Lacking Penmanship...

I was going to write in my hand written journal this morning, but when I started walking down the stairs I tripped and fell (not the first time). I'm fine other than the baby toe on my right foot and my right thumb. The toe I can handle, the thumb feels like a manatee fell out of a blimp and landed square on my hand. I've never seen my thumb bend so far backwards and I hope I never do again. Do not worry, dear readers, I am resilient enough. Hopefully by tomorrow I will be able to use it again. Mental note: don't try to lift glass of water with right hand until its use has returned.

Yesterday I got in some trouble. I will spare the details, but suffice to say that spray painting boobs on the bathroom door of a frat house that has been sold to the bridge company is not welcomed by many (although - I was not the one who did the penises - and my limerick was surprisingly clever). This has added fuel to a greek fire that began burning when one of my sisters (on whom I unfortunately must bestow this label) physically assaulted a frat boy at this very same house. The catch? She lives with the Chapter Advisor, so when the motion to ban her from the new house came to the table, it sparked a lot of controversy. Now the fraternity alumni are ready to ban all of my sorority from the new frat house, and I was partial cause of that. It doesn't seem to matter that I have had very little to do with the sorority for the past couple of years. I washed my hands of most of them and can/will only stomach a select few. The fact that is that I am a Phi Sigma Sigma alumnae, like it or not, and people refuse to see beyond that.

Which leads me to my rant about closed minded people and their ignorant kin. In a modern world where globalization is a social reality, urbanism is hotter than ever, and the newest anthropological trend is to "go native", it surprises me that there are still a LOT of people who can't think outside the box. I'm not talking about nymphomaniacs here folks - I am referring to those who cannot place people and situations into some kind of social context. Is it really that difficult to step outside a situation and see the different points of view? (See Heidegger on Dasein)

It angers me that people can really be that ignorant. In my opinion, they are the chlorine in the gene pool of humanity. Unfortunately, there seems to be more chlorine than water, and my eyes are turning red... beyond the communist sense of the word. Perhaps they are actually a red herring, intending to lead us away from 'Capital T' Truth, wisdom and enlightenment. Fish can do that, you know. Especially the red ones. They distract us with pretty colours then they go in for the final blow. Like the piranha of communism. No matter what the situation is, these people make me ill. So I believe their red feesh is seeck. Maybe I just need to numb the mental agony with Malibu rum.

Communism and Toilets

I went downtown with some friends tonight, mainly to celebrate one of them visiting home from his job in South Korea. It was a lovely time, even though I'm not a drinker. I even saw someone get arrested at the bar we finished the night at. Here's a question for the universe: WHY would someone mouth off to a group of six cops standing next to an empty paddy wagon? That's just a recipe for disaster. Two cups idiocy, one pound of stupidity, two tablespoons of testosterone and a pinch of pride. And his pride certainly got pinched when they cuffed him in front of a huge crowd.

I heard "American Pie" by Don McLean twice today; once when I was getting ready for tonight's adventure, and once from Windsor's official Singing Idiot at the bar. This, coupled with the fact that I was in the presence of Yuri (my dear friend from Belarus, with whom I made a Guitar Hero band called The Commies) inspired me to come up with my own lyrics to the song. Incidentally, I'd recently re-read my old research notes about Arthur Miller and was thinking about that shameful incident with HUAC in the 1950s. Let's see if I can remember...

Bye bye un-American guy.
He was famous now he's shamed us
As a communist spy.
He sold his soul for Marxist-Leninist lies,
Singing 'Capitalism must die!'

And now for something completely different.

In Windsor, it is known far and wide by bar-going women alike that the bathrooms at Big Dick's are by far the most disgusting. Here is what the stairs to the basement (where the facilities are located) looks like:


Should I mention that this photo is an original, copyright Lindsay Sheppard 2008? The caption is compliments of Photoshop CS3. Back to the point.

We ended up at the Treehouse by the end of the night (which is where we saw Captain Moron get arrested and hauled away). I'd never been there before. By then I'd been drinking glass after glass of water while everyone else was plastered. Miss Stephanie and I decided to go to the bathroom.

We opened the door and squished three girls up against the sink which was just opposite the door with only a foot or two of clearance space. On the left, there were three toilet stalls. Toilet #1: full to the brim of grey toilet paper. EW. Toilet #2: Tank running, toilet paper clogging it, and water all over the floor. Toilet #3: Exact replica of toilet one. Needless to say, none of them were usable. So we walked out, made a sharp right, and walked into the men's room. I think the one guy with his package in his hand at the urinal was a little surprised. I had to hold my nose because the smell of acidic urine made my stomach churn, and I was sober! The guy in the ONLY stall stuck his head around the corner (conveniently there was no door on the stall) and offered to flush the toilet so we could use it. That seems logical. But Stephanie couldn't wait, so she dropped trow right there and squatted over the urinal while three awestruck, drunken men stared at her vag. I tried my best to hide her, but without luck. Then she was kind enough to stand in the doorway of the stall while I attempted to hover over the toilet. I realized my hovering technique needs practice when I felt wetness on my bottom... I had accidentally touched the toilet seat. WHY can't men aim properly?! It can't be THAT difficult. Seriously. After I was finished, we walked out of the men's room while being stared at by half a dozen impressed men, right into a bouncer. He didn't say a word to us. It's a good thing he didn't, because I was in just the mood for telling someone off about the illegal-ness of not having working toilets in an establishment that serves ingestibles.

Bottom line, aside from a ring of urine ON my bottom, is that I'm going to have to exfoliate my ass for the next month.

Freshly Fig Newton

Amazing though it is, I'm starting a blog. I guess I got tired of mentally bitching about things to myself, or to my poor room mate who has her own series of issues to contend with.
Everyday I see things that move me, either for good or bad. There is so much beauty out there. Conversely there is a lot of ugliness. My goal is to observe both ends of the spectrum. Perhaps I will learn some things about myself while I'm at it.

Wishes, dreams, desires... what good are they without a broader context? Perhaps this is my anthropological training coming out, but I believe a fully self-involved blog, journal, stone tablet, or napkin is an egotistical enterprise without taking the world into account.

My best friend sometimes chides me for taking too much on my plate. He's interested in a simple life with a limited scope. That's one thing that makes us work well as friends. I inspire him to think outside the box, and he brings me back down to reality. I love having friends that compliment my character in a productive way. It makes life more interesting and fulfilling.

So here it goes, my attempt at a blog that is chock full of philosophical anthropological musings. After all, those are my areas of mental expertise.