I was in the grocery store today purchasing the goods to make some delicious pizza when the lady ahead of me in line turned to me and said, “She just got sick of him.” I was slightly confused, as I usually take a quick trip to Lynnland during any amount of wait-time I encounter. But, being as this was information of the gossip variety, and I, being a woman, felt intrigued, I asked her for more information. “Who is sick of who?” I inquired. “Dr. Phil’s wife finally got sick of him and left.” The woman firmly stated. That is when I noticed she was not referring to some person who I might possibly know, but a tabloid displayed in the checkout line. “Oh, he’d be a hard one to live with” I replied. That is when I decided that Vogue looked extremely interesting, and caroused through it.
Now, I am not a fan of tabloids, but I must say that it is rather amusing to surreptitiously look over at one and see what the headlines are. Usually the headlines are about some secret affair, a woman miraculously gaining five hundred pounds overnight, or the countdown to the end of the world. I obviously do not believe any of these headlines, but for entertainment purposes they are amusing. I especially like the pictures that often accompany these headlines. The women somehow always manage to look like whores. These pictures often raise my self-esteem, as I think in my mind “wow, I look better than ______ (whoever is on the cover that day).” But today, sadly, I could not feel this delightful pleasure of looking better than some doctored celebrity photo. I had just been clothes shopping for some new little dresses and had tried on a couple. This one in particular, that I’ll admit I liked, certainly had some whorish appeal. I knew that if I wore heals and no little black tights I could easily be taken for a prostitute. I bought the dress. To say the least, as I was looking at the tabloids, I realized that in this little dress I would blend right in with the rest of the women on the cover. Gosh, this has turned into a horror story. So, when I left the supermarket, I went back to the store and got another little dress to take with me when I wore the dress that was a little short… just in case I had to sit down. This, I said to myself, will certainly distinguish me from the celebrities in the tabloids, as they would obviously never bring an extra dress to not look like a whore. I mean, geez, I would certainly remember to change dresses before I got out of my limosine.

There are a few things about me that are simply undeniable truths:

1). I do not like being interrupted by salespeople (phone, door, otherwise).
2.) People who try to convert others to their religion make me sick.
3.) I am a huge supporter of education.

Keeping these three things in mind, I will proceed with the story. I was having a very pleasant afternoon, reading an especially tasty novel while sipping on a glass of sweet red wine. Heaven, I thought, who could ask for more? Well, there is apparently a lot more to ask for from heaven, and I was about to be told how to get there. The doorbell rang and since my mother was conveniently talking to my sister at the time, I answered the door. I knew as soon as I opened the door that I regretted it. A girl, not much younger than me (I was to find out) was standing there with a large bag of books. She explained to me that she was selling these books to pay for her college tuition and then pulled out a cookbook. She told me that this cookbook would be great for good quick dinner for my husband and kids. To say the least, I did not listen to the rest of her speech concerning the cookbook, I was quickly calculating in my mind the amount of red wine I would have to drink to receive the anti-aging effects.

The next book she pulled out tipped me off to the fact she was out for more than college tuition… she was aiming for my soul as well, and the souls of my nonexistent kids. She told me this was a book that talked about how Jesus Christ was our savior and the various ways we can accept him into our heart in order to receive his saving grace. She said it would be a great book to read to “the kids.” “Well,” I told her, “my husband and I feel it is best for our children to decide for themselves the spiritual path they want to take.” I then told her that I had gone to a Lutheran college, and she stared at me with some new found respect. “That’s great,” she said, “we Christians have to pave the way for everyone else.”

If this Christian salesperson had not mentioned she was administering this torture for educational purposes, I would have had no problem just telling her I was not interested, and closing the door to her “heavenly” mission. But, she did mention education, and so I ended up buying a book on how Christianity and the prosperity of the United States are connected. I just wanted to go back inside… inside to my book about vampires and my wonderful glass of wine. If I added some bread, it would almost be communion. But, someday, if my kids ever come to me asking if I have a biased book on how Christianity is connected to the prosperity of the United States to help them find their spiritual path I can confidently answer, “why yes, indeed I do.”

Gas and the economy seem to be on everyone’s minds lately, and if its not on their minds, looking at any sort of media report will turn your focus right back to these two very interesting topics. In Michigan, the economy “crisis” has been going on for awhile. When every other state seems to be doing well, Michigan can easily bring about a state-wide recession… that takes talent, of the devilish variety. Well, in order to help out, Michigan’s governor has taken a huge step… showing people how to ride the bus. There she is, smiling, on the front page of the paper, daintily sitting on one of Lansing’s rickety buses, holding onto a rope suspended from the ceiling. The article indicates that the governor would like to show people how to save gas and money. The article also said this is the first time the governor has ever ridden the bus to work. No kidding. You think Michigan, then, considering the governor’s inexperience, would select someone with more expertise to show the other citizens how to ride the bus. But, bless the governors heart, she spent thousands of taxpayers dollars to have cameras on the bus with her, security on the bus, and a through cleaning of the bus just to show us, the citizens of Michigan, how to save money.
The paper not only sports such helpful tips as to how to ride the bus, but also shares with the community the “police log” detailing every incident that required the police on any given day. This is a new addition to the local paper, so one day I decided to sit down and read this particular section. I was horrified, there were such crimes, in a small town of 20,000 such as “cats, at large,” “suspicious blue van,” and “skunk for removal.” I went to bed, first locking all the doors and windows, expecting nightmares. The next day I picked up the paper to reveal an article indicating that more money was being given to the Marquette police force, so they could hire more officers. “Thank goodness,” I declared, breathing a sigh of relief. “With crime like this, you can never have too many police officers.”

Good Day!
The peace and tranquility that was once my comfortable and quiet home at Wigram House has turned shaky thanks to the couple on my floor that has decided that instead of fucking all the time they are going to fight all the time. Usually I fall asleep and wake up to them in their “blissful moments” but this morning I woke up to the girl wailing “you don’t love me anymore…” and the guy saying “I NEVER SAID THAT!!” It was dramatic, a breakup, right outside my door. I then walked to the underground station to catch my train that would bring me to class. I must really look like I know what I’m doing now, because on the way two people asked me how to get to different places, and the hilarious thing is that I actually knew how!! Once in class we got ourselves into groups and had to choose a favorite book and (I thought) just talk about it with our group. I picked ‘The Red Tent.’ Well, this would have been fine, but then he decided that he wanted us to share our book picks with the entire class. So, there I was, talking about menstrual periods and virginity loss in front of the class. Next time I will probably just pick a book about sports or something. One the way back from class I was offered the “last issue” of ‘The Big Issue.’ This is simply a magazine explaining why today is the last day before the end of the world. The problem is that they are always selling it everyday, advertising that this is the “LAST ISSUE.” They need a new marketing strategy, if you ask me. I was also offered to buy a paper that’s headline read “The Miseries of the Underground.” I live the miseries of the underground everyday, if they honestly thought that I was going to go back to my residence and read about it, they were WRONG.
The homeless people in London, for the most part, are just really lazy. Everyday I am pressured to take this magazine that has available jobs in London. There are many available jobs, and most of them are unskilled. Sure, it is not the greatest thing in the world to be working some of these jobs, but at least you are not out in the street begging for money. There is this one guy that sits in front of the cathedral that I always pass on my way to the tube and he even has a hand held TV. I just feel there is something relatively sketchy about that. Maybe he just enjoys the fresh air, and who knows, maybe you make a lot of money begging, I wouldn’t know. But, if he thinks I am going to give him money while he is holding that ridiculous TV he is incorrect. I know that might seem really mean and cruel hearted, but when I think of people who I want to give money to they are mothers with children that have NO TV at all because they spend all there money just trying to provide shelter and food for themselves and their children.
Well, anyways, I really have to go, I am going to a musical tonight and I’m excited for that!! Have a great day.

Love,
Lynnie

Hey Hey,
I am sitting here right now during our break in class. By the way, our class only goes from ten until one, not two as I had said earlier. I woke up this morning and literally had a hard time moving. This is because yesterday I went horse back riding. Let me tell you, if you weren't sore when you were done with the ride (as in your tail bone) you will be the next day (this time your back). One girl is so sore that she could barely lean over to wash her face this morning. I fared better, but I still feel like I must constantly be leaning back so that my back doesn't just colapse. I am probably shorter than I was before yesterday. My back just feels like it has been jammed down so that all of the bones are right next to each other. OUCH! I have so many people to write about. There are some interesting people in my group. I probably won't do it right now, but I will later. It will probably sound really negative... but it is so hard to be so closely nit to people that you barely know for such a long time. I don't think I am the only one feeling the strain of two tight/ forced companionship. But, yeah, I will write about some of the interesting habits of the people on this trip later (including the people who seem to have sex in the bathroom, with the door OPEN every night. Yes, those people are living on my floor.
bye for now.

Cheers!
Lynnie

Hey,
I am on a break right now during my creative writing class. The class goes from ten in the morning until two in the afternoon, and we get a half an hour break in the middle. Everything has been fun so far, except for the time I got really drunk and was hung over almost all day. Yeah, that happened. But, I suppose I had to get it out of my system, I don't know if I will drink again here, I don't want to waste days in bed simply because I got so drunk that I can't get out of bed the next day. I am visiting the tower of London this afternoon and I am hopeing we go out to eat somewhere cute tonight for dinner. Night!

Hello Hello Hello!!!
I am excited and nervous right now because tomorrow I am leaving for London. I am excited about getting there and nervous about not getting there because I cannot navigate an airport very well. Tears. Oh well.

You know what really irritates me? Alright, I’ll tell you… when someone at a four way stop doesn’t follow the rules because they are trying to be “nice.” Ok, the rules of a four way stop are plain and simple. Whoever gets to the four way stop first goes first. If two people happen to get there at the same time the person on the right goes first. TaDa!! Its easy, its my favorite kind of stop when the directions are followed correctly. Today, though, at the same four way stop (coming and going), I got the “friendly wave.” Now, the friendly wave is someone trying to be nice at a four way stop by letting someone who got there second, third, or fourth go before him or her. These seems very nice. But its really a huge irritation that makes me give the person in the waving car the “evil eye.” Four one thing, I don’t look at the people in the cars to see if they are waving me. I just wait there, slowly getting annoyed, as the entire process is slowed. Then, when I get irritated enough wondering why the person who got there first is not going, I look at the person driving, and in most instances the person is waving me to go. GRRRRRRRR. Not only did it mess me up as to when I should go (knowing I was supposed to be second) but it messes everyone else up as well. Should they now go too (the person who is after me is probably thinking)? Also, I am sure the people who are behind the “friendly waver” are not to appreciative of the fact that they are being held up. Who would be?

I was at the eye doctor today getting my sunglasses tightened. They have been loose for a very very long time now, and I finally got down there. I was sitting there, waiting for the return on my sun glasses, when I heard an interesting conversation. It was hot today in Marquette (about 90). One lady was saying how she would be so happy to get home and just lay in her air conditioned house. The other lady said that she was not so eager for that, considering that she did not have air conditioning in her house. The other lady, who was about 60 years old (a guess) said that that was no problem at all. She could simply purchase a large block of ice and then direct a fan onto the ice which would then blow chilled air all over her house. The second lady thought this was a “great idea.” Great idea? Are you kidding? It seems like an awful lot of work for very little relief to me. Who is going to be able to carry a large enough block of ice into their home in order to cool even a room. What then (besides a bathtub or wading pool) is going to be large enough to hold this block of ice? After all of this deciding as to where you are going to put the ice, you then have to get our a portable fan and sit directly in front of the contraption in order to get the cooled air. This is taking for granted the fact that the air would actually be cooled. I highly doubt that any block of ice would make the air cool enough for a very noticeable cooling. What do you do when the block of ice finally melts? Hopefully you put the ice in a good spot (waterproof). If you ask me, simply hauling this very large piece of ice around in order to get the cool air from it would make you very hot indeed. I cannot believe some of the ideas people think of. I think it would be a better idea if this lady would simply go for a short swim in Lake Superior. Take a cold bath or shower, or sit in front of the refrigerator. This lady could also just ask if she could share her friend’s air conditioning. It would probably be quite an enjoyable experience for both parties. The second friend would get to relax in an air conditioned house, while the first friend would have someone who finally agreed that her ridiculous ideas were actually good. This is a win-win situation here people. Win-win.

I went to Target today to get a large purse that I didn’t care if I lost. You guys know how I work. If I feel a little forgetfulness coming on I simply go to Target and get stuff that I wouldn’t care if I lost. Stuff that I really don’t like, when it comes right down to it. But, speaking of this purse, I need to pack it for tomorrow’s plane flight. In fact, I still need to pack everything I need for tomorrow.

Your Inner European is Italian!

Passionate and colorful. You show the world what culture really is.

I hope everyone is well... I'll write again when I get back.

Lots of Love,

Lynnie

Hey Guys,
Alright, I just changed the message on my cell phone. It is ridiculously bad this time, not just really bad. I tried like five times, and then I just gave up, at least in this one I’m not laughing by the end of it. The operator on my cell phone really annoys me. I decided, considering I was already in a different menu besides just the one I usually use to get messages, that I would explore the rest of the menus as well. There was this one option in the “personal options” menu that was “operator options.” I thought that this meant I could change my operator from annoying girl, to sexy British accent guy. No luck, it didn’t mean that at all. It was just this big long number that it said I could “modify.” Yeah right, me modify the operator number. If I had even begun to try that, I would have lost an operator all together and I would have probably had to say the entire thing. I know this wouldn’t have worked, considering I had like one line to say in my little message, and one literally went like “Hey! I’m not available… gssshhhhhh.” That one was not saved, haha.

What Your Soul Really Looks Like

You are quite expressive and thoughtful. You see the world in a way that others are blind to. You are a very grounded, responsible, and realistic person. People may not want to hear the truth from you, but they're going to get it. You believe that people see you for how you are, not how you look. But deep down, you know that's not exactly true. Your near future is likely to be filled with great successes and accomplishments. You just need to figure out how to get there. For you, falling in love has never been easy. You can only fall for someone who is very patient and persistent.

Recording messages is just plain hard. No wonder the operator lady is so annoying.

Lynnie

Heya,
So, I sort of like these quizzes. Granted, this is only the second one I have taken, but I will probably be putting these little quizzes into my journal entries from now on. So, I will put this brain quiz that I just took at the end of this entry, alrighty?

I have just realized that my family is obsessed with my dog, Bernard P. Fife Larson. We chose this name after the crazy deputy on the Andy Griffith show, which is my mother’s favorite show. My mother and I have entire conversations through the dog. For instance, my mother had taken him outside and somehow he got a burr in his paw. Well, my mother decided to cut the burr out of his fur herself. She did this very carefully, and then I commented to her on how it was amazing that Barney held still while she was cutting his fur. Well, she directed her answer to the Barney saying “You know I’m helping you not to hurt hey Barn?” And I answer, in this baby voice “yes.” My mother, when she’s talking to Barney, always uses a baby voice as well. But I would say, probably at least ten times a day, my mother and I talk through Barney. Or, I guess you could say, my mother is pretending that Barney is talking when she talks to him because she knows I will answer.

Barney sort of has the run of the house. My sister swears that they replaced her with Barney, and sometimes I wonder. My mother, when Barney was just a puppy, would rock him. She still holds him in her arms at least once a day and scratches him behind the ears because it is the only time he will look her in the eyes. While she is doing this she says “we do this everyday so that you know your mother, hey Barn?” And of course, if I’m there, I answer “yes.” He is extremely cute and loveable though, and I adore him along with the rest of the family.

It seemed like I had more nonsense to write about, maybe I will think about it later and post it??

Your Brain's Pattern

You have a dreamy mind, full of fancy and fantasy. You have the ability to stay forever entertained with your thoughts. People may say you're hard to read, but that's because you're so internally focused. But when you do share what you're thinking, people are impressed with your imagination.

I'm imaginative, I guess. When I think about it, sometimes I even talk to the dog/am the dog talking. Hmmm, something is wrong with that. Hearts!

Lynnie

Hello All,
The thing on most people's minds lately seems to be life and it's meaning. Instead of trying to find that, I took a little quiz to see how I am living it. I guess I feel its more important to live a good life, than to find out why I am doing so.

How You Life Your Life

You are honest and direct. You tell it like it is. You tend to avoid confrontation and stay away from sticky situations. You tend to have one best friend you hang with, as opposed to many aquaintences. You tend to always dream of things within reach - and you usually get them.

Have a great Day!

Lynnie

Hello Sweeties!
I just got off the phone. I am going on a camping trip this weekend, and no, I am not going to be sleeping in a house. This is the real deal… a tent, woods, bugs, (according to Melanie there will NOT be any bears) and no electricity. The person I was talking to on the phone said, “Oh, so you’re going to stay in a hotel?” When I told him I was going to be sleeping in a tent, he started laughing and then said “make sure to take pictures, I want to see a picture of you sleeping in a tent.” I told him that I hope people will not take pictures of me while I’m sleeping, but he continued “I would pay to see those pictures, you could make some money off of those…no one could picture you camping.” I feel like this is a false statement. I actually have slept in a tent before. It was an interesting experience. It was in one of my friend’s back yards in like first grade. We were very adventurous. But, we ended up going indoors because I told a ghost story and it freaked not only the two girls I was with out, but me as well. Oh, I also slept in a tent more recently, when I was a freshman in high school. Again, this was in a friend’s back yard. It rained, and I don’t really feel I got a good nights sleep. Also, I fell into a swamp once when I was little when my dad, brother and I went exploring once. I feel these are all things that should be thought about when deciding whether or not I am an outdoorsy/camping type of person.

Speaking of the camping trip, does anyone think that food for camping is an issue? Well, let’s just say that so far the food part of the camping trip has been a major dilemma. It really shouldn’t be though, considering that the choice of food is so limited when out camping. I guess I will not try to coordinate a dinner party with the people I am attempting to coordinate camping trip food with. There have been several ideas. Some people think that everyone should bring their own food. Well I, for one, know that what we will then end up with for food is about seven meals worth of hot dogs. It’s the same thing if you are having a party at your house and everyone wants to bring something. You tell them “no” but they insist, so you tell them to bring whatever they want. You end up with about ten salads, all of which gets left with you to deal with later. Another idea was the have one of the people in the group simply go and buy all the food and we all pay him back (simply because he lives near the campsite). Some thought this was a good idea, others thought that this particular person was stingy with money and would insist everyone pay him back immediately. Well, I damn hope he wants everyone to pay him back immediately. I didn’t really think that was much of an issue. I also don’t think that. I also don’t think that calling someone stingy when you are about to spend an entire weekend with them and may be in charge of your food is a very good plan. Its just so funny though that we think we can have world peace when twelve friends can’t seem to agree on how to coordinate food on a camping trip. I just really don’t understand the big deal. I hadn’t gotten into it until this morning when I felt a friend was insulted. I don’t feel that any of us are about to starve, and I definitely don’t feel that if I don’t get exactly what I want in terms of food on this camping trip that (considering it is two days) it will be the end of the world. But, just in case, I may stash some food in my car in case I see that one of my friends is about to die of starvation, and I may also bring a gun, in case a war breaks out right there at our campsite. This could be dangerous. Dangerous people, dangerous. And to think that I was worried about the bears…

World peace is probably not possible until twelve friends can stop fighting about how and what to get for food on an upcoming camping trip.

Peace All,

Lynnie

Hey Hey,
So, my Grandma Viola arrived today for a surprise visit. My brother had been visiting her with some of his friends (we own a farm in the same town she lives in) and convinced her to come back to Marquette with him. I had been going through things in my room all day, so I hadn’t even noticed that my brother had returned. She is so hilarious without even trying. I don’t know what it is, but just the way she speaks makes me want to burst out laughing. She speaks with a heavy Finish accent and it is just so cute she makes me want to laugh. One day, during last school year, I was talking with her on the phone and asked if she had been out today. Her response made me chuckle, after I hung up, because she said it with complete seriousness, she said, “you know, Lynnie, the wind has been so strong here that I am afraid I will get blown right over.” Now, the wind cannot be THAT strong. But, a person just has to completely agree, because she is being so serious about it.

Today, and for many days now, I have been going through the things in my bedroom. A few of you know how much stuff I have in my dorm room… well, times that by one-hundred and that is about how much stuff I have in my room. I save a lot of stuff for sentimental reasons, but there is just no use for a math notebook from the first grade. There is also no use for almost every birthday and Christmas card you have received since Kindergarten. I save things like letters because I feel that when these people die I will at least have their handwriting to remember them by. But, do I really need ten letters from that person. No, I don’t think so. I have also saved things like a few of my baby teeth. I remember at the time I was thinking that I was only getting ten dollars a piece. I thought that they were worth more than that. So, I kept a hold of them, waiting for the price to rise, I suppose.

In my room, I also have a few of my dolls and some of my dress-up clothes. These things remind me of good times. I had clothes made for my dolls, so some of them are pretty nice. I remember playing school with them. One might inquire why I didn’t just use my sister or brother as “students.” Well, my sister is three years older than me so whenever we would play school she would be the teacher. My brother never wanted to play school with me. So, I was stuck with my dolls, who paid very close attention. When we were young, my sister and I would dress up as Laura and Mary Ingalls from the “Little House” books. She was always Laura and I was Mary, because she got to choose. She insisted that my acting was bad. So, when we played “little house” I was always not only blind, but deaf and mute. She thought that I was a better actress if I simply followed her around. Of course, she was probably right and she was my older sister.

Well, obviously I don’t have much to talk about here. I have a lot of stuff that I am throwing out, if that’s interesting. I guess my piece of advice is this: Don’t save your first grade math notebook because if you do, you will have to take time throwing it out later, and contemplating if you should or not (in my case).

Lynnie

Hello Friends,
This summer I am… working out. I know, this is a weird concept to think about. Lynn, going to the gym, sweating (or as I like to call it “glistening”) and breathing heavily. I like taking a stroll outdoors, breathing in the fresh air and taking in the scenery. But any exercise where I have to sweat takes away from all that. How can one enjoy the view when one has to concentrate on breathing? Sometimes, when I am driving around in my car, I see people out on runs. I have NEVER seen one person look happy while they are running. Some people look like they might die and a feel sort of guilty just driving by them without offering them a ride. I’m often surprised the next day when I look in the obituaries and I don’t see a cause of death as “collapsed during a run.”

Alright, side-note, speaking of obituaries, there is one thing that really gets to me every time I read one with this particular cause of death in it. Most of the people who die are older, obviously. But, sometimes there will be a person who is like eighty-five years old and it will say something like “Frank, age 85, died unexpectedly in his home Wednesday evening.” People need to realize that after a certain age, death should no longer be considered unexpected. Both of my grandma’s are 87, and both of them want to die right now. My Grandma Viola buys sympathy cards by the box simply because everyone she knows is dieing out. My brother told my Grandma Doris that she is in such good health she could live another twenty years. My Grandma, under her breath said, “I sure hope not.” We were at my uncle’s last year for Christmas, and my Grandma Viola, being her normal self said “well, I just don’t know where you are all going to go next year for Christmas day” We usually go to her house, you see. And my mother said “well, where are you going to be?” With this serious look on her face she points at the ground, obviously showing my mother that she expected to be in her grave. My mother, being herself, said “why are you going to be in the basement?” The thing I am trying to say here is that the older person expects to die. They see all of their friends dieing, and they see themselves as very soon being alone in the world. Older people also start to be unable to do the things they used to be able to do when they were younger, so life gets less exciting. I will be sad, of course, when my grandmothers die. But I know for certain that they were ready. They lived life to the fullest, and they are ready to go, in good health, or “unexpectedly” as us young people seem to see it.

But anyways, that was a long side-note, back to my gym experience. So anyways, I was at the gym for my training session. I really don’t know what I’m training for, I am supposed to be getting stronger, but I guess we’ll see how much stronger I get. I start off on the treadmill at a very low speed and incline. This is just to get warmed up. Then my trainer, Aaron, comes over and we head out to the main area. Today we started out with sideways squats. I’m not particularly good at them, and I look ridiculous doing them, but oh well. Then I lifted some weights on a ball. I slide back so that my head and neck and supported and then lift some free weights. My arms are so weak, that even using the lightest weights, Aaron has to help me. It’s sort of ridiculous, but I am guessing that any time now I will be able to do them on my own. That’s improvement, right? We then do a bunch of other things, weight lifting, cardio, the works. But today, I was doing an exercise called the “mountain climber” and this voice comes of the loudspeaker, “Lynn!” I look up, its Mike, the gym manager. He was being funny, because it was a slow time he decided to get on the loudspeaker, and then he said to Aaron, “kick her ass.” My ass was being kicked. I was sweating, breathing heavily, probably crying a little from the overall pain of working out and Mike was telling Aaron to work me harder? Oh well, he’s a funny dude. Hopefully all of this “ass kicking” will pay off. But right now I need to take a little nap to recover from today’s workout.

Work out so that you die when your old when it should no longer be consider unexpected. Unless you run, in which case you will probably die on the side of the road. Hugs.

Lynnie

Heya,
Last weekend I visited friends in Minneapolis. I was very excited for this trip, because not only do I get to see old friends, I get to be in a city that actually has decent places to go and hang out with those friends. I left my house around 2:00 central time and sped all the way, arriving at about 9:15. Dan’s class got over at 9:30, so I, being a smart cookie, decided to park in the darkest parking lot on campus away from every other car. To be frank, after about one minute I had freaked myself out imagining the horrible things that could possibly happen to me in this dark, desolate parking lot. To say the lease, I locked the doors and got on my cell phone, thinking that if someone were to attack me at least someone (the person who I was talking to on the phone) would know I was in trouble. I’m sure the people who were walking by my car were more afraid, considering there was a girl randomly sitting in a Honda civic with a spoiler apparently just waiting there. If I had been the people walking by, I probably would have called campus security. But, back to me. So there I was sitting in my car, afraid for my life when Dan finally gets out of class. We walked up to his “dorm room.” Dan’s dorm room has four bedrooms (roughly the size of my real dorm room) a kitchen, complete with a dish washer, a living room, two large closets and two full baths. We drank some wine when Brian arrived and then went to Pizza Luce for some (surprise) pizza and jovial conversation. We then went back to Dan’s where we had more wine and then took off to visit some friends with (you guessed it) a bottle of wine. The conversation here revolved around the correct fit of jeans and a weird landlord. The crowd was what I was used to: six gay guys and a straight girl. I left the evening with a better understanding of why I am single, enjoy fashion and talk with my hands.

Friday morning I got up, got ready, and called to wake up one Miss Megan Elizabeth Trout. I then left Minneapolis and drove south towards fabulous Faribault. Megan and I left Faribault (what a surprise), ate in Northfield, and then went shopping. A little smile curled from my lips simply at the sight of Southdale mall. I was, in my own words, looking for the “perfect outfit.” I can’t say that I found it, but clothes are just so much fun!

After the thrill of shopping, I had Megan drive my car back. This was a good thing, because between my panic regardless of the drive and the fact that it was pouring rain, we would not have gotten back to Faribault in one piece. Thank goodness for that spoiler on the back of my car. It was raining so hard, that we were going 30 mph on the freeway, and I still couldn’t see the road or read the signs. When we got to Faribault Megan mentioned that the carnival was in town. I asked her what was at the carnival. Her response was, “you know, carnies.” That cleared everything right up for me. But, thinking that the carnival was probably too trashy for us, we drove to the ghetto end of the main street of Faribault and rented a porn. This porn though, before you judge, was not just any porn. It was porn filmed at my high school. It is sort of amazing that they even allowed a semi-porn flick to be filmed at a boarding school. But, we watched the film (Embrace of the Vampire) and then headed to bed.

On Saturday we ate breakfast where they serve breakfast all day (we are not early risers) and then headed to Minneapolis while Megan listened to Rent and I sang along to Rent. When we arrived at Dan’s Brian was still in bed (hung over) and we went to Uptown where I did more shopping and was discouraged by the fact that everything seems to look better on the manikins. After that we went to dinner. We parked quite a few blocks from the place where we were meeting Claire and it was pouring. By the time we arrived at the designated eating location I might as well have simply gotten out of the shower and put on clothes without drying them first. I looked hideous; well, we all did. We then went back to Dan’s where we, you guessed it, drank a lot of wine. Three bottles, in fact, were finished between me and Megan. I think saying I was “quite tipsy” would be an understatement. Hope all is well with everyone, sorry, I realize this is boring, but keep your hopes up, I am working on a few doozies.

Porn can be classy… I think?

Lynnie

Hi Friends,
I’m here, in the metropolis of Marquette, Michigan. The summer so far has been… eventful. A short trip to Arizona to visit the extended family and hanging out with friends and family here in Marquette is pretty much what I have been up to. For anyone who knows me, the shopping here in Marquette is just wonderful. There are three malls. One of them is called the Westwood Mall. This very classy establishment has stores such as JC Penny, Younkers, Maurices, Vanity and Shopping Bug. This is the mall people are going to when they say they are going to the mall. It is supposedly a place to hang out and do some great shopping. The sign even says “over twenty-five stores.” I do not think, though, that if all of the stores in the mall are absolutely awful that they should be counted. The only store actually worth going to in the entire mall is B-Dalton, and that is a book store that is run by Barnes and Noble for towns that cannot support a Barnes and Noble. The second mall is called the Marquette Mall. This mall consists of a bank, Budget Dollar, Big Lots and a car dealership. Lets just say, that besides the car dealership and the bank (which really don’t belong in malls, there is just so much empty space that they decided put it to use) this is the mall to go for items that are cheap/will soon break. The third mall is called the America Mall. This “mall” has two things in it: Curves and the alternate middle school. I do think that it is sort of ironic that it is named the America Mall and it is essentially just a place for middle aged women to go and lose weight while they worry if their children will graduate from high school from the alternative school after fairing poorly in the regular public school.

I am sure that most of you have heard of Jimmy Hoffa. But, in case you haven’t, I will give a brief description. Jimmy Hoffa was a man who disappeared from Lower Michigan in 1975 and is said to have been killed by the mafia. The FBI have been searching for him ever since. They searched the bottom of a lake about two hours from Marquette thinking he was in it, and most recently tore down a barn thinking he was under it. Now, let’s take a minute and think… this happened 30 years ago and he was probably killed by the Mafia. They are right in thinking that his remains are probably in the Upper Peninsula because of how desolate it is. But do they honestly think they are going to find anything, and what are they going to do when they find it? Thirty years takes it toll on any body, and considering the mafia they probably burned him and then ground him into a fine dust before leaving him in the Marquette Mall parking lot (desolate area). Now, I do have a theory about what really happened to Jimmy Hoffa, which I will get to later.

A really good thing happened to Marquette a few years ago. The local Big Boy burned. This place had horrible food. As my mother said “I can eat any chili and I couldn’t swallow it there.” We all hoped that the Big Boy would never return, and that the chili recipe had gone up in flames. Well, just a couple weeks ago, right as I returned home from school in fact, the burned Big Boy building was being torn down, and a big sign saying “Big Boy, coming soon!” was in front of it. I almost slammed on my breaks thinking that I must be seeing things. But then I remembered Jimmy Hoffa. The mafia must had heard about the chili at Big Boy, and convinced Jimmy Hoffa to go there for some. The mafia made him eat the whole bowl, and he died right there in the booth (considering no one else was there no one saw it happen). They then buried him underneath the Big Boy. But, the FBI, being a smart bunch, started suspecting what had really happened and threatened to evaluate the chili recipe for its lethal dose. The mafia had no choice but to burn down the establishment to remove all chili and the recipe from the premises. The FBI thought they had been outsmarted, until they realized that if Jimmy Hoffa was underneath the building, some chili might still be in his stomach (having been only thirty years since his disappearance). So, they tore down the burned building, hoping to find Jimmy. But, they couldn’t find him, because the mafia had gotten wind of the idea before hand and moved the body to the local Curves to serve as an inspiration on how thin a woman should be and why they shouldn’t eat things like Chili. The women were so grateful for the gift that they would never even think of telling the FBI. The FBI was so ashamed that they had lost Jimmy Hoffa for good that they decided to cover up what really happened by pretending they were just clearing the land to rebuild the local big boy.

Nothing is as simple as it seems,

Lynnie

Hi Hi,
Today, a Saturday, was the first day of finals. I was lucky; I only had to turn in a paper for American Politics today. After I turned in my politics paper, I planned on spending the entire day in bed because I just felt worn out. But, as usual, things don’t always happen that way. I got distracted, many times, and then the mother of all evils decided to take place: Someone pulled the fire alarm. Yes, there I was, in bed, and all of a sudden I hear this horrible sound and see the little blinks of the fire alarm lights. I’m guessing I probably screamed, but that is only a guess. I put my flip-flops on and headed over to the RA’s room. I asked if it was really necessary to go outside. Obviously, she thought it indeed was. So there I was, outside in the cold. A few kind drunk friends of mine decided to huddle together, so that made things a little better, in terms of warmth and mutual self-pity of having to be outside on such a chilly night. After awhile, a few of us decided that there really was nothing wrong with the building, and that we would go inside. Well, I went back to my room and turned the TV on extra loud in order to drown out the sound. But, after awhile that stopped working, it just gave me an extra large headache. So, I went back outside, to my car, where I drove around Decorah for awhile in the hope that when I came back, the fire alarm would have stopped going off. I was right, it had, so here I am, back in Dieseth, hoping that no one else decides to pull a fire alarm.

Yesterday I went to Rochester for my “every ten days” checkup. I thought I had left in plenty of time, but no, it was raining and some people think that it is unsafe to drive the speed limit when it is raining. Getting stuck behind slow drivers is sooooo annoying! I think we’ve all been there. But yeah, I’m tired.

Night!

Lynnie

Hi Y’all,
Alright, about the above greeting…. I’m not exactly sure if that’s how you spell it, but that’s how I spell it so that’s what matters. Currently, I am sitting on a chair that I don’t like. It is the chair that came with the room, the chair that the residence life office at Luther College has decided all towers residents should be equipped with. This chair is a piece of __________ (insert preferred negative substance here). It is wobbly, it is hard, and I believe that the legs are not exactly even. In fact, I am guessing that before the school year is through, this chair will be broken. It will be broken in one of two ways.

1.) It is already so damaged, that anyone who sits on it for any length of time will give it the necessary added damage in order to break it.
2.) I get so annoyed with the current chair, that it gets thrown out the window or smashed over my knee.

Obviously, choice one is probably better for both me and the chair. Getting fined for both a broken window and a broken chair is probably something that would not make me smile. Also, my knee would probably not appreciate the chair breaking process. You might be wondering how I have lasted all year with this chair. Well, I haven’t because I decided to exchange this chair for one that is in the social lounge. There are a few reasons why I chose to do this.

1.) Current chair was no better at the beginning of the year than it is now.
2.) Study lounge chairs are large and cushioned, some even rock (like mine!).
3.) No one uses the study lounge chairs anyway, because no one would want to study in a room without windows and where the lights are only about as bright as a candle and give you a headache.

So, it is only these last few days of school that I will have to deal with the chair the room came with. They decided to lock all of the study lounge doors (proving my point that no one uses them, considering final exams are next week, and it should be prime study season) so that anyone who took a study lounge chair who didn’t return it before yesterday (when they locked the doors) would get fined for taking them. Obviously, I was not the only one with the idea to take a different chair.

But anyways, I was actually not planning on going on such a long rant about the chairs in the towers. I just wanted to point out how awful the people who work in residence life must be. Not only do most of Luther’s students get placed in the towers every year, but the towers are a little odd. Metal doors, hard wooden chairs, no real bed (just a mattress laid on a wooden shelf-like thing), no carpeting, desks with cigarette burns, and no wireless internet. Wow, when I read that over again, it’s sort of like I am describing a prison cell. I guess I should just be thankful we don’t have bars over the windows.

Visit me in prison, maybe I’ll write.

Lynnie

Hola Buddies!!
I’m sorry I haven’t written anything in such a long time…I’ve been “busy” (this means I’ve been too damn lazy). Regardless, it’s Friday evening, ha, writing Friday evening. Well, I suppose it’s better than getting wasted off my ass and making a fool of myself, which seems to be becoming easier and easier as time goes on. In fact, I made a fool of myself today without even being at all under the influence. Crazy, hey?

Well, a funny (as in not so funny) thing happened to me and my roomie, Melanie. It all started with room draw. I was a nervous wreck (as usual) and Melanie was calm and laughing at me (as usual). College apartments, which we were originally going to try for, had run out days earlier, and we had known that and had come up with an alternate plan. We would simply take an end room in one of the towers. This would mean we would get a larger room and get to act like complete bitches like the girls that live in the corner rooms now. Yeah, I was excited! Well, we made it to the third floor of the union in once piece. We got in line, our room draw time was 6:16:30. Every thirty seconds someone else gets to go sign up for a room. When we went in to look at rooms, there were no corner rooms left. We had no alternate plan. What were we to do? Well, we spend the next fifteen minutes deliberating. Larsen had a double room open. But, Larsen is haunted. We sure as hell weren’t going to get caught with a ghost, we value our lives! So, there was Miller and Dieseth left. We could go into Miller, some people might consider it an upgrade. But, the problem is that the rooms are not split directly in half. Melanie and I need our space, no bunk beds. Right now, we could put a piece of masking tape in the middle of the room, that’s how exactly split in two it is. Well, we ended up choosing the same room we have now… Dieseth 117. It is close to the laundy room, kitty corner from the trash room, right next to the bathroom… paradise! So, if you come visit us next year, you’ll know where to look! Happy studying or partying, whatever you are doing tonight! I’m going to the comedian.

Change, apparently Melanie and I don’t like it! Kisses,

Lynnie

Currently I am in my bed at the Hotel Winneshiek eating everlasting Gobstoppers and watching law and order. Earlier today, I was in my bed drinking hot chocolate while watching an infomercial about “Soul Ballads.” From the infomercial, I gathered that a soul ballad is a love song sung by an African American. Some of you may wonder why I ended up watching an infomercial. Well, I was watching a different show, and my mother had the remote. My mother fell asleep, and I didn’t want to wake her up to get the remote. I also did not want to get out of bed the retrieve the remote. So, the show that was on after the show we were watching was an infomercial on soul ballads. I found it kind of comical, almost better than some of the new comedies available for our TV viewing enjoyment. There were two black people, a man and a woman, raving about how wonderful their collection of soul ballads was. The girl would say : “I find one good soul ballad on one CD, and another good soul ballad on another CD. I end up wasting so much time and money.” The man would say: “Well, Linda, you won’t have to waste time and money any longer. Thanks to Soul Ballads, you can get all of your favorite soul ballads in one package.” The interesting thing to me was how many times these people could use “soul ballads” in one conversation.

Another place where repetition is apparent is in the hospital. I couldn’t tell you how many times they asked me to spell my last name and what my birth date was. They also continually asked me what I was having done. I am not kidding you, when I was on the operating table they asked me what procedure I was having done. Now, when you are on the operating table, about to go under general anesthesia, hearing your own heart beat on the heart monitors, you damn hope that they know what procedure you are having. I know this is not the reason they ask, but the question tends to increase the heartbeat you are hearing on the monitors, and second guess going under general anesthesia.

I look really young without my makeup on. I am 20 years old, I believe that I look over the age of 18 without a nurse second guessing you. But, without my makeup I realize the truth, I look about 16. Looking 16 isn’t that bad under usual circumstances, but when you are doing things that require you to be over the age of 18 or have a parent guardian present, you want to look over 18. I try to look older when I don’t have my makeup on by wearing my glasses. But, when I am about to go into surgery, I am not allowed to wear my glasses. Not only did my doctor not recognize me and started giving me the “you’re so cute” look, the anesthesiologist started teasing me about boyfriends and even sent up my EKG, which the nurse informed me they only give to kids to take to school for show and tell. For adults, she said, they usually don’t save it. Great, good for me, now I have something to bring to show and tell when classes resume at COLLEGE.

Happy Break!
Spring break could not have come soon enough for me. Luther has a funny system. Our mid-semester was Friday the 17th. Our break began Friday the 24th. Then, we have five days of class, a weekend, four days of class, and then Easter break. I probably won’t need a break that soon. Who made this horrible break schedule? Oh well, enough ranting about the timing of my break. Break, for me, is a time of relaxation and sleep. Its not that I don’t relax and sleep when I am at school… I do, but I do not have to exhaust myself by thinking of everything that I should be doing besides relaxing and sleeping. Procrastination just tires me out. Period.

Friday, the 24th of March was probably one of the busiest days of my semester so far. Biology with a quiz at the end, statistics test (we started late and it took an hour and a half), allergy shots (I have to wait for 30 minutes after I get them done), and then I had saved some things for “later.” This means, that I had almost all semester to do them, and continuously said, “later.” One of these things included going to wal-mart for a few needed items. While I was there, I printed out some pictures for my mother from my digital camera. I do this so that my mother doesn’t ask to see my pictures, and then I have to let her scroll through my camera. This strategy helps avoid those awkward moments when she happens to pass by a picture where I have a glass in my hand, or I have that blissful look that says “Hello! I am so drunk right now!” But anyways… I was at wal-mart in the photo department with my memory card in hand. One of the machines had a line, the other didn’t. I wondered why, but I decided that I would rather not wait in line and went up to the other machine. That’s when it started talking to me in Spanish. I will admit, I was a bit taken aback at first. My Spanish, being elementary at best, was of little use, but I had used the English machine so many times, that I believe I got my pictures printed in record time and I didn’t have to stand in line! WooHoo, not only did I feel extra intelligent for having used a machine that was not in English or French, I breezed right past the five people who were waiting in line to use the English Machine. I then rushed back to my dorm room, knowing that I was already late in meeting my mother. I got together the things I was going to bring with me (besides my clothes, which I had packed earlier that day), and ran out the door. I forgot about my fish, which will not be fed until this Thursday at the earliest (meaning six days with no food). I am hoping I will return to a live fish. This is the third Oliver, and he has lived for a long time now. The grief I will experience will be terrible knowing I killed him off because of my rush. I guess I will pray for his soul, and mine for putting him in jeopardy.

Considering the circumstances, I believe I will inform you about the former Olivers. There was Oliver, then Oliver the Second. I got the first Oliver on a whim. My roommate was getting one with our RA, and asked if I to wanted a fish as well. Of course, I was at a particularly maternal stage in my life and adoption of a fish (a baby now would be hard, and the dorms don’t allow any other animal) was my only option. Oliver arrived in my dorm room, glowing. My roommate told me how much to feed him, and I was left to care for him on my own. He was dead in two weeks. He killed himself by ramming into the rocks I had lovingly placed at the bottom of his tank. I was very upset about this. I brought him and his tank (he was not quite dead at this point) down to one of my friend’s rooms. He was falling apart. I called my mother and literally started crying over the phone to her over a fish, wailing that “he was falling apart.” Ok, so maybe I’m not great with loss. But, after the next fish died (Oliver the Second) I was getting better. I didn’t cry about it, and I flushed him down the toilet my self. This does not mean that I want to go through the loss of another fish, another Oliver.

I hope your break goes well, or school, whatever you are doing, but do not leave your fish at home without someone to feed it.

Lynnie