From the Annals of a Scatterbrain

I’m horrible at critiquing other people’s writing, so I just did a totally half-assed job of it.  L’Owen’s going to bite my head off in class tomorrow.

I did a—well, not even a half-assed essay for my history class last night.  I guess I just don’t feel much like doing homework these days.  I blame it all on work.

I can’t really remember what I dreamed last night—something about sewing this really cute skirt “by hand”—meaning, with nothing, not even a needle.  So…magic, then.  And I did something else the same way.  Then I woke up with “I’ve Got No Strings On Me” stuck in my head.  I know it was somehow related to the dream, but I can’t remember in what way.

Wal-Mart refuses to sell black jeans that I like, and I wore out the pair I got from them when they were cool.  I’ve got to go to the mall to find more.  They will be expensive, because Wal-Mart’s the only one with decently-priced jeans.

I’ve been so busy half-assing my way through homework I haven’t seen the new Once Upon A Time yet, so I have no idea if it’s good or not.

Sorry for my scatterbraininess tonight; I feel sort of unfocused after my homework.

Last night we had that weird chicken cordon-bleu again—the kind that’s just fried chicken with a slice of ham and melted cheese on top.  Everyone always stares at it like, “What the bloody hell is that?”  As I said to Sandra, it’s like how Superman wears his underwear on the outside—it’s backwards.  I’m going to start calling it Superman cordon-bleu.

Then we ran out of fried chicken, so Bob started bringing out this skinless stuff, and I said, “And look, now Superman is naked.”  Sandra could not stop laughing for a very long time.

Bedtime.

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Griping and Boy Dilemmas

Dean tells me that he and I are on L’Owen’s list of 6 strongest writers in the class.  Kick arse!  I honestly never would have expected that, but it’s cool.

So I finally found this book that I’d been looking for for yearsThe Experiment, by John Darnton.  My dad got it on tape for us to listen to on a trip to South Florida my 9th grade year, but, not being a very great listener, I decided to stop listening (despite being way into it) and check it out later instead.

Well, not knowing the author’s name, it took me a lot longer than expected to find it, and when I finally did, then it was a matter of the book being there when I was and me remembering to look for it.  I finally did, and I really enjoyed it.

Work is driving me insane.  I think I mean that literally.  I have this habit of, when one aspect of something is annoying me, finding all these other things about it that always irritate me.  That’s what’s happening at work—they won’t give me a second day off, and so every little thing is driving me up the wall.  Like the fact that we have taco night three times a week, and every single person coming through my line pisses me off just for being there.  I want to scream obscenities at them all, and am quietly doing it, too, under my breath.  A couple of times I’ve come very close to actually swearing at a customer.  I feel like having to stand there for another two hours really takes something from me, and must keep repressing the urge to get up and just walk out.

Scot (one of the bosses) came through the line tonight, asked for jalapenos, and I gave him quite a few, and he said, “Are you trying to kill me?”  I said, “Yes.”

I won’t smile at people anymore.  They piss me off too much.

I really feel like the weight of the hopelessness is driving me down—like, physically, even—I’ll stand there and feel like I’m totally going to pass out because I cannot handle it.

I swear, everything would be fine again if they’d just give me the damned day off!

Maybe things will get better.  Maybe the dishwasher will actually like me back.  That’d be something, a light through all the hopelessness.  A secret tryst that nobody else would really care about, but which would make me feel like I was somehow rebelling against the establishment.

Dishwasher!  I need a life!  Help!

Duuuude!  Just as I was about to post this, my first date ever texted me out of the blue!

And after the conversation we had, I’m thinking, “Hey…I still kinda like this guy,” and he still likes me, too…so…right.  I like Patrick, too.  And now I don’t know what the hell to do.  Obviously, I guess, get to know both of them a bit better, and find out what happens.  At any rate, two Saturdays from now I am going on my first second date ever with…my first first ever.

I’ve got to go to bed.

Condemned Like Prometheus

So there were these twins who used to annoy Tinny and me every time they came in, and they always wore black sweaters–always.  Well, one of them works at the cafe now.  Yesterday was her first day.  Her name’s Katrina, and she’s so quiet.  Everything she says, I’m like, “What???” and I have to lean in like two inches from her face to hear her.  I am not exaggerating.

I was waiting for her twin to walk in, and when she finally did…she came right up to Katrina and they practically put their noses together–again, not exaggerating–probably in order to hear each other, and they were way far away from me, but they looked all excited, and they put their hands on each other’s shoulders and bounced a little.  And then they’re just standing there squeaking to each other (I’m serious, they squeak) and the one who just came in sort of rolled up on her tippy toes and came back down, and then the other one did the same thing, and then the other one did that again, so it looked like a see-saw.

In Creative Writing today, we were all sitting down, and Know-It-All said, “I really hope we don’t go over what we turned in on Wednesday, because mine is shit….”

The Third Wilson Brother (that’s it, I’ve got his new nickname–L’Owen) was sitting at his desk working on something, with every appearance of not listening—of course, he always is listening, whether he appears to be or not.  So he said, “We will be going over those short stories we read over the weekend.”

In a chorus, all four of us in our group said, “Ohhh shit.”

He said, “Well, the short stories we were supposed to read over the weekend.”

Then we were asked to get into our groups and take out one sheet of paper for the four of us, and we were going to answer some questions for a reading quiz.  “This is a creative writing class, dammit!” I said.  “We can make up the answers.”

So we did.  We had a lot of fun with it, too.  L’Owen was giving us looks every now and then—hee.  Like…one of the questions was how a certain character referred to another character—he was “condemned like (insert character from mythology here)”.  We put “Prometheus”.  (Of course, it was Sisyphus.)  And then there was another where we had to name what two items a character had for breakfast.  (The answer was dry toast and black coffee, but we put “eggs benedict and coffee”.)

There was another question where we had to say how many potholders a certain character had—we guessed 126.  The answer, incredibly, was 120.  And another one, Corey said, “I swear to God, I saw it in there.  The answer is ‘Stargazer’” and we actually got it right!

So later, we’re working on a new assignment, and L’Owen is checking everyone’s answers, and he calls out into the silence in this sarcastic voice, “Prometheus” and gives us this look of scornful amusement.  Then a second later he said, “Eggs benedict” in the same voice.  Ahahaha.  Well…we certainly enjoyed it.

I’ve been trying to talk to Dann for a few days now about getting Fridays off (Michelle’s going to take Sundays).  I don’t think it’s going to happen, though.  The problem is (not that we really need one, because these are the slowest days of the week) they don’t have another server to replace us.  And they aren’t going to hire one when they have us.  And we can’t stop working those days until they hire somebody new.  Basically, we’re stuck working six days a week until we leave this job.  And that is why I am planning to find a new job if they won’t give me Fridays off.  I can’t believe it would have to come to that, but I need a freaking life.  And they don’t want me to have one.  I’m serious, it’s the only complaint I have about that job.  It’s fine apart from that; I just wish they’d stop being so unreasonable.

Calls From the Stalker and Density

The stalker called tonight at 9:15, right on schedule.  And, of course, he explained (in his message—I never intend to answer the phone to him again) that he hasn’t been able to call for the past few days because he’s been working.

It was interesting tonight—I think he’s finally getting the message (sort of).  First of all, when he said, “Hey Ginny, this is Mark” as he always does, he then added, almost as an afterthought, “…Mark, from Ruby Tuesdays”, as if I’d forgotten.

Mark from Ruby Tuesdays explained that he no longer cares if we go out again or if I even speak to him again afterward, but that he wants to have a phone conversation to explain that he’s not the horrible player I’m making him out to be.

Then he asked me to call him back and left his number!

Well, for a moment or so, I actually felt bad and thought, “Maybe I should let the guy explain”—before I reminded myself that I never thought he was a player, just a bad date—I had to remind myself that I set him up.  The point was for me to look psychotic enough to discourage him and send him on his way; therefore, I will not call back.  There won’t be another conversation with this guy.

So at the end of class yesterday, The Third Wilson Brother put us in groups so we can write this short story thing at the beginning of class tomorrow.  Our group is totally the coolest.  Me, Know-It-All, Corey, and this other guy named Dean who is probably the only other person in the class apart from us who isn’t a total weirdo.

I find it ironic that nowadays I consider a group with Know-It-All in it cool.  Have I been brainwashed!?

Work is…well, it’s not bad.  I still work six days a week and have no idea when the hell that’s going to change.

I can’t think of anything else to say at this moment, and as I’m really into this book anyway, I’m going to go read.

Stalkers, Beware!

On Tuesday I realized something—my history classes, when they end, feel like the ending of a weekly television drama.  They’re so interesting!  I’ve never been so interested in history classes.  It almost makes me want to take history up as a major.  (I won’t, I’m quite set in mine, but it’s that intriguing to me now.)

The stalker didn’t leave a message tonight, but he did reach a new record for calls—three within two minutes.  Does he honestly believe that, even if he could convince me he wasn’t playing anyone (not that I believe that anyway), I would want to go out with him now, after I’ve seen how desperate he is?  The guy has come full circle in his status of loser.

I deserve this, of course.  But I still choose not to look at it as punishment—rather, the stories I am getting out of this, and the enjoyment my friends take in listening to them, are a reward for Monica’s and my brilliance.  (Yes, that’s what I’m telling myself.)

I am, however, continuously punished because I am friendly.  So what if I smile at people?  I’m going to start glaring at everybody.  See how normal that looks. F&$*ers.

I was going to go into detail, but I don’t feel like it anymore.  I’m PMSing.  Sue me.

I got Tyler interested in Boingo.  The other day at work, when I was gushing about Danny Elfman, nobody knew what the hell I was talking about, but today Tyler came up to me and said, “Hey Ginny, what did you say was the name of Danny Elfman’s band?”  I told him, and he said, “Okay…yeah, I was watching Pee Wee’s Big Adventure today, and….”

And I said, “And you finally realized who Danny Elfman was?”  And he said, “No, I already knew, but I pointed out to my girlfriend that he used to be in a band, and she wanted to know what they were called so we could find them.”

Okay fine, so I’ll tell the dishwashers story.  They all make fun of me because I smile too much, because I, apparently, smile an unhealthy amount.  Like, I must radiate creepiness or something.  The next time somebody asks me why I smile so much, I’ll tell them it’s because I’m picturing what their insides would look like, smile, and walk away.  Or tell them it’s because I’m picturing them naked and am trying not to laugh.  Something along those lines. (Only I know the truth….)

So yeah, I get into work, and two of the dishwashers are separating all the dishes and silverware and everything, and they called me over.  One of them turns red and keeps his back to me as though he’s working really hard, and this other talkative one (I don’t know any of their names yet) is all, “We were just wondering—and by ‘we’ I mean all the dishwashers—we were wondering why you smile so much.”

The other one’s still hard at work on those dishes, and I say, “Oh, God,” and the first one says, “No no no, it’s not a bad thing!  I mean, don’t get me wrong, you have a nice smile, but we were just talking about it in the back.”

I just stare at them, and he says, “I wasn’t saying anything bad; that was all them” and suddenly the other one turns around and says, “Hey, I didn’t say anything bad!” and the first one’s like, “Dude, that is bullshit and you know it” and they’re arguing about it, and it’s kind of hard to follow along because I still don’t even know what was said, precisely….

So the second guy says, “No, that was all the other guy!  He’s the one who wanted to know if she’s on drugs or something.”

First guy says, “Whatever dude, you both wanted to know.  Well, Ginny, I’ll be honest with you, we all wanted to know.  But there, now see, I’m being honest, unlike this guy.”

The second guy says, “Okay, I’ll be honest, too.”

There is a pause.  And then the second guy says, “…I didn’t say she was on drugs!”

I’m just standing there staring at the two of them, and the first one says, “You have a nice smile, it’s very pretty, don’t stop smiling…we just wondered why you do it so much.”

The second one finally says, “Okay, so maybe I said you might have been on drugs, but…well, are you?”

“See?  I told you he said so!” said the first one.  “But we weren’t saying anything bad; do you believe us?”

“Yeah, do you believe us?” the second one chimed in.

“I believe you,” I said to the first one, “…but I don’t believe him.”

The second one says, “Oh God, she hates me now!  Thanks a lot, she hates me, she totally does,” and I walked away laughing, so I never heard the end of it.

But then for the rest of the night, the first guy would come up to me and be like, “Hey, smile for me!  Why aren’t you smiling, Susie McSmilesalot?”

The second guy would turn red every time I came near him.

Then the third guy, who, in his absence from that conversation, was accused of having said all the bad things, kept coming up to me for random things….  For example, I’m out washing up on my line, and he comes up to me with a pizza slicer that he’s washed and hands it to me, and studies my face really closely, like he’s waiting to see if I’ll smile (I don’t) instead of just putting the thing in the drawer back in the kitchen, where he had just come from.

For a while I refused to smile at any of them, just to unnerve them.  Hahaha.  But it was amusing the way they were all acting, so finally I just started laughing at them.  Like, the second guy kept acting like he was trying to make up for thinking I was on drugs…he kept trying to say and do things to make me laugh…and of course, the other two.

So Many Dreams!

I’ve been too busy with school stuff over the past few days to spare a moment for updating, but I’ve actually been dreaming just about every night.  Really bizarre stuff, too, although for the most part, I haven’t been able to salvage much from my memory by way of plotlines.  Just details that I know are related somehow, and I can’t remember how to put them together….  Forgive the long and abstract stream-of-consciousness rant.  You don’t have to read it.

First one.  We’re at a birthday party at Cortney’s house–Cortney’s mom’s house, I should say–but it doesn’t really look anything like her house.  For one thing, there’s a basement.  And Cortney, Nicole, Drew, Lily, Booboo, and I (maybe Cort’s mom, too) all get locked inside this basement which is flooding–slowly but surely–by–get this–an evil magician.  And suddenly Lily curls up and she’s dying, like, the life is actually going out of her, I don’t know how we can tell she’s not just tired, but she’s dying.  But it ends up not really being Lily at all, and just some illusion that the magician has conjured.  The real Lily’s outside somewhere trying to figure out the best way to attack the magician.  The whole basement scene feels sort of like War of the Worlds…which, I’ve only just realized, is really weird considering this other dream I had a few nights later….

In case Cortney reads this, I probably shouldn’t mention (but I will) that for some reason, there were clowns at this birthday party.  Probably with everyone talking about It recently.

Next night.  I’m with a tour somewhere, and I actually know a few random people who are there.  I’m not even sure where we are, but I think it’s in the States somewhere, and there’s this Chinese guy with a…farm?  Well, a lot of property.  Basically the size of a national park.  And there are rattlesnakes.  And muddy water with rapids.  And hills and trees and–it’s very spacious.

Do rattlesnakes swim?  They did in my dream.  They were everywhere in my dream.  And I know that at one point, I actually said the line, “Snakes…why did it have to be…snakes?”  I’m not sure if I recognized the line when I said it–I think I was just saying it because I was really freaked out by it all, haha.

But you think rattlesnakes are the worst part?  Oh, no.  There are fucking plesiosaurs swimming around in the water, too.  Full-grown (I assume–they were really big) Nessies.  And they were vicious, too!  Actually, the whole thing had the feel of sort of a Michael Crichton novel.  Like Sphere.  It was kind of freaky.  Like the first one, there was a much larger and more intricate plot involved, I know, but I can’t remember it.  I remember somehow falling in the water, and something about SpongeBob, and almost drowning and almost eaten by a plesiosaur.  And climbing this really huge hill to see…more rattlesnakes.  And I feel like there was a teacher along with us, too.

So the next night I dream again.  This time I’m going to Atlanta, I guess for Thanksgiving, or something, and my boyfriend’s going to come along.  My boyfriend is Tom Hanks.  Tom from like, 25 years ago.

And there are other SNL cast members there, too, and every one of them is dating one of my friends, but I can’t really remember who everybody was.  I remember Tom.  Haha.  Cortney and Nicole, you were probably there, and most likely Kristen was with Will Ferrell, but all I remember is Tom, and a bunch of other people around us.

We didn’t go to Atlanta.  Everything around us started to turn red, and there were these huge machine things shooting things down from the sky (see?  War of the Worlds again!) and everybody’s dying, and Tom’s like, “We can’t go to Atlanta now.  We have to go [somewhere else].”  (I can’t remember where we had to go, but supposedly it was safe there.  I believed him.)

And then there was this British guy who gave me a hat.  And I gave him one, too.  His protected me from the huge machine things (which were probably alien)–I actually got hit by one and nothing happened.  This was foreshadowing, but I didn’t know it.

So we arrive wherever it is–but I think it took a long time, like it was all this huge quest, like Lord of the Rings or something.  And everybody’s freaking out, because we’re all convinced these huge…things…are going to destroy the world, right?  Then all the guys start laughing.  Laughing!  And it turns out the whole thing has been this huge, really well-planned prank on their girlfriends.  And then it turns out we’re on a movie set?  Like The Truman Show?  Nothing’s really real–nobody had died at all (and here I thought it was the magically-protective hat) and the walls all around us are playing scenes from old episodes of SNL, and there’s something really freaky with Tom Hanks playing this really creepy guy–I was actually creeped out–and I warned him he’d better never come near me if he was in that character, because it was too realistic and…creepy.  I think everybody else was having similar experiences with their guys, who are all, like, psycho.

Well, no, okay, they weren’t psycho, they were just having a good time enjoying the reactions to this ridiculously huge prank, and none of them could stop laughing.

Again, I know there was plenty more to it than that.

But the dream I had last night, I can remember that one best of all (perhaps because less time has passed).  Katie was a central character in this one, as were Ryan and his girlfriend Emily.  (That’s what Dennis said her name was.  Dennis informed me that she was insanely beautiful and can sing, and that it’s a good thing I’m planning to move to England.  *Le sigh.*)

So, Katie and I decide we have to find out exactly who this Emily is.  I guess by this point we’re both at UNF, and so we go looking on Facebook, and we find her, and there’s a link in her profile to this site she created all about her and Ryan.  It’s sickening.  It’s a bloody shrine.  There’s this huge picture of him in the top right corner, all surrounded by hearts, and there’s whatever date they got together (something really recent) and all this crap about how in love they are and how she’s never had anybody like this before who made her look at life the way she was now–you know.  Bullshit.  All trussed up with hearts and flowers.  Musical notes, too.  There’s all this information about Ryan, like, everything she knows about him, and at the bottom there’s a picture of the two of them, and some cheesy song is playing (I don’t remember what), and then there’s a list of their schedules, and all the classes they have together are highlighted.

This was some freaky shite.

Katie and I decide we’re going to sit in on one of these classes they have together (The Music of Physics? The Physics of Music? something like that).  Nobody will notice, we figure.  We take seats near the back.

Well, it wasn’t hard to miss her.  When we walked into the room, concealing our faces as well as possible, she was up at the front of the room, writing numbered sentences on the board.  It felt like a high school class somehow.  She’s writing, and she’s got this smug smile on her face, and you can tell she’s really bold and outgoing, and the stuff she’s writing is apparently really funny, but I can’t even tell what the hell it says (it looks like another language).  And all the guys want her, and even though I could only see the back of what I could only assume was his head, I knew he was sitting there smiling all content because he knew she was his and not all of these other guys’.

Somehow, it reminded me of Lily Potter.  In Slugworth’s class.  I should have looked around to see if Snape was in there.  The Lily Potter thing more than anything really made me think, “Damn it, I can never compete with this!”

Katie sat just behind me–this really huge, annoying girl I’ve never seen before was like, “KATIE!!  HEY, I HAVEN’T SEEN YOU IN FOREVER, LET ME SIT NEXT TO YOU AND BE YOUR FRIEND!!!!”  Katie gave me this look as that girl sat next to her, and I sat just in front of the two of them and we basically ignored that other girl.

So Emily sat down next to the back of Ryan’s head (I’m serious, that was all I could see through the entire thing, or somebody was always between us so I couldn’t see him), all triumphantly, and everybody’s laughing, and the teacher walks in, this heavyset guy with dark brown hair and a brown beard.  He used to be a football player.  Don’t ask how I know that.

You immediately think she must be the teacher’s pet, and he’s going to find numbers 1-6 and whatever the hell they said, written on his board up there, immensely funny, as the rest of the class obviously does.

He doesn’t.  His face goes taut, and he says in this ironic sort of voice, to all the rest of the class, “What I don’t understand is this.  Does she think I don’t already know these things?  I’m the professor.  I already know it all.”

The class goes silent.  (Katie and I look at each other, slouched down in our seats to be less noticeable, and grin wickedly.)  Nobody makes a sound, and then there’s this gasp, and we look over at her, and she’s burst into tears, and she runs out of the room.  But everybody still sits there all solemnly, and Ryan…doesn’t move.  He does nothing.  But still all I can see is the back of his head, so I don’t know if he’s sitting there fuming at the professor, if he thinks Emily had it coming, if he just doesn’t care, if he thinks it’s all as hysterical as Katie and I do…no idea.

Class proceeds, and for some reason we sit through it, and then Katie somehow knows exactly what’s going on, much to my annoyance, because I can’t figure out any of it, and the professor has left Emily’s “sentences” up on the board (they had punctuation; that’s the only reason I assume they were sentences–seriously, they looked like a combination of Gibberish and WingDings and Hieroglyphics and weird symbols from all sorts of other languages) just to make fun of them at random points through the rest of class.  And now everybody’s laughing with him.

I couldn’t figure out if Emily was used to being center of attention in this class and the professor had all of a sudden turned on her, or if he had just never liked her.  No idea.  But Katie and I started doing classwork for some reason.  We cheated using my calculator.  (“I’ve had physics before; I know what’s going on,” she said.)

And then we take our old Stalkers Anonymous group from high school on the road.  We decide to tail Emily.

She goes to this house.  It’s my old house in Virginia (but I think it’s only a few minutes away–like 25, maybe–in this dream).  The old neighbors were even still next door.  It was all dark, and everything had this weird bluish tint to it.  She didn’t see us watching her, but she went in, stayed for a few minutes, came back out, constantly looking over her shoulder.

Well, we decide to split up.  Brilliant, I know.  I go inside to look around, see what she was doing in there (we assume it’s her house), and Katie goes to follow her.

It wasn’t her house.  It was the professor’s.  There were pictures of him all over.  Apparently he’d been a federal agent or something before he was a professor.

He had this whole room–where the office used to be downstairs, actually–full of stuff about Emily, her record, all kinds of weird stuff.  Turned out she actually was psychotic.  She’d been a mental patient and had escaped, and was actually living now under a different name.  He’d been looking for her for a while.  And he didn’t like her one bit.  These are things I just knew.  There are photos of her, she looks damn ghostlike, and I’m extremely creeped out.  I decide to run for it.

But as I’m opening the front door, he’s opening it from the other side, and I let out this piercing scream and assume that he’s going to shoot me, because I knew he was undercover or something like that, and in the dream I assume he’s going to think I’m her.

So then he explains things to me.  Pretty much everything I just explained.  And I’m like, “Well, what about Ryan?”

“Oh, he’s a good guy–he doesn’t know anything about this side of her,” he said.

I thanked him for the information and said I’d been following her, and I had to go catch up with Katie now, so I ran off down the street, where it was still dark, towards the church.  That’s where it just stopped, I think.  My alarm woke me up.

I wonder if I would have ended up in the church and found that she was haunting the place.

There are these really annoying blonde girls sitting across from me here in the computer lab, doing their math homework, apparently.  So freaking annoying.  I walk in and they’re all giggly and, “Hehehe, I can’t do this!” and one of them suddenly goes, “Oh, now I get it!  Two goes into six three times!”

An Unfathomable Loser

HE CALLED AGAIN!  Starting at 9:06 p.m., he called four times within half an hour!  What is this guy’s problem!?

Finally he just left another message.

“Hi, Ginny, this is Mark.  I haven’t been able to call you the past few days because I’ve been working.  [Damn, and I thought he’d just given up already!]  But you obviously aren’t going to let me have my say [yeah, you moron, there’s your cue to exit!], so I’m just going to keep calling until you answer.  Later.”  Not even “bye” this time…“later”.  *Sigh.*  This, ladies and gentlemen, is a true stalker.

He seriously isn’t going to take a hint.  And he didn’t get it when I told him flat-out, either.  (Granted, that was a flat-out lie, but I told him, “I don’t want to talk to you; don’t call me”, and I’ve held up my end of the bargain.)

Oh, the unfathomable issues in my life.  The computer won’t stop restarting tonight, either.  It’s very obnoxious, because I need to do homework.

At any rate, I can’t wait to share the updates with my creative writing class.

I’m also going to start leaving him messages in my voice mail.  Then I intend to update it every time I know he’s heard it.

I’m not going to bother with links this time because I’m tired of putting up with the restarting.  I have homework to do.  Damn thing is pissing me off.