I am losing it. I came home from work, a half an hour early because we had a working lunch because of the state stuff and like I said, this morning's run killed me. I felt like I wasn't going to even make it to five, so I had to leave.
I left. I left and came home, had some delicious baked mac and cheese and laid in my bed and slowly drifted off to dream land. My alarm was set for 9pm.
7:12 p.m.- My eyes shoot open.
What is that God-awful noise?! The basement door is open and there is no muffling of the upstairs noises. I hear everything. People are screaming, literally screaming, yelling each other's names, belting out songs, banging on the piano, and I know I sound like the fun killer right now, but please please people, just close the damned basement door.
Why are you jumping up and down in the house like you are jumping rope? What are you doing up there? Murdering someone? I don't understand how all this noise is being produced or why. I want to die.
I lay there for a second thinking about whether I am going to contribute to the hub-bub of things and I decide that I should just get up and close the basement door even though I know the risk is wide eyed cranky werewolf-ishness.
It has begun. I am the crankiest girl you ever did meet at this moment. Please. Stay away.
I feel like a werewolf because I feel like I am slowly turning, my shoulder twitching up to my ear and chin as my head simultaneously tilts and turns to the left. My senses become heightened, my eyes squint. I'm thirsty for blood and the next person that gets in my way will fall prey to my new super human strength aka I'm effing irritated. Poor victim was my unsuspecting, unoffending little brother. He walks down the basement steps and I bark to him to make sure the door is closed when he goes up as I am about to lose it. He earlier closed the door for me and doesn't realize that it has been open for forever now and says how it has been closed and I inform him, no, I just closed that. He gets a little offensive.
He comes down again. I apologize and am now zombie eyed in the bed as my werewolf is beginning to wear off-only slightly. I am seated up right in my bed looking absolutely crazy as I complain to my brother about the raucous above us. He agrees. Thank God for blood and a life before this. Hell thank God for a life after this.
He ventures above ground again leaving me alone to deal with the still so loud noise party above even with the muffling of the floor boards. Next thing I know someone is screaming another person's name which I don;'t get because why can't you just go looking for the person? The house is not at all that large. Soon I will be implementing the ringing bell so that if you hear the bell you will have your attention captured instead of this top of the lung screaming business. Needless to say, I can't keep in my werewolf any longer and howl a so nasty howl that sounded something like oh my God, but very strangled and full of distress.
I then hastily grab my trusty CareBear blanket which has been half way across the world with me and an oversized pillow. One of my stepsisters is at the top of the stairs as I reach the bottom and she is wondering if I am ok, if I am hurt. Physically I am not. Mentally there may be a sprain somewhere that if isn't treated will most definitely lead to a break. My mother is wondering what is going on and as I look completely haggard as I did just get up from my bed, she appears quite concerned.
I exclaim that I am moving out. I then proceed to the front of the house, past the living room and out the front door with pillow and blanket in tow. As I attempted to lay down and sleep in the driveway I realize that this is a bit unreasonable and with my disorientation circle my mother's car twice thinking only about car keys, my car keys as I opt for the comfort of my car. I then remember that my keys are in the basement lair and I don't care to venture back down there and so I walk back through the front door, past the living room, through the kitchen, through the sliding door that leads me to the garage. We have a love seat out there that I have decided to lay in. I still hear my mother and my brother and I realize defeated, that I give up. I return back to the house while suggestions to close the garage door and what not are thrown at me.
Enough. You win. I lose. And I am wide awake. The search for apartments begins.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
New Low
Running is beginning to ruin my life. It is bringing down my self esteem and I really just want to never do it again, but as I sit here in these size 11 pants and they give me toasty baker's goods spilling over my waistband, I realize that I must, because I refuse to go a pant size higher (although I do own those larger sizes). I have also part way ruined my run as it is ruining me because I ate a sprinkle frosted donut just to spite the mother. Ha! Take that. You don't control me! I must admit that I will be a slave to the weight machine tonight and that tomorrow morning I will rise again and try to distract myself as I run for those tortuous three miles. Oh did I say that I drove in my car to clock the mileage? That is how I know it is three miles. It seemed like it took forever to do that even in my vehicle. Who invented running? Whomever they are, they should be shot. Just a thought.
So I ate out last night with the bestie celebrating her first day at a new job and of course we stop and talk to everyone on the streets because we are on Elmwood and she knows everyone. I realize that I am just an introverted hermit crab. I don't care to know people and I don't want to know people. I would actually prefer if you stopped talking to me. Thank you.
That night we are snapping pics and trying to find a place to have dinner. The first place the service sucked and so we left. The next place is a traditional pick as we are always heading there for special occasions like graduations and birthdays and goodbyes and what not. So we head there and our server is amazing. She laughs with us. I'm sitting around with my lawyer looking best friend and I'm sitting there with gladiator sandals and my rayon blazer, which as my new gay man friend tells me that rayon is a nice little material as it is a natural fabric being a component of wood. Well, personally I think rayon sucks because you wash it once and then that article of clothing is dunzo. Done like through. I need my items to last a few years. Just saying.
Well we are sitting and chatting and the poor other diners are no longer having a nice quiet slash peaceful dining experience since we have walked in the doors. We are yucking it up and just enjoying ourselves thoroughly. Now there is this one topic that comes up and I can't help but laugh as it takes me completely off guard. My friend ends up telling me how she thinks that this girl we know mutually has something wrong with her. This makes me laugh because the population that she deals with is a little touched (please excuse my political incorrectness). When we initially met the girl, we found that she had a bit of social awkwardness about her seemingly highly uncomfortable in social situations and thus not knowing how to conduct herself.
My friend learned first hand that she led a very sheltered life and has decided that she isn't sure if she can be friends with her any longer due to the fact that a lot of what she said at their last meeting was highly offensive. I may save that until later. Needless to say there are different types of friends. You have real friends, the rarest to find. These people will be right in the thick of things with you and typically are life long companions. Now you may also come across fake friends. These are the worst kind, but come in throngs. You can always find a faker. They will be in your face when things are good, but let things get not so good and if they haven't high tailed it out of there, then they are most likely just adding to the drama and your stress. Let them be aka let them go.
You may also encounter the middle friend. The middle friend doesn't (super)suck. You can do more with them than party. You can have conversations and share parts of your life with them. The issue with a middle friend is that they have a great way of making it seem like they are a real friend, when it doesn't go much farther than a few things and probably involves them in some way shape or form. These are people that you go to when you just want to vent and are in party mode because they are fun, just not always the most reliable. They are usually the people that you can go without talking to and not even notice. Fakers can be like that too, except Fakers are so malicious and good at their jobs that you will want to be around a Faker and be (real) friends with them. Hell you probably think that you already are. They are scary. Watch out for them.
Associates will also come into play, they are like a combination of middle friends and fakers. You usually just party with thes people and don't share much of who you are in part to the fact that what makes them an associate is that you don't spend very much time with them. I likd associates.
That girl has been demoted from middle friend to associate. Shame.
I am so looking forward to this work day ending. I am not making it. That run did me in this morning. I am also staring at my phone like a desperate ninnie. I think I may need to flip it over and attempt to do some work. Yes. Work. That is why I get paid isn't it? Because all this that I am talking about is not nearly that interesting.
Sorry.
Oh, right, I thought that I should also inform you that I put deodorant on this morning before I left the house instead of at the office. I'm also not wearing a bra. Professionalism, here I come!
So I ate out last night with the bestie celebrating her first day at a new job and of course we stop and talk to everyone on the streets because we are on Elmwood and she knows everyone. I realize that I am just an introverted hermit crab. I don't care to know people and I don't want to know people. I would actually prefer if you stopped talking to me. Thank you.
That night we are snapping pics and trying to find a place to have dinner. The first place the service sucked and so we left. The next place is a traditional pick as we are always heading there for special occasions like graduations and birthdays and goodbyes and what not. So we head there and our server is amazing. She laughs with us. I'm sitting around with my lawyer looking best friend and I'm sitting there with gladiator sandals and my rayon blazer, which as my new gay man friend tells me that rayon is a nice little material as it is a natural fabric being a component of wood. Well, personally I think rayon sucks because you wash it once and then that article of clothing is dunzo. Done like through. I need my items to last a few years. Just saying.
Well we are sitting and chatting and the poor other diners are no longer having a nice quiet slash peaceful dining experience since we have walked in the doors. We are yucking it up and just enjoying ourselves thoroughly. Now there is this one topic that comes up and I can't help but laugh as it takes me completely off guard. My friend ends up telling me how she thinks that this girl we know mutually has something wrong with her. This makes me laugh because the population that she deals with is a little touched (please excuse my political incorrectness). When we initially met the girl, we found that she had a bit of social awkwardness about her seemingly highly uncomfortable in social situations and thus not knowing how to conduct herself.
My friend learned first hand that she led a very sheltered life and has decided that she isn't sure if she can be friends with her any longer due to the fact that a lot of what she said at their last meeting was highly offensive. I may save that until later. Needless to say there are different types of friends. You have real friends, the rarest to find. These people will be right in the thick of things with you and typically are life long companions. Now you may also come across fake friends. These are the worst kind, but come in throngs. You can always find a faker. They will be in your face when things are good, but let things get not so good and if they haven't high tailed it out of there, then they are most likely just adding to the drama and your stress. Let them be aka let them go.
You may also encounter the middle friend. The middle friend doesn't (super)suck. You can do more with them than party. You can have conversations and share parts of your life with them. The issue with a middle friend is that they have a great way of making it seem like they are a real friend, when it doesn't go much farther than a few things and probably involves them in some way shape or form. These are people that you go to when you just want to vent and are in party mode because they are fun, just not always the most reliable. They are usually the people that you can go without talking to and not even notice. Fakers can be like that too, except Fakers are so malicious and good at their jobs that you will want to be around a Faker and be (real) friends with them. Hell you probably think that you already are. They are scary. Watch out for them.
Associates will also come into play, they are like a combination of middle friends and fakers. You usually just party with thes people and don't share much of who you are in part to the fact that what makes them an associate is that you don't spend very much time with them. I likd associates.
That girl has been demoted from middle friend to associate. Shame.
I am so looking forward to this work day ending. I am not making it. That run did me in this morning. I am also staring at my phone like a desperate ninnie. I think I may need to flip it over and attempt to do some work. Yes. Work. That is why I get paid isn't it? Because all this that I am talking about is not nearly that interesting.
Sorry.
Oh, right, I thought that I should also inform you that I put deodorant on this morning before I left the house instead of at the office. I'm also not wearing a bra. Professionalism, here I come!
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Looking Up From the Ground
Already this morning, I have managed to burn my pinky finger and narrowly escape the grips of a huge nasty centipede that has been taking over my basement living space.
This is the second time that I have seen the nasty bugger and the second time that he has just vanished into thin air. It's like he knows I am going for the shoe because every time I pick it up and aim and point, gone and then all I can think is where the hell did he go? Did he just drop down to the ground? Is there a hole in the wall and if so am I going to step on him? Does that mean he has a family? Basically I think that not only will I eat spiders in my sleep, but that the centipede will be crawling overhead of me and then decide to just drop down as it so conveniently does when I am trying to kill it. Why doesn't he just want to die? Just meet my shoe already. Gheeze.
Now yesterday, I watched Rise of the Planet of the Apes. I told you without explanation that I was no longer allowed to watch love sappy movies because they are ruining my life? Well they are. Who cries during Bridesmaids (what I saw the day the disclaimer went out) and Planet of the Apes? Worst part is that they are not even intentionally love sappy movies. There main purpose is not the portrayal of love, but comedy and suspense. How do I find the undertones of love in everything?
Needless to say, I found myself crying and screaming at the television, "Just tell him you love him!! You know you do! Just tell him!" I also found tears in my eyes more than once. Caesar touched and tugged at my heart strings with his above average intelligence and animal instincts rolled into one. How come the human wasn't able to express something so fundamental in relationship building? Affection is natural and necessary. Man is a social creature. Just saying. I also yelled when whatever his name is came to get Caesar out of the hell hole for primates and Caesar closed the door on him. I had to yell that he better not walk away!! Did he walk away? Of course. Caesar would have gone right on home with you if you would have fought just an inch, an inch. That is not a big measurement, but that simple thing would have made all the difference, especially when the other individual is hurt and believes that you don't care in the first place. It was killing Caesar to make that move, but in the end it was best for him because scientist guy just wasn't strong enough to handle such a sensitive soul.
See? What was that? I have some serious issues. I'm sure it is because I am a sappy helplessly hopeless romantic. I make myself sick. I may also need to discuss this with someone with a degree and a couch.
So. To add to my list of morning things done, I have also severed the remaining part of my nail entirely from the nail bed. It is hanging by a side thread. The bandaid that I have now plastered to my finger is making it entirely difficult to type this here information. I may have to stop. I don't think I can. Now the trouble with this all started back in my London travels. My best friend came to visit and literally something like the first or second day she came to visit we had already put a few drinks back and the next thing you know I want to kill her and another girl because they are singing chorale songs and we had things to do besides sing and I have this intense aversion to singing and whistling at times. I think my influence intensified this new found dislike and so I run to the back of the apartment, but I don't quite make it. I end up eating it instead and somehow my entire body weight landed upon my wittle tiny ring finger on my right hand.
That fall resulted in one of the most painful and longest aftermath consequential issues since I had to get stitches. When first examining the tip of my finger it look like I had fingertips that were made of strawberries. I had burst capillaries in my finger and so I had red blotches covering the tip of my finger. My nail looked as I described it in the first two weeks like Two-Face from Batman. It was a healthy and deep shade of bruised up black and blue, but I said Two-Face because it was only half my nail. As it healed and I thought I was out of the thick of it, my nail was referred to as the man with out a face. Two Face wasn't healed and looked more raw, which my nail did in the beginning but Mel Gibson with only half a good face healed and scarred over was what my nail soon began to resemble.
I had to take extra care as after some time I began to realize that the nail was not only discolored, but it was also dead, so half of my nail could be lifted from the nail bed, trapping things under there contributing to the overall grotesque nature of the damaged finger and there was always the fear of getting things caught under there. This fear was soon realized as one day at work I noticed a hair of unknown origin wedged under the flap of my dead nail and the healing nail bed. I was sure of an infection, but as it would be the lifting nail soon found itself ripping at the side and getting caught on things and ripping deeper into my healthy undead nail and nail bed. This was becoming quite painful and so one night, as it was disrupting my sleep, I simply clipped away as much of the dead nail without hurting the undead. This left me with an L shaped nail with an exposed bed as if I bit my fingernail for a living, the bad biting.
I have had a manicure with that L shaped nail and it looks disgusting to say the least and it is a bit embarrassing, but I was beginning to get over that have had three different nail colors to hide the rest of the dead nail and boost morale. Well today would be the day that as I am lifting a box and try to place it down that it so happens to catch and lift back the good part of my bad nail. What gives? Blood dripping everywhere and I still can't manage to get this typing thing down. It is taking me significantly longer and I keep trying to bypass that finger by using another one which messes me up because I can't find the home keys as easily since I am mixing them up. I need a caretaker, because clearly I am a walking disaster. So much for the morale boost.
So I managed to do a bit of work today aka help hang up a sign promoting HIV testing since the state is coming in today. I was raising my arms and I don't smell, but of course I haven't put any deodorant on today and so I have come to realize that the no deodorant thing is reaching a new high or low, however you want to look at it. I am beginning to question why people like me. I don't wear deodorant on a daily basis( I did put some on after the arm raise, feeling a bit insecure), I don't always shave my legs or my armpits especially if it is winter time ( I need all the extra warmth)-imagine what else can go untamed, I wash my face in the shower, but probably not how most people do. I think that boogers are gross, but aren't dirty and apparently I pick my nose on many occasions. I like to pop pimples, being barefoot is best, and sometimes I won't shower for a few days. Gross, gross, gross. But, people still like me and I don't know why.
I think it might be a good thing that I don't wear make-up since people like me now without it while knowing about all those gross things. Imagine if I was super pretty. I could do so many gross things and totally get away with it. Thinking about some of them just made me throw up a little in my mouth.
I swallowed it.
This is the second time that I have seen the nasty bugger and the second time that he has just vanished into thin air. It's like he knows I am going for the shoe because every time I pick it up and aim and point, gone and then all I can think is where the hell did he go? Did he just drop down to the ground? Is there a hole in the wall and if so am I going to step on him? Does that mean he has a family? Basically I think that not only will I eat spiders in my sleep, but that the centipede will be crawling overhead of me and then decide to just drop down as it so conveniently does when I am trying to kill it. Why doesn't he just want to die? Just meet my shoe already. Gheeze.
Now yesterday, I watched Rise of the Planet of the Apes. I told you without explanation that I was no longer allowed to watch love sappy movies because they are ruining my life? Well they are. Who cries during Bridesmaids (what I saw the day the disclaimer went out) and Planet of the Apes? Worst part is that they are not even intentionally love sappy movies. There main purpose is not the portrayal of love, but comedy and suspense. How do I find the undertones of love in everything?
Needless to say, I found myself crying and screaming at the television, "Just tell him you love him!! You know you do! Just tell him!" I also found tears in my eyes more than once. Caesar touched and tugged at my heart strings with his above average intelligence and animal instincts rolled into one. How come the human wasn't able to express something so fundamental in relationship building? Affection is natural and necessary. Man is a social creature. Just saying. I also yelled when whatever his name is came to get Caesar out of the hell hole for primates and Caesar closed the door on him. I had to yell that he better not walk away!! Did he walk away? Of course. Caesar would have gone right on home with you if you would have fought just an inch, an inch. That is not a big measurement, but that simple thing would have made all the difference, especially when the other individual is hurt and believes that you don't care in the first place. It was killing Caesar to make that move, but in the end it was best for him because scientist guy just wasn't strong enough to handle such a sensitive soul.
See? What was that? I have some serious issues. I'm sure it is because I am a sappy helplessly hopeless romantic. I make myself sick. I may also need to discuss this with someone with a degree and a couch.
So. To add to my list of morning things done, I have also severed the remaining part of my nail entirely from the nail bed. It is hanging by a side thread. The bandaid that I have now plastered to my finger is making it entirely difficult to type this here information. I may have to stop. I don't think I can. Now the trouble with this all started back in my London travels. My best friend came to visit and literally something like the first or second day she came to visit we had already put a few drinks back and the next thing you know I want to kill her and another girl because they are singing chorale songs and we had things to do besides sing and I have this intense aversion to singing and whistling at times. I think my influence intensified this new found dislike and so I run to the back of the apartment, but I don't quite make it. I end up eating it instead and somehow my entire body weight landed upon my wittle tiny ring finger on my right hand.
That fall resulted in one of the most painful and longest aftermath consequential issues since I had to get stitches. When first examining the tip of my finger it look like I had fingertips that were made of strawberries. I had burst capillaries in my finger and so I had red blotches covering the tip of my finger. My nail looked as I described it in the first two weeks like Two-Face from Batman. It was a healthy and deep shade of bruised up black and blue, but I said Two-Face because it was only half my nail. As it healed and I thought I was out of the thick of it, my nail was referred to as the man with out a face. Two Face wasn't healed and looked more raw, which my nail did in the beginning but Mel Gibson with only half a good face healed and scarred over was what my nail soon began to resemble.
I had to take extra care as after some time I began to realize that the nail was not only discolored, but it was also dead, so half of my nail could be lifted from the nail bed, trapping things under there contributing to the overall grotesque nature of the damaged finger and there was always the fear of getting things caught under there. This fear was soon realized as one day at work I noticed a hair of unknown origin wedged under the flap of my dead nail and the healing nail bed. I was sure of an infection, but as it would be the lifting nail soon found itself ripping at the side and getting caught on things and ripping deeper into my healthy undead nail and nail bed. This was becoming quite painful and so one night, as it was disrupting my sleep, I simply clipped away as much of the dead nail without hurting the undead. This left me with an L shaped nail with an exposed bed as if I bit my fingernail for a living, the bad biting.
I have had a manicure with that L shaped nail and it looks disgusting to say the least and it is a bit embarrassing, but I was beginning to get over that have had three different nail colors to hide the rest of the dead nail and boost morale. Well today would be the day that as I am lifting a box and try to place it down that it so happens to catch and lift back the good part of my bad nail. What gives? Blood dripping everywhere and I still can't manage to get this typing thing down. It is taking me significantly longer and I keep trying to bypass that finger by using another one which messes me up because I can't find the home keys as easily since I am mixing them up. I need a caretaker, because clearly I am a walking disaster. So much for the morale boost.
So I managed to do a bit of work today aka help hang up a sign promoting HIV testing since the state is coming in today. I was raising my arms and I don't smell, but of course I haven't put any deodorant on today and so I have come to realize that the no deodorant thing is reaching a new high or low, however you want to look at it. I am beginning to question why people like me. I don't wear deodorant on a daily basis( I did put some on after the arm raise, feeling a bit insecure), I don't always shave my legs or my armpits especially if it is winter time ( I need all the extra warmth)-imagine what else can go untamed, I wash my face in the shower, but probably not how most people do. I think that boogers are gross, but aren't dirty and apparently I pick my nose on many occasions. I like to pop pimples, being barefoot is best, and sometimes I won't shower for a few days. Gross, gross, gross. But, people still like me and I don't know why.
I think it might be a good thing that I don't wear make-up since people like me now without it while knowing about all those gross things. Imagine if I was super pretty. I could do so many gross things and totally get away with it. Thinking about some of them just made me throw up a little in my mouth.
I swallowed it.
Monday, August 29, 2011
Who Does Diets?!
I am starving. I decided that I would only bring cherries, grapes, a cucumber, and a tomato to work with me today. I think I hate myself.
I have been running. Ran again today and not the drunk gotta go running, but the healthy down the street running. Went with mom this morning and I love her, but never again. She stops and walks, then runs again and I can't. When I stop I think that the run is over. My body thinks we are stopping for good and that inner monologue that I had going gets all jumbled and I lose my place and then my feet start to drag and I become very aware of how effing tired I am and how my muscles are screaming at me because they are sore and hurt and I nearly found myself run over by a car this morning. Not a good look. And so thanks to all this new found running, I am attempting to eat in a healthy manner, but I want more substance. I thought the fruit would make me happy, but I am just sad.
Yesterday, I have to head out to my babysitter family's house and so I go, things are fine, just checking up because they are going on a Disney cruise to Alaska. Jealous for one, but for two we are just going over things as they left today and I won't be seeing them until they return next Tuesday. Well anyways, just hanging out chit chatting then I decide ok, I am all the way out here (Orchard Park), I may as well head to the wonderful Tj Maxx out here. I haven't been interested in carrying bags lately and so I am contemplating whether I should bring one in with me to the store. I choose yes, but I happen to have two bags in my junkard of a car and so I choose the smaller of the two. Mistake. As I place my phone, my passport (don't ask) and my wallet in this tiny satchel, I lock the doors, close them and walk maybe ten feet away. It is then that I look in the little bag searching for keys, that I undoubtedly know I left in the car seeing that I do this quite often. The only good part about this situation, with my keys staring at me through the passenger window fitted nicely into the ignition, was that I was in the Tj Maxx parking lot. If I had been else where I am not sure how this situation would have gone.
Now I say that I chose the wrong bag because my larger bag had the spare key that I helped myself to the morning of the panty flagging and what not at the gas station. It would happen that I would not replace the spare thinking that it wouldn't be necessary. Hello self!! Have you not met your-self?! I'm going to need me to get that together.
I have currently been at work since 9:15 am. It is now 12:15 pm. Three hours. I have five more to go. I am not sure I will make it. I have also done maybe twenty minutes of work. I have been half working, half searching for fall shoes to purchase and then place on my feet. I have shopping issues. It is decided.
I need to input 14 things into the system which shouldn't take long at all, but I need to start for it to get done. I need a vacation. The state is coming in here tomorrow. We have a grant from them that funds our HIV initiative and so they want to make sure that we are not only implementing it effectively, but also properly and at all. So stressed. So much to do in preparation and I feel as if I am the only one cleaning things up. Hello?! Whatever. Lame.
I lied, I have also been filling myself with artificial sugars in the form of juicy tangy fruity skittles. Damn the little buggers.
I have also been propositioned the selling of my vehicle. I don't believe that I am ready to give her up yet. The other day I looked at her and it was like looking at an old family pet who hobbles up and down the stairs, looking at you with the pitiful eyes as if to question you, why, oh why did you have stairs put here? Well that was how my baby was looking, pitiful and sad and beat up and worn down and just plainly and simply, old. My baby is old. She has skin cancer on her front hood and no amount of wax is going to help her. Key lesson that sunscreen is very important. She can't go as fast as she used to, just a slow little gal. Makes me so sad, but at the end of it all, she was my first car and I love her. I can't imagine driving any other car. I don't think I'd fit in them. I just love my baby. The Money Maker. She's a trooper. That's what her name should really be. Trooper. Sounds rugged and manly, which I will switch to androgynous. Just saying.
The whole point of me thinking back on my baby like that is because someone said that they wanted to purchase her and they can't!! I love her too much. I can't let her go! It is too difficult to think of. I can't say that anyone would in their right mind want to purchase and that is the key word, purchase my car. She is old and nearly ready to fall apart, well I think she has a year or two left in her still, but I don't think that she should be switched over owners. The depression may set in and then it will all be downhill. I love her and she loves me. We are good for each other. Everyone knows it is me coming down the street. I just love her. I can't do it. I can't. I have to break the news to the potential, who no longer has potential, buyer.
I think that I must either get some work done or go to lunch. Tough decision.
I also just received a phone call from a vision center. Darnation. Seeing that I haven't been able to contact my patient for the past week now. It makes me quite sad. I must admit that I hate cricket telephones. They do me no good.
I have decided to be productive. Maybe now I will have my cucumber.
I have been running. Ran again today and not the drunk gotta go running, but the healthy down the street running. Went with mom this morning and I love her, but never again. She stops and walks, then runs again and I can't. When I stop I think that the run is over. My body thinks we are stopping for good and that inner monologue that I had going gets all jumbled and I lose my place and then my feet start to drag and I become very aware of how effing tired I am and how my muscles are screaming at me because they are sore and hurt and I nearly found myself run over by a car this morning. Not a good look. And so thanks to all this new found running, I am attempting to eat in a healthy manner, but I want more substance. I thought the fruit would make me happy, but I am just sad.
Yesterday, I have to head out to my babysitter family's house and so I go, things are fine, just checking up because they are going on a Disney cruise to Alaska. Jealous for one, but for two we are just going over things as they left today and I won't be seeing them until they return next Tuesday. Well anyways, just hanging out chit chatting then I decide ok, I am all the way out here (Orchard Park), I may as well head to the wonderful Tj Maxx out here. I haven't been interested in carrying bags lately and so I am contemplating whether I should bring one in with me to the store. I choose yes, but I happen to have two bags in my junkard of a car and so I choose the smaller of the two. Mistake. As I place my phone, my passport (don't ask) and my wallet in this tiny satchel, I lock the doors, close them and walk maybe ten feet away. It is then that I look in the little bag searching for keys, that I undoubtedly know I left in the car seeing that I do this quite often. The only good part about this situation, with my keys staring at me through the passenger window fitted nicely into the ignition, was that I was in the Tj Maxx parking lot. If I had been else where I am not sure how this situation would have gone.
Now I say that I chose the wrong bag because my larger bag had the spare key that I helped myself to the morning of the panty flagging and what not at the gas station. It would happen that I would not replace the spare thinking that it wouldn't be necessary. Hello self!! Have you not met your-self?! I'm going to need me to get that together.
I have currently been at work since 9:15 am. It is now 12:15 pm. Three hours. I have five more to go. I am not sure I will make it. I have also done maybe twenty minutes of work. I have been half working, half searching for fall shoes to purchase and then place on my feet. I have shopping issues. It is decided.
I need to input 14 things into the system which shouldn't take long at all, but I need to start for it to get done. I need a vacation. The state is coming in here tomorrow. We have a grant from them that funds our HIV initiative and so they want to make sure that we are not only implementing it effectively, but also properly and at all. So stressed. So much to do in preparation and I feel as if I am the only one cleaning things up. Hello?! Whatever. Lame.
I lied, I have also been filling myself with artificial sugars in the form of juicy tangy fruity skittles. Damn the little buggers.
I have also been propositioned the selling of my vehicle. I don't believe that I am ready to give her up yet. The other day I looked at her and it was like looking at an old family pet who hobbles up and down the stairs, looking at you with the pitiful eyes as if to question you, why, oh why did you have stairs put here? Well that was how my baby was looking, pitiful and sad and beat up and worn down and just plainly and simply, old. My baby is old. She has skin cancer on her front hood and no amount of wax is going to help her. Key lesson that sunscreen is very important. She can't go as fast as she used to, just a slow little gal. Makes me so sad, but at the end of it all, she was my first car and I love her. I can't imagine driving any other car. I don't think I'd fit in them. I just love my baby. The Money Maker. She's a trooper. That's what her name should really be. Trooper. Sounds rugged and manly, which I will switch to androgynous. Just saying.
The whole point of me thinking back on my baby like that is because someone said that they wanted to purchase her and they can't!! I love her too much. I can't let her go! It is too difficult to think of. I can't say that anyone would in their right mind want to purchase and that is the key word, purchase my car. She is old and nearly ready to fall apart, well I think she has a year or two left in her still, but I don't think that she should be switched over owners. The depression may set in and then it will all be downhill. I love her and she loves me. We are good for each other. Everyone knows it is me coming down the street. I just love her. I can't do it. I can't. I have to break the news to the potential, who no longer has potential, buyer.
I think that I must either get some work done or go to lunch. Tough decision.
I also just received a phone call from a vision center. Darnation. Seeing that I haven't been able to contact my patient for the past week now. It makes me quite sad. I must admit that I hate cricket telephones. They do me no good.
I have decided to be productive. Maybe now I will have my cucumber.
Saturday, August 27, 2011
One of Many
I am a runner. No, I haven't been running since Thursday night or whenever that was, although I will go today (hopefully), but I am a runner. I find myself in situations and then I run.
Last night I am hanging with a new group of kids and I get super awkward in new situations. Some people find my awkward really endearing or they think that I am not so awkward and that it is super cool and other people take my awkward as jack off. I don't like the last one since I promise you I am pretty far off from a jack off (most days).
Well last night I am thrown into this new situation and I realize that I am quite opinionated and I was told that apparently I need people to do things for me aka I am a control freak and it is either my way or no way. I blame my mother for this. Because of her I think that there is only one way to do things and that one way is not only the right way, but it is also my way. Poor lady. Her new husband was driving and she says, "I wouldn't have gone this way." Translation- Why the hell did you go this way?! It is wrong. Not only was his way not the wrong way, but it was actually less out of the way than the route my mother would have taken. So not only do we think we are always right, but we are more often times not. I have found myself in similar situations. People can't even peel potatoes around me. I have issues. Admittance is the first step. I believe I am making progress.
Who invented skittles in a cup? Terrible invention. Tasty, but terrible. Shwasted and shmammered (nearly) after two cups of that. That is called a problem. Who's idea was that? And my poor friend, Tiny Tim that she is, Tiny Tim should have no cups to half cups, but not two cups. Just an observation-if you weren't aware, I am trying to come away from the 'just saying' since I say it ALL the time, but back to the cup o skittles. Damned things had me running away since I was blithering and blathering about nonsense about who knows what and I am sure that if I were 647, which I usually am, I would find me very entertaining. That may be part of it. I also felt extremely not in the mood for strip clubs and there was a rumbling in my belly.
I did say strip club, which I later found out was closed? I place a question mark there as I can not believe that a strip club would be closed as no matter the season there are always lonely or not so lonely, but pervy horny men who would much rather escape into dimmed down lights where they could, but are encouraged not to, touch the women that they will touch themselves too. They aren't on the tv which makes them much more attainable and why would someone close a place like that? Men need a get-a-way too and they don't have many men friendly spas. Just saying. I guess that guy won't go away.
Well as I was blabbering, the thought came into my head that I would much rather be in my bed than looking at tricks on a pole-hilarious since the people do tricks, but some might call them that. Funny by accident. The best way to be. So, from this realization I decided that it was time to go and so I ran. I ran home and it wasn't until this afternoon when I groggily awoke from the depths of a deep and unfulfilling sleep that I was questioned as to my whereabouts. I felt bad at first, but then when I was told that while the boys ventured into the agreed upon destination, filled with hood rats, which apparently is a difficult thing to define, the girls stayed behind and found themselves asleep in the vehicle. Who does that? I have decided that in my old age I am unhangable. I have also realized that it happens to the best of us.
Now last night, there was a topic of conversation that just could not be settled and I realize that I may also be a nasty lady (as in rude not loosely). This hood rat thing, which I find to be synonymous with a Buffalo girl. Well there was this one character there and he decided that he didn't want to agree with anything that I had to say, I think mostly for entertainment value, which I grossed at $0. Apparently we didn't agree on much. Well everyone is talking about these girls and hood rat and Buffalo girls (stereo-typically speaking) and I must admit they exist. Mid-definition which was originally playful in manner, character boy decides to let me know that aren't I a Buffalo girl being a female residing in Buffalo? Well, no. That is not what distinguishes a Buffalo girl from other females as I am clearly making a distinction that to me wasn't seemingly as simple as residency and gender.
Right, did you hear the nasty lady in there? I don't know where she comes from sometimes. I think stupid people make her think it is ok to come out and play. I should tell her otherwise.
I was then later told or rather asked why I wasn't a Buffalo girl?, because I dress a little differently and don't talk a certain way? Well, no again, not quite character boy. I wouldn't classify myself as a Buffalo girl because I am an individual, not a cookie cut out. I also am not satisfied with being pacified by the ideas that run the streets telling me that I need to act like I don't have thoughts in my head that will lead me away from the bull and down the road to success. I also don't need to take out my bamboos once a week to go whoop some other girl(or guys) ass. I also don't chew gum like it may be the last piece of gum I will ever see in my lifetime and I do have better things to do than go out and get the latest sneakers and then a matching purse, hair color, and or belt. My discussions revolve around more than how some girl was giving me the stink eye. I know that this may sound a certain way, but it isn't like that. Hard to explain.
Whatever. Going to kill myself running. I hate running. Eff.
Last night I am hanging with a new group of kids and I get super awkward in new situations. Some people find my awkward really endearing or they think that I am not so awkward and that it is super cool and other people take my awkward as jack off. I don't like the last one since I promise you I am pretty far off from a jack off (most days).
Well last night I am thrown into this new situation and I realize that I am quite opinionated and I was told that apparently I need people to do things for me aka I am a control freak and it is either my way or no way. I blame my mother for this. Because of her I think that there is only one way to do things and that one way is not only the right way, but it is also my way. Poor lady. Her new husband was driving and she says, "I wouldn't have gone this way." Translation- Why the hell did you go this way?! It is wrong. Not only was his way not the wrong way, but it was actually less out of the way than the route my mother would have taken. So not only do we think we are always right, but we are more often times not. I have found myself in similar situations. People can't even peel potatoes around me. I have issues. Admittance is the first step. I believe I am making progress.
Who invented skittles in a cup? Terrible invention. Tasty, but terrible. Shwasted and shmammered (nearly) after two cups of that. That is called a problem. Who's idea was that? And my poor friend, Tiny Tim that she is, Tiny Tim should have no cups to half cups, but not two cups. Just an observation-if you weren't aware, I am trying to come away from the 'just saying' since I say it ALL the time, but back to the cup o skittles. Damned things had me running away since I was blithering and blathering about nonsense about who knows what and I am sure that if I were 647, which I usually am, I would find me very entertaining. That may be part of it. I also felt extremely not in the mood for strip clubs and there was a rumbling in my belly.
I did say strip club, which I later found out was closed? I place a question mark there as I can not believe that a strip club would be closed as no matter the season there are always lonely or not so lonely, but pervy horny men who would much rather escape into dimmed down lights where they could, but are encouraged not to, touch the women that they will touch themselves too. They aren't on the tv which makes them much more attainable and why would someone close a place like that? Men need a get-a-way too and they don't have many men friendly spas. Just saying. I guess that guy won't go away.
Well as I was blabbering, the thought came into my head that I would much rather be in my bed than looking at tricks on a pole-hilarious since the people do tricks, but some might call them that. Funny by accident. The best way to be. So, from this realization I decided that it was time to go and so I ran. I ran home and it wasn't until this afternoon when I groggily awoke from the depths of a deep and unfulfilling sleep that I was questioned as to my whereabouts. I felt bad at first, but then when I was told that while the boys ventured into the agreed upon destination, filled with hood rats, which apparently is a difficult thing to define, the girls stayed behind and found themselves asleep in the vehicle. Who does that? I have decided that in my old age I am unhangable. I have also realized that it happens to the best of us.
Now last night, there was a topic of conversation that just could not be settled and I realize that I may also be a nasty lady (as in rude not loosely). This hood rat thing, which I find to be synonymous with a Buffalo girl. Well there was this one character there and he decided that he didn't want to agree with anything that I had to say, I think mostly for entertainment value, which I grossed at $0. Apparently we didn't agree on much. Well everyone is talking about these girls and hood rat and Buffalo girls (stereo-typically speaking) and I must admit they exist. Mid-definition which was originally playful in manner, character boy decides to let me know that aren't I a Buffalo girl being a female residing in Buffalo? Well, no. That is not what distinguishes a Buffalo girl from other females as I am clearly making a distinction that to me wasn't seemingly as simple as residency and gender.
Right, did you hear the nasty lady in there? I don't know where she comes from sometimes. I think stupid people make her think it is ok to come out and play. I should tell her otherwise.
I was then later told or rather asked why I wasn't a Buffalo girl?, because I dress a little differently and don't talk a certain way? Well, no again, not quite character boy. I wouldn't classify myself as a Buffalo girl because I am an individual, not a cookie cut out. I also am not satisfied with being pacified by the ideas that run the streets telling me that I need to act like I don't have thoughts in my head that will lead me away from the bull and down the road to success. I also don't need to take out my bamboos once a week to go whoop some other girl(or guys) ass. I also don't chew gum like it may be the last piece of gum I will ever see in my lifetime and I do have better things to do than go out and get the latest sneakers and then a matching purse, hair color, and or belt. My discussions revolve around more than how some girl was giving me the stink eye. I know that this may sound a certain way, but it isn't like that. Hard to explain.
Whatever. Going to kill myself running. I hate running. Eff.
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