11-12-00 Yuck. I feel barfy. Maybe it's the scent of coffee entrenched in my pores. (Truly a sick thing; I do not allude to the lovely aroma of coffee beans and a warm cuppa joe, I speak of the sick sour coffee-grind stench which is apparently a good deal stronger than it's fragrant counterpart.) Tips were, predictably, crappy today. No big deal. I met this really cool guy, apparently a friend of Mandoo, the guy who owns The Grind. Said his name was Wendelmoet. He was cool. Talked real fast, wore a black coat with big buttons, and a white long sleeve thermal shirt with red dragons on the arms. It was real coo...said his friend made it...altered mind, he said. We just shot the shit for a while, and then he sped off in his little car. There is also this twenty-something guy who just recently moved to Pinkley, and has taken a liking to my white chocolate mochas. He's always asking me what there is to freaking DO around here. I give him a wry grin and say, "not much." The best advice I could give him was to hie to BigCity, check out Dreamway, and click into a few of the stores for some rave flyers. It's either that or bowling. I never catch his name, so I call him "Boy-of-Recence." I wonder where he came from. He looks like a very young Santa Claus, minus about fifty pounds, strapped to a snowboard. Talks and smiles slow and deeply. My sister and I sang at church today. "Amazing Grace," of course. And it wasn't bad. I didn't discern anything notably horrible about it. Of course, I always get nervous when I sing in front of people, and kick myself later for not doing better. The house came down. Not really. In fact, we got some uproariously subdued clapping from the Deaf Old Lady Section, but they go buck with every performance. I could get up there and whistle "How Great Thou Art" while my sister accompanied me with her armpit, and we'd still get some decorous enthusiasm. I had to create an aphorism for my English Class. I came up with: Give your problems more attention than your fears. Sounds stupid. How about: Strength comes from tending to your problems rather than fixating upon your fears. I think I shall change "strength" to "peace-of-mind" and call it a day. "Piece-of-mind" is what I feel like. I love Three Doors Down. Elves are doing the rhumba in my innards. I'm going to go crawl under the house and die. Good night, world. |
11-11-00 Just returned from Moonhucks. I keep forgetting that we shouldn't live together. We haven't hung out in a really long time, and she was having allergy problems. If there ever was a world-wide mucus shortage, Moonhuck would be the first person I'd hit up. Damn. Yesterday we went to the mall and got makeovers. You must realize that this is a serious deviation for both of us. Pride, you know. I have to work today...twelve to seven. Yuck. Closing. Barf. I think the tips on Saturday are a shade lovelier than the Sunday ones. I died my hair a charming tone of auburn. I'm quite in love with it. It's not a drastic change, but it's pretty and autumn-y, so I'm pleased. My parents and sister should be back tonight. I wish I had more of a life so I could enjoy this prolonged absence, but alas, I am a loser and don't get mad stinking drunk every weekend. I suppose this is a good thing. The cat is tickling my ear. She's perched on the table next to the computer chair and sniffing and running around like no decent cat should. Of course, tables are off-limits for her, but since I'm alone, I am shamelessly encouraging this type of wicked behavior. No one shall be the wiser. Except the cat. Well, perhaps a more whimsical missive tonight. Bon dieu, I mean, bon jour, world.
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11-8-00 Well. It's off to Moonhuck's with me. I can't contain my enthusiasm. She sounds rather clipped. Hm. Well, I have two rolls of 50speed film, which means that it has a very nice grain, which means that image quality is remarkably better, particularly of the blown up kind. I'm charmed, and in love with it. Anyways. I should go pack an overnight bag, and meet my certain, doomed fate. Hope Moonhuck wants to run around and take pics tomorrow, because with a day off, that's damn well what I'm going to do. My poem was read at the assembly today. It was met with enthusiasm, which was very nice indeed. But, more later. Gravis, if you read this:
1) hi |
11-8-00 Ain't nothing happening at all. Tonight I went out for dinner with Lucretia. She is the coolest thing ever. I love hanging out with her. We always seem to find a common ground. We went to a Thai restaurant (since she is Thai) and it was SO GOOD. MAN. I feel FAT. FAT AND BELLIGERENT ENOUGH THAT I MUST USE CAPS LOCK. Nothing big happened today...yesterday my car died in the parking lot. It slept over night there, and today during school, my dad's friends' son came and towed it into his shop and replaced the "starter". Apparently a "starter" is relatively cheaper than a "carburetor", so that's a good thing. Now my car no longer coughs and hacks like a sassy old man. It purrs and groans like a cat with gas. A soothing sound, to be sure. I feel lazily whimsical. My family will be leaving to check out Pomona with my sister tomorrow. So that means I'm going to be home alone. Except I have to sleep over at Moonhuck's. Womp. I'm sure she'll be happy to have me. Hopefully I can shake her for some of the week. I love bein' all independent. Ah yes. Our Associated Student Body Execs have chosen ("resorted" is more like it) my poem to read at the veteren's day assembly. I have told them that this is okay, but they can't say my name or I beat them with a thorny branch. Diego's most-recent-ex-girlfriend will be doing the honors. I feel this is symbolic in some way. And I'm going to figure it out now. Actually, I'm going to go do some stuff. Some very important, secretive stuff... |
11-7-00 Life rooollls on. Boring as usual. Struggling to apply myself. Went and wrestled for the first time in a long time today. Gonna be a long season, hm? Yup. Gonna get my ass kicked. But then again, I never did it for a crusade. Besides, it's too old of an issue to be a crusade. I detest people as a whole more and more every day. I can't take it. I don't know why. The whole vapid social ladder, the insincerities, everyone saying this and meaning that...thank god I'm not in the dating circuit. That would increase problems exponentially. Moonhuck was not in school today. I am sensing a bit of distancing. She's busy enough with Angelface (and if that sounds double-handed, it is) to deeply ponder this change of pace. Novabean explained this to me. And while I'm convinced that it was mainly personal bullshit of hers, a couple remarks struck home. Socially inept was one of them, but I think that may have been some grudges dragged from the depths of the disturbing psychological experience/drunken haze that is Novabean's freshman year. I mean now, I look at the girls wandering down the hallways with their ghetto ass foofy coats and lipliner to boot, and the "preppy ass bitches" (ordained as such by said ghetto ass foofy coat girls) who are, I swear, the same person. And then there are the stragglers. Granted, there are one or two free-thinkers, but they are mainly silenced by their insecure and loud peers who believe that you must be outgoing and obnoxious enough to peel the paint off the walls. Of course, if someone doesn't fit the necessary protocol, they must be ostracized and often publicly humiliated. So I try to be mean to everyone, regardless of social standing or peer esteem. Not actually. Seriously. I try to give people a couple chances to (unknowingly) prove themselves as sensitive and openminded people. All I'm asking is tolerance. You'd think that children of the "openminded" era wouldn't be so damn apathetic and non-confrontational. And I don't mean confrontation as telling that "stuck up bitch just what is up." It's unfair to judge people. And unfair though it may be, it's pretty damn inevitable. I can't help but hate the clones. (Not very accepting of me.) But recognizing it is part of the solution. I just can't understand why people don't care about anything! It makes me really want to cry. I'm not saying go out, get involved, sell your soul to your cause, just please don't be a part of the problem! Now it's getting ridiculous. I'm going to go write a bitch paper.
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11-6-00 Absolutely freaking nothing going down tonight. Then again, it is Monday night. (I'm a staunch believer of the Monday Theory: Mondays, sucking horribly, signify the beginning of the week, as opposed to Sunday. If everything is going to start on Monday, they might as well start the damn week, too.) Speaking of staunchly believing. Gore. People, please. Do not let the wickedly bimbish Bush infiltrate the White House. Women, gays, lesbians, minorities, and cute cuddly Alaskan Wildlife: take notice. He is not your friend. Caoimhin front clearing. After my initial freakout, I realize that relationships flow smoother when you don't impose problems in them. I think I was so afraid of finding problems that I became one. But that is so terribly boring that I must tell you that he called himself a "sluffed weiner." This was a typo, and I'm not even going to bother taking time to explain it, but it was funny, and I'm going to ride on that one for a while. Sluffed weiner. George W. Bush is a sluffed weiner. I saw the best commercial. It had Dubya as an Elephant and Gore was a Donkey. They were prancing over this guys' head.
Elephant Bush : I wear the same pants as my dad. Thank god the agony will be over with tomorrow. And then we can all rest easy. Maybe under the thumb of a tyrant, but resting none the less. I can display my "Don't Blame Me, I Voted Nader" sticker proudly. Right next to my Ross Perot shirt. Can't wait till I'm damn well eighteen. I'm going to go and vote my little heart out. Probably won't do a damn thing, but that's how people end up not voting, and sluffed weiners like Dubya get into office. Well, it's off to my v-ball banquet with me. I'll be slogging through home-made casseroles and brownies, up to my elbows in artfully and culinarily creative salads. And return home with a letter, knock on wood, hm? Individuality is rather like innocence; there must be something unconscious about it. |