The Bliss of Ms. Blossom

All my plants are still alive. I got a new one about a week ago that Bryant named Eduardo.

No listener really cares as much as the dream as the dreamer, but I had a dream that was almost entirely centered on donuts.

--

I was looking to buy a donut. I had some pretty high standards in mind, because I was so hungry. I knew it had to have frosting and springles and be amazing. As I wandered from donut store to donut store, I became so discouraged, because I couldn't find just the right donut. Sure, there were some nice-looking ones, but I kept on thinking, "Don't settle for that donut, keep looking, I bet you can find a better one." Well, the stores were starting to shut down and I got that horrible anxious feeling in my stomach, so I hurried up and picked one. It wasn't quite the donut I had been looking for, but -- what the hell, I was running out of time. I pointed it out to the harried donut store workers, and as soon as I was handed the bag, they pulled down the gates and closed for the day.

Much to my surprise, when I opened the bag, there was no donut.

It was a bagel.

I was incensed, but there was nothing I could do. The donut store was definitely closed and I was stuck.

--

Everyone who has heard this story immediately compares it to dating. This is an entirely justifiable interpretation, but I makes me worry about my priorities. Shouldn't I want a bagel? Bagels are delicious and nutritious. Donuts, on the other hand, are flashy and superficial. But they are so fuckin' good. To complicate matters, the wholesome baked good left me feeling incomplete and unhappy, so I feel that this is a lose-lose situation.

One guy told me I'm a lesbian, because I'm so preoccupied with holes.

I'm writing this from my office right now. To be more specific and less self-agrandizing, it's more of a cubicle. To be even more painfully specific, there's only one wall.

There's a sign on Atherton that says:

599 SALAD
ALL DAY

Everytime I see it, there's a nanosecond during which I think it says:

Egg SALAD
ALL DAY

I talked to Eddie on the phone today for the first time since I left. It was so good. I told him about Pennsylvania so far, but we mostly discussed the things that have been going on in Lubbock -- specifically the credit union -- since I left. As strange as this may sound, and as guilty as I feel for thinking it (much less writing it down), this has made me the most homesick that I've been. When I stop to think about it, I guess it makes sense. Day in and day out for over three years, I probably saw the people at my job on a more consistent basis than anyone else, including my family and friends. It just seems so weird to think about Eddie and Crystal and all of the members we knew still spending time together at the Admin.

A few days ago, I put my new red sheets on me bed. They are super soft and warm, and I was altogether ecstatic about them.

Until.

The next morning I rolled out of bed and glanced behind me. My bed was unmade, and the red sheets underneath my blankets looked like the bloody insides of some slain animal. It was as if a huge white whale had been sliced open and was bleeding in the middle of my bedroom floor.

At least, that's what I thought then. It hadn't really occured to me again until a second ago. I don't think it's actually going to be a huge issue; I still really like my bed.

I put together one of my tall bookshelves yesterday, and now my back is really sore. Also, the FUCKIN' PENN STATE EMAIL WON'T WORK.

Leah won't stop laughing about a deformed cardboard skeleton that her mom sent her for Halloween. Won't stop.

This is sign number one thousand and ten that she is not normal.

Lately, my sexual fantasies have involved trains. Specifically, the romantic idea of trains from Harry Potter or French Kiss, complete with those cute beds, cute compartments, and cute brunches. Kind of like the trains that Carrie and Samantha thought they would be travelling in on that Sex and the City episode.

If I'm developing mono again.... well, I'm sure you can imagine how pissed I will be.

The last couple weeks have been tough for our plants. None of Esther's survived. The only ones left are my two and some new flowers that Sarah bought. Hers looked pretty shitty today, though. I guess I'm the only one with a green thumb.

I've repotted Lolita, and she is continuing to grow to fit her, now larger, pot. Jasper was like that, too. Except he lived in aquariums and not a pile of dirt. Except now he lives in a pile of dirt somewhere because he's dead. Except he was still in his aquarium when we threw him away. Except it wasn't really me who threw him away, it was Bryant.

Lolita seems to be attracting these tiny black bugs. There aren't very many of them, but I'm sort of flabbergasted. I mean, are a few bugs a sign that there's a bug colony thriving somewhere in the vicinity? Isn't that what you have to assume with ants? These kind of look like ants, except they can fly. Shouldn't that make the threat of infestation, like, I don't know, TEN MILLION TIMES WORSE?

In spite of my intensive knowledge of entomology, I've decided to live and let live. I keep on thinking of those religious people (perhaps in the Middle East somewhere) who wear veils over their mouths so as not to unintentionally harm any living creature. It might also be all of the sci-fi books I've been reading that discuss, in great detail, a future human race who has relations with a COMPLEX BUG CIVILIZATIONS. Yes, there are books that fit into the giant bug subgenre of sci-fi literature. I think they might be similar to the robot subgenre of drama films. Anyway, even though these relations always seem to end disasterously, I have developed a sort of grudging respect for these organisms that can decimate entire Terran military fleets. My last reason to not launch an attack on these bugs (which you should ALWAYS do if trapped in sci-fi story) is that I have a feeling it would involve some sort of pesticide (and not just my waving around facial tissue in the general area of Lolita). I eat and live and breathe (and love and laugh and whatever else those stupid decorative wall plaques are always telling you to do) in this room, and don't want to ingest poison. Oh, but the poison is for little tiny bugs, you say? That's supposed to make me feel better? My EYES and AORTA and NIPPLES are little tiny things, and I don't want them to SHRIVEL UP AND DIE.

As usual, my Gardening Journal entry has completely lost sight of its gardening theme.

Sometimes when I try to write out a number, I use the number as a letter. Accidentally, of course (or maybe subconsciously is a better word).

Observe.

5ive.
6ix.
7even.
8ight.
9ine.

I think that "6ix" is a particularly good case.

Creation Story:

When I was in high school, Dr. Whittington made us keep a portfolio of our assignments each six week period. At the top of my table of contents, I would inevitably write "4th 6ix Weeks" (or whichever) and not notice until someone pointed it out. That is the origin of this tale.

Our tiny rose plant looks pretty pathetic. It's turning sort of pale and crisp, and a thin layer of cobwebs clings all around it (acting as some sort of natural alternative to shrink wrap).

In summation: very fuckin' creepy.

I'm so sick of reading in various places how "Jesus was a(n) ______!"

Fill in the blank: liberal, conservative, Democrat, Republican, pro-choice, pro-life, INFP, INFJ, feminist, chauvinist, environmentalist, capitalist... etc.












Who. The. Fuck. Cares.












It cannot possibly matter in the slightest way. I don't care who Jesus would have voted for, just like I don't care how he would have taken his coffee. For the record, I also don't care whether King Arthur would have supported the war in Iraq or whether Pecos Bill would have accepted homosexuals. Would Santa Claus have called Helen of Troy an equal, or would he have mocked her sleigh-driving? Sure, I'll answer that question when I'm ready to have a frivolous conversation, but not as a defense of my political beliefs.

Jesus, Arthur, Bill, Santa, Helen. These people are not real.

I'm not entirely sure what a gardening journal is, but I know that Mom was talking about them this past summer, and I thought they sounded like the stupidest, most ridculous, absolutely worthless undertaking ever. I have since decided to try one myself, and perhaps lead this sad genre to the heights of genius. I might actually check some out at the library (yes, they are actually published), but until then, I'll have to wing it.

We actually have a fair amount of plants in our house. (I would like to take a moment to bemoan the fact that this new residence lacks a name! I mean, Alaska is now legendary -- to about 5 people -- but all I can call this place is home.) I have some sort of leafy thing on my small bookshelf. Her name is Lolita, because I simply cannot get over how much I adore that book. (Dissertation topic?) She still has the "Get 2 for $6" sticker on her plastic pot. I keep on meaning to repot her into a nicer container, but I have always found it difficult to locate a respectable amount of pots at Wal-Mart. I think there's a gardening store in the shopping center down the road (or I'm having another one of many hallucinations), so I might check that out. I'm thinking it needs to be blue. I try to water her every time it occurs to me, but I worry that this is still a pitiful amount. There are tiny clover like leaves that seem to be thriving. Esther called them weeds, but I feel attached to them. (Not to mention, the whole idea of "weeds" as inferior to "plants" is completely arbitrary and values domestically grown organisms over those that thrive in the wild.) Lolita has been listening to a lot of Ani D and Spoon lately. I guess that's to be expected.

I'm worried that this first gardening journal attempt wasn't quite a success. It's probably pretty boring to most people. That might just be inherent to the genre. Now I'm pondering whether a gardening journal is really appropriate for my audience. My students might be disappointed in me at my poor rhetorical abilities. I often feel that they shouldn't hear me speak outside of class, because it might smash the image of a cultivated instructor that I'm trying to present.

And now I've veered far enough way from my original topic that I feel I should just end this now.

The Texas Anna would be very disconcerted by this, but I was so relieved. Air conditionning here is basically nonexistent, and the recent hot weather coupled with life-draining humidity has been killing me softly. As such, my electric fan has become my lover, but I think maybe it's about that time that we discuss taking a break. I mean, Pennsylvania should be cold, right?

Steph and I had an amazing time. I would say more, but it would take about a thousand years for me to write everything down, and I've charged her with spreading the word. Hopefully this will entice others to Happy Valley.

Despite what Stephanie claims, Happy Valley is a real place and not out of a Care Bears movie. I know this because I now live here.

Our cat has refused to go in the backyard for about four days. She usually demands to be let out about a thousand times a day, so it's odd behavior for her. Especially since it's clear that she wants to go outside, but seems too terrified to do so. She will creep up to the door and peer around the yard, but just sits there until you become sick of holding the door open.

I think it's either the birds (somehow) or ghosts. Unfortunately I got rid of my Catholic candles in the move, but I might have to retrieve my Virgin de Guadalupe air freshener from my car and cleanse the backyard of malevolent spirits. Maybe Deana or Ryan will come back to help me.

Two more items: I have mono, and I might start a gardening journal. More to come.

A week or two ago (back when I actually went to work instead of calling in sick), a girl comes up to the teller windows to dissuade us from walking by the library. There was a bird that allegedly attacked students by the library entrance. In fact, this girl claimed that it flew into her and tried to peck the back of her head.

Also, the biggest bird crap known to humankind is now resting on my car's front windshield. Seriously, this is monstrous. It reminds me of that [The] Office episode in which Packer leaves Michael a "gift" on his carpet. Maybe this was done out of birdlove.

I might reassume my suspicious stance against Lubbock birds in the summertime.

This bird hostility is really quite unwarranted. My brother saved a bird yesterday. It had fallen into a bucket full of water in our backyard, and Will happened to notice it splashing around as he was walking to his car. He unceremoniously dumped it out on the grass, then continued to work. We seriously thought it was going to die, because it mostly just layed there and looked pathetic, but eventually, it dried off, hopped around, and flew away.

Does reading Reading Lolita in Tehran make me Middle Eastern? I didn't think so, but someone I helped at work did. I'm adding this to my list of mistaken ethnicities.

Gah, my throat really hurts. And Lubbock is being taken over by caterpillars. Not good news.

Yesterday and today were good days. I talked to Steph and Sara, found Rainbow Brite stickers to put on my iPod, and painted my toenails purple. My life has become much simpler these past few months.

Here's a piece of advice to everyone: follow the instructions for medication. I used too much sore throat spray, and my tongue went temporarily numb.

Which reminds me of the antibiotics I was taking last week. The accompanying instructions said that it also treats and prevents malaria. I had heard a long time ago that there were two types of malaria medication: one gives you horrifying, emotionally-scarring nightmares, and the other will make you desparately ill. I was fine. I had one dream about giving birth which was horrifying at the time, but I'm over it now. I also had a dream that I was Elrond's chief elfin advisor. Last night I dreamed that our house was turned into a residence hall, and Liz and Trista were living in our front room. None of these are malaria-quality dreams.

None of this was really about much of anything.

I had a horrible dream a few nights ago. I arrived in Penn State only to find that I needed to pass a swimming class before they would let me officially enroll in grad school. All of us were spread out in a huge pool and made to go through various drills. There I was, standing in chest-level water wearing a ill-fitting minidress that kept coming apart at the seams. As we were finishing up, we were informed that the class was going to cost us $17,000. Fuck. I decided to go back to Texas.

This probably stemmed from the fact that I'm sure everyone there thinks I'm an idiot now. While signing up for seminars, I noticed a really cool one about French decadence at the turn of the century. The course was billed as interdisciplinary, so even though it was through the French department, I automatically assumed that it was taught in English. The profs were really supportive and offered to do all of the paperwork and get it approved before the grad studies committee for me. THEN it dawned on me that maybe, just maybe, I should quickly double-check any sort of language requirment. Sure enough, I'm a moron. The readings are all going to be in French, and although I'm okay at the language, I'm not going to be able to fuckin' understand a philosophical text written in French. Sigh.

On a somewhat brighter note, my parents traded in (H)Ellen for a newer green car. As of now, she has no name, but I'm considering Edwina. Why Edwina? Well, I was watching Hold the Dream, the continuation of a staggeringly long story about Emma Harte and her family. One of her daughters is Edwina, and she's a total bitch. I feel for her, though, because her name is absolutely awful, and for some reason this compells me to immortalize her.

To be honest, I miss my old car. Granted, I realize I become ridiculously attached to inanimate objects, but she was the only car I ever had, and I still remember how ecstatic I was when I found her in our carport 6 years ago. Hopefully someone nice gets her and never ever plays John Mayer through her almost blown out speakers. Maybe I can get visitation rights?

Driving back to Alaska (see what I said about ridiculous attachments? I named my friggin' apartment!), I noticed a ladybug flying around in the car. This must be a good omen since, if I remember correctly, ladybugs are supposed to be good luck. In Under the Tuscan Sun, they are connected to sex. Crystal took one look at my new car and said that it had a good-sized backseat.

(Note: I stand by my story about a ladybug biting me in the 9th grade. I still have the red dot on my hand.)

Speaking of Alaska, I miss Sara. Hopefully a trip to New Mexico is in the cards this summer, because Pennsylvania is very far away.

Last week I was standing in the yard with Dad, when some more fighting birds showed up. I pointed them out to him, only to have him explain that no, we aren't going to be stuck in a Hitchcock movie, and that the birds are mating.

Sara and I went to the drive-in last week to see Shrek the Third (which I enjoyed) and Next (which was beyond horrible). I had never been before, but would now recommend that everyone go at least once. I got to eat nachos and drink tea. Here are two observations that I made while at the drive-in, although they are not directly drive-in related:

1. In Shrek, there is a scene in a tavern where someone is singing Charlene's song I've Never Been to Me. Cah-razee.

2. Jess was right, our Anthro Folklore prof works at the snack register. Her hair is longer now.

Over the past year, birds have become a new interest of mine. I painted a purple one and it hangs on my wall. We have a spotted ceramic pigeon that sits on top of the television. Our shalt shakers (yes, plural) are two big-eyed owls that I found at an estate sale. I think my next tattoo will either be a dove or an owl.

Still, birds have been a little odd lately. I'm worried that I'm in Hitchcock's story and that we will have to hide out behind reinforced doors until our food supplies dwindle enough to force us to brave the open air.

At my parents' house the other day, two birds were fighting in our lawn. A little one was hopping around on the ground, while the larger one was flying a few feet off the ground and trying to gouge it with its beak. For some vague reason, it really creeped me out. My mom and brother shooed them away.

I was stopped at a red light in my car a day or two later, and I looked out my window to see a bird hovering outside of my window. It kept on moving in these frantic, agressive jerks and seemed to be trying to attack me through my window. As a testament to the cleanliness of my car (go ahead, laugh), at one point I jumped and dived to the side because I thought for a second that my window was down and that I was about to be a victim of a killer bird attack. After regaining my composure, I looked around, and it seemed like there were a few birds that were having some sort of aerial rumble on all sides of my car. Nobody else seemed to notice or care.

Just a second ago, there was a bird perched on a stop sign, puffing its chest and looking downright menacing. I'm probably not being fair, because a week ago I might have just thought she looked cute.

Maybe next week.

What is wrong with work? It has been acting strange.

Crystal: Do you like deviled eggs?
Anna: Yeah, they're good.
Crystal: Rusty and I love it.
Anna: Oh yeah?
Crystal: That's what our family has once a week.
Anna: Well, I like them a lot, but apparently nowhere near as much as you guys.
Crystal: Really? The beer is cheap.
Anna: Wait, what are you talking about?
Crystal: Double Dave's.

I walked in today and saw a black gift bag with Congrats Grad written in silver. Inside, there were Texas Tech salt and pepper shakers. In all seriousness, these are freakin' cool. I have some that are little white owls, so now I have a mini-collection. The weird part was when I realized there was also a silver cross with God Bless Texas Tech engraved on it. A Double T was at the intersection where Jesus would theoretically have been.

A few thoughts:

1. Even for a religious person, this seems like a weird gift. It looks like Jesus has been replaced with Tech. Isn't it blasphemous to pray to a university?

2. I have worked there for a little over three years. After all that time, who would still assume I was Christian?

I finished Eats Shoots & Leaves by Lynne Truss, and James Thurber was mentioned many times. Just like here and here.

On The Colbert Report last week, the singer Charlene was mentioned. I can't remember the precise context, but it was during The Word. Sara didn't recall when I played I've Never Been to Me for her last semester, so I had to remind her by playing it again.

We went to the park last night to swing. After convincing Mandy that we need at least one of us to face each direction on the seats so we wouldn't be caught by surprise and molested, we told each other stories. I'll probably have a hard time remembering all the details, but here they are.

Sara went first:

Once upon a time, there was a pea named Gene who was the prime minister of his land. He felt himself to be superior to the other Pealanders, so he didn't have many friends and was lonely. Since this is a fairy tale, Gene decided to go on a quest to find a wife. He traveled for awhile and came upon a carrot. Gene was not homosexual, so decided to keep going, but for some reason the carrot covertly followed him on the rest of his journey. Then Gene got to Asparagusland and was just in time for a bull-riding contest to win the hand of the princess! Unfortunately Gene, being a pea, had no hands or arms or legs or any other useful body part to help him stay on a bull for 8 seconds. At this point the carrot emerges and offers to magically conjure hands for Gene in exchange for Jean's prime minister position. Gene refused and decided to continue his travelling until a solution presented itself. He arrived at the ocean and met the Sea King. The Sea King didn't know how to help Gene, but instead referred Gene to Ursula. Unlike the vindictive, manipulative, Disney Ursula, this one wasn't as powerful and simply granted Gene's wish without requiring a sacrifice of his voice or soul or anything else. Newly equipped with the necessary appendages to ride a bull, Gene returned to to Asparagusland just in time to make the registration deadline for the contest. Gene won the bull-riding contest! In the midst of his celebratory revelry, however, the Asparagus King decided that a pea (regardless of how many hands he has) has no business marrying asparagus royalty. Grief-stricken, the Aspargus Princess and Gene pleaded their cause with the utmost sincereity and eloquence. The Aspargus King, being the vindictive, manipulative king he was (similar to Disney's Ursula), agreed to allow the union in exchange for Gene's soul. Yes, this king was willing to make his daughter's husband soulless in order to gain power. Well, poor Gene felt that he couldn't give up now, not after having come so far, so he reluctantly agreed. Once the Asparagus Princess and Gene were married, however, she decided that it sucked being married to a soulless man. She gathered up a crowd of asparaguslanders to storm the castle and retrieve Gene's soul. They murdered and ate the king, according to Asparagusland's caniballistic customs. After their success, the happy couple moved back to Pealand to have many asparagus-pea children and live in peace. Unfortunately, the carrot returned and demanded that they give him their firstborn child or he would kill all of the other children. At this news, all of the Asparaguslanders and Pealanders joined forces to kill the carrot and end his evil shenanigans once and for all.

my story:

After circling the sun for many many years, the Earth grew weary of its role in the universe, especially since Mars lost its own indigenous populations millions of years ago. It is lonely being the only planet in a solar system with any civilations to talk about. The Earth decided it would go and find other planets with which it would have more in common. Unfortunately, it forgot to take into account that once it slightly deviated from its prescribed course, all of its life forms would die. Nevertheless, now that the Earth was a barren planet, there was even less to tie it down, so it decided to continue with its journey. As it left the solar system, it ran into Pluto who was being ridiculed and ostracized because of its recent demotion from planethood. The two decided to ditch this solar system and travel off together. They traveled for a long time through the universe until they were sucked into a black hole and squashed into tiny little particles! Since it was black, there was no way for them to see it before it was too late. Black holes capture light, but fortunately sound waves can still escape. Knowing this, the Earth yelled out a distress signal. The moon, who had been horribly overlooked and left behind, was still loitering around the old solar system and heard its old friend the Earth. Rushing to the rescue, the moon sped throughout the galaxy. Once it realized, however, that the Earth and Pluto were in a black hole, it approached cautiously so as not to be sucked up. The moon eventually decided to abandom them to their fate and have its own adventures instead. As it travlled through the universe, it met a comet. They decided to travel together, but the comet was going too fast for the moon. They decided to compromise speeds, so the moon travelled a bit faster and the comet travelled a bit slower, and all was well. Their egalitarian relationship should be a model to us all. They travelled for a very very long time until they reached the end of the universe and ran into a big wall. They could go no farther, so they rested and played cards instead.

After a couple false starts, Mandy finally told her story (surprisingly, it wasn't about brothels):

There was a ducked named Quaid (I think that was his name, but I'm using it anyway) who was on a farm. Quaid was wandering around the grounds one day when a laser shot at him from a bush. He was confused and frightened, and only more confused and frightened when a little green man emerged from the foliage. "We've been looking for you for ages!" the little green man said. Apparently Quaid was the long-lost king of some Jeebie Jabba galaxy about 20 thousand light years away. In that civilzation, the king doesn't subject his people to new scientific experiments, but allows them to be tested on himself. In this case, the king was turned into a duck and transplanted to Farmer Bob's farm on Earth. He also had amnesia until the little green man reminded him of what actually transpired. Unfortunately, the little green man's spaceship had crashed on Earth and now they couldn't go home. For some reason, the little green man lasered all the farm animals (maybe he was really hungry?). After gorging themselves on steak and chicken, Quaid felt sick. On his home planet, it is usual for the citizens to eat a lot of steak and chicken (well, their own versions which had lasers coming out of the ears), but a Earthling duck can't digest that much meat very well. Farmer Bob came out and saw all the bones from his dead animals. Quaid and the little green man were the only ones left alive and Farmer Bob eyed them very suspiciously. I don't remember what happened next, except that they probably killed Farmer Bob and they somehow solved their earlier transportation problem and made it back to Quaid's home planet. In his absence of a great number of years, his people had replaced him with a new king. It didn't really matter that much, however, because by then Quaid was very old and died soon after returning home. The ending is happy, though, because he was given a proper Jeebie Jabba funeral.

Considering the weather has been tempermental recently, Friday was a gorgeous day. I wasn't planting flowers (or spreading mulch) with an organization this year, but Melanie and I hung out in Memorial Circle for awhile that afternoon. We got free t-shirts and hotdogs and boldly loitered on the grass as frisbees sliced through the air around us.

I had a really nice time with Nathan that evening. Jalisco's margaritas and coversation, followed by monstary pictures at his house. Nathan is strange and I don't see him too terribly often, but he's a good guy, despite his blatant misogynistic comments that are intended to throw me into a tamtrum. Time spent with him is always interesting. Part of me is always envious that his life is so open to possibilities right now, and I've just committed myself to a 6-year doctoral program...

Mandy, Sara and I saw Music & Lyrics again last night. Yes, again. It's not the best film in the world, but I like Hugh Grant and it was only $2. My favorite line in the whole movie is when Sophie Fisher (Drew Barrymore) and Alex Fletcher (Hugh Grant) are trying to record their song Way Back Into Love. Sophie is really nervous and the first few words she manages to whisper are so airy the microphone barely picks them up. Alex stops her and says, "just a little bit louder, because this song is intended for humans, okay? Way Back Into Love, take two." Hugh Grant's delivery always gets me.

If I could combine Melanie, Nathan, and Hugh Grant into one person... I think that would be pretty exciting.