I love when work is actually entertaining. It should always be so.

This is my first entry from the new laptop, which is fantastic, by the way.

They’re doing some kind of special dinner thing at work, and even though today would already be long enough as it was just because of the special dinner thing, they want us in there an hour early.  Blah.

It’s been a while since I posted a real update—one that wasn’t all dreams—but there hasn’t been much happening of late that is postable.  My boyfriend is completely fabulous, as always.  He made me dinner on Friday, and it was very good, although he claims he can’t cook.  (He cooks better than I do, anyway.)  We went to the Highland Games yesterday, which was much fun, and then out to eat with Cort and crew.

All right, I’ll finish updating after work.


Work ended up being a lot of fun tonight, surprisingly.  When we arrived, an hour early, we had about ten bags of confetti to randomly throw around, and at each other.  We were also each given one of those party popper things, and once we finally figured out the correct way to open and then point them, we were shooting those off, too.

When dinner was over, we decided to help sweep, since we’d made most of the mess, and I went to fetch three spare brooms, two of the semi-okay black ones, and the one rather good brown one, and I approached Michelle and said, “Suit up; I play Seeker.”

Michelle snatched the brown one and said, “That’s fine, but I get the Firebolt.”

So we swept for about half an hour, and then chased each other around the floor on the brooms while people batted balloons around for us to beat and seek.

Here’s an amusing tale about the Highland Games.  At one point, I was standing by a tent kissing The Mormon, when I felt something against my hair.  I ignored it—what I thought it was was just one of those oversized, rather stupid bumblebees that is always flying into you by accident because it doesn’t know where it’s going.  So I sort of brushed my hand under my hair to ensure it was gone, and went on kissing The Mormon.

Then I heard Milo’s voice say, “What was that?” and realized, of course, that it had been Milo flicking my hair.  He and his sister had planned to meet us there at some point, but neither of them had their cell phones on them, so we had no idea when or where that was going to be.

I turned to look at him and said, “Oh, I thought you were a bug.”

I don’t know if he heard me or not, but…how great is that?

I feel sort of bad—I don’t want to give the impression that I have anything against Milo, because I don’t, at least not so far as him being my friend goes.  He’s a very good friend.  But I mean…well, what I mean is, even if he wanted me now, I would seriously make him wait, and if I never came around, that’d be his problem.  He’s lost.  I don’t even care if he gets jealous or not.  (Although you can’t possibly blame me for enjoying it if he does.)  I realize that almost every mention of him these days sounds like I really resent him; but he’s still my friend, so anything I say against him is merely against that side of him, not the friend side.  If that makes any sense.

The Mormon, who, by the way, brought me Gryffindor-colored flowers the other night for absolutely no reason, told me he talked to L’Owen, from whom I hadn’t heard anything for a while.  I miss having stories about L’Owen.  Coincidentally, I was actually just wondering this morning if The Mormon had talked to him recently.  He said he mentioned me to L’Owen, who commented that he’d noticed us getting pretty close last semester, that we were spending a lot of time together.  So when The Mormon told him he’s sort of seeing me, L’Owen got all excited and his voice rose like it does when he’s excited, and he and Know-It-All, who was also in the room at the time, started teasing him.  That’s just such a hilarious mental image.  He mentioned going to the Highland Games with me, and L’Owen was all, “You’re going on a real date with your girlfriend!”

I can picture it all so easily.  I just think it’s funny that even L’Owen, apparently, saw it all coming before I did.

Oh, I forgot to tell about my birthday!  It was very lovely.  I went to The Olive Garden with the family and Nicole and The Mormon and Spidermonkey.  When we asked for a table for eight, and they asked what our name was, I told them Seinfeld.  (I figured out of all the names I could have given them, that one would be the most embarrassing to Psychobrat and Spidermonkey should they show up late enough to have to ask.  They didn’t.)

Then the next night at work, there were these three guys in my line, all three of whom I recognize, but only one whom I know by name.  He was asking me how my weekend went, and I told him my birthday happened, and when he asked how old I’d turned and I told him, he said, “No way!  You’re 21?  I had no idea!”

The guy behind him overheard this and said, “You’re 21?  You are not.  There’s no way!  I can’t believe that!  Are you really?  21?  Damn!”  And then he turned to the guy behind him and said, “Did you know she’s 21?  Can you believe that?”

The guy behind him said, “You really don’t look it.”

I thanked them all.  That’s a compliment, in my opinion.

I just found it funny that my entire line was aghast that I’m older than they thought.  It’s because they’re all freshmen, so they don’t know I was there last year.

Okay, that’s about all, so I’m ending this here, with a solitary lament that the roof of my mouth is burnt presently and very uncomfortable.


Catch-Up Stories: Part Two

Continuing with the catch-up from the last few weeks….

The Mormon called me one day before Doomsday to say, “I was just wondering if I could take you out for dinner next Tuesday.”

“You mean…Doomsday?” I said.

“Oh, it is Doomsday, isn’t it?  Well, that doesn’t even factor into it.  I was just thinking since it was, you know, Tuesday and all, we should celebrate that…not Doomsday or anything.  Completely unrelated.”

“Well…okay,” I finally relented.

So he made 9:30 reservations at this place where they apparently serve ostrich tenderloins.  I’m really intrigued by this.  I will let you know what ostrich tastes like once I have tried it.

And speaking of The Mormon…that story I wrote about before that took place in the car, that was so cute and all…last night he told me he plans to include that scene in a story he’s going to write soon, and he said, “So, you know, if you’re reading it and you suddenly realize that it sounds familiar…that’s why.  Because I’m stealing it from real life.”


I had this dream that I was…I guess on another planet or something, because the sky was a deep plum color, and I was watching a sunset.  It was really gorgeous, like a painting or something—it didn’t look real.  (Maybe because the sky was purple.)  And there was this gold streak against the horizon that grew more and more defined…it was very realistic, and yet not at the same time.  There was no plot to this dream; I just wanted to remember it.


We were all gathered around watching Freaks and Geeks (all meaning Mom, Dad, Brother, and me) and every now and then I’d make a comment about what somebody was really feeling at a particular moment…and at one point, Coach Fredericks is sitting on Bill’s couch watching football, and Bill comes in and changes it to Dallas, and he’s explaining to Fredericks what’s going on.  Mom said, “Does he really care?”

“Well,” I said, “he wants to be on good terms with Bill so he can…no, he doesn’t really care.”

The entire family laughed at that.  That was amazing.  I love when we have actual genuine bonding moments—they don’t happen that often.


The Mormon and I went to Corey’s house the other night, and his wife, Khris, served us these Brazilian drinks—I can’t pronounce it, but it was horrible!  The alcohol flavor was really, really evident.  Like, after one sip, I was breathing fire.

I told them I don’t drink but that I’d taste it.  They gave me an entire glass.  The Mormon told them he doesn’t drink and he’d already tried it and he didn’t want any.  They gave him his own glass.  We were able to pawn one of them off on somebody else and just share one, but even that we couldn’t finish; I think Corey eventually finished it up for us.  Then Know-It-All came in and drank like two of them.  I think I killed some brain cells on one sip.  Nearly vomited on another.  That was not pleasant.


We only have one episode of Freaks and Geeks left to get through, and I am heartbroken.  I’m now completely in love with this show. (I kind of have been since episode one.)  Brother and Dad really like it, too.  I knew they would; it’s their type of humor.  But it isn’t even just that it’s funny—it’s so perfectly realistic, and even though it’s set in 1980-81, I feel like it’s my high school and my friends and my little brother.


I would have thought ostrich would be a lot like chicken; surprisingly, it was way more like steak.  And so was buffalo.  These observations, coupled with the idea that we would never have imagined eating ostrich or buffalo, led to an in-depth discussion on Oregon Trail and the little lessons it taught us:  Never, ever ford a river.  Always make sure your oxen are healthy.  Among other things.  I did say that I’d pondered eating buffalo before.  Like, I’d go to the zoo and see ostrich and never once think, Wonder what that tastes like….  But I’d look at a buffalo and say, “Dude…I used to hunt you in Oregon Trail…I know you’ve got to taste good.”

So The Mormon got me black licorice for Doomsday after we joked about how he hated kissing me after I’d eaten it.  How cute is that?  And he also got me this kick-arse Phantom picture frame that plays Music of the Night, with the first picture of us ever taken.  I’d pointed it out that time we were in St. Augustine and said I thought it was cool.  It is.  It’s even cooler that he remembered that, though.


The secret to not losing track whilst licking the way to the center of any given lollipop is to pause after every ten counts.  That way you always know where you are; it’s the same principle as saving your work in specific places when using a word processor.  The other day I discovered that it takes 507 licks to get to the center of a Garfield Doomsday pop.

Later, when I was finished with the lollipop, just sitting there, minding my own business (well, I guess I was probably about to say something), a ladybug flew straight into my mouth.  I immediately spat it out, but it left a horrible aftertaste like Brussels sprouts, or perhaps grass—I don’t know, something salad-y.  Maybe that’s good luck.  I don’t know.  But it reminded me of Raiders, when the fly crawled into Paul Freeman’s mouth…and never reemerged.


This week I went to the doctor’s office to demand they sign my form.  Then I took all my paperwork to UNF, and Adrianna showed me around campus, like the library and the English department and such.  Just places I need to know the locations of that I don’t.

Catch-Up Stories: Part One

I have so much to catch you guys up on.  Our home computer is dead.  Again.  So I’m sitting here in an Internet café, spending money to bring you this update (which is mostly just a dream, anyhow, but I had to get it written down before too much of it escaped me).  My mom has said she might help me buy a laptop (meaning, she’ll put it on her credit card, and I’ll just pay her for it), so if that happens, I will never have to depend on the home computer again (plus, I’ll never have to share it with Psychobrat).  So that would be rad in an extreme way.  I’m going to just catch you up on a bunch of stories all at once.

Because I don’t believe Cort ever has a chance to look at this anymore, I don’t really feel guilty posting about this here before the next time I speak to her.  I just need to rant.

Nicole informed me that Cort still doesn’t approve of The Mormon, and really, her reasoning does seem to be that she thinks he’s psychotic just because he likes me.  This bothers me.  Yes, maybe just about every other guy who’s ever actually been interested in me has been psychotic to a degree, and I understand the concern, but am I just supposed to never date anyone ever?  Does my judgment mean nothing?  I’ve always been a superb judge of character.  Plus, I’ve never actually fallen for any of the psychos who liked me.  I kept my distance.  I think that should count for something.  I don’t see what the big deal is.  It just annoys me—and it sort of hurts, too—that I finally have somebody who really is very good to me and makes me happy, and now there’s this.  One of my two best friends doesn’t have enough faith in me to choose a decent guy.  That’s what I’m getting out of all this.  And she expressed approval before; I don’t see why it should have changed.

I just have to talk to her, I guess.  *Sigh.*

I thought I would share this quote (my own quote, if you wondered) explaining pretty clearly exactly why I don’t like Doomsday:

“Before I thought I just disliked it because I was single and had no reason to celebrate it.  Now I know I detest it because it’s every bit as manufactured and cheesy and pink and red and vomit-inducing as it was when I was single.  And how can anything that can honestly be described with a combination of words like ‘manufactured, cheesy, pink, red, vomit’ be appealing?”

Well, I was going to post the above like two weeks ago, but whatever.  I believe Katie’s issues with Doomsday are the same as mine:  When you’re actually with someone, being told that you have to go out and celebrate love on this one particular day along with the rest of the world is a major turn-off.  It adds that much more awkwardness to something that is already awkward enough as it is.  And cheap chocolates and tacky hearts just make it worse.


I made The Mormon watch Nanny McPhee with me, and there’s this one part when Colin Firth says something like, “Aren’t my children just delicious?” with a sort of crazed smile, and it was really creepy, creepy enough so that The Mormon and I glanced at each other like, “What the hell?” and The Mormon said, “I can’t envision ever using the word ‘delicious’ to describe another human being in any scenario” and I whispered back, “I don’t know…Colin Firth is kind of delicious.”  The expression on his face in response to that was delicious.

We were sitting in his car later (we spend a lot of time sitting in cars, so if you notice multiple stories starting off this way, just go with it) and I had my head resting on his shoulder, and he was just kind of running his hand up and down my arm, and I looked up at him and he was smiling, like he was just glad to be there with me.  Well…it was cute.  He didn’t know I was looking at him.  So then I sat up and smiled at him, and he said, “What are you thinking?” and I said, “I’m just thinking that I’m really happy to be with you.”


Brother and I were watching Freaks and Geeks yesterday, and it was the first episode when the boys are getting ready to fight Alan, and Brother said, “What is this, the nerds against the nerds?”  It was very funny the way he said it; then later, Alan leaned into one of their faces (I forget which) and said, “I’m sorry; I don’t speak Geek!” and Brother said, “Are you sure about that?”

A couple weeks ago, Brother, Mom, and I were watching Superman, and Superman tells Lois how he’s fighting for truth, justice, and the American Way, and Mom said, “So, what—Superman is only here for Americans?”

“No, Mom,” I said, “it just means that he believes in the American Way.  He’ll still help people from other countries.”

Brother said, “Dude, whatever.  Japan can get their own superhero!”

It was just so completely out of nowhere that I laughed very hard.


What else can I tell you about?  Oh!  On a recent work night, Michelle and I made a voodoo doll of Turtle, and then a bit later we decided to make one of Dennis so he would have company, and we set them both aside in a frying pan we were no longer using, and Turtle came out and said, “Well who’s the second one now?” and we told him, to which he responded, “Great—even when I’m a fucking voodoo doll in a frying pan, I’m still stuck with Dennis!”

In case you’re confused, “voodoo dolls” are things we make in our spare time on slow nights when not many people are coming through our line.  Usually we only do this on breakfast-for-dinner nights, because breakfast foods make the most fun fillings for the dolls (rubber gloves that we tie off once they are stuffed).  Scrambled eggs, grits…that sort of thing.

Later we had them all guess which ones they were (we made one of Maryann, too) and Dennis looked through them, pointed to his, and said, “Well, I can’t be that one, because I don’t have shit for brains.”  (Dennis had hash browns in his, with peppers and tomatoes and stuff.)

Also, Turtle did not know that he was called Turtle until tonight.  (And I’ve been calling him this since I met him like a year ago.)

I was about to tell him about our upcoming Friday Movie Night, and I said, “Hey, Turtle!”

There was this horrible pause as Michelle laughed out loud at me, and Turtle whirled around and finally said, “What did you just call me?”

An even longer pause as I tried to think how to answer that.  Finally I said, “Oh, you knew we called you Turtle!”

I might mention that Turtle received this nickname because he looks remarkably like the turtle in Master of Disguise.


I’m actually going to make another entry to share more catch-up stories from the last few weeks because this one is getting so long.  See you soon!

By all means, read on if you are afraid of clowns.

But first, a Brother quote!  Brother, looking through the mail this afternoon:  “‘Falkor Jones’.  It’s six days until my birthday, and even the dog is getting more mail than me.”

I just wanted to preserve that quote before proceeding with the stupid clown dream.

The entire family had moved to a new state or something.  And then I went driving, and, as I didn’t recognize the area (we’d either left the state or the country, one, I’m not completely sure—I think just the state, although there is always the possibility of our having stepped into another universe), well…you know how I am with directions.  I got lost.  Brother was with me.  We ended up in this little…town, I guess…and there was this one building that for some reason we decided to buy tickets to enter.  The whole place was hailed as a big tourist spot.

So we stepped inside, and it turns out that this town was the site of some huge natural disaster from I have no idea what time period.  Everyone in the town had died.  Everyone.  But relatives of these people had moved back in, cleaned everything up, and the town had prospered since then as a tourist trap.

Mainly because of the building we were now in.  It was sort of like a museum—they’d reconstructed what they thought life in this town was like, mostly with wax figures.  (At one point, I commented to Brother on how it was like one of those stupid movies with the wax things that come to life.)

There was one room with…I think, actually, it was the band from Titanic—all in top hats and playing music (well, there was no sound, but that was the idea) and I started wondering if that was the time period, early 20th century, but then other stuff looked way more modern, and all these wax things were really realistic….

There were a couple rooms that really made me feel like I was in another country—parts of a specific location that has been in my dreams before, but I can never quite place it.

We’re not the only ones in there—it’s like the middle of the day, and there’s a teacher in there with her first grade class, or something.  There were other people walking around.  And I think it was when I saw the class that I suddenly remembered having read about the town when I was their age.  (No, it doesn’t really exist; this was just in the dream.)

And then we’re standing in one room, and there’s this really scary-looking clown standing there, frozen.  I’m standing right in front of it, and I say to Brother, who has already mentioned that he thinks all the wax people are sort of creepy, “Now that is truly frightening.  You know, I never really understood those people who were afraid of clAAAAAHHHHHHH!”

I had intended to say, “afraid of clowns, but this one really is evil-looking”…but I never finished the sentence, because the clown moved, and I jumped back so far, and I experienced a moment of blind panic in which the only things going through my head were, Cortney was right—clowns ARE evil! and HOLYSHITTHISCLOWNISGOINGTOKILLME! 

I took off running, really hard, and it’s running after me, and I’ve gone out this side door, and now we’re outside in the sunlight, and he’s still coming after me, and then of course, I fell, because that’s what always happens in moments like these, and he dropped down and was lying right on top of me, staring into my eyes all evilly, and then a whistle blew from somewhere.

“Damn it, I’m off the clock,” he said, and stood up.

This meant that his shift was over and it was time to get out of his work stuff (the clown makeup) and let somebody else take over.  So this new guy who had very similar makeup but was obviously a different guy stepped into place, and I went back inside with Brother, who was all, “That was so freaky!” and the clown who had attacked me had gone, and I was standing sort of near to the new clown, who kept stealing grins at me, but I knew he wasn’t going to attack me because I was already in on the joke, or whatever.  He just kept chuckling.  I glared.

Then I found this brochure thing on the museum, and I’m looking at it, and there’s a place with the pictures of all the different guys who play this clown thing, but I can’t find one who looks enough like the one who’d attacked me, and I said out loud, “Well where the hell is he?  I can’t find him!”

Then there was this deep, growly voice right over my shoulder—and I felt the breath on my neck—who said, “That’s because I’m not in the brochure, sweetheart.”

I jumped again, and the clown next to me laughed, and so did the voice behind me, who of course happened to be the one who had attacked me, except he was no longer wearing makeup or a hat or anything, he was all clean, and…it was Dane Cook.  Except I don’t think it was really Dane, I think it was just some random dude who happened to look exactly like him.  But anyway, he and the new clown are just laughing at me, and I’m getting more and more pissed off, and then I woke up.

End scene.

Some Sort of Something Going On

So The Mormon met the parents yesterday.  It was a nerve-wracking experience (for me).  Just because…you know.  You know how my family is.  I love them, but things can be…awkward.  But everyone was on their best behavior, so…good.

I confessed as we were stepping out the front door that I was so glad the awkwardness had ended, and he said, “Why? It was fine!”

Later at dinner he asked if I thought they’d liked him, and I said yes, from what I could tell.  Hope so.  That will make any future mention of him at all much less awkward.  They didn’t say anything, though, so I’m assuming it’s all cool.

Oh, here’s something.  I was sick on Christmas, and just sort of lying around all day, too weak to stand.  At the end of the night, Psychobrat (who had been a complete bitch all day, of course) stomped into the laundry room, threw open the washer, threw open the dryer, and immediately made one of her noises that are supposed to show her annoyance and instead make her sound like she’s attempting to gargle her entire throat.  This meant that my clothes were in the dryer.  (I’d neglected to take them out the night before when I’d gotten sick.)

Well, as I was lying on my mom’s lap on the couch, still too weak to stand up for long periods of time, and since, you know, I do her laundry all the time, whether I’m waiting for the washer or I just happen to be awake while it’s going…I just do it…I didn’t think asking her to simply take everything and dump it on my bed in a heap would be too much to ask.

Oh, but it was, apparently.  She gargled her tonsils for a while, and finally screeched, “NO, I WON’T DO YOUR LAUNDRY!”

Now, here’s the actually remarkable part:  My dad said, “Oh, damn it, [Sister], you can be so selfish sometimes!” and went in there and got my clothes for me, took them into my room, folded and sorted everything, and left it neatly on my bed.  I’m lying there on the couch thinking, This is awesome.

She responded with something like, “WELL I’M TIRED AND CRANKY!” to which he replied, disgust evident in voice, “Yeah, that’s obvious.  Go to bed.”

It was wonderful.

Like I said, though, she was a bitch the entire day.  Mostly about the computer.  (Apparently it was “her day”, as she told us.  It couldn’t be, like, you know, the Savior’s day, or anything like that.  It was all hers.)

And of course, a dream.

It kept alternating between a modern, American setting and a faerie tale, Cinderella-ish sort.  I was working for this really rich family, as like…the maid, or…the nanny, or…something?  But in the other reality, it was a charming prince and his bitchy wife and their kids.  It seriously had this whole Cinderella feel to it.  Except the woman was a complete bitch.  The children?  Also bitches.

My younger sister and brother also worked in the castle/mansion.  I took care of them, too.  I’m not sure how old we were, or how we got there.  Anyway.

I started to fall in love with the prince/man of the house.  He was falling for me, too.  Probably something to do with the fact that he could see how different I was from his wife (probably an arranged marriage—she so didn’t deserve him).  (He was also completely aware of the fact that his own children were miserable little devils.  It was wonderful.)  This was a genuinely nice guy, whom you could only feel sorry for for being stuck in this marriage with this god-awful family.

Anyway, so the wife eventually found out there was some sort of something going on between me and her husband, and of course, I’m basically a peasant girl who isn’t worthy to look at her as it is, but when she discovered that, she decided to kill me.  Freakishly, she let her kids in on this idea.  They were all for it.  (Not completely sure how old they were, either.  There were somewhere between two and four of them.  I’m not really certain.)  But she had them well-trained to carry out her evil bitchiness.  He found out about the plot and warned me.

So…I think she was planning to poison me and my brother and sister.  But when she found out I knew about this (I fed the food to one of her evil dogs right in front of her, out of spite), I had to flee.  Into the woods in the giant backyard.  (I think the faerie tale version was an enchanted forest.)  (And I’m serious, the dogs were evil…they would…bark and stuff, to let her know that I was with Prince Charming.  They went snooping.)  But yeah.  I threw the plates at the dog, and she dove to retrieve it, but the dog was quicker.  The dog turned belly-up, and I screamed, “You witch!  You evil witch!  Don’t you realize I have powerful people on my side!?”

I was, of course, referring to her husband, which she knew.  (He had warned me, and we had already made plans to run away together the next day, into another kingdom where no evil witches would throw anything between us—death or themselves or anything.)  That’s when I grabbed my siblings’ hands and the three of us ran into the forest.

I was hiding somewhere that I could still see what was going on.  She was distributing daggers to her children, making it all seem like a fun game.  “Whoever finds them first gets extra dessert,” or something like that, in this really sweet voice.  They were all creepy-looking little things with malicious grins.  (I think she was actually Tilda Swinton, with long hair in the faerie-tale world and short hair in the other one.)

Anyway, so there I’m sitting, brother and sister alongside me, behind a pile of chopped firewood, I do believe—a large pile—when her other dog comes running up, barking and snarling.  I was sure everyone had been alerted to our hiding place, when suddenly, the husband’s cat (which looked an awful lot like our family kitty) pounced on the dog, hissing and biting and clawing, and distracted it, and they took off fighting.

But we went running, anyway.  I waited until they were all deeper in the woods (or so I thought) and went running with the kids back towards the front, straight into the arms of Prince Charming.  (Well, I didn’t mean to.  He just appeared there.  I kind of collided.  Actually, I thought it was her at first.  But no, she was behind me.)

He said we had to leave instantly.  We were just embracing, when little sister screamed, “There!  She’s right there!” and there was the bitch, coming right at us, bonfire in her eyes.

But he drew his sword, pointed it at her, and informed her that he could end it all then and there, if that was what she wanted.  She hissed like a snake and backed away a few paces.

“Then go…run with them, if that is what you want!”  Uh…a bit creepy.  But anyway, as his coachman was right there, we didn’t need to be told twice.  (Fortunately, the coachman was loyal to the prince, and not her.  He thought she was a bitch, too.)

So then when this ended, it still wasn’t completely over—then I dreamed I was lying in bed next to Dean the Mormon, having apparently fallen asleep at his house, and was telling him about it that morning, and he was very entertained, and said, “So did everybody live happily ever after?”

“Well, you would think so, wouldn’t you?” I said.  “But no—” and I proceeded to tell him all the things that went wrong with it.  Namely, that Prince Charming actually ended up being a complete dick anyway, and…oh, there was a whole list of things.  I can’t really remember anymore, but everything went wrong.  (Apparently.  I didn’t know about those bits until this part of the dream.  It originally ended with us riding away in the carriage at the end.)

Catching Up

I cut myself shaving this morning.

This was no big deal, I do it every now and then, and I was just going about finishing the job, when I noticed that it was still bleeding.  And it just kept going.

That’s when I got a bit dizzy and almost passed out.  I snapped out of it pretty quickly, though.  (Okay, I shrieked ear-piercingly.)  Then I grabbed a washcloth and applied pressure until it finally stopped bleeding…then it started up again, so I applied more pressure, and by the time it stopped for good, the water was, of course, cold.  So enjoyable.  *rolls eyes*

So I’m of course inviting Dean to our New Year’s party this year, and I’m going to tell Milo he’s invited too, because “Nicole needs somebody to kiss at midnight”.  I am awesomely bad, as Gary put it when I told him this.

Here’s a good story.  The other day I was listening to random things on my computer, and Brother was here, and I told him he had to hear this one song, and I opened up Cab Calloway’s “Minnie the Moocher”, and he says, “What is this from?”

“Nothing that I know of,” I say.

“No, I’ve heard this before.”

“I don’t know where.”

He has this look like he’s really listening, trying to place it, and then he says, “Yeah, they used to play this on the morning announcements every day last year.”  And then he starts singing it, before the words even started!  I was so shocked.

Frighteningly, I was offered a job at Watson again, one that pays $1.50 more than I make at UNF now, but I declined.

Speaking of UNF, god knows if I’m ever going to get in, but I shan’t bitch about that now.  I’m not in the mood.

I had to go to the mall the other day for a final couple of Christmas presents, and when I got there, I decided I was going to be in and out in about five minutes.

Hot Topic disagreed with me.  They thought it would be funny to hold me hostage for thirty minutes as they fixed their register, which died immediately after scanning my card.

About fifteen minutes went by, and one of the other cashiers walked by and said, “Have you gone crazy yet?”

I said ‘yes’ with a completely straight face.

About five minutes later, I asked them if I could maybe run home to grab my sleeping bag.

When the thirty minutes was up and they were finally able to re-scan and give me a receipt, she asked if I wanted it in the bag or not, and I said, “Yes, please—think I’ll frame this one.”

Fortunately I had nowhere else to be, so it was just a sitcom-lengthed opportunity for many witticisms.

I did see Rainbow when we were in Hot Topic.  He’s in the Navy, on leave right now.  He was with his girlfriend of two years, some really young chick who’s psychotically possessive and stares at me evilly when I speak to or smile at Rainbow.  I grinned back.

Went to Dean the Mormon’s house for dinner that night, and then we headed to St. Augustine to see the lights.  St. Augustine is the most Christmas-y part of Florida, because of all the lights they put up around town.  It’s something you’ve got to see if you live in a subtropical climate.

Last night when I came inside, Brother was sitting at the computer crying.  He moved into his room; I followed him.  He and his friend were sitting out there, and Brother was talking to Dad on the phone (and crying).

The story was, Psychobrat and Spidermonkey walked into the house.  Spidermonkey looked at Brother and said, “Is that your sister sitting at the computer?”

Brother called him a dick, which caused Spidermonkey to leap forth and attempt to strangle him.  Brother kicked him and hurt his foot (hence the crying) and Psychobrat laughed as she watched it all.

When Brother’s friend told me about the laughing, he said, “You know, I really don’t like your sister.  She’s evil.”

I said, “Believe me, we know she’s evil.”

So of course, Brother was the one to get yelled at because he doesn’t know how to get along.  If the situation had been reversed, and he had provoked Psychobrat (or Psychobrat’s boyfriend), he still would have been at fault.  I know, because it’s exactly the same with me.  It doesn’t matter what happens…it doesn’t matter that it is almost always Psychobrat who provokes things…we are the ones who get blamed, because we are not the favorite child.  I’m serious; that’s how it works.

She knows it, too.  That’s why she starts things.  She likes getting us in trouble.

It only gets worse, of course.

I took a nap in the library before class today, because I didn’t have to do anything in my first class, and what woke me up was somebody in a dream telling me, “Ginny, you’re going to be late to your history class.”  This jolted me awake just in time, in fact.

I headed outside where I sit with Corey (who was in D.C. yesterday, hence why he was not in class) and Know-It-All (and sometimes Katie) every day, and sometimes a couple guys from my history class, and they were all there, and Katie and I were cackling about random things, when all of a sudden, Dean the Mormon walks right around the corner.

I never see him at that time of the day on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and yet there he was, and so Corey and Know-It-All both greeted him, and he had a nametag on because he’d just come from work, and Katie said, in a semi-low voice, “Is that…?”  And I said, “Yes.”

“I can’t picture you kissing him,” Katie said, an evil tone in her voice.

“Shut up!” I hissed.  She continued to grin.  It would have been funny if it hadn’t been such a bad situation.  I looked up at him, and he sort of glanced at me, and then he immediately looked away, never said a word to me in the entire time that we sat there talking about class yesterday, (“L’Owen?” Katie guessed correctly) and never even looked at me.  (Katie, naturally, found this quite humorous.)

And then he walked away.  Never a word; never a glance.

Speaking of which, when he didn’t walk me to my car yesterday, he also neglected to say good-bye.  As I suspect, the only reason conversation was exchanged at all was because he had my book.

And then as we were walking into class, Corey noticed that something was wrong with me, and started interrogating me, but of course, what could I say?  I couldn’t say anything, so I didn’t.

I didn’t mention this yesterday, but when I got home, I made some comment about some hot guy on the TV, and my mom, who was holding the bird and speaking in her baby voice, said, “No cute boy for Sunshine…cute boy for Ginny, but not Sunshine.  Ginny has a cute boy; his name is Dean.”

I’m like, “Uhh…no.  No, she doesn’t.”

My mom looked up at me and said, “Why not?”

I gave a very brief explanation (I told him I didn’t want a commitment, so it was over) and she acted annoyed with me!  Why would my mom not be supportive of me!?  So then I just felt even worse, and reminded myself why I don’t like telling my family things.

To change the subject slightly, I also left out this story about yesterday in class when we were critiquing this one girl’s poem.  She works in a grocery store, and one day a drag queen called her up to ask for eyeliner, and then just started telling her about being a drag queen.  It was a really funny poem; anyway, L’Owen looks around at all the guys and says, “Have any of you ever dressed in drag?”  A couple of them had stories:  Randy had worn a dress once when he was eight, etc.

L’Owen to whom I was unfortunately not paying a great deal of attention, as I had other things on my mind like trying not to be sick and worrying about the gap between my desk and Dean’s, was grinning as he told this story about how he and his wife like to make fun of each other, and one time he put on one of her bras and started laughing at her, and I’m thinking, “I must have missed something here” and everybody’s looking around at each other oddly, most of them laughing…it was rather interesting.  I really ❤ the guy.