this imploding heart

The hardest button to button

Tiny: "Wait, did you say you were looking for the most expensive pair of pants?"

Mister Lucky: "INexpensive. The most inexpensive highest quality mens pants. The quality and cost balance, that's what I've been looking at."

"I wonder what the most expensive pair of pants is? You should totally do a search for the most expensive pair. I wonder what they would be?"

"Well, you have to think about what makes something expensive. So you have to think about obscurity and materials."

"Like a pair of handwoven silk pants?"

"No, there's probably a place where fashion pants top out. So...probably....Spacepants. I think space suit pants are probably the most expensive pair of pants one could buy."

Jump On It! Jump On It!

(Cheer along with me now, Kids. Get someone in the cube next to you to do one half, and you can do the other. Fun like all those pep rallies you skipped!)

AND Who's ass got a Three Point Oh?

Mister Lucky's. Don't you know?

Pre-Calculus can Kiss My What?

Pre-Calculus can Kiss your Butt!

GoooooOOOOOOO ARTS DEGREE!

all this sunshine's making me dizzy

For what seems like the first time in One Hundred Thousand Days of Ultimate Gloom Experience, it's take-your-damn-shoes-off warm outside.

Days like today remind me that I have a ridiculous collection of sad bastard music, and a terrible lack of t-shirt weather music. So suggestions for ass shaking perky music will be accepted until it starts raining again.

I'm dressed in all the primary colors today. Yay, Spring!

We come from the land of the ice and snow

If you ran into me after 11pm on the hill last night, I'm sorry for freaking out and running away. I saw Dawn of the Dead at the Meridian, and afterward I thought all swarms of people were -naturally- zombies.

The most convincing scenes are those shot from the air, when stadium-sized hordes of zombies are swarming in a mall parking lot around the few remaining living. The trick those kind of images played on my mind went like this

Big group of people = zombies

me = only one person = not a zombie

THUS

me + big group of people = Run! These zombies are totally fast!

I had fun, and I yelped out loud at least 3 times. Yelps are a sign of a great, if ultimately forgettable, movie.

The best part was when right after the credits started rolling, and the 85% male house stood up to leave, BOOBS FLASHED ACROSS THE SCREEN AND THE WHOLE AUDIENCE SAT DOWN LIKE A BOYS CHOIR. It made me laugh.

So we all watched the credits to see if there would be more boobs. Afterward, I went up to Cakes, because if I slept alone the zombies might infect me. I think our entire conversation consisted of him asking if I liked my movie, and me making explosion and machine gun noises.

spit on a stranger

I've got a bit of the melancholies. The first thing to really grab my attention today was the fact that I was a total bitch to my mom when I was graduating high school. Then I did my job totally wrong and inconvenienced someone.

So I called my mom and told her I was sorry for being a bitch 5 years ago, and I wrote a "sorry I fucked things up with the delivery guy" email.

I still get embarrased and ashamed of things I did when I was in junior high. It annoys me, but I can't seem to figure out how to turn on the "It's over and no one else remembers it" switch.

rock me gently, rock me slowly

As you can probably surmise from last nights post, I'm just a bit hungover this morning.

Dear Math,

I divorce thee.
I divorce thee.
I divorce thee.

Sincerely,

Mister Lucky

Dear Drinking,

I thought I said you couldn't come around here anymore!

my love for you is volatile,

Sonya

as long as there are stars above you.

I need to be able to teleport:

top left top left look on the top left, B, look for beach boys, top..no, bottom left.

I need to be able to teleport so that I can go to the kitchen.'

no, look. look on the side by the speaker by the wall, do you see green and yellow? beach boys!

If I could go to the kitchen, I would get a glass of water. I could make myself a sandwich.

It's right......Yes. there.

I wanna be with you rock and roll girl

Part II of the final is tonight, so after this I'm going to graph some logarithims and figure out how intense one earthquake was in relation to another. Tomorrow we start floundering through the research paper. But First:

I went to the biggest rummage sale in the state this weekend.

I asked Cake if he had any interest in going, and before he had a chance to answer, I said "Happy Anniversary! You don't have to go! Enjoy your basketball."

Wasn't that a nice present?

Instead, the wonderfully hung-over Mollinator was my date. We took her car out to the old ship building hangars at Sandpoint. During the drive, we came to the following conclusions:

Molly: Gin is just Good.

Sonya: There is nothing better in the universe than going through other peoples old stuff and buying it for cheap.

I'm wearing a shirt that went for $106 retail that I purchased for twelve bucks.
I also bought 4 pairs of little girls tights in ridiculous colors to cut into kneesocks, and a little girls pink T-shirt with the Candyland logo on it that I immediately made into a pair of hotpants.

I bought Cake a Banana Republic dress shirt that shows off his guns (4 bucks), and a pair of fine weave 100% wool dress pants (one dolla). I took a chance on a grey and kind of light yellow and blue fine striped casual collared thing, but it made him look like Bobby Brady. (Note to self: That guy can't pull off anything even remotely ironic, so don't even try, mister lucky.)

We didn't go to the Rodeo, but I almost bought a pair of leather pants. Which is pretty much the same thing.

you're the queen, and you're tossing fig newtons like they're yesterdays paper

I bought 2 new pairs of shoes (in lavender and brown), popped some prescription pills, got a manicure and denied myself a York Peppermint Pattie. I'm also color coordinated down to my underwear. Baby blue and tan, no less.

Valley of the Dolls, here I come.

There's a bull riding expo at the Tacoma Dome this weekend, so maybe Cake and I will have a MAN VERSUS BEAST anniversary.

Ow! Dammit!

You guys, I have to tell you about something that's happening right now, so I'm going to do the uncommon and blog from home.

I think the side of my mouth is swelling.

I mean -really- it probably cant be . . . but when the last Vicodin wore off and my Left Golden Molar started howling about the grinding bite adjustment it received yesterday, my jaw started aching like a sprained ankle aches. I feel like my cheek is kind of fat. But my other cheek is no long distance runner. Do you think it just feels swollen because it's more sensitive?

It's been freaking me out for a while now, kids. I took another painkiller when I was sure the first one was on it's last legs, but I just touched my jaw to see if I had a lump around the gum or something, and the localized pain is now Bursting its way through my blocked little pain receptors.

Dear The Tooth Fairy,

Knock it off in there!

Love,

Sonya

Generally Speaking

I didn't know how to use the laws of symmetry on that exponential upside-downey fraction, so I plotted a bunch of points and did my best to solve for Y, and seriously thought about writing this as my answer:

"Dear Mister Sweatervest. I just don't know how to do this math well enough to do this particular problem. If the problem were simpler, I would have been able to First: state the original problem. Second: set the problem equal to X and substitute Y's for all the X's. Third: Solve for X. Fourth: substitute all the Y's for X's and X's for Y's. Fifth: Graph.
But there are too many letters, not enough numbers, and my interpretation skills for alphabet problems are total crap. Also, my teeth hurt. I have some Vicodin that the dentist gave me, but I can't take it until after class. I've never taken it before, so I didn't want to pop some before the test and find out it's the kind of painkiller that makes you dumb. So I hope you enjoy my graphing skills! I've included the domain and range for your enjoyment."

I decided against it.

Also, there was no fucking balloon question! I was so ready to get that one right for a change!

Overall, I think I got an "Eh" and a shoulder shrug. Aproximately equivalent to a middle high C. We'll find out on Monday.

Cake and I have been dating one year as of this Saturday, the first day of spring. Last Saturday would be the year anniversary of the first time I mentioned him here. Back then, I was calling him Attractive Tattooed Drunk Math Guy. Now I call him in the middle of the night because I wake up nervous about tsunamis.

We entered an office pyramid scheme where we pick college basketball teams and pay 3 dollars. I picked kansas, gonzaga, someone else and stanford. Stanford for prom queen. Cake picked Duke. He had a complicated strategy. I couldn't figure out how to work the grid.

I have 2 little hands

commence finger crossing.

(oh, I am so, so cranky and ready for math to be over.)

you're a bitter stranger

Cake:"I'll be glad when Pre-Cal is over for you."

Sonya, (stomping around and bitching about canned tuna):"Because it's all I ever talk about to anyone anymore? stupid motherfucking tuna."

"Well...not so much that. Lets just say that the closer to your finals we get, the more it bears down on this relationship. I'll be glad when you can just chill out again."

"ARE YOU CALLING ME A BITCH?! I'll cut you."

Down, tiger!

Final Part I, The First Frontier: is tomorrow night, so today and all of the last few days have been about writing greater than as absolute value and how fucking far away is that piece of shit balloon we've been talking about all quarter. As far as I'm concerned, if the person holding the 'rope' (C squared.) is me, that balloon is rising at a rate of 5ft per shit-out-of-luck. See ya, sucker!

Final Part II, The Menace Returns: plays Monday night. Logarithms.
Last weekend, I was watching the news and I really thought I had figured out how many people had been murdered in Fresno before that awful massacre using logarithms based on something the chief of police said. Later, I realized that the numbers I used had nothing to do with the facts he presented, and my math was all wrong. Dammit! Math was almost useful!

As an update to yesterdays post, maybe that dude wasn't in the wrong hood after all. I saw a 7 foot hooker coming around my corner after drinks with the fat boys last night.

Don't give up on me, internet! Soon, all I'll be able to talk about will be the Japanese American Internment, but hopefully that'll be more interesting than this. Plus, if it's not, I'll just make up interesting facts for you. Like so:

[LIES]**In pre-war preparations, the United States government bought out every travelling circus in the country. They used the big tops as holding areas for Second Generation Japanese Trapeze Artists, who will die if kept off the high wire for more than 4 days at a time.***[/LIES]

See? It'll be fun!

For the ladies

Remember when my dad called me a hooker, but he just meant that I should do ridiculously dangerous sawmill-related work including hooks until I died? This is like that, except the guy wasn't my dad, he was scary, and he didn't mean To Work With Hooks, he meant, To Temporarily Rent My Vagina.

I was walking home from Cake's house when I ran into my friend Katie. We talked about her upcoming show and how their design guy had obviously not read the script, because the marketing makes the show look Funny, like a musical, when it's actually Disturbing, like child abuse.

I was a block from home, so I started rummaging around in my pockets and satchel for my keys. Katie said goodbye, we parted company, I continued to rummage.

Here's what I was wearing: a white, knee length dress, white socks, black shoes, a mens large dark blue insulated hoodie that covers me from the top of my head to below my hips when i've got it zipped up. I'm carrying a shopping bag in one hand and my satchel over my shoulder, it is obviously very, very heavy.

I'm almost to my house and I still can't find my keys. A silver explorer stops and the driver calls out to me. I look at him, and he motions me toward him.

I still can't find my keys, so I assume that he must have passed me while I was talking to Katie, and he must have seen me drop them. He's making me very, very nervous, and I'm not sure why. He's just acting weird.

I go in the alcove of my building, where I can't see his car and he can no longer see me. I look through my pockets and my bag again. Nothing.

I poke my head out of the alcove, and he's still sitting there. The window rolls down, he puts his hand out, and slowly curls his finger at me, he motions me toward him with that beconing finger motion that food smells always make in old disney short cartoons. Did I mention scary? Scary.
Usually in these situations, I get my keys out and get emotionally prepared to blind someone with them should it become necessary. This time, I got out my phone and dialed 911, but didn't press send.

I walked up to the window. He was late 40's/early 50's. Greying hair, wire rimmed glasses, nice watch, pinstripe shirt, little bit of an old man mullet. Probably 250 pounds, greasy as all get out. (sound like anyone you know, Seattle?)

"Did you pick up my keys?"

he ignored me. "Well Hello There."

He cocked his jaw open and letched at my completely-sweatshirt-encased body.

"Um, yeah. Is there something I can help you with, sir?"

"I dunno? Can you? I got big bucks. 300 dollars."

My jaw dropped to the pavement. "What? No. No way. You're in the wrong neighborhood, buddy." I turned and walked away from the car.

"GET ON BACK HERE! I GOT BIG BUCKS!"

I stood back from the car long enough to get his license plate number and make it into a little song. He noticed what I was doing, and said "Bye." before driving away.

So I called fucking 911 and told them a guy had followed me to my home and tried to pay me to come away and have sex with him.

I had a little guilt for a minute about being the girl that calls the cops. But I thought about it like this: He knows where I live, and he's going after girls that are pretty obviously not working girls. If he's already working out of his range, he may decide not to play by the rules anymore and shove some girl coming back from the grocery store in his car. In either case, the cops have a recording of that guys license plate and location in relation to a specific time, so if anything goes wrong, there's a place to start.

Moral of the story: If you're looking to pay someone for sex, look in the back of a weekly paper or on the internet, dumbshit. Your license plate number is now associated with you being a John, mister businessman.

(my keys were crammed inside my math book.)

Weekend astrological forecast from this imploding heart

ARIES: It will seem like a pretty good idea after about the third pitcher, but in a week, it's going to start stinking up your apartment and making your guests uncomfotable.

TAURUS: Really, honestly? My answer is 'Why Not?'. You're never going to see these people again, anyway.

GEMINI: I'm going to impart to you some wisdom from Stephanie B. of Clinton MD. "WHY DO INSECTS BOTHER YOU?" (lift flap for answer!) "BECAUSE THEY'RE BUGS!"
I want you to think about this, Gemini. I want you to make yourself practically sick trying to figure out how this applies to your life. Then, I want you to eat some laffy taffy. You've forgotten how delicious and entertaining it is.

CANCER: Oh, just go back to reading your books and playing video games, nobodys going to expect you to feel social for the next few months.

LEO: You know that thing you're supposed to do tonight? Go ahead and do a totally fucked up job of it, because if those bitches think they can pull this shit off without you, they're in for a suprise.

VIRGO: Know what you need? A pinball machine. In the livingroom. And a Ninja outfit! Yeah...

LIBRA: She's not stalking you, exactly. She's caring about your safety.

SCORPIO: The answer to your big question will come in the form of a sea creature, a Journey song, or a coin operated machine.

SAGITTARIUS: Small Claims Court! Small Claims Court! Small Claims Court! Until then: Body Shots! Body Shots! Body Shots! Whoo!

CAPRICORN: 'Sorry' doesn't feed the hungry bulldog, but who cares about the bulldog, right?

AQUARIUS: Dude, just pick it up, take it home, wash it, and wear it. Nobody needs to know where you got it.

PISCES: He likes you, for real. He's just a little shy.

The next time you see rain, it aint bad. Don't be sad, it rains for you.

The seasons have almost officially changed from Ugly to Pretty.

I got fillings in my matching mouth-blings yesterday. Matching fillings, at that. I love Guy Roberts the Dentist, because he always explains what my options are before he goes to work, and he's very gentle without being slow.

Yesterday, my options were 'Full mouth anesthesia, including your tongue and throat' or 'Local anesthesia in the teeth being filled only, but it works like an on/off switch.'

I went with option 2. I still think it was the right choice, but 15 minutes after the teeth were filled, the numbness wore off, and my mouth nerves were still throwing a fit.

And, Oh! I wanted to be tough about it. Cake has blood gushing into his marrow, and HE's tough about it. *I* want to be tough. Instead, I was an uninvited editing bitch. I didn't mean to be a bitch! I was trying to be cool!

I buried my head in the comforter.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Cake asked. (I should note that, at this point, I hadn't told him that anything was wrong at all, I'd just been insane from start to finish.)

I started bawling like a nancie. I drew a big breath and sobbed, "I'm embarrassed about how bad my teeth hurt!".

I realized that he had never seen me cry before, and here I was turning on the waterworks over my stupid chompers.

He was so nice, though. He comforted until I stopped crying and hugged me until I felt nice again. Then we shook hands like grown ups for the rest of the afternoon, and my teeth didn't hurt at all for the rest of the day.

I still felt like a dork for crying, though.

Now, I don't claim to be an A student

In case you were eagerly awaiting the results, I got an 83% on my midterm.

I'm also getting a fat tax-return cheque.

Both of these things suprised me so much that I had to put my head between my knees and take some deep breaths.

take the world in a love embrace

Baby, I wish you would buy a motorcycle. And not just any motorcycle. One of those with barca-lounger seats and banana-seat handlebars.

I wish you would grow a moustache as big as 2 squirrells tails and wear a filthy bandana over your balding head.

I would wear halter tops made of your old t-shirts and pants so tight it makes it difficult to do anything other than sit behind you, holding your waist.

I'll hold your wallet when you get in barfights, if you swear to break beer bottles over heads to defend my reputation.

Baby, I wish we'd camp in RV parks. I'd drink wine coolers and smoke misty lights on picnic tables in the dark. You could play the harmonica by the butane heater.

they wanted to hear that sound, but you didn't want to play

I took my midterm last night. Today is the first day in weeks that I haven't carried my books with me to work. My back is sore.

The test went as well as it could go, I suppose. I did my best, but I'm going to be pissed if my best is less than 72%. I had a personal epiphany related to the quadratic equation during my third try at the 'how long does it take this arching object to reach the ground?' question.

My finals are on the 15th and 18th. This may lead to inconsistencies in blog content.

I want to go to Aveo with patrickt this weekend, but I seem to be in a musical streak of bad luck. I was non-plussed by Aveo for a long time, but my latest listens have me likening them to a mix of The Smiths and The Shins, so perhaps love will blossom at a live show.

In the land of general updates:

Josh and I had lunch today. He suggested that next time I get a manicure, I have them put on stainless steel fingernails that have little fold out contraptions under the tips. Then I'll have swiss army hands.

Cake's knee is looking less like a honeydew melon and more like a potato every day. He found a wheelchair on the street, and it's his new favorite piece of furniture. He tried to tell me that people wouldn't sit in it, due to possible bad mojo. I didn't believe him. But Lo and behold, the chair was shunned when the house was full."Too weird, man. Too....fate tempting."
I snapped at him for being overly snuggley after 11:30pm. In my defense, "snuggle" sometimes manifests itself as "lets hold Sonya down and sing her songs about dead babies while she struggles with her -totally ineffective- upper body because she's worried about hurting our knee if she uses her legs.", but nonetheless, he's a nice boyfriend. He's patient when I suddenly start worrying about colon cancer, and he humors/ignores me when I'm being bossy.

Tiny is having epiphanies not related to the quadratic equation. She seems to become more herself all the time. She also got a dressform, which is neat in the daytime but it turns into a monster at night.

My dad caught 3 steelhead. 3 feet each. He smoked them in the back yard.

And when she's walking she's looking so fi-i-ine

Well slap a poodle in my handbag and a grossly oversized car in my garage! I had a big personal grooming weekend.

Ladies and gentlemen, for the first time in my entire life, I have nails that reach past the tips of my fingers. A woman who didn't speak or understand a word of english sanded down the top of my regular fingernails, glued a piece of plastic on them, and slathered them in a thick layer of acrylic. When we were choosing the length, she held the clipper half an inch out from the end of my finger. She raised her eyebrows at me. 'This long?' Too long. 1/8th of an inch out. 'This long?' Too long. 1/16th of an inch? Just right.

She was obviously disappointed that I wanted them so short, because she made the 'Fine then, if that's what you want.... face and filed me down.

I feel disabled. I cant untie my shoes or get the protective plastic off anything. I also can't wash my ears with soap in the shower without puncturing my eardrum.

On the other hand, I'm really realizing how often I'm prone to putting my hands near my mouth.
Oh man, I want to bite them. My incisors are holding little knives and forks and tying napkins around their necks. I find myself pressing them into my lower lip when I'm concentrating on something. But I don't bite.

It's actually kind of nice to know I can't. They're like a neck cone for my fingers. I can't seem to control myself, so I'll depend on something to control it for me.

Plus, when I flip people off, it looks really classy now.



In other freaky grooming news, I paid someone to forcibly remove all the hairs from their roots around my downy underbelly. I could have had this procedure done at the same place I got my claws, but I really wanted to ask questions and have the answers come in non-nodding-and-smiling form. So I went to a hip little joint on 15th. The waxer had me hold my skin taut while she applied the wax and the paper, then ripped it off like a giant band-aid.

It smarts a little. But it lasts for a long time, doesn't itch, and doesn't get ingrown within a half an hour. I'll never shave again, man. Sorry, no pictures.