My Blog log

2006-12-06T16:39:00.000-08:00

Prompt #15
What should the prompt be?
Well, perhaps this is a question that the teacher should be answering. After all, we students have had a long, hard semester. Now is not the time to be expecting anything creative out of us. But alas, our English teacher is hoping against hope that this class is different. That this class has actually retained enough from his cryptic, thought and question provoking comments that we will be able to come up with something good. I must say that the topic of Iraqi strippers did tempt me, but I decided that most likely the only people over there stripping would be the American soldiers dancing around at a makeshift Christmas party wearing nothing but Santa hats. OK, wishful thinking on my part, but a girls gotta do what a girls gotta do. Hey, they did it in the movie Jarhead!(A good movie, by the way. You really should watch it.)Let's see. Then there was the day my life turned to shit. Well, that could be construed in one way or another to be any day in my life, depending on what facet of my life happened to be crappy. Remember, nothing is ever perfect. But who wants to hear about that anyways? I've done enough bitching, moaning, and complaining in my blog this semester that even my computer wants to wrap its hands around my neck and squeeze. As far as hunting and deer:I think not. So there we have it folks. My last prompt in College Composition 101 with John Goldfine.And what a long, strange trip it's been...

2006-12-06T16:25:00.000-08:00

Prompt #14
Jesus loves me. Does he? Who the hell is this Jesus character anyways? Ever watch the Davinci Code? Although it may be a fictional story, it does make the moviegoer very aware that there are some pretty big holes in his story. Have you ever thought about the fact that there is nothing written about this cat from the time he was 12 to the time he was 30? What exactly was he doing during all of that time anyways? I'm sure that if he was out walking on water and healing sick people with a tiny touch that we would have heard about it. What if he was married to Mary Magdelene? What would that mean? Well, for starters, it would mean that the church is full of crap-no big surprise there. But it might also mean that he was a mere mortal man. The Buddhists Believe that anyone can be a Buddha, or enlightened one. Basically, that is what the Christians think of Jesus. That he was basically a god. In the story Siddhartha, a mere mortal man learns enough in one lifetime that one day, while he sat under the bohdi tree, he became enlightened and was reborn. He was reborn into his final life, completely aware of all of his previous lives. Now, I realize that this isn't exactly the same as the story of Jesus. But it certainly is close enough that it makes me wonder: What version of the story should we believe when they are both so similar that it raises some serious doubts in something that is supposed to be completely unquestionable truth?

2006-12-06T08:36:00.000-08:00

Stephanie Grinnan
Practice Final

“Money, get away. Get a good job with good pay and you’re okay. Money, it’s a gas. Grab that cash with both hands and make a stash”.
Boy didn’t they have it right. Money influences everything that we do today. For me, money is the driving force behind just about everything that I do. Now, don’t get me wrong; I hate money. I believe that without the politics behind money and religion, this world would be without war. Unfortunately, however, this world won’t be changing anytime soon. So, like so many other nobodies in this world, I have to join the rat race and do whatever I can to get my hands on some cash. In the past, I made my way through various low paying jobs to make ends meet. Right now, I am currently going to college to pave my money making road for the future, all the while working my behind off to scrape through for the next 2 years. After college, I plan to get a good, hopefully high paying job to zoom my way to financial freedom.

My first real full time job was at Big Squaw Mountain Ski Resort in Greenville, Maine. I started working there shortly after I left my ex husband. It was definitely a new experience for me, as before I had only ever worked part time and taken care of my daughter at home. I started out working at the top of the triple chair, basically making sure that no one broke their neck while getting off the ramp. If anyone fell, I was supposed to hit this big red button to make the lift stop. Sounds hard, doesn’t it? Well, the fun doesn’t stop there. I also had to radio back and forth to the lift operator at the bottom whenever I stopped the lift to let him know when to start it back up again. Eventually, I was given the pleasure of running the front desk at the hotel on the mountain. I liked this job much better, as the day went by so much faster. I answered the phones, dealt with customers, and ran the cash register. The only problem that I had with working up at the Mountain was that I was only being paid $6.50 per hour. This was unacceptable. After I left the mountain, I worked at a few other places, mostly low paying, and between the horrid hours and the constant layoffs (a side effect of living in the north woods), I finally decided that the only way to get myself and my daughter through the next 18 or so years would be to take the time to go to college and get my behind educated.

After I was layed off from a relatively well paying job at Moosehead Cedar Log Homes, I decided that I needed to get it together. In a week’s time, I took my accuplacer, applied for financial aid, decided on a major, and applied to Eastern Maine Community College. After years of being bored with my work, I made the decision to go to school for something that I truly enjoyed: Automotive Technology .With many raised eyebrows from friends and family, I packed up the moving truck and headed for the big city of Bangor, Maine. Since I was collecting unemployment, there was no way that I could afford to pay the exorbitant rent prices that are typical to this area, so I applied for an apartment over in Capehart, the ghetto of Bangor. After much run around, I was leased an apartment for $276 dollars per month, utilities included. Not bad. I started school in August, and boy, what a slap in the face it has been. I was under the impression that this would be easy! Not so…Between the constant homework in college comp, to the various assortment of bruises and cuts as a side effect of being in the shop 20+ hours per week, I am exhausted! With winter break coming up, though, I’ll finally be able to take some time for myself, right? Wrong! I decided that the only way that I will be able to work during my second year of school (my unenjoyment, as I have affectionately termed it, runs out in May of 2007) would be to get as many of my gen ed classes out of the way as possible. This means that during every winter term, spring term, and summer break, I will be forgoing my chance at some college style partying in favor of slaving away at the laptop. But, as I said, I’m here to get my behind educated, not to screw around.

Hopefully, if all goes well, I will be graduating from this fine establishment in May of 2008. By then, I will hopefully have passed all of my classes and will be ready to enter the workforce. Even though I am going to school for automotive technology, I don’t plan on being a service technician. I would like to go for a job as a service advisor. Over at Darlings Honda, the dealership behind the campus, there is a lady named Bobby Jo that works as one of head service writers. She graduated from the same program that I am going through and is making over $1000 per week. She, like me, had a background in administrative and office work, so that combined with her degree made her a shoe in for the job. My only concern, before I heard about Bobby Jo, was that maybe the dealerships wouldn’t want to hire me because I am a woman. But now that I have talked with Bobby Jo and also my teacher, Mike Beland, I feel pretty confident that my education here will pay off. As Mike said, if you think about it, a lot of the customers that the service departments deal with are woman. What better way to attract more female customers than to have a woman behind the desk waiting with a smile and an understanding and patient attitude? The only thing that I need to work on before then is to not let the constant use of profane language that is typical in the shop seep its way into my normal vocabulary. Something tells me that it wouldn’t be too awful impressive in a job interview.

If I take a good long look at my life now compared to how my life was 5 years ago, I can definitely see that I have made some pretty progressive steps toward being able to rake in the cash for years to come. As long as I can keep my head above water for the next year and a half, and stay on target with my classes, then I should be golden. Yesterday, I had a meeting with a lady named Judy Holt. Judy works for Training and development Corporation. They are the folks that helped me pay for all of my automotive tools so that I could go to school. (TDC works with unemployment and aids displaced workers with funds to assist with education or retraining) During the meeting, we talked about what my plans were for securing a job after school was all done. I told her about my aspirations as a service advisor. She said that recently the State of Maine has been pushing TDC to recommend folks, in particular woman in non traditional fields, for their apprenticeship program. This program helps to find a job, negotiate salary increases, and also to pay for any additional training that the employer says that the person needs to do their job well. So between that and everything else I seem to have going for me, my money making days are flying towards me at lightning speeds.

2006-12-06T05:48:00.000-08:00

Prompt #13
The buck stops here! The other night, Monday to be exact, my daughter decided to pull yet another one of her atrocious fits. I had made a yummy dinner of sausage and peppers. In the last few weeks, I have gotten so sick of her constant attitude about everything and her aversion to any food except for macaroni and cheese that I decided that she would no longer be allowed to get anything special for dinner. She would have to eat everything that Aaron and I eat. So there we were, sitting in my cozy little livingroom getting ready to dig in. As always, I had put Stephanies plate in front of her first, so she had a 5 minute head start on us. I looked over, and she was staring at the sausage and pepper grinder like it was a pile of steaming you know what. I asked her what the problem was. She told me that she didn't want it because it had something green in it. I explained to her that that was a pepper, and that I had cooked it long enough that it would taste just like everything else in the sandwich-she wouldn't even be able to tell. I told her to at least taste it-she might like it. Arms got crossed and lips were pursed quicker than I could say Grounded! Again, I told her that she needed to try the sandwich. Again she stamped her foot on the couch and gave me a dirty look. It was a showdown-me versus a 7 year old. Well. This was definately a fight I was not willing to lose........

Half an hour later, and we had accomplished nothing. This little girl is stubborn! Ok then. THE BUCK STOPS HERE! Go to bed I said. Go to bed and when you get up in the morning you can have that same sandwich for breakfast. And if you won't eat it then, you can have it for dinner. You're bound to get hungry sometime!....

Two days later, and she's still holding out. At this point, she's eaten half of the sandwich, along with apparently huge lunches at school. So here we go-groundation until the point where she has given us no problems about dinner for 7 consecutive days. And when I say groundation, I mean no priveledges whatsoever. No activities at the Y, no friends over, no t.v., no nothing! Ahhh the joys of parenthood...

2006-12-05T17:47:00.000-08:00

Graf #14
As much as I would like to have a whole bunch to say about the contrast essays, I really don't. None of them impressed me very much. Not because they weren't well written, but because it's getting towards the end of the semester and quite frankly, I've had enough of essays. I have always hated writing them. But what I hate even more is reading other peoples. And in this class, I'm pretty much forced to read other peoples because how else would I write these incredibly interesting grafs about them? I suppose I could probably come up with some way to be able to write the grafs without actually reading them. Maybe I could just read some of the other reaction grafs and pick and choose little bits and pieces from them. Goldfine will never know...Or will he?

2006-12-05T17:35:00.000-08:00

Graf #13
I'm not entirely sure what the assignment list means when it says" post a graf of your own research history". Does this mean research in general, or research for the ISearch? Well, I'm going to go with research in general. Since I dropped out of high school in the 10th grade and got my good enough diploma, I was exempt from the horrendous research papers that my fellow students endured for the last 3 years of high school. However, I did get married at the age of 16, along with having a baby at the same age. So I guess that you could say I've done my fair share of research. Research from where to buy the cheapest diapers to how my ex husbands credit score was when we were trying to buy our house. I was always the one to take care of all of those things.I was the one who looked into the car insurance options, the mysterious foreign number charges on the phone bill, and the best place to go out for dinner on a sunday night in Quebec. I have to say that even though it was all a big pain in the rear at the time, it has definately benefited me in the long run. And as my ex husband is crying because he can't get his life together, I'm sitting pretty with all of my cheap groceries, great car insurance, and a fabulous sunday dinner.

2006-12-05T17:10:00.000-08:00

Prompt #12
O.K. So I'm starting to run out of steam with these prompts. This weeks (well technically 3 weeks ago, but who's counting....) choices are not really seeming all that appealing to me. Lets take a look at the options, shall we?

52. No telling what he was thinking behind those dark glasses: all that I can think about for this one is the old aviator styyle mirrored sunglasses that the hiway troopers used to wear...considering my recent brush with the law, I'd prefer not to think about that...

53. Robin Redbreast in a cage puts all heaven in a rage:You know I like birds. So much so, in fact, that I hung up a nice bird feeder on my back porch out in Capehart this summer. I even filled it up with the expensive bird seed. Do you think any bird in his right mind would venture out here to the ghetto? Of course not...The damn thing is still full.

54. Headin' down the hiway, lookin' for adventure....:I've had enough of the hiway...it gets me into trouble...

55. Love at first sight?:Well you'd think what with my ISearch being about love that this would be a primo topic for me...Christ between the ISearch and my personal life I have enough love to choke a horse...case closed!!!

56. Injustice in small things, injustice in large ones.:The world is full of injustices...Way more than I would like to think about right at the moment.Damn that District Attorney in Skowhegan...

A. New seeds in Pro-Mix--there's something wrong with starting seeds in something with a name like that...:Hmmm...the only thing that this topic does for me is to remind me of my lack of aviary friends in my backyard...

B. Railroad cars scattered all over the landscape like toys....:My personal life(or lackthereof) is enough of a train wreck to fill up 15 weeks of freestyles..I think I'll leave it be thank you very much.

C. If you lived in the city without chores to do, what the hell would you do on a rainy day?:Well thats easy...I would catch up on all of my College Composition homework that I have been slacking off on!

D. Toys scattered all over the landscape like...well, not railroad cars....:Looking around my apartment right now, I would say this would accurately describe the "landscape".PLEASE DON'T REMIND ME!!!

2006-12-05T16:56:00.000-08:00

Prompt #11
What god hath put asunder, let no man repair. Well I would say that this would apply to just about every vehicle in the automotive shop right now. We have so many junk vehicles over there it's sickening. The most sickening one of all, however, is my 1994 Ford Ranger. I bought that truck a year and a half ago. I can still remember the Uncle Henrys ad: 1994 Ford Ranger, Green, 58,000 original miles. Excellent shape. $1700 OBO. Ahh yes, the magic words...Or best offer. The old man that I ended up buying the truck from seemed so sincere. Oh yes. We've just had it inspected, and the mechanic said that everything was in great shape. Oh sure I'll take $1500 for it...Drive it away. Right. I should have known something was fishy. Since that day, I have gotten the old odometer up to 80,440 miles. You wouldn't think that this would be much. I wouldn't have thought that either. But upon close inspection, I found that the underside of my Ford is so rusted that the frame could break if I hit a bump just right. The front end has chunks of metal peeling off. When I put the truck on the lift, the lift arm went right through the soft wrotted metal that once served as the leaf spring hanger. So, unfortunately, instead of fixing up my truck and driving, I have to resort to plan B, which is to part the old beast out and make some money out of her that way. What god hath put asunder, let no man repair. Well let me say this: The only thing that would be able to fix that truck would be an act of god, so I suppose that I have made the right decision.

2006-12-05T16:38:00.000-08:00

Prompt #10
The past as prologue. We all have skeletons in our closets.Every time that dusty door swings open they rattle and swing around and try to get a glimpse of the light of day. Of course, as soon as they even get close, we swing the door shut and leave them moaning behind us again. But they are always with us. Always in the back of our minds is a lingering memory of the past. Sometimes, as in the case of the skeletons, it is a memory that we wish not to remember, and sometimes it is a wonderful memory that, no matter how hard we try, slowly slips away like sand through our fingers. Whatever those memories are, we wouldn't be the same without them. Think about: lets say that tomorrow you step out into the street without looking and you get hit by a bus. You spend 6 months in the hospital recovering. Do you think that when you leave the first thing you do will be to step out into the street again without a care in the world? I think not. Every time you teeter off the sidewalk, if you can even bring yourself to do that, will be a moment dripping with anxiety and memories of the BAT squishing you into the freshly layed asphault on State Street. This little story goes farther than near death experiences though. Even the most inane little moment in time can haunt us for years to come. Take the inappropriate comment, for example. It only takes 5 seconds for a comment laced with innuendo to escape the lips of an employee, but it will take years of litigation and money to settle out of court. So yes. The past is a prologue. Every day, we experience something new. And each new experience makes us a different person. It effects how we interact with other people, how we do our jobs, how we drive, and about a million other little things that make us us. Let's just hope that our personal prologues stay readable and not boring and dark and gloomy.

2006-12-05T16:15:00.000-08:00

Prompt #9
Sometimes humans are defined as tool-using animals. Nowadays, the scientists talk about chimps both making and using tools, but, hey, we're Number One! Tools in their chests, drawers, and wallracks; tools scattered on the table; tools used and unused, new and old; tools of love, tools of war, tools of work, tools of play. Tools can say a lot.
Tools can say a lot. Mine say that I was too cheap to go ahead and by them myself. Yes, I took the easy way out and let good old unemployment pay for them. So far, they have payed for $1500 dollars worth of tools for me-and thats only for the first semester. All told, at the end of my second year at EMCC I will have a $4,000 dollar tool collection. You would think that $1500 dollars would pay for quite a bit. But in reality, I really only have the basics. What I really need to go out and buy are some organizers for all of my sockets. Open the top drawer of my little red craftsman tool box and you'll probably wonder why mice haven't made their nest among the ruins in there. I probably have just about every size, whether it be 1/2, 1/4, or 3/8 drive . The problem being that all of them are all just thrown into the drawer like red headed step children. It takes me 5 minutes just to find the right size socket to go with the right size ratchet. What a waste of time! Considering that I have been going to school since the last week of August, you'd think that I would have gotten things together. So let's see: So far my tools have told you that I'm cheap, lazy, and prone to procrastination. Should I let them continue? Nice try Goldfine, but I don't think so.

2006-12-02T15:03:00.000-08:00

graf #12
The only sample classification essay that really held any interest for me was the first one. It was basically about snakes and snails and puppy dog tails being used as an analogy for different types of men. She's right you know. *Most* men can be summed up into one of those categories. In fact, I have dated more than one of each of those, and every one could be described similarly to the way she described her experience with each of her snakes and snails and puppy dog tails. It's funny how so many girls have some of the same problems with men. Now I'm sure than men could say the same thing about woman. But why is it that you hear so much more complaining about men being sleazeballs than woman being well, bitches? I suppose that answer lies with each of us. The answer that lies with me would be the fact that as a woman, not too many men would be using me as an avenue of woman bashing.

2006-12-02T14:52:00.000-08:00

graf #11
Gosh I certainly wish that I had written this graf sooner. It seems like my cause essay was a million years ago. I had written it about Wylie, who also seems like a million years away. At that time, I couldn't see anything but him. Despite the way he treated me, I was blinded by my lust for him. So blinded that I wasted a good piece of writing on him. But regardless, It will always be something that I can look back on and remember that things can be very misleading if you let them. It truly is scary how we all have the ability to talk ourselves in and out of things that we know we should or shouldn't be doing. I know that we are supposed to be intelligent beings, but what good is that going to do us if we can't use it constructively?

2006-12-02T14:45:00.000-08:00

Prompt #8
This fist has got Pow pow power! Of course, this fist only has power if I was up against, oh I dont know, let say a comatose person. I've never considered myself to be very strong physically. My strength lies in my mind. The thing is, that physical strength fades, but barring any type of mental illness, brain power doesn't. Mental and emotional strength can also grow exponentially, unlike physical strength. There is always a limit to how much you're body can take in the way of muscle strength and endurance. But now matter how hard you try, you will find that there is no end to the amount you can learn. And I'm not talking about just book smarts. I'm talking about people smarts. If you are open minded enough, then you can always figure more out about the world and the people in it, and in doing that, you can learn an unlimited amount about yourself.

2006-12-02T14:38:00.000-08:00

Freestyle #15
Wow. I cannot believe that I have been at this for 15 weeks. It just doesn't seem possible. I mean, a year ago I was at the grindstone working for a living and on my own. Now I'm a college student who never stops running from here to there, juggling a kid, bills, homework, and a new boyfriend. But you know, I think that it will all be worth it in the end. Even though sometimes it feels like I'm not learning too awful much, particularly in my gen ed classes, it certainly does feel like I've learned a lot about myself. And I must say Goldfine: your class has definately been one of my favorites-performance warnings, lack of attendance, and porn site flubs included.

2006-12-02T14:26:00.000-08:00

Freestyle #14
What is the story with music nowadays? Does it have any meaning anymore? Or is it just that I am getting old and stuck in my ways? I like some of the new music, in particular hip hop and rap. But none of that means a damn thing to me. Nothing more than a good, mindless beat to rock out to in the car when I'm driving too damn fast on the interstate. But when I'm sitting here and trying to finish up a semesters worth of writing, I need music with juice. Music that speaks to me and whispers some words of inspiration into my ear. So I go for the oldies. The Led Zeppelin, the Beatles, and the Janis Joplin. They sing about all of the things that I can't even bring myself to think about, and they do it in such a way that it can help me put a finger on the specific emotion that I'm having difficulty expressing at any given moment. So I guess the point is that I've found the genre that speaks to me and for me. But considering that all of this was made years before I was a twinkle in my mothers eye, maybe I am getting old and stuck in my ways. Perhaps older than my years.

2006-12-02T14:16:00.000-08:00

Prompt #6
I am a believer that everything happens for a reason. It seems as though the most inane thing will be later remembered down the line at some point as a turning point; that without that one moment things just wouldn't be the same. Everything that has come and gone so far in my life has shaped me into the individual that I am today. Although some parts of me aren't the best, that's me. Along with all of the neurotic and slightly dark and twisty parts of me come the sweet, funny, and wise parts. Without one, you wouldn't get the other. So even though there have been some pretty bad goings on in my past, I have to remember that if I hadn't have experienced those times, then my life would not be the same right now. Considering my current circumstances, I wouldn't change a thing.

2006-12-02T14:07:00.000-08:00

graf #10
I read through some of the sample isearches. I can't say that I only read through them once either. I actually printed one of them out and used it as a model while I squeezed out my first draft in a matter of 2 days. I wasn't particularly impressed with any of them. All pretty dry stuff. In fact, I'm not particularly impressed with any of my writing. I believe that my isearch will probably be the most unimpressive of all. Not because it won't be written somewhat well, but because I just feel like anything that is researched and then crammed into a few pages can be difficult to have any spice to it whatsoever. I am definately a fan of the short assignment. I know, I know, you must be thinking that of course this is my favorite type of assignment. It takes less effort. Well, although that may be partially true, I tend to lean towards the shorter assignments because it's so much easier to put your own thought process right there on the paper.

2006-12-02T13:56:00.000-08:00

Freestyle #13
I'm sitting here listening to The Beatles on my laptop. I have 3500 songs stored in windows media player right now. None of them were payed for. Yes, yes I know..I am a criminal. But music is so important to me that it removes the fear from my mind that the feds are going to bust down my door and drag me off to some padded cell where I'll spend the next 10 years paying off my debt to society. The thing is that there really isn't any debt that I feel like I owe to society for downloading some free music. The only debt, if you could call it that, is to some overpaid record company executives that charge 5 times too much for their c.d.s anyway. What is someone supposed to do when they don't have the 17.95 to pay for a c.d., let alone a collection of music? Are they just supposed to go without, or listen to the same 15 songs that the radio stations play over and over and over? To me, music can put words to so many emotions that I just can't describe by myself, and until the day comes when I can afford that 17.95 c.d., I'll take my chances with the 5-0, the fuzz, and whoever else who decides that they want to take away one of my few sources of sanity.

2006-11-23T21:58:00.000-08:00

freestyle #12
Ahhh thanksgiving. It's hard to believe that it has already come and gone for another year. Today I spent the holiday with Aarons parents...interesting to say the least. I had already met them a few weeks ago, which actually made the day feel more stressful to start off with. I knew just enough about them to be nervous. But everything turned out ok; no huge disasters. The biggest sketch moment was when myself and Aaron were sitting outside on the porch. I said that I couldn't wait to get home and into bed...meaning a nap...and he said, rather loudly "well I would probably be too tired to have sex after all that turkey"...I looked behind me at the open door and what do I see but his fathers back...way to go...

2006-11-12T13:52:00.000-08:00

Example essay

We always think that when we fall in love that it will be for some existential reason, like being saved from a burning building by your lover or being romanced with flowers and impromptu trips to European countries. At the very least, some part of our brain must think that there has to be a large amount of time and drama before we can know for sure that we are in love. I have recently been enlightened to the fact that this is not the case. My boyfriend, Aaron, has shown me that love is found in the little things, and most certainly does not take much time or drama at all to be substantiated.

I met Aaron in the automotive program right here at EMCC. One day, when I was in the shop during the morning class, he just walked up to me out of the blue and said hello. Now, you must understand, I’m not used to such treatment, especially in the shop. Most of the guys floating around the greasy paradise treat me as one of them; just another one of the dirty, smelly, burp spouting members of the class. When we started talking, it felt so natural. It felt like he had been my friend for years, but in reality, he just showed up one day and took a place in my heart.

Being a single mom doesn’t exactly make dating easy. Between the temper tantrums, commitment phobic men, and the lack of time, I would be lucky to attract a psych ward patient. The first time Aaron came over and met Stephie, they hit it off right away. She laughed at his jokes, and he gave her a piggy back ride all the way up our street in the dark; a match made in heaven. Last week, amid performance warnings from college comp and poor test grades in math, stress was running rampant in my messy house. Instead of ducking out and being the typical hands off guy, Aaron helped me clean my apartment, and then spent an hour and a half with my daughter helping her with her math homework. You won’t find that in a burning building.

Everyone in this world is damaged somehow. Every experience that we have affects us, whether it be for the better or for worse. Going through a nasty divorce and having countless failed relationships hasn’t really made me an easy person to deal with. All it takes sometimes is one comment taken the wrong way for me to blow things out of proportion and fly out the door. Partially this is fueled by the other person getting defensive and not being understanding about why I act the way I act. Last week, on the way to Ellsworth, Aaron made a comment about an ex girlfriend of his. It went something to the effect of her being attractive but using it to taunt him with. He went on to add that he loved me because I didn’t do that to him. Now of course, I flew off the handle thinking that he meant that he didn’t find me as attractive as this other girl. But instead of getting defensive and ignoring me, he just talked it out with me, and after that, he held me in his arms and let me know that everything was all right.

If at any time you just look around you, whether it be in your own neighborhood, on the TV. or at a restaurant, you’ll see so many relationships that are based on the drama that comes with people that aren’t really suited for each other. It’s become more of a norm in this country that couples fight and cheat on each other to extract attention instead of just loving and caring for one another. This past weekend, Aaron and I had a bunch of plans to watch movies and to go places. But instead of going out of our way to be together, we spent all of Saturday in bed.(and no, it wasn’t what you think pervert) We were both perfectly satisfied to just lay around and talk and hold eachother; no wine, candles, roses, or trips to European countries involved.

2006-11-12T12:08:00.000-08:00

Process Essay

The way I see it, there are certain things in life that we just can’t live without. These include love, air, water, and good food. The first three tend to find their way to us without us having to do an awful lot. The fourth, good food, tends to only find those who either have a lot of money to spend at restaurants, or those who know how to cook. I was never taught how to cook growing up. The closest that I ever got to the kitchen was when mother wasn’t looking and I would steal a cookie or a fingerful of warm apple pie from the cooling rack. When I got married, I found out very quickly that I would need to figure something out and quick if I expected to keep my husband satiated. After spending a few hours in the kitchen appliances section at Wal-Mart, I came across what would soon become my best friend, the crock pot. An inspection of the included cookbook at home revealed that there were many good meals that I could cook in this contraption that required no special talent on my part. The best recipe in this book that I found was for Chili.

The first step was to assemble all of the ingredients. The book calls for 1 pound of lean ground hamburger meat, 1 fresh onion, some mushrooms, tomatoes, green peppers, canned diced tomatoes, spaghetti sauce, shredded cheese, and kidney beans. I also like to add spicy Italian sausage and black beans, along with the occasional can of chickpeas if I feel like my intestines (and my company) can handle them. Along with all of the fresh ingredients come the spices. For the complete novice, I recommend the cheap 99 cent packet of hot chili seasoning that you can buy at the grocery store. In fact, I use this myself. But along with that, I also add in some garlic powder, yellow curry powder, onion powder, oregano, and black pepper.

Once I have all of my ingredients assembled, next comes the hardest step; the frying pan. Before I can throw everything into the crock pot, the veggies and the meat have to be browned; otherwise they will just turn mushy and flavorless in the swirl of tomatoes and beans. I throw the Hamburg and the sausage into the pan with a little bit of butter (well I never said that this chili was healthy…) and fry them up at medium heat until they are almost cooked through. I don’t want to cook them through completely, though, because then they will just be all dried out when everything is done. Into the crock pot goes the meat. Next, I chop the onions, mushrooms, and green peppers into small pieces. I actually prefer big chinks of veggies, but after listening to my ex husband bitch for 5 years that the veggies were gross and witness him pile them up on the side of his plate, I’ve become accustomed to the smaller, diced style. Into the frying pan with them, along with more butter. Once browned, the veggies join the meat in the crock pot.

Now that the frying is over with, it’s time to start mixing. Everything else on the ingredients list goes into the crock pot. After I open the cans of beans and tomatoes, I make sure to drain them thoroughly into the sink to avoid making the chili too thin. Once all of the fresh ingredients are added, I dump the packet of hot chili seasoning in. Sometimes, depending on the size of the pot of chili I’m making, I’ll use 2 packets. Now I get the big spoon from my little drawer of idiot proof cooking utensils and start to stir the conglomerate of colorful grease in the pot. It’s very important to stir the chili thoroughly, making sure to break up all the little pockets of seasoning. Otherwise, when great uncle Larry with the heart condition is eating, he might hit one of those little firebombs and take a trip to another plane of existence. Once everything is mixed, the lid goes on, and I set the crock pot to low if I have 9-10 hours to spare, or to high if I need the chili soon, like in 4-5 hours. I have to say, however, that it always comes out better when it can fester in the pot for a whole day or whole night.

I usually use this recipe when I can throw it together first thing in the morning and let it cook all day while I’m slaving away at work or school. As soon as I open the front door, I’m hit by a wall of spicy chili fog. In the kitchen, the crock pot is covered with overflowing chili juice. I take off the steamy cover and start to stir. Now is the time to add the final ingredients. As I said before, along with the chili for dummies seasoning packet, I also add some oregano, garlic powder, onion powder, black pepper, and yellow curry powder. I add them in slowly, stirring and taste testing as I go. Now, as much as I hate to give away my secrets, there is one more thing to add. Over the years, I’ve done much experimenting in the realm of tomatoes and bean based concoctions. I’ve found that the only way to successfully enjoy the spiciness and flavor simultaneously is to add a pinch of sugar. So, now all that’s left to do is to get the ladle, dump some into a bowl, and enjoy! Oh yes, and one more thing: make sure to have plenty of beano handy, because you’re in for a rough ride tonight.

2006-11-08T06:25:00.000-08:00

Prompt #5
Contrary to popular belief, it is completely possible to get a traffic ticket without ever having to see the blaze of blue lights blaring in your rear view mirror. As all of you EMCC students may have noticed, Bangor P.D. has decided that they would put their radar unit on our campus right behind Maine hall. Coincidentally, this just happens to be right in the flight plan of all of the Diesel and automotive students on their way to Penobscot hall. This particular machine is calibrated so that when a student passes it going more than 15 mph, it flashes your speed in red. When you slow down to the speed limit or below, it reads in amber colored characters. A favorite pastime for some of us (myself included) over the past few weeks has been to drop down a gear and mash the gas to see what we could get for a number on the readout. All in good fun, right? WRONG! Yesterday a classmate informed us all that he received a 215 dollar fine in the mail because that little machine apparently has a built in camera that snaps a nice photo of your liscence plate every time those numbers flash red. Sickening isn't it? So now for the next month I'll be saying a little prayer every time I unlock my mailbox, hoping that I don't see anything from the violations bureau...Especially considering that I actually managed to hit 42 mph one day...As impressive at that seemed at the time, a charge of criminal speeding being only 3 mph away seems a bit irresponsible now that I may have been caught.

2006-11-08T06:17:00.000-08:00

freestyle #11
After speech class this morning, I decided that I had better heed the warnings my stomach was giving me and get some breakfast. Instead of taking time to go up the Hogan road for a high class meal at mcdonalds, I decided to go for cafeteria food. I was surprised at how good everything looked. Gone were the days of mystery meat chili and wrinkly hot dogs from elementary school. I loaded up my stryrofoam doggie bag with my various assortment of culinary hostages and went to pay. The only problem, as it turns out, is that our cafeteria doesn't take debit cards. After a short moment of panic as a direct result of the horrors of direct deposit, I found out that they do take checks. Crisis averted. Now I can sit in front of the computer in the Automotive library and type some wonderfully exciting freestyle entries in my blog. Well, actually, I'll have to let you go, as my breakfast sandwich requires the attention of not just one but two of my typing hands.

2006-11-05T12:12:00.000-08:00

Contrast essay

TNT. We’ve all heard of it. Highly explosive and volatile, it’s not something that the untrained person should dabble with. My family and I are no strangers to TNTs destructive properties. When I was 13 years old, my mother gave birth to identical twin boys, Timmy and Tommy (TNT). From the time that they were born, the boys have had 2 very distinct personalities. Short for their age and rather wiry, Timmy and Tommy share their looks right down to the fingerprints that they leave on all of the mirrors in the house. They have beautiful green eyes courtesy of our mother, and a mischievous grin that reminds me of my stepfather’s sarcastic sense of humor and dry wit. But although my little brothers look so much alike that they could be interchangeable, the similarities end skin deep.

A flannel shirt with missing buttons, and jeans with grass stains and road rash holes. This is the outfit that my brother Tommy decided was appropriate for church last Sunday. Down the stairs he came with a big grin on his face and a ninja turtle in his hand. Completely clueless about fashion, he is the kid that always comes to class wearing clashing colors and mismatched socks, all the while wondering why the girls in the corner are giggling at him. Timmy, on the other hand, wouldn’t be caught dead in most of the get ups that Tommy parades around in. My mother is always kept busy with sewing because whenever any of Timmys clothes get ripped from playing, he refuses to wear them again until the holes are repaired and the buttons are replaced.

Timmys clothing style is not the only thing about him that is stuffy and conservative. Not one to make light of many situations, Timmy doesn’t have much of a sense of humor. Many times over the years have I tried to illicit a laugh from the little guy, and many times have my jokes been met with a blank stare and a groan. However, as Timmy is busy ignoring my valiant attempts at entertainment, Tommy is laughing right along with me, matching my gross and sometimes highly inappropriate comedy acts with his own.

Along with Timmys conservative approach to humor comes his conservative approach to school. Every day, he walks in the door from the school bus, grabs a snack, and settles right in to his homework. Always an A student, my parents are always proud to go to the parent teacher conferences and hear about how dedicated and responsible one of their sons is. Last year, my brother Tommy was sent to the principles office 15 times for indiscretions ranging from not completing his homework to blowing spitballs at the chalkboard when the teacher was writing out a math problem. This year, he has already managed to amass 5 late library book notices, 2 detentions, and 2 unsatisfactory grades on his report card.

Last night I called the house to see how the boys were doing. Tommy answered the phone completely ecstatic because he had received his first A in the school year. It was on an essay that he had to write in English class, as the teacher had said that she wanted it to be of the humorous variety. Timmy, however, was not so happy. The best that he had been able to achieve was a C+. Hopefully this is the way that the rest of their days go. That each of them will be recognized separately as very different people with very different but equally wonderful talents, regardless of how similar they are in appearance.

2006-11-05T10:05:00.000-08:00

Classification essay

The other day I went grocery shopping at the Wal-Mart super center in Brewer. After I had filled my cart with the usual array of unhealthy fare, I navigated my behemoth of a cart into the shortest line I could find. In front of me, a rather large woman was unloading her groceries onto the belt. A quick scan over her collection and I had to wonder what I was missing. Every thing she put up had a label claiming that the product inside was low in something. Low in fat, low in sugar, low in carbs. If I couldn’t see this woman, I would’ve assumed she was much smaller than she is. But it seems as though each of these labels has something to hide. Most seem as though they are just using their “diet” labels as a ploy to get people to buy food that is probably a heart attack or diabetic episode waiting to happen, all because it would probably cost too much to actually make a healthy product...

The first label, “low in fat”, seems like it’s such a great concept. Every day we hear commercials on TV and read magazine articles that proclaim how terrible fat is for your body. After all, that is what all of that lumpy stuff is on your behind after the holidays. It makes people think that if they don’t eat anything with fat in it, then they won’t get fat. Well, this is just not the case. For example, if I followed this concept, I could go out and buy a whole months supply of sour patch kids, skittles, and starburst candy and expect to lose weight if this was all that I ate. Now how do you think that would work out? Even though the candy is “fat free”, is still is basically pure sugar. When we eat too much sugar, our bodies turn the excess into fat, basically defeating the purpose of low fat dieting.

The second label, “low in sugar” must seem fabulous after reading the truth about “low in fat” labels. After all, if something is low in sugar, then it must be low in calories right? Then that must mean that you can eat more of it and not have your body turn into a cellulite factory. Well, unfortunately I get to be the bearer of bad news again. If I thought that I could lose weight by just consuming low in sugar items, then I should be able to live off of red meat and potatoes for a month and look like a supermodel. Now again, how well do you think that would work in the real world? Even though your meals wouldn’t be dripping with sugar calories, they would be fat and cholesterol laden, and after eating your manly meal, so would you.

And now we come to the most misleading label of all, the “low in carbs” label. I’m sure that you have heard from somewhere the buzz about the low carb diet. It claims that if you just limit your carb total to a certain number every day, then you can eat whatever you want and not get fat. For example, I could supposedly have a greasy breakfast of bacon, eggs, and sausage, a lunch of steak dipped in butter with a side of canola oil, and a dinner of fried sausage and peppers, and lose 5 pounds per week. Think again. Not only are you taking years off of your ability to stave off a heart attack, but if you do manage to lose any weight, it’s because your body has gone into starvation mode without its main source of energy, carbs.

As I watched Ms. Diet food waddle her way out of the store, I took a minute to take inventory of what I had in my cart. Between the full fat cottage cheese, fudge brownie mix, and the whole milk, you would think that I would be huge. Although I might not be all that thin, I have managed to keep myself at a healthy weight according to the BMI chart. I think that the moral of the story is that there isn’t any “miracle food” that will make you lose weight without having to pay attention to what goes into your mouth. Everything needs to be eaten in moderation. As they say, a moment on the lips, forever on the hips…

2006-11-03T11:01:00.000-08:00

Freestyle #10
Perhaps in my rather bitter writing over the last few weeks I've given the impression that I'm going to give up. I didn't intend to insult, although apparently that was what I succeeded in doing. I realize that I made the mistake of cutting class;I also realize that this combined with using my blog as a personal venting ground probably didn't look very good, and I certainly deserved every bit of sarcasm and threat that my last comment from Goldfine was dripping with. I do appreciate everything I'm learning here. Sometimes, however, it feels as though it's all so overwhelming. In taking some time to step back and take a good look at the big picture, I've realized that "these teachers" don't really have it any easier than us students. I can only imagine...they go to college for 6 years to do this job, only to realize that what they are teaching is probably just a "requirement" for most of their captive audience; that probably 10 to 1 their students are not sitting in their class by choice. So in stepping back even farther...I realize that the only person that I really insulted was myself.

2006-11-03T10:53:00.000-08:00

Freestyle #9
I missed a technical math test last week. This meant that I had to retake said test in the rescource room. You would think that this would be no big deal. But in this so called rescource room, there are two very distracting things; loud teachers who are teaching loud students. Ok. So that doesn't quite work when said test is confusing enough in dead silence. What other option is there? Oh well I could always go next door to the director of the rescource room and take the test in her office. This seems reasonable. I begin to take the test in my little corner, enjoying the sound of the clock ticking away. In walk 2 teachers. 2 very loud teachers. 2 very loud teachers who apparently don't give a flying fuck through a rolling donut that I am trying to concentrate, Oh Susie Sallyman didn't show up to class today? Fascinating...and Jerry Jombo had to be excused from the class for disruptive behavior..Wow...just what I needed to know.What the hell do I have to do to get some peace and quiet around here? What is the point of the "resource room" when all you get for resources are a headache and an F?

2006-11-03T10:44:00.000-08:00

Freestyle #8
Dear John,
I can't help but laugh at that... "dear John"...Ok sorry I'll get back on track here. I received the warning notice. I realize that it probably hasn't been the best decision on my part to not come to class this week. I've been trying to play catch up in my technical math class...Trigonometry and myself don't get along very well. Unfortunately, of course, I am now pretty behind in your class. I will be catching up this weekend(I know I know...heard that before right?) I don't want you to think that I have just given up. I will be in class Monday...Wednesday and Friday too for that matter.

Thanks so much,

Your insanely irritating procrastination prone student

2006-11-03T10:32:00.000-08:00

prompt #7
"To see the world in a grain of sand, and a heaven in a wild flower, hold infinity in the palm of your hand, and eternity in an hour" - William Blake
What must it be like? It seems as though it would be a dream. An unnatainable aspiration. But if you really think about it, it is actually a way of life. What if every thing and every person around us represented the world, and every beautiful sight that we see in the course of the day was heaven? We all ponder the notions of heaven and hell. What if the two are just manifestations of the infinity that we hold in our hand? Every minute and every hour of every day in our lives bring us a myriad of choices to make; a spidered road map of twists and turns and forks in the road. Every corner we takes brings us to a new realization of our destiny. Just think...If the rest of eternity was to be based on the next hour in your life, it could very easily be either heaven or hell.

2006-10-22T12:04:00.000-07:00

freestyle #7
These teachers have no clue what it's like. They all expect the world from you. They act like their class is the only class that you have. Well I've got news for them. This is a technical college. Not all of us can have 4 or 5 1 hour classes three times a week and be considered full time. Every day, I spend 4-5 hours in the shop alone. Add to that 3 hours of gen ed class time 3 days per week, and that's well over 30 hours in class per week alone. Add in work study, work on the weekends, homework time, housecleaning, cooking, and just being a single parent in general, and I have no goddamn time for anything, let alone the speech outline that was due last week or the essay that will take me 2 hours of sitting in front of my laptop to finish. You know what I think? This place should come with a warning label : Bullshit in pamphlet is father from the truth than it may appear.

2006-10-12T20:23:00.000-07:00

cause essay
We all do things and feel things in this life that we know are not good for us. We like to ignore that insistent little voice in our ear that says no, no, no don't do that! You know the one; it's expressed in movies and on t.v. as the little battle between the angel on our right shoulder and the devil on our left, pulling us this way and that. Typically, this situation presents itself when we want to do something that we know will hurt someone else. But what happens when what we want is certain to hurt us? In my humdrum little world, I have just such a situation. There is this man, this man that I know will hurt me. He shows up in my life at the most inoppurtune moments and sweeps me off my feet, only to drop me in mid air before I can even have a moment to get my balance or take a breath. I have tried countless times to rid myself of him, but even when he doesn't manifest physically, the thoughts of him haunt my mind and body with the regularity of an atomic clock. Over the years, I have tried to figure out just the reasons why I would put myself through this tortuous routine. Of course, there are the obvious conclusions that one would come to being a outsider looking in on the situation. I'm sure that people would probably say that I am just a nutcase; a sad, depressive, silly girl who can't let go. To a point I would have to agree. But I do have my reasons, and they are legitimate, at least in my sad, depressive, silly mind. For one thing, I love him. Yes, it almost sounds cliche, I know. But when every little part of me screams it, its a very hard fact to ignore. For another thing, I can't have him. He's taken. (now the first reason doesn't sound quite so cliche in comparison...) He's always been taken, although I wasn't always privy to this information. And then theres a third.(*good* things always come in threes you know) I understand him. I understand him, because I understand me.

Love is a very interesting term. Growing up, we learn what love is by how our parents express it towards us. Sometimes its lots of hugs and kisses, and sometimes its a big plate of chocolate chip cookies to get us to stop crying. The dictionarys description of the word is a profoundly tender, passionate affection for another person. Well, if all I needed was a dictionary description to know that I love this man, then this would certainly be sufficient. But, unfortunately in this day and age, things aren't quite so simple. We have to take into consideration our common interests, our future goals, and our places in life before we can evaluate our feelings. I didn't happen to do this when I met him. The pull that I felt towards him eradicated any intelligent thought process that may have otherwise been operating. It was like falling off of a cliff. You don't have any choice in the matter once you're in mid air, but it still hurts like a bitch when you hit the ground.

Do you remember when you were a little kid and you're best friend had that totally awesome video game (substitute generation appropriate plaything as needed) that you're parents wouldn't buy for you? When they got it, those of us that will admit to having criminal tendencies can remember devising ways to walk off with it. It made you want it so much more when it belonged to someone else. What do they say? The grass is always greener on the other side? It's like we confuse the feeling of wanting to win with being so in love with someone that we want to be with them all of the time. When I met this man, he told me that he had just broken up with his girlfriend of 12 years because he had caught her cheating on him. As the weeks went by, I learned that she was still living in his house. Of course, he told me that this was only until she could find her own place. When I would call him, she would answer the phone and give me a huge attitude, which only made my quest seem more exciting. He would tell me how badly she had treated him. How he had found hotel receipts going back years from her and her other boyfriend. All this made me feel all that much better about taking him away from her. I would be the one to treat this poor, neglected soul like a king. I would be the one to make things all better.

I am a Gemini. To those of you who don't know or don't care to know anything about astrology, I will tell you that this makes me a very conflicted, multi dimensional person by nature. I tend to be very fickle, moody,curious, and ever changing. This man that I talk about has these same tendencies, and by coincidence happens to be a twin also. Now of course I am not claiming that astrology is accurate, but it does paint a pretty good picture of our situation in this case. Many times in my dating life have I gotten involved with people that I thought I would be with for quite a while. Everything seemed great in that heady, intoxocating honeymoon period when we would first get together. Three letter phrases would be uttered, and promises would be made. Sounds great doesn't it? Not quite. In many of these situations, when I finally got what I thought I wanted, I would become completely uninterested. They could cry, scream, or swing baseball bats at my overinflated head, but I wouldn't change my mind until I some time passed and I would get curious about what they were up to. Once Wylie made his mind up that he wanted Susan back, that is what he did to me. I cried, I screamed, and I did consider the more violent third option, but there was no budging him. But like me, after a few months would go by, he would show up back in my life like nothing had happened, and wanting to try things again. Maybe it's the fact that I expected this that made me go for it. Within this scheduled uncertainty, I found security.

Yes, I have my reasons for putting myself through the wringer time and time again. I guess that the only way to describe it would be that it "hurts so good". Just recently, I ran into Wylie and his ego when he was getting off work. I was so excited to see him, having just recently "gotten over him", I was ready to open the wound again. We agreed to meet the weekend after, and things were looking up. He was on the rocks with Susan again, and he apparently missed me. Of course, he managed to get my hopes up again, and when he called to cancel they were thrown to the ground. But this time, something felt different. I guess in the back of my mind I had expected this to happen. All of the other times I was hoping against hope that things would be different, that he was different. This time, though, it served as a confirmation and not as a surprise. Perhaps now I will finally be able to move on. I will finally be able to put to rest the ghosts of the past and maybe even break out of the symbolic handcuffs that kept me tied to a bedpost in my memories.

2006-10-10T18:35:00.000-07:00

prompt #4
There is this picture that I have in my apartment that I absoulutely love. It has been through the wringer. It has dog eared corners, and light pink splotches on it where it has had various solutions of water and coffee dripped on it over the last 3 years. The crisp blue sky of a sunny, northern Maine winters day sets the backdrop. Two people stand on a freshly shoveled deck in front of massive stone chimney. The person on the left is my friend Dan. Not standing any taller than about 5'5", Dan is not much of a ladies man. He has short, curly, almost wiry hair that can turn into quite the fro if he lets it. He isn't a very muscular guy, almost scrawny actually, and his baggy clothes are purposely oversized to hide this fact. On the right stands a girl of about 20 with her left foot balanced on a gray, plastic shovel. The smile on her face is priceless. Behind the pearly whites she is flashing, her mind is racing about what the day will bring. She has on a black wool sweater, blue jeans with snow crusted to the ankles, and black boots. She is leaned up against the railing of the green deck, seemingly enjoying the warm(above -50 degrees) day. The two don't seem as though they are involved, rather they seem to be good friends. Dan holds another gray plastic shovel full of heavy, wet snow, and his half smile indicates that he is most likely considering throwing it at the girl standing next to him. So who is this girl anyways? She was me. I say "was" because I was a very different person in that picture. She was me before I had to strike out on my own and really become a responsible adult. She was me before I became me.

2006-10-10T16:08:00.000-07:00

Graf #8
Have you ever met someone that you just love to hate?One of those people that frustrates you so much that you almost give up and have to love them? This fellow that I dated a while ago was just such a person.

Jimmy was a good looking guy. Jimmy was also a sarcastic pain in the ass. He always knew exactly what I wanted from him, and he also knew exactly how not to give it to me. Most people will tease you to the point that they know you're about to get mad, and then they will give in and make you happy. Not him. He would let me get so irate that I would have incidents worse than a 2 year old in the candy isle. In a way that is exactly how the dynamic was; Things I wanted were all around me but the person in charge just wouldn't let me have them. The colors and the imagined sweet tastes taunting me until I couldn't stand it anymore.

Eventually things got old between Jimmy and I and our relationship ended. I got so frustrated that I gave up trying, and he got bored with me because I wasn't frustrated. We still hang out from time to time, and he still manages to get me going, although now its in an entirely different context. Now as I ask nosy questions about his current life, and his current girlfriend, Jimmy teases me and withholds information from me until I get fed up and throw my arms up in the air. Some things just never change, but in this case, I think I'm glad that they haven't. After all, there aren't too many people in my life that had me figured out quite as well as my buddy Jimmy.

2006-10-10T15:48:00.000-07:00

Freestyle #6
I saw him. I missed him so much. There he was, in his big orange asplundh truck, getting gas at the leadbetters in Brewer. I drove past, thinking to myself that I really shouldn't torture myself by stopping. I only got about 50 feet down the road before I changed my tune. Into the restaurant parking lot I screeched, and back into traffic I went. As I pulled in, he was on the other side of the truck, talking to his coworkers. I stood ad the back of my car, sure that he wouldn't be all that happy to see me. But as he strolled around the grill, he looked at me and smiled. Next thing I knew he was hugging me." I missed you he said...I tried to find your house, but I didn't see your car. I even waited at the store by your house." My god he wanted to see me. Why is it that when I finally think that I am over him, that when I start dating someone I really like, he shows up? Oh his eyes are hypnotic. I just can't resist him. All of the pain, and the heartache that I've gone through over him just flies right out the window when those eyes stare down at me. As much as I've wanted to date, as much as I've tried to forget him, the truth is that if ever he wanted to be with me again I would jump at the chance. See me Saturday? Yes! Yes I will...Now what do I do? There must be some way to rationalize this. The guilt flows like the chocolate syrup on that forbidden banana sundae when you are on a diet. But what can I say...I think Janis Joplin had it right when she sang Little piece of my heart."and each time I tell myself that I, well I think I've had enough. But I'm gonna show you baby, that a woman can be tough..."

2006-10-10T15:38:00.000-07:00

Freestyle #5
My god I never get sick. This is what I told the newly named other half when he said not to kiss him. "I'm sick" he said. Perhaps I should have listened. Certainly the hoarse cough and multicolored nastiness coming out of my nose could have been prevented. But me being the stubborn, silly girl that I am decided that I was invincible. I feel terrible! Last week I missed my gen ed classes because I was too comatose to peel myself out of bed, let alone get my foggy brain to function . Now its week two of the plague, and although I am improving, I'm begining to think that I will never stop coughing. It's completely incessant. I'm wondering if maybe I just got so used to coughing that its become habit. They should come out with some sort of nicorette gum for coughers. Cougherette they should call it. Or maybe a 12 step program. I suppose that would work for me, as I have already admitted that I have a problem, and as we all know, that is always the beginning of the road to recovery.

2006-09-27T06:30:00.000-07:00

Graf #9
Love and chicken suits, baseball and marching partners. They are all related aren't they? In love, we wear our chicken suits proudly as we walk along the bases, sometimes fast, sometimes slow, but hopefully not sliding into home and getting bruised and bloody. Yes, those chicken suits work wonders for us. We wear them so that our marching partners can only see that superficial, funny, interesting side of us. But inside, we are sweating buckets and straining to see out of the blurry eyes that we have placed in front of ourselves. It feels great when our marching partners round second base and run there fingers through our feathers. But it would feel so much better if we weren't hiding behind 25 pounds of yellow bullshit that we are too scared to unzip from. And then there's the dancing. We pray that we can remember all of the intricate hop steps and shuffle kicks that could be the difference between that crowd screaming home run and the horrible embarrasment of a foul ball. And when the bases are loaded, all that we can hope for is that our marching partner can do a good job helping us through those ninety degree corners and down beat landings that set the rhythm for our own personal parade filled with feathers, bats, and the occasional blowing of our own horn.

2006-09-22T08:21:00.000-07:00

Freestyle #4
Brownies. I was under the assumption that everyone liked them. I slaved away in the hot kitchen monday night to create the soft, sugary, diabetic nightmares, only to have my gesture turned away like the proverbial red headed step child. I mean, you would think that a bunch of wrench headed, vin stamped, greasy bachelors would jump at the chance to have some brownies. After all, I even mixed in some chocalate chip cookie dough, so they were extra special. Perhaps it was because I was the one that made them. Maybe they were scared that I didn't wash my hands first and accidently mixed in some rust particles and wheel bearing grease. Or it could be that only barefoot & pregnant girly girls are the only people that have the know how to properly bake chocolate desserts. Well, I'll show them. I'm going to get some peanut butter cups to mix in with the batter. And then for the next batch, I'll try some of those white and brown chocolate chip swirlies. I will triumph!

2006-09-17T10:45:00.000-07:00

Graf #7
My 1986 Ford Ranger is not really mine, although it once was. A few years ago it was my ride into independence, which I acquired through a very long and bitter divorce.
When I first started to drive the truck, I would avoid traffic and hills like the plague. The 5 speed transmission was my worst enemy for quite a while. When we finally did learn to like eachother, it was too late. The smell of burnt asbestos meant that we would be separated for a week while the abused clutch was replaced. Unlike the other 1986 trucks in Maine, mine was not a rustbucket. The ex and I had purchased the house paint blue monstrosity in Kentucky for $1400.00. Over the years, it has weathered its share of Maine winters, complete with the liquid salt that seeped through the cheap maaco paint job and brittled the sheet metal, causing it to conform to the standards of its peers in cosmetic defects. I drove the truck for 3 years after my divorce. Last year I replaced it with a newer model and gave it away to a fellow from work. Every now and then I see it lumbering along on route 15 , tired and cranky from its 20 years in service. Its unreflective finish brings back so many memories, some pleasant, and some upsetting. It transported me to my first full time job at Big Squaw Mountain in Greenville where I would run the chairlifts in the winter for minimum wage.There I learned to be self sufficient, and what is was like to be on my own. It was in that Ford that I caught the first glimpse of the love of my life, and also the place where my heart was broken so deeply that the scars still have not healed. It is the first vehicle that I tinkered with, and thus the inspiration for my current path towards education.It is also the place where I spent many a nights driving aimlessly around town, pondering the world and my place in it.
Perhaps I should have kept my truck. If I did I would certainly have more memories of good times and bad experienced behind its cracked blue dashboard. But life goes on, and its mehanical problems began to outnumber its functioning parts. Now it has a new owner to drive around, and I can just sit back and watch as it disappears in a cloud of over rich exhaust fumes, and reflect on all of the wonderful and also humbling memories that occurred over the years to my little blue truck and I.

2006-09-17T10:03:00.000-07:00

Graf #6
u‧nique
1.
existing as the only one or as the sole example; single; solitary in type or characteristics: a unique copy of an ancient manuscript.
2.
having no like or equal; unparalleled; incomparable: Bach was unique in his handling of counterpoint.
3.
limited in occurrence to a given class, situation, or area: a species unique to Australia.
4.
limited to a single outcome or result; without alternative possibilities: Certain types of problems have unique solutions.
5.
not typical; unusual: She has a very unique smile. –noun
6.
the embodiment of unique characteristics; the only specimen of a given kind: The unique is also the improbable.

Well then. Unique seems to be a pretty straightforward term. Right now I believe I am unique in that I am probably the only 23 year old woman in Bangor, Maine, sitting on my couch typing my english assignment while wearing a white tinkerbell t-shirt and red pajama pants with ice skating penguins on them. Oh and then there are the socks. Right now they are pink argyle with sparkles. I have an affinity for weird and/or interesting socks. Perhaps this is because I want to conceal the very unique freckles on the bottom of my right foot . Who has freckles on the bottoms of their feet? Certainly not anyone who wears penguin pants with argyle. And what kind of weird sock wearing, freckle footed nut job likes to eat steak bombs without a bun and mixed with guacamole and pineapples? (what? its good damnit!)I like to name my vehicles. My truck happens to be affectionately termed the "green satan". Just take a look at it and you'll understand. Speaking of automobiles. I like to tinker with them. And I like learning to fix them
even more. Then there is the whole astrology thing. I have an odd tendency to want to know peoples birthdays. This doesn't always go over that well.Stephanie. This is my name, and unfortunately this is not that unique. Not in my family anyhow. I am the third. My grandma and mom before me were both Stephanies, and for some strange reason I decided to continue the cliche and name my daughter after them.Oh, right, and I think black and white photography is so much better than color, and I am obsessed with Led Zeppelin.
So, here we have it. My own definition of the word:
Unique
1. A strange outift wearing, freckle footed gearhead who likes to eat things that look like they belong in the dog bowl, likes to see the world in black and white, never has to remember any names on the female side of her family, and identifies with a different generation than her own through music.

2006-09-17T09:48:00.000-07:00

Graf #5
I don't think that the contents of my purse speak of my personality accurately. Sure, it may tell you that I am the cheapskate who buys her pocketbook at a yard sale. But how would you know that the reason I bought an affordable purse is that I had already spent my money on a large selection of expensive craftsman hand tools?(the digital torque wrench is to die for!) And what about the pink panther checkbook? I know, I know. It makes me sound a bit childish. But when all you have to choose from is a lovely cornucopia of football teams and babies wearing flowers and sitting in washbasins, the panther looks pretty chic. The cell phone does say what it needs to. I am clumsy. Sometimes I wonder if I was born with an industrial strength coat of teflon baked onto my palms. From all of the things on my inventory list, though, you probably have a picture of a broke, somewhat forgetful student and mother with two left feet, who drives too fast and doesn't leave the house without putting her face on. Well wait a minute. This is starting to sound a bit familiar...

2006-09-13T08:24:00.000-07:00

Freestyle #3
Dear W,
Do you know what I miss the most about you? Everything! I miss the way you would always call me sweetie. Sure, I've been called sweetie and about a dozen other pet names since you, but it just doesn't sound as sweet coming from anyone elses lips. I miss the look of surprise you get when I kiss you. That look that speaks for itself as if to say, wow! How long has it been? 3 years? 3 very long years. In all this time I have never forgotten about you. I've never had a day go by where something hasn't reminded me of you. It can be the most inane thing. Usually though, it's the music that gets to me. Especially on my long trips from up north in the middle of the night. Just me, the radio, and my memories. Even more than memories, there are the dreams of what could have been. These thoughts creep into the corners of my brain and just wait for a weak moment to strike. And then the tears come.

Love,
Stephanie

2006-09-10T09:51:00.000-07:00

Graf #4
My orange fossil pocketbook purchased at a yard sale last weekend for 2$

1.a red (and somewhat brown from not being washed) wallet containing $80.27(Unemployment just isn't cutting it)
2.a state of Maine drivers license picturing a seemingly jaundiced 20 year old woman with 1 speeding ticket and more surely on their way
3.a blue and grey Sony Ericsson cell phone that likes to turn itself off at random moments as a result of being dropped too many times
4.Physicians formula loose face powder(for those shiny moments)
5.Cherry colored lip gloss(to indulge the fantasy that someone might want to kiss my lips)
6.Pink Panther checkbook with Pink Panther checks from Maine Highlands Credit Union
7.Visa Debit Card showing lots of wear to its magnetic strip(common symptom of mall addiction)
8.picture of a gorgeous 7 year old blonde with blue eyes, aka my daughter
9.store receipts going back about 3 months because I was too lazy to weed them out before I transferred all of the contents from my last pocketbook over
10.Keys: 1 gold colored house key which likes to hide when its 3 am and the doors are locked, 1 gold colored mailbox key that sticks half of the time, 2 YMCA keychain cards, 1 car key with the GM logo embossed on it, 1 truck key stating that this vehicle can be Found On Roadside Dead.
11.One prescription bottle of Levoxyl with 3 pills left(I really need to get over to Rite Aid)
12.Copy of my class schedule, complete with room numbers because even though I've been in school for 2 weeks my brain refuses to function normally
13.Receipt from Union Street Towing detailing an embarrassing moment from last week involving me, my Pontiac, a very displeased middle age tow truck operator late for an appointment with Dunkin Donuts, and a lockout kit.
14.A small print copy of the Little Prince By Antoine De Saint Exupery.
15.A blue bic lighter(I don't smoke, but you never know when a pyro moment might strike)

2006-09-10T09:14:00.000-07:00

Prompt reaction #2
If these walls could talk. Well, if these walls could talk they would certainly tell me that they have had enough of the Tangerine song. I mean get over him already. And what is the deal with the keyboard clicking away at 2 in the morning? Go to bed already. I'm sick of hearing you bitch and complain about having to go to speech class at 8 am. Why do you always wear your nice clothes to class? You know that you are going to have to change into your grease monkey uniform anyway. My god cook that kid of yours something other than easy mac and hot dogs. She is going to have to be renamed Bertha if you let her feed herself like that. Why do you let that cat scratch me all up? What did I ever do to you other than keeping you separated from the crazies that frequent your ghetto fabulous neighborhood? I really need a new coat of paint. When you moved in I certainly didn't appreciate you scraping up the stairwell with that monstrous bed frame. What do you need that for anyway? Its not like you have any men that are interested in you. Well maybe I'm being a tad harsh. After all you do decorate me with lots of interesting things. I particularly like the copper pan decorated with the zodiac symbols. Which one are you? A Gemini. Well that explains some things doesn't it? Curious and fickle with a very short attention span are definitely traits that you possess. But at least you don't party every night like the last people that inhabited this dump. I was still high a month after they moved out. No clam bakes for you. Just way too many brownie and cookie bakes. Looks like its starting to show too. Maybe you should start buying your jeans a size bigger in anticipation of the invention of brownie batter with marshmallows, caramel, and mints. Ow! What was that for? Geez now I have a big dent! Just wait until the super finds out about this...

2006-09-09T23:02:00.000-07:00

Graf #3
That Marzapan is delicious! How do you say spam in Japanese? High maintenance product whores... The cheese stands alone. The crocodile hunter died? Tales of the criminally inane...I certainly wasn't expecting to come across blogs with these headlines when John gave us our assignments. I wonder what that says about me. Does it mean that I am so wrapped up in my own little world that I can't fathom the fact that other people have different interests than me? Or perhaps it means that I'm so very naive that things like death, porn, and criminal activity seem foreign. No no no what am I talking about. I live in the big city of Bangor, Maine. These things are all around me. Perhaps I need to wake up and smell the insanity.

2006-09-08T07:57:00.000-07:00

Freestyle #2
Well here I am in week two in the automotive prgram at EMCC. I've already managed to get behind in my writing class, not to mention my sleep. When I decided to go to college, I envisioned my week to be more like the job that I had just been laid off from: Monday through Friday 8 am to 5 pm. Not Monday through Sunday 7 am to 2 am. I've realized that my quest for perfection has to stop when it comes to College Composition 101. Spending hours mulling over what to write and still not putting fingers to keyboard is just not going to cut it. So here goes. It's 1:20 in the morning on Sunday, September 10th. I've just returned from the booming metropolis of Blanchard, Maine. My car is filled to the brim with yard sale finds that I don't really need, washed and folded but not yet put away laundry, school books filled with unfinished assignments, and cookie crumbs and chocolate stains from the kids I babysit every weekend. I really should make a move towards the door and truck it all inside my apartment, but my behind seems to be favoring my well worn spot on the green leather sofa. Howard is laying on my lap purring, slowly inching his way onto the keyboard as if to say:You've been gone for two days! Pay attention to me! Of course, this is also what my body seems to be telling me. Hopefully once I get into the swing of things my nights of 4-5 hours of sleep will transition into something more appropriate. If not, I may just have to buy stock in some miracle cream that promises to rid me of those unsightly dark circles that I seem to be developing underneath my half closed eyes.

2006-09-02T21:33:00.000-07:00

Freestyle #1
How to make a Stephanie:
1 cup stubborn
1/2 tbsp vanity
1 cup crazy
2 cups emotional
3 cups open minded

Mix all ingredients with electric beater on high speed for 2 minutes. Pour into cake pan and bake for 35 minutes or until outside is hard and unyielding but the center is still soft and gooey. Let cool completely before touching. Frost with lots of sugar and love before enjoying.

Makes however many servings you can handle

2006-09-02T21:21:00.000-07:00

Prompt #
Alone in a quiet room. But what is really happening?
This prompt has been difficult for me. As I sit here and write this, I silently steam about the fact that my heartfelt writing was literally stomped into the ground. My head is pounding from the stress of the day, the week, and quite honestly the last year. I look around and notice that the light bulb has burned out of my reading lamp across the livingroom. Without it the room has taken on a dusky appearance. The light from the computer screen is much more glaringly bright in comparison now, only adding to the pounding at my temples. The smoke from the vanilla scented incense stick I have lit dances across the room. My cat, Howard, seems to be interested in this as well, as he prepares to pounce on the imagined smoke creatures flying just above his head. In the distance, I hear the throaty hum of someone's truck, the person driving it oblivious to its obvious mechanical needs. The cooling fan in my laptop kicks on, a reminder that I have been at this for far too long. The people in the apartment next door shuffle up their stairs sounding like a pack of elephants. I hear them quite often. My cell phone whirs to alert me to a text message. My friend Chris inviting me to go out tomorrow night. That will have to be postponed, another in a long line of opportunities to be social shot down by the fact that I am a single parent. Next to me on my end table a stack of books awaits my attention. Unfortunately so do the heavy textbooks in my backpack which are filled with unread pages and unsolved equations. Again the fellow in the loud vehicle buzzes by my house. This time he guns the gas hard, and I swear I can feel the vibrations underneath my bare feet. Howard looks at me and meows, reminding me that it is time to put this to rest and pull out the fancy feast.

2006-08-30T08:24:00.000-07:00

Graf #2
Silence. So silent that you could probably hear the sounds of last years class sharpening pencils and passing notes. I had done the unthinkable, and now I would experience the embarrassment of being the center of attention. Take off that jacket he told me. How could he? How could this man, this silly, silly man expect me to do such a thing. I needed that jacket. Its blue and purple nylon fabric with orange stitching was my only protection from the ridicule that would surely come. So I refused. I was not going to listen to this man whose name sounded like something from health class. Mr.Shupenis? Surely he understood the cruelty that comes from not being accepted. Surely, he of all people, should understand that being picked on was quite possibly the end of the world for a 7th grade student. Somehow, however, he did not. "Either remove the jacket or you will go to the principles office". This was a dilemma. I could take off the jacket and realize the wrath of my fellow students, or I could go to the principals office and realize the wrath of my parents, who would most certainly not be pleased with yet another show of my budding pre teen rebelliousness. What was his problem? He must be taking out his anger from being referred to as Mr.Dick( a name that now held figurative as well as literal meaning to me ) on me. I had to give this some thought. Time was running out. It's truly amazing how many thoughts can go through your mind when adrenaline is pumping through your veins. Take off the jacket I would have to do. At least I would still be able to ride my bike. Of course, this didn't mean much as most definitely there would be no person remotely interested in being a friend to a person dressed as she belonged in Kindergarten. What was I thinking? I can't believe I was too lazy to finish that load of laundry last night. Damn my mother. It is all her fault. It shouldn't be my responsibility to do my own laundry. After all, I was a 7th grader! Too young to worry about such things. I had friends to make and gossiping to do. Unfortunately none of this was going to help me now. Slowly, the zipper came down. It felt more like a guillotine that was being lowered down to the chopping block. There would be no quick decapitation here. Slow and painful was the name of the game. And there it was. Out in the open for all to see. A pink Care Bear. Oh my god. They are laughing. Utter humiliation weighed down on my shoulders like the weight of the world. These last 20 minutes will be the worst of my life. As soon as this class is over that jacket will be on quicker than you could say carealot.
This is the story of one of the most humiliating days I had in grade school. At the time, my 7th grade math teacher Mr.Shupenis seemed like the worst person in the world. In those moments I tried to blame everyone but myself for the situation I was in. In reality, however, the whole scenario was completely caused by myself. In time, I have learned that sometimes the people that we hate the most are either carbon copies of the things we do not like about ourselves, or they are the ones who push us. The ones who challenge us in there own particularly irritating way to improve ourselves. As a population of people who are on the whole profoundly resistant to change, perhaps it would do us all good to take a good look at our negative emotions, because this is where the answers lie for our future.

2006-08-28T08:27:00.000-07:00

graf #1
Hands. Everyone has them.Seldom, however, do we realize how much they have to say. Sure we see them everyday. We use them to write things down, to make our dinner, and a hundred other every day boring things that we have done so many times that we don't even think about anymore. As I am sitting here agonizing over what to write, i'm running mine through my hair as if this will give me the answers that i need. What are they telling me, you ask? Well right now they are saying that it is raining outside...How is that possible? How can a pair of hands tell me that? They ache. Every time the weather changes they ache. They are also telling me that I really need to make a habit out of using a good pair of oven mitts when I am cooking ...I look down at them and see vague brown scars from casserole pans past. Perhaps I should be listening harder. Maybe if I listen well enough they will tell me how I will do in this class. Yes, I think after school I will head over to MrPaperback and buy myself a handy dandy copy of the latest Palmistry book. Then I can decipher what the deep and often spidery pink lines are predicting for my future. I can only imagine what they mean. Maybe the long curved line that runs from midway between my index finger and my thumb will tell me that I will win the lottery at the age of 42. If this is the case, then I will have to plan the next few years accordingly. It would certainly mean that I could afford all of those oven mitts I so desperately need. I wonder if its only the lines and birthmarks that hold meaning for ones destiny, or if the marks that appear with age and accident hold weight in that respect as well. Perhaps the lines and birthmarks are a roadmap for the future, whereas the scars and age spots are reminders of where we veered off that path and went careening down the side of a sizzling muffin pan, an adventure that only time, band aids, and a lot of neosporin will save us from. However, as a person with very little instruction in the art of Palmistry, I can only sit and listen to what few secrets my small, aching hands will relinquish to my untrained ears. I think right now they are telling me that I need to go and cook myself some lunch. But wait, whats that? Don't use the oven you say? I suppose I can live with that, as I think that these hands have many more secrets to clue me in to, and I wouldn't want to upset one so informed about my future.