I've got that song by Staind "It's Been Awhile" stuck in my head, and I can't find it anywhere to listen to it (there's no video for it that I could find, or else I'd put it here) and I'm half considering downloading it as a ringtone so I can hear it. Is that sad? It might be sad.
The ringtone site I found, www.myxer.com, is kind of the most amazing thing ever. I don't know if I've mentioned it before, but that's where I've been getting all of my ringtones, since I can no longer make my own.
It's been a week or so since I've updated. I'm sure a lot of stuff has happened that I'm going to forget to write about but really? I'm OK with that.
Last night, I went to hear Sarah Palin speak in Asheville. Let me tell you. . .there are some CRAZY Republicans out there. I went to rallies for both Bill and Hillary Clinton, and I don't think either one was as crazy intense as the one yesterday. I got there at 3-ish and didn't leave until 9:30. On the plus side, I more than made up the hours I lost by leaving work early Friday (I was sick). I really enjoyed the rally, and I don't think that trying to describe it will do it justice. There was an insane energy in the room and everyone was just so. . .pumped.
The thing of it is, I have to write the article about the event. Since we're not a daily paper, it's not coming out until Wednesday. I think it would have been better had we gotten it out for today's paper, but I'm not the editor and it's not my call. But I'm. . .more stressed out about this article than I usually am about things I write, because, from what I understand, it's a Big Freaking Deal. I was told that the publisher asked about it, and then the general manager asked me about it this afternoon. . .and I know for a fact that Vi doesn't want it on there (staunch Democrat that she is) and. . .I don't know. I just feel like, considering politics is a major thing around these parts, I could, even if I write it from an entirely journalistic and professional viewpoint, get a lot of crap from it in the letters to the editor section. I'm not new to journalistic controversy (see: friends and family of gays support group article), but. . .I mean, this election is big news. Huge stuff. The Republicans have realized that North Carolina isn't necessarily the landslide state that it's been since, what? 1976? And I just feel like there's a lot riding on this article. Maybe I'm overreacting, but that's how I feel about it. And that's why I've got this huge mental block toward writing it. Most unfortunately, it's due bright and early tomorrow morning, so I've got to get to it.
After a discussion I had today, I think, really and truly, that "gorgeous" is one of my favorite adjectives, just because I don't hear it often. People are all the time saying things are "awesome" or "pretty" or even "beautiful," but you don't often hear someone call something (or someone) "gorgeous."
I think part of my affinity toward that word comes from my ex, who used to say I (or whatever I happened to be wearing at the time) was gorgeous, and I'd never been involved with anyone who used that particular word. (Of course, my two "serious" relationships were in high school where guys are basically incapable of coming up with anything better than "hot.")
So here's the real news, and I can talk about it now, since it's official. Carrie got a new job over at WCU, and she's going to be giving her notice at some point this week. Yay for her, because she's getting out of the hellish office in which we work.
How does this affect Sarah? I'm going to try to take over her old job. She's the editor for the weekly arts and entertainment supplement the paper puts out. It's like. . .not quite a magazine, but on the way there. Plus, I'd get an office, which would be awesome, as I could close the door.
I'm pretty psyched about it, but I'll talk about it more if it becomes official.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Monday, October 20, 2008
I just wanna break you down so badly, while I trip over everything you say. I just wanna break you down so badly, in the worst way.
Pet Peeve of the Day: When you tell someone you're afraid of something, and they either make fun of you or tell you you're dumb for being afraid of whatever it is.
Example 1: When I was in high school and into college, I was deathly afraid of birds. They still creep me out, but I'm not as actively afraid of them as I used to be. (And no, before you ask, it wasn't because I saw Hitchcock's "The Birds." I saw that my sophomore year and it actually wasn't nearly as frightening as I'd anticipated. They're just creepy.)
So my friends thought the fear was really, really funny, and they'd point out birds whenever they saw them, or make fun of me for being afraid of them. One friend who will remain nameless (you know who you are) would constantly, constantly berate me for the fear. He'd say, "What are they going to do?" and I'd say, "They could peck me to death," and he would roll his eyes and tell me how dumb I was being.
My whole thing here is that, just because YOU are not afraid of something doesn't mean it's not a legitimate fear for someone else. (The same friend, whenever I'd say anything about being afraid of the dark, would say, "You're not afraid of the dark. You're afraid of what's IN the dark." And I don't mind telling you that I resent him a little bit to this day for that, because by saying that, he's trivializing the very real fear of being in darkness that I have.)
Like, I have a friend that's afraid of clowns, which, to be fair, are kind of creepy. I, personally, am not afraid of clowns, but that doesn't mean I can't appreciate the fact that she is. I wouldn't take her to a circus, for example. That's just mean. I don't necessarily understand the fear, but I can appreciate that it's there. So to all of my friends who made fun of me during the bird stage, you're kind of jerks.
The reason for this small tangent is that there was a woman in here a few minutes ago, about an article for this after school program some high school football players visited.
What you have to understand, if you haven't figured this out already, is that high school football is like a religion around here. That much was evident from the attendance at the County Clash this year. These people live, breathe and eat football. Did you ever see Varsity Blues? It's exactly like that, complete with James van der Beek's really, really bad accent.
So, this team went to visit these kids, and I'm putting in an article about it. The woman was very, very, VERY insistent that this article and the article about their rival football team doing something similar were NOT in the same edition of the paper. I said, "Well, you know, I can't really guarantee that," meaning, if the person from the other school ever gets back to me about the names for the cutline, I'll run it. She looked me dead in the face and said, "Then you need to let me know who I need to talk to to ensure that. does. not. happen. I'll go to the top if I need to. These kids have worked too long and too hard to have their pictures printed next to [the other team's] pictures. That will. not. happen."
I was stunned. I had nothing to say (which is fairly rare for me) and I stuttered a lot. Carrie said she could hear my nervous laughter from her office.
Then the woman said, "Besides, we sent ours in FAR before [the other school] did."
I looked in my e-mail and said, "Well, actually, they sent it in the day before you guys did."
That, in retrospect, probably wasn't the smartest thing I've ever said. It was true, though! The other school HAD sent their thing in the day before. She gave me a very frightening look and, I swear to God, I thought she was going to hit me.
Eventually, she left, etc.
So I went into the newsroom and told Vi about the exchange, and I told her I was scared of the lady. Vi laughs at me, mockingly, and says. . .well, I can't remember her exact words, but the basic gist was that I was dumb for being afraid of the woman.
Where, exactly, does she get off telling me what I am and am not allowed to feel? I was genuinely afraid of this woman. I was afraid she was going to lash out and hit me (she really was getting that worked up) or that she'd go down and talk to the general manager and get me into some kind of trouble (his kids go to the same school the woman was representing, so I'd lose no matter what). Legitimate fears. But she's telling me I'm dumb.
I think not understanding someone's fears is one thing, but I think ridiculing people for them is something else entirely. I'm sorry I'm over-emotional and easily excitable. I actually, all things considered, usually hide that pretty well. This job makes me cry often, but in day to day life, I hold things in pretty well. So no, Vi, you don't get to tell me what I am and am not allowed to feel. Sorry.
Also, I had plans Friday and, when I mentioned that to her, she said, "Do you have a date?!"
Good God ALMIGHTY. If that woman asks me one more time whether I have a date or not, I'm going to BLOW A GASKET.
ALSO, and I don't mean for this to be a Vi bitch fest, but it just so happens it's one of those days. We had our "8:30" meeting this morning, since it's Monday. The "8:30" meeting is set to begin at 8:30, and everyone get ripped a new one if they're not here by 8:30, but they typically don't begin until some time between 9 and 9:30. The one time I got here exactly at 8:30, rather than earlier, was the one time they started a couple minutes early. Seriously.
So we're in this meeting and Vi was telling us that we don't have anything else to worry about in regards to staff cuts, because they're cut down the newsroom as much as they possibly can, and everyone else is fine.
Well, that I don't believe, incidentally, because the GM lies. But that's another story entirely.
Anyway, she starts going on and on about how we need to fix things up, we need to work together, and "now that we have a smaller paper and more time on our hands," and so on. She asked for any comments or ideas about how we might be able to work things better.
I spoke up and said that I'm not entirely sure where she's getting the notion that we have more spare time now, that actually, my personal workload and Carrie's workload both have increased since McHotpants was let go.
To give you an idea of what my Tuesdays look like, I'll give you my list of things I do. As the Religion Editor, it's my job to get the religion section out. I need to find things to put in it, format the things I get, write things if need be, layout the page, etc. I do everything. That's two pages.
Then it's on to the Lifestyles pages, where I do everything I do for the Religion section, except there's usually more writing and more e-mails to process. That's at least three pages.
Then there are the obits. I format those, put them in AP style, and lay them out. At least one page.
Then there's anything else Vi decides to throw my way. So, on any given Tuesday, that is at LEAST 6 pages I'm guaranteed.
And since, despite cutting back on pages, they're not going to get rid of Lifestyles, Obits, and Religion, my workload is, effectively, not changed at all.
Then she tried to argue with me that I was wrong.
I don't feel like recounting the entire discussion, but I found out later that Carrie was afraid I was going to snap my pen in half. The woman will NOT LISTEN. She doesn't need to be managing anyone.
I'm getting angry again, so I'm going to stop talking about it.
Here's a question for you. A rhetorical question, really, but a question nonetheless. Why is it that people (and by people, I mean me) get jealous when someone they're into talks to someone else? Whether it's because the person is into the person they're talking to or not, it doesn't really matter. It's that tight feeling in your stomach where you're like, "Me! Talk to me! Pay attention to me!" Even though you know it's dumb and whatever?
That was maybe the most unintelligent paragraph ever, but I think you know what I mean. Point being, jealousy is not a good color on anyone. And I hate that it matches so much of my wardrobe.
Example 1: When I was in high school and into college, I was deathly afraid of birds. They still creep me out, but I'm not as actively afraid of them as I used to be. (And no, before you ask, it wasn't because I saw Hitchcock's "The Birds." I saw that my sophomore year and it actually wasn't nearly as frightening as I'd anticipated. They're just creepy.)
So my friends thought the fear was really, really funny, and they'd point out birds whenever they saw them, or make fun of me for being afraid of them. One friend who will remain nameless (you know who you are) would constantly, constantly berate me for the fear. He'd say, "What are they going to do?" and I'd say, "They could peck me to death," and he would roll his eyes and tell me how dumb I was being.
My whole thing here is that, just because YOU are not afraid of something doesn't mean it's not a legitimate fear for someone else. (The same friend, whenever I'd say anything about being afraid of the dark, would say, "You're not afraid of the dark. You're afraid of what's IN the dark." And I don't mind telling you that I resent him a little bit to this day for that, because by saying that, he's trivializing the very real fear of being in darkness that I have.)
Like, I have a friend that's afraid of clowns, which, to be fair, are kind of creepy. I, personally, am not afraid of clowns, but that doesn't mean I can't appreciate the fact that she is. I wouldn't take her to a circus, for example. That's just mean. I don't necessarily understand the fear, but I can appreciate that it's there. So to all of my friends who made fun of me during the bird stage, you're kind of jerks.
The reason for this small tangent is that there was a woman in here a few minutes ago, about an article for this after school program some high school football players visited.
What you have to understand, if you haven't figured this out already, is that high school football is like a religion around here. That much was evident from the attendance at the County Clash this year. These people live, breathe and eat football. Did you ever see Varsity Blues? It's exactly like that, complete with James van der Beek's really, really bad accent.
So, this team went to visit these kids, and I'm putting in an article about it. The woman was very, very, VERY insistent that this article and the article about their rival football team doing something similar were NOT in the same edition of the paper. I said, "Well, you know, I can't really guarantee that," meaning, if the person from the other school ever gets back to me about the names for the cutline, I'll run it. She looked me dead in the face and said, "Then you need to let me know who I need to talk to to ensure that. does. not. happen. I'll go to the top if I need to. These kids have worked too long and too hard to have their pictures printed next to [the other team's] pictures. That will. not. happen."
I was stunned. I had nothing to say (which is fairly rare for me) and I stuttered a lot. Carrie said she could hear my nervous laughter from her office.
Then the woman said, "Besides, we sent ours in FAR before [the other school] did."
I looked in my e-mail and said, "Well, actually, they sent it in the day before you guys did."
That, in retrospect, probably wasn't the smartest thing I've ever said. It was true, though! The other school HAD sent their thing in the day before. She gave me a very frightening look and, I swear to God, I thought she was going to hit me.
Eventually, she left, etc.
So I went into the newsroom and told Vi about the exchange, and I told her I was scared of the lady. Vi laughs at me, mockingly, and says. . .well, I can't remember her exact words, but the basic gist was that I was dumb for being afraid of the woman.
Where, exactly, does she get off telling me what I am and am not allowed to feel? I was genuinely afraid of this woman. I was afraid she was going to lash out and hit me (she really was getting that worked up) or that she'd go down and talk to the general manager and get me into some kind of trouble (his kids go to the same school the woman was representing, so I'd lose no matter what). Legitimate fears. But she's telling me I'm dumb.
I think not understanding someone's fears is one thing, but I think ridiculing people for them is something else entirely. I'm sorry I'm over-emotional and easily excitable. I actually, all things considered, usually hide that pretty well. This job makes me cry often, but in day to day life, I hold things in pretty well. So no, Vi, you don't get to tell me what I am and am not allowed to feel. Sorry.
Also, I had plans Friday and, when I mentioned that to her, she said, "Do you have a date?!"
Good God ALMIGHTY. If that woman asks me one more time whether I have a date or not, I'm going to BLOW A GASKET.
ALSO, and I don't mean for this to be a Vi bitch fest, but it just so happens it's one of those days. We had our "8:30" meeting this morning, since it's Monday. The "8:30" meeting is set to begin at 8:30, and everyone get ripped a new one if they're not here by 8:30, but they typically don't begin until some time between 9 and 9:30. The one time I got here exactly at 8:30, rather than earlier, was the one time they started a couple minutes early. Seriously.
So we're in this meeting and Vi was telling us that we don't have anything else to worry about in regards to staff cuts, because they're cut down the newsroom as much as they possibly can, and everyone else is fine.
Well, that I don't believe, incidentally, because the GM lies. But that's another story entirely.
Anyway, she starts going on and on about how we need to fix things up, we need to work together, and "now that we have a smaller paper and more time on our hands," and so on. She asked for any comments or ideas about how we might be able to work things better.
I spoke up and said that I'm not entirely sure where she's getting the notion that we have more spare time now, that actually, my personal workload and Carrie's workload both have increased since McHotpants was let go.
To give you an idea of what my Tuesdays look like, I'll give you my list of things I do. As the Religion Editor, it's my job to get the religion section out. I need to find things to put in it, format the things I get, write things if need be, layout the page, etc. I do everything. That's two pages.
Then it's on to the Lifestyles pages, where I do everything I do for the Religion section, except there's usually more writing and more e-mails to process. That's at least three pages.
Then there are the obits. I format those, put them in AP style, and lay them out. At least one page.
Then there's anything else Vi decides to throw my way. So, on any given Tuesday, that is at LEAST 6 pages I'm guaranteed.
And since, despite cutting back on pages, they're not going to get rid of Lifestyles, Obits, and Religion, my workload is, effectively, not changed at all.
Then she tried to argue with me that I was wrong.
I don't feel like recounting the entire discussion, but I found out later that Carrie was afraid I was going to snap my pen in half. The woman will NOT LISTEN. She doesn't need to be managing anyone.
I'm getting angry again, so I'm going to stop talking about it.
Here's a question for you. A rhetorical question, really, but a question nonetheless. Why is it that people (and by people, I mean me) get jealous when someone they're into talks to someone else? Whether it's because the person is into the person they're talking to or not, it doesn't really matter. It's that tight feeling in your stomach where you're like, "Me! Talk to me! Pay attention to me!" Even though you know it's dumb and whatever?
That was maybe the most unintelligent paragraph ever, but I think you know what I mean. Point being, jealousy is not a good color on anyone. And I hate that it matches so much of my wardrobe.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
It's not over tonight. Just give me one more chance to make it right. I may not make it through the night; I won't go home without you.
I've had a highly lazy and. . .introspective Sunday. I won't even admit what time it was when I finally got out of bed. I was awake, but with my rigged up laptop, I didn't actually have to get UP except to eat.
When I finally dragged myself out of bed, I found myself in the same weird, weird mood that I've been in for the last couple of days. Something's off, and I'm not entirely certain what it is. I was just down. Way down.
And then I started thinking about the widow of the trooper that was killed, the baby that just died, and I started feeling guilty for being down. I don't have any real reason for it, you know? No one's died. This girl (who, as it turns out, is actually my age) has just lost just about everything. I haven't lost anything. Nothing real anyway. I don't have any right to feel sorry for myself, but I still do.
So today, I found myself going for a drive. Usually, I go to Asheville, but something was pulling me in the opposite direction today. I went west, and ended up in Bryson City.
I'm guessing that few people who read here know anything about Bryson City. It's a little town (I learned today that it was a town, by a sign that said "Welcome to the town of Bryson City." Wouldn't it make more sense for them to have named it Bryson Town? Or just Bryson? But I digress.) I think their main thing is the train station. The Great Smoky Mountain Railroad used to have two depots, one in Dillsboro and one in Bryson City. I worked in the Dillsboro depot last holiday season, but they shut that one down.
Anyway, I'd only been in Bryson City once before, and it was in the evening/at night, so I'd never really seen it. But I learned today that it's really, really cute. It's like the downtown of my town, but bigger.
I think, without really thinking about it, I was trying to go to a place that had nothing but good connotations for me. Everywhere around here, I can find something negative or unpleasant about, and Bryson City, since I've only been there the one time, had happy memories for me. I was there 8 or 9 months ago, back when everything seemed a little less sad and a lot less complicated.
I remember it was cold. Really, really cold. I think it was mid-March, early April when I was there, and it was the kind of cold that you feel like you're never going to get warm from. But it was ok. Because everything was kind of wonderful back then. Life was. . .good. And I was happy. Really happy. I don't ever remember that kind of happiness prior to or since that time.
But that's what I needed today. I needed to remember that happy time and I needed to look forward to a time when I'll be that happy again.
Wow, sorry to get all emo on y'all. I had a month or so like this back in June, and then again in August. I'm just kind of down. I'll be fine.
My county is under a freeze warning. I was trying to hold out bringing out the space heater until November, but I may not make that.
When I finally dragged myself out of bed, I found myself in the same weird, weird mood that I've been in for the last couple of days. Something's off, and I'm not entirely certain what it is. I was just down. Way down.
And then I started thinking about the widow of the trooper that was killed, the baby that just died, and I started feeling guilty for being down. I don't have any real reason for it, you know? No one's died. This girl (who, as it turns out, is actually my age) has just lost just about everything. I haven't lost anything. Nothing real anyway. I don't have any right to feel sorry for myself, but I still do.
So today, I found myself going for a drive. Usually, I go to Asheville, but something was pulling me in the opposite direction today. I went west, and ended up in Bryson City.
I'm guessing that few people who read here know anything about Bryson City. It's a little town (I learned today that it was a town, by a sign that said "Welcome to the town of Bryson City." Wouldn't it make more sense for them to have named it Bryson Town? Or just Bryson? But I digress.) I think their main thing is the train station. The Great Smoky Mountain Railroad used to have two depots, one in Dillsboro and one in Bryson City. I worked in the Dillsboro depot last holiday season, but they shut that one down.
Anyway, I'd only been in Bryson City once before, and it was in the evening/at night, so I'd never really seen it. But I learned today that it's really, really cute. It's like the downtown of my town, but bigger.
I think, without really thinking about it, I was trying to go to a place that had nothing but good connotations for me. Everywhere around here, I can find something negative or unpleasant about, and Bryson City, since I've only been there the one time, had happy memories for me. I was there 8 or 9 months ago, back when everything seemed a little less sad and a lot less complicated.
I remember it was cold. Really, really cold. I think it was mid-March, early April when I was there, and it was the kind of cold that you feel like you're never going to get warm from. But it was ok. Because everything was kind of wonderful back then. Life was. . .good. And I was happy. Really happy. I don't ever remember that kind of happiness prior to or since that time.
But that's what I needed today. I needed to remember that happy time and I needed to look forward to a time when I'll be that happy again.
Wow, sorry to get all emo on y'all. I had a month or so like this back in June, and then again in August. I'm just kind of down. I'll be fine.
My county is under a freeze warning. I was trying to hold out bringing out the space heater until November, but I may not make that.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
The room was silent, as we all tried so hard to remember the way it feels to be alive. (The day that he first met her.)
The wretched computer dilemma has been fixed. Somewhat.
I was talking about the fact that my PC is ghettoly screwed up the other day at work, and someone suggested I just hook up an Ethernet cable to the laptop. I just so happen to have an Ethernet cable from college that I kept for whatever reason, and it's ridiculously long. As such, it can reach both to my couch and to my bed. It's not as good as wireless Internet, but I still don't have to sit at my desk and/or have a screwed up computer. I'll see if my father can do something to the PC next time I'm in Raleigh, but until then, I can sit on my couch and use the computer!
I went to Asheville last night and stayed over with Carol. Her friend Monica was there, too, and we went out to this Italian place for dinner. Afterwards, we went back to Carol's and watched Halloween. Every time I watch that movie, I forget how scary it is. It has a lot to do with the music, I think.
Along that same vein, if you haven't seen Halloween III and you're a fan of really bad movies, I highly recommend it. Halloween II picks up right after Halloween, but Halloween III has nothing to do with anything. No Michael Myers, no Dr. Loomis. . .it's about these masks that have been. . .possessed or something to kill every kid who wears it after hearing this weird Halloween jingle. . .I don't know. All I know is that it's amazing, and when Halloween IV came out, it pretended neither II or III had happened.
Anyway, I'm thinking that I need to go to a doctor or something about this sleep issue. I didn't take anything to help me sleep last night, since I didn't know when I left work yesterday that I was going to be staying with Carol, and I probably got 3 hours of sleep. The rest was just me lying there, singing the little songs they taught us in Christian school in my head, trying to fall asleep.
Today, the three of us went to what I believe to be the best breakfast place ever. It's a place called the Over Easy Cafe. It was. . .healthy food. They had vegan and vegetarian options, and I think I read on the menu that it's all local and organic or something. Regardless, it was AMAZING. I had a Greek omelette (sans olives, obviously) made from, apparently, local eggs, spinach, feta cheese, tomatoes and onions. They also have really, really good coffee. I want to go back (probably next time Katie's here. I want to take her there because it sounds like the kind of place she would like.) and get the long-sleeved black T-shirt I saw on the wall this morning.
Then we walked all around, shopping-ish. We didn't really buy much (I got new tights) and then we went to this bar and had a beer.
I came back home and went to the Apple Festival which I'd been looking forward to for a year - a year ago, I was here, looking for an apartment before I started working, and I was here the day the festival was going on, but we didn't stop. I was. . .honestly? a little disappointed. I don't know why. It's possible I was just feeling lonely today. Because I was.
Oh, I went over to Aron and Amy's Thursday night (missing both The Office and Grey's Anatomy to be sociable. I don't regret it.) Emily from work and her fiance (Josh?) were there, too, and we played Scatagories. I like playing games with people who don't take the rules too seriously. Sometimes you play games with people who make sure that everything is by the book. With this crowd, we counted pretty much all answers (Example: The letter was A and the category was "Things that jump/bounce." I said "Aerosmith."
Anyway, it was cool.
So, I'm really into Maroon 5 these days. I've loved them since their first album came out, but I've been listening to them a lot here recently. Tonight, I finally bought their second album. I'd downloaded most of the songs on it, but I decided to go ahead and buy it. I'm glad I did, because not only did I get the album, but there were 3 or 4 bonus songs on it, and it came with a DVD. . .all for less than 10 bucks. I'm excited.
Only Maroon 5 could write a song about killing your significant other's lover and have it make you want to round up the person of your choosing and take them for an afternoon rendezvous.
Maroon 5 music has been the cause of several debates between Nick and myself. I find Maroon 5 music all incredibly. . .sexual, I guess. I refer to it as "baby makin' music." Nick thinks it's too fast. I say it doesn't matter.
Two of the other discussions we've had both involve the song Kiwi. Kiwi is one of my absolute favorite Maroon 5 songs, but it is, admittedly, pretty dirty if you listen to it.
Anyway, there's this part of the song. . .I guess it's the refrain? The bridge? I don't know. But it really bothers Nick because it doesn't rhyme. I say, it's the best part of the song. It goes, "I can't wait to take you home/Fingers through your hair/Kisses on your back/Scratch me with your nails." Et cetera and so on. Really? Does it matter that that doesn't rhyme?
The second discussion we've had about the song is the line that begins, "Lipstick smeared all over your face. . ." One day while we were listening to it, Nick says, "That does not sound sexy at all. It sounds sticky and messy."
I beg to differ.
But anyway. Point being, Maroon 5 is what I'm into right now.
Also, I bought Nyquil at Wal-Mart tonight, and I was carded. . .so they could make sure I was at least 18. I suppose when I'm 34, I'll wish for the time that people carded me.
And that's all I have for now. I'm in a really weird mood.
Friday, October 17, 2008
Don't let your life pass you by. Weep not for the memories.
I have some not-so-happy news that. . .well, it's not that I feel people that read this need to know, but that kind of ends a saga that began a few months ago, and I wanted to share it.
Remember the trooper that was killed back in June, by a guy he'd stopped because he had. . .I don't know, an unregistered trailer or something? The guy whose son had been born a ridiculous amount premature? Well, the baby died this morning, after having had several operations and being in the hospital since he was born and everything. I can't even imagine. I'm not sure how old the mother is, but I seem to recall that she's younger than me. She has lost both her husband of less than a year and her baby who was less than a year old in the span of 5 months. So, for those of you who are into the whole praying thing, that woman could probably stand it. And for everyone else, just take a second, and think about what you've got, you know? Because you just never know.
Remember the trooper that was killed back in June, by a guy he'd stopped because he had. . .I don't know, an unregistered trailer or something? The guy whose son had been born a ridiculous amount premature? Well, the baby died this morning, after having had several operations and being in the hospital since he was born and everything. I can't even imagine. I'm not sure how old the mother is, but I seem to recall that she's younger than me. She has lost both her husband of less than a year and her baby who was less than a year old in the span of 5 months. So, for those of you who are into the whole praying thing, that woman could probably stand it. And for everyone else, just take a second, and think about what you've got, you know? Because you just never know.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
I hope you know (I hope you know) that this has nothing to do with you. It's personal, myself and I, we've got some straightenin' out to do.
Free ringtones are, maybe, one of the best things to ever happen to the world. I changed the personalized ringtones for several of my contacts. The ones I downloaded were "Breath" by Breaking Benjamin, "I Kissed a Girl" by Katy Perry (yeah, yeah. I know.) and the theme to The Office. "Breath" was downloaded for one specific person, but the other two have several recipients. Now people just need to call me so I can hear them.
I only worked 2 1/2 hours today, because I was about at my 40-hour cap. After I got off of work, I went for a drive down the Parkway and took some fall pictures for publication. It was pretty nice, not being concerned with a whole lot, and just driving. I hate how much gas costs, but you know? Driving calms me. It gives me an opportunity to roll the windows down, blast whatever music I'm in the mood for, and not really think about a whole lot, except for trying to stay somewhat close to the speed limit. (One of my friends was in the car with me the other day and he said he loved my "Richard Petty style of driving." So there you go.) Some of the parkway pictures are on my facebook, if you're one of my friends. If not. . .well, sorry, I guess.
Tomorrow is Thursday, which means another production day. Which means another day of trying to please everyone and succeeding only about 75% of the time. I had it out with Vi today (well, no. "Had it out" sounds so harsh. I had a discussion with Vi today about people sending things and them not getting in. What kills me, really kills me, is that people will flat out LIE about me not getting back with them. They'll say, "Oh, I've called her 5 times and sent 10 e-mails, and she never got back with me." Lies. Then they'll go to the general manager because their WEDDING ANNOUNCEMENT wasn't printed on the exact day they wanted it printed. Well, I'm so very sorry that I wasn't able to follow YOUR timeline, because, obviously, YOU are the ONLY person in this county that matters. I don't have 12 other announcements that need to get in, so please, by all means, let me make you my number one priority. You and you alone, because I don't have anyone else breathing down my neck at the moment. May I get you a beverage? A pair of slippers? You are, after all, the only person who matters.
Psst. Want to hear a secret? No one, save your family, cares about your wedding. They'll see it in the paper, skim it to see if they know anyone involved, and then immediately forget about it. No one cares, you see. No. One. Cares.
But that's all I really need to say about that.
Also, apparently, despite Vi telling me over and over again that job security is not at all an issue for the people left, I found out today that our revenue is down $80,000. . .from last MONTH. Not last year. Last month. And I'm saying, if I don't find a new job, and SOON, it's entirely possible the entire damn thing will shut down, and I'll be out on my ass anyway. I might hate my job, but I enjoy getting a paycheck.
All that aside, I'll make the comment that it's always nice when someone notices you're not there, and lets you know they noticed. It's. . .nice. Especially when you don't always know what that particular person is thinking on any given day. That's all I'll say about that.
So I'm going to close out here, because I'm taking advantage of free coffee shop wireless, and it's truly freezing in here, especially considering I had an iced drink.
More whenever.
I only worked 2 1/2 hours today, because I was about at my 40-hour cap. After I got off of work, I went for a drive down the Parkway and took some fall pictures for publication. It was pretty nice, not being concerned with a whole lot, and just driving. I hate how much gas costs, but you know? Driving calms me. It gives me an opportunity to roll the windows down, blast whatever music I'm in the mood for, and not really think about a whole lot, except for trying to stay somewhat close to the speed limit. (One of my friends was in the car with me the other day and he said he loved my "Richard Petty style of driving." So there you go.) Some of the parkway pictures are on my facebook, if you're one of my friends. If not. . .well, sorry, I guess.
Tomorrow is Thursday, which means another production day. Which means another day of trying to please everyone and succeeding only about 75% of the time. I had it out with Vi today (well, no. "Had it out" sounds so harsh. I had a discussion with Vi today about people sending things and them not getting in. What kills me, really kills me, is that people will flat out LIE about me not getting back with them. They'll say, "Oh, I've called her 5 times and sent 10 e-mails, and she never got back with me." Lies. Then they'll go to the general manager because their WEDDING ANNOUNCEMENT wasn't printed on the exact day they wanted it printed. Well, I'm so very sorry that I wasn't able to follow YOUR timeline, because, obviously, YOU are the ONLY person in this county that matters. I don't have 12 other announcements that need to get in, so please, by all means, let me make you my number one priority. You and you alone, because I don't have anyone else breathing down my neck at the moment. May I get you a beverage? A pair of slippers? You are, after all, the only person who matters.
Psst. Want to hear a secret? No one, save your family, cares about your wedding. They'll see it in the paper, skim it to see if they know anyone involved, and then immediately forget about it. No one cares, you see. No. One. Cares.
But that's all I really need to say about that.
Also, apparently, despite Vi telling me over and over again that job security is not at all an issue for the people left, I found out today that our revenue is down $80,000. . .from last MONTH. Not last year. Last month. And I'm saying, if I don't find a new job, and SOON, it's entirely possible the entire damn thing will shut down, and I'll be out on my ass anyway. I might hate my job, but I enjoy getting a paycheck.
All that aside, I'll make the comment that it's always nice when someone notices you're not there, and lets you know they noticed. It's. . .nice. Especially when you don't always know what that particular person is thinking on any given day. That's all I'll say about that.
So I'm going to close out here, because I'm taking advantage of free coffee shop wireless, and it's truly freezing in here, especially considering I had an iced drink.
More whenever.
Don't want to be a fool for you. Just another player in your game for two. You may hate me, but it ain't no lie, baby, bye bye bye.
I'm having a boy band-y kind of day today. Those of you who've known me for any extended period of time know about my proclivity toward boy bands. I love them. I don't care that they're polished, streamlined, entirely too pretty, only quasi-talented groups that can dance, sort of sing, and that don't usually write their own songs, but I don't really care. They personify my middle and high school years.
If you ask almost any female who "came of age," so to speak, in the 90's, they will most likely be able to tell you why *NSync is better than the Backstreet Boys (or vice versa) and you might even find that odd person who liked 98 Degrees better than either one. I remember in the late 90's, there were so many boy bands, they were almost all interchangeable, except the aforementioned *NSync and Backstreet Boys. They were the kings of the boy bands.
Anyway, that music (or "music") brings me back to a time when everything was so much easier. And they, oddly enough, have a song for everything. Got a girl problem with a woman who has been treated badly by every man she's ever been with, so she just won't give you a chance, even though you know the two of you are meant to be together?
Did a recent breakup drive you to the brink of insanity?
Were you wondering what happened to Gary Coleman and what would happen if you put every cheesy Christmas theme, warm sweaters, and skanky girls together on a day when Santa had the flu? Did you ever wonder who would save the day if Santa had the flu? You know you were.
It doesn't get any better than this, people.
If you ask almost any female who "came of age," so to speak, in the 90's, they will most likely be able to tell you why *NSync is better than the Backstreet Boys (or vice versa) and you might even find that odd person who liked 98 Degrees better than either one. I remember in the late 90's, there were so many boy bands, they were almost all interchangeable, except the aforementioned *NSync and Backstreet Boys. They were the kings of the boy bands.
Anyway, that music (or "music") brings me back to a time when everything was so much easier. And they, oddly enough, have a song for everything. Got a girl problem with a woman who has been treated badly by every man she's ever been with, so she just won't give you a chance, even though you know the two of you are meant to be together?
Did a recent breakup drive you to the brink of insanity?
Were you wondering what happened to Gary Coleman and what would happen if you put every cheesy Christmas theme, warm sweaters, and skanky girls together on a day when Santa had the flu? Did you ever wonder who would save the day if Santa had the flu? You know you were.
It doesn't get any better than this, people.
Monday, October 13, 2008
I don't care for your fairy tale. You're so worried 'bout the maiden, but you know she's only waiting on the next best thing.
A photo entry, for those of you who are into that kind of thing. I took all of these this past weekend.
What is this feeling taking over? Thinking no one could open the door. Surprise! It's time to feel what's real.
Thanks to, again, the ghetto computer (I really do need to get that fixed), I’m writing this on my laptop and I’ll upload it tomorrow morning. So when I say “today,” that means Sunday, even though it’s going to say I wrote this on Monday. Not that that really matters, but I felt the need to explain that for some reason. Maybe to make sure the timeline is clear.
First and foremost, I want to say thank you to my fabulous, fabulous twin. We stared talking on AIM when I got to work a little after noon, and we were still talking when she noted the time at 8:15 (yes, I was still at work.) We weren’t talking the entire time, but I don’t know that there was a lot of downtime there. She’s basically awesome and we shared. We entertained each other, and it was awesome. So basically, she’s badass.
I swear I was going to go to church, or at least Sunday school, this morning, but I woke up after the rest of my whirlwind weekend, knowing that I was going to have to go into work, and I just couldn’t motivate myself. I haven’t even figured out entirely why I’m going to church, since I haven’t quite figured out what I believe yet. Maybe it’s for the community. But I was feeling like having kind of a chill day today, so I stayed in bed for quite a while and then went into work.
Ok, before I get into the work stuff, I have to make a comment. Reality TV has gotten so trash. Nothing but. I flipped on the TV to have some background noise while I was writing this and while I’m waiting for the sleep drugs to kick in, and there’s nothing on, so I settled on MTV. That was my first mistake. My second mistake was leaving it on once I realized that it was Paris Hilton’s My New BFF. She’s, apparently, looking for a new BFF, so she’s got all these fame whores living in this mansion while she chooses which one is going to be her new best friend. The challenge that’s on currently is for the group to “party like Paris.” She wants to see which one of these sad people can party the longest. The “Party Clock” is now on 10 hours. There’s this one contestant, Onch, who, as it turns out, is a dude. I had no idea. I thought it was a chick. And he got all mad when the guy he was dancing with at a club didn’t want to dance with him anymore when he realized he was grinding with a dude.
Onch started yelling about how the guy was homophobic and all this B.S. Um, really? If I were a straight dude, and I was dancing with what I thought was a girl, and it turned out it was another dude? You bet your ass I’d be like, “Bitch, please.” That’s not homophobia. That’s being tricked.
Anyway.
So I witnessed this evening what might be one of the scariest things I’ve ever experienced in my life, and it didn’t even directly affect me. I won’t name names about who was involved in this particular altercation, since it happened at work and. . .you know, I try to avoid stuff that can get me in trouble. Also, I never thought I'd be able to use my "fighters who fight" tag on blogger ever again, and this gives me a great opportunity.
So these two guys have been at odds for a few weeks now, although I’m not entirely certain as to why. There’s been this underlying tension that is, at times, really awkward.
So. . .I’ll just call him B, B is on the phone and is cursing and being really bitchy to someone. For some reason, I got the feeling it was the other guy (called A from here on out) and I expected A to call me, for whatever reason, after he and B got off the phone. Sure enough, about 10 seconds after B slams down his phone, my phone rings. It’s A, wondering if I knew why B was so pissed off. I had no idea, and A vented a little bit, which was cool, because I felt like B was being stupidly unreasonable.
The thing you have to understand about B is that, in general, he’s a good guy. As long as you do what he wants you to do. He has a short fuse. I’ve never made him angry or anything, though, because I know when to play the cute&innocent card. I play that card most times when I’m around him, and he never has a bad thing to say to or about me. As far as I know, I mean. It’s entirely possible he talks shit about me, but he hides it well.
Anyway, I hear that B is on the phone again, bitching about A. So I do what any good reporter would do and listen in. I’m admitting this now, because I really don’t feel that I’m in any danger of B coming across this. And if anyone that reads this would go and tell B what I’ve said, then they’ll get theirs eventually.
As it turns out, he’s on the phone with Vi. He’s bitching and complaining about A (none of what he was saying, incidentally, I felt had any merit. But that’s just me.) So after he got off the phone, I went and called A and told him why it was B was pissed at him. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: If people around this newspaper would just talk to and communicate with each other, I’d have very little to do.
So about an hour later, it’s approximately 8 p.m. I ask B to print out the pages he’s working on so I can edit them and then go home. He prints them, and I go back to the printer in the newsroom to retrieve them. The printer, as per usual, is giving me trouble, and the paper runs out. There are two sizes of paper: 8.5 x 11 and really long paper that we’re supposed to use to print out the proof pages. What had happened was that the long paper had run out and so the pages were printing on the short paper, which resulted in only 1/3 of the page or so had printed. So I started to go buzz Carrie (who was there) to ask her to ask B to reprint. Then I decided to go ahead and put more paper in the printer first, and then there was a paper jam, which caused a delay of a few seconds. Those seconds caused me to not hear what was going on down the hall.
When I finally did buzz Carrie, I said, “Hey, can you ask B to reprint?” She hesitated and said, “I guess I can buzz him and ask.” As it turns out, in the time I’d been in the newsroom, A had come back up and had shut the doors to B’s office.
As there was nothing I could really do until I got those pages, I went into Carrie’s office. I heard the beginning of the fight, and it started out with A saying something I couldn’t hear, because he was being, from what I could tell by his tone of voice, calm and rational.
But there was no questioning what B was saying, because he didn’t speak. He yelled. He wouldn’t let A get a word in edgewise. So in order to be heard, A had to yell, too. They were getting louder and louder, and I’m just standing in Carrie’s office, scared to move. We’re just kind of looking at each other, not knowing what to do. So finally, A leaves B’s office and starts walking down the stairs. I had my back to the door, so I didn’t see him leave, but I heard him, because they were still yelling at each other as A was walking down the stairs. Carrie and I, wearing, I’m sure, identical expressions, breathed a slight sigh of relief. I realized my heart was pounding and my hands were shaking. It was INTENSE. It was intense like nothing I’d ever experienced before in my life, and I almost drowned in the ocean once.
The relief, however, was short-lived, because A came back up the stairs saying, “No. I’m not finished yet.”
Both Carrie and I said, “Oh no.” I didn’t mean to say it out loud, and I’m pretty sure she didn’t either, but I think we pretty much said it in unison.
I will say this, though. When A came back up, it seemed he tried to bring the conversation back down to zero. He also closed the door, for which I was grateful.
But bringing it down to zero didn’t help, because B never even attempted to speak in a normal tone of voice. It wasn’t long before they were yelling again. Carrie kind of hid in the corner of her office, and I went back my desk, which is right outside of B’s office. Truth be told, the reason I went back out there was because I was really afraid that punches would be thrown. I fully expected B to up and knock A upside the head. I was afraid that it was going to come to a fight, and I wanted to be close enough to, if I heard something happen, get into the office and/or call downstairs, because Rodney was still there. Not that Rodney could do anything, because B is definitely bigger than Rodney, and I’m fairly sure A is, too, but I was just, as I do, thinking ahead, planning for every possibility.
I was terrified, though. Seriously, after everything was all over, I was shaking still. I was scared and that’s all there is to it.
A left and I went in and asked B for the pages again. He printed them and I, admittedly, did a half-assed job reading the pages, because I was freaked out and I wanted to get the hell out of there.
If Vi asks me about it, I’m going to tell her why I didn’t do a very good job. At first, I was going to mention something about it to her anyway, just letting her know that I was, in fact, terrified sitting at my own desk, but then I remembered that last time I was afraid of something at work and I was going to say something to someone (the general manager), I was chastised and called immature. I didn’t want that to happen again, so I won’t be saying anything about it, unless I’m asked. If I’m asked, I’m not going to lie. Because scary shouting matches are something that shouldn’t happen at work. I feel like if B had just kept his tongue and let A get a word in edgewise, they could have worked it out with probably half the number of uses of “fuck.” (There were several.)
So, in conclusion, tonight, I was more scared than I had been in a long time. Not because I thought that anything would happen to me, but I didn’t know what I would do if it came to violence. I had this whole plan in my head, but I know it wasn’t practical. I mean, trying to break up a fight between two guys, both who are bigger than you, one significantly so, wouldn’t have been a good idea.
Anyway, I’m going to catch some Seinfeld and then head to bed. There’s no staff meeting in the morning, so I don’t have to get up early. Whoo!
First and foremost, I want to say thank you to my fabulous, fabulous twin. We stared talking on AIM when I got to work a little after noon, and we were still talking when she noted the time at 8:15 (yes, I was still at work.) We weren’t talking the entire time, but I don’t know that there was a lot of downtime there. She’s basically awesome and we shared. We entertained each other, and it was awesome. So basically, she’s badass.
I swear I was going to go to church, or at least Sunday school, this morning, but I woke up after the rest of my whirlwind weekend, knowing that I was going to have to go into work, and I just couldn’t motivate myself. I haven’t even figured out entirely why I’m going to church, since I haven’t quite figured out what I believe yet. Maybe it’s for the community. But I was feeling like having kind of a chill day today, so I stayed in bed for quite a while and then went into work.
Ok, before I get into the work stuff, I have to make a comment. Reality TV has gotten so trash. Nothing but. I flipped on the TV to have some background noise while I was writing this and while I’m waiting for the sleep drugs to kick in, and there’s nothing on, so I settled on MTV. That was my first mistake. My second mistake was leaving it on once I realized that it was Paris Hilton’s My New BFF. She’s, apparently, looking for a new BFF, so she’s got all these fame whores living in this mansion while she chooses which one is going to be her new best friend. The challenge that’s on currently is for the group to “party like Paris.” She wants to see which one of these sad people can party the longest. The “Party Clock” is now on 10 hours. There’s this one contestant, Onch, who, as it turns out, is a dude. I had no idea. I thought it was a chick. And he got all mad when the guy he was dancing with at a club didn’t want to dance with him anymore when he realized he was grinding with a dude.
Onch started yelling about how the guy was homophobic and all this B.S. Um, really? If I were a straight dude, and I was dancing with what I thought was a girl, and it turned out it was another dude? You bet your ass I’d be like, “Bitch, please.” That’s not homophobia. That’s being tricked.
Anyway.
So I witnessed this evening what might be one of the scariest things I’ve ever experienced in my life, and it didn’t even directly affect me. I won’t name names about who was involved in this particular altercation, since it happened at work and. . .you know, I try to avoid stuff that can get me in trouble. Also, I never thought I'd be able to use my "fighters who fight" tag on blogger ever again, and this gives me a great opportunity.
So these two guys have been at odds for a few weeks now, although I’m not entirely certain as to why. There’s been this underlying tension that is, at times, really awkward.
So. . .I’ll just call him B, B is on the phone and is cursing and being really bitchy to someone. For some reason, I got the feeling it was the other guy (called A from here on out) and I expected A to call me, for whatever reason, after he and B got off the phone. Sure enough, about 10 seconds after B slams down his phone, my phone rings. It’s A, wondering if I knew why B was so pissed off. I had no idea, and A vented a little bit, which was cool, because I felt like B was being stupidly unreasonable.
The thing you have to understand about B is that, in general, he’s a good guy. As long as you do what he wants you to do. He has a short fuse. I’ve never made him angry or anything, though, because I know when to play the cute&innocent card. I play that card most times when I’m around him, and he never has a bad thing to say to or about me. As far as I know, I mean. It’s entirely possible he talks shit about me, but he hides it well.
Anyway, I hear that B is on the phone again, bitching about A. So I do what any good reporter would do and listen in. I’m admitting this now, because I really don’t feel that I’m in any danger of B coming across this. And if anyone that reads this would go and tell B what I’ve said, then they’ll get theirs eventually.
As it turns out, he’s on the phone with Vi. He’s bitching and complaining about A (none of what he was saying, incidentally, I felt had any merit. But that’s just me.) So after he got off the phone, I went and called A and told him why it was B was pissed at him. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: If people around this newspaper would just talk to and communicate with each other, I’d have very little to do.
So about an hour later, it’s approximately 8 p.m. I ask B to print out the pages he’s working on so I can edit them and then go home. He prints them, and I go back to the printer in the newsroom to retrieve them. The printer, as per usual, is giving me trouble, and the paper runs out. There are two sizes of paper: 8.5 x 11 and really long paper that we’re supposed to use to print out the proof pages. What had happened was that the long paper had run out and so the pages were printing on the short paper, which resulted in only 1/3 of the page or so had printed. So I started to go buzz Carrie (who was there) to ask her to ask B to reprint. Then I decided to go ahead and put more paper in the printer first, and then there was a paper jam, which caused a delay of a few seconds. Those seconds caused me to not hear what was going on down the hall.
When I finally did buzz Carrie, I said, “Hey, can you ask B to reprint?” She hesitated and said, “I guess I can buzz him and ask.” As it turns out, in the time I’d been in the newsroom, A had come back up and had shut the doors to B’s office.
As there was nothing I could really do until I got those pages, I went into Carrie’s office. I heard the beginning of the fight, and it started out with A saying something I couldn’t hear, because he was being, from what I could tell by his tone of voice, calm and rational.
But there was no questioning what B was saying, because he didn’t speak. He yelled. He wouldn’t let A get a word in edgewise. So in order to be heard, A had to yell, too. They were getting louder and louder, and I’m just standing in Carrie’s office, scared to move. We’re just kind of looking at each other, not knowing what to do. So finally, A leaves B’s office and starts walking down the stairs. I had my back to the door, so I didn’t see him leave, but I heard him, because they were still yelling at each other as A was walking down the stairs. Carrie and I, wearing, I’m sure, identical expressions, breathed a slight sigh of relief. I realized my heart was pounding and my hands were shaking. It was INTENSE. It was intense like nothing I’d ever experienced before in my life, and I almost drowned in the ocean once.
The relief, however, was short-lived, because A came back up the stairs saying, “No. I’m not finished yet.”
Both Carrie and I said, “Oh no.” I didn’t mean to say it out loud, and I’m pretty sure she didn’t either, but I think we pretty much said it in unison.
I will say this, though. When A came back up, it seemed he tried to bring the conversation back down to zero. He also closed the door, for which I was grateful.
But bringing it down to zero didn’t help, because B never even attempted to speak in a normal tone of voice. It wasn’t long before they were yelling again. Carrie kind of hid in the corner of her office, and I went back my desk, which is right outside of B’s office. Truth be told, the reason I went back out there was because I was really afraid that punches would be thrown. I fully expected B to up and knock A upside the head. I was afraid that it was going to come to a fight, and I wanted to be close enough to, if I heard something happen, get into the office and/or call downstairs, because Rodney was still there. Not that Rodney could do anything, because B is definitely bigger than Rodney, and I’m fairly sure A is, too, but I was just, as I do, thinking ahead, planning for every possibility.
I was terrified, though. Seriously, after everything was all over, I was shaking still. I was scared and that’s all there is to it.
A left and I went in and asked B for the pages again. He printed them and I, admittedly, did a half-assed job reading the pages, because I was freaked out and I wanted to get the hell out of there.
If Vi asks me about it, I’m going to tell her why I didn’t do a very good job. At first, I was going to mention something about it to her anyway, just letting her know that I was, in fact, terrified sitting at my own desk, but then I remembered that last time I was afraid of something at work and I was going to say something to someone (the general manager), I was chastised and called immature. I didn’t want that to happen again, so I won’t be saying anything about it, unless I’m asked. If I’m asked, I’m not going to lie. Because scary shouting matches are something that shouldn’t happen at work. I feel like if B had just kept his tongue and let A get a word in edgewise, they could have worked it out with probably half the number of uses of “fuck.” (There were several.)
So, in conclusion, tonight, I was more scared than I had been in a long time. Not because I thought that anything would happen to me, but I didn’t know what I would do if it came to violence. I had this whole plan in my head, but I know it wasn’t practical. I mean, trying to break up a fight between two guys, both who are bigger than you, one significantly so, wouldn’t have been a good idea.
Anyway, I’m going to catch some Seinfeld and then head to bed. There’s no staff meeting in the morning, so I don’t have to get up early. Whoo!
Saturday, October 11, 2008
. . .you know I will obey, so please don't make me beg. For blood, sex, and booze you give me.
Part 2. If you haven’t read part 1, you should, because things might not make sense otherwise.
I’d like to point out that it’s fine and dandy to have a good time when you’re out with your family, but if these people sitting across the restaurant don’t stop laughing like donkeys, I might be forced to hit all of them.
So this
morning. The trusty old alarm goes off at 6:45, but I was already awake, since I hadn’t taken the aforementioned sleeping pills. I stopped for Burger King coffee and then went to the fairgrounds. On the way, I saw this really horrific-looking accident. Turns out, this 17-year-old kid had fallen asleep at the wheel and had flipped over the guardrail. It really didn’t look like anyone could have possibly survived that accident, but he turned out OK, so that’s good. There were things scattered across the road, I’m assuming they were car parts, but at the time, I was just thinking, “Oh man. I hope those aren’t body parts.” Luckily, though, the kid was OK.
We did setup, I had a lot more coffee, and it started to drizzle.
Have I mentioned what the fundraiser was? I can’t remember. It was a motorcycle rally, which seems to be popular around here. So the fact that it was cold and drizzling and foggy had the potential to be a big problem.
It was touch and go there for a while, but eventually, we did have riders show up. I want to say there were 30 or so which, all things considered, wasn’t bad for the first time an event takes place.
(FYI: Parents who bring children into restaurants and allow them to run rampant, screaming, deserve to have bamboo shoved under their fingernails.)
So Dennis, playing event photographer, comes over and asks me if I have gas in my car. I say no and he suggests I get some, since I, apparently, will be driving him while he shoots the motorcycles. Cool, right?
I go get gas and when I come back, everyone’s getting ready to head out. Dennis tells me, oh, yeah, you’re going to be in the front of everyone, and I’m going to sit in the back of your car and shoot out the window.
Say what?
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I led the pack. It was kind of cool, actually. And I only had a couple moments of, “Sarah? Sarah, slow down.” It wasn’t too much of a stretch, though, because it was so foggy on the parkway, I had a slight fear of catapulting both myself and Dennis to our deaths over the side of a mountain, but it all worked out fine.
The ride lasted an hour-ish. We came back to the site, had barbecue and door prizes and an in-general good time was had by all. I stayed a while to help break down tables and stuff, and then headed out. I’ll need to find out the exact logistics of the event, such as how much was made, etc., so I can write a follow-up article, but I feel like it went well.
I met more cool people after the actual ride was over, and I talked to people I'd met the previous night. This one guy, I think it was Teri that said, "You remember Sarah, right? From last night?" And he said, "Yeah. You were wearing the pink tights." (There they are again!) That made me laugh a little.
After that, it was no rest for the wary, as I still had to shoot an event downtown for Carrie to use for her picture page. At least, I think that’s what that photographs were for. Anyway, I’m kicking myself a little bit right now, because the lens on the camera I had to use has trouble with its auto-focus, and I was shooting quickly, so I have a couple pictures that would have been really good, but they’re not entirely in focus. Sad.
I actually walked to the event, because parking is impossible when they have events downtown. Along the way, I took some “fall photos” for Carrie for next week (she said something about using one for the cover.) However, Dennis told me that next weekend on the parkway would be a good time to shoot fall stuff, so I may hold out for that. I got this one, though, and I thought it was pretty cool. Welcome to WNC in the fall:
I got back from that around 4 this afternoon and promptly fell asleep, waking up again at 7:30. And here I am. McHotpants said he was going to call me so we could hang out, but he hasn’t, and he does this all the time, saying he’ll call and not, so I’m not even going to bother. I don’t need to chase people down to hang out with me. This isn’t my junior year of high school where I had to ask 4 guys to prom before one finally said yes. I do have my pride.
It’s weird, though, how the last two days have been so jam-packed, I’m feeling. . .not let down right now, but like I don’t have anything important to do. I have to work tomorrow, and I’m contemplating church. I really should go, because I didn’t go last week and I was trying to make it a habit. I wish I knew what the sermon was going to be. The last one I attended, two weeks ago, was about being single, and it did nothing but depress me, seriously. Girl Scouts are going to meet tomorrow, but I don’t know that I’ll be finished at work in time. I could, in theory, go into work tonight and get more finished, but honestly? The longer I have away from that place, the better.
And now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for, I’m going to start answering the questions left by my awesome readers. Seriously, you all rock. Especially Nick, who gave me a variety.
I'm going to start with Ashley's:
I would like to know your thoughts on why Friends is so addicting.
She's referring to the show, just so you're aware that she isn't using the improper subject-verb a
greement. She's not asking why friends are addicting. She wants to know why Friends is addicting.
My thoughts on that are that, for one, most of the actors on that show are attractive. This because especially evident when Ashley and I played a Friends drinking game, and added our own twist to it, taking a drink every time we felt compelled to do any given character. I think, between the two of us, the only characters not done were Phoebe and Joey. Maybe she did Joey. I don't know.
Anyway, another reason is that I think, deep down, we all want our lives to be like that. I know that I, personally, don't have a group of five friends that I've known forever with whom I do everything. So It's an escapist-type thing. Not only do I not have five friends with whom I do everything, I don't have five friends that are as attractive as most of that particular group.
A third reason is that you don't really have to take the show too seriously. With a lot of the shows that are on now, you know, like the crime ones and whatnot, awful things happen to people. And while awful-ish things happen to characters on Friends (i.e., breakups, etc.), nothing like Law & Order: SVU happens. So it's a happy show.
Finally, that theme song is damn catchy. It always gets stuck in my head. It's not even that great of a song, but there you go.
I'll answer more questions in the coming entries.
I would like to, if anyone's at all curious, make a note that today, I was told by. . .someone important to me that they were fond of me. Normally, I don't get that told to me unless it's prompted, and it made me happy. Sometimes, I hate being so vague, and I hate not being able to go into detail about things, but, for one, you'd get really, really sick of hearing about it, especially if you know the circumstances behind it, and also, it's really just not a situation that I want to broadcast, you know? I'm sure you do.
Also, I don't know if people are aware of this, but I really, really hate when people I don't know use names like "baby" or "babe" in reference to me. It's like. . .dude, you don't know me. My first boyfriend used to call me baby because he knew I hated it, and my second boyfriend called me that, and I didn't mind it. Because he was allowed.
I learned recently that if you're called something along those lines, say, if someone calls you 'baby girl,' and it's someone of whom you are fond, it's cute. Even if they're not saying it in a "I want to make out with you" sort of way. Or maybe they are, I don't know. Regardless, the name was used in reference to me, and I liked it, even though I feel like I shouldn't have.
You know what else I like that I shouldn't? That stupid Katy Perry song, "I Kissed a Girl." Dear God, I hated that song so much when it first came out, first of all, because the song by the same name by Jill something came out in the 80's, and I felt like it was such a blatant ripoff. Another reason I didn't like it was because I feel like girls making out with girls, girls being "bisexual" is so overplayed these days, it's just irritating.
I've said this before, and I don't mean it to sound racist or whatever, but truly, whenever I hear the word "bisexual," I think of two Asian chicks making out with each other at a frat party with drunken football players cheering them on. I don't know why the girls are Asian in this picture in my head, but they always are. It's possible it's because I saw a lot of Asian "bisexuality" in college. Funny, they just liked the dudes when they were sober. I'm just sayin'.
So, when I was home last weekend, my sister was playing the song really loudly, and then she played it in the car on the way to the party, and it's so. catchy. I hate myself so hard for saying that, but it's true. Damn catchy stupid fake bisexual songs.
Anyway, here it is, if you really want to know:
If you watch it, you'll understand why I hate myself so much for this. But really? If it's not even a little stuck in your head, you're probably deaf.
Goodnight, everybody.
I’d like to point out that it’s fine and dandy to have a good time when you’re out with your family, but if these people sitting across the restaurant don’t stop laughing like donkeys, I might be forced to hit all of them.
So this
morning. The trusty old alarm goes off at 6:45, but I was already awake, since I hadn’t taken the aforementioned sleeping pills. I stopped for Burger King coffee and then went to the fairgrounds. On the way, I saw this really horrific-looking accident. Turns out, this 17-year-old kid had fallen asleep at the wheel and had flipped over the guardrail. It really didn’t look like anyone could have possibly survived that accident, but he turned out OK, so that’s good. There were things scattered across the road, I’m assuming they were car parts, but at the time, I was just thinking, “Oh man. I hope those aren’t body parts.” Luckily, though, the kid was OK.We did setup, I had a lot more coffee, and it started to drizzle.
Have I mentioned what the fundraiser was? I can’t remember. It was a motorcycle rally, which seems to be popular around here. So the fact that it was cold and drizzling and foggy had the potential to be a big problem.
It was touch and go there for a while, but eventually, we did have riders show up. I want to say there were 30 or so which, all things considered, wasn’t bad for the first time an event takes place.
(FYI: Parents who bring children into restaurants and allow them to run rampant, screaming, deserve to have bamboo shoved under their fingernails.)
So Dennis, playing event photographer, comes over and asks me if I have gas in my car. I say no and he suggests I get some, since I, apparently, will be driving him while he shoots the motorcycles. Cool, right?
I go get gas and when I come back, everyone’s getting ready to head out. Dennis tells me, oh, yeah, you’re going to be in the front of everyone, and I’m going to sit in the back of your car and shoot out the window.
Say what?
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I led the pack. It was kind of cool, actually. And I only had a couple moments of, “Sarah? Sarah, slow down.” It wasn’t too much of a stretch, though, because it was so foggy on the parkway, I had a slight fear of catapulting both myself and Dennis to our deaths over the side of a mountain, but it all worked out fine.
The ride lasted an hour-ish. We came back to the site, had barbecue and door prizes and an in-general good time was had by all. I stayed a while to help break down tables and stuff, and then headed out. I’ll need to find out the exact logistics of the event, such as how much was made, etc., so I can write a follow-up article, but I feel like it went well.
I met more cool people after the actual ride was over, and I talked to people I'd met the previous night. This one guy, I think it was Teri that said, "You remember Sarah, right? From last night?" And he said, "Yeah. You were wearing the pink tights." (There they are again!) That made me laugh a little.
After that, it was no rest for the wary, as I still had to shoot an event downtown for Carrie to use for her picture page. At least, I think that’s what that photographs were for. Anyway, I’m kicking myself a little bit right now, because the lens on the camera I had to use has trouble with its auto-focus, and I was shooting quickly, so I have a couple pictures that would have been really good, but they’re not entirely in focus. Sad.
I actually walked to the event, because parking is impossible when they have events downtown. Along the way, I took some “fall photos” for Carrie for next week (she said something about using one for the cover.) However, Dennis told me that next weekend on the parkway would be a good time to shoot fall stuff, so I may hold out for that. I got this one, though, and I thought it was pretty cool. Welcome to WNC in the fall:
I got back from that around 4 this afternoon and promptly fell asleep, waking up again at 7:30. And here I am. McHotpants said he was going to call me so we could hang out, but he hasn’t, and he does this all the time, saying he’ll call and not, so I’m not even going to bother. I don’t need to chase people down to hang out with me. This isn’t my junior year of high school where I had to ask 4 guys to prom before one finally said yes. I do have my pride.
It’s weird, though, how the last two days have been so jam-packed, I’m feeling. . .not let down right now, but like I don’t have anything important to do. I have to work tomorrow, and I’m contemplating church. I really should go, because I didn’t go last week and I was trying to make it a habit. I wish I knew what the sermon was going to be. The last one I attended, two weeks ago, was about being single, and it did nothing but depress me, seriously. Girl Scouts are going to meet tomorrow, but I don’t know that I’ll be finished at work in time. I could, in theory, go into work tonight and get more finished, but honestly? The longer I have away from that place, the better.
And now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for, I’m going to start answering the questions left by my awesome readers. Seriously, you all rock. Especially Nick, who gave me a variety.
I'm going to start with Ashley's:
I would like to know your thoughts on why Friends is so addicting.
She's referring to the show, just so you're aware that she isn't using the improper subject-verb a
greement. She's not asking why friends are addicting. She wants to know why Friends is addicting.My thoughts on that are that, for one, most of the actors on that show are attractive. This because especially evident when Ashley and I played a Friends drinking game, and added our own twist to it, taking a drink every time we felt compelled to do any given character. I think, between the two of us, the only characters not done were Phoebe and Joey. Maybe she did Joey. I don't know.
Anyway, another reason is that I think, deep down, we all want our lives to be like that. I know that I, personally, don't have a group of five friends that I've known forever with whom I do everything. So It's an escapist-type thing. Not only do I not have five friends with whom I do everything, I don't have five friends that are as attractive as most of that particular group.
A third reason is that you don't really have to take the show too seriously. With a lot of the shows that are on now, you know, like the crime ones and whatnot, awful things happen to people. And while awful-ish things happen to characters on Friends (i.e., breakups, etc.), nothing like Law & Order: SVU happens. So it's a happy show.
Finally, that theme song is damn catchy. It always gets stuck in my head. It's not even that great of a song, but there you go.
I'll answer more questions in the coming entries.
I would like to, if anyone's at all curious, make a note that today, I was told by. . .someone important to me that they were fond of me. Normally, I don't get that told to me unless it's prompted, and it made me happy. Sometimes, I hate being so vague, and I hate not being able to go into detail about things, but, for one, you'd get really, really sick of hearing about it, especially if you know the circumstances behind it, and also, it's really just not a situation that I want to broadcast, you know? I'm sure you do.
Also, I don't know if people are aware of this, but I really, really hate when people I don't know use names like "baby" or "babe" in reference to me. It's like. . .dude, you don't know me. My first boyfriend used to call me baby because he knew I hated it, and my second boyfriend called me that, and I didn't mind it. Because he was allowed.
I learned recently that if you're called something along those lines, say, if someone calls you 'baby girl,' and it's someone of whom you are fond, it's cute. Even if they're not saying it in a "I want to make out with you" sort of way. Or maybe they are, I don't know. Regardless, the name was used in reference to me, and I liked it, even though I feel like I shouldn't have.
You know what else I like that I shouldn't? That stupid Katy Perry song, "I Kissed a Girl." Dear God, I hated that song so much when it first came out, first of all, because the song by the same name by Jill something came out in the 80's, and I felt like it was such a blatant ripoff. Another reason I didn't like it was because I feel like girls making out with girls, girls being "bisexual" is so overplayed these days, it's just irritating.
I've said this before, and I don't mean it to sound racist or whatever, but truly, whenever I hear the word "bisexual," I think of two Asian chicks making out with each other at a frat party with drunken football players cheering them on. I don't know why the girls are Asian in this picture in my head, but they always are. It's possible it's because I saw a lot of Asian "bisexuality" in college. Funny, they just liked the dudes when they were sober. I'm just sayin'.
So, when I was home last weekend, my sister was playing the song really loudly, and then she played it in the car on the way to the party, and it's so. catchy. I hate myself so hard for saying that, but it's true. Damn catchy stupid fake bisexual songs.
Anyway, here it is, if you really want to know:
If you watch it, you'll understand why I hate myself so much for this. But really? If it's not even a little stuck in your head, you're probably deaf.
Goodnight, everybody.
I'm in distress. Oh, mistress, I confess. So do it one more time. (These handcuffs are too tight.) Well. . .
How awesome am I? So awesome, in fact, that I’m sitting in Zaxby’s writing this, because my computer at home is fucked.
That’s right, ladies and gentlemen. My computer isn’t “out of service,” “messed up,” or “a little screwed up.” It’s fucked.
Apparently, this particular Zaxby’s is the only place in the entirety of the county that doesn’t pick up wireless Internet, so I’m putting it in a word document and I’ll sit, sketchily, in the parking lot of something or other later and put it online. Maybe I’ll sit there a while, because I’d like to get online to talk to people. . .you’d be amazed how cut off I feel, not able to get online at home. (Note, much later: I found a hotel parking lot with wireless. Not sketchy at. all.)
So the last couple of days have been. . .”a whirlwind” feels like a really cliche phrase, but it’s the only one that seems quite right. I’ll start from the beginning — Friday.
Friday workday wasn’t particularly eventful in that I. . .don’t even really remember it. I mean, I’m sure I accomplished something, and I’m sure I went through the day with the usual sense of disconnect I feel at work, but other than that, it wasn’t anything special. Oh, except my outfit was kind of awesome. Black shirt, short khaki skirt, the black boots and bright pink tights. The tights are relevant later,
That reminds me. I’m not sure what Vi’s deal is at the moment, but she asks me. . .not daily, but at least two to three times a week about me going out on a date. Whenever I’m wearing anything relatively cute (which, if I may say so, is fairly often, in my opinion) she figures it’s because I have a date later. Maybe I just like to be cute. I hate almost every other aspect of that job, so why SHOULDN’T I look cute? I’ve mentioned picking out my outfit is a highlight of my day, so really? I don’t need a reason to look decent, I don’t think.
So the point of that is that I find myself in another one of those situations where I said something smart-assed, and she took it, grabbed on to it, and refuses to let go. I can’t remember if I talked about the guy that came into the office with the giant ego. Vi and I were talking about him after he left, and she said he was flirting with me. (Really, you can only take that with a grain of salt. I think she thinks everyone flirts with me.) And she said something like, well, what if he said he wanted to take you out to dinner? And I said something flippant like, “Well, I’d probably let him. I’m poor, man. All I have to eat in my fridge is eggs, apple juice and salad.” Which was only partially untrue at the time.
And now? She brings it up CONSTANTLY. “Well, you’re the one that said you’d let TheGuy take you out.” “You said you’d let TheGuy take you out, what about that?” On, and on and on and ON AND ON. My God. This is what I get for being a smart-ass. No, I would not go out with TheGuy. It was a joke. I was kidding. Please, please, PLEASE let it go.
So Friday, I was killing time after work because where I was going didn’t begin until 5:30. I was sitting in the newsroom, and NewJeff, Dennis, and Vi were still there. I said I was killing time, because I had somewhere to be at 5:30. For some reason, Vi takes this to mean I have a date. She asks me if I do, and I say, “Yeah. Hot date.” Because I’m SO TIRED of hearing about it. And she gets all excited, “You have a DATE?!” I hope she didn’t see me roll my eyes at her. But I said, “No, Vi. I do not have a date.”
Where I WAS going was to a little get-together prior to today’s Make-A-Wish event. They were just getting together people who’d had whatever to do with the event, and I was invited because I’d written that article. It was just a little finger food soiree and I was, honestly? A little apprehensive about it. I don’t do well in most social gatherings of that sort where I don’t know people that well. I was going to know people, but not well. The Make-A-Wish campaign coordinator, Dave, was going to be there, and the WNC regional director, Carolyn, was going to be there, and Rikki, the girl about whom I wrote the article, was going to be there, but other than that, I was going into this on my own. Another person from the paper was invited, but they weren’t able to make it due to prior commitments.
So I go, and it turns out to be AMAZING. Seriously? I have found people outside of work with whom I really connected. The Make-A-Wish people were amazing, and one woman in particular, Melanie, I talked to forever. We talked about all sorts of stuff, and I found myself actually telling her that I’m uncomfortable in settings like that, usually, because people often don’t take me seriously because of my age. She was just really, really cool. She told me throughout the conversation that she’d seen me across the porch, and she wanted to talk to me because she thought, “anyone who could rock pink tights had to be someone awesome.” (Told you the tights would come back. They’ll be back again, too.)
But I think I’ve found a new friend (outside of work!!) and I’m excited. I like my friends at work but, you know, you need some outside people, too.
I talked to Rikki for a while and really? It’s hard to believe she’s only 16. It’s kind of funny, because she’s got this elegance and poise about her that you don’t often see in people that age, but then she’ll say something that makes you go, “Wow. You’re so young.” She really is very cool, though.
I also found out that Carolyn wants to train me as a wish granter. Those are the people who actually meet with the kids that make the wishes and who make them happen. That? Kind of blew me away. I was expecting, you know, to help out with fundraisers or to do office stuff on the weekends, but no. For whatever reason, in the short time she’s known me, she’s decided that I’d be good at that. And I’m really excited about it. I’m excited about the entire thing, in case you haven’t noticed. I finally have something, as one of my friends put it, that’s “bigger than myself” with which to work. Because honestly? I can sit here and say, “Oh, poor me. I hate my job, I’m in debt up to my ears, and I can’t have the person I want the most,” but then you look at these kids having their wishes granted? And it’s a whole new ballgame. And I want to be a part of that.
Someone else I met last night was Teri, who works for Kawasaki, which was one of the sponsors of the event. She flew in from California for the event. Her mother lives here, so it wasn’t just randomly, “Oh, I’m going to go to WNC just for funsies,” but it was cool meeting her, too. She is the editor-in-chief of a motorcycle magazine and you know I’m always excited to meet people in the publishing industry. I mean, I liked her as a person, she was cool, but I knew I wanted to talk to her before I knew she was cool because she’s the EIC, and even though I know nothing about motorcycles, people in publishing are people in publishing. Believe me, y’all. I’ve got bigger things in my future than a hometown newspaper. I’m glad to be getting a start here, but I’ve got much, much bigger things coming my way one day. I really believe that.
After the get-together, I decided to go to a football game, since the stadium is literally a 5-minute walk from my house, and I flashed my press pass to get in. I love that. It was the home team’s homecoming, so, of course, they played a team they could beat. For whatever reason, I love football games. I texted Jason while I was there, since I haven’t talked to him since. . .well, I haven’t physically spoken to him since before I moved here, and that’ll be a year next month. The football game reminded me of him, since we did marching band together.
There was also this guy standing beside me who looked like every stereotypical hillbilly EVER and who kept spitting every 15 to 30 seconds. I’m assuming he was chewing tobacco. It was really hideous. So gross. If you’re going to have bad habits, which everyone does, at least you could have a bad habit that doesn’t involve saliva and spitting.
It turned out that my ex was there as well (I SWEAR, I’ll come up with a name for him one of these days. “My Ex” encompasses at least two other people, so I need something more characteristic.) Anyway, he gave me half a funnel cake, which was a welcome thing, since I hadn’t eaten, really eaten, since lunch. I’d had a little cup of wine and some cheese and crackers at the get-together, but I was really too keyed up to eat. And at the game, I was still really, really jazzed. I was so excited about everything. It was a wonderful feeling. Dennis was there shooting the game so I talked to him for a bit as well.
After I got home, approximately 10:30, I was too keyed up to even try to sleep, despite needing to get up at 6:45, so I went to Wal-Mart and called Ashley. I finally got to bed around 2. I’m still having really bad sleep problems, so I probably slept a total of 3 hours. The thing about the sleep issues is that I can function just fine on the little sleep I get for a couple of weeks, but then it all hits me at once, and I still can’t sleep, despite how exhausted I am. It’s frustrating that I continually have to take pills to help me sleep, but I’d rather that than being a bitch because I’m so tired and then, ultimately, crashing.
Since this entry is so long here (3 word document pages!), I’m going to cut the weekend in half, and I’ll get to today in the second entry.
That’s right, ladies and gentlemen. My computer isn’t “out of service,” “messed up,” or “a little screwed up.” It’s fucked.
Apparently, this particular Zaxby’s is the only place in the entirety of the county that doesn’t pick up wireless Internet, so I’m putting it in a word document and I’ll sit, sketchily, in the parking lot of something or other later and put it online. Maybe I’ll sit there a while, because I’d like to get online to talk to people. . .you’d be amazed how cut off I feel, not able to get online at home. (Note, much later: I found a hotel parking lot with wireless. Not sketchy at. all.)
So the last couple of days have been. . .”a whirlwind” feels like a really cliche phrase, but it’s the only one that seems quite right. I’ll start from the beginning — Friday.
Friday workday wasn’t particularly eventful in that I. . .don’t even really remember it. I mean, I’m sure I accomplished something, and I’m sure I went through the day with the usual sense of disconnect I feel at work, but other than that, it wasn’t anything special. Oh, except my outfit was kind of awesome. Black shirt, short khaki skirt, the black boots and bright pink tights. The tights are relevant later,
That reminds me. I’m not sure what Vi’s deal is at the moment, but she asks me. . .not daily, but at least two to three times a week about me going out on a date. Whenever I’m wearing anything relatively cute (which, if I may say so, is fairly often, in my opinion) she figures it’s because I have a date later. Maybe I just like to be cute. I hate almost every other aspect of that job, so why SHOULDN’T I look cute? I’ve mentioned picking out my outfit is a highlight of my day, so really? I don’t need a reason to look decent, I don’t think.
So the point of that is that I find myself in another one of those situations where I said something smart-assed, and she took it, grabbed on to it, and refuses to let go. I can’t remember if I talked about the guy that came into the office with the giant ego. Vi and I were talking about him after he left, and she said he was flirting with me. (Really, you can only take that with a grain of salt. I think she thinks everyone flirts with me.) And she said something like, well, what if he said he wanted to take you out to dinner? And I said something flippant like, “Well, I’d probably let him. I’m poor, man. All I have to eat in my fridge is eggs, apple juice and salad.” Which was only partially untrue at the time.
And now? She brings it up CONSTANTLY. “Well, you’re the one that said you’d let TheGuy take you out.” “You said you’d let TheGuy take you out, what about that?” On, and on and on and ON AND ON. My God. This is what I get for being a smart-ass. No, I would not go out with TheGuy. It was a joke. I was kidding. Please, please, PLEASE let it go.
So Friday, I was killing time after work because where I was going didn’t begin until 5:30. I was sitting in the newsroom, and NewJeff, Dennis, and Vi were still there. I said I was killing time, because I had somewhere to be at 5:30. For some reason, Vi takes this to mean I have a date. She asks me if I do, and I say, “Yeah. Hot date.” Because I’m SO TIRED of hearing about it. And she gets all excited, “You have a DATE?!” I hope she didn’t see me roll my eyes at her. But I said, “No, Vi. I do not have a date.”
Where I WAS going was to a little get-together prior to today’s Make-A-Wish event. They were just getting together people who’d had whatever to do with the event, and I was invited because I’d written that article. It was just a little finger food soiree and I was, honestly? A little apprehensive about it. I don’t do well in most social gatherings of that sort where I don’t know people that well. I was going to know people, but not well. The Make-A-Wish campaign coordinator, Dave, was going to be there, and the WNC regional director, Carolyn, was going to be there, and Rikki, the girl about whom I wrote the article, was going to be there, but other than that, I was going into this on my own. Another person from the paper was invited, but they weren’t able to make it due to prior commitments.
So I go, and it turns out to be AMAZING. Seriously? I have found people outside of work with whom I really connected. The Make-A-Wish people were amazing, and one woman in particular, Melanie, I talked to forever. We talked about all sorts of stuff, and I found myself actually telling her that I’m uncomfortable in settings like that, usually, because people often don’t take me seriously because of my age. She was just really, really cool. She told me throughout the conversation that she’d seen me across the porch, and she wanted to talk to me because she thought, “anyone who could rock pink tights had to be someone awesome.” (Told you the tights would come back. They’ll be back again, too.)
But I think I’ve found a new friend (outside of work!!) and I’m excited. I like my friends at work but, you know, you need some outside people, too.
I talked to Rikki for a while and really? It’s hard to believe she’s only 16. It’s kind of funny, because she’s got this elegance and poise about her that you don’t often see in people that age, but then she’ll say something that makes you go, “Wow. You’re so young.” She really is very cool, though.
I also found out that Carolyn wants to train me as a wish granter. Those are the people who actually meet with the kids that make the wishes and who make them happen. That? Kind of blew me away. I was expecting, you know, to help out with fundraisers or to do office stuff on the weekends, but no. For whatever reason, in the short time she’s known me, she’s decided that I’d be good at that. And I’m really excited about it. I’m excited about the entire thing, in case you haven’t noticed. I finally have something, as one of my friends put it, that’s “bigger than myself” with which to work. Because honestly? I can sit here and say, “Oh, poor me. I hate my job, I’m in debt up to my ears, and I can’t have the person I want the most,” but then you look at these kids having their wishes granted? And it’s a whole new ballgame. And I want to be a part of that.
Someone else I met last night was Teri, who works for Kawasaki, which was one of the sponsors of the event. She flew in from California for the event. Her mother lives here, so it wasn’t just randomly, “Oh, I’m going to go to WNC just for funsies,” but it was cool meeting her, too. She is the editor-in-chief of a motorcycle magazine and you know I’m always excited to meet people in the publishing industry. I mean, I liked her as a person, she was cool, but I knew I wanted to talk to her before I knew she was cool because she’s the EIC, and even though I know nothing about motorcycles, people in publishing are people in publishing. Believe me, y’all. I’ve got bigger things in my future than a hometown newspaper. I’m glad to be getting a start here, but I’ve got much, much bigger things coming my way one day. I really believe that.
After the get-together, I decided to go to a football game, since the stadium is literally a 5-minute walk from my house, and I flashed my press pass to get in. I love that. It was the home team’s homecoming, so, of course, they played a team they could beat. For whatever reason, I love football games. I texted Jason while I was there, since I haven’t talked to him since. . .well, I haven’t physically spoken to him since before I moved here, and that’ll be a year next month. The football game reminded me of him, since we did marching band together.
There was also this guy standing beside me who looked like every stereotypical hillbilly EVER and who kept spitting every 15 to 30 seconds. I’m assuming he was chewing tobacco. It was really hideous. So gross. If you’re going to have bad habits, which everyone does, at least you could have a bad habit that doesn’t involve saliva and spitting.
It turned out that my ex was there as well (I SWEAR, I’ll come up with a name for him one of these days. “My Ex” encompasses at least two other people, so I need something more characteristic.) Anyway, he gave me half a funnel cake, which was a welcome thing, since I hadn’t eaten, really eaten, since lunch. I’d had a little cup of wine and some cheese and crackers at the get-together, but I was really too keyed up to eat. And at the game, I was still really, really jazzed. I was so excited about everything. It was a wonderful feeling. Dennis was there shooting the game so I talked to him for a bit as well.
After I got home, approximately 10:30, I was too keyed up to even try to sleep, despite needing to get up at 6:45, so I went to Wal-Mart and called Ashley. I finally got to bed around 2. I’m still having really bad sleep problems, so I probably slept a total of 3 hours. The thing about the sleep issues is that I can function just fine on the little sleep I get for a couple of weeks, but then it all hits me at once, and I still can’t sleep, despite how exhausted I am. It’s frustrating that I continually have to take pills to help me sleep, but I’d rather that than being a bitch because I’m so tired and then, ultimately, crashing.
Since this entry is so long here (3 word document pages!), I’m going to cut the weekend in half, and I’ll get to today in the second entry.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
I can't wait to take you home, fingers through your hair, kisses on your back, scratch me with your nails.
So I've started writing on three or four different occasions, and I always get interrupted. I WILL finish this entry, damn it.
I also need to finish it because my computer at home has some kind of virus I need to get fixed, so it has the hardest time with any simple, medial computer task.
I'm back home, obviously, and I made a realization the other day, driving down one of Raleigh's busy roads. Raleigh can be compared, for me, to the love of your life that you lost for some reason. The one that got away, if you will. You know, a lot of people have that one person that they were madly, probably stupidly in love with, but that, for one reason or another, is no longer in their lives. But they still see that person occasionally, and every time they do, they remember exactly why they fell in love with them in the first place, and they're tempted with the what ifs. "What if we got back together?" "What if I/they just changed a little? We could make this work."
In my case, though, it's having that person that you see occasionally while you're actually happily in a relationship with someone else. I love my town. I love living in the mountains. But Raleigh is that sexy guy that you see every now and again and can't get out of your head for days afterward, even though you really are in love with who you're with at the moment. Raleigh is the person you find yourself thinking about while making out with the person you're with right then, who you really do love, but that doesn't have quite the excitement and passion of your previous relationship. I never got over Raleigh, you see. If I were to look back on living there, really look at it, I would remember why I wanted to get out of Raleigh in the first place. But I forget those things when I'm driving through the city, going more than the posted 35 that is present through most of the county I'm in now, with the windows down and a hundred other cars on the road. Raleigh is The One That Got Away, but with which I know I wouldn't be happy if we got back together.
No. Raleigh is that exciting, older married gentleman you met during your semester studying abroad in college that bought you things and took you out to expensive restaurants, but that you could never actually be with, because it wasn't practical. You still correspond occasionally and see him when he's on the odd business trip to the States, but you can't be together, because nothing about it would work out. He'd leave you eventually, for the next cute thing that came along. But you loved him.
Is it weird that I'm comparing a city to a relationship? It might be a little weird.
So, I have to say, yesterday was a high self-esteem day for me. I don't want to sound. . .braggy, I guess, but days like this are few and far between, so I figure I should document so one day, I can look back on it and say, "See? You were cute that day."
Despite the fact that I was coming back to a job I loathe after a fabulous four-day weekend in Raleigh, I thought, "I'm going to look cute today. I am determined to have my outfit match the mood I feel I should be in."
I don't know if you know this about me, but I love, love, LOVE clothes. I have entirely too many. Clothes and shoes. I know this is a very girl characteristic, but I'm ok with that. I like putting together outfits and, truly, the high point of many of my days is putting together an outfit that I love.
Yesterday's outfit was centered entirely around this pair of shoes I bought this weekend. I
actually bought several new (to me) things at various Goodwills and thrift stores in Raleigh and Greensboro (Have I ever mentioned how much I love Plato's Closet? J'adore Plato's Closet.) I bought three pairs of shoes from a Raleigh Goodwill, one of which was a pair of Sketchers (my favorite shoe brand) boots that I got for $6. I don't know how much any of you know about Sketchers, but, essentially, $6 would pay for. . .maybe 1/4 of one of their pairs of sandals. It's ridiculous. Anyway, it was the shoes to the right.
I'd originally found them at a Kohl's in Raleigh, but they only had a size 6 1/2. By that point, though, I was a woman on a mission. I had to have these shoes. Luckily for me, on the way back home, I passed through Greensboro, and there are two Kohls' in Greensboro, and I was prepared to go to both of them in search of these shoes. Luckily, I found them in the first one, and while I would have preferred a 9 to a 9 1/2, the 9 1/2s fit as long as I stuff the toes. And they look amazing. I haven't felt this good about a pair of shoes in some time. I put them on and it was like. . .I don't know. I felt awesome.
That's a lot of power to give to a pair of shoes, but that's how I felt.
When I first saw them, I thought to myself, "You know, you have a shirt that will match those PERFECTLY." A purple V-necked Wal-Mart T-shirt went with the shoes and the outfit was topped off by this cute black skirt I have. I don't even remember where I got it. I want to say one of my mom's friends was getting rid of a bunch of clothes, and that's how I inherited it. Regardless, it's one of my favorites.
So I was feeling good yesterday, and I got several compliments, telling me of the awesomeisity of the outfit. When Carrie and I were coming back from a food event we were covering (more on that later), Carrie said, "You know. . .I don't want this to sound weird but. . .You've got really great legs. Those shoes make them look really good." That was basically awesome. My Ex used to tell me daily that I looked good and he'd compliment me all the time, but then that stopped and, to be honest, I've missed it. A lot. I like when people notice me, and God knows it doesn't happen often, so yesterday was a really good day for me, in that respect.
So the food thing. It was this event, a fundraiser for Habitat for Humanity, and it was a competition, with all kinds of yummy (sampleable!) food. I, for the first time in my life, had caviar. And I have to say, I'm not sure what I was expecting, but that wasn't it. It wasn't good and it wasn't bad. It was just there. It didn't taste like anything. I don't really understand why people pay so much money to eat, you know, fish eggs that don't taste like anything. They don't even taste like fish. It was literally like eating little nodules of nothing. Very disappointing.
I took pictures while I was there, but I'm not altogether pleased with them. I need to, for one, get a better camera to use, and I also need to learn more about how light works within photographs. I'm a decent photographer, but if I were to learn the hows and whys of light and things like that, I could be 100 percent better, I think.
This cake, incidentally, looks delicious, but it wasn't very good. Not only did it have nuts and weirdness in it, it just didn't taste very good, in my opinion. It was pretty, though.
This guy at work is having a Halloween party that I'm considering attending. There are, however, two factors that I need to have figured out before saying I'll go. First of all, I need a costume of some sort. Nothing fancy, but I haven't dressed up for Halloween since. . .junior year of college? And I want something creative. Secondly, there's someone that could potentially be there that I need to find out if they're going to be there or not. You might say, "But Sarah, are you going to let one person ruin a potentially fun night for you?" Well, yes. Because if she and I are both there, it wouldn't be fun for me. Call me petty, call me immature (you wouldn't be the first) but being in the same room with this person makes me so supremely uncomfortable, it really wouldn't be any fun for me at all. Especially now, because she's being overly nice to me whenever she sees me, and I don't trust that. You don't go from threatening someone to being really nice to them without some kind of underlying motive. I just don't trust it and, therefore, I just go out of my way to not put myself in situations that will make me uncomfortable. Discomfort = not fun. I'll have to figure out a way to find out if they're going or not before I confirm or deny my attendance.
Oh, and for those keeping track, there are 22 more shopping days until my birthday. (Yes, I'm kidding. I said that to someone once, and they told me how greedy I was. It's a joke people. I do that occasionally.)
One of my friends had a job interview today, and I'm wishing them luck. Mainly because I could also benefit from the person receiving the job. That's all I'll say about it, but keep your fingers crossed for all involved, and I'll be sure to keep everyone updated. Because I know you're all dying to know.
Oh, and happy birthday to Steph! I think she reads this.
So that brings me to my final thought. I'm not entirely certain how many readers I have. As far as regular readers go, I know I have at least six. As far as occasional readers go, I have around four. So that's 10-ish. What I would like to do is to extend an invitation of sorts. Sometimes I don't update because I don't really have anything to say, so I'd like to ask y'all to give me things to say. About what would you like to know? I'd be happy to answer questions, give opinions, post pictures, whatever. I like knowing people read my little corner of the Internet, and if I am to ever reach my goal of Professional Blogger (wouldn't that be awesome?), I'd like to be interactive. So give it to me. (That's what she said.) If you're dying to see a picture of, say, what shoes I'm wearing today or if you have a question like, "Sarah, would you like to see me naked?" I'd like to hear it.
(Incidentally, I'd rather you didn't ask if I'd like to see you naked. Because for at least two people, the answer would be, "I already have," and that would just be awkward. To ease your minds, maybe a little, for one of those people, it's been at least. . .15 or 16 years since that occurred, and we're also related. Or maybe that just makes you really concerned. I'll stop.)
But yes. And if you don't want me to know you're reading, I'm pretty sure there's a way you can do that anonymously. Although why you wouldn't want me to know that, I'm not certain.
Ciao.
I also need to finish it because my computer at home has some kind of virus I need to get fixed, so it has the hardest time with any simple, medial computer task.
I'm back home, obviously, and I made a realization the other day, driving down one of Raleigh's busy roads. Raleigh can be compared, for me, to the love of your life that you lost for some reason. The one that got away, if you will. You know, a lot of people have that one person that they were madly, probably stupidly in love with, but that, for one reason or another, is no longer in their lives. But they still see that person occasionally, and every time they do, they remember exactly why they fell in love with them in the first place, and they're tempted with the what ifs. "What if we got back together?" "What if I/they just changed a little? We could make this work."
In my case, though, it's having that person that you see occasionally while you're actually happily in a relationship with someone else. I love my town. I love living in the mountains. But Raleigh is that sexy guy that you see every now and again and can't get out of your head for days afterward, even though you really are in love with who you're with at the moment. Raleigh is the person you find yourself thinking about while making out with the person you're with right then, who you really do love, but that doesn't have quite the excitement and passion of your previous relationship. I never got over Raleigh, you see. If I were to look back on living there, really look at it, I would remember why I wanted to get out of Raleigh in the first place. But I forget those things when I'm driving through the city, going more than the posted 35 that is present through most of the county I'm in now, with the windows down and a hundred other cars on the road. Raleigh is The One That Got Away, but with which I know I wouldn't be happy if we got back together.
No. Raleigh is that exciting, older married gentleman you met during your semester studying abroad in college that bought you things and took you out to expensive restaurants, but that you could never actually be with, because it wasn't practical. You still correspond occasionally and see him when he's on the odd business trip to the States, but you can't be together, because nothing about it would work out. He'd leave you eventually, for the next cute thing that came along. But you loved him.
Is it weird that I'm comparing a city to a relationship? It might be a little weird.
So, I have to say, yesterday was a high self-esteem day for me. I don't want to sound. . .braggy, I guess, but days like this are few and far between, so I figure I should document so one day, I can look back on it and say, "See? You were cute that day."
Despite the fact that I was coming back to a job I loathe after a fabulous four-day weekend in Raleigh, I thought, "I'm going to look cute today. I am determined to have my outfit match the mood I feel I should be in."
I don't know if you know this about me, but I love, love, LOVE clothes. I have entirely too many. Clothes and shoes. I know this is a very girl characteristic, but I'm ok with that. I like putting together outfits and, truly, the high point of many of my days is putting together an outfit that I love.
Yesterday's outfit was centered entirely around this pair of shoes I bought this weekend. I
actually bought several new (to me) things at various Goodwills and thrift stores in Raleigh and Greensboro (Have I ever mentioned how much I love Plato's Closet? J'adore Plato's Closet.) I bought three pairs of shoes from a Raleigh Goodwill, one of which was a pair of Sketchers (my favorite shoe brand) boots that I got for $6. I don't know how much any of you know about Sketchers, but, essentially, $6 would pay for. . .maybe 1/4 of one of their pairs of sandals. It's ridiculous. Anyway, it was the shoes to the right.I'd originally found them at a Kohl's in Raleigh, but they only had a size 6 1/2. By that point, though, I was a woman on a mission. I had to have these shoes. Luckily for me, on the way back home, I passed through Greensboro, and there are two Kohls' in Greensboro, and I was prepared to go to both of them in search of these shoes. Luckily, I found them in the first one, and while I would have preferred a 9 to a 9 1/2, the 9 1/2s fit as long as I stuff the toes. And they look amazing. I haven't felt this good about a pair of shoes in some time. I put them on and it was like. . .I don't know. I felt awesome.
That's a lot of power to give to a pair of shoes, but that's how I felt.
When I first saw them, I thought to myself, "You know, you have a shirt that will match those PERFECTLY." A purple V-necked Wal-Mart T-shirt went with the shoes and the outfit was topped off by this cute black skirt I have. I don't even remember where I got it. I want to say one of my mom's friends was getting rid of a bunch of clothes, and that's how I inherited it. Regardless, it's one of my favorites.
So I was feeling good yesterday, and I got several compliments, telling me of the awesomeisity of the outfit. When Carrie and I were coming back from a food event we were covering (more on that later), Carrie said, "You know. . .I don't want this to sound weird but. . .You've got really great legs. Those shoes make them look really good." That was basically awesome. My Ex used to tell me daily that I looked good and he'd compliment me all the time, but then that stopped and, to be honest, I've missed it. A lot. I like when people notice me, and God knows it doesn't happen often, so yesterday was a really good day for me, in that respect.
So the food thing. It was this event, a fundraiser for Habitat for Humanity, and it was a competition, with all kinds of yummy (sampleable!) food. I, for the first time in my life, had caviar. And I have to say, I'm not sure what I was expecting, but that wasn't it. It wasn't good and it wasn't bad. It was just there. It didn't taste like anything. I don't really understand why people pay so much money to eat, you know, fish eggs that don't taste like anything. They don't even taste like fish. It was literally like eating little nodules of nothing. Very disappointing.
I took pictures while I was there, but I'm not altogether pleased with them. I need to, for one, get a better camera to use, and I also need to learn more about how light works within photographs. I'm a decent photographer, but if I were to learn the hows and whys of light and things like that, I could be 100 percent better, I think.
This cake, incidentally, looks delicious, but it wasn't very good. Not only did it have nuts and weirdness in it, it just didn't taste very good, in my opinion. It was pretty, though.This guy at work is having a Halloween party that I'm considering attending. There are, however, two factors that I need to have figured out before saying I'll go. First of all, I need a costume of some sort. Nothing fancy, but I haven't dressed up for Halloween since. . .junior year of college? And I want something creative. Secondly, there's someone that could potentially be there that I need to find out if they're going to be there or not. You might say, "But Sarah, are you going to let one person ruin a potentially fun night for you?" Well, yes. Because if she and I are both there, it wouldn't be fun for me. Call me petty, call me immature (you wouldn't be the first) but being in the same room with this person makes me so supremely uncomfortable, it really wouldn't be any fun for me at all. Especially now, because she's being overly nice to me whenever she sees me, and I don't trust that. You don't go from threatening someone to being really nice to them without some kind of underlying motive. I just don't trust it and, therefore, I just go out of my way to not put myself in situations that will make me uncomfortable. Discomfort = not fun. I'll have to figure out a way to find out if they're going or not before I confirm or deny my attendance.
Oh, and for those keeping track, there are 22 more shopping days until my birthday. (Yes, I'm kidding. I said that to someone once, and they told me how greedy I was. It's a joke people. I do that occasionally.)
One of my friends had a job interview today, and I'm wishing them luck. Mainly because I could also benefit from the person receiving the job. That's all I'll say about it, but keep your fingers crossed for all involved, and I'll be sure to keep everyone updated. Because I know you're all dying to know.
Oh, and happy birthday to Steph! I think she reads this.
So that brings me to my final thought. I'm not entirely certain how many readers I have. As far as regular readers go, I know I have at least six. As far as occasional readers go, I have around four. So that's 10-ish. What I would like to do is to extend an invitation of sorts. Sometimes I don't update because I don't really have anything to say, so I'd like to ask y'all to give me things to say. About what would you like to know? I'd be happy to answer questions, give opinions, post pictures, whatever. I like knowing people read my little corner of the Internet, and if I am to ever reach my goal of Professional Blogger (wouldn't that be awesome?), I'd like to be interactive. So give it to me. (That's what she said.) If you're dying to see a picture of, say, what shoes I'm wearing today or if you have a question like, "Sarah, would you like to see me naked?" I'd like to hear it.
(Incidentally, I'd rather you didn't ask if I'd like to see you naked. Because for at least two people, the answer would be, "I already have," and that would just be awkward. To ease your minds, maybe a little, for one of those people, it's been at least. . .15 or 16 years since that occurred, and we're also related. Or maybe that just makes you really concerned. I'll stop.)
But yes. And if you don't want me to know you're reading, I'm pretty sure there's a way you can do that anonymously. Although why you wouldn't want me to know that, I'm not certain.
Ciao.
Saturday, October 4, 2008
So go on and sleep darlin'. (Why don't you pretend we were just a dream?) It's cool, baby. It doesn't matter anyway.
I've decided that being a sensitive person isn't fun at all. When I was younger, I used to cry at everything. EVERYthing. Someone would look at me funny, and I'd feel the tears well up. I don't know why this is, exactly, and I'm certain a psychiatrist would have a field day with me, what with that added to all the other issues I already have.
I've mentioned that recently, I've been feeling everything a lot more strongly than I used to. I feel like I'm reverting back to my childhood of everything making me cry. I don't actually cry, because I've become pretty good at holding it in when I feel it coming on (did you know that if you pinch the skin between your thumb and pointer finger when you feel yourself about to cry, it'll stop it? It's true.) But what happens instead is that I get this awful sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, and it just doesn't go away. That's where the O part of my OCD comes into play. Most people think that having OCD just means that you have to have a certain number of things together or that you have to lock a door fourteen times or else you'll think something bad is going to happen or something like that. While that can be the case sometimes with some people, another aspect of it that gets overshadowed by the "compulsive" part of it is the obsessive part of it.
What happens is, I start thinking about something, and I can't stop thinking about it. I try, but I can't. I think about nothing else but that one thing and I just can't get it out of my head. People say, "Sarah, just stop obsessing over it," and I want to punch them in the face and say, "I CAN'T. Do you think I LIKE obsessing over things? I don't, but I can't stop it.
So the fact that I decorated Dennis' desk before I left and then his wife came in with even more balloons to an already ballooned desk Friday? That bothers me. I can't stop thinking about how much that bothers me. I wasn't trying to take anything away from whatever she was doing. I didn't even know balloons were going to be involved. I just always do the balloon thing for people's birthdays. And now I'm wishing I hadn't done the balloons, but if I hadn't, that would have been weird, and then I would have felt badly about NOT doing it, and THAT would have plagued my thoughts. I KNOW how dumb it is and I KNOW that it has nothing to do with any other aspect of my life, but I can't stop thinking about it. I think there's a wire crossed in my brain or something.
This diatribe has a purpose.
The reason I'm in Raleigh this weekend that I couldn't say before, just in case, is because my mom threw my Sdad a surprise 60th birthday party. The Sdad's birthday isn't actually until December, but that's what made it such a surprise.
My mother has literally been planning this party for more than a year. I believe the count was 13 months. She had more than 100 people say they were coming, she had enough food to feed an army, and she had this place rented from 6 to 11. People came from as far away as Maine. My sister had helped make mix CDs. All the makings of a basically awesome party.
As far as I'm concerned, it was a success. However, almost all the people left in mass exodus fashion by about 8:30. And there was all this food left over.
I'm not making a lot of sense, I don't think, but the basic gist is, I think my mom is really disappointed by how it turned out, and that is absolutely killing me, because I know how hard she worked on this party. I've felt pretty much on the verge of tears since most of the people left. I'm not sure actually why I haven't cried yet. I just feel really, really badly, even though a lot of people came.
I told her it was a good party and she said, "Yeah, until about 8:30." And
I can't talk about this anymore.
I had fun, but I know she was disappointed.
Oh, and I don't know if my brother has ever read this, I'm fairly certain he never has and never will, but Johnny, if you're reading this? You are a fucking ass. You left even before the exodus, having drunk how many beers? 10? 12? I don't care if you are a fucking Marine. You just wanted to go with your stupid, stupid friend and your skanky whore of a cousin to. . .wherever the fuck it is you went. You were late getting there, you didn't help at ALL with cleanup or anything. I'm pretty disgusted with you. And I don't care who knows it.
I miss Raleigh so much. I don't want to go home. It's going to kill me a little leaving on Monday.
I'm more unhappy right now than I realized I was. Sorry, y'all. I know I'm a downer. I tried to keep it upbeat, but maybe I should just stop blogging for a while, until I can get back to not talking about how unhappy I am all the time.
Sorry.
I've mentioned that recently, I've been feeling everything a lot more strongly than I used to. I feel like I'm reverting back to my childhood of everything making me cry. I don't actually cry, because I've become pretty good at holding it in when I feel it coming on (did you know that if you pinch the skin between your thumb and pointer finger when you feel yourself about to cry, it'll stop it? It's true.) But what happens instead is that I get this awful sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, and it just doesn't go away. That's where the O part of my OCD comes into play. Most people think that having OCD just means that you have to have a certain number of things together or that you have to lock a door fourteen times or else you'll think something bad is going to happen or something like that. While that can be the case sometimes with some people, another aspect of it that gets overshadowed by the "compulsive" part of it is the obsessive part of it.
What happens is, I start thinking about something, and I can't stop thinking about it. I try, but I can't. I think about nothing else but that one thing and I just can't get it out of my head. People say, "Sarah, just stop obsessing over it," and I want to punch them in the face and say, "I CAN'T. Do you think I LIKE obsessing over things? I don't, but I can't stop it.
So the fact that I decorated Dennis' desk before I left and then his wife came in with even more balloons to an already ballooned desk Friday? That bothers me. I can't stop thinking about how much that bothers me. I wasn't trying to take anything away from whatever she was doing. I didn't even know balloons were going to be involved. I just always do the balloon thing for people's birthdays. And now I'm wishing I hadn't done the balloons, but if I hadn't, that would have been weird, and then I would have felt badly about NOT doing it, and THAT would have plagued my thoughts. I KNOW how dumb it is and I KNOW that it has nothing to do with any other aspect of my life, but I can't stop thinking about it. I think there's a wire crossed in my brain or something.
This diatribe has a purpose.
The reason I'm in Raleigh this weekend that I couldn't say before, just in case, is because my mom threw my Sdad a surprise 60th birthday party. The Sdad's birthday isn't actually until December, but that's what made it such a surprise.
My mother has literally been planning this party for more than a year. I believe the count was 13 months. She had more than 100 people say they were coming, she had enough food to feed an army, and she had this place rented from 6 to 11. People came from as far away as Maine. My sister had helped make mix CDs. All the makings of a basically awesome party.
As far as I'm concerned, it was a success. However, almost all the people left in mass exodus fashion by about 8:30. And there was all this food left over.
I'm not making a lot of sense, I don't think, but the basic gist is, I think my mom is really disappointed by how it turned out, and that is absolutely killing me, because I know how hard she worked on this party. I've felt pretty much on the verge of tears since most of the people left. I'm not sure actually why I haven't cried yet. I just feel really, really badly, even though a lot of people came.
I told her it was a good party and she said, "Yeah, until about 8:30." And
I can't talk about this anymore.
I had fun, but I know she was disappointed.
Oh, and I don't know if my brother has ever read this, I'm fairly certain he never has and never will, but Johnny, if you're reading this? You are a fucking ass. You left even before the exodus, having drunk how many beers? 10? 12? I don't care if you are a fucking Marine. You just wanted to go with your stupid, stupid friend and your skanky whore of a cousin to. . .wherever the fuck it is you went. You were late getting there, you didn't help at ALL with cleanup or anything. I'm pretty disgusted with you. And I don't care who knows it.
I miss Raleigh so much. I don't want to go home. It's going to kill me a little leaving on Monday.
I'm more unhappy right now than I realized I was. Sorry, y'all. I know I'm a downer. I tried to keep it upbeat, but maybe I should just stop blogging for a while, until I can get back to not talking about how unhappy I am all the time.
Sorry.
Friday, October 3, 2008
Why does it always rain on me? Even when the sun is shining, I can't avoid the lightning.
Raleigh! Oh my God, how I've missed this place. I finally left home at like 11:30 after running a few errands which included but were not limited to depositing a check, paying my electric bill and going to the library.
At the library, I picked up some books on tape, because I've found that the time passes so much more quickly on the road when I'm listening to books on tape, rather than
listening to music. I don't know. There are days when I just want to drive around, blasting music and singing along, and then there are long, long, 4 1/2 hour trips that just warrant a book on tape. I got through John Grisham's "The Firm" and started on a book by that guy who did that documentary called "Supersize me." "The Firm" was ok. Nothing to write home about, but not a waste of three hours, either. I ended that one just as I got to Greensboro, and I put in the other one after I left the used bookstore at which I stopped in Greensboro, where I bought a Sweet Valley High book (for 50 cents!!), a book by an author that I like, and season 1 of 30 Rock on DVD because I love (LOVE!!) Tina Fey.
So, I finished this book that I started a few months ago and finally picked up again.
"We Need To Talk About Kevin" is a book that Nick had highly recommended and that I had bought. . .I want to say over the summer. Maybe in July? Yeah, because it was last time I was in the Piedmont. I started it and didn't like it at all. It was slow and draggy and fairly boring. However, I picked it up again last week and couldn't put it down. It really picked up after a while and I got completely sucked into it. I spent the better part of quite a few evenings this week reading it, and when I finally got to the end, I was disappointed it was over. It was one of those books that. . .it kind of feels like it grabs you by the soul. You feel it. I felt every emotion that the woman narrating was feeling, and I was emotionally exhausted by the time the book ended. There was one moment (I won't say what happened, in case anyone wants to read it), but I actually said, "Oh no!" and then I re-read the passage, hoping that I'd read it wrong the first time.
I would highly recommend it. Nick, I take back saying it was really boring. It gets so much better.
I've been reading a lot of things recently that I've felt. I read the autobiography of one of the women that was one of the founding members of the Make-A-Wish foundation. I cried while reading that book. I didn't like the woman's writing so much, but when she was talking about her son that died of cancer? It was so, so sad. And it made me more anxious to work for them as a volunteer. The regional director of the WNC Make-A-Wish branch is going to bring me papers so I can sign up next weekend. Next weekend is the motorcycle rally for Make-A-Wish, and the night before, there's going to be a meet and greet for people involved, where they'll meet Rikki, because she's the ride ambassador, and Carolyn (the director) invited me to come. Not as a reporter, but just to go. I'll be reporting on the rally that Saturday, and I'm pretty excited about it. I'm jumping into this Make-A-Wish stuff headfirst, because while I knew what Make-A-Wish was, I'd never met anyone involved with them or who had benefited from them, but now that I have, I realize that it's a really, really great organization.
The new guy at work, NewJeff, is, as it turns out, a welcome addition to the office. He's very cool, and his kid is an absolute doll. She's the same age as Dennis' kid, and it seems very, very odd that I've found two four-year-old kids that I don't disdain. Vera (NewJeff's kid) is ridiculously polite and she's just adorable.
I feel like I might not hate kids as much as I used to. Maybe it's just that I've run into a couple that aren't tragic and are relatively well-behaved, so I'm forgetting why exactly it is I don't like kids.
I think I'm going to end up that person that, one day, someone's going to say, "I love you," and I'm going to say, "Thank you." I find that when someone says something complimentary to me that normally would illicit some kind of response, I end up saying "thank you." And that, one of these days, is going to end up awkward.
I meant to take pictures of Dennis' desk to put them up here. I have a little ritual of putting balloons and streamers in people's desks and offices for their birthdays, and his
birthday is Sunday, so I did the balloon thing Thursday before I left. It was pretty cool, because, thanks to my OCD, it was very symmetrical. Vi's birthday is next, so I'll have to figure out a color scheme for her. When it was Chuck's birthday, I did black balloons and streamers, because he turned 50. For Carrie's birthday, I did green and white, because I remembered that green was either her favorite or one of her favorite colors, and also because I felt that the white offset the green nicely. For Dennis, it was red and black. Black because it's going to be his 40th, and red because. . .well, a couple of reasons. I've never actually asked him which high school football team he prefers, but between the one with red and black for their colors and the one with gold and black for their colors, he seems to prefer the red and black one. Plus, he often wears red. So it seemed like a safe color combination.
I actually asked him, a month or so ago, what his favorite color was, for the purpose of picking balloons, but he never told me. I think it was a good guess, though. Carrie told me his wife brought in a lot of balloons, too, so that would have been an interesting thing to see. Balloonapalooza.
Also, I'll be really happy when this election is over, because I am sick. to. death. of these political commercials. I think I'm going to vote for myself. Truth be told, as far as experience goes, McCain and Biden need to get together. Because we'd have a president with experience, and then when he (inevitably) keels over, we'd still have someone with experience, and we could maybe get everything back on track.
Sarah Palin's "oh-gee-dontcha-know" hometown girl schtick is already getting old. I don't want to get too political right here right now, but she needs to get it together if McCain wins this thing. Because when he (inevitably) keels over, it's a scary, scary thought that someone who thinks that foreign policy has anything to do with being able to see Russia from her home state could potentially be in charge of everything.
At the library, I picked up some books on tape, because I've found that the time passes so much more quickly on the road when I'm listening to books on tape, rather than
listening to music. I don't know. There are days when I just want to drive around, blasting music and singing along, and then there are long, long, 4 1/2 hour trips that just warrant a book on tape. I got through John Grisham's "The Firm" and started on a book by that guy who did that documentary called "Supersize me." "The Firm" was ok. Nothing to write home about, but not a waste of three hours, either. I ended that one just as I got to Greensboro, and I put in the other one after I left the used bookstore at which I stopped in Greensboro, where I bought a Sweet Valley High book (for 50 cents!!), a book by an author that I like, and season 1 of 30 Rock on DVD because I love (LOVE!!) Tina Fey.So, I finished this book that I started a few months ago and finally picked up again.
"We Need To Talk About Kevin" is a book that Nick had highly recommended and that I had bought. . .I want to say over the summer. Maybe in July? Yeah, because it was last time I was in the Piedmont. I started it and didn't like it at all. It was slow and draggy and fairly boring. However, I picked it up again last week and couldn't put it down. It really picked up after a while and I got completely sucked into it. I spent the better part of quite a few evenings this week reading it, and when I finally got to the end, I was disappointed it was over. It was one of those books that. . .it kind of feels like it grabs you by the soul. You feel it. I felt every emotion that the woman narrating was feeling, and I was emotionally exhausted by the time the book ended. There was one moment (I won't say what happened, in case anyone wants to read it), but I actually said, "Oh no!" and then I re-read the passage, hoping that I'd read it wrong the first time.I would highly recommend it. Nick, I take back saying it was really boring. It gets so much better.
I've been reading a lot of things recently that I've felt. I read the autobiography of one of the women that was one of the founding members of the Make-A-Wish foundation. I cried while reading that book. I didn't like the woman's writing so much, but when she was talking about her son that died of cancer? It was so, so sad. And it made me more anxious to work for them as a volunteer. The regional director of the WNC Make-A-Wish branch is going to bring me papers so I can sign up next weekend. Next weekend is the motorcycle rally for Make-A-Wish, and the night before, there's going to be a meet and greet for people involved, where they'll meet Rikki, because she's the ride ambassador, and Carolyn (the director) invited me to come. Not as a reporter, but just to go. I'll be reporting on the rally that Saturday, and I'm pretty excited about it. I'm jumping into this Make-A-Wish stuff headfirst, because while I knew what Make-A-Wish was, I'd never met anyone involved with them or who had benefited from them, but now that I have, I realize that it's a really, really great organization.
The new guy at work, NewJeff, is, as it turns out, a welcome addition to the office. He's very cool, and his kid is an absolute doll. She's the same age as Dennis' kid, and it seems very, very odd that I've found two four-year-old kids that I don't disdain. Vera (NewJeff's kid) is ridiculously polite and she's just adorable.
I feel like I might not hate kids as much as I used to. Maybe it's just that I've run into a couple that aren't tragic and are relatively well-behaved, so I'm forgetting why exactly it is I don't like kids.
I think I'm going to end up that person that, one day, someone's going to say, "I love you," and I'm going to say, "Thank you." I find that when someone says something complimentary to me that normally would illicit some kind of response, I end up saying "thank you." And that, one of these days, is going to end up awkward.
I meant to take pictures of Dennis' desk to put them up here. I have a little ritual of putting balloons and streamers in people's desks and offices for their birthdays, and his
birthday is Sunday, so I did the balloon thing Thursday before I left. It was pretty cool, because, thanks to my OCD, it was very symmetrical. Vi's birthday is next, so I'll have to figure out a color scheme for her. When it was Chuck's birthday, I did black balloons and streamers, because he turned 50. For Carrie's birthday, I did green and white, because I remembered that green was either her favorite or one of her favorite colors, and also because I felt that the white offset the green nicely. For Dennis, it was red and black. Black because it's going to be his 40th, and red because. . .well, a couple of reasons. I've never actually asked him which high school football team he prefers, but between the one with red and black for their colors and the one with gold and black for their colors, he seems to prefer the red and black one. Plus, he often wears red. So it seemed like a safe color combination.I actually asked him, a month or so ago, what his favorite color was, for the purpose of picking balloons, but he never told me. I think it was a good guess, though. Carrie told me his wife brought in a lot of balloons, too, so that would have been an interesting thing to see. Balloonapalooza.
Also, I'll be really happy when this election is over, because I am sick. to. death. of these political commercials. I think I'm going to vote for myself. Truth be told, as far as experience goes, McCain and Biden need to get together. Because we'd have a president with experience, and then when he (inevitably) keels over, we'd still have someone with experience, and we could maybe get everything back on track.
Sarah Palin's "oh-gee-dontcha-know" hometown girl schtick is already getting old. I don't want to get too political right here right now, but she needs to get it together if McCain wins this thing. Because when he (inevitably) keels over, it's a scary, scary thought that someone who thinks that foreign policy has anything to do with being able to see Russia from her home state could potentially be in charge of everything.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
I don't love you, I'm just passing the time. You could love me if I knew how to lie. But who could love me? I am out of my mind.
So it’s October. In 29 days, I will be one year away from being old enough to rent a car without extra fees. Thus begins the birthday countdown. I don’t actually ever make a big thing of my birthday, but for some reason, I'm feeling like an attention whore these days, so I'm making people, at least those who come to this site, aware.I really hate when people blog about things and are vague and when they don’t say exactly what it is they’re talking about, but in this case, since I’m not entirely certain who all reads this even on a semi-regular basis, I have to be careful, because I’m not in the business of ruining surprises, and if I were to talk about the situation directly, not only would I be a bitch surprise-ruiner, but I’d also have to delve more into my personal life than I care to in a public setting. Some people know, some people don’t, and I don’t need the ones who don’t to become the ones who do. Dig?
It’s amazing to me how five foot, one-ish inch of haircut I don’t understand can, without even speaking to me, remind me exactly of where my place is in the grand scheme of things. How, one day, you can feel like you’re cycling again, right back to the place you know you shouldn’t be in, but rather enjoy being in, and the next day, you understand that, you’re not welcome there.
How can I explain this better?
Ok, here we go. Say there’s a puppy. A puppy that you don’t own,
but that you see every now and again and for which you throw a stick or a ball occasionally. You like the puppy, because the puppy’s fun, and the puppy gets you. But you’re well aware that the puppy isn’t yours and that at no point in your life will you ever own the puppy. You don’t actually WANT to own the puppy, because taking care of a puppy is something for which you don’t have the time or patience. You enjoy the time you have with the puppy, but you know that at the end of the day, the puppy’s going to go home with the owner who feeds it and takes care of it. And although you like to play with the puppy, you understand that it’s not. yours.So the owner
of the puppy is not a fan of yours. The owner feels that you’re trying to take the puppy away from its rightful home. You’re not, but if you tried to tell the owner that, the owner wouldn’t believe you, because of the period of time you've spent playing with the puppy. The owner probably is aware of how much you like the puppy. Your guess is that the puppy likes you just as much as you like it, but it wouldn’t tell its owner that, because, for one, puppies don’t talk, and for another, the owner would probably make it sleep out in the yard on cold nights or something. You don’t actually know what kind of relationship the puppy has with its owner, because while it seems to be a not-so-happy kind of relationship, the owner has said things that lead you to believe that maybe things aren't as they seem.Anyway, now the owner has decided to buy the puppy a brand new, huge doghouse and is taking great pains to make sure that all of the puppy's little friends are aware that the owner is giving the puppy this house. And because of that, you feel a little discombobulated, and it's giving you a weird pain in your stomach that says, "Hey. Stay away from that puppy at all costs. You're going to get your ass kicked otherwise."
So starting today, you just need to tell yourself that no matter w
hat, you need to stay far, far away from that puppy. You need to tell yourself that that puppies has rabies, and if you even get within a foot of it, it could bite you. And then you will die.All I can really say is that I'm supremely glad that I'm going to be out of town this weekend. Because then, I don't have to make excuses.
Moving on.
Ok, there was a break of about half an hour, I'm back, and you know what? All of the bullshit in my life right now, involving dogs and their owners and past mistakes that you're never allowed to live down? It. Doesn't. Matter. There are bigger things in the world, and if a dog's owner wants to snipe at me, they can. I'll just know that I have a greater purpose in my life than to put up with whatever people who can't let the past be the past can dish out.
I should explain.
I've mentioned, more than once, the girl I interviewed for the Make-A-Wish article. Here's the YouTube video she's in, which I keep meaning to post:
So, the guy that was with her, another Make-A-Wish volunteer, came by to thank m
e again for the article I wrote. He's told Dennis that he was happy about the article and he told me over the phone the other day how much he liked it, but he stopped by again to tell me again how grateful he was and how much he liked it, and the Make-A-Wish people liked it, and the girl I interviewed liked it (he called her little Rikki, which made me laugh, actually.) He was so incredibly grateful that I really almost cried. Recently, there has been an influx of instances that have almost made me cry, and they haven't all been sad things. I've never been a happy crier, but for some reason, I've been more emotional than usual recently, and several things that are happy have made me tear up, if not just outright cry. While he was here, the guy told me that he's been passing out papers to all these people, to people within Make-A-Wish, to family, friends, and everything.And I almost cried when he was telling me this. I'm such a putz.
So the point of all this is this: this is going to sound really weird, but I feel like there's a REASON I was the one Vi made do this story. I don't know why, but I have this really strong feeling that there's a reason, and I'd like to know what that reason is.
I've applied for a job at a non-profit in Asheville, and they're supposed to be getting with the "qualified" people by the end of this week, beginning of next. I need this to go through for me. I can't take much more of this. I just can't. I had this whole plan to be out by November, but that's not going to work out for me. I need something. Anything.
I've also been going to church. And it hasn't been struck by lightning. I'll talk more about that later, I guess.
Oh, and Girl Scouts started again, and I'm excited about all the stuff we're going to be doing this season. Good times.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)