Called the po-lice.

The other night when I got home late, I had to run by the drugstore that's open 24 hours and is like a block from my house, and when I was coming back, this fat 20-something (white) D&D-looking guy with long brownish-blonde hair and a moustache and a goatee and huge headphones over his ears was (presumably) singing along with whatever was on his iPod, and singing at the absolute top of his lungs some (presumably) heavy metal song with lyrics about they want to breed us and feed us when they need us, and just staring straight ahead as he walked down the street.

When I got in my house, I saw a spot on the wall and it was a very small silverfish, so I took off my sandal and crushed it; it was high above the radiator in the far corner of the living room, and I had to raise my sandal a bit over my head to get it.

Then, I opened up a window to get some air, and the guy was returning down the street singing at the top of his lungs, and since it had been going on for like at least 10 minutes and it was almost 2am, I called the po-lice on him and gave them his appearance and what street he was going down at the present moment.

Stephenie Meyer's submissiveness.

Check out this scene from Stephenie Meyer's "Eclipse", page 528-529, where she makes out with her best friend though she has a serious boyfriend:

The tiny piece of my brain that retained sanity screamed questions at me.

Why wasn't I stopping this? Worse than that, why couldn't I find in myself the desire to *want* to stop? What did it mean that I didn't want *him* to stop? That my hands clung to his shoulders, and liked that they were wide and strong? That his hands pulled me too tight against his body, and yet it was not tight enough for me?

The questions were stupid, because I knew the answer: I'd been lying to myself.

Jacob was right. He'd been right all along. He was more than just a friend. That's why it was so impossible to tell him goodbye -- because I was in love with him. Too. I loved him, much more than I should, and yet, still nowhere near enough. I was in love with him, but it was not enough to change anything; it was only enough to hurt us both more. To hurt him worse than I ever had.

I didn't care about more than that - than his pain. I more than deserved whatever pain this caused me. I hoped it was bad. I hoped I would really suffer.

In this moment, it felt as though we were the same person. His pain had always been and always would be my pain - now his joy was my joy. I felt joy, too, and yet his happiness was somehow also pain. Almost tangible -- it burned against my skin like acid, a slow torture.

There's a few other sections of the book where she talks like this and pain and being punished is mixed in with her enjoyment. I really do need to ask the BDSM people at the movie series if they've read any of the Twilight books!

Two household accidents: Dental floss, bee.

1) I don't have any plug in my bathroom sink since the underlying contraption that pushes the plug rusted out and the janitor couldn't fix it without replacing the whole sink or something, so he just took it out, but the other night when my dental floss had fallen into the little dispenser and I had to pry it apart, the dental floss dispenser broke open all of a sudden, and the little spool of dental floss flew off went right down the drain, and if I lean over the sink, I can see it sitting there like 6 inches straight down.

2) The other morning when I was reading Greek over breakfast, as always, a bee flew in the window - the screen broke, and I removed it and never had it replaced since this way I can access the window ledge and can make sun tea there - so I cupped my hand and batted it out the window with one well-placed strike. Only, it flew in again and I batted it again, and it immediately fell to the floor and started writhing around since its wing was fucked up or something, so I had to turn around and kill it, only like one minute after being self-satisfied at saving its life.

Chicken and Waffles: The Shine's off the Apple.

So, on Sat. my one (white) friend from Mississippi and I went out for chicken and waffles at like 8pm, and I was surprised by how nice the restaurant was... They had the lights fashionably dimmed, and nice instrumental jazz playing, and all the (black) people there were dressed up to beat the band. The place was by no means rough around the edges when I was there for lunch, but it was positively swanky at night! Luckily, I had on a black sweater and a collared shirt underneath and then nice jeans, so I looked on the chic side, but my friend had on just a regular long-sleeved collared shit and jeans and tennis shoes, and he felt really under-dressed, as he said later.

Anyhow, they had this dinner combo ("The Ben 'n' Carl") for like $6.90 that was a fried chicken leg and potato salad, so I ordered it, thinking it would be this plateful of homemade potato salad with a chicken leg sitting on top, only to have it come to the table and be a small side-dish of what tasted like bought potato salad, and a single chicken leg. I usually don't get pissed in restaurants, but that price was outrageous, and I was even going to mention something to the manager, but my friend said not to.

He also said he's been back to this one other soul food place a couple times with some other people, and they've enjoyed it, esp. the catfish, which is battered with home-made batter.

He also said the other night he was at a dinner party with people from school, and this one (white) anthro grad student brought her husband, who she had met in AA, and who sells alternative medical things like you see on Oprah (he brought a magnet because the dinner party host hadn't been feeling good, lately, and made him hold it 2 inches away from his cheek for like 10 minutes and was then like, "See, don't you feel better already?, it increases your blood circulation.").

As it turns out, too, the couple had a bet over what would be made for dinner, and if the husband won and the wife lost, she had said she would finally try urine therapy, where you drink your own urine every morning. And, she did lose.

Yes - another one.

I was sitting on my couch the other night reading Stephenie Meyer's "Eclipse", when a silverfish skittered out from under the wainscotting and started making crazy circles on the carpet right by where I was sitting, so I just shot my sandalled out and crushed that shit right there.

Town and country.

I find it very interesting how people think that people who live in rural areas are more in touch with nature, since they simply live in it. I wonder if you really broke down energy consumption, whether town or country dwellers would come out on top. With public transportation and not living in separate housing units, but rather apartment buildings or whatnot, city dwellers would probably turn out greener than rural people, or even, I think.

Watermelon.

This week I was eating some watermelon and there was a leftover lime slice around, and since that brought to mind this one candy or something I had once had or seen that combined artificial watermelon flavor with artificial lime flavor, I squeezed the lime slice on the bowl of watermelon I was eating, and it was tasty, so now whenver I cut up a watermelon at home, I squeeze juice from a whole lime on top of it.