Work Complaints

Ice cream night was appropriately annoying.  I’ve noticed that I tend to be a bit psychotic at work sometimes, like when I’m angry about something.  Here is just one example.

Turtle approached at a slow moment to check if I needed any refills; when I didn’t, he just stood there.  I decided to voice a particular peeve.

“You know what drives me up a fucking wall, Turtle?”

“What’s that?”

“Those obstinate fools who persist in calling Reese’s Pieces ‘Reesie’s Piecies‘, despite the obvious lack of an ‘i’ at the ends of the words.”

I punished every one of them by giving them only one very small scoop.  Or perhaps I was rewarding the ones who did pronounce it correctly by giving them two.  This Reese’s thing has irked me since I was a little kid; I remember chiding Psychobrat for it many years ago.

And another thing:  Is there any other type of ice cream that looks like mint chocolate chip?  Answer:  No, there isn’t.  Nobody puts chocolate chips in pistachio.  And that’s it.  That’s the only other ice cream that color.  So why did so many people come through my line tonight and say, “What kind of ice cream is that?” as though they had never seen or heard of mint chocolate chip before?

The Mormon and I went to Barnes and Noble and Walmart when I got off.  We were, in fact, passing through that spot where we first kissed, and I said, “Aww, this is where we kissed for the first time.”  So naturally, we stopped and did so at that moment.  That’s gotta be good luck or something.

And now I must go and finish my laundry, because Nicole and I are going to Orlando tomorrow to stay with Cortney for the weekend.  That, too, will kick much arse.


Work was fun the other day; unfortunately, I have to serve ice cream tonight.

At work last week, Turtle walked by on his way to refill something and placed his hand on my lower back.  I thought this was strange, yes, but as I was busy, didn’t really stop to think about it.  A few minutes later, Turtle said, “Check your back.”

“What?” I said.

“Check your back.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Check.  Your.  Back.”

Finally I got what he was saying and turned around, and there was a sticker on my back–a tail sticker.

Turtle grinned.  “It’s Pin the Tail on the Donkey,” he said.

I grinned back, and stuck it on Bob the next time he walked by.  Bob, being busy and…well, Bob…never caught on to the “Bob…check your back” thing, and so, two hours later, I suddenly noticed that it was still there.  I pointed this out to Turtle, who went and told Bob that it was there and that I had done it.  We all laughed about it, and it was forgotten.

Two days ago, Michelle was standing near me when I happened to notice that there was a sticker on her shoulder that said, “HOT DOG, $2.99” (or however much they cost).  I immediately assumed that Turtle had done this, and pointed it out to Adrianna.  We started snickering about it, and then Adrianna showed Bob.  Michelle still had no idea what was going on, and we finally filled her in.  Bob, recalling that day last week, told her it was probably me, which seemed to be the case–I was, after all, the one who had spotted it.  But Turtle made more sense to me, because he was the one who had originally stuck it on me.  So I told Michelle as much.

A few minutes later, Turtle approached me and said, “Why would you frame me!?”

“I did no such thing!” I said.

“You told Michelle I stuck the hot dog sticker on her back.”

Suddenly realizing that Michelle had taken off the sticker before he’d seen it, I thought my name was clear.  “Ah-ha!” I said, pointing at him accusingly.  “How did you know it was a hot dog sticker if you didn’t put it on there?”

“Michelle told me,” he said, without missing a beat.

“Oh.”  I looked at Michelle, who had just come up, for clarification.   She clarified. My name was not clear.

I have the misfortune of, for some reason, always looking guilty, even when I am not.  It has always been so.  I don’t know exactly why this is; I think I just get nervous that I won’t be able to find evidence enough to clear my name; I’ve never been good at defending myself.  And when I’m nervous, I laugh.  Nervously.

Anyway, the important thing is that I was not guilty.  But something about Turtle made me think he wasn’t, either.  Although who else could it have been?  So I assumed it was him, and he assumed it was me.  Michelle informed us that she didn’t trust either one of us.

We all went back to serving, and I was standing there thinking, How can I argue my way out of this using logic?  There had to be a way.

At last, I thought of something, and walked down to where Michelle was.  I placed my hand deliberately on her shoulder and said, “If I came down here and placed my hand on your shoulder, just like this, it would feel kind of strange, wouldn’t it?  You would definitely notice it, wouldn’t you?”  Michelle was visibly uncomfortable.  I continued.  “On the other hand, if Turtle came down here and put his hand on your shoulder like that, it wouldn’t feel quite so strange, would it?  You may not even notice that it was there, it would feel so normal.”  (Michelle and Turtle have been dating for a while now.)

Michelle looked enlightened as she shoveled taco toppings onto a plate for the guy in front of her.  “Just a second, let me serve this guy,” she said.  “I think you’re onto something!”

I paused, beaming at the fact that I was so totally about to clear my name, when, from right behind me, I heard Michael the grill cook laughing very hard.

At first I thought, I love that Michael is completely amused by the whole mystery of the hot dog sticker thing.  I know we’re all getting a kick out of it.  But as I continued to stand there, waiting for Michelle to have a chance to turn around and discuss the sticker, and Michael just laughed harder, I thought, He’s laughing awfully hard…suspiciously hard….  And then it dawned on me that all of those hot dog stickers were right there on the counter, within Michael’s grasp….

I whirled around and pointed my finger at Michael.  “It was you!” I said, realization dawning.  “It was you the whole time!”

Michael had tears in his eyes from laughing so hard.  And then he confessed.

I found it all quite amusing, too.  So did Sandra, when I went back to my line to tell her the story.  “Elementary, my dear Sandra,” I said.

At one point at the beginning of work, Michelle came up to me and said, “Adrianna just got ‘Let It Go’ stuck in my head.”

“Aww!” I said, expressing my disgust.

“I know!”  She walked away, leaving me to think, Of course, now I’ll have it in my head, just because she mentioned it.  And then she came back, grinning evilly, and said, “So…is it in your head yet?”


“Good.”  And she walked to the other end.

A minute later, I walked down to her end, tapped her on the shoulder, and said, “I just have four words for you, Michelle.”  She looked at me expectantly.  I grinned.  “It’s a small world.

“I HATE YOU!” she said, as I turned, threw my head back, and laughed a perfectly divine evil laugh.  It was so splendid; I was incredibly proud of it.  No evil laugh I had ever laughed compared with this one.  This means my practice has been paying off.

I knew it was wonderful, and so I turned back and said, “Did you hear my incredible evil laugh?”

“Yes!” Michelle said.  “That was awesome!  But Adrianna didn’t like it.”

I turned and looked at Adrianna, who was scrunched down, with huge eyes and mouth gaping open…she looked like a frightened rodent.  It was priceless.

“That was so scary, Ginny!” she said.

I grinned even more widely.  “Good.”

Then I ran back to my line to ask if Sandra had heard it; she’d been impressed, too.  And then we spent the rest of the night going back and forth, trying to get the most annoying songs stuck in the other side’s heads.

We really do work some of the time; I swear.

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 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!

The Mormon, Work Anxiety, Some Black Licorice, and a Luncheon Meeting

First of all, I would just like to say welcome to my new readers!  Thank you very much for following.  Please don’t be shy; feel free to drop by and introduce yourselves sometime!

I’m not going to school this semester.  Not by choice—just because the school and the doctor’s office are both run by incompetent gits.  So I now have four months to give them both hell.  I will be going next semester.  Of course, by that time, I will be the equivalent of one year behind schedule.  Brilliant.

I did start back to work again this week.  So I mean, I won’t be a complete loser for four months.  Oh, but I’ll feel like it.

For the past couple months I’ve been rather silent on the Dean the Mormon stories, but no more.  I’ve decided I’m way past the don’t-kiss-and-tell stage now.  (He’s my boyfriend; we kiss.  There.)  So now I can tell stories as they arise without feeling guilty or having to put the lock on, which I dislike doing.

So…speaking of Dean the Mormon…we went to St. Augustine the other day just to be tourists.  I got lost on the way to his house.  (He lives about an hour away from me, and see, I suck at finding places on the first or fiftieth times, and I suck at giving directions.  I’m just not good with this kind of thing.  As I was trying to explain to him, when I learn to drive someplace new, I have to learn it in both the light and the dark, because they both look way different to me, so it’s like two completely different routes.)  Also, I’d never seen it in the light, and it was light while I was trying to find it.  I did manage to find my way out in the dark later, which is saying something, as there are very few lights out where he lives.

We were headed into a bookstore a few minutes after we arrived, and there were some other people headed into the store, coming from the other direction, when The Mormon paused and had that look of, ‘Hey, I know you’ on his face.  Then they paused, too.  And when I saw that they had a baby, I knew that this must be Trask and Co.

Trask is one of The Mormon’s best friends—the one who lives in Gainesville with his wife and their baby, whom, when he came out, Trask said looked like something out of The Dark Crystal.  (Apparently he’s grown out of that stage, because I couldn’t really see it.  And believe me, I looked.)  Trask is also the one who calls dozens of times during two-hour make-out sessions because he knows that when The Mormon isn’t answering his phone, that’s what’s going on.

So they just happened to be going into the same store as us on the same day at the exact same time.  I love weird coincidences like that.  Anyway, so as we parted ways, Trask shook my hand and said, “It was lovely to finally meet you; I’ve heard great things.  This guy has really fallen head over heels for you.”

We went into some candy store later and argued for a while over whether black licorice is good or bad, and then we got a bag of various things, and I put a scoop of black licorice in it, and so then I stuck a piece in my mouth, and he informed me coolly that I was not going to get kissed for an hour.  I laughed and ate more licorice.

We went to the fort, the name of which I can’t remember, but…you know…the fort…and joked about the two-hundred-year-old graffiti on the walls (I’m serious; there was stuff carved from like 1800-something) and some General or Commander Pratt.  And then we made Pratt jokes for the rest of the time we were there.  (Example:  There were several spots where you could, even now, quite easily fall from the upper level to…way far below, and I wondered aloud how often that must have happened back in the day, and he said he didn’t know but it must have happened, and it must have sucked, and I looked down below in this mournful sort of way and said, “Oh, there goes Pratt.”  Stuff like that. ‘Twas fun.)

Then we went to this 50s diner where they actually played all 50s music (which was really cool because I knew every single song, some of which I hadn’t heard in…well, many years).  And back to his house again to watch Say Anything, this kick-ass British show called Spaced, and a little Battlestar:  Galactica.  At one point, he stepped outside to smoke, and his brother came out and said, “Where’s Dean?”

“Oh, probably outside smoking,” I said.

“That was enthusiastic,” Jeremy (the brother) said.

“Ha…yeah, well…I’m just going to eat more black licorice to get back at him,” I said, and ate about six pieces.

I checked the caller ID this morning and discovered that yesterday, while I was out, another stalker called me.  For the first time in months.  This guy liked me back when I was in my journalism class a year ago, and he liked a few of my friends, too.  He did a story on HP fandom, and asked for some of my friends’ names to interview them.  Then he started stalking Katie.  He’d come up to me and ask if I knew where any of her classes were, or when (I very coldly informed him that I did not), and then sent her an e-mail, which I actually still have.

From April 1, 2017…April Fools’ Day, go figure:

“Hey there,

Just wanted to say that it was nice talking to you and thanks for your oppinoin [sic] on the new Harry Potter book.  Also, if we can meet up sometime next week, can u tell me what u look like.  Maybe that way it will make it easier for me to find u.  For me, 6’1”, dark short brown hair, glasses, 150 lbs. hazel eyes.  I like HP, photography, paintball, watching tv, playing my Game Boy, going to the movies, listening to HP audiobooks.  What do u like to do?

Thanks, Colin”

This guy was really weird, if you haven’t already guessed that.  He had this creepy, halting sort of speech, really slow, with odd inflections.  Like a poorly-made robot.  He tried calling both of us several times after that, and neither of us ever answered again.

Tell me, what is with these people, and how do I keep meeting them?

So I went to lunch with Milo today…hadn’t seen him in a few weeks…and this scary thing happened when I got out of my car.  We were walking into the restaurant, side by side, and I don’t know, I guess obviously there’s some pent-up stuff inside, and now I’m not afraid of hand-holding like I was two months ago…anyway, as we were walking in, I tried to grab his hand.  I don’t know what was going through my head.  But I brushed against his arm with mine and reached down for it, and that was the exact moment I realized what I was doing and jerked my hand away again like I’d burnt it.  I don’t think he noticed—I sort of played it off like I’d just walked too close and then lengthened the distance between us.  But then later we walked over to Target and I did it again!  So I just crammed my hands into my damn pockets and kept them there.

(I would just like to say, for those of you who are wondering, that no matter what my feelings for a certain other concerned party, I would never cheat on The Mormon, because for one thing, I’m just not like that, but for another…he’s a really freaking great boyfriend.  I couldn’t ask for better, and I like him a lot.  And even if Milo finally came to his senses all of a sudden and realized that he should have been with me all along…I’d make him wait indefinitely.)

So afterward I went back to The Mormon’s to watch more of Spaced.  That show totally kicks ass, I’m telling you.  Like I said, it’s an hour drive, and I knew that it would be really difficult trying to find his house in the dark, so the entire way there, I felt like I was trying to outrun the darkness.  As I explained to him, I kept checking the rearview mirror, and I could see the sky behind me getting darker and darker, and I was going faster and faster, when at last I hit the traffic on San Jose, and the darkness was coming much more quickly.  But I actually made it just in the nick of time, when a sliver of light still hung in the air.

And now I s’pose I’m finished for the evening.  See, I told you there was a real entry coming soon.

Tirade of the Day

Obviously, I do like him.

This fact occurred to me (too late, of course) sometime after I told him that I didn’t want to commit to anything, and that it was up to him if we kept seeing each other because I didn’t want to lead him on.

I keep thinking up odd stuff that I forgot to put in earlier entries; yesterday in class, for example, I was sick, and we had this whole-class peer review thing, of three pages of one of Dean’s short stories, in fact, and then a poem another girl wrote.

Well, as I was quite ill physically, at least, and a little strung out emotionally, I just…sat there, with my head down on the desk.  I was listening…sort of.  And at the end of class, L’Owen looked around and said, “There are six minutes left…and I know there are a couple people in here who haven’t said anything this whole time…who are they…?”

I did a quick scan and saw that there were only two of us who hadn’t spoken, and…he was bound to notice that.  So I raised my hand to get it over with.  I figured if I sacrificed myself, it would be a lot better for me than letting him call me out.

“GINNY!” he said, grinning with delight.  “You haven’t said one word today; you’ve been slouched down there in your seat, and somehow we’ve completely missed you!  Well, Ginny, you’re going to talk for the next six minutes.”

I stared at him.  (I was stalling.)

“Go on!” he said.  “Let’s hear what you’ve got to say; there must be something.”

Well, we were on Dean’s story, and I sort of…glanced at him sideways, and then I said something.  I have no idea what it was.  All the comments I’d thought about making had already been hashed over.  I really don’t know what I said.  It may have been relevant, maybe not.

I said something that I knew he’d have to defend, and he did, and I responded with something (I seriously do not remember what we were talking about) and I’m sitting here thinking, Is this an argument?–I think we’re arguing.  He hates me.  He so hates me.

Anyway, after the events of yesterday and today, by the time I got to work, I was considering calling him immediately after to tell him that I am sorry, I’m stupid, I do like him, and I don’t want to stop seeing him.  That is the point I had reached.  And Michelle and Adrianna thought this was a good idea, too.

Then I talked to Sandra, who scared the hell out of me.

Sandra’s opinion on it all is that if he respected what I’d said to him, then he’d still want to be friends and things should go on pretty much like normal.  The fact that he is now basically shunning me, she thinks, shows that he only wanted me for one thing, and since he knows he’s not going to get it, he wants nothing more to do with me.

I stared at her in horror, thinking that yes, this did make sense, and that Sandra, being in her forties/fifties, would know better than the rest of us.  (She said it happened to her before.)

I switched places with Adrianna to go and serve with Michelle and see what she thought.  Then I decided to share with Tyler, as he is a guy, and get his opinion.

Somehow, I explained the whole story to Tyler in about five sentences.  I have no idea how I accomplished this.  I’ll never manage it again.

Tyler’s instinct is that he really does like me and is just hurt (which is my instinct, as well as the instinct of pretty much everyone who has actually met him), and he said, “Like, if I only wanted you [he lowered his voice here] for sex [normal voice again], then if you told me that you didn’t want a serious relationship, I would come back with, ‘That’s great!  Me neither!’”

But we all agreed that Sandra really could have a point.

After that I was too frightened by it all to call him.  I’m going to see what happens in class tomorrow, and take it from there.

Also at work tonight, Michelle and Tyler and I stood around talking for a good while, and then I had to go on a quest for more marinara, and when I came back, they explained to me that nothing was said while I was gone; conversation completely ceased.  They were looking forward to me coming back to break the awkward silence.  Conversation depended on me, they said.

Of course, this reminded me of the episode of Seinfeld when George and Elaine can’t talk to each other without Jerry there.  I told them so.

Tyler said, “I would be Elaine.  I claim her right now.”

Michelle said, “No way; you can’t be Elaine!  She’s a woman!”

I said, “I’m Jerry.”

“True,” she said.

“Besides, you’re short,” I told her, and Tyler and I both snickered.

Corey reminded me of Seinfeld today, too.  The first thing I heard him say was, “I am on no sleep!”

So I finished up, “No sleep!  You don’t know what it’s like over there!”

Katie cackled, and I did, too, and she said, “YUS, the Red Menace!”

Know-It-All looked at us, laughing a bit and shaking her head, and she said, “I love watching these two.  They sit there laughing evilly about all their little inside jokes, and you think they’re laughing at you, but most of the time they really aren’t.”

Katie and I looked at each other, and one of us said, “Except that we actually are, usually.”  Or maybe we only thought it.  I can’t remember.  That was right about the point that Dean the Mormon showed up.

I completely forgot my history quiz until last night at 3:30, when I was going to bed.  So I got out the sheet and memorized the twenty terms in order in just about five minutes.  I cannot tell you how amazed I was; usually it takes way longer.  After reading them once pretty much, I knew them all.

Katie and I went to Steak ‘n’ Shake at midnight and, by 1:45, had frightened all the customers away.  Score.

I should sleep.  I have to pick up my contacts tomorrow, and the office closes at twelve.  I didn’t make it on Monday.  (It was like 12:45 by the time I got there.)

A Special Breed of Stupid

When I finished reading “News Flash” to the class the other day, L’Owen said, “I love that line—‘special breed of stupid’—I’m going to steal that.  Not for anything I’ll write, but just to say it to people in everyday conversation.”

Nicole thinks I should sell it to Happy Bunny.

Well, you heard it here first.  You hear that line anywhere else, you’ll know it was stolen from me.

When I stood up to read “News Flash”, and L’Owen said, “This is Ginny’s love poem,” Corey said, “Love?  Who does Ginny love, Harry Potter?”  Bwahahaha.

Then later, L’Owen commented that there are all these serious emotions about past high school relationships in our love poems, and that when he was in high school, he wasn’t serious about his relationships at all.  And this one girl told him, “That’s because you’re a special breed of stupid, Professor.”  Then she immediately hid her face and said, “Oh, I’m going to fail now.”

But he was laughing.  “No!” he said.  “No, on the contrary, I’m pleased that you felt comfortable enough to say that.  This is the kind of rapport I like to have with my students.”

So yeah, class was fun—sad, though.  It was the last time I will ever be in L’Owen’s class.  He got us pizza, and the pizza guy walked in with these big gold hoop pirate earrings, and L’Owen was like, “Hold on a second there—show the class your earrings.  Class, look at his earrings!”

I’m going to miss random stuff like that.  He told us he wanted to give a speech that he usually saves for the last day of class, but he left it at home.  Some speech Bill Murray gives in Rushmore, which I haven’t seen, but I found it online.  Goes like this:

“You guys have it real easy.  I never had it like this where I grew up.  But I send my kids here because the fact is you go to one of the best schools in the country:  Rushmore.  Now, for some of you it doesn’t matter.  You were born rich and you’re going to stay rich.  But here’s my advice to the rest of you:  Take dead aim on the rich boys.  Get them in the crosshairs and take them down.  Just remember, they can buy anything but they can’t buy backbone.  Don’t let them forget it.  Thank you.”

I’ve got to see this movie.

There’s this really obnoxious guy at work who seemingly tries to piss us off just by staring stupidly when we tell him he can’t do something or we can’t do something for him.  He annoys the hell out of me.  I don’t like dealing with him.

Last week, he tried to give Michelle two plates, and she’d just been yelled at for that, so she told him no, and he stood there and stared at her for about ten more people before she finally told him, “I’m sorry, I can’t do that, just go and eat that one and then come back.”  And he walked off huffily.

I was complaining to my mom about this guy, and she said, “Maybe he’s mentally challenged.”

Perhaps it is politically incorrect of us, but we decided to treat him like he is whether he actually is or not.  We decided to start calling him The Waterboy.

Thursday night we had make-your-own-pizza night, and during a slow moment, Michelle came up to me and said, “I’ve been wondering what would happen if we cooked one of these pizzas with an ice cube on it.”

I said, “DOOO IIIIT!”

She said, “I’ve got to wait for just the right person, though,” and I was opening my mouth to tell her to wait for The Waterboy, when he walked in.

Well, it came out looking normal, but we’re hoping it tasted soggy and watery.  Jerk.

When I told Sandra, she said, “Oh, you should have done it to Rain Man, too!  You should have put about five ice cubes on his pizza.  That boy annoys me so much…!”

Sandra has been well-trained.  Unfortunately, Rain Man never came through the pizza line that night.

Thursday I took my first and last final for the semester.  It was in history, so when I gave the prof my test, she whispered, “Ginny, do you have any more classes to take with me?”

I whispered back that I’ll be at UNF next semester, and she said good luck and keep in touch.  I am going to miss her classes; she’s the greatest history teacher I ever had, and she’s so sweet.  Haha.

I arrived in English class half an hour late today, as everybody else was leaving, and the prof gave me my A and then he and a couple other girls sat around talking for the majority of the class period, mostly about holidays and such.  He was telling us how when he was a kid in like third grade, it was mandatory that the class get up and sing “Jesus Loves Me” every morning, and his father told him he couldn’t (because he’s Jewish).

It’s a weird feeling—these are some of my favorite teachers from college, I’m taking them all for the second or third time, and now I know I’ll never take any of them again because I’m switching schools.  Strange.

L’Owen offered us all letters of recommendation, so I think I’ll remember that for the future….

I was about to write about the dream I had this morning, when I realized I’ve already forgotten it.  I haven’t had time to refresh my memory this morning, so it just…didn’t stick.

But yesterday morning I had a dream about this huge plant that ate people.  What’s funny is, I think in my dream I actually said, “This is just like Little Shop of Horrors!”

Actually, it was worse, though, because this giant plant (way bigger than the one from the play) had X-ray vision and super-hearing and would slam its way through walls and such to get at people.  No warning at all, it would just suddenly burst through the ceiling and scoop you up in its mouth.  And it grabbed onto things with its vine and pulled itself along.  You couldn’t run or hide from the thing—it was very much like a horror movie.

I have very little else to talk about right now, so I’ll just post this, I guess.