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GoatOfTheYear
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Name: Kara Marie
Location: St. Louis, Missouri, United States
Birthday: 2/23/1981
Gender: Female
Interests: I'm not going to list all the bands. Except Badly Drawn Boy. German artists, Russian authors, tea, COFFEE, lithography, My Little Ponies, intaglio, woodcut, painting, Diet Coke, sculpture, drawing, drawing, drawing, wheel-throwing, I'm a rocker I rock out, peeeeople, socialism, dirty hippies, soy, napping, National Public Radio, doggies, cartoons, my sister, running, cutting up art magazines, hot glue guns, chalk, my stupid departed cat, alternative government systems, the alley, rape awareness, shows, community service, ugly ceramic ducks, crossword puzzles, old stuff, ponies, dancing, literature, writing, the color red, black ink pens, and drawing.
Expertise: Keeping my hair uncombed and the bathtub spotless. Falling asleep in social situations.
Occupation: Artist
Industry: Nonprofit
Message: message meEmail: email me
Website: visit my website
AIM:  redduckie223
MSN: red_duckie@hotmail.com
Member Since:
1/7/2005
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| Dear kids,
I'm closing this blog.
It's been rad.
Lurve,
the goat
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| Dear kids,
FINE. Here's a stupid post. Taking a break from my, um, very busy
schedule during this two-week layover to tell you a few very important
things:
1. OH MY GOSH BASEBALL GAMES ARE THE MOST FUN THINGS EVER. I
never thought I'd succomb to attending and actually enjoying a popular
sporting event, especially in 100 degree humidity. But there was a computerized hot dog race and
little kids imitating the yelling lumberjack. A man in a costume
shot hot dogs out of a cannon. I got a free t-shirt and learned
the meanings of "double play" and "yakker". And, you know,
peanuts. Peanuts!
2. Today in a bowling alley crawing with small children ("Look at
all these kids, what's going on?" "I don't know, it's like we're in
some freakish nexus of the UNIVERSE") and gutter bumpers, we watched a
four-year-old boy in a cape (blanket secured around his shoulders with
a hair scrunchie) and Lone Ranger-style mask gallop around and actually
score higher than me. Also, I had the best cheeseburger
I've ever had. Ever.
Let's face it. I will never be a successful vegetarian while things like bowling alley burgers still exist.
3. I'm more relaxed than I've been in approximately....23 years.
4. I finally watched Napolean Dynamite. Finally. And yes, yes I did sleep through the last 30 minutes.
THERE.
Lurrve,
goat
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| Dear kids,
So, getting ready to leave southeast Missouri. Hello, southeast Wyoming! Well. With a layover. Brace yourselves:
I won't be regularly updating for a few weeks.
Calm down.
CALM DOWN.
Westward ho!
Lurve,
the goat
Currently listening to: a horrified lumberjack watching Ambush Makeover, the only thing coming in on my television | | |
| Dear kids,
Finally. My last day.
I've taken down all the photos, prints, and that weird magazine page featuring a bizarre cat toy down. Emptied my desk, cleaned out the computer, deleted my Outlook Express account. I left the star-shaped slinky in my desk, along with detailed instructions for the next consultant on what to do when the internet explodes, which happens several times a week. Now I'm sitting in my bare office, rocking back and forth anxiously until 5:00 arrives.
No, wait. Actually I'm updating my stupid Xanga, drinking bottled water, balancing my checkbook, and later I'll walk to the post office and pick up my last check from the restaurant. BUSY DAY.
My co-workers gave me a Walmart giftcard (I excitedly cried, "I can use this to buy groceries in Wyoming!") and a cactus. I don't know what kind it is, but I love him already. His name is Mr. Cactus and I can't wait to introduce him to Planty IV. They're gonna be BFF. (The clipping (limb) of Planty III sprouted roots and is growing maniacally in a plastic cup of dirt. Which fits perfectly in the cupholder of the Escort.)
So Planty IV is a hardcore pioneer. I suspect Mr. Cactus was already a hardcore, well, something, but I'm sure pioneering will be cool with him, too. I kissed Planty III goodbye, and promised to take good care of his child (limb). He was all trying to be aloof, but caved and it was very touching.
Um.
Shut up. We had a moment. Big deal.
So from 5:00 this evening until tomorrow when the lumberjack arrives, I suppose I'll clean the oven and then sit in my empty apartment, rocking back and forth anxiously, wondering if my easel will fit in the Escort and worrying over the cleanliness level of the spare bathroom's toilet. (I'll probably clean it again, for the third time, because, well. It's so FUN to use the Scrubbing Bubbles Fresh Brush Toilet Cleaning System. No, really, I swear. And it smells so good. Scrubby bubbles!)
(I believe this post has completely displayed my freakish nerd levels. Ugly. At least I'm no longer living a lie. You know. On Xanga.)
(You love me anyway.)
I AM SO EXCITED I COULD JUST EXPLODE.
Kisses,
la cabra | | |
| Dear kids,
This afternoon I go to the dentist. And yes, yes I am a sissy about the dentist.
I absolutely loathe the dentist office smell, and loathe how that metallic dental smell gets in my hair and clothes and soul. I also despise having someone's face so close to my own while they're cleaning and scratching and scraping and sucking drool out of my mouth, because, well, where are you supposed to look? I resist the urge to stare at the hygienist's pores and mascara, but I don't want to close my eyes, because that would be creepy, right? Also, I feel very threatened when someone's hands are in my mouth, and must keep my eyes open and alert just in case. Sometimes the dentist has plastered posters on the ceiling, with delightful pictures of flowers and kittens and balloons that say things like, "Today is the first day of the rest of your life" and "Success!" and "Flossing Saves Lives".
Usually I just stare at the lamp above me, imagining I am trapped on a spaceship and how I could escape. You know. Just in case.
I've been fortunate enough to never have a cavity. Surely those regular fluoride treatments we did in third grade saved my teeth from certain doom. "Now everybody SPIT IT OUT. Spit BACK INTO YOUR CUPS. SPIT IT OUT NOW. TIM, DON'T DRINK THE FLUORIDE. TIM!" However, the older I get, the more I dread dentist visits, because I imagine something will go wrong eventually. What if today is the day I'm told I need six thousand fillings and eight root canals?!
I had one traumatic dental experience, which increases my dread of those six thousand fillings. A ton. In fifth or sixth grade, before my braces were put on, the orthodontist ordered that I have two teeth pulled, because he doubted there was room in my mouth for all my teeth. So we made an appointment at the local dentist, and assured by everyone that I "wouldn't feel a thing", I entered the office with little trepidation, and laid back confidentally in the chair.
Then the dentist placed a stress ball in each of my hands. Trepidation! Trepidation!
He gave me a shot, waited a few minutes, then poked my gums. "Can you feel this?" "Um, yes." "Are you sure?" "Yes. He gave me another shot. Waited. More poking. "Okay, can you feel this?" "Yeah." "No, you can't." "Yes I can." More poking. "Now?" "Yes." Another shot. Poking. "Now you can't feel it, right?" Alarmed, and with full sensation in my mouth, I cried, "Yes!" "Little girl, you are tense and imagining it." "No I'm not, I can feel it! I can!" "You can not." My panic levels were out of control at this point. "I can! I can!" "Now you just squeeze your stress balls there, it'll just take a second."
And so, the dentist ripped my tooth out, I felt it all, and the stress balls probably never regained their original shape.
Of course, the pain-killer kicked in twenty minutes later. Too late, jerk. A few months later, the orthondist chuckled and said, "Well, looks like we didn't need to pull those teeth after all, you've got plenty of room! Oh well."
TOO LATE, JERK.
I have to go floss now. Last minute flossing ALWAYS prevents dental work. I swear.
Lurve,
the goat | | |
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