Wednesday, July 27

a brutal behind the scenes look at yahoo mail

My main e-mail address is no longer, but I still check it once in awhile, just to keep it active in case I have any unknown accounts on that address. Sometimes, I find bizarre e-mails, like the ones in my Bulk folder from people with the following horrible spam names:

*Hake V. Recreated
*Theosophy C. Proportionally
*Iniquities V. Sherri
*Rosenquist Scheidegger
*Crinkled V. Indorsed
*Rivalries K. Compilation
*Grapple H. Disguising
*Camisole R. Kinswoman
*Winding F. Wedded
*Dibbled H. Gelding
*Colitis I. Axiomatic
*Praline I. Subjoin
*Categorization H. Ghastliness
*Reposeful V. Engulfs
*Deliquescent I. Cochlea
*Battleships G. Dullards
*Psyched O. Concessionaires
*Deification T. Gardener
*Subtracted V. Dexterously
*Texaco O. Attune

Even though I know they're just randomly generated, they still make me laugh. Of course there were also the very important e-mails from Sara Freder, one of those online gypsy horoscope salespeople, and the very important breakfast decision. I never realized the gravity of preferring one variety of Cheerios over another.

The Inbox wasn't actually much better. I deleted all but 5 e-mails, and combined with the bulk folder that's almost 2500 deleted mails. One of those five annoyed me a bit. Recently Dan posted this livejournal entry. I commented on AJ's comment, which was asinine as per usual, and he commented back something like "Learn to shut up" in response. I mentioned to Dan that he responded with another stupid comment, and Dan said that AJ was initially upset by my own comment. Feeling bad (but not too bad), I gave a friendly sort of response. A little later when I checked my inbox, I saw that he had initially posted another comment, "Die in a fire." This isn't visible in the entry comments, so I'm guessing Dan screened it. While I'm a bit annoyed by it, mostly I'm wondering... was he fucking serious? I mean, why would he comment that to me in the journal of my boyfriend of two years? I am supposing that Dan was RAGEFUL and defended my honor. :)

I'm going to go throw an unbirthday party for Categorization H. Ghastliness. Just me, the naked asian Cabbage Patch doll on the couch, and good ol' Categorization.

Tuesday, July 26

mighty morphin' kristin... a poorly titled, deeply personal entry of the sort I usually avoid

I am at a crossroads, and I can either do something, or wait for the next one. Leave the cemetary after twenty years, or continue playing chess with the ghosts.

So at this crossroads, I can either continue as I have been for the past two years, the college years, overweight, lazier than ever before, more antisocial than ever before, hating school, hating what school has turned me into, and not writing nearly as much as I would like. Or, I can take the turn and become the person I wanted to become after graduating high school:

*a person who is normal in the sense of having a job, being productive, and sleeping at normal, human hours
*who is unique in most other regards
*who is healthy and fit
*who enjoys wearing fun clothes
*who writes on a regular basis
*who has hobbies
*who is introverted but not so antisocial as to be depressed about it

This is what I was when I graduated from high school, two years ago. Of course I was nowhere near perfect (who is?), but compared to what I am now, anything is better. Right now... this summer, this fall... I am changing. I'm going to get back on the track I was on before, I'm going to follow it, and I'm going to be the ideal Kristin. Oh, I've said this before. How can I know it will work this time? Because I will make detailed lists, which I will look at every day, and because I'm miserable as is.

This has got me to thinking: I hate what the past two years have turned me into, and while I really want to just obliterate the whole college experience, there have been good parts as well. In my mind, Dan is barely connected with any of it, which sounds strange because he was there through it all, more than anyone else. Dan is for keeping. Becoming pagan, I think, would have happened either way, since I based the decision on beliefs I thought about long and hard. My love of Nick at N*te, while detrimental to my grades and attempts at normal sleeping hours, is worth keeping because I've always appreciated good humor, and anyways, I'm living off-campus and no longer have cable access.

And then there are good experiences that could have been better. Just this year I went on two trips to New York state; I went to Wellspring in May (still haven't posted that draft entry) and a family reunion earlier this month. On both occasions, I missed having an awesome time just by not participating as much as I could have. Living in the dorms... I could have done the lame events they put out. They probably weren't spectacular events, but you know, I could have done them instead of sitting in my room. I could have hung out more with my suitemates (not freshman year so much, but last year) instead of sitting at my computer, doing something I don't even remember, reading articles I barely cared about in the first place.

That was mildly therapeutic.

Wednesday, July 13

a short story

I've been inspired by F. Scott Fitzgerald to write about real things in my life... he once said that every writer has a few experiences which affect him/ her profoundly, and they draw most of their work from those few experiences. So, I am writing a story based on real things, and on speculations about the gloomy looking red headed boy on the side of the road.

The red-headed boy walked in a cloud of gloom, drawing to him all the doom and depression hidden under the mask of an idyllic summer day. Ten minutes walk from the center of twon, the unlined road he lived on felt to him like a wild borderland. Adventures-to-be-had tugged at him, chained to his legs, the late afternoon torment of a teenaged Jacob Marley dragging around him as he trudged the straight street of boredom.

His first year of high school had ended in the controlled chaos of final exams, with little studying to be done and most of his last school days spent playing Hi Lo Jack and talking about funny lines from raunchy comedies in a cafeteria with the unofficial slogan "One Thousand pieces of Tacky Gum Under Every Table." He had thought up the slogan himself, but credit was given to Joe Siphon who, by some combination of volume and popularity, was considered funny. The afternoon after the slogan became the high school's most widely spread joke, the red-headed boy explained to his friends over a bowl of barbecue flavored chips his chagrin at being overlooked, although he tried to make it sound as if he didn't really care. His friends always met at his house because his parents, who by some combination of a well-stocked junk food pantry and a nonchalance towards swearing, were considered cool. Mr. and Mrs. Fletcher-Smith didn't receive quite the same regard from their son, who at that point couldn't see to forgive them of their capital sin: meeting through a love of fantasy role-playing and then naming their only son Haraldain after his father's alter-ego, a princely master of the blade, third in line for the throne of Alderia.

The family vacation was at first too remote from the life-nexus which for two glorious weeks had seen not a single hall pass in its corridors. Here I will add more to the details of the family vacation. In the next paragraph, it's back to Haraldain walking along the road.

He felt as if he were being sucked into a vacuum. Pondering the career perks of being a door-to-dooor vacuum cleaner salesman, he waded through the eighty degree ennui of Pendulum Peak Road, past a cluster of "Beware of Dog" signs which hinted at dripping fangs and high voltage canine rage. Haraldain kicked at an empty Coke bottle on the side of the road, as if to punish it for giving him even less mental stimulation than the finer details of door-to-door selling or the contrast between the high fence with its warning signs and the pair of cocker spaniels which it actually contained.