Get ready, I'm about to let loose.
Basically, I was promised the master bedroom way back in April and Roommate is giving it to someone else. And I'll have to--horror of horrors--share a bathroom. Roommate will be gone, and I will be "property manager" since I was there last year. Oh, gee, thanks, I get the none of the benefits but all of the work.
I'm definitely moving out. It's unfair, especially because we didn't need an additional roommate in the first place, Roommate just wanted one for "lowered rent." And I guess the girl preferred the Master and was unwilling to give it up. Even though by the time Roommate contacted her the master was already taken--BY ME. WHAT THE FUCK?? I can't share a bathroom. I just cannot. And besides that, it's the principle of the whole situation. I'm throwing shade at this new girl. Who the FUCK does she think she is?? Which is precisely what I will be asking her on this conference call this weekend. Best believe I'm calling Roommate first to get some fucking answers.
fndk;ashfi;aerghi;adhgi;dfhgis;dlhgoad;ghos;hgoad;hga'gha'hg'oaaaskij
Yeah, that about sums it up.
Showing posts with label don't make me sock you. Show all posts
Showing posts with label don't make me sock you. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Monday, July 20, 2009
Bridezillas Explored
Did anybody see Bridezillas on Sunday? With Karee from Madison, WI? Who was by all accounts--eyewitness and Twitter-wise--an evil bitch with a bad weave? So many thoughts ran through my head.
-These women are lashing out at everyone because they're totally insecure about their upcoming nuptials/their relationships/their situation. Case in point: I guess Karee got her dress for a song and a dance and it showed because she sewed crystals on it for a "Vera Wang" look. When she realized that it still looked cheap, you could see the embarrassment on her face that she had to get married in that travesty. So what does she do? Yell at her poor friend. Same thing with the place cards. She picked them out and she knew they looked like shit so she complained about them. Bitch, accept your lot in life!
-Do these women ever realize that since they're the only ones making the decisions, when the finished product comes out looking stupid they really have only themselves to blame? Karee, you picked out the chocolates without tasting them and told your poor fiancee to get a bagful. Now you're the shmuck stuck with the ass-tasting truffles. Them's the breaks.
-Most to all of the weddings look tacky as hell. From the dresses to the venue, these affairs are usually an all-around fail, highlighted even more by...
-The tiny guess list! These weddings are attended by a sad, scant number of folks. Why? Because these bitches are mean. They have no friends. Just the scared few who are in the wedding (and even those folks are quick to drop out at the bride's shenanigans). Everyone else they've ever met has run away screaming.
-This can't be real.
-She is really mean. Why don't these men leave these horrid women? Obviously they have seen these women's inner and outer bitches and still want to marry them. But why? Is the P that good?
-Does Bridezillas have "Where Are They Now?" specials? I bet half these marriages fizzled. I wonder if any of these women feel badly for their behavior. Probably not.
-Is she really treating her future mother-in-law that way? Is this woman really taking it? Heidi is scared of Karee that's why. I hate unappreciative people. That box did look kinda busted though, on the real. Still, it's the thought that counts! I wouldn't have bought her ass nothing, let alone made something...
I tell ya. And this girl was 20. I'm 20. Thisbusted mean-ass girl found a man willing to marry her. What is this world coming to? Is a woman acting like a "Bridezilla" reason enough to call off the wedding? Methinks so, but that's 'cause I can't stand mean people--these women deserve to be alone unhappy. Thoughts?
-These women are lashing out at everyone because they're totally insecure about their upcoming nuptials/their relationships/their situation. Case in point: I guess Karee got her dress for a song and a dance and it showed because she sewed crystals on it for a "Vera Wang" look. When she realized that it still looked cheap, you could see the embarrassment on her face that she had to get married in that travesty. So what does she do? Yell at her poor friend. Same thing with the place cards. She picked them out and she knew they looked like shit so she complained about them. Bitch, accept your lot in life!
-Do these women ever realize that since they're the only ones making the decisions, when the finished product comes out looking stupid they really have only themselves to blame? Karee, you picked out the chocolates without tasting them and told your poor fiancee to get a bagful. Now you're the shmuck stuck with the ass-tasting truffles. Them's the breaks.
-Most to all of the weddings look tacky as hell. From the dresses to the venue, these affairs are usually an all-around fail, highlighted even more by...
-The tiny guess list! These weddings are attended by a sad, scant number of folks. Why? Because these bitches are mean. They have no friends. Just the scared few who are in the wedding (and even those folks are quick to drop out at the bride's shenanigans). Everyone else they've ever met has run away screaming.
-This can't be real.
-She is really mean. Why don't these men leave these horrid women? Obviously they have seen these women's inner and outer bitches and still want to marry them. But why? Is the P that good?
-Does Bridezillas have "Where Are They Now?" specials? I bet half these marriages fizzled. I wonder if any of these women feel badly for their behavior. Probably not.
-Is she really treating her future mother-in-law that way? Is this woman really taking it? Heidi is scared of Karee that's why. I hate unappreciative people. That box did look kinda busted though, on the real. Still, it's the thought that counts! I wouldn't have bought her ass nothing, let alone made something...
I tell ya. And this girl was 20. I'm 20. This
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Founded Fountains
Feeling kinda cranky today, yall :-( also, at work typing on my Blackberry so things are a little cramped...
I'm a rather passionate person. You could say emotional, I suppose, but I'm fairly even-keeled. However, there was a time in Lucky's youth where she was shy, sensitive, and prone to tears with the right provocation. Now, despite the, ahem, outgoing-ness (loudness), at my core I'm still the shy, quiet sixth grader who'd curl up with a book all afternoon.
Crying, on the other hand, is something I rarely do. But in remembrance of those early days, let me say this: I hate, loathe, and abhor when someone admonishes a teary person to "Stop crying." Screw you, I'll cry if I want to! (Wkcite Leslie Gore, 1963)
Seriously. Different things set people off, and just because I'm not moved to tears by something doesn't give me the right inflict that onto someone else! Not talking about kids crying or people dramatically fake-sobbing, but real tears over something.
"Don't cry" is kind of in the same vein, but people say that a little kinder. Still, it's the principle, methinks. So the next time someone's sobbing over a TV show or whatever, be a good Samaritan and hand them a tissue.
Do it for me.
I'm a rather passionate person. You could say emotional, I suppose, but I'm fairly even-keeled. However, there was a time in Lucky's youth where she was shy, sensitive, and prone to tears with the right provocation. Now, despite the, ahem, outgoing-ness (loudness), at my core I'm still the shy, quiet sixth grader who'd curl up with a book all afternoon.
Crying, on the other hand, is something I rarely do. But in remembrance of those early days, let me say this: I hate, loathe, and abhor when someone admonishes a teary person to "Stop crying." Screw you, I'll cry if I want to! (Wkcite Leslie Gore, 1963)
Seriously. Different things set people off, and just because I'm not moved to tears by something doesn't give me the right inflict that onto someone else! Not talking about kids crying or people dramatically fake-sobbing, but real tears over something.
"Don't cry" is kind of in the same vein, but people say that a little kinder. Still, it's the principle, methinks. So the next time someone's sobbing over a TV show or whatever, be a good Samaritan and hand them a tissue.
Do it for me.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
On the Subject of Michael
I watched the Michael Jackson memorial all day** and I'm damn proud of it.
**as best I could, I was at work. But I saw pretty much the whole thing.
I (somewhat) pity the people who let rumors, lies, and con artists help tear this man down. Being the huge superfan that I am, ordinarily I would love the coverage on MJ, but the reason for it makes it the total opposite. I'd completely trade constant coverage if it meant he was around somewhere, hanging out with his kids.
Also not afraid to say that if you talk shit about the King of Pop--now--I like you a teeny bit less. It is what it be.
Sorry I'm on a bit of a rant, it's been a long few weeks. MJ for life.
**as best I could, I was at work. But I saw pretty much the whole thing.
I (somewhat) pity the people who let rumors, lies, and con artists help tear this man down. Being the huge superfan that I am, ordinarily I would love the coverage on MJ, but the reason for it makes it the total opposite. I'd completely trade constant coverage if it meant he was around somewhere, hanging out with his kids.
Also not afraid to say that if you talk shit about the King of Pop--now--I like you a teeny bit less. It is what it be.
Sorry I'm on a bit of a rant, it's been a long few weeks. MJ for life.
Friday, June 12, 2009
I Need a Financial Bailout
I often joke around when the words aren't flowing like I need them to, saying things like "Who hired me?" "Why did I choose to be a writer?" in jest, of course.
This WNBA internship affords me lots of opportunities to write stories, one thing I thought I was good at--well, people have told me I'm good at, some [ok many] days I think I suck and words just appear out of my ass and apparently people like them. Or did they?
Maybe it's a college-to-professional growing pains thing. I know the ins and outs of editing and journalism and critiquing but let me be a baby for a second: WAAAHHH MY "EDITOR" KEEPS CHANGING MY STORIES TOTALLY AROUND AND I'M STARTING TO THINK I SUCK FOR REAL FOR REALS. *pouts*
End rant. I'm going to be mature about this and ask that instead of me turning in a story and reading something completely different (I get that my writing needs work...or do I? See above) I could work more closely with him as he edits, time permitting of course. Is that a good idea? I hope it is. I might chicken out though--which I doubt because my "editor" is cool. I put "editor" in quotes because he's probably not even thirty yet and he reminds me of Seth Cohen. Totally not intimidating. Anyway, I'm going to learn from this internship if it kills me: this is just what I need, someone totally unbiased to edit, rearrange, prune, Botox, chop, screw, sautee, and iron out my wrinkly articles until they are silky smooth with perfection. But I want my stories to sound different from his, you know? He's a really good writer (I'm jealous/admiring) but he's not me, and if I've learned anything it's that you (I) need your own writing voice, which I'm working on, by the way.
Whew. I'm glad I got that off my chest. Oh and I'm scared I'll get kicked out of my place back in Southern State because we (my parents) never pay the rent on time. Without getting too deep into it, I've always been weird about asking for money from my parents, because a) I'm cheap 2) we haven't always had it and I couldn't stand the thought of being a burden. Even though it's important (so I won't be homeless duh), I can't fathom bitching about it to parents who have to put two more kids through college soon (Middle Sister class of 2013, go Bison! awww I'm so proud) amidst this little thing called The Greatest Recession Since the Greatest Depression which hit our city and our family hard. Like rock through a windshield hard.
So it's like yeah I know my family's situation but at the same time I understand my roommate needs the money so she's getting an attitude with ME because I'm around even though I'm like bish it's not coming out of my pocket no matter how many times you psuedo-lecture me about the rent being My Responsibility and It's How You Build Credit, You Know (true story). If you're Person A and Person C has your money, I wouldn't keep going through Person B. That's just how I look at it; maybe I'm bang out of order. I don't know what to do. If someone does, don't be stingy, share the knowledge so my hair doesn't fall out with stress and I end up weeping silently into my iced tea.
This WNBA internship affords me lots of opportunities to write stories, one thing I thought I was good at--well, people have told me I'm good at, some [ok many] days I think I suck and words just appear out of my ass and apparently people like them. Or did they?
Maybe it's a college-to-professional growing pains thing. I know the ins and outs of editing and journalism and critiquing but let me be a baby for a second: WAAAHHH MY "EDITOR" KEEPS CHANGING MY STORIES TOTALLY AROUND AND I'M STARTING TO THINK I SUCK FOR REAL FOR REALS. *pouts*
End rant. I'm going to be mature about this and ask that instead of me turning in a story and reading something completely different (I get that my writing needs work...or do I? See above) I could work more closely with him as he edits, time permitting of course. Is that a good idea? I hope it is. I might chicken out though--which I doubt because my "editor" is cool. I put "editor" in quotes because he's probably not even thirty yet and he reminds me of Seth Cohen. Totally not intimidating. Anyway, I'm going to learn from this internship if it kills me: this is just what I need, someone totally unbiased to edit, rearrange, prune, Botox, chop, screw, sautee, and iron out my wrinkly articles until they are silky smooth with perfection. But I want my stories to sound different from his, you know? He's a really good writer (I'm jealous/admiring) but he's not me, and if I've learned anything it's that you (I) need your own writing voice, which I'm working on, by the way.
Whew. I'm glad I got that off my chest. Oh and I'm scared I'll get kicked out of my place back in Southern State because we (my parents) never pay the rent on time. Without getting too deep into it, I've always been weird about asking for money from my parents, because a) I'm cheap 2) we haven't always had it and I couldn't stand the thought of being a burden. Even though it's important (so I won't be homeless duh), I can't fathom bitching about it to parents who have to put two more kids through college soon (Middle Sister class of 2013, go Bison! awww I'm so proud) amidst this little thing called The Greatest Recession Since the Greatest Depression which hit our city and our family hard. Like rock through a windshield hard.
So it's like yeah I know my family's situation but at the same time I understand my roommate needs the money so she's getting an attitude with ME because I'm around even though I'm like bish it's not coming out of my pocket no matter how many times you psuedo-lecture me about the rent being My Responsibility and It's How You Build Credit, You Know (true story). If you're Person A and Person C has your money, I wouldn't keep going through Person B. That's just how I look at it; maybe I'm bang out of order. I don't know what to do. If someone does, don't be stingy, share the knowledge so my hair doesn't fall out with stress and I end up weeping silently into my iced tea.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Dating Vernacular
To give (gave, giv⋅en, giv⋅ing; verb): To show one's ass, to employ tactics such as: rudeness, skewed logic, over-the-top shenanigans, or reverse psychology in a ploy to get a point across or get something accomplished, usually to zero avail. Can result in the giver looking extremely dumb and uncooperative.
Used in a sentence: "Film Screening Guy just texted me looking for sex and he absolutely GAVE."
Used in a sentence: "Film Screening Guy just texted me looking for sex and he absolutely GAVE."
Thursday, April 30, 2009
You Won't Get It
I learned my lesson about writing about specific guys too much on here, but I started a story about the guy from the film screening and I owe you a "what happened next" post.
On Monday, I did indeed go over to his place, where we talked for a few hours on his floor. Well, I did the brunt of the talking. There was lots of flirting on both ends, no real physical contact. We texted almost all day on Tuesday, and somehow the texting turned dirty. I forget who started it, but I think we all know I'm no stranger to sexual innuendo, so I played right along. Key word: played. Well, on my end.
We were supposed to hang out again on Tuesday, but I got stuck doing stuff for the Paper and we had to cancel. Earlier today, when I asked him what he was doing later, he responded, "U." This is when I started to panic: all our flirty/textual filth had me writing checks that my ass couldn't cash, literally. I am not/was not looking for sex, but it became clear that he was and thought I was as well. I vented this to various friends, fearing that once he found out these legs were closed, he would be, as the expression goes, so over me. The response from pals I got was I shouldn't want someone who would be over me just because we wouldn't be sleeping together anyway. Point taken.
Anyway, I sort of eased into the "no sex clause" (this is all through texting still) and the answer was not a happy one. He pretty much said he was looking for sex and thought I was, too. So I asked him if that was it, are we "over" if there's no sex? He said he "wouldn't say that" but went on to, well, say it. I expressed my position, apologizing for leading him on and saying that I'd like us to hang out still but sex wouldn't be part of the equation. When I got home a half-hour later, I called him up to maybe clarify, talk it out; no answer. That was at 10:30pm. It is now past midnight.
So yeah. My worries were pretty much confirmed: I told him "no sex" and he told me "well then peace out, bitch." I guess I'm sad about what "could have" been: he hadn't given me a chance to explain that making out/rounding a base or two were still perfectly viable options.
If you're wondering why I'm making such a big deal about this, well, it's time for me to come clean: I'm still a virgin. I talk a lot of filth, but I am still quite, ahem, untried. In every sense. Not for particular religious beliefs or anything, at this point it's just because I haven't found anybody worth fucking. Yes, including you, Film Screening Guy. I didn't tell him this, and waffled on whether or not I should, but somehow I doubt that would change things if he was just out for sex to begin with.
This instance does not bolster my faith in future dating prospects and boy-kind in general: how the hell does a 20-year-old female virgin navigate within a 2009 world of men who expect and are used to regular helpings of ass? We virgs are a rare breed, after all. I'm a little annoyed right now, actually. I cleaned my room for this yahoo. I try to look for the lesson in things, like "why did this happen," and so far I can't come up with anything except for to remind me that "yes, Lucky, you are still [and will probably forever be] a virgin. Still." Thanks for the update, world.
So yeah.
Some days, hell, most days, I wish I wasn't holding my V-Card. Especially in situations like this. Even though I wouldn't have sex with Film Screening Guy after knowing him for FIVE WHOLE FUCKING DAYS. Maybe I should buy a t-shirt that says "Virgin" to alleviate any misconceptions. Internets, a) don't laugh at me. I am fragile. 2) answer me this: what could I have done differently in this situation? Shut down the dirty texting ASAP? Inform him of my virginity the first time he brought up sex in conversation? Let the Smoker deflower me last year to get it over with already? Censor myself/stop talking about sex with such exuberance so as not to send the wrong idea? I never tell people I'm a virg, never say I'm not, let people draw their own conclusions, but tell the truth if asked directly. This involves lots of conversational sidestepping and vague answers, in case you were wondering.
It may not be easy when you're sleazy but it's just as hard when you're not.
On Monday, I did indeed go over to his place, where we talked for a few hours on his floor. Well, I did the brunt of the talking. There was lots of flirting on both ends, no real physical contact. We texted almost all day on Tuesday, and somehow the texting turned dirty. I forget who started it, but I think we all know I'm no stranger to sexual innuendo, so I played right along. Key word: played. Well, on my end.
We were supposed to hang out again on Tuesday, but I got stuck doing stuff for the Paper and we had to cancel. Earlier today, when I asked him what he was doing later, he responded, "U." This is when I started to panic: all our flirty/textual filth had me writing checks that my ass couldn't cash, literally. I am not/was not looking for sex, but it became clear that he was and thought I was as well. I vented this to various friends, fearing that once he found out these legs were closed, he would be, as the expression goes, so over me. The response from pals I got was I shouldn't want someone who would be over me just because we wouldn't be sleeping together anyway. Point taken.
Anyway, I sort of eased into the "no sex clause" (this is all through texting still) and the answer was not a happy one. He pretty much said he was looking for sex and thought I was, too. So I asked him if that was it, are we "over" if there's no sex? He said he "wouldn't say that" but went on to, well, say it. I expressed my position, apologizing for leading him on and saying that I'd like us to hang out still but sex wouldn't be part of the equation. When I got home a half-hour later, I called him up to maybe clarify, talk it out; no answer. That was at 10:30pm. It is now past midnight.
So yeah. My worries were pretty much confirmed: I told him "no sex" and he told me "well then peace out, bitch." I guess I'm sad about what "could have" been: he hadn't given me a chance to explain that making out/rounding a base or two were still perfectly viable options.
If you're wondering why I'm making such a big deal about this, well, it's time for me to come clean: I'm still a virgin. I talk a lot of filth, but I am still quite, ahem, untried. In every sense. Not for particular religious beliefs or anything, at this point it's just because I haven't found anybody worth fucking. Yes, including you, Film Screening Guy. I didn't tell him this, and waffled on whether or not I should, but somehow I doubt that would change things if he was just out for sex to begin with.
This instance does not bolster my faith in future dating prospects and boy-kind in general: how the hell does a 20-year-old female virgin navigate within a 2009 world of men who expect and are used to regular helpings of ass? We virgs are a rare breed, after all. I'm a little annoyed right now, actually. I cleaned my room for this yahoo. I try to look for the lesson in things, like "why did this happen," and so far I can't come up with anything except for to remind me that "yes, Lucky, you are still [and will probably forever be] a virgin. Still." Thanks for the update, world.
So yeah.
Some days, hell, most days, I wish I wasn't holding my V-Card. Especially in situations like this. Even though I wouldn't have sex with Film Screening Guy after knowing him for FIVE WHOLE FUCKING DAYS. Maybe I should buy a t-shirt that says "Virgin" to alleviate any misconceptions. Internets, a) don't laugh at me. I am fragile. 2) answer me this: what could I have done differently in this situation? Shut down the dirty texting ASAP? Inform him of my virginity the first time he brought up sex in conversation? Let the Smoker deflower me last year to get it over with already? Censor myself/stop talking about sex with such exuberance so as not to send the wrong idea? I never tell people I'm a virg, never say I'm not, let people draw their own conclusions, but tell the truth if asked directly. This involves lots of conversational sidestepping and vague answers, in case you were wondering.
It may not be easy when you're sleazy but it's just as hard when you're not.
Friday, April 3, 2009
Hoop Dreams Deferred
Working with men is exhausting. You have to stroke their egos, display the right amount of power and docility, easygoing-ness and firmness to get anything accomplished. Try as I might, I never get that formula right.
The Paper gets free tickets to NBA games through the Ad Guy. There are no rules or entitlement, if you want them, you ask for them. I was originally going to see the team take on the mighty (?) Pistons, but we left for spring break that day so I had to forfeit them. 'Twas sad. I decided to get the team vs. the San Antonio Spurs, so I texted Ad Guy, asking him to bring the tickets to our weekly meeting. I get no answer from him. I miss the game.
Next week he says that those tickets were unavailable anyway. Wondering why he couldn't have relayed this in a responding text, I say, "oh, okay, well, I'll take this weekend's tickets against the Orlando Magic." These tickets are also the last of the package. He agrees to bring them to me. I even told him that I had planned to take a date** to the game, which meant, thus and such, my love life depended on him bringing the tickets to me on Thursday (yesterday) because I don't come to campus on Fridays. He concedes, stoically (seriously, would it kill this guy to crack a smile?).
**Not technically a lie, since I was going with Ms. Politics. She has been my date on many a weekend.
Thursday comes, I text Ad Guy. No answer. I call him (well, I have Artist Friend call him from my phone--I think I annoy him with my generally upbeat nature). His phone goes straight to voicemail. He is not known to [show consideration/human emotion] return my texts or calls. It is early Friday morning. The game is on Saturday. The game to which I have no tickets. The game, it is probably safe to say, I will not be attending. No Al Horford sighting for me.
What fresh hell is with guys ruining my Saturday night plans?!
As far as Ad Guy knows, my hot date is now ruined. And on top of that, both of these times, I've taken off work to attend these basketball games. So not only is Ad Guy messing up my (ahem, still very fictional) love life, but he is costing me money!
And we can't have that. Not in this recession, baby.
Not to throw a pity party, but THIS IS TOTALLY UNFAIR. The other two sports editors got to go to games, why do I always get the short end of life's stick?
Next week, if I must say anything to Ad Guy, it will be in a "dignity at all times" sort of way. Maybe even in a "my date still put out SO THERE" sort of way. I honestly keep forgetting that I didn't have an actual date in the first place.
Semantics, really. It's the principle that counts.
The Paper gets free tickets to NBA games through the Ad Guy. There are no rules or entitlement, if you want them, you ask for them. I was originally going to see the team take on the mighty (?) Pistons, but we left for spring break that day so I had to forfeit them. 'Twas sad. I decided to get the team vs. the San Antonio Spurs, so I texted Ad Guy, asking him to bring the tickets to our weekly meeting. I get no answer from him. I miss the game.
Next week he says that those tickets were unavailable anyway. Wondering why he couldn't have relayed this in a responding text, I say, "oh, okay, well, I'll take this weekend's tickets against the Orlando Magic." These tickets are also the last of the package. He agrees to bring them to me. I even told him that I had planned to take a date** to the game, which meant, thus and such, my love life depended on him bringing the tickets to me on Thursday (yesterday) because I don't come to campus on Fridays. He concedes, stoically (seriously, would it kill this guy to crack a smile?).
**Not technically a lie, since I was going with Ms. Politics. She has been my date on many a weekend.
Thursday comes, I text Ad Guy. No answer. I call him (well, I have Artist Friend call him from my phone--I think I annoy him with my generally upbeat nature). His phone goes straight to voicemail. He is not known to [show consideration/human emotion] return my texts or calls. It is early Friday morning. The game is on Saturday. The game to which I have no tickets. The game, it is probably safe to say, I will not be attending. No Al Horford sighting for me.
What fresh hell is with guys ruining my Saturday night plans?!
As far as Ad Guy knows, my hot date is now ruined. And on top of that, both of these times, I've taken off work to attend these basketball games. So not only is Ad Guy messing up my (ahem, still very fictional) love life, but he is costing me money!
And we can't have that. Not in this recession, baby.
Not to throw a pity party, but THIS IS TOTALLY UNFAIR. The other two sports editors got to go to games, why do I always get the short end of life's stick?
Next week, if I must say anything to Ad Guy, it will be in a "dignity at all times" sort of way. Maybe even in a "my date still put out SO THERE" sort of way. I honestly keep forgetting that I didn't have an actual date in the first place.
Semantics, really. It's the principle that counts.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Two Steps Back
True story: I was groggy from a nap and I turned on RuPaul's Drag Race...it gave me so much life that I am wide awake and ready to do homework.
Last Monday, I got a random Facebook message from The Smoker...followed by Facebook chat, text, and call--all within an hour. The gist of his argument was that he's changed ("maybe I wasn't as honest as I should have been") and it ended with him asking for the pleasure of my company for drinks on Saturday. I give him a hard time but finally concede.
"This isn't gonna be like last time," I say. "I'm not chasing you, if you want to do something, you set it up." He agrees, but I know he thinks I will text/call/initiate contact. Ah, but 'tis a fool who thinks that I didn't learn something from last time. And I stick to my word: no textual activity otherwise comes from me. None comes from him either.
I run into him on Thursday, slightly witty banter ensues, nothing more.
Saturday rolls around. I'm shopping with Cali Girl and Ms. Politics for our upcoming spring break trip in a mall way out in Tourist-ville. I give this boy until 7pm, then, shit, I need to know if we need to leave or if we can go out to dinner. So I cave in and text him, he responds quickly: "Who is this?"
Oh, honey, you tried to bullshit a bullshitter. Now I know you have your phone on your person and are fully capable of receiving and sending text messages.
I text back that it's me and I'm just trying to see if we're still on for tonight.
Here's the funny part, guys: NO ANSWER. It is now Tuesday evening and not a word. Did I scare him into reneging with our 3.5 minutes of chatting on Thursday? Erroneous either way. A leopard doesn't change his spots, I guess.
I knew to keep my guard up this time, so more instead of feeling hurt or betrayed or whatever, I'm slightly irritated that he entered my lifespace and dangled a free meal in front of me. But I am wondering, what was your purpose, then? You had to fuck with my head just as you were about to fade into mental obscurity, or something? Oh, and just for bonus points, let's do this right around the time when I'm already majorly stressing about midterms, spring break, and have my sights set on a boy who has ACTUALLY BEEN DECENT TO ME.**
**Speaking of which, me and That Boy passed each other on campus today and even though he was on the phone he said hi...the whole exchange dripped with niceness and recognition from him [and uncontrollable fire and desire from me]. God he is so cute.
My first thought was to call him and cuss him the hell out just for his presence on this Earth. But my good buddy Chicago Jay wisely talked me out of it. Barely.
Last Monday, I got a random Facebook message from The Smoker...followed by Facebook chat, text, and call--all within an hour. The gist of his argument was that he's changed ("maybe I wasn't as honest as I should have been") and it ended with him asking for the pleasure of my company for drinks on Saturday. I give him a hard time but finally concede.
"This isn't gonna be like last time," I say. "I'm not chasing you, if you want to do something, you set it up." He agrees, but I know he thinks I will text/call/initiate contact. Ah, but 'tis a fool who thinks that I didn't learn something from last time. And I stick to my word: no textual activity otherwise comes from me. None comes from him either.
I run into him on Thursday, slightly witty banter ensues, nothing more.
Saturday rolls around. I'm shopping with Cali Girl and Ms. Politics for our upcoming spring break trip in a mall way out in Tourist-ville. I give this boy until 7pm, then, shit, I need to know if we need to leave or if we can go out to dinner. So I cave in and text him, he responds quickly: "Who is this?"
Oh, honey, you tried to bullshit a bullshitter. Now I know you have your phone on your person and are fully capable of receiving and sending text messages.
I text back that it's me and I'm just trying to see if we're still on for tonight.
Here's the funny part, guys: NO ANSWER. It is now Tuesday evening and not a word. Did I scare him into reneging with our 3.5 minutes of chatting on Thursday? Erroneous either way. A leopard doesn't change his spots, I guess.
I knew to keep my guard up this time, so more instead of feeling hurt or betrayed or whatever, I'm slightly irritated that he entered my lifespace and dangled a free meal in front of me. But I am wondering, what was your purpose, then? You had to fuck with my head just as you were about to fade into mental obscurity, or something? Oh, and just for bonus points, let's do this right around the time when I'm already majorly stressing about midterms, spring break, and have my sights set on a boy who has ACTUALLY BEEN DECENT TO ME.**
**Speaking of which, me and That Boy passed each other on campus today and even though he was on the phone he said hi...the whole exchange dripped with niceness and recognition from him [and uncontrollable fire and desire from me]. God he is so cute.
My first thought was to call him and cuss him the hell out just for his presence on this Earth. But my good buddy Chicago Jay wisely talked me out of it. Barely.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
A Little Objectification Never Hurt Anyone
*Peeks in, ready to duck should projectiles be projected*
I have been bad. I have been neglecting you all. Take me back, baby, I'm sorry. I love you, I really do.
STELLLAAAAA!!!!!!!
Anyway.
I wish I could return with a happy post but today is just not the day. Eating feelings may have been involved. Here is what I am dealing with: my roommate has guests over: a gal-pal and, guess who else, her doting boyfriend. Said gal-pal, funnily enough, thinks it's precious to not call this young man by his government name, but instead refer to him simply as "Boyfriend." As in, "Boyfriend? Boyfriend, are you downstairs?" If that wasn't enough (and it never is), in one day I had to sit near Science Guy and his girlfriend and hear about the Smoker and his girlfriend.
Am I never to be free?
Not to mention attend a school pageant-like function which brings out the Who's Who of campus--legions of pretty, well-adjusted, coupled up people prancing around and blocking walkways with their fabulosity. Said people are extremely annoying and not easy to navigate around, especially when one has a painfully full bladder.
All three of us were in a bit of a funk today. We even had a "Daria" moment:
Ms. Politics: Look at all these happy people.
Cali Girl and Me together: I hate them.
Please factor in my PMS-ing, which translates roughly to feelings of depression, fatness, and fugliness, and we have a "God? Are you up there? No, for real, someone make sure he's still there because I am totally not sure that He is in the building taking calls," situation.
Maybe I'm not encapsulating properly the magnitude of my feelings of inferiority, but imagine feeling cruddy and being surrounded by these people who seemingly have everything YOU want and are flaunting it in front of you. Multiply that feeling by 7890 lbs of food and you will have, at this moment, me.
If it sounds like I am whining, it is because I AM.
Thank you and goodnight.
PS: not to undermine the sadnessosity of this post, but said sadness has been slightly alleviated because "Womanizer" is quite fun to sing out loud to with vigorous head-nodding and dramatic finger-pointing. Just so you know.
PPS: My first paycheck came in today. God may not be on my side today (I keed) but He surely is in my checking account. GLORY!
I have been bad. I have been neglecting you all. Take me back, baby, I'm sorry. I love you, I really do.
STELLLAAAAA!!!!!!!
Anyway.
I wish I could return with a happy post but today is just not the day. Eating feelings may have been involved. Here is what I am dealing with: my roommate has guests over: a gal-pal and, guess who else, her doting boyfriend. Said gal-pal, funnily enough, thinks it's precious to not call this young man by his government name, but instead refer to him simply as "Boyfriend." As in, "Boyfriend? Boyfriend, are you downstairs?" If that wasn't enough (and it never is), in one day I had to sit near Science Guy and his girlfriend and hear about the Smoker and his girlfriend.
Am I never to be free?
Not to mention attend a school pageant-like function which brings out the Who's Who of campus--legions of pretty, well-adjusted, coupled up people prancing around and blocking walkways with their fabulosity. Said people are extremely annoying and not easy to navigate around, especially when one has a painfully full bladder.
All three of us were in a bit of a funk today. We even had a "Daria" moment:
Ms. Politics: Look at all these happy people.
Cali Girl and Me together: I hate them.
Please factor in my PMS-ing, which translates roughly to feelings of depression, fatness, and fugliness, and we have a "God? Are you up there? No, for real, someone make sure he's still there because I am totally not sure that He is in the building taking calls," situation.
Maybe I'm not encapsulating properly the magnitude of my feelings of inferiority, but imagine feeling cruddy and being surrounded by these people who seemingly have everything YOU want and are flaunting it in front of you. Multiply that feeling by 7890 lbs of food and you will have, at this moment, me.
If it sounds like I am whining, it is because I AM.
Thank you and goodnight.
PS: not to undermine the sadnessosity of this post, but said sadness has been slightly alleviated because "Womanizer" is quite fun to sing out loud to with vigorous head-nodding and dramatic finger-pointing. Just so you know.
PPS: My first paycheck came in today. God may not be on my side today (I keed) but He surely is in my checking account. GLORY!
Friday, January 9, 2009
This Week Has Been One Big Hot Flash
So. I'm annoyed.
I haven't properly talked to BFF in...awhile. I would text her and get nothing in response. Since, like, before Christmas. I'd start to get worried that I wasn't keeping in touch, send another text, get nothing, get more worried. Eventually, worried turned into "annoyed." I didn't want to jump to conclusions, so I tried to reserve too much annoyance. "Maybe she didn't have her phone," I'd think. But on yet another attempt, I wrote, "where have you been? Is everything ok?" and got back "I'm ok, in [city]." Relieved that she wasn't laying in a street somewhere dead, I responded with a "did you get any of my texts?" You guessed it, no answer. Cue actual annoyance. This hasn't' been the first time she's blown me off, by the way. Finally, she texted me a "Merry Christmas," but by that time I was annoyed--I think I responded, though.
Didn't hear from her until she called while I was at a friend's house on New Year's Eve. Still annoyed, and not wanting to be rude to my host, I texted her saying I was at a friend's house and would try to "ttyl." But a part of me didn't want to talk to her just yet. Why return her calls when the same courtesy hadn't been extended to me?
Earlier this evening, she sent me a "we need to talk." Well, text: I have a hanus cold/massive throatache. She said she didn't have her phone for 10 days, but she had called me twice in December. Both calls, which, I said, were probably made after I had been texting her to no avail. And anyway, like I said, why would I rush to return your calls when you don't return mine? And, ok, 2 calls versus a zillion texts and writing on her facebook wall just in case she didn't have her phone: all of which virtually went unanswered.
She wrote that I was "making a big deal out of something [she] had no control over. Get over it" etc etc. What fresh HELL? I said something to the effect of asking I get that you didn't have your phone but wouldn't you see that there were numerous texts from me and, I don't know, let me know what's up? I even wrote on your wall in case you didn't have a phone, pardon me for being worried about you.
No response.
Or am I totally tripping? I texted again. Do you see where I'm coming from?
No response.
Hello? One last try. Are we still having a conversation, are we talking when I can use the phone again, or...?
No response, and a blank stare to boot (from me, not her).
So, pretend to be objective, readers: am I, to coin a phrase, tripping? Why no "hey, I'm ok, I'm not ignoring you I just lost my phone" text? Why are you just now telling me this, as if a person wouldn't be annoyed a) at the pretense of being ignored 2) that her best friend is making her feel stupid for worrying about her? I mean, sheesh, at the very least, is an apology out of the damn question? Behavior like this makes me think she doesn't value our friendship. Which, I mean, I know she does, but...fuck...I'm pissed, and I think I have the right to be.
Plus, I have a lot on my plate at the moment. A dear friend is having school troubles at the moment, I haven't registered for classes yet, and to top it okk, I'm sick, I was actually at the doctor the day before it really kicked in. But when he examined my throat he found nothing. I wanted desperately be all Grey's Anatomy like, "You know, Doc, it might be my trachea..." but I didn't. I wish he would have found something because I literally cannot speak. Way to spend my last week at home. I've been living on Ramen noodles (actually I owe my life to those packets of noodley goodness) and knocking back shot glass-dosages of Tylenol--just 'cause I'm sick doesn't mean I can't take it like a champ.
Since I've been sick I've been watching a lot (a LOT) of TV, too--my aching throat distracts me from sleeping so I crawl in my parents' bed and watch Sportscenter and the History Channel...lulls me to sleep, incidentally. A new discovery: I have a thing for, it seems, crimes. But real stuff: Snapped, True Life: I'm in Prison, and recently Dog the Bounty Hunter. Watch it for the actual catches and for, Lord have mercy, the clothes. The whole family has mullets and every female fugitive they catch has horrid eyebrows. But the bounty hunters are actually quite nice to the fugitives once they're caught. And the son, Leland, is gorgeous--even with his grody ponytail. Two enthusiastic thumbs up.** Also, I think I'm gonna recap/reality index Daddy's Girls--that show about Angela and Vanessa Simmons. I couldn't figure out whether or not I liked it.
**Whoa. I just heard the racist remarks he made about, yep, us black folks. He wants his son to break up with his black girlfriend because the family uses the N-word and he doesn't want to be caught on camera using a racial slur. *Crickets* *reserving judgment on whether I watch the show again...*
I know I'm rambling but it's the cold medicine, tiredness, and Taco Bell, talking. Please excuse. Maybe I'll shop to lessen the pain. Yes, my suitcase was full when I arrived in Home State but I will crawl through the mall with a Tylenol IV if I have to.
Update: We are weird. Me and her will "fight" then two days later someone will call/text and be like "what classes are you taking this semester?" We managed to patch things up this morning at like 7am. She was like "why are you still awake?" and I was like "I'm sick" and she was like "Ew" and stuff. The mark of friendship, I guess, when even the wickedest of fights blow over in a few days' time...
I haven't properly talked to BFF in...awhile. I would text her and get nothing in response. Since, like, before Christmas. I'd start to get worried that I wasn't keeping in touch, send another text, get nothing, get more worried. Eventually, worried turned into "annoyed." I didn't want to jump to conclusions, so I tried to reserve too much annoyance. "Maybe she didn't have her phone," I'd think. But on yet another attempt, I wrote, "where have you been? Is everything ok?" and got back "I'm ok, in [city]." Relieved that she wasn't laying in a street somewhere dead, I responded with a "did you get any of my texts?" You guessed it, no answer. Cue actual annoyance. This hasn't' been the first time she's blown me off, by the way. Finally, she texted me a "Merry Christmas," but by that time I was annoyed--I think I responded, though.
Didn't hear from her until she called while I was at a friend's house on New Year's Eve. Still annoyed, and not wanting to be rude to my host, I texted her saying I was at a friend's house and would try to "ttyl." But a part of me didn't want to talk to her just yet. Why return her calls when the same courtesy hadn't been extended to me?
Earlier this evening, she sent me a "we need to talk." Well, text: I have a hanus cold/massive throatache. She said she didn't have her phone for 10 days, but she had called me twice in December. Both calls, which, I said, were probably made after I had been texting her to no avail. And anyway, like I said, why would I rush to return your calls when you don't return mine? And, ok, 2 calls versus a zillion texts and writing on her facebook wall just in case she didn't have her phone: all of which virtually went unanswered.
She wrote that I was "making a big deal out of something [she] had no control over. Get over it" etc etc. What fresh HELL? I said something to the effect of asking I get that you didn't have your phone but wouldn't you see that there were numerous texts from me and, I don't know, let me know what's up? I even wrote on your wall in case you didn't have a phone, pardon me for being worried about you.
No response.
Or am I totally tripping? I texted again. Do you see where I'm coming from?
No response.
Hello? One last try. Are we still having a conversation, are we talking when I can use the phone again, or...?
No response, and a blank stare to boot (from me, not her).
So, pretend to be objective, readers: am I, to coin a phrase, tripping? Why no "hey, I'm ok, I'm not ignoring you I just lost my phone" text? Why are you just now telling me this, as if a person wouldn't be annoyed a) at the pretense of being ignored 2) that her best friend is making her feel stupid for worrying about her? I mean, sheesh, at the very least, is an apology out of the damn question? Behavior like this makes me think she doesn't value our friendship. Which, I mean, I know she does, but...fuck...I'm pissed, and I think I have the right to be.
Plus, I have a lot on my plate at the moment. A dear friend is having school troubles at the moment, I haven't registered for classes yet, and to top it okk, I'm sick, I was actually at the doctor the day before it really kicked in. But when he examined my throat he found nothing. I wanted desperately be all Grey's Anatomy like, "You know, Doc, it might be my trachea..." but I didn't. I wish he would have found something because I literally cannot speak. Way to spend my last week at home. I've been living on Ramen noodles (actually I owe my life to those packets of noodley goodness) and knocking back shot glass-dosages of Tylenol--just 'cause I'm sick doesn't mean I can't take it like a champ.
Since I've been sick I've been watching a lot (a LOT) of TV, too--my aching throat distracts me from sleeping so I crawl in my parents' bed and watch Sportscenter and the History Channel...lulls me to sleep, incidentally. A new discovery: I have a thing for, it seems, crimes. But real stuff: Snapped, True Life: I'm in Prison, and recently Dog the Bounty Hunter. Watch it for the actual catches and for, Lord have mercy, the clothes. The whole family has mullets and every female fugitive they catch has horrid eyebrows. But the bounty hunters are actually quite nice to the fugitives once they're caught. And the son, Leland, is gorgeous--even with his grody ponytail. Two enthusiastic thumbs up.** Also, I think I'm gonna recap/reality index Daddy's Girls--that show about Angela and Vanessa Simmons. I couldn't figure out whether or not I liked it.
**Whoa. I just heard the racist remarks he made about, yep, us black folks. He wants his son to break up with his black girlfriend because the family uses the N-word and he doesn't want to be caught on camera using a racial slur. *Crickets* *reserving judgment on whether I watch the show again...*
I know I'm rambling but it's the cold medicine, tiredness, and Taco Bell, talking. Please excuse. Maybe I'll shop to lessen the pain. Yes, my suitcase was full when I arrived in Home State but I will crawl through the mall with a Tylenol IV if I have to.
Update: We are weird. Me and her will "fight" then two days later someone will call/text and be like "what classes are you taking this semester?" We managed to patch things up this morning at like 7am. She was like "why are you still awake?" and I was like "I'm sick" and she was like "Ew" and stuff. The mark of friendship, I guess, when even the wickedest of fights blow over in a few days' time...
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Winners of the "Stupid Ass Parents" Contest
Sometimes, people shock me with their stupidity. But, in doing so, sometimes the dissenters shock me in a good way, too. That was the case with this whole "dumbass parents who named their kid 'Adolf Hitler'" drama. There's not a WORD to describe how I feel about the fucked-up-icityosityness of those parents. Little Alfie might get his ass beat once he starts school, even though he didn't choose his name. And I bet when the class covers WWII the teacher will be throwing her parents a MEAN side-eye in spirit. Sigh. Ramifications, people. Just...wow.
Here's my opinion on all this (key word: opinion).
Racism is still alive and present, contrary to popular belief. I've been lucky enough to never have been outrightly discriminated against, but I still get the *side-eye* too much for comfort when I'm in certain parts of Southern State, and it's not because I'm a snazzy dresser. And it seems sometimes that when there's outward or newsworthy racism, an annoying few commenters ('cause I gauge public opinion from the internet, natch) are all "well, why CAN'T black people act right?" So when this happened, I almost expected commenters to be all "well it's free speech" or "he said he has black friends" or even still, "but for real, for real, why CAN'T black people act right?!" But I have to say I was pleasantly surprised to see that there are still some lines that shant be crossed in terms of race, white supremacy being one of them.
'Cause I have to be honest: skinheads/that Aryan shit/supremacists scare the HELL out of me (seeing as I'm black and all, lol)...has anyone seen Higher Learning? Fun Fact: Ty Ty Baby was in it.
And what a scintillating performance she gave.
Anyway, in this age of free speech and whatnot, where the KKK is allowed to have rallies and has the gall to ask BHO to speak at its convention (for reals, google that shit. Update: scratch that, don't google it. You'll just get mad. Trust me), stuff slips in through the cracks every now and then on a technicality. I don't think about it often 'cause these people are extremists (hopefully/probably) in the minority, but it's still scary. But the public outcry from this story gave me comfort that, yes, there is still racism, but no sir, y'all are on another level of "that shit is NOT okay."
Not today, not tomorrow, not on payday.
And also, someone cyber-asked if anyone's ever seen like, well-to-do white supremacists. Like, ones with a respectable-to-profitable occupation, decent taste in clothing, or decent dental care (seriously, click on that link and get into those teeth. Pause for effect.)? I think not. Even the guy in Higher Learning had an unfortunate ponytail/pasty skin situation. This answer exacted the conclusion that white supremacy is a good example of, actually, an inferiority complex! Or Bottom of the Totem Pole Syndrome, where, essentially, they have literally NOTHING else going in any aspect of their sad lives, and only have "well, at least I'm white, therefore I'm better than most in my own way." Um, not really, but do you. Just keep that shit on your side of the farm, sir.
The journalist in me wants to interview these sad, sad people and kill them. With my intellectualosity, and poignant questions, of course! Again, I'm lucky, during the elections, a lot of my friends at My College were like, "I never knew how racist my people back home are!" and I was all, "Really? Damn. I know some slightly ignorant but well-meaning people, but they ain't outright** racist. Sucks to be you, let's go get some food." That said, I don't know what I would say if someone was outright racist to me. I don't mean saying something rude with underlying racial subtext but like, "you blacks sure are [insert insult here]." Especially now, with my HBCU-state of mind, which is quickly any "acceptable Negro" leftover from high school.
**Some make the argument that there are many "dinner table racists" who act tolerant but really are as racist as the day is long. That may be true, but I can't worry about that--I consider that paranoid and plus, I like to give people the benefit of the doubt. When you make your prejudices known and it affects me, THEN we might [will] have a problem.
I wonder if I'll ever have to interview an Aryan Nation-supporter or something, though. Truthfully, it'd be kind of fascinating--in a sick way. I really want to know the mindset of a racist person, want to know why they think they way they do and think it's ok. The first thing I'd ask would be, "you know you're probably going to Hell, right?"
Ok, maybe not on-camera.
But in this case, I would ask, "What reason would you give a Holocaust survivor who wanted to know why you named your daughter after the man responsible for what was probably the worst experience of their life, 6 million others' lives, and brought shame to an entire country?"
Eh, the parents are probably the type who think the Holocaust numbers were exaggerated, that Hitler had his attractive points, or even, more infuriatingly, that the whole thing never happened. On second thought, I couldn't interview them for too long; I would probably jump across the table and there would be slapping involved.
Ugh. I cannot think about this anymore. These fucktards are messing up my chi, when I should be thinking happy holiday thoughts. And about the Sloppy Joes I just made. Plus, I had good news but I had to call foul on this one. A double "eff you" goes to the Campbells for pushing back my good news. See what you've started?
And I thought naming your kid "Bronx Mowgli" "God'Iss Love" or "Audio Science" was bad. Or Shaniqua.
PS: there were more than 72 celebrity babies born this year. Got-dayum!
PPS: Cedric the Entertainer named his daughter Lucky! Go off!
PPPS: On second thought, I don't mind the name Bronx Mowgli. I like New York and I like The Jungle Book.
Here's my opinion on all this (key word: opinion).
Racism is still alive and present, contrary to popular belief. I've been lucky enough to never have been outrightly discriminated against, but I still get the *side-eye* too much for comfort when I'm in certain parts of Southern State, and it's not because I'm a snazzy dresser. And it seems sometimes that when there's outward or newsworthy racism, an annoying few commenters ('cause I gauge public opinion from the internet, natch) are all "well, why CAN'T black people act right?" So when this happened, I almost expected commenters to be all "well it's free speech" or "he said he has black friends" or even still, "but for real, for real, why CAN'T black people act right?!" But I have to say I was pleasantly surprised to see that there are still some lines that shant be crossed in terms of race, white supremacy being one of them.
'Cause I have to be honest: skinheads/that Aryan shit/supremacists scare the HELL out of me (seeing as I'm black and all, lol)...has anyone seen Higher Learning? Fun Fact: Ty Ty Baby was in it.
And what a scintillating performance she gave.
Anyway, in this age of free speech and whatnot, where the KKK is allowed to have rallies and has the gall to ask BHO to speak at its convention (for reals, google that shit. Update: scratch that, don't google it. You'll just get mad. Trust me), stuff slips in through the cracks every now and then on a technicality. I don't think about it often 'cause these people are extremists (hopefully/probably) in the minority, but it's still scary. But the public outcry from this story gave me comfort that, yes, there is still racism, but no sir, y'all are on another level of "that shit is NOT okay."
Not today, not tomorrow, not on payday.
And also, someone cyber-asked if anyone's ever seen like, well-to-do white supremacists. Like, ones with a respectable-to-profitable occupation, decent taste in clothing, or decent dental care (seriously, click on that link and get into those teeth. Pause for effect.)? I think not. Even the guy in Higher Learning had an unfortunate ponytail/pasty skin situation. This answer exacted the conclusion that white supremacy is a good example of, actually, an inferiority complex! Or Bottom of the Totem Pole Syndrome, where, essentially, they have literally NOTHING else going in any aspect of their sad lives, and only have "well, at least I'm white, therefore I'm better than most in my own way." Um, not really, but do you. Just keep that shit on your side of the farm, sir.
The journalist in me wants to interview these sad, sad people and kill them. With my intellectualosity, and poignant questions, of course! Again, I'm lucky, during the elections, a lot of my friends at My College were like, "I never knew how racist my people back home are!" and I was all, "Really? Damn. I know some slightly ignorant but well-meaning people, but they ain't outright** racist. Sucks to be you, let's go get some food." That said, I don't know what I would say if someone was outright racist to me. I don't mean saying something rude with underlying racial subtext but like, "you blacks sure are [insert insult here]." Especially now, with my HBCU-state of mind, which is quickly any "acceptable Negro" leftover from high school.
**Some make the argument that there are many "dinner table racists" who act tolerant but really are as racist as the day is long. That may be true, but I can't worry about that--I consider that paranoid and plus, I like to give people the benefit of the doubt. When you make your prejudices known and it affects me, THEN we might [will] have a problem.
I wonder if I'll ever have to interview an Aryan Nation-supporter or something, though. Truthfully, it'd be kind of fascinating--in a sick way. I really want to know the mindset of a racist person, want to know why they think they way they do and think it's ok. The first thing I'd ask would be, "you know you're probably going to Hell, right?"
Ok, maybe not on-camera.
But in this case, I would ask, "What reason would you give a Holocaust survivor who wanted to know why you named your daughter after the man responsible for what was probably the worst experience of their life, 6 million others' lives, and brought shame to an entire country?"
Eh, the parents are probably the type who think the Holocaust numbers were exaggerated, that Hitler had his attractive points, or even, more infuriatingly, that the whole thing never happened. On second thought, I couldn't interview them for too long; I would probably jump across the table and there would be slapping involved.
Ugh. I cannot think about this anymore. These fucktards are messing up my chi, when I should be thinking happy holiday thoughts. And about the Sloppy Joes I just made. Plus, I had good news but I had to call foul on this one. A double "eff you" goes to the Campbells for pushing back my good news. See what you've started?
And I thought naming your kid "Bronx Mowgli" "God'Iss Love" or "Audio Science" was bad. Or Shaniqua.
PS: there were more than 72 celebrity babies born this year. Got-dayum!
PPS: Cedric the Entertainer named his daughter Lucky! Go off!
PPPS: On second thought, I don't mind the name Bronx Mowgli. I like New York and I like The Jungle Book.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
A Computerly Update
I am having a cruddy day.
I kind of can't stand the other interns(s) at Big Sports Network, for example. That, plus a host of other annoyances have steadily plagued me since I woke up on this day that the Lord hath made. The most prominent being my poor computer needing a new hard drive. Now, I don't know that much about computers, but a hard drive seems like a Pretty Big Deal in the big scheme of computers. If the cost is any indicator of importance, a hard drive is waaay up there. But here's the gag: all my stuff will be lost, huh? Tell it to me straight, I can take it (not). Has this ever happened to anyone? Any encounters with that blue screen o'death? What happened, was it a huge hassle to get all your info back? I don't think I put everything on a flash drive (it was way upstairs and I was way downstairs, ok? You know how it is). I'm basically screwed [fucked] huh?
On the plus side, the other night I had a dream that I was about to get a massage (and probably more than that, who am I kidding) from a male escort. I kid ye not. Of course I woke up before we got to the good stuff (damned sunshine). I can't get any in my own dreams!
This can't be life.
I kind of can't stand the other interns(s) at Big Sports Network, for example. That, plus a host of other annoyances have steadily plagued me since I woke up on this day that the Lord hath made. The most prominent being my poor computer needing a new hard drive. Now, I don't know that much about computers, but a hard drive seems like a Pretty Big Deal in the big scheme of computers. If the cost is any indicator of importance, a hard drive is waaay up there. But here's the gag: all my stuff will be lost, huh? Tell it to me straight, I can take it (not). Has this ever happened to anyone? Any encounters with that blue screen o'death? What happened, was it a huge hassle to get all your info back? I don't think I put everything on a flash drive (it was way upstairs and I was way downstairs, ok? You know how it is). I'm basically screwed [fucked] huh?
On the plus side, the other night I had a dream that I was about to get a massage (and probably more than that, who am I kidding) from a male escort. I kid ye not. Of course I woke up before we got to the good stuff (damned sunshine). I can't get any in my own dreams!
This can't be life.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
History CanNOT Repeat Itself
Where I should be excited that I am at the taping of my favorite sports TV show (it's good to be an intern, yo), I am instead having a silent freakout.
This post is written from the Blackberry because my computer is having a severe case of PMS. Long story short, I was being a brat to poor Savion and now when I restart her there is a hateful blue death screen with scary words like "BIOS" and "SAFE MODE" and just...oh, it's awful. My old computer did the same thing. Towards the end of her life. Which is why she is no longer with us!! Well, she's at my parents house, barely alive. So I guess she's in ICU or hospice. Not quite dead.
But anyway. By the grace of God, the assignment I thought was due today wasn't (I had church right in my driver's seat), but I NEED my computer to work!
Plus I've had a long day/week/life and I now I can't even unwind by watching a cheesy p*rno!!
I can't believe I just wrote that. But we're all adults, here. And you can't tell me laughing hysterically to some stupidly-titled, low budget flick doesn't warm the coldest of hearts. And if you say "ick no I've never watched 'Beverly Hills Bordello' and laughed mightily" then you are a liar and should be experiencing flames from the vicinity of your pantaloons.
FFUUUUUUUCCCCKKKK!!
PS--I hear Charles Barkley and I see Chris Webber! OMG my dad is gonna be so jealous! I love my life (this last post aside, of course).
This post is written from the Blackberry because my computer is having a severe case of PMS. Long story short, I was being a brat to poor Savion and now when I restart her there is a hateful blue death screen with scary words like "BIOS" and "SAFE MODE" and just...oh, it's awful. My old computer did the same thing. Towards the end of her life. Which is why she is no longer with us!! Well, she's at my parents house, barely alive. So I guess she's in ICU or hospice. Not quite dead.
But anyway. By the grace of God, the assignment I thought was due today wasn't (I had church right in my driver's seat), but I NEED my computer to work!
Plus I've had a long day/week/life and I now I can't even unwind by watching a cheesy p*rno!!
I can't believe I just wrote that. But we're all adults, here. And you can't tell me laughing hysterically to some stupidly-titled, low budget flick doesn't warm the coldest of hearts. And if you say "ick no I've never watched 'Beverly Hills Bordello' and laughed mightily" then you are a liar and should be experiencing flames from the vicinity of your pantaloons.
FFUUUUUUUCCCCKKKK!!
PS--I hear Charles Barkley and I see Chris Webber! OMG my dad is gonna be so jealous! I love my life (this last post aside, of course).
Friday, September 5, 2008
The Ice Cream Wasn't Even That Good
In my 19 years of living, I have lost many things. Money, my favorite gray sweatshirt, a new pair of jeans, a flatiron, my dignity, what have you. Some of these, thankfully, were found (the flatiron, sometimes the money), some still come and go (my dignity), and some are never to be found (that sweatshirt, those jeans, and yes, sometimes the money). Now I can add another "gone forever" thing to that list: my beloved Blackberry Curve.
That's right. My practically BRAND-NEW Blackberry with the adorable blue skin, is now sitting in the hands of some theiving asshole who must have scooped it up at the outdoor ice cream joint where I probably left it. As Cali Girl put it, "I hope whoever took it gets cancer from the phone's rays." This is why we are friends.
Firstly, it's my cell phone. My email. My lifeline. My instant connection to Dlisted. But aside from that, we all know how badly I wanted that phone. I worked lo-o-ong hours at VS, including two grueling graveyard shifts, to save up for it. And now my nicely laid-out plan to keep that phone until it turned to dust has been rudely thwarted by some jackass who will probably sell it because he is too lazy to find a respectable form of income and has to resort to stealing phones from innocently absent-minded college students. And I don't think I have insurance so you know the parentals were not pleased, to say the least.
My long day spent in high heels, tight jeans, 1,000-degree weather, and various annoyances was already going sour and I should have just gone home but I didn't. And now I'm phoneless. Maybe this is God's way of telling me not to be materialistic or to follow my instincts more often (if I'd listened to my gut and went straight home like I'd wanted to, this post would be upbeat twitter about my new semi-haircut).
Can I just say that yes I know it is just a phone and I may be exaggerating. But it was MY phone. MINE. That I helped PAY for. And also I am possessive.
Fare thee well, my little Blackberry. No, scratch that. Unless whoever took you turned you off for the night but intends on returning you to your rightful owner (ie, me) first thing in the morning, I hope you combust and explode violently in his or her very hands.
You know, in solidarity to me.
That's right. My practically BRAND-NEW Blackberry with the adorable blue skin, is now sitting in the hands of some theiving asshole who must have scooped it up at the outdoor ice cream joint where I probably left it. As Cali Girl put it, "I hope whoever took it gets cancer from the phone's rays." This is why we are friends.
Firstly, it's my cell phone. My email. My lifeline. My instant connection to Dlisted. But aside from that, we all know how badly I wanted that phone. I worked lo-o-ong hours at VS, including two grueling graveyard shifts, to save up for it. And now my nicely laid-out plan to keep that phone until it turned to dust has been rudely thwarted by some jackass who will probably sell it because he is too lazy to find a respectable form of income and has to resort to stealing phones from innocently absent-minded college students. And I don't think I have insurance so you know the parentals were not pleased, to say the least.
My long day spent in high heels, tight jeans, 1,000-degree weather, and various annoyances was already going sour and I should have just gone home but I didn't. And now I'm phoneless. Maybe this is God's way of telling me not to be materialistic or to follow my instincts more often (if I'd listened to my gut and went straight home like I'd wanted to, this post would be upbeat twitter about my new semi-haircut).
Can I just say that yes I know it is just a phone and I may be exaggerating. But it was MY phone. MINE. That I helped PAY for. And also I am possessive.
Fare thee well, my little Blackberry. No, scratch that. Unless whoever took you turned you off for the night but intends on returning you to your rightful owner (ie, me) first thing in the morning, I hope you combust and explode violently in his or her very hands.
You know, in solidarity to me.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
180 Degrees
And I'm not trying to be philosophical with that title. That's how FUCKING HOT it is here in Southern City. I'm here at Brother School dying, and I had to walk outside through campus for the guys to, ahem, blatantly ogle. Now I'm here at my Paper Meeting trying to figure out how to cross my legs in shorts without them looking fat. And some joker is in here filming the meeting, no doubt for some student project. And some girl is staring at me in a not quite friendly manner. I'm older than you, more higher up, and suffocating grossly in the heat. And trying to type surreptitiously. Girl, get out of here.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Perplexity
For the life of me I cannot figure out whether or not I am pretty or not. Is that weird? I've been poring over pictures of myself for an inordinately long time trying to get a reasonable answer but I am getting nowhere. In some pictures I think, "well, I look ok but my eyebrows look weird" or "in this one my hair looks funny but I guess it's an all-around nice picture." So I really can't decide. I mean, I've been called "pretty" before but I've also been called "ugly," too (well, by Middle Sister when we were kids), so is it even or what? File this under "deep intellectual thoughts."
Urgh I'm also trying to pack to go back to school and although I've made a sizable dent, I still have a hefty mountain to climb and it is hot in here and I am tired. Plus my arse hurts from sitting on the floor amidst scarves and clothes and half-packed suitcases.
Notable shenanigan: last time I worked at VS, I had to work with the miserable cow who works in the ubiquitous back room.** She was rude to me and I was rude to her. As in, she let a door slam in my face and I accidentally-on-purpose brushed by her forcefully. I would have been meaner but a) I can't be outwardly mean, and, more importantly, 2) the week before, I'd put some bras in the wrong place, hoping she would have to re-organize them, and doing more might have been too much. After all, my Creator does not like ugly.
**She probably works in the back because she IS, in fact, a miserable cow. One with no interpersonal skills who must therefore remain hidden away from us NORMAL people.
On Facebook I think I really pissed this guy off. First he friended me, then messaged me, asking if I recognized him. I didn't, and he kept having me go through his pictures to no avail. Eventually I asked him if he recognized me, and his answer was so unsatisfactorily vague I just said, well, sorry man, take care! I mean, it sucks if someone doesn't remember you, but if you don't remember them either, what's the point in all the charades? Unless he had some weird ulterior motive, to which I say, tut tut, sir, you could have had a better delivery than "do you recognize me?"
Damn. Where did all this (admittedly gorgeous) extra jewelry come from and where the fuck am I going to put it all? I'll figure that out later. I wonder if the clearance DVDs at Blockbuster are all gone. The best thing about having a fondness for bad movies is that they usually go on sale pretty quickly, providing tons of wallet-friendly entertainment for you in the long run. I hate when moms give that annoying "don't waste your money on that! Save it!" spiel, and then while you're contemplating whether or not you really need that Previously Viewed $9.99 copy of Hairspray she goes, "well, it's your money. Spend it however you want," leaving you nice and confused. Oh, sod it. I know I leave really soon but this room is simply too much for one woman to handle. Especially one who gets distracted by her bootleg copy of Monster-in-Law.
Urgh I'm also trying to pack to go back to school and although I've made a sizable dent, I still have a hefty mountain to climb and it is hot in here and I am tired. Plus my arse hurts from sitting on the floor amidst scarves and clothes and half-packed suitcases.
Notable shenanigan: last time I worked at VS, I had to work with the miserable cow who works in the ubiquitous back room.** She was rude to me and I was rude to her. As in, she let a door slam in my face and I accidentally-on-purpose brushed by her forcefully. I would have been meaner but a) I can't be outwardly mean, and, more importantly, 2) the week before, I'd put some bras in the wrong place, hoping she would have to re-organize them, and doing more might have been too much. After all, my Creator does not like ugly.
**She probably works in the back because she IS, in fact, a miserable cow. One with no interpersonal skills who must therefore remain hidden away from us NORMAL people.
On Facebook I think I really pissed this guy off. First he friended me, then messaged me, asking if I recognized him. I didn't, and he kept having me go through his pictures to no avail. Eventually I asked him if he recognized me, and his answer was so unsatisfactorily vague I just said, well, sorry man, take care! I mean, it sucks if someone doesn't remember you, but if you don't remember them either, what's the point in all the charades? Unless he had some weird ulterior motive, to which I say, tut tut, sir, you could have had a better delivery than "do you recognize me?"
Damn. Where did all this (admittedly gorgeous) extra jewelry come from and where the fuck am I going to put it all? I'll figure that out later. I wonder if the clearance DVDs at Blockbuster are all gone. The best thing about having a fondness for bad movies is that they usually go on sale pretty quickly, providing tons of wallet-friendly entertainment for you in the long run. I hate when moms give that annoying "don't waste your money on that! Save it!" spiel, and then while you're contemplating whether or not you really need that Previously Viewed $9.99 copy of Hairspray she goes, "well, it's your money. Spend it however you want," leaving you nice and confused. Oh, sod it. I know I leave really soon but this room is simply too much for one woman to handle. Especially one who gets distracted by her bootleg copy of Monster-in-Law.
Saturday, August 9, 2008
OMG...GMO
*GMO means "gross me out." Try and keep up.
At VS, a Clacker looked up from the table of cotton panties she was folding and asked me, "Do you smoke?"
Blecch. Nothing but 19 years of home training kept me from making a disgusted face as I answered with a pithy "Er, ah, I do not."
She continued her conversation with a fellow smoking Clacker, during which I found out that more of my co-workers light up than I knew, including one who I really do not like. Finding out she smokes gives me more reason to dislike her, so I couldn't even be too appalled.
Now, before hearts get all atwitter, I think we can surmise that I am one of the least-judgmental people on God's green earth. You wanna move to a nudist commune? Get an abortion*? Have a man-2-man wedding with Little Richard singing "Tutti Frutti" a capella as you walk down the aisle in matching purple catsuits? Fine! Send my invite and let's party! I have my opinions about other things, of course (Z-list fame-whores, porn stars, sexploitation in general), but if there is one thing that revolts me to the point where my like for you instantly goes down two points, it is the pulling out and subsequent lighting of that hateful little orange-tipped deathstick.
*Oh yes. I went there.
Don't get me wrong, though. If one of my friends started a Marlboro habit tomorrow, that is not to say I would, like, not be their friend anymore (I won't, however, date smokers) or anything. I'd put in my two cents and say that I find smoking reprehensible, and that would be it. I'm not going to constantly reiterate the importance of healthy lungs. It's their life, their lungs, do with it what you will. You have every right to smoke, and I have every right to find it gross. Such is the way of the world.
In my next post I will lighten the mood with shopping, movies, and other daily mishaps. There is raw footage of my interview with TAT at Warped Tour which must be uploaded on Youtube. Not to mention, I want to think more about that purple-catsuited wedding...
At VS, a Clacker looked up from the table of cotton panties she was folding and asked me, "Do you smoke?"
Blecch. Nothing but 19 years of home training kept me from making a disgusted face as I answered with a pithy "Er, ah, I do not."
She continued her conversation with a fellow smoking Clacker, during which I found out that more of my co-workers light up than I knew, including one who I really do not like. Finding out she smokes gives me more reason to dislike her, so I couldn't even be too appalled.
Now, before hearts get all atwitter, I think we can surmise that I am one of the least-judgmental people on God's green earth. You wanna move to a nudist commune? Get an abortion*? Have a man-2-man wedding with Little Richard singing "Tutti Frutti" a capella as you walk down the aisle in matching purple catsuits? Fine! Send my invite and let's party! I have my opinions about other things, of course (Z-list fame-whores, porn stars, sexploitation in general), but if there is one thing that revolts me to the point where my like for you instantly goes down two points, it is the pulling out and subsequent lighting of that hateful little orange-tipped deathstick.
*Oh yes. I went there.
Don't get me wrong, though. If one of my friends started a Marlboro habit tomorrow, that is not to say I would, like, not be their friend anymore (I won't, however, date smokers) or anything. I'd put in my two cents and say that I find smoking reprehensible, and that would be it. I'm not going to constantly reiterate the importance of healthy lungs. It's their life, their lungs, do with it what you will. You have every right to smoke, and I have every right to find it gross. Such is the way of the world.
In my next post I will lighten the mood with shopping, movies, and other daily mishaps. There is raw footage of my interview with TAT at Warped Tour which must be uploaded on Youtube. Not to mention, I want to think more about that purple-catsuited wedding...
Monday, July 28, 2008
Bear with Me, My Mind is a Jungle
Yummy. Pretzels are good. I've been around the world (not) and the best pretzies ever still come in the blue bag at the titian shopping emporium that is CVS.
Left TV Station early, to, apparently, my own detriment. As soon as my ride arrived is when there was actually semblance of an assignment. But I wasn't about to waste all that gas, so I departed. But tomorrow (well, the next time I go back, Wednesday), is a new day. Funny-ish: today a woman was named the new GM of the station and on her tour of the station, she came up behind me while I was on Gawker.com. Oops. Hopefully my non-work wasn't too evident, but I wouldn't be surprised if it was. Because such is my life.
Got into nice, petty little squabbles with various family members almost back-to-back; contemplated over and over the joys of living alone. Had to hide in the basement with a movie and my laptop for solace, along with my beloved pretzels, que claro.
While on the quest for those deliciously salty snacky-snacks, I narrowly avoided a collision in the CVS parking lot. For once a near-accident wasn't my fault! I had to honk my horn, which, even against the rudest of drivers, I never do. It was that serious, y'all.
Question: does Lord Voldemort ever have to go to the bathroom? I can't imagine him thumbing through Entertainment Weekly while, you know, peeing. Oh, wait, boys stand up, don't they? But what about...well, never mind. Also, how come there's never any mention of showering or daily ablutions in the HP septology (pretty sure I made that term up)? Hmm. Golly I love that Ron Weasley.
Over the weekend, I discovered that I suck at all things financial. After buying a (really cute) top and undies from Forever 21, I mentally calculated my expenditures and nearly fell out. I tried to prioritize my purchases, but, um, epic fail. It was supposed to go (in order of importance):
-Clothes
-...shit, I forgot the order already. I guess that's my problem. Well, I know food was at the bottom of the list and makeup, nail polish, and underwear was somewhere in between. But I am weak in the face of pretzels, the shirt was in a truly majestic leopard print, and the undies were on sale for 99 CENTS. What would YOU have done?
Left TV Station early, to, apparently, my own detriment. As soon as my ride arrived is when there was actually semblance of an assignment. But I wasn't about to waste all that gas, so I departed. But tomorrow (well, the next time I go back, Wednesday), is a new day. Funny-ish: today a woman was named the new GM of the station and on her tour of the station, she came up behind me while I was on Gawker.com. Oops. Hopefully my non-work wasn't too evident, but I wouldn't be surprised if it was. Because such is my life.
Got into nice, petty little squabbles with various family members almost back-to-back; contemplated over and over the joys of living alone. Had to hide in the basement with a movie and my laptop for solace, along with my beloved pretzels, que claro.
While on the quest for those deliciously salty snacky-snacks, I narrowly avoided a collision in the CVS parking lot. For once a near-accident wasn't my fault! I had to honk my horn, which, even against the rudest of drivers, I never do. It was that serious, y'all.
Question: does Lord Voldemort ever have to go to the bathroom? I can't imagine him thumbing through Entertainment Weekly while, you know, peeing. Oh, wait, boys stand up, don't they? But what about...well, never mind. Also, how come there's never any mention of showering or daily ablutions in the HP septology (pretty sure I made that term up)? Hmm. Golly I love that Ron Weasley.
Over the weekend, I discovered that I suck at all things financial. After buying a (really cute) top and undies from Forever 21, I mentally calculated my expenditures and nearly fell out. I tried to prioritize my purchases, but, um, epic fail. It was supposed to go (in order of importance):
-Clothes
-...shit, I forgot the order already. I guess that's my problem. Well, I know food was at the bottom of the list and makeup, nail polish, and underwear was somewhere in between. But I am weak in the face of pretzels, the shirt was in a truly majestic leopard print, and the undies were on sale for 99 CENTS. What would YOU have done?
Sunday, July 13, 2008
You Jump, I Jump
So, yes, last night was the big birthday do.
Notable: my beef chow mein was delicious, my dad got my mom this ridiculously huge diamond (an update of her engagement ring I think), and my uncle, who moved to Kansas City and hasn't been back for six years, showed up and surprised everyone (well, me at least). That part was really nice. The best party guest goes to my mom's dreadlocked, Afro-centric, self-titled "renegade" teacher friend. She quit her teaching job and is working on her dissertation about the use of "Black language" (aka ebonics) and is seriously awesome. She and Top Chef would have a field day together--I told her she needs to come and teach at My College. Actually, I think she would have a better time at Brother College, but either way she'd turn the campus on its ear.
When it rains, it pours: at first, today's VS shift was turned into an on-call, for which they didn't need me. Not that I wasn't glad to get back to sleep, but, um, I need the money. Wait a minute. What if I get laid off?! It's not like I'm not expendable; I suck at the organizational part of putting the store back together (I had to give this one rude-ass bitch the side-eye last time because she snapped at me like I was incompetent when I was really just confused and a tiny bit EXHAUSTED), and I've only opened one store credit card. IF I GET FIRED FROM THIS JOB I WILL DIE OF MORTIFICATION. Not to mention destitution. Let's change the subject and hope for the best.
All day, since I didn't have to work (insert nervous whimper), I made an ass-shaped groove in the couch in front of the TV because there were all these specials about Diana, Princess of Wales on Oxygen. Quite fascinating stuff, actually, and just not because I like reading about her. A little while later I watched a documentary about the Titanic. Maybe I am a total nerd...
Speaking of the Ship Formerly Known as Unsinkable, I can only watch my Three Disc Special Collector's Edition DVD of Titanic every few years because I bawl every time I do. I can't help it. I'm totally fine up until the part at the end where Rose climbs up the stairs to meet Jack under that "Make it count" clock and everyone applauds as they kiss. That's when I lose it. I even tear up at the opening bars of "My Heart Will Go On." Oh, God, I'm getting sappy just posting that link. This is just pitiful. And yet, I'm considering unearthing my DVD as we speak. Do not disturb.
Notable: my beef chow mein was delicious, my dad got my mom this ridiculously huge diamond (an update of her engagement ring I think), and my uncle, who moved to Kansas City and hasn't been back for six years, showed up and surprised everyone (well, me at least). That part was really nice. The best party guest goes to my mom's dreadlocked, Afro-centric, self-titled "renegade" teacher friend. She quit her teaching job and is working on her dissertation about the use of "Black language" (aka ebonics) and is seriously awesome. She and Top Chef would have a field day together--I told her she needs to come and teach at My College. Actually, I think she would have a better time at Brother College, but either way she'd turn the campus on its ear.
When it rains, it pours: at first, today's VS shift was turned into an on-call, for which they didn't need me. Not that I wasn't glad to get back to sleep, but, um, I need the money. Wait a minute. What if I get laid off?! It's not like I'm not expendable; I suck at the organizational part of putting the store back together (I had to give this one rude-ass bitch the side-eye last time because she snapped at me like I was incompetent when I was really just confused and a tiny bit EXHAUSTED), and I've only opened one store credit card. IF I GET FIRED FROM THIS JOB I WILL DIE OF MORTIFICATION. Not to mention destitution. Let's change the subject and hope for the best.
All day, since I didn't have to work (insert nervous whimper), I made an ass-shaped groove in the couch in front of the TV because there were all these specials about Diana, Princess of Wales on Oxygen. Quite fascinating stuff, actually, and just not because I like reading about her. A little while later I watched a documentary about the Titanic. Maybe I am a total nerd...
Speaking of the Ship Formerly Known as Unsinkable, I can only watch my Three Disc Special Collector's Edition DVD of Titanic every few years because I bawl every time I do. I can't help it. I'm totally fine up until the part at the end where Rose climbs up the stairs to meet Jack under that "Make it count" clock and everyone applauds as they kiss. That's when I lose it. I even tear up at the opening bars of "My Heart Will Go On." Oh, God, I'm getting sappy just posting that link. This is just pitiful. And yet, I'm considering unearthing my DVD as we speak. Do not disturb.
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