Some of this is old because I started writing it like two weeks ago and just haven’t felt like posting, so I’ll begin with that before I get to the current stuff….

While sitting here at the computer, I found a little list in my mom’s handwriting entitled, “[Sister]’s Prom”.  It has prices on it.  Apparently, these are all the amounts of money my parents spent on Psychobrat’s prom and expect to one day get back.  I am copying it here for your viewing pleasure.

dress – 252.00
nails – 53.00
hair – 60.00
make up – 44.00
Frederick’s of Hollywood – 64.20
purse – 17.12
trying to keep a spoiled brat happy for life – priceless  (Okay, I just threw that bit in there.)

total – $490.00

Now my main question is this:  What exactly did she get from Frederick’s of Hollywood that cost her more than everything else but the dress?  Perhaps more to the point, what did my parents purchase for her?  Be pondering that one; I sure am.

The Mormon and I watched Silent Hill, and every bit of it felt like one of my nightmares.   When I told The Mormon this, he said, “Wow…those must be some nightmares.”

I said, “Well, you know how my dreams go.  So when they’re bad…they’re bad.”

We were discussing the ending, and I said, “You see?  That’s exactly what I thought happened to me that night I took the wrong turn leaving your house.”

I have a few quotes that must be preserved.  The first is from the other night [now two weeks ago] at Jacksonville Alehouse, when Dennis was griping that neither Adrianna nor I had worn our glasses, and how much he generally liked putting glasses on:  “Maryann’s glasses are a kaleidoscope of truth.”

The following is the answer to the question, “What’s up?”, courtesy of Greg K-C at work:

“A perpendicular asymptotic plane to a parallel tangent plane to one point on the earth.  In other words, up to me is different than up to you.”

Being horrible at math, I have only the vaguest notion of what the above words mean.

These are a little older, from when Nicole and I were house-sitting.

First of all, I’d told Nicole that I had taken the house key to work with me one time in case we got locked out, but how I’d forgotten to first unlock the screen door, so it wouldn’t have done us any good anyway.

“That’s classic!” Nicole said.

“I’m a classy kind of gal,” I said.

“That’s a quote,” Nicole said.

And the other was from the night before, when we were trying to find something to go to sleep to, and Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band was playing.  There was some girl who looked vaguely familiar, and Nicole said, “At first I thought that was Sarah Michelle Gellar.”

I replied, “She does resemble her a bit.  That girl is like a Monet–if you squint, she’s Sarah Michelle Gellar.”

As it was, at that point, a little after 3 a.m., Nicole and I both found this comment insanely funny.

Now on with the current stuff.  I’ve been sick.  It started when we all went out to dinner to celebrate with some of our co-workers who were leaving.  Normally I’m too much of a germaphobe to eat after anyone, but that night I thought, ‘Eh…what the hell…they’re my friends!’

Well.  Adrianna is still getting over mono.  And that night we went to the Town Center after dinner, and I collapsed right in the middle of it.  We were just walking and then suddenly I felt like I couldn’t stand up anymore and I had to sit down in front of a store window and I thought they were going to have to carry me back to my car.

After eleven days of a sore throat, I finally went to the doctor for a mono diagnosis.


It perfectly explains why, when Nicole and I were house-sitting, I was having chills and was so sore and tired I could hardly move to even take a shower.  I will probably experience this lovely sensation many more times over the next month or however long it takes.  When my symptoms are finally gone (this usually lasts anywhere between two and six weeks), I could continue to experience bouts of this for months to come.  It is also advised that I get no exercise for the next few months, either, because the threat of rupturing my spleen and killing myself continues after the disease becomes dormant.  So there goes my whole get-physically-fit plan that I’d been all gung-ho about.

The only two times I remember somebody I know having mono:  This girl in fourth grade who missed six weeks of school, and another girl in high school who missed a month.

There goes the last break The Mormon and I were going to have together until next summer.



Slow Work Nights

I had a dream about The Mormon this morning.  We were lying on Mulder’s couch (because of this episode of The X-Files that Brother and I were watching last night) and he was kissing me (The Mormon was; Mulder wasn’t around), when he looked up over my head and said, “What was that?”

“What was what?” I said, and turned around–both in the dream and IRL.

What it was was the sodding sprinkler again; it had just turned on and was making its creepy, fingers-scraping-the-wall sound across the outside of the house, right behind my bed.

I sighed and closed my eyes, because I was so tired I couldn’t keep them open.  But even though I was that sleepy, the sound prevented me from falling back to sleep for quite a while, and I tossed and turned, thinking, “OMG ZOMBIES…no, it’s just the sprinkler…OMG ZOMBIES…no, it’s just the sprinkler” over and over, every time it went by my wall.

Finally I did manage to get back to sleep, but The Mormon had apparently, by that time, given up.

Tonight is my last night of work for the next six weeks.  I’m looking forward to it.  Then I start back up with both work and school…I’m finally officially enrolled at UNF (took long enough).

Yesterday was eventful.  First there was this academic achievement awards ceremony thing at FSCJ which I attended because The Mormon was receiving two:  One for Service as a Communications Tutor and the other for Sociology.  And then we had our party at Jax Ale House last night after dinner for Jose, Carolina, and Enrique, who are all leaving the cafe.

The cafe was so slow last night, and it’ll be even more so tonight.  Even though it’s a steak night, I’m not expecting even 100 customers.  I’ll take a book or something.

And after work we’re having our final Movie Night of the semester at–well, I’m assuming at Michelle’s.

Anyway.  I don’t feel like writing about dreams right now, so I’m going to close the entry here.

Situationally Ironic Jealousy

As I am determined not to get screwed over once again, I have just gotten through browsing the class schedules and making a list of all the classes that are available in my time slots.  There’s plenty–I should have no trouble registering for classes for this summer or autumn.  I also intend to know the registration dates for the duration of my time at UNF well in advance.

Of course, I don’t think there’s financial aid over the summer, so I will probably only be taking two or three classes, but it’s okay, because I’ll launch back into my normal four-classes-per-term come autumn.

Oh, one more thing, I suppose:  Milo is jealous of The Mormon.

Cortney told me when we were in Orlando that Milo, after having met The Mormon twice, declared that he doesn’t think he’s a very nice guy and he just doesn’t like him.

May I point out that, of the two times they had met, the first time they talked for about twenty minutes and were actually getting along quite well, and the second time, he saw The Mormon for about two minutes, one of which was spent kissing me.

So, with this knowledge, I finally remembered to tell Katie a couple weeks later–a couple weeks later, mind you–that Milo is jealous of The Mormon.

Katie said, “Oh, yeah, I spoke to him about two nights ago.”

“Did he mention it?” I said.

“Yeah, he said he met The Mormon and just wasn’t impressed by him.  He said, ‘I don’t see what’s so special about him.'”

That statement more than anything else gives it away.  And the fact that he’s still concerned about it two or three weeks later.

I think this is just about perfect.

Psychobrat and Spidermonkey are going to the prom tonight, so they aren’t in school today and will probably be coming in and out all day long.  Blah.

Oh, we have ice cream tomorrow at work.  Not looking forward to that one, but hopefully it’ll be rather slow.

I think that’s everything….

A Wake-Up Shout, a Clone, and a Mad Hitman

I went to bed early in order to get a good eight hours of sleep and get up by 9, but was unfortunately awoken two hours earlier at 7:15 by the sounds of my extremely homophobic father shouting at Brother about what going to jail really means.


I am not hearing this, I thought, attempting to go back to sleep, but this, unfortunately, was not possible until about two hours later, so I ended up sleeping until about 11 anyway.

I had two dreams last night–well, this morning, really.  In the first, Cortney went home to Illinois to visit family for a bit, then came back and told me there was this guy there I just had to meet.  So I took her word for it, and she and Nicole and I went up to Illinois for about a week.

While there, we took a trip to Sam’s Club, or something similar to it, where there was this guy working whom Cortney had met and spoken to for a while.  He looked and talked exactly like The Mormon, and even had the same name.  That was why Cortney had wanted me to see him.

When she introduced me to him, he said, “This’ll sound really strange, but you look exactly like my girlfriend.”  How weird is that?  So we followed him around, and I kept trying to hold hands with him and stuff, and finally I just thought, Why don’t I?  This guy is The Mormon.

Then we were writing all the stuff we were going to purchase up on this chalkboard, because their cash registers were broken or something, and I woke up (to Dad’s yelling) trying to rub chalk off of my hands.

The next dream was after I went back to sleep; I dreamed that Michelle, Adrianna, Turtle, Peck, and I were all hitmen for…somebody.  I don’t know who.  And Turtle was also crazy–he deliberately killed the wrong guy, laughing all the while.  For some reason, that whole Christian group that we had over the summer was in the cafe again, and Turtle killed one of them.  So then whoever we worked for sent me after Turtle, but Turtle knew this and kept trying to shoot me.  (This took place in the parking garage at UNF.)  And he kept laughing maniacally–it was really freaky!

When I saw Turtle tonight, I said, “I had this dream you were trying to shoot me and kept laughing creepily.”

He said, “Is that why you looked at me funny at first?”

“That’s why,” I said.

Something else of interest, completely unrelated to dreams–remember how I was griping about the old van in the previous entry? So this guy came to the door just today offering to break it down so he could have the parts. He even had the wrecker right there. My dad wants to get pictures of us all in front of it first, since we’ve had it since the year I was born (he gets weirdly sentimentally attached to objects), but after that we’re going to call the guy and get rid of it. Cool how that works out, huh?

And that’s pretty much it on news/stories for today.

A Stressful Day with a Pleasant Ending

Brother went to court this morning, but they told him to come back at a later date.  Until then, he’s under house arrest.  They’re going to be calling here randomly every day to make sure he’s actually here, which means we have to be psychotic about answering the phone immediately when it rings.

Good old Psychobrat expressed her wish that he receive the harshest punishment they can contrive.

Everyone (except Psychobrat), obviously, is under a lot of stress.  Therefore, I didn’t get pissed off when my dad told me to move my car today.

See, we have only so much room in our driveway.  There’s the old blue van which we will never drive and never sell; it exists now solely to take up space in our driveway.  There’s my mom’s van, my dad’s car, Psychobrat’s car, and mine.  For certain reasons, namely:  1) I don’t want to get blocked in by Psychobrat’s car and not be able to go to work; 2) I’m the last one to leave every day and don’t want to block anyone else in, and 3) there simply isn’t room…I park on the street.  This is against the rules of the neighborhood Association.  My dad said today that he didn’t want to get a ticket or have a car towed, so I’d better move it into the driveway.

When I came back inside, completely calmly and rationally (it was, too, because I wasn’t pissed off at all–that was all him), I asked him if maybe he could tell Psychobrat to park her car on the road, since she’s the first one to leave every morning, and that just makes sense.

He snapped sarcastically back, “Yeah, you can’t talk to your sister, can you?”  What he meant by this, spoken in the nasty, evil tone that he used, was that all of the problems between her and me going back almost two decades are a result of my incompetence, and that she, the evil one, is completely blameless.  I know this is what he meant by it, because this is what he always means.  For some reason, my father favors my evil brat sister.

But today, I chose to play dumb, like I didn’t know he was giving me all credit for the rift.  I said, “No, I can’t.”

He said, “Yeah.  That’s part of the problem, isn’t it.”

“Yeah, it is.”

He’s just like Psychobrat.  He can never allow anyone the last word, so it gets ridiculous sometimes.

“Yeah.  That’s always been part of the problem, hasnt it.”

“Yeah, it has.”

“Yeah.  That’s always been a big part of the problem, hasn’t it.”

It was time to clarify that I was playing dumb, that I thought he was putting the blame on her.  “Yeah–nobody can talk to her,” I said casually, stalking out of the room as he chuckled, “That isn’t true,” in the same nasty voice, as though I am the only one who can’t talk to Psychobrat.

I went into my room and cried silent tears for several minutes.  I’m under stress, too, and the last thing I needed was to be reminded that he likes her better than me and always has and probably always will.

When he finally went back to work, I emerged from my room, saw Brother sitting in the living room, and started bitching at him about how it just wasn’t fair, why should he favor Psychobrat, yada yada yada, and Brother, the one who should be under more stress than anyone, calmly told me that that isn’t true (it is; even Mom has confirmed that when I flat-out asked her; but how sweet of him to try and tell me otherwise) and that it wasn’t all that bad.  I love my brother to pieces, even when he’s been totally stupid.

Then I got the story out of him.  He wore the same jeans two days in a row, and the second day (yesterday) forgot that his pocket knife was still in them from the previous afternoon.  Not wanting to be caught at school with it, he took it out and hid it under the bus seat to be retrieved after school.  Unfortunately, a few kids saw this and snitched, which led to a search of his locker.  Another knife was found in his locker, because it was part of his Boy Scouts stuff, and all of that was together in a backpack in the locker.  The marijuana pipe does not belong to him, but because he was stupid enough to allow dozens of untrustworthy people access to his locker combination, he has no idea whose it is.

Then he told me that Psychobrat has decided to leave MarioKart at Spidermonkey’s until I apologize for calling her Psychobrat.  That’s a lot of bullshit, first of all, because she was planning to leave it there anyway.  And second, why would she tell him this, not me?

But it doesn’t matter, because I’ve decided to just buy my own.  Then she can’t get it.

We had steak night at work today.  Normally this doesn’t really bother me, but as I was already in a pissy mood today, it kind of stressed me out more.  Steak night always draws larger crowds.

While I was at work, however, The Mormon left roses, black licorice, and a card for me at my front door.  Then he came over for like two hours to be with me and just make sure I was feeling better.  He’s so completely fantastic.

Jail and Jealousy

Bad news today, I’m afraid.

My totally awesome little brother whom I love was arrested after a knife and a marijuana pipe were retrieved from his locker.  He’s going to court tomorrow at 10:00.  Fun stuff, eh?  I don’t like this phase that he’s in.

Here’s something else noteworthy:  Milo is jealous of The Mormon.  How freaking great is that?  I told Michelle, Adrianna, and Dennis today, and while the girls laughed, Dennis high-fived me and said, “Way to go, Ginny, finally; it’s only been, what, two years now?”

“Five,” I corrected him.

“Even better!”

I fully intend to confront him about it.  I’ve been waiting to do it since I found out, but he has been conveniently unavailable.

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.