Nobody got back to me about meeting in SF. Probably because I've been busy with school.

Ah well, I'll have fun anyhow.

I'm getting my hair cut tonight, and it's sort of between these choices. Tell me if you like any, hate any, think I will look like a mutilated poodle, etc.


( Here there be hair!  )



HALP! PLEASE!

I have been so sick. Lying in bed and quietly praying for death sick. Trying to hang out and feeling like I am going to die sick. Sweating all night in a hallucinogenic fever dream sick. Luckily, I got some antibiotics and am more or less fine now. So give me a while to catch up on journals and such.

18 or so days to San Francisco!!!!! If you want to meet up, leave me a message about what days from the 4-8th October would work best, since I'm trying to get the meet together.

Stolen from reginald  in a dark alleyway, along with her shoes.


1. Leave me a comment saying, “Interview me.”
2. I will respond by asking you 5 questions (or make attempts)
3. You will update your LJ with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this and an offer to interview someone else in the post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed you will ask them 5 questions.

( My questions!!! )

Someone in Spain stole my debit card information. Now I need a new card, we had to shut mine down, and I'm paranoid about the rest of my identity being stolen. Granted, they wouldn't be able to open new credit cards or anything, because I have shitty credit anyhow. But still, it kills me. I thought I was reasonably careful with my card :(

Kut and kri, kut and kri


RARRRRRR

I hate being back at school. I have no time to waste my life on the internet. I have to read 26 books this semester.

Also, I want 7 kids so I can train them to a whistle like the Von Trapps.

Stolen from aerynmoo. Apparently based in an exercise on class and privilege. You bold the statements that are or were true. I'd be interested to see how this went down on my college campus.

 I saw her today. Sometimes I feel bad when I see her, wondering if she knows what transpired, if she'll ever know what I did, or if it's something that just drifts away on the wind like smoke without fire. I hope for the latter, to be perfectly honest. The moment was there, and then it was gone, and nobody would be benefitted by it coming to light. As I smile and fix all her problems, I feel her watching me, and I almost want to tell her. Her life would be better never knowing what happened, never knowing that for one moment, boredom and passion overwhelmed logic. It was a moment of purest stupidity. He's not a bad person. I don't think either of us are bad people. 

Sometimes I wonder if thinks about me. I don't know if I want him to or not. I have no intention of making anything long-term, even in the best of all possible situations, because I'm not long-term. I'm not grown up enough. But sometimes I wonder if he lies in bed at night, looking at the ceiling and thinking of me. I wonder what he thinks of me. She and I couldn't be more different, I wonder if that's why it happened. I'm not perky nor blonde nor safe. I wonder if I'm the first, though I can hardly see him being the type to make a habit of it. 

And sometimes I just wonder if I'm insane.

There was a request in TQC to tell a couple of my creepy stories, so here goes.

I have always loved living in dorms. Something about the history, the knowledge that so many people have left an indelible mark, the easy access to alcohol and hookups, is enchanting. My favorite dorm was always St. Charles. The oldest part of the college, it once was the college, entire and complete. The rooms have wooden floors, the walls are plaster, and the halls hold a ghost. Frankly, if a building is almost one hundred years old and is not rumored to be haunted, I am disappointed in locals' ability to create lore. So when I was told that St. Charles was haunted, I was distinctly unimpressed. I moved in with little fanfare, and sat in my room thinking of the stories I'd heard. I've had an interest in the paranormal ever since I left my parent's religion at the age of 13, when I started looking for what I believed. I'd maintained the interest, and had been to many supposedly haunted locations, only to be disappointed by creaky pipes and nothing more than a general feeling of creepiness.

St. Charles, as it would turn out, was something different. It started on a windy night, windy enough that I didn't even think about it at the time. The wind always wuthers and howls around the building, and it's old and creaky. So when my door swung wide open at 2: 15 in the morning, I got up, shut my door, and didn't think much about it. Until it kept happening. 6 to 8 times a month, my door would fall open between the hours of 2:15 and 3:15 in the morning. After the fourth time, I locked my door at night. Every night. A week later, the light crossed my face as the door opened once again. I got up, irritated, and decided the doorknob must be broken, and too weak to keep the door shut. I closed the door, and grabbed the doorknob, leaning away to prove my point. The door stayed shut. I pulled harder on the doorknob. Nothing. Mildly creeped out, I shook my head and said in was nothing, I would ask Mike, the janitor and general handyman, to fix it tomorrow.

When I talked to Mike in the morning, he said that the doorknobs were just replaced that summer, and he was sure there was nothing wrong with my door or the knob, but he would check it out. I watched as he looked at it, and told me there was nothing wrong with my door. I shook my head when he told me to lock it at night, knowing that it would still open. For the rest of the school year, it opened within the same hour a few times a month.

But I learned to live with the weirdness of that. The other things made me genuinely believe I was living in a haunted location. My student ID went missing in November; I went to get another, that was lost in February. This and of itself was not unusual. I am hardly the world's record holder for keeping track of things. The strange part was where I found them when I was moving out. I scurried under my bed to grab some things, and saw something out of the corner of my eye. I flipped on my back, and there they were, lined up perfectly under the bed supports. My IDs. What the...? I thought, wondering why and how they got there. I decided not to think about it too much.

The last thing I can't explain away in that dorm has to do with the attached theater. This summer, while working for conferencing, I was walking around campus around eleven o' clock. Someone had left the lights to the theater on. I quietly cursed the groups we had on campus, and used my code to get inside. I called out for someone, and no one answered. They must have just left the lights on when they left. I went around the theater and turned all the lights off, shut the doors and went back outside. I was outside for two minutes when I turned and looked at the theater. All the lights were back on. I went back in, told the theater that it was past curfew for using the facility, and went around the theater again turning off the lights, looking for any signs of human life, but the only sound was the echo of my own footsteps. I went outside again, looked back, and the lights were on. I had been gone for only a minute. I left and went to bed.

The other place on campus I've had an experience in is St. Albert's. Last summer, I went around to all the computers on campus and took down their identification numbers. It was the middle of the summer, and things were fairly dead in the old nuns' quarters. I went into an office, checking a computer, and heard the door across from me slam. The office belonged to a old priest who taught history, and I thought he was getting all shirty that I was letting myself into offices. I went across the way and knocked on his door.

"Father? I'm supposed to be checking computer numbers. I need into your office." There was no answer. I knocked again. "I really need to do this. Can you please let me into your office?" Nothing. Sick of being ignored, I let myself into his office. No one. Hm. I went and looked for an open window on the floor of the small building, but there were none to be found. I quickly checked the computer number and turned to leave, and just as I stepped out of his office, the door slammed against my heel. I left without haste.

My creepy college stories, ladies and gentlemen.

Leave a comment on this post with your username, a color, or something more random, and I'll respond by complimenting you about something, anything. Repost this and spread the f-list love.

--Stolen in the dead of night from both qa and leapoftheory

I posted this as a comment, but decided it applied enough to my life and how I feel on stuff to be put here:

To be honest, I expected to be questioned on the nature of my sexuality from straight people. They gave gay people grief forever, now they're moving on to bi people, transpeople, etc. That doesn't mean I don't hate it, and that it doesn't hurt that just because they don't understand the way I feel, it's automatically made up or wrong. It does. But, I expected it.

What surprised me was, most of the people who gave me grief about my sexuality were homosexual.

It was something I really didn't expect. You know, the 'community' makes such a deal of "Pitch in, bifolk! We're all together in this fight!". If we're all together, why do you tell me to "pick a side", like sexuality is some sort of war? Why do you think I am not worth dating? Why do organizations meant to bring us together talk about "gay and lesbian marriage" instead of "same sex marriage"? Why do you assume I'm either confused or doing it for attention, accusations that have been leveled at gay and lesbian people forever, why would you bring that back on another person?

It upsets me. It still does.

I get to work an AIDS conference all day!

Also, administration, the reason we're trying to move you out of the basement next week: The sewer backed up. It, quite literally, smells like shit. Not because we thought it would be happy fun time to mess with your meeting next Monday.

I played trivia with Jake tonight. We were 6 points off from placing at the pub, as a two-person team. The winners were 15 people. I think jake and I are pretty awesome, being so small but doing well. We were the smallest team there and all. But this isn't about that. Not really. Though it happened at trivia, it said something more about humans as a whole. For once, it said something I liked.

I am generally a pessimist when it comes to all things, and the Olympics is no different. I tend to think that it's all a giant dog and pony show, that people forget about almost as soon as it happens. Tonight, in between the 6th and 7th rounds of trivia. Michael Phelps swam the butterfly. The entire pub stopped, eyes on the televisions. The quizmaster was silent, as a cheer began to rise up on the edges of the pub, as Phelps drew closer to the edge of the pool. As he made the turn, the pub practically exploded with cheers. I found myself getting drawn into it, this idea that even though only moments before we had all been competing against each other, now we were all on the same team. Phelps continued to pull ahead, and we with him. We were one. He touched that wall, and all of us let out a roar of applause. People smiled at each other. The energy moved everyone in the room, even as the applause died down. For an instant, I understood the Olympics.

I don't think I can ever be cynical about them again.

Since  badtattoos_4 got shut down, I'll have to post this here. It's too good not to share.

Ladies and gentlemen, THIS is the Modern Lovers logo, as lovingly designed by Jonathan Richman many a year ago.



Are we together on this? Yes? Yes. This will be important.

Oft have I toyed with the idea of getting some sort of Jonathan tattoo, though I have never been able to settle on a lyric I liked the best. Several front-runners, but no champion. Someone was ahead of me in line, however. Someone had the idea to get a Jonathan tattoo. And, like all good hipsters, show love for the Modern Lovers

Yellowstone last weekend was a rousing success, minus the stupid people GETTING OUT OF THEIR CARS TO GO EXAMINE THE BEAR ON THE HILLSIDE. People are idiots. Maybe it's from growing up in Montana, but if there's one thing I know about nature, it's that it is always more than happy to kill you.

On to pictures!

I'm going to the homestead over the weekend.

hold my calls/ pray to your higher God for my sanity.

Every time I see the Sargento commercial where the wife says : "Honey, I want to do something creative with salad tonight", I imagine vegetable porn. 

Bitch at the dinner party: So why would you want to be Jewish?

Randi: It fits me, I like it, I believe it.

Bitch at the dinner party: It's just such a silly little religion.

I'm feeling very emo kid today. It's not like I set out to be a whiny teenager in tight pants and a striped shirt, crying, "Nobody understands me! Nobody loves me!" But that seems to be the way I'm going today. Emotions are so strange, it's not as if I have any reason to be upset or lonely, I simply am.

I'm worried about August. Things are going to change, and I worry they're going to change for the worse. And I'm going to get fucked over.

But hey, I'll be 22!

In happier news, I get dinner made for me tonight.

So I've been doing nothing for the past few days but run around trying to get everyone ready for Symphony Under the Stars. SUTS is this thing we have every year at the campus, where the symphony comes and plays on our lawn, they set off fireworks, we dance, we kiss, we schmooze, we carry on, we go home happy. The set-up however, is kind of a killer. We've been making last minute changes to the housing list, which, in the grand scheme of things: not that big of a deal. However, it doesn't help that my boss is hiding off in the woods like a sensible person, so we're kind of freestyling it.

So, last night, I checked in a fair handful of the musicians. Bear in mind, people, these are not your high flying rock band 20 somethings. These are 30 and 40 something classical musicians. A few of them said they hadn't gotten anything to eat, so I said they should go out and they could call me when they returned. LITTLE DID I KNOW:

1:30 am

Randi's Phone: I Ring! Loudly! Arise!

Randi: Hello?

Musicians: Hello, I am very intoxicated and barely understandable. Perhaps you would allow me to gain admittance to the building, that I may sleep.

Randi: Why surely, good sir!

rinse and repeat until 3 am, when it became more like this:

Randi's Phone: HAHAHA, cower at my wrath, bitch!

Randi: lo?

Musicians: Room! Drunk! Sleep! AHasugagsdf

I go down in my slippers and jamajams, leading them to ask: "were you sleeping?"

NO I WAS AT THE BALL, BUT IT WAS TOO LATE AND MY DRESS TURNED BACK TO RAGS. HAVE YOU SEEN MY GLASS SLIPPER?

Ugh, I am tired.