I know a girl- a coworker of my friend Jess- who thinks we're friends. I don't know how or why she got that impression, but she's the most awkward human being I've ever met. I'm including myself in that list; she's that bad.
A few months ago (sorry I haven't written about it sooner), she invited me and Jess to her birthday party. The only reason I even considered going was because Jess said she'd go. At the last minute I told myself "fuck it, I'll go and be nice." This was not the correct response for this situation. I arrived at the party only to find that Jess was a bitch and wasn't coming. I was in this acquaintance's house who I could barely stand for more than five minutes with two of her other friends. To make it more uncomfortable- her mom was playing christian pop music. That doesn't exactly scream 'birthday' to me. The girl made us play a drawing game that was a cross between pictionary and telephone. The first person writes a sentence, the next draws a picture, the next uses the last picture to write a new sentence and so forth.
Did I mention this was for a 19 year old?
Her brother, his wife and grandparents showed up, making things slightly better and then so much worse. The brother, wife and I started having some kind of adult conversation, leading into what kind of drinks we preferred. This was the first time I didn't feel the need to escape. Unfortunately, I might've come across as an alcoholic for choosing whiskey over wine, then listing the various brands I like and don't. The fact that I knew more than two seemed to make them uncomfortable.
As unpleasant as this ordeal had been thus far, this is where it gets cringeworthy. Her grandparents insisted we all call them "Ma" and "Pa." I shit you not. They took it back to little house on the prairie. Then they asked how to do a certain country line dance and the brother taught anyone in the kitchen... for multiple songs. I couldn't find a tactful way of leaving, being too freaked out to use the emergency phone call excuse. Luckily the party ended soon after the obligatory fighting over who gets which piece of cake.
This was all pokemon themed, by the way.
As I was leaving, she cornered me and asked when my birthday was/ how old I'd be. She then offered to be DD if I wanted to go to any bars or something like that. Yeah, maybe, anything so I can go the hell home.
A week or so ago we ran into each other and had the obligatory catching-up conversation that literally was this:
"Oh hey... How are you?" -me
"Great! How about you?" -her
"Eh. Nothing new." -me
Then we stared at each other for a solid 5 seconds.
"Yeah, seriously, I have nothing. My life isn't exciting right now." -me
More staring.
The joys of friendship.
Saturday, November 7, 2015
Thursday, March 5, 2015
We are "family"
The art critic's review:
"Patricia Piccinni brings a fresh, personal perspective to some of the most difficult ethical issues of our time: What is normal? What is the nature of our relationship with animals? Are some lives worth more than others? What constitutes a family?"
"Patricia Piccinni brings a fresh, personal perspective to some of the most difficult ethical issues of our time: What is normal? What is the nature of our relationship with animals? Are some lives worth more than others? What constitutes a family?"
This exhibit was supposed to show genetic crossbreeding with humanity in the future... I think. I looked it up again online and was just as unsure what the purpose was as I was when I saw it for the first time. Then again in my nightmares. Mostly likely in my nightmares tonight after writing this.
I realize everyone's taste in art is different and I've never worked with whatever medium she used, so I can't speak for the technicality. As a regular observer I can comfortably say "What the fuck is that?"
He was like a grandfather who melted into a walrus and the kid just went with it.
Did I mention the kid is life sized? Like 10 year old child sized. When I first walked into the room I thought the kid was real and being creepily interactive with whatever that thing was. Grand-walrus was about 5 feet long with a head the size of the kid's entire torso.
Remember- this was the special 'name in lights' kind of traveling attraction, so there was no escaping any of the 30ish sculptures. That one wasn't even the scariest, it just stuck in my head after 3 years.
The other accompanying miniature features weren't much better. The only two of those I distinctly remember were a taxidermy crossbreed (see my other post about the deer head...) and a bronze sculpture of little red ridding hood holding an axe, standing in the heap of wolf she cut herself out of.
Overall it was quite a morbid experience.
I leave you with this:
sweet dreams :]
Wednesday, December 17, 2014
Gentleman's Club
A future recommendation- don't go to a strip club on a weekday. Specifically not a Monday night. There was a slow progression of the night- I didn't just get in the car and set off on this adventure. Dinner with friends turned into hanging out at a bar. Somehow this led to the discovery that I've never been to a strip club before. My guy friends were (overly) excited with the possibility of going; my straight, female friend said "Meh."
It was bizarre.
The women on stage were nothing like I pictured they'd be. I wasn't expecting to be inspired to strip, but I was hoping for more theatrics. Completely dead eyes, hair in ponytails with non-sexy glasses using the same moves in almost the same order and no transitions. Ass shake, lay down, spread legs, shake legs, get up, ass shake, end of song.
Correct me if I'm wrong, but the point of stripping is to show some skin in a seductive manner. Most of them went to the unlit side of the stage behind a pillar to take her top off and come back out. The one who didn't leave was not graceful about it. It was literally a 'here are my tits' move.
Possibly the worst disillusionment- only one used the pole... badly. She climbed to the very top and awkwardly slid down. Really more falling than sliding. It looked painful.
Previously, my friends decided that I needed the full experience of getting a lap dance. The unfortunate thing is the dancer we all liked had already gone home for the night and then we couldn't agree on an acceptable replacement. So the rest of the evening, my girl friend and I critiqued the style or lack thereof of each dancer, deciding either of us would be much better. I still firmly believe this.
If I were a lesbian I'd be severely disappointed. Even as a straight woman I have to say it was fairly anti-climactic. So... that was beginning of my week. It can only go up from here, right?
It was bizarre.
The women on stage were nothing like I pictured they'd be. I wasn't expecting to be inspired to strip, but I was hoping for more theatrics. Completely dead eyes, hair in ponytails with non-sexy glasses using the same moves in almost the same order and no transitions. Ass shake, lay down, spread legs, shake legs, get up, ass shake, end of song.
Correct me if I'm wrong, but the point of stripping is to show some skin in a seductive manner. Most of them went to the unlit side of the stage behind a pillar to take her top off and come back out. The one who didn't leave was not graceful about it. It was literally a 'here are my tits' move.
Possibly the worst disillusionment- only one used the pole... badly. She climbed to the very top and awkwardly slid down. Really more falling than sliding. It looked painful.
Previously, my friends decided that I needed the full experience of getting a lap dance. The unfortunate thing is the dancer we all liked had already gone home for the night and then we couldn't agree on an acceptable replacement. So the rest of the evening, my girl friend and I critiqued the style or lack thereof of each dancer, deciding either of us would be much better. I still firmly believe this.
If I were a lesbian I'd be severely disappointed. Even as a straight woman I have to say it was fairly anti-climactic. So... that was beginning of my week. It can only go up from here, right?
Tuesday, December 2, 2014
Petty, Satisfying Revenge
A while back I was officially inducted into the nerd club- actually paying money this time! The information card everyone was supposed to fill out included name, major, career goal, and if you wanted to thank anyone in particular.
As a joke in the offhand chance they'd really humor me (or not pay enough attention and slip up), I filled out my name as "Lauren Waitforit [last name]." I knew the odds were slim to none against being announced as such, but I still had to try regardless. In my opinion, this isn't a terribly serious event. How wrong I was.
The rest of the info I filled out like a responsible adult. I was going to make another snappy comment, but didn't want to push my luck. Too much goofiness and I'd definitely get caught right away.
The day of the long, winded ceremony came and I was reminded of how much I truly hate these formalities and the people who run them. They are rigid "Type A" personalities and I am nowhere close to that. I'm a go with the flow kind of person... or apathetic. Whatever synonym you'd prefer. While lining everyone up for the hundredth time, I glanced at the card and saw Waitforit had been completely (unnecessarily aggressively) scratched out. It was disappointing, but not surprising.
When the president of the universe *ahem, university* got to my card, she purposefully left out half of my information. Just the name and major with an incredibly awkward silence for me to walk across the stage. The tension was palpable in the small auditorium in that drawn-out moment before she moved on to the next person. Other people got away with dorky, joking parts of their announcements. I lividly glared at her the rest of the evening, wishing I could shoot lasers out of my eyes.
Then, to drag this miserable night out even further, Ms. Priss demanded a group picture of the 100ish people. I faked a convincing smile and planned out what I'd say to her when I confronted her later. Something biting about her unprofessional immaturity at a trivial and harmless joke. Just because I pissed you off doesn't mean you were allowed to ignore everything else. I thanked people and you made me look like a jackass.
I needed revenge. She ran off immediately afterwards and I was too angry to trust myself to confront her without making a scene. There was no way I'd let the world see me lose my cool. She was in the wrong, not I. I still needed something to vent.
There was very little action I could take in that moment. Looking at my surroundings, I settled on the one thing I could definitely do. You passive aggressively leave out half of my information, I passive aggressively steal your flowers.
I stole an entire pot of them off of the stage. On my way out, as part of the crowd, I smoothly picked them up and left without missing a beat. I have the skills to get away with it. Not that I'm a kleptomaniac, but I've had enough practice to be confident. Those are stories for another time.
In the long run it really doesn't make that much of a difference, but I felt better with my small victory.
As a joke in the offhand chance they'd really humor me (or not pay enough attention and slip up), I filled out my name as "Lauren Waitforit [last name]." I knew the odds were slim to none against being announced as such, but I still had to try regardless. In my opinion, this isn't a terribly serious event. How wrong I was.
The rest of the info I filled out like a responsible adult. I was going to make another snappy comment, but didn't want to push my luck. Too much goofiness and I'd definitely get caught right away.
The day of the long, winded ceremony came and I was reminded of how much I truly hate these formalities and the people who run them. They are rigid "Type A" personalities and I am nowhere close to that. I'm a go with the flow kind of person... or apathetic. Whatever synonym you'd prefer. While lining everyone up for the hundredth time, I glanced at the card and saw Waitforit had been completely (unnecessarily aggressively) scratched out. It was disappointing, but not surprising.
When the president of the universe *ahem, university* got to my card, she purposefully left out half of my information. Just the name and major with an incredibly awkward silence for me to walk across the stage. The tension was palpable in the small auditorium in that drawn-out moment before she moved on to the next person. Other people got away with dorky, joking parts of their announcements. I lividly glared at her the rest of the evening, wishing I could shoot lasers out of my eyes.
Then, to drag this miserable night out even further, Ms. Priss demanded a group picture of the 100ish people. I faked a convincing smile and planned out what I'd say to her when I confronted her later. Something biting about her unprofessional immaturity at a trivial and harmless joke. Just because I pissed you off doesn't mean you were allowed to ignore everything else. I thanked people and you made me look like a jackass.
I needed revenge. She ran off immediately afterwards and I was too angry to trust myself to confront her without making a scene. There was no way I'd let the world see me lose my cool. She was in the wrong, not I. I still needed something to vent.
There was very little action I could take in that moment. Looking at my surroundings, I settled on the one thing I could definitely do. You passive aggressively leave out half of my information, I passive aggressively steal your flowers.
I stole an entire pot of them off of the stage. On my way out, as part of the crowd, I smoothly picked them up and left without missing a beat. I have the skills to get away with it. Not that I'm a kleptomaniac, but I've had enough practice to be confident. Those are stories for another time.
(Molly approves)
In the long run it really doesn't make that much of a difference, but I felt better with my small victory.
Sunday, September 28, 2014
It's gross but kinda funny
I threw up a lot as a kid... bare minimum twice a month. It was partially because I have a shitty immune system, partially because I had (have) panic attacks. I've gotten a bit better on both issues, but I still throw up almost every time I get sick with anything. I don't do it on purpose. That being said, I have favorite stories:
I was alone in my house at night, most of the lights off. There was no warning, just the instant 'Oh God it's happening RIGHT NOW' feeling. I almost made it to the bathroom, but ended up puking on the floor. It was so much darker than vomit should ever be.
I distinctly remember calmly thinking "Is this blood? Which part of my body is shutting down? Is throwing up blood kidney or liver failure? No one is here to take me to the hospital."
Thankfully, it was just spaghetti. It's nice to not have internal bleeding.
There was the time I tried to drink myself into oblivion after a godawful day. I was impatient and wanted to be drunk immediately... too much, too fast, empty stomach. I puked everything I've ever eaten. The next day my friend tried consoling me, telling me to "puke out the sadness. Like a fuckin dragon." It was surprisingly helpful. Since then, every single time I vomit I think of dragons.
The absolute best story was the movies. No, I didn't puke in the theater. It would make for a more dramatic ending, though more humiliating than I think I'd admit to the internet. It was close, don't get me wrong.
I refused to run to the bathroom to save my dignity, which in hindsight was a bad idea. It would've given me the extra few seconds to get into a stall, close the door, and position myself in front of the toilet. My dumb ass walked and barely got inside a stall. There was no time for anything else.
There's projectile and then there's what I did. I exploded. It went everywhere. EVERYWHERE. On the seat, on the top and sides of the tank, every side of the bowl, the back of the toilet, on the stall walls, covered the floor.
EXPLODED.
Maybe 20% actually got in the toilet. I cleaned up and almost threw up again just because I was so disgusted. Then I found one of the employees, explained the situation, said it just needed to be disinfected. This made me miss the majority of the movie, which I had been looking forward to seeing for the past month or so.
To make this story even better- this was in the middle of a pregnancy scare. My boyfriend at the time didn't make the connection until the next day. Luckily it was just the flu. I wasn't (nor have I ever been) pregnant.
Then there are memorable stories of being sick in elementary, middle and high school. The trip to california where I threw up at least once a day. If I go too long without eating. All of the carsick stories (lots and lots). Like I said, I puke a lot. It sucks.
I was alone in my house at night, most of the lights off. There was no warning, just the instant 'Oh God it's happening RIGHT NOW' feeling. I almost made it to the bathroom, but ended up puking on the floor. It was so much darker than vomit should ever be.
I distinctly remember calmly thinking "Is this blood? Which part of my body is shutting down? Is throwing up blood kidney or liver failure? No one is here to take me to the hospital."
Thankfully, it was just spaghetti. It's nice to not have internal bleeding.
There was the time I tried to drink myself into oblivion after a godawful day. I was impatient and wanted to be drunk immediately... too much, too fast, empty stomach. I puked everything I've ever eaten. The next day my friend tried consoling me, telling me to "puke out the sadness. Like a fuckin dragon." It was surprisingly helpful. Since then, every single time I vomit I think of dragons.
The absolute best story was the movies. No, I didn't puke in the theater. It would make for a more dramatic ending, though more humiliating than I think I'd admit to the internet. It was close, don't get me wrong.
I refused to run to the bathroom to save my dignity, which in hindsight was a bad idea. It would've given me the extra few seconds to get into a stall, close the door, and position myself in front of the toilet. My dumb ass walked and barely got inside a stall. There was no time for anything else.
There's projectile and then there's what I did. I exploded. It went everywhere. EVERYWHERE. On the seat, on the top and sides of the tank, every side of the bowl, the back of the toilet, on the stall walls, covered the floor.
EXPLODED.
Maybe 20% actually got in the toilet. I cleaned up and almost threw up again just because I was so disgusted. Then I found one of the employees, explained the situation, said it just needed to be disinfected. This made me miss the majority of the movie, which I had been looking forward to seeing for the past month or so.
To make this story even better- this was in the middle of a pregnancy scare. My boyfriend at the time didn't make the connection until the next day. Luckily it was just the flu. I wasn't (nor have I ever been) pregnant.
Then there are memorable stories of being sick in elementary, middle and high school. The trip to california where I threw up at least once a day. If I go too long without eating. All of the carsick stories (lots and lots). Like I said, I puke a lot. It sucks.
Wednesday, September 10, 2014
Groups of anything in class should die
Fuck you, group projects and fuck you hard. Literally every
week thus far I’ve been involved in some kind of group since the start of the
semester. I don't want to interact with anyone else ever, stop trying to make it happen. Just let me stare at the clock and count the minutes until I can leave.
As I’ve gotten older, I’ve become somewhat less shitty at
public speaking. Still not enthusiastic about the idea and still hope a meteor
crashes into the room right before my turn, but I can get through a
presentation alright. A personal one, I mean. Group presentations make
me nervous and I’m sudden back in third grade having a panic attack because I
don’t know if I’m going to mesh with the group or if everyone will pinpoint and
focus on my mistakes. Even then I knew how painfully awkward I was. Third
grade. For serious.
There was a moment in the terrible 'trying to put everything
together' phase where I realized I might have done mine horribly, horribly
wrong. From that point on, I was in the state of nauseated nervousness, obsessing
on what I could say to redeem myself.
Luckily the rest of the group was at the same level of “I hope
this is right” confusion, so at least it would be homogenous. A guy in the
group admitted that he was also extremely awkward in every aspect of life. One
of us made a joke about awkward hugs, so I mimed my best version… at the same
time he did. We were both unsure of what to do. We did the lean into it, lean
away, what the shit are you doing, what the shit am I doing, why is this
happening, I hate everything that’s ever led up to this moment, please God drop
a meteor right now.
It ended up as the weirdest hug- a side hug with me tapping
the outside of his arm, him tapping one of my shoulders, the other arm just in the
air in my direction.
Save room for Jesus!
Presentation- I haven’t been that apprehensive about public
speaking for a long time. I kept telling myself to chill out, be kinda normal
for 90 seconds. It wasn’t working out well. My inner voice was getting pissed
at my actual voice and I think my frustration crept out. Most of the people in
class had the same weird look on their faces the longer I was standing. Then
the professor kept asking questions and I couldn’t comprehend what she wanted
me to say, so I just kept talking, hoping she’d leave me alone ASAP.
Then that lying son of a bitch started explaining his part.
Where was the awkwardness now, motherfucker? He was charismatic and downright
charming. He had the perfect joke timing. I immediately hated him. I was under
the impression we had solidarity in our inept social skills.
When it was over I asked a joking question (really a snide
comment with a joking tone so I wouldn’t be obviously bitchy) about where that
awkwardness went. He said public speaking is the only thing he’s comfortable
with; it’s everything else he’s not. I don’t know if I believe him.
But then again, there was that hug…
Jesus could’ve danced between us in the amount of space
there was. Time stopped in the worst possible way and took eons to start again.
I don’t know if I can stress how uncomfortable and freakishly long moment that was.
Sunday, July 27, 2014
Slap heard 'round the world
Apparently I'm somewhat infamous in another town. By that I mean people know the story AND my name. I'm not just "that girl."
A few months ago, my group of friends were camping out and towards the early evening started drinking. One of the guys (whom I'd never met; he's a friend of a friend) is an obnoxious drunk. Too loud, whiny, and getting emotional. He is the type who can't let a joke die and has little to no filter.
One of my friends has this weird thing about belly buttons- if you poke her there she'll throw up. She saw some horrible thing where a kid got impaled on his bike through his belly button or something. Regardless, you should respect someone's personal space. He kept trying to poke her, she was forcefully telling him to leave her alone, he didn't listen. He thought it was a game.
By that point he was pissing me off. You just don't mess with a girl's best friend. I stepped in front of him, got right in his face, and told him to leave her the fuck alone. He just laughed and tried to reach around me. Without warning I slapped him. Hard.
Full contact- heel to fingertip, stung my hand kind of hard. Our mutual friend saw and heard it across the campsite and came over to diffuse the situation, dragging him away. He was being a whiny bitch and kept saying "she slapped the shit out of me! Why did she slap the shit out of me?"
He sulked for the rest of the night and apologized the next day. About a week or so later he made some lewd comments about us to our mutual friend, who then decided he wasn't allowed to be around any of us ever again.
Doucheface told someone about that night, who told someone else... so then everyone knew he got the shit slapped out of him by me. By everyone I mean my group of people, the other friends there, some of their friends, this guy, and some of the people at the college he goes to. I am legendary in town 2 hours away. Win.
The only downside is that every time I'm drinking with the belly-button friend she makes a comment that nobody better piss me off or I'll slap them. I'm really not a violent person. I yell and cuss like a mother fucker in traffic, but that's as intimidating as I get. I almost never hit anyone.
For the record, at the time of the slap I was sober.
A few months ago, my group of friends were camping out and towards the early evening started drinking. One of the guys (whom I'd never met; he's a friend of a friend) is an obnoxious drunk. Too loud, whiny, and getting emotional. He is the type who can't let a joke die and has little to no filter.
One of my friends has this weird thing about belly buttons- if you poke her there she'll throw up. She saw some horrible thing where a kid got impaled on his bike through his belly button or something. Regardless, you should respect someone's personal space. He kept trying to poke her, she was forcefully telling him to leave her alone, he didn't listen. He thought it was a game.
By that point he was pissing me off. You just don't mess with a girl's best friend. I stepped in front of him, got right in his face, and told him to leave her the fuck alone. He just laughed and tried to reach around me. Without warning I slapped him. Hard.
Full contact- heel to fingertip, stung my hand kind of hard. Our mutual friend saw and heard it across the campsite and came over to diffuse the situation, dragging him away. He was being a whiny bitch and kept saying "she slapped the shit out of me! Why did she slap the shit out of me?"
He sulked for the rest of the night and apologized the next day. About a week or so later he made some lewd comments about us to our mutual friend, who then decided he wasn't allowed to be around any of us ever again.
Doucheface told someone about that night, who told someone else... so then everyone knew he got the shit slapped out of him by me. By everyone I mean my group of people, the other friends there, some of their friends, this guy, and some of the people at the college he goes to. I am legendary in town 2 hours away. Win.
The only downside is that every time I'm drinking with the belly-button friend she makes a comment that nobody better piss me off or I'll slap them. I'm really not a violent person. I yell and cuss like a mother fucker in traffic, but that's as intimidating as I get. I almost never hit anyone.
For the record, at the time of the slap I was sober.
Wednesday, June 25, 2014
Pep-Talk
I was going through some of my stuff and found stories and other such nonsense I had written in 7th-8th grade. Most of it was terrible. Buried among all the crap I found one particular paper- whatever made me write this back then thought someone would need it later. Or I was just being weird... which is a definite possibility.
A tad dramatic at some parts, but everyone is when they're 13 or 14. Here:
"Though things look the worst at times, things do get better. I promise they do. Never lose hope, never lose sight of the blinding light at the end of the tunnel.
Don't lose or get lost though things are fucked up. It will get better. Outcomes do improve. You can get a do-over, but not if you give up or give in.
Remember who you are- what you stand for, where you come from. Keep in sight your dreams always, inspiration strikes at any moment. Will you answer the desperate pleas of long lost and forgotten blips of hopes and dreams?
Don't give up.
Don't give in.
Don't be any less than what you were born to be. Never let your destiny be less than how you are supposed to be.
Look for the light at the end of the tunnel. It's there, trust me.
If you ever get lost in the road of life, come to me. I'll be your guide.
I'll help you trudge on, stand dignified in every aspect of the day.
I can be there for you but you have to promise me one thing:
Don't ever give up.
Yes, times are rough but always learn from past mistakes- they all have a message to bear."
Stumbling upon this was bizarre for me. I kinda needed it.
And this:
A tad dramatic at some parts, but everyone is when they're 13 or 14. Here:
"Though things look the worst at times, things do get better. I promise they do. Never lose hope, never lose sight of the blinding light at the end of the tunnel.
Don't lose or get lost though things are fucked up. It will get better. Outcomes do improve. You can get a do-over, but not if you give up or give in.
Remember who you are- what you stand for, where you come from. Keep in sight your dreams always, inspiration strikes at any moment. Will you answer the desperate pleas of long lost and forgotten blips of hopes and dreams?
Don't give up.
Don't give in.
Don't be any less than what you were born to be. Never let your destiny be less than how you are supposed to be.
Look for the light at the end of the tunnel. It's there, trust me.
If you ever get lost in the road of life, come to me. I'll be your guide.
I'll help you trudge on, stand dignified in every aspect of the day.
I can be there for you but you have to promise me one thing:
Don't ever give up.
Yes, times are rough but always learn from past mistakes- they all have a message to bear."
Stumbling upon this was bizarre for me. I kinda needed it.
And this:
Tuesday, May 13, 2014
Don't quote me
I'm somewhat notorious for quoting my friends' weird comments or our conversations on facebook. It's bad... really, really bad. As we're talking, my mom will outright say "Don't you dare put that on facebook!" She's usually too late.
Without further ado, here:
"Oh my God you're a terrible person... how are you so stupid... why are we still friends? I'm going to stab you... you're really fucking creepy... I'm going to kill you... just go away" -naomi (all of this directed AT ME)
"Happy slim thug day. Do what you do but don't get caught." -dad
"Either throw it away now or later... unless you want to be known as 'puke boobs.' I can honestly say that's never happened to me"- mom, in reference to the cat puking in my bra on the floor
"What does 'per' mean in latin? I need it for my medical terminology paper." -naomi
"It means 'happy cat sound'". -dad
"Go to sleep!" -mom
"I'm sick, you can't tell me what to do" -me
"I can too! If I don't sleep I can't care for you. Ya little shit! Go to fucking sleep or I'll come in there and choke you!!" -mom
"Hey kiddo, blow your nose. You have a trail of snot running down your face and it's gross." -me
"Yeah, I have an army of boogers. I am a mess." -jacob (my nephew)
"Oh yeah, we used to steal your halloween candy. Mostly chocolate. I never took as many as your father... Your father is a chocolate whore." -mom
"You're so cute." -mom
(I make an ugly face)
"Am I cute now?" -me
"Yes. Retarded, but cute." -mom
"I LOVE CHAINSAWING! I think my chainsaw is my new favorite tool! It's like riding a motorcycle with razorblades attached!" -John
"Cake fucking. Yes." -phillip
"we can only dream math will be sexy one day" -phillip
"Oh this tastes like love" -me
"Eww" -phillip
"I didn't say it tastes like sex, I said it tastes like love." -me
"Eww" -phillip
"Sometimes I wish my mother was a midget" -taylor
"I love you... WITH AN IRON FIST!" -taylor
"He's a Christmas horse. And he has a bow on his butt. If I ever got a horse as a present I'd want one with a bow on its butt." -amanda
"Quit attacking me with your pelvis!" -amanda
"We're fighting killer ninjas and zombies. Are they zonjas? Or ninjies? I don't know" -mike
"Why is he wearing those glasses?" -chuck
"His name is Greggy. Do I have to say more?" -me
"But those glasses don't make me want to have sex with him" -chuck
"That's the only good part of today. She pooped her pants. She walked to the office with poopy pants to get her blood drawn and give us her poop. I never want to see poop or pee again." -naomi
"I'm going to have to unplug your xbox" - Courtney
"Whoa whoa whoa!"- Mike G
"Dude, calm your tits" -me
"No! These tits will not be calmed!" -Mike G
I can't help that my friends and I have some bizarre conversations; it's why I keep them as friends. I need to share the wealth of our awesome lives. It's not my fault that it's slightly and/or uncomfortably awkward out of context.
Without further ado, here:
"Oh my God you're a terrible person... how are you so stupid... why are we still friends? I'm going to stab you... you're really fucking creepy... I'm going to kill you... just go away" -naomi (all of this directed AT ME)
"Happy slim thug day. Do what you do but don't get caught." -dad
"Either throw it away now or later... unless you want to be known as 'puke boobs.' I can honestly say that's never happened to me"- mom, in reference to the cat puking in my bra on the floor
"What does 'per' mean in latin? I need it for my medical terminology paper." -naomi
"It means 'happy cat sound'". -dad
"Go to sleep!" -mom
"I'm sick, you can't tell me what to do" -me
"I can too! If I don't sleep I can't care for you. Ya little shit! Go to fucking sleep or I'll come in there and choke you!!" -mom
"Hey kiddo, blow your nose. You have a trail of snot running down your face and it's gross." -me
"Yeah, I have an army of boogers. I am a mess." -jacob (my nephew)
"Oh yeah, we used to steal your halloween candy. Mostly chocolate. I never took as many as your father... Your father is a chocolate whore." -mom
"You're so cute." -mom
(I make an ugly face)
"Am I cute now?" -me
"Yes. Retarded, but cute." -mom
"I LOVE CHAINSAWING! I think my chainsaw is my new favorite tool! It's like riding a motorcycle with razorblades attached!" -John
"Cake fucking. Yes." -phillip
"we can only dream math will be sexy one day" -phillip
"Oh this tastes like love" -me
"Eww" -phillip
"I didn't say it tastes like sex, I said it tastes like love." -me
"Eww" -phillip
"Sometimes I wish my mother was a midget" -taylor
"I love you... WITH AN IRON FIST!" -taylor
"He's a Christmas horse. And he has a bow on his butt. If I ever got a horse as a present I'd want one with a bow on its butt." -amanda
"Quit attacking me with your pelvis!" -amanda
"We're fighting killer ninjas and zombies. Are they zonjas? Or ninjies? I don't know" -mike
"Why is he wearing those glasses?" -chuck
"His name is Greggy. Do I have to say more?" -me
"But those glasses don't make me want to have sex with him" -chuck
"That's the only good part of today. She pooped her pants. She walked to the office with poopy pants to get her blood drawn and give us her poop. I never want to see poop or pee again." -naomi
"I'm going to have to unplug your xbox" - Courtney
"Whoa whoa whoa!"- Mike G
"Dude, calm your tits" -me
"No! These tits will not be calmed!" -Mike G
I can't help that my friends and I have some bizarre conversations; it's why I keep them as friends. I need to share the wealth of our awesome lives. It's not my fault that it's slightly and/or uncomfortably awkward out of context.
Saturday, January 11, 2014
Why I hate hookah bars
The atmosphere of many hookah bars are weird. It's almost always really dark with some kind of light show reminiscent of disco balls, usually blasting hip hop/rap songs. Don't get me wrong- I legit like most of the music- it's just that I have sensitive hearing and don't like to have to shout to be a part of a conversation. I'm already an introvert, so I tend not to talk unless I have something somewhat relevant. Having to shout doesn't help encourage me to join in.
Ok, that's a minor inconvenience.
The real issue is that I don't smoke. I have no idea why that's an issue, but it quickly becomes one. My friends know I'm not going to smoke and don't care that I'm not. They either offer once (maybe twice) out of courtesy or they don't ask at all. People who don't know me ask multiple times, usually in a nagging kind of way, as if it's inconceivable that anyone wouldn't want to smoke.
If there's a group, that's when they gang up on me and repeatedly ask (demand to know) why not? They say it's fun/ tastes good. Then they keep telling me it's not a drug, it's not even nicotine or it's not addictive. I know. I don't give a shit. It's not going to happen, kindly shut the fuck up. Thanks.
It's at that point I'm either so uncomfortable I want to (or actually do) leave or I've made them uncomfortable by being the wet blanket. Again, I don't give a shit about their feelings. I'm pissed that they won't drop the subject that I don't want to smoke. If they offered a cigarette and I said "no thanks," would they keep asking? No. From that moment on everyone would accept that I don't smoke. Life would go on.
The last time I went to one I assumed it would only be one, maybe two people I didn't know. There were five. I went with three of my friends and met up with another person I halfway know and his friends. EVERYONE asked multiple times, including my closest guy friend who knows just how uncomfortable I am.
The mood instantly changed when the group collectively realized that I absolutely would not bend. I was suddenly the lamest person on the planet, like "who the hell invited her?" I was incredibly pissed that my friend didn't stand up for me. It got worse when the new people (not my people) started talking about their various drug stories. I have never had the desire to do any drug, so... I was even farther outside of the cool kid's group.
The only saving grace that brought me out of the loser zone was that I had some of whatever alcohol another friend brought (I guess that proved I'm not a saint?). I drink occasionally, maybe two or three times a month, stopping when I get to a nice level of tipsy. When I get to the stage where I think more alcohol = more fun, the still sober-ish part of my brain cuts me off. I have really bizarre, unsettling dreams when I drink too much.
The moral of the story? So long as you partake in one of those aforementioned vices- smoking, drinking, various drugs- you'll be accepted by the cool kids.
Oh wait. No, that's a shitty moral.
Stick to your guns? I don't know. That's the best advice I have.
[Sidenote: I'm so sick of hearing why pot shouldn't be illegal. I've heard everything so many times I could scream. Seriously, SHUT THE FUCK UP! I couldn't possibly care less.]
Ok, that's a minor inconvenience.
The real issue is that I don't smoke. I have no idea why that's an issue, but it quickly becomes one. My friends know I'm not going to smoke and don't care that I'm not. They either offer once (maybe twice) out of courtesy or they don't ask at all. People who don't know me ask multiple times, usually in a nagging kind of way, as if it's inconceivable that anyone wouldn't want to smoke.
If there's a group, that's when they gang up on me and repeatedly ask (demand to know) why not? They say it's fun/ tastes good. Then they keep telling me it's not a drug, it's not even nicotine or it's not addictive. I know. I don't give a shit. It's not going to happen, kindly shut the fuck up. Thanks.
It's at that point I'm either so uncomfortable I want to (or actually do) leave or I've made them uncomfortable by being the wet blanket. Again, I don't give a shit about their feelings. I'm pissed that they won't drop the subject that I don't want to smoke. If they offered a cigarette and I said "no thanks," would they keep asking? No. From that moment on everyone would accept that I don't smoke. Life would go on.
The last time I went to one I assumed it would only be one, maybe two people I didn't know. There were five. I went with three of my friends and met up with another person I halfway know and his friends. EVERYONE asked multiple times, including my closest guy friend who knows just how uncomfortable I am.
The mood instantly changed when the group collectively realized that I absolutely would not bend. I was suddenly the lamest person on the planet, like "who the hell invited her?" I was incredibly pissed that my friend didn't stand up for me. It got worse when the new people (not my people) started talking about their various drug stories. I have never had the desire to do any drug, so... I was even farther outside of the cool kid's group.
The only saving grace that brought me out of the loser zone was that I had some of whatever alcohol another friend brought (I guess that proved I'm not a saint?). I drink occasionally, maybe two or three times a month, stopping when I get to a nice level of tipsy. When I get to the stage where I think more alcohol = more fun, the still sober-ish part of my brain cuts me off. I have really bizarre, unsettling dreams when I drink too much.
The moral of the story? So long as you partake in one of those aforementioned vices- smoking, drinking, various drugs- you'll be accepted by the cool kids.
Oh wait. No, that's a shitty moral.
Stick to your guns? I don't know. That's the best advice I have.
[Sidenote: I'm so sick of hearing why pot shouldn't be illegal. I've heard everything so many times I could scream. Seriously, SHUT THE FUCK UP! I couldn't possibly care less.]
Monday, December 9, 2013
My friend is still an asshole
This is the previously mentioned asshole who made me drink that energy drink that made me lose my shit. He likes getting on my facebook and changing my status to make me sound like a terrible person... or more awkward than I already am. I don't need help with that.
Here are some gems from the past:
penispenispenispenispenispenispenispenispenispenis
I love cheese (later adding) I now realize I have a fetish for cheese. I need help
taking a bath, poured a ton of jello mix in the water. Yolo
I like big butts and I can not lie. *sigh*
ass ass ass ass 0-okp[,ljo[pi;'][;po,l;o[l;[o (me trying to get the computer back)
chillin on a mountain of cocaine sippin on some malt liqa- feeling sexy
kicking a cat is great way to release anger
selling tea today, might try selling drugs tonight
big booty bitches are my kind of bitches
just shaved the hairs under my feet, feelin good
the cow says moo motherfucker
This has been happening increasingly over the past few months. I fought it and deleted the terrible ones, but I've given up almost entirely. The funny/sad part is now my friends can pick out the ones he's been writing. They either immediately ask if it was him or tell me I really need to log out of facebook.
He says it "makes me more interesting."
Asshat.
He's changed my cover photo twice. The first time:
aaaaaand here's the second one:
He thinks he's so funny. I need to hit him the next time I see him.
Another jerkwad "friend" at work (who regularly uses my phone to play songs on youtube) also posted a status.
I shat in the corner of the room... just thought everyone needed to know that. :-)
I give up.
Here are some gems from the past:
penispenispenispenispenispenispenispenispenispenis
I love cheese (later adding) I now realize I have a fetish for cheese. I need help
taking a bath, poured a ton of jello mix in the water. Yolo
I like big butts and I can not lie. *sigh*
ass ass ass ass 0-okp[,ljo[pi;'][;po,l;o[l;[o (me trying to get the computer back)
chillin on a mountain of cocaine sippin on some malt liqa- feeling sexy
kicking a cat is great way to release anger
selling tea today, might try selling drugs tonight
big booty bitches are my kind of bitches
just shaved the hairs under my feet, feelin good
the cow says moo motherfucker
This has been happening increasingly over the past few months. I fought it and deleted the terrible ones, but I've given up almost entirely. The funny/sad part is now my friends can pick out the ones he's been writing. They either immediately ask if it was him or tell me I really need to log out of facebook.
He says it "makes me more interesting."
Asshat.
He's changed my cover photo twice. The first time:
aaaaaand here's the second one:
He thinks he's so funny. I need to hit him the next time I see him.
Another jerkwad "friend" at work (who regularly uses my phone to play songs on youtube) also posted a status.
I shat in the corner of the room... just thought everyone needed to know that. :-)
I give up.
Wednesday, November 20, 2013
One of the reasons I'm so awkward
There's a definite scale of laughter volume:
silent (but still smiling, maybe a shoulder shake)
a slight "I think they're laughing"
somewhat louder (within normal range)
normal volume
loud
... then there's me.
It's not like I have a weird laugh, it's just far too loud.The truly unfortunate thing about this is that it's an enormous contrast to my everyday speech. I'm fairly quiet, which makes this even more startling. I've had people stare at me in public for my explosive laughter.
I made one of my nephews cry- several times- because my laughter scared him so badly. I think he's gotten used to it, but I still try to hold back a bit. This isn't the one who cried at the ugly faces I make. That was a different one. I'm such an amazing aunt :/
There's also my strange, often inappropriate, sense of humor. After 20+ years I've just barely started to catch myself before I make a death/corpse/hell/heaven/jesus/zombie joke at funerals. I don't realize how many times I reference any of those on a daily basis until I say something horrible that will send me to hell. There! I just mentioned going to hell. I shouldn't be allowed to talk.
For instance- I commented to my friend about Paris being the absolute worst place for a zombie attack because their entire city is built on dead people. Mountains of them, thanks to the black plague (seriously, look it up. Galveston as well, thanks to the storm of 1900). Even the way I phrased that proves I'm a terrible person. I made a "joke" that I'd definitely be the first to be killed in a zombie attack...
I said this while we were physically in the cemetery at a funeral.
For her aunt.
Cause I'm an asshole.
I'm unbelievably grateful that she wasn't offended and loves zombies. We stood off to the side and discussed what we would do if the attack happened at this exact moment. I still feel like an ass.
Back to my volume control problem- aside from the occasional stares in public, I can come across as insincere or like I'm a suck-up. There was a job interview where the boss made a joke- it was funny- but it was one where there was only need for a slight laugh. My laugh was quiet by my standards, too loud by their standards.
I get that comment "it wasn't that funny" a lot. Thanks for making me feel even more uncomfortable than I do on a regular basis.
I have to be very careful about what I read/watch in public if I think it's getting too funny for me to control myself. There's this one book ("Let's Pretend This Never Happened") that I truly wish I hadn't read in public. It was hilarious. I nearly died trying to keep myself in check. Don't get me wrong- I still looked weird as shit. I was rocking back and forth, shoulder shaking, couldn't breathe, unnaturally large smile. Basically either epileptic or the mutant in a horror movie bursting out of the human it was possessing. Terrifying.
Now I have step back from whatever hilarious situation I'm witnessing and give myself enough time to stop laughing unnaturally hard or loud. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. Lately I only look insane. Baby steps.
silent (but still smiling, maybe a shoulder shake)
a slight "I think they're laughing"
somewhat louder (within normal range)
normal volume
loud
... then there's me.
It's not like I have a weird laugh, it's just far too loud.The truly unfortunate thing about this is that it's an enormous contrast to my everyday speech. I'm fairly quiet, which makes this even more startling. I've had people stare at me in public for my explosive laughter.
I made one of my nephews cry- several times- because my laughter scared him so badly. I think he's gotten used to it, but I still try to hold back a bit. This isn't the one who cried at the ugly faces I make. That was a different one. I'm such an amazing aunt :/
There's also my strange, often inappropriate, sense of humor. After 20+ years I've just barely started to catch myself before I make a death/corpse/hell/heaven/jesus/zombie joke at funerals. I don't realize how many times I reference any of those on a daily basis until I say something horrible that will send me to hell. There! I just mentioned going to hell. I shouldn't be allowed to talk.
For instance- I commented to my friend about Paris being the absolute worst place for a zombie attack because their entire city is built on dead people. Mountains of them, thanks to the black plague (seriously, look it up. Galveston as well, thanks to the storm of 1900). Even the way I phrased that proves I'm a terrible person. I made a "joke" that I'd definitely be the first to be killed in a zombie attack...
I said this while we were physically in the cemetery at a funeral.
For her aunt.
Cause I'm an asshole.
I'm unbelievably grateful that she wasn't offended and loves zombies. We stood off to the side and discussed what we would do if the attack happened at this exact moment. I still feel like an ass.
Back to my volume control problem- aside from the occasional stares in public, I can come across as insincere or like I'm a suck-up. There was a job interview where the boss made a joke- it was funny- but it was one where there was only need for a slight laugh. My laugh was quiet by my standards, too loud by their standards.
I get that comment "it wasn't that funny" a lot. Thanks for making me feel even more uncomfortable than I do on a regular basis.
I have to be very careful about what I read/watch in public if I think it's getting too funny for me to control myself. There's this one book ("Let's Pretend This Never Happened") that I truly wish I hadn't read in public. It was hilarious. I nearly died trying to keep myself in check. Don't get me wrong- I still looked weird as shit. I was rocking back and forth, shoulder shaking, couldn't breathe, unnaturally large smile. Basically either epileptic or the mutant in a horror movie bursting out of the human it was possessing. Terrifying.
Now I have step back from whatever hilarious situation I'm witnessing and give myself enough time to stop laughing unnaturally hard or loud. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. Lately I only look insane. Baby steps.
Wednesday, October 23, 2013
dumb kid
So...I've fallen down the stairs three times this month. Ok, slipped and skidded, but still, three times is impressive for anyone over the age of five. My feet are stupid.
Let me tell you the story of how I broke my foot. It's pathetic and kinda funny.
Again, stupid feet. Stupid kid too. I was 8 on a church mission trip to Galveston. All the other kids were at least 5 years older than me, so I had no friends for an entire week. I was the tag-along little sister to everyone there. They were nice, but I could definitely feel the vibe of "ok, I didn't agree to babysit." The adults were adults, so they always did boring adult things. For the majority of the week I was awkwardly trying to be involved with anyone else or awkwardly by myself... much like now. Cue the world's smallest violin.
We all went to the beach and no one wanted to stay in the shallow end with me (especially since I did and unfortunately still do scream with seaweed touches me). I ended up wandering the shoreline for a while. The specific stretch of beach where we were had wooden bridges over massive sand dunes. Weird, I know. They were about 100 feet long, 4 feet high and a flat railing on the top:
Let me tell you the story of how I broke my foot. It's pathetic and kinda funny.
Again, stupid feet. Stupid kid too. I was 8 on a church mission trip to Galveston. All the other kids were at least 5 years older than me, so I had no friends for an entire week. I was the tag-along little sister to everyone there. They were nice, but I could definitely feel the vibe of "ok, I didn't agree to babysit." The adults were adults, so they always did boring adult things. For the majority of the week I was awkwardly trying to be involved with anyone else or awkwardly by myself... much like now. Cue the world's smallest violin.
We all went to the beach and no one wanted to stay in the shallow end with me (especially since I did and unfortunately still do scream with seaweed touches me). I ended up wandering the shoreline for a while. The specific stretch of beach where we were had wooden bridges over massive sand dunes. Weird, I know. They were about 100 feet long, 4 feet high and a flat railing on the top:
So naturally I had to climb on top and walk up and down the railing. When I got tired of the balancing beam act and actually got my footing I felt so tall.
Like everything stupid and inevitably disastrous, it started off fine and harmless. After a few jumps it lost its thrill. I backed up a few feet and did a running jump (Don't get ahead of me here). Awesome, but like an addict, I needed more danger. I backed up a few more feet. Repeat the process until I was doing halfway down the railing running jumps.
Then my go big or go home moment. Even I knew this was going to be amazing or stupid, though not logically thinking of the consequences. I was totally channeling Pocahontas. It was a glorious jump.
I don't know how I had been landing before this, but this time I was going for a gazelle-like leap. If Pocahontas could do it so could I! I couldn't. I landed on the top of my right foot, kind of landing on each bone individually and rolling onto the next one until my entire foot was on the ground. The rest of me just fell on the sand like a sack of flour.
I didn't feel any pain or panic or need for help. I just knew that something was wrong and I should probably not move for a minute or two. The adults stopped their adult things and came running from the campsite (which was pretty far away). The theory at the time was just that it was sprained ankle or a bone bruise- whatever the hell that means- and that I should keep my shoes on since it hurt way too much to take them off. No one guessed broken anything.
This was day 3. I was piggy-backed by different people for the rest of the trip.
When we got back home, my foot still hurt too much to walk more than a few feet. As it turned out I broke one bone and fractured the two next to it in the middle of my foot. Lime green cast for 6 weeks and I lied about not trying to scratch under the cast.
Aaand that's my broken bone/actual injury story. Everything else has been minor or boring.
Friday, October 11, 2013
synonym for intolerably clingy?
Ok, this has been my past week. I tried to condense it, but...
Friday afternoon this guy awkwardly sat next to me on the campus bus and said he had to talk to me because I'm "super cute."
Saturday morning he texted and set up a date that night. I, like an idiot, had given him my number. I still haven't learned to whip out the "I'm dating/have a boyfriend/am a lesbian" thing. I think I've learned it now. It was the classic movie date. He bought the tickets and the drinks (this is important later) and I thanked him (also important later). It was all slightly awkward. Okay really, if the movie hadn't been as great as it was, the night would've been terrible. There was no food involved.
Sunday morning he asked when we could hang out again and said that he woke up thinking about me. HE WOKE UP THINKING ABOUT ME. It hadn't been a full 48 hours since we met and he's already pulling this crap. Are you fucking serious?!
Monday- asked if/what time we could hang out again Tuesday. Thanks for smothering me. I was getting an increasingly weird vibe from him. I had to end it.
Tuesday- his text "Good morning. Sorry if I sound all mushy lol, but you're really beautiful."
Ugh. I am not- nor have I ever- been a romantic. Too many compliments and I automatically think this might be phase one of a serial killer. I know my shit; I watch Criminal Minds.
I met him later in the day to break it off in person because I'm nice like that. Ok, because I'm an idiot. We started having a normal conversation and I was trying not to blurt out "you're clingy and weird and I don't want to date you." Out of nowhere he asked if I was a virgin. (Literally. Like 'Do you think it's going to rain?' 'Probably. Are you a virgin?') Why the fuck would you ask someone that?! That is not the time or place to have that conversation. Keep in mind, this is 5 days after we met. I don't know if there's a way I can emphasize that immense level of creepiness. I don't talk about that part of my life. Ever. Even stating that here made me uncomfortable.
Shortly after that awkwardness, I said I didn't want a relationship of any kind- even dating- with anyone right now and I didn't want to lead him on. He said ok, I thought we parted as friendly acquaintances. There was still a part of me that couldn't shake the feeling that something was off.
30ish minutes later he texted and asked if there was a possibility of dating in the future; I'm the only girl he's liked in 3 years; I'm so smart and beautiful that he'd wait until I wanted to date ... He continued, asking if it was that I wasn't interested in him or just that I like being single. Then he asked if it was because he was a virgin. I don't know how the hell he thought that was even slightly relevant. Out of desperation, I used the lame "you're not my type" line.
I haven't responded to him since that. It's been a roller coaster of emotions with him from that moment on- I'm not his type either, he just thought I was interesting; he was just being nice when he said I'm beautiful; he's sorry he was mean, he was just upset; you're not physically beautiful at all.
Wednesday- He pulled some crap about it being a "small favor" to pay him back for the movie, especially since I never thanked him. Bitch please. I am not refundable. Go jump in front of a bus.
Thursday- Again, he asked for the money, saying I could meet him in a certain building at a certain time outside of the girl's bathroom. That's the most "I'm going to rape you" thing I've ever heard... aside from "I'm going to rape you." So no, that didn't happen.
Friday-Sunday- No contact. I thought he'd given up. Lured into a false sense of security.
Monday- he texted a very long, groveling apology. The question now is either continue to ignore him or call him a dick and say don't talk to me again... I'm still deciding.
I've had so many friends/family offers to kick his ass. Thanks. I love you all.
Friday afternoon this guy awkwardly sat next to me on the campus bus and said he had to talk to me because I'm "super cute."
Saturday morning he texted and set up a date that night. I, like an idiot, had given him my number. I still haven't learned to whip out the "I'm dating/have a boyfriend/am a lesbian" thing. I think I've learned it now. It was the classic movie date. He bought the tickets and the drinks (this is important later) and I thanked him (also important later). It was all slightly awkward. Okay really, if the movie hadn't been as great as it was, the night would've been terrible. There was no food involved.
Sunday morning he asked when we could hang out again and said that he woke up thinking about me. HE WOKE UP THINKING ABOUT ME. It hadn't been a full 48 hours since we met and he's already pulling this crap. Are you fucking serious?!
Monday- asked if/what time we could hang out again Tuesday. Thanks for smothering me. I was getting an increasingly weird vibe from him. I had to end it.
Tuesday- his text "Good morning. Sorry if I sound all mushy lol, but you're really beautiful."
Ugh. I am not- nor have I ever- been a romantic. Too many compliments and I automatically think this might be phase one of a serial killer. I know my shit; I watch Criminal Minds.
I met him later in the day to break it off in person because I'm nice like that. Ok, because I'm an idiot. We started having a normal conversation and I was trying not to blurt out "you're clingy and weird and I don't want to date you." Out of nowhere he asked if I was a virgin. (Literally. Like 'Do you think it's going to rain?' 'Probably. Are you a virgin?') Why the fuck would you ask someone that?! That is not the time or place to have that conversation. Keep in mind, this is 5 days after we met. I don't know if there's a way I can emphasize that immense level of creepiness. I don't talk about that part of my life. Ever. Even stating that here made me uncomfortable.
Shortly after that awkwardness, I said I didn't want a relationship of any kind- even dating- with anyone right now and I didn't want to lead him on. He said ok, I thought we parted as friendly acquaintances. There was still a part of me that couldn't shake the feeling that something was off.
30ish minutes later he texted and asked if there was a possibility of dating in the future; I'm the only girl he's liked in 3 years; I'm so smart and beautiful that he'd wait until I wanted to date ... He continued, asking if it was that I wasn't interested in him or just that I like being single. Then he asked if it was because he was a virgin. I don't know how the hell he thought that was even slightly relevant. Out of desperation, I used the lame "you're not my type" line.
I haven't responded to him since that. It's been a roller coaster of emotions with him from that moment on- I'm not his type either, he just thought I was interesting; he was just being nice when he said I'm beautiful; he's sorry he was mean, he was just upset; you're not physically beautiful at all.
Wednesday- He pulled some crap about it being a "small favor" to pay him back for the movie, especially since I never thanked him. Bitch please. I am not refundable. Go jump in front of a bus.
Thursday- Again, he asked for the money, saying I could meet him in a certain building at a certain time outside of the girl's bathroom. That's the most "I'm going to rape you" thing I've ever heard... aside from "I'm going to rape you." So no, that didn't happen.
Friday-Sunday- No contact. I thought he'd given up. Lured into a false sense of security.
Monday- he texted a very long, groveling apology. The question now is either continue to ignore him or call him a dick and say don't talk to me again... I'm still deciding.
I've had so many friends/family offers to kick his ass. Thanks. I love you all.
Saturday, September 28, 2013
It's fantastic to be plastic
Despite my rants, I'm a non-confrontational person and my anger dissipates fairly quickly- within five minutes, usually. If it's longer than that I just need to vent and have another five minutes and then I'm fine. Anything beyond that means shit just got real.
So I was on facebook and a friend of a friend (who I've met in real life and am cool with) posted a picture of classic Barbie next to a shorter, thicker one. He captioned it with "they gave barbie a beer belly so the fat girls won't feel so fat."
For serious. I had to re-read it multiple times to make sure he really said something so dick-ish. That's a direct quote. He was just that much of a dick. It struck a chord in me.
Like most little girls, I had thought Barbie was the prettiest and I wanted to look just like her. I had even considered being a blonde because there weren't many brunette dolls, obviously meaning blondes were more valued. I consoled myself with having the same blue eyes.
Puberty screwed me up. My hips exploded overnight and I got a booty soon after. I no longer had the stick-straight figure I took for granted. Barbie didn't have curves. No one explained my hips were a result of my skeletal structure- my pelvic bone would always be the same width and nothing I could do could change that.
I spent years thinking I was fat and feeling like I was ugly since everything I tried didn't make that part thinner. All through middle and high school I was convinced: wide hips = fat.
Seeing him diss the "beer belly Barbie" made something in me snap. I had read about this barbie a few months back and fully supported it. She didn't have a beer gut; she wasn't fat. She was a normal woman. The artist had taken the statistics of the average 19 year old American girl and scaled it down to create a realistic doll.
At first glance she does look chubby and awkwardly short in comparison (with a really big butt). Everything about her looks more exaggerated until you think about the women you see on a regular basis. Ever since I can remember I've heard people talk about how unrealistic Barbie is, but to see how drastic of a difference there still took me a second to process. Do I seriously look like that? The more I thought of it, the more I agreed with the modern version... especially the butt.
I couldn't let go or stop myself. Here's what he got:
"the whole point of this version of barbie was to show the proportion of the average woman so little girls won't compare themselves to an unobtainable standard of beauty and feel like shit about themselves."
I added this link:
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2308658/How-Barbies-body-size-look-real-life-Walking-fours-missing-half-liver-inches-intestine.html
Perhaps I was too harsh with my comment. Actually, no. I was nicer than I wanted to be. Much, much nicer. He's lucky I took moment to calm the fuck down. It didn't work. I read his post and tried to brush it off. I came back an hour later and had to respond. I tried to be as diplomatic as I possibly could- I can get really fucking mean if I give myself permission to go into full-blown bitch mode. Sometimes heartless.
It's been three hours and he is always on facebook.
One of his friends liked my comment.
He has yet to respond.
I fucking win.
For the record, I'm comfortable with my body now. Ironically, I think my hips are one of my best features.
So I was on facebook and a friend of a friend (who I've met in real life and am cool with) posted a picture of classic Barbie next to a shorter, thicker one. He captioned it with "they gave barbie a beer belly so the fat girls won't feel so fat."
For serious. I had to re-read it multiple times to make sure he really said something so dick-ish. That's a direct quote. He was just that much of a dick. It struck a chord in me.
Like most little girls, I had thought Barbie was the prettiest and I wanted to look just like her. I had even considered being a blonde because there weren't many brunette dolls, obviously meaning blondes were more valued. I consoled myself with having the same blue eyes.
Puberty screwed me up. My hips exploded overnight and I got a booty soon after. I no longer had the stick-straight figure I took for granted. Barbie didn't have curves. No one explained my hips were a result of my skeletal structure- my pelvic bone would always be the same width and nothing I could do could change that.
I spent years thinking I was fat and feeling like I was ugly since everything I tried didn't make that part thinner. All through middle and high school I was convinced: wide hips = fat.
Seeing him diss the "beer belly Barbie" made something in me snap. I had read about this barbie a few months back and fully supported it. She didn't have a beer gut; she wasn't fat. She was a normal woman. The artist had taken the statistics of the average 19 year old American girl and scaled it down to create a realistic doll.
At first glance she does look chubby and awkwardly short in comparison (with a really big butt). Everything about her looks more exaggerated until you think about the women you see on a regular basis. Ever since I can remember I've heard people talk about how unrealistic Barbie is, but to see how drastic of a difference there still took me a second to process. Do I seriously look like that? The more I thought of it, the more I agreed with the modern version... especially the butt.
I couldn't let go or stop myself. Here's what he got:
"the whole point of this version of barbie was to show the proportion of the average woman so little girls won't compare themselves to an unobtainable standard of beauty and feel like shit about themselves."
I added this link:
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2308658/How-Barbies-body-size-look-real-life-Walking-fours-missing-half-liver-inches-intestine.html
Perhaps I was too harsh with my comment. Actually, no. I was nicer than I wanted to be. Much, much nicer. He's lucky I took moment to calm the fuck down. It didn't work. I read his post and tried to brush it off. I came back an hour later and had to respond. I tried to be as diplomatic as I possibly could- I can get really fucking mean if I give myself permission to go into full-blown bitch mode. Sometimes heartless.
It's been three hours and he is always on facebook.
One of his friends liked my comment.
He has yet to respond.
I fucking win.
For the record, I'm comfortable with my body now. Ironically, I think my hips are one of my best features.
Sunday, September 22, 2013
Bullshitter Extraordinaire
My favorite slacker story- the summer before last I had to take ballet to fill my P.E. credit. I'm not super coordinated, so I figured I'd be bad at it, but anything is better than running. I never run. I would be the first to die in a zombie apocalypse.
As I predicted, I was bad and not nearly as flexible as I thought. That being said, I actually liked it. I almost bumped into people when we were "learning" the choreography (which I really sucked at remembering) but it was pretty cool.
The shit thing about this class were the research papers. It was a month and a half course and we had 2 papers. I think I tried on the first one because it was really short/not supposed to be as detailed. I don't remember what it was about, so either I worked on it the honest way or it wasn't worth bullshitting. The research paper though. GAH. 5 pages on a famous ballerina with I don't remember how many sources.
I hate everything about research papers. Literally everything. I purposely avoided the super famous ballerinas (Isadora Duncan, for instance. Practically invented modern dance, had an unfortunate love of scarfs) because there's far too much info I didn't want to have to sift through. I went to the Houston opera website and picked a random person. I thought it'd be cool to see her in a performance later if I ever got the chance.
Amy Fote. I found where she went to school, that she was graceful, she was the star of a particular ballet. That's all I had. That's not even half a page of information and that's all I could find. I tried writing it multiple times, fully intending on being an honest student, but I couldn't stretch that little amount into five pages. So I did what any other college kid does in that situation- I procrastinated and did it the night before. Rephrase- the morning of.
Yep. I started the paper at 6am and bullshat 5 pages in about 5 hours (mostly because I have annoyingly high standards for myself, so everything had to be perfect). I said she was a beautiful, graceful dancer at least ten times. It's all about synonyms. Find a part you like and just rephrase it again and again and again and again and again until you have enough of that one thought. Move on to the next piece of info. Rephrase that one again and again and again...
I ran out of information to bullshit on, so I had to look up and explain- in great detail- what her most famous role was, how that character fit in with the story, what the story is actually about. Desperate times call for desperate measures. I don't think I made up any sources though.
I finished the paper right at the time I usually left and I thought my heart was going to explode. I've never done anything so close to the deadline up until that point and didn't have time to second guess myself. I just hoped for the best.
A week or so later the professor gave the papers back. I miraculously got a 98. She only knocked points of for getting someone's job title wrong, mostly because the person to whom I was referring to was a giant dick and a personal enemy of my professor.
After class, she asked me to stay behind and talk. I knew I was dead. She was going to murder my face off so hard.
Amy Fote is her son's best friend's girlfriend. They talk regularly. They've known each other for years.
She said she called the best friend to let him know one of her students wrote a paper about his girlfriend. It was really cool hearing that...until I remembered just how much I made up. I offhandedly asked if she had let Amy read it. She said no, but did joke that now Amy is famous.
I'm still a bit surprised it worked, but now I have another BS tactic. Small world though.
As I predicted, I was bad and not nearly as flexible as I thought. That being said, I actually liked it. I almost bumped into people when we were "learning" the choreography (which I really sucked at remembering) but it was pretty cool.
The shit thing about this class were the research papers. It was a month and a half course and we had 2 papers. I think I tried on the first one because it was really short/not supposed to be as detailed. I don't remember what it was about, so either I worked on it the honest way or it wasn't worth bullshitting. The research paper though. GAH. 5 pages on a famous ballerina with I don't remember how many sources.
I hate everything about research papers. Literally everything. I purposely avoided the super famous ballerinas (Isadora Duncan, for instance. Practically invented modern dance, had an unfortunate love of scarfs) because there's far too much info I didn't want to have to sift through. I went to the Houston opera website and picked a random person. I thought it'd be cool to see her in a performance later if I ever got the chance.
Amy Fote. I found where she went to school, that she was graceful, she was the star of a particular ballet. That's all I had. That's not even half a page of information and that's all I could find. I tried writing it multiple times, fully intending on being an honest student, but I couldn't stretch that little amount into five pages. So I did what any other college kid does in that situation- I procrastinated and did it the night before. Rephrase- the morning of.
Yep. I started the paper at 6am and bullshat 5 pages in about 5 hours (mostly because I have annoyingly high standards for myself, so everything had to be perfect). I said she was a beautiful, graceful dancer at least ten times. It's all about synonyms. Find a part you like and just rephrase it again and again and again and again and again until you have enough of that one thought. Move on to the next piece of info. Rephrase that one again and again and again...
I ran out of information to bullshit on, so I had to look up and explain- in great detail- what her most famous role was, how that character fit in with the story, what the story is actually about. Desperate times call for desperate measures. I don't think I made up any sources though.
I finished the paper right at the time I usually left and I thought my heart was going to explode. I've never done anything so close to the deadline up until that point and didn't have time to second guess myself. I just hoped for the best.
A week or so later the professor gave the papers back. I miraculously got a 98. She only knocked points of for getting someone's job title wrong, mostly because the person to whom I was referring to was a giant dick and a personal enemy of my professor.
After class, she asked me to stay behind and talk. I knew I was dead. She was going to murder my face off so hard.
Amy Fote is her son's best friend's girlfriend. They talk regularly. They've known each other for years.
She said she called the best friend to let him know one of her students wrote a paper about his girlfriend. It was really cool hearing that...until I remembered just how much I made up. I offhandedly asked if she had let Amy read it. She said no, but did joke that now Amy is famous.
I'm still a bit surprised it worked, but now I have another BS tactic. Small world though.
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
giraffe(purple/x) < 17-3.754*daisy= SHUT UP
I hate math. Passionately hate it. I'd rather slam my head against a wall until I lose consciousness. That'd be great.
So, when I transferred to this new college, my counselor at the previous one assured me that I was done with math once I passed college algebra. It took several attempts to get through it, but eventually I did. I was so happy/relieved when I was free of it all.
She lied.
Bitch.
I got to my new school and the new counselor (who is directly in charge of my major, unlike the other one who was just a general one) said I still have to take another one. Hooray.
Of course, I've already forgotten a lot of the stuff I had somewhat memorized (but not fully understood). The other fun part is this is largely based on vocabulary and the definitions are awkwardly worded and are overly complex. It's as if they need to make it as lengthy as possible to justify it being a college class instead of high school geometry part 2. This class is even called "Math Reasoning"...
"an angle bisector is a line that starts at the vertex and extends outward to separate an angle into two smaller angles with equal degree measurement for each of the new angles."
Put a line through the middle of the angle. Now those two are the same size. Boom.
I should be in charge of writing math books. Short, sweet, to the point. When you get someone that likes their subject, they explain in far too much detail. Don't ask me about history or english. I can go on for a while. Ask someone who hates the subject- they will always give you the shortest, easiest answer to get through with the conversation as quickly as possible.
For instance, I had a geometry teacher in high school who openly admitted she always hated math growing up. She found and taught the short-cuts because she had tried everything herself. "Think of each problems as a puzzle; it'll make it tolerable." She was definitely one of my best teachers (as far as things I learned. Her personality was a bit abrasive. We got along, but her personality was very different than my own). I will never forget the quadratic formula, thanks to her creating a song.
>to the tune of pop-goes the weasel
(x is equal to the opposite of B, plus or minus the square root of B square minus 4AC, all over 2A.) And yes, I did sing that in my head as I was typing that... because I'm a huge dork.
My other frustration with my current math class is that my book still hasn't come in. It's been a week and a half. The website said 5 days. I hate everyone.
Sadly enough, I'm not a hateful person. I know my constant ranting throughout the previous posts show otherwise, I just have the timing of being irritated when I'm on my computer.
There may or may not be a correlation between the two on that one...
So, when I transferred to this new college, my counselor at the previous one assured me that I was done with math once I passed college algebra. It took several attempts to get through it, but eventually I did. I was so happy/relieved when I was free of it all.
She lied.
Bitch.
I got to my new school and the new counselor (who is directly in charge of my major, unlike the other one who was just a general one) said I still have to take another one. Hooray.
Of course, I've already forgotten a lot of the stuff I had somewhat memorized (but not fully understood). The other fun part is this is largely based on vocabulary and the definitions are awkwardly worded and are overly complex. It's as if they need to make it as lengthy as possible to justify it being a college class instead of high school geometry part 2. This class is even called "Math Reasoning"...
"an angle bisector is a line that starts at the vertex and extends outward to separate an angle into two smaller angles with equal degree measurement for each of the new angles."
Put a line through the middle of the angle. Now those two are the same size. Boom.
I should be in charge of writing math books. Short, sweet, to the point. When you get someone that likes their subject, they explain in far too much detail. Don't ask me about history or english. I can go on for a while. Ask someone who hates the subject- they will always give you the shortest, easiest answer to get through with the conversation as quickly as possible.
For instance, I had a geometry teacher in high school who openly admitted she always hated math growing up. She found and taught the short-cuts because she had tried everything herself. "Think of each problems as a puzzle; it'll make it tolerable." She was definitely one of my best teachers (as far as things I learned. Her personality was a bit abrasive. We got along, but her personality was very different than my own). I will never forget the quadratic formula, thanks to her creating a song.
>to the tune of pop-goes the weasel
(x is equal to the opposite of B, plus or minus the square root of B square minus 4AC, all over 2A.) And yes, I did sing that in my head as I was typing that... because I'm a huge dork.
My other frustration with my current math class is that my book still hasn't come in. It's been a week and a half. The website said 5 days. I hate everyone.
Sadly enough, I'm not a hateful person. I know my constant ranting throughout the previous posts show otherwise, I just have the timing of being irritated when I'm on my computer.
There may or may not be a correlation between the two on that one...
Tuesday, August 27, 2013
Uncomfortable Email Skank
Here's a post to distract myself from how much I hate everything school related. Why do I have to sign up for 5 different websites to turn stuff in? Why aren't ANY of these bastards letting me log in? Yeah, I'm pissed. Anyways...
I'm going through my spam email (something I've never, ever done) and I have one from someone named Adriana. I don't know her; she clearly has the wrong person. I am definitely not a dude. It's both funny and weird. All typos from this point on are entirely on purpose. It's painful.
Essentially, she's moving RIGHT EFFING NEAR me and I'm the only person she knows, aside from 3 cousins, but she cant chill with them. "We've" talked about chillin before and now that she's single we can. "I" told her she was cute and she "thoguth" I was cute too. She's 23, a virgo (thanks for including that. Horoscopes are the only valid way to summarize personality), has a cat, and is "a super horny gurl... ilove p0rn."
Awkward. It gets worse.
When she moves down here enxt week she needs a job- do I have any hookups? Right now she works from home and even though she CULD continue with that job she has, she'd prefer anythign for a change. She's on one of those nude webcam websites doing exactly what you'd expect. In her own words:
"i figure iim horny anyways why not get paid to chat with people and play with myself heheh...anyways i hope u dont look down on that and NO THATS NOT WHY IM CONTACTING U RELAX URSELF lol"
She then proceeds to give me a link for 3 free codes to "chat wit her" since it's the only way to contact her these days, but said if I login "ill shoot u myc ell number and u can gimme yours.." But she warned if I shared that code with anyone else "ILL KICK U IN THE BALLS INSTEAD OF LICK U IN THE BALLS WHEN IS EE U"
Obviously this negates the whole pretense of giving the code to only chat, not see her get naked and...
She signed off by saying xoxox Adriana.
So yeah...that happened.
I'm going through my spam email (something I've never, ever done) and I have one from someone named Adriana. I don't know her; she clearly has the wrong person. I am definitely not a dude. It's both funny and weird. All typos from this point on are entirely on purpose. It's painful.
Essentially, she's moving RIGHT EFFING NEAR me and I'm the only person she knows, aside from 3 cousins, but she cant chill with them. "We've" talked about chillin before and now that she's single we can. "I" told her she was cute and she "thoguth" I was cute too. She's 23, a virgo (thanks for including that. Horoscopes are the only valid way to summarize personality), has a cat, and is "a super horny gurl... ilove p0rn."
Awkward. It gets worse.
When she moves down here enxt week she needs a job- do I have any hookups? Right now she works from home and even though she CULD continue with that job she has, she'd prefer anythign for a change. She's on one of those nude webcam websites doing exactly what you'd expect. In her own words:
"i figure iim horny anyways why not get paid to chat with people and play with myself heheh...anyways i hope u dont look down on that and NO THATS NOT WHY IM CONTACTING U RELAX URSELF lol"
She then proceeds to give me a link for 3 free codes to "chat wit her" since it's the only way to contact her these days, but said if I login "ill shoot u myc ell number and u can gimme yours.." But she warned if I shared that code with anyone else "ILL KICK U IN THE BALLS INSTEAD OF LICK U IN THE BALLS WHEN IS EE U"
Obviously this negates the whole pretense of giving the code to only chat, not see her get naked and...
She signed off by saying xoxox Adriana.
So yeah...that happened.
Monday, August 5, 2013
Creepy Sleeper
I've always talked in my sleep. Literally always. I still do, quite a lot, but I've started sleepwalking again. I used to do it all the time as a kid, but it's fairly rare these days. That's probably why it's particularly disturbing.
Apparently it's getting worse than it's ever been. In addition to talking and sitting up, I've been walking around the house, just disappearing downstairs for long periods of time.
For instance, a few years ago my mom found me standing in the bathroom with my forehead against the wall. It was about 4 am. My eyes were open, but it was obvious I wasn't awake. She asked if I was ok, I said I didn't know, and she led me back to my room. I didn't remember anything the next morning.
Fast forward to the present- my friend has been living with me for the past two months for school. Unfortunately for her, she is a very light sleeper. This means when my bizzare antics start she is 100% captive. I will sit straight up in bed and not do anything for several minutes- my hair covering my face. Sometimes I will make noises or speak while this is happening. You get used to this. Eventually.
Fast forward to the present- my friend has been living with me for the past two months for school. Unfortunately for her, she is a very light sleeper. This means when my bizzare antics start she is 100% captive. I will sit straight up in bed and not do anything for several minutes- my hair covering my face. Sometimes I will make noises or speak while this is happening. You get used to this. Eventually.
The first few nights I was either silent or not noticeably doing anything out of the ordinary...which is flailing. I have always/will probably always flail. After a few nights I started quietly mumbling incoherently. That's when things went south.
One night I walked across the room and jabbed her very hard in the arm repeatedly. I shook my finger at her and yelled "WHAT IF?"..."WHAT IF?!!"and went back to my bed, laid down... immediately sat up again and yelled "WHAT IF" again. I slept for a few minutes and yelled out of nowhere. No words, just a shout.
In another recent incident I had slept over at a friend's house and stood on the bed. Not next to, ON the bed. I walked in place, nudged her with my foot repeatedly, lost my balance, fell off the bed, got back on, stared at her, then continued to nudge her. Just as quickly and abruptly, I laid back down and cuddled uncomfortably close to her. I let out a huge sigh into her ear before I went back to a normal people sleep. She said she thought I was possessed. She couldn't sleep for the rest of the night.
It's not all bad though; I am a very affectionate person. I love cuddling and spooning... but the draw-back in that is I will do it whether you want it or not. I will follow whoever it is to be next to them, no matter the size of the bed. Being in that awkward situation is better than the alternative though.
I already mentioned I flail constantly, so the only way to stay safe is to stay within spooning distance. Deal with excess body heat and personal space invasion or deal with pain. My ex usually went with the second option and told me horror stories in the morning. He stopped mentioning the kicking since it was practically every night. After a few months he even stopped telling me I slapped, punched, or elbowed him. He did tell me about the few times I shoved him into the wall or off the bed.
It was his fault for not spooning.
In another recent incident I had slept over at a friend's house and stood on the bed. Not next to, ON the bed. I walked in place, nudged her with my foot repeatedly, lost my balance, fell off the bed, got back on, stared at her, then continued to nudge her. Just as quickly and abruptly, I laid back down and cuddled uncomfortably close to her. I let out a huge sigh into her ear before I went back to a normal people sleep. She said she thought I was possessed. She couldn't sleep for the rest of the night.
It's not all bad though; I am a very affectionate person. I love cuddling and spooning... but the draw-back in that is I will do it whether you want it or not. I will follow whoever it is to be next to them, no matter the size of the bed. Being in that awkward situation is better than the alternative though.
I already mentioned I flail constantly, so the only way to stay safe is to stay within spooning distance. Deal with excess body heat and personal space invasion or deal with pain. My ex usually went with the second option and told me horror stories in the morning. He stopped mentioning the kicking since it was practically every night. After a few months he even stopped telling me I slapped, punched, or elbowed him. He did tell me about the few times I shoved him into the wall or off the bed.
It was his fault for not spooning.
Apparently it's getting worse than it's ever been. In addition to talking and sitting up, I've been walking around the house, just disappearing downstairs for long periods of time.
I'm not longer surprised at all of the mystery bruises I find or the times I wake up more tired than I went to sleep. I just hope it doesn't get to the point where the doors have to be locked to keep me from escaping in the middle of the night :/
Tuesday, July 2, 2013
My computer is a whore
Or my internet is a bitch. Whichever, probably both.
Wireless internet is great in theory, and if you have a good system it's fantastic. Mine can go to hell. Seriously. I'm two feet away from the "wireless" thing and I have half a bar. It's like the stars have to be in the right position for it to do its job correctly. This is bullshit. My attention span isn't long enough to wait twenty fucking minutes to watch a four minute video. I need stupid cat videos and music videos and endless hours of facebook! I need uber fast speed and multiple tabs open in the off-chance I'll quickly do something productive (e-mail?) in the midst of my shenanigans.
It doesn't help thats it's two in the morning, so I'm tired and everything is pissing me off more than usual. And my big fat fatty fat fat cat Danny got in my lap- who I love- but he only used me to scratch his face. Of course he's never satisfied with what amount of time I'm giving him, so he claws my damn hand to keep me there. I don't know how or why his claws are so sharp but dear god! The cool part about that is I'm anemic, so those scratches will never ever heal...
Thanks to mr. fat here taking my hand, I've been typing one handed. When HE decided I was done scratching his face, he just slumped into my hand, not even trying to hold himself up, and has been putting his whole damn weight in my hand. This entire post has been one-handed. I've had to switch once, but I haven't written any with both hands- not even the title. I'm just that dedicated. Or pissed. Who am I kidding? I'm Irish- I'm always double dedicated when I'm pissed.
For the record, this has taken 24 minutes to write, thus far.
Wireless internet is great in theory, and if you have a good system it's fantastic. Mine can go to hell. Seriously. I'm two feet away from the "wireless" thing and I have half a bar. It's like the stars have to be in the right position for it to do its job correctly. This is bullshit. My attention span isn't long enough to wait twenty fucking minutes to watch a four minute video. I need stupid cat videos and music videos and endless hours of facebook! I need uber fast speed and multiple tabs open in the off-chance I'll quickly do something productive (e-mail?) in the midst of my shenanigans.
It doesn't help thats it's two in the morning, so I'm tired and everything is pissing me off more than usual. And my big fat fatty fat fat cat Danny got in my lap- who I love- but he only used me to scratch his face. Of course he's never satisfied with what amount of time I'm giving him, so he claws my damn hand to keep me there. I don't know how or why his claws are so sharp but dear god! The cool part about that is I'm anemic, so those scratches will never ever heal...
Thanks to mr. fat here taking my hand, I've been typing one handed. When HE decided I was done scratching his face, he just slumped into my hand, not even trying to hold himself up, and has been putting his whole damn weight in my hand. This entire post has been one-handed. I've had to switch once, but I haven't written any with both hands- not even the title. I'm just that dedicated. Or pissed. Who am I kidding? I'm Irish- I'm always double dedicated when I'm pissed.
For the record, this has taken 24 minutes to write, thus far.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)