Impervious

There's No Crying in Baseball

2009-04-28T14:17:00.000-07:00

Every year since 1998, I have revered April 3rd as a day of importance and remembrance. April is typically a good month for me every year as the weather is starting to grow warm and I feel a certain sense of renewal. It also typically marks the beginning of Major League Baseball. Most importantly, however, April 3rd was the birthday of my Grandpa Howard, the most diehard baseball fan I've ever had the privilege of knowing. Not a year goes by that on April 3rd I don't think of him. Sometimes it's hard to fathom he hasn't been walking on this earth for over 10 years.

My grandfather was an extremely sick man at the end of his life. He was a prisoner in his own home, tangled among the tubes that kept him to his ventilator and kept him clinging to life. I remember being afraid to get to close to him, as though my mere presence could crush him. Instead, I often joined him in the prison cell of a living room he lived in and watched the Chicago Cubs play on WGN. Thus began my baseball education and deep conversation. Well, as deep of conversation that any girl from age five to twelve is capable of making.

After he passed away, I've looked forward to baseball season. Baseball season is an anchor that holds steady from April to October. Baseball reminds of me simpler times, of happier times, of times where the world wasn't asking too much of me. There are few activities I enjoy more in the summer than hearing the crack of a wooden bat, the smell of leather gloves, and the general splendor that is feeling time pass a little slower than usual.

As I've grown older, the sport has gotten away from me. Summertime became devoted to work and school. As I become increasingly jaded about my life at the moment, I've rediscovered the solace I find in the game and the memories of my grandfather. There are days I wish he could offer me just one more piece of advice about growing up. I wish that I had come to know more people who lived as simply as he did. I wish we could watch one more baseball game together.

This obviously isn't a timely entry as April 3rd has come and gone. However, I've decided to dust this blog off and hopefully re-introduce myself to another love in my life: writing, even if it's only to my benefit.

Sand in the Vagina

2008-12-28T08:01:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I am amazed by the lack of responsibility I seem to possess when it comes to caring for inanimate objects. Awhile back, I decided to fuck up my car. While turning my car on ice, I overcorrected my steering and slid sideways into a curb, thus obliterating two tires, two tire sensors, and two wheels. Throw in a screwed-up suspension and you have one hell of a sweet bill from your local car-fixy-place. It's also fun when your insurance adjuster calls to confirm where you have sent your broken car one morning only to not show up at confirmed location and therefore sticking you with the bill. However, car was seemingly fine after repairs and life went on...

Until about a week and a half later. Once again we find our heroine driving her beloved brand new car in wintry weather. Well, it wasn't exactly wintry at that moment but the remnants of the precipitation from the day before were still lurking. Enter in "big flying ice chunk" from semi a couple hundred feet up the interstate. "Big flying ice chunk" nosedives into the front of my vehicle on the passenger side. I worry about my tire once again being annihilated, only to discover the tire is fine but that a chunk of my front bumper around my fog lights is missing. A little part of me dies every time I walk by said damage. With any luck I'll still be alive next week.

Today, I tested out my new Christmas present: a vacuum. Please, please, hold the applause. For the first ten minutes this apparatus was among the most beautiful things I'd ever seen. Enter random strand of Christmas lights I run over with the vacuum. The air was saturated with the scent of death. When the vacuum powered down, I realized there had been two casualties: the lights and the vacuum. The vacuum is fixable as it just needs a new belt, but there will be no joy in vacuuming for me until I go retrieve said belt from a store.

Along with my dog having the runs, having no food in my fridge, and having to return to work once again tonight, I feel like someone would might they have sand in their vagina. Minus the physical sensation and much more of the angsty, emo-ridden, piss-and-vinegar-coursing-through-the-veins state of mind.

Captain Jerkface

2008-12-17T01:16:00.000-08:00

It's getting to be that time of year when my isolationist tendencies seem to get the best of me. For most of my life, I've probably fit of the profile of someone who is a "loner." I'm not a sad, emo "loner"; rather instead I'm just someone who has become extremely comfortable and accustomed to doing things on their own. I live alone, for the most part I'm sleeping alone, I'm eating alone, I'm watching TV alone, and I do other stuff alone. When my schedule allows for it, I socialize with friends. Granted it's the same three to five people I socialize with every time, but this typically doesn't bother me.

The last time I went back to my parents' house in my hometown, it dawned on me that none of the people I was hanging out with were there because of me; they were there to see my brother. This is fine as I have purposely not kept in touch with more than a handful of people from that town, none of whom are still in that area. However, it was also then I realized that the one good friend I still had there was someone I hadn't spoken to in what's probably closing in on one year.

Long story short, I am terrible at keeping in contact with others. Everyone promises to write or call or whatever and that lasts about one go-around before you never hear from them again. I am notorious for putting the burden of friendship maintenance on the other person, a quality that has caused some to label me as distant or indifferent, neither of which I purposely intended to be.

What is the protocol for trying to reconnect with old friends? Is there x amount of time that passes by before you should just accept bygones as bygones?

Why won't you like me?

2008-12-04T07:34:00.000-08:00

And why can't I accept the fact that it's really okay if you don't?

Hidden talent

2008-11-10T22:55:00.000-08:00

I am addicted to Wii Fit.

I've been using it for just over a month. I haven't lost as much weight as I would have liked to just yet, but what can you do? I love the verbal abuse it offers me when my weight has shifted up 0.2 pounds. It gets upset when I don't weigh in at the same time everyday. It knows when I've skipped a day. Basically, I'm answering to a little white box with a brain. Hell hath no fury like a pissed off Wii.

During my foray into interactive fitness, I've stumbled upon an activity I gave up a long time ago: running. Okay, it's not really "running". It's jogging or something like that. Essentially I'm moving at a slightly elevated pace compared to walking. I was in track in middle school. I wasn't even a runner then; I just threw shotput and discus. Take that back; I ran the 800 once.

One of the activities on the Wii Fit is a Free Run. In this exercise you are allowed to ~~run~~ jog at your own pace. On the screen you can see yourself running on a course along side other Miis. I don't know if it's trying to make me feel better by having this ridiculously uncoordinated Mii fall down every five minutes, but whatever, at least I'm not that guy. You jog in place for a set time limit. I set it for 10 minutes the other day, thinking I'd either grow bored or hate the exercise with the fire of a thousand suns.

To my surprise, I liked it. Much of this must be credited to my iPod, but afterwards I felt as though I'd done something really good. My legs were not the Jell-o jigglers I thought they might be. I felt invigorated and moderately satisfied. I dare say I might have actually been a runner in another lifetime. I'm not quite sure if this feat could be accomplished without my iPod but I'd certainly give it a try. My goal is to work towards maintaining a steady pace and by next spring, I might just try the real thing outdoors.

In the mean time, I'll be the idiot running in front of my TV, trying not to trip over the other Miis who fail to stay upright for two minutes at a time.

Jumping off pedestals

2008-11-03T00:11:00.000-08:00

I made a fool of myself this weekend. No, that sentence wasn't meant to be newsworthy, particularly if you've ever had the distinct fortune of making my acquaintance in real life. As it often happens, my absurd behavior was a result of me trying too hard and falling face-first into a muddy hole of regret.

In many respects, my thought processes and maturity have not progressed much far beyond what they were in high school and sometimes with x amount of alcohol in my system middle school. I haven't quite grown up into the adult version of myself. I want very much to be liked and often fail to realize such a feat can be accomplished with minimal effort on one's part.

Long story short: I like a boy. He's not a boy; I believe the proper term is man. Do other people have such difficulties seeing themselves as adults? Anyway, said person possessing Y chromosome has piqued my interest for some time now. Something tells me my awkward attempts at conversation and flirtation with him have more or less spelled this out for him. In my pathetic, dark little world I do not see him as someone I could plausibly end up with.

At least that is what I thought. I still tend to put that one special person on a pedestal. I forget they are human. I forget that all niceties aside, he is still the kind of guy that is amused by women's breasts. He likes to flirt, he likes his freedom to flirt, and he is out for a good time. Don't get me wrong, this guy is nice when it counts. He is polite to my parents (if only to their face), he goes the extra mile to help those in need, and in all honesty he's much like the rest of us in that he tries to do the right thing when he can and sometimes he does and sometimes he doesn't. He's not the perfect specimen and like other people he is capable of saying the wrong thing, breaking a heart, letting someone down, and simply not living up to perfection.

Regardless of such simple observations, I am still unimpressed and slightly embarrassed for the way I acted toward him this weekend. In the majority of life's situations, I find that I do possess self-control. I am able to filter my words before they come spilling out of my mouth. I can keep my fucking shit together no matter how intimidated or in awe of another person I might be. Such was not the case this weekend and my pride is reeling.

He is just a guy. He is not perfect, much like myself. Despite things he might have said to me to encourage my attention toward him, I could have handled that night better. I could have walked away with my pride intact. Alas, I'm fairly certain I didn't.

Pedestals are tricky. The pedestal he occupies is pretty high and despite my attempts to shake it, it's not enough to tip it over. For now, he's keeping his balance and looking down at me or at least he is in my mind. I'm trying to tell myself I should be so lucky.

Letter to Molly

2008-10-17T15:24:00.001-07:00

Dear furry friend,

Thank you for being excited to see me about 93 percent of the time. I wish that people jumped up and down when I walked in the door and whimpered. Perhaps the latter would be frightening, but then again, maybe the jumping up and down is unnecessary as well. However, I appreciate your excitement after a long day or work or whatever event has actually dragged me out of the apartment.

I also like the fact that you like napping as much as I do. At first I felt it was unnecessary that you sleep on my shoulder/neck, but now my shoulder/neck feels exposed when you are not there. Well, at least when I am laying on the couch. However, if you could work on keeping your rear end out of my face that would be most splendid. You are a fantastic little space heater covered in fur.

It should also be known that you are quite the entertainer. I like that you're a little quirky, kind of like me. You make me laugh when you bark at thin air (except when I'm sleeping, which is usually when you're barking). I also like watching you run sprints around the apartment, usually batting around an inanimate object in the process. I love when the images on TV anger you so much you feel the need to bark at them. I'm sure the lady on the TV you swiped your paw at the other day got the message.

Molly, you're a pretty sweet dog. I'm glad that you like and appreciate me more than a lot of people I know do. I just wish you'd do more around the apartment. Like if I could give you a cell phone and call you and tell you to have stuff done when I get home from work. Pouring cereal and milk isn't hard. You know where both of them are located since you stalk the kitchen all the time in hopes a cabinet or the refrigerator will open. You could also fold laundry. I know you know where laundry is too. You sleep on my freshly-dried clothes only when you're not sleeping on my shoulder/neck. However, I assume you will keep relying on your good looks to get by. I suppose this is acceptable.

Love,
Me

Reading the label

2008-09-20T10:45:00.001-07:00

I had one of those cashiers today in the line at Wal-Mart. Serves me right for shopping there in the first place. I waited in her line for a good fifteen minutes. I didn't mind waiting; it's Saturday and I'm in no rush to return to my lonely and disheveled apartment. Finally, she started scanning my items, only to read the Nutrition Index and back panels of every box and package. I worked with a few girls at a grocery store awhile back who did similar things. They'd make asinine comments about products customers were buying, visibly annonying the customer and solidifying their reputations as the checkers whose line you didn't want to find yourself standing in. Odd that many retail stores promote friendly interactions with customers and by all means these girls were doing their job. It's too bad most ~~assholes~~ people like me just would rather not be bothered. Ten years later, my items were finally bagged and ready to be taken out.

I always wonder if I appear as bitchy as I sometimes feel on the inside. If one didn't know me personally could they tell I was a shy, semi-pessimistic person who is prone to spacing out at the most inopportune moments? Are they paying attention to the foodstuffs I buy and thinking, "Damn girl, you'd put that back if you knew what was best for you?" Do they judge me as much as I judge myself? I sure as heck hope not.

Now back to your regularly scheduled programming. Meanwhile I'm going to attempt sleep before work tonight, despite the fact that the sun might as well be sitting right outside my bedroom window.

Cognitive upchuck and the like

2008-08-28T20:46:00.000-07:00

At last, I have returned. Call it a mental hiatus if you will, I wanted to take the last month and a half off from overanalyzing things. Due to some family complications, this hiatus wasn't as continual as I had hoped for. The following brain vomit is what I have been needing to write down for some time; my apologies for the sheer "suckiness" that ensues.

There was a death in my family. Death is a part of life, or so that crappy cliche goes. I personally think there is nothing natural about death and truth be told my death is something I have always feared. Blame this on my "lack" of spirituality or whatever you wish; I just know I like being in control and death doesn't really let you call the shots. Perhaps if Death came in the form of the animated grim reaper on Family Guy would I feel a little better about it.

Anyway, that last paragraph was garbage. What I really meant to say was that I lost one of the most meaningful people in my life last month and I am falling far short of being "okay" with it. Memories of this person cloud my thoughts every single day. I have so many questions I cannot answer, let alone the questions I'm not even sure how to ask. This death was his choice, not a rational choice in my opinion, but his choice. I am not sure if I have ever felt so betrayed or angry with someone. I want to tell him what a fucking chicken shit he was for doing what he did. Sometimes my ill-conceived notions of heaven allow me to think that he is watching over this world and that he can see my family unraveling. He can see my confusion and the mental clusterfuck that has made permanent residence inside my head. It is rare when I encounter an empathetic moment where I try to imagine his life leading up to his death. Sometimes I just don't care how bad he hurt because not even Machiavelli could argue that "the ends justified the means."

The good memories I have of this man are clouded by the negativity surrounding his death. My head knows that there is no point in being bitter because person I'm directing my anger to can do not a thing to respond. Dead, dead, dead, dead, done. He is gone.

I hope to someday put this behind me but for now we're both running at a steady pace, side by side. My anger and memories of him are my constant companions. His death has made me even more selfish than usual. I have pushed away friends and family who have tried to comfort me when any solace they could have offered should have been welcomed with open arms. What do you say to person who has lost someone because they just didn't feel like living anymore? The subject is so taboo in society that I don't even feel this blog is appropriate to share. However, I have to get it out and if I can't say this to someone's face, at least it is out of my head.

I miss him and for the first time in my life I've realized that hate and love are not on two different continuums but the same one. One of my relatives accurately described it as going from "a hug to a slug" in about 0.2 seconds. Many are the times I want to slug him, and hopefully more often will I feel the need to want to hug him.

So really, welcome to the event that has defined my life for the past month or so. However, the gloom and doom ends here.

No name

2008-07-16T20:50:00.000-07:00

Today I remembered it was the birthday of one of my best friends from college. At one point in my life, she was numero uno; someone who knew all of my secrets and still wanted to be my friend. Despite being two extraordinarily different people, we shared common threads that paved the way for our transition into college life. There are few memories of my freshman through junior years that do not involve her. She was probably the closest thing I've had to a sister.

As most friendships go, we had squabbles every so often. The big one came at the end of our junior year. I was hurt, she told me she was sorry, and I came around to forgiving her. However, soon after this incident I became exceedingly aware that our differences were catching up to us and the bond of friendship started to crack. We both became busy with our own lives and doings and before we knew it, the cracks had become a rift, then a fault line, and eventually to what I would describe as a small canyon today.

Our attempts to bridge things back together haven't paid off. There have been the occasional "How are you"s and attempts to hold a conversation, but nothing substantial. It has been over a year since we've even seen one another.

There was a long period of time where I struggled with the notion that someone so connected to my sense of self for three years was just not there anymore. There was a point where I had convinced myself that she had pushed me away only to be followed by more overanalyzing that made me feel as though I was the one doing the pushing.

Having kissed away that guilt not a moment too soon, I sat down by my computer, logged into Facebook, and left her a simple "Happy Birthday!" message. The middle-school kid inside of me remembered I hadn't received such wishes on my birthday, but thankfully the 23-year-old me was finally able to tell that middle schooler to fuck off. Yes, a simple birthday message is really all I felt the need to say to her. This may start some sort of interaction between us that essentially goes nowhere and it's okay. There's a strong chance we will eventually lose touch with one another. I guess I welcome whatever open-ended communication happens between us.

To say she is no longer a friend is a big pill to swallow and for practical purposes possibly true. However, she will never be just another person I see walking down the street or some mutual acquaintance. She fills a capacity for which there really is no proper name, and perhaps that is what I struggle with the most.

My inner fat kid...or maybe not so much "inner"

2008-07-14T23:52:00.000-07:00

For the past few years, I've found myself in total envy of physically fit people. I've often wondered what it would be like to be one of those people. Would my life change all that much besides the size of pants I would wear? Would people be nicer/meaner to me? Would I be more open to meeting new people? Would anyone care?

In college I sometimes felt as though I was the only overweight female walking around on campus. Obviously, I know this wasn't true. It was hard to see past a lot of girls with great T & A while I perambulated around campus on my legs which I have lovingly and tenderly referred to as "flabsticks" for a few years now. With a spare tire around my midsection and calves the size of cured hams, I felt like a bit of an anomaly when in all actuality I blend in with the fatter than fuck American population.

Recently, I've decided that due to lack of better things to do that I will begin monitoring my stellar fitness habits. I've found a handy website where I track my daily caloric intake, exercise minutes, as well as tracking such piddly goals that the website encourages such as how much water I drink, how many of their dumb e-mails I read only to delete them, and several other miniscule tasks they swear promote change. As much as I mock these "piddly" tasks, some of them are the slightly helpful and eye-opening. However, one of the most important things this website promotes is finding a support system and workout "buddies." Ever the optimist, lover of people, and complete isolationist bitch I tend to be, I don't really "want" a support system.

Yes, I am one of those really annoying people that likes to do things on their own unless absolutely necessary. Losing weight is no different for me. Ideally, it would be great to take time to lose this weight and for no one to really say anything about it to me, even if it's a compliment to how much healthier I look. I know this won't happen seeing as how our impressions of people are largely based on how we perceive them visually. I'm not sure why I'm so averse to receiving compliments; it's like someone is saying to me, "Well you used to suck at such-and-such and now you don't." I don't pretend like my rationalization makes any sense nor do I think I possess healthy ways of thinking.

I have a dream

2008-06-26T22:06:00.001-07:00

I dream of the day when a male who is physically attracted to me and expresses emotional interest in me does not already have a girlfriend. I think this, in short, would be most desirable and yet so unattainable.

Orgasm donor?

2008-06-15T20:58:00.000-07:00

It is my goal someday to make enough money to make shopping at Wal-Mart an unnecessary part of my life. While yes, I could boycott this company now, it seems ridiculous to do so when they truly do have the lowest prices, as well as the lowest of low people on the totem pole as their most loyal customers.

Let's take for example the man I saw wearing an "Orgasm Donor" t-shirt the other day. Clearly, this play on "organ donor" was so amusing to him that he felt it necessary to wear this monstrosity in public when in fact such t-shirts are never a necessary item. Adding to the unnecessary factor would be the fact that he was shopping with two small children and his preggo baby mama. You, sir, are unlikely to be an orgasm donor to any woman with a functioning clitoris.

The oldest man that ever lived

2008-06-08T15:50:00.000-07:00

As the clock strikes 4:30 Monday through Friday, I am overcome with the desire to bolt out of my place of employment and speedily retreat from the parking lot in the least amount of time possible. Without fail, I approach my turn out of our parking lot to see the oldest man that ever lived sitting on the left corner, waiting for the bus to arrive. Many days he is just standing there. In inclement weather, he improvises some sort of device to sit on. I think he might actually carry a milk crate with him.

The oldest man that ever lived works in the same building I do, just a different department. As I accompany a fellow coworker or two for a short break to discuss our own tales of debauchery or gossip, I often see the oldest man that ever lived. He moves painfully slow and seemingly unaware of his surroundings. His one constant during these briefs ventures outside is the cancer stick he sucks on. As of July 1, we are no longer allowed to smoke on our employer's property. I don't know how the oldest man who ever lived feels about this; he's not much for conversational purposes. I've attempted to say hello once or twice, but I don't much of a response and he goes on smoking and drinking his overly saturated coffee with creamer out of a beaker that he probably mixed up some sort of chemical solution in only moments prior to making it his coffee mug of choice.

Word on the street is that the oldest man who ever lived is essentially "not there". He is old, after all, and I suppose that's bound to happen. However, his life becomes exponentially more pathetic if one is aware that his wife is a lesbian and she does have a girlfriend. The oldest man who ever lived is supposedly not allowed to come home before 11:00 PM. After work, he hangs out at the local library until it closes. Higher powers only know what this poor man does until 11:00.

There's really no life lesson learned from this story except that I feel sorry for the oldest man that ever lived as he sits in the rain waiting for the bus, not being able to go "home" for the next six hours. For his sake, I hope he's so out of it that he doesn't realize the bleakness that is his life. I hope he doesn't wonder about where his life went so wrong. As for me, I hope I never become that pitiful, and that I will never resort to using laboratory beakers as coffee mugs.

The joys of motherhood

2008-06-01T23:08:00.000-07:00

Obviously, the title of this blog is not referring to something growing in my uterus or anything of the like. That would be pretty fucking gross really.

No, I've found something much better to love, hence why my blogging frequency has plummeted. (I promise to rectify the situation in the upcoming days.) No, in my life now is a three-month-old Yorkie Poo that I absolutely adore. She's probably one of the cutest things I've seen in quite some time. Far cuter than any human I could possibly spawn.

In the three short weeks I've had her, I come to learn a lot about myself. Above all is learning to be patient. Just as important is the fact that I know I will never make a good mother to something of the human variety. Even more reassuring is the fact that as long as I give her food, water, exericse, trips to the vet, and lots of love, she'll most likely live a long, healthy life. She also will never grow up to be a teenager or learn to talk back. She is the perfect child for me.

Yes, she's a pretty awesome roommate, apart from the fact that she'll never contribute monetarily to the rent or utilites and she relies a lot on her good looks to get what she wants.

"I'm in a glass case of emotion!"

2008-05-05T02:22:00.000-07:00

I could spend this blog discussing the big changes coming up in my life. Let's just gloss over what you have missed:

I got a "new" job at my old laboratory.
I quit the job I didn't like so much, only to find I really will miss the people and I didn't hate my boss so much.
I am turning another year older this month. Thrilling.
My friends and I recently observed an older woman leaving the grocery store wearing Crocs and pushing a cart of kitty litter. While they joke that this is going to be me, I would like to make what I feel are strong points in my defense:

I would never wear Crocs. If I'm going to be old, I'm going to wear colored Keds, or even better: the black leather velcro shoes.
I hate cats for the most part. I'm never going to own one. If my bat-shit crazy grandmother has taught me anything, it has been to never underestimate the enemy (a.k.a. cats.) She owns a Super Soaker squirt gun, like the kind that comes with a backpack to hold even more water. It's actually a very effective device for removing small pests from your yard, ranging from squirrels to cats up to children. Try it. I might also throw out the idea of a leaf blower.

I also have a week off of work. Yes, I decided to take my own little vacation because I'm lazy and it is fun. My plans for said vacation remain to be seen. However, I am strongly inclined to believe that I will be partaking in my newest addiction at the Salon of Cancer and Death. (Yes, a tanning salon.) I reached a lifelong goal of mine this past week, as I realized that the Ivory family of foundations at Cover Girl no longer adequately suited my pore-clogging make-up needs. I have finally defied my Irish Catholic rootz.

There you have it; my life, in a nutshell. Tune in later this week for *gasp* maybe another update. Maybe.

No diving in the shallow end of the pool

2008-04-25T00:37:00.000-07:00

I am one of those people who judges others by their titles, their appearance, and sometimes even by how many Facebook friends they have. I hardly think I'm alone in doing this; people are sort of socially trained to be assholes. However, it's not even that I'm looking down upon these people. What is worse is that I compare myself to them. Clearly, someone who has gotten into graduate school is much more intelligent and successful than me. Someone in a long-term relationship is more loving and probably a nicer person than me. I am absurdly jealous of people who have the things I want most in life (mostly the graduate school and the sense of "prestige" I associate it so closely with.)

Such a seemingly low perception of myself could be easily remedied. I could start applying to graduate school again. I could try to appear more attractive. I could be doing a lot of things that I'm not doing right now. I have no idea when I became such a jealous, bitter, and ultimately lazy person. Along the way I think I became a hypocrite too. I forgot the hard work it took to even appear moderately successful. I don't know what happened to me; I think I used to have a lot of promise and I think that people really did expect me to become something. Either that or I've thought way too highly of myself for the past 22 years.

I don't know why I'm having such a hard time getting back into my life. I hate thinking I'm that girl that people know from high school or college who didn't amount to much at all. Hence you can now understand the irony of the title of this blog. I care a lot about what people think because I know I'm an asshole and a judger of people.

I blame late-night Facebook browsing for the above pity party horseshit. I really wish some days I was okay with not knowing what I want to be when I grow up, or being on my own (in most senses), or that things just didn't work out the way I once envisioned. Maybe for right now I just need a job that is and isn't getting me anywhere, late nights at the bars with friends not being serious about anything, and getting my fucking shit together once again. What's the big deal that 95% of the people I know seem to be much more satisfied than me?

Impervious; I am not.

Un question, s'il vous plait

2008-04-14T22:20:00.000-07:00

You have no idea how much it bothers me that I don't know how to insert an accent circonflex above the "i" in the "plait" of the title. It just doesn't look right.

At work today my head was swimming (and maybe even drowning) in deep thoughts. Between the mundane tasks of my job, I observed a small child zipping around in those shoes with the wheels that pop out of the bottom. I'm sure there's something catchy little name for them but what it is I have no clue. They look like fun shoes; probably something I would have enjoyed as a child. However, my question is this: What kind of mother ever thought it would be a good idea to let their child(ren) roam free around a store with wheels attached to their shoes. Come on, think about it. I don't think I'm the only one who's had a close encounter with a speeding child. The store is not your playground or roller-skating rink, and we certainly aren't going to play the Ghostbusters theme song or any other roller rink staple as your spawn maul the customers.

I'm not screwed...yet

2008-04-13T14:22:00.000-07:00

The title of this entry has been sort of a mantra for me this past week. I made a liberating yet mildly irresponsible decision to give my notice to work last week. Keep in mind I have no bonafide back up plan. I truly did not enjoy my job and due to a particularly heinous night last week, I felt as though I was on the verge of being fired anyway. While neither of the preceding reasons is probably a "good enough" reason to toss in the towel; I just did it. I've never done anything like it in my life. I'm truly out of my comfort zone.

I've never been more nervous in my life. I would rather go through the torture of waiting for eight graduate schools to reject me all over again than to be in the position I am now. In three weeks, stability isn't really going to describe my life at all.

I'm willing to admit I'm a complete dumbshit. A selfish dumbshit. Perhaps even worse than being said dumbshit is that I am a lonely dumbshit. Ladies and gentlemen, I'm not with stupid, I am stupid.

Mom said there'd be days like this

2008-04-09T04:22:00.000-07:00

To say I am frustrated right now about my job is a bit of an understatement. Actually, it's not my job that bothers me. It's my boss. I'm just starting to wonder if the problem is me; maybe I just have a problem with authority. I would like to think I don't and that some recent events at work have just been a string of bad luck. It's hard to hear when someone is telling you that you aren't "conscientious" about your work when that may be the only adjective ever used to describe your performance at previous jobs and in school. I might just honestly suck at my job. I might just honestly suck at life. I probably don't suck so much at the latter, but I think it's time to move on even though it feels like I just got to where I am. At least I know that my boss considers me more of a liability than an asset.

If I'm still employed at the same place in my next entry, it might be nothing short of a minor miracle. Of course my performance is falling apart right before my evaluation. That is a really good time to fall apart. I wish I could rant on and on about my boss and work but that's pretty pointless seeing as how a) no one gives a flying fuck and b) I don't blame them.

Tonight is one of those nights to take some Tylenol PM and ill-advisedly wash it down with a beer and hope the world all rainbows and sunshine-farting babies tomorrow. Alas, imagine my disappointment when there are no rainbows, just babies; babies that certainly do not fart sunshine.

Dating and why I am incapable of doing it

2008-03-25T23:35:00.000-07:00

I have a "date" on Thursday. For some unknown reason, I am terrifed.

I am one of the most awkward 22-year-old females that I know of. I don't find myself all that mature for my age and I'm, for lack of a better way to word this, romantically retarded when it comes to the opposite sex. Don't get me wrong, I love oogling over men just as much as the next woman, but get me in a one-on-one situation with something with a penis and all this brilliant snark and wit which usually flows from me like the Colorado River abruptly stops like it just hit the Hoover Dam. Either that or I attract a guy who is truly an asshole who I have no business being with; oh, I am very good at that.

I almost want to call this date off. I worry the conversation will go nowhere or even worse he just won't be someone I'm into. Even worse, maybe he won't even be that into me. Ugh, what if he is one of those people on the prowl for something serious? Yes, these are the things that keep me awake at night. I worry incessantly about everything that could possibly go wrong. It really has not occurred to me that something positive might come from this experience.

I beg you, date of mine on Thursday; be patient with me. Don't be offended if I act nervous or uninterested. I really can be a jerk and not always intentionally. Understand that I don't even know if I want anything serious and in fact I'm almost sure I don't. However, to avoid further lines of questioning from bat-shit crazy grandma about when I'm bringing a boy home, perhaps I will keep you around, if only for appearances at home or if I am not interested in being the nth wheel with my friends and their significant others.

In lieu of anything interesting to post...

2008-03-19T23:42:00.000-07:00

You have no idea how badly I want to blog. I have spent the past three days trying to inspire something worthy of posting. The last two sentences are all I've got so far. I promise things far worse are probably coming up in the next entry.

And in news no one will likely care about, I wish I had a friend who enjoyed Adult Swim cartoons as much as I did. Well, I probably do have such friends; I just wish they were here.

Food for thought

2008-03-12T23:37:00.000-07:00

I plopped down on my couch to watch some TV tonight after meeting up with some old coworkers. I flip through our digital cable guide for something that could possibly pique my interest. Then I saw the Golden Girls was on. Believe you me, I love Bea and the gang a lot and the episode synopsis already had me rolling on the floor laughing.

Drum roll...

Episode synopsis: A show about lesbianism.

I'm still smiling just thinking about it. It's about as good as the time when I spotted a DIY Divorce Kit at Wal-Mart.

Faking it

2008-03-11T22:54:00.000-07:00

So I've got some news, good and bad:

Bad news: I temporarily forgot about this blog.
Good news: It was only temporary.

I suppose you could argue that the good and bad news could be switched around. Funny how everything is subject to interpretation.

Tonight I find myself with a lot of things on my mind, which really isn't all that uncommon for me. For as long as I can remember, I tend to be in thought about something while conscious. Maybe it's not all that uncommon but rather a sign that I might tend to overanalyze. Either way, my brain never shuts the *bleep* up.

Either way, I find myself in search of someone talk to about my thoughts. I'm no different from most people in that I like to bounce my thoughts off others. In a perfect world, any person I felt mildly comfortable with would prove to be an adequate listener. However, this is actually a crock of shit. Sorry, no bleeping that out. People are really horrible listeners. Despite how terrible this sounds, the majority of my friends don't really listen to me. I myself try to respond to people's concerns although I wouldn't dare call myself sympathetic. But hey, at least I actually tried or at least thought about putting myself in the shoes of the person talking to me. I realize that when a friend comes to me to talk or for sound advice, telling my own similar sob story does not make them feel better. For that matter, either does ignoring what they completely and talk about my own life.

I'm not sure if I expect too much from people or not. I'd like to think I don't, but it wouldn't be news to me if I was wrong. You'd be surprised how much a "Really? That totally sucks..." can help. If people can't be of any real support, they could at least feign an attempt. I don't like to promote half-assed excursions, but in this case I'll make an exception because we're talking about me, and I matter.

A query, if you will

2008-03-05T00:46:00.000-08:00

I just want to know who out there actually watches Last Call with Carson Daly. I am baffled. I don't even know how he has his own show.

However, I think there is trickery going on here. People naturally tune into Conan O'Brien's show because let's face it, he is late-night television. After Conan is over, people walk away from their televisions and start completing random tasks like emptying dishwashers or brushing their teeth or whatever. Some of these people must have Nielson boxes, hence why this show even has ratings. This is the only plausbile explanation I have.

*Edit* He just showed a clip of a Creed song; "Arms Wide Open" to be exact. It's official. This show should have been cancelled just for that.

Why you don't deserve Bluetooth Technology

2008-02-29T00:35:00.000-08:00

Long story short: I hate Bluetooth technology. Such a petty annoyance could and should be easily overlooked, but I struggle with people wandering aimlessly in public looking like morons talking to themselves. Even better is when the person on the other end of the conversation is apparently deaf, because the user of the Bluetooth technology feels the need to make this pointless chat that much more obvious by RAISING THE VOLUME OF THEIR VOICE.

The root of this problem is that people are self-righteous and in a goddamn hurry everyday of their lives. Multi-task, multi-task, multi-task. As if you are really that important that you have to share your conversation with everyone as you peruse the vitamin aisle for the latest diet supplement that probably won't work.

I've tried to imagine situations where using Bluetooth wouldn't look so tool-ish. This was hard but I thought of two: driving and perhaps shopping with distractions (i.e. small children). However, it still boils down to the fact that you could just wait to talk to someone later, because no one likes the driver who causes the accident because they weren't able to concentrate on the road or the loud customer who can be heard comparatively well from opposite corners of the store.

This rant could go on into my dislike of people who talk on their cell phones while standing in a check-out line, preventing the person waiting on them to fully offer their assistance. Oh the things that bother me; it's like an infinite abyss of suck.

Conspiracy theories

2008-02-26T01:57:00.000-08:00

Only magical things can happen when you start off your day with a phone call that goes a little something like this:

Fellow coworker: "Hi [The Misanthropist], this is [Fellow coworker]; I was just wondering if you knew you were supposed to work today?"

The Misanthropist: "Yeah, I thought the schedule said I was supposed to come in at 2:00."

Fellow coworker: "Oh well, I see you down for 11:00 to 8:00."
The Misanthropist notes the time being 12:05...

The Misanthropist: "I am so sorry, I must have read the schedule wrong..."

Fellow coworker: "That's fine; do you know when you'll make it in?"

The Misanthropist: "Never, f*ckface."

As you might have guessed, the last utterance by The Misanthropist was not actually spoken. It was more of a grunt, then a long sigh, then a response of "in about a half hour." Oh, how I will I would have stuck with my original reply. I swear my Monday schedule read 2:00 until 9:00. I swear in the name of something holy that my boss once again changed my hours without telling me. I looked at the schedule on Saturday, I didn't work Sunday, and all of the sudden I'm working 11:00 to 8:00 today. I triple-checked the schedule for Tuesday. I'm not going in until 2:00 in the afternoon. Then I'm going to grab a manager by the shirt and drag them to the time clock, where they will swipe their time card and proceed with a managerial override so that I may clock in as well, since the f*cking time system doesn't recognize my badge yet.

I'm going to spend the rest of my day feeding pills to the overmedicated and self-righteous American population. They will tell me that I'm incapable of doing my job efficiently and I am going to let the drone of their voice go in one of my ears and right out the other and secretly wish they were not alive. Better yet, I will wish them to have my occupation or an occupation of any sort where you deal with the general population everyday and ask them at the end of their shift if their life is worth living anymore. Then I will go home and count the hours until my next day off.To say I dislike my job would be an understatement. I am (sort of) trying to get better at it, but there are roadblocks on my path to greatness. Most of these roadblocks are people; people that I would like to kick.

Twenty-two going on twelve

2008-02-17T22:51:00.000-08:00

Today I was regaled with the news that another one of my friends has become engaged. Being the self-absorbed piece of crap that I can be on a frequent basis, I turned this situation into a "woe-is-me" story, rather than being a decent human being and friend and feeling happy for my friend who has found...umm...happiness. I don't feel like using a thesaurus right now.

Instead, I started to count how many of my friends are engaged or married. I was actually kind of shocked by the number; I definitely wasn't expecting as many. Then I thought about how many of my friends are in relationships. Then I realized it's my day off work and that keeping my brain workload to a minimum might not be a half bad idea. I decided to count my single friends. Out of the three groups, my single friends (and I'm counting people I talk to semi-frequently) are the only group in the single digits. When, oh Alpha and Omega, did that happen?

It's no big secret that I've been checking the "single" box for a few years now. This is partly of my own doing; I place a high value on independence and self-sufficiency. However, as I age ever so gracefully, I realize this pattern is not the most socially accepted as you add on more candles on the birthday cake. Seeing as how I have less than a quarter of a century of birthday candles on my cake, I don't think there should be a rush...at all.

Maybe I don't really have anything to worry about. I think sometimes I get a little frustrated thinking that if my friends and I were playing the game of Life (TM) that I would be losing by quite a bit. I'm a pretty competitive person so you can only imagine my outrage at this absurd situation.

Bat-shit crazy grandma doesn't like it when I joke about becoming an old maid, especially while my seventeen-year old cousin brings her boyfriend over before Christmas dinner to meet the family. My mom, the ever-endearing fountain of cliche, says that loves comes when you least expect it. She also told me once that love is awesome and that if I were a lesbian she'd be okay with that. Thanks Mom, but I don't think switching teams is going to help my batting average.

Poor choices and my affinity for making them

2008-02-13T00:54:00.000-08:00

It is probably fair to say that the vast majority of employed world out there has felt at one time or another they've made a poor choice for employment. I think I joined that club today. Actually, I'm pretty sure I did.

This blog is probably going to a gross overstatement of my current dislike of my job. Yes, the job I just started three days ago. Later on in hindsight, I will laugh at myself for being so peeved after my first "real" day on the job. I feel rushed, pressured, nervous, unsure, and yeah, just not good about where this is all going. To make things better, my manager told me the work schedule given to me by personnel is all wrong too. I am to come into work as she tells me for the next three weeks. Ummm, can I object to that, as it totally throws off any sense of order I had in my life? No, I probably can't.My common sense tells me that I was right in taking this job because I can't afford to go without a paycheck for too long. However, I wish I would have tried that much harder in securing something else. Then again, I wish I were paid to write this blog. However, that would mean this blog would actually have to be interesting to read.

I am still perusing other employment opportunities. Give me health insurance or give me death. Funny how that could go hand in hand.

Sweating the small stuff

2008-02-11T23:04:00.000-08:00

With every new job I start, I have a pretty strong tedency to psych myself out about it. I'll tell myself that I'll never catch on (unlikely given time and experience) or that I won't like it (usually not apparent on the second day of the job when you haven't even really started working in your area.) Sometimes I fail to realize that I'm not a rocket scientist; and that believe it or not, it's unlikely my employer expects me to perform at my peak the day I walk in.

There are a lot of people employed at the company I'm presently working for. People close to me probably wouldn't categorize me as really shy, but in all honesty, I'm probably one of the more shy people I know. I overanalyze most of the most petty tasks a normal person would carry out everyday. When I hear a group of people laughing near me, one of my first thoughts is that they are laughing at me and I quickly scan my surroundings as to uncover what is so wrong with me. I don't think this is normal behavior, but for me it's a way of life. Who knew being so incredibly insecure could become a crutch of sorts?

This new job of mine is nothing I probably can't handle with more experience. However, I'm still waiting for the day I can go to work and not be nervous about it, fearing I'm going to screw up no matter what.

Ugh, what a crap blog. I promise not to write anymore while trying to view crap television at the same time.

The Spanish Inquisition

2008-02-06T23:42:00.000-08:00

Imagine you are sitting at a corner booth in a restaurant where everyone is sitting on one side, you in the middle with two people on either side of you. You, the heretic and non-celebrator of Ash Wednesday, are facing the crowd that has gathered around you (a.k.a. the other restaurant patrons), while members of the high court, err, your family flank either side. To your far left is the grand matron of the court, your bat-shit crazy grandmother. (You can say that because you love her and she is bat-shit crazy). To your immediate left is Father; to your immediate right is Mother; and to the far right is the Aunt you love dearly but drives you nuts because no one should ever be that emotional (at least when intoxicated.)

It's not to say you don't enjoy the magic show otherwise known as your family, because really, where would you be without them? It's your grandmother's empty (or not-so-empty) threats to everyone about eating meat on a holy day that kind of make you feel a little guilty about not stepping foot into a Catholic church for five years but also tell you to keep your mouth shut unless you really do want her to breathe fire. Your quest for some type of faith is not something unknown to your parents and they seem okay with your journey, although you think they would secretly like you to find your way back to your homeslice Pope Benedict and maybe even Jesus if you feel really ambitious. Then there's your mother, who in some way you feel as though you are never going to measure up to. You can't even be confident in the food you're ordering off of the menu because you feel she might be judging you and biting her tongue at the same time, a skill she's excelled at ever since you left for college. Your father, is well your father. You have his eyes, his nose, his big mouth, and his temper. It's a wonder you don't hate one another.

Dinner with the family is usually fine, but rarely without something that goes awry. Like when your grandmother leaves the table for the moment and gossip ensues about which member of family she's hating this week. Apparently it's your uncle, because your aunt has noticed that their wedding picture was face down and backwards among the many others in Grandma's living room. Or when Grandma starts talking bat-shit crazy again and has lovely racist comments to share with all. Then you just wish she'd actually take her bat-shit crazy pills.

Alas, you've escaped dinner unscathed, but maybe you won't be so lucky next time. Maybe it's time to get on that job search or the diet you've put off for about 10 years. Next thing you know you'll be sitting in time-out on Grandma's picture shelf.

Emo Boy

2008-02-06T18:37:00.000-08:00

Last week was kind of a sad week for me. Said goodbye to a job I didn't exactly want to leave and to some coworkers that I kind of miss already. I also said goodbye (unofficially) to Emo Boy.

Emo Boy, for starters, is not really emo. He has emo-like black glasses, but he's possibly got a bigger beer gut I've ever seen on an emo person. He seems like he hates his job enough to be borderline emo. Emo Boy works at Subway. I thought he might be a manager, but in hindsight, he might have just been a plain ol' Sandwich Artist.

Why do I bring Emo Boy up? In all honesty, I'm not sure. In a very non-emo-ish way, he was unconventionally cute. He liked to run his big mouth and became big fans of my coworker and I, as Subway became our weekly lunchtime destination. My coworker exuded homosexuality and quite frankly, I thought it was great. Although there are few feelings more awkward when a group of straight men can hear your friend checking them out. While I one day wish that this would become a little more of a social norm rather than taboo, I don't think it is today, or even last week at our last visit to this Subway. Emo Boy never cared when my coworker hit on him and was pretty nice to him, even giving us a discount one time. Woo! I'd like to think the discount was for me since I was paying that day but maybe Emo Boy was actually hitting on my coworker.

There is no point to this blog other than I associate my old job with Emo Boy and since I miss my job I guess you could say I kind of miss Emo Boy. Yes, that's right, I have a mild attraction to the Sandwich Artist that perfected my Roasted Chicken Breast on Monterrey Cheddar with provolone, lettuce, tomatoes, and lite mayo. Case in point: I'm really not that cool.

Unemployment, Day Four

2008-02-04T21:32:00.000-08:00

I've decided that while I'd like to think I'm a pretty lazy person in many aspects, I've also come to realize that the realm of employment is not one of them. There's nothing celebratory about sleeping in until noon, venturing out of the apartment for fifteen minutes only to say you were "outside", and numbing your mind with television. It's really much more glamorous in theory. I'm much better at being lazy at other things, like working out or re-applying for school.

A counselor told me once that in spite of all the bad or discouraging events that may happen throughout one's day, it's most important to remind yourself of any good as well, no matter how petty it may seem. Granted I think this counselor is slightly more bat-shit crazy than I am, but we'll give it a try. It's all about your perspective, or lack of one.

I cleaned my room. Albeit not too thoroughly or really even today (it was last night, but who cares.)
I had Chinese for dinner and it tasted okay, although not the best. Who fucking burns Crab Rangoon?
I helped out my roommate's dad. Granted, there was no one else around to drive him to pick up his car at the service place.

Yeah, this is totally not working. Today is a glass half-empty day, which stands out in stark contrast to my attitude any other day.

Unemployment, Day One

2008-02-01T20:31:00.000-08:00

I woke up at 10:30 today. I lounged around until about 2:00. I didn't feel a pressing desire to do much of anything.

And I hated it.

What made the day worse was thinking what a worthless, nonproductive member of society I was being. I'm sure the majority of unemployed Americans also mull over this in their minds. What made things worse beyond that was the fact that the next job that I am thisclose to being officially offered is something I really don't want to do...at all.

Do you ever have days where your life feels like it's unraveling at its very seams? The most well thought out plans and grandest of intentions are just not materializing. Easy on it, emo girl.This night will also mark the fourth night this week I've been to the neighborhood bar. This, however, probably isn't that unusual.

Martha McSloptit

2008-01-29T22:36:00.000-08:00

It seems to me that everyone has at least one thing they would change about their appearance. For the lucky few, it's just that one thing. For others (names seem unnecessary), the list could go on like no one's business.

While I was enjoying delectable (a.k.a. low fat healthy barf) chicken soup for lunch today, I got to be in a bit of hurry. It's bound to happen when you only have a half hour to break bread with the coworkers and bitch about the day's events. Unbeknownst to me, a large, solitary drop of broth landed right on the ladies. Leave it to my gay male coworker to notice.

I wish I could say that this wasn't even close to be an everyday occurrence, but what kind of proud card-carrying "shelf" club member would I be? Not a good one, my friends. To us, spilling anything to attract even more unnecessary attention to the chestal region just comes with the territory. As does buying giganto-bras that you could swaddle a small child in. And yes, these bras only come in Grandma's Wrinkly Skin beige tone.

So, as I was walking around today with this seemingly HUGE stain on my shirt in a not-so-good spot, I got to thinking how much I loathe my own chestal region. It's just there, sticking out, waiting to ogled or stared at and even envied some days by people who if they were smart would realize they're the lucky ones for being so flat. If they dribbled toothpaste on their shirt, someone would just say "Oh, they dribbled toothpaste on their shirt." Not so for members of the shelf club, where the toothpaste stain seems to take on a life of its own and starts doing a conga line consisting of toothpaste, salivary amylase, and whatever product the person tried to use to get rid of the stain only to make it even more noticeable.

Maybe I'm just mad because I made a boo-boo and someone pointed it out. I hate screwing up and I hate it even more when people point it out to everyone at the lunch table. Yet just another sideshow attraction in my freak show of a life.

Le commencement

2008-01-28T23:33:00.000-08:00

"Le commencement" (literal translation): The beginning. Thanks AltaVista Babel Fish.

I took four years of French and I racked my brain over how to say "the beginning". Then again, I also took four years of French and I still don't know what "Feliz Navidad" means. Ugh. Maybe someday, when this blog has its own cult following I'll elaborate on the previous statement.

I've been delaying the debut of this blog for some time now. Perhaps I just needed to be at the right point in my life to start writing again. My seventh grade English teacher always said I'd be a writer; granted she couldn't remember my name for shit but oh dang could I write. I was such a literary prize at the ripe age of twelve or thirteen or however old I was that many light years ago.

Writing is neat. I don't know if I can call myself a "writer" though. My writing consists of my regurgitating my own thoughts in a carefully twisted way, dripping with sarcasm much like a leaky faucet only much more annoying. However, here goes my crude attempt at creative expression. Consider yourself warned.