I really should update this thing more often, but my life isn't as action-packed as it used to be. And I'm sure you don't want to hear about my daily struggles to concentrate on studying with the attention span of a squashed gnat.
We got a message on my answering machine last night, apparently in response to our ad in the citypaper. "Hey guys, I just called to say that I love your band's fucking name. It's hilarious. Best of luck to you guys." It was mildly amusing, but it brought a question to the fore of my parents' minds that they'd previously had too much class to ask. Namely, "What is your band named, Agent Skatter?" Actually, only my father evinced this much curiousity. My mother has long since decided that what she doesn't know is probably best left undiscovered, and doesn't ask. But my father kept bugging me, and he wasn't going to get an answer. I get enough ridicule around this house as it is, and my parents' latent religious beliefs would probably bug them enough that they wouldn't leave me alone. For the desperately curious, the bands name is "God Say Fuck You."
I personally believe that's what he's said to me every time I try to do something right, if he even exists. I'm not sure what the motivation was to use this name, however, because I was not a member of the band when it was adopted. Roachboy says that Dirk and I cannot use the name, as he came up with it, and he's left the band. That's bullshit because Roachboy, no matter how dearly he'd love to take credit for everything worthwhile around him, did not come up with the name. Jason did, and he left only a couple months after I joined the band, for "personal" reasons.
So, I politely told my father that he wasn't getting an answer, and he finally gave up.
Yesterday was busy as hell, as always. In the morning, of course, there were classes. The only bright note in that was that we're being allowed to correct our calculus exams, so that we can get up to a "B". With any luck, I might pass the class with a high C or a low B.
My psychology class has been dwindling slowly over the past couple weeks, thanks to Dr. Gross's horrid teaching methods. They consist of putting overhead transparency after overhead transparency up, while she asks open-ended questions like a junior high science teacher. And the transparencies are about the same, just saying the same thing in different colors. Today, she asked us why we weren't participating, and why no-one showed up to class. I wanted to say, "Because every moment in class kills our will to live. You suck up all the air in the room somehow, and we're all left with this horrible feeling of suffocation whenever you talk." I didn't, though. Instead, I actually participated, to make her happy.
Our cat, Genghis (and I'm not certain if I've mentioned this before), has taken to pissing in the hallway to my room. Nothing discourages him from this practice, even foul-smelling sprays and powders that make me gag don't deter him. And he lets out happy gay little trills as he soars around the house after he pisses. I'm starting to hate that cat. A few days ago, I found that he'd pissed directly on my door, and instead of the carpet (it used to be beige, now it's light brown) soaking it up, it leaked through into my room, which has a hardwood floor. I discovered the puddle when I stepped in it. I was so enraged, I grabbed Genghis mid-soar, hauled him over to my door, showed him where he pissed, and smacked him. I was tempted to do the evil pet-abuse thing, and rub his nose in it, but that doesn't do anything but make your pets neurotic.
I've never wanted to kill a cat so much in my life. I think he does it out of spite, because we won't let him wander around outside. Anyway, my parents finally gave in last night and installed a sliding plastic door across the hallway that leads to my room. I'm just waiting for Genghis to piss on that. The door is a pain in the ass to close, because my father is mechanically retarded and didn't install it correctly.
Warning: Personal Girl Stuff
Okay, these cramps are tearing me in half, and I wish I was dead right now. I took painkillers, but they don't feel like doing anything for me today, apparently. My period's late anyway, which either means that my cycle's running long again, or I'm having a minor miscarriage, as per my agreement with my body. (As long as I don't get pregnant, I promise that I won't do anything bad to my body like a hundred situps a day and a 3-400 calorie a day diet). My body hasn't reneged on its part of the bargain yet. (Knock on wood).
End of Personal Girl Stuff
I've been reading "Zen and The Art of Motorcycle Maintenance". It's great, it's mind-expanding, but damn if it isn't irritating to read in some parts. I might get through it by the end of the year. I've been good, though, and have not started any Trashy Romance Novels, lest I get too distracted.
The rest of yesterday was spent napping and discovering just how much of our basic foods (milk, bread) had gone bad. I sympathised with Dirk when I had to wake him up at four to go home, because it felt so much nicer under the covers. I let him sleep nearly undisturbed when I pick him up from work in the mornings and bring him to my house, because I know how little sleep he'll get at home. I also try to get some food into him, since we eat healthier. His family deep-fat fries everything, or uses high-fat ingredients in what they don't fry. In comparasin, my family eats vegetarian burgers and low-fat everything.
I get stomach aches if the milk we drink has a higher fat content than 2%, because we haven't drunk whole milk since I was 9.
After I brought Dirk home, I went shopping so I could cook dinner, cooked, and typed up the three-day trip plan that was due for the hiking class. I plagiarized most of the description, because I'd never seen the trail I chose to use in planning the trip (I don't do much hiking, go figure). At about 7:30, I went to college, slid the paper under the professor's office door, and went to the testing center to take the final for the hiking class. It wasn't multiple choice, but most of it was easy. The only thing I'm not sure on is the symptoms of hypothermia and what to do if a coppehead (snake) bites you. For the snake bite, I put, "Don't Panic. Try to suck out the poison." That's probably wrong, isn't it?
On the way home, I stopped by Dirk's to see how he was doing, watched "Nightline" while everyone else in the room (Dirk, his mother and his father) snoozed, and listened to the odd noises Dirk makes when he sleeps. You know that babies make an automatic sucking motion, starting when they're in the womb, right? It's a reflex, an unconcious one, that usually goes away when they're weaned. Dirk still does it. I think that's so cute. He makes sucking motions in his sleep. I had to pry Dirk's head off my shoulder to leave at nine.
I seriously doubt that I'm going to see any more money from Roachboy. I mean, his mother wrote that check, which means either Roachboy's not working, or he's blowing all his money on CDs and shit again. Or he's got a new little fuck toy that he hasn't tried to shove in my face, and he's blowing all his money on her. No, I'm not bitter.
I'm going to update my survey now.