S.N. has heard all about this already and has given me some stellar advice. Which I might take eventually. Especially since my way of dealing with it went so well (end sarcasm). Basically what happened is that my Professor told me that I was brilliant and that a piece of my writing was the best piece of writing she had read in the 10 years of teaching. And then she said a whole bunch of other stuff – basically about my talent and that she hoped I was planning on being a poet/writer and blah blah blah. And then she assigned a poem. And it’s due on Thursday. And I haven’t written anything. Because I suck. Everything I write is coming out like the biggest lump of trite, sappy, cliche bullshit ever written. She said she’d take a look at whatever I had written today and yeah – I don’t have anything to show her. And what I could show her would really make me die of embarrassment. And instead of writing my way out of this block I just keep pissing and moaning about being called brilliant. Which is really all I ever wanted. Imagine wanting to do something so bad and only needing a word from someone whose opinion you value (is that who’s or whose? I fricken can never remember that rule for some reason. I think it’s whose, right? Cuz it’s not who is opinion – it’s whose….let me dictionary.com it.. yep – WHOSE). So you finally get that “yup – this is what you should do” word from a person who knows what the fuck she’s talking about … you – or I – should be relieved, right? Which basically brings me to the conclusion I’ve known for a long time: you really can’t satisfy me. I am unsatisfiable. insatiable. hard to please.

Ok – enough of that.

I’ll get over it. Pressure has always made me shine like a diamond – UGH – enough of the horrible cliched madness, CeCe!

In other news – I approached a guy in my writing class and practically begged him to let me be in his group. He told me that I was at the top of his list. That makes me happy because no one wants to throw themselves on someone who doesn’t want to be bothered and also – so incredibly happy that I’m on the top of someone’s list, too. Shit – I must have blown away some people during our first reading, huh? Sure wish I knew what the hell I wrote that was so impressive…

I actually have a funny story about every class I’m taking. But I have to save something for another day. Let me just say for now that my Poetry class is seriously hilarious to me. There is one girl in my class that will make her way into my novel as the obnoxious typical poet/writer wanna be girl. I just want to be careful because she just might surprise us all with an awesome poem on Thursday while my muddled mess will sound something like a beat up recycled Anne Sexton poem that will make everyone else want to slit their wrists.

More Later.

P.S. Sending out the minutes for missed calls this past week (or two) now. Also for feedback and generally putting up with my whining ass.

I know that I have not been around for years. Or a year. It’s been a hell of a long time. But I made a pact with myself. I’m not going to tell you what that pact is. Because as many of you know, I often make pacts with myself, others, and occasionally the devil, and I very rarely keep those pacts which explains why I have currently have no soul and my first 3 children will be Satan’s. I kid. Sort of.

So here we are again. I’ve missed you. And, oddly enough, I’ve missed this blog. It’s always been a bit of an outlet for me. But sometimes, when I put enough unneeded pressure on myself, it becomes a chore. And then I avoid it. Or, enough time goes by and I forget how cathartic it is to write and then pretty soon it’s been a year. Or, I find myself being extremely negative and really outlandishly rude and debbie downer-ish and can’t stand the words coming from my fingers and make a vow to only write when I’m feeling more positive and pretty soon a year has gone by. It’s amazing how fast time goes by. And it’s just not when you’re old, young people often feel the blur of the seasons, too. We’re just in denial, drunk, or preoccupied on other things and don’t mention it. In my literature class 2 semesters ago I came across a lovely quote: Optima dies . . . prima fugit — “The best days are the first to flew”. Yeah. I’m still trying to grasp the full meaning of that, too. Bonus points if you know which novel has this quote as its epigraph.

The past few months – ok…the past year has been filled with many things obsessive. Many of you probably already are familiar with my obsession with all things cosmetic. I kind of OD’d a bit on the whole make up thing, although I will willingly take any Inglot palettes anyone wishes to donate to the cause. I sort of found myself in a nail polish flurry the past few months where I found my modest collection of 20 nail polishes proliferate into a collection of just about at last count 600. A few days ago I stumbled onto a new obsession.

I’m not exactly sure how it happens – these fetishes. I find it insightful, alluring, entertaining, intriguing, …. to ask my callers at times where a particular “like” came from. It seems obvious for some things – a panty fetish is revealed to be connected to first seeing panties and instantly sprouting a hard on connecting the two things together in fantasy matrimony till death do you part. Other things a bit more complex. Balloon popping? Gas Pedals? asphyxiation? I can connect every thing I’ve wanted to collect into a single solitary moment, suspended in my mind by pleasure seeking threads. When I was quite young I remember having dreams of colored tights in my dresser. Every night I would go to bed and dream of them – pink, yellow, blue, every color of the rainbow. I would wake, run to my dresser, and to my disappointment find that my dreams never came true. When I see make up in rainbow color order I feel powerless. I need to have every color, regardless if it’s in my right color group or not. If I start collecting a specific brand of nail polish, I have to have ROYGBIV colors first before embarking on the other glitters and other spectrums of colors. It’s a rule – one that my friends find amusing but that I find a bit like being in a self inflicted expensive prison.

A few days ago I remembered playing on a friend’s typewriter she had “inherited” from her grandfather. It was a big, clunky black heavy thing – and we would hunt and peck out silly words on pieces of white construction paper, not knowing any better. When a mistake was made we would backspace backspace backspace and x, x, x over the offending word or words and then start over. Our typed words became a sort of distressed piece of art I suppose, but to us it was just a funny, old thing that smelled like mold, that would make funny click clack ding noises that we would play on. Until a few days ago.

In my creative writing class we had to come up with an author we wanted to study and then we were to research him or her and write like them. I picked, of course, Carrie Bradshaw. She wrote on a MAC lap top in front of her window of her New York Brownstone Apartment. And she wrote about sex. It really was a no brainer. But I still looked up other author’s I admired – real authors – not figments of the author’s imagination, as Carrie Bradshaw is to Candace Bushnell. Some wrote long hand on yellow legal pads (Toni Morrison). Some wrote on their computers and others, like Hemmingway, Burroughs, Plath, wrote their masterpieces on manual typewriters.

And so the search has begun. I’m determined to find a manual typewriter. Perhaps a Remington. This one has colored glass keys. She’s lovely!

Or maybe a Royal.

There is, for me at least, the holy grail which is the Hermes 3000, a mint green manual typewriter, rumored to type like a dream.
.
I’d like a few electric typewriters from the 60′s or 70′s, too. Something that might sit on the desk in the office of Madmen, perhaps.

I have no desire to have a typewriter that doesn’t function. I don’t want it to be for looks. I want to use it. I want to hear it. I want to smell it. So there you have it. You’re the first to know of this new collection that I have been drawn to. A door in to my newest fetish. I figured I’d invite you in, as many of you have invited me in through your front doors to your fetishes through out the years. Take your shoes off. Stay a bit. Let’s talk of the best days. Before they flee.

So I started this whole training project. And this coming week I’ll be on week 2. Ill be running a total of 2 minutes by the end of this week, I think. Supposedly at this rate – in 8 weeks I’ll be running 30 minutes non stop , which “they” say is a 5k. I think I’ll have to run 45 minutes straight to go that distance. I am not running fast enough to do a 10 minute mile. 3 miles is 5 kilometers, right? Damn American school system. Haven’t we been trying to move over to the metric system for the past 50 years now? Wouldn’t it have been easier to just do it already instead of giving us water bottles with liters and telling us how many cm something is next to the inches to avoid confusion. They tell us it’s easy – easier than the American system of units, yet the only people who are using the metric system are doctors and scientists. The smart people, basically. But I digress.

Running is hard. Anyone who runs has my complete attention and then a healthy dollop of respect on the side. People who run past me as I crawl along on my 20 minute mile are impressive. Their leg muscles inspire me and their even breath as they actually say hello to me as they pass is impressive beyond words. If I look in your direction as I’m “running” by you, consider yourself lucky. Half of the time I can’t see through the pain.

I’m exaggerating.

Slightly.

The thing is, I kinda like the challenge. I like running and knowing that whatever is inside of me – any fear or anxiety or worry or whatever, leaves my body because struggling for air and longing for my next breath takes precedent over any emotional trouble I might be feeling at the moment. I like the feeling when I forget the task of running and I look up and see squirrels running up trees, and flowers crawling slowly up someone’s white picket fence, and the fat Morris the Cat body double that lies in the middle of the path every Wednesday morning at about the same time every day as I gasp by. I love how at the end I’m always amazed at what I’ve accomplished. I like how strong I feel I am at that moment, and how my sweat catches up to me all of a sudden — like – “whoa! I’m hot!” flood of sweat that literally drips off my body in rivers of varying size and shape.

I wouldn’t say I’m addicted. Yet. But I’m fast on my way. I wouldn’t say it’s my drug of choice in making myself feel better, but it’s definitely in the top 5. I wouldn’t say I believe this whole process will work and in 8 weeks I’ll be running 30 minutes straight, but I’m definitely willing to try.

What do I have to lose?

But wait.  Before I talk about my schedule this weekend – how did you enjoy the pod cast?  I heard from a few of you via email and Karl stopped in to tell me how my YTWD theme music makes him hard (gonna have to remember that for later, baby! lol!) – but what about the rest of you?  Kind of like old times, isn’t it?  For those of you who listened, you know that the yellow bus kids and I are about to have some serious adventures this semester that will be sure to keep you entertained while I attend school and fight for my A’s. LOL!  Today in “Study Hall” as I have termed it, the ysbks (yellow school bus kids) and I were out of control.  It felt like Friday in there – we were all hyper and stuff and well, it’s never really a good plan to stick 4 or more ADHD, ADD, and other questionably diagnosed kids in a room with various math problems with a pretty attractive male tutor.  It’s really not a good idea. 

“So, Matt….”

“Yeah?”

“How did you and math become so close?”

“What do you mean, CeCe?”

“Did you have like one of those seedy beginnings?  Were you interested in Science, but then you caught sight of Math from a distance and knew that you were destined to become lovahs?”

“CeCe – get back to work.”

…

“Do you think of us in terms of letters and more than, less than, and pi symbols – or are we our names?”

“CeCe – what the hell are you talking about?”

“When you write in your journal, Matt.  You know – at night – when you’re writing in your journal?  With your plate of cookies and glass of milk by your lap top? ‘Dear Diary, today I taught some kids about the laws of divisibility.  I saw the light in square root of 49′s eyes as she grasped the idea of how 31422 is divisible by 3 and I knew my job was complete…’ “ 

“CeCe – seriously – get back to work.”

“Writing in journals isn’t all that bad, Matt.”

“CeCe…”

“I’ll probably jot down a few things about this conversation in mine later.”

“What is my name going to be?”

“Matt.”

“Why?”

“Matt Damon.”

“Again I ask…WHY?”

“Good Will Hunting…”

“Get back to work, CeCe.”

“Fine, Matt.”

Good times! lol.

He’s way too young for me though.  I know some of you were wondering.

So back to my schedule this weekend.  My weeks are still a horrible mess.  I switched my philosophy class to Friday Mornings (fit in to my schedule while still allowing me to take spin.  I know I sound like a junky but spin class is serious coke.  I kid you not. So – Wednesday’s should open up now for calls in the evenings.  I have not gone to my writing class in forever on Thursdays because of my schedule, but, hopefully I’ll be able to in the upcoming weeks.  We’ll see.  So while I get all of this worked out continue to take note of my twitter on the side bar over there >> and if I’m logged in I’ll make an announcement or two.  You can also, as always, send me a note and request a special time.  If I get the requests ahead of time I can plan for it – so let me know as soon as you are able to and we’ll confirm and set up a time. 

The weekend schedule is as follows:

Friday:  Will log in no later than 10:00PM (PST).  (allowing dinner with parents and winding down after the day, etc). Will attempt to stay up until 1:00AM/2:00AM.  But I warn you.  It may not be pretty after 1:00AM…just a fair warning.

Saturday: Will log in for morning hours around 10AM (PST).  Will attempt to work for a few hours and then log off until evening.  I will log in for my Evening hours no later than 10:00PM (PST) but CeCe reserves the right to change her mind should her parents decide to take her out to a movie or dinner or something.  I will definitely let you know should my plans change from 10:00PM PST.  I will be working late even though CeCe’s parents are staring at her wondering why she isn’t going to church anymore Sunday Mornings. Plan on seeing me up until at least 1:00AM PST.  I may pass out before then but I will give it the good college TRY.

Sunday:  Will log in and out during the late mornings/afternoons.  There is a chance I might catch a spin class on Sunday, but I might just treadmill it or walk a few miles with Jackson.  Monday Morning Spin Class will come all too soon. Will log in early on Sunday evening – probably around 7:00PM/8:00PM PST and only staying on until 11:00PM MAX.  Got a 7:00am Spin Class at school and it seriously already kicks my ass. I don’t need further help from having had too many orgasms the night before.

So there we have it.  I’m going to sticky this too my computer/date book/and put it in my iCal (grin) so I will not forget.  If by some FLUKE I’m not available when I’ve said that I will be, email me on niteflirt and let me know when you attempted to call.  If indeed I was not available with out prior notification and if it was due to my … irresponsibility (lol!) and not some dire emergency like Jackson fighting a coyote in the back yard or something, I’ll make sure you are compensated for your troubles.  How about THAT for some incentive?

Talk to you soon – wish me luck on my philosophy assignment.  I may need it.