Ephemerally Yours

I recapitulate phylogeny everyday.

Occasionally I have a very difficult time getting up in the mornings. My alarm goes off at 5:00, like it does every morning. Most of the time that doesn't work, because I just turn it off in my sleep. Then, around 5:30 my mother calls, angry, because I haven't gotten up yet. I stare at the clock, and the numbers don't make any sense to me. It takes me literally minutes to understand what the symbols on the LED screen stand for. By this time, I have already forgotten that my mother even called, so I don't remember why I am awake in the first place. Luckily, I have sense enough to stay awake, because I know there must be some reason that I am not unconscious. After figuring out that those symbols represent time, I begin the process of figuring out why I am up at this hour. Becoming conscious of my own existence doesn't take very long, nor does remembering that I have to take my other to work. The long part is deciphering the time that I am supposed to be leaving. That takes a good five minutes. I run times through my head to see if they mean anything to me. Some seem familiar, but I question myself. When I finally realize that my mother is supposed to arrive at work at 6:45, it starts to go downhill again. This is where I really become stupid, because by this time it is already 6:00, and I should have left fifteen minutes prior. I spend several minutes lying in bed figuring out the best time to leave. I am very considerate about it, I take distance, traffic, even stopping at Starbucks for coffee into consideration. At about 6:15 my mother calls again, frantic, and suddenly my brain jolts and starts functioning normally. I am up and out the door within three minutes. How do I get ready so quickly? Every evening I prepare what I am going to wear, and lay out my books by the door. I do this because I know that every morning I will go through the same process of waking up and not even recognizing that I exist. My phylogeny is repeated every morning at 5:00.

More entries about farting.

I am typing in the cafteria at school as we speak and the darling young lady behind me just let out a horrific fart. To misquote Hamlet, It smells to hell.

Later that day...
I had to get up and move. I was becoming so overwhelming that I thought I may have to cough, so I left; and I think she knew why I did. I was naturally curious to see what kind of person could generate a smell so powerful that it the scents of pizza, subway, chick-fil-a, and home cookin' combined could succumb to it. So when I got up, I casually turned toward her, and she looked directly at me. I tried to give her a reassuring look, but it came out more like, "yeah, I know it was you".

The breath of life.

I picked this up at walmart today. It's a scratch-n-sniff card for tampax tampons. Apparently their marketing department decided that our vaginas did not smell fresh enough. What better way to start a menstrual cycle than with a preview of what the inside of my bleeding vagina might smell like to her next visitor? On the flap it says "lift here and take a breath". I suppose instructions could apply to the vagina as well.

Murder in the 1st degree.

A portition of a conversation between Edward and I last night:

Me: Wait, what was that noise?
Him: What?
Me: It sounded like you farted on the phone reciever.
Him: No I don't know what that was, but I did do that today.
Me: What? You farted on the phone?
Him: Yeah this customer called and I was really busy, he wouldn't stop asking me to look for games so I told him to hold on and I farted into the phone.
Me: (laughing hysterically) So, wait, was this sort of pre-meditated, or what?
Him: Yeah, I had been holding it in for a while.

Concerned

I saw another disturbing commercial today. It begins with an always pad suspended against a blue background. Then down from the top of the screen floats a soft, square tissue. It falls on the pad to sort of mimic a bed. There is a narrator in the background talking about the comforts of the new always pad with cotton cover, but couldn't I just hear about it? I just because the pad gets all comfortable in the sheet, and I really don't like the idea of pads getting comfortable with me in my bed. It's just not right. Advertisers shouldn't try make things like pads and tampons appealing; and I think there should be a rule against personifying them.

Thank You.

Edward told me today that he was going to start a school called Bless University, that way people could refer to it as Bless U.

Why do I need a subject? On peut lire la texte complete au-dessus.

I don't want to do this test. I hate talking about existantialisme et les romanciers de la condition humaine. Sartre et ses petits amis peut aller ses faire foutre. I would much rather be trying to start an IV on a heroin addicted, obese, geriatric who has blown all of their veins from drug injections and has to resort to ingesting the heroine through their eyes to get high. Je preferais essuyer l'arse d'un veillard, qu'ecriver sur l'absurdite. Putain.

Someone is cooking sausage.

I got that old fashioned feeling at work. That feeling of uncomfortably trying to fake seriousness and concern when I would much rather cry out with laughter because my boss just told me that we are going to have to start humping butts. Humping butts. I can get over her talking to herself, repeating the same phrase over and over, even claiming that France is just as much a continent as Europe. However, I cannot maintain professional composure when she is seriously telling me that I am going to have to start humping butts at work because we are getting behind.

Holy shit.

I was driving down to Van's house today, and I passed a motivational church sign. They usually tell me something uplifting, something I can hope for. These are a few of my favorites, most from the same church; God multiplies, Satan divides; Jesus is speaking today, are you hearing; God's favorite word is come; The most powerful position is on your knees; etc. Today's feature was exceptionally moving.

"If there was anything you could do to get into heaven, the why did Jesus die?"

I know what they are trying to say; and I appreciate the tip, but what are the really saying? They are telling me that there is nothing I can do to get into heaven. Well, not nothing. I could be nailed to a cross, that would get me there. No, I can't. There is no dogwood around big enough to make a cross. Maybe die and then three days later rise from the dead? That's not going to happen without Jesus, and he is already dead and risen. I am fucked apparently. They are telling me there is nothing I can do. Oh well, guess I can go murder someone, or covet something of a neighbor's; maybe I will not make the sabbath day holy. That's a good one. That can include all of the commandments. I will wake up, say a prayer to my Elvis shrine, pour a bowl of cereal, say goddamnit when I spill it on myself, not go to church that day because I am too busy playing minish cap, forget to put oil in my car, kill John Edwards (the Crossing Over one), steal an iPod shuffle, tell someone that I like ham, and finally wish that I had Gerry Hollawell's abdominal muscles (in the It's Raining Men video). None of it matters, because according to this church, the only way I can get into heaven it to die on a cross, and... that would hurt too much. But, that's not what they are trying to say, it was just simple mistake that they made and let remain on the sign for a while. Silly parishioners. So I am writing a letter to the church.

Dear Church (God),

I am little worried about your sign, I was under the impression that God was forgiving. Did he change his mind? Maybe you miss-worded your sentence. Should it be, "If you could do anything to get into heaven, the why did Jesus die?" I certainly hope so, because I am fucked up the ass if what you say is true. I don't want to die on a fucking cross, shit. Damnit if I ever let someone play dice for my clothes. Should I repent? Are you guys still selling those condolences?

Sincerely,
Katie (the one with the bald spot on her head)

Does ontogeny recapitulate phylogeny?

I ate at the Dixie Cafe the other day, and my brother and I thought we spotted Michael Gondry and his girlfriend eating dinner. So I did what I thought was necessary, take a picture of him drinking tea.

It didn't turn out to be him, as he lacked a saucy french accent. However, the picture turned out pretty good. The impersonator was photogenic, albeit unknowingly.