Don't Mind if I Do

All Headache and No Sleep Makes Cara Irritatingly Repetitive. All Headache and No Sleep Makes Cara Irritatingly Repetitive. All Headache and No Sleep Makes Cara Irritatingly Repetitive. All Headache and No Sleep Makes Cara Irritatingly Repetitive. All Headache and No Sleep Makes Cara Irritatingly Repetitive. All Headache and No Sleep Makes Cara Irritatingly Repetitive. All Headache and No Sleep Makes Cara Irritatingly Repetitive. All Headache and No Sleep Makes Cara Irritatingly Repetitive. All Headache and No Sleep Makes Cara Irritatingly Repetitive. All Headache and No Sleep Makes Cara Irritatingly Repetitive. All Headache and No Sleep Makes Cara Irritatingly Repetitive. All Headache and No Sleep Makes Cara Irritatingly Repetitive. All Headache and No Sleep Makes Cara Irritatingly Repetitive. All Headache and No Sleep Makes Cara Irritatingly Repetitive. All Headache and No Sleep Makes Cara Irritatingly Repetitive. All Headache and No Sleep Makes Cara Irritatingly Repetitive. All Headache and No Sleep Makes Cara Irritatingly Repetitive. All Headache and No Sleep Makes Cara Irritatingly Repetitive. All Headache and No Sleep Makes Cara Irritatingly Repetitive. All Headache and No Sleep Makes Cara Irritatingly Repetitive. All Headache and No Sleep Makes Cara Irritatingly Repetitive. All Headache and No Sleep Makes Cara Irritatingly Repetitive. All Headache and No Sleep Makes Cara Irritatingly Repetitive. All Headache and No Sleep Makes Cara Irritatingly Repetitive. All Headache and No Sleep Makes Cara Irritatingly Repetitive. All Headache and No Sleep Makes Cara Irritatingly Repetitive. All Headache and No Sleep Makes Cara Irritatingly Repetitive. All Headache and No Sleep Makes Cara Irritatingly Repetitive. All Headache and No Sleep Makes Cara Irritatingly Repetitive. All Headache and No Sleep Makes Cara Irritatingly Repetitive. All Headache and No Sleep Makes Cara Irritatingly Repetitive. All Headache and No Sleep Makes Cara Irritatingly Repetitive. All Headache and No Sleep Makes Cara Irritatingly Repetitive. All Headache and No Sleep Makes Cara Irritatingly Repetitive. All Headache and No Sleep Makes Cara Irritatingly Repetitive.

I have 3.5 hours until I have to be up, and an 8 hour Ambien is looking mighty tasty right now.

The Upside to Being Mysteriously Chronically Ill...

I'm beginning to accept I can't get anything done without wanting to rip my eyeballs from their sockets. As such, I'm Slacking it Up all over the internets. It ain't making me a better person, but I'm still better than most.

Glamorous Soul 51% Tastefulness, 56% Originality, 47% Deliberateness, 52% Sexiness

[Tasteful Original Deliberate Sexy] You choose your outfits carefully according to many criteria. You don't like looking cheap, dull or random and you go to great lengths to avoid this. You are successful, too. People admire your taste and sex appeal. Many try to imitate you but not many can recreate your unique style. Sometimes, however, they find you too intimidating to approach. If you don't wear retro style yet, perhaps you should consider it. It would become greatly your sexy, mysterious self. The opposite style from yours is Fashion Enemy [Flamboyant Conventional Random Prissy]. All the categories: Fashion Enemy Bar Cruiser Kid Next Door Sex Bomb Hippie Kid Fashion Rebel Fashion Artist Catwalk God(ess) Librarian Sporty Hottie Office Master Uptown Girl/ Boy Brainy Student Movie Star Fashionista Glamorous Soul

My test tracked 4 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender: You scored higher than 17% on Tastefulness You scored higher than 77% on Originality You scored higher than 38% on Deliberateness You scored higher than 60% on Sexiness

Link: The Fashion Style Test written by mari-e on Ok Cupid, home of the 32-Type Dating Test

Nuts, You Say?

Today I discovered Katie Holmes was born December 18, 1978, but was two months premature. I was born February 18, 1979. This doesn't mean anything but that our parents got it on at roughly the same time. Oh, and Tom Cruise is Nuts.

Mitch and Bone

So, I've been having sort of a shitty time at life in the last few weeks, what with my head feeling as though it can't decide between imploding and exploding at all hours of every day. I've even had to give up glassblowing for the rest of the semester, which essentially robs me of my purpose in living in this one-horse podunk hamlet, away from my significant other, bars, and a decent Indian restaurant. Today, however, a bright spot came shining through the dark clouds and gave me at least one reason to go on.

Bill Maher. New Rules. Audio Book. Go to iTunes (or Audible.com, or whomever else will let you pay them for it) RIGHT NOW and get it. I'm sure reading the book would be fine, but actually hearing Bill Maher deliver his polite musings is a soul-lifting experience for anyone with whom I would ever want to be associated.

Anyway, I'm in the market for a good neurologist, chiropractor, opthamologist, oral surgeon, lobotomist, witch doctor, Voodoo Priest(ess), exorcist, or executioner, whichever is taking Blue Cross/Blue Shitty Prescription Drug Coverage, and new patients. Referrals?

Good Thing I Don't Like Pea Soup

So I've now had a monster headache for 504 hours. 21 fun-filled days. I have seen three separate doctors on four occasions, have taken every over the counter medication for pain available, prescription anti-biotics, decongestants, two different migraine medications, all to no avail. As a last resort, I had the most recent doctor prescribe Ambien so I could get some damn sleep, if nothing else. Tonight I took it at a respectable 10:30 so I could make it to class on time tomorrow for my mid-term critique. This crap is supposed to knock me out in 15-30 minutes. I was lying in the dark just now, an hour and a half after taking it, and looked at the ceiling. I thought I saw a tiny, green light, flickering a little, as if there were a lightening bug dying in my light fixture. I stared at it a little more, and it got a little stronger, then I noticed a tiny red light about 8 inches away from the green one, and another tiny red light about 8 inches from that. An equilateral triangle of led's on my ceiling? I flipped on La Tour Eiffel...no lights on the ceiling.
Now, since I know full well I have a sleeping pill in my system, and I am most definitely not asleep, I suppose I could say I actually am taking crazy pills, but I am wholly disconcerted by lights that aren't really there. Everything else seems totally normal, so I'm either hallucinating, or under surveillance by my light fixture. And since I know what a hallucination looks like, I'm going with the latter.
I am not enjoying this one bit. And entirely afraid to turn out the light.

Dear Steve Jobs,

WHY? What have I ever done to you but talk your products up to anyone who will listen? Drag your brand all-around town for the world to see? Defend your lousy market share to all the naysayers (and there are naysayers, Steve-o, oh yes. Get fucking Autodesk on the horn already.)?
The only reason I don't have an apple sticker on my car is because my car would debase the sticker. And I don't blame Gwyneth one bit for naming her kid Apple, in the drug induced haze of celebrity childbirth, I'm sure she saw the tiny, gleaming white thing and said the first thing that came to her mind. I would.
So WHY? WHY do you hate me? All I ever wanted was an iPod. I looked at them, lovingly fondled the iPods of others, and spent many a sleepless night wondering, how will I afford it? Sell blood? Eggs? I only need one kidney, right?
And, at long last, I ordered mine. And I was happy. For three days.
And then you introduced the Nano. And I coped, because it was a completely different animal. Sure it was blindlingly awesome, but it wasn't 20 gb, so I didn't complain too loudly. (I said, too loudly- shut up.)
But now this???? Larger screen, larger capacity, video, way smaller package, SAME PRICE I PAID LESS THAN A MONTH AGO.
Welcome to my shitlist, Steve. It's a cold and unforgiving place.
I want a fucking rebate.

You Can't See Titties on the Radio

Variation on a much-beloved theme.
Go to google and type in "(your name) needs". Let the hilarity ensue.

-Cara needs to know more about the exact speakers you're using.
-Cara needs to diversify in order to gain legitimacy.
-Cara needs sex like she needs to be skinnier.
-Cara needs 34 tablets of phenobarbitone a day along with potassium bromide.
-Cara needs to figure out what she wants in life. Either quit sleeping around and settle down with one man — who she might not get to see for four painfully long months — or quit calling him up and crying to him. Jared’s obviously not over Cara, and it’s flat out cruel of her to tell him about all her sexcapades.
-Cara needs money for her future.
-Cara needs to place a $150 deposit to reserve the restaurant.
-CARA NEEDS A SENATE VOTE. (yesss!)

Carry on.

Spoooky

So, this here's the house. Or rather what's left of it. It would be more accurate to say here's the foundation of the house. And there's Chris, being invaded by a creepy orb. Ghost hunters get all excited about orbs in photographs. I got two really big ones. They're probably raindrops, but I like that this one looks like it's taking over Chris's head. I'll give the place one thing, it is creepy, even without the actual house there. Something ain't right there.
We spent some time in the (awesome) Nashville library, looking for any record of the existence of this place or the people who lived there, but the property was bought by a Montessori school in 1995 and all history of the house before that time has vanished. Found some newspaper articles on the murder, and then I almost puked lamb's liver all over a Ramadan fast-breaking. All in all, a very odd day.

Demon Vindaloo

We're going. To the house. Friday.
In the middle of the day. I'm not that stupid. I'm hoping someone lives there, it would be nice to get an interview (or at least resist the attempt to break in). Maybe I'll bring a tape recorder, and when we listen to it later there will be eerie voices that we didn't hear while we were there. And then I'll turn into one of those freaks you hear on Art Bell in the middle of the night, ranting about EVP and the spirit world.
But, more likely, it will be a house, and we'll get some pictures, and maybe a few newspaper articles from the library. And then I'll get some Indian food, because it's yummy, and we don't have it here.

Mmmmmm...evil spirits...and chutney.

Lullaby and Goodnight

The sleep just won't come. Could it be the splitting headache I've been carrying about since Wednesday, the fledgling sore throat I got as a parting gift from Matt's weekend visit, Matt's glaring absence in my bed, or the throbbing zit which is currently erupting above my right eyebrow? Maybe it's because I spent THE WHOLE DAY in bed, courtesy of the Tylenol PM to rid me of the headache last night so I could sleep (they should call it Tylenol Zombie instead). Or is it because I keep having phone conversations that go a little something like this:

Me: This address, 4944 Darlington Dr., you wrote next to the family picture, what does it refer to? You said the house was on Davidson Road...
Chris: Yeah, I don't remember the house number, I'm still trying to find it. No, 4944 Darlington Drive...I don't know, it's been a long time. I think it was where her mother lived or something.
Me: (Slightly Skeptical) Really? Because her mother lived in Oklahoma, at least at the time of the murder. Oh, and according to "The Tennessean" in January 1999, it's a mile from where they found her body. Is there anything you're leaving out?
Chris: I swear I got nothing. The murder was news to me on Thursday. I have no idea how we found that address. It was almost ten years ago.
Me: Which is odd, because he killed her about 7 years ago.
Chris: Well...this...just...keeps...getting...creepier.

Thanks to Nashville.gov, I now know T. and D. bought the house at 4944 Darlington Dr. in 1994 together, and in 1997, D. was listed as the sole property owner. That gives us a rough time frame of the divorce. It was in the carport of that house, the end of March 1998, where T. waited for D. to exit the house on her way to Sunday school, beat her unconscious/dead, leaving enough blood on her carport and car to lead a judge to legally pronounce her dead a month before they found her remains.
We also know they family moved to Nashville in the early 90's (around the same time the portrait was taken?) after working as missionaries in Germany. She took a job at The Upper Room, a Methodist publishing outfit, no word on what he did, all papers list him as an "ex-missionary." Devout christians, people. Brutal murder. Abandoned house across town. Eh?
Also, he wasn't convicted of her murder until last year, because he was serving time in North Carolina for counterfeiting. His partner in that crime was instrumental in his being charged with the murder, and the solicitation of the others. Apparently he also searched for someone to kill her mother, but wasn't convicted of that solicitation for some reason. He looks so nice in the family photo...they all do. Except Andrew. He looks severely disturbed. So much so that up until a few days ago, Chris assumed whatever was in that house had focused on him. Now we're not so sure.

Nope, not sleeping much these days.

But this is fun.

Listening to: Kanye West - Diamonds from Sierra Leone