I'm so sorry, Stephanie.

I lied.

So, there's this guy I know. We'll call him.... "Kirk". ...Because I'm talking about Kirk. He recently moved up in my estimation to "The Best Person Ever". He should enjoy this while it lasts, for I am exceedingly fickle with titles such as these. You will understand my Potter-delay once I explain.

Robert Plant. Hylobates lars . Volumes of hair. The phrase "Robert Plant complains about his woman's nocturnal demands. Again." as a song description. And.... a whole bunch of other stuff.

Also, so wait a minute. Dude. When Robert Plant yells "STRIDER!" at the end of whatever song he does that on.... it's a shout out..... to his dog ? Robert Plant, you're a bit messed up. You're more obsessed with Tolkien than Lauren is.

Also, I think the band may have three other members in it, or something.

In conclusion: Robert Plant? Foxy man.

The next post will be about Harry Potter.

Don't hold me to that. Some time of mine has been freed up. Only, not really. I still have to do things that I neglected to do before. But my immediate work has been lessened, thus given me a keen procrastination opportunity. It seems that some of the slower children in my class were complaining about the workload, and thus, Professor Jon (or, "Pushover Jon" as I will now call him for the duration of this sentence) cut out two [things we have to write about plays] and cut a whole bunch of play from our reading lists. And yet, he spent two whole days talking about the Germans. And on one of these days, he wore a shirt that made me want to punch him. Sigh. I am learning nothing of value and being lead to distraction by wordly concerns.

In other news, a train derailed today. Oh, no one cry, there were no fatalities. Which is unfortunate, because I was an hour and a half late to class because of it. If someone had died, I'm sure my excuse would have been more valid. I hope the train stops sucking, so that I don't have to worry about Buttgers's attendance policies biting me directly in the ass.

So, with all this bidness going on, I have decided to write about the Harry Potter. It will not be today, and it may not be tomorrow, but by gum it'll be better than doing stuff.

Something neutral.

That title has nothing to do with anything. I love the Queen Helene Mint Julep face mask. It is so excellent. My skin is now detritus free and clean. Of course, I also smell vaguely of sulfur, as this is one of its purifying ingredients. Ach, well. It's not like I was going to be near people, anyway.

I must say that, as an Italian-American, I am completely fine with The Sopranos , The Godfather , and a whole bunch of other things that are supposedly detrimentally to how my beautiful culture is viewed by the rest of America. They shoot people and are thus cool. C'est la vie. On the other hand, I am deeply offended by Olive Garden commercials. We are not all loving and embracing of everyone. Some of us want you to go fuck yourselves.

Further proof that we live in a sick world.

This entry is not about Harry Potter.

This is not about Harry Potter.

I may still get around to that entry. But right now I'd actually like to state some beliefs/feelings/opinions. Hey, almost like this was a journal or something! At the moment, I'm thinking about something other than how depressed I am. Hence, the internet at large gets the benefit of knowing about it. I've been thinking about things recently, and I have come to the decision that I am very strange. I don't understand many people. That is to say, there are things that many people seem to think or believe which strike me as completely foreign, and I can't really comprehend them. And by writing about them right now, I don't expect to be validated or reassured. I do wonder why I feel like such a Martian in what I think. Am I really just that strange/unique/crazy/something? One of these topics is that of love, and it's disreputable counterpart: sex. Now, I'm a metaphor about dyed wool when in comes to being a complete prude, so I'm not talking about well, "any of that business". I'm talking about generally. Conceptually.

I do not understand the desire for sex.

Let me clarify. Yes, physical, blood, desire, sex is good, all that stuff, woo hoo, fine fine. I understand the enjoyment factor and why someone would want to have it. I'm talking about the desire for sex alone. I'm talking about the phrase "I need to get laid." Seemingly, it doesn't matter who it's with, only the act is important. To me, this is so radically repulsive to every fiber of my being that I can't really describe it. And I don't think I mean just "casual sex" either, or the fact that people do that. More to the point

I do not understand the desire for a relationship.

I have never wanted a boyfriend. Or girlfriend. Or a relationship that I didn't have. Wait, that's not true. I remember several years ago wanting to have a best friend. It seemed that many people had one, yet I did not. I wanted a friend that was like a sister, that I'd be comfortable talking to about anything, conceivably until forever. Then I realized that nearly everyone that I thought had that didn't really. And now, I do. So, HA! Anyway, back to the sex. I don't understand dating. I don't understand wanting a vacant position filled. That's what it is, isn't it? Dating? You hang out with someone you don't know very well because you're interviewing them for the part of "significant other". It strikes me as being... cold, somehow. Unnatural. "I want a boyfriend" sounds to me like "I want a situation. I don't care who the situation is with, I just want to be in it." Then it's just a matter of appraising every person you meet to see how good a candidate they are for the position. The whole thing seems so backwards.

Here's what I do understand: People. The wanting of a certain person. The wanting to do illicit and possibley illegal things to a certain person. Not because you want to do "the thing" but because you want to be with "the person" and the actions proceed from that but are secondary. I understand the building of relationships. That you start out as acquaintances, and become friends. And then amongst the people you've befriended, one emerges as the one you love, who loves you back. Which is sort of up to chance, I guess. And does that mean I think you just sit and wait around for fate? Well, I guess so. Because the alternative is actively seeking out a filler for the gap, which is what I don't understand.

And oddly, I never found waiting to be hard or stressful. Again, because I never desired a relationship. I really didn't think about it. And getting back to the notion of dating, it's like going through the motions of being in love (depending on how one dates from "hanging out exclusively" to "doin' the do") and expecting love to follow. Or sometimes not. It only makes sense to me that the motions should only go on after the love, or at least the beginning of it, is already there. I don't really think of it as at all "magical" and I really don't believe that anything is "cheapened" the other way, I'm just saying that I honestly cannot understand how people do it. I'm logically, emotionally, and in all ways just... baffled by it.

I also believe that true love is very rare to come by twice, let alone any more times. And by "true love" I don't mean "one's true love" as in a person, I mean the emotion, and feeling it for a person. I believe it is impossible to feel true romantic love for more than one person (at a time) and that true romantic love is very difficult to dispel.

Of course, reflecting upon the state of my life, it's very hard to take anything I say very seriously.

You know u r from NJ if..............

This is the title of one of those obnoxious chain mails that my cousin sent me today. It's one of those funny regional ones. Of course, it's not so much "funny" as it is "occasionally apt". So, here's some commentary on the information contained therein. Because, in case I've never mentioned this before... I'm from New Jersey.

1. You don't think of fruit when people mention "The Oranges". This is true. Of course, you should further clarify that there are "The Oranges" and then there's West Orange. Where there is a far far less likelihood of your dying by gunfire. Also, a special case should be made for East Orange. If you find yourself there, even if you're not normally religious -- pray to Superman.

2. You know that it's called "Great Adventure" not "Six Flags". This is true. Great Adventure, home of the world's largest drive-through safari (complete with illegally feedable monkeys!), was in existance before selling out to the chain.

3. A good, quick breakfast is a hard roll with butter. Um... this is false. Or else foreign to me. A good quick breakfast is typically a bagel, but that was probably to Philadelphian for the discerning compilers of this list.

4. You've known the way to Seaside Heights since you were seven. True. Though *wanting* to go there is a completely different matter...

5. You've eaten at a diner, when you were stoned or drunk, at 3 a.m. I have never been stoned or drunk, and I have never been to a diner at three a.m. I believe the point of this is to show that lots of various activities revolve around going to diners.

6. You know that the state isn't one big oil refinery. Word.

7. At least three people in your family still love Bruce Springsteen and you know the town Jon Bon Jovi is from. I haven't really polled my family on their opinions of The Boss. They are accepting of him, where as I hate him with a visceral loathing. Much in the vein of Kevin Costner. End of story. Oh, and Perth Amboy. Duh.

8. You know what a "jug handle" is. Yes. It is a perfectly logical and efficient means of navigating treacherous highways. Without them, you would probably die.

9. You know that WaWa is a convenience store. And they've spread south! But all wrong! Wawas don't sell beer!

10. You know that the state isn't all farmland. Um... I don't think we have anyone fooled on that score anymore.

11. You know that there are no "beaches" in New Jersey - there's the shore - and you don't go to the shore, you go "down the Shore". Yes. This is really a crucial thing to know.

12. And when you are there, you are not "at the shore", you are "down the Shore". Again, absolutely essential.

13. You know how to properly negotiate a Circle. Um. I've never tried, but I'm sure I could manage. I've seen it done.

14. You knew that the last sentence had to do with driving. Well, obviously.

15. You know that this is the only "New..." state that doesn't require "New" to identify it (like, try ...Mexico, ...York, ...Hampshire - doesn't work does it?) I really don't think that this is limited to intrastate knowledge.

16. You know that a "White Castle" is the name of BOTH a fast food chain, AND a fast food sandwich. Um. I did not know that, actually. I would assume they sell them at White Castle?

17. You consider putting mayo on a corned beef sandwich a sacrilege. This is true. But, then again, I consider putting mayonaisse on anything a sacrilege. I think mayonaisse is disgusting. As is, incidentally, corned beef. What a confusing statement.

18. You don't think "What exit" is very funny. Oh, come on. It so is. 149, baby!

19. You know that people from the 609 area code are "a little different". And how!

20. You know that no respectable New Jerseyan goes to Princeton - that's for out-of-staters. Oh, I'm sorry. They must have meant "You know the only New Jerseyans who are actually capable of going to Princeton are the children of alumni and staff, who are essentially out-of-staters who come here to soak up the Ivy League slots. Oh, no, really, it's much, much cooler to go to Rutgers, or better yet, TCNJ! [/bitter]

21. The Jets-Giants game has started fights at your local school or bar. Eh. Probably. I doubt I would have noticed, though. I think those are sports teams.

22. You live within 20 minutes of at least three different malls. I most assuredly do. and I'm talking real malls, not those little fake malls.

23. You refer to all highways and interstates by their numbers. Well, the ones I know, I do. Like 1 and 18 and 37. But that doesn't really work with the Parkway and the Turnpike, now does it? This list is so half-assed.

24. Every year you have at least one kid in your class named Tony. No I didn't. In elementary school, there was Anthony. But he went by Ant more than he would Tony. I am proud to say that I went to school with a Gina, though.

25. You know the location of every clip shown in the Sopranos opening credits. Well, not from my own knowledge bank, but I have been told many times over of their locations, yes.

26. You've gotten on the wrong highway trying to get out of the mall. Never trying to get out of a mall. My mother did it while trying to take me to school once.

27. You know that people from North Jersey go to Seaside Heights, and people from Central Jersey go to Belmar and people from South Jersey go to Wildwood. It can be no other way. Pffffffft!! This is ridiculously false. Like I'd ever be excited to go to Sleazeside like a fuckin' Bennie. The place is the den of all the teens of Ocean County. The North Jersey crew is only there Memorial Day weekend. And please, the people in South Jersey are too fucking lazy to go down to Cape May.

28. You weren't raised in New Jersey, you were raised in either North Jersey, Central Jersey or South Jersey. Oh like Central Jersey counts.

29. You don't consider Newark or Camden to actually be part of the state. That's false. We are perfectly cognizant of our crimebeds. We just don't want to admit to them. The same goes for Trenton, actually.

30. You remember the stores Korvette's, Two Guys, Rickel's, Channel, Bamburger's, and Orbach's. Uh, Rickel's, Channel, and Bamburger's, yes. The rest no. Except Two Guys. We still have one of those in my town.

31. You've had a boardwalk cheese steak and vinegar fries. I most certainly have had nothing of the kind. Geeluaaaagh!

32. You start planning For Memorial Day weekend in February. I actually had no clue when Memorial Day was until this very year. Needless to say, this is false.

and finally...

33. You've never, NEVER pumped your own gas. Fuckin'. A.

Oh.

For.
Fuck's.
Sake.

"A year ago today..."

Well, it doesn't really matter, does it? I'm probably the only person not feeling down remembering Connecticut. Because, let's face it, I wasn't really up to begin with. I suppose that's a consolation of some sort. In the sense that it completely isn't. I'm taking a break from the internet. Possibley only until I finish dinner, but to my mind, it will be a break.

[title]

So, stuff has been going on the past few days, which included amongst other things: staying awake and alert for more than 48 straight hours, freaking the establishment, installing air conditioners, and fireworks. And probably having a stomach virus. But I've been all tired and crap for updating, so I keep forgetting to write anything down. This instance is no different. So, instead, I will write about one particular incident of yesterday that greatly irritated me.

So, yesterday was the birthday of my nation. My stupid town has stupid fireworks that I had to stupid go to. I knew my mother was going to suggest it, and for once I wasn't violently against leaving the house. I was more quietly resigned to the fact that, it being the 4th, I was going to need to go see fireworks. Well. They were pretty. Beforehand, we went for some food stuffs at the diner. (This being New Jersey, we have many. This was one of my small town's two.) Now, at this diner there is a waitman. He's an aggravating and annoying fuckhead. I first encountered him on mother's day, when myself, my mother, my sister, her best friend Cherilyn, and her adorable moppet Cecelia, whom I adore with all my heart and is five. Cecelia did not like this character. This is very telling. He was flirtatious with my sister and Cherilyn. They were both annoyed. He joined in our conversations. We were all annoyed. He sat down at out table. This was all highly inappropriate. My sister was angry, but contained herself well. He remarked that I was quiet. I thought he could go fuck himself. Briefly, this fellow is a fuckhead. I next saw him there after I went out with my friend Toni and we stopped for food. He listened in, and joined in on our conversation. I was highly annoyed an uncomfortable. I don't want to go to that diner because I think he might be there. He's unprofessional and discourteous, and when I realized that he was there yesterday, I wanted to leave.

So, my mother gives him her order.
I give him my order.
"Wait, what was that?" he says, putting down his order-taking-pad and putting his hand up to his ear.
"Chicken fingers." I say in a completely audible tone.
"Oh, hold on, let me get out the microphone," say he, beginning to pantomime reaching for one.
I smile pleasantly. "I WOULD LIKE. SOME CHICKEN. FINGERS," I say in a tone somewhere between conversational and shouting.
"Okay, chicken fingers," quoth he.
"THANK YOU," says I.

I then avoided looking at or speaking to him for the entirity of my meal. I was quite pleased. My mother told me that what I did was inappropriate. Bullshit it was inappropriate. It was inappropriate that I had to repeat my fucking order to this jackass three times. It was inappropriate that I am made to feel uncomfortable in an establishment where I am supposed to be waited on. And he's lucky I didn't tack "you fucking asshole" onto the end of that "thank you" and that I didn't get up and punch him in his ugly fucking face.

So, then we went to fireworks. We stopped at a store for bug spray. There was none. While there, I saw my friend Don drive by, with someone tall in his passenger seat. Possibly Ed. I mentioned this to my mother, and she had no idea who I was talking about. Making an interesting point that while she tells me that it would be a "good idea" for me to go out with "my little friends" that she doesn't even know who any of these people are. Anyway, this was a mistake. because later last night when we came home, she took a shower (the shower is where she works herself up into having "important conversations") and when she emerged, she told me that she doesn't want me "playing the hermit" anymore, and that I need to call at least one of my friends this summer, and then some other commentary, with the loving remark that there was "something wrong" with me. Gee, thanks, mother.

You know, I'm out of the house all day four days a week. I do a lot of work, that I'm still behind on. I need a day or two to have a fucking rest. And, I don't want to hang out with any of my "little friends". And, I think my mother needs to stop worrying about everything that's "wrong" with me, and worry about what's wrong with her fucking self.