Star Wars...

is FRICKIN METAL

We buried the dog just beyond the edge of trees, up behind the telephone pole where we buried Champion and Mittens and New Moon and Wink's first little calico kitten. Kenny dug the hole, and when Dad and Billy got back from the vet, we all put on our coats and went outside and stood in the leaves and trees and talked about our little Bitsy dog... I had held up pretty well so far, but one look at the box they sealed her in, and her little stuffed pound puppy we decided to bury with her, and her old collar they took off her before they took her in back and I basically melted into tears. We're friends with Dr Fisher, we go to church with him, and he said it was hard for him, that he wrapped her in a little pink blanket and put her in the box.

We put the box in the hole. Kenny and Dad took turns shoveling the dirt on top of the box, and then Dad smoothed it out on top. We all went and found stones for the cairn.

Bitsy was thirteen years old, she was our last holdover from Illinois, the last pet that was with us in St Francisville. I remember on moving day, when we packed up the entire house into a moving van and shut her in the yard, because we were going to come back for her and the cats later, and as we drove away she somehow broke out and came chasing down the street, 'you're not going to leave me!', and they stopped the trunk and she jumped twice her height to leap into the back with the boys.

But they all get old, don't they? They get grey around the muzzle, the eyes go milky, the hips and knees get weak...and Bitsy was sick for a long time before we decided that it wasn't fair anymore.

A Thanksgiving greeting from me to you

WOOAAAH

Letter to the Editor

Dear 2005,

It's been a crazy fast year huh? Only about a month and a half left. But I have one little question I'd like to run by you, and that's this:

WHO THE HELL IS DRIVING OVER THERE?!

Really now, Katrina? Rita? Wilma? Vince? Vince hit Spain for Chrissakes! What were you thinking?

And another thing, today it was 83 degrees. Eighty-three degrees, on the ninth day of November! Eighty-three degrees is warm enough for swimming! I know we're going to end up shooting straight into winter, forty and below with no intervening temperatures.

SO DEAR CLIMATE,

TWENTY-THREE NAMED STORMS AND NO FALL?

YOU SUCK.


Love,
Paula Jean

Crossing Over with John Edwards

So last night I dreamt I was having an affair with John Edwards. The Democrat, not the crossing over guy. I don't remember how I met him or what the hell I saw in him (in reality, I couldn't care less, despite the fact I voted for him) but there I was, sharing his bed...

He left to go somewhere...to campaign or something, I don't know. I don't know how long we had been together, but it was still a secret from the media, at least. It probably had not been very long... I don't seem to remember feeling very strongly about it in any capacity besides trepidation. I confided in a friend sometime later how I felt I was making a bad decision, how would I feel when the shit hit the fan and my face would be plastered all over the internet and the TV, and how this could ruin my image and reputation for the rest of my life, how all my accomplishments would be overshadowed by the title of "that Democrat's whore". I wondered how people controlled themselves when they were in love, and thought about whether or not I would have been able to make the better decision if I had been in love. As it were, I was not in love, so I left him a note and ran away to Atlanta for a time... I stayed on GT campus sleeping in a magic car that could fly...and teleport... ok maybe it was kind of an odd dream.

For starters, we all know the Democrat I'd most likely have an affair with is Barack Obama.

Various and sundry

So I uh...haven't been able to check my email since last night. AIM finally seems to be working to a reasonable degree (I've been online now for 59 minutes without getting kicked off! It's a Christmas Miracle!) but now only half the pages I visit are only loading half the time. It's like, oh, the rest of the internet works when AIM isn't, but when AIM is working, the rest of the internet doesn't. I PAID YOU SO MUCH MONEY, BERRY, I AM GOING TO BE IN DEBT FOR LIKE TEN YEARS. CAN I PLEASE HAVE WORKING INTERNET PLEASE?

Anyway, enough complaining.

I officially have a super sexy little black dress, so I hearby order someone to take me out on a nice date. Come on. Come on. You know you want to. Maybe I'll even put out. (If held to that, I will remind you I said maybe.)

My mailbox is still empty. I'm waiting for a letter from Chris but apparently they are slow coming. I guess he's busy and all, and probably still in an adjustment period there at his little monestary, but I can't know, because he won't write me! I am going to give him a stern talking-to when he comes back.

I missed Grant's call last night, which is heart-wrenching. I got his message sometime later, and cried to myself for about an hour... He left last night, and he'll be gone, he'll be over there... and God, I just want him to be safe, I want God to keep him safe, through everything, through everything, please keep him safe and bring him back to those who love him.

This is the room one afternoon I knew I could love you

I am currently writing a story when I should be doing my proofs. For the love of God, someone stop me and make me do my proofs. Else I won't get to sleep until like five a.m.

The story I am writing is about PEOPLE WITH PROBLEMS as per usual...but...instead of a story about a flawed relationship between child and parent ( a la Platonic Love) this story is about a flawed relationship between boy and girl. So I'm branching out! I'm growing up! Aren't you proud of me? Actually, it may end up having a flawed parent-child relationship anyway. Or two. I haven't decided yet. I don't know why I seem to have that recurring vein in my stories... my relationship with my parents is pretty great.

You can't handle this much hobbit

If the manic grin wasn't terrifying enough, I have some wild red-eye going on there (as usual).

I actually lost the One Ring over the weekend, so I am apparently the worst ring-bearer ever. SORRY MIDDLE EARTH. SORRY I DOOMED YOU TO BE CRUSHED BENEATH SAURON'S EVIL WILL. MY BAD. I was discussing this with my mother, and we ultimately decided I had to be one of the other hobbits, and when I asked her if I was a Brandybuck or a Took, she replied, "You're a Took. Definitely a Took." So great. My mom thinks I'm the sort to throw a stone down a well and call a Balrog upon us. Now no one will want to adventure with me. I always rather fancied me a Brandybuck, myself.