Sunday, October 30, 2011

Like and Addict

I'm sick. Again. This is getting old fast, I used to have an immune system you set a fucking atom bomb off near without repercussions. Now I'm on a mixture of leftover hydrocodone and Tylenol Cold PM Warming, still unable to sleep. I'm considering making my own variety of Lazy Cakes with belladonna and melatonin.

I wrote a crappy rough draft of my project piece for Experimental Psychology, a class I'm pretty much scrapping by in based on my ability to take tastes and bullshit papers. Also, eating extra credit like its a fucking cupcake. The paper was late, so I'm sure that adding that to the fact it was realistically incomplete  I might not get good credit for it. I'm going to have to set up a time to talk to the professor and see if I can make up the projects somehow. Oh, to top off the beginning of the week I have two exams. Awesome. And I believe I have a story due in Fiction.

I'm not in the best of moods. Thank God tomorrow is Halloween. I love Halloween. And I hope I get the call from JCPenney tomorrow. I'm tired of arguing with my mom over whether or not I'll be able to move in December. Its happening, whether or not I'm totally prepped for it. I've made up my mind and for once in my life I'm sticking to my guns and gritting through the speed bumps.

There was something else I wanted to say, but I don't remember. Let's see... Friday was awesome even though I got sick from it. Time with Tim is always a way to go about my life. We went to dinner, frozen yogurt and then to Hunt Club Farms and tortured some children. I was really on my game and I got lei'd by a doll girl. It was awesome. I made friends with zombies and got attacked by a small hillbilly child who was the most adorable fucking thing ever. I also pet sat some guinea pigs who were very sweet. Getting paid in cookies? The only way to live, man.

Oh! I realized Saturday that I treat everything like I'm addicted to it. I drink like I'm in recovery, I refuse drugs because of the idea that I may fall into a deep abyss of pain and ruin, I don't play internet games or do anything outright fun and of my generation for the fear that it will consume me. Its an interesting realization. I may expand on that later.

I have to go now, I think the medicine is kicking in. I'm about to pass out.

Thursday, October 27, 2011


Lucky you, you get two posts in one night from me.

In an ongoing battle, my father and I have been discussing the... sexuality of a friend of mine. My dad is determined this guy simply is ambiguous to his own desires. I keep pointing out the evidence that lends to the opposite. This particular character in my life is pretty spot on on what he wants. Or, moreover, who he wants it from. For over a week now this has gone on and on and on. I'll bring this gentleman up and my dad will shoot back randomly with "I still don't think he's gay."

Today at dinner, celebrating adding a new truck to the family, we got into this conversation again. I blame myself. I brought him up. I was told, by this friend of mine, that I'm a hag because my gaydar is always tripping. This is something I can completely handle. Also, if Virginia Beach didn't have so many men locked in their closets, I might not always be detecting them. That's neither here not there.

So, while explaining this to my parents in a true Foltermann family dinner fashion I point out how this particular male friend of mine who prefers gentlemanly callers has no concept of how to find said men to call upon him. His gaydar is about six clicks from calibrated. Its like he has the compass Jack Sparrow wants to protect so badly (which is probably a good analogy. Let's face it Johnny, you aren't fooling anyone just because of the kids). Mom laughed and dad got confused, but let it go.

I'm downstairs, about to head up, and as I'm gathering my laptop, sweet tea, and dog Dad looks at me and goes "Hey, I just thought of something!"

"That's a nice change."

"Shut up. If (we'll call him Bob) Bob's gaydar doesn't work, how does he know he's gay. Radars identify themselves."

"Dad, he can't tell if other men are gay. He knows he is. We've talked about this. And radars don't show their home tower on the screen."

"No, but they recognize it. I think he's confused."

"Well, does your gaydar ping on you?"


"You have a pretty fucked up and unreliable gaydar, Dad. I mean, for all you know, you're confused. Maybe its supposed to ping and it doesn't because it isn't calibrated right."

"You're just making shit up now."

"No, I'm using the same logic you applied to Bob and you. I'm just right."

"Go upstairs."

So I go upstairs and tell him goodnight, and get almost to the top when I hear, "And I still love you even though Bob isn't gay."

"I think you need get calibrated!"


And that's the end of my night. After bullshitting a single page, thorough proposal paper on the differences between rehabilitation and detention in the juvenile justice system, I got to unwind discussing my friend's sexuality with my father. Times are good.

Sheldon is Amazing

Watching: The Big Bang Theory

So, today has been interesting. Definitely one of my more productive days as of late. Even though I never got around to writing that proposal that's already late.

Yesterday, before losing my ferret and after baking the lemon cupcakes, I realized that part of our ceiling was caving in from water damage. I woke up this morning before my alarm went off to a phone call from my mother to tell me that the repair guy was coming to fix the water pipes. Oh, and half the damn ceiling was on the dining room floor. I came downstairs to plaster and water making a party out of the carpet. Do you know what plaster does when its mixed with stale water? It turns into the shit your art teacher wouldn't let you play with unsupervised because when it dries it DOES NOT COME OFF. It was like a paste that looked down at paper mache and poked it in the fucking eye.

So, one repair guy and 21 frosted cupcakes later, after I washed every dish left unguarded in the kitchen, I released the hounds from where I had locked them in my room. They eat people, so we have to keep them trapped when we have visitors. Anyhow, with a group of a maniacal dogs hungry for the blood they'd missed out on, I managed to salvage the carpet. Somewhat. I hadn't known plaster could leave stains. I picked up, scrubbed, and vacuumed the carpet until it practically sparkled.

So, after I cleaned I made lemon bars and waited out the clock until it was time to meet Tim on campus. We went to see Steve Almond read from his recent book and from collected poetry and essays he's self-published. Dinner at Red Lobster and one episode of Big Bang Theory after, and I'm weighing an extra five pounds day dreaming about my boyfriend trying to work up the energy to stop procrastinating and do my damn homework. Since yesterday I've been a little worse to the left of kilter. Losing a ferret in the great outdoors for nearly an hour will do that to you.

We shouldn't have named him Ninja.

I love this show. Its so amazing. Funny, smart and reminds me of a lot of people I know. Sheldon is a mixture of some of my high school friends and my little brother. Plus, I really love nerd humor. I know more about comic books, movies, super heroes, and theoretical physics because of this show than I know what to do with.

So, on that note I'm going to try to do my homework now, and have a good evening with a bath and some homemade sweet treats.

Tuesday, October 25, 2011

I'm a Google Slave

I discovered that I'm a slave to Google and content with that arrangement. Google takes care of me. It tells me when I forget to do things I told it were important. It helps me decide if someone is being a dick about pricing on things I want. It organized my blog, email and media accounts. It sends everything to my phone and tablet seamlessly. Google is amazing.

I'm also incredibly tired again. It seems to be a trend. I talked to my mom about it after doing some light investigating into why my dreams are seemingly turn into hallucinations, and I've apparently never slept. Not even as an infant. This is something I knew about myself, but its taken on a whole new meaning given my new attention to my sleep cycle. I'm naturally inclined to either require less amounts of sleep or my body was created with a deficit somewhere that impairs REM from occurring at 'regular' rates. Psychologically and biologically speaking, its intriguing to wonder about the consequences.

I should explain where this rant is coming from. Recently I was on hydrocodone. It didn't react well at all with me, which my doctor didn't seem to understand. I stopped sleeping nearly at all. I got about two hours a day for three days. I started hallucinating conversations with people that weren't even there, and at one point my dreams went into such a vivid state that I could no longer distinguish that line between dream and reality. I was walking a very fine edge, slipping off either side abruptly. Since then my schedule hasn't fully readjusted, so I've still been a little strange in the head. I won't lie, its a bit inspirational in my writings and it opens up some crazy freeway of perception and thought (most likely a fallacy) in my mind. Its a bit disconcerting.

Anyhow. In my sudden lack of sleep, I've become enveloped in a new pocket of time. While its hard for me to focus entirely on any given specific task I'm browsing information with more gusto than usual. I'm also able to mindlessly crank out pages of energy based stories at a time. So, I've taken to connecting my electronic devices to one another via internet tethering through Google software. I've updated my online calenders, connected my addresses, pretty much everything.

And now, I feel geeky enough and I'm going to bed. Or, to go watch Family Guy.

Friday, October 21, 2011

Freaky Fright Night

I'm sleepy.

It's the end half of October and I haven't got much to show for it at this point. I've been to Busch Garden's twice, once for the horror and once for the thrill rides. I haven't made it to Hunt Club Farms this year, yet. It just hasn't felt very Halloweeny, really, until about this week. We had a stifling mid-80s day earlier in the week and its been delightfully in the 60s since, setting the mood for a lovely fall. And, in the spirit of one of my favorite national traditions, I chose to scare nightmares into myself for the hell of it.

I watched Paranormal Activity, the first one, for the first time by myself last night. Holy Jesus in an apron, that was an intense little movie. I ended up texting David at some point during the beginning half to express my disbelief of my own stupidity at watching the damn thing, alone, at night. He called to comfort me and subtly tell me to stop being a pussy. Then I squeaked into the phone and he realized I was STILL watching the damn movie, and laughed at me a little before trying to convince me he had my back.

Let me explain. Through all of my ramblings and tirades I fail to mention to people there are a few things that immediately freak me the fuck out. I don't like senseless, realistic gore. Its horrifying. Things were people could actually be dying, or where its based on a true story and the psychopath responsible is out there running free in the cornfields of Texas, they don't do well by me. I search my house for three months with a loaded gun and try to pretend I'm not a total chicken. Then there are movies about hauntings. Some of these are decent, well meaning and obviously fictional fliks that are out for a cheap scare and decent ratings. Then you have the Paranormal Activity bloody franchise.

All I can say is, if the third one is like the first one (I'm skipping the second. I don't have that big of a masochistic streak) then I'm just going to stop sleeping. Just for a few days. Mom doesn't watch scary movies if she can help it. This is the woman who screamed like a banshee in Signs when the alien's hand comes from under the door. She's a very faint hearted person when it comes to horror and the like, and puts up with it if we make her but normally weasels out of it if she can find a suitable excuse or replacement. Or, as is the case with Dad and I going to see the third installment of this franchise on Sunday, she just tells us to go fuck ourselves kindly because we're going alone and if the baddies get us, we have it coming.

I'm excited and terrified about this at the same time. I like to be scared sometimes, but honestly when its said and done, I'm still scared. It doesn't matter if I asked for it, or if I wanted it to happen. At the end of the day I'm still sleeping with my lights and TV on, a bundle of sage in one hand and a circle of salt to protect me. I'm exaggerating.

Today has been sort of off feeling. It might be because the world was supposed to end again. It might be because the War in Iraq is 'over'. It might be because I'm still on a medication regiment from the doctor and am just rolling back into a decent sleep schedule. Who knows.

Point of the matter is, as well as writing, I've decided to make tonight as relaxing as possible. I'm playing violin music, my candles are lit, there are scented salts making my bath feel awesome, I have lavender soap to chillax me, white rose tea to calm my spirit, a cleansing face mask and strawberry filled chocolate. Its quite lovely. If I had rose petals in the tub with me it would be straight up romantic in here tonight. I'm really just trying to outrun this odd feeling in gut that I can't shake. I can't tell if its my usual paranoia of failure or if its personal doubt or what, but its there. Meh. I hate having emotions at times.

Anyhow. National Novel Writing Month is coming up in just over nine days and I will be participating this year. The goal is 50,000 words in 30 days. I can do that. I'm also applying for work again, hopefully going to land a job so I can get my reserves back up so I can still be in Maine by New Years Day.

Enough rambling. American Dad is on, so its almost time to get out of the bath.

Goodnight, all.

Wednesday, October 12, 2011

Sound Art is Revenge

Well, the passed few weeks have been interesting. My poor little white Ninja drowned in a flash flood that hit our condominiums. I've been to South Carolina twice. My favorite part?

David, my darling, came to visit for four days. It was amazingly high inducing to have him close enough to brush my fingers against. My vague memories and all the pictures he's sent me did not do him justice. It was like a waking dream to have him riding shot gun with me, having him close enough to breath in and talk to so that I could see his facial reactions. I've never been one to get high off of someone's presence, but that boy is some sort of drug to me.

He brought me a moose pillow pet from Maine. I squealed and huggled it. Her name is Lucy the Moosey, and she smells just like him. So kamfy too. Between her and my $1.62 pillows from Walmart my bed is super comfortable at night.

Anyhow, David is a music major. He's brilliantly talented at composing and is particular amazing at playing string instruments (guitar and piano being my two favorites, though I'd love to hear his violin). I had the pleasure of hearing some of his personal creations and have never been so impressed in my life. Of course, I am a little biased. After all, he did sort get to leave with my heart in his back pocket.

David's first night in town lead us from the airport right to the beach, where we walked under the moonlight. He carried me part of the way because I was in heels. It was beautiful, being able to lay in the sand beside him in the quiet night watching silver waves hit the shore. Watching him. Then we spent Thursday between my classes and the dealership where I bought my lovely 2006 Ford Focus, dubbed The Beast. It was dreadfully boring for him and mum, but they stuck it through like champs. Friday we did homework and hit up Busch Gardens for Hallowscream.

Saturday we spent the day at Busch Gardens again, courtesy of my fun pass and his free ticket. Roller coasters are way different after dark than they are during the day. It was all sorts of levels of epic. We ate like obese first graders. By that I mean I unleashed my inner fat girl and dove face first into a strawberry shortcake funnel cake (funnel cake, powdered sugar, chocolate sauce, strawberries and ice cream) and we shared a blue raspberry icee. When we finally headed home after being bosses, we met up with the family to go out to dinner. Twas delicious and meat filled.

On our way to Logan's we passed a Hooter's and I made a joke about becoming a Hooter's girl for a new job, since I'm still mooching off my parents and have to move in December so I can keep my obligations. Mom made a joke about me not being able to wear the shorts and David's response was "Hey, you can work there and I can drop of school to go to Europe and try to be a rockstar". I nodded and took his point, but told him it was a hot idea. "Fine, I'll drop out and start to do sound art".

Fuck. That. He's too talented to waste his life on that horrid drivel. Unless its a true passion of his, which its not, I refuse to allow him to destroy himself that way. Ever heard sound art? If not, then don't. Honestly, out of the HOURS of pieces he's endured there has been only one that wasn't so God awful he thought it had some form of practical application.

Point was made. Cyn will not be a Hooter's girl for the safety of my love's future.

Anyhow, he made me crepes with chocolate in bed and had to leave Sunday. Honestly, I don't know what I did to land him, but I'm so thankful for whatever it was. We have this Perpetuating Cycle of Awesome that rolls around us in which we are constantly shocking each other with points of compatibility we hadn't considered before.

Also, this blog has been written under the influence of hydrocodone, one of the ingredients in Vicodin. I have a severely sore throat and a fever, so the doctor decided narcotics was the way to go. Which would have been awesome if they worked. As it is I don't feel particularly inebriated in any sense of the word, I'm wide awake and still in pain. Meh.

I'm going to go bother Tim now with my love. Goodnight all!