tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-241569372024-03-13T17:12:52.020-04:00Your Guide to Christine Wyunkillable cactus killerChristine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.comBlogger485125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-33976376458728691612018-11-21T18:21:00.000-05:002018-11-21T18:21:26.183-05:00Forty-Two, with Infinite Majesty and Calm
Post-retirement, I have found myself adrift in the sea of self-identity. I was "Christine Wy, Student!" Or "Christine Wy, Archivist!" for many years, and now, having retired from health complications at the age of 37, I look at 42 and try to understand "the answer to the ultimate question of life, the universe, and everything." And you know. Despite being 42. I can't find it.
I've Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-41574806800858460282018-11-18T17:50:00.003-05:002018-11-18T17:50:59.541-05:00I Went to California and All I Got Was this Lousy Head Cold!I could never be able to afford to do this normally, post-disability, but I had some airline flight credit I had to use before it expired, so I took off to see bestie C.S. (not Lewis).
What ended up being the most exotic thing I did was going to a "sesh." I loathe that term, don't even know what it's shorthand for, and it just makes me feel like a poseur to say it since I'm not part of that Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-37589986576155862932018-11-18T16:27:00.001-05:002018-11-18T16:27:42.909-05:00Hi! I'm -trying- to come back!You know, I just wrote this awesome blog post about my feeeeelings and stuff and the emotional journey I've been on to reach a point in my life I feel like I -might- be able to write again, only, shit happened, and it published in a wrong, dead, never even used blog instead of here because of Google taking ownership since I created this blog. I'm a little annoyed.....
Lemme try to recap:
I Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-1256942186914710252013-09-18T19:36:00.000-04:002013-09-18T19:39:28.021-04:00The Children's Kitchenette and the CatI grew up in a small, tight-knit neighborhood with a local Catholic school most kids went to. Through this connection, my brother joined a Boy Scouts Troop. I think they're called "Den Leaders" or "Pack Masters" or whatever code for guys who molest small boys.
This Den Leader hosted his troop meetings in his fancy basement or something. It may come as a surprise, but I was a weird child--sorry Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-75531989727884182732011-06-02T16:32:00.002-04:002011-06-02T16:36:22.723-04:00BlaséEnnui continues: "que est-ce que ce est."Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-65725915224145428812009-11-14T11:41:00.002-05:002009-11-14T11:46:19.949-05:00I'm still lurking aboutThis blog is not dead, I swear. I know I haven't posted anything of substance in forever, I am just totally uninspired by my life right now. I'll come back one day.Love,Lady CChristine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-61066500889077555102009-09-07T10:42:00.000-04:002009-09-07T10:43:48.013-04:00B-a-n-a-n-a-sI have never been able to resolve my feelings about Andy Warhol, and attending his museum in Pittsburgh only made my confusion worse. Eccentric genius whose very life was performance art? Arrogant prig, self-absorbed in his own belief he was genius? A phony? Maybe my confused perspective was his actual goal. (He even wore a gray-haired wig before he naturally grayed. Isn’t that pretty cookyChristine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-89329236544854174492009-09-02T15:15:00.000-04:002009-09-02T15:16:00.102-04:00First, an explanationI know I don't write as much anymore. It's for a couple of reasons.Number one, real life is sort of more prominent in my day-to-day than it has been in the past. There's not as much space for writing.Number two, I have found out that people where I work have found my blog. My blog started out as PG when I thought I was writing for my family. When they didn't read, I upped it to PG-13. When IChristine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-14879791427174753862009-09-02T15:07:00.003-04:002009-09-02T15:15:19.111-04:00Glory holeI have a weakness for Krispy Kreme doughnuts that borders on pathological. When I was a kid, for evening entertainment my parents would load us in the station wagon and take us to Krispy Kreme. We’d watch as the raw doughnut dough circles came down the conveyor belt and slid into the deep fat frier. Then, like magic, that rotating arm would flip the doughnuts and fry the other side, leaving Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-8934968003051759942009-08-08T17:16:00.002-04:002009-08-08T17:19:21.089-04:00Footloose and fancy-free? Not so much“And stay away from the lakes,” the HOA orientation woman, says. “It may not look like it, but there’s gators in there.”The orientation group stares at her with our mouths half-open.“Oh yeah,” she says. “We just pulled out a seven-footer last week.” A seven-foot alligator. Living fifty feet from my brand-new home.“And because it’s been exposed to humans, they euthanize them.” Gator, Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-52301195946645702852009-08-07T22:26:00.000-04:002009-08-07T22:27:28.228-04:00Dripping to the topTonight, I went to Blockbuster for a really bad movie. Matthew’s out of town, so I have guilt-free anonymous liaisons with trash media, then never tell anyone but the internet about it. Fortunately, this is a blog. No one reads blogs anymore, right? Just Twitter?Anyway, I’m at Blockbuster picking up a Lindsay Lohan straight to DVD movie when I realize I have to pee. Pretty bad. But I’ve Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-16089652617868081192009-07-29T16:17:00.002-04:002011-04-16T07:34:42.233-04:00Los Pericos, what do you see in this image?You may want to check the Wikipedia Rorschach Test site soon. It appears to have some errant Wiki-fiti of an Argentine band squeezed into the intended content.Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-36650003520303661242009-07-28T10:49:00.000-04:002009-07-28T10:50:20.550-04:00Dream entry #8I dreamt about the Russian mob running out the local crime syndicate. The leader of the mob was named “Chemkin,” which I don’t think is a real Russian name. The last thing I said in the dream was to someone trying to get the Russians’ attention: “You don’t find Chemkin, Chemkin finds you.” Pretty bad-ass.Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-78633565490041086072009-07-22T12:27:00.001-04:002009-07-22T12:29:40.606-04:00Songs forgotten, faded photosLike most 18-year-olds, I had some pretty warped ideas about what constituted a healthy relationship. Case in point: Bruce. I wish I could remember his last name so I could publish it. (Just because I retroactively hold onto warped ideals that I expected at the age of 18.)So, Bruce. He played guitar. I believed that if he really loved me, he’d write a song about me. He did write a song Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-26624852899160370692009-06-26T23:30:00.002-04:002009-06-26T23:33:27.183-04:00GermfingerHow do you non-germaphobes see the world? Do you touch PIN pads then lasciviously lick your fingers? Yeck! I am prompted, “Please use the PIN pad device below,” and I nearly die. Think of all those grubby, nasty, un-washed fingers that have danced there before you. Just seconds before you were there, someone wiped their nose and touched the PIN pad, and now here you are, typing that little Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-30418887965158788612009-06-23T13:51:00.002-04:002009-06-23T14:01:55.802-04:00Eating at my heartCravings are curious, unpredictable things.When I moved to Chicago in 1998, I was shocked at the number of hot dog stands. Everything from one window booths to large sit down restaurants committed to the peddling of hot dog cuisine could be found anywhere in the city, no matter the neighborhood. Weird. I can’t think of any culinary predilection in my home of Louisville, Kentucky like hot dogs Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-47084553843597329312009-06-05T16:27:00.000-04:002009-06-05T16:28:21.102-04:00Facebook's alternate realityI’ve blogged a little about it before, but Facebook is doing straaange things to my head. One: I have learned that I am a Negative Nelly. I look back and remember all the reasons relationships with Facebook’s ghosts of the past didn’t work. They’ve contacted me and told me all the wonderful things they missed about friendship with me. [Insert eerie noise of brain doing flip-flop here.] Hold Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-20713676128805653392009-05-28T16:40:00.002-04:002009-05-28T16:46:44.653-04:00Neuroses installment #155: EarplugsSince moving to Florida, I have not been able to find my favorite brand of earplugs. When I mentioned this to my office mate, she said in disbelief, “You have a favorite brand of earplugs?” I mean, she’s kinda used to the weird stuff like this that comes out of my mouth, so I don’t think she was that shocked, just mentally adding another tick mark on the list of “Christine’s insane” tally. Usual Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-87507346701669198922009-05-19T17:27:00.001-04:002009-05-19T17:27:59.844-04:00Losing MeI was a substitute teacher in Chicago public schools. Believe it or not, the students and in-class work really weren’t that bad. You hear “Chicago public school,” and I know you are thinking terrible scenarios, but it wasn’t the kids who gave me trouble—it was my fellow substitutes.When there were more teachers out than there were subs to cover, one of the schools I worked at would put all the Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-89097721877604234872009-05-19T16:39:00.000-04:002009-05-19T16:40:06.159-04:00Random internet word-spew:"I guess you can be a bitch like that when you are queen of the internet?"Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-31969019880370103702009-05-13T22:52:00.000-04:002009-05-13T22:53:08.759-04:00Global finance and baby asparagusThe greatest economic indicator is going to be my stomach. If you see me eating organic ground turkey, baby asparagus, and pre-cut watermelon, then the world is fine. If, however, you peek in my shopping cart and see ground chuck, French style green beans, and canned peaches, then you know we are in trouble.Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-35742851696042522112009-04-26T22:54:00.002-04:002009-04-26T22:56:08.055-04:00Wild, sweet fragranceWild honeysuckle cascades down the wood fence south of my front porch. Every time I open the door, the nectar-drunk scent hits me bodily; I feel enveloped in its honeysuckle cloud. I inhale honeysuckle with my nose, my mouth, my eyes, and my arms, as it exhales through the soles of my feet. I feel the pure essence of wild honeysuckle deep in my lungs, inspiring my limbs to breathe in the scentChristine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-32674697973190252552009-04-19T19:39:00.001-04:002009-04-19T19:41:02.484-04:00Wiki-fitiI love finding graffiti in Wikipedia. Behold:In 1559, Spanish Pensacola was sam so fine following year.I italicized "sam so fine" for emphasis. Love it.Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-40393951911281739502009-04-16T11:16:00.000-04:002009-04-16T11:17:22.081-04:00Footie--not futbolMy feet hurt. I have really bad arthritis in my subtalar joint, droopy arches, and pronation. I like my new podiatrist, but her voodoo isn’t working on my right foot. I want to go to South Africa.In college, I somehow ended up friends with the long distance track team. And somehow they were almost all from South Africa. The South Africans told a story of a foot guru who could fix Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-38473342904388433922009-04-15T11:12:00.002-04:002009-04-15T11:15:00.637-04:00Creep-o's in my closetActual e-mail to my boss:Boss, I’ve decided my office is haunted. I hear strange irregular tapping sounds coming from behind me all day. It’s always been like this, but I thought it was a bathroom noise—people coming in and out. I no longer think that. The sound comes from behind me where there’s a maintenance closet. Rather than call a priest, I propose that I need a noise cancelling radio Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com0