The Verbal Droooolings of a Marked Psychopathic Deviate

busted...

i bought an ibook yesterday!!!! yeah me!!!! and i got a free ipod with it cause i'm a student...bad ass, right?  right.  so i was leaving the apple store, which is always exciting, it's so pretty in there, all white and clean and full of rich people.  but yesterday was especially pleasing, because i actually bought something.  usually i leave feeling depressed, all sad on the inside because the car i drive is equal in value to the computer i really want...so i curse my parents for not having a trust fund with  my name on it and i curse my bloody passion for not leading me into law or medicine and i walk away.  feeling cold and lonely.  and i whisper to the heavy wind 'someday...'

and that someday was yesterday. 

***applause***

and it is at this moment that i would like to officially thank george w. bush.  thanks, dub-ya!  you're one helluva guy.  those student loans are great for buying technological equipment.  and all this time i thought you didn't care about me.  i thought all you cared about was taking away my right to choose and my right to listen to howie stern every morning.  i thought you were selfish for bringing jesus back to the white house.  then i remembered, wait! jesus likes to share.  remember that fish story?  how he fed 500 people with that one little filet?  well, if we lived back in the bible days--IMAGINE!!!!--i just want you to know that i'd a been one of them people who got fed.   and you, you woulda been the son of god.  but instead of a filet, you woulda fed me an apple.  and that's good fiber.  wait...if you fed me an apple, wouldn't that make you lucifer?  and me the seductive eve?  nevermind...anyhow,  thanks, georgie!  thanks a ton.

so after i dropped entirely too much captial on the most beautiful notebook ever, me and shari skipped to my car.  i was swinging my new laptop around, considering making out with it, that's how much i love it.  and we get to my car and i notice a flyer tucked beneath the driver's side windsheild wiper.  (this is a huge pet peeve of mine.  don't street teams get that we, consumers, don't read your flyers?  we don't.  we throw them on the ground; we use them for emergency napkins; we toss them inside and  junk up our back seats; and we--rather me in this case--put them under the wipers of the car next to us.

atleast that's what i did: i swiftly yanked it from my territory and popped it under the bmw to my immediate left. 

BAM! BANG! BAM! BANG! BAM!

i jumped.

a muffled threat began to reverbrate from inside the beamer..."hey! don't put that shit on my car!  what the hell's wrong with you!?!?!"

"oh...oh no....so sorry...."  i retrieved the flyer and felt my cheeks flush.  people walking by were staring.  i looked towards shari for support, all deer in the headlights like, and found shari doing what any loyal freind should do in such a moment: pointing at me while laughing wildly.  i put my hands up and ducked through an exaggerated apology to the man inside his fancy car talking on his fancy cellphone with his fancy earpeice.

i broke out,  got in my car as fast i could and couldn't quit laughing for ten minutes.

i used to be so smooth, so outlaw...and now...

i got busted.

and hard.

so hard i felt a fool.

oh well, i really don't care.  you know why? cause i have a brand new laptop!!!!!  busted shmusted.  buying expensive things makes you feel good about yourself, like you're better than others.  so fuck that dude.  yeah.  word.

monday bloody monday

my alarm chirps. i swat it. it chirps again, i groan.

i stretch, push my cat off the top of my head and make my way to the restroom. i brush my teeth, put contacts in to reveal the vaseline smeared reality before me, and ignore the infantile whining of my dog.

i put on pants, find my flip*flops, and tie my hair up in a bun.  where are my shades, i need my shades, and place them on my face.  i get the leash, strap it around her neck and am pulled  through the front door towards freedom.

bright morning light and soft winds welcome me to the day.  i find a steady pace and begin to look around.  same mexican guy in cowboy hat watering his yellow lawn; same yippy min*pin yelping at shadows through the fence; same ugly white pleather couch sitting on the curb in front of the abandoned house.  my blind dog smacks face first into the furniture, same as every morning...

i turn the corner onto homer and begin running through my monday to*do list:  send emails; fill up gas tank; make copies of peer review for class; read chapter five; presentation at 2; presentation at 3; go to bank; go to class; watch laguna beach; sleep.

i watch delphi pee on a cactus. we continue on our way.  i turn onto miller and head back towards the house. a dog across the street barks at us, and delphi stands on her two back legs, hopping towards the sound.  i yank her leash, she never listens to me, and i get us back on route.

sharp shooting pain, peircing pain, in the corner of my big toe.  delphi is dragging me into the lawn, spinning in circles. fire in my foot, ouch pain shooting pain stabbing stabbing.

i look down and see a 5 inch peice of glass  embedded between my toenail and the skin of my left big toe.  horror, horror.  blood is spewing onto the sidewalk.  i pull out the glass and throw it in the street. 

fuck fuck fuck.

delphi poops.

fuck fuck fuck shooting pain fuck fuck fuck.

limping, i start to make my way down the block to my house, i must stop the bleeding bleeding. 

"HEY LADY!!! PICK UP AFTER YOUR DOG!!!"  a stranger yells from the corner.

i cannot concentrate.  i cannot put pressure on the left leg of my body.  bloody footprints follow me home. 

delphi wants to run the opposite direction, i have a plastic bag tucked under my arm to pick up the poop, but cannot figure out how to balance all this chaos.

"HEY LADY!!! PICK UP YOUR DOG'S POOP!!!!" the same guy is yelling, yelling...

"FUCK OFF!"  i release the pent-up frustration, thinking i should live in brooklyn, not this stupid place.  stupid fucking place.  the guy shrinks away, backing into his front door.

i make my way through the front door. i scramble.  i have no bandaids.  i cannot wear the shoes that dictate the design of the rest of my planned outfit.  chaos, chaos.  fuck fuck fuck.

***

i'm ten minutes late to teach, no peer reviews, i improv.

anxiety rules my morning...

i hate mundaze.

another vision in my sleep

for those of you who don't know,  i often have dreams with clear and poignant messages...(well, we all do, it's not like i have some secret power outside of the general population...) it's just that  isn't rare for me to dream something, and then a month or two down the road, it happens...

for instance, three days before my grandfather died back in '99, i had a dream where one of dead aunts showed up at my house--which was full of every person i had ever known in my life--and she asked where my grandfather was, and then took him with her...then another time, and this was more recent, i had a dream that i won the 'professional appearance award'--don't laugh--at work, and i got this fancy certificate for it... and then just last friday the dean of my department brought me into her office and explained to me that my professionalism has thoroughly impressed her, and that she is hoping to help me find that full-time position i now deserve...which kicks ass! 

and so last night it happened again...and i think this time, i might need some insight from any of you folks out there who dabble in grant writing.

so the dream goes:

i'm sitting in a cafe around lunch time, and i'm waiting for some people to show up for a meeting we have scheduled.  i'm not nervous or anything, rather i'm pretty comfortable.  the only thing i'm exploring emotionally is the thought that i am younger than anyone else who is coming to speak with me, so my demeanor is very adolescent.  i'm hunched over the table and chewing on this bright orange peice of something or other--maybe plastic or rubber??--it kinda looks looks like one of those lance armstrong bracelets...okay, so then these two men in suits show up.  i never see their faces, because they never sit down, but they are white and very conservative looking.  all i see is their bodies from the neck down--navy jackets with ties and slacks...they are both dressed exactly the same, and they are holding those fancy leather bound folders that corporate people hold when they go to merger meetings or some shit like that... 

so basically, i'm just sitting there, chewing...and then i notice saliva is all over my mouth and i start to get self-consious.  i mean slobbering on yourself doesn't generally denote good etiquette.  and that's when they tell me this:

we have money for you in the form of a grant, and it has to do with public speaking.  you can have the money if you figure out how to ask for it.

and they leave, and i'm still chewing, saliva drooling out of my mouth, and i'm feeling anxiety, and i wake up.

thanks.  great.  appreciate it. 

sounds easy enough, right?

wrong.

i realize the saliva is probably a symbol of speaking, and i know orange is the color of the second chakra, which represents change and socialization and movement and polarities and emotions...i have this book, wheels of life, and concerning the second chakra--the orange centered vortex of energy located in the lower abdominals between the naval and genital region--it says:

"the second chakra is related to the moon.  like the moon's pull on the tides, our desires and passions can move great oceans of energy.  the moon rules the mysterious , the unseen , the dark, and the femimine.  this gives the center a very subtle power of its own as we move from our depths outward to create change in the world."   

so, i'll be creating change in the world through speaking??? because this seems odd to me; counseling is rooted in deep listening, which is the polar opposite of speaking...

and why do i have to figure out how to ask for stuff? this frustrates me.   why can't it just be given?  i swear to god, it's like i cursed myself when i was a bunch of gas up inside the cosmos before coming down to this wretched planet and becoming me...i had to go and make everything so fucking hard for myself...be born into a poor family, have weird parents, support myself from the time i was a teenager, fight for education while working multiple jobs...and now i have to figure out how to write a grant so i can run around the country and talk to people...

wait, that last part actually sounds pretty good, right? 

clearly, this is a sign that i need to learn to write grants.  and i think this is smart, because if i can fine tune this talent, then i can write my way through my professional career, taking on projects that not only change every few years, but also center around what i'm interested in.

so are there any good books/workshops/seminars on grant writing that anyone knows about?  lemme know if there are...cause i guess the money's waiting...

lost in the universe of me...

i have been studying, reading, writing, reading, studying...

and i hate to admit this--mostly because the majority of my life revolves around me bitching and moaning and complaining about how i'm too cynical or too misunderstood for certain elements of this charade we call existence--but i actually love what i'm studying. 

this has never happened before.

don't get me wrong, i adored my philosphy and writing classes, but i never--nunca, por la amor de dios--read ahead.  and i just caught myself doing that, so i decided to catch up on my blogging, baby...gonna see how all my 4 fans are doing...aaron? you alright? how's the kid? jakey?  how's law school?  are you lovin' it too?  cayce/leah?  doin' the dumont name proud? stayin' out of trouble?

good.  good to know it.

here are some updates to my oh-so-exciting life:

JOB UPDATE:

seeing as i have the luxury of modern technology inside of my classroom, i have my students doing blogs this semester for the journal component of thier grade.  so at the beginning of every class period, they create new posts through focused freewriting for fifteen minutes.  it's pretty cool, i think they like it, maybe even really like it...some have even put images up and created links...i have my own blog for the classes where i post announcements, extra credit opportunities, blah, blah, blah...

i think the most satisfying element of this has been a student i have--we'll call her 'lady e'--she's from ethiopia, and she moved to america just a couple of years ago.  upon entering my classroom, she had never logged onto the internet.  think about that for a moment...did it digest?  good.  i'll continue...so anyhow, as of today, after much practice and patience on both our parts, she officially has her own blog.  and email.  and she can even operate both independently.  that's pretty cool, right?  (she didn't even know how to click the mouse on the 'internet explorer' key on the desktop just two weeks ago...crazy, right?)  i saw tears in her eyes today when she saw that she had her own website...so sweet, really...

GRAD SCHOOL UPDATE:

i have this hip-ass professor who is 68 years old; he wears two-toned shoes and has gold pinky rings on both pinkies...love it.  for real.  anyhow, we are studying various psychoanalytic theories and will be choosing one at semester's end to base our personal therapy model from.  at this point i think i am an existential theorist.  for anyone who knows me, this should come as no surprise, however, i am still at bay, trying to keep an open mind.  which leads me to think i could be person-centered.  but that seems so cliche, everyone is person-centered, and that aint my style.  why play follow the leader when you can design your own after-school game?

in my other class we are delving through basic counseling skills--how to listen, how to communicate non-verbally/verbally, how to reflect, how to interpret emotions...i like this class too, but tend to squirm when it comes time to do role play.  i found out something about myself: i tend to control conversations for the purpose of self-protection.  this way i can dictate  the direction and not fall victim to vulnerability...ewwwwwwwww, who likes being vulnerable???

and dr. p, the counseling skills prof, offered us something pretty extraordinary.  instead of taking our mid-term, he is allowing us to instead volunteer to help counsel evacuees at reunion arena here in dallas.  we just have to keep a reflective journal about our experience and volunteer at least 20 hours.  i'm definitely gonna do this, as i suck at taking t/f and multiple choice tests, but must admit i'm a little scared to face people who have endured such tragedy.  he has been down there every day since they arrived and says the mental/emotional state of these people are devastating, but it's our job to do what we can.  the UNT counseling program has the #1 play therapy center in the world, and we have set up a play center for all the kids.  i think i'll be working in the play area.  hopefully, anyhow.  the sad thing is, all the kids have to douse themselves with sanitizer before they can even pick up a toy, there's so much bacterial disease in there.  but i'm anxious to help, i think it will allow me to be a pro-active citizen.  i think i might post my reflective journal entries on this blog to inform/enlighten people about the mayhem.

i turned in my first paper, and i think it was pretty fucking good.  never know, though.  like i always say, it's either brilliant or bullshit...it was a self-study about why we chose the profession and memories/moments in our lives that contributed to this decision.  i actually wrote it over an entire week instead of waiting till the day before.  the way i see it, this whole grad school thing is a different beast, i don't wanna plow through it, it means too much...

PERSONAL LIFE UPDATE:

ang moved out so i could have an office...IT'S THE END OF AN ERA!!!! we've been roomies since 2000.  nutso, right?  and she came over the other day, looked around, and said in a voice that just might've been her 14 year old self, "do you guys even miss me?"  so i hugged her and said, "of course not, whore bag."  and she smiled.

delphi has fleas.  again.  i don't get that frontline bullshit.  anit-flea juice should not cost 20 bones a month.  that's reDONK.  so i got the biospot at the discount pet store.  needless to say, i should've just taken a ten dollar bill and flushed it down the shitter.  stupid generic anti-flea juice.

and that's all for now, i'll release you.  my eyes hurt from staring at the computer screen.

white trash weazer

so i was at dinner the other night, and i heard this low and bellowing laughter escaping from the woman sitting directly my opposite. i looked up and saw a familiar face staring back at me.

i went back to stuffing lemmongrass noodles into my mouth, when it occured to me. that face was shirley mcclaine. shirley fucking mcclaine.

i had to make sure, so i looked back across the table and yep. it was her. i felt so special, like she was giving me some powerful energy...and then i realized, wait. no she's not. she's just a person who just so happens to be a celebrity, who just so happens to have made some great movies, who just so happens to know babs streisand, who just so happens to have published some best selling books, who just so happens TO BE SITTING ACROSS THE TABLE FROM ME!!!!

i cursed myself for having on no make-up and for having my wet hair twirled up in a chippy-clip. how would she know it was me...THE judith dumont?

but then i realized she was drinking white zinfadel, and that changed everything.

so i went on eating, unimpressed. i mean, really. white zinfadel? i don't care who you are, that's soooo trashy.

did anyone else see this?

My friend sent me this picture from an Ireland newscast...

The caption was accidental, but fucking hilarious, right?

Made me laugh.  Real hard.  Then I laughed some more.

Nine months down, three years and three months more to go...

pet peeve #3,781

i need to get something off my chest:

COLLEGE CAMPUSES ARE NOT AIRPORTS!!!

i hate it--HATE IT!--when people roll thier books around in luggage. carry a damn backpack, you lazy asses!!!  unless you are disabled or extremely old, you should have enough back strength to support the ten pounds of supplies you have tucked away for class.

it makes me angry--ANGRY!!!--when i'm trying to walk through the hall and some dumb ass lady is strolling along, dragging her suitcase on wheels.  not only does it take up entirely too much space, but it also makes the passer byer--me, in this instance--have to dance around you, hopping around from foot to foot, in order to get where i need to go.  and this causes flashbacks of shopping at the mall three days before christmas. it propels a series of violent fantasies in my mind, making me want to inflict pain on the person obstructing my path.

i think i'm gonna start walking up to these people and asking them where they're off to...china? hawaii?  a quick trip to the country? 

so for the LOVE OF GOD!!!!!!!! carry your shit the way you're supposed to: on your back!  cause i might start a riot.  it's no wonder americans are so goddamn fat.  i mean if walking across campus is your day's cardio, you need some freaking help.  seriously.

okay, i feel better now.