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Wednesday, July 23rd, 2008
7:30 am - Truth

The truth is that this journal was meant to be private. I meant to set it as such. It wasn't meant to hurt anybody. It wasn't meant to hurt the company. All it was was a way to vent. Much of the venting happened late at night, on Tuesdays, or when I was drunk.

There isn't anything I can do. The damage is done. I'm privatize the entries one-by-one. I remake my promise to stop drinking, which I already pledged to do once I moved. Because I hurt people I cared about through my carelessness.

I have a lot of emotions rolling inside me all the time. And I pushed everything I had that I didn't want to express into this journal: anger, jealosy, frustration, depression, lust, everything. It didn't need to be a.p. style or clean or even true. It just had to be an outlet for all the emotions I didn't want anyone to know about it, sometimes subconscious ones. Once I wrote, the feelings were gone. It was exorcism. I don't even remember what I wrote. I'm having to read everything just to remember who to apologize to. If I wrote about a half-remembered incident in a way I wished or feared would happen, I could stop worrying and thinking about it.

I have two people inside me — a bitter, sarcastic hag and a kind, caring person. Ninety percent of the time, I'm the latter. Ten percent of the time, I'm the former. To keep that ten percent under control, I wrote. I thought nobody else could see save for, of course, a few friends and family who know my penchant for melodrama and ignore it. While you got this all at once, please remember that it was drips and drabs of frustration over a hard year of entering the "real world."

Much of it was unjustified. None of meant was meant to harm. But good intentions pave the way to hell, and my intentions were less than stellar. They were just to---well I can't explain it any better.

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Tuesday, September 11th, 2007
9:06 pm - To be or not to...zzzzzzz
Nothing happened. No arrests. No retaliation. No nothing. Silence greets everything.

People wonder why I don't needle about feminist language or care about transsexuals having their own words. It's because that doesn't feel real. It's all preaching to the choir. Feeling a rapist's body above you, that's real. Hearing some girl next door being slammed against the wall. That's real. The endless stream of police reports I sift through matter more to me than some hypothetical exclusion. Proper feminists say it's all one root. Jenny says you gotta take it one step at a time or risk diffusing the movement into ivory-tower irrelevency.

Tired. So tired. Wrote so much. Pissed. Boss gave me an assignment at 4:55 p.m. Friday. I took the photos and interviewed guy Monday. Ended up writing the story in about an hour this morning under tremendous pressure. The interview was pretty meandering and I had no clue what I was going to focus on. I walk in the door and Ethan says "Oh we need this as soon as possible because it's going to these three other newspapers" and I was like...what Now everyone in the frickin' office is going on about how wonderful the piece is (I didn't get a chance to edit out my normal quirks, which I feel are not journalistic but which do add a certain--well, Jennyness). Which is all well and good, but will probably mean my boss will start handing stuff out under shorter and shorter time pressures because, after all, Jennifer can handle it.

Blast. Sometimes I outsmart myself. I work hard to get ahead and I just have to end up working harder.

Oh well, this week, the front page is all about me. I am three stories, boxing in the main art. One of them will probably go on the website in the next couple of days.

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Wednesday, June 27th, 2007
2:58 pm - Car clothes etc
Read Consumer Report's Used Car Guide. Couldn't find the car I wanted in Polson (Subaru Legacy/Impreza--ugly, but one of the few old cars that features all wheel drive) but did find it here, so we'll be testing them out tomorrow and driving to Montana the day after. My heart longs for a Lexus or a Miata.

Did the rest of my laundry. While looking through the leopard prints, the peasant blouses, and the oversized t-shirts, I realized that I have nothing that screams "Montana work appropriate." I have a distinct style, but that style makes me look far younger and stupider than I am. And my lacy things are not good for walking through hell and high water to find the perfect picture. I need something elegant but casual, nothing brightly colored, and without smarmy slogans. Maybe it's just as well my castro hat has vanished. I wonder what Annie Leibowitz wears? My jeans also shrunk in the drier despite my best precautions. That or my ass has grown five sizes--which it has. Who knew that the ten minutes I spent walking to UO and back made so much difference on how plump I am? Still not very, of course, but enough that 2/3rds of my jeans are going to be tossed or given to charity.

Sigh, another expense. Hopefully Polson has a reasonably-stocked goodwill. I liked my jeans too. Denim is the ass's pushup bra.

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Monday, June 25th, 2007
1:28 am - Return of the Endless Memes
Look away now. You have been warned. Bored. Packing is boring.

Which God or Goddess are you like?
Your Result: Jesus

You are God's lovechild. You love all and most love you. You help those who need it, and those too. The girls all chase you, and some boys too. You love to have fun, but you keep a serious life of working as well.Congratulations!! You are Christ!!

The Christian God
Goddess Bast
Goddess Sekhemet
You are your own God or Goddess
God Zeus
Which God or Goddess are you like?
Make Your Own Quiz

Your results:
You are Spider-Man
Wonder Woman
Green Lantern
Iron Man
The Flash
You are intelligent, witty,
a bit geeky and have great
power and responsibility.

Click here to take the Superhero Personality Test

You Are 52% Evil

You are evil, but you haven't yet mastered the dark side.
Fear not though - you are on your way to world domination.

Your Seduction Style: Sex Pot

Tradionally known as a "siren", "rake", or "femme fatale." You exude sensuality.
And while your sexiness is part of what makes you an incredible seducer...
Your ability to make others feel sexy is what really makes your seduction skills shine.

Most people don't feel attractive or desired enough - a need which you tap into.
You have the ultimate sex appeal, and getting attention from you is a total self esteem boost.
Your confidence is contagious, and you help others unleash their own sexuality.

Your sex pot seduction skills are so intoxicating that you can get away with... well, almost murder.
Lovers feel like your sensuality is in your blood, so it's only natural if you flirt a little.
And if you stray, that might be okay as well - as long as you make your lover still feel hot.

You Are Lara Croft

"Everything lost is meant to be found."

Star Wars Horoscope for Libra

You are on a lifelong pursuit of justice and determined to succeed.
You convey the art of persuasion through force.
You always display your supreme intelligence.
You have a great talent in obtaining balance between yourself and your surroundings.

Star wars character you are most like: Obi Wan Kenobie

You're Totally Sarcastic

You sarcastic? Never! You're as sweet as a baby bunny.
Seriously, though, you have a sharp tongue - and you aren't afraid to use it.
And if people are too wimpy to deal with your attitutde, then too bad. So sad.

You Are Chicken

Bah! You're hardly meat. But you are quite popular, and people aspire to taste like you.
You're probably quite skinny and free of vices. Except letting people eat your eggs.

You Are a Powdered Devil's Food Donut

A total sweetheart on the outside, you love to fool people with your innocent image.
On the inside you're a little darker, richer, and more complex.
You're a hedonist who demands more than one pleasure at a time.
Decadent and daring, you test the limits of human indulgence.

You Are a Brownie Cheesecake

A little chunky and a little gooey, you pretty much run on sugar!
You take hedonism to the extreme.. And people love you for it.

I am obviously hungry and should go to bed now.

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Wednesday, May 30th, 2007
3:11 pm - Thompson's Forthcoming Run
So i looks like Thompson's taking the dive into the Presidential race.  This pisses me off.
  Why?  Well, several reasons:

1) He's high in the polls...despite the fact that nobody knows his stance on any issues or anything like that
2) This means that I'll have to spend ridiculous amounts of time trying to find out what his issues are.
3) Speaking of issues, he's wiffle-washed his way through any remotely interesting statement, which means that again, people love him when they don't know what the fuck he's talking about.  Which means that...
4) YES!  In the middle of one of the messiest wars in American history, Americans are looking for an ACTOR to be President.  Why?  The Ron Paul supporters are more sane!

I realize that none of these are distinct points, but the nice thing about not being in debate is that I don't have to make sense anymore.  I can just scream at the choir and hear their repeated sweet "amens"

So, in other words, Fred Thompson's high poll numbers show that the American people are still incredibly stupid.  I mean, Bush's re-election kind of proved that--but I'd hoped the reality of Iraq would have made people sit up and pay attention.  I mean, he's an actor for god's sakes--an actor on a television show that almost didn't get renewed.

But the thing that bugs me most about Fred Thompson is...

4) He's a really bad actor.  If I have to hear one more stupid "When I was a southern boy" metaphor about baseball, I swear I'll vomit all over Kucinich's pocket constitution.  There's a reason no one watches Law & Order anymore.

Yes.  I hate Fred Thompson less on his underarticulated policies and more because I have to stick my fingers in my ears and go "LALALALALALALALA" every time I wanna see Jack McCoy rip some folks up.

Anyway, to quote the New York Times: “A guy who can pull votes from everyone shows that he is not some narrow or single-issue candidate.”  Not a single-issue candidate, meaning, no single issue.

And why is the Republican Party obsessed with Ronald Reagan?  In my opinion, the Californian Orator (who did, in fact, speak amazingly pretty) was a fuck-up who went from one mess to another (Iran-Contra, anyone?), spent all our nation's money, and murdered thousands of people by silencing a certain movement of which I am quite fond.  Everyone thinks he ended the cold war with his incredible spending, but shouting: "tear down this wall" didn't affect things as much as the internal turmoil in Russia.  Even if the Cold War was ended, big fat whup.  Russia is still totalitarian, Eastern European countries tend to be almost utterly devoid of freedom, and the U.S. still has nukes pointed at us, not to mention the uranium slipping across the border in dime bags.  Communism sucks ass,  but post-communism doesn't seem like much of an improvement, in my eyes.

Of course the left has it's nonsensically-loved darling (JFK--who, let's face it, was a misogynist, an elitist, and a vapid, if pretty, twit) but at least we don't outdo each other in our stupid eulogies.  I'm surprised the news anchors don't roll their eyes every time any politician opens their mouth.  I think my own news talk show would begin each segment with an elongated "puh-leeze" and would end with "shut the hell up."

Rant over.  Really.  I promise.

Still unemployed.  Rejection.  Rejection.  Rejection.  Mom brought a letter into my room jumping up and down thinking it was a job offer.  I told her people don't send job offers by mail--especially when the mailee hasn't even had an interview.  Guess who was right.  My dad through a tempertantrum when I said I was too sick to attend Pirates III over the weekend and he refused to see the movie either, despite the fact he all ready had bought a ticket.  So Mom and Mike went without him.  The fact that my presence is essential for his moviegoing enjoyment unnerves me.  His attention is beginning to creep me out.

I finished watching the complete Blackadder series (BBC comedy from the 80's).  I am so in love with the Elizabethian blackadder.  I want him to tuck me under his ruff and run away with me.  Yes, he isn't going to win any beauty contests, but intelligence and confidence both trump appearance anytime.  And I do adore men in black leather.


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Sunday, May 27th, 2007
2:49 am - Fun Song
"Your Johny Depp" by Testosterone

Don't wanna be your Brad Pitt,
Cos I'm no good in a fight
Don't wanna be your superman,
I don't look good in tights
Don't wanna be your classic rocker
Listening to Sabbath and Zepp
Cos baby...I wanna be your Johnny Depp!

I don't know what you see in him
But you think he's cool
Even when he's got his scissorhands
He still makes your drool
I don't think I'll ever match him,
I've seen the way he makes you smile
But I'm not gonna go away
You make it all worthwhile

Don't wanna be your Randy Quaid
if you know what I mean
Don't wanna be your Paul Stanley
Your Peter Kriss or your Gene
Don't wanna write you a song
Like step by step
Cos baby...I wanna be your Johnny Depp!


He's been Captain Jack Sparrow
and sailed out on the seas
Even though he's forty three
he still brings you to your knees
He's battled Freddy in Nightmare on Elm Street
At last I'm starting to see why Johnny is so sweet...


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Monday, May 21st, 2007
1:36 am - Dating sucks serious ass
Sean's one friend in the unit got blown up in Iraq. Send your prayers to him over memorial day.

Still spending all day indoors reading, writing, and researching. Wrote up to page 77 of my novel. Writing six pages a day will give me a thousand pages in a few more months, not that I want that many. 95% of the writing so far sucks ass, but there have been a few bits that are tolerable.

My dad wants me to investigate online dating. I find it ironic because he and my mom are scared to let me take the bus on my own in broad day light but go out with some total stranger I met on the internet??? Of course that's perfectly safe (rolls eyes expressively).

Looks like they've decided it's time for me to be properly married off. I thought I'd only have to deal with this crap in Utah. I'm 23 and can't possibly think of a reason why I'd want to get married to anyone in Washington, or even bother with a relationship that would probably last two months at most since I'm planning to go to New York next fall whether or not I have a job lined up. Apparently they're also under the distinct impression that boys have been pounding down my door and the only reason I'm not married yet is because I'm too picky. Well, boys in college pounded at something, but it wasn't my door. (Well, technically it was, given the harassment I suffered at the hands of creeps two years ago--you'd think that would have taught me to be a little more cautious in my choices. Nope.) This talk bothers me because it's really not any of their business whether I'm holding hands in the dark with whatever psychopath's willing to touch this bodily rubbish. As I said, I'm in no rush. It's a lot easier to be happy with yourself and your right hand when you're not surrounded by people going kissy-kissy while you're all alone.

I had a nightmare that my dad found out I was gay and strangled me in my sleep. Wish so much that I could just be open. Then they'd leave me alone about my dating. I probably could tell them the truth because they'd just see it as another effect of the rape and expect me to turn back to normal eventually. But I'm too scared too. I keep hearing my mother's words echoing in my head "never could love a daughter who's a lesbian...never could love a daughter who's a lesbian." No, can't come out until I'm financially independent so that if they cut me off, I won't be forced into doing anything. I had another nightmare that the U.S. military forced Bekah to hang herself. Have I ever told you how lovely my subconscious is?

Honestly, I don't even know what dating is like, at least not in the sense of romance. I've only been in one serious relationship (though I did turn down one of the marrying-types in high school because he was a nose-breather) and that one relationship a "hey, we both have hormones" thing and I was on the rebound from Jesse's traditional "yes I'm going to start dating you--uh, that was yesterday" vibes. I've never really been in love, and I despise it thoroughly because it opens you up to waaaay too much vulnerability. Give me a one-night-stand over someone who wants to talk about "feelings" any day of the month. This last statement is probably why I don't have serious relationships. That and college guys are fuckers, not lovers. Most of them. I've met a few sweet ones, but they're very rare.

Ironically, in the midst of all this bitterness, I did meet a nice boy though at a church activity (desperate to meet someone not my parents, I did, indeed go). He's about to head off to college in Arizona. Harley-Davidson is paying his full tuition, room & board, and giving him a book stipend to go to one of the top 2 motorcycle repair schools in the country. He also plays guitar/base in a band and reads Robert Jordan books. He carried me piggyback through the forest when I tripped. However, I've promised myself I will never date a Mormon because I don't want to hide who I am. Hard enough streaming my profanities, much less constraining my natural responses.

Boy: "See that cute redhead? That was my prom date."

Me: (first impulse) "Yeah, I'd fuck her."

Me: (actual comment) "Yeah, I...uh, I think she looks nice."

Anyway, I've all ready forgotten his name. I think my life would be a lot different if I could remember people's names. Doesn't matter. I'm not going out with anybody while living with my parents, and that is that. Especially not Mormon 18 year olds who seem oddly wise and are planning on leaving for their missions soon. Especially not when a little part of me is whispering about just using him for "practice."

My parents took the last of my money out of my personal account so now I have to go and ask for money from my parents to buy anything. So much for any hopes of...well...anything fun. Ever.

I am going to get to go Tango dancing with my 16-year-old brother as chaparone next weekend. Well, that's something. I've also got some small jobs--re-writing the typos out of a real estate and make a training video for my grandfather's new product. If I do a good job, I might have actually get some professional references. Yee-haw.

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Wednesday, May 16th, 2007
9:59 pm - R.I.P.
Rest in peace, Jerry Falwell.
O hater of gays,
O supporter of segregation,
O denier of evolution, you
created the Moral Majority,
which as the old bumper sticker
said, was neither.
Friend of Anita Bryant
and George Wallace,
critic of Martin Luther King
and Desmond Tutu, you
had the courage to say out loud
what most bigots only whisper.
Jon Ive says you once claimed you
could leg-press two thousand pounds.
But I'm pretty sure that was
someone else.
Jon also says your bible college
has dinosaur bones which it claims
are three thousand years old when really
they are a trillion years old.
A small mistake, in the bigger
scheme of things. But Jon says
you also claim these dinosaurs
belonged to Adam and Eve, who
raised them as pets.
That one is tougher to swallow.
Jerry Falwell, I cannot call you
Reverend. I cannot
imagine a person with whom
I have less in common.
Except I've heard that
you once were hassled
by the SEC.
So there's one thing at least.
Oh, and you ran a cult.
That's two.

-The Fake Steve Jobs

Too good not to re-post.

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Friday, May 11th, 2007
1:15 am - Lonely
Missed my friends a lot today. I could go weeks without seeing them in Eugene and be okay because I knew they were there. Not knowing they're there is the worst.

I guess I should mention that the anniversary of my rape went fine. I don't remember what I did that day, probably nothing important. The lead up was a lot harder--the last weekend in April I was having panic attacks and generally miserable thoughts, but I think that that had as much to do with the constant rejections from employers and the stress of being in a new place.

I'm still applying for writing jobs, but with other people graduating soon, the bar jumps significantly, so now I'm just going to apply to a few, and not with any hope. Instead, I've turned my eyes to more plebian pursuits--shelf stocking. The benefit of living here is that they always need unskilled labor--Issaquah doesn't have the huge college/high school population that Corvallis and Eugene did. I refuse to do fast food unless my life depends on it, but I could be a waitress or lift boxes. It'll suck, but it's something, and my dad gave me a bit of an ultimatum that translates to stop sitting on your ass. What I really want to be is a bartender, but something tells me my strict Mormon parents wouldn't be kosher with that. Oh, and the lack of bars. As it is, I'm crossing my fingers for the applications I've sent to the library and the local book store. At least then I could be around something I love. Yeah, right. I can't even get a job I'm qualified for. After a summer of that, I'll try for a post-grad internship in the fall, when the internships are not competitive, HOPEFULLY I'll find something paid, and hopefully the people will actually email me back after a brief conversation giving me false hope that of course I would get this internship because there are no other applicants and then I don't hear back from them ever ever ever. I want to go to Washington and report on politics, politics, nothing but politics. Either that or be a food critic.

To that end, I gave into my father and am creating a website analyzing the political candidates and comparing them, because the sites that are doing that right now are, well, not that good. The problem is, I'm not a programmer. I can do the research fine, but programming is a pain and a half, especially when I'm going for interactive. What little programming skills I do have go towards making something look NOT HORRIBLE, and not on whatever else. When it's complete, it should have polls, games, links to everything under the sun, podcasts, and glory knows what else. It will be stupendous.

Anyway, if I ever DO get it up, you'll be the first to know.


PS: In said conversation with my father, my dad said that the reason Iraq failed was that the Arab people acted like Arabs, and that it's not possible for Arab people to attain uncorrupt self-government. I coughed the name Jack Abramoff to no response. He also told me that Barack Obama is a joke name. Ever wonder why I'm not as politically correct as I'd like to be, why sometimes I have a hard time embracing tolerance with a full heart? Well, now you know.

I suppose it's slightly better than my grandfather--who still calls blacks "those people."

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Tuesday, May 8th, 2007
6:04 pm - Yay!
I'm typing this from a brand new computer. Yay! Yay! Shiny! Yay! I got a new iMac with a very flat screen. It works so smoothly compared to to the slug I was using before. It takes up a lot less space and it generates little to no heat. Mike would be so jealous--it has free editing software and I'll be thinking of him on those rare occasions I try for film. The video chat is spooky. I'm such a dinosaur. I only wish all my dad's computer games were PC compatible. The good thing is, now I have the capability to start new projects to add to my portfolio to get somebody to hire me someday.

Goodbye crappy PC, hello happy Mac!

Ooh, and I also split the price with my brother of six used playstation games from the local used video game store. I got Soul Caliber III, Armored Core 3, Phantom Brave, Wild Arms 3, Dynasty Tactics, and Front Mission 4 all for a total of sixty bucks.

PS: I can talk to it. It tells me jokes and dates and times. I'm having a hard time getting it to pick up what I'm saying, though. It also speaks to me. Will hearing my computer read back my writing make me better at catching errors? Maybe.

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Sunday, April 29th, 2007
8:47 am
Writing is hard and I am lazy. You know me...I'll update regularly when hell freezes over or something interesting happens...which is slightly after that time.

Here's a copy of the first of many mass email updates I sent to my friends in Eugene. If you wanted to be added to email list, put your email in comments. Jessie--when/if you get around to perusing this, email me or comment. I'm an idiot and have lost your address like five thousand times.

Dear friends,

Long time no see! I’m horrible with moving, good-byes, and keeping up with people, though I swear I’ll do my best. This time. Last time I moved across state boundaries I lost contact with everybody. I’m trying to make it not happen this time, but old habits take over. I don’t have some people’s emails, but if anyone wants to talk to me or receive these less than semi-annual updates, email me and I’ll put them on the list (such as Jessie and/or Reed--I don't have their current addresses, and Erica and Ana if they want seperate sendings, or any debaters). If I have anything important to say, that is. The main problem I have with writing to people is that while the minutia of their lives seems fascinating, my own life seems boring as hell. It seems boring because it is boring. But I’ll write what I can.

Well, after many trials and tribulations, I put everything important to me into a baker’s dozen of cardboard boxes and moved to Issaquah, Washington, which is thirty minutes outside of Seattle. My things are all sitting in “the cave”—a cubbyhole in the bottom of my parent’s house that you crawl on your hands and knees to get into and which I don’t because it triggers my claustrophobia. Issaquah itself triggers my claustrophobia. In my mind, Issaquah is Corvallis, without OSU and trees. Picture a city designed by developers. Every house is the same, every street is the same, all in pale pastels that make my eyes bleed. I miss color and variety in size. Oh, and sound. Things are too quiet here. I can hear the house creak and the thud of the neighbors playing dance-dance-revolution through the walls. The city library is pitifully small, only one floor. I can order anything I want from the Seattle library, but it’s not the same. The night life, as far as I’ve been able to discover, is about nil. There’s a wine bar a few streets away called “sip.” Yes, sip with a period. It’s full of yuppies in polyester sweaters. There’s also a Rogue brewery across from my favorite Chinese restaurant, but other than that, I haven’t seen any place where random strangers go to meet other random strangers, which is really what I need. With no college in town, I haven’t figured out how I could find people of my own age group. Most of them live in Seattle, which isn’t very far away, but the thought of me wandering alone in Seattle sends my parents into epileptic seizures. Myself, too, a little. Maybe there’s a political campaign I can volunteer in and make friends that way. It’s a rule that aspiring journalists shouldn’t join organizations, especially political ones, because then their ethics are questioned later (the model journalist is a lonely, lonely person with no human compassion, slave and priestess of The Eternal Truth) but I need to do something to get out of my house. I do have a really good friend in Seattle, but he’s the voluntary homeless type. He lives in a tent to avoid paying rent. Throwing myself down into the brush every time we see headlights out of fear of being arrested as a transient (it happened once to him, though in a different location) is not my idea of a good time. I’m so desperate, I’m actually thinking of going to church again, just so I can talk to someone. Can you see me as a gay, undercover Mormon, occasionally sneaking sips of my contraband liquor out of my special copy of the Bible? Well, it’s coming to a theater near you. I haven’t even found a game shop. I could go and play Magic the Gathering or D&D or something, but despite Issaquah being essentially the property of Microsoft &, the only temple of nerdom I’ve found is a war miniatures game shop, and our kind are not served there.

Before I settled in, my parents, Michael (my sixteen-year-old brother) and I went on a short road trip to southern Washington. There, we saw a life-sized replica of Stonehenge that you could walk around in, which probably makes it cooler than the real one because the one in Salisbury is fenced off to protect it from all the Pagans clamoring to worship there. “America’s Stonehenge” was actually an anti-war monument built by an eccentric Quaker millionaire who wanted to make a Quaker colony in southern Washington. It was pretty nifty, except for the fact it was made of cement—crumbly cement. My brother dared me to climb to the top of my stones (my monkey-like love of climbing anything and everything is legendary) but I was able to, and if you ever want to see the place, you can see the crevices in the stones I made when trying to kick my way up. Stonehenge is really close to the Dalles, so it’s worth a detour across the Washington-Oregon border if you’re ever in the area, desolate as it is. Take your own camera—the person who took the postcard pictures was amateurish and nothing’s in clean focus.

Also built by the eccentric millionaire was a French chateau, turned into an art museum by his daughter. It’s full of Russian religious icons, Romanian royal regalia, and Rodan sculptures. Rodan was the guy who constructed “the thinker” and the exhibits were actually quite interesting. Some of his stuff has this primal energy that you wouldn’t think could be captured in the still, cold medium of bronze. Of course, the most interesting to Michael was the weapons closet, where a couple hundred different weapons were placed on display, mostly swords and various revolvers. Another room has a hundred chess sets, some ancient, some recent, some made out of precious stones. I love chess pieces, so I liked that part. I also liked the sculpture garden, which was full of peacocks, some of them in the throes of mating. I managed to get several pictures of one with its feathers spread out. There was also a pure-white, albino peacock that refused to move out from the middle of the road. One car sat there for five minutes, honking, before finally giving up and driving around on the lawn to get away from it. That bird just loved the attention. Heh, I would have run it over.

After the few days of vacation, we came back to home-sweet-Issaquah. I have my own room, which is nice. I thought I might be stuck in the unoccupied bed in my younger brother’s room. But no, I have a t.v., a computer that doesn’t work very well (the disk drive constantly spins, making an old-mannish, grunting kind of sound), and a closet full of five-years worth of laundry. The room is actually my mother’s though, so I feel guilty about taking it. She’s sleeping on the pullout bed on the couch (she can’t sleep with my father, because while they’re still in love, he snores like a hundred-and-fifty-pound ox) so you can imagine how horrible this makes me feel. I can’t wait to get out on my own, but there are complications. It’s hard to rent an apartment when you have no clue when you’ve going to leave and you’ve fighting to leave soon. I’m anxious to get on to the important part of my life. I want to start doing something that matters to someone other than myself. That doesn’t seem to be happening very quickly. The only response I’ve had to the thirty or so job applications I’ve sent out is silence or rejection, rejection, rejection. Who would have thought there would be so many people applying glorified coffee worker jobs? And of course it doesn’t help that I’m completely underqualified. The worse I feel about myself, the more revisions I make to my resume, stretching the truth in ways that make even my coal-black conscience squirm uncomfortably. The fact is, however, that I have absolutely no professional references, no experience working on salary, and no writing clips that strike me as anything but self-serving drivel. My mind tells me that that’s not the case, that I’m perfectly qualified for an entry level job, that my writing is good if not excellent, and that my portfolio is full of delicious informativey-goodness, but as the rejections pile up, it sends me into moping mode, and with no one to socialize with, I’m essentially trapped in a spectacular, self-pitying bubble that becomes worse as we near the first yearly Anniversary of my rape. I think I’m getting a little crazy, to be honest, though I’m trying not to be. Essentially, I spend all my time filling in applications, playing video games, and re-reading my parent’s books, because my own are put away. Michael, when he’s home from school, plays video games with me.

Mom’s encouraging me to go out and do stuff, so I probably will. I need a new hobby. The problem is, I’m not really interested in anything at the moment. Moping is a full-time gig. There’s a shooting range manned by former navy seals and I’m thinking of taking up marksmanship so I can go shooting with my uncle and grandfather next summer. I like the idea of being some kind of femme fetale with thirty revolvers slid into the depths of my pleather/snow-leopard print coat. My father wants me to start my own web business, to give me experience and help me start making connections with people. In fact, he just walked in with an ultimatum: you will have a plan for getting a job on my desk in two weeks. If I start my own business, I will be expected to spend 40 hours a week on it. He recognizes the fact that getting your first job is difficult, and he always recognizes that I’m probably never going to get a job by applying for jobs—contrary as that sounds. The only way not to land at the bottom of the stack of resumes is to know someone who knows someone, and the only way to do that is to meet people, which means working, socializing, schmoozing, all of which I hate. I’m a very private person. Selling myself as something I’m not, or performing like a monkey for someone else in the hopes that they’ll like me, is not who I am. I am gruff, snarky, occasionally unlovable, openly contemptuous of everyone and everything, and proud of myself for all of these characteristics. None of which put me in a good light for networking purposes. How can I be a hirable candidate without being a robot, without giving up the part of me that makes life worth living? These are the things I don’t understand. It’s good of my parents to try to get me to be an adult, but I just am not ready to deal with the realities of, well reality, where my tender set of personal ethics—so malleable in some areas but rigid in others—will have to be set aside.

So anyway, that’s a basic set of the things that I’ve been doing and worrying about. Everything, anything, nothing, really. I feel guilty for being so depressed over things which, in the cosmic scheme of things, are pretty tiny. And pretty good, compared to what life some people in this world are living. I could be a starving child in Burundi, or worse, be married with 2.5 children.

I miss you all more than I can possibly say. I’m sure you miss me too, but that’s not much comfort to my lonely-ass soul,


P.S.—Mike & Bekah—I think I left my cell phone charger at your house. Please write to me if you’ve found it. I probably left other stuff there, but nothing probably as important.

P.S.S.—Happy victory, Madam ASUO President Emily McLain.

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Wednesday, April 11th, 2007
1:52 pm - Goodbye Eugene
Last day in Eugene. There are good things about that and there are bad things about that. Most of them seem bad at the moment. I've been sending out REAL JOB applications like crazy. One rejection, one request for more samples.

I've had so many good memories here. This last year has been very, very hard but I've been blessed to be supported by such wonderful friends. They have been my anchors in a turbulent and painful sea.

Right now, I'm emptying out all my files off all the school computers. After that, I'm running to the bank to change my address and the library to pay off my fines. Then, I'll go to Mike & Bekah's and we'll probably end up going bowling and eating at my favorite restaurant--poppi anatolias. After that, we'll either hit the bars or play settlers of cataan. Not everyone's idea of fun, but it is mine.

Sigh, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.

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Wednesday, April 4th, 2007
4:28 pm - Living at Mike & Bekah's House
Packing was a pain. The stress of getting everything done and of nationals left me sick so I didn't help out with cleaning and boxing as much as I should. Poor mommy did most everything.

Mike and Bekah have graciously opened their couch to me so I've been sleeping/living there. I'll have to go someday though, and the more time I spend with everyone the worse it will be because I love them all.

What theme shall my going away party be? Ninja? Pirate? Barbarian? I want a backyard to sword fight in. But I'd lose anyway, because it's allergy season and I'm going slightly nuts.

I should get a jump on my competition by applying places in New York but I need to graduate first. I haven't because two professors didn't give me my finals during spring break so now I have to make them up. One down, one to go. I don't care about the grades! Just let me pass!

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Wednesday, March 28th, 2007
5:02 pm
Nationals is done. My debate career is done. There's a bit of a hole there, but it grows smaller every day. For the first time, Emily and I managed to be ranked at the top of the bracket--32nd or so. I'm fine with that. We would have done better if I wasn't an idiot, but I am, and all in all, things ended okay. I'm a little bitter, but that's all ready fading. Snow in the sun. I still cry a little. It's frustrating because nobody seems to understand what debate has meant for me. It saved my life. Every friend I have today comes from debate. A lot of my pride, too, and a lot of what makes me a good person. And now it's gone. Like that. It's hard to explain to anyone. And nobody wants to listen. If they do, they're idiots. I don't want to listen to me either.

Now I've just got to take a couple of finals, graduate, and be wonderful forever. That's what I'm terrified of. Two weeks from now, when I've got my degree, what shall I do? Where shall I go? Can I make it in one of the most cut-throat businesses in the country? The Devil Wears Prada was a stupid book, but how much of that represents the five years of dues-paying the average reporter has to go through before they get to do something worthwhile?

I saw Jesse, Abby, and Mike last week. Things were horrible. It was their spring break but all they did was work. We barely talked. The problem is we have nothing in common anymore. That's what makes me sad. That my friends will talk to each other and have nothing to say anymore, because our lives are circles that touch in one spot and nowhere else. I've all ready begun distancing myself from them in preparation for the inevitable loneliness that will come from them vanishing out of their lives.

Please let it not happen! At least I'll still be able to contact them. I think it's the long distances and space-times that made things hard with Jesse and me.

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Thursday, March 15th, 2007
6:58 pm - Debate Quotation
My last day of college...and I skipped all my classes. Heh. Of course I skipped them to work on papers, to write BAD papers, so it's not quite the same thing. No more lecture's a really weird feeling. It hasn't sunk in yet, I think.

The last paper I have to write is my debate paper. I'm finding amusing quotations that I can't use, my favorite of which is:

"Debate as 'Dungeons & Dragons'? It's not that farfetched a notion when you consider what debate and D & D have in common: arcan lore, a premium on quick thinking and the thrill of combat in an imaginary universe."


I heard something else funny today. And I can't stop laughing about it. I don't even know why I find it funny, only that I can't stop laughing, and I won't stop laughing all weekend, and probably all throughout the weekend after to, and that will annoy my debate partner to no end.

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Sunday, March 11th, 2007
2:09 pm - Au Revoir
Move out date: March 31.

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Monday, February 26th, 2007
6:12 pm
Got everything sorted out so I can graduate. Judged at my last debate tournament, met the majority of the team for the last time. Watched Aaron's band play. I have about three or four weeks left to wrap up the last of my loose ends. I should start writing down goals for what I want to get done. I want to throw one last party, clean my apartment, get my suit back, retrieve my debit card, do well in debate, map out my novel, find a job, and finish without failing anything.

This last is hard. I have three articles due this week along with a project worth about a third of my grade. One of them I spent ALL NIGHT Weds last finishing it only to accidentally delete the thing. It makes me want to scream because I'm so tired. Mindnumbingly tired. I can no longer understand the simplest sentences said to me. I'm saying stupid things with increased frequency, so I just need to shut my mouth until I can sleep for about 48 hours. Next Wednesday comes another TWO projects, followed by another one the week after. The rest of them I have to get done early so I can try to focus on nationals.

I keep telling myself that I can do three more weeks, but my heart doesn't believe it. I want to stay in bed all day and make the world go away. Just give me a week's or even two day's break and I'll be able to sprint for the finish line...but I

I haven't had my period all term. I'm seriously beginning to think I'm about to be involved in a virgin birth. No sex, no sperm, so no pregnancy, so it's just my extremely messed up ovaries reminding me that they're pissed off at something or other.

One of the kids asked me today if I had any regrets about my college career. Surprisingly, it took a long time for anything to come to mind. I think that's a good sign. For the most part, I've had a great time and learned a lot. The little things, yes, but big things, no. And I didn't even think about regretting being raped until ten minutes later, and then it was more of a "huh" sort of thought. Huh.

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Friday, February 9th, 2007
4:13 pm - Gah!
Had a good debate tournament. Went to the beach, went across the border, got knocked out of outrounds by one of the best teams in the nation (again...third time this year...head hurts from banging on wall...) On the plus side, if we don't hit Heck and Paxton at the national tournaments, we should go far. Our other team got a second-round bid. One more outround at Loma would have gotten us one too, but I'm happy with an at-large. I'll stop biting my nails when we get that squared away.

Right now I want to throw myself off a building because I messed up and will be four credits shy of graduating with my concurrent degrees. I've been taking so much political science that I never thought I would be short. Turns out I am. One damn class short.

So now, what do I do? Do I graduate with a minor? Wait another quarter so I CAN graduate? If I do that, then I'll still apply for internships, and I'll take my last political science course online. Go intro to international relations! WOO!!! My head knows that a political science major over a minor is unlikely to make a difference in my future emploment, but the stubborn part of me says: I DESERVE MY FREAKING CONCURRENT DEGREE AND I'M GOING TO GET IT EVEN IF IT COSTS ME ANOTHER TERM OF FREAKING TUITION!

Of course I've all ready emailed my favorite wanky professor and asked him if I could sign up for four credits of independent study. It's too late in the quarter officially, but I thought it'd be worth a shot. Sigh. What am I going to do? I'm unbelievably frustrated and scared, though I don't know why that latter should be true. It's probably a backwash from the idea of graduating. I dreamed last night that I went to grad school and became a debate coach. It's a tempting thought. The real world scares me. Academia has been my life for so long...will I be able to survive when I'm judged less on my cleverness at avoiding my assignments and more on the quality of my work?

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Wednesday, January 31st, 2007
6:03 pm
Better mood. The nice thing about bad days is usually, after a while, they stop.

I saw a man in a black leather kilt walking a rotweiler. The first thing I thought? He has really hairy legs.

Things I hate:
70's mustaches
Seeing your breath around noon
Midterms. Almost over! I'm five weeks from graduation. Yay!

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Monday, January 29th, 2007
1:41 pm - Suckitude
The weekend sucked.

1) My cat got put down. I learned this two hours before my first round.
2) We got royally screwed over at the debate tournament (res-fucked, judge-fucked, and just plain fucked)
3) This is the third or fourth tournament in a row that I didn't get a speaker award, which means I'm falling into suckitude. I mean, Scott Cheesewright and Andrew Wilson got better speaker points than me! Honestly. The harder I try, the worse I'm getting, so maybe I need to stop trying.
4) My teacher refuses to grade papers turned in late or earlier because of debate tournaments. Nice of her not to inform me of this until I've all ready turned in two late vital assignments. If the bitch fails me, I don't graduate. I'm aiming for a C or a D, but it might be difficult.
5) Aaron and Paul ignored my multiple request to know if there were judge strikes, IE requirements, etc. They tell me it's my fault for not being in class, but if I send them a bazillion emails and they don't even fucking respond to me, I don't know what else I'm supposed to do.
6) I gave up hope on ever finding my bag. I don't know where it is, but there went $100 of textbooks down the drain. Whoever DIDN'T turn it in to lost and found is a motherfucker.

I'm tired and I'm stressed and I don't know how I can do any better. I'm trying hard. I'm doing more research than ever. I'm smiling so hard my face cramps. And I'm trying not to blame other people for my own mistakes (like when Emily dropped a d.a. complete with turns in our break round -- grr!). But there are days that I look up at the ceiling and wonder: what the hell's wrong with me? Why can't I do this anymore? The worst thing is that if I don't pull it around, I'm not going to go to NPTE. Five years devoted to this shit, and I don't fulfil the dream I've been trying so hard for so long. I'm older than everyone else, I've debated longer, I've given up my personal life, wrecked myself mentally and physically, but I'm substantially worse. Just two or three tournaments to go and I'm done.

And I was an idiot and kept a reference in a post that I didn't even mean to write for over a month. Hopefully not too many people saw it and referenced it. I usually am good at keeping my mouth shut, but I didn't notice it was there when I edited it and I don't read comments unless I just happen to notice them when I check the thing like once a month. I swear I'm going to shoot myself for being such a dumb fuck and for forgetting that people do actually read this. They shouldn't. I don't know why anybody cares. I'm nothing but a bitch. Someone should have called me and told me to fuck myself with a chain saw.

I bawled like a baby over the video showing Logan's pictures. He's dead and I'm not. There's no justice in the world.


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