coffeeeeeeeeeeeeee

I decided today that I would really get something accomplished. You know, clean the house- paint that mural I've been thinking about since August '05- make myself a website- get all my homework DONE...

So I started with one cup of coffee. Then two. Then some fudge (Neutron Cow's idea...thanks...) By the time I had finished half of my third cup, I was dancing around Little Brother singing "Three LITTLE speckled frogs SITTING on a hollow log..." Needless to say, I haven't gotten any homework done.

There is a delicate balance between not-enough-coffee and waaaaay too much. I've tried quitting before. But, as Boy Ferret's first Christmas gift to me was a gigantic stuffed Starbucks bear, I don't think I will ever try it again. Ever. My parents both drank coffee, my grandparents, probably my great-grandparents too. You see, in Minnesota, coffee goes with everything.

That was the only thing Boy Ferret really enjoyed about the cold city. He loves coffee as much as my mom does- which is saying a lot- and doesn't stop to wonder whether it really goes well with pepperoni pizza. (uh, yeah it does...duh?)

According to good ole' Wiki, 90% of North Americans ingest caffeine every day. And, I have just learned, it is found in the beans, leaves, and fruit of over 60 plants, where it acts as a natural pesticide that paralyzes and kills certain insects feeding on the plants. If you're worried at all about going bald, try drinking 60 cups a day...that'll stop the DHT that damages hair follicles.

And hey- check this out...
"Some people seeking caffeine intoxication resort to insuffilation (snorting) of caffeine powder, usually finely crushed caffeine tablets. This induces a faster more intense reaction. The symptoms of caffeine intoxication may include restlessness, nervousness, excitement, insomnia, flushing of the face, increased urination, gastrointestinal disturbance, muscle twitching, a rambling flow of thought and speech, irregular or rapid heart beat, and psychomotor agitation."

So now you know, if you ever wish to induce gastrointestinal disturbance, exactly how to do it.

Which leads to the question....WHAT'S THE POINT??? Um, in case you haven't been paying attention...

I have had too much coffee today.

I just did enough research to write a paper. Unfortunately, I found out nothing about the integration of art therapy techniques in the special education classroom.

But DAMN I'm typing fast!!!

Semicolon Ice Storm

My first class is tonight, but I won't be going. I also won't be visiting any public schools or small businesses. If I feel like selling my soul, I might go to WalMart...they don't mind battling the elements to save you a buck.

Oh, you're wondering why? Ice storm. Big One. Hail the size of...the dot at the top of a semicolon.

OK, OK, a little bigger than that. But as an Alaskan transplant in Texas, this seems a bit absurd. Last year when this happened, there were around 100 car accidents in an hour. So shutting down the city may seem silly, but I guess it's justified. And I must admit (don't laugh) I'm freezing my buns off.

I used to pride myself on my hardy, crusty Alaskan toughness. I'd go swimming the day the ice broke on the lake, and when the thermometer snuck anywhere above five below (got that?) I'd wear shorts and leave my leather jacket un-zipped. In the summer when the sun blazed and temperatures shot up to sixty-five, I'd longingly dream of a car with AC.

Then I moved to Texas.

The coat I wore to college every day in Minnesota, where the wind blew strong and cold enough to freeze mustard in a bottle, is no longer warm enough for me. When my house gets down to sixty-eight I either bundle myself in twelve layers of sweatshirts or turn up the thermostat. It's not unusual to see me in jeans in the fall, when it's around eighty-eight degrees.

I used to laugh at my friend from Brazil, who constantly complained about the St. Paul chill, while me and my arctic cohorts walked calmly to class wearing no hat or gloves. But now it's probably thirty degrees outside, I'm near a window in my office, my fingers are close to numb, my nose is cold and runny, and I think I'm going to go microwave my slippers.

So much for crusty.

What Animal Am I?

Yesterday was spent in line. Financial Aid, Registrar, Financial Aid again, Business Office, Campus Police, Testing Admin, Help Desk... ahh to be in college again!

One of the highlights of my day, aside from dropping $200 on three (used!) books was visiting Ye Olde Bookstore. You see, inside the store one might find paperclips and vine charcoal, book bags and rosaries (ahem... Catholic college) and, I was pleased to discover, even a hot cup of coffee. But keep your eyes open and if you're (un)lucky enough you just might catch a glimpse of the Hardcover Hag.

She has green, slimy teeth and brilliant orange eyes that glow in dark corners. Her long snarls of mouse-poop riddled hair tend to fall out in clumps, leaving a clear trail leading back to whatever nasty nest she last inhabited. Hardcover Hag hails from the steamy swamps of Kentucky, and it is her bitterness at becoming an employee of a Texan institute of higher learning that has led her to survive on a diet of confused freshmen rather than her previous menu of snake entrails.

Wicked, huh?

(I think I'm just mad at her for being bitchy to a student employee right in front of me, ordering him to do her bidding instead of helping me find a book. He apologized to me under his breath, so I will spare him the title of Hardcover Hag Underling)

OK, so that sounded a little bitter. Actually, I found it quite funny. Funny because, under the advice of former Lake Bookstore employee and good friend "the middle part of: Bressicamy," I had refrained from applying for a job at said bookstore. I didn't really believe Bressicamy when she said to stay away because the manager is a little nuts-o...who could really be that bad? I'll tell you who;

The Hardcover Hag.



Back to the title of this post. The esteemed Our Lady of the Lake University is the first college I have attended that has an official mascot. Mat-Su College doesn't even bother to spell out it's entire name, much less devote the time and energy necessary to create a buzz around an animal that represents its ideals and spirit. The College of Visual Arts has recently adopted the mighty squirrel as its representative, but that came after my time.

The Lake boasts a very prestigious, indigenous animal to carry the responsibility of instilling school pride and excitement at games or events...I'll give you three guesses what it is.

Falcon?
no.
Rattlesnake?
nope.
White Tailed Deer?
way off.

Our symbol of school pride is the impenetrable...ARMADILLO. Yeah, you heard me. And you know what they call orientation for the year's freshmen?

Get ready for this.

Camp Dillo.

Now, some might scoff and say that the armadillo is useless. That it does not do anything practical for us, like pack supplies up rocky mountain trails or allow the blind to lead more fufilling and independant lives. But I ask you this, what would an armadillo race really be...without the armadillo?



All right, this post is growing a little too long. I don't want you to get bored. So me and my new Armadillo t-shirt are off to study for the GRE and learn a little bit about kiddos. Until next time...

DILLOS RULE!!
(stop snickering. I clearly said 'dillos'.)

Sitting Sidesaddle

My approach to blogging is to randomly write down whatever title pops into my head and expand on that topic. That's my approach for tonight, anyway. Tomorrow my theme might be limericks or politics or...asterisks? (I only recently discovered that I have been saying, very incorrectly, "astericks." Somebody finally axed me to say it right.)

I don't really know much about riding sidesaddle, except that it must be very uncomfortable. Necessary for those wearing hoop skirts, but uncomfortable nonetheless.



I would have been the renegade woman in the early wild west, wearing pants and riding my horse like I meant it. No man would want me, because I could beat them all at arm wrestling.

But, Mom- you know this, what I really would have done is run off to join the Indians.

Dead Birds in Austin

That last post was boring. I gotta say something interesting or I'll lose my one loyal reader. So...

Yesterday on Commerce Avenue in Austin 60 birds fell out of the sky, dead.

Got your attention? Good, cause that's all I've got. They don't know why yet, and they say there's no horrible bird-borne diseases out there, but it certainly seems like some seriously bad mojo.

Since that wasn't really so very interesting, here's a poem I'm about to write...well, now that you're reading it it has been written...but at the moment, this moment, I am just as anxious to read it as you...

Song of an Emo Bird

A bird above in circles flies
catches the breeze and wipes its eyes
thinks of other birdies woes
their lack of fins and hairy toes
It's all too much for our birdie friend
he knows the gloom has got to end
To die alone would be even sadder
so he laces worms with poison matter
Throws a hip black tie affair
for all to eat and drink, mid-air
And when they're drunk and hip and fed
They circle round and all drop dead



Hah! That explains everything. (I'm such a dork)

Coffee and FRIED CHICKEN

I don't like fried chicken. I always pick off the skin, so what's the point? But right now, I'm dying for some. Could be the diet of coffee and stale, leftover Christmas candy I've been so dedicated to today.

I'm in a bad mood because nobody's going to give me the moolah I asked for. This whole graduate school thang hinged on one small, tiny, itsy bitsy matter of about twenty-seven grand. See, they lured me in with promises of the CoMET grant, then POW!! No money for you! So now what? Loans? Pawn shop? Change plans to become world-class fried chicken taste-tester?

No pressure though, I've got a while to decide. Like, a couple of hours. Tomorrow is the day...to register or not to register?

My ridiculous dog is freaking out.



The stupid fluffy one, not the stupid black one. The stupid black one ate the toilet paper roll again today, and one of them pooped in the hall. I wonder how much I could get for them?

Starting...NOW!

Welcome, all, to the first ever glimpse-via-blog into the world and mind of Girl Ferret.

No, I'm not a superhero. Yes, you might want to believe I am a superhero. I have been known to leap small puddles in a single bound. Surprising as it may sound, the name has nothing to do with me and everything to do with my romantic entanglement with Boy Ferret. It's true. I am married to a fuzzy mammal who purrs when I tug his ears.

You say you want to hear the story? All right, snuggle into bed. Have someone "fluff" your covers and get ready...

Once upon a time, in a pre-Kirsten era, just after the massive marketing success of the Budweiser Toads, Boy Ferret worked. And worked. And worked and worked. After one especially heinous triple shift, he mumble/muttered something to a co-worker. "What?!" The comrade, just as sleepy as our hero, could not understand him. Boy Ferret repeated himself, but to no avail. The weary colleague proclaimed, "Man, you sound like the damn Budweiser Ferret!"

It stuck.

J was henceforth known as Ferret. On occasion, The Ferret. That was all. Until that fateful day when he found me.

Enter: Internet Girl

We met, fell in love, and before long I was dubbed "Girl Ferret" by default. "The" Ferret became "Boy" Ferret. Together we are The Ferrets. Or Damn Ferrets. Or Frikkin Ferrets, when Neutron Cow catches us in a particularly cute pose. We live in a republic: the Republic of Ferretakistan. And, after more than four years as ferrets without ferrets, we adopted Skwentna and Maui.




So my story begins. After reading this far you might be intrigued. You might be bored. You might wonder, "This is a rather mundane bit of a story, but still I am interested. What is this phenomenon I am experiencing, and who is responsible??" The answers are, in the following order: Voyeurism and Hanni.

What's more fun than peeking into open windows while driving down a residential street? There is a certain satisfaction we get in finding out something private, especially if it is not something that would otherwise be discovered. So, while many of you already know the origin of "The Ferrets", I promise you that in future ramblings you will venture further into the happenings of Female Mustela Putoris Furo.

As for the "who", my girl from Alaska, fellow lover of those who smash pumpkins, the one who wasn't afraid to headbang with me while everyone else did the electric slide, everybody give it up for HANNI!!! And check out her blog, Hanni Haus. She's a writer, I'm an artist...I'm going to give this a go because her blog entertains me and I'd like to try to return the favor-- and when she comes to visit I'll throw a paintbrush at her and see what happens...

For now, Neutron Cow has just handed me a beer and cooked up a pizza...I'm off to pretend to understand football as a form of thanks.

Until next time, my ferret followers...