So, what skill could I teach?......That's tough......I know how to do a few crafty-type things, but due to my having the attention span of a 4 year old, I don't really know any one skill in depth enough to teach.
However, if anyone is having (or has had) issues with stress, I may have the solution, or at least some relief, to your problems. The "Hotdog" is a little technique that was developed my Junior (?) year of highschool (and it still works, 4 years later). If you are familiar with the rhyme "let's get the rythm of the head, ding-dong, let's get the rythm of the feet, (stomp, stomp), let's get the rythm of the hands, (clap, clap), LET'S GET THE RYTHM OF THE H-O-T-D-O-G", than you should get the basic idea of the move itself. It basically consists of rotating at the waist, although there are several variations (little kid run, thrust-rotate-thrust, full body shake). It's just an amazing way to burn off all your stress. So next time you find yourself getting really tense, or frustrated, give it a try.....it'll make you feel loads better.
I personally swear by this technique.....hope it works the same for you!
Let me know if a demonstration is needed, I'm always willing to do what I can to spread the "doctrine of the Hotdog"!

Just to clear up any confusion, my user photo is of Conor Oberst, not me. Sorry to disappoint all of you who fell in love with "my" soulfull brown eyes and indie-cool hair.... you have my permission to continue imagining that I look like that if it somehow makes my journal more readable. I may post my own picture someday though.....I hope it's not a let down!

Have you ever see a 6 foot, 350 pound, college football coach skip down the hall when he thought no one was looking?
Or witness an entire "macho-er than thou" college basketball team mount each other like dogs to "get a deeper stretch" during warm ups?
Or been immersed in a sea of shirtless, black short-short spandex-clad wrestlers seemingly out of nowhere?
I have..................Jealous?

Missing Image ;(

M.Ward.......M. Ward and Bright Eyes......M. WArd and Bright Eyes and Mary Kate.....M. Ward and Bright Eyes and Mary Kate and a road trip......so fun...I could go on....but I'll spare you.
So Febuary 22nd, I had better be pressed up against the stage in Club Laga....immersed in a sea of (God love 'em) obnoxiously obsessive Connor Oberst fans (I swear I'm not one of them).....singing and swaying and ...... sweating (you try listening to "Lover I Don't Have To Love" and not break into a sweat) I have had too many let-downs latley and I need this to work out!
ANyways, thanks for agreeing to go with me MK.....hopefully, you don't end up despising concerts as much as Mike and Beast....I seem to have that effect on people. Check out M. Ward (picture above, link to the right)....it's good stuff.

Missing Image ;(

The following is taken from Chuck Klosterman's book "Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs".....It's a guaranteed chuckle (and if it doesn't make you smile at least, than I pity you....have you no joy in your life?)

I'm pretty careful when it comes to my socks. Certain philosophers (Emilio Estevez in St. Elmo's Fire, for example) have speculated as to why socks so often get lost whenever people do laundry, but - until recently - that had never happened to me. In the span of fourteen years, I had never lost a single sock. But then I lost a sock in October of 2001. And then I lost another two weeks later, and then a third around Thanksgiving. And it slowly dawned on me that something was afoot. "What in the name of Andrew W.K. is going on?" I asked aloud while sorting my freshly cleaned garments. Why were my socks suddenly disappearing like Chinese Panda Bears? What had changed?
The answer: Mr. Smokey.
It occured to me that the only aspect of my laundering that had changed in recent weeks was my newfound affinity for petting a feline of unknown origin. Accessing the public laundry room in my apartment complex required that I briefly walk outside of my building's back door, where I consistently encountered a large grey cat I liked to call "Mr. Smokey". Despite our initial differences, I struck up an amicable relationship with Mr. Smokey; whenever I saw him, I would scratch his kitty ears and his kitty tummy, much to his kitty delight.
Or so it seemed.
Evidence began to mount suggesting that Mr. Smokey was using this weekly exchange as a diversion to steal my socks, one at a time. It's still not clear why he wanted my socks, since it had always been my assumption that kittens wanted mittens (in order to acquire pie).
However, there was no other explanation for these disappearances. In fact I have reason to believe there was a whole network of cats involved in this: Perhaps Mr. Smokey stole my attention while a second cat (or cats) pounced into my laundry basket, snaring the best available footwear and fleeing into the darkness. I'm convinced an even larger cat ("Mr. Orange") from a neighboring building was part of the conspiracy.
"How often have I said" asked coke-addict Sherlock Holmes in "The Signs Of Four", "that when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth?" This is true, I am nothing if not logical.
Mr. Smokey must die.

My dog smells.....boy does he smell....some glandular condition, and the smell has evolved with age. Like you know how almost all old people smell similar.....like aspirin or musty basement drawers?....well Petie smells like the dog version of that smell. It seems a little more offensive than his past odour, mabye because every time I smell it, it reminds me that he is pretty old (fourteen years to be specific)....and he may not be around forever.

Although the years have actually been pretty good to the Petester, and he has cheated death on numerous occassions (more on that later), I can tell that he is gettin old. My remedy: a new hip green mohawk.....that's right, my dog is officially the punk rock representative for the dogs of Elmwood.....and the new haircut has seemed to have affected his attitude....sassier, edgier, challenging authority....He'd flip the cats the bird...if he had fingers...

I guess you'd have to see it to understand....I'll try posting a picture soon!

Missing Image ;(

I love dark cold nights, eating oranges, listening to Nick Cave and reading Tobias Smollett.....give it a try....but always together.....always
Also, I totally dig the sites new look....so pretty.

So I have to print a retraction......St. Nick's Day is not the 5th, it is the 6th.....so the big fuss I made, (including the rather detailed poster I hung on my refrigerator) was quite uncalled for..........Man I'm lame

For those of you who are interested, a couple of distressing things have happened to me within the past couple of days (well I might be exageratting.....okay, I am totally exagerating, but who wants to read about something, "not distressing at all") So here goes:
I have worked in the same office, with most of the same people for over two years now. It's a great job, everyone's really friendly, I choose my own hours and my boss rocks!!!!(shout out to JUDY) Latley, however, I have been getting the feeling that my coworkers are conspiring against me... (it's totally possible). The other day, Judy asks me to make sure I am in the office form 12 to 1, at first I'm thinking "Birthday cake Time....Yahhhh" (we have that quite often)....but she elaborates, Everyone in the office is going out to lunch together and they need me to stay and hand out checks.....okay, so I really don't mind this....I am only a lowly student assistant....that's fine. It isn't until the day of their big lunch outing that I realize the full impact of their trip. As they are all getting ready to leave, I notice Pete, the other student assistant putting on his coat too. THey invited PETE.....I have been working there for two years and they make me stay alone in the office while my "fancy pants", "I look like a Ken Doll" counterpart (who has been working there for 3 months tops) spends the afternoon laughing it up with our coworkers. THe humanity!!!!....Too bad I don't belong to a union of some sort....I feel a strike a brewin' and I don't think it'll have the same impact if it's just me marching alone in front of Alumni Arena with a sign that reads "I'm hungry too"
On top of that whole fiasco, my parents totally forgot about one of my very favorite holidays. Since I was just a babe, Every December 4th us kids would put out our shoes, or stockings, and in the morning they would be filled with goodies. St. Nick's Day has always benn a warmup for Christmas and we have always celebrated it....without fail. THis morning, I woke up early....all excited to have my ST. Nick's day breakfast of chocalate and honey roasted peanuts (both staples of my stocking)....I searched the entire house to no avail......my parents had forgotten St. Nick's day,.....what's next, Christmas.....my Birthday....pretty soon they'll have wiped all memory of my existence from their brains.....this may sound a bit paranoyed but stranger things have happened.

SO THanksgiving has come and gone....another holiday with my increasingly wierd family. The day itself was pretty uneventful...lots of small talk and nodding. My father and I divised an escape plan...anytime one of us was trapped in a conversation that was going no where, we would shout "Tippytoe, Tippytoe" and the other would come to their rescue (a'la Seinfeld). Unfortunatley, my Dad has this way of completley zoning out, so numerous times I was left grinning and nodding...and shouting "tippytoe"... I don't think my family caught on.

Another rather distressing thing happened. All my life....at every family gathering, I would be bombarded with comments from my Aunt Debby about my attire: "Where in the world would you find something like that?"..."I didn't think they made that in adult sizes"...."You look like my grandfather" (yah, I didn't really get that either). These comments never really bothered me, in fact I found comfort in knowing that my Aunt, with her assortment of turtleneck dickies, and puff paint sweaters, didn't "get" my clothing choices. However, last Thursday, the unthinkable happened....as I bent down to greet my Aunt she said the words that have haunted me since...."I just love your outfit, we almost match." I was shocked...I ran to the bathroom and pulled off my pants...nope, no stretch pants, the shoes were next, I tore off my heels...no stirrups, I tuggeed at my shirt, searched for the "dickie line" (similar to the panty line except around the shoulders and chest)...I was safe.
As I stumbled out of the bathroom, I began to accept the fact that my Aunt had seen a GLIMMER of her own personal style in me....I may have been safe then, but who knows....years from now I may just be another lady with a puff-painted dickie.