Listener, Seeker, Lionheart, Passionate Philosopher

Listening: Somebody's Arms - Sarah Slean

Old record playing on my own radio
And I know it's time to go
Get up and out of this black hole
Gotta get it right
Gotta quit these drugs
Gotta get inside somebody's arms tonight, tonight
Can't remember who I was before tonight, tonight
Oh, my heart is halfway out the door tonight.

Sweet city come on give me a handful of stars
I'm ready for the midnight show
Gonna light a fire on the street I love
Gonna get inside somebody's arms tonight, tonight
Can't remember who I was before tonight, tonight
Oh, my heart is halfway out the door tonight.

I know I told Benji I was going to bed (it is 3 AM, and I am truly exhausted) but some little part of me was niggling. Perhaps this is the same little part of me that, when it hears certain things, begins to quiver a bit. Specifically, when it hears music.

I know I've probably established by now that I'm something of a music fanatic, but I just feel the desire to point out a little more emphatically just what a deep niche music has carved in my life. I cannot go a single day without listening to at least some music. Sometimes I don't care what I hear, so long as it's music, but there are days when I need the cadence of instrumental pieces or the melody of purring vocals. There are days when I need to hear Imogen Heap over Tori Amos, or Sarah Slean over Vienna Teng, or Mogwai over God is an Astronaut. There are days when certain albums or certain songs will mean more to me than they have before.

My grandfather's favorite question is how much music my iPod can hold. When I give him the answer (30G) and report that I currently have over 2000 songs on it, he gets this rather irritated look on his face and asks, "Who on earth needs that much music?"

The answer is me. No matter how much music I have on my iPod, the fact is that that number will continue to grow. Music is something that fascinates me in a way that I can't express with words. Often, when I set my iPod to shuffle and let it scout through my library, I'm surprised to find a song I haven't heard in months, or a song that I've never paid much attention to. Faint subtleties in music make it all the more fascinating. An artist myself, I am dazzled by the way the beauty that musicians can weave with their medium (sound) is comparable to the beauty artists weave using theirs (sight). Take, for example, Not the Red Baron by Tori Amos. While I acknowledged that I liked it, I never really paid serious attention to the song until one night when it just hit me how beautiful it was. It now ranks among my top favorite songs.

Some songs just strike a chord in you. I opened four of my Christmas presents tonight, all CDs, which is what prompted me to write this post. The first was Sarah Slean's latest album, Orphan Music. Hearing the live tracks is like being back in that crowded, dimly-lit theatre, watching the petite slip of a woman in a red dress draw the audience to an awed hush with merely a grand piano and her own brand of art. The second track, Somebody's Arms, struck me as familiar, and I realized that she'd played it at her concert, and I'd forgotten it in the excitement. Hearing it again makes my heart pound, no matter how often I listen to it.

Mogwai's Mr. Beast had much the same effect. By the end of Auto Rock, I just felt like curling up into a little ball of contentment and purring. The third album was Awake by Josh Groban. I developed a sort of unhealthy lust for him after my mother bought his first album back when I was in junior high, though I'd fallen a bit on the wayside in the interim between his last album, Oceano. Awake quickly mended the gap with its first song, Mai. I've never heard a voice quite like this man's, and I doubt I ever will. By the time the second track, You Are Loved (Don't Give Up), finished playing, I was in my happy place.

It was around this time that I realized that a song I'd been looking for for months had finally finished downloading from its queue on Soulseek--Please Wake Up, as sung by Michael Crawford. It may be from a kid's movie, Once Upon A Forest (which, yes, I did watch as a child) but it remains one of the only songs in existence that can give me goosebumps every time I hear it.

I realized tonight that while I am primarily drawn to contemporary instrumentalists and female singer/pianists, I'm also drawn to people who seem to be only half in this world. I know immediately when they are, usually just from hearing their music or hearing them talk, mainly because I'm usually half in my own world myself. The instant Sarah Slean came onstage, I knew I was going to like her. She, like many other people I'm a fan of, has this air about her that is so obvious that you wouldn't be surprised to hear that she'd just stalked out from the other side of the Fey or something. Tori Amos' lyrics suggest the same of her, not to mention her album art (as well as a thoroughly fascinating and befuddling map from her album From the Choirgirl Hotel. It doesn't just happen with musicians--I'm the same way with writers, like the fabulous Neil Gaiman and Charles de Lint.

I always wish I knew these half-in-half-out people personally, just because I know that if I could call them one night from a dark subway station in a city I didn't know, and they wouldn't hang up on me, I know the conversations we would have would be something to remember.

Icarus really needs to stop posting when she's not really herself.

Let Your Heart Be Light

Listening: My father singing the only lyrics to "Good Christian Men Rejoice" that he knows--the title.

Seriously I am sick of hearing that song today. No, I'm sorry, that fraction of a song.

Ignoring that though, this has proven to be a wonderful wonderful Christmas! I got through my shifts at Wal-Mart with little to no bloodshed, and then last night my house was assaulted by the twenty-odd relatives who usually assault houses this time of year. I thought I would escape to make a post, but my geeky cousins wanted to use the computer for something or other, so I basically spent the evening serving hors d'oeuvres and showing my artistically-inclined little cousin my tablet. Then my dad gave me a rum and eggnog and I sort of fell asleep on the couch for a while.

At twelvish I got super awesome Christmas pajamas, which I wore to bed last night. I normally have no trouble sleeping on Christmas Eve, but my dog, dressed in a festive doggie sweater, decided to shack up with me last night. This was bad because she sleeps so incredibly lightly that the smallest sound wakes her up, and then she howls like the very devil. She woke me up at 3:00, then 4, then 6:30, and I woke up on my own at 9:15 and just called it quits, so I took her downstairs and dropped her on my sister's head screaming, "MERRY CHRISTMAS!"

My grandparents and my Uncle Darren turned up at like 10:00, so my sister and I sat down and opened our stockings in the family room under the scrutiny of various eyes, followed by the opening of further gifts in the living room under various eyes. We hung around our house tooling with our loot 'til about 3, whereupon we left to go to my grandmother's house for an hour, followed by attending my other grandmother's traditional Christmas function. It was scary how retarded the second one was, because the first one consisted only of me, my sister, my parents, and my grandma, so things were quiet and relatively tame.

My other grandmother's house was like six hurricanes and four tornadoes and maybe a typhoon or two blew through all at the same time. My five little cousins, ranging from ages five to eleven, were psyched as hell and impatient from the wait. The shower of gift-opening that followed would have frightened a lesser marchioness. Everyone got some pretty impressive loot and life was wicked.

Dinner rolled around, and I made the mistake of drinking a glass of red wine before the appetizer was over. This was a mistake because it was about 7 PM, and the only thing I'd had so far today was a cinnamon bun and a cup of hot chocolate at about 9:30 AM. When I made the mistake of standing, I was briefly staggered by a wave of instant vertigo and nausea. I made my way down to the living room couch and collapsed on it, where I passed out and slept for about half an hour while the entire Miami Dolphins football team danced on my stomach and forehead. I woke up shaking like a leaf, so I dragged myself upstairs and forced down a plate of food. Almost immediately I felt better. The dessert my aunt made, some custard/croissant/chocolate souffle concoction, went a long way towards restoring my spirits.

We only dragged ourselves home at about 11, whereupon I watched my parents open their gifts to each other, which is the cutest Christmas tradition ever. Now I'm here, listening to my sister babble on about her new phone (a RAZR) and preparing to type up the list. Here goes:

What I Got For Christmas

- a video camcorder
- an iBlast
- The Sims 2: Pets expansion pack (shut up, I love this game)
- CSI Season 6 (or rather an IOU, as it only comes out tomorrow)
- Pirates of the Caribbean 2 DVD
- Anchorman DVD
- Beerfest DVD
- Sarah Slean's Orphan Music
- Mogwai's Mr. Beast
- fifty-year-old jewellry that my grandmother dug out of her closet (it's amazing, I promise)
- a mug from Wicked: The Musical
- various Christmas ornaments
- a fondue pot, identical to Kelilah's
- numerous trashy, Highlander-related romance novels, compliments of my mother
- really freaking comfy socks
- a new scarf
- a new cell phone (not as flashy as the RAZR, but still good)
- various new earrings and necklaces (plus a pair of earrings and a bracelet from Spain)
- fleece sheets for my bed omgroflmao
- a "spirit whistle" necklace
- too much other stuff to mention

I can't keep going on. All I can do is toddle off to hoard my various new acquisitions, and wish you all a safe and merry Christmas and happy holidays from the Marchioness.

Icarus is getting sick of hearing her sister singing "Banana Pancakes"

Baby, It's Cold Outside

Listening: Scarlet Ribbons - Michael Crawford (Christmas Album)

I don't really see there being another update 'til maybe Christmas Eve sometime, so I might as well fill the gap. Christmas weekend is officially here, bringing with it all the joy, pressure, and unbridled avarice that this time of year is so well known for. I woke up at 9:30 this morning to the sound of my sister invading the house with a bunch of friends of hers, and was in the den when my parents came home at 10 in a spitting fury because they'd taken the day off to wrap Christmas gifts and my sister and said friends were not supposed to be here. My mom had a minor spaz-attack and stormed out to run some errands that didn't involve being home, leaving my dad to usher the ditzy teens out of the house. I was essentially forgotten in the carnage, which suited me just fine.

Last night I was kidnapped. I mean that quite literally. And this time, ninjas weren't responsible. Cole and Matty P turned up on my doorstep and informed me that I had five minutes to get ready and come with them, or they would be removing me bodily from the house. When I decided to test that declaration by using the last of my five minutes to devour my salad, Matty P shoved me out through my front door, in my socks and t-shirt, without shoes or a jacket. I was flipping out from the cold and wetness of everything, and he informed me, very coolly, that if I would just get into the car things would be warmer and dryer, so I made a break for it, and we all piled in and drove off. Only when my whining reached an unbearable pitch did Matty P turn around and go back to my house long enough to let me get a coat and shoes.

Two hours later, Matty P had a flat tire and had to change it in the cold, wet, blustering snow. Karma.

It's been snowing on and off for a few days now, which is lifting my hopes for a white Christmas. Just typing it is probably a jinx, but we haven't had a white Christmas for nearly three years now, and I just want there to be some snow on the ground come Monday. Not like last year, squick, when it rained all Christmas day.

I got dropped off at my grandparents' last night to accompany them to the airport. The reason for this was the arrival of one of my two favorite uncles, Darren, who's been living up in Fort McMurray for the past three years or so. He despises the place, but he's still under contract for another year, so he can't move back home just yet. Nobody who moves up to Fort Mac likes it, my Uncle Darren least of all. Last year he couldn't even get the time off to come home for Christmas, so that makes this year uber special.

Saturday night, another beloved family member gets in for Christmas--my uncle's boyfriend, Mark. (Yes, I know we're not actually related to him, but Mark is part of the family and if you disagree you are wrong.) The last time I saw either of them was on summer vacation two years ago, so my excitement is palpable in the air. Mark has the same cheery, addictive personality as Jam, which is probably why I felt so familiar with him when I first met him. Seeing one of either my uncle or Mark home for Christmas is rare, but both of them at the same time is on par with a Bigfoot sighting. The reason for my excitement should be obvious by now.

I have to get through three solid days of Wal-Mart before I can hit the jackpot of Christmas Day, so I'm praying that things won't be quite as retarded as I get this horrible feeling they will be. I'm working tonight from 6-11, which is never a bad shift, and I have no idea about tomorrow, but I'm working Christmas Eve from 9 a.m. to 5:30 p.m.. Every time I tell people I'm working Christmas Eve and then what time, they say, "Oh, that's not so bad." This is incorrect. Admittedly, it could be worse and I could be working until 12 at night or something, but the fact of the matter is that I will be at Wal-Mart for 8.5 hours on Christmas goddamn Eve, and I will miss various family traditions during that time. Also, I don't get paid extra on Christmas Eve, which just adds insult to injury. There's no real point in whining about it though, so after this paragraph, I will say no more about it.

On a lighter note, I wish to share a tiny victory with you. Back in late September sometime, I lost about thirty pages of my novel-in-progress, Usurper. I had a minor skitz, but the fact is that Usurper is my baby, and as lazy as I am, I'm not lazy enough to let it die from the loss of thirty pages or so. I've been tapping away at it in an effort to regain my lost ground ever since September, but MUN and work interfered greatly. However, Christmas break has proven extremely condusive to the creative process. As of 4:30 this morning (yes, I was up all night writing it, hush) I have officially caught up to where I left off, and (I feel) improved on the pages that I was forced to rewrite. I have since surpassed said point and progressed to the end of the chapter I was working on, effectively bringing Usurper up to more than 200 pages and nearly 150,000 words.

Now watch me do my victory dance. *shimmies*

I must be off to continue my writing streak, but I hope that all you cats have a good Christmas weekend and don't get stampeded by crazy shoppers or reindeer or turkeys or whatev'. I believe I'll be getting kidnapped from work at 11, and Saturday will probably drain me of any and all will to live, so the next time I will probably be posting will be Christmas Eve, when my house gets invaded by crazy relatives and I have to make an escape. In the interim, don't get buried by snow and for the love of God remember to finish your Christmas shopping, seriously.

Icarus wants to thank Benji for his invaluable insight and for reminding her of the golden rule: "Julia, crazy people don't wonder if they're crazy".

My Evenings Are More Hardcore Than Your Evenings

Benji - Oh Foamy... says:
hola sombrero. como estas usted?
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [The Marchioness] says:
lol
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [The Marchioness] says:
I am a hat
Benji - Oh Foamy... says:
i actually said "hi hat. how are you(formal)?
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [The Marchioness] says:
Exactly, I'm a hat.
Benji - Oh Foamy... says:
yeah, i guess :P
Benji - Oh Foamy... says:
whats new and exciting?
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [The Marchioness] says:
I *have* a hat. It kicks your ass.
Benji - Oh Foamy... says:
lol
Benji - Oh Foamy... says:
aside from "having" a hat, whats new and exciting?
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [The Marchioness] says:
Not much
Benji - Oh Foamy... says:
that was elaborate...
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [The Marchioness] says:
Okay Ben, you want the full story of what's happened to me in the last eleven hours or so? FINE. YOU'RE GOING TO GET IT.
Benji - Oh Foamy... says:
sure :)
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [The Marchioness] says:
After I finished talking to all you pandas, I went upstairs to bed. I was almost asleep, when suddenly, my window shattered!
Benji - Oh Foamy... says:
*gasp!* *shocked and afraid*
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [The Marchioness] says:
Before I could decide whether to fight bare-handed or with my nunchaku, I had a black bag shoved over my head and a whole bunch of people picked me up!
Benji - Oh Foamy... says:
oh no! *cries a little, pees a little*
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [The Marchioness] says:
*inches away*
Benji - Oh Foamy... says:
lmao
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [The Marchioness] says:
Don't cry for me, Benjantina
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [The Marchioness] says:
I have more story to tell
Benji - Oh Foamy... says:
lol
Benji - Oh Foamy... says:
go on, and dont call me Benjantina
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [The Marchioness] says:
Through the confines of the bag, Benjantina, I could hear angry voices speaking in a telltale familiar dialect. "Oh shit! Ninjish!" I thought, and then I tried to fight them off only one of them hit me on the back of the head with what felt suspiciously like a horse mackerel. I remember one of them making a duck sound before I passed out.
Benji - Oh Foamy... says:
that happened to me once, except it was a sturgeon instead of a horse mackerel
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [The Marchioness] says:
Sturgeons hurt a lot. Anyhow
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [The Marchioness] says:
I woke up like five or six times but someone was always there to knock me out again. But I could hear this mechanical chopping, and I realized that I was in a helicoptor. It was pretty intense. Then when I was knocked out again I kept dreaming of butterflies and cotton candy.
Benji - Oh Foamy... says:
sounds like they drugged you, along with knocking you out again and again
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [The Marchioness] says:
That's what I figure!
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [The Marchioness] says:
So by the time I woke up again, I could hear some man playing the accordian and singing in French. It was godawful, so I started screaming for him to shut up. Then someone slipped the bag partway off my head and shoved a baguette in my mouth. But it was stale, so I started screaming at them to find me an eclaire, and then they drugged me again.
Benji - Oh Foamy... says:
...they brought you to france in a helicoptor?
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [The Marchioness] says:
I know, right? Maybe there was a plane in there somewhere? Or maybe it had to do with ninja magics.
Benji - Oh Foamy... says:
i'm thinkin a combination of the two...ninja magickd from a helicoptor to an airplane so that nobody would notice anything strange upon landings...
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [The Marchioness] says:
That's possible!
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [The Marchioness] says:
So anyway. When I woke up again, the black bag was gone, but I was blindfolded. Also I could still taste that baguette, so that was kind of gross. Then I heard somebody talking, and I flipped out. Monkey Bite! My arch-nemesis. Holy fuck!
Benji - Oh Foamy... says:
eek!!!!
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [The Marchioness] says:
BUT HE WAS TALKING TO SOMEBODY ELSE.
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [The Marchioness] says:
WHO COULD IT BE.
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [The Marchioness] says:
Tune in next time: same Julia time, same Julia channel!
Benji - Oh Foamy... says:
lmao
Benji - Oh Foamy... says:
you had better put that in your blog

Don't worry, Benji. I will.

Icarus doesn't get that channel.

An Overdose of the Christmas Spirit

Listening: Somedays - Regina Spektor

I may have decided, after my one horrible waitressing job, that LOL-Mart really was a better place to be working on account of the fact that I knew the ropes there, not to mention that I had a bunch of friends in the business at this point whom I would have missed. But that doesn't mean the place can't really get you down--especially around the Christmas season.

This time of year, the place is not only tumultuously busy with every person in the city, but it is tumultuously busy with every person in the province who come back multiple times a day. You'd think that people would get everything they need in the one go, but no--they have to keep coming back and coming back, and then complaining about how the store is sooooo busy. Blegh.

So I worked for 8.5 hours yesterday. My managers pulled a fast one on me though; they gave me my break really early, then worked me for six solid hours before giving me my lunch. Joke's on them, though. They forgot to give me my last break, so I left fifteen minutes early to compensate. Win!

I woke up yesterday with a sore eye. Assuming I'd scratched it putting my contact lenses in, I let it be and just went about my business. This morning when I woke up, the lower lid of my eye is bruised and puffy and super tender. Turns out I seem to have an eye infection. Which is just peachy.

Last night I was kidnapped by Matty P, Cole, and Stefan, and we ran around for a while causing trouble before deciding to go visit Ben. We hung out there for God only knows how long, listening to hilarious comedy skits, when Matt suddenly showed up. Matty P and Stefan left, and the rest of us hopped in Matt's car and went on an adventure, which basically consisted of blasting Queen and Red Hot Chili Peppers and giving Ben his Christmas gift and introducing him to Zero Gravity.

My Christmas tree is up! Before you know it, the whole house will be permeated by the luscious smell of fresh evergreen. My parents may want an artificial tree but goddammit if I'm going to let them before I move out. It's just not Christmas to me without a real tree.

I'll cut off here and make this a relatively short post, because I really want to sit down with my laptop and do a bit of work on my novel, Usurper. What with MUN and exams and new friends and work and everything, I have done very little work on my little sleeping beast and I believe it's feeling neglected.

Icarus wonders if Benji will eat French Toast if she and Kelilah make it.

In This Life

Listening: Little Dawn - Ted Leo and the Pharmacists

But on the days and night when it's hard to breathe
And you can't believe you still walk the streets
Stretch out your weary hand to me,
It's alright.
And if you're not content to just believe
And if you don't consent to just let it be
Stretch out your legs and dance with me,
All night
('Til you don't deny tonight).

The Marchioness's Christmas Countdown: 10 days.

This is it! I'm officially done my exams. Five battles between me and a mass of paper, and I have emerged victorious. I now do a tae-bo kick of celebration.

It's 11:26 on a Friday morning and I'm celebrating my newfound freedom with a spoonful of chocolate chip cookie dough (which is terribly bad for me, but then again, so are exams) and procrastinating the drying of my hair, which I will have to stop procrastinating momentarily. Partially because I'm really cold, but partially because I have to call Cole at noon and arrange what the hell we're going to do this afternoon. We're going Christmas shopping (huzzah!), and it's about goddamn time because I have zero shopping done. Seriously, not a single gift has been bought. Gaaah!

People I have to shop for: My parents, my sister, Cole, Matt, John, Kelilah, Ben, Jimmy, Kathleen. Jam and co. are getting cards because Jam had a spaz when I mentioned buying a gift for him.

Kelilah and Ben gave me the world's most amazing Christmas gift yesterday. Obsoive.







Mwaaaaaah.








This is Pocky. He is huge and fluffy and loveable and named for a delicious snack. When they pulled him out of the shopping bag it was love at first sight. He is my boy and I adore him. I spent the night snuggled on his tummy. Also I am aware that I look like a muderess here. I was just so overcome with love at the moment that I was snuggled into Pocky and wouldn't let go. (Kelilah tied his ribbon. Isn't he just edible?)

He came with a tag that read "To Julia, Love your Pandas ^^" and I broke a little bit.

If you're thinking that my head might be crazy fuzztastic here, your sight isn't off, my head is completely loco. Mainly because I was out on one of my prowls last night.

When I came home from mad post-exam adventures, the very first thing I noticed was that the weather was mind-bogglingly warm. This was like 2 in the morning, but that didn't stop me from going into the house long enough to drop off my bag, grabbing my iPod, and sneaking out the back door. I do this a lot in the summer months, but this was a Christmas prowl, so I couldn't very well start off the jaunt with anything but Christmas music. Walking up the hill from my house, I felt so strangely euphoric, looking at the Christmas lights and listening to the Tori Amos cover of Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas, which is the most amazing song ever and all of you should get it immediately. The reason it's so amazing is that it always reminds me of my friends, no matter who they are at the time, so I can't help but be happy when I hear it.

After a while, I switched over to less seasonal music, and before you know it I was dancing down the street in the dead of night, laughing and stumbling and so goddamn happy that it was almost illegal. No, I hadn't been drinking, or anything of the sort. The reason I was stumbling was mostly because I was dancing downhill, and the reason I was laughing was because I knew I looked goddamned ridiculous, but I was so happy because at that moment, the dead of night on the 14th of December, everything was right in my life. I had nothing more pressing at the time than a walk when there was no one else on the street, and I knew I was going to be looking forward to a wonderful break with my wonderful friends, new and old, who have become like a small family to me.

Music has a tendancy to make me euphoric as it is, and depending on how upbeat the song is, it doesn't take much to get me dancing. City of Blinding Lights, by U2, always manages to remind me of how lucky I am, so that's what I was twirling around to in the middle of the road at 2:30 a.m. this morning, while the rest of you were all asleep.

I almost got the life scared out of me at one point, when I came around a corner and some jackass had set up a wooden cut-out of the Grinch, which looked like it was about to leap out of the trees at me. I calmed down after a few minutes and even laughed nervously to myself, but after that I took to the highway. I prefer walking there, anyway, specifically on the barricade separating the lanes. There were a couple of cars jaunting around even at that hour, so I raised a few eyebrows, but I didn't care.

I turned around and headed home at around 3:30 a.m., when the temperature dropped. Even I'm not retarded enough to stay outside long enough to freeze my ass off. (Not a word, Ben and Kelilah.) I crept back in through the back door, stripped off my clothes (because they were soaked at this point; it wasn't raining, but Newfoundland just suspends its moisture in midair so that it clings to your clothes and hair. (Hence why my head is so fluffy and retarded!)) and crawled up into bed with Pocky and Boo. I never expected to get out for one of my prowls at least until spring, more likely the summer, so I'm very glad I did it.

Now I need to call Cole for the second time and tell her to get her ass in gear. I need to Christmas shop, goddammit, and she needs to wake the hell up.

Icarus has found that she has a lot of songs that remind her of the people she loves.

The Marchioness Has An Incredible Adventure

Listening: Headspin - Lukas Rossi

I know I already updated today but I just had an Incredible Adventure and I wanted to share it with the world.

I was sitting at the computer reminiscing on all those trashy bad guys I've put in prison through my skills as a sexy lawyer, when all of a sudden the mountain of CDs I have stacked next to my computer inexplicably tumbled over, raining down on my head in a shower of flashing metal and razar-sharp pain. My mother, in the next room over, wanted to know what happened and I screamed back something about gravity, but I knew the truth.

Ninjas!

Man those guys just do not know when to leave me alone. They are constantly after me and always at the most inconvenient times. In restaurants, I'll inevitably get a maitre-d' who, looking earnestly apologetic, will come to my table and say, "Miss Marchioness, I'm terribly sorry to interrupt your date but one of the waiters was just hit in the back of the neck with a blow-dart which was carrying a message addressed to you. I believe it was something about a battle to the death at sundown on a beach somewhere from the Black Leopard Clan, but I was a bit distracted trying to catch the plates the downed waiter dropped to be certain." And then I have to drag myself away from my entree and explain to my date that the fate of the world rests in my hands and that if he'll just head back to my apartment I'll be back in two hours blood-soaked and carrying a strip of black fabric taken from every one of the two hundred ninjas I will have successfully slain at that point, and would really appreciate it if he could be waiting, naked, and with a decent martini.

But this is the first time they've attacked me in my own home. The sheer gall of my enemies astounded me for a moment. Then I remembered that I was under attack, and leapt to my feet, racing out of my den and upstairs to my parents' bathroom. Not for typical bathroom activities, but because the bathroom window is by far the easiest way to get onto my roof.

On the roof I was not even slightly surprised to encounter my nemesis, Monkey Bite of the Black Leopard Clan. The most feared ninja this side of Newfoundland, I have tangled with him repeatedly and even though our battles always start out being fights to the death, one of us inevitably gets chased off by lions or snatched up by a radioactive golden eagle. Our eyes narrowed and the background behind us flashed white. It was on.

"MAN WHAT THE FARK ARE YOU DOING" I shouted. Or something along those lines.

Monkey Bite shouted something back at me, but as ninjas only speak Ninjish, I didn't catch a word of it. I yelled something to him about getting a translator and then a battle of epic proportions began. Ninjas were pouring out of the woodwork, coming at me with shurikens and nunchaku and shitake mushrooms and stuff like that. I think at one point there was a panther that tried to eat me, but I kicked it in the throat with my high heel and it exploded.

By the time the battle was over my roof was littered with ninja bodies and my clothing had been half ripped off in the commotion. Also there was a mysterious wind and I had struck a sexy pose. My injured enemies had fled to the trees, all except Monkey Bite. He babbled something in Ninjish and I told him to go teach his grandmother to suck eggs. Our witty banter continued for a few minutes and then he yelled the only English I've ever heard him use--"Sassy bitch!"--and he disappeared in a puff of smoke, along with the rest of his injured ninja party, the bodies of their slain, and for some reason, the remains of my clothing.

Up until that point I didn't remember exactly why the ninjas are always out to get me, but now I did. Only one person had ever called me a sassy bitch. Well, no, wait. I call myself a sassy bitch all the time. It's Cole's pet name for me, too, primarily when she's drunk. And Kelilah's been known to use it. Okay, so a lot of people call me a sassy bitch. But only one who could be associated with ninjas. There was this gambling conman billionaire I met over in Europe the last time the FBI called on me for help (which they do a lot, because I have mad skills and am also a marchioness), who called himself the Prince of Black Jack. We had a kind of a one-night stand thing, which might have turned out to be more if I hadn't messily slaughtered his entire slew of bodyguards when they caught me hunting for my underwear the next morning. We haven't really been back on good terms since, especially since I cheated him out of roughly a million dollars (which I blew on alcohol and lingerie within a week).

So that was where the ninjas have been coming from! Suddenly things make much more sense. I was still naked on the roof during this revelation, but I had to come down when I heard my dad shouting up in askance of what the ruckus was all about. I screamed something about termites and shimmied into my bedroom window to look for some clothes. Will the ninjas return? Probably. Will I post about it? Who knows.

Icarus promises that the next post will be more normal. No, really, she does.

Yet Another Chapter

Listening: Eidolon - The Synthetic Dream Foundation

A short post today, because I have to get back to studying for my Spanish exam on Thursday. Still, it's better than nothing. Right? Right? Sure it is.

Ben found me yesterday in a state of spazz, last-minute jitters taking a severe toll on my state of mind. We went to breakfast, which helped immeasurably, although my camera decided it was going to be a bitch and I learned with some surprise that the only thing Ben cannot stand to eat is egg. (Although neither of us are terribly fond of liver, either. Eugh.) Now he's going to message me all, "Aw man, why'd you have to go and post that?", not realizing it's for his own good. Memo to everyone: never feed Ben an egg. See, Ben? Now you'll never have to eat one. Unless I decide to feed one to you out of sheer mischief.

I was in a state of mind-numbing panic by the time twelve o'clock rolled around and I went in to write my Linguistics exam, but the exam gods were on my side. ("Which of these are dialects of the same language? Hah! Cantonese and Mandarin! Take that, authoritah!") They had some crazy rule in place where you couldn't leave during the last half-hour of the exam, which made no sense to me. Anyhow, I ended up not finishing at 1:35, so I had to stay for the next 25 minutes doing nothing. That sucked, but I got to prance off then and find Jam & Co.

Someone suggested we go get our marks back from Dalton, since she was in her office yesterday, and off we tromped in a big line of nerves. Rae brought up mention that our final exam was now worth 50% of our final grade, so that was... exciting. And by exciting I mean I screamed. Anyhow. When we found Dalton's office, she called us all in one by one, asking to speak to me last. Probably because my paper was a million years late, I thought, which spurred insane nervousness. When she finally talked to me, lo! I ended up getting a B+/A- on the paper. For the win.

We spent the next few hours in the Library, attempting to study and only really telling loud stories which invoked further loud laughter and having the people in the room next to us knock really hard on the wall to try to shut us up. We didn't, but meh.

And now I leave you with a discussion that Cole and I were having in regards to her Medieval Studies exam.

Pharaoh «You'll always be a prince to me...» says:
This is how I'm going to meet my husband.
Pharaoh «You'll always be a prince to me...» says:
http://www.uvm.edu/~classics/slides/b088.jpeg
Pharaoh «You'll always be a prince to me...» says:
Danny Elfman: OH LET ME HELP YOU WITH THAT!
Me: Oh I'm naked!
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [The Marchioness] [3/5] says:
That would be truly the greatest thing ever
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [The Marchioness] [3/5] says:
In the future:
Kid: Mommy, how did you meet daddy?
You: Well you see, I was tied naked to a rock in tribute to a savage monster that was terrorizing the coast, and your father was on his way back from beheading an ugly bitch with the power of rock and roll...
Danny Elfman: I love this story.
Pharaoh «You'll always be a prince to me...» says:
There's nothing sexier than being held naked in chains, and a guy coming out of no where on a winged horse to save you-- who's also possibly naked.
Pharaoh «You'll always be a prince to me...» says:
LOL
Pharaoh «You'll always be a prince to me...» says:
"Perseus, returning to his native land after numerous adventures, saw Andromeda abandoned to her fate and fell in love with her. He at once promised her parents to rescue her if they would give her to him in marriage. They agreed, and Perseus killed the dragon and freed the princess."
Pharaoh «You'll always be a prince to me...» says:
He had to go talk to her parents before saving her XD
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [The Marchioness] [3/5] says:
LOL
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [The Marchioness] [3/5] says:
That would have gone over real well
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [The Marchioness] [3/5] says:
Cole: OH JESUS THERE'S AN ENORMOUS MATTY P GONNA EAT ME AND I WANT TO BE SAVED, RIGHT NOW
Danny Elfman: I'll work on that. *disappears*
*Twenty minutes later*
Danny Elfman: Wicked! Your folks say we can marry.
Cole: WELL THAT'S GREAT NOW THAT MY LEGS ARE GONE
Pharaoh «You'll always be a prince to me...» says:
XD
Pharaoh «You'll always be a prince to me...» says:
Exactly!

Icarus thinks Greek mythology is relentlessly comedic.

Blissfully Happy

Listening: Pretty Good Year - Tori Amos

Tears on the sleeve of a man
Don't wanna be a boy today
They say the eternal footman
Bought himself a bike to race
And Greg, he writes letters, and burns his CDs
They say you were something in those formative years
Hold on to nothing as fast as you can
Well, still; a pretty good year.

In a vastly different state of mind from last night, I feel it imperative to report... today has been a very good day. Despite my late night (bed at about 6), I managed to drag myself up at 10 a.m. long enough to call Tim, tell him as politely as possible to fark off and die, and then I went back to bed and slept for another couple of hours. When I woke up, I knew it was going to be a good day; my dad was blaring Christmas music.

Despite how I spent the day studying, I actually really enjoyed myself. I was toasty warm and listening to music and I got my digital camera working finally, and I studied enough to know that I'm going to own my Linguistics exam tomorrow. I went over to my grandmother's house, too, for my dad's birthday dinner (finally; his birthday was last week). This was goodtimes. I got to talk politics with my dad and grandfather. (When I say "talk politics", I mean "babble indiscernably so they stop talking politics".) Also: my grandmother's cherry cake = life. And my sister had the entire family in fits of laughter when she reported the tale of her Babysitting Job from Hell last night.

Calling Tim was so wonderful I felt like throwing confetti. When he answered the phone, a little part of me did a jig. I had no idea whether or not he would be working today, but clearly somebody likes me. When I informed him that I would not be coming to work, he immediately demanded the reason, to which I replied "Because I have an exam tomorrow that I will almost certainly fail unless I am home to study for it. I wouldn't have to do this, but you didn't let me leave yesterday." This was followed by a prolonged silence, during which you could just hear him kicking himself. When he finally relented "Okay" and hung up on me, I did a tae-bo kick of celebration and nearly knocked over the Christmas tree in my kitchen, but whatever.

Today wasn't all peaches and rainbows, though. I woke up this morning to discover that I have pulled the muscle between my breasts. I have to be retardedly careful about which way I move my arms--just buttoning my jeans this morning brought tears to my eyes. And no, I don't know how it happened. Also, with the onset of winter, my lips are getting dry, and it won't be long before they start chapping. Ew. I'll be stocking up on Blistex.

I have effectively ruined Ben and Kelilah. If you will direct your eyes to the right side of my page, you will discover that Ben now has a blog, and if you click on Kelilah's name, it will no longer take you to her Livejournal account, but instead to her new one at Blogspot. HURR PEER PRESSURE HURR.

Tomorrow is going to be filled with adventure. I'll be arriving on campus at around 8, where I'll be getting a study room and finishing up the last of my Linguistics before Ben wakes up at 9ish and messages me. After he turns up, we'll be getting breakfast at around 10:30 and chillin' out until my exam at 12. At 2, when I'm free again, I have to scoot to the Library (evil!) to meet Jam (fun!) and the rest of my English pals (happy!) so we can book a study room and bomb through the third installment in a horrendous Fiction course, That They May Face the Rising Sun (stupid!). There will be bad jokes and hilarity and possibly pictures. Then Jam wants us all to go out to dinner, which I am totally down with. Mmm, nutrition.

I am in such a delighted, Christmassy mood right now that every inch of me tingles. Maybe it's the fact that I'm listening to Tori Amos, but I'm feeling strangely euphoric. It's my favorite time of year, I'm nearly done my first semester at University, and I've met so many wonderful people that it overwhelms me a little bit. Yes, truly; it has been a pretty good year.

I'm gonna go get some sleep before I get all sappy and doe-eyed. G'night, pandas. Tomorrow is another day!

Icarus has noticed that she only posts lyrics when they suit her current situation.

Rant, Rant, and Relentless Comedy

Listening: Concrete Sky - Beth Orton

Oh my God. Possibly one of the worst days I've ever had at Wal-Mart, topped off with the most hilarious story I've ever heard. Yes it's 4:30 a.m., but I wanted to get this all down while it was still fresh in my mind. Things will be broken up into three categories: something that struck me while I was working today, a rant about how much of an asshole my manager is, and the hilarity that happened to my little sister tonight. Let the anger and the comedy flow forth, like pure elixir!

Obesity Does Not Equal Handicap

At work today, something interesting happened before life took a turn for the worst. As I was in the middle of a rather important discussion with Brad (one of my managers), a woman came up to us and, without even saying 'excuse me' or anything else even remotely polite, charges in head-on by barking, "Do you got anymore wheelchairs?"

Brad and I turned as one and regarded her blankly for several seconds. Sometimes it takes us a little while to remember that some of the customers we get at our store are actually sub-human. When we remembered that we were supposed to be professionals, we looked back at each other briefly, then looked at the corral where our wheelchairs (electric and otherwise) are usually stationed. At the time, it was half under a gigantic blow-up carousel depicting elves riding reindeer, but it didn't take a genius to figure out that said corral was, in fact, empty. "I don't think so," Brad said in his most placating tone.

The woman looked openly scandalized, as though she had been thoroughly expecting us to have a stack of mysterious invisible wheelchairs and was horrified that they remained hidden. "How am I supposed to get around to get my shopping done?" she demanded, outraged. "I have a weight problem. I can't walk."

She abruptly burst into some litany about customer service and our supposed lack thereof, and while she rampaged on and Brad's eyes glazed over with polite disinterest, I could not tear my eyes away from her, knowing in that deep, visceral part of me that she was going to be part of my next blog rant.

The first thing I noticed about the woman was that she was considerably overweight. The second thing that I noticed was that while she was considerably overweight, she was not overweight to the point where it should have hindered her ability to walk around a goddamn store. Which brings me to the point of my first rant: obesity does not equal handicap. For Christ's sake, people.

I have seen people come into Wal-Mart from all walks of life, and the one thing that continues to astound me is how self-centered some people can be in comparison to others. Take last weekend, for example. A little old lady, obviously just around the corner from severely crippled, came into Wal-Mart with a walker and set out on her own little trek. When I stopped to ask her if I could find her a wheelchair or something to make the going a little easier, she smiled and patted my hand and told me that while I was a very sweet girl, "I can still walk, sweetie. Somebody else needs it more than I do."

Which is what I felt like saying to the blue whale today. If you honestly believe that your own inability to resist Twinkies and shortcake automatically puts you on par with the people who actually need wheelchairs, then you're a blister on the backside of humanity. If you cannot walk, you are handicapped. If you cannot walk without breaking a sweat, then you are not handicapped.

"How am I supposed to get around to get my shopping done?" Um. Walk there like everybody else, you crazy bitch?

"I have a weight problem. I can't walk." Okay. No. You walked in here under your own steam, and while you may be a little out of breath from the effort, you do not warrant special attention. People much larger than you come through those doors every day and never bat an eyelash at having to, God forbid, walk around a department store. If you can't stand to lug your own weight, then stop coming to our store.

And God help you if I catch you in one of those wheelchairs and you aren't wearing a cast or clearly in need of medical attention. I will take your obese ass down. Grow up, people.

My Manager is the World's Biggest Asshole

Moving on to the point where things took a turn for the worst this evening.

As some (or most) of you know, I'm right in the middle of exams. Wal-Mart prints its schedules several weeks in advance, which can prove disadvantageous in situations such as these. By the time I figured out my exam schedule, I was already scheduled for two nine-hour shifts this weekend. This is really bad news. I have my Linguistics exam on Monday morning, which has the most material to cover of any of my other courses. However, the majority of the MUN-oriented cashiers are pulling a stunt that annoys the managers to within an inch of their lives: calling in "homework". In essence, just phoning in and saying, "I'm not coming in tonight." This kills my superiors. Trust me.

So rather than be a bitch, I decided to compromise. I worked out a nifty little plan with wonderful Brad, which was essentially to come in, work half of my shift, and leave a few hours early to get some studying done. Brad is cool with this. He appreciates that I'm not completely walking out on them. Things are looking up. Except for one detail.

He's not the manager on this particular night. Tim is.

Allow me to illuminate. Picture every movie villian you've ever loved to hate, then paint them over with a bad dye job and that would be Tim. My entire store despises him. When I say that, I mean it. Not a single person gets along with Tim. If you break open the suggestion box in the Staff Lounge (which we employees are only too fond of doing on slow nights), all you will find are suggestions to get the hell rid of Tim. He is about as loved among us as a pay cut.

So my shift is 2:00-11:00. I am hoping to get off at around 7 to do some work. Who am I forced to ask about this? Tim. Tim is the physical embodiment of Sam Walton's wet dream. He is everything a manager should be (except for likeable). He eats, sleeps, and breathes Wal-Mart. And he's such a hard-ass for the store's sake that he forgets who's actually doing the work. So, he burns bridges.

"Well," he said when I paged him over to discuss my leaving. "I can't let you go right now. It might get busy. Tell you what. Let's wait and see as it gets closer to eleven, and I'll consider it."

You might as well have just said, Let's wait until your shift's up and I'll consider it, Tim. I know you well enough by now to know that you're not looking out for my best interests.

Tim struts off. Then, as I'm standing there trying to blink back tears of fury and frustration, he saunters back over and says, "You understand."

Oh sure, Tim, I understand. I understand that you're a soulless bastard.

Things did not get busier. Ten minutes after shutting me down, Tim sends me to zone carts, which only happens when he has expendable cashiers. Then, fifteen minutes later, he--you guessed it--sends me on my lunch. I was so filled with frustration that I had to leave the store. I went to my grandparents' house, washed my face with cold water like six times, had a cup of tea, and lay down by the fire to calm myself down, and by the time I went back to work, I didn't feel as bad. I was still angry, but I figured I'd live with it for now.

Sometime around nine-thirty or ten, it occurred to me that I should call Tim again. After all, he said he'd decide whether or not to send me home as it got later. And since it hadn't gotten any busier, I figured I had a good chance. I picked up the phone and paged him. About two minutes later I get a call back: "Are you looking for Tim?"

"Yes. Why?"

"He's gone home."

...

Excuse me?

That son of a bitch. He said what he needed to keep me quiet, and then he bailed out and went the hell home himself at 9:00, while I stayed at the store and busted my ass until 11:30--not only four and a half hours later than I'd hoped to be, but also half an hour later than I was actually scheduled to be. Obviously, I didn't get any semblance of studying done. And the bastard expects me to be back in tomorrow morning at 11 a.m. to do the same thing over again.

I have the last laugh, though. I'm not coming in for my shift tomorrow. I'm doing the very thing I sought to avoid and calling in homework. The way I see it, Tim didn't bother trying to accomodate me. Why should I bother trying to accomodate him? Let him sweat for a while. See how it feels.

Besides, if I didn't take tomorrow off, I would be working until 6, after which I would be going immediately to my grandmother's house for my father's birthday celebration (which I am not missing), giving me a grand total of about 3-4 hours to study. At least this way I can delude myself into thinking that--hey--maybe I might have a chance on this exam.

God, I hate Wal-Mart.

Cookies and Scream

As they say: every cloud has a silver lining. Mine in this otherwise dark-hearted, angry post is the story of my sister's babysitting job with a cat named Cookies.

Ever since I got drafted into the Department Store from Hell, my sister Lor has been working double time to pick up all the babysitting jobs that I was forced to abandon. Normally she has things pretty easy. Tonight, though, a certain black-and-white cat gave her a run for her money. The only thing I can say is that I would sell my soul to have been there to see this evening unfold.

A friend of a friend of my mother's called Lor in a panic this morning, desperate for a babysitter. It took some roundabout coaxing (my sister has an active social life that she hates to relinquish for the sake of actual work), but eventually she agreed to go meet this family for the first time. At first things went fairly well, according to her. She met the parents, and was introduced to the two little girls. One of them brought up mention of their cat, whom they called 'Cookies', but Lor didn't see said cat before the children were put to bed.

She was watching TV some hours later when she noticed movement out of the corner of her eye. Assuming it was the cat, she paid it no mind. When she noticed that said movement was getting progressively closer, however, she spun her head around. Apparently, this freaked the hell out of Cookies, who took a flying leap at my sister, all claws and spitting fury. Lor, reacting out of pure instinct, lashed out--and smashed the cat against the wall.

Unharmed but obviously pissed as all hell, Cookies begins to stalk my sister. Lor, feeling unnerved, begins trekking around the circle the first floor the house makes. What she hears in pursuit is the clik-clik of Cookies' claws against the hardwood.

At this point I interrupted her. "Lor," I said. "Cats' claws are retractable. If he had his claws out, he was planning on eviscerating you."

"Let me finish my story," she groused.

Around and around they go, with myriad adventures happening en route. Among other things, this cat succeeded in not only locking my sister in a room, but richocheting off of nine or ten pieces of furniture to land on her head and nearly breaking down a door trying to go through it to get at her. By the time she was finished telling me everything, I was in fits of laughter on my bed. I couldn't get over the irony. Cookies, psycho cat of the East End.

As my sister put it, "It was like having a murderer in the house. A tiny murderer. A little, furry murderer asshole."

Epilogue

It's 5:30 in the morning, and I'm still up doing this blog entry. The last thing I expect is for the phone to ring. But it does, so I go to grab it. Late in the night like this, our callers are primarily all drunkards who can't tell the difference between my home number and Casino taxi service. Assholes.

But this is not a drunkard! I am fully expecting having to shred some ear when I pick up the phone and say, "Hello?" What I am greeted with is,

"Hello. Is Noel there?"

Noel is my father. This surprising accuracy staggers me for a second. Floundering, I repeat, "Noel?" Then, after this is reaffirmed-- "Yes, just a moment." Halfway up the stairs it hits me--Dumbass, it's 5:30 a.m. My father, along with the rest of the sane population, is asleep. I am not sane, being up all hours, and am therefore an expert in such matters. Returning to the phone, I say as politely as possible, "I'm sorry, he's still asleep. Is there anything I can help you with?"

There is. I can go wake my father.

I cannot believe the gall of this guy, but I go. My father is the Director of Safety for the local power company, which I have identified as the caller, so I figure that if someone is calling this early, it means somebody is dead. My dad is always getting called out to the rest of Canada and the States, even as far as Belize in South America, to investigate accidents. I decide this is worth my time. I go wake my father.

"Daddy? Newfoundland Power's on the phone and they're not taking no for an answer."

My dad comes down to take the call. I boil the kettle and sit there stirring hot chocolate for ten minutes, during which my father says absolutely nothing, merely taking note of whatever the dude is saying on the other end. When he finally speaks, it is to say the words, "He's okay, then." My head comes up as though I have been struck by lightning. Are you serious? All that for nothing?

My father stays on the phone for another ten minutes, then finally hangs up, growling obscenities, some of which I have never heard before in my life. He glances at me and says, "Shouldn't you be in bed?"

My sister is in my bed, where she fell asleep after completing her horrific cat story. I explain this to him briefly, then add, "Could that call have waited til daylight?"

"Not where he's concerned," my father growls, and ruffling my hair, storms upstairs to bed.

Sometimes life is just a bitch.

Icarus acknowledges that this hot chocolate is really goddamned good.

A Music Questionnaire Pour Vous

Listening: Wordless May - Venus Hum

What is...

...your theme song? Toss-up between The Analyst by Delta Goodrem and Book Smart, Street Stupid by Sarah Slean.
...your favorite song? Mother by Tori Amos.
...your favorite artist? I have to choose? Eh. If there was a gun to my head, Tori Amos.
...the song you've liked the longest? Umm. My dad used to sing A Spaceman Came Traveling by Chris deBurgh to me when I was little.
...your most played song? *checks* Blue Light of the Flame by Dar Williams.
...your favorite album? Matthew Good's Avalanche.
...your most memorable album and why? Tori Amos's Little Earthquakes, because my friend Ryk gave it to me for my birthday one year. Then we listened to it over and over for two hours.

What do you listen to...

...in the morning? Usually Sarah Slean.
...during the day? Depends on my mood.
...in the evening? See above.
...during the night? Usually soft stuff, often Mogwai or God is an Astronaut.
...with friends? Video game music?
...when you're sad? Um. Certain songs from all my instrumental/piano artists.
...when you're happy? Just about everything else.
...when you feel weird? Raffi. And Vangelis. No, wait, Regina Spektor. "Be afraid of the lame, they'll inherit your legs/be afraid of the old, they'll inherit your soul/be afraid of the cold, they'll inherit your blood/"Apres moi le deluge"--after me comes the flood."

Which song...

...always makes you happy? Speeding Cars by Imogen Heap, or Pretty Good Year by Tori Amos.
...always makes you sad? Death Came and Got Me by Rosie Thomas.
...reminds you of something happy (and what is it)? Southern Dreamer by Emm Gryner reminds me of going for drives with my dad on summer mornings.
...reminds you of something sad (and what is it)? Whispering Winds from The Land Before Time because it reminds me of facts of life that I would really rather forget.
...reminds you of being home? Falling Down Blue by Blue Rodeo, because my dad loves it.
...reminds you of being somewhere else? City of Blinding Lights by U2, which always reminds me of Greece.
...reminds you of your friends? Time and Confusion by Anberlin.
...reminds you of your family? Easy Tonight by Five for Fighting.
...gives you shivers? She's Leaving Home by the Beatles.
...makes you cry? Supernatural by Flyleaf. No question.
...makes you smile? Oh geez. Um. I Won't Dance by Frank Sinatra?
...is your newest obsession? Out in the Park by Sarah Slean.

Pick five friends and list the song you associate with them.
Only five? Aw.

Matt: Space Oddity - David Bowie
Cole: Alma Awakens - um... from.. Ninja Gaidan? I think.
Ben: When the Levee Breaks - A Perfect Circle
Kelilah: I Touch Myself - Jack Off Jill. Don't even ask.
Jam: Faster Kill Pussycat - Paul Oakenfold and Brittany Murphy.

What is your song for...

...winter? Uh. Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas, as covered by Tori Amos.
...summer? Easy. Summertime by Mae.
...fall? Alla Luce Del Sole by Josh Groban.
...spring? Damanged by Plumb. Why a depressing song? Because I hate spring.

Pick ten songs and what they mean to you.
This should be fun.

Bright End of Nowhere - Matthew Good:
My walking-home-in-the-wee-hours-of-the-morning-(when-the-sun-is-just-coming-up)-after-sneaking-out-of-the-house-and-walking-around-the-city-all-night song.
Sleeping With Ghosts - Placebo:
My let's-go-sit-on-a-minor-planet-and-watch-the-stars-burn-out song.
Little Dawn - Ted Leo and the Pharmacists:
My fuck-you-I'll-dance-in-the-middle-of-the-road-at-3-am-if-I-want-to song.
Blue Parade - Sarah Slean:
My it's-raining-in-the-city-and-I-can't-sleep-in-this-deafening-softness song.
Pagan Poetry - Bjork:
My there-are-only-so-many-things-I-can-tell-you-and-this-is-not-one-of-them song.
Gravity - Vienna Teng:
My the-view-of-the-city-from-the-tallest-of-trees song.
Untitled 3 - Sigur Ros:
My one-day-I'm-going-to-drive-across-the-desert-and-no-one-will-ever-be-able-to-stop-me song.
Thief - Our Lady Peace:
My headlights-on-the-highway song.
Meet Virginia - Train:
My if-there-is-a-forest-out-there-somewhere-that-has-what-I'm-looking-for-rest-assured-that-I'm-going-to-find-it song.
Mer Girl - Madonna:
My how-can-something-so-creepy-still-be-so-moving song.

That's it. The end. My musical brain is shorted out.

Instead you can play with my pet bat, Scrabble.

adopt your own virtual pet!

Icarus is going off to listening to Twin Moon.

Down With Technology, In With Stupidity

Listening: Anywhere in the Universe - Astronaut Wife

I only met you yesterday
And now you're taking me on a trip
To the farthest reaches of the galaxy
I didn't think it would be like this.
Don't think I've seen such a Godforsaken place
Nothing around but rocks and mud
If this is what it's like to be in outer space
I'd like to go back home, thank you very much.

I really, really should be studying for my European History exam tomorrow, but the urge to write is positively overpowering today. Besides, the first half of that course was spent detailing, I am not kidding, the background to the course. My prof said so herself: "Yeah, you don't need to bother taking notes on anything yet. This is all just background."

Wow.

I had my very first MUN final exam this morning! It was Classics, and it may or may not have lulled me into a false sense of security. Why the fark were we given two hours for that exam? I needed only one--Chastity needed a mere twenty minutes. Agggh so easy. The jump-start Chastity and Vickie might have given my brain by bringing me a home-made cinnamon roll may have helped, though.

This post by Jam at first seemed wildly coincidental before I realized--oh--wait--this happens every goddamned day in the MUN Library. I encourage you to read mine first, because by the time you're done with his, mine seems like a papercut versus a shark attack. But I'm going to bitch about it anyway, because that's what this blog is for.

So after my Classics exam, and lingering for a period of time outside in the Atrium with the hilarious Chastity and Vickie, I decided that it was high time to go print off the essay I had due in pretty shortly. So off I go, trekking to the library. This is made mildly unpleasant by the fact that the campus is awash with muck--not quite mud, not quite slush. Squick. See, I don't have winter boots. Just crappy, leaky sneakers. But I digress.

I cheered up a bit upon entering the Library when I discovered the gigantic Christmas tree they have there in the lobby. It's probably been there all along and I've never noticed, but whatever. I had serious work to do. I sloughed through the mass of panicky students to find an available place for me to set my laptop down. When I finally found it, lo! It was across from Beautiful Latino Man, a gorgeous specimen of masculinity whom I have been lusting after for the past few months. I figured it would be best to try to ignore him, as nothing shorts out a keyboard quite like copious amounts of drool.

Trying not to be a creepy stalker girl, I opened up my laptop and plugged in my Jump Drive. Fortunately I'd had the foresight to transfer my essay from my desktop onto the drive, so I could easily access the document and print it off with no hassle. Science!

My computer didn't think so.

"Hey," it said in that demeaning way that I'm certain most computers have. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Why, I'm accessing a document so I can print off an essay and pass University, Mr. Computer.

"And how do you propose to do that, princess?"

Why, I'm just going to load Nomad, access the document, print it, and be out of here lickety-split.

"Like hell you are."

Shit.

I stared unblinking for several minutes at the screen as Abiword, truly the Devil's Own word program, proceeded to make mincemeat of my nicely-organized document. Oh hell, I thought, I so do not have time for this. I set down to business and had a nice friendly chat with Abiword. Only by "nice" I mean "angry" and "friendly chat" I mean "bitchslapped all the hell over cyberspace and back again".

When Abiword finally lay cowering in a corner, whimpering and quivering, I sat back, cracked my fingers, and got down to business. I hit the icon for Nomad, the Library-based program they installed on my laptop to allow me to print straight from there, typed in my account name, put in my password, and hit Connect.

Error, my computer bleated. Username does not exist.

Excuse me?

I tried again. And again. Three times in rapid succession, Nomad declared that I did not exist. Now I was starting to get seriously pissed off. Leaving everything right where it was, I got up and went to hunt down somebody who would help me with this contrary bitch of a program. The help I got was at the Computer Servicing desk, only it wasn't any help at all. When I explained my problem to the bespeckled young man behind the counter, all I got in response was a wide-eyed, blinking silence. I had to explain it to him twice more before he got what the problem was--and then he didn't know how to fix it. "Just a second," he said. "I'll go find someone who can help." And off he trots.

I sit there waiting for another ten minutes before Smart Guy returns to the desk. It takes him another five to remember that I'm standing there waiting for answers. He gives me a conciliatory look, and informed me that he was terribly sorry, but he couldn't find anyone to deal with the problem. Normally I'm pretty forgiving, especially when it comes to the nameless peons who just do the legwork, seeing as I am one of those myself. But when academic lives hang in the balance--more accurately, my academic life--I'm willing to break a few of my rules. I informed Astro Boy in my chilliest tone that he had better find someone who could help me, and fast. The expression of true and unutterable terror he cast me over his shoulder was totally worth whatever guilt I might have felt about it later. I may look disarmingly feminine in my cutesy winter scarf, but if you get between me and my agenda, I will kill you, kill your dog, burn down your house, and give your entire family cancer.

Another ten minutes go by before Doctor Watson comes slithering back. This time he damn well remembers who I am. In as nice a voice as I imagine he could muster, he tells me that whatever supervisor he just came back from grovelling to has informed him that they really have no way of fixing my dilemma. WHAT. Just as I'm wondering whether it'd be kosher to kill him on the spot or send a slathering beast from Hell after him later, he tells me, "But don't worry, I'll just give you a new account, and you can go on ahead."

WHAT. You could not have told me this before now. Gosh, thanks, Skippy. You are truly a credit to the human race.

I trudge back to my laptop clutching a scrap of paper with my new account name and password, weary and daunted but far from defeated. I sit back down at my laptop, all set to print, when suddenly something causes me to jerk my head up. It is a voice--a voice so rich and warm it could melt butter. Guess who it belongs to.

"Excuse me," Beautiful Latino Man says, "but there was someone by your computer a minute ago."

I am so enthralled by his voice (and the fact that he's actually even talking to me) that it takes me a few minutes to realize what he's saying. Wait. Back up. What? I check my document. Hey, guess what. 90% of it is deleted. In its place are the words L33T HAXX0RZ.

I despise humanity.

I spent the next twenty minutes rescuing my original document from my Jump Drive, allowing Abiword to have its mandatory rape-fest fun with it, then bitchslapping it back into submission. Finally finished, I picked up where I had left off, opening Nomad and trying to log in. It works. Shocker! Beginning to calm down a bit, I type in the name of one of the three printers dotting the Commons and sit back with a sigh, waiting for the thing to load.

Beep. "There was a problem loading printer icomprt3."

Are you kidding me? No matter. I try the second one.

Beep. No message. I wait for a few minutes for the message confirming my connection to the printer. Nothing happens. Not a goddamn thing. After five minutes of just waiting, I click the screen and discover that Nomad is Not Responding. Royally pissed by now, I exit the program, reopen it, log back in, and don't even bother with icomprt2 this time. I go straight for icomprt1, and this time, miracle of miracles, it works.

Until I realize that it printed wrong, and I have to do it a second time.

When I finally had my master essay, all fresh and ready to be passed in, I went hunting for a stapler. A woman was behind the counter of the Computer Servicing desk when I scouted my way there, replacing Captain Caveman. I didn't pay her any mind at first, studying instead the vast array of staplers on the desk. When I picked one up, however, some alarm went off in Crazy Bitch's head. She spun towards me from where she was talking to two other people and skewered me with a hawklike glare.

"You can't use those," she snapped without prelim.

I stare at her for several seconds, then lower my gaze to the umpteen staplers before me, then look back at her, uncomprehending. Is she serious? The look on her face assures me she is. Nevermind that these are clearly Library stock, for use when the students require them. Crazy Bitch is hoarding them and is prepared to behead me to keep it that way.

I decide, in that second, that I don't care. I have been in this Library for nigh on a goddamn hour and I am sick to hell of it. Without breaking her gaze, I pick up a stapler, clack it shut on the ends of my pages, and leave Crazy McBitch gaping after me and my freshly-stapled essay. I pack up my laptop and say goodbye and thank-you to Beautiful Latino Man, and then I stomp out of the Commons, bringing a cloud of fury and anger in my wake. I resist the urge to flip the building off as I leave.

I got the essay in on time, but that's of little comfort, don't you think? I'll say it is. Now all I can do is sit here bitching, studying History in my pajamas, buried in a comforter and emerging only briefly now and again for a sip of sweet tea. I reaffirm what I told Jam on his Blog. The QEII Library truly is the first layer of Hell.

Icarus takes comfort in the knowledge that everyone has days like this.

Dear God, Why Must You Mock Me In Front of Other People?

Listening: Blue Parade - Sarah Slean

I hear them coming, the Blue Parade
They're throwing snowflakes and singing my name
In deep blue voices, I hear them say
"There's good love out there, just you wait..."

Life just enjoys mocking me.

Pharaoh «Mmm... yeah.» says:
Ok then you're going to have to go for painfully blatent.
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [Diggin' around in the dirt, she's a slave to the work] says:
Most likely
Pharaoh «Mmm... yeah.» says:
I suggest doing it while we're out somewhere, preferably towards the end of the night. Then if he wants to go hermit off it won't affect the rest of us
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [Diggin' around in the dirt, she's a slave to the work] says:
Truethat
Pharaoh «Mmm... yeah.» says:
But you're not going to, are you?
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [Diggin' around in the dirt, she's a slave to the work] says:
*sighs* I have to at some point, but it just seems like it'll make me such a bitchtress to say, "Oh, by the by, you don't have a chance with me and you never will."
Pharaoh «Mmm... yeah.» says:
Oh I know. See this is really not fair to you at all.
Pharaoh «Mmm... yeah.» says:
You have to break up with him, and you two aren't even going out.
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [Diggin' around in the dirt, she's a slave to the work] says:
Exactly!
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [Diggin' around in the dirt, she's a slave to the work] says:
*cries*
Pharaoh «Mmm... yeah.» says:
God I wish I could help you
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [Diggin' around in the dirt, she's a slave to the work] says:
It's cool
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [Diggin' around in the dirt, she's a slave to the work] says:
You can help me by not being all, "Oh Julia. Why did you have to break up with him? Now he's all emo and it's all your fault. WHY WHY. Go in there and have sex with him and make it all better."
Pharaoh «Mmm... yeah.» says:
lol Who would be like that?! XD
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [Diggin' around in the dirt, she's a slave to the work] says:
Probably my entire family.
Pharaoh «Mmm... yeah.» says:
WTF.
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [Diggin' around in the dirt, she's a slave to the work] says:
Well sans the sex thing
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [Diggin' around in the dirt, she's a slave to the work] says:
My mom's always like
Pharaoh «Mmm... yeah.» says:
They just want you to get a boyfriend.
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [Diggin' around in the dirt, she's a slave to the work] says:
"Oh Jooooolia he's suuuuuuch a nice boy. SUUUUUUUCH A NICE BOY."
"Easy mom, you're foaming at the mouth."
Pharaoh «Mmm... yeah.» says:
Ok yeah I'm thinking that your mom should respect the fact that you're not a desperate whore.
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [Diggin' around in the dirt, she's a slave to the work] says:
*thumbs up*
Pharaoh «Mmm... yeah.» says:
Man how long has this complication been going on? 4 years?
.:*~Cradle~*:. [Derangel] [Diggin' around in the dirt, she's a slave to the work] says:
.....*cries*


Icarus hates being in the center of things like this.

Now I've Slean It All

Listening: Out in the Park - Sarah Slean

She's out in the park, conducting the birds
Trying to remember which bicycle's hers
Filling her pockets with handfuls of dirt
It's amazing...
Out in the park.

Dear Christ, I am in a state of such euphoria that I don't even think I could calm down if I had Mike Tyson hit me in the back of the skull with a hammer.

The reason for my delight is having just come from a concert put off by the wonderful, the amazing, the oh-so-talented Sarah Slean. I managed to plead the night off from work, so I dragged Cole down to the Holy Heart High School auditorium to watch the magic happen. I cannot accurately express how incredibly amazing Sarah Slean is live. She's like... paying to watch a concert and a comedy routine.

The choice laughs of the evening:

"When I was in Paris... oh wow, I can actually say that now. Haha. Anyway, I went to Paris. I was so excited, with my internet-arranged apartment all set up! ...Note to self; never again. Online equals not legit."

"Oh wow, C-major! You know, whenever I play that, I want to start singing I'm not a perfect personnnn." *screams into the microphone* "YOU RUINED 'C'!"

"So I was playing at a Leonard Cohen DVD-release party, and I decided to wear this dress. It was one of three I have in the back of my closet with a sign over them on which is written DANGER. It requires you to slither into it. And while I was playing onstage, it started to... slither off of me. It didn't help that I was wearing impossible shoes. Which I bought because they were on sale, and a size too big for me."

"Ladies, I have only one piece of advice for you. If you meet a man with a tan-line on his ring finger, don't go there, bad news. If he has the tan line and insists he's single, worse news. Run faster. ...You didn't know you were going to be my therapists this evening, did you?"

Hahaha. Gold.

After the stunning performance (which Cole, surprisingly, enjoyed more than I thought she would), and calling Sarah out for two encores (we're whores that way), we migrated to the lobby, where Sarah was mingling and signing autographs and posing for pictures. Cole went home while I lingered, and Sarah was kind enough to sign my ticket and chat a little bit with me, though by this time I believe she was pretty zonked. She had a long night certainly, and as much as I am a whore for the attention of incredible people, I didn't want to keep her too long. I got all flustered and babbled something about how amazing her concert was and that I listen to Twin Moon every single night of my goddamn life, and then I skittered off and let her bodyguards abduct her back to whence she came.

I also may have said something about how much Jam loves her, too. She was pretty flattered. She's wildly modest and I admire that in an artist.

Now I'm just going to finish adding all her CDs to my Christmas list (and downloading certain songs to tide me over til then) and then I'm going to go to bed. And listen to Twin Moon, yes, shut up.

Exams this week aaaagh! Starting on Thursday, ending the following Friday. Hopefully things will go as well as I intend them to. Something tells me I'll be holed up in my bedroom for the next week. But ah well.

Tomorrow night a Christmas party occurs! Jam, Rae, Gen, Ben, Kelilah, and hopefully Cole will be ransacking my house for the watching of festive movies. This excites me immensely, because I love all of them.

Speaking of Ben and Kelilah: you guys are going with me to see Kung Fu Panda when it comes out in 2008 sometime. Why? Because:

a) pandas.
b) kung fu.
c) Jack Black voices Po the panda.
d) Angelina Jolie voices a kung-fu Tigress.
e) pandas.

Icarus would have a Five consisting of Angelina Jolie, Sarah Slean, Tori Amos, Neil Gaiman, and Charles de Lint.