panacakes.

I have been getting up before noon everyday since I have been released. It is a nice turn of events. Besides this morning. I woke up and things were fine. Sarah said she wanted to make panacakes, and I said that I would like it very much if she made panacakes. So she made the panacakes in the kitchen. Only she started to get burnt, and then burned herself a second time. And the panacakes were not working out so well. It suddenly became my fault, she did not want panacakes at all it turns out. But she insisted that she needed to finish cooking the panacakes. This made me frustrated. We became more frustrated together, and she threatened to throw the panacakes in the garbage. I told her she better not and said that I needed to finish cooking the panacakes. She needed to be left alone. I thought that the whole argument was silly about 5 minuets later. So I ate two panacakes, cleaned up and headed out the door. I bussed up to evergreen to find the sauna closed. I was really looking forward to sweating out my tenseness. I think that the sauna opens in half hour though. The panacake fight is still going. I hung up the phone a few minuets ago. It is nice to know I am alive. There was a goodshow at the redhouse lastnight that was unlike shows at the redhouse. I hope that team blog stays safe raising their fists.

Dear Blog,

I am in my Shoreview attic-my sisters room before she grew up and went to Roseville. I'm listening to Dolly Parton and thinking about eighth grade when this room was prime location for punkrock hangoutings pre-loiter at McCullough park post-QuikStop sodajunkfood run . Ohgod.

I'm really scared of this place mostly because I feel like nobody gets it. My parents sound proud of me on the phone but in person they told me to take a shower. Coat of many colors.
I am already dreading going to Grandmas house and seeing my cousins and talking to my aunt about why my college degree really will be worthwhile and I'm also wondering what there is to do here other than get scary drunk and have tantrums.

But I guess my Dad hangs out with the Hells Angels
AND.
my Mom has digital cable.
ohmygodohmogododfdgd

The Grandfather clock is chiming way too much. I didn't used to hear that. AGHKD I grew up and moved away and got un-used to things.

This is house is spotless and full of things.

ohmygod i am going to freak out. do i feel like this everywhere i go?ohmygod. i already assured my Grandma I was alright once today, and I didnt even get into town until 9pm.
ahhhsdgfdkkkkkkkk
I need to go to Texas.

I am at the finish line.

I know that some memebers of the blog are worrying that I sold my soul to capitalism. I am here to re-assure those members that their concerns might in fact be true. It is weird to be plugged into the cable T.V. circut. I have learned a lot about my self, my crew, my art, and living my life. I see what I am missing by x-ing myself out of mainstream culture. This counter-coulter obsession was bound to burst sooner or later, and I would rather get it over with then live a lie for the remainder of my short days on this earth. The Earth may be dying, but that don't mean that I don't want money and good things. Let's crew the fuck up in a Black Caddy and show some rag. It's our new cover up. People are on to us, and we need to let them know what they are dealing with.

Chareles River Reshearch

Here we have a blogpost about the in's and out's of surrendering a healthy body to the evil workings of scientific fraud and fault.
1) I can't walk but I can cry about it.
2) I saw 'thank you for smoking' and dis-belive that it could be a documentary.
3) I saw 'I think I love my wife' with Chris Rock, and I don't think he loves his wife.
4) I layed back and dreamed about watching celberty death match.
5) I leaned back and though about how people communicate through watching the same videos. I engaged in this activity.
6) This place ain't that trashy.
7) There are four guys per room. This is an all male study. no wonder I don't talk with hardly anyone. cause no one really talk.
8) These electronic plates are hooked up to me.
9) They wake you up at 5 a.m. to eat lethal amounts of baccon. do I ever have the shits.
10) Blogging is off limits, this post is a sneak attack.

back on it

so I am back on this Blog, sorry for my sabbatical of late. I found myself last night wanting to write in a real book, but my little black book is full, so I read what I had and what I found were detailed plans for Meggo and Csank's wedding in '08. Here is what follows, word for word.


Meg & Csank get married! Fall wedding September 27 2008

Ring bearer: Anders
Firstlady: Tovah
Best man: Corwin
sartorial (adj. of or relating to fashion)

caterer: Urban Onion (crossed out) Aramark

rosie math : wedding planner
rabbi math

cake: ice cream/pie
Bartender: Buck.

--Designer of Wedding Invitation: RITCHIE

Theme (Color) -- Gold

Tovah ---- Corwin
Bridesmaids Groomsmans
Megan Anders
Rosie Grier
Caity Scott
Amelie Trent

an actual priest

Crepe Cart

K Records Warehouse

Bachelorette:

Joey Casio
Colin Self
Hail Seizures
9/11s

Sarah Hay Special Dancegroup

Leonard, David Elizabeth
Honeymoon: Hawaii

Sigmuend Tsististo, Eskay, Pat Seeger, Mulally, Forgive Afiskayubot,

Register Rusty Rooster

Ali Brown, Alex, Danny, Nate, Tony, Justin, Johnny, Jaime, Jake


this makes me feel weird on the inside, can it still happen?

Dear Blog, I can't concentrate I am trying to write epic feministqueertheorytrashculture narratives, but all that is happening is I'm playing with Facebook Visual Bookshelf and thinking about 90s young adult fiction. Okayokayokay Meg you realize you gots forty pages of RealLifeWriting to do by like Sunday. OyVey Why Did I HAVE TO HAVEFUN ALL WEEKEND?!?!

okayokayokayokayI am about to appropriate Nicky and make poems out of pic comments. It is time to Write 4 Realz.

a morning of cranberry juice. Not supposed to eat, cereal doesn't really count. finally slept a full and healthy amount. no pillows, those are in plastic bags in the basement. Did you know, coffee makes me sneeze a terrifying number of times in a row? This dose not happen every I drink it. what's up with the decline of motivation and dedication to the blog? 

The real Deal.

Patrick Wayne Swayze, You haunt me. I realized the potential of what it could mean to be an “active” Human being last night. Viewing Dirty Dancing  awakened a thirst with-in me. I see know that my life is incomplete. I guess I alway knew it was, but now I know why.

When you are born in Texas, Like Swayze, you amount to something. I believe Meggo’s journey to the American Mecca is a splendid idea, and an idea that needs some serious considering. I believe that if we ventured there it would offer us the possibility of being born again. Of being born in the right place as well as the right time. Texas is our real mother. I need to feel, I need to dance, I need a career, I need production, I need to love, I need Texas. 

Let’s watch the “Outsiders” next. I need all of Swayze.   

Back From Protest, Hardly Impressed.

 I know saying something like: "activists are boring" would be an untrue statement. But at the moment, that is how I feel. I just returned from a nightmare of a protest at the port of Tacoma, and I feel that I have had a life long belly full of many buzz words. (anarchy, consensus, group decisions, etc.) Activists are not boring, but individuals who pried themselves in defining what activism is in large groups without producing ANY activity of a creative or helpful nature are. They didn't even like punk. In the car ride (yes, them being to unprepared and unmotivated to take the city transit) they turned the radio off when I put in Capitalist Casualties. (thanks sweet-tooth).   

When we all arrived in Tacoma we sat in a large circle in a hippy-dippy cafe and argued about wither people would rather go and yell at cops in fort lewis or down at the port. All the while countless people wandered by the cafe who probably couldn't even afford a cup of joe. I felt very helpless the whole time. Yesterday on the bus in Tacoma, when I was going to the medical study, there was this father and daughter on the bus that made me cry. His daughter had sever disabilities and seemed to be in a great deal of pain. He was a very young african american father and he looked really sad. The whole time he just rocked his daughter back and forth in his arms, she was at least 5 or 6 but unable to stand or use her limbs that well. I guess I just don't like SDS or the majority of protests, and that is the sort and unimportant point that this blog is trying to get a crossed.  

Oh, it's friday. I am listening to "Friday I'm in Love by the Cure". 

Dreamboats are everywhere, let's get this blog crew a year long pass and sail out.