a pisces (fish) flapping on the dock|
[Most Recent Entries]
Below are the 18 most recent journal entries recorded in
|Friday, March 31st, 2006|
Some of the things that have happened to me over the past few years, I look back on now and it's just pure comedy. Example: the year I pledged the sorority and the "Initiation Ceremony" thing that goes along with it. Let me first explain the whole pledging and initiation process first, to avoid later confusion. Each year, the sorority invites anywhere from 30 to 90 new girls to join their "sisterhood". These new girls are called pledges, and they go through a "pledge period" during their first few months or so in the sorority, while they learn the history of the chapter, all the symbols and ideologies and all that shit. Then they are initiated, meaning they go through a ritual ceremony thing, after which they become official sisters of the sorority. All the ritual stuff that goes on is a secret that only the intiated sisters know. The initiates are sworn to secrecy.
Well guess what. I'ma spill the beans. What a felony. Haha. Okay, here is what goes on during the ritual ceremony: not a damn thing. It was so fucking boring. It feels like a really REALLY long Catholic mass. Trust. Initiation lasts from like 8 in the morning til 12 noon, and it is a royal pain in the ass. It lasts that long, because they gotta go through each girl. Basically they call the girl up to the "altar" that has been thrown together using a table, tablecloth and two candles. They say a buncha shit, the way a priest does before communion. Then the girl raises her right hand and reads some shit from a book, which I can't remember so it was probably more Catholic ceremonial type shit, the girl returns to where she was standing, and the next girl gets called up and the same shit is done with her. And so on and so forth. Before and after this huge block of the initiation ceremony, the president asks some questions and we have to simultaneously repeat back some shit in Greek, this question and answer shit has been rehearsed earlier. Oh, and we don't even get seats to sit on; we have to stand the entire fucking time. Also, before the ceremony we have to put on these toga/robe things, that look similar to what altarboys wear. Yeah. Only, they've got ribbons on them. I was an altar server for about 4 years when I was younger, so I remember thinking on "Initiation Day," wtf is this bullshit. Ha...so anyway, back to my original point. My pledge class's initiation took place like the first week or so of October. At the end of October our sorority had this Halloween "date party" thing, where each girl could bring two dates. So me and this girl I was friends with at the time, she knew a lot of guys so I took two of her friends. We had to walk the 10 or so blocks to the club where our Halloween party was being held, which we'd called and had reserved for the sorority. Okay, so we were walking, and I said some shit to one of the guys like, "They made us wear togas and shit," talking about initiation. Well the whole sorority had been walking in a sort of single-file line, and whoever was behind me (not the friend who'd set me up with the dates) had overheard me, and she didn't like it because I'd revealed part of the secret ritual. She told the next person in line, etc., etc., until the president and VP and all these other important people in the "inner circle" found out. And they cornered me about it at the party. Told me some shit like, "Those are OUR secrets, you don't just go telling ANYBODY about ritual stuff!" So I was like, "What?" Because by that time I'd completely forgotten about it. And then the president got pissed off and was all, "YOU told one of your dates about OUR ritual robes!!! Those are secret!!!" So then I was like, "Oh. Okay..." and left the corner (they'd cornered me but not trapped me, if that makes sense). And I figured that was that. Until a few weeks later when, after a meeting, my "big sister" gave me a standards letter saying I had a standards meeting. Standards is a committee, and if you've done something bad you have to go talk to the committee. So a few weeks later I went to my Standards Meeting, and I had to walk in the fucking cold pouring rain to one of the freshman girls' dorm buildings, where the Standards Meetings for our sorority were held in their basement. Yes, shady, I know. So I knock on the door to the room where the standards people are, and I'm let in, and there's like 6 girls sitting on couches. The standards committee. They're sitting there with notebooks and appointment books, or something like that, open on their laps and shit. One of the girls says to me, "We understand that you said some stuff at the Halloween party to a noninitiate, about the robes we wear during initiation. That's one of our secret rituals. Don't do that again." I was like, "Okay, I won't do that again." I can't remember if I apologized or not. And then my big sister (she was the head of the standards committee that year) was like, "Thank you for making the long cold walk," and that was about it. Shit, I had to walk all that way for that bullshit. They could've at least had hot chocolate or something. Ha...
|Tuesday, March 28th, 2006|
It's OFF! Hahahahahahaha....and now I have to do this fucking Spanish outline shit while feeling as if I'm doped up on laughing gas (even though I'm not). Go me!!!
You know that feeling you get, when you're so tired from lack of sleep, that you feel all delirious/drunk/high and shit? I'M THERE!!! weeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!
Okay. Now. My topic is gonna be about how the Islams conquered Spain in the name of Allah. I was gonna make my title "Sandniggers in Spain" but then I though, nah that's racist and it has to be in Spanish besides. I don't think my Spanish lady of a professor would see the amusement quite like I do, either. Oh shit, that sounded so lesbiterian. Whoops.
Okay, I'm gonna go do something now. Until I conk out. Only to wake up in a few hours, WOOOHOOO!!! Are we having fun yet?! How about, no homo? Right.
I'ma get off this thing. At this point I'm just typing random shit and this is gonna be like one of those papers I look back at later on and wonder wtf was I on when I wrote that. Bye.
|Please report any unusual or suspicious activity to airport security immediately.
That line has always cracked me up. I mean, what the hell constitutes "unusual or suspicious activity"? Doesn't that shit vary depending on who you ask? So it's 4 am, I have a class at 9:30 tomorrow (well, today) and I cannot sleep. My roommate's alarm clock has been going off nonstop since about 2 am. Why the fuck is she setting her alarm at RANDOM times and then not even waking up to shut it off? She does this shit quite frequently. I can't fall asleep, and I'm fucking pissed. However, I don't want to say anything to her because I don't want to start some dumb conflict. So yeah. So much for getting a GOOD NIGHT'S SLEEP. And I have an F in one class, and I don't even care at this point. Not about that particular class. The teacher was so bad, I'd rather just retake the class with a better teacher. You know those kinds of teachers you come across who make you want to drop out of school? I have one of those. So yeah. And my roommate's alarm is still going off. I wish I could turn off my brain, the way you turn off a TV set, and just fall asleep. But unfortunately, it doesn't work that way. I wish I had some dynamite or some shit so I could blow up the wall and be like, "TURN THAT FUCKING ALARM CLOCK OFF, BITCH!" (Note: I make a lot of offhand comments that are NOT to be taken seriously). And I have a fucking OULTINE and shit for my final essay, which isn't due til like May, that I have to turn in for my 9:30 class tomorrow. The outline is due tomorrow, the essay is due in May. And my dumb ass hasn't even started on it. I was going to get up @ 8 am and go type it at the library but I CAN NOT GET TO SLEEP!!! Ugh. I swear, something needs to be done with me before I do something crazy that makes the star of the evening news - infamously. Okay, this is really driving me fucking nuts. I'm going to be hearing those fucking beeps even AFTER the alarm is turned off. Fuck. Oh, and she's in there, so I know she didn't accidently leave it on. And who the fuck sets their alarm clock for 2 am any damn way? The fuck is wrong with people, man.
|Sunday, February 19th, 2006|
Tonight two of my roommates, who are in this school female singing acapella group, were talking about a singing competition some of the girls from the acapella group are entering. Apparently the prize is a $500 gift certificate to Best Buy, which is cool. Well, one of the roommates is entering the competition and one of them is not. The one who isn't said something like, "I wouldn't want people to say anything about my singing, I mean I know it's just my singing, but I don't take criticism very well."
The funny thing is, I've learned to separate constructive criticism from personal criticism. I don't have a problem with somebody criticizing something I DO, but when they start attacking me personally, that's when I get mad. Do most people see things like I do? Or do most of them not know the difference? Something to think about. Current Mood: weird
|Saturday, February 18th, 2006|
|Holy shit...I've had 13 entries for HOW long?
Nah, I'm not THAT supersticious...haha...anyway.
Last year I had a roommate who was happy to a fault. She was so overly cheerful and peppy, that it got on my damn nerves. She was obsessed with all things Disney World, too. Which - okay, the girl would do these Disney internship things at Disney World in Orlando, so I guess MAYBE that was supposed to make it more understandable? I don't know. My opinion - there is nothing "understandable" about a grown ass girl who buys Kleenex boxes that have Belle from "Beauty and the Beast" on them. Um, NO. Not to mention, "Beauty and the Beast" sends out a subconcious message that a woman should stay in an abusive relationship and find the "Prince" within the "Beast". I'm not making this up, this shit has been proven by psychologists and shit. I don't like Disney princesses anyway. Not ever since that 40-something year old man in the Barnes & Noble told me I had a body like a Disney princess and kept following me around the damn store trying to talk to me. Can we say, fuck off? Thank you.
Apparently the movie "Maria Full of Grace/Maria eres llena de gracia" doesn't count as an "authentic" Colombian movie. My Spanish teacher is this semi-artsy Chilean elitist who is all about Spanish and Latin American film and literature. He said the movie doesn't count because the director, Joshua Marston, is American and it was presented by HBO films in association with Tucan Producciones Altercine. Soooo, I changed my Google preferences to Spanish language and typed in "peliculas colombianas" because I wanted to find out just what was so great about "authentic" Colombian and other South American movies. Some of the ones I found are (and I have no idea whatsoever what these movies are about; I just got their titles who directed them): "Edipo alcalde" directed by Jorge Ali Triana (what a fruity ass name for a guy), "Golpe de estadio" by Sergio Cabrera, "Cóndores no entierran todos los días" by Francisco Norden, and "La virgen de los sicarios" by Barbet Schroeder. And there are some more. So yeah, I'll have to check that out whenever I get around to it.
Okay, so I'm in a Spanish Civilization class. Well we just got through with reading about the Moors in Spain, how they arrived across the Strait of Gibraltar. When they got to the Spain side, the leader of the Moorish army, named Tariq ibn Ziyad, allegedly ordered the ships burned. I say "allegedly" because apparenly there's still a dispute about it today between the Western Europeans and the Muslims. The ship burning is only documented in European sources, so I guess the Muslims think Europeans made that shit up. Who knows.
Ugh, I'm tired. Wtf am I still doing up.
|Wednesday, December 21st, 2005|
|Thursday, December 1st, 2005|
|Maybe tonight I'll go to bed AT NIGHT, for a change...
...as opposed to, say, 6:00 in the morning. I have a defunct sleeping pattern that I sometimes feel like I am killing myself trying to correct. I'm feeling kinda rundown/tired right now, like a deflated balloon or something. And my roommates are out in the living room playing a board game and laughing really loud, and I want to go out into the living area and make some tea, only...only what? So what if they're out there? What's going to happen? They're not going to talk shit about me. They're not going to act like I'm some freak of nature for choosing to go to sleep over playing a board game. I need to get over this bullshit. Yes, people have done shit like that before. A few years earlier I had friends who did that during football season. I don't like going to the football games. Why? I don't know, they were fun at first, but now I find them just too...fake, or something. I'd rather spend a day on Skid Row than at a southern football game. Anyway, people would be like, "WHAT? You're not going to the football game?!" All shocked, like I'd just told them I was allergic to water or something. That shit's annoying.
I need to go to bed. But I've got shit I told myself I'd do tonight, so here goes.
Stuff to do tonight:
1. Figure out exam schedule and write it out to avoid being fucked unpleasureably in the very near future.
ARTH 105 -
Tuesday, Dec 6 EXAM REVIEW SESSION 12 pm - 4 pm, room 329 in the art building (I'd put the actual name of the art building, but suppose some nutcase tries to find and assassinate me)
Wednesday, Dec 7 FINAL EXAM 2 pm
SPAN 210 -
Friday, Dec 2 EXAM REVIEW, class time
Friday, Dec 9 FINAL EXAM 2 pm
SOCY 101 -
Thursday, Dec 8 FINAL EXAM 5:30 pm - 7:30 pm
Okay, got that out of the way. I'll write it out on my dry-erase board tomorrow.
|Tuesday, November 29th, 2005|
|Writing for Public Relations - Final Project
Yeah, yeah, I know this is odd but it's the only way I'm going to get through this. Suck a tit and shut up.
My final project is supposed to contain:
~at least one news release (preferably two)
~the feature story (rewrite)
~a speech, verbatim, two pages double-spaced, write it for the ear not the eye
~fact sheet (rewrite)
~direct mail or pitch letter
~public service announcement
Okay, let's see. One of my news releases will definitely be about saving pets from hurricane Katrina. Unless...maybe I could find some better news releases in the press room and write about those. My project, btw is about Project Pet, a non-profit organization which helps shelter pets find homes. http://projectpet.com/
The stuff I have to just rewrite will be easy because the big main thinking part is done. Now, as for the speech..."Hi, I am here to talk to you about Project Pet. Pet overpopulation is a huge problem nationwide, with thousands of unwanted pets being euthanized each year. These homeless pets are crowded into animal shelters. Most pets in shelters are put to sleep because animal shelters are overflowing to the brim with cats and dogs; they don't have enough space to keep the animals for very long because new ones are constantly coming in. Some are brought in after animal control picks them up; others are surrendered by owners. Maybe you or someone you know has surrendered a pet to an animal shelter before. We as an organization have a goal to reduce, if not eliminate, the euthanization of shelter pets here in the Midlands. We rescue "Death Row" animals. An animal on death row is an animal on its last day in a shelter."
Okay, I'm going to write more, but I need to put all that shit into a Microsoft Word document. Shit, I wrote a pretty good amount.
A letter from the RA (Resident Advisor)...
Subject Line: Too Loud in the Service Lot
I know at night many of you use the service lot off Blossom Street to
drop off passengers. When using the service lot please be respectful of
those residents whose windows face the parking lot. The loud music and
bass can be disturbing to those who are trying to sleep and study.Turn
your music and bass down!
Please be respectful as you would want respect if the roles were
If you have any questions, please contact me.
Hahahahaha. Too funny. The service lot is this miniscule parking lot that's supposed to be reserved for "University Service Vehicles" only. I've never seen a University Service Vehicle there, although students use it all the time. Some people sit there, in their cars, for awhile and wait for their friends or whoever, and they'll blast their screwed & chopped music and shitty rap. One time as I was walking to class, some dude was playing rap music really loud, and he was standing outside of his car with the door to the driver's side open, and he was walking around his car talking on a cell phone. It looked like a really bad rap video. Shit was funny as hell.
|"It's the most wonderful time of the year!"
Ha. Right. Exam time. Wonderfuckingful. Tis the season to fuck up. Case in point, a redemption request written by yours truly:
I wanted to sincerely apologize for the outline of my oral presentation. This is the website http://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/D%C3%ADa_de_Muertos
from where I got the information. I had planned to just pick key points from my outline and talk about them in my own words, but I got nervous and panicked and therefore ended up reading everything on the page, word for word. I tried to incorporate some of my own words into the outline as I was talking. I have a few other sources as well, which are listed below: http://labatichica.blogspot.com/2004_10_01_labatichica_archive.html http://www.dayofthedead.com/ http://www.mexconnect.com/mex_/muertos.html
I apologize for not writing a full outline myself. It was a misunderstanding as well as a lack of responsibility on my part. I really do have a genuine interest in the Day of the Dead, and I'd be more than happy to write another outline just to prove that I did indeed research this topic.
Ok, see what had happened was...hahahaha
In Spanish class, we had to do an oral presentation. I do an outline thing to go off of while doing the oral presentation. I wasn't sure if he was going to take up the outline or not. So, I copied and pasted stuff off of wikipedia.org. And changed a few things around. Why didn't I just write an outline myself? I don't know. When finals and deadlines are approaching, I get so freaked out I can't even think. Sometimes I'll even throw up. Not that anybody needs nor cares to know that. Anyway, the prof. didn't like it too much that I'd put down a bunch of info from the internet and just read it out. So he tells the class, "Please write the outline for your presentation yourself. The assignment was to research a topic, develop it, and make notes to go off of. Anyone can print something off and read it," but the thing was he said this AFTER I'd done my presentation, making me feel like the sacrificial lamb of the class or something. Why does shit like this always happen to me? God. The thing I was most concerned about, I think, was that if there's some policy where if you "plagarize" (which, I never said that I'd written it myself), you get an automatic F in the class. The secondmost thing I'm concerned about (in this class, anyway) is that I need a B in the class in order to take the next advanced Spanish class. It's a prerequisite. Why hadn't I been thinking of this before? Well, I guess I have, in the back of my mind. But I remember talking to another girl in the class, and I asked her what she was doing her oral presentation topic on. She said she was doing her topic on Cuba. Just random facts about Cuba. She said some shit like, "I think if you just talk a lot, he's not going to give a fuck." And mind you, the professor is Cuban. Now, watch her get a better grade than me. Shit like that always happens. Other people can shrug it off and say "oh well" and get away with it, but if I do the same thing, I'm screwed. Maybe I just have crappy judgment skills?
Oh, and I realized something that now has me feeling like Buddha when he reached enlightenment. As I was looking through some pages in my Spanish text (just this one thing and then I'll shut up about the damn Spanish class, I promise), it occurred to me exactly WHY I've been having difficulty with the grammar: a lot of the grammar terminology, I don't even know what that shit means in ENGLISH! DUHHH! Say no to crack! I even made a list of them, which I will look for their meanings tomorrow.
compound relatives aka "long forms"
main-clause (verbs, characteristics)
And that's about it right now. Actually, I've already found the definition for one of them because it was in my textbook: an adjective clause is "a clause that describes a preceding noun." That's some enlightening shit right there. Seriously, these grammatical terms are a fucking revelation at this moment in time. I don't mean to sound like some grammar-obsessed nerdball, but it's true. This sunk in when my eyes came across this sentence in my book: "Quien, which can refer only to people, may be used after a comma (that is, in a nonrestrictive clause) and must be used after a preposition to express who or whom." Um, HELLO? What the fuck is a NONRESTRICTIVE CLAUSE? What the fuck is a PREPOSITION? Maybe if I learned what those things actually were, the shit (the grammar stuff, not the Spanish) wouldn't sound like Mandarin Chinese anymore.
I know the shit that I just wrote would make you believe otherwise, but I'm not boring. However, I wish I were boring. Boring, dull and normal. Possessing those three attributes would make my life a HELL of a lot easier. None of this sporradic madness which I experience on a daily basis. In fact, I'm considering coming out with a hit single called "Fuck you Jesus for not Making me Boring." Catchy. I'll figure out the tune via guitar and the few chords I know, and then go sing and play the guitar in the middle of the patio of the university student union. That should piss off the Baptists and stir up some controversy. Hell, this place NEEDS some controversy pretty badly.
Today something happened that I always wished would. A train passed under the pedestrian bridge as I was walking across it. I stopped on the bridge and let the train pass under my feet. I got to see that A.) the cars on the trains don't have tops to them like I'd thought, and B.) these cars (on this particular train anyway) were filled with shredded wood chips. Like the shit that's used for outdoor rabbit hutches and dog beds. I mean, wtf, THAT is what they transport by rail? Damn. Then as I stood there, I imagined myself jumping. I couldn't because the bridge is guarded by a very high chain-link fence thing, but I just imagined it. Jumping and being transported to some mystery place. Probably a shitty mystery place.
|Friday, November 25th, 2005|
|I trust no one.
It's true. Not even my own family, really. My mom was complaining the other day how it's so horrible that our immediate family can't even get along for one hour. My brother doesn't even want to come home anymore, and if and when I do come home, World War III breaks out between me and my dad, and my mom is in the middle of it. She says she gets tired of it. I was riding in her car when we were having this conversation, and I told her, "Well, you married the guy, so the position you ended up in was your own doing," because she had been saying how she'd never thought she'd end up in a family situation where none of the members could get along, EVER. And it's true that we don't get along; sometimes I feel like I don't even have a family. Anyway, her response to my debatably harsh comment was some shit like, "Yeah well, since you're such an expert on the perfect man, it'll be interesting to see who you end up with. Maybe nobody." And seriously, you know what? I don't trust men anymore. All they want to do is fuck me, fuck my body, and that's it. Not that I sleep around. If truth be told, in the past year I think I've actually blown off a lot of guys just because I think they only want me for sex, and also because I read that damn "He's Just Not That Into You" book. Here's an insightful idea: I never was into you in the first place. Oh, and I think that title should be changed to some shit like, "He's Just Not That Into You But He'd Give Up His Firstborn Child to Suck Your Tits." And at times, I hate having big breasts. I can't wear hardly any trendy tops, which consists of over half the stock of any given clothing store. The "friends" I used to have (not true friends; there is no such thing; these are merely people I went places with) used to try to get me to buy cute tops that looked really , REALLY bad on me. I only bought like 1 or 2 though. One of those girls also used to shove beers in my face whenever we went out; she didn't think I was drinking enough alcohol, so she'd always say, "Finish your beer! Drink the rest! Drink! Drink! DRINK!" Beer gives me massive migraines and makes me dehydrated. Not to mention alcoholism runs in my family, I've got about 4 uncles on my mom's side who've gotten multiple DUI's. And yet this bitch would be shoving beers in my face, demanding that I drink them, probably so that she could laugh at me after I'd gotten drunk. That's fucked up. So yeah, I don't trust other girls anymore, either. I've lost all faith I used to have in any kind of friendship whatsoever, except for maybe a friendship with dogs/cats/pets/etc. I am FINISHED with being a chess pawn. Well, the sun is now rising and the sky looks beautiful. I should sleep. I think I will.
|Monday, July 18th, 2005|
|I feel like I'm surrounded by Special Olympics participants...
When I was in high school, I was a member of a service club. One of the things we did was volunteer at the Special Olympics. Today, 2 or 3 years later, I feel a sense of deja vu. Lately I feel like I'm surrounded by retarded kids because people do such dumb things. For example, yesterday in the mall. I went and got my hair cut about 1 1\2 to 2 inches to get rid of some more of that blonde, and also got my eyebrows waxed. Anyway, after that I browsed around Parisian's department store, which was on my way out of the mall. I was looking at jewelry, trying to decide if I should buy lots and lots of costume jewelry or just a few sterling silver pieces, because either way I'd be paying about the same price. The jewelry department is right next to the "Intimate Apparel" department. The underwear department was having those imitation Victoria's Secret sales where you can get 5 panties for $25, and this was displayed on a round table not far from the jewelry counter where I was looking. A woman and her boyfriend/husband/etc. came up to that table. I guess she'd never been underwear shopping before (SCARY!) because she didn't even know what size she wore. Hell, they only come in 3 sizes, so chances are you're a medium. So she got a bunch of thongs to try on in the fitting room (EEEWWW!), came back, and said to her husband, "Ok, so I guess I'm a medium...I'm gonna get this white thong with the beige trim, 'cuz it matches my beige bra..." Her husband tells her, "Okay, now pick 4 more and we can go," the woman says, "4 more? but I don't want to pick 4 more, honey," and honey tells her, "yeah but the sign says '5 panties for $25 - buy less than 4, pay regular price'" she tells him, "no it doesn't...oh yeah I guess it does...but I only need this ONE..." her man tells her, "well, just pick out a few black ones and soemthing else, and let's go..." i don't know what they did after that, but all I know is, right after that conversation, I felt like ripping the ring display case off the jewelry counter and hitting her over the head with it a few times. DUMB. BITCH. The goddamn store is offering you a deal and you're gonna COMPLAIN about it? Jesus. Who cares if you don't *need* 5 pairs of panties, take advantage of the opportunity, good lord! It's like the lottery, take it and smile. Shit, when I'm in Victoria's Secret during the Semi-Annual sales, I have a hard time making up my mind on WHICH pairs of panties to pick! Can people really be THAT dumb? She must truly be one very boring bitch. Which probably means the guy she's with is boring as hell too. Oh, and on a side note, trying on THONGS in dressing rooms is DISGUSTING! I wonder if they make laundry detergent that disinfects...and if they don't, I'm creating and patenting that shit!
I have this little problem. Well, it's sort of a problem. I guess it depends on how you look at it. I like to sleep naked, but I've gotten so used to sleeping naked, if I go to bed wearing even a tanktop and panties, I won't fall asleep. I can only fall asleep if I'm buttass naked in my bed. How to fix this, I'm not yet sure. But I usually lock my door at night, because I don't want either of my parents coming in there the next morning to "talk to" me. Fyi both my parents exhibit crackhead-esque behavior on a regular basis, so don't go thinking I get mollested by either of my parents - that is far from the case. Anyway, sometimes in the mornings I'll have to unlock my door so the dog can come in, otherwise he'll just stand at my door, scratch at it and bark his head off. So I unlock it to let him in, then lock it again, and the dog just goes to sleep on the floor or on the foot of my bed. Very rarely do I not re-lock the door. This morning was unfortunately one of those rare occasions. I forget to lock the door, and as I'm waking up for the second time this morning, I hear my dad opening the door. "Kelly? Let me see your hair!" he says, referring to my new haircut. I remain under the covers, but I'm getting pissed as hell because here's the thing: my hair looks like shit. It's dirty and greasy, and is pulled up into one of those combination bun/ponytails (what I like to call a "doodoo ponytail"). Because I've been sleeping on it for about 5 hours or so, loose strands are flying every damn where. I'm baffled beyond belief as to why he wanted to see how my haircut looked after I'd slept on it and after it had become all dirty and shit. Now, to me, that shit is just common sense stuff. It's just one of those obvious things everyone should know, like how you know not to stand underneath a tree in the middle of a lightning storm because you might get struck by lightening. So yeah, anyway, I sit up a little bit, with the covers still firmly around me, of course, and I say, in an annoyed tone of voice, "WHAT? Um, my hair LOOKS like SHIT!" My dad fails to understand this, and he says, "No it doesn't, it's just up, take it down, I wanna see it." I tell him, "It's DIRTY and OILY!" By then I'm really pissed off, because I'm trapped in that damn bed, under the covers, I can't leave the bed til my dad leaves the room, and getting him to leave is going to be a feat in and of itself. I'm also annoyed by his lack of common sense, thinking he could come wake me up at 10 AM on a Sunday morning and look at my greasy, tangled, ponytailed hair that had been cut the day before. I make a huge effort to stay as composed as I possibly can, and I politely ask him to leave my room. "But, I wanna talk to you," he says. I can't deal with his shit this morning, and so I yell, "GET THE FUCK OUTTA MY ROOM!" He finally leaves, and then later on, this afternoon, I'm up in the kitchen making myself a sandwich. My dad comes into the kitchen. "Make me a sandwich," he tells me. "No," I tell him. He can make his own damn sandwich. So then he tells me, "You know, when you get married you're gonna have to make sandwiches and food for your husband from there on out." I told him I wasn't gonna get married and he argued with me, "Yes you are." Haha, okay. I'll marry a chef who can cook all our food. Where's a place I can find a bunch of single male chefs who aren't gay? Does anyone know? And no smartass answers like, "a restaurant" I want specific cities.
|Saturday, July 16th, 2005|
|somebody kill me before I waste away...
Ugh. No more extra shots of expresso in my coffee. I'm like a fucking zombie right about now. Godfuckingdamnit. I just sneezed. You know why people say "God bless you" after you sneeze? Because for a split second, right in the middle of the sneeze, your entire body shuts off. So it's like being dead for a split second, but not really. I don't remember where I read that, but it's something related to the story behind why people say "God bless you" after you sneeze.
|Friday, July 15th, 2005|
|Life is like a cage full of parakeets - vibrant, noisy and shit-infested.
I made that little analogy up today as I looked at the parakeet cages while on break. I don't browse through the store often because I have my smock on and people see that I work there, so they approach me with obscure questions and I'm like, "Uh, durrr, hold on let me find out for you..." and I'm talking obscure questions, like "Do you know where I can find vitamin drops that you put in birds' water?" "Do you know what aisle has the medicated dogfood?" Yes, medicated dogfood. I have no idea. I have off tomorrow! Actually, you know, I've been talking as if work is a living hell, and it really isn't. I like giving baths to dogs. There are a lot of poodles and shih tzus that come in to be groomed, and some customers even want bows put in their hair (shih tzus). This lady came in a few days ago, and apparently she decided to shave her own dog, herself. Well she ended up only shaving part of the dog because he started looking like shit, so then she decided to take him to be groomed, and asked the dog groomers to even out his fur. This dog was a pug, and she brought her other pug because she figured they might as well BOTH look rediculous. Today, I was blowdrying a shih tzu and she defacated all over the grooming table. It was truly lovely. I also got bitched out by some lady on the phone who called to schedule an appointment for Sunday, and she was pissed because the only available time we had was 11:00, and she was like, "I'll be in church at that time!" What a bitch, she can't do without her weekly Jesus fix just this once? No, I didn't say that to her. I just think stuff in my head. Like when some idiot bitch called, knowing it's called a GROOMING SALON, and asked, "Do ya'll groom dogs?" I felt like saying, "No dumbass, we only groom African Dormice." My sarcasm can be intoxicating sometimes, even to myself.
|Wednesday, July 13th, 2005|
|goddamnit I want my pay...
Today I've got to see someone at work about payroll and how it's being done. I'm technically still "training" because there's this list thing, only it's not filled in yet. I'm supposed to fill it along the way, each time I bathe a dog. When the sheet is full, I'll be an "official" dogbather. The lady who's training me (I guess that would make her my boss - can you tell I haven't worked before?:P) explained how the list would work, and then she told me, something like, "You fill out this list and you have to bathe this many dogs, and then you can start earning money." I don't know what the fuck that means. I'm afraid to ask her because she intimidates me. Me, intimidated? Yeah, that's right. I talk a lot of shit and my bark is stronger than my bite. I admit it (which mos def counts for something - how many people actually admit shit like that?). Anyway, I'm off to dry my hair and leave for work...ugh. Current Mood: aggravated
|Tuesday, July 12th, 2005|
|I have big lips for a white girl?? Wow, thanks for calling that to my attention,
I'll get right on it and make an appointment to have them lanced. Seriously, I don't understand why people who point that out to me feel the need to do so. The size of my lips doesn't bother me, and I don't really care what other people think, I just don't understand their motive behind telling me, "You've got big lips for a white girl. Anybody ever tell you that?" Like I'm the only Caucasian person with fuller lips. Another thing that bothers me about this statement is I never know if it's a compliment or an insult, because it can go either way.
|substances flow like sands through my hourglass-shaped body...
It's currently 1:15 in the morning. And, as usual, I can't sleep. I have to work tomorrow. Yes, I finally got a job. I work in the grooming salon at a petstore. Don't hate, congradulate. I know everybody else has shitty part-time jobs as cashiers or waiting tables at some pseudo-upscale restaurant where the customers treat them like dogshit. Haha.
The Golden Rule needs to be revised. Do unto others as others do unto you. Seriously. No one gives a shit how nice you are. What's worse, a lot of people nowadays take advantage of it.
What's with all the commercials for herpes meds featuring women with kayaks? "I used to be a nasty skank with herpes. Now, I'm a nasty skank with herpes who can kayak!" Wow, that's the ULTIMATE 360 right there. All that kayaking and mountain climbing (another herpes commercial pastime) is going to make you an outdoorsy nature guru WITH HERPES. What a promising future.
90 sex offenders live in my area. I've looked at some of their pictures. They look like Halloween costumes.
I used to have a lot of friends. Female friends at that. Then I changed, or at least, I THINK it was me who changed...all the girls I used to hang out with, all they do nowadays when they get together is sit around and argue over which of them has the biggest "rock" (read engagement ring). I don't wish I was engaged like all of them; that's far from the case, I don't want to be responsible for a "big fancy wedding" at some bullshit status church. Actually, I think the main reason I've chosen to remain single for so long is because I don't want to get involved with some guy, get engaged/married and settle with him in some "starter home" here where I live. That'd be kind of a tragedy because then I'd never get to live my own life. He'd be a big football fan, which would mean I'd have to do all the crap that goes with it, meaning tailgating. I HATE TAILGATING. I've done it before. Numerous times. It felt like eternal hell. Walking around in the muddy fairgrounds in heels, a cocktail dress and pearls, being forced to drink beer like everyone else, having to be really sweet and nice to people I don't even like. I'm never doing that shit again.
My dad is an asshole. I hate him.
|Monday, July 11th, 2005|
I'm really paranoid. I worry about random things all the time. I'm afraid of finding a lump in my breast that will turn out to be cancer and I'll have to have my whole breast removed. I'm only 22, but I read this article in Cosmo magazine about a girl who got breast cancer at 20. Why the hell do they always publish true stories that are so freaking rare? There was another story about some girl who went through menopause at 19! Instead of these obscure fluke incidents, why not write about something readers might actually BENEFIT from knowing? For example, sex offenders or The Five Stages of Violent Crime. Current Mood: exanimate