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parks in the hate thread

I haaaate it when people show up early!!

So angry.

Like, tell me you'll be here at 10, and show up at...8:45? You suck so much right now!

I hated it when I was single, and living on my own. Hated it when we were D.I.N.K.s. Now that I'm a Mom? It's about the worst thing you can do to me, after showing up unannounced. (Ooooho, don't even...)

...and setting me on fire, I guess. Okay, there are a lot of worse things, but - still!



Understand please, that I've got it down to a science - I know exactly how many minutes I need to get him up, change him, get him dressed, get him fed, get myself dressed, do my hair, have a coffee (IMPORTANT!), and feed myself. If we've had a shitty night - and chances are good - then I will time things accordingly, to allow for the most extra time to sleep before we have to be up and presentable and smiling all up in your face.

Show up an hour early, and - oh, I just hate you! - we miss crucial steps. We might not even be out of bed, yet! We might not be dressed. He might have cereal in his hair. I might have a boob out. In short: it is inconsiderate, and I'll be tempted to just let you stand outside until the time we actually agreed upon.

- But that would be RUDE, wouldn't it?

Showing up late is a little annoying, too - we could've slept longer, you bastard! - but I'll always forgive you for giving me more time to get ready. I might even have had time for two coffees, and be genuinely happy to see you.


I'm such a grump. But seriously, I have a friend who does this every damn time, and I fall for it every time.

10 o'clock? Okay cool, I'll just jump in the shower at 9, and -

DING-DONG!

... You're the worst person!!!



'kay. I'm finished. :rose:
 
saysalice said:
parks in the hate thread

I haaaate it when people show up early!!

So angry.

Like, tell me you'll be here at 10, and show up at...8:45? You suck so much right now!

I hated it when I was single, and living on my own. Hated it when we were D.I.N.K.s. Now that I'm a Mom? It's about the worst thing you can do to me, after showing up unannounced. (Ooooho, don't even...)

...and setting me on fire, I guess. Okay, there are a lot of worse things, but - still!



Understand please, that I've got it down to a science - I know exactly how many minutes I need to get him up, change him, get him dressed, get him fed, get myself dressed, do my hair, have a coffee (IMPORTANT!), and feed myself. If we've had a shitty night - and chances are good - then I will time things accordingly, to allow for the most extra time to sleep before we have to be up and presentable and smiling all up in your face.

Show up an hour early, and - oh, I just hate you! - we miss crucial steps. We might not even be out of bed, yet! We might not be dressed. He might have cereal in his hair. I might have a boob out. In short: it is inconsiderate, and I'll be tempted to just let you stand outside until the time we actually agreed upon.

- But that would be RUDE, wouldn't it?

Showing up late is a little annoying, too - we could've slept longer, you bastard! - but I'll always forgive you for giving me more time to get ready. I might even have had time for two coffees, and be genuinely happy to see you.


I'm such a grump. But seriously, I have a friend who does this every damn time, and I fall for it every time.

10 o'clock? Okay cool, I'll just jump in the shower at 9, and -

DING-DONG!

... You're the worst person!!!



'kay. I'm finished. :rose:
Click to expand...

Yeah. I try to be prompt. I really dislike it when people are chronically late, too. Just like, not in any particular hurry and they think that you'll just wait for them. Really, really, really irritating.
 
Today's bugbear: Depressing Emo People.

Only you have the power to change the way you feel. Get up off your ass and do it.
 
cam-hello-kitty-color.jpg
 
Friday Night

Tonight I got high and submitted flavor ideas for Lay's $Million "Do Us a Flavor" competition. "Roasted Garlic & Brie Kettle Chips" and "Truffle Oil & Bleu Cheese Wavy" *Fingers Crossed*
 
To My Cowriters and Threads Past

Farewell

Agha Shahid Ali

At a certain point I lost track of you.
They make a desolation and call it peace.
when you left even the stones were buried:
the defenseless would have no weapons.

When the ibex rubs itself against the rocks,
who collects its fallen fleece from the slopes?
O Weaver whose seams perfectly vanished,
who weighs the hairs on the jeweler's balance?
They make a desolation and call it peace.
Who is the guardian tonight of the Gates of Paradise?

My memory is again in the way of your history.
Army convoys all night like desert caravans:
In the smoking oil of dimmed headlights, time dissolved- all
winter- its crushed fennel.
We can't ask them: Are you done with the world?

In the lake the arms of temples and mosques are locked in each other's
reflections.

Have you soaked saffron to pour on them when they are found like this
centuries later in this country
I have stitched to your shadow?

In this country we step out with doors in our arms
Children run out with windows in their arms.
You drag it behind you in lit corridors.
if the switch is pulled you will be torn from everything.

At a certain point I lost track of you.
You needed me. You needed to perfect me.
In your absence you polished me into the Enemy.
Your history gets in the way of my memory.
I am everything you lost. You can't forgive me.
I am everything you lost. Your perfect Enemy.
Your memory gets in the way of my memory:

I am being rowed through Paradise in a river of Hell:
Exquisite ghost, it is night.

The paddle is a heart; it breaks the porcelain waves.
It is still night. The paddle is a lotus.
I am rowed- as it withers-toward the breeze which is soft as
if it had pity on me.

If only somehow you could have been mine, what wouldn't
have happened in the world?

I'm everything you lost. You won't forgive me.
My memory keeps getting in the way of your history.
There is nothing to forgive.You can't forgive me.
I hid my pain even from myself; I revealed my pain only to myself.

There is everything to forgive. You can't forgive me.

If only somehow you could have been mine,
what would not have been possible in the world?
 
LitShark said:
Notes on "Haters" from Taoism:
As read by The Wu Tang Clan.

RZA: Long, long ago. In Ancient Feudal China- A great Emperor planned a visit to the ghetto. The folks of the ghetto- they was mad hyped to have the Emperor, so they went through this big ass transformation, revitalizing they neighborhood, reopening shops an' all 'dat fly shit.

Method Man: The boss man, he sent out an envoy, right? Envoy was like MAD impressed, he said that the Emperor's visit was going to totally change da hood. They was goin' make it rain! They even wanted to build a shrine to the Emperor on this old abandoned lot, where there was an old shitty well. If the folks could fill the well in, in time for Emperial Masons to mount up a proper Shrine piece, The Emperor himself would pay them mad, mad stacks. Not to mention all the people who came to see the Boss bless his shrine.

Red Man: The Hood rallied together! They got this old, wise, strong ass jackass to start hauling dirt, bricks and debris from the big cleanup and carring it back to dump in the well.

RZA: But the Jackass got too high on his own importance, forgot to stay humble. He was just a jackass afterall. He walked all close to the well with a heavy load, and he fell his Jack ass in that muh'fucka.

Method Man: The Folks, they pondered the problem. To help the Jackass up out of the well would take days, fuck up all the strategies. Fuck up all the plans. Fuck up the Shrine and fuck up their rejuvenation efforts. They couldn't let that shit happen. The Jackass wasn't worth much, nowhere near what the Boss man could pay. He'd worked hard on the well, but he was just a Jackass after all.

RZA: So the folks decided to cut they losses. Cash rules everything around me. The Jackass screamed and whined. He pleaded and begged. He kick, he spit, he cursed they mothers. But the people didn't give a shit. They carried the dirt, the rocks, the bricks, all that shit in wheelbarrows, and just dumped it down on top of the Jackass. After a few days of that shit, the screams stopped.

Ol' Dirty Bastard (RIP): All the people! They thought, "He Dead!" So they kept on shoveling dirt down. Then, right before the Emperor arrived, the Jackass hopped his Jack Ass up outa the hole and looked at all the people. After a while, he stopped screaming an' started shaking all that shit that fell in on him off. When it fell off him, he stomped it down, hard as he could! He stomped it, an' stomped it, an' stomped it! An' he built his way out. He took a big Jackass shit in the shallow hole and kicked dirt after it, walking out of the ghetto forever.

RZA: In other words. What doesn't kill you, gets you one step closer to rising above it.
Click to expand...

I Kan Haz Publicity?

http://kwhpresents.tumblr.com/post/93822880955

Any students care to weigh in? Is my school cooler than your school? Whose school is the coolest?
 
LitShark said:
Notes on “Hunger” from Taoism

(As read by: The Wu Tang Clan)

RZA: Long long ago, in ancient feudal China- the Empire was at war in the streets. The greedy nobles was tired of payin’ out taxes to the Empire help the common folks. Those greedy bastards rose up, with their privately-funded gangs, to overthrow the government. For generations the killin’ continued, leavin’ cities full of orphans and gutters runnin’ with blood of the poor and poorer, while the nobles and royals refused to back down.

Ol’ Dirty Bastard (RIP): The Emperor got straight up whacked, by advance Shaolin assassins who dripped poison down a thread into his ear while he slept! His ol’ lady got laid down in the streets! The writin’ was all ova’ the wall, the Palace stronghold goin’ down!

Method Man: Only the fly-ass princess was still alive, and her closest bodyguard and adviser. Adviser say ‘she should get her fly ass up outa the palace, before them blood crazed thugs broke in, ‘cause who knows what they goin’ do if they find her up in there with they wangs on hard.’ Bodyguard agrees with that shit, there’s no honor among thieves.

Golden Arms: So it was that those three rode out from the Palace by night to avoid notice, on three black mustangs, the fastest in the realm. They got out none too soon, either. That dawn, the thugs broke through the Imperial lines and sacked the Palace- on some heavy-handed, jack-move, AM-ambush tip.

RZA: All them blood-drunk gangstas was mad disappointed to find that the fly-ass Princess had escaped, but the nobles barely noticed, they’d won and were mad pleased with themselves.

Inspectah Deck: Now Miss Fly-Ass Princess, she never really been outside the Palace for long before. She never even rode a horse, essep’ in like those box-jumpin’ horse-dance contest pageants. Even though Bodyguard and Adviser were experienced in long journeys, Princess Priss Pants needed to stop and rest after the first full day of travel.

Ghostface Killa: Lucky for Princess and her motley crew, the people still loved her for what her parents did in ruling the empire. Far enough from the Palace not to be noticed, Princess and the others stopped in the projects, finding an old, humble, welfare couple who was all too happy to take ‘em in.

RZA: All three was glad to be off the road, saddle sore and half starved, none was more glad than Princess Cupcakes herself. Now, the old welfare couple was happy to help- but they’s also mad nervous ‘bout hosting the princess in they place. Shorty grew up in the Grand Imperial Palace, how’s she gonna tolerate stayin’ on a spare couch in the PJ’s? Furthermore, the old couple was so broke, they didn’t have hardly enough for themselves to eat- what could they feed a princess who grew up with a team of private chefs? All they had was rice porridge and salted snails- pretty much the old-school equivalent of government cheddar blocks and them hominy grits like you get with food stamps.

Raekwon: The old welfare folks cringed as they served ratchet porridge and snails to these blue-blood guests. But to they surprise, Princess loved that shit, askin’ for seconds an’ all that. The Princess liked her humble ghetto cuisine so damn much, that she begged to know the name of what she was callin’ ‘the most delicious meal of her life!’

RZA: Still all shy an’ humble, an’ whatever else; the couple was too embarrassed to tell the Princess she’d been shovelin’ down the cheapest meal on the poverty menu. Instead they made up some bullshit to try’n save face. They tell her, ‘Oh, that’s our special Phoenix Eye and Crushed Pearl Soup.’ Of course Princess believe all that nonsense, she’s too sheltered to be suspicious.

Method Man: In tha months that followed, the tide of the war changed. Turns out them greedy nobles and hired bangers didn’t know shit about runnin’ an empire. Before long, services was shuttin’ down, people was sufferin’ and worse yet, the collectors wasn’t gettin’ paid. Shame in the game! The common folks rose up, opposed the gangsters and overthrew the newly installed government. They begged the Princess to come back to the Palace, so she did.

Golden Arms: It didn’t take long for Princess Cream Puff to get used to the finer things in life again. Twenty dance horses, fifty servants and seventy-five private chefs. Once she’d been re-coronated on the throne an’ all-at, for her big coronation dinner she knew just what she wanted her court to eat: Phoenix Eye and Crushed Pearl Soup.

GZA: Delicacies and rare exotic ingredients were imported and served in every preparation known to ancient Szechwan chefs. All were turned away as inferior. Nothing satisfied the Princess, or tasted even remotely close to the delectable meal she’d eaten in the Projects.

RZA: In other words: All the flavor in the world don’t amount to shit without the hunger.
Click to expand...

I kan haz MOAR publicity?

Kresge Writers' House Presents be lovin' my Wu Tang shit. Tiger Style!!!

http://kwhpresents.tumblr.com/post/93993345085

I may have to write another of these...
 
((Dedicated to Cesar Vallejo))

Black Tongue Silver
By Grassy Knoll

There is a secret language
that only shadows know.
They whisper in my ear at night
and beckon me below.

When I look up at the stars
and the world leaves my periphery—
the shadows look inside of me
and revoke all of my mystery.

I can hear Him pleading with me,
asking that I choose another way.
That holy-handed, martyr-lord—
I just don’t know what to say.

The language of salvation, of
kind words, free from pain.
They all land deaf upon my ears,
they fit crooked in my brain.

The shadows whisper of my faults
and defy my willful complacency.
They tell me all kindness is a lie,
my friends have always hated me.

I can relate to the shadows,
though I don’t like what they say.
I feel that God is traveling—
but always further away.
 
I wrote a final paper for Lit 102 Translation Theory comparing the components Ghazal (re: Agha Shaid Ali) poetry to '90's era hip hop. I got an A. That's all I'm saying.
 
Am completely annoyed with Lit's notification system. Not happy Lit!
Not pleased. I didn't get an email alert for Obedience Coach for the first time ever! Ugh.

Loved it though :kiss:
 
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