"Its not funny until someone bleeds. Then its hilarious."

I am not sure who said that, but I think there is no truer statement. For some sick, twisted reason, I tend to like movie comedy in which the punch line involves someone bent over, arms protectively guarding their stomach. An unexpected kick to the balls is comedic gold as far as I am concerned. (Heck, even when it is expected too.)

Comic nut crushing is not the limit. A well timed 2x4 to the face or bowling ball to the toe will also send me into near hysterics. There is simply something jocular about surprise physical attack. Ha, ha, ha, "How did she not see that bus coming!" The supporting actress is crippled; I can't breathe.

The beauty about this type of physical humor is it surpasses all language barriers and does not require much previous knowledge other than pain is for laughing. Because lets face it, the second a joke needs to be explained it looses its Funny Power. "You see lil lady, the reason that's funny is..." Gaw, it doesn't matter why it was funny to you. I either didn't get it (very likely) or I did get the not-so-subtle play on words but didn't find it worthy of a courtesy laugh or smile. Perhaps my humor bone was build to respond to different frequencies, I dunno.

Over the years, I have branched out from broken jaw comedy to lets be mean comedy. There is nothing more successfully funny then a well crafted insult. David Sedaris () is the best at it, I think, but there are others that are excellent as well, like Stephen King (my current writer crush). For comedians, it is hands down Lewis Black. I wanna fuck him he is so funny. Are there more? Yes, but I really don't want to waste our collective time going over all of them.

To recap: any kind of pain, be it emotional or physical, that you can inflict on someone else will be funny. Always.


"Follow the Leader: Journal Edition "  lead entry "every bed you ameliorate"  written by ~j
 

"Do you know what lawyers think about the people that show up for jury duty?" My aunt the judge asked.

I shrugged.

"That they're too stupid to get out of jury duty."

I've never gotten along with my aunt and have always been thankful that the cold blood that runs through her veins doesn't running through mine. (Come to think of it, she does look kinda scaly too. Thank God I inherited Grandma's soft skin! ) Whenever she deigned to show up for a family function, she was inclined to complain about "the help". This really upset my sister, who I believe idolized the woman of accomplishment. Although hearing about how incompetent the latest maid was and how taxing it was to now have to learn Spanish to get anything done properly didn't make me wanna buy her a shiny Christmas gift, it paled in comparison to how I felt about her after what she did to Roger.

Roger was fun, cute, friendly, and great for cuddling. He was also their (my aunt and uncle) dog for many, many years. Within the next few years, he would probably need more attention, more allowances made for him. I'm speculating here because she gave him to some random family with a farm before their mountain house was sold. When I found out about this, I cried. That was the moment my heart turned sour towards her.

I have not seen my aunt in at least 6 years. It is funny to me that she resides in San Francisco, a city I have always thought had a conscience and a soul.

One day about 8 months back I tell my mother about a message on the machine. "Oh before I forget, your friend named Sylvia called. She wanted to know if you could help her brother out."

"My friend Sylvia? You mean your aunt Sylvia, right?"

I stop and think. "Yeah, I guess it could have been. Huh, so that's what she sounds like now..." To myself I thought, Wow, a problem she can't buy her way out of.

Looming on the horizon is another "problem" she isn't going to be able to buy her way out of, so far as I can tell. My uncle's heart health is deteriorating, I hope she doesn't try and find some nice family with a farm. Now, I am not that close to him, but he is family. As much as I would like to write him off as easily as I do her, I can't. We were cut from the same poorly dyed cloth; we deal with and are interested in so many of the same things: depression, photography, lightening, travel, suicide, San Francisco, arguing (he was a D.A.), passivism, heart condition, and art. In his distant way, he cares about me, and as a result, I can't help but care for him.

So it aggravation me to think of how my aunt must be towards him. I'd bet you any spare money I have that she was upset at him for turning gray, being out of breath, and having cardio issues on their cruise. I can see her now. "Bob, could you wait to have your heart attack until after we see the glacial formations. Bob. Bob?"

If I do nothing else with my life, I will try and have a care for her. I don't want to be like her accidentally.


"Follow the Leader: Journal Edition "  lead entry "Invalid Entry"  written by Sarah Rae
 

I've said things in public that have left me with stammering syllables and rosy cheeked. There have also been instances (very few of them) where I have been silenced and bleached because of what was said to me. Here are a few examples.

It is the last semester of my indentured scholastic servitude, aka high school, and I am contained in Spanish. All I want to do is sleep now and wake up graduated. My teacher, and varsity swim coach, Mr. Roberts tries to raise enthusiasm for another poorly constructed Spanish video demonstrating the language. An obstacle presents itself: chatty, apathetic students. Because of all their conversing, my peers didn't see the horror that was about to befall us.

"Fuck," I grunt to the suddenly silent classroom. No breath; rapid heart beat. Some eyes ventured a glance at me, but the only ones I was concerned with were Mr. Roberts's blue ones. I prepared to get shown the door, which is what always happened to the boys. With the room quieted, he simply popped in the tape and continued on with our schedule.


Fast forward some and I am in college, kinda. Some guy with a fascination with my long hair is showing up at the locations I frequent on campus. (Coincidence? Probably.) We would banter. I typically felt as though I won. One day Erika and I were headed to the bus and we happened to pass That Guy. He and I exchanged wit.

"Bite me," I said. One of my oh-so clever retorts in those days.

"Where?"

Wide eyed and brightly blushing, I said nothing. Was I thinking? Yes. I have an easily provoked imagination. I couldn't do enough begging and pleading to make the mental pictures stop and cause my voice to return. He walked away with a contented grin and I could do nothing to prevent it.

Travel further in time and I am working phone reservations for a casino. In order to make the confirmations understood, you are supposed to give the letters as names, like "L" as in Larry or "B" as in Barbara. As I often did during routine calls, I would let my brain go to that placid, blank place, leaving my mouth to function on auto-pilot.

"Are you ready for your confirmation?" I asked.

The male voice of about 40 indicated that he was.

"The letter S, as in Steve." I said.

"S..."

"K as in Kevin."

"K..."

"N as in naughty."

I heard a chuckle. Shit. What was my mind thinking? Where did I go when I spaced out? "Did you just say 'N as in naughty.'"

"Yes I did, sir. P as in Paul."

There was a substantial pause in which all kinds of scenarios played across my mind. As if his enjoyment of the silence subsided, he finally said, "P as in Paul."

I took a breath, followed quickly by another.

A few years after that possibly Freudian slip, I was in Las Vegas with my cousin and her girlfriend. The shoes I was wearing were cutting into my heels so bad I figured the fabric would be at the Achilles tendon within the hour. My cousin suggested we enter a store called The Walking Company. Sounded promising.

Wood floors, white walls, musky smell, and well displayed; they may have something I would wear. I began to look over the options. "Is there anything I can help you with?" asked the clerk, who sounded slightly like a New Yorker. If taller and less intense, he may have been cute.

I made eye contact, smiled and said, "No, thank you. I'm just looking." Its my standard issue reply.

"Okay. Just lemme know if you need anything."

I turned back to my potential shopping, removing him from my vision. Unbeknownst to me, he lingered on as I talked to my party about the footwear I liked and the ones that I thought were silly looking. During this moderately private conversation, I became attracted to this grey and teal number. Grabbing the display, I went to find the clerk so he could get it in my size, because 6 was not going to do it.

Lo and behold, he was practically my shadow. "Hi," I said startled.

"Yes!"

"Could I try these on in an 8 1/2 and 9, please?"

"Yes of course. I will be right back."

When he did come back he was caring 4 boxes. He placed them all before me as I sat in the sofa. "These are the ones you requested," he said. "These other two are ones I thought you might like."

How nice. He brought me 2 pairs of more expensive shoes. I raised my eyebrows and looked at the invader boxes.

"I'd heard you talk about them." He was off and running, telling me all the benefits of these other shoes I didn't want. Because he seemed as though he really wanted to help me find the perfect pair for me, I dutifully tried them on after trying on the ones I'd asked for. "See how they make walking easier? Really experience them. Walk around for a bit."

They did make walking much easier, and they were comfortable... but they were not for me. After several minutes with each shoe respectively, I took them off saying, 'No thank you.'

He took the unwanted ones away as I waited at the counter to be rung up. When he returned, I handed him the keepers and he began to process them. As I got my debit card out of my wallet, I noticed him take one of the shoes, bring it to his nose, and sniff.

Feeling heated, I blinked twice and took a step back.

"They smell like marshmallows," he said, offering me a whiff. My sweaty feet had been in those, I was not interested. I turned and looked over at the other clerk, who raised his eyebrows, rolled his eyes, and walked away. Thanks buddy. "Come on, they really do smell like them."

I oh-so-tentatively leaned toward the shoe and barely inhaled. Sure enough, it had a marshmallow-ish odor. "Yep, you're right." He seemed satisfied as he completed the transaction.

My comfortable new footwear could not get me out of that store fast enough.

*

Hope you all can find some material to work with here.



My leading entry for "Follow the Leader: Journal Edition " 
 

Words and I have a intriguing relationship. Not until high school was our interaction brought to my attention. Apparently, I would have my own version of a trendy word. For a while, it was "horrid". I was horrid; everything was horrid. Come on, it was high school after all. After horrid had lost its luster, I moved on the wretched. It seemed like a good move at the time.

Toward the end of my indentured scholastic servitude, I traded wretched for golden. Sure, there were other words that struck my fancy in between and after wretched and golden, but I didn't think they were important enough to store in my memory bank. Inside the stored data of my brain, I also needed to stash all the words I made up along with their definitions, which Erika provided.

Here, I will share some with you:

Loquocious
talking too much or freely of a unique, uncharacteristically intelligent topic or concept.

Ultimagnus
(1)decisive generosity from someone in power;(2) end decision made in a conclusive way

My dear students, you would do well to remember this brilliant quote of Mark Twain's about learning, "I never let school interfere with my education." Don't stop exploring, because language is not dead until we all are.

To keep your brain moving forward and load you up with homework, analyze these quotations from Jack Handy, one of my favorite philosophers and thinkers.

"Even though he was an enemy of mine, I had to admit that what he had accomplished was a brilliant piece of strategy. First, he punched me, then he kicked me, then he punched me again."

"If God dwells inside us, like some people say, I sure hope He likes enchiladas, because that's what He's getting!"

"I guess the hard thing for a lot of people to accept is why God would allow me to go running through their yards, yelling and spinning around."

"We tend to scoff at the beliefs of the ancients. But we can't scoff at them personally, to their faces, and this is what annoys me."

Dismissed.

"Follow the Leader: Journal Edition "  lead entry "Invalid Entry"  written by no home 'puter
 

Lil Johnny, what do you think you are turning into me? It can't be your midterm because it is on inappropriate paper. I specified college rule. Furthermore, it is stapled. How am I supposed to read this? With my eyes?! That's it, leave and take this pet cage lining with you!

I am a control freak, which my returning students, all two of them, can attest to. As a way of explaining and commenting on my condition, I am going to read what Wikipedia has to offer on the subject. My interjections can be considered testable material. Hope you write fast and accurately.

Control Freak
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

(Of course I care. I care very deeply. I only repeat myself because I assume you can't hear me, you silly joker. If it was done right the first time, I would not need to be repetitious. )

(So addictive... )

Making Love, Jenn.

In order to perk up this journal, I am going to make a list of all the things I would like to do before I inevitably meet my maker. These are in no particular order, so far as I can tell. Perhaps you have more insight than I, hehe.

1. Try New England Clam Chowder in NE. If I still hate it, there is no hope.
2. Spend the night in a known to be haunted place.
3. Name a star for Doug and one for me.
4. Sing on stage.
5. Learn to play the guitar that I have.
6. Swim with wild dolphins.
7. Reach healthy lifestyle.
8. Travel down the Danube (frequently stopping).
9. Visit South Africa.
10. Write more; write better.
11. Study and work in photography/film.
12. Skinny dip.
13. Go to Australia; learn yoga from my aunt; go nuts with my cousin.
14. Learn some kind of formal dance.
15. Add a last name to mine.
16. Scuba the great barrier reef.
17. Eat something that is still living.
18. Finish the book thing floating in my head.
19. Hear David Sedaris read one of his books or passages live. (I'm only slightly a fangirl. )
20. Walk barefoot in England, Ireland, and Scotland.
21. Learn German, the language of luv!
22. Get my 1969 VW Van running and travel in it.
23. Chase a storm; chill in the lightening belt.
24. Walk the Great Wall of China.
25. Finish reading the millions of books I have lying around.
26. Take one really, truly awesome shot.

One for every year I have lived so far and how many more I hope, I hope I still have left.

"Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well-preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside, totally worn out and proclaiming, 'WOW, WHAT A RIDE!!!'" -- Unknown


"Follow the Leader: Journal Edition "  lead entry "*I Dare"  written by Nikola

 

Emy's Note: I tried avoiding this blog idea for the last two entries. It seems to be getting yanked from my head anyway. Sorry.

Holidays. Days of Celebration. As a general rule, I am not a fan and here is why:

...Or Emy and Coping With Death

Ha.

There is not coping. For better or worse, I carry around those I have lost to disease, cancer and suicide in the most tender portion of my heart. I wish I didn't. In some cases it has been over 10 years since some of them passed and I can still burst into weeping sobs. This is not healthy, I know this. But I can't let go. Not of them. It could be said that I care too much, but I selfishly hold onto the memories of their smiles. I concentrate so hard to remember their laughs; I fail with some. Damn my bad memory.

As far as those that I love who are still living, I feel like I fall short. I don't tell them every chance I get that I love them, that I think of them and pray for them when I wake up and before I fall asleep. I take for granted that they know. I shouldn't. Saying I love you should not be that hard, but it is for me. If dared and in a good, playful mood, I could go up to any stranger on the street, give them an warm embrace, and tell them I love them just the way they are. But with those I cry for, those I care for, those I pray for, I have no words. Just a pain in my chest.

When it comes to my own mortality, I try desperately not to think of it. I am more productive that way.

I feel ill equipped to do justice to the leader's entry. Sorry.


"Follow the Leader: Journal Edition "  lead entry "This Fragile Existence"  written by Mark C
 

Hello my minions, I mean, pupils. At this early hour I would like to talk about a spiffy word. It is supernatural. Spooky sounding, huh? Lil Johnny, stop shaking. To the nurse with you if you cannot control yourself.

Where was I? Oh yes, supernatural. OooOOOooOoo. Unsettled now? Great!

According to dictionary.com there are five definitions for supernatural. I am intending to center my lecture around number 4-- "irrational fear of what is unknown or mysterious...".

Surely you have sat down to watch a movie with dark and creepy content. After the credits cue and you return to the real world, do you find that your eyes scan the room for figures? There shouldn't be anyone there. In fact, you know that there are no extra people lurking in wait. You know this because you are a smart, rational cookie. Eventually, you stop glancing around and focus on tangible things/people.

Me? No, I still look long after the credits have rolled. I would say it is because the stories are so immersing that I struggle to find my way out of the silver coated woods, but I would be lying... and lying is wrong.

Years ago, my best-friend Erika and I went through a horror movie watching spree. (We still do on occasion.) When I would leave to go home at around midnight, I would walk as quietly as possible through the apartment complex to my car. Before getting into my way home, I checked the back seat. I am not sure who I was expecting to see there. No Chucky ever leaped out with a kitchen knife and bad pun. On nights where I was extra wiggy, I would wait a few seconds to see if there was movement.

The most embarrassing moment of irrational fear for me was when I was nineteen (or there abouts). Erika and I had finished watching the first 'Nightmare on Elm Street' film at her parents place. It was dark, late, and we were the only ones home. I was feeling a little anxious, jittery even, like I'd just downed a liter of Coke. However, I was verbal (good sign) and we were discussing our impressions of Wes Craven's story. During the course of our dialog, I felt the results of nervous water drinking.

I went to get up to take the two steps across the hall to the bathroom. No lights on. Lots of black patches. What was that? On second thought, I could hold it.

"Just go," Erika said.

"I can't." I shook my head for added sincerity.

Erika didn't hide a small smile, grabbed my hand, and pulled me into the bathroom. "There. What's wrong?"

I could feel my belly glow yellow as I asked, "Could you check behind the curtain?"

Like a dutiful friend, she did.

Once alone in the bathroom, I still felt a bit antsy, but I managed to complete my business after peering in the toilet. Phew! No scaly, humanoid, sewer thing from The X-Files.

One of these days, I am going to watch something scary and not feel the need to cling to the closest warm body for support. Deep down I would like to think I am not falling for these creature feature and horror picture ploys, the shock and ah!, because I am gullible. (And yes, I know it is in the dictionary.) At the core, I love, love a good safe scare. Perhaps all my little unnecessary scares are a way of getting that good, cheap thrill.

Anyone got any good recommendations for the next fright night?

An answer will allow you to be dismissed.


"Follow the Leader: Journal Edition "  lead entry "Invalid Entry"  written by ShellySunshine
 

Dear Students,

I am sorry to disappoint since you made the long trek through the snow and up a rocky hill to my unheated classroom, but class as you know it has been canceled today. (Better luck next week lil Johnny.)

Dismissed,
--Emy



After reading the leading entry, I wanted to type out something related in my own humorous storytelling way. Instead, all I can think about is cruelty to animals. Yes, I realize that is not truly what it is about. Clearly, it is about an ill matched, dysfunctional quasi-couple of animals trying, poorly very poorly, to fit their worlds together with insufficient communication and listening skills.

"Oh my honey bear, what big teeth you have..."

"Better to eat your tail off, my kitty-kins. Hey, don't give the cat-butt treatment!"

I am sorry if that comes off a little mean, that is not how I meant it. My pathetic attempt at funny, Ladies and Gents! I'll be here all week. Try the steak. (There's a pill that makes it taste better! )

Anyway, I suppose what I am trying to avoid saying is the story had me in near tears. (Gravity could not claim them, but the salty drops were on the edge.) After thinking about it, I have come to two reasons why: the very thought of animals getting hurt and the defective love related situation. More the animal though.

If I wasn't feeling so raw about the subject because there is a dog next door chained up 24/7, I might be able to whip up some Silly Delight. Also, if Martin the Cat was not curled up next to me as I read, I might have been able to escape the clamped windpipe and such. These are just theories though, no way to really test them.

I am not saying that I regret reading the entry. It was a well written story... I'm just saying that the timing was wrong and I am sorry if my entry has suffered for it. Haha, I am surprisingly not very good with my words.

Sun is up. Time for my laps.


"Follow the Leader: Journal Edition "  lead entry "It's only your heart."  written by grim
 

Welcome my devoted and haggard students to a special lecture entitled, "It's Only Money". I can hear your taxed inner mantra now... 'Classes, it's only money. Books, it's only money. Parking, it's only monnneeyyyy!' Worry not!

As an instructor, I enthusiastically feel that funds spent on ones education are the best way to help the limp economy, the economy of the head that is. Don't despair, you are not blowing it. It just feels that way right now because you are constantly and selflessly putting out your energies with little immediate gratification in return. You will blossom in your own time. I promise.

I believe in you!

Back to the subject at hand: cost to benefit ratio.

This last April I had reached a breaking point with my hair. It went down past my waist, got tangled up in every breeze, stuck its strands where they didn't belong, and if put in a bun, would give me sneak-attack headaches. There was a clear solution. Unlike other carbon based parts, I can cut my problem away with out suffering any psychological damage. Hazzah!

So I went to my friend Katy the hair stylist (I suppose that is the proper term nowadays) and got the offending length removed, 24 inches of it. Because deep down I know my hair is kind and loving, I donated it, in three sections due to thickness, to Locks of Love, an organization that takes hair and makes wigs for cancer fighting kids.

Sometimes I wish I could be there to present the kids with a wig, either from my hair or someone else. (On second thought, I don't like to cry in public.) I guess deep down I wonder if my contribution really does any good, just like I wonder about the volumes of women's stockings the US Government had during WWII. Personally, I try to chalk this desire to being nosy and visual.

As I was getting my hair cut off this last time, I ran a scenario in my mind of randomly seeing a child with my hair on the street. Because, sure I am going to recognize my multi-tone blond hair as mine if I don't see it in the mirror. My hair and I are close, but its not like I name every individual hair.

"Come on Doris! Get with the program and stay off of my face. Do you want me to crash this car, because I will. Hey, Splitty, can you talk some sense into your buddy up there? Anymore sass and I am going to pull you out. To hell with the pain!"

Okay... that may not have proven my point as well as I had hoped, considering me being psycho was not the point.

Anyways.... To summarize: the price was free and at least four people are directly benefiting from my strained and turbulent relations with my hair. Now, I am no good with figures, but I would have to say that seems like quite the deal.

I kinda miss its companionship now. I will wait till after Summer to grow it out again. As much as I miss it, I dislike adding to my overheating.

Class dismissed.


"Follow the Leader: Journal Edition "  lead entry "Invalid Entry"  written by Melissa is fashionably late!
 

[V/O: Announcer]G'Day everyone and thanks for tuning in! We have a bloody beaut of a program in store for you! After months of waiting, our crew has managed to capture footage of the Emy outside of her natural environment! The Emy is usually found in the Southern California region of the U.S., but for the last several weeks she has been spotted and recorded in the woop woop town in Colorado. The following data is form field notes written on Jun 14, 2008. Hooroo!

11:30am: Emy woke up sometime before arvo. Not acting livid; looks rooted.

1pm: Started yoga.

1:30pm: Interupted. Goes to the store. No ankle biters, yay.

3:30pm-ish: Begins to read latest Sookie Stackhouse novel.

I don't know what time: eats again and reads some more.

I just pissed. Wasn't chartreuse. Infection is getti-

[V/O: Announcer]Sorry for that folks. It seems our editor had too much amber fluid last night and our reporter wanted to lair it up, hehe. Anyway, back to the doco.

8:00pm: Leaves safety of house via wooden and screened portal to do laps on school track. Woman has thrown a wobbly.

8:05pm: Starts to perform Aussie salute.

8:45pm: Does more yoga and meditates. Fruit loop.

10:00pm: Takes a shower. Seems rapt.

10:45pm: Savors dinner.

2am: Becomes a cactus.

[V/O: Announcer]Fair suck of the sav! Wasn't that aces, mate?!

Tune in next week to watch Emy search for heaps of woop woop boozers.

Cue sparrow fart.

Are we out? Good. That reporter is not worth a zack. What a dill! He's as smart as Dan Quayle the polly. *end of transmission*


"Follow the Leader: Journal Edition "  Bonus Prompt Entry
 

Consciousness fades from nothing to awareness. All you see is black. Against your skin you can dully feel your sheets and the weight of blankets. Rustling somewhere off to the right. Turn head. No. Heart begins to beat rapidly; lungs unevenly drag in air. Eyes open. No. Sound. Voice. No.

You are completely immobile from head to toe. Scared, stiff, and mute, a single warm tear slides down, finding stillness in your ear. Someone is in the room. You hear them. Did they do this to you? Why did they do this? What are they going to do with you?

Still, silent, and upset, you lie there motionless, praying, hoping that this will not be the state of your existence for the rest of your life, however long that may be. And then your pinkie moves. Slowly, agonizingly, you regain all your tactile senses only to discover your body is painfully resistant to change and you are alone.

You have now woken up by sleep paralysis as I often do.

According to wikipedia.org, Sleep paralysis is a common condition characterized by transient partial or total paralysis of skeletal muscles and areflexia that occurs upon awakening from sleep or less often while falling asleep. The paralysis can last from several seconds to several minutes "after which the individual may experience panic symptoms and the realization that the distorted perceptions were false".

As you can imagine, its not so much mornings in particular that I dislike waking up to, it is the transition from dream to real that I find the most taxing. It is very common for me to wake up exhausted, jittery, and afraid, needing a few minutes to adjust and trust my senses. Never has the phrase, "Its not you; its me" rung more truthfully.

... Or Emy and What Religion am I?

Okay kiddies, I will need you to present your waivers allowing you to be present as I bring up the controversial topic of religion. Oops, looks like lil Johnny forgot his. To the stalks with you! Don't give me that face expecting sympathy. Academia doesn't like whiny-babies!

Now that the ill-prepared one has left, lets get cracking, shall we. Lots to cover... Lots to cover.

When I was a little girl of five, I used to lie in my bed at night and talk to God. If lying supine didn't appeal to me and/or I needed some visual to focus on, I would sit by my window and have a conversation with God via the moon. Topics would range from issues with classmates to problems at home to difficulties comprehending shoe laces. (They're mind boggling to this day, unfortunately.) As a result, I find it hard to think of a time when I didn't believe in the existence of God and it is also difficult for me to rely on a church as a way to connect me to God.

Even when I got into my preteens and teens and had to begin to cope with grieving and abandoning, I always felt like God was there, this patient, calm force waiting in the wings whenever I couldn't handle it alone. Because of God's constant presence in my life, God also got the brunt of my anger, which was scorching to say the least. One time I was so upset about things beyond my control, things I believed were completely within God's reach, that I shouted, "If you're not going to help me, fine. I will just stop believing in you then!"

Very mature of me, I know, and rather funny if you take into account that I contemplated being a nun until I graduated high school. Our relationship having weathered my moody, hexing and vexing adolescences, God and I are good now; me and religion, not so much.

I don't need a religion or a church to get spiritually high, I never have. That being said, I have wanted to commune with others that are in a similar spiritual niche, but wanting and gaining are to very different horses. In my home town, I have tried several Christian-ish churches in my area, and none of them were able to keep me coming back for over a year. I usually scat about the time they preach something I am staunchly against hearing about in church, like political views, animals are soulless, and you're going to hell if...

Sometimes I wish (and I have even pray) that God would take away my desire to be a part of a spiritual community. Unfortunately, I have encountered some church goers that have made me reconsider my desire to attend service/mass, but that would be for another entry, dear students. As a result, I am a Christian who chooses not to affiliate herself with any one organization and I feel the poorer for it.

Since I carry these feelings of displaced Christian, I often find myself taking online quizzes, seeing if they are able to point out some unnoticed stone. Amusingly, I am categorized as Buddhist and never Christian. That is until I took a quiz with the Belief-O-Matic (http://www.beliefnet.com/story/76/story_7665_1.html)

For the vary first time, I came out as a Christian, well a Quaker really. Perhaps this new avenue will shed some holy-moly light upon me. God knows I could use it.

Class dismissed.

Oops, forgot about lil Johnny...



"Follow the Leader: Journal Edition "  lead entry "halo in reverse"  written by Wendopolis
 

...Or EMY and Stephen Lynch

Okay students, please take your seats. Today, we are going to start class with a bit of a history lesson. Got your imagination bags packed and your eyes closed? Great!

Millions and millions of years ago when you were merely a twinkle in God's hypothetical eye, your ancestors used the newly invented wheel to transport them to markets where music was sold. Shocking, little Johnny, I know.

You see kids, there was a time when one could not easily and illegally obtain songs off of the internet. Trekking and people skills were involved. It was wretched. Your Forefathers and Foremothers struggled through horrific traffic conditions so that all you have to do now is make a few clicks with your highly developed opposable thumb and you are in audio heaven.

It may be hard for you to picture because of how fabulous I look, but I, yes I, was one of those poor unfortunate souls, pained to spend my hard earned money on a CD-- something shiny and flat that we don't use anymore where Coveted music was stored. The old, inferior custom was to spend blood, sweat, and tears purchasing a CD, which would hold about 15 songs on it. You'd race home, pop it in your playing device for listening enjoyment.

That euphoria was typically short lived, because there was usually only one good song on the CD. Can we say rip-off, kids?

However, this was not the case with a Mr. Stephen Lynch's CD, 'A Little Bit Special'. His beautiful, angelic voice sang true with every track about hermaphrodites, erotomania, pedophilia, and Jim Henson. Songs that spoke directly to the questionable state of my heart. Finally, an audio artist to be counted on!

Since the days of attempting clairvoyance in order to figure out if you were leaving the music store with a winner, Mr. Lynch has added to his educational body of work. By listening to his songs, you can learn about being a superhero, like Awesome Man or Immigration Dude. But, Lynch's songs are not all about pushing comfort boundaries. There are many that explore the complexities of human relationships like 'Gay', 'You Caught Me Spankin' It', and 'In Defense Of A Peepshow Girl'.

No song will get the tears flowing quite like, 'Tiny Little Mustache'. Would you not have a strong reaction if you found out that your girlfriend of 5 years was a Nazi? I shall read you a passage so that you may connect with his personal and deep pain:

... Or EMY and the Co-Worker

Over a year ago I worked for a casino doing hotel and spa reservations for guests that called in between the hours of 6am and 1am. Because of my night owlish tendencies, I easily fell into the undesirable closing slot, which meant I would be working with Yolanda most nights. If you think that drunks and gamblers calling needing a comped (free) room at 11pm were the highlight of my shift, you would be wrong, my students.

"Yeah, that's right! You better hang up bitch!" Yolanda spat into what I hoped was a dead telephone line.

Tilting my head down and hunching toward my computer screen, I tried to provide adequate customer service to the elderly lady on the other end of my phone line. "That room comes with two beds... No, I can't guarantee a room near the elevator, that will be established when you check in, Ma'am."

"I need to wiz," Yolanda proclaimed to me and Yvonne, the supervisor on duty and long time friend of Yolanda. In all my years since working there, I have never heard someone get up from a desk and leave as loudly as Yolanda used to.

And that, my pupils, was a typical work night with Miss Yolanda. Personally, I have been at jobs that I hated, that just showing up for manifested as knots all over my back; however, I never behaved in such a way that begged, pleaded for me to be fired on the spot. I can't tell you how many times she ate nachos while booking a reservation or how many times she staggered, reckless and disheveled in appearance, into our office. And don't even get me started on her farts! The matches she would light to cover the oh-dear didn't mask shit, lemme tell ya.

For all her slovenly and outrageous conduct, I know that she acted her way because of her need to be tough. Whenever we weren't talking about the latest guy she accidentally had an affair with while her husband was incarcerated for drugs dealings, she would open up in true Yolanda fashion.

"No, you don't get it," she said in an abrasive and clarifying tone. Oh, but I did get it. "I made her cry. I just tore her up. I called her a bitch, a whore, a cunt. I didn't even have to hit her or anything. She totally broke down."

"I understand what you are saying," I began tentatively. "I was just saying that there are worse things to get people to do then cry. As long as you don't care about he feelings of another, getting them to cry is easy."

I wasn't trying to belittle her achievement, really. Heck, it is terribly easy to get me to show tears. When I am frustrated, I cry, and that has nothing to do with hurt feelings. When I see a sad (to me) movie, I have even been known to sob openly. As far as being insulted though, that rarely (if ever) has made me wet my cheeks. But then again, I am a bit of an abnormality.

Yolanda had a perplexed look on her face. "What do mean?"

My eyes contacted hers as I placidly stated, "Making someone feel badly enough about themselves that they try to hurt or kill themselves. That would be worse."

After that conversation, Yolanda chose to sit farther away from me. I guess we never reached a point in our working relationship with one another that could develop mutual understanding. Oh well.

Class, you are dismissed.


"Follow the Leader: Journal Edition "  lead entry "mine and only mine"  written by mood indigo

 

Courtesy of my cousin The Fabulous Kay =D

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BUCKET LIST
Hit forward and place an (x) by all the things you've done and remove the
(x) from the ones you have not. Then send it to your friends (including me).
This is for your entire life!
1. () Been to Europe
2. () Been on a cruise
3. (x) Been on a blind date
4. (x) Skipped school
5. () Watched someone die
6. () Been to Canada
7. () Been madly in love
8. () Experimented with psychedelic substances
9. (x) Been on a plane
10. (x) Been lost
11. (x) Been on the opposite side of the country
12. (x) Gone to Washington , DC
13. (x) Been to Vegas
14. () Climbed a lighthouse
15. (x) Swam in the ocean
16. (x) Cried yourself to sleep
17. () Seen the Cherry Blossoms in Washington , D.C.
18. () Played cops and robbers---LITERALLY!!! Ha!
19. ()Flown a plane
20. () Owned a boat
21. () Watched grandchildren grow (watching)
22.. () Recently colored with crayons
23. () Been to the Kentucky Derby
24. () Been to Key West
25. () Been to a rodeo
26. (x) Sang Karaoke
27. () Paid for a meal with coins only?
28. (x) Done something you told yourself you wouldn't?
29. () Made prank phone calls.
30.. (x) Laughed until some kind of beverage came out of your nose.
31. (x) Caught a snowflake on your tongue
32. (x) Danced in the rain
33. () Written a letter to Santa Claus
34. (x) Been kissed under the mistletoe
35.. (x) Watched the sunrise with someone
36. () Seen the green flash at sunset
37.. (x) Blown bubbles
38. (x) Gone ice-skating
39. (x) Gone to the movies
40. () Owned a convertible
1. Any nickname? Mel, Mouse, Mela, OGNNBPO
2. Mother's name? Dianna
3. Body Piercing? Ears are the only ones that have lasted.
4. How much do you love your job? Not as much as I wish I did.
5. Birthplace? N.C.
6. Ever been to Hawaii? No, but I would like to ski there.
7. Ever been to Africa ? Not yet.
8. Ever eaten just cookies for dinner? Not that I remember, but I am sure I have.
9. Ever been on TV? If I was, I was not aware of it.
10. Ever steal any traffic sign? Haha, no.
11. Ever been in a car accident? Yes.
12.. Drive a 2-door or 4-door vehicle? Yes to both.
13. Favorite number? 3.
14. Favorite movie? At this very specific moment in time, I love 'Airplane', 'Young Frankenstein', and 'Dr. Horrible's Sing-A-Long Blog'.
15. Favorite Holiday ? Halloween.
16. Favorite Dessert? Chocolate covered cherries.
17. Favorite food? Burritos... as of this moment. Wait, I know. Cheese. Cheese is my favorite food.
18. Favorite day of the week? Well, it ain't Wednesday.
19. Favorite brand of body wash? I don't use body wash. Admitting this makes me feel unsanitary.
20. Favorite smell? Salty ocean, just before it rains, jasmine, my grandma's house.
21. How do you relax? I don't relax. I go straight to pass out. I try to meditate though... hehe.
22. How do you see yourself in 10 years? I don't.
23. Furthest place you will send this message? I dunno, where ever the internet goes... deep into outer space perhaps?