this one time, at this one place...

i've just decided that i am tired of hearing the same old things. i think that i'm going to start saying some new things; or maybe they will be the same things i have always said, just a little bit louder. i think that perhaps i could bring a new degree of craziness to this campus. too bad people don't want to take the time to listen to me. i'm a funny person. try asking me.

Santas on Parade

motivation is something that i seem to be lacking this week. i just want this semester to be over so badly that i have given up on doing anything. it's 2:00 in the morning and i just decided to review my stats for the exam tomorrow. it seems that i don't remember much from the beginning of the semester. i spent two and a half hours intermittently working on a physics study guide; i have yet to actually study it. i think i'll do that tomorrow between stats and the exam. but i'm almost done. they are my last two exams of the year 2004. the next exam that i take will be in 2005. that sounds really funny to say. i never thought that i would ever live this long, i guess i just didn't have many expectations for my life when i was a kid....what am i saying? i'm still a kid. sort of. blah, i can't knock the sleep out of my head. i do think that would be pretty amazing though. it would be like in I Heart Huckabees, when they hit themselves in the face repeatedly with a rubber ball to experience peace. i will have to admit though, there is a certain level of peace that can be attributed to hitting ones self in the face. and yes i do say this from experience. although i'm not sure why or when i hit myself repeatedly in the face with a rubber ball; but i suppose that could also be attributed to said beating. i'm rambling. it's dumb, and no one cares anyway. so i will leave you with this image.

Tuesday

my foundations meeting is in 15 minutes. then i am done with that class. i gave my presentation last week, and i've finished the semester long ministries project. i can see the end of the tunnel. i really can! it's this bright light. hmm i wonder if that is sheer anticipation, or if it means i'm dying. i ask in 45 minutes and i'll let you know

Stomach of Steel

As with most people I’ve discovered that I am a mix of both of my parents. I seem to have inherited the most defining characteristics of my mother: her temper and laziness. But I’m proud to say that the bulk of who I am has come straight from my father. We are so alike that at times I think that I’m looking at an aged, bald, male version of myself. I have developed most aspects of his personality, ranging from his unceasing curiosity to his culinary preferences.

If you were to ask any member of my family or anyone who has ever had dinner with him, they would all tell you the same thing: my father has a stomach of steel. His daily meals consist of: two cans of tuna fish, two cans of mandarin oranges, one can of spinach, and the occasional can of whole potatoes. He doesn’t seem to understand why at break time, his fellow employees steer clear of him. I think the closest he has ever come to understanding the bizarreness of his meal was the time that the toilet backed up at work. He was telling me how it smelled really bad. He walked into the bathroom and found his two bosses snaking the toilet. He stated the obvious: “It stinks”, and as an after thought “I don’t think I’ve ever smelled anything like that”. To which they responded in unison, “Tuna Fish.”

I love my dad, but it seems that he was unjustly denied any chance at being able to naturally eat or cook normal foods; the cooking gene just seems to have skipped a generation with him. My Dad’s mom, who incase you didn’t know would be my grandmother, is an amazing cook. It seems to me that she finds the same kind of rush in cooking, that an adrenaline junky finds in sky diving. Food was part of our family’s culture. If you were sad, grandma would fix you something to eat. If you had just completed some amazing feat, like eating a 42 pound turkey in world record times…..well congratulations! Grandma will make you some mashed potatoes and gravy to go with it. I was never able to escape my grandparent’s home without some sort of morsel of food being crammed into my hand. Too often I heard, “Your grandma spent all day making those cookies and if you don’t eat them, you will hurt her feelings”. So I would trudge off to college with a freezer bag of snicker doodles, and a cool whip container of her infamous Rodeo Spaghetti.

But my dad, as I said, was not blessed with the skill of cooking. As a matter of fact, when my parents got a divorce I thought I would have to move back home, for fear of my dad and brother starving to death. Instead I’d come home on break and find the cupboards brimming over with canned food; unfortunately it seemed that the store that he shopped at only sold four different kinds of food. You could either eat ravioli, spaghetti-o’s, tuna fish, or mandarin oranges. If you wanted something else, well you were on your own. Dad didn’t have a desire to eat it; there fore he didn’t have a desire to cook it.

Don’t get me wrong, my dad has given his most valiant effort at cooking. I remember sitting at the table when I was in elementary school eating some coleslaw that he had prepared. Actually I remember sitting at the table with my older brother, having an ongoing contest to see who could hold it in our mouths the longest. Apparently ¼ means a quarter of a cup of onions, not one to four onions. Our dog Sarge, who was either a Heinz 57 or a Bermuda rat, wouldn’t even touch it; this from the animal who fished from the ditch.

But, my dad seems to be aware of his culinary inabilities. I think that he even sees a little bit of himself in me. Too many times I’ve happily made meals from cold spaghetti, sardines with mustard, and have the sudden craving for Braunschweiger (smoked pork liver cold cut) topped with onion and mustard; not typically at the same time, although it has been know to happen. He also seems to think that because I share his stomach of steel, that I also share his culinary expertise. If the cooking gene skips a generation, and my older brother is a professional pastry chef, then I must not know how to cook. Although this is perhaps a plausible hypothesis, I think that a more accurate conclusion is that the culinary apathy has skipped a generation. I guess that it doesn’t really matter and basically my kids are screwed.

*tongue fart*

i'm procrastinating. i just spent two hours delivering pizzas with my roommate for JMC. two addresses didn't exist. we got two free pizzas....rock on. i have a stats project due at 8 tomorrow, i'm only half of the way done. i refuse to give a bulleted overview of my weekend. i am giving a fragmented, paragraph form overview of my weekend. i hate it when people do that.


cARLA AND i JUST HAD A FARTING CONTEST. i THINK THAT SHE WON THE SPEEDY CATEGORY, BUT i DEFINITELY WON FOR STAMINA. tHAT WAS A REALLY WEIRD THING THAT I JUST WROTE. tODAY i HAD CARLA ROLLING ON THE FLOOR LAUGHING. liTERALLY ROLLING ON THE FLOOR, i'VE NEVER GOTTEN THAT REACTION BEFORE. i WAS EXPLAINING TO HER HOW i THOUGHT THAT PEOPLE SHOULD TALK LIKE THEY WRITE. yOU SHOULD CAPITALIZE WHAT YOU ARE SAYING, AND BE SURE TO ADD ALL OF THE PUNCTUATION TOO. aT DINNER ON fRIDAY, THERE WAS A FRESHMAN IN THE DC WITH A VERY ANNOYING LAUGH. iT WAS VERY LOUD, AND SORT OF VULGAR. i DON'T THINK THAT GIRL SHOULD BE ALOUD TO HAVE A VOICE BOX. iT CAN ONLY BE EXPLAINED AS LAUGHTER EJACULATION, IT'S ONLY GOOD FOR HER. i TOLD MY ROOMMATES THAT DURING DINNER, cHRISSY ALMOST CHOKED ON HER FOOD; cARLA ALMOST HAD FOOD COME OUT OF HER NOSE; i BEGAN TO LAUGH IN A RIDICULOUS WAY. i HOPE SOMEONE MADE A COMMMENT ABOUT HOW i SOUNDED LIKE A SEIZING HORSE. i'M GOING TO REITERATE A PREVIOUS STATEMENT THAT i HAVE MADE, i WANT TO BE A COMEDIAN. bRETT, WHEN WE GO HOME ON tHURSDAY YOU SHOULD BE PREPARED. i AM GOING TO MAKE YOU LAUGH THE ENTIRE WAY, AND IF WE DON'T HAVE TO STOP AT LEAST ONCE BECAUSE YOU HAVE POOPED IN YOUR PANTS, i WILL BE ANGRY.


This is the second time today that I have updated my blog. I feel like I am returning to a previous addiction. I think that I kind of like it too. Carla is ignoring me right now....and she just gave me a very weird look because i am making a sort of funny monkey face in her general direction...don't worry carla i am not completely insane. I hope that it is freaking you out that i am staring at you while i type this. It would make me moderately happy if you jumped up from your chair right now and just yelled...." WHAT THE HELL!", OR HAD SOME OTHER SORT TO TURRETS MOMENT. BUT YOU ARE NOT. AND YOU ARE IGNORING ME. i SUPPOSE THAT tHIS IS MY CUE TO FINISH THIS BLOG AND DO MY HOMEWORK. yOU ARE LOOKING NOW, YOU SHOULDN'T READ THIS UNTIL i FINISH IT AND PUBLISH IT. bUT THAT'S OK. cAN YOU BE AN AXE MURDERER? fOR ME? i WOULD REALLY LIKE THAT. YOU TOOK A PICTURE OF ME WHILE i READ THIS TOO YOU. MAYBE NOW i WILL BECOME THE AXE MURDERER AND KILL YOU WITH A SPOON WHILE YOU SLEEP.

MY ONE HUNDREDTH POST

Today I decided that I like it when people have pictures on their blogs. Unfortunately I don't really have any very exciting pictures that were worthy of this discovery, so instead I decided to post a picture of this pole. It's interesting. I suppose that if you gaze at it with the right mindset, it can tell you the meaning of life. But then again I suppose that with the right mindset and mood altering drugs, anything can tell you the meaning of life. Right now I've figured out my purpose of life. It's taken me a while, but I think I have this case solved. My meaning of life is to study and get good grades. Too bad it's taken me so long to realize this. I wish that my purpose was far more exciting. Something like, perhaps saving orphaned rats in Malaysia. Or maybe, rescuing tree frogs from prairie dogs in the Midwest. But instead it's not, it's studying. And because it is so utterly boring, I have decided to protest. The other day at dinner I said a really dumb thing. I have decided that grogginess and the horrifying smell of the DC seem to have an adverse effect on me. I told my roommates about how lately I have wanted to know what it would be like to be hit in the face by an elephant trunk, not hit in the face by an elephant....but hit in the face by a man who is swinging and elephant trunk. I think it would feel a lot like being hit in the face by a fire hose. Of course I don't know what that feels like either, but I do think that it would hurt far worse than a trunk. Unless of course it was the kind of trunk that you carry close in on long journeys, then I think that would hurt far more. Ok now that everyone officially thinks that I'm insane, allow me to leave you with one final thought--oh never mind, I don’t have anything left.

humbugggggg

i have been neglecting my poor blog again, i think it is only because there is really nothing very exciting to talk about. i've mostly been preoccupied with how i should be preoccupied with exams and projects and all of that jazz. i've started to think a little bit about what i want to do this summer for my practicum. i want to work at a camp, somewhere new. with new philosophies, new programs, and a fresh perspective. there's a camp in camedon, ohio (near cinci) that looks like looking into. i had an interview with them last year, even though i didn't take the job i was told to keep them in mind if i ever wanted to work at a camp again. well guess what! I DO! i think i'm going to rummage through their website to find a contact address. i really hope they would be interested in taking me on. i hope i won't be too much of a bother with my stinkin practicum. in other news, i have no other news. i did just realize that i never posted about what happened over thanksgiving break. that's really sad because it is stinkin amazing! hmmm. nope nothing more to say. ok well i suppose i should finish my papers, and do the study guide that i told jess i would have done yesterday....that or take a nap. it's a toss up, we'll see which i do.

I think that boys say the strangest things.

"Holy crapola Batman, do you know how long it's been since i've done math?!" Aaron...aka Uno

"Jonathan, I want to have your children...but we'll have to adopt!"...Dave...aka...Dave

I really do heart Huckabees!

"I don't need to think, I just need to beat up bad guys"~Carla Sue

Carla and I just got back from the most amazingly bizarre movie that I have seen in a long time. I <3 Huckabees. It seems to be one of those movies that is just not fair to watch once. Kind of like Being John Malkavich, Adapatation, or Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind. All amazing movies, but all need to be seen more than once to comprehend their true beauty. I think my favorite thing about the movie is that it cost $1, and we were very close to being the only people in the theatre....that always allows for an enjoyable movie viewing experience. I told Carla that over J-Term break, we are going to take a break from the typical Dime Store Romance Genre Movies we watch, and the utterly predictable and mind numbing comedies that we often somehow find intreguing...and watch a plethra of indie, foreign, and umm...i don't know what it would be classified as....art nevou? sure that works. I'm excited for this. I hope I get Amelie for christmas, if not that will be one of the movies we will be renting from the video store. I'm rather looking forward to it. Ok enough pleasentries.....I have a 10 page paper due tomorrow that I haven't really started, and if i'm going to have enough stamina to speed type it tomorrow....I'll need my sleep.

no title

it's very early in the morning, but for some reason i just don't want to go to bed. it's not like i have anything to do or anyone to talk to, i just don't feel like sleeping. i'm usually a big fan of daily hibernation, but today it just seems to be a waste. like i'll miss something. i don't know what though, i think that's what is currently annoying me. today seems to have been a waste of my time. i don't know why i allow myself to be stuck in days that are a waste of time. especially ones that are of my own doing. sometimes life feels like a waste of time. sleeping feels like a waste of time. sometimes breathing even feels like a waste of time. i don't understand why though. it's not as if these things are interfering with my daily agenda, far from it. it's more like these things are just meaningless endeavors that society has trained us to see as vital. i feel like pavlov's dogs. sometimes i try not to breathe. i feel like it's just pointless and i'll be fine without it. that always ends up with me getting a little light headed and gasping for a breath. i guess procrastination isn't something that can be done when it comes to vital bodily functions. think of how much more efficient it would be if i could just wait to pee until right before i died. Imagine all of the time that i would save in a year by not spending three minutes in the bathroom four times a day. that is perfectly wasted time that i could be using to watch TV or surf the net. Too bad though. i guess i'll just have to learn to accept my natural responsibilities and complete them on time; so i don't pass out or pee my pants or something

talk big or don't talk.

i have decided that if one more person asks me who i'm dating or who i'm interested in, i'm going to punch them right in the face.

in other news, i have no other news. THE END.

just to let you know....

i love the color red.

Joel 2:28

last night i had this weird sort of dream. it wasn't really a dream because i was still sort of awake. maybe it was a vision. i was a man and i was in jamaica sitting at a tall table at an outdoor cafe, with jason alexander. it was jason alexander, except he had hair. long hair, down to his shoulders, kind of frizzy and curly. i was talking with him and he was telling me where i could buy drugs. i don't know what kind of drug it was, but it was clear and came in a shot glass. it reminded me of glycerin. weird. i told my roommate about it shortly after i realized that i just had this crazy weird vision. she laughed and i'm sure she thinks that i'm crazy. today when i was watching tv, i saw a preview a christmas carol staring kelsey grammer and.....jason alexander. he plays marley, and was sporting some lovely shoulder length kind of frizzy curly hair. it rained all day today and i kind of liked it. my pants are wet.

kade's convo with my away message

kross: you said that you were napping
Auto response from jme:
Why oh, why oh, why oh, why did I ever leave Ohio..........oh yeah, to do lots of Homework in Indiana!!
kross: you said that you were napping
kross: now i see otherwise
kross: hmmmm
kross: liar
kross: in the old days i would point at you and say witch and they would burn you, be happy for i can't do that now, if i did that today people would point back and say man you be so crazy, that is some whack shit, or for sheezy my neezy or something i have't really mastered all this language stuff

I'll show you how to gleek.

I wonder if the way a relationship will turn out is predestined. If you can tell how things will be, by the way things first are. I wonder if I could know how my relationship with my older brother will be by looking at how it was when we were kids.

When I first came home from the hospital, Cory was my protector. He was my living shield from any would be kidnappers; anyone from well meaning priests to cheek-pinching-gift-giving relatives. I've been told about the time that Cory barricaded my bassinet with his three foot, 40 pound body and went into a near panic attack when my Uncle Joe came over. I wish I had a memory of that incident. I can just picture it.

Cory is standing in my parents bed room on his tip toes trying to peer over the edge of my bassinet. His pudgy three year old legs straining to be just one inch taller. Then off in the distance he hears it, my mother: "Oh! Sure, she's a wake. Come on you just have to see her, she looks just beautiful in that sleeper that you gave her", my mother trying to suck up to my aunt and uncle for the umpteenth time.

I can see Cory turning around and see mom come flouncing into the room with Joe on her heals and Teresa trailing behind carry 11 month old Nathan in her arms. To anyone over the age of three, it's just an annoying family visit. One that involves long boring talks, and cheek pinching. But to my new big brother, it is a troop of Nazi's storming the border with evil intentions. He must protect my honor, but he's three so what can he do? He can scream that's what he can do. And he does. He stands in front of the bassinet, and lets it rip. Hands clenched, face red, tears streaming down his face. Releasing a noise that can only be compared to the screech of a jungle beast. I wish I could have seen my mother's face. Utter shock, disappointment, and embarrassment. How could something that came from her body ever act like that?! Of course the sound would startle me awake, and because Cory was crying and I would be inevitably crying, Nathan would have to join in as well. Teresa would undoubtedly be disgusted that the wretches in the Barrett family had made her little baby cry, and they would leave; and in an unforeseen turn of events, Cory would be victorious.

However, in the years to come my protector would become my tormenter, and eventually my mentor. Years of "physical and psychological" unlike anything that a POW faced. But for just one day, for just one minute, Cory had been my hero.

I wonder if this is how we will be once again. Now that I have proved my loyalty by not hating him, and he has matured beyond the point of finding some sort of perverse pleasure in my pain. I wonder if now that we are adults, we will have the picture perfect relationship. Somehow I think not, but somehow I don't really want to. Picture perfect predictability is no fun. I'd much rather see who could withstand the longest Indian burn, or spit the farthest. I don't so much even mind a permanent bruise on my right shoulder. I wonder how my visit for thanksgiving will go. I hope it's like old times, only a little less painful.

Excerpt from "A Modest Proposal" by Johnathan Swift

"I have been assured by a very knowing american of my acquaintance in London, that the young healthy child well nursed is at a year old a most delicious, nourishing and wholseome food, whether stewed, roasted, baked, or broiled".

one time a squirrel tried to steal my banana, don't worry i hit him in the face with a golf ball

tonight was a calm night. i like nights like that. i cleaned. there is just something about cleaning that i find so rejuvenating. hmm. carla's ......friend had a baby the other day. she named her adrieanna. i think that is an amazing name. i'm not really sure why i just typed that or why i'm thinking about that, but i am. hmmm... i got to talk to stitch and uno online tonight. that was good. haven't had a conversation with either of them in a week or so. my life is boring tonight. but it always is. oh well. i'm content. that's good. i'm excited about the future. that's really good. can't wait to graduate. can't wait to be at a camp. can't wait start my life. i feel like i type that a lot these days. but it's true. it is. hmm...well i guess that there is really nothing more that i want to talk about. hmm.. nope. but i thought that you should know that i said this in a conversation tonight: " because I'm evil and illegal and going to hell anyway.....so i might as well be really evil before i have to burn forever"......followed later on by....."i like to be evil and witty". interesting. well that's all ladies and gentlemen. let me just leave you with this last thought.....if a flock of sea gulls fly over head, don't look up to oogle them; they will poop in your eye.

foreign policy

kross: Yassar Arafat is dying
jmebarrett: i heard
kross: that is kinda sad
kross: in a foreign policy sense
jmebarrett: ok
jmebarrett: i don't really keep up on foreign policy
jmebarrett: which is kinda sad
jmebarrett: in a i'm-a -dumb-american-who-hoards-her-liberty-but-doesn't-really-give-a-crap sort of sense
kross: haha
kross: yah it is

sometimes i just need to listen to hard music really loud

i don't understand why people say what they do. it's good to know that if i'm ever seeking freedom of any kind, that i'm a sinful slut who is demon possessed and going to hell. good to know. i get so sick and tired of people copping out when they try to help others. i'm so tired of people standing in front of me, pointing out everything that is wrong, and not giving me an ounce of help. yeah that's a good plan. i'm just going to stand at the top of the well that the little baby fell into, and point out every wrong move he made that landed him there, but i'm not going to throw him a rope or call for help. no. he's at the bottom of that well, well golly he just needs to trust in jesus more! that will fix everything! oh and you have a good time rotting down there! see ya in hell! i'm so annoyed. it's good to know that i spend 23 thousand dollars a year to hear this kind of advice. i'm tired of christians being fake. i'm tired of sunday school answers and women of faith praise songs. i'm tired of it all. sometimes i just want to get away. to find it on my own. to take my time to see what is out there. oh wait, that's seeking freedom. no i will fail. that's right i forgot. i guess someone just needs to rebuke my demons, so i can watch the pigs fall off of the cliff. damn.

hair

i like it when my hair is wet.
it has this smooth, natural disheveled look.
i feel clean.
it reminds me of the thousands of laps that i have swam,
of raft wars in em's pond,
of mud fights in the lake,
of flipping canoes,
of fishing,
of the ditch club,
of hikes in the woods,
of walks in the rain,
of squirt gun fights,
of long bus rides,
of tardy slips and detention,
of lake weatherwood,
of mosquito bites and midnight swims,
of before.
i feel clean.
it has this smooth, natural disheveled look.
i like it when my hair is wet.