Playing With Lightsabers

Tonight at work, Jasper finally brought in his Force FX lightsaber that he got for half off.  (Now this is interesting—earlier, while writing in Word, I discovered that it automatically capitalizes the word “Mudblood”—but it doesn’t recognize the word “lightsaber”.  Weird.)  We turned out the lights and were playing with it (this sounds so dirty…*sigh*).  It was most awesome.  It was Anakin’s lightsaber, so it was blue and so pretty.  I was describing to Cortney how it lights up gradually, like it’s actually igniting, and she said, “That’d be really cool if it had sound effects, too.”  And I pointed out that it does.

“It makes a sound when you swing it,” I said.   “Well—no, it’s always humming, but when you swing it around, it purrs.” I just liked that line and found it funny after I thought about it, so I had to make note of it here.

Speaking of work, I have more stories again.

First of all (and this is mainly for Tinny, because you’ll find it as shocking as all the rest of us did), Jackie was fired.  (That’s not the shocking part.)  The shocking part of that is that she allegedly bitched at Caroline, who then shoved her against the wall…!?  So then Jackie threatened Scot in some way, and threatened to send in the cops to arrest Caroline…and she was fired.  Caroline…little old friendly grandmother Caroline…none of us could picture it.

This, also, will mainly amuse Tinny.  There’s this new guy who washes dishes—Eric—and we were trying to remember his name tonight, and I said, “Bob, it took you almost a whole year to learn Teshura’s name.”  (I never call you Tinny around him, because I don’t want to confuse him.)

He got this huge, sheepish grin on his face and said, “Why do you say that?”

I said, “You never said her name—it was always, ‘Hey, Ginny—and you, too!’ or, ‘Hey, Ginny, you and your friend come over here and do this,’ or…” and here he interrupted.  His face was rather red, and he still had the sheepish grin on his face, and he said, “You guys noticed that?”

“Yeah, Bob, we noticed…we were always joking about it.”  I laughed.

“Yeah, I’m bad with names,” he said.  “Hers was a hard one—I didn’t get it until right before she left, even!”

“Oh, trust me…we noticed,” I said, still laughing.

I love the philosophical conversations/arguments we have at work sometimes, too.  Like, tonight, for example:  We were cleaning up after everything, and Steve said, “Sometimes I wish I was Samantha from Bewitched; then I could just wiggle my nose and everything would be clean already.”

I said, “Or Jeannie from I Dream of Jeannie; then you could just bonk your head, and it’d be done.”

So then we started trying to name all the fictional characters we could think of who could get the cafeteria cleaned faster than we could.  Among them were:  Yoda, Darth Vader, Superman, the Genie (from Aladdin), Tinker Bell, Mary Poppins, Elliot (Pete’s dragon), Harry Potter (well, really Hermione, but I didn’t know if Steve would know who that was), Ursula (from The Little Mermaid)…and…oh, I feel like there are lots more I’m forgetting….

But the point was, Steve trumped us all by saying, “No one beats this:  Mickey Mouse when he’s the little magician guy.”

We all oohed and ahhed, but then I pointed out that he didn’t really get anything cleaned faster; he just had help.  And besides that, the “help” took it way overboard and just got him in deep shit.

Just a brief amusing story:  Yesterday at school, I was in the library writing for about an hour and a half before stepping out into the dazzling sunshine.  So I was all in that mindset of turning all of my thoughts and actions into 3rd person.

I went digging in my purse for my sunglasses, but instead of thinking, Where are my sunglasses?, my actual thought process was, Where were her sunglasses?  I just…think that’s funny.  Haha.

And it’s late and I’m tired now, so I’m just going to post this for now.

Bird Stories (Or, The Coolness of Brother)

All the same people are in here every single day.

I’m in the library again (where else?).  Just got back from guidance, where they still had not even sent UCF my official transcript (I’d been in there three times asking them to).  This time, they actually gave me a form to fill out; they never did that before.  So maybe it’ll actually get sent in.

That said, I still haven’t decided between UNF or UCF or if I just want to stay at FCCJ for another semester and actually get my AA before I go to either one of them.  I’m dropping that class at the end of the summer, along with the claustrophobic history class I’m in now that I sleep through every day.  (Got an appointment with a guidance counselor tomorrow afternoon to figure out that mess.)

Hmm, what else is new….

I was in the middle of a dream yesterday morning that I was wandering the halls at Hogwarts; somebody (I believe Ron, though I’m not sure) had just made a comment about the size of the hallways–I don’t know exactly what he said.  And then we stepped into the Great Hall and just…stopped, and looked at it as though we’d never seen it before.  I was really taking in its massive size, and just turning my gaze to the ceiling to take in the outside sky, when from behind me I heard my mom say, “Ginny, there’s a boy on the phone for you.”

I opened my eyes, rolled over, and said, “Is it Milo?”

“No,” she said.

“Tell him I’ll call him back.”  And I went back to sleep.

Despite all of my protestations, my parents went out yesterday to get a bird.  (Brother went with them.)

They returned with a cage containing a cockatiel and a parakeet.  The parakeet, having come free with the cage, was to be Brother’s, and he had named it (we think it’s a him) Pepsi.

“To arms!” Psychobrat yelled.  (Well, no, that’s just what I was thinking when they announced that Pepsi belonged to Brother.)

“WHY DID HE GET A BIRD!?” Psychobrat yelled.  “I WANTED MY OWN BIRD TO PUT IN MY ROOM!”

My parents tried to calm her down by telling her that she’ll get her own bird later, when she goes along to pick it out.  (*cough*DUDLEY*cough*)

“Pepsi is a stupid name,” she told Brother.  “You can’t name it that.”

“He’s my bird!” Brother retorted.  “And Pepsi isn’t a stupid name; I like it.”

“I think Pepsi is a cool name!” I called from across the room.

After a 15-minute argument, during which time Psychobrat tried to convince Brother that he should name his bird Blueberry, she finally retreated to her room and was not heard from again for a while.

Brother came up to me to show me Pepsi up close, and I repeated, “I think Pepsi is a cool name.  Nobody has that name for a bird.”

“See, that’s what I thought!” he said.  Then, with a sly grin, “I came up with the name Pepsi while I was drinking a can of Coke.”

Returning the grin, I said, “Brother, that’s awesome.”

Then he gave me further evidence that my training has been working to some degree.  See, recently, I’ve been showing him all this Python stuff, and Brother’s gotten really into it.  And we got A Fish Called Wanda, which technically isn’t Python, but it’s got Michael and John in it (my two favorites)…so Brother told me that when he was at the flea market, looking at all the animals, he approached a tank of fish and greeted them (loudly), “Hello, K-K-K-Ken’s p-p-p-pets!”

I was rolling.  Brother is awesome.

A bit later on, Brother found the old birdcage from like 15 years ago and took out some of the old ladders and stuff to clean and put in his new cage, and Psychobrat’s radar blipped on and she stormed from her room, shouting, “YOU CAN’T TAKE THAT STUFF!  WHAT AM I GOING TO HAVE IF I EVER GET A BIRD!?”

I said, “If you ever get a bird?  He has a bird now.  We can get something else for you if you ever get your own bird.”

It actually shut her up.  I was pleased.

And that’s really all that’s new for the moment.

Sleepy Entry About My New Stalker

We went to see Guardians of the Galaxy II the other day.  We arrived a bit early to wait in the concession line for a while.

Then we met these guys…Mr. Matthew, and Norman.  We thought (well, I thought, not really sure about Cortney and Nicole) that they were in, like, high school, until we found out they’re in the Navy.

Well, as we were walking in, their friend Nick showed up, and when we got inside, he somehow got separated from the rest of the group.  But that was okay, he said, because he could just come and sit with us.

So we were sitting…and sitting…just waiting for the movie to start, and talking….  The seating arrangement was, left to right, Nick, Nicole, Cortney, me, blank space.  And we’re all just talking, and he mentions his large salary, and Cortney, joking, reaches out her hand as though to shake his, and says dramatically, “Did I mention I’m Cortney?”

So—also joking—I dramatically pushed Cortney back, leaned forward, held out my own hand, and said, “Did I mention I’m single?”

A little while later, he moved to the empty seat next to me, explaining that his neck was sore from leaning over and talking to us all in one direction.  And then he…talked to me…for the rest of the movie.

Now I knew…I could tell…he was interested.  Wonderful.  Cort and Nicole had the same idea.

Sure enough, he called Cortney the next day to ask if she thought he should ask me out.  Essentially, Cort told him no, but he found reason enough to do it anyway.  It hasn’t happened yet, and isn’t going to, because I’m not going to answer my phone to him anymore.  He’s a stalker.  Seriously.  He does not stop calling, either me or Cort (although he’s never called Nicole once, fortunately for her).  And when you do finally answer the phone to him, he doesn’t stop talking.

The problem, we believe, is that he has no friends down here (and he’s obsessed with me).  The whole time he was hanging out with Cortney today, and every time he talks to her, the conversation keeps leading back to me.  Every time the phone rang, “Is that Ginny!?”  When the phone beeped a daily reminder at Cortney, “Is that Ginny!?”

And just so much more; too much to write an entire entry about, after I’ve discussed it ‘til I’m blue in the face.  (And plus it’s really late.)

So we decided…we’re not obligated to him.  We’re just going to ignore him and drop him cold turkey.

This could only happen to me.  Only I could walk into a concession line and pick up a stalker.  Story of my life.  (And Bob got such a kick out of it at work.

Anyway, as usual these days, this was a pretty boring post I guess, as I’m just rambling, trying to get everything down before I fall asleep.  I need to go to bed now.  Pleasant dreams, all.

Psychobrat’s Attention Issues

Psychobrat, as you all know, has anger issues.  But, as I discussed with Cort earlier tonight, I don’t feel that it’s so much anger issues as it is attention issues.  Psychobrat can’t act, and it’s nearly always obvious when she’s faking something.

So when she gets “angry”, there is always much yelling and cursing, and often much crying, as well.  She will hit things or Brother as the urge arises, and slam doors, and do everything she can to be sure people notice.  It goes on until I wonder if she even cares anything at all about the anger-inducing stimulant, or if she only cares about the attention.

Today she was sitting at the computer while I was in my room changing for work.  I heard her start making noises, and then the pounding sound as she lifted the keyboard and smacked it against the desk several times.  She then did this with the mouse.

Milo once told me about a time that she did this while I wasn’t around, and how much he thought she looked like an ape as she did.  So, not being within eyesight, I pictured a big hairy chimp, banging the keyboard around and screeching, “YOU F—ING MACHINE!”

I moved into the kitchen to look for a snack.  She headed out the back door.  I didn’t know or care what she could possibly be doing out there, until I heard the pounding, which meant she was kicking the porch.

As I was checking the fridge, she walked briskly and purposefully back into the house, into the kitchen, past me, and out to the garage, where she grabbed one of those flat-head broom things, and headed out the back door once again.

I had no idea what was about to happen here, so of course I had to find out.  I looked out the back door and saw her hitting the tree continuously with the broom.  Um…okay?

I wasted no time.  I grabbed my phone and started snapping pictures.  At one point, I yelled, “Smile!”

She appeared to be trying not to laugh.  Angry…right.  As I said to Cort before, even if she had originally been angry enough to whack a tree with a broom, it had worn off.  This wasn’t instinct.  She had had plenty of time in there to cool off, between, “Grr, I’m pissed,” and, “Hey, why don’t I get a funky-looking broom out of the garage so I can hit this tree?”, and then the walk to the garage and back.  That’s not anger; that’s “Watch me make a spectacle of myself.”

Well, I am practically asleep now; I’m typing with my eyes shut.  I’ll post this and then get to bed.

“Do you believe in Moses?”: Fun Arguments As Usual In The Jones House

An interesting argument ensued in my house this morning between my father and me, when Psychobrat was going on about Amityville Horror and how she can’t sleep at night anymore, and the entire family went to the computer to look at pictures of the real house, read aloud something about a priest visiting the house and saying that the third floor was the worst part, and I mistakenly said something (but what?—I can’t remember precisely what my comment was) about how I don’t believe there are quite so many exorcisms being performed by priests as some would have you believe.

Not that exorcisms are something you hear about on the news every day.  What I meant was that I don’t feel that every case of divine intervention necessarily involves a Catholic priest (or that if it does, there’s quite a bit of hoaxing going on, as well).  Come on, I’m supposed to believe that God only works through Catholics?  And only the priests, at that?  That, just because a man is a Catholic priest, he can suddenly sense evil spirits wherever they may lurk?

I stated as much, pointing out that supposedly God works through plain old ordinary people quite often—people you just wouldn’t expect to see great things coming from.  (Jesus was a carpenter.  His mother was the wife of one.  Noah was no Prince of Egypt, although Moses was, but only in name.)

Somehow this led my dad to ask me questions like, “So you don’t believe there is evil in the world?”

Did I ever say that I don’t believe that there’s evil in the world?  How anyone could live in this world and not believe in the existence of evil is beyond me.

“And you do believe in Moses?” he went on.  And, “Why do you even believe in religion at all if you have thoughts like this?”

I said, “All I said is that I don’t believe God always chooses to work through Catholic priests!” and as he was partially distracted anyway, the conversation sort of died right there.

The truth is, maybe I don’t believe in religion anymore.  Or God.  I don’t know.  I just keep asking myself questions.  And to me it seems suspicious that religious people, like my family, are quick to get offended when you question things about religion.  I can’t ask an innocent question without you freaking out?  It seems like you have something to hide, like maybe deep down you don’t even believe in the religion and are afraid that if I won’t believe in it with you then it will be exposed as a fraud.  Because seriously, if “God works through more people than just Catholic priests” causes you to freak out and wonder whether I think Moses was real…it seems you’re hiding something.

But then I feel blasphemous and afraid for having these thoughts.  Like I’ve been brainwashed all my life not to question my own beliefs for fear of what could happen if I allow my mind to wander too much.

Anyway.  Cort and I got our apartment in Orlando.  Of course, I still have not heard from UCF, so god only knows if I’ll be moving into the place.

I’m not feeling too well at the moment, so I’m going to end this right here and just wait for the laundry to be done so I can go to bed.

Acronyms

Earlier tonight I was saying something about wanting to watch SNL later.  I wasn’t speaking to Psychobrat, yet she felt the need to interject with:  “Why can’t you just say Saturday Night Live?  It sounds stupid when you say ‘SNL’.”

“It sounds…stupid?” I said.  What the hell?

“You sound just like this girl I know who says, ‘L-O-L’ instead of just laughing.”

“…”  (I seriously didn’t know how to respond to this.)

“I hate when people say SNL.  It sounds stupid.”

“And yet, they’ve been saying it for over forty years now.”

“Well, if you don’t watch the show, which I don’t, then you wouldn’t know what it stood for,” she said indignantly.  “You’re just like that girl who says ‘L-O-L’.”

“That’s completely different!” I said.  “You say ‘SNL’ for the same reason people say ‘FBI’ instead of ‘Federal Bureau of Investigation’!”  Should have asked her if she knew what ‘STFU’ meant.

Then, my dad, who had conveniently not been listening to any of the conversation prior to this, chose to speak up and prove Psychbrat’s point.

“What’s SNL?” he said.

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I didn’t bother to respond.  My mom did for me.  By this point, I was done with the conversation.

On a new subject…. Milo went job-hunting recently, and had just procured one at CareSpot when, on that very day, this guy who was in one of his classes last semester called and offered him a job at MOSH.  He told Milo that he remembered him, thought he was a cool guy, thought he could offer him something he’d really enjoy, and could he come in, work part-time, and accept (I can’t remember if it was 10 or 14, so I’ll say 12) $12/hr pay to do cool stuff like make dinosaurs (big dinosaurs) and shave fire extinguishers with razors to make rockets?

It’s perfect for Milo, and I told him it was density, so of course he took it.  He called CareSpot back and turned them down.  He’ll be working part-time so he can keep going to school, too.

And now he and his sister have found an apartment in San Marco, really close to where he works, and right in his price range, so they’re moving in there at the end of this month.

San Marco is also where Mo lives, so the whole thing is very convenient for him.

Everything seems to be going just so well for him right now; I’m very happy for him.

As for me, I’m just hoping to be accepted to UCF, but I have my doubts.  It’s not like I have the greatest GPA in the world, and from everything I hear, it’s really difficult to get in there.  I’ve never been one who’s good with academic competition.

So, considering I do get accepted there, I’ll be moving down with Cort at the end of summer.  I’d been assuming I’d be coming back here all the time on weekends, but so many people say things like, “Well, you’ll be down there,” as though I’m not going to see Jacksonville at all while I’m there, like once I get there I won’t want to come back.

And if I do come back once in a while, I can’t see him wanting to spend much time with me, since he’s got his girlfriend.  I know how that goes.  In fact, as soon as he moves out, I expect to hear pretty much nothing from him.

I think he’ll probably write my parents a really nice note, thanking them for everything they’ve done for him, and that’s cool; I’d think it strange if he didn’t do that.

I just hope he doesn’t write me one, too.  I really don’t want that.  I don’t want him to think of me as his charity case (and odd choice of words, I know, as it would seem to be the other way around).

This is another topic entirely, but I’m always saying that I feel like I’ve lived two lives:  The one in Virginia, and the one here.  It seriously doesn’t feel to me like the same lifetime, because both parts have been so different.

Recently, however, I’ve begun to realize that Virginia…doesn’t even feel like another life at all…it feels more like a dream that I had a really, really long time ago.  I mean, I still talk to a few people from there, but…well, we used to have so many stories that we’d tell over and over again.  People (like my mom, I guess) used to think it was so great how we could remember so many stories so well.  But I’ve been forgetting things.  The only thing I can say is that it feels like it was all a dream.  And that’s weird to me.

And now I have to get my homework done.  *Sigh.*  Another long night, coming up.

Taxes and Psychobrat and parking tickets, oh, my!

Here’s something amusing.  My mom had misplaced my W2’s, and so, when I first walked in the door after work, she was frantically searching every stack of papers in the house for them.

So we’re sitting in the living room looking around, and Psychobrat prances out of her room with her notebook.  She sits down at the computer.

“Uh…” my mom says nervously, “…when I find these forms, I’m going to need that.”

Psychobrat screeches, “I HAVE TO DO MY HOMEWORK!”

Mom takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly, and says, “I think that this is a little more important than your homework tonight.”

“WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO, FAIL!?” she screeched.

“You can go one night without typing hundreds of definitions,” Mom replied.

“I HAVE TO DO 350 TONIGHT!” she screeched.  “THAT’S THE MOST I’VE EVER HAD TO DO!”

Silence.

“WHY DIDN’T YOU DO THIS BEFORE!?”

Mom said, “I couldn’t find the forms,” at the same time as I said, “She’s been doing everybody else’s, that’s why.”

You’d think she actually had them in her hand or something and was telling Psychobrat she had to be off the computer immediately.

“Well, the only person who’s been messing with this stuff is Milo, so….”

Psychobrat let it trail off there.  Obviously she was accusing him, as she always accuses either him or me.  But the ironic thing here was, Mom had already asked Milo if he had seen them.  Psychobrat was out of bounds.  …And there was something else I’d wanted to add there, but I can’t remember what it was….  (I’m really tired.)

My mind seriously went blank there. I got distracted by Facebook, and I was tired as it was…okay, new subject.

Going to pay my damned parking tickets tomorrow (finally).  Tinny will be given the list of people to call beforehand (since I’d only get one call), in case I get arrested.

Ah, I’m too tired to write anymore tonight.  I’ll update later.

Tomorrow I shall tell about seeing Tinny’s hot Cornish Pixie teacher (who likes Seinfeld) at work tonight.  Maybe other random stuff.  But for now, bed.