Girl's Guide to Life, Love and Poker

2004-05-29T20:33:00.000-04:00

Been a long time, been a long time, been a long, lonely, lonely, lonely time . . .

Ok, well not so lonely really. This is plumb crazy -- I have been with Russ a bit over two months and we have both met eachother's parents. Yikes. Not so sure his mom liked me much . . . I'm from NY, they're from the hills of VA. Too bad people come with parents . . . parents that visit on a fairly regular visit. This guy has me exhausted. We go out several times a week, I really like him, but between work, taking a FIVE hour class on tuesday nights (Yes FIVE hours -- it's not humane), and Russ, I'm worn out. Today, I stayed in, I did some work, but at least I was home. I stayed in pj's most of the day (only dressing to get an icecream cone at DQ). So I thought of my blog, least of my priorities, like buying clothes or howling at the moon. However, like buying clothes and howling at the moon, blogging is at once fun, cathartic, and theraputic. I missed you, very much. I miss me. I took myself out to lunch, alone, for old time's sake. Oh, Jeremy IMed me the other week, just to see how I was. I'm not the only one that misses me, but he lost out. And Russ treats me better than anyone every has, he's sweet. I'm a luck lady to have found the big guy.

2004-04-13T22:07:00.000-04:00

In the Words of a Woody Guthrie Song: "Sooooooooo Looooong, It's been Good to Know Ya!"

Ah, I've had awkwarder moments. The post-dating exchange of a book and a dvd could have been much worse. I knew he was a bit of a pussy. For a split-second I imagined some shocking, theatrical, goodbye, where he would be nasty or perhaps violent. I was not worth it to him; I don't think anyone would be. To care about someone takes energy; I could smell his laziness a mile away (yes, I'm speaking figuratively, he didn't smell bad, infact his scent used to drive me mad. Side note: I'm sooo glad that when I built up the courage to smell the book I loaned him that was drenched with him, it did absolutlely NOTHING for me. YES! Resiliency!). It's funny how fickle the heart can be. I've been busy of late, and I haven't taken care of my blog the way I should. I will try to do better by him. But for once in a long time, perhaps the first time, I'm being cared for. It's new and exciting; fresh and scary; fast yet developing in a natural way. I eagerly await the familiarity that is already blooming. Sommmmmammmmabitch, I sure do like Russ, and so do my friends. And I really like his glasses (I helped him pick them out). How about that?

2004-04-05T21:49:00.000-04:00

One Flew the Co(u)-Op(e): Ode to Poppa Bird

My Dad. Yes, he would have gone through the roof if anyone else had hit the side of the garage door opening, tearing a chunk of molding, and badly denting the car. But as my mother has pointed out at least twice that I've heard, he didn't say a word because HE was the one to back out of the garage half-assed. Yes, Pops can be a tad hippocritical at times. But he's had shining moments of being a really cool father and just an overall wonderful person. So this blog's for you, Dad! Well, this entry anyway. I recounted the following story to my date the other evening: when I was young, about nine or ten, we lived on the top floor of a six-story building in Queens, N.Y. My parents bedroom overlooked a little park-like sitting area (NY-style: four park benches on a patch of asphalt surrounded by 10 foot tall chainlink fences). By day the old yentahs would chat about co-op politics, trade motza ball soup recipes, feed stray cats, etc. The little sitting area was like a town square of sorts. By night it was a teen makeout spot. What, you might ask does this have to do with dear ole dad? I'm getting there! Every once in a while I would here my Dad call in a half whisper from his darkened bedroom, "Ann! Get the eggs!" Excitedly, I would run to the fridge with my mother whinning to the bedroom to no avail, "Nooo, Steve." To Late. With a dozen granades in hand, my father and I would launch an attack on the unsuspecting love birds below. We would try to stifle our giggles: our victims must not locate our position! I remember peeking out of the open window to see two or three couples running and cursing with riverlets of runny yellow down their shoulders. Macho achned teen boys hurling four letter words at the brick facade of the building while wiping the goo out of their eyes. I miss those days, it's been a long time since I last egged someone; I do get urges every now and again though. Ah, Dad. Thanks for the memories.

2004-04-04T11:44:00.000-04:00

(heavy breathing) Luke, I am your girlfriend (heavy breathing)

Russ seems nice . . . teacher, BIG guy, upstanding community member (yeah, I know what you're thinking, "whatever that means" but he IS). He's spent a month in Europe but is the biggest down home boy you could imagine. He got his professional wrestler's liscence so he could help draw a crowd at a charity event held at the high school where he teaches! How cool is that!?! He's a lot of what I've always imagined myself wanting AND he's coming on strong -- IM'ing me at work during planning period and lunch breaks, phone calls nightly. It's scaring the shit out of me. But, I'm resolved to go with the flow! Wish me luck!!!! Oh, and I just know my friends will adore him . . . am I setting myself up for ultimate failure? Flow! Go with the flow. I need the equivelent of the force to guide me through the dating galaxy, something to help me vaporize the dark side of fear, doubt, and cynacism.

2004-03-31T22:02:00.000-05:00

Semen Semantics

So, I'm checkin' out blogger stats, and I see someone has checked out this blog after doing a google search for the phrase -- an I shit you not! -- "how big should a girl's hole be to have sex." HOLE! Our abyss, ladies! Our gaping chasm. Our throth trench, crotch crater, pussy pit, hussy hollow, and finally our vaginal void. Enough of the alliteration! I want to know what pre-pubescent boy looked this up. Here's a tip: if you call it a hole, it doesn't matter how big or small it is, you ain't gettin' in! I don't know how to feel. I smirk at the tought of some dewy innocent needing to traverse the internet to familiarize themselves with the dark, moist, feminine unknown. And yet, I'm mad as hell that what is soft, sensual, beautiful is reduced to a question of diameter and the word HOLE! But I never was a boy, so I suppose I should be understanding of such dillymamas for the youthful male of the species. Still, you'd never hear a girl say: fuck tube, muscle hammer, chew stick, nut pole, rim rod (need I go on?). I hate to be so blunt and crude. Please forgive me!

2004-03-27T22:54:00.000-05:00

Question of the Day:
If you had a music video made what would it be like?

Maybe it is the music video version of your life till now, or maybe just a creative expression of who you are, or maybe just, just maybe, it has little or no personal meaning, just something you would like to see. What would your music video be like?

I think I would want some sort of revolving room/camerawork (ala Insync) and someone with mirrored glasses. Yes, this so cliche! I know . . . Mine would be video on crack (not a reflection of the creator's lifestyle, mind you). I would have a driving-through-the-desert-with-a-bad-ass-hummer-with-40-inch-rims scene (ala Puffy and Biggy). I'd have hot men in booty shorts shakin' it like a salt shaker whilst fanning a poloroid, and I'd have a fallen angel crouched by a window (yes, in the middle of a desert!), and a janitor rhythmically plunging a mop into a bucket. Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh -- I forgot about the kid toasting a barbie doll over a barbeque and Anthony Keidis (sp?) running shirtless. (My god, you can certainly tell when I grew up!). Ok, so I'm not original, but aren't I just another useless product of my Ge-Ge-Ge My Generation, babey. Oh, and I'd have a shamless plug for Pepsi in there too. Maybe you'd see a reflection of a can of Pepsi in someone's mirrored glasses.

2004-03-23T17:26:00.000-05:00

Eeeeee . . .SIX DAYS LEFT!!!!!

In just a short six days, we, my lovely blog and I, will be celebrating our 1 month aniversary. How exciting! (We will be registered at Tiffany's if you were wondering.)

2004-03-23T12:43:00.000-05:00

DAWN OF THE DEAD Value System??????????

Plot Summary from the IMDB: "A young female nurse named Anna is caught in the middle of the chaos as zombies begin taking over the world and attacking the living. She escapes into the streets and is rescued by a black police officer named Kenneth. Together they find shelter in a mall along with a group of other survivors. For a while everything is ok, but pretty soon they start running out of food, the power goes out, and the dead keep finding ways to break through their defenses. Realizing they're sitting ducks, they make a plan to head for an island by using two armored mall shuttle busses to get across the sea of zombies."

I find this interesting . . . when people are under attack, they run to where the can find comfort: a farm house (symbol of community, family), a church
(again community, family, religion) . . . now a mall providing safety? what does this say about our culture? Do we believe the fight of good and evil lies in the triumph of commerce over . . . the mindless, zombies?

In the last notable zombie flick -- 28 Days Later (loved it by the way) a man leaves a hospital, normally a place of care, comfort, and nurturance. The hospital is deserted, post zombie presumably. He enters a zombie filled church and is attacked by a zombie priest. After escaping the church, he joins others like himself . . . they have a lovely moment where they find true joy and sustanence in a supermarket -- eating only the most inorganic foods and those with the more amount of preservatives. He and a small band of non-zombies head to a military controled "safe zone" where they meet up with trully evil and malicious men (also non-zombies). Are we being told that everything which once could save is empty, useless and evil? That the only things that save are artificial, mass produced, consumer goods?

Or am I just reading too much into it?

2004-03-20T23:16:00.000-05:00

Lucky Charms

I have something I keep with me basically at all times in my wallet (ok, not really a wallet -- but a long, woman-version of a wallet -- what do you call them? It seems they should have their own name -- maybe wallette). It is a small business-card sized, laminated, "aged" looking piece of paper with a saying on it. I had my parents buy it for me as a vacation souvenir when I was about ten or eleven. It came with a little zippy bag of dried berries. It reads: "Years ago everyone knew that if you kept juniper berries in your pocket you could walk deep into the forest, eat new food with new people, and ride the wind safely home."

I was weird even then, they should have took it as a sign and sent me to kiddie therapy. But it touched me, still does. I've lost the berries, did years ago, but I believe they were just symbols, it is the sentiment that I still carry with me. Trouble is, I haven't walked deep in the woods. New people? I'm trying, but I'm not always very open with myself, let alone to others. And it is definitely time I learned to ride the wind. I feel in my heart I have done these things, I've explored introspectively, learned much, loved dearly, suffered family illness, fought through what was at times a painful childhood (parent having a nervous breakdown). I truly feel I am growing younger. As a child and then young adult people were always telling me what an "old soul" I was. I don't know if I have literally lived many lives as a "psychic" friend of mine says or if I had to experience and deal with some weighty issues as a kid. So I grow younger. Maybe I'm trying to become a friend to the girl that sat crouched, wet cheeks, with her ears pressed against the living room wall, listening to her parents having a bitter fight. I befriend the girl who, after a terrible trip to the beauty shop, had her hair practically all cut off (seemed so at the time) and then had to deal with other girls calling her "boy." This, by the way is devastating to a third grader. To this day I never cut my hair shorter than shoulder length. I have beautiful, full brown wavy locks, they should never have been cut. So, I take out that little girl, and I allow her to have fun, I allow her to be silly, and goofy, and make her tell off-color jokes (she really likes that).

I don't know why that little paper and the saying mean so much to me, but I know that if I lost my wallet today, I'd be bummed about having to go through the hassle of canceling credit cards, but I'd be deeply hurt about losing my lucky charm. I hope I never, ever lose it. Something tells me I never will.

2004-03-20T01:06:00.000-05:00

Can't Make Heads or Tails of It

OK . . so yes, I've used a personals service, where I meet Jeremy. Jeremy seemed nice, unassuming, sweet, non-pushy AND he was my physical type (or at least very close). He's a big boy -- short but with much more than the few extra pounds he claimed. That's fine by me. But he's weird . . I don't mean stalker weird, just odd. Like when I say he never calls . . . yeah, no, not one . . . all email . . . I chalked it up to . . . well maybe he's just more comfortable with electronic correspondance. Well, we kissed on the second date. At first he was doing some fast circular stuff with his tongue that was off-putting, but I slowed things down and it was really nice. Third date -- bar was jammed -- we opted for a movie night at his place -- sweet, lots of cuddling -- kissed his nose -- all very sweet and romantic. Still no calling. I can't remember, maybe one or two other movie type dates. Things get a bit hotter -- he invites me back to his room and I drop the bomb -- I'm the big V. Yes you heard it here first, a 25 year old virgin. It happens. Or in my case, not so much. This info seems to be an even bigger turn on as he assures me he didn't even mean to have sex just to be more comfortable (his couch is like a nazi torture device). We go in -- sweet -- more cuddling, kissing, etc. It is hot in his apartment, he has his bedroom window open, there is a nice breeze. Soon we hear his red-neck neighbors talking. She says to her white-trash friend something to the effect of "he better not have knocked me up." I burst out laughing they hear and one say "They heard us!" and they laugh their trailor-park gaphaws. Jeremy and I enjoy the moment. He feels so nice and he smells like a god. I go home with purity intact. More dates, things take a turn. He seems distant and then I notice he's driving like a jackass (defininately a sign that says you and your safty don't mean much to me). I confront him with his odd behavior via email (his own turf), say I don't want to be toyed with. He writes back -- A WEEK LATER! -- Things are mixed up in his head, yadda-yadda -- we should just be friends -- I'm badly hurt -- I don't know why -- but I am. I know why, I hadn't dated in a long time -- no I don't have two extra toes or a third eye, no I don't weight 300 pounds -- just very focused on school and career. Fast forward a month and a half. He's started IM'ing -- and we're testing the waters again. Three dates later, a book loaned to him, a movie to me, and he's turning again -- says something about a 3 year relationship that ended 2.5 years ago and being confused. I want to scream, hide, bury myself in tufts of shag carpeting (I don't know where that came from just popped in my head so it must be right). He still has his personal ad up and it was last active with in the last 24 hours. So was mine -- I'm talking to several guys but not dating. I like Jeremy -- even though I see bright blazing red flags. As a female my first instinct is to ask myself -- what is wrong with me? (as John Gray has pointed out to me) when I should really ask, what the HELL is wrong with him? I want to get out of this with my dignity. More than that, I want to stop striking out. More than that, I want my friends, all of which have their own sorted affairs. God am I lonely tonight. So after mindlessly thumbing through all 70-odd basic cable channels, I tend to my electronic friend. I find I feel better after I do an emotional purge. I dumped it all here. Thank you for being my electronic receptical. Things are much more complicated than the sound bite I give hear, as is the case in life. I don't know what to do, any suggestions? Join a cult? The circus, maybe? A traveling biker band? So I do what I always do when I can't find a sympathetic ear (and what I did before I wrote this entry), I went to a free-tarot/runes/biorhythms/psychobabble BS site -- no, I don't believe in it, but the fact that in five minutes I can get a a definite answer to all my life's problems is immensely appealing. The site has a section called "Coin Flip" You designate what heads and tails would mean . . . Heads -- dump him / Tails-- stay . . . I knew the anwer faster than you can say DSL -- before I had a chance to "view in a new window." Heads. The internet gods know what is right for me and truly love me. The internet gods don't want me to get hurt anymore.

2004-03-18T18:55:00.000-05:00

Selling One's Heart & Soul: What's More Personal Than a Personal Ad?

So, here it is, Anndy's personal add. Enbarrassing? Kind of, but heck isn't everyone doing it?

Hi! I am a high school teacher with many interests. I'm into anything from astrology to politics to partypoker. I love literature. Post mod. is my fav. but will read anything. I'm looking for someone that comes with a brain, a job, a sense of humor, and moderate fashion sense (no assembly required, please). I'm iffy about putting pictures up here for fear my students might see, but would send. I am conservative in attitude and dress (pretty liberal politcally) but love being around people who are a bit zaney. I play aloof, but it's a bit of an act. If you can fire me up with a good debate, I'll be yours. I LOVE to laugh; I laugh aloud while watching t.v. even when I'm alone. I'm big into romantic comedies (name a Meg Ryan flick I haven't seen at least twice and I'll give you five bucks), and I'm big into comical and romantic guys. I want to be swept off my feet, laughing the whole time. Tall, dark, . . . Nah. Well, I generally go for geeky sorts, and I fall for the big guys (Al Gore meets Jackie Gleason). I'm not all into looks but an attraction needs to be there, I'm sure you'd agree. You should be stable, caring, and cocky when it counts. I like a guy with a bit of an attitude, who is all heart, of course. I tend to like you sagitarians, but as a pisces myself I am open-minded and will consider all my astrological options. You should be able to talk books, movies, t.v., music, politics, anything and everything actually. You should be as interested in Faulkner as you are in monster truck ralleys (I am). I could care less if you have a washboard stomach, but you MUST have a washing machine, AND be able to use it -- no dirty-Daves, please. Talk to you soon . . .

I think it's good stuff . . . I'd want to go out with me.

2004-03-17T14:01:00.000-05:00

Saint Ian, Patron of the Perfectly Plump

Ian called my house twice yesterday and once at work without reaching me. “Yeah! He’s not mad anymore,” I thought. When I told him, I figured he was mad at me, he told me what I knew in my heart, that he doesn’t hold grudges more than an hour. We bs’ed for a while and I let him know I was trying out the South Beach diet. This is why I love Ian: he said, "Oh, GOD!" and that he would be mad at me if I went on any stupid fad diets. He said I am fine the way I am. I hate to be such a typical female, but that was the nicest thing I have heard in a long time. He aught to be canonized!

2004-03-15T22:05:00.000-05:00

Steak and Potatoes Girl

Ok. I've had my smoke and thought about a few things. I figured it out. I'm seeing someone who is a burger. Burgers are fine. Sometimes you crave a juicy burger: it can be comforting, filling even for a bit, but burgers aren't steak. Burgers don't call you on a regular basis (my burger doesn't call at all). I know what it's like to be really cared for. I know what it is like to have a man want to see you so badly that even though he's commuted over an hour ever day to work and his ass hurts from driving, he drives an hour to see you on the weekend. He loves to talk to you. You hear the phone ring and know its him, and it IS. You love to talk to him, every conversation is filled with laughter and a certain longing. That is steak. Jeremy you are my burger. Ann deserves steak. Ann NEEDS steak. God this is my online prayer: Please Lord, send me a nice, tender, comforting steak to snuggle up to on the couch and love. I wont even mind if he messes up the fabric. Please, Please, Please!

2004-03-15T20:15:00.000-05:00

Got a Light?

So, I've been reading several of Cynthia Heimel's books at once. These are wonderful books to tell other's you're reading because you can sa y, "I'm reading Get Your Tongue out of My Mouth, I'm Kissing You Goodbye" or "I'm reading If You Can't live Without Me, Why Aren't You Dead Yet." I was drawn to the titles, they're witty, but I kept reading because the collection of essays where endearing, truthful, sassy. One problem: They feel incomplete. I feel I need the wholeness of the novel form, but I know that isn't it. Most novels that I read, even if I truly enjoy them leave me feeling slightly empty. Why? This is just a metaphor for my life right now. I enjoy many different things, I'm happy most of the time, giddy even at times, but I'm missing something. I teach, but that isn't quite as fulfilling as I'd imagined it would be. I'm dating sort of, but I'm left cold, lead on, anxious. One of my good friends is working nights and I don't get to vent as often as I'd like or need. My other best friend is currently envolved with six -- count them SIX -- online affairs, not to mention his live-in girlfriend of six -- count them SIX -- years. I'm lonely and books, lackluster love interests and, otherwise occupied friends aren't closing the gap. I wish I could fill the hole with religion, but I can't bring myself to it right now. I know I'm not alone, that there are millions of sad sorts out there, but I'm just not looking forward to an evening of reading books, thinking of friends and being disappointed with my love life. I'm just lonely, so much for Sunday's thong high. Tomorrow will be better. Maybe I'll go have a smoke.

2004-03-14T22:32:00.000-05:00

Ain't Nothin' But a G-string, Babe

Joie de vivre. The joy of life. It is almost spring in Virginia, and today was an absolutely glorious Spring day. I find myself driving a little faster, smiling a little wider, and feeling just every so slightly sexier. I wore a thong today and a long thin skirt. There was a slight breeze that felt just delightful wisping up my legs. You can't help but feel sexy wearing a thong. Some might find them uncomfortable. I have to say, my first time wearing them was an experience. It isn't really uncomfortable, you are just constantly aware of your undergarment. Thus, you are constantly aware of your sexuality and there lies some folks' discomfort. But back to me and my personal thong experience today. I have these red velvet numbers, they're grrrrreat! The awkward teenage me who was overweight in highschool would never dream of wearing such an item, little did she know the rise you get. I haven't lost a pound since highschool but now I don't see as much of the awkward. And I have yet to hear a complaint about the roundness of my bottom or the curve of my hips or chest. I wear my thong like a badge of honor. I flirt more, and I don't know if it's in my mind, but I find I'm flirted with more. I found myself very appealing today as well, but we wont go into messy details of my . . . me time. So to put a sparkle in your eye, a spring in your step, and a smile on your lips, put a thong on you tushy.

2004-03-13T23:37:00.000-05:00

Two Poems for Jeremy and Anyone Who Feels It Is Necessary To Deny Themselves the Possibility To Feel Anything Because They Were Hurt "2.5 years ago."

When I Was One-and-Twenty

When I was one-and-twenty
I heard a wise man say,
"Give crowns and pounds and guineas
But not your heart away;
Give pearls away and rubies
But keep your fancy free."
But I was one-and-twenty,
No use to talk to me.

When I was one-and-twenty
I heard him say again,
"The heart out of the bosom
Was never given in vain;
'Tis paid with sighs a plenty
And sold for endless rue."
And I am two-and-twenty,
And oh, 'tis true, 'tis true.

-- A. E. Housman

When I Was Five-and-Twenty

When I was five-and-twenty
I heard a poor fool say,
"Give bling to hoes a plenty
But not your heart away;
Give flicks away and brews
But keep you crib locked tight"
But I was five-and-twenty
And could not stay the night.

When I was five-and-twenty
I heard him say again,
"The digits that you give
Are always given in vain;
'Tis paid with sighs a plenty
And sold for endless rue."
But I am five-and-twenty
And oh, his balls are blue.

-- Ann D.

2004-03-12T22:41:00.000-05:00

Blogger Can You Spare a Dime?

So, as I have said, this who weblog thing is brand-spanking new to me. But being I issued myself into the blog family, I feel like a bastard. More than that, I am looking at the gaabazzillion blogs out there and feel the type of existential angst I feel when I think of all the gaabazzillion books that I will never read. All that information . . . all those people . . . so little of me . . . so little time. How much is too much? I don't even know where to begin. And so many are so good! I feel like I did when I was in college . . . what do you mean major . . . I like everything can't I just take lots of stuff? So many blogs, can one be a loyal blogger? Limit yourself to choice few? These words, letters, electronic transfers of my synapses, like a rain drop in the ocean. These tripping syllables begging my time, your time, making a homely living off of the charity of the few. My ragged lines, barely dressed, poorly fed, homeless in this vast cruel world. Will my thoughts ever be so desperate as to turn to a life of crime with baby word mouths to feed? Will you find my words with a squeegie in one hand and a change cup in the other? Will my words turn tricks for buck and a pack of Camel Lights in the box? Ohhhhhhh, the humanity!

2004-03-12T11:50:00.000-05:00

Ah, Hell!

I saw The Passion of the Christ. It was creepy. End of story.

Ok. so I can't end on that. It focusse too much on the physical torment of Jesus and not enough on the mental and emotional. I was praying for the crucifiction to happen asap about half way through -- too much gore to deal with on a Sunday afternoon. Also, the Roman soldiers were way too sadistic . . . it was just their job they probably wouldn't have enjoyed it as much as what was portrayed.

Judas is chased and driven insane by satanic, little jewish children. That was creepy. And Satan reminded me of How Dickens writes the Ghost of Christmas . . . oh, one of them I think present? Not quite man, not quite woman. CREEPY SHIT! Alls I'm sayin'.

I went with Ian . . . I knew that might be a mistake . . . First thing he loudly proclaims as we enter the theater "Christ! It's packed in here." He could have been worse. He stopped there. Thank God.

2004-03-11T20:22:00.000-05:00

Perfect Apology from A Perfect Goddess if I do say so myself

What is it about the story of Orpheus and Euridice that gets me? Is it that their love was at once so fresh and yet so enduring. Euridice dies of a poisoned snake bite right after she marries her love. Orpheus charms his way into the underworld to rescue his bride, only to have her yanked from him at the last moment when, just reaching day light, he turns to make sure Euridice has followed. Didn't he trust her? Is there a lesson there? Unfounded faithlessness causes boundless loss? Never look back, always progress? Don't fuck with the god of the underworld? Maybe I love the story because I loved a romantic and exotic flick called Black Orpheus, with its island charm. Though, don't ask me what island.

There is something that bothers me about Greek myths. Orpheus loves with inconceivable passion. Why? What the hell was it about Euidice? Or Persephone? The same thing with Pygmalian. He sculpted Galetae into the perfect woman, but the story never goes into detail. What is this illusive feminine perfection? Where can I get me some?

2004-03-11T14:53:00.000-05:00

Sublime Concoction

Smores with the addition of a peanut-butter layer. Heaven! I'm in Heaven and my heart beats so that I can hardly speak!

2004-03-09T08:11:00.000-05:00

Have recently been informed what skeet is . . . just lovely. urbandictionary

2004-03-09T08:08:00.000-05:00

Break Up Haiku

Off the Earth, he’s dropped.
I have lost all interest.
Just want my book back.

2004-03-08T12:48:00.000-05:00

Calling All Cad-dettes
A Short Book Review

I've just read Cad: Confessions of a Toxic Bachelor by Rick Marin. It is a laundry list of manipualtive behavior that leaves you feeling tired and used as girl after hopeless girl falls prey to this emotional and psycic Nosferatu. I kept reading, thinking this man has to change, there must be something reedeeming about him . . . hmmm kind of sounds like what I tell myself when fruitlessly dating other such manipulative men. So I read on hoping to find some light. Yes, the main character (author-- it's kind of autobiographical) is not as close to his father as he'd like to be (who is?). Yes, he has been wounded by a cheating wife. But the the way this cad treats women! I read the book to come to terms with my misunderstanding of the opposite sex. Now, I'm more confused than ever and feel hurt and hopeless. Yes, he does find love in the end -- A women who is essensially his game-playing equal -- a cad-dette. True love? Definately hard to say.

2004-03-05T12:11:00.000-05:00

Dream a Little Dream
Yes, I'm alluding to this cheesy 80's flick starring the 2 Coreys

I once took a class in dreams – I forget the title – The Dreaming Mind or something through a local community college (locally known with some affection as Harvard on the Hill). We were told to keep a dream Journal. We had to decorate our journal, make it our own, connect with it. I really liked mine. We connected.

Here is what I took from the class, what I feel was most important, most memorable.

To dream with more frequency you must give your dreams your full attention. What we were told is that you should:

1. Keep a dream journal by your bed

2. Before drifting to sleep, do a mental review of every single thing you did that day from the time you awoke until stepping into bed (this helps amazingly)

3. After waking from a dream, do not open your eyes or move

4. Try to recall every detail of the dream, doing a mental walk through from beginning to end of the dream

5. Write down the dream immediately

6. The dream should be given a title – first thing you think that would suit, and you should interpret what you think the dream means

I haven’t kept a dream journal for about five or six years, but I have been thinking back on the journal I kept for the class with some fondness and think I will begin again.

We also learned methods for interpreting dreams but I will not go into that – I might post a dream journal entry and interpretation some time – I need to find that journal . . .

2004-03-05T08:57:00.000-05:00

Re-Thinking American Royalty

Some ideas for who would make a good American Prince & Princess

1. Oprah and Dr. Phil
2. Matt Lauer and Katie Couric (though too obvious a choice)
3. Arnold Schwartzennager and Condoleezza Rice (per a student of mine)
4. Nick Leshey (does anyone know how to spell it?) and Jessica Simpson
5. Anna Nicole and Howard

Please feel free to add to this lack-lust list

2004-03-04T20:55:00.000-05:00

Blogs? Souless?

Just talking to a friend about this new (to me) phenomenon, the blog. He says it is souless. His logic: pre-blog-journals were a completely private affair. The journals of Wolfe or Nin or Anne Franke have a soul because they are their own entity, existant only for the sake of existing. Writers who are consious of their audience cannot help but write for their audience and therefore their work lacks depth.

Ian, this is shit.

I say the anonymity of this medium lends to a certain freedom to self-expression. However, my dear, dear Ian, you have made me think about what I would put in my journal if it were not electronic.

What would Ann put in a personal, composition-style, black and white marble notebook?

---Well, being that I was never disciplined enough to keep a daily journal, I must say that the ease of the medium is taking me a step closer to myself . . . ie: the very fact that I'm exploring what I might put in a journal. OK -- in the journal I would jot down any dreams I'd have during the night, probably very personal dreams, that shook me awake at 3 AM, say. There have been a few of those.

--- I would put in there some poems that I would churn over for hours, days, only to look back on hours, days, years later to realize what crap they were; or how angstfull a teen I was; or that it really had staying power, my stuff wasn't so bad after-all

I imagine somewhere down the line in this journal I will include some of the above entry subjects and I think I will write with sincerety. My blog will have soul. My blog will be like a bruised and beautifully glistening child, coming fresh into the world with a pointed head from sqeezing through this electronic birthing canal.

Ahhh, my beautiful bloggy, mamma loves ya.

Ian, you were the inspiration for this journal entry, in a way it is your child too. Does your child have no soul?

2004-03-04T14:22:00.000-05:00

God Save the . . . errr Product endorsement???????

So there's this essay contest thingie put in my box at school with a gorgeously tussled Julia Stiles on the pamphlet. I should hand it out to my students and prompt a discussion about who they believe would make a good princess and prince of the good ole US of A. The contest by-the-by, is just part of a ginormous campaign of propaganda to promote the coming-soon "The Prince and Me" staring said tussled actress. Anyhoo . . . so I'm thinking yea, that is what I want to tell my kids . . . America, land of the free, generations of INDIVIDUALS, owning your own, owe no one, live under your own rule, hey, lets pick ornamental figure-heads and waste our taxes on their frivolous life-styles for the joy of comparing ourselves to Julia Stiles and whatever Orlando-Bloomesque-it-boy she is co-staring with. But then I saw that sponser-teachers of contest winners get some pretty cool prizes (we're talking personal dvd player ad Best-buy Gift Certifs!) and handed the info. Packets to all my classes. Oooowww I want a personal dvd player!

God bless America! God save the Consumer!

Much Love,

The Peerless Consumer

prince&mecontest

2004-03-04T12:16:00.000-05:00

Chick Lit. . . . . not just crunchy coated gum squares anymore.

What can I say that hasn't been said countless times before . . . these books (I grin from ear to ear just thininking about the thousand and one nights I have spent laughing, crying, commiserating) are more than just the leafy fluff that fills the pastel colored covers. But I must say this, not all chick-lits, or confessional-novels or whaever other lable is given them, are equal. Alas, there will only every be on Helen Fielding, one Nick Hornby, one Pamela Ribon (I include her even though a new comer, an Olympian among Titans).

What I love about even the crappy chic lit novels is what I love about the characters that populate their paper worlds. I love how the book itself seems to be terribly self-consious and doubtful of its own value. Each book seems to be crying out: "Am I good enough? Please, Please tell me I'm a good little book." Just as characters such as the infamous Ms. Jones and Anna K. (Why Girl's Are Wierd) quip and quibble, on and on, page after page, about their own self-worth, so too these books question their own value. And no matter how many friends reasure them or how many books are sold to adoring fans, these books seem to tremble in the corner against any and all criticism.

See Grumpy Critic's Link

You know the saying, even bad sex is good? I would like to extend it: Even bad chic-lit is good!

Go out people! Buy Pastel Books!

Be good until next time.

2004-03-01T15:18:00.000-05:00

Girls’ guide to Love and Poker

I am no expert in poker or love, but I have read enough self-help books and watched enough World Poker Tours to be able to make a strong connection between the two. I love poker, and I hate love. Well, I don’t hate love, but we all know what I mean. I hate the uncertainty, the misery, the why didn’t he call, what is he thinking, why is his brother so damned important to him, how can keep track of the stats of hundreds of different basketball and football teams, thousands of different players. How can multi-million dollar accounts, and yet he cannot understand the importance and dialing a few digits and literally spending five minutes in semi-useless conversation that is oh so useful. Poker is a mind game; love is a mind game, don’t be fooled. Both can great mean taking great risks, losing all, but only if you don’t know how to play the game, or if you play the game over-emotionally. The key to winning in love and poker is to always be cool.
Remember that Adonis in Cool-hand Luke? Well, you’re not a guy so maybe you don’t . . . well, I’ll tell you then. He was quiet, shy, with piercing blue eyes that could just about look through a man. There was an aura about him. Is he bluffing? Yes, he is, but no one wanted to find out and be burned. You are Cool-hand Laura, don’t forget it. The key is in what isn’t said. Mr. Possibility (never Mr. Right) must never be sure what hand you carry. Practice for your love life by playing a few hands. Become comfortable with lying or bluffing at least. A good poker player knows that the way to play poker is to change gears at different points in the game. As you play, you will become in tuned with the rhythms of game. When to be aggressive (there are times), when to be passive (time to feel things out), and of course, when to hold’em and when to fold’em.

Down with the Lingo

Something essential to learning anything is to first learn the lingo, the slang. Here are some terms you will hear in smoky card rooms across the nation.

1) Check-raise: When a player checks and then raises after another player bets in later position. also Sandbag.

The check-raise is a beautiful thing. Let’s say you have big-slick (Ace, King) in a hand of Texas Hold’em, you don’t want to be overly excited and bet big right out the gate. What you do want to do is lay low and see if your opponent will make a move. And so you check. You are still in the game; you have not folded, you have not raised, you are just saying I don’t want to risk any more of my chips but I do want to play and see what other cards will be dealt. When your opponent makes his move, bets big, invests in a game he believes he can beat you in, it is then that you raise the stakes. You have him beat, you know it, and he has put too much in to pull out. Ah, Love! The check-raise is a beautiful thing in love.

2.) Fish: An opponent who plays very poorly and is giving away money to the good players in the game.

Women, beware of fish; they give the goods away. A man can only take so much from a fish.

3) Live One: A player who is so bad that the others relish playing against him.

Don’t be a Live One, unless you have unlimited emotional chips.

4.) Loose: Players who play a lot of hands and rarely fold and often call bets when they should not.

To play loose is equivalent to dating with great gusto. Go out. Go out with all sorts of guys (hands). Hands that seem like crap might actually turn out to give you a good pair with the flop (turn of the first three communal cards in Texas Hold’em). A three-two combo is not so bad when a three-two comes on the flop ask any poker player.

5) Passive: A player who bets and raises infrequently. Also a game with many passive players.

A passive player has great power. The other players know you mean business if you keep mucking your cards, waiting for a good hand. When you finally do bet it is serious. Let him get away with the small stuff; when he oversteps, lay into him. He’ll quickly learn not to mess with Ms. Passive.

6.) Pot Odds: The ratio of the size of the pot to the size of a bet you are calling. For example, if you must call $4 and the pot is $24 after your opponent has bet, you are getting 6:1 pot odds.

Don’t bet unless you get more, much more than you put in. Don’t Pay! Or pay once for every six dates. If you’re dumped you’ll only have to nurse your ego and heart, not your wallet.

7.) Shark: A good player, preying on the poor players in the game.

Don’t be a shark.

Women aren’t sharks, we aren’t looking to prey on our men, just become better friends and playmates. We can enjoy a good competition, but never seek out a commitment as if it were sustenance. It is not. I don’t know what it is or why it is meaningful exactly, all I know is that the object in poker for me is not to demolish my opponent but to enjoy the thrill and adrenalin rush of the game. Same for love, enjoy it, try not to lose too much, enjoy the adrenalin rush.

8.) Showdown: After all betting rounds are completed, when two or more players show their hands and determine the winner of the pot.
In love there should be two winners, but it takes quite a lot of game playing, betting, raising, bluffing before the showdown. If you don’t allow a game to be played out and mutually enjoyed your opponent will muck their cards (throw them out). Your opponent should be given some indication that he might be able to win, but he should not be certain until the showdown. Keep this in mind: Slow down=Good Showdown.

9.) Steaming: A player who is playing poorly out of desperation to get even. also Tilt.
If your man does something to drive you up a wall, do not take desperate measures. Logic in poker, logic in love. When he expects you to lose you head, throw down your hand and wait to be dealt better cards. Better cards always turn up. This might mean waiting for another suitor or just holding back when he doesn’t call. If he has been distant, don’t go out with him the next time he beckons. Don’t play on tilt, always be balanced, never steam.

2004-02-29T21:51:00.000-05:00

Me: 25 (just turned --yea for me)English teacher (once again -- yea for me)in a small rural area in the foothills of beautiful Virginia.

Accomplishments: won a cd for coming up with a slogan for a Charlottesville radio station describing the city: "Charlottesville's for lovers, just ask Thom and Sally," (ie: Thom Jefferson and Sally Hemmings' natorious affair). I thought it was cleaver.

So this whole internet journal thing is like a fad right . . . I mean I heard about it through my students, pathetic social life I have, I know, Iknow, and began reading a book called Why Girls are Weird by Pamala Ribon (Yes, I know titles are underlined Just don't know how to do that yet). The book completely centers on a woman's fabulous (not so) and famous (relatively) life online journal existance.

Favorite Stuff:

1. Book -- by FAR Briget Jones Diary/Briget Jones: The Edge of Reason

2. Song/Record/Recording Artist -- absolutle too hard to say

3. Mode of Transportation -- my 1999 Toyota Camery

4. Kiss -- also has to do with a radio station -- my first kiss -- freezing cold winter night, first date of sorts (he was a dj, invited the nervous girl to visit him at the station), about 9 o'clock I guess, sky was extremely clear -- lots of stars and such. I went to the front door of the station but had to back track as he opened the side door. He was a big guy. 6' 270 lbs. easy (probably more like 300, 270 in his words). I had told him I'd squeeze his ass if we'd meet, I was too bashful. He gave me a huge gorilla hug and a a lovely first kiss. Thank you Matt. But, alas, Matt was an ass, and Ann was left heart broken. You spin me right-round baby

5. Worst things about Charlottesville -- too high rents, too great of a class division, too few viable jobs, to many goths (I shouldn't say that, they don't REALLY bother anyone). Please add to this list if you know the area and I have left anything out.

6. Best things about Charlottesville -- it beautiful at anytime of year. I'll take this further in a future entry . . .

7. Soft Drink -- diet cherry coke

8. Spot on a Man -- belly -- by far!

ok, so this is getting lengthy . . . PLEASE if you know what a blog is tell me. Chances are I will look it up on the internet under blog + slang, but just in case I don't . . .

Until next time, Dream Big!

Ann