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.

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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.

And suddenly, a long-forgotten stalker returns from the grave….

Talking in my sleep has been frequent these past few days.  I have no idea what the hell I was dreaming this morning, but I woke up either in the middle of this, or during it…I don’t know, but I was saying it in my sleep:

“You keep looking for solutions to new scientific problems.  Understand the formulaic approach that science can never explain itself, and you’ve basically got it made.”

…!?  I don’t even know what that means!  I mean…what is that!?

You will never believe who called me today.  I hardly believed it myself; it had just been so long.  In fact, I think it’s been about two years since I heard from this person.

It was Brown Mucus.

I wasn’t home at the time, fortunately; my dad let me know, when he came back, that she had called.  But wow…the irony.

I realize that most of you have no idea who Brown Mucus is—it’s been that long.  Allow me to fill you in.

During high school, two of my stalkers were female.  Brown Mucus was one.  I met her through a few of my other friends.  She was always an oddball, with dirty, greasy hair, weird, unkempt eyebrows, and…well…she resembled a mouse, basically.

Brown Mucus’ favorite topics of conversation (the only topics, apparently, she knew how to discuss) were her boyfriend, her ex-boyfriend, the Jonas Brothers, whatever teeny-bop magazine she was currently reading, her period, and how sick she was.  Brown Mucus was always sick, and she always went into detail about it.  (Incidentally, the very name “Brown Mucus” comes from the time she informed me that she was headed to the bathroom with stomach issues, came back a few minutes later, and declared that she had thrown up the substance.)

She also had rapey tendencies and used to try to force me to make out with her boyfriend, and it was very frightening having her calling me obsessively all the time, even after she had moved to…Massachusetts, I think it was?

But I started avoiding her calls.  I was never home or never available when she called, and eventually she just sort of…gave up.

Now—oh, the irony of it all—now that I have another very real stalker, suddenly, she’s back.  Oh joy.

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.

Weekend Uproar

Of course, we had one of many Weekend Uproars this morning (oh, SNL is starting in a bit, isn’t it?).

Here’s the scene:  I’m in the rocker reading a deliciously funny book; my mom’s on the computer studying the budget; my dad’s trying to fix the handle on the sliding back door again, because it’s constantly being broken somehow.  The kids are both out.  Everything is calm and quiet.

Suddenly, my dad throws down the tools angrily and stomps through the kitchen, to the garage.  He yells loudly, “FUCK IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”  And then we hear crashing sounds, like things being thrown around, knocked over, and broken.

Then he stomped into his room and was singing something in a loud, taunting, annoying voice.  I couldn’t make out any of the words.  And finally he came out and said in that Voice of Pissed-Off Arrogance, “OOH, he was a REALLY nice person, WASN’T HE!?”

We’re like, “Who?”

“JOB!” he said.  “JOB was a really nice person!  Oh, but he loved God, though, didn’t he?  He went through ALL those tribulations, just because he loved God!  And God REWARRRRDED him in the end, didn’t he!?!?”

Neither of us said anything.  That’s pointless in these situations.

And then he’s back with the tools and the door, just muttering, “Job loved God so much, he killed his whole family, and God blessed him for it—gave him another one!  Just gave him another one.  He was a really nice guy.  God loved Job!  So this means that if somebody came in here and started abusing all of you, oh well that’s fine, I should just let it happen, because God’ll give me a second family, a better one this time!  Ohh, we have a really good God, don’t we?  Some God.”

I’m Ginny, and this has been Weekend Uproar.  Tune in tomorrow—the stories never end.

A Potterish Dream

I got kicked out of my classes because I hadn’t paid for them yet…I really hope that check gets here soon, because otherwise I won’t be able to freaking pay for these, either.  I re-registered for three of them, but the philosophy class was full, so I replaced it with Western Civ. 1589-Present with the only teacher who ever made history interesting for me, so that’s cool.  Now I’m taking three of my favorite teachers again.  But I have to get them paid for!  My dad has been insisting since I graduated high school that I should just take a semester off and work, but…um…no.  I don’t want to do that.  If I start doing that, I’ll never finish.

Okay, so I had this dream.  We had just come from a Harry Potter party, and so we’re all in our Hogwarts stuff and everything, and then we go and get on a train.  And then Cort and Nicole sort of…fade away, so it’s just me on this train, in HP stuff, and I’m strolling around (and it seems like the train goes in more directions than just back and forth–like there were actual rooms and hallways like a building or something), and run into some young parents with a 2-year-old daughter named Hannah.  (I sadly cannot now remember her last name.)

Hannah’s got red hair and she’s wearing this long green dress, and she’s supposed to be dressed as “the baby Weasley,” who doesn’t actually exist.  And she’d won a costume contest and all.  So she was wearing a ribbon on her dress.

Anyway, so I ran into them and recognized them from the party (as it had just passed a few minutes before), and the parents acted all snobby and said they didn’t remember me, as the party had been two years before.  The train had gone through like a time warp or something.  Okay.

It was then that I decided to look out the windows.  There’s nothing there.  I mean…nothing.  We’re sort of  hurtling along through this black void—creepy stuff, I’m telling you.

So I’m walking around, and eventually I run into Jasper, who is the only person on the train not dressed in HP stuff.  Jasper’s got a lightsaber.  And I say, “Jasper!  Good to see a familiar face!” and he says, “Yeah…Andrew’s here, too, somewhere.”  So I’m like, “Oh, I’m going to go find him and invite him to tea in our compartment.”  (Tea?  I grow increasingly more British in my dreams all the time.  Not, of course, that I mind.)

But Jasper says, “No, wait!  He’s killing people.”

I stopped suddenly.  “He…what?”

Jasper explains, “He already killed this one whole family, and he’s looking for this little two-year-old named Hannah, and he wants to kill her, too.”

I said, “I know Hannah….”

So Jasper told me that I had to protect Hannah, and if it came down to it, I had to kill Andrew, too.

Okay.  So I ran.  And I didn’t stop running until I found Hannah and her parents.  Hannah’s just sitting in the middle of the floor reading a stack of little kid’s books—maybe not reading, she might have been coloring in them or something—and the parents looked at me and were kinda like, “You again?  Go away.”

I attempted to explain to them that somebody wanted to kill their daughter, but they started shouting at me, and they thought I was crazy, and they wanted to take Hannah away, and I refused.  I told them she had to stay with me.

And then I just happened to glance down at the end of the corridor, through the window at the door, and it’s all dark, but I can just barely see Andrew standing there, staring at Hannah.

So I picked her up, and the parents are shouting at me, and Andrew opens the door at the end, and I take out my wand and start running with Hannah, who’s just holding a couple of books, and I’m still in HP stuff so my robe’s all billowy behind me and stuff—LOL—and they’re still shouting, and he Avada Kedavra’d them, and he’s running after us, so finally we got to one compartment where there appeared to be a closet of sorts in the side, and I sort of threw her and her books in there and shouted, “Stay there; don’t come out!” and whirled around to face Andrew, wand ready…

…And my sister started banging on the front door like a crazed lunatic and woke me up.  Yes, I hate when these things happen, but, as I explained to Andrew, if I hadn’t woken up then, I probably would have killed him, and then I would have woken up all traumatized.

That’s all for now, I guess.  We’re really, really busy at work these days; I won’t be getting off in the evenings until probably around 10:30.

Oh…and my dad wants to impose time limits on the computer, because every time he comes home from work late, I’m on it.  Never mind the fact that Psychobrat is on it all day every day—it’s just that I have it for a couple of hours each night, and that pisses him off.

Oh yeah…and now we have to pay $380 for that car window my brother shot out, not just $250.  And I don’t know if we’re paying any damages on the other car he shot.  I didn’t really hear what happened with that except the guy driving it wanted to beat the crap out of my brother, and wouldn’t back off until the cop physically held him off.

Fun stuff.