Lies · and · Pretty · Thoughts

Sooooo. Where to start?
For those of you who aren't on Facebook, John proposed Memorial Day and I accepted. He rode down on his motorcycle and picked me up, we then went to my folks house in East Tennessee and stayed the night with them on Saturday. He sneakily asked my dad for his blessing while they were shooting at blocks of wood Sunday morning and dad consented. John said it was terrifying to ask my dad while he had a gun in his hand, but he knew we were leaving that morning and really wanted to ask dad first.

While the ride to Lenoir City from Murfreesboro was beautiful and flawless, the second leg of our journey was much more damp. Like skies opening and water pouring out-damp. And for the record, being rained on while riding on the back of a motorcycle is less than fun.

So we took Highway 11 down to Sweetwater and then took the gorgeous Cherohala Skyway to Fontana where we stayed at this awesome little resort. We had intended on riding US 129 or as it's lovingly known by motorcylists, the Tail of the Dragon, that evening but it was raining so hard John could barely see. So we chilled at the resort and had an awesome dinner. And I waited. I was pretty sure he was going to ask on this trip and especially since he made a big point about hanging with my folks, but I didn't know when. Little did I know he'd been carrying the ring in his pocket since Friday.

Monday morning it was still raining off and on, but we decided to go ahead and ride the Dragon regardless. It was tons of fun and the road was exactly what I thought it would be. Crazy ass curves and tons of awesome. I can only imagine what it would be like in the dry and to actually be able to go fast on it. But John took it slow and steady due to the rain. We looked like dorks in our rain gear but it was still awesome.

It rained on us fairly solid for the next 3 hours, all the way back to the Skyway and finally it quit raining. At this point, John kept asking if I wanted to stop at an overlook and take a break, but I was afraid the rain would catch up with us again and told him to keep going. Again, little did I know that he was trying to get a chance to ask me.

Finally, we made it out of the mountains at about 4 in the afternoon and decided that taking the back roads back to Murfreesboro would take decades and we'd just take the interstate home. Lemme tell ya, riding on the back of a motorcycle at 70 mph is vastly different than riding at 40 mph. And don't yawn. For reals.

As my butt reached a new state of numbness that I never thought possible, we pulled off at the I24 rest stop near Nickajack Lake outside of Chattanooga. It's really pretty there and there's some picnic tables down by the lake and after we relaxed a bit, John said, "Now here's where I get nervous."

Honestly, I remember very little after that. Because my brain was going "EEEEE!!" I think he said some really sweet words about a difficult journey but an awesome one and how he wanted to continue it with me for the rest of his life. I had to ask later, but he did actually say the words "Will you marry me?" Cause seriously, there was no thought in my brain but OOOOOWHHOOOWOOOWT!



The whole ride home I couldn't stop grinning and I really haven't yet. I really didn't realize this whole getting engaged and the formality of it would change anything, but it totally did. Getting married is no longer something we joke about when we're drunk, or sleepy, it's really going to happen. And I couldn't be happier.

Now I just need to get moved up there.

Well, it finally happened. I'm gonna go to jail. Not the bad kind though, the helping out MDA kind of jail. So if you've got some spare cash, I'd appreciate the donation.

It would go down like this. My first time in jail and it's not even my fault. ;)

I was out sick yesterday. Instead of reading the two books on marriage, sex, and family in the pre-Modern era in Britain and the two books on women's participation in the Civil Rights movement that I have to write papers on, I watched a shitload of movies and tv.

I'm all caught up on Pushing Daisies, House, Bones, Reaper, Earl, Heroes, and Chuck. Everyone's still got my love, but House needs to kick it up a notch or it may lose me. I still have to watch Office, Supernatural, and CSI. But I'll get there.

Then I decided that I was comfy in the spot in my big happy recliner, and I watched Too Tough to Die: Tribute Concert for Johnny Ramone. It was cool, although as much as I love Eddie Veder and think his voice is lovely, he has no business covering Ramones songs. It just doesn't sound right. My favorite cover was Joan Jett's of Judy is a Punk. Sigh. I still miss Johnny and Joey. It did make me cry there in the end with all these punk and rock stars talking about how much they loved Johnny and how robbed they felt that he left so early. Of course I was heavily medicated, so that may explain some of it.

After that, I was going to read my books, but Pump up the Volume came on. Oh. My. Fucking. God. Normally, when I watch movies I adored as a teenager I get very bored or angry at myself for being such a drama queen back then. But this movie? I still love it. I still love Christian, I still love the music and I still love the idea. Of course, the internet made the whole pirate radio concept moot before it even got started, but hey. OH! And there was a baby Seth Green!! With an extreeeemely bad mullet. Go Seth!

By this point, my ass was permanently attached to the chair and I had to watch Jarhead against my will. See, I don't like war movies...but this...was not a war movie. This was a movie with Jake all totally buff and butch, half-naked being all homo-erotic with a bunch of other butch, buff half-nekkid boys screaming "HOOO-RA!" every now and then. There were some guns and I think they went to the desert at some point. It was moderately okay and really re-inforced the idea that I do not and have never had any desire to join the armed forces in anyway. Especially the Marines. (No offense to any Marines out there...just dude. That's some serious shit y'all got going on.)

I finally turned off the tv, only to return after reading a chapter on Elizabethan porn,(woo!not) and play the new Simpsons game until Brack got off work.

God. I suck. I've got to get all this shit done by Tuesday and my motivation level is just below zero. I hate this time of the semester, I just don't care anymore and I find it harder and harder to finish up my assignments. But yet, there's just enough panic in me left that I feel guilty about not caring and then I thoroughly beat myself up over not working on the school stuff.

Blegh. I'm still sneezing and my throat feels like I swallowed sandpaper, but I'm here. At least here, only the internet can tempt me away from doing the work I should be doing. That, and my actual job.

I never really gave any thought to the writers of my tv shows until I became a Buffy fan. All that time on TWOP babbling about Jane and Steve and Tim and *gack* Marti, I began to notice how certain names in the credits may mean something. Watching other shows, I started to see that the writers were *extremely* important. Some episodes were great, some were just okay, and some actually sucked.

And then I began to realize that my major attraction to tv shows was the story. Yeah, I dig certain actors, and yeah I'll try a show based on the fact that I like the cast; but rarely do I remain committed if the writing sucks. I've watched shows and movies with people in them that I can not stand (Vanilla Sky) just because the story was so good.

So thanks to Joss and Buffy, I'm aware of whose writing my shows. I pay attention to the names that show up on the bottom of my screen in the first few minutes. I remember who writes the episodes I like and who doesn't.

I also absolutely love the idea of my television shows on the interweb. I love that if my Tivo freaks out or there's a storm and the cable is out, I can download the Heroes I missed. I love that instead of having to run to the stupid video store, I just download a season of Stargate:SG1. I'm a tech junkie and the more easier you make it for me to use your technology, the more I will. And I'm cheap. I don't like to pay alot for my downloads, but I will if you make it easy enough (Amazon Unbox is the bomb!).

All that said...this strike is breaking my heart. Heroes may be cut short, Origins is on hold, The Office has cut short their shooting, and god knows what's going to happen to shows that are on the bubble like Pushing Daisies and Chuck. I'll cry when these shows go off the air. And if they don't come back...we'll we all know how well I took the Firefly thing.

Despite how much I love my tv, and how much I love my tv on the internet...I'll give it all up in support of the writers. They make the stories that I love. They've written the shows that brought me close to most of you guys, and honestly they freaking deserve a better cut of the action. Do I hate it that the strike will probably put other people who get an even smaller piece of the pie out of a job? You bet. But honestly, the writers have been far better to me than studio execs ever were. And I think that maybe, just maybe there's enough of my buck ninety-nine per episode to go around.

Hell, I'd picket with them if I could. But I can't. So please, god of unions and labor disagreements, grant us a resolution. May the studio execs see the light and grant the writers their due. Bring back our shows unmolested and safely to our beloved homes. And soon.

Cause if I don't find out what the ever living fuck is up with Mama Petrelli and the Company, I may snap and kill someone. Seriously.

I can has bicycle? Yes. I can has bicycle.

It's quite fun. It has a bell. And it will soon have a basket. I rode to work today, and while entertaining, it's quite tiring. I decided to get it for myself for my birthday. Since Brack's been riding to work most days and he works further away than I do, it seemed like I was just being lazy driving to work. Did you know, that unlike the bikes in the gym, when your legs go all wobbley and you think you can't go any further, you can't really just sit there? Cars will honk at you. I probably won't ride everyday, but at least a few times a week. It'll be good for me.

Kay, I must rest up for my bike ride home.

I, for the first time in over 20 years, have a haircut short enough that you can see my neck.

Hee.

I like it, Brack's not so sure, but seriously, It's not his head. He actually think it looks really cute, he just prefers longer hair.

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I hate to say it, I had always thought our relationship would last. In years past, I've put up with some difficulties, but the good has always outweighed the bad. This year my trust and faith have been abused past the point of no return. I just can't deal with it anymore. It's reached the point that despite my shiny new house and a job I love, I'm considering moving. Moving far, far away.

Cause really, Summer, I'm done with you. Normally, we get along fine. There some unbearable heat in the 90+ range for a week or two and then everything's okay. I get to wear tank tops and sit on the porch and drink sport beer. I may get a little hot and tired, but it doesn't last too long. But not this year. Nooooo. You have to be insane if you think I can sit here and let you melt every thing in sight. I'm tired of the way you treat me. I'm tired of ass-crack sweat. I'm tired of having to shower three times a day just to feel vaguely clean. I'm tired of sucking down water instead of sweet, nourishing beer for fear of death. I'm tired of standing outside at 10 o'clock at night and *SWEATING* at 96 degrees. I'm tired of my poor a/c working its tail off just to keep the house in the eighties.

We're done. I'm breaking up with you. I know it's polite to say "It's not you, it's me." and all, but really, this time...it's you. You are a horrible, oppressive, deadly season that has made me flush for the last time. This is it. I mean it. Get out!

Where the hell is Fall?

So, it looks like I may have a house in 30 days. It's not the one for too much money, but it's in the same neighborhood. It's officially three blocks from the library, a block or two from a beer/cigarette store, down the street from Walgreen's and five or six blocks from downtown.

While it's a bigger house with more square footage than the one we've got, there are less roomes. So it looks like we will give up on the guest room that is always ready. Although we are considering getting a murphy bed. Anyway, all new fixtures, all new plumbing, wiring, heating and cooling, new floors, new kitchen in a house built in the 40s. For a shockingly low price.
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So yeah, I'm officially nuts. It's not like I haven't been wanting to do this for a year or so, it's just that I saw that house and fell in love. I was relying on Brack being Mr.PoohpoohThisIsNotAGoodIdea, like he normally does, but when he saw it...well. We're gonna try to buy it. Of course we may kill each other in a year because it only has one bathroom. Either that or we'll be putting in a bathroom quickly. ;)

Now I'm off to finish my coffee, work on a presentation, read three books, write three book reports, write a great big paper, give a presentation, fly to Chicago, give another presentation, fly home, study for a test, take a test, and get this house ready to move. Yeah. Totally nuts.

Dear Snow,
Harder please. Seriously, this is not going to get me out of work. And while you're pretty, I'm all about results.
Love, T.

Dear Cute Boy in the Leather Jacket and Hoodie,
I have no idea what you look like from the front, but from behind, darling you just made my morning. Between the walk, the ass, and the way your longish but not too long hair bounces in the snowfilled wind, mmmmmmm. Happy Valentine's Day.
,Pervy old lady in the library.

Dear Body,
Shut. The. Fuck. Up.
I get it, you hurt. Whine, whine, whine. Really you need to butch the fuck up and deal. Stop sending your whiny needy "I hurt" messages to the brain. Nobody reads them up here. They're like penis-extension spam. Brain's got too much important work to deal with your shit.
Sincerely,Very Busy Brain.

Dear Brack,
Hey sweetie, thanks for putting my undies in the dryer last night. I have clean, dry undies! Oh and happy birthday. Despite the fact that you are leaning drunkenly on the door to 40 and puking in it's yard, denying the whole time that you care about being almost 40, I still love you. A lot. And not just cause you do things like put my undies in the dryer. Also, disregard the above letter to the hot boy. He means nothing. I only noticed him cause he had your walk. Really.
Tons of love,
your sweetie.

Dear books sitting on my desk,
I know. Really. I need to quit goofing off on the interweb and get you cataloged. But, no offense or anything, but you're boring. I prefer to catalog books that I actually think are neat. Not that concrete management isn't an important subject to someone, just not me. And what the hell is radiopharmacology anyway? Do *you* know what your about?? Hunh. Didn't think so.
Respectfully,
the tiredest librarian that ever tireded.

Dear friends,
I love you. Happy Valentine's Day. Sorry I suck at actually getting in contact with any of you. Remind me if I'm ever in this situation again that it's really retarded to go up for tenure and take 2 Phd courses in the same semester. Honestly, why do you let me do this to myself?
Looking forward to warm weather, cold drinks, and you guys,
Me.

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And other than television, my classes seem fun. The architecture class is gonna be great because my prof is way into Arts and Crafts homes, just like me. And we have the same alternating respect/disdain for Frank Lloyd Wright. And the Cultural History class is rocking. Right now we are reading a book on Shakespeare in the late 19th century in America and how at the time Shakespeare was not "elite" or "high" culture. It was for everybody. And damn did the audiences let the actors know if they were screwing up.

From the book "Highbrow/Lowbrow":
"In the winter of 1856 Hugh F. McDermott's depiction of Richard III did not meet the critical expectations of his Sacramento audience. During the early scenes of Act I 'a few carrots timidly thrown, had made their appearance,' but the full ardor of the audience was roused only when Richard's killing of Henry included a "thrust, a posteriori, after Henry had fallen.' Then, the Sacremento Daily Union reported, "Cabbages, carrots, pumpkins, potatoes, a wreath of vegetables, a sack of flour and one of soot, and a dead goose, simultaneously fell upon the stage." The barrage woke the dead Henry, who fled followed by Richard, "his head enveloped in a halo of vegetable glory." Pleas from the manager induced the audience to allow the play to go on - but not for long. In Act II, McDermott's inept wooing of Lady Anne again exhausted the patience of the audience. 'When Richard placed the sword in her hand,' a reporter observed, 'one half of the house, at least, asked that it might be plunged into his body.' This storm of shouts was followed by a renewal of the vegetable shower accompanied this time by Chinese firecrackers. As poor Richard fled for the second time, 'a well directed pumpkin caused him to stagger, and with truer aim, a potato relieved him of his cap, which was left upon the field of glory, among the cabbages.'"

Dude. That's fucking great. And apparently not uncommon. I'm gonna love this class.