Big ups for my homies

Who let me do for them and myself at the same time (you're welcome, Sima!). Who know you're independent enough to go it alone but keep you company on the way home just the same. For friends who transport you to a younger time in your life--even if it's sometimes just to the morning when you just got up and still had optimism regarding your day. For people who you make soup with (Bagriella!) For friends who eat your pancakes and smoked mozzerella. To homies like my former resident, Alexandra, who has said more than a couple times "you always know the right thing to say." I've just been feeling the raging hormones and the stress of being over 75% done with my senior year, and I'm getting a little anxious, a little sad, a little excited, all at once. It always amazed me how many emotions, ones that you might normally think to be diametrically opposed, can occur in one person at the same time. Clearly, I need to stop blogging when sleep deprived and having my period.

Chasing rainbows & Kevin Smith

BOB You're chasing Amy. (to Holden) So there's me an' Amy, and we're all inseparable, right? Just big time in love. And then about four months in, I ask about the ex-boyfriend. Dumb move, I know, but you know how it is - you don't really want to know, but you just have to... stupid guy bullshit. Anyway she starts telling me all about him - how they dated for years, lived together, her mother likes me better, blah, blah, blah - and I'm okay. But then she tells me that a couple times, he brought other people to bed with them - menage a tois, I believe it's called. Now this just blows my mind. I mean, I'm not used to that sort of thing, right? I was raised Catholic. So I get weirded out, and just start blasting her, right? This is the only way I can deal with it - by calling her a slut, and telling her that she was used - I mean, I'm out for blood I want to hurt her - because I don't know how to deal with what I'm feeling. And I'm like "What the fuck is wrong with you?" and she's telling me that it was that time, in that place, and she didn't do anything wrong, so she's not gonna apologize. So I tell her it's over, and I walk. JAY Fucking a. BOB No, idiot. It was a mistake. I wasn't disgusted with her, I was afraid. At that moment, I felt small - like I'd lacked experience, like I'd never be on her level or never be enough for her or something. And what I didn't get was that she didn't care. She wasn't looking for that guy anymore. She was looking for me. But by the time I realized this, it was too late, you know. She'd moved on, and all I had to show for it was some foolish pride, which then gave way to regret. She was the girl, I know that now. But I pushed her away... [Everyone's silent Silent Bob lights a cigarette.] BOB So I've spent every day since then chasing Amy... (takes a drag from his smoke) So to speak. Kevin Smith, despite the dick and fart jokes, never ceases to amaze with his earnest Frank Capra-esque (thanks, Karen) dialogs which can really cut to the quick of the imperfect human experience. Things are messy, messed-up, complicated and represent the shades of gray that make decisions difficult to make. Silent Bob is the voice of the zen master, wise but never preachy. But, just because you realize the mistake, you think you have a solution, doesn't mean things are going to work out in a fairy-tale ending. People fall short, forget birthdays for business meetings, and can't make the decision that seems so obvious to someone else. Thanks Kevin, for keeping it real. For showing that people can grow and change, but some things will always be the same (like Jay and Bob leaning against the walls of buildings.) Thanks for having earnest characters in an era where sarcasm and irony reign. Oh, and your Smodcast kicks ass, too. (And I liked Jersey Girl.)

Yay Chasing Amy!

Goodnight world! L

Shades of brown hair

Ignoring the fact that it's terribly cooler and windier than I wish it to be in Maryland (though no-where near as ridiculous as Minnesota and Wisconsin were a few days ago), spring is not only bringing near-daily fits of graduation-related panic. It brings, too, the need for change, in so many ways. So, I'm purging my closets, which will in several weeks need to end up in storage or on a moving van--who knows where? So, I'm getting rid of the running shoes I never wear, thinking about re-painting my english dancing shoes which are freshman-year second-hand vintage. Plans for today are finishing my resume and outward bound Baltimore-Philly application, donating blood, a trip to Enoch Pratt Free Library, and the opening of the contraversial Beyond the Compass, Beyond the Square exhibition.

Nostalgic sweaters

I had a dream that someone called my phone and someone else answered it and it was a random dude from OKCupid who was professing his love with the persona conveyed in my personals ad on the dating site. I also dreamt that I went on a night-time canoe trip, which seems to me to be a horrible horrible idea for all sorts of safety reasons. I recall being very frustrated with the members of my family also coming on the canoe trip because they took forever to get ready to go! I just want to be a stern, darn it! My prescription showed up for my doc's appointment on Monday, and I'm nervous but excited, I'm going to be really bummed if my body isn't big enough for the non-hormonal IUD I'm supposed to get fitted with on Monday. I uncovered my tacky navy blue velour sweatshirt that was my Papa Sam's, and it's funny how fabric is conducive to not only the capturing of history but also the re-experiencing of it. By wearing this shirt, I am Sam. I'm not actually Sam, but I can remember my Papa eating my arm like an ear of corn, I remember how warm and funny he was, how he took us fishing and bowling. Anyway, I know one day when I have kids my dad and mom will be great grandparents. And hopefully, that day is far, far away.

Woodgrain resume

What do you think of the most recent iteration of my resume? All I can say is I am so sick of lookin' at this thing that if I never saw it again I'd be a happy woman.

Farewell Minnesota!

Off on some planes to get back to Baltimore, I'll be home soon!

Least break-like spring break ever

I am officially a Wilderness First Responder! Go me! This was my first and only spring break spent outside of Baltimore, and I took a 90-hour Wilderness Medical Institute course during it. I learned a whole lot of skills that are applicable in hour+ from-definitive-care situations. I'm dead tired, seriously, but I'm so glad I did it. Full report when I get back from St. Paul tomorrow, stay tuned, intrepid readers!

From the Fundakowski household of St. Paul, MN

How I remember the patient assessment triangle from scene survey to life threats to patient exam and the focused spinal exam criteria. I was writing it all on my arm until I ran out of the space. I'm looking for a summer job and I really want to not have to worry about it, so if you know someone who will hire a Wilderness First Responder with a BFA in Fibers and give them some benefits for the summer, let a girl know, okay? Magpie out (of energy and clean socks, enough said.)

Oh, adorable jailbait.

<- My fake bruise. Let me first say that the ratio of men to women is 2 to 1, and I must say, I likes them odds. Also, individuals getting wilderness first responder trainings are awesome. They are extreme athletes, ice climbers, whitewater kayakers, camp counselors, an lab technicians. They are high-schoolers, college students, guys that remind you of your dad. Every day is exhausting, and these two days are almost all teaching things I know already, CPR, the initial assesment, ABCDE's, SAMPLE history, et cetera. Consent and legal issues were fun. Yesterday I stayed pretty quiet, and I didn't feel a connection to any of the other females in the course until Amy, a lab tech in her 20's, came on a big walk with me around the camp wherein I jumped in crusty snow and trampled through puddles of mud. I saw three wild turkeys, a few bald eagles, and stepped on one dead bunny (which is covered by snow, but that is a bunny fo sho.) It's been beautiful, I didn't know how I felt at first but now I know that I am gonna be fine, people were joking around a lot more and I got a lot more names down than I did yesterday. There's also talk of capture the flag. I can only hope. From just outside Hudson, WI, fourty minutes from the Fundakowski fam in St. Paul, Magpie out (of fake bruises).

Who's the artist who...?

Does anyone know the artist who has a web site where he always says he is? One that stemmed from being followed by the government? I'm trying to reference him in explaining Twitter to my cousin Anne but it's hard without knowing specifics.

Two guys, one girl.

No, not an allusion to a blue film. Yesterday was the practical exam for the R.A.D. class I just took at MICA, and I got to do two scenarios. The first was a simple walk-by, my aggressor grabbed my wrist and I had to get away from him. The second scenario was one in which I was confronted by one attacker and an accomplice tried to get me from the back, it was a surprise and I didn't realize they would actually send both guys after me. Needless to say, I thoroughly trounced them, there was much knee-ing in the groin and that sort of thing, a punch in the face and one was down, a couple more kicks to the groin and some elbows and the other guy was stunned enough for me to get to my "safe" zone. I was really excited to see myself and one of my co-RCA's from last year do more advanced scenarios and really kick ass at them. What I lacked mostly was verbal warnings with every strike, which is an important thing to do to get attention from witnesses. Sunny used to be quiet, meek, and now she's a pretty scary woman who reminds me of Lucy Liu and isn't afrad to use spear-fingers to gouge a dude's eye out.

Rough times Junior year

After I got back from winter vacation two years ago, my parents were frustrated they weren't around to support me. It frustrated me, too. My mom, though, in her sensitivity, sent a care package full of protein bars and new socks and tights. She even included a little chai she found at a thrift store. I wore that chai every day for the past couple years, pretty much. I think it was her way of giving me a reminder that life goes on, a gift that told me every day that my parents and G-d will always support and love me. It's easy to forget that after a bad critique, or when you've lost your friends, but I really did appreciate it. I noticed this morning that it wasn't anywhere to be found, not in my sheets or in my sweater pocket from when I took it off for RAD. There's a conspicuous absence to me, but I know that I would not have lost it if I still needed that reminder every day, and maybe it's a blessing in disguise. Sorry, mom :(.

This may or may not be an emergency.

Approximately 1/5th of the housing complex I live in slash work grave in on Sunday night/Monday morning is vibrating vigorously. It has taken two and a half hours to get "them" (the powers that be at my school) to call emergency facilities management. Oh, bureaucracy. A couple nights ago I dreamed that I flew to London. The other night I slept and encountered an end-of-the-world sort of situation, wherein I just could not get away. I think I'm probably well-prepared for the real thing should it happen in our lifetime, I've dreamed of it so many times. Yesterday was a big rock climbing trip that I belayed for, and I did two climbs. Now my forearms are throbbing and the two ligaments on either side of my crotch are bruised from all the falling into my harness I did. It was great to get some energy out, to get physical and challenge myself. Back to the typography, let's hope the building doesn't fall to the ground tonight.

I am desperately avoiding heading to the studio.

I am going to work on my bedsheet dress and make pancakes in the morning as well as displaying the printed fabrics I made this past week. Maybe if I work on my proposal and artists statement...crap, I really am going to have to go to my studio. Sigh.

First 'blogs were written

I'd like to propose that Sei Shonagon, the Heian-era Japanese female court lady, was as a blogger. In the book of her collected works, The Pillow Book, she lists insights and goings-on in no order more thoughtful than that in which they came to mind. How like Carrie Bradshaw, or any contemporary young 3rd-gen feminist woman is Shonagon in her book! This is an example that I think is lovely, the 10th-century equivalent of "and he woke me up looking for his car keys, how annoying!" Hateful Things, Sei Shonagon A lover who is leaving at dawn announces that he has to find his fan and his paper. "I know I put them somewhere last night," he says. Since it is pitch-dark, he gropes about the room, bumping into the furniture and muttering, "Strange! Where can they be?" Finally he discovers the objects. He thrusts the paper into the breast of his robe with a great rustling sound; then he snaps open his fan and busily fans away with it. Only now is he ready to take his leave. What charmless behavior! "Hateful" is an understatement. Equally disagreeable is the man who, when leaving in the middle of the night, takes care to fasten the cord of his headdress. This is quite unnecessary; he could perfectly well put it gently on his head without tying the cord. And why must he spend time adjusting his cloak or hunting costume? Does he really think that someone may see him at this time of night and criticize him for not being impeccably dressed? A good lover will behave as elegantly at dawn as at any other time. He drags himself out of bed with a look of dismay on his face. The lady urges him on: "Come, my friend, it's getting light. You don't want anyone to find you here." He gives a deep sigh, as if to say that the night has not been nearly long enough and that it is agony to leave. Once up, he does not instantly pull on his trousers. Instead, he comes close to the lady and whispers whatever was left unsaid during the night. Even when he is dressed, he still lingers, vaguely pretending to be fastening his sash. Presently he raises the lattice, and the two lovers stand together by the side door while he tells her how he dreads the coming day, which will keep them apart; then he slips away. The lady watches him go, and this moment of parting will remain among her most charming memories. Indeed, one's attachment to a man depends largely onthe elegance of his leave-taking. When he jumps out of bed, scurries about the room, tightly fastens his trouser-sash, rolls up the sleeves of his Court cloak, over-robe, or hunting costume, stuffs his belongings into the breast of his robe and then briskly secures the outer sash -- one really begins to hate him.

Update for the new homies

Boinkology (one of my favorite sex blogs) linked to an entry of mine today in it's BOINKABLE LINKS section! That post is here (it's the one on musicians), and I'd like to heartily welcome any of the newcomers via Boinkology, if you like my interests but not my 'blog persay, check out my shared posts via my google reader sidebar. This semester I've been taking RAD, which is Rape Agression Defense Systems self-defense class for women. First of all, it's weird that rape is the first word in their company/system name. I'm not like Heather MacDonald, who recently wrote a Los Angeles Times op-ed piece "What campus rape crisis?" I know not a lot of women self-report, and that the scum that does commit rape and assault has done it 16 times by the time they're caught by law enforcement. I'd like to believe that the number one fear of women should not be to be raped. And I'd like to think that that's not the worst thing that could happen to me, but I guess not much else could top that. Either way, I'm super pumped about my RAD simulation next Tuesday, and I think that every person should have these basic self-defense techniques in their belt. I was never petrified of walking around Baltimore at night, but now I know that I'm a force to be reckoned with. Unless that person has a gun or knife, in which case I don't know as well how to confront that situation. Oh well. The hair is finally starting to grow out, I overdyed it pink because it was looking a little ashy/mousy, and every time I sweat or sleep there's pink everywhere. D'oh. And now, for excessive quotation marks, care of Parkhurst at MICA.

Pictures are more descriptive than words.

My friend Christine and I went to this place in a seedy part of SoWeBo which used to belong to a gas company that became part of BG&E. In that era, the gas houses were in competition with one another and were designed to instill confidence and imply luxury in the way that banks of that time did. This building sat unused for six years, falling into disrepair, until these fine folks bought it and filled it with magical things. A 19th century 20-foot-high circus banner, an electric perm machine, a wheel of fortune, CPR dummies, an old Austin replica/toy car, film on reels still containing the "Coming soon" 1970's technicolor intro to the trailers, anatomical charts and models, lead type, signage, tons of stained glass, and my favorite, the bright blue completely refurbished 1915 Oriole gas stove & oven unit, ready to be hooked up to gas lines! Old stoves are one of my favorite dreamy things to think of, when I think about having a house one day. Just a beautiful old enameled thing with chrome instead of brushed stainless and speed lines instead of corners, these are the things I dream of. Enjoy! The woman who owns Housewerks even gave she and I a lift back to the light rail (to avoid the drunks & meth addicts who frequent the area, she said.) Did I mention they had a real live fire going when we came in, too? Few greater are the olfactory joys to me. Oh, and that big silver thing? It's a "parlor stove," no idea what that is though.