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oh god so i totally forgot to mention my failed marriage in that last entry. and it was such a big deal to me too. getting married. dewy eyed bride and all that. oh man. jilted at the alter i tell you. jilted, yo.

the thing is see, jason and i decided to get married. and i was like, yes finally! he is taking me seriously and i’m going to be supported to the end of my days and we’ll be so soooo happy together and have dozens of little jasons with the curly mop of hair running around the floor. and we had it all planned out and he got me one those ringpop rings for an engagement ring and i ate it (which i guess should have told me straight off that our marriage would never last.) and then on saturday, the day of out fated marriage. there i was walking down the runway towards a gleaming white elvis in that sparkly spandex costume. (he did the little jutting dance and everything) i was excitemed over everything, the swelling music of blue suede shoes, the cobwebbed wedding deocrations hanging from the ceiling, the plastic wine glasses set out to hold the celebratory champagne, my bridesmaids marina and kim and this chick we picked up off the street who was actually shooting up at my wedding, and a HUGE EMPTY SPACE WHERE MY HUSBAND TO BE SHOULD HAVE BEEN. he had blown the coop, up and vanished, got the hell out of dodge, and blew my heart up for a popsicle stand. i was heart-broken. jilted at the alter. me. fer fuck’s sake.

later he tried to give me some lame ass excuse about how he was worried our taxes would be affected. and i was like, “jason. man. we were going to get divorced tomorrow anyway. it wouldn’t have affected shit. except all of my future happiness in this world. where i could say with pride, ‘yes, that’s my ex.'” hmmm perhaps i should really be happy that my first wedding was such a disaster. i mean…did i REALLY want to marry jason? other than humor value, our one-day wedded bliss really had nothing going for it. well whatever. hopefully my next experience with the alter will be a better one. one where the groom actually shows. and there’s no skid-marked skank, or elvis, or…..gay grooms.

kisses exxie. kisses.


thesis/school info

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book lists

essay on conduct/fantasy 19th century books

the lion and the unicorn journal

guide to criticism

book reviews by kids

children’s book awards

In the western world, the second half of the 20th Century was a period of turbulent change. Old certainties broke down as the bulwarks of religion and family life weakened. Children’s literature, like every other genre, began to reflect these changes. The fiction for older children, especially what was written for the young adult, began to move away from the secure world of tradition. A teenage culture was becoming visible, a rejection of adult values side by side with the adoption of the instant gratification mantra. Even in the early 1960s, there was a change in the relationship between generations and reaction against received values.


4/2 – 4/3

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ho ho ho ho!!


man oh man. but that city was seriously fun i swear. soooo just to do a big update on what my weekend was like:

friday: jason and i had donuts! that’s right! donuts! and then we drove all the way to vegas. and then my car broke. in primm of all places. so primm they didn’t even have car mechanics. how fucked up is that? casinos yes. useful men with tools no. but whatever the car made it to vegas and even got fixed and was free and no problem. by chad. a mechanic with a cute smile and who was nice to me. no woody. with the 3 yr old kid. and in vegas, so not very useful for my car maintanence needs and also i didn’t have a lollipop with which to show him my sucking prowess…..but that was saturday and i’m getting ahead of myself. friday night….hotel room. giant pyramid. huge shower. awesome cool. and then……BEN FOLDS AND A PIANO BABY. in VEGAS BABY. i don’t think i could have been more excited if i tried. i love that man so much. so fucking much. ah fuck. i am drooling at the thought of him. and he even played my fucking favoritest song off U.B.of R.M. about the redneck but not the 2nd redneck one. the first one. oh man. love it. sang along. it was so beautiful. he had us all doing three part harmonies and shit. and he was so proud of us! so proud. mazel tov, future mogul. if only i’d had that damn camera with me. could have been all sneaky in. and then i was like 5 feet from him. sigh.

hmmm well anyway and then we went and got marina at the airport. MARINA! at the VEGAS BABY airport. oh man. i was pretty damn excited then too. 🙂

ummm….and then i had onion rings. and i think i really need to stop listing all my activities. cause was that last one really necessary? i think now. condensed version now.

saturday-sightseeing, bellagio champagne brunch buffet. fucking shit so many desserts.

chad. (see friday) it might’ve been the chad.

folies bergere, the worst titty show ever. fuck your class vegas! give us the titties! grrrr….

huge ass margarita.

marina pierced her bellybutton!! hee hee hee!!! yes! i am the devil. and i pierced my ear. cause they didn’t have any barbells and i couldn’t do my eyebrow. so sad.

and of course we did some wacky things to our hair which you really have to see mine to believe it. i swear i’ll try to scan in a photo and put it on here. i could have a whole vegas baby photo page. or something.

well anyway and then sunday there was some major sleeping in and sunning and ear and bellybutton pain and more food and another huge ass margarita and more walking and no tigers and water shows and the electric slide and more drinking and crazy boys dancing and more sleeping.

and then i drove NINE HOURS back home. and played chicken with semis and was unbelievably dangerous and stupid. and bored. and super super bored. and then some more bored. road trips are less fun when you’re the only one on them i have to say. a sad lesson i have now learned.

back at work now. with the ass sucking. oh man. some major ass sucking. cause it’s so cold and it was so hot in vegas. sigh. and there’s work to do. and i’m not doing it. and i want to read more stupid YA novels. and jacob thinks based on my porn that i need to write porn YA novels. and i say whoo….interesting theory. and then i say goddamm dirty 15 year olds. with their fast cars and their cunning lingus. ah they don’t even have cars. cause they can’t even fucking drive. dumb-ass kids.

it’s too early in the morning for me to be coherant. i need to go eat some chocolate.



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oh my god. so i just wrote this huge entry and it actually deleted the whole thing. what the hell is wrong with this thing? well (sigh) let me repeat myself. endlessly into infinity. with unicorns cresting the waves. why? why not. right on, the last unicorn. right on.

so the reason i have even pulled my act together today of all days to write an entry is because of the several (two) good things that have happened already this morning. and then the one thing which i have been meaning to write about and haven’t yet done so. until today. and the fact that since all previous entried were erased i felt the need to repeat the brillinance that was “i’m done and i’ll fortify” at the end of this ranty entry.

1) the cute boy who doesn’t know how to use the fax machine said good morning to me as i was coming up the stairs! good morning! he practically tipped his non-existant cowboy hat. ha ha ha!! i should have offered him one of my red vines. i bet he would have liked to have on of my red vines. if you know what i mean. and speaking of red vines….

2) i went down to the candy machine for a mid-morning snackiness and the machine had obviously defeated and deflated some poor soul who wanted red vines. cause it was stuck in an almost ready to drop position. and i was like, hmmm i could have some red vines and i put my money in and selected it and TWO bags fell out. TWO fer fuck’s sake. how exciting is that? pretty exciting let me tell you.

3) my boss is creating an oedipal conflict in her son the size of the former soviet union 9or at any rate what’s his name’s birthmark.) she goes on and on about how adorable he is, and how many kisses they give one another, and how soft his skin is and how good he smells, and (this is the kicker) he likes to sleep in her bed. and she says to her husband, “me and arnie are sleeping together tonight.” and he says fine and sleeps in the kid’s bed. the kid’s bed. leaving her alone with the kid in thier bed. does he not fear for his masculinity, being usurped by someone under the age of 8? that’s whack i tell you. wiggity whack, wyatt. gonna have one little messed up kid.

and i’m done and i’ll fortify.



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soooo irreverent questions aside, today i heard on the radio that this hair product called krpytonite (bright green gel) is being sued by the owners of the Superman comic. and my question here is this–is kryptonite the hair gel an attack on the american people’s patriotism? let me explain. so i read this article in some magazine about how superman was born in order to give the american people a feeling of power in a downtrodden world, what with the war and hitler and some such. (think chabon’s kavalier and clay those of you who have read it). and then the people as a whole no longer needed superman because we found our own power/subjugated other countries to our world domination tricks. and now (so the magazine said) becuase of september 11, the people have rediscovered a deep-seated fear of powerlessness and are looking again to mythic heros and legendary feats of prowess. and they hae taken superman as an emblem of the firefighters in new york and as the soldiers in afghanistan. and in that vein, superman t-shirts are cropping up more around town, and the comic is selling better, and people have superman bumper stickers. blah blah blah. (i myself have not noticed this, so we are basically going on the theory that this magazine article was correct). so back to the question, is this kryptonite gel a further reinforcement just of superman’s presense among us, or is it a subtle mockery of america’s fight against terrorism? in fact, is the kryptonite so insidiously buried throughout the country’s psyche that the outward show of bright, green, spiky hair is merely a projection of the will to NOT succeed? of the uncaring apathy that has become our lives? of the crippling effect that our own country-fellows’ minds are having, at this very moment, on the war itself?

assuming i am correct and that the kryptonite sporting freaks are terrorists in our own back yard, what should we do about them? throw stones? smash their car windows? water down their gel with atomic waste and laugh as their hair falls out? food fight?

whatever i say. and again with the whatevs yo. power to the people and free speech/hair products for all. amen.

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