One more thg.

I will be going to Charleston for a few days, so I may or may not update for a wk. or so. Which means you all will have plenty of time to lv. comments and sign the guestbook. haha... No, really, I was just letting y'all know b/c this past wk. while I was in VA, I rcvd. a phone call fr. a long-time reader, first time (in months) caller telling me I needed to update my blog. Well, not all of us have jobs that interfere w/vacation time and provide lots of boredom and Internet access. I do hope you will power through my brief absence as best you can. My entries have become almost numerous at this point, so if you ration yourself, you should be able to make it through just fine. (haha)

And if anyone wants to fly into Charleston to enjoy our weather in the mid-70s (that's upper teens, low 20s for you metric folk) and stay at my pseudo-family's house at the beach, pls. do so. Perhaps those currently living in a sub-arctic island nation who have their eye on a certain hot friend of mine? I'm just sayin'...She'll be at my party. And we're supposed to go for tea. So, ya know...

My blog's equivalent of the "Come to Jesus" talk

Do y'all know what that is? No, I am not proselytizing, although the origins of the phrase (obviously) come from such a mission. Like when you go to a tent revival (I really hope you know what that is -- see Mark Twain if not, you illiterate bastards) and the preacher gets everyone all worked up abt. how sinful the world is and how sinful we all are and how the only way to escape an eternity of hellfire and damnation is to Come to Jesus. This generally involves some sort of monetary donation, as well as a good bit of hand waving, ecstatic (but not pervy) moaning, and a general praisin' of tha Lawd.

Now, I am not asking for your money (today), but I am asking you to go beyond merely reading the blog and to start making it interactive. Leave some bob-damned comments, ppl (please). Sign my guestbook (you can have fun picking your flag!). And I'm not saying the consequences of disobedience will be eternal hellfire and damnation, but I am a creative girl. I'll come up w/smthg. It may even be better than that old song and dance.

So Come to Jules. Show off your wit and wealth of esoterica by lvng. a little comment once in a while. I know you're reading. You all like to tell me that you're reading, or that that one story abt. how I made an ass of myself was funny, or that reading my blog saves you the guilt of not responding to an email (ahem, Benjamin), but ya know what? Everyone thinks I'm making that up b/c the only ppl. lvng. comments are Daniel, Mar, and, um, myself. So help me prove that I do know more than three ppl. including myself and reassure me that I am not in the beginning stages of crazy, lonely cat lady (it's too soon!) and lv. some love. Hand waving, moaning, and Lawd-praising optional, donations appreciated.

And for the record, a tent revival came a few yrs. ago to the nutcracker of a town I am currently living in and although I DID NOT go, I was sorely tempted. Not b/c I feel the need to Come to Jesus, but just b/c that would have been one hell of a show.

A contagion of stupidity

The other night I decided that I had spent far too much time stuffing my face and sitting on my ass (no, I was not worried that I might be getting "fat", I was simply concerned that my lungs would no longer be able to process fresh air and that my heart would seize up the next time I walked the 10 ft. to my mailbox if preventive measures were not taken), so I went for a run. The suburban South has a long history of anitpathy toward sidewalks. Perhaps this is b/c the South is still somewhat put out that it had to give up its plantations and slave labor in favor of carpetbagging yuppies and paid Mexican workers and so it attempts to cling to its not-so-distant rural past by forcing everyone on foot to trudge down poorly-maintained thoroughfares, dodging erratic traffic all the way.

At any rate, when my grandmother came to visit my mom, my brother, and me after my mom bought our first house in the more upscale town close to the shithole I currently call my mailing address, she was thrilled that my mom had managed to beat the family predictions of failure and do smthg. pretty well on her own despite that whole pregnant-at-18 thg. Nan was, however, quite dismayed at the lack of sidewalks, exclaiming, "But, Kim, where are the children supposed to walk?!" heh. I managed the hazards of suburban street recreation until I was 12 and moved to MD, where even my ghetto-ass neighborhood had sidewalks, or concrete pussy paths, as I like to call them.

But now I'm back in the almost-boondocks of GA, so naturally there are no sidewalks. Of course, in this town, there's not a whole lot of need for them since everyone is too fat and lazy to actually get out of their La-Z-Boy (R) and walk anywhere, so you can almost understand this particular oversight in city planning. Anyhow, when I go running here, I obviously have to run in the street due to the lack of sidewalks, combined w/a population that interprets its private property rights strictly and its right to bear arms freely. The other night I decided to vary my usual route and jogged through parts of my neighborhood I had not yet explored. At one point, I came to a road that is somewhat busier than the rest of the neighborhood and became quite anxious after having to dodge numerous cars who had no compunction abt. grazing me w/their side mirrors. I was already running in the bob-damned gutter, what the hell else did they want fr. me?! It was then that I happened to look at the other side of the street and was shocked to see...a sidewalk. An honest-to-God sidewalk. So I scurried across the road as quickly as I could and enjoyed approximately 50 ft. of road safety before it abruptly ended and I was once again left w/o an appropriate path. But I realized that b/c I have become so accustomed to dumb shit like no sidewalks, I don't even notice and utilize thgs. that are actually smart and make sense. A litte unsettling, really.

And I'm telling you all right now, I don't want any snide comments fr. ppl. above VA and west of the Mississippi relating this to the South and any stereotypes you might choose to employ (you know who you are). I'm allowed to talk smack b/c I'm fr. the South and I love it, flaws and all. The rest of you will be vaporized by my look of death I will telepathically send your way if you attempt to follow suit. Comments impugning my intelligence are perfectly acceptable and probably warranted, given the nature of most of my posts.

Moving on to smthg. else of a slightly stupid nature, Steve comes home in a few days. This is a relief b/c I do love Steve (in much the same way as I love the South) and it will be a relief to have him out of Iraq, but already trouble is brewing on the horizon and he isn't even in the country yet. In addition to the usual ho-related nonsense, there is also a blossoming drama relating to Steve wanting Eli to allow a (mercifully male) friend of his to live in our house for a few mos. until he gets out of the Army and goes home. Please bear in mind that while our new house is larger than their previous residences, it is by no means large and we are already going to have four ppl. living in three bedrooms and 1500 square ft. Maybe it's the Mexican in him, or maybe it's just that he's insane, but Steve thinks it would be a good idea to add another person to this, plus whatever floozy he has sleeping w/him any given night of the wk. It's really not the best idea, but usually what would happen is Eli would say no, Steve would plead and pester for a few days, Eli would say no, Steve would persist, and eventually Eli would say yes, now shut the fuck up, which is fine w/Steve, since it means he gets his way.

This time, however, it is really not a good idea for Steve to attempt that tried and true method. B/C this time Eli is in the midst of a serious (and not totally unreasonable) freak out and would probably like to knife someone as a cathartic release. And that person will be Steve if he continues to push Eli abt. this. I told Steve that he really needed to take up the issue w/Eli himself (rather than trying to go through me), but I had a brief, vague conversation w/Eli abt. Steve's request that went smthg. like this:

Eli: So what does Steve want to talk to me abt.?

Jules: He has a favor to ask you and I told him that he would probably have more luck discussing it w/you himself than having me do it b/c you're not esp. happy w/me these days.

Eli: Well, the only favor Steve ever wants fr. me is to ask for money.

Jules: Nah, despite spending a small fortune on Christmas presents for himself, I think Steve has ample funds. This is smthg. else that he put forward once before.

Eli: HE WANTS A FUCKING OTHER ROOMMATE, DOESN'T HE??

Jules: ....Uh, yeah.

Eli: No. [slight incredulous sputtering] No.

This is going to end one of two ways: Either Steve will nag Eli until he gives in and/or he'll pull a fast one and have Joe move in before Eli gets home, in which case I will be sharing a rather small house w/four other ppl., one of whom is a complete stranger, *and* Eli will use this event to stoke his barely-contained, simmering-just-under-the-surface rage and will probably die of a stroke and/or snap someone's neck. Alternatively, Eli will remain steadfast in his refusal and Steve will pout, rant, extort, and complain incessantly, until I snap someone's neck. In any event, someone is likely going to be dead in the next six mos. and I'm sort of hoping it will be me. (Not really -- calm down.)

Anyone want to come visit? Also, a betting pool is completely appropriate in this case. Just remember, I get 10% of the winner's earnings for pain and suffering.

If I don't eat again soon, I might actually remember what it feels like to be hungry.

Which would be quite a change fr. the last few days. So Much Food. And at least as much alcohol. My body seems to be adjusting to this pattern of behavior disconcertingly well. Perhaps I really was meant to be a permadrunk socialite. heh.

Anyhow, am enjoying a v. merry holiday season away fr. my family, which probably explains why I'm having such a good time. I felt a couple twinges of guilt yesterday and the day before, but I worked through it and am now firmly relieved. Highlights have included nearly being kicked out church due to the incorrigible Dougie (Anne's oft-drunk socialite aunt), waking up fr. my post-Christmas bkfst. nap to find Grandaddy Frank moving in for the wakeup kiss (really not as creepy as it sounds), and managing to consume two glasses of the Myers family eggnog (apparently they don't want you to be able to remember Christmas -- haha!). Will write more when I get back to Ft. Stewpid on the 27th, but must now run along for Day After Christmas breakfast and Bloody Mary. Oh, yes, the fun just keeps coming. mmmm....

Please note...

...two new improvements, er, changes to the blog:

1) I finally corrected the paragraph spacing problem, which will, in theory, assist in making the blog more reader-friendly. Or that is the hope anyhow.

2) There is now a guestbook just below the link to my wholly uninformative and useless profile. Give it some love and sign in.

That is all.

Observe, the cosmic tendency toward balance.

Supposedly our universe is progressing toward ever-increasing chaos. Well, that may be true for the physical macrocosm (I actually don't have a firm enough grasp on physics [or any other scientific discipline for that matter] to argue that point, so I'll just let it go), but in the realm of thgs. more ethereal, I think the evidence clearly indicates a trend toward equilibrium. This would fall in line w/a basic spiritual application of Newton's third law of motion: For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. To illustrate this hypothesis, let's examine the last few wks. of my life, starting w/my fantastic trip to Scotland. As chronicled in the entry relating to that wk., thgs. were overwhelmingly fabulous for that period of time. (Though if I felt like spending more time boring you to death belaboring my point, I could highlight the various moments *w/in* that generally good wk. that further demonstrate my point abt. how nothg. good or bad can happen w/o the opposite occurring as well. I'll lv. that to you, my clever friends, in case you get stuck in traffic or a similarly dull situation and need smthg. to mull over to fill time. [haha]) This utterly amazing wk. abroad was quickly followed by a miserable wk. of make-up tests, finals, and three ulcer-inducing days of worrying abt. whether or not my new career plan had been totally destroyed. This, in turn, was followed by the euphoria of discovering all was NOT lost (quite the opposite, really) and remembering that I had a whole bottle of Grey Goose in my liquor cabinet. I then had a pretty neutral wk. of cleaning, knitting, and lazing, which culminated in an AWESOME w/e in Charleston: After getting a super-hot haircut and hanging out at my old place of business where I was flattered and nearly cajoled into coming back, I went home to an evening w/the adopted 'rents, who spoiled me and let me do excessive amts. of laundry. The next night I *finally* got to go to a med school post-test party, where I was able to hang out w/two of my foxy fivers and their new (and old) foxy friends. I was esp. gratified when I accidentally-on-purpose started a little drama b/t Christy's loser ex and his current 'cum dumpster' girlfriend (his words, not mine!). Who knew simply being female and talking to that chump for 15 secs. abt. how we met when he was dating my friend would set his vapid little ferret off like that?! (Okay, so I had heard numerous stories to that effect -- hee hee...) Capped off the night shakin' my ass for two hrs. at Trio, where in addition to having a booty-droppin' good time w/my girls and our adorable male escorts (friends of Christy's, totally innocent), I was pleased to note in my reflection on the mirror running along the back wall of the club that my teeth glowed in the black light. Not in that scary Ross-from-Friends sort of way, but just enough to let me know that my hrs. of dental hygeine are in fact worth it. haha! The next night was a day of shopping w/Jill, followed by Christy's holiday party, which was unquestionably the most delicious social event I have attended all yr. I was able to catch up w/friends I do not see often enough and I got to witness the adorable hilarity that is drunken Brenton (Christy's younger brother). Truly, a fab-o evening.

However, the merriment was somewhat undercut by a reminder that thgs. cannot go well forever. During the party, I learned that one of my good friends fr. HS had been killed in a car accident the night before, along w/his sister. Ben was one of v. few ppl. I met during my brief (but still too-long) sojourn at Lexington HS who didn't make me want to run away screaming. He was hands down one of the nicest, most genuine ppl. I have ever known. He was also funny, clever, sensitive, creative, and a freaking genius. Oh, and he was totally hot. But he didn't know that and he also didn't know that he was pretty much one of the best ppl. in that school, or in the wider world for that matter. He was completely approachable, w/the biggest, most disarming smile and a laugh that was almost as loud as mine. I was always so happy to see him in the hallways or in class. Unfortunately, we lost touch shortly after I left Lexington, but I kept tabs on him periodically through mutual friends and kept the emails he had sent when we were in HS together. A few mos. ago I decided to write him to see what the heck he was up to and to let him know that I still thought of him as one the thgs. that made my time at Lexington not a totally unbearable experience. But I didn't. I kept forgetting or putting it off and meaning to do it... Until finally because I squandered my time like an idiot, I had to find out fr. his obituary that he had become an engineer (holy cow!) and was working at a firm in Columbia. I could easily have seen him any number of times in the last few mos. when I was up there visiting my mom and Chester if I had taken even five mins. to write him and just say, "what's up, bee-yotch?" [He would have laughed at that.] I feel indescribably stupid. It's not as if I didn't know that anythg. can happen and you shouldn't put thgs. off b/c you never know, blahdy blahdy blah. And yet, I am now sitting here sobbing looking at Ben's HS yearbook photo, re-reading the newspaper article abt. the accident, and wondering how on earth I can write his parents to say how amazing their son was and that I am so very, very sorry for their loss (which is doubly hard since they lost both of their children -- how do you even begin to sympathize with that much pain?) when I feel like such a total asshole for not telling *him* how great he was when I had so many chances to do so. The extent of my grief (and tear-induced snot) is incomprehensible to me, given my unfortunate lack of contact w/Ben over the last few yrs., but is perhaps exacerbated by that very same factor. I do not believe I have ever wished so badly I could change one thg. And thus, further evidence to support my not terribly original supposition that it is not possible for thgs. to go right w/o smthg. also going wrong.

B/C I am almost physically incapable of remaining serious for too long (and b/c I may suffocate on my own mucous if I keep crying like this), I'll close w/this little anecdote: I ventured forth into holiday traffic today to get another power cord for Eli's computer and was rewarded by one of the funniest sights ever. I was turning right onto a road just as a little silver convertible VW bug was coming to a stop on said road. The driver of this tiny little car was one of THE FATTEST women I have *ever* seen, and that's saying a lot, given the plethora of lard-fed fatties in this town. This woman was so big I honestly had to wonder how she was able to steer the car b/c there was no space b/t her torso and the steering wheel. If she ever puts the top down, it would probably be a hazard to nearby drivers b/c her ponderous amts. of flub would surely overflow the confines of that tiny vehicle the instant it had room to do so and would dangerously reduce the visibility of all drivers w/in 20 ft. of her. Wow. Ya know, some of you will think me cruel to write that abt. someone I saw only briefly or will think that I am again falling victim to my predilection for hyperbole, but, no. Seriously. She was *that* big. ...And to all a good night!

Eli, I hope you're actually reading my blog...

...b/c this entry is totally for you. I got my grades back today and it seems that somehow I managed to pull yet another academic miracle out of my ass. I got an *A* in Chemistry (I didn't even finish the final!!), an A in my Physics lab (not much of a feat, considering the monkeys that were in there w/me all got Bs and did v. little of the v. little required work), and a B in Physics. The B is somewhat bittersweet, given the fact that I made As on all of the tests before the final and had I allowed even 15 more mins. of study time, I probably could have kept my A, but ya know what, I'm over it. Two As and a freaking B when I was pretty well convinced that my finals were going to produce grades that would prohibit me fr. even applying to med school -- I'll take that shit. (And apparently I will stop using the English language in a coherent and correct way -- this entry is awful!) The part of particular relevance to you, Eli, is as follows, and I want you to remember this next time you start your erroneous argument that I can never let you be right: I am saying in writing now available in the public domain that you, Eli, were right abt. my final grades and I, jules, was wrong. YOU WERE RIGHT. ;) (Love you!)

An attempt at brevity (sorry -- it didn't work out)

As you all know, being concise is not really one of my strengths, but I'm going to give it the ol' college try here b/c I don't see how it would be possible for me to remember, compose, and type everythg. that has happened since my last entry. In an effort to facilitate my attempt at an organized, abbreviated entry, I will use a numbering format. Unfortunately, this will do v. little to give the entry an organized, abbreviated appearance, as I still have not figured how to make this thg. recognize when I want to put a space b/t paragraphs. Yes, my blog is smarter than me. I've accepted this, you should, too. Moving on to the Top 10 (or 12 or 6, I really don't know yet):

1) I am officially a Master of Letters. Whereas most receive this designation at around age 4, it took me 23 yrs., an exorbitant amt. of tuition money, and a full 12 mos. of cranial torture to achieve this. Go tit! [That will be funny to those who are familiar w/Frang.] Naturally, I could not simply mark this occasion w/a lovely trip to Scotland, a similar sidetrip to England, and a respectable showing at the graduation ceremony. No, instead, I successfully carried out the first two and then opted to make an ass of myself at the critical moment. Actually, 'opted' implies some sort of conscious decision or control over the situation on my part, which is not correct. Recently I have become aware that, despite my best intentions and yrs. of rehearsing for real life in my bedroom and in my head, I am rather more of a jackass than I would prefer. The following is a handy illustration of this unfortunate revelation: In the 600 y.o. ceremony still in use at St. A's, one is meant to walk across the stage, hand off one's hood to the waiting porter, kneel at what appears to be the Altar of Knowledge in front of the Chancellor, wait while he mutters in Latin and taps you on the head w/a piece of cloth that is somehow affiliated w/John Knox's underpants, bask in the knowledge that you are officially 'smart' while the porter places your hood over your head, stand up, bow/curtsy to the Chancellor, and exit the stage w/a confident step, knowing that you are now able to look down on all others who have not been granted the privelege of graduating fr. St. A's (except for those who graduated fr. Oxbridge). Instead, I completed the first four steps well enough, but then got nervous b/c I couldn't tell if the Chancellor was done (since, ya know, I don't speak Latin and I wasn't paying enough attn. to catch what he was reciting). Realizing that he was, indeed, finished speaking, I began to get up, only to be reminded by the rustle of cheap polyester at my ear that the porter had not yet behooden me, causing me to hastily resume my penitent posture in front of the Chancellor. I was so thrown off by this unfortunate occurrence that when I stood up after the porter was finished, I started to simply walk away, forgetting to bow/curtsy to the Chancellor. Belatedly remembering procedure (when it would probably have been better to just walk away), I halted, half-turned, made an awkward bob rather than my intended curtsy, said, "thank you," (UM?) and walked away w/somewhat less than a confident step. I did manage to exit the stage through the appropriate door, which is more than I can say for at least two in my acquaintance (hee hee...), but all in all, it was quite distressing and painful, both to experience and to behold. After the ceremony, I said to Ben (quite upset, naturally), "But I've been practicing my curtsy since I was six yrs. old and the one time I have a real reason to do it, I fuck it up!!", followed by a demonstration of a proper curtsy (which I *can* do!). To which Ben, in typically posh, English form replied, "Oh, is that what you were trying to do?" And that pretty well sums it up. (Aw, I heart Ben!)

2) I cannot possibly recount all of the wonderfully funny/poignant/drunken/happy moments I had during my too-brief return to Scotland, but I felt I should acknowledge them somehow herein, so here it is, my blanket what-a-fabulous time statement: Scotland is the only place to which I can fly and feel as if I am returning home. While I am sure that the natural beauty and charm of that country have a great deal to do w/this sentiment, I also know beyond a doubt that had it not been for the many ppl. who made up my hodgepodge family-away-from-home who were often the only thgs. keeping me sane and -- through it all -- *happy*, I would not feel so warmly toward that country, or abt. my post-grad experience generally. Seeing (most of) you all over that wk. was hands down the highlight of my yr., and will probably be eclipsed in the next 12 mos. only by Eli's homecoming. And only if that involves fireworks. hahaha... Kidding, of course, but, seriously, I love you all dearly and the only way our visit could have been better is if it had been longer. I am still lobbying for all of to buy a house and live together forever -- perhaps the one nr. Creightoun? (But only if Easy Access Olley and BackdoorMan Eamonn work together to demolish that unfortunate addition on the back.) ;)

3) I got into a *slight* verbal altercation w/a shitty rent-a-cop security guard while going through Newark on my way back to Georgia and nearly got arrested. Given this most recent incident and similar such happenings in the past -- all involving ppl. who personify the Southern stereotype of "Yankee" -- I have determined that it would be in my best interest to make a real effort to avoid that airport in the future, esp. when travelling internationally. Unfortunately, until I have a job that pays more than $7/hr. (or shit, until I get any job at all), I will have to travel as inexpensively as possible and this in many cases means passing through Newark. I can only hope that the next time I am forced to deal w/those fuckwits, I will have the self-control and deep breathing needed to hold my tongue w/o spontaneously combusting. Perhaps yoga would help?

4) I saw my friend Kristin after arriving back in the US. For those who do not know, Kristin lived in the same building as me while I was in St. A's and formed an integral part of the Angus House Krew until she was in a devastating accident in March. When I left Scotland in June, she was still unconscious, but was showing signs of improvement (trust me, when you've seen someone lay completely still for wks., every muscle jerk and eye flutter is a blessing for which you are thankful). Happily, Kristin recently regained full consciousness and is now working on recovering, physically and otherwise. She did not remember me or most of the ppl. she knew in St. A's (but she remembered you, Eamonn and perhaps Olley!), and she cannot currently hear or speak. But she can type, so we chatted via keyboard for a couple of hrs. Those who know Kristin and are interested in a detailed update, call/IM/email me. The report is generally good (sentence structure and spelling were quite good and at a level one would expect fr. a person w/her educational background), but she, of course, has a long way to go (in addition to the hearing and memory problems, she is having some trouble using her right leg and her left arm, the latter difficulty being due to insufficient care immediately following her accident -- thanks, Ninewells). She was v. happy to see me, is looking forward to a visit next month fr. our friend Jon, and I sincerely believe she will continue to improve. But while I was w/her I could not help but miss the Kristin we once knew and wonder whether or not she would return to us. And I had to wonder if the silence that prevails in her room when no one is w/her ever moves her family to tears not unlike those we, her other family, shed when watching her sleep in silence all those months ago.

5) Finals sucked, I get my grades back tomorrow, I have never in my life been so distressed regarding an academic performance, and that is saying a lot considering that I spent most of the 2004-2005 school yr. being made to increasingly believe that I was an idiot. That's all I want to say abt. that, but I'll find out for sure tomorrow whether or not my gut feeling is correct. Oh, no, one more thg.: To make this all hurt just that little extra bit more, my Physics prof told me that I had the highest grade in the class going into the final. How shameful, frustrating and disappointing, then, that I should so utterly and completely fail to live up to that on the final.

And on that bright and cheery note, I am off to bed, and I am fighting the compulsion to quote Puck's soliloquy abt. sleeping and dreaming fr. the end of "A Midsummer Night's Dream" b/c I *am* that much of a dork.