessary.
Extra reading:
A discussion at *Amberlouie's journal about harshness in critique; this is my rather personal opinion on the matter
Now this is from deviantart.com and yes, it's based on critiques there, however a lot of it can be digested and diverted into other areas of life. Email critique, blog critique, one on one critique... grad school critique. :)
Chris. You are mean.
6.09.2008
Experimentation (Warning! Warning! Bad Stuff for Kids to read!)
I had an idea for a story. It is a horrible story. It came from a dream. Why do I dream like this?
Experimentation
A woman goes out with this nerdy guy at her work to be nice. Somehow, he takes over her mind and she finds herself naked in his shower, then naked in his bed. He comes in with a bucket of liquid metal and tells her to place her legs in it. She says no again and again and blacks out.
She wakes up in a hospital room, drugged and pregnant. She is in an insane asylum and has no idea who she is. The man comes in, rubs her baby bump and sits down. "It's a girl," he says. She smiles at him and feels the baby kick. He has a bag with him, a shopping bag from a well-known shopping center. He takes out a pair of bronzed feet. They remind her of bronzed baby booties, but they are size sevens. She smiles at him uncertainly. Why is he showing her this? He says, "Surely you remember, Barbara." Memories suddenly cascade through her mind.
She sees him over her, pumping into her fiercely while she screams in pain. Her legs ache horribly and feel heavy. He is raping her, and has raped her again and again for the past few weeks. Suddenly he stops, and says, "I can't do it. You're getting rank." He gets off her, covers her up, and finishes on her face. It's quite disgusting. She spits and continues to scream. She tries to sit up and pain encircles her brain. She uncovers herself and stares down in horror at what has become of her legs. Her feet are encased in bronze and just above the metal her legs are shriveled and black. Bright lines of blood flow up her legs, past her knee, nearly to the middle of her thigh. There are maggots feasting freely in the flesh of her calf. Her legs radiate pain like a light bulb radiates light, and she wonders that he can't feel it as well. "What have you done?" She asks.
He laughs, shrugs, and says, "Just something else to add to my trophy room." Her mind drifts to other memories, they happen in a quick succession; she is reliving months of pain and horror in a matter of seconds. She removes the blanket and see the stumps that are her legs.
"Oh, good." He says, "You've removed the blanket for me. That will make this so much easier." He cracks his knuckles, a habit she is sure has always grossed her out. "I realized after I found out you were pregnant that I do want a baby to raise." He smiled, but it never reached his eyes. That was one thing that had never changed in his face. His bald head now was full of hair... his eyes were no longer brown. He didn't even go by the same name as he did when she worked with him. She was starting to remember more than the pain and hurt he inflicted in the past.
"I'm not Barbara." She whispers. He reaches into his shopping bag and brings forth a metal hanger and slowly starts straightening it out. She tries to scoot away, but she doesn't have the strength. "What are you doing?"
"We'll just have to try again, love." He says. "I want me a son." Then he forces her stubs apart and slowly inserts the hanger. "You may feel a pinch." He says with the same soulless smile. Then he forces the hanger home and says, "Don't be in such a hurry to push me away."
She wakes up again. It's a new day. A nurse walks in and taps the I.V. hanging out of her arm. "How are we today, Mrs. Cleever?" She asks. The woman remembers her pregnancy and reaches down to feel her now flat stomach. It isn't the smooshy softness she expects, it has an odd firmness she doesn't associate with the loss of a baby.
"My baby?" She asks.
The nurse rolls her eyes. "Not again, Mrs. Cleever. We've been through this before."
The woman feels tears course down her face. "What happened? Please? I don't remember."
The nurse seems to feel some pity and finally tells her she lost it. "Spontaneous abortion. If you'd been a couple weeks further along, it'd be called a premature birth." The woman decides the pity idea was wrong and lets herself cry. She cries until she vomits all over herself, bringing the nurse back in, and she's drugged into another sleep.
She wakes up to "Ted" walking into the room. She feels fear at his presence, but doesn't know why. He smiles at her and whispers, "Hello, love. Ready to try for a boy? I have it on good authority that you are ovulating today."
She looks at him and almost says no. But then she thinks, a baby... I need a baby. She nods and he shuts the door to her private room. She willingly takes him into her arms. She doesn't know it, but this is the first time she allows him to kiss her. He takes his time with her, makes love to her as he perhaps has always wanted to. She wants to wrap her legs around him, but she can't; they are gone. Instead she clasps him to her, they finish together and he whispers, "I love you, Susie."
"I love you too, Ted." The fear is beginning to ebb away. He smiles again, but it reaches his eyes this time. She doesn't quite remember the other smiles, but she does remember that he's always been there for her. During this whole hospital stay, he is the only one who has come to visit her. He is the only one to show he cares.
"It's time for you to come home." He states. She sighs with relief.
It's good to be going home with the man you love.
Experimentation
A woman goes out with this nerdy guy at her work to be nice. Somehow, he takes over her mind and she finds herself naked in his shower, then naked in his bed. He comes in with a bucket of liquid metal and tells her to place her legs in it. She says no again and again and blacks out.
She wakes up in a hospital room, drugged and pregnant. She is in an insane asylum and has no idea who she is. The man comes in, rubs her baby bump and sits down. "It's a girl," he says. She smiles at him and feels the baby kick. He has a bag with him, a shopping bag from a well-known shopping center. He takes out a pair of bronzed feet. They remind her of bronzed baby booties, but they are size sevens. She smiles at him uncertainly. Why is he showing her this? He says, "Surely you remember, Barbara." Memories suddenly cascade through her mind.
She sees him over her, pumping into her fiercely while she screams in pain. Her legs ache horribly and feel heavy. He is raping her, and has raped her again and again for the past few weeks. Suddenly he stops, and says, "I can't do it. You're getting rank." He gets off her, covers her up, and finishes on her face. It's quite disgusting. She spits and continues to scream. She tries to sit up and pain encircles her brain. She uncovers herself and stares down in horror at what has become of her legs. Her feet are encased in bronze and just above the metal her legs are shriveled and black. Bright lines of blood flow up her legs, past her knee, nearly to the middle of her thigh. There are maggots feasting freely in the flesh of her calf. Her legs radiate pain like a light bulb radiates light, and she wonders that he can't feel it as well. "What have you done?" She asks.
He laughs, shrugs, and says, "Just something else to add to my trophy room." Her mind drifts to other memories, they happen in a quick succession; she is reliving months of pain and horror in a matter of seconds. She removes the blanket and see the stumps that are her legs.
"Oh, good." He says, "You've removed the blanket for me. That will make this so much easier." He cracks his knuckles, a habit she is sure has always grossed her out. "I realized after I found out you were pregnant that I do want a baby to raise." He smiled, but it never reached his eyes. That was one thing that had never changed in his face. His bald head now was full of hair... his eyes were no longer brown. He didn't even go by the same name as he did when she worked with him. She was starting to remember more than the pain and hurt he inflicted in the past.
"I'm not Barbara." She whispers. He reaches into his shopping bag and brings forth a metal hanger and slowly starts straightening it out. She tries to scoot away, but she doesn't have the strength. "What are you doing?"
"We'll just have to try again, love." He says. "I want me a son." Then he forces her stubs apart and slowly inserts the hanger. "You may feel a pinch." He says with the same soulless smile. Then he forces the hanger home and says, "Don't be in such a hurry to push me away."
She wakes up again. It's a new day. A nurse walks in and taps the I.V. hanging out of her arm. "How are we today, Mrs. Cleever?" She asks. The woman remembers her pregnancy and reaches down to feel her now flat stomach. It isn't the smooshy softness she expects, it has an odd firmness she doesn't associate with the loss of a baby.
"My baby?" She asks.
The nurse rolls her eyes. "Not again, Mrs. Cleever. We've been through this before."
The woman feels tears course down her face. "What happened? Please? I don't remember."
The nurse seems to feel some pity and finally tells her she lost it. "Spontaneous abortion. If you'd been a couple weeks further along, it'd be called a premature birth." The woman decides the pity idea was wrong and lets herself cry. She cries until she vomits all over herself, bringing the nurse back in, and she's drugged into another sleep.
She wakes up to "Ted" walking into the room. She feels fear at his presence, but doesn't know why. He smiles at her and whispers, "Hello, love. Ready to try for a boy? I have it on good authority that you are ovulating today."
She looks at him and almost says no. But then she thinks, a baby... I need a baby. She nods and he shuts the door to her private room. She willingly takes him into her arms. She doesn't know it, but this is the first time she allows him to kiss her. He takes his time with her, makes love to her as he perhaps has always wanted to. She wants to wrap her legs around him, but she can't; they are gone. Instead she clasps him to her, they finish together and he whispers, "I love you, Susie."
"I love you too, Ted." The fear is beginning to ebb away. He smiles again, but it reaches his eyes this time. She doesn't quite remember the other smiles, but she does remember that he's always been there for her. During this whole hospital stay, he is the only one who has come to visit her. He is the only one to show he cares.
"It's time for you to come home." He states. She sighs with relief.
It's good to be going home with the man you love.
6.08.2008
This is me, looking inward...
I wrote a lot more. I deleted it. I was suddenly uncomfortable with how much I'd shared. Sorry.
I know in a lot of people's eyes, I'm a bitch. I'm OK with that. If I'm being a bitch. But most the time, they look at me and assume I am. This impression sticks with them, forever. When that pursed lip look I tend to take is shown, please remember that it is only a symptom of having bucked teeth as a child, that need to always hide the hideous smile from the world.
For those in my classes this quarter... the only class I truly loved the people in was the capstone. My heart has always been bursting with love for people. In this instance, if I say it, it just means I like you a whole lot, but not in a weird Mrs. Robinson kind of way. I may not list your name, also because I can't remember everyone. I'm not a God, but mostly I'm tired.
Josh P. Seriously, he is one of my favorite people in the world. The fact that he is so strong and stoic about his health challenge blows my mind. (I can't spell it). I love your poetry. I love your humor, and I think you are really cute.
Chris C. He has got to be one of the nicest people I've ever met in my life. Besides myself, of course. He's funny, too, and all you have to do is make me laugh, and you have a spot beside me for always. This goes for everyone mentioned here though. I hope you don't forget about me, Chris, cuz I won't forget about you.
Aaron K. You are funny, intelligent, and when you put your hair back in a pony tail and leave part of it down, you remind me of a very young Mongul. But cute, not dangerous and marauding. I hope you get your comic book making skills up off the ground and live your dreams.
Jenai! I've only had you in two classes. Both were this year, as you know. My first idea of you was, "She's quiet and likes Thai noodles." Then it became, "She seems fun." And then, "Wow she is mean to me." Of course, that was an email snafu, and I came to understand I was being touchy. :) You rock, girl, and I can't wait to see what life brings your way.
Nancy. I've had you in a couple classes. You always brought in stacks of books., which blew my mind. I could tell you really love what you are learning. When you were showing older books to Josh in Binney's class, I wanted so bad to know what they were. I love old books. LOVE THEM... but I didn't know you well enough to butt in. You're funny and smart and I hope I learn more about you in the years to come.
David. Hey. I always thought you didn't like me. Until this quarter, really. I don't know why. Maybe it was my inner demon being a bitch. Probably, cuz we had some good laughs, and good conversations...
Scott. Scott, when I was telling my husband about you, I said, "He's very personable." Then I was accused of being an old lady for saying that. I was floored when I heard you were put on the waiting list for Fiction. I didn't understand why you weren't snatched right up. You are an awesome writer. I hope to one day buy a book of your essays or short stories, or a novel. Hey, do all three. :) I hope that one day you and your girlfriend both quit smoking. It's super hard, but if I can do it, you can do it. Believe me... I'm a huge addict. About everything. Now I just need to kick the Mountain Dew addiction, then I can move on to fatty foods. Kicking them, not eating them. I do that enough now. :)
Lisa. You are a great person and a wonderful writer. You are not afraid to try something that is new to you, and I think you should keep on doing it. Keep on writing (like your blog says) and don't be afraid of failure. It is that fear that holds us down (I know it holds me down).
There are a lot of folks I wish I could have gotten to know better. A lot of people I wish I could have made friends with.
I know in a lot of people's eyes, I'm a bitch. I'm OK with that. If I'm being a bitch. But most the time, they look at me and assume I am. This impression sticks with them, forever. When that pursed lip look I tend to take is shown, please remember that it is only a symptom of having bucked teeth as a child, that need to always hide the hideous smile from the world.
For those in my classes this quarter... the only class I truly loved the people in was the capstone. My heart has always been bursting with love for people. In this instance, if I say it, it just means I like you a whole lot, but not in a weird Mrs. Robinson kind of way. I may not list your name, also because I can't remember everyone. I'm not a God, but mostly I'm tired.
Josh P. Seriously, he is one of my favorite people in the world. The fact that he is so strong and stoic about his health challenge blows my mind. (I can't spell it). I love your poetry. I love your humor, and I think you are really cute.
Chris C. He has got to be one of the nicest people I've ever met in my life. Besides myself, of course. He's funny, too, and all you have to do is make me laugh, and you have a spot beside me for always. This goes for everyone mentioned here though. I hope you don't forget about me, Chris, cuz I won't forget about you.
Aaron K. You are funny, intelligent, and when you put your hair back in a pony tail and leave part of it down, you remind me of a very young Mongul. But cute, not dangerous and marauding. I hope you get your comic book making skills up off the ground and live your dreams.
Jenai! I've only had you in two classes. Both were this year, as you know. My first idea of you was, "She's quiet and likes Thai noodles." Then it became, "She seems fun." And then, "Wow she is mean to me." Of course, that was an email snafu, and I came to understand I was being touchy. :) You rock, girl, and I can't wait to see what life brings your way.
Nancy. I've had you in a couple classes. You always brought in stacks of books., which blew my mind. I could tell you really love what you are learning. When you were showing older books to Josh in Binney's class, I wanted so bad to know what they were. I love old books. LOVE THEM... but I didn't know you well enough to butt in. You're funny and smart and I hope I learn more about you in the years to come.
David. Hey. I always thought you didn't like me. Until this quarter, really. I don't know why. Maybe it was my inner demon being a bitch. Probably, cuz we had some good laughs, and good conversations...
Scott. Scott, when I was telling my husband about you, I said, "He's very personable." Then I was accused of being an old lady for saying that. I was floored when I heard you were put on the waiting list for Fiction. I didn't understand why you weren't snatched right up. You are an awesome writer. I hope to one day buy a book of your essays or short stories, or a novel. Hey, do all three. :) I hope that one day you and your girlfriend both quit smoking. It's super hard, but if I can do it, you can do it. Believe me... I'm a huge addict. About everything. Now I just need to kick the Mountain Dew addiction, then I can move on to fatty foods. Kicking them, not eating them. I do that enough now. :)
Lisa. You are a great person and a wonderful writer. You are not afraid to try something that is new to you, and I think you should keep on doing it. Keep on writing (like your blog says) and don't be afraid of failure. It is that fear that holds us down (I know it holds me down).
There are a lot of folks I wish I could have gotten to know better. A lot of people I wish I could have made friends with.
Am I the Only One?
My friend just became the owner of two hamsters (more power to her, I really have no luck with them). Then, she made a myspace page for them.
Am I the only one who finds this odd? A lot of Tallulah's friends (the only hamster name I recall at the moment) are also hamsters with myspace pages. There seems to be a trend.
I think I will make one for my dog. His profile will say bi, because all dogs like it both ways. Then, it will say, "I'm nearly 7, but act 2. I am looking for a home with people who appreciate me and are willing to put up with my shit." Then he will post a few pictures of himself.
Ok, see, now I've really gone overboard. Maybe that is how it started--as a joke, and soon it turned into the thing to do!
Well, I'm not havin' it. I'm not. That's just too much work.
Am I the only one who finds this odd? A lot of Tallulah's friends (the only hamster name I recall at the moment) are also hamsters with myspace pages. There seems to be a trend.
I think I will make one for my dog. His profile will say bi, because all dogs like it both ways. Then, it will say, "I'm nearly 7, but act 2. I am looking for a home with people who appreciate me and are willing to put up with my shit." Then he will post a few pictures of himself.
- "This is me in the snow."
- "This is me in the grass."
- "This is me sleeping."
- "This is me sleeping again."
Ok, see, now I've really gone overboard. Maybe that is how it started--as a joke, and soon it turned into the thing to do!
Well, I'm not havin' it. I'm not. That's just too much work.
6.04.2008
Goodbye, Dear Classmates, Goodbye..
Many of you are moving on. I want to let you know that I will miss a great many of you. I hope you all continue blogging, and keep me informed as well.
And I have to say Rachel Toor, so she will get an email. You rock Rachel. Seriously. :)
And I have to say Rachel Toor, so she will get an email. You rock Rachel. Seriously. :)
6.03.2008
Blogger Incentive Prizes
Want to be placed in a drawing to win a prize, but don't want to become separated by a dollar? We have the answer!
Blogger Incentive Prizes!
Posted by Susan Marie Groppi
2 June 2008
Okay, so I'm only on my third post of the fund drive, and I'm already starting to be exhausted from using all of these exclamation points. Sorry about that. I am, in fact, actually very excited about the fund drive, but I don't know that I need to show it quite! so! punctuationally!
That said, more exclamation points are on the way, because we have one more category of special bonus prizes: blogger incentive prizes! (If anyone has suggestions for a less business-y marketing-speak name for these prizes, let me know, please?) Promotion is the lifeblood of our fund drive--if people don't know that we're asking for money, and offering them fabulous gifts in return, how are we ever going to make our goal? In past fund drives, people have been really wonderful about helping promote the fund drive by mentioning it in their blogs and whatnot, and this time around, we want to show our gratitude in a more tangible way. How? With another prize drawing! (I do love me a random number generator.)
We have a set of four special bonus prizes, one for each week of the fund drive. Each week, one of these special bonus prizes will be given to one lucky person who helped out the Strange Horizons Fund Drive by mentioning it (and linking to it) from their blog, webjournal, or other exciting form of website. That's right! Just mentioning the fund drive, and linking to it, can win you a prize! Later today, I'll make an announcement of this week's blogger incentive prize, so you'll know what you're trying to win. (Speaking to more lofty goals, you should help promote the Strange Horizons Fund Drive because you love Strange Horizons and want us to be able to continue to pay our authors! Speaking more practically, though, these are pretty great prizes, and so simple to win.)6.02.2008
oops
I've been bad. I've not been posting. I'm so sorry. I know how everyone hangs on my every thought. It's not that I've been thoughtless, but that I've been without thoughts. When I have free time I've been doing things non-educational related.
Oh! It's June! If you appreciate the arts, donate to strangehorizons.com. 1 dollar is a good amount :) if you don't have a paypal account, just give me the money and I'll donate it in your name. You'll be able to win some really cool prizes. :)
Go do it. Karma will love you.
Oh! It's June! If you appreciate the arts, donate to strangehorizons.com. 1 dollar is a good amount :) if you don't have a paypal account, just give me the money and I'll donate it in your name. You'll be able to win some really cool prizes. :)
Go do it. Karma will love you.
5.28.2008
Chinese Trauma Stuff.
I linked the title to something, but just in case none of you is savvy enough to realize it, here is the link as well.
Basically it's a news story about Chinese Mother #1.
I think it's awesome, personally.
Basically it's a news story about Chinese Mother #1.
I think it's awesome, personally.
5.25.2008
I have no title!
I had to post on blackboard yesterday, and I forgot. I woke up early, went to the press office and worked my butt off, then I went to see Indiana Jones. Yay! I love Shia Lebouf, by the way. He's awesome.
My friend is on a drawing kick and drew my Veronica for me.
Veronica by *WinterRose31 on deviantART
She is getting a lot better. See?
One of her first drawings of her daughter, Boogie:
Boogie Drawing by *WinterRose31 on deviantART
A recent drawing of Boogie:
Boogie Drawing 2 by *WinterRose31 on deviantART
I'm envious. I want nothing more than to be able to paint or draw or do something arty. I can't though. The closest I can come is digital art, and that--not so good.
I'm pretty excited though, I'm going to be taking Digital Art in the fall. :)
My friend is on a drawing kick and drew my Veronica for me.
Veronica by *WinterRose31 on deviantART
She is getting a lot better. See?
One of her first drawings of her daughter, Boogie:
Boogie Drawing by *WinterRose31 on deviantART
A recent drawing of Boogie:
Boogie Drawing 2 by *WinterRose31 on deviantART
I'm envious. I want nothing more than to be able to paint or draw or do something arty. I can't though. The closest I can come is digital art, and that--not so good.
I'm pretty excited though, I'm going to be taking Digital Art in the fall. :)
5.24.2008
5.23.2008
5.22.2008
Awesomeness!
Here is the prize donation page so far: prizes
Notice that first one there? He's sending them to me. I don't know how I will part with them all. It will be difficult.
Anyone who donates (even if it's a dollar) is entered into these drawings. So, yeah. Donate a dollar in June, guys. I know you are college students, and poor, but so am I! I can afford a dollar. I see you people with coffees that I know cost at least three or four dollars. What's one more?
Just think, for the price of a coffee, you could be the lucky winner of an autographed copy of something.
Notice that first one there? He's sending them to me. I don't know how I will part with them all. It will be difficult.
Anyone who donates (even if it's a dollar) is entered into these drawings. So, yeah. Donate a dollar in June, guys. I know you are college students, and poor, but so am I! I can afford a dollar. I see you people with coffees that I know cost at least three or four dollars. What's one more?
Just think, for the price of a coffee, you could be the lucky winner of an autographed copy of something.
5.21.2008
A Sample of My Stupidity
I was reading Waterland by Graham Swift for ENGL 445. It was the fourth or fifth book we'd read, and I wondered why they all had British punctuation. You know, apostrophes instead of quotes and things like that. And the British spelling--colour and behaviour, things like that. I thought, "Does he have a hard on for British writers or what?"
Then I remembered it was British Literature and I was a spaz.
Then I remembered it was British Literature and I was a spaz.
5.20.2008
My Head is Full
I can no longer retain information about books. I can no longer recall something I read a week ago in class. Something is broken up there. I hope it gets fixed this summer.
I am supposed to write a final paper in Brit Lit and I have no idea what it will be. I wish Dr. Flinn would just point at me and say, "Dawn, your topic is this.... discuss!" Then, maybe I'd have a chance. As it is, I just can't think of anything. Critical analysis isn't fun anyway, and it isn't something I care about, at all. I just hope I pass.
The final will be a few questions chosen randomly out of the study questions. I never read those, because they are confusing, and make me feel stupid most of the time. Well, not never, but I don't read them while I'm reading the book. I can't remember so many things, I don't know how I will do on this final. I am sad.
When I started college in 2004 (pregnant with number 3) I was excited. I wanted to do SO well. I wanted 4.0's in everything. That first quarter, that's what I got. I had the baby on June 19th, right after school was out and started summer quarter on the 21st. All of my classes were online. I received a 4.0 in English 201 and a bit lower in the other two, which I think were history and psychology 101. Still, I thought, this is good.
Then I had to take math. So, my gpa went down a bit, but I was still above a 3.7 cumulative gpa and I was happy with that. I joined Phi Theta Kappa mostly so I could get a scholarship to eastern. The first year I went here, I was in honors. My GPA dripped down to a 3.6 and I was booted from honors. No more scholarship.
I've decided I don't care about GPA anyway. I mean, no one has ever interviewed me and asked, "What grade did you get in this class?" They've never asked to see my transcripts, and never have I been asked for proof that I graduated from High School. I'm almost sure that if I say I have a bachelor's degree, they'll ask to see it, but it doesn't matter either. I mean, they hire people with degrees all the time, degrees that were bought on the internet and never do they check that school out, to see if it's legit. Not until some poor kid is running around saying this like, "That's unportant, and unnapropriate."
Teachers make mistakes... but nearly every week I sent my daughter's fifth grade word list back with corrections. Don't test my kid on words and spell them wrong! Jeez. The next year she had the same teacher and she had her in a special group that was given greek roots and they had to do a bunch of stuff with them. I don't remember what.
That's why I hate Spokane schools. They are like, "it's really important that our kids are coddled during Elementary School. Our classes should have less than 20 kids each. They should have the same teacher as often as possible. But after grade school, who gives a shit? Let's throw them in these four middle schools full of thousands of kids, with teachers who say things like, '265 kids come through my class every day, your daughter doesn't look familiar, so I'm guessing she's not failing' when asked how a certain child is doing in their class." He was wrong, by the way, she was failing.
"Then," they say, "let's just go ahead and toss who ever is left into these other four high schools. We have the poor high school (North Central), the rich high school (Ferris), the mix of both (Shadle), and that one downtown (LC). The last one is the best one. What a great location for a high school. Hey, there are hospitals nearby, and mcdonalds. The freeway. That really nice parking area under the freeway--it's so safe. No one slings drugs there."
Everyone called Jance, "Last Chance Jance" I don't know if I'm spelling it right, and I don't care. I think places like that are great. You have more one on one with teachers and students. You work at your own pace. Ect. My cousin went to a place like that, but she didn't graduate. She just wasn't the type.
I'm homeschooling my daughter next year. She's insanely shy and starting new, large schools is extremely painful for her. But, mostly, it's because I'm pretty sure I could teach her better.
I really went off in a different direction on this, didn't I? I guess my point is that I hate Spokane schools and I no longer care about my GPA, only care if I pass. It's a sickness. I'm done. I'm tired. I'm sick of it.
I am supposed to write a final paper in Brit Lit and I have no idea what it will be. I wish Dr. Flinn would just point at me and say, "Dawn, your topic is this.... discuss!" Then, maybe I'd have a chance. As it is, I just can't think of anything. Critical analysis isn't fun anyway, and it isn't something I care about, at all. I just hope I pass.
The final will be a few questions chosen randomly out of the study questions. I never read those, because they are confusing, and make me feel stupid most of the time. Well, not never, but I don't read them while I'm reading the book. I can't remember so many things, I don't know how I will do on this final. I am sad.
When I started college in 2004 (pregnant with number 3) I was excited. I wanted to do SO well. I wanted 4.0's in everything. That first quarter, that's what I got. I had the baby on June 19th, right after school was out and started summer quarter on the 21st. All of my classes were online. I received a 4.0 in English 201 and a bit lower in the other two, which I think were history and psychology 101. Still, I thought, this is good.
Then I had to take math. So, my gpa went down a bit, but I was still above a 3.7 cumulative gpa and I was happy with that. I joined Phi Theta Kappa mostly so I could get a scholarship to eastern. The first year I went here, I was in honors. My GPA dripped down to a 3.6 and I was booted from honors. No more scholarship.
I've decided I don't care about GPA anyway. I mean, no one has ever interviewed me and asked, "What grade did you get in this class?" They've never asked to see my transcripts, and never have I been asked for proof that I graduated from High School. I'm almost sure that if I say I have a bachelor's degree, they'll ask to see it, but it doesn't matter either. I mean, they hire people with degrees all the time, degrees that were bought on the internet and never do they check that school out, to see if it's legit. Not until some poor kid is running around saying this like, "That's unportant, and unnapropriate."
Teachers make mistakes... but nearly every week I sent my daughter's fifth grade word list back with corrections. Don't test my kid on words and spell them wrong! Jeez. The next year she had the same teacher and she had her in a special group that was given greek roots and they had to do a bunch of stuff with them. I don't remember what.
That's why I hate Spokane schools. They are like, "it's really important that our kids are coddled during Elementary School. Our classes should have less than 20 kids each. They should have the same teacher as often as possible. But after grade school, who gives a shit? Let's throw them in these four middle schools full of thousands of kids, with teachers who say things like, '265 kids come through my class every day, your daughter doesn't look familiar, so I'm guessing she's not failing' when asked how a certain child is doing in their class." He was wrong, by the way, she was failing.
"Then," they say, "let's just go ahead and toss who ever is left into these other four high schools. We have the poor high school (North Central), the rich high school (Ferris), the mix of both (Shadle), and that one downtown (LC). The last one is the best one. What a great location for a high school. Hey, there are hospitals nearby, and mcdonalds. The freeway. That really nice parking area under the freeway--it's so safe. No one slings drugs there."
Everyone called Jance, "Last Chance Jance" I don't know if I'm spelling it right, and I don't care. I think places like that are great. You have more one on one with teachers and students. You work at your own pace. Ect. My cousin went to a place like that, but she didn't graduate. She just wasn't the type.
I'm homeschooling my daughter next year. She's insanely shy and starting new, large schools is extremely painful for her. But, mostly, it's because I'm pretty sure I could teach her better.
I really went off in a different direction on this, didn't I? I guess my point is that I hate Spokane schools and I no longer care about my GPA, only care if I pass. It's a sickness. I'm done. I'm tired. I'm sick of it.
5.19.2008
I hate stuff
My title making skillz are top notch. I know. W00t!
So.... I play everquest 2 from time to time. My account is supposed to be free. I went to log in, and it isn't free anymore. I could understand if they had a reason for it... or something, but I didn't even get an email. Of course, that means they will lose the other two accounts this family pays for, plus any money we may have spent on adventure packs or expansion packs. Of course, it IS Sony, so it isn't like that's going to hurt them.
That's ok though, I'm sick of SOE. I was going to rant about them, but I don't feel like giving them that kind of energy.
I never have time to play, anyway.
So.... I play everquest 2 from time to time. My account is supposed to be free. I went to log in, and it isn't free anymore. I could understand if they had a reason for it... or something, but I didn't even get an email. Of course, that means they will lose the other two accounts this family pays for, plus any money we may have spent on adventure packs or expansion packs. Of course, it IS Sony, so it isn't like that's going to hurt them.
That's ok though, I'm sick of SOE. I was going to rant about them, but I don't feel like giving them that kind of energy.
I never have time to play, anyway.
5.18.2008
I'm No Lady
A couple years ago or three, my second daughter, Cassandra, was hanging around my husband and me while we were playing WoW or EQ2, I don't remember which. I said something snarky to him, and he said, "Listen, Lady!" In a bitchy, Jerry Lewis-voice.
I said, "Hey! Don't you talk to me like that!"
And Cassandra said, "Yeah! Mommy's not a lady!"
I said, "Hey! Don't you talk to me like that!"
And Cassandra said, "Yeah! Mommy's not a lady!"
5.17.2008
Oh donations!
So, this person here will be donating a signed print of her work to our cause (strangehorizons) and I emailed Patrick Rothfuss, who will be sending me some books for the raffle, and I'm super excited.
If you don't know who that is, run to the bookstore and buy, "The Name of the Wind," because it is super awesome. If you don't, I will shoot you in the leg.
If you don't know who that is, run to the bookstore and buy, "The Name of the Wind," because it is super awesome. If you don't, I will shoot you in the leg.
5.16.2008
Strange Horizons
I'm the development coordinator for Strangehorizons.com, which is a super awesome paying speculative fiction and art market. It is recognized by SFWA.org, as a paying market. Many of the pieces submitted to the online magazine have been nominated for outstanding awards, like the Hugo award.
We are run completely on donations. We do not get paid, only our writers do! Go to [link] to check it out. Every year we have a fund drive and you get fantabulous prizes for donating at that time. DO IT! (but not until June).
If we reach a certain limit (haven't decided how much yet) Kelly Link will write a short story exclusively for us to publish. I'm super excited about it.
If you have a book or work of art and would like to donate a copy to a winner, let me know! It will be put on our list of donated items, and your name will be there for a whole year! What a way to make it seen (your name and your work).
So I applied for the managing editor job, but I didn't get it. From the looks of it though, I'm far more busy now then I would have been. ;)
I used a lot of exclamation points! I wonder if Dave and Scott are at the party tonight at Claire's house!? I am using stream-of-consciousness indiscriminately!
We are run completely on donations. We do not get paid, only our writers do! Go to [link] to check it out. Every year we have a fund drive and you get fantabulous prizes for donating at that time. DO IT! (but not until June).
If we reach a certain limit (haven't decided how much yet) Kelly Link will write a short story exclusively for us to publish. I'm super excited about it.
If you have a book or work of art and would like to donate a copy to a winner, let me know! It will be put on our list of donated items, and your name will be there for a whole year! What a way to make it seen (your name and your work).
So I applied for the managing editor job, but I didn't get it. From the looks of it though, I'm far more busy now then I would have been. ;)
I used a lot of exclamation points! I wonder if Dave and Scott are at the party tonight at Claire's house!? I am using stream-of-consciousness indiscriminately!
5.14.2008
The Ease (and horrible consequences) of Internet Posting
In 1995 my husband went to NYC for a week, taking our daughter with him. He was going to come home without her, and she was to stay there for three months. She was two. It was not the best decision I have ever made, and whenever I bring it up, I tend to go off on a rant about it. Let's cut it short and just say they didn't return her until six months later and that was at my insistence. I haven't been away from any of my kids for that long, again. So, he left for NYC, it was the first time we'd been apart for any amount of time in two years. I was sleepless, I was lonely, I was smoking a ton of pot. It was my early twenties, and I worked at hastings. Everyone smoked pot at hastings. I had more connections for pot than I'd had in high school. Though, in high school I never had to pay for it.
It was late, maybe four in the morning, and once more I couldn't sleep. I decided to write. I took out my notebook, or maybe I turned on my pentium, I can't remember. I am not The Woman Who Can't Forget, so cut me a little slack. Suddenly, my mind expanded and I wrote the best poem I'd ever written in my life! It was so great, I couldn't wait to share it. I think I'd posted it on a bulletin board I frequented.
In November of that year I was reading Speculations (Which OMG is no longer in the business, it breaks my heart.) and found a magazine that fit my poem, plus I could email it. Sooner than I expected I received an acceptance letter. It was my first one and I was so proud. Payment was a contributor's copy, and that was OK with me. When I received the magazine, I opened immediately to my poem. I was angry, it was split into two columns and wasn't supposed to be. Plus, it was surrounded with other poems that were no where near as good.
In 1999, I learnt me how to make webpages on Angelfire.com. My first website was born: Damina's First. I posted all of my writing that I could. Including the aforementioned poem. Black Moon Magazine (the one who printed it) had since gone out of business. I found sffworld.com and swiftly became a member, posting some of my writing there, including that damn poem.
I have since deleted Damina's First (mostly for personal reasons, if you ever find my angelfire webpage, you will see that :P) and moved on. However, that poem, and another on sffworld, have haunted me. They are still there, you see, and I can no longer log in to delete them. They changed the way people submit stuff, and my conversation with the webmaster regarding this was cut off mid-sentence. He dropped the ball somewhere, or died.
Every now and then I get bored and google certain phrases in the poem, and I find it everywhere. The kids really like it. They like to say they wrote it, or to use parts of it (and the other one on sffworld) and seem like mediocre writers.
It's not a poem I am proud of. Actually, I now hate it, but it's mine damn it, and I don't want their grubby little emo hands all over it. This is a warning for you, any of you, thinking of posting you poetry online. Remember it, dread it.
Did I learn my lesson? No. haha. I suck.
For those of you interested, it's The Vampire, by Dawn Rusho (my maiden name. I was going to use that as my pseudonym.) and it reeks. I posted it in 2002, so obviously it took me a while to find sffworld. It's missing an apostrophe, and sidhe is pronounced "Shee." Look it up.
It was late, maybe four in the morning, and once more I couldn't sleep. I decided to write. I took out my notebook, or maybe I turned on my pentium, I can't remember. I am not The Woman Who Can't Forget, so cut me a little slack. Suddenly, my mind expanded and I wrote the best poem I'd ever written in my life! It was so great, I couldn't wait to share it. I think I'd posted it on a bulletin board I frequented.
In November of that year I was reading Speculations (Which OMG is no longer in the business, it breaks my heart.) and found a magazine that fit my poem, plus I could email it. Sooner than I expected I received an acceptance letter. It was my first one and I was so proud. Payment was a contributor's copy, and that was OK with me. When I received the magazine, I opened immediately to my poem. I was angry, it was split into two columns and wasn't supposed to be. Plus, it was surrounded with other poems that were no where near as good.
In 1999, I learnt me how to make webpages on Angelfire.com. My first website was born: Damina's First. I posted all of my writing that I could. Including the aforementioned poem. Black Moon Magazine (the one who printed it) had since gone out of business. I found sffworld.com and swiftly became a member, posting some of my writing there, including that damn poem.
I have since deleted Damina's First (mostly for personal reasons, if you ever find my angelfire webpage, you will see that :P) and moved on. However, that poem, and another on sffworld, have haunted me. They are still there, you see, and I can no longer log in to delete them. They changed the way people submit stuff, and my conversation with the webmaster regarding this was cut off mid-sentence. He dropped the ball somewhere, or died.
Every now and then I get bored and google certain phrases in the poem, and I find it everywhere. The kids really like it. They like to say they wrote it, or to use parts of it (and the other one on sffworld) and seem like mediocre writers.
It's not a poem I am proud of. Actually, I now hate it, but it's mine damn it, and I don't want their grubby little emo hands all over it. This is a warning for you, any of you, thinking of posting you poetry online. Remember it, dread it.
Did I learn my lesson? No. haha. I suck.
For those of you interested, it's The Vampire, by Dawn Rusho (my maiden name. I was going to use that as my pseudonym.) and it reeks. I posted it in 2002, so obviously it took me a while to find sffworld. It's missing an apostrophe, and sidhe is pronounced "Shee." Look it up.
5.13.2008
Huge Soaking Wet Pee-Ness (this will be a small one)
So, last night and yesterday were hellish. The children were still sick, but not as sick. However, diapers and diarrhea equals diaper rash. So everytime the child peed last night, she cried and woke up. Finally, around four a.m., drop-dead tired, I picked her up and put her in bed with me. Dee goes to work at two a.m. so she slept on his side.
Anyway, in the morning, she woke up for good around ten-thirty, and I brought her downstairs, threw her at my mother-in-law, and ran back upstairs to sleep more. Once I went up, I realized I had a huge wet spot on my jammies--her diaper had leaked. She'd also managed to pee all over Dee's side of the bed. (yay).
I was telling Yvonne about it just now. I said, "Anyway, after I went upstairs, I saw a wet spot on my jammies and realized it was a huge, soaking wet pee-ness." In my head, I saw pee-ness. She tells me that at first, that spelling also flashed in her head.
Suddenly, however, a different form of pee-ness flashed through her head, and Beavis and Butthead style she said, pointing, "You said penis!"
After the laughter had calmed down a bit on both our parts, I said, "The things that come out of her diaper!"
Ciao
Anyway, in the morning, she woke up for good around ten-thirty, and I brought her downstairs, threw her at my mother-in-law, and ran back upstairs to sleep more. Once I went up, I realized I had a huge wet spot on my jammies--her diaper had leaked. She'd also managed to pee all over Dee's side of the bed. (yay).
I was telling Yvonne about it just now. I said, "Anyway, after I went upstairs, I saw a wet spot on my jammies and realized it was a huge, soaking wet pee-ness." In my head, I saw pee-ness. She tells me that at first, that spelling also flashed in her head.
Suddenly, however, a different form of pee-ness flashed through her head, and Beavis and Butthead style she said, pointing, "You said penis!"
After the laughter had calmed down a bit on both our parts, I said, "The things that come out of her diaper!"
Ciao
5.12.2008
Blogs and Babies
Blogs
Chris has a good point. A lot of people write blogs to exorcise their demons and what not. I've never done that.
I have friends who are constantly writing private blogs on Myspace (and then I'm notified they posted one and I can't read it. That pisses me off.) Because they want to write something that no one can read. Yet, they want us all to know they did so. So, in a way, it isn't private. As with Chris's way of writing blogs to exorcise demons, anonymously, they are still there, are they not? For the world to stumbleupon?
I write to get out my angst. I do so either on paper, or on word. If I don't want anyone to read it, I burn it or delete it. There have been two times I posted private blogs on myspace. One was a bad poem I needed to get out and the other was a tirade against my husband, who was in full jerk form that day. I kept it, because I figured one of these days, I'll take it out and like a sword, brandish it at him. That's right, I did it on purpose. For the purpose of one day showing him how he hurt me. Silly, I know, but I hardly ever do that. Truly.
I guess my point is this: Most people who write blogs do so to be seen, but not all. Fine.
Babies
A little bit of education for those of you who have yet to produce tiny, evil images of yourselves. For those of you who have, I'm sure you'll remember these times fondly.
My youngest two are sick. Again. It feels like they've been sick for a month and a half. Whenever they get over a sickness, another one moves in. I'm sick of all the boogers.
I realized last night that the reason teens go to parties and drink until they puke isn't because they are rebelling. Nope, nor is it because it's fun and the thing to do when you're bored. It's to help you become accustomed to being puked on. It's a mechanism to teach us how to deal with that situation once it arises, and it does arise quite often. Last night, I was holding my baby. I was going to post a picture of her new cheesy smile, but my oldest daughter absconded with the camera, so I won't. Lucky you. About an hour after capturing this cheesy smile (it is really the cutest thing ever) she started getting really fussy and I noticed she was warm. She had pooped a lot, and I knew she was getting sick, so I decided to give her some baby Tylenol. I did and she repaid me by spewing the contents of her stomach all over me, again and again. Once I finally got her to go to sleep, I went upstairs to check on the three year old, who had a fever as well, and gave her a drink o water. She then vomited all over her bed.
There is one thing they never tell you when you are becoming a parent, and that is this: You will talk about poop, a lot. My husband will walk into the house, receive his kiss and hello, and promptly be told, "The baby pooped a ton today, it was disgusting, and ran down her leg." We even talk about the poop of our six year old, who poops logs. We can not understand how such large items come out of such a little behind. They stop up the toilet, they don't want to go down. It's like they are little people, desperately clinging to the sides of the bowl in a last attempt at life. I almost feel bad for them. One time, my mother-in-law had to grab an old hanger to break them apart so they could die peacefully.
Now, both girls are vomitous and diarreous (I know these are not words, but they are now.) and feverous as well. They are hot, sticky, stinky balls of ewww.
I love being a mom... but it cuts into my being a student quite often.
Chris has a good point. A lot of people write blogs to exorcise their demons and what not. I've never done that.
I have friends who are constantly writing private blogs on Myspace (and then I'm notified they posted one and I can't read it. That pisses me off.) Because they want to write something that no one can read. Yet, they want us all to know they did so. So, in a way, it isn't private. As with Chris's way of writing blogs to exorcise demons, anonymously, they are still there, are they not? For the world to stumbleupon?
I write to get out my angst. I do so either on paper, or on word. If I don't want anyone to read it, I burn it or delete it. There have been two times I posted private blogs on myspace. One was a bad poem I needed to get out and the other was a tirade against my husband, who was in full jerk form that day. I kept it, because I figured one of these days, I'll take it out and like a sword, brandish it at him. That's right, I did it on purpose. For the purpose of one day showing him how he hurt me. Silly, I know, but I hardly ever do that. Truly.
I guess my point is this: Most people who write blogs do so to be seen, but not all. Fine.
Babies
A little bit of education for those of you who have yet to produce tiny, evil images of yourselves. For those of you who have, I'm sure you'll remember these times fondly.
My youngest two are sick. Again. It feels like they've been sick for a month and a half. Whenever they get over a sickness, another one moves in. I'm sick of all the boogers.
I realized last night that the reason teens go to parties and drink until they puke isn't because they are rebelling. Nope, nor is it because it's fun and the thing to do when you're bored. It's to help you become accustomed to being puked on. It's a mechanism to teach us how to deal with that situation once it arises, and it does arise quite often. Last night, I was holding my baby. I was going to post a picture of her new cheesy smile, but my oldest daughter absconded with the camera, so I won't. Lucky you. About an hour after capturing this cheesy smile (it is really the cutest thing ever) she started getting really fussy and I noticed she was warm. She had pooped a lot, and I knew she was getting sick, so I decided to give her some baby Tylenol. I did and she repaid me by spewing the contents of her stomach all over me, again and again. Once I finally got her to go to sleep, I went upstairs to check on the three year old, who had a fever as well, and gave her a drink o water. She then vomited all over her bed.
There is one thing they never tell you when you are becoming a parent, and that is this: You will talk about poop, a lot. My husband will walk into the house, receive his kiss and hello, and promptly be told, "The baby pooped a ton today, it was disgusting, and ran down her leg." We even talk about the poop of our six year old, who poops logs. We can not understand how such large items come out of such a little behind. They stop up the toilet, they don't want to go down. It's like they are little people, desperately clinging to the sides of the bowl in a last attempt at life. I almost feel bad for them. One time, my mother-in-law had to grab an old hanger to break them apart so they could die peacefully.
Now, both girls are vomitous and diarreous (I know these are not words, but they are now.) and feverous as well. They are hot, sticky, stinky balls of ewww.
I love being a mom... but it cuts into my being a student quite often.
5.11.2008
Untitled Randomness
This is the reason I don't blog, I don't get comments. I don't get comments, why write? I mean, isn't that what blogging is about? Isn't blogging the, "Hello World! Here I am, read what I write, and thrive upon it!" thing? It's like a forum that is dedicated to you and only you can start the topics. If I don't have people replying to my topics, then I don't see why I should start them. That, my friends, is why I hate blogging. Because you are all a bunch of assholes. That's right. I said it. There's no holding back here. This is the internet. Of course, when I see you in class, I'll make sure you know I didn't mean you.
I don't blog because assholes don't comment.
As for the ones I don't mean, and you know who you are:
I don't blog because I thrive on the knowledge that I'm being read. If I am not being read, then I may as well go buy a journal and start scribbling my nonsense in it. I don't blog to log a diary, I blog to be seen. It's my red carpet, so to speak, and you photographers are not doing your jobs.
I was watching Nanny 911 on CMT yesterday. This is odd, because I usually don't watch CMT and I can count on 2 fingers how many times I've seen Nanny 911. It was my husband's fault. He is secretly addicted to reality television. It isn't as secret as he thinks, though, I've already figured it out. He wanted to watch it, and wouldn't turn it to SNL when I told him to. Anyway, this episode had three nannies at once, taking over a house where a woman adopted 23 special needs kids. I have all sorts of problems with this.
Now I will eat shrimp and watch i robot. I like i robot, so shut up. I also like AI, which everyone and their mother hates. I don't care. That's just how I roll.
I don't blog because assholes don't comment.
As for the ones I don't mean, and you know who you are:
I don't blog because I thrive on the knowledge that I'm being read. If I am not being read, then I may as well go buy a journal and start scribbling my nonsense in it. I don't blog to log a diary, I blog to be seen. It's my red carpet, so to speak, and you photographers are not doing your jobs.
I was watching Nanny 911 on CMT yesterday. This is odd, because I usually don't watch CMT and I can count on 2 fingers how many times I've seen Nanny 911. It was my husband's fault. He is secretly addicted to reality television. It isn't as secret as he thinks, though, I've already figured it out. He wanted to watch it, and wouldn't turn it to SNL when I told him to. Anyway, this episode had three nannies at once, taking over a house where a woman adopted 23 special needs kids. I have all sorts of problems with this.
- I understand the heartache of knowing that child (any one of them) needs a loving home. It is much the same as when I visit Spokanimal. I want nothing more than to adopt every dog I see.
- They do not allow you to adopt that many animals. You can not give each animal the amount of attention it needs and deserves. This is why you see those animal cops on Animal Planet (tm) taking the animals away from the crazy cat ladies of the world.
- The woman was the only one taking care of the kids. The husband was paraplegic, this means that all he did was run around on his wheelchair yelling at kids, or giving hugs now and then. Most of the show, you didn't see him.
- These kids were really special needs. They need much more attention than one woman can give.
- Daycare workers can not watch more than a certain amount of kids per adult (I'm not a worker, I don't know how many, but I do know it is less than 23) because they are not able to give the attention necessary.
Now I will eat shrimp and watch i robot. I like i robot, so shut up. I also like AI, which everyone and their mother hates. I don't care. That's just how I roll.
5.10.2008
I may have the wrong number
So, interesting things happen from time to time. I received a text message last night, "Hey girl, how you doin?" I replied with, "Who is this?" because the phone number was not one I'd seen before. Where is 812 anyway? Around four in the morning he replied. "This is dan."
I know no one who goes by "Dan." At least, not well enough to be giving him my phone number.
He later said, "I probably have the wrong number. What's your name?" I said, "Dawn, and again, I know no one named dan." He then replied with, "I may have the wrong number, how old are you?"
I said, "There is no "may" about it. But, I'm 33."
"True. Yes i do have the wrong number. Sorry about that. Any way i can get a picture of you?"
I'm contemplating sending him a picture of my husband. But, we are on the way to the movie. The aforementioned one.
Is there some weird thing going around where people randomly text phone numbers? Do I have a stalker? Should I reply?
Find out later on... "Slappy Jones's Locker!"
I know no one who goes by "Dan." At least, not well enough to be giving him my phone number.
He later said, "I probably have the wrong number. What's your name?" I said, "Dawn, and again, I know no one named dan." He then replied with, "I may have the wrong number, how old are you?"
I said, "There is no "may" about it. But, I'm 33."
"True. Yes i do have the wrong number. Sorry about that. Any way i can get a picture of you?"
I'm contemplating sending him a picture of my husband. But, we are on the way to the movie. The aforementioned one.
Is there some weird thing going around where people randomly text phone numbers? Do I have a stalker? Should I reply?
Find out later on... "Slappy Jones's Locker!"
5.09.2008
Happy Mother's Day
Today, my husband said, "I didn't just marry you, I married Dawn and her crazy-bitch-twin alter ego." Don't worry, he usually isn't this sweet. Why? You want to know, well, I'll tell you, I guess, since I'm being forced to write daily. It's because we are going to go watch Ironman tomorrow, and I suggested we go watch it tonight instead. He said no and my day continued.
Later, my daughter, the ever-beautiful fourteen-year-old Yvonne, asked, "Why not tonight?"
And I said, "Because Daddy doesn't want to go tonight."
This is when he decided to say I'd been harping on it all day long. Personally, I think he was being a bit unfair, but my opinion doesn't matter. He doesn't even believe that this is homework. Ass.
I was going to talk about two inventions I've been dreaming of since I've had memories, but I'll save that for later I guess--for tomorrow maybe, unless he utters some other love-strewn words of bliss at me that I will then feel the need to share.
Later, my daughter, the ever-beautiful fourteen-year-old Yvonne, asked, "Why not tonight?"
And I said, "Because Daddy doesn't want to go tonight."
This is when he decided to say I'd been harping on it all day long. Personally, I think he was being a bit unfair, but my opinion doesn't matter. He doesn't even believe that this is homework. Ass.
I was going to talk about two inventions I've been dreaming of since I've had memories, but I'll save that for later I guess--for tomorrow maybe, unless he utters some other love-strewn words of bliss at me that I will then feel the need to share.
5.08.2008
Hot off the press!
While reading prize entries for the Blue Lynx Poetry Contest sponsored by the Eastern Washington University Press today, I couldn't help but wonder where everyone gets all these poems they send out. I also wondered why anyone would send in money for a contest. I never have money to send anywhere, just for the off-chance that I may win. It seems like a waste of 25 dollars to me, but we have a lot of entries, so obviously I am the only one who feels this way.
I also noticed that a lot of the entries included poetry that was already published. A lot. It is crazy how many of the manuscripts included poetry that was already published. Crazy. I thought, when I first heard about it, that it would mostly be new writers.
Of course, I have a lot of poetry I've written, but not enough to fill a book, and if I did have enough to fill a book, they aren't good enough for a whole book. I have maybe 2 or 3 that I think are OK and could be good enough for a book.
I'm just not satisfied with them.
There is one that was first called, "Odd" then, "The New Toy," and then, "Pennies From Heaven," which I didn't really think fit, but I used it anyway. I've rewritten this poem about thirty bazillion times, and I hate it. I don't know why I still have it and keep working on it. It was created from a weird dream, and the way it is reworked keeps it being a weird thing, but I still hate it. I can't even remember what it's called now, but something like, "The Bone Factory" would work. Oh, hold on, let me look. I have three computers that I use on a daily basis, and I can't remember where I saved it, so nevermind.
I am 98% sure that I saved it on my desktop, but I don't see it. How annoying.
I blame Jeff.
I also noticed that a lot of the entries included poetry that was already published. A lot. It is crazy how many of the manuscripts included poetry that was already published. Crazy. I thought, when I first heard about it, that it would mostly be new writers.
Of course, I have a lot of poetry I've written, but not enough to fill a book, and if I did have enough to fill a book, they aren't good enough for a whole book. I have maybe 2 or 3 that I think are OK and could be good enough for a book.
I'm just not satisfied with them.
There is one that was first called, "Odd" then, "The New Toy," and then, "Pennies From Heaven," which I didn't really think fit, but I used it anyway. I've rewritten this poem about thirty bazillion times, and I hate it. I don't know why I still have it and keep working on it. It was created from a weird dream, and the way it is reworked keeps it being a weird thing, but I still hate it. I can't even remember what it's called now, but something like, "The Bone Factory" would work. Oh, hold on, let me look. I have three computers that I use on a daily basis, and I can't remember where I saved it, so nevermind.
I am 98% sure that I saved it on my desktop, but I don't see it. How annoying.
I blame Jeff.
5.07.2008
Super Happy Fun Post!
Thanks to Jeff Garr, I am being forced to post a blog daily. I decided to take this blog out and dust it off. This will be the most attention it has ever received. It is all a quiver with anticipation. This blog will feel caressed by my words, teased by my softly spoken phrases, and forever grateful for my presence. Then, I will leave it. As I have left it before, destitute and bereft.
It will wonder, why? What is wrong with me? And I'll say, "It's not me. It's you. I don't like you as much as I pretended. I was only using you, because you are so easy.
"Slut."
It will wonder, why? What is wrong with me? And I'll say, "It's not me. It's you. I don't like you as much as I pretended. I was only using you, because you are so easy.
"Slut."
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