Here's the deal...I hate New Years resolutions. I find them extremely over-sentimental and dumb. Personally, I really have a hard time understanding why in the world someone would wait until a certain date my make a change in their lives. Why not just wake up one morning, and say to yourself, "Today, I'm going to take the first step to becoming a healthy eater"
I think the whole idea of "Today is the day I begin my new life!" is so totally over-dramatic, and much too Hollywood for me. Most of the time, I do not make New Years resolutions...especially since I'm the kind of person who freaks out and makes all these long term goals for myself that are completely impossible to accomplish, and I end up driving myself batty trying to accomplish them. Therefore, I try really hard to be realistic and to take life one step at a time. New Years resolutions have potential to turn me into a nut-case.
In the past, when I have made New Years resolutions, they have been stupid joke resolutions. One year, my resolution was to accumulate at least 100 new CD's in the New Years. The next year, my New Years resolution was to learn to speak like a black girl and use my knew lingo as much as possible. One year I resolved to learn how to speak cat (I think I was pretty hopped up on sugar when I made this one)
So, true to tradition, I will share with you a few of the things I'VE resolved to do, in 2009.
1. Paint my toe-nails a different color for each 365 days in the good ol' year of 2009.
2. Learn all the words to Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen, and recite them daily at a predetermined time I will decide upon at a later time.
3. Become better at procrastinating (This one I might get around to later...)
4. Give an entire speech speaking in a British accent, and then take a survey to see how many people bought it.
5. Crap out a turd measuring in at at least seven inches in length, and three inches in diameter.
2008, you were kind of a jerk, but that's ok, because I loved you all the same. Here's to '09!!
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Saturday, December 27, 2008
I am not qualified for this position...
I don't understand why boys constantly ask me for relationship advice. Girls do, too, don't get me wrong. It's just mainly boys. I'll get these messages on FB Chat describing all the long and gory details of their love life...or lack there of. It baffles me. It's like, somebody posted a bulletin containing false information that I'm an expert in this field. I'm not. Not in the least, little, tiniest speck of a way am I an expert. In fact, I am so under qualified it's not even funny. It should be considered a federal offense for me to give out relationship advice, because I have no idea how to make a real relationship work. I have trouble even making friendships work - excluding all the mushy gushy I love you's. I'm completely dysfunctional when it comes to the opposite sex. So why are you asking me what you should do to make this girl like you? Why are you asking me my opinion? Maybe you should come to me when you've just gotten dumped...then I might know what to tell you, because I sure as heck know about getting dumped...a heck of a lot more than I know about relationships. Actually, scratch that, maybe you shouldn't, because I've been rejected enough times that at this point, I don't want to hear your whiny story because I've got about three for every one that you have. I'll probably just tell you to pull up your big boy/girl pants, grow up, and move on. I'm pretty mean like that.
In fact, I don't understand why people ask me for advice period. I don't really think I'm that good at giving it. Most of the time, I just pull crap out of my butt on what I think might work in their situation. I have no real idea or real experience that might give me an idea on how to solve a problem. I just know how to live with problems. That's all. It's like, one second it'll be just joking around, hi how are you's, being a dork, and the next minute, they've bared their whole soul to me, and I'm standing there with my mouth gaping open because I can't even remember how we got from joking about our fat butts, or talking about music to all of your suppressed feelings. I'm completely uncomfortable with people telling me their problems. It makes me feel awkward - in fact, I'm so much a narcisist that it irritates me when people tell me their problems because it means I can't keep going on and on about mine. Isn't that horrible? Does that sound like the kind of person you'd want to ask advice from? No. Not to me, at least. People tell me all the time "You're sooo easy to talk to!" Personally, I think I come off as a distant angry looking witch. Apparently, that's not the case.
What's so weird about it, is it's not even people I know really well a lot of the times asking me for advice - it's people I've talked to like, twice before in my entire life. I don't know, maybe people think I'm really good at the advice thing since I got dumped in possibly the most horrible way anyone could ever get dumped in about a year ago, and that automatically makes me a caring and compassionate person - newsflash...it doesn't. All it does is make me pity you less because I know what it's like to get dumped, and honestly there are worse things in the world than your little girlfriend breaking up with you for some stud...really, you'll be fine. Trust me. In a few weeks you'll be chasing someone elses skirt. Believe me.
What bugs me the most is when people say things like "I think we really had something" or "We connected so deeply" or even "They were my everything" and I'll start to feel a little dwelling of compassion take occupancy in my soul, and I"ll ask them "Oh no, how long were you dating for"
Then they'll raise their eyebrows, and say "Well, let's see...about three months"
Three months? Please. That's bull. You didn't have something. You didn't connect deeply. They most certainly were not your everything. Just because you made out for three months straight (and when I say that, I mean that's ALL you did for three months) doesn't mean that you've been cut deeply in your soul. I dated a guy for two years. Two years. That's a heck of a long time. At least for high-school relationships it is, anyway. I was convinced I was getting an engagement ring for Christmas...and instead I got the boot. And I got over it...if I can get over it, then you can deary, so suck it up. THAT'S my advice.
Now pull up your panties and shut up because I don't want to hear it anymore.
Now, it also dawns on me that sometimes boys do this to draw a girls attention. Now, I don't knwo what kind of a sick and sorry idiot you are, but I'm not the girl to be playing the sympathy card on, as you can probably tell by now. I'm not going to feel sorry for you. Chances are, I'm going to be creeped out by you. How about you try talking to me by...hmm...let's see...asking me about myself. I love talking about myself. It's true. I'm not afraid to admit it. It's one of my favorite past-times. Or maybe, just maybe, you could tell me a funny joke. That might work, too.
You don't have to come up with some sick and twisted scheme to endear me to you, especially since it's not going to work. Go play that trick on the next stupid sap.
So, in conclusion, I'd like to let everyone know, that if you ask me for relationship advice, you need to know that I'm completely incapable of making any kind of a relationship work. IN FACT, the only relationships I ever had, I either A.) Acted like a crazy maniac B.) Felt that I needed to share the horrible truths of my acting like a crazy maniac on the first date, therefore scaring Mr. Wonderful off or C.) Decided that because Mr. Wonderful wasn't an angsty rock star, I didn't like him...
So, before you ask me for relationship advice, please consider that I can't make a relationship work myself. I'm happy to advice you, but your relationship will probably crash and burn if you take my advice. You have been warned.
In fact, I don't understand why people ask me for advice period. I don't really think I'm that good at giving it. Most of the time, I just pull crap out of my butt on what I think might work in their situation. I have no real idea or real experience that might give me an idea on how to solve a problem. I just know how to live with problems. That's all. It's like, one second it'll be just joking around, hi how are you's, being a dork, and the next minute, they've bared their whole soul to me, and I'm standing there with my mouth gaping open because I can't even remember how we got from joking about our fat butts, or talking about music to all of your suppressed feelings. I'm completely uncomfortable with people telling me their problems. It makes me feel awkward - in fact, I'm so much a narcisist that it irritates me when people tell me their problems because it means I can't keep going on and on about mine. Isn't that horrible? Does that sound like the kind of person you'd want to ask advice from? No. Not to me, at least. People tell me all the time "You're sooo easy to talk to!" Personally, I think I come off as a distant angry looking witch. Apparently, that's not the case.
What's so weird about it, is it's not even people I know really well a lot of the times asking me for advice - it's people I've talked to like, twice before in my entire life. I don't know, maybe people think I'm really good at the advice thing since I got dumped in possibly the most horrible way anyone could ever get dumped in about a year ago, and that automatically makes me a caring and compassionate person - newsflash...it doesn't. All it does is make me pity you less because I know what it's like to get dumped, and honestly there are worse things in the world than your little girlfriend breaking up with you for some stud...really, you'll be fine. Trust me. In a few weeks you'll be chasing someone elses skirt. Believe me.
What bugs me the most is when people say things like "I think we really had something" or "We connected so deeply" or even "They were my everything" and I'll start to feel a little dwelling of compassion take occupancy in my soul, and I"ll ask them "Oh no, how long were you dating for"
Then they'll raise their eyebrows, and say "Well, let's see...about three months"
Three months? Please. That's bull. You didn't have something. You didn't connect deeply. They most certainly were not your everything. Just because you made out for three months straight (and when I say that, I mean that's ALL you did for three months) doesn't mean that you've been cut deeply in your soul. I dated a guy for two years. Two years. That's a heck of a long time. At least for high-school relationships it is, anyway. I was convinced I was getting an engagement ring for Christmas...and instead I got the boot. And I got over it...if I can get over it, then you can deary, so suck it up. THAT'S my advice.
Now pull up your panties and shut up because I don't want to hear it anymore.
Now, it also dawns on me that sometimes boys do this to draw a girls attention. Now, I don't knwo what kind of a sick and sorry idiot you are, but I'm not the girl to be playing the sympathy card on, as you can probably tell by now. I'm not going to feel sorry for you. Chances are, I'm going to be creeped out by you. How about you try talking to me by...hmm...let's see...asking me about myself. I love talking about myself. It's true. I'm not afraid to admit it. It's one of my favorite past-times. Or maybe, just maybe, you could tell me a funny joke. That might work, too.
You don't have to come up with some sick and twisted scheme to endear me to you, especially since it's not going to work. Go play that trick on the next stupid sap.
So, in conclusion, I'd like to let everyone know, that if you ask me for relationship advice, you need to know that I'm completely incapable of making any kind of a relationship work. IN FACT, the only relationships I ever had, I either A.) Acted like a crazy maniac B.) Felt that I needed to share the horrible truths of my acting like a crazy maniac on the first date, therefore scaring Mr. Wonderful off or C.) Decided that because Mr. Wonderful wasn't an angsty rock star, I didn't like him...
So, before you ask me for relationship advice, please consider that I can't make a relationship work myself. I'm happy to advice you, but your relationship will probably crash and burn if you take my advice. You have been warned.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
I'm getting tired of carrying around other people's old burdens. Burdens I didn't even earn. I did nothing to receive them.
So maybe it's time that I throw them away.
I think I will.
So maybe somewhere along the road, they'll find them again. Then they can know what it's like to carry around a heavy burden - heck, maybe I'll tie a couple of my own burdens onto theirs so that they know what it's like to carry around someone else's burden, too. I could use a few less burdens.
But I don't think I will...add my own that is.
See, I'm strong enough to carry my burdens...especially because they're the right kind of burdens...especially since I know that when I can't handle my burdens, I can cast them on someone who IS strong enough to take them. See, I can carry my cross, even when others can't.
So, I hope you find your burdens that I'm dumping off...or rather, I hope they find you. In fact, I'm sure they will. That's the funny thing about burdens...they always find their way back to you when you make other people carry them.
Oh yeah, and one more thing.
I'm done.
See ya.
Sincerely,
Always,
Never Yours,
Aubree.
So maybe it's time that I throw them away.
I think I will.
So maybe somewhere along the road, they'll find them again. Then they can know what it's like to carry around a heavy burden - heck, maybe I'll tie a couple of my own burdens onto theirs so that they know what it's like to carry around someone else's burden, too. I could use a few less burdens.
But I don't think I will...add my own that is.
See, I'm strong enough to carry my burdens...especially because they're the right kind of burdens...especially since I know that when I can't handle my burdens, I can cast them on someone who IS strong enough to take them. See, I can carry my cross, even when others can't.
So, I hope you find your burdens that I'm dumping off...or rather, I hope they find you. In fact, I'm sure they will. That's the funny thing about burdens...they always find their way back to you when you make other people carry them.
Oh yeah, and one more thing.
I'm done.
See ya.
Sincerely,
Always,
Never Yours,
Aubree.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Update on the BOYFRIEND aspect of Journeys of a jobless, boyfriendless college student...
No, I don't have a boyfriend. I know, I know, you read the title and you were like "HURRAH! AUBREE IS NO LONGER A LOSER!"
Or not.
For humorous purposes, I wanted to give you a brief history of my love life.
First let me tell you that I have this odd attraction to guys with strange last names. I'm going to give each boy code names (except maybe a couple) so that if they ever stumble across this they don't die of horror.
My very first crush:
I will reveal his real name to you, because I don't think I'll ever contact him again in my entire life. His name was Danny Dingledien. When I tell people that, they don't believe me. They're like "Wasn't that the name of some cartoon character's first crush?" and I tell them, no. No, it is not. Danny and I were soul mates. It's true. When I was four years old, I laid eyes on his beautiful blond head and instantly fell in love. Danny bought me Pound Puppies for my 5th birthday. He also came up to me once at Wednesday night kids club to ask me how I was doing. We were about 1 step away from becoming boyfriend and girlfriend...until one day the evil seductress Jana (name changed for privacy purposes *snicker*) STOLE HIM AWAY FROM ME. They would sit underneath the play-dough table and play house, and she would pretend to shoot me with a gun while I sat quietly on the bench waiting for Danny to come back to me - WHERE HE BELONGED. Then one day, Danny moved away. It was one of the saddest days of my child-hood.
My First Substantial Crush:
When I was in Junior High, my family and I left our old church and went to a new one where I met the love of my life - the apple of my eye - the first guy I ever truly had any kind of a real interest in - let's call him...Dennis. Dennis and I had something. He liked me and I liked him. It was meant to be. It would last forever. Until a blond bombshell popped out of nowhere and stole him from me (figures). I really really liked Dennis. This crush lasted probably around 3 years (it was one of those on again off again things). I think I was about 14 or 15 before I stopped liking him. Everything would've worked out perfectly. Dennis and I spoke every day. We were best friends...except for the fact that Dennis had a massive crush on my best friend, and was totally using me to get to her. Little did I know, Dennis and my best friend were having make out fests every Saturday night while I sat at home and wrote in my diary about my pathetic life and how beautiful Dennis was even though he was a total jerk. Dennis soon realized that my best friend was a total skank and was making out with like, 4 other guys at the same time she was making out with him, and Dennis dumped her for another girl who dumped him for her old boyfriend. Well, I didn't care by then, because I had already moved onto the pinnacle of my love life thus far...and when I say pinnacle, I mean the most horrendous, disgusting part of it.
My first SERIOUS Boyfriend:
When I was 15 and a half years old, I met, and started dating a guy...well...I think the most appropriate name to give him would be...Dick.
Yes.
Dick suits him well.
Anyway, Dick was my first serious boyfriend. We dated for about two years and thought we were going to get married and junk. It was US AGAINST THE WORLD. and NOTHING COULD STOP US. and IT DIDN'T MATTER WHAT THEY SAID, WE'D PROVE THEM WRONG! also, OUR LOVE WAS STRONGER THAN THEIRS, and THEY DIDN'T KNOW WHAT TRUE LOVE WAS BECAUSE THEY'RE OLD.
Dick and I went through very many stages. There was like "*Giggle*Ilikeyou*giggle*" stage.
Then there was the "lakshgluhawough" which basically stands for sucking each others faces all the time stage. After that, there was the baby talk phase where we only spoke to each other in baby talk. Then there was the "I'm going to act like an idiot around you all the time, because I'm immature" phase. We insisted on spending every moment of every day together. I was restless without him by my side (oh gosh, BARF).
Then, one day, Dick went to college.
That's where Dick met two of his homo friends, who he wanted to have gay homo sex with (ok, I'm exaggerating a little here...BUT THIS IS FOR LITERARY PURPOSES), so, as it always goes, Dick decides to stand true to his name and dump me two weeks before Christmas by telling me that he still wanted to be my best friend, that he still wanted me to go to the college which he was going to, which he basically stole from me because I'd wanted to go there since I was 10 years old, and that he'd call me all the time. Then he sent me a nasty email telling me to stop contacting him even though I never called him and emailed him twice because I wanted my crap back from his pyschotic parent's house. The last time I saw him was when he decided to bring his girlfriend to MY church, which he no longer goes to and rub my nose in it. I wonder if she knows he's having gay homo sex? Whoops! Shame on you Aubree. Bad. Bad Aubree.
My Current Love Adventures.
My First Crush After My First Relationship:
Was, as it always is, absolutely massive, and absolutely ridiculas. No joke. I don't even need to give this guy a name. We're really good friends now, and nothing came out of it, but I like, drooled over him for like ever. It's actually not even worth mentioning.
My First DATE after My First Relationship:
Was with a guy named Ican'tmakeupmymindbecausemybodyistoolargetoevenreallytrulyhaveamind. Ok, that wasn't his name, but oh well. His name is Joe, and I'm only saying his name because I don't care if he stumbles across this because I actually have some somewhat nice things to say about him after the horrible things I'm about to say. Joe's like, huge. He's a football player at the college he goes to. That's basically why I liked him. And his last name is weird. See, weird magnetic forces attract me to guys with strange last names. Anyway, we went on like, one date, emailed a ton, and yeah. First let me describe our first date.
1. He takes me to like, some cheap nasty family restaurant where the cheeseburgers are disgusting. Just for the record, I'm the queen of the cheeseburger. Cheeseburgers are my one true love. He doesn't pick me up, he meets me there, which is cool, except I get there like, exactly on time, and I get the feeling that he's been waiting there for me desperately for like, a good 20 minutes, because he's got this look of sheer terror written on his face like he was petrified I wouldn't show. So when he see's me walk through the door, his whole entire dumb face lights up - and you know how I feel about people adoring me - I love it, so I was sucked in.
2. He was oddly sweaty. Like...weirdly so. Not just overly nervous. As if his largeness was just overtaking him and he couldn't like...I don't know...be coolish.
3. We go see a movie, which we both had already seen (isn't that stupid? I don't know why we made that choice...), and he starts playing the...should I hold her hand game? I find this extremely hilarious, because a lot of guys have played this game with me. He'd gradually move his arms from a crossed on his chest position, to resting on his thighs. Then, ever so subtly, he'll move his hand closest to mine closer to mine off his thigh. He'll even reach for my hand a few times, but chicken out and retreat, only to start all over again. Now, a nice person would just do him a favor and reach out and grab his hand, but I find it totally hilarious to let him sweat it out because I'm such a little wench like that and I don't even care. So he FINALLY grabs my hand, and I grab his back, and his arm is like, stiffer than a plank. Like, he's so tense.
4. He totally went in for a kiss, and I totally deflected it by hugging him and burrying my face in his chest. I hate first date kissers. Actually, I don't kiss at all anymore. I don't like kissing. No guy unless he gives me an expensive peice of jewelery is worthy of touching my lips with his. No way, no how. Sorry, wrong answer. You do not pass go, you do not get 200 dollars.
So then, we email for a week and plan to go on another date, when he calls me and pretty much breaks it off with me, except he doesn't really, he tells me he wants to get to know me more as a friend before we officially start dating. Then, he texts me over the weekend, and then I text him like a couple days later, then get an email telling me he isn't interested anymore. The next thing I know, he's changed his relationship status to in a relationship with another girl named slutty mcslutpants. I'm just kidding. I'm sure she's an awesome girl.
My point is, I actually really respected Joe for being so upfront about his feelings. Like, you're going to feel what you feel, and if you liked this other girl more than me, I sure as heck don't want to be dating a guy who's only dating me because he feels like he has to follow through. I want to be with a guy who wants to be with me (surprise, surprise, right?). So no skin off my bones. So Joe, if you ever truly read this (even though I was totally jerky and unfriended you on Facebook. It was honestly because I got sick of seeing your relationship news pop up on my newsfeed), please know that I think you're a pretty cool guy, but obviously not the right guy for me...and that's good, because I'm not the right girl for you. I wish you all the luck in life. Thanks for being honest. You saved me a heck of a lot of mushyness and heartache that was completely unneccesary.
Then I Got Really Desperate...
Here's the thing about being a nanny...you spend your entire days with little kids. When you watch little kids, you begin to feel like an overweight house wife who doesn't even have someone going to work to buy her expensive things. So, I got a little desperate, and I clicked on an add I saw on Facebook for "woome.com"
I was just "looking" when a guy's message popped up on my screen. Now, being that I'm such a little jerk, I decided I wanted to flirt, so I start messaging him, and I find out he's in the Navy. Now, to me that seems safe because there's no way I'm going to get into a relationship with a dude who's about to be shipped off. Well, it turns out that Navy creeper guy is in Chicago until November something, and he asks me if I want to meet him downtown to hang out.
I deleted my account and swore off internet dating.
And then I met that guy who was an idiot who I say "hi" to and dumped him which I realized was actually really redeeming for reasons that are too complicated to go into.
And now, I have no one. Except for a guy who I think is kind of cute who goes to one of the bible studies at my school (No, it's not CRU, so if any of the CRU guys who are totally curshing [and I know you are] read this, don't get your hopes up), and this other guy who would be absolutely perfect except for the fact that the second he opens up his mouth he sounds gay - but he says he's not. It's really confusing.
There have also been a series of guys in between that I rejected for stupid reasons. In fact, they are so pathetic, I will list them for you.
1. They don't understand the proper usage of you're/your.
2. They're short.
3. They like me too much
4. I don't like Pollocks
5. They said something once that slightly resembled something my ex boyfriend would've said.
6. They like the Packers.
7. They like the White Sox.
8. They're too Christian
9. They aren't Christian enough
You get the picture.
So, based on all of that history, I've come to the conclusion that I don't want a boyfriend right now because I know I'm going away to school next year and I don't want to be tied down. Isn't that horrible?
Who knows.
I don't know if I'll ever get this whole thing figured out. All I know is that I'm so glad I'll never be the future Aubree Dingledein.
Or not.
For humorous purposes, I wanted to give you a brief history of my love life.
First let me tell you that I have this odd attraction to guys with strange last names. I'm going to give each boy code names (except maybe a couple) so that if they ever stumble across this they don't die of horror.
My very first crush:
I will reveal his real name to you, because I don't think I'll ever contact him again in my entire life. His name was Danny Dingledien. When I tell people that, they don't believe me. They're like "Wasn't that the name of some cartoon character's first crush?" and I tell them, no. No, it is not. Danny and I were soul mates. It's true. When I was four years old, I laid eyes on his beautiful blond head and instantly fell in love. Danny bought me Pound Puppies for my 5th birthday. He also came up to me once at Wednesday night kids club to ask me how I was doing. We were about 1 step away from becoming boyfriend and girlfriend...until one day the evil seductress Jana (name changed for privacy purposes *snicker*) STOLE HIM AWAY FROM ME. They would sit underneath the play-dough table and play house, and she would pretend to shoot me with a gun while I sat quietly on the bench waiting for Danny to come back to me - WHERE HE BELONGED. Then one day, Danny moved away. It was one of the saddest days of my child-hood.
My First Substantial Crush:
When I was in Junior High, my family and I left our old church and went to a new one where I met the love of my life - the apple of my eye - the first guy I ever truly had any kind of a real interest in - let's call him...Dennis. Dennis and I had something. He liked me and I liked him. It was meant to be. It would last forever. Until a blond bombshell popped out of nowhere and stole him from me (figures). I really really liked Dennis. This crush lasted probably around 3 years (it was one of those on again off again things). I think I was about 14 or 15 before I stopped liking him. Everything would've worked out perfectly. Dennis and I spoke every day. We were best friends...except for the fact that Dennis had a massive crush on my best friend, and was totally using me to get to her. Little did I know, Dennis and my best friend were having make out fests every Saturday night while I sat at home and wrote in my diary about my pathetic life and how beautiful Dennis was even though he was a total jerk. Dennis soon realized that my best friend was a total skank and was making out with like, 4 other guys at the same time she was making out with him, and Dennis dumped her for another girl who dumped him for her old boyfriend. Well, I didn't care by then, because I had already moved onto the pinnacle of my love life thus far...and when I say pinnacle, I mean the most horrendous, disgusting part of it.
My first SERIOUS Boyfriend:
When I was 15 and a half years old, I met, and started dating a guy...well...I think the most appropriate name to give him would be...Dick.
Yes.
Dick suits him well.
Anyway, Dick was my first serious boyfriend. We dated for about two years and thought we were going to get married and junk. It was US AGAINST THE WORLD. and NOTHING COULD STOP US. and IT DIDN'T MATTER WHAT THEY SAID, WE'D PROVE THEM WRONG! also, OUR LOVE WAS STRONGER THAN THEIRS, and THEY DIDN'T KNOW WHAT TRUE LOVE WAS BECAUSE THEY'RE OLD.
Dick and I went through very many stages. There was like "*Giggle*Ilikeyou*giggle*" stage.
Then there was the "lakshgluhawough" which basically stands for sucking each others faces all the time stage. After that, there was the baby talk phase where we only spoke to each other in baby talk. Then there was the "I'm going to act like an idiot around you all the time, because I'm immature" phase. We insisted on spending every moment of every day together. I was restless without him by my side (oh gosh, BARF).
Then, one day, Dick went to college.
That's where Dick met two of his homo friends, who he wanted to have gay homo sex with (ok, I'm exaggerating a little here...BUT THIS IS FOR LITERARY PURPOSES), so, as it always goes, Dick decides to stand true to his name and dump me two weeks before Christmas by telling me that he still wanted to be my best friend, that he still wanted me to go to the college which he was going to, which he basically stole from me because I'd wanted to go there since I was 10 years old, and that he'd call me all the time. Then he sent me a nasty email telling me to stop contacting him even though I never called him and emailed him twice because I wanted my crap back from his pyschotic parent's house. The last time I saw him was when he decided to bring his girlfriend to MY church, which he no longer goes to and rub my nose in it. I wonder if she knows he's having gay homo sex? Whoops! Shame on you Aubree. Bad. Bad Aubree.
My Current Love Adventures.
My First Crush After My First Relationship:
Was, as it always is, absolutely massive, and absolutely ridiculas. No joke. I don't even need to give this guy a name. We're really good friends now, and nothing came out of it, but I like, drooled over him for like ever. It's actually not even worth mentioning.
My First DATE after My First Relationship:
Was with a guy named Ican'tmakeupmymindbecausemybodyistoolargetoevenreallytrulyhaveamind. Ok, that wasn't his name, but oh well. His name is Joe, and I'm only saying his name because I don't care if he stumbles across this because I actually have some somewhat nice things to say about him after the horrible things I'm about to say. Joe's like, huge. He's a football player at the college he goes to. That's basically why I liked him. And his last name is weird. See, weird magnetic forces attract me to guys with strange last names. Anyway, we went on like, one date, emailed a ton, and yeah. First let me describe our first date.
1. He takes me to like, some cheap nasty family restaurant where the cheeseburgers are disgusting. Just for the record, I'm the queen of the cheeseburger. Cheeseburgers are my one true love. He doesn't pick me up, he meets me there, which is cool, except I get there like, exactly on time, and I get the feeling that he's been waiting there for me desperately for like, a good 20 minutes, because he's got this look of sheer terror written on his face like he was petrified I wouldn't show. So when he see's me walk through the door, his whole entire dumb face lights up - and you know how I feel about people adoring me - I love it, so I was sucked in.
2. He was oddly sweaty. Like...weirdly so. Not just overly nervous. As if his largeness was just overtaking him and he couldn't like...I don't know...be coolish.
3. We go see a movie, which we both had already seen (isn't that stupid? I don't know why we made that choice...), and he starts playing the...should I hold her hand game? I find this extremely hilarious, because a lot of guys have played this game with me. He'd gradually move his arms from a crossed on his chest position, to resting on his thighs. Then, ever so subtly, he'll move his hand closest to mine closer to mine off his thigh. He'll even reach for my hand a few times, but chicken out and retreat, only to start all over again. Now, a nice person would just do him a favor and reach out and grab his hand, but I find it totally hilarious to let him sweat it out because I'm such a little wench like that and I don't even care. So he FINALLY grabs my hand, and I grab his back, and his arm is like, stiffer than a plank. Like, he's so tense.
4. He totally went in for a kiss, and I totally deflected it by hugging him and burrying my face in his chest. I hate first date kissers. Actually, I don't kiss at all anymore. I don't like kissing. No guy unless he gives me an expensive peice of jewelery is worthy of touching my lips with his. No way, no how. Sorry, wrong answer. You do not pass go, you do not get 200 dollars.
So then, we email for a week and plan to go on another date, when he calls me and pretty much breaks it off with me, except he doesn't really, he tells me he wants to get to know me more as a friend before we officially start dating. Then, he texts me over the weekend, and then I text him like a couple days later, then get an email telling me he isn't interested anymore. The next thing I know, he's changed his relationship status to in a relationship with another girl named slutty mcslutpants. I'm just kidding. I'm sure she's an awesome girl.
My point is, I actually really respected Joe for being so upfront about his feelings. Like, you're going to feel what you feel, and if you liked this other girl more than me, I sure as heck don't want to be dating a guy who's only dating me because he feels like he has to follow through. I want to be with a guy who wants to be with me (surprise, surprise, right?). So no skin off my bones. So Joe, if you ever truly read this (even though I was totally jerky and unfriended you on Facebook. It was honestly because I got sick of seeing your relationship news pop up on my newsfeed), please know that I think you're a pretty cool guy, but obviously not the right guy for me...and that's good, because I'm not the right girl for you. I wish you all the luck in life. Thanks for being honest. You saved me a heck of a lot of mushyness and heartache that was completely unneccesary.
Then I Got Really Desperate...
Here's the thing about being a nanny...you spend your entire days with little kids. When you watch little kids, you begin to feel like an overweight house wife who doesn't even have someone going to work to buy her expensive things. So, I got a little desperate, and I clicked on an add I saw on Facebook for "woome.com"
I was just "looking" when a guy's message popped up on my screen. Now, being that I'm such a little jerk, I decided I wanted to flirt, so I start messaging him, and I find out he's in the Navy. Now, to me that seems safe because there's no way I'm going to get into a relationship with a dude who's about to be shipped off. Well, it turns out that Navy creeper guy is in Chicago until November something, and he asks me if I want to meet him downtown to hang out.
I deleted my account and swore off internet dating.
And then I met that guy who was an idiot who I say "hi" to and dumped him which I realized was actually really redeeming for reasons that are too complicated to go into.
And now, I have no one. Except for a guy who I think is kind of cute who goes to one of the bible studies at my school (No, it's not CRU, so if any of the CRU guys who are totally curshing [and I know you are] read this, don't get your hopes up), and this other guy who would be absolutely perfect except for the fact that the second he opens up his mouth he sounds gay - but he says he's not. It's really confusing.
There have also been a series of guys in between that I rejected for stupid reasons. In fact, they are so pathetic, I will list them for you.
1. They don't understand the proper usage of you're/your.
2. They're short.
3. They like me too much
4. I don't like Pollocks
5. They said something once that slightly resembled something my ex boyfriend would've said.
6. They like the Packers.
7. They like the White Sox.
8. They're too Christian
9. They aren't Christian enough
You get the picture.
So, based on all of that history, I've come to the conclusion that I don't want a boyfriend right now because I know I'm going away to school next year and I don't want to be tied down. Isn't that horrible?
Who knows.
I don't know if I'll ever get this whole thing figured out. All I know is that I'm so glad I'll never be the future Aubree Dingledein.
You know what day it is, don't you?
And maybe I will...who knows. Why is there always one in here that reflects me future love life? I'm such a sorry old sap. ;-)
My parents told me the truth about Santa. I'm perfectly functionladghlgaglhlal. Sorry. Some of my drool fell on the keyboard and it made it too slippery for me to type.
This made me laughReally hard.
I'll keep you, my dirty little secret
Not. Who listens to Fall Out Boy anymore, anyway?
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Another volume of "Things I Hate"
Dear Obnoxiously Slow Driver,
It's not that I have a problem with you. I don't have a problem with your massive mini van in which you obviously do not know how to drive - I don't even mind the HUGE, OBNOXIOUS sticker on your bumper that says "SOCCER MOM'S RULE!" or "MOM'S FOR OBAMA 08"...
Mainly what I have a problem with are two things.
1. Don't pull out in front of me in traffic, especially when there's absolutely no one behind me for at least another half of a mile. Just wait the extra 10 seconds it will take for me to pass.
2. Once upon a time, in driving school, you should have learned that the LEFT LANE, is NOT for drivers that like going 10 miles under the speed limit. If you don't feel comfortable going 45-50 on North Avenue, then you need to pull into the right lane, dear, where people can pass you. It's a three lane high-way, and there's no reason why you can't drive in another lane.
Sincerely,
Aubree E. Redmond
It's not that I have a problem with you. I don't have a problem with your massive mini van in which you obviously do not know how to drive - I don't even mind the HUGE, OBNOXIOUS sticker on your bumper that says "SOCCER MOM'S RULE!" or "MOM'S FOR OBAMA 08"...
Mainly what I have a problem with are two things.
1. Don't pull out in front of me in traffic, especially when there's absolutely no one behind me for at least another half of a mile. Just wait the extra 10 seconds it will take for me to pass.
2. Once upon a time, in driving school, you should have learned that the LEFT LANE, is NOT for drivers that like going 10 miles under the speed limit. If you don't feel comfortable going 45-50 on North Avenue, then you need to pull into the right lane, dear, where people can pass you. It's a three lane high-way, and there's no reason why you can't drive in another lane.
Sincerely,
Aubree E. Redmond
Sunday, December 7, 2008
This is an outrage!
I am really upset because I just found out that the lyrics to Amelia's Missing by Jon McLaughlin are not "I can't find crazy ho's, I can't find notchwatch"
They are actually
"I can't find crazy horse, I can't find Hoffa"
What the heck? I don't even know why I thought that lyrics were about crazy whores and something called notchwatch. I think I should get my ears checked.
This might be one of the saddest days of my life. Who listens to lyrics anymore, anyway?
They are actually
"I can't find crazy horse, I can't find Hoffa"
What the heck? I don't even know why I thought that lyrics were about crazy whores and something called notchwatch. I think I should get my ears checked.
This might be one of the saddest days of my life. Who listens to lyrics anymore, anyway?
Saturday, December 6, 2008
There are some postings that are secret...but not really.
I feel bad - like a horrible person, but I found this so hilarious.
"I'm super sneak about it. Really kind of proud of it. No one's butt is safe from my sneaky check-outage"
And I'm diggin' the Juno background there. Even though I didn't really like Juno.
Especially when it's a GUY stranger, who has a very strong resemblance to Cary Grant.
No comment necessary. :)
Yes - please do. I don't know who you are. I don't know where you are, but I do wish you would make it here by Christmas, just so that you could kiss me under the mistle-toe...on the cheek, that is.;-)
I love emoticons. They make the internet so much more expressive.
Good-night.
www.postsecret.com
Click-it or ticket.
Monday, December 1, 2008
I don't think nature wants me to get a job...
UPDATE:
Number of applications I filled out and turned in today: 2 - Starbucks in Glen Ellyn and Barnes and Noble in Wheaton Town Square
Number of applications I decided I would only turn in if I was desperate: Einsteins. I don't really like bagels that much.
Number of call backs: Zip. Zilch. Nada.
I picked up applications to three places on Saturday - Starbucks, Barnes and Noble, and Einsteins. As stated above, I decided not to turn in Einsteins unless I was desperate. I don't really know why, so don't ask. I got a weird vibe about the application or something. Anyway, yesterday I was tired and had to finish a paper, so I didn't get a chance to finish the applications and turn them in. I vowed to do it today. Sometime between yesterday and last night, the skies opened up and dumped 5 inches of snow on the ground. Five inches, no biggie right? Wrong. Upon the first substantial snow fall, it seems that every single person in the city of Chicago and surrounding suburbs forgets how to drive in though snow (even though they've done it their entire lives most likely...) and the streets suddenly become the demolition derby. I strongly precaution any new comers to the Chicagoland area to stay off the roads on the first day of the first snow, unless you want to die or something. I was determined though, so I grabbed two Christmas cards my mom wanted me to mail for her, and my applications and headed out into the great unknown. I know how to drive in the snow, for the record, so I arrived to my destination a little slower than usual, but unscathed.
I drop off my first application, at Starbucks, and the guy who is so nice and I think might find me cute gave me a free drink which is always one of my favorite things to receive.
I exit, walk past my car and to the mail box on the corner, drop the mail in the slot, and start walking back, when I hear...
"Chirp...Chirp..." and suddenly see a large green and white dropping falling from the sky. Yes, it was bird poop, and, in slow motion of course, it proceeded to drop from the sky, directly onto my freshly laundered favorite pair of jeans. It also clipped the side of my free coffee cup.
I stare in unbelief at the fresh piece of bird crap that is now conveniently clinging to my pants, and slowly dripping in a downward motion. I'm not even sure that I got angry about it until I got in the car and the complete realization hit me that I still had yet to drop off another job application, and I really did need to do it that day. The problem is that walking into a store to drop off an application with bird doodies all over my pants probably does not leave the best impression.
So if I get a call back from Barnes and Noble, I will be thoroughly awed.
Yes, nature does not want me to get a job.
Number of applications I filled out and turned in today: 2 - Starbucks in Glen Ellyn and Barnes and Noble in Wheaton Town Square
Number of applications I decided I would only turn in if I was desperate: Einsteins. I don't really like bagels that much.
Number of call backs: Zip. Zilch. Nada.
I picked up applications to three places on Saturday - Starbucks, Barnes and Noble, and Einsteins. As stated above, I decided not to turn in Einsteins unless I was desperate. I don't really know why, so don't ask. I got a weird vibe about the application or something. Anyway, yesterday I was tired and had to finish a paper, so I didn't get a chance to finish the applications and turn them in. I vowed to do it today. Sometime between yesterday and last night, the skies opened up and dumped 5 inches of snow on the ground. Five inches, no biggie right? Wrong. Upon the first substantial snow fall, it seems that every single person in the city of Chicago and surrounding suburbs forgets how to drive in though snow (even though they've done it their entire lives most likely...) and the streets suddenly become the demolition derby. I strongly precaution any new comers to the Chicagoland area to stay off the roads on the first day of the first snow, unless you want to die or something. I was determined though, so I grabbed two Christmas cards my mom wanted me to mail for her, and my applications and headed out into the great unknown. I know how to drive in the snow, for the record, so I arrived to my destination a little slower than usual, but unscathed.
I drop off my first application, at Starbucks, and the guy who is so nice and I think might find me cute gave me a free drink which is always one of my favorite things to receive.
I exit, walk past my car and to the mail box on the corner, drop the mail in the slot, and start walking back, when I hear...
"Chirp...Chirp..." and suddenly see a large green and white dropping falling from the sky. Yes, it was bird poop, and, in slow motion of course, it proceeded to drop from the sky, directly onto my freshly laundered favorite pair of jeans. It also clipped the side of my free coffee cup.
I stare in unbelief at the fresh piece of bird crap that is now conveniently clinging to my pants, and slowly dripping in a downward motion. I'm not even sure that I got angry about it until I got in the car and the complete realization hit me that I still had yet to drop off another job application, and I really did need to do it that day. The problem is that walking into a store to drop off an application with bird doodies all over my pants probably does not leave the best impression.
So if I get a call back from Barnes and Noble, I will be thoroughly awed.
Yes, nature does not want me to get a job.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Just to clear something up...
I just wanted to clarify one thing:
Despite my frequent posts, I'm not in any way shape or form discontent with my life. I actually like being single at the moment, and am not really looking for anyone. If a wonderful guy happens to show up, then let him! Otherwise, I'm good just the way I am. I'm not crazy about not having a job, but I'll find one eventually.
I also wanted to say that I think it's hilarious how people date/marry people with similar facial features/coloring...I think this points to exactly how egotistical we are. We choose people who we subconsciously think look like us. We're not attracted to other people, but rather, we're attracted to ourselves.
Ok, I made quite a leap there. But honestly, who cares? No one reads this anyway.
Despite my frequent posts, I'm not in any way shape or form discontent with my life. I actually like being single at the moment, and am not really looking for anyone. If a wonderful guy happens to show up, then let him! Otherwise, I'm good just the way I am. I'm not crazy about not having a job, but I'll find one eventually.
I also wanted to say that I think it's hilarious how people date/marry people with similar facial features/coloring...I think this points to exactly how egotistical we are. We choose people who we subconsciously think look like us. We're not attracted to other people, but rather, we're attracted to ourselves.
Ok, I made quite a leap there. But honestly, who cares? No one reads this anyway.
Journeys of jobless, boyfriendless college student.
Some things I've discovered...
1. You don't have to be old and single to feel like a spinster. In fact, I feel like a lame wad loser pretty much everywhere I go because I'm a.) alone, and b.) hmmm...alone.
I have nightmares of becoming the crazy cat lady...the saddest part is that I don't even like cats. My problem is not that I can't attract guys, it's that either too picky, or the guys are attract are total losers. This may be because I'm currently surrounded by many, many losers at the empire of all losers called the College of Dupage, but seriously, the guys who like me are like, the kings and princes of the empire of Loserville. It's true. And they want me to be their queen, but the day that I submit to complete loserocity, by dating one of the kings of Loserville, will be the day my grandmother runs a marathon in her granny-pannies wearing a large yellow hat. FYI - this will never happen.
2. Upon attracting those kings of losers, I've discovered that there are some techniques that might be useful in aiding you to rid yourself of these losers. Please observe...
a.) The prissy-church-girl-stick-shuved-up-her-rear-ice-queen lip purse. Simply gather your lips into a scrunching pattern, pursing them out, while furrowing your eyebrows. This is a sure-fire sign to any loser (all of whom are seeking bedding before the wedding) that they won't be getting any at all from you any time soon. This normally works unless you meet a particularly determined loser who likes a challenge. This is where you must apply lesbian tactics like wearing flannel and refusing to shave your legs. Other forms of this include throat clearing at behavior you might deem inappropriate, the cold hard glare, and the rolling of the eyes at everything and anything the loser in mention says and does. If you're really facing a clincher, then you can adopt a hybrid version of these things, combining all of them into one massive ice-queen action.
b.) Depending on the kind of loser you attract, nothing gets rid of a loser quicker than a loud fart, or extremely over ripe B.O. This technique, however, does not get rid of the awkward I-live-in-my-moms-basement-and-substitute-showers-for-more-video game-time loser, because their own specific stenches will most likely over power yours, making him immune to your efforts to ditch him.
c.) Generally, losers are mainly interested in one event in his life that usually lasts about 15 minutes...that's right. He's interested in sex. If he doesn't think he's going to get sex, but rather an obnoxiously clingy girlfriend that keeps him from his fellow loser friends or other girls in whom he might have a better chance at engaging in the old horizontal tango, he probably will cease from calling you. So call him 12 times a day, insist you see him every day, cry when he declines your invitations to go get ice cream or play board games with your parents, and end by having a "serious discussion" about your boundaries, and how you are not willing to go any farther than allowing him to briefly touch your hand.
If this does not work, then adopt A or B, or both.
3. Not having a job leaves up a lot more free time to think about the helpless situation of singleness I have gotten myself into. It's ok. Though I'd love to have both a job, and a significant other at some point in time, I'd rather gouge my eyes out than go out with one of the losers at my school. I've concluded that feeling like a spinster occasionally is so much better than getting creeped on by a loser.
And finally.
4. I've discovered that hiding certain bad habits until you've successfully snagged a guy to the extent that he's trapped, is probably beneficial. Telling a guy that I occasionally dig for gold and wipe my findings on furniture and couches that I do not own, or that my criteria for washing my hands after I go to the bathroom is whether or not my hands smell like pee probably are not qualities of a foxy future wife.
I rest my case.
P.S. That's not actually my criteria for washing my hands after relieving myself...
1. You don't have to be old and single to feel like a spinster. In fact, I feel like a lame wad loser pretty much everywhere I go because I'm a.) alone, and b.) hmmm...alone.
I have nightmares of becoming the crazy cat lady...the saddest part is that I don't even like cats. My problem is not that I can't attract guys, it's that either too picky, or the guys are attract are total losers. This may be because I'm currently surrounded by many, many losers at the empire of all losers called the College of Dupage, but seriously, the guys who like me are like, the kings and princes of the empire of Loserville. It's true. And they want me to be their queen, but the day that I submit to complete loserocity, by dating one of the kings of Loserville, will be the day my grandmother runs a marathon in her granny-pannies wearing a large yellow hat. FYI - this will never happen.
2. Upon attracting those kings of losers, I've discovered that there are some techniques that might be useful in aiding you to rid yourself of these losers. Please observe...
a.) The prissy-church-girl-stick-shuved-up-her-rear-ice-queen lip purse. Simply gather your lips into a scrunching pattern, pursing them out, while furrowing your eyebrows. This is a sure-fire sign to any loser (all of whom are seeking bedding before the wedding) that they won't be getting any at all from you any time soon. This normally works unless you meet a particularly determined loser who likes a challenge. This is where you must apply lesbian tactics like wearing flannel and refusing to shave your legs. Other forms of this include throat clearing at behavior you might deem inappropriate, the cold hard glare, and the rolling of the eyes at everything and anything the loser in mention says and does. If you're really facing a clincher, then you can adopt a hybrid version of these things, combining all of them into one massive ice-queen action.
b.) Depending on the kind of loser you attract, nothing gets rid of a loser quicker than a loud fart, or extremely over ripe B.O. This technique, however, does not get rid of the awkward I-live-in-my-moms-basement-and-substitute-showers-for-more-video game-time loser, because their own specific stenches will most likely over power yours, making him immune to your efforts to ditch him.
c.) Generally, losers are mainly interested in one event in his life that usually lasts about 15 minutes...that's right. He's interested in sex. If he doesn't think he's going to get sex, but rather an obnoxiously clingy girlfriend that keeps him from his fellow loser friends or other girls in whom he might have a better chance at engaging in the old horizontal tango, he probably will cease from calling you. So call him 12 times a day, insist you see him every day, cry when he declines your invitations to go get ice cream or play board games with your parents, and end by having a "serious discussion" about your boundaries, and how you are not willing to go any farther than allowing him to briefly touch your hand.
If this does not work, then adopt A or B, or both.
3. Not having a job leaves up a lot more free time to think about the helpless situation of singleness I have gotten myself into. It's ok. Though I'd love to have both a job, and a significant other at some point in time, I'd rather gouge my eyes out than go out with one of the losers at my school. I've concluded that feeling like a spinster occasionally is so much better than getting creeped on by a loser.
And finally.
4. I've discovered that hiding certain bad habits until you've successfully snagged a guy to the extent that he's trapped, is probably beneficial. Telling a guy that I occasionally dig for gold and wipe my findings on furniture and couches that I do not own, or that my criteria for washing my hands after I go to the bathroom is whether or not my hands smell like pee probably are not qualities of a foxy future wife.
I rest my case.
P.S. That's not actually my criteria for washing my hands after relieving myself...
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Journeys of a jobless college student
Jobs applied for:
Barista at Starbucks in Wheaton
Sales Associate at Borders Books in Wheaton
Barista at Caribou in Yorktown Shopping Center
Barista at Caribou in Glen Ellyn
Photographer at the Picture People
Jobs I have an application for, but have yet to turn it in:
Sales Associate at Barnes and Nobles Books in Wheaton Town Square
Worker...person... at Einstein's bagel's in Glen Ellyn
Starbucks in Glen Ellyn
Number of calls I've received in responses to the applications I actually turned in:
Zero.
Jobs I still do not have:
Barista at Starbucks in Wheaton
Sales Associate at Borders in Wheaton
Barista at Caribou in Yorktown Shopping Center
Barista at Caribou in Glen Ellyn
Photographer at The Picture People in Yorktown Shopping Center
Sales Associate at Barnes and Noble Books in Wheaton Town Square
Worker person at Einsteins in Glen Ellyn
Barista at Starbucks in Glen Ellyn
Amount of money I have left in my bank account:
About 50 bucks.
Amount of money that can get me a half a tank of gas:
$7.00 (isn't that awesome!?)
Amount of time I can go with the gas light on in my car:
3 days
I'm keeping my fingers crossed.
Barista at Starbucks in Wheaton
Sales Associate at Borders Books in Wheaton
Barista at Caribou in Yorktown Shopping Center
Barista at Caribou in Glen Ellyn
Photographer at the Picture People
Jobs I have an application for, but have yet to turn it in:
Sales Associate at Barnes and Nobles Books in Wheaton Town Square
Worker...person... at Einstein's bagel's in Glen Ellyn
Starbucks in Glen Ellyn
Number of calls I've received in responses to the applications I actually turned in:
Zero.
Jobs I still do not have:
Barista at Starbucks in Wheaton
Sales Associate at Borders in Wheaton
Barista at Caribou in Yorktown Shopping Center
Barista at Caribou in Glen Ellyn
Photographer at The Picture People in Yorktown Shopping Center
Sales Associate at Barnes and Noble Books in Wheaton Town Square
Worker person at Einsteins in Glen Ellyn
Barista at Starbucks in Glen Ellyn
Amount of money I have left in my bank account:
About 50 bucks.
Amount of money that can get me a half a tank of gas:
$7.00 (isn't that awesome!?)
Amount of time I can go with the gas light on in my car:
3 days
I'm keeping my fingers crossed.
Thursday, November 27, 2008
I'd toast to this year.
In one year, I've found that I love...
Writing - and I'm really good at it. I love writers, too, and the way I feel when I read the great ones. I love how each writer pulls different thoughts and emotions out of me.
EATING! It's true, and I'll never ever stop for anyone, not now, not ever.
Art - I can hardly describe this - it's looking at a painting and realizing that emotion in the pigments, in the brush strokes, and the delicate ownership the artist took of his masterpiece - are taking my soul and bringing it to the surface of my entire being. It's feeling things I've never felt - the rawness - the shamelessness of it all - it's beautiful. Most of all, it's knowing that someone, hundreds of years before and hundreds of years after, has and will feel the same feeling I felt right at that very moment of standing before that painting.
Laughing - I never did laugh quite as much as I should have.
Being a smarmy little know-it-all - because I really do know it all.
Singing - I love it so dearly, and so tenderly, like an old friend who never truly leaves.
My family - I loved them before, but now I'm discovering WHY I love them - as people - individuals. It's wonderful. They're my best friends.
Painting - I can't describe it. It's just the intricacy - the way that I know that I can make the painting however I want to. The world disappears and suddenly becomes mine.
My places - Borders in Wheaton - Starbucks in Glen Ellyn - they're all mine and no one can change that.
Myself - I really do. I look in the mirror and I see this absolutely stunning young woman. I love who I am and I wouldn't trade that for anything
God - Not because He can do something for me, but because He just is.
Because he's God, and that's all there is. Just God. I love that.
So here's to one year...
1 year of broken hearts, shattered dreams, being empty, lost and naked - being scared, vulnerable and confused. Being bitter, angry and apathetic. Being loved, broken, and healed. Here's to being awed and shaken and humbled. To laughing so hard I cry, and crying so hard I laugh. Here's to friends who'll drive home the week before finals to make sure you're ok and a family who loves you enough to put you back on the bike and give you a big push. Here's to being new - whole - filled. Here's to realizing. Here's to letting go.
And here's to being free.
I'm free.
Writing - and I'm really good at it. I love writers, too, and the way I feel when I read the great ones. I love how each writer pulls different thoughts and emotions out of me.
EATING! It's true, and I'll never ever stop for anyone, not now, not ever.
Art - I can hardly describe this - it's looking at a painting and realizing that emotion in the pigments, in the brush strokes, and the delicate ownership the artist took of his masterpiece - are taking my soul and bringing it to the surface of my entire being. It's feeling things I've never felt - the rawness - the shamelessness of it all - it's beautiful. Most of all, it's knowing that someone, hundreds of years before and hundreds of years after, has and will feel the same feeling I felt right at that very moment of standing before that painting.
Laughing - I never did laugh quite as much as I should have.
Being a smarmy little know-it-all - because I really do know it all.
Singing - I love it so dearly, and so tenderly, like an old friend who never truly leaves.
My family - I loved them before, but now I'm discovering WHY I love them - as people - individuals. It's wonderful. They're my best friends.
Painting - I can't describe it. It's just the intricacy - the way that I know that I can make the painting however I want to. The world disappears and suddenly becomes mine.
My places - Borders in Wheaton - Starbucks in Glen Ellyn - they're all mine and no one can change that.
Myself - I really do. I look in the mirror and I see this absolutely stunning young woman. I love who I am and I wouldn't trade that for anything
God - Not because He can do something for me, but because He just is.
Because he's God, and that's all there is. Just God. I love that.
So here's to one year...
1 year of broken hearts, shattered dreams, being empty, lost and naked - being scared, vulnerable and confused. Being bitter, angry and apathetic. Being loved, broken, and healed. Here's to being awed and shaken and humbled. To laughing so hard I cry, and crying so hard I laugh. Here's to friends who'll drive home the week before finals to make sure you're ok and a family who loves you enough to put you back on the bike and give you a big push. Here's to being new - whole - filled. Here's to realizing. Here's to letting go.
And here's to being free.
I'm free.
Some people...
May I just say, that for David Archuleta's completely amazing voice, they sure do write songs for him that are total crap. May I please send a memo to writers of his song's? No matter what you think, no matter how free-verse lyric should or should not be, away will never ever, rhyme with away. It doesn't work. It's just redundant. These are PROFESSIONAL song writers. They should be able to come up with something better than, "'Cause I've tried and tried to walk away, but I know this crush ain't goin' away"
Please, don't even get me started with the use of "ain't"
ARGHOGGHSDLGHSDDLGJISE
Dear Pop Music Industry,
You guys suck.
Sincerely,
Aubree Redmond (Who obviously knows much better than any of you how to write a chart-topping song without rhyming away with away)
Please, don't even get me started with the use of "ain't"
ARGHOGGHSDLGHSDDLGJISE
Dear Pop Music Industry,
You guys suck.
Sincerely,
Aubree Redmond (Who obviously knows much better than any of you how to write a chart-topping song without rhyming away with away)
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Things I hate
1. Those stupid short sleeved turtle neck shirts. I especially hate the ones with the little puffed princess sleeves. It's stupid. Not only are they so absolutely ugly, but they're totally pointless. They won't keep you warm in the winter (since they have NO SLEEVES), and they'd be too hot in the summer. The other thing I hate about those, is that almost every single girl I've ever met who wears those stupid shirts, are so completely snobbish, it makes me sick.
2. One time I met this guy. He was incredibly gorgeous. I was drooling (ok, not really). He was just incomprehensibly beautiful. Every time I looked at him, it was like looking at him for the first time. It would take my breath away. He was BEAUTIFUL. I'm not joking.
To make it even better, he starts walking over to me like he's going to talk to me. My heart beat is now reaching rates unfathomable to the human mind. I check my breath, run my fingers through my hair, slick my tongue over my teeth to make sure there's no food or anything, then break out my most brilliant, most "Yes, I'm golden" smile.
Then he opens his mouth.
All of my dreams of our beautiful children come crashing to the floor. He's hitting on me. Everything about him screams "I'M STRAIGHT!!!"
But his voice is indisputably that of a flaming gay man's voice.
I hate that.
3. Pollocks.
4. The other day, I'm driving down Finley Road, and I'm at the stop light at Roosevelt and Finley, and this white pickup truck pulls up next to me. There's this guy in it. I mean, everything about him screams sleaze ball.
He looks out his window, and sees that I'm attractive (which I am, much too attractive for him)
This sly little smile breaks across his face.
The light turns green, and I throw my foot against the gas to ditch him (which, by the way, I've become very good at this...ditching people, that is)
And he speeds up more, catches up to me, looks out his window, and assumes the position.
And by "the position", I mean that he puts his right hand on top of the steering wheel and across, purses his lips, looks at me, and starts bobbing his head. Now, I'll give him this - he was TRYING to look attractive, but at the moment I was wondering why they had let this mentally disturbed person get behind the wheel a 2 ton vehicle. So I shot him the dirtiest look I know - and by dirty, I do not mean scandalous, I mean down-right cruel, and speed away.
What was he going to do? Get me to pull over? Did he think he'd get a quicky in the back of his ugly white gas sucking pick up truck?
Sorry sweetheart, but has anyone told you that I'm the queen? Yes. I'm the queen, and with four beautiful words, I can have you killed. They are Off. With. His. Head.
And get your mind out of the gutter you sickos.
Done.
2. One time I met this guy. He was incredibly gorgeous. I was drooling (ok, not really). He was just incomprehensibly beautiful. Every time I looked at him, it was like looking at him for the first time. It would take my breath away. He was BEAUTIFUL. I'm not joking.
To make it even better, he starts walking over to me like he's going to talk to me. My heart beat is now reaching rates unfathomable to the human mind. I check my breath, run my fingers through my hair, slick my tongue over my teeth to make sure there's no food or anything, then break out my most brilliant, most "Yes, I'm golden" smile.
Then he opens his mouth.
All of my dreams of our beautiful children come crashing to the floor. He's hitting on me. Everything about him screams "I'M STRAIGHT!!!"
But his voice is indisputably that of a flaming gay man's voice.
I hate that.
3. Pollocks.
4. The other day, I'm driving down Finley Road, and I'm at the stop light at Roosevelt and Finley, and this white pickup truck pulls up next to me. There's this guy in it. I mean, everything about him screams sleaze ball.
He looks out his window, and sees that I'm attractive (which I am, much too attractive for him)
This sly little smile breaks across his face.
The light turns green, and I throw my foot against the gas to ditch him (which, by the way, I've become very good at this...ditching people, that is)
And he speeds up more, catches up to me, looks out his window, and assumes the position.
And by "the position", I mean that he puts his right hand on top of the steering wheel and across, purses his lips, looks at me, and starts bobbing his head. Now, I'll give him this - he was TRYING to look attractive, but at the moment I was wondering why they had let this mentally disturbed person get behind the wheel a 2 ton vehicle. So I shot him the dirtiest look I know - and by dirty, I do not mean scandalous, I mean down-right cruel, and speed away.
What was he going to do? Get me to pull over? Did he think he'd get a quicky in the back of his ugly white gas sucking pick up truck?
Sorry sweetheart, but has anyone told you that I'm the queen? Yes. I'm the queen, and with four beautiful words, I can have you killed. They are Off. With. His. Head.
And get your mind out of the gutter you sickos.
Done.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
I like to post my secrets.
They're funnier, sweeter, kinder, more honest, and less phony. Who wouldn't want to sit at the kids table?
Or I pretend to - the truth is...I can't wait either.But I will.
:)
Check it out
www.postsecret.com
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
No sir, I really don't have a point.
It is currently 12:05AM. I have exactly 1 intro to lit test to study for, which is exactly 12 hours and thirty five minutes away. It's at these times that I wish I wasn't human so I could stay up all night. I'm so confused lately. I mix up literary terms with musical terms all the time. Like today I said I was so sick of pentamic pentameters (a type of poem) but what I really meant was that I was so sick of pentatonic scales. Today, I was looking at a piece of music, and my mom came up behind me and asked what I was doing, and I said "Scanning this chart"
You don't scan a chart. You scan a poem.
I need help. I really seriously, without any question or doubt, need help.
And one more thing - I am really, REALLY looking forward to this weekend, because it will be the first weekend in about a month where I've decided that all I'm going to do, is sit in my room, and pretend I'm vegetable.
I have to get up in exactly 4 hours and 49 minutes, so I'm going to leave you with this completely pointless blog post.
One more thing - I am extremely proud of my self for discovering that if you take Glen Oak Rd in Lombard, that turns into Hill, and Hill turns into College, which I believe, somewhere down the road, eventually turns into Pennsylvania. Ah, the wonder of back streets.
I can get all the way from my house, to South Wheaton without even driving on a high way.
Yay me.
Oh yeah, and one more thing. I know the reason why you're disagreeing with everything I'm saying is because I'm a woman - you know that the reason you're disagreeing with everything I'm saying is because I'm a woman - so why don't we just say it so I can call you a pig headed jerk and spit on you? Oh...because I'm supposed to be polite, right? Well spitting on you is more polite than kicking you in the nads.
The end.
You don't scan a chart. You scan a poem.
I need help. I really seriously, without any question or doubt, need help.
And one more thing - I am really, REALLY looking forward to this weekend, because it will be the first weekend in about a month where I've decided that all I'm going to do, is sit in my room, and pretend I'm vegetable.
I have to get up in exactly 4 hours and 49 minutes, so I'm going to leave you with this completely pointless blog post.
One more thing - I am extremely proud of my self for discovering that if you take Glen Oak Rd in Lombard, that turns into Hill, and Hill turns into College, which I believe, somewhere down the road, eventually turns into Pennsylvania. Ah, the wonder of back streets.
I can get all the way from my house, to South Wheaton without even driving on a high way.
Yay me.
Oh yeah, and one more thing. I know the reason why you're disagreeing with everything I'm saying is because I'm a woman - you know that the reason you're disagreeing with everything I'm saying is because I'm a woman - so why don't we just say it so I can call you a pig headed jerk and spit on you? Oh...because I'm supposed to be polite, right? Well spitting on you is more polite than kicking you in the nads.
The end.
Monday, November 17, 2008
ARGH
I just feel the need to justify myself here.
I hate Moody Bible Institute. Sorry, but I do. I wouldn't go there for the life of me. I know I spent the majority of my high school years claiming that it was the only college I'd go to, but I believe I've had a change of heart...
Believe it or not, Moody is not the most holy bible college in the world, and attending Moody does not automatically make you the holiest person in the world. Seriously, I know a lot of screw ups who go to Moody...in fact pretty much everyone who goes to Moody is a screw up, and they should know it if they actually took the theology they're learning seriously...since as Christians we believe that ALL have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God...(try reading Romans, please).
Seriously. I don't want to hear about how many people YOU'VE lead to Christ, since you haven't lead them to Christ, Jesus lead them to Himself - you were just a vessel in the process. You don't know how many seeds have been planted, you don't know how many people have watered those seeds, and spread sunshine and weeded the soil so those seeds could grow...maybe you should stop to think that you were simply the one who harvested it. I personally think that this is truly the work of God, not man. I'm humbled when God gives me the opportunity to lead someone to Christ, because it's just another reminder of how sinful and disgusting I am, and how gracious and loving, and merciful God is. I also do not keep track.
Don't get me wrong - I'm the first one to admit that I struggle with pride. It's really hard for me to keep myself in check, but I really believe it's one of the most important things to do with your faith. Pride is distructive, it inflates you to the point where there's no where else to go but down. Then, you self-destruct, you get torn into a thousand little peices. Pride is a horrible, awful thing to have. And here's the thing, when you stand before the gates of heaven, and Jesus asks you "Why should I let you in here?" or "What have you done" saying "I lead 108 people to Christ!" is not going to cut it. It's nothing that YOU have done. It's everything that Jesus has done that grants you merit in the Kingdom of Heaven. And it's only by God's infinite mercy that you are even allowed to pass through the gates into paradise with Jesus. You are granted community and fellowship with Jesus and fellow believers because you professed with your mouth that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that He rose from the dead - not because you lead 108 people to Christ.
And not by any means am I saying you shouldn't witness and allow the Holy Spirit to overcome you and work through you - I'm not saying that at all, I'm simply saying to count it an enormous privilege - a blessing that Christ gives you...that through the spirit's power, you've been saved, and through the spirit's power, God is using you to save others. I'm just extremely irritated by people who think it gives them any merit whatsoever to proclaim to the entire world how many people they've lead to Christ. You can take your little number elsewhere.
So, I guess a conclusion to this total rant of a post is that I actually don't hate Moody, I just hate the whole elite attitude some of Moody's students and faculty carry. In fact, I hate the whole elite attitude that a lot of Christian college's students and faculty carry *coughwheatoncough*.
I wish we could just be happy with Christ's salvation, and know that there is no one better than the other.
I chose not to go to Moody because it's not the right school for me. Moody was something in my past - not something in my future. I know a lot of people with truly golden and pure, and Christ centered hearts who graduated from Moody. I don't hate the whole institution in general, again, I hate the "I got into Moody Bible Institute" attitude. Listen, I got into Moody, too, but I turned it down. Why?
I'm a woman. I'm a leader. Those two things don't mix at Moody.
Thank you, and good-night.
I hate Moody Bible Institute. Sorry, but I do. I wouldn't go there for the life of me. I know I spent the majority of my high school years claiming that it was the only college I'd go to, but I believe I've had a change of heart...
Believe it or not, Moody is not the most holy bible college in the world, and attending Moody does not automatically make you the holiest person in the world. Seriously, I know a lot of screw ups who go to Moody...in fact pretty much everyone who goes to Moody is a screw up, and they should know it if they actually took the theology they're learning seriously...since as Christians we believe that ALL have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God...(try reading Romans, please).
Seriously. I don't want to hear about how many people YOU'VE lead to Christ, since you haven't lead them to Christ, Jesus lead them to Himself - you were just a vessel in the process. You don't know how many seeds have been planted, you don't know how many people have watered those seeds, and spread sunshine and weeded the soil so those seeds could grow...maybe you should stop to think that you were simply the one who harvested it. I personally think that this is truly the work of God, not man. I'm humbled when God gives me the opportunity to lead someone to Christ, because it's just another reminder of how sinful and disgusting I am, and how gracious and loving, and merciful God is. I also do not keep track.
Don't get me wrong - I'm the first one to admit that I struggle with pride. It's really hard for me to keep myself in check, but I really believe it's one of the most important things to do with your faith. Pride is distructive, it inflates you to the point where there's no where else to go but down. Then, you self-destruct, you get torn into a thousand little peices. Pride is a horrible, awful thing to have. And here's the thing, when you stand before the gates of heaven, and Jesus asks you "Why should I let you in here?" or "What have you done" saying "I lead 108 people to Christ!" is not going to cut it. It's nothing that YOU have done. It's everything that Jesus has done that grants you merit in the Kingdom of Heaven. And it's only by God's infinite mercy that you are even allowed to pass through the gates into paradise with Jesus. You are granted community and fellowship with Jesus and fellow believers because you professed with your mouth that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that He rose from the dead - not because you lead 108 people to Christ.
And not by any means am I saying you shouldn't witness and allow the Holy Spirit to overcome you and work through you - I'm not saying that at all, I'm simply saying to count it an enormous privilege - a blessing that Christ gives you...that through the spirit's power, you've been saved, and through the spirit's power, God is using you to save others. I'm just extremely irritated by people who think it gives them any merit whatsoever to proclaim to the entire world how many people they've lead to Christ. You can take your little number elsewhere.
So, I guess a conclusion to this total rant of a post is that I actually don't hate Moody, I just hate the whole elite attitude some of Moody's students and faculty carry. In fact, I hate the whole elite attitude that a lot of Christian college's students and faculty carry *coughwheatoncough*.
I wish we could just be happy with Christ's salvation, and know that there is no one better than the other.
I chose not to go to Moody because it's not the right school for me. Moody was something in my past - not something in my future. I know a lot of people with truly golden and pure, and Christ centered hearts who graduated from Moody. I don't hate the whole institution in general, again, I hate the "I got into Moody Bible Institute" attitude. Listen, I got into Moody, too, but I turned it down. Why?
I'm a woman. I'm a leader. Those two things don't mix at Moody.
Thank you, and good-night.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Prince Charming (being a clumsy and stupid man) dropped Cinderella's glass slipper a long time ago, so give it up already.
Let me continue a rant I posted earlier this Fall, entitled something about Cinderella's glass slipper.
To fill you in, I was responding to a quote on the back of my Starbucks cup from this guy saying that he moved to a big city, and he was lonely, then one day he realized that all he had to do was just say hi, and suddenly he'd be the life of the party. Ok, maybe I'm exaggerating a teeny bit, but that's pretty basically what it said.
I responded by telling you a delightful little tale about me spotting what seemed to be my dream guy at Starbucks, and I looked at him, and I said "Hi" and he said "Hi" back and then that was the end of that. No budding romance. No friendship. Not even a second glance.
So then I went on to complain endlessly about how our society lives in lala land half the time, truly believing that a fairy tale is waiting around every corner for each person who is breathing.
I went on in my extreme pessimism to tell readers how stupid this ideology is.
I couldn't help but chuckle at my own misfortune.
So, I go to a bible study on Tuesday nights at my school that's led by Campus Crusade for Christ. I really like it. It's the high-light of my week most weeks, and I enjoy the fellowship I receive there.
One day, I was sitting outside my Speech classroom waiting for the prof to come open up the door, when I saw a guy who I recognized as being from Cru (Campus Crusade), and out of my good-naturedness (at least on THAT specific day, as you know if you stay up on my blog, that I am not ALWAYS good natured) I decided to say...yes...
"Hi"
He turned around, and greeted me, then asked me if I wanted to grab lunch after class. I couldn't, but we ended up going out the next Thursday. We went and got lunch, and it all seemed fine and dandy. He was easy to talk to, and funny. So we started dating...and I was about to write a retraction of that blog saying that sometimes, "Hi" really does work.
But it soon became very apparent that this guy, was a total and complete idiot. I seriously hope he doesn't read this. If you do, I'm sorry, but maybe you should try reading the dictionary more often.
Date number 1: We go and see Eagle Eye. Personally, I absolutely hate...let me repeat that...HATE HATE HATE it when a guy takes me to see a movie on a first date. What you are saying to me by doing that is this: I don't care about you. I don't want to get to know you by talking to you. All I want is a little bit of action...maybe some kissing, tongue, and if I get lucky a little bit of boob. But I don't care about YOU at all. Pretty much, I'd rather be in a dark theater with you.
But that is not all. Actually, nothing happens at all. He fails to put his arm around me or do anything despite my repeated shivering (pretending that I was cold) and inching towards him to give him the O.K. He also only buys one drink and expects me to share that with him. Are you kidding me? You've got to be kidding me. I don't want to drink your backwash. That's nasty.
So here's the kicker, on the way home, we're talking, and I made a reference to a book I read once, and he goes "So, you read a lot?" and I say "Yep. I love reading" or something like that, and he says "That's good. Yep. I'm pretty big on the sports magazines"
I pretty much did a double take. The sports magazines? That isn't reading dear.
Date number 2: He takes me out for coffee. Actually, this one wasn't too bad, except that he tells me all about his problematic sister and how he "looks out for her" like I'm supposed to instantaneously fall in love with him because he's a good big brother. I'm a good big sister in that I don't kick my brother in the nads every time I see him, but I don't expect guys to fall instantaneously in love with me because of that.
Date number 3: This is the date that pretty much had me ralphing up my lunch into my mouth. He takes me to the mall. For some reason, I thought that this was just a nice little outing to talk and stuff. It turns out that he wants me to help him pick out a shirt for work...I am not your mother. I don't want to help you pick out a shirt for work. So we go from store to store, and he keeps picking out these clothes (rather effeminate if you ask me...) and asks me my opinion on which color I like better - and then - get this - he tells me I should try on some boots. BOOTS.
Listen, it's not that I don't like boots, it's just that I don't really like being told what I should and shouldn't wear by a guy I've been on two dates with. And actually, this wasn't a big deal. We go to the next store, and he mentions it again. "You really should try on some boots"
So I'm like "Ok..." and we keep going. THEN...we go to the next store...and HE MENTIONS IT AGAIN. Does he have some weird boot fetish? Who knows. So I say "Nah..." and he goes "Yeah, it's what you like that counts"
Duh. Should I repeat that? DUUUHHH. You don't even have to verbalize that it's so obvious. Oh wait. Time out. You think I should wear boots? Oh yes oh sovereign emperor of my heart! Of course! Anything for you kind master! I will go out promptly and buy myself another pair of shoes that I don't need! Of course! Shall I bow down and kiss your feet now, or after I heed your wishes?
PA LEASE.
Here was the clincher. One day, after class, we're walking to the library together, and it's raining, and he says "Ah, it's raining. Today is the perfect day to curl up with a nice book"
Do you think I'm stupid? Do you not remember that you told me that you only read sports magazines? Or did you think I'd forget about that? You're an idiot. You wouldn't curl up with a "nice book" on a rainy day. So I pretty much sneered at him and told him that I felt that any day was a good day to read.
And then, to put the icing on the cake - on Friday night, I had to work - babysit pretty much, and he calls and wants to know if I want to go see a movie with him and his friends. I don't particularly want to, seeing as I'm a little martyr and I'd rather not have friends (see previous entry) but I have to work anyway, so I say I have to work. He's desperate. Bloody desperate. He asks me what time I'll be done, because I could come hang out after if I want to. I'm not going to be done (thankfully) until late. So I tell him that. I hang up the phone with him, and two minutes later, I get a text message from him asking me what time I usually put the kids to bed. I say she'll be in bed when I get there. Then he texts me back and says that he can bring a movie over after they go to bed and we can order a pizza.
What? Are you kidding?
1. The people I work for are freaking loaded and have camera's outside their house, so if I had a guy come over (which I'm sure they wouldn't appreciate) they would definitely find out.
2. Even if they didn't, and even if you weren't really irritating me, I would never ever do that. That's so unbelievably unprofessional. And for you to even suggest that is sick. What do you think is going to happen? How easy do you think I am? Making moves on me is not easy. You can ask anyone. I have this tendency to knee people in places where the sun doesn't shine if they piss me off enough, or make physical advances on me that I don't like. I don't know. I just do it. It's like a reflex or something.
My only question is why I actually thought this guy could have redeemable qualities. And I know those things don't seem like a big enough deal to constitute my breaking up with him, but you have to understand, I think I'm freaking Socrates. Remember? If not, go back a couple of entry's. I fully believe that I am some kind of a queen.
So, I will NOT be retracting that blog quite yet. I don't even know if you can retract a blog...officially. I'm not sure that it applies. Remember how I talked about being a wannabe child prodigy? I'm also a wannabe aspiring journalist. Yep. Never going to happen.
To fill you in, I was responding to a quote on the back of my Starbucks cup from this guy saying that he moved to a big city, and he was lonely, then one day he realized that all he had to do was just say hi, and suddenly he'd be the life of the party. Ok, maybe I'm exaggerating a teeny bit, but that's pretty basically what it said.
I responded by telling you a delightful little tale about me spotting what seemed to be my dream guy at Starbucks, and I looked at him, and I said "Hi" and he said "Hi" back and then that was the end of that. No budding romance. No friendship. Not even a second glance.
So then I went on to complain endlessly about how our society lives in lala land half the time, truly believing that a fairy tale is waiting around every corner for each person who is breathing.
I went on in my extreme pessimism to tell readers how stupid this ideology is.
I couldn't help but chuckle at my own misfortune.
So, I go to a bible study on Tuesday nights at my school that's led by Campus Crusade for Christ. I really like it. It's the high-light of my week most weeks, and I enjoy the fellowship I receive there.
One day, I was sitting outside my Speech classroom waiting for the prof to come open up the door, when I saw a guy who I recognized as being from Cru (Campus Crusade), and out of my good-naturedness (at least on THAT specific day, as you know if you stay up on my blog, that I am not ALWAYS good natured) I decided to say...yes...
"Hi"
He turned around, and greeted me, then asked me if I wanted to grab lunch after class. I couldn't, but we ended up going out the next Thursday. We went and got lunch, and it all seemed fine and dandy. He was easy to talk to, and funny. So we started dating...and I was about to write a retraction of that blog saying that sometimes, "Hi" really does work.
But it soon became very apparent that this guy, was a total and complete idiot. I seriously hope he doesn't read this. If you do, I'm sorry, but maybe you should try reading the dictionary more often.
Date number 1: We go and see Eagle Eye. Personally, I absolutely hate...let me repeat that...HATE HATE HATE it when a guy takes me to see a movie on a first date. What you are saying to me by doing that is this: I don't care about you. I don't want to get to know you by talking to you. All I want is a little bit of action...maybe some kissing, tongue, and if I get lucky a little bit of boob. But I don't care about YOU at all. Pretty much, I'd rather be in a dark theater with you.
But that is not all. Actually, nothing happens at all. He fails to put his arm around me or do anything despite my repeated shivering (pretending that I was cold) and inching towards him to give him the O.K. He also only buys one drink and expects me to share that with him. Are you kidding me? You've got to be kidding me. I don't want to drink your backwash. That's nasty.
So here's the kicker, on the way home, we're talking, and I made a reference to a book I read once, and he goes "So, you read a lot?" and I say "Yep. I love reading" or something like that, and he says "That's good. Yep. I'm pretty big on the sports magazines"
I pretty much did a double take. The sports magazines? That isn't reading dear.
Date number 2: He takes me out for coffee. Actually, this one wasn't too bad, except that he tells me all about his problematic sister and how he "looks out for her" like I'm supposed to instantaneously fall in love with him because he's a good big brother. I'm a good big sister in that I don't kick my brother in the nads every time I see him, but I don't expect guys to fall instantaneously in love with me because of that.
Date number 3: This is the date that pretty much had me ralphing up my lunch into my mouth. He takes me to the mall. For some reason, I thought that this was just a nice little outing to talk and stuff. It turns out that he wants me to help him pick out a shirt for work...I am not your mother. I don't want to help you pick out a shirt for work. So we go from store to store, and he keeps picking out these clothes (rather effeminate if you ask me...) and asks me my opinion on which color I like better - and then - get this - he tells me I should try on some boots. BOOTS.
Listen, it's not that I don't like boots, it's just that I don't really like being told what I should and shouldn't wear by a guy I've been on two dates with. And actually, this wasn't a big deal. We go to the next store, and he mentions it again. "You really should try on some boots"
So I'm like "Ok..." and we keep going. THEN...we go to the next store...and HE MENTIONS IT AGAIN. Does he have some weird boot fetish? Who knows. So I say "Nah..." and he goes "Yeah, it's what you like that counts"
Duh. Should I repeat that? DUUUHHH. You don't even have to verbalize that it's so obvious. Oh wait. Time out. You think I should wear boots? Oh yes oh sovereign emperor of my heart! Of course! Anything for you kind master! I will go out promptly and buy myself another pair of shoes that I don't need! Of course! Shall I bow down and kiss your feet now, or after I heed your wishes?
PA LEASE.
Here was the clincher. One day, after class, we're walking to the library together, and it's raining, and he says "Ah, it's raining. Today is the perfect day to curl up with a nice book"
Do you think I'm stupid? Do you not remember that you told me that you only read sports magazines? Or did you think I'd forget about that? You're an idiot. You wouldn't curl up with a "nice book" on a rainy day. So I pretty much sneered at him and told him that I felt that any day was a good day to read.
And then, to put the icing on the cake - on Friday night, I had to work - babysit pretty much, and he calls and wants to know if I want to go see a movie with him and his friends. I don't particularly want to, seeing as I'm a little martyr and I'd rather not have friends (see previous entry) but I have to work anyway, so I say I have to work. He's desperate. Bloody desperate. He asks me what time I'll be done, because I could come hang out after if I want to. I'm not going to be done (thankfully) until late. So I tell him that. I hang up the phone with him, and two minutes later, I get a text message from him asking me what time I usually put the kids to bed. I say she'll be in bed when I get there. Then he texts me back and says that he can bring a movie over after they go to bed and we can order a pizza.
What? Are you kidding?
1. The people I work for are freaking loaded and have camera's outside their house, so if I had a guy come over (which I'm sure they wouldn't appreciate) they would definitely find out.
2. Even if they didn't, and even if you weren't really irritating me, I would never ever do that. That's so unbelievably unprofessional. And for you to even suggest that is sick. What do you think is going to happen? How easy do you think I am? Making moves on me is not easy. You can ask anyone. I have this tendency to knee people in places where the sun doesn't shine if they piss me off enough, or make physical advances on me that I don't like. I don't know. I just do it. It's like a reflex or something.
My only question is why I actually thought this guy could have redeemable qualities. And I know those things don't seem like a big enough deal to constitute my breaking up with him, but you have to understand, I think I'm freaking Socrates. Remember? If not, go back a couple of entry's. I fully believe that I am some kind of a queen.
So, I will NOT be retracting that blog quite yet. I don't even know if you can retract a blog...officially. I'm not sure that it applies. Remember how I talked about being a wannabe child prodigy? I'm also a wannabe aspiring journalist. Yep. Never going to happen.
More postsecret confessions.
And if Ricky Ricardo, in the flesh, popped out of the television tomorrow in all his Cuban gorgeousness, I would throw all caution to the wind, leave a note for my parents, and run away with him. Screw Lucy.
This is really funny. Too bad I'm not easy.
but what's so beautiful about it, is that now that your gone, I love it for ME.And I actually don't love it all that much.
but watching a baseball game, or running, or singing, or doing any of those things because I want to do them, or because I enjoy it makes doing those things 10 times better than when I was doing them because I thought it would make YOU happy.
So someday, I sincerely hope that I find someone who will only add to my love for those things, but until then, or if not, I'm perfectly happy loving them just because I do, and for no other reason but that.
I love postsecret. You would, too. Check it out.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
I should self-diagnose myself.
My problem has never been that I'm incapably un-relatable, not that I'm unable to make a great first impression. To be quite honest, that's not the issue at all. I am the queen, the freaking empress, if you will, of first impressions. I am flawless with phrases, a word smith at least. I charm the pants off of everyone I meet for the pure reason of my innate desire for social acceptance.
See, first impressions are certainly not the problem at all. My problem is that I have this nuisance of a notion in my head that I'm nothing less than a child prodigy. That I'm Ivy League. What's worse is that I even think of myself as the type of person who is such a sick little prophet of some sort, that upon arrival at an Ivy League school, I'd be disgusted with the sheer collegiateness of it all. This never fails to result in my making some crass remark about the farceness (is this even a word?) of the whole universe, and people, for some odd reason or another, take this offensively. My problem is that I'd lay around all day sobbing about a lack of companionship in my life, but once I get it, I decide I'm a tragic little martyr for pete's sakes.
I'm much too freaking romantic to be anything but the mysterious and tortured lone wolf. Acceptance get's old on me, because I'm too much of a skeptic, and I like loneliness, because I believe in my heart of hearts that I'm freaking Socrates or something.
I always have some cause or purpose or torment like I'm some kind of saint.
What I fail to realize is that I wasted two of the years I could have spent trying to achieve collegiate success on forming the dreams of a nesting house-wife, on a guy who didn't know his mouth from his butt. What a waste.
What I can't see, is that I'm not really some revolutionary smart-alleck, but just another punk kid who's wasting her life away at Jr. College, so that she can get knocked up or some crap that always happens to child prodigy wannabee's.
Even still, I'm drinking, simply reveling in the fact that I've caught three people already this morning staring at me while writing all this bs out. I think they're thoroughly just riveted by my copy of Franny and Zooey (which is greatly aiding to the tone of this entry) laying next to my arm, and they're simply drawn to my pulsing wisdom, like a sick little nut being sucked onto a magnet.
The fact is, I probably have something on my face, and they're just staring out of pity for the way I've embarrassed myself. They won't remember me next semester when we're in class, and I charm their programmed little butt's off, only to show them how much of a farce even I am. It's all because I'm just a bloody little martyr, with a sorry little cause, and that's the way I like it.
So maybe someday, I'll meet a person who's a little saint like me, and we'll charm each other's faces off, and laugh at the whole world in our "lonewolfism" and all their freaking farceness.
I doubt it though.
See, first impressions are certainly not the problem at all. My problem is that I have this nuisance of a notion in my head that I'm nothing less than a child prodigy. That I'm Ivy League. What's worse is that I even think of myself as the type of person who is such a sick little prophet of some sort, that upon arrival at an Ivy League school, I'd be disgusted with the sheer collegiateness of it all. This never fails to result in my making some crass remark about the farceness (is this even a word?) of the whole universe, and people, for some odd reason or another, take this offensively. My problem is that I'd lay around all day sobbing about a lack of companionship in my life, but once I get it, I decide I'm a tragic little martyr for pete's sakes.
I'm much too freaking romantic to be anything but the mysterious and tortured lone wolf. Acceptance get's old on me, because I'm too much of a skeptic, and I like loneliness, because I believe in my heart of hearts that I'm freaking Socrates or something.
I always have some cause or purpose or torment like I'm some kind of saint.
What I fail to realize is that I wasted two of the years I could have spent trying to achieve collegiate success on forming the dreams of a nesting house-wife, on a guy who didn't know his mouth from his butt. What a waste.
What I can't see, is that I'm not really some revolutionary smart-alleck, but just another punk kid who's wasting her life away at Jr. College, so that she can get knocked up or some crap that always happens to child prodigy wannabee's.
Even still, I'm drinking, simply reveling in the fact that I've caught three people already this morning staring at me while writing all this bs out. I think they're thoroughly just riveted by my copy of Franny and Zooey (which is greatly aiding to the tone of this entry) laying next to my arm, and they're simply drawn to my pulsing wisdom, like a sick little nut being sucked onto a magnet.
The fact is, I probably have something on my face, and they're just staring out of pity for the way I've embarrassed myself. They won't remember me next semester when we're in class, and I charm their programmed little butt's off, only to show them how much of a farce even I am. It's all because I'm just a bloody little martyr, with a sorry little cause, and that's the way I like it.
So maybe someday, I'll meet a person who's a little saint like me, and we'll charm each other's faces off, and laugh at the whole world in our "lonewolfism" and all their freaking farceness.
I doubt it though.
Saturday, November 8, 2008
Monday, November 3, 2008
Sometimes people amaze me.
I really like when I go to the mall, and random people talk to me.
Actually I do. And I have a cool story.
So today, I went to the mall, and I was feeling all "My life sucks. The world sucks."
so I got Panda Express. I was all pissy because Panda didn't have any orange chicken left, and I didn't want to wait, so I got something else (Which was lame) so I carry my food ALL THE WAY over to the other end of the food court, when I discover that I have no fork. Nope. No fork at all. So, I get up, haul my big booty all the way back to Panda to get a fork, leaving my plate of food on the table, get a fork, and come back to find that someone had gotten me a fork in my absence.
Although this gesture was kind of pointless, I was totally and completely humbled. First of all, someone had been selfless enough in the first place to notice that I had noticed I didn't have a fork, secondly, some completely random person who didn't know me, and didn't know what kind of a day I'd had (Bad, for the record) happened to get up, and get me a fork.
Sometimes, I lose all faith in humanity. Sometimes, I truly believe that the whole world is full of hate filled people who are incapable of selfless acts of love. It's on days like today that I'm totally blown away by how God uses us, even in our sinfulness. That one person got me a fork, not for the thanks (as it was done out of anonymity), but simply because I needed one.
So, whoever you are - thank you for getting me an eating utensil in my time of need. I needed it in many more ways than one. I hope you know that you've just completely turned around my entire week, all by getting up and grabbing me a fork.
Actually I do. And I have a cool story.
So today, I went to the mall, and I was feeling all "My life sucks. The world sucks."
so I got Panda Express. I was all pissy because Panda didn't have any orange chicken left, and I didn't want to wait, so I got something else (Which was lame) so I carry my food ALL THE WAY over to the other end of the food court, when I discover that I have no fork. Nope. No fork at all. So, I get up, haul my big booty all the way back to Panda to get a fork, leaving my plate of food on the table, get a fork, and come back to find that someone had gotten me a fork in my absence.
Although this gesture was kind of pointless, I was totally and completely humbled. First of all, someone had been selfless enough in the first place to notice that I had noticed I didn't have a fork, secondly, some completely random person who didn't know me, and didn't know what kind of a day I'd had (Bad, for the record) happened to get up, and get me a fork.
Sometimes, I lose all faith in humanity. Sometimes, I truly believe that the whole world is full of hate filled people who are incapable of selfless acts of love. It's on days like today that I'm totally blown away by how God uses us, even in our sinfulness. That one person got me a fork, not for the thanks (as it was done out of anonymity), but simply because I needed one.
So, whoever you are - thank you for getting me an eating utensil in my time of need. I needed it in many more ways than one. I hope you know that you've just completely turned around my entire week, all by getting up and grabbing me a fork.
Sunday, November 2, 2008
alshgljkahsdgasdg
So I think I should clarify a few things.
John McCain. I'm voting for him. So there.
Gee, I'm so terribly sorry if I got dumped last year and ruined all your little party plans. Gosh, so terribly terribly sorry about that. What shall I do to make it up to you? Should I find another boyfriend? Huh? Right now? To please you? So that we can be the cute little foursome and we can go on double dates!? Oh so fun! Please! Let me just step outside for a moment and grab a guy and we'll go! Hurrah!
You are upset that I'm passing you. Oh dear. I'm terribly sorry.
Not. Drive faster, sucker.
Do me a favor and stop making weirdo psychopathic passes at me such as, "I need someone to cuddle with!" do you really think I want to cuddle...with you...? Huh? And who's to say that I want to cuddle at all. Maybe I'm perfectly fine not cuddling with anyone. Did you ever think about that? I AM NOT A CUDDLE WHORE.
Hello. My name is Aubree Redmond. I was home sch...Oh...what's that? You think home schoolers are anti-social retards who don't have a realistic grasp on their lives? You think they're unsuccessful losers? Or maybe you just think they're super genius computer geeks who only know how to communicate with electronic things? Is that it? Or maybe you feel now that I've relayed to you the fact that I was schooled differently than you were through elementary and high school that you have the right to put me under a full blown formal interrogation...hmm...let's think about these things for a while...
Can I punch you in the face now?
HERE! LET ME BABYSIT YOUR BRAT CHILDREN SO THAT YOU CAN PAY ME 5 DOLLARS AN HOUR WHICH IS BELOW THE LEGAL AVERAGE FOR MINIMUM WAGE. OH SURE. YES. I WOULD LOVE TO DO THAT. BECAUSE YOUR CHILDREN ARE SIMPLY THE APPLES OF MY EYES AND I WAIT EVERY SECOND BY THE PHONE FOR YOU TO CALL AND ASK ME TO WATCH THEM! YES! OF COURSE! OF COURSE!
PA LEASE...for my sake, yours, and everyone in a 40 foot radius of your's sake, TAKE A SHOWER.
People who pick their zits in public and then wipe the puss on their shirt should not be allowed IN public period.
Speaking of periods, I'm getting mine soon. Can you tell?
Ok. I'm done.
John McCain. I'm voting for him. So there.
Gee, I'm so terribly sorry if I got dumped last year and ruined all your little party plans. Gosh, so terribly terribly sorry about that. What shall I do to make it up to you? Should I find another boyfriend? Huh? Right now? To please you? So that we can be the cute little foursome and we can go on double dates!? Oh so fun! Please! Let me just step outside for a moment and grab a guy and we'll go! Hurrah!
You are upset that I'm passing you. Oh dear. I'm terribly sorry.
Not. Drive faster, sucker.
Do me a favor and stop making weirdo psychopathic passes at me such as, "I need someone to cuddle with!" do you really think I want to cuddle...with you...? Huh? And who's to say that I want to cuddle at all. Maybe I'm perfectly fine not cuddling with anyone. Did you ever think about that? I AM NOT A CUDDLE WHORE.
Hello. My name is Aubree Redmond. I was home sch...Oh...what's that? You think home schoolers are anti-social retards who don't have a realistic grasp on their lives? You think they're unsuccessful losers? Or maybe you just think they're super genius computer geeks who only know how to communicate with electronic things? Is that it? Or maybe you feel now that I've relayed to you the fact that I was schooled differently than you were through elementary and high school that you have the right to put me under a full blown formal interrogation...hmm...let's think about these things for a while...
Can I punch you in the face now?
HERE! LET ME BABYSIT YOUR BRAT CHILDREN SO THAT YOU CAN PAY ME 5 DOLLARS AN HOUR WHICH IS BELOW THE LEGAL AVERAGE FOR MINIMUM WAGE. OH SURE. YES. I WOULD LOVE TO DO THAT. BECAUSE YOUR CHILDREN ARE SIMPLY THE APPLES OF MY EYES AND I WAIT EVERY SECOND BY THE PHONE FOR YOU TO CALL AND ASK ME TO WATCH THEM! YES! OF COURSE! OF COURSE!
PA LEASE...for my sake, yours, and everyone in a 40 foot radius of your's sake, TAKE A SHOWER.
People who pick their zits in public and then wipe the puss on their shirt should not be allowed IN public period.
Speaking of periods, I'm getting mine soon. Can you tell?
Ok. I'm done.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Things I Like About COD #2
If you come out of doorway 6 or 7...or maybe even 5 of the IC, you come out the back way which kind of looks over Lambert Rd. Start walking towards to Physical Education building, then make a left.
Suddenly you leave community college, and enter into a little haven with two benches and great big tree's which stretch over the pathway. In the fall, those tree's turn beautiful oranges, and the leaves fall, creating a tunnel of color.
It's probably my favorite part of COD. Sometimes I take the long way to my car just to walk through it.
So, bathrooms, and the little walkway next to the IC. Maybe COD isn't so bad, after all.
Suddenly you leave community college, and enter into a little haven with two benches and great big tree's which stretch over the pathway. In the fall, those tree's turn beautiful oranges, and the leaves fall, creating a tunnel of color.
It's probably my favorite part of COD. Sometimes I take the long way to my car just to walk through it.
So, bathrooms, and the little walkway next to the IC. Maybe COD isn't so bad, after all.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
The Strange Things I encounter at COD
I'm in the Student Resource Center at school and some weird kid just popped out of the SLC office with a lap top playing latin guitar music. He just said, "Hey! You've got a free life!" someone passing by. I think he's retarded. Like, literally I think he's retarded. I'm not sure. He's wearing army fatigues. Maybe he's on a mission from God.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Just for the record here...
I'm not too fond of boys who don't know what the heck they're doing with their life. Part of being ready for marriage is knowing that you can support a girl. That doesn't have to mean that you're out of college, have a job, and ready to "woo", but it does mean that you have somewhat of a plan.
Here's what I know: Guys say a lot of things. They say all these nice, wonderful things like "I love you" and "I want to spend the rest of my life with you" and even "I can't wait to marry you."
All of those things are wonderful, and I really hope to hear them again some day. I'm not being downer on all of that. What I'm trying to say is this: Don't tell me that you want to spend the rest of your life with me, unless you are 100% sure that you're ready to spend the rest of your life with me. Don't tell me that you want to marry me unless you know that if you had to, you'd marry me tomorrow and be perfectly ok with that.
I want a guy who can look me in the eye and say exactly what he means, and nothing else. Even if that means not saying I love you, or not saying that you want to marry me. I want a guy who says what he means, not what he thinks I want to hear, not what he thinks might get him in a better situation with me.
I want to wake up every morning to my best friend. I want to spend the rest of my life with someone who'll scale a mountain with me, or just hang out and play board games with by the fire. I want someone who I can spend hours in a car with and laugh my head off because He loves making me laugh that much. I want someone who I can just hang out with. That is truly what I want.
I want a guy who gets it. I want someone, who when I say things, they say "I know exactly what you mean"
I want someone who's passionate about what I'm passionate about, and maybe if he's not, that he's passionate about me being passionate, and has his own passions, and that those passions can coincide with each other. I want someone who I can run next to, who I can run this race to meet my Maker with.
Mainly, I want someone who loves his father, and who lives to please his Father, or tries very earnestly to live a life to please His father. I want a guy who wants to desire God.
And I'm really tired of it. I'm tired of meeting these scuz ball creepers.
It makes me think there are no truly good, and truly noble men left in the world.
And that makes me really sad. I meet lots of guys, lots and lots of single guys. Probably about half of those guys would say they are serious about their faith. Probably about 10 percent of those guys are serious about saying their serious about their faith.
So where does that leave me?
Here's what I know: Guys say a lot of things. They say all these nice, wonderful things like "I love you" and "I want to spend the rest of my life with you" and even "I can't wait to marry you."
All of those things are wonderful, and I really hope to hear them again some day. I'm not being downer on all of that. What I'm trying to say is this: Don't tell me that you want to spend the rest of your life with me, unless you are 100% sure that you're ready to spend the rest of your life with me. Don't tell me that you want to marry me unless you know that if you had to, you'd marry me tomorrow and be perfectly ok with that.
I want a guy who can look me in the eye and say exactly what he means, and nothing else. Even if that means not saying I love you, or not saying that you want to marry me. I want a guy who says what he means, not what he thinks I want to hear, not what he thinks might get him in a better situation with me.
I want to wake up every morning to my best friend. I want to spend the rest of my life with someone who'll scale a mountain with me, or just hang out and play board games with by the fire. I want someone who I can spend hours in a car with and laugh my head off because He loves making me laugh that much. I want someone who I can just hang out with. That is truly what I want.
I want a guy who gets it. I want someone, who when I say things, they say "I know exactly what you mean"
I want someone who's passionate about what I'm passionate about, and maybe if he's not, that he's passionate about me being passionate, and has his own passions, and that those passions can coincide with each other. I want someone who I can run next to, who I can run this race to meet my Maker with.
Mainly, I want someone who loves his father, and who lives to please his Father, or tries very earnestly to live a life to please His father. I want a guy who wants to desire God.
And I'm really tired of it. I'm tired of meeting these scuz ball creepers.
It makes me think there are no truly good, and truly noble men left in the world.
And that makes me really sad. I meet lots of guys, lots and lots of single guys. Probably about half of those guys would say they are serious about their faith. Probably about 10 percent of those guys are serious about saying their serious about their faith.
So where does that leave me?
Friday, October 24, 2008
Time elapses into broken sleep and broken dreams
But you aren’t here
Your mess is indisputable
Anyone will give me that
All our fears, they’re translucent.
I’m clever when I see you there
Brilliant when we speak
Nothing when we touch
It’s the race to beat the odds that were pitted against us
We can count the stars a million times, it’s all relative anyway
They’re screaming your name
We bleed
I shatter
You’re new
Don't go away with her, come change your mind
Whisper the broken thoughts
You never seemed to find
You are the stars at night, you call me down
You bring me to new heights
Oh, it's us tonight, let's make this right
When your melody meets harmony
It suddenly is clear
That you're all I've been singing for these years
Let's run away with this, let's read between the lines
We'll unearth the love we missed
Just follow all our signs
We'll open up our eyes, you'll dry my tears
We'll rid this of good-byes
Oh, of all our tries, this love will rise
When your melody meets harmony
It suddenly is clear
That you're all I've been singing for these years
When your broken song is all along
The words I've longed to hear
Then you're all I've been singing for these years.
Whisper the broken thoughts
You never seemed to find
You are the stars at night, you call me down
You bring me to new heights
Oh, it's us tonight, let's make this right
When your melody meets harmony
It suddenly is clear
That you're all I've been singing for these years
Let's run away with this, let's read between the lines
We'll unearth the love we missed
Just follow all our signs
We'll open up our eyes, you'll dry my tears
We'll rid this of good-byes
Oh, of all our tries, this love will rise
When your melody meets harmony
It suddenly is clear
That you're all I've been singing for these years
When your broken song is all along
The words I've longed to hear
Then you're all I've been singing for these years.
For every time you may have crossed my path
In every way that I saw your face, but never knew
All the mornings we could have passed
All the nights that turned to dew
This is for every wanton mystery of life
That we’ve been born crying out so long
So if I’m Juliet, I’d take the knife,
And you Romeo, poison is your song.
The way the knife has always won
Let’s not look back yet
Let’s never forget.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
The Things I Like About COD
They have lots of bathrooms. I never have to wander around, looking for a bathroom.
Uhhhhh
Ummmmmmmmmmmmm
UHHHHHHH
Still thinking
UHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
Oh. Well. I guess that would be about it. Bathrooms.
Uhhhhh
Ummmmmmmmmmmmm
UHHHHHHH
Still thinking
UHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
Oh. Well. I guess that would be about it. Bathrooms.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Oi.
So I'm actually getting pretty sick of all the crap about Barack Obama being black and McCain being old dude. I don't give a crap if Obama is black. Good for him. I'm a woman. And no, I'm not making any comparisons here, so don't get all up in my mcgrittle.
It also really bugs me when people make stupid statements like "Voting for a democratic party is a sin!"
Or...
"I'm not enough of a sinner to vote for Barack Obama!"
I for one personally believe that Republicans are sinners.
I also believe that Democrats are sinners. Why? Because all believe that MAN KIND, every single person on the earth is a sinner. If I got up right now and said "I'm not voting for Barack Obama because I'm not that much of a sinner!", I would expect people to seriously doubt my ability to make any kind of rational decision. You probably ARE that much of a sinner. I don't think that your not voting for Obama has too much to do with sin, and simply the things that you believe are right for the country. It has a lot to do with DEMOCRACY, in that your founding fathers made a decision years before you to form a government which you'd live under, that you could have the CHOICE to make decisions on ethical or economic issues that you believe will form a better and more sufficient ruling party.
I don't think that democrats are any more or less sinful than republicans, and voting for one party certainly does not get you one leg higher in the ladder to heaven. So please, for my sake, and for the sake of others, find a better reason to cast your vote, be it Republican or Democratic.
So let's stop giving Christian voters a bad name, and actually inform ourselves.
So which party do you think I'LL be voting for in a few weeks?
It's Ralph Nader. ;-)
It also really bugs me when people make stupid statements like "Voting for a democratic party is a sin!"
Or...
"I'm not enough of a sinner to vote for Barack Obama!"
I for one personally believe that Republicans are sinners.
I also believe that Democrats are sinners. Why? Because all believe that MAN KIND, every single person on the earth is a sinner. If I got up right now and said "I'm not voting for Barack Obama because I'm not that much of a sinner!", I would expect people to seriously doubt my ability to make any kind of rational decision. You probably ARE that much of a sinner. I don't think that your not voting for Obama has too much to do with sin, and simply the things that you believe are right for the country. It has a lot to do with DEMOCRACY, in that your founding fathers made a decision years before you to form a government which you'd live under, that you could have the CHOICE to make decisions on ethical or economic issues that you believe will form a better and more sufficient ruling party.
I don't think that democrats are any more or less sinful than republicans, and voting for one party certainly does not get you one leg higher in the ladder to heaven. So please, for my sake, and for the sake of others, find a better reason to cast your vote, be it Republican or Democratic.
So let's stop giving Christian voters a bad name, and actually inform ourselves.
So which party do you think I'LL be voting for in a few weeks?
It's Ralph Nader. ;-)
Monday, October 20, 2008
I'm from Procrasti Nation!
I have this uncanny way of leaving all the things I have to do, that if I don't do them it will seriously effect my immediate future, for time that I may have after I do all of the things that I WANT to do. For instance. In the last weekend or so, I was SUPPOSED to be finishing reading, and writing up a summary of this book about the food market and the world's food distribution system. While this may seem like a very interesting subject, and it is in a way, I don't really enjoy reading 500+ words about the impossible pickle our world has gotten ourselves into. This summary is due tomorrow. Yes. That's right. You heard me. The summary is due TOMORROW. I still have about half of the book left to read. Am I a genius? Yes. I am.
Anyway, in the last weekend, I have had almost nothing to do. No homework. No jobs. Pretty much I've had the whole weekend to do this stupid thing. Here is what I got accomplished this weekend:
- A wicked cool painting/collage thing that I came up with and am quite proud of.
- The beginning of a new song (Which is completely counter productive seeing as I do little to nothing with the songs I write except post them in my Facebook notes, hoping desperately that one of my friends is secretly one of those people who go from club to club looking for bands to sign. I realize that I could probably play some shows, but I'm completely unmotivated)
- Lots of cool new frames I shot in the woods one afternoon.
- Carrying on in quite a few text message conversations so that I can feel like I have friends
- Got free coffee at Starbucks because the guy who works there thinks I'm a total hottie.
That's pretty much what I've done with my time. Oh yeah, and I posted in this thing.
As you can see, I have issues managing my time properly. I have issues focusing.
I'm also about to go to a photography class that I have a sneaking suspicion I'll be taking with old people and Asians. Not that this is a problem. Not that I don't like old people or Asians.
AND THEN TONIGHT I get to pull and all nighter in complete panic, because believe it or not, even though it stresses me out and it's completely unnecessary, my best work is produced within a 12 hour time period of when it's due.
Thank you. Have a good night.
Anyway, in the last weekend, I have had almost nothing to do. No homework. No jobs. Pretty much I've had the whole weekend to do this stupid thing. Here is what I got accomplished this weekend:
- A wicked cool painting/collage thing that I came up with and am quite proud of.
- The beginning of a new song (Which is completely counter productive seeing as I do little to nothing with the songs I write except post them in my Facebook notes, hoping desperately that one of my friends is secretly one of those people who go from club to club looking for bands to sign. I realize that I could probably play some shows, but I'm completely unmotivated)
- Lots of cool new frames I shot in the woods one afternoon.
- Carrying on in quite a few text message conversations so that I can feel like I have friends
- Got free coffee at Starbucks because the guy who works there thinks I'm a total hottie.
That's pretty much what I've done with my time. Oh yeah, and I posted in this thing.
As you can see, I have issues managing my time properly. I have issues focusing.
I'm also about to go to a photography class that I have a sneaking suspicion I'll be taking with old people and Asians. Not that this is a problem. Not that I don't like old people or Asians.
AND THEN TONIGHT I get to pull and all nighter in complete panic, because believe it or not, even though it stresses me out and it's completely unnecessary, my best work is produced within a 12 hour time period of when it's due.
Thank you. Have a good night.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
The things I find at postsecret.com
Dear Starbucks Worker,The picture you've included of the Starbucks on your Post Secret is not "My" Starbucks. It looks nothing like it. It probably isn't even in the same area as my Starbucks.
But sometimes I feel that my only friends are the people who serve me coffee. They don't even know my name. They only recognize me by my drink. But sometimes, I like to pretend that they wait all day long for me to come in after work and grab my cup of coffee. I like to imagine that one day, I'll walk in, and one of them will invite me to come hang out, to go out, whatever. This will probably never happen. Either way, when I walk into the Starbucks on Crescent in Glen Ellyn, and I see the same faces every time, and they say "The usual?" and I say "Yep", and they say "How's it goin'?" and I tell them how it's going, I feel like I belong somewhere.
So much to the point where it makes me want to quit my current job to work at that Starbucks.
My Starbucks.
So you aren't alone.
Sincerely,
Grande Café Americano with room for cream.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
WHAT!?
OK - So I know I've already posted tonight, but I saw this, and I just couldn't wait to write about it.
I go on my sbcglobal/yahoo/whatever the heck it is now homepage, and I'm looking through the news stories, and I find one (why the heck this is considered news, beats the heck out of me) that says "4 things that make men want to marry a woman". So, ok, I admit it, I'm intrigued. What IS it that makes a man want to get married? What makes them say "I do" in a male egocentric culture that tells men that they can have as many women as they want, no matter how old they get as long as they work out and shave that back hair (Ew...)
So I click on it, and it's of course the usuals. Men want to marry women who are independent. Men want to marry women who are creative. Men don't necessarily want to feel like they're "settling down". Then I get to one that's entitled, "Jekyll and Hyde". Basically, what this says is that men want to marry a woman who can be a total sex goddess in bed, but then can be charming and sweet at a family reunion. The following is a quote from the article, which is OBVIOUSLY written by a man.
"It's the all-in-one woman who can equally pull off the roles of wife, mother, boss, friend, neighbor, vixen. That's not asking too much, is it? After all, if a guy is going to commit for a lifetime, he'll want his partner to be able to react to a lifetime's worth of challenges and opportunities, right?"
I don't even know where the heck to start in telling you all the things that are horribly wrong with the previous statement. Basically, this is a nice way of saying that men won't get married and stay married (faithfulness is still under speculation at this point I suppose) unless they can marry a woman who can do everything, all the time, and will never blink an eye. She can equally juggle being a sex goddess in the bedroom with a perfectly sculpted body, looking as young as it did when she was 20, an awesome mother who is able to entertain her children while her lazy husband sits on his fat butt and knocks 'um back, a wife who'll make her husband supper and rub his feet, and fetch him his beer and slippers after he gets home from a very exhausting day at work, and everything else without batting an eyelash. She is required to be super woman, so that Mr. Wonderful doesn't have to deal with challenges and responsibilities.
She's never allowed to yell, get stressed out, have a little break down, get an hour of quiet to collect her thoughts, or anything. She's on call, all the time.
Here's what I think.
I for one, am going to refuse to get married until I find a man who is equally great at making me delicious, gourmet meals, then spoon feeding them to me as he is taking intricate care of my beautiful and flawless children. He indulges me at every turn, buying me jewelry and spa treatments, and cars, and big houses. He makes me a living, but at the same time, is very compassionate about all the hard work I've done all day sitting down in an air conditioned office at a desk with contemporaries that are the same age and have the same interests as me, and gives me a few hours to relax before insisting that I go out and pursue some of my hobbies, such as going out with my girlfriends for martinis, or getting my nails done, or even just sitting back and watching the newest episode of Sex in the City.
He is at my beckon call, and I have him wrapped around my finger.
So now, do you think I'm a big high maintenance brat? Gosh, I do.
Here's my point: When a man expects a woman to be super woman, satisfying every one of his and his children's needs, indulging him and taking care of him (though he's a grown man...) and never attending to needs of her own, it's considered reasonable. After all, he's trading his FREEDOM. When a woman expects a man to satisfy her needs, or to indulge her for once, she's considered high-maintenance, and a nuisance. For a man, it's got to be WORTH getting married. For a woman, she really doesn't have much of a choice, unless she wants to be a.) the crazy cat lady or b.) a lesbian.
Ok, NOW, I am done.
I go on my sbcglobal/yahoo/whatever the heck it is now homepage, and I'm looking through the news stories, and I find one (why the heck this is considered news, beats the heck out of me) that says "4 things that make men want to marry a woman". So, ok, I admit it, I'm intrigued. What IS it that makes a man want to get married? What makes them say "I do" in a male egocentric culture that tells men that they can have as many women as they want, no matter how old they get as long as they work out and shave that back hair (Ew...)
So I click on it, and it's of course the usuals. Men want to marry women who are independent. Men want to marry women who are creative. Men don't necessarily want to feel like they're "settling down". Then I get to one that's entitled, "Jekyll and Hyde". Basically, what this says is that men want to marry a woman who can be a total sex goddess in bed, but then can be charming and sweet at a family reunion. The following is a quote from the article, which is OBVIOUSLY written by a man.
"It's the all-in-one woman who can equally pull off the roles of wife, mother, boss, friend, neighbor, vixen. That's not asking too much, is it? After all, if a guy is going to commit for a lifetime, he'll want his partner to be able to react to a lifetime's worth of challenges and opportunities, right?"
I don't even know where the heck to start in telling you all the things that are horribly wrong with the previous statement. Basically, this is a nice way of saying that men won't get married and stay married (faithfulness is still under speculation at this point I suppose) unless they can marry a woman who can do everything, all the time, and will never blink an eye. She can equally juggle being a sex goddess in the bedroom with a perfectly sculpted body, looking as young as it did when she was 20, an awesome mother who is able to entertain her children while her lazy husband sits on his fat butt and knocks 'um back, a wife who'll make her husband supper and rub his feet, and fetch him his beer and slippers after he gets home from a very exhausting day at work, and everything else without batting an eyelash. She is required to be super woman, so that Mr. Wonderful doesn't have to deal with challenges and responsibilities.
She's never allowed to yell, get stressed out, have a little break down, get an hour of quiet to collect her thoughts, or anything. She's on call, all the time.
Here's what I think.
I for one, am going to refuse to get married until I find a man who is equally great at making me delicious, gourmet meals, then spoon feeding them to me as he is taking intricate care of my beautiful and flawless children. He indulges me at every turn, buying me jewelry and spa treatments, and cars, and big houses. He makes me a living, but at the same time, is very compassionate about all the hard work I've done all day sitting down in an air conditioned office at a desk with contemporaries that are the same age and have the same interests as me, and gives me a few hours to relax before insisting that I go out and pursue some of my hobbies, such as going out with my girlfriends for martinis, or getting my nails done, or even just sitting back and watching the newest episode of Sex in the City.
He is at my beckon call, and I have him wrapped around my finger.
So now, do you think I'm a big high maintenance brat? Gosh, I do.
Here's my point: When a man expects a woman to be super woman, satisfying every one of his and his children's needs, indulging him and taking care of him (though he's a grown man...) and never attending to needs of her own, it's considered reasonable. After all, he's trading his FREEDOM. When a woman expects a man to satisfy her needs, or to indulge her for once, she's considered high-maintenance, and a nuisance. For a man, it's got to be WORTH getting married. For a woman, she really doesn't have much of a choice, unless she wants to be a.) the crazy cat lady or b.) a lesbian.
Ok, NOW, I am done.
Once Upon A Time, Cinderella had a glass slipper, but it was glass and so it broke. Idiot.
So, on the back of the Starbucks hot cups...the cups they give to you when you have a hot drink versus an iced one...duh. Why am I explaining this? Anyway, back to what I was saying. On the back on the Starbucks hot cups, they have these things called "The Way I See It" and then it has a number. I actually have failed to notice this about Starbucks hot cups until today, even though I get Starbucks like, three times a week. This probably has something to do with my addiction to caffeine. By the time I get my four shots of delicious espresso, I'm not really that concerned with the cup and really more with the contents the cup is holding. The cup is useless to me. That's actually quite sad. Aw. Poor cup. Have I mentioned I'm having issues focusing lately? Anyway, on the back of the cups they have these things called "The Way I See It" and they have quotes from like random people. So, I'm just sitting here, chilling in my dining room, trying to upload some stupid pictures that won't upload and I'm getting really frustrated, when I look up to find my empty Starbucks hot cup, and I read the quote. It says;
"I used to feel so alone in the city. All those gazillions of people and then me, on the outside. Because how do you meet a new person? I was very stumped by this for many years. And then I realized, you just say "Hi." They may ignore you. Or you may marry them. And that possibility is worth that one word" - Augusten Burroughs.
Before I go into what I'm about to say, I've been reading a lot of J.D. Salinger as of late. As a result, I've become quite pessimistic, and have come to the conclusion that I am very misunderstood. I know, I know, how angsty of me. Anyway, I'm going to warn you right now. If you're reading this, and you think that this quote is a beautiful message of hope, encouraging you to go out and just say hello to the world, then please stop reading right now. I'm about to rip this quote into shreds, and the last thing I would want to do is spoil it for you. Actually, that's not the last thing I'd want to do, but that's alright.
Let's continue.
That is the BIGGEST load of CRAP I have ever heard in my God-given life. PAAAA LEASE! That's bull. That's what that is. To demonstrate this point, I'm going to tell you a little story.
Once upon a time, I went to Starbucks on a Sunday afternoon. I was looking quite ravishing. In fact, I was channeling a 1940's post war bomb shell with this rockin new pair of shoes I bought. I walk up, feeling quite sure of myself, and I see this drop dead gorgeous guy, sitting outside of Starbucks. My jaw nearly fell open. He was beautiful! He's getting up to get a paper from inside Starbucks, and he opens the door for me. I, of course being cunning and the very essence of a lady (or something like that...) flashed him a brilliant little smirk, and said, "Thanks" then waltzed up to the counter to order my Café Americano. So, I get MY copy of the Sunday Trib and I go outside to read it, at the table opposite from his, when I realize that he has stopped reading the paper (I love a guy who reads the newspaper...and not just for the sports section) and has started to read what looks like a just delicious old copy of Huck Finn. HUCK FRICKING FINN. One of those brilliant copies that's all old and the pages are starting to yellow and the smell is just amazing. Ah gosh. I love old books. So here I am, stuck in this ecstasy of what may just be the perfect man for me...WHEN HE WHIPS OUT A BIBLE. A bible. Oh gosh. I nearly wept with joy. He's a Mark Twain loving, newspaper reading, door opening, CHRISTIAN! I love it. I just adore it. So, by this time, I'm planning our wedding, when I finish my drink, get to the last pages of my paper, and realize that I have absolutely nothing to do. So here I am, thinking that I'm going to impress this guy and he's going to ask me for my number, so I walk past him to go to the garbage, and I say "Hi"
He looks up, and says "Hi"
And then I walk away.
So then I get this idea in my head that this guy quite possibly comes to Starbucks every bleeding Sunday, and I decide that every Sunday, I'm going to go to Starbucks, with a new piece of literature each week, ready to create this budding new love story. Of all the places to meet. Starbucks. Ahh. So I'm all ready. The next week, I show up, looking simply gorgeous in whatever I was wearing, book in hand (I believe I had This Side of Paradise by Fitzgerald) and I sit down at the table. He's not there. So I wait and I read.
Well, if you scroll down a bit, and you look back in September I believe it is, you'll find that Mr. Perfect didn't come back to Starbucks, but I had a rather...awkward and disgusting conversation with a certain old man about sex, in which I retreated very quickly to my car.
So, here's the thing. I don't know what kind of strange fairy tale world we're all floating around in, but most of the time, when you say "Hi" to someone, chances are, they are going to say "Hi" back and that'll be that. No deep connection. No budding friendship is started. No new romantic passion is awakened. I'm sick and tired of people thinking that the whole world is some stupid movie. People don't meet like that, and when they do, it's usually a booty call. Sorry if I'm being crass, but that's the truth. I think it'll suffice to say that I don't believe in fairy tales. They are very nice notions, and I think I would like to believe in them, but in the end, you're born naked, you eat a lot then crap it all out, maybe touch a few lives, try hard to gain a level of success you find worthy, and then you die...and if you happen to be one of God's elect, then you get to go to heaven, where even THERE, nobody is going to care about your romantic little love story because heaven is all about God.
So I'm tired of all that crap. I wish for once in my life, I could hear an actual story. Bob and Kelly worked in the same office. Bob thought Kelly was cute. Kelly thought Bob was funny. Bob asked Kelly out. Kelly said yes. They date for a couple of years, then Kelly and Bob decided to get married. Now they're living somewhere in the midwest with a couple of kids. I'd like to see someone make a movie out of that...but they wouldn't. Why? Because for some strange reason, we have the desire to romanticize the crap out of everything.
Like the other day, I heard this song on the radio. This girl is singing this mushy love song that's supposed to make you feel all soft and squishy on the inside, and the lyrics are something to the extent of, "If I'm Juliet, will you be my Romeo, and we'll live happily ever after" and I had to laugh. I think it was some teenaged blond girl singing it. All I could think was, "That's great hunny, but have you ever read Romeo and Juliet? Maybe seen a movie? There are lot's of Romeo and Juliet movies. Ever seen the play? Yeah. Guess what happens. They have their short lived little love, and it's all romantic, and they think that their love is going to pull them through, but what actually happens is that they both die in the end. So good luck with that."
End.
"I used to feel so alone in the city. All those gazillions of people and then me, on the outside. Because how do you meet a new person? I was very stumped by this for many years. And then I realized, you just say "Hi." They may ignore you. Or you may marry them. And that possibility is worth that one word" - Augusten Burroughs.
Before I go into what I'm about to say, I've been reading a lot of J.D. Salinger as of late. As a result, I've become quite pessimistic, and have come to the conclusion that I am very misunderstood. I know, I know, how angsty of me. Anyway, I'm going to warn you right now. If you're reading this, and you think that this quote is a beautiful message of hope, encouraging you to go out and just say hello to the world, then please stop reading right now. I'm about to rip this quote into shreds, and the last thing I would want to do is spoil it for you. Actually, that's not the last thing I'd want to do, but that's alright.
Let's continue.
That is the BIGGEST load of CRAP I have ever heard in my God-given life. PAAAA LEASE! That's bull. That's what that is. To demonstrate this point, I'm going to tell you a little story.
Once upon a time, I went to Starbucks on a Sunday afternoon. I was looking quite ravishing. In fact, I was channeling a 1940's post war bomb shell with this rockin new pair of shoes I bought. I walk up, feeling quite sure of myself, and I see this drop dead gorgeous guy, sitting outside of Starbucks. My jaw nearly fell open. He was beautiful! He's getting up to get a paper from inside Starbucks, and he opens the door for me. I, of course being cunning and the very essence of a lady (or something like that...) flashed him a brilliant little smirk, and said, "Thanks" then waltzed up to the counter to order my Café Americano. So, I get MY copy of the Sunday Trib and I go outside to read it, at the table opposite from his, when I realize that he has stopped reading the paper (I love a guy who reads the newspaper...and not just for the sports section) and has started to read what looks like a just delicious old copy of Huck Finn. HUCK FRICKING FINN. One of those brilliant copies that's all old and the pages are starting to yellow and the smell is just amazing. Ah gosh. I love old books. So here I am, stuck in this ecstasy of what may just be the perfect man for me...WHEN HE WHIPS OUT A BIBLE. A bible. Oh gosh. I nearly wept with joy. He's a Mark Twain loving, newspaper reading, door opening, CHRISTIAN! I love it. I just adore it. So, by this time, I'm planning our wedding, when I finish my drink, get to the last pages of my paper, and realize that I have absolutely nothing to do. So here I am, thinking that I'm going to impress this guy and he's going to ask me for my number, so I walk past him to go to the garbage, and I say "Hi"
He looks up, and says "Hi"
And then I walk away.
So then I get this idea in my head that this guy quite possibly comes to Starbucks every bleeding Sunday, and I decide that every Sunday, I'm going to go to Starbucks, with a new piece of literature each week, ready to create this budding new love story. Of all the places to meet. Starbucks. Ahh. So I'm all ready. The next week, I show up, looking simply gorgeous in whatever I was wearing, book in hand (I believe I had This Side of Paradise by Fitzgerald) and I sit down at the table. He's not there. So I wait and I read.
Well, if you scroll down a bit, and you look back in September I believe it is, you'll find that Mr. Perfect didn't come back to Starbucks, but I had a rather...awkward and disgusting conversation with a certain old man about sex, in which I retreated very quickly to my car.
So, here's the thing. I don't know what kind of strange fairy tale world we're all floating around in, but most of the time, when you say "Hi" to someone, chances are, they are going to say "Hi" back and that'll be that. No deep connection. No budding friendship is started. No new romantic passion is awakened. I'm sick and tired of people thinking that the whole world is some stupid movie. People don't meet like that, and when they do, it's usually a booty call. Sorry if I'm being crass, but that's the truth. I think it'll suffice to say that I don't believe in fairy tales. They are very nice notions, and I think I would like to believe in them, but in the end, you're born naked, you eat a lot then crap it all out, maybe touch a few lives, try hard to gain a level of success you find worthy, and then you die...and if you happen to be one of God's elect, then you get to go to heaven, where even THERE, nobody is going to care about your romantic little love story because heaven is all about God.
So I'm tired of all that crap. I wish for once in my life, I could hear an actual story. Bob and Kelly worked in the same office. Bob thought Kelly was cute. Kelly thought Bob was funny. Bob asked Kelly out. Kelly said yes. They date for a couple of years, then Kelly and Bob decided to get married. Now they're living somewhere in the midwest with a couple of kids. I'd like to see someone make a movie out of that...but they wouldn't. Why? Because for some strange reason, we have the desire to romanticize the crap out of everything.
Like the other day, I heard this song on the radio. This girl is singing this mushy love song that's supposed to make you feel all soft and squishy on the inside, and the lyrics are something to the extent of, "If I'm Juliet, will you be my Romeo, and we'll live happily ever after" and I had to laugh. I think it was some teenaged blond girl singing it. All I could think was, "That's great hunny, but have you ever read Romeo and Juliet? Maybe seen a movie? There are lot's of Romeo and Juliet movies. Ever seen the play? Yeah. Guess what happens. They have their short lived little love, and it's all romantic, and they think that their love is going to pull them through, but what actually happens is that they both die in the end. So good luck with that."
End.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Random Ramblings.
I'm thinking that I should quit taking relationship advice from the articles that pop up on my Hotmail home page...yeah, this would be a great idea. I've also decided that I need to stop watching the Notebook and thinking "It happened for them! Why not me?"
I also need to stop listening to songs by beautiful male artists who are adorable and thinking "There has to be more of them!" since essentially, I think that a lot of male song writers are just big egotistical jerks anyway. To tell you the truth, so are women song writers. Gosh, I'm such an egotistical jerk. My songs aren't even that good. I'm not really all that great at anything. I'm mediocre at pretty much everything I do. It's a little depressing. Oh well. Who cares? Not me.
I should also be finishing an outline for speech but I think I'm just going to go home tomorrow morning and yeah do it there. So woo hoo for me.
I'm also thinking that I really can't wait to be done at COD. I'm even starting to SMELL like it there.
I should probably also learn how to go to bed on time.
And to stop thinking that I'm rich and spending like, a hundred dollars in one weekend.
I've something. I sincerely think that some people are just ugly. I also think that some people are gorgeous. I also think that some people COULD be gorgeous, but they're either not trying, or trying to hard. But the point is, there are just some people who are blatantly ugly, and there's really no way that I can reason it to make them prettier. Braces? Nope. Different hair-cut? Nope. Different clothes? Probably not. Nose job? Nah. They would need to have their entire face reworked. I'm really sorry if this makes me mean. I'm not talking about anyone in particular. I'm just saying, sometimes I see people at school, and I'm just completely repulsed by them.
So here's where the conception of me that people have that I'm just a nice person. I'm really not. I get annoyed really easily. I think really horrible mean thoughts that I would never say out loud, but would probably bust out laughing if I did say them out loud. Sometimes I can't stop smirking because the things I think are just so mean. I'm a mean person. So for those of you think I'm "Nice" or "Sweet"
You're wrong. I'm not. I'm mean. I'm also controlling, bossy, and I'm an agenda pusher, and if you aren't willing to hop onto the band wagon, then screw you. I've been told to my face that I'm crazy. The truth is, I kind of am. I am semi-crazy. I also have this suspicion that I have this strange genetic dysfunction that causes guys to be extremely interested in me, like, transfixed, like, can't go a day without talking to me kind of interested when they first meet me. They'd like, kiss the ground I walk on. But then, after a few weeks, they dump me. Weird? Yes. Weird.
Maybe it just means that I'm not very complex at face value.
It's pretty smart though. You need to know what you're getting into when you want to date me. Like I said. I'm mean. :)
Ok. Now I need to go to bed.
Good-night
I also need to stop listening to songs by beautiful male artists who are adorable and thinking "There has to be more of them!" since essentially, I think that a lot of male song writers are just big egotistical jerks anyway. To tell you the truth, so are women song writers. Gosh, I'm such an egotistical jerk. My songs aren't even that good. I'm not really all that great at anything. I'm mediocre at pretty much everything I do. It's a little depressing. Oh well. Who cares? Not me.
I should also be finishing an outline for speech but I think I'm just going to go home tomorrow morning and yeah do it there. So woo hoo for me.
I'm also thinking that I really can't wait to be done at COD. I'm even starting to SMELL like it there.
I should probably also learn how to go to bed on time.
And to stop thinking that I'm rich and spending like, a hundred dollars in one weekend.
I've something. I sincerely think that some people are just ugly. I also think that some people are gorgeous. I also think that some people COULD be gorgeous, but they're either not trying, or trying to hard. But the point is, there are just some people who are blatantly ugly, and there's really no way that I can reason it to make them prettier. Braces? Nope. Different hair-cut? Nope. Different clothes? Probably not. Nose job? Nah. They would need to have their entire face reworked. I'm really sorry if this makes me mean. I'm not talking about anyone in particular. I'm just saying, sometimes I see people at school, and I'm just completely repulsed by them.
So here's where the conception of me that people have that I'm just a nice person. I'm really not. I get annoyed really easily. I think really horrible mean thoughts that I would never say out loud, but would probably bust out laughing if I did say them out loud. Sometimes I can't stop smirking because the things I think are just so mean. I'm a mean person. So for those of you think I'm "Nice" or "Sweet"
You're wrong. I'm not. I'm mean. I'm also controlling, bossy, and I'm an agenda pusher, and if you aren't willing to hop onto the band wagon, then screw you. I've been told to my face that I'm crazy. The truth is, I kind of am. I am semi-crazy. I also have this suspicion that I have this strange genetic dysfunction that causes guys to be extremely interested in me, like, transfixed, like, can't go a day without talking to me kind of interested when they first meet me. They'd like, kiss the ground I walk on. But then, after a few weeks, they dump me. Weird? Yes. Weird.
Maybe it just means that I'm not very complex at face value.
It's pretty smart though. You need to know what you're getting into when you want to date me. Like I said. I'm mean. :)
Ok. Now I need to go to bed.
Good-night
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
The things I will revert to in order to avoid doing literature homework...oh the irony.
I am sitting here at school, writing in my blog instead of reading the 6 poems I'm supposed to be reading for literature. The thing is, I left my syllabus at home which has the names of the poems I'm supposed to be reading this week. This greatly effects my ability to read the poems. The girl who's serving coffee in the coffee shop keeps singing the same song over and over again. She has an OK voice, but I always feel a little embarrassed for people who sing out loud like she does, because it's pretty obvious that she's not singing it just for her own enjoyment because she's adding vocal rolls and stylistic techniques. She obviously wants somebody to comment on what a beautiful voice she has. Unfortunately, people probably won't because this is a COMMUNITY COLLEGE, where nobody notices you do anything, and if they do, they don't show it. They pretend, just like I'm pretending right now that I'm not noticing this girl sing, that they don't hear or see whatever it is you're doing. The other thing is that this girl's singing has an extremely distracting quality to it. I'm not sure what it is. She also has a very unique outfit on, and is turning on music in the CD player that's obvious that she's the only one who likes it. The CD is skipping. It's too loud. People are trying to study in here. She's only turning on the CD player for her own enjoyment.
In fact, there's a guy who's sitting diagonal from me at a coffee table who looks like he's writing a research paper. He just put his earphones in because he probably prefers the white noise of his own music to her extremely strange and somewhat more appealing than hearing her sing music. I also find it a little funny how whenever an older person walks into the room, one that looks like they could be my mom (or in some cases, my grandmother), everyone assumes that they are a professor - but sitting across the coffee shop from me are two men who look to be pushing their 60's, and they are talking about what they are learning in a class that they seem to be taking together. Don't get me wrong, I applaud them. I hate school and would never come back to this hell-on-earth after I'm finished at COD. I cannot wait until the END of this school year.
The coffee shop needs a new CD player.
My hands are dry.
The coffee I'm drinking is a bit too hot, but I'm drinking it anyway.
This girl who I'm in sociology class with just walked in, and she always smells really bad. She always sits, without fail, directly behind me, and I have to spend the entire class semester sniffing her disgusting scent of B.O. mixed with cigarette smoke. Even if I move into a completely different part of the room from where I usually sit (Which I have done), she STILL sits near me.
A boy just walked in who's wearing perfectly boyish clothes except for the fact that he's flip flops are glittery and have platform heels. This is weirding me out a bit. It's kind of unnatural. Are you a cross dresser, or do you just have a thing for really feminine shoes?
The girl is singing again, but this time along with the songs.
The smelly girl has a bag that's pink and has the recycle symbol except it's not in a circle, it's in a heart. Does this insinuate that recycling is cute? "Oh gosh! Look at that girl! She just threw her empty pop can into the recycling instead of the garbage! HOW CUTE!"
"Look! That boy LITTERED! He is SO NOT CUTE!"
Adorable.
She's also wearing yoga pants. Someone needs to tell her that chubby girls don't really look good in yoga pants. Correction - no girls look good in yoga pants. The only people who look good in yoga pants are anorexic girls.
The girl is singing along to the lyrics "I want you, I want you soooo baaaaddd"
I wonder who she wants so bad? She's singing it quite passionately. I bet she's a vocal performance major. She just turned up the music. It's making it hard to focus. I used to be able to focus no problem. I think it's the spending excessive amounts of time with people who have substantially lower IQ's. Seriously, just being in this coffee shop I'm sure has caused me to drop at least a point off of my IQ, I'm sure of it.
I feel bad for the guy trying to write a research paper. He's actually pretty cute. Hmm...
My Philosophy professor is convinced I'm an English major. I'm NOT an English major. Sadly, I'm a music major. Actually, both majors will get you close to nowhere in the world. I've never heard of a famous musician who graduated with a Associates in Music from the College of Dupage. I'm pathetic. I'm destined to live in a cardboard box by the river. Actually at this point in my life, I'm finding the idea of that not so bad. The girl who just walked in is at least a foot taller than me. This intimidates me a lot. I'm going to hide in this corner that I'm sitting in until she leaves.
What is it with boys and shoes today? A boy just walked in who is wearing two different shoes! This is NOT a fashion statement. This is called "Getting dressed in the dark". It's tacky. Pick your favorite shoe, and find the other one so that they match. Thanks to you, I'm going to spend the rest of the day thinking about your unmatched shoes. You mean, mean boy. No, I don't have problems.
All of these people are buying really delicious looking breakfast treats and I really want to buy one, but I'm broke. I have to wait until my check clears on Wednesday to buy nice delicious treats from the coffee shop, but I really shouldn't do that even when I have money because it's an unnecessary expense and it adds up. I could be spending the extra 3 dollars on gas, which these days won't get me even a gallon.
Yes, I think the world is out to get poor, hungry, music majors like myself who are going to end up in a cardboard box (maybe a van if I'm lucky) on the side of the river.
I love gay guys at COD. They are hilarious. This guy just walked in with another gay guy. I can't tell if they're like Jack and Will, who are just gay FRIENDS (and occasionally have gay sex...) or if they're together. It's really amusing. That's probably the only thing I will miss about COD - the extremely wide variation of personalities and people. But doesn't a person's personality make the person? Isn't that why it's called a personality? Do we even exist, or is it just our mind that exists? Gosh, I think I should start sleeping through my philosophy class.
I'm going to go splurge and spend a buck on a bag of chips from the vending machine.
For the record, I still haven't done any homework.
In fact, there's a guy who's sitting diagonal from me at a coffee table who looks like he's writing a research paper. He just put his earphones in because he probably prefers the white noise of his own music to her extremely strange and somewhat more appealing than hearing her sing music. I also find it a little funny how whenever an older person walks into the room, one that looks like they could be my mom (or in some cases, my grandmother), everyone assumes that they are a professor - but sitting across the coffee shop from me are two men who look to be pushing their 60's, and they are talking about what they are learning in a class that they seem to be taking together. Don't get me wrong, I applaud them. I hate school and would never come back to this hell-on-earth after I'm finished at COD. I cannot wait until the END of this school year.
The coffee shop needs a new CD player.
My hands are dry.
The coffee I'm drinking is a bit too hot, but I'm drinking it anyway.
This girl who I'm in sociology class with just walked in, and she always smells really bad. She always sits, without fail, directly behind me, and I have to spend the entire class semester sniffing her disgusting scent of B.O. mixed with cigarette smoke. Even if I move into a completely different part of the room from where I usually sit (Which I have done), she STILL sits near me.
A boy just walked in who's wearing perfectly boyish clothes except for the fact that he's flip flops are glittery and have platform heels. This is weirding me out a bit. It's kind of unnatural. Are you a cross dresser, or do you just have a thing for really feminine shoes?
The girl is singing again, but this time along with the songs.
The smelly girl has a bag that's pink and has the recycle symbol except it's not in a circle, it's in a heart. Does this insinuate that recycling is cute? "Oh gosh! Look at that girl! She just threw her empty pop can into the recycling instead of the garbage! HOW CUTE!"
"Look! That boy LITTERED! He is SO NOT CUTE!"
Adorable.
She's also wearing yoga pants. Someone needs to tell her that chubby girls don't really look good in yoga pants. Correction - no girls look good in yoga pants. The only people who look good in yoga pants are anorexic girls.
The girl is singing along to the lyrics "I want you, I want you soooo baaaaddd"
I wonder who she wants so bad? She's singing it quite passionately. I bet she's a vocal performance major. She just turned up the music. It's making it hard to focus. I used to be able to focus no problem. I think it's the spending excessive amounts of time with people who have substantially lower IQ's. Seriously, just being in this coffee shop I'm sure has caused me to drop at least a point off of my IQ, I'm sure of it.
I feel bad for the guy trying to write a research paper. He's actually pretty cute. Hmm...
My Philosophy professor is convinced I'm an English major. I'm NOT an English major. Sadly, I'm a music major. Actually, both majors will get you close to nowhere in the world. I've never heard of a famous musician who graduated with a Associates in Music from the College of Dupage. I'm pathetic. I'm destined to live in a cardboard box by the river. Actually at this point in my life, I'm finding the idea of that not so bad. The girl who just walked in is at least a foot taller than me. This intimidates me a lot. I'm going to hide in this corner that I'm sitting in until she leaves.
What is it with boys and shoes today? A boy just walked in who is wearing two different shoes! This is NOT a fashion statement. This is called "Getting dressed in the dark". It's tacky. Pick your favorite shoe, and find the other one so that they match. Thanks to you, I'm going to spend the rest of the day thinking about your unmatched shoes. You mean, mean boy. No, I don't have problems.
All of these people are buying really delicious looking breakfast treats and I really want to buy one, but I'm broke. I have to wait until my check clears on Wednesday to buy nice delicious treats from the coffee shop, but I really shouldn't do that even when I have money because it's an unnecessary expense and it adds up. I could be spending the extra 3 dollars on gas, which these days won't get me even a gallon.
Yes, I think the world is out to get poor, hungry, music majors like myself who are going to end up in a cardboard box (maybe a van if I'm lucky) on the side of the river.
I love gay guys at COD. They are hilarious. This guy just walked in with another gay guy. I can't tell if they're like Jack and Will, who are just gay FRIENDS (and occasionally have gay sex...) or if they're together. It's really amusing. That's probably the only thing I will miss about COD - the extremely wide variation of personalities and people. But doesn't a person's personality make the person? Isn't that why it's called a personality? Do we even exist, or is it just our mind that exists? Gosh, I think I should start sleeping through my philosophy class.
I'm going to go splurge and spend a buck on a bag of chips from the vending machine.
For the record, I still haven't done any homework.
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